#gratuitous fluff

[scenedenial]

what are your fanfiction icks that will make you stop reading immediately. can be general or fandom specific

[shouyuus]

18+, college roommate!vi cinematic universe thigh-riding, questionable vape-usage, oral (vi receiving), smut with a fluffy ending

"s-sweet fuck, pretty girl -- j-just -- just like that --"

you let out a soft whimper, rutting your hips over her flexed thigh, whining as she leans back, a palm resting on your waist, the other clutching her hot pink vape, bringing it up to her lips for a long hit before tugging you down, blowing the dragonfruit-flavored smoke into your mouth.

you suck in, tasting the bright tang of the vape smoke as your pussy clenches, your clit throbbing as you chase your orgasm, grinding down over vi's leg as she groans thick in the back of her throat, her eyes dark and hazed out as she watches you with parted lips.

"like -- like that?" you ask, your voice high and desperate even as vi bites her lips, letting her head fall back against the wall of her room, her cheeks high with color as you reach down and wedge a hand between your bodies, slipping your fingers under the waistband of her boy shorts to thumb clumsily at her clit. she keens, fingers digging into your waist as she jerks you against her, your juices now so sticky on her thighs that it squelches every time you rut your hips forwards and back.

"fuck -- yeah... mm --" she shifts, hoisting you further up just to meld her mouth with yours, licking into your mouth as your pace stutters and you groan, fingers clutching at her shoulders, her biceps, steadying yourself on her arms as she kisses a harsh line down your neck, sucking a deep hickey into the junction of your throat. "shit, you're so -- so hot, so pretty--"

"vi -- vi -- m'so close --" your lashes flutter as you feel the familiar twist in your gut, the warm already spilling through your limbs.

she chuckles, "c'mon princess --" she tugs on your chin, blowing another puff of smoke in your face, smirking when your breath hitches, "look at me -- wanna see your face when you fuck yourself stupid on my thighs --"

the tension in your belly snaps, your whole body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. and vi -- she guides you through it, groaning out long and low as she feels you twitch over her, your cunt squeezing around nothing as you ride out your own orgasm against her. you eyes flicker but she keeps you upright, forcing you to look at her even as the edges of your vision fizz out into white sparks of pleasure.

she kisses you as you come down, grinning at the way you whine when she pulls away for another hit of the vape, opening her mouth as you press back in, your fingers finding the soaked folds of her cunt, pressing in, her kissing you as smoke wreathes out the corners of your mouths. you trade the same breath back and forth till you lose count, till you can't figure if the sweetness is the smoke or just the tingling addiction of her mouth on yours.

"mm... wow, princess -- that was --" she hiccups as you press a line of sloppy kisses down her neck, the pale, lamp-kissed bend of her shoulder, the small divot between her breasts, pausing to lave your tongue over her nipples, the piercings there cold as you suck them between your soft lips. your revel in the way she gasps then, the way her fingers bite into your skin.

you reach up wordlessly to tug the vape from her slack fingers, her eyes half-lidded and alight with a loose, liquid hunger as she watches you work down the length of her body.

"you're so wet, vi..." you murmur, pressing a kiss to her hipbone, smiling up at her as you tug on the waistband of her boyshorts. she lifts her hips, her cheeks darkening as she clears her throat.

"yeah well -- 's not like you can blame me -- oh shit --"

her head thunks back against the wall as you dig your nose into the thin trail of hair that leads to her sopping folds, the slick there glistening in the wane light. you only allow yourself a second to admire her before bringing the vape to your lips and sucking in a breath of the synthetically sweet smoke, and then you're lowering your mouth to her and pressing your tongue into her slow, moaning long and loud, your eyes fixed on her face, watching for the twitch of her lips, the slack in her jaw.

"jesus christ -- mm-mngh --!"

you fight back a grin as she whimpers, her thighs tightening on either side of your face. her fingers dig through your hair as she forces her eyes open to look down at you, an open, needy expression on her face that you doubt she'd willingly show to anyone else. but the knowledge that you can bring her to such pleasure quickens your own pulse and drives you forward as you give her clit a hard suck and she keens again -- that gorgeous, high, helpless sound even as she presses you harder against her folds and jerks against your face, guiding you into a rhythm that suits her needs.

"fuck, fuck, fuck princess --" she lets out a string of incoherent swears as you feel her shove your face into her harder and harder, and all you can do is offer up your mouth, your tongue, anything and everything you can till she shakes apart above you, her release coating your lips and dripping down your chin.

you lap at it hungrily, savoring the salty-sweet-tang even as she finally relaxes her thighs and you manage to pull yourself up for a breath. your face is sticky, and honestly, so is she, but her laughter is warm when she tugs you up to give you a lingering kiss.

your head is a smoke-filled euphoria of half-formed thoughts as the pair of you collapse, boneless, sweaty, and sated onto her messy sheets. she kicks off her boyshorts, leaving her just as naked as you already were as she curls around you, her arms solid and strong, yours curled against her chest, your fingers splayed over the smooth expanse of her skin, tracing abstract shapes as you turn to face her.

"you got somethin' on your face there, sweets," she says, rubbing at thumb down your slick-covered chin. you crinkle your nose, turning to wipe your face messily against her bicep even as she laughs.

"mm... why didn't we do this sooner?" you ask, curling into her, your faces inches apart.

"what, this like -- smoke each other out and have amazing, mind-blowing sex?" vi asks, grinning.

you giggle, shaking your head, "no! i mean -- well, yes, but like... this.." you reach out and cup her cheek, the touch so gentle it stills you both.

vi sighs, shrugging, "dunno, cupcake. i -- i guess i was caught up in..." her eyes cast about her room, the band posters and hand-scribbled workout notes tacked to her wall, "in wondering if you -- if you felt the same about me, i just..."

you purse your lips around a burgeoning smile, "you just... forgot to ask me?"

vi scoffs, rolling her eyes, "yeah, yeah, whatever. we get it -- you had to make the first move but --" her eyes soften, and so does her voice, "at least we're here now, right?"

"mm," you nod, inching closer, "and we've still got another six months left on the lease."

"six months is a long time," vi says, her voice husky as she rubs a thumb along your cheek.

"yeah... plenty, if we're trying to make up for lost time but..." you hesitate over a held breath, "what happens after?"

"after... we both graduate?"

"yeah."

for a moment, vi's silent. and all around you, the future stretches out like the moonless night, tendrils of shadow reaching like spindled fingers into the unknown future.

"after that... i go wherever you go, cupcake."

you blink, eyes meeting hers, a startled spark of uncertainty rising within you.

"you..."

vi smiles, a crooked, honest thing of lips and teeth. she hooks her ankles around yours and presses your foreheads. her hand comes up to caress the back of your neck.

"if you think i'll ever let you go again after all that... you've got another thing comin', princess."

you let out a relieved laugh, leaning in for a kiss.

"right. i guess the orgasm really was that good, huh?"

vi laughs too then, a soft, breathy sound.

"sure. but really... i mean it. i'm yours, cupcake. for as long as you'll have me."

your lashes flutter; your heart skips. then, you're the one pulling her in for a kiss, one that's sweet as it is consuming. the skin-scalding simmer of a long-burning flame, a spark catching hold on a breath of summer wind.

"i might not be a theoretical physicist, but from what i've heard, forever is a really long time," you say. and vi, to her credit, only takes a second before understanding blossoms in her eyes and she pulling you to her, crushing you in a stomach-turning embrace.

"you're my everything, princess. you know that?"

you bury your face in the crook of her neck and breathe her in. the room smells like sex and sweat and the soft perfume of your shared shampoo. you grin, a giddy heat pluming up your chest to coil at the back of your throat.

"and you're mine, vi."

vi puffs out a breath, her voice just a tiny bit shaky as she cradles your head in her palm.

"yeah. i know, sweets. i know i am."

[the-apocrypha]

at least two miracles part 11 of the cottagecore series (complete) Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling || 15k || Complete

Alternate Universe - Medieval, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Physical Disability, Mpreg, Kid Fic, Fae!Dream of the Endless, Hedgewitch!Hob, The Long-Awaited Happy Ending

Hob is a hedgewitch. Dream is fae. And Orpheus is the best of them both.

The conception of Orpheus had been a surprise for the both of them, though it must be said, for entirely different reasons. 

“Why would my gender be of consequence?” Dream asked, with appallingly genuine confusion. 

“Because,” Hob started, and then could not continue past this. Gender was—this was the whole point of gender, the cause for all the shapes and sizes, the reason for the holes that had been delved for columns and the columns that had been shaped for holes—and if gender did not matter then what else was a lie. The seasons? The gods? Did the sun not revolve around the earth?

“Just because your species has chosen to limit childbearing to half its population does not mean the rest of us are so primitive,” Dream sniffed. “You are aware that mortal women die in childbirth at a rate far higher than any other species in this realm?” 

“Wha—no, I did not know that, why would I know anything about childbirth, I didn't—I didn’t marry a woman, I didn’t think anyone would be birthing anything!” 

He’d just said the word birthing. 

Dream would be birthing. 

A baby. 

Hob felt lightheaded. 

“Yes. Well.” Dream lifted his nose in the air. “Neither did I.” 

“But—but you knew,” Hob floundered. “You knew that you could—that I could—” 

“Incorrect,” Dream disagreed. 

Hob let his expression fully convey his thoughts on this. 

“I knew that I could,” Dream clarified, and then tilted his head. “I was unaware that you could.” 

“You—” Hob’s mouth worked for several seconds. “What did you think was coming out of my dick?” 

Read on AO3

[whoopssteddiefeels]

Penny in the Air

Robin is a lot of things: judgey, hyperactive, anxious, impulsive, talkative, loud- there’s a list okay, and she’s very familiar with it. High up the list is that she is very, very gay (if possible, she’s pretty sure she’s actually getting gayer. She blames Steve for this, as she’s pretty sure it has to do with being able to finally talk about her crushes to someone other than her reflection.)

The point is, she’s gay, so she’s not surprised that she notices first. The Steve-Eddie thing. Because it is, in fact, a thing at this point.

She knows Eddie is gay- knows it like the sky is blue and David Bowie rocks- because of, y’know, the way he is (if she had any doubt, the way he leaned in while calling Steve “big boy”, ew, killed it dead.) Her research suggests this is “gaydar,” but its very unfair, she thinks, that so far it has only detected exactly (2) gays, both men, making it pretty much useless. It has given her exactly 0 information on Vickie.

She empathizes with Eddie’s position. Feels it pang under her sternum when his eyes go soft watching Steve talk emphatically, hair flopping around in that ridiculous way it does. Knows how it must catch in his throat when his hand suddenly retracts halfway to Steve’s shoulder, going to his own hair to cover the aborted movement. Tries hard to not over-identify with the sharp tug he gives there, trying to snap himself out of it (fails because she did literally exactly that when Vickie was in the video store the previous day, almost as if he had seen and copied the mechanism).

The part of the puzzle she can’t figure out is Steve. She’s annoyingly aware that he likes (groan) boobies, thanks Fast Times, and he isn’t treating Eddie like a girl whose number he’s trying to score. That being said, whenever the older boy appears, Steve lights up like a damn Christmas tree. Affection doesn’t have to be romantic; she knows this- wants to hit several of the kiddos over the head with it whenever they allude to her dating Steve- but empathy for Eddie is tinting her judgement, and once you put on the gay rose-tinted glasses it’s hard to unsee the possibility. It certainly seems like flirting. Rearranging his hair every three seconds, drawing Eddie’s eyes to the mane that is his pride and joy. Getting what she can only describe as unnecessarily close when he squeezes by Eddie in the video store aisles or whoever’s living room they’re sprawled in, hands brushing a shoulder, back, or one time his hip under the pretense of maintaining balance. The soft blush whenever Eddie flirts hard in a way he knows can be passed off as a joke. The honest megawatt smile Steve gets whenever Eddie starts in on his usual antics is infinitely more endearing than the smolder he’s learned to use like a weapon.

She usually knows exactly what Steve is thinking or feeling before he does. They’ve got that whole platonic soul mate telepathy thing, and he’s easily the center of her social world. So, since she can’t tell what he’s thinking (other than the obvious but unhelpful “Eddie, yay!”), she’s 99.9% sure, from experience, ok, that it means he isn’t thinking. Like at all. So, what she’s witnessing is instinctive, his body just moving into Eddie’s space because it feels correct, and he hasn’t paused to think about it.

             He’s walking that line of comfortable and affectionate that is ambiguously intimate. Could be platonic, could be more. It would be frustrating for anyone with a crush, but she knows from bitter experience with straight-girl crushes that Eddie must be going insane. And yes, Robin and Eddie are friends, but not close enough for her to open a conversation with “So you’re obviously gay and into Steve, my best friend who I talk to every second of every day, and no he hasn’t mentioned it, and neither have I. What’s up with that?” Similarly, she can’t quite figure out how to bring it up to Steve without accidentally outing Eddie in the process.

That’s the main reason she’s keeping her mouth uncharacteristically shut on the subject. She is not, however, above the occasional raised eyebrow, ok, especially as Eddie’s flirting slowly becomes ridiculously obvious. The man is literally leaning on the counter, chin on his hand, mooning up at Steve through his eyelashes. Steve has his hip propped on the opposite side, leaning into the shared space. How are either of them this oblivious, seriously.

~*~

She’s there when the penny finally drops.

They’re not even watching a romantic movie, it’s fucking Life of Brian, all three of them calling out their favorite lines along with the actors, throwing things and generally goofing off. If she takes the armchair to force the boys together on the couch, she doesn’t think anyone can blame her. If she’s feeling a little smug that they both sit in the middle, right next to each other, instead of taking opposite ends, she keeps it to herself. She might not want to stick her foot right in the middle of that mess, but she’s not above setting booby traps.

Robin couldn’t tell you exactly when Steve’s arm went around Eddie’s shoulder; it was somewhere between Eddie practically climbing into Steve’s lap for a “Biggus Dickus” re-enactment, the closeness and flirting safely enveloped in humor, and Steve attempting to force Eddie to “haggle” for the bag of chips. When she glances over from the safety of her armchair, Steve’s arm is trapped behind Eddie’s head, draped over his shoulder on the opposite side. Eddie, usually a constant ball of fidgety motion, is frozen stiff like he’s trying not to scare off a nervous rabbit. Even in the blue light coming off the screen she can see the flush coloring his usually nocturnal-pale cheeks.

The thing is, Steve had just discussed this move with her. Told her to invite Vickie to movie night, recommended light, easily joked off roughhousing and settling an arm around her in a way specifically gaged to judge the reaction. Which means he knows. No way he hasn’t finally figured out what his lizard brain has clearly been screaming for months (seriously, she deserves a medal. Someone tell her future girlfriends about her stamina), not with the way he’s twirling a soft brown curl around and around his finger. He must know Eddie can feel that. And oh. Steve is not-so-subtly glancing to his right, trying to gage that reaction like they discussed, to see if this is ok.

Yup. Robin needs to be literally anywhere else. She tries to be subtle (insert laugh here), muttering “bathroom” and legging it out of the room, seeking the safety of the kitchen. She wasn’t worried though- odds are she could start playing trumpet and those two wouldn’t hear it past the tension of the moment.

 ~*~

In addition to gay, Robin is also easily bored. She hums along to “Always look on the bright side of life,” drifting in from the living room, crunching on some peppery crackers she found in a cabinet in a way that vaguely matches the song’s rhythm. She would just leave the boys to whatever they were going to do (yuck, don’t think about it), but unfortunately the two people most likely to give her a ride home were occupied (seriously, no thinking about it). She’d held out for as long as she could, really, but if the movie was ending, surely she had given them enough time?

Hoping she wasn’t going to regret it, she peaked out of the kitchen, and was relieved to see that 1) everyone still had clothes on and 2) Steve and Eddie were cuddling. Fucking finally.

“SO, BOYS,” she boomed (remember loud is on the list of things she is), trying not to enjoy the way two ridiculous heads of hair jumped and then shifted away from one another anxiously. “Who finally lost the longest game of gay chicken I’ve ever seen?”

Steve’s head makes an audible thump as it drops against the back of the couch, hands coming up to rub at his face as she rounds the furniture to face them, feeling deliciously smug. Eddie gave up any pretense and buried his face in Steve’s shoulder, sweater and hair completely hiding his face.

“Shut up Robin, go away,” Steve groans.

“Nope! This has been the slowest burn of all time, you guys were killing me. I have to balance it out by being just as insufferable.” she chirped, doing her best Steve impression, hands on her hips and eyebrow quirked.

“Technically, I would say we both won gay chicken since neither of us pulled back. No chickens here. Roosters only, in fact.” Eddie surfaces with a smug little smile, dimples on full display.

“Oh you’re definitely a cock Munson, I’ll give you that,”

“Don’t make me flip you the bird-”

“That’s a bit of ostritch-”

“Well toucan play at that game-”

“I’m so happy I like tits-“

“Why me?” Steve grumbled at the same time Eddie dropped his teasing tone to ask, “Wait what?”

“Me? Lesbian. You? Obviously gay. Steve has been flirting back at you for months you dingus.”

“I’ve been what?” Steve sits up straight, suddenly laser focused on Robin. “I have not. I only realized, like, a week ago-”

He was seriously going to be the death of her.

“Steve. Stephen. My guy. What would you say if I told you a girl had been giving me a hair show, the unnecessary squeeze-by, and big eyes? Consistently. For weeks.”

Eddie starts laughing. Then cackling. Steve went an even deeper shade of red, though she could tell this one was more indignant ruby than embarrassed scarlet.

“Thank you,” Eddie wheezed out, fighting down another fit, picking himself up from where he had slid down the couch. “Oh my god, thank you for fucking noticing that. He was wasn’t he? I thought it was just in my head, y’know, and Gareth always said I tend to imagine signs that aren’t there.”

“Oh I know, you think you have a hard time, girls are so physically affectionate platonically, it’s impossible to tell-”

“Ok. Done with this conversation!” Steve interrupted, standing up between the two of them, hands furiously combing through his hair.

Robin only grinned wider at Eddie. “So, Munson, care to give me a ride home?”

“You know, Buckley, I would be delighted.”

“Hey now-” Steve tried to interject as the two of them moved towards the door.

“Why thank you, kind sir.”

“Don’t mention it, fair lady. Your chariot awaits.”

“Wait, hang on, Eddie-” Steve’s tone shifted from confused to plaintive as she stepped out into the night. And she resolutely pretended to not hear Eddie’s reply before he closed the door behind them.

“Sit tight, big boy, I’ll be right back!”

[fuzzygoblin]

Just when things seem to be going so well...

Thanks u/ckocek for the beta  ❤️ and @goodomensafterdark​

[kakerutori]

I'm so happy that I made it before pride month was over!!! New fic is out! :)

A friend informed me that the Mike (with Will's painting) Funkos are out in store for her and I got so excited that I think it gave me the push to finally finish a wip LOL

[elen-tari2]

Down Bad

For @kastleexchange

***My contribution to the Kastle Exchange: Born Again Week. Prompt 3 "Who We Are" is to think of lines and scenes that define the characters and consider how they may be revisited in the upcoming DDBA. This is what happens when my brain decided to throw in a bunch of Taylor Swift lyrics into my fic, predominantly from the song "Down Bad" but other references abound. But don't be off-put if you're not a Swiftie-- hopefully it is tastefully done!***

Teaser:

Sometimes it made her heart clench with loneliness. Other times, it pissed her off. That he had saved her life so many times and then abandoned her. Supposedly for her own safety. Despite the fact that she had never felt more safe than when she was with him.

Today was one of those days. She was pissed off. Not just at Frank, but at herself because she just couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t give him up. That her body still screamed that she needed to be in his presence. She knew what Foggy and Matt would say. Hell, even Dinah, who was probably the closest to being able to read her heart, would think she was nuts.

Karen Page was down bad in love with Frank Castle. She turned up the volume on her playlist and ran faster on the treadmill.

Please enjoy the rest on AO3:

[astarionsdarlingjade]

Ruin

Chap. 1

word count- 8k+

Astarion/Named Fem! Dark Urge

The gif isn't really relevant but I didn't want to not put anything. I'll probably change it later when I get the photo mod figured out.

This takes place ten years before the events of the game.

The lights and sounds of the tavern bombarded her senses as she walked through the wooden creaking doors. The place was packed with patrons of all sorts; humans, dwarves, and even some elves, and all of them were drunk out of their minds. A few heads turned as she made her way towards the bar, but most of the patrons were too absorbed in their drinks or their own conversations to notice her. She was used to it, though. 

It was best for when she needed to find her targets. Taking a seat at the bar she kept the hood of her cloak low so as not to be seen. The Blushing Mermaid was certainly busier tonight, filled to the brim with sailors fresh from a long haul and dock workers ready to drink their pay.

She would need to pick at least one tonight to sate her father's prayers. Her eyes landed on a tiefling woman, who sat in the far corner of the tavern. Her golden irises were framed by black, and her navy skin glinted under the candlelight. Away from the bustling of the sailors, she sat nursing one drink that seemed to have been sat there for hours. 

Their eyes met, and she quickly sent her a small coquettish smile before setting her own drink down. She moved to leave her stool, but before she could, a smooth and velvety voice reached her ears.

"Hello, beautiful."

Forcing herself to stop her movements, she turned to look at who exactly had the gall to approach a Bhaalspawn. Even if it wasn't obvious. Looking over her shoulder revealed a pale elf, his eyes a deep shade of red, framed by silver locks. Not too unusual, but there was something rather unnerving about how they seemed to glow so vibrantly.

She sighed inwardly, hoping that he would quickly leave her be, so that she might focus on the tiefling woman. He must have taken her sighing for a sign because he smiled and took the stool beside her.

"I've not seen you here before. What brings you to a place like this?"

His smile was a bit too practiced, she noticed. He also made sure that his lips were sealed tight. Strange.

What a pretty corpse he'd make-

She bit back a snarky response and forced a polite smile instead, "Just passing through."

Please leave, Lord Bhaal must have a sufficient sacrifice before midnight, and I refuse to displease him. She prayed silently.

But he didn't, instead, he regaled her with many a line about the beauty of her hair, and her eyes. All the while she had to bite back her temper and pray to her father for him to simply leave her be.

After what seemed like hours, she finally spoke again. "Do you wish to buy me a drink, or simply sit beside me?"

Her question seemed to startle him, but his composure returned, and he grinned at her.

"I can, but only if you promise me one thing."

Her patience was running thin. The clock was so close to ticking midnight.

Her eyes fell back to the far end of the room, the tiefling woman was gone, her drink still sat on the table, nearly full as it had been before.

Gods damnit-

"Give me the pleasure of your company for the night. And I'll buy you any drink you desire."

She nearly spat in shock. So that was what he getting at? He wanted to... take her to bed? 

His tone was laced with seduction as he continued, "And when morning comes, you can have your way with me. But first, let me have mine with you."

She could practically hear her father's screams of rage as the clock struck 11.

Lord Bhaal demanded blood. Demanded a sacrifice-

"Very well," she acquiesced, swallowing back thoughts of how he would look covered in blood. His own, of course.

She would have to make this quick, she was already late.

"Come," She said, taking his hand as she led him through the creaking doors. "I am at your disposal."

"For now," she added, her voice low.

The streets of Baldur's Gate were deadly silent for once, the only noise came from the taverns and the docks, and even then the sounds were distant, muffled by the buildings. She had led the elf through the alleys, weaving and darting through them, until they found a quiet spot near the harbor, where a single ship was docked.

"What's this?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

She turned and looked at him, and gave him a seductive smirk. "We're alone, and the streets are quiet."

It didn't take him long to understand her meaning. He wasted no time, and before she could get another word out, his mouth was upon hers.  The kiss was heated and messy, and he grabbed her waist and pushed her against the wall of a nearby building.

She pulled away and smiled. "Impatient, are we?"

"Only because I know what I want." He said, returning her smile.

"And what do you want, hmm?" she asked, still a bit breathless from the kiss.

He smirked and moved his hands down to her hips. "You. Now."

She laughed. "So forward! You haven't even given me your name," she said, with a tone of faux offense.

"I could say the same to you, darling," he retorted.

"Rhea," She said, whispering it softly.

He repeated it, rolling the name on his tongue.

"Such a pretty name, for such a pretty thing," He purred, pulling her closer.

She pulled back, her lips ghosting over his ear. His breath hitched. Her tongue darted out and traced the shell of his ear, before she nibbled on his earlobe. He let out a small, choked moan, before he felt her hand press against his bulge.

"And yours," she asked quietly, her hand moving slowly over his bulge. 

Even without the clock, she could tell it was just past midnight. Surely, skipping one night of sacrifice wouldn't be too harmful. If anything, Orin would more than make up for her share.

"Astarion, darling," He breathed, his lips ghosting against hers.

"A lovely name," she replied, rolling it on her tongue as she closed the distance. This kiss was much softer, and gentler than the first. It was tender and warm.

It felt nice. She let herself get lost in the moment. In his touch. His hands were cool, and it was almost easy, to forget her lost sacrifice. To forget who she was. Almost.

She pulled away, her breathing heavy, and her heart racing. Astarion looked at her, his eyes wide, and his lips slightly parted. It was hard to tell under the dim streetlights, but there seemed to be no color to his pallid face. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with another kiss. It was hungry, and it burned through her like wildfire. Intoxicating.

"Oh, darling. I am going to enjoy making you scream," he said breathlessly. 

"Is that a promise?" She asked coyly, tasting the salt from the sea on her tongue as she spoke.

"Indeed it is, " he murmured. 

She laughed dryly. "We'll see."

He pushed her forward, her back hitting the wall. He was on her in a second, his mouth attacking hers, and his hands roaming her body. She groaned, her hands tangling themselves in his hair. He chuckled and grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. He began to trail kisses down her neck, nipping and sucking on the skin as he went. She gasped, arching her back, trying to get closer to him. His other hand snaked up her thigh and under her dress, slowly dragging his nails across her skin. She moaned, rutting her hips into him.

"Gods, you're so eager." He pressed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall, and his knee found its way between her legs, forcing a whine from her lips as she ground her hips against his knee. Surprisingly desperate for friction. 

"Astarion..."

"That's it, darling. Moan my name. Let the whole city hear you."

He was surprisingly careful not to bite into her flesh, his teeth grazing just enough for heat to pool in her stomach. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut. She could feel her arousal building, her body aching for more. For him.

He grinned, and pulled away, his hand leaving her wrist. She groaned at the loss of contact, and he silenced her with a kiss. His hands unclipped her cloak and let it slide to the ground before pushing her dress up and past her hips. Astarion broke the kiss and looked down at her, his eyes on fire. Cool air hit her heated core, and she shivered. 

"My, my, darling," He cooed. "How wet you are for me. Are you always this ready, or am I just special?"

"You talk too much," she growled, pulling him down into another kiss.

Her hand slid between them, and she rubbed her palm against him, drawing a low moan from his plush lips.

He pushed her hand away and pulled her dress up. She frowned and her brow furrowed, as he stepped back.  He knelt, and she swallowed thickly, anticipation coiling in her stomach. She leaned back against the wall, her hands gripping the rough bricks for support. He began trailing kisses up her thighs, and her breath hitched. His hand caressed her thighs, and he ran his tongue along her inner thigh. She let out a gasp, and she could feel him smirking against her skin.

"So sensitive." He ran his tongue ran closer to her heat, and she shivered.

" Astarion ... "

"Tell me what you want, darling."

"Touch me, please," She gasped, her nails digging into the bricks.

He paused his movements, seemingly lost in thought before he spoke again.

"Mm. Beg for me," he said, his eyes not meeting her gaze. Distant-

She gritted her teeth. "No."

He paused and looked up at her, his crimson eyes a blaze. "Beg, or I'll leave you like this."

She threw him a glare. Her, beg? For some-

His cool breath fanned over her cunt, making her stomach flutter, and her face hot. 

"Fine," she gritted through her teeth.

"Please."

"Please what, darling?" he cooed. 

"Please, I want you to fuck me. Right now."

He smirked. "Good girl."

He dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs. She felt his lips on her, and she threw her head back, moaning loudly. His tongue was warm, as he licked a line from her opening to her clit, circling her entrance.

"Oh, yes. Fuck, yes," she moaned, her fingers tangling themselves in his silver hair.

He moaned, his tongue lapping at her folds. Her hips bucked as her toes curled in her boots. Laughing, he began to tease her, his tongue flicking at her clit, his fingers slid into her hot cunt.

"Please, please, please," She pleaded, her voice desperate. 

A far cry from her usual disposition. Not even he could get this much of a response from her. 

He moaned, the sound vibrating through her, his fingers curled inside her, and his tongue teased her clit.

She was a mess, her body trembling, her eyes screwed shut, her breaths coming in gasps and short bursts. He smirked, and began to thrust his fingers in and out of her faster, his tongue swirling around her clit.

"More. Please, fuck. Please, please," she begged, her voice breaking.

He obliged, adding a third finger, and pumping them in and out of her. She could feel herself nearing the edge, her body shuddering, her thighs quivering. She was barely able to keep upright, the brick of the wall rough against her hands.

"Hells," She moaned, her hands fisting his hair. He hummed as he sucked on her clit, his fingers steadily working her to her climax.

"Oh, fuck, fuck!" She screamed, her body tensing as her orgasm washed over her, her vision white.

He licked her through her orgasm, his fingers still thrusting inside her all the while. She gasped, her body shuddering, her eyes clenched shut. He pulled away, and licked his lips, his eyes shining with amusement and his chin glistened with her juices.

"Now, love. Tell me, how was that?"

