#i wrote about this briefly in my getting high w him fic

[crybaby-bkg]

hc that Shinsou has an oral fixation and likes to have different parts of you and his other friends in his mouth during every possible moment 😵‍💫

he falls asleep with your thumb hooked inside of his mouth after coming over to watch movies with him, your body wrapped around his own. you can find him under the tables in the library with a flustered Denki trying his best to keep a neutral face and his voice down. can always find him snuck into someone’s room during a party with a clit or tip in his mouth. he always looks so at peace every time you find or see him, and you wonder how you could ever deny him when he asks to suck on your tit when the world around him gets to be too much to deal with.

[weasleywinchester]

Hot Blood (love is gunna get ya)

Cassian Andor x Curvy Female Reader

Y’all I’m so excited that space husband #2 is back on screen!!! I’ve had this dirty fic in my mind for a couple of years (???) now and I actually finally wrote then ending 😂 I’ve never written anything with sex pollen so it may work differently than someone else’s version!

Warning: Smut, sex pollen, unprotected sex, cream pie, unrequited feelings, K2 being sassy

“(Y/N), you’re with me.” Cassian finishes, looking up at you. You blink a few times at him, frowning. You normally have to stay with K2 on the ship…

“You’ll walk with me, the more eyes we have, the better.” He clarifies, a fraction of a smile appearing.

“Yes sir.” You nod. Everyone breaks from the huddle to grab their gear and get ready as K2 lands the ship a short distance outside of town.

“We’re not sure what form the drug is in, but they seem to be targeting couples. Nine people have shown up dead in the last 2 days, be careful.” Cassian announces as he jumps out of the ship.

“I thought we were the resistance, not the drug police.” One of your crew mates mutters, and a few nod in agreement. You manage to keep your eye roll to yourself, but this group should know better than to question Captain Cassian Andor’s leadership.

“Drugs are an easy way to control people. Get them hooked on something only you provide, makes them loyal for life.” You shoot back, keeping your eyes trained on your shoes as you tie them.

“Drugs have a very high success rate in administering tracking devices and keeping the mind in a sedated state for easier control.” K2 adds, giving each teammate a pointed look. You smile, gathering your things and joining Cassian outside the ship. He gives your smile a sideways glance but doesn’t comment.

“Hurry up!” He shouts at the team. They quickly scramble out of the ship and begin walking into town, each taking a separate section.

“So we really have no leads besides the dead?” You ask.

“The people who died were found hours after splitting up from their partner.”

“Thus the ‘no leaving each other alone’ rule and why you took a partner this time.” You muse aloud. Cassian turns to say something but a local vendor catches your eye.

“I’m going to go talk to him. I’ll be right back.” You gently squeeze Cassian’s arm as you walk to the booth.

“Can I interest you in anything young lady?” The man asks, his eyes wandering over your body.

“How about a fun time?” You ask in your sweetest voice, batting your eyelashes.

“What is a pretty young thing, like yourself, looking for?”

“Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” You bite your lip, “I’ve heard of something new floating around, something that gets the blood pumping.” You lean across the counter, the man's face becoming a little less playful.

“Everyone always thinks I’m too young, but trust me when I say I can play with the big boys.”

The man sighs, briefly looking over your shoulder and then focusing back on you.

“I’ll take care of you, sweet cheeks.” He winks, standing up tall.

“And how will I know?” You push, keeping your tone light.

“Trust me, you’ll know.” He smirks and walks to the back of his booth. You frown and turn to scan the crowd for Cassian. He catches your eye, flicking his from you to the lamppost on the corner of the street and walks towards it.

“Anything?” He whispers as you pass him. You wait for him to match your pace before you start talking.

“When I asked the man about a good time, he knew what I was after and said he would get it for me. However, he didn’t hand me anything or tell me to go anywhere.” You answer, putting your hood up to keep the chill of the air away.

“We should find the others, maybe they found something.” He picks up his pace, leading you down one of the allies.

“Ok sounds-“ you sneeze, your nose suddenly feeling like you just walked through a wall of pollen in the middle of spring.

“Salud,” Cassian says over his shoulder.

You take a deep breath in, sneezing once more. And then again, your eyes start to water so much that you stop walking.

Cassian turns when he doesn’t hear you stomping behind him, seeing you trying to wipe your eyes with your gloves.

“Are you ok?” He comes to look you over, his voice laced with… concern?

“Ya, apparently I am allergic to this planet.” You laugh, finally able to breathe. “We should see if anyone else has had luck.”

Cassian nods, not quite convinced you're ok and lightly pulls you forward by the elbow back into the crowd. Your breath hitches at his touch, even through your coat a tingling sensation erupts like a warm glow. You close your eyes, wanting to just bask in the warmth. The sensation is gone as fast as it appeared, and when you open your eyes you realise he’s let go of you.

“Anything?” Cassian asks. Each pair shares their findings with the Captain, and you’re trying to focus on what they’re saying, but it seems to be getting a little warmer every time someone bumps you into Cassian.

“(Y/N) and I will take the small hotel on the west side of town. That should leave us spaced enough to cover the town. Meet back here tomorrow at 8.” Cassian finishes, letting everyone get to their posts for the night. “Ready?” He turns to you. You’re standing a bit too close to him and the sleeve of his jacket brushes against yours. You feel heat shoot straight between your thighs, you swallow hard. Hormones must be out of whack, Cassian could reduce you to a puddle with one look, but maker, this is ridiculous!

“(Y/N)?” K2 tilts his head at you.

“Sorry, ya let’s go. I need a shower.” You sigh.

The walk isn't very far, but your mind is set on replaying every fantasy you’ve ever had about Cassian, and you need relief from it now.

Cassian unlocks the door and you bolt into the bathroom.

“She must have really had to poop.” K2 comments.

“K, why don’t you keep watch outside.” Cassian commands, annoyance clear in his voice.

You rip your clothes off and turn the shower on. You can’t even make it in before reaching between your thighs and making quick circles around your clit. You convulse with an orgasm so quickly you’re knocked to your knees.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Cassian asks through the door.

“Fine! Just banged my knee.” You sigh in relief and the ache between your thighs dulls. You wait until you hear him walk away from the door before stepping into the shower.

Which was a mistake.

The moment the water hits your body you moan at the sheer pleasure of something touching you. Your heart starts racing and the impulse to touch yourself is back. You rub out a second orgasm, relieving yourself long enough to get out and dry off.

“Bathroom’s all yours.” You whisper, quickly laying down on the bed. Cassian hums in acknowledgement as you try to get comfortable. He’s pouring over the latest mission reports, the glow from the data pad illuminating his frown. He’s taken most of his layers off, leaving him in his Henley and cargo pants. It’s the least amount of layers you’ve seen him in… well, except the few times you’ve seen the toned stomach that hides under his shirt because, you know, someone has to give him stitches…

Then you feel it, the slow wave of heat that starts at your core and spreads through your body. And it’s much stronger, your hand automatically reaching in between your thighs. You screw your eyes shut and lean against the headboard.

He’s in the fucking room (Y/N) get a grip!

He says something out loud, but the blood rushing through your ears drowns him out and your eyes screw shut even tighter as your fingers practically burn to give you any sort of relief.

“(Y/N)?”

His voice sounds like it’s underwater, but it’s closer than before. You feel something touch your hand and it feels like heaven. You gasp for air, your shoulders relaxing as your body shudders with the smallest amount of relief. You open your eyes to see Cassian's hand on top of your own.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, trying to catch your gaze. You want to tell him nothing, your body is just overreacting. You’re having a normal allergic reaction to whatever you walked through earlier… But when he moves his hand away an inferno rips through your veins and you double over.

“What’s wrong? What do you need?” He asks, a little sliver of panic apparent in his voice.

“Cassian, something’s,” you gasp as his hands grip your shoulders, “something’s wrong.”

“What? Where does it hurt?” He gently pulls you toward him, his scent filling your nose and making you dizzy.

“Everywhere…” you move to straddle his lap, a small fraction of relief coming as his hands grip the back of your knees to keep you from sliding to the floor.

“I can’t… explain… I need you.” You pant into his neck, your hips rolling into his.

His eyes flutter shut as he feels your wetness soak through his pants. His hands lightly slide along your bare thighs, gently guiding you to grind into him. Your forehead comes to rest against his, your lips teasing as they come closer to his but never touch.

She’s not in control. He repremands himself, pushing you to sit up and create a little space between you.

“(Y/N), hey, we need to figure out what’s wrong.” He begrudgingly pushes you off his lap, laying you on the bed.

“Everything burns… but you.” You grit through your teeth as you try and pull yourself together. You dig your heels into the bed, using every fiber of your being to keep your hands away from your throbbing clit.

He takes a shaky breath in, he hates seeing you in any kind of pain, and you wouldn’t lie, not about this. He gently caresses your outer thigh, your face instantly relaxing and your hands unclenching. After a minute he pulls away and within seconds you're back to squirming.

“Cassian, please.” You beg, your nails gripping the sides of your shirt as you try and self contain whatever the fuck is happening to your body. Everything feels like too much and not enough. Your clothes become irritating, it’s not his touch and it needs to stop. You stand, ripping them off, hoping the cool air would any kind of relief.

Cassian knows he should avert his eyes, that this was not his opportunity to gaze upon the valley of your breasts as your nipples harden from the cold; or to lust after your cunt, dripping with all your juices or to revel in the sound of his name falling from your lips. No, not the time. But his touch has been the only thing to bring you any relief…

“Cass…” you grunt, hands gripping at the sheets so tight you might tear a hole in them. He pulls you up, helping you back into his lap, his hands gently rubbing any patch of skin he can reach. You sigh, leaning into his shoulder as the fire slows down to a dull ache.

“Run me through the events of your day mi amor.” He whispers, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

“You were there.” You let out a breathy laugh against his chest, fingers lightly scraping at the front of his stupid shirt that is blocking your greedy fingers from his skin.

“I…” how could he be so stupid? How could he not notice something happened.

The burn has calmed enough that your mind registers that Cassian has gone silent, which means he’s too far in his own head.

“Off the ship, talked to man that… that said I would find what I wanted.” You double over, the heat rushing once again through your body in an all encompassing wave.

Cassian runs his hands everywhere he can, but it no longer satisfies what you need. She needs more. He gently places a kiss on your neck, a moan escaping from somewhere deep in your chest that makes both of you relax a fraction.

“Amor…” he tries to look at your face, your silence unnerving.

“We met back with the group… allergic to something in the air… brushed against you, that’s when the heat started…” you thread your fingers into his hair as he gently sucks the column of your neck.

He wishes this was real, that your need for him wasn't tangled in whatever this drug was. He should have kissed you long before this. Long before this suffering, long before this mission...

“Something in the air…” he pulls back to look at you. Your pupils are blown, your body coated in a sheen of sweat even though the room is cold.

“Touch… not enough…” you stammer, leaning your forehead against his.

“Amor, we need to-.”

“Captain Cassian Andor, I need you to fuck me in every conceivable way.” You growl, roughly putting your open mouth against his. You lose yourself in the way his tongue instinctively thrusts into your mouth, the way his hands dig into your hips to push you flush against him, and oh maker the vibration of his moan mixed with yours…

He lays you on your back, slotting his hips in between yours, his growing bulge putting the perfect amount of pressure against your clit. His mouth finds yours again, tongue eagerly exploring. You manage to remember you have hands attached to your arms and yank his shirt up his body. His lips briefly unlock from yours, reattaching to your neck as your hands scrap along his back. He never thought pain could feel so fucking good and that he would wish for more.

Focus, have to focus. He unseals his mouth from your skin, remembering that you’ve been drugged. He tries to untangle himself, but your body only wants more and, frankly, he doesn’t want to stop. He has to get his mouth away from yours, he has to be able to shout for K… He pushes your thighs apart, making room for him to shift down your body.

“K!” He shouts in between kisses until the droid breaks his way in.

“Oh my…” K2 averts his gaze; he has seen many things but you sprawled naked with Cassian in between your thighs was not one he ever wanted to see.

“K, blood sample, she’s been hit with the drug.” Cassian says. K2 nods and leaves to gather the items needed.

Cassian turns back to you, the sight of your dripping cunt making his dick twitch. You smell so enticing that he licks a stripe from your opening to your clit, eliciting a satisfied yes from you. Maker, you taste better than he could have ever dreamed and he gets to have it all.

“Cassian, I’m not going in there until you say so!” K shouts from the door. Cassian growls into your cunt as you pulse around nothing, not happy that he has to stop when he would much rather go until you beg him to stop. He licks through you one last time, a satisfied grin stretching across his at the sight of you blissed out on the bed.

“Ready?” K2 shouts, annoyed that this is taking so long.

Cassian is about to call him in when your hands grip the sheets and your brow furrows again.

“Cassian, it’s coming back.” You whimper, sitting up and trying to gain any control over your body.

“Amor, K is going to get a blood sample, are you able to do that?” He leans down, tilting your chin so he can see you.

“I need you.” You state, hoping he understands what you mean. He gives you a small nod, shucking off his pants and sitting next to you. You can’t help but stare at his hard cock, it’s thick and leaking and if it were any other day you would have no problem returning the favor. But the heat ramps back up and Cassian guides you to straddle his lap.

“You sure?” He whispers.

“Yes.” You raise your hips so he can line himself up with your entrance. You gently lower yourself down, both of you screwing your eyes shut.

“K! Hurry before we can’t stop!” Cassian half-heartedly shouts. K quickly stomps into the room, jabbing you with a needle. You look up at him and mouth I’m sorry.

And you are sorry.

You’re sorry for being the one who got infected.

You’re sorry that Cassian has to go through this.

You’re sorry that K2 has to have this store in his hard drive forever.

“Gone.” you whisper when the door clicks shut. Now it’s Cassian’s turn for his mind to go blank as you rock against him, your cunt gripping him so perfectly. He rolls the two of you over, putting his mouth to yours as he sets a grueling pace. He feels you quickly pulse around him, his hips stilling at the sensation. He can feel your body start to cool off, and starts again, bringing your knees close to your chest for a different angle.

He fucks you through this orgasm, your grip in his hair loosening has he takes you higher once again. His thrusts get sloppy as you bring his mouth to yours, your tongue toying with his as you scrape your stubby nails along his back. And he loses it, letting himself spill inside you as you both slow down.

“How are you feeling?” Cassian whispers, his lips gently ghosting over your skin.

“Better. Blood doesn’t feel hot anymore.” You sigh. You turn your face toward his, catching his gaze. You gently put your mouth back to his, savoring the taste of him.

“Should have kissed you long before this.” He murmurs, hand gently brushing you hair out of your face.

“What do you mean?” You whisper back.

“Rebellions are built on hope, but I could never let myself hope for love. For you. I love you (Y/N).”

“I love you too Cassian.”

[gutsfics]

Wes & Ezra becoming a couple

takes place a few years after graduation. Ezra is well on track to becoming a famous musician & Wes is doing Dubiously Legal Wes Things. they run into each other in vegas & get married as an alibi for Wes. they slowly realize they actually do have feelings for each other

Dubiously Legal Wes Things being something that's illegal, but tbh shouldn't be. i haven't decided on what it is specifically, but Wes is the kind of guy to help people in tricky situations w the law. specifically shitty laws that hurt people more than they help/are just an excuse to get more people in prision

prime specifically -- tbh im ignoring choices hss w my hss fics. at least for the prime cast

Simon, Wes, & Ezra becoming a throuple

Payton hosts a post-college-grad meetup party for the prime squad. in a good-natured attempt to get Simon and Nishan back together (they dated briefly in high school, & it fell apart bc they were dumb, immature teens who couldnt communicate) she suggests a game of Truth Or Dare Or Drink. the plan backfires and instead of Si kissing Nish and getting back together w him, he kisses Ezra, then Wes bc he feels bad for kissing a married man and wants to even it out, and then ends up in a throuple w them

oph chap1 rewrite from Ethan's perspective, Baxter as mc

exactly what it says on the tin. ive been interested in writing this for a while bc Baxter is considerably more prickly than the canon mc, and would have the final word in Ethan berating them for "almost fucking up" w that patient right at the beginning

Baxter's emotional response to losing a patient for the first time

Baxter is really.... Not Great at regulating their emotions in a healthy way and tend to Repress Everything. losing Dolores is the first time since like childhood that they Properly Experience Emotions. so basically this one'll b a big ole emotional hurt/comfort

post book2 funeral scene w E/B

listen. Baxter and Ethan would Not fuck in a car right after a funeral. Baxter would invite him inside & they would cuddle and talk.

followup to the pregnancy fic i posted a few months ago

Thomas miscarried a week after it takes place (i dont think ill write that specific bit, depends on how i feel), but this fic takes place a few months after that. RCD MC (named Macy) and Matt announce their own pregnancy shortly after returning from their honeymoon. Thomas gets jealous, Avalon gets sad, and they talk about where they want to go next vis-a-vis The Whole Having Kids Thing. (whoops i think thats the title there lmao that was unintentional when i wrote that). transguy mpreg if it wasnt obvious

Avalon Birthday Fic (doubles as a valensday fic)

I Am Going To Be Real With You, I Don't Have A Plan For This One. but its almost Ava's bday/valensday so. eh. maybe ill figure something out

hi for the love of god hello finish the fcking 1st chapter of the rcd rewrite

i swear to GOD its almost done. i just wanna add another scene. for context.

[venenatd]

umm so ignore if it’s weird but i can’t stop thinking about eren x armin x reader starting a fwb situation where eren is more on the dom side while armin and reader are more subby and they all interact with each other (like eremin x reader kinda thing)

help it’s 11am here i need to chill😭

hummunaaaah the dream tbh. i got so fuckin’ carried away with this idea i want to write a full on fic of like build up and sTUFF BUT JUST HAVE THIS I WROTE 1K+ WORDS AND I DID NOT MEAN TO??? eren ordering you and armin around aohdsfjsgl goodbye

warnings; threesome, alcohol, friends w/ benefits, choking briefly mentioned, f!bodied reader, she/her used, creampie, unprotected sex (dom!Eren, and more sub!Armin / reader)

masterlist

18+, minors dni. reblogs appreciated!

Armin Arlert, Eren Jaeger and you. You’ve been thick as thieves for years, finding each other in high school and somehow continuing your friendship up until university. There’s always been the question from friends and family about you liking one of them. Who’d have thought it’d be both? 

You don’t know it but Armin and Eren regularly talk about you. It’s just ‘boy talk’, and it starts as protective. Commenting about what guy you’re currently talking to. Then, without much intention, it quickly falls to possessive. No one is good enough for you. 

They do genuinely care for you, they love how your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. They adore how honest and open you are; how all three of you are. 

Nothing was off the table in your discussions. The three of you would happily lounge around in your bedroom, procrastinating university work in favour of more interesting conversation. In his ever smug way, Eren would be the one leading the topics: “so what would be you go to kink if you could do anything?” 

“Eren,” you’d begin, rolling your eyes slightly.

Cutting you off, Armin would question “Why do you need to know?”

Eren can’t help but scoff. As if alone, Armin didn’t agree that you were hot. As if alone, the two men didn’t discuss certain ideas. Why did it matter that you were here now? You, unaware, go into the idea of being choked. Green eyes flick between you and the blonde, watching him grow redder, breathing deeper. 

And so this falls into the pattern of your friendship. Intimate conversation, followed by long pauses. Each of you looking at the other, none of you daring enough to ask why the air has grown so thick. 

It’s thick again, as the three of you dance together. Sasha is hosting one of her infamous house parties, and low red lights fill her living room, music loud enough you’re surprised no one’s complained. You’d pulled the two men up with you, pleading with them to dance with you. And of course they did. Sandwiched between them, Armin’s in front of you and Eren behind. 

Maybe it’s the build up that’s been growing for years, but suddenly Eren gives in. He can’t ignore the way your ass pushes against his crotch, the way he can see his best friend's eyes flick from your eyes, your lips, your cleavage. So the brunette leans forward, “you should kiss him.” 

Your head snaps behind, looking at Eren with eyebrows full of confusion. He does nothing but drunkenly grin, bringing his hand up to your hair. Lightly gripping at your scalp, he turns you back and pushes your head closer to Armin's. 

Armin is flushed once again, but his eyes are dark and on your lips. And fuck, even if you didn’t want to (and you so do) the adrenaline in your veins would take over. Leaning upwards, you lock lips with the blonde. It’s sweet and soft, and tastes of fruity alcohol. Eren’s fingers are still in your hair, pulling you off him just as you both start getting eager. 

“My turn,” he whispers in your ear, and your skin breaks out in goosebumps. Turning a little, your face tells a different story. Gone is the confusion, now you look like you’re almost daring him. Eren’s tongue grazes over your lower lip, as if he’s tasting the alcohol, you, Armin. Then as your mouth parts, he deepens the kiss. His tongue sinks against yours, and it’s more fervent than Armin. It’s different, but both are just right. 

Moving from the living room to whatever bedroom you could find had gone by in a flash. Whether any of you expected more than making out was debatable, but you all wanted it. 

Your two best friends lift their shirts off as you recline on the bed. You lick up the broader of the two, leaving lines of saliva that glint even in the low light. Armin is slimmer, but still has dense muscle. Your palms rest on each stomach, and Eren is the first to lean down and kiss you again. Armin slips next to you on the mattress, tearing you away from Eren for a moment to do the same. 

Whilst you and Armin press together, Eren leaves kisses down your neck. He begins sucking in the flesh, making you gasp against Armin’s mouth. 

Clothes are removed, the three of you pressed together on the bed. Eren and Armin share your body easily, one palming your breasts as the other plays with your folds. You can barely put together two thoughts before they switch again, one massaging and spreading your ass, the other at your mouth again. 

Positions switch back and forth, Eren buried inside your cunt, Armin more tentatively at your mouth. Armin taking Eren’s place and eating you out, as the brunette fucks your throat. He makes sure to remember earlier conversations, placing large hands around your neck as he bulges into your throat.

Eventually you end up on top of Armin, Eren sat back watching. He fists his cock as you bounce on top of the blonde. You try to use the leverage of your feet but tire easily, groaning as you undulate your hips against Armin’s pelvis. 

“Awh, poor girl, she can’t do it. She wants to cum so bad and she can’t,” Eren coos from his position. You whine, letting your head rest back in frustration. You’d grown used to Eren’s teasing in normal conversation, but the smug attitude that laces his words only serves to make you clench around Armin’s dick inside you. 

“Armin, you know what to do,” Eren begins, coming closer to the pair of you. He grabs your hand and brings it around him. A smirk plays his lips as you effectively grip onto his dick for support. The tightness feels good, but he’s sure your pussy will feel better. “Fuck her, make her feel good. Make her cum on your cock.” 

Bringing up his knees and placing his feet flat on the bed, Armin begins to fuck up into you. Gasps and moans bubble from your throat. Placing one hand on the blondes chest, you hold yourself up slightly.

The burn of your muscle is superseded by the new pleasure. Armin’s eyebrows scrunch together as he watches where your bodies are conjoined, watching his dick almost fully unsheath before he pumps back into you. 

Eren scratches down your back, making you cry out and back arch. “That’s it Armin,” he reaches between your bodies, pulling at your nipples, “bet she’s getting real tight. Her little pussy being filled by two different cocks in one night?”

“Y-yeah, sh-she’s s’fuckin’ tight,” Armin manages to get out between thrusts. 

Fingers move from your nipples to your cunt, and Eren spreads his fingers around your stretched pussy. Armin stills inside you for a second, before the broader orders, “don’t fucking stop”. Slicking up his fingers, he begins to work your clit. You can do nothing but attempt to stay still, let your best friends fuck you their way. Your walls start to flutter around Armin, and he chokes out, “Er-Eren, she- she-”.

“Oh yeah you gonna cum on Armin? Go on, you can do it. Let go, cum on Armin’s cock.” 

Eren’s confidence mixed with Armin’s struggle inside you is enough to tip you over the edge. Clenching around the blonde, your hips buck, losing all control as Eren refuses to leave your clit. He follows as your body loses control, determined to make your orgasm as intense as possible until the end. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fu-” Armin’s hips are snapping in to you, pumping into your spasming cunt and releasing inside you. 

Eren strokes Armin’s hair, then kisses your forehead. You go to lift off Armin, pulling your leg from straddling him. Quickly Eren grips your calf, pulling it sharply back on the bed. You can feel cum dripping out of you and back onto the cock beneath you. 

“Stay.”

You follow orders, watching as the brunette moves behind you, lining himself up as he pushes you flat against the blonde. “My turn.”

[dracowars]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a Draco fic where he and Y/N are cuddling together when Y/N receives an owl from her parents in which they give her bad news or scold her or something like that. Then she completely freaks out/shuts down and Draco calms her down and comforts her. I'm just really craving fluff and I love caring and protective Draco and would love to read something like this. If you don't wanna write it tho, that's a-okay. Thank you!

cursed | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x greengrass!reader

word count: 1,4k

summary: where draco comforts y/n after receiving bad news

a/n: omg, i'm so so sorry that this took so long!!! :(

warnings: angst, mentions of death

universe: harry potter

“AHH! Draco, stop it, please!”, you beg him in the middle of your fit of laughter, your body writhing under his while trying to avoid his tickling attacks. Because of all the laughter, your stomach already hurts, and your breathing turned irregular. Draco, on the other hand, does not seem as exhausted as you and therefore he does not even think about stopping any time soon and shows no mercy as he continues to tickle you.

“Make me”, he gives you a slick grin when he stops briefly to give you a break and to position himself on top of you, his legs on either side of your upper body.

Again, you try to stop him and try to get a hold of his hands until you finally manage to catch one of his arms in a firm grip. Breathing hard, you look in each other’s eyes and you immediately know that you have no chance against him. Draco is much stronger than you and will be able to get out of your grip quickly.

He would have been able to if it had not been for a white snowy owl flying in through the open window, landing on the small bedside table next to your head and looking at you with big eyes when neither Draco nor you move an inch. A rolled-up letter is attached to its foot and your heartbeat quickens all of a sudden when you realize that this white owl belongs to your family, the pureblood family Greengrass.

And whenever you get a letter from home, it always means trouble.

Quietly clearing your throat after a few seconds have passed, Draco finally crawls off you so you can sit up and remove the parchment from the owl’s claw, but not without exchanging worried looks with Draco beforehand. Happy to have been relieved of its heavy load, the snowy owl rises back into the air before disappearing out the window into the bright sunshine.

You sit on the edge of Draco’s bed with the long letter in your hands, already shaking in fear from the uncertainty of what you may read in it. Draco knows this and also about your bad relationship with your parents, which is why he sits down next to you instantly and gently strokes up and down your back with his hand. The atmosphere in the room suddenly changes as tension fills the air, the joy from only a few seconds ago gone with the owl that delivered the letter.

“I am sure they just want to congratulate you on passing your OWL’s”, Draco tries to calm you down and lowers his head to be able to look into your face, which is now only covered by a blank expression. Putting his index finger under your chin, he lifts your head up and leads you to him, looking straight into your eyes, his own gray ones still radiating concern.

“You know my parents”, you sigh out loud and slowly remove your face from his grasp, focusing your gaze back on the letter that is still closed. You slightly run your thumb over the green wax seal, which shows the crest of your family. For a brief moment, you close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for what is to come – at least you try – and finally open the envelope.

While your eyes fly over the lines and paragraphs, Draco keeps his distance, but also keeps an eye on you the whole time, trying to already get a clue about what your parents could have wrote through your expression. It would be nothing new if they would scold you again or complain about your insufficient performance in Hogwarts. Draco has seen all of this before, and he is used to this because he too is struggling with his parents’ high expectations.

Stunned, you lower the letter after you finished reading it, your hands now trembling even more and your eyes full of tears- Your face looks pale and all emotion in your face vanished all of a sudden. You go through the words one by one in your head, repeat them over and over again in order to be able to understand them.

While doing this, however, a tear has already found its way down your cheek, giving Draco the sign that he has given you enough time alone and that you now need him. He quickly moves closer to you again, still remaining careful to still give you the necessary distance you may need.

“Babe? What did they write?”, Draco asks carefully as he brushes a strand of hair from your face and behind your ear. You still do not move at his gentle touch, your gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Whatever they wrote, I am certain that they did not mean it”, Draco continues, only looking into your now sad face. “You are such a wonderful person and your parents-“

“My mother is going to die”, you interrupt him and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you can hardly believe them yourself. Even after everything you read in the letter, even now you still do not understand these words. A sudden silence arises until you blink your tears away and turn to Draco, who still looks at you with shock written all over his face.

