#could have some sort of weird bone join muscle whatever thing going on

[icewindandboringhorror]

still have my 8 month long lingering chest injury that just came out of nowhere with no cause where it just flares up and I have a lot of pain near my collar bones and chest and shoulders for a few days, HOWEVER I have recently discovered that sometimes I can get temporary relief by sticking a wet q-tip up my nose to make myself sneeze, which on like the 3rd or 4th sneeze will occasionally audibly pop a little bone in the center of my ribs or something and then it doesn’t feel as bad. Hopefully there will be a better more comprehensive solution someday but also there would be a humor to that just being part of my regular routine forever now... like, oh hold on I have to go do my daily self induced sneeze sessions for my mysterious bone pain

[qitwrites]

traditions

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen 

Pairing: Itadori Yuuji/Fushiguro Megumi 

A/N: I caught up with the manga, and shit’s pretty fucked, so I decided to amend that with fluff. 

[AO3 Link]

Fushiguro - according to Kugisaki - is the textbook definition of a homosexual disaster.

No see, here’s the thing- everything was going fine. Great. No problems at all. Fushiguro respects his seniors, tolerates Gojo, and has the biggest soft spot for Inumaki, but he’s never been attracted to any one in his usual circle. So, school and sorcery and life in general was simple. No distractions, no crushes as such, no complications. All good.

And then Itadori Yuuji barges into his life and upends the fuck out of it by eating a special grade cursed object to save him. Then he joins Jujutsu Tech, and now they work and train and study and live alongside one another.

The thing is, Itadori is cute as fuck. 10/10 would tap that, any day of any week.

It’s not that Fushiguro has a type or anything, but Itadori just ticks all his boxes. When Todo had bullheadedly asked him what kind of person he likes, he’d said anyone with a strong moral compass that doesn’t waver in their resolve.

That’s Itadori in a nutshell.

Also, doesn’t hurt that he’s like, stupidly hot either. His raw physical prowess is reflected on his body in the form of shapely muscles, hard abs, and wide forearms that look like they could pick Fushiguro up and just throw him like a javelin. They actually can- Itadori had to do it for a mission this one time. Fushiguro enjoyed it immensely, and he will take this information with him to his grave.

So, not only is Itadori attractive and strong and of good character, but he’s also hella friendly. Fushiguro knows he’s not the easiest person to befriend- it takes a while for him to warm up to people, to share things about himself, to talk about the shitshow that is his family, but Itadori does not seem to give a single, flying fuck. He walks into Fushiguro’s life with the strength and ease of someone that just believes they belong. And Fushiguro lets him, because he is, as Kugisaki very accurately put it, a complete and utter homosexual disaster.

But it’s fine. Crushes happen all the time, and Fushiguro knows it’s hopeless and that’s ok. He knows Itadori likes him and cherishes their friendship, and that is enough. It will be. He’ll move on, and they’ll laugh about it in a few years (if they survive) and it’ll be great. In the meantime, he’s going to hole up in his room and read non-fiction books and stay away from pink hair and large toothy smiles.

Of course, the first person to fuck up his plans is Itadori.

It’s Saturday night, and dinner had been a simple meal of rice, miso soup and some sides made by Itadori. He’s a really good cook, and the home food is such a welcome change from the bento boxes Fushiguro normally picks up from the convenience store. Sometimes, Itadori will drag Fushiguro into the kitchen to teach him a thing or two, and Fushiguro learns, and pines, and smacks Itadori when he says something especially idiotic. It’s routine. It’s nice.

Dinner was an hour ago, and now he’s just curled up in bed with his book. It’s shaping up to be a typical weekend, which is nice considering the number of missions they picked up last week. His bones are aching a little, his feet are slightly sore, and he knows he’s going to sleep like the dead tonight.

He hears the knock even though it’s a bit soft. Fushiguro sits up and cocks his head. Was he imagining it?

And then there’s another knock, more confident. Thud thud thud.

Fushiguro climbs out of bed, setting his book aside carefully. He stretches his hands over his head and walks over to the door. ‘Coming.’

He swings it open, and he sees pink hair and his heart just sort of beats out of his chest.

‘Hiya.’ Itadori’s smile is wide, trusting, and full of gusto. He holds a packet of chips in one hand and a laptop in the other.  

‘What’s up?’

‘Are you busy?’

He should say he is. If he says he’s busy, then he doesn’t have to let Itadori in and he can continue with Operation: get over Itadori Yuuji. It’s the most logical move.

‘No, why do you ask?’ Well, apparently his brain has detached from his mouth.

‘Well, I overheard you telling Kugisaki that you’ve never seen the Saw movies and I realized something. Something terrible.’

Fushiguro tenses. ‘And what’s that?’

‘I can’t be best friends with someone that’s never seen Saw.’ Itadori pouts cutely, and Fushiguro is this close to just walking off the face of the Earth. He leans into the door frame, needing the additional support.

‘And I don’t want anyone else to be my best friend. So, the only solution is to make you watch Saw! With me! Like, right now.’

Fushiguro feels so much all at once- he wants to pull Itadori into a hug, he wants to jump off his balcony, he wants to slam the door shut and just cry, and he wants to watch stupid movies with this stupid man.

‘If you get crumbs on my bed, I’m going to kick you in the stomach.’

Itadori beams, and Fushiguro is a lost cause.

There’s a bit of adjusting (Fushiguro, your pillows are too hard, let me go grab mine) and a bit of remodelling (What do you mean we can’t make a blanket fort, that’s literally half the movie experience) and after relenting to a weird half-assed tent structure, the two of them huddle on the bed, backs against the wall, laptop placed on a chair by their feet with a bag of chips between them.

Saw is a terrible movie.

There’s gore and screaming and a creepy dude running around and it’s honestly just horrendous. The main character calls himself Jigsaw, and Fushiguro is tempted to flip the laptop after the hundredth blood spill. He looks over at Itadori who’s completely engrossed, eyes reflecting the colours and flashes of light on the screen. It’s cute, the concentration he’s pouring into it. His hand is stuck in the bag of chips and Fushiguro smacks it away to grab a few of his own.

Fushiguro does his best to watch and gets into it at least a little. It’s bad, but it’s not the worst way to spend a weekend night. He admits that a huge reason why the experience is kinda fun is that he’s doing something with Itadori that isn't life-threatening, which is a refreshing change.

The end credits start rolling and Itadori stretches his arms, fingers pushing through the droopy tent roof.

‘What did you think?’

‘I’ve seen worse.’

Itadori laughs. ‘I know what you mean. It grows on you though.’

‘There’s more?’

Itadori looks at him, blinks, cocks his head. ‘You didn’t know?’

Fushiguro shrugs. ‘I’ve never been a movie buff, so I have no information on this.’

‘Fushiguro.’

‘What?’

‘There’s 9 movies.’

Fushiguro’s mouth drops. ‘What?’

‘Yup, there’s nine in total, and the tenth one is in the making.’

‘Holy shit, that’s a lot of movies in one franchise.’

‘Yup. And we’re watching all of them.’

Fushiguro’s eyes widen. ‘What? No way. Nope. Not a chance. I can’t handle more of this, it was barely tolerable.’

‘It doesn’t matter! It’s the principle of the thing- you’ve started the series so you might as well see it through.’

‘9 movies? How can they possibly have enough content for that?’

‘It’s what they do. I promise it gets better and worse.’

Fushiguro sighs. ‘I’m not getting out of this, am I?’

Itadori pushes into his shoulder playfully. ‘Nope. I’m getting more snacks next time, let’s do two movies.’

Fushiguro sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

He’s really struggling to pretend like he’s upset with this development. He’s not upset. He’s honestly anything but.

---

Itadori comes back next Saturday with some blankets and a pillow tucked under one arm and a laptop in the other. He has a grocery bag with chips and sour patch kids hanging between his teeth and he still manages to smile. Fushiguro is so done.

‘Are you a dog?’ he grumbles, plucking the bag out of his face and setting it by the bed. Itadori gets to work immediately, setting up the pillows and his sad excuse for a blanket fort while Fushiguro brings a bowl for the chips and candy. Once they’ve settled in, Itadori starts the second movie and Fushiguro resigns himself to his fate.  

It’s really not that bad.

The movie is whatever, Fushiguro tunes in and out, alternating between watching the screen and sneaking looks at Itadori. He’s as engrossed as ever, and the tip of his tongue is sticking out in concentration and it’s so cute it makes Fushiguro want to curl up in his lap and squish him.

He’s crushing hard. Like, really hard. It’s about the gayest thing he’s ever experienced.

The movie pushes on, and they start to get more comfortable. Itadori isn’t a talker, which is surprising and nice, but when the movie lulls, he does make a joke or two. They sink lower into the bed, and by the end of the movie, they’re firmly pressed into each other from shoulder to thigh, with the bowl of chips on Fushiguro’s lap and the candy in Itadori’s.

Itadori is really warm. Could be his natural body heat, could be the king of curses residing within him, could be Fushiguro’s imagination- who’s to say at this point?

When the credits roll, Itadori stretches again like a cat in the sun, groaning his satisfaction. Fushiguro rubs his temples and wills away his blush.

‘What did you think?’

‘Not terrible, but honestly, what the fuck?’

‘That pretty much sums up the franchise.’

Itadori loads up the next movie while Fushiguro stays in position, comfortable. When he’s done, he leans back and makes himself comfortable against Fushiguro’s side, head leaning against his shoulder, his cheek pressed against bone. He looks smooshed, and it’s ridiculous.

If he gave a single shit about the movie, he’d ask him to move because he’s so far gone now there’s no way he’d pay attention at all.

Fushiguro doesn’t say a word, just sends up a silent prayer that Itadori remains there, pushed into him and all up in his space, for the rest of the evening.

That’s exactly what he does.

---

Fushiguro’s feet are burning.

The soles are achy all over, tender and jolty. Any time he walks, he suppresses a hiss of pain. When he’d taken a look, the entire sole was an angry red, and he’s just so annoyed.

The week had been tough- tons of running around and multiple search and rescue missions and this one tenacious curse that he and Itadori had to chase for several miles before finally exorcising it. By the end of it all, his feet were burning like a low fire in the pits of hell.

Itadori is fine, as always. It’s probably an incredible combination of his own inherent athleticism and lord dipshit within him, but Itadori heals at an accelerated pace, and like, he came back from the dead. Sore feet would be nothing to this guy.

When Itadori knocks on the door as always, an hour after Saturday night dinner, Fushiguro just calls out, ‘Come in.’ He really doesn’t want to walk to the door, so he’d left it open intentionally.

Itadori struggles to open the door on his own, arms filled with so much stuff it’s overflowing everywhere, and that horribly lovely smile is still stretched across his face and Fushiguro is just so smitten it’s ridiculous.

Itadori throws a few pillows in his direction, places a frankly ridiculous amount of snacks at the foot of the bed, and starts building his fort. Fushiguro is yet to help him with this, to actually put in any effort and make it with him rather than just watch him with a bemused smirk, but part of him knows that if he joins in, he’s admitting to something. He’s admitting that he’s invested. That he likes this as much as Itadori, probably so much more. That he likes Itadori so much, it’s all-consuming.

Itadori gives him the laptop while he makes some finishing touches on the fort, and he’s gotten better over the last few weeks. The tent is less saggy, with more room to move around and its range is expanding. It no longer covers just the bed, it extends to his desk and is inching towards his closet. Itadori is taking over his room, his heart, his brain, his life. He keeps taking and taking and taking, and Fushiguro just gives him more, happily, heartbreakingly, with all the love and nonchalance and patience he can muster.

He’s so whipped he’s giving Kugisaki a headache. She’s told him as much, repeatedly.

He’s got the final Saw movie prepped and ready to go, positioning the laptop on the chair as usual. Itadori grabs the bowls and decants their snacks before sitting next to Fushiguro, his head automatically resting on the man’s shoulders. Fushiguro rests his head on Itadori’s soft pink hair, breathing in the scent of the shampoo Itadori always steals from Kugisaki, and muffles a laugh. It’s so silly.

They’re about mid-way through the movie (by movie 9 there’s no milking the plot, it’s them just beating a dead horse ruthlessly) when Fushiguro shifts his legs and his feet bump into the chair, and he bites out a yelp of pain. Itadori sits up immediately, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

‘You ok?’

Fushiguro waves him down, wincing. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine, don’t worry about it.’

‘Did you stub your toe? That’s one of the worst feelings ever. And I’ve had my heart ripped out of my chest. And lost an arm. And I’ve been stabbed repeatedly. Amongst other things.’

‘I didn’t stub my toe. And also, what the fuck, are you ok?’

‘I’m fine,’ Itadori laughs easily. ‘Seriously, what’s wrong?’

‘My feet hurt,’ Fushiguro admits with a defeated sigh. ‘We’ve been moving about a lot, and after that pineapple fucker two days ago, my feet have just gotten really sore. I soaked them in hot water a few hours ago, I think I should be fine by Monday.’

Itadori eyes him suspiciously.

‘I’m not lying dumbass. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it. Let’s just get this horrible movie over with.’

Itadori hums, turning back to the screen. A minute later, he looks over at Fushiguro.

‘Well, I’m going to apologize for this in advance.’

‘Apologize for wh- HEY!’

Itadori, with his stupidly inhumane strength, yanks Fushiguro’s legs off the edge of the bed and right into his lap. Fushiguro is now laying down with his head resting against the headboard, and he’s about to kick out when Itadori just digs his thumbs into the arch of his feet and Fushiguro narrowly stops himself from moaning obscenely.

He has died and ascended. His soul is no longer in this realm of existence. It has found peace. The meaning of life. Attained nirvana. He can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s seriously that good.

Because Itadori is strong. He’s really strong, so his movements are sure and deep. His thumbs are pushing against the arch, into the heel of his foot, pushing into that junction where his toes meld into the sole, and it’s so damn good. Fushiguro squirms.

‘How are you- ah shit, right there -how are you so good at this?’

Itadori throws him an easy smile. ‘Used to massage grandpa’s feet all the time. Became an expert over time, especially because I had a lot of his nurses guiding me as well. Is it ok?’

Fushiguro tries to throw him a deadpan look but then Itadori’s thumbs just push into a particularly sore spot and Fushiguro’s eyes roll back into his skull. When he’s able to pull himself together, he looks at the pink-haired man, feeling breathless.

‘It feels great. If you tell a single soul, I will drop kick you.’

Itadori’s laugh is loud and boisterous, and it fills the room completely, saturates it with this feeling of ease and honesty.

‘This stays here, no worries. Like a Las Vegas thing.’

Fushiguro smiles at the stupid reference.

After a few minutes pass by, Fushiguro reluctantly starts pulling his feet away. ‘You’ve done more than enough,’ he starts to say. Itadori wraps his fingers around his ankles, holding him in place.

‘I can honestly do this for hours, it’s fine. You can see the screen, right?’ Fushiguro nods immediately. ‘So, let’s just keep watching. I’ll stop if I’m tired, ok?’

Fushiguro relents without a fight because it’s the most relief he’d gotten in ages, and Itadori is touching him and he’s weak in every possible way and he lets himself be. Just this once.

They finish the movie (thank goodness it’s over) and Itadori continues to massage his feet as they discuss what the 10th movie could possibly be like. They discuss theories and plot holes, and Itadori doesn’t let go, his hands inching up and massaging his calves as well, and fuck if Fushiguro’s going to stop him because it feels good. He’s gay and Itadori is hot and his fingers are actual magic- like, they put sorcery to shame.

When it’s well past midnight and Itadori yawns a few times, Fushiguro finally sits up, pulling his feet out of Itadori’s grasp. The pink-haired man lets his hands linger for as long as possible, and Fushiguro decides he’s just imagining it. Surely.

‘I kinda, I mean, I want to repay you for that. You massaged me for hours, you know.’

Itadori pretends to think for a second before breaking into a bright, 100-megawatt smile.

‘Well then, let’s watch more movies! Let’s just make this movie night! We can watch stuff you look up as well, we can watch anything.’

Fushiguro stares at him, stunned. He hadn’t been expecting that and truth be told, he was really sad the Saw franchise was over because he assumed that would be the end of this, and he was too shy to ask what Itadori was so easily asking him. To see Itadori so excited at the prospect of an actual movie night, with no end in sight, made his heart leap and throb and squeeze. It was incredible.

‘Deal.’ He keeps his voice level and his face neutral, but he can’t hide his eyes and Itadori reads him in a second and his smile softens. He knows him so well now, like the back of his hand.

Itadori bids him a soft goodnight, collecting his stuff and shuffling back to his room slowly. Fushiguro falls asleep quickly, and it's deep and dreamless.

He wakes up to painless feet. It’s a miracle in every single way.

---

When Itadori gently pulls his feet into his lap the next weekend, Fushiguro doesn’t bother protesting it. He just gives him a slightly exasperated sigh, a soft smile and hits play.

They’ve decided to pick up the How to train your dragon franchise this time, as a welcome change of pace.

‘What’s it about?’

‘Well, it’s honestly all in the title. It’s about dragons and Vikings and it’s funny and it has great music!’ Itadori lights up while talking about it, and his energy is so damn contagious. Fushiguro feels himself getting hyped. ‘I think you’ll like it. Especially since you have those cool Shikigamis, you might relate to this more!’

Fushiguro hums, and they watch. Fushiguro routinely pushes pieces of chips and sour candy into Itadori’s mouth, and Itadori’s fingers become well-acquainted with the planes and bumps and grooves of his feet, and the shape of his calves.

Fushiguro gets really into the movie.

Not only is the animation top-notch, but the voice actors are great, the storyline is gripping, and Toothless is so childish and sweet and endearing, his heart aches with love. He barely pays attention to Itadori this time. He seems just as invested, even if it’s the hundredth time he’s rewatching it.

To Fushiguro’s surprise, he chokes up at the end, after the big battle. The whole scene feels strangely familiar in some ways, and he tries desperately to hide his growing discomfort. He peaks over at Itadori and his eyes widen.

Itadori is swallowing hard, his eyes shining and glistening with unshed tears. His grip on Fushiguro is tight as hell, but not painful. He’s barely holding on, it seems.

So Fushiguro looks away, and lets himself feel. He doesn’t cry, but it’s damn near the same feeling.

Itadori’s knowing smirk is as annoying as it is stupidly kissable.

‘You seemed to enjoy that!’

‘It was decent. Much better than all the Saw movies combined.’

Itadori barks out a laugh. ‘Decent, he says. I saw you nearly crying through my own tears. And you were glued to the screen. Such a liar.’

Fushiguro relents. ‘Fine, it was really good. I’m hooked, and I cant wait to see the other 2 movies.’

‘You know I’ll be here.’

Fushiguro is helpless against his blush. He barely hides it in the crook of his elbow. Itadori’s fingers are still pressing into his feet and it’s all so much but not enough. His heart still aches.

‘And the next two movies are visual masterpieces. Can’t wait to get into it all!’

Fushiguro nods, and with the promise of next week, he sleeps just a little easier.

---

When Itadori pulls his feet into his lap three weeks in a row, Fushiguro decides it’s time he does more to repay the pink-haired man. It’s definitely not enough to just grace Itadori with his presence and with a weekly movie night.

So, when they come together to watch the third and final How to train your dragon movie, Fushiguro stands in his room, chewing his lower lip anxiously. He feels like he may have gone overboard, and he’s more scared of being found out by Itadori, about his feelings and his hopelessly ginormous crush and just how big of a complete and utter disaster he is than anything else.

Before he can take it down though, Itadori walks in after a quick knock and a shout of Pardon the intrusion but not reaaallllyyyy.

He walks in, snack bag in his mouth, arms holding way too much stuff, and gives Fushiguro a grin before turning to the bed to start his usual set-up routine. That’s when he stops dead on his feet, and Fushiguro at least enjoys the look of complete and utter shock on his face. The snack bag drops to the ground before Fushiguro can catch it with a loud thunk.

So, here’s a fun fact about Fushiguro- he can build insane blanket forts. No, really, you don’t understand, he could be mistaken for an architect because that’s how good he is. And the reason is a bit long and a bit complicated, but it mostly has to do with his sister. When they were left all alone in the world, sharing a small space just between the two of them, they would build blanket forts with all the stuff lying around the house, and within those sheets, they were shielded from the world and all its horrors. They did it for a long time, and it was their tradition. They got better at it over the years, learning what sheets worked best, what make-shift supports held things up at the right height, where to place the pillows.

The minute Fushiguro started to put the fort together, his muscle memory kicked in and took it from there. It brought forth some memories that made him choke up, but he focused on Itadori, and it helped. He adjusted the height to accommodate two growing boys instead of two tiny humans, and before he knew it, the fort had sprawled to encompass his entire room. He borrowed pillows from Inumaki and Panda, who were willing albeit slightly perplexed, and he grabbed Kugisaki’s fairy lights to really spruce things up. The weather had gotten colder, so he had also laid out his thick duvet for them to slip under, and the icing on the cake was the pizza he had ordered. Itadori always bought the snacks, so he wanted to pull his own weight. Also, they were active jujutsu sorcerers- they may have eaten dinner an hour ago, but they were always hungry. It was endless.

Itadori remains rooted in place, and Fushiguro starts to get nervous. A bit anxious. A bit scared. What if it is too much? Had he overstepped in some way? Or what if Itadori looked forward to building the fort and Fushiguro had taken that away from him?

Itadori slowly looks at him, eyes piercing and unreadable and bright.

And then he smiles. The world rights itself a little.

And he smiles big, huge, all-encompassing. Its lips stretched over white teeth and his eyes are crinkling in that really lovely way and the dimples are dotting his cheeks and its utter magic.

‘Fushi,’ Itadori gushes, almost breathless. ‘This is insane. How the hell did you do this?’

Fushiguro bites his lip. ‘You like it?’

‘Like? Fushi, dude, my man, my guy, like doesn’t begin to cover it! I don’t have better words cause I’m kind of an idiot, but it’s. Like. A+. 11/10. I’m so impressed right now.’

And now Fushiguro is smiling with him, stomach flopping around endlessly, and he’s young and in love and he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

‘I also got pizza,’ Fushiguro gestures to the table behind him, picking the snack bag off the floor and placing it by the bed. ‘I wasn’t sure what you liked so I just got the same thing you ordered when I was sick.’

Itadori happily bounds over to the box and leans in for a sniff.

‘I love this stuff, it’s yum. And it’s still steaming, all fresh and hot.’ Itadori gives him a big thumbs-up. ‘This is so bomb Fushi, thank you so much!’

Fushiguro almost says No thank you, you’ve been doing so much for our movie nights and I wanted to show you how grateful I am for you and for all of this and I love you so please take my heart and just keep it, I really don’t need it, you know?

What he says instead is, ‘Not a problem. Shall we set up?’

And so, 10 minutes later finds them curled up in their usual spots, except this time they’re under the covers. Fushiguro places all the food between them, and Itadori alternates between massaging his feet (which he cleans meticulously before their movie nights because he doesn’t want Itadori to eat with dirty feet hands) and taking bites of pizza and smiling and laughing and choking up at the movie.

The trilogy ends and Fushiguro can honestly see why Itadori has watched this countless times. It’s just that good.

If Itadori hears him sniffle, he doesn’t say a word. Just squeezes his calf and runs his fingers from his knees to his ankles and Fushiguro realizes, in that moment, that a part of him will always belong to this man.

---

They don’t miss a single movie night for months. They’ve now finished the Saw franchise, the HTTYD trilogy, the Batman trilogy, and the entire Annabelle series. If Fushiguro didn’t hate dolls before, well, now the thought of them sends shivers up his spine. And he fights curses. For a living.

Life is weird.

They don’t miss a single movie night for months. Sometimes it’s Sunday night instead, or Friday. Sometimes it’s earlier in the day, in the afternoon maybe. Sometimes, it’s really late at night, so late that by the time they’re done, it’s already 3am and the world is silent. The world doesn’t exist beyond the walls of Fushiguro’s room, and he’s ok with that.

On those nights, Itadori stays over.

They curl up on his bed together, not quite touching but not quite not touching. It’s a single bed and they’re not small by any means. The touching is inevitable. Fushiguro wonders if any part of it is voluntary.

He learns that Itadori’s toes are always warm, unlike Fushiguro’s. He’s a surprisingly calm sleeper. His sleep-heavy voice is deep, and his sleep-heavy smile is soft.

They fall asleep facing away from one another, they wake up spooning or being spooned. They don’t say a word. And they don’t stop.

The night that they finish the latest Annabelle movie, Itadori looks insanely freaked out and Fushiguro doesn’t blame him. That shit’s creepy as hell.

The problem is that it’s only 00:14. Too early for them to call for a sleepover unprompted.

Itadori’s got Fushiguro’s legs in his lap, and he’s pursing his lips as if deep in thought. Fushiguro thinks fuck it.

‘Do you want to stay over?’

The relief flows off Itadori in waves. ‘You’re an actual lifesaver, you know that right?’

Fushiguro smirks, and they throw snarky comments back and forth between them as they get ready for bed. Itadori brings his toothbrush and they clean up side by side, fighting for the mirror. They take the fort down methodically, like a well-oiled machine, and they curl up under the duvet, touching but not quite touching, facing away from one another.

15 minutes later, Fushiguro feels Itadori curled around him, legs tangled and arm carefully slipped over his middle. He feels him shake, and he can taste the hesitation and he knows Itadori will move away soon because they both know they’re both awake.

He moves his hand lower and places it over Itadori’s. He squeezes it once, and moves it away, and evens out his breathing. He feels himself drifting off, and the last thing he feels is Itadori’s arm curling around him just a little tighter, holding him just a little closer. The air tastes less hesitant, more hopeful.

It’s wonderfully frightening.

---

They don’t miss a single movie night for months. Until one day, they do.

The thing about Sukuna is that he’s the King of Curses, Lord Asshat extraordinaire, and an overall terrible being. Not only does he reside in Itadori rent-free, he also chooses when to heal him and when to watch from the sidelines as blood gushes out of wounds that are near-fatal. Itadori’s pain tolerance is impossibly high, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel pain.

Itadori feels everything. He feels so much, so willingly, so wholeheartedly. He’s a feeler.

And so, when one of their missions go haywire (as always), Itadori risks his life for his classmates (as always), and is left on the verge of death (as always). The only difference being he doesn’t improve. At least not at that inhumane pace that he always does.

He’s not dead, but he’s not in the world of the living either. He’s drifting somewhere in between, and Fushiguro feels like he’s drowning. He can’t get enough air; he can’t see beyond the murky waters that are darker than ink.

Fushiguro is in the in-house hospital on campus and he rarely, if ever, leaves Itadori’s side. The incident took place on a Tuesday and it is now Saturday. Itadori’s vitals are stable, his heart is in his chest, beating, and his blood is circulating and oxygenating him.

He does not wake up, he does not speak, and he does not smile.

Something in Fushiguro’s chest cracks.

People come by to visit all the time. Nobara brings snacks and chats with Itadori like he’s ok, like he’ll respond. Only Fushiguro hears the tremor in her voice. Maki holds back from smacking someone in a coma, vowing to get him good when he’s awake for doing something so monumentally dumb. Gojo flits in and out as often as he can, and he always squeezes Fushiguro’s shoulder with a tightness that eases his chest just a little before leaving again.

After dinner on Saturday, Fushiguro decides to do something.

He lets himself into Itadori’s room- messy but not sloppy, and simple. He finds his laptop on his desk and charges it for a bit before taking it back with him. He doesn’t set up a blanket fort, simple loads up a Christopher Nolan movie that they’d decided on last week and lets it play.

He holds Itadori’s hand the entire time. It doesn’t squeeze back.

The crack in his chest widens.

---

He’s not there when Itadori wakes up.

Gojo had pushed him out of the room to go take a shower and grab a proper meal and maybe even take a nap, and Fushiguro had relented to two of the three- showering and eating. With a belly full of terrible convenience store food that could never hope to hold a candle to Itadori’s meals, Fushiguro slowly makes his way back to the infirmary when he hears voices. One voice, in particular, stops him in his tracks.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘My mouth tastes like ass.’

It’s one of the first things Itadori has said in a week and a half, and something between a laugh and a sob gets stuck in Fushiguro’s chest. He moves to yank the door open and throw himself at Itadori when he hears-

‘Where’s Fushi?’

‘Oh, he went to take a shower, clean up a little, all that.’

‘Ah. I see.’

Fuck, he sounds disappointed.

‘Don’t look so upset.’ Gojo teases. ‘He hasn’t left your side since you got hurt, you know?’

‘Really?’

Gojo hums. ‘He’s here all day. He tried working for a day or two, but his head wasn’t in it, so we forced him to sit out for a bit. He’s just been keeping you company here, reading, fretting, pining.’

Fushiguro wants to punch Gojo.

Itadori barks out a laugh. It sounds loud and forced and not very happy.

‘Don’t tease me about that sensei. That’s cruel, even for you.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know what I’m talking about.’

‘I want to be sure. I’m not a mind-reader you know. So tell me,’ Gojo urges, ‘what are you talking about?’

Itadori sighs. It sounds exhausted more than pained. ‘I’ve liked him since the day we fought the curse and saved my senpais. It’s cruel for you to tease me about a one-sided crush.’

Fushiguro is suddenly numb, hot and cold everywhere, and his head is spinning, an echo of ‘I’ve liked him I’ve liked him’ just bouncing around his brain endlessly. He has to force himself to concentrate or risk missing out more of the conversation.

‘I mean, why do you think it’s one-sided?’

‘Are you kidding me? He’s so out of my league, I can’t even think about it. He’s so. Just. Everything good in this world. And he likes dogs sensei, what more could I want in a person?’

Fushiguro’s vision is just swimming and he wants to smother Itadori in a hug and protect him forever. His feet are taking longer to respond to his brain though.

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Gojo sings, laughing. ‘My advice would be to not give up. You’d be good for each other, you know? Also, he’s really not all that perfect. Trust me, I’ve known him since he was a child. This one time, during the spring festival, he-‘

‘Itadori, you’re awake?’

Evidently, his self-preservation instincts had bypassed his brain and forced his legs to move at near inhumane speed. God bless instincts.

Itadori is sitting up, and he looks a bit frail but the color in his cheeks is steadily returning. His eyes widen in surprise before his mouth twists up in a grin so wide Fushiguro is worried he’ll break his face. His eyes are molten, watery, and brighter than the sun.

‘Hi Fushi.’

For once, Fushiguro doesn’t give a two shit flying fuck that Gojo is in the room and will hence tease him for the rest of his life, he just walks over to the bed and gathers Itadori into a hug and holds him there, pressing his warmth into Itadori. There’s the beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, and the smile on his lips pressed into Fushiguro’s shoulder.

The world rights itself on its axis, just a little more.

‘Idiot.’

Itadori’s muffled laugh makes him grin, and he pulls away. He rearranges his face in a scowl.

‘I told you before if you die on me-‘

‘-you’ll kill me yourself. I know, I know. I’m here Fushi, you don’t have to become a murderer. It’s a good day.’

Fushiguro lets his face morph back into a grin before looking over at Gojo. His teacher’s smirk tells him everything- how he knew where Fushiguro was, how he’s seen right through Fushiguro, how he’s going to tease him till the day either of them die. And Fushiguro wants to be annoyed and pissed off but he can’t bring himself to care, not right now.

Itadori’s heart is beating in his chest, and he smiles at Fushiguro, and his cheeks are tinting pink.

Fushiguro’s heart is full.

---

‘Sorry I missed movie night.’

Itadori’s apology is so stupid Fushiguro nearly gwaffs, but that’s undignified as fuck so he settles for a cough and a withering stare.

‘I mean, it’s not like you were in a coma or anything.’

‘You know what I mean! But anyway, I’m here now, so let’s pick up where we left off.’

‘No, we’ll have to move on to the next movie. We watched that one last week.’

‘Huh?’

Fushiguro looks at him, prays he isn’t seven shades of red. ‘Well, I thought maybe if we had a movie night at the infirmary, you’d feel better. Where you were. Especially if you were dealing with lord fuckwad. You know?’

Itadori stares at him in awe and chuckles softly. ‘You’re something else, you know? Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out.’

Gojo’s word reverberate around his skull and Fushiguro just clears his throat. ‘Yeah, well, I’m all about surprising people. Woohoo.’

Itadori bursts out laughing, and they go back to setting up the fort, the pizza, the snacks, the lights, the laptop. It’s easy and familiar and nice. They settle into the mattress, but Fushiguro doesn’t let Itadori take his feet this time, opting to press into his side instead. Itadori barely puts up a fight.

They’re roughly 8 minutes into Interstellar when Itadori asks, ‘How did you set up the movie in the infirmary?’

Fushiguro hums, ‘I grabbed your laptop and put it on a chair to your left. I sat on the right. I sat by your bed and I…’

‘And you?’

Fushiguro should be nervous but he’s not. He’s surprised by how not nervous he is.

‘And I did this.’ He laces their hands together, eyes trained on Itadori's.

It’s like looking at a bowl of liquid amber. His eyes are light brown, bordering on gold, and they’re mesmerizing when you’re this close. He doesn’t look away from Fushiguro, his breath doesn’t stutter, he doesn’t jerk away. He squeezes Fushiguro’s hand with his right one and slowly brings up the left. He rests it on Fushiguro’s jaw, soft skin meeting calloused fingers and there’s a heat building under Fushiguro’s skin that makes him feel that same hot and cold sensation everywhere.

‘I’m going to kiss you.’

Itadori’s voice is deeper than Fushiguro’s ever heard it, low and spicy and sure. His hands are gentle and confident.

Fushiguro doesn’t nod or say Yes or blush.

He just brings his right arm up, wraps it around Itadori’s left wrist and leans in, bringing them together in what is possibly the softest touch of lips ever, in the history of the universe.

It’s not hesitant, it’s just new. And all-encompassing. And maddeningly good. And soft.  

Itadori’s breath hitches and he leans his head, slotting their lips together better and Fushiguro is humming because fucking hell is this good. There’s no tongue, just pressure and nips and small licks and bites. By the end of it, Fushiguro is smiling into Itadori’s smile, and he’s kissing it and nuzzling it and he’s drowning in the best way possible.

Itadori finally pulls away, after several small kisses, and does that beaming smile that makes Fushiguro’s stomach do really terrible things.

‘I can’t believe all this happened because of Saw.’

Fushiguro’s smile shrivels away in a heartbeat and Itadori is laughing and snorting, the bastard.

‘Itadori Yuji.’

More laughter.

‘I swear on all that is good and pure, if you tell people we got together because of Saw, I will dump your ass so hard you won't be able to sit down for weeks.’

Itadori laughs some more and presses his giggles against Fushiguro’s lips and dammit he’s so weak and gay.

Itadori’s hand slips down his jaw and cups the back of his neck and he pulls him close, pressing their foreheads together.

‘We both know that’s not true.’

Damn it. He really does know Fushiguro like the back of his hand.

And so he does the only thing he can think of- he kisses him again. And again. And then some more, just because he can.

The movie remains forgotten, and frankly, they couldn’t care less.

[joshslater]

Twitching

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

To my surprise people keep joining the stream. Usually it was only my friends and occasionally someone random that watched me play. Space strategy games are not the most audience-friendly. They require you to know a lot about the game mechanics, and they take a long while to play through a full campaign. But all my mates know the game, and are just here to socialize and sometimes provide a tip.

This evening is different though. It had started with some "Lucy333" joining what must have been almost an hour ago. More than 30 minutes for sure. But over the past 10 minutes I've gotten 12 more viewers I think. Suddenly there is a coin sound effect and the chat stream lights up with a donation. $2 from Lucy333 and the text "Hey, spaceboy! Take your shirt off!"

I can instantly feel myself blushing. I'm flattered for a few milliseconds. I'm aware of the streams with girls showing lots of skin to get donations. I've never watched any of them. I'm not even aware of any with boys in them, but I know they exist. "Thanks for the donation, Lucy. This isn't that kind of stream though, clearly." I'm just playing for my mates when we don't feel like meeting up or doing something else. And I know I'm not a looker, though not shockingly ugly like Pete. Honestly, if there wasn't a pandemic going on we would probably do exactly the same thing anyway, playing space strategy and talk Marvel.

There is a flurry of responses from the newcomers in the chat. "Do it! Do it!" says one Donnatrix. "It could be that kind of stream," says fluffy2000. Soon my mates start cheering on as well. It basically turns into a dare. I'm not proud of my body, but I'm not ashamed of it either. It just is. Fuck it. I don't know what I'm going to be teased for more, if I take my shirt off, or if I don't. I reckon if I do what they ask for they have less ground to stand on. I set the game speed to low, say "Ok then", take off my headset, and pull off my T-shirt.

I'm met with a torrent of cheers in the chat. "Now it is that kind of stream," says fluffy. Donnatrix drops $5 and the comment "YAAAASSS". It feels weird. I can't decide if this is a group of sorority girls that randomly and sarcastically sexualize nerds, or if they are genuinely supportive.

"Thank y'all. Now back to trade route 14 to Zephyr-C". My emissary mission hasn't moved far at this speed. I'm about to increase the in-game speed when I get another $2 donation from Lucy. "Spaceboy, keep the game in slow mode and jump over to Heavenly Bodies."

I have no idea what she is talking about, if she even is a she. Her message is instantly met with a wave of support from the other newcomers. At this game speed it would take hours before I need to take any action, and I'm already up a Whopper meal without having done anything, so I reckon I can play whatever they want me to play for a while. Who knew I was that easily bought? "I don't know what that is," I say into my headset.

A few seconds later Lucy sends me a private message with a TinyURL. "This better not mess with my game rig. If it's porn I'll switch back to the game." I say. "It could be that kind of stream too." fluffy offers in the chat. "He could use some porn tbh" my friend Mike responds. I click the link.

The browser loads something that looks like a web game. It's a character creation screen with a faceless, very neutral model on the screen. Looks like those posable figures you use when learning to draw. There are no controls, except a set of buttons that offers you to upload settings, import from Facebook, and similar. I click the Facebook one, click a few approvals, and a progress bar that only lasts a few seconds appears. When it is gone there is a 3D model of me on the screen. "Wow! This looks just like me." Whatever AI they have combing through my online photos managed to get almost everything right. I'm wearing some sort of speedos, but I don't own any, so that part was a miss, but the model looks spot on. "Whatever else they have in the game, I don't think they are going to top this."

A long list of sliders and customizations appear on the screen. It looks like an incredibly detailed character creation screen. I try moving the height controller and is met with a message box saying I'm out of credits, and that I need $10,000 to change my height to whatever I moved it to. Clearly not real money. "I can't change anything". Lucy responded I need to share it. I exit fullscreen on the game and move the browser over to my other screen so everyone on the stream can see. "No, you need to click the share button in the UI and post the link in the chat", Donnatrix writes.