She stared at him, her eyes wide. It certainly didn't compare to her usual feelings, but-

He stood and leaned in, kissing her. Probably thinking her speechless.

"That good, hm? Well, it's a good thing we have the entire night to ourselves." Before she could answer, his mouth was on hers, his tongue slipping past her lips, and his hand gripping her thigh.

She could taste herself on his lips, making her whimper, her hands fisted the front of his shirt. Her hands reached for his belt, quickly undoing it before the sound of drunken shouts and slurred speech interrupted her.

Astarion pulled away, looking over towards the docks. A group of sailors were walking away from the taverns, their voices loud and their steps clumsy.

"Shit," She cursed. It would probably be best to return-

"Perhaps we should finish this  somewhere else." Astarion's voice pulled her back to reality. "Somewhere, with a bit more privacy?"

She smirked and nodded. "That would be wise." She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. "Though I rather think you're enjoying this."

He smiled and shrugged. "Can you blame me?"

She shook her head. "I suppose not."

He looked at her, his smile faltering. "Shall we?" he said as he offered an arm. 

She paused and bit her lip before linking her arm in his. "We shall."

The door to her temporary home was quickly unlocked, and she ushered him inside.

He looked around, his eyes taking in the small room. "How quaint," He remarked, his eyes scanning the walls before they landed on the bed, the sheets and pillows still messy from when she woke.

"I prefer not to stand out," she said her voice brusque as she latched the door behind him.

He chuckled and turned back to her. "Fair."

His hand went to her waist, pulling her closer. Astarion leaned in and kissed her, his tongue slipping into her mouth. She moaned into the kiss, her hands tangling themselves in his hair, pulling him even closer. He hummed, his other hand moving to her hip. She gasped as he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as if by instinct. He carried her to the bed and laid her down, his mouth never leaving hers.

She broke the kiss, her hands tugging at his shirt. "Off," She demanded.

She ran her hands over his chest, her eyes trailing over his body. "Very," She murmured.

He leaned in, his mouth attacking her neck. She gasped, her back arching into him, and her hands gripping his shoulders. He chuckled and continued his assault on her neck, nipping and sucking at the skin. Her hips bucked, her eyes rolling back into her skull. His hands slid down her sides, grabbing her ass and pulling her closer. "Please," She breathed.

He smirked and ground his hips against hers. "Please what, my dear?"

She moaned, her eyes fluttering shut. "I need you," She pleaded.

He chuckled and moved his mouth lower, his teeth grazing her collarbone. "Where?"

"Everywhere," She breathed.

She whimpered, her hips bucking, her back arching. "Astarion. Please. Fuck. Touch me."

He hummed and pulled away, his hand sliding up her dress. His fingers found her clit and began to rub it.

He smirked at her, watching her fall apart under his touch. "Like this, darling?"

"Gods yes," she hissed, her eyes squeezed shut. "Like that."

He moaned, his fingers circling her clit, his tongue running along her throat. She shuddered, her hips bucking up.

"Please. Please. Please," She pleaded, her voice already hoarse.

"So needy," He slid a finger inside her, his thumb continuing to circle her clit.

She gasped, her legs spreading wider, her body trembling as the cool air hit her.

He continued, his finger sliding in and out of her cunt, his thumb teasing and circling her clit. She writhed beneath him, her body aching for more.

He added a second finger, his thumb pressing against her clit. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

She whimpered, her eyes screwing shut. "Yes."

He grinned and quickened his pace, his fingers pumping in and out of her. Her hips rocked, that familiar heat pooling in her stomach again. She moaned, her back arching, while her thighs quivered. He curled his fingers, his thumb brushing against her clit. Her hips bucked once more, her back arching into his hand before all pressure vanished.

Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him, her pupils blown wide, her face flushed. "Why did you stop?" she wined, her voice an octave higher than its usual tone.

He laughed, and moved his hand, his fingers running up her thigh. "I want to taste you."

He leaned in, trailing kisses along her collarbone. She gasped, her body tensing, her eyes screwing shut as the kisses trailed down her neck, his hand slowly making its way down her stomach.

"You want me, don't you, darling? Want to feel me inside you, filling you, stretching you?" He nipped at her collarbone again, his fingers rubbing circles on her hip.

It was maddening, the feel of his fingers along her burning skin, his open-mouthed kisses were bruising, surely to leave a purple mark in the morning. 

"Please," She breathed, her eyes opening.

The word came so easily now, something she had never had to even utter before. A word that was many others last to her. 

"You beg so beautifully. It would be rude not to grant your request." He pushed her dress up and over her head, and tossed it to the side as his eyes roamed her exposed body.

She shivered as the cool air hit her skin. He smirked and leaned in, his lips ghosting over her nipple before he instead opted to kiss her again, his tongue slipping into her mouth, his fingers dancing over her hip. She moaned loudly, not bothering to cover her mouth this time, her hands were too busy fisting the sheets. He broke the kiss, his lips moving to her neck, trailing slowly down to her breasts.

"Please, Astarion," She breathed his name again, like a prayer. 

He laughed, his hand sliding down her stomach, his fingers teasing her clit. She writhed against his hand, her body needed more.

"I could get used to hearing that," He purred, his fingers pushing into her.

And she could listen to his voice all-day-

"Oh, fuck."

He moaned, kissing her shoulder, his hand still moving, his fingers pumping in and out of her faster and faster. She shuddered, and her hands clenched the sheets tighter. She writhed beneath him, her eyes screwed shut, her breath ragged.

"Fuck, Astarion."

He laughed and continued to pump his fingers into her, while his mouth found her breast, his tongue circling her nipple, his teeth scraped against it. 

"Gods." she moaned, her hands now around his neck, pulling him closer, her fingers tangling in his hair.

A familiar coil started to tighten as his fingers fucked her faster.

"I could do this all day. Watching you fall apart beneath me. Hearing you moan, feeling you writhe, seeing your body shake," he murmured into her skin as his lips moved from her breast and trailed up her chest, neck, and jaw before his mouth finally met hers, his tongue pushing between her lips.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she broke it, her voice slurring, "Please. I need you. 'Need you to fill me. Make me yours."

He groaned before pulling away from her, his fingers sliding out of her. He forced them into her mouth, making her taste herself.  She sucked on them, licking them clean as he watched her, his eyes hooded, his lips parted.

He hummed and pulled his fingers from her mouth, his hand going to his breeches. Astarion undid his pants, freeing his cock. The sight of his cock made her bite her lip, her stomach twisted, and a shiver of excitement ran through her.

"Mmm, I do enjoy the way you look at me, darling." He positioned himself at her entrance, his fingers digging into her thighs as he pulled her closer.

"You're so beautiful, Astarion. So perfect," She cooed, as her hands trailed down his chest. She pushed him back onto the bed and she straddled his hips, her nails dragging across his skin, leaving faint pink marks in their wake. Surprise crossed his face, as if he hadn't expected it.

But he recovered quickly. "Oh, am I?" His smirk returned, though there was something else there too—something she couldn't quite grasp.

His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared. His voice was husky and his words were breathy, "Do tell me, what about me is so perfect?"

She hummed, as she trailed a finger up his neck and jaw. She cupped his cheek and leaned in close, their lips almost touching, but not quite. Her other hand trailed down his body to wrap around his cock, pumping him slowly. He was already hard for her. "So, so many things." Her tongue darted out and licked his bottom lip before she took it between her teeth and bit down.

"I'm sure, darling, but please do be a dear and enlighten me," He rasped.

She grinned wickedly. "I think it would be better to show you."  He leaned his head back, allowing her access to him. 

She kissed and sucked at the skin, leaving red marks that would certainly be gone by morning. Her lips trailed down to his collarbone, her teeth scraping his skin. She felt him shudder, his body trembling as his grip tightened. She pulled away, a satisfied smirk playing across her lips.

"You're trembling," She said, her voice teasing.

He swallowed, his eyes meeting hers. "You've been such a tease," His voice was hoarse.

"Am I?"

She leaned in, her lips ghosting over his neck, her teeth grazing his earlobe. "Well, maybe I should tease you some more."

He groaned, his hips thrusting up, as his cock brushed her stomach.

She pulled away, her hands gripped his shoulders, and her legs pinned him down.

"Or," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave, "Maybe I should ride your cock." She moved her hips, her heat grinding against his length. He let out a gasp, his hands grabbing her ass, pulling her closer.

He moaned her name, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his breath hot on her skin.

She smiled, her lips ghosting his jaw, her hands fisting his silver locks, pulling him closer before she pulled away again, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into the skin. She lifted herself off of him, forcing a whine from his plush lips, his cock brushed against her folds before she paused and sat back, a wicked grin playing across her lips.

"Hm ," she hummed, her eyes half-lidded as she watched his chest heave.

"Say 'please," she said.

"What?" His voice cracked, his eyes widening.

"You heard me." She ran her nails down his chest, a sharp cry escaping his throat. "Beg me."

He swallowed, his mouth going dry. His cock twitched, and precum smeared against her inner thigh. He sat up quickly, his fingers tangling in her hair, his lips crashing into hers. He kissed her hungrily, his tongue swiping across her lips. She gasped and allowed him entry, her eyes fluttering closed.

"Please," He muttered, his voice breaking while his hands gripped the sheets. 

She forced a smile when he averted his gaze, her hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a few slow strokes. He threw his head back, his body arching off the bed.

"Fuck," He breathed, his eyes fluttering closed, his jaw slack.

She smiled and wrapped her hand around his cock, her thumb stroking the head.

She shifted, her knees bracketing his hips, before her lips trailed down his chest, her tongue tracing patterns along his skin as she moved down. He groaned, his body trembling, his eyes screwed shut. "Look at me," She ordered, her voice dropping an octave.

He nodded, his eyes fluttering open, and his gaze met hers.

"You're so beautiful." She pressed her lips to his chest, and her tongue flicked against his nipple, eliciting a moan from him. She pulled away, and licked her lips, her hands stroking his length, her thumb tracing the vein, her hand gripping the base, her nails digging into the sensitive skin, causing him to shudder and moan.

She smirked and moved her mouth down his stomach, her lips kissing and sucking his skin. He bucked his hips, his cock brushing her cheek.

He breathed her name, his voice ragged.

She looked up at him, and smiled, her tongue flicking over his tip. "So desperate," she murmured as she gripped the base of his cock, her hand sliding down his length. His face contorted, unreadable as he struggled to form words.

Her tongue swirled around his head before her lips closed around him. He groaned, his hands tangling in her hair, pushing her head down further.

His breath hitched as she sucked his cock, and her hand cupped his balls. He moaned again, his grip on her hair tightening as his hips thrust up against her face. She hummed, her mouth taking more of him, her nails digging into his thighs. He let out a whimper, his eyes screwing shut, his hips rocking upward.

She pulled away, her tongue dragging along his length. "Don't close your eyes."

He nodded slowly, his eyes fluttering open, his gaze meeting hers. She moved her mouth further down his cock, her teeth grazing his skin. He shuddered, his body trembling. His hands wove into her hair tighter, his cock sliding deeper until he hit the back of her throat. His hips thrust up to meet her mouth. He sped up, the only sounds in the room were the sound of her sucking his cock and his moans.

She gagged, her nails digging crescents into his skin as his hips stilled and his cock twitched, his hot cum filling her mouth.

She moaned as she swallowed. Astarion groaned, his eyes fluttering shut, his body shuddering as he pulled away, a smile on her lips as she swallowed thickly. She moved her mouth further down his length, her tongue dragging along his skin, licking up all the remnants of his release, her tongue flicked over his slit, his hips jerking up one last time.

He pulled her head away from his cock, his fingers still in her hair, his cock still hard.

She let out a soft laugh and he released her hair. Her mouth trailed up his stomach, her teeth grazing his nipple.

"Gods," He breathed.

She hummed in agreement, her teeth biting down as her fingers pinched his other nipple, his back arched off the mattress, and a soft moan escaped his lips.

His hands were tugging at her hair again, and he pulled her head back. 

"Astarion," She breathed.

"I want you," She whispered, her head falling onto his chest.

"Mmm," He purred, his hands gripping her hips, his cock sliding against her slick folds.

She whimpered, her hips pressing down, trying to get him inside.

His hands pulled her down, his cock pushing into her. She let out a moan, her body shuddering. His hips thrust up, his hands guiding her. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps as her hips met his. She was so close, she could feel herself about to fall apart again, her walls tightening around his cock. He groaned, his hands sliding up her sides, his fingertips brushing her nipples. 

She didn't think she could last much longer, her vision was beginning to blur, and there were dark splotches in the corners. She was on her back in an instant, his mouth kissing down her throat, his teeth grazing her skin, his hands running up and down her sides. She shivered, her body arching into his touch, her legs wrapping around his waist. Her ankles hooked together, and her heels dug into his ass, pulling him closer.

Astarion growled and thrust his cock into her roughly, his hips snapping against hers. She gasped, her vision going white. He gripped her hips, his nails digging into her skin. She moaned, her head falling back, as her hands gripped the sheets.

"Faster," she whined.

He smirked and pulled out fully before thrusting back in. He set a punishing pace, fucking her hard and fast, his hips slamming against hers.

"Fuck, Astarion." She cried out, her eyes rolling back, her body quivering.

In response, he moaned her name and fucked her harder.

"Good girl," he said, his voice still hoarse.

She whimpered, her hands further tangling themselves in the sheets, as her eyes on him. 

"You're so good, darling. Such a good girl," he praised, his hand reaching between them and started to rub her clit.

His praise, his words, his touch- She could feel herself teetering on the edge yet again, her mind clouding over.

"So close- Come for me."

She swore she could see stars as she came, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Good girl," he said one last time before she felt his cock pulse, his warm release spilling into her.

"Fuck."

"That's it, darling. Take it all."

She whimpered, her hands grasping his shoulders, pulling him closer so that their chests were touching. 

He grunted, his eyes screwed shut, his lips pressed to her temple. She whined as her arms moved to wrap around his neck. He chuckled, his hand moving to her neck, squeezing lightly.

"Oh, fuck," She breathed.

"There we go," he cooed. "I'm going to let you catch your breath, then I'm going to fuck you again."

Morning light filtered in through the curtains, forcing her eyes to open. She stretched her legs out, the silk sheets brushing her skin as she did so. Her brow furrowed, her head tilting. Where the fuck am I? The night came back to her in waves: the tavern, the missed sacrifice, and finally the man with the pretty eyes and charming smile.

"Fuck." She hissed, her face growing hot.

Looking down she saw her dress was gone, she was completely bare save for the blanket covering her. Her cunt was sore, and the stickiness between her legs was a dead giveaway of what she had done the previous night. She looked around the room, noting the clothes scattered about.

Her dress and corset lay across the back of a chair, his shirt on the floor by the foot of the bed, his pants near the door. Both of their pairs of shoes tossed haphazardly across the wooden floor.

The memories came flooding back to her. How his hands roamed her body, how he'd praised her, how she'd screamed his name when she came again and again.

Astarion.

Something shifted behind her. She froze, not daring to look back. She could feel a chest pressed to her back, his breath cool on her neck. His arm was draped across her side, his hand resting on her stomach.

She tried to shift out from under his grip, but he merely tightened his arm and pulled her closer. His breathing was even, a sure sign he was asleep. Well- not asleep, but sill. She let out a shaky breath and settled back into the mattress, his arm still holding her close.

A soft, barely there smile found its way to her lips as her eyes fluttered closed.

"Fuck."

She turned to face him, his hair was a mess, and a silver curl fell just above his brow. She quickly pushed it away from his face, careful not to wake him. Her eyes ran over his visage, his lips were slightly parted revealing the tips of his canines. 

They were certainly shaper than she had expected, it was a miracle they hadn't pierced her flesh.

She shifted closer to him and wrapped an arm around him, her fingers lightly tracing his bare back.

Her face twisted as she felt ridges under her fingertips. Furrowing her brows, she moved her hand back to the spot and pressed her fingers down. She felt him stiffen, his breath hitching. She withdrew her hand as if burnt.

She didn't need to look to know what they were. Somehow, she hadn't registered the scars crisscrossing his back. She supposed she had been too busy the night before. She placed her lips against his shoulder, and wondered where exactly they had come from. 

He was still resting when she dressed and picked up a quill.

"You seem to be in a good mood, My Lady."

The Butler's voice was like nails on glass as she came to a stop. He was the second person to mention it. The first was some follower in the temple, who quickly scurried away after she sent them a glare. She hadn't realized that it was that obvious.

"Oh?" She looked at him and forced a smile, trying to hide her mounting irritation.

"Yes. I haven't seen you look so... cheerful in so very long, I suppose there was a significant sacrifice made in the name of Lord Bhaal?" he said as they exited the temple.

Her nose crinkled in disgust at the smell of the sewers. It was something she thought you'd gotten used to, but it always managed to get worse. "You could say that," she answered, not giving him any other information.

"Very good, My Lady. Your Lord Father will be most pleased."

"I'm sure he will."

No one needed to know that she had neglected her duties in favor of having her brains fucked out by a strange man. Her Lord Father certainly didn't need to know that. The thought of her father brought a frown to her face. He had already been displeased with her for some time now.

"I have a meeting with Gortash, I won't return to the temple for some time," she said, her voice neutral as she pulled her hood down and over her eyes. 

Sceleritas gave a quick bow before disappearing into a cloud of red mist.

Gortash's dark circles were worse, a stressed smile on his chapped lips. "My friend," he cut himself off his eyes narrowing as he quickly approached, his eyes darting around.

"You seem to be in a good mood." His tone was light, but his eyes were cautious.

"I had an...interesting night." She said cooly. 

She tried not to think about her night with Astarion, tried not to remember the feel of his hands and mouth. How he had her pressed against the wall. She shifted on her feet.

Gortash raised a brow. "Is that so?"

"I can tell. You seem-" He paused, closing his next words carefully, "happier than when we last spoke." He paused and sniffled, a frown settling on his features as his eyes zoned in on something.

"You've been with someone." His nostrils flared, his eyes searching her face.

She gave him a smirk, a brow raising. " How did you know?"

She felt his eyes move over her body, her face flushed - her neck. There was no doubt in her mind that he could see the dark purple bruises blooming on her skin. Damn. She'd thought that the neckline of her dress would cover the marks left behind. 

"I'm just glad that it was... pleasant for you," he replied, his tone lighter.

Her brows furrowed, his eyes meeting hers. "You're worried," she tilted her head and took a step closer, their noses almost touching, "Why?" 

He shook his head, and turned away. If she had a better look she might have said his expression was one of- jealousy?

Was he jealous? Her smirk widened as she crossed her arms behind her back and followed him through the room. Sunlight highlighted the piles and stacks of books that were littered throughout. 

Books on... "Ilithids?" She questioned, picking up a dusty time, the title nearly faded against the purple background.

He nodded before turning to face her again, "I've been digging for more research on our project," he gestured for her to sit.

She opted to remain standing. The book dropped to the floor with a dull thud, sending up a cloud of dust. Ilthids.

"I plan to involve the research done when it comes to taking Baldur's Gate of course," his eyes were frantic now, rimmed in red from a lack of sleep.

Her eyes stayed on his lips as they moved but no sound reached her ears. She hadn't visited Gortash in months. He was now Bane's Chosen, so she had heard.

The circles under his eyes were worsening, and it seemed he had lost weight. Rhea wasn't one to worry when it came to others' problems, but- she did have a rather close relationship with the man. One he clearly held dearly if the look in his eyes earlier said anything at all. 

Her eyes flitted across the room in confusion. She had yet to see the Tiefling girl he had recently taken into service. She always managed to derail their conversations, into hours long chats about everything and nothing all at once.

Gortash's hand cupped her face, and when their eyes met she noticed how concerned he seemed.

"Is it your Father, again?"

She placed her hand on top of his own before closing her eyes and humming in content. 

Lord Bhaal was certainly displeased with her, after last night. No sacrifice, and she couldn't keep that damned pale elf off of her mind.  And not in her usual, 'I wonder what his insides would look like twisted around him,' or 'I wonder what his blood would taste of.'

What was his name again? It had slipped her mind-

Gortash's lips were surprisingly soft against her own. His hand moved to her waist, pulling her closer. She could feel the heat of his body radiating from under his robes, and a shiver ran down her spine as her eyes fluttered closed. She was the one who pulled away. Her eyes met his own.

"Where's the Tiefling?" She asked, trying to ignore how tightly he gripped her.

A blush spread across his face, a frown settling on his lips. "I had to- dismiss her."

"I thought you liked her?" She cocked her head.

"I did."

"Did?"

"Not anymore," he shook his head, "she had her uses but, not enough to keep her around."

Her brows furrowed, the gears in her brain moving slowly as she took his answer in. "You had a lot of uses for her. What changed?"

He let out a deep sigh and sat down.

"She got boring."

"Boring," she echoed, not quite understanding.

"Yes." He answered.

"I think she was quite the opposite," she said stalely.  She didn't bother to pry further.

"I don't understand," he said,  as he looked up at her, his hands wringing in his lap. 

"Don't understand what?"

She scoffed, her eyes narrowing as she met his gaze. A subject change, how typical. At least as of late. She couldn't recall him being this wishy-washy before.

"Who were you with?" He asked, his eyes narrowed.

She shook her head and laughed, the question taking her by surprise. He had never really shown much interest in who she was with. Although, lately he had been acting a bit more... desperate.

"You don't get a say in my affairs, Gortash."

His eyes softened as he leaned forward. "You do  know I care about you, right?"

She shrugged and moved closer, her knees hitting the armrest of his chair. "You do have a strange way of showing it." She moved so she was straddling him, her hands gripping the back of his chair. His own went to her waist.

"How else am I supposed to show it?"

"By letting me go."

His eyes flashed. "You know I can't do that. I don't want to do that."

She let out a chuckle. "Of course not. How foolish of me." Her fingers tangled in his hair as she leaned closer. "Why would you?"

His breath tickled her ear, his grip on her hips tightening. "You're mine."

Her nose twitched, and her eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"

"You know it is," he breathed, his lips pressing against her neck.

"If I'm yours, then why do you keep asking me who I've been with?" She whispered, tilting her head to the side.

"You can fuck whoever you want, as long as you come back to me."

"How possessive of you," she breathed, her lips pressing against his jaw, his chin, his nose.

"I've missed you, Rhea." His lips captured her own.

"I know," she hummed, her nails digging into his scalp, "and I you."

She lied effortlessly. There had been a time when her feelings were mutual. But that time had long passed. His hands slid over her skin, his movements slow.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" His breath was hot on her skin.

"Hmm," she hummed in agreement.

"How long has it been?" he asked in between kisses.

"Too long," she breathed, her head falling back as his lips moved lower.

The door slammed open.

"I'm sorry to interrupt-"

"Then don't." Gortash's head turned, his eyes meeting the interrupter.

"I've been looking everywhere for you." He gestured to Rhea and took a step past the threshold. 

He was an older gentleman, with graying hair and a permanent frown on his face. Gold horn-rimmed glasses were hanging precariously from his nose.

"What's wrong now?" her voice clipped, annoyed. 

"We have a slight... problem."

"Well spit it out, then."

"You know," the man trailed off, a sinister smile on his face.

She let out a groan and stood, her hand reaching for the dagger strapped to her side. She almost wretched. Orin. The man's face contorted and his body cracked to reveal the Changeling. Her putrid stench filled the room, her long blonde braid matted with blood and... what looked like viscera.

"Dear sister, I've missed you." The words were sickly sweet and sent a shiver down her spine.

"I can't say the same, Orin." Rhea's voice was monotone as her eyes met the Changeling's glossy ones.

Orin ignored the comment, her eyes narrowing as she picked her nails with her blade. "Father's been upset, all in a tizzy if you will," her tone was bored, her eyes meeting Rhea's.

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed," she deadpanned.

Orin's eyes narrowed and she stood, her body towering over Rhea's. "Watch the tone." She spat the words, her teeth gritting.

"Or what, Orin? You'll tell daddy on me? You'll tattle that I didn't give the proper sacrifice? That I didn't come home on time?" She took a step closer, a wicked grin spreading across her lips.

"Father isn't happy." Orin's lip curled.

"Let him come, I'm sure he'll love the welcome party."

"You think you're clever, don't you, dear sister." Orin's hand was cold against her neck.

"I'm not the one that needs to prove myself," Rhea whispered, her hand sliding between their bodies. Her dagger pressed into Orin's stomach. "If you threaten me again, I'll make sure there's no coming back for you."

Orin scoffed, "I, will be Lord Bhaal's Chosen. Only I am his favorite, the only one truly he cares for."

"Keep telling yourself that, dear sister," Rhea's tone was light, but her grip on her blade held fast. She pushed the blade harder against her stomach.

"Just a little more," Orin whispered, her voice taunting.

Orin's hand wrapped around her wrist.

Gortash cleared his throat, and both women turned to face him. He was clearly uncomfortable with the... situation. "I'm sorry, to interrupt."

His eyes stayed on Orin's blade, the tip was pressed against Rhea's throat, and small droplets of blood were dripping from her skin.

"But, we were in the middle of something." His tone was curt.

"And?" Orin raised a brow.

"We'd like you to leave." His lips formed a tight, thin line.

Orin's jaw was tense as her hand dropped to her side limply. "Fine."

She looked down at her blade and smiled. "You made me bleed," she wiped the blood from her waist.

"Goodbye, sister. I'll see you again soon." Her tone was a warning.

"I'm sure." Her tone was dismissive.

"Until then," Orin smiled as she left.

Rhea let out a deep sigh, her shoulders sagging.

"I forgot how exhausting she was."

Gortash was silent, his hand running down her back.

"Is it always like that?"

"Oh, yes." Her tone was sarcastic, her eyes fluttering closed as she sheathed her blade.

"I have no doubt Lord Bhaal will choose you as his Chosen," he assured her.

"I'm not too sure of that myself, these days." She opened her eyes, and her head turned away.

"Why? Did something happen?"

"Nothing of importance," she shrugged.

He nodded and sat down.

"Would you like to continue where we left off?" His tone was hopeful, his hand motioning towards the space next to him.

She sighed and moved closer. "It's going to cost you."

His hand was warm against her waist, her head dropping to his shoulder.

"Anything." He breathed the word, his tone desperate.

She smiled a genuine one this time and leaned closer. "Tell me how the research is going."

He sighed and shook his head. "Fine, have it your way."

The sun was low in the sky, the clouds painted a dark pink. The streets were busy, and she could already hear the sounds of music playing from the taverns. Her feet dragged along the cobblestones, her eyes scanning the crowd. She wondered if he was still there if he was still in her bed. 

He wasn't. His boots were gone, the clothes that were thrown over her desk were gone, and his scent lingered in the air. She wasn't surprised, but she was disappointed. She moved towards her desk and sat down. An envelope was on her desk. It was a plain white, her name scrawled on the front. It was in his handwriting.

"Astarion" she whispered, his name was a sigh that slipped from her lips as she opened the note. The note was short but sweet. She placed the note back on her desk and smiled.

Astarion.

What a lovely name.

Her eyes snapped open. No- 

She admonished herself. She had been too distracted as of late. She rubbed her temples, a headache forming. It had only been a day and yet she could still feel her father's anger, his frustration. Bloodlust- Her mind had drifted again and she hadn't sensed the presence. She was getting soft, and careless.

It was frightening. She had only been in Baldur's Gate for less than a year. Before that, it had been at Moonrise, and before that- 

Her head throbbed, and her temples felt like they were going to burst.

She woke covered in blood, the sky dark. The only light came from the stars and the moon, their silvery glow lighting up the sky. The air smelled of death and the stench of it was so strong it was nauseating. Her entire body ached, and she had to force herself to stand.

A body lay to her left, unrecognizable, entrails pooling on top of a familiar ritual circle.  The air was heavy with the smell of iron. She tried to remember what had happened, but it was a blur. Her legs felt weak and shaky, and she could hardly stand, let alone walk.

She needed to find water, to wash the blood away. Her hands were caked in it, her fingernails stained red. The stench was starting to make her feel ill, and she felt dizzy. She stumbled towards the streetlights, the lights illuminated the cobblestone streets.

The city was quiet, aside from the distant sounds of taverns. As she walked she quickened her pace. Her steps echoed off the walls and the stone streets.

She was alone, and the emptiness of the streets was suffocating. She kept walking, the cobblestones beneath her feet turned to wood, and she slammed her front door behind her, the sound echoing throughout the empty house.

She took a deep breath.

She needed to clean up and rest.

And then-

The water was freezing, and her body ached, the cold a sharp pain against her skin. She shivered, the chill seeping into her bones, her hair wet and tangled. She sat there for a while, staring at her hands. They were covered in dirt and grime, and she could still see the dried blood under her nails.

She washed her hands until her skin was raw, and even then, she couldn't get rid of the feeling. It wasn't just the blood. There was something else. Something was wrong. She stood in the tub and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were different, the pupils blown, the color a shade darker than her normal lavender.

She could still feel her heart beating, but she knew it wasn't the same. Her stomach lurched and she rushed to the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. Her throat burned, and the taste of bile was acidic on her tongue. She didn't know how long she stayed there, her knees pulled to her chest.

The water sticking to her skin had long gone cold, and her body was shaking, her skin gooseflesh.

She should be used to this, waking up in strange places- covered in gore- 

But sometimes it still managed to take her by surprise. Like tonight. Her eyes darted to the door. It was locked, and the curtains were drawn. No one would disturb her. Hopefully. She thought of the first time Sceleritas had appeared, right before she-

She cut herself off- she needed to sleep, to get the smell of iron and blood out of her mind. Her eyelids felt heavy, and she couldn't keep them open. The room was dark, and the shadows danced along the walls, the only light coming from the moon, its pale light filtering in through the window.

