#fuckbuddies au

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chs || Masterpost

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip Vernon x afab reader || angst/smut/fluff || fuckbuddies!au NSFW - minors DNI

Status: complete - posting updates weekly starting May 17 wc: 32k total; 5 chapters

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills mentioned). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Additional warnings for: language, drinking, eventual smut (individual sections will have more detailed warnings)

Author's Note: huge thank you to @eoieopda and @sailoryooons for beta-ing, accepting many screenshots and rambling voice notes, and answering a lot of questions as I worked on this.

Series Teaser:

You both knew why you were there. You both knew what you needed out of it: just sex, just fun.

The just of it failed to last.

You know precisely the first time it was different, the first time it wasn’t for fun. You needed the same things as always: his mouth hot on your skin, his hands roaming, the feeling of him emptying your mind and pushing every bad feeling out like there wasn’t room for them anymore. But for the first time, you didn’t want those things for enjoyment.

You wanted them as a salve.

Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. 

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

1. Sharp is your favorite word for Vernon. It fits everything about him, top to toe, inside and out.  Sharp, sharp, sharp.  He looks how you feel inside, even now. 

wc: 5700 || read more

2. “What is it?” he asked. “Want me to make you feel good?” No, you wanted to say. No, just want you to make me feel.

wc: 6900 || read more

3. wanna be a cicada with me? vernon what the fuck its a serious question

wc: 5100 || read more posting: May 31

4. “Don’t go home. Stay. Jagi, stay here.”

wc: 6600 || read more posting: June 7

5. “You said back then you couldn’t give me what I wanted. What about now?”

wc: 7300 || read more posting: June 14

[harringroveera]

Billy: Harrington, you do remember when we agreed we were better off as just friends, right?

Steve, naked in Billy's bed: No, I absolutely do not

Billy: Fuck...me neither

[cuubism]

would you be ok elaborating on the hob/death post? I already adore Hob and death friendship arcs and Hob/death as a concept and I would LOVE to hear more <3

*cracks knuckles* so--

there are actually two separate AUs. the canonverse one, and the human AU one.

i pitched the canonverse one to @magnusbae thus:

extremely funny au where hob and death have been casually hooking up since 1389 and dream finally confesses his feelings in like 2050 and hob's like ah. should i stop hooking up with your sister then? and dream's like should you stop doing WHAT?

basically. in the six billion years it takes dream to get his shit together and admit to his own feelings for hob, hob and death have just been having loads of no-strings-attached sexy fun in the background (death: you snooze, you lose, dream! *sticks tongue out*)

dream is very perturbed by this, he's like hello that's MY toy?? give it BACK???? I HAD IT FIRST!!!!!!!!!

(we don't headcanon hob and death actually dating, by the way. they're just pals who hook up sometimes. they're very chill about it. dream is the only one who's not chill about it because he wants All Of Hob's Attention All The Time NOW)

tldr:

The human AU version:

Hob and Death are roommates/friends/fuckbuddies who have this lowkey open relationship thing going on. they're having a great time in their casual but well-communicated healthy relationship.

enter Dream, least well-adjusted person on the planet, also Death's younger brother, who's staying with her for a while. and as soon as Dream arrives Death has to watch her formerly reasonable friend Hob disintegrate into a haze of utter Simp Behavior and insanity, and she's like oh boy. this is gonna get interesting.

meanwhile Dream is like handsome... guy... being nice... to me... 😳 *falling down the stairs*

Hob is into him so fast it's embarrassing and eventually Death yanks him aside and just gives him a look. And so like the mature adults they are they do talk about it and Death is like, dude, we aren't dating, you can do whatever you want. Besides, I'd rather have my brother be with someone I actually know and like rather than his other disastrous relationships (though Death is swiftly learning that Hob is much more unhinged than she'd previously thought. Dream brings all of it out in him). So Hob's like cool I'll flirt with your brother

NO ONE TELLS DREAM ABOUT IT

Dream is under the impression that Hob and Death are actually dating. So the more Hob flirts with him the more Dream is like 👀🤔 and he's kind of in love with Hob because ohh Hob is so kind and handsome and he listens to everything Dream says and he's so charming... but he also kind of hates Hob because how dare he cheat on Death and how dare he make Dream want him like that?

Death: so are you and Hob getting along well?

Dream: no. I hope Hob falls off a cliff and dies.

Death:.... alright thanks for the input

But Dream does just keep indulging his worse impulses and one day he just finds himself sitting in Hob's lap on the couch in Death's apartment while Hob listens to him talk and he's just like: oh my god I'm a homewrecker

Dream, later: Sister. Your shitty boyfriend is cheating on you

Death: ....did it actually take Hob this long to ask you out? we talked about it ages ago

Dream: ...

