#i love shading things without thinking about light sources and just doing whatever the fuck

[chalkrub]

ode to the drowned rat. who’s hiding under there??

[12pt-times-new-roman]

*Finding Nemo seagull voice* lore? lore? lore?

Is... is Ira using pieces of the gnarlrock as light sources for plants? What? "Ira warned us they have an immediate proximity issue... just said it wasn't healthy." And Ira can handle them. He's the one who brought them here. Definitely makes me think that the gnarlrock is one of those things that's just pure power — it can be used for good or bad, but it isn't inherently either, it's just powerful.

Also makes me think that one of the conceits of this campaign is that a neutral perspective is an assumption of the world.

Fearne is half elven! Ollie is a blond elf with a Scottish accent. The only other elves we know of that have this accent are the elves of Uthodurn, but it's implied that Ollie is from the Feywild originally (and is therefore an eladrin, maybe?).

Treshi is (allegedly) the one who instructed Ira's experimentation and the subjects of said experimentation. From what we know right now, I would argue that Ira is just as chaotic neutral as Chetney is.

The machine that Ollie, Birdie, and Ira are building is called the "veil scatter-scope," and it can see things for dozens of miles around like a goddamn periscope. Even without the lens from Morri, it can see leylines, and they look like auroras. When the telescope looks at Ruidus, "it's almost like your thoughts seem to wander when you focus too hard on it." The telescope could see many things, but not Ruidus — until now.

"I don't know how much your mother's told you... we've been trying to figure out this dubious lunar nightmare since it showed up back home. You were touched by its flare... several years later, it just showed up in one of the shaded regions. Now, you were too young to really tell much about this, but I have from my mother what she calls the squint — I get little glimpses of possibilities when I'm in danger, little flashes of choices and I pick the better one. It's like a faint oracle touch, whatever you wanna call it... usually just teases, flashes, enough to get out of trouble. But when I saw that red moon invading our sky, I had more than a squint, it was a full vision. I saw the red light of that moon widen like a hungry mist, decaying the life and green from out homeland, leaving dust and dull red light in its wake... I saw our home crumble, I saw what was Birdie's silhouette standing in the center of the light unmoving, reaching for it before it caught us all. But looking at you now, I'm not sure it was her silhouette... we knew we had to do something."

*drunkposting starts here*

After Ollie sought help from the Seelie Court, they were threatened by the Unseelie, and he and Birdie followed them back to the Unseelie Court. There, they discovered that the Unseelie had put up an illusion to hide the moon from the rest of the Feywild, and we know the rest of the story from Birdie.

Morrigan is also known as "the Fate-Stitcher." what??

The parallels to EXU:C are really stacking up.

Hondir believes that Imogen is Ruidus-born

Both Otohan and the other gray-haired elven man — who wore grey and blue robes — are Ruidus-born.

"Time's been ticking down for years now, leading in this direction."

Ira is fucking fascinating, and I love his character in a really fucked up way.

"I had grown weary of such post-war times... between a wild that bored me and a world that forgot me, I was restless... yes, I've done merry an impulsive and selfish thing, but it seemed interesting enough to pursue." Very fey, and very very similar to Artagan. "You don't have to trust me, but if you stop me, what do you learn? You don't have to trust me... just let me work."

Oh my god, three-way date with Ira, Ashton, and Laudna? I thought I had my ships set in stone for this campaign, but..... if someone writes this, please tag me

The Moontide Crown is "partially metal, partially immaterial crystal," and it does some "pretty interesting things" when you put it on, like increasing darkvision range, giving truesight, giving "magics I'd never felt before," and having a "strong connection to the skies above, I could draw magics from the moon — both of them."

When Birdie and Ollie left Fearne, she was "still a young girl, but not that [14] young." To which Ira notes that "well, you left her with Morri. She is a collector of things. If she knew she had limited time, she might've stretched it for all it's worth. It wouldn't be the first time."

So in theory, Fearne was born in 823 PD, if my drunk math doesn't deceive me.

Morrigan is 12-13 feet tall?? what the fuck???

"What was Morri like before Fearne?" "Like us, one of those outlier fey, a collector of sorts... she plays guardian to one of her own fanes, a place of power, and she does favors for those who ask in exchange for things to add to her collection... she's what you would call crone. She has no coven, she's a strange one in her own right. She's been around for as long as I have... it seemed to work out okay, there could've been worse choices [to take care of Fearne, pointing towards Ira]."

??????

"Ira, you said that she would make this for us, right? Right?"

So Fearne was what Ollie and Birdie gave in exchange for Morri creating the final component of their telescope.

Huh.

Wild.

Fey.

(definitely not me, looking at this discordant morality between fey and mortal as if it's the same as the incongruent morality between Betrayers and mortals in EXU:C.)

"Ira, what are we building?"

"As you glance through, you see before you the green sheen before what us almost a dark, universal sky speckled with stars, And there in the center, is the lightly muddied red of Ruidus, a familiar sight... but there's something you've never seen before around it. There is a shape that encompasses it, clear as day, like a field of energy, like something that encapsulates it. Not unlike some of the magical forcefields and such you've learned to generate, and it has a texture, like a lattice weave, an extremely powerful gathering of different magical threads that crate this textured weave that seals it off entirely... it looks more like like a cage. It's strong, distinct, something you've never seen before, unlike anything you've ever seen..."

"It's a prison."

"What do you see?"

"I see a god that can't get out. Am I right?"

"It's my first time hearing of it..." [Make an insight check. [16.] Hard to read... [24]... 'an imprisoned god, you say? Interesting...'"

"Any breaks in the weave, any flaws? [Natural 1.] Focused on this, it's still a fresh sight... as you look through it, the sense of a headache that was mentioned before never takes root... and you swear, you swear there's something you're missing."

Orym?

NATURAL 20 FOR A 27

"Glancing in, he adjusts some of the elements..." "As you focus in, you see the same lattice shape, you blink a bit... roll a religion check for me. [8] While the nature of this field that contains the red moon evades you, your eyes catch a glint in the middle of the red storm as the device is scanning past the front of it, and it's moving away from it... As the telescope pushes past the layer of lattice-like energy, the storm is clearer than its ever been. [Imogen] sees it part for just a moment, and there's a city."

nooooooooo I'm too drunk to process this fully, what the fuck

Cognouza? Avalir? the Ars ward of Aeor that we've never seen before? who fucking knows???

[text break]

Tharizdun enthusiasts, how we doin'?

I will expand upon this tomorrow when I collect my thoughts

[handy-dandy-monster-candy]

Inyez

Rating: NSFW Length: 5331 Pairing: Male Bat Creature x Male Reader (both cis)

xxx

Winter comes early up in the mountains, but I'm used to that. I like to sit by my living room windows and look down into the valley where I work, enjoying the way the city lights give the snow a warm glow. I figure myself lucky; I come from a happy family, I have a good career in a field I love, and I've managed to make a home out of the old observatory that sits like a squat little guardian at the top of a hill twenty minutes from the city.

My job gives me incredibly flexible hours, so I work whenever I'm awake and sleep whenever I want to. I've ended up with a mostly vespertine sleep schedule, which means I get to watch the sunset while I break for lunch. I'm a workaholic, though, so this "break" usually means that I step away from active work and focus on replying to emails from clients or looking up resources and reference images for my latest project as the sun goes down, and this time is no different.

I don't even notice the dark settling around me until I realise that I've been squinting at my laptop for the past half hour, and by then, the only source of light is its screen. I have outdoor lights, sure, and there's a street lamp or two on the way up the hill, but they amount to nothing unless they're on or nearby. I sigh and close my laptop to give my eyes a break, waiting for my vision to adjust properly to the lack of light around me.

I'm just contemplating making myself another cup of coffee when the window beside me explodes, and I have no qualms with admitting that despite being over six feet tall, I scream like a frightened squirrel. Instinct takes over and I find myself taking shelter behind my chair, waiting for the glass to settle before I risk peering around it. Adrenaline has made my vision sharper faster, but there's only so much I can make out in the darkness. I know I heard something heavy hit the floor after the crash, but nothing moves in the shadows, so I take the risk and scuttle over to the nearest switch plate to flick the lights on.

There's blood on what's left of the window and the scattered glass, and wide smears of it left in skid marks across the floorboards. Whatever has bled on my flooring is crumpled halfway behind my couch between me and my kitchen, cutting me off from any makeshift weapons I could use to defend myself. I creep around the other end of the couch with all the exaggerated stealth of a cartoon cat burglar, getting my first real look at the thing. It's dark and huge—about the size of a very large dog, at least—and even as my fingers grope for something to defend myself with, I don't take my eyes off of it for a second.

I approach the wounded creature with a skillet in one hand and a broom in the other, using the broom handle to prod gingerly at the thing that seems to be bleeding out on my living room floor. The first few pokes don't garner any reactions from the beast, and so I grow bolder, sending a silent prayer up to whatever gods might be listening that the thing doesn't have rabies or worse. I feel myself grimace as I lift one large, leathery wing to see more of the creature, only to snatch the broom handle back and away.

Whatever it was was awake, and it had been staring right at me with large, luminous eyes.

It takes me several seconds to work up the courage to repeat the action, and only then do I notice that those eyes are dazed and unfocused, shock settling in as blood dribbles down along its flat face. The creature murmurs when I prod it again—nothing I understand, but definitely something meant to be words—and that's when I realise that the thing on my floor is not a what, but a who. I swear and pace in my kitchen while keeping the thing well within sight at all times, but eventually my conscience wins out; I can't just let them bleed to death in front of me. Even knowing this, I know I don’t have the skills for what I need to do, so I pull an earpiece on and dial my cousin on my cell phone, grimacing when I glance at the time on my oven.

The phone rings a few times before there’s a shuffling on the other end, and then her groggy voice mumbles, “Hello?”

“Hey, Maraia,” I say, taking my first aid kit from beneath my sink and slipping a chef’s knife into my belt just in case. “I need your help.”

“Cuz? Do you know what time it is? I just got to bed an hour ago!”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. It’s an emergency.”

I hear more shuffling, and then Maraia’s voice is much more alert. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“Some sort of bat crashed through my window,” I say, hurrying over with my first aid kit and kneeling in the blood beside the lump on my floor. “It’s hurt real bad. Blood everywhere. It won’t make it to the vet if I don’t do something now.”

“You’re treating a wild animal?!”

“Maraia. It’s dying!”

“Fuck,” my cousin mutters, slipping back into her role as an ER nurse. “You owe me. Okay, tell me what you see.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, and try to turn off my anxiety as I listen to her expertise. First and foremost, I rush to apply pressure to a particularly ugly wound on the creature’s pelvis and thigh, cleaning and bandaging it up as best as I can once I’ve stopped the majority of the bleeding. This is about when I bump into the creature's, er, fiddly bits, barely hidden by a thick patch of fur. I work around them as I wrap him up in long bandages.

Per Maraia’s guidance, I check the creature's eyes and find wide, fixed pupils that indicate significant head trauma; it doesn't seem like he can see me, or even sense that I'm here. Still, I speak softly to him as I work, carefully picking glass and small twigs from open wounds and doing my best to clean and close them with a combination of butterfly closures and careful stitches. He whimpers and whines very softly when the discomfort is too great, but for the most part he hardly makes any sound at all, which Maraia and I agree is more worrying than if the creature were screeching and struggling with all his might.

Finally, after what feels like hours, I sit back on my legs with a sigh, certain that I’ve gotten to every wound that there is to be found. “I don’t think I can move it,” I say to Maraia, wiping my shaking hands clean with antibacterial wipes. “Not without popping something open.”

“You can’t keep it there with you,” she replies, using the same stern, reasonable tone that she uses on her children and patients. “Bats have rabies. What if it bites you?”

“I don’t think it can. I don’t even know if it will survive the night. For all I know, it’s haemorrhaging somewhere and this will all be for nothing.”

“All the more reason for you to take it to a vet! They can treat it there, maybe put it down if they have to. Whatever they decide will be better than what you can do at home.”

“I know,” I murmur, packing away my supplies. “Thanks, Raia. I’ll take care of it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Maraia sighs, and I can hear her exhaustion creeping back into her voice when she says, “Alright. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will. Sorry for waking you.”

“Oh, bull,” Maraia scoffs. “You were scared and came to me. That’s a good thing. Love you, kiddo.”

I can’t help but smile, despite my weariness. “Love you, too,” I say, and hang up once we’ve said our goodbyes. It would be cruel to leave this poor creature on my living room floor, so I haul my inflatable mattress out of storage and set it up in my bedroom, grateful for the large amount of floor space in the converted observatory. I check on my guest several times during the time it takes the bed to inflate, and then I carry him into my bedroom, careful not to jostle him too much when I place him on the air mattress.

I watch the shallow rise and fall of the creature’s chest for a moment before I look up into his elongated face, taking in his small, black, dog-like nose and the sharp teeth that I can see peeking out from behind parted lips. Two large, velvety ears poke up from the thick fur on his head, motionless in his unconsciousness.

From what I can tell, whatever this creature is appears to be around four feet tall, with long curled toes on each slender, delicate foot and sharp claws on the tips of his hairless fingers. He's barrel-chested from the musculature needed to support both arms and wings, with a slightly narrower waist and wide hips that lead to lithe, muscular legs. The majority of his body is covered in a short, dense layer of dark russet fur over deep brown skin, perhaps a shade or two darker than mine.

Whatever he is, I've read enough books and watched enough movies to know with certainty that I can't take him anywhere—not without possibly endangering him further. The last thing I want is this creature ending up dissected in a lab somewhere, or worse. I scrub my hands over my face and get up to go clean my living room, taking one last glance at the creature in my bedroom before closing the door behind me as quietly as I can.

The first night is harrowing. Batty—as I've taken to calling my guest in my head—has his first of three seizures shortly after I finish taping garbage bags over the hole in my window. I drop the duct tape and run to him when he lets out an unearthly wail, all of the air in his lungs being forced out by seizing muscles. There's nothing I can do but make sure that he doesn't hurt himself further, sitting vigil beside him until his convulsions die down and praying that he'll still draw breath when they're over.

He's unconscious for the entirety of the next day, so thoroughly insensate that I risk calling out a repairman to replace the broken window so that the cold stops seeping in. Other than supervising the appointment, I hardly dare to leave Batty's side, taking my laptop into my bedroom to do as much work there as I possibly can. I clean him up when he messes himself in his sleep, though I worry about him dying of dehydration. To prevent this, I pulse ice cubes in my blender and carefully feed him ice chips at first, being mindful of his body temperature by keeping him thoroughly bundled in blankets.

By the third day, Batty makes as if to swallow, and I drip water into his mouth in an effort to keep him hydrated. I don't know what he eats, so I climb into my car and make the drive into the city, buying a variety of potted baby foods with what I'm sure is a wild look in my eyes that keeps the cashier from attempting any small talk with me. I make it back to the observatory in record time, and though Batty doesn't stir when I waft different foods under his nose, I still manage to coax him into swallowing mixtures of meat and vegetables.

He runs a temperature that night, and I spend most of the early morning hours before dawn wiping him down with a cool cloth and stroking my fingers along his brow when he starts to shiver and mumble in his sleep. His fever finally breaks the following afternoon, and in the fading light of sunset, his eyes crack open. He's still exhausted and disoriented, though, so he only blinks sluggishly at me when I ask him gentle questions, eventually fading back into unconsciousness again. I figure it's progress.

Batty recovers slowly. For a long time, I only hear his voice when he mumbles in his sleep or when he whimpers as I tend to his wounds. Eventually, he begins to communicate with me using little humming noises, or he summons me from other parts of the house with plaintive chirps that break my heart. I carry him into the bathroom and find that he's fascinated by the toilet after startling at the sound of the first flush, though that's nothing compared to his awe when I decide to show off the shower. He's visibly disappointed when I deny his peeping requests to be carried under its spray, but he seems to understand when I explain that we should wait for his stitches to come out.

He gets a little stronger every day. After a couple of weeks, he's able to sit up for short periods of time as long as he's propped up with pillows. He holds his water bottle by himself a few days after that. Eating still takes more coordination than he's capable of, at least when it comes to utensils, but he's happy enough to nibble at the fruits I cut up for him. I take him out to the living room with me when he’s well enough, and there I play nature documentaries for him and keep him warm as the snow falls outside. He stares at the television in reverent silence when the voice of David Attenborough warbles through my speakers, and he spends the majority of the day curled around a couch cushion in a nest of blankets.

I learn that he’s as omnivorous as I’d hoped he’d be, and so I go to the store and get him a few different meats. I cook them with little to no seasoning at first, feeding him like one would a dog, but it isn’t long before he begins showing interest in my own meals, too. This urges me to start buying healthier food for myself; I figure that if I wouldn’t feed it to Batty for fear of his health, I probably shouldn’t be eating it, either. That doesn’t stop me from indulging in the odd treat, and his face when he tastes my favourite soft drink is priceless before he spits it out in shock, smacking his lips and looking at the bottle as though it’s bitten him.

“What?” I chuckle, taking the bottle from his hands and offering him a cloth. “Don’t like the fizz?”

“‘Fizz’?” Batty echoes, and I nearly drop the bottle before I can get the cap on.

“You can talk?” I ask, and I feel my eyes widen when he nods. “All this time?”

Batty hesitantly shakes his head, claws gently scratching at the cloth on his lap. “Don’t know,” he slowly replies, brows furrowing over his big, dark eyes. “I remember some. It’s hard.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, reaching out to stroke between his ears in a way I’ve learned soothes him. “You took a bad blow to the head. I’m sorry that I couldn’t take you to someone who could treat you better. I didn’t want someone bad getting their hands on you.”

Batty nods his understanding, sighing deeply and nosing up into my palm to guide my hand along his muzzle. “Wanted to say all this time,” he murmurs, his soft, fluting voice growing weaker. “Thank you.”

I smile; my heart warms. “I’m just glad that you’re okay. I’ll take care of you for as long as it takes. Do you have a name?”

He frowns again, briefly closing his eyes. “Inyez.”

“Inyez,” I murmur, testing the name in my mouth and finding it fitting. I introduce myself in turn.

Inyez’s face relaxes into a small, sleepy smile. He echoes my name, and doesn’t resist when I tuck him back under the covers.

“Rest,” I whisper, brushing my fingertips between Inyez’s eyes. They flutter closed and don’t open again as he lets exhaustion pull him under, and I turn down the lights to let him fall asleep to the sound of whale song.

Once I know that Inyez can speak with me, I go a little bonkers with the need to provide enrichment for my guest. It’s been a while since I’ve had the company with which to play games, so I’m at once overwhelmed and exhilarated when I stand in front of the tabletop game section of the city mall’s toy store. I grab classics like Jenga and Parcheesi, but I also pick up games like Tokaido, Wingspan, and Betrayal at House on the Hill. Inyez fawns over the beautiful illustrations and pretty trinkets needed to play each of the games, and he’s held rapt by the game mechanics and advancements.

I can’t help but mirror his delighted smiles, watching him delicately place tokens on the boards with his slender fingers. The furrow in his brow as he puts together jigsaw puzzles is incredibly endearing, and he’s quick to summon me from where I’m working to show me his accomplishments. “Come!” he cries. “Hurry, come see!” My name on his tongue is the sweetest sound to my ears, and I look forward to hearing it in that cheerful tone throughout the day.

I buy an extension for the desk in my office and give Inyez his own space while I work, though more often than not, he ends up watching my monitors at my elbow, marveling at my work and asking countless questions. At his urging, I show him my digital portfolio, where I have most of my character designs, logos, and even a few structural blueprints and landscapes.

“Where is this?” he asks, hardly daring to tap my monitor screen with a claw.

“Nowhere,” I say, enlarging the image so that he can drink in the details. “Nowhere real, anyway. It’s a fantasy world.”

Inyez frowns. “A fantasy world? But it looks so real.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Well, I specialise in realism. There’s a lot of research that goes into it.”

Inyez doesn’t look entirely mollified by this response, but he subsides for the most part, only murmuring, “You even got the horns right.”

I turn my head to look down at him where he’s resting his cheek against my arm. “The dragon’s?”

“Yes.”

I can’t hold back my surprise. “There are dragons? They’re real?”

Inyez looks up at me, and I briefly get lost in his eyes. “Of course they are. They’re rare, though. Rarer than most everything else.”

“Rarer than you?”

Inyez bares his tiny sharp teeth at me in a cheeky little grin. “No. I’m one of a kind.”

I laugh, helplessly charmed. “That you are. Maybe I’ll draw you sometime.”

Inyez’s mouth drops open, eyes growing wider until I can just about see the whites. “Would you really? Me?”

“Why not?” I pull up a new canvas on my illustration programme, sketching up a quick little scene from the memory of looking down into his upturned face. He gasps softly at my side and shifts to cling to my shirt, murmuring in his strange language and making soft little cooing noises as I add colour and detail.

“Do I really look like that?” he breathes, looking from my face to the screen and back.

“Mhm.” I zoom in on the eyes, adding depth and highlights before moving to adjust the shape and fullness of the lips. Inyez goes very quiet for a few minutes as he watches the portrait come to life, only stirring to place his hand at the crook of my elbow to call my attention back to him. “What is it?”

“Do you really think I am so lovely?” asks Inyez, voice very soft and gaze shy.

I’m grateful for my dark skin as I feel warmth creep up into my face. “I do. You’re very beautiful.”

Inyez scoffs, but I can tell that he’s flustered. “You’ve only met one of us. Who are you to say that?”

“Sometimes one is enough,” I murmur, gently stroking Inyez’s small chin with a crooked finger. He makes an odd little twittering noise and hides behind his wings, and I feel my heart flutter wildly in my chest. I'm falling for this creature, I realise, and I can't bring myself to care; as far as I'm concerned, Inyez is the best thing to happen to me in a long time.

“Where do you go when you get into that terrible thing?” Inyez murmurs some nights later when we’re cuddled on the couch, his head on a pillow in my lap and my fingers gently stroking his head.

“In the car? To the city, mostly. To get food and toilet paper and other supplies.”

Inyez shifts to look up at me, confused. “You get food in that noisy place?”

I nod, brushing my hand along his cheek. “Everything we’ve eaten here, I’ve bought there.”

“But it doesn’t smell.”

“Smell?”

“The city. It smells, but the food doesn’t.”

I feel myself frown in thought. “Probably because a lot of it is washed and kept in clean places, or in airtight packaging.”

“I smell,” Inyez mumbles unhappily, tucking himself up in his wings. “When may I wash?”

I hum thoughtfully, rubbing one of his velvety ears between my fingers in a way that he likes. “Probably tonight, if we’re careful. If you really feel that bad.”

“I do.” Big, dark eyes look up from my lap, beseeching. “I don’t want to smell anymore. I want to be clean.”

“Alright,” I say, shifting to gather him up in my arms and carry him to the bathroom. “As long as we don’t scrub too hard or get your wounds too wet. I’ll still need to clean and redress them after we’re done.”

“You’ll wash me?” asks Inyez, a note of excitement in his voice. “Like lovers do! Could we be lovers?”

I can’t help but laugh, startled at the sudden change in conversation; I distract myself by fiddling with the shower controls. “We could be,” I reasonably reply, “if we both felt the same about one another.”

“Then we can,” says Inyez as he slips under the spray, cooing softly at the water’s warmth. “You think I’m lovely, and I think you’re lovely, too. It’s really that simple.”

“Is it?” I ask, dubious, even as I pull my clothing off and over my head to join him.

“Why does it have to be complicated? Is it more for humans? Is it not enough to feel safe and happy and goodness when I look at you? It’s like my heart has bitten a big, juicy apricot—it’s full of sweetness and the juice is overflowing!”

“A heart-apricot?” I chuckle, shaking my head at the silliness of the comparison. “Well, I’ll try to find you an apricot next time I’m in town.”

“Would you?” asks Inyez, burrowing against my chest and sighing. “I’d like that. I like you. Can that be enough?”

I run my hands carefully between his wings, earning myself a sleepy little burble. “I think it can.” I curb my enthusiastic reaction to this new turn of events and focus on gently cleaning Inyez’s fur to his satisfaction, and then I blow dry him until he’s warm and redress his wounds. By the time I carry him to bed—my bed, our bed—he’s limp as a noodle and snoring softly in his exhaustion, and I take great pleasure in tucking him in so that he’s safe and sound.

The next morning, I am kissed awake. That night, we kiss until we drift to sleep. Kisses and affection make up the bulk of my ‘duties’ as Inyez’s lover, and I take to the task of keeping him satisfied with relish. For his part, Inyez is content to groom me seemingly at random, running his small, clawed fingers delicately through my hair and humming to himself as he does so. I get a little less work done, but I don’t mind it if it’s to see Inyez so pleased with himself when he’s decided I’m primped to perfection.

It’s another couple of days before I give Inyez the all-clear to fly after his injuries have healed for a couple of months. We have to wait until nightfall until he takes to the air, but then he’s a dark blur against a darkening sky until I cannot see him at all. It makes me breathless when I realise that he’s lost to the night—what if, I think, he decides right then that he prefers the night and its freedoms to me? What if he misses his family, his friends, his former life. When he lands in front of me, panting and exhilarated and beautiful, I wrap him into my arms and crush him to my chest, burying my face against the side of his neck.

“What’s happened?” he asks, petting fretfully at my face and hair. “What’s wrong? Did you think I’d not come back?”

“Yes,” I say, and the word chokes me, making me realise that I’m crying.

“Oh, sweet one,” Inyez coos, wrapping me in his wings as best as he can. “I would never. Why would I? I am fed and loved and pampered, and you are a very good snuggler. You don’t even have fur, but you are very warm! Why would I leave, mm? Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” I laugh damply. “Missing your family. Your friends.”

“I’ll visit my family when my body is stronger,” Inyez tells me, tutting softly and nosing at my ear. “They deserve to know where I am, and they can come and visit us when the spring comes. They’ll be jealous of my roost and my mate.”