She could feel the cold air against her skin, and the weight of the covers against her body. The smell of lavender filled her nose. Her limbs were heavy as her body sank into the soft mattress.

Notes~

Hi! Thank you so much for reading this! I have the next few chapters outlined, I'm just working on actually putting everything together. This is also on my AO3 under the same username

[decadentdeviation]

They should make ya books but with adults.

Like, a fun little ensemble story where they have some adventure or whatever. Maybe a bit of pining romance, but not explicit or graphic sexually.

The problem I have with adult books, is they are either written beautifully, but the characters are unbearable. Or they're super dry, and the plot is sloooooow. Or they try too hard to be edgy, so there is no shameless romance without cheating, no sex without smut, no tragedy without gore. It's all like ~we are adults here, so let's admit we don't believe in true love ~

I want to escape to fantasy, man. I just can't get past ya protagonists being 12-17. I understand that's the target demographic. I just would like...more wholesome adult books. I don't always want to be depressed. Give me something magical and hopeful and innocent.

[afrenchwriter]

WIP Wednesday - For His Eyes Only

It's been far too long since I've updated For His Eyes Only and I hate when I get stuck in a WIP... Fortunately, talking with @aracloptia has been a great help, and I think I'm finally getting somewhere. What was supposed to be a few lines in the next chapter became a whole new chapter on its own, now around 3,500 words... And since I needed a little comfort today, I thought I would share an extract with you:

[...] After that, Aziraphale offered to rewatch Pride & Prejudice, and this time, he was the one who fell asleep. Crowley, for once captivated, watched the film until the end, with Aziraphale’s head resting over his shoulder. When the credits rolled, he glanced at his friend and saw a small smile on his lips. “You’re not sleeping,” he accused. “Well, I was, and then I heard you crying…” “Can you blame me? When Donald Sutherland cries, you cry. That’s a rule.” “If you say so, my dear.” The bastard was still smiling. “I told you you would enjoy this film.” “Yes, yes, you did, and you were right. Now, off to bed. I bought you that horrible toothpaste you use and a toothbrush, they’re in the bathroom.” Aziraphale sat up straight and beamed at him. “Perhaps I should start calling you angel, too,” he said. He then leaned over and placed a kiss on Crowley’s cheek. Soft and lingering. “Good night, dear.” Crowley watched him stand up and leave, his heart beating wildly in his chest. “Good night, angel.” If he barely slept that night, it had nothing to do with the terrible sofa. [...]

Thank you for your patience and your support <3

[splendidlyinlove]

Begin Again

Pairing: Coops

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: Sirius just got his cast off his ankle a week ago and has his first physical therapy session with Remus. He is lovesick and pining. (this takes place before sweater weather and is pre coops) 

Read it on ao3!

This version of Remus and Sirius belong to the lovely mind of @lumosinlove

Content warnings for injuries and recovering from them! 

Remus was like those paintings that you can't look away from in museums. You know the ones that practically drag you by the front of your shirt to stand in front of it. And you stand there, just staring up at it in its entirety, tears rolling down your face for a reason you can't name. The painting reaches out, opening its arms like a mother, and as it caresses your cheek it says, "It's okay, I understand." Remus was like that, he'd make you fall to pieces in a public setting, he'd make you feel whole again with just one glance. 

Sirius watched as Remus flitted about the room gathering materials. He shifted awkwardly on the PT table. His foot didn’t look right out of his cast, he hadn't stopped staring at it since last week when he got his cast off. He hated this, feeling weak. He was nervous, what if he never played the same again, what if he couldn’t play again, what if his skates never fit the same-

“Okay Pads, let’s get started yeah?” Remus looked at him with a soft open smile. 

Remus Remus Remus. His heart beat in time with the syllables. It was dangerous, he felt like he was on a cliff looking down at the drop below. It was deep, he had a long way to fall. He was terrified that everything in him screamed to jump. 

He nodded at Remus, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. Remus walked over to the end of the table, carefully taking off the soft brace that Sirius still had on his ankle. Sirius cringed at the phantom pains that seemed to emanate up his leg. 

Remus noticed, stopping his movements immediately. “Are you okay? That doesn’t hurt right?” 

Sirius blushed, feeling embarrassed. “No! No, it’s just…,” he trailed off, vaguely gesturing at his head. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

A look of understanding crossed Remus’s face. “Ah, your brain is messing with you. That’s okay, phantom pains are very common.” Remus cleared his throat and moved his hand slightly up Sirius’s leg to his shin and reassuringly rubbed his hand back and forth. “If you ever want to stop just let me know okay? If it ever gets hard physically or mentally we’ll stop and take a break. We’ll go at your speed.” 

Sirius blushed harder, bringing his hands up to cover his face. “Ouais okay, sorry that was stupid.” 

“It wasn’t stupid at all, I want you to be comfortable. Can I continue?” 

Sirius dropped his hands into his lap and gave a little nod. When Remus got the brace off, he ran his fingers along Sirius’s ankle and foot, checking the tendons and bones. Sirius tried not to shiver at his touch, he failed. His eyes trailed up Remus’s arm to his face where he could see his caramel lashes fan over the highpoints of his cheek. Remus had a freckle right below his ear, Sirius had never allowed himself to look long enough to notice before. He was looking now. 

Remus turned to look at him. “It looks perfect.” 

“Quoi…oh! Oh, that’s,” Sirius cleared his throat, “that’s good.” 

“Okay, this being our first session we’re going to go easy.” Remus took Sirius’s foot in his hands. “I’m going to warn you, it’s not going to be exactly…comfortable, but if anything hurts, or twinges, or stings you tell me immediately, okay?” Sirius nodded. “Okay, so what I’m going to do first is help you roll your ankle in a slow circle ten times to the left and then ten times to the right, ready?” 

Sirius sucked in a nervous breath, he hadn’t moved his ankle in months, his mind flitted through images of it breaking again upon the first movement and being sent right back to the hospital. He closed his eyes, pushing all the thoughts from his brain, and took a deep breath. This was Remus, he was with Remus, Remus would never let that happen. “Yeah, I’m ready.” 

Remus started to slowly move Sirius’s foot. He was right, it wasn’t comfortable. He felt like his ankle joint had rusted, he could practically hear the groaning of metal as it moved. It freaked him out a little bit. 

Remus seemed to see the slight panic on his face and started talking.   

“So, what do you usually do on Thursday nights at 7PM instead of hanging out with the coolest person you know while he awkwardly touches parts of your body?” Sirius laughed. He laughed like he never knew what sadness was. He laughed like he was alive, the breaths he dragged in after felt like his first. It was silly but he felt reborn in that fluorescent lighting sitting on a slightly sticky padded table. He could feel a page turn, a new chapter beginning. Remus beamed up at him. 

“Oh, you didn’t tell me Pots was here.” Sirius pretended to look around for James. Remus’s mouth dropped open in mock offense. 

“Jeez, tell me how you really feel. But really, what does Gryffindor Lions Captain Sirius Black get up to around this time of night.” 

“Before or after the ankle?” 

Remus shrugged. “Both.” 

Sirius thought for a moment. Remus had switched directions, he hadn’t noticed. “Hmm, well before the ankle I’d usually go down to the basement and skate, do drills, that type of stuff.” 

“You skate in your basement?!” 

“Yeah, I have a synthetic rink.” 

“Oh of course you do, you have a synthetic ice rink in your house. The most normal sentence to say to anybody, very casual.” 

Sirius blushed and bit back a smile. “Shut up! Anyways, now I usually review tape around this time of night.” Remus snorted. “I don’t know what you're laughing at, it's not funny.” Sirius couldn’t wipe the smile off his face if he tried. 

Remus peered up at Sirius cheekily. “It’s kind of funny.” 

“You're the worst.” Remus started to laugh out loud. “I want a new physical therapist.” 

“Too bad, you're stuck with me.” 

They fell into a surprisingly comfortable silence after that. Sirius was looking at the ceiling, counting the divots in each tile to keep himself from looking at Remus. He was sure once he looked at him again he’d never be able to stop. After a couple of minutes Remus spoke up again. 

“Do you have any other hobbies that occupy your time?” He sounded genuine now, like he really wanted to know instead of teasing. Sirius knew he shouldn’t, he couldn’t. This was a bad idea, he couldn’t look at Remus right now and open up to him. It would be lovely, entirely too lovely, and he would bleed when it inevitably got ripped away from him. Jump, his body screamed, Feel the wind in your hair as you fall. Sirius resisted the urge. What happens when I hit the ground? 

“Sirius?” Sirius closed his eyes at Remus’s voice. He was a goner, he’d been walking towards the edge of that cliff since the moment he saw those kind eyes in that press room. There’s only so long he could prolong the inevitable. Remus was the moon and he pulled Sirius towards him as easily as he would the tides. 

“Drawing,” Sirius coughed lightly, “I like to draw. I’m not good or anything, but I don’t know, I find it…soothing, I guess.” Sirius wound his fingers together, fidgeting in the intimacy of the moment. “I’ve never told anyone that before.” 

Remus was silent for a beat. “I’m honored.” 

He sounded earnest, like he really meant it and Sirius, Sirius was a fool. He looked up and immediately locked eyes with Remus, and those eyes. Remus was the moon, but his eyes were daylight. Sirius could feel the shadows in his mind being chased away under his gaze. It was addictive to feel like he was golden, like when Remus looked at him he sparkled. He wanted to curl up here, in the pooled sunshine Remus placed on the table. He could feel himself take another step towards the edge of the cliff. 

They went through the rest of the exercises with relative ease. Remus kept Sirius laughing and that made it easier, a tension had been worked out of his shoulders by the end of the session without Remus ever having to touch them. Remus handed him sheets of paper explaining his physical therapy workouts to do at home with some resistance bands. He only ribbed Sirius about making sure he actually did the exercises a little as he walked him out of the PT room. 

“You did good today Cap, I’m proud of you.” 

A blush spread over Sirius’s cheek at that. Sirius was favoring his good foot and still walking with a single crutch for support. He didn’t feel like it was something to be proud of, he couldn’t help the bolt of anxiety that suddenly flared up his spine. He caught Remus’s hand when he turned to leave. 

“Loops…what if, what if I don’t get better enough to play again?” Sirius swallowed, his throat felt like sandpaper. 

“I don’t think that’s going to happen, you're recovering beautifully.” 

Sirius closed his eyes, ducking his head a bit. “Okay, but if…if–” 

“If…it turns out you don't get there in the end,…I would still be proud of you.” Sirius’s eyes flashed open in disbelief and wonderment. Remus was smiling at him like it was the simplest truth in the world. “Good night, Cap.” Remus squeezed Sirius’s hand before letting go.

Sirius watched as Remus turned and walked down the hall to leave. “Bonne nuit,” he whispered breathlessly into the empty air. 

When Sirius left the building, he looked up at the moon and smiled.

[mikodaiyo]

[skfw] The Inn Encounter

Summary: Sesshomaru is looking for Kagome.

  Day 1: Courting

  Word prompt: Love Letter

  Scenario Prompt: Character A has been acting strange so character B confronts them.

Sesskag Fluff Week Prompts ♥️

  “Kagome isn’t here.”

   Sango smiled apologetically to Sesshomaru while Rin abandoned training to hug her hogosha.

That morning, with the children all stuffed into her hut for their warm ups again, Sango had decided it had been raining for long enough and ushered them out onto the dewy lawn.

From above, Shippou worked out his magic by providing them the coverage of a large canopy, though it looked like a large towel struggling to stay stretched out in the breeze. Sango had relieved him of his duty several times just for him to refuse, saying a village hero such as he could at least do this much.

Sesshomaru noticed the sweat that beaded down the child’s form as soon as it ran down his sleeves, interrupting his reunion. Sighing, he released his moko into the air and it swirled and swirled, startling the large towel with a bushy fox tail as it became a large cloud all its own, shading them all from the rain.

“Enough, Shippou.” He said, and it was. 

Shippou released himself and fell to the earth unsteadily, his little paws holding him up still. 

“Well done, Shippou!” Rin applauded him, walking over and patting his panting back. He looked at her and then at Sesshomaru, grinning shyly when even he nodded.

“Rin. Jaken is making your favorite dish.” 

“Break-time!” Rin translated. She grabbed Shippo's hand but froze mid stride, now looking to her Master Sango.

Sango nodded, “You heard Lord Sesshomaru. Jaken is making everyone’s favorite dishes!” She smiled at her children standing at attention behind her, “You better hurry.”

The relief of children’s laughter filled the wet air, the sound of Slayer uniforms slapped the earth and Mokomoko followed the children to keep them dry. The rain fell on the adults again but they didn’t mind it. The rain was a refreshing blessing as well as natural conversation cover.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Come again another day

Inside the Inn we will decay

And though the keeper will let us stay

It's been – and we want to play

Rain, Rain, Go Away

It was just something to pass the time, Kagome insisted to them. A phonetic rhyme that would help them keep track of time, if nothing else. But to the children it was a blessed chant from Priestess Kagome, a chant that if they sang loud enough it would make the rain go away. They sang it so much recently that Sango didn’t even notice the number of rainy days, she just knew the children were blessedly occupied with a suitable answer instead of asking her to teach them how to beat it up.

Sango stretched her arms and they both heard her bones popping graciously, “You hurry too. What if you catch a cold?” She walked toward the entrance of her home and kept the door open by invitation.

“This one does not get colds.” Sesshomaru followed after her calmly.

“You never know. Stranger things have happened.”

“Such as?”

“You, looking for Kagome.”

“This One is always looking for Kagome.”

“You’ve become such a romantic, Lord Sesshomaru! That nearly made my old heart skip a beat.”

“Old?” Sesshomaru raised his brow. He rested his swords against her door frame and took a seat at her low table, “even demons in my court would question your slow aging.”

“My Lord,” Sango guffawed, moving to another room with a screen dividing the view, “You are making me blush. May I remind you I am a married woman.” 

After removing the armored guards of her uniform, she worked on the wet leather itself. Sesshomaru closed his eyes and listened to the rain, listened to all the patterns in the mud, the grass, the farmers footsteps. He sifted through the noises, searching for a particular Priestess’ heavy footfalls.

Reemerging refreshed, Sango set fire to her hearth and began preparing her favorite tea set, an adorable white and purple accented gift from The Lord of the West with his red, hexagonal crest glazed into plates and the handles built like gold clouds were whipped against the porcelain cups. The set had instantly become the main reason Sango entertained guests.

“Speaking of being the only married woman-”

“You did not speak of that.”

“Did you know I am the only married woman in the whole village?” Sango fixed, “Speaking of which-”

“This one is looking for Kagome.” Sesshomaru emphasized, as if to say it wasn’t his fault that she was the only one. Sango placed the tea set down and then sat herself with a mortar and pestle, grinding sweet smells into the air.

“She’s been so busy lately.” Sango sighed, “Everyone has been; Demon sightings are picking up in neighboring villages, Kaedae can only be in one place at a time, Kagome goes everywhere else. Miroku wrote that he and Inuyasha have been making more progress rebuilding east.” Sango stretched then, as though talking about everything worked out the knots, “More children want to be taught to be Slayers so I get to see Kohaku only briefly while he and Kirara drop off more to me and take the ones I’ve trained to study further in the mountains.” 

The kettle whistled and Sesshomaru got up, to which Sango sighed in appreciation.

She lightly brushed her mixture into their cups and Sesshomaru poured in the hot water. Hers first and then his own. 

“You are all busy.” Sango breathed in the steam, her eyes closed but one peeking open. “ Yet, I seem to always find you.” 

She worked with children all day. She had three of her own.

So, Sango could tell when a little pout was forming and it was such a shame Kagome was missing it.

“Well, I mean, it’s not like Kagome to not want to be found, is it?” Sango mused. Sesshomaru, who had been lifting his own cup, paused. He hadn’t considered that.

Just because he could not locate her, didn’t mean she didn’t want to be located.

In fact, when did she ever stay away from Sesshomaru? Kagome didn’t even hide from him when she had good reason to.

“When was the last time you spoke?” 

“Hmm… what the…” Sango squinted, staring hard into the empty space above to try and form the image of the last time she had seen Kagome. “Actually, It’s been weeks… has it been weeks?” 

Sesshomaru knew she wasn’t asking him and the irritability of the unknown began to tense his form. So no one had answers, for this long?

“This one last saw her before the rain fell.” He supplied.

“Rain, rain go away…” Sango mumbled, her hand coming to rest on her chin in deep thought. If she concentrated, she could hear the children singing just that morning. Sesshomaru didn’t dare break her concentration.

“Come again another day, inside the inn I’d rather not stay, and the keeper would let me stay, but it's been… it's been 12 days and we want to play…”

They shared a look.

According to the children who sang songs and chants that Kagome taught them when they were bored, it had been raining for two weeks.

                                                           -

   For the past week, Kagome had been staying at an Inn. It wasn’t the largest or most lavish like Miroku preferred, nor as sparse as Inuyasha preferred. There were five rooms, an outdoor pool and an old Innkeeper who liked chatting in the mornings while they drank their tea and didn’t charge Kagome on account of her status. Graciously, Kagome offered to clean the rooms for the Innkeeper and bless it regularly, just in case her presence brought misfortune. 

There was plenty of room for her goal; According to the Village Leader, women had been disappearing. Kagome had asked the Leader to keep him informed, but upon receiving no reply, Kagome let her gut instinct kick in. She only told Kaedae she’d be gone and hopped on the last cart of that night, napping amongst the hay and waking to an Ox licking her cheek, she and the farmer arriving at the inn. 

Kagome huffed, the cool night air materializing puffs that lifted her bangs. While she was stuck, waiting, how many girls were being taken in by that orange, malicious energy that filled the sky? The one she noticed sipping tea with the Innkeeper while they chatted? The dawn that pooled across the sky like blood and tricked regular people into thinking it was a normal sunset?

They sat there in the evening, after Kagome finished cleaning the floors and the Innkeeper made sure the snack portion was doubled. They sat and Kagome smiled and traded pleasantries and hid her unease behind her teacup when the Innkeeper remarked they’d never seen such a beautiful sunset. Kagome lost sleep these past few nights just watching the Innkeeper, making sure it wasn’t the beginnings of hypnotism. But so far no change. Just she and the Innkeeper and the orange blood hiding a perfectly good sunset.

Again, she wished she had time to learn how to work with shinigami. Or time to train a messenger bird. What kind of Priestess didn’t travel with a companion? Even her bike would have sufficed.

Had she known it would take so long for another lead but she didn’t know because she always worked in groups, and in a good group like hers, everyone did their fair share. It never seemed like there was a moment's rest because someone or someone else was always gathering information.

But now, Kagome was all alone and there was all at once too much to do and nothing to do. Too much information to work with and none at all. The perfect time to take Intel but, Intel on what?

“Perfect time to invent e-mail.” She muttered into her cup.

“You’ve been grumbling since your arrival yesterday, dear.” said the Innkeeper. “Have I become such a poor companion?” 

“Yesterday...? Oh! No! Not at all.” The truth sounded so unconvincing. Kagome cleared her throat, “It’s my fault really. I’m not working hard enough.”

So lax in fact that what felt like a week to her had only been a full day at the Inn.

“You’ve done nothing but work since you’ve been here, dear. This tea is the only way I’ve gotten you to take a breather.” The Innkeeper tapped their brass kettle and laughed, “You’ve left me no choice but to break out the good stuff in fact!”

The Innkeeper closed one eye and leaned into Kagome, peering into her personal space, “Are you sure you’re not a swindler? How old are these robes?”

Kagome jumped, her body moving almost against her will away from the Innkeeper’s hands and eyes and questions. Setting the tea aside, Kagome tucked her knees, turned to her host and bent at the waist.

“I’m sorry!”

Her youthful energy nearly knocked the Innkeeper backwards, “I promise I’m not swindling you and if you have been swindled before, specifically by a Monk wearing purple robes, I’m sorry for that as well!”

The Innkeeper blinked, “Ah-well, thank you. I haven’t been swindled by a purple robed Monk yet, Priestess, but I’ll be on the lookout from now on. Thank you.”

Kagome was so happy her face was shielded from view. Her embarrassment should only been seen by the nicely polished floorboards after all. Why did she react so strongly?

“Do you perhaps have any parchment and ink?”

The Innkeeper smiled, wide and perfect, “Ah, so that’s it. You’re missin’ your lover!”

Kagome sat ramrod straight with a blush that could match the sky and the Innkeeper guffawed, rising slowly and steadily and a little shakily from their seating cushion. Kagome could hear them behind her saying things about youth and young love. Kagome swore right then to take her shinigami training much more seriously. 

                                                          -

   Night fell and Kagome was left alone with her bone white incense burner, parchment, ink, a slop of orange stars in the night sky and a freshly brewed pot of tea.

Would Sesshomaru know anything about this? He had become her encyclopedia on demonic tactics, trickery and horrors that befell sleepy villages that women disappeared from. Or would he be just as blind because he didn’t even know she was here? Was he waiting for her at home or had he come and gone to tend to more important matters?

She could write Sango, Sango slayed thousands of demons and had even begun record keeping but could Sango afford to leave? When Kagome left, it had just been them and Kaedae. Five days changed many things but not the distance it would take the boys to get back home to take up guard duty.

She wished Inuyasha were here.

She could send it to Jaken…

“Maybe I should ask Rin.” Kagome mused, figuring if she was going to think ridiculous things she may as well say ridiculous things. Then, only smart things would be left. 

She put pen to paper and decided whichever name she wrote down would be the person she asked.

Dear Sesshomaru,

She blushed again. She never called him dear. Focus

I don’t know why I’m writing. It’s only been three nights but I miss you a lot so, maybe that’s it? Do I miss you?

Sighing, Kagome crossed that out and tried again.

Dearest Sesshomaru,

I miss you. 

Sleep isn’t as restful and tea isn’t as sweet and, have you ever seen an orange sky? Not like the afternoon, we’ve had some of our best afternoons up there. Not like persimmons either. It's a strange, runny, bloody orange. I figured I’d ask you, being the blood expert. Let me know if I should’ve written Myoga instead.

I’m not very good at writing letters. I need your help.

Kagome held the parchment up to her red face, pursed her lips and inhaled. Then she placed the page face down, turned her face upwards and exhaled.

She hoped her words reached him.

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

When Kagome woke up the next morning, it was groggily facing the window. She had only come to this inn yesterday, but she was so tired. No matter, the Innkeeper said she could have free lodgings if she helped prepare the rooms and Kagome was eager to get to work.

She cleaned all four rooms quietly to not disturb the Innkeeper, she blessed the grounds and then, a bath sounded nice.

                                                              -

When Kagome woke up the next morning, it was groggily facing the window. She had only come to this inn yesterday, but she was so tired. No matter, the Innkeeper said she could have free lodgings if she helped prepare the rooms and Kagome was eager to get to work.

She cleaned all four rooms quietly to not disturb the Innkeeper, she blessed the grounds and then, a bath sounded nice. 

                                                              -

When Kagome woke up the next morning, it was groggily facing the window. She had only come to this inn yesterday, but she was so tired. 

No matter. The Innkeeper said she could have free lodgings if she helped prepare the rooms and Kagome was eager to get to work.

She cleaned all three rooms quietly to not disturb the Innkeeper, she blessed the grounds and then, a bath sounded nice. 

                                                               -

When Kagome woke up the next morning, it was groggily facing the window. She had only come to this inn yesterday, but she was so tired. 

No matter. 

The Innkeeper said she could have free lodgings if she helped prepare the rooms and Kagome was eager to get to work.

She cleaned three rooms quietly to not disturb the Innkeeper, she blessed the grounds and then…

                                                               -

   When Kagome woke up the next morning, it was groggily facing the window. She had only come to this inn yesterday, but she was so tired. No matter, the Innkeeper said she could have free lodgings if she helped prepare the rooms and Kagome was eager to get to work.

She cleaned her room and the guest room quietly to not disturb the Innkeeper, she blessed the grounds and then… 

Huh? 

Kagome stopped cleaning the floorboards. 

Why was she still at the Inn? The village was still up ahead. 

Far off in the distance where she could see it touching the blood orange sky she definitely saw a village. 

She definitely saw it. 

If she just turned around and looked it would be there still and she could put one foot in front of the other without bidding a proper farewell to the Innkeeper and continue on her mission.

But, her head wouldn’t move.

Her body wouldn’t move. 

“Thank Heavens,” said the Innkeeper from far away, from above, from below, “You know girlie, you used up all my water.”

                                                                -

“Lord Sesshomaru!” Rin’s voice rang out and Sesshomaru heeded her immediately with Sango in tow, Hiraikotsu firmly in her grasp.

“Mama! The rain is clearing up!” Sango children crowded around her hips gleeful and fed and Sango leaned down to them.

“And how long was it raining?”

“14 days!” Her eldest daughter piped up, her siblings agreeing.

“What is it, Rin?” He watched the girl and Jaken attempt to gather all of the fur into their arms to avoid getting dirty as they made their way to him but the mud hardly mattered. Why was Mokomoko leaning at all?

“A message appeared, My Lord!” Jaken squealed from behind, his stubby form holding up the latter pelt while Rin stood on tip-toe to reveal its underside. Sesshomaru’s frown deepened and he reached for the soggy thing and it dried immediately before affixing itself around his shoulders. It was heavy with holy magic and would remain sluggish until the holy magic was removed and Sesshomaru only knew of one Priestess who could place such intent upon him at such close proximity.

It was even in her handwriting. And as the weather cleared, her scent came at him with a force it hadn’t had in fourteen days. His hand gripped the pelt tighter when Sango came over to survey the message. 

“Dearest Sesshomaru, I miss you?” She read aloud.

With his free hand Sesshomaru waved his palm over the words and captured the false letters in his hand then placed his palm up. The letters evaporated like steam and he caught whiffs of tea and polished floors and blood not her own. 

Sango could say she’d never seen steam with feelings until her eyes caught those last glimpses of Sesshomaru’s stoic face crack in anger before clouds of billowing smoke swallowed him up until he vanished.

                                                           -

…Was that snow?

“What trickery is this, witch?”

Kagome squinted. 

No, not snow, though the consistency was similar. Small, white petals fell from a large, white cloud that descended from above the grounds, creating a flurry that threw the Innkeeper off kilter as it clumped into their ears and nose and sucked into the Innkeeper’s indignant maw.

A larger shadow fell over Kagome and she felt instantly relieved.

Sesshomaru made time for the brief caress of her cheek and Kagome swooned a tad before Sesshomaru caught one of the falling petals on his fingers and pressed it to Kagome’s lips. 

“Sesshomaru,” Tension easing from body, Kagome nuzzled her cheek into his palm, “I did miss you.”

He brought their faces closer, “You were expecting Myoga.” He accused her.

“Obviously.” She giggled, “But you’ll do.”

While Kagome waited for the feeling to return to her legs, Sesshomaru surveyed the area for irregularities. 

… There. The strange, orange liquid attempting to bubble itself back into a brass teapot sitting on the veranda. That was irregular.

Sesshomaru shot out his hand and produced his poison whip, snapping it across the liquid surface and causing it to bubble. The Innkeeper retook a human form from the reaction, their yowl agonizing and arms blistering.  

“Guess that means my letter worked?”

”Well enough.” He lifted the side of mokomoko that her words ink-stained into the underside.

“I can get that out.”

Sesshomaru rolled his eyes. The Innkeeper was struggling so he tightened his grip. 

“I just need to get–” 

He turned and shook his hair to the side, revealing her weapons attached at his hip. Even with his back turned, Sesshomaru could feel Kagome’s grateful expression while she removed the bow and quiver. 

He harshly flicked his wrist and sent the demon skyward to screech and snarl into the blood orange sky. Above all else, Sesshomaru could not stand much more of the noise that was drowning out their conversation. At least this way he could admire the way Kagome adjusted her aim.

“This One had already been looking for you.”

Kagome could barely concentrate on charging her arrow when he was being such a sweet-talker, “Thank you for finding me, my Lord.”

Her arrow struck the teapot and Sesshomaru’s acid did quick work of the false form.

As the demon puddled to the ground, Kagome placed her sleeve over her mouth as she approached. She waved two fingers in a uniform pattern across the puddle and it purified. Then she raised her fingers and chanted, and the sky began to resemble the sky, the sun was setting, the horizon was empty and her mission was complete. 

Sesshomaru stepped next to her when it was done and offered her his hand to take. She obliged, then laced their fingers together.

“What of the Inn?”

“I’ve been purifying it for the last few days. The spirits left easily enough because they didn’t want to be there in the first place. They wanted to keep walking toward the horizon.”

Sesshomaru looked to the horizon, but all he saw was the sunset, “Was there something there?”

“Something for anyone who's looking.” Kagome answered in her strange way. Sesshomaru was certain she didn’t even notice when she spoke nonsensically.

“Hungry?” Kagome questioned perkily, “Only the tea was cursed. The snacks weren’t bad. And we have the whole place to ourselves.”

Kagome led Sesshomaru back to the Inn.

“Pardon the intrusi–Ah!” She stumbled backwards, caught by Sesshomaru’s big frame. When had he removed his armor?

“This One had been looking for you prior to your ‘invitation’.” His hand tightened in hers and Kagome gulped. Something was rubbing salaciously between the pleats of her hakama.

“O-oh? Well, you found me. Did I thank you for that yet?”

“You are about to.” Sesshomaru bent over her and her body followed slightly until they were both on their knees at the door.

Kagome could always see things behind her but it was a different thrill entirely to somehow feel the grin slipping over Sesshomaru’s lips. 

“Pardon the intrusion.” He whispered.