TLDR:

[hexiewrites]

clean ice, cold hearts, can't lose

[complete - 17k | explicit | tw for internalized homophobia]

Steve Harrington has been working his entire life for this: his first ever NHL game, as the rookie goalie for the Montreal Canadiens. As a second generation NHL player, Steve knows he has a lot riding on this game, and on his entire career, but he's not worried. He may be young, but he's got the talent and skills to back him up, with nothing else to distract him. That is, until Bruins forward and noted troublemaker Eddie Munson, a fellow rookie who Steve knows vaguely from Juniors, skates onto the ice and into Steve’s closet, and threatens to tear down everything he’s worked for with his criminally talented tongue.

prequel to carve your name into my chest, but can be read as a standalone

(read it on ao3!)

[helenawrites23]

The Way of The Sword (Chapter 1)

18+. 3.5k, half-sibling incest, age difference, trust issues, self-steem issues, heavy flirting, relationship negotiation, making out, unresolved sexual tension, canon-typical violence. part 1/?. AO3 link, part 2, part 3. Let me know if you want to be tagged!

The search for Naraku might be over, but Inuyasha hasn't escaped his past. He drags it around like a ball and chain. Then he crosses paths with his half-brother again, and learns how to let go.

In which Inuyasha and Sesshoumaru go training together, and reach an arrangement of sorts.

Although suitably scenic, the walk to the designated place felt like the longest Inuyasha had taken in his life.

He could feel neither youkai nor humans around. For the first time in quite some time, he was surrounded by nothing but nature and the occasional critter. Once, he would have welcomed the solitude. Inuyasha had never been much of a social creature, despite Kagome's adamant attempts to change that aspect of his nature. Now that she was gone, he found the silence terribly aggravating.

The clearing was difficult to spot. It was far from the roads and secluded in a way that seemed deliberate. The privacy of the setting added to his unease. Complex social situations had never been his forte, and in his book, this was the strangest he'd come across in quite some time. Perhaps ever.

Sesshoumaru's arrival was announced by a shift in the atmosphere. A distinctive electrical smell flooded the clearing as if a storm were approaching. Inuyasha's hair stood on end. He took a deep breath, fighting down the instinctive responses that his half-brother never failed to awaken in him. Daiyoukai could smell that sort of thing, and he didn't feel like making a fool out of himself today.

Inuyasha took a seat on a nearby rock and waited.

Eventually, Sesshoumaru walked out of the foliage, nonchalance painting his every move. Inuyasha stood up and put his hands in his pockets, trying to match his half-brother's energy. Internally, he was trying not to fidget. It still wasn't entirely clear to him what this meeting was about. He thought he had an idea. Double guessing himself was one of Inuyasha's bad habits, though, and one never knew when it came to the Lord of the West.

There was the chance that this would end in broken bones and unnecessary bloodshed, the way it did back in the day. It could also very well be another of Sesshoumaru's psychotic mind games. Although in recent times they'd seemed to reach some type of understanding, Inuyasha knew better than anyone how unpredictable his half-brother could be.

Sesshoumaru showed no outward signs of aggressiveness. Of course, to say that his expression was amiable or welcoming in any way would have been a gross exaggeration. There was, however, an obvious absence of glaring, which was already an improvement from previous interactions.

“This is unexpected,” Sesshoumaru said. “I did not think you'd be so punctual.”

Inuyasha felt his face heat up at the remark. Some of the tension left his body, though.

With time, he had learned to identify the subtle signs that gave away his half-brother's unstable moods. Although teasing, Sesshoumaru's voice betrayed no anger. There was that softness around his eyes that meant he was pleased.

“Khe, y’know me. Always full of surprises,” Inuyasha replied. “‘sides, I like to keep you on your toes.”

“Mmm, you certainly try.”

“So, are we doing this? Or did you make me walk all the way down here just for a chit-chat?” Inuyasha asked, casually unsheathing his sword.

Sesshoumaru was usually not affronted by his bluntness. That was something Inuyasha liked about him. Of course, he was a snob in every sense of the word, but more often than not Sesshoumaru was willing to indulge his boorish behaviors if only to maintain a semblance of peace between the two. Why ever his former nemesis would want to keep things civil between them when they'd always been anything but, Inuyasha wasn't sure. He figured he'd find out if he stuck around long enough.

“I see we are off to a bad start,” Sesshoumaru pointed out.

He didn't draw out his sword, as Inuyasha expected him to. Instead, Sesshoumaru stepped closer, seemingly unconcerned by Tessaiga's proximity. He reached towards the handle of the weapon, covering Inuyasha's hands with his own. The touch was light but insistent. After a moment's hesitation, Inuyasha slacked his grip, allowing his wrists to be maneuvered so that the sword was parallel to the ground. Sesshoumaru placed Inuyasha's right hand firmly on top of the handle, then moved the left one to the bottom.