“I-I am- I am so sorry”, Draco stutters, just as surprised by your statement as you are. However, not letting another second pass, he pulls you into a tight, loving and overall protective hug. A hug that has always given you more comfort than anyone else could.

Draco gently strokes your hair and lets you cry into his shoulder until you have calmed down a bit. Keeping you at arm’s length in front of him, he looks at you worried, still with big question marks over his head.

“Our- Our family has been cursed for generations already”, you utter while sobbing, wiping away a few of your tears while Draco listens attentively, his hand firmly clasped around yours. “W-With a blood curse.”

After saying this, Draco seems to have no words and you can see that he immediately wonders if you, like your mother, are also affected by this curse.

“I-I do not know if I will have it. I also can’t say whether if affects Daphne or Astoria. In some generations it has never appeared before and was passed onto the next generation nevertheless”, you explain as best you can since your parents never told you and your sisters much about it, after all until recently they assumed that their generation and the one from you and your sisters has been spared. “There is n-no cure. The curse weakens the body to such an extent that it is very likely to result in.. death.”

“Babe, I do not know what to say-“

“You do not have to say anything, Draco. I lied to you. We lied to everyone here. Nobody knows that our family had this deadly curse, otherwise we would- Otherwise the pureblood families would no longer accept us as one of them”, you sniff and try to force a smile onto your face while looking into Draco’s compassionate eyes. “I would like to say that I do not mind that my mother do has the curse after all, but-“

“But she is still your mother, Y/N. No matter how she treated you. You do not have to justify yourself for feeling this way”, Draco assures you and pulls you into his strong arms again, immediately making you feel much safer and more secure. Because of the sudden closeness, all dams break within you and this time you let all of your tears run free. Draco hold your trembling body in his arms and tries to give you the support you need right now. It pains him to see you like this and he can understand how torn you must feel in this situation. Your mother was always the one in particular who pushed you, even forced you, to have good grades in school, and now that you both know what fate she has, it still feels wrong to say that she deserves it.

At this moment, however, you are just glad that you are not alone, that you do not have to carry this burden alone. That you were finally able to tell Draco about your family’s biggest secret. You know that he and your sisters will always be by your side, no matter what the future holds for you.

“Everything will be alright.”

[reddie-is-my-life]

Hi

I’m not sure if any of the people that follow me are even active anymore but its been a couple of years since i posted on this account. I’ve written a couple things throughout the time that I actually posted on this account which is what this post is about. I was scrolling through my wips and turns out I have a not completed fic that could really be considered a drabble. Anyways, I wanted to post it just to say i did. You don’t have to read it. Or you can. Its up to you. I wrote this in 2018 so if you do decide to read it don’t be harsh. Thank you.

The thrum of the music under his feet guides him further into the pack of bodies grinding against each other. The smell of sweat, weed and alcohol curls around him making his nose scrunch up from distaste, the further he walks into the house. Someone in the crowd bumps into him slamming their shoulder into him, making him stumble slightly before someone reaches out to steady him. He decides to not acknowledge the hand considering the owner of said hand is the one to blame for his presence at the party. The same hand leads him into the open kitchen where all the liquor is lined up on the counter.   

“Come on Eddie, I know you don’t wanna be here but at least don’t look like a 5 year-old that got their favorite toy taken away from them,” Bill pouts already reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

“Oh, I’m sorry for being so petulant. I should’ve realized that it was hurting your feelings Billy. I also didn’t realize that your favorite toy was a party filled with people that don’t care who sees them wasted and filled with idiocy ,” Eddie snaps back. 

Bill only raises his shot of whiskey in the direction of the other boy before tipping it back. Swallowing he takes a moment before he responds, “You seem snarkier than usual, something up?”  this time he takes a step closer as if it’ll block the dark room, loud music, and the dozens of people surrounding them. 

Even if Eddie wanted to talk about it, he sure as hell would never hold a heart to heart conversation with Bill in front of so many people. Instead he shakes his head and reaches for the cooler filled to the brim with beers. Expertly popping the cap off with his car keys he turns to Bill again finally meeting his expectant eyes, “It’s nothing, I just have a small headache is all,” it wasn’t a complete lie, he did feel the beginning fingers of a migraine graze his head. Ignoring it he decides to change the subject before the other man decided to pry more, “So what’s the deal with this guy? He’s got a pretty nice house to be someone of the middle working class.”

It was true after all, no one with decent money income could afford a sleek looking chandelier hanging in the middle of what looked to be the living room. The couches seemingly pushed next to the walls giving more space for people to grind against each other. The couches were filled with people either shotgunning or just full on making out. The sound system though, playing songs that made him skeptical about the type of music the host listened to, seemed mighty expensive even from his vantage point in the kitchen. The place itself was big, the open kitchen looking out into the living room and what seemed to be a room with a pool table, leading into a hallway Eddie was sure was a couple bedrooms. He wondered if the rest of the place would look just as expensive as the part that was filled with people. Maybe he would sneak away and explore the rest of the house if Bill got caught up with someone else. 

Bill nods his head in agreement, “Yeah, it is a pretty damn good house. The guy that invited me here, Ben,” he takes a second as if remembering the man. And if he’d be damned he thinks Bill is blushing lightly ,”he’s, uh, best friends with the host. Said he was a radio host or something and he had his own show even. He also said he would be here but I haven’t seen him yet,” he looks around the room but it’s no use due to how smokey and dark the whole house is. 

Looking at his friend more closely he realizes that he is indeed blushing like some schoolgirl with her crush instead of a 25 year old man. He wonders when Bill met this so-called Ben and when he had formed his crush. But more importantly he wonders why in the world Bill never even mentioned him to him. Eddie was surely privy to this information, he was his best friend after all. Perhaps Bill finds you annoying now. Maybe Bill doesn’t even want to be friends with you but is too nice to tell you directly so he brought you to the party you didn’t want to go to so you would leave him. Perhaps Bill finally sees you for who you really are. You dirty-, “Hey Bill, do you happen to have a crush on this Ben fellow?” 

“Uh, w-w-why wouldd you say that Ed-d-die?” Bill's stutter comes out clearly, making him flustered and proving his hidden secret. Instead of coming clean he reaches for his third shot. Swallowing it cleanly only slightly wincing he takes a look around the dark room again as if someone will appear and save him any second from the questions Eddie is surely going to press him with. 

Eddie moves to the side when someone comes up behind to get something to drink but pulls Bill right along with him. Deciding to at least ask, without intention of harm he opens his mouth, “Come on, Bill. You don’t need to lie. I am your best friend for a reason. You can tell me these types of things,” he laughs ruefully at that, “actually technically you can tell me anything, that’s what comes with being best friends. A small dumb crush definitely falls in that category.”

Bill winces at that and a sad glint fills his eyes along with disappointment but before he can answer him someone calls his name out. He turns along with Eddie to meet a guy smiling and walking towards them, “What’s up, Big Bill? What are you doing huddling next to the drinks? Don’t you know this is a party?” Eddie watches the man come closer and notices how Bill lit up with excitement as soon as he recognizes him. So this must be Ben. He would let out an appreciative whistle if the man weren’t so close and Bill wasn’t so infatuated with him. The man - Ben - was handsome as hell. His light colored hair was styled to look as if he hadn’t done anything with it but it wasn’t a lazy look, it looked rather sophisticated. The beard that adorned his face looked sharp and regal, complimented even by the small scar that lay on the corner of his top lip. God damn, a scar has never looked so right. His build was leaning towards gruffer and broader. His arms seemed to bulge even from Eddie’s vantage point. It was all on top of legs fit into jeans that seemed to only highlight the fact that his arms weren’t the only thing taken care of. Though the man would look intimidating with a face and a body like that but his eyes were kind and his tone was playful. 

He takes a second to catch on to the nickname and is soon distracted by that rather than the man standing across from him, “Big Bill?” he whispers quietly turning to face Bill.

Before he can say anything about the nickname he receives a hearty laugh from Ben. Facing him again he waits for his answer, “Ah, you haven’t met Richie yet then. He gives everyone a nickname. Or at least everyone he likes. I’m Ben or Haystack,” He says extending a hand to shake. 

Though Eddie finds it strange to shake hands as if in a business setting instead of a raging party he shakes his hand, “Eddie or Eddie.”

Though it wasn’t a joke, Ben still lets out a smile at his response. His brown eyes twinkle before turning to Bill. He goes to touch him before seeming to think better of it and turns to Eddie again, “You wouldn’t mind if I took Bill from you would you? At least for just a little bit.”

Raising his eyebrows he shakes his head, “No, no, not at all. You guys should go dance.”

Bill clears his throat before responding, though Eddie sees right through it. Almost as an afterthought it comes to him that Bill usually clears his throat when he plans on what to say without having to worry about his stuttering. Guess Ben makes him nervous, “You sure Eddie? I can stay if you want,” but from the way he was looking at the other man he doubted that it was something he wanted to do.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll go find something to do. Maybe even find the host to tell him how shit his beer is,” he cracks a smile at that, urging his friend to leave him in the kitchen and dance with the handsome devil that clearly seemed interested in him too.

“Alright, just give me a second,” he tips his head back taking the shot in his hand before turning and taking another one. He shakes his shoulder at it and turns to face the other two, “Alright, let’s go dance.”

Eddie almost expects a high pitched giggle from his friend for a second by the way he grins so widely. He makes no reaction outwards but inwardly he’s utterly confused. Bill wouldn’t be acting this way if it was just a small crush. He wonders when Bill met Ben once again before he notices that his friend has turned his head looking at him briefly making Eddie smile and pumping a fist in the air before he turns around once again saying something in Ben's ear that makes the bigger man face him smiling widely. He lets out a quiet sigh, confused as to when Ben had made an appearance in Bill's life enough that he would look like - funnily enough - he was given his favorite toy. 

Before he figures out what he wants to do while he waits for Bill to come back - if he even comes back - his eye catches on someone walking up to the counter looking more than enough wasted that he feared that the second they got their hands on another drink they would puke all over Eddie’s shoes. Deciding not to even chance the thought of it or at best try to hold a conversation with them he walks towards the pool table. Sidling up to a corner of the pool table he takes into account the people surrounding it. Most seem pretty similar to each other making commentary on the play going on in front of them. Yet, he focuses on one of the players, while most people around the table - hell even the other player - are more drunk than not, he seems perfectly sober. 

His moves are crisper than the other guy who is moving around slowly. He watches as the small bun on the man's head bounces around a little as he jumps up and down from seeming excited on his clear victory. His actions lead to a couple curls coming out and framing his face. Eddie looks at him closer and notices that the man has a shocking color of blue eyes that pair nicely with his sharp cheekbones and jaw. Strangely he remembers Ben and thinks how complete opposites these two are. While this stranger is just as attractive as Ben he falls on the opposite spectrum. Pool table guy has such a pale color of skin he kinda looks like a ghost in the soft lighting hanging above the table. The light casts shadows on his face making him seem sharp and cold, while his electric blue eyes set off a vibe of mysteriousness making him that much more intriguing to Eddie. 

As he finishes off his beer he watches as the handsome stranger takes the final shot landing him the victory that was obvious as soon as Eddie walked over to the table. He watches in something close to amusement as he celebrates around the table before bringing the other player closer and clapping him on the back. The only response he gets from the drunk player is a couple grunts in disdain with the occasional mutter that the game was unfair and he demanded a rematch. Handsome stranger only chuckled in response before letting him go. And suddenly driven by who knows what force Eddie spoke up, “I’ll do the rematch for him, considering it wasn’t a fair match between a drunk man and a sober one.”

Both men turn to look at him but he focuses on the blue eyes of the handsome man. They seem to stare at each other for eternity before the other man breaks the silence by breaking into a smirk, “It wasn’t my idea to play the match. It might actually be an unfair match to me considering I had to drag it out way more due to consideration of this poor drunk man, isn’t that right, Zach?”

The drunk fool- Zach, didn’t let out a reply instead opting to slump further into the chair he had let himself fall into. It seemed to Eddie that he was getting ready to fall asleep in the chair. The host surely must care about the random people falling asleep in his property. He turned his attention back to the other man before cocking an eyebrow. With a small jerk he silently questioned if he would take him up on his offer. Said stranger only seems to smirk even more before heading to one side of the table.

As Eddie grabs his pool stick the stranger talks to him again, “So, cutie what’s the name to the face?”

“Don’t call me that and it's Eddie. And you would be?”

“Richie Tozier at your service. Seriously though, anything you want,” he finishes with a wink. A fucking wink, how cheesy could this guy get? God could only do so much for someone Eddie supposed, good looks, bad personality. 

Eddie scoffed instead of deeming him a response. Setting the balls into place he felt as Richie watched him. Looking up at him he met his gaze allowing only the smallest bit of discomfort set into him before he spoke again, “So, do you not drink?”

If Eddie hadn’t been watching his reaction closely he wouldn’t have noticed how Richie’s smirk faltered for a second before righting itself quickly. Only faint curiosity crossed his mind soon fading away because even though he was intrigued in Richie he didn’t want to actually get involved in anything with him where he would care about him in any way. Richie seemed to ponder the question for a second before answering, “I do drink, just didn’t feel like drinking yet, plus weed is sufficient enough to last until I decide I want a drink,” he shrugs.

Only raising his eyebrows slightly he gestures for Richie to begin the game. He watches as the other walks around the table before setting the white ball down. Just as he’s about to lean down to perfect his shot he looks at Eddie, “What about you Ed’s? I saw you put the beer bottle away but I doubt that you’re drunk.”

He observes as Richie lines up his shot before deciding to respond, “Again, my name is Eddie, if you already forgot. E-d-d-i-e. And secondly, I don’t really enjoy the idea of me passing out on an uncomfortable wooden chair next to a pool table surrounded by people I don’t know,” he pointedly looked at Zach quickly passed out on the chair already.

“Mmm, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we.”

Lining up his shot, Eddie hums low in his throat right before the balls fall into the pocket. The game continues as the silence covers them like a fog. The small clinking of balls against each other along with the loud music playing from the living room do nothing to hide the hot gaze of both men as they move around each other. Brief touches of hands, shoulders and hips go throughout the game with the occasional smirk thrown at each other. Eddie though usually not one to find interest in a random stranger that quickly can’t help but feel curious toward the curly haired man. As the game comes to a close, Eddie sinks the final shot winning but only allowing himself a small humpf of victory before looking at Richie. 

Even though they’ve basically been eye fucking each other the whole entire game Richie places his hand on the small of Eddie’s back steering him towards the drinks, “I think i need a drink,” Richie offers offhandedly. 

Eddie silently watches as Richie makes up a concoction of tequila with orange juice stirring it slightly before tipping it back. Slightly covered in sweat Richie’s neck shines faintly under the faint light filtering from the small light on top of the stovetop. Watching as his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, Eddie also swallows along with him suddenly hit with a dry throat. He reaches for the whiskey Bill had been drinking earlier before pouring up a shot. Taking it straight, he tries to clear his thoughts so he won’t end up in bed with the man that’s staring at him currently. That’s not how it works dumbass, you should definitely not be drinking alcohol. 

He swallows.

“Holy shit, Ed’s didn’t know you had it in you. I would’ve thought you would go for another weak beer,” Richie smirks.

“Shut up prick, you don’t know shit about me.”

“Maybe so, but by tonight I’m hoping I’ll know a couple more things about you,” and once again he winks but instead of making Eddie's eyes roll it makes his stomach turn in excitement. 

“Sure pal, whatever you say,” he deflects.

Richie only laughs in reply before pouring up four more shots and gestures to two of them looking at Eddie pointedly. Eddie lets out a scoff before stepping closer and taking one into his hand. He makes eye contact as he tips it back and if the eyes aren’t deceiving him Richie’s eyes darken a shade. He smirks before bringing the shot glass back to the countertop, “So?”

Richie lets out a dark chuckle before taking both shots one after another. The only reaction of the burn is a slight twitch in the corner of his eye before he stares at Eddie in amusement. Eddie takes the remaining shot before heading over to the group of bodies grinding against each other. He briefly glances behind his shoulder making sure the other man still has his attention directed towards him.

And that’s it. Thanks.

[yelenasdog]

my girlfriend is a witch (spencer reid x witchy! fem reader)

INSPIRED BY THE SONG “My Girlfriend Is a Witch” BY October Country

genre: fluff w like maybe two seconds of angst

summary: he could feel she was hiding something, but she didn’t mean for him to find out like this.

words: 2.6k 

warnings: i cannot think of any for the life of me other than crying. also, disclaimer at the end of fic.

a/n: pls listen to “my girlfriend is a witch” by october country and “john barleycorn (must die)” by traffic, while u read. i’ve been meaning to get this fic out for ages, so i hope this is good! enjoy lovies!

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

It was hot, humid, and sticky under the Malibu sun.

Rubber soles from both boots and sandals alike, most likely the cheap ones you can buy at any tourist-targeted shops surrounding the vacationer heavy area, stuck to the asphalt streets, leaving a sticky tar in its wake.

SSA Y/n Y/l/n was not a fan, to put it lightly.

Her arm hung limp against her forehead as she leaned back against the black leather seats of the car she resided in, the material burning her bare arms. Literally.

And even if she were to be exaggerating, she still strongly felt that welts would be left where she had placed her limb for far too long.

She long ago had abandoned her blazer in the backseat of her vehicle due to the excruciating heat, the cotton material feeling heavy on her arms, so she turned up the AC with one hand, while slicking back the baby hairs that had managed to fall onto her forehead with the other. It was graced with beads of sickly sweat, not unlike the rest of her body.

Some repetitive song played on the stereo that she couldn’t quite figure out how to operate in the outdated FBI issued vehicle she was using, adding to her annoyance of what seemed to be to no end. 

The unfortunate ride was the result of her normal vehicle being in the shop, and rather than pay for a rental, she took whatever was left in the garage, however horrible it may be.

After sitting in hours of tiresome traffic, enduring the aforementioned reptititive song, and the entire John Barleycorn Must Die album later, (hey, it was in the glovebox, and it beat whatever had been on the radio) she finally had arrived at her destination.

She stepped out of the car, huffing at the sight in front of her. She took her black RayBans off, sliding them into her pocket of her slacks before slamming the silver door. Y/n then winced at the cracking sound that rang out. She walked forward, not wanting to look at the damage she had caused.

“That’s coming out of my paycheck.” She muttered, chewing on her chapped bottom lip, feeling the sting shoot through her nerves.

The door to the PD office she had been approaching swung open by a very frustrated officer. He breezed past her and she leaned back, placing a hand onto the warm concrete of the establishment behind her. She barely was missed by him in all his rage.

Y/l/n squinted her eyes, the rays of light clouding her vision. She began to regret taking her glasses off earlier, but disregarded the thought and continued into brick building.

The first person that she saw when she entered was the local sheriff. He was medium build, bald, and there was a bright grin that covered his face, far too bright for the current atmosphere, in her humble opinion.

“Ah, Agent, It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She reached forward offering a self-manicured hand, still slightly sweaty from the car ride.

“Pleasure’s all mine. So,” she began, walking over to where the rest of the team was examining what seemed to be a yellowed piece of parchment.

“What are we looking at?” She questioned, doing her best to get a look at whatever it was at the center of attention.

Almost like clockwork, or perhaps like a dog who was able to sense their favorite person arriving home, Spencer appeared from the back of the precinct, coffees in hand. 

He passed the one is his right hand to his girlfriend, leaning forward for a kiss on the cheek that Y/n had almost ignored. She rolled her eyes at the needy man, muttering “thank you, Spencer” In a sarcastic tone, placing a quick peck on his cheek. He pouted, and she rolled her eyes once more.

As she walked forward and took a sip of the hot drink, the rest of the BAU parted, allowing her to observe the sheet. After looking at it for a few moments, she spoke up, her words overlapping with Hotch’s.

“We have no idea what it is, Penelope did a search and couldn’t find anything of use, it doesn’t translate to anything-“

“These are runes and glyphs. Horribly written, not by someone who’s an expert in the craft. The corner of the page looks like there’s-“ she paused, leaning forward. Her eyes slimmed, scanning over the page, the necklace around her neck dangled, catching Spencer’s eye.

“Yeah, this looks like a sigil. If you give me some time I could try to work out what it was for.”

She looked up, meeting the confused glancing of everyone, including her boyfriend. Prentiss was the next to speak, albeit very cautiously.

“Alright, well, do you have any ideas about what the other symbols mean?”

“Off of the top of my head?” She turned towards the paper once more, “To reiterate, this person mixed multiple different kinds of glyphs, so it might be difficult to collectively translate them, but so far I’m getting life, death-“

“Very original of them.” Morgan joked, resulting in a smile and the signature eye roll of Y/n.

“Power, fear, balance. That’s the first line.”

“Reid, are you writing that down?” Aaron questioned. Spencer nodded, not even looking up from his clipboard where he was writing the info. “Y/n, continue.”

She bobbed her head once, bringing her attention back to the 2nd line. She was silent for a bit, at one point grabbing around for a sticky note and pen. When she didn’t find what she was looking for, she was carefully handed one by a reluctant Spence. 

Everyone watched in amazement, amusement, and a little bit of confusion, as she wrote on the paper, scribbling what looked like nonsense next to some dates. After what seemed like hours (but was really just minutes) she pulled away, looking towards her significant other.

“When were all the victims killed?”

“September 29th, November 6th, November 9th, and that’s it.”

“And how did each of the victims thus far die?”

Hotch cut in, his arms crossed and his glance careful. “How are you certain there will be more killings?”

She ignored him, turning to Reid.

“Reid, how did they die?”

“First victim, stab wound, 2nd victim drowned, 3rd victim-“

“Burned alive?”

As this was the first time she had been made aware of the case (she had been attending to other business back in Quantico and had to fly commercial with no wifi, meaning no access to Penny to catch her up), her knowledge bewildered them greatly.

Seeing their concern spread on their faces, she picked up the photocopy, bringing it to where they were huddled. She stood in the center, pinky pointing and following along with what she was speaking of.

“This symbol here,” she pointed, making sure she held everyone’s attention”, is a rune for “New Moon”.  She then went on to describe how each of the days correspond with the Moon phases, as well as the matching rune and glyphs left on the page.

“I still don’t understand how that explains more killings?” Spencer spoke, his usual high IQ seemingly not working, a problem he had whenever he was around his beloved.

She walked over to him and smiled, shaking her head. She then explained the rest of the runes in detail, how they each had a meaning that applied to the way they were killed, and how there was still one more moon phase left and one more element as well.

The pair was separated once more as Spencer nodded in understanding, his mouth left agape. She admired him for a brief moment, the way his eyes were like large stones of sparkling tiger eye, his lips the color of a rose. 

Interrupting her, Hotch pulled her into a meeting room where Morgan was already waiting. Spencer stared, following her movements.

“Spence? Let’s go work on the geographical profile?” Emily asked, already on her way. He nodded, slanting his eyes briefly through the blinds of the glass. He blinked a few times, feeling like grains of sand had sunk to his waterline. He shook his head like a wet dog, ridding blooming thoughts from his mind, then continuing on from where he stood, doing his best to turn his focus elsewhere completely.

Meanwhile, Hotch was questioning her, Y/n’s knowledge about how the runes and glyphs themselves were written coming in handy for what that meant about the unsub, as well as building a profile. She was surprisingly educated on the subject, which the unit chief had decided to ignore all together, staying focused on the case. 

By the end of the work day, the profile was ready to be delivered, she had figured out the presumably intended use of the sigil, and the geographic profile was nearly finished. 

Satisfied with the day's work, she happily bid her goodbyes and exited the horribly boring meeting room, finding Spencer waiting by the door, coffee still in hand. He looked around the area, his eyes wandering over the portraits that hung on the walls of former officers.

“Spence, you ready?” She quipped, taking the coffee out of his hand and taking a sip. Spencer huffed, taking it back from her and throwing it away, no longer craving the warm beverage once it had touched her lips.

Spencer nodded, wrapping a hand around her waist and starting the long walk to the SUV from the building. They were quiet for most of the miniature journey, listening to the chirps of the cicadas, and the hot summer wind blowing in the branches of the palm trees. Y/n hummed quietly, finding herself in a peaceful state as she walked along with Spencer.

Spencer, on the other hand, was quite the opposite. His mind was running, trying to process the day’s happenings. 

As maybe it was the obsidian that hung around her neck on a sterling silver chain, or perhaps the selenite she kept on her desk and the amethyst she made Penny keep in her batcave, claiming they were “just very pretty!”

It could have been the way she was seemingly always busy on full moons, or even the peculiar deck of “playing cards” that she keeps in her 2nd drawer of her desk, pushed far to the left.

Not to mention the jars of seemingly normal water that he wasn’t allowed to drink from or empty, and the odd combinations of what seemed to be shapes and letters that she had stitched on the inside of Spencer’s satchel (it took quite the convincing, but to her it was seemingly important, so he allowed it reluctantly).

Possibly most convincing of all was the events of the day, her enlightenment on the subjects at hand leaving an uneasiness in the genius’ stomach.

Spencer wasn’t sure how he couldn’t have figured it out sooner.

His girlfriend was a witch.

The realization made him stop suddenly in his tracks, causing her to briefly trip over her own feet. She gave him a conflicted look, concern also present within the glance.

“Spencer? What’s wrong, are you alright?”

He opened his mouth and then shut it again, whatever he had to say not completely ready to be put out in the world. He simply made a line with his lips before continuing on, leaving her where she stood. She cocked her head, confused noises leaving her throat. 

She jogged to catch up with the man, his long legs making him walk awfully fast. Usually, Spencer would slow down so she could walk beside him in harmony, occasionally holding hands. But as of now, she was struggling to stay in pace with him, and she was beginning to feel fairly annoyed.

“Spencer Walter Reid! What is going on!?”

He looked behind his shoulder, only slowing his pace rather than coming to a complete stop. She managed to fall back into step with him, her gaze never leaving his form.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She bit her tongue, then ran it over her front teeth unaware of what he was referring to. “Tell you what, Reid?”

He shook his head, once more allowing his lips to turn into a straight line, slightly puffing up at his cupid's bow. “You know, about being a witch, or whatever.” He was much quieter when saying the second part of the sentence, his voice quite low.

The statement had shocked Y/n to some degree, but she kept walking, still trying to stay in step with the doctor. She wasn’t quite sure how to go about this, if she should lie and tell him he was being silly, if she should come clean about her “hobbies”. She simply didn’t know.

She decided to just not speak until much later. 

It was after the car ride with the rest of the team (which was quite awkward, considering they could tell something was off between the two lovers), and after they both had eaten and showered before getting ready for bed. Y/n was sitting on one twin sized bed, while Spencer was sitting on the other, reading something from his laptop, which was very unlike him.

Y/n on the other hand couldn’t keep her mind off of the question he had asked earlier. I mean, she had an answer, that much was true. But if she wanted to give it to him, she could not bear to decide. She was staring at the cheesy hotel art on the beige wall, heat still radiating in from the open window that was cracked in the first place to combat the lack of AC.

Her gaze never faltered from the painting of the vase of flowers, the colors seemingly muted. She began to speak, slowly, cautiously.

“I didn’t tell you, because I honestly didn’t think you would care. I mean, maybe you would, but I thought that your whole science thing would make you think I was nuts…” She shook her head, looking to the ceiling. She could feel her boyfriend burning holes into the side of her head, staring.

“Although there’s plenty of science to back it up, and even if there wasn’t, science accepts or rejects ideas based on the evidence; it doesn’t-”

“-Prove or disprove them.”

She looked over and met Spencer’s sad hazel eyes, suddenly feeling very, very guilty.

His voice was quiet as a mouse, he was unable to keep eye contact for long, feeling the need to turn away.

“Metaphysics is an interesting form of philosophy that i’ve done a fair amount of research on, and the CIA has done extensive research on astral projection among other things widely considered to be nonsense phenomena, discarded by most otherwise.”

Her heart sunk and sang all at once, an inexplicable emotion rising like the tide, all the way up to her eyes, a tear slipping out and rolling down her cheek.

“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me. I would have listened, Y/n. I still will, if you care to tell me about it.” 

She looked up from the beige comforters of the motel room bed, feeling an almost magnetic pull tugging her towards Spencer. So she stood and he opened his arms, allowing her to find comfort in his embrace.

“I’m sorry Spence.”

“It’s alright, I just want you to know how much you mean to me, Y/n/n. I will respect and handle anything and everything you throw my way, okay? Nothing could change how much I love you.”