[outer-edges]

3.5k words deep in the final part of the time loop au and they haven't even really talked yet. got a feeling this is gonna big chapter for big feelings and big meandering character moments.

[shouyuus]

to kiss the sun

violet; 5,574 words; fluff and smut, no "y/n", wlw, tribbing, oral (r!receiving), face-riding, fingering (both receiving), switch!vi supremacy, service top!vi, p0rn with feelings (many MANY feelings), morning after vibes, gratuitously fluffy sex, popstar!reader x vi au

summary: the morning after vi shows up at your penthouse, you make good on your promise to show vi a few things you picked up at the brothel; sequel to counting stars

a/n: i didn't know writing smut could make me so soft. vi is needy and we must do our duty to give her everything she wants. thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

─── Ⅵ SHE'S SO USED TO WAKING UP alone that for a second, the empty bed doesn’t feel unfamiliar. and then — flashes of the night before flicker like frames of a still-remembered dream behind her eyelids — your steady, delicate hands, the trickle of bath water like piano music against her skin, the gently perfumed mist that had hung in her chest for hours after that bath had ended.

your lips, her tongue, the promise of a morning just far away enough to forget.

vi shoots up, blinking sleep from her eyes. all her muscles feel sore, but there’s a warmth pulsing beneath her skin that she hasn’t felt in… years. her limbs are heavy, thick still with the honeyed dregs of dreams but the space next to her on the oceanic bed is vast, and the only sign that you’d been there the slightest ruffle of your silken sheets.

she wraps her arms around herself, her mind still swimming with memories of last night, even as a frown creases her forehead.

“don’t worry, i’m not going anywhere. promise.” that was what you’d said — and yet.

a hard-lined prickle works up the back of her throat and vi slumps back to bury her face in a large, fluffy pillow, letting out a groan. she feels like a child, petulant and wanting. but it doesn’t stem the clench in her stomach, the old, viperous voice in the back of her head that whispers —

see? everyone leaves you. always.

and then, from somewhere beyond the closed bedroom door, she hears… singing. and she’s tumbling out of bed before she can stop herself, her toes curling into the soft pashmina carpet, her fingers cold against the doorknob as she pushes through.

she finds you in the open kitchen, your back to her as you prod at something on the stove. the delicious smell of cooking meat hits her nose and immediately makes her mouth water. but she’s held still by the sight — you still wearing the large nightshirt from last night, your pink lace robe slipping off your shoulder as you sway back and forth on your tiptoes.

the lemon-yellow light spilling through your massive windows gilds you in morning-glory gold.

vi lets out a breath she doesn’t remember holding and pads her way towards you, looping both arms around your middle and burying her face in your neck.

“oh!” you gasp, turning slightly, your eyes wide, “i didn’t hear you —”

“i thought —” vi’s voice is cracked and gravely from sleep; she clears her throat and takes a breath, “you weren’t in bed when i woke up so —”

you let out a sound like a tiny laugh, setting down the spatula in your hand as you twist around in her arms. behind you, three fat sausages and a few eggs are cooking on a large flat pan.

“i didn’t wanna wake you up,” you say, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips, “you looked like you were sleeping so well.”

vi sighs, trailing a knuckle along your cheek, even as she tugs you back for a longer kiss, a deeper kiss. one that has you gasping against her.

you giggle as she pulls away, a bit breathless. “and… you were snoring up a storm so —”

vi leans down to bite at your neck, fingers fisting in your hair to tug your head back for more access.

“i don’t snore.”

“wanna bet?”

vi pulls back with a crooked grin before her eyes flicker back to the pan. she swallows.

you turn, reaching for the spatula again.

“how do you like your eggs?”

“uh… not raw?”

you roll your eyes, bumping her with your hip even as she settles herself against your back, her chin resting on your shoulder again.

“i like mine over-easy, but i can make them scrambled too, if you want.” you scoot the sausages towards the side and flip over one of the bubbling eggs, the sizzle of the oil making vi’s stomach grumble loudly behind you.

“i’ve…” vi pauses, ghosting her lips over your shoulder, “no one’s ever really asked me that before so… i don’t… i don’t know.”

your hand pauses as you shuffle the sausages around the edges of the pan. and then —

“okay, then i’ll make one of each, and you can try both! then maybe tomorrow, i can poach a few — those are the really good ones where the yolk is all runny —”

“hey.”

vi twists your chin towards her; the kiss is sweet, but you can taste the fluttering desperation beneath her tongue, as if she’s searching for something within the warm caverns of your mouth, and that if she can just kiss you hard enough or long enough, she might just find it. when she pulls away this time, there’s something flickering in the pre-dawn blue of her eyes.

“vi?”

she shakes her head, her gaze skating along the contours of your face as if you were a painting she’d been trying to memorize.

“i just —” she swallows again, “this… all just feels too good to be true — like… like the whole thing’s a dream and i’m gonna wake up one day alone and —”

you smile as you press a hand to her cheek. “hey, hey — none of that now. the eggs are gonna overcook —” you turn back around to tend to breakfast, even as vi groans and digs her face into the nape of your neck, her fingers biting into the plush of your hips.

“and, it’s not a dream. but even if it were, what makes you think i wouldn’t just find you again after we both wake up?”

vi frowns as she lifts her head, watching as you plate the sausages and eggs, lifting up onto tip toe for the salt and pepper shakers on the shelf. she grins, loosening her arms ever so slightly to let you grab them before she’s pulling you into her again and you’re laughing in her arms.

“ugh. i’m never gonna win with you, huh princess?”

“nope — now help me carry this to the bedroom. i’m gonna pour us some drinks.”

vi watches in muted fascination as you lay out a breakfast tray on your pristine sheets and slot two bubbling glasses of what she’s sure is champagne into the carved out glass holders, and then motions for her to put down the large plate of food. she does, her expression both reverent and amused as you flop down onto the bed and tug the blankets up around your lap, patting the spot next to you.

“c’mon — before it goes cold!”

she slips beneath the covers again, crossing her legs as she watches you reach for your glass, the liquid inside shimmering with pale gold bubbles.

“bon appetit!” you say, grinning at her as you reach for a sausage with your hands. vi’s eyebrows hike up as you bring it to your lips, taking a bite, moaning around it as hot oil slicks down the side of your hand and you lean down to lick it back, the pink flash of your tongue making her stomach twist with an entirely different kind of hunger.

but, she decides, one indulgence at a time — and reaches for a sausage of her own, foregoing the knife and fork just as you had.

it’s delicious, sweet and salty, the fat bursting in her mouth making her shiver as she swallows. she’s never had anything so delicious, anything so truly indulgent. she scarfs down one sausage, and then reaches for another, pausing only to glance up at you. she finds you watching her with a smile and a sparkle in your eyes that looks so dangerously like love it makes her gut clench.

how long has it been since someone’s looked at her like that? like she was beautiful, like she was —

“someone worth looking at?” your words from the night before echos in her ears as she takes the second sausage with a sheepish grin, licking her lips of the oil.

“i can make more if you want,” you say, leaning back and sipping at your drink, “there’s plenty in the fridge, and i’ll make as many as you want.”

vi shakes her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, “no, this is —” she reaches for her own glass, gulping down half in a single swig, coughing as the bubbles fizzle up her throat, “this is good —”

by the time she finishes the second sausage, you’re splitting the eggs with a knife and fork, your movement precise, as if she hadn’t just watched you lick sausage fat from your own wrist.

“here, try the eggs. this is the over easy, and this —” you push two piles of eggs towards her, one bleeding yellow yolk over the fine white china, the other a pile of fluffy sun-colored scramble, topped off with flecks of black pepper and large flakes of white seasalt.

vi scoops up one, moaning around the runny yolk, before shoveling a bite of the scrambled egg into her mouth.

“holy shit — i mean, they’re both really good —” she leans down to scrape up some more, licking the fork clean with a happy little hum.

“is there one you like better?” you ask, and vi looks up, a final bite of egg poised halfway to her mouth. she grins as she sets down her fork and pushes the breakfast tray gently out of the way, tugging you towards her.

“yeah well, sure but… ‘s not like i can focus on that when you’re sitting right there looking like breakfast, lunch, and dinner —” she grazes her lips along the length of your neck, nuzzling into the soft spot right behind your ear, breathing you in like a woman lost. and she is — isn’t she? lost in this paradise you’ve built for her, lost in the feeling of you, the irrefutable knowledge that you’re here, and that you’re here to stay.

“y-you seemed pretty focused c-cleaning that plate just a second ago — o-oh —!”

you gasp as she pins you beneath her, your leg knocking against the breakfast tray, her mouth hot along your collarbone.

“v-vi — the china —”

“mm — fuck — fine —” she pulls away from you, keeping you pinned beneath her with her thighs, thick and strong, clamped on either side of your hips as she twists around to set the breakfast tray on the floor before turning back with a smirk. “there. happy now, princess?”

you nod, smiling up at her as she returns to her single-minded task of kissing your throat, sighing against your skin as she tugs your robe from your shoulders and inches her fingers beneath the hem of your nightshirt.

“c’mon princess — didn’t you promise me you were gonna show me all the other things you learned at the brothel, hm?”

you gasp as she tugs your nightshirt up off your torso, leaving you in nothing but your lacy pink panties, your cheeks flushed, your nipples pebbling in the sudden chill.

“mm… never gets old…” vi says, reaching down to tweak at one of them, grinning as you whine.

“vi… vi, please —” you reach out for her, fingers gentle against her tensing stomach as she groans and leans down to kiss you. but before she can, the world flips and she’s hissing out a breath, blinking in confusion as you rock your hips, sitting astride her now, one palm laid flat against her sternum, the other cupping her cheek.

vi stares up at you, her eyes wide but you can see the way her pupils dilate, her gaze going hungry.

you offer her a tiny, knife-flash grin, trailing your thumb along her skin till it grazes her bottom lip.

“there… that’s one trick they taught me… would you like to see some others?”

vi moans, her head rolling back as you rock your hips down over hers again, her hands shooting up to grasp at your waist, her eyes fluttering shut.

“holy fuck, yeah —” she helps ruck your hips down, fingers digging into your flesh as you reach down to gently tug her chin back down, whispering against her lips —

“eyes on me, violet…”

her eyes flicker open, a soft whimper curling up her throat as you shift your hips down and your clothed cores meet through the layers of fabric.

“want you to watch me when i’m making you feel good.”

“sweet jesus…” vi breathes, her brows furrowing ever so slightly as you reach down to inch her shirt up as well, tilting your head slightly as you wait for her to lift her hands. you toss the shirt off the other side of the bed, breathing out as you feast your eyes on the sight of her, splayed out beneath you, a classical artist’s dream of solid muscle and ink-kissed skin.

“you know, they used to carve statues to immortalize bodies like yours…” you say, pressing a line of unhurried kisses to her shoulder, trailing across her collarbones, down the divot of her breasts, pausing over each nipple, laving your tongue over the tiny metal rings there, warming them on your tongue before popping off and making your patient way down the length of her torso. you trace the shape of her stomach muscles with the tip of your tongue, graze your teeth against the delicate skin right above the waistband of her shorts, eyes always cast up at her face, watching for the minute reactions that she’s always been so generous to give.

“eyes, violet,” you remind her gently as you suck a hickey over her hipbone and her entire pelvis jerks up towards you. she huffs out a breath, forcing her eyes open to look down at you, a pout threatening her mouth even as she chews on her bottom lip.

“shit princess — you can’t — i — it feels too good, i —”

“i know,” you shush, holding her gaze as you shift to slip the shorts from her legs, discarding them over your shoulder with a cock of your head like a curious little bird, looking her over with bright eyes.

“but i’ll stop if you look away again, okay?” you chide, grazing a thumb along her already slickened folds, circling her clit once just to see the way her jaw drops open, her eyes rolling back. you pull your hand away and she jerks up, a hand shooting out to grab your arm.

“sweet fuck, mm — c’mere —”

you hitch an eyebrow, watching her as she tugs you towards her, melding her mouth with yours, the self-same desperation you’d tasted earlier blossoming behind the tombstones of her teeth like words she’s never had the courage to say aloud. all her needs, all her wants, pressed there like flowers between the pages of her story, and you — leaning in, opening your mouth, kissing her back like you’d love nothing more than to see them, to read them, to listen, to learn.

you let her kiss you, and you let yourself be kissed. you let her pour herself into you with her fingers in your hair, and your hands soft against her neck, running soothing circles into the pulse beneath her jaw. when she finally pulls back, your lips are wet, her chest is heaving. there’s a strange, fractured light in her eyes as she presses her forehead against yours and breathes out, long and deep.

“you okay?” you ask.

“mm. yeah… i just…” she sucks in another breath, “i — uh — i’m not the best with patience —”

you laugh, “you don’t say.”

she chuckles, allowing herself to be pressed back into the sheets. you shift your legs, hooking one of her over one of yours, shifting till your clothed cunt presses against her bare one. she hisses, her head tipping back. a second later, you roll your hips down, the friction making the coil in your stomach knot over itself, but your eyes are still fixed on vi, on the trembling expression painted across her features.

“violet… c’mon, eyes…” is all you say, your voice patient hush as you slowly work yourself against her.

she lets out a pitched whine, but she forces her eyes back onto you, the gentle curve of your body as you grind your pussy to hers. she bites her lips at the wetness she can feel collecting there — hers and yours, the way you don’t hide your pleasure from her, the little hitches in your breaths, the pink flush of color washing into your cheeks, even as you swirl your hips, your eyes never wavering from her face as her mouth falls open around a moan.

“shit — god, that’s —”

“good?” you ask, leaning over her, your hair a liquid spill across your shoulders.

she nods, her mind too blissed out to really speak as you reach down to tweak at one of her nipples, tugging lightly on the ring, your other hand splayed out on her stomach, keeping you steady.

“y-yeah — really — really fuckin’ good —” she says, nearly keening as you pull back to tug your panties from you, the sight of your wetness gleaming on the lace making her skin prickle with heat. she lets you wrap your hand around one of her wrists, pulling it up towards you, brushing your lips over her knuckles before pressing two of her fingers into your mouth.

you moan around them, even as she bites her lips, her eyes half-hooded, but she heeds your earlier warnings and doesn’t look away, doesn’t let them drop shut even as you pull her fingers from your lips with a soft pop and bring them to where your still slowly grinding against her.

“show me what makes you feel good.”

“n-ngh — fuck fuck fuck —” vi chants, canting her hips up to meet yours, even as you cup one of her hipbones in your palm to steady her, watching as she presses her fingers to her clit and draws them in small, quick circles, her thumb flicking up to graze against yours.

your hips stutter and you let out a gasp, the heat in your abdomen solid and familiar.

“look so good, princess — mm —” a tiny frown creases her forehead as she quickens her pace, but you tug her fingers away, swallowing her momentary whine with a kiss, replacing her fingers with your own. you mirror her movements, relishing in the way she works her hips up against you, her movements threaded with urgency, her tongue pressing into your mouth as you slip your fingers down the seam of her cunt to dip inside her.

immediately, she keens, jerking you down as her hips ruck up.

“mm… we’re making a mess,” you say, your voice almost teasing as you pull back to smile at her, your fingers still teasing her sodden folds, “but that’s okay — i was going to do the laundry today anyway.”

you dip down, sucking gently at the skin of her neck, slowly fucking two fingers into her, feeling her clamp down around you, her head tossing back into the pillows as you sit back up and cluck your tongue, fingers slowing ever so slightly.

she peers up at you, her gaze hazy and unfocused, her lashes fluttering.

“there’s those pretty eyes,” you say with a grin, before pushing a third finger into her and curling them up.

“f-fuck!”

you press your palm against her clit, working your fingers inside her till she’s scrabbling at your arm, pulling you down roughly to mouth at your lips, whimpering and panting, her breath fanning hot as she holds you to her by the back of your neck.

“fuck, sweetness — i’m gonna — i’m gonna cum —”

you allow yourself a soft moan, nodding, quickening your pace as you dig the fingers of your free hand into her hip, a dull ache building between your own thighs as you watch vi’s lashes flutter.

“good,” you breath, “cum for me, vi — lemme see you cum for me —”

“oh — oh fuck — princess, i — a*-ah — ah — ah!*”

you fuck her slowly through her orgasm, kissing her slow and languid, swallowing around her whimpers and moans, her hips kicking as you tease your thumb over her oversensitive clit.

“holy shit…” she laughs, letting her head thump back into the pillows as you pull your fingers from her and lick them clean. “that was —” she licks her lips, swallowing thickly.

“the girls at the brothel taught me well,” you say, giggling when she tugs you into her arms, nosing against your cheek.

“they sure did but —” her fingers trail down the length of your body to cup your cunt, “i wanna make you feel good too, pretty girl.”

your breath hitches; your lashes flicker.

“mm… so damn wet, and all for me…” she says, tugging you over her shoulders, spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, groaning at the sight of your slick folds.

“c-can you blame me?” you ask, gasping as she pulls you down over her mouth, her fingers caged around your thighs. you let out a soft whimper as you feel her lick a long strip over your cunt, her nose nudging your clit as she moans into you. “o*-oh —*” you squeak as her tongue pushes into you, and you feel her rocking you down, pressing you against her so hard you’re afraid she might suffocate.

you steady yourself against the wall, reaching down to card your fingers through her hair, the color still darker than it used to be, the roots still inked in black.

vi’s cocks an eyebrow up at you from between your legs, and you can almost feel her smirk before you feel her wrap her lips around your clit to give it a hard suck. you yelp, hips jumping even as she yanks you back against her, fucking her tongue into you so hard your stomach clenches with the pleasure.

“oh — oh — ngh — violet —”

“th-that’s it, princess — so hot riding my face — mm — mmph —”

you rock your hips over her mouth, the bright tingle of heat circling through you, coiling tighter and tighter as she eats you out with a wolfish hunger, groaning into your folds as your pace goes jerky and the pin-prick of pleasure stretches inside you, ballooning out till you’re clenching over her face, fluttering around her tongue as she licks eagerly at your wetness, pooling out of you onto her chin and cheeks.

“fuck, you taste — taste good —” she mumbles, lips chasing your cunt even as you try to lift yourself up, her arms flexing as she pulls you back down.

“w-wait — vi — it’s too — too much —”

you squeak as she sits up, flipping the pair of you to finally pin you beneath her, a lopsided grin on her face, a dark, dangerous look in her eyes as she wipes her lips on the back of her hand.

“yeah? but, i’m still hungry, princess —” she wastes no time in prying apart your legs, swearing under her breath as she sees your pussy fluttering around nothing, her fingers shoving into you a second later, “and i mean — i haven’t been trained at a brothel but — been to babette’s enough times to know a thing or two —”

her smirk is sharp, even though her eyes are soft as she watches you writhe beneath her, the remnants of her orgasm still warm in her veins. a furious, ticking urge is pressing up the back of her throat as she fucks you open on her fingers, a savage want blooming inside her chest.

she wants to see you fall apart for her, over and over and over again, wants to make you scream till your voice gives out, wants to swallow around all your pretty little noises — she wants, she wants, she wants —

and then, a softer, deeper desire creeping up, up through her ribs to pool at the base of her tongue, slick as poison —

she wants you to do the same to her, just as you’ve already done.

the want is so huge it terrifies her, makes her chest squeeze even as she leans down to kiss you again, reveling in the taste of her own name on your tongue, dripping from the corners of your mouth like a hymn or a prayer.

it’s a want so vast it won’t fit behind her ribs — that she wants you. in every single way it’s possible to want a person.

and, she wants you to want her too.

“fuck, princess —” she grits out, pulling away just far enough to watch the pleasure crease your forehead, “you want it? tell me — tell me what you want —”

you’re breathless, exhalant, your fingers curling in her hair as you jerk up against her.

“w-want — want this — want you — violet — vi — vi —!”

she groans at the way you say her name, letting her head drop into you shoulder for a second before she curls her fingers and fucks them into you so hard she feels her forearms strain.

“yeah? tell me again, pretty girl —” she lifts her head to find your eyes, and for a split second, she sees herself as you might — disheveled and wild-eyed but the softness of her features is unmistakable, the way her lips are parted, her brows furrowed as she watches you.

your eyes find hers, and your breath is trembling when you say, in a voice that’s so much sweeter than the harshness of her movements, than the toe-curling sound of your wetness as it squelches around her hand, your slick dripping down her wrist and onto the sheets.

“i — i want you, violet — a-all of you — please —”

“fuck, cum for me princess — i — i want — i need to see you cum for me — please, god —”

there’s a whine high in her voice even as you spasm around her, the feeling of your cunt milking at her fingers making her shiver. her movements slow as time itself seems to unspool around you both, your bodies so much more than the sums of their parts — so much skin and breath, so much honey and rest.

you laugh, an indulgent, tickling sound, bubbling up from you as you breathe, running your fingers through her hair as she slowly tugs her fingers from you.

“shit… you came a lot,” she says, laughing with you as you nod and reach for a tissue on the bedside table and hand it to her. she wipes at her hands first, and then her face. and then, she leans off the bed to grab the plate with the leftover eggs, shoveling them into her mouth.

you lay there, watching her with a bitten-back smile. she pauses as she catches your eye.

“sorry — oops —” a bit of scrambled egg nearly tumbles out of her mouth. she licks it back and swallows, setting the plate back down to collapse next to you. “just… didn’t wanna waste it, y’know?”

you giggle, curling onto your side and resting a hand on her chest, flicking at one of her nipple rings.

“hey. quit that.”

you grin, shifting your hand down to rest against her stomach. she reaches up to cover your hand with hers, your fingers lacing easily as she turns to face you.

“still hungry?”

vi smiles, shifting closer to you on the sheets, the pair of you lying face to face, bodies curled in towards one another like mirrored images.

“nah. think i’m good now. that was a good breakfast.”

you laugh, walking your fingers along the bend of her waist, pulling yourself forward till you’re nuzzling into her collarbone. she opens her arms and loops them around you.

“yeah? good. so, have we got a verdict on the eggs?”

vi hums, considering.

“i like the scrambled ones. but… i thought you said you were gonna make something else for breakfast tomorrow?”

she hooks an ankle over yours and you shift against her, softening into her chest.

“yeah, ‘m planning on making a few soft boiled ones, and a few poached ones. they’re kind of similar, but also super different.”

“yeah? how so?”

her fingers trace soft circles into the bare skin of your back; yours trail absently over the dark lines of her tattoo, outlining the cogs and wheels and puffs of tinted clouds.

you try your best to explain the differences between a soft boiled egg and a poached egg, and it ends with the pair of you laughing, vi shaking her head even as she edges closer to you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“i could listen to you talk all day, princess.”

you crinkle your nose, “careful what you wish for.”

“mm,” vi hums, leaning in till your foreheads touch and her eyes flutter shut again, “thanks, though.”

“hm? for what?”

she breathes in, then out.

“for… all this. for breakfast, for…” she lets her voice trail off as her eyes blink open to find you watching her.

“you don’t need to thank me,” you say, inching ever closer, so close now that she can feel the heat of your words over her skin as you speak them, “i meant what i said last night — whatever’s mine is yours and…” you reach up to cup her cheek, “that i want all this because… i want you.”

vi closes her eyes, squeezing them shut as that soft tendril of desire once against pushes up against the back of her throat. she makes a sound caught between a sigh and whine, pulling you into her, wrapping both arms around you and burying her face in your hair.

“gods… you drive me insane.”

you chuckle against her collarbone, blowing an errant strand of pink hair from your mouth.

“if it’ll make you stay with me then…” your voice is slightly muffled, but vi hears it all the same, feels the rumble of it from your chest to hers, the honesty in them shaking her to the core.

she squeezes you once, long and hard, before letting you go.

“careful what you wish for,” she says, echoing your words back at you.

you smile, a simple thing, leaning up to brush your lips to hers. it’s a soft kiss, one that’s devoid of the pulsing, urgent want of your kisses prior, but for some reason, this one lingers like a prickle on the tongue, champagne bubbles as they filter down your throat, fizzling warmth through both your chests even after you pull away.

“didn’t i already tell you?” you say, bumping your nose to hers, “i’ve been praying for this since the day we met.”

vi lets out a small laugh, nodding, “yeah… you did, huh.”

you tangle your fingers in the long hairs skimming down her back.

“you don’t have enforcer stuff you need to report in for?”

vi groans, rolling her eyes, “i mean… i probably do but…”

you shake your head, “give them a call, ask for a few days off.”

vi’s eyebrows hitch at your words, “and… what do i tell them?”

“that you’re taking a few days off — call it a vacation if you want.”

“huh,” but her lips are already tugging into a knowing smirk, “and what do you propose we do on this so-called vacation of mine, hm?”

you shrug, giggling as she leans down to nip at your collarbones.

“mmm… how does staying here, sleeping in, and eating through my favorite recipes sound?”

vi pulls back, her expression flickering through several channels before settling on a mix of cautious and hopeful.

“are… you sure? you — you don’t have like… famous-person stuff you have to do?”

you laugh, “nope! not for a week at least. and… i’ve got a few really good bottles of wine in the cellar i’ve been meaning to try.”

“the cellar?”

you grin, “go make the call.”

vi pushes herself up, carding a hand through her hair and rubbing at her temples. but she glances back at you, her fingers still linked with yours. you glance down at your hands before giving her a squeeze.

“go on, i’ll still be here when you get back. i promise.”

vi leans back down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“promise?” she asks.

you nod, leaning up to kiss her properly, pulling away only when she tries to push you back into the mattress. you shoot her an exasperated look as she tugs on a shirt and nearly trips over the breakfast tray, glancing back at you from the bedroom door.

“go. i’ll be here,” you say again. and vi gives you one last lingering look before slipping through the door, leaving it swinging behind her.

a few seconds later, you hear her voice as she says —

“uh hey, it’s me. can you connect me to the warden?”

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[pedgito]

𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐋 | Joel Miller x reader

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summary | Joel's itch to hunt has became a yearly tradition between you and him.

author's note | i had a very vague outline for this weeks ago that didn't feel solid enough but then i saw some gifs and had to collect myself, a huge hug to @gracieheartspedro for beta'ing this!

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson!joel, sex pollen (consenting), hunter/prey OR predator/prey (whichever you prefer), knives, joel intentionally hurts reader (consenting), mentions of scars, waterboarding adjacent (again, consenting), brat!reader, gratuitous smut (unprotected piv, oral, ect), creampies <3, cum feeding, some fluff at the end.

word count — 5k

“S’bout that time, baby.”

Joel isn’t even attempting to be subtle about it.

The itch came around the time the flowers were beginning to bloom and the overgrown foliage continued to make a home on earth, woven and wrapping around the cracks that have settled. It was always calmer too, oddly. Tommy had suggested Joel could take a few shifts hunting in the nearby woods for food—you know, scratch it. But, he didn’t understand the deeper implications and desires that Joel kept hidden away. Though, not from you.

He always had a habit of sneaking up on you in your home, quiet as a mouse you were, but even the slightest creak would give you away and Joel would come swooping in, stealing your heart right out of your chest as it stilled, relaxing as his warm, sweet musk consumed your entire being. 

He always sought you out, treated you like prey.

Joel was a natural born hunter, a defender—of his territory, his things.

When you switched jobs halfway through your first year in Jackson, botany to patrol, the idea arises. And that was all it was, at first. Presenting Joel with a set of options as your connection with him grew, seeing the ease of conversation behind his hardened exterior. 

He liked that you care, that you listened to him talking about his oddball interest without the return of a retching disgust, tongue peeking out of your mouth as your face scrunches up in aversion. Ellie had done it plenty of times, so instead, you ask questions.

Jackson had domesticated Joel back to his previous state, before the outbreak, with what little he’s told you about, he sounds like he wants to leave that man in the past. You understood him, born within a world of pure rage and hostility, fighting tooth and nail from the day you were born.

You were only a small child when the world fell and you barely remember anything from before outside of what you’ve learned from the elders around Jackson and Joel, who wasn’t nearly as old, but had still managed to live a full life and then some, his time split between both versions of this lifetime.

You had patrol together tomorrow, a full undisturbed weekend away.

He clinks your beer mischievously as his eyes glint with intrigue and a small smile tugs at his lips as he hides it behind the rim of his drink—it wasn’t a reminder, rather an auspicious warning.

–

In any other situation, you would hate this patrol spot. 

It was big, too big—why Tommy insisted on keeping it within the route was beyond your understanding, but for Joel, it was perfect.

He’s already digging in your bag for the mauve-hued powder, smelling faintly of berries even with the plastic bag wrapped tightly around it. It was something you had stumbled upon with Ellie during one of your earlier patrols, always following close behind to her wandering, stumbling upon a thick brush outside a forgotten, decaying cabin. 

A small plant, completely undisturbed. 

Ellie almost consumed the plant out of curiosity, eyes growing wide as you slapped her hand away.

“You’re right—yeah, that’s…not a good idea.” She quickly corrected herself, entranced by the intoxicating smell as you carefully unroot the plant and tuck it away in your pack, hopefully that it would stay intact on the ride back or that Shimmer wouldn’t sniff through your bag before you had the chance to make it back.

“Joel would kill me if I let this kill you.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad.” Ellie excused lazily, “Give him a chance.”

That you did.

You snatch the bag from his hand and tuck it away in your pocket.

“Sign us in at least,” You reprimand him, flicking him in the chest before you direct him with a pointed finger over his shoulder. An old, weathered notebook sitting on the counter of the empty clinic, “sweep first—hunt later.”

You both check your respective sides, dead silent throughout, as most of spring usually was around Jackson. Occasionally a straggler would find a way inside, a bloater or clicker that had wandered too far from the herd, but it was completely quiet.