A big gift-wrapped box appears in the corner of the game window. I click it and it presents the text "Hair color and style" with bold letters and below that a text message from Lucy "I think this will be cute on you." I click accept and the 3D model is updated with new hair. It's dark blonde or whatever the oxymoronic name is for it, instead of my usual rat brown hair. It's short on the sides and on top is a big swooping quiff. It looks utterly silly. "Thanks, nice one," I tell the stream. I see a lot of cheers coming in the chat, but I'm a bit perplexed about the "OMYFUCKING GDO!" from Mike. It's just silly hair.

Immediately a new gift box appears on the screen, and soon after a (2) is added on top of it, possibly indicating two gifts waiting. I find it a little bit cute that these girls are essentially playing with paper dolls, but digitally and modeled after someone real. I open the next gift, "Facial Features" from Julia_Awesome. I click accept again, and the doll on the screen is updated. Weirdly it felt like a flash of heat hit me, like those flame effects on concerts. The doll still looks like me, but pretty fictionalized. The face is much sharper, not just less fat, but probably also some bone structure changes as well. It's equally interesting and disheartening, like one of those really good mobile phone filter apps that makes you into a photo model. Makes you understand how unobtainable the Men's Health cover look really is. "Thank you, Julia, but I'm not sure about this look."

I'm ignoring the chat, though I see it is going bananas. I'll have to read that later when the stream is over. I open the next box. Another two has already arrived. This gift is from Donnatrix and is "Core Body", whatever that means. It feels like a gut punch. Perhaps not that, because it doesn't hurt, but it knocks the air out of me. Almost made me fall out of the chair. I'm confused about what is actually happening though because things don't make sense. My body looks deformed. It takes a moment before my brain stops associating what I see with HR Geiger's nightmarish paintings and start to understand what I really see. My body is suddenly a lot leaner and a hell of a lot more stacked than before. Proper abs muscles like a pan of Hawaii rolls.

I look up at the main screen for the first time in what feels like an eternity. The model on the screen looks ripped as well. How stupid can one person be? I turn to the side monitor and look at the window from the webcam. It's me, all new muscles, strong jaw, and a silly quiff on top.

"Hold up! Hold up! Hold up! This is insane! This isn't possible."

"lol, of course not" I see moving by in the chat. I go back to the program. Four more gifts waiting. I look at the model on the screen. I look at the webcam view. "Arms" says the next gift with the text "Promise to flex for me." Well, fuck Zephyr-C and trade route 14.

[akitokihojo]

Monster - Chapter 3

chapter index

Miroku woke early the next morning, groggy, uncomfortable, and insanely stiff. His head was hurting, his eyes were still heavy, his mouth was as dry as cotton, and his side leading over to his back was sore as all hell. The air felt weird. Something was off. The sensation was so predominating, it quickly overpowered the physical ailments he’d focused on as soon as he’d come to.

He blinked several times, attempting to push away the sleep that beckoned him back, the pull of the lingering drowsiness due to fatigue and medicinal properties. He wished he could stretch, awaken his muscles, but he knew that wouldn’t have the same effect as it did yesterday morning. He knew it would only hurt like a bitch. Resolving to deal with the tension in his body, Miroku turned his head, taking in his surroundings to see if he could pinpoint anything in his bedroom that may have been out of the norm to create the awkward feel in the atmosphere.

Sota sat on the edge of his bed, a straight and sullen expression on his face, brown eyes holding still on their wooden flooring. His fingers gripped the fitted sheet of his mattress, and Miroku could see the lack of color in his cheeks from across the room.

“What’s up?” He tried, his tone huskier than he’d expected.

Sota glanced up, unsurprised that he was awake, but as his voice came out, it held no conviction. “Nothing.”

“You okay, munchkin?” Miroku tried again, slowly, slowly pushing his elbows beneath him to start sitting up.

Sota didn’t say anything that time, his eyes falling back to the floor.

“You have a nightmare or something. Are you sick?”

His gaze flickered back up to Miroku but avoided his eyes, unable to hold steady on him at all. They faltered away, then wandered back up, faltered, then lifted, finally meeting Miroku’s patient, indigo stare. “Kagome’s gone.”

Miroku’s brows gave a minute twitch together, unable to understand what his younger cousin had meant by that. The corner of his lips curled downward slightly, but when there was no elaboration given, he had to, inevitably, reach for it. “What do you mean, Kagome’s gone?”

“I mean, she’s gone.” Sota stated.

“Where? On an errand?”

“No.”

“Then where did she go?”

There was a moment of hesitation, one where Sota sucked in a suspenseful breath, the hollow of his throat emphasizing before he sighed it all out and gave Miroku the direct answer he was looking for. “To fight Naraku.”

A surge of ice rushed through Miroku’s body. Any expression he was holding fell away, eyes widening, and his body moving of its own accord as he jolted to sit upright. His ribs protested heavily, feeling as if they were stabbed through and bringing him to immediately regret the action, and he groaned, clutching his side and fighting the urge to curl into himself. He shoved the held air in his lungs out, forcing himself into composure, hardly even realizing Sota had rushed across the room to support him if he needed anything. When the boy’s hand, cold and clammy, met Miroku’s bare shoulder, he glared up at him. “Tell me this was a bad dream you had.”

At first, Sota didn’t know how to answer that. There was so much panic in that single moment with Kagome’s disappearance and the inability to help Miroku’s pain, so he couldn’t help but have the words, or lack thereof, catch in his throat from the unbelievable perturbation.

“Sota, you can’t be serious.”

“She’s gone.” He finally confirmed. “Whatever you guys were planning to do together, she’s doing alone.”

“Fuck!” Miroku cursed, swinging his legs over the edge of his mattress. He had to halt, to brace himself there as he caught his bearings, willing the pain to subside in such a dramatic moment. “When did she leave!?”

“I don’t know. Sometime in the night.” The defensiveness in his tone was rising. Although he’d expected Miroku’s justifiable temperament, he admittedly wasn’t very good at keeping a level head, himself, in the face of conflict.

“And, you knew!?”

“Yes.”

“You knew when she left, or you knew she was going to leave?” Miroku interrogated.

“I knew she was going to leave! Miroku, what are you doing!?” He extended his arms out, prepared to catch his cousin if he lost his balance as he rose to a standing, trudging over toward the door.

“Why didn’t you tell us!?”

“She asked me not to! You would have stopped her!”

“Yeah, that’s the point!”

“She really wanted to do this! She said there was no way to talk her out of it!”

“Sota, don’t you understand?” Miroku asked, winded as he braced against the doorframe of the door he’d just opened. “She could be killed on her own! We had a plan to do it together for a reason!”

“Sit down! You’re in pain!”

“She’s so stupid for going alone! We were supposed to help! God, why is your sister such an idiot!?”

“You’re hurt, Miroku! How could you have helped any? You can hardly walk!” Sota argued.

“She should have waited!”

“She should have, but she didn’t! There’s nothing we can do about that now!”

“Sota,” Miroku had barely moved a foot, leaning against the wall as he slowly turned to look at the younger boy. His heart was pounding within his chest, air pumping through his lungs like he’d run a mile, a heat in his eyes he knew his cousin felt. “How long did you know?”

Again, he hesitated with his answer, feeling nervous and strained. His jaw hung agape, but his tongue created no words, hardly breathing as he physically felt the anger coming from Miroku.

“How long, Sota?” He repeated slowly, clearly.

“Since Naraku’s men left; when I took her aside to calm her down. She told me then.” Sota admitted.

“What is going on?” His mother asked, looking shocked and upset and disheveled while she wrapped her arms around her center to keep her body heat in.

The two boys stared at her, their expressions wavering to match the other’s. Shoulders sagged and brows curved sadly, sympathetically, as they knew this was going to be the worst part of all.

Miroku couldn’t bring himself to say anything more, using the wall as assistance while he trudged down the hall to Kagome’s bedroom, Sota sticking very close while his aunt followed behind, small noises escaping her mouth as her confusion became more prominent. He didn’t bother knocking, though he’d almost raised his knuckles to rasp on the door, completely out of reflex. His fingers curled around the knob, twisting it and pushing it open.

The room was empty. Cold. The bed was unmade, the window was open, and the energy of the room felt lifeless. Kagome was long gone. He limped forward, straight to the open window, noticing the undisturbed dew and leftover raindrops on the windowsill, and even some that had made it to the wooden floor inside just below.

“Where’d Kagome go? I didn’t hear her get up this morning.” She said with a small voice. She could tell something was wrong. She was sure she’d heard her daughter’s name come from the boys while they were yelling, but she was barely waking up at the time and wasn’t quite able to process things well yet.

Miroku turned to look at her, noticing Sota had sat on his sister’s bed, his shoulders drooping further while his head had sunken down. As much as he wanted to pin the blame on Sota, he knew this was more so on him. He knew he was responsible for explaining since he’d helped originate the plan that Kagome had chosen to execute on her own. Sota actively failed to prevent the incident, but Miroku actually knew the details behind it.

“What is going on?” His aunt asked again, her tone slightly deeper, more serious.

“Auntie, sit down.”

“Tell me.” She sternly ordered.

He sighed, turning around to close the window. Again, his ribs protested, a sharp pain jabbing at his muscles and bones, so he was careful to move slowly as he locked it shut. He figured if he was able to do all this there was no way they could be broken.

“Kagome left to fight Naraku. On her own.” He said as he faced her once more, having the respect not to beat around the bush. “Kikyo’s messages really meant something to her, and you know how often she got them. What you don’t know is that we’ve kept up the training we were started on. Worse, actually.” He kind of flinched in preparation of his own admittance. “We’ve intentionally sought out demons - harmful ones - to test our strengths. That’s how Kagome really knew how to hide her powers whenever there were inspections. She’s learned how to use them pretty well. She didn’t want to be defenseless, and I agreed that she shouldn’t be. She’s a conjurer and they’re blacklisted, so she should, at the very least, know what she was capable of to potentially see why - if not only to protect herself. The thing was, and I’m sorry, but we all - Kagome, Sango, and I - planned on doing this exact thing together. She’s positive there are other conjurers receiving the very same messages that she is, so there’s probably going to be an army made up to take down Naraku. She wants to join, and Sango and I wanted to be part of the cause. But, apparently, yesterday she decided to do it all on her own. She left in the middle of the night without telling anyone. Except for Sota.”

There was a horrible silence that filled the air when Miroku had stopped talking. He could see that the information was sinking in with his aunt but her gaze stayed locked on him, only leaving to look at Sota when he was mentioned, and then shooting back to Miroku.

“You all had planned to leave together?” She finally asked.

“Yes.” He answered.

“Were you going to say anything when this happened?”

“No.” His blue eyes fell to the floor briefly, the shame evident. It wasn’t like they didn’t think about how it would affect their families; they’d discussed all the details several times over and eventually came to terms with their decisions. It wasn’t something he was prepared to face, though. “We were packed for it. Whenever Kagome felt like it was time to leave - as in Kikyo gave some sort of direct order or something - we were equipped to head out.”

“You - you were packed?” His aunt inquired, appearing somewhat taken aback.

“Yeah.” Miroku confirmed. “We kept our things hidden in the location we trained at, along with our weapons.”

She made a small sound of muddled astonishment, her brows shrugging and then furrowing. “I’d always wondered what had happened to Kagome’s bow and arrows.”

“Um - well, the bow you’re thinking of broke. We had to replace it a year ago, so we went and bought a new one.” He confessed, his jittery nerves showing a bit more.

“You - how - how did you buy a new one? Where?” She questioned speculatively.

“We’ve been doing side jobs outside of town for a while now - you know what, that’s irrelevant. What matters is that we were raising money for the trip so we weren’t empty-handed financially.”

“Good lord, it’s like pandora’s box is opening inside my house.” She groaned, rubbing her forehead. She exhaled heavily, regaining her bearings as she turned to her quiet son. “And, you knew about this?”

“Not all that.” Sota shook his head, his reply hasty while his fear of backlash rode on the surface. “When Kagome and I were in the treehouse yesterday she told me she was leaving, but she made me promise not to tell anybody.”

“And, you kept that promise knowing how dangerous the situation was?”

“It was a pinky promise.” He defended.

His mother opened her mouth like she was ready to quickly retort, but instead all he heard was the sharp inhale from her throat before she sealed her lips, leaving the air locked in her lungs as the hollow of her neck deepened. She closed her eyes, brows pinched together when she finally exhaled, once again rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.

“Anything else?” She asked testily.

Both Sota and Miroku shook their heads in reply.

“Do we know how long ago she left?”

“By the looks of it, hours ago.” Miroku said while Sota, again, shook his head.

“What are the chances of us finding her?”

“Slim.” Miroku answered. “There’s no saying what direction she went off in, and she’s got quite the head start on us. I can’t walk very fast in my condition, let alone chase after her. It’s not like we can gather up the town to get them to help out, because they’ll have questions and it’ll compromise her well-being and secret. Not to mention, even if we did miraculously catch up, it would be a fight on its own to convince her to come home.”

“So -“ There it was. The devastated expression he’d been waiting to appear on his aunt’s face finally emerged, though she valiantly tried to fend it off. “So, she’s gone?”

“We can look. See if she got far.” He breathed defeatedly. “But, yes. I’m pretty sure Kagome’s gone.”

—

“Alright, so I searched the areas we usually went to together, and she’s not there. But, she’s definitely been to the cave. Her weapon’s gone, and she took a few things from the bag we’d packed. I saw footprints in the mud nearby leading off onto the forest path, and thankfully the mud was soft so it left a deep impression. Unfortunately, it seems some horses and men have been on that path not too long ago, making it hard to follow, and where the mud gets firmer, her footprints have washed away. So, there’s no telling where she is, but we do know what direction she’s gone off in.” Sango said, a little breathless as she returned to her boyfriend’s side. She’d been flustered since the moment Sota showed up at her doorstep this morning, pale and rattled, and when she was caught up to speed after following him back to his house, she immediately went searching for clues.

“Okay, that’s something.” Miroku nodded, silently thanking her from his uncomfortable seat on the couch as he placed a hand on the back of her thigh.

“How is that something?” Sota queried.

“Because, we’ll know where to start when we’re able to follow her.” He answered.

“Thank you, Sango.” His aunt said from where she stood next to the kitchen table, sighing out a feeble ounce of stress.

“Wait, you guys are still planning on going?” Sota asked.

“Of course.” Sango confirmed.

“We’re not going to let her do this alone. The plan remains, and we’re going to help her. Unfortunately, I’ve got a handicap, but as soon as I’m good to go, we’ll head out.”

“And, my dad should hopefully be back by the end of the week. In the hopes that he won’t be out on another mission when the time comes, we’ll be able to take Kirara with us so we can hopefully catch up to Kagome faster. If you don’t mind, and I know this is wrong to ask of you, but would you keep this on the down low? We all know he wouldn’t allow this.”

“Rightfully so.” Kagome’s mother remarked. “This is incredibly dangerous, and I’m inclined to make you both stay out of this mess. We all saw a daughter violently torn away from her mother yesterday, my own daughter is now missing, and now my nephew and his girlfriend are ready to follow in her footsteps? Do you understand just what you’re getting yourself into?”

“Yes -“ Miroku barely got out before his aunt interjected.

“No, you don’t. Naraku is the demon of all demons. He’s singlehandedly ostracized beings for reasons unknown, put them on this hit list because he can, and you guys think you’re just going to walk up to him, challenge him to a duel, and leave unscathed? All because some Kikyo lady appeared in Kagome’s dreams and said so? I know you’re all adults and you’re capable of making your own decisions now, but you’re making the wrong ones so I’ll make them for you. Neither of you are going.”

“But, what about Kagome?” Sota argued.

“I can’t protect her, Sota. She’s already gone.” She slighted.

“They can help, though!”

“They’re eighteen, nineteen, and twenty acting like they’re as wise and experienced as the grown demon slayers in the village. Do any of you know exactly what those demon slayers had to go through to gain their knowledge and skills? And, don’t you answer that, Sango. I know your father’s the leader, and you’ve had a bit of experience yourself, but you don’t know the half of it. You think your dad’s told you all the stories? You think your dad’s let you in on every little, gory detail of his trials? It baffles me that you guys think training on your own and exterminating various demons outside of town would make you well-prepared for a journey like this. It’s a death sentence I won’t let you sign up for. You’re not going.”

“I understand where you’re coming from, Auntie, but we are. We’re going. Despite her decisions, I’m not going to let Kagome do this on her own.” Miroku spoke, keeping his tone as level and respectful as possible.

There was a moment of silence, one where his aunt clenched her jaw, dropped her shoulders, and plopped into the seat beside her. “You - all three of you - are too much like your fathers for your own good.”

“I know, I know.” He sighed. “It’s your number one complaint about Kagome and I. But, we’ve gotta see this through with her. At her side. I want to punch her as much as anyone in this room, believe me, but wouldn’t you feel more comfortable knowing she’s not alone? Wait, no, don’t answer that.” Miroku recoiled, holding up his hand to stop his aunt from saying anything the moment she glared his way.

“Thank you.” Sango softly spoke. “For showing how much you care about us. For expressing your concerns and voicing what’s on your mind. Thank you. You’re right, we don’t have nearly as much experience as we should. Truthfully, I don’t think there’s enough experience in the world that could prepare us for what we’re about to do. We’ve gotta try, though. This has been hell for us all, but imagine it from Kagome’s perspective. They’re after her. Her kind, but ultimately, her. We want to protect her just like you, we just show it in a different way. She’s justified in wanting to fight, so our way of demonstrating support and doing what we can to help is by going with her. Besides, you know Kagome. She’s as stubborn as a mule, so when her mind is made up, there’s no fighting it. There’s only going with the flow.”

Sota added his input by dramatically nodding in agreement, knowing all too well his sister's temperament and obstinance.

“She should have waited.” Miroku said again. “But, she can handle her own until we catch up.”

“Kagome can definitely handle her own.” Sango attested. “I don’t know if this matters to you, but she’s folded Miroku in a match before. She’s a tough cookie.” She smiled when her friend’s mother had to hide her conflicted giggle behind her hands, noticing her boyfriend’s slow, shifting, disapproving look from the side.

“It was funny.” She shrugged, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

“I wish I’d seen it!” Sota laughed.

“Are you guys sure?” Miroku’s aunt asked, more to see if there was any apprehension in their expressions. She could tell though, with their direct eye contact, their nods, their steady answers and confident demeanor, that even if she did attempt to forbid them, they would only be resolved to sneak out behind everyone’s backs - like Kagome. At least this way, being in the know, she would be able to help in whatever way she could. Whether that be in moral support, assisting Miroku to help him mend as fast as possible, or even making sure to help them pack for anything they may need.

Her daughter was brave. She was strong. She was like her father. What terrified her was that Kagome was mortal. But, she had to have faith. She had to take Sango and Miroku’s word for it that she could, in fact, take care of herself.

—

Kagome fluttered her brown eyes open, blinking away her sleep as she gathered her surroundings. She was fully and instantly aware that she was in the wilderness, incapable of forgetting that tidbit no matter how exhausted she was, but she needed to focus as best as she could in her sleepy stupor to make sure no demonic energies were nearby.

She was still safe.

The sun wasn’t too high in the sky yet, as far as she could tell from the trees and patchy clouds, so she had probably only dozed off for a few hours at the most, her fire reduced to nothing but flickering embers. She was still tired but she felt better than she had before, and she knew she needed to get moving. Where to? Who knows. She felt in her gut that she was on the right path, though. The only path, really.

Her back felt cramped and tense as she slowly peeled herself off of the tree she’d rested against, strands of her hair pulling while it stuck to the bark, making her groan. When she stood, dusting off her pants and stretching a bit, she felt life begin to flow through her muscles again. Kagome wasted no time in getting herself situated to head out. She adjusted her clothing, her bodice which had climbed up her chest a little, ran her fingers through her wavy hair, got her bag and bow and arrows situated over her shoulders again, and then kicked dirt over the remainder of what used to be called a fire, heading back toward the trail and on her way.

—

“Why’d you run?” Inuyasha asked.

“Why’d you chase me?” Hiten countered, an arrogant smirk on his face. His tan skin was moist with the afternoon warmth and the adrenaline flowing through his body, red eyes meeting Inuyasha’s proud stare. His long, brown braid swayed from side to side as it gradually began to still, heavy but neatly kept from his face.

“I caught wind that you’ve been a bit of an asshole. Apparently, rumors are true.”

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t have run if they weren’t.”

“Well,” Hiten shrugged, his smile widening, completely untroubled. “Looks like you just answered your own question.”

“I’ve warned you before, Hiten. I told you to watch your step.” Inuyasha reminded, swallowing the frustration that quickly built up in him whenever he dealt with cocky sons of bitches.

“Awe,” He feigned a pout. “Can’t you be cool and let me off with another warning, Inuyasha?”

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t like you. I don’t even know why I gave you an exception in the first place. This time, though, no chance. You killed a girl. That’s a dramatic escalation from what you did last time.”

“And, she was mighty tasty.” Hiten licked his lips.

Inuyasha cringed, his entire face contorting. “Ew! What? Hiten, what the fuck!?”

“What -“

“You ate her!?”

“Wait, what? You didn’t know that?” He questioned, all confidence fading from his expression as he looked skeptically over at his enemy.

“Does this look like the face of somebody in the know!? No, I didn’t know that! What the fuck!? Why!? You’re a fucking thunder demon, dude! You’re not even based off of a carnivorous animal! I don’t understand!” Inuyasha argued, absolutely and utterly disgusted. He was so appalled, he even took two steps away from the guy, his lips remaining distastefully curled.

“Wow - um - this is a little awkward.” He admitted, scratching his temple sheepishly. “Why are you here then?”

“Because, there’s money over your head!” Inuyasha exclaimed. “They want your head, I want their money, I got the gist of everything - I don’t know, I felt like it was a fair trade! You ate her!?”

“Y-yeah.” He shrugged again.

“Ew!” That time, Inuyasha cringed so bad his entire body convulsed, like a huge, unwelcome shiver ran down his spine. “Why?”

“I was - you’re not gonna like the answer to this.” Hiten said, giving fair warning. When Inuyasha didn’t decline further explanation, he proceeded. “She was - we were - nude, consensually of course, and - um - well, she smelled really good while we were - while I was - you know… So, like, during that I kind of wanted to - um - taste her.”

Inuyasha had deadpanned mid-speech, his mouth hanging agape, golden eyes blinking as he processed the given information. “Good sir, you took cunnilingus to a level it should have never gone to.”

“Yeah.” Hiten grimaced, nodding in agreement.

“When her soul leaves her body, it’s supposed to remain metaphorical.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Another nod, another grimace.

“And, yet…” Inuyasha grumbled.

“I took it there.” Hiten confirmed.

“Are you proud of yourself?”

“I mean…”

“Never mind, don’t answer that.” The hanyou waved off.

“I really wish you didn’t know now.” Hiten said uncomfortably. “Like, the moment’s gone. I don’t really feel like fighting anymore.”

“Hey, I wish I didn’t know either. Believe me, I have a horribly vivid imagination, so this is gonna eat at me for days.”

Hiten chuckled, attempting to hide it behind his fist as he glanced away.

“Hey - oh god. No pun intended, you sick bastard. Moment’s back! Come here, I’m gonna kick your ass!” Inuyasha yelled, grossed out.

“No, thanks! I’m good!” He laughed, jogging backward.

“I don’t even give a fuck about the money anymore! I’m just gonna kill you!”

“Didn’t know you were such a feminist, buddy!”

“Don’t you ‘buddy’ me, you creep! Stop -“ The two demons halted in their tracks, alert, one with a blooming grin and the other with wide, uneasy eyes.

“Let me tell you, Inuyasha.” Hiten spoke gruffly. "Once the taste sits on your tongue, there’s no preventing the addiction. She wasn’t my first. And, it looks like lunch is nearby. Too bad I’m a lot faster than you since I can fly and all.”

Inuyasha tensed as the demon flew off in the direction he’d smelled a girl walking not too far away. Cursing under his breath, he finally sheathed his sword, sprinting to follow Hiten.

Kagome had gone off trail. She’d seen a town in the distance, but if she looked as bad as she felt, the last thing she wanted to do was attract attention to herself. She said it was for the sake of adventure - and privacy - that she’d decided to venture through the trees, her boots crunching the leaves littering the forest floor. The trees weren’t close together by any means, leaving plenty of walking room between, light easily breaking through the treetops. She figured she’d go around the village and continue on the trail from the other side. No harm, no foul.

Until she felt a sudden and alarming spike in demonic energy. It was heading her way and fast. So fast, in fact, that by the time she’d turned around, she was staring at a man at the top of a slope, a dangerous smile curling his lips.

“Hey. You lost?” He spoke, even the click of his tongue proving menacing.

Of course. Of course this would happen right now. Kagome mentally rolled her eyes at her luck, bracing with a dragged inhale. His energy was threatening, and he definitely meant harm. There was no reason for Kagome to entertain his question. She knew what was about to go down. Without response, she ran off. All she needed was to give herself time. Just a little space. Given how fast he’d initially approached, he was going to be on her in a matter of seconds, but that was all she needed.

Kagome rolled her shoulder, allowing her bow to fall off, slide down her arm and into her hand where she tossed it over to her left. She spun back around to face the oncoming demon, her feet sliding - almost stumbling in the dirt - from the speed, an arrow plucked from its quiver and pulled back into the string of her bow, ready to shoot. The demon froze just feet away from her, his shocked expression shifting into one of entertained as he held his hands up in front of him defensively.

“Woah-ho-ho.” He chuckled. “You’re fucking quick.”

Kagome didn’t say anything just yet, eyes locked on the demon as her chest pumped air in and out of her lungs. She had good aim; she could hit him for sure. The trouble was, could she kill him? With her conjurer powers, sure. Maybe. Yes. But if, by chance, she missed, her secret was out and she was dead. Honestly, if she missed either way, she was dead. She was resolved to go ahead and use her powers before she felt the nearing aura of another demon - one not quite as strong, one with an intriguing warmth radiating from it, one she felt a compelling pull to investigate but she forced herself to leave it alone. Two demons in the same vicinity typically meant they came together. But, if she used her abilities and the other sensed or saw it, she was done for.

No matter what, the situation was looking grim. If they were together, why wouldn’t she just use her powers? Why wouldn’t she just protect herself the way she’d trained for so long now? Why was a voice in her mind telling her not to do anything she’d regret? You know what she’d actually regret? Dying on her first day, that’s what.

“What do you want?” She asked, her raspy voice adding unintentional, dramatic flare.

“I just want to chat. Come on, put the bow down.”

“Not interested.”

“What do you think you’re actually gonna do with that?” Hiten asked, smiling. “The big, bad archer gonna shoot down a demon? Even if you stuck me, it’d hardly do a thing.”

“Want to bet?” Kagome challenged.

She watched his grin twitch wider, his slimy tongue gliding out but then vanishing altogether as an incredibly powerful, whirlwind of a strike came thundering from her left, dividing the two as it brought them both to jump away.

“Hiten, you five-head, ugly ass bitch!” Came a loud, deep, husky voice. “Your fight’s with me!”

Kagome had tripped in her attempt to escape the blast of power, her butt sore from landing on the protruding root of a tree, and though she took a moment to pity her rump and rub the immediate tenderness away, her attention was still on the scene before her. It was, for lack of a better word, bewildering. Unexpected. A man with a hostile scowl stood at the top of the slope the other demon had appeared on, a large sword encircled in demonic energy held tightly in his grasp. His hair was tied in a high ponytail, light in shade - appearing silver to the eye but almost white where light hit him. Pointed, animalistic ears atop his head told her he was of demonic lineage, but his energy didn’t feel as apparent as the demon’s across from her, still standing but gaze diverted the other’s way. She took that moment to regain herself, standing up to ready her weapon again, this time keeping it aimed low until she understood just what the hell was happening.

“Faster than I gave you credit for. What a fun-sucker.” The demon grumbled.

“Leave her alone!”

If it wasn’t clear before, it was perfectly evident now. The silver-haired demon wasn’t Kagome’s enemy.

“Hiten! Back the fuck up!” He shouted, tone appearing more lethal.

“Or, what?” Hiten chuckled, taking a few steps closer to Kagome while his attention continued to hold on the other demon. Kagome took that opportunity to raise her bow and arrow then, steadying her aim and locking on his chest. His heart. The jerk was, luckily for her, too arrogant to even mind what she was doing. “What are you gonna do? The closer I get to her, the less you’re able to use your fancy sword.”

“Hiten!”

“Oh no, look’s like the pressure’s on. Who’s gonna get her first?” Two more steps forward, his long legs closing the created gap easily.

Kagome pulled her arrow back a smidge, taking a moment to center herself, holding her breath.

“Stop!”

“It’s so easy to rile you up, Inuyasha.” Hiten laughed. “You’re so melodramatic.”

“Hey, wait, that’s kind of rude.” Inuyasha feigned a grimace, dropping his sword a few inches. “I don’t think I deserved that.”

“You called me ugly.” The demon countered with an odd sneer. “And, you said I have a five-head. I’d hardly call that rude in comparison.”

“You know what, that’s fair. Go ahead. She’s all yours.” The hanyou shrugged, resting the tip of Tessaiga to the ground.

Hiten barely thought about it, cocking a brow and turning to the girl before him. There was no time to react, no time to process, his breath caught in his throat so roughly he nearly choked.

The moment he turned to look at her, Kagome released her arrow, the sharp, pointed tip piercing through the left side of his chest. His red eyes widened, crimson staining the front of his dirty, white shirt, stumbling backward two feet from the force of her strike.

“Run, kid!” The order was barked, and Kagome didn’t need to be told twice. She used no spiritual power, so there was no way in hell the demon was dead. He was merely stunned, and she wasn’t about to wait around for him to gather his wits.

She took off like a bat out of hell, racing away, slipping on leaves but keeping her footing well enough to stay balanced and jump over tree roots. She heard, even felt, the strike from the silver-haired demon’s sword, the ground rattling slightly. Hiten’s roar of frustration echoed through her ears as it shifted into a maniacal laugh, haunting, his voice growing louder as he somehow grew nearer.

Kagome was grabbed by her hair, yanked back painfully and stopped in her tracks as she was slammed against a wide, aging tree, dropping her bow in the midsts. Her scream was muted by her own, broken voice, and she fought to push his surprisingly strong body away - despite how scrawny he appeared - while he now pinned her from the front. She didn’t even bother to register whatever taunting statement slipped from his tongue, only paying attention to the torn body of the arrow still in his chest but split apart so it didn’t protrude greatly, and she grabbed the frayed, splintered end, using whatever strength she could muster from her disadvantageous position to shove it further into the crevice of his ribs, even going so far as to twist so the arrowhead hurt him further, his pained shout and agonizing features telling her it was affecting him exactly as she wanted. Demon or not, conjurer powers or not, being stabbed never felt good.

“Let her go.” Came a gruff demand, and everything stopped. The tone was so alerting that even Kagome heeded the venom-laced warning. She could barely see over Hiten’s shoulder, but she knew the silver-haired demon stood right behind him, his sword pointed toward Hiten’s back. With the way Hiten froze entirely, she was willing to bet it was pressed against him. One false move, and he was done. “Now.”

And, he did. Hiten released Kagome, his hands held above his shoulders to show his compliance.

“Behind me.” He instructed, and Kagome knew that was directed towards her. Given they were still standing so close, she had to shimmy her way out from between the tree and the demon, her squished bag sort of sticking to the bark and adding a slight difficulty to the already-awkward glide free.

As soon as she was out, she crossed to the backside of the man with silver hair, picking up her bow along the way to strap over her shoulder. He even went so far as to reach behind, grabbing the loose hem of her green shirt to pull her flush behind his back, completely sheltered by his frame while he held his sword steady with one arm. From the glimpses she’d gotten of it, it seemed huge and heavy. It was impressive to see anyone hold the thing up, let alone with one hand.

There was a rumble in the sky, growing, growing, becoming increasingly louder, surrounding them as the clouds quickly flooded above - dark and ominous. Thunder boomed as if the storm had been brewing for hours, encroaching, but Kagome could have sworn she saw patches of blue just moments ago.

“Stop it.” Inuyasha ordered.

Hiten didn’t say anything, but from the way his shoulders broadened from behind, hands still raised where they were, and head held up high, his body language was radiating obnoxious pride.

“Hiten.” He growled.

The clap of thunder was so loud that time, it startled Kagome, causing her to jump just a little closer to her savior, the fingers of her hands curling into the loose fit of his shirt. It was somehow louder than any storm she’d ever witnessed, last night’s proving incomparable. She stared directly above them, watching as sparks of electricity danced and bounced along the bottom of the dark grey quilt, this result of the friction she’d never before seen. In fact, she was sure that something like this wasn’t even organically possible.

“Um,” She began, merely whispering to the demon she held onto. “We might want to move soon.”

Inuyasha could feel the girl’s anxiety, her nerves, her fingers bunching his shirt tighter. He could feel the demonic energy soaring from Hiten, creating the dangerous scenario above, but her words were what had caught his attention. The hanyou glanced upward, noticing the waltz of the electricity.

“Hiten!”

The opposing demon only laughed, shifting his head to look at Inuyasha as he slowly turned around to face him, modestly pushing his sword aside with the back of his hand.

“Am I supposed to just adhere to you?”

“Knock it off!”

“Or you’ll what?” Hiten challenged.

“You know what!”

“Apparently, your plan is to kill me either way. So, might as well go out with a bang.” He smirked, thunder blaring at that exact moment.

Kagome unintentionally clung to the man, the booming so loud she could feel it in her chest. His large hand grabbed her hip firmly, guiding her as he began to walk backward, and she took the initiative to give him more room, not wanting to make things harder or cause him to trip, so she made her fingers release his shirt.

Lightning struck the ground just to her right, and she hissed the same curse as the man before her. He was quick. Quicker than she’d expected in the moment as he spun around, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her off to run.

“In case you’re wondering,” He began, forcefully keeping her legs moving as fast as they’d go as he sought out shelter. “He’s a thunder demon and - fuck!” He shouted, sliding in the dirt as he came to an immediate stop, lightning falling directly in front of them.

“Where are we supposed to be going!?” Kagome asked as clearly as she could when they ran off in a different direction, never minding the protesting ache in her throat.

“Wherever the fuck we can to get away from this! You want to die!?”

“Not necessarily!”

“Then keep up, kid!”

“Have you ever outrun lightning before?” She questioned. The thunder overhead was nonstop now, electricity falling wherever it could. It was like Hiten held the ability to control it, but also lacked it once the friction built up too much. Nature took over then, and Hiten was merely impervious to her fury.

“Can’t say that I have!”

“Great.” Kagome breathed, her expression falling sarcastically.

Inuyasha found a tree with a decently-sized hollow in the bottom, pulling the girl over and gripping her shoulders to shove her down to her knees and in. “Stay!”

“What?” Her tone was half frantic, half perplexed.

“Stay here, and stay low! If I get hit, I’ll be fine. You? You’re dead.”

“Hey, wait! Lightning can strike trees! Lightning can strike trees!” Kagome protested, trying to crawl out, but the demon casually shoved the sole of his boot against her chest, thrusting her back beneath.

“Stay!” Inuyasha ordered emphatically, his one free hand held up as a sign to stop.

The demon ran off then, leaving Kagome appalled in her hollow, mouth hanging open, and completely taken aback by the sheer audacity of this guy. He did not just use his foot to push her. What was she even supposed to do there? Wait out the storm and hope she got lucky? Sit back and let the boys duke it out? Sure, she’d love to say she had faith in her savior, but she didn’t even know the guy. She didn’t know what he was capable of, how strong he was, or if he was mighty enough to take on the freaking descendant of Thor, himself. Though, saying that made her feel like she was giving him too much credit. Maybe he was a second cousin, twice removed. Sure.

Lightning was more inclined to strike the tall, and while she stood at a solid five feet - two inches, the tree she sat under was significantly larger. While she was certain it held plenty of potential to be safe, it just wasn’t a chance Kagome was comfortable on taking. Plenty of times, she’d seen huge trees charred in half from strikes of lightning. Of course, the thought of being in the open range wasn’t all that desirable either, but it was definitely more exciting; no one could deny that. Sitting back and waiting had never been her thing, anyway.

She could hear them shouting, fighting somewhere behind where she was bunkered, the lightning striking the ground with loud cracks and bright flashes. Carefully, Kagome crawled out of her hole, keeping low to the ground. She peeked behind the tree to see if she could get a visual, but it didn’t look as if they were as close as she’d suspected, bringing her to quickly crawl her way to an adjacent tree, following the sounds of insults, curses, demonic sword attacks, and focused lightning strikes. The thunder roaring didn’t help any, her chest rumbling unsteadily with the noise, muting the pounding of her heart.

Kagome continued her low travels from tree-to-tree, doing her best to remain unseen and not electrocuted. When she finally found them, she realized she had the worst vantage point to help in any way. She could see more of the silver-haired man than that Hiten guy.

Her protector was breathing hard, brows deeply furrowed while he wore a dangerous scowl. The muscles beneath his black, long sleeves were visible and flexed, the veins on the back of his fists that white-knuckled the hilt of his sword prominent even from where she squatted. His fangs were sharp and threatening, and his nose crinkled with severity as he fended off a strike from the opposing demon, retaliating with one of his own that had so much force Kagome had to duck behind the tree entirely to avoid being knocked over.

From the looks of it, he wasn’t getting anywhere. Not fast, at least. Hiten was good at countering, he was quicker than was fair, and apparently packed a punch. It seemed like he needed an opening; one where he could get in his attack and make it count. And, that was where Kagome came in.

She crawled around the trees cautiously, concentrating on staying hidden, and pausing abruptly as lightning struck just a few feet ahead of her. Kagome stared at the burnt spot with wide eyes, her fearful and startled squeak silenced behind her breath as she dragged it out, an oh my god slipping out at the tail end. Kagome couldn’t even begin to help the other melodramatic noises that emitted from her throat as she realized that could have easily been her, and it took a solid moment to talk herself back into crawling forward, literally chanting, “please don’t hit me, please don’t hit me, please don’t hit me,” over and over until she reached a spot where she had a clear visual on the thunder demon.

“This will work.” Kagome whispered, pinning her back to the tree as she prepared herself. She was crouched down, one knee on the ground as she shimmied the bow off her shoulder and pulled an arrow out of its quiver, readying the nock along the string. It didn’t matter if she hit Hiten. It would help, that’s for sure, but all she intended to do was distract him. If he would hesitate, only for a moment, Mr. Silver Hair would have an opportunity to strike. And, if he missed the opportunity, Kagome had justifiable reasoning to call him an idiot.

Would that help any? No. But, justifiable reasoning was justifiable reasoning.