“Am I that?” I ask, sniffling and pulling away to look down into Inyez’s eyes. Inyez turns his face away, however, and I recognise that he is shy.

“You could be,” he murmurs, “but it’s not official yet. To do that, we have to—well, have sex. Hopefully more than once.”

“Do you want to?” I ask him, stroking between his wings so that they relax and rustle softly.

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” Inyez says all in a gust, looking up at me plaintively. “I’ve been wanting to have sex with you for days. Weeks, maybe.”

I can’t help but laugh again. “You could have asked.”

“I could have.” Inyez pouts. “You would have said no, because of my wounds. You treat me like I’m fragile.”

“You are fragile, in comparison. But you’re right, I would have denied you. Now I won’t. So, ask.”

Big eyes blink up at me from that small, furry face, hopeful to their core. “Really? You’ll be my mate?”

I can feel myself grinning. “I’ll be your mate.”

Inyez wriggles against me, clutching at my clothing with a sudden fervour. “Mine?”

“Yours,” I assure him, drawing him against me and carrying him back up into the observatory. The next few minutes are a blur as we leave my clothing strewn across the apartment in a trail that leads to the bed, and I manage to find a bottle of lube I haven’t touched in months but mercifully has enough for at least a round or two.

Preparation happens before all else. Normally, this is the part where I would begin to lose interest because my previous partners have treated it like a means to an end, but Inyez is so sensitive and receptive that every little touch I give him sends him into a fluttering little tizzy on the bed. His prick is slick and red when it hardens out of its sheath, tapered at the end and thicker at the base. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I play with it with a careful touch that seems to frustrate and overwhelm the small creature beneath me in equal measure.

I drink Inyez in as he squeaks and squirms with my fingers inside him, watching his claws tear tiny little holes in the sheets as he grips them in his hands and trembles like a taut bowstring. When I finally push into him, he makes a noise like an exultation, and I fight to keep myself from coming right there and then when he wraps his legs around my hips and digs his feet into my ass to drive me in deeper. He wants more of me and I give until there’s nothing left to give, letting him adjust for a moment before I take up a rhythm that rocks the bed against the wall.

I need him, too, and I tell him so as I fuck him down into the mattress, listening to him mew and moan and say my name in a way more beautiful than any I’ve heard yet. He clings to the headboard when I roll him over onto his stomach, breathless and gasping raggedly, wings trembling like they’re weathering a storm.

“There!” he cries when I angle my hips a certain way, one of his hands diving between himself and the sheets to pump away at his hard, leaking cock. “Oh, please, there! There!”

“You want it?” I ask, and I hardly recognise my own voice, so low and guttural it is.

“Yes, gods, I want it,” Inyez mewns, almost sobbing with his need. “I’m close. I’m gonna—I’m—Please—“

“Tell me you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay!” Inyez squeaks, not a hint of hesitation in his desperate tones. “I’ll stay, I’ll stay, I’ll never leave this roost! I swear!”

“Yes,” I growl, pushing my chest down against his back and reaching a crescendo that makes the headboard hammer against the wall. I come so hard and so suddenly that it feels like I get pulled inside out from the toes on up, and my vision whites out to the sound of Inyez wailing beneath me. When I come around, we’re tangled together in the sheets and I have him on top of me, both of us panting heavily and both of my hands buried into the soft, downy fur at the small of Inyez’s back.

“Christ,” says Inyez, and I choke on a laugh, turning my head to cough.

“That’s not an expletive.”

Inyez grunts. “You use it like one.”

I laugh. “That’s fair.”

Inyez takes a long moment to gather his thoughts, stroking the skin of my torso with careful fingers. “Would you be willing to meet my family?”

I blink up at the ceiling. “Of course. How many of them are there?”

“I have six brothers and eight sisters. I’m fifth down in the birthing line.”

My eyes bulge. “How old is the youngest?”

“Tiisa? She’s six months old. The oldest is in her forties.” I can feel Inyez smother a smile against my chest. “Mother says she’s done for now. We don’t quite believe her.”

I laugh, shaking my head up at the ceiling. “I would offer them shelter for the winter, but I don’t think they’d all fit in here.”

“Oh, Mother would hate it here,” Inyez chuckles. “It would be much too quiet for her liking. She likes life with the roost. I’ve always preferred quiet. This roost is perfect for us.”

Us. The word makes my heart swell, and I bury a smile against the top of Inyez’s head. “We’ll figure something out for their visit.”

“Mm,” hums Inyez, sighing softly before he sits up and smiles impishly down at me in the darkness.

“What?”

“Again.”

“Again?” I laugh, wrapping my hands around Inyez’s hips as they begin to rock and wriggle on my lap. “I’ve created a monster.”

“Your monster,” Inyez smugly coos, kissing my chest right over my heart.

[stopeatingwhales]

about a girl (pt.2) x kurt cobain

hi guys :) so sorry for my inactivity, but i’m here finally lmaoo, this is a part two to my kurt fic that i wrote about a month ago, due to school its been much harder for me to keep up writing as usual, but i will absolutely try my best to finish your guys’ requests soon! anyways, hope you enjoy this <3 Pairing: pre-bleach era kurt x reader

Warnings: nothing :)

Word count: 2.167

Requested by anon (the second part was my idea, but i felt like i should still credit the anon for giving me the idea for this x) 

༉‧₊˚✧

The wind exhales short, breezy waves as you lay there, engulfed in your dreams. From the night succeeding to your outstanding performance, you were requited to a favourable hibernation which by admiring you, was needed for not only the sum of a few hours. Your solemn features are painted still, the only movement stimulating from your body is heavy breaths accompanied by a light snore from time to time. I question whether it's righteous of me to allow my eyes to adorn themselves in your serene features, yet I simply cannot stop myself. I find it surreal to witness you in such fragility; for all the pain and sorrow you’ve had to experience in your life, it’s almost like you shouldn’t be sleeping in such a tranquillic state. I wonder if you prefer sleeping than being awake, I wonder if you think it’s a chore to get out of bed. Does the world haunt you? Every click, flash, snap of a camera, does it devastate you? The image you portray to the world is magnificent, yet flawed. It’s almost as if you’re hiding something, yet you don’t care what others think of you, so you do whatever you please. My heart skips a beat every time you shift slightly, cradling your body in the duvet. I advert my stare to your arms, sculpted perfectly in God’s chamber, the lankiness of your bones withering an appearance of discrepancy. You’re not like the rest of them. Your steady breaths softly ease in and out of your flawless torso, your hair so impeccable it looks untouched even when you’re shifting around in your slumber - the hair you willingly dyed and strained with a flavoured drink mix. As I admire you, sleeping beauty, it reminds me of how lucky I am to have you in my life - regardless of where we stand. When you’re awake, you’re the only thing keeping me sane during the day; spending even just a day without you would feel as if I had lost my legs, lost what’s kept me steady for all these draining years. In all my time of knowing and understanding you, have you never not known what to say, for you have such a way with words, it's unfathomable. You carry a sort of intelligence that no one can seem to obtain; you speak words out of a bible and it’s ironic I say that, Mr ‘God is gay’, but it’s true. You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. You’re like a hard candy, sweet and delicate, although the texture is very hard making it a burden to get through to you. I want to taste you on my tongue every morning, if you would like me to be honest. I crave for things as little as your scent even before I’ve risen from the cushion. Your grace must be envied by the heavens; there is and will never be anyone as alluring as you, not that I’m surprised. 

As my eyes continue to wander on him, a sudden stretch of his arms and a small groan echoing out of his vocal chords results in my body almost instantaneously sitting up. I watch him as he blinks his eyes a few times, his vision still not clear enough. “Good morning,” he whispers, his arms thrown to the skies; he’s like a baby, reaching out for their mother in the early hours of daylight, moaning and whining for affection, warming my heart with soreful ease. Quickly taking note of the small clock situated beside him that I was aware of for the many hours I had been trapped in thought, it read a bright and early 11am. My stare continues to linger onto him as I watch him shifting around, the heart situated in my upper chest now beating as fast as drum solos in heavy metal songs. A short silence stood in between both presences; I assume that he hadn’t taken note of my pondering state adjacent to him, though was that idea contradicted by his light greeting. “Did you sleep well?” he chirps, now using both palms to rub his what-seemed-like itchy eyes.

Now what is humorous from this scenario is that he asks this as if it means nothing; a simple conversation starter it may be, though, to me it means so much more hearing those light words roll off his tongue, compared to if someone else had said it, even if it was in the exact same moment living right now. A whiff of bad breath hits my face as I laugh lightly, shaking my head in a sort of admiration towards the man lying down ahead of me. He again blinks a few times, now in attempt to adjust the bright scenery to his view. For a couple seconds the room is frozen, Kurt’s alteration in position to sitting up becoming the only sound ringing through both our ears. As I find my gaze glued onto him once again, I subconsciously repeat the question he asked me, this time directed for him. However, from what I’ve seen, I’m certain he slept wonderfully.

A tired chuckle escaped his mouth. “I asked you first,” he mutters, the morning rasp still prominent in his vocal chords. This makes me smile. The raw, genuinity forwards the idea of realism that this moment was actually happening, coming like a pinch snapping someone out of their daydream, though my thoughts will never be known to understand how I was able to spend time with such a man. “I slept well, though.” he adds, a warm smile playing on his lips. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered, my face now being cradled by my palms. 

I now feel the stare of Kurt burn onto my face. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, a hint of annoyance laced in his words. “We could’ve stayed up together,” 

A small chuckle breezes out of my nose. How considerate, how caring must you be to, even when you have performed such an exasperating gig, stay awake with me because of one night of my mind’s continuous ambles? For all I know, Kurt wouldn’t sleep for days if it meant I would be in absolute glee. It’s those sorts of traits in those who are lost which draw you towards them becoming the significant other to stay with for life. It’s that sense of attachment, connection you hold with someone, so strong that you would give up the roof over your head if it meant a smile to be drawn on their face. ”You looked so peaceful in your sleep,” I replied, staring directly into his loveable eyes, the shade of blue brightening as the sunlight melted onto his face. His hair was now a little more messier compared to how it was less than ten minutes ago, and the urge of me running my fingers through his golden locks only seemed to grow even more as time passed on. For a moment I decided to hold back my words, inhaling sharply to gain composure to my fatigued state. “I didn’t want to disturb you,” 

Kurt sighed - knowing that he needed sleep more than anything, though a hint of sadness dwindled in his stomach, his mind conflicted from the idea of me drowning in worry as I tended to do when I couldn’t sleep. Reaching his arm towards the table sat beside him, his fingers got lost in between the opened packet of cigarettes that slept reverently on the white wood, grabbing a random one at choice before placing it in a loose grip between his lips. With the known information that you need a torch to light a cigarette, I threw the one I had on his lap, a small laugh escaping my lips for no apparent reason. Actually no, there was a reason. “Who the fuck smokes first thing in the morning?”

Before he torched the lighter, he stopped, his piercing blue eyes locking in contact with mine. “Me, I do,” 

Another laugh tempted to flee itself from my throat, yet I held it back. If you would’ve said that to me the first night I met you, in that small, cramped room, littered with amps that Krist had dragged me into going in to listen to your material, I would’ve scoffed at your blown attitude towards such a random question. Watching you now as you’re admiring the cancer stick with pure attachment, my mind begins to wander over such a topic. I look at you and see a troubled, young kid who just wants love and affection because he seemingly never got enough from the people who designed his childhood; for you haven’t grown up since then. Perhaps in size and features, yes (and definitely the fact that children do not smoke), but hidden inside you is the same boy that was hidden away all those years ago - following onto your parents’ divorce. You say you’ve never been happy since then, you’ve never been able to think optimistically, and maybe you haven’t. Maybe the smile you give to me isn’t genuine; with continuous assurance I’ll consider it to be. Maybe I’ll never heal those bruises that were once your only source of living, and that’s okay, if you’re able to cope with the imprints. If you’re the Kurt Cobain that prefers smoking than having a normal breakfast, so be it; I’d give up my heart for you, and if anything, you’ve already stolen it. Words merely brush the surface of my adoration for you, and sometimes I believe that I’m just lying to myself, that nothing I’m saying in my head is true. Yet, as every minute, every second passes throughout the day, even in silent, contented situations with ceilings bright as yellow from the smoke like these, everything I say to myself simply strengthens in morality. My sweet, you deserve more than one could wish for. You deserve things that this world cannot give you, yet all you believe is that you are worthless. If only you saw yourself in my eyes, maybe then you’d realise, realise the impact you’ve sincerely doused onto me and my mind, you’ve got the moves to empower a generation and perhaps hundreds more - even if you don’t see that yet. 

“Give me one,” He hands me one, the strong gusts of cloud escaping his mouth creating a want for the rough substance to coat my throat in brutal ways; even if it’s slowly murdering me. It was a murderous addiction, nicotine, yet it kills us all, our addictions; and we are too blinded by the goodness it seemingly overshadows what we force to neglect in our minds - the bad in it all. We become so unbelievably enthralled by the pain we choose to accept it; we believe it is favourable, not disastrous and catastrophic. Drugs are frowned upon dearly, as they should be, but once you’re stuck, it takes more than simple courage to escape out of the deadly grip it chokes you in. Placing the cigarette in between my lips, identical to how he had just done, I reached my arm out to obtain the lighter that was in my clutch merely seconds ago, swiftly lighting it with one hand. As I breathed out the first tar-filled cloud from my cigar, I fixed my gaze onto him once again, sucking in my top lip as I allowed the droplets of ash fall onto my shirt. “I know I always say this,” I began as I studied his features, trying to identify any solemn, unpleasant emotions, noticing that there was none at all for the time being. “You’re going to make it big one day, I’m now for certain you’re going to take over the world,”

His eyes now locked into mine, a short chuckle leaving his throat as he blew out an even bigger gust of smoke. “I don’t want that,” 

Smiling, I took hold of my cigarette and inhaled deeply, holding it in my mouth until my body was unable to carry on without oxygen for longer - not that the air in the room was even oxygen; it was more corrosive chemicals than anything else, yet we’ve become so dependant on a small roll of tobacco to guide us to a path of slow death, its unnoticable. I watched as Kurt’s eyes drifted on to admire the elusive sunlight gleaming through the window, the whiffs of grey contrasting the happiness that was attempting to journey itself into the silent room. No matter how many times I may tell, his belief that he will never be as big as acts like the Sex Pistols will empower over anything I endevour on to phrase. It was inevitable though, whether he dreamt of it or not, that they will be big, bigger than anything they’ve ever seen. The path bridging onto it may cause destruction, heartbreak, and even more addiction, but the future is never in our hands - only until it is close enough for the present to capture it. Time is simply a mantelpiece, the light eventually burns out when there’s not enough coal to keep it going. You continue to refill it as the days go by until you simply cannot any longer, which is what all youths fear and avoid. Surprisingly enough, Kurt wasn’t one of the many crowds in devastating apprehension; he wanted to burn out more than anything else, for there were only small things keeping him going, or perhaps he was waiting for a longer, more agonizing death, hence the many packets of cigarettes vanished in a day.

There was nothing left to say in the room; there was no need for a response - it was only going to result in the same bicker as it resulted in many a time. The room, now physically undergoing a change in colour from the smoke, held a significant ambience, one so serene it left you more relaxed than the aftermath of a crazy high in drug use, though sometimes the relaxation is more pain than anything else. Even when my mind was so consumed in ideation earlier in the morning, my thoughts were louder than ever in this given moment. My mind was mulled over the concept of Kurt and stardom. He would never like it, nor does he even want it. It’s humorous to an extent; how much authenticity can one acclaim, to not even look up to the sugar-coated concept called ‘fame’? You’re not like the others. You don’t want fame, you want to create music. And in all honesty, I wish I lie through my teeth whenever I mumble those encouraging words of how you’re going to make it big; I can’t stand the idea of losing you, but like I said, it's inevitable, one day simple moments like these will just be memories to look back on when you’re old and laughing about your previous attachment to drugs. Maybe you won’t look back on times like these however, maybe you’ll remember the more vivid, buzzing moments like your first gig as Nirvana, and maybe I won’t remember this either, maybe these moments aren’t to be remembered, to be lived in instead. If only you knew how much I loved you, would you be surprised that I haven’t ruined my life because of it. You mean more to me than the stars mean to the night sky, more than a memory means to a person’s mind. It hurts my heart knowing I can’t heal you, though I dream that one day, you’ll wake up, just like you did today, turn to me and say, ‘I’m happy,’ because that’s all I ever dream of you to be.

[xxmiizcornerxx]

Darker the Berry (POC! Reader x Aizawa)

A/N: Okay so heres the late story I’ve promised! Sorry for the delay, my internet has been booty buttcheek and my only source of comfort has been Mario Kart 8 deluxe and my Soundcloud listening history 😣 ANYWHO~ This story is on the issues(insecurities) of colorisim. And this is for my insecure baes out there that just needs some love🥰So enjoy! (And hopefully my internet doesnt give out once im done (┬┬﹏┬┬).....)

A/N: Oh! Another side note, this is in Aizawa’s POV for the most part!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Oh for fucks sake. This is just embarrassing.’ 

Thought Aizawa Shota, aka Eraserhead, a somewhat well known hero. At least till another well known pro hero comes around. Anyways, it was late at night and Aizawa was at a small restaurant waiting for his date to come. But by the looks of it, he probably just got stood up. Recently he has been trying to “get back out there” to not only have his comrades off his back but also because he was becoming lonely. He wanted that emotional support from someone other than his students, family and friends. Someone he could come home to every night to ramble about absolutely nothing or about everything going on in his world. And sure he had his best friend and his cat to talk to, but its not the same. He wanted that somewhat perfect love he sees everywhere he turns. 

 With a tired sighed, he was getting ready to leave but all of a sudden he could hear an all too annoying familiar voice. Even without his quirk, Hizashi Yamada is the loudest man on God’s given green earth. “HEY SHOTA!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” He asked loudly making the people in the restaurant jump but Aizawa was accustomed to it.

“OOH! ARE YOU HAVING A DAT-?!” Aizawa instantly covered his mouth annoyed, “How about you shut up? Anyways yeah but I was just getting ready to-” he was cut off when a 5′8 dark skinned woman with the most beautiful set of dark eyes that was barely covered by the few dreadlocks that poked out of her high bun. She was dressed in light shades of grey and white that made her skin pop out. She was truly what they called a goddess among men. “I am so sorry I’m late! I got so busy with work, I lost track of the time and decided to come straight here.” the woman rambled not fully realizing that Aizawa was too busy silently thanking whatever deity that was here for not only sending Hizashi for stopping him from walking out that door but also blessing him with the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. 

“It’s alright. My colleague here just stopped me from leaving.” He stated in his usual monotoned voice removing his hand from his friend’s mouth and sending him a look that said ‘ If you say or do something to ruin this for me, I will personally rip your vocal cords out.’, thankfully Hizashi got the memo nodding in slight fear. “Indeed I have! And now that you’re here miss, I can get what I’ve came here for and leave. Have a goodnight you two!” he stated as quietly as he can possibly get and left. “Sorry about my loud, somewhat obnoxious colleague. Here let me get your coat.” Aizawa said gently taking the woman’s coat setting it on the back of her chair. “Oh its alright, I have also been ‘plagued’ of having a very, very loud best friend. But you learn to get used to it.” she joked a bit taking her seat which only left the hero himself to take a seat. “I see. Well I don’t think we’ve properly introduced ourselves. I am Aizawa Shota, an absolute pleasure to meet you.” He said with a tiny little smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Aizawa. I am Y/N L/N.” she returned the smile flashing her pearly whites a bit. And with that led the beginning of a great date. The night was filled with a few laughs, a few stories about their past as children and teenage years.

Soon the two were at a park, the air was brisk and cold. The moon, stars, and streetlights illuminating their path and a small light drizzle of snow softly falling from up above. It was like a seen from a Hallmark Christmas movie, just absolutely perfect. Aizawa and Y/N were getting along great and were sitting on a bench somewhat snuggled up against one another but not quite because personal space still exists. Currently the topic of conversation landed on insecurities. Aizawa admitted to Y/N about how he felt about his own unkept look and how it took a lot of faith for him to even go out tonight. “That’s reasonable.” said Y/N, “But just in my own opinion, that unkept look is your own. Not many people can pull it off and still look as handsome.” she chuckled giving him a soft nudge of her elbow to the barely blushing man. “Well what about you? What are your insecurities?” Aizawa was genuinely curious about what she could possibly be insecure about. She was practically perfect in all aspects; has a good sense of humor, an amazing sense of style, very well educated, has more confidence than anyone he knows, and to top it all off, just carries herself respectably.

Y/N bit her thumb a bit nervous, for what she was about to reveal is going to be silly or at least that's what she thought. “Well. The thing I am most insecure about is my....complexion. As you can clearly tell I am not in anyway light skinned or even milk chocolate. And I know it is silly to be insecure about but from where I come from looking like me is a target in more aspects than one. To some being dark skinned has even been turned into a personality trait.” Without even noticing, Y/N ended on an entire rant about how her skin was and still is a target for ‘dark as night’ jokes or the ‘loud mouth, ratchet, Hot Cheetos’ girl. How people within her own community would just assume that she (and many others) fought or was angry all the time or lived in a really bad area where there was a lot of sun. Or the worst of things, that if she was a slave back then she’d be in the cotton fields. Every time she was told that or something similar, Y/N’s self-esteem would just crumble entirely. It made her feel unwanted, unloved, unnoticed, and just down right ugly. By the end of her little rant, she found herself trying hard not to cry in front of Aizawa. She didn’t really intend to just lay it all out there on the table for him, but maybe it was for the best. If they were going to continue dating then it was best for her to lay out all of the cards on the table and show him what he’s getting into.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make everything so gloomy with my little insecurity reveal.” she said giving an awkward smile to the now stunned man. He personally didn’t understand how anyone could be cruel to their own people, let alone for how they looked. It was foolish and childish to say the least. But he was more than proud of Y/N for being able to overcome it all. “Well I’ll be honest here. I won’t pretend that I have any form of resemblance of what you must’ve gone through over the years simply because of your skin color, but I will tell you now. Your skin is beautiful and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I am willing to learn about the struggles you face and if fate allows it I’d love to be by your side as I do.” He said in a serious tone, gazing into her eyes and gently taking one of her hands bringing it to her lips planting a soft kiss upon her knuckles. “All those people in the past or in the now that has anything to say about your skin in a negative light are simple minded nincompoops' that have yet to be enlightened. After all, don’t they know?” he asked tucking a dread behind her pierced ear. “Know what exactly?” she asked with the most brightest smile that night. “Don’t they know that the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice?” That alone made Y/N laugh but Aizawa was being serious. “Boy, don’t do that. Plus how would you know?” she asked as her accent came out a little. “Well I don’t. But why don’t we find out?~” he asked teasingly leaning into her ear.

Needless to say.....

Best. 

First Date.

 Ever.

[kakashiswilloffire]

STEAM, not STEM

ao3

word count: 1.6k

kabuto x sai, college au, enemies to lovers ish, same age au

this is my first server collab with @konoblog-simps! the prompt was college au for august, and you can see the rest of the multifandom fics and artwork here!

***

As a biochemistry major focused on pharmaceuticals with a five year plan included finishing this undergrad degree, moving across the country for a masters in organic chemistry, then likely moving again for a doctorate in organic, along with four internships along the way, so that he could become a renowned creator of antianxiety medications, he was pretty confident in his knowledge. There was nothing a chemistry professor could ask that he couldn’t answer. Calculus came to him as a breeze. His psychology courses presented absolutely no challenge to him. Statistics, courses in professionalism and building his portfolio, and meetings with potential employers never caused him to break a sweat.

This fucking art class might kill him, though.

He had resented for years that humanities courses were required in science degree paths. It was his junior year and he had fought with his advisor for the past four semesters before finally giving in and agreeing to take a class on charcoal sketching. There was no way he would be caught dead in the hugely popular pottery class taught by the blond professor with tattoos of mouths on the back of his hands. Nor would he voluntarily take any basic introductory course in drawing or painting.

That was how he found himself in an advanced charcoal techniques course, prepared to blow through a handful of drawings and easily earn high marks.

However, in a class size of eight, he was drawing attention for the wrong reasons.

To start, the others all seemed to know each other from previous courses, which immediately made him the outsider. To make matters worse, the professor greatly preferred their work to his own. A part of him couldn’t blame the man who insisted he be called Tenzo rather than by any title or honorific. His drawings were definitely in a different style to the rest of the class, and it was a style that didn’t seem to be changing or improving as the weeks passed.

It wouldn’t be so frustrating if it wasn’t the first thing he had ever tried that was proving to be a struggle. As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, the asshole in the front row seemed to take to charcoal like breathing.

On the first day, when Tenzo had gone over the syllabus, he had also made them all introduce themselves and play a get to know you game. They all pretended that it wasn’t for Kabuto’s benefit. Fu and Torune had begun, making a point of making physical contact with each other the whole time they spoke, though he had never seen Torune take off his gloves. The had tuned most of the others out as they spoke, noting Shin seemed decent enough, though he’d prefer if the man stopped coughing for more than a moment. What grated him to no end was the final person to speak.

Sai.

He spoke with a fake smile plastered across his face, eyes closed and voice dripping with confidence. He listed his credentials off without any thought, and it infuriated him that the list of accomplishments and certifications rivaled the length of his own. Sai listed his specialty in art as black and white realism, and his preferred medium as painting, though he was looking forward to learning more about charcoal. From there, he had turned to Kabuto with that same overly-relaxed smile and offered:

“Your turn, flash cards.”

The familiarity rubbed him the wrong way and he had been irritated with him ever since. What made it worse was that Sai was actually really good in the course. He hadn’t been lying about his skill in realism—anything he rendered looked like it was about to run off the page. He seemed to prefer birds, in all species, but every individual feather breathed and flowed and he never got the black dust accidentally smudged on his paper. In fact, he never got the dust anywhere. Kabuto always left the class covered in black smears on his skin, clothing, and bag, and there would always be some hidden patch of charcoal that he never found until he showered that night.

