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canyouhearthelight · 11 months ago

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Nihilus Rex 8: Opener

Finally getting into the technical side of things, and I will attest: @baelpenrose and I decided that the next several chapters are probably the only time the really technical stuff happens on screen.

It was all, undoubtedly, an absolutely nightmare to get right, simply because I am a subject matter expert in one of the areas, he is in the other, and... yeah. It got complicated very quickly. But hopefully that pays off!

Say you have a little faith in me

Just close your eyes and let me lead

Follow me home

Need to have a little trust in me

Just close your eyes and let me lead

Follow me home

To where the lonely ones roam

Digital Daggers, “Where the Lonely Ones Roam”

For the next handful of days, I heard from Nils sporadically. The first couple of days consisted of just being updated that he was still alive, promises that he was eating something other than drugs and coffee, and one celebratory announcement that he had showered without drowning - which, admittedly, was kind of gross since that was around day three, but I didn’t have to smell it, so I left it alone.

It was around the fifth day that he sent me an address. Not the hacker cafe, and nowhere in my neighborhood. I was warned to bring my own coffee under threat of instant and strongly suggested to bring a change of clothes. Part of me started to type back a quip about the kind of girl he thought I was, before sense won over and I deleted it.

“Not for anything weird - well, not for anything that isn’t our kind of weird, anyway. This is gonna take a while.”

Totally reassuring, I thought as I started throwing stuff into my bum-around bag. Toothbrush, water bottle, battery bank for my phone… after a bit of consideration I tossed in extra socks, because there were few things I hated worse than wet socks. Laptop and all its gear went into my backpack, and I headed to the front door. Mama and Baba weren’t home from work, so I left a note taped to the fridge and one on my bedroom door just in case. Heading out to a friend’s for a school project. Probably going to be there overnight, took clothes just in case. I’ll have my phone. Love.

A bus, a subway trip, and a hour and a half later, I was walking to the address Nils had sent, suppressing the urge to look around suspiciously. The address was in an area I generally avoided on foot, and if something brought me here I took a taxi - even if I was only going a couple blocks. I muttered prayers to any deity listening as I arrived at the location, a tall building covered in graffiti, with what windows were still intact covered in makeshift grates or bars.

Nils was standing right outside, looking around for me, and spotted me as I approached, waving me over. He had slight circles under his eyes, and a slight five o’clock shadow, but he was intent, grinning slightly. “Lash, good to see you!”

“Yeah, good to see you’re alive and I haven’t been getting messages from your ghost,” I joked drily before glancing around. “Although, I’m still not convinced I haven’t somehow taken a bus to some underworld. You do know my kidneys aren’t worth as much as you think, right? AB neg blood, terrible for donation.”

“I assure you you are more likely to be solicited for drug purchases or asked if you’ve considered sex work than you are to be black bagged and have your organs sold here. I say this having had both happen to me within a week of moving.” His voice was annoyingly casual. “I do apologize for the walk though. Come in, I made tea.”

My eyes widened. “Wait. ‘Moved’. You mean you live here?”

“I mean, we’re not doing the thing where I live. We are talking where I live. We’re doing the thing at this old mall that still has power where I set up a router in the crawlspace a while ago. But I figured we’d talk here first? But yeah, I live here.”

“Doing this thing at an old mall, cool, cool…” I responded, laughing in something like relief. “But you want to talk where you live. Which is here.” I waved a hand at the half blown-out street lights and nearby sewer grate before waggling it at the graffiti and boarded up windows. “You live here. Voluntarily.”

“My apartment has snacks. And coffee. And tea. If I leave those things in the shitty ‘Doing super illegal L33t Hacker Shit’ den I set up in an abandoned mall, my not-home evil lair gets overrun by vermin. So yeah, talk here. Probably come back here for like. Netflix or some shit to celebrate.” He paused for a beat. “Also, yes. I live here. Away from the really rich friends of my parents who would potentially see me and tell my family what shit I’m up to and what kind of trouble I’m getting into, then I hear about how much I’m screwing up our reputation, how could I be so ungrateful, blah, blah blah, it’s easier to stay as far away as possible from any of their friends. Besides,” he said, slowly. “This is a lot more real than anything I saw when I was a kid.” It felt like there was more he could say, but wasn’t going to - a refreshing change from how he’d been the last several days.

“Your family, your cow, etc,” I muttered, looking around again and resisting the urge to wipe my hands off against my pants. “Still, I feel like I need to introduce you to our lord and savior ‘Any Deity Who Will Convince You Self-Flagellation is Not Penance’ or something.” Before he could respond, I waved my hands in a shooing gesture. “Come on, let’s go inside and you can introduce me to your six-legged roommates.”

Ushering me forward with a comically formal sweep, Nils buzzed me into his building - I was honestly shocked it was needed, but it calmed me somewhat. We made our way up a couple flights of grungy-looking stairs, and I instantly felt guiltier the further we went: for all that the stairwell looked filthy, it was extremely well lit, bleach-scented, and not a single stair creaked thanks to what looked like various ages of patches.

The city may not care, but the residents certainly seemed to.

On the third floor, we exited the stairwell and made our way to a very nondescript door. All three deadbolts and the hinges moved without a sound, and Nils stood to block my entrance, drawing himself to his full height, chin up.

“Lash, O caller of bullshit, expert at puncturing egos, enter the portal to the domain of the greatest hacker and dumbest bitch of the age, and see if you can find a roach in sight, for nothing enters here without my permission. I am Nils Andover, lord of this tiny apartment and a terror of cyberspace. Enter, and enjoy my hospitality.” He spoke with a ridiculous faux-accent to top it off, which wasn’t quite British but might have been his attempt at doing a Victorian Crackhead.

No amount of self control could keep me from giggling and cursing myself for doing so. I stepped through the door, surprised by how clean and pristine it was on the inside. Still, I reminded myself that I brought spare socks as I toed my shoes off and set them beside the door before taking another step. “Masala chai?” I asked, sniffing carefully.

“You said become your Uncle’s best customer.”

“Tch,” I clucked. “I did.” Suddenly, I realized what he said. “Wait,” I gasped, “you think Mr. Yildiz is my uncle??” I covered my mouth to hide a smirk.

Nils paused with embarrassment. “Maybe. You don’t seem the type to call people uncle unless they’re related by blood, marriage, or adoption, so…”

I managed to sit on the arm of the couch before gasping for air. “Nils… Oh my… hooo culture difference, okay…” With a more controlled breath, I composed myself. Poor guy looked something like a wet cat in his confusion. “Lots of cultures use the term Uncle or Auntie as a term of respect. Something…less formal than Sir or Ma’am is the closest I can explain. So, he’s not my Uncle, he’s just Uncle. Every young person’s. Baba and Mama call him Brother, blah blah blah.”

The look of shocked embarrassment was replaced with complete comprehension. “Ah. Gotcha. That makes perfect sense. Sorry about that.” He blinked and absorbed that for a moment, setting a steaming cup of tea in front of me.

“Now, I’ve been reflecting on what you said, managed to look at what I’d have to do to get the liens out on homes, vehicles, and businesses. Will say this - there’s a little layer of complication for how they hold onto liens for state compliance. We can release most to the holders outright, but some of them its going to be required for us to release them to both the holders and to their city or county halls at the same time for archiving. That is, just barely, on this side of being possible.”

He took a breath and waffled his hand as he took a sip from the tea. “The trick is that we have to have all the malware and spyware to do it ready to roll well in advance of the attack, and we have to be able to shoot it all in, operating, and releasing all liens simultaneous to the attack itself, to be able to use the attack as a smokescreen for what’s happening. If we do it before the attack, the bank can use physical records to re-upload the destroyed digital ones, and if we do it after, we’re going to cost a lot of innocent people their cars, homes, businesses.”

I was more shocked than I should have been that he thought it through to such a degree. Yes, I had practically screamed this at him less than a week ago. No, I was not used to people actually listening to a word I said. It was kind of flatt - no.

Sounding somewhere between exhausted and frustrated, he added. “There’s…probably a lot of reasons this hasn’t been tried, to be honest. Did I mention that even if this goes right we need to be able to punch in, get the worms loaded, and then databomb the shit out of everything within a few minutes?”

“Oh, joy…” I responded with what I hoped was very clearly fake enthusiasm before draining my tea and grabbing my bum-bag to dig through it. Without looking up, I admitted my shortcomings. “I don’t think you and I can make that happen in… what, twenty-five, thirty minutes?”

“Twenty.”

“Even better,” I grunted as I grabbed my thermos. Unscrewing it, I refilled my cup with high octane ambrosia before offering it to Nils. “No matter how good you are, I don’t think the two of us are going to make that happen in twenty minutes.”

Nils took the coffee and sipped, smiling slightly. “Yeah. There’s someone in my network who may have an in, if only because he’s worked on and off at vendor sites in a lot of banks, but I’m not sure how down he’d be with the overall plan. He’s really good, but he tends to avoid extremely high-risk stuff. Rather keep the “racist hicks as pawns” bit out of it, when we talk to him. And if there’s anyone in your network who might be able to join, I’m open to suggestions. The QAnon cannon fodder stays between us.”

I thought it over. “There is… well, I’ll admit. He’s older, one of those ‘I wrote the internet’ types, so the social con part probably won’t go over well, but thankfully he likes knowing as little as possible outside of what he needs to do. I’ll reach out to him, worst case, we have double the help.”

“Let’s see whose guy answers first?” Nils said, not really asking and already picking up his phone.

I had the good grace to take a deep inhale of caffeinated goodness before savoring the flavor. Then I grabbed my phone and messaged Bishop. Nils’ got a response before I had even typed the message, but I chalked that up to my habit of messaging Bishop more details than most, knowing he wouldn’t go to the police if he turned down the job. The man had a whole ass hydroponic set up in his basement, and I’d seen it - he wasn’t going to the cops on me unless I killed someone.

“Lash, is there some reason you and Nothing are messaging me on the same day, at the same time, about what I’m pretty sure is the same job?”

I didn’t move my head, but looked through my eyelashes at Nils, who wasn’t showing any signs of being called out. Carefully, I texted back. “I didn’t know you were acquainted. Now I’m intrigued. U n or not?”

“I didn’t know you two were acquainted. And I’m in mostly to see what that’s going to look like, Baklava.”

“Did you already tell Nothing?”

“Yeah, I told Creampuff I needed to see this. I’ll be there in ten. Try not to blow anything up between the two of you before I get there. And if you brought coffee, save me 2.”

I smirked and slowly screwed the cap on my thermos. “My guy will be here soon. He’s pretty excited.”

“Mine’s on his way, should be here in ten.” Nils paused. “He seemed more concerned.”

Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, I reminded myself. “I have dirt on my guy, so I’ll admit I gave him more info up front than I do most.” Seven more minutes…

“Yeah, makes sense. So, in the meantime, uh. If I were to order pizza, anything you’d want on it? It’s uh. Gonna be a long day and we’re gonna want something to eat.”

“Small with anchovies,” I said automatically. “I’ll eat it in the hall, don’t worry about the smell.”

“Absolutely the fuck you will not - you’re a guest. I’ll handle the smell if it’s a problem.” Nils was smiling, faintly again, as he pulled up the Mountain Mike menu.

“I am going to guess you’ve never been in the vicinity of an anchovy pizza, so when you change your mind, let me know.” I was used to it… as much as I loved the opportunity to have one, I was well aware of how long the smell clung to anything in the room for days at a time.

“I have not, it is the principle of the thing.” He moved, clearly feeling awkward. “We don’t have much to do but kill time until he gets here, so like. What do you do for fun?”

“First, if it’s not too late: order extra lemon wedges with whatever you can,” I added. Least I could do. “Second… I watch a lot of anime, doodle, and sit on a bridge scaring people into thinking I’m a jumper. There really isn’t anything else, unless you consider a semi-unhealthy relationship with music.”

“Requesting a few lemon wedges. I also watch a lot of anime, listen to a ton of music, sometimes a bit of gaming. Not a lot of fun in person, to be honest. Used to have a friend I’d hang out with, but you met me the day of that funeral, so, yeah, I’m fairly boring now.” He leaned back on the couch and offered me the spot further away from him, presumably to make me more comfortable. “How’d you get into voice acting?”

“Deliberately,” I surrendered, looking mournfully at my thermos and wishing I had brought a larger one. “It took a ton of effort and practice, and a lot of voicing my own animations - “ I was cut off by the buzzing of someone requesting entrance. Bishop? Or Nils’ person? It wasn’t nearly long enough to be the actual food.

Nils buzzed the person in, and within a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. Nils opened it and grinned. “Harvey, been a while. You’ve been quiet. It’s good to see you again man.”

Bishop was standing there, glowering between the two of us. “So. One more time. Why the fuck are you two hanging out, and what are you contacting me for?”

#writers on tumblr #nihilus rex #Afterverse prequel #traumatized characters #cyberpunk #dystopia #modern dystopia #original fiction #original science fiction #the miys #arcadian inquisition #writeblr

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sleepingdeath-light · 3 years ago

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reading the crossover headcanons for TOH was amazing!

i wanted to request a crossover with TOH and Steven Universe if possible! (also with Hunter x Reader) You can decide between reader being half-gem, like Steven, or fully gem! If you can't or don't want to, that's okay! Aand I really love your headcanons! You make them long and detailed! It's truly amazing.

Crossover Headcanons | SU x TOH [Hunter x Gem//Hybrid!Reader]

thank you for requesting, anon

These are written with a gender neutral reader in mind and have a general chronology from the reader’s last moments in little homeworld until they end up with Hunter, so apologies if this gets long!

Note : this is the first time I’ve written for the SU canon, so I’m not as experienced with that universe. Also my portrayal of these characters is still pretty rocky, so I may rework this in the future.

The first few months you spent in Little Homeworld had felt almost like a dream come to life; freedom to be yourself and explore a world full of organic life without the restrictions placed on you by the diamonds? It was fantastic! However, that feeling of unrestricted feeling soon started to grow stale as you realise that the growth of the small colony had already started to stagnate—and that not all humans were welcoming of intergalactic immigrants like your kind.

So to ease your mind you opted to take the warp to the next star system over—craving that same sense of excitement that you had during the gem war

Simply standing on the warp again was enough to get your blood pumping with a reignited vigour for exploration

A feeling so palpable that you failed to notice the array of spindly cracks that spanned the surface of the device, and the way that a sickly dull light pulsated beneath your feet (the sight accompanied by a warning hum far too low for you to notice)

Though you couldn’t ignore the way the warp didn’t immediately go off like usual, nor could you neglect the searing pain that spread through your veins and constricted your throat; leaving you in so much pain that you couldn’t even move or scream before your vision was engulfed in a glitching, sickeningly bright light

It must have been several hours later when you woke up, based on how high the sun was in the sky… was the sky that red before?

Your head was pounding and although your vision was blurry, yet you couldn’t ignore how different your surroundings were from the earth you were used to

The sky was a faint red and the ground beneath your feet was dusted with deep maroon grass—it was soft and warm under your fingertips but with how much organic matter there was you knew that this wasn’t a colony

Hell, you didn’t even arrive on a warp on this end, so either you had been transported to somewhere else because a malfunction (unusual, but likely) or someone had taken you from the receiving warp and dropped you off in the middle of a clearing (far less likely)

Suddenly struck with worry, you sat up and moved your clothes to get a good look at your gem, letting out a relieved sigh when you saw it undamaged (clearly you’d landed where you woke up as most organics would have tried to remove it from your body before dumping you)

Realising that you were mostly safe you slowly rose to your feet and decided to explore your new environment, hand hovering near your gem in case you needed to defend yourself from whatever creatures had made their home here—trying to make yourself appear as small, quiet and unnoticeable as possible as you went

However, your efforts seemed to be in vein as you were quickly greeted by an excitable and loud human girl who practically screamed her welcome to you

You were torn between fleeing and fighting her when she offered her hand and introduced herself as “Luz the human”, her demeanour quite closely mirroring what you’d heard about Steven when he was younger from his mothers—it was almost endearing how much she tried to hold in her joy at seeing another “human”. You almost didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth as she walked you back to her home.

You were accosted at the door by an organic tube with an owl’s face that quickly and gleefully introduced itself as Hooty—the creepy, but rather friendly, house demon

Luz made an effort to hastily brush him off and hurry you both inside where you met with the other two inhabitants of the home as well as Luz’s “awesome girlfriend”, Amity.

Eda, an older witch with grey hair that hardly suited her age, greeted you with muted suspicion, not even taking her eyes off of you as she addressed the human at your side—seemingly unsure of your motives but trusting herself to be stronger than you (if her grip on her staff was anything to go by)

King, however, was much more brazen and blatant in his distrust of you, stomping over and pointing an accusing claw up at you as he threatened you in every way he could muster (even if all that got him was a halfhearted coo from you that left the creature more frustrated and downtrodden than before)

The guest, Amity, meanwhile, looked over at you with disinterest before she caught a glimpse of your (colour) gem peeking out from your clothing—immediately pointing it out and questioning you about it, much to your chagrin

This inevitably led to a very long and semi-complicated conversation discussing the intricacies of your species and how, no, you’re technically not a human

No you weren’t trying to deceive Luz, either, you just felt too awkward to correct her

But when all was said and done (and you were all out of steam after a several hour session of intense questioning and frustration at miscommunications) they seemed much more relaxed around you—even willing to let you stay with them, at Luz’s request, so long as you pulled your weight around the house and helped to keep them safe

And, really, how hard could that be? You fought in an intergalactic war so taking out a few organics should be a piece of cake (as Steven would say)

After spending a few weeks in this strange new world you had come to realise one specific thing; it wasn’t easy. It was, in fact, the exact opposite.