Kagome began to inch her way out from behind the tree, watching the patterns of their movements. It was okay to miss Hiten, but she still needed to hit as close to him as possible in order to grasp his attention. The distraction wouldn’t necessarily work otherwise.

Typically, as with any bad guy that had pride as large as a mountain, he’d stopped for an antagonizing and arrogant speech. He was bleeding from the very same eyebrow he tauntingly cocked, the crimson dripping down the outer corner of his eye, darker than his irises, and gliding slowly toward the center of his cheek. Apparently, her savior deserved a little more credit than what she’d initially given. That didn’t mean she couldn’t hopefully make things a little easier on him.

Kagome stole the opportunity, utilizing the man’s vanity against him, and she positioned herself, quickly pulling back her arrow and firing. The arrowhead whizzed just passed Hiten’s face, the sharp side cutting the edge of his pointed ear, and piercing the tree trunk behind him. Yet again, the man was stunned, his voice dying off mid-word and eyes falling to her.

Inuyasha was almost as surprised by the random arrow shooting through, the damned thing flying right passed his own head before the thunder demon’s. He glanced behind him, noticing the stupid girl staring daringly ahead, crouched down with her bow beginning to inch lower. He didn’t even have a moment to say the insult directed at her on his tongue before his opponent was moving, and fast. Hiten was taking her challenge to heart, running forward, and Inuyasha tossed his sword into his left hand, doing the only thing he could do in such close proximity. Just as the demon came close enough, he pulled back his arm and threw his fist in Hiten’s face, punching him so hard that he completely fell backwards, his head colliding with the hard ground.

“Did you get him?” Kagome shouted, almost unclearly thanks to her broken voice.

“Duh!”

“Is he dead?”

Inuyasha flailed his arms at his side in an annoyed manner. “No, he’s not dead! I punched him, you dipshit!” He yelled, and as if to back up his statement, Hiten push himself from the ground.

“What is with this chick?” Hiten murmured, using the back of his hand to wipe the blood that dripped from his mouth.

“Beats me, but she’s showing you up.” Inuyasha jeered.

“Fuck this.” He growled, his temper spiking. The thunder gave a trembling roar that rattled the ground, the out-of-control lightning strikes ceasing as the clouds seemed to boil with increasing friction.

Inuyasha couldn’t help but avert his attention upward, seeing the disturbing force of inhuman nature bubbling through the break in the treetops. This was bad. This was really fucking bad. This was an attack there was no coming back from if Hiten successfully hit the girl. It was going to be concentrated and lethal, and Inuyasha had no choice but to use his backlash wave. As much as he wanted to avoid the once-unnecessary use of so much power on an annoying fucker like Hiten, it was inevitable now. His amber eyes flew over to the astonished girl, and as if she’d sensed him, her gaze met his a mere second later.

“Run! Go! Take cover, now!” He barked.

His tone was non-negotiable, and given the amount of demonic energy in the atmosphere, Kagome didn’t much feel like arguing that she could help. Honestly, she couldn’t. She had no idea what the thunder demon planned to do, but it felt dangerous and terrifying, and if the silver-haired guy said she didn’t need to stick around for it, then she wasn’t about to.

She didn’t waste time with crawling. Since the sporadic strikes had stopped, she was safe enough to run, and she bolted as quickly as she could, heading back to her sanctuary of a hollow. Kagome skidded around the designated tree, dropping to her hands and knees and making home in the hole. Even through her shirt, she could feel the hair on her arms standing on end from the static, a high-pitched sound budding in the sky, and when a loud crash came, Kagome ducked and covered her ears, protecting herself however she could.

Inuyasha had to wait for the perfect opportunity. With a thunder demon, with the creation of electricity, came scattered energy, like sparks, and he couldn’t use his backlash wave until it all came together. He had one chance, and he was going to get this right. Hiten spared the hanyou a glance with his red eyes, smirking as he raised his right hand into the air. Inuyasha could feel it. He could feel the static, he could feel the threat blossoming, but overall, he could feel Hiten’s demonic energy forming into a saturated mass. It grew larger and larger, figuratively becoming more solid, and as a beam of blinding lightning came shooting down from the sky, Inuyasha stole the moment, raised his sword above his head, his own demonic energy surging to collide with Hiten’s as he whipped the blade to slice it through.

The backlash wave overpowered the thunder demon’s strength, bringing the attack to bounce back at him. Hiten may have been resistant to the direct wrath of the sky, but he wasn’t impervious to Tessaiga’s force deconstructing his own to be used against him. Hiten was arrogant, vulnerable, and in the end, reduced to ashes.

Slowly, as the world outside her little hollow quieted, Kagome began to unfurl. She no longer heard thunder, no longer heard shouting, no longer heard sounds of demonic attacks clashing, no chaos, no fighting, nothing. It was hit and miss as to what had happened. Did her protector win? Did the thunder demon pull through? Was it over?

Inch-by-inch, she crawled out, evaluating the atmosphere. It was calm. Her sights shifted up toward the sky, and once again, the clouds were breaking apart, pieces of blue showing through as if they were never hidden in the first place. The fight definitely had to be over.

Kagome dusted off her knees as she picked herself up off the ground, the bandages on her left hand dirty, and she made a mental note to change them when she could. Strapping her bow over her shoulder where it belonged, she ventured back over to where she’d last seen the two demons, finding herself moving wearily as she neared.

“Hey.” The husky voice startled her more than it should have, and Kagome gasped, spinning around with her fists raised to protect herself.

Inuyasha flinched back out of reaction, his palms shooting up in front of him - half out of his natural instinct to guard and the other half out of surprise. He hadn’t expected her to be so on edge after boldly disobeying him to partake in the battle; he’d figured she was gutsy and idiotic and probably too brave for her own good. That was the first time he’d gotten a good look at the girl’s face, though.

Her cheeks were red - probably from the commotion and the comedown, but her natural shade seemed fair. Maybe a degree or two lighter than his own skin tone. Her eyes were large and brown, but not that muddy-looking brown he more commonly saw in people he didn’t care to look at for more than two seconds. Hers, though deep in color, were finely blended with hues of reds and golds. An artist would have had a field day painting the detail of her irises, finding the golden circle just around her pupils, and freckling the way light caught her colors. The girl’s hair was as dark as raven, faint hints of oceanic blue glimmering in the rays of sun through the breaks in the trees and clouds. It was very faint, but Inuyasha could see it. Barely, but it was there. At the corner of her mouth, on her left cheek, sat a slight scuff of pink that didn’t belong and wouldn’t seem to fade when the heat in her face settled. And, on her neck, most disconcerting of all, housed a thick, red and purple ring that curved over the front portion. The girl, whoever she was, had recently been roughed up. No wonder she was a little skittish.

“Sorry.” Kagome grimaced, uncurling her fingers and lowering her hands. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Inuyasha replied. “Are you okay?” And, he’d emphasized the word intentionally.

“I’m fine.” She said, giving a one-shouldered shrug. There was a moment of awkward silence where the two just stood there, and Kagome’s eyes bounced around, avoiding contact with his own. When they landed on her arrow in the tree, she figured she should just politely wrap things up here, collect it, and be on her merry way. “So, um, thanks. For your help.”

“Don’t mention it.” He muttered.

“Was he a friend of yours? You two seemed to know each other.”

“I knew him because he was a murderer, and he knew me because I’ve been on his ass for a while. It’d be kind of harsh if I just killed my friend without showing an ounce of remorse, don’t you think?” Inuyasha rebutted.

“That’s fair.” Kagome bobbed her head in agreement, regretting her choice of words before his own fully registered with her. “Wait, murderer?”

“Yes?” Inuyasha arched a brow quizzically. “Kid, what did you think he was gonna do with you?”

“I-I don’t know! I didn’t really think that far ahead of time! I only processed the danger!”

“That far ahead… wait, no - what is on the other side of danger?” Inuyasha asked, confused as all hell.

“Is that rhetorical?”

“No.”

“Well, harm, typically.”

The hanyou chuckled, almost defeatedly as his chest deflated. “Yes, and harm comes in all shapes and sizes, doesn’t it?”

“Okay, now that’s rhetorical.” Kagome deadpanned.

“Good job.” He slighted.

“Alright, well it’s been fun. Thanks for not letting me die. You’re a champ. You’re the M.V.P.. You are the man. I’ve gotta get going, so I’ll be sure to watch out for any other crazy murderers in the area.” Kagome presented a sarcastic, closed-lipped grin. “Speaking of which, are they common around here?”

“Don’t get out much, do you, Kid?”

“Hey, what’s with this ‘kid’ thing? Is this a common nickname you give strangers, or what? I’m not a child.”

“No, you’re not. Not at all. It just kind of came out, honestly. Though, now that I’m looking at you, you are puny.” He grinned, enjoying how easy it was to make her cheeks red all over again.

“Ex-excuse me?”

“Small.” Inuyasha clarified.

“I am not.”

“Okay.” He chuckled dismissively.

“Hey! I’m average height!”

“Please don’t yell. You’re voice gets all high pitched and breaks like a baby goat, and I’m sure it irritates your throat as much as it does my ears.”

Kagome stared at the man for a moment, wondering if he was trying to say all the wrongs things, or if he was just that witty and knew what he was doing. “You are really good at talking to people, did you know that?” She stated with satire, sauntering over toward the tree that harbored her arrow.

“So I’ve heard.” Inuyasha carelessly remarked. “Hey, thanks a lot, by the way.”

She spared him a peek over her shoulder, catching his tone, but rightfully not feeding into it. Directly, at least. “You’re welcome.”

He swallowed his huff, his annoyance beginning to grow. “No. Thanks a lot.”

“No need to repeat yourself; I caught your sarcasm the first time. But, I decided to take it as a thank you for using this arrow here to distract Hiten so you had an opening. Therefore, you’re welcome.”

“Oh, is that what you were trying to do?”

Kagome didn’t bother answering, pulling at the arrow that was lodged into the bark while balancing on the protruding roots. It was really stuck in there, so she tried to fidget with it a little to loosen up the grip.

“It’s because of that little stunt that I had to use my backlash wave. Now I know, being the simpleton that you are, you don’t know what that is, but I don’t really think I need to explain it. Go ahead and take a look around. Do you see Hiten?”

“Nope.” Kagome replied after not looking around, her tone a little more strained than usual as she continued to struggle with the arrow.

“Right. That’s because I killed him. More than that, really. I obliterated the mother fucker. He’s gone. No longer exists. Poof.” Inuyasha explained, using his fingers to gesture an explosion. “Thing was, and here’s the kicker, there was a bounty on his head. I may have been told ‘dead or alive,’ but either way, I usually need a body to show them so that I get my money. Again, do you see a body?”

Kagome exhaled heavily, aggravated, momentarily dropping her arms from her objective and turning around to face the man. “No, I do not.”

“You do not.” Inuyasha nodded, confirming.

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Well, problem was, you didn’t listen to me and stay where I’d left you. I was doing just fine without your so-called help. Then you just had to pissed the guy off and he went into final attack mode. Are you putting two-and-two together here?”

“Oh, please. Such a macho man mentality. Face it, me shooting my arrow shut him up and stopped him from focusing on you. I hurried things along.”

“I wasn’t worried about getting things done quickly! I wanted them done right! Besides, if you weren’t waltzing around where you didn’t belong in the first place, things probably would have never escalated this way!”

“Key word: probably.” Kagome sneered, shrugging heedlessly. “That means, it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with your skills. Or, lack thereof.” She finished, turning back around to return to freeing her arrow.

Inuyasha stood there, astonished, blinking his golden eyes in befuddlement. “Oh, okay.” The hanyou said gruffly, fighting back his surprised laughter as he walked over to where she stood. He grabbed the body of the arrow, preventing her from succeeding at anything as he gave an arrogant grin.

“Careful! Don’t break it!”

“Aren’t you a little too - um - banged up to be so sassy?” Inuyasha asked, gesturing to her marks.

“First of all, I don’t think the two go hand-in-hand. Second, no. I’d say, if anything, that’s the perfect reason to be sassy.”

“Why? A little sore?” He asked patronizingly, the cocky smirk still prominent on his face.

Without missing a beat, Kagome looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Yeah. Much like your ego. And, it only took one comment. You men are so fragile.”

Ignoring his large hand, Kagome gave a few more good pulls to the arrow, genuinely impressed by how stuck it was. She hadn’t realized she’d used so much force in how quickly she’d had to move. From the corner of her eye, she could see his expression holding amusement, shock, his tongue gliding over his teeth as he silenced his laughter and swatted her fingers to stop her from tugging. In quick retaliation, Kagome slapped his hand even harder.

He pulled back, rubbing away the sting. “Crap! With reflexes like yours, I’m surprised you’re -“

“Stop talking about my bruises!” She snapped.

Inuyasha forfeited, pursing his lips and holding his hands up to concede.

With one last jerk, she finally got her arrow free, but she didn’t make any move to walk away, her mind stuck on what she may or may not look like to him. She suddenly felt self-conscious. “Does it look bad?” Kagome innocently asked.

Inuyasha’s face twisted incredulously at her one-eighty, his mouth remaining sealed as he dramatically shrugged in question.

She groaned a response, knowing exactly what he was criticizing her for, and turned away, hopping down from the large tree roots.

“You know, you’re a…” His voice trailed off as he pondered, letting her take the lead as he casually followed. “What’s the term I’d use for you?”

Oh, this was gonna be good. Kagome did an about face, her heel gliding in the dirt from her smooth shift, eyes half-lidded in annoyance, and fingers wriggling her arrow at her side. “I don’t know. What is the term you’d use for me?”

“Gutsy, that’s for sure.” Inuyasha commented. It wasn’t where he was initially going, but it would have been impossible to miss the girl’s gesture to warn him. “What? Do you think you’re tough because you’ve got a pointy stick?”

“I could take you.” She stated.

“Hah! Okay!”

Kagome merely smiled. She knew, and she knew well, that she only stood a chance if she was able to use her powers. Otherwise, no way in hell. She wasn’t the strongest brawler, and the guy was definitely cut. She was merely looking to antagonize his pride a bit. He liked to dish out some teasing, so she’d do it right back.

“You aren’t actually serious?” It seemed more of a question than a statement.

“I am.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you’ve seen what I’m working with.” He mentioned, gesturing to the sheathed sword on his hip. “Tell me, truthfully, do you still think your flimsy arrow can compare?”

“Yes.” Again, if she could use her abilities, it was the truth.

“You’re kidding.” Inuyasha said wryly.

“Not at the moment.”

“Then, if I may be so bold to ask, why didn’t you handle Hiten on your own back there? When I showed up, you were already locked and loaded. Hell, you even shot him in the chest. What was stopping you from finishing him off on your own? Why’d I have to be the one to seal the deal?”

Kagome shrugged arrogantly, matching his energy and maybe even upping it a smidge. “Why break my nails when you’re right there to break yours playing hero?”

All humor faded from Inuyasha’s face, his eyebrows furrowing with a hint of indignation as he studied the girl before him. He saved her ass, and she was challenging his ego. He let go of his bounty to rescue her, and she had the impertinence to say something as bitchy as that. If that was the game she wanted to play, then fine. But, he’d come out the winner.

Kagome knew the moment the words had come out of her mouth that she’d gone too far. And, when his expression shifted precariously, a chill legitimately raced down her spine and she lost the gall to hold eye contact. Foot in mouth. Foot in mouth.

“So, you want to be an ingrate, huh?” Inuyasha asked, his voice low.

“No, that’s not it. I said thank you, and I meant it. That just came out so wrong.” She weakly defended.

“How was that supposed to come out?”

“Not -“ She bit her tongue in hesitation, knowing there was no way her statement could have been perceived playfully. “Rude?”

“How so?” He interrogated. He enjoyed seeing her discomfort expand.

“Look, I see I’ve upset you, and that’s fair -“

“Yup.”

“But, I have a feeling that no matter how I explain it or how many apologies I give you, there’s no take-backs and you’re still gonna be mad. Am I right?”

“You are.”

“Alright, so I’m just gonna get going. Thanks, again.” Kagome found herself talking faster, nervous. She reached over her shoulder and dropped her arrow into its quiver, her hands having nothing to play with thereafter and only fidgeting with one another. “Um - okay, bye.”

“Hold it!” Inuyasha ordered. The girl halted stiffly. This thought had been on his mind since he'd analyzed her bruises. Where’d she get them? Why’d she get her ass handed to her? What’d she do to deserve it? There’s no way a girl like her would get stuck in an abusive relationship - not that he could imagine. It could be a possibility, but for some reason, he could only picture her dishing the beating right back. It could be a rocky household situation, but there were no visible signs of old bruises fading to back that up. Which meant, as far as he could presume, this was a recent and infrequent occurrence. Which brought him back full circle: what did she do? “Given how messed up you look, I’m guessing you did something bad and you’re on the run.”

Kagome’s brows furrowed uneasily, a frown pushing at her lips as she turned back around to him. “No.” It took effort not to let that come out as a question, her bemusement pronounced.

“I’m willing to bet there’s money hanging over your head.” He added.

“Then you’d be out some, because you’re wrong.”

“And, I’m supposed to believe you?”

“You should. Better than wasting your time, don’t you think?”

“I think I can determine that on my own.”

“Look, I got myself into some trouble, but it’s not as deep as you’re thinking.” She tried explaining.

“You got yourself into some trouble, you’re on the run, and even if there isn’t a bounty yet, I’m sure there will be one soon enough.”

“No! Really!” She could tell whatever she was saying was in one ear and out the other. How did she get here? Sure, she insulted him, but how did things escalate so dramatically in the span of just minutes? One moment he’s saving her, the next they’re bantering, and now he’s threatening her and she wasn’t sure what to do. “Demon’s came to my village and I stepped out -“

“Shut up.” He drawled, rolling his eyes. “I tried being nice, but you dug your own grave. If you didn’t talk shit, I’d have let you stroll right on out of here without a second thought. But, something tells me I shouldn’t do that.”

And, it was true. Even if she was telling the truth, which may be slim - it was hard to tell since her body language was wonky at the moment - his gut was telling him not to let her go.

“Seriously! Listen to me, I’m trying to tell you -“

“Are you going to give in, or am I going to have to get rough?”

“Neither!” She shouted brokenly, her frustration at its peak.

“Those were your only options, kid.” Inuyasha shook his head, the fingers of his right hand curling over the hilt of the sword on his left hip. Obviously a blade was unnecessary here; he wasn’t going to maim the girl. He was trying to scare her into submission. Nine times out of ten, it worked like a charm. Slowly, he pulled Tessaiga out of it’s sheath, the sharp sound like music to his ears, but to his dismay, as he presented the weapon in a power stance, the sword was thin, dull, aged, and untransformed.

Kagome would have been lying if she said she hadn’t become the least bit horrified when the man went to pull out his sword. There was no cause for things to be this way. There was no reason for her life to be on the line right now. She’d sucked in a bated breath, the muscles in her neck tensing as she frantically thought up her next move. The demonic energy she’d expected had never emerged, though. And, the sword she once remembered looking unreasonably large and heavy was now small, frail, worn, and didn’t even seem like it was sharp enough to cut paper.

She stared at the weapon confused, holding her breath as she glanced up to the silver-haired man’s face. His golden eyes were glued to the untransformed blade, his look of disturbed bewilderment telling her that she was right. This wasn’t normal nor predicted. And, Kagome wasn’t about to wait around to find out what was wrong.

“Bye.” She said fleetingly, absolutely booking it away from him.

Her feet moved as quickly as they could, arms pumping along her sides as she simultaneously balanced herself while she maneuvered around trees and entangling roots, and willed her body to go faster. Kagome heard him shouting for her, demanding her to stop, his voice not as far behind her as she’d have liked. He was pursuing, and she didn’t even bother wondering if she was capable of outrunning someone with demon blood. She pushed herself even harder, heading over a little slope and sliding half the way down as she lost her foundation, her voice cracking from the unintentional yelp she let out from the incidental shock. Hasty to regain her footing, Kagome continued to run, her lungs burning, heart pounding, and adrenaline racing even faster than she was.

No matter how badly her body protested, she wasn’t slowing. She wasn’t safe yet. Fight or flight was in full control, and a red, neon sign was blaring flight to her brain. It was the sound of oncoming stomps that terrified her further. It was the growls he emitted, the heavy breathing, his deep voice grunting as he caught up to her that had her mind racking wildly to try and come up with a last second escape plan.

Inuyasha reached for the girl, grabbing her by the arm and yanking them both to a stop, turning her entire body to slam against the rough bark of a tree. He used his own to pin her there, grabbing both of her wrists and securing them behind the small of her back. He held them with only one hand, using his other to grip her thick hair as she continued to struggle and try to wrestle her way free. The hanyou growled a warning, pressing his torso firmly against her, one of his knees pushed between her legs to prevent her from thrashing her hips back into his groin. She was breathing heavily, frantic, but was finally settling into submission, and he shoved her cheek a little further against the tree to really solidify that he was in control.

Why was it when she whimpered the smallest “ow,” he pulled back? Why was it, when she showed an ounce of pain, he didn’t like it? Especially being the bearer of it. Felt apologetic, even. Inuyasha found himself relaxing the grip he had on her hair, allowing her cheek to simply rest along the bark as her chest pumped air so heatedly that he felt the wheeze vibrating through even her bag.

“Hey, calm down. Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you.” He promised. He’d admit his tone wasn’t the gentlest, but it was impossible to present that after chasing the chick. She was stupidly nimble.

“Please. Please.” Kagome whispered between breaths, scared, frenzied. “Th-there’s no money. I - I swear.”

She was telling the truth.

“Why’d you run then?”

“You - please.” Kagome begged, her voice dying mid-word.

“Breathe. Come on, kid, breathe. Calm down.” He was substantially softer that time, easing a little more off of her so her chest could afford the deeper, slower expansion, while still maintaining control so she wouldn’t buck her hips back. Inuyasha was patient as he waited for her body to relax, her breathing coming more evenly, minutes passing but he didn’t mind. The last thing he needed was her passing out on him. She still shook in his hold, her bottom lip quivering, and he even noticed a tear fall from her eye, the salt displeasing his nose. She was legitimately panicked. While that was what he was initially going for, and this was unavoidable after she took off, he didn’t like it. Why? Why the fuck did it matter to him? Why was his stomach in knots and why was his chest unsteady? Inuyasha swallowed harshly, willing the unnatural symptoms to subside.

“There’s no money. I don’t have a bounty. You have it wrong.” Kagome tried again, more stable, though her abdomen rocked with a shudder from her still-prevalent anxiety.

“Why did you run?” He repeated.

“You threatened me.” She replied shakily. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

That was fair, and as soon as she’d said it, he realized the answer was painfully obvious. He didn’t give her much other choice. Still, his gut was telling him not to release her. He couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but he felt it deep. He continued on with the thought that even if there wasn’t any money yet, there may eventually be some.

“Are you on the run?”

“No.”

“Alright, look at me.” He said, spinning her around. She gasped at his speed, grunting as he pushed her back up against the tree, easily pinning her wrists above her head. Again, he only used one hand to keep them there, curling the fingers of his free hand to tilt her chin up to look at him. “What are you doing out here?”

Kagome found herself holding her breath, despite her lungs protests - having just gotten back their oxygen supply. She wasn’t expecting their close proximity, and she wasn’t expecting to be at a loss for words - which almost never happened. His amber eyes pinned her as adamantly as his body, observing her, seemingly glowing even though no light hit them from his position. Kagome willed herself to relax as much as possible in his grasp, allowing herself to breathe again as her lips parted to speak.

“I’m looking for someone.”

| previous chapter | <- -> | next chapter |

[leejihoonownsmyheart]

Another Year

Final part of the New Year, New Me Series

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Summary:

A question you never imagined you would be answering suddenly pops up in your life, and suddenly it’s all you can think about. Considering how unstable your relationship with Jeonghan has been, will you two last to see another year?

Tag: Dubious Consent due to drunk mutual masturbation, creampie, choking, phone sex... sorta... Name-calling as usual, no protection- wear protection please

Special thanks to the anon who wanted a drunk y/n part! heh

-

You sat with your laptop in your lap as you typed the last few words of your essay on the word document you had open. You looked at it once, and then again, and then one more time just to make sure that the last sentence made sense.

You sighed and shut your laptop turning your attention to look out Joshua’s bedroom window. He stirred behind you, and you heard the pages of his book flutter slightly.

“Done?” He asked you. You nodded, and turned so that you could actually face Joshua, a smile spreading over your lips.

“Just one more killer essay for the books,” you agreed. He held out his hand and you raised yours right back to his in a high-five- one that only made the palm of your hand sting like it was on fire.

“Can you believe the school semester is practically over already?” Joshua mumbled. “Feels like we just finished moving you into your apartment for the year.”

Honestly, you couldn’t believe that the school semester was already over. So much had already happened this year, that it felt surreal. You had been so distracted this semester especially just figuring out your relationships with Jeonghan and Joshua that you could hardly believe that school had just been a background plot to all of that.

Now that everything was settled, going home for the summer was the last thing that you wanted to do.

“What are you and Jeonghan going to do this summer?” Joshua asked. The question caught you by surprise. You looked up from putting your laptop away in your backpack and let your head fall to the side.

“Sorry?”

“I mean, Jeonghan usually spends the summer with his family in the country, doesn’t he?”

You had spent so much time hating Jeonghan in the past that you had nearly forgotten that he didn’t spend the summer in town. A frown riddled across your face and you let your hands fall into your lap.

You used to just get so happy that you wouldn’t have to see Jeonghan that it didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing. You were just glad he wasn’t around. And it wasn’t even until recently that you discovered that Jeonghan had actually skipped almost as many friend events as you had due to you two’s feelings towards one another, so going away for the summer was just something you two had taken for granted.

But now you supposed it was different.

Ever since New Year’s you two had spent an inordinate amount of time together. The only times you weren’t together was probably when you were with Joshua, and Jeonghan was off working.

You looked back over at Joshua, and your eyebrows furrowed.

“We haven’t really talked about it,” you said honestly. Joshua groaned at the statement.

“Do you talk about anything?” He asked you. You shot him a glare.

“Look, not all of us are you and Mina and tell each other everything,” you murmured back. Joshua rolled his eyes at the half-veiled insult and stood up, leaving his book on his seat. He wandered over to his bed and retrieved his phone that was charging on the covers.

“You guys have to talk to one another,” he replied softly. “I don’t understand you two. You have been together for how long now and you seem to like one another and enjoy your dates and obviously other things but are you two serious or what? Are you long-term or just having some fun with one another while in college? Wh-”

“Woah, woah, slow down there Jiminy Cricket,” you interrupted, throwing your hands in the air and screwing your eyes shut as Joshua spoke. “I do not need you putting those thoughts in my head. Jeonghan and I are doing fine the way that we are and that is all that matters.”

Joshua scoffed at the sentiment.

“So what? You guys are just not going to have the talk with one another or something?” He asked you. You shrugged.

“Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. Whatever we do is our business.”

Joshua rolled his eyes but as he had learned to do when it came to topics about Jeonghan he let the topic drop. Instead he unplugged his phone and gestured for you to follow him.

“Come on, let’s go eat something.”

And despite the topic moving on, you couldn’t get what stupid Joshua had said out of your head.

What were you and Jeonghan going to do? You had barely established each other in a relationship and now you two were probably going to have to separate for the summer.

You hated to admit it but you were really really going to miss Jeonghan for this summer. You never used to think so, but despite it all he made good company, and he was a pretty good listener when he wasn’t being sarcastic and teasing you for this or that.

You couldn’t help but fret over Joshua’s words for the next few days, and while you were determined to set aside the thoughts, you couldn’t really put them to rest.

“Jeonghannie-”

You weren’t really the type of person to get drunk at a party with your friends, as you didn’t really like to drink away your problems. You knew that it wasn't any sort of solution, just a way to make it seem like everything was okay for a while. It was like willing walking into the eye of a hurricane and pretending like the storm wasn’t ever going to come back.

But you couldn’t just sit there and let everything drive you crazy anymore. You couldn’t continue to let your thoughts plague your mind. So, no matter the weird glance it earned you from Joshua when you accepted your first shot, you decided that today you were going to drink your fears away.

Three shots in and you wondered why you didn’t drink alcohol more often.

Six shots in and you had completely forgotten why you were drinking in the first place.

The reason that your friends were all drinking was to ease their nerves after such a hectic exam week. Everyone had spent hours at the library studying each and every document given them from their teachers practically religiously. Jeonghan had one late Friday exam so he had to come join everyone late, and by the time he had finally walked into the door, a pencil tucked behind his ear like some sort of nerd, you were already wasted.

And very happy to see him.

You rushed over to Jeonghan and wrapped your arms around him before he could even react to you. You could feel his muscles tense slightly at first, but after just a second, he relaxed under you, his fingers spreading over the small of your back.

“Well someone missed me,” he murmured softly. His fingers dragged around your body, his fingertips trailing lightly over your hip bones as he moved his hand to the front of your body, and up your sides to your shoulders. He pushed you back ever so slightly and shot you a smile.

The smile however faltered when you smiled back at him.

“Have you been drinking?”

You pouted, and pulled out of Jeonghan’s reach, crossing your arms dramatically over your chest.

“And so, what if I am?” You asked him. “You’re not the boss of me.”

You knew somewhere deep down inside of you that you were acting like a child, but on the surface, you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. You instead turned away from Jeonghan and grabbed a stray bottle of alcohol that Joshua had offered you earlier.

You twisted open the bottle and tipped it into your mouth, dipping your head back so that you could drink back the bronze liquid.

It made a warmth spread across the inside of your chest that made the tips of your fingers feel tingly, but before you could even finish consuming the liquid, the bottle was abruptly pulled away from you. A pout spread over your lips and you reached for the bottle blindly making grabby hands but, that action just got you a hand placed to your head.

“Eh, unless you can tell me how many drinks you’ve had tonight, I think I’m cutting you off,” Jeonghan said pleasantly. You opened your mouth to tell him a number- you figured any number would work after all. He couldn’t know if you were telling the truth or not when Jeonghan tipped the glass of alcohol that was yours into his own mouth.

“H-Hey!”

“Relax,” Jeonghan replied after finishing off the bottle. He set it down and placed his hands on your shoulders, smiling at you. “No need to be stressed. Exams are over, don’t go crazy tonight, just have a good time.”

That was probably one of the things that you liked best about Jeonghan (that admittedly used to drive you crazy). He was always so calm and collected. He didn’t let things get to him no matter how the situation ended up unfolding. He knew when you were over thinking things and seeing his calm demeanor made you want to match it.

You wanted to be relaxed like Jeonghan. You didn’t want to need to let the contents of a glass bottle drive your thoughts away for the time being. You wanted to just set the glasses down and have a good time with your friends.

But you also knew that if you let yourself sober up anytime soon then you wouldn’t be able to think straight. You shot Jeonghan an accusatory glare and turned away from him, rushing across the crowded room to Mina.

You hooked onto her arm and looked up at her with a pout spread over your lips. You didn’t have to say anything for her to look up across the room and know what was happening.

She reached over into a cooler and handed you a new bottle of alcohol and smiled brightly at you.

“Don’t let mean Jeonghan tell you when to start and stop drinking,” she stated pointedly. As she spoke, her eyes turned from you to something behind you. You opened her mouth to ask what exactly, but before you could two hands landed on your shoulders.

“Mina-”

Mina reached forward and smacked Jeonghan’s wrist, making him let go of you with one of his hands.

“Being possessive and controlling isn’t cute. Let y/n have a good time,” she insisted. You hid a giggle behind the back of your hand, a gesture that Jeonghan didn’t find too amusing, but either way he rose his hands in an innocent gesture.

“Okay, okay,” he stated. “But you’re in charge of making sure that nothing bad happens.”

Mina didn’t really respond to that so Jeonghan crossed his arms over his chest.

“Mina.”

Mina rolled her eyes.

“Nothing bad is going to happen it’s just a party.”

Whenever Jeonghan went to a party he tended to drink quite a bit. You had always watched with much disdain as the boy drank drink after drink and barely seemed affected other than an outburst here or there.

You were so reactive to alcohol that it was hard to imagine having such a good tolerance to it.

You should have stopped drinking quite a while ago- probably back when Jeonghan told you to- probably before that, but by the time that you were standing on top of Joshua’s dining room table calling for him from all the way across the room, there wasn’t really much that you could do to stop yourself.

You watched as Jeonghan stared at you for the millionth time that night, his eyes watching you careful as you took a step forward, slipped on a lime that was left on the table, and fell to the ground.

You hit the floor with a thud, and you knew that it should hurt, but honestly you could barely feel a thing.

A laugh erupted from your lips and you reached up into the air blindly as you laughed.

“I fell.”

A hand took your outstretched one, helping you up onto your feet. You stumbled as you did, right into Jeonghan’s chest. He gave you a pressed look.

“You fell off a table,” he mumbled softly. You pouted a little bit, but you knew what Jeonghan was trying to say. You whined a little shaking your whole body out in protest. Jeonghan rolled his eyes in amusement at the expression on your face and he wandered up to you, his fingers landing on your shoulder.

“Come with me,” he said softly. “Let’s go home.”

This time you didn’t argue as Jeonghan’s hand slid down your arm, his fingers intertwining with yours. His fingers were tight against yours, but it wasn’t in any way that made you feel upset. No instead you let Jeonghan pull you through the people in the party, brushing past Joshua on your way out.

Your fingers wrapped around Joshua’s wrist without warning, pulling Jeonghan to a stop.

“Joshua,” you whined softly. “Jeonghan’s going to take me home now and he’s going to have sex with me.”

Jeonghan jumped at the accusation, and one glance at him proved that he was embarrassed by the color rising to his cheeks at your words.

“I am not going to do that,” he insisted. You giggled and slapped his chest.

“It’s okay, he knows now we aren’t hiding it anymore,” you replied back. Joshua made a disgusted face at you and pointed at you.

“You drank too much,” he stated. You laughed at him.

“No, I love having sex with Jeonghan, drunk or not,” you replied back. Jeonghan grunted and took you by your wrist again, pulling you with more determination.

“Let’s get you home.” Was all he said.

You didn’t remember much from walk home. You remembered stumbling over your feet as Jeonghan walked you, and you remembered whining and stopping near a fire hydrant, and getting scared by a barking dog, and then eventually Jeonghan picking you up and carrying you the rest of the way back to your place on his back while you played with his hair.

Once you got back to your place, he unlocked the door, taking you quietly to your room and setting you down gently in bed. You practically threw yourself into your blankets, happily cooing for Jeonghan to lay down with you as you wrestled around.

Jeonghan didn’t come to you, and he didn’t respond so you sat up to look at him.

“Jeonghan,” you whined. He looked back at you over his shoulder and sighed.

“Aren’t you tired?” He asked you, closing the distance between you two once again.

“Come on don’t you want to take advantage of me while you’re here?” You asked him teasingly. Jeonghan rolled his eyes as he pushed you down onto your bed, but you didn’t mind it much. You just sat back up and shrugged your shirt off of your shoulder, winking suggestively at Jeonghan.

You couldn’t imagine you were very seductive in your drunken mess of a state, but as soon as you did it, a hazy look glazed over Jeonghan’s expression, his mouth falling open ever so slightly.  You watched as he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“D-Don’t,” he mumbled. You reached up to the top of your button-up and began to slide the top few button’s out of the buttonholes. Suddenly, your clumsy actions from before were fading away, and your hand was becoming just steady enough to coherently unbutton the shirt.

“Don’t what?” You asked coyly. He glanced away from you, but only stood there for a few moments before turning back around, his eyes trailing down to your breasts that were slowly coming into view from beneath your shirt. You smiled self-confidently. “That’s what I thought.”

That seemed to be enough to remind Jeonghan of the situation, he reached forward suddenly and took your wrists in his hands, giving you a look that only made you want to misbehave more.

“You need to sleep,” he insisted. You gave him an innocent look and shrugged your shoulders, assuring him with your eyes that you weren’t going to do anything more. He gave you a wary look but eventually he sighed and let go of your hand. “You promise if I leave, you’re going to be good?”

“No.”

The smile on your face only made Jeonghan groan.

“How is it that you are a horny drunk?” He asked in complete and utter defeat. You giggled.

“I’m not a horny drunk.”

You took your shirt by the hem and pulled it off, throwing it aside without a second thought.

“I’m just always horny for you.”

You knew that Jeonghan would protest more so you undid your bra as quickly as you could, distracting Jeonghan with your breasts so that he wouldn’t protest as you shimmied out of your pants. Jeonghan’s mouth hung open, murmuring weak protests to your actions as you did, but it wasn’t anything firm enough that in moments you weren’t sitting before him, your legs spread for him to see everything.

“Come on Jeonghan, am I ever so good for you?” You asked him, a whine at the end of your voice. “You know I’m not. Don’t you want to take advantage of this?”

Jeonghan’s hands slid into his pants slowly, and you smiled as you watched him slide down his pants, bringing his cock to your attention.

“I’m warning you,” he mumbled. You practically jumped at his words, your whole-body buzzing.

“Please Jeonghan, I need you so much.”

“Then touch yourself,” he replied sharply. Your eyebrows shot up at the intensity of his words.

“Wh-What?” You asked. He snickered.

“You want to be obedient? Then spread your legs and touch yourself for me right now.”

You stared at him unwilling at first to comment on his words, wondering how serious he was. When he settled himself in your desk chair, his legs spread apart, and his fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, you decided that he truly did expect a show.

You swallowed your sudden rising nerves, noting to yourself that no matter how often you did it- you were always so shy to touch yourself for Jeonghan. You hesitantly pulled down your pants and spread your legs, so that he could see your bare pussy.

All he did was quirk an eyebrow.

“Wider.”

Your face burned red as you spread your legs further for him, still not quite as wide as you could make it.

“Wider,” he said without hesitation. “Don’t make me ask again or I will have to just leave.”

This time you were quicker to oblige, spreading your legs out as far as they could go- not that the threat made you feel any less embarrassed.

“Jeonghan,” you hissed. “I want you to touch me.”

He didn’t acknowledge your words, instead he stood up and walked over to you- “Spit.” And then after you had spit in his hand, returned to where he had been before. He wrapped his fingers around his cock and began to give it long, slow strokes.

You watched in disappointment as your saliva covered the length of his cock, wondering why he was using his hand to get himself off when you were right there.

“Start playing with your clit,” he said softly, a small grunt falling from his lips as he spoke to you. You had a ball of frustration growing in your chest already at having Jeonghan so close but not utilizing that closeness to make you feel good- but you also had a ball of heat growing in your gut.

You could feel yourself burning under Jeonghan’s eyes and you could even feel the wetness gathering at your entrance and dripping between your pussy lips. You let out a soft whimper as your fingers brushed against your clit, your legs instinctively closing a little.

