#midnight snack being a meal (dinner pt 2)

[kimio7]

someone tell me its a bad idea to uber eats a midnight snack

[moony-meadow]

Going for Goldie (6)

Pt. 1 / Pt. 2 / Pt. 3 / Pt. 4 / Pt. 5

After Beelzebub departed, Mammon and I were once again alone together. The white-haired demon had resumed his place on the sofa, only now he was laid out on it with his back propped up against the armrest. This left me inside his stomach at a kind of incline. I’d taken to leaning against the back wall and was taking advantage of the surprisingly relaxing warmth the fleshy surface provided.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck in here for hours,” I moaned, flopping my arm over my face dramatically. “So much for having a midnight snack.” It wasn’t uncommon for Beel and I to run into each other at the kitchen in the middle of the night. We both seemed to have a habit of craving late night treats.

“Well,” I felt Mammon’s hand plop down onto his stomach, causing a small tremor around me, “I could always swallow somethin’ for ya to eat.”

My face instantly formed into a grimace. “Don’t be disgusting, Mammon,” I chided. The idea of eating someone’s second hand food was positively repulsive. Though I knew the demon was joking, I still didn’t appreciate the crude commentary. A chuckle rumbled around me, but otherwise Mammon said nothing more.

“You know, I think since this turned out to be a lot more than a quick trip into your stomach, that you owe me Goldie privileges for at least three days,” I stated. Had I not already committed myself to helping Mammon keep his credit card from Lucifer, I might have abandoned the whole thing as soon as things got complicated. But, if I gave up now and made Mammon cough me up, then the whole thing might end up being for nothing.

A strangled noise of outrage came from Mammon. “Three days?! Ya gotta be kiddin’ me!” The stomach walls all pressed in around me slightly, I could only assume as a result of Mammon clenching his hand around his middle. “I--I’ll give ya two days, but that’s it!” he exclaimed after my lack of response displayed how serious I was about the matter.

“Fine, but you also have to take me out to dinner some night,” I declared.

Mammon unclenched his hand from around his stomach, but I could tell that he’d now tensed up all over. “Wha? You can’t be--pfft, like the Great Mammon would ever be caught goin’ out to dinner with a--with a human,'' he stammered. I had to stifle a giggle, I could just tell his face had become all blushy.

It was a pretty common occurrence that whenever I took part in some playful flirting with the Avatar of Greed, his face would heat up while he stuttered out insistences that he had no interest in humans. I knew it was just one of his defense mechanisms, so I had stopped taking offense to it a long time ago.

“It can be lunch if you prefer,” I replied, feigning ignorance.

“Huh? No--I’m only havin’ a meal with you if you’re the main course,'' Mammon finished the sentence proudly.

I rolled my eyes. “This is the last time I’m ever going to be in your stomach.” While I felt pretty sure of my own statement, there was a part of me that wondered if I really would be able to avoid being eaten again. Yesterday I would have said I would never let a demon eat me under any circumstances, and yet here I was sitting in the belly of the beast.

The pressure at the front of the stomach returned as Mammon rested both his hands on top of it. “Well ya better not end up in any other demon’s stomach,” he warned, a hint of possessiveness in his voice. “You are my human, after all.”

Being the Avatar of Greed, it wasn’t surprising to me that Mammon tended to be overprotective of his belongings. However, I never would have guessed I would be considered among those belongings. His possessiveness over me wasn’t only in regards to me being eaten, he had also expressed jealousy when his brothers tried to get a little too close to me. In a way, it was kind of endearing. Although, I always made a point to make it clear that I was not an object to be owned.

“I’m your friend,” I corrected smoothly, “and you don’t have to worry about anyone else eating me, at least not with my permission anyway.”

Mammon was silent, and for a moment I wondered if I’d made him upset in some way. But then his hand began to slowly and gently rub his stomach. I smiled softly and leaned forward to pat the outermost wall in response. The guy wasn’t the best at accepting compliments or genuine displays of affection, but he had his own little ways of showing his appreciation.

“Hey, Y/N?” Mammon spoke up, now idly trailing a finger over his stomach. “You’re not...I dunno, scared of me or nothin’, are ya?”

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. The genuine concern in the demon’s voice threw me off guard. He usually made an effort to try to convince people that he was an incredibly powerful demon that ought to be feared. And while his brothers often treated him as though he were weak, I knew better. Mammon was the second eldest of the seven Avatars, and therefore the second most powerful. However, the thing with Mammon was that the guy pretty much never flexed that power. For whatever reason, even when his little brothers smacked him around or called him names, Mammon never lashed out.

As a result of all that, it was easy for me to sometimes forget that I hung out with a potentially deadly demon on the daily. Of course, when Mammon had shrunk me I’d been reminded of that latent fear. However, I wasn’t about to tell him that. I didn’t know how he’d react to the knowledge that my natural instincts insisted I be wary of demons like him (especially when they were giant sized), but I certainly didn’t want him getting the impression that I was some scared little thing. Besides, logically I knew Mammon could (mostly) be trusted. Plus, having a pact with him meant I could stop him if he ever were to do something that really freaked me out.

“Oh please,” I dismissed. “It would take a lot more than an overgrown demon to scare me.”

“Hmmm,” Mammon hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe next time I should eat ya in my demon form, that might really give ya a fright.”

The joking tone of his voice was obvious, but I still sent a kick into the nearest wall in retaliation for the comment. “How many times do I have to tell you there won’t be a next time?” I huffed.

“Is it really so bad in there?” the demon inquired, once again prodding at the outside of his stomach.

I took a moment to assess my surroundings. It was just as pitch black as ever so I could only imagine what everything actually looked like. Surprisingly there was no foul odor, the stomach acid that was pooled at the bottom didn’t seem to have a scent to it. The temperature was a bit warmer than I’d prefer, but it was thankfully tolerable. And while the squishy stomach walls still kind of grossed me out, I had gotten pretty used to them already.

Being in the stomach itself wasn’t terrible, really it was the mere fact that I was in someone else’s stomach that I disliked so much. It was a matter of pride. Being in the Devildom, it was very important that I keep my head held high. Showing weakness would just encourage potential enemies to target me.

“It’s...well it’s not exactly the Ritz,” I responded, unsure of how exactly to explain it to Mammon. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to sleep in here either.” I couldn’t deny that it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, but I wasn’t really sure if I’d be able to fall asleep with the knowledge that I was literally inside someone’s stomach.

As if on cue, Mammon gave a yawn that caused everything around me to tighten for a moment before loosening once again as he exhaled. “Well, let’s test it out,” he announced. That was the only warning I got before Mammon sat up and got to his feet.

With Goldie safely tucked away in a pocket, I was able to easily brace myself against the walls with both hands. I felt quite secure--that is until the floor suddenly became a wall and one of the walls I’d been holding onto suddenly became the floor. “I suppose I should have seen that coming,” I thought to myself.

After a few moments of shifting as Mammon got situated, everything around me finally settled and I was able to get myself comfortable. It wasn’t like there was a ton of room to spread out, but it was plenty of space for me to lay flat. The stomach acid had seemed to dissipate shortly after Mammon had laid down, as if his body had finally caught on that I wasn’t going to be digested so it had no business sticking around.

“Comfy?” the demon asked as he went back to gently rubbing his stomach in a circular motion.

I snorted. “About as comfortable as someone can get in a stomach.”

“Good,” Mammon replied cheerfully, unphased by my grumpy tone.

“You better not roll onto your stomach,” I warned. While I figured the action wouldn’t necessarily hurt me, I doubted it would be comfortable being squished by the entirety of the giant demon’s bodyweight.

A chuckle echoed around me. “Don’t worry, I’m not much of a stomach sleeper,” Mammon promised.

With nothing else much to say, and exhaustion beginning to heavily set in, I said, “Okay...then goodnight, I guess.”

“G’night, Y/N.”