She nodded, a muffled “okay” leaving her lips. He chuckled, pulling her closer. They stayed in that position for some time, savouring each other’s warmth. After she collected herself, feeling rejuvenated, she pulled away, a bright grin creeping its way onto her features.

“So,” she smirked, Spencer raised an unruly brow. 

“Where do you wanna start?”

🂦∙🂦∙🂦

kinda hate it ngl. but i hope someone out there enjoyed it. for sure not my best writing and it’s a bit confusing but whatever.

DISCLAIMER: my mother and i both regularly participate in metaphysical practices, such as tarot, oracle, the usage of incense and crystals, sigils, spirit guide communication, etc. as well as several practices drawn from hinduism but regularly (and wrongly) culturally appropriated by the west, (chakras, manifestation) while also identifying with and following the methodist faith. i understand and appreciate the origins of it within hinduism, and this is in no way meant to offend anyone whatsoever and is simply for entertainment purposes. no closed practices should be participated in unless invited or born into said practice, and none have been, nor will be. (:

(also ty to roo for educating me on hinduism and how it’s been morphed and appropriated by the west, mwah ur the best)

 love u, xx hj

[alkhale]

Shoot the Ball Pt.2 (Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader) Ko-fi request

Hi. Could I get a ushiwaka trying to hopelessly flirt with a clueless OC? I requested Shoot the Ball and I am in love with what you did (and basically everything else you wrote and will write) thanks!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Aaaaa I love your writing!! Would it be possible to get a part two of the Shoot the Ball (Ushijima x Reader) fic?? That story is so fucking adorable and Id love to see more of Ushijima and the readers relationship (maybe throw in a confession or something in there)?

It’s here on AO3 if that makes for easier reading too! More to come!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24551512/chapters/59287438

Shoot the Ball Pt. 2

“Um, senpai, are you alright?”

You laughed, almost a bit haughtily. “Alright? Of course I’m alright, what are you talking about?”

You hardly looked up from your kneeling position on the wooden boards of the humble kyudo hall, bow laid across your lap as you worked on tightening the new string. It wasn’t the best time to readjust to a new one, given your still aching wrist, but you couldn’t have your old one breaking on you with the first round of tournaments coming up.

The hall itself was in impeccable condition, thanks to the hard efforts of yourself and your team. The lot of you spend hours toiling to make sure the grass is cut, the range is kept clean, and the hall itself shines in case you receive curious faculty visits or sponsors otherwise. Shiratorizawa Academy may be a wealthy one, but not all the wealth was concentrated kindly to each part of the school. It was up to you, the captain, and your members to keep the hall shining as though it were just as good—especially because it was —so new visitors would only continue to be impressed.

But instead of shooting rounds like your younger members should be doing, a small huddle of the closer second and first years were shooting you worried glances. You were the only third year still spear-heading the entire campaign since the rest had left for studies or quit beforehand. Your vice-captain was a second year and close confidant and currently running around campus like a fool because you sent her on an errand so you could get more practice in before she chased you out.

“(L/n)-san you’re good at kyudo, so of course you’d stay. We just did it for fun.”

You can be good at it and have fun. You thought tirelessly, remembering watching the third years leave the hall, standing alone in the waning sunlight across wooden floorboards. You’re just giving up.

It wasn’t as though you were born gifted. They can joke you were born with a bow in your hand, but it was pure luck that your mother turned the television on to that channel that day, showcasing the national kyudo archery performance at the Imperial Palace in Tokyo. It was luck that you fell in love with that sound and the way the bow bent and the arrow flew.

And it was hard work to follow through with the luck that brought you here.

They all told you you only had one thing on the brain—kyudo, and they also said it’d probably be the end of you. Even your parents had been dropping light hints as of late that perhaps you should finally peel off the sport and bunker down for your studies. “What about college? Kyudo might not get you there, you know.”

“Are you going to do it forever?”

What else were you going to do? Die? Of course you were going to do kyudo forever. If it didn’t get you into college then you just wouldn’t go.

There was nothing you loved more than this sight, this bow, this.

Nothing.

N-o-t-h-i-n-g.

Your juniors shot each other more nervous looks. One brave young first year who you secretly planned to have join the five-team shoot finally took a step forward, hesitantly pointing to your lap.

“Senpai,” she said nervously, “...your string is…”

“Impeccable,” you said simply, holding up your bow like a sword, a sharp glint in your eye. “Now get back to the range. I’m shooting rounds right after you guys before—”

“You put it on… wrong…”

You calmly stared at your junior for several seconds, the other archers looking frightful behind her. You glanced down to your bow, staring at where your string was, sure enough, notched to absolutely nothing instead of the other end.

You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, cheeks flushing as you did the only reasonable thing and blamed the one person who had shoulders big enough to shoulder the brunt of all your problems.

Ushijima!

----- ----  -----

Shiratorizawa Nurse’s Office, One Week Ago

“You watch kyudo ?” you spluttered, scrambling off the floor and grabbing your stool in disbelief. Ushijima considered you with a cool sort of calm, staring almost blankly back at you.

He stared at your sprawled form on the ground and offered a hand. You slapped it away but it barely moved. The stupid tree of a teenager.

You watch my kyudo?

“Yes,” Ushijima said. You almost jumped, realizing what you’d thought. He set his hands back onto his lap, returning to his solid posture. “My grandmother was well-acquainted with a friend who performed for the national ceremonial procedures. We often have the kyudo channel on within my household.”

Each sentence leaving Ushijima’s lip with frightening ease was punching holes into your gut. His grandma was pals with someone who shot for the national ceremonies? He watches kyudo? He knew what a kaichu was and —

“It is a graceful sport,” Ushijima continued, meeting your gaze evenly. “I have long admired the poise. I watched your debut on the national stage when they broadcasted your first-year tournament. You performed admirably.”

Your brain short circuited, snapping like a bowstring. Ushijima, merciless, continued matter-of-factly, “They also had a small segment on your performance in the prefectural collegates. It is a shame there isn’t talk of scouting, but it does not seem kyudo works the same way our volleyball season does. My grandmother is familiar with your accomplishments and noticed we attend the same academy.”

Huh?

Huh?

HUH?

“I hope you perform well this season as well—”

“Wait one second!” you blurted, flying across the stool and slapping a hand over his mouth. “Wait one damn second!”

Ushijima seemed only mildly surprised that your hand was now plastered over his lips. He blinked once, calmly back at you and you pointed aggressively at him with your other hand, nearly towering over him except even when he was sitting, he seemed to match your height.

“....are you trying to mess with me?” you said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. Ushijima blinked once more, calm. “You’re—you’re just some star volleyball player! And you’re a high schooler! It doesn’t even make any sense! How do you know about all of that, huh? No one even watches that channel on their own unless they’re real—”

You stopped yourself. You blinked rapidly. Real… fans… no, no, no, there’s no way! Ushijima Wakatoshi could not be a kyudo buff—volleyball and kyudo were about on the farthest ends of the spectrum as you could get! It didn’t make any sense.

This strangely nonchalant, weird classmate of yours was supposed to be nothing more than some poster-boy with tried and true skills in volleyball who stole the spotlight from the other sports at Shiratorizawa Academy, who was nice enough to pick up your flyers and greet you in the morning and say hello in that low, rumbling way of his when you spotted him and he made eye contact with you—

I don’t get this guy! You felt a vein throb on the side of your head, tempting to fist the collar of his uniform and really show him what for—all due to your unjust frustration—if this hard-to-read volleyball jock was just messing around—but, well, Ushijima didn’t really seem like the type for that either.

You blinked stupidly at Ushijima when his hand calmly came up, holding your wrist and lowering your hand down so he could speak. “I watch.”

He seemed to think for a moment before continuing, as though answering a question asked by the teacher, “You’re on channel KNJ most Thursday nights. Some Sunday mornings. I often record the broadcasts when there seems to be something notable.”

You felt something stab through your entire being, ripping into your existence on this universe, turning the world around you upside on your head.

Mr. All-Youth-Japan tuned into broadcasts that featured your kyudo accomplishments and—

“I watch,” Ushijima repeated, never breaking contact with your gaze. His large fingers circled easily around your wrist, holding them loosely against the calloused heat of his palm. “As I said, I am a fan of your archery.”

Something incoherent left your lips. A croak of some sorts. Ushijima’s brows furrowed slightly. “Yes?”

“L-Let me get this straight,” you said shakily. “My… my archery… you watch it?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said.

“You… like it?”

“Quite,” Ushijima said.

The faint smell of salonpas tickled your nose. The light hint of sweat and fabric softener. Up close, you suddenly realized that Ushijima had more complex eyes than you thought, hinting a little bit of gold. Lighter than his hair. He smells different from what I’d expect too.

Wait, what the hell were you expecting in the first place?

Ushijima frowned briefly, eyes suddenly leaving your face and turning to your wrist. He considered where his fingers touched your skin, feverishly warm. His thumb lightly pressed the inside of your wrist and he turned his gaze back to you. “(L/n)-san, is your wrist swollen—”

“W-Well, it only makes sense, I guess!” you said loudly, yanking your hand entirely out of his grasp and tossing them both into the air. Ushijima looked up at you with furrowed brows as you laughed, nervous and sweating bullets with your fingers waggling. “ The Ushijima Wakatoshi? A fan of my archery? Hah! Haha… hah! Of course you’d be! Y-You have good taste! I’ll give you that, Ushijima-san! I’ll give you that! But that doesn’t mean anything else in the grand scheme of all this—y-you’re still nothing but a competitor for the sponsorships of this school!”

Ushijima apparead mildly confused, brows furrowed in a touch of a heavy set over his normally stern features. “Sponsorship?”

“That’s right!” you blurted, pointing right at his face. Your eyes were spinning, head twisting in circles. “All anyone cares about is your stupid volleyball!” Ushijima’s frown deepened. “Your team gets the spotlight even though we’ve got plenty of great achievements—you’re flattery won’t get you anywhere! My club is still going to come out on top and all anyone’s going to be talking about is kyudo and—and more kyudo!”

“Volleyball isn’t stupid,” Ushijima said calmly. “But I did not realize that others in our student body were not watching kyudo—”

“I’m going to go shoot right now!” you declared, almost delirious as you hurriedly grabbed your bag. Ushijima stood up from his stool, looking after you. “G-Gotta get those results—bye!”

Before Ushijima could say anything otherwise, you were sprinting out the door, nearly tripping over your feet and covering your face in your hands as you still tried to process the fact that Ushijima Wakatoshi was your first and probably only fan.

You probably fainted somewhere in the kyudo hall. This had to be a dream. A weird, warped dream caused by delirious induced hallucinations of Ushijima’s volleyball posters.

--- ---- ---- ----

Sadly, it hadn’t been a dream. The entire interaction a week ago had been very, very real, and it’d annoyingly been on your mind since. You tried furiously to dispel all thoughts of it with waves of your arrows and aggressive scrubbing of the floors, but to no avail.

“I watch.”

Ushijima of all people? You couldn’t wrap your head around it. Him? Kyudo? That muscle head?

But… if he knew so much about it and even recorded broadcasts… then he really did have great taste. Kyudo was an amazing sport. Anyone willing to give it the attention it deserved was worth a good tick or two in your book. Not only that, but he complimented your archery—

No, no, forget it! You furiously shoved your things into your bag, wrapping up your bow and unstringing it as you slung everything over your shoulder. Several bags hung off your back and shoulders as well, stuffed with targets you needed to take home and repaint for tomorrow’s practice. You were the last one in the kyudo hall, sending all your juniors home to rest. Who cares if he watches your archery? Just a month ago he was some stranger on a poster!

You nodded to yourself, satisfied with your roundabout answers. Yeah, stop worrying about him. What are the odds we’ll run into each other again, anyway? Only on posters. You and Ushijima Wakatoshi were still a decent world apart, even with the recent amount of run-ins. Who was to say they wouldn’t stop tomorrow?

You nodded again, kicking the door open with your foot and struggling to pull all your bags out along with your bow, strapped neatly to your back. You huffed, shaking free like a wet dog and hobbling down the corner of the hall to begin the long trek back to the dorms. Just focus on kyudo, (Y/n). Kyudo’s all that matters anyway, not volleyball players the size of oak trees and —

“Good evening, (L/n)-san.”

AND WHY THE HELL IS HE HERE TOO?

You gaped in disbelief, pale as a sheet with your arms bulging over the top of your bags, looking like a pack mule in the middle of the road.

Ushijima Wakatoshi calmly gazed back at you, expression neutral. His volleyball bag, neatly printed with the school’s logo was slung over his shoulder. He wore the deep purple track jacket over a black t-shirt and volleyball shorts—a young athlete clearly fresh out of practice.

And now here he was, standing in front of the kyudo hall, looking at you.

Ushijima raised one big hand in greeting, staring at you. The evening glow cast a nice little warm light around his broad shoulders and hair, turning it soft.

HAH?

You almost dropped your bags in shock, blinking rapidly. You rubbed one of your eyes, blinking again and squinting in disbelief at Ushijima right in front of you. He brought his hand back down, calmly facing you.

“Um,” you said intelligently. “...take this however you want, but… what are you doing here?”

Ushijima’s eyes swept once over the amount of bags bulging out from under your arms, taking particular interest in examining the tall, towering form of your unstrung bow rising high above your head. He turned his eyes calmly back to you.

“I was waiting for you.”

Oh, right. You thought. That makes perfect sense. For some reason, Ushijima Wakatoshi is waiting for me outside the kyudo hall.

HAAAH?

“Is there… a reason why?” you asked tentatively, keeping your eyes on him as you shifted side to side like an uncertain crab.

Ushijima answered, without missing a beat, “I wanted to talk with you.”

You almost dropped all your bags. Almost. “Uh… about…?”

Ushijima seemed to consider your words for a moment longer this time. He faced you with an ungodly amount of calm, reminding you more of a statue for some kind of demi-god than a human with his towering frame and golden glow against the sunset. “Whatever it is that you might want to talk about.”

What the heck is that supposed to mean? “What the heck is that supposed to mean?” you asked, outright confused. Ushijima’s brows furrowed slightly. “And, hold on, correct me if I’m wrong or something, but you weren’t… waiting for me… right?”

(Y/n), are you an idiot? Of course this guy wasn’t waiting for you. Why would he be waiting for you —

“No,” Ushijima said. You sighed in relief. “Practice ended fifteen minutes ago. It was not much of a wait.”

You dropped all your bags to the floor, except your bow, sturdy against your back. Ushijima’s eyes turned down to the mess at your feet.

You stood like a cardboard cut out in the middle of the road, frozen in disbelief. But why?

“Do you need help?” Ushijima asked, stepping closer. You jumped back into action quickly scrambling for the bags. “You were heading back to the dorms, correct?”

“S-So what if I was?” you snapped, trying to precariously balance all your bags again. Ushijima waited, watching you struggle. You defensively added, “I-I have a system! You surprised me so I just have to get them stacked in the right order again!”

“I see,” Ushijima said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

What the hell is this guy’s problem? You thought in horrified confusion, grabbing at your bags and huffing. What does he want from me? Is this some new type of bullying?

“Why are you carrying so many bags?” Ushijima asked. In any other manner, it would’ve sounded completely different, but his voice was calm, as though stating fact. You’re mouth opened and closed like a fish, still trying to wrap your head around this strange interaction.

“B-Because I have to repaint the targets!” you snapped. You struggled to fit them all back on your arms, scowling. “They were chipping yesterday so—”

In one sweeping motion, Ushijima’s hand closed over several of the bag handles, lifting the bulky materials up into the air. You blinked rapidly in disbelief, hands still hanging in the air, holding nothing but your own bow on your back while Ushijima calmly held onto your targets.

“I’ll carry them,” he said simply, gazing down at you with those impassive, unreadable eyes. The sunset made them a little warmer, but only because of the sunset. “What part of the dorms do you stay in?”

You gaped at Ushijima like a fish. He waited patiently for your answer, standing beside you and holding all your bags like they were nothing.

“I-I don’t need your help, you jerk!”

Ushijima had the nerve to look confused. “It’s more efficient this way.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight?”

“Are you on the west or east side?”

“West—I-I’m talking to you, you tree trunk! Put those down! I’ll carry them myself!”

“I do not see why you would choose a less efficient manner to—”

“You want to get beat up?”

“No, that was not my intention. Have I done something to upset you?”

---- ---- ---- ---

But the problem didn’t stop there.

Every evening after practice, Ushijima waits, without fail, outside the kyudo hall. You’re always the last one to leave, and it seems for some ungodly reason, the timing of the end of his own practices mesh perfectly with yours.

You can’t even begin to wrap your head around it, staring in disbelief day after day as Ushijima appears, again and again, waiting for you outside to walk you back to the dorms. He offered to take your bag for you, asking dutifully each time even though you always turned him down since it’s just your bow and backpack and Ushijima just nods and continues, speaking every other bout of silence.

You tried to figure out why, but all he does is answer, in his stupid, impassive Ushijima-way, “I wanted to talk to you.”

Talk? With you? What the hell was that even supposed to mean? What kind of game was this guy playing? It didn’t make any sense! Each day you set out to figure out how to stop this nonsense, but each afternoon, Ushijima brought up several other topics of conversation that made you pause, pushing it off another day and then another.

And then you just… sort of resigned yourself to this strangeness.

Is it because he’s my fan? You rubbed your chin in thought, frowning at your shoes while Ushijima walked in content silence beside you. A few students shot the two of you curious glances, but you just furrowed your brows, automatically following Ushijima as he navigated you two outside a crowd of track runners and moved to the other side of the walkway with you in thoughtful tow. Is that it? I mean, I’m flattered, but this is still weird.

He talked to you about all kinds of things too—kyudo, mainly. Ushijima was a weird person to hold conversations with, seemingly blunt and forward with his intentions, but an absolute enigma at the same time. He would ask without fail how your practice went, your intentions for the upcoming preliminaries, how the competition looked, how your kyudo was going, your team—

And, yeah, maybe you would answer because it was kyudo and you loved talking about kyudo—but that was the only reason why. The only one. If someone was asking about kyudo, you’d always answer without fail.

“Well, what about volleyball?” you snapped one day, the two of you standing in the middle of the pathway, still a good few minutes away from the dorms. Ushijima turned to you, fixing you with his entire attention like always. “You’re some kind of crazy volleyball nut, right? Why aren’t you talking about it?”

“...I was under the impression you were not interested in volleyball,” Ushijma said. Did the jerk sound pleased? No way , Ushijima Wakatoshi was practically limited to two emotions. Ushijima one and two.

“I think volleyball is fine!” you said. “It’s a great sport. It’s not as great as kyudo, but it’s fine. Isn’t it your whole life? Stop talking about mine, you creep. What about yours?”

You looked up at him when Ushijima didn’t say anything. The quiet expression on his impassive face made you pause, staring at him with curiously round eyes as a third Ushijima seemed to finally appear and he started, almost… warmly , to talk about it—volleyball, him.

“Yes,” Ushijima said. “I like volleyball.”

Well, he really did seem to know his stuff about kyudo.

So… maybe Ushijima Wakatoshi wasn’t too bad after all. I mean, if he’s my fan… you should do your duty then, right? Your personal vendetta against Ushijima had mostly stemmed from the unjust bias in publicity, but it wasn’t really his fault… But only because he’s my fan… yeah. It’d be mean to turn away someone genuinely interested in talking about kyudo.

You figured you could put up with this. Just for a bit longer.

Maybe. Just a bit.

--- --- ---- ---

At the crack of dawn one weekend, you looked up from tying your running shoes, spotting a familiar, hulking figure only a few feet away. Steam billowed past his lips, making him look just as much of a monster as he did that one morning almost several months ago now from the club meeting.

Dedicated. You blew hot air into your freezing hands, shivering at the morning chill. Guess he really isn’t a nationally ranked player for nothing.

“Ushijima!”

His arms moved neatly at his sides, stride even, form impeccable. Ushijima’s eyes swung across the school courtyard and landed on your lone form by the benches. You couldn’t make out the shift in his expression from where you stood, but instead of waving in response like you expected, he veered off his running track across the pathway and made his way to you.

“Good morning,” Ushijima said, hardly sounding winded. This guy, I swear. You lifted a hand again in greeting, stuffing your freezing fingers back into your pockets. He stopped beside you, radiating warmth and thrumming with a low, even pulse of energy. You almost wanted to put your hands on him just to warm them up.

“I didn’t know you ran on the weekends too,” you said. “You don’t go home?”

“I visit when needed,” Ushijima said evenly. “My household isn’t far from campus. It’s easier to stay in the dorms.”

“Oh, I see,” you shuffled on your feet, shifting your hands inside your pockets. “Uh, sorry to disturb you. Just wanted to say hey.”

“You didn’t disturb me,” Ushijima said.

Give me something to work with after you say stuff like that! You grimaced, somewhat used to this sort of flat-ended conversation by now. You rubbed the back of your neck, Ushijima still waiting in silence beside you, seemingly content to just stare at the pathway, steam lightly slipping past his mouth when he exhaled.

“...you, uh,” you started awkwardly. “Want to run together?”

Ushijima’s dark eyes turned toward you. You shrugged, waving a hand. “If I can’t keep up, just keep going. I’m not looking to mess with your training regime or anything.”

“You’ll be able to keep up.”

You stopped, looking at Ushijima with round eyes. He gazed evenly back at you as you searched for a hint of mockery or some kind of tease, but his expression was dutifully earnest.

“...okay,” you mumbled. “...Let’s go then.”

The two of you broke off back into a jog, slowly finding your pace together, arms and legs moving in unison.

The run warmed you up faster than you expected.

You and Ushijima never once broke pace with each other.

---- --- ----

“Tendou-senpai, who is that with Ushijima-senpai?”

Tendou hummed, swinging his legs back and forth as he stretched lazily out across the court. In a few minutes he’d shape up before Coach could lecture him about his terrible form. Shirabu was stretching out beside him, eyes turned toward the double-door opening of the gym where they were letting a bit of a breeze come through. Goshiki looked up at Shirabu when he mentioned Ushijima, quickly peeking his head around too.

Sure enough, outside the double doors stood a completely rare sight to behold. Ushijima Wakatoshi himself cut several minutes close to the beginning of practice to stand outside and speak with someone.

You.

Goshiki frowned in confusion, barely catching a glimpse of you blocked by Ushijima’s hulking figure. His head was turned downwards, speaking with you. A massive, clothed staff seemed to come up from behind your back, however, rising even over Ushijima’s head. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Kyu-chan~” Tendou hummed. “Our dear captain’s new little friend!”

“Kyu-chan?” Goshiki repeated loudly. “Who is that? Is she close to Ushijima-senpai?”

“...she’s the captain of the kyudo club,” Shirabu said, blinking in recognition. “I see her passing out flyers to the lower grades. She and Ushijima-senpai are friends? Are they classmates?”

“Something like that,” Tendou said. “Waka-kun is a bit of a fan.”

“Of kyudo?” Shirabu looked over in mild surprise. “I didn’t think Ushijima-senpai could look at any other sport beside volleyball.”

“Well, something like that too?” Tendou touched a finger to his chin, feigning ignorance. “It’s more like he became a fan of the sport as a result!”

“Of what?” Shirabu continued, raising a critical brow.

“Kyudo?” Goshiki said. “What’s that?”

Shirabu rolled his eyes, looking done with the wing spiker’s nonsense. Goshiki gaped in disbelief, quickly turning to Tendou who’d rolled over onto his stomach, watching the sight of you and Ushijima in amusement, as though it were some kind of television soap opera.

You said something to Ushijima, shoving a plastic bag his way. He took it calmly with one hand, holding it tightly at his side as he said something else to you. Tendou watched a dumb sort of laugh touch your lips and you shook your head, waving to Ushijima over your shoulder as you headed off to your own practice.

Ushijima watched you go, waiting there until you disappeared from sight. He held the bag at his side, waiting a second longer before he turned back toward the gym.

“Ah,” Tendou said, “young love.”

Shirabu’s grip on his ankle slipped and Goshiki choked, the two of them looking at Tendou in almost disbelieving horror. “ What? ”

---- ----  ----

"Ushijima-san brings the game to a match point now with that finishing serve. His powerful strikes are yet to be received by the opposing team. His statistics are still on the rise and he might just be able to finish the set with another service ace, bringing it up for — ”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to admit it. Maybe a couple months ago you wouldn’t have wanted to admit it, because it would have left an unfairly foul taste on your mouth, reminding you again that there was perfectly good reason for Ushijima and his team to be receiving the kind of publicity and acclaim they did.

But now… well, sure, Ushijima wasn’t a bad guy at all. You might even say you were sort of acquaintances now. Maybe friends. To an extent. He was a bit awkward, blunt, and sometimes hard to talk too if you didn’t figure out the nuances in his rather simple and earnest approach—that still rubbed you the wrong way from time to time but what was life without some disputes—but the evidence was glaringly obvious.

Ushijima Wakatoshi worked hard. Terribly, frighteningly so, in the same way that you could understand with every new ache of your wrist and pull of your bow, straining to push and push and rise higher and higher. You noticed it in his runs, in his practices, and now, even sneaking a quick watch of a few of his highlights online, which lead to an endless spiral of watching several more taped games of his performances.

He dedicated himself to volleyball the same way you did to kyudo. You were both hopeless causes for these things you were willing to give your all too.

You replayed the last point again, watching huddled up on the bench as you waited for the lunch bell to ring. You’d had to tape up your wrist today, finally giving in to Ushijima’s persistent, dull-tone nagging. You’d go easier on practice too, just this once, since he seemed to adamant about it. Just this once.

“Many will be disappointed if you can’t shoot.”

I mean, I can’t let my fans down, right? Heheheh...

The announcer started speaking in your ear and you followed Ushijima across the court, watching him toss the ball up for that killer serve again. I know how it ends but I still get anxious watching this.

“(L/n)-san.”

You let out an inhuman screech, phone flying into the air as your limbs spazzed out. Ushijima blinked once, calmly catching your phone before it hit the unforgiving floor and holding it in his grip as he waited for you to calm down. You wheezed, slapping your chest to make sure your heart was still in it, cheeks flushed red as you gaped at Ushijima in disbelief. “U-Ushijima! You scared me! Say something next time!”

“I did,” Ushijima said, only mildly confused. “I said your name.”

“Louder!”

“I see,” Ushijima said. He grabbed your dangling earbuds and paused, turning your phone screen over.

His own face looked back at him, impassive and collected.

You slapped your phone out of his hand, letting it hit the floor with a clack. Ushijima blinked once at it and then looked back at you. You heaved, cheeks flushed a bright red as you stuttered, practically shouting, “It’s not what it looks like!”

Ushijima bent down to pick up your phone.

You quickly scooped it and shoved it into your pocket, completely frazzled. Ushijima considered the now empty spot in his hand before looking back at you, completely unfazed.

“We were seeded for Inter-High this year,” Ushijima said calmly. “Next month we’ll play. Would you like to come then?”

“Who said I wanted to watch your stinking game?” you snapped, cheeks till bright red as you practically hissed at the towering young man. Ushijima’s face remained almost expressionless, almost, but he simply waited for more words to come out of you, as they always did. “When is it? In a month? Maybe I’ll come! Maybe!”

“I look forward to seeing you there,” Ushijima said. He glanced back down to his hands before looking over at your bow strapped to your back. “Your beginning preliminaries don’t allow for outside spectators.”

Stop saying it like you mean you’ll come if it were different! You waved Ushijima off. “Yeah, yeah, but we’re making it past prelims so you can come to the official tournament.”

“You’re confident,” Ushijima said.

“Of course I am! What do you think I’ve been doing all this time?”

Ushijima’s hands shifted to his sides. He gazed down at you, expression almost light. No, no, no, you’re just imagining things. “I look forward to watching you then.”

“Check your calendar first,” you muttered. “You don’t even know if you’ll be able to come.”

“I will attend, if it is alright with you.”

This guy is really something else! You ran a quick hand through your hair, fighting back the furious flush of pride that threatened to overtake your features. Ushijima started saying something else, calmly talking about how he felt your form improved lately, but he had yet to see so for himself. You can’t help but think about how he’d opened the gym doors for you, allowing you to take a peek into their harrowing, rigorous volleyball practice schedule simply because you were a bit curious and—

You’re not sure what possessed you next.

“You can come if you want,” you said suddenly. “To practice today.”

Ushijima paused, looking back to you. You finally met his gaze, rubbing the back of your neck. “Since you like it so much, right? Kyudo. I can… you can try it, if you want. Just this once.”

(Y/n) I think you’ve completely lost your mind, maybe you really are practicing too hard after all and —

“If it is not a hindrance to your performance,” Ushijima said. “I will come.”