It infuriated him to no end that this shallow jerk who modelled his personality around whoever he was with was also, genuinely, so much better than him at this class that he desperately needed to pass.

Midterm grades had come back the other day and a vein had nearly popped out of his forehead when he saw the disastrously low score. Tenzo had noted that he saw improvement between this and where Kabuto had began the class, but it was still not on level with the rest of the class and where he would need to be in preparation for the next level pastels course. Apparently, it didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be taking the next level course. If he didn’t pass this course with a reasonably high grade, his scholarship sponsor, Orochimaru, would be furious. Risking the scholarship not being renewed meant risking the entire five year plan, and for that—

He’d have to suck it up.

“Hey, Sai?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone level. Admitting weakness was not his strength and he had no intention of making this a habit.

The crop top wearer glanced up from the hyper-realistic sheet of mice that he was effortlessly rendering. “Ah, Kabuto,” he said, the same smile from before falling across his face. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

He gritted his teeth, then forced his jaw to relax. “The rain we’ve had all week? Sure, Sai.” He pulled up a stool, settling in to the easel next to him. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

Sai nodded, not pausing his movement as he gave life to a mouse’s tail. “My answer is yes.”

Kabuto blinked. Was asking for help really this simple? “You’re willing to tutor me for the final?”

That caused Sai to hesitate, tilting his head slightly to the side. After a beat, he replied “I suppose I could do that. You appear to be capable of learning how to improve your questionable techniques.”

Ignoring the dig, he pressed on. “I would appreciate that. Tenzo said that my linework is improving but my shading is still not where it needs to be. Something about being more mindful of my light sources.”

“I agree with his analysis,” Sai said, continuing on his sketch. “Your grasp of line weight is abysmal, which is a step up from your initial attempt, which was horrific. Your shading on our last assignment, the brickwork, was essentially nonexistent. All of your pieces so far have had at least four light sources that have no apparent source. It’s clear from your work that you have no regard for art and no passion for creation at all.”

He delivered the critique without halting a single graceful stroke on his canvas. There was no malice in his tone, and he said the words almost pleasantly, despite the cutting content.

“I am willing to teach you more technique and skill so that Tenzo is able to assign you a passing grade in this course. However, I do not believe you are capable of being an artist or creating anything of value in the world as you currently are.”

Kabuto froze. He had only meant to ask for a few tips, not to be dragged for all he was worth in this godforsaken art course. How dare this arrogant prick think he was incapable of creation?

He gripped his charcoal stick so tightly in his fist that it crumbled. “Listen, inky. Just because I’m focused in science doesn’t mean I can’t create anything meaningful. My goal is to be a pharmaceutical chemist, to create medications to change people’s lives. Just because I can’t draw some fucking—I don’t know, a fucking rat or a bowl of fruit or whatever, doesn’t make you better than me. So fuck off with that.”

Sai smirked, his eyes closing in his familiar pattern. “I never implied anything about our worth relative to each other. But I do think that it’s cute that you’re concerned about appearing to be less than me. That will create an excellent motivation for self-improvement for both of us in our relationship.”

The light caught Kabuto’s glasses, a white reflection flashing across the lenses. “We don’t have a relationship.”

Finally, Sai put his rectangle of charcoal down on the easel and sat up. “Do we not? What was the intent of your original question to me?”

Kabuto spluttered. “What do you mean? I came up and asked if you’d help me with the final and you said yes, then you were an ass.”

It was now Sai’s turn to blink. “You said that you had a question for me. I replied that my answer was yes. As a result, we are now boyfriends.” He wiped his fingers on a handkerchief hanging on the corner of his easel. “Was your question you intended to ask me not if I would be interested in a romantic relationship with you?”

He flushed a deep red. Sai was attractive, that was undeniable, but that was not how this encounter was meant to go. Romance was not in the five year plan. “I—”

“Just do it,” sighed Tenzo, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. “For the love of God, both of you, stop staring at each other and bickering and just go out, would you?”

Sai smiled, the classic closed-eye smile that looked more genuine each time he did it. “Thank you, Tenzo.”

Kabuto was confused, but in order to learn the skills he needed to pass this class, he’d need to go along with the game. Without another word, he reached out and took Sai’s hand. Might as well give it a shot, right?

[lia-writes]

bloodflood

pairing: geralt of rivia x reader

summary: the one where the reader gets injured, doesn’t tell geralt and he eventually takes care of her anyway!  a/n: lots of requests came in for something along these lines so hope you enjoy it! something for jaskier next, i promise. 

;

The pain has you gripping at the reins to stop your hands from shaking and you can’t quite remember the closest town being this far away.

Geralt falls silent, the only sound between you being the occasional snorts from each of your horses and the brief “hellos” from travelers heading in the opposite direction.  

You’ve become acutely aware of the stinging, wet pain at the back of your head, hidden from Geralt by the hood of your cloak.  

All you can do is keep moving forward and ignore the way your eyesight swims with the effort of staying awake.  

Each step of your horse sends another deep ripple of pain through your head. The small cottages on the outskirts of the town are still yet to appear on the horizon line. You think about saying something but can't seem to make it past your pride.  

Of course, Geralt had noticed the seconds after the fight, where you’d faltered as you were sheathing your sword. How you’d stumbled when you’d picked your way around the scattered Nekker bodies.  

What he hadn’t seen was the way you’d tripped as you were dodging out of the way of a Nekker, landing on your ass and the momentum throwing your head back into a rock.  

He was yet to say anything.  

The air is cool, the sun drifting toward the edge of the world. Still, even with the fresh breeze, you feel nothing close to refreshed. The hot rush of blood that throbs through your veins with each stab of pain, lines your skin with goosebumps.  

It’s only when your horse startles at a pair of birds that suddenly fly across your path, that you let your tight-lipped expression morph into one of anguish. The accompanied sharp yelp has Geralt nudging Roach forward from where she’d settled into place behind your horse. Normally, the acts of your high-strung mount would elicit laughter, Geralt wasn’t sure he’d ever witnessed you in true pain before and he wasn’t used to such silence – in all honesty, he’d been enjoying the change.

He glances down at the whites of your knuckles where you’ve knotted your fingers into the long mane in front of you and feels the gut-punch of guilt.  

For a moment he simply casts an eye over you, attentively and trying to find any source of injury.

“You’re hurt,” he says eventually, letting his hand reach out to rest against your thigh. You make no move to swat it away.  

“’m fine,” you mumble and he shifts Roach closer, until your knee bumps against his. An action had it happened at any other time, would have you feeling giddy. Now, you sway in the saddle and Geralt simply raises an eye at your pale, clammy skin when you glare at him.

Geralt doesn’t reply and instead, pulls Roach to a halt and swings his leg up and over her neck to land facing your horse.  

Your gelding stops after a couple more steps and you whine in pain.

He says your name sharply before sighing. “Why didn’t you say anything?”  

“s’not that bad,” you get out, hands still clinging to the mane.

“Let me help you down,” he speaks slowly, and when you attempt to protest, he sighs again, louder this time, his patience wearing thin.

Roach shakes her head, chain on the bit jangling as Geralt reaches up to try and help you.

As soon as his arm wraps around your frame, you quite literally give up your valiance, in one simple swoon. when your feet hit the ground, your hand instinctively snaps up to palm the back your head.  

“Okay... Let’s see it then.”  

Eventually, you pull back your cloak, and he sidesteps to stand behind you.  

“It’s not that bad, huh?” His fingers move to brush some of the hair away and you shrink away from him.

“Geralt, don’t touch it.”

One hand catches your shoulder, before wrapping around you to guide the two of you off the dirt path you’d stopped on.  

At the sudden movement, the pain thrums. Geralt says something you don’t hear and it’s then, that your knees buckle.  

Moments pass. You’re not sure how long you’re out, but you come to still in immense pain.

“Ugh, gods.” you mutter, eyes squinting in the soft rays of the setting sun. 

A gentle snort of a nearby horse tells you that you’re still near the side of the road. It takes a while for you to notice Geralt sitting nearby, his own gaze moving from the plants laying in front of him and you... Also lying rather ungracefully in front of him.

“’m pathetic,” you whine and he rolls his eyes, “how bad is it?”

“Well, what I can tell you, is that you’re now a redhead....” he shifts closer, helps you sit up and passes you some kind of herbal mix in an old bowl. You stare at it until he guides your hand toward your face.

“What’s in it?” you look to him and he keeps a neutral expression – meaning... Nothing good.  

“Better if you don’t ask, I think. It’ll help...”  

After a moment, you force it down, instantly pulling a face at the taste, “oh fuck that. I’d rather have the pain than this.”  

He ignores your comment, pulling out a clean piece of cloth and a bottle of herbal antiseptic that you’d made and told him you swore by.  

“Ah-ah,” you try and shuffle backward in your sitting position, “ow- but no, that’ll hurt more.” you lean away.

“Stop... being difficult.” Geralt’s beginning to find it hard to remain patient in your presence.  

After a moment, you exhale and let your hands clasp and unclasp in your lap, in anticipation of more pain.

He’s careful, his touch oddly gentle. From his place knelt behind you, he winces when you let out a pained whimper. 

You glance down at the red-stained cloth that Geralt discards to the side

“Are we going to... Camp here?” you ask.

“Yes.”  

“Well, I hope you’re prepared to keep me warm.”

“I haven’t thought about anything else.” He says sarcastically and you pout.  

“Right, just fuck off and leave me here then.”  

He stands and starts to move back toward Roach and his saddlebags.  

“Wait, Geralt.” he pauses with his back to you, “I didn’t mean it,”  

“I know, but I also don’t want to starve.”  

“oh,” fair enough, you think, beginning to feel the effects of whatever Geralt gave you only five minutes ago.  

“Are you going to yell at me?”  

“For what? Not telling me you were hurt? That only made you hurt more – I've still had to help you as I would have if you’d told me before we’d gotten back on our horses.”

You begin to cry, rather pathetically and Geralt falls silent. He was expecting you to fall asleep fairly quickly. The tears were new, but despite his unease, an innate need to comfort you lights up his body.  

The feeling that melts between the two of you is one of tenderness mixed with undertones of worry.

You’re small, nestled against his frame. Geralt started a fire before helping you over to sit between his legs, back resting against his chest.  

The warmth from the fire and Geralt’s body heat lulls you into an almost sleep. Your head tilts back against his shoulder and in a loopy-quickly-becoming-painless way, reach up to let your fingertips brush across his jaw.  

“Thank you, Geralt,”  

“Anytime, love.”  

“...For taking care of me... thanksss. Don’t let me get cold.” Your last comment is deadly serious and he chuckles softly.

“Yeah, yeah,”  

You smile, dumbly.  

“So... Do you love me then?” you ask suddenly too groggy to discern between the feeling and the affectionate term  

Geralt pauses to take in the sweet expression on your face because fuck the way he’d convinced himself that he was immune to human emotion. He couldn’t imagine a life in which he wouldn’t love you.  

You were the one thing every other person on the Continent continued to tell him that he would never have.  

Someone to love him back, for reasons more than what he could simply give them in return. You gave him all that he never wanted, but began to believe he truly needed.

“Go to sleep,” he says eventually, mostly because the way you’re looking at him – eyes dopey with some kind of love-soaked feeling for him – makes him feel bad for not noticing your pain earlier, and letting you get hurt in the first place.  

The thought that he should have protected you plagues his thoughts until he notices that you’ve gone quiet, chest rising and falling with sleep.

He lets his arms grow comfortably numb around your frame.

Geralt doesn’t sleep at all that night. He could have lost you.  

With the fire beginning to die, Geralt struggles to get himself into a comfortable position on his back without jostling you from sleep. Your expression remains peaceful as he rests one arm behind his head and keeps you tucked, just so, against his side. 

When you wake with the early morning sun, that warms you from your toes and paints Geralt in shades of soft gold, you begin to realize that all the pain in the world couldn’t take this feeling away from you.

[thundergunexpresss]

Confess Your Sins

“He who commits sin is a slave to sin,” he recites, his voice a whine as he pleads, “get it out of me, please, get it all out.”

Spencer Reid x Reader Smut! Rekindling my love for writing about skinny white boys having sex while I’m in quarantine. Hit me with requests if you like, I need prompts! 😈

MASTERLIST

You watch him from across the dimly lit room, the only source of light an amber lamp in the corner, blanketing everything its light reached with a deep orange glow. And oh, it did him favours. The sharp lines of his toned stomach are masked with a deep shadow, accentuating just how lean his body was – the career the two of you shared certainly took care of that.

You flush at the thought of him working, the persona he inhabits when he’s faced with danger, how alpha he could be when he had hold of a gun.

A smirk creeps onto your lips as you take a step into the room, the contrast from the Spencer in your head to the Spencer on his knees in front of you was thrilling. He doesn’t look up at you, shoulders slouched as he keeps his gaze rooted firmly on the floor. He looks exhausted, his tall frame looking close to giving up and you hadn’t even started.

“Tell me what you did, Spencer.”

He grimaces, his rope knotted around his wrists tied firmly to the structure the two of you bought for this purpose exactly pulling against their harness as he struggles against the confines.

“I sinned.” He mutters, resigned and shameful. The words hang in the air, the orange glow smothering them as if he had summoned them both to hell, flames closing in on them as he speaks.

“Look at me,” your voice is steady, grounding him as he begins to float off to wherever the darkness in his head threatens to take him. His chin lifts to you without hesitation, eyes hooded as he stares up at you.

He almost looks high, you think, as your hand reaches out to brush your thumb along his lips. The way his eye lids hung half way over his eyes, his cheeks flushed and hair messy.

His mouth opens, silent until you permit him to speak. Such a good boy, you think, nodding as your eyes drink in the sheen covering his skin, salty and sticky as he became desperate.

“He who commits sin is a slave to sin,” he recites, his voice a whine as he pleads, “get it out of me, please, get it all out.”

Your breathing shallows as you curl your fingers curl round the back of his head, hair tangling in your grip as you sharply push his head to your thigh. He lets out a grunt as his face presses to your skin, relishing in the burning sensation on his scalp. You keep him there, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach at the sight of him on his knees.

You remembered the first time you’d had him so completely under your control. He’d come to you, bashful and painfully nervous, requesting that you help him with a personal issue. This was fine, you worked together and there was little in the way of things you wouldn’t do to help him, insisting you’d help, and no, you wouldn’t laugh.

But then he’d told you, the words spilling from his lips a mile a minute as his eyes scanned franticly over your face as his words sunk in.

He needed a release, to physically feel that he was paying for whatever he was convinced he’d done wrong. And you kept your word, every action you’d taken since culminating in the wonder in front of you now.

Such a beautiful boy, all tied up, begging you to repent him of his sins.

“Not until you confess.”

His body heaves as he lets out a pained moan, eyes screwing shut and brow creasing as he tries to find the words to tell you why he needs to be punished, why he needs to repent.

“I couldn’t stop him, I couldn’t.” he pleads with you to understand, not to make him say it. You almost recoil as you realise why he’s punishing himself. The two of you had returned from a case trip that morning, and he’d been quiet since they landed the plane, but you didn’t realise he’d been hit by it so heavily. It wasn’t his fault, the whole team failing to stop an unsub before he claimed one last victim, but that didn’t matter to him. You’d ease his pain afterwards, understanding that this is what he needed right now, despite the guilt not being solely his to bear. He needed to feel like he’d suffered for his mistakes

“18 hits,” you tell him flatly as you turn to the wall, fingers dancing over the cool leather tassles hanging there. You grab one, quickly return to his side, bending at the knees to lower yourself to his level. Bringing your lips to his ear, you feel him shudder as you drag the tassles of your chosen whip over his thighs, “Three sets of six,” you explain, “the touch of the devil.”

You don’t see his reaction, already rising to your feet as you step behind him. His upper half is completely bare, his back exposed and curving as he writhes where he’s held.

Your hand pulls back, wrist snapping as the smack of the leather on his skin pierces the air. He remains silent, head still hung as he offered himself to you, trusting you to make this better for him.

You count in your head as you bring it down on the delicate skin from his back to his behind, time after time, relishing in the whimpers that begin to escape his lips around the tenth smack. Call it the sadist in you, but his pain, the raw unadulterated pool of hatred inside of him, you thrived on it. You had seen the things he had seen, but you couldn’t begin to relate to what he had been through. To most, trauma would hinder the ability to submit to another human, to allow yourself to be in the position he was. He fed on it, allowing it to fuel his desire to be free from his own head, to escape the nightmares and, as the moment would have it, relieve himself from the sins he burdens himself with.

Sixteen. His body warps as he is hit, seeking relief from the striking pain.

Seventeen. His knuckles white as he balls them into fists where his wrist meets the rope.

Eighteen. His hair covers his eyes as his teeth clench. His cheeks are wet with tears you didn’t hear him express, breathing in sharply as he catches his breath.

The rooms falls silent, his chest heaving. It feels hotter in the room than it actually is, and you don’t move despite the air feeling so thick you could choke. It was difficult seeing Spencer like this, despite the fact that he literally asked for it. He looks so weak and vulnerable and you just want to hold him, loosen the binds around his wrists and pull him into you.

You’ve spent a long time trying to keep him afloat, trying to take some of his demons away from him by simply loving him, and never leaving him. But he needs more than that and you can finally accept that this is something that only you can do for him.

Snapping from your lapse of concentration, you walk in front of him, looking down at the top of his head.

“Look at me, Spencer.”

His eyes meet yours and they’re almost completely black. He looks demonic, and it turns you on more than it probably should, the fantasy of punishing the sinner was getting you soaking. You bring your hand to your front, fingers tracing along the lace of your panties, a soft moan falling from your lips at the slight friction over your clit. Your crotch is level with his eyes and he’s watching intently.

He’s hard, the head of his cock red an angry shade of red as he pants below you. He’s been leaking pre cum, no doubt had been since the first time the whip met his skin.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you taunt, fingers rubbing against yourself slowly, showing him what he wanted, but couldn’t have. Not until he could show you that he was deserving.

“Yes,” he breathes, hips pushing forward in a desperate attempt to find friction somewhere.

“You came to me today looking for forgiveness,” your fingers hook in the waistband of your panties as you pull them down your thighs, “looking to repent for your sins,” you kick the black garment away once they were round your ankles, not bothering to look where they landed.

“Please, I-”, he starts, and you step forward, just close enough that if he leant forward he would get what’s he wants, but he doesn’t. He waits pliant and ready for you to give him permission, such a good boy, so careful to do as he’s told.

“Show me that you’re worthy,” your voice wavers as his neck cranes up to you so close you can feel his hot breath on you, “you can touch.” Barely a second passes between you opening you mouth to speak and his tongue finding your clit.

He’s not gentle about it, pushing his face into you as he begins to suck, and fuck. The faint taste of blood begins to spread in your mouth as you realise you bit your lip a little too hard and it only turns you on more, it’s dangerous and sinister. It’s too much, but it’s so good. Muffled moans escape from him as he eagerly pushes his face further into you, tongue hardening as he pushes it into you, his face disappearing from your vision almost entirely as he stretches to reach between your legs.

His nose bumps against your clit, and you hiss at how dangerously close you come to losing it. You want him inside you when you came, the burn as you stretch around him. You pull him away from you, fingers tugging on his hair as he looks up, disappointed. His expression soon lifts when he sees you reach to loosen the binds on his wrists, working the knots to free him from the constraints he was held under.

“Up,” You instruct, and he obeys, rising to his feet. “look at you,” your voice is soft as you run a thumb over his chin, “you’re filthy.”

He hums, pushing his face into your hand, still slick with your juices. He whimpers as you lean towards him, tongue running a firm trail across the corner of his mouth, tasting yourself on his skin.

“I taste good on you,” you whisper, pushing your lips against his. Immediately his tongue is pushing into your mouth, kissing you to show you how badly he needed it. You’re barely even kissing, mouths just pressing together as your tongues swirl amongst your heavy breaths.

You pull yourself away from him, turning towards the bed, eyes squeezing shut as you try to steady your erratic breathing. Turning back to look once you reach the bed as composed as you could be, you curl your finger beconing him towards you. He only takes a second to reach you, his breath hitching as your hands press into his chest, pushing him flat onto the bed. Climbing above him, you throb as you feel how hard he still was under you, your head spinning as you settle your wet center directly above him.

He’s staring at you, eyes wide in awe as he takes in the sight of you and it’s a rush. Here he is, this beautiful, intelligent, complicated human, allowing you to take everything from him and then thanking you for the pleasure. You want to push his hands below him and make him watch while you ride him, you want to watch his face screw up as he struggles to keep his hips still when you slow to a torturous pace, grinding your hips dangerously slowly as you watch him fall apart, but not today. Staying in hotel rooms surrounded by your co-workers didn’t allow for them to really play.

You raise yourself up, reaching down and wrapping your hand around him, stroking him slowly before lining yourself up and sinking down onto him. His eyes flutter shut, his mouth falling open but no sound coming from him as he basks in the first few moments of being inside you. He’s sweaty and wrecked, his damp hair falling in curls around the sharp contours of his face, random strands stuck across his cheeks and forehead as he writhed in place beneath you. He was right, it was absolutely sinful.

It’s like the breath has been knocked out of you when you finally pull up and drop back down onto him, you’re so fucking full, he’s so big, he’s- oh fuck.

Suddenly, his hips snap up, his arms wrapping around your back as he pulls you tight to his chest before you even had a chance to properly move.

“Spencer,” you mean to sound assertive, but it comes out a pathetic whimper. He doesn’t respond, instead snapping his hips up into you and holding it there. It’s so much deeper than before, it feels as though you’re choking as you drop your head into his neck, the relief of him pulling out barely registering as he slams his hips back up into you so fast your body shakes.

It’s almost animalistic the way he’s fucking you, so desperate and filthy and messy and relentless. It won’t take long until he pushes you over the edge, your clit is rubbing against his stomach from the angle he’s holding you to him, and you feel the air leaving your lungs as your body begins to tense up, racing towards the edge.

“Spencer, baby, please-” it’s almost embarrassing how quickly you’ve come undone above him, how quickly he’s got you begging him for release, the same way he had been on his knees for you not ten minutes earlier.

“I’m-” you manage to gasp, your finger nails digging crescents into the skin on his neck as your body begins to shake, your legs shaking as your vision whites. Your orgasm reaches every inch of you as your body like waves as you fall limp onto him, your legs like jelly.

It’s hard to regain a sense of reality, your body dead weight above him, his hips not relenting as he chases his own orgasm. His legs must feel like they’re on fire, you think, realising quickly that the burning sensation he feels is likely only pushing him closer to his own release. He loves how it hurts.

Only true pain can bring true pleasure.

He says it all the time, and you can almost hear his voice as the saying pops into your head. It’s the encouragement you need, using what little energy your body has left to reach your hand up and press it against his throat.

His eyes widen, meeting yours as you press harder, cutting off his air supply. It’s all it takes, because almost immediately his thrusts falter, eyes locked with yours, choked moans falling from his lips as he pushes deep inside of you, a familiar warmth spreading within you as he comes.

You stay as you are for a minute, your grip relaxing over his throat as you rest, letting your breathing calm down as he enjoys every quickly disappearing wave of pleasure. Pulling yourself up, you whimper as his softening cock slides from you, the loss sudden and apparent as you slump over onto your back beside him.

“I don’t remember giving you permission to come,” your voice is hushed and cheeky as if the bubble surrounding your bodies would shatter should you speak any louder.

He groans, his hand patting across the bed sheets until it came in contact with yours, interlocking his fingers with yours between your spent bodies.

“I couldn’t help it,” he whispers back, and you can hear the smirk on his lips as he adds, “I’m a slave to sin. I warned you.”

His thumb traces circles on your palm, your eyes falling shut as you relax into the bed, sleep pulling you away from consciousness.

“I’m counting on it.”

-

hope you enjoyed!

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 46 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Pearl invited Adore to a party

This Chapter: Adore has a very bad week, the design team gets more cronuts, and Raven has a lunch date with her bestie.

***

“I don’t understand…”

It had been a great night. Pearl had picked her up, both of them dressed to kill, Adore’s hair freshly dyed an icy turquoise. They’d had dinner, laughing their asses off while they swapped stories about concert debauchery and their favorite bands, and then went onto the party. It was just hours of dancing and flashing lights and pounding bass, their bodies pressed together, chemistry electric like it’d been when they first got together.

Things were so heated at one point that Pearl dragged Adore off to fuck her against a brick wall, making her shiver and moan, fingers gripping the lapels of Pearl’s motorcycle jacket.

After the party, they’d gone to an all-night diner in DUMBO for pancakes, sharing sticky kisses, leaving most of the food untouched as they giggled happily, party drugs slowly leaving their systems.

And then lastly, they’d wandered over to the bridge, the best spot in the whole city to watch the sunrise.

It was then, snuggled in Pearl’s arms as they watched the sky slowly begin to brighten, the first faint rays of light turning a few clouds pink, when Adore carefully brought up the idea of being monogamous. If not now, she figured, clinging together under a cotton-candy sky, then when.

“This open thing, I just...I feel like it’s making me paranoid, you know?”

What she wasn’t expecting, not after a night like that, was that Pearl would immediately let go of her, shaking her head, saying, “I’m just not ready for that.”

Which brought them to the present moment.

“I don’t understand…” Adore began, eyes welling up with tears. “Didn’t you have fun tonight?”

“Yeah, of course. I always have fun with you,” Pearl said.

“So then why-” Adore gulped as a single tear spilled down her cheek. “Why am I not enough for you?”

“It’s not that! You’re great. You are. There are just things I miss when we’re together. And I don’t want to make you a promise that I can��t keep.”

“Like what? What do you miss?”