You had traveled all night, the auburn sky fading to blue as the sun rose in the east, the rays projecting through the large window of the second floor of the hospital, an office that was set up with two beds and a pile of supplies for whoever had patrol that month.

Joel’s stripped his jacket off already, yours following suit as you throw it over.

“You know the drill,” Joel announces, his palm curving around the back of your neck as his other hand reaches for the gun tucked into the holster at your thigh, placing it on the counter, “one knife, that’s it.”

“Same rules apply to you, big guy,” You retorted, reaching around his backside for the gun tucked into his waistband, placing it beside your own gun.

He offers over the hunting knife by the handle, his fingers pressing tight against the sharpened blade, eyebrows raised in anticipation as you look at it for a moment, a split-decision before you shake your head, pushing his hand away.

“C’mon baby, now you’re just makin’ it easy.”

You scoff lightly, leaning down to remove your shoes and socks as Joel chuckles lowly, catching onto your antics as you strip yourself down to the bare minimum clothing you needed without being entirely naked—a skin-tight tank that clung to your curves and a pair of shorts that rolled up your thighs, reducing the risk of your clothes snagging in harder to access crevices.

You reach for the treasured bag of special powder that Joel was so eager to consume.

It was an enhancement—a pollen from a special flower that you still hadn’t identified, crushed down into an herb that you traded under the table in Jackson for a high price. The first time you had introduced it to Joel, he was hesitant. But, giving it an hour or so to set in convinced him otherwise.

He could hear better, feel, sense—it was intimidating, the look in his blood-shot eyes every time he found you, teeth bared as they dug into your skin, rutting against you like he was in heat. Sex was the only thing that quelled the ache that it caused as a side effect, and Joel was insatiable.

It started slowly, the slow thump of your heart quickening as the effects settled within you. Then, the paranoia set in, the heightened state of existence, and slowly the urge of desire would settle in, growing and growing until it was nearly unbearable—eventually willing enough to claw off your own skin in an attempt to ease the ache. 

It never got that bad, Joel wouldn’t allow it.

But, something about this batch felt potent.

You felt even more mischievous this time around, your third year of this little tradition and you were determined to make him work for it, drag it out until the final second, as the drug waned as neither of you could take it any longer, wanting to beat him at his own game.

“Like a mouse,” You tease, showcasing the near silent step of your feet against the floor as you lick your pointer and middle finger before dipping them into the bag, the powder sticking to your fingers as you press them to Joel’s tongue, his lips closing around the digits with an intense determination in his eyes, “let’s test out those instincts, old man.”

He mirrors your process, but wraps his free hand around your throat, forcing your chin up and mouth open as his fingers dip into your mouth and press down on your tongue, noticing the way his eyes are already dilated under the effect of the pollen, “I’ll leave a pretty one this time.”

A scar, he means. 

Two already existing jagged lines on each side of your pelvic bone as he pressed the blade to your skin in dignification of his victory, soothing the wound with his tongue and lapping up the blood.

You hum, closing your eyes at the sweet taste as it warms your body.

“If you catch me,” You tease, a slight amusement to your tone as you toss your head back, fingers pressing harshly against the sides of your throat.

“Bold,” He compliments, “s’cute—you can’t hide from me, sweetheart. I’ll find you.”

–

He always gives you a head start, it was only fair.

The only downside to the pollen was the overstimulation of sound, paranoid with every creak of the building as the heat expanded the metal, faint footsteps without any idea where they were.

You weren’t a hunter, by any means. But, you knew how to hide.

For Joel, he enjoys the chase.

However, he likes to seek, too.

And he’s quiet, unsuspecting.

The first four hours are spent working your way through the second floor as you hide away in hidden crevices and evaded his approaching figure as he traverses from room to room, knowing he’s wandering around with only the knife you had denied yourself, twirling it in his grip as you whistled, paused for an eerily long time, then whistled again. He's had surveying from side to side, scanning.

Everything was making you jump, even the low hum of the wind outside.

There’s a brief moment as you escape to the first floor that Joel catches sight of your quickly fleeing figure, calling out your name in a voice that doesn’t sound entirely of his own. It was deep and guttural, like a growl. Animalistic and dark, stripped down to his primal instincts.

“C’mon, little mouse,” You can hear the knife pierce into the weakening drywall as you hide between a crevice underneath the stairs, moving to your stomach to crawl underneath and use the advantage of the shadows casted by the sun as he paces around the hall for a moment, “let’s see if you’ll squeal for me.”

His foot kicks through a closed door, his soft whistling continuing as he searched around and came up empty-handed, biding your time under the stairwell for an extended period of time, skin dampy and clammy as the heat crept in, clothes dirtied with dust and stained with sweat.

By the time you feel safe enough to leave, knowing how easy Joel could wait you out, it was already creeping into the evening and you had cursed yourself for being so stubborn and leaving your pack behind—hungry and thirsty, the throbbing ache at your core growing stronger as you squeezed your thighs together and escaped the hiding spot.

You stop, listening intently, the faint sound of footsteps below in the basement.

You knew better than to trap yourself down there with him, knowing how easy of a win that would be for him, hearing the faint tap of the knife as he calls for you.

“I know you’re here. I can smell ya,” You hear faintly, “Betcha she’s drippin’ wet, huh?”

You can picture the sight of him, hand grazing over the denim of his jeans as he pressed his palm against his growing erection for relief, a similar detriment to your own but with two entirely different tasks.

You’ve never tried leaving the building before, but the peak of the pollen was beginning to take hold, your mouth dry and begging, aware of the creek just a few minutes into the forest down the road—you were desperate.

So, you book it.

And as your feet hit the entrance, you hear him.

But, he’s closer now, ascending the stairs to the first floor as his eyes lock on your shadowed figure before you slam the door closed behind you, his voice booming in the distance as the twigs break underneath your feet, wincing at the sting of pain it brings.

“Bad girl,” He taunts, “Breakin’ our rules, baby!”

Outside of the strict use of one weapon, mutually agreed upon, you both promised to never leave the premises, both for safety, and fairness. But, Joel was good—too good. If anything, it would give him a challenge.

You knew there would be consequences, but you couldn’t be bothered to care.

–

You had spent twelve hours evading him, bones and muscles aching with discomfort as you tripped, falling to the bed of rocks covered in slimy moss as you stumbled on your knees toward the running stream, cupping your hands to guide the water into your mouth, instantly quenching the thirst that had festered, patting your wet hands against your clammy skin, knees bloodied and dripping against the surface of the rock as you rested for a moment, catching your breath.

You welcomed the silence, wondering if Joel had stuck on the path of the road, unsuspecting that you would veer off barefoot into the forest on your own, constantly sticking by his side, vigilant of the threats that lingered there.

You whine as your cunt throbs with need, hastily shoving your hand under the fabric of your shorts to slide your fingers against the sticky, wet fabric of your underwear, the gentle press against your clit like a shock to the system, your free hand clutching onto nothing but air as you gasped, subconsciously rocking your hips against your hand.

Your eyes had fallen shut, lost in your own pleasure that you forget how vulnerable you are, nearly naked in an open forest where anyone could sneak up on you—though, no one traveled out this far and it had been several minutes since Joel had caught sight of you, the lack of defined tracks to follow proving difficult for him, but then you hear a sigh, a tsk.

He’s on you before you have a chance to react, knife at your throat as his teeth graze against the shell of your ear and he’s wrenching your hands away from your shorts, “Found you,” He hisses through clenched teeth, feeling his cock pressed against your thigh through the denim.

He was hot, burning up—both with a want for you, but physically, like a fever had taken over.

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed until you’re forcing your eyes open, staring up at the opaline moonlight, making Joel all the more threatening as you couldn’t see him, but you could feel him, rendered immobile as he worked himself over your hips, the weight of him keeping you still. 

“S’right little mouse, ain’t got nowhere to go, do ya?” He taunts, fingers curling around your head as they dig into the root of your hair and tug, the blunt side of the knife running along your throat.

“How’d—how did—find me?” You choke out through broken, garbled gasps as the drool accumulated in your mouth at his scent, the freshness of soap from a shower the night before but a mix of his own arousal collecting in his jeans, “What gave it ‘way?”

“Can hear those perfect little whimpers from a mile away, baby,” He softens slightly, panting heavily against your skin as he belt jingles with subtle movement, slipping through the loops before he’s disposing of it to the side, “S’that why you ran? Scared I was gonna catch you playin’ with yourself in there—well, look at ya,” He taunts, “Got a special place for this one,” 

You feel the cool edge of the knife drag along the side of your neck and down your spine, ripping through the fabric like butter, aided by the gentle tug of his hands as he ripped your top into pieces, repeating the process with your shorts, his fingers curling around the lacy edge of your underwear as he tugged up, dragging the tip of the blade along your cheek.

“Considering markin’ this pretty little ass up, that what you want?”

“S’that what you want?” You retort playfully.

There’s a small prick, another, pulling your underwear between your ass until he can get the blade underneath the fabric and with a quick flick of his wrist, it was nothing but trash, stuffed between his teeth as he inhaled your intoxicating scent, forcing your thighs apart as he cut lightly into your skin at first, an initial to mark his territory.

The letter J forever engraved at the inside of your thigh, the thumb of his unoccupied hand splitting through your folds and pressing against your swollen clit, distracting you from the sharp pain with his movements.

“S’beautiful,” He tells you, admiring the mark but also the way your cunt greedily sucks his thumb inside of you, “fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your hands balled into tight fists above your head as you writhe beneath him, “M’close, Joel—s’right there,” You moan, feeling his hand squeeze at your wounded thigh, his fingers stained with blood as he moves off of you, easily manhandling you onto your back as he stares down with dark, brooding eyes, disposed panties still stuffed in his mouth.

You rise onto your elbows as his hand molds over the back of your skull, nodding toward his buttoned jeans, his opposite hand reaching for your wrist as he guides it to the button before casually yanking the cloth from his mouth and stuffing it into the pocket of his jeans.

His unoccupied hand explores the peaks of your chest, soft and supple and begging to be squeezed, bitten, pert nipple the perfect size to fit between his lips and against the flat of his tongue, finding himself drifting at the thought before your roving touch brings him back.

“You feelin’ gracious?” He asks, “Gonna suck my cock?”

You nod obediently, his hand gripping tighter in your dirtied, damp hair.

He’s waiting, quietly, ominously, only barely satisfied as you begin to pry the button apart and pull at his zipper, the heat of his cock pressing against the fabric as you rub your palm over it teasingly, earning a sharp tug in return.

“You wanna keep up the game?” Joel asks like a warning, “I’ll hunt you through these damn woods, girl. And I won’t play nice.”

There’s a rawness to his voice during times like this, during the hunt. It’s similar to how he sounds as he rouses from bed, groggy with sleep—relaxed, but resting at a deep, booming register.

You pout slightly, squeezing your hand over the damp fabric of his underwear, precum seeping through the front as you lean forward, running your tongue along the cotton before pulling with your teeth at the waistband, tucking his underwear beneath his balls as you like from base to tip in one fluid movement, intoxicated by his scent.

It was mostly clean, but earthy—a day worth of exhilarating hunt and the heat of both the day and the pollen seeping from his pores, he’s salty and sweet, your tongue sliding slowly over the slit before he’s pushing his cock beyond your lips with a solid pump of his hips, moaning at the intrusion.

He favors the soft whimpers as your eyes flutter with the press of his cock against the back of your throat, fucking himself into your mouth with a tight hand in your hair, eyes welling with tears as you gasp after a particularly deep thrust, eyes blown wide as he pulled you off of his cock suddenly, moving to match his stance as you rise unsteadily to your knees.

“Nuh uh,” He admonished, “down, turn around.”

You open your mouth to speak and Joel slaps your face once, sharp, not entirely unsuspected as there was a clear definite line of who was in charge, always testing your limits when he asserted his dominance—you knew it was coming, you wanted it.

“S’your one and only warning,” He tells you sternly, “now turn.”

In times of desperate need and insatiable desire, it was easier to be a vessel to him. Fulfilling his release of pent up aggression and carefully tucked away primal nature, he shifts quietly behind you to stand and strip himself naked, fisting his cock into his hand as he rubs it through your slick folds, puffy and swollen from how badly you needed to be filled by him, consumed.

“So fragile, little mouse,” He takes glance of the weeping wound between your thighs and the flutter of your hole as he fits the head of his cock inside of you, only an inch of his thick and swollen cock, a collective sigh of relief from you both at the connection, “Need to remind you what it means to be mine, don’t I?”

“Joel fucking get on with it alread—”

Joel quickly twists his hand into your hair and pulls your head up, gasping as the hands under your chest curls into fists, pulling you flush with his pelvis as he slips inside of you in one quick motion, feeling the sting as his fingers dig into your skin.

“Smart mouth,” He comments, “so fuckin’ dumb for this cock your forget how to behave yourself, ain’t that right?”

You groan pathetically as he yanks at your hair, “You need me to do it for you, old man?”

You wiggle your ass slightly back against his cock, a harsh huff of breath through his nose before he’s dipping your head under the water as you both teeter near the edge of the rock, with the current you could feel the faint splashes against your skin, but he takes advantage of the gap and dunks your head in the chilled water for a moment, pulling you back up as you gasp.

“You done?” He asks, earning a pitched giggle in return, airy and light as you find the effort amusing, leading him closer toward the edge of the cliff, guiding him into a space that would help him use, without guilt or remorse for his actions.

“Depends,” You challenge, your cunt clenching around his cock as he shifts his hips, one movement from exploding as your clit throbbed intensely.

As a result, he dunks your head once more, this time for a moment longer than last and you find yourself coughing, sputtering air as your wet hair drips over your face, blinking the bleariness from your eyes.

"Always forget how much you like it when I hurt you,” Joel notes with a tone of admiration.

You hum in approval, wretched back by his unyielding hand as he pulls you flush with his chest, your hand flying into his hair as the other drifts over your clit, his hips pummeling into you at furious pace, teeth digging deep into your shoulder.

“C’mon, baby,” He coos, cradling your head in his hand as it lulls back, fingers curling your clit in desperation as his groans melt into your skin, “fuck—she’s squeezin’ me tight, you feelin’ that?”

His hips slow for a moment, deep thrusts as the head of his cock rubs against that nauseatingly sweet spot inside of you, eyes rolling back at the sensation as your orgasm takes hold, pulling Joel over the edge unexpectedly with your whimpering breaths of relief, held up entirely by his own brute strength as he fucks into you lazily, pumping you full of his cum with every thrust.

There’s an immediate exhaustion as instant satisfaction fills your body and his own.

Though, you know it won’t last.

It was temporary, an ease to the ache that had a mind of its own on when it would weaken.

Joel’s fingers drifting between your legs playfully as he scoops up his own cum as it spilled out of you, dripping down the inside of your thighs before he feeds it into your mouth, resting lazily against his frame as he rest on one arm and hip, smearing the slick against your tongue before he brings your mouth to his, a greedy exchange as he licks into your mouth, chuckling as you eagerly leaned in for more, moving forward as he pulled away.

“Easy, baby,” He chastises, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m right here.”

–

You can’t avoid how vulnerable it feels to trek back naked, hair mussed and your steps mimicking a drunken state as you stumble, guided upstairs and into the shower attached to the office, small and compact but at least there was running water and amenities packed away in Joel’s pack for you to use, every inch of your skin overly sensitive as you wash away the grime, feeling Joel approach from behind, careful removing the soap from your hand.

“We’re all locked up,” He informs you, doing another quick sweep as you stepped inside of the shower—he’s increasingly more relaxed now, but the heightened senses linger, his gentle touch igniting the fire in your gut as you turn on him, watching as he lathered his chest in the soap before asking, “still botherin’ ya, huh?”

You reach for him silently, pressing your lips to his tentatively, his gentleness returning with the hand that rests against your hip, slowly extending to your back as he pulls you in.

You loved him like this even more—the soft hums he released as you tilted your head to kiss him, his lips parting as you snuck your tongue into his mouth, filtering your finger through his hair and meeting him with a similar, relaxed passion.

Silently, he guides your hand to the small shelf embedded into the corner of the shower and crowds you against the tile, descending on old, aching knees despite himself. He’d pay for it later, he knows he will, but the way your leg instinctively lifts and rests over his shoulder is enough to soothe the pain for a brief time, the intensity of desire coming in waves.

He licks a long strip up the center of your folds, sucking on your clit as he eventually turns the water off entirely, your moans reverberating off the ceramic, practiced flicks of his tongue bringing you near your end quickly, sneaking two of his fingers inside of you as you come, always amazed at how greedy you pussy was to consume whatever it was he gave you.

Fingers, tongue, cock—it didn’t matter.

He peers up at you through a half-lidded gaze, your fingers running through damp hair as he slowly rises to his feet, peppering kissing up and along your body as he stands again.

“Let’s get dried off,” He tells you, “I know you’re starvin’—worked up a big appetite after today.”

Joel carefully wraps the towel around your body as he does the same, tying it around his waist as he chuckles at your smile, “Guess you could say that.”

And just as you think the pollen has finally worn off, it comes like a fever in the night.

At first, you insist it must be a dream, the way Joel is so helplessly rutting against your backside, tucked tight against his chest as you shared the singular blanket and pillow despite the other bed. He wanted you closer, he wanted you near. 

You smell like honey and home—home like Jackson, that faint hint of charred wood from the fireplace that was constantly running in your home.

He’s willing and malleable to your movements as you guide him to his back, carefully slipping your underwear to the side as you guide him inside of you, a lazy pace as your chests meet, breathing into each other’s mouths as squeezes at any available skin he can access.

“So goddamn lucky,” He murmurs, “always takin’ care of me.”

His pointed thrust drove his words home, his nails digging into your hip as he came for the second time that night, nothing in his voice left to give as his throat felt raw, grunting pathetically as his seed spilled inside of you, a warmth radiating throughout and a sudden feeling of complete relief.

“I think we’re in the clear now,” You admit tiredly, rubbing your hands gently over his flushed chest as you glance up at him, both of you sighing at the loss as you move off of him and return to your previous position, barely registering the swipe of fabric between your legs as Joel cleaned you up without acknowledgment before he’s pulling you tight into his chest.

“Need to convince Tommy into letting me take up this patrol in the winter.”

You snicker quietly at his mischievous nature.

“Is that all I’m good for?” You tease playfully, “Scratchin’ that itch?”

“A couple of ‘em,” He admits honestly, pressing a soft kiss against the spot behind your ear, “s’good idea—as long as you don’t go breakin’ the rules and runnin’ off into the forest again—”

“Alright, alright, big guy,” You admonish, patting his head blindly over your shoulder as he shakes your hand away, “it’s not like you were really complaining about it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I knew just where to look.”

Of course he did.

You scoff lightly, “Oh, I’m sure—you got me down pat, like a damn book, don’t you?”

“Correct, baby,” He answers, “Ain’t no hiding from me.”

It’s a comfort, knowing he was always near.

Joel would always find you, no matter the situation.

[silentscrying]

🐾 snowprints

vet student!megumi x dog owner!reader

summary: when you find yourself in need of an emergency trip to the local vet clinic, it's late and the sign on the door is flipped to closed. luckily for you, animal science student megumi fushiguro is still around, and he's willing to help you and your dog out—and maybe get a little more than he bargained for in the process. but he's not used to letting people in, and you've never been particularly patient. when winter rolls around, will you be spending the holidays alone?

content/warnings: 20.7k words. complete. sfw. f!reader, you have a dog, megumi has his dogs, they are unbearably cute, megumi doesn't know how to communicate for shit, language, no use of y/n, christmas yay!!, aged up characters, including riko, she's in college, and she's a menace, (light) angst with a happy ending, mentions of deceased parents (typical fushiguro canon), soft, fluff, you know when your sister psychoanalyzes you at the kitchen table, car crash, alcohol, reader studies environmental science but can't keep plants alive for SHIT, so much unnecessary pining, gratuitous overuse of italics and em-dashes

note: this takes place in the same universe as out of my mind, but you don't have to read that to know what's going on here! though it may help with some context. happy hella late birthday megumi fushiguro you will always be famous

PART I // BATMAN & ROBIN

IT’S TEN O’CLOCK and dark when Batman decides to cause problems.

Batman, of course, being your three-year-old German shepherd mix, the one currently whining and staring up at you with big, dark puppy eyes while he holds one paw up limply.

“Oh, little buddy,” you sigh as you squat down in front of him, despite the fact that he hasn’t been little in a very long time. He’s been restless all night, so you caved and took him on a late night walk, and it’s so dark you can’t tell what’s wrong with his paw even in the glow of the phone flashlight.

God, fuck. Where’s the closest vet? The one in the city is definitely closed. You’re fairly certain there’s a smaller one somewhere on the outskirts of the JU campus, though, one that the pre-vet students use for clinicals.

“C’mon, champ,” you murmur, tugging gently on Batman’s leash. “Let’s go get you checked out, huh?”

The early September air is chilly, a little bit of a bite to it. You’re glad the temperatures haven’t yet dropped below freezing, so you don’t need to let your car defrost before going. “Up,” you say, patting the passenger seat with the door held open for Batman.

You punch the clinic into maps and pull out of your suburban street into the busier roads. It’s not far, thankfully, and you make a beeline for the door with Batman on your heels, not noticing until you’re right in front of it that the massive sign hanging on the door is flipped to CLOSED.

“No,” you groan, leaning forward and pressing your forehead to the cool glass of the closed door. You close your eyes, wondering what the fuck you’re gonna do, and then—thump.

You nearly jump out of your skin, eyes flying open and gaze raising to meet the amused eyes of a guy on the other side of the door, who’s trying and failing to suppress a smile that feels a little teasing. Oops.

You step back and wave sheepishly, and the boy unlocks the door and swings it open, taking in the sight of you and your limping dog.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “I know you’re closed and it’s some ungodly hour on a Tuesday, I just didn’t know what else to do—”

“It's fine,” he says, waving it off. “I’m just cleaning up, it’s not a hassle. Come on.” Batman has no qualms about following the guy through the open door, so you follow, glancing around the small clinic. It’s pretty sparse, save for the bulletin board overflowing with pet photos on one wall.

“Fushiguro,” the guy says in introduction, glancing back over his shoulder at you. He’s got deep blue eyes that match his dark scrubs, and his hair sticks out every which way in a manner that feels intentional. He must be around your age. It takes you a beat to remember yourself and give him your own name, stuttered out as you pass into the back exam room.

There’s a white coat tossed haphazardly over a spinning chair, and the guy—Fushiguro—picks Batman up like he weighs nothing and situates him on the metal table.

“Hey, bud. What’s your name?” he asks, scratching behind Batman’s ears. Your dog is usually weary of vets, but today his tail pounds on the metal of the table as he raises his head to sniff at Fushiguro’s face.

“Batman.”

Fushiguro’s gaze snaps to you and he blinks, evidently thinking you’re joking. “No.”

“Yes.” You hold your index fingers up above your head to imitate your dog’s pointy ears. “Batman.”

“Oh. My god,” he says. “And what, you’re Robin?”

“I am not the sidekick in this situation.”

“Batman dragged you out here at eleven on a school night. You absolutely are the sidekick.”

You scoff, moving up to the table and stroking Batman’s fur. “Am I just a sidekick to you, little guy?” you coo. “You wanna be a hero so bad?” He noses happily at your palm.

Fushiguro side-eyes you, half-grimacing as he grabs Batman’s paw to look at it. He doesn’t seem to mind, which is honestly a shock. He hates people touching his paws, even you. “You baby talk your dog?”

“You judge your patients?”

“Course not,” Fushiguro says, smirking as he looks back at you. “Just their owners.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the huff of laughter, and his dark eyes reflect the fluorescent overhead light as he turns away. He’s undeniably attractive—you don’t remember seeing him around campus.

“You go to JU?” you ask, and he nods.

“Sophomore. Pre-vet. D’you?”

“Nah, Kaisen.” Your school is a lot smaller than the neighboring Jujutsu University. They’ve got something of an athletic rivalry with Kaisen College, but you really don’t care. “Environmental science.”

“You know everything there is to know about trees, or what?” His tone is teasing, and you know he doesn’t mean anything by it. The fact is you do know more about trees than normal college students probably should. Doesn’t mean you can keep plants alive for shit, though.

You’d guess there’s actually a fair bit of crossover between your course of study and a pre-vet student’s bio track, but you say, “I specialize in rare long grasses, actually.” It comes out so deadpan that he glances at you, brows knit together, trying to gauge if you’re being serious. You only last a second before you crack under his scrutiny, and he shakes his head and huffs as he turns back to Batman, who is now trying to lick Fushiguro’s nose.

“Excuse me,” he says. This only seems to encourage the dog kisses, but Fushiguro decides to just ignore them. He hums, grabbing a pair of tweezers and squinting as he moves to pull something out of Batman’s paw. “Just a splinter. The pad of a dog’s paw is one of the most sensitive parts of their body, so it’s not surprising he was so worked up about it.” You watch as he pulls out a thin sliver of wood, probably from stepping on some splintering twig, and drops it into a tray on the table.

You watch as your dog drops his paw back to the table and stands up, tail wagging at lightning speed, like nothing was ever wrong. He jumps off the table before Fushiguro can grab him and bounds over to you, rubbing himself along the outside of your leg like a giant cat.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask, pulling out your card, but he waves you off.

“It was literally a splinter.”

“But—”

“Honestly, it’d be more work to boot up the payment system again anyway. Don’t worry about it.” He holds your gaze, and you can’t tell if he’s lying about the payment system or not, but you slide your card back into your wallet without complaint.

Something passes between you, some weird spark of recognition—not that you’ve met before. You know you haven’t. But you don’t typically have this kind of easy banter with strangers. Something about this guy intrigues you, and you don’t particularly want to stop talking to him.

But you’ve already kept him past close, and you need to get home.

The moment breaks when Fushiguro clears his throat, leaning over to grab something off the counter. “Right. Well, give me a call if he starts limping again, but he should be alright.” He holds out a hand and you realize he’s offering you a business card, weirdly professional for a student.

M. FUSHIGURO Veterinary Technician Trainee, JU

His number and email are printed beneath it in small sans serif lettering.

“Oh, you’re fancy.” You raise a brow at him, tucking the card into your jacket pocket. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Well, who am I to refuse Batman?” he says wryly. He walks you to the door, and you try not to think too much of it—he just needs to lock up behind you, probably.

Before you slip out, he leans down and pats Batman on the head, earning a happy little tail-wag in response.

“Drive safe, Robin,” he calls, and you groan at the nickname as you unlock your car.

At home, you key his number into your phone and save the contact as fushiguro (cute vet). You sit there for way too long debating over whether you should text him—Batman’s fine, and it’s late, and he gave you a business card. Not exactly an invitation to flirt, tempting as that might be.

But you really want to.

“Should I text him?” you ask your dog, who’s decided to curl up right beside your bed and look up at you, waiting for an invitation. Your twin bed is not big enough for this and he knows it, but he always seems to think he’s a smaller dog than he really is.

Batman, unhelpfully, tilts his head at you, his perky ears flapping with the motion.

Maybe it’s because it’s past eleven and it’s dark out and you’re exhausted and you don’t have the best sense of judgment right now. Maybe it’s because Fushiguro’s just really cute.

“You’re right,” you say, nudging Batman with a socked foot. “No use waiting. Say cheese.”

you: [1 Image Attachment] you: gotham city’s savior says thank you

It’s kind of embarrassing how you sit and stare at the screen for two minutes, waiting for him to answer. Batman snorts, like he’s making fun of you, and you lock your phone and toss it on the bedside table. “Oh, don’t start.”

Your roommate and best friend, Setsuko Sasaki, is studying abroad in Japan for the semester. It’s been lonely, strange without her occupying the second bedroom of your little rented townhouse. You’d like to say this is why you’ve resorted to talking to your dog, but that would very much be a lie, because you’ve always done this. Sometimes, when she’s home, Suko adopts a gruff, low voice and answers for him.

You jump when your phone buzzes and make yourself count to three before checking the screen.

fushiguro (cute vet): don’t mention it. always had a soft spot for batman, anyway. fushiguro (cute vet): his sidekick’s alright too.

“Oh, he likes you,” you tell Batman. “Wingman. Thanks, little buddy.”

you: well, send a bat signal if you’re ever in mortal peril and i might show up

After that, you try to push Fushiguro to the back of your mind. He doesn’t go to Kaisen, so it’s not like you can stalk him in the university directory. You have no reason to run into him around town. As the semester ramps up and you fall back into your routine of classes and exams and friends, you don’t think too much about the cute vet tech who happened to be around that one night.

Or, you don’t for a grand total of six days.

You’re on a jog with Batman, afternoon sun making up for the fall chill in the air that’s hung around since it stormed last night. You don’t intend to stop, but Batman abruptly sticks his nose in the dirt about halfway through your run and refuses to move.

“Dude.” You backtrack and see that he’s discovered a couple pairs of dog prints, pressed faintly into the damp earth. “Oh, you smell friends, huh?” He tugs you forward, following the scent of these other dogs. “Hey!”

The thing about having a massive German shepherd mix, even one as docile as Batman, is that he is inarguably a lot stronger than you. So you don’t really have much of a choice but to stumble along after him as he bounds across the grass and comes out on the other side of the path—you don’t normally come this way, because there’s a dog park over here and he gets way too excited.

But today he’s on a mission, and you only see two other dogs in the fenced-in park—two huge balls of fluff, one white and one black. “Fine,” you say begrudgingly, undoing the gate and letting Batman off his leash. “Go play. But we aren’t staying long.”