You scoffed, scuffing your foot along the floor. “What, you think I’m gonna choke?”

“No,” Ushijima said.

“You know, would it kill you to give me something to work with for once—”

“If you intend to watch more matches, please watch our match against Itachiyama,” Ushijima said, after a pause.. “It was where I received my ranking. My performance is… better, during that match.”

“Please stop talking.”

--- ---  ---- ----

A round of terrified gasps and gargles from your fellow club members was about the best warning you got that Ushijima had finally made his appearance at your kyudo hall, right as rain, bright and early like he promised.

The poor first year who’d been the one to open the door looks downright terrified, face pale at Ushijima’s towering figure now blocking the doorway into the entrance hall. He gazed down at her, the top half of his face nearly obscured until he lowered his head slightly in a fearsome bow.

“Good morning. I’m sorry to intrude.”

She gaped, staring in disbelief at his appearance while the other girls had all turned and then made equally disbelieved faces, eyes round and popping out of their heads.

“H-Hey, (Y/n)!” your vice captain hissed. “I might be going crazy, but isn’t that Ushijima standing at our door? What’s the boy’s volleyball team captain doing here?”

“Are they trying to run us out?” one girl gasped. “So they can expand the gym?”

“They’ve come for our kyudo hall!”

“Captain, please do something!”

You know, maybe a few months ago you would’ve thought exactly the same. You sighed in amusement, crossing your arms over your hakama as you exited the shooting range and set your bow down against the wall. Who would’ve thought?

“It’s fine guys,” you said, waving to your club members who gaped at you. “I invited him over. Ushijima wanted to see how a kyudo practice went. I promised I’d help him shoot one round.”

“Captain—”

“Invited—”

“Ushijima-senpai—”

You walked over to Ushijima, looking up at him with your hands on your hips. He seemed to take in your formal kyudo attire with particular care, reaching up to his chest and setting his hand down on his black shirt and shorts, his volleyball jersey hanging over his shoulders. “Is the attire required?”

“Not this time,” you said with a grin. “We probably don’t have a uniform that fits you anyways. Come on in.”

The girls around you continued to gape in disbelief. Ushijima bowed to them once more, politely taking off his shoes and bending down to make it into the hall without hitting his head. He rose to his full height below the arching wooden beams, calmly taking his jacket off as well and slinging it over his arm as he followed behind you, trudging like a massive shadow.

You secretly took note of his mannerisms in the hall, curious about whether or not you’d need to correct him for this or that. To your disturbed surprise, Ushijima found himself at perfect ease in the completely formal setting, properly shifting to the side to stay out of the presentation range and moving in even, clear steps across the floor.

He looked to you, waiting for your next instructions. It was almost cute, like a giant, big dog.

Almost.

“We’ll match you with a bow and show you the practice movements,” you said cheerfully, getting a little pumped up about teaching someone for the first time in awhile. Not to mention a total newbie to the sport who was a god in his own—truly a bit satisfying for your ego. “Then we shoot, just a bit.”

Ushijima nodded, his expression settled into one of ease. You stopped just short of grabbing the unstrung bows, blinking in surprise.

Did he just smile?

---- ----  ---  ----

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this with my own eyes.”

“I know! It’s the Ushijima-senpai. I thought he was some kind of scary giant!”

“I heard he’s cold to everyone else! He glares at anyone who comes close!”

“Did you hear? Apparently he comes from a super wealthy, really well-off family! And he’s gifted! He’ll go pro for sure!”

“Why’s he here with senpai then?”

The first and second year girls all shared looks, frowning at each other before they peered around the corner of the sliding doors into the shooting range.

The height difference was pitifully apparent when you stood beside Ushijima, hands on your hips as you loudly and carefully instructed him on what he’d need to know to make sure he didn’t hurt himself. The obvious pride and ego in your stance seemed to make up for any height difference though, as Ushijima patiently craned his head down and listened to you, holding the bow and arrow in his hands.

You eagerly touched your own bow, showing him in exaggerated motions the stances, shuffling backwards to show him how you knelt and then stood, coming to stand in shooting position. Ushijima listened to all of this with obvious attentiveness, following your every motion and nodding, asking a quiet question once or twice.

Your juniors made eyes at each other, nervously peering around the corner.

“Is this something she’s doing to show kyudo is worth attention?”

“Is it a fight? Do you think he challenged her to a fight or something?”

“But if it’s senpai, wouldn’t she be the one challenging him to a fight? She’s been so worried lately about new members…”

Your vice captain observed the two of you in silence, arms crossed over her chest. She carefully considered Ushijima’s attentive stare, the quiet and swift way he moved to follow your motions, coming always to stand beside you unless you shooed him back to make another demonstration. Her eyes finally tracked back to Ushijima’s bag hanging in a small visitor cubby, neatly folded bags of energy drinks and protein bars with two boxes of cut fruit—one wrapped and the other one not.

“Can you believe who I ran into trying to get that drink you told me to get? That jerk all over our school!”

The drinks sitting in Ushijima’s bag were the ones she’d told you about all those months ago.

“I think,” she said. “It’s going to be okay… probably.”

Your juniors gaped in disbelief. Your vice captain shrugged.

“The nice thing about archery is that it doesn’t really matter if you shoot right or left!” you said amiably, growing more and more excited as you showed Ushijima the correct position for a left-handed archer. “Not like volleyball, right? The ball goes a totally different way. Arrows always fly straight if you shoot it right.”

Ushijima’s hand flexed against the bow. He gazed down at you. “You noticed.”

“Well, duh , who couldn’t tell what hand you’re hitting with? Anyway, you’re lucky I can actually shoot crazy good with both, here, this part gets easier.”

You stood right beside Ushijima, hardly even coming up to his shoulder. His eyes were focused on the top of your head for a moment, gazing at the crown of your hair before his eyes shifted to your hands, small and calloused as they reached for his and you molded yourself against him. Your eyes were shining as you guided his hands against the bow, showing Ushijima how to pull the string. You pressed your fingers into the crook of his elbow, squeezing to draw him back and lightly touching the small of his back to straighten him out.

He could feel the whisper of your heart against him, the light pulse like the flutter of the net after a strike into its side, shaking its hold.

“There,” you said softly, pulling back with a grin. Ushijima’s gaze turned over his shoulder to look down at you, properly taking in the way your hair framed your cheeks, how your eyes brightened, more and more, as though being here could make you invincible.

The way I feel on the court.

“Now if you just pull and release like I taught you,” you said gently, touching his wrist one more time and then mimicking the action with your own arms, copying his left-handed stance. “You’ll be golden!”

Ushijima carefully considered his form, focusing intently on the arrow and the target that seemed an entire court away. It was reassuring, in that sense. It wasn’t hard to envision the power he’d need to send a ball that far. The arrow and bow in his hands were rather different, fragile yet stiff when he pulled, bending and bending but not breaking.

“Don’t hold back,” you said right by his side. Ushijima’s eyes met yours over the bow and he took in fully then, the sight of your eyes, burning. “We can handle more than you think.”

Ah.

Ushijima never took his eyes off you, firing off the arrow, shooting straight into nothingness.

Your eyes quickly shot to where it landed. You laughed, shaking your head at where the arrow hand landed, just a few inches from the target into the sand. “Hey! That’s actually not bad for a first time—guess even you can’t get it on the first shot though, right?”

The grin on your face was flooded with pride, cheeky as you laughed, turning back to him and picking up your bow. Ushijima followed the curve of your lips, disappearing into a smile, the crinkle of your eyes. “Here, here, one more time! I want to see the Ushijima Wakatoshi give kyudo another shot, or even a dozen more!”

You raised your bow, grabbing your waiting arrow as you went through the foot motions and stopped. “Maybe you can get a little good—then I’ll gloat to the whole world that a nationally ranked volleyball player learned kyudo from me , right?”

“That seems unnecessary,” Ushijima said, watching your arms, your hands, your body coil like a practiced, well-oiled machine.

“Publicity!” you said. “Help me out here, would you? Kyudo isn’t as loved as volleyball, you know. Look, watch how a pro does it.”

He felt something stir in his gut at your words, lurching.

You copied his stance and turned your gaze forward. Ushijima looked behind him when he sensed a sudden hush fall over the hall, your juniors watching in rapt attention as you pulled your arrow back and adjusted your entire stance.

Your eyes zeroed in on the target. You exhaled.

The light in your eyes never seemed more fierce.

With a resounding clap the arrow shot out from your fingers, as though guided by the wind. Your hair blew out from your face, coiling backwards. It slammed dead-center into the target.

Ushijima felt again, the stir, quick and fervent in his gut. His grip on the borrowed bow tightened as you gazed at the arrow, smoothly holding your bow at your side and then you turned to him. The memory of the television flickered through his head, the garbled, clear words growing louder as he faced you and your eyes focused on him, bright.

“Maybe we could make an archer out of you just yet,” you laughed, rubbing your chin as you observed Ushijima’s own charm as he held the bow. “In our uniform you’d really look like you belonged here. You’ve got the poise for it.”

“...but?” Ushijima said, sensing the continuing hang of your words.

“But,” you agreed, propping your chin up as you nodded to yourself. “Yeah… you really do look better on a volleyball court, you know?”

Twang! Twang!

He’d always thought they were a bit similar—that sharp, satisfying sound that always left your bow when you shot and the sound of his hand connecting with the ball, sending it just right through the air.

Ushijima let the stir in the pit of his stomach flood his chest, calmly seeping down to the tips of his fingers as he gazed at you.

“Let’s give it one more go. Next time you can show me how to spike if it won’t rip my arm off—”

“(L/n)-san,” Ushijima said, his voice like a low rumble. Your juniors flinched at the back of the hall and you simply hummed in response, looking back at him. “Thank you.”

“...you’re welcome,” you said amiably, laughing a bit. “If you like it so much, you can come when you’re not busy—”

“I like you, (L/n)-san.”

Your juniors froze. Your vice-captain’s eyes bulged from her head. You blinked, grinning at Ushijima.

“Yeah, I know, you dork. You’re my first and biggest fan! Were you just blown away about seeing my shooting in person?”

“Yes,” Ushijima said. He properly turned to face you, eyes heavy, expression set. You suddenly felt a suspicious chill curling up your spine, forcing you to blink at him with wide, confused eyes. “I like watching you shoot the best.”

Ah, see! Nothing to be worried about. What was I even thinking in the first place? Your juniors sighed in relief behind you. “I know! I really am the—”

“But you,” Ushijima said, completely and utterly calm, voice clear as water, “are what I like the best as well.”

For once, you committed one of the gravest sins—your bow clattered to the floor. Your face turned pale in disbelief, color slowly starting to color it back in soft red as it came up from your neck and to your face. The entire kyudo hall went silent at Ushijima’s words, resounding like an echo.

“Uh… yeah, I mean… um… what’s that supposed to… mean?”

Ushijima continued, without missing a beat, merciless—

“I like you,” Ushijima said. A heartbeat longer and he added, calmly, “I want to be with you.”

Thud!

“S-S-Senpai’s collapsed! Someone call a teacher, we’re being attacked!”

---- ----- ----

Two Years Ago

Ushijima Household

“Wakatoshi, I believe this young lady attends your academy as well.”

Ushijima calmly looked up from the steaming cup of tea placed carefully in front of him. The usual quietness, the faint stuffiness that resided within his grandmother’s studies and quarters was still prevalent to this day as he joined her for her afternoon tea. The attendants had already been dismissed, waiting outside the hall to bring in lunch once his grandmother was ready.

His legs itched to shift in their resigned position, a sensation he was training himself to forget. These were small, trivial things he had no business entertaining. Once he stepped onto the court, it would mean nothing.

The large television set was fixed to a low but clear volume. Across the screen, an array of young people were being presented in an orderly fashion across a kyudo hall. His grandmother was always watching their segments, but the time slot had changed to coincide with their afternoon tea.

She talked less about his future during these moments now, since the kyudo channel shifted time. He felt, in a childish, small corner of his heart, grateful for that.

“Do you intend to play volleyball beyond your studies, Wakatoshi? There’s more beyond the sport for you within our family.”

His mother had already informed him to consider saying the correct words to placate his grandmother. Ushijima did not know what those words could be. Not if they involved anything other than volleyball.

His left hand twitched over the top of his lap. Ushijima faintly followed the announcer’s words, trying to find what it was his grandmother had meant— there.

A fierce young girl glared hard at the expanse in front of her. Her hakama clung tightly to her body, hair pulled back and out of her face. He wasn’t familiar with her, not personally, but he had a vague sense he might have passed her on more than one occasion after practice—the kyudo hall on campus was close to the volleyball gym.

It was a final shoot off, according to the commentator. His grandmother watched with rapt attention, quietly commenting that she was fond of this girl from Shiratorizawa— she shoots like she means it. He’d never heard his grandmother speak in such a manner over any kind of sport.

Ushijima watched the screen with newfound interest, a touch critical. Kyudo was a quiet sport, not the kind that received acclaim the way volleyball did. He’d never once considered himself partaking in it though he harbored no ill will.

“There,” his grandmother said. “Watch this now, Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima watched you through the screen, your stern, serious face matching that of your competitors as they set up their shot. Their arrow fired, hitting the mark barely off from the center sphere, it seemed it was practically center. The commentator announced what this meant in the shift of points and that you would have to score consecutive kaichus once more to take the entire competition back. Full marks. You had to hit dead center to make up for your team’s single miss.

You moved, elegant and poised. He could understand why his grandmother liked you. You matched all her tastes.

His left hand curled, tighter against his lap.

And then you smiled.

Ushijima felt the world slow, silence flooding across the screen.

Your arrows fired off—again, again, and again. Each time you greeted the shooting range with a smile and left it with a frown, as though the parting, only seconds long, was already too much for your heart to bear. Your opponent remained unfazed, serious, but you smiled each shot, hitting dead center, dead center, bullseye.

The commentator’s voice was flooding with rapt emotion, though they tried to stay impartial. Everyone’s eyes were on you, a second commentator a touch critical over your confidence, hinting arrogance in your grin.

No. Ushijima wanted to correct, almost immediately, entirely entranced. Not arrogance. Not baseless confidence.

You loved it. Kyudo. Shooting—

Every last bit of it.

For a second the screen blurred. Ushijima saw the other end of the court, the ball connecting with his palm, his own lips barely turning up into a near breathless smile, almost fierce—

He wanted to play.

“Good,” his grandmother said. “She will advance next year. If she participated in the individual tournaments, I’m sure she’d do much better. She keeps playing for a team, such a shame.”

“(L/n)-san, it seems as though you were born for the sport!” his eyes quickly turned back to the screen. In an instant the crowd had cleared and you stood, calmly holding your bow as a commentator got your final words on the march. “You’re a true prodigy. What words do you have for any aspiring archers?”

(L/n). Ushijima thought. (L/n) (Y/n). A prodigy? He could imagine so, with the beautiful way you shot. It was as though you were made for the bow.

“I’m not a prodigy,” your voice cut, shooting straight through Ushijima and forcing his complete and utter attention back onto you. “Don’t get me wrong, I think plenty of people are born for this. Maybe you could say I was, if that’s how you want to see it. At the end of the day it’s work though, lots and lots and lots of it.”

You faced the screen, eyes shining, boring straight through Ushijima, as though speaking solely to him, even though you possibly couldn’t be.

“It’s luck,” you said, “I’m lucky nothing’s happened to keep me from being here. I’m lucky my parents haven’t tried to make me stop. Yet, at least. I just got lucky. Kyudo found me. It’s all luck.”

“Ushijima, why do you think we get to stand on this court? People like us?”

Because we’re—

Ushijima felt his chest tighten. His pulse raced, hard against his skin. The itch to move, to run, to play flooded through his entire body. He felt it all, simply by looking at you—the urge to play volleyball a hundred, a thousand times.

“There’s unrest that youths your age will have to focus more on studies instead of pursuing kyudo as a profession. Many find that as a sport, it does not hold up to — ”

“No way,” you said, looking offended. “I’m doing kyudo until I die.”

Ushijima imagined it then, his ball shooting across the court like an arrow, his spike sailing through the air, the same way your arrow pierced the target.

“Now, Wakatoshi,” his grandmother began. “I hear your career forms are going about next year. What exactly will you be writing on yours?”

“...volleyball,” Ushijima said, clear, resounding. His grandmother raised one fine brow, but he faced her, poised, polite, unyielding.

“I will continue playing volleyball.”

He’d remember your name. He’d remember you. If possible, he’d thank you as well. You both attended the same school—a chance would surely come.

For the record:

- The kyudo club ended up getting their funding, enough to see them through for several more years. You came to Ushijima (your boyfriend of one month) sobbing buckets over it and pawing at his jacket while he calmly rubbed your back and congratulated you. The donation was an anonymous one from a rather prestigious family familiar with the school.

- You come to the rest of Ushijima's games, your team makes it through prelims and he gets to watch you through the finals for your prefecture and has plans to go watch you at nationals.

(Spoilers for the latest chapters of the manga, proceed with caution or just end it here if you don't want to see the last headcanon!)

- Romero comments about the cool archery that Ushijima watches in his down time in the locker room. Hoshiumi and Kageyama mumble in surprise that someone like Ushijima could be interested in anything other than volleyball. Ushijima admits it was a very important person he became a fan of first before the sport. "I admired the athlete and then found myself watching."

"Wow, that's unexpected," Hoshiumi took a seat beside Ushijima on the bench. Romero continued to watch over his shoulder, clearly intrigued by the Japanese form of archery style. "Is this woman a pro?"

"Yes," Ushijima said, showing them the screen. Kageyama glanced over, catching the hint of pride in Ushijima's normally settled tone. "She's the best in Japan. She will be at the next Olympics for archery as well, even though she prefers this."

"I've never really watched archery," Kageyama said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I've grown to admire it," Ushijima said. "I'm mostly a fan of the athlete."

"Who is she?" Hoshiumi said, squinting at the screen to look for a name. A wide, bright grin came over your lips and you thrusted your bow into the air. "What's her-"

"She's my girlfriend," Ushijima said calmly, without missing a beat.

Kageyama blinked, looking stunned. Hoshiumi's eyes bulged out of his head. They both looked at each other, jaws dropping.

"She's beautiful!" Romero laughed, clapping Ushijima over the shoulder. "Wakatoshi! Congratualtions! When's the wedding?"

Ushijima looked mildly bothered by the topic. "She says we're still too... young. I don't entirely agree."

"I get you! I get you! Some advice from a married man, you have to reel them in and..."

- You sneezed before the final round, shaking your head with a frown.

(Hope you enjoyed!)

[no6secretsanta]

Don't Say It

Hello and happy holidays to you, @glorifiedscapegoat! I hope you enjoy this cheerful little modern AU fic I wrote for you! I always love writing Nezumi and Shion as carefree teens in a world that isn’t trying to destroy them (we all deserve some peace this year, even the bee boys), and I promise a happy ending!

<3 @weiselzelle

******

For someone who disliked Christmas as much as he did, Nezumi had decorated an awful lot of Christmas cookies, six dozen, to be precise. He’d also listened to the Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack four times in a row, going on a fifth. Soon, he’d be watching an equally cheesy Christmas movie. It wasn’t by choice. Not exactly, anyway—

It had all started in kindergarten, the year he’d met Shion. They’d become fast friends, and the prospect of not seeing his best friend over winter break had been too much for Shion’s young heart to bear. As a solution, their parents had arranged a playdate over the holidays. Shion had been determined to celebrate Christmas with Nezumi as much as possible, so their day had included as many Christmastime activities as possible. The experience, quite frankly, had been exhausting. Unfortunately, it had only been the start of a long tradition.

Now, if Nezumi had things his way, they’d simply do what they always did when they hung out and nothing extra… but intentionally ignoring Christmas would make Shion sad, which defeated the entire purpose of spending a day together. That was why Nezumi put up with the whole ordeal year after year, and this time was no different.

“So, you still haven’t told me what you want for Christmas,” Shion said as he delicately placed some of the cookies into a shiny, festive tin. “And you can’t say ‘I’ll think on it’ this time, okay? Christmas is in a few days.”

Nezumi picked up a pinch of snowflake sprinkles from a dish and dropped them unceremoniously onto an iced cookie. “I’ll think—”

Shion glared at him before he could even finish the sentence, and Nezumi couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, listen, I know I said I’d think on it, but the truth is, I forgot. You know how busy I was before break started,” Nezumi explained.

Shion’s expression softened and he returned to decorating cookies alongside Nezumi. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I didn’t bug you about it sooner. But I really do need an answer today.”

“Well…” Nezumi sighed and looked off. “How about you tell me what you want? I still have to get you a present, and maybe it’ll give me some ideas for what I want, too.” He normally prided himself— secretly— in coming up with clever gifts for Shion, but with Christmas in only a few days, simply asking seemed like his best option.

“Me? Um!” Shion seemed awfully surprised by the question. Judging by the growing blush on his face, however, it was more than just surprise.

Nezumi smirked and leaned closer to his friend. “You’re blushing, Shion. Is it something really dorky?”

Shion looked down, clearly hesitating. “Uh, you’d probably call it that, yeah…”

Nezumi waited for Shion to say more. “…Well? What is it?” he asked, and raised an eyebrow.

“Um…” Shion smiled nervously and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, still not looking at Nezumi.

Once again, Nezumi sighed. “You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you?”

“I suppose you could try,” Shion replied quietly with a small shrug. His face was as red as ever.

Nezumi smirked. “I’ll take that as a challenge.” He rubbed his chin as he thought. “Hmm, something so dorky that you’d blush about it in front of me… This may be difficult.”

While Nezumi thought about where to start his questioning, Shion began to slowly decorate another cookie.

“Can it fit in a backpack?” Nezumi asked, watching Shion’s expression closely.

“No.”

“What about a locker, then?”

Shion blinked, his eyebrows drawing together slightly. “Um… no? I don’t think so, anyway.”

“And you think I can afford it?” Nezumi asked with a laugh.

“I mean—” Shion laughed as well, though rather nervously. “Y-Yeah.”

Nezumi gave a skeptical look. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay…” Nezumi picked up one of the cookies he’d decorated and took a bite as he thought. “Is it… something I even know exists?”

Shion laughed a little again. “Yes.” It was the most certain answer he’d gotten yet.

“Okay, so it’s something I obviously know about, judging by that reaction,” Nezumi scoffed. “It’s something that could be put in a box, right?”

“W-Well, I guess so…”

Nezumi frowned. “I mean that it’s an actual object, not like the gift of going somewhere with you or whatever.”

“I guess we could go somewhere for my present,” Shion suggested with a smile Nezumi could only call coy. Of course, very few people even could recognize coyness from Shion. Nezumi knew, though. Shion was up to something.

Nezumi narrowed his eyes. “Second thoughts about challenging me?”

“We could go ice skating again. It’s been years since we last went.”

“We could not go ice skating again,” Nezumi retorted. “I’m not having you pull me down on the ice every five minutes.”

“You are taller than me now, aren’t you?”

Nezumi eyed Shion suspiciously. His latest growth spurt had been a bit of a sore spot for Shion, so why would he bring it up now? “I sure as hell am, you little runt.”

Shion’s blush fully returned and he averted his eyes. “S-So, that means I wouldn’t make you fall if I lost my balance, right?”

Crossing his arms, Nezumi leaned back in his seat. “I see… Finding the advantages to being your fun-sized self?”

“You know, I never made fun of you this much when you were the shorter one,” Shion said, slathering a bit too much icing onto a large, snowflake-shaped cookie.

Nezumi watched as Shion then dumped an excess of sprinkles onto the cookie. “Oh, come on. You always thought I needed to be protected or something when I was smaller than you, even though you knew I could’ve kicked your ass no problem. I’m going to enjoy this change as much as I wa—”

Shion abruptly shoved the cookie into Nezumi’s mouth, or at least as much of it as he could fit. As soon as it happened, Nezumi cupped his hand under the cookie in a desperate attempt to catch the sprinkles and dripping icing. While Nezumi struggled to eat the messy cookie that was now his responsibility not to get everywhere, Shion returned to decorating more cookies.

“And what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t care about your safety?” Shion asked, though he clearly wasn’t expecting an answer from Nezumi, not after shoving food into his mouth. “Anyway, I think ice skating would work out better now, so— ah!”

Nezumi smeared the icing that had dripped onto his hand across Shion’s cheek. “Here, you dropped something.”

Shion stared in shock for a moment before swiping a bit of icing from the bowl onto his fingertip. Nezumi had a good idea of where that finger was headed. As it drew closer to his face, he opened his mouth and caught Shion’s sugary finger between his teeth. The icing was sweet on his tongue, but Nezumi savored the expression on his friend’s face far more.

“Nezumi!” Shion squeaked when his finger was finally free.

“Yes?”

Shion gawked at his hand as if he’d never seen it before.

“…Yes, Shion?” Nezumi asked again.

“Um!” Shion blinked and shook his head. “W-We should both probably wash our hands before we decorate any more cookies,” he stammered.

Nezumi snorted out a laugh and followed Shion over to the kitchen sink. While he waited for his turn at the faucet, he bumped Shion’s hip with his own. For some reason, that always put a smile on Shion’s face. “Back to my guesses. Is it something I can buy?” he asked.

“Uh, n-no,” Shion replied, his eyes going wide. He turned away as he dried his hands.

“So it’s something I have to make, then?” Nezumi asked.

“N… No.”

“No?” Nezumi finished washing his hands and dried them off as well, thinking over what Shion could be talking about. If it couldn’t be bought and couldn’t be made… “Is it something I already have?”

“Uh…” Shion scratched the back of his neck and returned to the kitchen counter as if decorating even more cookies was an actual priority. “Technically?”

Nezumi scoffed and crossed his arms. “Technically?” he repeated. “What the hell kind of answer is that?”

Shion stared down at a star-shaped cookie he’d picked up. “Um… uh… I say ‘technically’ because…”

“Because…?”

“Well… technically you… have… what I want…” Shion mumbled, trailing off. He set down the cookie and smiled nervously, his eyes focused on Nezumi’s shoulder rather than his face. “Forget I said anything, okay? I like your ice skating idea. How about we do that for my present?”

Nezumi frowned to himself and ripped off a paper towel from the roll by the sink. “That was your idea, not mine,” he corrected, briefly running the faucet again to get the paper towel wet. He approached Shion and began wiping the icing off his cheek. “You forgot something.”

Shion shut his eyes while Nezumi cleaned off his face. “I did? Ha, oops, I guess I did…”

Somehow, exchanges like this made Nezumi dread their inevitable separation that would come with graduating high school. He didn’t like the idea of someone else helping Shion the way he did, taking his place… Would Shion even have him over during the holidays? How many more Christmases would they spend together?

“Hey, Shion?”

Shion peeked an eye open. “Yeah?”

Nezumi turned away to toss the paper towel in the trash and to avoid looking Shion in the eye. “You’re still going to invite me over for Christmas stuff once we’re in college, right?” he asked.

“Huh?” Shion blinked. “Y-Yeah, of course.”

“Good.”

Shion laughed a little and smiled sheepishly. “You know, I was starting to think you didn’t like celebrating Almost-Christmas with me. I’m sort of surprised, given how much you usually complain about Christmas…”

Nezumi let out a laugh as well and leaned his elbows on the counter. “I mean—” The gentle smile on Shion’s face kept him from finishing his sentence. He glanced away.

“Wait, Nezumi, do you secretly like Christmas?” Shion asked, just a hint of a giggle in his tone.

“What? No! I hate Christmas!”

The amusement left Shion’s face. “Oh. Um… Does that mean you don’t actually like doing Christmas stuff with me?”

Nezumi’s stomach sank. He hated seeing Shion sad. Why did he have to say that? “Okay, ‘hate’ may have been too strong of a word. I don’t hate Christmas. Not all of it, anyway,” he quickly explained. “I— Listen, I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, okay?”

Shion fell silent, staring down at the array of cookies before him and chewing his lip. After a long moment, he spoke again. “You know, we don’t have to keep doing the same stuff every year. Honestly, I just kept doing it because it’s what we’ve always done, and you kept agreeing to it, but I… I guess we don’t have to do anything Christmasy if you really don’t want to.”

“I mean, we are gonna hang out over break either way, aren’t we?” Nezumi said, though he knew in his heart that wasn’t what Shion wanted. Shion enjoyed the holiday season and all the pepperminty sweetness that it brought far too much to ignore it all with Nezumi. “Maybe if it’s just… a little less Christmasy,” he offered. His eyes darted around the room, searching for examples of anything seasonal that didn’t make him cringe. “Like… hot cocoa. I like hot cocoa. And I like eating Christmas cookies, just not, you know… decorating several dozen of them.”