If you had to bubble one more guard you were going to scream

What had they done to make this Emperor hate them so much?

It felt as though half of your time was spent bubbling, blocking or disabling people that had made their way to the Owl House—and the rest was spent painstakingly explaining your abilities and species to Amity, Lilith and Luz

Granted, that wasn’t the most stressful part of your stay

That was hands down the stresses that came with visits from Luz’s friends from Hexside: the endlessly kind and protective Willow and the ever-curious and annoyingly quick witted Gus

That being said, you did appreciate their enthusiasm to learn about and accommodate you—even if the look Willow gave you when you spoke about the empire’s treatment of organic life did leave you rather shaken

So what little free time you had was spent learning about the local culture and sharing your experiences with them

Training with Amity and Eda

Helping Willow with her plants in whatever way you can based on your gem

Creating gem clones to help Gus perfect his illusions even further

Teaching Lilith and Luz about your abilities as well as those of your fellow gems, even helping the latter learn to write using gem glyphs

It was heartwarming to see others so passionate about your home, even if their insistence on pushing you to your limits could be rather frustrating (especially early in the mornings when your patience ran thin)

However, the longer you spent there the more members of the Emperor’s Coven (amongst others) you ended up coming across. One particularly memorable instance occurred when you were escorting a fretting Amity through Bonesborough with the twins (who’s presence you had grown rather fond of as their visits became more frequent).

Ed had dragged Em back to the library a good few minutes ago, leaving you and Amity to your own decides as you weaved in and out of the foot traffic—only to stop completely when the youngest Blight suddenly froze before grabbing your hand and darting off to an adjacent alleyway

As you went to protest, she promptly clamped one hand over your mouth and gestured rather violently for you to stay quiet before nodding towards a figure just a bit away from you

From the golden mask and white cloak you knew they were a member of the Emperor’s Coven—but you’d seen them before, on the posters littered around the city, each exploring passersby to join their coven

Golden Guard

That was a definite threat

So you passed the girl a spare cloak and did what you could to mask your own appearance before carefully making your way back home, shopping be damned—one hand over your gem just in case he happened to notice you

Though thankfully he didn’t

Not that it stopped you from filing him away as someone to be wary of anyway; he was the emperor’s right hand man, after all, so there was no such thing as being “too cautious”

And for a while that’s exactly what it was, not that you saw much of him that is, but from what you’d been told about Luz and Amity’s run ins with him you were glad to have never seen him face-to-face. If you had, you were almost certain he wouldn’t come out unscathed—teenage protege or not.

So with all that in mind, the last that you were expecting to see on a relatively peaceful Saturday evening was the unmasked Golden Guard practically unconscious and leaning on Luz and Eda for support as they burst through the door

Completely ignoring Hooty as usual as they carefully laid him down on the seat beside you (after you’d hurriedly gotten up, that is)

He looked to be in an awful state, with his visible skin bloodied, bruised and scarred whilst his usually pristine uniform was tattered and caked in dirt and what seemed to be even more of his blood

Seeming to notice your distress, Eda briefly addressed you and her sister before sending you all off to gather supplies (or heal if your gem allowed it)

“The kid’s been through a lot, but he’s with us now. Trust me, I wouldn’t have carried him all this way if I had any doubts about it.”

And that was that

It took Hunter (as he introduced himself) over a week to even be able to get out of bed and walk around unassisted—and whilst he actively avoided speaking about what had happened to him, you had a feeling that Belos was somehow involved

Though things were still rather tense for a month or so after he arrived, no matter how hard Luz tried to integrate him (and no matter how polite and welcoming Willow and Gus tried to be)

And you didn’t even want to recall the shouting match that occurred when Amity saw him in the living room with Luz….

It seemed as though he was just more content to shut himself away with L’il Rascal and only interact with Luz and Eda; the former to learn from her and the latter because she wouldn’t let him get away with anything but

That wasn’t even mentioning the palpable tension between him and Lilith (she would only say that it was from their time in the coven—and Luz suspected he’d annoyed her a bit too much—but nothing else would come of it)

But the others were worried about him, so you were sent in as a neutral party to talk with him about… things. You weren’t really told what and you didn’t have the time to ask.

Initially he was incredibly closed off and would only address you briefly, barely even acknowledging your presence as he gave his full attention to the scattered papers on his desk, each depicting a different spell and each ever so slightly off

So, as gently as you could you took the quill from him and drew a simple glyph on a spare scalp of paper, carefully leading him through the motions before leaning back and activating the spell (and smiling at his much more openly interested expression)

That then sparked a deep conversation about different types of magic—specifically wild magic and glyphs—as you shared what you knew about the topic with one another, every so often breaking off into laughter or patient silence as he’d run across the room to show you his notes or books he’d found

Naturally this would lead to him asking you about where you came from and you discussing your origins with him

Homeworld

The Diamond Authority

The gem war

Colonies

Soldiers

Shattering

The Crystal Gems

Everything

He was incredibly easy to talk to as he listened with a genuine intensity to what you said, nodding along and even asking well thought out questions about your world where appropriate

Depending on how close you were, he may even ask to see your gem and ask about its purpose

If you let him touch it, he’d be so very gentle, almost treating you as though you were made of glass—maybe even sketching it down and noting down your abilities and weaknesses in his personal notebook and apologising if it was weird

This mutual interest in magic and your shared experiences of either having to conform to a specific role your whole life [full gem reader] or feeling out of place and weaker because of your shortcomings [half gem reader] would be the basis of your friendship turned relationship. The transition between the two would be so incredibly seamless and slow that you wouldn’t even notice it happening—one moment you two were best friends sparring and the next you were hiding your blushing face in his neck as he hugs you and apologises for hitting you a bit too hard with his magic.

Your relationship would be sweet and slow and genuine

Hunter is new to receiving any kind of affection, so you’d probably have to teach him a thing or two—but he’d learn quite quickly so don’t worry

He’d spend hours studying your culture and language just to write you notes or offer you affirmations in ways unique to your culture, even calling you “my (Y/n)” after a while

Likewise, the first time you called him “my Hunter” he was left red in the face for the rest of the day (he loved it, though, so don’t stop)

But the moment someone makes a teasing remark about how soft he’s gotten (usually one of the Blight siblings or his own younger sister figure, Luz), Hunter will partially revert to being cold in public (whilst still being affectionate and openly touch starved in private)

In short, your relationship with him would be built on a foundation of mutual trust, affection and understanding that sprouted from friendship and honest conversations about your passions and pasts

#reader insert #sleepingdeath hub #hcs #headcanons #steven universe #su #toh x su #the owl house #the owl house x reader #the owl house golden guard #the owl house hunter #toh #toh x reader #toh golden guard #toh hunter #hunter x reader #golden guard x reader

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curiousconch · 3 years ago

Text

Chase You/Chase Me (Pt. 4)

Part 4: The truth will never lie to me

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Trapped in a conference, Gabe and Alex bask in the afterglow of their interrupted moment by the lake. But before Alex can fully comprehend how she felt, she unravels a truth that may cease the chase altogether.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 1.8k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, language, implied sexual content. Reader discretion advised.

Author's Notes: Surprise! Yep, it's an early release! I made revisions to fit the ongoing narrative and ended up breaking it down into two parts. Also, this series may span longer than I originally intended it to be, not wanting to rush things. It will probably extend until Part 7, depending on what happens at the finale. I do hope you'll still stick around. If not, I'll totally understand. 😉

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

Late night, Boston

Shoe laces, cool wind and the darkness of the forest enveloping them. His breath shuddering with how close her lips was. His throat running dry.

Wanting, longing.

Just a little taste to find out how intoxicatingly delicious those cherry lips would be in his mouth and to feel the heat of her body against his.

And then a splash.

Gabe blinked as he felt ice cold liquid pouring over his crisp white shirt. He wasn't sure if he was having déjà vu.

"Oh, sorry mate," a man standing nearby had bumped into him, making the glass of scotch he was drinking shake and spill into his impeccable suit. He forced down the tasteless curse words forming in his mouth, groaning in frustration at the dissipating sensations from what he had been imagining.

His mind was stuck in an endless loop, replaying the romantic encounter with Alex just the night before. But very much like after Beau's dive into the lake, his consciousness whipped achingly back to reality.

Gabe was leaning on the mobile bar, set in the middle of the conference reception. Did he just lose himself in a daydream like a fool? He wondered, murmuring through his madness.

The time alone with her provided him a glimpse of what could be between them. And oh how euphoric it had been to have her so near, to watch his body respond to her like no other.

It left him just craving for more.

He was lying to himself if he continued to deny that he has feelings for Alex, and how deep he was already in for her. But he knew it wasn't meant to be, at least until after he admits the truth. Until then, he had to pull away.

Easier said than done.

For now, he settled for a view of her, his eyes scoured the room for the subject of his fancy. When he found her, Gabe couldn't stop his smile and the fluttering of his heart, or the warmth growing between his legs.

There she was, in the far side of the room, shining brighter than any star that they had seen in the night sky. Her audience completely captivated as he was with her.

The sight of her in that blue dress swept Gabe back into his fantasies, and how infuriatingly near he was to giving into them. He had to clench his fist around his tumbler, suppressing any trace of his earlier wild thoughts.

Apparently sensing the weight of his gaze, Alex turned to him, their eyes meeting in silent conversation. He watched as she excused herself before making her way towards where he sat.

Half-smiling, Alex's confident expression as she approached him made him swallow hard.

Gabe summoned all his willpower to rein himself in as she got closer. He plastered his usual cocky smile, once again putting up a wall of professionalism. They were in a conference, he reasoned.

"Still watching your wards, old man?" Alex chuckled as she reached a seat beside him.

"Working the room like a pro like that? Very hard to ignore," Gabe interjected, shaking his head. "Had to say Alex, I'm impressed."

"Glad you noticed," she smiled, clearly enjoying the compliment.

"Frankly, you charming the top tier lawyers were hard to miss," he said, with lips quirking into a grin.

"Were you watching the whole time?" she asked.

"Difficult not to, seeing how you're the best-dressed lawyer in the room," he continued, savoring the easy conversation.

She scoffed before turning around, grabbing a napkin from a bartender. Alex offered it to him, pointing at the light stain on his clothes.

He finally muttered a curse, realizing he had been too distracted not to notice the result of the spillage from his own drink. This was one of my best suits.

Gabe almost jumped when Alex started to wipe the front of his suit.

His eyes narrowed, unable to process what was happening. On impulse, he reached out to her, encircling his palms around her wrist. Alex snapped her head up at the touch, the intensity of her gaze enchanting him.

It took all of his strength to break free from it. He cleared his throat and looked away, before grabbing the napkin from her grasp without warning.

It had always been like this. At first, there was this fluidity, a natural attraction between them while they interacted. Then another goddamn minute passes and it all becomes downright complicated.

Gabe wasn't having it.

He briefly shut his eyes closed and released the breath he was holding. When he opened them, he focused his attention on wiping the stain from his jacket, avoiding Alex's questioning gaze. He decided to divert the conversation, robbing her of any opportunity to re-capture him in a trance.

"Don't worry, I don't judge potential partners solely on congeniality. Though I can't speak for Sadie." He then turned and discarded the cloth on the bar. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll have to speak to a friend who I'm sure will be thrilled to know I'm now a partner."

He finally dared to look at Alex with almost apologetic eyes, before swiftly walking away towards a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Alex was left gaping at his hasty departure, uncertain how it all went south so quickly. She wanted to grab his arm and pull him to her so badly, to pick things up from where they left off last night. From that moment when his lips was inches away from taking hers, before they were interrupted.

Her body ached to be near him. Then again, that's not how she usually operates, so she let him be.

She had never thought her idol was such a tease. Or perhaps, traditional? Alex snickered. Oh how I'll make you beg, Gabriel Ricci. She exhaled, the sultry thought of the man on his knees in front of her suddenly hiking up the temperature in the room. Alex had to fan herself to cool down.

Along with the idea of finally spending some alone time together, conjuring the image of waking up beside Gabe excited her. Well, if ever this chase between them actually culminates to something.

But why was she following this trail of thought? In all her conquests, she had never stayed for what came after. She had that with Julian, and look how that ended. For her, it was always just for the fun. So why does she suddenly liked the notion with Gabe? She shuddered. Ugh, weird.

Maybe it's because it's taking the long game with him? Alex didn't want to know.

Leaving that for now, she resorted to ordering another shot of patron to drown the remnants of her heated thoughts. On her third glass, Alex heard a familiar voice ordering a shot of bourbon. She swiveled towards it and caught sight of Lina Reyes, the opposing lawyer from the Willow case.

"Fancy meeting you here," Alex smiled lazily, remembering how temptingly attractive she was. She also recalled the offer of a hook-up, which she politely declined out of courtesy.

But now, seems like she's getting another chance. And with Gabe being annoyingly hard to get, Alex had to have fun somewhere else. It's not like she and Gabe was committed, right?

Lina scooted closer to her, smelling of a heady mix of alcohol. "Speaking of fancy, damn. You look more incredible than I can remember, Alex," she teased, provocatively arching her brows at her.

Alex quickly picked up Lina's attempt to flirt, stoking her bruised ego. "Gotta be dressed to impress, right?" she waved her fingers as if in curtsy. "Enjoying the conference?"

"At this point, things tend to devolve quickly. But I do plan to have a nightcap back in my room," Lina smirked, Alex feeling the heel of velvet pumps brushing along her bare leg. "Maybe you could join me?"

The woman wasn't exactly subtle, though Alex had to give props to her for her confidence. She liked that in anyone. So Alex returned the gesture, letting her fingers hover an inch over her arm while batting her eyelashes. Two can play that game.

"I think we should stay here."

Wait, what? Did she just say no? Subconsciously? Did hell just freeze over? Or did her brain left her head?

Both women blinked, unable to determine who's more mortified between them. They were both quiet, until Lina broke the awkwardness by a chuckle.

"Had to try, didn't expect I'd be turned down twice," she said consuming the rest of her drink in one gulp. "Worth it though." she shrugged, ordering another round for herself.

Alex struggled to compose herself, brows furrowed in confusion by how that went down.

"Oh don't be so bothered, you're not my first rodeo." Lina poked at her jokingly, clearing up the air. Alex thanked her, and the conversation went smoothly from there.

Several more drinks in, the two women chatted on, venturing into a variety of topics in law and in love. It didn't take long before Lina started to slur in her words, to which Alex found amusing.

"Looks like someone didn't pace herself," she observed as she sipped her cocktail.

"Ah don't mind me, had to cleanse my palate after all the boring sessions earlier," Lina toasted her glass on hers, wobbling as she shifted to face her. "We are a rare breed, us fighters," she leaned towards Alex, lowering her voice to a whisper. "We like-minded women should just stick together, you know?"

Alex was relieved she turned her down the second time. Barely listening to her, she started to drift off as Lina continued rambling on, turning around to face the crowds as her eyes tried to locate that handsome man. Alex smirked when she found Gabe's sexy outline.

"Lot of ungrateful dipshits being freed from prison, even after we work our asses off proving they deserved an earlier release. Khan, Kozlowski, those celebrities involved with the Ivy League admission scandal? Hell, even small town criminal Cornell was released in the last five years alone!"

And with that last statement, Alex froze. "Say that again?"

Confused, Lina stuttered as if she can't remember what she was saying. To Alex's annoyance, she went silent, apparent that more humiliation was on the way. Lina abruptly stood, covering her mouth with her hand as she sprinted to the bathroom. Alex let her pass.

Assured that she'll be fine with her colleagues flanking her, Alex started to obsess over Lina's last sentence.

Was that just the patron? Or am I getting too drunk and starting to hear things? She asked herself, bewildered at how randomly Lina mentioned a Cornell.

With an exasperated sigh, she decided it wouldn't hurt to check. She pulled out her phone from her purse and fired up a search engine, where she typed in the godforsaken name. Alex tapped enter.

As soon as the results loaded, she felt the world crumble beneath her.

No, no, no, no, no. This fucking didn't happen.

She clicked on one of the articles from a local news outlet. The picture beneath the headline shoving her nightmares front and center. There it was, the title written in bold stated loud and clear: Cornell Son Gets Early Release.

Alex bit her lip as she fought to gather herself together, speed reading through the article. This was definitely a surprise, but what really got her reeling was the figure of a man walking behind Maximilian. She'd pick up who that was from anywhere within a mile radius.

Alex tried to keep herself rational, but the shock rippled through her, enough to shake off the alcohol in her system. And why did her stomach churned like she was punched in the gut a hundred times over? Why did she felt fucking betrayed?

Unexpectedly, she knew it wasn't discovering Cornell was now walking freely in the streets.

Deep down, Alex was aware it was because Gabe Ricci was involved. Either way, it looks like her high and mighty boss has some explaining to do.

Her blood boiled, a myriad of questions went through her mind. Resolute, she wanted those damn questions answered. Tonight.

She downed her drink and slammed the empty glass on the bar, sending a text to draw Gabe's attention.

She looked over where he stood, watching the frown in his face as he read her message. She clicked her head, beckoning him outside.

Even he can't fathom the fire storm that was about to come his way.

Author's Notes 2: Thank you for your continued reading! 💖 How do you think things will go down next? Let me see your reactions on your comments and reblogs!

