#Anyways I love anderson and his stupid glasses | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anderseva · 1 month ago

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now it's just too late to choose me || morgeva

WHO: Morgan Weston @morgan-weston, & Eva Anderson

WHERE: Little bistro near campus

WHEN: Wednesday, October 23rd

WHY: Morgan needs to be honest about his feelings for Eva, Puck, and Serena — and obviously it doesn't go over well.

MORGAN WESTON

Morgan sat at the bistro table, his hat resting on the chair beside him, the sun casting long shadows over the cobblestone street. He swirled the mimosa in his glass, watching the bubbles rise through the pale peach liquid. It wasn’t the kind of drink he’d normally go for, but after the week he’d had, he figured trying something new couldn’t hurt. He still hadn't tasted it - just ordered it, knowing that it was what Eva craved. And if he wanted to get into her good graces, he was ready to do anything the goddess asked for. The week-long lockdown had been tense, but here, in this sun-drenched bistro, with the hum of casual conversation around him, it felt like everything was back to normal. Somewhat normal. Morgan's meeting with Puck hadn't been normal, at all. And Morgan, trying to get better at the talking and communication part of this whole thing, felt that it was only necessary that he talk to Eva about it. Pushing the sleeves of the brown plaid shirt up his arms, Morgan heard footsteps that resembled Eva's - god, he'd memorized her footsteps, he was so far gone. His head shot to her direction, and when he saw her walking towards him, he stood up quickly, not able to help the goofy smile on his face. "Hey," He greeted her softly, and motioned for her to take a seat at the table. "I ordered mimosas - I figured I'd just cut to the chase, y'know?" He couldn't help but let his eyes scan her, take her all in. She looked so damn gorgeous. Clearing his throat, he sat once she did too, and filled up her glass. "Is it nice bein' back in your own bed?"

EVA ANDERSON

Eva should have been more hesitant about just jumping head first back into this comfortable space with Morgan, yet somehow, her dumbass had breezed past being cautious and was already flirting with him and agreeing to meet him for lunch. She'd canceled her classes for the week, deciding that she needed the equivalent of that lockdown to get herself, and her stupid emotions, back in check before she could adjust back to normal. But the one normal thing she could handle was getting herself together, since Puck and Morgan had both seen her crying and in disgusting clothes last time, she at least made sure to throw on ripped jeans, and low cut but totally casual black tee, and a pair of black heels before she made her way to the bistro. She wasn't the least bit surprised that Morgan heard her before he even saw her, and she had to bite back a smile of her own as he stood and smiled at her. "Hi." She responded as she sat down, already eyeing the mimosas. If this was him trying to get back in her good graces, he was off to one hell of a start. "Thank you." She finally smiled as he filled up her glass, and she instantly reached out and picked the glass up, taking a sip of the familiar flavor. "You know this is just champagne and juice, right?" Eva asked, downing the rest of the contents in the glass before sitting it down again. "It's amazing being back in my own bed, my own space, in my own clean clothes. If that ever happens again, I'm risking it and walking my ass home anyways. But what about you?"

MORGAN WESTON

Biting his lip, the tall cowboy could see that the beautiful goddess in front of him was trying to hold back on her smile, probably not wanting to give too much away, and he could respect that. He'd been a fool, after all. Acted like and with his dick, and there was no way he could take that back. But he loved making her smile, so as he watched the drink fill up her glass, the fizz bubbling in the air, his eyes followed it until it was full, before landing on Eva's face, finally seeing her crack that gorgeous smile of hers. And it was worth every single second. Flagging down a waiter, Morgan didn't hesitate to motion for another bottle - he wanted to keep the girl in front of him as happy as he could. Raising his eyebrows, he was shocked at the easy recipe. "Is that all? I thought it required a whole mixology course, or somethin'," Morgan said, a grin growing behind his beard. He couldn't help but chuckle when she threatened walking home next time something like this was to happen. It had been the longest week of his life, and he'd once spent two weeks sleeping in a barn, during a blizzard in Montana. He'd take the frostbite anytime, over this. Nodding, he raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, tasting the sweet from the peach juice and the sour from the champagne. It was a weird mix. "Yeah, I'm definitely thankful to be back. I can't tell you how much I've missed my own coffee machine," he chuckled, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head. "I like this," Morgan motioned to the champagne flute in his hand, smacking his lips as he tasted it on his tongue. "It sure ain't a cold shower beer after a long day of work, but I can see it doin' the trick on a slow Sunday around noon, that's for certain," he leaned forward, putting the glass down, his eyes connecting with Eva's. "I've missed you," he admitted softly, and while he wanted to reach out and take her hand, he didn't. Instead, he hesitated before speaking again. "Have you talked to Puck recently?"

EVA ANDERSON

Raising a brow as Morgan wasted no time flagging someone down to get another bottle, Eva refilled her glass with the current one, and then mixed in just enough peach to really give her the effect she was going for. "Nah, the secret to mimosas is pouring the champagne into your glass. Most people do an even 50/50 with the champagne and juice, but some people, like me, like a good 75/25 to have more champagne. And when you go bottomless, just go through about 4 or 5 bottles between two people and you'll be as lit as you would be with beer or a few shots of something." She explained before sipping down some more. Did she need bottomless mimosas while she was with Morgan? Probably not. But was she going to indulge in them anyways? Hell yeah. Nodding as he seemed just as happy to be out of the hell hole of lockdown, she smiled when he did seem to like the mimosa too. "I knew you would." She teased. "Maybe the next time you make breakfast, I'll keep these flowing." She suggested before realizing that him cooking breakfast would imply that she'd spent the night with him, which she was trying hard not to think about since the odds of it happening any time soon were probably limited. And then his admission didn't quite help, instead tugging at something inside of her now. "I know. I've missed you too." Why was she admitted that now too? Eva was mentally kicking herself for it, as if crying in his arms and admitting it in lockdown hadn't already been enough, yet she couldn't take it back. When he mentioned Puck, she nodded her head slowly. "Yeah, the day after lockdown. Santana summoned me over, so I basically told him everything I told you, with a few additional notes, give or take." She hummed. "Have you?"

MORGAN WESTON

Morgan smiled as Eva explained her secret to mimosas, admiring the way she seemed so at ease, her eyes glinting with mischief as she sipped her drink. He’d never been much of a champagne guy, but there was something about seeing her happy that made him willing to try anything she suggested. And she was right, of course - he liked it more than he thought he would. “Next time I make breakfast, huh?” he teased back, though her words made his heart skip. The idea of her waking up in his place again, of cooking for her, of things being right between them - it was a dream he'd been trying to bury for a while now. He'd thought back to those mornings when he'd gotten out of bed at the crack of dawn, leaving Eva in his bed to sleep for as long as she could. It always fit perfectly with Morgan being able to go outside to feed the horses and clean out their stalls, before coming back into the shower, and start up a breakfast for Eva and him, before he would hear the pitter patter of her feet coming down the stairs and into the kitchen. Despite there only being a few of these mornings, he loved them so damn much, and missed them more than anything. But there she was, nudging at it like it wasn’t out of reach. His fingers tapped lightly against his glass, a small smile on his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 'I've missed you.' The words from her cut deeper than he'd expected, reminding him just how much he'd been carrying around with him. Every damn day in that lockdown, he’d thought about her and Puck - about them. He nodded when she mentioned Puck, his jaw tightening just a bit. “Yeah... I talked to him,” he said, voice steady but careful. "Did he- uhh...did he tell you everything that happened during his lockdown?" Morgan asked, again hesitantly. He hated being the bearer of bad news so much. He looked at her, searching her face, trying to read her reaction. Did she already know? Did it change anything for her, the way it was gnawing at him?

EVA ANDERSON

Eva rolled her eyes playfully when of course Morgan pointed out the comment about breakfast, because of course he would. She really couldn't blame him, all things considered. They had all pointed out how they'd missed each other, which included everything they did together, not just the sex. Given that she hated cooking, it was nice having not one but two men who were amazing cooks, and didn't hesitate to let her lay in their bed while they cooked for her. In fact, that was one of the things she'd missed most. But she'd be getting ahead of herself to start thinking about that right now. Downing more champagne, she just needed them to change the subject to something else, anything else really. Memories of what being in his bed after a night together wasn't the stroll she needed to take today, especially not while drinking, so they needed to focus on something else. And when she noticed the way he reacted to her asking if he'd talked to Puck, she could already tell she wouldn't like where this was going. Quickly downing the rest of her mimosa, and then refilling the flute with just champagne, she raised a brow at the question being thrown back her way. "Everything? I'm not sure what that means, but all I know is that he wouldn't tell me how he hurt his hand. Just said it was a minor injury and seemed like he didn't want to talk about it, and I was too emotional to fight it out of him, so I just didn't bother pushing." Eva hummed, tossing back more of the champagne as a waiter stopped by to take their order. "Is this a conversation that'll last however long it'll take them to make the food?" She asked Morgan, since he clearly had more information than she'd been given from Puck.

MORGAN WESTON

Morgan chuckled softly at Eva’s playful eye roll. There was something comforting about their banter, even when the conversation edged into a more dangerous territory. But her quick shift to downing more champagne made him wonder if maybe he’d gone too far by bringing Puck into the mix. Still, they couldn’t dance around it forever, right? Especially not after everything. He noticed how she seemed to steel herself when he mentioned talking to Puck, and it tugged at him, knowing this wasn’t where either of them wanted the conversation to go. As the waiter stopped by, Morgan ordered something light, not wanting anything too heavy to weigh them down while navigating this emotional tightrope. He took a slow sip of his mimosa, trying to decide how to tread carefully. “Guess it might take that long,” he said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood for a second before his expression softened. “Look, I know you don’t want to get into all this now. But I just don’t want us to have any more secrets. We’ve had enough misunderstandings, you know? And I’m really tryin’ my damnedest to communicate and tell y’all what I’m thinking’ and feeling before I do anything.” He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, the smile fading as he got serious. “Puck didn’t tell you ‘cause it wasn’t just some minor injury. He got drunk,” Morgan paused, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. “Eva, he slept with someone else. Then punched the wall,” He breathed in deeply, trying to figure out how to follow up on it. “When he told me, he started comparin’ himself to his dad. I don’t know Gabe, but I know for a fact that he ain’t him. So I might’ve said something’ harsh in return. But, err-…how d’ya feel so far?”

EVA ANDERSON

As if them flirting over texts hadn't been pushing it enough, Eva found them slipping right back into old habits in person too just as dangerous. After all, them flirting was what had led to them becoming anything at all, let alone building to the throuple, so she knew they had to keep this limited as much as possible. But the shift in the vibes when Puck was mentioned sort of let her know where this was going, and she sighed as she ordered herself a simple BLT, just in case she ended up needing to take it to go. She raised a brow as Morgan explained his angle here, and she was both surprised and proud that at least someone else was trying to keep them all on the same page like she had been with her whole confession thing. But as she watched him shift in his seat and his demeanor switch up, Eva was now unnerved as she didn't know what to expect. She kept sipping down champagne as Morgan started speaking again, and as soon as he told her exactly what Puck had done during lockdown, she sighed. "Not fucking surprised." She muttered under her breath. Of course that's what he'd done. Him comparing himself to Gabe she could also see, but that didn't quite explain him going to fuck someone else in lockdown. But she also couldn't imagine what having Gabe Puckerman's voice in your head repeatedly telling you that you weren't good enough was like. Taking it all in, she shrugged. "I met the man for less than half an hour and wanted to kick his ass because of how he talked to and about Puck, so I mean I get that sort of thing ringing in your ear, but...I'm not sure how that pushed him into sleeping with someone else?" Eva hummed. "But what did you say in return?"

MORGAN WESTON

Morgan watched Eva, the tension in her shoulders and the way she sipped her champagne faster than before. This wasn’t how he’d hoped their conversation would go, but there was no avoiding it. And when she muttered under her breath, he had to bite back a smirk. Not that any of this was funny, but it was just so… them. Honest to a fault, even when it hurt. He fiddled with the edge of his napkin, the familiar scent of the bistro mixing with the faint tang of champagne on his own lips. As she shrugged, trying to make sense of Puck’s choices, he nodded, feeling the weight of what she’d said. He didn’t know all the details of what Gabe had been like, as a father to Puck, but from what he’d gathered, it was enough to make anyone question everything. “Yeah, I don’t get it either,” Morgan admitted, letting out a long breath. “I know Gabe messed him up, but that doesn’t justify it, not really. Just... explains where his head might’ve been at.” He was quiet for a second, running a thumb over the condensation on his glass. Eva was right - how Gabe talked about Puck had rubbed him the wrong way too, and he’d only heard the stories secondhand. But what was worse was thinking about how deeply those words seemed to have sunk into Puck’s bones. When she asked what he’d said in return, Morgan’s jaw tightened slightly. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I basically told him to stop comparin’ himself to Gabe, and that I’m here, once he’s figured out who he is,” He bit his lip, not knowing if it was too harsh or not. He let out a slow breath, leaning back again. “I don’t know if it sank in, but I meant it, Eva. We can’t keep letting misunderstandings and doubts eat away at what we built. We’re all hurtin’, but the only way we stand a chance at making this work is by laying it all out there," he took a deep breath, before looking up at Eva with a furrow. "D'ya think I was too harsh?"

EVA ANDERSON

Eva was relieved that at least they were on the same page with not understanding how Gabe's bullshit messed Puck up during the lockdown and pushed him into drinking and fucking someone else. She had questions about it, and she was also angry about it, but most importantly, she had never felt more vindicated than she did now after saying what she'd said to Puck. She had known she was right about how she felt but this just backed that up, and it also explained why there wasn't any push back from him about it either. Deciding that the fucking mimosa flute wasn't even worth it at this point, she grabbed the now half empty bottle of champagne. "Hey, waiter! We need another bottle." She called out before she brought the one in her hands to her lips and chugged the rest of it down. She had in fact needed this after that lockdown, but finding all of this out called for it too. Staying quiet as she let Morgan go on, deciding to just hear most of what he had to say since she was still processing it all, she thanked the waiter once a fresh bottle of champagne was being put down on the table, and she passed the now empty bottle off. When Morgan revealed this big harsh comment he'd made, Eva smiled as she made eye contact with him again. "That wasn't harsh at all." She confirmed as she held the new bottle of champagne out to him, mostly offering it up before she started swallowing it back too. "Did he tell you what I told him? About how you two clearly aren't as ready for this as you keep claiming you are? Because if what you said was harsh, then me saying that you both need to tie up your loose ends and prove yourselves to me was harsh, and that was actually me being nice." She shrugged. "And you were right then, and you're right now, but maybe we all need to define misunderstanding? Telling us he wants to be with us but then getting in his head, drinking, and fucking someone else isn't exactly a misunderstanding, not in my book, anyways."

MORGAN WESTON

Morgan watched Eva as she downed the rest of the champagne, calling out for another bottle like they were going to be here for a while. It was classic Eva - taking things head-on, no hesitation, no tiptoeing around the truth. He admired that about her. It made moments like this a little easier, but also, sometimes, a lot harder. Like that day in the classroom when she exposed him in front of her students. When she smiled at him after he finished talking, confirming that he hadn’t been harsh, a small chuckle escaped him. It was a relief, sure, but it also left him feeling even more exposed, knowing they were still picking through the mess of what had happened. And when she offered him the bottle, he took it without hesitation, taking a long swig. If there was ever a day for them to drink their way through a conversation, it was this one. “Nah, he didn’t tell me exactly what you said,” Morgan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I got the gist from how he was acting - that it probably hadn't been the easiest conversation.” He glanced down, his fingers tracing the rim of the bottle before he looked back at her, eyes steady. “I think you being whatever kinda harsh is still more honest than most people would be, and we need that." There was something resolute in his voice, a determination not to brush this aside or soften it for anyone’s sake. “Maybe it isn’t a misunderstanding, like you said. Maybe it’s just... fear. Self-doubt,” he admitted, frustration creeping into his tone despite his efforts to keep it even. “But that doesn’t make it okay. Puck getting in his head like that and doing what he did.. it doesn’t excuse it. And I’m not gonna sit here and act like it’s all on him, ‘cause I know I’ve got my own things I need to get resolved.” Morgan sighed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at her, eyes earnest. “You’re right, Eva. We’ve gotta prove ourselves to you, and to each other. And it starts with not just admitting when we’ve messed up, but doin' something about it.” He took a deep breath, trying to find the words he hadn’t quite figured out until now.

EVA ANDERSON

Was Eva going overboard with the champagne? Absolutely, but she needed it under these circumstances. She didn't even like the serious talks when she was sober, and while she was trying to put her communications degree to use outside of her classroom, this buzz was helping. It was also helping that Morgan was so open to trying to get them all to be more open, which they needed the push, and at least they were getting further along now than they had been. Replaying her conversation with Puck in her head, she was sure that her words hadn't even come across as hard since she'd been crying and still trying to prevent him from placing all of the blame on his shoulders, but now that she knew the shit Gabe had spewed at him was still in his head, she could see why he kept thinking he was to blame. "Honestly, I was kinda gentle when I said it, but it just felt like it had to be said." She agreed. Even if it hadn't been what Puck wanted to hear, she was glad she'd gotten it out. As Morgan doubled down on Puck being wrong for sleeping around just because of his mindset, Eva still felt relieved that she wasn't alone in that. They'd already dealt with the Kurt thing, and now this too? But when Morgan mentioned his own things that needed to get resolved, she raised a brow. "Oh?" She hummed, grabbing the bottle and taking another long swig of it. As the waiter came back with their food and put it down, she thanked them before she eyed Morgan suspiciously. "I get that, and I don't even know how to help Puck do something about how he feels or how he chooses to handle difficult things, but what about you? What did you mess up that you need to do something about?"

MORGAN WESTON

Morgan watched Eva with a small smile, recognizing her pattern of using humor and champagne to cut through the tension. As she mentioned being gentle with Puck, he believed her. Eva could be a force of nature when she wanted to be, but she also had a way of grounding them both when things got shaky. He glanced at the food the waiter placed in front of them but didn’t make a move to dig in just yet. When she raised an eyebrow and hummed at him, suspicious and curious, he felt a slight pang of nerves. He knew this conversation would turn back on him eventually - it was only fair. “Guess I can’t dodge that one, huh?” Morgan said with a half-hearted chuckle, trying to buy himself a second to find the right words. “Thing is, I wasn’t just talking about Puck, and I think you know that.” Eva wasn't stupid. She was one of the cleverest people he knew. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers running through his beard. “You said it yourself, back at the cafeteria,” he started, eyes meeting hers with that steady gaze she’d come to know well. “I need to talk to Serena about this. About how I'm feelin'. Because I also need to sort out what's going on there.” He breathed in, hesitating before continuing. He knew that, whatever he was about to say, probably wouldn't go down well with Eva, no matter how he said. “I don't know if it's appreciation of her bein' there for me when my shoulder was injured, or if it's the attention she's been givin' me that's leavin' me flattered,” He paused, swallowing hard, trying to make sense of the mess of emotions he hadn’t put words to until now. "But there's something." He looked up at her, before taking in a deep breath. "But I know that what I feel for you and Puck weighs heavier than any of that." Morgan glanced at her, gauging her reaction, the weight of what he’d just admitted hanging between them. He knew she wasn’t asking for perfect, just honesty, and he hoped he’d given her that, even if it took a little too long to get here.

EVA ANDERSON

Neither of them digging into their food was yet another red flag Eva noticed, and now she was even more anxious. Her crying in both of their arms had already stripped her of a layer of her dignity that she'd never get back, and Puck sticking his dick in yet another hole that didn't belong to her or Morgan was tugging on a second, so she didn't know what else she could take at this point. As Morgan started speaking, she brought the bottle back to her lips and just started sipping, swallowing back more as she decided to just let him get whatever he needed to off of his chest. The second he mentioned something she'd said at the cafeteria, she knew where this was going, knew exactly what he was about to say, but it still didn't prepare her for it. At this point, she was truly baffled at the fact that the two men who had somehow gotten her to fall for them had managed to hurt her not just once, but twice. God, how she had never hated having feelings more than she did now. Finishing off the bottle, she put it aside as he finished, barely able to keep eye contact with the man now. "Well, for starters, I would just like to point out that I was right about your post about your shoulder being a thirst trap. You could have just asked me or Puck, or both of us, to come and take care of you, but you got exactly what you wanted instead." Normally she enjoyed being right, but this was one time she wished she hadn't been. "If all it takes is attention for both you and Puck to either fall for someone or fuck them, then I don't know why we keep trying to do this." She admitted before she had to pause, deciding she wasn't about to cry for either of them ever again. "I get asked on one date and you get pissy about it, but you've just been spending quality time with Serena, who you have feelings for? How the fuck—" Pausing again, Eva shook her head as she exhaled a calming breath. "I'm done. I can't do this with you or him anymore."

MORGAN WESTON

Morgan’s heart dropped when Eva finished speaking. Her words hit like a gut punch, each one leaving a sting that lingered long after. He’d expected her to be upset, but he hadn’t expected the weight of everything she’d been holding back to come crashing down like this. When she mentioned the thirst trap post, he felt the shame creep up, turning his face hot. As she laid it all out - her feelings, her hurt, and the realization that she couldn’t keep doing this - he sat there, stunned, knowing there wasn’t much he could say that would make this right. But he couldn’t just let her leave without trying. "Eva," he started, voice softer than he intended, but he couldn’t steady it. He searched hard for her eyes as he swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotion from breaking through. "That post was still coming from a genuine place, as I've explained it before - it had nothin' to do with not wanting help from y'all or cryin' 'bout it to get Serena's. I promise ya, it was a genuine ask for someone to send a professional my way," He started, stating everything slowly, his voice sincere. He needed to get that stupid post out of the way, so they could move on. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. "I don't know what my feelings are for Serena," He sighed deeply. "I don't know if they're friendly, or if there's somethin' more. And I'm telling ya, because I owe it to y'all, to not get into this, and not having figured it out, or at least talked to her or to you about it," Morgan reached out, wanting to grab Eva's hand to hold it, but he stopped himself midway across the table and retracted. Instead he moved a seat over - moving his hat onto the other seat, so he could sit right next to Eva, to properly talk to her. "What I feel for Puck - what I feel for you, Eva - it goes so much deeper than that." He motioned to his heart, keeping eye contact with the girl. "When I'm with him and you, together and separately, my heart ties into knots with pure happiness. When I think about him and you, I can't stop myself from grinnin' - it's a pure physical reaction, to thinking about the two of ya." He breathed, sighing before continuing. "You've got me-... Eva, you have me fucked up." He swallowed hard, not enjoying cursing in front of a woman, but he couldn't explain it any better. "I think about you, I dream about you, I long for you. You're on my goddamn mind, every single second of every single day, because for me, you're the one." Not once had he looked away from her eyes. He shook his head, frustration clear in the lines of his face. "Maybe I don’t deserve a chance. Maybe you’re better off walking away. But I’m still standin' here, asking for it, because losing you would be the biggest mistake of my life." Morgan’s chest felt tight, and his hands were trembling slightly, but he stayed there, waiting, holding on to whatever shred of hope he had left, even if it was slipping through his fingers.

EVA ANDERSON

Rolling her eyes as Morgan feigned innocent again, Eva wasn't even sure why she was still sitting here entertaining this. After the showdown in her classroom she had genuinely tried to believe that he was just dumb and hadn't meant it, but now she knew her instincts had been right. As soon as he started trying to explain his feelings or whatever for Serena, her own emotions were starting to go from hurt to anger, and while she appreciated his honesty, she didn't need to know this shit. Watching his hand, she was grateful when he paused and thought better of it, but that was short lived as she watched him get up and move next to her. "Morgan—" She didn't even know what she was about to say, but it didn't matter anyways. She hadn't wanted to maintain any ounce of eye contact with his ass but as he started speaking, every ounce of her body just...froze. Her expectations for anything he had to say post his confession about Serena were low, incredibly low, but now he was basically rambling off a declaration of some sort, and Eva was fucking confused. Where was it coming from? Why was he suddenly confessing to it now, after admitting that he felt something for Serena? How was she even supposed to believe this shit now? As Morgan kept speaking, kept rambling off his feelings or whatever, all she had to do was look into his eyes and read into the tone of his voice and she knew he wasn't lying at least — which just fucking made matters worse. Biting back her own emotions, Eva shook her head again. "Right, so you think about me, and about Puck, every single second of every single day, except for when you're with Serena?" She countered, though she didn't even know if she wanted an answer, or if she could even take whatever the answer would be. "Clearly neither one of you was ever worried about losing me." Eva pointed out, and that was clearly true considering that neither Puck or Morgan acted as though they were afraid to lose her until now. Grabbing her purse and standing up, she shrugged. "You and Serena deserve each other, but since you're so concerned with being honest now, make sure you tell her how you allegedly feel about me and Puck. I'm sure she'll love to know she's some second, or I guess third, choice. And if that doesn't work out for you, don't call me." And with that, she stormed right out of the bistro.