Once again, Shion took a long while to respond. Nezumi might’ve been concerned if he didn’t know his friend so well; he knew it meant Shion was deeply considering his words. Besides, having Shion react logically rather than emotionally right now was preferable, albeit expected. After taking a hesitant breath, Shion asked, “Is ice skating too Christmasy?”

Nezumi breathed out a laugh. Of course their discussion had come back to this. “It’s an Olympic sport. I think that exempts it from being too Christmasy,” he replied. Skating really could turn out better than before, if Shion’s reasoning about his height was correct… Compared to watching a Christmas movie, it might actually be fun. “Listen, I’ll take you ice skating right now if it means we skip everything else on today’s itinerary.”

Shion blinked in surprise, finally looking up at Nezumi. “Y-You’re serious?”

“Completely.”

Shion gawked, then shook his head and said, “Um, right! I’ll— I’ll go tell mom what we’re doing!”

Nezumi laughed as Shion hurried out of the room. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he commented, though he knew Shion had to be on the other side of the house, already and well out of earshot.

Before long, the two boys were buckling into Nezumi’s car, which was parked outside. Nezumi smirked to himself as he turned the key and started the engine. The satisfaction of having a license and a car had yet to wear off.

“It’s still weird that we can just drive places now, isn’t it?” Shion commented, running his fingers along the car door just below the window. “I’ve barely used my bike this year.”

“You mean that I can drive us places now?” Nezumi teased. “Seriously, when are you going to take your test?”

Shion shrugged. “I don’t know. Driving is kind of terrifying,” he said with a small laugh. “Besides, I kind of like…”

Nezumi raised an eyebrow, giving Shion an inquisitive look before pulling out of the driveway and heading down the road. “You kind of like what? You know you can’t just trail off like that.”

“Um.” Shion laughed a little again. “Well, I was going to say that I kind of like when you drive me around, but that sounds sort of entitled, doesn’t it?”

Nezumi scoffed. “Yeah, it kind of does.” Still, he couldn’t help but feel smug.

“I mean it as a good thing, though,” Shion explained. “Actually, I… I really am scared of driving. It’s not that it’s too difficult, it’s just— but—” His sentence sputtered to a halt. Shion forced out an exhale and tried again. “I’m afraid I’ll really mess up and hurt someone, or worse…” He shook his head to himself. “But… when I’m with you, I feel safe. I trust you.”

“Well. Maybe I like driving you around. So it all works out.”

Sure, Shion would eventually have to bite the bullet and get over his fear. For now, though… This was fine, perhaps even preferable. If Shion had a license, Nezumi could easily picture him having a personal crisis over a fender-bender or an unlucky squirrel’s demise. Yes, perhaps this was for the best.

Shion turned his head away, and Nezumi knew that meant either Shion was blushing or something very interesting that only Shion could see was on the side of the road. “Y-Yeah, at least until we graduate. Unless we go to college in the same place…”

They hadn’t discussed college much yet, surprisingly. Nezumi knew Shion planned to go to medical school to become a doctor, but that was about it. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to do, himself.

“I’m not going to med school with you,” Nezumi laughed.

“Well— just hold on a second, that’s not what I meant,” Shion protested. “I’ve been thinking about this. As long as the school you pick has a pre-med track, I’ll go there.”

They slowed to a stop at a red light. The contrarian part of Nezumi ached to argue with Shion’s suggestion, but he’d secretly been hoping for something like this. He hadn’t let himself think too much about going to college with Shion to save himself the disappointment, but now the possibility was very real.

“…Only if you want that, of course,” Shion added. Nezumi’s silence must have been a blow to his confidence.

The light changed, and Nezumi pressed his foot on the gas pedal. “You’re going to save me from the torture of rooming with a total stranger? Seems like a pretty sweet deal to me.”

“I— er, you mean you like my idea?” Shion stammered. “Really?”

Nezumi shrugged. “Yeah. Why not?”

Shion fiddled with the cuffs of his jacket sleeves instead of looking at Nezumi. “I… I guess sometimes I worry that you’ll get sick of me.”

“Unlikely.”

“What?” Shion looked up. “Really? Because sometimes you get really annoyed with me…”

Shion wasn’t exactly wrong. It had been much worse a few years before, when Nezumi was still grappling with the complicated mess of new emotions he felt toward Shion. It wasn’t the proudest time of his life. “When’s the last time I got seriously annoyed with you, though? I can’t remember,” Nezumi replied.

“Um… I believe it was last year, when we were discussing—”

“It was a rhetorical question, Shion,” Nezumi interrupted. “The point is, you’ve had over ten years to do anything truly unforgivable and you haven’t even come close, which makes you a pretty solid candidate for a college roommate, in my opinion.”

“What about that time at the homecoming dance?” Shion asked.

Nezumi blinked, furrowing his eyebrows. “What the hell are you talking about, Shion?”

“Back in eighth grade, I tried to do some kind of dance a bunch of other people were doing, and you looked me in the eye and said ‘truly unforgivable.’ Remember?”

“I—” Nezumi laughed and shook his head. “I may have overreacted. I hardly remember it.”

“So you aren’t even a little mad about that anymore?” Shion asked.

“No? Why would I be?”

Shion shrugged and sighed, which was a rather unusual gesture from his friend. “I know it hasn’t happened in a while, but you at least used to get mad at me for random stuff, sometimes for a long time. I can’t help but worry you might still be mad about some of those things.”

Nezumi was grateful for the excuse of watching the road so he didn’t have to look at Shion for this discussion. He’d thought they could just move on from that bumpy patch in their friendship without talking about it, but apparently that was not the case. He should have expected as much. “Would you believe me if I told you it was all just a lot of mood swings?”

“If you promised that’s the truth, then yeah, I’d believe you.”

Nezumi resisted the urge to sigh himself. “It’s the truth,” he replied. At least, it was the closest he was willing to get to the truth. He didn’t intend to give out any love confessions today. “I swear I’m not mad at you about any of that old stuff. I’m not mad at you about anything.”

“Really?”

“For now, anyway. I’m sure you could piss me off if you really tried.”

Shion giggled a little. “Okay, I’ll try not to worry about it.”

Nezumi turned into the parking lot outside the skating rink and easily found an empty spot. After they parked, Shion quickly unbuckled his seatbelt, but Nezumi locked the doors and kept his finger on the button to do it again if necessary. Shion looked over at him in surprise.

“Before we go in,” Nezumi explained, “you have to tell me what you want for Christmas.”

Shion gave him a grumpy pout. “I thought going skating was my present,” he argued, fiddling with the lock on his door. 

“You know what I’m talking about. Whatever thing I apparently already have that you want. If it’s a sentimental thing, there’s no guarantee I even have it anymore. I don’t save stuff like you do.”

“Well…” Shion averted his eyes, his cheeks growing pink. “I guess I already got what I wanted.”

Nezumi paused, looking ahead as he thought. “…Wait, you wanted to be college roommates for your Christmas present?”

“N-No, not exactly, but— well, yes, it’s basically the same thing.”

“Is it or isn’t it?” Nezumi unbuckled his seatbelt and turned more towards Shion, watching his friend closely. Either Shion was choosing his words carefully or he was planning to bolt from the car.

“I-It’s—” Shion hesitated. “It’s… Nezumi, all I want for Christmas is—”

The pieces came together as Shion spoke, and time slowed down as a terrible realization struck Nezumi. He immediately covered Shion’s mouth with his hand. “Don’t say it!”

The outburst shocked them both into a silence that stretched on for several seconds. Finally, Shion pulled Nezumi’s hand off of his mouth. “What?”

Nezumi felt heat rise from his neck up to his ears. This was going to be difficult to explain. “I-I… You were going to say the name of a Christmas song, weren’t you?”

Shion blinked, then replied, “Oh, y-yeah, I guess so. Um…”

Nezumi had to think fast. He hadn’t thought this conversation would be happening today, or even at all, and it was already off to a rough start. He wasn’t even entirely sure what Shion meant by that kind of request. “Listen,” Nezumi began to explain, though he didn’t really know what he was about to say. He kept talking anyway. “If… if, let’s say, this ends up being something people might ask us about later, I’d rather it not be a reminder of an annoying Christmas song. If what you’re asking for is what I think you’re asking for.”

Shion’s face had turned bright red and his wide, dark eyes were focused on Nezumi’s hands. “Um. What do you think I’m asking for, Nezumi?”

Nezumi almost passed the question right back to Shion, but maybe Shion really couldn’t bring himself to say it. The suave thing to do in this moment would be to answer Shion’s question with a kiss, but Nezumi’s doubts kept him from acting. He settled for a response somewhere in the middle. “It sounds to me like you want a boyfriend for Christmas,” he replied as casually as he could.

Shion didn’t respond, nor did he move. He sat there, frozen in place, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

“…Just nod if I’m right.”

Shion took a small, sharp breath and nodded ever so slightly. Nezumi had never seen his friend look so terrified in his life.

If there had ever been a time to kiss Shion, this was it.

Nezumi had never kissed anyone before, only stage-kissed a few people in drama class, but he reasoned it couldn’t be too different from the real thing. Gently lifting Shion’s chin with one hand, Nezumi leaned closer, lightly closed his eyes, and touched his lips to Shion’s. An odd thrill ran down his spine, which certainly never happened with a thumb in the way— or more likely, with anyone else. 

A second later, he felt a jolt of pain as Shion pressed back too hard, too quickly. Nezumi jerked away and pressed his fingers to his aching lip. “Ow—”

Shion quickly pulled back with a look of absolute horror on his face. “I-I’m so sorry!” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to— I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Nezumi said with a small laugh. “Just— hold still this time.”

Ignoring the pain in his lip, Nezumi leaned closer again. Shion shut his eyes and held his breath. Nezumi lingered just inches away for a moment, then withdrew slightly.

“You… do want me to do this, right?” Nezumi asked.

Shion opened his eyes and looked up at Nezumi briefly before averting his gaze and nodding. “I— That is, only if you want to—”

They’d just crossed a new boundary together, and yet they were both afraid to take a single step further. Something about it was utterly ridiculous, but Nezumi couldn’t blame Shion for acting so nervous. After all, if this change ended up being a mistake, there probably wouldn’t be any going back. From what Nezumi understood about the world, lovers could rarely return to just being friends. Could he really risk their entire friendship? Was it already too late to turn back?

Why hadn’t he thought of this before kissing Shion the first time?

“Are you okay?” Shion asked quietly, meeting Nezumi’s gaze for only a split second. “You’re shaking.” His fingers carefully wrapped around Nezumi’s trembling hand.

“You’re shaking,” Nezumi whispered in retort.

“Y-Yeah, but it’s weird for you to be shaking like this,” Shion replied. He wasn’t wrong.

“So what?”

What kind of answer was that?

“Nezumi…” With a sad expression that was meant to be a smile, Shion turned his head away, breaking the tension and leaving Nezumi with an unpleasant sense of disappointment. “I… It’s okay if you don’t want to—”

“That’s not the— listen, Shion,” Nezumi argued. He didn’t dare pull his hand away from Shion’s gentle grasp. “What if this doesn’t work out? Then what? Do you really think everything would just go back to normal? That we’d just go back to being friends?”

A series of expressions crossed Shion’s face before he spoke, and Nezumi wasn’t entirely sure what any of them meant. “We’ve stuck together through everything so far, so I can’t imagine we wouldn’t be able to find a way to get along,” Shion said with a slight smile. “Besides… I really think… this could work out.”

Maybe Shion was being too much of an optimist, but Nezumi had considered that exact possibility before. Maybe they could get through anything together. None of their past disputes had been enough to damage their friendship. His doubts were losing their ground.

“And… what’s the point of acting like we don’t want more from each other now that we know?” Shion added softly, staring down at their joined hands as if looking anywhere else would cause him to lose what courage he had left. “I… I really love being with you, Nezumi.” He’d said that phrase to him many times before, but Nezumi finally understood what Shion was actually trying to say. “I always have,” Shion added, then let out a shaky sigh and briefly glanced up. “…Please say something.”

Nothing felt right to say, but Nezumi had to say something. He couldn’t leave Shion to doubt himself all over again in his silence. With his free hand, he lifted Shion’s chin so their faces were level once more. “Stay still, alright?”

Shion immediately complied, closing his eyes in anticipation of what was to come. If it wasn’t so cruel to make Shion wait, Nezumi would’ve taken a moment to enjoy the blissful expression on his friend’s face. Summoning his own courage, Nezumi leaned in and gave Shion a careful kiss. Shion’s fingers tightened around his hand in response, but he otherwise stayed perfectly still. Nezumi drew back and Shion’s eyes fluttered open, and slowly, a wide smile spread across Shion’s flushed face. Nezumi couldn’t quite stop himself from grinning as well. The thrill of the moment was still sinking in, even after it was over.

“So, um.” Shion sheepishly ducked his head and held Nezumi’s hand with both of his own. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“Hm. Pretty much the same thing as you, I think,” Nezumi answered with the casual shrug of a shoulder. The hand that had been touching Shion’s face came to rest on Shion’s knee, causing him to jump slightly, but neither of them moved away. An unexpected sense of freedom was settling in… the freedom to show his true affections after all this time.

Shion looked up with an embarrassed smile. “Okay, but I like giving you presents. Is there anything else you want?”

“Who says I don’t like giving you presents?” Nezumi scoffed.

“Well, you said you hate Christmas, didn’t you?” Shion replied, visibly confused. “And you’ve complained plenty of times about how trivial you think Christmas gifts are. I thought you would have just stopped giving anyone presents by now if you’re so against them.”

Nezumi sighed through his nose and glanced away. “It’s… complicated,” he tried to explain. “Overall, yes, I think Christmas presents are crap. But this is an exception.” Shion was the exception. Shion somehow always was the exception for him. “It’s… enjoyable to pick out a gift for you, and I know it’s not a wasted effort since you actually appreciate it.”

“I appreciate anything from you,” Shion said far too earnestly.

Nezumi laughed. This was exactly what he had been talking about. “Yeah, I know. It’s—” Instead of editing his words to be a playful jab, he allowed the rest of his thought to leave his lips, “—cute.”

Shion gawked at Nezumi, then covered his beet-red face with both hands. “I-I—!”

“Did I break you?” Nezumi asked with another laugh, using his newly freed hand to ruffle Shion’s soft, brown hair. Making Shion blush had yet to lose its appeal. “Sorry. Well, not really. Have I really never told you you’re cute before?”

“Um!” Shion kept his face covered as he spoke. “N-No, I think you’ve said that every time you’ve seen me dressed up for an event, but I know you were just making fun of me.”

Nezumi hummed thoughtfully. “Was I, though?”

“Wait, were you!?”

“Was I?”

Shion faced forward again and placed his head down in his folded arms on the dashboard. “Argh, which is it!?” he loudly groaned.

Nezumi rarely saw Shion this worked up. He wasn’t sure whether to be proud or sorry. “Is not knowing really that unbearable?” he asked.

“Kind of.”

Nezumi’s eyes scanned over Shion’s hunched, trembling form. His own nervous jitters had thankfully faded away, but Shion case seemed to be the opposite. “Serious question, though… are you going to be able to skate today? You’re shaking like crazy.”

Shion quickly sat up, placed his hands in his lap, and took a deep breath. “I’m fine!” he insisted, though his face was still awfully red and every inch of him shook.

“Are you sure?” Nezumi asked, raising an eyebrow skeptically. “If you’re that tense on the ice, you’ll definitely fall. What’s the matter, anyway?”

“Nothing!” Shion quickly answered and took another deep breath. “Nothing’s the matter! I’m just— I’m— I’m really happy. And excited.” He let out an anxious laugh. “And a little nervous.”

Nezumi felt his own shoulders relax. Had he been tense, too? “Nervous about what?” he asked.

Shion laughed again. “Um. Well, I did kind of punch your mouth with my face a little.”

“It wasn’t that bad. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“That’s good,” Shion said, giving Nezumi a sheepish glance. “Um. But I’m nervous I’ll do it again. But I— w-want to try—” He looked at Nezumi again, this time with eyes full of hope.

Nezumi opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again and closed his eyes. When he still wasn’t kissed several seconds later, he gestured a hand toward his face and prompted, “Well?”

“What? Oh!”

Once again, Nezumi waited.

“Um, hold still,” Shion murmured and gently grasped both of Nezumi’s hands.

Nezumi complied. A moment later, he felt Shion’s lips gingerly touch his. It was over almost as soon as it happened, just a whisper of a kiss, but it somehow left Nezumi’s nerves buzzing long afterward.

“Was that okay?” Shion asked quietly.

Nezumi opened his eyes and smiled. “Completely painless.”

Shion beamed brighter than the sun overhead.

“Still nervous?” Nezumi asked.

Shion shook his head and looked away, still smiling. “No, not really. Only a little.” He gazed out across the parking lot for a brief moment, then grinned up at Nezumi. “Let’s go skating!”

Nezumi laughed, caught off guard by Shion’s abrupt enthusiasm. “You’re awfully confident all of a sudden,” he teased.

“It’s just that— I realized this will be our first date,” Shion replied. “It’s kind of exciting, you know?”

“You mean all those school dances we went to don’t count?” Nezumi scoffed, still smiling. He knew they didn’t really count. Nezumi had only been Shion’s date to keep him unavailable.

“Um— I didn’t think they did,” Shion said hesitantly. “Do they?”

“Not really, no.” Nezumi smirked as a thought crossed his mind. “Did I ever tell you that Safu called me ‘too possessive’ before the homecoming dance this year?”

Shion covered his face with his hands again and leaned his head against Nezumi’s shoulder. “Oh, jeez… No, you didn’t tell me. What happened?”

“She asked me not to ask you to the dance, and I told her that I’d already asked you and you’d already said yes. Apparently that wasn’t quite what she wanted to hear.”

“Thank you. Again,” Shion mumbled. “I only ever wanted to go with you, anyway.”

A part of Nezumi had always suspected as much, but actually hearing it from Shion gave him a smug sense of satisfaction. He slipped his arm behind Shion in a halfway embrace. “Maybe she’ll finally realize you’re not interested in dating her when she spots us making out at your locker.”

“You’re gonna kiss me at school!?” Shion asked in disbelief.

That wasn’t the takeaway Nezumi had expected Shion to get from his words, but Shion was always like that, surprising him in odd ways. “I might,” Nezumi replied. “You’d better watch out.”

Shion blinked, then smiled and stretched to press a kiss to Nezumi’s cheek. “Then I guess you’d better watch out, too.”

Nezumi turned his head away in an attempt to hide how much a little kiss on the cheek was making him blush. He was going to have to get used to this, wasn’t he? “…Noted.”

Shion giggled at Nezumi’s response, then grinned up at him. “Well, then. Shall we go in?”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

They both exited the car, Nezumi locking the doors before meeting Shion on the other side. They joined hands, and just to make things fair, Nezumi gave Shion a quick kiss on the cheek. For the entire walk across the parking lot toward the ice rink, Shion blushed and giggled while Nezumi wore a smug smile on his face.

If this was what celebrating Christmas with Shion would be like from now on… well, Nezumi certainly didn’t mind.

[nakedmossy]

Depth Over Distance - Part Three [Rudy x Reader]

[A/N: I haven’t found a hometown Rudy fic yet soooo I wrote one. I have no idea where this story is going to go and I’m honestly finding it hard to get out of writing JJ and get into writing Rudy, but here we go anyways. I wanted to write something where the reader and Rudy were hometown friends before he moved to LA, and to explore the idea of how that would change/what it would look like when he comes back. Get ready for a S L O W. B U R N. my dudes. Peace and love, Mossy x]

There were very few people in the world that could make you smile at 7 in the morning when it was raining outside, but Rudy was one of them.

You forced yourself awake as your car wound around the dirt roads, swerving pot holes and washboards, the rain starting to patter lightly on your windshield again. You followed Rudy’s tail lights away from the beach parking lot, your hula girl bobbling on the dash board, and you smiled as you were instantly transported into a flashback of the first time you had followed him down this road. 

————

It was the day you bought your car, the week of your sixteenth birthday, and Rudy had asked you to meet him out at the beach alone in the afternoon before your party later that night. You had driven your car to the parking lot where his old beaten down and barely drivable Chevy was parked and pulled in beside him. He applauded graciously as you got out of the drivers seat and you took a deep bow, laughing.

“Look at this absolute TANK!” He said, taking his sunglasses off and walking around the car, inspecting it. It must have passed his inspection because he got up off the ground after looking under the wheel wells and wiping the dirt off his knees, beaming. “Its perfect”

“Isn’t it?” You gushed, unable to contain the smile plastered on your face. “I can’t believe its mine. It feels so weird.”

“Come on” Rudy bumped your arm with his and grabbed his pack out of the box of his truck. You followed him down the trail, jogging lightly to keep up with his long, comfortable stride. When you got to the beach, he laid a blanket out and patted for you to sit down beside him, you had been telling him about how the car drove and all its quirks you had noticed and how sticky the gear shift was, and didn’t notice when he pulled two beers out of his pack.

“Oh” You said quietly, stopping talking and staring at him. “Rudy, I can’t. I have to drive to my party after this.” 

Rudy smiled at you and chucked the beer underhand at you so you had to catch it. Your eyes wide, you looked around, checking to make sure nobody was watching.

“Relax, Y/N. I will drive in front of you...if anything happens ill get stopped first.” He winked at you, knowing that one beer wouldn’t get either of you in trouble but knowing how conscious you were, and cracked his can. You apprehensively cracked your own, some of the spray from it being shaken up landing on your bare legs. You clinked cans and smiled at each other. Rudy looked at you intently and dipped his head towards you.

“To you. My wonderful best friend. I hope you have the best night ever. Happy Birthday. Congrats on the car. Can’t wait to christen it-”

“RUDY!” You smacked his arm and laughed until your face was beat red. “Cheers”

He echoed you and you both lifted your cans, drinking a few gulps. It was hoppy and made your throat burn, you squinted and shook your head.

“-AND, and,” He tipped his can towards you. “I have a present for you.”

“No.” You looked at him, feigning anger. “You know the rules. We don’t do presents...”

He ignored you and smiled cheekily, lifting a box out of his pack. Unwrapped and the cardboard torn, you snorted as he passed it to you. You hoped he mistook your blushing for the beer making you flush. As you opened the box, you could feel your legs tingling and your chest pumping quicker. Rudy had never given you a gift before - you had agreed as kids that you weren’t going to be those friends. This felt weird and intimate. First you saw the black hair and the green skirt, then the lai and the bikini top. You looked up at him and raised your eyebrows before you started laughing.

“Oh really, Rudy. Really, you shouldn’t have. Thank you.” You mocked sincerity, putting a hand on your chest. “So thoughtful...I just...”

“Alright shut up” He laughed, tearing the box up and stuffing it back in his pack. 

You smiled genuinely at him, and held the dashboard hula girl gently in your hands. 

“Thank you” You said without laughing now, making Rudy wiggle his nose and shift his position on the blanket, scratching his hand through his hair nervously.

“Well. You know...no beater is complete without one.” He said with mock seriousness.

“Hey! She’s not a beater. She’s...just...very well loved.” You emphasized the last words, hoping to convey how loved you felt at that moment.

You smiled at each other now, then the smiles faded and you held each others gazes silently. You couldn’t tell if it was the beer or the sunset or Rudy’s cologne or the proximity of how close you sat on the blanket, but the air shifted between you and you felt your head loosen on your shoulders. It was as if Rudy was leaning towards you, but you felt wobbly so you couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that he was staring at you, your eyes, your lips, and your chest was pounding and you felt light headed. 

You swallowed and broke eye contact, looking at the water. 

“We should probably get going. Can’t be late to our own party.” You smiled at him, his eyes still lingered on your mouth then hazily looked back up at your eyes and returned the smile. 

“Yeah” He agreed, then stood quickly, offering you his hand to help you up. 

You white knuckled the steering wheel the entire drive from the beach to your house, the hula girl on the dash wiggling in between Rudy’s tail lights.

————

You blinked and looked at the road again, Rudy’s rental car tail lights disappearing around the corner onto his street. You looked at the hula girl and stretched your hands out on the steering wheel, your palms sweaty.

You pulled into his driveway behind his car as he emerged from the drivers seat, taking his sunglasses off and hanging them off the neck of his shirt. You shoved the gear stick into park and reefed on the e-brake (you couldn’t trust the brakes on flat land let alone a slight hill) as Rudy walked towards your car, waiting near the hood. He placed his hand on it and smiled, you watched as you took off your seatbelt and opened your door.

“What, did you miss her?” You asked sarcastically as he feigned shock and lifted his hand to his chest.

“Of course I did” He bumped your elbows together when you stepped in beside him and you both started towards his front door.

His house hadn’t changed a lick since you were there last - you stopped visiting a few months after Rudy left, even though his mom invited you over every single time she saw you. The gutters were still rusting and the front door looked like you could kick it in if you tried hard enough. You spent more time at this house than you did at your own in high school, and walking up to it was like muscle memory, you knew to sidestep the root in front of the first step, to skip to the third step because the second was rotten and your foot would go through it.

Rudy’s mom was already coming down the hall towards the front door, making all sorts of noises and probably crying, and you could hear the family dogs scuttling on the hardwood around her feet. 

“Good lord, my boy.” His mom stopped in the frame between the main door and the screen door, then she broke into hysterics, throwing the screen open and pulling him into a huge, very Rudy bear hug. He came by them honestly. He looked at you like he needed help before she turned her attention to you and did the same thing.

“Hi Mrs Pan-Hi, yep hello-“ She squeezed you so hard you felt your back crack. 

“Mom - you literally see her once a week, chill.”

Rudy was laughing but also courteously trying to pry his mother back inside the house. It was true - she did see you every week when she came into the bookstore to pick up her newspapers and magazine subscriptions, but it didn’t matter. She was like a second mother to you and always made you feel like it was the most exciting day in the world when you came to visit.

When you finally made it into the kitchen, you and Rudy sat down at the barstools as his mom flew back into whatever she was making, both of you knowing better than to get in her way when she was cooking. She started talking to Rudy about how the trip had been and how much of a ‘weiner that Alan was, messing up your schedule like that’. Rudy placed his phone on the counter and the screen lit up briefly - showing over 20 missed calls from someone who’s name started with an A. The screen went dark before you could read it. Wow - he really was famous. Or had a stalker.

You watched Rudy and his mom convalescing over their separation (his parents flew to LA to see him at Christmas every year since he had left, but still) and felt yourself relax into your seat, smiling. Watching her rolling dough and washing fresh berries, smelling the spices and being in the same seats you had spent numerous summer mornings in in high school, you actually felt somewhat hungry.

Rudy’s mom passed you a cup of fresh coffee and you nodded a thank you at her as you began to sip it, listening to their conversation shift from how the trip was to how his acting classes were going to how Anna was doing. Anna? The name jogged your brain and you realized that was who the missed calls had been from. Rudy’s face dropped and his eyes flitted to your briefly, you lowered your cup from your mouth and held his gaze, then he regained composure and smiled at you before looking back to his mom. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah no she’s good. Actually I was gonna talk to you about that later.” His eyebrows rose and he smiled shortly at her, to which she made a confused expression and continued.

“But I thought-”

“Mom. Later.” He said finally, cutting her off. She nodded once and returned to her dough, continuing to talk to him about some of the things they had lined up while he was home. You barely heard a word she said, your gut was screaming at you that something was off about the way Rudy had reacted to her bringing up this Anna person and how odd it was he had so many missed calls from her. His body had gone completely rigid, and he had completely dodged the conversation, like he was keeping her a secret. You and Rudy had never kept secrets. Besides, if he had told his mom about a girl, it was serious. He hadn’t even told her about his high school girlfriend and they had dated for over 4 months. Why was he being shady now?

Then it hit you, and you felt like an ignorant little girl. It had been 4 years since he was home, he lived in LA and was a professional actor. He led an entirely different life that you knew nothing about now. It had been so easy, so comforting, to slip back into your old routine with him, being in his family home, visiting with his mom. But it wasn’t the same as it had been before, you were both different people now. Of course he had been with girls, was probably with girls right now, apparently her name was Anna, and who were you to him? His high school best friend? He didn’t owe you an explanation. But it did feel like a mistake coming here, expecting everything to just... be as it was. You felt silly.

As his mom brought plates of food to the table and motioned for you to sit with her, you grabbed your phone out of your pocket and checked the time. It was just after 8am. 