The look you received from Jeonghan back was nothing short of murderous. You quickly fixed your legs before he could say anything and began to rub your clit lightly beneath your fingers. For a while he was silent, just watching you as you played with yourself for him, his own hand pumps matching the pace of your circles.

Just as you were about to complain, Jeonghan rolled his head back and his fingers paused near the tip of his cock, his thumb swiping over the tip.

“Dip your fingers into your pussy,” he mumbled. “Want you to fuck yourself.”

“But-” you started to protest, a pout crossing your lips again. Jeonghan lazily looked back down at you, giving himself another stroke.

“Do you want to cum?” He asked. Your surprise was practically undeniable.

“Wh-what?” You asked him.

“If you want to cum,” he repeated. “You have to be good. Now fuck yourself for me.”

You lowered your fingers don’t to your cunt, hissing as they slid past your clit. You whined, biting down on your lip as you did so. The tips of your fingers were so cool against the heat of your core, and once again you hesitated in actually pushing a finger into yourself.

“How often do I have to watch you fuck yourself before you stop being so embarrassed by it?” Jeonghan slurred with a grin. You lowered your eyes in embarrassment at his words, but the reaction just made him laugh. “Better keep your eyes on me- Or you don’t know what will happen.”

Your eyes raised back to Jeonghan.

“Can I... Can I fuck myself with more than one finger?” you asked him, your legs shaking at the question. Jeonghan hummed, his eyes falling to the side as he pondered the question.

“Do you think that you really deserve it?” He asked you, eyebrows rising. Your lips quirked up and you wiggled your chest a little.

“Yes?”

Despite the fact that it sounded like a question, Jeonghan let out a loud moan and his fingers tightened around his cock, making you practically salivate at the mouth. You wanted his cock so badly. You wanted to wrap your fingers around it and give it a tug yourself. You wanted to suck his tip into your mouth and taste the saltiness of his precum. You wanted to feel him get tired of waiting for you and tighten his grip on you and push you hard down on his cock so that you could feel it twitch against the back of your throat.

Before you got the permission, you pushed a second finger into your pussy and began to fuck yourself quickly on them. Your eyes focused in on Jeonghan who wasn’t even bothered by you fucking yourself without permission. Instead, he just let out a string of curses.

“God, you little whore, you want me to fuck you that badly?” He growled at you. “You want me so bad that you would fuck yourself that hard for me to watch?”

You nodded excitedly, quickening your pace as you fucked yourself on your fingers, feeling your wetness coating your fingers. You had almost never felt yourself so wet before- You couldn’t help but whine out loud, and such a noise was something you knew just drove Jeonghan crazy.

“F-fuck, I’m going to c-”

Before Jeonghan even finished you were cumming all over your hand. You threw your head back in pure ecstasy as you came, Jeonghan’s own groans as he too came, dragging out the pleasure that you were feeling.

You felt your walls tighten and loosen around your fingers until finally your orgasm had passed.

You fell back against the bed, fingers still buried deep in your pussy.

You laid there for a while, just feeling your chest rise and fall, but it only lasted for a few seconds. You felt warm fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling your fingers from your pussy. You whined at the loss of them and squirmed a little as you felt a warm cloth wipe off your fingers.

“Fuck me,” you grunted in annoyance. Jeonghan laughed softly at the pout in your voice.

“Not tonight, maybe after you get some sleep,” he replied. You sat up and furrowed your eyebrows at him but all he did in response was raise a large shirt in the air.

“Arms up.”

You complied with his orders, and he pulled the shirt down over your head. You opened your mouth to ask him to fuck you again, but before you could he just laid you down against your pillows and pulled your blanket up to your chin.

“Now go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning.”

And then he wandered out of the room, flicking the light switch off as he left the room.

-

“Good morning angel!”

You felt a dull ach shoot through your head at Jeonghan’s words, and you sat straight up in bed, your fingers clutching at the strands of your hair in pain. Jeonghan’s response was simply to lightly laugh at you. You heard him wander over to you, setting something on your nightstand, his fingers threading themselves in your hair.

“Oh, are you a little hungover?”

The glare that you shot over at him could kill.

“There’s a reason I don’t drink that much,” you mumbled. “It’s not worth the pain.”

Jeonghan hummed at the pointed response and let his head fall to the side.

“Which begs the question- why did you drink so much yesterday?”

You should have expected the impending question, but something inside of you had sort of just expected... Or hoped really that Jeonghan wouldn’t bring such a thing up. After all, you didn’t really want to have to talk about why you had so much to drink. Or why you were acting so crazy and-

A shock of embarrassment shot through you, and you buried your face into your hands.

Had you really touched yourself like that in front of him just the night before? Begging him to fuck you?

It felt like something of nightmares to think of it now.

“And why didn’t you fuck me yesterday?” You asked him, instead of answering the question. He gave you a suspicious look but shrugged.

“You were drunk,” he replied as if it were obvious. You rolled your eyes.

“I still wanted to fuck you,” you murmured. He shrugged, a small smirk crossing his lips.

“But wasn’t the show a lot more fun?” He asked you. As he spoke, he grew closer to you, his lips brushing against the cartilage on your ear. You swallowed hard and let yourself shy away from him. Jeonghan didn’t mind that however, and rose his hand to your cheek, turning you to face his direction once again.

Once he had caught your eyes, he gave you a sweet smile and pressed his lips to your warm cheeks.

“Now... Why was it that you drank so much yesterday?” You sighed, realizing now that there was no point in you continuing to try and hide why you had been so anxious recently. Your eyes turned down and you shrugged.

“I’ve been... Thinking recently.” Jeonghan snorted.

“That’s never good.”

You ignored the interruption.

“Well... Joshua reminded me that I have no idea what we are going to be doing for the break-”

“That’s what you are worried about?” Jeonghan asked. You smiled nervously, nodding your head once. The reaction that you received next was completely unexpected.

Jeonghan grabbed you by your wrist and flipped you over in your bed, pushing you down hard into the covers. You let out a yelp at the sudden action, but before you could ask him what he was doing, he pushed his fingers into your mouth.

“Suck.”

You whined around his fingers but sucked them obediently into your mouth. Taking your time to tease both digits with your tongue. Jeonghan grinned down at you at that.

“Do you remember how completely desperate you were last night? How badly you wanted to be touched by me, and fucked by me?”

He pulled his wet fingers from your mouth, and without warning slipped them into your pussy. You gasped out in surprise, your head falling onto Jeonghan’s shoulder.

“The thing is Jeonghan. I’m always that desperate for you. I-I just keep it to myself better when I’m not drunk.”

That response made Jeonghan shove his fingers hard and deep inside of you, picking up the pace as he fucked you relentlessly with his fingers. He wasn’t normally this quick to fuck you, but you assumed that because he didn’t get to really touch you at all last night, he was eager to get to it today.

“And that is why you don’t need to worry so much about me leaving you this break. We’ll see each other plenty- I'll make sure of it.”

He pushed his fingers sharply into you and you cried out.

“And you want to know why?”

You weakly raised your head to look at Jeonghan, your eyes meeting his as a desperate, fucked out expression covered your facial features.

“Wh-Why?”

“Because I am crazy about you,” he replied pointedly. “And I don’t want to waste a second that we have together.”

Jeonghan pulled his fingers from you and raised them to your lips, spreading your salty liquid across your lips. You whined and your tongue darted out of your mouth to taste yourself for Jeonghan. He smiled gently at the action and sucked the rest of his fingers into his mouth.

“Oh darling-”

He reached down, pushing your legs apart as he got down onto the floor between them. He whistled when he saw your pussy, experimentally pushing a finger into you. You moaned at that and wiggled under his touch, but that just made him tighten his grip on you.

He leaned closer to you, his eyes watching carefully as he used to of his fingers to spread your pussy lips for him.

“A sight that I will never get bored of seeing,” he stated contently.

He leaned forward, his tongue darting out of your mouth and licking a strip between your folds, slowly making his ways from your leaking hole up to your clit. Once the tip of his tongue touched your clit, it sent a large shiver through your body- but that didn’t deter him. He raised his hand to your pelvis, pressing your firmly against the bed.

Then, his tongue flattened itself over your clit. You whined at the feeling of his warm tongue as he began to flick his tongue against your clit over and over again- each flick sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

Maybe you were just sensitive from your hangover- which conveniently wasn’t bothering you so much anymore- or you were just really turned on by Jeonghan’s touch, but it only took a little bit before you felt yourself growing close to an orgasm.

“J-Jeonghan,” you bit out, as he dipped the tip of his finger back into your pussy. He paused, what he had been doing, his finger knuckle deep inside of you to look up at you, a lazy smile on his lips.

“Yes darling?”

“I don’t want to cum from your-”

He shoved his finger deep inside of you, cutting yourself off with a loud yelp. You shot him a glare, but he just stared back at you innocently, as if he had done nothing at all.

“Fingers,” you finished after you had caught your breath. “Please, please sir. Just fuck me.”

Jeonghan didn’t seem to need any more convincing. Instead, he got to his feet, dropping his pants. He grabbed you by the wrist and practically threw you over the bed. You didn’t have to be told as you scrambled to your hands and knees, pushing your ass up in the air as you patiently waited for Jeonghan to come over and fuck you.

You didn’t have to wait long.

Jeonghan’s fingers dug into your thighs and he lined himself up with your wet pussy: “You ready for this you slut?” And then, he slid his cock into you.

There was something about having Jeonghan’s cock in you that just never grew old. You felt yourself moan as Jeonghan’s hand snaked its way down to your neck, giving you a small choke as he began to set a slow, but sharp pace of fucking you.

Even after all this time, it gave his other hand the purchase to wander your body- as if he was trying to get to know your each and every curve. He leaned forward briefly, his lips kissing you across your shoulder blades.

It was a little bit sweeter than you were used to from him. Not that you were complaining when no matter how fast he fucked you his cock always buried itself so deeply into your body that it made your toes curl against the bed's sheets.

You whined- which only made Jeonghan tighten his grip around your neck, making you choke a little. You felt your head get a little dizzy- just for a moment- before Jeonghan once again loosened his grip and kissed your back.

You heard a phone start to ring, and you glanced over, surprised to find it just lying there on the bed. Under any normal circumstance you would have just left it- but Jeonghan reached forward, pulling your hair back.

“Who is calling you?”

You almost came from the tone of his voice alone- but somehow you were able to keep it together enough to swallow hard and glance at the caller ID.

“It’s-” you grunted. “Joshua.”

“Answer it.”

Your head fell forward as he released your hair, so he wasn’t able to see the expression on your face at the command, but that didn’t stop yourself from letting your face drop in surprise.

“Wha-”

“Either safe word, or answer it,” Jeonghan replied, giving you a short slap on the ass. “Don’t play around.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, and before you could really think through your decision, you grabbed your phone and slid it unlocked. You cleared your throat a little as you picked up and tried not to make too much noise as Jeonghan pulled you up from behind so that you were closer to his chest.

“Joshua!” Your voice wavered just slightly as you spoke, but nothing that you believed to be too suspicious. “Why are you calling me so early?” “You say it’s early, but you sound like you’re plenty awake,” Joshua laughed. “I just thought I would check up on you. Since you drank so much at the party. Jeonghan get you home okay?” Jeonghan reached over as Joshua spoke, his fingers flicking across your nipple. You just barely bit back a moan, making it sound a bit like a grunt as it left your mouth. Your heart skipped a beat.

“Yeah, my head just hurts a bit,” you said back. “Anyways thanks for-”

Before you could end the call, Joshua continued.

“You sure you don’t want me to come over? You know how bad your headaches can be,” he said gently. “I’ll bring your favorite.”

The more that Joshua spoke, and the harder you tried to keep the fact that you were being fucked a secret, the more you clenched around Jeonghan’s cock. The more that you did that, the tighter his fingers pinched your tits, and the harder he snapped his hips against you.

And the harder that he fucked you, the more and more desperate you became to hang up this phone call.

“No!” You yelped. Your face grew red. “I-I mean that’s okay. I’ll be fine. I sh-should just rest some more.”

The more you spoke the harder it became to hide. Jeonghan pushed you back forward and he began to really snap his hips into you. You were amazed that Joshua didn’t hear that alone.

“Are you sure that you’re okay? You sound a little strained...?”

“I-I’m fine, really ju-just-” And then Jeonghan buried his cock deep inside of your pussy. The first spurt of cum, unexpectedly squirted into you was all it took for you to fall forward, completely losing your composure. You gripped at the blankets on the bed, moaning loudly as you came around Jeonghan’s cock.

As you did so, Jeonghan just reached forward, fucking you almost impossibly hard as he whispered: “Now you’re really in trouble- letting Joshua listening to you cum like the whore you truly are.”

You gasped but couldn’t really find the ability to get yourself to form any coherent thoughts until your orgasm had entirely passed. And when it did do that, and you were finally able to breathe again, you scrambled for your phone.

“Joshua- I’m-”

“Were you fucking Jeonghan and you answered the phone? Did he put you up to this? You two are disgusting.”

And before you could get in another word, the line went dead.

You sighed and let your head fall into the blankets again, breathing out in relief when Jeonghan finally slipped his cock out of you, leaving your pussy to drip his cum.

“He’s never going to talk to me again,” you mumbled in disbelief. Jeonghan laughed, his hand patting your pussy contently.

“Yes, he will. Now get cleaned up and I’ll have some breakfast ready for you- okay?”

You rolled over and pouted, catching Jeonghan’s gaze as you spread your legs out wide for him to see. As you expected, the movement caused him to lower down to your pussy once again.

“Or... You could always have breakfast in bed?” You offered, a sly smirk covering your lips. He snickered at that, shaking his head in disbelief.

“How could I have ever hated you?”

And sunk back down to his knees.

[wutroows]

soft & stubble (the mandalorian x reader)

pairing: the mandalorian (din djarin) x fem!reader requested by: lillie’s huge brain warnings: canon typical violence, poor knowledge of the human body and medical terms  a/n: soft din to make up for the lack of content from me within the past few months, theres more to come!! hope you guys enjoy, i love din so much, i genuinely want to marry that man 

a few things you learned quickly about the mandalorian.

he takes his privacy very seriously. he practically only asked you to join him because the little green child he had with him seemed to like you. you were practically just a babysitter until he started bringing him everywhere he went. you hardly ever saw either of them anymore, and when you did the mandalorian would say one or two words to you and leave to eat in the cockpit. you knew not to open that door without knocking. you didn’t want to disrespect him or his culture in any way, as you understood the reasons why he kept the helmet on all the time. it was, in a way, a bit endearing to you that he cared so much. he didn’t tell you much about himself, but it was easy to guess that the mandalorian beliefs were very important to him.

he had a lot of stressed piled onto his shoulders. you couldn’t read his face, covered by beskar, so you could only see the nervous movements of his hands or shaking of his legs as he stood. he was scared, and you immediately understood why. he only ever knew being a bounty hunter and now he ran away from the guild with the kid, he was the one being hunted. now he had two people to protect, but you knew fully well you were capable enough to not need him to help you. a part of you wished you could give him a hug and tell him to go rest, but you knew he’d never listen to you anyways. 

and he loved that kid. he wouldn’t admit it, but you could nearly feel his eyes kept on him at all times. the mandalorian would feed him whatever the kid wanted that day, as he usually let him pick. he would take him out of the crib and sit him on the floor, waiting for him to use those little wobbly legs of his to walk over to his beskar covered shins. he would always catch him before he fell. it put a smile on your face, but you knew better. the mandalorian would not ever admit he had feelings towards any living being, no matter what it was.

that was why you didn’t know why you’d started falling for him in the first place.

you never knew his name. he never told you. you resorted to calling him ‘mando’ or some sort of variation of ‘the mandalorian’. it made you feel a bit bad, but you assumed he didn’t want you to know his name yet. he hadn’t mentioned anything about it and you didn’t want to bring it up out of fear of making him uncomfortable. that was the last thing you wanted.

falling in love with a man in a helmet was a lot easier than you expected it to. you joined him because he had the kid with him and at the time, he needed help. you only signed up to take care of his wounds if he needed it and to take care of the kid, not fall in love with someone who was practically a stranger. 

he was quiet, reserved, but a bit hot-headed at times. the mandalorian felt like two different people and in a way, it made sense. one personality as the beskar on the outside, the outer shell that deflects all negativity and hurtful words. that protects him from pain and shields him from rejection, and the other side of him, the armorless side. the sensitive and emotional side, the one who could admit when he felt love for something.

he was layered, it wasn’t hard to admit it. 

though, he did show immense kindness to you.

the crest clearly wasn’t meant for living. the mandalorian hardly ever slept and when he did it was in the cockpit with his helmet on. but with you, he gave you a small space that was almost small enough to be a storage closet with a small cot in it to sleep on. you were grateful as it had certainly been an upgrade from your previous living conditions, and his tone was a bit softer.

“you’re welcome.” that was all he said, but it felt like it meant something more to you. he didn’t need to give you anything. if you were being honest, he probably didn’t even need you around. he did most of the work for the kid anyways. you wondered why he kept you around. 

he was incredibly interesting and somehow, he pulled you in with it. you observed him and did all he asked of you. you wanted to prove your worth to him though you knew you didn’t need to. he felt like he was special. different than other men, you guessed. 

the mandalorian came back to the crest with injuries frequently, but there had never been a time where he needed you to do anything more than hand him a bandage. until now. 

he hadn’t said what he was doing, but it was clear whatever weapon the person he was fighting with had gotten under his beskar and scraped his chest. you didn’t know if his mandalorian culture also said you couldn’t see any part of his skin at all, as soon as you asked him he insisted he could take care of it himself. his voice was strained and his hand was pressed harshly against the metal of the crest. he clearly wouldn’t be able to take care of it. 

“mando, listen to me. i’m here to help you, i know it’ll be a little weird at first, but i just wanna make sure the kid has his dad around for as long as possible.” you saw the mandalorian’s helmet move as he turned to look at the kid, his eyes gazing up at him, clearly concerned. you heard him sigh, but he pushed himself onto the wall and you gripped onto his shoulder, walking him over to the makeshift hospital bed you made in case of emergency. it was barely big enough for him to lay down on. 

“i need this,” you poked the beskar on his chest with a nonchalant finger, “to come off of you.” you nearly saw his muscles tense, “it’s a little weird, i know. i just need it off to take care of you. is that okay?” he took a moment to think and you could hear labored breathing coming through the voice modulator on his helmet. “turn around.” he told you, voice emotionless as it usually was. 

you listened to his words, and then you heard the clang of metal hit the floor of the ship. following that, you heard unbuckling of armor and the scraping of beskar against the ships walls. did he take off his helmet? it didn’t matter, but you were curious as to what he looked like underneath it. was his hair the same shade of brown you found yourself picturing so much or was it different? you shook the thought out of your head as you heard his modulated voice telling you to turn back around.

he was shirtless now, armor on the floor. his helmet was still on his head, which you knew would happen anyways. you didn’t mind, but you did pull up a stool and sit down next to him. his skin was tanned, and he did have abs. you knew he would, he worked himself to the bone more often than not. he was always up on his feet and it began hurting you just looking at him.

the scrape wasn’t as bad as it looked. it wasn’t deep, but it was decently long and it went from up to his chest from the lower parts of his stomach. you reached your hand out, and skin finally touched skin. you felt a shock move through you but you didn’t think much of it. you felt your face get warmer as you felt his eyes on you. “doesn’t look like it needs stitches.. not super deep. i’ll get some bacta. stay here.” 

“it’s not like i’m going anywhere.” he shot back and you rolled your eyes, “whatever.” you got up and sifted through a few medical bags you kept with you, finding a bacta patch suitable for the size of his injury. you quickly cleaned the cut and gently pressed the patch down. “good?” 

he nodded, “turn back around.” 

you did the same as before, and the process repeated, the sound of his armor scraping on the floor before a small grunt escaped from his lips as he hoisted it up onto the bed. the sound of his helmet sitting on the ground, and then after a few moments, he told you to turn around.

he was covered in armor again. seeing his without the beskar for even a few minutes made him seem more human than before. you could tell it made him feel a bit vulnerable. he tensed up when your hand met his bare skin, but you didn’t cross any boundaries as you did what you knew you had to do and no more. 

“thank you.” he told you, and you nodded. “anytime, mando.” you offered him a smile and gently patted his shoulder. “let me know if you need anything else, okay? i mean it.” you told him firmly and it was his turn to nod. “you know.. that really showed me that you’re really a human under there.” you didn’t know what came through the modulator, but it sounded like a bit of a scoff. “right. i’m sure it did.”

“no, really!” you laughed, “you’re always so serious.. just seeing that there’s a real human under there is a little heartwarming.” he turned to look at you and the t shaped visor stared into your eyes. he didn’t know what you did to him. 

the truth was, he thought you were near perfect. your eyes were always so filled with kindness, especially when you looked at him. he felt his heart speed up as you stared up at him, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. it wasn’t like he’d never been interested in anyone before, but with them, he knew they never returned his feelings, but with you it was a bit different with your lingering touches and soft glances. truthfully, he hardly ever saw you because he tended to be a bit nervous around you. 

the mandalorian turned on his heel and gently picked up the child, placing him in his crib. he pressed a few buttons on his forearm and it closed, taking him out of the room. you raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question him. “sit down.” he told you, and you furrowed your eyebrows. “what’s happening? did i see something i wasn’t supposed to see?” you asked, your voice laced with a joking tone but you had no idea if you’d done something wrong when you took care of him. he shook his head, but he did look back at you.

“you want to see i’m human?” he asked you. “i.. i mean, i already knew you were-” the lights were off and you could see nothing. it was pitch black, but you knew he was walking towards you when you heard the sound of his boots hitting the metal floor. he led you to your small room, before sitting his hands on your shoulders and gently pushing you to sit on the bed. “mando? what’s happening?” 

“i’m proving this to you, y/n.” his voice was filled with a little too much emotion for the usually stoic mandalorian you knew, but you still felt oddly safe around him. you heard the sound of his helmet sitting on the floor, and your eyes widened. “but-” 

“you can’t see me.”

“i know that but-”

“then why are you complaining?” he retorted and you shut your mouth as soon as you opened it to respond. “that’s what i thought.” you could hear him sit down next to you, and the familiar feeling of his beskar was touching your shoulder. you heard his gloves come off, and then felt his hands on yours. 

his hands were calloused and rough, but you couldn’t help but want to take him all in. his thumbs ran over the palm of your hand and you took in a sharp breath. you heard him laugh and it sounded like music to your ears. “you’re..” you could barely form words as his hands ran across your forearms. “wow..” 

“shh.” he told you and you felt butterflies explode in your chest as you felt his eyes on you. you held onto his hand and your fingers entwined with his. you desperately searched the space in front of you, wanting nothing more than to take him into your arms and to kiss him for hours on end. “can i.. can i.. please.” you mumbled, and he said back to you a quiet “yes” and before you could think, your hands were on his cheeks and his hands were rubbing circles on your waist.

“soft.. so soft. you’re so pretty.” you told him, breathlessly. his face had a soft stubble, but his skin was one of the softest things you’d ever felt, you ran your thumbs across his cheekbones and then.

lips. 

there were his lips. there were soft and a bit cracked but you knew they would be. you pictured this scenario in your head many times, but now that it was happening in front of you you didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

“mando i..”

“din.”

“what?”

“my name is din. din djarin.”

“fuck.. okay. din.” you tested his name and you felt him melt into your touch as you said it. your hands tangled into his hair and you could tell you had a hopeless smile on your face. din let out a soft sigh as you massaged his scalp, but before he could say anything, you were laying down on the bed. he was a bit too big for it, but his head laid on your chest and you couldn’t be happier. 

“din.. can i.. can i kiss you?”

“yeah.” he told you, but you could hear him sitting up a bit. you leaned forwards and after a moment, you felt his lips against yours. it felt as if you were falling, but it was invigorating. his hands held onto your hips, and your hands softly ran through his hair. you had no idea what he looked like, but his hair was thick and it was soft just like his skin. you didn’t know what color his eyes were but it didn’t matter, as long as you knew they were on you, you felt safe. 

“din.” 

he hummed. “i like you.”

“yeah, i know..” you smacked the back of his head and you could hear him laugh, finally without the modulator. his voice seemed more real now, and it anchored you to reality. it was silent for a few moments, the only sounds you could hear being your breathing and his. “me too.” he replied back to you, lips touching your ear.

it was strange, in a way, to hear his voice without the helmet on. it was smooth, but sweet. his voice was inviting and comforting and you’d do anything to hear it for the rest of your life, and now, hopefully you would. 

your nose rubbed against his.

warmth blossomed in his chest.

he deserved this.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Strangers [18+]

Toshinori x Female Reader

Did someone say “traumatize poor Toshi”? Hello, I am here to make All Might hate himself for losing control of his pent-up sexual urges. Feral sex and angst! Mmmm

Warning: Dub-con (sex pollen/”fuck-or-die” fic)

Summary: Your neighborhood gets blasted by a new quirk-based drug that makes you irresistibly, painfully, potentially lethally horny. Your libido won’t stop growing until you fuck someone - but you haven’t completely lost your mind! There’s no way you’re going to bone a friend. It has to be someone you don’t know so you never have to talk to them ever ever again. 

That blond scarecrow over there will do! 

6,264 words | NSFW

You never worried much about getting caught in a love dust attack. It wasn’t that hard to just not have sex with someone, no matter how horny you were.

It was all over the headlines for the past month. An unsolvable string of crimes with this stuff at the center. The media was calling it “love dust” because, well, it was dust, and you can’t say “orgy-riot fuck dust” on the evening news. Think of the children.

After the first attack, authorities thought they were looking for a villain with natural quirk, but a new synthetic drug soon surfaced as the culprit—a concentrated, fine-tuned derivation of a seduction quirk, sold under the street name “Hathor.” Anyone with the right underground connections could get their hands on it, and criminals were getting creative. Release it into the air at a bank, and the guards will open up the vault on the promise of a handjob. Assassinate a CEO and walk out the front door as the heroes sent to stop you turn into a quivering mess on the floor. There have already been a dozen scandals with big-name heroes caught sleeping with civilians at love dust crime scenes.

Kind of pathetic, honestly. Considering how important their reputations are, you’d think they could manage to keep their pants on. Have some self-control.

Although… The effects only last until you do the nasty, so maybe heroes should have a quickie with the nearest volunteer and get back on their feet before the criminals escape.

Or, you know, wear a damned mask.

Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that. There were physical symptoms, too. They say those who are unable to find anyone to “satisfy their urges” with experience increasingly severe libido, elevated heart rate, capillary damage, and all sorts of hormonal spikes that sometimes last days. One guy actually died of a heart attack. But you were young and healthy. It couldn’t be that bad.

If you don’t want to fuck someone, just don’t do it.

The night the dust rains down on your neighborhood, you finally understand.

You are sitting at the outdoor café in front of your apartment complex with a few friends when there is a loud pop, like an engine backfiring. The sky fills with a pink haze that glimmers with iridescence in the street lights. It’s beautiful. A few wiser residents scream, cover their faces, and run, but you watch the glittery powder in awe, not making the connection until you’ve breathed it in.

It has a cloyingly sweet scent, like cherry blossoms and bubble gum. Your throat tightens, and your mouth begins to water. A warm tingle spreads under your skin and you start to feel the urge to go home and watch porn.

There is a change in your companions, too. The conversation abruptly stops. Someone next to you moans, and it sends shivers racing straight down between your legs. Your thighs clench together trying to satisfy the growing need as you try not to moan yourself. Hot… it is getting so hot. Your breathing is starting to come out shamefully hard as your arousal rapidly builds, and suddenly watching porn doesn’t sound like nearly enough. You want to fuck someone—anyone, honestly.

Shit.

It finally hits you what you’ve been caught up in. And now you realize why this drug is so dangerous.

It’s the feeling of being on the cusp of an orgasm, where nothing feels more important, more urgent. Rational thought gives way to the singular focus on finishing. You’re so close, oh god… Your walls clench around the nothingness inside you. So empty. Fuck… you want to come, but you need to be filled. You need it.

You could resist the physical symptoms, but the problem you never accounted for is, you don’t want to resist.

All around the street, people are falling on each other, mouths smashing together in wet, sloppy, passion. Your next-door neighbor is dry humping the waitress at the café as she works to undo her uniform. The florist is already fucking a customer’s mouth. Their wet noises and grunting rise into a sexual cacophony that has your cunt dripping, aching. You need to find someone.

Your friend Ren grabs your arm, eyes heavily lidded, a crazed look in their eyes. “Do… you wanna?” they slur, voice thick with the same lust you are drunk on. Your cunt spasms painfully at the offer, and a throaty vibration rumbles deep within your chest. A primal part of you almost starts ripping off your clothes, but the small voice in your head that is still rational forces you to pull your arm out of their grasp. This isn’t right.

Not with a friend. Things would be too weird later. It can't be someone you know.

You mumble something that was meant to be words, and run from the table. Mei grabs Ren’s shoulder and their bodies instantly intertwine in a mess of limbs and sultry moans. She was just starting to get over them. That’ll be trouble tomorrow. That’s why it can’t be a friend—no ruined relationships or awkward next days for you!

The small rational voice says you should go back and pull Mei away—stop her—but if you did that, you’d definitely end up in a threesome. It's all you can do to keep your feet moving away. 

You need a stranger.

A spontaneous orgy breaks out around you, bodies tangled and undressing right in the road, cars honking at them, people stumbling out of cars and joining the fray. You pick your way through them. No, no, your inner voice scoffs. None of this is right. As much as you’re burning to be filled, none of this was right.

The musky smell of sex is overpowering. Your walls expand wide as if expecting to be filled, yawning open until the muscles burn, then crashing shut and clenching down hard against nothing. The contractions rock your body so hard it’s difficult to walk, and it isn’t long before the muscles start cramping with overexertion. 

Why didn’t you just join one of the writhing piles on the sidewalk? Your heart is beating out of your chest, and you’re deafened by all the blood pounding in your ears. Your eyes dart between faces and exposed body parts, frantically searching, but none of them click whatever primitive part of you is hunting for a mate. With every breath, it feels like you can’t get enough oxygen. You’re drowning.

A convulsing ache rips through your body again. It hurts. It hurts being so empty. What are you waiting for?

Something slips into the front of your pants and starts rubbing your clit—you realize it’s your own hand. It feels good, but doesn’t help. Rational voice reminds you that it won’t help. Skin-to-skin contact was a necessary condition of the quirk; something about pheromones or something? You stagger on, rubbing and fingering yourself, not even caring who sees, none of it bringing you over the edge of the climax that feels like it’s almost there—just a little more! Please!

You turn into the alleyway behind the apartment building. A short passage leading nowhere with a 90-degree crook that serves to hide unsightly utility boxes and storage containers for the complex. It’s quiet here, away from the chaos in the street. Except you hear it… breathing. Deep, half-stifled grunts of a man trying to keep quiet, labored breathing, and a soft, rhythmic slapping emanate from behind the corner.

Struggling toward the source, you see a tall yellow-haired man doubled over. He braces one hand on a metal box set against the wall with wires snaking out of it, while the other hand furiously works his cock. Slap. Slap. Slap. It’s glistening with precum, but his teeth are grit in distress at an orgasm that will never come.

A scarecrow of a man, he looks to be middle-aged, and has a face like a skeleton, with sunken cheeks and eyes lost in deep shadows—all bones and sinew. Definitely a stranger. You would’ve remembered a guy like that.

Something primal thrums within you. Blood surges red-hot in your veins. 

Him. 

He is perfect.

“Help!” you call out, voice shaky and fevered. 

He startles and tries to hide what he was doing, shoving his dick back under his waistband and crossing his legs before turning to you. As if everyone else on the entire block isn't doing the same thing. 

When he sees you, desire clouds his eyes. They’re a shocking vibrant blue, though watering with frustration, and they linger on you for what would have been an uncomfortable length of time under normal circumstances, but right now his overt desire is exactly what you hoped to see. 

Encouraged, you close the space between you, but he takes a quick step back, staying just out of your reach. At this distance, you realize “tall” was an understatement. He towers above you.

At your close proximity, his hips start rocking of their own accord, his cock striving for relief against the fabric of his pants. You are too close. You smell so good, he wants to devour you. He has to squeeze his legs together and bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to regain his composure.

“I... I can help you, young lady. E-everything will be fine... Are you hurt?” With every ounce of willpower in his narrow body, he forces his voice to sound normal and helpful, and not like he wants to tear all your clothes off. No damned pink dust is going to make him—

He doubles over not in pain, but arousal—a spasm pulsing through his frame—and has to fight to shove it down again. He bites his thin lower lip, but the gesture only makes him aware of the string of saliva dripping out.

“Yes, it hurts.” You’ve still got your hand between your legs and must look as much of a mess as he does. He can’t pretend not to know what you’re asking. “Please… help me,” you ask again, this time dropping your voice into a husky whisper. You lean into him, splaying your hands out on his chest, running them down the rippled bones and muscle beneath his white t-shirt. His hands place themselves instinctively around your hips.

“Do you have a boyfriend? A partner? I’ll h-help you find them.”

Would he really take you to someone you’d be more comfortable having sex with when he could have you for himself? It’s obvious how much he wants you—how much his body is screaming for you just like yours screams for his. 

You shake your head. “There’s no one else.”

“I… I can bring you to the hospital…” 

He trembles, his breathing is hard and fast, fanning in hot bursts across your neck. You get lost in the smell of him, the salty smell of his precum driving you wild. Your core twitches painfully again, but you’re so close to relief, you let yourself moan with it, and reach for the hard erection in his pants. The outline through the fabric is massive. Beyond massive. You shudder and stroke it greedily.

He draws in a sharp breath at the contact, and the warmth of him spreads out under your palm, spreading through your whole body. His muscles tense, still trying to fight it, but his cock pulses under your touch, betraying his desire.

“Let me feel it,” you beg, slipping your hand through the fly of the pants he was too distracted to zip back up. Your fingertips find it, hot and velvety, and hard as steel.

Even though he’s just as deep under the spell of the dust as you are, he manages to pull away again, another step back, trapping his back against the alley wall.  

“N-no, you don’t have to… to do this. I’ll take you to the hospital!” 

Not, I don’t want this, you note his phrasing. You don’t have to. How can he be flustered with this need overpowering his every sense? Your entire life is narrowed into a tunnel where all there is and all that matters is being fucked.

Without warning, he doubles over, coughing. Coughing up blood. A lot of it.

He wipes his mouth, grimacing, in obvious pain. A convulsion wracks his body, and he squeezes his thighs together, moaning.

You put your arms out—an honest, compassionate instinct to help him stay upright, but then you’re touching him again, and suddenly you’re pulling at his tall, scarecrow shoulders to bring his body close again. 

He’s so strained, blood trickling through grit teeth. Maybe coughing blood is a symptom of resisting the effects for too long. Your own lungs are starting to burn with such intense continual use. Why is he trying so hard to fight it? 

“Don’t want… a hospital. Just… fuck me. Please. I want you. So empty... it hurts. I need you to fill me… please,” you pant, desperate to convince him. To talk him out of his shy, moral rigidity.

He swallows, prominent Adam's apple bobbing in his thin neck. He's cute, too, a small, still-conscious voice says, though you barely notice through the pounding, driving urge between your legs. Your clit is so hot it burns, and your pussy is dripping, soaking through your panties so much it’s made a wet spot through your pants. You grind against his leg. It doesn’t give you any relief, but makes you want to fuck him even more desperately.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you...” He looks so sad, so protective when he says those words in his soft, deep voice. Then he cringes as another convulsion hits him, and his hips drive themselves into you as if acting on their own. He’s horrified. A wave of pleasure surges through you, leaving you a babbling mess.

You whimper, desperate for more. “I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me! Help me. I want it, I swear. I want you, please… please.” You're like an animal, mindlessly humping his thigh, grasping at his shirt. “I’ll find someone else if you won’t. Please, it’s the only way to make this stop!”

It’s too much. The urge was so strong even when he was alone, and your body is all over him, awakening things in him. 

You’re drugged! 

His cock won’t stop throbbing until it finds a warm body to fuck, and your pussy is grinding his thigh, inches away. Relief is so close. It’s unbearable. You’re so cute and helpless—

He shouldn’t!

—disheveled, begging for him to take you. You’re so lewd. It has been so long since he felt desirable, and here you are, begging like the sluttiest of his fans without even knowing who he is, without his power. Driving him wild. Every second like this is torture—his heart pounding so hard, his single lung can’t take it much longer. You want him… You want him as much as he wants you. Why was he refusing, again? All the reasons seem to fall away…

A dam within him breaks.

He lets out a long, shaking breath as if he had thrown open a valve shut off half a lifetime ago, and all the pressure repressed and denied was finally being released. He crumples around you, lanky arms closing around your back, his face burying into your neck with a sob. A line of teeth bite down on you hard enough to bruise. 

Your body responds, hips bucking into his, your nails digging into his back, as you scream out in pleasure and pain, “Yes!” 

He snarls into your skin, leaving a trail of bruises claiming the length of your neck.

“Fuck, I need this,” he growls between bites, sounding like a completely different person. Sounding starved. With the last pretense of control given up, he is a beast freed from its cage.

His hands slide under your shirt to roughly palm your breasts. You unclasp your bra, and he artlessly pushes it up out of the way, too hurried to remove it. 

“I want you so bad...” He kneads your breasts, pushing them together and rolling them apart, thumbs abusing your hard tits while his teeth sink into your shoulder. He is ravenous. 

Fuck, he feels so good. You can only helplessly cry out as your body spasms with warmth, pulses of electricity running down your back, your cunt dripping and clenching, but still so empty.

Your lips clash together, wet and eager, nearly missing his mouth as you part and smash together again, but you don’t care. His tongue sloppily reaches for yours, and you open for him eagerly, saliva mingling, his taste entering your mouth—coppery and sweet. This is right, your body tells you. He is just right.

Another torturous spasm rips through your body. This isn’t the time for foreplay. You already feel like someone has been eating you out for five days straight—it’s time to fuck him. You tug your pants and underwear down and let them hang around your calves, not bothering to take them all the way off. 

Now. You need him now. 

His cock is back out of his pants, slick with precum, and rubbing your entrance. It’s so huge, you wonder how it will ever fit inside you. You would never expect something with that much girth from a guy so narrow. How does he have enough blood to support this thing? 

Normally, you wouldn’t actually want a dick that big, but your sex-crazed brain starts drooling. You want to lick it from head to balls, to worship it. The size doesn’t intimidate you. All your muscles are loose and stretched and aching for something to fill them, and only his cock could fill you enough to satisfy this artificially-heightened need.

Rubbing the blunt, throbbing head over your opening, his intense eyes study the way your folds part and twitch around him, and the adorable way you struggle to open your legs wider with your ankles still shackled in your pants. 