“That's how you properly hold a sword,” he said. Inuyasha could feel a faint heat spreading down his throat. He was very aware of Sesshoumaru's eyes trained on his face, but couldn't make himself look up. “Keep a grip that's firm enough so that it doesn't slip, but loose enough so you can easily maneuver it.”

“Right. Sounds like a no-brainer.”

“And yet you've been getting it wrong all this time.”

“Oh, fuck off. I knew you'd be an asshole about this.”

When Sesshoumaru first offered to help him polish his technique with the sword, Inuyasha hadn't been sure whether or not it was a joke. The invitation had been quite rude and nothing short of condescending, which gave room to doubt. Yet here they were, and a part of Inuyasha was still expecting his brother to burst out laughing and call it a day. If Sesshoumaru was amused by the situation in any way, he was quite adept at not showing it, though. He seemed neither anxious nor unsure, as if this were just something they did every day.

“Your posture is wrong,” Sesshoumaru said. Without warning, he used his leg to push Inuyasha's feet further apart. “A wide stance makes keeping your balance easier.”

Inuyasha felt a shiver run through him. He was first and foremost a creature of instinct, and being this close to his half-brother had never brought him anything but pain. His gut reaction was to back away. There was something more to it, though. A nagging feeling at the back of his head told him that these touches were not casual. This blatant disregard for personal space was intentional and increasing.

Behind Sesshoumaru’s steady gaze laid an invitation, yet to be spoken. As if he were testing the waters, so to speak, while hiding his intentions behind elaborate excuses. It frustrated Inuyasha to no end. He almost felt like kicking him back. Reluctant as he was to start a physical confrontation today, he went for his next best weapon.

“Hey, hey, careful now,” he said, side-eyeing his brother. “I know I'm quite the catch, but let's not get handsy.”

Sesshoumaru gave him the most unimpressed look he'd ever witnessed in his life.

“Why, I would never,” he replied.

Rationally, Inuyasha knew that nowadays his half-brother had little to no reason to hurt him. Still, there were times he couldn't quite shake off the feeling that he wasn't safe around Sesshoumaru. That there were, perhaps, ulterior motives to this unexpected offer of camaraderie. For the most part, he tried not to let it show. It seemed petty, in a way. As if he were hanging onto resentment while Sesshoumaru, of all people, kept holding his hand out to him.

The whole thing turned out to be a tedious affair. Part of him had hoped for nothing more than a friendly match. It didn't seem like Sesshoumaru was about to entertain that idea, though. He was clearly much more preoccupied with Inuyasha's pitiful stance and the sorry state of his blade. Inuyasha couldn't help but feel a bit affronted.

He thought he'd learned the way of the sword remarkably well, for someone who'd never had a mentor. 

Afterward, they sat together by the banks of a nearby river. The day had morphed into a breezy afternoon, and the sound of rustling leaves and water flowing filled the air.

“Ah. A tengu spirit?”

“Yeah, one of those ugly fuckers.”

Inuyasha shifted to lie on his side, pulling out a piece of grass that had gotten into his ear.

“Is that how you spend your time now?” Sesshoumaru asked, looking down at him from the large stone he'd claimed by the riverside. “Guarding little human villages against filthy critters? How pitiful.”

“Whatever. Keeps me in shape and it's not like it's hard,” Inuyasha replied. “And who are you to trash on my past times? Only thing you do when I'm not around is brood and hang out with an eight-year-old. If anyone's lame here, I can assure you it's not me.”

“I stand corrected, then.”

“Sure you do, asshole. Anyway, it was a big ol' fucker,” Inuyasha continued, unbothered by the interruption. “And I knew they were ugly, yaknow, but goddamn, this one was on a whole other level. Really gave me the creeps. It was just for show, though. Didn’t give too much of a fight.”

“Tengu rarely make for worthy opponents,” Sesshoumaru conceded. “Not all enemies are so easily defeated, though.”

Something in Sesshoumaru's voice made Inuyasha look up.

Not too long ago, he wouldn't have been able to tell that anything was amiss. His half-brother was hard to read as a general rule, and Inuyasha was admittedly quite slow on the uptake when people didn't speak straight to him. Subtlety wasn't a virtue of his. They'd been spending quite some time together as of late, though, and the shift in Sesshoumaru’s demeanor was evident to him.

“What will happen when it's not a filthy crow chasing after you, but a proper Daiyoukai?”

Sesshoumaru was clearly not smiling. There was certainly a quiet, predatory edge to his expression though, and Inuyasha wasn't sure what to make of it. He suddenly got the impression that there was something he was missing.

“What you mean?”

Sesshoumaru seemed to carefully consider his next words.

“I mean to say that, for a hanyou, you are a fairly decent warrior." Sesshoumaru managed not to sound condescending, just barely. “But if you are ever to face off a true Daiyoukai, that will not help you. Some levels cannot be reached without proper training.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Inuyasha said, hackles rising.

