#like . i wrote this. but why am i hurt. i need to strangle who wrote it

[sadagios]

advanced apology if gria is so down bad for scar sjkfslfakjslfsglsgkjlsg this is (probably) not for the next update but . with the draft im writing ... geez louise man ... thats kinda emberreseng ... wow im threading a dangerous path

[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

meh why not. Honkai Star Rail X reader incorrect quotes when you have the time because I forgot you wrote for them.

I had a blast with this. Also, a special thanks to @tragedy-of-commons for reading these over.

Now! Your Wish Is My Command! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Natasha: You need to stop drinking so many energy drinks. Seele: You're one to talk. Natahsha: The last patient who refused to stop drinking energy supplements after I suggested it died. Seele: Oh no. Natasha: In a car crash. You: That sounds unrelated. Natasha: I’m the one who crashed it. Do not disobey me.

You: Why do you two like being out in the rain so much? Screwllum: I like splashing in the puddles and rain is just fun! Ruan Mei: I'm trying to get hit by lightning for my research.

Sparkle: I’ve been here in jail so long I think I’ve lost my mind. Sparkle: The days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. Sparkle: How long have I been in here now? Almost a year? You: …This is Monopoly.

You and Asta: Madam Herta, help! We did a bad thing! Herta: Does it affect me? You and Asta: Not technically— Herta: Then suffer in silence.

You: Do you know a turtle's greatest weakness? Ruan Mei: How slow they are? You: No, their only weakness is that they can get stuck on their back. Ruan Mei: What if you taped two turtles together? They'd be unstoppable, correct? You: … Ruan Mei: … Ruan Mei: …I will be back shortly You: Ruan Mei, NO—

You: Died and came back as a cowboy, I call that reintarnation. Archeon: Laughs -Elsewhere- Boothill: I suddenly feel like strangling someone.

You: I need some help dealing with a problem, do you have any suggestions? Jingliu: Sword. You: Do you have any other suggestions? Jingliu: …Two swords.

You: Do you have any idea how many laws you're breaking on a daily basis? Silver Wolf: One? You: No. Silver Wolf: Two? You: No. Silver Wolf: …Is it one?

You: why are you following me? Kafka: because we’re dating now You: okay… what about the rest of you? Kafka: we’re a package deal Silver Wolf, walking next to the rest of the Stellaron hunters while burying her face in a game and Blade maneuvering her to avoid hazards like light poles: buy one idiot, get several free

You: Do you want to play 20 Questions? Firefly: Sure! You: What's your favorite color? Firefly, laser fucking focused: Triangle. Will you go out on a date with me?

Kafka: I love making short jokes about Wolfie. You: They go right over her head. Silver Wolf, standing on a step stool: Fuck you.

Blade, reading the note in the lunch packed for him by you and Kafka: the path to inner peace starts with four words Blade: not my fucking problem Blade: Narrows Eyes I think this one is for Firefly

Firefly, reading the note in the lunch packed for her by you and Kafka: Please, for the love of the Aeons, be good. We know your love language is acts of service. We also know your only skill is stabbing people. Firefly: Tilts Head To The Side I… believe this is for blade…

You: I love my personal space You point to the Silver Wolf latched onto your back You: this is Wolfie. Wolfie also loves my personal space.

You: Why are you smiling Blade? Blade: Am I not allowed to be happy? Kafka: Of course you are Bladie… It’s just that you being happy, usually means someone’s lost their life… or a limb.

Pom Pom: I typed "bitch" into my GPS and guess what? I'm in your driveway. The Express Crew, desperately trying to avoid spring cleaning after the last "Incident": … Pom Pom: Choo Choo motherfuckers, come out already.

Stelle, waving at the crew as she steps onto the express after being splattered by a small army of stings: hello. Himeko: i- Welt: we literally saw you die. Dan Heng: you died. March 7th: you're dead. Stelle, shrugging: death is a social construct.

You and Stelle: some fools be like “I play games to escape my responsibilities” then pick tank or healer Welt: In my greatest fantasies I am able to help people Dan Heng: In my fantasies I can prevent people from being hurt, even if it means I get hurt in their stead Himeko: In my fantasies I don’t have to know how to aim March 7th: In my fantasies I control who lives and who dies

You standing at the top of the stairs: What are y'all doing at the bottom of the staircase? Ruan Mei: I accidentally fell down. Herta: RUAN MEI PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay HER part of our rent! Screwllum: Ruan Mei bet me fifty Credits that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than she did falling down it, so I slid down the banister to get my money. Dr. Ratio: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and several galaxies away and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Screwllum.

You: Do you think different paints have different tastes? Ruan Mei: They do. Herta: …Why did you say that with such certainty?

Dr. Ratio, talking to You and Topaz: Well, whenever I’m about to do something, I think ‘would Aventurine do that?’ and if they would, I do not do that thing. You and Topaz: … Aventurine: I know I should be offended, but he's not wrong.

Silver Wolf talking about you: How do you feel about Them, Firefly? Firefly, vibrating at a frequency high enough to shatter a glass: I love Them a normal amount.

You and the Stellaron Hunters sitting in jail together You: So who should we call? Silver Wolf: I’d call Blade, but I feel safer in jail

You: When do you usually go to sleep? Blade: Whenever I collapse is entirely up to the Aeons. Kafka: My body will pass out when it's ready Kafka and Blade: high five You: angry staring (edited)

Firefly: Good News! The store had blueberry bagels! Bad news, the cream cheese died… or became more alive… It is the wrong amount of alive.

Tingyun, after being caught lying in bed with your shirt on: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt. You: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

Yukong: Hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers? You: Peonies, why? Yukong: … You: Were you going to get me flowers? Yukong: … You: … Yukong, under her breath: It's a possibility…

Quingque: I owe you one. You: That’s ok. You can just date me and we’ll call it even.

Blade: walks in to see you and Firefly sitting on the couch facing away from each other. Blade: I know I will more than likely regret asking, but what's going on there? Firefly, gaming: They're having a fight. Blade, confused: Then why are they holding hands? Kafka, playing with her Cat: Fighting makes them sad.

Natasha: Why are there little handprints all over the wall? You, whispering to The Moles: Why are there little handprints all over the wall? The Moles: Because we have little hands. You: *Nods Sagely Before Turning To Natasha* You, with a smile: Its because The Moles have little hands

You, when Wildfire was just starting: Natasha, sweetie, the love of my life, all you have is a handful of impoverished shantytowns paying us protection money. We're basically slum lords.

Natasha: And what's the main rule we have? Julian: Don't dare The Leader Of The Moles, Dark Hook The Great to do stupid stuff. You: And why's that? Hook with her head stuck between two stair rails: Because I have no regard for my personal well being.

[ellenhghg]

I hope its alright to request something? But hear me out!! Reader has a secret pole in her room at the ShinRa HQ (she can be a SOLDIER, Ancient or whatever) and also a honeybee costume. Well one day she finds herself stuck to the pole with handcuffs behind her and calls either Cloud or Sephiroth (you choose who you like to write for) to help her. Like what would be their reaction to the call? Btw I really love how accurate you write all of them I am soooo starved for more!!!!!! <3333

Yess keep requesting away! I wrote one for Cloud and Sephiroth since this was really fun to write. I really hope you like it! Also everything between «» are thoughts, thought that would be a cute touch. And Pre Nibelheim Thank you soo much for your love!! ♥♥

♡‧₊˚ Cloud: Cloud blinks as his PHS buzzes insistently, the ringtone he chose for you blaring tinny and shrill in the locker room. He fumbles for the device, nearly dropping it in his haste.

«The hell…? Y/N never calls me unless it's an emergency… or she's tryin' to rope me into another one of her crazy schemes.»

Dread pooling in his gut, Cloud flips open the PHS, bracing himself for the worst.

"Hello? Y/N, what's—"

"CLOUD! THANK GAIA!"

Cloud winces, yanking the PHS away from his ear as your panicked shout nearly bursts his enhanced eardrums. His brow furrows, a spike of worry lancing through him at the barely-restrained hysteria in your voice.

"Y/N? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"NO I'M NOT OKAY!"

There's a scuffling sound, followed by a metallic clang and a string of muffled curses. Cloud's eyes widen, his mind immediately jumping to the worst case scenario.

"Are you under attack?! Where are you?! I swear to Shiva, if someone's hurt you, I'll—"

"What? NO! No no no, nothing like that!"

Your voice is strained, tinged with embarrassment and a hint of… is that laughter? Cloud blinks, confusion momentarily overriding his panic.

"…Okay, so what's with the screaming? You nearly gave me a heart attack, woman!"

"Sorry, sorry! I just… Gaia, this is so embarrassing…"

You take a deep breath, the sound crackling down the line. When you speak again, your voice is small, almost sheepish.

"I, uh… I might have gotten myself into a bit of a situation. With the, um… the pole in my room."

Cloud's brain stalls, trying to process this new information. Pole? What pole? Why would you have a—

Oh. OH.

Suddenly, the pieces click into place - the Honeybee Inn costume he'd glimpsed in your closet, the way you'd been humming those catchy burlesque tunes under your breath, the mysterious 'dance lessons' you'd been sneaking off to for weeks…

«Sweet Shiva on a stick. She's been learning to pole dance. POLE DANCE.»

Cloud's face flushes bright red, a strangled noise escaping his throat. He clears it hastily, trying to will away the sudden rush of blood to his… ahem, nether regions.

"You, uh… You got stuck? On the pole?"

He cringes at the way his voice cracks, high and thready with barely-restrained panic. Gaia, could this BE any more awkward?!

"…Maybe? I mean, definitely. Definitely stuck. Very stuck."

Your voice is a mortified whimper, muffled like you've got your face buried in your hands… or the crook of your elbow, if Cloud's mental image is accurate.

«Okay, Strife, keep it together. Y/N needs your help, not your horny teenage daydreams! Focus!»

Taking a deep, calming breath, Cloud forces himself to think past the haze of embarrassment and… other feelings he's not quite ready to examine.

"Alright, just… hang tight, okay? I'll be there in five. Don't move!"

A beat of silence, then a snort.

"…Really, Cloud? 'Don't move'? I'm literally stuck to a pole!"

"You know what I mean!"

Face burning, Cloud snaps the PHS shut, already moving towards the door. He pointedly ignores Zack's raised eyebrow and knowing grin, shouldering past his friend with a growled "Not a word, Fair. Not. A. Word."

He's out the door and halfway down the hall before Zack can even open his mouth, enhanced speed carrying him towards your room in record time.

«Hang on, Y/N. I'm comin'. Just… try not to do anything else stupid 'til I get there, alright?»

And if his mind happens to conjure up a few tantalizing images of the predicament he might find you in, well… he's only human, right? Er, SOLDIER. Whatever.

«Gaia help me, I am so screwed…»

♡‧₊˚ Sephiroth: The harsh buzzing of his PHS jolts Sephiroth out of his paperwork-induced trance. He frowns, glancing at the caller ID with a mix of annoyance and trepidation.

«Y/N? She never calls me directly unless it's an emergency…»

Suppressing a sigh, he flips open the device, bracing himself for whatever chaos you've managed to stir up this time.

"Y/N. To what do I owe the—"

"SEPH! THANK GAIA YOU PICKED UP!"

Sephiroth winces, pulling the PHS away from his ear as your panicked shout threatens to rupture his enhanced eardrums. His brow furrows, a spike of concern lancing through him at the barely-restrained hysteria in your voice.

"Y/N? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"NO! No I'm not alright! I'm— Gaia, this is so embarrassing…"

You trail off, a muffled thump and clatter echoing down the line. Sephiroth's grip tightens on the PHS, his mind already conjuring worst-case scenarios.

"Are you in danger? Do you need backup? Give me your location and I'll—"

"What? NO! No no no, nothing like that! I just… ugh, I can't believe I'm about to say this…"

You take a deep breath, the sound crackling through the speaker. When you speak again, your voice is small, tinged with mortification.

"I'm stuck."

Sephiroth blinks, certain he must have misheard. "…Stuck."

"Yes! Stuck! As in, I physically cannot move from my current position!"

"…I see. And what, pray tell, is your current position?"

There's a long, telling silence. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:

"…I'm handcuffed to my pole dancing pole. In my Honeybee Inn costume."

For a moment, Sephiroth's brain short-circuits, unable to process this new information. You… pole dancing… Honeybee Inn costume… handcuffs…

«…I don't get paid enough for this.»

Closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a migraine coming on. Of all the ridiculous, irresponsible things to do…

"Let me get this straight," he says slowly, enunciating each word with careful precision. "You, in all your infinite wisdom, decided it would be a good idea to play dress-up as a Honeybee girl and practice your, ahem, 'dance moves'… and somehow managed to get yourself handcuffed to your own pole. Is that about right?"

"…Maybe?"

Sephiroth sighs, long and deep, the sound reverberating through the phone line. "…Dare I ask how you even acquired a pole dancing pole in the first place?"

"I thought it would be a fun workout!"

He can practically HEAR the pout in your voice, the unspoken plea for understanding. It takes every ounce of his SOLDIER discipline not to bang his head against the desk.

«Gaia grant me strength… and a bottle of Junon's finest whiskey.»

With a herculean effort, Sephiroth forces down the urge to lecture, keeping his voice carefully neutral as he speaks.

"I see. And the handcuffs?"

"…I thought they'd add a little extra challenge?"

«Of course you did. Why am I even surprised at this point?»

Sephiroth drags a hand down his face, silently counting backwards from ten in every language he knows. It's a technique Genesis taught him, back in their early days as SOLDIERs.

«One day, that man's questionable 'stress relief' methods might actually come in handy. Miracles do happen, I suppose.»

"Alright," he says at last, resigned to his fate as your perpetual rescuer. "I assume you called me because you need assistance extricating yourself from this… predicament?"

"Yes please! I tried calling Cloud but he's not picking up and I'm starting to lose feeling in my—"

"Y/N."

He cuts you off before you can finish that thought, a muscle ticking in his jaw. The absolute LAST mental image he needs right now is Strife ogling your half-naked form.