“Look at you... fuck, you’re perfect.”

So small and cute. So breathless and needy and whining for him.

Before he pushes inside like every muscle in his body is urging him to do, he checks in with you one last time. His sharp blue eyes meet yours, and, sweating and trembling with the effort of holding back, he asks, “You’re sure?”

“Please!” you cry, voice cracking. You jerk your hips to help push the swollen head inside, gasping as you feel the pressure of it spreading your opening. 

He needs no more encouragement. 

Releasing control over his inflamed libido that took every ounce of his willpower to wrestle down, he thrusts sharply inside you. It knocks the air out of your lungs. A scream tears from your throat at the intense pleasure and discomfort of being finally, finally filled all at once by something so large. He grunts into your shoulder, large fingers digging into your skin as his body shudders and trembles. He pulls back out a little, and thrusts in again. 

You clutch at his shirt and his yellow hair, balling them in white-knuckled fists as you sob out, “Thank you. Th-thank you.” 

It’s almost too much pressure—almost. Your walls twitch and contract happily around the thick shaft. Satisfaction. This is what your body has been demanding. The pain stops, but the need urges you on stronger than ever.

It won’t let you go until you come.

After a few rough, choppy thrusts, he can’t get enough leverage standing facing you. He pulls out, and your entire body sets off alarm bells in protest, your hands clutch at him, trying to pull him back in. Empty! So empty! It hurts. The fevered look in his eye tells you he’s still as desperate for this as you are. Strong hands flip you around and bend you over the metal utility box, your ass in the air, presented to him.

“There you are,” he purrs.

He meant to enter you again right away, but the view triggers something voyeuristic in his brain. He grabs your whole pussy possessively, rubbing circles over your bare skin with his thumb, spreading your lips apart.

“Look at you. So beautiful.” His voice is thick and husky—drunk. His whole body shudders as you moan for him, pussy twitching around his thumb, hips writhing, whining for him to enter you. “You'll look so beautiful wrapped around my cock…”

Why is he looking at it? If you had any shame right now, you’d be dying of it, but your whole face is already flushed and sweating. Just put it in already!

A low chuckle. “Be patient.” Did you say that out loud? “Fuck, I want you… I need this,” he growls.

“Need it... need you…” you echo, drooling.

His warm chest leans over your back, soft bangs hanging down next to your cheek, his hot breath in your ear. “I deserve a reward, don’t I? Something for myself for once,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, barely audible even with his lips so close. His cockhead rubs against your drenched slit without pushing inside, the pressure of it maddening, teasing.

His muscles tense suddenly, and you brace yourself against the cold steel surface, fingers curling as he penetrates you from behind and sets a relentless pace.

The aphrodisiac already had you dripping and ready, so you feel deliciously split open and stuffed, and not torn by the sudden invasion. The friction and pressure drive you insane, mewling and whimpering as you reach between your legs to stoke your clit. The heat that’s been building up and pooling between your legs without getting any closer to relief is building toward a crescendo now that he’s inside you.

“More,” you whine, even though you’re already past your limit, “Give me everything!”

He starts thrusting wildly, uncontrolled, eager to obey you. His movements are unrestrained and so fast—inhumanly fast. “So good, you feel so good,” he praises, words hitched and slurring. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” A moment of hesitation breaks through the fog, “Am I hurting you?”

“Don’t stop,” you snap, “don’t you dare slow down!”

His sharp hip bones collide with your ass, leaving bruises with every hard thrust, his balls swinging against you, slapping your fingers working your clit, as he frantically jackhammers into you. He’s completely feral, head thrown back, not holding back his strength as he hits you so deep and hard you could break, but it’s exactly what your body wants right now—to be animals.

“Harder!” you urge, trying to jerk your hips up to meet his thrusts, and spread your legs farther apart—but your efforts weren’t enough. However hard he's going, you want even more. Deeper. You want him to rip you in half. 

Obeying, his bony hands grip the soft fat of your thighs, yanking you down onto his cock as he thrusts into you. You yelp as he hits something deep and sensitive, and your muscles quiver and melt with gratitude.

It could be minutes or hours that he has been pumping into you with forceful abandon, turning you into a sweaty, quaking mess, sobbing into your arm for his frail body and powerful cock. You’ve lost all sense of time, all sense of sense—of anything besides the sinful friction and being stuffed full to bursting. You may as well be stray cats rutting in the alley. The dark echoes with the steady percussion of flesh smacking into flesh, and a harmony of your own whimpering cries melding into his hard, ragged breathing.

“Don’t stop! Don’t ever stop! It’s so good,” you sing out for him. It must be the effect of the drug, but you have never felt so complete.

He growls low in return, “Mine, you’re mine.”

His arms cross around your chest and he leans his body over you, pressing himself closer and closer to you as his thrusts hit you deeper and longer. Beads of sweat drip from his body, wetting your clothes and your neck. His strong hands serve the dual purpose of holding you firm against him and grasping your breasts, roughly pinching the hard peaks, twisting and pulling. 

The sensation is overwhelming—jolts of pleasure ripping through you, shooting through your spine, winding you tighter and driving you closer to the crest. Your fingers work your clit faster until he forces them away with his own hand, taking over, abusing your sex with long, calloused fingers with the same reckless abandon as his fucking you. His erratic breath is humid against your ear. Something breaks inside him, and he starts grunting loudly with every wild buck of his hips like an unhinged beast. Every forceful thrust throws your body forward, thighs striking the edge of the metal container.

“More,” you urge. “More!” You’re so close. 

The muscles of his lower abs twitch and contract against your ass, and he bites you hard on the shoulder, bearing down until it draws blood. He lets out a helpless, unrestrained noise that is almost a roar and almost a sob as he empties himself into you, filling you up with so much hot seed you can feel the pressure of it inside you, his release trapped tight against your cervix by the nudging head of his thick cock stuffed as deep as possible. 

His fingers circle powerfully over your clit, and it drives you over the edge after him. Your hips jerk, riding his cock as he comes down from his climax, walls clenching around him, milking every drop from his twitching, overstimulated cock.

“Thank you,” you mutter, breathless and slurring, cum dripping down your thigh. “Thank you…”

It's over.

It's over.

Like a veil being lifted, your brain function returns to normal. The fog of lust evaporates and you're back to rational, non-horny you.

What. The fuck. Are you doing?

Oh my god.

An alley. You're in some filthy alley with a total stranger and no condom. Fuck. What the fuck. You're going to have so many diseases.

Your “partner” pulls out, and a flood of semen gushes out from between your legs. Oh, god. How is there so much? Does this guy have some kind of disorder, or is it the love dust’s effect? Either way, it's gross, and starts to feel chilly as cool air hits it and it runs down your thigh.

Purse.

That's right, you have a purse. It's somehow, by pure luck, still attached to your body. You rummage through it, pushing aside keys, and—oh, look, a condom. You roll your eyes. Where—aha, there it is! You knew you had a little pack of tissues. You wad up a few sheets and catch the copious glob of cum before it can run all the way down your leg and sully your pants.

“Uhhh, here,” you offer tersely, really not looking forward to making eye contact now that you’re remembering your actions through the eyes of a sober person. So embarrassing! He probably thinks you’re a slut. Worse—what if he’s some weirdo who thinks you’re his girlfriend now?

You hold out a few tissues so he can clean his sticky red cock, still impressively large even as it softens and begins to droop downward.

Why are you looking at his dick stop looking at his dick!

He doesn’t seem to notice you peeking. 

He’s struggling to catch his breath, bangs stringy and clinging to his face and neck with sweat. More than that, he’s vacantly staring at his hands like they might not be his own. Like he hopes they’re not. His eyes snap to the source of movement, and he tentatively takes the tissues you’re holding out to him. The action brings him back to reality somewhat. He blushes and turns his back to you, and gets to work wiping himself off.

Good. He’s not trying to talk to you or anything. He’s embarrassed too. That’s good.

When you’re both dressed and as decent as you’re going to look (though it’s impossible to hide that just-been-ravished glow), you turn to him, lips pressed tightly together. 

“Well, that’s that, I guess. Um. Are there any STDs I should know about?”

He jolts out of the quiet stupor he was in, face growing redder at the implication. “Oh! N-no.”

“OK, good. Me neither. Though we should both get tested again anyway.”

It’s unclear whether he processed that, eyes unfocused, only giving a slight nod. “Oh! Oh god!” He lurches backward against the wall, remembering something even more devastating. “We didn't... I didn't use—”

“I’m on the pill. No babies.”

His shoulders relax by a few millimeters, at least that weight off of them, but he's far from relieved.

“Alright, well…” you back away, making finger guns out of nervous, idiotic reflex, eager for this embarrassing scenario to be over with and forgotten. “Thanks for helping me out with… a medical emergency, let’s call it. Hopefully we never see each other again, and never think about what happened today. Ever again!” Yup, that’s about that. “Bye.”

He nods weakly as you walk away. The adorably oversized Adam’s apple bobs in his skinny neck as if he’s trying to say something, but only a small, choked noise comes out. He’s still too dazed to give any other acknowledgment.

No contact. No reminders. You did what you had to do, and that’s it. He agrees that this is for the best, right? At least he will once he… processes what happened.

You sigh.

Pausing at the mouth of the alley, you chance a look back. He’s slowly sliding down the stained wall, and coming to rest on the ground with his head between his knees. He looks devastated.

He isn’t processing, is he?

This is your fault, you know. He was trying to avoid people until you found him in his little hiding place. How many times did he offer to take you to the hospital, to tell you that you didn’t have to have sex with him? You could have fucked anyone else tonight, but you chose a sensitive old man.

You broke him. So, go fix him.

You lean back against the concrete wall beside him and lower yourself to the ground by his side. Eyes forward. You wrap your arms around the top of your knees, mimicking his pose. Your eyes flick to the side to observe him. 

“Hey. Are you OK?”

He doesn’t look up or acknowledge that he heard you, but a low, wavering voice emerges from his hidden face: “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I lost control. I took advantage of you. Violated you. I should turn myself in to the police…”

Despite how somber he sounds, you snort a laugh. “Is that what you’re so worried about? I asked you to, remember? I literally begged you.”

His hands clamp down over the back of his head, pulling at his messy yellow hair. “No. You were being controlled by a synthesized quirk. You had no way to consent, but I did it anyway.”

You wouldn’t have guessed he was such an anxious guy when he was pounding your insides into oblivion, or from the bruises you were going to be covered in by tomorrow. He’s falling apart. Well, you’re here, and there’s no way you’re going to let him beat himself up over this.

“By that logic, I’m as guilty as you. We were both hit with the same stuff, completely out of our minds. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have been able to resist,” he says firmly, voice rising. “I’m…” he makes a noise from his throat and trails off.

“Even heroes have trouble with this stuff—that’s why it’s, like, the cover of Villain’s Digest, you know? At least you tried, which is more than I can say.”

“I have to be better than that!” he snaps. What will the world do when it comes out that Japan’s number-one hero is a rapist? That even All Might was helpless against a simple aphrodisiac? He sets his jaw. “I was the one who ultimately went through with it. It was my fault. I failed to protect you.”

You rest the back of your head against the wall, letting out a long, pitying sigh. “Do you want me to punish you? Are you just going to keep saying it’s your fault until I agree? Because that’s not going to happen.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You don’t have to better than everyone else in the world, you know. I thought I’d be able to resist, too, but there’s a reason nobody ever does. That stuff rewires your priorities so you don’t want to resist. It… all felt really good in the moment…” You blush and suddenly look anywhere else. Why’d you say that last thing? “The point is… it was stupid to think I was somehow above the hundreds of people who’ve been victims before. So, stop holding yourself to some higher standard. If you want to blame someone, blame me. You… you should blame me.”

His head shoots up from his lap to lock eyes with you, his gaze protective and firm, horrified that you would feel at all culpable. “I don’t blame you.” Just as quickly, he looks away—down, to the side, anywhere else—hand gripping the back of his neck.

“Then why do think it’s your fau—oh my god, you’re married aren’t you?!”

Blood sprays from his mouth as he coughs and sputters denials. “I wasn’t cheating on anyone! I just… shouldn’t have.”

At this point, you’re more interested in the coughing-blood thing. Since the dust wore off, your breathing has gone back to normal, so it seems it wasn’t a side effect after all. Does he have Ebola? Can you catch Ebola from sex?

“Is that… something I should be worried about?”

He gapes in confusion before following your gestures to a blood stain on his shirt. “Ah! No, it isn’t contagious. It’s from an old injury…” 

He pulls up his shirt to show you a scar disfiguring the entire left side of his body. It’s not just marring the surface of his skin—it looks like a whole chunk of his chest was removed, with pink arms of surgically reconstructed flesh spiraling over his torso, as if the center of it were a black hole slowly pulling the rest of his body inside.

You forget to not stare.

He shakes his head and chuckles darkly, misinterpreting your stunned silence. “Of all the people you could have come to your senses with… must be disappointing to find yourself with a sickly old man.” He stops laughing. In a quiet but biting tone, he adds, “You must be disgusted.”

Maybe it’s a bad idea, considering how much trauma you’ve already caused him today, but you can’t help it. You lean against him and let your head rest on his shoulder. “I’m not. I’m glad it was someone sweet, and not some gross perv.”

A touch of warmth comes to your cheeks, feeling the pressure of his body against yours again. It’s comforting. You can only hope it’s comforting to him, too.

He doesn’t push you away, at least. 

“You shouldn’t have to try to cheer me up,” he sighs after a long pause. “It must be hard to be near me, after what I did.”

“It isn’t, really.” 

Strangely, that's true. You had wanted to get as far from him as possible and avoid any reminders of the humiliating act, but oddly, being close to him is nice.

“As far as I’m concerned, I was suffering, and you helped me. Have you read the articles about this stuff? Those symptoms only get worse the longer you don’t… you know.” Why are you blushing like a virgin to the guy whose dick you came on five minutes ago? His cum is still leaking out onto your panties. “I was in agony, so I’m glad we got it over with instead of spending days in the hospital. ‘Met the conditions of the quirk,’ as they say. It was the best possible option.”

“That’s a very practical way of looking at it.”

“What can I say, I’m a pragmatist!” you grin.

He nearly returns your smile out of reflex, but his face falls again. “But I wasn’t thinking about helping you… I was being completely selfish.” I enjoyed it. How could he tell you he enjoyed it?

“I don’t care.” You give a pointed look at his bony frame and flecks of blood clinging to his lips, and raise an eyebrow. “No offense, but I don't think you’d have lasted 48 hours under that kind of stress.”

He grumbles and lets out a sigh, but he doesn’t have any argument. You were probably right. There was no antidote but to wait, usually sedated. That would have been a long time to not be able to do any hero work. This was the best way… But not at your expense.

“I’m sorry, you were trying to leave earlier. You don’t have to stay any longer because you’re worried about me. I’ll be fine.” He smiles like the wounded soldier in a movie telling his brother-in-arms to leave him behind and finish the mission, while the violin soundtrack hits a dramatic crescendo in a minor key.

Should you take the opportunity to escape? 

Your plan was to get the drug out of your system with a stranger. Getting to know him any better will throw a wrench in that plan, but the thought of leaving his side makes your throat tighten. 

This guy… he’s sweet. He carries so much sorrow inside of him, you want to stay and help him with his burden. A primal instinct urges you to throw a blanket around him and feed him soup. He’s handsome, too. He doesn’t seem to think so, but you understand why your drug-soaked brain latched onto him over anyone else. Excessively tall, with sharp features, and electric eyes. If it had to be anyone, you made the right choice picking him.

You want to get to know him better. You want to learn everything about him.

“It’s OK,” you coo softly, like you were approaching an abused dog. “If you want me to go, I will. If it’s hard for you to be around me. But I’d rather stay with you for awhile.”

He looks up from his own lap at last. Two blue halos study you from within broken, dark-shadowed eyes, finally really seeing you. He looks like he’s about to cry, but does not. He glances down again, but tugs the corners of his mouth into the best effort of a smile he can manage, and this time, it doesn’t suggest he’s going to die in the next scene. “Thank you.”

You sit with him for awhile, talking. Reassuring him, while mentally kicking yourself for hurting the sweetest man on the planet.

“Yagi Toshinori,” he introduces himself. 

So much for staying strangers, you think, smiling as you tell him your name in return.

[supercasey]

this is a weird af question i'm sure but what would the avatar kids be like if they hadn't ran away to the institute/not realized how messed up their upbringings were?

Oooooooo, now THIS will be fun to answer ((tbh, this has been on my mind for awhile now, so thanks for the excuse to infodump))!!! I’m gonna try doing stuff for ALL the kids, but it’ll be a bit hard considering the fact that most of them are so unlikely to actually submit to their avatardom.

Jonathan Sims: His destiny is a bit of a toss-up, since it depends on which of his parents’ teachings he would end up following. If he takes more after Elias, he’ll end up becoming the perfect Eye avatar anyone could ask for; an endless slew of information and knowledge, not to mention loyal to his patron and his father. If he ends up following in Gertrude’s footsteps though, he’ll use his powers much more sparingly as he grows older and be about 40% more likely to get arrested for arson.

Martin Blackwood: This is going off of the idea that the Lonely’s first big ritual involving him actually worked, otherwise the only other option would’ve been Peter not rescuing him, in which case he would’ve disappeared forever into the fog. In this scenario however, the Lonely accepts Martin as a more physical vessel for itself, and he continues on as a more or less lifeless husk that just swallows everything in it’s sight. Very sad all around.

Tim Stoker: In the event that he never runs away, Tim would complete his training as a dancer and allow the circus to change him into something barely resembling a human anymore (I haven’t actually listened to much of The Mechanisms, but maybe he’d look something like the Tim toy soldier guy??? I like him). He's Danny’s right hand man, as well as the circus’ muscle when things get particularly dicey.

Danny Stoker: He would’ve ended up very spoiled and damn near as conniving as Sasha; takes a lot after Nikola and makes her proud at every opportunity, making him a bit of a mama’s boy. Would be an incredible ringmaster, praying primarily on those attending the circus with their family members (especially sets of siblings). Becomes much more powerful overtime, almost completely growing into a monster in the process.

Sasha James: An absolute master of manipulation and trickery, using her hacking skills to start the Web down a path of internet fraud and impersonation on a massive scale. Ends up being rivals with Eye!Jon, leading to them having a very Spy vs Spy dynamic that’s this close to them becoming friends, but alas, their parents hate each other and they know it. Ten times smarter than anyone else belonging to the Web.

Melanie King: Say hello to Grifter’s Bone’s new lead bassist and singer! She takes up the mantle by the time she’s thirteen or so, putting a more young punk spin on the band’s music, which draws in younger victims for the Slaughter’s influence. Has a thousand something knives on her at one time, and has a hard time not joining in on the riots the band starts.

Julia Montauk: In the event that Trevor can’t keep her from succumbing to the Hunt’s influence, she becomes a brutal, violent creature that stays primarily in her Hunt form, only turning human when she wants to draw out a hunt/trick people into thinking she’s one of them. If things go really bad, she ends up killing Trevor at some point to prove she’s stronger than him (and immediately regretting it).

Alice “Daisy” Tonner: I feel like her fall would be similar to canon, with either Trevor never finding her, which leads her to follow her canon path, or she joins Julia in fighting back against Trevor’s desire to save them, eventually running away to hunt on her own and become a fully fledged werewolf. Unlike Julia, she never turns human after a certain point, and eventually she goes on to kill Julia after she crosses into her territory.

Oliver Banks: I honestly have very few ideas on how he would end up in this sort of AU, seeing as he’s kinda already on a path that’s very aligned with the End’s influence, but if he completely gave in and did whatever it wanted, he’d probably become something akin to a grim reaper, stalking people in their dreams and making sure they’ll die the way they’re fated to. Might take an apprenticeship under Nathaniel Throp.

Georgie Barker: Similar to Oliver, I’m not 100% sure what to do for her. I feel like the Admiral is what’s keeping her from falling, so without him she’d definitely become a completely fearless and relentless avatar of the End, carrying out similar death sentences to Oliver, except she actually makes more people die than is necessary. If Jon follows Gertrude’s teachings in this scenario, then he starts trying to help her escape her powers.

Mike Crew: He’s kinda already becoming a fully fledged avatar of the Vast, but like Oliver, I can see him going further than he has. He’d be almost exactly like his canon self, except he’d have a much harder time blending in with modern society, relying on his connection to Simon and the rest of the Fairchild family for help getting by. If he ended up getting abandoned though, he might become more lonely over time... 👀👀👀 Martin could certainly use a “friend”

Helen Richardson: Seeing as Michael and Gertrude finding her is what’s essentially saved her already (I imagine she’ll still have Spiral powers for the rest of her life, but she could never become an avatar later on in the CA AU while she’s being raised by Michael), in this scenario she’s never rescued, and she either dies in the Spiral due to neglect, or she becomes similar to Martin, acting as a mere vessel for her patron.

Jane Prentiss: I’m still a bit iffy on how to write Jane, seeing as I added her after the AU was already kinda started (and also because I don’t remember much about her from S1), but I imagine without Adelard saving her, she would’ve eventually left Amherst to be raised by the Corruption in a more direct fashion, making her like Helen and Martin, but with more free will than them.

So all in all, Jon vs Sasha would be a big conflict with the Stoker Brothers occasionally getting involved just so they can Cause Problems On Purpose, Martin, Helen, and Jane are the resident “ghosts” that haunt everyone, Julia and Daisy are feral, Mike can’t cope with this shit, Georgie and Oliver are essentially grim reapers, and Melanie is the only motherfucker having any fun.

These are some very sad/unfortunate scenarios, huh? At least this is all speculative and in no way canon to the CA AU as a whole; it’s just a fun lil’ idea to think about! Thanks so much for the ask, Anon!

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

The (not naked) pin-up calendar

Summary: When you ask for a favor, Bucky (very) grudgingly agrees. What can you do to thank him? Return the favor, of course.

Characters: Bucky x Reader; a plethora of Avengers Warnings: Hardcore fluff. Soldiers wrestling like immature children. Steve being weirded out by nut sacks. Harry Potter references. A hint of naughty times at the end.

A/N: This is silly and fun and what can I say, writing sassy Bucky makes me happy. This is for @beckzorz 1k Writing Challenge (go follow this incredibly talented, beautiful lady), and my prompt was ‘Pin-up calendar’. Thanks a million for hosting Becca, I love you 3000! ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Overnight, the list gets tacked on the corkboard in the kitchen.

Bucky’s rummaging through the pantry, searching for his breakfast Doritos and a jar of salsa to dunk them in, when he glimpses his name from a distance. Snatching up a butter knife, he wanders over to the wall. When he sees the list header, he whirls around in a flurry of tangled hair and irrational grumpiness.

“What the hell is this?”

Bucky complaining first thing in the morning is par for the course, so both Sam and Steve, strolling in to search for breakfast, ignore him. Sam veers toward the sugary cereal cabinet, Steve heads for the oversize Ironman container housing granola, and Bucky stomps his foot like a toddler.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Steve says seconds later, through an overflowing mouthful of flaxseed and yogurt. “You already agreed. You’re not backing out.”

Bucky spins around and reads the flyer again.

---

“Avengers Calendar Shoot”

See below for your name and photo call timing.

Monday: Carol (10am), Wanda (2pm), Scott (6pm)

Tuesday: Rhodey (10am), Sam (2pm), Steve (6pm)

Wednesday: Tony (10am), Bruce (2pm), Natasha (6pm)

Thursday: Thor (10am), Clint (2pm), Bucky (6pm)

---

Stomping his foot again, Bucky stabs the flyer with the aforementioned butter knife.

“Someone better be yankin’ my dick right now,” he warns. “I definitely didn’t agree to bare my wrinkly nut sack for the whole fucking world to see.”

Sam dry heaves over his Lucky Charms.

Steve’s now filling his Black Widow coffee mug and rolling his eyes.

“What is it with you always trying to be naked? It’s not a naked thing, it’s a charity thing. Innocent children who don’t know what an asshole you are will see this, so you better be wearing clothes,” Steve gives his mug an annoying slurp. “Besides - you already agreed. No takebacks.”

“Steve,” Bucky crisply pivots, launching metaphorical murder darts from his eyes. “We’ve talked about this. Don’t tell me how to live my life.”

“Well it was your girl who convinced everyone to do it, so good luck telling her you’re a liar.” Instead of responding, Bucky holds up a Dorito in front of Steve and peers around the silhouette. Draws a few angles in his head. “What?” Steve asks brusquely.

“Nothing,” Bucky mutters. The chip cracks between his teeth with a puff of toxic orange. “Just makin’ an observation.”

“Just wear your scary leather bondage uniform with your scary mask and stand there all scary. You don’t even need to smile,” Sam says. Spooning cereal in with one hand, his other is attempting to worm its way into Bucky’s bag of chips. Cradling the Doritos under his arm, Bucky twists away, blocking the attack.

“Good way to lose a finger. Don’t touch my things.”

Sam swallows his cereal, ignores the lethal look in Bucky’s eyes, and tries again.

Steve joins in.

And so, when you roll into the kitchen a few minutes later, here’s what you find: three Avengers, three veteran soldiers, wrestling over a bag of Doritos. Bucky has Sam in a headlock, Sam is kicking Bucky’s shins and hitting him with a milky spoon, and for some reason, Steve is dancing around trying to tickle them both.

Clearing your throat, the trio freezes.

You smile.

“Gentlemen.”

Flailing arms and legs instantly break apart. Sam and Steve have the good grace to look chastened, both stammering embarrassed apologies. Bucky simply shoves a fistful of Doritos in his mouth and smiles triumphantly. Striding over to you, he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Babe, take my side here. You don’t want the whole world to see my nut sack, right?”

“Stop saying nut sack,” Steve hisses. “Nuts are gross.”

“Maybe your nuts are gross Steve,” Sam pipes up, rubbing his shirt with a wet rag, trying to clear away Bucky’s orange powder fingerprints, “but my nuts are awesome.” After a few harsh scrubs, he sees the futility and throws the rag in Bucky’s face. Stalking from the kitchen, he shouts something about laundry wheels and Oxyclean.

When you pluck the bag of Doritos from Bucky’s grubby hands, he releases them easily and grins at your exasperation. Sidling close, he rubs up against you like a needy kitten, so you hug him tight, dipping your fingers down to squeeze his butt.

“Please do it Bucky, I already told them you would. Wear anything you want, you don’t even have to smile,” you murmur in his ear, knowing precisely which buttons to push. “And besides, I bet I’m not the only one who wants to see those pretty blue eyes. Right?”

Bucky purses his lips. Wrinkles his nose. Grumbles under his breath.

And because you’re looking at him all wide-eyed and soft, he gives in.

Like he always does.

“Fine,” he huffs. “Fine. I’ll do it for you.”

“So much drama,” Steve mumbles through his granola. Bucky lunges for him, but Steve drops his bowl in the sink and skirts past, rushing for the door. Looking back, he throws Bucky a challenging smirk, before smacking into the doorframe. There’s a brief ricochet and then he’s scurrying down the hall, laughing as he goes.

“Idiot,” Bucky mutters.

Folding your fingers behind his neck, you turn his face back to you and kiss his stubbly cheek. “Thank you. Reason number one billion and two why I love you.”

At the brush of your lips, Bucky promptly grabs the back of your thighs and hoists you in the air. Spinning around, he shuffles over to the counter and drops you on top. Settling between your legs, hands flat on the counter boxing you in, his mouth finds the open space above your shirt collar and he proceeds to kiss every square inch.

“The things I do for you,” he breathes, sucking his favorite spot along your neck. It makes you shiver, that thing he does with his tongue. “You realize now I gotta go on a diet.”

“What? No, you don’t. You look perfect.”

Disappointingly, he stops that whole talented tongue thing and leans back. Grinding your heels into his butt, you kick him, urging him to stay put. Instead, he sighs in that tragic, pay attention to me way that only Bucky Barnes can do.

“Obviously I’m perfect, so are you by the way, but the camera adds five pounds. I have to preemptively lose it.” Crinkling up his now empty bag of Doritos, he throws it at the trash can and misses by a mile. He gives you a hangdog, pathetic sort of look. “This sucks.”

Bucky Barnes, ladies and gentlemen. The most dramatic human being on the planet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t need to diet. You could weigh a thousand pounds and it wouldn’t matter, you don’t - “

“Maybe not, like, a thousand pounds,” Bucky interrupts. “That’d make sex super hard. And not good hard. Just awkward hard. You know? Like when Hagrid’s mom and dad had sex. Which I still don’t understand how that’s supposed to work and I’ve done a shitload of research on it, been on all kinds of forums and talked to some experts - there’s a guy at SHIELD who specializes in interplanetary species relationships, I don’t know if you knew that - but anyway it just makes no sense because she would have killed that little guy if he tried to bang her, and I’m sorry, that’s the tea and I’ll fucking fight anyone who disagrees.”

Pausing for breath, he looks so earnest you almost hate to stop him.

“Buck, maybe we try one day where you don’t reference Harry Potter? I know you’re a fan, but - “

“I drew some diagrams,” he continues. “Boning diagrams. But like, I still can’t get it to work.”

Staring into space, he lets his marvelous tactical brain run every scenario of sexual acrobatics required to establish the feasibility of human-giant sex.

This could go on forever. Once Bucky gets knee-deep in fan forum theories, hours will lapse before he swims up for air. Many a morning has found him still in his boxers, laptop on his knees while he smashes the keyboard, arguing with virtual enemies about the physical features of Hogwarts house founders or the complex nuances of international Wizarding trade law.

The truth is - Bucky Barnes is a god damn nerd.

Clapping your hands, you drag him back to real life.

“Focus please. You’re good to do this then? Without the diet?”

“I really really hate it,” he replies, matter of fact, “but I really really love you, so if you want me to, I guess I’m in. But I’m still losing five pounds.”

“You’re my favorite, you know that?” Slipping your hands up under his shirt, you massage the tight muscles alone his spine and he hums happily. Flashing a lazy grin, he boops your nose.

“You know what? I think you should do it too. Be so great to have a sexy poster of you for those long nights when I’m gone and can’t sleep,” he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”

“I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whatever. Like you don’t have a folder full of dick pics with my name on it,” he laughs.

“I wish you’d stop sending me those,” you say sternly. “You know this is my work phone.”

“So? You always need fresh material for your diddle box. Keeps the romance alive,” he says. Reaching up behind you, he tugs open the snack cabinet and rummages for a new bag of Doritos. The airtight blurp of a new jar of salsa follows.

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but - what exactly is a diddle box?”

Massive Winter Soldier eye roll.

“All the pictures and videos and sexy shit you use to masturbate. Clearly.”

“Why do I ask you questions,” you sigh.

“I’m starting my diet tomorrow,” he answers instead, before dunking a fresh Dorito in the salsa.

*****

The next two weeks are spent with Bucky mostly eating raw vegetables and baked chicken breast and loudly commenting on the sorrows of dieting to everyone he encounters.

“You’re being ridiculous Bucky. No one told you to lose weight.”

“No,” he says glumly, crunching a celery stick with a martyred expression. “I need to be hot. Beauty is pain.”

“You are a pain.”

He sighs dramatically. Stares wistfully into the distance. Snaps a carrot in half.

“The things I do for you.”

“Jesus.”

*****

AVENGERS CALENDAR SHOOT THIS WEEK!

Remember to be on time, or we will choose the worst picture of you and print that.

We’re assholes that way.

Thanks,

Management

*****

MONDAY

(SEPTEMBER: Danvers, Carol; Captain Marvel)

Carol throws her bomber jacket over her red, blue, and gold uniform, and adds a sleek pair of vintage Ray Bans. Climbing into the cockpit of her fighter jet, she turns herself all glowy and golden, the color bouncing merrily off the control panel. Tipping her face down to the camera, she flashes the Shaka sign and gives the photographer a huge smile.

(FEBRUARY: Maximoff, Wanda; Scarlett Witch)

Wanda goes all out on all things red. Clad in a long red dress and long coat, surrounded by hundreds of red flowers - tulips and roses and carnations - she curls her fingers and everything around her begins to glow with a warm red light. When she smiles at the camera, her head tilts shyly.

(OCTOBER: Lang, Scott; Antman)

Is Scott actually in the picture or did someone spill coffee? The photographer sees a white sheet and a black spec, and scratches his head in confusion. Antman is kinda weird.

*****

TUESDAY

(NOVEMBER: Rhodes, James; War Machine)

Rhodey shows up dressed head to toe in gunmetal colored armor. When he snaps the faceplate down, the photographer timidly asks if maybe he wants to show his face. Rhodey flips the faceplate back up, reminds the photographer how badass this armor is, and says nope. He’s all good, thanks.

(APRIL: Wilson, Sam; Falcon)

Sam has spent the last few nights practicing his Zoolander pout in the bathroom mirror. He decides to wear a tight black t-shirt and comfortable jeans, with his wings spread wide, Redwing hovering beside him. At the last minute, his sultry pout melts into an animated belly laugh and they decide to use that one instead.

(JULY: Rogers, Steven; Captain America)

Steve goes back to his roots. Wearing a too small shirt and holey old jeans, he gazes pensively at the easel in front of him, glossy blond hair combed in a perfect wave. Fingers dusty with charcoal, he points to the picture he’s drawing and insists they capture it in the photo as well. They later realize he was drawing a picture of his own ass. That month gets labeled “Steve Rogers and America’s Ass”.

*****

WEDNESDAY

(MAY: Stark, Tony; Ironman)

Tony wears the bottom half of his suit and his favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt. Posing in his lab, he floats a few feet off the ground, crossing his arms and giving that trademark smirk. Scattered around him are random bits of technology and a few arc reactors, with Dum-E and a steaming platter of cheeseburgers in the background.

(JUNE: Banner, Bruce; Incredible Hulk)

Bruce looks a bit rumpled. The publicity shy scientist in him detests these things, but he’s a good sport for a good cause. Surrounded by microscopes and beakers of dazzling green liquids, he allows the teeniest quirk of his lips. Hands tucked in his pockets, messy curls fall over his forehead, and Bruce just feels happy to be included.

(JANUARY: Romanoff, Natasha; Black Widow)

Natasha asks for her photo in black and white. Dressed in shadows and tulle, she is nothing more than a dark figure against a white backdrop. On her feet, are a pair of ballet slippers, their satin ribbons looped and laced around her ankles. When she arches slowly up on pointe, her arms curve gracefully over her head and there’s an ethereal stillness about the image. Natasha is amazing.

*****

THURSDAY

(DECEMBER: Odinson, Thor; Thor)

Thor wears an enthusiastic smile when he arrives - and not much else. Dressed in a cherry red speedo, black boots, and his swirling red cape, he stands with one fist on his hip and Mjolnir held lovingly in the other. When the photographer asks about his outfit, Thor proudly describes something called “fan art” he saw online of himself wearing this outfit, mentioning how many “re-blogs” it had. He thinks he might wear this outfit more often, if that’s what the Midgardians want.

(AUGUST: Barton, Clint; Hawkeye)

Clint has a cup of coffee in one hand, a pot of coffee in the other. He wears purple sweatpants and a grey tank top and he yawns every five seconds. When asked what pose he’d like to use, he pretends his hearing-aids are broken. He lays down for a nap and the photographer goes with that.

(MARCH: Barnes, James “Bucky”; Winter Soldier)

Bucky leaves his leather bondage gear, his excessive collection of knives and guns, and his murder scowl at home. Instead, he arrives in black jeans and boots, a dark blue t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his tousled hair brushing the collar of his jean jacket. Perched casually on the seat of his restored Harley, he looks carefree and sweet, offering that signature smile that always sets hearts aflutter.

*****

When the final photo is taken, Bucky ambles over to where you stand with the photographer, reviewing proofs. Snuggling up beside you, he moves in for a kiss and stops in surprise.

“What’s with the lipstick?” he asks, bemused. “That’s new.”

You seem momentarily flustered by the question, stuttering something about losing your chapstick and trying new things. Bucky shrugs and dives in anyway. It makes no difference to him. Painted red or completely bare, your lips are always his favorite flavor.

*****

“They’re here!”

The box of calendars lands with a thump on the kitchen counter.

“Excellent. Are we hot?” Steve asks, his mouth full of cheesy pizza.

“I’m always hot,” Sam answers, ripping into the box. “Yesterday I saw a Buzzfeed post about how hot I am, and it said 11/10 recommend.” Yanking out the pile of calendars, he throws one to Steve. “That means more than 100% would recommend. I’m beloved.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a national treasure,” Steve argues. Reaching for a calendar, he flicks impatiently until he finds himself.

Leaving the team to laugh and bicker and poke fun of each other, you grab your bag (and another small package), heading off to search for your favorite assassin slash model.

His door is cracked when you reach it, low music in the background. Knocking lightly, you push it open.

“Hey Buck. Are you busy?”

Surrounded a chaos of metal, Bucky sits cross-legged on his bedroom floor. A tin of gun oil lays open beside him, a shredded old t-shirt in hand, while he cleans and reassembles his guns. This particular task has taken him literally all day, because Bucky Barnes has yet to meet a gun he doesn’t need.

(Seriously. He needs them. All of them. Stop questioning him, Steve.)

At your voice, an adorable smile scrunches up his face. Bouncing to his feet, he leaps gracefully from the middle of the mess and scoops you up, twirling in a circle and stealing your breath with a warm kiss.

“Hey sweetheart, what’re you doin’ here?”

“Something arrived. Thought you might like to see.”

Handing over the calendar, Bucky wipes his hands on his jeans. A nervous energy makes his fingers fumble when he riffles through the pages.

He stops abruptly at March.

“Huh,” he says, observing his portrait from every angle. Turns it sideways, upside down, pinches his lip. Squints a little. Finally, he nods. “Yeah. Okay, yeah. I look pretty great. I think? Right? I don’t know, what do you think?”

It’s funny.

Sometimes, you hold your breath when you watch at him. There are these little things. The bright excitement in his eyes maybe, or the way he scratches his jaw when he gets nervous, or the absentminded way he tucks his hair behind his ear.

It does things to your heart.

“Yeah,” you say, mesmerized by those little things, “you really do.”

Bucky looks up. Sees your face and breaks into a wide grin. He loves when you look at him like this, like he’s the only thing that matters. Like he’s your whole world. Like you love him.

It does things to his heart.

Snapping the calendar shut, he flings it on his bed. Blue eyes rake you up and down and he pokes his lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Still think you should’ve done it too,” he says. “Bet you would’a looked so hot.”

At his comment, you reach into your bag and pull something free. Silently, you hand over a second square, this one wrapped in black paper, a silver bow taped along the edge.

“What’s this?” he asks curiously.

Shrugging, your expression stays neutral.

“Open it and see.”

Like a kid on Christmas morning, he rips the paper away.

He freezes.