It occurred to him, for a moment, that Sesshoumaru was trying to pick up a fight. His brother did not rise to the challenge, though. He merely looked down at Inuyasha’s thunderous expression and chuckled. He looked irritated, but almost in a fond way. As if he wanted to be mad at Inuyasha, but couldn't quite manage.

“You've never had a proper mentor,” Sesshoumaru said. It was not a question. “One can tell from miles away.”

“Well, duh,” Inuyasha replied, crunching his nose. “Who would I ask, dumbass?”

“That is quite unusual, for youkai your age.”

“Yeah, well, you said it.” Inuyasha shrugged, settling back down on the grass. “For youkai.”

Sesshoumaru did not reply. Whatever he'd been trying to convey, he seemingly decided it was not worth the trouble. 

Despite Inuyasha's initial worries, practicing sword fighting with his half-brother hadn't turned into a deadly encounter. It had all been quite dull, actually. His hands and lower back still hurt from all the times Sesshoumaru had smacked him with the sheath to correct his standing. At least they'd eventually progressed to using targets, even if the bamboo sticks did come across as rather underwhelming opponents.

As vicious as Sesshoumaru's scolding was, Inuyasha couldn't complain. He knew better than anyone that his technique was sloppy, and they were far from the worst injuries he’d sustained after an encounter with Sesshoumaru. He'd be as good as new in the morning, anyway.

“Better to get going, I think. My camp is kinda far,” Inuyasha said, squinting at the horizon. It was already late in the afternoon and the sun was setting. Sesshoumaru only nodded.

As Inuyasha made a move to stand, Sesshoumaru reached out. Inuyasha found himself staring blankly at the hand hanging before him. He hesitated for a moment, although he knew it was silly.

Once he thought he'd never see the day his brother would be able to take his hand without feeling disgusted. Just a couple of years ago, Sesshoumaru could barely stand the sight of him. Somewhere along the line things had changed, though. It felt like a big deal, for some reason. As if they'd reached a milestone together.

Inuyasha shook his head and took the offered hand.

Sesshoumaru pulled him up but didn’t release him immediately. As Inuyasha made to move away, he tightened his grip and pulled him forwards. Inuyasha went rigid. Being this close to Sesshoumaru was a peculiar experience. The old familiar scent of electricity was suddenly surrounding him, making his senses tingle. He forced himself to look up and meet his brother's gaze.

“You should know I don't make a habit of it. The chasing, I mean,” Sesshoumaru said. “It's not in my nature. Playing games does not interest me, and I’m straightforward when seeking this type of arrangement. If you tell me you are not interested, don't expect me to insist.”

Inuyasha stared.

He had not thought Sesshoumaru would actually say it out loud.

A number of things became clear to Inuyasha, all at once. He understood now why Sesshoumaru had invited him to practice sword fighting together when they'd never done such a thing in the past. Why he’d chosen this secluded clearing for their meeting, away from interruptions and prying eyes. His half-brother had spoken about proper training and a mentor because he'd been making an offering. Inuyasha wasn't sure what to think. He'd never had a master before, although it was a fairly common practice between youkai warriors. He'd figured it came with the package of being a hanyou.

Despite his mild understanding of it, Inuyasha also knew this type of arrangement went far beyond training. Mentorship had to be traded in for something, and he didn't know if he was ready or willing to give it. Especially to Sesshoumaru.

“I wasn't,” he forced himself to say. “Playing games, that is.”

“Ah, you weren't?”

“No, I just didn't think… didn't think you actually meant it. Like, you were just - I dunno, fooling around,” Inuyasha said, almost dragging out the words. His face felt very hot. “I mean, we ain't got a nice baggage.”

“That doesn't bother me.”

“Oh.”

Inuyasha was very aware of Sesshoumaru still holding his hand. His grip was firm yet careful. He kept rubbing circles on the palm with the pad of his thumb. It'd been a very long time since anyone had touched Inuyasha with such gentleness. He wouldn't have thought Sesshoumaru was capable of it.

“Does it bother you?”

“No, I'm not saying that, it's just-” Inuyasha cut himself off.

He knew what he wanted to say. Knowing it and actually getting it out there seemed like two very different things at the moment, though. This is why he avoided direct confrontations whenever possible.

“Ah. Perhaps this is your way of letting this Sesshoumaru down gently?”

“No, that's not what this is.”

Inuyasha’s eyes were trained on the ground.

“I just… don't get it,” he said. “I'm still me, yaknow? It's not like anything's changed.”

“What hasn't changed?”

“Who I am.  What I am,” Inuyasha replied. He was trying very hard not to sound bitter. “Why would you want this?”