Tag list: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @latinagiraffe @sarcastic01lily @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer @thegreentwin @mkatschoicesblog @made-of-roses @lillijill

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yoursinfulurges · 4 years ago

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AntiHero

[The Venom Within] <- read part one here.

Description: The events that soon followed your emotional downfall turns dark and horrifying after Hydra gains possession of your freedom.

1/2 of part 2

Warnings: Abuse. Kidnapping. Angst.

Disclaimer: In this story' venom has no conscious and is simply just the readers alter, or the readers inner thoughts and insecurities. This takes place after civil war time. So Endgame and Infinity War never happens.

____________

You huffed inaudibly, hearing your stomach roar from starvation for the fifth time this minute. You had only gotten twelve blocks away from the tower, which was still very much visible when you turned back. Annoyingly so, you tried to avoid any peripheral contact with it, in fear of changing your mind and running straight back.

Even trying your very hardest to block out any childhood memories spent there from coming back to you, as the last thing you needed was for more tears to be shed. You felt eerily deprived of sensation, and you didn't know if it was because of the cold New York air or the fact that you left a part of you behind back in that tower. The one capable of deciphering the many layers of the overwhelming apathy you ever so felt reside within you.

The one able to comprehend and break down your other feelings that remained intacted, yet almost seemed brain dead. As if not computing the sitution that had happened moments ago, defying how your tense heart truly ached. Feeling as though you were just a walking body, an empty shell of the person that once was. You knew your inner subconscious was protecting you from added trauma, and was doing the best thing it could by preventing you from feeling the complexity of it all and only allowing minor details to slide. As said feelings would only send you into a spiralling depth of anxiety.

And only god knows what would happened if your emotions alone suddenly decided it was time to have a panic attack at this very moment. Despite being greatful for the somewhat unorthodox coping mechanism that was forced upon you, you were at war with yourself. Almost angry that you couldn't process the overwhelming wave of sensations, having to submit to the black cold solitude of your mind till your brain finally decides to open up and evaluate just how badly the damage was to your mental health.

But till that happens your soul was left to wonder and yield in confusion instead of settling on one dependent emotion....

You were conflicted to no doubt.

You were angry yet, if tried hard enough and dug a bit deeper, pass the wall you built around your heart, you found yourself strangely at peace. Contradicting the forefront frustration you had with the profound perplexity of the situation, confusing you once more. As a part of you almost beams at the sudden calmness that over came you, in contrast to your outbursts merely an hour ago.

Sure, you felt a myriad of miniscule emotions coincide you, tiny enough not to affect you in any way shape or form, or take away your apathetic structure, (thankfully so). And you knew that you were definitely far from okay as of right now, especially since you were somewhat going through an existential crisis. Yet in a funny defiant kind of way you were fine. It was as if your amygdala had froze, preventing you from registering everything that had happened. Forcing you to rerun the moments leading up to here in order to get to the bottom of what your true emotions and opinions were.

You made it out of the tower unnoticed, given the fact that you dressed a lot more muted than you'd normally do. Nobody would think that it was Y/n Stark under the hood of one of Steve Rogers' old jacket. Your clothes weren't exactly ideal, but you were in no position to complain, you acted in a panic and grabbed whatever was on the way to the exit.

That being Natasha's grey hoodie and Steve's oversized leather jacket. Both laid untouched, draped over the abandoned conference room chairs. You saw it the moment you stepped out the elevator, peering through the glass walls just to confirm whether it was really their's. It was a given that the room hadn't been cleaned out yet, being that it had been months since anyone has been in there. But then again, only a few people had conformation to that area of the tower.

Without thinking, you had scanned your hand onto the access pad, and before you knew it, the glass door slid open. A decision you silently curse yourself on now for doing, since there was no doubt about it that Friday had already informed your dad that your last digital encounter was going into that room. You knew how incredibly smart that AI was, so you even made it an effort to take the route with less cameras. Even purposely running around the building, going to useless area's to confuse her in the future before sliding pass an unsupervised emergency exit.

Despite the fact that it was 1:30 AM, the streets of Manhattan was as lively as ever. Though there was a lot less traffic at this time of the night. It gave you comfort to know that you weren't completely alone walking the streets. You may be skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but at the end of the day, you were still a girl, and that fact alone made you a clear target for some.

And you doubt you could put up much of a fight, especially with how starved weak (and not to mention injured) you were. You had to be weary of who was around you at all times, stick to crowded areas yet be inconspicuous enough not to be spotted by cameras. As you knew for a fact that Friday was most likely scanning the area.

Though despite how stress driven the situation was and how fidgety you felt, you weren't completely wandering lost, you had a destination set at mind and it gave you all the hope that you needed to keep moving onward. That location being the small little Chinese restaurant tucked away at a back alley passage seven blocks away from where you were. As you were quite close with the owner, being a regular weekly. So you knew for a fact that if you asked she would let you stay for a couple of days without hesitation. The small cozy family owned business reminded you so much of your old home, back when you still lived with your mother.

After that night- or more so week spent with Tony, your mother had decided it would be best to stay put in China for a while. Delusions of starting something more than just a hook up with the oh so' brilliant Tony Stark flooded her mind. She wanted to be at arms reach for the man and stay exactly where he left her. Tony told her multiple times over the course of seven days that he'd be back for her, but he never came back...

As weeks went by your mother had come to the realization that those words were merely nothing but empty promises and drunken slurs. Thus feeding her resentment for the small little child that grew inside her. You weren't a native of China but you were born and raised there up until age eleven or twelve, when your mother passed from cancer. Your childhood for the most part was dry and barren of any affection, having to submit and be degraded to being your mother's personal maid. Despite the mistreatment you had to endure, you couldn't exactly complain because you weren't exactly suffering. You had a roof over your head and all the food and water you could ever want, not to mention access to education. From a young age you had always shown signs of carrying the infamous Stark gene, harboring a profound skill to grasp and master any subject thrown your way. At the age of only six you were already capable of speaking three different languages; English, Chinese, and French. You had all characteristics of being a Stark.

Except of course the looks.... Which was primarily why Tony didn't believe you were his child to begin with. You knew from the age of twelve that you looked more like your mother rather than your dad, but the contrast was blatantly eye striking next to the man whom was supposed to be your father. You had your mom's features more not to mention her complexion, being that your mother was [your race].

(If you're white then imagine y/n is paler or tanner than Tony, I'm Asian so....)

You had never forgotten the most pivotal and accurate representation of your relationship that unfolded the day you first met...

🕸🕷🕸

You ran towards the man stood a few feet away from you, letting go of the woman's hand. Your face beams displaying a blinding smile as you ran towards Tony.

"Dad!"

You screamed in joy running towards the male engulfing his mid waist with your arms. The man looked down at you in a fright, his brows furrowing together as he looked at the Stark family lawyer and the social worker.

He gently yet assertively pulls your arms off of him, not sparing you a glance as you looked up in question.

"Are you sure she's mine?"

Your heart drops at that moment as all becomes clear... The smile no longer present on your face as you looked down and distanced yourself away from Tony. Something no one took notice of.

"We've already done a DNA test on her sir and she's yours..." The social worker lady spoke timidly, clutching her files tightly.

"Well do two more tests, god damn it!"

Tony screamed causing you to flinch slightly. A prickling sensation of shame washing over you as you watched him begins to pace, rubbing his face with the palm of his hands in distress.

"Come here sweetie, let's go get you something to eat, you must be hungry from your flight."

A woman with ginger hair spoke lightly as she forced out a smile, extending her hand for you before glaring at the man when you took her hold.

"I want a cheese burger...."

She nodded briefly, pulling you away from the scene and straight towards the elevator.

🕸🕷🕸

And at that day was when you realized that things were only going to get more complicated from there. Because the first moment that you both met, he had already decided that he didn't want you.

Though contrary to his primal feelings, you were very much aware of your fathers attempts in searching for you, even though it had only been forty five minutes since the fight. It was reassuring but, you weren't in the mood to awe about it. You were still mad at him, and had zero plans of forgiving him any time soon. Or returning any time soon... You wanted him to worry and loose sleep, it was petty but it would be a mere compensation for the suffering he put you through.

You brush pass a halted group of people, no more than twelve, lightly shoving pass them irritably. Slightly annoyed with their odd behavior, as they all seemed to be watching something you couldn't care less about. You let out an inaudible scoff, as you walked passed them. Your attention devoted to unwrapping the bubble gum you had in hand. Harshly shoving the minty treat into your mouth before putting your bandaged hands into the pockets of the leather jacket. You heaved in relief, finally giving your roaring stomach a somewhat rest after fourteen hours of starvation. The gum was probably months old by now since you found it in Nat's hoodie, but you couldn't care less. It was only meant to sustain your hunger for twenty more minutes.

You walk at a leisurely pace, stopping slightly to push the pedestrian button at the cross walk. You watched as multiple cars pass by, rolling your eye irritably as you hear the crowd of people gasp in awe again. You normally weren't so easily agitated, but you're currently having a hard time figuring out just what your new normal would be from now on... Tapping your foot on the concrete pavement, you wished time would speed up.

"What do you think is happening up there?"

"Who knows"

"Maybe he's just testing out his new suits.'

With that, you freeze all movements. It was as if everything stilled at the command of one word. You were scared shitless of all the possibilities it could be, not knowing whether you were willing to look or not, but your anxiety was killing you. Feeling it increase at every breath, taunting you like marionettes on a string, dearing you to look, only to scream no just afterwards. With an in take of air, you pushed back those thoughts and slowly, you turned to view what all the fuss was about. Gasping in shock and horror at the sight infront of you.

He was insane.

There stood the Stark tower tall and proud, being lit up like a firecracker with multiple yellow streaks of light ejecting from the building. It looked as though hundreds of missiles were being fired into the air, contrasting the twilight sky. Even with the skyscrapers that surrounded the tower, the sight demanded all the attention. No, those weren't missiles...

They behaved too smart to be simply just that. And you knew better than to dismiss them so easily. Multiple flew in every direction, some swirling around the tower, and others going straight up. There was at least two or four going north and south, while a dozen takes off headed east and west. It looked as though someone was celebrating New Years early, and doing so extravagantly, except it was the middle of fall...

The sight was beautiful you couldn't deny that, but you were confused as to what exactly that could mean. Was it meant for you? Was he calling you back? Was that his version of an Amber alert? Or maybe they celebrating that you were finally gone... Images of Pepper, Tony, and Peter celebrating your leave quickly flash through your mind, stabbing you in the back ones more. Quickly, you shake them out of your head, returning your attention once again to the event in front of you. Your brows pulled together in question before it officially clicked. Hitting you hard like a brick, demolishing the wall of protection you built around yourself to stop the flood of overwhelming emotions. Feeling a small tug in your chest, the numbness that guarded your heart slowly dispersed as anxiety crept up your spine.

He had unleashed the entirety of his Iron Legion's to search for you.

All 108 suits....

Without thinking, you quickly crouched down, seeing one flying low into the street, right towards you. Your hood fell from a gust of wind as your hair blew all around. You screw your eyes tightly, covering your ears at a loud swooshing sound invading your eardrums. Thankfully, it flew pass you. You ignored the cheering of the crowd, quickly trying to run and sprint into an underground sub station. Turning back one last time, only to be greeted by more iron suits taking off from the tower. You frantically focusing your eyes, seeing a blue and red figure swinging from a far.

Peter....

As luck may have it, he swung left, following a completely different road.

And with that, you ran. You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, frantically looking for the 99th street substation opening so that you could hide underground.

Cut short gasps of panic erupt from your mouth as you hurriedly ran across the street. You closed your eyes tight, feeling tears forming and falling down your face. Oh no, not now... Cold frost bitten air hits your skin as you maneuver yourself around bystanders. Not now, not now, not now. The tears fell more frequently as you squeezed your eyes shut once more.

You were not going to send yourself into and anxiety attack, not now, and not because of this.

Your running comes to a halt as you stand exactly where you're supposed to be, eyes quickly looking around in search for the station opening.

There!

In a fright, damp cold sweats engulfs your body as you enter and ran down the steps, out from above ground sight. You jump over the turnstile, panting from the tiredness as you took note of how soar your legs were becoming. You gulp, chest rising and falling rapidly as you looked around to see if anyone saw your odd behavior. And to your surprise the station was completely empty, odd... Though that could very well be because the scheduled 1:40 train had just took off fifteen minutes ago. You moved with hesitation and weariness as you looked around for any person in sight. Silently, you plopped yourself down onto a steel bench, trying desperately for your breathing to calm down.

You didn't know how long it had been or how much time passed since you've sat down, but you stayed put fidgeting for what seemed like hours. Your thighs bounced anxiously as you kept an eye out for any short of movement, the dimly lit grimy station gave you an on edge feeling and it didn't sit right in your stomach. You felt like you were being watched from all sorts of corners and you shook it off as anxiety but something told you to stay guarded.

Your ears would perk from time to time, hearing loud gusts of winds and cheering from above ground, ensuring the fact that your father's search party wasn't going away anytime soon.

You hear movement coming in, snapping out of your haze as you felt a presence sit beside you. You peer up meekly in curiosity before gasping in shock and horror at who the person was.

Brock Rumlow....

"Long time no see little Stark." He spoke voice raspy and sinister as you cringe at the sight of his face. There, half of his profile was burnt and agitated red as one of his eyes was completely titanium white, you figured he was blind there. Wanda really did a number on him as you all suspected that she had killed him....

Little Stark.... That was something only Fury called you...

You swallow in fear as you notice five more men appearing suddenly. You suddenly felt incredibly hyper aware of the situation, your vision tunneling as your heart rate increases. This was really happening...

"I've waited a long time for this kid... knock her out!"

Before you could scream in distress a throbbing pain consumes the back of your skull, and then everything turned black...

_____________

I owe you guys an explanation, and to put it simply, I was depressed and felt unmotivated so I took a lot of time to myself... I wasn't aware that so many people were expecting a follow up to a stupid little story I had written in April... I am without of words and am absolutely overwhelmed by the amount of support and love you all have given me. Yet the feeling of being pressured to write came with the notion of so much positivity, thus tainting it. I can't promise when the second half of part two will come out, but know that it is coming......

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jetaime-jespere · 4 years ago

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Prompt #29/116

#29- Look at me/# 116. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Aaron crossed the line of objectivity somewhere between Morgan screaming his name through the bullpen, and listening to Benjamin Cyrus unleash his wrath on Emily two days later. He clenched a set of headphones with shaking hands and a surge of rage coiling deep in his chest and coursing through his veins. He can’t bring himself to think of it, knowing it’s partly his fault in the first damn place for sending her and Reid there.

It wouldn’t be the only line that’s been crossed in the months since his divorce papers were finalized, and what happened before and after the disaster that was New York City. It happened once, until it happened twice, and before long it was happening whenever they could sneak a few hurried moments. It was never supposed to happen but it did, and it adds an entirely different layer of complications. Despite their best intentions, those complications are now starting to creep into their work on what seems like an all too regular basis. It can’t happen, but it keeps happening.

The aftermath of New York left him uncomfortably vulnerable like never before. Kate’s death rocked him, and it was Emily’s patience and quiet concern that kept him from spiraling out of control. He blamed himself; he felt responsible for not being able to save her from bleeding out on a Midtown street. It was Emily’s quiet whispers in the dark in the days after that reminded him sometimes, we can’t win them all.

Now it’s his turn in a game they never asked to play, a turning of the tables.

“We gotta go in,” he’d said to Dave, trying and failing to conceal the anger in his tone. It’s the only option while not being an option at all; one that will only bring a negative outcome. He knows that, but objectivity is a myth at this point.

“We’d be risking the lives of everybody in there.” Dave had been annoyingly rational and the picture of calm throughout the entire hellish experience. His suspicions are abundantly clear, even if he’s tight lipped and completely neutral. He’d seen what happened shortly after New York and in Ohio, and Dave has been around long enough to know how these things go. So he stays close to Aaron, leads the hostage negotiation response and never wavers once over the course of the few days that seemingly never end.

With whatever degree of composure Aaron has left - the rest of it waned as the time in Colorado dragged on - he blindly follows Dave across the grounds towards the explosion and flames. Swarms of people emerge from the burning building in varying states of duress. The Colorado police attempt to triage survivors and maintain some semblance of order. Aaron barely hears them, because as the space between them closes, he has to pull himself together.

They’re okay, thank God, despite being bruised, dirty, and exhausted. The extent of their injuries will be confirmed in the coming hours, but his initial inspection is one of immediate relief. “Are you alright?” He asks, and both nod even as though his question is directed at her, a secret they’re both all too aware of.

“Yeah,” Emily manages, dazed and confused, her face a canvas of purple and red splotches in the shape of angry fists. Up close, it’s clear whatever she suffered at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus will remain for awhile, on the inside and out. Aaron swallows, and resists the urge to move closer to her. Hugging her would make all of this too real, a confirmation of their closely guarded secret. So he settles on a quick nod of his head before turning back to Reid, who looks just a little more shaken up than Aaron is comfortable with. Sooner rather than later they’ll have to give their statements; he’ll learn the rest of the details in due time. For now, there are other concerns. “Everyone from the compound is accounted for?”

“Torres said all but one,” Morgan says ruefully with a heaviness in his voice. “Nothing we could have done.”

Watching Emily limp toward the girl’s grieving mother is enough to make his stomach churn. It’s a minimal loss, but a loss nonetheless - one they were never going to win at all, and the rest of them avert their eyes as the woman wails in Emily’s arms. From over Mrs. Evanson’s shoulder, Aaron meets her gaze, not even bothering to hide the relief spreading on his face.