“Actually, Mrs Pankow, I would love to stay but I’m actually not super hungry and I have to help my dad get ready for this trip he has coming up this weekend...it was really nice to see you though.” You rushed your words and scurried towards her, forcing her into a hug and then separating and moving towards the door, walking backwards as you talked.

“Wait, but honey I made you a plate.” She stood, confused, looking at you while holding the tongs.

“I know I’m so sorry, I just didn’t realize the time. I’ll see you soon, though. Promise. Bye Rudy”

As you spoke you spoke only to her, avoiding Rudy’s eyes which were watching you intently as he rose from his seat. You put your back against the screen and apologized again before pushing through it and jogging back down the stairs, tripping on the root at the bottom and walking quickly towards your car. You heard the screen door slam as Rudy called your name from behind you.

“Hey, Y/N, woah woah woah.” He was behind you before you reached your car, his hand wrapped around your arm. “Where are you going?” He spun you to face him, his face full of concern. 

You smiled, tight-lipped, and nodded to your car.

“I lost track of time. I have to go.” You said curtly, waiting for him to let your arm go. 

“Look if its about the food...I mean, you don’t have to...” He looked down at your arm, that was so devoid of fat and muscle anymore that his hand could wrap fully around it, and frowned.

You let out a breath and looked around, pinching the bridge of your nose before speaking.

“Its not that, Rudy. I just...I need to go. I’m sorry.”  You backed away, tugging your arm free as you walked towards your car again, your face hot and feeling embarrassed. Of course he would think it was about you not wanting to eat. 

“Y/N wait” He said hurriedly, jogging to catch up to you and pressing your door closed as you began to open it. You looked up at him now, his eyes were intensely focused on you.

“What’s going on?” He was scanning your face, desperate. You felt yourself crumbling being this close to him and feeling him watching you so intensely. His expression faltered and his features relaxed. “Please talk to me” he said quietly.

You took a step back, away from your door, and let out a breath, swatting a mosquito away.

“I don’t know Rudy, I just....a lot has changed since you left. A lot. And I can’t just waltz around and pretend like we’re still in high school and nothing is different. We’re different...and...I mean if there are some parts of your life that you don’t want to share with me then that’s fine, but-“

“Hold on, what are you talking about?” His brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes, taking a step towards you.

You raised your eyebrows at him and looked around, putting your hands in your pockets.

“You don’t have to...hide...stuff. From me. Of all people.” You said slowly, urging him to pick up on it so you wouldn’t have to say it. He looked stunned. “Anna?” You finally relented, taking half a step back.

His shoulders relaxed and a small smile crept onto his face, then a small laugh. 

“My agent?” He said in a half mocking tone. “Anna is my agent.”

“Oh. Oh...that’s...weird” You felt the gears in your head turning slowly, trying to think if you had ever heard her name before or maybe it was normal to fool around and date your agents in LA? “You’re seeing your agent?” You said sceptically, trying not to look too judgemental.

He let out a full belly laugh then. 

“No I’m not dating my agent, you loser. I just didn’t want to...talk about work yet. Its all my mom ever wants to talk about and I’m kinda trying to...have a few hours to relax first.” He said quietly, his eyebrows raised as he watched you, ready to laugh again at any moment.

You rolled your eyes and looked at your feet, nodding and pursing your lips.

“Yeah alright laugh it up. I don't know...you just seemed really on the spot when your mom brought her up. It was weird.”

He looked around and put his arms up, resting his hands on his head before his eyes settled back on you. He licked his lips and took a step towards you, dropping his hands to his sides.

“Look. There are some things about work I haven’t shared with my mom yet, and probably never will. And what I said on the beach this morning...about needing to come home for awhile. I meant that. Its...complicated. And trust me, please trust me when I say that I want to share that with you but....” His eyes were heavy on you then, he set his jaw and stepped towards you. “Y/N, please don’t go yet. I just got here.” He said firmly, his eyes locked on you.

You nodded once, scratching your forehead, and throwing your hands up dramatically.

“Fine. Alright.”

Rudy chewed his cheek and smiled, taking a deep breath and releasing it as his dad appeared on the porch behind him, the screen door squeaking.

“Hey! Kids! My breakfast is getting cold over here!” He shouted, smiling as Rudy turned around to wave at him. Rudy looked back at you once to make sure you were still coming, to which you nodded reassuringly, before he took off and hiked up the steps to greet his dad with a hug.

____________________________________________

Tag List: @bluebirdsbluebells​, @sunshinemadds​, @lovelymaybankk​, @poguestyleskye​, @alexa-playafricabytoto​, @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch​, @k-k0129​, @kimyeon-tae​, 

[rivalsforlife]

I DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE DOING COMMENTARY hope it's not too late to ask for The Scene at the end of chapter 5 of the catch up game?? if no one else has asked?

It is never too late to ask!! Genuinely you could probably ask me six months from now and I’ll ramble on about all this, I’m generally down to talk about my writing all the time. (And I’m actually a little surprised nobody asked about The Scene yet... oh well haha)

First though: have you seen this art yet? If you haven’t you should. It was going around twitter again lately and I love it a lot so I wanted to advertise it while I had the chance.

Anyways, keeping under a “keep reading” here:

So. The Scene. First I’ll present my notes from the outline when I was trying to figure out this fic:

Miles lets his feelings slip, Phoenix doesn’t take it too well, they part on a kind of awkward note.

Somehow “kind of an awkward note” ended up being uhhh that!

Anyways before we get into this I want to say that I really did not think it would have that much of an emotional impact? I got a much bigger reaction than I thought and that’s around when people really started talking about it on the narumitsu discord and stuff, so I ended up for the rest of the week soooo stressed out that I’d accidentally gone in a completely different direction than I’d planned and set people’s expectations too high and they would be COMPLETELY DISAPPOINTED IN THE REST OF THE FIC but uh luckily that didn’t happen! I think. At least if anyone was super disappointed they didn’t tell me about it!

And it was probably partially that I am not very uhh good with emotions and also probably that I got pretty desensitized to my work but I genuinely did not think it was that bad until I saw Ro’s art and then went “ohhh suddenly I am consumed with so much guilt...” (and also doubted how in character this scene was. how can ANYONE say no to that face --)

Most critically though, this scene distracted everyone from whatever the hell was going on with the casefic earlier in the chapter, so overall I think it’s a success.

Sorry it’s taking a while to get to the actual scene, but I wrote a few drafts of this thing beforehand and modified it a lot trying to get it right. I needed it to be sufficiently dramatic but I didn’t want it to seem like... I was just adding it in there for extra conflict? Like you know sometimes you read stuff and you’re like “where the hell did this sudden argument come from” yeah. I wanted to avoid that if I could, so partially this was supported by the weight of chapter 4 to explain Phoenix’s reasons for the rejection and then chapter 6 is supposed to elaborate more, but I still needed this to stand fairly well on its own.

The overall theme of this chapter was “Opposites”, and again, here’s what I had in my fic notes:

I want to contrast how Phoenix sees Miles and how Miles sees Phoenix. Because they both kind of see each other as an amazing person while seeing themselves as failures. Maybe at the end Phoenix is kind of putting himself down and Miles argues about it and then they have a slight argument. Miles lets his feelings slip, Phoenix doesn’t take it too well, they part on a kind of awkward note.

I couldn’t really find a way to integrate this conversation in naturally, so I could only get Phoenix’s perspective in there a little bit. Originally Miles’ confession wasn’t supposed to be planned, just a spur of the moment in the middle of an argument where Phoenix kind of goes “I don’t understand why you keep hanging out with me, why are you spending so much time with me, I’m not struggling, I don’t need you worrying about me” and Miles interrupts with a “Because I love you, you idiot!” ... But I couldn’t get that to work because the buildup into the argument felt too abrupt. 

Last little bit of something just before the argument (some of the dialogue here went into the chapter 4 dinner conversation instead):

Miles: (quietly) I’ve spent most of my life trying to climb higher in my career, in order to fight corruption as best I could. And I have, and every day my mission is growing closer to completion, or at least as much as it can. But after that… (staring at some kids’ toy) what’s left for me? I’ve taken a rather unconventional path through life. I’m starting to wonder about opportunities I’ve missed.

Phoenix: (jokingly) Is that some long-winded way of telling me you’re planning on settling down?

Miles: I’d never settle. But in some sense, I suppose so.

Phoenix: (stopping in his tracks) You’re kidding. L-Like, what, in a year or so I’m gonna walk in to your office one day and find you with a wife and kids?

Miles: (rolling his eyes) You do know that I’m gay, don’t you? And why would I keep them in my office? There’s no need to be so melodramatic, Wright.

Again couldn’t fit it in I just found it funny. ANYWAYS FINALLY MOVING AWAY FROM THE DRAFTS AND TO THE ACTUAL THING, I’ll skip ahead a bit to just before the confession:

“How long has it been since I came here?” 

“I dunno… since before I got my badge back, probably.”

“That sounds about right.” Edgeworth sighed and leaned against Phoenix’s desk. “I’ve barely gotten the chance to see you, since you got your badge back and I took my new position. I’ve missed going up against you in court.”

“I don’t,” Phoenix teased, slipping his case notes into his desk drawer. “You’re a nightmare.”

“You’re one to talk.” The corners of Edgeworth’s eyes crinkled as he looked over at him. “You can be so infuriating, but I do like working with you. I had fun today.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow. “Fun? You?”

“I suppose age has softened me up.”

“I didn’t think anything could soften you up.”

“You’d be surprised. I often have fun when I’m with you. I always…” He trailed off, averting his eyes and gripping his elbow. “I’ve been… thinking, a bit. On our earlier conversation.”

So basically... Miles got preeetty close to confessing during their dinner in chapter 4, but kinda backed out at the last moment, and he’s been agonizing over this ever since. Because the way he interpreted their conversation was sort of “We both want to move forward into a relationship but don’t know how to take the steps to do so”, whereas Phoenix interpreted more as a consensus that “We could probably start a relationship and there are feelings there but it wouldn’t really work out so we just won’t ever talk about it”.

And Miles throughout this fic assumed that Phoenix has been in love with him for a while and only holding back for Miles’ own sake, and waiting for Miles to signal that he’s actually ready to move into a romantic relationship. ... Which is very much not the case. What makes today different though is that Miles got to watch Phoenix solve mysteries, and I’m of the opinion that Miles considers Phoenix at his most attractive when he is uncovering the truth!! so Miles pretty much just saw him solve this case and go “I must kiss this man on the lips Right Now” but thought he should clear some things up before he did that.

which is good because if he just walked up to Phoenix and kissed him without preamble I’m pretty sure Phoenix would have died, so.

Something imperceptibly changed in the atmosphere. It made Phoenix’s heart race faster in anticipation. “Oh? Which one?”

“The one we had during the last dinner we shared.”

“O-Oh.” That had been weeks ago. Surely Phoenix had forgotten something.

“Everything has changed so much, over the course of my career, between us.” Edgeworth’s eyes flickered up to him briefly before settling back down on the desk. “I’ve never been afraid of moving forward, but this, I want…” He exhaled, shakily. “Give me a minute. This is… difficult.”

Phoenix kind of... knows, subconsciously, where this is going, but he’s trying to deny it until the last minute because he’s very unprepared and has no idea how to deal with this... which will become very clear by the end of the scene.

Miles is tricky to write in a confession scene because he can be kind of weird with emotions? Sometimes he’ll give these Grand Speeches about how much That Man means to him but at the same time he struggled a lot with talking about his feelings during the trilogy and I think he’d still struggle with it now. Especially something as raw and vulnerable as a love confession.

And Miles is also someone who is, at least by the Investigations duology, determined to pursue what is Right and what is the Truth without any sort of hesitation. However pursuing Wright is different. (insert horrible forced laugh track)

“W-Well, don’t strain yourself,” Phoenix insisted. “We can talk another day. I-It’s getting late, after all, we should —”

“We should stop dancing around the issue.” Edgeworth’s eyes snapped up and locked with Phoenix’s, pinning him in place. “Don’t go easy on me now, of all times.”

oh man I have to admit I got really into Persona 5 Royal for like a few weeks around the time I was writing this and that “don’t go easy on me now of all times” is looosely inspired by a similar line in there that’s like “do you think I’d be happy with being shown mercy now, of all times?” because although it’s a different dynamic than narumitsu I was uh. intrigued.

... sorry it’s so vague I wanted to avoid spoilers anyways, moving on,

Phoenix’s mouth ran dry. Edgeworth couldn’t possibly be planning to —

“Everything has changed between us,” continued Edgeworth. “I want things to — to continue to change, I-I want to be closer, is—” He sucked a breath in through his teeth “— is it not obvious?”

Hadn’t they agreed, in that way they could agree without saying a word, that they were never going to talk about this?

Phoenix broke his gaze. “No. It’s not. I— I don’t want to argue with you. It’s late.”

Pretty much same as previous notes: Phoenix in extreme denial that this is actually happening whereas Miles is just trying to force it all out.

Phoenix is kind of trying to talk Miles down from confessing; Miles is sort of interpreting it as “Wright isn’t going to let me get away with not actually saying this so I need to be more direct.” 

I’m sure that later when Miles is curled up on his bed wondering where he went wrong he’ll think of that :)

“Phoenix.”

The use of his first name forced Phoenix to look up again.

Edgeworth stared at him for a long time. There was something impossible swimming just under the surface of his grey eyes.

“Phoenix Wright,” he said. “I am in love with you.”

HE DID IT!! He’s so brave I’m sure that nothing can go wrong!!

Gossip was one thing. Lingering touches and stolen glances, Phoenix could deal with those. The knowledge that Edgeworth was interested in him in a not-so-platonic way… that was more than enough.

This, hearing Edgeworth say the words out loud, was another thing entirely. Even if Phoenix already knew. Nothing could have prepared him for — for whatever this was, for Edgeworth, looking at him all open and vulnerable, and — and saying —

“Wh… What…?”

Edgeworth tilted his head slightly to the side, causing his bangs to fall into his face. “Surely you’ve figured it out already?”

“I-I don’t understand…”

At first there was a line right after “Even if Phoenix already knew” that was “Even if he felt the same”, but then I decided to make it so Phoenix can’t even admit his feelings to himself, so I cut that one out.

Anyways this is shocking to Phoenix partially because of Denial but also because he didn’t expect Miles to actually come out and say something like this. He’s used to Miles being closed off with his emotions and doesn’t think him the type to ever directly acknowledge them, so it’s got him totally off guard, too. It’s unpredictable for someone who is supposed to know Miles so well so it’s very unnerving for him.

“I… I think you are incredible,” said Edgeworth. “Your single-minded dedication to truth and justice. Your compassion. Your mercy. The way you… brought light, brought life, back into my world. You can be so frustrating, and stubborn, but that’s part of why I have always admired you so much.” The corners of his eyes softened. “You saved me a thousand times over, and I want to spend the rest of my life by your side… however you want me.”

Miles generally people go on at least one date before proposing marriage but okay.

One thing I find interesting about Miles as a character is that he’s very much an all-or-nothing kind of person... he doesn’t ever really half-ass things and he doesn’t know how to do things gradually haha. He won’t allow the truth to be covered in darkness for even a moment even if it makes things easier for him in the long run. Saying “I think you’re great, maybe we should go on a few dates and see how things end up?” is probably the SENSIBLE thing to say, but Miles puts 100% of himself into everything that he does post-character development; and he’s secure enough in his relationship with Phoenix that he doesn’t really feel the need to test the waters. Plus Miles is allergic to uncertainty, so by the time he confesses he’d need to be absolutely certain that he loved Phoenix Wright and was prepared to pretty much go all in with him.

after all Phoenix feels the same way right!!

Phoenix stared. His heartbeat was reverberating in his ears. “I don’t know what to say. … Me.”

“Who else?”

“Who — a-anyone else. God, Edgeworth, what even is that shit, about me being i-intelligent, and dedicated, and compassionate, and — and — incredible, geez, I’m a wreck! I—” His voice wavered into a fit of near hysteria. “The only reason I’ve gotten this far is ‘cause I’ve always had amazing people by my side, and — and once they’re gone I’m back to whatever I usually am, I-I only have this one suit, I still haven’t got my freaking driver’s license, I don’t think I’ve eaten anything but instant meals in a month—”

(And he looked to Edgeworth, desperately, but Edgeworth was still gazing at him, expression gentle, gentle yet unyielding, not taking back his words or expressing an ounce of regret — why wasn’t he changing his mind —)

“You’re describing yourself more than me,” said Phoenix weakly. “Really, I’m not — I’m not like that, okay, I’m not…” He forced himself to take a deep breath. “Why are you telling me this?”

This is the one part that stayed consistent throughout all drafts of this scene haha. Some of it is echoes from what Godot told him back in Bridge to the Turnabout about him always needing someone to swoop in at the last minute to the rescue; others are sort of a loose refence to his behaviour during the beginning of RFTA and Reunion and Turnabout where he couldn’t really function without Maya there to look after.

This part sort of ties more into that objective I had with this chapter of contrasting how they see themselves; they both see each other as incredible people, because they don’t really get to see inside each other and see how much of a wreck they feel.

Also the very first sort of script of this confession had Phoenix saying “I thought you knew me better than this!” but that just seemed way too cruel for this haha.

“I know that I… that I have difficulty with these things,” said Edgeworth, fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “I’ve never been the most open of people and we’ve — we’ve always been so distant, for so long. I wasn’t there for you when I should have been, and I want that to change. Because, ever since we met… you’ve been such a major part of my life. I never thought I would live to be older than my father. I never thought I would be happy with myself. But you, you came into my life, and you changed all that.”

(That wasn’t you,) a voice in Phoenix’s heart whispered. (You only started it. The rest was all him.)

“But I don’t want to be satisfied with what I have right now. I still want more. There’s still a part of life I want to explore, and… I want to do it with you.”

(He’s always been fine without you. One day he’s going to realize it too, and then…)

“I’m tired of hiding my emotions and being too afraid to upset the status quo when it comes to relationships. I refuse to be scared of that anymore.”

(Why isn’t he scared, too?)

ugh this was the hardest part to write I think...? Trying to figure out a way to get Phoenix’s internal feelings across where it doesn’t come out of nowhere. I settled with a lot of internal thoughts that are just like... self-loathing, pretty much.

Meanwhile Miles has prepared this whole emotional monologue that Phoenix is only half listening to, basically about what a huge impact Phoenix has had in his life and how he’s sort of... now that he’s presumably made large steps to fixing the justice system he’s turning to more personal goals in life, and one of those goals is spending his life with Phoenix, if he can be brave enough to do it.

Phoenix isn’t paying attention though because he’s too busy panicking...

“Most of all, I… I couldn’t hide anything from you for long. I’d trust you with the world. You’re my equal, and my opposite.” Something resembling a shaky smile crossed Edgeworth’s face. “And I love you.”

me shoving the “theme of the day” in there awkwardly

But he smiles!! This is one of the rare occasions where Miles kind of does smile... there’s a lot of “almost-smile”s or brief smiles and Miles is scared out of his wits here but he’s happy. he finally got that off his chest. he was brave and he told Phoenix how he felt and they’ll be so, so happy together, nothing can possibly go wrong,

The words knocked out any breath Phoenix had managed to regain. His skin suddenly felt cold and clammy, and he was faced with vertigo more intense than standing on rooftops. What was happening to him?

There was something he was supposed to say to this. He should react to this normally. His mouth was drier than a desert. His tongue felt unsightly and awkward in his mouth.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you that if I have somehow misinterpreted, I won’t mention this again.” Unease and uncertainty flickered behind Edgeworth’s eyes. “And I would never be upset, as long as you tell me the truth. I want to take the next steps of my life with you. … Do you feel the same way?”

oh yeah this part was a little tricky too. Pretty much Phoenix is on the verge of a full-blown panic attack and cannot think of a response, even a nice polite rejection... and finally Miles starts realizing that something’s off, because before he was just running on adrenaline to try and get his feelings out that he didn’t stop to examine Phoenix’s reactions, otherwise he would’ve started overthinking and psyched himself out. But now that he got it out and seeing Phoenix pretty much in shock he’s starting to worry he’d made a mistake.

Also “unease and uncertainty” is definitely an “unnecessary feelings” reference because I’m shameless.

Yes, Phoenix wanted to say, yes, I do, and say what he felt, what he wanted. But the words wouldn’t come.

Why couldn’t he say it? It should be easy. If he truly wanted this, it should be as easy as breathing.

His vision swam with pink butterflies, he ran his tongue over the scars in his mouth, his breath caught jagged on the edges of chains —

Aaaand if either one of them had the magatama right now there would be the psyche-locks! I was gonna elaborate on this a lot but this is so far waaay longer than I intended so I’ll spare you and give a brief summary.

Essentially there are three locks. I wrote them as sort of representing each issue that Phoenix needs to acknowledge for them to break -- not necessarily fix, because that would be a super tricky thing, but acknowledging they’re there is a start. They’re pretty much “Trust”, “Abandonment”, and “Vulnerability”. Later I realized those issues are pretty much tied up in each other so instead I just made it so that each one is set by a traumatic event, and then acknowledging those events is what breaks them.

The first is an obvious “Dahlia and Iris really screwed up Phoenix’s ability to trust a partner romantically”. I love Iris but she really did mess him up as well. Phoenix kind of convinced himself he’s over this issue now since Iris was a good person! but really he’s still messed up about it. (And that’s where the butterflies + scars in his mouth sort of come from). Talking to Iris and acknowledging that he’s still hurting over it is what breaks this one.

The second is more directly related to all the times Miles himself has abandoned him particularly throughout the series. Some of the hurt when Miles prosecuted him in Turnabout Sisters, and definitely a lot regarding “Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death”, it’s pretty much him being scared to get /too/ attached to Miles because he fears Miles might abandon him again. This one breaks in chapter 7 when he has the whole realization that Miles might die and leave him regardless, and acknowledges how afraid he is of Miles leaving again.

And the last is more of acknowledging his need to be needed by people and help people but they move on without him and not don’t really him in their lives. This built up more gradually... with littler things like Apollo leaving the Agency and Maya not being around as much and Trucy moving out. Neither of these are Big Bad Traumatic Events like the other two but it’s still an issue Phoenix has that he needs to acknowledge. Trucy’s letter breaks this one by telling him he’s never going to be alone and they all love him and are there for him. And that’s why right after reading the letter he can tell Miles that he loves him.

So that’s that. Moving back to the actual story now...

“Phoenix?”

Edgeworth still stood so close, too close, and when Phoenix breathed his senses were assaulted by the scent of his cologne and — and he was too close, and his words were too much, Edgeworth couldn’t be in love with him. Attracted, sure, but love — how could he so easily say love?

This wasn’t like Edgeworth. This wasn’t how things were before, this wasn’t how things had always been, every time things changed too fast something would go wrong, every time things changed too fast Edgeworth would leave again —

(— and right now Edgeworth’s body was coiled tight with tension, like a spring, ready to take off at any sudden movement —)

— and Phoenix couldn’t say a word.

Fairly self-explanatory I think: basically acknowledging that fear that Miles is going to leave again.

Phoenix was standing on the edge of a turnabout. Somewhere he’d have to take the plunge for victory, for the truth. He’d never shied from them before. He’d always accepted the risks. And they’d (almost always) paid off.

But something had Phoenix in a vice. Dark chains that wrapped around his chest and constricted his lungs. Something that would drown him if he took the plunge. Something that whispered that he could not risk this, his heart and his life in one. There was too much to lose. It was all too much.

That little (almost always) there is referencing that one time he presented the critical case-changing evidence and got disbarred for it; his disbarment messed him up pretty bad too, I guess it’d fit in the category of the third psyche-lock.

And of course the second paragraph references the psyche-locks more directly before they actually show up.

The words came. They weren’t the ones he wanted.

“No,” said Phoenix. “No, I don’t.”

The rattling in Phoenix’s head cut out. Silence fell over the room.

Pretty much once Phoenix stops pressing the issue the psyche-locks stop shaking. I imagine they’re a pretty terrible thing to break directly; he can’t do it on his own like this.

“... I see,” said Edgeworth, and something snapped shut, drew tight, rigid, back to a statue. “I thought… nevermind.”

Miles kind of draws back into himself all tightly-controlled, less open than before, because that really hurt him a lot. He’d probably prefer it than Phoenix being all evasive and sort of reassuring because he prefers people just cut straight to the facts, but that was direct even for him.

And of course he thought that Phoenix did feel that way about him. He was certain of it. So hearing Phoenix didn’t and he was completely wrong is... not good.

He’d gone so still. At the sight of it, whatever spell was holding Phoenix in its grasp broke, and he came back to reality — this wasn’t right, this wasn’t good, he had to fix this, somehow, bring things back to the way they were, “Edgeworth—”

And the sight of Miles completely freezing up and closing himself off is enough to break Phoenix free of the initial panic, because he does care a lot about Miles, and seeing him withdraw worries him.

“It’s getting late,” said Edgeworth, and only someone as experienced as Phoenix could detect the waver in his voice. “Thank you for being honest with me, Wright. I’ll talk to you later.”

The remark stung worse than a knife would, he couldn’t let it end like this. “I—”

The office door shut, none too gently. Phoenix was alone.

“... I’m sorry.”

That “thank you for being honest with me” wasn’t SUPPOSED to be a jab, of course, because Miles would prefer that Phoenix was honest than lie to him. But Phoenix did lie and that’s what bothers Phoenix the most throughout the next couple of chapters; they both value the truth so highly that lying to each other is inconceivable.

And Miles probably should have stuck around for a bit and heard Phoenix out and maybe Phoenix could have managed a half-decent explanation of “okay I don’t know what that was but this was very sudden and I’m panicking, can you give me time to process?” but if Miles stayed for much longer he probably would have started breaking down and that’s the last thing he wants to do right now, especially in front of Phoenix, so he left as soon as possible.

I think he managed to repress enough that he could get home safely, but the moment he crossed the threshold into privacy he probably had himself a good cry... curled up on the couch and watched some Steel Samurai with a tub of ice cream... but he was pretty emotionally devastated by this. It took a lot of effort for him to open up and be honest about his feelings so just being shut down like that... hurt a lot. He’d never admit it though.

anyways I also have this short bit of writing I posted a while back about Miles actually getting a hug after all this, because he really needs one.

And that’s the scene!! I think I said more than enough so I’ll end it here haha.

[incorrectprodigalsonquotes]

A Festival of Brightness

Finally getting to one of the fic requests I was sent. Thank you to @jimhalpertcanbuymelove for sending this request in and letting me turn it into a Brightwell fic.

And an extra special thank you to @s4karuna for co-writing this with me, it was so much fun and we hope you enjoy what we wrote!

Chapter 1

Friday night dinners. 

Ever since Malcolm returned to New York, every Friday night was dedicated to dinner with Ainsley and his mother. Jessica had insisted on it. 

I gave birth to you both, she had said airily, though it was easy for Malcolm to hear the steel of a Milton matriarch in her voice. His FBI training was still no match for someone who could engage in psychological warfare with high society, metaphorically ripping off pearl necklaces with elegant words while on her third glass of gin. 

Twenty hours of labour for Malcolm’s big head alone. Don’t I at least deserve a little of your time?

Malcolm and Ainsley weren’t exactly fans of their mandatory dinners, but neither of them could deny their mother this one thing. Besides, it wasn’t like either of them had anything better to do on a Friday night. Ainsley would either binge watch The Great British Bakeoff and bemoan her nonexistent culinary skills or stay up all night editing news footage with unfashionable raccoon eyes. And Malcolm? Frankly, it was best left unanswered. 

But what started out as little more than an obligation to their mother gradually became tolerable, even enjoyable on occasion. Malcolm suspected that shared trauma might have played a hand in it, but he wasn’t going to go there. Possibly ever. 

At the moment, Jessica was still chatting about the menu she had planned for their annual family Christmas dinner, waving around a forkful of seared scallops as the siblings covertly exchanged amused looks. Neither of them were paying much attention, used to their mother’s little complaints and anecdotes.

“And I would love to set up more than our usual three place setting for our little family dinners.” Jessica suddenly added, her manner nonchalant. “Maybe even set up a high chair or two by this time next year.”

Malcolm choked on his vichyssoise when he noticed his mother’s pointed look. That glint in her eyes was something he was far too familiar with. Jessica Whitly was out to get something by hook or by crook.

“W-what?” He sputtered, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “Please tell me you don’t mean--”

“I’m just saying, I would like to hear the pitter-patter of little feet running around again.”