At first, Sesshoumaru kept quiet. Inuyasha wondered if he was pondering what to say, or if he simply had no answer to give. Perhaps Sesshoumaru himself didn't understand the reasoning behind his proposal. It could very well be that he wanted him while still resenting his true nature. Inuyasha knew that sometimes desire and aversion came hand in hand.

It wouldn't be the first time he found himself entangled in that web.

“I thought we had agreed that was in the past,” Sesshoumaru said.

“I… yeah, I guess we did.”

Inuyasha grimaced. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to bring it up again, and now of all times.

In the past, even people who'd genuinely cared about him had found his heritage to be something of an inconvenience. Whether it was the demonic or the human one, they felt the need to choose a side - to pick him apart and build with the pieces something easier to call their own. Kikyo had been the only one powerful enough to make it a reality, but really most people in his life had had the same pretensions, to different extents.

All of them, except Kagome.

Ever since the human girl had gone back to her timeline, Inuyasha hadn't entertained the idea of pursuing anyone else. Building something worthwhile hadn’t seemed possible, with neither humans nor youkai. What right did Sesshoumaru have to ask that trust from him now, after everything they'd done to each other? It didn't seem fair, or rational in any way.

“You said your camp was far away,” Sesshoumaru said, out of the blue.

“Uh… yeah, I said that,” Inuyasha replied.

His brother let go of him, then. Inuyasha frowned as he saw him silently widen the distance between them.

“You should be in your way, then.”

Inuyasha felt his stomach sink. He hadn't meant for his silence to be interpreted as a refusal. For a being over 500 years old, Sesshoumaru did have a rather juvenile habit of reacting poorly whenever he felt rejected. He could see it now in his tight lips, in the barely there frown grazing his forehead.

“Hey, come on, don't get your panties in a twist,” Inuyasha said. He took his brother by the sleeve to keep him from moving further away. “It's not like I’m saying no.”

Sesshoumaru's only response was to raise his eyebrows at him. Inuyasha shifted where he stood.

“Can you just… I dunno, give me some time?”

Sesshoumaru stared at him for a moment, as if sizing him up.

"That would be agreeable," he said.

Inuyasha signed, only then realizing how tense he'd become. Neither of them tried to move away. Inuyasha picked at his brother's robe, fishing for something to break the ice.

“Your pickup lines are super lame, by the way,” he said, eventually. “Not to be a hater, but they are totally getting banned.”

Sesshoumaru didn't quite smile at his attempt at banter. For once, Inuyasha was able to identify the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, though.

“I'm glad to know I was able to amuse you so.”

Sesshoumaru stepped back into his personal space, hand resting just to the side of Inuyasha’s waist. As intimidating as it could be to have his brother stand so close, Inuyasha couldn't deny there was also a thrill to it. Underneath that primal instinct to flee, there also ran a need to stay and tempt the danger. To bare his neck and submit to the tremendous power Sesshoumaru held.

Inuyasha still wasn't sure how much of those impulses were a result of attraction, and how much of it was nothing but raw instinct. Even now, he didn't think he entirely understood his demonic side. It occurred to him for the first time that if he accepted, this was one of the many things that would become clearer to him, eventually. He wasn't sure whether the way his stomach flipped was due to fear or excitement.

Inuyasha's awareness tunneled as he saw Sesshoumaru leaning forwards. Fingers were curling around his neck, and the scent of rain filled his senses. Inuyasha barely registered their noses awkwardly bumping together as their lips met.

Due to both naivety and lack of privacy, Inuyasha's past relationships distinctly lacked any carnal component. Making out had never felt like the preamble of something else. This was different. Exponentially different. Not at all sure what to do with his hands, Inuyasha found himself gripping the yellow obi surrounding Sesshoumaru's waist. Heat was steadily spreading through him.

Even with the armor on, Sesshoumaru's body felt warm and welcoming around him. As soon as the kiss began, though, Inuyasha could feel him pulling away. He took him by the shoulder, forcing him to stay. To prolong it for just a little longer. Sesshoumaru smiled against his chin and bit playfully into his lower lip. It felt right, in a way. As if Inuyasha were saying, however indirectly, that he did want him back.

As they pulled apart, there was a glint in Sesshoumaru's eyes that hadn't been there before.

“Same place and time, three days from now,” he said, voice unusually low. “If you do not come, I'll know what your answer is.”

Inuyasha nodded, not feeling up to the task of speaking just yet.

That day they bid their goodbyes and parted ways. Inuyasha still wasn't sure what to make of what had been said, or what his answer would be next time they crossed paths. His misgivings, as usual, would not leave him. It was only as he was making his way back to the village that realization dawned on him. During their training, Sesshoumaru laid hands on Tessaiga. Not once, but many times. 

The sword had not burned him.