“Like…” Pearl faltered. “Like, little lacy panties and kissing with lipgloss. Having a manicured hand in my hair while I eat a girl out. Watching an ass in high heels and smelling floral perfumes. Carrying her tiny purse-”

“So...I’m not femme enough?” Adore asked, head still shaking in confusion.

“You’re the one who asked.” Pearl sighed, pushing away from the bridge. “I like you, and it makes me sound like a douche, but, I dunno Adore. I’m a lesbian. I like girls. Sometimes-” Pearl looked over at her. “Sometimes you seem more like a boy.”

Adore swore she could feel her heart shatter, a wrecked sob leaving her. Growing up, one of her biggest sources of shame was not being enough of a “girl.” She never liked frilly things, she never liked the things her older sisters did, like ballet classes and fashion and shopping. She remembered being a kid, bored silly with the endless conversations about nail polish and push-up bras that she was subjected to.

When she came out, one of the best things was that a lot of those expectations were suddenly removed, lifted from her shoulders. She could make her own rules, and so she did. But sometimes, secretly, she still worried. She still glanced at her reflection when in a group of other girls, still wondered sometimes how she measured up.

Most of the time, she got plenty of validation--her friends praising her constantly, and even her sister’s lighthearted shade was affectionate, never failing to slip in a compliment. So she was able to curb her inner demons, really believe that she was beautiful and cute and lovable, even if she wasn’t the most feminine.

But today, hearing Pearl’s honest opinion...it was like someone confirming her worst fear. Like a boy. As she continued crying, her chest aching, she felt like even more of a monster than she ever had.

“C’mon, don’t cry.” Pearl didn’t touch her, and Adore was so thankful for that, as it would have made everything worse. “You’re a really cool boy, and it’s fun to spend time with you.”

“Just stop talking.”

“Let’s get a cab and head back-”

“You think I wanna ride in a cab with you right now?!” Adore asked angrily, swiping at her eyes, surely smearing her makeup even more. “Fuck you!”

“Adore-”

“Just go!” she exclaimed hoarsely, glaring right into Pearl’s tired eyes, daring her.

After a resigned sigh, Pearl muttered, “Whatever you say,” and turned, walking back towards Brooklyn.

***

Courtney had almost finished getting ready for work, putting the last touches on her makeup and looking for a pair of earrings both plain enough to be acceptable, but that she was certain she hadn’t worn in the last two weeks. She’d just pulled out a pair of small, inoffensive black hoops when her phone started buzzing, sending a wave of fear and nausea through her all at once.

It was barely 6:30, and getting a phone call at this time could only mean that there was some pending disaster for her at work--or worse, something she’d already screwed up. She reached for the phone with her heart in throat, stomach churning, only to see to her surprise that it wasn’t her work phone ringing. Brow furrowed, she picked up her old personal iPhone, wondering what could be wrong.

“Adore? Are you okay?”

“Pearl and I broke up,” came Adore’s shaky voice, hitching on the last word.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!”

“We had the best night, I thought things were turning around, and then she-”

What came next was almost totally incomprehensible as Adore tried to speak through her sobs.

“Where are you, honey? Do you need me to come and-”

“I’m on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“You’re what!?” Courtney’s heart nearly stopped, panic rushing through her like a bolt of lightning.

“No, I’m…It’s just cause we were at a party here. Don’t-” Adore managed to chuckle drily through her tears. “Don’t worry.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

“I’m just gonna walk across and then like...I dunno. Probably go home and sleep all day. But I thought...maybe we could hang out this week?”

“Of course! Whenever you want, just say the word. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks. I’m sorry to...I know you’re probably heading to work, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You know you can call me anytime. And Dore?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

Pearl was leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed, a constant throb behind her right eye.

Normally, she had nothing against the big glass doors and windows that let her entire team see her at all times, the installment of them her own choice, but right now, Pearl desperately wished she had a private office.

She was feeling absolutely wretched from last night, and if she was being honest, it wasn’t just leftover alcohol and party drugs that had her feeling like shit.

Adore had completely misunderstood, had refused to listen to her when she explained herself, the whole thing a terrible terrible mess.

It wasn’t Pearl’s fault that Adore had agreed to something she apparently wasn’t cool with, this whole situation only happening because Adore didn’t actually know herself.

Pearl crossed her arms, groaning, the lie comforting for a moment, but it was just that, a lie.

Adore had asked for honesty, but it seemed like Pearl had made a mistake indulging it. She didn’t know what to do, the guilty feeling new and unfamiliar.

“Pearl?” Pearl opened her eyes to see Laganja standing at her door, a curious expression on her face. “I need you to-”

“I don’t need to do shit until after you get me a coffee.”

“Okay boss?” Laganja raised an eyebrow. “Way to be a bitch.”

Laganja turned around and walked away, Pearl groaning as she slid even further down her chair, today going from bad to worse to terrible.

***

“Hello! Earth to Chachki.”

“Huh?” Violet looked up, Bob’s voice cutting through her thoughts. It was midmorning, Trixie coming into work with boxes of cronuts, a smile on his face as the designers had flocked around him.

Everyone had gathered at the couches, Violet’s stack of magazines she had already read in the corner, Maxwell asking if he could read them when she was done.

“Are you going to eat that?” Bob pointed at Violet’s plate.

“Oh.” Violet looked down, the pastry untouched. “Umh-” April had been kind enough to bring Violet a plate without being asked, her and Alexis sitting side by side. “What’s Trixie’s deal with these anyway?”

“With the cronuts?” Jovan looked over at her, Maxwell next to him.

“It means there’s a tough week ahead-” Maxwell waved his cronut around. “It’s kind of an apology in advance.”

“Ha,” Violet smiled, that statement so fitting with everything she knew of Trixie, the man downstairs in a meeting with Bendela.

“And the question still stands on whether or not you're eating that,” Bob nodded, his eyes still firmly on Violet’s cronut.

“Ah.” She hadn’t even tasted it, but Violet was not in the mood, Sutan’s question about Aspen still playing around in her head. “No.”

“Dibs then!” Blu grinned, reaching over the coffee table and snatching it from Violet’s plate.

“Hey!” Bob yelled, outrage on his face. “That was mine.”

“We can share it.” Blu smiled, breaking it in two.

“You guys,” Alexis rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her coffee as she flicked to the next page. “Awww, look!” Alexis lit up, turning the magazine around. “Remember when Lupita Nyong’o wore my dress to the Grammys?”

“Gimme!” Maxwell reached out, snatching it from Alexis' hand and Violet leaned over so she could see too, Jovan inches away from her.

Lupita looked stunning in her dark blue gown, the flowy skirt making her look like a goddess, Alexis’ signature draping all over it.

“She looks great,” Violet said, “You should be very proud.”

“Thanks, girl!”

Violet looked closer at the page, grimacing when she saw Katy Perry’s weirdly unflattering, asymmetrical suit.

“Katy Perry, though, what an absolute mess. It looks as if Maxwell and Jovan collabed while on acid.”

The second the words left her mouth, Violet regretted them.

This was the first time she had spoken her mind around her new coworkers, the first time she had let out her most sarcastic and dry thoughts, her heart speeding up.

Jovan and Maxwell looked at each other, and Violet tensed, prepared for the angry response she was sure would be coming. But instead of snapping at her or putting her in her place, both men burst out laughing, the rest of the group quickly joining in.

This was unlike anything Violet had ever experienced in school, her peers not laughing at her, but apparently with her instead, the feeling completely new. No one giving her death stares or looking at her like she was a stain on a carpet.

“Omigod, draaag them!” Bob exclaimed, wiping his eyes.

“I-” Violet didn’t know what to say. As a child, she had kept her mouth shut, never saying anything, even when it got her in trouble. It had gotten better at the academy, her body speaking for her, but her classmates and coworkers had taken her silence as a judgement, her corrections of their work like attacks instead of the advice she had meant it as.

In college, she had just stopped giving her opinion all together, another girl leaving a critique in tears when Violet had shared her honest thoughts.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Just to be clear,” Maxwell smiled, “I refuse to have this color story pinned on me.”

“Oh girl shut up,” Jovan grabbed the magazine. “It’s not the colors that makes this terrible, it’s the fucking cut. Are you blind?”

“Anything but the neckline is fine.”

“Okay, so you are blind?”

“I think all of it looks like shit too.”

“BLU!”

Violet smiled, watching her coworkers argue, for once, feeling like she completely and absolutely belonged with them.

***

Bianca stepped off the elevator into her foyer, nearly tripping over a pair of studded black combat boots telling her that she wasn’t coming home to her usual empty apartment.

“Adore? Hello? Where are you?”

Bianca walked through the living room and dining room to the kitchen, assuming that’s where she’d find her sister, but there was no Adore to be found.

“Adore!”

She started to get concerned when yipping from the dogs guided her into the den, where Adore was curled up on the giant L-shaped sofa, buried under 3 blankets, a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” Adore looked up, blue eyes red and watery, lip quivering, and Bianca immediately softened at the sight.

“What’s wrong?” Bianca asked, although she had a pretty good idea already.

Adore rubbed her eyes and sniffled before saying, “Please just don’t say ‘I told you so,’ okay?”

“Aww, baby girl…” Bianca rushed to her side, wrapping her up into a hug and rocking her, rubbing her back, letting her cry it out. “I’m so sorry, pussycat.”

“I’m so stupid,” Adore cried into her neck, and Bianca shook her head vigorously.

“You’re not. Not at all. She’s the stupid one. Okay?” Bianca murmured against her temple.

“Do you have any ice cream?”

Bianca smiled slightly, brushing away a few of Adore’s tears with her thumbs. “I’ll have some delivered. Cookie dough or fudge brownie?”

“Both.”

“Coming right up.” Bianca pressed a kiss to Adore’s forehead and reached for her phone. The fact that things between Adore and Pearl had ended like this was no surprise, not to anyone with half a brain, but she still felt badly for her sister, would still do anything possible to help her feel better.

***

“Juju!” Raven stood up, smiling brightly as she watched her best friend make her way through the restaurant. “It’s so good to see you!” Raven pulled her in for a hug, breathing in the scent of the coconut oil Juju always used.

“Hi gorgeous!” Juju said, hugging her back, and Raven grinned, pulling back to take her in.

Juju looked amazing, her brown hair styled in her signature curls, her blouse of the day a satin lilac with a bow. And of course that bump, growing every day.

“Mama, how did you grow this much in two weeks?” Raven put a hand on Juju’s belly, a tight pencil skirt holding it in. She couldn’t feel the baby yet, but that didn’t matter.

“My best guess is curly fries.” Juju laughed. “I’ve been hitting up Arby’s on my way home from the salon every day, because I…” Juju framed her face with triumphant jazz hands, “am garbage!”

“That’s why we love you,” Raven giggled, pressing a kiss to her friend’s cheek before getting back into their seats.

Raven and Juju had been friends for years. Raven had liked Juju from the moment they met,  Sutan putting her in Juju’s salon chair the second he had signed her for Elite, but they hadn’t officially clicked until she had started dating Raja.

Raven had never really had a best friend growing up, and she was so happy that she had Juju, even though they didn’t see each other as much as they both wanted to. Raven often visited the Sanderson household, spending her evenings there sometimes when Raja worked late--but with the twins, Detox and Kelly around, they rarely had time just the two of them. So as soon as the waiter came by and took their orders, she got down to business.

“Tell me all about your trip!” Raven said. “How’s the new location doing?”

“Oh man. I mean it’s going well so far, but could I have chosen a worse time to open up a new salon? I’m so busy already, and now this new kid. I’m a little worried.”

Juju’s New York salon was such a success that over the years she’d opened up several more locations: Los Angeles, Miami, and Chicago. And now, her latest one in Atlanta, opened just a month before she’d found out that she was pregnant again.

“If anyone can do it, you can!” Raven told her with an encouraging squeeze, remembering how hectic things had been after the twins were born. “Look at it this way...at least it’s only one baby this time.”

“Ha! That’s true. Anyway, so far so good. Plus it’s around the corner from the best restaurant I have ever been, in my life”

“In Atlanta?” Raven asked, stirring her iced tea, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, don’t be such a snob!” Juju laughed.

“Whatever you say,” Raven replied.

“Rave, seriously. I mean the food was good, but the desserts?”

Raven perked up, eyes getting bigger and bigger as Juju proceeded to describe a decadent chocolate mousse cheesecake and coconut bread pudding soufflé.

“Stop, omigod!” she finally interrupted, picking up her napkin to fan herself with it. “This is too public. It’s like watching porn on the subway.”

Jujubee laughed, clapping her hands. “Sounds fun! I’m gonna try that. Also...” Juju gestured to the dessert tray rolling by, piled high with confections.

“Ugh, I would push my grandmother in front of a bus for one of those!” Raven groaned, and Juju laughed again.

“So have one! You can’t still be on your runway diet, right?”

“No, I am. “ Raven sighed. “Galactica is doing that showroom thing for the holiday collection next week, and in December I have two swimwear shoots.”

Just thinking about it, Raven groaned. She was excited about the Galactica booking, showroom shows technically way below her level of modeling, but Raven took any excuse she could to work with Raja, spending time with her finacée more than enough reason to put up with the tedious task of playing mannequin for the day.

What was starting not to feel worth it, was the swimwear shoots.

Raven wanted the money, and she was happy she had work, but she couldn’t wait for Thanksgiving, Sutan giving her a mere 6 hours of carte blanche to eat whatever she wanted.

“I’ve been in the gym two hours every day, eating like, grass and leaves.”

Raja had been sweet about it, encouraging her and helping her, but her fiancée just didn’t understand, getting in shape and most importantly keeping the same shape never an issue for Raja, Raja’s measurements largely the same in her 40s as they had been in her 20s. Raven was just happy that Raja seemed to love her body no matter what, the grind of being perfect getting harder and harder every year.

“It’s been horrendous.”

“Aww, I’m sorry boo.” Juju reached over the table, squeezing Raven’s forearm. “If it helps, Kelly’s getting into cooking and yesterday she made us the most god-awful pancakes I’ve ever had. I didn’t want to discourage her so I had five.”

“How is you eating five pancakes supposed to make me feel better?!” Raven shrieked.

“They were terrible!”

“They were pancakes! Do you know how long it’s been since I had a pancake, you fuckin’ bitch?!”

Juju opened her mouth to reply, but instead, caught sight of the absolutely enraged expression on her friend’s face and burst out laughing. Soon both of them were laughing, clutching their sides, completely unconcerned with the number of Upper East Side ladies giving them the stink-eye.

***

COURTNEY: Hey honey, how’s it going?

ADORE: Well. Bianca is keeping the liquor cabinet well-stocked, so...counting my blessings.

COURTNEY: I really want to see you.

ADORE: Me too. Ditch work tomorrow and come hang out with me.

COURTNEY: Ha! I wish.

ADORE: Maybe Friday? Sleepover at my place?

COURTNEY: It’s a date. <3

***

“If you’d please direct your attention to the beading samples in front of you, I’ve made horizontal and vertical variations, the horizontal the pattern I’ve integrated on the bodice-”

As an assistant, Violet had been used to Fame’s steely blue eyes every single day, a squint, a lifted brow, the twist of a mouth more than enough to tell Violet everything she needed to know.

Now, it felt like Fame was a complete stranger, her boss sitting with Raja at her side, both of them completely impassive, Fame’s face not giving anything away.

“And it’s my clear conviction that that will be the best choice, the lines creating a more pleasant visual.”

Violet knew it wasn’t her outfit, her hair styled with a golden clip exactly like Fame liked it, her nails the almond shape and pale pink that was never a problem, her shoes the regulated height so Violet wouldn’t tower over Fame if they had to walk anywhere together.

“For the sleeves, I hope you’ll considered the flared options,” Violet twisted her mannequin, showing off the right sleeve that she had carefully attached with loose stitches to her dress, “But I’ve also done a more traditional slender-”

“Violet.”

Violet froze, looking over at Fame, her boss wearing a white sweater and white high waisted pants, the row of pearls on her Jimmy Choo’s matching her bracelet and earrings.

“That’s all.”

“Oh,” Violet felt her stomach clench, a flash of disappointment washing over her. “Yes Miss.”

Violet grabbed her mannequin, knowing defeat when it was staring her in the face. She had no idea what she had done wrong, Fame cutting her off mid sentence, all the other designers getting feedback or questions.

Violet watched as Alexis rolled up, the other woman instantly filling out the room with her personality, even making Raja laugh as she showed off the several garments she was working on.

Violet swallowed her disappointment, breathing through her nose as she left the meeting room, her nails digging into her palm.

Years of ballet had taught her that sometimes, even your best wasn’t enough, but without feedback, Violet had no idea what to change or how to fix the situation.

She sat at her desk, tailoring thankfully sending up a package with options for details on her prêt-à-porter so she could distract herself.

Violet was going over the button options for the clothes that would end up mass produced for the stores, when she felt Trixie’s hand on her shoulder.

“Good work today Violet.” Trixie smiled, sitting down on the edge of her desk. He was wearing a blue fuzzy sweater with a teddy bear on it, the creation so clearly made by Katya, a clipboard in his hand.

“Thanks.” Violet bit her cheek, doing her best not to let the disappointment show on her face.

“I know it’s tough right now, not knowing where you stand, but remember. You’re most likely already in the collection somewhere.” Trixie’s voice was soft, which actually only made Violet feel worse, his compassion not at all what she needed. “While we’re waiting for placements and final feedback, I need you to focus on Holiday.”

“Yes.” Violet nodded. She only had one piece in the holiday collection, but she still had to do her best.

“Everything is happening Monday, and I hope you’re ready for it. I expect you to be there bright and early, getting to know how these things work will be crucial for your further career here.”

“Yes sir-” Violet cut herself off, the sir feeling all wrong. “You got it coach.”

[alirhi]

random snippet again

as promised, @feralgoblintea here's the (temporary) scene where the two sisters meet for the first time since one went missing as a child

note about the nickname: Rachel's middle name is Miranda; everyone has called her 'Andy' from that since she was a little kid. it's explained in her story, but not in this scene, so I just wanted to explain it here lol

"Your parents are very eager to know where you've been and what you've been going through all these years," the doctor told her, deep voice oddly gentle and soothing. Rachel smiled sadly; his voice reminded her of Amadeus. "Most of all, they want to know that you're alright."

She knew he thought she was crazy. Her parents definitely shared that opinion, which was why she was here to begin with. Still, she couldn't help asking, "And, in your professional opinion, am I?"

He caught her lightly mocking tone and snorted, leaning back in his chair to mirror her pose. "In my professional opinion," he shot back, though the sarcasm left his tone before he even finished his sentence, "you've been through Hell, Rachel. The trauma you've suffered is very, very real. If you're asking, do I believe in demons and portals and time travel, I'd have to say no. But that pain and fear came from somewhere... I'd like you to come back in for regular sessions, if you're up for it; see if we can cut through the fantasy, see past the demons and find the real monsters who hurt you."

"That's why I'm not coming back." She stood, shaking her head a little. "I'm not surprised you don't believe me - I probably wouldn't believe it, myself, if I hadn't lived it - but it's a bit frustrating. What I told you isn't metaphors or delusion. It all happened, and I'm not interested in having someone rip it all apart and try to make me doubt my own memory."

"They call that 'gaslighting' these days."

Startled, the blonde whirled around to face the source of the new voice; a woman she sort of vaguely recognized was standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, smiling at her. After a long moment, her brain helpfully edited the image before her to make it make sense; wild red hair to dirty blonde, violet eyes to mismatched green and blue, face younger and body smaller and more plump. "...Beck?!"

Rebecca's smile widened and she stepped forward with a nod. "Hey, Andy."

"Oh my god!" With a laugh and a delighted screech, she launched herself across the room and threw her arms around her little sister. "What are you doing here?"

Nearly squeezing the breath out of her, the younger woman murmured, "I heard you were back and had to see you. Stand your ground, Andy. Don't let them make you forget or doubt that it was all real. We know the truth." She released her, only to bring her hands up to grip the sides of her sister's head. "Magic is real."

Rachel froze, staring at Rebecca's mouth long after it closed and the two long, wicked fangs that had drawn her attention were hidden from view. "...What happened to you?"

"Not here. I'll tell you everything, but not here."

"Okay." Without so much as a backward glance at the shrink, she followed the redhead out of the office, past their fretting parents, and out into the bright sunny day that made Rebecca hiss.

She cringed and immediately donned a beat-to-hell baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses. "Fuck, I hate sunny days."

"You always did." Rachel couldn't help smiling faintly; so many years had passed, more than anyone in the world around them could ever understand, and yet so little about her baby sister had changed.

"Yeah, well... I've only gotten more sensitive to it."

Once they'd made it deep enough into the woods behind the Industrial Park that there was no risk of anyone overhearing, they stopped, and Rachel asked her point blank: "You're a vampire, aren't you?"

Rebecca laughed, gratefully leaning back into the shade of the nearest tree. "Only in our lives is that a casual conversation starter. And yes. Thankfully I'm old enough that daylight won't kill me. It's just unpleasant."

With her own accidental time travel in mind, the blonde asked, "How old are you?" Thirty-seven, she knew, in the eyes of the people around them; to them, Rachel herself had only just turned thirty-nine, and yet both sisters looked at each other with exhausted, haunted eyes millennia older than they could ever hope to make anyone else understand.

"As a vampire, or in general?" She smirked, shrugging off her own question before her sister could answer. "In general is harder to pin down, but I've been a vampire for about six thousand years, give or take a few."

Leaning against a tree roughly opposite Rebecca's, Rachel mirrored her smirk and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was Queen of an entire planet, and then POW and slave on a second, then a fugitive... I managed to send my older daughter home, before I got stuck on a third planet with my boys and little girl. It's been about ten thousand years."

"You have kids?" Rebecca grinned, once again showing those distractingly long fangs. "Me, too! I have two daughters, Madeline and Alice."

"Senna, Kieran, Caspian, and...Cassie," Rachel told her in answer to her unspoken question. She couldn't help blushing as she listed her children's names; she'd since learned what senna was, and hadn't actually given her younger two children names beginning with the same sound on purpose. It had just sort of worked out that way.

"Twins?"

She shook her head. "Caspian's my stepson, kinda, and Cassie was named after-"

Rebecca flinched, remembering. "After Cassie Wade, right? I was so focused on figuring out what happened to you, and then fighting to survive, I'd forgotten she went missing with you."

"She..." Clearing her throat, the blonde squared her shoulders and pulled her strong front around herself like a familiar safety blanket. "She saved our lives; she didn't make it. And, yeah. I named my youngest after her. Anyway, they're all grown, and Kieran..." Jaw clenching, she forcibly dismissed thoughts of her rapist and merely said, "He's my perfect warrior prince. Well, King now. I love them all, and desperately miss Senna, but Kieran, despite his more questionable choices, has a special place in my heart."

Rebecca took her sunglasses off and studied her for a moment before venturing, "Y'know... I literally eat rapists for breakfast."

That got a startled bark of laughter from her big sister, who shook her head. "Even if my boy hadn't already killed him, I doubt his gross, rancid blood would sit well with you. He wasn't human."

The redhead shrugged, smirking again. "Doesn't have to be. I've eaten Fae, elves, one vampire that pissed me off royally..."

"Not such a picky eater anymore, huh?" she teased, grinning. "Was it some badass revenge on your sire or something?"

Laughing, Rebecca shook her head. "Nope, no sire. I'm the OG vampire, babe. The first of the species. My younger daughter, Alice, is the first of the natural born vamps."

"So, wait... You could still get pregnant after you were turned? What?" Rachel frowned, beyond confused. "And how the fuck...?"

"I'm not dead," her little sister explained with another laugh. "Everything's slowed way the hell down, but hasn't stopped. I can't have kids with a human, or probably most Fae, but a certain trickster God..."

"...God?"

She grinned and nodded, though her haunting violet eyes looked sad. "Loki. He's Alice's dad."

"Huh. So the Gods are real." Rachel snorted. "Go figure. And my sister banged one."

"I loved him," the other woman whispered, staring at the ground. She opened her mouth as if to speak further, then seemed to reconsider and closed it again, clearing her throat.

To spare her from some clearly painful memories, whatever they were, Rachel asked, "What's a Fae?"

"Fairy," was the simple enough answer. "Fairies are real, too. Maddie - my oldest - is Fae."

Is she Loki's, too? She didn't dare ask - Loki was clearly a touchy subject - but she was dying to know.

As if she could read her mind, Rebecca, still avoiding her gaze, explained, "I was still mortal when I had her. Her father was Fae."

As the light breeze shifted the leaves above them, making the light dance across Rebecca's ghostly white skin, Rachel finally noticed the scars. At first, they'd looked like tribal tattoos, done puzzlingly in a silvery-white. When she realized they were actually a complex web of ancient scars, she also noticed they covered every inch of her sister's flesh that she could see around her shorts and tank top. Her face was the only place free of the oddly beautiful swirling lines, though she did spot a faint scar on her forehead, running from hairline to cheekbone and through the outer edge of her eyebrow.

"Is Madeline's father why you hunt rapists?" Is he the one who tore you apart?

"He didn't rape me... Technically. But yes, he's the one who scarred me." At her startled look, Rebecca smirked; it utterly failed to reach her eyes, but it was a start. "I can read your mind. I'm trying not to - I find it unspeakably rude and invasive - but when you're actively thinking about me, it tends to cut through my shields. The scars are from a spell he worked on me; blood magic. It's what made Maddie's conception possible, and chained me to him for years."

"Kieran's father was my greatest enemy; Crown Prince of the people who'd been attacking and slaughtering mine. King by the time I escaped." She didn't know what made her suddenly share this, but it felt like the thing to do. Her sister had told her something deeply personal and troubling; it seemed only right to meet candor with candor. Besides, Rachel and Rebecca had been two peas in a pod as children, as close as two sisters could possibly be. There was no amount of time that could strain their relationship. "I was captured in battle and kept as a slave for around a year and a half."