In a matter of minutes I could tell Mammon had already fallen asleep. His breathing was slow and even and his heartrate had dropped to a resting level. Honestly, the natural ambience of his body was kind of relaxing. The up and down motion his breaths caused almost made me feel like I was on a gently floating boat. It didn’t take much longer for me to drift effortlessly into a deep sleep.

The next morning, as soon as Mammon and I woke up, I demanded he quickly get me out and unshrink me. My urgency was in large part spurred by the fact that my bladder was absolutely screaming at me after having not been emptied in so long. I didn’t even get the chance to relish my return to normal size before I darted out to the bathroom, but not before ordering Mammon never to tell another soul about the previous night’s events.

After dumping everything I’d been wearing into the wash, taking an hour and a half long shower, and then absolutely stuffing myself during breakfast, I actually felt back to normal. Of course, I wasn’t about to forget the experience of being eaten anytime soon. And something told me Mammon wouldn’t either.

[keichanz]

Move Your Body || pt. 3

@akiza-hades-rose

if you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

When Kagome entered the studio the following night at approximately 7 pm, already a little flushed and sweaty from Sango’s hour long session, the first thing Inuyasha noticed that instead of the baggy t-shirt he was half-expecting her to show up in, she’d donned a plain white camisole instead. It was definitely an improvement, since it was clingy and contoured to her figure, though if he were being honest Inuyasha much preferred her in nothing but the spandex shorts and sports bra from before.

And she must have read his thoughts from the way he was eyeing her outfight critically and she stopped to send him a narrowed eyed stare, a clear challenge to just try and make her remove it.

He grumbled but finally gave a nod of approval and instantly she brightened, all smiles and fairly skipping the rest of the way into the room toward where he stood at the table, donned in jersey shorts, a black muscle shirt, and comfortable sneakers.

“Hi,” she chirped, setting her bag on the table and gracing him with a brilliant smile.

Inuyasha cocked a brow at her but couldn’t stop his lips from twitching as he flicked his gaze back to his phone.

“Hey,” he returned. “How was Sango’s class?”

“Great!”

Her enthusiastic response prompted him to once more lift his gaze, wondering what could possibly have her so chipper. Then he watched in something akin to baffled amusement as Kagome dropped into a fighting stance and started punching the air, shifting her feet like a boxer would and then he had to wonder if she’d taken one of Sango’s kick-boxing classes.

“It’s got me pumped!” Kagome continued, striking the air again and again as she duked it out with an invisible opponent. Then she ruined her tough-girl appearance by giggling and Inuyasha had to grin that time.

“You’re a nut,” he told her, shaking his head, and only received more giggles in response. “Alright, smiley, what’s got you so eager and willing for me to work your ass off tonight, huh?”

He crossed his arms and leaned a hip against the table, glad that she seemed so excited, but also genuinely curious for this particular mood. He found that he liked her like this, smiling and laughing and ready to do whatever it takes to meet her goal.

Kagome smiled mysteriously and then shifted her eyes behind him, noting for the first time the cooler that sat at the end of the long table. Making a noise of delight she skipped on over and opened the lid to investigate, pleased to discover that it was filled with ice cold water bottles, various sports drinks, and healthy snacks like fruit and yogurt.

Happily claiming a banana, she let the lid fall close and turned around, humming under her breath as she peeled her treat, dumped the peel in the trash and took a bite. As she munched her eyes connected with Inuyasha’s again and the look he was giving her plainly read “really?”

She blinked, swallowed, and smiled again.

“Who said you can eat my bananas?” he joked and nearly had her choking on her next bite as she tried not to laugh. He hadn’t intended for it to sound at all racy and was glad she hadn’t taken it that way.

“I’m curious, babydoll,” he said after she’d recovered, letting a new snickers escape around mouthfuls. “Not that I mind of course, but seriously, what’s got you so chipper tonight, huh? Or at you just that happy to see me?”

Inuyasha smirked and waggled his brows, to which Kagome rolled her eyes at but was unable to keep from smiling.

“Oh,” she murmured, gaze drifting to the side as she clasped he hands behind in her and rocked back and forth on her feet. “No reason...”

Inuyasha snorted. “Yeah, bullshit. Alright, c’mon, babydoll, ‘fess up. We ain’t got all night, I actually a tentative schedule tonight.” He rolled his hand, an impatient gesture to get on with it, and after another few seconds of staling Kagome cracked.

“Okay, okay,” she gave in with a soft laugh, blue eyes bright and her smile a mile wide. “It could be completely unrelated, but I saw Kamlyn today for the first time since signing up for the competition, and she looked so mad!”

She made a little high-pitched noise of excitement and did a little shimmy that Inuyasha found entirely too adorable. Though amused that the bitch was apparently still pissed about his rejection from yesterday, he derived even more enjoyment from Kagome’s enjoyment. It was such a small thing, and yet she got so much happiness out of it, and the thought that he had, in a roundabout way, caused that happiness caused something warm to bloom in his chest and gradually spread outward.

Before he could act on the strange feeling welling up inside him and do something stupid – like reach out and take her into his arms like he very suddenly wanted to – Kagome stopped bouncing around and faced him fully, and though her smile hadn’t vanished it gentled and her ocean eyes shone with sincere gratitude.

“I know it’s silly, but,” she began, a soft blush coloring her cheeks a gentle rose, “thank you, Inuyasha. And I’m sorry. You know, for...automatically assuming you’d agree to help her.”

She shrugged and looked away, suddenly a little shy and embarrassed, but a gentle touch to her chin brought her gaze back to his and her eyes widened.

“You’re welcome,” he rumbled, the intensity in his eyes making her breath catch. “And don’t worry about it. I said you’d have all my free time, Kagome. And I meant it.”

Then daringly he brushed his thumb across the softness of her bottom lip and watched as her face flamed and those midnight eyes grow very wide. He wasn’t surprised when she ducked away from his touch, bowing her head and taking a step back while avoiding his gaze.

Letting his hand drop, Inuyasha swallowed a sigh and grinned instead, trying to lighten the mood a bit by teasing her, “You just wanted me all to yourself, didn’t you, babydoll?”

His golden eyes gleamed wickedly as Kagome squeaked and then promptly hid her red face in her hands, shaking her head in avid denial.

His grin widened. “Didn’t wanna share me? Jealous?”

“Inuyashaaaaa,” she protested, her face rivaling that of a tomato by now but he could see the smile behind her hands, the way it curled her mouth upward as her shoulders shook in silent laughter.

Chuckling, Inuyasha held his hands up. “Alright, alright,” be conceded and then to spare her any further embarrassment changed the subject. “Do you have your schedule I asked for?”

Grateful for the subject change, she lowered her hands and sent him a small, thankful smile before going over to her bag and digging around inside to retrieve the requested paper. He’d asked for a copy earlier today via text so he’d know when not to bother her during class.

Kagome pulled it from the notebook she’d stashed it in and handed it over, taking a moment to check her phone for anything she might have missed while he looked it over.

“Christ,” Inuyasha muttered after a minute, frowning down at the piece of paper in his hand. “Do you ever have time to eat? Or, you know, breathe?”

She shrugged, her smiling seeming to say, “what can ya do?”

Inuyasha narrowed his eyes at her. “Have you eaten today?”

Kagome blinked at him then smiled. “Um...yes.”

His suspicion mounted. “Banana notwithstanding.”

Kagome thought about it, her gaze drifting to the ceiling.

“...I passed the dining hall and smelled pizza—”

His glare cut her off and wordlessly he pointed to the cooler.

Kagome pouted and crossed her arms. “It’s not that big of a deal, I’m—”

“Now, Kagome.”

“Yes, mom,” Kagome grumbled and did as she was told, stalking past him to once more dig around the cooler and retrieving an apple and another banana.

Unfazed, Inuyasha folded up her schedule and tucked it away into his shorts pocket. Kagome was mulishly nibbling away on an apple and he felt better now that she was getting some food in her stomach after evidently not eating anything all day. Some of his anger diminished and he sighed, raising a clawed hand to thrust through his short hair.