Shoving down the irrational surge of overprotectiveness (and the FAR more disturbing flicker of jealousy), Sephiroth forces his voice into some semblance of calm professionalism.

"I'll be there shortly. Just… try not to make the situation any worse in the meantime."

"…How could it POSSIBLY get any wor—"

"Don't. Tempt. Fate."

He snaps the PHS shut before you can respond, already rising from his desk with a bone-deep weariness. The stack of reports will have to wait. He has a certain someone to rescue… again.

«The things I do for you, I swear… You're going to be the death of me one day.»

But even as the thought crosses his mind, Sephiroth can't quite suppress the tiny, traitorous spark of warmth in his chest. Exasperating as you may be, you're still the closest thing he has to family.

«And family looks out for each other… even when one of them is an absolute disaster of a human being.»

With a rueful shake of his head, Sephiroth strides out of his office, already mentally cataloguing the fastest route to your quarters. With any luck, he can have you untangled and decent before anyone else catches wind of this latest misadventure.

But he'll weather it, like he always does. Because that's what you do for the people you love… even when they drive you absolutely insane.

For now, he has a damsel in (self-inflicted) distress to save

[heavenlyvision]

Oh! Why hello Vision, are we having a hard time sleeping and instead thinking about sucking Bi-Han's dick ????

Why, yes Vision ! We are up thinking of giving Bi-Han diabolical sloppy, how funny you should ask !!!

Okay,,,, ignore me being stupid 😭 but I genuinely couldn't sleep and instead wrote nearly 600 words of giving head to Bi-Han,,,, enjoy ! I am going to sleep now </3 (If I was more coherent, I would write more for this and I would write it better but alas,,, I am incoherent and now,,, sleepy)

cw: blowjob, slight bondage (?), no pronouns or y/n used

wc: >600

It’s a miracle that he agreed to this, you are over the fucking moon about it. Bi-Han is sat on a chair with his arms bound by ropes behind his back, completely powerless, his usual control relinquished to you and you are loving it.

He won’t admit it but he is loving it too, your mouth takes his cock fully, suctioning around his length, slowly bobbing back and forth, taking your time. His hips stutter and his abs tense, he’s sensitive, you would be too if you had cum twice already. You’re not taking it easy on him, this is revenge.

Hissing noises of pleasured pain sound from him, his movements are those of a man trying to escape and get as close as possible at the same time. It makes you hum around him, pleased at how reactive he is.

Moving your lips to the base of his cock, you hold him there, dick completely sheathed in your mouth, you wait for a moment, focusing your efforts on breathing through your nose, and then you swallow around him. A loud moan leaves him, his dick twitches in your mouth, his hips jump. He’s slowly losing his mind, he can’t finish again, all his nerves feel like they’re on fire, he feels so good it hurts.

Pulling back, you bob your head on his cock again languidly, you’re in no rush, you have no reason to rush. Spittle leaks from your mouth and travels down his cock, he sighs as he watches it, the mess obscene, his cum and your spit coat his dick immensely.

“It’s too –ngh– much, you need to stop,” it’s cute, how his tone tries to be commanding when he sounds so fucking wrecked.

You don’t stop, in fact, you speed up, he’s obviously close with how his balls tighten and his stomach twitches. The sounds he makes are pitiful, gasped moans and almost whimpers leaving him before he bites his lip and they come out all strangled. He’s so unwilling to indulge, enjoying himself but hating himself for it, he likes control, he craves it.

It’d be easy for him to gain back that control he loves so much but he likes this more than he thought he would, and you had asked him so nicely, who was he to refuse your will? His thigh muscles shake and his arms flex against the ropes binding him. Your mouth sucks at him harder, your hands dig into his legs, holding him as still as you can.

He curses, his words strained, “Fuck– this is– the things you do to– nngh~”

His cock jerks as he finishes, you take it all, letting his cum fill your mouth until it spills from the corners of your lips, and then you pull off him slowly and swallow it all. You lay your head on his thigh and look at him, small and pleased smile on your lips. When he looks at you he groans gutturally, the sight of you making his head spin, his cum and your spit have stained your skin, tracks of it running down your face.

He rolls his head back, his breaths come harshly, trying to level his breathing after his third orgasm, you watch him closely, “You’re doing a really good job,” you praise, hand rubbing at his thigh, lightly massaging him.

His cock jerks pathetically, “Don’t.”

“Mmm? Don’t what?” You’re playing dumb, he knows it.

His words are bitten back, “No more. I can’t–”

You quote him, something he says to you all too frequently, “–You can and you will.”

⋆⁺₊❅.

[artpoplibrary]

TIMEZONE

Ken Sato x GN!Reader

Angst?, Reader isn’t actually in this; he’s just thinking about them, reader may seem more AFAB (I swear it was an accident), Post-Ultraman: Rising, Ken’s OOC in this - blame the fact I wrote this when my brain was frying off in a heatwave 6 months ago, brief alcohol mention and depiction of a drunk character

It went to voicemail. Again. It was what? The fifth call in the past hour, honestly he deserved a medal for his self control. His thumb hovered over the call button once again, he knew you wouldn’t pick up but the sound of you on the voicemail made his heart break just a bit less.

It had been weeks since he’d seen you, the Giants were playing internationally and you hadn’t been able to join him. It was times like this that made him question if all this was worth it. He’d always dreamed of this, playing in the big leagues, and he’d done it. He had the trophies to prove it hanging on his wall, yet there had been something cracking in him for over a year now, since he’d met you, hell, since he’d taken in Emi.

Rather than hit the call button once more he pressed on your contact photo, it was a picture Mina had taken without either of you knowing. Your hair was wild. The three of you; you, him, and Emi had fallen asleep in her room, only for you to wake up snuggled into the grasp of the 20-foot-tall baby kaiju. Despite the circumstances, you were stunning; soft and sweet and his. The photo was zoomed in on you and Emi, his family. 

A smile tugged at his lips and he instantly winced. He’d not been sleeping well recently, it was hard to sleep without you there and your FaceTime calls could only do so much for him. The sleep deprivation had led to his coordination being less than stellar, not quite enough to affect him during the games but enough that he had tripped down the steps of the plane and landed on a pile of luggage, leading to a large black eye and several other cuts and bruises across his face.

God, he hadn’t even had the chance to tell you about it. His chest hurt the more he thought of it, 7000 kilometres, that was the only thing keeping him from you. He couldn’t believe he had to keep this up for another month and a half, 47 days. 47 days ‘till he could see you, ‘till he could hold you in his arms again. 47 days, 5 hours, and approximately 30 minutes if there were no delays in his flights. 

He could do this, it would all be worth it, your smile when he finally came home victorious would be more than enough. Of course he knew that it didn’t truly matter, you’d smile like that at him no matter what, and he loved that about you, but it didn’t feel right to him. Getting that smile even though he’d failed, running home with his tail between his legs simply because he couldn’t go a month or two without seeing you. But who could truly blame him? You were the best thing that could ever have happened to him.

He drifted off to sleep with a drink pressed against his cheek and your picture in his hands, wishing for a third option.

“Sato’s off his game, it’s sad, really.”

The TV blared in the back of his hotel room, it did what it could to block out the noise of his teammates and the loud music blasting from the room two down from his. He couldn’t stomach the party, they’d won with him barely doing a thing. 

“But we all know the saying, the bigger they are the harder they fall, will this be the case for the Giants player?”

He clicked off the remote, the flatscreen turning to black. That was enough of that, your voice echoed in his head. God, was he hallucinating? He could practically feel your soft touch on his face, brushing gently against the bruises, still yet to heal. 43 days now, 43 days and 12 hours. It was late, most days you would have been able to call but you’d been asked to work early  and wouldn’t be back until nearly 8 am his time. He wished he could strangle your boss, it wasn’t like you needed the extra cash, you were just too kind and your boss knew it, that’s why she’d always go out of her way to ask you to work overtime. 

Maybe you should just quit your job, he made enough for the both of you by a wide margin, being the worlds sweetheart, both as Ken Sato; famed baseball player, and Ultraman; Japan’s hero has its perks. He knew you’d never agree to it, much too dedicated to your job, a quality he both hated and adored, but a man could dream.

It was the sudden jolt at his door that roused him from his thoughts, opening it only to see the very red, exceedingly drunk face of one of his teammates. Which one, he wasn’t sure —though his jersey read 27— what he was sure of though was that whatever he wanted couldn’t be good. He was proved right when a moment later the man, 27, spoke.

“‘Ey, t’Shato,” his words slurred. How drunk was this guy? “Why don’ you c’me join ush?”

The woman on 27’s arm moved towards him, putting a hand on Kenji’s arm. He hadn’t paid her much mind so far, assuming she was a groupie or such. She didn’t look like any of his teammates' steady girlfriends, of which there were, unsurprisingly, very few. He’d been lucky enough to be graced with you, the same can’t be said for his teammates.

“Yeah, doll,” the woman spoke. “Why don’t you join us?” 

He flushed a bit, more with anger than embarrassment, at what she was implying, snatching his arm back and away. He needed to get out of here. 

“I’m happily taken,” he turned to 27’, “something you should know by now, rook’.”

He spat out the last word, more a taunt than a nickname, before closing the door fast. He needed to see you, feel you, if he did this much longer he might crack. The Giants weren’t playing for the next few days, no doubt the only reason that Coach had let them get wasted. 

He pulled out his phone, checking for the soonest flight back to Tokyo. 4:30 am, 1600$ a ticket, that was in less than 3 hours. Who gives a shit. He quickly grabbed a change of clothes, his passport, and a toothbrush, scrawling down a hasty note to leave by the Coach’s door and calling a cab while he paced around the elevator. Was this the right choice? Would you be okay with it, that was the real question. Kenji didn’t really give a shit about his contracts or the scandal, but you, would you be disappointed in him? Only one way to find out, really.

He booked the ticket on the cab ride, getting to the airport with an hour to spare. He pulled up your photo as soon as he was through TSA, you at one of his games. He hadn’t taken it, he didn’t really know who did, just some random paparazzi, but the photo was as nearly as famous as he was at this point. It was of the two of you, your hands thrown around his neck after one of the games. His back was to the camera, but he could see your face plain as day, hair wild with movement and your beautiful, wide grin.

 Your eyes were squeezed shut, it looked like you were laughing. The camera had caught you as you were pulling away from his lips, and the next day it was all over the papers. He didn’t mind, he’d wanted to go public with you for a few months at that point, this was just another reason he should. He remembered the way you called him panicked when you saw it, not out of worry for yourself but for him. God he loved you, stupid, beautiful, kind you. He couldn’t wait to see you, the photo still on screen as he boarded the flight, sending you one last text before going up in the air.

‘I’m coming home’

Author’s Note(s):

It’s so bad forgive meeeeee— this has been sitting in my notes app since August, I swear my writing has gotten better T.T

Anyway, the ending seems blunt now that I’ve reread it, so I might do a continuation in the future. I also have an old Vi songfic from a *slightly* later writing era I might post, but I don’t want to get into the habit of writing existing characters ‘cause I feel like they’re always so ooc—

Song this was based on —

[meetinginsamarra]

Self-rec Thingy

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Thank you for the tag @raina-at

It feels like betrayal to my beloved children 😉 to pick five but here we go.

The Perfect Place 

Sherlock needs a flatmate and already has the perfect person in mind. Now he only needs to convince his object of desire to move in and also find out if he desires Sherlock as well.

I am so in love with my second newest fic! Written daily for some of calais_reno's mayprompts 2024, it evolved into a hilarious funny cringefest with pining idiots and snarky comments made by the narrator. I grinned/laughed all the time while writing and people in the comments said they did, too. 10k words.

The Curious Case of the Casablanca Killer 

Deemed a three at best, the case of an invisible burglar in a historic cinema who stole nothing only caught Sherlock’s attention because he was bored. Also, he wanted to do John a favour. In the end, this proved to be a real stroke of luck. Otherwise, Sherlock would have missed an intriguing mystery that quickly ramped up in complexity.

I am very proud of this one! My first real 100% case fic. It took a lot of plotting and about a year to complete. It started as a gift for my friend and beta reader @peageetibbs , a short idea for a murder in a cinema since my friend runs a real cinema with a group of people in real life.

I have imagined that a lot more people would be eager to read this (ngl I am disappointed about its hit count development). Sherlock solves a complicated case, lots of hints and clues, all is logical and an epic chase sequence at the end. Established friendship, no smut. 56k words. Go read!

Learn My Scars 

After being thrown down and strangled, Sherlock leaves John in the restaurant, angry and deeply hurt. When John follows Sherlock to 221b, he learns that Sherlock's scars have not been acquired by “gallivanting around” for two years.

Very proud of this one, too. It has been written under a huge amount of stress. Written for whumptober 2022, it was posted daily for 31 days with sometimes really long chapters of over 2k words. Looking back, it feels like I've written all my spare time and doing little else for six weeks. It was insane and it was great.

It has the most kudos and second most hits of my fics, 38k words.

Sherlock comes home after the hiatus. My S3 fix-it fic starts at the restaurant scene and goes very differently afterwards. Johnlock endgame, lots of hurt/comfort and tales of what happened to Sherlock while being away, including a long part set in the Serbian cell.

The 13th Book 

Summoning a demon was actually quite simple if you could avoid getting killed in the process. Therefore, only the powerful, the desperate or the stupid would attempt it. John Watson was likely the first, definitely the second but hopefully not one of the third kind.

A magical realism AU. Sorcerer John summons a demon, Sherlock. It happens very differently than it's been expected. Not a lot of actual magic but enemies to friends and an epic bromance ensues. Funny moments, no smut. 26k words.

My AU world interweaves with BBC Sherlock universe and incorporates "Inspector Columbo" and "On the run elements" and this is the reason why I've picked the fic for this list. I made real still-life arrangements for each chapter and photographed them. The pics are posted in the fic. I am a bit sad that there are not so many hits on this one.