With the scene almost cleared and his standard level of gravitas fully returned, Aaron demands they be taken to the hospital. It’s the tone of his voice that tells them both not to argue; it’s not a request but an order. There’s a passing glance between Emily and Reid, one that tells him everything he needs to know - that whatever happened in that compound - the things he didn’t hear, is something they’ll always carry, some twisted bond between then. It’s a sobering reminder of how lucky they got, how different this could have turned out, one that keeps him all but silent as he follows the ambulances to the hospital. There’s still work to be done and calls to make - all of that can be done from the waiting room and on the flight home.

It’s the first time he’s been in a hospital since New York; it’s an experience he could have done without. Aaron is grateful it’s relatively quiet at 4:30 AM; luckily Emily and Reid are seen by doctors almost immediately. But there’s nothing quite like the eerie stillness of a hospital, with nothing but the occasional alarm or PA announcement for company, and he finds himself staring at his watch and then the clock on the wall with a frustrated sigh.

“It’s only been a half hour, Hotch” Morgan reminds him patiently without even looking up from the three day old newspaper in his hands. “It’s gonna be awhile.”

Morgan is right, he thinks, holding the pen in his hand a little tighter.

...

Almost two hours after she disappeared with the exhausted but kind nurse, Aaron cautiously pushes open the door of the exam room, not knowing what he’ll find. She’s perched uncomfortably on the rickety bed, all bandaged and stitched, the dirt cleaned off her face. Still, it doesn’t quite hide the damage; the blood still stains her clothes and the pungent odor of smoke still lingers in the air.

“Well?” He asks expectantly, resisting the urge to reach for the discharge papers that sit on the small tray next to the bed.

“A broken cheekbone, bruised eye, some bruised rib and some stitches.” Emily runs through the list of her injuries as if reading a grocery list or something equally casual. The wince on her face when she moves a little too quickly is her giveaway that it’s a bit more than that.

“Bruised?” He challenges with a lifted eyebrow. No fucking way.

“Fine,” she concedes, biting her bottom lip. “Two fractured. Several bruised. All sore.”

The look on his face must give him away, because she smiles warily, as if she doesn’t quite believe her own words. “It looks a lot worse than it is, Aaron.” She’s putting on a brave front he can see right through, no matter how much she tries to hide it.

“Bullshit,” Aaron snaps back, just a little too harshly. “If I knew -”

“I heard you almost took out the Colorado Attorney General.” Emily says under her breath, even though they’re out of earshot. “When did that happen?” She looks almost amused, and it feels like a distant memory after the endless drag of the previous hours.

“When he was threatening to obstruct a federal investigation.”

“Sounds like I missed a lot,” she quips with a slightly wry grin, one that emphasizes the swelling of her face. “You’ll have to fill me in.”

“I’d rather not,” he says, and for the first time since their rescue, he brushes his knuckles across a small stripe of untouched skin on her cheek.

“Not here, Aaron,” Emily’s face reddens. “Please.”

“I wanted to go in,” he says a little too quickly. “To get you both. I couldn’t … listening to what -“

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Emily picks at the seam of the bandage on her arm, effectively cutting him off. “That would have compromised the whole operation.”

“I know.” He doesn’t care.

She folds her arms stubbornly and looks away, as if disappointed by his confession, his lack of objectivity. He takes it as a cue to leave, turning on his heel with a scrape of his shoe. “I’ll go check on Reid. I’m … it’s … “ he searches for words but they don’t quite materialize.

“Me too,” Emily says quietly before falling silent.

There will be time for talking later.

...

He shows up at her hotel room door, and even though she’s expecting him (she has been for awhile now),and she almost laughs at the irony of how the tables have turned in just weeks. It sends an ache through her chest, one that she’ll soon be used to. According to the ER doctor, it’ll take weeks for her ribs to heal. Now she sees the full extent of the burden of the last few days - the slight droop of his shoulders, the shadow of exhaustion leaving a pallor on his face.

“What’s so funny?” Aaron snaps, his jaw clenched tightly as he pushes past her, closing the door on his way. “Two of my agents almost got killed today.” He doesn’t remind her that she is one of the two.

Well, okay then, Emily thinks with a huff, taking note of the fact he’s still wearing his button down shirt, the sleeves rolled to the elbows. How long has he been in these clothes? “Did you show up to chastise me, Aaron, or is there a point?” She can’t hide the annoyance in her own voice. She’s just as cranky as he is, desperately in need of some food, and something tells her this hotel bed won’t be kind to her throbbing ribs.

He’s studying her, assessing the damage he can see, and what he can’t. “Show me,” he says, his voice simultaneously soft and firm. It’s not a request but not quite a demand, as if he’s not prepared to see what’s there. And yet, she knows he won’t leave until he gets what he came for.

“You already- “ she attempts.

“Emily.” This time his voice cracks just a little. “Please.”

With a soft sigh and roll of her eyes, she lifts the hem of the oversized shirt she’s wearing. It’s one of his - he notices for the first time - and peels away the wraps and bandages she’s acquired, like some kind of fucked up armor. Aaron takes it all in - every bruise, scrape, and stitch - each a reminder of his self-imposed culpability. His touch is gentle, overwhelmingly so, as he surveys each wound with defeat.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” His face is lined with unrelenting guilt, all consuming and real. “I shouldn’t have ever signed off on this. None of this would have happened.”

No, she thinks. “Look at me, Aaron” Emily says calmly, her voice steady with reason and logic as she shakes her head resoundingly. “I’m fine.” She pauses, running a hand through her hair. “Reid is fine too. It’ll take him a little while … to forgive himself,” she adds. “He blames himself. He shouldn’t, but he does.” Her assessment of him succinctly accurate, laced with compassion for him. She knows his mind like she knows her own. “But he got lucky today. We both did. You did all the right things. Sometimes … it just doesn’t go our way.”

“Hasn’t been going our way as of late , has it?”

He’s right. It’s been a shitty few months to say the least. Emily laughs softly, and when he wraps her into his embrace, carefully, she rests her weary head against his chest, it finally feels as if this whole miserable experience is over.

“There’s always tomorrow,” she says, voice muffled by his shirt. She doesn’t have to ask if he’s staying the night; it’s all but a given.

“When we get back,” Aaron murmurs, his chin tucked protectively over her head. “You still owe me that dinner you promised.”

She smiles even though he can’t see it. “Deal.”

#Hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #prompts #I'm making myself late for work with this one but oh well #minimal loss is full of hotchniss moments and im here for it

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blouisparadise · 4 years ago

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Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics posted or completed during the month of August. We really hope you enjoy this list and that you give these fics a lot of love.

Happy reading!

1) Move Out | Explicit | 1525 words

Harry and Louis are moving in together, so they might as well make the most of Harry's apartment.

2) Take Off Your Business Suit | Explicit | 3082 words

“Yes, let me get another chair.” Louis said, leaning up off of the desk. He stood up but before he could leave the office to get another chair, Harry was grabbing his hand.

The words that came out of Harry’s mouth made Louis’ knees weak and heart beat quicken. “Just sit on my lap.” Harry said. Whatever he said afterwards didn’t make it into Louis’ ears as he was moving quickly over to Harry and placing himself on Harry’s lap.Louis would take anything Harry wanted to give him; hand touching, lap sitting, all of it.

Louis hadn't realized he was holding his breath until it came out in a quiet sigh. “Okay so th-this one will be slightly different right?” He asked as he pointed at the sheet of paper in front of him.

3) So Good, It's Making Me Drool | Explicit | 3364 words

He kept his back turned to Harry, whispering the few words he knew that would make Harry go absolutely wild. “If I’m only yours, maybe you should take me to bed and teach me who I belong to.”

4) What I Like | Explicit | 4245 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

Harry gets tired of the "older women" jokes and the incessant teasing from Louis.

5) ll Belong To Your Creation | General Audiences | 4349words

Louis had always thought it was impossible to do so. Thankfully, upon doing research he learned that he still can as long as there are no complications throughout the whole pregnancy. He also stumble upon a birth vlog where a mum was able to give birth naturally even after going through c-section with her first and second pregnancy.

6) An Axolotl and the Fake Date | Explicit | 5976 words

Harry runs a stall at a farmers market every weekend and Louis comes by one day with an odd request.

7) Feels So Right | Explicit | 8804 words

The one where Louis is Troy, Harry is Gabriella, and we find out what really happened after karaoke at that ski resort...

8) Giallo! | Mature | 9776 words

Louis was a mess. A stuttery mess of weak knees and grass stains on his fresh linen clothes, his cheeks blooming a natural pink that matched his sunburnt nose. Upon his return from University, his family abandon the bustling city of London to bask in the comfort of their summer villa. With such a property came maintenance, Louis' father hired a strapping young fellow with tanned skin littered with ink and a charming smile aided by dimples in both his cheeks. Between reading, baking and painting, Louis stares at Harry, he couldn't help it. They grow close under the sun of Greece in 1989.

9) Interlude: One Night in March | Explicit | 10671 words

Note: This is a sequel to this fic.

“Said I would, didn’t I?” Harry let his hands roam over Louis’s bare back, his muscles rippling with that same frenetic energy he always had, swirling just beneath the skin, just beneath Harry’s fingers. “May come a time I’ll have to carry you again.”

Cupping the back of his head and burying his fingers in Louis’s hair, he pulled Louis back into another deep kiss, moaned a bit when Louis squeezed his chest again, harder this time, like he wanted the shirt off. But instead he drew his hand down Harry’s side and tugged at the hem, as though to say best keep this on, before he licked into Harry’s mouth, drew Harry’s tongue out to play only to pull back enough to speak.

“May come a time I’ll actually fucking let you.”

10) Hate To Smoke (Without Me) | Mature | 12164 words

Sleep. Harry just wants one good night of sleep. However, his neighbour has a thing for headboard-banging-against-the-wall-sex every night. After a secret set-up and a bet, Harry may finally get the sleep he so much desires.

11) Call You Mine | Explicit | 12755 words

“I have a request.”

That’s what Louis Tomlinson says to Harry when he opens the front door a bit too aggressively. The latter feels justified after a round of annoyingly incessant knocking that was much too loud in the drowsy sludge of early Saturday morning.

“Zayn’s asleep,” is Harry’s tired, hoarse reply, irritation prickling at his skin. Less than a minute ago he was in bed, feeling perfectly content sprawled out on the mattress with the chilled air from the fan cool against his bare skin. And now he’s leaning up against the wooden door frame in nothing but his briefs because Zayn’s best mate decided that showing up unannounced at seven in the fucking morning was a brilliant idea.

“I’m not here for him,” says Louis curtly.

12) A Vivid And Wistful Melody | Explicit | 13128 words

"Slowly, he takes his violin out of its case, listens for a few more minutes to Louis’ flute, before joining him as best as he could. The flute stops for a few seconds, and Harry imagines Louis blinking cutely, taken aback, before huffing with a smile, and starting to play again, on a suddenly far happier tune. Harry closes his eyes as he twirls around the living room, violin in hand and music filling the air. He pictures Louis doing the same in his own flat while being careful as to not step on his cat.

Somehow, even with heavy eyes and tired limbs, this is the happiest Harry has ever felt in years."

In which they are neighbours stuck at home and they happen to start talking through a wall with a piano, a violin, and a flute. They end up writing the soundtrack of their own love story.

13) Until This Blood Runs Cold | Explicit | 13685 words

In a town as small as Louis’, everybody knows everybody and gossip spreads faster than the wildfires that rage on just outside their backdoors in the sweltering heat of summer. When something happens here everyone knows about it within seconds. Neighbors call neighbors and notes are left on doorsteps, old telephone lines ringing until there isn’t a single person who is left in the unknown.

So it’s definitely hot gossip when a vampire moves in across the street from him, the very same one who’s just become Louis’ boss.

14) A Road To Hope | Explicit | 18280 words

Note: There is no explicit smut but its implied BL.

“We’re far from the people and their issues, don’t hold back. Please.”

It’s true. They are far away from anything that could stop them, the middle of nowhere being the safest place on Earth for them to fall in love. The sacred land where sacred love is created. However, Louis is certain that even if they weren’t safe, he wouldn’t resist the sight of Harry, his pleading eyes, his warm skin beneath his touch.

15) Your Eyes Of Blue, Your Kisses Too | Explicit | 21785 words

When they get out onto the streets away from the crowds Niall turns to walk backwards, “So did you get any leads?”

“Well- uh.”

Niall shakes his head, “Too busy kissing that pretty boy onstage, I see. Gonna blow the whole case for a piece of ass?”

16) Thinking About Peaches | Explicit | 23724 words

Note: This fic is a sequel to this fic, which is #18 on this list.

Eight smutty drabbles following the events of bruise you like a peach.

17) Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds | Mature | 38065 words

Broadway shows were one of the few things that could keep Louis’ attention for a full two hours without needing to move about. But not tonight.

The alpha next to him was both infuriating him and practically turning him on at the same time. He needed to leave. The alpha, that is. Louis was staying.

18) Bruise You Like A Peach | Explicit | 40694 words

Note: The sequel to this fic is #16 on this list.

There’s two reasons Harry despises Econ.

The first is that it’s boring as fuck. The second reason is a bit more personal, a bit more focused in a way. As in it’s focused on one specific thing, or in his case, person.

His name is Louis Tomlinson.

19) Falling Out Of Fashion | Explicit | 42123 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry Styles has been the established face of the Grimshaw House of Design for two years. It’s a prestigious and coveted modeling contract Harry took away from once-famed supermodel Zayn Malik. With the model transition Grimshaw’s designs went from a more urban, Zayn-forward aesthetic, to a Harry-favoring flowery, flowing femininity in the Grimshaw designs for men.

So when Harry sees a dress Grimshaw made for a famous Marvel actress, “only a tease”, Nick says, of the evolving look, Harry knows Grimshaw is shifting his aesthetic.

Harry wonders if he can pull off the look.

Or could Grimshaw be looking for a new face?

20) Secretly Dating | Mature | 43615 words

Lottie groaned, looming over Louis with a glare. “If we’re late, Mum and Dad will never let Harry see me – ie. see you.”

It was the first time they openly addressed the fact that Harry saw more of Louis than Lottie on their supposed ‘dates.’ He supposed he knew as much, but it still startled him. “You’ve been setting us up!”

Lottie snorted, cocking out her hip and brushing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Honestly, Harry. You’re so dense. To be fair, it was at Louis’ request.”

Louis’ mouth gaped like a fish as he jumped to standing position, wobbling only slightly. “Don’t sell me out!”

Lottie rolled her eyes. “Come on lovebirds.”

21) You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) | Mature | 95417 words

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

22) The Healing Song | Mature | 111851 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#bottom louis #top harry #blp fic recs #monthly fic recs #fic recs #blp #larry

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whump-town · 4 years ago

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The Unexplainable

This has been sitting in as a WIP for so long and I’m tired of looking at it so here’s something but it’s not much

Mortch-- and lots of hurt

The first time that Derek Morgan sees it happen is about the third time it’s happened overall. It’s an awful thing to watch happen to someone he loves so dearly but there’s absolutely no warning it’s happening. He’s forced to watch Aaron’s concerned furrowed eyebrows fall and his soft brown eyes roll back into his head. His nose still gushing like a slashed artery and his trembling left hand covered in dark crimson. Derek can’t even hear his own scream but he can feel it claw its way up his throat. He falls to his knees before Aaron, pulling the seizing man onto his side, watching him choke and sputter for three agonizing minutes.

Aaron doesn’t wake up until he’s settled in the hospital. The EKG above his head measuring out his steady heartbeat but his body is so weak it doesn’t even feel attached to him. Morgan’s grip on his hand is vice-like and before he can help it a groan leaves his dry lips and Morgan lets go. His brain can’t form words so all he can do is part his dry lips and whimper softly from the pain. He’s cold and he can’t move his legs and he doesn’t want to be here blanketed in wires and thin scratchy blankets.

“Shh.” Morgan brushes tears from Aaron’s eyes, his lower lip trembling as he forces himself to smile. They release him within the day with specific instructions for Morgan to watch him carefully. Despite the importance, they place on this, despite how scared Morgan is they go home. Aaron’s electroencephalogram comes back normal given the circumstances and with normal brain activity now and with him growing more distressed with being in the hospital each passing hour they decide it’s better he just goes home.

No matter how many blankets Derek pulls around his shoulders, his teeth chatter and there’s a vacancy to Aaron’s eyes he just can’t handle. Derek keeps Jack at a distance, telling the boy Hotch is just sleeping, that he’s just tired. It’s easy to buy, Hotch is always tired, and Jack spends an hour tucked up against his father’s side. Face buried in Aaron’s side until Derek calls him in for dinner and Derek can see the fear, how little Jack truly trusts him. But it’s not him, it’s-- It’s the number of times Jack has been told that particular lie. “Daddy’s fine, Jack. He’s just tired.”

He finds himself with a shadow, Jack not straying too much further than arms reach. He wedges himself between wherever Derek is and someplace else he can see Aaron. Derek reads him his bedtime story and promises that Aaron will be feeling better tomorrow and things will be back together. Even if he doesn’t know if that’s true or if Jack even believes him but he says it because he needs to hear and because he hopes Jack might forgive him for not knowing if that was true.

He comes out of Jack’s room, later than normal. Jack cries himself to sleep and Morgan can’t figure out what he’s supposed to say, how to stop it, and wants to ask Aaron how he does this. He wants to ask him intrusively deep questions in the dark of their bedroom where he won’t see Aaron’s reactions. Instead, he walks into their room and finds Aaron exactly where he left him.