#threads.#th: morgan

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pesterloglog · 9 months ago

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Vrissy Maryam-Lalonde, Harry Anderson Egbert, Aradia Megido, Sollux Captor, Jade Harley, Karkat Vantas, John Egbert, Dave Strider

Candy, page 27

VRISKA: What took you so long????????

HARRY ANDERSON: hey, give me a break here vris. my auntie has guards breathing down my neck day and night.

VRISKA: Ugh. How’d you get out this time?

HARRY ANDERSON: fucking gamzee.

HARRY ANDERSON: he was all like:

HARRY ANDERSON: Yo HaRrY mY dAwG, yOu Go OuT aNd GeT yOuRsElF uP a SlIcE oF tHaT pRiMe BeEf VrIsKeT, mY oNe TrUe HoMiE. lOvE iS wHaT mAkEs ThE mOtHeRfUcKiNg EaRtH sPiN oN iTs AxIs. ThAt, AnD bEiNg PoLiTiCaLlY nEuTrAl, BrOtHeR.

HARRY ANDERSON: god! he always makes sure to point out that he’s politically neutral in literally every sentence that comes out of his mouth, even though he’s *definitely* still fucking my aunt.

VRISKA: Ugh, so l8me.

VRISKA: This is all so l8me!!!!!!!! All in all, such a Deeply Unsatisfactory state of affairs!

HARRY ANDERSON: yeah. i hate sneaking around like this. i wish i could see you every day.

HARRY ANDERSON: or even, like, tell my mom that i have a girlfriend so she can stop pestering me about it.

VRISKA: In thaaaaaaaat case...

VRISKA: Why don’t we run aw8y and join the rebellion together, Harry Anderson? Wouldn’t that be Terribly Rom8ntic????????

VRISKA: We could be wild rebels in love, like Karkat and Meenah!

VRISKA: Isn’t their story GR8? I get so inspired thinking about it.

HARRY ANDERSON: oh, i don’t know if i could pull that off vriska... i don’t really have the, y’know, rebellious *stature* of someone like karkat vantas.

VRISKA: Pffft, ahahahahahahahaha. He’s Extremely Short in real life, you know!

HARRY ANDERSON: i don’t know if that’s actually true? i think it might just be something people assume because of, y’know, his personality. like he’s overcompensating or something.

HARRY ANDERSON: i mean, i don’t *remember* him being that short.

VRISKA: Oh yeah? The last time you saw him you were like three years old. Get real, Harry Anderson!

HARRY ANDERSON: oh? and when’s the last time *you* saw him?

VRISKA: ...

HARRY ANDERSON: ha ha! :p

HARRY ANDERON: oh my god, vriska, you always talk so big but you’re not any more of a rebel than i am!

VRISKA: Oh shuuuuuuuut up. You don’t know shit, Harry.

VRISKA: My moms are totally gonna get me a Prime Commission in the Resist8nce when I turn sixteen!!!!!!!!

HARRY ANDERSON: yeah yeah, whatever you say.

VRISKA: It’s TRUE!

VRISKA: But until then, guess we’ll never know whether it’s an official f8ct that Karkat is short or not.

HARRY ANDERSON: i guess so!

HARRY ANDERSON: but anyway i wasn’t talking about his height. i was talking about the eyepatch.

HARRY ANDERSON: i mean, i believe in troll rights and everything...

VRISKA: Um, I should HOPE so.

HARRY ANDERSON: ...but not enough to lose an eye over it.

VRISKA: Don’t be ridiculous Harry.

VRISKA: If we really do end up absconding from our mediocre Hot Teen Lives to become rebels, then OBVI8USLY I’m going to be the one with the Extremely Dashing And Sexy eyepatch. H8h8h8h8h8h8h8h8!!!!!!!!

ARADIA: hmm its getting pretty bad down there

SOLLUX: wh0 cares.

SOLLUX: this is 0fficially s0mething we d0n’t care ab0ut, right?

ARADIA: i dont know

ARADIA: is it

JADE: this world is inconsequential.

ARADIA: well there you have it

ARADIA: karkats really going to fight that war isnt he

SOLLUX: yeah.

SOLLUX: i didn’t think he had it in him, but apparently all it takes f0r him t0 bec0me the her0 he was meant t0 be was f0r things t0 get extremely fucking stupid.

SOLLUX: like, WAY m0re stupid than usual.

ARADIA: yes

ARADIA: it really is too bad hes reaching this heroic apotheosis of his in a world that doesnt matter

JADE: please do not mistake the essence of my words for indifference.

JADE: when i said that this world was inconsequential, i was talking objectively. we’ve moved far beyond the realm of canon relevance, but on a subjective level we can view this world as a glass bubble.

JADE: fragile, solitary, with a surface uncracked.

JADE: the actions, struggles and feelings of its inhabitants are certainly not inconsequential to them.

JADE: while abstracted heavily, and fully freed from all forces of narrative gravity, these events still represent possibilities that slept within the hearts of all who reside here.

ARADIA: hm

ARADIA: in that case i guess we should keep watching

KARKAT: HI AGAIN IDIOT.

JOHN: what are you doing standing out here alone like a creep?

KARKAT: I REALLY SHOULDN’T BE HERE.

JOHN: why not? you were on the guest list.

KARKAT: OH, HMM, I DON’T KNOW. MAYBE THINK ABOUT IT FOR TEN SECONDS, JOHN.

JOHN: i guess this would probably be pretty hard to watch if you were still, you know, all heartbroken about it.

KARKAT: I WOULDN’T SAY THAT I WAS STILL “ALL HEARTBROKEN” ABOUT IT.

KARKAT: BUT...

JOHN: but?

KARKAT: IT’S JUST THAT BREAK UPS ARE HARD, AND OFTEN HAVE UNEXPECTED CONSEQUENCES THAT CAN LINGER FOR YEARS.

JOHN: you’re telling me. when my wife left me, she took an entire political faction with her.

JOHN: those chess guys sure do love roxy, don’t they?

KARKAT: UGH.

KARKAT: YEAH, THE CARAPACIAN-HUMAN ALLIANCE HAS BEEN CAUSING US NOTHING BUT PAIN TO BE ENTIRELY FUCKING HONEST.

KARKAT: NO ONE WANTS TO BE AGAINST THE *CARAPACIANS*. THEY’RE HARMLESS.

KARKAT: THE FACT THAT THEY DIDN’T EVEN GET TO VOTE ON WHETHER OR NOT THEY SHOULD RATIFY THE TREATY REALLY COMPLICATES THE MATTER. THE WHOLE THING IS A DISASTER ON JUST ABOUT EVERY LEVEL.

JOHN: oh. sorry about that.

KARKAT: OH MY GOD JOHN, STOP BEING SO FUCKING PATHETIC FOR JUST A MINUTE. COULD YOU DO THAT FOR ME?

JOHN: i don’t know. that’s a pretty big favor you’re asking me there, karkat.

KARKAT: LOOK, I DON’T PERSONALLY BLAME YOU FOR ANY OF THIS.

KARKAT: FIRST OF ALL, FOR YOU TO HAVE HAD ANYTHING TO DO WITH A MASSIVE SHIFT IN GEOPOLITICAL ALLEGIANCES?

KARKAT: THAT PROBABLY WOULD HAVE REQUIRED YOU LEAVE YOUR FUCKING HOUSE FOR MORE THAN AN HOUR.

JOHN: wow.

JOHN: good pep talk.

JOHN: i’m 100% over my separation now. thanks karkat.

KARKAT: JOHN, SERIOUSLY THOUGH.

KARKAT: YOU DO HAVE TO GET OVER ROXY EVENTUALLY. WITH EVERYTHING THAT’S GOING ON, CAN YOU REALLY AFFORD TO WASTE ANOTHER FIVE YEARS MALINGERING IN YOUR BEDROOM LIKE A PIECE OF FUCKING GARBAGE?

KARKAT: YOU KNOW

KARKAT: THE REBELLION COULD REALLY USE A GUY LIKE YOU.

JOHN: if you think that i haven’t been given the exact speech you’re about to give me, except about six or seven times the length, then you don’t know rose lalonde.

KARKAT: OK. THEN WHAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM?

KARKAT: YOU HATE WHAT THE GOVERNMENT IS DOING AS MUCH AS THE REST OF US DO!

JOHN: i dunno. it doesn’t seem responsible, really... to dedicate my life to something so important when i’m in a place where i can’t even find the energy to think that getting out of bed in the morning is “important.”

JOHN: in fact, it seems like it would be a pretty fucking selfish thing to do.

JOHN: what if i get distracted because i’m sad?

JOHN: what if i fuck up by staring too tragically into the distance on an important mission, and i get killed in a stupid way?

KARKAT: JOHN, AREN’T YOU TECHNICALLY IMMORTAL *SPECIFICALLY* IN CASES OF “GETTING KILLED IN A STUPID WAY”?

JOHN: yeah. but you aren’t. and neither are most of your followers.

KARKAT: OH SHIT.

KARKAT: HERE COMES DAVE. I HAVE TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.

DAVE: no john dont do it

JOHN: huh? don’t do what?

DAVE: oh you looked pretty bummed when you left the reception and then i find you staring at the ocean like you just snorted six lines of powdered midlife crisis off the bathroom counter

DAVE: so i guess “the joke” was like

DAVE: haha dont literally commit suicide at my wedding dude lol

DAVE: not to commit suicide at my fucking wedding is pretty obvious

DAVE: but in retrospect i guess its not that funny

DAVE: but seriously john dont kill yourself

JOHN: i wasn’t going to kill myself!

DAVE: id miss you and also itd bum out jade pretty bad and i have so thoroughly hitched my star to that yifftrain in case you havent noticed

JOHN: yifftrain?

DAVE: yeah man you see she-

JOHN: i don’t wanna know!

JOHN: anyway, i was just, uh...

JOHN: ...appreciating how pretty the view is.

DAVE: hm yeah i love the sight of the military industrial complex destroying the landscape in the evening

JOHN: come on, that’s obviously not what i meant.

JOHN: you okay, dude?

DAVE: eh

JOHN: having been married once before, i gotta say... it’s all kind of overwhelming, huh?

DAVE: oh

DAVE: yeah i guess

DAVE: i dunno jade and i have been together so long this all just feels like

DAVE: whatever

DAVE: i was sort of hoping that

DAVE: i mean considering that were working together in the rebellion and everything

DAVE: i was hoping that karkat would show

JOHN: oh...

JOHN: so you’re still not... um, over that?

JOHN: the whole karkat thing?

DAVE: i mean will i ever be over it??

DAVE: the way i felt about him probably isnt the kind of shit you just get over

DAVE: you just sorta

DAVE: live with it

DAVE: no matter how it turns out

DAVE: but hes with meenah and im with jade and the whole worlds gone fucking batshit so whats the point in looking backwards now

DAVE: right?

JOHN: right.

DAVE: right

DAVE: yo dude thanks for being my best man

JOHN: *cough* oh. th-thanks, man. no problem!

DAVE: cuz you are

DAVE: ya know

DAVE: youre my best bro

DAVE: my main man

DAVE: my most devoted dude

DAVE: cheers john

JOHN: cheers, dave.

#homestuck #homestuck epilogues #vrissy maryam lalonde #harry anderson egbert #aradia medigo #sollux captor #jade harley #karkat vantas #john egbert #dave strider #candy epilogue #page 27 #alt calliope

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maybege · 3 years ago

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... Stays In Quantico - FBI Part 2

Summary: Back in Quantico, you are reminded just how difficult your situation is. (Part 2 of the FBI Series)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.1k | Rating: T

Warnings: descriptions of an anxiety attack

Here we are! I am so excited to finally start sharing this story with you. Having binged through all 15 seasons, I just want to say now that (1) this story will be canon-divergent and (2) it will be a slow burn. It is my first longer story about Hotch and I hope I will do his character justice. As always, you can find the posting schedule linked in my masterlist.

Have fun reading and let me know what you think.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“I don’t know what to think.”

“This is not the kind of job where you don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

“Hard to believe from someone who just told me she doesn’t know what to think.”

You shifted in your seat. The office you were in was colder than the bullpen of the BAU and you wished you had remembered to bring your cardigan with you. Now all you were wearing was your short-sleeved dress and heels.

To be fair, you had presumed this would just be a standard meeting with the in-house therapist. After the incident in Kansas City, it seemed like standard procedure and you were glad to have been offered this opportunity.

Now though, sitting in the way too soft armchair with the brunette older woman looking at you over her glasses, this felt more like an evaluation than anything else. And you absolutely hated it.

You looked at the still-life of a fruit bowl on the right wall, right next to a bookshelf full of framed certificates. A woman who was proud of her accomplishments.

The first and last time you had had an evaluation was when you had first started working at the FBI and back then you had been sure that you had failed it. You had been sure you had failed all of it.

Your grandmother always used to say that if you looked for flaws long enough you would find them.

Dr Johnson looked like she spent her life looking for flaws.

“Tell me again why you chose to work for the FBI – and the BAU specifically.”

You would not make it anyway. Fuck it.

“There is so much hurt in the world,” you started, watching her eyebrows rise over the frames of her glasses, “I would feel better knowing I am trying to do something against it. And as for the BAU,” you shrugged, “Chief Sector Strauss approached me about it and I thought I would be stupid not to take the opportunity.”

She hummed, looking down at her file. “You don’t have any official FBI training.”

“No.”

“Any formal police training?”

“No.”

“Gun training?”

You hid your smile at the thought of the recent debacle for the gun qualification.

“I took down an UnSub in Kansas City last week,” you reminded her, “That is why I am here.”

She did not react to it. “In fact,” she leafed through the papers in her hand, “You only recently finished college. How did that go for you?”

“Good,” you nodded, trying to keep your knee from bouncing, “It was good.”

“What did you major in?”

“English,” you replied and when you saw her raised eyebrow, tried to elaborate, “Um, English literature to be exact and I have a minor in law as well.”

“Why only a minor?”

“Pardon me?”

“Why did you only minor in law? Were you not good enough?”

To cover the unease from her question, you crossed your legs. “I had no interest in law,” you answered truthfully, “My passion was and is with literature.”

The full truth was, you simply did not like law students. That and the pressure they were under was, you were convinced, what brought many lawyers to an early grave. But she did not need to know that about you.

Ironic that you had ended up in the BAU after all this.

Totally not stressful.

She said your name, then, slowly, and leant forward. You tensed, knowing that look too well. Was this the moment she would tell you that you had failed the valuation? The moment Hotch would come into the office and hand you your resignation with that disappointed look in his eyes.

Maybe the way Kansas City had ended was just a way to disguise the true going-ons of your work here in Quantico?

“You have been here, what, seven months now, Agent?”

“Yes, eight months, coming February,” you replied, meeting her gaze and swallowing the dryness of your throat.

“Would you say you have adjusted to your life here in Virginia?”

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

Dr Johnson made a vague gesture as if encompassing everything and anything, “Do you have friends here? Family? How do you get on with your colleagues?”

Well, you certainly had not been expecting this kind of question.

“I live together with a friend,” you answered slowly, “My family lives in Idaho.”

“Idaho,” Johnson smiled, “A long way from home, no?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Agent, I am not going to lie,” she sighed, putting her pen down on the notepad, “I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.”

You’re not the only one, you thought with a grimace.

“I am sure you are a good person, that your motivations for working here are true,” she elaborated, “But your lack of training? Your lack of … experience,” she gave you a pitiful look, “I am simply not convinced you are cut out for the work we need here.”

You had always thought it but hearing someone else say it to your face hit deeper than you ever could have thought. Your fingers started to tremble and you clasped your hands together, squeezing them to somehow force yourself to remain with as much dignity as you could.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath in the hopes that it would keep your tears at bay, “What – what does that mean?”

“As there are no reasons for a suspension based on your mental health, the next step would be that I get in contact with your supervisor,” she threw a look on her paper, “SSA Aaron Hotchner, is that correct?” you nodded and she continued, “A written evaluation of your role at the BAU will be requested and then we will go from there. Best case scenario is you won’t leave at all, worst case scenario …”, she trailed off.

Of course, she did not need to finish the sentence for you to know what she was saying.

Worst case scenario: You would leave the FBI.

Realization washed over you and you smiled tightly at her. “Thank you, Dr Johnson,” you stood up, reaching a polite hand out to her which she took, “If you will excuse me, I should get back to my desk while I still can.”

Dr Johnson smiled kindly at you which only made it worse. She was pitying you. She felt sorry for you. Sorry for your incompetence, sorry for you not belonging in this place.

You felt like you would throw up any minute.

“Of course, Agent,” she said softly, “I will inform your supervisor of my recommendation. You will receive a copy of the protocol within the next week.”

You nodded, not meeting her eyes as you hurried out of her office.

The staff washroom on the third floor was always empty.

You knew that from the fact that you had often used it as a refuge after nearly dissolving into tears in the bullpen. That and the fact that the third floor was far away enough for anyone of the BAU to search for you here made it the perfect place to come after your talk with Dr Johnson.

You threw a look on your watch.

Six minutes. You would give yourself six minutes and then you would go to your desk and work on those reports and show Dr Johnson that you loved your job and that you were capable of doing it. You would show her that you were not the anxious, incompetent student she saw in you but someone who could be an asset to the team.

I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.

Tears shot into your eyes and you locked the little cabin behind you, sitting on the edge of the toilet as you rushed to grab a few pieces of toilet paper.

The first sob echoed in the tiled room and you pressed the tissues to your mouth, hoping it would muffle the sounds somewhat. Your skin felt too hot and too tight and you could already see how your makeup would be ruined by the tears no matter how hard you tried.

And you had left your backup mascara in your bag at your desk.

Great. Just great.

Anxiety filled you at the thought of having to prove yourself even more than before. After Kansas City and Hotch’s encouraging words, you had somehow hoped that the hard part was over now. That you could focus on delivering good work instead of questioning if everyone doubted your belonging in the unit.

But maybe they were and they were just too polite to mention it? Maybe Dr Johnson was finally saying what they all wanted to spare you from?

Tears were rolling freely over your cheeks now, dropping onto your dress and you cursed, trying to wipe it away and somehow keep your face dry. There were still quite a few hours left in the workday and although you hoped there would not be a case coming in today, you were working along with a team of profilers.

You were like an open book to them even if there was the agreement to not profile each other.

A look on your watch told you it was nearly time to go and you took a moment to listen if anybody was there before stepping out of the little cubicle. It was completely abandoned.

Much like you had expected, you looked an absolute mess and just seeing yourself in the mirror brought fresh tears into your eyes.

“Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity,” you echoed the motto, gripping the edge of the counter and taking deep breaths, “Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity.”

“Hey, kid, how did it go?”

You entered the chaotic bullpen, just barely avoiding crashing into Anderson before making your way to your desk. Reid was seated across from you which meant that no matter how much of a mess you left at the end of a day, it still looked comparably neat.

Now though, it was nearly empty.

“Hi Derek,” you smiled tightly, your eyes still irritated from your impromptu cry session as you sat down at your desk.

You had splashed cold water on your face in hopes of somehow feeling and looking better. Still, you immediately went for your bag, scrambling to find your emergency mascara and lipstick to sneak back into the washroom before anyone noticed.

Especially –

“Agent,” Hotch’s voice boomed through the office and you winced, feeling the heat of tears collecting in your eyes again. You stayed ducked over your bag, hoping that maybe he did not mean you. Maybe he wanted to talk to Derek or Emily or Reid or –

Cleanly polished shoes appeared in your field of vision and you swallowed.

“In my office. Now.”

“Yes, Sir,” you mumbled, hastily wiping your cheek of a stray tear before straightening and following him up the stairs. You ignored Derek’s worried look, instead choosing to straighten your shoulders and stoically look ahead.

This was but an extension of the interview with Dr Johnson. You could do this even if the man terrified and intrigued you more than he should.

You had barely stepped foot in his office when he sat down. “Close the door. Sit down.”

You did, feeling much smaller than you had in Dr Johnson’s office. His lips were tight and he looked incredibly displeased, even for Hotch’s standards. You must have majorly messed up.

His hands were clasped in front of him and your eyes fell to his fingers. You swallowed heavily, hands wringing in your lap as you waited for him to start talking.

“Dr Johnson just informed me that a written evaluation of your performance on this team is being requested.”

“Sir, I can explain, I –“

He raised a hand, effectively silencing you and your mouth snapped shut.

“You do not need to explain anything,” he said calmly, “Dr Johnson is only doing her job and after what happened last week, it might not be such a bad idea.”

You nodded, trying to not seem as nervous as you were.

“Do not worry yourself over it. I meant what I said in Kansas,” he stated, facial expression unreadable, “You are a valuable addition to this team and I look forward to seeing your contributions in the future.”

“Yes, Sir,” you looked down on your hands, trying to hide your nervousness, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Call me Hotch.”

“Yes, Si- Hotch,” you corrected yourself with a sheepish smile. He was sitting at his desk, hands folded on top of it as he looked at you. And fuck, it should be forbidden to look this good. You froze, licking your lips and hoping you would be able to blame it on the dryness of your lips instead of you imagining what it would be like to feel his mouth on yours.

Not the time, a rational part of your brain reminded you, So not the fucking time.

Shuffling through the crowded metro you pressed your phone to your ear.

“I promise, it is all right, mom,” you assured her, letting yourself fall into one of the free seats, keeping your bag pressed against your chest. An elderly woman threw you an offended look and shuffled away from you as if you had any interest in stealing her dog off her hands.

“I am just worried, honey,” your mom said on the other side of the phone, “We are all worried. It is a hard job, isn’t it? And why do they keep putting you up for evaluations? You haven’t even been there for a full year!”

“Mom –“

“Are you okay?” she interrupted you in that voice that only your mom had, “Truly okay?

Your head fell against the window of the wagon, the heaviness of the day washing over you. You took a shuddering breath, “No, Mom, I – I don’t think I am.”

There was a sigh on the other side of the line. She was disappointed and worried, you could hear it already and it did not help to calm the anxiety raging in your stomach. You could almost see her in front of you, the pity in her eyes and the little furrow between her brows.

“You can always come home, hon, you know that, right?” she asked carefully and you cringed at how quiet she was being, “We can still find somewhere else for you to work. A nice option. You can come back home and dad and I will help you. I know it can take some time to find a good position. But you had so much fun doing literature, why not go back to it? You don’t have to stick there if it doesn’t make you happy.”

“But it does make me happy, mom,” you protested, wincing at how desperate you sounded, before adding quietly, “Saving people is what I want to do. And I can do it.”

“I am not saying you can’t, sweetie,” she assured you, “But maybe it is not what you should do with your life, hm?”

You could see that the light was on in the living room when you entered the small hallway. The sounds of the TV washed over your ears and you smiled.

“I’m home!”

A non-committal grunt answered you and you grinned, knowing that he was probably too entranced in whatever crime show he was currently watching. You let your keys fall onto the little side table and made sure to lock the deadbolt before making your way to Josh.

Your heels made clicking sounds on the floor and you took care to be as quiet as possible. “Hi,” you grinned, waving at him.

Josh was tall and lanky. And despite being offended if you ever told him that – looked exactly like one would imagine a law student to look. He was always well dressed and took great care when it came to all things cultural. He drank the best wine, read all the important books, watched all the niche movies to impress people.

Sometimes you joked that of the two of you, he was the one who could be expected to work for a government institution.

“It’s late,” he commented, nodding to the screen, “You’re usually here by the second episode.”