Blinking rapidly, he looks up. Silver fingers delicately trace the shiny picture and he swallows hard.

“Honey, is this - did you do this for me?” he asks softly. Flipping gently through each page of this special, one-of-a-kind calendar, he shakes his head in slow disbelief.

Because there you are.

Posing in March, holding his favorite confetti cupcakes adorned with birthday candles in front of your naked breasts.

Posing in July, dressed in a vintage red, white, and blue USO uniform, white boots on your feet and crackling sparklers in your hands.

Posing again in October, wearing a slutty pumpkin dress with cut-outs revealing slivers of your sweet, sexy assets.

Each picture is incredible. Full of vivid colors and your sunny smile. No air-brushing, no fake poses, just you. Indescribable and undeniably beautiful, bursting with love.

All for him.

Bucky rubs his chest absently, feeling his heart thumping with every turn of the page. And then he reaches the last month, and there’s a strangled squeak. He stares intently at the page. Looks up at you. Back to the page. Back up at you. Closes his eyes briefly.

This is it, this is his favorite, his absolute fucking favorite thing of all time, the image instantly wiping all other thoughts from his proverbial spank bank.

There.

You.

Are.

Damn.

Tacked above you is a sprig of mistletoe, a concession to the holiday theme. But it’s the outfit that does it. Black combat boots, lacy red lingerie, deep red lipstick, and an empty thigh holster. You’re pointing one of his favorite guns at the camera and giving a sly wink.

Mind-blowingly, devastatingly, breathtakingly gorgeous.

Bucky awkwardly adjusts the rising situation in his pants, raising lust-blown eyes to yours. Licking your lips, you give him a hesitant smile.

“Do you - um, do you like them?”

It makes you panic when he says nothing. He simply stares. But then he sets the calendar carefully, reverently, aside. Slipping a hand behind your neck, he hustles you backward until you bump the door, slamming it shut. His warm mouth slants over yours, that talented tongue returning to sweep over your lips. The kiss is hot and frantic, tinged with an edge of wild excitement. When he finally breaks away, his voice is low, dark gravel in your ear.

“Listen. I’m gonna need you to get all those outfits and put on every,” he kisses your throat, “single,” he trails his lips up to your jawline, “one,” and now he’s panting in your ear, “and then I wanna take pictures of me taking everything off, before I fuck you so damn good. How’s that sound?”

Sliding a hand between his legs, your answer makes him tremble.

“Sounds like a deal.”

*****

[writeangstime]

Changing your destiny (Eskel x Reader)

Title: Changing your destiny Fandom: The Witcher (All media) Pairing: Eskel x Reader Genere: Angst (well, it’s supposed to be..) Word counts: 4007 Warnings: Blood

A story that I wrote for @lovermrjokerr​‘s challenge - go check it out because I think it is super fun to do something like that and it is so nice that a fanfic writer is doing something where others can try themselves!

It was read and checked by wonderful @mindowe​ that took some of her time and fixed all the mistakes for me (and apparently had the patience of the angel doing so)! She is also a wonderful artist - her drawing is amazing, check her tumblr and other social media for it!

The wind ruffled through your hair, bringing the tiny mites of sand to your face, forcing you to turn away and, spiting the dirt on the ground the mere seconds before the hove of your horse made its mark on the uneven path. Melitele must have overlooked this place when she was blessing the country because, as far as you could see, there was only a yellow plain of dry and broken grass that was being covered by sand with every stronger gust of wind. Yet, you could understand why it was a perfect hideout for any creature that would like to have some privacy -  or for basically anyone who would seek solitude for something mischievous.

Your mount seemed to agree with your unspoken words, shaking its chestnut mane with what could you say was some kind of concern – under your legs you could feel the horse muscles tensing from something more than a weight on his back as his uneasy breath joined the cracking of the straws and the hitting of the hooves on the trodden path. Swirling reins around your left hand, you reached the other one to pat the animal’s neck, trying to ensure him of the safety of both you and him, though you had to admit it got you a little worried. It was no surprise that domestic creatures were more prone of being influenced by the magic – both good and bad, both strong and weak. Both new and old.

But you could tell that you were getting closer to the place you have been looking for the past few years – at first it was only a distant shape on the horizon, being so thin that one would think it needed only a blink of an eye to disappear in the thin air. But as you were riding closer toward it, the shape began to grow, climbing towards the sky and shifting into the central point in the wasteland. After what seemed to be a long, stretched hours but in reality couldn’t be more than a few minutes, you reached your destination and had to admit, that being present in this place brought to you more uneasiness than actual joy.

If anyone called you a scavenger, hunter or a raider you couldn’t care less. And sometimes fixing them a stern glare, sometimes completely ignoring their person and from time to time even going with some kind of the mean comment in return, but you never got yourself into the discussion. It took some of your precious time that was always in short. Or at least you felt like it was. It felt tiring in certain moments, knowing that your destiny was forged for you long before you could even set the foot on this world. But you weren’t going to sit idly and wait for the curse to swarm you and entrap you in your own body like a prison.

Stopping your mount in front of the entrance you couldn’t help a smirk crawling on your lips as you noticed how small the door in front of you were, left in good condition - though the tower looked like it could collapse in any minute, with the stones almost turning into dust right in front of you. But it was still holding, supported by what you could only guess was the magic that lingered here long after the mage who waved it had long been gone. Well, you hoped he was – meeting undead wasn’t exactly the plan for today, tomorrow and till the end of your life. Sadly for you, whoever inhabited this place decided that windows were not in their taste. If there was anything awaiting you in the tower, it had a lot of the advantage.

Swiftly gliding off the horse, you reached to your saddlebags, cursing under the breath as you hardly tried to memorize where you put the very thing you needed right now. After a while, you managed (or rather struggled) to pull out the small lantern, gently straightening the paper walls and making sure that the candle inside didn’t break during the journey. After you decided that it won’t be any better, you reached to retrieve the flint and tinder from your pocket, bringing a small flame that soon warmed on the candle and glowed in the warm but timid light. Well it had to be enough, you didn’t plan to linger in this place anyway. Pulling out your sword with a small cling sound, you moved to the entrance, holding the light in front of you.

It turned out that the doors were in much worse condition that they looked and, after a moment of trying to force them to open with your body weight, you practically barraged yourself inside, coughing strongly as the clouds of dust were brought to the air with your entrance. The doors slowly moved back to their original position, shutting that small amount of light that you brought from the outside. You managed to calm your breath down, though you still had the feeling that your lungs wanted to escape and you decided to look around as it seemed that there was no unpleasant surprise waiting here especially for you.

The interior  of the tower looked less gloomy than you expected and to your surprise you could actually imagine yourself seating here in some kind of future when your bones are too old to move in proper way. You just could sit by the fire, not worried about anything that was happening outside. Though the area seemed small, mostly because being cramped by the horrendous amount of books and parchments, the unfitting furniture added some sort of cosiness. But it wasn’t the time to get some sightseeing and you had a job to do, so placing the lamp carefully on the table, you moved to search through the books for any information that you could use to your case.

You planned to start with the book on the wooden podium that seemed different from the others, but to your surprise the moment you touched the surface it vibrated under your hand, sending the wave of heat so warm it bordered on burning. Quickly retrieving your fingers, you furrowed your brows, deciding to leave it to the last in case you didn’t find anything in the other volumes.

The flame of the candle lowered, lantern brightened the room from a different angle and casted a longer shadow from your figure as the pile of the things you have searched through had grown bigger and bigger, the same as your frustration. What you by far stumbled upon was a very interesting research, some information about housework and even a bit of the poems, but yet nothing with your family surname or even the slightest mention of the magic. You were sure that this was the place, that there lived the person responsible for it all, and yet there was no a single clue that you could cling to. With every paper tossed aside, your doubts were rising and the feeling of anger creeping in your soul replaced the patience with bitterness of doing something in vain.

You reached for another book but stopped with the stretched hand as you heard scream so loud that it rang inside your thoughts, echoing unpleasantly. Whatever it was, there was no way a human being would sound like that. So that meant you definitely should find your way out before this thing plans to break inside, but as you reached to the door, the loud and agonizing scream of your mount froze you in place. With a beating heart you listened for any noise from outside and after what seemed to be only a mere second something started to push the wood, the crackling of the planks from the force causing the feeling of pure terror and panic.

Jumping away from the door, you hit the table and knocked over the lamp. It smashed on the ground and the scent of the wax burning the paper filled the air. Backing from the entrance in the complete darkness, you pulled out your sword once again, not at all feeling prepared for whatever insisted on getting inside but also not going to sell your soul for nothing. If you could put up the fight, you planned to do it for good. Hiding yourself in the element of the surprise, you stumbled once more upon the wooden podium. Deciding that now or never, you grabbed the strange volume, hoping that it would be at least some kind of weird defence.

But as soon as you raised it from its place, the cover opened, the pages going so fast in front of you that you didn’t even have a chance to read its contents. A blue light burst out and soon the darkness swallowed you, tossing you to what seemed as an endless fall.

***

The shivers were forcing your body to jolt, sometimes giving you the feeling that every inch of your skin is burning only to switch into paralyzing freeze of your veins – it was like every inch of you was torn apart to be once again build in the same way. From what you could say basing on the delusional state you were in, your body was laying on some kind of stone, but at the same time it felt like you were drowning in it, looped in endless falling that neither ground nor the very deepness of the earth could stop.

You weren’t alone though – from the bleakness of your surroundings you could catch the glimpse of the face. Though the scars covered most of it man’s yellow eyes were completely soft and caring, almost like nothing you ever saw in your life. Though the circumstances were more than unusual, you didn’t feel fear, maybe because you could find only a compassion in the way he kneeled beside you. Opening your mouth you searched for the words, but he gestured you not to speak, turning away to search for something you couldn’t see.

“Shh, it’s okay. I got you.”

***

You had no idea for how long you remained unconscious with your body still paying the price for a sudden teleportation, but for sure you realized after waking up that there is no more pain and you could get up as easily as if you just took a refreshing nap. The daylight didn’t shine in the cave but the small fire gave enough light for you to see the man sitting in front of it. He was the very same person that you remembered from your fever dreams and just as you moved up you noticed the cape sliding down on your lap – he must have covered you with it while you were sleeping. Your movement must have caught his attention, as he turned away from you, reaching for something to his right.

“I see you are feeling better now. Is everything well, do you feel you can sit up properly?” He asked with the hearable amount of concern in his voice. You could see him pouring something to the small wooden bowl before he moved closer, handing it carefully to you. Using your sleeves as a protection from warm surface, you nodded in a silence gesture of gratitude.

“Yes, I feel much better now. I assume it is thanks to you, mister…” you asked, rising your head from above the warm soup. It smelled delicious and you felt the clench in your stomach that reminded you that your last meal was probably a long time ago.

You could hear him laugh a bit at your last word, a pleasant, low vibrating sound that seemed friendly and yet strange at the same time coming from the man whose scars were for sure mark of some encountered hostility in his life.

“Eskel, just Eskel, without any mister. And you are?” The man now known to you as Eskel allowed himself to lean on the saddle. With small amount of shame you noticed that there was no other bed than the one you have been sleeping on, so it meant you had left him to sleep on the bare stones probably.

“I am [Your name]. I don’t know how can I repay you.” Well, you felt like you should. He could kill you or rob you. Or both. The list could go on but you got the idea. But as soon as you asked that question, the more urgent matter came into your mind. “Do you mind asking me how long I was blacked out and…well, where exactly I am? We are.” You corrected yourself almost immediately.

“No need to mention that, I was here anyway. And for the former, we are actually in the mountains near the Oxenfurt. We stayed here for a two days.”

You cursed loudly, causing him to give you a surprised look as you quickly shook your head in some sort of explanation.

“My apologies, I must admit you caught me here by surprise. My last position and the one I thought I would be is actually on the opposite side of the mountain.” You fell silent, wondering on the book that was a last object you’ve touched. The feeling of sadness woke inside you when you reminded yourself of a lost horse that you got used to and the saddlebags you will probably never retreat. Well, it didn’t leave you completely broke as you had your small savings in the bank but you still had some valuable knowledge in your personal things. At least, the sword survived with you as you glanced at it, resting by your side. You sipped the soup carefully, but overall the situation wasn’t bright at all.

“I can help you reach the town if you want, I will need to refill my supplies anyway” Eskel offered, breaking the silence between you two. Rising your lips in the smile that you weren’t sure he could see from his place, you nodded once again in thanking.

“I think I will accept the offer. And I insist, when we reach the town I want to somehow reward you for your help. You saved my life, and I don’t want to be in someone’s debt.” Placing down your bowl with a small knock, you stretched a bit, making sure that your muscles fully recovered. One more thing popped in your mind and you turned your face towards your saviour once again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you doing up here?” You didn’t take him for a lost traveller and his equipment showed he was more than a mere shepherd – such person would not take two swords with themselves just to lead sheep up the mountains. He didn’t seem to be offended by your question, taking up your empty bowl and putting it away together with his own.

“I was culling some harpies in the area. Nothing too extravagant for a witcher, I’m afraid.” He laughed once again, slowly putting away the fire. These words made you look at him at more interesting angle as you were thinking over what he’s just said. Coincidence or that damn volume you touched, maybe this was exactly what you have needed – if you could convince him to come with you, of course. Slowly standing up and handing him his coat, you were taking your sweet time to start the proper topic as you attached the sword to your waist.

“Say, aren’t you maybe in a need for a work right now?” Trying to sound as innocent and not as clingy you slowly started to make your case. “Because I might have one on the hand.”

“Well, for sure there is a vacant for me right now, though I am afraid I would need more details.” He answered carefully, raising the saddle to strap it on the black horse that was calmly standing there.

“Let’s say there are not many…?” You half asked half stated, fixing yourself rather quickly when he raised his eyebrows. “I mean, I know this thing is strong, can catch the horse by surprise and kill it in one swing and has a scream so loud that you want to plug something in your brain just not to hear it anymore. It is the only thing that I’ve noticed before that damn book decided to threw me far away. Please, I will pay you as much as you want, but this is really important for me.”

He went silent for a while, focusing more on preparation for the journey than the reply to you but you knew he had to process it. Standing there rather silently, you stared at the ground, not saying a word not to seem too insistent. Finally, you heard him sight quietly and he turned to you.

“It will be much faster if we skip a visit to the town.”

***

Much to your pleasant surprise, it turned out that Eskel was a great travel companion, not only allowing you to ride the Scorpion (that, even if he loved his owner, decided to switch for the person he was nagging for extra snacks) but sometimes even leading you on it as you travelled through the sides of the mountains. It took little for both of you to unwind and tell stories about your lives, sharing a funny on embarrassing moments. He told you a few things about his job and you’ve never pushed too much for the things he barely mentioned. In return, you briefly told him what you were doing though you have never explained to him the true nature of your curse. It was for your knowledge only.

The small camps you were making on the way seemed a lot easier than you had remembered from your previous journeys – or maybe having two pairs of hands was working miracles. Not that you have ever avoided the company of others, but it was always easier to pack and take care of only yourself and your horse. At least, that is what you thought until now, knowing that you are going to miss the moments of building the campfire as Eskel was shocking you with his sense of humor, sometimes being even cheeky.

But all good things must come to an end sooner or later and that was no different case. As you arrived in front of the tower, your mood drastically dropped to the point your own voice lowered like you expected something to jump right in front of you. To your quite visible surprise, there was no trace of the horse blood, any of your things or even scratches on the door, like the events from your last visit have never taken place. But you were sure that this was the exact spot, the same tower and there was no way you could take the wrong way, memorizing the map so well you could draw it in your mind even while in deadly battle.

You had the feeling that the witcher that kept you a company had doubts himself but even if he did, he didn’t share them with you. He helped you to get off the horse and led him right behind the building. You watched in awe as his hands moved to the certain position and the marks you didn’t know before shone on the ground, gently surrounding the animal. He caught your surprised face with a hint of smile and took one of the swords with him.

“This is for protection. After all, I like him quite well.” Giving you reply for the question you have never asked, he moved to the doors and you helped him to push the old oak. Inside, you could actually see the marks of your last visit – the burned lantern, the books tossed in the pile and that stupid volume that laid where you’ve must dropped it after teleportation. The door behind you slowly shut with a loud creak and you could almost feel your heart beating faster.

“I was there. Sitting and reading. It is hard to tell what was happening and I knocked over the light. I tried to hide, grabbed the book…” You stopped, realizing that in this darkness he has no way of telling what you meant. But before the man could say anything, loud scream rang in the air once again, making you flinch and Eskel reach for his sword.

“If anything happens and I tell you to run, do it.” His voice was stern and calm and you were wondering if he was feeling confident, or he could actually cover his feelings and push them to the side.

“Yes” was the only word you were able to say before the loud noise came from the horse. This time, there was also a loud grunt, something you didn’t catch the last time. Maybe the thing wasn’t happy that the additional meal wasn’t so easy to get. Once again the door started to creak and you moved back a bit as you heard the witcher shifting from his place. Both of you didn’t say anything while you were waiting for this thing to come in.

Eventually, the wood gave in and the creature burst inside. It was like nothing you have ever seen – a humanoid and yet a wild creature, casting the ghastly light but being made of the swirling shadows. It had no eyes and yet, when it moved its head, you could feel it was gazing right into your deepest part of soul. Monster did not waste time, jumping so quickly you barely raised the sword that you held – and even that didn’t help.

The steel shattered like the sword was made of glass, not standing even one blow. The tearing pain went through your whole body as the claws cut through your clothes and the blood poured with you falling on the ground. The beast raised its paw once again, but this time the other sword stopped it from taking your guts out – Eskel’s weapon withstood more power than yours. Such resistance was bestowed with un unhappy growl from the monster that now focused on the man.

You could only watch the battle in front your eyes with amazement as the witcher moved in the way you wouldn’t believe anyone could. He was like a water, shaping and shifting in the recognition of the another blow, so the angry creature was either grasping the air or clinging to his sword. But the monster was quickly adapting to the fight, following soon after and learning things while it was mercilessly beating its opponent. You would be dead for sure if you didn’t open that volume earlier…

The volume! Looking around you, your eyes found it lying close to you. You felt pain in every inch of your body, the air on your open wounds giving you shivers, but despite pain you moved, reaching your hand towards it. It felt like you were moving at disgracefully slow pace, especially when you heard the battle sounds becoming more and more aggressive. You finally managed to place a hand on the book and it shoot the wave of heat to your skin once again. Taking all the strength you could gather right now, you grabbed it and tossed it with a swing of your hand.

The pages shifted when the book flew towards ongoing battle and you could see Eskel jumped out of the way. Bright blue light burst in the room once again, blinding you for a while before it all disappeared, taking the whatever attacked you with itself as the volume hit the floor. The adrenaline burst you got seemed to slow down, as the blood pumping in you seemed to run outside in a scary tempo. You laid down your head, closing your eyes as the pain was becoming stronger with every passing second. There was no option you could move, even when the witcher called your name. At least, you heard him well before you passed out.

“Shh, I am here. It will be okay.”

[uwumessenger]

Umm, hi. I really love your blog and I was wondering if you could write an Obey Me headcanon, for the demon brothers if MC was a personal figure skater? Thank you have an amazing whatever time of day you are in and stay safe!💕

thank u bb i dont know much about figure skating (it’s been a while since ive watched yuri on ice too LOLOLOL) but i hope u enjoy ! stay safe and healthy yourself!! <3uwuwuwu<3

Lucifer

he probably caught you watching some skating videos on deviltube is that the youtube equivalent sjkdjksd id think it is

when you explain to him that you’re a figure skater he acts like he knows what it is

immediately excuses himself from the convo to go to his study and RESEARCH

would go with you to diavolo to ask if there’s a way for you to practice since there are no rinks in the devildom right now

when they work out some sort of system and he finally gets to see you, he’s very interested!!

you look so cool to him B)

sometimes he’ll do his work in the stands while you practice but that can be dangerous if you both fail to pay attention to the time haha

Mammon

confused because he may or may not associate ice with negativity bc of all the times his credit card would literally get frozen

and when he finds out how expensive this hobby is he’s confused even more

but when he finally gets to watch you figure skate, he is MESMERISED

it’s like time stops for him and everything is in slow motion LOLOL

after you’re done he will ask a ton of questions like

A LOT

hes do be curious doe

when you ask him why hes being so nosy he’ll come up with a thousand reasons why he isnt being nosy or curious

Levi

he has seen the yuri on ice demon anime equivalent so

when he hears that you figure skate, he’ll beg you to show him your sick moves

even tho there are no ice skating rinks in HELL

well, at least one that’s okay for a human to use

so you show him some videos you have recorded of yourself!! and he sends them all to himself

and oh goodness when he finally gets to see you do a routine

he LOSES IT hes so happy that he forgot to record you the first time!!!

he’ll ask you to do some weird tricks hes seen in his animes and is disappointed when you say you can’t do whatever complicated trick he saw in his show

before he goes to sleep he’ll watch the videos of you that he recorded haha

lowkey jealous when the videos he posts of you does better than his other posts tho

Satan

he was a reading a book about ice skating and asked you about it, and that’s when you told him that you figure skate

*cue dramatic book closing action* do tell me more, mc

the way you describe it sounds so interesting to him and he immediately finds a way to sneak ya out so you can show him

he sketches out and writes down notes as he watches you figure skate for the first time

at times he almost kinda feels like a coach? hes very motivational too

he is especially interested in how you develop choreography and why you choose certain songs for your routines

the only one to actually be invested in learning about figure skating as a whole and not just watching you LOL but every now and then he forgets that he was studying the art and is taken aback by how good you are!!

Asmo

asmo thinks it’s really a really pretty hobby and praises you when he sees you figure skating in a video

and naturally he has to help you pick a performance outfit before you do anything for him lol

you end up practically making an entire show on your own because asmo kept giving you costumes and wanted you to use them all

when he finally sees you figure skate right in front of him it’s a completely different feeling from when he saw the videos

he felt great when he saw you in the fits that he chose :’)

and then when ur finished he tells you that he wants to try doing stage makeup next time

every now and then you try teaching him how to figure skate and he does fairly well but he gets distracted when he sees his reflection so it’s a bit challenging...

Beel

he saw you stretching once and asked you about it

then he ended up joining you in your routine while asking questions about figure skating wow these boys ask a lot of questions huh

when you get around to showing him how you figure skate he immediately wants to try it out himself!!

but he didnt have any skating shoes that fit him,,,and the ice reminded him of bingsu/ujikintoki/shave ice/snow cones so you had to take him out for food afterward T-T

eventually he ends up training with you every now and then, and he’ll watch you practice in the rink whenever he can

levi will accompany him sometimes to record you for the gram

Belphie

like most of the others he saw a video of you figure skating before actually seeing you skate in person

he doesnt bombard you with questions and just lets you talk about it however you want while he drifts off to sleep smh

while watching you do a routine he wonders how many times you have fallen and ate it LMAOAOOAOO 

when yall get home he convinces you to take a nap bc he could tell that you were exhausted

and he said that just watching you made his muscles and bones tired

it worked

naps with you after spending the entire day watching you becomes his new favorite thing 😌

[yankyo]

Message Recieved- Part 2

Part two of the fuckboi Beej idea that @beetlejuicebeadoll thought of!

Warnings: mention of hypnosis, stalking, general creepy beej, light hints of sexual frustration

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

Ding.... Ding.... Ding.... Ding

       You refused to look up, what was the point? You already knew which jackass it was that was spamming you this late at night. The only douchebag who never went on silent, no matter how many times you tried turning off the ringer. 

Ding... Ding... Ding... Ding... DingDingDingDing

With a few choice expletives snarled under your breath, you snatched up your phone, "Can you shut the fuck up already? I'm reading it!" You snapped to the empty air, hoping the bastard was close enough to hear you. Fuck, you barely had to hope, he never seemed to stray far now. You scanned the texts, your irritation growing with each word. 

🐞🥤: hey, hey babes 

🐞🥤: I'm booored 

🐞🥤: at least put on some TV or somethinggg 

🐞🥤: babes, stop ignoring meeeee 

🐞🥤: I'm dying heeeere 

🐞🥤: figuratively lol 

🐞🥤: hey, whatever happened to the sexy shorts?? 

🐞🥤: can we bring those back?? I miss them 

🐞🥤: babes, are u still ignoring me?? 

🐞🥤: baaabes 

"Don't you have something better to do with your life?" You snarled, glaring at the empty air. 

🐞🥤: not living, babes. 

"You fucking know what I mean, you dickbag!" 

🐞🥤: ooh keep talking dirty babes 

       You threw the phone this time, an almost too common occurrence ever since this creep decided to situate himself in his life. The fact that any of this could be common was crazy, but apparently humans could get used to anything and in the past few weeks of being haunted, you found that you were more irritated by the pervy spirit currently possessing your phone than actually scared. After all, all he could really do here was annoy you through the phone, he couldn't affect anything else or really cause trouble without you saying his name three times and since that wasn't happening anytime soon, the both of you were more or less stuck with one another. At least until you could figure out a way to get him out of your phone. 

       Ding, ding, ding the sound of your phone made you sigh, but you turned on the tv and just tried to ignore it now. Beetlejuice loved getting under your skin, constantly flirting and joking around, just trying to either make you blush or piss you off - usually succeeding with both. Every day ended with him begging you to say his name to no avail, and then every night he would torment you with stupid dreams. That was the worst part of it all. Every single time you tried to go to sleep, you saw him, could feel his rough hands pinning you down, felt his lips painting a sweltering path along your skin as he growled his devotion to you. You dreamt of those sharp teeth of his gleaming in the light, hovering just above your neck as a cocky smirk spread across his face, you had woken up begging for him to bite you, thankfully you hadn't said his name, but it was getting just far too close these past few nights. And the worst part was that no matter how desperately needy you woke up, you couldn't do anything but take a cold shower and try and not think about the promises he had hissed in your ear in your dreams while the fucking bastard acted like he had done nothing wrong. It was frustrating and even when you tried to ask him, he would just get all the more cocky with you and ask you all sorts of questions about your dreams as if he wasn't the one causing it. Prick. Well, you weren't going to just give him a free show - and besides, the idea of him just watching you was.... ding, ding, ding. God. Fucking. Dammit. 

🐞🥤: u know, babes 

🐞🥤: u've been looking awfully tense lately 

🐞🥤: I could help out u no.

You scoffed, shaking your head, but you didn't dignify that with a response. 

🐞🥤: nothing pervy ya know, a little massage

🐞🥤: I'm real good w/ my hands u know

🐞🥤: just an offer

Having his hands on you was the last thing you needed right now! Implications of what freeing him would actually do aside, if he was this distracting just living in your phone, you shuddered to think of the mischief he could get into if he was free. 

       "I'd be a lot less tense if you moved out of my phone and found someone else to fuck with." You deadpanned. 

🐞🥤: 😢 hurtful, babes 

🐞🥤: I LIKE being here with you tho

🐞🥤: ur pretty and cool and all, sides 

🐞🥤: u summoned me, can't leave til my name is called and all that 

How the hell that worked, you had absolutely no clue. You did know that swiping right on tinder did not equal a summoning, but then again, what did you know about summoning a ghost demon fuckboi? "Got anything else?" Why you asked, you didn't know. The smart thing would have been to just leave the phone there and go to bed, hope that you could get through the night without any more frustration, but the thought of going back to those dreams and not having an outlet for them.... yeah, not how you wanted to spend another night. 

🐞🥤: hmm 

🐞🥤: I've got one trick, but I dunno if U'll be up 4 it. 

You should back out now. You should just step away and find something better to do with your time. "What's that?" 

🐞🥤: Texting isn't all I can do. 

For a moment, you were confused, you knew he could somehow send pictures. They were blurry as all hell, but got the point across. And the thought of asking him if he meant what you thought he did was enough to make you want to self combust right then and there. 

🐞🥤: .... my voice is weird tho 

Oh. Oh. How did that work? "You can call me?" You pressed, curious now. Silence. The screen went black and a mass of unintelligible letters popped up as a distorted ringtone echoed through the apartment. Now would be a great time to collect your brain cell and run. Maybe to a church or something, stop being the main white lead in every horror film and perhaps not be possessed by a being you barely knew anything about - why were you answering the phone? 

       Static rippled through the speaker, the person on the other line drew in a trembling breath. 

       "Hey babes." His voice was low, gravelly, it sent a tingle down your spine. 

       "H...hey..." what were you even supposed to talk about now? "Your voice isn't weird." Perhaps it was the nerves, perhaps your own awkwardness, but thankfully Beetlejuice laughed, a soft, deep chuckle that somehow made you join in as well until the sound turned cold, intimidating, almost threatening. 

       "Just wait. You ain't seen nothin' yet." The desire to drop the phone and run was back, but you were glued in place. "Breathe, babes. Can't have you passing out on me yet." You exhaled a shaky breath you hadn't noticed you were holding in. "Good. Relax now, I ain't gonna do anything scary." Almost against your will, tense muscles relaxed and you leaned back against the couch, eyes falling shut. You hadn't lied, his voice wasn't weird, it was nice, almost too nice. Though he never raised his tone above a husky purr,  it filled you, his voice was your entire world. "Better. Now, what's got you so tense, huh, doll?" 

       "You do." The response was automatic, you couldn't have stopped yourself if you tried. 

       "Just me? Come on, that can't be it. You were tense when I got here." He was right, you couldn't blame all of your frustrations on him, there had been a reason you had been scrolling through tinder from the beginning, after all. 

       "I...." 

       "You can be honest with me, you know. You're lonely, just like me, aren't you?" The words were settling in your bones, dragging out those thoughts you had been pushing down. 

       "Yes." A breath, a relieved exhale that made your heart twist violently in your chest. 

       "Isn't it better to be truthful with yourself?" You found yourself nodding in response. "You can depend on me, I won't let you be lonely anymore.  You don't even have to say my name, just don't chase me away, let me stay by your side just like this." Just like this? How was this satisfying for him? Bound within your phone, invisible and formless, only able to reach out from within a screen - it had to be torture. 

       "Why me?" The question shocked both of you and the spell that had settled over you shattered. "How is this good?" You pressed forwards, and for once, you had rendered Beetlejuice silent. "Why didn't you just force me to say your name or something? Don't you want to be free?" 

       "I..." it was his turn to flounder.

       "Better yet, why stay here? Why waste your time on me at all? I'm not giving you what you want so why don't you just leave?" 

       "I just... I..." 

       "You don't know anything about me anyways, Beetlejuice, I'm not that treat of a person, why cling to me like this?" 

       "I DO KNOW YOU!" His purr had become a wail and even as your phone slipped from your fingers, his voice came through the speaker clear as ever. "I know you." He repeated, insistent. "I know how you speak to yourself when you're alone, how you laugh at your own jokes and console yourself when you're sad. I know how you like to fall asleep watching old crime shows, but will get so scared that you wrap yourself up in your blanket and walk circles around your home to make sure everything is safe. I know that you meet people just to shy away the second they try to get close. I know how your face brightens when you laugh and how your eyes dim when you're sad. I know you hate crying, so you cry in the shower so there'll be no evidence left behind." You were backing away from the phone now, how could he know all of that? He's only been here for a week, right? Your phone was shaking now, the screen sparking with green and blue and red. "I know you because I watched you. Because I love you. Do you know how long I've waited just to be able to talk to you like this? So you would know who I am?" He watched you? He called your name, the sound sharp, imploring. "I just want to be a part of your life. I don't want to be invisible anymore!" Scared wasn't an accurate enough word for how you were feeling in that moment. You felt as if you would be sick. You had to get away from here. Away from him. "W-wait!" As you stepped back, he called for you, as if he could sense what you were doing. "Don't leave me, please. I'll be quiet! I'll stop being so annoying! Babes!" 

       "Stop calling me that!" The scream echoed through the apartment and Beetlejuice fell silent, your phone screen turning a darker purple before it finally turned black - but you were already turning on your heel and running from the apartment.  

[loopsforlupin]

Wolfstar Through the Eyes of a Mother

Walburga : 

    Walburga Black was not happy, not one bit. Her eldest “child” was consorting with those nasty blood traitors, the Potter’s, and those two half-blood creatures, Peter and the weird wolf named one, Romulus? No Remus, that was the sandy haired one’s name. Weird kid, had nasty scars across his face, and she suspected the rest of his body as well. Whatever, she shook those thoughts from her head, and focused on glaring at the boys gathered on the train station platform. Her precious child, Regulus was gathered with his own friends, but they were of the respectable sort, except for that Snape child, but he was a dark wizard, and a powerful Potion maker, so she was willing to allow their friendship.     The other four boys were standing close to one another, the parents of the other three were gathered around the friends, but Walburga was staring at her son more than her usual gaze. Something was going on. Her eldest was standing particularly close to the tall sandy-haired one with scars, their hands practically brushing every time the boys moved. Her son, instead of doing the proper thing, and stepping away, swayed closer to the boy, tilting his head up to keep staring at the boy. Hmmmmm…… It would appear her eldest son was more of a useless creature than she had thought previously. First he was born with a white core, then he was always smiling and playing with those pathetic muggle children that had loitered around the park near their home. Then the boy went and got sorted into the stupid Lion house, a complete disgrace for their house. And if that hadn’t been bad enough, then he started flaunting his differences in her home. Putting up those disgusting muggle women posters, and changing the room’s color to that dreadful red and gold combination that made her eyes sore. Everything he did was against her very beliefs and core. Now the daft idiot had gone and fallen in love, with a male no less. If the man had been a Pure-blood, maybe she wouldn’t have minded as much, however, the useless child had to go and fall for a half blood. Not even a dark half-blood either, judging by the boy’s core, he was just as light magic as her oaf of a son. 

     Perhaps she should start making those plans for his marriage, Orion, seemed to think she should hold off another year, but judging from the closeness of the two boys, and the indulging looks of their friends, she didn’t have a year. She gave herself a pat on the back, yes, she would plan the boy a wedding, maybe she could even get a couple male’s interested. Perhaps if she offered a marriage with another male, with the understanding that Sirius would have to provide an heir through the use of a male pregnancy potion, than maybe the boy would stop fighting it. Maybe just maybe she’d get the boy under her thumb yet. 

Euphemia: 

      Euphemia Potter was feeling a contradicting set of emotions; ecstatic and  horrified. Her two sons were home with her, where she could watch over them. However, Sirius was still a battered and bruised mess. His ribs were broken, now just sore muscles around the once broken bones, his back was a mess of broken and scabbing skin after his carrier’s loving tender mercies. His lips were starting to heal again, the scabs opening less and less as she made him apply that potion to aid them in healing. His eyes were no longer black and blue, and his arm was out of the sling finally, it had been a struggle to get him to stop using the limb for the required three days, for the skele-gro to finally fix the broken bones there. Now her two sons were lounging on the couch in the living room, James playing with that practice snitch, and Sirius was tucked up in the corner of the couch, a book perched precariously on his knees. The young dark haired boy seemed so much more relaxed now, his shoulders no longer tensing when anyone new entered the room. He was starting to trust them. 

    James had asked her the other day, if Remus could come over. He said Peter had been on a small holiday with his mother, and that was why the smaller boy wasn't invited. She had agreed, the taller boy was so soft spoken compared to her sons, but she knew that his sharp mind and tongue were well within her active boy’s league. He was a nice calming influence on her two active boys, but he could also be quite the little instigator. She had watched him one time, talk James into jumping on Sirius, before the boy had lived with them, and tickling him. All because Remus had decided that Sirius was being to morose. She loved that the sandy-haired boy looked out for both her sons, and their friend. 

     Fleamont’s personal elf, Custer, announced the arrival of Master Siri’s friend. She stifled a grin, Sirius had absolutely refused to be called Master Black, or even Master Sirius, and insisted that all the elves referred to him as Siri, however the elves had added Master in front of it, and Sirius was too frustrated to argue more. Remus walked in the room and her heart fluttered at the beautiful smile that lit up her youngest son’s face. All the pain and fear was immediately wiped off, and replaced with sheer joy and dare she say it, love, for the boy, well wolf, who had walked in. Remus immediately made a beeline for Sirius, cheerfully calling out a greeting. The taller boy pulled the youngest of the group into a firm hug, leaning his head down to rest on the dark hair. He whispered something, but Euphemia was to far away to hear what he said. When Sirius pulled back, Remus smiled at him kindly and kept one arm around his body while he greeted her eldest son. That hug was brief compared to other one. 

      The boys settled back on the couch, this time with Sirius wrapped up in the arms of Remus, while James was talking to the taller boy, sitting with Sirius’s feet in his lap. She smiled at the sweet sight, her youngest being loved on by the two older boys, not even fighting the coddling, simply relaxing against Remus’s chest, letting the other adjust him until they were both comfortable. 

    Euphemia Potter couldn’t help but notice that Remus and Sirius were awfully comfortable with touching one another. Remus had let his one arm hang down over Sirius’s shoulder, so that his hand was dangling near Sirius’s stomach. Sirius was playing with that hand, even as he spoke to the other two, he was intertwining their fingers. Remus payed no attention to this, letting Sirius do as he pleased. After some comment, which had James squawking in indignation and Sirius laughing, Remus leaned down and placed a sweet kiss to Sirius’ s hair. After he had done so, Sirius had tilted his head back and smiled another gorgeous smile at the boy. He then leaned up and pressed a kiss to the grinning wolf’s chin. James said nothing about their actions, just continued to talk. His large grin however, showed how happy he was for his friends.  Euphemia smiled, her youngest son was well taken care of for now. She knew exactly how fiercely protective James was of the younger male, and that Remus could easier hold Sirius down if needed. She set off to find her darling husband, she had to share the exciting news that both their sons had wonderful people to hold their hearts.  

Hope: 

     Ever since that fateful night, Hope Lupin was constantly worried about her baby boy. She had been terrified when he had gone to Hogwarts, terrified that her special baby boy, who was so traumatized by his accident that he didn’t like to talk to people, would be so lonely. She had fretted over how he would handle the full moons as well, she knew how the wolf in him liked to bite and scratch at itself. She always hated to see how battered and bloody her son was after the full moon. The first week of her son’s classes she had been inconsolable, stressed and miserable as she waited for her son to write the first letter. And then it had arrived, and instead of being homesick and lonely, her son had written about the amazing boys he was sharing the dorm with.  

     James Potter, a quick, cheerful sort her son had written, who had busted out a stash of chocolate and pumpkin juice the very first night, and they had celebrated being at Hogwarts. Peter Pettigrew, the boy Remus had shared a compartment with on the train to school. He was quiet, Remus said, but he had a quick mind, and a dry with that was almost on par with Remus’s own. Then Remus mentioned Sirius Black. Oh her son had a lot to say about Sirius Black. The dark haired boy, who had bounded into their compartment on the train, asked if they would like to join him and another boy, James, in their compartment for a small feast of candies from the trolley. Then he had spoken about him again, as the boy apparently went against 50 years of tradition, by being sorted into Gryffindor, despite his family having all been Slytherin. Her son spoke of Sirius’s rebel streak, and the brilliant mind behind the sometimes cold exterior. How the grey eyes could light up with mischief, how his smile was like a special treat, only appearing every so often. How Sirius, James and Peter had gone above and beyond to help him with his situation.