“Mother!” Malcolm shot a glare at Ainsley, who wasn’t even trying to hold back her laughter. “At least wait until I’m not at risk of choking on cold soup.”

“Well, I’m not getting any younger, Malcolm.” Jessica made a half wistful face. “I was honestly expecting to have grandchildren by now.”

“Mother,” Malcolm grimaced painfully, his voice still strained and sounding a little too much like a whiny five year old, “Aren’t I a little young to be thinking about that? I have all the time in the world to start a family if I wanted to.”

Jessica raised an elegant eyebrow, and Malcolm instantly knew it was futile. Once Jessica Whitly got going, there was hardly anything that could stop her from steamrolling everything in her path. It was better to wait her out. 

“Well, it’s either you or Ainsley and your sister is much too wrapped up in her career for that.” 

Ainsley preened smugly, sticking her tongue out at Malcolm the second Jessica looked away. Malcolm just raised an eyebrow at both of them with an exasperated huff, looking a little worn out. Jessica visibly softened, placing a loving hand on her son’s. 

“Listen, I know your prospects at love have been…" She twisted her mouth as she searched for the right word, "Unlucky in the past. But as your mother, I just want to see you happy. I know many potential ladies who I’m sure would love to be acquainted with you.”

Malcolm gave a wry grin, shaking his head as he took his hand back. “No offense, but after the last time you tried to set me up, I’m better off trying to find a date on my own.”

He missed the flash of satisfaction on Jessica’s face. 

“So do that.”

Malcolm did a double take, glass blue eyes wide. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Find a date.” Jessica repeated as she took a quick bite of scallop, her lipstick still pristine. “You already know I’m planning a gala for New Year’s Eve and not only would I like you to attend this year, but I want you to bring a plus one.”

“But Mother--”

“No buts, young man.” 

Her voice brokered no room for discussion. Neither Malcolm or Ainsley could win against her when she took that tone. 

“If you want to prove to me that you can find a date on your own, then go find one. Just so long as she’s a respectable woman,” she added in afterthought. 

Malcolm sighed heavily. He could already feel a migraine building up. 

“Ains, can you--”

“Sorry, Malcolm.” 

Ainsley was enjoying this a little too much as she looked back and forth between her mother and brother as if she was watching a tennis match, grinning like a Chesire cat. All that was missing from this image was an extra large bowl of her favourite truffle popcorn. 

“But it’s Mom’s party,” she said in mock disappointment. “If she says you should find a date for New Year’s, find a date for New Year’s.”

“Real helpful.”

Malcolm narrowed his eyes at his sister, unamused at how entertained she was. She’d probably be filming the whole thing if she could, but at least he didn’t see her phone anywhere near her. 

He really didn’t need a repeat of Ainsley showing the video of him trying to serenade Sunshine while high on painkillers to Dani. Or anyone else on the team for that matter.

(~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

Malcolm grew listless as he sat on the edge of the table, untouched Earl Grey tea in hand as he kept dunking the teabag in over and over again. He should’ve been in front of the board completing his profile of the killer, but good old executive dysfunction was hitting him hard this time. He kept trying to focus on the case at hand, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how he was going to find a date for New Year’s Eve. 

“Bright?” 

Malcolm snapped his head up, suddenly dropping the tea bag string he had been playing with. Dani was cradling her own mug of Earl Grey, looking at him with bemusement as she sat down next to him. 

“You okay? You’ve been pretty quiet. It’s a bit concerning considering it’s you.”

Not for the first time, Malcolm thought that Dani had great potential to be a profiler herself. It was remarkable how observant she was.

“It’s just…" he trailed off with a wry grin, "Sad little rich boy problems, mostly. It’s nothing.”

Dani wrinkled her nose in thought. 

“So you’re having mommy issues?”

Malcolm nearly dropped his mug at her blunt words, but when he saw a beaming grin spread across her face with a rare spark of mischief in her eyes, he couldn’t help but let out a huff of laughter in response.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. My mother is just…” He ran a hand down his face with a groan, “meddling in my life yet again. It can be a little grating, quite frankly.”

Dani bit her lip as her thoughts turned to her parents. “I can understand that.”

Malcolm looked at her in surprise. “You can?”

For Dani to talk about herself was rare enough as it is. He unconsciously inched to the edge of his seat in anticipation as she nodded after a sip of tea.

“Yeah, parents can be overbearing at times. And this is coming from someone who grew up with two sets of Jewish parents from different continents." 

Malcolm couldn't help but chuckle as he tried to imagine what kind of people raised someone as perceptive and tenacious as Dani.

"At least in my case, I know that it’s because they have my best interests at heart.” Her face softened with nostalgia as she shot Malcolm a smile. “I’ve only met your mother a few times, but from what I've seen, she meddles because it's her way of making sure you're okay.” 

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at her as he finally drank his lukewarm tea. She held up a hand in defense, a corner of her mouth curled up into an almost smile. 

“Well, I never said the caring cancels out the meddling. I've never seen a WASP outrival a Jewish mother like her.”

Malcolm couldn't hold back a guffaw. 

“I'm sure Mother would be flattered,” he chuckled with a shake of his head, “But I still have to figure out how I’m gonna get through Christmas dinner this time.”

Dani glanced at him as she bit her lip in thought. 

“Well, this probably won’t prevent you from having to go to your dinner...” 

Malcolm leaned forward in curiosity as he waited for Dani to continue. 

"My mom’s having a party for the first night of Hanukkah tomorrow. Do you wanna come with me?”

(~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

The first word that came to mind when Malcolm thought of Dani was unflappable. She was like a pancake stuck to the griddle, nothing could shake her. And yet he could easily spot the signs. The distracting way she kept biting her lip. How she constantly fiddled with the little blue Star of David necklace nestled in the hollow of her throat. She was… anxious? 

What could be making her act like that? Malcolm’s mind practically raced at the numerous possibilities.

“Hey Bright?" Dani turned to him as they hiked up to her mother's snow covered driveway, her cold hands shoved deep in the pockets of her indigo winter coat. "Listen, there’s something you should probably know before we go inside.”

He gazed at her thoughtfully after noticing the apprehensive look on her face, his curiosity rearing its head as he saw her bite her lip again.

“What is it?”

Dani hummed briefly, not sure how to explain. She hadn't exactly been forthcoming about her life outside of work for two very big reasons. 

“I have kind of a big family so there's going to be a lot of people and a lot more noise. I love them, but...” 

She trailed off with a chuckle as he watched her breath rise in the cold in gentle puffs, snow dotting her hair like stars. 

"They’re a lot. My mom and my sisters, they're nosy and have no sense of personal space and they're going to ask a lot of uncomfortable questions. So it's okay if you need to tap out for a minute or--"

"Dani," Malcolm interjected in amusement, "you're starting to sound like me with all that rambling."  

He couldn't hold back a smile. It was rare for her to get even remotely flustered. It was adorable, the way her cheeks grew dark with embarrassment and how her doe like eyes kept glancing at him to see if he was alright. 

"Don't worry so much. If they're anything like you, I'm sure they're amazing."

Dani sighed with relief, her face relaxing back into a smile again. She knew he was right. He was finally going to meet her obnoxiously affectionate and offbeat family, only… 

He was still missing one crucial piece of information. 

"Bright…" she started, apprehension mounting higher as they approached the front porch bedecked with blue and white lights. "There's also one more thing that I haven't actually told you. And it's kind of a big thing."

She had been braced for him to turn that profiler gaze on her, for those pale, glassy eyes to stare deeper into her for what she kept locked away. But Malcolm didn’t go off in another speculative ramble or even start pointing out her odd behaviour. He simply tilted his head to the side and with those wide eyes, Dani was oddly reminded of a confused puppy.  

"What is it?"

"You're not gonna try to profile me?" Dani raised an eyebrow in disbelief, not noticing the tension leaving her shoulders. 

He shrugged a shoulder, his eyes slightly mournful at how guarded she had seemed just now. The details might have been a little fuzzy, but he could still remember Dani, tired and vulnerable as she opened up about her trust issues the night she babysat his high-as-a-kite self. 

She didn’t need him prying into what made Dani Powell tick. Not when she wasn’t ready. 

"I get the feeling that this is something really personal."

So, he was capable of turning it off. She let out a grateful smile in return. 

"Well--"

"Danys Eliana Powell!" A voice called in amusement from the front porch, startling them from their peaceful little bubble. "Are you ever going to come inside?"

“Danys?” Malcolm nearly bubbled over giggling, looking at Dani with glee. 

"Yes, Dani is short for Danys. Grow up, Bright."

Malcolm shook his head, his nose scrunched up and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes became more prominent. 

"It's just not what I thought Dani would be short for. I was kind of expecting Danika or Danielle.”

“Thank my grandmother for that. She and my dad came here from Port au Prince back in the 70s. Dad changed the family name from Poirot and I can hear you smirking, Bright, cut it out!” 

Malcolm danced out of the way, nearly doubled over with laughter before Dani could smack him so she settled for shooting him an unimpressed look. 

“I’m sorry! At least now I know that detective work is in your blood. Do you have family from Liège Province or a fastidious great-great-uncle, perhaps?” 

“Real mature, Bright.” 

She rolled her eyes, but the way Malcolm beamed at her like sunshine during a snowstorm made him look a little younger, a little lighter hearted and Dani for all her bluster couldn’t stay mad at him. 

“At least Granmè insisted on giving us traditional names--oof! Imma, I need to breathe here.” 

Dani was immediately enveloped in a rib aching bear hug the second they walked up to the front door by a statuesque woman with a regal nose and wide-set blue-green eyes and Malcolm could easily spot echoes of Dani’s dark, springy curls and delicate jawline. The older woman's eyes lit up as she spotted Malcolm after finally releasing Dani from the loving embrace. 

"You must be Dani's friend! I'm Zipporah."

"Bright." Dani smiled as she gestured for him to come closer. "This is my mother."

"Malcolm Bright. It's lovely to meet you,” he offered a polite smile as he held out his hand. His tremor wasn’t acting up for once and he’d never been so glad that his mother signed him up for etiquette classes as a child. “Thanks for inviting me to your home."

"Oh, none of that,” Zipporah waved him off, still beaming with excitement. 

Malcolm’s eyes went wide as she swiftly pulled him into a warm, spine-crackingingly firm hug. He looked over Zipporah’s shoulder at Dani in bewilderment, getting the inkling feeling that he now had an idea about where Dani got her strength from. 

“Imma, you promised you wouldn’t scare him,” Dani’s tone was scolding, but he could see her biting back her laughter. “Bright looks like he’s about to faint.”

The ridiculous situation startled a laugh out of him as he finally returned Zipporah’s hug. He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Gil or his mother hugged him and it made him feel warm. 

"Come in, come in. We're just getting started." 

Zipporah released him from the mini bear hug and she pulled them inside the house, fussing over his wind bitten cheeks and Dani’s snow covered curls. 

"Did I hear my little bijou come home?" 

A much older woman with a beaming face walked over to them with a baby in her arms. She was short and full figured with glowing dark skin and iron grey hair woven into tiny twisting braids and her eyes were just like Dani’s, deep brown and steady, framed with thick lashes. The baby she was holding wore white footie pajamas patterned with blue Star of Davids with a blue-green headband over her coily little pixie cut that matched her bright eyes. She gave a toothless smile upon seeing them, revealing the same deep dimples as Dani.

"Baby bird is definitely happy you're here."

"Hi Granmè," Dani smiled as she kissed the older woman’s cheek. "Bright, this is my grandmother, Eliana."

Malcolm held out his hand again, surprised at how much the cheerful atmosphere was like a soothing balm to his fraying nerves. It was obvious that Dani grew up in a very loving home. 

"It's an honour to meet you. I’m Malcolm Bright."

The little girl stretched her arms out to Dani with a slight squeal. Dani's smile only grew as she took the child from her grandmother and the baby was quick to snuggle in, babbling happily with her chubby cheek squished against Dani’s.

“So you’re the Malcolm Bright we’ve been hearing about.” The older woman gave Malcolm an approving once over as she shook his hand, “You’re a little different than what Dani told us about you.”

Malcolm gave Dani a look full of mischief, ignoring the odd little flutter in his stomach. He wasn’t quite ready to touch on that yet.

“You’ve told them about me?”

“Well, of course.” Dani shot back her own teasing grin. “It’s not every day a box of drugs explodes in someone’s face.”

Her grandmother practically cackled as Malcolm’s ears turned bright pink and he ducked his head sheepishly. A sweet hiccupy giggle snapped him out of his embarrassment and he turned his attention to the baby in Dani’s arms. 

“So who’s this?”

“Oh, Dani didn’t tell you--?”

“Uh, Granmè,” Dani cleared her throat pointedly, “how about you get back to helping Mona and Naomie in the kitchen? I’ll show Bright to the living room before I see them.”

Eliana raised an eyebrow, but gave a knowing smirk. It was a little unnerving to see the exact same grin that Dani often shot Bright on her grandmother’s face. No wonder Gil had muttered like grandmother, like granddaughter the day he met Eliana. 

“Well, alright then. Call me if you need anything.”

(~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

“I have so many questions,” Malcolm couldn’t help but blurt out as Dani led him into the living room.

“And I’m guessing they’re all for me?”

“Most of them.” 

It had been a little over six months since they started working together, but for all his years of profiling, he still had so much to learn about her. But here in her childhood home was a veritable treasure trove of precious memories in the living room alone. Pictures of her flanked by two older girls who shared Dani’s spiraling curls and golden skin, as a little girl stretching at the ballet barre in a blue star print leotard and white tights, a young dark skinned man who Malcolm assumed to be Dani’s father holding her as a baby and oh, that was unfair.

Jessica always teasingly claimed that Malcolm had been an ugly baby, saying that he looked like a bald cabbage with eyes and not in a good way. Dani had been the complete opposite with a headful of fluffy dark curls, wide doe eyes with soft cheeks and the cutest little nose. That had to be the calmest, most thoughtful expression he’d ever seen on someone that tiny and it made her look more like a doll than a baby.

“My first question,” He inhaled deeply and smiled, his skin becoming less deathly pale as the scent of simmering and frying food washed over him. “What’s that amazing smell?”

Eating had become little more than a chore for Malcolm after The Surgeon's arrest. His mother had tried to tempt him with their chef's home cooking and meals from high end restaurants, but most of it was little more than ash in his mouth. But the warm aroma of fragrant soybean oil and heady spices was starting to make his stomach grumble in anticipation. 

"Judging from the sound, pomegranate braised brisket, sweet noodle kugel, kalalou djondjon, poul fri, and I think...” Dani tipped her head to the side to catch a whiff as she adjusted the little girl in her arms. “Granmè's latkes de plátano and her secret salsa de ajo. 

And that's not even half of it.” She chuckled as Malcolm’s eyes went as wide as granmè’s dinner plates. “Be prepared to have a seventy-five year old Haitian lady shove multiple helpings at you.”

“Sounds delicious.” His face was as open and sincere as when he said he could trust her in the middle of a drug induced haze. “I honestly can’t remember the last time I was looking forward to a meal.” 

He then noticed the baby in Dani’s arms peeking out at him, eyes wide with curiosity. She was still tiny, but he could see the beginnings of Dani’s long nose and rounded chin on her face. He inwardly marveled at the power of genetics, wondering which of Dani’s sisters the little girl belonged to. 

“I never did get her name.” 

He laughed as the baby let out a squeak before burying her face in Dani’s shoulder. He was oddly reminded of a baby chipmunk at her actions and it only made her even more endearing.

“It’s okay, he’s a friend,” she cooed, coaxing the little girl into lifting her head off her shoulder to get a proper look at the profiler. “This is Angeline. We named her after my great-grandmother, but we call her Annie.”

“Hello Annie.” He leaned down so he could look the baby in the eyes, the expression on his face so meltingly soft that Dani could’ve sworn he was made of marshmallow and spun sugar. “I’m Malcolm.” 

Annie giggled, revealing her dimples once again. He hadn’t really been around babies other than when Ainsley was little. Ainsley had been round and cute when she wasn’t demanding attention, but Annie was all round apple cheeks, chubby arms and wide smiling eyes. She looked at everything with intent curiosity and while he hadn’t heard her talk yet, it was obvious she was a very cheerful little girl. 

Annie was the cutest baby he had ever seen, he thought as he looked back up at Dani with a smile. His mother would definitely squish her cheeks if she got the chance to meet her. 

“She’s adorable.” 

“She is, isn’t she? She’s not a Powell for nothing.” 

Dani’s smile was warm and content as she dropped a kiss on top of Annie’s curly hair, but it quickly faded when she looked back at Malcolm. 

“So Bright,” she bit her lip in hesitation, “there’s something I still need to tell you.”

The second Malcolm heard this, he became laser focused. If Dani wasn’t backing down then he definitely wanted to know what she couldn’t say earlier. His spine straightened and that one little change was enough for him to look like a whole different person. 

“I’m all ears.”

“Well...” 

Dani trailed off as she held Annie closer, not noticing the baby trying to grab at her necklace. 

“There’s a big part of my life I don’t usually tell anyone, especially with my job and all. Other than Gil and the rest of the team, Tally’s the only other person who even knows about this. I figured now would be a good time to tell you, so to speak.”

“You can trust me,” Malcolm couldn’t help but murmur, pale moon-like eyes as bright as his name intently focused on her, as earnest and sincere as he sounded that night in the dim lighting of his kitchen. 

He wasn’t sure if he really deserved to know whatever it was Dani was about to tell him, but it didn’t stop the way his heart clenched at her unwavering gaze. 

“You see, Annie is--” she paused, not sure how she should continue. “I’m--”

“You’re here, you’re here!” 

A little head popped up from behind the sofa, revealing a tiny girl with wavy dark hair in a high ponytail. She was wearing a blue menorah sweater, yellow skirt and white tights and Malcolm thought that she wouldn’t look out of place frolicking around in a tutu. He nearly had a heart attack when the toddler leaped onto the sofa, bolting across it towards Dani. 

It wasn’t until he had his arms full of lightning fast, beaming kid that he realized that he had already lunged forward, barely managing to catch the little girl before she fell flat on her face. 

She giggled in Malcolm’s ear and he caught the comforting smell of coconut oil and powdered sugar as she clumsily wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, seemingly unphased by her almost accident. He finally managed to get a better look at the little girl after balancing her on his hip and he froze in shock.

“Katerina Dawn Powell, we do not go up on high places.” Dani’s tone was stern, but loving. “And don’t flash those baby browns at me, Kit...”

Because he had seen them before, the little girl’s big brown eyes, the ones that lit up her entire face and turned into charming little crescent moons as she crinkled her nose and smiled. Malcolm’s mind raced as he was bombarded with other details. The golden skin and delicate little face? The long nose, the bow-shaped mouth? 

Except for the hair, she was practically a carbon copy of Dani. 

“Hi Mommy!” 

How could he have missed this?

[foolgobi65]

careful man’s careless daughter

@philtstone prompted: Anne/Gilbert babysitter au fake dating prompt #5 let’s go laydees “you have the emotional capacity of a brick. that slate I broke over  your head.” (we’re pretending people still use slates now....american schools have no money...its possible ok) 

k so i was trying to figure out how to work in the babysitter + fake dating and ... like a flash the plot to this old telugu/tamil movie i love missamma/missaimaa came to mind -- its not quite the same because they’re two people pretending to be married so that they can make money as school teachers/live in tutors for a wealthy family’s daughter but it works just enough that i decided to roll with it lol. 

this technically isn’t the actual babysitting, nor the fake dating which I actually turned into a fake marriage lol, but i hope u still like it, even though it is all over the place and a general wreck because i wrote it straight through without any editing or thought towards pacing/characterization bc i havent written in forever lol!! im not even sure what the time period setting is lol, and i dont think my translating of the anne events into a semi modern day even works but w/e lol. 

u are the truest of friends, the light of my life, and have certainly heard more than your share of my mental breakdowns both in the last month and the last few years lol. u deserve all the good things, all the good fic, all the time. 

title is a perversion of a tswift lyric because it came up on youtube. if anyone wants to send in prompts from here

---

“You owe him how much?” 

Anne sighs, crossing her legs to hide how uncomfortable she is in this moment -- here she is in the park, fifteen thousand dollars plus interest in medical debt for Marilla’s eye surgery and being hounded by Roy Gardner, ex boyfriend apparently turned loan shark who was on his knees proclaiming both love and loan forgiveness should Anne just accept his proposal. 

Here Gilbert Blythe is, sitting on a park bench after two years without contact, watching the whole thing. 

“Marilla doesn’t have health insurance,” Anne says, eyes on the ground as she uses the toe of her shoe to grind a leaf into the sidewalk cement. “Even when I was teaching, the union plan didn’t let people add parents on as dependents.” She sighs. “With everything happening with the farm, she couldn’t afford to put money towards a plan and so when her eyes got bad....” 

For a moment, there is silence. Anne can almost hear Gilbert’s jaw clench “That’s just wrong.” 

Anne laughs, and because her eyes are averted she doesn’t see Gilbert flinch. “That’s America, Blythe.” 

“Well,” she hears him say, tone just dripping with what Mrs. Rachel would call the Blythe Stubbornness, “It shouldn’t be.” 

She won’t ever admit it, but there’s something Anne has always found deeply compelling about Gilbert when he gets into these moods -- all righteously indignant in a way that Anne feels inside of her own body. Or felt, before Matthew died and left behind debts not even Marilla had known about, and Marilla’s eyes worsened around the the time Anne was let go from her teaching job and even if she had had the job it wouldn’t have mattered, she knows, but still. Beautiful, wonderful, beloved Diana had offered to help, of course she had, but Anne knew that Fred’s business wasn’t yet where it should be and that the parents Barry were still unimpressed with their son in law to be’s financial acumen. So she’d had to go to Roy, who had of course lent his beautiful Anne the money, and of course had arranged for Marilla to be treated at the best hospital in Toronto, of course had set them up in the apartment of a friend of his right in downtown where the rents were a thousand maybe two per month. He’d popped the question for the third time the second Marilla had been released back into Anne’s care. 

Almost as if he can hear her thoughts, Gilbert speaks -- “Gardner shouldn’t be harassing you like this either. Who ever heard of charging interest on a loan to a friend? And what on earth does he think he’s going to take from you if you just don’t pay?” 

Anne burns. This, she hasn’t told Marilla, nor even her darling Diana. For some reason, it seems alright to tell Gilbert. “The farm,” she mumbles.

Gilbert snorts. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard. Are you saying that Roy Gardner, heir to one of the biggest fortunes in Boston and your ex boyfriend, took your home as collateral on a loan for money you needed to pay for your mother’s surgery?” 

Anne says nothing. She still hasn’t looked up at him, hasn’t been able to meet his gaze since she sat down on the bench and told Roy to get up off his knees and wait two months for either his money or her affirmative answer. She blinks, having mercifully forgotten that Gilbert was present for that last bit. She hopes he’s forgotten too. 

“And wait, before he left you said....” No such luck. “Anne!” Anne’s sure her entire head must be flame as she closes her eyes, bringing her knees up on the park bench and burying her face into her own lap. “Anne you said you’d marry him if you couldn’t get the money!” 

“There’s no debt between spouses,” Anne mumbles. “We’d get to keep the farm, and I wouldn’t ever worry about Marilla’s health again.” 

“But you don’t love him!” She doesn’t know if she’s ever heard Gilbert sound so scandalized. 

“I used to!” she tries to retort, but even Anne knows that her voice betrays her when she tries to speak this lie. “I used to think I was,” she amends, “and maybe that’s as close as I’m allowed to get -- he’s rich, handsome, he even loves me! What more could I ask for?” 

“Coercing you into marriage, demanding interest on money that we all know is just pocket change for someone like him...that’s not love,” Gilbert Blythe responds, with all that....that all-knowing Blytheness in his voice that Anne has hated since she was 13 years old and the new kid in a class of people who had always known each other just as easily as they had known themselves. “Love is selfless, Anne, strong and kind. It makes you better for giving away your heart, even if the one you love doesn’t give you theirs in return.” 

Gilbert Blythe, always acting as if he knows something Anne does not. He speaks as if he’s been in love, at some point over the years since he was last in Avonlea and for some reason Anne absolutely burns with that knowledge. Ooh she just hates him, now at 24 just as easily as she had at 13! 

“And what exactly is love worth if it means I just lose the farm trying to pay for Marilla’s surgery, and still have nothing for the next time she’s sick?” Suddenly Anne is on her feet, hands on her hips as she glares at Gilbert looking quite alarmed as he still sits on the bench. The words she has kept locked on the inside, too private to even be written in a diary, come pouring out in one big rush:

“Three of my four parents are already dead, Gilbert Blythe.” Her voice hitches, to her horror, her sudden fury vanishes as she has to blink away the tears she has kept at bay since she and Marilla buried Matthew. Damn Gilbert, for bringing this out of her as well. “I can’t...I couldn’t bear to lose anyone else.” Her lips thin, and with a breath, her voice steadies. “I don’t care what you, or anyone else thinks about my choices if it means that I can take care of Marilla.” 

Gilbert’s eyes have the sheen of his own tears when he stands, his own lips wobbling just slightly. “I...” he swallows. “Of course, Anne.” Something Anne recognizes as self hatred passes briefly over his face, but she doesn’t understand. “I wish I had money like Gardner to give you, I really do.”   

Anne gentles, even if something inside her twists to be the object of the long-old guilt mixed with pity, much less Gilbert Blythe. Since Matthew’s death, every person in Avonlea it seems has sat with Anne and Marilla and offered their deep condolences, their absolute shock at the pair’s financial state of affairs, how much they wish they could help but sadly cannot, what with the way the bank’s collapse has hit their own finances. Only families like the Gardners survive economic crashes with money to burn. 

“I wouldn’t have taken it even if you had,” she offers instead, shrugging casually. 

His eyes flash. “But you took Gardner’s?” 

“I thought he loved me!” Anne closes her eyes, somehow feeling her cheeks flush even deeper. This is why she’s avoided all mention of Gilbert Blythe so strenuously since high school graduation, because more than anyone else he is the one who drags out the words she is always learning to keep inside. Here he is, somehow pulling confessions Anne hadn’t even dreamed of telling Diana, confessions that make her seem small, and stupid, lost in a world so much more complicated and treacherous than she can handle all on her lonesome. 

Well, she thinks, in for a penny -- 

“I thought he loved me,” she says, “and that he had the money to spare. I didn’t realize...” She looks away again, so that she never has to see him react to her folly. 

“Oh Anne,” Gilbert says, for some reason so soft and stricken that Anne’s knees go weak with her sudden desire to fall to the ground and weep. “You deserve so much better.” 

And now she’s angry again. “What would you know about what I deserve?” Anne spits, “you haven’t even been home since you started med school!” Vaguely, Anne thinks that Gilbert hasn’t been home since she and Roy had gotten serious, serious enough for her to bring him to Green Gables and show him the place that had been her very first love. Coincidences can be so strange. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, glaring again at the ground. “None of this matters. I’m just going to go home” Anne clenches her jaw, knowing that when she gets back to Green Gables she will go into her room and play every excruciating part of this conversation back in her head, again and again until she throws up or passes out at dawn from sheer exhaustion. Maybe both, if she’s lucky. She leans back slightly and manages to turn around on her heels, a trick Gilbert Blythe had always pulled at school and had had girls thinking he was so cool.

She’s five minutes away from the park bench when suddenly she hears him call out her name. 

“Anne,” he shouts again much closer, bending at his waist to balance his hands at his knees as he pants. “God, it really has been two years since I was on the university football team.” 

Despite the roiling emotions of five minutes ago, Anne’s lips quirk. “I can’t imagine you all practiced very much to end up near the bottom of your league every year.” 

Gilbert’s eyes widen, and for some reason he flushes. Maybe he’s so out of shape that it’s from exertion? “I didn’t realize you kept up with my matches.”  Ah. Anne, it seems, will experience nothing else but one long sustained flush as long as she is in front of Gilbert Blythe. “You know,” she tries to say casually, “you hear things here and there. Diana told me the village gossip.” 

Gilbert opens his mouth, but then suddenly shakes his head, like a dog trying to dislodge water from its fur. “I have...” he frowns. “I have a proposition for you.”  Anne raises what she hopes is an elegant eyebrow. “Oh?” 

He grimaces. “There’s a boarding school, a Catholic one, that’s asking for teachers over the summer for a few of their select students who want to be coached for college admissions. Essays, standardized tests, everything. They’ve got heaps of money, and are willing to pay salaries up front. Plus, they cover all your expenses while you’re there!” 