“I wanted to get some reports done,” you explained, shrugging out of your coat, “Had a chat with my boss today again. I thought it might be better to not give any more opportunities to criticize me. How was your day?”

“Boring,” he replied, “Attended that one event about intellectual property and want to lunch with a few friends from uni. You should come with us sometime, you will like them.”

You nodded, already thinking ahead of a day when you would have enough free time to join him and his friends. Dr Jones’ words about having a strong social life to fall back to echoed in your mind and you decided to make more of an effort to make friends.

It would be all right.

There was some Chinese takeout in Josh’s lap and you spotted a few grocery bags in the small hallway to your room and the kitchen.

“Did you get me the bananas like I asked?” you asked, slipping out of your heels.

Josh kept munching on his noddle, making a vague gesture that led you into the kitchen. And there, on the tiny dining table were two green bananas.

“They are not even ripe yet,” you called into the living room, “And I asked for four bananas, not two.”

“What do you need them for anyway?”

“I wanted to bake banana bread,” you said, turning to get out some flour and chocolate chips, “It’s an easy breakfast to have in the metro.”

Josh sighed, walking into the kitchen and throwing himself onto the black dining chair. “You barely eat at home anyway, that’ll just go to waste.”

“Which is exactly why it is nice to have something ready to eat on the go,” you explained, wondering if he had overheard your words.

Cracking two eggs into a bowl, you hummed. “I could bring it into the office,” you mused, starting to mush up the bananas, “I think JJ mentioned she liked it once.”

“To the colleagues that despise you?”

You frowned, “They don’t despise me. They are very nice to me, Josh.”

Josh took the last bite of his noodles, setting down the little container “By the way, Greg is coming over tonight.

“But it’s almost midnight,” you stated, throwing a confused look towards the clock, just to make sure, “Didn’t you say you will leave for that Seattle trip tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if it gets too late he will just stay on the couch,” Josh replied, shrugging. You nodded, not saying anything but knowing deep down that George would occupy the bathroom that morning so you would have to get up even earlier than normal.

That would be a stressful day.

#maybege writes #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader

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prettyboybarzal · 4 years ago

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Dancing with Our Hands Tied

Pairing: Pierre Luc Dubois x Reader

A/N: this is a multi-part fic for PLD!!! we all simped over him for a hot minute and i decided to capitalize on it because i mean......... look at him. so, enjoy a little enemies to lovers trope w/ one of my favorite frenchmen. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!! and thank you to @bandgirlsclub for all the help w/ my lil writers block. love u bb. she elevated my dialogue so much. if you don’t follow her, please go follow her now. and then enjoy chapter one!

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pierre didn’t like you because you didn’t like him and no one disliked Pierre Luc Dubois, especially in the city of Columbus. He was a legend. He was the star player, the future of the Blue Jackets. Everyone loved him, except you, so he hated you.

The feud started during his rookie season. He marched into the city of Columbus with his shoulders squared, his head held high, and his ego the size of Nationwide Arena itself. On his very first night out with your friend group, he’d gotten you kicked from a club after starting a fight and then poured his entire drink down your back as you waited for Ubers on the curb.

Out of frustration, you ended up foregoing the car to walk home, despite the protests that came from the other boys. And Pierre laughed as you walked away, amused by the liquid stain on the back of your favorite going out shirt.

No apology ever came, and that was a wrap on any potential friendship with him.

Three years later, nothing changed. Though these days, as Pierre’s comfort around you rebounded, he didn’t avoid you and instead made it his job to antagonize you whenever you were around. He made comments about your outfits, flirted with your friends that had clearly been told to steer clear of him, and fucked up your drink orders whenever he bought rounds for the group. Mostly, you took it in stride with a few choice curse words slung his way, but over time you started to antagonize him right back.

“Asshole at three o’clock.”

It took a moment, but your eyes followed the metaphorical clock of the bar and fell on the group of Blue Jackets pushing their way through the crowd. Leading the way was Pierre sporting a cocky smirk on his lips. He made his way around the group of girls, hugging each one before reaching you and ultimately opting not to say hello and just head for the bar. As soon as he stepped away you were making retching noises with your mouth.

“Back at it again, I see,” Josh Anderson spoke as he wrapped his arms over your shoulders. “You two would get along really well if only you tried.”

“I don’t want to try,” you responded. This earned the laughter of their other teammates, Seth and Boone, as they sat in the open seats at your bar top and joined the conversation that had been on hold for hugs hello.

When Pierre returned to the table, he was toting a tray of drinks. One by one, he placed each glass down with its rightful owner until the last two remained. And then he placed a Shirley Temple in front of you.

“It’s virgin.”

“Just like you,” you spat. While the table erupted in laughter, you stood to get a drink of your own. Preferably one that was heavy on the liquor.

---

Despite everything else, going out with him wasn’t all bad because after a while he just got distracted. He would slink away from the group and find himself surrounded by a bunch of local university students and you were free to enjoy your night without him chirping in your ear. While Pierre and Seth scouted the bar for hot single girls, you stayed back at the booth with your girlfriends, Josh, and Boone.

Drinks flowed as easily as the conversation, as usual, and up until about 11 p.m. there was nowhere else you’d’ve rather been. Until Charlie texted you.

“Uh oh, Chuck’s at it again.”

Josh was peaking over your shoulder.

“Would you stop being nosey?” you growled, angling your body away from him so he couldn’t read your texts—most of which were ‘u up’ texts. “And stop calling him Chuck. It makes it sound like I’m sleeping with a father of three.”

“You might as well be,” Boone said. He dodged the rolled-up napkin you sent his way with a chuckle.

The boys always liked to chirp you for your taste in guys, but Charlie was by far their favorite to make fun of because of the eight-year age gap you shared.

“Remember when YN would stay out past midnight?” Boone mused.

“Yeah, I do,” Josh sighed dreamily. “But then she got wifed up by a silver fox.”

“A silver fox?” you asked, trying your hardest to suppress the grin on your lips. “He has black hair.”

“That’s because he probably dyes it.”

More giggles fell from their mouths until you glared at them and their mouths snapped shut.

You met Charlie on a dating app and while things hadn’t progressed past that one night of dinner and drinks, you didn’t mind the casual sex that resulted from it. It was exactly what you needed at this point of your life—no strings attached.

I just called you a car. Should be there in 10 minutes.

You took the final swig of your drink and stood. The boys’ eyes followed your movement, knowing smiles on their lips.

“I’ll see you guys later this week, yeah?”

You said your goodbyes, ignoring the last-minute jabs the boys wanted to get in, and began to search the bar for Seth. You spotted him at a table across the bar with a gaggle of petite girls and Pierre by his side. The moment you looked over at them, Pierre caught your eye.

You started walking over as he checked the time on his watch. 11:45 p.m. You never left before midnight.

Seth opened his arms as you approached and you folded into them as you said your goodbyes. Something about the interaction had Pierre turning away to talk to the girls they’d met. It was the same pit in his stomach type of feeling he got whenever you were around, whenever you embraced the other boys with a quick peck on the cheek or laughed at one of their shitty jokes.

He heard you say your final goodbye to Seth and your shoulder brushed against his back unknowingly as you avoided saying goodbye to him. He almost let you go unbothered, but his need to talk to you just once more was overwhelming. At the very last second, he turned and caught your elbow.

“Who’s got you running off before midnight, Cinderella?”

“It’s funny you think you deserve an answer to that question,” you growled, pulling your arm out of his grasp in disgust. He leaned back against the table with a smile. Your eyes flickered to the girls behind him, one with a glare set on you as she sipped her drink.

A lightbulb went off above your head.

You stepped forward, squeezing yourself between Pierre and Seth’s bodies to get a word in with the girls around the table.

“Can I offer you all some free advice?” you asked, even though you were going to give it to them anyway. “This one,” you spoke, nodding to Pierre. You dropped your voice to a whisper and the girls inched forward to catch your words. “He’s been around the block, if you know what I mean. I’d make sure he wraps it before he taps it. Who knows the last time he’s gotten tested?”

You slipped out from between the boys, ignoring the curses that fell from Pierre’s lips as you walked away.

---

You left Charlie’s at 7 the next morning. Although you tried not to make a habit of sleeping at his apartment, there were some nights that you ignored the voice inside your head. You dressed yourself in the outfit from the night before and stepped into his bathroom to check your make-up and fix your hair before allowing the world to see you in all your one night stand glory.

Last night was one of the worst nights you’d spent with him. He was off from the moment you got in the door to the moment he fell asleep after finishing. You ended up completely unsatisfied and if you hadn’t been as tired as you were, you probably would’ve gone home to bring your own self to orgasm since he so clearly couldn’t.

As you shut his front door behind you, another door in the hall shut. You looked up to see which neighbor had entered the hallway and immediately felt your stomach drop.

“This? This is the place you ran off to last night?” Pierre was standing at the next door over. He looked astounded, eyes flickering between you and the door you’d just come out of. “You’re fucking my neighbor? Isn’t he like 40?”

“You live here?” you asked, eyes wide as you took in the sight of Pierre in front of you. His hair was still messy from sleep, but he was dressed in his Blue Jackets workout gear and on his way out the door.

“I moved in at the beginning of the season,” he answered. He stepped forward and you stepped backwards in response. “But you wouldn’t know that because you didn’t come to my housewarming party.”

You didn’t think he was serious when he extended the invite, and you were almost positive your response was along the lines of ‘I’d never step foot inside your house.’

With a scoff, you turned and continued down the hall. He was hot on your heels the entire way to the elevator and slowed to a stop to wait beside you when you pressed the down button. You were surprised when he didn’t immediately start digging deeper about your night. He was more preoccupied with whatever was on his phone than you, thankfully, though you were certain once he had you in the enclosed space of the elevator he’d start prying.

When the doors of the elevator finally opened, Pierre stepped in and held his hand out to keep the doors open for you. You stayed put.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” you said stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. He let out a dry laugh, eyes rolling before grabbing your arm and pulling you into the confined space with him.

The doors shut.

“You’re fucking dramatic.”

The elevator began its descent to the lobby and, all the while, you could feel him watching you.

“Can you stop?” you spat, shooting him a glare from the other corner of the elevator.

He studied you for a moment before asking, “Quiet in bed?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you quiet in bed?” he asked, slower this time, like you were too stupid to understand what he said before. You couldn’t find the words to answer, jaw ajar as your brain tried to catch up to his question. “I’m only asking because I’m pretty sure Charlie and I share a bedroom wall, and his place was completely silent last night.”

“You’re a pig.”

Pierre chuckled, satisfied with the reaction he’d gotten out of you, and continued talking, “Unless he can’t get you off.”

“Familiar with that problem, huh?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answered.

“As far as you know,” you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. The last place in the world you wanted to be was with Pierre in this elevator and you wanted him to know that.

“Not that you will ever get the chance to experience it yourself, but I know my way around the bedroom,” Pierre countered easily. Too easily.

“Mmm,” you hummed, “I’m sure, what, with your body count in the hundreds probably. Statistically, you would have to have gotten at least 50% off.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know how many girls I have in my bed every week,” Pierre grinned, his ego oozing out of his every word.

“Not even a little bit,” you sighed. Your fingers came up to your temple as you tried to rub away the migraine that was beginning to take form. “Where you put your dick is of no concern to me, unless you decide to put it in a blender. Then, and only then, will I give a shit.”

“See, I think you care an awful lot more than you let on, princess,” Pierre said. Your face twisted in disgust at the pet name. “And I think that no matter how much you want to hate me, you really don’t. You’re just jealous that I’m not fucking you.”

That pushed you over the edge, the ounce of patience that you had left in your system had been blown to pieces with that comment.

“Would you pull your head out of your ass for once in your life, Pierre?” you spat. “I wouldn’t let you touch me with a ten foot pole, much less your filthy dick. My sex life is none of your god damn business. Actually, scratch that, my life is none of your business. I only put up with you because we run in the same group of friends, so don’t try and get cute with me. If I had things my way I would never have even met you, much less learned your name.”

Pierre opened his mouth to speak, likely to try and counter everything you had just said with a dig, but you held your hand up to silence him.

“We don’t have to like each other, Pierre, but you don’t have to be such a raging asshole about it. I thought at some point you might get tired of being a complete dick but your endurance is impressive, I’ll give you that. So listen to me carefully when I tell you I want nothing to do with you.”

The elevator stopped at the lobby and you made a beeline to the front door of the lobby to begin your walk home in silence. Beautiful, peaceful, Pierre-less silence.

---

The silence didn’t last long.

You were halfway through your skin care routine when your phone rang, piercing through the otherwise quiet apartment. Across your home screen, your sister’s name flashed over a goofy photo from New Years.

“What do you want?” you asked after swiping to accept. Your sister’s face filled the screen with a fake offended look on it. You giggled. “Listen, Sadie, the only time I’ve heard from you since you moved back to school has been because you needed me to do something for you.”

“Okay, well,” she started. You raised your eyebrows at her in amusement. You knew this was coming. “It’s not really me who needs something.”

“Which one of your friends needs something then?”

“Mom,” she said with a laugh. Confusion flashed over your features, so she continued, “My friends are all going home next weekend and I decided I’d do the same because why would I want to be here without them, right?” You nodded as she rambled on. “But when I told Mom I wanted to come home, she told me that her and Dad are going to be out of town.”

“They’re going away?”

“Yeah, and she doesn’t want me home alone.”

You laughed out loud. It was so typical of your mom to not trust Sadie to be home alone for a few days. She turned 21 months ago and yet she still wasn’t trusted by your parents. You couldn’t say you blamed them. Sadie wasn’t exactly the most responsible.

“Stay at school then.”

“See, I was gonna do that,” she trailed off. “But she already bought me a plane ticket to see you.” Your jaw dropped, but you closed it at the sight of your sister’s apologetic face. “I’m really sorry, but on the brightside, I can finally party with you and all your boy toys! Especially the French one you hate so much,” she said his name in a French accent, “Pierre Luc Dubois, or whatever his sexy ass name is.”

And that was exactly what you were worried about.

#pierre luc dubois fic #pierre luc dubois story #pierre luc dubois imagine #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #dancing with our hands tied fic #mk writes #hockey fic #hockey story #nhl story #nhl fic #columbus blue jackets fic #columbus blue jackets imagine

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beerecordings · 4 years ago

Text

Marvin’s Cage - Part Five

One l Two l Three l Four

“Hey. Marv. Hey, wake up.”

He's dreaming about his cats and his bed. He's warm. It's nice. Hands shake him gently and someone's laughing.

“Marv. Dumbass. Get up, come on.”

“What?” he crabs, his eyes slitting open. “Go 'way.”

Wait, why are they all here? Are you kidding?

“Hey!” he snaps at all three of his brothers, shoving Chase's shoulders. “You dicks, get out of my room! Fuck, it's midnight!”

But they don't stop laughing and smiling at him. “Come on!” calls Jackie, grabbing his hands and yanking him forcefully out of bed. “It is now officially your birthday.”

“You're three!” teases Henrik. “Congrats!”

“Oh, so you're torturing me by waking me up? That's my present? We – ”

“We're taking you stargazing,” says Chase, stealing one of his hands from Jackie. “Get dressed and we'll go. I borrowed Stace's car. We can go to that clearing you like.”

Marvin stares, mouth parted. Jackie steps forward and closes it gently.

“What – all three of you?”

“Yeah, pal,” says Jackie, clapping his shoulder. “It's your special day.”

“Henrik, don't you have work?”

“Took the day off,” he answers, and, true to his word, he's wearing comfy sweatpants and a hoodie instead of scrubs. Marvin's not sure he's ever seen Henrik in a hoodie and sweatpants. “Or, well, the night, you know.”

“And Chase is awake?”

“And sober,” answers Chase mildly, hearing the rest of the question in the air around them. “We're all wanting to go, Marv. Look, I even packed nighttime dinner. Your favorite roast beef sandwich and raspberries and cocoa cookies and sodas.”

“Health disaster,” says Henrik, turning to leave his room. “You're going to love it. Let's go.”

Marvin scrambles to get his coat and pants on. He can't believe the way his heart is racing.

For the first time in a while, he thinks he might be excited for something.

They go to the park at one in the morning and eat and talk and watch the stars, just the four of them. Marvin shows off his magic without fear of anyone seeing or making fun and his brothers are enchanted, encouraging, laughing, awed, attentive. Chase made them food just like he always used to when he had any energy and he's clinging to Marvin's every word just like the old days, the two of them often resting side-by-side or their hands joined together. Marvin calls him his favorite star in the sky. He and Henrik talk for thirty minutes straight about physics and magic without once snapping at each other and things feel good and easy between them. Henrik kisses his cheek just for his birthday and tells him he loves him.

And Jackie is looking at him like –

Oh, wait.

For a second, all Marvin could see was that great glowing love in his eyes. This relieved adoration, this pride of his at seeing them all well and happy and in love with each other. This pride for his family.

But for a second, when Marvin turns away from the spinning, dancing night sky and meets Jackie's soft eyes fixed on him, he sees...

Fear.

Part of him is reaching out to his older brother the moment he sees it. Jackie is never afraid of anything, so what would make him scared about the four of them watching the stars together? About his family being together?

He realizes he doesn't want to know.

So his hand falls. He doesn't touch Jackie. Jackie blinks, realizing he's looking back at him, and returns to himself, smiling blankly. He turns quickly back to the sky.

Marvin looks away too. He won't let that unnerve him. He's got Chase and Henrik leaning against him and it's his birthday and everything's okay.

“Jackie,” he says, getting to his feet. He grabs his brother's hand. “Come on.”

“What?”

“Race you to the bottom?”

There's a hill in the park almost as tall as the trees. A straight path of grass leads to the bottom. Jackie laughs aloud.

“You are on, you little witch.”

He throws himself off the side of the hill like Buttercup after her pirate and Marvin follows after. They go tumbling down the hill like kids and he can hear Jackie howling with laughter, with the levity of it, with the stupidity and the unimportance and the relief. Their sleep pants are stained green with the grass and they wind up crashing together at the bottom, in the leaves and twigs of the trees, laughing on their backs and looking up at the stars. Jackie grabs Marvin's hand and then, a moment later, all but throws himself on top of his body and squeezes him so close that Marvin fears for his ribs. But it only lasts a moment.

Jackie draws away again. Neither of them say anything. Marvin takes his hand in return and they lie there.

They get milkshakes afterwards from a twenty-four hour diner, just to hear Henrik give them all a lecture about sugar. Jackie orders him a Snickers mix milkshake anyway and after a moment of regarding the cup warily, Henrik eats the whole thing with a sort of satisfaction Marvin knows he rarely gives himself.

“I have the day off tomorrow, too,” he tells Marvin as he finishes, looking over at him with those crystal blue eyes. Marvin is warm and full and drowsy and lost in his love for all of them, admiring them all. His little brothers grew up so lovely and clever. Three years, wow. He's lucky he's had them for most of that. “So we can hang out. Watch a movie, maybe.”

“Yeah, we could rent that new Wes Anderson one you wanted to see,” suggests Chase. “And we'll open your presents.”

Marvin sits up a little. “What – you're serious? We can hang out all day tomorrow, too?”

“Yeah,” agree both of his little brothers immediately.

“For your birthday,” adds Jackie gently, and Marvin looks over just in time to catch the perfect smile on the face of his tough, steady, wonderful older brother.

Shit, he really is sappy tonight. He laughs and leans his head on Chase's shoulder, sticking another spoonful of mint chocolate milkshake in his mouth.

“I'd really like that,” he says softly, letting his eyes close. “I really would.”

He's missed this.

Things were really, really hard there for a while.

When JJ was sick and he felt like he couldn't confide at all in the others, he was falling apart. There were a couple times he was even thinking about... well, it's not worth dwelling on. He didn't do anything rash and he's grateful now. He's finding his health and his joy again after months of guilty nausea and repeated panic attacks. No more sleeping whole days away or breaking down every time he looked at his brothers. He's coming to terms with his life, and not only that – he made change for the better.

After what felt like hundreds of agonizing decisions, he made one that has just about saved his life: he started to love Jameson Jackson.

His baby brother.

He started to take care of him.

And so it is that, returning from that trip to the park at three in the morning, Marvin finds himself pressing through that mirror in his bedroom – “I'm not so faraway,” he whispers as password, disappearing into the dimension beyond the glass – and going to see his JJ.

“Hey, penguin,” he says, smiling as he comes towards the box. “Hey, I know it's late, but we went to a diner and I got – James! Hey!”

He's crumpled on the floor of the box, white as bleach. Blood runs from his nose, enough to puddle on the floor beside him. Marvin's first instinct is to rush in there with him, but he knows better by now. He grips the bars of his cage and leans forward, panting.

“Petit-o,” he calls, voice shaking. “You gotta show me it's you and not Anti. Is he still in there with you?”

Jamie shifts slightly, fingers clutching at the wood of the floor, but his eyes don't open. Marvin swears and readies his magic, letting it burn against his fingers as he unlocks the side door and pushes inside.

“Penguin, hey.” He falls to his knees beside him and hauls him into his arms, stroking at his bloodied face. “I'm here, sugar. Fuck, I swear you're more sick every time he comes...”

He rocks JJ for long minutes, sitting back against the wall of the box and singing to him, stroking his hair. He swears at himself, breathing out deep. What's the point of keeping him here if he can't even keep Anti out?

(To keep JJ in. He knows. But the more attached he gets to him, the less that feels like enough.)

JJ stirs weakly and Marvin is shushing him before he's even fully conscious, rocking again. He knows Jamie wakes up scared every time Anti comes to “visit.” How he shakes and cries and tells Marvin the worst fucking stories about the things he did to him while he was Anti's prisoner instead of Marvin's. Marvin cups JJ's head to his chest.

“Brother,” JJ signs, clinging to his shirt a moment later. 'Brother,' simple as it is, is the closest thing Marvin has to a sign name. Sometimes he'll be M-Brother, but other than that, JJ only calls him that – 'brother.'

“I'm here, I promise,” says Marvin. “Is it just you? Is he gone?”

Jameson's head flops back like he'll pass out again. Marvin gasps and grabs his skull, holding him up. “James? Shit, you're hot. Oh, no, oh, no...”

Please don't be sick again. Please, please, please. When he had that cough that went so deep in his lungs and his fever spiked... Marvin almost brought him to Henrik. He was terrified for weeks.

“I've got you, I've got you.”

“Brother,” repeats JJ wearily. “No, it's just me. Just me.”

Marvin kisses his face, breathing out harshly. “That's good. How do you feel?”

“Just need to rest a little while, I think.”

He carries him over to his mattress and they lie down together. This more than anything else always soothes Jamie. Just being able to be beside him. The second they're done, weak as he is, JJ is wrapping himself around Marvin tight, tight, tight, arms and legs.

“Okay, octopus,” laughs Marvin, hugging him back. “I'm here. It's okay.”

“Sorry he came on your birthday,” signs JJ morosely.

Marvin draws back in surprise. “Hey. How'd you know about that?”

“He told me,” answers JJ, like it's obvious. Marvin feels his stomach twist a little.

“Why?”

JJ shrugs, shaking his head at him with those big, pretty-boy eyes. Marvin smiles, scratching at his beard.

“He's a creep,” he says.

JJ doesn't laugh, face reddening slightly. This is something they're working on – JJ's lasting fear of Anti. He doesn't make fun of him or criticize him, not even when he tells Marvin stories of torture. The worst part is when he says things like “but he did it because I was being bad.”

Marvin sighs and hugs him again. “I'm working on a way to keep him away from you.”

JJ looks up at him. He doesn't say anything or make a face, but Marvin sees the doubt in his eyes.

“I mean it, penguin. For the longest time, all the spells I was looking at required two people, and I didn't have anyone I could trust. But my friend Quinton, well, his cousin Therese is in town for a couple weeks, and they're both magicians. Turns out she's very well-versed in possession magic and mental shit like that. I think she might be able to help me get something done.”

“I'm just glad you're here,” says JJ. “Happy birthday. Got you something.”

“What? Did you? In here?”

What could he have got him in here?

“Well, it's a little silly,” says JJ, beginning to sit up a little. “You don't have to... listen.”