"How did the other three come about?" She smirked again, shoving her wild red hair back off her face impatiently. "Even when we were kids, I'd have bet just about anything that you're gayer than a rainbow, so how do you have so many kids?"

Rachel laughed, rolling her eyes. "Political marriage gave me Senna - born in a dungeon, thanks to me being pregnant during the battle and not knowing it yet. She was smuggled home to her father after she was born. I made a friend in that Hellhole, Emil, and he'd been raising Caspian; he's not his biological father, but that never mattered, just like it didn't matter to me that I didn't give birth to him. That boy's just as much my son as Kieran. We were supposed to go back to my home when we escaped, but something went screwy and we ended up on Achlys, instead, where I met my girlfriend and we all decided to just settle and raise the boys."

"So you cheated on your husband?" Rebecca's grin was teasing - and, thank god, reached her eyes at last! - but Rachel still threw an acorn at her when she said, "You whore!"

"I never saw him again! And he wouldn't have given a shit," she explained with a laugh. "I was, like, his third or fourth wife. And like I said, it was purely political; I was Queen, he was my advisor, he wanted power and I wanted an heir. Enter Senna, who boosted Raziel from random noble to father of the next Queen, and assured that there would be someone to take the reins if I died."

"So..." Her sister began ticking points off on her fingers as she spoke. "Shrewd political moves gave you Senna, you're co-parenting Caspian with a friend, we won't speak of Kieran's origins... How and why was Cassie a thing?"

Rachel shook her head, gaping at her. "A thing? That's nice, Beck. Real nice."

"Gods, you've missed so many cultural shifts, dude." Rebecca shook her head right back, trying not to laugh at her. "Just answer the question, old lady."

"Emil and I, and my girlfriend Trinity, all talked and decided to hell with conventionality; we all love each other, so we'll all be together. Em's my exception, I guess; the only man I've ever been attracted to even after seeing him naked. Our boys were grown, Senna was long gone, we'd made a whole new life for ourselves, so we decided to have another baby. Enter Cassie." Rachel sighed, staring off into space. "And now she's grown, Kieran's back in that awful place trying to turn it around, married to a great girl, Caspian's there with them to help..."

Though she had a feeling she knew the answer, the vampire asked softly, "And your lovers?"

"...Dead. Cassie - Cassie Wade, I mean - died in prison, Trin and Em were killed in the second war." A bitter smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. "Kieran and Cas are running a third."

"There's always another fucking war," Rebecca grumbled. "I've watched so many of them come and go, fought in two, myself... It never really ends."

[amysteryspot]

Just keep it a secret...

A/N: Well, I’m back again with something nobody asked for and nobody will care for but I wanted to share, because this idea is eating me alive. So enjoy it and let me know what you think about it (there is a possibility that I’m planning to do something with this...).

“She’s here?” That was the first thing Alfie asked when they stepped foot onto the bakery, Tommy following him closely, still unsure about his whole plan. Ollie was quick to answer his boss, seemingly surprised to see the two gangsters together,

“Not yet, Alfie.” The Jew hummed in answer, heading to his office without giving a second glance towards the younger man.

“Fucking hell, that woman!” Alfie stopped immediately after opening the door, chuckling lightly, clearly amused by whatever he was seeing. He took a step forward so Tommy could enter and the sight before him certainly wasn’t something that the Brummie was expecting.

There was a woman sitting rather comfortably in Alfie’s chair. It was difficult to distinguish her face by the way she was settled, the gleam of dusk as the only source of light in the room made good work at mask her in shadows. What he saw was black pantyhose covered feet propped up onto the table, a pair of expensive high heels resting beside them and the smoke rising from the cigarettes that she held between her fingers, perfect manicured nails painted in black.

“Are you armed?” Alfie asked, lightly, what made her chuckle as she picked up a glass from the table with her free hand, taking a sip of the drink and then answering him in a slightly condescending tone,

“You know I don’t like guns.” Tommy was a bit surprised by the information – it was rather unusual, especially in their line of work – but it was the sound of her voice the responsible to send a chill through his spine, sweet and smooth like honey.

“Yeah, that’s right, treacle, my bad, huh?” Alfie got ahead and turned on the lights, before asking casually, “What about that knife of yours, uh, love?” She smiled, returning Alfie’s stare, nimble fingers lifting the hem of her dress and picking up the pocketknife strapped to her garter belt, unfolding the blade with the flick of a button and then placing it on the table.

Saying that she was beautiful would be an understatement - there was something in her mere presence that enraptured you immediately. Something in the way her green eyes showed a hint of mischief and danger, how the blood red lipstick on her plump lips looked sinful paired with the sideway smirk, the way her curly brown hair brushed her shoulders.

“A girl gotta protect herself,” her eyes glanced at him briefly, barely taking note that he was in the room before she focused them on Alfie again.

“That right, hum, and we both know that you’re very good at that, aren’t you? How did you get here?” The Jew questioned as he walked to her, sitting at the edge of the desk, his back to the door, as she lazily put her feet down, resting her elbows on the surface.

“Oh, Alfie, you know better than to make me that question.” Alfie chuckled as Tommy closed the door, quietly, almost unsure if he should stay in the room or not.

“Yeah, I know, don’t I?” A moment of silence passed in wish the two just stared at each other, completely ignoring Tommy’s presence, and then Alfie asked, “Where have you been? Took you long enough to answer my message.” The wicked smile that appeared on her face as she leaned in to Alfie, close enough to touch him but just lingering there, instead, made Tommy remember what the Jewish man had said about her.

“What? Are you jealous, Alfred?”

“Not jealous, treacle, just thought that we were friends, didn’t I?”

“I never said that I wouldn’t take no other.”

“Fuck me,” he cursed under his breath, making her smile widen as she spoke,

“Already did.” This time Tommy couldn’t contain the little smile that crept up onto his face, quite satisfied that there was someone who seemed able to reduce the great Alfie Solomons speechless, even if just for a brief moment. Her eyes turned to him and that made Alfie regain his control, the man got up, straightening himself and turned to point at Tommy.

“This is my friend, Tommy.” She took the opportunity to size him up as he walked to the desk, eyeing him from head to toe, a smirk taking place at her blood red lips again. Tommy was quite satisfied with the fact that she seemed pleased with what she saw.

When he was close enough, Tommy extended his hand to her, she took a moment to glance at his hand and then at his eyes and he noticed that her irises where from a deep shade of green, something that reminded him of precious jewels. She got up from the chair, he let his eyes wander down her curves, the black fabric hugging her body almost sinfully, not letting much space to the imagination, and yet, all he wanted was to see her out of it. The smirk on her face said to him that she was pleased with that and when their eyes met again her hand finally touched his.

“Eve.” Tommy couldn’t help but think that the name fitted her just right, because the image in front of him surely was a perfect portrayal of temptation.

[sincerelyreidburke]

won’t you lay me down

Hi, I wrote some CCU hurt/comfort fluff. I know that sounds like an oxymoron, but bear with me.

In which: Derek has a bad mental health day. Will has his back.

Also on ao3!

///

Will doesn’t see the text at first.

It’s not really his fault. Monday mornings are busy. After morning practice at 6:30 (Will likes that better than evening practice, and as captain he’s tried to keep the practice schedule relatively consistent), he has a meeting with Hall and Murray for thirty minutes while the rest of the team filters out to their respective morning activities and routines. It’s the last he sees of Derek until the afternoon, every Monday— because after Will’s meeting with the coaches, he’s straight off to his internship in Boston for the rest of the morning, then comes back to campus for his 2:30 CS 381 class.

So when the text comes in, he’s mid-transit from Boston to Samwell, sitting in traffic on 128. As a general rule, he doesn’t check his phone while driving. Also, why the fuck is there so much traffic in the middle of the day on a Monday.

He doesn’t understand Massachusetts drivers.

Anyway. It’s when he gets back to campus that he sees it, sitting in his lockscreen over the wallpaper of him and Derek.

18m ago

Derek: do u mind if i chill in the basement

Derek: can’t focus in my room, c is playing music

Oh. Will unlocks his phone, sitting in his student parking spot. He and Derek use each other’s rooms all the time, even outside of their constant sleeping-over in each other’s. Many a time has he returned from class, internship, or other obligation to find his boyfriend hanging out in the bungalow.

They have their own spaces in the Haus, but they do their fare share of, well. Sharing.

Sry just saw this , he sends back. Was drivung. Of cuorse you can use the basment

He looks at the text thread for a second, then sends a <3 after his message, and tucks his phone away again.

On to the next thing.

Class is sort of tedious today, but what’s worse than it is the actual trek back to the Haus from the compsci building, because it’s frigid outside, a chill that gets to his bones even in his winter jacket and the beanie he stole from Derek. In typical New England February fashion, it’s supposed to snow tonight, or at least that’s what he thinks he heard from someone at his internship this morning. He spent most of his shift working out a kink in his supervisor’s code, and he was lost in the numbers and symbols for hours.

He likes it. It’s satisfying to figure out a program.

When he reaches the Haus, finally , Whiskey and Ford are hanging out in the kitchen. He waves to them on his way by, then wonders if he should bake tonight. Maybe after his homework, he can make cookies. The pie he made this weekend is gone already, because all three of the freshmen were here yesterday, nothing he bakes lasts long in their presence.

Will heads straight downstairs, and the door to his room is closed; the lights inside look like they’re off. He eases it open, reaching for the light switch. Derek must have finished whatever he was doing.

Or— not.

Derek is here, and he can tell because he hears Dwayne Johnson singing. He freezes with his hand on the light-switch before he can turn it on, and steps all the way into the room instead, where he catches sight of him— or at least catches sight of what he knows is him, under several layers of cover.

Derek has burrowed himself into Will’s bed with his laptop, and he’s watching Moana , the light of the screen on his face the only source of any light in the room at all. He’s wearing Will’s Samwell hoodie, the good one with Poindexter and 24 and C on the sleeve, and its hood is pulled over his head, strings drawn to make his face look like a blue-lit mask poking out of it. He looks only half-invested in the movie, because he’s resting his face on his arm, scrunched up to the pillow.

Will’s stomach turns. Bedridden Derek in his stolen sweatshirt and Moana are a combination that can only mean one thing.

He closes the door, gently, behind himself. “Der?”

It appears that this is the first Derek actually notices that someone else has entered the room. Will hears the click of the space bar, and the Rock halts mid-chorus. “Oh,” comes Derek’s voice from his blanket cocoon, and it’s small and drawn, the opposite of his loud bravado. “Hey, babe.”

“Hi.” Will drops his backpack at the door, then goes directly to him, crouching on the steps that get him to the loft bed. “Hey,” he says, across the laptop. “Are you okay?”

Derek pauses. He purses his lips at his computer screen, then sighs and lowers it. “Ch’yeah,” he mumbles. “I’m alright.”

With the laptop closed, Will reaches for his face. He cups his stubbly cheek in one hand, runs his thumb across his cheekbone. Derek looks blank, drained. Will knows this demeanor well by now.

“No, you’re not,” he whispers. Without the light of the laptop, it’s nearly dark inside. The slivers of gray daylight from where Derek pulled the shade on the window are all that remain.

Derek breathes in like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. He nuzzles his face into Will’s pillow a little more.

“Der,” Will whispers. He kneels on the steps, pauses his thumb by Derek’s ear. “Gray day?”

Derek whimpers a little, like it pains him to admit it, but nods. “Yeah.”

Will keeps gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks. “This morning?”

Derek bites his lip. “Didn’t feel it this morning.”

“Oh.” Will pauses. “When did it hit you?”

He closes his eyes. “When I got back to the Haus.”

Will frowns. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Derek’s eyes are still closed. He shakes his head. “You couldn’tve known, babe.”

For a moment, the room is quiet. Will pushes Derek’s laptop aside a little. “What can I do?”

Derek takes his time, answering. Will is patient. He knows how to do this. He slides his hand into his curls under the hood; they’re matted, and they’ll be worse if he just lays in bed for the rest of the day. “You want to tie your hair?”

Derek takes a long breath.

“You don’t have to,” Will adds. “But if it’ll help you for later…”

“My scarf’s upstairs,” Derek mumbles, weakly, like upstairs is a continent away.

“It’s okay,” Will tells him. “I can get it, baby.”

Derek’s face contorts a little, like he’s about to cry, but he doesn’t; he just opens his eyes. His eye contact is distant, like he’s staring more into space than back at Will, but he’s trying, and Will knows that. “I love you,” he whispers, and then, “I don’t feel well.”

“I know,” Will hushes. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek groans.

“Never be sorry,” Will says. “Ever.” He kisses his forehead, feather-light, and then tells him, “I love you too. And I’m gonna go get your scarf, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Derek winces again, like something hurts. He nods, though, slowly, and rests his cheek on the pillow again. Will pulls back to go, but God, it’s hard, because he knows how much Derek hates being alone when he feels like this, and he’s already been in here by himself for God knows how long—

Okay, he’ll only be gone a minute. But even so, he feels the need to fill that space. He climbs down to his bookshelf, reaches onto its center shelf between Derek’s poetry books, and grabs hold of his oldest friend.

“Here,” he whispers, bringing Cromwell up so Derek can see. “Do you want a friend?”

Derek eyes the plush lobster, and though he doesn’t look like he has an ounce of energy to smile, his eyes soften. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Please.”

Will hands him over, and Derek engulfs the little red thing in his sea of blankets, resting him right under his nose. The visual would be cute, if Derek weren’t in such a bad spot. Will caresses his cheek again, then smooths the few curls that are poking out of the hood. “Be right back, baby,” he says. “Do you know where your scarf is?”

Derek pauses, then shakes his head.

“It’s alright,” Will assures him. “I’ll find it.”

This was hard, at first, being so new to this side of him, and not knowing how to help him. But they’ve been together for eight months, and Will knows Derek’s gray days by now, knows the tells for when he’s feeling down, knows a few remedies that help to ease the numbness.

He makes a beeline for Derek’s room upstairs as fast as his legs can carry him. The space itself is even evidence that Derek isn’t feeling himself; there are more clothes on the floor than usual, and the bed is unmade, and his desk looks like his notebook exploded. Will sifts through his dresser drawers, between Samwell shirts, pairs of gym shorts, random articles of Will’s own clothing that’ve been stolen, but there’s no sight of the green headscarf he wears sometimes to bed. He moves his search to the desk, and then to the actual bed, and he’s about to give up when he finds it tucked between the down comforter and the sheets.

Success. He heads back downstairs.

“Hey, Dex, is Nursey in your room?”

“Oh—” Will halts in the kitchen doorway. The question came from Ford; she’s still at the counter. “Yeah,” he replies, poking his head around the corner. Tango has now joined the kitchen gathering. “He’s just watching a movie.”

“Oh, cool.” Ford nods. “I just didn’t know if he was in the Haus. I thought I saw him go down there, like, two hours ago.”

“Yeah,” Will says, “he’s with me.”

Tango waves. “Hi, Dex!”

“Hey, Tango.” Will opens the basement stairs door.

Chowder knows this version of Derek as well as Will does, but the rest of the team doesn’t. It’s what’s buried under the chill, what he could never stand to let people know about himself.

Derek’s brain is awful to him sometimes.

Back in his room, he finally takes off his winter jacket and closes the door behind him, then climbs up the steps to his bed again. Derek is still snuggling with Cromwell, but his laptop has moved; he’s pushed it to the pouch adjacent to Will’s headboard where he keeps his phone, occasional book, and other random stuff while he sleeps.

Will unfolds the scarf. It’s silky smooth. “Gave up on Moana ?” he hums.

Derek rolls over and nods. Will kicks his sneakers off, then crawls onto the mattress, which squeaks a little under both their weight. He slides a hand under his back— Derek is very, very warm, but that’s the way he likes to be when he’s like this— and eases him up into a sitting position. “Sit up for me, babe?”

Derek moves with his touch, nice and easy, and when Will has him sitting up, he slots himself against his back, lets Derek lean on him. “You want me to talk?” he asks as he pulls the hood off his head. “Or do you like the quiet?”

Derek hums a little. “Talk. Please.”

“Okay.” Will combs through his curls, then pulls the scarf tight around them. He learned this on YouTube, after his third time hearing post-funk Derek lament that his depression was ruining his hair. “It’s supposed to snow,” he tells him. “Five inches.”

Derek groans. “Fuck that.”

“I know,” Will mumbles. “But if classes get cancelled, I’ll make cookies.”

“Mm.” Derek hums again, as Will pulls the knot at the back of his neck tight. “What kind?”

“Still deciding.” He hooks his arms around his neck, pulls him close, and kisses his cheek. “You can file a request, if you want.”

“Snickerdoodle.”

“Done.”

“Thank you.” Derek pauses. “For tying my hair.”

Will noses into his neck, drops a kiss there, and then moves back up to his face. “Of course, Der.” He turns him a little, cups his face in one hand. Derek still looks gray, and he looks, God, he looks so tired ; he always does when he’s like this, but it pains Will every time.

He wants to take every ounce of hurt away from him.

“What can I do?” he asks.

Derek takes a long breath while he thinks about it. His words, on these days, come slowly. “Um.” He nods to himself, like he’s thinking about it. “Do you have homework?”

Will shakes his head. “I have plenty of time to do it.”

“Okay.” Derek pauses, then, “Lay with me?”

“Yeah.” Will nods. “Ayuh. Of course.”

They wind up curled into the blanket pile, with Derek pressed tight against Will’s chest, a little further down the bed than him so he can tuck his face into his shoulder. Will presses a kiss to the top of his scarf, holds him as close as he can. He knows the pressure helps him, eases his brain a little. Cromwell rests on the pillow, somewhere near the both of them. He’s a little extra moral support.

“Thank you, Will,” Derek says, with an exhale, as he nuzzles into his chest.

“You’re welcome,” Will replies. “Always.”

“Mmf.” Derek wraps himself around him, arms and legs and all. His voice is muffled when he speaks again, but Will knows the words anywhere. “You and me.”

Will nods. “You and me.”

It’s a mantra and a promise. Hell or high water. Good days and gray ones.

“I’ve got you,” he tells him, and he’ll never let go.

[akitokihojo]

Delicate - Chapter 7

Inuyasha sighed out, a barely-visible puff of air appearing before his face as he walked along the length of the gate outside of the schoolyard. He felt abnormally exhausted this morning, and like anyone, he blamed it on the fact that it was Monday, the clouds were dreary, and he may have been up late playing video games. He had a chemistry test this afternoon, and he could only hope to wake up a little more by then to properly focus.

He’d caught her scent just before entering the building, his attention blindly following his nose as his eyes scoured the grounds for her. She wasn’t that far off, standing in a misshapen circle with Sango and three other girls, one of them enthusiastically telling a story that had the lot of them giggling. That smile, the rosy color of her cheeks, the way the tip of her nose was a light shade of pink from the chill of their morning, it was all like a buzz of caffeine for him. The more he watched, the more he listened to the melody of her laugh, the lighter he began to gradually feel.

Kagome was wearing black tights beneath her charcoal uniform skirt this morning as opposed to the knee-high socks she usually opted for, sparing her legs from the small nip in the air. Over her white button up, she donned a dark, knitted sweater, the baggy sleeves shielding her fingers. But, her neck wasn’t covered. Sure, her hair was worn down, waving over her shoulders in their natural order, but what good was that compared to something literally manufactured to keep heat in? The dummy was just asking for a cold. Whatever combatant thought that formulated in his head deliberately went ignored as he turned away from the building to walk toward her, a horrible fluttering expanding throughout his abdomen. Sango’s gaze met him first as he approached, then Kagome’s as the group of girls’ chatter died off into a curious and muddled silence. God, he didn’t think there was anything capable of rivaling the annoying sensation in his stomach at the moment, but when she smiled wider at him as he stopped just a foot or two before her, his heart gave a thunderous pound that he worried would wound his ribcage. His cheeks went hot, then his nose, then the remainder of his face, and the thought of his evident blush only made him heat up furthermore. Her greeting was soft and happy, bringing him to huff out, his jaw clenching, and his amber eyes drifting off to the side. As planned, Inuyasha removed the muffler from his neck, untwisting it so he could hand it over. From his peripherals, he gathered that she was confused, not immediately taking it from him, so he decidedly did the damn job himself before he ended up spontaneously combusting from flames of embarrassment. Carefully, the hanyou looped it behind her neck, twisted, then looped it again so it bunched properly to keep her warm, her raven hair billowed beneath. 

She was staring up at him with large eyes, her pink lips pinching together then growing into a shy and appreciative smile. Son of a bitch, she was fucking cute.

He walked away, heading toward the entrance of the building without a single word, and Kagome’s blush maddened as her friends made hushed and cheery noises at what had just happened.

“So, what? Are you guys together now?”

“When did you two even become a thing?”

“Wasn’t that Inuyasha? I’ve never seen him not mad.”

“Nah, he still looked mad. Just a flustered sort of mad.”

“And to think just a couple days ago you were worried.” Sango teased.

“Yeah, but y-you know happened.” Kagome said, feeling like she was standing under an intense spotlight.

“Uh, we don’t!” Eri stated, bringing the attention back to them. “Hello, hi. Details, please.”

“Oh, look at the time.” Kagome pulled back the sleeve of her left hand to look at the invisible watch along her wrist, beginning to walk backward toward their school building. “I need to - I’ve gotta - I mean, class is starting soon, so yeah. Bye.”

Sango laughed, waving and knowing full and well that her friend was heading to catch up with her favored half demon. 

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell us?”

“Sorry, guys.” She shrugged, smiling. “The best friend privilege is knowing, and the code is not spilling business that isn’t mine to spill.”

Kagome wandered over to his locker in the third row, spotting him just as he closed the small, metal door. He glanced over, his eyes never leaving her as she sauntered his way, and though his cheeks continued to reveal some of his timidness, a soft smile on his lips further ignited the spark between them.

“I don’t need it back if that’s what you’re about to ask.”

“Not yet, anyway.”

“After school. Keep it until then.”

“I actually came to walk with you. If that’s okay?”

“You don’t need to ask, dummy.” Inuyasha replied, though there was the hint of tension in his tone. He gave a notch of his head to lead the way, shoving his hands into his pant pockets to appear as casual as possible. She walked at his side, just as close as they’d walked on Saturday night, and he found it to be a source of comfort. Progressively, his preservation melted away with her warmth, wanting less to hide his affection behind a barricade and wanting more to give it to her so she’d always smile like she had before. 

“So, uh, how’d you do on your last math test?” He asked as they began their ascent up the stairs and to the second floor where their classes were.

“Oh, I totally forgot! I meant to show you!” Kagome opened her book bag at her side, pulling out the quiz after wiggling it free from between two notebooks. She held it out, positively beaming and excited for him to see her accomplishment.

Inuyasha took in the “B” next to her name before taking the paper into his grip, a smile of his own forming as his pride for her swelled. “This is the best one yet! Soon you’re not even gonna need my help.”

“I don’t know about that.” She quickly countered, a little nervous at the sound of losing any easy opportunity to see him outside of school. “I still struggle a bit. And, I mean, you do call me a dummy.”

“Not as an insult.” He chuckled, handing the test back to her so she could shove it back into her bag.

“It originated for a reason, and then just became an endearment of sorts.”

“I don’t think you’re dumb.” Inuyasha said, still smiling. He glanced at her, noticing the uncertainty in her eyes, shielded behind a small grin. Was she looking for validation? He felt something click in him, like he didn’t actually need to question what she wanted. The quick rebut she’d served just a moment ago to his comment, the look she was giving, the warm sensation building in his chest - it made it easy not to second guess his intuition. This was an understanding he’d been privileged to receive from being with her so often, from falling in love. Not a part of him desired to resist what surprisingly and so simply came to him right now, the back of his hand grazing her knuckles until he hooked one of her fingers with his own. They both stopped walking, and he pulled her closer by another inch. “Relax. I’m not going anywhere; we’ll still study together. Maybe you’ll even end up tutoring me.”

“Doubtful.” Kagome muttered with a shy smile, her finger gently clutching his in return.

“Which part?”

“Me tutoring you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He chuckled, her responding giggle like a gift. The bell rang and he knew the halls were about to get busy as everyone filtered through to class. He took the opportunity he had, never letting go of her finger. “Tomorrow? I’ll walk you home and we can study.”

“Okay.” She nodded, smiling.

Using his free hand, Inuyasha twirled some strands of her hair around his finger, ones that were short, and framed her jaw, and weren’t held captive by the muffler like the rest of it all still was. “Come on, dummy.” He grinned, leading her to her class with a yank on her finger.

—

Sango puffed out her cheeks in a mock pout, standing by a tree with her arms crossed over her chest after school. “Call me repetitive, but I still cannot believe you’re ditching me for a boy today.”

“You’re repetitive.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not even ditching you,” Kagome laughed. “I said he’d be walking with us. You’re the one who chose to walk home alone.”

“Excuse me, look me in the eyes and tell me I’m third wheel material. I dare you.”

She laughed a little harder from her best friend’s dramatic exasperation. “He’s walked with us before, Sango! It’s just like every other time.”

“Bull and baloney! The last time he walked with us was before you guys got over the majority of your romantic constipation.” Sango ignored the weird look that took over Kagome’s expression, proceeding on with her argument without hesitance. “Things are better now, you’ve both gotten a clue - thank god - and moves are being made. When he said he wanted to walk you home, he meant he wanted to walk you home. Therefore, if I tag along until we hit my route, he’s gonna be uncomfortable up until then and I’m gonna be the cockblock.”

“What? Not even!”

“Oh, yeah.”

“So, you’re just gonna avoid us forever now? This is it? Whenever Inuyasha wants to come with, you’re out?” Kagome grinned, leaning her head to the side in a playful challenge.

“No, of course not. Not forever. When you guys are in an established relationship - and by established, I mean passed the mushy crap - then I’ll make my return. Maybe even sooner if I land myself a stud, because then I wouldn’t be a third wheel.” Sango shrugged.

“You’ve got one guy in mind that can’t even talk to you passed ‘hello,’ so that could take a while.”