Wretched and Divine 

Dr. John Watson is on call at the A&E when he attempts to treat a very special patient. Instead he finds himself a very special treat.

My first ever posted fic. The punklock AU different first meeting is still very well-written (so I believe) for a first! It's funny, in character, on point and John is so in for a surprise! 5k words.

I love the punklock theme so much that this one spawned a sequel and I wrote another 3-part series with punk!Sherlock.

+++++++

Tagging @keirgreeneyes and everone who wants to share (I forgot who's already been tagged).

[marigoldbaker]

wrote a little sister snippet set right before siege of dragonspear kicks off, as one does :) thinking so hard about briar’s Saving People Issues.

~~~

Imoen was sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked pale and peaky, but she wasn’t bleeding out anymore, which made Briar feel a bit less fucking insane about the entire situation. She moved over and hugged her little sister, probably too hard, because Imoen said “ouch” and squirmed a little, but Briar didn’t pull away, wouldn’t pull away, couldn’t stop thinking about Imoen falling and bleeding all over the carpet. She was going to kill the fuck out of that horrible, horrible woman for taking Immy down in an attempt to get to her. People needed to stop fucking doing that.

“Bry,” said Imoen. “You’re squishing the guts out of me.”

Briar buried her face in Imoen’s hair. “You always smell like sweetbreads,” she said wetly. “You should be eating better.”

“Look, I know you’re probably going a little crazy right now—”

“Yes. I am. And do you know why, Immy? Because Caelar Argent made her problem my problem when she tried to kill me and didn’t even get it right, because she sucks rotten eggs. And do you know what happened the last time someone tried to kill me and didn’t even get it right? Gorion died. I am not having anybody dying again just because someone wants to kill me really, really badly for something that I didn’t ever even ask for or want anything to do with!”

“You’re going to strangle me!” Imoen wheezed.

Briar pulled back, eyes wet, and said, “I didn’t ask to be a hero!”

“Oof,” said Imoen, catching her breath. Her fingers lightly gripped the hem of Briar’s sleeve, brushing against her wrist. “Look, don’t make me do the Jaheira impression. I’m literally so bad at it.”

“No one is ever making you do the Jaheira impression—”

In a truly horrible approximation of Jaheira’s Tethyrian accent, Imoen said, “You are not a hero, Briar, you are a silly little girl who should stay at home with Imoen instead of fighting for the dumb city that hasn’t done a dumb thing for you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t give a twig about the dumb city,” said Briar, chest aching. “I’ll talk big talk to Corwin and the rest about how much of a hero I am if it gets me on the road. Nobody fucks with my family.”

“Okay, well, does it count for anything that your family’s literally telling you she wants you to stay home and not fight some creepy crusade?”

Fiercely, Briar said, “I didn’t know how to protect anything when Gorion died, and that’s the whole reason I couldn’t do anything to stop my stupid brother from killing him. I need to know I can protect you. I want every bard from here to Rashemen singing about what happens to people who hurt the people I love.”

“Well!” said Imoen. “That seems super righteous and not at all concerning. You’ve really soothed my worries, sis.”

“Really?”

“No! You know Jaheira wouldn’t stand for this!”

“Jaheira thinks me grown-up enough to run my own life now,” Briar countered. “This is how I’m running my life.”

“Khalid had to literally tow Jaheira away.”

“I don’t remember it like that,” said Briar loftily.

“Of course you don’t; you’ve the memory of a goldfish and all the common sense to boot. Please, Bry.” Imoen’s voice caught. “I know you don’t like it when people get caught in the crossfire, but how do you think I feel? Knowing that so many people are after you?”

Briar took this in. Weighed it against blood soaking into the carpet, dark red saturating the pale pink of Immy’s hair. No fucking contest. She didn’t say anything, just stared, hard, at Imoen, waiting for all the rest of her sister’s arguments, just so she could say she’d heard them before she left.

And because she knew Briar, Imoen sighed, all wobbly and scared. She pressed her forehead to Briar’s. “Write me every day,” she said. “Okay?”

“Oh, thanks, Immy,” Briar whispered, hugging Imoen probably too hard all over again.

[manofmanymons]

may you share some takuma x kaito hcs i am in drought and dying

Yeesus do I need to start writing about them again is the takuma x kaito fandom okay al;kfjdaklj I thought was getting too annoying about them but maybe not???

first things first in case you missed any of the other times I rambled aggressively about them

here's the most recent time someone asked about them <3

here's a post from that time someone (multiple someones? all the same anon? I'll never know) was asking about marriage hcs 💍

here's a time I was just randomly babbling about them :P

this isn't a hc but just a scene that haunts my brain a lot >w<

this post talks about multiple ships but they're in it 💃🏻

here is a short fic that's like 90% just me shoving hcs in your face 📝

and since we're already shamelessly self plugging here's the first thing I ever wrote about them teehee

OKAY SO

GETTING TO THE ACTUAL POST NOW LMAO

several pre-relationship hcs

Dracmon knows the idiots are crushing on each other before either of them figures it out. Agumon can tell that there's something different about the way Takuma talks about Kaito but he's not sure exactly what it is.

Y'know that scene where if you pick the wrong dialogue, Kaito will get all pouty if Takuma says people would like him more if he softened up his speech or looks a little? I imagine Kaito might briefly worry about if Takuma would actually like him better that way. In the end he doesn't change, obviously, but the realization that he likes someone enough that he considered changing for them for even a second gets him angry and a little embarrassed. How dare Takuma make him have Stupid feelings.

Literally every single one of their friends (and most of the kemonogami) knows Kaito has a crush on Takuma. They have the restraint not to make fun of him for it, but they very much ALL know. They'll even try to subtly (why does that not look like a real word) play wingman for him, making excuses for why those two should be alone together or asking Takuma about his thoughts on romance and if he likes anybody. Takuma only realizes that's what they were doing in hindsight years later. Kaito never notices even though he's the one they were trying to help lmao.

At least some of them have bet on how long it would take them to get together.

Fuck it I don't talk nearly enough about idiot pining Kaito. He likes Takuma so much it's embarrassing. Miu has sent pictures to their friends' secret groupchat that doesn't have Kaito or Takuma in it of the stupid way he smiles when Takuma texts him. Ryo caught him on video trying to strangle Takuma for calling him adorable once. He will secretly replay the part of the video where Takuma calls him adorable when he's alone because he likes hearing it. Lowkey sped past the cute, silly "butterflies in your stomach" kind of crush straight to the "my heart hurts when you're here yet aches worse when you're gone" kinda head over heels. He would die before admitting it, even to Dracmon. We love a boy who's just a tiny bit pathetic alkdja

I swear I'm not tryna be hardcore delulu playing the game with ship goggles on but like...Every time I think about that time where he gets mad at Takuma for being too close to Miu, but instead of complaining about him being too protective, Miu remarks that it looks like he really wanted to spend time with Takuma, it just kinda reads like he was perhaps a little bit jealous. Most mentally sane and emotionally stable way of expressing that you want your friend to pay attention to you.

I think it's hilarious that Kaito's voice is so goddamn deep for a 14 year old. I also think it a contributing factor to Takuma's crush on him. Like "wow that guy sounds cool."

Anywho, established relationship part

For the first few years post-canon, they keep going back and forth between who's taller. Takuma doesn't really mind either way, but Kaito hates being shorter. Solely because of how funny his reactions are, Takuma will jokingly call Kaito "little" whenever he's taller, even if it's only by 1cm. "My precious little boyfriend," "my little love," etc. Kaito hates this. He does not hate how happy Takuma sounds when he's saying it.

Usually when they're in public, people assume they're friends. Kaito is unbothered by this. Takuma does not like the way people look at his boyfriend. Again I really don't think he's the jealous type in the sense of ever legitimately worrying about anyone stealing his bf away or minding it when Kaito spends time with Not Him, but I could see him getting irritated if anyone openly stared at or god forbid flirted with his bf in front of him. Bc like real talk for a second, outside a shitty small town, you cannot tell me that no one aged 13-17 would crush on Kaito just from looking at him. Way too many angsty teens in the world.

Freaking cat boy constantly lies on top of whatever Takuma's working on and falls asleep.

They are secretly both the "would you still love me if I was a worm" boyfriend.

Bf who overthinks x bf who rarely thinks things through

Obsessed with Takuma constantly thinking of 2-4 different ways to respond during conversations being how he actually thinks and not just a game mechanic. The patience it takes for Kaito to cope with being stared blankly at for 10 seconds after asking for a kiss bc Takuma's too busy wondering if he should ⬅️ tell him he doesn't need to ask next time, ⬆️ just kiss him, or ➡️ ask if he's sure he wants one. As if Kaito didn't already feel dorky enough for asking. "Why would he ask?" HE'S ALLOWED TO PROPERLY ARTICULATE WHAT HE WANTS SOMETIMES INSTEAD OF WAITING AROUND FOR TAKUMA TO MAKE THE FIRST MOVE OKAY BUT HE WAS STILL SCARED OF DOING IT WITHOUT ASKING FIRST

Dracmon really does trust Takuma a lot and is more or less the captain of this ship. He still threatened to kill him if he ever hurt his partner when they first got together. Even when your bestie can turn into a mechanical dragon with cannons, something about a 10+ foot demon pointing a gun at you and telling you he would not hesitate if you screwed this up will really set ya straight.

Most of the time they hang out, they do whatever Takuma wants to. It sounds bad, but Kaito just really hates making decisions and really likes being around Takuma regardless of what they're doing. It took Kaito confirming this for Takuma's mom to stop getting on him about it though.

As close as they are, Takuma knows and doesn't mind that there are some things Kaito is always going to want to do with Miu instead of him, and Kaito knows and doesn't mind that there are some things Takuma is always going to want to do with Minoru.

Uhhh they are,,,very silly. Kaito high key one of those kids who decided he was too old for a lot of things when he was still really young, so sometimes Takuma has to force him to act his age and/or make up for lost childhood. Of course, Takuma himself has a tendency to think he's older than he actually is, but sometimes Kaito sounds so much like a tired adult that even he knows that's not normal.

Kaito has a lot of biases regarding how dumb he thinks romance is that he has to get over now that he's in a relationship. He's about to call someone else's big romantic gesture stupid until Takuma comments on how sweet it is and he has to go "yeah, real cute" instead. He's trying his best guys he really is.

...Several love songs have wormed their way into his playlists since dating Takuma. Some were even there since back when he just had a crush. Many are a result of Takuma sending him songs and saying "this made me think of you." Don't tell anyone. He only listens to rock and metal, he swears.

Sorry besties I cannot think of anything else rn I'm sure there's more but I'm eepy

[gurugirl]

Don't Stand So Close Chapter 15

Summary: Anna and Starla are best friends, but when Anna meets Starla’s dad, Harry, she can’t deny how attractive he is. Unfortunately, she’s far too young for him and he doesn’t seem to be interested anyway. Then, years down the road, Harry suddenly realizes he likes his daughter’s best friend a little too much, but how could they ever make it work?

AN/Warning: I will have a * by the parts when smut is included. ANGST, a missed birthday, a pair of stubborn and hurt lovers

Chapter 14*

Chapter 15

Harry and I have the best relationship. I just know it. Besides the whole, keeping it a secret thing, it’s perfection. We have the deepest connection and the best sex. I’m so completely in love with him that I feel nothing but joy even when I’m not with him. I can’t be with him all the time but I’m elated to know he’s mine, and I’m his.

I read the newest book Harry wrote. I was so excited to have a rough copy of what would be published before anyone else would. His writing is beautiful and the way he tells a story is so breathtaking. The book was about a man who falls in love with travel and winds up getting lost in the mountains during an excursion. Harry's a genius.

Starla’s 21st birthday was on January 15th. It was a beautiful big party that Harry and Angela hosted together. It was strange seeing the two interact but now that I have, I see why Harry doesn’t like Angela much. I wanted to strangle her half the time with the rude comments she kept making toward Harry.

The following month was Harry’s birthday. He didn’t want a party or anything but Starla and Paul and I and a few of Harry’s closest friends went out to eat. After the dinner everyone went their separate ways but I went back to Harry’s (obviously). I got him a jade cross necklace with a silver backing. I had it engraved with …and you are one of the lights. The inscription is from a quote from Bram Stoker’s, Dracula. The first book, along with The Beetle, that I read from Harry many years ago. The full quote goes: There are darknesses in life, and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.

I didn’t know what to get him in all honesty. It had to be something I could afford and frankly, the charm was expensive for me. I realize he got me a necklace charm with an inscription as well, and so I was kind of copying him, but I know Harry loves jewelry. He wears rings and he always wears his cross necklace. Sometimes he pairs the cross necklace with other charms so I felt this would be something he’d like. I also gave him a super sloppy blow job as soon as we stepped in his house and then later than night more sex, of course. I know he loved the jade cross, though. He nearly cried and wouldn’t stop kissing my face after I gave it to him.

My new classes were great, and the schedule was even better. My first Monday class didn’t begin until 11:00 AM and my last Friday class was over by 1:00 PM. I used as much of that free time as I could with Harry. Starla and I hung out a lot more too with my better schedule but she began to see Paul more and by March they were “boyfriend and girlfriend” official.

Paul never said anything more about New Year’s Eve. We chalked it up to being paranoid.

For Spring break Harry flew out to New York City for a week for a lecture series and I hung out with Starla and my mom during that time. I also filled in at the restaurant so a couple of servers could have Spring break off. I hated being away from Harry but we spoke every night. I also hated that I couldn’t join him at the conference to see the lecture. We needed to continue keeping everything on the downlow and it was beginning to take a toll on us. Mostly me. Keeping a secret like the one we were keeping was hard when all we wanted to do was share the news with everyone.

Still, Harry and I kept things magical. I never got bored of him and he always seemed to hang on my every word and couldn’t get enough of me when we did see each other.

Over the summer we saw each other a lot. Way more than we were used to seeing one another but it never got old or too much. It was amazing. A few weekends spent together were with Starla. I didn’t like being around Harry and not being able to hold his hand or kiss his nose and I hated lying to Starla and pretending nothing was going on.