“No, no, sugar, I'm sure it's great,” says Marvin, sitting up with him. “I just wasn't expecting it.”

Jamie smiles at him uncertainly and points beside Marvin, where a worn violin rests on the wall beside them, opening and closing his hand to say “give.”

Marvin blinks.

“You wrote something for me,” he says.

JJ smiles at him.

That... that’s too much.

Marvin draws slightly back, unsettled. Jameson's face falls, his eyes widening. He clutches his hands against his stomach, immediately beginning to shake.

“No, it's – don't, okay? Don't do that. You freak out real easy sometimes and it's not – JJ, no.”

That was the wrong thing to say. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” JJ signs rapidly, eyes slightly blown. “I'm not freaking out. I won't. I'm good, I promise promise promise promise promise – ”

“Babe.” Marvin grips his fingers. “Stop. Breathe.”

JJ tries. There's this horrible, too-wide smile on his face that Marvin recognizes all too well – his “please don't leave me, I can be good” smile. No matter how much time he spends with him, it's always there the moment JJ thinks he's done anything wrong.

“Just calm down. It's okay.”

JJ nods immediately, giving Marvin his best puppy-dog eyes, just like Anti taught him. Marvin's gut rolls.

Things have come so far between them, but... shit, this kid wrote him a song. It's... too much. Overwhelming and intimate. He wanted to make things better between them, but he's just getting so, so attached. He doesn't think he can take it.

“I brought you pie,” he says gently. He hands it to him and some of the panic melts off JJ's shoulders as he takes it. He doesn't get presents when he's bad. “You’re a darling, but it's real late. I think I better get to bed, okay? And you too. You're not feeling good.”

“Couldn't you... no.”

He saw it in JJ's face that he was about to ask him to stay with him for the night. It's something he's done only a couple times, but Marvin knows he's wanted it for the longest time. Wanted it desperately.

“My brothers and I are going to hang out tomorrow, so they'll look for me in the morning,” explains Marvin. “Maybe another night, though.”

He's said this every time JJ's asked. They've never done it, though.

It's too much.

“Good night, penguin. I'll come see you again tomorrow.”

“Okay, Brother.”

Marvin kisses his forehead and draws away, leaving him with a smile.

“I love you,” signs JJ.

“Sleep tight, starlight,” answers Marvin softly, stepping out of the cage.

He heads back towards the mirror. He thinks that JJ thinks he's gone even before he goes through – that's probably why he hears his little brother throw his violin at the wall of his prison before he's even made it back in his room.

And Marvin's stomach rolls, but he doesn't go back.

He wants to be his friend – wants to be his brother, even – but he's not ready to love him the way he loves the others. He couldn't do this to them. He has to do it to JJ. He can't love him like that. Can't.

JJ knows that.

He's known it for every single day of his life.

Not worth loving.

He stares out at his reflection in the endless mirrors on his every side, seeing his caged face in the glass, and cries his despair at the stupid, broken, useless person who looks back at him.

“You sure about this, Jackie?”

“I just want to get a quick look around. Make sure there's nothing in there that shouldn't be. He got so sick. And so...”

“I know the secrets are what kill you. But it's his private place. He doesn't like people in there even when he's there too.”

“Schneep, he makes it clearer and clearer every day that he has no plans to tell us anything about what's going on, and he's only barely starting to get any color back. He could relapse on whatever this is – drugs, purging, some guy treating him like shit. I can't watch another brother get addicted to something and fall apart without even trying to stop it. I just – I just can't.”

“Jackie...”

“You get that. I know you get that. Schneep. Hey. Look at me.”

“Fine, yes... okay, I get that. I think you should check his room.”

“I'll be fast. Just keep him watching the movie and I'll slip in. Five minutes to look around and I'm out again.”

“And if you find something?”

“Then we'll figure it out from there. Together.”

“That was cheesy.”

“You're cheesy.”

“Good one.”

“Go watch your movie, you little ass. I'll see you in a little while. Hey – hey. I love you.”

“I love you too, cheeseball. Hey, just be quick in there. We don't want to risk seeing Marvin upset on his birthday of all days. Okay?”

“Got it.”

In the living room, he can hear Chase and Marvin chatting while their movie plays. He watches Henrik head towards them, pushing his glasses up on his face.

Then he turns to Marvin's room, and he slips inside.

Marvin and Chase and Henrik watch a movie about dogs.

It's not really about the movie. It's about the time. They're one of those families that always talks through movies, and Jackie can hear them from the other room, chattering and laughing and sharing – okay, stealing – popcorn. They haven't had enough time for each other lately. Once this is over, he'll go out and sit with them too. See if they can't squish all four of them together on the couch and just spend time together again. At ease. Friends.

That's all he wants. Anyway, everything looks normal in Marvin's room. There's nothing more concerning than a pen knife, Melatonin, and several terrifying-looking magical books scattered around the room, but that's all par-for-the-course with his little brother. Jackie runs his fingers over a picture of the pair of them and Jack together, smiling down at him. He acts so tough, but his witch is a cheeseball too. They're two pieces of the same heart, if you want to know Jackie's opinion. When he was young and all but alone, Marvin was what made the world worth living in.

He sets the picture down on the dresser and takes one more look around the room. He looked under and inside the mattress, checked the drawers, looked for hiding places in the walls and floors. He smiles at himself in the mirror, letting out a breath of relief. He lets his fingers ghost across its surface too. He's tactile, Jackie. Needs to touch everything. There's a familiarity to this mirror.

They used to use it together, you know. Marvin and Jackie. After Jack moved to England, they stayed in Ireland for a few months. They would go see him through the glass. It was easy. Marvin set up the magic and he gave Jackie the password. After they moved to Brighton, they stopped using it.

There's nothing back there now.

Right?

Still, he's feeling nostalgic. He wonders if maybe it would still take him to Jack's house. Or if that long hallway of mirrors is still the same. They used to race through it together, chattering about seeing their friend again. Back when he was awake... back when Marvin was just his little brother in a cheap cape, trusting him with everything... back when things were easy.

He pushes his hands against the mirror.

Marvin laughs in the other room and the others join in. Jackie smiles. He loves them. He'll just take a quick look, and then he'll go sit with them, and steal all their popcorn, and laugh when they laugh.

“I'm not so faraway,” he whispers.

His hand passes through the mirror.

And oh.

Oh.

There is something back there.

There is someone back there.

They are playing a melody on a violin, a song as warm and as sweet as tea in the winter. There is a bitterness underneath. Lemon tea. A love song. A song of despair.

A birthday song.

This is the moment Jackie's world dies.

#marvin's cage #bee writes #writers of jack #jameson jackson #marvin the magnificent #self hatred tw

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mnictasbcl · 3 years ago

Text

Winter woes

For #dbhcolorsofdeviancy, prompt:

June 8th: Caring for a sick human @connor-sent-by-cyberlife

Rating: Teen

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson

Relationships: Connor & Hank Anderson

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Care, Cold/Flu, Fluff, Swearing, Fever, Worry

Summary: Hank catches a cold, and Connor tries to look after him.

Story below! Or, read it on AO3

When Hank woke up, and then promptly fell back into bed with a groan, Connor was already on the phone to Fowler, taking a day off work for the both of them.

He was concerned to see the pale sheen over the man’s face, the shivers racking over his body and the dreariness in his eyes. Whilst Connor understand human sickness, in the short time he’d known Hank, the man had never been sick.

But of course, after the Revolution ended, Winter came, and brought it with it her spell of cold, biting air. Being out in that sort of weather for long periods of time, necessary due to the nature of their job, was bound to cause an ailment at some point.

“Should I take you to the hospital?” Connor asked as he stood in the doorway to Hank’s bedroom, concern obvious on his face. “Winter colds in older people can tend to be—”

“Hey, watch it! Just because I’m sick, don’t think I won’t come over there and—” he was cut off by a sneeze.

“Actually, I am starting to doubt if you can come over here…”

Despite the worry evident in Connor’s tone, Hank took the light side of that remark and rolled over to face the android. “That’s it, you little shit.” Without another moment’s warning, he was out of bed, stumbling across the room.

Connor grabbed a blanket off the chair, and caught Hank in it burrito-style, wrapping it around him before pushing him gently onto the bed.

“You must rest, Lieutenant. Your body needs time to heal.”

Hank scoffed. “Doesn’t mean I’m an invalid.”

“It does mean you need looking after.” In that moment, Connor had it decided. In the background, researching remedies to human colds, he turned to leave the room. “Let me look after you, Hank. At least… to make up for all the times you’ve looked after me.”

“Yeah, like after you’ve been stabbed or something? Not just a little cold!”

But it was notable that Hank remained in bed, heeding his orders.

So Connor set about, gathering up the necessary items to tackle looking after a sick (and stubborn) human. He grabbed a box of tissues, a bucket, ice packs, blankets. These were dumped in the corner of Hank’s bedroom, before he was quickly out again, getting a glass of water and heating up some soup out of the fridge.

Everything was set in place around Hank. The problem was… how exactly did he go about looking after Hank when he was sick? He had all the items he needed. But this didn’t appear to be a task he could quickly follow a step-by-step ticklist to.

“I… would you like anything, Lieutenant?”

Hank pulled open an eye, looking at him with a frown. “Yeah. First, stop calling me that.”

“Noted.”

“Two, maybe… I could smell some soup cooking. Well, if you have any, bring it here. Or if you weren’t cooking any, then I’m delirious and please bring me some anyway.”

Connor nodded, grabbing the soup off the side table, and bringing it over to the man. Getting closer, he could see the exhaustion on his features, from the bags under his eyes to the weakness in his limbs as he attempted to pick up the bowl.

But he managed. Sick Hank was still Hank, only a lot grumpier and ten times more stubborn. At least, he seemed to be now accepting Connor’s help.

He was ready to take away the bowl and place it in the kitchen once the man was finished. When done, he resumed standing in the doorway, waiting for his next task to help.

It was soon given. “Stop standing and staring at me like that; it’s creepy.”

Connor nodded, instead moving to sit more casually on the armchair beside Hank’s bed. He still stared, but more discreetly this time.

Hank seemed to be okay, aside from the symptoms ailing him. Also, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling—Connor noted he looked quite bored.

“Would you like me to bring you anything to do, L—Hank? Perhaps Sumo could come in?”

“God, no.” Hank shook his head. “I love the big lug, but he’ll climb all over me, and I feel too much like shit for that.” He thought it over. “Usually, I watch the TV when I’m feeling like this…”

Connor glanced ahead of them. “I could always bring the TV set in? It might take a little while and some fixing up, but—”

Hank laughed, before breaking into a few coughs. “No. You’re too much. I meant I could go and watch TV in the other room.”

“But you’re sick.” Connor fired back. “You should be resting.”

“Eh, I can rest in there. Just bring the blankets.”

Connor nodded, and set to work helping Hank get up. At first, the man was persistent, completely wanting to get there by himself. But after stumbling on the first few steps, he eventually accepted the android’s help.

As he helped Hank into the living room, Connor noted this… this felt like a change. A mix-up in their usual dynamic. Usually, Hank was stopping him from doing something stupid (and then looking after him when he did the stupid thing and paid the price).

This was the reverse. And he couldn’t say he enjoyed the concern, hoping that the Lieutenant wouldn’t overextend himself, or the worry about the mild illness ailing him.

But the concern was alleviated once Hank was sitting down on the couch. He propped up his legs on a footrest (i.e. Sumo), and then draped a blanket over him, despite Hank trying to bat him away.

The water was brought in, placed on the table. Everything was once again set in place. Hank seemed to be faring better than he had been upon waking up in the morning. He was content to watch TV, Sumo with him, blankets keeping away the uncomfortable shivers that had previously been wracking his body.

Even so, before he could settle, Connor located a thermometer from the bathroom cabinet and stuck it in Hank’s mouth.

“Your temperature appears to be slightly above optimal, but not in a dangerous range. Perhaps you would do well without the blankets—”

But as soon as he reached out to take them, Hank grabbed them, giving him a glare.

“Alright,” Connor relented, “the blankets can stay. But if your temperature rises any further in the next hour, I will have to start removing them.” He took Hank’s silence as agreeing, albeit reluctantly.

Stepping back, he couldn’t see anything else that would need doing to help the sick man. So he moved to sit on the chair opposite the couch, relaxing back slightly, eyes flickering to the TV.

The concern was still lingering in his processors, but, being able to tell the man’s temperature and vitals from where he sat (What? He’d panicked before when he got the thermometer), he felt a sense of ease.

And it wasn’t long before the ever-so-stubborn Lieutenant had drifted off to sleep, head askew on his shoulders, snoring softly. Connor chuckled. Their dynamic, for today, had indeed changed. But maybe… it wasn’t so bad. Experiencing these new emotions as a deviant was certainly troublesome at times, with the concern and worry from knowing his partner was unwell, but being able to remedy that, and being able to feel the relief that came with it… maybe that made it worth it, after all.

#dbhcolorsofdeviancy #dbh #detroit become human #dbh hank #dbh connor #dbh hank and connor #sickfic #fanfic #dbh fanfic

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notyourdayrdream · 3 years ago

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Summer’s Almost Over (So Come Spend it with Me)

Day Twelve, Side A: Exacerbate

read it here on AO3!

Blaine Anderson’s never been lucky in love.

His first crush was in third grade on Jim Hawkins from Treasure Planet. Oh he’d almost burned the DVD out from watching it too much. His crush ended when his brother accidentally broke the disc and Blaine couldn’t watch the animated teen anymore. Plus, all of the other little boys were crushing on girls, ones that were real and not animated. Most importantly they were girls. So he put crushes on the backburner for a while.

His next crush was in seventh grade, on Joey Partmon. Joey was new from Texas, which may have well been a foreign country to him and the other private school kids Blaine went to school with. He was tanned under his school mandated uniform, with dark freckles and floppy red hair. Blaine loved his deep southern accent and the way he twirled his pencil around in his hand when he was bored. They weren’t close, Blaine wasn’t outgoing enough to say ‘hi,’ and Joey moved away that summer. But he did dream about kissing him on more than one occasion. That’s when he realized he was gay.

Freshman year’s candidate was Ryan Night.

He went to a public school then. He and Ryan were the only two boys in their choir, which already put a huge target on their backs, not to mention the fact they were both gay. Blaine still doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, but he was able to hide it. Ryan wasn’t as lucky. But it didn’t matter, they were friends, brought together by this horrible thing they had to deal with. The whole situation turned into something beautiful. So when Blaine asked Ryan to homecoming, he expected everything to go fine.

He’d be proved wrong, of course. So he took a break from crushing for a little while. In fact, he took a break on everything, for about a year.

Everything was different when he came to Dalton. The kids, the students, the zero tolerance bullying policy. It all kept him safe. So he joined the Warblers and became their leading man, not because he was gay or straight, but because he was good. They kind of idolized him, and he suddenly had this giant group of friends. That’s when he met Jeremiah.

Maybe it was because he was finally out and proud, but his crush on Jeremiah felt so different. It was almost like love. He was older and wiser than Blaine, and so so cute. And as the days ticked on and the boy was all he could think about, he decided he had to do something, and he had to do something big.

Safe to say that totally backfired. Blaine promised himself to never let a crush get that serious again, not until he was sure. And that plan had worked, until now. Because he met Kurt Hummel.

They actually met at NYADA, at a Midnight Madness competition.

Blaine had been dragged there by his friend Leslie, who wasn’t actually a singer but a dancer, she just liked drama. So he went, dressed in sweatpants and a Dalton hoodie, and sat in the back. The whole place was honestly just a giant fire hazard, and the heat from the candles was making him sweaty. They were waiting on someone apparently. Rachel Berry, the senior who had won last year. Blaine knew she had a reputation of being a diva, but good Lord she was taking forever. The crowd of theatre geeks was becoming antsy.

“Wait!” The door opened and shut in a swift motion, blowing out a few candles by the entrance. The young man’s chest heaved, like he had just run all this way. “Rachel’s out sick. But I’m here, I’ll do it in her place. The dim light blocked out most of his face, but Blaine could see the outline of him; slim and tall with a smile that lit up the room. Was it weird to be attracted to a shadow?

The moderator nodded. “That’s fine, Kurt, we just need someone to challenge you,” he said. Kurt stepped into the ring in the center of the room and took Blaine’s breath away.

It had to be illegal to look this good at twelve in the morning. Whereas everyone else was dressed in casual clothes and pajamas, Kurt wore tight jeans and a cream sweater so soft Blaine wanted to reach out and touch it. His pale skin was painted tan from the candlelight and his hair stood so high and perfectly coiffed on his head Blaine was sure it must have taken hours to fix.

“I’ll do it,” Blaine offered, cringing at himself when every pair of eyes turned to him. He could have smacked himself in the forehead. He didn’t come here to compete, he didn’t even come for the drama. He was going to horribly embarrass himself and be forced to switch careers. Slowly and on shaky legs, he made his way to the center of the room.

Kurt smirked and said, “You’re going down.” But his eyes were gleaming with mischief. Blaine almost smiled himself, but the moderator whispered that Kurt will go first and Blaine could sit back down. The song is announced, or whisper-yelled, to be “On My Own” from Les Mis.

The music started and Kurt took a moment to close his eyes, drinking in the silence before performing. And then he sings. He floated atop the song like a leaf across water, dipping in and swirling through the melody. He sounded like he might cry, and Blaine felt a tear threatening to slip out of his eye. That’s when he knew he wouldn't win. Emotional ballads had never been his thing. And when only fifteen people gathered on his side of the room and waved their hands in silent applause, he didn’t care.

“Hey, Blaine is it?” Kurt asked when Midnight Madness had ended and students poured out the doors and back home or to bars. Blaine’s eyes went wide. Leslie spotted his fear and left without him, blonde braids swishing behind her. He was going to kill here.

“Yeah,” he replied, breathily as he turned around and finally got a good look at Kurt’s eyes. Icy blue and gorgeous, Blaine felt stripped down under his gaze. “You were really amazing, I mean obviously since you won but…”

Kurt bit his lip to hide his smile, and Blaine guilty pocketed the moment for a later time. “Thanks, but you were great too. I couldn’t imagine being a freshman and being able to sing like that.”

“Ah, I’m actually in my third year,” Blaine said, rubbing at the back of his neck. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t do too many extracurriculars at NYADA, not any he imagined Kurt would also be a part of.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” Kurt apologized, face flushing pink. “Um, I was wondering if you wanted—”

“I should go,” Blaine interrupted, feeling more and more embarrassed as this whole ordeal went on. He honestly just wanted to go home and forget the whole thing even happened.

Kurt actually looked a bit upset for a brief second, but he caught himself quickly and went back to his bright smile. Props of being an actor. “Right, well, it was nice meeting you, Blaine.” He nodded and walked off and out of the glass double doors.

This time, Blaine did smack himself on the forehead. He was so stupid. Kurt was going to ask him out, wasn’t he? Or at least for coffee, everybody drinks coffee super late. He trudged out of the doors and down to the subway, trying his best to not think of himself as a total screw up when it came to love. But he did check Kurt’s Instagram on the ride home. Just to look.

“I’m going out! It’s my grandmother’s birthday and she misses me,” Leslie said even though Blaine already knew she was leaving. The red party dress he helped pick out popped against her dark skin.

He closed his journal and glanced at his roommate.“Tell her ‘happy birthday’ for me!” Leslie just kissed his cheek in response and shut the door behind her, leaving Blaine alone for another quiet evening.

It was finally summer, another year of college completed. Blaine had decided to stay in the city instead of going back home like a lot of students did. Not that he didn’t enjoy Ohio or his parents, he just didn’t feel like the cold small talk that would follow him the entire summer. The only thing he missed was the weather. It was a scorching summer this year in New York City, and Blaine had always preferred the cooler months. The whole city felt as though it had been placed in a boiling pot, and Blaine and Leslie spent most of their days inside at work or avoiding the heat. Their nights were spent partying on Leslie’s part, or curling up to watch a movie for Blaine.

If he were being honest with himself, he had no idea what he was going to do after college. Being a Broadway actor was no guarantee, if he would even make it there. He had heard of graduates from NYADA, bright eyed and filled with dreams, fizzle out like burning stars and end up in jobs that they didn’t even major in. Blaine couldn’t end up like that, he’d be proving his dad right.

So he had a moleskine journal filled with songs. The kind of music he sang in the shower. Poppy love ballads and short and brash breakup songs, even though he had never been broken up with before. The other people who had ever heard them were Leslie and Will, an ex-fling who he had mistakenly let get closer than he should have.

A set of sharp knocks at the door snapped him out of his thoughts.

“You have keys, Les!” Blaine yelled but got up anyway. She probably forgot her keys. The knocking didn’t stop until Blaine swung the door open, gaping at the sight.

“Hi,” Kurt gasped, looking just as surprised as Blaine probably did. His hair was dripping wet, and he had...shower shoes on?

“Are you okay?” Blaine asked. “How do you know where I live?” He ushered Kurt inside.

“I don’t, and I am,” Kurt said, running a hand through his hair. “I saw Leslie leave and asked if she could help me and she said her roommate was home? I didn’t know you two lived together…” He glanced around their living room.

“Oh, we’re not dating, I’m gay.” Kurt’s eyebrows knitted together, that wasn’t what he was asking at all. What was it about this guy that turned Blaine into a complete idiot?

“Um, what did you need help with?”

“My shower isn’t working, and I have a date in an hour,” Kurt groaned. Blaine tried to make his heart stop freaking out at the mention of a date. They hadn’t spoken beyond Midnight Madness, save a nod in the hallways on the off chance they passed each other. “Can I use yours, please?” He pouted and poked his lip out, as if Blaine wouldn’t have said yes before.

He gulped. “Yeah, yeah. Of course.” He squeaked despite his best efforts and led Kurt to his bathroom. At least he didn’t have to worry about it being dirty. Leslie was a bit flighty, but they both shared their germaphobe tendencies.

“You just turn the water on like this.” Blaine twisted the knob left then right until it clicked to get the water to the hottest setting. When he turned back around, Kurt had already taken his shirt off. Blaine’s mouth went dry. When his biceps flexed when he moved to unbutton his pants, Blaine covered his eyes and shut the door as fast as he could, not wanting to further exacerbate the situation.

He was almost at his room, ready to bury his head into his pillow and just scream, when Kurt knocked on the bathroom door and said, “Stay?” So soft and barely loud enough over the rushing water that Blane just had to stay.

“I’m here,” he smiled and slid down the other side of the door until he was sitting. “What’s up with your date?” he asked, trying not to sound so bitter.

Water splashes the ground and Kurt yells through the door, “Oh, some guy kept asking me out, for like months. And I eventually just said yes.” Blaine heard a groan from inside the bathroom, and ignored the way all the blood rushed to his face. And other places.

“Do you even want to go out with him?” He didn’t mean to be nosey, truly. But the way Kurt described him, the guy kind of sounded like a dick.

It was a moment before Kurt responded. “I guess. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, so…” There was a soft click and the water stopped pouring.

“I get that. I’ve actually never had a boyfriend before, so the only dates I’ve had are usually followed by a messy hookup,” Blaine said. He didn’t know what it was about the whole ordeal that made him want to spill all of his secrets out. His head eventually caught up to what he said though. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“Come in here.”

Blaine shook his head from the narrow hallway. “No, no it’s, that’s–”

“Blaine. Come inside.” Kurt’s voice was deep and stern, but when the door opened, he was laughing softly. Blaine thanked God he was dressed, because he was totally prepared to faint if he wasn’t.

“I have a deal for you,” Kurt said, drying his hair with a towel. “If my date goes terrible, I’ll call you. If it goes well, I’ll still call you.” He grinned and handed Blaine his phone.

It was crazy how contagious his smile was. Blaine felt his lips tug upwards as he typed a smiley face next to his name. “What’s in it for you?”

Kurt rolled his eyes with that same smile on his face and took his phone back. “Getting to hear your voice, or course.” He squeezed past Blaine, who’s limbs had temporarily planted into the floor. “Thanks for the shower, Blaine.” He winked, freaking winked, and Blaine heard the door shut softly behind him.

He smiled alone to himself in his foggy bathroom and turned his ringer all the way up.