He bounds off toward the other dogs while you latch the gate behind you, and then a familiar voice has you spinning around with your eyes wide. “Bat signal wasn’t me,” Fushiguro says, raising both hands in a gesture of innocence. “They did it.” He points at the other dogs, who are now engaged in a butt-sniffing circle with yours.

“Fushiguro!” You grin, making your way over to him. Once the other two dogs have deemed Batman a worthy playmate, they move on to you, sniffing at your palms and circling around you until the black one jumps up and nearly knocks you over with the force of it. “Oh, hello!”

“Kuro,” Fushiguro chides, rushing forward to tug at his collar. “Hey. Down.”

“It’s okay,” you promise through a fit of giggles as Kuro tries to basically hug you. “Oh, you’re cute, aren’t you? Hi, Kuro.”

Fushiguro huffs out a breath of relief when Kuro finally gets down. “That’s Shiro,” he says, gesturing to the white dog, who is now chasing Batman around the park. “Think she’s found a friend.”

“He dragged me all the way here,” you tell Fushiguro. “Guess he missed you or something.”

“Just him?”

You grin. “What, you think I was out here pining after you?” He only smirks in response. “I don’t even know your name, M. Fushiguro. What good is a business card without your first name on it?”

He hums, shoving his hands into his pockets, considering. “Guess.”

“Guess,” you echo. “Okay. Um. Michael.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Max.”

“Nope.”

“Um, Maverick.”

“What the hell?” He looks at you with furrowed brows. “Who in their right mind would name their kid—”

“Okay, hey,” you interrupt, holding up your hands. “I just watched Top Gun, okay? What do you want from me?”

“M—”

“Nope, out of tries for today. Three strikes, you’re out.” He shrugs, wholly unaffected, like this is just how the world works and he’s got no say it in whatsoever.

You gape at him, planting your hands on your hips in affront. “I hope you know I will be insufferable every single day until I’m right.”

Batman trots back over, prancing between you and Fushiguro until he crouches down to pet him. “You come here a lot?” you ask, glancing around the empty park. “I’ve never seen you here. Or your dogs. I think I’d remember giant balls of fluff like that.”

“Yeah, not often,” Fushiguro says, pushing back to his feet. “But Kuro’s been so restless all day. Had to let him run his energy down somehow.” The dog in question is chasing his own tail in circles while Shiro looks at him, unimpressed. “You live over here?”

“Few blocks out, yeah.” Your place is between the two campuses, an easy walk to both places because Suko takes Japanese classes at JU. Apparently Fushiguro doesn’t live too far away, either, just on the other side of the skate park where you know your friend Hajime hangs out all the time.

By “hangs out,” you mean he probably (definitely) buys weed there, but that’s not your business. Maybe he and Fushiguro know each other—they both go to JU. But Hajime’s a senior, so probably not.

You don’t get the chance to ask because Fushiguro’s phone rings, and he sighs and answers it with a glance at you that might be apologetic or might be mildly irritated. Hard to tell with him.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he says gruffly. “Okay. See you.” He hangs up and tucks his phone back into his pocket, then whistles for the dogs. “Time to go.”

“Good to see you,” you blurt before he can turn away. He seems a little taken aback, but you don’t break eye contact, and you think he might be on the brink of a smile.

“You too, sidekick.”

—

After that, the two of you start texting more often, gradually moving from photos of your dogs to real conversation. And you keep your promise to be insufferable about finding out his name. You send him new M-names every day, never seeming to get any closer to the truth. For his part, he refuses to call you anything but Robin, cementing your existence as a superhero sidekick and nothing more.

you: new theory you: the M stands for mr you: monsieur you: m’lord

He dislikes the messages in response, and you send him a teary-eyed emoji and hope the guilt is enough to get him to tell you.

It is not.

You and Fushiguro are in some sort of convoluted orbit around one another, sometimes colliding, sometimes drifting away. There’s really no reason you should keep stumbling across him, considering you go to different schools, live in different places, study different things.

But after that first day at the dog park, you might take Batman there a little bit more often.

Every time you talk, Fushiguro starts to take up more and more headspace. You find yourself searching for his flash of ink-dark hair, spiky and disheveled, in every crowd. Every set of fading prints in the grass or mud might be his, might be Shiro’s or Kuro’s. It’s stupid, how much you’re thinking about this boy.

At some point you start dragging your friends out to the coffee shops between your two campuses to do work, rather than the one in the student center. You justify it to yourself with the half-assed excuse that if you run into your friends less, you’ll get more work done, but really you’re just hoping he’ll be there. And your friends are happy to oblige, especially Riko, if it means she’ll get a glimpse of this mystery vet man you don’t shut up about.

Riko’s a year below you at Kaisen, but you know her from back home. She’s a frenetic ball of energy and indignation, and she’s fully prepared to go to every coffee shop in a ten-mile radius for the purposes of what she calls “the mission.”

But the coffee at the second place you try is actually god-tier, and you wind up there regularly after that, hunkering down to grind out your assignments in your spare time. It’s there that he finds you, sliding into the seat right across from yours so abruptly that you nearly fall out of your chair—your noise-canceling headphones really block out the entire world. He smirks as you sheepishly tug them down around your neck, glaring.

“Warn a girl, Jesus!”

“I did,” he drawls, taking a sip of his coffee. “Twice.”

“Boo.” You kind of forgot about your own drink because you were so into your work, and you pick it back up now, mostly for something to do with your hands. “Well, hi. What’re you up to?”

“Same as you, I think.” He nods at your laptop. “Mind if I hang out here?”

“You certainly can, but you’ve just stolen someone’s seat and you might have to fight for your life when she gets back from the bathroom.” His eyes widen almost imperceptibly, and as if on cue, Riko is beelining toward the table from across the room.

“Well hello, Mr. Seat Thief. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Fushiguro seems to be gauging Riko, and you realize this is kind of the first look he’s gotten into your private life outside of your dog, and you’re irrationally nervous about it. But he scoots over and grabs a chair from the next table over, giving Riko a mocking bow in response.

“Better?”

Riko nods, and then grabs his coffee and takes a long drag out of it. He doesn’t object, and that should have been your warning—you can see when the bitterness of it hits her all at once, her face twisting in some combination of shock and despair and mild outrage.

“Oh my god,” you say as Riko grabs her water bottle and chugs to get the taste out of her mouth, aggressively shoving Fushiguro's coffee back toward him. “Of course you drink coffee black, you fucking loser.”

“What, you dump six cups of sugar in yours? That’s not coffee.” You flip him off instead of justifying this with a real response.

“I was gonna use that as payment for your crimes,” Riko gasps dramatically, leaning over the table, “but I was instead punished. You’re in my debt now.” She glares at him fiercely, turning up her nose, before abruptly abandoning the bit and grinning at him. “I’m Riko, by the way.”

He snorts, but a very small hint of a smile appears in a corner of his mouth. “Fushiguro.”

Riko nods and glances from him to you, as if to say really? This guy? You can already hear the analysis she’ll be giving you on the way home. Easy on the eyes, I get it, but does he like, have a personality?

“I did research,” you tell Fushiguro, nudging Riko’s shin under the table in warning. “On you.”

“You stalked me online, is what you’re saying.” You’re learning that he’s not a very expressive person. He treats laughs and smiles like rare currency, and everything you need to know about what he’s thinking is in the tiniest shifts—a downturned brow, a blink, a tilt of the head. You’re still learning, but you like to think you’ve got it down enough to know that this doesn’t actually bother him, despite the resting angry face.

“Yes,” you say, shameless. “Except when I typed in Fushiguro and your school, I got all these results for the editor of your campus paper. You have a sister?”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Tsumiki, yeah.”

He doesn’t offer more, so you push. “Older?” You already know the answer, but best let him believe the depth of your internet stalking is shallower than it really was.

“Two years. She’s a senior.”

“Cool. I don’t know a ton of siblings that go to the same school.”

“You’d be surprised,” he sighs. “My cousin and her twin sister both go there, too. And one my roommates’ half-brothers.”

“Convenient, I guess,” you concede. “Sibling discount or something?”

“Nah, but it was easier this way,” he says, pulling a textbook out of his bag. “Go—uh, our legal guardian works around here anyway.”

Riko raises a brow but doesn’t ask, which is a remarkable show of restraint for her.

Legal guardian. Parents aren’t in the picture, then. You want to ask but you don’t, not yet.

The three of you buckle down and get some work done, casually exchanging conversation over the next few hours, and eventually Fushiguro has to head out. “Rehearsal,” he says.

“Rehearsal?” Riko asks, glancing at you as if you know what he’s talking about. You don’t, but you have some absolutely ridiculous mental image of Fushiguro in choir and you almost laugh out loud.

But he just says, as if it’s nothing at all, “Oh, yeah, I’m in a band.”

“What?” you nearly shout, jumping out of your chair so fast it pushes across the floor with a scrrcck. “You’re in a band? You didn’t think to tell me this before? What’s it called? Can I listen—”

“Nope.”

“But—”

“Nice to meet you, Riko,” he says loudly, cutting you off as he slings his bag over one shoulder. He mock-salutes you, two fingers to his brow as he turns to go. “Robin.”

You sink back into your seat and watch him leave, only turning back to Riko when the door swings closed. She opens her mouth and you hold out a hand. “Don’t start.”

—

At some point you start calling, letting yourself fill the silence of your little townhouse with idle chatter as he listens. He’s not one for small talk, you learn, and he’s a good listener. And he pays attention. He remembers the stupid little details you give him, the names of classmates and professors you can’t stand.

“Katie from Ohio?” he asks when you’re ranting one day about the partner you’ve been assigned in enviro. “We don’t like her, correct?” We.

“We do not.” Katie from Ohio does not pull her weight in group projects, and it’s driving you up the wall.

“You tell your prof about it? Isn’t this your favorite one?”

“Yeah, he is,” you groan. Haibara teaches your conservation bio class, and he also taught ecology your freshman year, and he’s the best teacher you’ve ever had. “But no. I don’t want to bother him about it. It’s whatever.”

He hums, unimpressed. “Is it?”

You groan, feeling like you’re getting lectured by your parents. You hate when other people are right. “You want me to talk to him.”

“I’m just saying, if you get a shit grade and it’s Katie’s fault, don’t come crying to me.”

“I will, though,” you say, putting your phone on speaker and setting it on the counter while you pour dog food into Batman’s bowl. “It’ll be super dramatic. I’ll sob in your arms and everything.”

He snorts. “Talk to your prof, Robin.” You stick your tongue out like he can see you.

But you do talk to your prof, and Haibara is your favorite for a reason. Katie gets a shit grade. You do not. Fushiguro does, in fact, say “I told you so.”

By mid-September, you still have no idea what Fushiguro’s first name is. You’re at the end of your rope.

you: GOOD MORNING MASON fushiguro (cute vet): no. you: MORT fushiguro (cute vet): no. you: why don’t you want me to know. is it crazy you: melvin fushiguro (cute vet): NO. you: marie you: meghan fushiguro (cute vet): … you: well, that’s it you: i’m calling you maleficent until you tell me you: i’m gonna do it in public too you: so loud

INCOMING CALL: FUSHIGURO (CUTE VET)

You don’t greet each other when you pick up—you never have. Instead, Fushiguro just says, “You could’ve picked like, ten other Disney characters and you went with Maleficent?”

“Don’t hate. You’d rather be Mufasa? Boy’s dead.”

“Oh my god.” Everything Fushiguro says sounds long-suffering. You wonder what it sounds like when he laughs, really laughs, if those walls ever break down and he lets himself actually outwardly express his emotions.

“I can call you Mickey Mouse if you really want—” Batman starts barking from his spot at the window, and you groan, waving your hand at him pointlessly as you try to get him to stop. “Hey! No! There is nothing outside, what are you on about?”

“He probably just thinks you’re barking with him,” Fushiguro says unhelpfully.

“Oh, and yours don’t bark out of turn?”

“Not really.”

Now that you think about it, you actually aren’t sure you’ve ever heard Shiro and Kuro bark aside from excited greetings at the dog park. “What the fuck, dude? Do they teach you the secrets of the trade in vet school?”

“Nah, I’m just a natural.” He says it so deadpan you aren’t sure if he’s joking or actually being cocky.

“Come over and help, then,” you say, before you can think it through. It’s a Saturday night, and clearly neither of you have anything better to do.

You aren’t sure what exactly you’re expecting him to say, but for some reason you’re surprised when he just responds, “Okay.”

“Bring the dogs.” You text him your address, and half an hour later he shows up with the dogs in tow. Meeting him at the door, you see his car parked along the curb. It’s small, black, as unreadable and practical as everything else about him.

“That,” he says, pointing to the long-deceased cactus in the pot on your front stoop, “is dead.” Probably because it’s been there since August and you forgot it was there after one week.

“Yes, thank you, very astute.”

“Isn’t keeping plants alive your whole thing? What are they teaching you?”

“Okay.” You start to close the door, but Shiro bounces forward and noses between it excitedly, and you laugh, opening it to let her and Kuro in. “Be nice,” you warn Fushiguro, letting him step inside. He rolls his eyes as he passes, and Batman nearly knocks him over with how excitedly he leaps up to greet him.

He’s also barking, and you raise a brow at Fushiguro expectantly. “Okay, Dog Whisperer. Do your thing.” You close the door behind him, and in the two seconds that you’re turned away, Batman fucking stops barking.

You whirl around, planting your hands on your hips, and find Fushiguro kneeling in front of your very silent, very happy dog.

“What the fuck.”

He looks up at you with the most smug expression on his face, and you throw up your hands in exasperation.

“Hey, don’t pout about it,” he teases, standing and following you into the living room. “That’s what you wanted.”

“I wanted you to teach me how to make him stop, but apparently you just slipped him treats behind my back.”

“Insult to my talents,” he says, hesitating when Kuro leaps onto your couch. “Are they allowed—”

“Ah, yeah, it’s fine.” Batman follows suit. “Got enough dog hair on that couch to make another couch, probably.”

You suddenly find you don’t really know what to say. Because Fushiguro is here, in your house, on a Saturday, your dog is not barking, and you’re alone. Alone with a guy you are very much attracted to. Suddenly you just don’t know any of the words in the English language.

But Fushiguro seems entirely at ease. He always does, really. There’s a quiet sort of confidence about him, and you aren’t sure if it’s fabricated or not. He just looks like he belongs wherever he is, nonchalant about everything.

“Done any more stalking?” he asks, sitting next to Shiro on the floor. You flush a little, feeling weirdly caught out when you aren’t the one bringing it up.

“No, but I might if you don’t tell me more about this band of yours.”

He shakes his head, absently playing with Shiro’s fur. “Just a crazy idea my housemates had. We just practice in the basement. Probably not very good.”

You opt to sit on Shiro’s other side on the ground, and Batman uses the opportunity to lick you directly in the face, since he’s on the couch and you’re now eye-level. “Thank you,” you tell him dryly, shoving his snout away.

“Don’t get humble now,” you tell Fushiguro. “What do you play? Or do you sing?” You really can’t imagine him singing. Everything about this guy screams quiet bass player.

Apparently you’re right. He won’t tell you the name of his band, and allegedly he doesn’t have any gigs this month, so you let it drop—but only for now. “Cagey,” you accuse him, but you’re smiling.

You talk about your courseloads for the semester—his is pretty bio and anatomy-heavy this semester where yours is mostly ecology and conservation-focused, but there’s a bit of overlap in your curriculum, and you find that it’s easy to make conversation about your respective career paths, even though he won’t stop bringing up the fact that you managed to kill a cactus.

“They’re notoriously hard to kill,” he drawls. “Did you try to?”

“No!” You cross your arms over your chest indignantly. “Mean.”

“Honest and mean aren’t the same thing.”

You don’t really notice the sun going down until the living room is swathed in shadow and you have to flip on the floor lamp. It’s been hours by now, but it’s felt like minutes. Every thing you learn about Fushiguro opens up ten new lines of questioning, and you want to know so much more about him. But he shrouds himself in this mystery you can’t seem to get around.

Eventually you stand up to grab snacks from the kitchen, and when you return you find Batman practically on top of Fushiguro, licking his face while Fushiguro just takes it. Cute, you think uselessly.

Batman. But also Fushiguro. And also just the sight of Fushiguro playing with your dog and looking entirely at home on your shaggy living room floor. Fuck, he’s really cute.

“Have you always had dogs?”

He shakes his head as he sits up and nudges Batman off of him, gaze going just a little distant. “Not ‘til I was a teenager.” There’s more there.

“Your idea? Tsumiki’s?”

He shrugs it off, picking at loose threads on his sleeve that don’t exist, some nervous tic he’s developed that seems to only show up when you try to talk about him. Hence, shroud of mystery.

Like you gathered at the coffee shop, his parents aren’t in the picture—dead or absent, though, you’re not sure. He does tell you a little bit about his legal guardian. His name’s Gojo, and according to Fushiguro he is certifiably insane. He says this enough that you know he means it fondly—if he didn’t, he just wouldn’t bring Gojo up at all.

It shouldn’t be possible to talk so much and learn so little, but the hours keep slipping by and finally neither of you can hide the yawns punctuating your conversation. “I should go,” he says, and you reluctantly lead him to the door, crouching to say bye to Shiro and Kuro before you open the door.

“Drive safe, Fushiguro.”

You don’t expect him to respond, but he pauses halfway down your drive, turning to look at you over his shoulder. The moon is out now, and it casts him and his dark clothes in silver. You suddenly find you can’t look away.

Not that you really want to.

“Megumi,” he says.

“What?”

“My name.” He swallows, looking away quickly before looking back. “You can call me Megumi. If you want.”

Chill. Be chill, you tell yourself, trying to school your features into that same neutral expression Fushiguro—Megumi—always has, but you know it’s not working. You can’t help but smile. You feel, weirdly, like you’ve earned something.

“Okay,” you say, leaning on the doorjamb. “Megumi.”

Megumi.

You do one last little bit of internet stalking that night, because you just want to know.

His name means blessing.

—

Everything about Megumi’s house speaks to the collision of three wildly different college-aged boys tempered by the saving grace of one girl.

Remotes for a range of gaming consoles are sprawled across the floor, there are way too many half-empty bags of Doritos, and you’re pretty sure there’s just a single half of a drumstick stuck between two of the couch cushions. But there are also nice, dark tapestries pinned to the walls, string lights bordering the room, a couple plants that are better-kept than any of yours have been.

You know very little about Megumi’s three housemates except that one is a golden retriever in human form, one is a skater boy, and one is a senior named Kirara who somehow keeps them all in check.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, gesturing at the controllers and chip bags that honestly don’t constitute a mess in your book. Not after all the boys’ dorms you’ve seen, including Hajime’s.

“I like it,” you say honestly. “Also, it smells good in here. I’m proud. Kirara?”

“Kirara.” He nods and leads you to the couch, where you confirm that yes, that’s a broken drumstick.

“I don’t even—Jesus,” Megumi says, pulling it out of the gap between the cushions and tossing it onto the low coffee table. “He breaks more of these than I think is normal.”

“He being skater boy or golden retriever?” you ask as you tug your legs onto the couch to sit cross-legged, facing him. You dragged Batman with you—Megumi said his dogs would appreciate the company—and he’s taken it upon himself to sniff every corner of the house before deeming it suitable for playtime.

“Golden retriever. His name’s Yuji. Skater boy is Ino.” None of his housemates are here—it’s a random Thursday afternoon and the two of you happened to not have classes after two thirty.

“How’d you meet them?”

“Kirara went to my high school, so I knew her before coming here. I knew Ino too, actually. Yuji—I don’t know that anyone really meets him so much as gets forcibly adopted by him?” He somehow manages to make his scoff sound affectionate. “Him and our friend Kugisaki. They’re crazy, but we were all in the same orientation group freshman year.”

“Your friends sound fun.” You like the idea of two outgoing freshmen just deciding Megumi had to be their friend. “How’d you know Ino?”

He tugs at the sleeve of his black henley, picking at a nonexistent string. There’s a bit of a pause before he says, “His—I don’t know, his mentor? Nanami, he knows Gojo. So he was around sometimes.”

You don’t really know what to ask, simply because there’s so much to ask. It doesn’t take a detective to know there’s a lot to unpack in Megumi’s past. “How long have you been…” What’s the proper term for this? “Has Gojo been around, like… since you were a kid, or...?”

Despite your attempt to catch his gaze, Megumi’s eyes are trained on the far wall. “Kind of. Yeah.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you fight to keep your lips sealed, to not push. You don’t have a right to his past. He can tell you if he wants to. But you’ve always been impatient.

And it’s starting to become a pattern, this strange caginess about his own life. His family, his friends. Every so often he lets something slip, and then it’s like you can see the doors in his mind slam shut—six deadbolts holding you out.

You know a little bit about Gojo, but that’s where the information stops. You drop hints that you want to meet Tsumiki, and whether he’s protective or just too oblivious to pick up on them, you can’t tell.

Maybe, then, the issue is that you haven’t given him much either. He’s met your dog and Riko, but maybe you need to offer him more of yourself before he’s comfortable reciprocating.

So you do. You tell him about your family, sitting on his couch with Shiro at his feet and Batman between you, Kuro unable to sit still. He listens while you talk, unsettlingly attentive eyes intent on you. You live about a half-hour drive away from your parents' place, you tell him, though you don’t go home often.

“It’s not that I don’t like my family,” you sigh, leaning back into the couch cushions and stroking Batman’s fur. “It’s more just that they’re never there, always on business, wrapped up in their own shit. So there’s just… no reason for me to stick around, except a couple times a year on holidays.” You shrug. “At least here it’s not an empty house. Or it’s not usually. When my roommate’s not in fucking Japan.”

“At least Japan’s cool,” he says, shrugging.

You sit up, leaning toward him. “You’ve been?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, once. Gojo said Tsumiki and I weren’t allowed to hit sixteen without having been on a stupid-long flight somewhere. Which sounds insane, but that’s pretty standard Gojo logic for you, I guess.”

“That’s so cool,” you sigh, part of you wishing you could be on a stupid-long flight right now. On the way to somewhere warm, preferably. Fall is starting to give way to an early winter, and you’re not looking forward to running Batman in the cold.

Travel, at least, seems to be a safe topic, and the two of you trade stories about road trips and flights and different cities. You challenge Megumi to Mario Kart at some point and immediately regret it, because why is he so good?

After he thoroughly kicks your ass, you sink back into conversation, walk the dogs, and eventually part ways so you can get some work done.

megumi (cute vet): you know when somebody says they’ll text you when they get home megumi (cute vet): and they don’t? you: SHIT SORRY megumi (cute vet): you’re not dead. you: NOPE you: sorry i got back and then batman knocked over a lamp megumi (cute vet): you don’t have to cover for his vigilantism, sidekick. i already know.

You do feel bad for forgetting to text him, but part of you is a little warmed by the fact that he was worried. Not that he’d ever admit to being worried about anyone, except maybe a dog.

you: okay fine he was stopping a robbery you: happy? megumi (cute vet): depends on what they were trying to steal

The work on your desk says you should stop texting and buckle down on your assignments, but he starts teasing, and you start feeding into it, and then you’re on the phone again, and by the time you finally hang up it’s too late to reasonably get anything done.

You can’t say you’re particularly upset about it.

—

The semester ramps up quickly, and you’re drowning in work. That’s your excuse when your basil plant by the kitchen sink dies a week after you bring it home—you’re just busy.

Megumi notices, and the next time he’s over a rosemary plant mysteriously appears in its place. He denies any involvement.

When you aren’t with Riko or Hajime, on the phone with Suko, or hanging out with friends from class, you’re with Megumi. His place, your place, the dog park, the coffee shop. It hasn’t reached a point where your friends comment on how much time you spend together (except Riko, who has a loud opinion on everything and does not care if other people don’t want to hear it), but you like the hours you steal during the week just walking around or drinking coffee or trading idle conversation.

You even visit him at work one Sunday when the clinic is slow, watching him handle the few dogs and single cat that come through. He’s easygoing with the clients and has that same calming effect on every animal—like he speaks some secret language, understands them in a way other people don’t. You love watching him like this.

You like this guy. It’s not rocket science—you put him in your contacts as “cute vet” the day you met him. The hard part is that Megumi is too difficult to read. If he has feelings for you, you have no idea. You don’t think he’d go out of his way to spend time with someone he didn’t genuinely like, but whether it’s platonic or not is so fucking over your head.

Until you finally meet one of his friends.

It’s Riko’s doing, really. The two of you are at the coffee shop when she strikes up a conversation with a redhead in line, and it doesn’t take long for her to make the connection, probably because they’re both talking ten miles a minute and not holding anything back.

“Oh my god!” Riko screeches, turning to you after you place your order. “Hey! This is Nobara. She’s friends with Fushiguro.”

She beams at you. “How do you guys know Fushiguro?”

Riko answers for you. “The vet. She has a dog, the clinic was closed, he was there. It was probably super romantic.” You groan.

Nobara’s mouth forms a small O and then she says, “Ah, you must be the sidekick.”

You can’t stifle your laugh. “He even calls me that when he’s talking to other people?”

She laughs, shaking her head. “No, he doesn’t tell anyone anything. Ever. But that’s what you’re in his phone as, and I saw his screen before he could hide it.” She leans in conspiratorially. “He won’t tell us who you are, which means he’s into you, y’know that, right?”

“Um. Is he? I don’t really—”

“Girl,” Nobara says flatly. “He doesn’t talk to people. Yuji and I have to force that guy out of the house half the time. If he’s hanging out with you, it’s because he likes you. Not that he knows that, probably. He’s horrible at feelings. I offered to give him a free therapy session and he said he’d rather become a monk.”

Riko mutters something about how that wouldn’t be too far off from whatever aesthetic he has going on right now, but you’re hung up on something else—Yuji and I.

“Oh my god,” you say, realizing something. “You’re Kugisaki.”

Her entire face lights up and she bounces on the balls of her feet. “He told you about me?” she squeals. “Ooh, he does love me! I’m gonna give him so much shit! What did he say? Was it good?”

The three of you end up talking for half an hour, after you all get your coffee and find an empty table. Nobara talks a mile a minute, but you can’t help hanging on to every word she says—she has a lot to say about Fushiguro, and you feel like you might be learning more about him this way than from the numerous conversations you’ve had with him.

She lives down the street from his place. She knows Gojo, who is apparently exactly the way Megumi described him—loud and eccentric and kind of stupid, but a guy who obviously loves his kids. She and Yuji, true to Megumi’s recollection, basically forced their friendship upon him on the first day of school, and they’ve been a trio ever since.

“He doesn’t tell anyone shit,” Nobara says, echoing her own words from earlier. “I feel like I probably know more about him from Gojo than anything. Or reading his notifications over his shoulder.” She smirks. “But he’s a good guy. I wouldn’t put up with his shit if I didn’t mean that.”

“About—what you said earlier, about him… maybe having feelings for me,” you start.

“Definitely having feelings for you,” she corrects. “Whether he knows or not? Undetermined.”

“Right. Uh.” You don’t get the idea that Nobara is a person you ever want to argue with. “Could you not… mention anything about that? To him?”

She sighs. “Course I won’t. Y’know, the guys always say I can’t keep my nose out of things, but two of my roommates have been in love for years and haven’t done anything and I haven’t said a word. Even though it sucks out part of my soul every time they’re in a room together and they just stare longingly when the other one isn’t looking. They’re so stupid.”

“You and Fushiguro are also stupid,” Riko says helpfully. You glare at her, and she throws her hands up in exasperation. “What? You like him, right? You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t like him.”

“He is a good friend,” you say, feeling the burn in your cheeks give you away even before Riko starts cackling.

“I like you,” Nobara tells her, sizing her up. “I might regret saying this, but I think I need you to meet one of my housemates. You could be chaos goblins together. I feel it in my bones.”

Riko rubs her hands together like she’s plotting something, and you think you should probably keep her as far away from said housemate as possible.

Eventually, Nobara pushes to her feet, draining the rest of her coffee and slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I gotta go, but I’m so glad I ran into you. I feel like a spy, knowing Fushiguro’s secret girlfriend.” She wiggles her brows at you, and you don’t bother denying it, just burying your head in your hands instead. “You guys should give me your numbers. I can give you Fushiguro intel.”

Riko immediately accepts Nobara’s phone. You wonder how Fushiguro will feel about all this—fond exasperation seems like the default emotion when it comes to his friends. But you give her your number, waving goodbye as she skips out the door, and lean back, thinking as Riko immediately starts to tease you about your boyfriend-not-boyfriend and how at least he has cool friends, even if he doesn’t have a personality.

You just keep looking out the window, trading snarky comments with Riko as it gets dark—earlier now, at the end of September.

“Are you ever gonna tell him?” Riko presses. “I don’t wanna watch you pine for the next six months.”

“We haven’t even known each other that long,” you insist, tracing patterns aimlessly on the tabletop. “And I don’t… I don’t know. I kind of want him to be the one to say something. Because if Nobara’s wrong and he isn’t actually into me, I could fuck everything up—”

“Isn’t actually into you?” Riko exclaims. “Oh. My god.” She waves a hand in front of your eyes. “Can you see? Do you need to get your vision checked? Do you—”

“Okay!” you laugh, swatting her hands away. “Message received, Jesus. Chaos goblin was right.”

“I wear that as a badge of honor,” Riko says solemnly.

Yeah. She can never meet Nobara’s housemate.

—

It’s a Wednesday, and you and Megumi are walking back to your place from the dog park. His car’s at your house, and the dogs have just had a very high-energy playdate that hopefully knocks them out for the night. The air is chilly and the sky dimming, and everything about it feels immaculately fall.

That’s where your conversation has ended up—the upcoming fall break, which is really just a Friday where neither of your campuses have classes. A three-day weekend really shouldn’t be called a break, you think. It’s misleading.