[verfound]

MINIFIC: Oct. 23: Day 26: Séance (MLB, Lukanette, DLM AU)

Daisy, Daisy Adair, for those unfamiliar with the show, is a reaper who comes in to replace my favorite another reaper about six episodes into S1.  She’s the self-proclaimed Queen of the Blow Job and uses that bluster to mask a lot of negative self-feelings.  She’s beautifully tragic, once you get past the “I miss Betty and don’t like you” of her.

For @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers October Minific Challenge 2023.

Read on Ao3

To Feel Alive Again: Ch26: Séance

“No.”

“But –”

“No.”

Marinette paused, Luka’s front door open barely a crack, and listened to the irritated voices inside.  Well.  Luka sounded irritated.  The other voice – Théo, she was pretty sure – just sounded annoyed.  Whiney.

“Luka, friend -” Théo tried again, just for Luka to cut him off with  a harsh we’re not friends, “– be reasonable!”

“I am being reasonable,” Luka huffed.  Théo tutted.

“All right, be adventurous then!” he cried.  Luka snorted.  She heard movement closer to the door and bit her lip before taking a nervous step back.  She needed to knock.  She needed to –

“I made a friend and saved a dog from the accident that was supposed to kill him,” Luka snorted, his voice closer.  “Now I have a graveling infestation and a shedding problem.  I think I’ve been adventurous enough this year.”

Marinette paused again, her hand raised to knock.  A graveling infestation?  What was Luka talking about?

“Don’t do it for you, then – do it for me,” Théo wheedled.  “I need money, Luka!”

“Then get a fucking job,” Luka bit.

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Théo cried.  There was a rattling slam on the other side – like Luka had just slammed the fridge door closed.

“A legitimate job, dumbass,” he spat.

“It is legitimate!  Daisy said she does this all the time!” Théo said.  “One hundred percent foolproof!  Grieving families will shell out hundreds for a message from beyond – and you knew the beyond personally!”

“…Daisy?” Luka asked, sounding incredulous.  “That’s your ‘foolproof source’?  Théo, that girl was –”

“A genius, I know,” Théo said, and Luka scoffed.

“I was going to say slut, but apparently that’s too insensitive these days,” he said.

“You only say that because you never took her up on her offer,” Théo snorted, and Marinette found herself pausing again.  “She was quite talented, my friend.  Might have loosened your tight ass up for once.”

“…we’re not friends, and my ass is just fine,” Luka bit.  “And I call her a slut because of her…’offer’.  Jesus Christ, Théo, don’t you remember the shit she caused the month she was here?  Mendeleiev was a nightmare for months after she left.  Do not instigate anything.”

“I’m not instigating – I’m – whoa!” Théo yelped, and the next thing Marinette knew the door was being thrown open and Bach was jumping on her with a deep, excited woof.  She fell back, her butt hitting the carpeted floor, then fell back again as Bach crawled on top of her, snuffling and woofing at her as he tried to lick her face.

“Bach, Bach, easy!” she laughed, even though she knew the poor guy couldn’t hear her.  She looked up, panting, once she finally got him to step back and saw Luka grinning down at her.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” he said, hooking a hand under Bach’s collar to tug him back and extending another to help her up.  Théo was at his side before she could say anything, a slimier grin on his face.

“Marinette!  What a surprise.  Come here often, pet?” he asked, and she pursed her lips as he leaned towards her.  When she didn’t answer, he sighed and turned towards Luka.  “Think about it?  I’m willing to do an even split.  Fifty-fifty.”

“I’m not faking a séance with you, Barbot, and if you dare even try I will tell Mendeleiev,” Luka said, no room for debate in his voice.  Marinette’s eyebrows rose in shock.  “Especially if you try it with that family.  Have some respect for the dead, you ass.”

Théo just rolled his eyes, nodded towards Marinette, and strolled down the hall, whistling.  Marinette looked back at Luka, frowning.

“…séance?” she asked, and he groaned as he ushered her inside.

“Don’t ask,”’ he sighed.  “Théo’s an idiot.  Your company is much preferred.”

She smiled as he closed the door behind her, and he froze when she leaned up to kiss his cheek.

“Your company’s preferred, too,” she said, humming happily as she took Bach from him and headed towards the kitchen.  When she glanced back at him, he was still standing by the door, a dumbstruck smile on his face.

[2toplibrary]

The Writing Doesn't Lie by cutiefemdom

(M, 3.5 K, 1/1)

Sometimes it bothered him that his soulmate was the least romantic person he'd ever met.

Sometimes it bothered him that he was the same. 

Todoroki doesn't know what love is but his soulmate helps him learn.

[hischierlovebot]

Find The Word Tag

Tagged by @mikathemad and @kitnita thank you so much to both of you!!