#spaceorphan’s sophisticated challenge: exacerbate #tan lines and tan hands #glee #blaine anderson #kurt hummel #two shot #klaine fanfiction #i’m back to writing oblivious blaine #my specialty

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yet-another-fan-girl9 · 4 years ago

Text

Inhuman (1)

Summary: All beings in the universe have a soulmate except for Midgardians. People can hear their soulmate in their heads. For almost five hundred and fifty years, Loki believed that he had no soulmate until 1513 when a Midgardian princess was born. Will fate be kind to them or will the universe tear them apart?

Warnings: violence, language, hella historical inaccuracies (I tried to do research but then got lazy), maybe some AOS season 2 spoilers(?)

Word Count: ~3400

A/N: Yay! The re-write is here! I changed it so now there are flashbacks and stuff and the chapters are longer! I’m also posting this chapter a day early because of reasons. Anyways, enjoy!

[New York, New York, March 2024]

‘Soulmates?’ You had never heard of the concept.

‘We are destined to be together. The universe made it so.’

You shot up in bed, a light sheen of sweat covered your body. Loki’s words replayed over and over in your head. You hadn’t heard his actual voice in so long but it was still as clear as if he was speaking to you now. It had been twelve years since you had seen him in Germany and he had tried to take over.

‘We are destined to be together.’

The words echoed in your mind. ‘Destined’ huh? Well, if you’d learned anything from the past four hundred and eighty-six years that you were not with Loki, it’s that the universe does a shit job at keeping you together. You ran your fingers through your hair, easily smoothing out the tangled mess. It was too early to think about Loki.

You slipped out of the silk sheets that covered your king-sized bed in your two-level, top floor Upper East Side penthouse. You were very proud of how far you had come. The view was amazing. You could see some of Central Park from one side and the stereotypical New York skyline from another.

As you walked out of your room, you caught your reflection in one of your full-sized mirrors. And that was definitely a nice view. When you came out of Terrigenesis almost five hundred years ago, you quickly discovered that you were now the blueprint for a perfect person. Straight, white teeth, surprisingly tameable hair, and clear, unblemished skin were some of the visually obvious changes. In addition to your perfected looks, you had increased senses, healing, strength, endurance, and your favorite, pain tolerance. Oh, and don’t forget you basically look twenty-five forever.

You checked your phone while you made breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. There were a couple of emails from your employees on their latest jobs. You opened one from Max, your right-hand man. You were reading over some job offers he had handpicked for you when you got a text from the man himself.

Bringing up some donuts!

Max was the only person from work to have access to your penthouse. He was your best friend. The two of you had met when you were at Afterlife nearly fifteen years ago. He was an Inhuman as well. All of your employees were Inhumans, using their specialties to carry out their jobs. Max had the power to change surfaces. It was a strange power, but he had learned to make it very useful. He could cause his pursuers to slip on the suddenly ice-like ground or climb up a glass skyscraper.

“Hello, bitch! I brought donuts!” Max called from the elevator.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Max walked in holding the goods. He always wore eccentric color-coordinated outfits. Even the times you saw him in stealth mode, he had to have some lace or frill somewhere. Today he wore a mixture of neon green and pink with matching eyeliner.

“Are Cosmo and Wanda disguising themselves as your clothes?” you asked.

“Haha,” he deadpanned. “I knew you were going to say something like that. You’re so fucking funny. Soo…” He plopped the three large donut boxes onto your kitchen counter. “Have you heard of the Avenger’s new quote-unquote recruit?”

“Um, I think it’s your job to keep tabs on heroes.” You opened the nearest box and happily pulled out your favorite donut.

“Okay. Number one: I’m not speaking to you as your right-hand, right now, but as your friend.” He held up his finger. “Number two: it’s not really a job if I do it in my free time anyways. You’re paying me to do something that I do on an hourly basis.”

“You stalk the Avengers on an hourly basis?”

“No? Anyways, number three: it’s Thor’s brother. It’s your Loki.”

“What the fuck?” you choke on your donut. Max was the only person who knew you that you and Loki had a history. And that’s all he knew. Nothing about soulmates or all that shit. “What the fuck, Max? Did you try to use donuts to soften the blow? Stop laughing.”

“I-I wish I had caught that reaction on camera,” he said in between fits of giggles.

“Haha,” it was your turn to deadpan. “Fuck, man. I guess we just have to double our efforts to keep ourselves off of their radar.”

“Do you think they’ve forgiven him for New York?” Max composed himself.

“I mean, they must have if they’re letting him join the team.” You chanced another bite of your donut.

“But lots of people haven’t.”

“Lots of people still haven’t forgiven Barnes,” you pointed out. You didn’t know when or why Loki had attacked New York. That Loki was nothing like the man who you had grown to love back in the 1500s. But you were nothing like that girl either.

“Have you chosen a new job from the list I sent you?” he changed the subject.

“No, not yet, and you have a little…” you motioned to the corner of your mouth.

Max got the hint and wiped some powder off of his mouth. You noticed the sprinkling of grey that was mixed into his curly black hair. He displayed the last fifteen years proudly while you remained unchanged. Max was the closest you’ve been to someone in a long time, and just like everyone before him, you would outlive him. But you would remember him. You remembered everyone. You remembered everything.

Right now, you thought of Agnes, your first real friend. She was your handmaiden and you had met right before everything went to shit. She had helped you cope after you underwent Terrigenesis, although you hadn’t known what it was back then. She had helped you run away and even died for you. You had only known her for nine years, but you compared everyone to her. Max held second place, right after Agnes.

“I think we should take the Senator’s offer,” Max said, jolting you out of your memories. He pulled up the offer on his iPad. “One million to off his upcoming competition.”

“Damn,” you whistled. “He’s desperate, isn’t he? Is there a deadline?”

“No, but I assume we should get it done quickly.”

“Send over the info.”

🌹

You shoved the flower into Jake Morano’s mouth. Blood from the bullet wound in his forehead trickled down until it turned the perfect, white rose red. You snapped a quick photo on your burner phone to send to the Senator as confirmation. With a huff, you looked around the apartment. Mr. Anderson had put up a fight, although it didn’t do anything to deter you and Max. A few glass awards were in pieces on the hardwood floor, family pictures were shattered, and the wall behind you held a couple of bullets from Anderson’s gun.

“All good?” Max asked from his location by the computer. He was deleting all footage of you being there. And everything else, just to be safe.

“Yep.” You walked over to him, your boots making a satisfying clicking on the ground, and proudly displayed the picture of the dead body. “Got the confirmation picture for the Senator. How’s it coming?”

“Almost… there. We’re good to go.”

The two of you left in your favorite black Lamborghini. Unfortunately, you actually had to drive places now that Gordon was dead. You followed his advice, though, and bought a plane along with four other sports cars, a helicopter, and a couple of motorcycles. You knew how to operate every single one of them. What else were you supposed to do except for establishing your contract killing empire?

🌹

Loki stood in the middle of his assigned room with his hands on his hips. It certainly was much nicer than the last prison the Avengers had kept him in. They may say it wasn’t a prison but the twenty-four-hour surveillance from Stark’s new AI said otherwise. Even though it was nicer than the shitty glass cylinder from twelve years ago, it was empty. Thor had shown Loki the few things in his room: books, photographs, and his own goddamned merchandise.

Would Loki have his own merchandise one day? Everyone was redeemable as shown by Romanoff and Barnes. Maybe there would be plastic replicas of his helmet? No, Loki thought that was stupid. Only heroes got merchandise and heroes had to show up to events and sponsor health drinks or whatever the fuck they do. Heroes had to be nice.

Nothing good ever came from being on Midgard. Most recently, there was his father dying, although what followed was worse. Before that was the attack he had been forced to make on the city. And the first time he had ever come to Midgard had ended with disappointment and heartbreak.

Loki sighed and waved his hand to conjure green and gold accents, sheets, and blankets. At least there was color in the room now. No doubt the AI had reported that he had used his magic. He hoped it had also told them that all he did was improve the room, he didn’t need anyone talking to him at the moment.

“Good afternoon, Reindeer Games,” the AI echoed through the room. Loki glowered at the sound of Stark’s nickname. “There is a meeting in Conference Room Five that the entire team is required to attend.”

Loki hadn’t the faintest fucking idea where the conference rooms were. He left his room and caught sight of his brother and the Valkyrie. The God of Mischief followed the pair down to where the meeting was taking place. Did he really want to go? If he wanted to be part of the team he would have to. He preferred the Revengers, though. While it had lasted. It was smaller.

Everyone was sitting around the long table. Of course, Loki would be the last to arrive. Stark and Barton both glared at him when he entered. Understandable. Romanoff remained impassive, but Loki knew she would bash his head in the first chance she got. Rogers had to remain positive that Loki could be redeemed because if the Norse God could redeem himself, then so could Barnes. Bruce had warmed up to Loki on the journey to Midgard. None of the newer members of the team outright hated him, but they were still cautious around him.

Loki found himself sitting in between his brother and Bruce. Stark went up to the screen at the front and everyone fell silent.

“This is Jake Morano.” The screen turned on to show a dead man with a rose stuffed in his mouth. “He was going to run for Senator against this guy.” The screen changed. “This guy is William Anderson, a very corrupt Senator. In the last month, Morano began to gain a lot of support including a sponsor from us. Well, a sponsor from me in the name of the Avengers.”

“Are you implying that Anderson killed Morano?” Rogers asked.

“I’m saying that Anderson hired someone to kill Morano.” The screen changed again to display multiple bodies left with a rose in their mouths. “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. do a quick search of bodies with roses found in their mouths and we found a shocking amount of similar deaths. The first ones dating back to the nineteen twenties. More recently, some of the deaths have happened at the same time on opposite sides of the globe. Deaths include, but are not limited to, shooting, stabbing, poisoning, drowning, burning, missing organs, being found stuck in a wall, and looking like a suicide. They all have a white rose soaked in blood in their mouths.”

“Are you sure it isn’t a serial killer?” Wilson questioned.

“Yeah, it’s probably not the same guy,” Romanoff pointed out. “Especially if it goes back to before Steve looked like that.”

“It’s gotta be an organization,” Barnes guessed. “Been around for a while, a couple of deaths happening at the same time, and one constant MO.”

“Loki?” Everyone looked at the God of Mischief when Stark said his name. “You’re technically a part of this team now. What’s your opinion?”

“Barnes is probably right,” Loki said after a moment’s hesitation. “The locations are all over the place and there are many different ways the victims met their demise.”

They nodded and Loki returned to silence.

“Alright, game plan.” Stark clapped his hands. “We have to get Anderson into an interrogation room. Round one is the good cops: Steve and Sam. When he doesn’t crack, and he won’t, we up the intensity. Nat and the Manchurian Candidate will do some intimidation. If he still doesn’t crack we can send in Wanda, or even Reindeer Games if she’s not comfortable, to search his mind.”

“Are all Midgardian politics like that?” Loki heard the Valkyrie ask Thor after the meeting. Thor only shrugged so she turned to Bruce.

“I mean, I haven't been here in a while but it’s always kinda been fucked up.”

Only an hour after the meeting, Anderson took out one million dollars in cash. Stark tracked him to a small cafe where he was going to, no doubt, pay the assassin. The team rallied, but of course, Loki wasn’t going. Apparently, he wasn’t ‘cleared’ yet. The only other people staying behind were the Valkyrie, Thor, and Barton due to a recent injury.

Loki went to his room to sulk, although he told everyone he was thinking. He didn’t want to be here. Maybe he wanted to go somewhere that reminded him of home with tall buildings that reached the sky…

🌹

"Hello, (Y/N)." Loki’s voice was as smooth as it was in your head, but it was different. The only way you could describe it was that it was solid. It felt less intimate. Like he could bless others with his words, but it was more special because he was here.

"Loki," you breathed.

"You look more beautiful than I ever could imagine." He stepped closer.

You touched your hair self-consciously. There were multiple knots, and it probably looked like one of those bird nests the dogs always knocked out of trees. You had woken up in a hurry and your hair being trapped in the hood of your cloak probably didn't help.

Then it occurred to you that you were wearing only your nightgown, and you tightly wrapped your cloak around yourself. Loki wouldn’t hurt you, but no man has seen you in an outfit so revealing. Still, you took another step closer.

"I do not know what to say." Fortunately, your voice didn’t shake or waver as you had feared, but Loki could probably feel your nervousness.

You both took a final step closer. You reached up and cupped Loki's face in your hand which tingled slightly when you made contact. You admired his sharp features and bright blue-green eyes. Then you shivered in the cold winter air. Loki noticed and pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him and felt a shiver, a different, better shiver, shoot through your body.

“You’re real.” Your soft voice was almost lost in the biting wind. “I was so scared that I was dreaming.”

Another goddamned dream about Loki? You groaned into your pillow and pushed a few damp strands of hair away from your face. Why now, all of a sudden? Was it because he was so close? Just a few hours upstate in the Avenger’s compound.

Pushing the dream aside, you stretched and got ready for the day. You had sent the photo to the Senator, who you had learned was very fucking corrupted, and he replied with a location. That changed your plans a bit, you hadn't physically met a client in decades, but it was for the better for multiple reasons.

The first reason was that the cafe he had chosen was next to a flower shop where you got your supply of roses. The second reason was that it meant his apartment would be empty. While you went to get the money, and eventually kill Senator Anderson, Max was going to rob his house. It wasn’t something you’d usually do, but honestly, the shitty asshole deserved it.

Your lips were painted red and you wore your usual boots and a leather jacket. Your regular hair was hidden behind a pink and green wig, courtesy of Max. A baseball cap and large sunglasses further hid your appearance. Though if somebody knew your face, the hat and glasses did nothing. There were multiple knives hidden on your body as well as a handgun tucked into your waistband and a pocket pistol in your, well, pocket.

As you walked into the cafe, Izzy, the auburn-haired florist, nodded to you. She had Botanokinesis, plant manipulation, so your supply of white roses was never low. Every once in a while, Izzy would take a job but she had told you she was very happy in her shop.

You noticed the Senator immediately. He still wore a suit and the sunglasses did nothing to hide his identity. There were two young women behind the counter and you suspected that the four other ‘customers’ were too buff not to be the Senator’s security. Anderson had his back to the door which meant you would have to get past his security to get out. You zeroed in on the black briefcase on the ground by his feet.

“Senator,” you greeted and sat down across from him.

“You can’t possibly be the one I talked to,” the asshole replied. “You’re just a girl.”

“Well of course I couldn’t be,” you rolled your eyes behind your heavily tinted glasses. “My boss is too busy and smart to meet you in public.” He didn’t notice your sarcasm. You pulled out the burner phone and showed him the messages as proof. “Now, I’m also busy so if we can get this over with?”

“Sure, darling.” He put the briefcase flat on the table and pushed it towards you.

“Open it.” Even though small boobie traps wouldn’t hurt you much, it wasn’t a piece of information you wanted to give him.

Anderson sighed and complied. Then you turned it around to quickly inspect the contents. One thousand one hundred dollar bills. Hello Mr. Franklin. You nodded in satisfaction and comically rubbed your hands together to inconspicuously grab a knife that was hidden up your sleeve.

“Thank you, Senator. That will be all.”

You closed the case, stood up, and plunged your knife deep into his left carotid artery. As his security descended upon you, you pulled the knife out and his neck satisfyingly squirted blood. The Senator collapsed with his hands clutching his wound desperately. The pool of blood rapidly grew underneath him.

The two baristas screamed behind the counter and the Senator’s security drew their guns. You flipped the small table for cover as bullets pierced the cafe’s window behind you. Perfect. Just a bit more.

You pulled out the handgun from your waistband and with practiced ease, shot three of the four goons. The last one got the bloodied knife to the face. You elbowed the already damaged window and it finally broke, raining glass down on you. Ignoring the small cuts, you jumped out of the cafe through the window as a familiar red and gold suit landed in front of you. Why the fuck were the Avengers here? What about Loki?

You darted into Izzy’s shop and she played her part well, screaming that you had run out the back when you had actually gone into the side room. You listened as the Avengers followed her directions. One person, maybe it was the Black Widow, stayed behind to help calm down the seemingly hysterical Izzy. If she wasn’t so happy at her shop and she didn’t want to work directly for you, she could be a great actress.

You rolled back the rug on the ground to reveal a metal trapdoor. You entered the code to unlock it and climbed down into the darkness. Behind you, you heard the trapdoor’s magnetic lock click back into place. Two centuries ago, you had tunnels dug underneath Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens for easy getaways. If you went… that way, you would end up in Sandra’s souvenir shop which was a couple of blocks away from your penthouse.

With a million dollars in one hand and a handgun in the other, you walked down the concrete tunnel.

Taglist:

@kaithehero @liliannyah @andreasworlsboring101 @oatballsoffury @aberrant-annie

#inhuman #loki x reader #loki x soulmate reader #loki #mcu #marvel #avengers #Captain america #steve rogers #iron man #tony stark #hawkeye #clint barton #natasha romanoff #black widow #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch

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gleekto · 4 years ago

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Even Better Than the Real Thing (3/15)

Summary: College AU/Famous!Blaine and Fanboy!Kurt - Kurt POV

Kurt really doesn’t have time to figure out the dating world between being a freshman at prestigious theatre school, LAADA, and his active but secret blogging life in the Sing!Fandom. So what if Sing! ended last year? There are still fics to read and actors to follow. Especially the uber talented heartthrob lead, Blaine Anderson. He can act. He can sing. He can even dance. He’s gay. He’s out. And he’s only 24. Kurt is willing to twiddle his thumbs and click refresh until Blaine Anderson’s next project.

He just didn’t expect the next project to be on his roommate Rachel’s new TV show.

Part 1, Part 2

Even Better Than the Real Thing (3/15)

LimaBlaineFan: Spoiler alert - My source is back. He is going to be meeting Blaine tonight.

After Wednesday’s official announcement that Blaine Anderson had been cast as Rachel’s musically talented but romantically challenged love interest, Colin Red, on That’s So Rachel, Kurt’s followers jumped again. 331 more this time. It’s the credibility surge - not that he’d ever be a troll.

Kurt realizes he’s in a potentially problematic position, with one foot venturing into the real life filming world of Blaine Anderson, and his other foot firmly in the fantastical world of fandom. He realizes that he could end up in a conflict of interest, or with inside information that he clearly can’t share or worse, that he accidentally does. But who’s he kidding? He’s just been gifted a fan’s dream ticket of a non-fandom interaction with his celebrity crush. Yeah there might be consequences, but for now Kurt plans to enjoy having his cake and eating it too.

Kurt puts the finishing touches on his cocktail party outfit - layered blacks and greys for the cool fall day with a perfectly fitted long jacket. Sophisticated without looking like he’s trying too hard to impress very impressive company.

“Kurt, you ready?” Rachel is already halfway out the door as he grabs his phone and notices the red private message alert beside the growing notes on his “my source is going to meet Blaine” post.

MercedesSing!: It’s you, isn’t it? You remember that I know that Rachel Berry is your roommate, right?

Kurt types quickly as he exits the apartment. Can’t talk now with a winky emoji.

...

The cocktail party for the cast of That’s So Rachel isn’t exactly what Kurt was expecting. With Patti and Barbra, he expected glitz and glamour, unlimited martinis, caviar, and free air pods in an obnoxious swag bag. Instead, there is some nice red wine, hot dogs in a blanket, fried mushrooms on a stick, and a take home cookie with a cartoon face of a smiling Rachel Cherry. Low key and almost relaxed. And he will definitely enjoy biting off Rachel’s head.

Kurt relaxes at the less intense than expected atmosphere, and manages to be an excellent plus one for Rachel’s idols turned TV moms. He and Rachel are so engaged discussing the brilliance of a gender reversed ‘Company’ with Patti, and his own lauded rendition of Rose’s Turn from his high school Glee club, that he almost forgets that Blaine Anderson is coming. Almost.

When Patti is called over to meet one of the executives, and he and Rachel are left with a cone of appetizer fries in hand by the wine bar, he starts to get nervous. His eyes wander, trying not to search but definitely searching. There’s Jesse St. James who is playing Rachel’s music teacher talking to the showrunner. There are the friendly hair and makeup gang over by the couches. Rachel points out another couple of young women who will be playing Rachel’s friends. But no Blaine Anderson. Kurt tries not to look distracted.

“Rachel, hey!”

Just from the voice Kurt knows.

“Oh Blaine, hi,” Rachel turns around to a smiling and wow really quite perfectly dressed Blaine Anderson, approaching from the back door.

“Sorry I’m late. I just had to finish up filming before running home for a quick shower.”

“Great to see you. We were just-”

“That is a really great outfit. Especially the shoes.” The words just fall out of Kurt’s mouth as he swings on the balls of his feet. Could he make a more awkward first impression? He apparently can’t keep his mouth shut when it comes to red shiny shoes perfectly matched with a soft red cardigan, skinny tie and jeans that fit just so. Somehow Blaine is even more warm and gorgeous in-person and wow, does he have style. Which Kurt appreciates - unfortunately, out loud.

“Oh. Thank you.” Blaine looks slightly surprised but not put off by Kurt’s over enthusiasm. “I could say the same to you,” Blaine grins now, eyeing Kurt’s grey sweater-blazer, which does look great, Kurt admits. He feels like the fanboy at Comicon. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Blaine says. “I’m Blaine Anderson.” He extends his hand.

I know, Kurt thinks, smiling dumbly. I know. “I’m Rachel’s roommate.” Kurt shakes his hand - warm, soft, firm. Of course he would have a firm handshake. Kurt keeps smiling, hoping he’s being polite, but there’s an awkward silence.

“Kurt,” Rachel adds. “This is my roommate, Kurt Hummel.” Great. He forgot to say his name. Nothing like a first impression.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kurt.” He knows that people in fandom who have had the luck to meet Blaine in person have said it, but he can now verify that Blaine really is good at that eye contact thing. His eyes are focused right on him and Kurt is sure he will drown. Kurt nods, trying not to seem like he’s staring. “How did you two meet?”

Rachel looks at Kurt, waiting for him to speak, probably because Blaine is looking at him, and not at Rachel. When he doesn’t say anything, Rachel eventually chimes in. “We went to high school together in Lima, Ohio-”

“The thriving metropolis,” Kurt manages to snap out of his stupor to give a shout out to his hick hometown. Blaine nods, laughing. He’s still looking at him.

“I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

“I’m from Ohio, too. Westerville.” Kurt knows that. “Not exactly the best place for a wannabe actor to grow up.” Blaine went to the prestigious Dalton Academy - also known as the gay Hogwarts of the Midwest. And he is absolutely not going to ask him about that.

“Fair,” Kurt replies, still smiling like a starstruck fanboy. He is a starstruck fanboy. And before Blaine notices, or worse, before he says something stupid, he figures he should exit while he’s ahead - leaving no damage in case they actually do meet again. “It was nice to meet you, Blaine and I’ll leave you two to talk shop. My glass is empty and I’m going to get another red while the line is short.”

Kurt takes a deep breath while he waits in line. Conversation completed and no harm done. Rachel and Blaine are talking animatedly about something or other and he has a moment to breathe as he makes his way to the bartender, “Merlot, s’il vous plait?”

“You speak French?” Kurt turns to see a once again grinning Blaine Anderson, who has somehow appeared behind him in line. What?

“Me?”

Blaine gives him a quizzical look. “You did just speak French to the bartender, right?”

“Oh! Oh yeah, of course. I don’t really speak. I just took French in high school.”

“A Corona please,” Blaine asks the same bartender as Kurt turns to walk away, red wine in hand, “Hey Kurt. Wait up.” Kurt freezes. Okay. “Cheers,” Blaine says as he chinks his beer bottle to Kurt’s wine glass. “Sometimes it’s nice to just have a drink and chill at these events, you know?” Blaine leans into him so he can hear what he’s saying in the noise of the crowd. “It’s a lot of industry people and a lot of being on. They’re great. Don’t get me wrong. But it takes a lot of focus to say all the right things to Patti Lupone.”

“Oh my god, I know. I just met her.” Kurt agrees. “I’m studying at LAADA so Rachel wanted to make sure I made the connection-”

“You’re at LAADA? That’s awesome. Such a great school,” Blaine knocks into his side. “You know if I hadn’t gotten my part on Sing!-” Kurt keeps his face neutral, “I would have gone into musical theatre. Did you do Glee Club with Rachel?”