“See you on the flip side, my main gal.”

“You realize then that this isn’t me choosing a guy over you, but you choosing your pride over everything?”

“You bet, but I’m still blaming you.”

“You know what? I’m gonna do you a favor.” Kagome cocked a brow, her smile shifting into one of deviousness.

“What? No, wait. No. I know that look, and I hate it. What are you gonna do?” Sango’s face twisted in suspicion, her brows furrowing deeply as Kagome turned about, seemingly searching the school grounds. She had a sinking feeling in her chest as a scheme had obviously just popped into Kagome’s head, and who had she just mentioned? Bad, not good, very bad. “Kay, I swear to Zeus if you -“

“Oh, there they are!” Kagome beamed, practically skipping her way over to the pair of far-off boys.

“I have no best friend!” Sango hissed, quickly ducking herself to hide behind the tree.

Inuyasha’s golden stare transferred from his friend to her as she approached, the plain expression he held while Miroku talked changing to a gentle grin. He notched his head in a silent greeting while his friend finished his sentence.

“Hi. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She apologized, stopping before them, a little closer to Inuyasha than in the center.

“Nothing to worry about.” Miroku kindly dismissed. “Since you’re here, let me ask you something: Do you prefer me with or without the rattail? I need a lady’s perspective.”

“Oh, god no, definitely without.” Kagome answered a little too quickly, giving a small grimace when she realize how rude it could have come off, especially as Inuyasha stifled his snorted laugh. “I mean, it’s your choice, of course! I just think the style is a bit outdated. And, this shorter cut suits you much better. Were you thinking of growing it back?”

“Wow. Not anymore.” Miroku blinked, pinching his lips into a tight line.

“Thank you.” Inuyasha boasted, like he’d finally gotten his way. He gave another small nod to Kagome, gesturing in the direction of the gate. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Hang on, I have a question.” She said, stopping Inuyasha before he could lead her off. She looked over at his friend, watching him go from feigned defeat to slightly curious when he realized it was for him. “I’m sorry if this is none of my business, but do you mind if I be a little upfront for a moment and ask how you feel about Sango?”

“Oh god, you’re gonna break him.” Inuyasha murmured beside her.

“No, I promise I won’t tell her anything. I’m just wondering.” Kagome assured.

“You mean, I haven’t made it painstakingly obvious?” Miroku asked monotonously, his grin devoid of any real emotion.

“So, you like her?”

“Something like that.”

“Why haven’t you asked her out?”

“Remember that time, a few months ago, when I stopped you guys on your way home from school?”

“Yeah.”

“I was going to try and get her number then. I had a classic pickup line planned and everything, and yet the only thing that came out of my mouth was her name. I can’t function around her. I panic around her. I freeze, I sputter, and I shave a few years off my life every time I’m around her. You see my problem?”

“Okay, you’re not good with girls. It’s fine, you’ve gotta start some-“

“I’m fantastic with girls, you take that back!” Miroku retorted defensively.

“Really? You can actually claim that right now?” Kagome earnestly asked.

“You really think you have the room to talk when you two still aren’t even dating?” Miroku chided, pointing to both Inuyasha and Kagome. He didn’t even have time to flinch before Inuyasha slugged him in the arm, his pained groan gurgled and deep. “Okay, withdrawn!” He clutched the offended spot, respectfully ignoring Kagome’s embarrassment as he continued speaking to buffer the awkwardness. “Look, there’s just something about her that fucks me up. Little-by-little, I’m talking! I’m getting better! I’m growing! I’m not always melting down like I used to! I’ll get there eventually!”

“What if I make it a little easier on you?” She offered with a simple shrug.

“How?”

“Give me your number and I’ll give it to her. That way, you don’t have to stress yourself out by asking for hers, and that’s one objective down.”

“Wait,” Miroku tilted his head skeptically. “Are you - are you saying she’s interested?”

Kagome feigned a believable frown. “Actually, I don’t know.” She lied. “Sango’s a pretty private person. She doesn’t often talk about her feelings, even to me. I’m just doing this to help you out. You’re a nice guy, and I’m her best friend. Easy in-between.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“No catch?”

“She said no catch. Just do it.” Inuyasha griped. “You’ve been going on and on about this since last year, and now you’re gonna question the opportunity?”

“Because, there’s gotta be a catch! She owes me nothing - you owe me nothing. So, why do me a favor?”

“No catch.” Kagome repeated, shaking her head. “Honestly, I’m just a nice person. If you want to do it yourself, by all means. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or push you to do something you don’t want to do. But, if I do it, we eliminate the potential to wreck yourself even more in front of her, and then the ball’s in her court. If she’s interested, she’ll text or call, if not, then nothing happens and you have your answer. Besides, I think she’s already headed home, so I can talk you up a little and say you wanted to give it to her today but she’d already left so you gave it to me to pass on.”

“No catch?”

“No catch.”

“No one’s that nice.”

“I am. Oh, and just think. It’s always easier to talk through text because you have time to think through what you want to say before you say it.”

“He’ll still mess it up.” Inuyasha quietly mentioned.

“Nah, I don’t think he will.” She said, smiling, redirecting the conversation back to Miroku. “Then, you’ll adjust, realize Sango’s super easy to talk to and there’s nothing to be nervous about, and talking to her in person will be as normal as talking to anyone else.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah okay. You drive a hard bargain, Higurashi.” Miroku eagerly opened his bag, bringing out his notebook and opening it to the first empty page. “Inuyasha, your pen.” He requested, holding his hand out as the half demon pulled his pen from his front, pant pocket. Taking the writing utensil and clicking the ballpoint end out, he began scribbling along the upper-right corner.

Kagome could tell it wasn’t just his number he was jotting down, but she didn’t try to peek, instead giving a quick side-glance to Inuyasha and winking so he knew she had this planned. Miroku tore the edge of the paper, folding up his little note and handing it over to Kagome which she happily took and slipped into the small pocket at the front of her book bag.

“Say something nice about me when you see her.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Now, can we go?” Inuyasha spoke, taking back his pen and sliding it into his front pocket once more. Kagome smiled, giving a nod and waving goodbye to his best friend before walking off with him toward the exit. As soon as they were out of the gate, and effectively out of earshot of Miroku - who had to stay behind for his stupid student council committee - he shot her a sly look. “What was that all about?”

“Just helping things along.” She replied, giving a measly shrug.

“Ka-go-me!” The shout was menacing and chilling, over-enunciated for full, grounding effect, and bringing Kagome to look wearily toward a fuming Sango who was running right toward her. Hastily, she dodged around the half demon, using him as a shield to protect herself from the temperament of her best friend.

Inuyasha stood stiffly between the two, thoroughly confused and unsure whether this was actually something he should literally be in the middle of.

“No! Wait! Don’t be mad, I didn’t do anything wrong!” Kagome proclaimed.

“What did you say!?” Sango asked, brows pinching together but no real malice to her tone. She was frantic for an answer, and naturally defensive, but Kagome should have known better than to pull one of Sango’s own stunts on her.

“Nothing about you!”

“Freaking liar!”

“No, I swear! I didn’t! In fact, the one question he asked about you, I lied about and turned the subject back on him!”

“And, what was the subject, Kagome!?”

“About whether he liked you or not!”

“Oh my god! You can’t just ask someone that!” Sango cried, shoving her face into her palms.

“What!? On Saturday, you said -“

Sango shushed her, the noise high pitched and tense. “I know what I said, but that advice wasn’t for me!”

“If it’s any consolation, he said yes!”

“He did!?”

“You said you wouldn’t tell her.” Inuyasha mentioned, turning his head to peculiarly glance at her from the side.

“Oh, because it wouldn’t be obvious when I gave her his number?” Kagome retorted, not yet coming out from the shelter his body provided.

“What?” Sango asked, slightly shocked.

“Yeah, see,” Kagome fished the folded up paper out of the pocket of her bag, sliding her arm around Inuyasha’s waist to hand it over. Her friend snatched the note like a monkey snagging a banana from its handler, unfolding it to read its contents. “I didn’t read it, I promise. He really wanted me to give that to you.”

Sango studied what was written, her cheeks becoming a bright shade of pink before lowering the small shred of paper to peer at Kagome, her eyes large and pleading. “Did you seriously ask him for his number for me? He’s gonna think I’m desperate!”

“No! I offered to give you his number for him! I told him I didn’t know if you liked him, but I just wanted to do him a favor.”

“And, he fell for that?”

“Yup. Whatever else that says is all him. I didn’t suggest a note, just the number.”

Sango quickly handed the note to Kagome, making sure Inuyasha didn’t glance to read it, her hand held open for Kagome to return it when she was done. 

I’m sorry I’m weird around you. I literally get dumbstruck by your beauty. I don’t want to mess up anymore, so here’s my number. Give me a chance. - Miroku.

Kagome beamed, slipping the small piece of paper back into Sango’s palm. “So, what do you think?”

“I don’t know. He really has no idea how I feel?”

“Look, I can honestly tell you he didn’t suspect a thing. You can go into this whatever way you want, and the guy wouldn’t know the difference.” Inuyasha testified, leaning his head to the side in a careless manner.

“You,” Sango pointed up at the hanyou’s face, a scowl forming on her own, successfully intimidating him as he flinched back an inch. “Will keep this conversation to yourself, got it? I mean it. Don’t tell him anything that happened here.”

“How are you so scary for a small chick?” He held his hands out defensively in front of him.

“My dad’s a cop.”

“Ah.”

“Believe me, he won’t say anything.” Kagome assured, finally coming out of hiding. “So, are you gonna text him?”

“You’ll find out when your friendship timeout is up.” Sango sneered, pursing her lips and crossing her arms.

“How long!?” Kagome pouted.

“To be determined.” She shrugged, walking off to take a different route home.

“Determine!”

“Two hours.”

“Hours?”

“You’ll be busy anyway, so you won’t even notice.”

“Sango!”

“Bye!” She waved from behind, crossing the street.

“You guys are weird.” Inuyasha remarked, walking on ahead.

“You really won’t tell, right?” Kagome asked, upping her speed to reach his side again.

“What? That Sango likes Miroku? Nah.” He confirmed, his tone level as he gave a small shake of his head. “I kind of figured you wouldn’t just do Miroku a favor out of the blue like that. Even before you winked.”

“So, you blindly backed me up?”

“Yup. Stupid, huh?”

She smiled, turning her head so he wouldn’t see how happy it had made her. The muffled chime of Inuyasha’s phone went off in his pocket, bringing her attention back his way as he pulled it out, his brows giving a small twitch together as he whispered an apology to her and answered.

“What’s up?” She couldn’t hear who was talking on the other end, but she continued walking at his side, minding her business to the best of her abilities, even when Inuyasha grumbled. He stopped walking, pinching the back of her sweater with his free hand to make her stay with him, his head lolling back in exasperation. “Yeah, fine, I’ll go check. I swear, you’re getting too old to leave the house.”

He hung up, grimacing deeply. “My uncle thinks he left the stove on and he won’t be back until late. I can run home real quick and I’ll meet you at your place. That okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” Kagome nodded understandingly. He flashed a small grin, his pace hastening slightly as he walked ahead to the corner, about to cross to the right where she’d just go straight. She watched him stop even though it was perfectly safe for him to go, an unsure expression on his lips as he pressed them together, eventually turning back to her as she finally reached the corner, herself.

“Unless, um, unless you just want to come with me? It’ll be a quick stop.”

Her smile grew brightly, her nod coming before her brain could actually initiate the response. When he smiled back and notched his head for her to follow, she couldn’t help the wild flutter that made home in her belly. She’d never been to his place before. She was excited. 

As if things couldn’t get any better, he’d grabbed her sleeve, pulling her closer to walk at his side again. In all honesty, she’d expected him to let go once he’d gotten his way, but he didn’t. He held onto her sleeve, keeping her with him as they walked, the silence undeniably comfortable. Kagome wondered if it would be okay to actually hold his hand. Would it make him shy away? They practically held hands yesterday, so they may as well, right? Was this the way he preferred it, or should she make the move? Maybe she’d try it slowly to properly read the situation. Because, she really, really, wanted to hold his hand.

Carefully, she angled her hand upward, her forearm following through as necessary, so she could brush the side of his fingers with her own. He didn’t look at her, nor did she look up at him, their eyes straight ahead or on their surroundings. His hand didn’t inch away, and his grip on her knitted sweater slackened, even more so as she brushed his fingers again. That second time, though, she slipped one of her fingers in the curve of his hand, then another when he welcomed her in, helping to build her courage. Inuyasha dropped his hold on her sleeve entirely, taking her hand in his, accepting the way she entwined their fingers and steadily following suit with his own grip. 

Maybe it was due to her infatuation with the boy, but she sincerely felt safe with her hand in his; protected from everything uninviting the world may put before her. After a moment, her embarrassment even faded away, far quicker than she’d ever expected it to. His hand was large and hot, engulfing and wonderfully gentle, his nails never a threat to her, but his unexpected tenderness was, his thumb smoothly rubbing back and forth over the back of her palm, threatening to provoke an eruption of butterflies in her abdomen.

“It’s this one.” Inuyasha said, guiding her through the small, front gate and pulling his small set of keys out of the pocket of his bag. Begrudgingly, he pulled his hand free from hers to open the door, letting her walk through first before following in and shutting it behind him. “Come on.” He walked up the hall a bit, her small, padded footsteps close behind him as he took a left into the kitchen, seeing the stove was off all along. 

“False alarm?” Kagome giggled.

“Better safe than sorry with that guy.” He groaned.

“Your home is nice.” She smiled, turning about to look at the small amount of decoration in the kitchen. It was a man’s home, that was for sure; it didn’t have a typical woman’s touch to it. Nonetheless, it was comfortable, kempt, and rustic.

“Well, it’s his. Totosai’s.” Inuyasha corrected with a dismissive shrug, sauntering back into the hall and toward the living room, making sure she followed.

“You live here, don’t you? And, he adopted you, so I’m sure you’re more than welcome to call this place yours.”

“I don’t know, sometimes I feel out of place.”

“You’ll only make yourself feel more out of place the more you say things like that.”

The half demon turned to her, brows furrowing speculatively. There was no animosity behind it; in fact, his smirk prodded her to elaborate.

“Like, okay say I’m feeling insecure about my looks. I don’t feel very pretty or attractive, and it’s weighing on me. I look at myself in the mirror and then I tell myself I’m ugly. Not just once, but I end up telling myself that on a regular basis. The insecurity will definitely sink through a lot faster than it would if I maybe told myself the opposite. I’d believe it wholeheartedly then. And after that, I’d never feel comfortable in my skin, or my dresses, or skirts, or jeans, or maybe even my frumpy clothes. No amount of makeup would do the trick, either, because what I did was empower my self-consciousness. I didn’t do myself any favors by allowing myself to think my negative thoughts were true. I, instead, made my own situation worse. Why do that? Insecurities, on any level, are natural, and sometimes it’s hard to convince yourself of the opposite, but it’s so much more worth it to try. And, you’d be happier when you come out.” She took a step closer to him, smiling. Inuyasha merely gazed down at her, no air of discomfort about; he simply listened. “Your situation - it’s understandable. I’d even be so bold to say it’s natural to feel out of sorts sometimes. This wasn’t the home you pictured living in as a child, and those feelings don’t need to go neglected. But, this is a home you’ve been welcomed into. Your uncle signed the papers and brought you here. I’m gonna assume you have your own bedroom, and furniture, and your clothes fit you properly so he’s definitely providing for you. You’ve got a key, and look -“ Her grin grew larger, her enthusiasm a little too pronounced as she turned to the mantle and spotted a candid picture of Inuyasha as a pre-teen, sitting on a park bench with much shorter hair. “He’s even proud to have photos of you on display. This is definitely your home.”

Quickly, flustered Inuyasha walked the few paces over to the picture and slammed it down. “Alright, alright. You made your point.” He drawled, looking back at her. “You’ve got a motivational speech for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much.” She giggled.

“Mind if I go change out of my uniform real quick?”

“Go for it.”

Inuyasha walked out to the hall, leaving Kagome in the living room, his stomach feeling heavy while his chest fluttered with something uncertain. He’d stopped at the frame of the entry, his hand braced on the polished wood as he looked back at her over his shoulder, watching how she didn’t even seem to notice he was still there. She was carefully resetting the picture of him that he’d planted facedown, the pads of her fingers smoothing over the edge of the cheap frame. 

“Is that what you were feeling?” The half demon asked, his tone husky. Kagome turned to him, slightly surprised, but the notch her head gave told him she didn’t immediately grasp what he was referring to. “Saturday. When you were sad. You mentioned insecurity. Was it because you didn’t feel beautiful?”

Kagome’s nerves flared dully, a small lump beginning to form in her throat. His amber eyes appeared gentle, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’d thought of that night since. The shake of her head came slow at first, hardly there, but then grew into something more steady and honest.

“Will you tell me?”

She swallowed, her lips parting slightly. She still wasn’t fully comfortable talking about it, the humiliation remaining fresh, but he wanted to know and her reservation was superficial. He’d been opening up to her, trusting her, and she should do the same. He’d dropped whatever he was doing and ran to her that night. Literally ran. He calmed her down, he walked her home, he held her. Just him asking, revisiting the topic, had her feeling warmly invited to rely on him with her emotions, despite the minor apprehension holding her tongue. And, if the logic of the situation wasn’t enough, the patience he was exuding as he stood in place and waited for her to speak was. There was no caution in his expression, because there was no caution necessary between the two of them at the moment. The feeling she was receiving from him was almost the same as what she’d tried to procure during her little speech just moments ago. Safety and comfort. And, though Kagome wasn’t suddenly confident in spilling her vulnerability - as anyone would naturally feel - it wasn’t hard to let him in.

“I -“ The hesitance wasn’t planned, but she breathed to push passed it, her eyes inadvertently shying to the ground. “I wasn’t quite sure how you felt about me. I was constantly going back and forth with myself. After a while, it became too much and, um, yeah. That’s what Saturday was all about.”

Inuyasha tensed slightly, entirely unsuspecting of what she’d just stated. He’d racked his brain numerous times since Saturday night, since seeing her cry and feeling the way she clutched onto him for support, pretending he knew the deep ins and outs of Kagome’s mind so he could try and figure out what, exactly, she’d been feeling so he was better prepared to help her out of it should the situation occur again. The typical scenario that pops into a person’s head when told another is feeling insecure is looks, and he felt rotten just thinking a girl as gorgeous as she didn’t feel comfortable in her own body. He’d almost taken it as absolute confirmation when she’d brought up the hypothetical scenario just now. Another idea was her grades, or her future - because she’s in her final year of high school, and what senior isn’t panicking about their future at the moment - or maybe even something pertaining to her family. More specifically, playing backup guardian to her younger brother to help her hardworking mother out. That could easily weigh on a person, and he wouldn’t blame her for crumbling out of sight from the pressure. Inuyasha was almost prepared to make a list of the many positive attributes this one girl holds so he could help her see what he sees; so he could hopefully prevent another breakdown in the future. For some reason, he never thought it was about him. Not with how she was the first to walk into his arms, or with how she called him when she was fighting off tears. After that night, she must have understood how he felt about her, but that’s only three days of security. It made sense now that he thought about it; the half demon wasn’t known for his open displays of affection. There had never necessarily been a person he wanted to be openly affectionate with until now. As he had been coming to terms with his own emotions, gradually forcing himself out of his damaging and abrasive habits, somewhere along the lines he’d just assumed she knew. And, only ended up confusing her. That’s a good chunk of time that they weren’t on the same page, and he had no fucking idea. If she needed more obvious gestures, he could provide that. It was nerve-racking, but he would do it for her.

“Well, I hope you feel better now, because that’s a stupid thing to get upset about.” He watched as she seemingly took in his response, a small smile curving her lips, comprehending his language. “Wait for me, I’ll be right back.”

He came down the stairs, adjusting his hoodie as he went, spotting Kagome at a bookshelf at the far end of the living room as he came back through. Her brown eyes were glued on a photograph, never peering away to look at him as he approached.

“My dad.” He spoke, stopping just inches behind her.

“You look so much like him.” Kagome seemed almost astonished by the resemblance.

“Just the hair. I think I look more like my mom.”

“And the jawline.”

“And the jawline.” Inuyasha chuckled, nodding as he agreed.

“Is that your uncle with him?”

“Yeah, that’s the geezer. Come on, let’s go.”

She smiled up at him happily, following him out the door, waiting for him on the sidewalk outside the gate while he locked up. As he strode back over to her, he gave the shoulder of her sweater a small yank to lead her down the path he took to her place, his fingers casually sliding down the front of her arm until he reached her hand, tangling their fingers as they’d been before.

Their notes and homework assignments were sprawled on the floor of her bedroom between them, mostly used for reference when necessary as he quizzed her with random questions, a movie playing on the tv for soft background noise and their backs resting against the side of her bed.

“Wait, you already asked me that one!” Kagome complained, scrounging through the papers before her for the answer.

“Yeah, you got it wrong the first time, and you still can’t remember the answer I gave you.” He responded, his tone brassy but amused, breathily chuckling as he watched her go from one sheet of scribbled notes to another.

“It’s here somewhere.”

“You never wrote it down.”

“Dang it, Inuyasha!”

“Not my problem!”

“You probably distracted me.”

“It isn’t hard to do.”

Quickly, he protected his face with his hands, laughing as Kagome chucked a small, decorative pillow at him.

“So funny.” She mocked, reaching over and grabbing his notes from beside his knee. “Oh.”

“Hm?” His ear closest to her flicked, waiting expectantly for her to give him the answer.

“Oda Nobunaga.”

“So much for being a history buff, huh?” He remarked.

“You’re so sassy tonight.” Kagome laughed, putting his notes back where they once were.

“Okay, chemistry question: What’s the formula for hydrochloric acid?”

“Do you even know that off the top of your head?” She countered, grimacing.

“Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

“What a nerd.” Kagome murmured, once more shifting through her study material. She sighed out slowly as she searched, her face scrunching like usual, and bringing the paper closer to her face, neglecting the glasses on her nightstand. “H-C-I.”

“Good. Since you’re looking at it, phosphoric acid?”

“H-3-P-O-4.”

“Mhm. Now put the notes down. The next question I ask, you should know by now.”

“Oh no.” She grumbled, complying.

“It’s easy. Say you borrow ten-thousand dollars from the bank. By the time you pay it off, you’ve paid a total amount of ten-thousand, four-hundred. What’s the additional four-hundred represent?”

“Oh, interest!”

“Good. See?” He smiled. “One last question and then I’ve gotta go. You ready?”

She hummed an affirmation, nodding as she turned to fully face him.

“It’s gonna be the toughest one. You get it right and I’ll take you out for ice cream.”

Kagome smiled eagerly, whispering an okay as she waited.

“Alright, you sure?”

“Come on.” She half-whined, the anticipation spiking. She wondered just how hard the question was going to be considering he used a reward as incentive.

“Okay, what’s sixteen divided by two?”

“What? It’s eight.” Kagome laughed lightly, brows furrowing in query.

“Yup.” He feigned a defeated sigh, shrugging and gathering his notes together. “Fair is fair. You busy Saturday?”

“No, I’m free.” She smiled, thrown off since she was sincerely expecting a tricky question.

“Great, I’ll take you out on our date then.”

She perked, her expression faltering minutely out of surprise but then growing into one of subtle elation. “Date?”

Inuyasha picked himself up off the floor, bringing the strap of his bag to rest over his shoulder. He glanced down at her as she followed suit and stood, shrugging his brows and smiling slightly in a meager response to her question. “See you tomorrow.”

“Wait, I’ll walk you out.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” He said, opening the door to her bedroom and giving her head a gentle shove backward. “I’ll text you when I get home.

—

He crossed the street, seeing the designated meet-up spot in the short distance, the sun still barely keeping the sky illuminated. Hues of fading orange and pink danced on patches of clouds overhead, a deep indigo overriding the majority of the sky. He didn’t see her at the statue, and he was glad he’d beat her; he didn’t like the idea of her sitting alone waiting for him. As he approached, he pulled his phone out of the front pocket of his black jeans, making sure she hadn’t texted.

His stomach was in absolute shambles, his nerves riddled and wired. Their first date. It was about time, yeah, but that didn’t make the ordeal any less unsettling. He’d never technically done this before, so his worst fear was fucking it up. He tried pretending it was just another ordinary hang out so he’d calm down a bit, but he knew that wasn’t true. This was a date. He was finally taking Kagome out on a date. He figured when they got the ball rolling, it would be a lot smoother since being around each other was easier than he’d ever imagined it would be, but up until then he felt just about ready to puke.

To busy himself as he waited, Inuyasha adjusted his grey t-shirt beneath his jacket, making sure it didn’t look too wrinkled or disheveled. He knew people were technically supposed to dress up for occasions such as these, but outside of his school uniform, he refused to wear another button up unless absolutely necessary. It wasn’t his style. He still looked appropriate, and he vaguely remembered the way her eyes lingered on him the last time he wore this shirt around her.

“Well, well, well.” Inuyasha’s gaze, heating instantly, shot to the side, landing on the tall, slender delinquent that ambled over. He’d been so distracted waiting for Kagome that he hadn’t even fucking noticed the scent of the motherfucker. “Look who it is.”

“Fuck.” Inuyasha breathed, the word dragging out hoarsely. “I’ll give you twenty bucks to leave me alone tonight.”

“Who do I look like, Jakotsu? Gonna take a lot more than that to buy me off.”

“Not tonight.” Inuyasha’s tone was clenched and assertive, staring straight into the dark eyes of the man that continued to approach.

“Why? What’s on the agenda?” He asked, carelessly. An arrogant smile expanded on his face.

“I’m serious, Ren.”

“Yeah, see, the last time we saw each other, you shoved my face into a brick wall. I’m not feeling very understanding at the moment.” He sneered.

“You came at me first.” 