By the time summer was over we’d gotten back into our normal routine of seeing each other over the weekends we weren’t busy. Paul and Starla were very obviously ridiculously in love and they were the cutest couple on campus. Sickeningly sweet. I was jealous of Starla’s relationship because she could just have a normal one. I didn’t know when it would be okay to be open about being with Harry, if ever. The more I saw how lovely Starla and Paul’s relationship was and how they could go out and do fun things together with all of our friends, the more I longed for that with Harry.

My new Fall classes were all hard. I was stressed out and as time went on, I became less and less sure about my relationship with Harry. Not that I didn’t think we weren’t madly in love. Our time spent together was insanely wonderful. I just hated being kept a secret.

Before my 22nd birthday we discussed telling everyone and it didn’t go how I thought it would.

“I’d really like to start telling people, Harry. I hate this. I don’t know how much more I can handle lying to everyone. Don’t you want that too? With me?”

“Of course I do, baby. You know that. I just don’t know how to go about telling people. It scares me. I’m afraid I’ll lose you. I don’t want that. I just want to keep you forever and people will be very harsh.”

“Yes. I know people are going to be harsh but we’re going to have to eventually face it at some point. Right?”

“I know. I know. I just don’t how or when…”

“Harry, I love you. I need to know you want to be with me as much as I want to be with you. I’m talking marriage and everything. If we keep this a secret that can’t happen.”

“I love you, Anna. I just need time.”

“Harry, we’ve been together for almost a year. How much more time do I need to be kept a secret?”

“Is that how you feel? Like I’m doing this to keep you a secret? Really?”

“Yes. A little. I know you lo…”

“No. Stop. I can’t believe you feel that way, after everything. You know I love you. You know that’s not what this is…”

“Do I?! How do I know anymore? You go on these out of town trips and I can’t come with you to something I would LOVE to be part of beca…”

“BECAUSE we can’t, Anna! You know this!”

“I need to be able to feel like what we have is good and real. It feels great when it’s just me and you but we’re in this secret bubble together and I can’t stop feeling like it’s all too good to be true because the truth is what we have is a dirty secret and…”

“It’s never been a dirty secret, Anna. Why are you just now coming out with this? What is really going on here?”

“I told you how I feel. I don’t want to be kept a secret anymore and it feels like you’re stalling.”

“Fuck! What? You just wanna dive in and tell everyone all of the sudden? “Yeah… hey, Starla… just so you know – I’ve been fucking Anna for the last year behind your back!” How do you think THAT will turn out, Anna?! Fucks sake!”

“God, Harry. Why would I even suggest telling everyone like that? Are you saying you just don’t want to tell people?”

“No! I want to but it’s hard.”

“Yeah, I am well aware that it’s hard, Harry. Jesus.”

“I don’t know that you’re thinking about this rationally. You’re clearly upset and emotional right now.”

“I just want to talk about how it’s going to happen and make a plan. We barely discuss it anymore. I need to be able to feel happy to have you as my boyfriend and not hide it from everyone.”

“You’re not happy with me?”

“Ugh! Harry, you’re the most amazing person in my life. I’m head over heels for you but this situation is fucked! I’m stressed about it. I need to not have these secrets hanging over our relationship anymore. It’s too much for me to handle.”

“Too much, huh? Wow. Okay.”

“What? What do you mean, “okay”?”

“If it’s too hard, Anna, then you’re not happy. I don’t know what to tell you. Anyway, I have to pack to get ready for my trip tomorrow.”

“Yeah, a trip I could go on with you but can’t since you don’t want people to know about me.”

“Fuck you for saying that. You know how much I wish you could come with me. Fuck!”

“You say you want me with you but it doesn’t feel like it. I’m getting impatient. It’s been a year. Figure your shit out.”

And I left him. I was meant to stay another night with him but I was so angry and he was angry. He left for Arizona the following morning and he called me that night to apologize but things from that point on became tricky for us. He knew we needed to tell everyone but he felt backed into a corner, he’d said. Sure a secret tryst is fun and sexy but it weighs on the relationship heavy and a year of sneaking and lying takes a toll.

The four days Harry was in Arizona were hell for me. We did talk every night but we’d argue and end the calls on a sour note. The day he came back from Arizona was a Friday and I was supposed to meet him at his house but he sent a text to me that morning that he had to cancel our plans with no explanation except to say to meet him at his house on Saturday.

I obviously texted him back asking why and he never responded to me that night. You better believe I was fuming. Fucking furious.

Instead of going to see him on Saturday I asked my dad if I could work both Saturday and Sunday. I never texted Harry to tell him I wasn’t coming or anything. He blew up my phone all day Saturday and when I got off work late that night he was in front of the dorm house waiting for me. He was pacing and I saw immediately he was stressed and very angry.

We fought. I brought him to my room so we could have privacy and not get found out but he didn’t stay long. We yelled and it ended with us both crying and apologizing but anger was still evident with both of our attitudes so he left.

The following weekend I didn’t go see him again. Our usual daily calls and texts were very limited as we were both still mad but Harry thought I was coming to see him. I didn’t want to. It was always me going to him. He never came to me. He never tried hard enough. He didn’t want to tell anyone about me. I felt dejected and dirty. If he wanted me he’d need to prove it. So, I stopped responding to him and on Friday when he called and texted over and over again I ignored him. It hurt to ignore him. I hated it. But I needed to know he wanted me. For real. I knew he wanted me, but how much? Would he truly risk everything for me? I didn’t believe he would and so I decided I wasn’t going to keep torturing him and “backing him into a corner” as he put it.

On Saturday I went out with Starla, just the two of us. We got waisted and crashed at her dorm room. My phone would not stop piling up with calls and texts from Harry. I had to actually turn my phone off so that Starla wouldn’t see it. Starla posted a bunch of pictures of us on Instagram at the college bar we used to frequent. Harry saw the posts (he’d decided to get Instagram after we started dating). Believe me when I say his texts and voice messages were more and more desperate as the night went on.

On Sunday I went back to my dorm alone. I felt awful, not just from the alcohol but going so long without speaking to Harry. I had a constant lump in my throat and a brick in my gut. I was devasted but put on a good front so no one could even tell.

I was surprised to see him sitting on the stoop of my dorm building when I showed up.

I took a deep breath and tried to remain calm but I was bursting inside from just seeing him. I wanted to run to him and wrap my arms around his neck, kiss him all over, tell him I love him… But I remained calm. I needed him to need me just as much as I needed him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as I near the steps and Harry looks up at me with red, puffy eyes, disheveled hair, red nose, and a half smile when he sees me.

“Um… was worried about you. Thought I was going to see my girl this weekend but you never came. Never showed up. Never even said a word. Went out and partied instead. What’s going on, Anna?” He said my girl and it somehow a flower of hope bloomed in my chest but I needed to remain cold.

I crossed my arms and shook my head. I could see he’d been crying. I hated that I was the reason but if he’d seen how many nights I’d been crying myself to sleep he’d feel bad too. I wanted him to feel bad. I wanted him to want me. To really want me.

“I just don’t know where you and I can even go from here, Harry. I feel like you enjoy the secret more than I do and it hurts. I don’t want to be a secret and you don’t want me to not be a secret, so I don’t know where we go. I needed time to think.”

“Do you still? Need time? I miss you, baby. I know this isn’t perfect,” He stands up and begins walking toward me but I keep my arms crossed, “but I love you and I need you.”

“I know you love me, Harry. But I don’t know if that’s enough when it involves being kept a secret.”

Harry nods and rubs his hands over his face. “Can we go inside? Talk in your room?” He gestures toward the door.

I shake my head, “No.”

“Why not? Are you done with me, Anna?” Harry gets closer to me and the tears that were wobbly on his lash line are now dripping onto his cheeks. “Please don’t be done with me. Fuck please.” He gets closer and I put my arms down, put my guard down because I can’t help it and he wraps his arms around me in a hug, that only Harry can give, the kind of hug that heals and feeds.

“I’m not done, Harry. I just don’t think you ever will be ready to tell people about us and that makes me think you’re the one that’s done. Do you understand?” I speak the words into his chest as he’s holding me and I finally bring my arms up to wrap around his back.

He leans back to look down at me with a frown and in confusion, “No. I will. We will. I just…” he swallows hard and then he’s crying. Legitimate crying. He can’t finish his sentence because he’s choked up and it causes me to cry.

“You missed my birthday, you know? I thought you’d come to me but you didn’t. You stayed mad at me after we spoke on the phone and it was the worst birthday I’d ever had. You couldn’t even leave your beautiful home to come see me on my birthday. So, Starla took me out last night. So, yeah, I went and partied to celebrate my birthday. At least I got to celebrate it.”

Between small sobs and sniffles Harry speaks his words slowly, “I fucked up, Anna. My feelings were hurt and I said things I didn’t mean and then I was dumb for not seeing you. I’m sorry. I really am. I want to make everything right. Please, let’s just go somewhere to talk. I need to talk with you about this, Anna. It’s driving me crazy. Please.”

Needless to say, I gave in. We got into his nice car and we drove around a little and then went to a café that was just far enough away from campus that we probably wouldn’t get spotted. We had tea and shared a cookie that was given to us for free. The lady at the register gave it to Harry ‘gratis’ and she blinked her lashes really sweetly – she clearly didn’t realize he was here with his girlfriend because you would never know since we don’t act ‘couply’ when we’re anywhere near a place where we could get found out. Just another nail in the coffin really, that whole experience. Having to sit there and watch another very attractive lady (she was probably upper 20s) flirt with Harry and not be able to like, take his hand or kiss his cheek. To not have any claim on him outside of his house is infuriating. So, we ate the stupid free cookie from the girl who thinks I’m probably just Harry’s daughter, or niece.

We were both feeling very hurt and vulnerable during that conversation too. And because of that it didn’t turn out well. All I wanted was for Harry to say that we’ll start telling people and if we couldn’t figure it out in that moment how we’d do it, then to commit to a time frame so we could begin brainstorming and making a plan, preparing ourselves. But nope. He didn’t want to give me anything. I was also not willing to budge. I felt my request was fair, Harry didn’t seem to grasp that he was choosing to keep me a secret and that he had all the power in this decision because HE was the one that didn’t want to tell people. I mean, he wanted to tell people, but our situation is unique so there will be hurt people involved at some point. Harry just didn’t want any fallout and I just wanted to start the painful process so we could finally move on and grow as a couple, get out of this purgatory of secrecy and lies.

Harry took me back to my dorm about an hour later, when we’d gotten no where and he drove off as soon as I stepped out of his car onto the sidewalk.

A few more days go by and I continue to ignore Harry’s texts and calls. The nights without hearing from him (by my own choice) are hell. I nearly cave and call him back a few times just to hear his voice, tell him I’m dumb and we’ll wait to tell everyone and take as long as he needs because I love him, but I don’t. I just wallow in my self-pity instead. Everything is hard to do when I’m not talking to Harry. Nothing seems okay or right in the world when we’re mad at one another. I can’t focus on a book to read and enjoy as an escape, I can’t pay attention to the professors or the classwork, my stomach is in knots and my nerves are killing me. The only thing I’m great at lately is sleeping but waking up is tortuous when I remember why I was sleeping in the first place. Because I don’t know what’s going to happen with Harry. I don’t know if we can survive this, overcome our differences when it comes to coming out about our relationship. I understand his hesitancy but I need more than to be kept a secret. I need more. I deserve more and so does he to be honest.

On Wednesday I get off of work late, I set the alarm and then lock up the restaurant. When I turn around I see Harry in the parking lot. I’m surprised to see him here, coming to me. But he is and he has flowers. He’s leaning on my Bronco smoking a cigarette and I swear I have never seen him smoke a cigarette but it looked like he’d been doing it for years with how casually he drew the stick up to his lips and then exhaled the smoke. I also am missing him desperately and to see him here brings a jolt of electricity to my body, to my heart and I smile at him without realizing it.

“Hey, baby. Are you okay?” Harry is calm and he’s such a sight for sore eyes. I just stand, dumbfounded, not making a move toward him so he pushes himself up off Freddy, takes another drag of the cigarette, and then drops it to the ground before stomping it out. He slowly walks up to me, flowers in hand.

“Came to talk and to apologize. These are for you.” He holds up the bouquet. And it’s beautiful. It’s packed with soft pink, and deep pink and peonies tied up with a bow around the stems.

I finally take a breath, realizing I’d been holding it and reach for the flowers. “They’re very pretty, Harry. Thank you. And you smoke?” I finally move toward him as I gesture towards the cigarette he’d put out on the ground and automatically wrap my arms around him and nuzzle into his chest. Harry drapes his arms over me and pulls me in to his chest tightly and kisses the top of my head. I immediately begin crying and feel like I’m going to break. I needed this hug from him. I needed him.

Harry rubs up and down my back and hums lightly into my hair, planting more kisses to the top of my head while I cry. I’m soaking his shirt with my tears but he doesn’t seem to care. We just stand and hold one another tightly for a few moments.

I lean my head back, eventually, and look up at him. My love. He’s so sweet and handsome and he’s stubborn but he has his reasons. I have mine too. “I love you.” Is all I can manage to push out of my throat.

Harry smiles sadly and nods, “I know, baby. I love you too.” He takes my hands and leads me to my Bronco, “And I don’t smoke, not really. I did years ago and it kind helped me this past week. Let’s sit and talk. I want to tell you something.”

I’m nervous and feeling sick suddenly as I unlock the doors for us to climb in. I swallow thickly at the new lump that’s perpetually lodged in my throat ever since Harry and I first started this fight. I feel myself tremble as I close the door and place the flowers on the dashboard, half wondering if Harry is going to break up with me, just get it over with cause we can’t move on from this issue without some conclusion – which is to either end it, or finally tell everyone.

Harry turns toward me and looks me directly in my eyes. I stay silent, waiting for the worst, on the verge of tears once again.

“You’re right.” He starts. He takes my hand in his and squeezes and I look between us and take note of his outfit. It’s a simple getup. He’s wearing brown corduroys and a white t-shirt with a print of the world on it and some words that I simply cannot register in this moment. He’s wearing his cross necklace along with the jade charm I got for him. With my free hand I reach up and touch the necklace he’d gotten me and then I look back up at him and he’s smiling gently.