      Over the years, Sirius Black was a common name, along with the others. But somehow, Sirius was the most popular name mentioned about the group. Almost all of it was good, and even the few bad things mentioned, would end up with Remus smiling fondly at the memories associated with his stories. More often then not, when she asked Remus about school, he spoke of some new prank Sirius had came up with, which had somehow used a new topic their teacher’s were trying to teach them. If Hope didn’t know better, she would have sworn Remus was irrevocably in love with Sirius. However, she was certain that her son would tell her such information. 

      After six years of only seeing her son’s friends at the station, and hearing about them from her son, Hope had insisted that Remus invited his friends over for a couple of days during the summer. Her and Lyall’s house at the lake was large enough to accommodate the additional three boys, if they didn’t mind pairing up. She thought the boys could do with some good old fashion running around, and they could spend lots of time in the lake. Her son had loved growing up having the lake to swim around in. The day had arrived, her son was a nervous wreck, he had cleaned his room twice over the last two days, making sure nothing embarrassing was laying around. He had even started to clean the rest of the house, but Hope had slapped his head, and forced him to sit down and drink a cuppa. 

      The first to arrive was James, who had immediately pounced on her son, hugging him tightly, talking so quickly she could barely hear the individual words coming from his mouth. Remus however, just hugged the dark haired boy just as fiercely, somehow understanding what the other was saying. When the two separated, James Potter, turned to her, and immediately blushed, realizing he had just jumped her son while she was watching him. He apologized before introducing himself, and thanking her profusely for allowing them to come. She immediately liked the eager young man. He was a ball of energy, and so loving towards her son, she couldn’t help it, she grabbed him into a tight hug, assuring him it was no problem to invite them. Peter arrived next, and greeted her son, though not quite as enthusiastic as James had. The boy introduced himself to her as well, and presented her with a small tin of cookies, his mother made apparently to thank her for taking them in. 

     The last to arrive was Sirius Black.  The boy stepped out of the fire place his eyes automatically shifting to find Remus. When he saw her son, his face lit up, and he immediately pulled the taller boy into a tight hug. She noticed that her son clutched Sirius to him, the hug lingering as if neither wanted to pull back. When they did, Sirius immediately turned to her, and smiled angelically. His eyes still bright and happy. He introduced himself, and also thanked her for having him. He reached into a satchel hanging from his shoulder and pulled out a single red and gold rose and a pack of something called chocolate cauldrons. He presented it to her, telling her it would last forever, and that the gold and red were the colours of her son’s house, and the chocolate cauldrons were something her son thought she would enjoy. She smiled, and thanked him for the kind gesture and pulled him into a tight hug. He seemed unsure when she first hugged him, but soon relaxed into her grasp. 

      The boys were then sent out to find their rooms and to change into something they could go into the lake with. Under ten minutes later, the boys were rushing outside, and she could hear the happy yells and shrieks as they rough housed in the water. A couple hours later, she called the boys in for dinner, hearing them pick on one another as they entered the house. Lyall stood at the door, drying them off with a spell, before letting them further into the house. They eagerly gathered around the dining room table, waiting until Lyall joined them before starting to eat. They talked and laughed over the food. Her son’s face was so happy, Hope actually had to remind herself to breathe and look away from his face.  After dinner Peter, James, Remus, and Sirius helped clear the table, despite her best effort to tell them they didn’t have. Once everything was cleared up, the boys settled into the living room, Remus putting on a movie for the four of them to watch. She sat in her arm chair, pulling out her hand work, she was working on knitting a baby blanket for a friend’s daughter. James and Sirius were more captivated by her and her hand work. They approached her, letting the other’s watch the movie. 

      James and Sirius said that Euphemia Potter and Fleamont Potter were teaching them to knit as well, however they weren’t quite as good as her, and wanted to watch her to see if they could learn anything new. She smiled, happily readjusting her work, and telling them about the pattern she was doing. The lesson continued until the movie ended and it was decided that the boys should head to bed, if they wanted to explore the town tomorrow like they planned. James and Sirius thanked her for her lesson, and went to bed. After another two hours, Lyall and Hope also retired, however Hope looked into the room her son was sharing with Sirius, and noticed that instead of sleeping on the floor like she expected, they were both curled up together on the small twin size mattress. 

     She stood there for a while, observing the two “friends”. Remus was laying on his back, with Sirius laying on top of him. The dark haired boy’s head laying over her son’s heart. She couldn’t see Sirius’s face, but her son was wearing a small smile even as he slept. His face half buried in the dark hair. Sirius twitched in his sleep, and Remus let out a small growl, and Sirius immediately settled down. She had a hand pressed to her lips. Oh her sweet baby boy. He was in love, and he was deeply loved in return it would seem. 

    Over the next couple of days, Hope Lupin got to see how attached her son and Sirius were. Sirius was never more than an arms length away from her son, and more often then not was tucked up under Remus’s arm. His own arm wrapped around Remus’s waist, almost possessively so. James was usually trying to pull Sirius in one direction, however Remus never let him get to far away. At one point, she had walked into the den, with none of the boys noticing her, watching as the Remus pulled Sirius down on his lap, while he was sitting in the recliner. The dark haired boy didn't resist, and instead wiggled around until he was comfortable, and pulled out a bar of chocolate, which he immediately shared with her son. Sirius held the bar in front of Remus’s face, and after her son had taken a bite, Sirius had kissed his cheek. Remus smiled down at the younger boy, and kissed Sirius’s forehead before tucking the boy under his chin. 

    Hope Lupin was so happy. Her boy was no longer a baby, he was a teenager, a very responsible one, who seemed to have found someone who loved him completely. Someone who not only knew about his accident, but loved him despite and because of it. Sirius didn’t shy away from her son’s condition, and instead, he joked about it, making her son smile about something he had once hated so much. Lyall came up behind her, his head resting on her shoulder as he whispered in her ear. “Our son did good. He’s a good boy.”  

[eirabach]

Hazy Days

This is absolute utter nonsense, following on from the idea of Alan getting messed with on his 18th, written to cheer myself up. Hope it cheers some of you guys up too. Going out to @onereyofstarlight for the inspro <3

Gordon hovers at the threshold of the lounge, hiding behind the door frame as he listens to the sound of furniture scraping across the floor and the dull thud of wood against wood.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” someone says, voice low and urgent.

“It’s tradition,” comes the reply. 

“That isn’t what I asked though, is it.”

“You thought it was fun when we got Virg with the --”

“Hey! We promised never to speak of it!”

“Yeah yeah, come on hurry up, he’s gonna be in any minute --”

There’s another bang, and the sound of something heavy coming to rest. Then, a long, suspicious silence. Gordon knows a lot about suspicious silences. Enough that he ought to know better than to investigate them.

He doesn’t though, so there’s that.

Scott is sat behind their father’s desk, which is -- not as weird as it used to be, exactly, but still just odd enough to draw Gordon’s attention. To draw him out. It is possible Scott is relying on this, of course. It is equally possible that it works.

“Ah, Gordon!” Scott says, like he hasn’t just been eating egg sandwiches with him twenty minutes ago, like he’s the CEO of an international company and Gordon’s the intern whose name Scott’s got down on a prompter. “Join us?”

Scott is the CEO of an international company, and okay Gordon isn’t the intern, exactly, but he’s compelled to obey nonetheless. He approaches the desk gingerly, noting the way Scott’s got his fingers pressed together, the absence of paperwork.

“Whatever this is, I don’t like it.”

“Why, what do you think this is?”

Gordon hesitates, eyes flicking from Scott to the two brothers sat either side of him. Virgil is wearing that face -- the this is for your own good face -- that Gordon’s long since learnt to associate with things he’d really really rather not experience. Decompression trials. Particle physics lectures. Grandma’s vindaloo. John looks -- well, John looks like John. Cool, collected, clearly wishing with every bone in his body that he was anywhere else. Gordon’s always liked that about John, the predictability. Now it only serves to solidify the queasy sort of feeling in his chest into what could best be described as dread.

“An -- intervention?”

A muscle twitches in Virgil’s jaw. John huffs, his fingernails tap tap tapping against the plexiglass screen of the tab in front of him. Scott lifts one eyebrow, leans forward, and lowers his voice.

“Do you require an intervention?”

“Are you asking?”

Scott beams at him, a full, shit-eating grin; Gordon takes three solid steps back. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds genuine enough but that grin is nothing but unnerving. “That we missed your birthday.”

Ah. Well.

It’s not like it could be helped, the timing. It’s not like that guy capsized his yacht on purpose. Or the planet decided to shift its plates just to fuck with him. Or the ISS crapped out on its orbit just because it happened to be Gordon Tracy’s birthday.

His eighteenth birthday, not that he’s counting. Not that anyone had been counting. Even Grandma’s cake had been a -- thankfully -- minuscule affair, topped with shop bought fondant and a single candle that he’d blown out with the last puff of exhaustion at midnight.

Make a wish, Gordon. Right. Like he doesn’t do that hourly.

Still, it was better than last year. Last year he’d spent it at the bottom of the ocean, tucked up tight in his ‘bird. Not because he had to, not because there was any one to save, but because -- because there hadn’t been. He’d been desperate for distraction, then. For anything to take his mind off the constant sickening ache of remembering and missing and knowing that this is what every birthday would be like, now. Forever. 

Orphan. 

Last year had been, frankly, shit. 

“Noted, and as you should be,” Gordon says, and narrows his eyes. “So what, you’re gonna make it up to me?”

Scott sits back in their dad’s chair, arms behind his head and grins. “Yeah.”

This is -- not reassuring.

“Where’s Alan?”

Virgil moves, cracking his neck as he stretches, and Gordon winces because he’s seen the footage from that ‘quake. His brother has gotta be feeling it.

“Gordon, you’re eighteen now,” he says, perfectly solemn, and Scott’s expression tries to rearrange itself into something a little less -- worrying. John rolls his eyes. “That makes you -- “ a long pause, all dramatic effect, “a man.”

“Oh God.”

“And when you’re a man --” From the drawer of dad’s desk appears an item that Gordon would prefer to never, ever, ever consider his father having any use of. At all. 

He probably didn’t. 

There are five of them.

“Oh God, oh God, Jesus, anyone, don’t.”

“You see, Gordy,” says Scott, tipping the contents of the box onto the desk with the sort of glee Gordon hasn’t seen from him in at least eighteen months. “When a man loves a --”

“Scott I will pay you not to finish that sentence.”

“With what, my money?”

“Scott!”

“All right, all right,” Scott actually laughs, then, hands raised in surrender. “You win. Virgil, finish the sentence.”

“That isn’t what I --”

“Gordon,” Virgil says, and what the -- he’s holding a banana. Why is he holding a banana. Why isn’t the ground opening up and swallowing Gordon whole? “As your brothers --”

Scott cuts in. “Your older, responsible, brothers.” 

“We feel it’s important to talk to you about --” another dramatic pause, there was always too much theatre kid in Virgil, “safety.”

Gordon can’t really back much further away, not without either actually running for it or tripping over the back of the sofa and concussing himself. He considers it anyway, but instead settles for  throwing his hands up in front of him.

“No. Nuh-uh. No way. I have had this little chat. I went to school. I spent two and a half years living in dorms with eighty five really really fit people, okay? I know.” He turns, desperately, to the only other person who could possibly hate this conversation more than he does. “Johnny, tell them!”

John pushes a little foil packet towards him with the same delicacy Virgil would use to defuse a bomb. Gordon stares at him.

“Don’t look at me,” John says, dropping the tab down beside it, “I don’t want to be here anymore than you do.”

“Then why,” Gordon hisses, “are you here?”

John blinks at him, then nods to the tab. “Schematics.”

That does it, he bolts, fingers in his ears and shirt flapping behind him as he practically throws himself out of the villa and down towards the beach. Scott sighs happily, rubbing his hands together before pocketing all but one of the condoms. This he offers to Virgil, who declines with a wave. John plucks the banana from Virgil’s hand and peels it before lifting it in salute toward Gordon’s rapidly disappearing form.

“To adulthood,” John intones. “And all its many --” his nose wrinkles momentarily “challenges.”

Virgil scoffs, but Scott smiles. 

“Godspeed, kid,” he says, soft as can be. “Godspeed.”

[vagrantblvrd]

Lay Your Bones Down (1/1)

Summary: When it comes to soulmates people tend to fall into two camps of thought.

Notes: Prompt fill for the wonderful @ahwuum who has been super patient and supportive. <333!

(Read on AO3)

When it comes to soulmates people tend to fall into two camps of thought.

The ones who go all-out looking for their soulmate. Buy into what Vinewood and other “experts” have to say on the mater. Read all the books on how to recognize the signs or whatever, watch the television specials and pay close attention to their horoscopes and magazines aimed at helping people find them.

Sign up for the websites and download the apps once they become available because it’s a driving force for them, part of their pursuit of happiness and everything.

Sometimes it works, they find their soulmate and live happy fulfilling lives with them.

Other times it doesn’t, and they make themselves miserable looking for a needle in a haystack all their lives and let every other chance for happiness pass them by and it’s. It’s just sad, is what it is.

Then you have the ones like Jeremy who – he’s not going to lie, okay.

He’s curious who his soulmate is. What kind of person they are, if they’d even like each other, get along like a house on fire or hate one another at first sight. (A different way of getting along like a house on fire, and to be honest saying’s always bothered him but that’s a conversation for another day, or something. Whatever.)

He used to think about it a lot more when he was a kid, bright future ahead of him and all these possibilities, right? Smart kid like him? Could have done anything.

And he did.

For a while.

Then one of his buddies got caught up in some trouble of his own making, and stupid idiot Jeremy thought he could help get him out. Only got dragged into the same kind of trouble and into a literal pit facing off against guys twice his size trying to get back out again.

Stopped wondering who his soulmate was when his primary concern was not getting his face beaten in, and then things escalated to the point all of that slipped to the back of his mind.

Soulmates and the criminal life don’t go so well together, puts a crimp in things. (He figured if he did meet his soulmate doing the things he does now, it wouldn’t be a ringing endorsement for either of them.)

So, yeah.

Jeremy pulls himself out of the fighting rings in Boston, but doesn’t do it clean. Has people who’d be glad to put him down, so he decides it would be a good idea to get the hell out while he still can.

Goes from city to city doing what he can to get by. Realizes he’s in a goddamned ridiculous line of work and figures if he can’t beat them he might as well join them (something like that) and goes all-in.

Picks up the Rimmy Tim thing somewhere along the east coast. Browsing through the offerings in a thrift store where he finds these hideous yellow suit pants. Catch his eye, have him cackling like an idiot, but that might be more the painkillers blunting the ache of a stab wound in his shoulder.

Finds a purple suit jacket a few cities over and something about it hits him just right.

It isn’t until he’s somewhere in Texas he spots the cowboy hat. Gas station with a tired looking woman on the register and news on the television talking about something going on in a city named Los Santos.

Jeremy gives her a bright grin, all nice and friendly because he’s just passing through, ma’am, no trouble here. Watches the footage of another gang war in progress play on the television as the woman rings his purchases up.

He’s been seeing more and more about Los Santos the closer he gets, figures it’s a big deal in this part of the country. (Liberty city’s got the east coast locked down for chaos and carnage.)

Gets this little itch going in the palms of his hands because everything he’s seen tells him it would be smarter to stay the hell away from a city like that, but.

Jeremy’s kind of an idiot.

And, you know.

There are still people out there with a grudge to bear against him and a city as big as Los Santos seems like a good place to get lost in.

Can’t possibly get caught up in anything big enough to make the news like half the things he’s seen so far anyway, right?

========

There are books out there that have a lot to say about the placement of people’s Names. Conflicting information based on what old wives tale the author grew up on, their region of the country.

All of them agree on one thing, though. Names closest to the heart mean you’re bound for a happy match once you find your soulmate, get that happily ever after everyone’s running towards.

Jeremy’s Name is on his back, running along his spine, and the one book he read about Name placements had nothing to say on the matter. Didn’t look further into things because he was afraid of what he’d find.

Awkward placement for him to get a good look at it, but he’d tried when he thought he had a chance to find his soulmate. (When it would have been a good thing.)

Did all sorts of crazy things to get a picture.

Tried taking a picture using the bathroom mirror but he only got parts of it in the frame. Set up a series of mirrors like an idiot and got better pictures out of it he played around in the edit mode to flip it.

Other things like that.

Realized his soulmate has the shittiest handwriting known to man or maybe something was wrong with his eyes because even now he can barely make out what it’s supposed to be.

A signature for sure, the way most of them are.

Starts with a big looping letter and ends in this indecipherable scrawl like whoever they are they either gave up along the way or couldn’t be bothered with the rest.

Sometimes he’ll catch sight of it in a bathroom mirror of whatever shitty motel or apartment he’s staying in, wonder what could have been.

========

Jeremy’s supposed to be watching this hacker.

Keep an eye on him to make sure he’s doing what he’s supposed to be doing, or keep him safe, his current boss didn’t specify.

Squirrely little bastard, though.

Scrawny.

Looks like a twig with a wild tuft of hair and this nose that got him picked on as a kid. (If the way the rest of the crew treats him is any indication, that never stopped.

Jeremy might feel bad about how the others treat the guy, if he wasn’t such an asshole.

And anyways, it’s his first job in Los Santos. Some dirty little gang that’s been outsourced to do a job for an ally of theirs.

He’s hired muscle here and so low down in the pecking order he might as well not even have a name.

Just Goon #2 or something.

“What kind of name is Rimmy Tim?” the hacker asks out of the blue, not bothering to look up from his work. “Did your parents draw it out of a hat like a raffle?”

The two of them are alone in the warehouse the gang operates out of. It would be real easy to kill him and pretend he didn’t know how it happened.

Just.

So easy.

The thing that stops Jeremy from doing it is that murder is a bit of an overreaction to the annoying bastard. And, he’s being paid to watch the guy so he’d be shooting himself in the foot. Also, it’s clear he’s not thinking about the words coming out of his mouth.

Some idle thought floating around in his head while he focuses on his work and no brain-to-mouth filter.

“Yeah,” Jeremy drawls. “They used this hat to do it to. Gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday to commemorate the occasion. Even gave me a lasso so I could catch my first horse.”

The hacker keeps tap-tap-tapping away on his laptop for a few moments afterward before he processes what Jeremy said.

Slowly lifts his head to squint at Jeremy like he’s sure he’s being fucked with, but also maybe not?

“Wait, what?”

Jeremy smiles and tips his hat at the asshole as he gets up to grab a beer out of the fridge.

========

As much as Jeremy tries not to think about the Name on his back, the rest of the world makes that impossible.

Television shows and movies. Best-sellers at the store. Songs on the radio. Marketing campaigns every-fucking-where and shoved down people’s throats at every turn.

No wonder so many obsess over their Name when they’re made so aware of it every waking moment.

It’s still kind of weird, though, listening to the guys he works with gossiping about them. Doesn’t matter who he’s working for, where he is, there’s always someone like that.

Stone-cold killers and no remorse to them, and they’ll kick back for a poker game and someone will start up a conversation about the Name on their shoulder.

Curling script and little hearts dotting the ‘i’ and wondering what they have to think about their own rough scribble of a name. (Good penmanship isn’t a requirement for their line of work.)

It’s enough to make Jeremy wonder what it is about Los Santos that people like them think about their soulmates like that. Hope they’ll get the chance to meet them even though they’re on the wrong side of the law and the odds of them getting something good out of it are so damn low.

========

Jeremy’s been in Los Santos for about a year, two, before his name gets put out there as someone people might want to watch out for.

Well, one of his names, anyway.

He still gets strange looks when he introduces himself as Rimmy Tim, but considering Los Santos is the kind of city where everyone’s scared of some idiot in a rubber mask calling himself the Vagabond, he figures he's doing alright for himself.

He’s been hired on by a crew that hasn’t tried to fuck him over since they brought him on to be an extra gun for them. (Yet.)

Decent pay that helps with the rent for the place he shares with a couple of idiots he’s fallen in with in Matt and Trevor, and until recently they were playing it smart.

Did nothing to attract the notice of the bigger crews in town, but that’s changed the last few weeks. His boss with his eyes set on moving up in the pecking order which means coming up against those same crews who could squash them flat with barely a thought.

Trevor keeps harping on him to get the fuck out, fake his death if he has to and have Matt gimmick him up a new identity, the whole works, because.

Fuck, because his boss is taking swipes at the Fake AH Crew.

Just about the worst crew to mess with, what with their reputation for not taking kindly to that kind of thing and all.

The crew Jeremy’s working for keeps bringing in new blood because they’re dropping likes flies with every skirmish they get into with the Fakes.

No mercy to the Fakes when one of theirs gets hurt, just this single-minded anger snapping back around on whoever is stupid enough to go after them.

If Jeremy was smarter, he’d listen to Trevor, he would. But Matt’s got these debts and smart as Trevor is he hasn’t been able to find a way to get him out of them other than paying them off. Jeremy does his part to help, which means being the kind of idiot out there tempting fate working for a certified moron with a death wish.

It’s how you say, not great.

Jeremy’s boss knows he wants out, but he also knows Jeremy doesn’t have a lot of say about it, so he keeps giving Jeremy the worst jobs. Sends him out with the other expendables on what amount to suicide missions and no skin off his nose if they don’t come back.

Which is how Jeremy ends up being partnered with some other disgraced bastard in the crew to put a little pressure on a weapons dealer looking to side with the Fakes. Convince him he’d do well to stick with them, but they pick a bad (good?) time to do with, what with the Fake AH crew members they run into there.

Guy in a leather jacket with a snarling wolf’s head on the back, the goddamned Vagabond, and some pretentious asshole with gold-framed sunglasses and stupid hair.

There’s a moment where they all stare at one another in shock, and then at the scumbag weapons dealer has the temerity to hiccup nervously before the shooting starts.

Jeremy’s not sure who fires the first round, but the moment they do it’s a free-for-all. Bad lighting and not the best anything and it’s confusing as hell.

Bullets flying and enough yelling to almost drown out the gunshots.

He hears one of the Fakes yell something about bringing the car around when things get bad. Sees a figure go pelting out a side door like a bat out of hell. The remaining Fakes doubling down to push Jeremy and his partner back, buy time or just put an end to things.

Jeremy drops behind cover, pops off a few shots and watches his partner – stupid asshole, stubborn as hell and just plain dumb – go down without a sound.

Swears under his breath and returns fire, with the realization he can get the hell out of there or die, and he knows which one he prefers. Cuts and runs like a coward, or just someone with a brain who doesn’t need to run the numbers to know he’s facing shitty odds, whichever.

He finds a door that leads to an alley and runs like hell until he hits a side street. Glimpses an ugly little purple car puttering down the street towards him from the corner of his eye and jumps in front of it to get the driver to stop.

Thanks God the idiot didn’t think to lock their door before he’s ripping it open and forcing them into the passenger seat, means to kick them out entirely but the Fakes find them before he can, spilling into the street.

“Fuck it,” Jeremy says, and “sorry, pal, but you’re probably safer in here than out there,” and then his foot is on the gas and they’re zooming out of the alley to...somewhere.

Jeremy doesn’t fucking know, okay.

He’s shot and bleeding and apparently a kidnapper now?

So.

Yeah.

He drives for God knows how long until he hears this quiet little laugh next to him. Incredulous, disbelieving, and -

“I can’t believe you still have the damn cowboy hat.”

Jeremy almost slams on the brakes because that voice.

British accent and infuriating as hell and what are the odds?

But, the part where he’s running from the Fakes and can’t do that – traffic and all – and just, it would be bad if he slammed on the brakes.

Instead he slows down a bit to keep from plowing into the car in front of them as it slows down to make a turn, and then whips around it the moment he can and keeps on going. Waves his gun in the hacker’s direction to shut him up, intimidate him, who knows, and heads to a safehouse he knows.

Only, the gun doesn’t shut the little idiot up, no.

“You’re bleeding,” Jeremy hears, which is not news to him.

He also hears, “That looks nasty,” which, he imagines it would. Bullet plus squishy human flesh and he’s not great at math, but even he can figure that one out.

Also?

“This is going to be so difficult to explain later.”

That makes no sense at all to Jeremy, but then the hacker’s reaching for his arm and Jeremy sends him a sharp look, because maybe don’t fucking do that when he’s got a gun sort of kind of aimed at him?

Takes a chance by taking his eyes off the road and almost swallows his tongue as he goes to tell him to very fucking politely not because -

“Oh, fuck me,” Jeremy mutters, because.

Stupid hair and gold-framed sunglasses, and Jeremy's kidnapped the Fake AH Crew’s Golden Boy by accident.

Accident.

There are people in Los Santos who’d pay an obscene amount of money for someone to do it on purpose and Jeremy did it by accident.

Awesome.

========

The Golden Boy plays it smart, in his own way.

Doesn’t shut up, no, but realizes Jeremy doesn’t appreciate him trying to stop him from bleeding all over the interior of his car (not so much the bleeding part as the potential risks of what he could do to Jeremy instead, so yeah) and keeps his damn hands to himself.

Babbles as Jeremy navigates backstreets and alleys to get to the shitty little safehouse Trevor scouted out for the three of them a few months back. Paranoid as hell, Trevor, and smart enough to know things would go to hell on them sooner or later.

Either Matt’s debts or the mess Jeremy’s trapped in, who the hell knows.

Trevor’s good about planning ahead, and Jeremy trusts him like no one else he’s met in this shithole city. (He trusts Matt, don’t get him wrong on that. But Matt is the same kind of dumb as Jeremy and it’s just. Better to look to Trevor for shit like this.)

Safe enough to hide out here to patch himself up, figure out what to do from there.

He parks the car a few streets over because you can never be too paranoid in this city. Pushes the Golden Boy ahead of him while they keep to the shadows and the gun ins his jacket pocket as incentive to go along with things for now.

No damn idea what he’s going to do with the little idiot, not that it matters because Jeremy’s fucked any way you look at it.

The Fakes will tear the city apart looking for him, and they know where to start looking. His own crew would sell him out in a heartbeat to save their own skins.

The only good part about this, if it can be called that, is that Trevor will figure out something went wrong when Jeremy doesn’t go back to their crappy little apartment and want to know what happened.

(Hell, now might not be a bad time to listen to him about faking his death before the Fakes find him.)

So until then...yeah.

It’s a mess.

Jeremy’s a mess, suit jacket ruined along with the shirt underneath. Something more than a simple graze that turns his stomach and hands nowhere near steady enough to stitch himself up.

“Fuck,” he says, and again a little stronger as he stares at the his wound, still bleeding sluggishly, ”fuck.”

The Golden Boy shifts. Nervous? Anxious? Who knows.

Says, quiet, careful, “I could help?” like he’s not sure how Jeremy will take it after the whole thing in the car with the glaring and everything that followed.

He shrugs when Jeremy looks up at him, pushes his stupid sunglasses up into his stupid hair. Looks tired without them hiding his eyes. Dark bags and under his eyes and this crooked little smile Jeremy doesn’t remember seeing before.

“I’ve done my share of stitching people up.”

There’s something to the way he says it that makes Jeremy believe it. Him. Whatever.

(The Fakes are known for being vicious about protecting their own, hurt one of them and you’re fucked and he’s never thought much about it before, but. There’s got to be a reason for it beyond not looking weak to their enemies, rivals.)

Jeremy’s out of options, knows he’s probably making a mistake here, but that part about being fucked anyway, so.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, and pushes the first-aide kit towards the Golden Boy.

Watches him like a hawk as he picks through the thing making these little tutting noises as he does because Jeremy may or may not have forgotten to restock it after the last time.

Rolls up his sleeves and Jeremy follows the motion without thought. Eyes going to the line of letters he can see just on the Golden Boy’s his inner forearm. Something familiar about them, but then the Golden Boy notices Jeremy staring.

Clears his throat and pulls his sleeve down to hide the Name inked on his skin. They’re a liability in this business, get people killed, and Jeremy pulls his gaze away guiltily.

“Sorry,” he says, because he’s an asshole and a ruthless criminal as these things go, but even he’s not that far gone. Not the kind of monster who’d take advantage of knowing who the Golden Boy’s soulmate is, use that against him. Not like he can say that and expected to be believed, but still. “It’s...sorry.”

He can feel eyes on him, knows the Golden Boy is watching him, judging him, and then there’s a little sigh.

“No worries, love,” he says, striving for bright and cheerful, just this hint of uncertainty, maybe even fear to it. “Not your fault, now is it?”

(Is it?)

Jeremy remains silent, winces as the Golden Boy sighs again before he picks up a washcloth Jeremy scrounged out of a cabinet to clean away the blood. He works quickly and efficiently, murmurs an apology when Jeremy hisses in pain as he plucks out cloth fibers and whatever else have gotten into the wound before he starts on the stitches.

Neat, even things, and a little laugh afterward when he says it might not scar noticeably.

Not a major concern for Jeremy, but still nice to know.

“Thanks,” he says, as the Golden Boy tapes off the bandage covering the stitches. “Just, uh. Thanks.”

Awkward as hell, thanking the guy you’ve kidnapped (accidentally, and he’s never going to get over that) for patching him up, but hey.

That’s Jeremy’s life in a nutshell.

(Or...something.)

He watches the Golden Boy pack the first-aide kit up nice and neat, reach for a stay bit of trash from the supplies he used, sleeve riding up again and this time Jeremy gets a good look at the Name on his arm.

Realizes why it had seemed so familiar from the glimpse he caught, and reacts without thinking.

Grabs the Golden Boy’s wrist with his good hand, painfully aware of the way the Golden Boy freezes like a deer in the headlights because Jeremy’s still got his gun and the whole being kidnapped thing.

Ignores the pain ins his bad arm as he pushes the Golden Boy’s sleeve up to reveal the Name on his inner forearm.

Jeremy’s name.

Knows his signature after years of using it, every upward sweep and downward loop, and his heart drops because this, this is how he meets his soulmate, of course it is.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy mutters, releasing the Golden Boy’s wrist, aware of the way he recoils away from him like he’s been burned. Holds his arm close to himself, hiding the Name on his skin from Jeremy, and he feels sick about his reaction.

(How could he? Why would he?)

Probably thinks Jeremy’s like all the other sick fucks in this city who’d pay anything to know whose Name someone has on their skin. Use it against them and do it happily because it gives them power over them, and fucking hell.

“I - “ Jeremy’s voice fails him and he thinks about just whipping his shirt off to show him why, but that’s.

Gonna send a bad message if he can’t explain himself first, and he can feel himself on the verge of laughing like a lunatic because this is not now he saw today going at all.

He looks up to see the Golden Boy watching him. Wary, as Jeremy would expect him to be after watching Jeremy act like the aforementioned lunatic.

“What,” the Golden Boy asks, voice cracking a little. “What was that all about?”

Jeremy stares at him, because he looks scared, sure, but also?

Angry.

Like he’d kill Jeremy rather than let him use his Name as a weapon or a threat against him. Willing to protect the idiot whose name is indelibly inked on his skin with everything he has because that’s what you do for your soulmate if you give even the tiniest of fucks about them. (Even without their unique situation.)

People are so stupid that way, and it’s both the funniest and saddest things about them to Jeremy.

Because.

He’s got a name running along his spine and he may not know a hundred percent what it is, what with the horrible handwriting, but he knows without a doubt it’s this little idiot’s.

Knows it like he knows every other important thing in his life, and this just complicates things even further, doesn’t it?

Rival crews and a carjacking that led to an (accidental) kidnapping. A soulmate that looks like he’s trying to decide the best way to kill him to keep Jeremy from using himself against him, and it’s getting real confusing in Jeremy’s head.

One thing he does know, though. He can’t let his soulmate (Jesus, Trevor will never let him live this down and neither will Matt) think he’s one of those scumbags who’d use his Name against him.

“Rimmy Tim isn’t my real name,” he says, which should be obvious by now because no self-respecting human being would go through life with it as a name and not have it legally changed at some point.

Just, no.

The Golden Boy’s still watching him. Cocks his head at Jeremy’s admission, eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out where Jeremy’s going with this.

“This is...” Jeremy trails off, knows if he just tells him his name is Jeremy it’s not going to come off well, given the current situation, so. “Uh, this is going to seem weird, but bear with me, okay?”

It’s a bit of a risk, what he’s about to do.

Turn his back on someone with every reason to use the opportunity to attack him, kill him, but he can’t think of a better idea. Just. No better idea and sure as hell doesn’t want his soulmate to think he’s in a situation where his Name is something to be used against him, that fear, even if it backfires on Jeremy.

He twists around and pulls his shirt up, hears the Golden Boy’s confused ”What?” and ”Oh, God, what?” and then this sharp inhale followed by silence.

A long, long moment of silence and this shuddery exhale, cool fingers on Jeremy’s back tracing the letters running along his spine.

Quiet laugh, shaky, and, “Bloody hell,” he hears, followed by, “I knew that couldn’t be your real name,” and another laugh that just sounds tired.

Which, yeah.

Jeremy gets that, he does.

He pulls his shirt back down and turns around to find the Golden Boy watching him again, but there’s a thoughtful quality to it this time.

“So,” he says like he still can’t believe it. “You’re my soulmate, are you?”

Hard to get a bead on how he feels about that, what with the being carjacked and kidnapped at gunpoint thing they have going for them. The way things are a little too Romeo and Juliet for Jeremy’s tastes seeing how well that went for all parties involved in that little disaster.

“Uh, yeah,” Jeremy says, for whatever it’s worth. “I guess I am.”

========

The mirror in the safehouse’s bathroom is dirty as hell, has this crack running straight down the middle of it like the fault lines under Los Santos.

Good enough to get a decent picture of his back at least, have Jeremy frowning at all the scars he’s picked up since the last time he did this. (Five, six years ago? Maybe longer.)

It’s late now, few hours past midnight and the Golden Boy’s sacked out in the bedroom. Tired after a long day and what seems to have been an even longer week for him. Put up a fight because he wasn’t the one with a bullet wound, but Jeremy had overruled him on the basis of 1.) being carjacked, and 2.) being kidnapped after being carjacked.

Not to mention the reason for the carjacking and subsequent kidnapping and just...everything else on top of that they haven’t addressed properly.

More like stared at one another for a long moment trying to process before the Golden Boy yawned, reminding them both of the late hour, and they decided it would be better to pick things back up in the morning.

Sleep on all of it and figure things out then and Jesus if that’s not reason for Jeremy to grab his stuff and get the fuck out. Run off with his tail between his legs before his soulmate tells him thanks for the terrifying day and all, but he just doesn’t see things working out between them – carjackings and kidnappings do not a good relationship make – but do take care.

But he hasn’t, has he. Is creeping around the safehouse being an idiot instead.

Jeremy sighs as he fiddles with the limited photo editor app on his phone, flips the picture he just took so he can read the Name on his back.

Everyone in Los Santos calls him the Golden Boy, sometimes though they refer to him as the Fake AH Crew’s Golden Boy, sometimes he’s Ramsey’s Golden Boy, but his name’s not a secret.

That first letter on Jeremy’s back is definitely a ‘G’, and knowing what he knows now, he can see the rest.

And now that he knows, he’s afraid to say it out loud because there are -

Just.

A lot of unknowns in their future.

Or, not.

At the very least, he knows who his soulmate is now, won’t have to wonder about it anymore, and that. Well, it has to count for something, doesn’t it?

========

“So now what?”

The Golden Boy – no, Gavin – is watching Jeremy closely. Head cocked to the side and so very careful.

Looking at him, Jeremy realizes he never searched him for weapons when they got the safehouse. Wasn’t in the frame of mind to think of it with the chaos of the shootout, pain from his injury and everything that followed. World-changing realizations and all.

Can spot at least one gun on him. A few knives. Who the hell knows what else because rumors say he worked with the Vagabond for a while before the Fakes snatched him up and he’s picked up a few habits of his along the way.

Good news, no immediate rejection regarding the soulmate situation. Bad news, he’s still not indicating how he feels about the fact Jeremy’s his soulmate.

Playing it safe, smart, given the everything else that’s happened or something else, Jeremy doesn’t know.

“What do you mean?” Jeremy asks, because what does that even mean?

Gavin gives him this look, and gestures at himself.

Ego aside, he makes for one hell of a prize.

Any of the Fakes would be to be fair, but the Golden Boy?

Jesus, what stroke of luck to catch him.

Hit the Fakes where it would hurt the most because he’s always been considered untouchable, all these attack dogs keeping him from harm and poster boy for the crew, more so than Ramsey ever was.

Silver-tongued negotiator with an impressive string of successes behind him in the allies the Fakes have won over to their side since they clawed their way to the top.

That whole thing where he’s got a price on his head in the city only the craziest bastards would even think about cashing in on. Catch him and sell him to the highest bidder and live a life of luxury. (Until the Fakes found out who’d managed it and went hunting.)

Jeremy stares at him because 1.), no, and 2.)? Also no.

“How about this,” Jeremy says slowly. “You take that piece of shit car of yours and go back to your crew and I go back to mine and we pretend you did not just suggest what I think you did.”

Because, and Jeremy cannot emphasize this enough, no.

Even if he wasn’t Jeremy’s soulmate the answer would be the same. Jeremy’s an asshole, but he’s got limits. Lines he won’t cross and something like that?

No.

If he did have a personal grudge against the Fakes, well.

Honestly, there are only two things that would be part of that, and they’re both idiots. If something happened to them and the Fakes were involved...

Jeremy can’t say what he’d do then, but he likes to think he wouldn’t sink so low as to do something like that. (You never know what you’d do until you’re in that situation though, do you.)

There’s a long, long moment where they stare at one another, Jeremy’s heart beating double-quick time in his chest because Jesus fucking Christ. Also this sudden, violent urge to throw up because the whole soulmate thing on top of everything and how repugnant the matter of selling him out is with that factoring in?

Yeah.

Gavin laughs, tension seeping out of him as he regards Jeremy.

“Well,” he says, “that’s good to know.”

Like he really thought Jeremy could – would – sell him off like that even without the soulmate thing, Jesus.

“Yeah, sure.” Jeremy scrubs a hand over his face. “You’re welcome?”

Gavin hums, and then Jeremy feels a touch to the back of his hand and looks up to see him watching him.

“I never would have thought,” he says, and laughs like he’s still processing the whole soulmate thing. “I never would have thought you’d be the one.”

There’s...Jeremy swallows because there’s this note of wonder in his voice, the way he’s looking at Jeremy.