“And, it wouldn’t keep happening if you’d just fix the mistake you made.”

“It’s on my to-do list. Right there next to making you kiss my ass.”

“You son of a bitch.” He swung his fist, but Inuyasha dodged in time, swerving around to the backside of his opponent and giving the quickest look around the surrounding area to make sure Kagome wasn’t in the vicinity. Multiple times he’d gotten out of these fights unscathed, and he hoped, fucking hoped, he could do the same right now.

“I gotta say, not a really good way to convince me to leave you alone.”

“Figured you wouldn’t, anyway.” Inuyasha’s shrug was barely visible, waiting for Renkotsu’s next move. He wasn’t the strongest fighter, but he was a tactical one. He liked to bait Inuyasha along, or whomever he was up against really, getting their tempers to flare so their fighting strategy was sloppy. In addition, he was, unfortunately, fast and nimble on his feet, and even though Inuyasha was good at swooping himself out of the way, Renkotsu was better at getting back in his. 

The hanyou was pushed back, but the stumble was short-lived as he grasped his bearings and threw his fist into the punk’s face, feeling the sting of his knuckle colliding with Renkotsu’s tooth. His lip must have pinched between, because blood was quick to trickle free, painting his mouth crimson as he smiled and laughed.

“You’ve gotten soft, dog boy.” He remarked, his hand hovering beneath his chin but not really even trying to stop the bleeding.

“Shut up.”

“Since when do you hold back?”

Since he was steadfast determined not to come out of this with a single indicator that would tip Kagome off or ruin her night.

“Come on, what’s changed? You been whipped or something?” He lunged, faking right but snagging Inuyasha on the left, clutching the front of his jacket and tossing him headfirst into the statue. 

The pain just above his temple was sharp, instantaneously growing unbearably hot as he picked himself up to a proper standing and felt the light leakage of liquid sliding down the side of his face, the sensation dulling and becoming hardly noticeable over the headache pressing him. There was a physical spike to his temper, his blood beginning to boil as a growl bubbled in his abdomen. Of all the members of that dumb squad, Renkotsu was the most annoying.

Something in Kagome snapped, having watched the guy attack Inuyasha. She knew this sort of stuff was happening, but it was indescribably different when she witnessed it first hand. Shock transitioned to anger. Anger transitioned to infuriation. Infuriation transitioned to irrefutable outrage, and that was that. Her next move wasn’t subconscious; she knew exactly what she was doing. Kagome ran at them, speeding up, sprinting as quickly as her legs would go and shoved the bastard as hard as she possibly could. He was sturdier than his lanky body suggested, only stumbling back several feet before his glare met her challenging scowl. Arms braced around her waist before she could lunge again, a husky voice she knew was Inuyasha’s telling her to “fucking stop,” as he pivoted on his heel and tucked her behind him. That didn’t halt her, though. Demands for him to move were grunted from her mouth as she pushed his arms away, trying to climb her way around his protective stature.

“What the fuck is that, your pet pomeranian!?” Renkotsu jibed, finally taking a moment to wipe the mixture of saliva and blood that dribbled down his chin, and spitting off to the side.

“Funny coming from a guy with premature balding!” Kagome barked, finally getting Inuyasha to let her go. He stood close, though, and she knew he was prepared to snag her out of harms way if anything happened. “Who the hell are you!?”

“Who’s asking?” He smirked.

“His pet pomeranian.” She cocked a brow tauntingly.

“You’re feisty. I like that.” He chuckled. “Name’s Renkotsu. And, you’re interrupting a private conversation between the actual dog and I.”

“And, what problem could you possibly have with him!?” Kagome fumed.

“Many.” Came his brusque reply.

“Kagome, look -“ Inuyasha spoke low, only to her, amber eyes shifting from their offender to make sure he didn’t move any closer, to the side of her face - because her sight was glued straight ahead. “Just wait for me in the park. I’ll be right there.”

“What’s he saying? Trying to act like the hero and send you off?” Renkotsu teased. “He deserves everything that’s coming for him. You know what he’s done?”

“Yeah, pissed you off.” Kagome said, her tone dismissive. “I’m gonna tell you upfront that nothing you say about him is going to change my mind from thinking you’re the little bitch here.”

“If I were you, I’d reel that attitude in, little girl. You don’t know what you’re getting into.” Renkotsu warned, his amusement dwindling away. It wasn’t difficult to determine he was a hothead, easily set off by name-calling and back talk, and he didn’t take kindly to challenges against his pride.

“Am I supposed to be scared?”

“You will be if you don’t back the fuck off. I’ll give you thirty seconds to leave.”

“And, if I don’t?”

“You’ll have to watch me kick your boyfriend’s ass. Then, maybe, I’ll take you and -“

“Finish that sentence, Renkotsu! I fucking dare you!” Inuyasha growled dangerously.

“Get her to leave, Inuyasha!” Renkotsu ordered, his voice on the edge of getting even louder.

“We’re both leaving.” Kagome said with the tone of finality, grabbing onto Inuyasha’s wrist.

“The hell he is!”

“You’re from that group of assholes, right? The one Inuyasha left? Which means you’re just carrying out orders from the top. Well, tell what’s-his-face to suck a dick and to handle his dirty work, himself.” 

Inuyasha shot a look of surprise at her, a smile spreading over his lips, and turning back to look at the bald delinquent, he notched his head in appreciation of Kagome’s profanity.

“You gonna let your bitch fight your battles, mutt?”

He shrugged, still thriving off her recent jab. “She’s doing a pretty good job. How could I not?”

“You know damn well if I take this back to Bankotsu, he’ll have us out for her, too. Shut her up.”

“Bankotsu?” Kagome grimaced, blinking bemusedly. “Are you guys siblings or something?”

“No?” Renkotsu asked more than stated, his brows furrowing deeply.

“What’s with the similar names, then? That can’t just be a coincidence; it sounds so fake. Is that your actual name?”

“They don’t go by their actual names.” Inuyasha mentioned. “It’s one of the common measures they take to help protect their real identities. All of them have a code name ending in, ‘-kotsu’.”

“Seriously? Are you kidding me?” Kagome laughed audaciously, looking Renkotsu straight in his dark, narrowed eyes. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but twinsy names aren’t intimidating.”

“It’s not what’s in a name,” He began, walking inward, his jaw clenching and unclenching repeatedly, evident from the muscles flexing at the crook of his mandible. “It’s how you present yourself. I’ve never been one for hitting chicks, but a motherfucker just might now.”

Inuyasha swapped their grips, now the one clutching to her wrist and directing her to angle behind him with a firm tug.

“I gave you the opportunity to leave, but you wanted to push your luck. I don’t like women getting involved, but oh well. Fuck me, right?”

“Yeah. Fuck you.” Inuyasha seethed, the scowl returning to set on his features. “If you think you’re ever going to touch her -“

“And, what are you gonna do?” Stopping with a foot’s distance between them, staring into the golden eyes of his original target. “Because you’ve been so successful in warding the rest of us off? You, of all people - if we can even call you that - should know by now that we don’t give up so easily. Now, she’s in the mix. Should have made her leave when you had the chance.”

“Are we done here?” Kagome questioned, her tone sharp. His eyes flickered down to her, a single, thin brow shrugging in insolence.

“Sure. I like that dress, by the way.” He grinned briefly before pursing his lips and spitting on her, his saliva still holding a tint of red and landing in the center of her breasts to stain the pastel pink she donned.

Kagome, though repulsed and disturbed, immediately grasped Inuyasha’s arm, pinching her nails into the sleeve of his jacket so he wouldn’t retaliate. His muscles were flexed and he’d been ready to swing in her defense, and even though he could easily overpower her, he didn’t fight against her. His indignation remained rigid, though, especially with the creep standing so close to them, and she knew, by the way he glared at Renkotsu, by the furious air wafting about him, by the way his shoulders were squared and his fists were tightly clenched, that he wouldn’t hesitate to attack if Renkotsu made another move.

“See you around. Both of you.” He smiled tauntingly, turning on his heel and walking away.

It wasn’t until he disappeared around the corner that Inuyasha’s shoulders deflated, a heated sigh leaving his nose as he slowly, but gently, pulled his forearm out of Kagome’s grasp. She was still angry, but with each breath she took, progressively getting steadier and deeper, her temper was fading away. Finally, Inuyasha turned around, facing her, a frown of disapproval marring his handsome face.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Done what?” She inquired, her attitude still prominent.

“Jumped in like you did! You could have gotten hurt!”

“And, you’re mad at the thought of that, right?”

“You’re damn right I am!”

“Well, I got mad seeing it happen to you! So, I did something about it! It’s the same thing!”

“No, Kagome -“

“Yes!”

“No! It’s not supposed to work this way!” Inuyasha stepped in, leaving mere inches between them as they argued.

“I don’t care how it’s supposed to work! What does that even mean!?”

“That I don’t ever want you pulling a stunt like that again, got it!?”

“Excuse me!?”

 “He might have hit you, stupid! You can’t take punches like I can!”

“So, that makes it okay to just sit back and watch the show!? Like you’re some kind of punching bag!?”

“I would have handled it!”

“Then you should have!” Kagome yelled. “I heard him; he said you were holding back! Why were you holding back!?”

“Because you don’t like when I get into fights, Kagome! I didn’t want you to know this was happening! He came out of fucking nowhere, and I was trying to fend him off before you showed up!”

The tension in her brow decreased exponentially, his words ringing in her ears. She felt like an ass for doubting him that way, but still, no matter, she wasn’t sorry for pushing the jerk away from him. She would never be sorry. “It’s not that I didn’t think you could handle it. I knew you could have. I just got so angry and wanted to help.” Kagome calmly admitted.

“Well don’t.” Inuyasha said, authoritatively. “I don’t need your help.”

“Quite frankly, I don’t care what you think you need or don’t need right now. It’s irrelevant.” He flinched to counter but she beat him to the punch, holding her hand up to silence him. “You’re saying it because you don’t want me in the middle or getting hurt, I get that. But, it’s the exact same way I feel about you, so you and I are only going to end up going in circles about this. You can’t tell me what to do, and you can’t force me to just watch your head get thrown into cement without reacting.”

In all honesty, he’d forgotten he’d been hurt in the heat of it all, more concerned about protecting Kagome than anything. He hadn’t expected her to come flying in like a bat out of hell, fully prepared to square off with one of the lowlives of the city. Especially, for his sake. Once he saw her, he just reacted. Probably the same way she had. “Now you’re involved, though. That’s exactly what I didn’t want.”

“We’ll handle it.” Kagome said, unconcerned. To get a better angle on his cut, she leaned her head to the side, reaching up to gently hold his jaw and bring him down near her height. He showed no resistance, his long lashes fluttering softly as he closed his eyes.

“It’ll be fine.”

It really wasn’t all that bad. It looked like the bleeding had about stopped, but it should still be cleaned and bandaged. Releasing his face, she reached for his hand, pulling him in the direction she’d come from.

His grip on her palm tightened as they approached her home, noticing her mom’s car out front, and the living room and kitchen lights on. If she saw them, him specifically, with dried blood on his head, she’d know the night was disastrous and he’d put her daughter in a dangerous situation. He couldn’t have that. He’d already felt like a failure, but to have someone else think that, too - Kagome’s mother, no less - would be mortifying. Kagome’s attention drifted up to him at his notable discomfort, stopping with his cue.

“Your mom…”

“She’s a nurse, don’t worry.”

“No, I - I don’t want her to see this. I don’t want her to know what happened.”

The realization was evident on her face, but she didn’t look disappointed, her head turning to glance at her house before turning back to him.

“Climb up to my window. I’ll let you in.” She smiled.

“You sure?” He asked, and she nodded immediately, letting go of his hand. Before she could move further, he stopped her, pulling off his coat and handing it over. It made the idea of their date more believable if she came back with his jacket, plus it’d help hide the detestable stain. As she situated it over her arms, he reached down to grab the bottom of the zippers on both ends that landed at her thighs, lining them up together and zipping it for her. Kagome smiled appreciatively, turning around and heading inside.

Inuyasha snuck around the front toward the far left end as soon as she shut the door, grateful the curtains were pulled shut. As soon as he reached the tree he used for footing, he leveraged himself up, climbing until he could silently step onto the small roofing of the second story. Her room was still dark as he waited for her at the window, and though everything was muffled, he could vaguely hear her and her mom talking from downstairs. The specifics of their conversation were hard to distinguish, but he knew Kagome’s cheery tone from her upset one, and to him, she sounded happy. Probably fooling her mom into thinking everything was perfectly fine, despite the fact that she was home so soon after leaving.

Her footsteps grew closer, shuffling along as soon as she reached the top landing of the stairs, and even as she entered her room, she didn’t turn on the light until the door was closed. Her greeting smile was natural, and he couldn’t help but wonder how the hell she managed it. Kagome had every reason in the world to be upset right now, but she truly didn’t seem like she was. And, as she hurried over and unlocked the latch for him, sliding the window open, he was engulfed by the powerfully sweet scent of her that stayed locked up in her bedroom, thoroughly muddling any residual, negative thoughts from the evening.

He shut the window on his own, nodding when she mentioned she’d be right back and taking a seat on the floor with his back resting against the bed. Kagome was true to her word, returning less than sixty seconds later with a small first aid kit in hand.

“No, I told you it’d be fine.” Inuyasha chuckled quietly, taking the initiative to turn on the tv to drown out their voices.

“Cut’s need bandages.” Was her simple reply, not even sparing him a glance as she shuffled through her dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of leggings and a fresh shirt.

“The cut’s already healing. It’ll most likely be gone tomorrow.”

“Humor me.” Kagome rolled her eyes, pursing her lips as she tossed her clothes on the bottom edge of her mattress. “Close your eyes, please.”

Without hesitation, he complied, turning away for added effect. The ruffling of his jacket sounded heavy as she removed it, the material of her dress considerably lighter in comparison. It wasn’t the coldest night they’d had recently, but he still found Kagome brave for wearing it - long sleeved garment be damned. Then, an ache twinged in his chest. She’d worn that for him. And, the gesture hadn’t only gone to waste, but the dress was probably ruined now and he’d never be able to appreciate her in it.

At her signal, he opened his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully look at her, regret taking its hold on him. It wasn’t his fault, he knew, but that didn’t help any. How could he make up for this mess? How could he make her happy like he’d intended to tonight?

Kagome sauntered over, crossing to his right and then sitting at his side, thigh-to-thigh, facing him. The first aid kit was in hand, and she set it on the floor beside her, opening it and taking out some cotton balls in a sandwich baggy before turning to him. She seemed so gentle, her hands light when she pulled his bangs out of the way to asses the cut before doing anything else. As if feeling his unsubtle stare, her brown eyes drifted over to his, curious and large, then shied downward as the smallest of frowns tugged on her lips. Kagome dropped his hair, her hands falling to her lap before she bowed her head slightly, hovering over his shoulder.

Sometimes, you could say those three words to let a person know how deeply you feel for them. Sometimes, you could speak your profound emotions with more, or less, verbally, or physically. And, so badly did Kagome want to figure out how to properly express it all to him. To know Inuyasha, to have him sit with her, hold her hand, tell her things no matter the context, was a privilege she was scared for a while she’d never get to experience. Inuyasha, in his own essence, was such a wonderful gift. To have him care for her, and convey how much he cared through tumultuous anger weighted her heart. Maybe not in the moment could she appreciate the gesture, or clearly see his reasonings, but now that things were calmed and they sat so close, touching, trusting, she understood. How lucky she was. On the surface, Inuyasha was brash and hard-headed, he presented himself in a carefree manner, but truthfully, he was the most beautifully delicate person she’d ever met. 

Finally resting her head against his shoulder, Kagome breathed out slowly, taking in the faint and generic spice of a man’s body wash on her inhale. Funny enough, of all the guys she’d noticed it on, it smelled best on him. What had come over her was the sudden and dire need to tell him everything she felt for him. It had hit her like a freight train; intense and insatiable. Something, she needed to say something to subdue the fire igniting her nerve endings, but as she opened her mouth to speak, all that came out was a whispered, “I really like this shirt.” 

Of course, then, she laughed at herself. Typical of her to chicken out.

Kagome could feel his head come a little closer to hers, his cheek gently brushing against her hair as he said in return, “I know. I wore it for you.”

She smiled. He couldn’t see it, but she smiled.

“Are you okay?” Inuyasha asked, and she quickly sat up straight, forcing herself to appear fully recovered, as if nothing had ever fazed her.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Kagome replied, moving back to her prior task without delay. After opening a small bottle of peroxide, she doused a cotton ball with the liquid. “Could you hold your hair out of the way?”

His expression spoke volumes on how useless he found the gesture to be, but still, he did as she asked, eye roll and all. She gently rubbed the cotton ball over the small wound to clean it, then around the surrounding area to wipe the dried blood away. His attention was roaming over her, and she tried not to pay attention to the way it alarmed the butterflies in her stomach, focusing on her task. It was like his ember irises were actual, flickering chars, and wherever his eyes landed, she felt a pleasant, burning sensation. Her cheek, her lips, her chin, her neck, her collar bone, her lips, her neck, her shoulder, her lips. All alight. 

“Some first date, huh?” Inuyasha remarked, his tone dull.

Kagome’s soft smile in response was unintentional but genuine, dropping the dirtied cotton ball on top of the bag it came out of, and as she chose an appropriate bandage, she shrugged. “That doesn’t matter to me. I mean, we could have chilled and watched tv and slapped the first date title on that, and I would have been perfectly happy.”

“But, instead you got to see me in a fight. Kagome, I’m really sorry.”

“For what?” She asked, opening the bandaid packaging and carefully holding the very edges of the adhesive strips. She angled it properly over the cut, gently sticking it down and smoothing it out. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Besides, the way I see it, I got to yell at one of the jerks that’s been terrorizing you. Trust me, it was a good time.”

Inuyasha laughed, flinching as she rubbed her fingers over the entire bandage. “Ow.” He said playfully, instinctively grabbing her hand and pulling it away. She giggled and mumbled an apology, using her free hand to smooth down his ruffled bangs as he let them go. “By the way, we need to talk about your profanity. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk like that. ‘Suck a dick’? Is that peak Kagome temper right there?” 

“I tend to lose my filter when I’m mad.” She exclaimed.

“You’ve got quite a vocabulary on you. It’s impressive. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” He mildly joked.

He was still holding her hand, his grip adjusted to rest it against his chest, his thumb tenderly caressing over her skin.

“So, you’re not mad at me anymore?” Kagome asked, her voice softening to take on the hint of bashfulness.

“Do I look like I’m mad at you?” Inuyasha responded soothingly. He leaned a little closer to her body, relaxed, warm. “I just - I really didn’t want you getting involved, Kagome.”

“It was kind of impossible not to.”

“I know. I get that. Now, I’m just gonna worry about you whenever we’re apart.”

“They’re not like an actual gang, are they?”

“No, they’re just like you said; a group of assholes. They tend to take their crap out on others and act like they’re tough. Some of them, though, are something to be concerned about. Statistically speaking, they’re not all gonna grow out of this phase. They’re on a gateway path, and I wouldn’t doubt if Bankotsu already had dirty affiliations.” Inuyasha said, letting go of her palm as he leaned even more towards her center, his right hand now braced on the floor by her legs in a casual manner. The closer he got to her, the more comfortable he found he felt. So comfortable, in fact, that he thought nothing of the way her fingers busied themselves in the loose tendrils of his hair along the sides of his face.

“How long were you with them?” Kagome asked.

“Not long enough to actually do anything I’d regret, aside from the obvious.”

“So, you were never actually one of them.” She stated. It felt like reassurance to the stress he already carried about having made the mistake of walking with them in the first place.

He opened his mouth to say something, but his mind blanked. Not in a hopeless way, but in the sense that there was nothing that needed to be said. As he basked in her confidence in him, calmed by the tips of her fingers continuously running through his bangs and loose strands from his ponytail, he realized that neither of them were going anywhere. What the hell was he waiting for?

There was no apprehension in his lean, the fingers of his free hand curving around the side of her neck and beneath her hair, intentionally holding just before meeting her lips. Kagome leaned in the rest of the way, her mouth soft and molding against his perfectly. And, she smiled into his kiss, giggling breathily, happily as they broke.

“I want to be with you, Kagome.” He spoke, tone husky, just as content. “You and I.”

She nodded, feeling so full and light at the same time it was difficult not to be consumed by her elation. 

“Yeah?” Inuyasha smiled, almost teasing because he could tell how shy she was getting from the fresh and deep shade of her cheeks. Again, she nodded, her head ducking slightly. “Is that a yeah?”

“Shut up.” Kagome laughed, taking the initiative to kiss him again, his sigh hot against the side of her cheek while he firmly clutched her to him.

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

[kiseiakhun]

Sometimes it feels like Jason is all smoke and mirrors, a brittle mirage held together by nothing but stubborn spite. Black eyes and cracked lips, bleeding, always bleeding, bleeding his heart and his soul back out into the world that killed him. Or maybe it’s a fuck you instead, him standing at the precipice shouting I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive, and I dare you to take it from me again. Always tempting fate in some way, swaying with one foot dangling off the edge, baring his teeth and grinning in the dull yellow light cast by his native cityscape that he prowls through like it’s a jungle.

That’s just the thing with Jason, the whole flirting with danger. He paints his teeth red, wreathes himself in shade and smoke like he’s trying to convince himself, too, that this is his home. Roy’s fingers are stained from digging him back out. Nails ragged from plunging into the earth Jason’s buried himself in and dragging him back into sunlight. He thinks he should be tired, maybe, tired of doing this, tired of chasing after him and watching as he tries to drive himself back to that place with no light, cutting himself on the fists and sharp edges of others over and over again. 

But Jason is all smoke and ash. Dust in his hair, tar staining his fingers black, but he kisses him and he tastes like rain. But his eyes are blue and bright green, flickering like an ember buried under layers of soot, and his knuckles are cracked from the force of his passion.

He bleeds love, is the thing. Bleeds it back out into his city, bleeds it onto Roy when he lets him see every broken battered part of him. Leaves it pooling on his palm, dripping from the the divot of his wrist as Roy stitches him back up. And Jason might very well be built for the darkness; Roy’s seen the empty spaces in him, tasted that hollow darkness still lingering in his bones. But the thing about shadows is that they need some source of light to cast them.

And so far, Jason’s been hiding in shadows. Hiding in Batman, in the furrows left by his own death. Hiding in the shade of Gotham, in the city that roused him while sending so many others like him into the ground.

Roy doesn’t know if Jason envies or pities them more.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing here with him, stitching together his skin, pressing kisses over each of his bruises that will fade within a day. Jason is a bullet. Jason is a blade without a handle, and there’s no touching him without hurting yourself in some way.

Jason smells like smoke, but he tastes like rain, and he kisses like he’s starving for light.

Maybe it’s because it’s there already, the shape of what he’ll be when he finally steps out on his own. It’s stopping, slowly, all of that anger, all of that passion bleeding out of him each night. One dodged hit that he could’ve taken, one slow night that Jason spends with Roy instead of plowing headfirst into whatever ruckus he can find and coming back with bruises painted over each cheek. One day, Jason is going to step in front of a light and cast his own shadow.

Roy hopes that light can be him.

[spacegaywritings]

Warming Paws and melting Walls (5/8) “Territorial Revenge”

Summary: Nobody responded within a week and so Remy made sure to inform Emile so they could repaint the office. Virgil does not like being alone for long, especially when it is unexpected.

Luckily, the two are quick to make up.

 Tags: animal waster, cat litter box, urine, descriptions of urine smell, cleaning, a bit of fighting bc this is an upset kitty, food and eating mention, feeding, late nights, metal clanking sound, vaccine mention, vet mention, slight restrictions of breathing? Pining mention, auditory triggers, migraine mention, somft feelings, more snuggles and cuddles, kitty gone bad boi,

i do not think there is any more to be applied. If you need me to add anything, please contact me here or on my tumblr (spacegayparty, spacegaywritings)

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

ao3: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 // all.

tumblr:  1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 (you are here!) / 6 / 7 / 8.

 Story under the cut: (Wordcount ~3,1k)

Metal clattered together as the key within the lock pressed deeper into it and started turning in order to open the door at last. The light sound filled the cool air. Eventually, the metal keys fell against the dark colour, wooden door and with a particularly loud ‘knack’ of the door, the lock gave way and the way was free.

Remy finally stepped into his home.

It was dark already but that did not stop him from wanting to go home, it encouraged him even further. He was the kind of person to change the night but with Virgil waiting for him, there was an intense urge to just be with the little pet. The darkness outside his apartment was driving him to be faster when the hours passed and passed.

 He had cleaned everything with Emile, right after fucking painting it all and reorganising two fucking offices. It was work. It was a lot of work but it was paid extra work on top of that, yet Remy was not exactly a fan of it. The man liked doing his thing, being left alone a bit but also having some non-annoying or intrusive/persistent social interaction. But.. working with Emile all day was as lovely as it could be exhaustive.

That pal did not gossip enough! Remy wanted to talk about chill things, not how he hated or did not hate his parents and whatnot.

 Sometimes he wondered whether people moved away and went to other therapists so they would be safe from all their dreadful puns. Maybe it helped in therapy? He did not know but it made him feel fluttered and warm all the same. Still, it would get him to feel nauseous after some time. Maybe Emile played into his auditory triggers - too many words in too little time.

 Remy stepped into his home and closed the door.

The sound of shutting it echoed through the vast emptiness in his apartment. Actually, there was so much nothing, it really filled the complete living space.

 Strange..

 All he could notice was a certain smell.. a pungent, intense smell. It was odd and he could not quite place it.

It sort of reminded him of...

 Oh no.

 He carefully switched on the light.

Whenever he used his lights, he could not help but be glad about having found proper lamps that did not cause too much eye strain at once. People who developed and invented ideas for dim light bulbs and lamps that were made to be comfortable rather than stinging in illumination were simply saints and he would never back away from this opinion. Those were fucking heroes because they helped the dumb minorities like him that was too Extra (tm) to live with regular things.