Anne blinks, feeling the beginnings of hope gather as kindling at the very dredges of her heart. Once, both Anne and Gilbert had competed so well against each other that they had both gotten into Harvard. Then, Matthew had died, and Anne decided she could just as easily get a teaching degree at the state school and stay closer to Marilla too. Gilbert alone had had the distinction of being the first from Avonlea to reach such heights, and had reached even higher when he had been accepted again to Harvard Medical School. 

But at one point, both Anne and Gilbert had taken their SATs. They’d both written their application essays. They’d both gotten in. Anne, even, had been offered a full ride compared to Gilbert’s only partial scholarship, so there could even be an argument that of the two, Anne had been the one on top. 

And if nothing else, Anne is even better at teaching than she was at taking tests. 

“I’ll do it,” she says firmly. “Where and when do I need to report, and how much money are they offering?”  For a second, a bright, dazzling grin paints Gilbert’s face. “Really? Ten--” he coughs, “Twenty thousand.” Anne frowns. 

“Each?” It sounds like a dream come true. Five thousand more than Anne needs, and paid upfront. She could save the farm, and put away five thousand towards the farm’s debts. “That sounds....exorbitant.”  He nods, suddenly more confident. “Yep! Twenty thousand for sure.” He laughs. “I know Gardner was supposed to be slumming it at state school, but you really can’t be surprised at how much money rich people are willing to throw at a problem.” 

“The problem being...their children.”  Gilbert’s grin turns wicked. “The problem being their children’s SAT scores, and lack of compelling anecdote to base an admission’s essay on, yes.” 

Anne laughs, wicked in this moment as well. She wishes in this moment, fiercely, as she has many times over the last few years, that she had been able to go to university with Gilbert at her side -- as the friends they had slowly begun to be after years of one and two sided enmity, before time and distance had turned them into near strangers. She doesn’t regret staying back, not really, but there is a part of her that no one had ever understood half as well as Gilbert Blythe, who had, after the Harvard interest meeting, drawn and pinned up a schedule for practice SATs that took into account both his and Anne’s often conflicting life schedules. 

“What’s the catch,” she asks, grinning when Gilbert chokes “come on, Blythe, there’s always a catch with offers like this. Is it across from a waste manufacturing plant? Is the principal a pervert?” 

Slowly, Gilbert Blythe is turning red. “Ah,” he says, shuffling like he never did even when he was an errant schoolboy. “Well,” he says, and....is that his voice cracking? 

“Gilbert,” Anne says, trying to reassure him, “I grew up in the foster system, I can handle much worse than bad smells and pervert principals, I promise.” 

He frowns. “It’s not that,” he says slowly, “but basically they’re looking for two teachers, a man and a woman to manage the boys and the girls while the rest of the staff go on vacation.” 

Anne smiles, trying to ignore the jolt of her heart at the thought of an entire summer with Gilbert, studying like they used to but as friends. Her old dreams, finally coming true. “That’s perfect then, you take one job and I’ll take the other! It’ll be like old times, kind of.” 

He smiles faintly, as if, even after locking horns with the best and brightest at Harvard, Anne is still the person he wants to be trading barbs with over the heads of high school students for months on end. “I’d like nothing better, he says, except...” 

“Except?” 

Gilbert inhales. “ExceptTheSchoolWillOnlyHireAMarriedCoupleSoThatTheyDon’tHaveToWorryAboutOutofWedlockSexorTeachersHavingSexWithStudents.” All in a rush, and now Gilbert is the one who can’t apparently handle eye contact.

“What?” 

“The school,” Gilbert says to his shoes, “since it’s Catholic, and also since they’re lazy, only want a married couple so that they don’t have to have anyone watching to make sure the teachers aren’t having sex with the students. Or each other.” 

Anne blinks. “But we’re not married!” 

Gilbert grimaces, opening his mouth, but then just biting his lip. They could be, Anne thinks, only a tad hysterical. Only all of Avonlea was matching them up all the years of high school, and even the years after until she’d met Roy. It would be so easy to get a certificate. They could get a divorce by September, even annul their marriage since they definitely wouldn’t be having sex. 

Twenty thousand dollars. 

“So what you’re saying,” Anne says slowly, her lip curling of its own accord “is that after all that talk about what love is and isn’t, and telling me that I shouldn’t marry Roy for the money he’d give me, your blockheaded solution is instead, for me to marry you?” 

Gilbert looks up. “Well when you put it that way--”  Anne sees red, even as she already sees herself in one of her old white lace dresses, standing with Gilbert at the courtroom and signing. “Gilbert Blythe I don’t believe you! Sometimes, I think that you really do have all the emotional capacity of that slate I broke over your head!” 

“I know,” he says tone heavy with something so sad that Anne’s hearten softens a bit of its own accord. “But you really need the money, and I promise we’ll get a divorce by September.” He smiles, but there’s something bitter at the corners that Anne has never seen before -- she almost raises her hand to rub the strand of emotion off his lips. “And you’re not the only one who needs the money. Will you do it?” 

Twenty thousand dollars. The farm, Marilla, an end to the eternal pity of Avonlea. And also, a small part of her suggests, an opportunity to finally spend time with this new Gilbert Blythe who went off into the world and left her behind. 

She sighs. “I vote that you be the one to tell Mrs. Lynde.” 

[all-hail-the-witcher]

I have literally no clue how to do this, but director’s commentary on your ‘One expensive can of easy cheese’ fic?

hell yeah!!

all comments will be in bold

______

Race was sat on top of the counter in his and Albert’s apartment, race only knows how to sit on counters lets be real, he can't sit in a chair to save his life a piece of duct tape over his mouth and his hands tied together with kitchen twine KINKYY. He sighed against his restraints, resigned to watch his boyfriend make their contribution to this year’s Thanksgiving gathering: mac and cheese. okay so its mac and cheese cause if you read spies mac and cheese is Literally the Only thing albert knows how to cook, other than coffee, and he's Really Fuckin Good At It (he's the mikey of mac and cheese okay this is my hc)

Now, of course everyone and their mother knew that mac and cheese was not a Traditional Thanksgiving Food is it though, r a c e r?. But, Albert had won (best out of three) mario kart yesterday so he had gotten to decide what they would bring to Jack’s house i was gonna make it rock paper scissors, i do not know hot to play mariokart, but it sounds more heated than rock paper scissors. Had Race known that he had been planning to make mac and fucking cheese, maybe he would have tried a little harder race be quiet you literally love alberts mac and cheese its a known fact.

Apparently, Albert was not pleased with Race’s reaction to his decision to make mac and cheese, and thought that Race might try to get in the way somehow (which he may or may not have fully intended to do) he did. So he did what any loving boyfriend would: sat him on the counter, put duct tape over his mouth and tied his hands together so he wouldn’t interfere albert sounds real kinky in this, why did i make this so kinky, wait when did i even write this.

Race was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to move in with Albert in the first place. CAUSE YOU LOVE HIM THATS WHY

With a violent shake of his head and one final spat who the fuck uses the word spat huh saph??, he was able to dislodge the duct tape d i s l o d g e thats some karen bs right there.

“Albieeeeee,” he whined, laying down on the counter. “Can you pleaaaaaaaseee let me helllllllllp?” yeah albert let him help jeez he's the one who actually knows how to cook

Albert barely glanced up as he pulled the big wooden spoon out of the pot and gave it a thoughtful lick note to self, all licks should always be thoughtful. “Hmmmmmmm. No.” dumbass. if only you knew what was coming.

“But-!” He wriggled w r i g g l e d around to give Albert his best puppy dog eyes. “Can I make something else then? Ple-OW!” He glared at the spatula that had been hurled at his arm. “You apologize for that!” damn albie why so mean? o wait i wrote this wait...

“Nah.” He smirked and went back to stirring his wretched pasta okay but i did a good job making race salty i gotta give myself that. Well, actually Albert’s mac and cheese was quite good hELL YEAH IT IS. Race was just salty that he was making it for Thanksgiving when it was very well known that he was the chef of the two and Jack was expecting something good not the mac and cheese Albert famously made at 2am in college when they were all high as hell. okay real talk tho, no one eats good mac and cheese in college, its the instant microwave shit cause were all broke so thats a lie race

“Can you at least untie me then?” ;)

“No.” Albert even bother considering this time. albert this is gettin Real Kinky..

“Well.” If logic wasn't going to work on Albert he would have to try another method. “I know you know how to make a guy feel good Albie HAH YES I KNEW I PULLED SOMETHING WEIRD, but I never expected ropes to be a part of it. What’s next? Handcuffs? Whips? Chains?” i gotta tell ya life without ya has been hard. hard? has been bad. bad? has been r o u g h. k i N kY

In two seconds flat Race was out of his kitchen twine bonds and flexing his sore wrists. LIKE HECK HE WAS CAUSE ALBERTS ACE AND HE DONT WANT THAT REPUTATION!!!

“Man Albie, who knew you had a twine kink.” hehe u go race

“You know,” Albert began loudly, as if thinking that his loudness would cover up his totally obvious twine kink yeah albie has a twine kink, he licks it, no this is a joke, “if you want to do something that's actually useful, you could go to Walgreens and buy me another can of Easy Cheese.” W A L G R E E NS. this whole fit was an excuse to write another part of the walgreens au

“Is that what you put in your fuckin mac and cheese?” Race swore he actually felt bile rise in the back of his throat when Albert nodded. “That’s it. I’m never eating your mac and cheese again.” BUT YOU LIKE IT

“But-!”

“I’ll eat you though,” Race winked, taking a moment to enjoy the startled, yet somehow pleased look on his boyfriend’s face. okay maybe albert wasn't ace in this particular fic...

“Not until after we’re done at Jack’s.” yeah definitely not scratch that. i write a lot of fics. Albert said only half jokingly as he dug around in his pocket for a second before throwing a crumpled five at Race. “In the meantime though, be gone thot!” GO AWAYYYY. IM A MAN OF GOD. mikey and my sister have subjected me to too many tik toks im sorry

Race barely managed to catch the bill without falling on the floor, but still blew a kiss to Albert before walking out of the apartment.

Who the fuck puts easy cheese in mac and cheese? albert does. but its actually a plot point just to get you to walgreens and if anyone puts easy cheese in mac and cheese i will fite you. He wondered for the millionth time as he stomped the three blocks to Walgreens. Albert claimed that he had chosen his apartment for its proximity to the store he did, actually, but up until today Race had always assumed that he had been joking he was not. The man did make a lot of mac and cheese and if Easy Cheese was an ingredient well….maybe there was some truth to that story after all. you can buy easy cheese at a lot of places tho...i don't actually know if you can buy easy cheese at a walgreens

Race pulled open the door to the Walgreens, pausing briefly to wonder why the absolute fuck it was open on literal Thanksgiving before remembering that it was a fucking Walgreens and why wouldn’t it be open to sell his dumbass boyfriend a can of fucking Easy Cheese. walgreens remains a mystery indeed. my only experience was the one that my best friend and i would go to at lunch during senior year. also have you ever noticed that most walgreenses are on corners? cause their slogan is at the corner of happy and healthy??

In order to get to the Easy Cheese, or at least he assumed so because he had never bought a can of Easy Cheese in his whole glorious 25 years of life a true chef, Race had to walk past the Pharmacy section of the store. And, it just so happened that there was a guy sitting behind the counter at the Pharmacy. A very attractive guy. With a beard. In scrubs. oh my god the most questionable villain I've ever written.

Now, of course Race loved Albert and nothing would ever change that, but he could appreciate an attractive man when he saw one indeed he could. He thanked whatever deity was out there for the bit of man candy M AN C AN D Y that he had been granted and went in search of his Easy Cheese. oh just you wait racetrack 

“Mac and cheese, velveta cheese, microwaveable mac and cheese, where the fuck is the- oh thank fuck there we go.” my best friend and i spent much time looking at the mac and cheese in walgreens He pulled a can of Easy Cheese off of the shelf, tossing it once and catching it athletics before turning to go pay for the horrendous product, happy to finally be done with the whole ordeal when- B R E T T 

“Easy cheese? Really?”

Race whirled whirled? saph please get a better vocabulary around to see Mr. Man Candy hA himself leaning against the opposite shelf. “Wh- who?”

“Oh,” he dusted his hand off on his scrubbs oh my god Wait i wrote this cause one time when i was in a walgreens i Did see a hot dude working the pharmacy and decided to write a fic about it!! i remember texting mikey about this hjfhgjhg, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Brett O’Hare. and mikey came up with that name And you, sir, are a disgrace to society. The very reason why so many Americans are in poor health in this day and age.” brett is an obnoxious millennial in case you can't tell

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Easy Cheese!” Brett gestured wildly toward the can in Race’s hand. “Gosh do you even know how many preservatives are in that stuff? And all the cancers that it can cause? It’s terrible. We wouldn’t need free healthcare if people just stopped eating Easy Cheese!” apparently he's a millennial who's also a republican...?

Race had lived in New York City his whole life, and he had seen some pretty strange things subway pizza rat, but never had he seen a pharmacist in a Walgreens lecture anyone about the health benefits of Easy Cheese. easy cheese has no health benefits. and if you'd stopped annoying your boyfriend maybe you wouldn't be there

“So let me get this straight,” Race rubbed his head, trying to make sense of the situation. “You go around yelling at people about the ingredients in the things that they are purchasing?” yeah its nyc people love to have Opinions. and so do millennials

“Yeah.”

“You do realize that this is a Walgreens, right? Everything in here probably contains some kind of chemical.” man brett has his work cut out for him. New Yorkers never ceased to amaze him.

“All the more reason for me to inform them of their poor eating habits!” Brett pointed a finger at him. “And stop distracting me! You’re the one buying the freaking easy cheese here!” this is so weird why did i come up with this idea. what possessed me. 

“It’s not even for me!” Race shouted back. “It’s for my boyfriend’s fucking mac and cheese that he insisted on making for Thanksgiving even though everyone knows that mac and cheese is not a fucking Thanksgiving food and he’s only making it cause he knocked me off the goddamn rainbow road right before the fucking finish line!” someones salty Race was fuming but the time that he was done.

“Oh, man I’m so sorry, that's lousy.” but it won't stop brett...

Race looked surprised. Of all the things that he thought he would get out of this Walgreens experience, a therapy session was indeed not on the list. But neither had been hearing a lecture about the preservatives in Easy Cheese from a pharmacist. i have literally no explanation for this train wreck of a fic

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still buying Easy Cheese!” Between one second and the next, Brett had grabbed the can of Easy Cheese out of Race’s hand, wielding it like a brick ha percy jackson heroes of olympus anyone??. “Buy some fucking vegetables!” you can't buy vegetables in a walgreens brett

And with that, he struck Race over the head with the can of Easy Cheese.

Now, Race had definitely done some questionable things during his life Thats for sure. Once he had slept on the roof of his dorm building in January for a week because he lost his dorm key god why you can't even get on the roof of dorm buildings i know, I've tried, and another time he had been tricked into making an entire wedding cake using salt by Who??. However, being smacked over the head with a can of Easy Cheese by a health nut in scrubs on Thanksgiving put any and all other situations he had been in to shame in a walgreens don't forget. how did you forget that saph.  

He opened his eyes, suddenly blinded by the lights, and reached for his phone, muttering curses about man candy and vegetables as he should be. Squinting so he didn’t have to look at the screen, he somehow managed to dial Albert. no one d i a l s anyone saph. its the 21st century. i have like maybe 8 phone numbers memorized, half of them belong to my family the other half to people i knew in middle school.

“Racetrack Higgins, where is my Easy Cheese?”

Race pulled the phone away from his ear and winced at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice. “Um, it may have been used to give me a concussion by a health nut in scrubs?” for Once al isn't the one who gets injured in a walgreens. bet you didnt see That coming

Albert let out a loud sigh. “Ah man, did you run into Brett? That guy’s the worst.” hehe bet al used to date him

“Wait, you know him?”

“Race, I know every Walgreens employee in Manhattan, of course I know Brett.” There was the jangling of keys in the background. “I thought I told you to go to the one on 4th for this reason, ah, well. I’m on my way. I’ll take you to urgent care. Hang tight.” ofc al goes to urgent care. and everyone there knows him by a first name basis

Race’s head hurt too much to process what Albert had said except for the words ‘I’m on my way.’ “Okay,” he sighed. this was definitely one of the times i asked mikey about oddly specific concussion symptoms and then proceeded to forget everything he told me and do my own stuff

“Love you.”

“Love you too.” Race’s eyes focused on the dented can of Easy Cheese rolling on the floor he should still buy it. “And Al?”

“Yeah?”

“This is going to be one expensive can of Easy Cheese.” get it? cause race has to pay urgent care for his consultation? and they're also Very Very late to thanksgiving. cause al insists on finishing his mac. jack is not impressed. he eats all races pie.

anyway thats that hope you enjoyed

[sucker-for-sniffles]

Hey, I actually wrote the fic this was about! It’s like 1.5k words which is uhhh longer than I meant it to be!

Julian was excited to meet Remy's family. He really was, until he came down with a cold a couple days prior, and now he found himself at the table so stuffed up he couldn’t begin to taste the food and the others' voices sounded muffled. He didn’t want to think of how his own voice must sound. It's a wonder Remy's family hadn’t asked him to leave. He counted himself lucky he’s never had trouble squashing it into silence when he had to sneeze, even if it means a headache was starting to bloom between his eyes.

He hoped he wasn’t being too obvious about it as Remy’s sister and her husband recounted their journey here. They lived a few days’ ride away, he’d gathered, so they’d been sleeping in borrowed space for a while.

“Must’ve been exhausting,” Julian commented, glancing up at the two of them.

Remy’s sister nodded. “God, it’s a relief to be back in a proper house with proper beds.” She flashed a smile to Remy. “Worth it to see my wonderful baby brother, though.”

“Exhausting, certainly,” her husband agreed, “especially with Maria pregnant.”

Remy choked on his soup. Julian took advantage of the ensuing noise to hide a few coughs behind his napkin. His chest crackled in a way it hadn’t been, and he winced at the sound before he set his napkin down.

“Hugh!” Maria scolded, though she was grinning.

“I thought you’d told them!” Hugh defended. “You write so often.”

“I wanted to surprise everybody.”

“You did,” Remy assured them, wiping away the mess he’d made of his soup.

“I’d noticed you looked...different,” Mrs. Hackett said delicately, “but it would have been rude to say anything you hadn’t.”

Maria shrugged, and Mr. Hackett stood from the table to crush her in a hug. “Congratulations!” He loosened his grip on her and held her at arm’s length, beaming. “I’m going to hold a baby again.”

“I’m going to hold a baby,” Remy murmured to himself gleefully. Julian flashed him a grin. He’d never been one for baby’s himself, but being an uncle would be--well, that was getting ahead of himself.

Hugh gently tugged Maria back into her seat. “We’ll want to sleep early. I’m sorry if we cut our meeting short, Mr. Caldwell.”

“Not at all,” Julian said, hoping his relief at the dinner ending early didn’t come through his voice. “And, please, call me Julian.”

The table started to settle, the frenzy of the realization dying down back to a comfortable lull of conversation. Julian did his best to fade into the background again, stifling sneezes and muffling coughs, even as the crackle in his chest was becoming enough to make him want to climb under his blankets and sleep for a week, and the bursts of laughter around the table drove a spike through his head. He dropped his head and pressed his fingers to the corners of his eyes for some relief. Remy laid a hand on his leg under the table.

“Julian, are you all right?” Maria asked, and Julian lifted his head, squinting for a moment before he blinked his eyes back open.

“Oh,” he said. “Yes. I’m--I’m all right.”

Maria smiled gently, and Julian flushed a bit at realizing the whole table had gone quiet.

“Remy told me you can get overwhelmed around people,” Maria said. “If you want to leave, none of us would be hurt.”

“No, no,” Julian assured them. “I’ve enjoyed your company. More than I thought I would, if I’m being quite honest.” His face warmed further, wondering if that was sharing too much, but at least he wasn’t lying. They were all so kind, and even given his cold, it was one of the best dinners he’d had. Far better than any social affair Mum had taken him to.

“I’m glad,” Maria said. She sipped at a spoonful of soup, and when no one filled the silence asked, “How did you meet Remy?”

Julian glanced to Remy, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“He’s told me, of course,” Maria clarified, “but I wondered if the story is different from your side.”

“I can’t imagine it is,” Julian said with a small shrug. “We met at my Mum’s masquerade, and he tracked me down from my initials on a handkerchief I lent him.”

“That does sound like him,” Maria said, shooting Remy a wicked grin. “Always chasing pretty boys like you’re Prince Charming, aren’t you.”

Julian sat up straighter in a surge of defensiveness. “He was a perfect gentleman about it.” Something buzzed high in his sinuses, and he pressed a knuckle briefly under his nose, hoping the gesture would go unnoticed. “He was never chasing. He was always s-so sure I whh- I was comf-comfortable--” He squeezed out the word and ducked behind his napkin to brace against the volley of sneezes he’d been fighting.

The smile faded from Maria’s face. “I was only teasing,” she assured him. “I’m sorry to work you up like that. I know Remy would never be ungentlemanly towards someone he liked.”

Julian just shook his head, still not quite sure he was finished.

“Or towards anybody, in fact,” Maria observed, now looking contemplatively towards the ceiling. “Not unless they really deserved it.”

“There was my first piano tutor,” Remy said idly, though Julian could practically feel his gaze on him. He folded the napkin and set it back down.

Maria laughed. “You were four,” she said, “and he rapped your knuckles for mistakes.”

Remy’s face soured. “I’d forgotten that part.”

“We didn’t fire him because you were rude,” said Mrs. Hackett, matter-of-fact.

Maria nodded firmly. “Then, Julian, Remy has never, in his life, been ungentlemanly.”

“We raised him right,” Mr. Hackett agreed.

“I know,” Julian said, pleased to find it easy to smile back at the others. “I’ve never found him to be, either.”

“Well, thank you very much, Julian,” Remy said, shooting him a faux-abashed smile. Julian grinned at the gleam in his eye.

Maria set down her spoon, eyeing the clock. “I’d like to get to sleep soon,” she said, her tone apologetic. “Julian, it was wonderful to meet you.”

“You too,” Julian agreed, standing up as the others did to exchange handshakes and embraces. “I hope you two get good rest tonight.”

“You do too,” Maria said with a smile. “Remy, make him, won’t you?”

Remy laughed and took Julian’s hand, tugging him to his side. Julian leaned against him gratefully. They waved as Maria and Hugo followed a servant out.

“Julian, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” Mr. Hackett invited, gesturing back to the table.

Remy squeezed Julian’s hand. “I think we’d rather be alone for a while.” Julian nodded, and Remy led him from the room.

“How are you feeling, Jules?” Remy asked, still holding Julian’s hand loosely as he took him up the stairs.

Julian shrugged. “A little under the weather,” he admitted.

Remy huffed a laugh. “That much is obvious.”

“Was it?” Julian murmured.

“I know you tried to be subtle at dinner, but your voice is wrecked,” Remy said apologetically. “I’m sorry I laughed.”

Julian sighed and leaned hard into Remy, stopping them at a landing. “I’m all stuffed up, and my head hurts to hell,” he whined, his voice muffled against Remy’s shoulder. “And my chest’s making a funny noise when I cough.”

Remy frowned, pressing a splayed hand to Julian’s chest like he could feel it. “That sounds more than a little under the weather.”

“Happens every damn time I’m ill,” Julian groaned.

“Well, then, I’m sorry for dragging you out,” Remy said, planting a kiss on the top of Julian’s head.

“No, no, don’t be.” Julian peeled himself off of Remy to look at him. “I’m glad I came. I...had a good time, honestly.”

Remy pressed his palm to Julian’s forehead. At his confused smile, Remy said, “You don’t feel feverish.”

“I’m not that ill.”

“I didn’t think so, but Julian Caldwell, enjoying a social dinner?”

Julian laughed, which quickly turned into that same crackling cough. At least he didn’t have to be quiet with only Remy, but without holding back it was nearly painful against his throat.

“Oh, Jules, you sound miserable,” Remy cooed, starting back upstairs. “If you want to go home to rest--”

“God, no,” Julian interrupted. “I’d much rather stay here. If you don’t mind it,” he added.

Remy smiled and tugged him in for another kiss on the head. “You know I love taking care of you, Rose.”

[neveralarch]

Surtemps or Quality Seconds ⭐️ either is fine w me I just couldn’t choose lol

I'm doing Quality Seconds mostly because there are a bunch of little different stories in Surtemps and I ALSO cannot pick one - but I'm happy to come back to them if there's a particular fic in Surtemps you'd like commentary on!

Anyway, I was at a giant fencing tournament about a month ago and I'd just read an arranged marriage fic that was FINE but was not what I wanted. And so of course I was complaining to Dez ( @sauntervaguelydown ).

As you can see I basically had the whole idea plotted out right away, but then I was at the fencing tournament and also Dez and I were each trying to get the other person to write the end of Full Service while both of us were also too busy to write. But then! Astonishingly! Bout committee released me after I'd only been refereeing for 5-6 hours!! And I went back to my hotel room and instead of working on Full Service I just wrote Starscream's opening internal monologue in one luxurious stream of consciousness. What you see in the finished fic is hardly edited at all from what I dumped on Dez in chat.

I LOVE writing Starscream's voice by the way. I can't figure out if I just have the same combination of self-confidence and social anxiety, or if it's because the absurd schemes are so much fun. It's easy for me to let go of fic plots because I come up with about 3-4 every week, but once I had this opening I was compelled to finish the rest pretty quickly.

There's a version of this fic in an another Earth probably where I spent a lot of time explaining the backstory of how Megatron and Optimus averted war and got married, and how Starscream ended up in the weapons department at his university, and how he met Megatron and so on and so on until I ended up with either a 20k fic with 5k words at the end that I actually wanted to write OR I just gave up as I got bogged down. I was inspired to write just the good parts by Kill Switch, where GhostHost mentioned that they were just writing the parts that they wanted to write and I went !!!!

Obviously sometimes there are things you need to write in order to make a fic understandable, or in order to set up something cool later on, or something you want to exist in the fic but you don't necessarily want to write. But setting all of that aside, I think even in fun fanfic people too often write things that they don't actually want or need to write and then obscure the best part of the story. The good bits only approach was EXTREMELY freeing and I think worked out for me really well! And a lot of the backstory did end up coming through in asides instead.

What else about this fic... Quality Seconds is an Orbital song - I briefly had a plan to name all of my Transformers fic after Orbital songs like I named almost all of my Welcome to Nightvale fic after The Builders and the Butchers songs. But that plan immediately fell apart and this is only the second Orbital-styled fic.

tbh as I reread the fic I'm just nodding along, like yes, yes, this sounds like me. I like sex scenes where one of the characters doesn't really know what the tone of the encounter actually is, and I like playing around with class and classism, and I like angry overdramatic fights. Oh! Now that I go back to it Starscream smashing through the Primal Mansion was definitely inspired by Superstar, which is an amazingly good and excrutiatingly painful look into an art school AU Starscream's processor.

ALSO a large chunk of this was written on the fourth of July which led to some interesting exchanges in chat as I shared my wip.

I feel like all of this is about process and very little about the actual writing so let me just pick out my favorite bit

"You broke up with Red Alert because he encrypted his personal datapads and wouldn't tell you the code," said Skyfire. "You broke up with Slipstream because she borrowed your third-best wing chains without asking. You broke up with me because I was experimenting with plant-based energon for a few cyberweeks and you didn't like the way it made my frame smell. Megatron did all of this and you're just hiding in your office and letting it slide?"

"This is different," muttered Starscream.

"Why?" asked Skyfire.

"Because I," Starscream hesitated. "I, I just—"

The thing I had the MOST fun with in this fic is the idea that Starscream really doesn't know what's going on with himself until the last second. He doesn't know why he's so upset that Megatron's not going to divorce the Prime, he doesn't know why his spark hurts when he's around Megatron, and he doesn't know why he hasn't broken up with Megatron when normally he ditches relationships as soon as they get even a tiny bit annoying. It's not until Skyfire gets him thinking about it and then leaves Starscream sitting in the dark for two minutes that Starscream finally adds up al the evidence and reaches a terrifying conclusion.

And then of course he can't let Megatron RESIGN just because they're in love. I mean, what's the point if you don't have the Lord High Protector at your beck and call? Starscream's in love, he's not DEAD.

Thanks for asking about this!! I don't know that I'll come back to this AU but I love this version of the characters and it was super fun going back to them :)