So Morgan crawls into bed beside him, tucking himself against Aaron’s side. Pressing his face into Aaron’s cold collarbone and closing his eyes, his day clothes still on. “Why can’t anything be simple with you?” Derek asks. He falls asleep but it’s light, with no true rest. He wakes with each bump, each caught breath, and every jerk of his muscles.

The next day Aaron has no memory of what happened just that he was standing in the kitchen when his head started to hurt and then nothing, he’s waking up in their bed. The shock of it stings and Derek wishes he could forget.

The doctors can’t pinpoint anything specific. Aaron’s anemic but he’s always a little anemic, it’s never caused seizures before. So, they assume it’s a once and done sort of thing.

The second time saves him the exhaustion of the seizure but Derek will never forget the impact of the ice-cold hole that hits his stomach at the sound of Aaron’s body hitting the ground. He’s in the shower, having just walked away from Derek’s too curious hands trying to worm their way down his pants. They’d separated with a kiss and an aroused shiver down Aaron’s back as Derek got exactly what he wanted, to get him hot and bothered. But Aaron’s self-control is annoyingly strong and they have things to do and Aaron isn’t rearranging their carefully constructed schedule for some fooling around.

Derek rolls over to Aaron’s half of the bed, seeping heavily into the warmth left behind by Aaron’s body. His heated blanket still tangled with their comforter. Aaron can’t go anywhere without that thing and Derek has accepted that if there is a fire his safety comes second to the blanket. He doesn’t understand the damn appeal of his ragged old thing but Aaron’s weird and he accepted, long ago, that there is just no way to fully understand the man.

He’s floating, only half-conscious of the world around him when Aaron falls. It’s loud, he brings bottles of things down with him but more concerning than spilled shampoo is the crack-- the distinctly painful sound of a body hitting the tub’s unforgiving floor. Then silence.

Derek throws the bathroom door open, not giving Aaron’s sacred privacy any thought. Aaron is there, on the cold tub floor sputtering and coughing up blood and water as quickly as it pours from his nose and from the showerhead into his mouth. He’s shaking, eyes dopily blinking in his confusion.

Not minding the harsh spray coming down over them, fortunate to escape the entrapping feeling of soaked clothes against his back, Derek bend over the side. He’s in his boxers, the only clothing he bothers to sleep with. “Aaron.” He cups the back of the other man’s neck, moving him from the direct spray of the water. With a cough, Aaron turns his face into Morgan. Sitting up and turning towards where Morgan doesn’t hesitate to draw him close. “Dammit,” Morgan runs his hand under Aaron’s nose. Trying and failing to wipe his face of the thickly falling blood. “Your nose is bleeding again. Did you get lightheaded? What happened?”

Leaning his head into Morgan’s shoulder, Hotch shrugs. He’s naked and cold and sitting on the floor of the tub. His hip is throbbing and his fingers are tingling painfully from where he hit his elbow coming down. There is the memory of sticking his face into the spray, drawing back, and seeing only the light trails of blood coming off of him. He can’t even remember bringing his hand to the source.

“Ok,” Derek sighs in-defeat. If Aaron knows, Derek can wrangle it out of him later but for right now he just needs to get him out of the tub. Easier said than done but they power through. Derek stopping every time Aaron can’t bite back a grunt of pain, shaking in Derek’s arms as he manages to get his feet underneath him.

“Sit.”

Aaron shakes his head, arms wrapped around his chest as he shivers. He’s shaking so hard he’s jerking, nearly taking himself off his feet. “Can’t,” he rasps, “ ‘m wet.” Derek grabs him by a hip and a shoulder, not pushing more moving his body down anyways. Aaron groans as the sheets get wet, as they stick to his skin. “Gonna have to wash these again,” Aaron mumbles.

Too tired to argue much farther, Aaron leans back into the pillows, closes his eyes. Derek takes his hand after a moment, rubbing his thumb across Aaron’s cold skin.

Derek is blinking quickly to keep his tears from falling. It’s not a matter of shame he just doesn’t want to upset Aaron more than he already is. Aaron knows that he’s upset. “Please don’t cry,” he whispers, rubbing at Morgan’s hand. “I’m okay. I promise.” Aaron tries to be more attentive than he really feels. Sitting up even though it makes him nauseous and watching and talking with Derek as he gets dressed.

Derek still has to go and do what they were planning on doing, he’s just got to do it by himself.

“I’ll bring you ice cream,” Derek promises softly. He lingers just a moment longer, palm on Aaron’s cheek. He moves to speak several times but none of what he needs to say can force its way up. How do you express such tremendous fear in losing someone while communicating the outrage that boils at the base of your sternum at the very thought of the realization that you know they’re lying to protect you? Because he doesn’t have those words anymore. He can’t look at Aaron and feel the pain of fury. He only sees tired smile lines on Aaron’s face and the ache of where those stronger emotions should be is nothing. “Call if you feel anything. Anything, Aaron. I mean it.”

Aaron nods, eyes falling to the comforter. He hates feeling weak and he hates worrying Derek even more.

“Just rest,” Derek sighs, seeing the tension rolling off Aaron in thick waves. They can deal with that later. “Call me and if you don’t--” it takes him a moment to think of a proper threat to issue out. “Well, if you don’t I’m sending the team over to get you. I’m sure you don’t want them to see you in your full glory.”

Aaron narrows his eyes, “you wouldn’t.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “test me. I dare you.”

“I’ll call.” he promises.

Derek doesn’t believe him, not for a moment. “Okay.” He knows there has to be more that Aaron isn’t telling him. Though he isn’t sure what it is and if he’s wrong then he’s poking something far more serious. He’s just worried and it’s complicated with Aaron (good God everything with Aaron always is). He loves him though, and for some stupid reason he really loves Aaron’s stubborn ass. Even if right now he wants to kick him.

“Hey, get Jack some more cereal?”

Morgan pulls a hoodie over his shirt, nodding. “Same thing as last time or is he over the frosted flakes?”

Hotch shrugs, “I never know. Just get something that looks good.” Either way, Derek will end up eating it too and then they’ll both make fun of his oatmeal but beg him for a piece of the fruit off the top.

“Okay,” Derek bends down and kisses the top of his head. “Be back in a few hours. Read one of your books, watch a movie, but stay out of paperwork.” Hotch tries to open his mouth but Derek just shakes his head. “I don’t even want to hear it. Please Aaron, just stay in bed. Relax.”

Relax isn’t even in Aaron’s vocabulary.

“I will.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Derek rolls his eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

#mortch #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #tw seizure

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multishipper-baby · 4 years ago

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Now I want some preg! Kaede x Shuichi headcanons... blease

I was doing homework when this ask came and just... YES. I love me some preg or parenting headcanons 🥺

Kaede is so happy when she figures out she's pregnant she's pretty much signing to the skies. She looks like the type of girl who dreamed of being a mother and she's so happy to finally get the chance.

Shuichi gets so happy when she tells him the news that he literally bursts into tears and hugs her (softly, because he doesn't want to accidentally hurt the baby).

He's as involved as he can be during the whole thing- constantly asking her how she's feeling, holding her hair out of the way when she's puking, helping whenever he can, being by her side during every hospital visit... He really wants to be a good dad.

Choosing a baby name would probably be pretty simple tbh. I feel like Kaede would want to name them after a japanese musician (Ayumi would be good for a girl, Takahiro for a boy. Aimi is also good since it came from a pianist).

Kaito is definitely going to be the kid's uncle, and he's super happy with the news of the little one, so he helps them set up the nursery (since neither of them have a lot of muscle to be moving around furniture).

One of their favorite parts of the whole process is buying baby clothes. They get tons of cute onesies and footie pajamas, some with little details like animal ears.

Shuichi gets loads of parenting books and reads through all of them as fast as he can, because he wants to be sure he knows how to handle everything from the start. He doesn't want to end up worrying over something and rushing the kid over to the hospital only to be told it's normal (or worse- he doesn't want to miss something that might need to be checked and potentially hurt the kid).

Kaede didn't have any complications during her pregnancy, thankfully, but one thing that bothered her a lot was how exhausted she felt sometimes. She's always been energetic, so the feeling of tiredness she got from having to grow a baby was certainly something annoyingly new.

Doesn't mean she doesn't get anything done, though. She still practices her music, and even writes some new stuff to play for her child once they get here.

Shuichi spends literally all the pregnancy waiting for the moment were he can finally feel the baby kick, and once it happens he can't stop gushing about it and talking to his kid.

They buy a lot of toys because let's be honest, this child is going to be spoiled rotten lol. Kaede even gets them a little toy xylophone to see if they inherent her love for music.

Basically: everything is happy and nothing hurts uwu.

#ask #asks #danganronpa #saimatsu #otp #anon #headcanons #preg #baby fever #look at me being mushy

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nancywheelxr · 4 years ago

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For Sokka/Zuko prompt (2/?): Sokka saving Zuko after miscalculation how long he can hold his breath during the North Pole Siege

anon, like i said before, you are an angel and I hope you like this

Sokka is going to kill Aang.

No, seriously, he means it, the next time he sees the kid, he’s going to murder him because this is all his fault. It has to be, because there is no other explanation for this except Aang beginning to rub off on him. There really, really isn’t.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he murmurs, dragging Zuko out of the freezing water and away from the cracking ice. Honestly, the guy is heavier than he looks and Sokka bets it must be the crushing weight of all those issues. “Should’ve let you drown, asshole.”

And you know what? He stands by that. The little voice at the back of his head that sounds annoyingly like Aang be damned, Sokka should have taken one look at the jerk, incandescent hands slamming against the thick ice, too cold in the freezing water to properly melt the frozen floor, wide eyes blinking sluggishly, and, and– okay, fine. Maybe Sokka couldn’t look the other way and pretend he didn’t see him.

Still. He resents Aang for not being there to convince him to save the guy and let Sokka advocate for the drowning. You know, for argument’s sake, just ‘cause Zuko’s the freaking Fire Nation prince that’s been chasing them all the way since the South Pole and they should at least make an effort to look like they’re doing this under duress.

“Come on, we can’t stay here, wake up, jerk,” well. Sokka can’t stay here, he has a duty and also, the place will be crawling with soldiers soon, but if he leaves Zuko here, there’s no telling if he’ll make it. Do Firebenders get hypothermia? The guy looks hypothermic enough, at least.

Something explodes nearby.

Staying here any longer would be crazy. Sokka eyes Zuko consideringly. “I did my best,” he says, frowning because it sounds weak even to himself and he already knows what he’s going to do, “truly, it’s tragic. I dragged him out of the water, but there was nothing I could do. Too many Fire Nation soldiers around,” he grumbles, heaving one of Zuko’s arms around his shoulder and getting only a faint mumbling in response, “I had to leave him there.”

Just to be clear, though, Sokka is only doing this– he’s only dragging Zuko across the town in the middle of a Fire Nation invasion because he’s gone through all this trouble already to keep the asshole alive, it would be a waste to leave him for dead now. Hey, he didn’t spend five minutes slamming at the ice with his boomerang for nothing, okay?

“What were you thinking anyway?” He asks him, because the only thing worse than be dragging your nemesis around is to be dragging your nemesis around in silence. “Stupid firebender swimming around. At night! Were you trying to die?”

Another mumble. At least that’s better than the wheezing sound from when he first came out of the water, he figures.

“And I mean, it’s pretty clear this whole thing isn’t your doing,” he continues, ducking under a bridge to avoid the worst of the fight, “it’s way too organized, and honestly? Last time we checked, you didn’t have an entire fleet with you.”

And, not the Sokka would say it aloud, but it just doesn’t seem like something Zuko would do. From what they’ve seen of the guy so far, he’s less about conquering and invading, and more like capture the Avatar, restore my honor, blah, blah, blah. Which makes bringing him straight to Aang probably a very stupid thing.

Damn.

He groans. What’s he supposed to do now? Zuko’s a dead weight at his side and he has no idea where Yue and the others went, even though he’s supposed to be protecting Yue. And Katara. And Aang.

Instead, here he is, shuffling into another alley. “This is all your fault,” he glares at the still unconscious moron prince. “Yours and Aang’s. There’s a blizzard outside, did you know?! What, you were just going to get Aang and walk out on the snowstorm?!”

Zuko still doesn’t answer him. He does begin to shiver, though, so that’s something? Better than hypothermia, that’s for sure. Still, Zuko’s shivering and looking sad in his wet clothes, and this is something, at least, that Sokka can help. He can take his own fur coat and drape across him.

“Yeah, you didn’t really think this one through, did you?” He sighs, letting his head thump lightly against the wall behind him. “Me neither, buddy. I’m supposed to be looking after the princess, but I’ve got no idea where they went. I guess I’m looking after you instead, huh? I’m not happy about it either, trust me.”

If only he had some sort of rope– Sokka groans. How does he keep getting in these situations? He levels Zuko with a resentful look. “Why is it always you?” Looking at Zuko now, though, it’s pretty hard to muster much anger. He doesn’t look very intimidating like this– his hair is falling out of his ponytail and his face is paler than usual, his scar stark against the white. Actually, he looks a lot younger like this. Aang had called him a teenager when they met him, but Sokka thinks this might be the first time he’s ever thought of him like that. It’s pretty messed up. Zuko can’t be much older than Sokka– a year? Maybe less? Oddly, it makes him wonder how did he end up here, like this, hunting Aang in a banged up warship and only his Uncle along. Shouldn’t a prince have like, more back up?

Not that Sokka is complaining, it could be a lot worse than Zuko, it could’ve been someone like freaking Zhao. He doesn’t think Zhao would have kept his promise not to destroy his village back in the South Pole. Actually, the guy would’ve probably started with the destroying and left the questions for later.

A hoarse shout shakes off that line of thinking pretty quick.

Zuko wakes up all at once– one second he’s lying motionless on the ice, chest rising and falling steadily faint, pale and pitiful wrapped in Sokka’s furs, and the next he’s fumbling with the cloth, tangling himself further with frantic movements. His eye zeroes in on Sokka, widening as far as they go for a split moment, and managing only a flickering flame with his trembling hands, probably too busy heating up to do any proper firebending.

“Oh, goody, you’re alive,” Sokka says, choosing to let the sarcasm bleed on his voice and quietly grip his boomerang a little tighter, just in case.

“What,” Zuko coughs up, and the shivering is back, and Sokka doesn’t think he means to be furrowing further into the coat like that. “Where– you. What have you done to me?”

Yeah, Sokka should probably have seen that one coming. Still, “hey! I saved your life! You did all the drowning yourself, buddy!”

Zuko frowns. Hysterically, Sokka kind of wants to smooth that out, go back to the young look from before. The frown is a very angsty one, though, and full of suspicion, which is fair, all things considered, but he still takes offense. They’re the good guys, after all, they’re not the ones doing the invading.

Spirits, the invasion. Sokka doesn’t have time for this, he needs to find Katara and Aang, he needs to find Yue, he needs–

“Why?”

He blinks. “Why what?”

“You said you saved me,” Zuko is still sounding worse for wear, rough and cracking at the edges, but there’s some color returning to his cheeks, the shivering finally dying down.

And isn’t that the question? Well, not really. It’s what Aang would have done and that’s usually a pretty good moral compass. Sokka shrugs, “it was the right thing to do. You’re a jerk, but even you didn’t deserve to die like that.”

Zuko doesn’t seem to know what to do with that information, faint steam wafting off his now dry clothes, and Sokka has half a mind to ask for his coat back, a weird tightness on his chest the only thing holding him back– the same odd feeling that sort of made the Aang excuse taste a tiny bit like a lie.

No time to dwell on that, though. Before Zuko could brood some more or throw any other wild accusation, a shadow falls over the both of them, Zuko’s weird uncle pausing at the start of the alley and taking in the scene. His face kind of does a complicated thing where he looks like he wants to bundle Zuko on his arms in the tightest hug in the country but knows Zuko would probably like, throw a fit and then die of dramatic indignation, and Sokka feels like maybe he shouldn’t be witnessing this, especially because the angry jerk is looking like he maybe wouldn’t go so far as dying if hugs were to be involved.

“Nephew,” the old man says, and the relief is his voice is palpable, “you are alive– I feared–”

“I’m fine, Uncle,” Zuko cuts in, getting up in wobbly legs and giving Sokka a wide berth as he inches his way along the wall.

“I owe you a great debt, young man,” he continues, now turning to Sokka with such a grateful face, it’s really hard to remember he’d been doing some chasing the Avatar just weeks ago. He looks so normal. “You saved him when most would not and for that, I can never thank you enough.”

“Uncle!”

“Erm, you’re welcome?” Sokka clears his throat, loosening his rip on the boomerang, suddenly awkward.

“Have you thanked him yet, Prince Zuko?”

“I–”

Iroh– well, Sokka thinks that his name, at least– doesn’t glare, but his eyebrows do a very disappointed move and Zuko seems to cave like a sullen teenager. It’s kind of great. And very surreal, honestly, Sokka is kinda just rolling with it at this point. “Thank you,” Zuko bows, making a very fire nation-y sign with his hands, adds softer, “Sokka.”

“Huh, you do know my name.”

A loud explosion interrupts whatever retort Zuko had been planning, and Iroh grimaces. “I’m afraid we are running out of time,” the grave expression seems foreign in his face and Sokka feels a terrible dread in the pit of his stomach, “Zhao plans on doing the unthinkable– he is going to kill the moon spirit.”