“She’s already told you about Glee?” Kurt says. “Guilty. We weren’t exactly the top of the social pyramid at a football crazed school in Lima, Ohio.”

“I was in Glee club in Westerville, too, way back when. Dalton Academy?”

“Oh yeah,” Kurt nods nonchalantly. “The Warblers, right? I think we competed against them a couple of times two years ago.”

“Yeah,” Blaine nods fondly. “We were strangely revered by the boys at the school but Dalton was still very much an old boys’ club in the middle of Ohio. It’s not the progressive mecca some may think it is.”

“I may have heard a rumour-” Kurt pauses.

“Yeah, no. It’s not the gay Hogwarts,” Blaine makes quotation marks with his fingers. “Not when I was there at least. I was out but I never had a boyfriend until I moved to LA.” How can he be having this conversation? “But then I got Sing! and you know, dating wasn’t so easy.”

“It wasn’t?” Because Kurt is pretty sure that there would be boys literally lining up for a chance at a date with fandom’s most eligible sweetheart.

“No,” Blaine shrugs. “It’s really hard to meet people when you’re on a show like that, you know? Constantly in the spotlight, or in the selfie camera. It becomes hard to distinguish between fan and friend.” Kurt’s eyebrows rise. “And with that schedule on Sing! - I was too busy for anything serious, anyways.” Kurt nods keeping his face as flat as possible while his heart beats out of his chest, hoping Blaine can’t hear it over the background music. “I should apologize. I’m doing all the talking. What about you, Kurt? Do you have a boyfriend?”

What.

“Who me?” Kurt is taken aback. The combination of the very chill and bizarrely intimate conversation he’s having with Blaine Celebrity-of-My-Dreams Anderson, while being casually asked about his (non-existent) love life, the assumption that he’s gay and could be taken so obvious and ordinary, makes him feel like he’s in the Twilight Zone. He is in the Twilight Zone - he is talking about his love life with Blaine Anderson. He needs to compose himself. “Oh no. No no. Like you said, small town Ohio is not exactly a gay mecca. Just swinging and single,” Kurt says awkwardly. He knows he’s beet red but Blaine bites his lower lip and his smile gets wider.

“Blaine!” Jesse St. James from across the room, beckons him over. “Come here. Meet Joan Silver - she’s the executive producer.” Blaine looks up at the ceiling and sighs.

“I’m being summoned,” Blaine says and Kurt nods, still feeling surreal. Blaine reaches out and squeezes Kurt’s upper arm, “Really nice to meet you,” He winks, “Rachel’s roommate.”

#even better than the real thing #gleekto writes #ahhh the meet cute

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klaineanummel · 5 years ago

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looking for something that’ll (never) come 1/6

Blaine Anderson-Chang knows that his crush on his brother’s best friend, straight football star Kurt Hummel, is foolhardy. But every now and then Kurt gives him a look and Blaine can’t help but wonder.

Hey everyone!! Welcome to my newest fic :D This is a fic I’ve been wanting to write for ages, and am finally getting around to hehe it’s a fill for a prompt on the Glee Prompt Meme (link on AO3 and in the sidebar). This fic is complete, and I’m hoping to post it in its entirety over the course of the next two weeks or so. Hope you enjoy!!

Title from I’ve Been Waiting by Lil Peep

Blaine doesn’t have to be looking at Tina to hear the eye roll in the, “Oh my god,” she lets out when she pulls up in front of Blaine’s house.

Blaine forces his eyes away from the black Escalade parked next to his driveway, turning to his friend with a, “What?”

Tina sighs, leaning her forearms on the wheel. “Blaine.”

“What?” Blaine repeats, knowing he sounds totally unconvincing in his confusion. He knows he sat up a little straighter when he’d seen the car, and he can’t remember doing it but he’s pretty sure he did that little excited wiggle that Tina and Sam are always making fun of him for.

He’s never claimed to be a subtle person.

“Just… chill, okay?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m chill.”

Tina raises an eyebrow. “You did the wiggle, pal.”

Yep, there it is. “Maybe I’m just excited to be home. Not have to see you anymore today.” He sticks his tongue out as he says it, hoping it will distract her.

This time he does see her roll her eyes. “Sure, Blaine. Whatever you say.”

He sighs, moving his messenger bag strap onto his shoulder and clutching it tight in his lap. He opens the door and sets one foot on the sidewalk. Then, he turns back to her and says, “It’s not because of Kurt.”

She frowns in faux-confusion. “I didn’t say anything about Kurt.”

He groans, and fully steps out of the car. He doesn’t close the door just yet, though, instead leaning against the top of it so he can still see Tina. “Thank you for driving me home.”

“Thank you for helping me pick out my prom dress,” she replies, still staring at him completely unimpressed. She glances past him, to his house, then looks back at him and says, “Text me later, okay?”

He snorts. It’s one of the things he loves most about Tina – she may give him shit, but at the end of the day she lives for the drama. No matter how much she disapproves of his crush, he knows he can always go to her with all the sordid details of whatever minute interaction he is overthinking. It’s great. Like having both the devil and the angel on his shoulder wrapped up in one person.

“You know I will,” he says, winking at her. “See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Blaine,” she wiggles her fingers as he finally shuts the door.

He heads up to his house, pulling out his keys and turning briefly to give Tina a final wave goodbye as she drives away. He then takes a deep breath and unlocks the door.

The first thing he hears is the sound of the TV from the living room, just a little louder than he knows Mama J likes it. He takes off his outside shoes and slips into his slippers, setting his keys on the hook with his name written above it in Mama P’s neat script.

He decides to drop his things off in his room before braving the living room, so he hurries straight up the stairs. When he reaches the top, he hears a couple of voices saying, “Come on, come on,” followed by a loud cheer a few seconds later. He shakes his head, smiling to himself as he walks into his room.

He hangs up his messenger bag on his coatrack, then heads to his closet, opening the left door so he can see himself in the reflection.

He knows it’s stupid to be concerned about how he looks. Kurt has seen him stumbling out of the bathroom at 2 o’clock in the morning with toothpaste still smeared on his face. He was front and center for the inside-out sweater vest ordeal. He’s even seen Blaine without hair gel, for goodness sake.

Still, he can’t help it. He wants to look nice.

He wants Kurt to think he looks nice.

He fixes his hair a little bit, tucks his polo back into his jeans, and adjusts the cuffs of his jeans slightly. He looks himself over for a moment more, then nods approvingly and closes his closet door, heading back downstairs before he can work himself up too much.

He’s just reached the bottom of the stairs when he hears Mike call out, “Blaine? Is that you?”

Blaine heads to the living room, poking his head in as though he’s just stopping in on the way to the kitchen. “Yeah, it’s me.”

Their living room is full of teenage boys. Three on the couch, two on the loveseat, and Kurt, as always, lounging in the recliner. They all look up at him when he speaks, and Finn even graces him with a wave. Then, as soon as he had the eyes of six football players on him, he no longer does, the pull of the football game far too strong.

As subtly as he can, Blaine flicks his eyes over to where Kurt is sitting, leaned forward with his legs spread wide, elbows rested on his thighs. He’s still watching Blaine, smirking a little, and Blaine looks away quickly, already feeling a blush creeping into his cheeks.

“Hey,” Mike says, grinning at him. He scoots a little down on the couch, forcing Finn and Matt to squish together even more. “You wanna join us?”

Blaine glances at the TV, wrinkling his nose a little. He doesn’t really care for either of the teams playing, and as much as he’d love to be in the same room as Kurt for the next hour or so, he does have a lot of homework to do.

Plus, he’s been informed very indelicately by his friends that he is completely obvious about his crush, and he isn’t sure if he should put himself in a position of being caught staring at Kurt for an hour straight.

“I think I’ll pass for today, but thanks.”

“Aw, come on,” Kurt speaks up, still smirking, and Blaine’s heart skips a beat in his chest. “Bobcats, man. We’re destroying the Ravens.”

Blaine scrunches up his face a bit. “More of a college football guy, to be honest.”

“Dude, he said no,” Finn says, shoving Mike back over on the couch. “There isn’t really any room for him here anyway.”

“Yeah, cause you’re on here,” Mike replies, shoving Finn right back. “Besides, Blaine is small. You could fit two of him where you’re sitting.”

Finn just laughs, but Blaine finds himself blushing a little at that. Small isn’t exactly the word he wants his brother’s friends associating him with. Especially one of them.

“I got tons of room over here,” Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Now he’s definitely blushing, but he manages to hit back with, “Careful Kurt, I might take you up on that.”

A couple of the guys laugh, but Kurt just keeps watching him, smirk still firmly in place.

God, Blaine cannot figure him out.

Without saying anything else, Blaine removes his head from the living room and heads down to the kitchen. He immediately pulls out a glass and grabs some water from the fridge, sipping it slowly.

The thing is, he knows Kurt’s straight. It’s kind of the biggest reason that Sam and Tina give him so much shit over his crush. And he’s not just like, average straight, he’s really straight. Football player who dates cheerleaders straight. Drives an Escalade straight. Texts girls late at night asking if they’re up with the eggplant emoji straight.

But he also does things like stare at Blaine intensely whilst smirking. Or ask him to share a recliner that’s barely large enough for just Kurt. Or text him whenever he’s drunk, asking why he never comes to parties with Mike. Or get really annoyed when Blaine doesn’t come to one of their football games, and then really excited whenever he does.

He doesn’t want to be that guy that’s constantly wondering what if, especially since he’s specifically heard Kurt call himself heterosexual on multiple occasions and he really wants to respect that, but sometimes he can’t help it.

Maybe it’s just the hopeless romantic in him.

He sets his glass of water by the sink, then walks over to the cupboard Mama J always keeps stocked with junk food and pulls out a half-full pack of Oreos. He picks five out, then puts the pack back and leans against the counter, biting into the first one slowly.

“Yo, Mini AC.”

He looks up, eyes wide as Kurt walks into the kitchen. He has to force himself not to obviously check Kurt out, but it’s so hard because, damn, he had not noticed earlier exactly how tight the t-shirt Kurt is wearing is.

“Hey,” Blaine replies after swallowing the cookie in his mouth. Kurt walks right up to him until he’s leaning next to Blaine on the counter.

He grins down at Blaine, then reaches out and steals one of Blaine’s Oreos. It brings their bodies slightly closer, their hips now brushing together ever so slightly.

Blaine is pretty sure he’s no longer breathing.

“You’re weird, you know that?”

“Huh?” It comes out like an exhale of breath.

“Why do you always eat your snacks in the kitchen?” Kurt takes a bite out of his cookie. “A normal person,” he continues, mouth full of cookie, “would grab his snacks and,” he swallows, “take them up to his room. Or out into the living room, where his friends are.”

Blaine swallows thickly. “Well,” he says, tongue feeling thick as he watches Kurt pop the other half of the Oreo into his mouth. “I don’t like to eat in my room because I hate crumbs. And, uh,” he glances at the doorway just as a loud cheer erupts form the living room. “You guys are really more Mike’s friends. Don’t want to cramp his style.”

“You hate crumbs,” Kurt mutters, grinning and shaking his head. “You’re really something else.”

Blaine presses his lips together to stop the ear-to-ear grin he can feel himself wanting to break into.

“But you’re wrong about the second part,” Kurt says, leaning over to steal another one of Blaine’s cookies. “We’re your friends, too. I mean, christ, we’ve been parking our asses on that couch for like ten years now. You even join us sometimes,” he nudges Blaine with his elbow, and it pushes him away just a little bit. Blaine immediately misses the warmth of Kurt’s body, and wonders if there’s a subtle way he can get close again.

“Sure,” is all he manages to say.

Kurt shakes his head, chuckling. “You coming to the game Saturday?”

Normally Blaine would play coy, see if he can get a reaction out of Kurt by saying he won’t, but, well. He can’t really pretend given what game it is. “You guys are up for the championship. Obviously, I’ll be there.”

Kurt nods. “Good. Need my good luck charm, you know.”

And that’s another thing that confuses Blaine. Because no matter what girl Kurt is currently dating, or sleeping with, or pursuing, he always calls Blaine his good luck charm. And every single time Blaine attends a game and they win, the very first thing that Kurt does is look for him in the audience and point directly at him.

Sam tells him it’s a superstitious thing, but Blaine can’t help but wonder.

“Oh, good, you’re still here,” Blaine looks away from Kurt, surprised to see Finn walking into the kitchen, too. Without thinking, Blaine inches ever so slightly further away from Kurt.

“Hey, Finn,” he says.

“Yeah, hey,” Finn waves a dismissive hand. “Look, you remember the game last weekend? Against Dalton?”

Blaine frowns, then glances up at Kurt confused. He’s hoping it’ll be a small moment of comradery between the two at Finn’s strange question, but instead he finds that any trace of a smile has disappeared from Kurt’s face. His jaw is actually jutting out a little, and he’s sending Finn a fairly icy glare.

It just makes Blaine frown more as he turns back to Finn with a, “Yeah, why?”

“Well,” Finn continues, clearly completely oblivious to Kurt’s stare. “I went to camp a few years ago with the Dalton quarterback, Sebastian Smythe. He noticed you when you came onto the field to congratulate us and thought you were really cute.”

Blaine’s eyebrows shoot up at that. “What?” He hadn’t really been paying attention to anything other than the fact that as soon as he stepped foot on the field Kurt immediately ran up to him and picked him up in a way-too-tight hug that literally swept Blaine off his feet.

“He asked if I knew you and if you’d be interested in getting coffee with him sometime,” Finn is wiggling his eyebrows as he says it, and Blaine feels his heartrate going up a little bit.

“Well, I mean,” Blaine glances up at Kurt again, and yeah, Kurt is definitely glaring at Finn. “I don’t really know him. Or what he looks like.”

“Dude, he’s totally hot for a guy,” Finn says. “And he’s like, nice and stuff. You’ll like him, for real.”

Blaine presses his lips together. He glances up at Kurt again. Kurt, who he has had a crush on for over a year. Kurt, who confuses him. Kurt, who hugs him like he’s the only person who exists but then hooks up with a cheerleader later in the night.

He’s never really been asked out before. Is he really going to say no because of a guy who can’t even return his feelings?

“Uh, sure,” he finally says, shrugging.

Finn does a tiny fist pump. “Sweet! I’ll send him your number and you can fix something up. You’ll seriously like him a lot, I swear dude.”

“Great,” Blaine says, giving a weak smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Finn grins at him, then turns around and leaves again. Blaine looks back up at Kurt as he goes, hoping the iciness will have left his eyes, but it hasn’t. Instead, he’s still glaring daggers where Finn just was, and his arms have come up to cross over his chest.

“That was weird, huh?” Blaine says, hoping to diffuse some of the tension. “I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever—”

“Yeah,” Kurt cuts him off. “Right. Look, I’m missing the game, so.”

He pushes off from the counter and walks out of the kitchen without even giving Blaine a chance to respond.

“Right,” Blaine says, though he knows Kurt won’t be able to hear him. “Bye, then,” he says to nobody, eyes falling down to the cookies in his hands.

He sighs, shoves one in his mouth and leaves the kitchen, eating the other one as soon as he swallows the first one.

He really hopes that Tina is home by now, because he doesn’t think just texting her is going to suffice this time.

#klaineanummel fic #klaine fic #klaine au #klaine #pov: blaine #multi chapter #over 10k under 20k

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ooachilliaoo · 5 years ago

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WIP Whenever

I was tagged by the amazing @alyssalenko, the lovely @natsora and the brilliant @rpgwarrior4824 for this - thanks for thinking of me my dears!

Sorry I sat for awhile on some of those tags! In recompense have a mostly completed scene from the ever-ongoing Mass Effect longfic WIP of mine.

There were a few new bullet holes in the bar, Grunt was crying in the shower, Tali had collapsed in the guest bedroom, Jack was still downing shots (though her reliance on the table for support was far greater than it had been) Traynor had passed out on the upstairs sofa after thoroughly embarrassing herself in front of EDI… and, all in all, her misfit crew of reprobates and heroes looked as if they’d had a thoroughly good evening.

Good. That had been the point after all.

However, she had rather had her fill of drunken crewmates stumbling over their words as they tried to make barely coherent conversation. It wasn’t as fun if you weren’t as drunk as they were.

She was sure than when Joker had initially proposed that she should thoroughly break in Anderson’s apartment with what was possibly the most raucous party of the decade, that he’d fully intended that she would have the opportunity to let her hair down.

But, of course, she hadn’t. Despite the fact that the mis-matched group of miscreants currently tearing her new apartment to pieces constituted some of her closest friends, she was still their Commander. She still needed to lead them and well… some professional relationships just wouldn’t survive seeing her puke her guts up.

Also, she’d never hear the end of it if she did.

Like the bloody fish tank.

Stupid bloody fish tank. Honestly. Who had a fish tank for a floor?

Grinning to herself, she took a sip of the singular glass of whisky she’d been nursing all night. It wasn’t the good stuff, but it was semi-decent and it was always easier to refuse a drink if you already had one.

Behind her in the apartment, she heard the sound of something smashing. A large something.

She wisely chose not to turn around to verify what it was. If it was something important, she’d just threaten to shoot the culprit until they either replaced it or cleaned it up. And if they’d caused some sort of bodily injury, she would actually shoot them.

Just nowhere important.

“I think Jack just broke that expensive sculpture,” Kaidan said dryly, as he came to join her on the balcony overlooking the Citadel skyline.

“Ah.” She took another sip. “Well, good thing I wasn’t fond of it anyway.”

He shot her a small smile. She remembered it well, it was the same smile he’d shot her after the beacon on Eden Prime, and then she took a moment, because it was a party and they were technically on shore leave, to smile back.

It was nice. The hectic rhythm of the Citadel was close enough to hear but far enough away to seem… removed from them. Almost peaceful. The familiar sound of skycars whirring past, coupled with the general hubbub of adverts playing and people talking made the war seem, just for a moment, a million miles away.

It was almost enough to make her understand the council’s inability to act, to believe that the war was real. That the Reapers were here, wiping out entire planets.

Almost.

“So, Shepard,” he said after a moment, his voice rendered delightfully husky by either her closeness or the whisky he was drinking. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much.”

“Can’t help but notice you’ve been nursing that one whisky all night.”

She should have realised that he’d notice. He always did.

“I’m still their Commander.” It was all the explanation she needed to give, at least to him.

“Sure.” He nodded. “Though I remember once, you told me that I wasn’t a subordinate.”

“You aren’t.”

She wondered what he was getting at. Judging by the look in his eyes he was up to something. She considered him carefully, trying to determine if whatever he was planning would be something she could enjoy or something she’d regrettably, have to shut down.

He wasn’t sober, not by any means, but he wasn’t drunk either. In fact, now that she thinks about it, she remembers him refusing his fair share of drinks as well. Almost as if he’d been as careful with his intake as she had.

“So.” He slid a step closer to her. “Does that mean you can drink with me?”

“What do you think I’m doing now?” she teased, taking another slow sip.

“C’mon Shepard. You should have the chance to go a little crazy too.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy enough?” A warm feeling, that had nothing to do with the whisky but everything to do with his nearness, exploded in her chest.

“Oh absolutely,” he breathed, “but maybe I want to see how crazy you can be. Maybe I’ll be surprised.”

Dear God, his eyes were glittering, actually glittering. Amused. Dangerous and incredibly sexy. Proof positive, if she needed yet more proof, that she could probably get blackout drunk, do the craziest thing she could think of and he would do nothing more than thoroughly enjoy the ride.

God, she loved him.

“What are you suggesting Major?” she asked.

“I have a bottle of genuine Scottish whisky hidden in the kitchen. What do you say you and I take it out on the town?”

She can feel her lip quirking at his outdated turn of phrase and debates for a moment about whether she wants to waste time teasing him about it. In this case, she decides against. Despite her usual propensity for teasing him at every available opportunity, she’d much rather fast forward to the part where the two of them raise hell on the strip.

Tearing her gaze from his, with what she recognised was a supreme effort, she glanced back inside the apartment. Most of her crew appeared to have either gone to bed or passed out where they were standing. Even Jack was now slumped over the bar. Wrex’s snores were practically rattling the windows.

“Just us?” she questioned, turning back to him.

“Just us.”

She grinned.

“All right, Major,” She shot back the last of her whisky. “Do your worst.”

He smiled and moments later they were gone.

Hours later, they stumbled back into the apartment. She could barely walk straight and could not stop giggling. Actually giggling.

“Shhhhh,” she hissed, hearing Kaidan’s rich chuckle as he stumbled in behind her. “Shh shh shh.” She pressed her fingers to his lips to silence him. “You’ll wake the children.”

He blinked at her blearily, pressing a quick kiss to her fingers before removing them.

“Shepard, in their state? I don’t think anything will wake them.”

He pointedly glanced towards where Garrus was half sprawled on the couch. She followed his gaze. Garrus was drooling on her sofa.

She didn’t know turians drooled. Huh.

***

I’ll Tag: @faith-less-one @pip-n-flinx @poweredbycoffeeandwine @ljandersen @hawkeykirsah & anyone else who wants to! (No obligation of course)

#writer meme #WIP

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anunquenchableflame · 5 years ago

Text

Horizon’s Ghost

Setting: ME2, right after Priority: Horizon Characters: Rani Shepard, Garrus Vakarian Content: F!Shepard x Kaidan / SFW / 99% written to get one stupid joke out of my system

Shepard didn’t deal well with failure. Turned out she wasn’t great with disappointment either.

Also on AO3

Horizon had been a nightmare.

Oh, Mordin’s upgrades had protected them from the swarm, just as he’d said they would. They’d taken down everything the Collectors could throw at them and driven them away with their harvest incomplete. But ultimately they’d been too late for most of the colony, and that counted as mission failure in Shepard’s eyes.

Shepard did not deal well with failure.

And then there was seeing Kaidan again… nothing could have prepared her for that. He’d always been in a corner of her mind, ever since she awoke. She’d quietly imagined countless scenes of their reunion: Part of her kept an eye out for him every time they went to the Citadel, hoping happenstance would see them brought together. They’d laugh, they’d kiss, they’d cry, and they'd pick up right where they'd left off, as if it had been nothing but a few weeks apart. It was soppy and ridiculous, and all that was missing was the swelling soundtrack.

None of her idle imaginings had included the sweat, the blood, the stink of eezo, or the look of confusion that had turned to utter wounded betrayal when they finally stood face-to-face. She hadn’t imagined the clipped accusative tone of his voice, the hardness in what had always been such soft warm eyes. She hadn’t imagined how much it would hurt. They couldn’t have left the colony quickly enough after that and she’d refused to meet anyone’s eyes in the shuttle, lest they see how hard she was struggling to build a dam against her welling emotions.

Turned out Shepard didn’t deal particularly well with disappointment either.

She’d been fending off call-me-Kelly ever since they’d returned to the ship. No, she didn’t want to talk about the mission; no, not about seeing Kaidan either; no, definitely not about her attitude to failure; NO. She did not want the interfering naive busybody taking notes and reporting back any more than she already did. What she wanted was to take a hot shower, cry for about an hour, eat dinner, go to bed, and maybe cry some more. Maybe hit something, should a target present itself.

She’d managed step one of that plan. Hot water had washed away the dirt and sweat of the mission and eased her tense muscles, but not her mood. She’d dried off and wrapped up in her dressing gown–warm and soft and totally devoid of Cerberus emblems, courtesy of their last trip to the Citadel–and was squeezing the moisture out of her hair when someone tapped at the door.

“I told you it’s none of your fucking business, Chambers!” Rani snapped.

“Shepard, it’s me.” Garrus’s drawl was unmistakable even through the bulkhead. She paused in towelling her hair for a moment but then went on with renewed intensity, resolutely ignoring him.

A minute later: “Still here, Shepard.”

Rani let out an exasperated sigh. She went to the door and glared at the interface for a moment, then opened it to transfer the glare to the persistent turian on the other side.

“Not now, Vakarian. It’s been a long day.”

“I know. I thought you might want to talk about it.”

“Nothing to talk about,” she said, with a shrug that wasn’t convincing anyone.