“I can’t do this to you. It’s not fair. You deserve to not be a secret. You’re amazing… perfect… and I want everyone to know about us. I really do. I’m just so fucking deathly afraid, though, like, the kind of nervous, scared feeling you get that makes you vomit, makes you unable to eat, unable to get a good night’s rest… I’m terrified of losing you once we tell everyone.” He sniffs and I notice his eyes are shiny with tears. He runs his thumb over my knuckles. “Fuck, I know people aren’t going to like this. I can’t control what other people think or how they react. But I’ve realized that if I can’t make up my mind to tell people then I’ll surely, positively lose you and I can’t have that.”

I suddenly feel my heart in my chest as it burns with hope. If he’s saying he doesn’t want to lose me, then perhaps he’s not breaking up with me after all…

“So, I need to stop being a pussy and start the process here, of telling people. I think we should start with Starla and then go from there. Maybe we could invite her over to my place for dinner next week and tell her. But I wanted to ask you about it first, what you think is the right way to do this. Because I really don’t know if there is a right way. I think we just have to rip the band aid off. What do you think?”

I find myself feeling faint. I can’t believe he’s here trying to discuss how to tell Starla, but also the simple notion of having Starla over to Harry’s for dinner and telling her is terrifying too. But more than anything I’m so glad he wants to do this. He wants to be with me openly.

“I think you’re right. There’s no good way to do this. Maybe dinner with her would be good, but maybe not at your house. Maybe somewhere closer to campus so she can go home quickly if she needs to, ya know? I’d hate for it to end horribly and have her drive all the way back to campus in an emotional state. I think she’s not going to take it well so I think we need to be prepared for that. Right?” I squeeze his hand back and he nods.

“Good thinking. But no matter what, I really think we do it together. I’m going to need you because I know she’s not going to like to hear it. It’s probably not going to go well. God this is fucking shit!” He laughs a little as tears begin to fall from his eyes and dribble down his cheeks to his overgrown scruff. He hasn’t shaved or kept his beard trimmed at all. It’s more just overgrown scruff than a beard but it’s obvious he hasn’t done any touch ups like he normally does.

I lean in to kiss his cheeks and caress his stubble and scruff and then kiss his mouth in a soft peck. He tastes like cigarettes.

“Okay. We’ll do that. Thank you, Harry.”

He pulls me to him and kisses me hard, arms wrapped around me so I can’t leave his hold, not that I’d ever want to. We kiss and hold one another and it repairs my broken heart. Every breath, every nuzzle, every kiss is healing.

We finally sigh and lean away a little, Harry is still loosely holding onto me.

“Will you come over on Friday? I’d like to make a plan with you and then make lots of love to you.” He leans in for another kiss and we smile as our mouths collide.

I nod and wipe a stray tear from my face, “I’ll be there. I promise.”

It takes another twenty minutes for us to stop holding one another and saying how much we missed and love one another, but we do eventually part. For the first time in weeks I finally slept with a peaceful heart, rather than an anguished one, and I just know Harry does too.

Everything is going to be okay.

Chapter 16*

Check out my masterlist if you enjoyed this 💕

Xoxo

[mirrorshards]

thank you very much!! homeless cartman still hurts me but I love butters and kenny in both timelines 🥺

that’s hilarious to me ngl cuz that’s just getting cartman’s sloppy seconds again (paraphrased from basu) sddfsds

like how many times to you intend to steal cartman’s girl kyle

I LOVE con artist butters. SO MUCH. it took me a second upon seeing him because, i am not a big fan of facial hair in gen (also like why do they all have it please-) but the fact he wasn’t actual evil but like.. a future brand of evil was amazing to me. you see, one of the most important qualities in an in-character butters for me is him being an on-the-surface good guy but accidentally or not intentionally doing nasty things. he’s a weirdo and an airhead and before this I really preferred people making him sort of.. incoherent in his speech.

I really feared how they might age him up and I think they found a really good solution to it!! I’ve always thought butters’ self denial mechanism worked especially strong and its just another proof of that happening so now his “incoherence” is him insisting he doesn’t remember his past and his name is Vic.. whatever. he clearly does remember, at the very least, his dynamic with cartman which is all I needed hehe

and for the NFTs.... well i mean. he wouldn’t be butters if he didn’t make you want to strangle him just a little bit

sigh.. yeah...

to begin with the broship tore apart because stan and kyle weren’t getting along anymore and cartman saw he couldn’t bridge over it no matter how much he tried.

and I mean stan really did have a miserable life and kyle was a loser which is hilarious but i guess he also was lonely most of his. i can’t really blame them both because it was still kenny’s idea.. which implies kenny was deeply hurt that their friendship fell apart. like sure, eventually he had a great life but think about how he never showed interest in science yet became a renowned scientist - i figured it was out of necessity to create the option of time travel to begin with. like that’s how hurt he was by it. (and why i think him still being a scientist in the “good” ending is lazy writing cuz there’s no reason anymore-)

but stan, who’s always been kinda neutral with cartman, aside kyle have always had a weak spot for cartman in need... I do believe a part of his personality loves it because by helping cartman he feels like a better person. so that’s ooc. and kenny knows life in poverty up close.. like I wrote in a diff ask he’d have at least taken care of cartman. and it’s weird they just make him not care if even in the bad route timeline kenny and cartman kept in contact...

[justonemorechapternicercy]

for Valentine's Day, number 7 and nicercy, thank you!!

“Tell me that’s not my ex over there.”

Ah, this was fun to write, thank you for the prompt!

Why the fuck am I still here, Percy huffed to himself, lifting his head to look around, trying to sport a guy he wasn't even sure how he looked. All he knew that the man had black hair, brown eyes, and a healthy tan.

"Thanks a lot, Thals," he murmured sarcastically. It wasn't like that description could be said for half of the guys in the restaurant. "You will know when you see him," he whispered in a high-pitched voice, imitating Thalia.

He huffed again. He wasn't sure why he was still sitting at the table; the guy might not even come! He had been sitting there for more than half an hour, waiting for the guy who was late for twenty minutes, even if he didn't have any big expectations about this whole blind date thing.

It has been a few months since he broke up with his last girlfriend, but he wasn't ready to go back to a fruitless relationship. All of his romantic relationships failed after a month or two, either because he couldn't feel anything for them, or because they felt he was not giving everything in. He tried, he tried so hard to fall for any of them, to show them his appreciation, but it was like even sheer stubbornness couldn't break through the wall he built around his heart.

He sighed, and nodded. Okay. He was going to do right for this one. He trusted Thalia, he was sure Jason's friend was going to be great. He could wine and dine, and then finish the date with the promise of another date.

He could do this.

"I have a reservation under the name of Grace," Percy heard. Grace? He must be his blind date!

He turned around to look at the guy talking with the server, as stealthily as he could, wanting to check out him before the guy could see him.

The man standing near the doorway was just like Thalia described him: kind of tall, messy black hair, dark brown eyes, healthy tan and very attractive features.

She just forgot to mention that he was Nico di Angelo.

Fuck.

“Tell me that’s not my ex over there. Tell me it's a coincidence and you didn't set me up a blind date with him,” he wrote to the group chat, ready to strangle somebody. Preferably the Grace siblings who were the cause of being on a blind date with his ex.

"You're welcome," Thalia replied, and Annie sent a winky face.

He was going to kill his friends.

He glanced back to Nico, finding he was now looking towards him. They locked gaze, and Percy felt the familiar warmth blooming in his chest area.

He was so fucked.

He should hate Nico. He had hated him for a while, for not having any faith in them, for giving up on them, but... Looking at him, Percy was swept away with the familiar emotions, and a sudden calm.

Nico looked good.

Not because he was handsome - he was always attractive -, it was the self-confidence he carried himself, and the overall healthiness that made him stand out. Now, he understood why Thalia put so much emphasis on the healthy tan aspect; he was nothing like the ghostly pale young boy he was when they broke up.

He looked... Good.

Looking back, it was the best decision, but... It was hard. They hadn't, in all honesty, been mature enough for each other's emotional baggage. Sometimes love just wasn't enough.

It had taken a long time for Percy to accept that even if Nico did it for the wrong reasons, it was the right choice. He resented him for so long, it took too much anger, too much hurt to realize that he needed help.

He went to therapy, learned that the way he lived, the way demigods lived and died, was not normal, and should have never been normalized by CHB and the gods. That the trauma from Gabe still lingered in his subconscious, that his fatal flaw was not being loyal; it was being afraid of abandonment. That the reason he was so loyal to his friends, more than it was healthy, because he was deathly afraid of being abandoned by those he loved.

That the reason why he hated Nico was because he abandoned him. Twice. Once, when they broke up, but he did it even before that, when he pretended he didn't know Percy at all, after he lost all of his memories.

It took a lot of time for Percy to accept that the way they were back then was doing more harm than good for their mental and emotional health. And looking at Nico now, it seemed their relationship wasn't doing much good for his physical health either.

Percy had loved him, he had been ridiculously, disgustingly happily head-over-heels in love with him, and Nico had loved him back so much, but they both hadn't been ready for any of it.

In the end, Nico had let the fear drive him instead of love. He was afraid of being loved, he was afraid of staying at one place, he was afraid of letting people in after running in all of his life, so he just left.

He didn't break up with Percy, per se, but he left, and it ended everything between them.

Nico broke Percy's heart that day.

"Perce," Nico said, already standing beside him without Percy noticing he was even moving, his voice surprisingly soft.

Percy, without meaning to, jumped a bit, his grip on the napkin he was torturing in his stress tightened briefly, before he relaxed.

"Nico," he nodded, "it's been a while." Four years, two months and eleven days, but who counted.

"Yes, it really has," Nico said, running his fingers through his curly hair. Percy's eyes followed the movement, his smile widening. He always loved running his fingers through those adorable curls.

"Sit down," Percy said, and the other man after a brief hesitation did so. "You look good," he noted.

Nico's eyes expressed his surprise, but it quicky turned into delight, and a soft, pleased smile appeared on his face.

"I... Yeah. I'm doing good, actually," he said, biting into his lips, drawing Percy's attention towards the pink cupid's bow.

"I'm glad," and he really was. What he was also glad for, was the fact that he was, evidently, single.

Bravely, Percy put his hand on the middle of the table, palm upwards, and said, "I know we've been through a lot together, and that we have lot a lot of things to talk, but... I've missed you."

He really did. He knew even before meeting with Nico again, that his relationships didn't work, because he was still in love with Nico. Because he still loved him, still wanted to have him in his life.

He was sure that he, that they could be what Nico, and what both of them needed now, now that they'd both seemed to have their life on the right track. Wasn't that what Nico wanted when he left? Wanted to find himself, wanted Percy to find himself?

Percy was pretty sure, they both found themselves, and it was time for them to find the other as well.

As the silence stretched, the initial rush of bravery Percy felt was dissipating, and suddenly, he felt terrified that Nico would reject him. It was a blind date, after all. He was expecting somebody else, not his ex boyfriend. Maybe he...

Before he could work into an anxiety attack, his breath caught in his throat as Nico laced his fingers though Percy's.

"I missed you, too," he smiled.

He could finally breathe again. He squeezed Nico's hand, and asked hesitantly, " Would you like to go on a date with me? Maybe I could make you dinner?"

Nico stared, then burst out in laughter. Percy felt conflicted, because Nico laughing was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen, yet him laughing at his question didn't bode that well for their possible future.

After finally biting back his chuckles, Nico asked, wiping tears out of his eyes, "You... You do realize that we are in a restaurant, right?" Nico drawled, eyes sparkling with mirth.

Percy stopped, mortified. Oh, shit.

"Don't worry. I would love you to make breakfast for me," the other man winked confidently, and squeezed Percy's hand.

Oh, Percy thought.

"I... Yeah. That works too," he blushed, already ready for the continuation of the night.

They had a lot of lost time to make up for, after all.

[five-rivers]

imagine if at a christmas truce party the ghosts discover that danny has a second obsession of space

Wrote a fic~ *does a little dance*

.

"Here's your invitation to the truce party," said Skulker, dropping the letter by Danny's head, "and here's the duty list. Pick something." He shoved a piece of paper into Danny's face.

"You know," said Danny, testing the rope Skulker had tied him with, "you get a lot better at chasing me when you're doing it for non-murder purposes."

Skulker scowled, but Danny knew better than to take his apparent facial expression as a sign of his true emotions. After all, the face Danny could see wasn't really Skulker's. It was a mask. One the tiny green jellybean inside could manipulate as he pleased.

"What do you mean, 'duty list,' anyway?" Danny blew the paper off his nose.

"It's a list. Of duties. For people who want to attend the party. You can't possibly imagine that one ghost does it all on their own, do you?"

"I don't know. Some living people are really into the holidays. Wouldn't surprise me if there was someone over in the GZ Obsessing."

"There are," said Skulker flatly. "But going to those parties is risky."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess that makes sense. So, is this, like, a potluck deal, or white elephant, or do I have to come set up, or what?"

"Read the list, whelp!"

"I would," said Danny, "if you held it far enough away for me to see what was written on it. "My eyes don't focus that close."

Grumbling, Skulker adjusted his position.

A lot of the things on the list were already checked off. The rest looked dangerous (fighting the Krampus), time consuming (holly acquisition, with a stupidly high number of branches listed next to it), expensive (providing new holiday table settings), confusing (Danny didn't know what a 'consoda' was, or why he would fetch offerings from it), or simply extraordinarily unappealing (after party cleanup). Except for one.

One that caught Danny's eye because of a very specific word that was included.

"Why's the star all by itself?" asked Danny.

"Because the star is important," said Skulker. "Adding the star to the tree is what starts off the real celebration. A star needs to be impressive. Dramatic! Not one of those little dinky tinsel things you can find at human stores."