“Thought for sure I’d annoyed you past all reason.”

Not...not quite.

Annoying as hell, sure, but there was a part of him that appreciated watching a fellow horrible little bastard at work. Amused as hell at the way Gavin got under the skin of the others they were working with just because he could.

Yeah.

He should have known something was up then, but it was just a job at the time. Jeremy scrabbling to get by and just another job to put money in his pocket and all kinds of excuses that fall flat when he looks back on it.

“Nah,” Jeremy says, and smiles. “I mean, I wouldn’t say past all reason.”

He laughs to soften things, and is rewarded with a quiet laugh and then...it’s not awkward between them, just.

There’s.

“I should contact the others,” Gavin says, reluctant about it. “They’re sure to be worried by now.”

As if they wouldn’t have been the moment they realized something was wrong with a crew known to be as close-knit as theirs.

Trevor and Matt have to be worried about him as well by now, and the two of them can’t just hide away here forever no matter how tempting it is.

Should have gone their own ways the night before everything got complicated on them. Kicked Gavin out of the car somewhere his crew would be sure to pick him up before continuing on to the safehouse, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly.

Too late for that now, though.

“I - “ Jeremy sighs, because there’s no putting things off any longer. They’ve done enough of that as it is. “Yeah, okay.”

========

There’s not much for Jeremy to do as Gavin makes his phone call, but he finds reasons to be out of the room. Give him some privacy.

Wanders around straightening up for the next time someone needs to use the safehouse. Make a list of things he needs to get to restock the first-aide kit. Sends Matt a text letting him know he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere and he’ll tell them everything when he gets back home because he’d rather avoid Trevor’s heavy judgment for the time being.

He laughs when he gets a thumb’s up emoji from Matt, and then a few moments later a succinct Fuck you, man, that’s sure to result from Trevor expressing his disappointment in Matt for not pressing Jeremy for details.

Jeremy makes his way back to the living room just in time to catch the end of the conversation the Gavin’s having with whoever he called. All this exasperation to it and dumb little smile and he just.

Watches him for a long moment since Gavin doesn’t seem to know he’s there yet.

No telling what will happen once they leave the safehouse.

Jeremy’s got to be high on the Fakes’ most wanted list by now, and the smart thing for him to do is stay under the radar until that changes, if it will.

So. Yeah.

Gavin finishes his call and looks up to catch Jeremy’s eye, amused smile playing on his lips so so much for going unnoticed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, just,” Jeremy shrugs. The safehouse isn’t big, not a lot of places for him to putter about while Gavin was on the phone.

Thankfully Gavin seems to understand that because he laughs, and Jeremy.

God.

He’s heard the stories, you know?

From his parents, other people who found their soulmates and had things work out. The way you just. It’s not some magical thing where everything’s suddenly easy, everything nice and clear and simple, but.

There’s a difference.

This thing where you look at your soulmate and you know.

Their smile seems brighter than anyone else’s, fills you with this. Love, warmth, whatever the hell that can help flip a shitty day over into one that’s a little more bearable. Small things that make life better in a million little ways, make you feel less alone in the world.

Not easy, and shit still happens, but it’s not. Not overwhelming anymore, like you know you can make it through a bad day and any others that come after it because someone’s there to help you through them.

Jeremy sits down next to him and reaches for his hand, feels stupidly relieved when Gavin reaches back.

========

In the end, Gavin gets in his Blista and drives back to his crew, and Jeremy watches him until he’s out of view.

Out of the two of them, he’s the one with the target painted on his back, and while Jeremy’s not delighted about letting him go alone, it’s the smart thing to do.

Jeremy’s a nobody compared to him, can find his own way home without worrying about running into trouble, and he does.

Gets an earful from Trevor who’s doing a good job of looking his usual put-together self, but Jeremy knows him too well by now to miss the signs of Trevor in full-on Deeply Concerned mode.

“Trevor,” he says, because goddamn they’re all kind of dumb. “Shut up.”

He drags Trevor into a hug despite his half-hearted protests – he is lecturing, Jeremy, and hugs are illegal you fiend. And then he does the same to Matt who’s off the side nibbling on a breadstick and trying to look bored and disinterested like he’s not just as worried.

“Where the hell were you?” Trevor demands, hands on his hips and ridiculous as ever. “We heard about what what happened, and then you didn’t come home and - “

Jeremy winces at the fear he can hear plain as day in Trevor’s voice even with the dramatics he’s throwing in to cover for it. The dark circles under his eyes and bloodshot eyes from a lack of sleep and just. Everything he can see mirrored in Matt.

“It’s a long story,” Jeremy says, which is the wrong thing to say even if it’s the truth because it sets Trevor off all over again with his own side of things.

Because Matt keeps tabs on Jeremy, on Trevor. Might as well have animal tracking collars on them or gone and microchipped them in their sleep. No way to hide from him even if they wanted to. (A lie, because they’d find ways around it, but what would be the point when he does it to look after them in his own Matt Bragg way?)

And when Jeremy dropped off the radar after the shootout with all the “extra touches” at the safehouse to prevent them from being tracked there...yeah.

“I, uh.” Jeremy doesn’t know how to put this gently, so he just goes for it. “I carjacked the Golden Boy and found out he’s my soulmate?”

There.

Perfect.

Good job all around, well done him.

Jeremy turns on his heel and power walks to the kitchen to grab something strong to drink while Trevor’s brain tries to process that and Matt stops choking on his breadstick.

While he’s there he decides to be civilized and grabs glasses for Trevor and Matt because he gets the feeling they’re going to need them.

========

Trevor can’t actually ground Jeremy, because for one, Jeremy’s a fucking adult? And two, he’s not the boss of him. (Something Jeremy thinks in the safety and privacy of his own mind lest he give Trevor ideas.)

But.

The three of them are in agreement it would be safest for Jeremy if he kept a low profile for the time being, which means he is more or less grounded.

Sits around the apartment pestering Matt while he works on whatever Matt does. Offering unhelpful suggestions until even Matt has enough of his bullshit and kicks him out of his nerd lair so he can work in peace.

Thinks about doing the same to Trevor, but Trevor is by far the smartest one out of them and voted most likely to plot intricate, painful revenge Jeremy will never see coming, so he doesn’t pester him.

Watches a lot of daytime dramas and talk shows instead. Some DIY videos from the internet on his laptop which is great, because he finds this one channel of a guy who helps him expand on his homemade explosives repertoire.

Also?

Picks up a few delicious recipes and other things from people not out to topple governments or just make really, really, questionable life choices involving explosives.

And then one day Trevor comes up to him with a package bearing the logo of a small delivery company.

He looks conflicted, like he’s not sure what he’s doing is a good thing.

“This came for you the other day,” he says, and holds it just out of reach. “I had Matt check it over first, just in case.”

Jeremy sets his game controller aside, because Trevor has a shifty look on his face. Is having a hard time looking Jeremy in the eye.

“Trevor?”

Trevor clears his throat, fidgets in a way that is very, very alarming coming from him.

“I realize I may not have come across as happy for you as I should have,” he says, waving a hand at Jeremy and his everything. “About this whole. Soulmate thing of yours, and I apologize. For that.”

Jeremy cocks his head.

While Trevor’s not wrong, he’s not. Jeremy knows him, okay. Knows Trevor’s glad he found his soulmate, but there was the matter of everything else to deal with too because Jeremy’s a damn idiot who can’t do anything the easy way.

“You really don’t need to - “ Jeremy starts to say, and snaps his mouth shut when Trevor levels him with a look. “But, ah. Thank you?”

Trevor harrumphs, scowl slowly lightening to a rueful smile as he holds the package out to Jeremy.

“Anyway, this came for you the other day and Matt says it’s not going to kill you. Or, it might, but if it does it will be from cancer due to long-term exposure to radiofreqeuncy radiation and not explosives or what have you.” Trevor pauses for a breath. “But as we both know, that won’t happen for decades if there really is a link between cell phone usage and cancer, so, uh. Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

Jeremy doesn’t know what to say to any of that, so he accepts the package with a simple thanks and scurries off to his room before he catches whatever the hell Trevor has.

(Too late to avoid the insanity, but he already knew that.)

========

There’s a cell phone in the package, but Trevor gave that away with his unsettling warning about the hazards of cell phones or whatever that was.

There’s also a note.

From Gavin.

Awkward and sweet, and Jeremy laughs as he reads if for the third time because he’s an idiot and a sap.

It’s a chance to get to know Gavin better and a burner phone to make that possible.

Side note about this being for the best until Gavin can talk sense into his crew regarding Jeremy and this rambling tangent that has nothing to do with anything, but still makes Jeremy smile.

They’re getting further and further away from the bizarre Romeo and Juliet situation they were in at first, but everything’s still unbelievably stupid and ridiculous in their own way.

Still.

Jeremy sets the note aside and unlocks the phone and brings up the contacts. Stares at the only one saved for a long moment, nerves and whatever else getting the best of him for a moment before he shoves all of that aside and presses the send button before he can think better of it.

========

A month goes by before Trevor deems it safe to let Jeremy out on his own unsupervised, which is just as insulting as it sounds.

To be fair, it’s taken that long for his bullet wound to heal to a point he can take on work again without making things worse, so it works out.

He’s been talking to Gavin every chance he can get, gone from once or twice a week to three to four to every day thy better they got to know one another. Realizing they might be among the lucky ones to find their soulmate and someone they could stand to share the rest of their lives together with.

He’s been itching at the chance to see him in person again, and Gavin feels the same because he texts Jeremy the name of a cafe along with a time and date, and Jeremy -

“Good God man, you can’t wear that abomination on your little lunch date!” Trevor looks personally offended because Jeremy’s dressed in his finest Rimmy Tim ensemble, complete with a new hat to replace the one he lost in the shootout with the Fakes.

All shiny and white because he felt like a change was in order, and also they were out of brown.

Jeremy keeps a straight face by sheer strength of will, something not helped by the thumb’s up Matt’s shooting him over Trevor’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong with it?” Jeremy asks, looking down at himself like he’s looking for a stray piece of lint or wrinkled fabric. A loose button, something along those lines. And, “You don’t like it?”

Trevor makes this...this noise in the back of his throat that somehow conveys frustration, disgust, and barest touch of rage as he throws his hands up.

“You march right back into your room and find something to wear that isn’t both horrendous and garish right now, young man!”

There’s a delicate silence in the moment after his outburst.

And then Jeremy makes the mistake of looking at Matt, and that’s the end of that. The two of them crack up laughing while Trevor heaves this sigh of utmost suffering that comes from having to deal with idiots like them.

========

Jeremy changes into clothes Trevor deems far more reasonable than Jeremy’s Rimmy Tim getup and makes it to the cafe with time to spare.

Follows the hostess out to an outside seating area and can’t help the goofy smile on his face when he spots Gavin waiting for him at one of the tables.

He looks.

Well.

He looks nervous, fussing with this coin he’s rolling over his knuckles in an obvious nervous habit, but he also looks good.

Button-down shirt that makes his eyes stand out. Pressed slacks and dress shoes, hair – still an unruly mess but it’s more artfully messy rather than all-out disastrous. Those ridiculously expensive sunglasses of his hooked into the collar of his shirt and best of all, he looks rested. Like he’s finally managed to get enough sleep, and the smile that crosses his face when he catches sight of Jeremy -

Blinding.

“Jeremy!” he gets to his feet and pulls Jeremy into a hug, and the last of Jeremy’s nervousness vanishes in the face of his clear excitement at seeing him again after so long.

Jeremy closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh of relief as he hugs Gavin, because nerves and this...he doesn’t even know.

Like part of him somehow thought he’d imagined it all from the shootout to the carjacking (Jesus Christ, that’s going to make the story of how they discovered they were soulmates a tricky one to tell people) to the events at the safehouse.

The phone calls that had spilled over from one burner phone to the next until Jeremy had decided the hell with things and started using his own instead. (A risk, sure, of the Fakes finding him to “have a little chat with him” Gavin had warned him about when he told him, but more than worth it.)

Everything.

This ache in his chest at being so close and so far after all these years of wondering. Maybe there is something to the soulmates thing science can’t explain because it feels like Jeremy’s taking his first full breath in far too long.

The world feels a little more real, brighter when he opens his eyes to look at Gavin.

Something.

Gavin laughs again and they untangle themselves, sit down at the table Gavin’s gotten for them and stare at one another like idiots for a moment.

It’s a beautiful day, sunny and bright and the people of Los Santos are making the most of it. Pedestrians out for a walk for the hell of it or out and about on errands or other business talking on their cell phones or enjoying the break in weather from the spate of rain they’ve had the last week.

Dogs barking, birds singing. People laughing.

All of it paints a different picture of the city than Jeremy’s used to seeing and for a moment he can almost pretend it’s any other city.

Almost.

“Uh,” Jeremy says, because pretty as things are right now, Los Santos is certainly not any other city. “Did you know - “

Gavin rolls his eyes, mouth quirking as he leans towards Jeremy. Drops his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Ignore them,” he says, gleam of amusement in his eye. “It’ll drive them mental.”

Jeremy raises his eyebrows at that because Gavin knows his crew best, of course, but still.

There’s a car idling at the curb just beyond the patio they’re seated at.

Shiny chrome number and the guy with the wolf on the back of his jacket Jeremy remembers seeing from the shootout behind the wheel.

Glaring at Jeremy.

Another car is parked across the street opposite him. Sleek black number with bright green accents. Too far to make out more than an outline of the driver, but Jeremy’s sure he’s wearing a skull mask. (He’s seen that car on the news too often not to know its owner.)

Not even two tables away from them are a pair of people in the absolute worst disguises Jeremy’s seen outside of a spy parody movie.

Dark sunglasses, fake mustaches and beards, and holes cut out of the newspaper one of them is reading along with oversize trench coats on a beautiful early summer afternoon in sunny Los Santos.

“...Okay?” Jeremy says, because okay.

And...he gets it, he does.

The Fakes are a close-knit crew and he and Gavin didn’t kick off this whole...soulmates thing between them in the traditional way.

At all.

To be honest, there’s a part of him that’s relieved they’re being this overprotective of Gavin. Watching out for him in an admittedly creepy way.

It’s just.

Weird as hell, too.

“Jeremy,” Gavin says, and gives him this look like he knows, but better to go along with it than fight it at this point, which.

Again, yeah, okay.

He can handle dealing with Gavin’s crew if it means he gets to have this...chance with Gavin. (Besides,  he hasn’t even met Trevor or Matt, and God knows they’re going to be as terrible in their own ways, idiots that they are.)

They chat for a bit as they look over the menu, knot of worry and doubt in Jeremy’s chest unraveling as Gavin laughs at Jeremy’s stupid jokes. Smiles at the truly awful ones like he can’t help himself even though they both know how terrible they are.

Jeremy doing the same as Gavin tells him about his recent exploits with the Fakes, little adventures he got up to on his own when he managed to slip away from his minders. (Paranoid after the incident where some inconsiderate bloke carjacked Gavin.)

“Are you ready to order?”

Jeremy freezes.

Looks over to see a man dressed like one of the cafe’s waiters standing next to their table. Impressive mustache and tattoos he can see peeking over the collar of his shirt. More on his hands holding a notepad and pencil and this glint in his eye as he ignores Gavin to stare Jeremy down.

He’s seen the Kingpin on the news. Heard all kinds of wild stories about him, the things he did with the Roosters before coming to Los Santos to start his own crew.

Ruthless.

Merciless.

Only man in all of Los Santos who could get the Vagabond to join a crew and all the other rumors out there making him to be this terrifying figure in his own right, and for good reason.

And now he’s in a waiter’s uniform waiting to take their lunch order and Jeremy has no idea how to proceed, because his brain is having difficulty processing the situation.

Jesus.

He feels a sharp pain on his shin and snaps out of his daze or whatever the hell he’s fallen into to look at Gavin.

Gavin, who just kicked him under the table and is now giving him this look. All remember what I told you, and follow my lead and God’s sakes, Jeremy, don’t let them get to you, they can smell fear.

A lot to convey with a single look, but somehow Gavin pulls it off

“Actually,” Gavin says, looking back at his menu. “I was wondering if there’s any shellfish in the shellfish cioppino? I’m allergic, and it would absolutely ruin my day if I had even the smallest bite.”

That’s a blatant lie. They were just talking about Gavin’s love for shellfish after they got onto the topic of the east coast and Jeremy’s hometown of Boston in particular, but alright.

Jeremy stares at Gavin who lifts his eyes from his menu to wink at Jeremy before gifting their waiter with an arch look.

The Kingpin glares at him.

Takes a deep breath and in a voice that says he’s going to have words with Gavin later, and says, ”Yes, sir. Unfortunately there is shellfish in the shellfish cioppino as the name implies. Perhaps something else on the menu appeals to you?”

“Oh,” Gavin says, crestfallen that his first choice might kill him if he was in fact allergic as he’s claiming to be. “That’s a shame. What about the steamed mussels?”

It goes on like that for a while as Gavin asks about every dish on the menu where shellfish is a key ingredient and several where no seafood is involved at all.

The Kingpin goes from being annoyed to resigned and defeated, staring off into the middle distance as he answers Gavin’s questions.

“Well then,” Gavin says, when he’s done torturing one of the most feared men in Los Santos. “I suppose I’ll have the shellfish cioppino.”

There’s no reaction at first, but when the Kingpin realizes Gavin’s done tormenting him he snaps back to himself. Draws himself up to his full height and scowls down at Gavin as he angrily scribbles down his order to keep up the pretense as their waiter.

Gavin beams at him, hands folded neatly in front of him on the table.

The Kingpin snorts, corner of his mouth twitching before he turns his attention on Jeremy.

“And what would you like to order?”

He’s not glaring at Jeremy now, but it’s close enough to count.

“Hmm,” Jeremy says, mimicking the posh accent Gavin had slipped into. “Are there any mushrooms in your smoked mushroom ravioli? I have this allergy to them.”

No doubt he’ll regret it in the long run, but when he hears Gavin laugh figures it’s another one of those things he can deal with just for that.

========

They go for a walk along the beach after lunch, a nice leisurely stroll.

Sure, they’re being watched by members of Gavin’s crew, but Jeremy barely notices it anymore with Gavin laughing next to him.

“Oh, God, did you see his face?” Gavin’s giggling, all lit up with it, and Jeremy’s heart does that little flippy thing it started doing halfway through lunch with Gavin laughing and smiling and happy. “Geoff will make me pay for it, but his face.”

Gavin won’t be the only one paying for what they did, but that’s a future worry.

Right now it’s the two of them enjoying a nice day and being the horrible little bastards they are.

Amazing.

Their shoulders bump every so often, shifting sand under their feet and wandering along aimlessly as people are wont to do like this. Their hands do too, and after a while it gets to be a problem, so Jeremy has no choice but to tangle his fingers with Gavin to put an end to that.

Heart in his throat as he reaches for his hand, and that flippy sensation in his chest when Gavin slides a look at him, crooked grin on his face as he slides his fingers through Jeremy’s.

========

All good things end, or something like that, and Jeremy and Gavin find their way back up to the street next to the beach.

Gavin leads them to a pretty little thing parked next to the curb. Matte black and low-slung. Looks like it could go from zero to sixty in no time flat and Jeremy would love to see that happen one day.

He laughs when he notices Jeremy admiring it, hint of a blush on his cheeks as he gives it a fond pat on the hood.

“It was in the shop at the time,” he says, and shrugs, a story behind it he’s not telling Jeremy just yet. “That’s why I was driving my Blista.”

Jeremy raises an eyebrow because those stories Gavin told him earlier and his far from spotless driving record. Gavin coughs, gaze sliding away.

They lean against Gavin’s car and watch the waves roll in below them, sun starting to sink towards the horizon. They’ve shed their escort in Gavin’s crew, one by one until it’s just the two of them now.

Jeremy passing a test he wasn’t aware of or them getting bored enough to go off to wreak havoc in another part of the city, who the hell knows.

“We should do this again sometime,” Gavin says, light and casual, like he’s not holding on to Jeremy’s hand as though it’s a lifeline. “I had fun.”

Jeremy could do that. He could. Spend hours with Gavin without keeping an eye on the time.

“Me too,” Jeremy says, and squeezes Gavin’s hand. “I’d like that.”

Gavin ducks his head, and Jeremy laughs because.

Yeah.

The whole soulmate thing isn’t a guarantee you’ll fall in love the moment you meet yours, or that you’ll even like them, but goddamn is it nice when you do. (Amazing.)

After a moment Gavin looks up at him, expression on his face like he’s thinking hard on something, and then he breaths out this sigh. Annoyed at himself for something as he straightens.

“Jeremy,” he says, and he sounds determined. Focused. About to take a risk and intent on following through. “I think I’d like to kiss you.”

Jeremy bites back a laugh because it’s so formal of him. Right and proper and all that. Very British sounding.

“Yeah?” he asks, grinning at the annoyed huff from Gavin. “I think I’d like it if you did.”

Gavin’s eyes narrow because he knows Jeremy’s laughing at him, and try as he might he can’t hide his own amusement at their ridiculousness.

“Jeremy,” Gavin says, because this is no joking matter.

Jeremy tries to wipe the grin off his face, he does, but he can’t with the way Gavin’s looking at him and the way his heart is doing that flippy thing again.

Good thing, then, that Gavin does it for him when he leans in for that kiss of his.

========

Jeremy’s life isn’t all kittens and sunshine now, no.

Matt still has those debts of his that Jeremy and Trevor are helping him with because God knows he’s an idiot and things are getting better on that front.

Los Santos is still the same shithole it’s always been.

He’s still at the top of the Fake AH Crew’s most wanted list, albeit for a very different reason now.

But.

Jeremy’s found his soulmate and while the two of them have to deal with a few more hurdles in their path than most people do, they manage just fine for themselves.

“Gavin - “

Gavin laughs, pecks Jeremy on the cheek to shush him as the lights go down in the movie theater around them.

“Ignore them,” he he whispers, like Ryan and Michael aren’t a few rows behind them making sure Jeremy doesn’t kidnap Gavin (intentionally) under cover of darkness. “They’re just being ridiculous.”

“I - “Jeremy sighs, because Gavin’s got a point. “Okay.”

The Fakes like to show up on their dates from time to time, scowl and glare at Jeremy because they’re just “like that” according to Gavin, but they disappear after a while to let them have time to themselves.

More of a running gag by now than actual threat, even if Ryan still wears the mask half the time.

It’s weird as hell and definitely not the way Jeremy imagined what finding his soulmate would be like back when he used to think about it, but it works for them and that’s the only thing that matters.

[patricianandclerk]

Making An Effort

Gen. Miles Maitland, Gabriel, and Aziraphale. Humour! Rated a light-hearted M. 

“Hello, Mr Fell,” Miles chimed as he stepped out of the rain, shaking off his umbrella. The proprietor of the shop – A.Z. Fell & Co., a delightful little spot – moved forward, and he fussed over Miles most delightfully, a moue tugging at his lips as he reached out and pushed Miles’ slightly damp hair from his face.

“Oh, it is raining dreadfully hard, isn’t it?” Mr Fell said sympathetically, and Miles couldn’t help the little giggle that dragged at his lips as the other man fixed his hair into place. “You must be very cold.”

“Not so cold, Mr Fell, for you know I am most immune to such ordinary happenstances as a drop of rain or, Heaven forbid, a cold,” Miles said, setting his umbrella into the bin for the purpose – although there was something about the shop, perhaps the way the draught and air flowed, that seemed to make one’s umbrella bone dry as soon as one crossed the threshold, so it was not as if he strictly needed to set it aside.

“Looking for any volume in particular?” Mr Fell asked, arching his eyebrow, and Miles grinned.

“No, just to browse, if that’s alright. I have rather devoured the last set of books I acquired from you, and so devoid as I am of night time reading I am forced to go in search of other wicked things to keep me entertained,” he murmured, and Mr Fell gave one of his prim little nods, lips smiling, and bustled further into the shop, allowing Miles to follow in his wake. The resemblance between them, Miles thought, was most uncanny – Mr Fell had tightly curled, blond hair that threatened in the direction of white where Miles’ own was a good deal darker, and Mr Fell was certainly plumper and thirty years older, but certain differences in shape and colouring aside, they really did have very similar features indeed.

“Well,” Mr Fell had said when Miles had mentioned it, and brightly declared they must be cousins somewhere along the line, “everyone has a natural doppelganger, so they say.” And then, he had muttered to himself, muffling the words with his glass of cherry, “And I suppose we must get the blueprints from somewhere.”

He said a lot of odd things like that, did Mr Fell.

The wonderful thing about Mr Fell, however, was his astonishing ability to make sure policemen didn’t come sniffing about – he was dreadfully useful in his gentlemen’s club in Portland Place, which was a rather quiet and boring affair, but was never invaded even by the most supercilious bobby going about his hardworking day ruining a fellow’s life, and here, too, he had a little backroom, dedicated to banned books. Books, one might say, for the discerning patron.

Inverts, like Miles, who just wanted a bit of, well, of romance, and failing that, some erotica.

(It was usually erotica.)

“Come along, dear,” Mr Fell said brightly, and led him off. Mr Fell was an odd duck, and no mistake. He was dreadfully kind – far kinder than anybody had any right being to Miles, Miles thought, although he was grateful – but he was a little sad at times, sad and quiet, thoughtful.

“You might join us for lunch this week, Mr Fell,” Miles said charitably. “Agatha and I wanted to try this new restaurant in Mayfair, and we’ll bring the cabal – you know, Adam, Nina…”

“Not that Tiger fellow?”

“Broken it off with him,” Miles said, looking at his nails and ignoring the sinking pit in his belly. “He was an awful bore, you know.”

Mr Fell turned to look at him, and for just a moment, Miles saw it all, that tremendous pain the man seemed to have sometimes. He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over Miles’ cheek, cupping it.

“I must do something for you, you know,” he said softly, in that paternal manner he sometimes had with Miles. He was like this with a lot of the young inverts – he’d not allow anybody into his bed, but he’d feed them biscuits and cocoa, give them the right books, set them up with one another. He was so... soppy, Agatha might say, but Miles couldn’t help but think it was the soft-heartedness of a man who’s own great love story had gone rather awry. “Find you a young fellow who’ll be as sweet to you as you deserve.”

“I don’t like sweet,” Miles said.

“Liar,” Aziraphale murmured, with his crinkling eyes, his little wink, his little smile, and then he patted Miles’ cheek. “You’re the only one in, dear boy, so give me a moment, and I’ll pop and make you a cup of something.”

“Something stiff?”

Aziraphale gave him an indignant, disbelieving look. “It’s eleven in the morning, Mr Maitland.”

“It’s midnight somewhere,” Miles said, tone wheedling, but he grinned, because he knew he’d be refused. It was funny, when Mr Fell decided to be so stern, like a father.

“No, your options are tea and cocoa.”

“Cocoa, then,” Miles murmured, and then glanced to the side. “Oh, is that the new Henry James?”

“His autobiography,” Mr Fell said, in his sometimes snooty way, and he went back down the stairs, leaving Miles alone to pick up and examine the novel with interest.

--

Gabriel liked to check in.

It was a way, he thought, to touch base, whatever the Hell that meant, and to keep close with his favourite of the retinue, all his most problematic. Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate, kinda fit under both umbrellas.

Gabriel liked Aziraphale.

Guy was weird. Oh, the guy was weird.

He had kinda… Gone native a little. You know, the top brass had bodies, they knew what it was like, and Gabriel liked some of it – he liked picking out nice clothes and feeling all the fabrics, loved the texture some stuff had, liked to jog and do discus and swim and all the sports the humans kept coming up with, but…

Aziraphale, he ate. That was just—

Aziraphale, he ate. That was just—

Yigh.

Just the idea of it, of having stuff in his mouth, on his tongue, on his perfect teeth – Gabriel’s perfect teeth, not Aziraphale’s – it was just… creepy! But Aziraphale, he loved that. And Aziraphale, he could do all kinds of cool stuff – he did a little of the magic tricks that humans did, and he could do this wild thing called origami, which frankly blew Gabriel’s mind, and he could, you know, read.

Impressive guy.

Gabriel dipped into the bookshop, and he glanced around, seeing the shadow of a hat up on the second floor. He jogged up, whistling idly to himself. It was a good day. Aziraphale had good figures on his miracles – he was doing good, he was doing good. It was all good in the… Neighbourhood? Somewhere.

He was the archangel Gabriel, so everywhere around him was kinda contractually obligated to be good, so…

“Hey,” he said, and he clapped his hand onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. He was dressed a little differently to normal, with paint on his face, or something – eyedarkness? Eyeshade? That stuff, on his eyes, and he was wearing sunglasses, and the fabric… Ooh… Gabriel dragged his fingers over the fabric on Aziraphale’s shoulder – it was a deep purple, and it shimmered, but it felt smooth under Gabriel’s fingers, smooth and silky.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said slowly.

--

The grip that clapped down onto his shoulder was a sudden, vigorous strike, and Miles looked at it, finding neatly trimmed fingernails and a rather handsome hand, under a lightly lilac suit – one of those subdued lilacs that pretended to be grey, except to the determined viewer. He followed the hand up to the face it belonged to, and took in the handsome visage of a fellow about Mr Fell’s age, with neatly trimmed hair and—

Goodness, what eyes.

“Hey,” the fellow said – an American with pretty, violet eyes, and hands like that? What was the saying? God will provide?

“Hello,” Miles said. “May I, ah, help you?”

“We have to talk in private,” rumbled the fellow, with a sort of bright and cheerful confident, an easy smile on his face. The handsome fingers were stroking the fabric of Miles’ jacket, now, a pleasant shift over his shoulder.

Reaching up and pushing down his sunglasses that he could get a better look at the man, taking in his physique. He was big. Big, tall, broad-shouldered… He was a handsome one. And bold, too, very bold. “Oh, yes,” Miles agreed, settling his own hand on the American’s thigh, which was gorgeously hard and plentiful of muscle, and giving him a grin of pearly-white teeth. “I believe we do.”

He pressed on the false door to the room with the banned books, and he reached up for the American’s hand, tugging him inside and pulling it closed again.

“Oh,” the American said, glancing around the little book-lined room as Miles pushed him back onto the little couch. Mr Fell might get… just a bit annoyed with him, if he thought Miles was the only one in the shop, but honestly, it wasn’t as though they’d be the first to have a tousle in this little room, and in any case, the fellow was handsome. Even Mr Fell would be able to allow Miles that. “I didn’t know this was here.”

“Well, you do now,” Miles murmured, dropping into his lap, and the American’s eyes widened. “Why so surprised?”

“Just— Never had someone sit on my legs before.”

“No? Oh, you poor dear,” Miles murmured, setting his sunglasses aside, and reached for the American’s trousers. “Don’t worry, I’ll be between them soon enough.”

The pretty violet eyes widened further, but no protest was made, and when Miles guided the American’s hands to his hips, the American was most obedient. Somewhat simple, evidently, but easily handsome to make up for that…

--

Aziraphale did so like it when Miles decided to drop in. He was a charming young fellow, and Aziraphale did know it was important to have friends and connections, particularly since he no longer spoke with Crowley. There was something kindred, he felt, with young chaps like Miles, with the individuals at the Hyacinth and Vine on Portland Place, and with Aziraphale himself.

Forbidden love and all that.

Oh, he ached sometimes, thinking of Crowley. Where was he, now? Still in London? Still about…?

At the scream from upstairs, Aziraphale dropped his mug of cocoa and was utterly heedless of its shatter, rushing out into the bookshop proper and running up the stairs faster than he’d ever moved in his life, his speed heavily augmented by a little magic at his heels, and he shoved open the false wall, looking into the private gallery.

He surveyed the scene with his mouth fallen open.

Young Miles Maitland, languishing in a dead faint, over the lap of a tall, broad gentleman with his trousers unbuttoned – a gentleman, in fact, who was not a gentleman at all, nor even a man, and was Aziraphale’s superior, the archangel Gabriel. Gabriel’s expression was one of baffled horror, and he looked askance at Aziraphale.

“He just— he—” Gabriel stared at him, looking between Aziraphale and the prone form of his patron. “Aziraphale?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale snapped, lamenting as ever for Gabriel’s immeasurable stupidity, and he came forward, leaning and gently scooping Miles into his arms – and that took a bit of a miracle too, honestly, not that the young chap was too heavy. “For goodness’ sake, Gabriel, what did you do to him?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He was already carrying the poor thing downstairs, to lay him down on the plush sofa in Aziraphale’s office. It wasn’t the first time he’d ever fainted, at least – young Miss Runcible, his good friend, had told a few amusing stories as to Miles’ unfortunate afflictions, and Aziraphale could at least be comforted by that. His pulse was steady, and Aziraphale was quick about laying him down and covering him over with a blanket, rushing to clean up the cocoa and make him a new cup for when he woke up.

“I didn’t do anything!” Gabriel was saying, peering down at the poor boy.

“Button up your trousers,” Aziraphale hissed, forgetting his usual reservations with even mild rudeness to Gabriel – the chap was his boss, after all, and he did worry about being honest about how much he disliked the other angel, but— But, honestly. “What did you— Why in goodness’ name was he—?”

“Well, he just! I thought he was you, you look the same!”

“Oh, well, take that up with the Corporations Department, it’s hardly my fault!”

“Well, he just— Aziraphale, I said hey and he said hey back and I said, well, we have to talk in private and he said yes, we do, so why would he agree?” Gabriel’s voice was rather loud, and Aziraphale had to restrain himself from smacking him and telling him to shush as he poured out more cocoa. Not only did the bast— No, not only did Aziraphale’s beloved commander feel the need to invade the shop now and then to “tickle base” or whatever nonsense he was calling it now, he was molesting the patrons! And poor Miles, of all— “And he sat on me and reached into my pants, and then he just… Made that noise, and fainted.”

“What’s in them?” Aziraphale asked.

“What’s in my pants? Nothing! I don’t like putting stuff in my pockets, it ruins the lines of the fabric.”

Aziraphale tightly pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly through his nose. “I meant,” he said quietly, looking at the red-faced, uncertain form of Gabriel, “what sort of effort did you make?”

“Effort?” Gabriel repeated blankly.

Aziraphale, pink dashing his own cheeks, looked at Miles, still out of it, and then to Gabriel. “Show me,” he said crisply. Gabriel was without anything like modesty, and he undid his trousers again, tugging them down. Aziraphale looked, for a long moment, at the blank curve of flesh there. Decades later, he would recount the story to Crowley, and tell him, tears streaking down his cheeks, about how Gabriel had invented the Ken doll years before its creators. In the moment, it was not funny at all. “Of course,” he muttered. “Do button them up, Gabriel, you’ll give him another shock.”

“Well, what did he expect?”

“Well, I don’t know, Gabriel,” Aziraphale said, more archly than he meant to, and regretting it even as the words tumbled from his lips, “perhaps a penis?”

“Oh,” Gabriel said, understanding dawning like a sunrise over a particularly stupid mountain, and Aziraphale sat down on a stool beside the prone form of Miles, gently patting his cheek.

“Miles? Miles, darling, are you with us?” He set a smelling salt beneath the poor thing’s nose, and Miles blinked, his head tipping back against the couch. He drew a hand gently through Miles’ hair, and Miles’ head lolled, turning to look at him. Aziraphale watched his eyes very carefully, making sure they were focusing properly.

“I had the funniest dream, Mr Fell,” Miles said. “About a man with no genitals.”

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale said, feeling only the slightest bit guilty for the disapproval he injected into his tone, “I have said before you ought sup from your white mistress’ table a bit less, my dear. Have you much on you?” Miles was rather a devil for cocaine, as was the fashion for a lot of young people these days, and Aziraphale didn’t suppose it was too naughty to encourage him away from it.

“Just my compact,” Miles mumbled, giving him a childish pout.

“Well, you gave Gabriel quite the shock, fainting like that.”

“Oh,” Miles said, following his gaze to Gabriel, who was wide-eyed and looking between them. “So you do have a cock, after all?”

“Of course,” Gabriel blustered, “and chickens, and a coop. Just a normal man with a cock. And a penis too, of course. I have one of those.”

Aziraphale stared at him, but Miles had mistaken Gabriel’s honest idiocy for dry humour, and was giggling.

“Oh, you are a treat,” he purred. “Handsome and droll – Mr Fell, wherever were you keeping this delightful evening meal?”

“Gabriel is my cousin,” Aziraphale lied, gesturing for Gabriel to go away, which Gabriel either ignored, or didn’t understand. “From America.”

“Goodness,” Miles said, absently taking the cup from Aziraphale’s hands and drinking from it. His gaze was quite voracious as he took in Gabriel’s body, and Aziraphale wrinkled his nose slightly. “Well, you must dine with me, Gabriel.”

“I don’t eat,” Gabriel said as Aziraphale winced.

“Well, you must simply sleep with me, then, and we’ll leave dining by the wayside.”

“Stop it,” Aziraphale scolded him, but Miles, the incorrigible, only batted his eyelashes in Gabriel’s direction.

“Sit down,” Miles said to Gabriel, patting the sofa beside him, and Gabriel took a step forward, butt Aziraphale stood, stopping him and shaking his head emphatically. Gabriel frowned.

“Do excuse us for a moment, Miles,” Aziraphale said, and brought Gabriel out into the main body of the shop. “What— Gabriel. What is it you needed?”

“Nothing,” Gabriel said. “Touching base.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said. “Well, all is fine here, as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Consider base touched. You’re sure it isn’t tickled?”

“Is he gonna be okay?” Gabriel asked, and Aziraphale looked up at him, somewhat surprised. Gabriel, like most other angels, wasn’t especially in touch with the individuals humans that populated the Earth – they tended to see them as a swathe of mortals, a wider group, and it was down to lower angels in the pecking order to care about particular ones.

“Yes, quite fine,” Aziraphale said. “He’ll be tickety-boo, given a little time to recover.”

“You sure I shouldn’t…?”

Gabriel wiggled his fingers meaningfully, and Aziraphale grabbed his wrist, tugging his hand down.

“No,” Aziraphale said softly, but with no small amount of haste in his tone. “The last time you did something to help a human, that poor girl got pregnant. The madness there was, trying to fix all that up once you’d done that. The husband was furious.”

“Only to begin with,” Gabriel said. “And look what happened after!”

“Thank you, Gabriel, for— for tickling base,” Aziraphale murmured. “But I’ll look after him.”

“Alright,” Gabriel said, with the smallest bit of reluctance, and Aziraphale went back to Miles.

“I wish they made more men like him,” Miles said softly. “Goodness, isn’t he just a meal and a half?”

“Oh, I think I can find you someone better. More your age, at the least.”

“He isn’t so old,” Miles said.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Aziraphale murmured, shutting the door to the shop at large, and clicking the lock to the shop entrance with a thought. “You’ve not the slightest idea.”