“You can’t skip meals like this, especially when you’re gonna be burning calories like no tomorrow.” He shook his head. “Where the hell is your common sense? You’re going to school to be a nurse, babydoll, you should know this.”

Inuyasha frowned at her, the disapproval clear in his stare, and Kagome swallowed before emitting a sigh and wrinkling her nose, looking appropriately contrite.

“Wednesdays are my busiest days,” she mumbled, making a face. “And I was gonna get something to eat after I was done with Sango’s class, but then I remembered I was supposed to come up here and didn’t have time.”

“Then fucking text me you’re gonna be late and get yourself some dinner, dammit,” he snapped, his concern for her health temporarily making him forget his earlier promise to show some restraint when it came to her. “I don’t care if you’re gonna be a little late if it means you’re taking care of yourself.”

Avoiding his gaze, Kagome shrunk in on herself and picked at the peel of the banana in her hand. Okay, maybe it had been stupid, but he didn’t need to blow up like that. She usually did get food right around this time, but she’d just...been really excited about tonight’s session with him and hadn’t wanted to waste precious minutes getting food.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, fighting back the ridiculous urge to cry. “I was just...excited to be here. It won’t happen again.”

And just like that, Inuyasha felt like the world’s biggest ass and all anger instantly evaporated to be replaced by guilt. Ahh…fuck. He’d single-handedly ruined her earlier good mood because he’d allowed the nutritionist side of him to freak the hell out and now she was drawing back into her shell, hiding herself and it was his own damn fault. Even with the realization that his concern stemmed from the irrational fear that she was skipping meals because she didn’t want to go back to being chubby, it still didn’t excuse him blowing up at her for something so trivial. And it wasn’t like they were going to do any hard work tonight anyway.

Shit. Now he doubly felt like an ass. Goddammit.

“Kagome...fuck, I’m sorry,” he said and rubbed his forehead, knowing it was weak, but not knowing what else to do. “I didn’t mean to go off like that, I just...”

He sighed, grimaced, and then admitted in a mumble, “I got worried, aright? This sorta thing takes up a lot of energy, y’know, the kind you get from eating, and I don’t wanna see you get sick. Sometimes I can be a colossal ass and I don’t think before I speak and more often than not I end up shoving my foot in my mouth and saying the wrong thing. So...sorry.”

When Kagome didn’t say anything, Inuyasha dared to lift his gaze...and found her staring at him, blue eyes suspiciously bright and a trembling but genuine smile curving her lips upward.

Inuyasha faltered. What the—

“You know,” she began softly and there was a note of mirth to her tone that he did not miss. “You could have stopped after you said sorry the first time.” Her smile widened a tad. “But I appreciate the explanation, Inuyasha. Apology accepted.”

Inuyasha stared at her as incredulity slowly overwhelmed all previous guilt and he simply gaped for a moment, disbelief clear on his face.

Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “Then why the hell didn’t you—”

Kagome giggled and immediately stifled it by biting down on her lip and looking away, a flush riding high on her cheeks.

Realization dawned and he groaned. “You just wanted to see me sweat, didn’t you?”

“Well,” she giggled and cast a sidelong glance at him. “You did kind of deserve it.”

He gave her a deadpan stare. “Touché,” he mumbled and when she giggled again, he sighed and quirked a grin.

“Alright, smartass,” he teased and reached over to grasp her arm and tug her closer. Surprisingly she went willingly, allowing him to snake an arm around her shoulders and squeeze her in a half-hug. She blushed and ducked her head, but he saw her smile.

“After today don’t worry about leaving to get something to eat after you’re done downstairs and then coming here. I’ll buy you dinner every Wednesday, or any other day you don’t have time. Anything you want. And I know I don’t have to,” he told her before she could interrupt and smirked at her pout. “Think of it as my way of making it up to you for being a giant ass. Deal?”

Kagome considered him for a moment, deliberately making him wait – cheeky little thing, wasn’t she? – and then she smiled and suddenly Inuyasha could breathe a little easier.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief. “Good,” he rumbled and then dropped a kiss to the top of her head – why, he had no idea – before releasing her and gesturing to her forgotten fruit.

“Eat up, and then we’ll begin.”

“Is it too late for you to buy me dinner? Because I could really go for some—”

“Kagome.”

She giggled and crunched into her apple.  

Rolling his eyes, Inuyasha retaliated to her cheek by snatching her apple and taking a huge bite out of it before handing it back and promptly kneeling at her feet, ignoring her protest gasped protest.

“You thief! Uh, what are you doing?” she asked when he started plucking at the laces of her sneaker and loosening them enough so he could slip it off her foot along with her sock. She squeaked and caught herself on his shoulder with a hand and could only watch in bemusement as he did the same with the other.

“We have a limited amount of time,” Inuyasha replied, tossing her shoe and sock to join the other under the table where they were out of the way. “So I figured it’d be best to get you used it to now as opposed to later so you don’t fall and break an ankle when you use the real thing.”

Kagome shivered when her bare feet met the cool polished wood of the floor and she blinked at him.

“Real thing?”

Straightening, Inuyasha cocked a brow and drawled, “You didn’t think you’d be performing your dance in sneakers, did you?”

Kagome titled her head a little with a slight frown as she tried to understand what he meant, but then it hit her out of nowhere and her eyes widened as a soft gasp escaped her mouth. She blanched and stared at him with something akin to horror, really, really hoping he was joking.

“Oh, no—please tell you don’t mean—”

Inuyasha’s wicked smirk cut her off.

“Heels up, babydoll. Are you comfortable with five inches?”

One hour later...

“Heels up, Kagome!”

“They are up!”

“More than an inch.”

With a groan and a downright dirty look directed Inuyasha’s way, Kagome reluctantly did as she was bade and forced herself higher onto her toes, wincing when her sore feet protested and the pads twinged in pain. She realized it really wasn’t much different than wearing actual heels, but the arches not having any support made it a little more difficult. Plus Kagome had never worn heels in her life, which definitely didn’t make this any easier. Good god, but why did women subject themselves to this torture?! Willingly?!

“Spin.”

Huffing, Kagome spun and managed to keep her heels raised.

“Good. Drop.”

She dropped, balancing on the pads of her feet briefly before shooting back up and automatically throwing her weight backward into a dramatic dip that flung her hair and thrust out her chest.

Inuyasha nodded in approval. “Great, babydoll. Knees bent—good, now slide forward, right foot first—heels up.”

Kagome whined and Inuyasha’s phone lit up with an incoming call, the music automatically pausing to let the call come in.

Big blue eyes looked at him pleadingly and Inuyasha gave in. “Take a break,” he told her, a small grin curving his lips. “You deserve it.”

Instantly Kagome dropped her heels and made a noise of relief before promptly collapsing onto the floor and laying flat on her back, needing to take the pressure off of her aching feet for even a little bit. The polished wood of the floor was cool against her heated skin and she closed her eyes, soaking it in.

Inuyasha gave her an amused glance as he passed her and snatched up his phone, glimpsing the screen before swiping his thumb and holding it to his face.

“Hey, you,” he greeted fondly and tucked the mobile between his head and shoulder before wordlessly reaching down toward Kagome and wiggling his fingers. “What’s up?”

“I love you.”            

Inuyasha rolled his eyes and gestured for Kagome to grab his hands when all she did was stare blankly up at him from the floor.

“Whaddaya need, Peach?” His voice was slightly exasperated, already having a good idea what she was calling for.

As Kagome made a sound of protest but reached up to grab his hands anyway, the female voice on the other end of the phone crooned, “I’m so sorry, Sha, but I won’t be able to make it this weekend for the demo. I know I said I’d be there, but Suikotsu’s conference got extended until Sunday and he asked me to stay.”

The pleading note to her voice was clear as day and Inuyasha could picture her face, big brown eyes wide, exaggerated pout, and her nose scrunched up. He never understood how she was able to give him the damn Puppy Pout when she was halfway across the fucking world, but there you have it.