Well, it’s official, then. Zuko’s just been demoted from the worst to pass on the title to Zhao. “Is that even– I mean, how?”

“The Avatar,” Zuko says, but it’s a weak complaint, even he knows stopping the murder of an ancient spirit ranks a bit higher, like immediate catastrophe higher. “Fine,” he snaps, hands curling into fists, “but Zhao is mine.”

Okay, because that sounds like it’s not going to blow up on their faces at all. Not that it matters, because Sokka knows that it’s a done deal now. There’s something urgent in the air, pressing down on them, almost buzzing with the expectations of a tragedy. They’ll need all the help they can get if they mean to stop Zhao’s idiotic plan.

Sokka looks at Iroh, at Zuko. He’s still wearing the fur coat, stretched across his shoulders, sleeves too short at his wrists.

“You guys,” he feels the need to say, “are the worst. But we should probably hurry up, then.”

#zukka #atla #sokka #zuko #avatar the last airbender #zukka fanfic #atla tag #zukka tag #writing tag

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years ago

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Behind Closed Doors

Keanu Reeves x OFC (A/n- And now, I shall make it complicated)

Masterlist

Warnings- Jealousy

Chapter 2 All In a Long Weekend

Saturday

That Saturday morning, breakfast had been done a tad earlier than usual, and afterwards, Emma had stayed back in the kitchen, packing a picnic while Keanu oversaw the children as they got ready for the day's beach trip. Matt and Poppy had been raving about their trip to Malibu for the past two weeks, asking every night before bed if they'd still be going. Each time, Emma had assured them that unless it rained, they were certainly going.

"You look excited," an older woman came up beside Emma, setting down some sodas into the cooler, just as Emma continued preparing sandwiches for the container that was set to be packed into the woven basket. She and Zelda, despite the fifteen or so years between them had become fast friends, always eager to help each other out when possible. The older woman was also sometimes keen of giving Emma little snippets of advice that she thought my be helpful; never go into Keanu's office when he had the door shut, don't give the kids ice pops inside and possibly the one that had saved her the most trouble, always check the allergy list that Keanu had stuck to the fridge before making the kids something new.

Beaming absently at her comment, Emma carried on with her task, making cheese and turkey sandwiches; a favorite among Keanu and his kids, "I am, it's been a while since I've been to the beach, and even if I'm still working, it's gonna be fun." Closing up the Tupperware, Emma set it in the basket, moving on to prepping snacks, just as Zelda started on some frozen treats for the sizable cooler. In retrospect, it might have seemed like a lot, but when you were having a day trip with kids, it was best to prepare for anything. "Plus, it'll be nice to spend some time together, just the four of us."

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, Zelda paused for a minute, "Five dear," she corrected, a little shocked when Emma didn't understand what she meant.

Certainly, Keanu must have told her!

But really, he hadn't.

Just as Zelda was about to explain though, the sound of the front door opening and shutting, followed by a very loud, and an annoyingly exuberant; "Darling!" After that, it wasn't long before the sound of heels clicking against the floor drew nearer, and out of the long hallway emerged a woman, tall, blonde and just as famous as Keanu.

"Sweet-" Upon seeing the pair, the Miranda Riley, former Victoria Secret model and world famous actress, stopped in her tracks, scrunching her perfectly straight nose as if she'd smelt something terrible, "Oh," her made up face fell, "Its you; Zora and…….the new one."

A little annoyed by her obviously snooty behavior, Emma opened her mouth to speak up, "Actually it's-" Though, when Zelda grabbed her arm, squeezing warningly, she shut up immediately, sealing her lips tightly.

Though, it didn't really seem like any of it greatly affected Miranda, especially when Keanu jogged into the room from the other hall, still bare foot while his worn out t-shirt was soaked at the front, probably from herding the twins into a bath. "Mandy," he grinned, and Emma swore it was stiff and forced. Maybe it was just her imagination though, cause with barely any hesitation, Keanu was taking the woman in his arms, holding her in a more than friendly hug before planting a lengthy kiss on her deep, ruby lips, one of his hands reaching up to cup her face.

The world seemed to slow down as the entire scene unfolded before her; the way he held her, looked at her when they pulled away to speak. A soft, pained gasp seeped past her lips and Emma wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when Miranda walked into the house, but she did know that the last thing she’d predicted was that it would hurt so much. Her lungs were set ablaze and a similar sensation prickled at her eyes. Rage, betrayal, jealousy, Emma couldn’t tell which it was, but she did know that she wanted to run out of the room and not have to face Keanu for the rest of the day. Hell, maybe even the rest of the month.

Slowly, as if she were just coming up from being submerged in an ice cold bath, Emma brought herself back to the moment, raising her gaze when Keanu sought to introduce them, “Mandy, you remember I told you about Emma, our new nanny.” That was what she was, the nanny; the woman who took care of his kids, nothing more. Even if quieter moments had suggested otherwise. The tension, the long stares and innocent touches that thrilled her nerves, they meant nothing to Keanu. “And Em, this is my girlfriend, Mandy.” Well that didn’t feel like a bullet to the chest at all.

“It’s nice to meet you,” the smile that she plastered on her face was probably the hardest one she’d ever managed, and when Emma offered her hand, it wasn’t difficult to miss the flash of disgust that crossed Miranda’s pale features. Never meet your heroes, they said. For as long as Emma had known herself, Miranda had been an icon in the fashion world, she was well connected, and had set most of the trends that Emma had her friends had desperately wanted to mimic in their teens. It was her, among other inspiring names in the fashion world that had prompted Emma to go to a design institute and not a conventional college. But right then, she might have been happier going back to a time where she’d never crossed paths with Miranda.

Hesitating before offering Emma a toothy, winning grin, Miranda took her hand, shaking quickly over the counter before letting it go again, “Mmm, yes, it's…….nice to meet you too, Emily.”

“Emma,” she corrected, having to bite her tongue so she wouldn’t say anything more. The last thing she’d want was to lose her job after telling off her boss’s out of touch bitch of a girlfriend.

“Right,” Miranda appraised her look, a bright blue sundress, raising an impressed brow, probably only complimenting her to appease Keanu, “Cute dress.”

Before Emma could speak up, Keanu interjected, “She looks lovely doesn’t she? Made it herself,” he didn’t seem remotely aware of the heaviness in the room, or the way Miranda clenched her jaw when another slew of praises for Emma left his lips, “She’s so talented, Poppy is already roping her into making princess dresses for Halloween,” he chuckled, shaking in his head.

After another minute spent gritting her teeth, Miranda sought to change the topic, clearly having had her fill of Keanu’s pride in his nanny, “Where are the little ones anyway? It's nearly ten, we’re going to be late.”

With that, Emma’s head snapped towards Zelda, who'd opted to finish the cooler and snacks in silence, so she wouldn’t have to endure any of the painstaking conversation, “She’s going?” She whispered when Keanu and Miranda weren’t looking, eyes wide and frenzied.

“Yeah,” she nodded, barely looking as Emma when she followed her to the fridge, while Keanu and Miranda spoke, or rather, canoodled in hushed tones, "I feel like I should have told you he has a girlfriend," Zelda paused, just after reaching for a half filled carton of strawberries.

"Ya think?" Emma hissed, glancing backwards at the couple, feeling her heart pinch at how lovey dovey they were. She could have sworn there was something between herself and Keanu. "How hard was it to say 'Hey Em, you know our boss has this girlfriend, and she's like, a total bitch.' What the hell does he even see in her anyway?"

"She's tall and gorgeous?" Zelda shrugged casually, "Look, I don't get it either, but he loves her, they've been together for almost two years and I think she's convinced him to go public by the end of this year." Her face fell at Emma's troubled expression, reaching out to rub her shoulder sympathetically, "I see the way you look at him, and if there's something between you two, then……and I don't mean this harshly at all, maybe you need to back down. Miranda, she's……she's not someone you want to mess with," sighing deeply, Zelda peered over to see if they were being overheard, "She gets what she wants, and right now, she wants Keanu and you don't want to be in her way."

Gritting her teeth, Emma pulled away harshly, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," she squared her shoulders, "There's nothing between Keanu and I," maybe she was getting more defensive than she needed to be, but Emma didn't care. "I'm gonna go finish getting the twins ready," she announced loudly, stalking out of the room and down the hall, and hopefully, leaving behind whatever she'd started to feel for her boss.

As it turned out, Matt and Poppy had all but put their clothes on over their swimsuits, and they were so excited about going, that they got into their little summery outfits without fuss. Afterwards, tiny feet clad in colorful sandals, they raced each other downstairs, leaving Emma to collect their bags before she headed down.

She was walking towards the stairs, backpacks in hands, really just minding her own business, having just started to calm down after the whole Keanu/Miranda fiasco, when, just as she neared the door of Keanu's home office, she heard it. He was deep in conversation, and had unknowingly left the door just a sliver open, enough for her to catch on to some juicy bits. "I know mom," he sounded exasperated, and when she dared to peek in, Emma found that his back was to her, as he stood facing the window, one hand stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, "But I'm not getting any younger, what do you want me to do? Wait till I'm sixty?" He sighed heavily, shaking his head, "Matt and Poppy need a mother, and Miranda……" he trailed off, listening intently to what his mother had to say. Leaning closer, Emma wished she could be privy to the other end of the call, aching to hear what his mother thought about the succubus that he called a girlfriend. But alas, she'd have to settle for whatever she got.

After a few minutes had passed, Keanu spoke again, turning around, leaving Emma to dash for cover, though still within earshot. For a minute, she held her breath, awaiting the moment where Keanu would poke his head out the door and catch her eavesdropping. But it never came, and instead, he continued, "I think I'm going to do it tomorrow night, we're going to dinner, and the nanny will watch the kids. I have the ring already. I think she might like it."

Ring?

The sirens in Emma's head were going off so loudly that she barely registered his tone, the absence of excitement or joy, things that were usually there when someone was smitten enough to propose. There was too much going on in her head; the irrational fear of never having a chance with Keanu, the more rational fear that Miranda might become her boss too. Tuning out the rest of the conversation, not caring to hear anymore, Emma dragged herself towards the stairs, slinking down towards the kitchen, where she found Zelda entertaining the children.

“Everything okay?” She probed when Emma placed the bags on the counter, next to the cooler and picnic basket, her features still crestfallen.

“Yeah,” she mustered up a smile, inching closer to her friend, her voice dropping an octave, “I think Keanu’s going to propose to Miranda, like tomorrow night.”

“What?” Zelda’s eyes went wide, her jaw hanging slack, and she almost dropped the dishes she had just started putting into the cupboards, “How do you know that, did he tell you?”

“Tell her what?” Speak of the devil. Miranda startled them both, and for a second, Emma was worried that she’d overheard their conversation, though that too was short lived.

“Everyone ready?” Keanu strode into the room, and though Emma wanted to meet his gaze, she restrained herself, not even trying to respond, just going over to gather some of their things, her teary smile faltering when the kids excitedly started following her to the car.

At some point, Miranda had eased Keanu away from where they’d set up their picnic on the beach, urging him into a walk even though the kids had pleaded with him to stay and help them build sandcastles. Emma had taken his place, helping them with their little construction project, highly aware of how upset Poppy still was. “You okay Pop?”

The girl frowned, using her fragile fingers to sweep some hair out of her face, “I wish daddy would have stayed and built it with us,” she mumbled, dumping another bucket of sand to create segment of the castle, though doing it so harshly that the new section just crumbled, “He always leaves when aunt Mandy comes around.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” even if she didn’t like Miranda, if she was going to be Matt and Poppy’s step mother, Emma couldn’t go around bad mouthing her to them, “I’m sure he still spends time with you. And aunt Miranda seems really like you two.”

“Not as much as you,” that was Matt, his expression skewed by his dark mane falling over his face, “She’s always telling us to be quiet. And she’s so boring,” he stressed, lurching forward, only half interested in ranting about Miranda, still very invested in their sandcastle, “She almost made dad stop my swimming lessons.”

“What?” That time, it was a struggle to keep her annoyance at bay. Even if it was just one side, even if Matt couldn’t possibly know the entire truth, it was still enough to rile Emma up. How dare she? Matt was the best on his team! Taking a breath, Emma knew it was time to shift the conversation, and cheer the twins up before she said something that she’d regret, “You know what? Why don’t we give this a break? We can go to the water, have a splash war!”

“Yeah!” They jumped up immediately, barely giving Emma a minute to shimmy out of her sundress, revealing her simple, floral bikini before joining them in the water. It didn’t take long to lift their spirits, and before long, Matt and Poppy were teaming up to out splash Emma. Their gleeful giggles were music to her ears and she adored seeing their wide grins. They’d waited almost a month for that trip, they deserved to enjoy as much as they could, even if Miranda was going to take up most of Keanu’s time.

They probably spent hours past noon in the water, and not once did anyone’s smile falter. Emma gave them ice pops, and insisted that they have some water once or twice, though each time, they accepted without fuss, and she couldn’t tell if was the sugar from their snacks, or just how immersed they were in the games, but even when Keanu and Miranda returned near sunset, they didn’t show signs of tire.

“You guys having all the fun without me?” Keanu let go of Miranda’s hand, standing where the water would wash over his feet, pulling the sand back as it receded.

A pang of anger flared inside of her, making Emma want to remind Keanu that he was the one that left, but she suppressed it. A fight wouldn’t solve anything. She was so caught up in being annoyed with Keanu, that she hadn't noticed how dark his gaze had grown when his eyes fell on her, kneeling in the water, rivulets rolling off her tan skin, the top of her bathing suit pressing her breasts together, a generous amount of her cleavage spilling out voluptuously. “Well why don’t you join in?” She made herself laugh, and while Emma was hardly as much of an actor as the two A listers before her, she’d liked to think she managed pretty well.

“Sounds great,” he didn’t even seem to notice Emma’s irritation, bubbling beneath the surface. In a flash, he was pulling off his t-shirt, tossing it to the sand, getting into water wearing just his swim trunks, and as he drew closer, his cheerful tone faltered, probably realizing that being in the water with her wasn’t going to do him any favors, “Do you guys wanna play chicken fight?” Keanu turned to his kids, only to be met with excited nods, “And maybe Mandy wants to play too?” He turned to her, eyes somewhat hopeful, “And we can let Em have a break,” swallowing thickly.

“Oh, I…..” Miranda seemed perfectly out of her element, smoothing a hand over her stylish, white sundress, and then pushing up the dark tinted sunglasses, which formerly guarded crystal green orbs. It took a minute, but eventually, she conjured up a tight grin, “Chicken fight isn’t really my kind of game,” she laughed nonchalantly, “Besides, the water will ruin my hair. You should let Emily play, childish nonsense seems right up her alley.”

Subduing the urge to roll her eyes and fire a few obscenities towards Miranda, Emma took a breath, gazing between Keanu, who’d gone cold, and Miranda who’s wicked mirth was reflected in her defiant smile, “Like I said this morning, it’s just Emma. And that’s fine, I actually love childish nonsense, its way more fun than sitting on the sand like a……” stuck up bitch, “Boring grown up.”

Amused with her half hearted insult, Matt laughed loudly, while Poppy just giggled, already trying to get up on Emma’s shoulders. Fuming, Miranda turned on her heel, stomping off towards the mat, and it wasn’t long before the rest of them had forgotten the almost-spat, getting on with their game.

Monday

As usual, Emma was up early, preparing breakfast for everyone. It was just past seven am, and since Mondays didn’t promise cartoon reruns, the kids weren’t up yet. Instead, Zelda had come in earlier than usual, saying that she wanted to get a head start on the housework, but really just looking to gossip. They were in the kitchen together, preparing for hash browns, eggs and bacon, working over quiet chatter, “So…” Zelda nudged Emma’s shoulder with her own.

“So?” Emma chuckled, nudging her back, the comfy cotton of her robe brushing against the sleeve of Zelda’s shirt. She knew exactly what her friend was seeking, but truthfully, she didn’t know how Keanu’s proposal had gone. All she knew was that they’d left for dinner around seven, leaving her to make something for Matt and Poppy, and hadn’t returned until the twins had fallen asleep and Emma had stolen away to her room.

“So, is the wicked witch of the west coast going to be out new boss or not?” Zelda teased, continuing with helping Emma shred some potatoes.

“Honestly-” Emma cut herself off when Keanu walked in, sans shirt and with low riding sweat pants. His hair was a mess, and his good morning was punctuated by a tired yawn. "Good morning Keanu," both women greeted in unison, sharing a look.

They both wanted to know so badly that the itch was almost physical, but it wasn't like they could simply ask. With their one question would come a dozen more from Keanu. Though, as faith would have it, the truth they were seeking wasn't far behind a still half asleep Mr. Reeves.

"Darling," an all too familiar voice purred, shuffling into the kitchen, her blonde hair held up in a loose ponytail and her elegant frame wrapped up in fine satin. Unlike Keanu, Miranda didn't even bother with pleasantries, going straight over to where he stood at the integrated refrigerator, holding him in a hug from behind, strategically angling her left hand so the large rock on her finger would be on full display.

"Still wanna know?" Emma whispered near Zelda's ear, their heads almost touching.

Scoffing, Zelda seemed caught between a sarcastic smirk and a frown, "Not any more."