Part of Danny knew he shouldn't- But when had he ever listened to that part of himself?

Actually, that wasn't really fair. He listened, otherwise he'd be fully dead instead of just half.

Still.

(The idea of making a star made his skin feel sparkly and fuzzy, like his whole body was half an inch from the surface of freshly poured soda, but all over.)

"I'll take it," he said.

"Humf," said Skulker. "Don't screw up, or you'll be in for a beating as soon as the truce is over." He made a mark by the name and started to fly off.

"Hey! Aren't you going to untie me?"

"Nah."

.

"He's late," said Desiree, sharply, glaring at Skulker as if he had any control over what the whelp did or did not do.

She wasn't the only one.

"He's not late yet," defended Skulker.

"You shouldn't have given him the star as a choice," complained Technus, his voice squaking like a poorly connected computer speaker. "You should have just told him what he'd have to do. Something that wouldn't ruin the party. He's a teenager! Teenagers are easily distracted."

"I didn't know you were a teen, techie," drawled Spectra, who really shouldn't have been at the party at all, seeing as she wasn't, and never had been, invited. Skulker was hoping someone would find a way to throw her and her little minion out before midnight.

"It's TECHNUS, MASTER OF TECHNOLOGY, CONTROLLER OF ALL THINGS ELECTRONIC AND BEEPING."

"I am sure Sir Phantom is on his way," said Princess Dora, softly, ignoring Technus's continuing rant with the ease of long practice. She would not be here the whole evening. Her kingdom had its own, separate celebrations, but they wouldn't start for well over half a human day. "He is a very responsible person, and he was speaking to me about stars just earlier this month." She frowned, slightly, swirling the darkly luminous wine in her glass. "That is, I think he was talking about stars. The conversation was somewhat difficult for me to follow."

"Oh, no," said Desiree, putting one hand delicately over a smile.

"What?" growled Skulker.

"It always bothered me a little, you see, but I hadn't realized quite why until just now." She was barely even trying to hide her delight. "The second time I fought him, it was during a meteor shower."

"So?" asked Amorpho.

"He was rather cross with me during the fight. At the time, I thought it was because he was missing that girl's party, or because of the whole memory wiping thing, but in retrospect..."

"Just spit it out already," said Skulker.

"I do believe you gave the task of making the tree star to a ghost Obsessed with outer space."

Inside the suit, Skulker's true hands slip off his controls for just a moment. "Oh, Ancients," he groaned.

"We're not getting a star this year, are we?" asked Ember.

Phantom chose that moment to barrel through the door. "Sorry!" he exclaimed, looking and sounding more like a little kid than Skulker had ever witnessed. "Am I late? No, I'm not. Never mind. I'm not sorry. What do you think?"

He held out the... thing in his hands for the assembled ghosts to view. It was... It was definitely a star. A round blue star. Complete with solar flares and sunspots. Animated flares and sunspots.

"How the hell?" whispered Walker in the background, despite the fact that he and his pink prison really had no room to talk.

"Is it no good?" asked Phantom, managing to shift his weight even though he was floating. "I turned the brightness way down so that everyone could see the details, but I think I could turn it back up again without too much trouble." He blinked up at the other ghosts, and Skulker noticed with some unease that his pupils were currently shaped like crescent moons. "I mean, the other one exploded, but I think I've got it, now."

All of the ghosts slid back, just slightly. Not that they were afraid of explosions, but, well, being cautious didn't hurt.

"Er," said Dora, "what is it, exactly?"

"A star! A blue giant, specifically. Well, a model of one, anyway, but I think it's a good model. I mean, it's a blue giant right now. I've got it set up so that it'll go through the whole life cycle of a massive star. Or, not the whole life cycle, because that would include the nebula, but the life cycle from this point? It'll change color and expand as the night goes on and it uses up its 'hydrogen'- I've scaled the expansion, though, don't worry, it won't take over- and then the core will collapse and the outer layers will be ejected, and- BOOM!- supernova!"

"Ghost child," said Technus, in a more strangled than usual voice, "are you telling us that's a bomb?"

"No, it's a star," said Phantom, blankly. On closer inspection, the crescents in his eyes were not the only modification to Phantom's appearance. He had pale green and silver stars scattered liberally across his nose and cheeks, and similar shapes in the black of his costume.

In the background, Desiree was dying of laughter.

"Don't you think a supernova might be... dangerous?"

"Oh, a real one, sure. But I tested one before I brought this, and all it did to me was singe my eyebrows off, and I was standing really close."

"Whelp," said Skulker, searching for some reason to reject Phantom's 'contribution,' "how is that even supposed to stay on the tree? It's just a ball."

"Oh, it'll float wherever I tell it to, don't worry, I've tested it!"

.

It perhaps said something about ghostly parties that the sudden detonation of the tree topper several hours later, the subsequent glee of the supposed superhero in attendance when the room was filled with star-shaped glitter and confetti, and the attempted homicide on the part of several glitter-unfriendly ghosts was not the most exciting series of events to occur that night.

[disgustingtoast]

my shitty, shitty minho fic that took ages [tmr minho]

I'm sick of rereading this so here is 3.5k words of shitty, self indulgent writing. The confession could have 100% been more heartfelt but I'm sick of looking this in my google docs. There is most definitely a ton of mistakes but idc <3

this isn't really enemies to lover but the whole dynamic minho and the reader have kinda wrote itself lmao

HERE YOU MFS- @agathallalongs @blanknamed

You were fine with the way you woke up. Hell, you preferred it over some snot-nosed kid coming in and waking you up. And as it turns out, having the same schedule for a little under a year makes for a great internal clock, the habit of getting up in time for your daily run already having been instilled in you for months. So when you’re pulled from the peaceful lulls of sleep because of the feeling of being flipped upside down and landing face-first into the dirt floor of the Glade, you were rightfully peeved.

“Rise and shine shank.”

Minho. Of course it was Minho.

“I’m gonna throw you off the Cliff the minute we’re far enough into the Maze.” Sitting up, you try to rub off the dirt that got on your face when you face planted, scowling at the stains that litter the front of your shirt. “This was a new shirt too.”

“Were you thinking of going running with me or do you plan on sitting in the dirt all day?” Despite him being out of sight you can practically see the smug look he’s wearing. “Hey, maybe you can convince Winston to let you get in the pig pen so you can take a nice mud bath.”

Groaning, you finally stand up and turn around to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, holding a paper bag which you presumed had your lunch in it on the other side of your hammock, your very, very twisted hammock.

“Why the hell did you wake me up? I get up fine on my own.”

He shrugs in response, “I just felt like it.”

“You just felt like waking me up or you just felt like getting the world record for ‘biggest pain in the ass’?”

“A bit of both, and seeing your face when you spat out that dirt made you so much more attractive.”

Heat crawls up your neck in embarrassment, “Slim it.” Furrowing your eyebrows in frustration, you gesture in front of you to the tangled mess that hangs between you, “Also you’re gonna fix that.”

“No. It’s your bed.”

“You’re the one who flipped me over! Fix it.”

He stares at you for a second before turning on his heel and jogging off. While he turns to leave you barely catch the way his lips quirk into a smirk. As you watch his retreating figure you can feel your fingers twitch, the urge to strangle him suddenly overwhelming.

“Hey! Get back here shuck-face!” As quickly as you can, you slip your shoes on, not bothering to tie them and pull the leather harness over your head. After one last disapproving glance at your pathetic hammock you’re off, racing after Minho in an effort not to let him get too far ahead. If he beat you to the Doors you’d never hear the end of it.

By the time you catch up with him you’re out of breath. Everytime you would get closer than a few feet behind him he’d run a little faster keeping you at a good few paces behind him, succeeding at prolonging your ever-growing exasperation.

Eventually though he lets you catch up until you’re running side by side, a few meters away from the Walls. “This prison wouldn’t be half as bad if the Creators had put anyone else in here other than you. Preferably someone cuter, without such a punchable face.” You don’t have to look at him to imagine the offended look on his face, one of his most punchable expressions actually.

“I am by far the most attractive guy here. The rest of these shanks look like klunk in cargo shorts.”

“Yeah no. You don’t even break the top 21 on my list.” Once you reach the wall, you lean against it, waiting for the doors to open. When you look at Minho he quirks an eyebrow.

“You have a list?” He pauses for a moment, “Wait there’s only 22 gladers. You included yourself on your own list?”

“Good job! I wasn’t sure if you knew how to count.”

“Slim it. So who’re the top 3?”

You pause for a moment pretending to mull it over. “Well, Gally’s got that whole tall and brooding thing going. And Nick, well I like a man who can take charge-”

“Yeah, yeah okay I get it.” He waves his hand in the air rather indignantly, dismissing what you said. After a minute of silence. the grating sound of rock being dragged against rock echoes through the Glade as the Doors finally start to open. As he tightens the straps of his harness, Minho glances down at the ground and pauses for a moment before he snickers, “You better tie your shoes if you don’t want to trip and ruin your pretty face. Might knock you down a few pegs on that list of yours.”

~

It had been hours since you’d left the Glade, running the familiar course of the Maze. The only entertainment being watching the way the back of Minho’s neck turns a lovely shade of red every time you make a particularly irritating comment.

“Hey it’s getting late. We should go back to the Glade.”

Minho shakes his head in disbelief. “It’s not that late. We still have plenty of time to get back.”

“But I finally convinced Fry to make bacon and there's no way that they’ll be any left unless we get there early.” You draw out the last syllable in a whine, knowing exactly how to get under his skin.

He pivots, still continuing to run just now facing backwards. “Is Frypans bacon really more important than finding a way out of this hell hole?”

“Yes!”

“...Fine-” His sigh of annoyance is cut off abruptly as he trips, falling backwards and landing with a loud huff as the air is knocked out of his lungs.

“Shit, Minho!” You kneel beside him as he lays still, “Are you okay?!” Your voice seems to ricochet off the walls.

It takes a moment before he groans, his eyes still closed. “Why are you so shucking loud?”

“Sorry. Are you okay?” Quieting your tone, you hover over him.

He finally opens his eyes, “M’ fine. I just tripped.” Pushing himself up, he tries to stand but the minute he puts pressure on his ankle he gasps in pain, stumbling into you as you stand to catch him.

“Shit. Okay, you just need to sit down.” You lead him over to the wall, letting him support himself against it before he slides down to sit. When he stretches his legs out in front of him you take to kneeling again, this time next to his feet. Rolling back the bottom of his pant leg you check to see how bad his ankle is and judging by the wincing and the gritting of his teeth you’re betting on not good.

It’s only been a minute but you feel your heart drop at the way it’s already swollen and starting to bruise. You frown as you press your finger against it lightly, snapping your hand back as Minho recoils, growling in pain.

“Don’t touch it!”

“Fine. Good luck finding someone else in here that’ll help you. I’m sure the Grievers would be happy to assist.”

“It just hurts asshole, no need to get snappy.”

“Yeah, yeah just stop your whining you big baby.”

He cringes as you begin to prod his ankle again and sets his head back to rest against the wall.

“Well I’d say it’s just a fracture, it doesn't look too messed up- Minho?” He doesn’t respond. “Hey! Minho!” You reach in front of his face and snap your fingers, “C’mon I need you to wake up!”

He moans as he opens his eyes, well squints his eyes. He can barely keep them open half way, “Why is it so bright in here?”

Furrowing your eyebrows you glance up, it really isn’t that bright, gray clouds float across the majority of the sky and cover most of the sun. Looking back at his face, you can’t stop the nauseating feeling of fear that gnaws in your stomach. “Here, move your head off the wall, I need to check something.”

The dark stain on the wall where he was resting against is enough evidence but some irrational, hopeful part of you checks anyways, reaching around him and pressing your fingers to the back of his head. When you bring your hand back, your fingers are covered in blood.

“Damn it.” You try your hardest to push down the anxiety thundering in your stomach as you grab Minho’s arm and wrap it around your shoulder. Now is not the time to panic. “We need to get you back to the Glade.”

~

You’re not surprised he’s heavy, almost a year of running almost everyday tends to build up a lot of muscle however that doesn't make it any easier for you to carry him. You had to have been stumbling around for hours before you had to fully set him down to catch your breath.

“You really need to lay off Fry’s cooking. I’m telling him that you’re going on a diet the minute we get back.”

You only get silence in response, prompting you to look over and make sure he hadn’t passed out again. His eyes were open but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes focusing on something on the wall across from the one you were leaning against. You raise your hand and rest it against his shoulder, “Minho?”

“You need to leave me behind.”

The nauseous feeling returns, “What? No way I’m leaving you here to be Griever food.”

His face twists in frustration as he turns to look at you. “We’ll both be killed if you don’t get the hell out!”

“We still have time! I can carry you the rest of the way just fine.” Grabbing his wrist you pull his arm across your shoulders, tightening your grip when you feel him try to tug his arm back. “We’re going.” You wrap your arm around his waist to support him as you force him to stand.

He tries to pull away, “Why are you being so shucking stubborn! I can barely walk! There’s no way you’ll make it time before the Doors close.”

“Well that’s tough for me I guess.” You begin to walk forward, trying to adjust the way his body weight rested against you.

He begins to say your name but you interrupt him, “No! I’m not leaving you and that’s final.” Cursing the slight waver in your voice you continue to look ahead, choosing to ignore the frustrated look on his face.

It doesn’t take long for exhaustion to set in, Minho seeming to weigh even more every ten minutes. As you drag your feet across the uneven floor, the toe of your shoe catches on a crack, sending you both stumbling forward for what seems like the fiftieth time. The only difference is that this time you aren’t able to catch yourself, fatigue catching up with you and sending both you and Minho careening forward.

Stabbing pain shoots through your legs as you fall to your knees, the sound of Minho groaning in pain causes waves of guilt to wash over you. The sudden realization of just how dire your situation seems to suffocate you.

This was all your fault, if you hadn’t been so annoying Minho never would have tripped. If you were strong enough you would have been able to carry him all the way. Why weren’t you strong enough?

The soft call of your name shakes you out of your stupor, it’s followed by a hand pressed against the side of your face. It’s only when his thumb swipes against your cheek that you realize you’re crying.