Sighing, Inuyasha gently clasped Kagome’s hands in his own and hauled her upright.

“When’s your flight?” he asked, his tone resigned and dropped his hands to Kagome’s waist before promptly lifting her up and setting her on the table. She made a cute little noise of surprise and blinked curiously at him.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she replied, “Early Monday morning so I should be home around five that evening.”

She paused, then, “Are you sure? I mean, if you really need me to be there you know Sui will understand...”

He had to smile at that. “Nah, don’t worry about it, Peach. I’m sure Kagura won’t mind coming with; you know she loves L.A. and jumps at any chance to gamble away the asshole’s money.”

“What about getting smashed and trying to sell her lingerie? That she was still wearing?”

Inuyasha snorted in acknowledgment, lifting one of Kagome’s feet and carefully massaging the sore muscles with experienced hands. Kagome gasped, flushed, but then hummed in pleasure as her eyes drifted close and a dreamy smile spread across her face. He grinned.

“Thanks, Pooch,” his dear friend said softly, voice ringing with sincerity. “I really do appreciate it, especially since it’s been scheduled for like, two months. Has anyone ever told you you’re like, the best boss ever? And the sexiest?”

“Kiss ass.”

“Well, somebody has to. Your boyfriend’s been kissing mine for the past week, I’m sure yours ain’t getting any action.”

Inuyasha released a bark of laughter, shaking his head at Kagome’s inquisitive head tilt and switching to her other foot; she gave him a weird look but decided to brush it off and closed her eyes again.

“Tell him when he’s done licking peaches, I got all the meat he needs right here.”

The look Kagome gave him after that particular statement had him biting back another laugh and again he shook his head, not without a grin. A soft snort sounded on the other end and then, “Babe, your boyfriend says when you’re done licking peaches, he’s got all the meat you need right here.”

There was a pause and then Inuyasha’s sensitive hearing picked up the hollered reply from a familiar male voice before it was relayed.

“He says, ‘kiss, kiss, bitch.’”

They both shared a laugh at that, the running gag between them being that Inuyasha was having a not so secret affair with her husband and his wife just went along with it “as long as she gets to watch.” The gag never got old, and the couple was included in the limited circle of his closest friends. He was grateful to have them in his life, along with a certain blue-eyed beauty that had the prettiest smile.

“Seriously, Pooch,” she began, the smile audible in her voice. “Thank you. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Start thinking on it and let me know when I get back?”

Inuyasha smiled, about to reply that she didn’t owe him anything, but then paused and flicked his gaze down at the woman sprawled across the table, having given up on understanding their conversation and smiling dreamily.

“Actually, Peach,” he murmured, his mouth kicking up into a fond grin when ocean eyes fluttered open and connected with rich honey. “I already know exactly how you can make it up to me.”

Part 4

buy me a coffee? :)

[khelinski]

Voluntary commitment, Pts.1-3.

Pt. 1: Voluntary commitment

A breakdown occurs. It has been boiling for quite some time. It finally happens. And boy, is it ugly.

I kneel to the floor, in tears, before my family and tell them I need to be committed. Dark thoughts have plagued my mind. It’s obvious to anyone that knows me well. It’s obvious to those that read my writings. It’s even obvious to my family. They did what they could for me – but only one person could help me get out of the gruesome gritty gutter: me. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t drive myself. So my family takes me to the nearest hospital, Osceola Medical Center near my house. I check myself in the emergency section of the hospital. Because I am still emotional from current breakdown, my family describes what I am going through. I immediately get escorted to the emergency room. A nurse checks my vitals. My family calls in my work. Another nurse draws my blood. My family waits by my side in the room. A doctor comes by and asks me questions ‘are you suicidal, etc-etc.’ My answers are simplified yes or no. I still can’t fully speak.

A cop comes by and searches me for weapons. I wait for another couple of hours in the room. During that time, an orderly keeps guard of me in the room. I am on suicide watch.

More vitals are checked. Registering comes in to jot down my insurance information. A urine sample is requested. I am also asked to change out of my street clothes and into a hospital gown. I do so. I hand my clothes to my family. The only thing on me is the hospital gown, underwear underneath, and a pair of socks.

After some more time (and an assortment of emotions washing over me), I am told they have a bed for me up in the fourth floor (the psych ward). I am told I will be held for 72 hours. I gulp, full of nerves. All I can picture is ‘One Flew Over a Cuckoo’s Nest’ or ‘Girl Interrupted.’ I wasn’t too far off from the insane reality.

My family says goodbye to me, wishing me luck. They hold back their tears while I don’t hold back mine. How the hell did I get to this point in my life? How did I wind up at a place like this? And how the hell am I going to get myself out? I didn’t ask myself those questions until my second day. You see, I am still in the middle of my breakdown.

After some more time – I am escorted into various sections of the hospital. I then am held in an empty room in a gray, bleak, blah-lookin’ floor with multiple rooms, beds, etc-etc. A holding cell of some kind? There is a bed attached to the wall center of the room I am placed in. I lay down. Another set of heavy emotions washes over me. Two doctors come by soon after – one that is asking me medical questions and the other that is asking me mental questions simultaneously. ‘Are you feeling depressed?’ ‘Are you allergic to any medications?’ ‘What brought you here?’ ‘Did you had a tetanus shot in the last five years?’ ‘Are you suicidal?’ Question after question.

After being interrogated – they tell me to wait for a bit. I lay there with my eyes closed. I don’t even remember what was on my mind then. The breakdown (and the thoughts) was a blur. After some more time – I am escorted to the fourth floor.

Once I enter – the very first impression I have: I am in hell.

Screaming in the hallway. Patients that appeared to be insane are walking down the hallways freely in hospital garbs. I am wearing a matching set of the finest meh clothing a hospital can provide.

And so begins my four days in an enclosed mental hospital…

Pt. 2 : Day One - Saturday. 

I walk into the psych ward. I already smell hospital. And it’s cold. VERY COLD.

I pass a screaming female patient, yelling that she wants to call the police. I didn't catch the entire conversation. To the right is the nurse's station. There are two hallways between the nurse’s station. To left is the male wing. The right is the female wing. I am being lead to my room. There are two beds in the room. My twin bed is toward the window. My roommate is in his bed toward the bathroom entrance/exit of the room, snoring away. I lay in bed for a while, lost in thoughts/emotions/my new reality. Ever so often, my roommate's snoring breaks my thoughts. A nurse comes by, and asks me how I am doing. They take my vitals. I then get a grand tour of my new home for a few days. I am still wearing the lovely hospital gown.

I am shown the board with various times/activities/meals/etc-etc. I am shown the cafeteria. Dinner is starting soon. I get handed a small Tupperware container, consisting of the following: non skid hospital socks, towel, shower cap, shampoo, lotion, toothpaste, flimsy toothbrush, and deodorant. I go back to bed for a few. My roommate is still snoring away.

Little bit later, a doctor comes in. He asks if we could talk. He escorts me to what is called the 'quiet room' in the male wing across from my room. Three comfy chairs and a small bookcase of selected/donated books reside in the room. Being a book nerd, I quickly glance at the books. Bibles, meh mid-grade novels and authors occupy the shelf. I tried reading two of the books during my four-day stay. Couldn't get past a chapter with both books.

The doctor asks how I am doing, why did I come in, and an assortment of questions to gather information for quick diagnoses.

Afterwards - I walk into the cafeteria. There is a long line. The floor is sticky. The room smells. And I am still in my hospital gown. I am starting to notice there is a range of various ages, race, and stories people has for the reason they are here. I still didn’t talk much.

I get my styrofoam tray of food. Pasta and meatballs. My stomach is grumbling, I haven’t eaten since the day before. But I have no appetite. I pick at it – eating some portions that is on the plate. It's not the greatest tasting in the world. The smell of the room turns me off from eating further. I get up to throw the tray away (their garbage cans consist of tall lawn paper waste bags). A black fella asks me if I could give him the cake that’s on my plate. He’s my roommate – surprisingly awake. I hand him my cake without saying anything, and walk out of the cafeteria. I head back to my room. I walk past an young girl, screaming at the nurses that she’s going to call the police if they don’t let her out. The nurses taunt the young girl: ‘what is the police going to do?’