This is going to be so long, so I'm cutting it off soon, sorry in advance jsjsjs

My words (Mika's): remember, white, love, sweet

Remember:

“I live with him, remember?” Wyatt’s eyes dart to the side, before returning to Roope’s face.  Something twists in Roope’s stomach, like his food is settling all wrong. He frowns. “I thought you’d left,” he replies. Wyatt’s fingers twitch, before Wyatt shoves his hands deep in his pockets. “Yeah, well,” Wyatt shrugs, then bites his bottom lip, chewing on it like he wants to make it bleed. It comes away red and shiny when spit, when Wyatt finally releases it, hums and shrugs again as he turns to Roope. “An experiment. It went terribly so. I went back to Joe’s.”

White:

Everybody knows, that the northern sirens are more dangerous than their brethren from the South. Or, rather, they all should know, but the southern sirens were flashier, easier to remember, than their more cunning siblings, their minds made as sharp as their teeth by the cold that could kill everyone without pause. Petey had shown them his teeth when he arrived, all sharp edges and blinding white, and never let anyone forget them.

Love:

“Yeah, Marns and…,” he sighs again. His voice sounds muffled from behind his fingers, and when he lets out a chuckle, it’s airy and as fake as the designer bags that Kniesy insists are the real thing. Auston drops his hands from his face after a moment, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, while his mouth twists into a smile that’s all sharp edges, every one of them directed inwards, before continuing. “Only falling in love with boys and things that will break my heart.”

(bitter)Sweet:

It should be a relief, that he can rest, that he isn’t late, not really, but instead it tastes like disappointment, something bittersweet lodged in his throat. He lead his team to the playoffs, for the first time in years. They got kicked out of them, so thoroughly and suddenly that Nico’s body couldn’t get used to the idea, loose the shape of his stick between his hands, the roaring of the crowd from his ears.

Zoe's words:

Matter:

Trevor comes undone under Jack's hands with a soft cry, his body writhing on the bed as he buries his fingers in the sheets, soft whimpers spilling from him no matter how hard he bites his lips. Leaning forward, Jack presses their mouths together, coaxes Trevor's open and drinks the sounds he lets out like he's a man lost in the desert and Trevor an oasis. 

Hot:

Ty does turn around, now, and Wyatt's face feels sunburnt all over, like the time he fell asleep by the pool and forgot to put on sunscreen. Under Ty's surprised expression, Wyatt feels both hot and cold, like he might discover a shade of red never before seen on a human. "Okay," Ty replies, slowly, his eyes scanning Wyatt's face like he can read whatever is writing under his flush. "But I stand by it. You're as pretty as a girl, prettier than some, even."

Respect:

There is no respect in any of my wips friends, I am sorry, there are some very rude people

Even:

Hischier’s wearing the stupid sweater. The one with white and brown stripes, so fucking ugly that even Jack would like to burn it to ashes. He’d rip it off Hischier, throw it in a volcano just so he didn’t have to see it, save humanity from such a horrendous sight. The Hischier on screen, prerecorded, ignorant of Jack’s existence and his inner monologue, laughs and shrugs. The sweater engulfs him whole, and Jack clenches his fist so hard there are prints of a half moon in the palm of his hand.

Thank you both for tagging me, it was a lot of fun!

Tagging: @coffeehound91 @ijustdontlikepeople @devilssacrament

Your words: sky, blood, forget, years

[ice-cube13]

New fic! And my first time writing smut.

Link

[daylightaftertherain]

avie and I are flailing in their google docs alternating between trying to put together smut and roasting simon 👍👍👍

[onlyonewoman]

He doesn't want to leave this bed ever, or let Zichen leave. He's broad, sturdy and so comfortable to rest on. He doesn't shave his armpits either, which is nice. Some guys look good in that, sure, but all too many come across as too girly for Xue Yang's taste. He likes muscles, hairy legs and all and he grins, nuzzling into Zichen's armpit just to be an asshole. “Eww! That's gross!” “Relax, you big girl. You don't stink.” “It's still gross.” Xue Yang just laughs. “Says the guy who just sucked my dick.”

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 1 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!! //

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out. Section Specific Warnings: casual drinking, piv sex, , nip stim, reader on top, drunkenness to the point of blacking out, vomiting due to overdrinking (mentioned very briefly), dirty talk, implied drug use / vernon is high, heavy themes in regards to mental health - allusions to unspecified mental illnesses in the realm of depressive and anxiety disorders

wc: 5800

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

Now

You’ve been used to seeing his face only in puzzle pieces, triangular fragments of glass beside a fallen picture frame. Mostly in flashes of light that are gone too quickly to process the whole picture - as the car he drives passes under a streetlight, as the flashing lights from a dj booth sweep over you before moving on, as the moon crosses over the gap on your window’s blinds that your cat broke two years ago and you never replaced.

Despite this, you know everything about it: how he keeps it carefully flat, but when it breaks it’s always to jump to extremes. How he laughs so hard his features distort and shatter, how his eyebrows nearly meet when he’s breaking and pressing fingers to his eyes, how his eyes squeeze shut when he mouths your name against your neck and presses his fingertips tighter against your skin before letting go. You have it all memorized. You know it by heart, even in the dark. 