And because the world was such a cruel place and open wounds would be pointless without a little salt, Miranda abruptly turned to them. "Ladies! Have you two seen my ring?" Without warning she thrust her hand towards them, making the engagement ring on her finger hard to avoid, "Gorgeous right? Keke loves to spoil me," her words were perfectly gag worthy and Emma was finding it difficult to keep down the half cup of coffee she'd had. It wasn't like she was opposed to love or affection or anything, she'd really liked to think of herself as well adjusted in that way, but during the one weekend she'd spent around Miranda, her affections for Keanu always seemed so dramatic that it was nothing short of an elaborate farce.

Yet, it wasn't like she had much of a choice when it came to going forward and having to endure it. Jobs in the fashion world were hard to come by and freelancing would hardly be enough to cover living expenses. So, alas, she'd have to put up with Miranda for a quite while to come. "Don't worry Emily," Emma hadn't even realized she'd zoned out until Miranda called her by the wrong name, for probably the dozenth time. At her next words, Miranda's voice dropped below what Keanu could hear, and there was a wicked glimmer in her gaze, "You're pretty enough, I'm sure you can trick a man into buying you a nice ring. Might not be as many carats, but you'll manage."

That little quip was definitely pay back for Saturday. Fuming, Emma longed to just let her have it, but she was growing so versed in holding her tongue that she did again, deciding right then and there that as much as she loved the kids, she was wholly willing to take the next sustaining job as long as Miranda was in the picture.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x ofc #keanu reeves fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #nanny au #au #ff #chapter 2

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ineverlookavvay · 4 years ago

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bisexual-aliens-in-arms

Isobel drags Michael to Planet 7 for pride night. It goes far better than expected.

Bi Visibility Day - Day 7 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

cw: alcohol, referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia

Read it on Ao3

“No, “ Michael said, aiming for firm. “I don’t have time, Iz.”

Isobel scoffed. “What, are you going to be working on cars all night long?”

There was actually a fairly big backlog of cars to work on, and Michael found he needed the distraction more often than not recently. Life was complicated, increasingly so, and cars were simple, designed to be a certain way and logically never stray from that. People sucked a lot more than cars, objectively.

“Maybe I am.”

“Michael.” Isobel leaned down onto the hood of the car he was trying to work on, annoyingly in his way. She was giving him her ‘cut the bullshit’ look, which he was historically not very good at escaping. “It’s one night, and it’s important to me. Please come out?”

“I don’t do theme nights.”

Isobel scoffed again, rolling her eyes and trodding directly onto his ego. “Come on, Michael. This is my first pride month and you’re supposed to be my bisexual-alien-in-arms.” She changed tactic abruptly, making the most irritating pouty face he’d ever seen. “You’re not really going to make me go alone, are you?”

Michael sighed, wiping grease off his hands onto his jeans. Fucking hell. “Fine, but you gotta leave me alone for at least a few hours, okay?” Isobel clapped gleefully. “You know, some of us work.”

“Let me know if any of those people want a job,” Sanders cut in, ducking in on his way out, looking at Michael’s progress skeptically and ignoring Michael’s scowl. “Do some damn work.”

“Hell does it look like I’m doing?” Michael called out as Sanders left, still scowling. Michael fixed a tight smile on Isobel. “Later, okay?”

She shrugged. “Fine, but be ready to go at eight. And try not to look so…” she waved her hand at his general appearance, “mechanic-y.”

Michael wanted to protest that he always looked ‘mechanic-y’ on account of he was a damn mechanic, and besides, the grungy blue-collar cowboy look was still popular as far as he could tell; but seeing as he’d already caved, he would certainly end up losing this argument, too. So instead, he turned his attention back to the cars. Michael liked working with his hands, he liked fixing things. Sure, he might fuck up every relationship he’d ever had, he might break the things in his life constantly, but he could take a broken car and make it a working car, and that was something.

He was not so secretly dreading the evening, though. He let himself drift far enough into his work that he wasn’t actively panicking about going to a damn pride night at the local gay bar, which he’d never actually been to, no matter how many times Isobel tried to convince him how great it was. It’s not that Michael was ashamed, he really wasn’t—but he’d experienced enough bigots and assholes in his life to know that he didn’t need to paint an extra target on his back, either.

Who he fucked was his own business, and that was how he preferred to keep it. Isobel was reveling in her newfound sexuality, and he wasn’t about to ruin that for her, but he also knew that a rich white woman was a lot less of a target than a trailer trash cowboy. He also had an existential dread of any place that resulted in Isobel leaving at the end of the night dripping in glitter.

Michael didn’t do glitter, and he didn’t do pride month—or at least he hadn’t—and he’d much rather just spend a night with Isobel at the Wild Pony celebrating themselves quietly with a drink that didn’t have anything in it besides the liquor. Hell, they could go there and celebrate themselves raucously, as long as no one had to know the reason for the celebrating.

His attempt to distract himself resulted in successfully losing track of time, which meant Isobel was already standing in the junkyard tapping her foot when he went inside to shower and change.

“You don’t have anything cuter than that?” she asked skeptically when he emerged, clean and dressed in a black button-down. Isobel was wearing a purplish iridescent crop top that probably came out of her closet circa 2010 and incredibly tight dark blue jeans, with multiple strings of shiny necklaces around her neck.

“Sorry, I don’t own anything that shiny.”

That got him a smile at least. “Listen, Michael, the whole point of pride is to look hot,” he was pretty sure that wasn’t true, “get laid,” he was sure that one was wrong, “and be out and proud while doing it.” She looked so proud of herself right then that Michael didn’t have the heart to argue. “Plus, the bi flag has really nice colors.”

Michael smiled in spite of himself. “Iz, you got me to go with you, you really want to jeopardize that by shit talking my clothing?”

Frowning slightly, she shrugged. “Fine, but this is why no one thinks you’re the fun alien.”

“Hey! I am definitely the fun one,” he argued, striding towards her car and settling in for an inane but companionable argument.

Michael liked bars, in general. He liked the dark corners and the dirty floors and the smell of alcohol and the down home music and the bluster of it all. He liked sitting at a bar nursing a drink and feeling like a part of something just by virtue of drinking beside other people. But Michael hated Planet 7.

First of all, the whole damn place was trying too hard. It had far too many lights, all of them overly complicated and flashing stupid colors. It had a DJ instead of a jukebox, which Isobel implied was something special, that he should be pleased to be experiencing, much to his chagrin. It had more glitter and confetti littering the floor and on the bar and on the tables than Michael had ever hoped to see in one place. All the drinks were obscured by ridiculous garnishes. There was someone sitting at the end of the bar stenciling with face paint on people’s faces, another thing Isobel assured him was a fun and exciting theme night thing. But most of all, it didn’t make Michael feel safe, or comfortable, or known; this wasn’t his place.

Isobel looked like she’d just walked into her surprise birthday party, though, grinning and strutting in like she owned the place. “Come on, I’ve been dreaming about their drinks,” she said, beaming, and Michael reluctantly followed her over to the bar. Michael realized quickly that she hadn’t been dreaming about the drink so much as the bartender. Which, fair enough.

Michael let her talk and flirt and took the time to look around again, hoping to find something to be complimentary about so Isobel wouldn’t feel she had to prove how great it all was to him. It was his own fault then, when he accidentally saw Alex across the room, leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with someone that looked suspiciously like Kyle. Michael’s stomach did a flip and he turned quickly away, back to Isobel and the bar, half hoping Alex hadn’t seen him. Michael knew that Alex was single again, or at least that was the last he’d heard, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be caught staring outright.

“Here,” Isobel thrust a drink into his hand that had a little light-up rainbow color-changing cube masquerading as an ice cube at the bottom of it. Michael rolled his eyes. “So what are you feeling? Wanna dance? Or I think they’re painting pride flags on people’s faces?” She sounded giddy, her cheeks flushed and her hair already covered in a ridiculous amount of glitter.

Michael didn’t have the heart to let her down by telling her he’d rather eat sand than dance or get his face painted without at least a few drinks in his system. “Whatever you want.”

Isobel beamed at him. “See, I knew this would be fun.”

“Yep,” Michael said, plastering a smile on his fast as she led him over to the person doing the face paint, “cause I’m the fun one.”

By the time he was sitting on a bar stool with someone striping color across his face, Michael was on his second drink, and Isobel's face was already a melty palette of pink, blue, and purple.

“Isn’t this great?” Isobel said, standing over him and dancing to some unbearable pop song, shaking glitter out of her own hair all over Michael’s head and shoulders. He could feel it falling onto him like tiny raindrops, securing itself to his shirt and hair and skin with some invisible, terrible glitter power. He wondered idly how many showers it was going to take until he could walk around without constantly catching the glint of it out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, standing up as the face painter proclaimed he was done. His cheek felt strange, stiff and cold, and he couldn’t get the last of the alcohol out of his glass around the giant fake ice cube.

“Hey, we have to take a picture,” Isobel said, grinning wider and pulling out her phone while she dragged their faces close enough together to fit into the selfie frame. She pulled back to look at the picture, nodding with happy satisfaction. “We are hot,” she proclaimed, “and proud. Two badass bisexuals.”

Michael nodded distractedly. He needed another drink, or maybe just some fresh air, or for the DJ to turn down the goddamned bass, or something. He hated the feeling of the face paint, and he hated the selfie, he hated how unlike himself he looked, glittery and colorful and trying to smile in a crowd. Michael stumbled backwards, turning around to face the bar in what he hoped was a mostly intentional-looking maneuver. He needed another drink.

The bartender nodded at him and Isobel, bringing over two more glasses of whatever they were drinking. “Lookin’ good,” she said, and Michael’s chest felt tight.

It was too loud, and too warm, and Isobel was talking but he couldn’t make out what she was saying. He drank almost frantically, trying to get enough alcohol into his system that he stopped caring about any of this shit. Michael glanced around the bar, at all of the people laughing and smiling and looking like they fit in perfectly, and Michael had never felt more like an alien. He needed to get out, just for a moment, just to catch his breath.

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna find the bathroom,” he said, coherently enough, and pushed past Isobel towards the back hallway.

The bathroom was thankfully empty, and quiet as the door swung shut behind him, the music that was so pervasive in the bar just a tinny echo. Michael braced himself on one of the sinks, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the scratched mirror. It was just all so much, and it should have been easy, and the fact that it wasn’t was creating a cacophony of different feelings in his mind, all of it blending together into something like panic. Michael opened his eyes, willing himself to stay in control.

He looked at himself in the mirror, and he hated the frantic look in his eyes, hated the smear of color across his cheek like a brand, hated that he could be so comfortable with himself and yet so shaken. He could feel the urge to push it all away, violently, to shove and shake and break—the only way he had now to make the noise in his head stop. Michael gripped the sink and thought about tearing the room apart. He could see it, sinks and toilets tearing out of the wall, tiles slamming against one another into dust, the mirrors cracking and shattering. The vision of destruction filled his mind, and he was in the middle of it, silent in the eye of the storm, caught in the tornado of his own making—

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Alex stepped through it, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

The vision dropped away from Michael’s eyes, leaving him with only himself, standing in a public bathroom feeling terrified and self-destructive. He watched in the mirror as Alex twisted the lock on the door and took another cautious step forward.

“Are you okay?” Alex repeated. “Because you looked not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Michael said, even though his voice sounded thin and shaken. Alex stepped towards him again and Michael pressed himself forward, closer to the sink, like he could climb into the mirror and avoid this interaction. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Alex, because he did, badly, but he didn’t want Alex to see him in a moment where he felt weak. “You didn’t have to follow me.”

Alex shrugged, the cracks in the mirror keeping Michael from seeing the nuances of his expression. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

It was meant kindly, but somehow it made Michael feel worse. Michael stopped watching Alex and focused on his own face, frowning when he saw the painted colors again, loosening his grip on the sink to press uneasily on the skin of his cheek. He swallowed and dropped his hand quickly, lowering his eyes to the stained white porcelain of the sink. “I think this paint might be toxic,” he said wryly. He could tell from Alex’s silence that he saw through the remark.

“It looks good,” Alex said quietly. “You look good.”

Michael looked up sharply at Alex’s reflection again. Alex had his own face painted, a rainbow of stripes adorning his cheek. “You do, too,” Michael said, meaning it. Alex did look good—happy and proud and like he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder. It made Michael feel boundlessly happy and endlessly sad, knowing that they’d spent their time together hiding, that they could both be here on this stupid pride night—with Alex looking secure and hot and comfortable—and yet not be together. Usually Michael would fight or fuck those maudlin feelings away, but that wasn’t really an option tonight. He sighed. “But I just don’t…maybe this isn’t my scene.”

Alex was close enough to put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and he did so cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if Michael would let him. Michael hoped that someday Alex would be able to touch him without worrying. He let Alex turn him away from the mirror.

“Maybe,” Alex said, carefully. “Or maybe you grew up with assholes telling you this part of you was wrong, that it should be shuttered if you can’t destroy it.”

Michael’s instinct was to argue that he was fine, and none of his shitty foster parents had gotten to him like that, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely true, and he wasn’t sure that Alex wasn’t saying it for his own benefit as much as for Michael’s. Alex’s hand was still resting on Michael’s shoulder, and it felt grounding; Michael felt stable under Alex’s hand, under Alex’s unwavering gaze. He took a deep breath, and as he let it out, Alex seemed to visibly relax, too.

“You can wash it off, if you want,” Alex said, “and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

Michael shook his head slowly. “Isobel—” he started.

“We didn’t get the same ‘strong woman, love yourself’ stuff that Isobel did,” Alex interrupted, reaching around Michael to snag a paper towel from the wall dispenser. “It’s okay.”

“Isobel would be disappointed,” Michael said numbly, his chest tight with unspoken gratitude, but he didn’t take the paper towel. Then more quietly: “Everyone’s always disappointed.”

Alex looked at Michael for a moment, and then shrugged and smiled, like he didn’t know what Michael was talking about, like he wasn’t one of the people Michael kept disappointing. “This whole thing is supposed to be about celebrating yourself the way you want to, so fuck ‘em.”

Michael smiled back weakly, his hand tracing lightly over the stiff lines of the face paint on his cheek. He so badly wanted to want to leave it there.

“It looks better on you,” Michael said, impulsively, reaching out as if to touch Alex’s cheek, and then drawing his hand back at the last moment. He held his breath as Alex met his eyes and stepped carefully forward, bringing his cheek to Michael’s hand, leaning into his touch far too easily. “You’ve always looked good with stuff like this.” He was thinking of Alex as a teenager, with liner painted across his eyelids, and it made Michael ache with nostalgia. He wanted this—he wanted to be able to tell Alex how the only good memories from that summer were of Alex, to be able to say all the stupid, romantic things he had never gotten the chance to say, to be able to dance with Alex at pride night and have neither of them care who saw.

“I wish I’d been able to be this with you,” Alex said, his voice raw and quiet.

Michael let out a breath that was almost a laugh, running his fingertips lightly across Alex’s rainbow cheek. “You’re here now,” he said without thinking about it. Now was enough. Michael thought that if he leaned forward and kissed Alex, Alex might let him, that it would be okay if it only existed here, in this moment. But they owed each other more than that—more than a secret kiss in a bathroom, more than rushing in without talking, without taking enough care that neither of them got hurt, this time. God, but Michael wanted there to be a ‘this time.’

“So are you,” Alex said pointedly, licking his lips absently in a way that sent Michael’s entire internal equilibrium shifting, like his body was trying to tip him towards Alex.

The door clattered as someone tried to get into the bathroom, and both of them laughed awkwardly, aware again of their surroundings. It steadied Michael, kept him from crashing towards Alex the way he desperately wanted to. Waiting would be smarter; dropping his hand, pulling away and swallowing everything he was feeling, putting on a smile and walking out of the bathroom would be smarter, but he hesitated.

Alex met Michael’s eyes and slowly lifted his own hand and pressed his fingers lightly to the paint on Michael’s cheek, almost exploratory, a gentle caress. Michael felt his breath coming far too quickly, his earlier discomfort nearly forgotten under the soft way Alex was touching him.

“You really do look good, Guerin.” Alex said quietly. “And this place? This bar? It’s not my favorite either. And it—it isn’t home, but it’s safe. You know?”

“Where’s home?” Michael asked, somewhat facetiously, his fingertips still barely brushing Alex’s cheek, leaning his cheek into Alex’s touch, unable to stop himself. Michael knew both of them had been facing the same thing recently—the growing sense that all of the places that had felt comfortable or familiar didn’t feel that way any more, the fear of what it would take to find the places that would feel that way in the future.

Alex met Michael’s eyes, meaningfully, like he was trying to get Michael to understand something without saying it. “I think I’ve almost got that figured out,” Alex said finally, and Michael was hit by the realization that Alex wasn’t talking about the bars or the city or the buildings they lived in, but something entirely different. He thought back to every time he’d ever heard Alex say the word home, with something like longing and questions laid into it, and wondered if maybe he’d been talking about them the whole time.

Michael was trying to form a response that wouldn’t feel like a deflection, that would convince Alex to actually say what he was saying, when someone banged loudly on the door and Alex pulled away abruptly, leaving Michael’s fingers caressing only air. Alex smiled apologetically and dropped his hand away from Michael’s cheek. “You shouldn’t spend the whole night in the bathroom,” Alex said, starting to move towards the door. “I’ll save you a dance.”

“Didn’t see you dancing before,” Michael said, to take focus from the fact that the image of Alex dancing, and happy, was enough to make every bit of him openly ache with wanting.

“I wasn’t.” Alex said, raising an eyebrow. “But I will with you.”

Michael exhaled heavily, his voice stolen by the casual way Alex said it, like they’d already decided. Then again, what was there even to decide?