I lay down for a bit, processing my new reality. Then I get up and head back to the nurses’ station. I ask if I could make a phone call. The times to use the phones are during lunch, dinner, and later in the evening before bed. But they make an exception for me. I call my family, letting them know that I am okay, that I am sorry, and about the clothes situation. I can wear (based on what I see others' wear) PJ pants and hoodies, but with no string attached. I couldn’t get a hold of them, so I leave a message.

I walk back to my room and lay down. By then, my roommate is in his bed – and is awake. We introduce ourselves. He tells me a little bit about why he’s here. I tell him a little bit about me. He then passes out. Me? I lay there, staring at the ceiling. I then look out the window. Silver lining in this black cloud - fourth floor of the hospital is a great view of the St. Cloud/Kissimmee area.

Some time passes, and I am being asked by an orderly to come up to the nurse���s station. I head up there. They have some clothes for me my family dropped off (thank you, thank you, thank you), consisting of:

-Grey sweatpants, no string. -Homer Simpson PJ pants, no string. -Margaritaville t-shirt -Jurassic World hoodie, no string. -Two pairs of underwear.

I sign for it, and head back to my room. I immediately take off the ugly, uncomfortable hospital gown and into the Simpsons pants and Jurassic hoodie (which I wore for three days straight). I already feel human, sort of. When you are confined in a place like this – small things like receiving clothes from the outside world brings you joy. I am starting to realize the simple pleasures I had are now gone for a time being.

I lay down and close my eyes. Some time passes. I catch a few z’s. But sleep’s cut short. I wake by ear-piercing arguing at the nurse’s station. I get up and see what the commotion is about. A young girl is arguing on the phone.

I head back to bed and try to sleep. I can’t. So I lay there looking out the window. It’s dark.

Little bit later, I am told it’s snack time. I glance at what they are serving. I still have no appetite. I am ready for my PM meds, though. I go to the nurse’s station and inquire. I sense an annoyance with them. Some are on their phones. I ask about my meds, and they told me to wait later – midnight nurse will get my meds for me.

I head back to bed. My roommate is snoring away. I close my eyes and pretend I am somewhere else. I hear loud voices in the hallway. An obnoxious, older male patient jokes around with the nurses. Young girl is still arguing on the phone. Nurses raises their voices with their own private conversations.

Midnight nurse finally comes in little bit later, checks my vitals, asks key questions ‘are you hearing any voices,’ ‘are you having any thoughts,’ ‘when was your last bowel movement?’

I then am told that my meds will be ready in a few minutes. A few minutes turn into ten minutes. Ten minutes turns into twenty minutes. But I finally get my meds. I head back to bed, close my eyes, and doze off. Exhaustion from my breakdown and the emotions that came with it – exhaustion from waiting in the hospital – just, plain, exhaustion hits me. I even forget I am in a hospital (and in what section of the hospital I am in) for a very very VERY short amount of time. Reality comes knocking in a few hours later in the middle of the night, when I wake up from a) loud nurses joking, laughing, talking in the hallway, and b) nurses that come in the room every 15 minutes, touches a button on the wall, flashes an light, and paces out of the room. I asked a nurse on my third day, why they do that. I was told they do that to keep check of our bodies, to make sure we are still alive/breathing as we are sleeping. Cameras in our rooms don’t capture everything.

I couldn’t go back to sleep.

By 6 am, lights are turned on, nurses announce for us to wake up and line up to a room across the hallway for blood work. My second day begins…

Pt. 3: Day 2 - Sunday.

6 am. Lights come on. Blood is drawn. Checking vitals. I go back to sleep.

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

730 am. Breakfast. A waffle or eggs is served. I still have no appetite. The smell of the room is potent. The floor is still sticky. I ask for a small muffin. Blueberry, I think. And cranberry juice. And water. I still hydrate myself. After I am done, I go back to bed, and back to sleep. I toss and turn, dozing on and off – depending on how much noise keeps me up. An obnoxious older male patient talks loudly to the doctors, nurses, orderly's, and other patients. His voice echoes in the hallway. His conversations ranges from movies (he can’t wait for Bad Boys 3), boxing (Mike Tyson can beat everyone), and basketball (Detroit Pistons has a shot this year).

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

10ish am – Time for snack and meds. I am not hungry, but I do get my meds at the nurse’s station. I go back to bed. My roommate is getting snacks. Just me in my room, staring out the window. Doctor comes in my room and chats. He asks me if I have any dark thoughts. I tell him no – too tired. He asks me on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the worst, how bad is my depression. I tell him 5 or 6. He asks if I have been in any of the group activities. I tell him no. He encourages me to participate, to get the most of my stay here. My ‘stay’ here. He leaves. I start asking myself over and over – ‘what the hell am I doing here?’ Then I answer my own question by reminding myself, in my head, all the events that transpired before this very moment. I take a shower. I feel human again, sort of.

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

12 pm. Lunch. My stomach is grumbling. I walk to the cafeteria. Long line. Chicken tenders, fries, and some kind of soup is being served. I pick at the cold, dry, hard chicken tenders. I mix it up and have apple juice. I could use a Mountain Dew right about now. The TV in the room is on, one of the ‘Fast and Furious’ movies are playing (don’t know which one, I lost track of them after part 5).

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

1 pm. Psychotherapy. A handful of patients join in a little conference room. We all sign in. The hospital often plays movies in this room, next to the cafeteria. An intern therapist talks in a non-formal setting about what we are going to do once we are discharged, and the reasons for us to be here. Everyone talks freely, and at times, the conversation goes off the rails a little bit. The therapist attempts to reframe the conversations back to the original topics. I pipe up a little bit and share my story. Everyone has a story, and in that room, I realized everyone’s story escalated to them being there. We (me included) aren’t crazy by nature. Crazy things happened to us (me included) that resulted to us being there.

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

2 pm. I head back to bed.

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

4ish pm. Snack. I am not hungry, but I go to the cafeteria and be social. Another ‘Fast and the Furious’ movie is playing. Could be the same one, I don’t know. I don’t really talk much, but I listen in to other people’s conversations. Conversations ranging from how annoying obnoxious older male patient is, to how the hospital is going to be sued, to how they screwed up meds, to what life was like on the outside. The ‘outside.’ Made me feel like I was in prison. I head back to my room and lay down. I stare out the window. My ‘stay’ here. The ‘outside.’ Prison.

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

5ish pm. Obnoxious older male patient screams in the hallway. I don’t know why. The nurses calm him down. He screams louder. I am assuming they give him a shot, because he screams even louder and says quietly, ‘you guys are bloodsuckers.’ Then silence.

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

6 pm. Dinner. Salisbury steak. I am not hungry, but get up and head to the cafeteria. Another ‘Fast and the Furious’ movie plays. Again, could be the same one. I get myself a water. I sip and listen. But I don’t pay attention, for I zone out to another time and place. Memories. Good memories. Bad memories. After a bit, I get up and call my family to let them know I am okay. I then head to my room, lay down, and cry. I stare out the window. It’s dark. My ‘stay’ here. The ‘outside.’ Prison.

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

8ish pm. I hear loud noise coming from the conference room. I get up and head there. They are playing the third ‘Mummy’ film. I haven’t watched it in ten years, goes back to my MJR days. I sit down and watch some of it. I then head back to bed.

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

9 pm. Snack. I get up to see what they have. Ice cream. Cookies. Juice. I get a couple of cookies and water. I sit, dazed and confused. The look of a mental patient. I then head to bed.

Every 15 minutes. Orderly comes by with paper attached to a clipboard, and jots down where I am at and what I am doing.