Garrus slipped past her and sauntered into the cabin while she made ineffectual protesting noises. He noted the photo frame face down on her desk. Though it was his first time in her cabin it didn’t take any great leap of deductive reasoning to guess whose face had been slammed into the desktop. He picked up the frame, which lit up at the contact, and found exactly the portrait he’d expected on the other side.

“You know,” he began casually. “I went to your memorial. Nice ceremony, if a little pompous. Everyone was very complimentary, especially the people who’d never met you. No-one who had could have said such nice things, not with a straight face.” Shepard couldn’t help but smile a little at that, despite her determination to stay disgruntled. “Anderson was more realistic, said you were a pain in the ass but you knew how to get the job done and we’d all be a little weaker for your loss, though he may have said it more politely than that. He asked Alenko if he’d say something too, but I don’t think he had the words. Not for that crowd anyway. Now, I don’t know much about human mourning rituals but getting extremely drunk seems to be important, so as soon as we found a bar that could serve a dextro beer, I obliged. You know Kaidan starts to glow when he’s drunk a lot? At least I think that part was real, hard to tell in hindsight, there really was a lot of alcohol…” Garrus shook his head. “In any case: we talked, the way men who are very drunk and very sad do.” He carefully placed the frame back on Shepard’s desk with Kaidan’s shy smile pointed right at her, the sniper’s precise shot to the heart as unerring as ever. “He’s angry now, but I don’t think he could hate you even if he tried.”

Rani regarded the portrait for a moment, her eyes downcast, before speaking. “I know.”

“You do?” Garrus’s mandibles did the thing Shepard had always interpreted as turian eyebrow raising. “Damn, I was all prepared to talk you round. I had a speech ready and everything.”

Shepard shrugged. “I suppose I should have expected his reaction. If our roles were reversed it… would not have been so dignified. There’d be yelling and broken things. Probably no colony left at all.” She hugged her arms close to her chest. “I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. I hoped he’d be glad to see me, that he’d understand and everything would go back to how it was but it’s… more complicated than that. And after you and Tali took it all in your stride, I guess I–” She stopped and shook her head, dismayed at the insane unlikelihood of her situation. No-one was equipped for the dead coming back to life, not the bereft nor the departed themselves. Kaidan had called her a ghost, and that didn’t seem far off. It should be a wonder that anyone was coping.

“Oh, there was some processing to be done, believe me,” said Garrus. “But it had to wait until after the siege and the rocket to the face and the lifesaving surgery, after which Commander Shepard being not so dead didn’t seem like such a stretch.” He paused. “Also I’d had a message from Tali right before that all went down, the gist of which was ‘What And How The Fuck’.”

Shepard huffed a half-hearted laugh. “Good question.” She flopped back against the illuminated glass of the fishtank and slid down until she sat on the floor. After a moment Garrus hunched down next to her.

“I guess he told you all about us then?” asked Rani, looking down at her hands as she absently picked at her fingernails. “Our illicit affair.” That sounded dramatic, but it was true enough. They’d both known how much trouble there’d be if they were found out, but that had seemed less and less important as time went on.

“Didn’t really need to, Shepard.” Garrus sounded apologetic, but also slightly amused.

“Oh.” She winced, not sure if she wanted the answer to her next question: “Did everyone know?”

“Not everyone. But I think most of us realised there was a little more going on than you wanted us to see.”

She shook her head ruefully. “We thought we were so discreet.”

“Oh, no, you were pretty good. No-one ever caught him sneaking out of your cabin or anything. But you couldn’t hide some things: The way you looked at each other, or stood a touch closer together than normal, the way he’d help you with your armour, or all those little wordless agreements. Anyone who spent much time with the two of you could tell how close you were. And you forget- I was a detective. May not have found anything solid on Saren but you two were a much easier case to crack.”

“I’m not sure that comforts me… Who knows, maybe there’s a court martial waiting for me if I ever get back to the Alliance. Though I suppose fraternizing with a fellow officer might be quite low on the list of my offenses. Did kind of mutiny and steal a ship even before I was a traitor.”

“You saved a colony from being totally wiped out. You’ve saved a lot of people. As far as I can see you’re doing the same job you always did, how’s that make you a traitor?”

“Oh, maybe because it’s Cerberus paying the bills? They’re the enemy, and here I am working for them. With them,” she quickly corrected herself. She grew quiet again. “Kaidan certainly thought it did.”

“He’ll come around. Right now he doesn’t have all the facts.”

“I’m not sure that I do either. I just wish we’d had more time to talk. Explain, in as much as I can.”

“Think you could have talked him into coming along?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know... Maybe it’s best that he’s not involved. They’d only find a way to use him to manipulate me. Again.” The last word was bitter in her mouth. Clearly her old crew weren’t the only ones to put two and two together. They’d known exactly how to invest her in Horizon. No, the further away Kaidan was the better it was for both of them. Not that all of her was on board with that conclusion. “I just wanted more time to talk. For him it's been years but for me it feels like only a few months. He's worked through it all and gotten over me, while I'm still- I’m still newly in love.” Her voice wavered and tears suddenly welled up, the carefully constructed floodgates of her composure finally bursting open with the admission. She buried her face in her arms. “It's so stupid.” Her shoulders shook and her words were muffled as they were forced out between sobs. “I’m a goddamned marine. N7. The first human Spectre. I won the Star of Terra when I was twenty-two. I’ve come back from the dead, faced geth and collectors and husks and reapers and rogue Spectres and- and I'm sitting here in my dressing gown crying over fucking Kaidan Alenko.”

There was a thoughtful pause.

Turians could not, technically, smirk. They didn't have the mouths for it. You needed lips and different cheek muscles. But there was a way that they tilted their heads and did a thing with their mandibles that was close, and Garrus had a voice that was basically an aural smirk anyway. So when he spoke next Rani assumed that his words were delivered with a smirk.

“Isn't this about… not fucking Kaidan Alenko?”

Her mouth formed an indignant O as she looked up, red eyed, at Garrus and smacked him on the arm. It wasn't hard and he probably couldn’t feel it through the armour and carapace, but it certainly made her feel better. “I am heartbroken and in tears, Vakarian, and you're making shitty jokes!”

“Oh come on, Shepard, I couldn't leave that there. And now you're laughing and crying, that's an improvement, right?” Shepard knew a shit-eating-grin when she saw it no matter the shape of the face it was on.

“I saved your life and this is the treatment I get?” She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, a small grudging smile fighting the urge to resume crying. “I can’t believe I let you back on my crew, you’re terrible.”

“True enough.”

“Of all the people I could have had back I had to get the smart-arse turian.”

“Humans tell me that beggars can’t be choosers. Also something about the use of projectiles in glass structures that I’m not sure if I’m remembering correctly.” Garrus looked down at her very seriously. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but you’re kind of a smart-ass yourself.”

“You’re just trying to rile me up so I’m not miserable anymore.”

“Well, I know how to deal with you when you’re angry, I’m… I’m not sure what to do with sad,” he admitted. “I’m not very good at this.”

The fight went out of her in one breath. “Me either.” She wiped her nose again and pressed her lips together as the tears threatened to well up once more. “I miss everyone. Not just Kaidan- Wrex, Tali, Liara–” she paused and sniffed “–Ash. She’d have some things to say right now, I’m sure.”

Garrus chuckled. “Spirits, can you imagine? She’d be even more pissed with you than Kaidan was.”

“No doubt. Maybe if I’d had both of them glaring at me I’d have stayed right there and given Cerberus the finger.”

“I have no idea what that means but it sounds extremely intimate.”

Rani snorted. “I’m really glad you’re here Garrus.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Terrible as you are.”

“Hey, someone’s got to watch your back. And without the rest of the old crew around, I guess it had better be the smart-ass turian. Now, what does giving someone a finger mean?”

“With those talons, I think it’s best you don’t know.”

#mass effect #commander shepard #f!shepard #garrus vakarian #shenko #fan fic #rani shepard #rani x kaidan #fic:rani #this has been lurking in my drive almost finished for like a year #my art is speedy in comparison to my writing #it may be awful #the joke certainly is

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hazelandglasz · 5 years ago

Note

klaine au fic prompt - blaine's best friend karofsky gets set up on a blind date with kurt's best friend chandler, they decide to make it a double date and sparks fly for both couples :)

me likey

On AO3

“Come on, Blaine, I need you to come with me.”

Blaine sighs, keeping his eyes on his book and on his notes. “‘Need’ is a bit strong, don’t you think, Dave?”

David scoots his chair closer, trying to insert his puppy eyes between Blaine and his books. “You know better than anyone else how hard it’s been to grow in Ohio, realizing that you’re gay.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And now that Tiffany has set me up on a blind date, I’m worried I may do or say something stupid.”

“You may indeed.”

“Shush.”

---

“So that’s why I need you to come with me, Kurt!”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, so you can, you know, kick me to get me to shut up if I go on too long, or go on a tangent that has nothing to do with a first date, like, like, if I start talking about all my issues and--”

“Chandler, breathe.”

Chandler takes a deep breath before gasping. “See?! That’s why I need you!”

Kurt looks up from his needlework. “And what do I get from this?”

“Free dinner?”

“Chandler.”

“You won’t be a third-wheel, I promise, Dave says--”

“Oh, it’s already Dave.”

Chandler manages a decent glare to throw in Kurt’s direction. “Yes, Kurt, it’s already Dave. From the pics Tiff’ send me, I know that the guy is my man to a T.”

Kurt chuckles. “Ah, young love.”

Chandler crouches next to Kurt to look up at him, eyes wide and begging. “So you’ll come?”

His voice is soft, and not affecting any kind of accent--Chandler at his most sincere is Chandler at his most lethal.

Kurt sighs.

---

“Fine.”

“Blainers, you’re the best.”

---

“Yeah, yeah, but you’ll owe me.”

“All the coffees and cheesecakes, I promise, Kurt. Thank you so much!”

---

“Dave, relax.”

“I am relaxed. Cool as a cucumber. Zen as a Buddhist monk.”

“Your bouncing knee making the glasses shake begs to differ.”

Dave stops bouncing his knee at least, but he starts fidgeting with his napkin. Blaine reaches over to cover his hands.

“Dave, I promise, it’s going to be just fine. Worst comes to worst, it will be a bad first date and we’ll just… you and I, we’ll go get a drink and laugh about it. You’ll; Be; Fine.”

Dave gives him a crooked smile. “I’m lucky you’re my friend.”

“I know.”

“Fuck you.”

“Such a weird way of thanking me, Karofsky.”

“Such a weird friendship anyway, Anderson.”

They look at each other and start snickering like teenagers.

Dave sighs, looking up. And then he freezes.

“He’s here. Oh my God, he looks even better than on the picture Tiff sent me!”

Blaine follows his line of sight and he, too, freezes on the spot.

Because coming toward them, walking down the stairs, are two men, but one, in particular, catches Blaine’s eyes.

So tall, and built like a swimmer, oh goodness, deep, blue eyes.

Please don’t be Chandler.

Not that the other guy is not cute, he’s just… Not Blaine’s type.

Not as much as the tall one.

“Which one is Chandler?” Blaine whispers as they stand to welcome their dates, Blaine supposes (and hopes).

“The one with the béret,” Dave says, voice soft and dreamy-like.

Blaine sighs in relief before straightening up.

“Excuse us,” Blaine’s Dream man says, “are we late?”

“Right on time,” Blaine replies while Dave is too busy making lovesick eyes at Chandler who is not doing any better. Blaine rolls his eyes before offering his hand forward. “I’m Blaine.”

Dream Man smiles crookedly at him. “Kurt.”

A month later, Tiffanny is delighted to receive no less than ‘ “thank you” baskets.

#Anonymous #sometimes i write #klaine au #karofskiehl #blind double date #fluff

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seeaddywrite · 6 years ago

Note

i’m not sure if you’re up for writing mylex, but if you are, mylex+62? or 20 for malex 💕

someday, i will try my hand at mylex because HELLO OT3, but i went with malex this time. i hope you enjoy!

Keeping Michael at arm’s length is the hardest thing Alex has ever done. It’s the right thing, because while Alex made it back from Baghdad alive, he didn’t survive unscathed, and his head is a dangerous place. How can he commit to anyone, let alone Michael, when he’s not even sure that he’ll be able to sleep through the night? It’s easy to fool everyone else; he projects the perfect image of a calm, competent soldier whenever he’s in public, and no one ever questions it. No one but Michael, who’s always known him too damn well. So the mask becomes rigid, even cruel, when faced with Michael’s attempts to talk, or fix things, and Alex is left wondering if he’s ever going to be able to just feel like himself again. He’s pretty sure he won’t.

But at Cauffield, Alex is forced to give up all pretenses of being the rational soldier and makes the decision that if Michael’s going to stay and become another of his father’s victims, Alex is, too. For the past week, since realizing that Guerin’s been trying to rebuild a spacecraft and leave the planet, Alex has tried to imagine what a life without Michael in it, even at the fringes, would be like. And every time, no matter how creative Alex got, the image hurt. There is no scenario in which Alex is content with that reality — so he stays. He tears down every wall he’s put between the two of them since coming back to Roswell, and he lets Michael see exactly how deeply he’s loved, even if it’s by someone as messed up as Alex. “You are mine,” he tells Michael desperately, reminding him that he has someone, a family, even if it’s not his mother. “I never look away, Guerin!”

There are tears in his eyes as Michael throws the honesty back in his face, but Alex knows him well enough to see the lie in his desperate, grief-stricken eyes. He calls him on it, and thankfully, the woman in the cell intervenes, her hand glowing against the glass as she imparts another devastating truth to Michael.

Between Alex and whatever message the woman in the cell — Michael’s mother, god! — passed on, Michael leaves the prison and is physically safe, but Alex isn’t stupid enough to say that he’s fine. The entire ride back to Roswell is terrifyingly silent, and there are two instances in which the SUV beneath them shakes, and Alex knows it’s not because there’s something going wrong with the engine. Michael is in pain, and Michael is losing control. But he won’t let Alex help, won’t let him even try. Instead, as soon as they return to the garage where he lives, Michael slams the car door in Alex’s face without a word and tears off like a madman behind the wheel of his own truck. Alex is left staring after him, aching and bereft with the knowledge that there’s nothing he can do for Michael, now.

So Alex decides to help in the only way left to him; he turns to technology. There are other bases like Cauffield — there have to be. Because if Alex knows anything, it’s how his father operates. He’s been studying Jesse Manes for years remotely, searching for weaknesses, a way to bring him down as he so richly deserves. During those years of recon, Alex has learned that his father never puts all of his eggs in one basket. If Cauffield was rigged to blow the moment anyone stirred in the quarantined section, he had to have other research centers. He wouldn’t be willing to give up the only source of information about his perceived ‘enemy’ so easily.

That means that there are other aliens out there, maybe more of Michael’s family, or Max or Isobel’s, being tortured by Alex’s family. That means there’s still a chance to save someone, and not just stand back to watch them burn. And even if he hadn’t wanted to put an end to everything his father cares about, Alex would have been driven to save those people just to be sure Michael never had to watch his only chance at family go up in flames in front of him. When push comes to shove, Alex knows he’d put his father in the ground before he could ever hurt Michael like that again.

Three days pass, somehow, in a blur of codebreaking and recon. The guys in Alex’s squad had always ridden him about his focus while working — apparently, there’d once been an air raid at their base and he’d missed it while trying to hack into the enemy computers and take out their bombs. Anderson, one of his best friends, had always been the one to bring him food and pry the computer out of his hands on those missions, while Cooper, their best gunman, had the joy of shoving Alex into bed when he was feeling his most stubborn. Alex had never liked leaving important jobs unfinished, and his own physical well-being was a small price to pay if it meant success. But his friends are half a world away, now, and Alex is on his own. He remembers to eat, shoving an energy bar from his bag in his mouth when he notices that he’s hungry, and sleeps when he gets tired enough to start making mistakes. There’s no room for error in hacking; one wrong keystroke, and he could tip off whoever’s on the other end — and he can’t have that. Not yet. They’re not ready.

“You working on setting a world record for longest amount of time without a shower? Because if so, you should really do us all a favor and set up shop somewhere with more ventilation.” Valenti’s voice makes Alex freeze; he’s close, only a foot or so away from Alex’s chair, which means he hadn’t even noticed when the man opened the door or climbed down the stairs. Christ. His situational awareness has been on overdrive since his teenage years; living with a man who seemed to want him dead did that to a kid. War only made it worse — so it was damned scary that Valenti could sneak up on him so easily.

Exhaling slowly to rid himself of the threat of panic, Alex flicks his gaze to Kyle’s face and raises one eyebrow in a distinctly flat expression of judgment. “Funny,” he says scathingly, and is startled by how hoarse his voice sounds. From disuse, apparently. Huh. “What do you want, Valenti? I’m working.”

“I can see that,” Kyle says dryly, glancing around at the scatter of files, hard drives, and backup systems that Alex hasn’t bothered to keep neat. His eyes linger on the screen currently running location algorithms, but only for an instant. Then, he’s back to looking at Alex, expression distinctly unimpressed. “You planning on rejoining the world anytime soon? Or, you know, sleeping?”

Sometimes, it’s still utterly bizarre that this is who Kyle Valenti grew into after high school. He’d always been smart, so the MD wasn’t exactly a surprise, but the genuine care he seems to exude for people under his purview is hard for Alex to swallow. And the fact that he’s here, trying to babysit Alex, is even more so. Alex has been taking care of himself since he was a teenager; he doesn’t need Valenti barging in and telling him how to run his life, even if his intentions are good.

Alex turns back to the largest screen in his set-up without a word, moving the algorithms to run on one of the smaller monitors so that he can multi-task. He takes half a second to point curtly at the sleeping bag in the corner of the bunker, where he’d rested in the recent past … in the somewhat recent past, at least. It had definitely been in the last twenty-four hours. He thinks. But that isn’t any of Valenti’s damn business.

“Manes.” Kyle’s voice is full of exasperation, and a moment later, he’s standing too close, his eyes narrowed and one hand half-extended, like he can’t decide whether he wants to rest a hand on Alex’s shoulder or shake him. “A sleeping bag on the floor doesn’t count as decent sleep, and you know it. Have you left this room at all since we got back from Cauffield?”

Alex lets his silence speak for himself. Obviously, Kyle already knows the answer to that question, and his brain power is better focused on the task at hand than verbal sparring with Valenti. He knows, logically, that he’s going to have to take a break sometime soon. The cyber protections around the rest of Project Shepherd are much more sophisticated than his father’s systems, and Alex is only one man. But he’s so close to a break through, and he doesn’t have any actionable intel — and if Alex has to sit on his ass doing nothing after everything he’s witnessed lately, he thinks he might lose his mind for good this time.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Valenti,” Alex snaps, when it becomes clear that Kyle isn’t leaving. “I’m a grown man, and I need to do this — you standing there, breathing down my neck, isn’t going to make me move any faster!” The anger coursing through his body doesn’t quite fit the situation; Alex recognizes that as if from a distance, but is powerless to stop himself. He’s too worn, too emotionally and physically exhausted.

“Fine,” Kyle snaps back, folding his arms over his chest stubbornly. “I’ll just go sit in the corner and wait for you to pass out from lack of sleep or lack of nutrition, then, huh? My bet is it won’t take long, and then I won’t have to deal with the attitude when I’m just trying to look out for you.”

Alex takes a long, slow deep breath, and forces himself to swallow the rejoinder that no one had asked Kyle to look out for him. It’s hard, and the words threaten to emerge anyway, but Alex manages to control himself. After a moment of tense silence, he looks back at Valenti, his eyes hard. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Kyle,” he says, and it’s only sort of a lie. “But I need to do this. There could be other facilities like Cauffield, and if we don’t get to them before my father realizes what we know —”

“You think I don’t get that?” Kyle’s back to looking exasperated, but there’s a rigidity to his spine that suggests that he does actually understand. He wants to know what his father was involved in as much as Alex wants to take it apart, and Kyle isn’t the sort of man to relish in the deaths of of innocent people. “I’m on your side, Alex, remember? We’re going to take these sons of bitches down, and rescue anyone left. But you’re not going to be able to do that if you don’t take care of yourself— and I’m pretty sure Guerin would tell you the same thing, if he could see you right now.”

The mention of Michael hits Alex like a blow, and he clenches his jaw in automatic response. “Michael has bigger things to worry about right now,” he says, somehow managing to keep his voice even. “And he’d want me to find the other facilities, if they’re out there. It’s the only chance he has of finding more family, and I’m not going to take a nap instead of -”

“For god’s sake, Manes! You’re the most stubborn son of a bitch I’ve ever met, you know?” Kyle shakes his head, and the muscle in Alex’s jaw jumps. He decides to take the high road and ignore the comment, because he’s pretty sure that Valenti is right at the top of that list with him. “You know what? Forget it. I should’ve just started with the back-up plan.”

Alex isn’t curious enough to wonder about what Kyle’s planning to turn around. He listens as footsteps recede out of the bunker and returns his full attention to the task in front of him. For a long while, all that he hears is the hum of the modems and the tap of his fingers on the keys — and the occasional yawn, because apparently, Valenti’s speech has reminded his body of exactly how little rest it had gotten in the last few days. Massaging the base of his leg where it met the join of the prosthetic absently, he reached for a Red Bull stashed in his knapsack — only for the can to float out of his hand and disappear over his shoulder.

Blinking, Alex stares at his empty hand, trying to decide if he’s more tired than he realized for a fleeting moment. It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to figure out what must have happened, and spins his chair so quickly that he nearly goes for a second turn around.

There in the doorway, silhouetted by the light streaming in from outside, stands Michael Guerin, Alex’s energy drink in one hand and a narrow-eyed look on his face.

He looks like hell, Alex registers first. There are deep blue circles beneath his eyes, standing out in stark contrast against the pallor of his skin, and the usual warmth in his gaze when he looks at Alex is conspicuously absent. In its place is a terrible emptiness, one that makes something in Alex’s chest feel cold. He’s never seen Michael this closed off, this isolated, and he hates it, and the part he’s played in causing it.

“Hi,” Alex says quietly, making no move to get up. If Michael wants to be closer, he’ll close the distance himself — and Alex doesn’t want to push him, no matter how much he wishes he could wrap the other man in his arms and banish that devastating emptiness from his expression.

Michael shifts under his gaze, and glances around the room, much like Kyle had done when he came in earlier. Anger swamps him again when he realizes that Valenti must have gone and found Michael — that was his back-up plan, apparently. As if Guerin doesn’t have enough on his plate right now, as if Kyle has any right to drag him here when he clearly needed to be working through the shock, grief, and pain that obviously hadn’t been dulled by a few days.

“I’m sorry Kyle called you,” Alex tries again, when Michael says nothing. “He doesn’t know when to mind his own business.”

“He said you haven’t left this room since we got back,” Michael says finally, obviously avoiding any direct reference to where they’d been or what they’d witnessed. Alex wonders if that’s because he doesn’t want to think about it, or because he doesn’t want to talk about it with him. Either one is fair, he supposes, even if it sucks to think Michael might not want to share his burdens with Alex. “That’s almost a week, now, you know.”

No, actually, Alex didn’t. A week? He’s been guessing three days, though, admittedly, it’s hard to gauge the passage of time when there’s no natural light in the room. God, has he really gone a week without a shower? No wonder Kyle had commented on the smell.

“Wanna tell me what’s so important that you can’t take a few hours away from the computer?” Michael prods, and takes a cautious step closer, like he’s afraid he’ll be turned away — which makes no goddamn sense, since if Alex had his way, he would never have left him in the first place.

“Valenti didn’t tell you?”

Michael snorts, and it’s the first real animation Alex has seen from him since he arrived. “All Valenti said was that I needed to get my ass over here and make you go home before he has one more patient at the hospital. I didn’t ask a lot of questions after that.” He gestures back at the screens, still running algorithms and password-bypass software, even while Alex isn’t watching. “Looks like you’re trying to find something, but that’s about as far as I get. Math, I can follow. Computer code, not so much.”

As always, it’s incredible to watch Michael’s mind at work. Alex is fairly certain that he’d have the algorithms figured out on his own if he gave him a few minutes, but he doesn’t really want a computer to be the one to tell him what Alex is looking for. Then again, Alex doesn’t particularly want to tell him, either. Not when Michael’s obviously avoiding the subject.