Alex licked his lips, hesitating between Michael and the door, then abruptly turned back and crossed to where Michael was standing. Alex pressed himself into Michael’s space, his hands cradling Michael’s cheeks as he brought their lips together in a quick but searing kiss. Michael let out a sound halfway between surprise and a moan and kissed Alex back fiercely. He’d barely gotten his bearings before Alex was pulling away.

Smiling with satisfaction, Alex unlocked the door and slipped through into the noise of the bar. Michael side-stepped out of the way as someone rushed past him to one of the stalls, watching the door like Alex might come back.

When he didn’t, Michael turned back to the mirror, staring at himself skeptically for a few minutes, trying to see himself the same way he saw Alex, like someone who was strong enough not to feel foolish, but proud. He shook his head at his reflection—it was too much, too much to ask of himself at that moment, but he realized that he still didn’t want to leave the bar. Not when Isobel wanted him there, not when Alex wanted him there.

It was Alex’s voice, Alex’s smile, in Michael’s head as he decided not to wash the face paint off. As he decided not to listen to the words in the back of his mind that he tried to pretend he’d forgotten, to brush off with bravado, the ones that came from the screaming foster parents who carried bibles and belts, the ones who told him he was nothing before he was old enough to know anything about himself. Alex didn’t see Michael that way, any more than Michael saw Alex as any of the things his asshole father had thought of him. Alex wanted to dance with Michael, wanted to kiss him, and that was reason enough to stop thinking about the colors on his face and leave the bathroom.

This bar was never going to be Michael’s place, it was never going to be less annoyingly loud and glittery, and it was never going to serve drinks that didn’t make him roll his eyes. But it could be the first place he’d let Isobel drag him to a pride event, it could be the first place he’d kissed Alex, that Alex had kissed him, since they’d tried to ignore how they would always feel. It could be that, and that could be enough, even if he hated the damn face paint.

Taking a breath, Michael left the bathroom with his breathing almost back to normal. He found Isobel quickly, dancing on the edge of a throng of people, and she brightened as soon as he appeared, beckoning him over.

“Thought you might have left,” she said close to his ear when he reached her, almost yelling to be heard above the music.

“Almost did,” Michael replied distractedly. He scanned the room, which had gotten significantly more crowded in the short time he’d been gone, until he found Alex, leaning against a wall, clearly watching Michael, too. He tilted his head, gesturing Alex over, and saw him nod and push slowly away from the wall,

“What did you say?” Isobel yelled, and Michael flipped his attention back to her, grinning. She looked happy, and tipsy, and like she actually wanted him there, and all at once Michael felt lighter.

“I said fuck you,” he said stridently, louder and closer to her ear. “Bisexuals-in-arms, right?”

Isobel’s answering smile was brilliant, and Michael realized he hadn’t made a mistake by coming here just for her, because she’d asked him, intentionally, to be there. And there wasn’t anything wrong with staying for Alex, because neither of them would usually be caught dead in a place like this, and there was something about just showing up that mattered.

Alex came up beside them, putting a hand gently on Michael’s elbow, just enough to let Michael know he was there. It felt like a lot more than that, though.

“Alex!” Isobel was clearly at the drunk stage where she was friends with everyone. “Look, we match!” She gestured happily between her face and Michael’s, and Michael hated that it made him feel even a tiny bit better about the stupid face paint.

Alex grinned. “It’s great,” he said and Isobel beamed. The song changed fluidly to something new, and Alex slid his hand down Michael’s arm until their fingers were clasped together. Michael couldn’t think of a time he and Alex had held hands in public, not ever. It felt nice.

Isobel danced next to them with abandon and Michael let himself sway awkwardly with Alex, trying to actually loosen his grip on his control instead of just slipping into the comfortable persona of someone who didn’t care. He did care. He cared that Isobel wanted them to have this connection—something that she and Max didn’t have—even if her way of celebrating it wasn’t entirely in line with his ideal evening. He cared that Alex wanted to dance with him, that he was holding Michael’s hand in public, even if it was under the guise of dancing, that he cared enough to follow him into the bathroom and knew him well enough to lock the door.

Isobel paused her dancing to give Michael a very obvious and unsubtle thumbs-up, and Michael didn’t even resent it when Alex laughed. Michael grinned up at her sparkling, painted face, his hand tightly knit with Alex’s, and let himself enjoy being part of something loudly, even if it was just for the night. Maybe, Michael reflected, this was what Alex meant by home.

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #isobel evans #my writing #happy bi visibility day!!!#this is so sappy but here it is #getting together #just a little bit of hurt mostly comfort

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hippohead · 4 years ago

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postcode envy (8/24)

read it on ao3

It’s not that Kurt’s never had a sex dream about a coworker before.

He has, and it was mortifying, but he’d managed to push it to the back of his mind and move on. He’s never had a sex dream the night before filming the scene that the dream was set in, though.

He’s barely looked Blaine in the eye all morning, embarrassed about something that the poor man isn’t even aware of. He’d contemplated just telling Blaine so they could laugh it off and make it mean nothing, but then he’d seen him coming out of his dressing room and the sight of him made him feel... prickly. Hot. On edge. And he swiftly tossed that idea out the window.

He can never, ever tell him.

And now they’re on set and it looks exactly how it looked last night in his head, except this time Blaine is going to pull a knife on him the way he’s supposed to. He’s not going to pull Kurt’s arms above his head, and Kurt’s not going to push him back onto that god-awful couch. They will stick to the script.

Kurt can’t stop thinking about how much he prefers his version, and it’s incredibly not ideal.

“Hey, Kurt?”

He looks at Blaine vaguely but before he can answer, Curtis is moving into their space and lowering his voice.

“Okay, guys – this is a pretty big scene and we’re probably going to do a bunch of camera rehearsals, so I just want to make sure you both remember where we’re at in the journey and the history between the characters. Kurt,” and he turns to look at him, an intensity in his eyes that Kurt has come to know over the past two weeks of filming, “I need you play this so seriously that the comedy will come from Blaine, okay?”

Kurt nods. He knows that. They’ve been over it more than once, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s somehow sweating through three layers of costume - one of them leather - because his mind keeps providing him with flashes of what didn’t happen here last night. It just... really feels like it did.

They do three rehearsals and each time, the stunt coordinator steps in and tweaks things – where to put their hands and how to make it look more realistic. Donna asks them to hold their positions so lighting can adjust, and of course it’s the one where Blaine has Kurt pushed into the wall. It feels like some sort of cosmic teasing.

“Everything alright?” Blaine murmurs so that only Kurt can hear.

He nods, so annoyingly aware of how close they are to each other. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything, though, so he turns his head and tries to focus. By the time they start filming, Kurt has somehow managed to bury the dream down far enough that he feels like Marvin.

Or, at least, he thought he had.

“Cut!”

Curtis sounds a little exasperated – it's the third time he’s called cut and neither Blaine nor Kurt knows what it is he’s wanting. He hasn’t really explained, just keeps asking them to take it from the top. This time, thankfully, he pulls his headphones off and makes his way over to them. Blaine is still crowding Kurt despite the fact that the scene has stopped and when he realises, he puts a step of space between them.

“Okay,” Curtis says once he’s next to them, and it looks like he’s desperately trying to figure out how to say what he wants to diplomatically. He doesn’t really succeed: “I need it to look more like you’re trying to kill each other, and less like you want to rip each other's clothes off.”

Blaine pulls his brows together, and Kurt wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. They both nod, entirely embarrassed, and they share a little look as Curtis walks away. It feels sort of charged, the look, but Kurt knows if he reads into it, he’ll only make it worse. He won’t be able to take on Curtis’ note, and so he breathes in a few times and clears his head. Buries the dream and buries Blaine even deeper.

The person he sees in front of him is Donny, and he can’t stand him – he feels that prickly feeling he felt this morning but this time it has nothing to do with attraction. It’s about feeling so out-of-his-skin with hatred that his hand starts twitching for his fake gun even though they’re not up to that part in the scene yet. Blaine seems to have gotten to the right place too, and the energy on set feels dangerous.

They don’t really talk to each other after they wrap the scene. Everything feels a bit too complicated right now, as if they need to untangle themselves from their characters before they can be them – Kurt and Blaine – again. It’s too heavy to wade through.

He has a herbal tea in his dressing room and listens to some calming music, and when he heads to the studio reception area to get a ride back to his hotel, he feels a lot more like himself.

“Hey. We did good today.”

Kurt turns and is shocked by how much relief he feels at seeing Blaine, not Donny. It’s almost as if he’s missed him, which should be ridiculous, but the feeling settles and it’s true. He misses Blaine when he has to spend twelve hours with Donny’s glares. He wonders if Blaine misses Kurt, or if the malice in Marvin doesn’t bother him.

“Yeah, we did. I think the general public will believe that we want to murder each other.”

“Even if they also think we’re hopelessly in love,” Blaine adds on, but there’s none of the tease in it like there was last week. He’s just stating a fact, really, because the tabloids haven’t stopped reporting on it and he’s pretty sure there’s a hashtag on Twitter now, too.

“Ready to go, Anderson?”

Kurt looks to the voice and the warmth in his body drains. It’s him; the exec. Kurt still doesn’t have a name. He feels his hands curl into fists involuntarily, but then Blaine is nodding at the man and saying goodbye to Kurt and starting to leave.

“Blaine,” he hisses, grabbing his arm to stop him from moving. “What are you doing? You can’t leave with him.”

There is something in Blaine’s eyes that Kurt has never seen there before: resignation. And then he shrugs, Kurt’s hand falling away with the movement, and he says with a conviction that contradicts the resignation, “It’s a business meeting, Kurt.”

He wants to chase after him, beg him not to go, tell him he has a terrible feeling about it. But there’s something about the way Blaine gets about this whole situation that stops him and reminds him that he doesn’t have any right to get involved. It’s Blaine’s life, and he has to trust that he knows what he’s doing.

It doesn’t stop him from feeling a little ill at the sight of Blaine getting into a car with the man who had been looming over him two weeks ago, sex dream completely forgotten and replaced with a nervousness he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be feeling.

#klaine advent 2020 #klaine advent: history #i wrote this!#klaine fanfiction #klaine #me when i'm 12+ days behind

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curedeity · 3 years ago

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The Dragons Scale

Summary: (metal fury spoilers) Ryuga is dead, shouldn't Yu be sad?

He was going to smash the clock on his wall. Yu didn’t know why Tsubasa had gotten him one of those circle-clock things when digital clocks existed! All it did was tick-tick-tick annoyingly away and keep him awake.

Well, that was a lie, it wasn’t the clock keeping him awake, but maybe if he threw it out the window he’d be able to sleep. All he’d need to do is launch Libra, just a teeny-eenie bit. But no, Tsubasa didn’t like it when Yu broke things around the house, so awake he’d remain, listening to that clock’s counting clicks.

He and Kenchi had called earlier that day for their weekly chat. Or was it yesterday? When the clock passed midnight was it earlier or yesterday? Time was confusing and Yu didn’t like it. It was supposed to make sense because it was linear, but it was too circular to be comprehensible.

Yu also didn’t like the conversation he and Kenchi had. Not that he didn’t like talking to Kenchi, Yu loved talking with all his friends! They were all really annoying though with how rarely they answered, it was really rude that no one ever seemed to have time.

Yu ignored his own tendency to forget phones existed.

Kenchi and him had been laughing over training methods. Tsubasa was such a pain-in-the-ass about having to train the proper and uptight way. He was all about movement and grace and doing perfect launches a hundred times. Yu tended to pour water on his head and then run away giggling as he was chased down by an angry Eagle.

Kenchi had complained about how Hyoma’s training seemed to amount to taking him out into the forest and seeing what happened. Yu got the feeling that if he and Kenchi switched mentors, they’d both have better times, Yu liked just exploring!

Then Kenchi had started comparing it to Ryuga’s training method, and Yu had ended the call shortly thereafter.

Ryuga…

The name still sent shivers up his spine, very annoying because Ryuga was dead-in-a-ditch and there was nothing to be scared of, except maybe the concept of death but that wasn’t very creepy, just kinda boring. And shouldn’t Yu be sad, like everyone else was when Ryuga was mentioned?

With a sigh, Yu pushed himself out of bed and softened the squeak of his socks against the wooden surface as he tippy-toed out of his room. Of course, Yu wasn’t supposed to leave the house in the middle of the night, but Tsubasa wasn’t the boss of him, and they’d agreed that leaving a note worked well enough.

So Yu scratched some meaningless words against a post-it note, and wandered out of the house.

It was a nice night outside, Yu supposed. If he looked up he could probably spend the rest of the night-morning connecting constellations, and falling asleep outside sounded like a nice idea.

But his skin was still crawling, and his brain was too full of thoughts of Ryuga leaving and Ryuga hurting them and then Ryuga dying to really care about some stupid tiny stars right now.

Yu brought out his phone and dialed it the number of the one person who seemed still more fearful of Ryuga than himself: Hippity-Hop.

She arrived at the house half an hour later, wearing sweats instead of the fancy outfit she had while working. That was nice, because when she wasn’t wearing her fancy clothes she was much more willing to play with him. He hadn’t brought out anything to play with though, except Libra, and Hippity-Hop didn’t seem to be in the mood to battle. She rarely was.

Yu skipped ahead, stopping every block to let her catch up. Because she was slow there wasn’t really much time to talk, unless they wanted to be calling out to each other, so Yu let the chirping crickets crackle through the air.

The burger place they arrived at was completely empty, floors shining from a recent cleaning and tired employee glaring. They got their soda-pop and food and sat down at a booth, far away from the only pair of prying ears.

Yu liked the sugary-sweet rush of soda-pop. Tsubasa didn’t let him have a lot because water was better for their health or something, so Yu had to go out to get his own most of the time. At least he had his own money he could spend on whatever he wanted, instead of having to ask Tsubasa like he’d had to ask Doji-

He slurped on the liquid sugar drink he’d gotten, coughing at the fizz.

“So, Ryuga,” Hippity-Hop began, swirling her straw in her drink. It wasn’t as interesting as doing it with coffee. When she drew stuff in coffee, the swirls would remain for a while, and Yu loved watching that. Soda-pop was much more boring in that singular way.

Yu hummed, swinging his legs back-and-forth, back-and-forth. “So, Ryuga,” he echoed.

Hippity-Hop sipped her drink, a long pause stretching out between them, before she lightly slammed the soda-pop back down on the table. “He’s a bitch.”

Yu cackled, laughing as he fell over in the booth. Sure, her voice had trembled when she’d brought up his name, and he’d seen the breath she’d needed to take. But it was a relief to hear someone just say that.

And it was a tragedy, because Yu didn’t know which way to feel about him.

“He’s a bitch who didn’t deserve to die because he was just a used kid, but a bitch is a bitch nonetheless,” Hippity-Hop nodded sagely. It wasn’t often she swore around Yu, having prescribed to Madoka’s ideals that Yu was too young to know the fuck words, but this was the singular subject he could always draw profanity out of her with.

“The others don’t really talk about him to you, do they?” Yu asked, poking his straw at her.

“Not really,” Hippity-Hop shrugged, fully aware of the reasons why. They both were, he’d called her for this conversation after all. “Sometimes Kyoya, Tsubasa and I gather up and discuss him, but then I kinda end up wanting to punch them sometimes.”

“I want to punch Kenchi when he brings up Ryuga sometimes, which isn’t really fair because he��s really sad when he brings it up and I don’t want to make Kenchi sadder,” Yu nodded in understanding, bobbing his head up and down very grown-up like.

“Truly, the struggles of all of us having valid viewpoints and trauma of the man,” Hippity-Hop slurped her soda-pop.

“I just don’t want him to talk about Ryuga to me sometimes!” Yu threw his hands up in the air. “He and everyone else are always so sad when they talk about Ryuga, and then I have to be sad when I don’t feel sad sometimes, just angry!”

Hippity-Hop hummed. “Maybe you ought to tell them.” It was her turn to point the straw at Yu.

Yu pouted at her, “But they are really sad and I’m supposed to be there for Kenchi, right-”

Hippity-Hop cut him off. “Nope, no. Yu, you’re like 5-” Yu squealed at that, ready to tackle her for that comment. “-you have no obligation to be able to deal with anyone’s feelings. Especially because of your own experience with Ryuga. The reason no one talks about him with me like that is because they all know I can’t handle it sometimes, because, for better or for worse,” Hikaru’s face twisted into something indescribable, conflicted. “My trauma over Ryuga’s actions was incredibly fucking obvious to absolutely everyone. What most likely happened is that everyone forgot how complicated your feelings about him were. You just gotta remind them.”

Yu took the first bite of his burger. It had pickles in it. He picked them out slowly. He didn’t look at Hippity-Hop.

“I want to be sad,” he whispered, and was this ok? Was this okay to tell her? He shouldn’t be discussing this in the first place with her, even though she was the most understanding maybe what he wanted is what he should offer her-

“Yeah, I want to be sad too,” Hippity-Hop sighed, and dug into her own burger.

In the morning, Yu would talk to Tsubasa and try to figure out why he was still so scared and sad and angry at Ryuga. Tomorrow, he would call Kenchi and explain that he couldn’t talk about Ryuga, not yet. Tomorrow, Tsubasa and Mr. Phoenix would once again put a list of therapists in front of Yu.

Tonight, he and Hikaru ate terrible burgers and insulted a man neither wanted to be dead. Sibling bonding.

#beyblade #beyblade metal fight #beyblade metal fusion #fanfic #fanfiction #the dragons scale #yu tendo #hikaru kasama #referenced character death #swearing #yus pov

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