10 pm. Nurse comes in my room, asks the routine questions, checks my vitals, and tells me to wait a bit for my meds. I then take my meds. Lights out. I crash soon after. And the same routine the night before occurs.

6 am. Lights come on. Checking vitals. Day 3 begins…

K.H.; April 9-11, 2019.

(to be continued…)

[regrettablewritings]

How to Be a Good Catholic, Pt. II (Sonny Carisi x Reader)

A/N: Part 2 of my self-drag piece aka The Reason I’m Going to Hell! I’m sure I had more to say here but it is literally about to be 6AM~

@ohbelieveyoume and @xemopeachx (to the latter: Lower your expectations. Like, lower them so deep Satan’s demanding to know why you’re in his house and threatening to call the police on you.)

PART 1 HERE

5.     Remember not to eat meat on Fridays during Lent

It was amazing how cravings worked: You could be perfectly fine, not want to eat anything in particular and just eat whatever simply because you needed nourishment to keep getting through the day. But the moment you’re told you can’t eat a certain something, no matter how often you may or may not eat it, it suddenly becomes all you can think about. That was what made Lent maddening for you as a child. It was as though the season held special powers beyond serving as a countdown for your lord and savior basically becoming a zombie: It could make you crave cafeteria nuggets like a junkie craved a fix. But considering that said zombie-savior got beaten, nailed to a cross, and was forced to wear a crown of thorns for you, abstaining from meat a couple of Fridays for 40 days was the least you could do besides doing nothing at all.  

. . . But Zombie Jesus, it was so hard. In your youth, it was a bit easier because your packed lunches would always be checked over by your mom or dad to assure that it was up to Lenten approval. Sure, there was the occasional slip where you’d stop by the convenience store after school for a quick snack and all too eagerly buy a Slim Jim (was that even meat?). But for the most part, you did your due diligence as a good Catholic girl. Unfortunately, you were now a Catholic woman whose mommy and daddy’s involvement, at most, would maybe occasionally happen to call on Friday just to chat and then happen to mention what that day’s meatless meal had been. This, without fail, would always cause you to grit your teeth on the strip of bacon you’d been eating or lead you to utter an expletive muffled by the pepperoni Hot Pocket you’d microwaved to avoid cooking.

You always knew you could do better. Knew that you should do better. And yet, you never quite got anywhere, consoling yourself with the same thought every time the only options for dinner were between a can of Campbell’s chunky beef stew or air pudding: “It’s okay. You’re fine. God has bigger worries than if you’re eating mud-flavored soup alone in front of a TV playing reruns of Bridezillas a quarter to midnight. Just say two Hail Mary’s before bed.”

You were a little embittered about the fact that it took Sonny’s presence in your life to serve as a catalyst of sorts for improving upon yourself. Such a task should’ve relied on sheer will, not sheer guilt no matter how much of a part in the stereotypical Catholic’s life such a feeling played. But you figured guilt catalyst was better than none. After all, life was already hectic enough as is.

You grumbled this sad fact as you dug into your meal. It was hitting 8 o’clock, and this was the first meal you’d managed to catch all day. Work had been busting your butt with no time for a break. And snacking on vending machine munchables could only do so much. It was probably for this reason that your McNuggets tasted like Heaven instead of a travesty to your health. Like amateur food porn where it’s not what you wanted exactly, but the craving was so bad that you took the first legal, not entirely creepy-looking thing that you could get your hands and mouth on.

You were so deep into your pathetic relishing that you didn’t even notice that Sonny had come through the door, plastic bag in hand. It wasn’t until he’d actually spoken that you were broken out of your McNugget musing.

“Hey, Babe,” he greeted, taking off his shoes by the door. He heard you hum in response; your mouth was too full of fast food to reply with a vocal greeting. You heard him usher his way towards the kitchen, bag rustling by his side. “I got us veggie wraps from that place a few blocks do – ” The sudden stop made you turn to look at your boyfriend, who was now staring at you with brows quirked.

You smacked your lips as you swallowed. “What?” Sonny opened his mouth by a fraction, as if not entirely sure what words to use.

“You, uh . . . You do know that it’s Friday, right?” he finally replied.

“What?” This time, your own brows creased. “No it isn’t; it’s Thursday. I know it is because Mrs. Vatillo’s been blaring Dancing with the Stars all evening.”

“Ever heard of reruns, sweetheart?”

“. . . Ah, dammit!” you cried. You didn’t notice the half-eaten nugget pressed against your head as your hands flew to your face. It took the dipping sauce creating a notably cooler spot on your skin to notice the physical mess you made instead of just the mental one.

Sonny, on the other hand, watched will unadulterated amusement, only cutting in once you began berating your mistake.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about it!” he insisted, holding his hand up to gesture a cease. “You made a mistake; happens all the time! Even I mess up my Fridays every once in a while. It’s fine, Babe.”

A muffled groan rippled in your throat. You weren’t sure if it was worth pointing out that he had points to spare while you didn’t.

“Besides,” Sonny continued, placing a kiss to your cheek. “I don’t think McNuggets is even real meat.” He chuckled as he heard your subsequent whimper waver with the sound of you finishing off the nugget.

6.     Save yourself for marriage. The rules might’ve changed a bit, but it’s still preferable that you practice a healthy sense of abstinence

Okay, you at least had this one pretty down pat. And for that, you were quite proud. Maybe it was the romantic in you, but the idea of saving yourself for your spouse had always been extremely appealing to you. And considering the shifting feelings about premarital sex, you felt that made your efforts even more worthy of his or her admiration. Specifically, the “his” that you deep down desperately hoped was Sonny.

To no surprise of yours, he was quite accepting of you preferring to practice abstinence and even admirable of it. He always made sure to keep your boundaries in mind, particularly when you got handsy under the influence. He was quite fine if the extent of your shared physical affections meant making out. Hell, you were pretty certain that if the most you wanted was booping each other on the nose, Sonny would do it. He’s be perplexed, of course, but it wasn’t in him to be so judgmental of it: As an SVU detective and an overall decent man, consent and consideration ranked high on his list of importance in everything he did, relationship or not. That being said . . .

7.     In fact, refrain from pre-marital actions of the flesh, be it heterosexual, homosexual, or solo

Abstinence didn’t mean the switch was turned off. It just meant that you were conserving energy until you found a reason for the room to be lit, so to speak in awful metaphors. And man, were there times when you thought, “That room could be put to good use – as a room to bang my handsome boyfriend in!” Of course, you restrained yourself out of sheer principle and will power. But at this rate, your will power was started to get buff.

And tonight, it was getting quite the workout: Sonny had offered to come over for simple, shared relaxation. Normally, this would’ve been fine. Normally, the two of you would order in and binge watch reality TV shows on Hulu until you passed out with some caresses and a few moments of making out in between. And normally, you weren’t feeling . . . . “special.” On the nights he did come over and you were feeling “special”, you could practice enough self-control to keep things at a maximum of maybe some grinding. (And even that wasn’t without some semblance of shame on your part to be honest, particularly after Sonny would gently suggest that the two of you stop before the grinding became closer to a skinship.) But tonight – and you didn’t know why – the Fornication Forces™ were inexplicably strong with you.

Maybe I should cancel, you processed, laying on the couch. You figured if you just set yourself down, maybe your body would recognize the position and realize how tired it was, rendering you too tired to try anything frisky. Really, though, the only thing you body was convincing itself at the moment was that this would’ve been a good position to do things in. Naughty things.

While one half of your mind was frantically trying to beat the hormonal thoughts back into the abyss, the other half was disagreeing with your previous suggestion. It had been a long week, and you and Sonny had barely seen each other, much less in an intimate manner that even included anything more than a peck on the forehead for parting ways. Besides, it wasn’t fair to Sonny if you dropped out just because you felt particularly needy. You just had to be a grown-ass woman and control yourself as you usually did.