 When the dim lights, he loved so much, showered the hallway in golden warmth, he noticed.. a weird bit of something on the floor.

 Please please no.

 “Virgil?”

 He called into the void, for the void.

Nothing came back.

 Was the cat okay?

 Remy carefully made his way over to the weird something on the floor. It looked like spilled liquid, somewhat translucent and odd.

Did... Did Virgil vomit or pee onto the floor? Holy fuck, it smelled awful in the most indescribable ways. He did not want to describe it anyway, let alone sniff it enough to figure out certain components of the smell or any similarities to other scents.

 ...Oh dear fuck.

The smell - It was cat pee. Virgil had decided to fucking ruin his floor right in front of the little cat toilet he had put up.

 Well... that was it, he supposed. It had been a dream that Remy did not really have to “potty train” the kitten since it came with a lot of good manners already. That was so much of an indicator that the cat was from somewhere, that they were civilised and socialised.

Still, after weeks of no answers, Remy had cut the search and was happy to call the cat his own (albeit he never said so but the smiles on his face were more frequent than before and even his migraines seemed more at ease - not to mention how rare they had become).

 But it was too nice to have a cat - a first pet - that just was clean and trained and would use the litter box accordingly.

 “I swear, you are going to kill me, Queen. I just cleaned it in the morning. It cannot be that bad, can it?”

 He already moved to open a few windows and make sure the horrible smell would yield to the fresh air of the evening.

Maybe he should not have been outside for so long without sending anyone over to check on Virgil and catsit after all. Remy admitted he should look into some silly students who needed the money and would be happy about just cuddling a cat and being able to have some WIFI and such.

 But really, he had not planned to stay outside for that long. He had wanted to run over and check in on the dust ghost during his lunch break. Sadly, Emile did have that sort of amnesia effect on him. His horny brain went dumb and forgot all the important logic and memory. Therefore, he had been too stupid from love to really think about Virgil needing him at that moment.

Next time, he would discuss this with Emile beforehand. One mistake was alright as long as nobody was hurt and he learned from it.

 With black bags under his eyes and shades perched up on the top of his head, he grabbed a few tissues, gloves and a mop and got ready to clean up. Excitement as great as it could have been in such a situation, he got down to clean up and once done, he finished up over there and tended to the litter box.

 Nearly empty. There was like, the usual stuff but it was not much because he had cleaned it in the morning - on purpose!

 “Are you fucking kidding me? Virgil, why would you do this?”

 A deep groan of annoyance split his lips. He got up to remove the bit of waste that was still residing inside. It just took a few moment and it was already done. He disposed of the dirt properly and put his cleaning utensils into the dedicated space. 

A tinge of worry hit him as he did so. The cleanness was achieved at last but what about Vi- Just then, a streak of black crossed his view.

 “Virgil!”

 His tone was low, touching a bit into the territory of a parent. Specifically, when a goody two shoes did something wrong and the parents got all “I am not mad, just disappointed”.  

The kitten ducked away and whipped its tail down before slowly swishing it from side to side.

They almost looked ready to fight and as if Remy had provoked it, the void suddenly jumped at his black boot - yes, just one. This was one smol individual and they had yet to be tol enough to attack two Remy feet at once. Soft paws drummed onto the shoe and the ball of charcoal furry was hissing and scratching.

 “Hey! Ow-”, Remy hissed back in surprise and slight aggravation, “Virgil, what the fuck!”

 The cat jumped back and Remy quickly dropped his jacket, revealing a black sweat shirt he was wearing underneath.

 The angry cat hissed at the man and ducked and arched their back. Then, they went in for the fight, now aiming at his knees. A pair of claws jumped at him, so Remy committed himself to the idiocy of catching the cat and picking them up.

 Virgil did not get his knees but they did catch some skin of his arms.

 “What is wrong with you, gurl? Do you want to play? This is some shit way to tell me about it, queen. You pissed on my floor.”

 Virgil hissed again and Remy blinked in incomprehension. He should learn more about cats or something. Like, take a course in cat training because this whole behaviour was too sudden and confusing for him to make sense of it. These acts were so contrary to what they had done before to him. Even at the start of their relationship they had been somewhat loving towards once another.

 He did not want to admit it but.. the cat rejecting him kind of stung. Yeah, his attacked shoes were also a point of inconvenience he did not really approve of but they were manageable.

The cat was down on the ground again but definitely not down-to-earth. They were already spitting fireballs at the belated arrival and Remy was cursed with being puzzled forever since they could not communicate and explain what happened.

 Remy was unfortunate to think of Virgil as playfully fighting him. By instinct or whatever.

 “Hey Queen, if you wanna play, can you just give me a minute or two, so I can eat? I want to exist, too, and you need to eat as well.”

 He collected the food and water bowl and made sure to fill everything properly. Virgil had abandoned him again in favour of creepily staring at him from afar. The tail was swishing like a clock’s ticking arms. And they were counting his time until being brought to justice by Black Cat Law, aka The Void Law.

 The cat owner emerged from the kitchen, filled bowls filling his hands.

Dry food, just a bit - minimal amounts. Wet food - the main source of sustenance for the kitty cat. Water - because kitty cat got free bowls of water twice a day, thrice when at work with him.

Remy put it back into place and the kitten quickly returned to retrieve the food.

 “Yeah, now you are happy, are you not?”

 The cat very much ignored him so they could feast upon the bouts of food brought to them. Finally their slave human was working again and feeding them as he was supposed to.

Rude to just take an unannounced break.

 “Yeah, I should have expected you to be bitchy without food. You are just like me, are you not, little honey?”

 A chuckle could be heard as he took a little moment to relish in the sounds coming from the Void of Darkness and Fire (tm) purring and chewing. The noises were barely audible but Remy has started picking up the most silent ones. It helped him detect the kitten’s feelings or locations when he needed to tend to the cat. Also, it made finding the cat easier for when he wanted to give them a little goodbye-snuggle before going to work.

 The urge to cuddle the cat right now was strong but he made sure to not do it.

Cats hated that, as much as sources told him. Sources were the internet and people and also a book he had gotten by now. And the vet he had visited once more after he decided to keep the cat since nobody seemed to care enough. Also, vaccines.

Other than that, Virgil also scratched him once he tried to snuggle them while eating. This was only legal when Virgil was already snuggled up to him due to pure pity they felt for him. Such a Queen.

 “You are too good for anyone, kitty. I am sorry for leaving you alone for so long.”

 No answer - but the black blob of fur seemed to be at ease with the food and water. This was a start, he thought to himself. Remy still felt guilty for leaving them alone for so long. Then again, he had expected to have the time and get home for a little bit during his lunch break but that did not work out, somehow. And going after his official working hours was not okay.

 He should give someone his keys so they could look after the little Queen of Salt for a bit when he had to stay away longer.

What if an emergency ever came up?

 His head shook the thoughts of darkness and anxiety away. Instead, he busied his empty hands with the simple task of reheating some food he had made before. Tomorrow he would get some chicken for his kitten to make up for being so neglectful and thoughtless. He needed to be more considerate and accept his responsibilities. After all, he was some kind of caretaker right now - a cat parent, if you will.

 Remy leaned back and took a deep breath.

 “Virgiiiiil ~”, he cooed softly and took out a little kitty treat.

 Just one.

It was not just for his guilty conscience but also for the cat to know he did not mean to. Virgil needed assurance and the stability of life. Giving him some sort of praise for being alone all day - for literally at least 10 hours - was appropriate, he supposed.

 The kitten was already done with their bowl of food and was currently drinking when the smell of more food and the sound of Remy’s - their owner’s voice - reached them. They sensed being called over and looked up from their bowl, licking their muzzle and nose with a satisfied look on their face.

 “Kitty cat”, he purred again and the void gently let their tail swish just a bit above the floor for a few single strands of their fur to trace over the dark ground.

 They purred back in solidarity. Soft paws sunk into the similarly dark floor. The kitty took one step after the other and slowly progressed, body slightly lethargic from the recent intake of food. The ball of fur and mischief made their way over to Remy and sniffed the air.

A determination ruled their fine movements.

 Ah, yes. More food.

Good human.

Their eyes sparked at the man, radiating praise and appreciation.

 Remy smiled in return and carefully nudged his hand close enough for Virgil to nibble at the treat. Immediately, they welcome it into their mouth. Without realising it, the owner visibly relaxed, the air standing in his lungs was flowing out of his nostrils and allowed him to inhale deeply. His posture eased up and his shoulders were now more straightened and calm compared to before. St a few moments ago, the weight of guilt tore down his body and forced his back to be crooked along with pushing his shoulders into a hunching position.

No more guilt was crushing him anymore, though. The cat had accepted his apology and was carefully pushing their head into Remy’s idle palm. The feeling of warmth, a bit of dampness and furry delight was tickling the receptors in his hand. The warmth travelled up to his chest, spreading throughout all of his body in the process.

 “You are too good for me. Aw, Virgil. Little Queen of Salt”, he purred and gently shifted to lean over and started brushing over the smooth and slightly shining fur of his little companion.

 His left was holding the curious head of a peculiar kitty cat and he gently started scritching their chin - well, the underside of their chin. It was a bit lighter than the rest of their body. At least, this is what it seemed like to him. It felt warmer and more brownish, yet just as lovely as the rest of them.

 Peaceful purring filled the room with soft sounds and calming noise instead of haunting silence

 “I love you too”, he chuckled.

 Maybe he did not know everything about cats, nor did he understand all his little sass-bean was trying to express with their general body posture, the position of their torso or their tail either - really, he did not know much at all - but he was still trying his best. He certainly was getting better at it and this counted, did it not? Also, it was not like he did not try to educate himself. His workplace naps were replaced by reading in his “cat bible” and literally taking notes.

 Hands gently curled around the food-filled body of a satisfied little void. Cradling the coal cat in his arms, he held them close to his heart and walked over to their couch.

 “Does my little storm cloud want to cuddle?”

 His voice was a low coo and the kitten responded with audible purrs and an enthusiastic bonk when their heads crushed together again.

 Ow.

... He would totally never get used to cats showing affection like that. 

 Well, still worth it.

Apparently, cats did that to show love or some trash. Whatever, Virgil barely ever did it but it got more and more frequent after their first days together. Now it was more often instead of rarely but it certainly was not the most usual and common thing between them.

Still, it could change. At the moment he just wanted to relish in the warmth of their cuddles and the comfort of their intimacy.

 Remy flopped onto the couch and left the cat on his chest while he simply laid down flat onto his back like a lazy plank swimming in the water. Just floatin’... simply going with the flow, adapting to any wave.

 The cat returned the action by softly pushing their paws into his ribs. Lungs complained due to the compromised volume for more precious and essential oxygen. Not that Remy cared.. nor did Virgil have the cognitive ability to care.

 “You having fun there, kitty?”

 This cat was royalty and Remy would continue to lay around and simply have them run up and down his body. All he wanted to do was.... just take off his pants and such and put on a more comfortable and flexible pyjama. Falling asleep in tight jeans was not as great (they were great for getting some looks from his boss, though). The idea of moving around right now was just as unpleasant as the idea of falling asleep and waking up in the pants he had worked and sweated in all day.

 Unfazed by anything, the void was simply preparing their human bed for a little longer before settling down onto his ribcage...warm and pressing. Just a tad uncomfortable.

 “Okay, there you go-”

 Yes, this was love.

 Remy was too exhausted and comfortable to feel too bothered by his air flow being obstructed. Slowly, he felt himself drift off. The man was soon in a light version of a slumber and gradually become a victim to the sweet relief of a little nap. The discomfort of sweaty and smelly clothes was forgotten when exhaustion took over. The overwhelming state of being physically drained got the best of him.

All good sentiment was forgotten when the comfort of a good cat and a warm home hugged him.

 Bye bye meal he had wanted to have. He was already satisfied in other way.

He was home.

 This was heaven.

[polarisavi]

tenderness is in the hands

or, Eliott’s favourite cinema has cheap popcorn, a lot of foreign films, and a blue eyed boy behind the counter. // 3k // ao3

The Lallemant Theatre looks half dilapidated from the street. Old fashioned, with faded vintage posters in dull, scratched up frames outside, and half the light bulbs blown out, throwing odd shadows on the movie titles.  

Eliott is there at least once a week.

The scuffed up wooden floors feel like home. Golden walls littered with more decades old posters, velvet love seats in deep red and purple scattered at odd intervals along the sides of the room, the scents of melted butter and bleach inescapable and constant.

“There you are. I was worried you were dead in a ditch,” says the only other person in the building. Eliott, before he’s had a chance to lift his head to find him, grins on instinct. Lucas’ voice, lilting and teasing, washes away the bad mood this week has left him with.

“Serious bodily harm is the only thing that would keep me from you,” he allows. Lucas just scowls, bristles, and puts aside the magazine in his hands. Eliott keeps smiling. It’s hard to predict exactly how Lucas will react when he says things like that, but whatever response he gets is a treasure.

“You’re almost late, you know.”

Eliott finally reaches the counter, places his hands on it and leans over a bit. Lucas’ hair is defying gravity, his eyes bright under the lighting, and a red plaid scarf that would contrast delightfully with his skin is curled next to the keyboard. Eliott wriggles his eyebrows. “You’d wait for me though, right?” Lucas rolls his eyes, so Eliott wages forward. “What’s on tonight?”

“Some Australian horror.” Lucas runs a hand through his hair, some of his fingernails flashing with chipped colour. “I’m not sure if you’ll like it, to be honest.”

Eliott hums vaguely and pulls out his wallet, finds a creased note between a collection of abandoned loyalty cards and faded concert tickets. The ticket stub he gets in exchange has a thick yellow line down the side, and the hand giving it to him has badly painted nails, each one a different shade of green.

“You’re really bad at that,” he says, nodding to Lucas’ hand. Lucas squints his eyes, raises his chin a little.

“I had to use my left hand.”

“Uh huh. Let’s see your other hand, then.” The other hand in question immediately disappears from view. From the way he shifts, there’s a good chance Lucas is sitting on it.

Eliott grins in triumph. “There’s no shame in being truly terrible at things, Lucas.”

“I suppose you would know a thing or two about it.”

Valiantly, Eliott lets that slide, stuffs the ticket in his pocket. The colour changes every month or so, and soon he’ll have enough of them saved to do - something. A collage, a sculpture, something worthy of this building, of the memories inside its walls. “Why don’t you think I’ll like the movie?”

“I’ve only seen pieces, but it doesn’t seem to have any… sincerity in it. Which I know you don’t have a lot of tolerance for.”

“You remember that?” Not a lot of people actually listen to him when he talks about film, the thread sometimes unspooling too quickly, tangling and looping, and making it hard for anyone to follow easily.

Lucas expression goes warm, kind, and something boarding on sympathetic. “I remember everything you say, Eliott.” There’s an implied obviously in the air and, well, no one would blame him for the way his heart beat rushes, especially when Lucas says his name like that, affectionate, weighty, like it’s valuable, like it matters.

Eliott looks to the side, coughs, brings the lighter out of his pocket just to have something to fiddle with.

“Has anyone else got a ticket for it?”

The way Lucas shakes his head makes his hair dance. “Just you. How much popcorn do you want?”

Eliott shoots the popcorn machine a look, its yellow glow a physical presence in the room. He can almost feel the sheer quantity of butter clogging up his veins from here. Simultaneously they take the couple steps to the side where the confectionery part of the counter technically starts.

“Depends, how hungry are you?” he asks, smirks, when Lucas has the audacity to look surprised Eliott is asking.

“Who says I’m joining you? I have a job to do, you know.”

It’s a good argument, but one that would probably work better if they were in a theatre that had more than roughly fifteen customers a week, most of them not at 9pm on a Wednesday.

“You would rather sit out here doing magazine quizzes and waiting for customers that don’t exist than sit next to me for a few hours and prove just how bad you are with accents?”

“You’re so annoying, and I have nothing to prove to you. “

Eliott softens. “I know you don’t. So how hungry are you?”

Without argument, Lucas shoots the popcorn a longing look. “So fucking hungry. Don’t worry,” he adds, flaps his hand like he can reverse Eliott’s move to take his wallet out again. “it’s included in your ticket price.”

A blatant lie, but Eliott doesn’t call him on it, just shrugs. Lucas nods and starts piling popcorn into the biggest box they have, the cardboard checkered orange and white. Lucas’ maman, the owner, seems to love colour, the theatre drenched in vibrancy, texture, calling out to a city that’s too blind to see it.

When Lucas passes the box over, their fingers overlap, and Eliott sets the food down in favour of getting a closer look at his hands. It’s a good thing Lucas has started painting his nails, he doesn’t have to reach for an excuse. It’s a lot smoother than Lucas’s I think there’s a bug, oh no wait my mistake, I’ve always liked tattoos, why do you have mardi written on your knee? It’d been a warm day, on the cusp of summer, the arms of their singlets plunging low to their waists, both of their legs’ exposed,  and it was a good thing Lucas moved first because Eliott had been trying to find reasons for why Lucas really should stop sitting properly and drape his leg’s across Eliott’s. He’s as shameless as Lucas, really, just hides it better.

And this, this is slightly subtler. He leans down like he’s properly inspecting Lucas’ hands, face serious, touch gentle, and Lucas doesn’t resist, bends easily to make room for Eliott’s whims.

The colour isn’t really that badly done, really, but still.

“You can practice on me, if you want,” Eliott offers. Nicely, in his opinion, but Lucas’ eyebrows furrow.

“I’m really bad at it.”

“…Which is why I offered.”

He presses his lips together. “I don’t mind being bad when it’s my own body, but you have nice hands,” Eliott chokes on nothing, Lucas mouth quirks. “I don’t want to ruin them.”

“You couldn’t ruin anything.”

“Well, some things,” Eliott doesn’t think he imagined the seconds Lucas takes to flick his eyes down Eliott’s body, “but if you insist, I’ll gladly use you to experiment on.”

Eliott doesn’t know when they started having, how they keep having, multiple conversations at once, but it’s a bit too much. His hand automatically moves to tap at his lips, a nervous tic, but, right, they’re still holding - no, not holding, just touching - hands. He can feel the edge of a callous on one of Lucas’ fingers. Drums? Guitar? Wire sculpture? Carpentry? Before he can ask further, Lucas slips his hand away and he jumps the counter.

“Come on, I don’t want to keep you out late.”

Lucas sets off towards the splintered hall that most of the theatres spring off, and Eliott follows him automatically, absently reclaiming the popcorn when Lucas picks up a jacket, presumably his own. “You don’t?”

“Well, not for this,” the tips of his ears go slightly red, but nothing else. One day Eliott will make him blush for real, and it will be a beautiful day. “Isn’t a regular sleep schedule good for you? For stability, I mean.”

“I don’t remember telling you that.”

“That’s because you didn’t. I did some research, after you told me. The Wikipedia article for bipolar disorder is very well written.”

“No WebMD?”

Lucas shakes his head. “Yahoo Answers was very educational, though.”

“Well, primary sources are important.”

Lucas takes a right turn, a direction that can only take them to two cinemas: the Burgandy and the Woolf. The former reasonably large, wide seats, a bronze curtain unveiling the screen, and the width between aisles just that little bit too small for his liking. The latter is smaller, screen half the size, the walls dark blue, ceiling tall, and a collection of deep couches to seat the audience. It is, undeniably, Eliott’s favourite, and the way Lucas is looking, pleased, content, a slight bounce to his walk that usually isn’t there - Eliott has to resist the urge wrap his arms around him and, possibly, never let go. The ecosystem here would support them; they’d never have to leave.

The next time he glances over at Lucas his heart stutters when he finds those blue eyes already trained on him, eager, adoring. The barriers between them erode the deeper they roam into the guts of the building. The architecture is tricky, clever, expands beyond the barriers granted to it by the city, and something similar happens to them. Eliott feels paper thin, transparent, emotions bleeding into the space between them. Lucas reaches across, tugs on his arm, and leads them, unsurprisingly, into the Woolf. And it’s okay that he’s bleeding, that this far deep the physics of the room demands honesty, because it’s Lucas, a fixed point in the universe, who, underneath the snark and pouting and dramatics, has always ever only gathered up all the kindness and joy and tenderness he could find in his hands and offered it to Eliott freely.

Lucas softly nudges Eliott towards a couch in the centre but doesn’t follow him down when Eliott sits, sinks, into the middle of it, wanders away to do whatever is required to start the movie. The lights dim, first, then the screen clicks to life with a kind thank you for choosing Lallemant Theatre for your movie going experience. The room is a universe unto itself, and the last traces of the day slide off of him, every bad thought getting lost in the dark.

Lucas, when he returns, drops down on Eliott’s side, close, confident, and reaches across his body for a handful of popcorn. Eliott had placed it beside him, next to the armrest, without thinking, but clearly it had been a great idea.

Lucas’ neck arches back when he relaxes, stares at the ceiling, chest moving slowly, deeply, his collarbone refracting light. It’s - Eliott shouldn’t stare like this, should try and tame his greedy eyes, because Lucas isn’t his to stare at so blatantly. Not really. Whatever nebulous, shifting, sometimes delicate thing they’ve morphed into over these months, there are some lines still intact, things left unsaid under a gossamer veil of… deniability, caution, something.

Like he’s been summoned by the current of Eliott’s thoughts, Lucas flops his neck, looks at him. “Can I take you up on your offer?”

“Of course,” Eliott answers automatically, without bothering to figure out exactly what he’s referring to. Yes, of course, literally whatever Lucas wants. His responding grin is visible even in the low light, and in the seconds Eliott takes to bask in and appreciate his smile, Lucas straightens up, whips out a small bottle of nail polish from somewhere, its lid silver and the polish colour unknown.

Right. Eliott has his doubts about how well this will go given the changing light levels, courtesy of the pre movie ads, and lack of a solid surface, but Lucas twists to sit sideways, takes Eliott’s hand and places it on one of his thighs, and, really, if Lucas has deemed this environment adequate, who is Eliott to tell him otherwise.

The denim of his jeans is warm, the muscle underneath firm, and Lucas pats his hand, just once, before opening the polish and securing the bottle in the crease of his other leg.

“What colour is it?”

“Dark orange, kinda.”

“I don’t know if it’ll go with my complexion. “

Lucas snorts. “You can take the hit.”

The first brush is on his thumb, and leaves a sizeable streak on the skin beside his nail. An edge of a smile is visible from Eliott’s eye line. The next nail goes about the same way, and Eliott makes the decision to study the room, the ads, the tumble of Lucas’ hair, rather than watch in real time as burnt orange varnish settles into the grooves of his skin.

By the time he finishes painting that hand, the movie has started, and Eliott really should pay attention, but his gaze is stuck. There are stars in Lucas’ eyes, his skin stained rose from light thrown from the screen, veins in his arms; Eliott vibrates with the need to touch, to feel, to trace the shape of his hands, his arms, the sweet curve of his neck.

His hand, the one on Lucas’ thigh, clasps, squeezes, subconsciously, and Lucas finally, finally, meets his gaze properly. His mouth feels sticky, stuffed with fairy floss, and he wants to apologise but the words won’t come out. There are stars in his eyes, an entire ocean, every sublime mystery the universe has to offer.

Characters are talking, their accents grating, and the light burns white.

Lucas’ hand finds his and squeezes.

“Can our next date be somewhere else?”

Eliott’s mind goes blank, tries to force the fairy floss away. “Our next date?”

“Or our first one, either way,” Lucas says, and his smile is cheeky, eyes teasing. Eliott takes a second to readjust to this new reality, this beautiful, divine reality, and lets himself smile too, gentle, and probably slightly awed.

“We’ve been doing this for how long, and this is how you officially ask me out?”

Lucas’ cheeks bunch with how big he’s smiling. “You had something better in mind, Romeo?”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I would’ve convinced your maman to play my favourite romance, and then recreated one of the scenes with you, which would make you swoon and win your heart.”

Lucas’ mouth gapes for a second, incredulous. “That sounded very well planned for something that I only just asked you.”

“That was one of my top five plans.”

“Five?”

“I’ll tell you about them later.” Lucas looks curious, like he wants to ask more, want to keep interrogating every romantic scenario Eliott has ever thought of, eyes flicking across Eliott’s features, and when he bites his lip Eliott’s gaze drops to them, plush, pink, begging to be captured. Normally Eliott would indulge him anything, but there are some better things they could do. “Can I please kiss you now?”

Lucas starts nodding before he’s finished speaking, smiles for a second, and he doesn’t have to lean far because Eliott has already moved forward, curled into his space.

“Please,” Lucas whispers, leans his neck up, and Eliott falls into his gravity. The first tentative brush of their lips feels like the first ever breath of air, vital, stabilising, impossible to live without. His hands go up to cup Lucas’ cheeks, keep him there, keep him close. His veins fizz and heart flutters, bounces, around his chest, but this, the sweet drag of Lucas’ lips, his soft sigh when Eliott tilts his head, kisses his deeper, slower, this is the most certain, the most right, he’s ever felt about anything. The universe was designed to place him here, with this boy, so close he’s almost in his lap. Placed him so he can hear the low noise Lucas makes, the vibrations travelling straight down to his core, when he breaks their kiss.

Lucas, dazed, confused, and smiling, looks back at him. “Why’d you stop?” his voice is a little gravelly.

Eliott strokes the cut of his cheekbones with his thumb. “I just - I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he murmurs.

“Really?” Lucas asks, with a level of shock that shouldn’t be there, that Eliott will have to rectify every day they’re together. For now, though, he shrugs, raises his eyebrows teasingly.

Lucas makes a dramatic sound, some kind of sigh/groan hybrid, and looks heavenward. “I wasn’t sure if you were like that with everyone, or just me.”

When he looks back down Eliott guides their foreheads together, shakes his head gently so they don’t get displaced. “Only you. Ever since I saw you, it’s only been you.”