“I’m sorry.” You shift slightly until you’re sitting down, knees pulled up to your chest. He follows and sits next you with his legs stretched out, hissing as he accidentally drags his ankle across the ground. “This is my fault.” Staring at the exposed part of his ankle, your stomach swirls at the dark purple bruising.

When he notices you staring he’s quick to pull his pant leg down, “This isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have been running backwards.” He watches you for a second, contemplating, before he speaks again, “You can still leave now and make it.”

“I’m not talking about this again.”

“Why not-”

“I just can’t leave you behind okay! It would kill me knowing that I got us into this mess and I couldn’t get both of us out alive.”

“So you’re just going to kill yourself because you would feel bad if you didn’t?” At his harsh words you whip your head to look at him, surprised to find him angry, his nose flaring and teeth gritting.

“Why are you getting so mad?! And you know it’s more than that! I’m not leaving you here, you can yell all you want but it’s not going to change anything.”

He throws his hands up in the air in indignation, “Why?! Why do you have to be so stubborn!” His tone is harsh and he practically spits his words at you.

A flurry of emotions lodges in your throat and a burning, hot anger ignites in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your lips are moving faster than your brain can process, “Because I love you, you idiot! I can’t just leave you behind because you're the reason I haven’t jumped the shucking Cliff yet!” Your heart is beating impossible fast and for a split second you wonder if it’s going to beat right out of your chest. You watch as Minho’s face morphs into an expression of shock and before you can identify the emotion swirling in his eyes you swear you can hear someone's footsteps.

You scramble to your feet, straining your ears in hopes that you weren’t imagining it. In the distance you hear the rushed strides of someone running in your direction and you swear you feel your heart skip a beat. It was far too late for another runner to be out in the Maze.

“Hey!” Cupping your hands around your mouth you hope they hear you. You hear Minho grunt and the sound of him dragging against the stone wall as he stands.

His voice rings through Maze as he calls out.

After a moment of tense silence you hear the quick foot falls of another runner getting closer before you spot his familiar blond hair turning the corner.

“Ben! Oh my god!”

He comes to a stop in front of you, his expression worried, “What are you guys still doing here? The Doors are closing soon!”

“Minho got hurt and I wasn’t able to carry him all the way back. Why are you out so late?”

“I figured I’d stay out later than usual. Had a bad feeling.” He glances over your shoulder to look at Minho. “We need to get going if we want to make it in time.”

Nodding your head, you turn around and make your way over to where Minho is leaning against the wall. You can feel his eyes on you, pleading for you to look at him but you’re adamant at avoiding eye contact. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Ben glancing back and forth between you, no doubt feeling the tension.

Having someone else there to help made carrying Minho infinitely easier and the three of you stumbled through the doors just as they began to groan, closing behind you.

“What took you so bloody long?” The familiar accent of Newt floats across the Glade but you’re too exhausted to even look in his direction. It isn’t until he’s standing right in front of you that you tear your eyes from Ben and Minho as they make their way to the Med-Jack hut.

“Minho fractured his ankle and got a concussion.” Your hands clench in anger as you speak, “If it hadn’t been for Ben we wouldn’t have made it out.”

“Aren’t you going to go check on him?” Newt frowns at you.

The thought of being in the same room with Minho after you practically dumped your heart out on him made your stomach churn. “No, I think- I think I’m just going to let him rest for now.”

Newt opens his mouth to comment, no doubt going to point out that you never left Minho’s side but you’re quick to interrupt him. “I’m exhausted. I’m going to go shower and get some rest.” You force a smile and begin to walk in the direction of the showers before he’s able to speak.

It seems to take ages to get to the bathrooms. Fatigue makes your limbs feel sluggish and the adrenaline of being in the Maze ebbs away, leaving aching muscles in its wake. You can’t seem to shake the thoughts of Minho as you scrub yourself clean. He probably wanted nothing to do with you and your big fat mouth. If you’d only bitten your tongue for another minute you wouldn’t have this looming air of regret suffocating you.

The regret seems to pull tighter against your throat when you notice your hammock, still twisted from this morning. Tears gather at your waterline, threatening to spill over. The view in front of you is distorted and watery and your fingers fumble with the twisted strings before you give up, whining in frustration.

You pause for a moment before turning in the direction of the Med-Jack hut, your heart desperately yearning to see him. Before you have time to think, you’re wiping your teary eyes with the back of your hand and practically jogging to the little run down shack, ignoring the throbbing pain in your legs.

Hesitating at the door you take a deep breath, steadying yourself before you’re pushing against it. The room is silent, both Clint and Jeff having left and gone to bed. Scanning the room you notice a bed in the corner, Minho sleeping peacefully under it’s covers. His face slack as he rests, his forehead covered by a thin, white bandage that stretches around his head. As you silently pull up a chair to his bedside you study him, it isn’t often you get to see his face when it isn’t creased with stress or in any expression other than a smirk.

Smiling softly. you reach up and pull his blanket up a little higher until it covers his shoulders, the night had a cold edge to it despite it being well into summer. After sitting there for a few minutes your eyelids begin to get heavy, like something was weighing them down. For a moment the idea of walking back to your hammock crosses your mind but you immediately dismiss it, just thinking about getting up is exhausting. You cross your arms on the side of his bed and rest your head against them. It doesn’t take long before the comfort of sleep consumes you.

Garbled words and the feeling of something brushing against your face is what wakes you this time. Opening your eyes, the first thing you notice are Minho’s pretty brown ones staring back at you, the next thing you notice are the hushed snickers from behind you. Shooting up straight you feel the warm rush of embarrassment flood your cheeks.

“It was about time you woke up!” Clint pipes up, “Lover boy here hasn’t stopped staring at you since we came in here to check on him.”

This time, pink begins to tint Minho’s cheeks and creep up his neck, “Slim it! Get outta here would ya?”

“Okay! We’re going!” You turn around just in time to see Clint pushing Jeff out the door and throwing you a wink before shutting the door.

The awkwardness is palpable as you stare down at your lap. The bed creaks as Minho shifts to sit up against the headboard, the sound seeming incredibly loud in the silence. Mustering up your courage you finally speak.

“I’m sor-”

“I love you too!’

Your head shoots up as he interrupts you, eyes wide as you take in his expression that mirrors your own.

“What?”

His body language tells you that he had most definitely not meant to say that, his mouth moving up and down as he tries to figure out what to say.

Your heart catches in your throat as you process his words, “You love me?”

At the slow nod of his head, a beaming smile splits your face, and before you can stop yourself you're pulling him into a crushing hug. Caught off guard, he stiffens for a moment as you wrap your arms around him but as soon as you let out a shaky breath against his neck he winds his arms around you.

“Is this okay?”

At your hushed tone he pulls you tighter against him, “This is more than okay.”

[kstewdeux]

For a span of a minute that felt like an eternity, the entire world focused in on one singular point. A small painting. It’s edges well worn. Finer details faded and lost due to the passage of time but otherwise, in shockingly good condition.

But for all it’s antiquity, there was no mistaking the young woman who had been depicted. Whoever wrote the small exhibition label had simply labeled it:

Unidentified Artist, Japanese

Late Tokugawa Shogunate, Edo Period, 1853-1867

Young Woman

Painting on Parchment

H. Nakamura Trust, 88.251

According to the small blurb beneath the exhibition label, this tiny piece of parchment, clearly kept over the past century with meticulous care, had - at some point - apparently been studied by scholars to prove it was genuine. A fact that had been in dispute because the style diverged so greatly from art styles of the period but Kagome knew what the artist had been trying to do.

A photograph. He’d tried to mimic a photograph. Not perfect by any means but as close as someone in that time period could get. Which was shocking given (a) she had no idea he could draw and (b) that he would’ve taken the time to draw her.

Jaw trembling, Kagome had to remind herself to breathe. A task made more difficult as her friends joined her and began commenting on how the girl in the drawing resembled her.

Of course it did. It was her.

Her blurry vision flicked to the date and what registered felt like something cold was crushing her heart. If this ‘unidentified artist’ was him, Inuyasha had survived their quest and lived hundreds of years clearly hoping to see her again. At some point, he must have realized he simply wasn’t going to make it and…

Exhaling shakily, Kagome swallowed and decided it would be easier to simply leave. She was getting worked up over nothing. It was entirely possible that all of this was a coincidence. That she was reading too much into it. After all, Inuyasha wasn’t an artist by any means and most certainly would not have spent hundreds of years thinking about her. They were friends. Just friends. Unless something changed, which seemed unlikely, he had no interest in being with her that way. Besides, surely there were other women who looked like her throughout history. Everyone had a doppelgänger, right? Hers just happened to be some random woman in 19th century Japan.

It was just a painting of her doppelgänger.

Hopefully. Hopefully that’s all that it was.

“I have to go,” Kagome mumbled hoarsely as she took a step back and tore her eyes away from the painting, “I need to go.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Yuka asked worriedly, “Do…”

Unable to hear anything over the ringing in her ears, Kagome’s eyes wavered as they flicked back to the blurb that, upon closer inspection, described the other sketches and accompanying notes that detailed the artist’s ‘love’ for the young woman depicted. Various photographs of said notes had been attached slightly below said blurb and one of them had her shaking her head in mild horror.

‘I will not know your name next time we meet…’

“I need to go,” Kagome repeated breathlessly before turning on her heel and damn near running for the entrance. After that, she wouldn’t’ve been able to tell you how long or far or even which direction she ran from the mental image of an elderly Inuyasha writing out those notes he had to believe she’d never read. It might not even be him. Couldn’t be him. He didn’t draw. Couldn’t say something poetic much less write it. It had to be a coincidence. Just a coincidence but the image continued playing in her mind until she was blinded by tears. He died alone. Even…even if she did end up with him, she would’ve been dead by the time he wrote that. Long before he even picked up that brush. It…it…

It was all becoming too painful to even imagine.

Coming to an abrupt halt, Kagome clutched at her chest and used the side of a cement building for support. Inuyasha died over a hundred years ago and while that made sense, the realization that all her friends had died sometime in the past five hundred years hit her with all the force of a Mack truck.

Whimpering softly, her legs gave out and she slid down to the cold sidewalk. It was a coincidence. Just a coincidence. The probability of it all…

Well it just wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be him. It just…

“There you are,” came a hoarse, relieved whisper from far too close before two strong arms scooped her up and pulled her off the ground, “What happened? I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“Inuyasha?” Kagome mumbled stupidly before she whined and pressed her face into the corner of his neck - a gesture which had him stopping and doing something strange. His face turned slightly and buried his nose into her hair.

“What happened? I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what happened,” he chided anxiously as he gave her a light squeeze, “You hurt?”

Opening her eyes, Kagome glanced around the dimly lit streets and realized how late it was. No wonder he’d come after her.

“M’fine. Got lost is all,” she lied lamely and she felt him inhale deeply then sigh.

“Bullshit. What happened?” he asked again before adding in a clear attempt to get her to smile, “I don’t mind killing people ya know. If someone hurt you, I’ll make them pay, ya know, if you want.”

“Nothing happened. Just got lost on my way home,” she mumbled and with a somewhat exasperated grunt, Inuyasha continued walking again.

“You’re a terrible liar and an idiot,” Inuyasha opined firmly - adjusting his hold on her and shaking his head, “You could’ve gotten hurt out here by yourself, stupid. Anything could’ve happened.”

“I was…”

“Sometimes I swear you’re trying to get yourself killed,” he continued chiding as some of his anger began bubbling to the surface, “What would’ve happened if I didn’t come looking, huh?”

“I said I’m sorry,” she protested weakly - her nose subtly nuzzling the flesh at the base of his neck, “I…”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. You need to do better,” Inuyasha snapped angrily before pausing mid-stride and sighing, “I swore to protect you but you make it so…so hard sometimes. And you don’t even care. You just…just go around getting kidnapped or disappearing and…and getting hurt when I’m not looking.”

It was strange but hearing his voice berate her and feeling his irritated breaths actually improved her mood considerably.

“I waited. Like an idiot I waited for you to come back from that school thing of yours instead of coming to get you like normal but…but then the sun went down and…” Inuyasha continued to huffed and grunt while his arms held her slightly tighter, “I can’t be there all the time dammit. I can’t. I’d like to be but…but I just can’t so…so you just have to fucking do better.”

Lifting her head slightly at this strange command, Kagome studied his face for a moment before leaning forward and absently placing a kiss on his tense neck. Inuyasha went stock still and then rigid but she couldn’t find it in her to care.

“I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll do better,” she promised tiredly as she pressed another lazy kiss on his shoulder. At least in this moment, he was alive and loved. Right now, he wasn’t alone drawing paintings and writing notes to someone who was either dead or hadn’t been born yet. And while true that the ‘unidentified artist’ was probably anyone else, that mental image of it being him continued to haunt her.

Taking a deep breath, Kagome stubbornly told herself that the ‘unidentified artist’ couldn’t be him. It simply wasn’t possible. For so many reasons.

“You kissed me,” Inuyasha finally blurted and mercifully distracted from her inner turmoil, Kagome hummed in the affirmative. A second passed then two and he forced out a strangled, “W-why?”

“I wanted to,” Kagome offered tiredly as she focused on the feel of him and the knowledge that, as of this moment, he was very much alive. And yes, now that she was a little calmer, it was fairly obvious that the ‘unidentified artist’ wasn’t Inuyasha. He didn’t think of her in that way. Never had. Never would. They were friends. Best friends. But he loved someone else and had made it very clear he wasn’t interested in her that way.