In the midst of your inner pep talk, you figured that maybe a distraction would cool down the embers of eroticism within. Grabbing your laptop, you scoured YouTube for funny videos or informational ones in the hopes that they would serve as efficient enough distractions. It was through the inevitable connecting rabbit holes that is YouTube that you found yourself on the theater side of the site, where you came upon a title that you were certain would kill off the feeling for good.

“Leap of Faith,” you read aloud. Sounded Christian, sounded light-hearted and pure. Perfect! Nothing wiped away arousal like Christian theater, right? You selected a video offering clips of the performance . . . And almost immediately regretted it.

At least, that was what you were trying to tell yourself you ought to be feeling. But it’s hard to think straight while being captivated by the image of a handsome man with a great ass shake his hips in such a controlled yet somehow fluid fashion. It made you wonder what else those hips of his could do. Not helping was the bad boyish facial hair, the dangerous look in his (beautiful) eyes, those gorgeous locks, that fine physique, those arms, that literal Godsend of a voice, and good lord, nobody should be able to make a suit covered in disco glass look so deliciously good!

You tried to scold yourself, constantly pointing out that even if his character’s position as a man of God was false, it was bad enough to imagine the possible reverend kink you could imagine him having. But, to your immense dismay, the idea of sullying such a title made it disturbingly more tempting! The entire time you battled inwardly with your logic and your lust, your hand was taking advantage of your distracted state: little by little, it was moving closer and closer toward your pajama pants. In synchronization, little by little a ticklish warmth pulsed and glowed within your lower tummy and downward. By the time the reverend-devil of a man (devilrend?) was shown in that red jacket and leather pants, the elastic of your bottoms was being ushered to the side.

“The women I’ve seen are like a pinball machine,” he stated. “Push the right button and you score.” To clarify exactly what his simile had meant, his slender fingers curled in the air with a “come hither” motion. Oh, God what sins and blessings those fingers could commit . . . That seemingly simple gesture sent a blazing spark into your lower half, burning away at all sensibility and leaving only desire and a clear path to chase it down to completion –

Click.

Oh, shit.

You whipped your hand out of your pants so fast you nearly knocked yourself in the chest. As your door creaked open, you prayed that Sonny wouldn’t notice anything or pick up on the atmosphere you’d created for yourself, only to wind up wondering if it was appropriate to ask for God’s help when you were milliseconds away from making joyful noise.

Per the usual, as he took of his shoes, your walking sunshine greeting you with a warm, “Hey, Babe.” And per the usual, you responded right back. Only, not per the usual, your greeting was a bit trembly like a child nearly caught in the act of stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. Thankfully, Sonny was seemingly too tired to take note of this, making his way towards you.

In your state of being frazzled, you didn’t think quick enough to shut your laptop, allowing Sonny to be able to take a glance at the screen. In doing so, he was able to look upon your shame.

Brows furrowed, he said, “Huh. That’s weird . . . That guy looks an awful lot like Barba.” . . . What? You didn’t say it, but the look on your face certainly did. Able to recognize this, Sonny went on, “Yeah, look: Same facial structure, similar hair, about the same height . . . This guy dresses a little gaudier than him but yeah – dude looks a lot like Barba. I’nt that interesting?” He cracked a smile and went to head to the bathroom to wash up, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

What was now seen could not be unseen, no matter how hard you rubbed the heels of your palms against your eyes. Why couldn’t you notice that before so that your girly boner would’ve died on the spot before this all began!? After making sure to close your laptop screen and set it gently on the coffee table away from where it would be most likely to become damaged, you slammed your face into one of the couch cushions and screamed as quietly as possible. Screaming, knowing that you almost got off to the prosecutor’s dramaturgical doppelganger and that you would never be able to look at Barba the same way again because of it. If only you had noticed this before, then maybe the overwhelming senses of embarrassment, horror, and confusion would not have burned even brighter than the feelings you’d had only moments before.

Needless to say, you could barely get through cuddling that night, completely turned off in every which way.

8.     Above all else, aside from accepting Jesus as your Lord and Savior, just be a good person. The world is already so crappy, making it nicer out of the goodness of your heart is something that should be valued

Sonny watched wordlessly as you sat on the ground, arms reached out for his niece to toddle right into. He found himself smiling alongside the laughter the two of you shared as the chubby-legged child flopped herself against your chest. He never understood why you always insisted that you weren’t good with kids; as far as he was concerned, most kids had an almost immediate liking to you or, at the very least, were willing to approach you without must suggestion. He supposed it had something to do with how kind you looked and sounded. After all, that seemed to be one of the reasons his family invited you back over for yet another family dinner.

In the midst of you giving his squealing niece a raspberry on her tummy, Sonny heard Theresa call for you to come “hang around the big girls” for a change. Agreeing to the invitation, you scooped the toddler up into your arms and, mimicking the sound of an aircraft, gently zigzagged her through the air as you walked toward her watching uncle.

“This is your captain speaking, we welcome you to Sonnyville and hope you enjoy your stay,” you told the little girl amongst her coos of delight. Gingerly handing her over to Sonny’s waiting arms, you gently added in, “Might I recommend the cheek kisses, Little Miss? They’re my favorite!” One last teasing poke on her tummy and you went on your way to hang out with Sonny’s sisters, leaving the man himself on the couch with his niece. When Sonny noticed the toddler pouting and reaching out for your departing figure, he found himself chuckling, “Yeah, I like having her around, too,” before treating her to your highly recommended kiss on the cheek.

“I didn’t know you could knit.” The comment caused you to look up at your boyfriend. Despite having turned on the TV as soon as he’d taken his place beside you on the couch, he’d spent the last couple of minutes observing you. As you looked up from your project, your fingers kept moving without error. This suggested to Sonny that not only could you knit, but you were at least practiced in it enough to nearly do so in your sleep.

You blinked. “Well, you never asked. Plus, I haven’t done it in a long while.” You shrugged and looked back down to start a new row.

“Well, what made ya stop?” Sonny inquired. He liked learning things about you. Particularly, he liked learning things about you even if they were simple things. Things that could’ve been revealed earlier in the relationship.

You looked upwards in thought, knitting still. “Dunno. I think I just sorta fell out of it when life started getting too busy? I used to knit during my lectures in college – kept me awake and somehow alert – but then this one professor asked me to stop because it was causing a distraction. Which I think is total bullshit because absolutely no-one cared that I was knitting in a literature lecture.” You paused, recognizing that you were beginning to ramble. “But yeah; I just kinda stopped doing it for a while.”

Sonny nodded with understanding. “And you’re doin’ it now because you missed it?”

“Well, sorta. Liv told me about this one project the art museum is doing to raise awareness of abuse survivors: People are knitting and crocheting squares to be made into a big blanket. The idea is about not being alone and being covered with warmth of strangers who care. Each square and the elite involved in this thing will donate money to the Joyful heart Foundation. I thought it’d be a great idea and a great thing to do, so I found my old needles, stopped by the craft store, and got to work. Plus, knitting’s therapeutic.”

You smiled. “My goal is to have between 5 and 8 squares by the deadline in six weeks!” The amount of determination, in addition to the subtle glow you developed during your explanation of the project you were now a part of, caused Sonny to return the grin. Though his carried tones of being impressed. And of pride.

You never noticed, however, as you turned your attention to the TV. You continued to knit. And Sonny continued to watch you.

It was Friday night and Sonny was bushed. The week, while not necessarily as bad as others, had still beaten his ass with a case that had about as many twists and turns as the map of Candyland. If only the outlook for the pending trial were so sweet. Needless to say, Barba was going to have yet another chunk of his work cut out for him, meaning that tensions were going to be high for the coming week.

During exhausting days like this, there was nothing more that Sonny would have loved than a nice, hearty meal; maybe something from the deli. He found himself groaning alongside his stomach at the thought of such a treat, only to remember that it was a Friday and it was still the Lenten season.