“You’re not going home?” he asks, and you sigh, shaking your head.

“Parents won’t be home. Not really much of a point.”

“We could—” He clears his throat. “We can hang out that weekend if you want. If you need the company.”

“You’re not going home either?” You glance over at him, a little puzzled. “Like—to Gojo’s?” His lips become a thin, tight line, and you wonder if you’ve somehow crossed some invisible boundary. You’re about to tell him he doesn’t have to talk about it if he doesn’t want to, despite being on the brink of insanity because he doesn’t tell you anything, ever.

But then he says, “He’s a bartender. Not around weekends, usually.”

“Ah.” Nobara mentioned that.

You did tell Megumi about running into Nobara in the coffee shop, and he immediately looked like you told him that you hung out with Gojo and saw all his baby pictures.

“She’s nice!” you insisted, and he sighed, raking a hand through his hair.

“She has no filter.”

“She’s fun.”

“She’s Kugisaki.” He shrugged. “Learn anything interesting?”

You told him about your conversation, minus the whole feelings thing, and he agreed that Riko and Toge Inumaki should never, ever meet. “For the good of the entire world,” he said solemnly. “People would die, Robin.”

Now, as the two of you turn onto your street, he glances at you like he’s trying to find something. And maybe it’s how tired you are, maybe it’s the way his eyes look so bright even though they’re so dark, maybe it’s that weird streetlight-night aura that makes everything feel a little bit not real, but you find yourself studying him right back, meeting his gaze without shame.

You want to know him, to be a part of his life in the way he’s become a fixture in yours. You want to meet his housemates. You want to meet his sister, his family. You want him to open the door and stop acting like you’re going to rob him or something the second you get inside. He knows you better than that, right?

He blinks, and you smirk. “I win.”

“Wh—that was not a staring contest.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him sympathetically. “You can’t be good at everything.”

His laugh—his real laugh—isn’t anything like you thought it’d be, but somehow it’s even better. It transforms his whole face, some blink-of-an-eye shift that lights up his eyes and makes everything about him brighter, louder.

You want to make him laugh like that again. As often as you can, really. Always.

“What?” he asks, staring at you, the light lingering in his eyes, some sort of afterimage of his joy.

“I just—I like your laugh.”

He stops, and you realize you’ve reached the end of your driveway. You drop Batman’s leash and let him run around the yard, and Megumi’s dogs follow suit, knowing better than to go far.

“I like your laugh, too,” he says, a crooked smile spreading across his face. And somehow that feels more like a confession than anything he’s ever said to you.

You’re very close.

He’s leaning in and you’re almost subconsciously reaching up to meet him, heels leaving the ground, and he’s still got the slightest curve of a smile lingering on his lips, and—

“Oh!” Shiro jumps on you from the side, tail wagging excitedly.

When you look back up at Megumi, laughter on your lips, his smile is gone, and he’s looking away, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Megumi—”

“That’s my cue,” he says, a forced-sounding chuckle punctuating the sentence. “I should, um. Get back.”

“Oh. Um, right. Yeah. Totally.” You’re kicking yourself now, feeling stupid, foolish. Did you just mess this whole thing up? Was it too soon? Did you read it wrong?

Megumi opens the back door of the car and lets the dogs hop in before circling around to the driver’s seat. “Robin…”

You look at him, trying to squash the hope adamant in your chest. And he looks like he doesn’t know what to say, for a moment, his lips parting and then closing and his eyes darting around before they finally land on you again. “Night,” he says quietly.

“Night, Megumi.” You lift a hand in a half-wave. “See you.”

Batman stares at the street long after the car has disappeared around the corner, and so do you.

“Fuck,” you murmur, and then again, louder, “fuck.”

—

Megumi’s texts over the next week are less frequent and more distant—at least, you think so. Maybe you’re getting too in your own head about it.

From then on, he’s pretty quiet. You wonder if you fucked up. You haven’t talked about it, the kiss. Almost-kiss. Your texts start getting fewer and far between, and in the chaos leading up to midterms you almost don’t notice. Almost.

Lots of almosts, lately.

you: still on for break?

Part of you expects him to go back on his word, say something came up. Especially when he takes a half hour to respond. He’s just busy, you tell yourself. Stop being dramatic.

megumi (cute vet): your place at 5, right?

“Oh,” you say aloud to nobody but Batman, smiling a little. Well, that’s good. You can ask him what’s been on his mind lately. He just seems… preoccupied.

When break rolls around, you spend Friday out with friends and Saturday catching up on schoolwork until Megumi comes over. You’ve hung out so often—you don’t know why you’re nervous.

And it seems contagious. He still shows up at your door and immediately picks up a conversation you left off on the last time you texted him, but he just seems slightly out of reach, somehow. You let it slide for about twenty minutes before you sit him down on the couch and ask.

“Okay. What’s going on with you?”

“What?” You don’t know if he’s playing dumb or just actually doesn’t realize he’s been acting strange.

“You’ve been… look. You’re acting weird. And I feel like we need to talk about whatever happened last week.”

The ensuing silence makes you want to take it back, or say something else, or do anything to create sound in the little bubble of waiting that's formed around the both of you. But you make yourself wait. Give him the space to find words.

“I guess… there is something I wanted to talk to you about,” he says suddenly, flatly, without looking at you. Your mouth slams shut and you find yourself drawing back a little, the remoteness of his voice almost physically distancing.

“Uh,” you say, like the eloquent person you are. “Okay?”

He swallows once, hard, and he looks at you with so much reluctance you almost wish he’d just look away. Your heart is twisting itself into knots.

“I think we should… take a step back.”

“What?” you whisper. “What do you mean?”

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “I mean—this is going… do you want a relationship?”

The question feels so abrupt you’re momentarily shocked into silence. But you know where he’s going.

He doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want—you. And it hurts more than you thought it would. It’s not so much a sharp stabbing sensation as a thousand needles worming their way into the crevices of your heart, slow and numerous and deadly.

Because you do want this. You want him.

“Yes,” you admit, quiet.

And he says, “I don’t.”

In general, you want to ask, or with me? But the words stall in your mouth, all blocked up and sticky, and you don’t say anything at all.

“You shouldn’t,” he murmurs, looking down. “Want that. With me, I mean. It’s…”

“It’s what?” you ask, hesitant. Another long, horrible silence.

“It’s never going to work,” he says, detached. Almost cold. “Us. This.” He’s still not looking at you.

“Let me ask you something, then,” you say, hating the unsteadiness of your voice. “Do you want it to?” Do you have feelings for me? You want to know if this is something he’s denying himself or if he really just doesn’t like you.

You know your own intelligence, though. You haven’t made up whatever this feeling is between you.

He doesn’t answer your question. Just murmurs, “You don’t know me.” And somehow it sounds like an accusation.

“You won’t let me!” you burst out, your voice louder than you intended. But all this caginess, this dancing around everything real, it’s got you at the end of your fuse. Shiro looks up and whines, Kuro leaping off the couch to stand in front of the both of you, curious. “I told you everything! I told you about my family and my friends and my classes and my hometown and my car problems and fucking Katie from Ohio, and you don’t say anything, Megumi, you won’t talk about your family, you won’t introduce me to your roommates. You won’t tell me about your band or your childhood, you took weeks just to give me your first name! What—are you just embarrassed of me? Do you think I’ll judge you? Do you not trust me? Is that it?”

“No,” he practically growls. “God, it’s just—you don’t understand—”

“You’re right, I don’t!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. Batman paws at your leg, wondering why you’re shouting. “So help me understand. I know I’m not patient, but if you have shit you’re not ready to talk about, that’s fine. But just say that. Tell me to wait and I’ll wait. Just—give me something.”

He looks at you and he’s utterly unreadable, doors slammed shut.

“If you don’t want me in your life, just fucking say so,” you spit, but your voice is wavering now, uncomposed and only loud so it doesn’t shatter. If he really said it, said I don’t want you, you don’t know what you would do. It would be too sharp, too painful, too much.

“You don’t want this,” he says instead, averting his gaze. His tone is measured and even and emotionless.

“Don’t tell me what I want,” you seethe, but your words come out quiet. “If you really think I don’t want this, it’s because you won’t let me.” You’re whispering now, worried that if your voice raises any more, it’ll crack the paper-thin walls holding back your tears. “Megumi…”

“S’better this way.” He rubs the heel of his hand over his eyes, a messy movement that seems so at odds with the evenness of his tone. “I… I have to go, Robin.”

And the strange, unstable feelings of betrayal and confusion and hurt morph abruptly back into something hotter, something angrier. Because how dare he come here, spend fall break at your house, listen to you spill your heart onto the carpeted floor? How dare he run away, say he doesn’t want this, and then still call you that stupid, endearing fucking nickname?

“Yeah,” you say icily, glancing away with your arms crossed over your chest. “You do.”

You count to five, silently, before he moves, and you don’t look when he does. You blink tears out of your eyes when Kuro hesitates, nosing at your hip before following Megumi out the door.

It slams, hard, and Batman stays perched at the entry, tracking him as he walks out of your house, your life.

You don’t move for a very long time.

INTERMISSION // A REAL GOOD START

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO IS in deep, deep shit.

That is to say, he’s lost control of the situation, which is the one thing he does not allow to happen. Ever.

He can’t stop thinking about you.

Sleep is hard to come by in the days after he fucks everything up. He keeps thinking about how it could have gone if he’d just—if he’d done anything else. If he hadn’t run off after he almost kissed you, traitorous heart thumping in his chest even while his brain screamed danger!

You became part of his life so fast and so naturally he didn’t know it was too late until the damage had already been done. If he let himself kiss you, he would drown.

But he didn’t. He shut you down instead, on a Saturday night that could have been different.

He makes excuses when Gojo invites him over Sunday afternoon, going into work early just to avoid him. Even if Megumi’s perfected his poker face, nothing gets past Gojo. It’s like he has some sixth sense for when his pseudo-kids are in emotional turmoil. He’ll force Megumi into a talk therapy session (run by the most unqualified bartender of all time) and he’ll die of embarrassment on the couch.

So instead of talking to someone, anyone, he throws himself into his work, into rehearsals, into school. He goes to the clinic early and leaves late. His fingers are sore from plucking the same lines out on his bass until his housemates go to sleep. His eyes are dry from staring at his laptop until three in the morning. But it doesn’t matter what he does. He can’t. Stop. Thinking. About. You.

The thing about being in a band with all of his housemates is that there’s really no world in which they don’t notice something’s off. They’re spending even more time together lately than usual with the Battle of the Bands going on, and his only relief is that none of them say anything—at least not aloud. There are a number of raised brows and the occasional questioning shoulder nudge, but it seems Yuji, Ino, and Kirara know him well enough by now not to push. That, at least, he’s grateful for.

Nobara Kugisaki is a different story.

It’s a Monday when she storms into his living room—she didn’t even bother knocking on the front door. Shiro and Kuro run happily around her legs, and normally she’d be fawning over them, but today she looks furious. He can almost see smoke coming right out of her ears, eyes narrowed to dark slits as she stares him down.

“Fushiguro.”

“You,” he points out, “do not live here.”

“And you,” she seethes, “have one minute to explain to me what the fuck you did.” Before he can say anything, she waves her phone around in the air and says, “Hi, Nobara, I was just wondering if Fushiguro seems okay to you? Things kind of fell off and I would feel weird reaching out but I’m just a little worried.”

She’s quoting you.

Texts from you.

Shit.

Megumi knows that you and Kugisaki have met, but for some reason it just did not cross his mind that you might have exchanged contact information.

Control the situation.

He clears his throat, refusing to break eye contact. “Well, she said it,” he huffs, his usual toneless expression. “Things fell off.”

You still wanted to check on him. He treated you like that and you still…

“You broke up with her.”

“We weren’t together—”

“You broke up with her. Are you a fucking moron? This girl—” She jabs her finger into her phone screen so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t hurt— “is so fucking cool. And she puts up with you. And you like her. And now you’re acting all weird. So what, you go over there and tell her you can’t be together? What the fuck, dude? Why?”

What a loaded question that is.

“Because,” he grits out. “It wouldn’t have worked.”

“It wouldn’t have worked,” Kugisaki repeats flatly, walking over to the couch and making herself at home way too close to him, staring him down. He turns his head away. God, she is so persistent. She is so annoying.

“Yeah, congrats, your hearing works. Can you leave me alone?”

“Tell me you don’t have feelings for her and I will.”

“I—”

“Look at me and say it,” she snaps.

Megumi looks at her. “I don’t,” he mutters.

Kugisaki rolls her eyes so hard Megumi can’t believe they stay in her skull. “Okay, sure,” she says skeptically. He doesn’t like this tone, where it’s going. “So if I set her up with Toge, you wouldn’t mind?”

“I—” He clamps his mouth shut, hands curled into fists. “Kugisaki, that’s not—”

“That’s what I thought.” Normally she’d look smug, victorious after pulling one over on him, but this is worse. She just looks… concerned. He hates it.

“Look,” she sighs. “You’re not going to talk to me, so I’m not going to waste my time. But when you figure this out—and you will figure it out, or I might kill somebody, and it will be you—I’ll be all ears.” Her gaze might as well be pinning him to the wall with how fierce it is. Sometimes he lets himself forget how much of a force Kugisaki can be, and right now, she’s got that glint in her eyes that he hates, the one that makes him feel like she knows something he doesn’t. “Understood?”

“If I say understood, will you get out of my house?” he grumbles. She says nothing, just looking at him, and he thinks maybe she could win a staring contest with a fish. For a long, tense minute, he doesn’t say anything, and neither does she.

Whatever. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’ll forget about it eventually.

He sighs, tipping his head back against the wall.

“Understood.”

—

Things seem to happen around Megumi, to him, not because of him. The last conscious decision he made was to end things with you, and now he’s just a passive witness to his own life. Ino has something going on with Nobara’s housemate, Yuji’s scrambling to pass his midterms, Kirara bounces between their house and Hakari’s place faster than he can keep track of, and Megumi… he just exists in the periphery, goes through the motions.

He keeps finding his thumb hovering over your contact name. A dog with a silly name comes into the clinic and he wants to text you about it. He hears a song that reminds him of you (every song reminds him of you) and he wants to play it for you.

He wonders if Riko has him on a hit list yet.

A voice in the back of his head that sounds an awful lot like Kugisaki keeps repeating, Why?

Why did he end things? Why did he bite the bullet so fucking hard?

Because you deserve better than him, honestly.

You don’t know me, he told you. What he didn’t say, though—because you wouldn’t want me if you did.

Part of him knows that’s probably unfair to you—your words keep playing back in his mind and not even his music can drown them out. You won’t let me! But there are things he can’t imagine saying out loud. Explaining the way his dad disappeared, not even showing his face again when his mom died—eighteen-year-old Gojo from across the street on their doorstep, promising he and Tsumiki wouldn’t go into foster care. Bloody knuckles from fighting middle school bullies. Gojo and Geto trying to raise a bunch of kids when they were still kids themselves.

Gojo didn’t leave, but he should have. Megumi knows he threw away so much of his life for him, for Tsumiki. He could have done so much more. He could have done anything he wanted. But Megumi held him back.

Maybe he’s holding him back even now. He knows Gojo would deny it.

The point is, Megumi has shit to figure out for himself, and you shouldn’t have to sit by and watch him deal with it. That’s not fair to you. Yeah, he went about it wrong, but—but this is for the best. You can find someone who actually gives you everything you deserve, and he can… whatever.

Megumi’s band, Shibuya Incident, doesn’t perform this Friday at The Fix—Shoko and Geto’s bar. They’ve already made finals. Tonight will just decide who their opponents are. But even if he’s not up there playing, the Battle of the Bands is a welcome distraction. Even if Ino’s just making lovesick puppy eyes at the stage the whole time and Yuji won’t shut up about wanting Taco Bell. Megumi lets himself get a little lost in the music, and Kugisaki’s band is good, really. He votes for them as soon as the digital form opens and then vows to never tell her.

They should win, but Black Flash takes it again. Kasumi Miwa and Maki’s sister and their friends. They won the whole thing last year. Great, Megumi thinks.

The night comes and goes, and he dodges Gojo on his way out of the bar despite knowing he’ll get a text about it later. And then they’re all piled into Yuji’s car on the way to get his beloved Taco Bell, and he’s just about convinced he’s done with feeling anything at all when Kirara screams.

For a second, there’s nothing at all.

And then the world comes back to life around him in a shock of colors and sounds and a lot of cuss words, mostly coming out of his own mouth.

“Holy shit!” Yuji shouts, yanking the wheel hard to the right, and Megumi can barely process the sight of the white car barreling toward them before there’s crunching metal and shattering glass, and it’s like he feels the collision as an aftershock, shaking all his bones back into place. The airbags go off and he’s blind, wind knocked clean from his lungs, and then he’s moving—no, he moves. No more passivity. This is real.

“Everybody out,” he demands, wrenching the passenger door open and taking in the sight of the crash. Smoke is billowing from the hood of Yuji’s car, the vacant passenger side of the other one entirely smashed in. “Everyone okay?”

Yuji circles around the back of the car and Megumi clocks immediately that he’s holding his wrist weird, wrong. “Yuji—”

“Ino, come on—hey. Hey. Ino.”

Kirara’s got one knee on the edge of the backseat and one hand braced on the roof of the car, and Ino is not making any move to get out.

Sirens. Who called the cops?

“Kirara?” Yuji asks, moving to help her, but she holds up a hand and looks back over her shoulder.

“Don’t. I got it. We’re fine. Just—bad memories, I think.”

Megumi knows Ino hates driving. He doesn’t know why, but he can guess. So he doesn’t push it. Kirara’s the psych major, after all. And probably the one with the most emotional intelligence and any semblance of tact. She’s got him.

He’s about to turn to Yuji when somebody stumbles out of the other car. The car that had been driving in the wrong lane,directly toward them. If Yuji hadn’t reacted so quickly, they’d all be dead.

“What the fuck,” he hisses.

It’s his cousin.

“What,” he says, louder, “the fuck? Naoya!” He storms over and grabs Naoya by the front of his shirt—his breath reeks of alcohol, and he’s laughing, like he didn’t just almost commit vehicular manslaughter. “What the hell, man? What’s wrong with you? Are you—”

He hears… screaming?

But not from here. Not in person. It’s…

Megumi looks at the cracked phone on the ground, having been flung straight through Naoya's shattered windshield. He looks at his shitbag cousin, who’s half tipping-over, legs like jelly under him.

“Naoya,” he growls. “Who. Is. That?”

“Hah,” he slurs. “Mm. My ex! My ex. She is… she is.”

He’s not making sense, but Megumi might get back into Yuji’s car and drive it into his cousin on purpose. Naoya was dating this girl—Megumi knows her. She's friends with Yuji. Some brand of art major, he’s pretty sure, and she's nice, way too good for him. And then what, she finally gets away and he still torments her? By drunk calling her from the car, letting her listen as he crashes? The blood in Megumi’s veins might as well be venom.

He shoves Naoya back with a scoff, letting him stumble over himself, and grabs the broken phone off the ground. “Hey,” he says, and she’s still screaming, this poor fucking girl— “Hey! Hey. Calm down. It’s—hello?”

“Naoya? What the fuck, Naoya—”

She’s definitely talking through tears, maybe angry, maybe scared.

“Not Naoya,” Megumi sighs. “Uh, this is Fushiguro.” She’s quieting a little on the other end, and he hears a guy’s voice trying to talk her down. “Listen. Naoya’s fine. Just… drunk. And an asshole. Are you okay?”

After that, the entire night is a blur.

He talks down Naoya’s traumatized ex-girlfriend on the phone, Ino’s girlfriend shows up and calms him down, and then Gojo and Nanami and Shoko are there and Hakari shows up and Gojo’s dragging Megumi to the ER with Yuji to get his wrist checked out and it’s sprained and Tsumiki is running into the waiting room and hugging the life out of him and Maki calls and Naoya’s got a DUI and then finally, finally they’re home. Megumi can barely keep his eyes open. He doesn't know what time it is.

He sleeps harder than he has in months.

—

Megumi is so fucking exhausted that when his phone starts buzzing the next morning at the kitchen table, he doesn’t actually think it’s real for a second.

INCOMING CALL: SIDEKICK

He’s hallucinating. Sleep deprivation, or something. Or maybe he actually got a concussion in that car crash and now he’s seeing things that aren’t real. That’s the only explanation.

That or you butt-dialed.

He doesn’t bother explaining himself to the others as he stands up and retreats to the hallway, almost letting the phone ring out before steeling himself and swiping to accept the call.

“Hey?”

He’s never greeted you like that before. It sounds so fake. He usually picks up the phone and just starts talking about whatever you texted him, or whatever weird thing he saw that he has to tell you about. Not hey. Hey is for people he doesn’t know. Doesn’t care about.

“Um. Hey.” It is stupid, what just the sound of your voice over the phone does to him. “I just saw this article about a car crash? Are you—”

“I’m fine,” he says, too fast, too sharp. Stop it. “Sorry. I’m—yeah. We’re all fine.”

You clear your throat on the other end of the phone. “Okay. That’s—that’s good. I just… wanted to make sure.”

He pushed you out, and you texted Kugisaki to ask if he was alright.

He pushed you out, and you’re calling to make sure he’s okay.

I’m not, he wants to say. I fucked up. I fucked this up.

I miss you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I… appreciate that.”

Maybe he can still salvage this. Still be friends with you, at least. But that’s a slippery slope, isn’t it? He’ll just hurt you again. But…

“It was my cousin,” he offers, not really knowing why he’s saying it. Maybe as a peace offering. He didn’t tell you things before, important things. Maybe he can start now. “Drunk. On the phone with his ex.”

“Oh,” you say. You sound surprised, but Megumi isn’t sure if you’re more shocked about his words or the fact that he gave them to you. “That’s… awful.”

“Yeah,” Megumi breathes. “Um. Yeah, he’s taken care of now.”

“Good. That’s good.” A dog starts barking, and Megumi feels his lips twitch up into an almost-smile.

“There he goes,” he murmurs. You laugh, and he’s actually smiling, now.

“There he goes,” you say fondly. “I should… go calm him down. I’ll…”

“Yeah, yeah, go,” he says, not sure how to end this. “Um, good… luck.” Stupid. That was so fucking stupid.

“Thanks. Bye, Fushiguro.”

“Bye, Robin,” he says, but the line’s already gone dead.

—

Megumi sees you three times in the month of November, and every time he feels ten times closer to a train wreck.

It snows in November, because it’s stupid and cold and winter comes early here, and there are prints leading toward the dog park. Imprints of dog paws and boots, side by side, and he’s a vet student. He knows what size dog those prints mean. He knows exactly who it is.

He lets Shiro and Kuro tug him all the way to the dog park, and he doesn’t even remember letting himself through the gate. He just knows that you see him right after Kuro starts panting excitedly, and you freeze.

He half-waves in the most pathetic, lame response ever known to mankind.

“Robin,” he says, the nickname falling off his tongue like nothing ever changed.

“Fushiguro.” You smile, hesitant, and he wishes it didn’t feel like a needle that you used his last name. He walks over to you—just following the dogs, he tells himself, that’s natural. Batman almost knocks him over in his excitement.

Megumi can’t not smile at a dog. That would just make him a bad vet, wouldn’t it?

“Hey, bud,” he says, crouching down to pet him. “Yeah, I missed you too.” When he looks back up, your gaze is a little distant, and he closes his eyes for a second, collecting himself. He pushes back to his feet and turns to you.

“Did you know I’d be…” You don’t finish the sentence, but he knows what you mean.

“I… snowprints,” he says, shrugging. It seems to be enough of an answer for you.

“Snowprints,” you echo. “We found you with tracks too, the first time. Didn’t we, Batman?” Like he understands, Batman slaps his tail against the ground and flicks his ears forward and back. Yep. Sure did.

He scrambles for something to say in the silence—small talk is the bane of his existence, but is it ever small talk when it’s you?

Small talk doesn’t matter.

Everything you say matters.

“So. They teach you how to keep plants alive yet?” he asks, and has to fight not to physically cringe after he says it. God, it’s like he never learned how to talk. But you laugh, which he counts as a win.

“No, but someone is significantly less barky, so thank you for that.”

He has you for five minutes before your phone rings, and you chuckle, showing him the screen.

“Ah,” he says. Riko. He doesn’t object when you go, slipping out through the gate with your phone pressed to your ear, because he doesn’t have the right.

But you text first, later.

sidekick: it was good to see you sidekick: and the dogs. obviously

“Look at that,” he mutters to Kuro, whose nose is nearly touching his phone screen. “You’re my good luck charm.”

megumi: you too, sidekick. megumi: and batman. obviously.

The second time, you’re crossing paths in the coffee shop, both of you on your way to other places. It’s brief and stilted and still leaves him feeling like a mess.

“Black?” you ask, nodding at his coffee. You’ve got a hat tugged haphazardly over your head to ward off the persistent snowflakes outside, and it’s—you’re cute. Fuck.

He huffs a laugh, looking down at the sleet-stained floor just to avoid staring at you and your cold-flushed cheeks. “What else?”

“Vanilla latte,” he says, glancing at your cup, because he wants you to know he remembers. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but he thinks you look pleasantly surprised.

The third time, you don’t see him.

He knew you had friends at JU, but he’s never seen you around campus before. You’re with the guy with the blue hair, always pulled up into two knots on the top of his head—Hajime, maybe?

You throw your head back and laugh at something he says, and it’s like—fuck. Laughter shouldn’t sound that poetic.

And he knows he can’t lie to himself anymore.

It’s time to talk.

Kirara would probably kick his ass the second he told her anything. Ino’s busy with his new girlfriend, Yuji’s an idiot, Kugisaki is… well, she’s Kugisaki, and he can’t handle that lecture right now. And he sure as hell isn’t gonna talk to Gojo.

Which means he only has one option.

When he knocks on the door of Tsumiki’s apartment, she takes one look at him and sighs, long-suffering.

“You finally ready to talk?”

This was probably a grave miscalculation. If Kirara would kick his ass for the way he treated you, Tsumiki might actually hang him from his ankles out the window and leave him to die. But not before he apologizes to you. So at least he’s got time.

He walks in without responding and ignores her invitation to sit, pacing the kitchen instead in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah, I gathered,” Tsumiki says dryly, but she hops up onto the counter and looks at him, patient as ever. Tell me, she doesn’t say, but Megumi hears it anyway.

“I think I might be in love.”

—

To her credit, Tsumiki is dead silent for the entirety of Megumi’s rambling explanation. He’s a little hoarse by the end of it—honestly, he never talks like this. He feels like he just dumped his heart onto his sister’s kitchen floor and is awaiting some sort of judgement.

“Also, I think she hates me,” he finishes, finally sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. He tilts his head back and stares at the popcorn ceiling. “And I deserve it.”

For a beat, Tsumiki is silent. And then she says, “You wrote a song about her.”

He snaps his gaze to her so aggressively it hurts his neck. “What?”

She rolls her eyes and pulls something up on her phone, sliding up the volume and pressing play. She scrolls to some random point in the song, and Ino’s voice sings, “She’s got me up late starin’ at my phone, waitin’ for a text, feelin’ all alone.”

“Tsumiki—”

She turns it up, and Megumi looks anywhere but at his sister. There are plants everywhere, warm light filtering in through the windows onto herbs on the kitchen windowsill and succulents in the living room and god, everything reminds him of you.

“And she don’t even know what she’s doin’ to me, all my hopes are high-strung and she’s just gonna leave, no!”

“Okay! Okay, stop, I get it,” he huffs, dragging the heel of his palm down his face and trying to ignore her smug smile. “How did you even know?” he mumbles. “I’m not on the credits.”

“I know you,” she says dryly. “I also know Ino, and his lyrics are not that… I don’t know, poetically nihilistic.”

“I really can’t tell if you’re trying to insult or compliment me right now,” he says, sighing.

“Also,” Tsumiki says pointedly, “because this is what you do, Gumi.” He gives her a quizzical look in lieu of a response. “When people get close to you, you lash out and then you run away.” She hops off the counter and crosses the room to the table, pulling out a chair across from Megumi.

“No, I don’t,” he grumbles, tilting his chair away on its back legs and inadvertently proving her point.

She just looks at him until he relents, burying his face in his hands.

“I don’t think it’s unprecedented,” Tsumiki says gently, “considering the way we grew up. But you can’t keep shutting down good things, Gumi. You wouldn’t even be friends with Itadori and Kugisaki if they hadn’t forced their way past your bullshit. And you love them, right? They’re great. You know they’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Nobody knows that,” he huffs. “College will end and we’ll all go our separate ways and I’ll never hear from—”

“Nope,” Tsumiki says loudly, cutting him off. “Okay. My turn to talk. Shut up.” She glares at him, planting her elbows on the table. He feels stripped raw. “The whole pushing-people-away-before-I-get-hurt thing? You need to stop. You cannot look me in the eyes right now and tell me you don’t have people who would die for you, Gumi.”

He opens his mouth to object, but she swipes a hand through the air, silencing him. “I’m not done.” Megumi has only seen his sister like this a few times in his life, and he is fairly certain that if he tries to interrupt her again he might not leave this apartment alive.

“You have me. You have Gojo. You have Geto and Shoko and Nanami. You have all of your housemates, and Kugisaki, and probably all of her housemates too,” she says. “And none of us are going anywhere, okay? No walking out on the kids, no betrayal, no kicking you to the curb. So you need to get your head out of your ass, Megumi.”

Well.