As Kagome continued talking herself down, Inuyasha remained motionless for a long time before he finally began walking back towards the shrine. Slowly. Every so often he’d pause and take a few short breaths like he wanted to say something but stopped himself.

“Why did you want to?” he finally asked hesitantly as he turned a corner, “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Because you’re you,” she mumbled as her consciousness began ebbing. With a soft sigh, she relaxed more fully against his warm chest and offered up an additional explanation, “It made me happy.”

This response clearly bothered him judging by the increased tension in his muscles.

“Why did kissing me make you happy?” he pressed after another long moment of silence.

“Dunno. Why do you think it…” Kagome trailed off into a yawn and Inuyasha let out a small groan.

“I don’t know. That’s why I was asking,” Inuyasha interrupted with a huff of frustration, “You always make things hard. For no reason.”

Instead of getting angry, Kagome simply cooed and snuggled into him which seemed to both bother and calm him.

“You’re so stupid,” he continued to grumble as he adjusted his hold, “Ask a simple question and you just…act like you.”

“How else am I supposed to act?” Kagome hummed with mild amusement and Inuyasha grunted.

“Whatever. You need to sleep,” he changed the subject miserably as he finally made it to the shrine and began climbing the steps, “But don’t think I’m gunna take it easy on you. I’m serious. You can’t do shit like that again. You could’ve gotten…”

“Will you stay here tonight?” Kagome interrupted tiredly and Inuyasha once again stopped mid-step. His hands flexed against the flesh they were gripping as he licked his lips and averted his eyes.

“Only if you tell me why you really kissed me,” he repeated his earlier question - before continuing with an unease tinged with hope which surprised her, “I think I deserve some answers after the stupid stunt you just pulled and if you’re trying…if you did that to just…just distract me, it won’t work. Won’t change nothing. You still gotta be less stupid.”

“I did it because I wanted to,” Kagome repeated before gasping when he suddenly set her down and glared.

“Well what if I didn’t want you to?” Inuyasha huffed - something strangely hurt behind his expressive amber eyes, “You’ve never tried to mess with me before. Never. And…and do you have any idea how scared I was when you didn’t come home? I searched for you, Kagome. From the…the 6 to the 9. Do you know how hard it is to track scents here? To listen for you? It’s a literal miracle that I…”

“I said I’m sorry,” Kagome insisted and Inuyasha looked even more hurt. Breathing heavily, he visibly tried to control whatever reaction was brewing under the surface but unfortunately, his confusion and hurt bubbled over.

“I DON’T WANT AN APOLOGY!” Inuyasha bellowed - his hurt escalating into full blown anger with such speed it nearly gave her whiplash, “YOU COULD’VE DIED. YOU COULD’VE BEEN HURT! AND I’M NOT SO DESPERATE THAT A STUPID KISS IS GUNNA MAKE ME FORGET THAT! WHY DID YOU KISS ME?!”

“I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you!” Kagome snapped and Inuyasha looked a hair away from strangling her.

“THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER! YOU’RE JUST TRYING TO COVER YOUR ASS AND…” Inuyasha began to rail against her once more and it was at that point Kagome’s mind officially hit It’s breaking point. He wanted answers, huh? He wanted to know why she ran and why she kissed him and why she was so upset?!

“FINE! KNOW WHY I DID THAT?! BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” Kagome screamed bitterly and Inuyasha froze like a deer in the headlights, “I KISSED YOU BECAUSE I LOVE YOU! THERE! HAPPY?!”

When Inuyasha continued gaping at her with a shell-shocked expression, the full ramifications of what she’d just admitted hit her like a ton of bricks.

“Forget it,” she breathed miserably as she turned and unsteadily began climbing the stairs with her arms curled tightly around her stomach, “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t do…any of that again. Just forget what I said.”

“Wait. Wait,” Inuyasha’s strangely panicked voice called out - a single clawed hand gripping her shoulder to force her to stop, “I don’t think I heard that right. W-why did you…”

“Let me go Inuyasha,” Kagome hissed but the hand didn’t release her.

“C-can I tell you w-what I heard?” he asked with a mixture of fear and desperation, “A-and I could be wrong but I just…”

“You hear everything Inuyasha,” Kagome huffed acidly as she pushed away his hand with all her might, “You heard what I said…”

Even as she climbed the stairs, she could hear his harsh rapid breaths which honestly had her moving a little faster. Everything was ruined now. All because of some stupid little painting that she’d just…

“You…you said you…you loved me,” he repeated barely above a whisper, “Right?”

Closing her eyes, Kagome let out a long sigh before squaring her shoulders and deciding to face her mistake head on.

“I do love you but I don’t…” she began as she turned to face him before being cut off when a pair of lips captured her own. Two strong arms snaked around her waist for but a moment before his calloused hands suddenly cupped her face in an effort to force her to respond.

When she finally did and when he finally pulled back, his slightly euphoric expression faded into mild horror and panic.

“Y-you said you l-loved me back, r-right?” he asked worriedly as he released and took an involuntary step back, “That’s…that’s what you said. Two, no, three times. You said that…”

“That I loved you…back,” Kagome repeated slowly and Inuyasha gave a jerky nod in response.

“That’s what you said,” he insisted miserably - his amber eyes flicking in the direction of the well, “So…and I mean, you did start the…the kissing so I…and you were an idiot. Scared me half to…”

“Know what? That is what I said,” Kagome hummed in a resigned fashion as she reached out and gestured for him to take her hand, “Come on. Let’s go inside. It’s late.”

Swallowing thickly, Inuyasha eyed the beckoning hand with weary apprehension before accepting the gesture and allowing her to lead him into the house. And up the stairs. And into her bedroom. And then onto her bed. A bed upon which he found himself awkwardly waiting while Kagome proceeded to change and get ready for the night.

“Where are you gunna sleep…” he began nervously when it finally dawned on him that she seemed to be intending for him to sleep on the bed. That’s where she led him and where she told him to stay after all. Which was strange but it had been a strange night. Maybe she was trying to make him feel better. Do him a favor?

“In the bed,” Kagome hummed as she ran a brush through her hair and gave him a warm smile. A smile that faded when he stood up and began nervously glancing around with a marked blush.

“Inuyasha, where are you going?”

“You’re gunna sleep on the bed,” he muttered as he prepared to sleep in his normal position on the floor, “And you…well I was gunna…”

“If you want, you can sleep in the bed with me…”

Amber eyes widened as a single impulsive ‘oh’ left his lips but instead of sitting back down on the bed, he remained standing and staring at her with that same shell-shocked expression.

“Is that…okay?” Kagome asked nervously.

Seeming to come back to himself, Inuyasha nodded fervently and quickly sat down atop the mattress.

“Y-yeah thats…that’s…yeah. Yeah. We can do that…”

That night was the first of many nights he spent cuddled up against the woman of his dreams. Letting the warmth of her body span the length of his own as he relished in the knowledge that somehow this woman loved him. How, when or even why didn’t matter. She loved him back and that first night, as he held her small frame against him, he very nearly cried in relief. Honestly, before that night, he had already decided he was going to let her go rather than say anything. There was no way she’d ever love him back, he’d reasoned. No one would ever want to be with a half-breed, right? He’d never been so happy to be wrong.

Weeks went by after that and the funny thing was, when Kagome absently mentioned the painting from the museum to her friends over lunch, none of them had the faintest clue what she was talking about. All they remembered was her leaving in a rush. While Kagome chalked this up to the art not being memorable to anyone else, the truth was that no one else would ever remember this art because it simply never existed.

The second she’d admitted her feelings - emotions he fully reciprocated but had suppressed - all those drawings and notes faded from the annuals of time because that painting- which had been loaned to the museum by a well meaning unrelated widow who thought the unique artwork would make for an interesting exhibit - turned out to be a butterfly which was inadvertently crushed. As the years rolled on, Inuyasha never needed to paint something to bring him comfort in the midst of crushing regret and loneliness.

Why would he?

Thanks to a merciful series of events, he woke up to his favorite smiling face every day for the rest of his life.

[fruitcoops]

Hey so umm in your Talker pov fic it had a line where it said these pics made him sick so I had an idea! If you could do you think you could do a pic where the pics make loops physically sick or something?

Oof, it’s been a hot minute since I wrote legitimate angst. Someone else asked for prompt 22 from the mixed prompt list, so I incorporated that as well. Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Prompt 22: “Everything is okay”

TW for throwing up/ dry heaving, forced outing, and lots of crying

Remus broke down just before they reached the car, crumpling against James’ side with a strangled cry as he unlocked the door. “Woah, hang on, buddy,” James muttered, pulling him back upright and opening the passenger side.

“They know,” Remus whispered as tears coursed down his face. “They know, they know, they all know.”

“I’m so sorry, Remus.” He pressed their foreheads together and handed him the seatbelt buckle. “Just—just hang on for me, yeah? I’m going to take you home now.”

James could feel people’s stares prickling the back of his neck as he started the car and drove out of the parking garage, doing his very best to ignore the horrible, gulping sobs coming from one of his best friends. “Everyone knows and he left me.” A fresh wave of tears slammed into Remus and he slumped against the window, burying his face in his hands. “He left me, oh, god.”

And I’m going to kill him for it. James ground his teeth. After I find him and make sure he’s alright, I’m going to chew him out for ditching you without a word. Then I’m going to hug him and never let go again. “Everything is okay, Remus.”

“No, it’s not. It’s not going to be okay, I’m gonna get fired and—and my parents are going to hate me and Sirius is going to hate me—”

“Sirius is not going to hate you,” James interrupted, taking Remus’ hand and giving it a squeeze.

“Then why did he leave?” Remus choked out.

“He got scared. That’s what he does when he’s scared.” I thought he was going to a girlfriend when it was you all along. “I’m so sorry.”

Remus didn’t appear to have heard him. “This is all my fault.”

“What? How?”

“I should’ve been more careful. It was my idea to meet up on New Year’s, and it was so stupid to think we could get away with it. Any of it.”

“Hey. Hey.” James glanced over for a half second before turning back to the road. “Remus, none of this is on you. You and Sirius should be free to kiss on New Year’s like everybody else without some asshole sticking their nose in your business. This is not your fault.”

“He trusted me, James.” Remus sounded fragile and sharp, like broken glass. “I told him I’d be careful. He trusted me with everything.”

“I know he did.” How could I have been so blind? “Did anyone else know?”

Remus shook his head, then paused and nodded. “Leo figured it out. Logan knows. Talker almost walked in once. Dumo—” he faltered. “Dumo was the one who got us together.”

“When?”

“November.” His lower lip wobbled. “Sirius’ birthday dinner.”

Months. They’ve been together for literal months and I never knew. “Jesus.”

His desperate clutch on James’ hand loosened and he looked over, pale and shivering. He swallowed once, twice, staring at James in sudden and paralyzing terror. “Are you—are you disappointed?”

“About what?”

“That I’m…that Sirius is—” He couldn’t even get the word out and James felt like he was going to throw up.

“No. No, Remus, I am not disappointed.” He fought the lump in his throat, lacing their fingers together tighter. “This changes nothing, okay? Sirius is still my best friend. You’re still my best friend. I am so proud of you for finding happiness with him and I will personally fight anyone who says differently.”

Remus’ whole body shook with silent tears as he gripped James’ hand like a lifeline. His palm was cold and sweaty, but James kept his grip and turned off the freeway.

“What this person did was wrong, plain and simple. The only thing I’m disappointed in is that I didn’t do enough to make you feel safe coming out to me, and that is not your fault either.” He took a side road to avoid the main streets of Gryffindor, following the path to Remus’ apartment building through muscle memory.

Neither of them said a word for the rest of the drive, but Remus’ gasping, cut off breaths filled the silence well enough. James parked on the street and got out of the car after a quick look around—from what he could tell, nobody else was watching. He had to practically carry Remus up the main steps and into the elevator, slamming the button for his floor as hard as he could, like that would make it move faster.

“Do you have a key?” he asked as they hurried down the hallway. Remus nodded and pressed it into his hand with trembling fingers; it opened, and they all but collapsed inside as James shut and locked the door.

“Excuse me for a second,” Remus said, eyes glazed over and face as pale as the moon. He walked steadily to the bathroom and closed the door; not three seconds later, the muffled sound of dry heaving came through the thin wood.

James grabbed a half-drunk waterbottle from the kitchen and knit blanket off the back of the sofa, then knocked gently. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” his miserable voice replied. James closed the door behind him—it wasn’t like anyone could follow them in, but it was the thought that counted. Tears continued to streak down his cheeks as his shoulders lurched, though nothing came up.

“Deep breaths, Re,” James murmured, rubbing his back in slow circles. “Deep breaths. You’re going to be alright.”

“It hurts so much.”

“What does?”

“Everything.” Remus’ voice was louder than before and transitioned into a cracking sob as he leaned against the bathtub and wrapped his arms around himself. “Everything hurts so much and I don’t know why.”

James scooted over and sat next to him, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders; Remus curled into his side, dampening his shirt with tears and snot. James could see his phone lighting up every half-second out of the corner of his eye and resolutely ignored it. There was one person and one person only whom he wanted to talk to right now.

“You should go see him,” Remus croaked, as if he read James’ mind. “Sirius—he needs you. He doesn’t say it often but he needs you.”

“I’m going to call Lily and have her come over. Are you cool with that?” When Remus nodded, he took his phone out and swiped past all his notifications until he reached the one labeled Lils.

At Re’s apt, going to see Pads. Pls come over and keep an eye on him asap. Love you

Mere seconds later, a response pinged: on my way.

He ran his hand up Remus’ arm to get his attention. The uncontrollable sobbing had tapered off into a vacant stare and the occasional wracking shudder. “Lily will be here in a few. I’ll stay here until she—”

“No. No, you have to go see him.” Remus blinked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Please, James, just keep him safe for me. I can be alone for a bit.”

After a moment of deliberation, he sighed and rose into a crouch, taking Remus’ icy hands in his own and making eye contact with him. “Everything is going to be okay, Remus. Trust me on that.” He kissed the top of his head as he stood up, then hesitated at the bathroom door.

“Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Everything is going to be okay,” James repeated once more before walking back out and heading for the door. It’s going to be okay. They’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. I don’t know what I’ll do if it’s not.