Well, he thought to himself as he trudged his way up the stairs to his apartment. I guess I can just order the usual pizza and call it a night. As he got to his floor, Sonny found his previously drab and tired senses being stroked by a new, invigorating stimuli. Baked goods? Probably one of his neighbors. Must be nice; cakes sounded all too delightful right now. As he neared his own door, however, he began to realize and error in his previous assumption. The smell wasn’t coming from somebody else’s place: it was coming from his. That, and the sound of an oven door creaking open, bowls clattering, and the sound of the sink running.

Sonny wasn’t sure what to expect as he opened the door. Being ready to fight a baking burglar wasn’t how he thought his week would end but if that’s what was going on –

Between the two of you, Sonny was the better cook. You weren’t awful in the kitchen, Sonny was simply just divine by comparison. As such, the image of you dawning an apron splattered with patched of flour, powdered sugar, and your sleeves rolled up was a bit strange for Sonny to see. Adorable, no doubt about that, but different from how he usually saw you. You began to blush when you saw the man walk through the door, only adding to the cuteness.

“Crud,” you murmured. “I was sorta hoping you wouldn’t be back until a bit later . . . B-but don’t worry, I’m going to clean all of this, I promise!” The “all of this” being the mixing bowl, egg shell particles, and small piles of baked good ingredients marking his counter. Normally, Sonny was particular about his kitchen. But instead, he found himself concerned with something else.

“What’re you up to?” Sonny asked.

“Well, it’s, um . . . I know this week has been hard on you so I – ”

As if on cue, the egg-shaped timer you had set earlier dinged. Immediately, the stammering gave way to a person with the mission.

“Oh, good, it’s done! Wait here, I – no wait! Go wash up and change while I put the finishing touches on it!” you insisted. When Sonny didn’t move, confused as to the sudden shift, you groaned. “Come onnn!” you whined, scurrying behind him before nudging him toward his room. You tried to pay no mind to the laughing this coaxed from him, insisting that you needed it to be a surprise since he practically ruined it by coming home early.

“M’kay,” sighed Sonny as he emerged from the back. He felt somewhat better now, having had a shower and changed into his Fordham Law sweats. He couldn’t help but smirk as he came upon you, standing in front of the table in a manner that suggested you were shielding something. A huge smile dazzled your features, your hands curled and pressed together as if clasping the surprise within them.

“Okay, okay, so!” you exclaimed. “I know this week’s been tough on you. And I don’t want my Sonshine to dampen so I thought it’d be nice to cheer you up in any way possible. Sooooo  . . .” You stepped to the side and gestured your hands Vanna White style. Only instead of letters, your presentation was something of far more use to Sonny: a large order of pizza from his favorite establishment. “Your favorite: Goat cheese and sundried tomatoes.” You threw in a cheeky eyebrow-arching to hype up the mood. However, judging by the way your boyfriend’s face lit up, it wasn’t necessary: The man was thrilled.

“Aw, you didn’t have to!”

“Ah, but I did. You know I’d do whatever I could to make you smile.”

Damn straight, Sonny thought. But as strong as his love for the pie was, the sugary smell present in the air overpowered him with curiosity.

“But, uh . . . As much as I love pizza, I’m almost positive that this wasn’t what you were up to when I walked in earlier, right?” he teased. This prompted a smirk from you.

“Right you are, my little-tall detective,” you joked right back. “So close your eyes.” He did as instructed. He heard the sound of your feet padding over to the oven, the screech of the machinery’s door opening and then closing, and then your voice saying that it was alright for him to look.

“Tadaaahhh!” you cheered, holding up your creation. To the average person, it might’ve looked like a regular vanilla sheet cake. Maybe a vanilla sheet cake with a hint of citrus. But Sonny knew that smell well enough to know better. Plus, the fleur de lis embossment in the powdered sugar was a giveaway.

Sonny licked his lips. “You made – ”

“Schiacciata alla Fiorentina!” you stated. You puffed out your chest with pride. “I phoned your mom the other day asking for any recipes you particularly enjoyed and she said this was a good way to cheer you right up. Plus, it’s good for the Easter season, right?”

Sonny wasn’t sure what made him inhale in delight more: the scent of the cake, or the very essence of you. As you stood glowingly, he gently took the pan from your hands and set it on the table. This left you confused before he ushered you into a hug. Embraces were nothing strange at all when in a relationship with Sonny Carisi. However, the type he was currently providing was one that didn’t come up as often: His cheek laying on the crown of your head, arms wrapped so tightly around you it was as if he was worried that you might fly away. You wanted to joke that he wasn’t leaving any room for Jesus between the two of you but decided against it. Instead, you chose to focus on everything else: The smell of his soap; the sound of his heart beating against your ear; how you could just make out the smile he was wearing against your head. But most of all, the intense feeling of complete, unadulterated adoration resonating from his being.

“I don’t deserve you. Y’know that?” he finally spoke. You scoffed against his chest.

“I should be saying that about you, you know,” you threw back.

“No,” Sonny insisted. “I mean it: I do all kinds of crap both in and out of my job. But then I get you and it’s like . . .” He trailed off. You took the opportunity to step in once again.

“Sonny, what you do in comparison to me (or rather, what I fail to do) makes me the lucky one. You’re great, you deserve the best.”

“And I got the best.”

“No, you got me.”

In that moment, the grip of his arms around you slacked before positioning themselves to push you away. Only enough for Sonny to take a good look at you, but still enough to make you recognize how warm you felt against him. The look on his face was stern; something you rarely saw Sonny be when it came to you.

“(Y/N),” he said with a gentle strictness. “I don’t know how long it’s gonna take before you realize that you’re not this godawful person or whatever it is you think you are. I work in SVU for God’s sake – you’re literally up for sainthood by comparison to the pieces of crap I encounter on a regular basis.”

“Well, yeah, but,” you meekly replied, “it’s easy for you to say that when you’re higher up on the scale – ”

“For cryin’ out loud, there is no scale! I don’t know what has ya convinced that there’s some Catholic hierarchy goin’ on but I can promise ya: there is none. And if there is, you’d be right up there on the higher levels.”

Your brows creased at the blond’s claim. “Dude, I suck as a Catholic: I don’t always go to services, I get prayers mixed up, I screw up with Lent, I – ”

“Are still a good person,” Sonny finished.

“. . . What?”

“You’re still a good person,” he repeated. “Look, religion, no matter what people say, isn’t a competition: You know there are plenty of crappy pastors and whatnot out there, so the idea that position determines anything is about as wobbly as a broken chair. But you know what God loves? Triers. Jesus wasn’t goin’ around banning people left and right for messin’ up – Mary Magdalen was a prostitute for cryin’ out loud.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. You weren’t sure how you felt about being compared to a prostitute, fellow follower of Jesus or not. Sonny bit his lip, noting that you hadn’t taken to that last sentence as well as he’d hoped. But he tried yet again:

“I know ya may think I’m this ‘incredible Catholic’ or whatever it is ya think I am, but it’s easy to think that because you’re comparing yourself. Ya really don’t give yourself enough credit, though. (Y/N), ya knit blankets for abuse survivors; ya do things without being asked; and hey, children have weird senses about people, so my niece liking ya can’t be wrong!” (This provoked a smile from you; a good sign.)

“And if you’re really that convinced that you’re ranked behind some creep just because he has a collar on, that to me, that’s a bigger mistake than messing up grace. Because if God can love this goofball who messes up all the time, then I sure as hell can, too. And I sure as hell do.”

At that last sentence, the cold you’d been reintroduced to upon separation from Sonny’s torso resumed. And boy, did it resume with a vengeance. You should’ve known how much blushing could feel like burning and yet, the flooding within your face was overwhelming. Not helping, of course, was that notoriously blissful smile Sonny wore, even as you pressed your face against his chest as if to soothe the sensation.

As if recognizing how flustered he’d made you, you heard his chest rumble: “Especially if they buy me pizza and come to my place just to make me a cake!” The vibrations of him talking were followed with those of him laughing upon hearing a muffled pouting demand that he shut up.

You were too precious. And how could anyone be disappointed in that?