“I — I’m looking for other facilities like Cauffield,” he admits, his voice uncharacteristically timid. Alex hates feeling or sounding small or uncertain; he built his military career on being frosty under fire and quick to take charge of any given situation, and there is no room for uncertainty in that persona. But he’s never quite managed to keep that mask around Michael, not for long — and he can’t bear the idea of adding more hurt to the man he loves by rebuilding the walls that he’d torn down so completely when he was sure they were going to die together. “My dad, he wouldn’t have sacrificed one facility if there weren’t others. It would cut off his research, and he just wouldn’t do it.”

Michael sucks in a breath, and a wave of power emanates from him, slamming Alex’s chair back against the wall before he realizes what’s happening. The unexpected impact jolts his entire body painfully, and he winces before he can modulate the expression. He’s been sitting for days, and hasn’t removed the prosthetic for as long as he’s been in the bunker, so he’s more sore than he should be.

“Fuck,” Michael breathes, and he’s at Alex’s side, looking him over as if he expects to find blood or something. “I’m sorry. I didn’t -”

“Don’t, Guerin,” Alex admonishes immediately, unwilling to allow what amounted to a bruise to make Michael look so guilty. “I don’t need you to apologize. I get it.” Fury is an old friend for him, one he’d met as a teenager desperate to escape his father, and Alex had only gotten to know the emotion better during the war. He doesn’t need Michael to explain why he’d lost control in that moment — the idea of other people being held and tortured for decades by Jesse Manes makes him homicidal, too. The only difference is that Alex doesn’t have telekinetic powers to lose control of.

Michael opens his mouth as if to say something else, but closes it again. There’s a thoughtful quality to his silence, so Alex doesn’t interrupt. Instead, he grabs the armrests of his desk chair and levers himself out of it, cursing the wheels when it wobbles and sends him back into a seated position. He’s been sitting for too long; the muscles in his bad leg are tight and stiff, and he’s going to be in a hell of a lot of pain when his body catches up with him. For now, though, Alex can stand and drag the chair back to the computer monitors.

“You’re not going back to work on that,” Michael says incredulously, and the surprise in his voice is enough to have Alex turning back around to look at him. “No, Alex. It can wait. You need to go home and sleep, and give your leg a break — don’t think I didn’t notice the look on your face when you had to stand up.” Alex feels strangely warmed by the words. He doesn’t like to be coddled, and never has, but the fact that Michael can be suffering so intensely and still be here to lecture Alex about his own well-being … it gives him hope, as inappropriate as it may be, considering their circumstances.

“It can’t wait, Michael. If my father figures out what we know, he could —”

“Do you seriously think that I don’t know what your father is capable of?” Michael interrupts, his voice low and cold in a way that’s never been directed at Alex before. “Fuck you, Manes. I was there. At least twenty people like me, including my —” He stops, swallowing hard, and the unshed tears glimmering in his eyes are nearly Alex’s undoing. “All murdered in cold blood right in front of me. I fucking know what he could do.”

Alex swallows, and looks down at the floor, thoroughly chastised. What he’d said had been stupid, and he never would have warned Michael against Jesse Mane’s motives if he’d been running on all cylinders.

“But you’re going to go home, anyway. Because people who’ve been working for days make mistakes, and we can’t afford any,” Michael continues, his voice firm. “And Jesus, Alex, if you’re doing this for me, I can’t — you’ve gotta stop, okay? I can’t be the reason that you’re isolating yourself down here and not sleeping. Whether you meant what you said or not, I —”

Alex can’t keep his mouth shut at that. It hurts too much to listen to Michael doubt him, and to know that he’s taking way too much responsibility for Alex’s own actions and decisions. It’s not a surprise, not really, but Alex is exhausted, and his emotions are running away with him. “What do you mean, whether I meant what I said or not?” he demands. “When? When I told you that you’re my family? Or when I told you that you’re not the only one who never looks away? Because damn it, Guerin, both of those things are true!”

Michael stares at him for a long moment, his gaze inscrutable as he presumably tries to decide whether Alex is lying or not. Slowly, he nods, just once, and Alex is incredibly disappointed in the non-reaction.

“That algorithm you’re running looks pretty self-sufficient. Any chance you can set an alarm or something to let you know when it’s done while you’re at home?”

It’s a good solution. Alex can, in fact, set up a notification system pretty easily, but he’s still resentful of the subject change. He wants to know what Michael’s thinking. For once, he wishes he could borrow Isobel’s powers and take a peek, just to figure out where he stands. Does Michael hate him for being a part of the government that killed his mother? Is he pushing him away because seeing Alex’s face just brings back bad memories? Is it too much, to be involved with the son of the man who’s been torturing his people for decades? There are a million reasons for Michael to not want him anymore, even before one considers the fact that Alex has walked away from him over and over again.

Maybe it’s all true. Maybe they’re done. But this time, Michael will have to be the one to end it, because Alex is done pretending he can.

“That’s what I thought.” The satisfied words bring Alex out of his spiraling thoughts, and he raises an eyebrow at Guerin as he finishes, “Do it, get your stuff, and go home, Manes. I mean it.”

Normally, Alex would have bristled at the preemptive tone. He doesn’t take orders well, not even from superior officers — it’s gotten him in hot water more than once. And letting Michael boss him around this way sets a terrible precedent, one that suggests that he can walk in while Alex is working and make him stop at any time. But Michael doesn’t look nearly as desolate while he’s ordering Alex around, and it’s hard to be annoyed at that.

Before he can fully consider the ramifications of his words, Alex says, “On one condition.”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he crosses his arms stubbornly. “Oh, yeah?” Alex has the impression that the other man will try to drag him out of here, if he thinks he has to, but Alex intends on stopping things before they can get to that level. He just can’t help but give this a try, first.

“Yeah. You come home with me. We’ll both get something to eat, get cleaned up, and sleep. Because it’s pretty obvious you haven’t done any of that recently, either, and if it’s so wrong for me, it is for you, too.” Alex is fairly proud of the argument he makes, and the way that he doesn’t reveal how nervous he is to make the demand while he speaks. The thought of Michael in Alex’s private space is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying, since it’s new level of intimacy for both of them, but Alex can’t stand the thought of going home to rest and recuperate while Michael continues to torture himself. He wants to be there for him, wants to wash his ridiculous curls and twine protectively around him in bed and know that he’s safe. And that desire outweighs any anxiety.

For a too-long moment, Alex is sure that Michael’s silence means he’s going to be denied. He wasn’t allowed to be there for Michael before — why would he think that would change now? Just because Michael showed up here, worried about him?

“How else am I gonna make sure you’re not just working from the cabin?” Michael asks finally, a wary sort of acceptance in the question.

Alex’s breath rushes from him all at once, and he worries his knees will buckle from the onslaught of relief. He smiles, big and earnest, at Michael, and tries to wordlessly convey how pleased he is by this turn of events without coming off as insane. With the speed and ease born of a decade of practice, Alex sets up the notification system on the computers and shuts everything down. The only thing he wants to take with him is his laptop, so he shoves that in a bag - only for it to float out of his hands, much like the Red Bull can had earlier.

He glares over at Michael, who’s got the strap of his laptop case clenched in his good hand. “You just said you’re coming home with me. How will I be able to use it for work if you’re right there?”

For the first time since he arrives, a flicker of the usual warmth shows in his eyes when he looks at Alex. “This way there’s not even a temptation,” Michael says easily. “Better safe than sorry. It’ll be fine here — just leave it with everything else, and we can come get it tomorrow.”

Again, Alex finds himself wondering why he’s not pissed at the orders. He’s not a child, after all, and Michael is hardly the right person to be lecturing him on taking care of himself! But instead of irritation, all Alex feels is pleasure that Michael seems more like himself, and that he’s letting Alex in, at least a little.

So instead of fighting like he probably should, Alex sighs and acquiesces. The laptop case is left on the desk with the other information he’d been trying to sort through, and Alex takes a few moments to shut the rest of the equipment down. He avoids the chair as he works, a little afraid that he wouldn’t be able to get back up again if he sat down. Guerin doesn’t take his eyes off of him the entire time— he just leans against the wall, arms crossed casually over his chest. The stance would look comfortable, if he didn’t know Michael as well as he did, but Alex could see the tension in his muscles, the thin veneer of calm painted over the emotional turmoil of the past week. Or …however long Alex has been down here.

Michael waits for him to lead the way outside, like he suspects that Alex will turn around and try to get back to work if he looks away for a moment. He’s patient with Alex’s slow, halting steps as his body adjusts to the new position after so long seated and his muscles cramp painfully. Eventually, they make it topside, and Alex blinks in the fading sunlight of early evening. Wordlessly, Michael opens the door to his truck and stares at Alex expectantly.

A quiet Michael isn’t one that Alex has much experience in dealing with, so he just follows his lead, keeping his mouth shut and clambering none-too-gracefully into the vehicle. He pulls up the GPS on his phone to give Michael directions to the cabin; he’s never been there, so as far as Alex knows, he needs directions.

The drive passes in silence, and by the time they pull up to Alex’s cabin, he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. The thought of inviting Michael inside wakes him up, though, and sends a surge of adrenaline through him. The reality of his life is inside that cabin in black and white, impossible to ignore. The spartan decor, the grab bars in his shower and near his bed, the wide aisles purposely created so that he can navigate the space on days when the prosthetic is not an option and he has to use his crutches. There’s the other things, too, like the anxiety medication on his bedside table with the muscle relaxant he’s probably going to need tonight, and the freezer full of frozen dinners that he’s been subsisting on for the last few months, since he’s a godawful cook. Michael doesn’t know most of that about him; Alex has taken great pains to keep it that way. If he opens the door and invites him in, there won’t be any going back —

But going back hasn’t been an option since Alex was seventeen, when he fell in love with Guerin the first time. That kiss at the museum had ascertained that Alex would never be able to let go of his feelings for Michael for any reason, no matter how noble it was — and the truth of the matter is that Alex wants to let Michael into the less romantic parts of his life. Because he knows that opening himself up and offering Michael the most vulnerable parts of himself is the only way to keep him, to prove that Michael trust him in return, after far too many mistakes and heartbreaks. Laying himself bare is the only way they’re ever going to move past this awkward phase somewhere between cosmic love and tentative friendship, and though Alex has never been so frightened in his life, he takes the first step by unlocking the door.

Michael waits for him to go inside first, but follows closely on his heels. Alex gives him a minute to look around the sparsely furnished space and moves to the coffee table to drop his cellphone on the surface. Now that he’s home, he feels disgusting — he definitely needs to take a shower before he goes anywhere near the bed that’s practically calling to him. But Michael is in his living room, running his good hand over the surface of everything he can touch, and how is Alex supposed to act normally?

“Well, I can definitely tell you’re a bachelor,” Michael says, breaking the silence with quirked lips.

Alex huffs a laugh and shrugs self-deprecatingly. “Hey, we don’t all have sisters that come in and decorate for us,” he teases, thinking of the crowded space of Michael’s airstream. “And I finally sprung for the coffee table, so I’m moving up in the world.” The small talk rankles; he and Michael have never done a lot of talking in their relationship, but it had never been small talk, either. They’d always shared important things with each other – like Michael’s entropy, or whatever he wants to call it, or Alex’s dreams to escape from his father. This feels like a conversation he’d have with a stranger, and Alex loathes it.

Michael seems to notice, because he comes closer — still tentative, but more sure of himself than he’d been in the bunker. “I need you to tell me that you meant it again,” he says, in a voice that Alex can barely hear over the suddenly frantic beating of his own heart. Alex knows exactly what ‘it’ Michael is referring to, even without any context, because when Michael’s guard is down, his heart is on his sleeve, and Alex can see the fear and the cautious hope mingling with grief and fury in his eyes. Michael’s always felt too much all at once, Alex knows — it’s part of the noise in his head that bothers him so much.

Maybe Alex can help with that again, like he used to. Some day.

“You are my family, Michael,” Alex tells him, reaching out to tangle their fingers together so he can’t draw away. “You’re the only person in the world who has ever made me feel safe, and I don’t think you understand how much that means to me.” For a boy who had been abandoned by his mother and hurt and hated by his father and brothers, then pushed out into a war he wanted no part of, safety isn’t something to take for granted. And to be given that feeling by another person is — well, Alex doesn’t have the words to explain how it feels.

The cautious hope he could see in Michael’s eyes was growing, now, becoming more and more certain as Alex spoke, so he kept going, determined to get it all out into the open so he could spend the rest of the night looking after Michael the way he’s wanted to all along. “No matter how hard I’ve tried to deny it, I’ve never been able to look away from you.” He leans forward to brush a quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Michael’s mouth — anything more would lead them places they shouldn’t go tonight. Alex doesn’t want to be used as a sexual distraction from Michael’s pain, and doesn’t want either of them to regret anything in the morning.

“I believe you,” Michael says in a hoarse voice, clutching at the lapels of Alex’s filthy flannel and resting their foreheads together. The position is so reminiscent of the one in Cauffield prison as the bomb was about to go off that Alex’s first instinct is to jerk away, but he stifles the impulse at the last second, moving his arms to wrap around Michael’s waist, instead, so that they’re chest-to-chest in the middle of the living room. At some point, Michael moves his face to the space between Alex’s shoulder and neck, and there’s a dampness against his skin that suggests he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s crying. Alex says nothing; he allows Michael his pride and simply strokes a hand up and down his spine, hoping that his proximity is as comforting to the other man as vice versa is to Alex.

“We both really need a shower,” Michael says finally, pulling away reluctantly. His eyes are lined with red, and there’s some residual dampness on cheek — otherwise, Alex wouldn’t have known he’d been crying mere moments ago. “And food. I forgot on the way back. Does anyone even deliver all the way out here?”

Alex chuckles, and nods. “I’ll take care of food if you want to shower first,” he offers generously. “There’s a decent pizza place on the edge of town that delivers up here.” He doesn’t mention that the only reason they deliver to Alex is because of the owner’s friendship with his father - it’s not relevant, and since it’s the only way they’ll have anything to eat other than frozen meals, Alex doesn’t want to go there.

Michael shakes his head. “Why don’t you just shower with me?” he asks, stretching his arms above his head until Alex hears his back crack. He seems so sure it’s a good idea, but part of Alex balks. He and Michael have never been naked around one another without sex, and that’s not on the table tonight — plus, showering isn’t exactly as easy for him as it sounds.

“Showering is kind of an ordeal for me,” Alex tells him frankly, biting at his lower lip. “I’m not supposed to shower with the prosthetic on.” There’s a chair in the shower for that purpose, along with grab bars on either side of it to he can get in and out without fooling around with crutches. He’s sure Michael can put those pieces together on his own — and Alex isn’t sure he’ll ever be comfortable spelling it all out for him. Not because he doesn’t trust Michael with the information, but because it’s a weakness, and Alex can’t help but be embarrassed.

“I won’t let you fall,” Michael promises, smiling faintly. “I’m an engineer. I’m pretty sure we can figure out the mechanics.”

Alex considers, trying to put aside the nerves from that obstacle and focus on the next. “I want to,” he says, and reaches out to grab Michael’s hand again, just in case he only hears the ‘but.’ “But I don’t think either of us are up for sex tonight. And we’re not exactly known for being able to keep our hands to ourselves.”

A complicated expression flickers on Michael’s face, but is gone before Alex can properly parse it. “I didn’t know sex with me was such so bad for you, Alex,” he says, bitterness obvious in the words. “Here I was, thinking you liked it.”

“Stop it,” Alex admonishes, rubbing tiny circles in the backs of Michael’s hands with his thumbs instead of letting go when Michael tries to pull away. “You know I do. But I don’t want to be a distraction, Guerin. And I don’t want to use you as one, either. I just want to — I want to be there for you. Especially since I know I haven’t always been, before.”

Now, Michael yanks his hands back, putting more space between them. Alex’s heart drops when he sees how close the other man is to the door — he’s ready to run again, to hide and lick his wounds in private. Alex has said too much, and he can’t take the words back.

“Don’t try to fix me, Alex,” Michael says harshly. “I’m not broken.” But his body language suggests that he doesn’t even believe his own words — and Alex is an expert at reading him, after all this time. Desperate to keep him there, to make him understand, Alex ignores the way his thigh muscles twinge and moves quickly toward Michael.

“We’re both a little broken,” he says, eyes pleading. Alex has no idea what he’ll do if Michael takes that last step out the door — probably follow him, like some sort of stalker. He doesn’t think he’s capable of watching him leave while he’s obviously hurting in ways Alex can’t begin to understand, and wonders, briefly, if this is how it felt when Alex shut him out of his own recovery after his amputation. If so, he’ll never be able to apologize enough for that pain. “But I’m not trying to fix you, Michael. I’m just trying to help. If you’ll let me.”

No one moves or speaks for the longest minute of Alex’s life, and then Michael is back in his space, one palm against the back of his head while the other seizes his lapel and pulls him in. The kiss is fierce, full of desperation and reassurance, and by the time Michael pulls away, Alex is already reconsidering his stance on sex for the night — not seriously, but his body is definitely on board.

“So, if I promise not to jump you —”

Alex smiles, and leads Michael to the bathroom.

It’s a big room, one Alex had installed after he moved in. The closet-sized bathroom that Valenti had used hadn’t cut it for someone who used crutches both early in the morning and late at night, and nor had the weird shag carpet. So Alex had hired people to knock a wall out and enlarge the space, install tile, and a giant shower with a head at either end. It was a luxury he couldn’t really afford, but Alex justified it with the fact that nothing else in his home was remotely luxurious— and he needed the handicapped access.

Once they’re in the bathroom with the door closed behind them, Alex begins undressing Michael, starting with the stubborn buttons on his shirt. The other man raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, and simply stands still, letting Alex do what he wants. Slowly, his chest and torso is revealed, and Alex tosses the dirty shirt to the floor. Michael returns the favor, but when he’s done, Alex’s shirt is tossed telekinetically in the trash. “Trust me,” Michael murmurs at Alex’s note of complaint. “There was no saving that thing.”

Since he’s probably right, Alex just shrugs, and steps out of his pants. When he’s in just his boxers, he sits down on the closed lid of the toilet to begin unfastening the harness holding his prosthetic in place — but Michael stops him with a gentle hand on his good knee. “Let me,” he offers, already kneeling in front of Alex with no sign of hesitation on his face.

Alex swallows, but nods once. He’s usually independent to a fault, and has never let anyone else deal with his prosthetic before, not even his doctors, if he could help it. But if this is what Michael wants, Alex can let him — this one time, at least.

Deft mechanic’s hands unfasten the mechanisms that hold the leg in place, and Michael pulls it away and props it against the wall before removing the compression sock around Alex’s residual limb with equal care. Not once does he spend too much time staring, or look even remotely pitying, and for that alone, Alex could kiss him — so he does, gently, at the crown of his head.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, afraid that using a full voice would shatter the quiet tranquility of the moment. Michael’s answering smile is small, but honest, as he stands to get rid of the rest of his own clothes.

It’s awkward, at first. Alex hasn’t showered with anyone but his squad mates, and that was never even remotely intimate — just a bunch of men, trying to get the desert sand out of uncomfortable places before they ran out of hot water. And on top of that, he’s still getting used to showering while seated — adding another person makes it even more confusing. But Michael doesn’t seem bothered, and shoves his head under one of the spigots to wet his hair.

Eventually, the awkwardness eases. It helps when they stop trying to look everywhere but at each other, so Alex allows his gaze to amble along the strong lines of Michael’s body, appreciating his physique in a way he’s never really had the chance to before. Eventually, Alex reaches out with a soapy rag to scrub at his lower back because he can’t quite help himself — they’re so close, but they haven’t touched since Alex hauled his body into the shower, and he misses the contact. Michael sighs, pressing back into the touch, which Alex takes as permission to continue. He ends up washing every part of Michael that he can reach, from his shoulders down to his knees, and lingers over his work. Touching Michael like this, with care and no intention of turning it into something sexual, is a new experience — and one he wants to repeat as often as he’s allowed.

“Any chance you wanna do my hair?” Michael asks, when Alex has cleaned both of them more thoroughly than necessary. He’s been itching to get his fingers tangled in those curls, but he has no idea how to maneuver to make it happen. His concern must show on his face, because Michael touches his cheek and drops to sit in front of him, legs folded. Alex stares down at the top of his head and the line of his back, amazed that for Michael, it’s just that easy.

“Can you hand me the shampoo?” The bottle flies into his hand before Alex can finish asking, and he can’t help the startled noise he makes. Michael glances up, more challenge than apology, so Alex nudges him back around with his good knee so that he can get started.

Michael has always melted immediately as soon as Alex got his fingers into his hair — he’s not sure who enjoys it more, in all honesty. But this is the first time Alex has had an excuse to do it for any real length of time, and he takes full advantage. He massages Michael’s scalp as he works the shampoo into a lather, moving the whole way down to the base of his neck and back up with sudsy hands and gentle pressure. In moments, Michael is boneless against Alex’s leg, his head lolling backward, and Alex feels a strong sense of satisfaction. He’d done that. He’d relaxed Michael this way, made him feel secure and comfortable in his home and allowed him to lay down his burdens, at least for a little while. And that, Alex knows, is more intimate than any quickie in the truck bed could have ever been.

Eventually, they have to get out of the shower. Alex lets Michael help him, rather than heaving himself out by the grab bars, and they dry off in comfortable silence. He sends Michael to get them both sweats to sleep in, and pauses when he realizes he should have asked for his crutches, too. His pride isn’t going to let Michael half-carry him to the bedroom, and that’s not a habit he wants either of them to get into. He’s about to lift his voice to ask when Michael reenters the room, dressed, and carrying an added pair of sweats and Alex’s crutches under one arm.

“Thought you might need these,” he says, propping them up by the door, and Alex finds himself robbed of speech. Does Michael realize how unbelievably thoughtful that is? Alex is pretty sure that there’s not another person in the world who would have realized that Alex hates having to ask for help, or that he’d never let anyone carry him to bed like an oversized toddler. With that one simple gesture, Michael had given him his independence, his pride — and he didn’t even seem to realize how important that was.

“Alex? You good?”

Alex nods, his smile a little more emotional than he’d like. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m really good.” Michael returns the smile, and leans down to kiss Alex’s cheek before disappearing into the bedroom — somehow knowing that he’d want a minute to himself to get dressed. It’s an awkward, difficult thing to put pants on while sitting down, and Alex would just as soon not have a witness — and somehow, again, Michael just gets it. They fit together so easily in the bedroom for all those years; Alex doesn’t think either of them realized how easy it would be to fit their lives together, too. Even the messy parts.

He meets Michael in the bedroom, and even though he knows that the next thing on their to-do list was food, the warm water and activity has made him lethargic and reminded him of exactly how long it had been since he’d slept in a real bed.

“We can make breakfast in the morning,” Michael yawns, when Alex voices his thoughts aloud. The other man seems as tired as Alex, and when the sun rises, he knows they’re going to have to talk about why. They’ve done an excellent job of avoiding reality since they got back to Alex’s cabin, but he’s not naive enough to think they can escape it for long — not with a serial killer tied up in Michael’s cellar, and Jesse Manes still out there, unsupervised, with access to innocent aliens.

But there’s nothing they can do about either of those things tonight, and honestly, Alex thinks they need this even more than they need a plan to keep everyone safe. Michael had been minutes from falling apart — and Alex supposes he wasn’t much better, as irritating as it is to admit it. So when he curls around Michael beneath the covers and cuddles in close, Alex doesn’t feel guilty for taking a break. They’ll wake tomorrow refreshed and ready for war - tonight is about rest, and reconnection.

Later, when Michael is sleeping peacefully on Alex’s chest, Alex takes a minute away from carding his fingers through unruly curls to text Kyle Valenti: I’m still going to punch you for not minding your own damn business, but … thanks.

#my fic #malex fic #michael guerin/alex manes #this is so damn long & i have no reason for the gratutious shower scene at the end #except soberqueerinthewild didn't tell me not to #also #i just wrote kyle valenti for the first time ever??#who even am i??

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