“Look. It’s a defense mechanism. I get that,” she says, a little gentler now. “But you are not doing yourself any favors. And this girl? You’re in love with her, Gumi. That means she’s pretty special, okay? Because I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you look twice at a girl in your whole life. And I know she doesn’t deserve this, just as much as you know. So you have two choices.”

Megumi doesn’t think he’s going to like either of the two choices.

Tsumiki leans back in her chair, shrugging. “You can let her move on without you and keep screwing yourself over, or you can go tell her you fucked up and ask her to forgive you.”

He’s never liked asking for things. Tries to avoid it, actually. But he’s finding there are a lot of rules he’s willing to break when it comes to you.

“But if you’re going to ask this girl to step back into your life, you need to make sure you’re ready for it,” his sister says firmly. “You need to have your shit together. You need to know how you feel.” She pauses, catching his gaze, and once she has it she might as well be holding his face in her hands. He can’t look away, not when she’s looking at him this intently, like she’s waiting for an answer she already knows. “So. How do you feel?”

When he doesn’t answer right away, Tsumiki knocks on the table, like a dismissal. “Okay. You think about that, and when you know—you know.” She looks at him for a long moment after he stands up, those eternal curled locks of hair falling into her face, and he’s suddenly hit with a wave of affection, of gratitude, so strong he can barely stand it. Yeah, so he doesn’t have a mom. And fuck his dad. But Tsumiki—thank god he has his sister.

“Miki,” he says, before he can stop himself. “Uh—thank you. I…” He swallows once, hard. “Love you.”

Her smile is slow but wide, the kind that makes her eyes narrow just a little. “I love you too,” she says softly, and then she winks. “Hey, those words? That’s a real good start.”

—

When Megumi sees you next, he’s going to be ready. Just like Tsumiki said. He needs to know how he feels. So he thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks.

There’s a notebook in the bottom drawer of his desk, scrawled song lyrics he’ll never let anyone see. He fills page after page after page trying to figure out what’s going on in his head, in his heart, how he can make it make sense. Fit together like two hands, two sets of prints in the snow. He tries to imagine what he’ll say to you, how you’ll react, but every word he thinks of falls short, everything just sounds stupid in the face of how much you deserve and how little he can give.

He keeps thinking.

It’s December 19, Kugisaki’s Christmas party before everyone parts ways for break.

Megumi won’t admit it, but he’s having a good time. He brought the dogs, and he and Yuji have been bouncing around talking to their friends. Tsumiki’s here too, and when he loses track of Yuji he makes his way over to her, leaning silently against the wall.

“They’re cute,” she says fondly, and he follows her gaze to the hall—Ino is standing there with his girlfriend, Skipper, and there’s mistletoe hanging right above them. No doubt Kugisaki’s doing. Skipper laughs and pecks Ino on the lips before he says something and drags her down the hall, and then Maki and Yuta glance up at the mistletoe, look at each other in mutual horror, and pointedly do not walk beneath it. They’re finally together, but they wouldn’t be caught dead kissing in front of other people.

And he wonders what you’d do, if you were here standing under it with him.

He doesn’t have to say anything. Tsumiki reads him like a book.

It’s like this:

Megumi is very well-acquainted with loss. But he’s not sure he can handle this one.

He let his own insecurities ruin a good thing, a bright thing. He shut it down before it could start. He struck first and he fucking regrets it.

That’s it, then. Pity party over. Delusions down the drain. It’s time to get over himself, to get real.

Because the truth of it is that he doesn’t give a shit about his birthday, about Christmas, about the trees and the lights and the stupid fucking carols, if you’re not there with him.

Oh, he thinks. His sister has the audacity to smirk.

He stays, because this is Kugisaki’s party and despite everything, he does love her. He’s getting better about that, about acknowledging it—he has people who care about him, and he has people he cares about.

But when he heads out just a little bit early, after whispering your name in Kugisaki’s ear, she nearly slaps him for not going sooner.

“Shiro, Kuro,” he calls, heading for the door. “C’mon. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

PART II // TO TRYING

FOR A WEEK after Megumi walks out your front door, you drown in self-pity like the flower you killed in September with too much water. 

And then you open your computer and type his name into the search engine with jujutsu university and band. It’s not hard to find—one of the first results is some Instagram advertisement about a Battle of the Bands at JU, from a couple of weeks ago. One of them’s got to be his. You could just ask Nobara, but—it feels weird, somehow. Wrong. Like you’re encroaching on part of his life that he so clearly doesn’t want you to be a part of.

You can’t helping asking her to check on him, though. You just—it’s probably stupid, but you want him to be okay. Not that you think him pseudo-dumping you would tear him up or anything. But there’s a not insignificant part of you that doesn’t believe what he said that day. Part of you that knows a defense mechanism when you see one.

The thing is, you could’ve asked your friends about him. Hajime goes to JU. He might know Megumi, and if not he could’ve found out. But you wanted this for yourself, this mystery of earning his first name and his history and his heart, except you thought you’d gotten two of the three and it turns out he’ll only ever give you one.

You start typing in the bands one by one, figuring eventually one of them has to be his. A search for Black Flash turns up an artist image of a group of people surrounding a grinning girl with bright blue hair. No Megumi, though.

Shibuya Incident, then. You key it into Spotify and rub your eyes when the artist profile comes up, like you’re maybe seeing it wrong. No. It’s him.

There’s a dark-haired girl who must be Kirara leaning on a familiar-looking guy with pink hair, face split open in a smile. Front and center is a brown-eyed boy with a beanie tugged lopsided over his hair. And in the back, standing, looking characteristically bored, is Megumi Fushiguro.

Why are you doing this? You shouldn’t be doing this.

But you’re scrolling before you know it. Most popular songs. They have an EP called Over Duress. And they have a single—released recently, it looks like.

Strike First.

You only allow yourself one second of hesitation before you press play.

“Catch feels real quick,” a voice sings—Ino, must be. “And they go real deep.” You can’t help paying attention the bassline. It’s steady, constant, holding the rest of the band together as Ino sings. The lyrics almost sink into the background until the chorus snags your attention, and you have to go back and replay it.

“I can hear the heartbreak saying, ooh, I’m on my way. So you strike first, strike first ‘cause she’s not gonna stay.”

Oh.

You understand, then, even if his name isn’t listed in the writing credits, even if you have no proof. Megumi wrote this song. You can hear him in the unfamiliar voice of the lead singer. You can feel him in the pattern of the words. It’s his.

He didn’t want you to leave, so he left first. Is that it?

You understand, but it’s not enough. Abruptly, you’re just—you’re angry. What a stupid reason to let something fall apart. You don’t owe him patience. If he’s not ready to commit, that’s not your problem, it’s his. He needs to figure himself out, learn to let people in, and you can’t just sit here and wait for him to do it. It’s not your responsibility.

It’s not.

There’s some sort of grim satisfaction in knowing that there’s nothing else you could have done.

“Forget that,” you mutter, closing out of Spotify and intending to just toss your laptop on the bed. Case closed. Moving on.

But something in your search results catches your eye first.

JU senior issued DUI after crash on 34th and Olson Blvd Friday night

Okay. So. Nothing to do with Megumi, right? Except it’s showing up in your search of his name. You click on the article, heart suddenly pounding.

Jujutsu University Campus Police responded to an emergency call at 11:41 last night after an automobile collision on 34th Street and Olson Boulevard, four blocks from the popular campus live music bar, The Fix.

“No,” you breathe. “What the fuck?” You keep skimming, everything in you loosening up when it says nobody was seriously hurt, but it just—whose car is that, Yuji’s? It’s bright red. Not Megumi’s.

You’re not really thinking when you make the call. It rings for so long, and right as you’re about to give up, he’s there on the other end of the line, and you realize you have no idea what you’re supposed to say.

“Hey?”

“Um. Hey.” You sound more breathless than you should, just sitting here on your bed with your laptop open to a student news publication. You don’t wait for him to ask why the hell you’re calling, barreling on before you lose your nerve. “I just saw this article about a car crash? Are you o—”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Defensively. Oh.

Right. This is overstepping, probably. He doesn’t need you checking up on him. You should’ve just texted Nobara. You should’ve just not read the article, actually, shouldn’t have typed his name into your search engine. He probably thinks you’re a creep who put Google alerts on for his name or something. You don’t have any real excuse for how you stumbled across this fucking article.

But then he says, “Sorry. I’m—yeah. We’re all fine.”

Thank god, you think. But you just clear your throat a little and say, “Okay. That’s—that’s good. I just… wanted to make sure.”

The silence is so long you think for a moment that he’s hung up on you. But then, very quietly, he says, “Thank you. I… appreciate that.”

You don’t really know where to go from here. He’s fine. Of course he’s fine. Why the hell did you call him in the first place? It’s not like he’s going to offer you any information. Because he doesn’t tell you anything, which was the whole problem in the first place—

“It was my cousin.”

You blink.

“Drunk. On the phone with his ex.”

“Oh,” you say, more of a surprised noise slipping out before you can bite it down. It’s less shock at the actual words than the fact that he’s giving you something, that he’s offering you this. You scroll down in the article. Naoya Zenin. The senior in the headline who got a DUI. “That’s… awful.”

“Yeah,” Megumi breathes. “Um. Yeah, he’s taken care of now.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Batman chooses this moment to start barking at absolutely nothing out the window. He actually has been a lot better about that recently, but it’s like it’s his mission today to embarrass you on the phone with the guy who dumped-not-dumped you.

“There he goes,” Megumi says lightly, and you laugh a little, because he sounds almost fond when he says it.

“There he goes,” you echo. “I should… go calm him down. I’ll…” What? You’ll what? See you around? No you won’t. Talk to you later? Unlikely.

“Yeah, yeah, go,” he says. “Um, good… luck.” With what? Batman? Life?

“Thanks. Bye, Fushiguro.”

You slam your finger down on the red button before he can reply.

You don’t want to know what he says. Your name, or sidekick, or Robin, or nothing at all.

—

You try to forget about him, but it’s hard.

Every time your phone buzzes with a message from your friends, classmates, family, your heart jumps, foolishly thinking it might be him. You follow Batman to the dog park without making the conscious decision to, and berate yourself when you realize, lead him off in another direction. Your rosemary plant dies and you hear him in your head, teasing you—isn’t the environment your whole career? Better shape up, sidekick.

Riko prepares a half-hour long PowerPoint presentation about all the reasons he didn’t deserve you in the first place. She must’ve told your roommate, too, because Suko calls you in the middle of the night, Japan time, just to check in.

A week into November, it’s dulled a little bit, the hurt. You’re still startled when he shows up at the dog park, but… not unpleasantly so.

“Snowprints,” he says when you ask if he knew you were here. One word, but it means more to you. Snowprints means he knew what he was walking into, and he came anyway. Snowprints means he saw a chance and followed it to you on purpose.

That’s progress, isn’t it?

You see him at the coffee shop and he remembers your order. It shouldn’t mean anything, but it does. Snowprints and a vanilla latte.

He said he didn’t want this, but you just… don’t believe him.

But you’re not waiting for him. If the cute guy from ecology asked you out tomorrow, you’d say yes. This boy isn’t dictating your life while he figures himself out.

You hope he does figure himself out. But you won’t hold on to scraps.

And you do start to forget, a little. The cute guy in your ecology class does not ask you out, but your friends and your studies and your needy dog are enough of a distraction that Megumi isn’t in the front of your mind all the time. The semester is flying by, and you make an effort to keep in touch with Nobara despite everything—she really is fun.

It’s approaching break before you know it, and you’re going home for the holidays soon, though you’ll probably be back before the new year because Setsuko needs a ride. Man, you’re excited to have a roommate again.

Your suitcase is half-packed, poorly folded clothes covering the whole of your bedspread in some futile attempt at organization. Christmas is in six days—well, five, you think idly, glancing at the clock. Half past midnight. You should go to sleep, but your bed is covered in clothes and you need to finish packing for your drive home in two days.

“Hey, no,” you lecture as Batman sniffs at a shirtsleeve dangling over the side of the bed. You can tell he’s considering making the leap and taking a nap on top of all your freshly laundered clothes. “No. Stay down.”

You push to your feet, yawning, and then Batman freezes in place, his ears perking up and forward like he hears something.

“What’s up?” you mutter, and then his head snaps toward the door. “Dude, what? It’s past midnight—”

The doorbell rings.

“The shit,” you mutter, trudging to the front door. Irrationally you wonder if your roommate’s home early, but that’s stupid—she’d have needed a ride from the airport, and she has a key.

You don’t know what you expect when you nudge Batman aside and open the door into the cold night, barely holding him back from the cracked door with your leg.

Oh.

You’re face to face with Megumi Fushiguro, and your heart does a diving, spinning leap into the bottom of your stomach.

His lips are slightly parted like he stopped speaking mid-word, eyes wild with urgency, and you suddenly wonder if he’s in trouble, if something’s really wrong. Snow peppers his dark hair, the porch light bouncing off the white specks and making him look like he’s sparkling.

You can’t find any words. None at all, nothing that can actually articulate the shock and confusion and barely-squashed hope. What is happening?

“Robin,” he says. And then he says your name, your real name, and—it’s like a dam breaks.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so fucking sorry. I—I’ve had some time to think and I really, really messed up and I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up to you but I have to try to explain, I—it’s me, it was all me, all my fault, you’re amazing and I’m insecure and I let that get in the way of something really fucking good and that was stupid, so stupid, and I like being with you and I like knowing you and I want you to meet my friends and my weird messed-up family and I want you to know me, I want to let you know me, and I’m sorry I didn’t just because I got too in my own head about it, about you. You take up so much headspace it’s insane and I haven’t stopped thinking about you since—since, I don’t know, since I fucking met you, and I—”

The multi-colored Christmas lights strung between the pillars of your front step cast colors and shadows over him as he rambles, his cheeks red from the cold and maybe something else, and you can’t take it, watching him like this, desperate.

“Fushiguro.”

But he’s on a roll now, the words spilling from him like they’ve been building up in the hollow space of his throat for years, and he’s not stopping now. You’re not sure he even hears you over the rapid, panicked lilting of his own confession.

“You should turn around right now, slam the door in my face, I get it, I deserve that, and I don’t have any excuse that matters, but I realized how important you’d become and that scared me more than anything I’d ever felt because that meant I could lose you, you could leave—”

“Fushiguro.”

“And it’s—I fell in love with you months ago,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, and I love you, I’m so in love with you, and I—”

“Megumi.”

He finally stops, panting, every part of him frenzied and undone. His lips are still parted around a word he hasn’t said, freeze frame, the remote in your hands. “Will you just come inside?”

The silent second feels like ages, years, maybe, and you can see the disbelief in his irises, like he’s afraid to trust this, afraid to hope.

“No,” he breathes suddenly, and something comes dangerously close to cracking in your heart. Did he come here, say all this, only to leave you again?

“I—”

“No, because I brought the dogs and they’re sitting in the back of my car right now,” he explains, sheepish. An unbelieving, slightly hysterical laughter bubbles up out of you, warm and surprising and not at all unpleasant.

You grab Megumi by the dark fabric of his coat and yank him toward you, pressing your lips to his cold ones, hand slipping up to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s like your warmth leeches into him limb by limb, slowly unfreezing him both from the cold and the frantic fear that you’d turn him away again, and it’s below freezing but he’s melting beneath your touch, and you missed him so, so much.

You pull back, your breath fogging in the air like an echo. “You idiot,” you tell him. “Go get them, I want to see them.” You cross your arms over your chest, leaning on the doorjamb and finally processing how cold it is out here. It’s like it’s sinking right into your bones. “And then get your ass inside.”

He smiles breathlessly, standing still for a moment, and then it’s like he just snaps into action, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he waits another second. The dogs run up the path before he does, and you let them barrel into you and then have their little reunion with Batman while Megumi catches up.

“Come sit down,” you tell him, shutting the door and closing out the cold air. “And tell me more.”

It’s almost like nothing ever changed.

You talk for hours in the lamp-lit living room, surrounded by three tired dogs and a record spinning in the corner. But this time, Megumi talks more than you’ve ever heard him talk. He tells you everything.

How he pushed you away and justified it to himself by saying you deserved better, when really you deserved the truth. How his dad left and his mom died young and Gojo was barely legal when he took him in. How he had a lot of issues with his self-worth growing up, and even now, and how it took him a very long time to accept that people care about him. How it was Tsumiki's idea to get the dogs, because after their mom died he couldn't stop having nightmares. How he wanted to call you every day and then he finally cracked and he went to Tsumiki and she psychoanalyzed him at the kitchen table and he sorted out all his shit so he could show up here like an absolute nuisance and beg you to give him another chance.

“That’s all I wanted, you know,” you tell him, the both of you on the floor, leaning against Shiro and Kuro as they sleep. Batman’s made himself comfortable on the couch, occasionally using his vantage point to lick you right in the face. “You, being honest. You didn’t have to tell me about your parents, y’know, if you didn’t want to. But just…”

“I know that now,” he murmurs sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Really. But I’m trying to get over the whole self-sabotage thing. Trying to… try. In general. With people.”

And he means it. Because the only time Megumi has ever lied to you was the day he told you he didn’t want this, and you knew even then that it wasn’t true. He might try to be all stoic and poker-faced, but he’s not a very good liar. You smile. “That’s a good start.”

You’re facing each other, knees touching, and you reach out, hand palm-up between you. He glances at you before he makes any move, like he’s asking—are you sure? But then he laces his fingers through yours. His hands are way bigger than yours, fingers folding over your own, warm and encompassing. Something about it feels very right.

“So I was wondering,” he starts, and this new side of him that is so hesitant but also hopeful is maybe the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen. You squeeze his hand a little, and that seems to embolden him enough to ask whatever it is waiting on the tip of his tongue. “Uh, would you… want to meet my housemates?”

—

“They’re crazy,” Megumi says, standing outside his house with you the next day. “I mean it. I don’t know how to prepare you for—”

“Megumi,” you cut him off, laughing. “No disclaimers. I’m friends with Riko, remember?” This actually seems to be an effective argument, because he smiles a little, putting his hand on the door.

“Yeah, okay. That’s fair.”

You are tackled the second you cross the threshold.

“Hi!” someone practically shouts in your ear, full-on bear-hugging you as you stumble back, laughing.

“Oh my god,” Megumi groans. “Itadori—”

“Sorry!” he yelps, pulling back and awkwardly offering a hand like he didn’t just squeeze the living daylights out of you. “I’m Yuji. Kugisaki’s told me all about you and Fushiguro said—”

“Itadori,” he says again. You immediately understand what Megumi meant. This boy is legitimately no different than the two dogs who have come to crowd around your legs. Actually, Shiro and Kuro have greeted you significantly more calmly than Yuji has. It’d be difficult not to like him, you think.

“No, you’re fine,” you laugh him off, using the handshake to pull him back in. “You’re fun. I like you.” Yuji grins victoriously at Megumi and lets you go, and you finally move out of the entryway and into the familiar living space.

“Ino,” you say, pointing at the boy in a beanie, and then shift to the girl crouched in front of the TV, rummaging through a bunch of games. “Kirara.”

The conspiratorial smirk Kirara gives you—along with the way the Wii games are scattered all around her like a personal hurricane—makes you think she might not actually be the long-suffering order in a house full of chaos. More likely, she and Ino and Yuji are only kept in check by Megumi’s neat freak tendencies and blunt nature.

“Hey.” Ino grins. “Okay, I gotta ask, is your dog actually named Batman? Because that’s awesome.”

“She’s been here for two seconds,” Megumi chides, but you nod happily. You are very proud of your dog’s stupid name.

“Well, I approve,” Ino shrugs, patting the space next to him on the couch.

And it feels natural, the way you fall into place with the rest of them. For all Megumi pretends they drive him insane, it’s obvious he loves his friends, and he seems relaxed around them even as you waste away the afternoon chatting and arguing and getting your ass kicked in Mario Kart (specifically by Kirara, whose undefeated record pisses off all the boys but makes you even fonder of her).

By the time night falls, you feel like you’ve been friends with all of them for years. You learn all about the band—Megumi didn’t tell you that they won the Battle of the Bands, which you plan to give him shit for later. They ask you about your school and friends and seem to actually, genuinely want to meet them.

You go home for Christmas, getting your annual few rare days of quality family time, but Megumi sends you photos from Gojo’s with Tsumiki and the dogs. You respond with a picture of Batman in a Santa hat.

megumi: they really want to meet you when you get back. if you want.

A smile splits across your face before you can stop it. Because this is exactly what you wanted—for Megumi to want you to meet his family, to know that part of his life.

“What are you smiling about?” your dad asks from the couch, and your blush must be answer enough, because he turns to your mom with a raised brow and mouths boy. You shove your phone in your pocket. You weren’t prepared for the interrogation, but it’s too late now.

The thing is, if your family had asked you if you were seeing anyone even last week, you’d have nothing to say. And maybe you shouldn’t dump all this information on them when it’s still so fresh, so new.

But something tells you this is going to last. He wants you to meet Tsumiki, to meet Gojo. You won’t keep him from your family if he doesn’t keep you from his. Plus, your parents leave on another trip in two days. You’re not sure when else you’ll get the chance to tell them this in person.

“So,” you say, before they can start grilling you. “His name is Megumi.”

—

There are prints in the snow.

It feels uncannily familiar, walking your usual path with Batman and seeing the two sets of paw prints and accompanying boots. You place your own footsteps in their wake, laughing at how they dwarf your own shoe size.

You aren’t supposed to see Megumi until he picks you up to go to Gojo’s tonight, but it seems fate—or Batman—has other ideas.

You let him drag you all the way to a big, snowy clearing, where you see your boyfriend and Kuro standing in the snow. It takes you a whole five seconds longer to make out Shiro, who basically blends right into the landscape.

The dogs, per usual, see you first, and Megumi turns at their excited noises to see you. He wastes no time setting off across the field toward you, and you grin, meeting him in the middle.

“So is this a coincidence, or is someone following me?” he asks, meeting you at eye-level as you crouch to greet the dogs. Batman basically shoves his nose in Megumi’s face in response.

“Snowprints,” you say, gesturing to the trail behind you. “Seems to be a theme.” Behind the wall of Kuro’s dark fur, you plant your hands in the snow, letting a mischievous smile grow on your lips. “Anyway, I’m glad I ran into you, because—”

You throw a massive snowball right at Megumi’s face.

“Oh,” he says, swiping a gloved hand across his eyes but leaving flakes of white stuck in his brows, on his lashes. “You’ve done it now.”

“Protect me,” you whisper to Kuro, and then you run.

All-out war. The dogs are thrilled at every snowball that misses its mark, all of them leaping to catch the wayward projectiles in the air, and you and Megumi chase each other and trip over the snow and wind up in a big, snow-covered mess on the ground, staring up at a shockingly bright afternoon sky.

You can barely breathe, you’re laughing so hard. “You’re crazy,” you pant, pushing yourself up onto your elbows, then your palms. An absolute mess of snowprints—his, yours, Shiro’s, Kuro’s, Batman’s—cross over each other in the snow, revealing patches of browning grass here and there, showing the signs of your battle. “Aw, hey. It looks like a giant heart.”

“Sap,” Megumi snorts.

“Buzzkill.”

“Instigator.”

“Oh, yeah?” You grab a fistful of snow and put it right on his head, letting it melt into his tousled, snow-streaked hair. “Well, I’ll instigate, then.”

He laughs, shaking his hair out like a dog, and tackles you back into the snow. “Then I’ll instigate something else.”

You’re so cold you can barely feel half your face, but it doesn’t matter. Not when he kisses you like this.

—

The first thing you think when Satoru Gojo opens the door is damn, he’s tall.

The second is holy shit, those are the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

“Gumi!” he shouts, enveloping him in a very one-sided hug.

The third thing? Yeah, you like him.

“Gojo,” Megumi grumbles, half-heartedly pushing him away, but the fondness of the interaction doesn’t escape you.

“And I’ve heard all about you,” Gojo grins, pulling you into a hug as well—you don’t hesitate to hug him back, because now you know exactly what this man has done for Megumi and Tsumiki. And he’s important to Megumi, so he’s important to you.

Megumi telling you about his childhood and Gojo was one thing, but him actually wanting you to meet his family is another. You feel warm all over as Gojo ushers you into the apartment, where Tsumiki is already busy making dinner. She nearly drops the pan in her hands at the sight of you. “Hi!”

“You all hug so much,” Megumi says flatly when she hugs you too, and she just grins and forces him into an embrace as well.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Shut up.”

“Love you too.”

“So,” Tsumiki says, turning back to the stove and insisting you sit down and make yourself at home when you offer to help. “Tell me about you.” Instead, she enlists Megumi to be her kitchen assistant, and you aren’t sure why it’s so surprising that he knows how to cook, but it is.

The four of you talk about school and the dogs (who are at home with Suko, now that she’s finally back from Japan) and your families and friends, and you can see Megumi growing more comfortable as the night goes on, once he’s sure that Gojo isn’t about to whip out a bunch of embarrassing pictures of him as a kid or tell you all his darkest secrets. Tsumiki is sweet and you take a liking to her immediately, talking all about her job running the campus paper. Gojo tells you about the bar he works at, about his college friends who founded it.

“Do you have to work tomorrow, then?” you ask between bites of the best meatballs you’ve ever had.

Gojo shrugs. “Yeah. But if I wasn’t, I’d be hanging out with all the same people I work with, anyway. Not so bad, huh?”

“We’re actually probably going to swing by the bar tomorrow,” Megumi says, avoiding Gojo’s gaze in favor of looking at you. Gojo lights up. It’s endearing, how excited he is at the prospect of seeing all of Megumi’s friends. “You coming?” Megumi asks Tsumiki.

“To the bar or the house party?”

“Both,” Megumi shrugs.

“Only if you are,” she says not to Megumi but to you, teasingly.

“Yeah, I gotta meet the rest of his friends. All of Nobara’s housemates.”

“Oh, I love them!” Tsumiki says. “Mm, you’ll get along with Yuta. I mean, everyone does. Oh god, and Toge. And S—yeah, okay, all of them, actually. Have you met our cousin Maki?”

“No, but they all sound great,” you say honestly.

“They are!” Gojo says loudly. “They can give you so much dirt on Megumi.” Megumi glares at him with a complete lack of heat.

“You and my friend Riko would get along,” you say, but as soon as you say it you’re not sure it’s true. Either they would immediately gang up on Megumi and make his life a living hell, or Riko would have the same dynamic with Gojo and they would argue until somebody threw a punch.

Megumi stares at you incredulously. “They can never meet. Ever.”

Except they do, because you bring Riko to the bar the following night. You feel like this might have been a dire miscalculation, because not only does this mean she’s meeting Gojo, but it means she’s meeting Nobara’s housemate who, in her words, is a kindred “chaos goblin.” This means that they’re both comm majors with too much time on their hands and they make it everyone else’s problem.

Toge Inumaki is the very possibly the only person you’ve ever met who can match Riko in terms of sheer chaos. It is terrifying. They’ve known each other for a grand total of five minutes before they’re planning a full-on bracketed Just Dance tournament with Rasputin as the final battle.

“You’re insane,” you tell Riko fondly, and she grins at you.

“I think we’re brushing over the fact that you think Rasputin is the hardest one on there,” Gojo says, leaning over the bar incredulously.

“What, you think your old man knees can handle it?” Riko asks shamelessly, and you excuse yourself as they launch into bickering worthy of siblings.

But nothing explodes, and you meet Shoko and Geto and Utahime and Nanami, and all of Nobara’s housemates, including Megumi’s cousin. She’s very no-nonsense in a way that you appreciate, and after you shit-talk Naoya with her, you feel like you’re probably going to be very good friends.

It’s well past eleven by the time you all get back to Megumi’s place, leaving Gojo to ring in the new year with his own friends. Someone puts the ball drop on the TV in the living room and you all scatter across the space, a swell of conversation and laughter as midnight inches closer.

It’s like this:

A living room full of your friends and his, laughing and smiling and teasing and playing Just Dance really aggressively (but that’s just Toge and Riko, really). Megumi’s knee pressed against yours as Tsumiki forces him to smile for a picture with you. Nobara throwing her arms around you, insisting you settle a debate between her and Yuta about the superior shape of pasta noodle. Sneaking off to Megumi’s room while Yuji is distracted, stealing kisses in the dark. Listening to his whispered commentary in your ear as the drinks and sleep deprivation start hitting Toge and Yuta and they get existential on the floor. Suko telling everyone all about Japan and the occult club she started at her university there. Yuji being way too into the idea of starting one between JU and Kaisen, launching animatedly into a discussion of all his favorite conspiracy theories.

Five minutes to midnight, Kirara pops open a bottle of champagne and passes you a glass, and you wave it in front of Megumi teasingly.

“What, you wanna toast to something?” he teases, leaning in toward you. “You gonna say to us? That’s pretty Hallmark movie of you.”

You hum, swirling the glass, lifting your gaze to meet his. “To trying,” you say. “And also vigilantism?”

And there’s his laugh, better than the ball drop, the streamers, the disco ball that came from god knows where in the corner. “I can get behind that,” he says, clinking his glass against yours. “To your superhero dog,” he says, leaning in closer. “And his pretty cool sidekick.” He kisses you as the countdown hits one, and you’re laughing against his lips, savoring the warmth of his hand on the back of your neck.

When he pulls away, it’s only by centimeters, just enough for him to lock eyes with you. “And,” he breathes against your lips, “to trying.”

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a/n: sorry this took like twenty years and it's SO LONG. heh. i'm incapable of short-form content. it was fun to write though. let me know what you thought, and be sure to pop over to out of my mind (and, if you're curious about naoya's ex, greta's sukuna spinoff, if you are NOT a minor)! thanks loves :)