That was how you met - in the dark. You were dragged to a bar by your best friend Chan, determined to drink until you weren’t annoyed by the existence of everyone around you, until the music and lights seem to flow over and around you, like you’re experiencing them through a thick pane of glass. 

He’d been invited, too. He and Chan had friends in common. You’d noticed him early in the night, sometime before things got foggy. Of course you did - even in the dim lighting you could see how good-looking he was, all sharp points and edges. You made note of how he stayed quiet, a tiny smile on an otherwise unchanging face, but his eyes had darted around, following the conversation sharply. 

Sharp is your favorite word for him. It fits everything about him, top to toe, inside and out. 

Sharp, sharp, sharp. 

He looked how you feel inside, even now. 

You’d gone back to his place, that night. You still remember him leaning back against the wall of the bar, arms crossed against his chest, mostly in shadow until a pink light passed over you both before leaving you in shadow again. As your eyes adjusted again, pieced his face back together in the dark, one of those eyebrows had lifted in question. 

You were surprised at how clean his place was; he was surprised by how cluttered yours was, the next time you’d come together, maybe a week later. 

This was almost two years ago; you’d both gotten used to each other since then.

It wasn’t a surprise, each time, when he gasped and then whined when he came, when his grip tightened like he had to make sure you stay put until his heartbeat starts to slow again. Not a surprise when he’d pull his ripped jeans back on less than ten minutes later. Not a surprise when he’d reach out to wiggle your foot through the blankets to make sure you were awake to hear him mutter, “See you,” on his way out. Nothing surprising about how you’d go four days without talking and then send him a wyd?, nor about how he’d come to pick you up, his car idling outside your building within the half hour. 

You’d been doing things this way for ages. It was practically a routine. This was just what you two did, in the dark. 

You weren’t sure what he did during the day. You and him, you only existed when the sun went down. 

You didn’t know what he looked like in the golden hour, or at a restaurant table, or hurrying through a rainy afternoon. You didn’t mind; he belonged to you like this - only in the dark, only in pieces, only in too-quick flashes of light.

It was enough.

Or, you’d pretended it was, for as long as you could. 

1 yr 11 months ago

The first few times were simple. You both knew what you were there for. You’d text, he’d come get you. You’d watch his hand on the gear shift as he drove you back to his place. You’d undress each other across his living room, a breadcrumb trail to follow back out when it was over. He’d order you a ride when it was done, you’d get home and shower, sinking into your own bed just as the light started to shift outside, warning everyone that dawn was imminent once again.

Or, conversely, he’d text instead of you. Or he’d drive to your place and stay, pressing you against your entryway wall before even closing the door behind him, threatening all your neighbors with a show. He’d slip out, after, leaving the smell of his cologne on your skin, on your sheets, even - somehow - in your kitchen, where you’d gone for water while he got dressed. 

You both knew why you were there. You both knew what you needed out of it: just sex, just fun. You couldn’t even call it friends with benefits because you weren’t friends from dawn to dusk.

The just of it failed to last.

You know precisely the first time it was different, the first time you needed him. You needed the same things as always - his mouth hot on your skin, his hands alternating between sparks of pain and soothing caresses, the stretch of him emptying your mind and pushing every bad feeling out like there wasn’t room for them anymore. But for the first time, you didn’t want those things for enjoyment.

You wanted them as a salve.

Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose. 

You did ask him, in your own way. With your tongue, with your hands, with your hips. You didn’t know if he could tell that something was different, that you were using him to hide, that your urgency was because you wanted to feel something else. As you moved together under the fairy lights above your bed, the motions were the same as always. 

It was after, that was different. Before he got dressed, he’d rolled to face you across the few inches of dark. His statue-like face wasn’t blank, now. Instead, his brows knit just slightly, his lips frowning on the hint of a pout.

“You okay?” he’d asked.

You’d looked back at him, goosebumps rising up and down your arms as your skin cooled. Should you lie? That was the best way to keep him at arm’s length, the best way to make sure this didn’t get too deep, the best way to ensure you didn’t scare him away.

But something made you tell the truth.

“A little better, now,” you admitted, quiet, your voice creeping through the dark like it was avoiding landmines as it tiptoed over your mattress. 

He’d nodded, slipping back into the silence he wore best. Then he’d stayed just a few minutes, breathing quietly beside you, before getting up and sliding back into the routine. A few extra minutes of not being alone, like he knew you needed it even if you couldn’t ask for it. 

In the silence he left behind, the truth had ballooned into the empty room: something had shifted. Now, on the nights when you hurt, when you weren’t sure you wanted to keep clawing your way through, you had another vice to pick from for distraction. More or less destructive than your other, older vices? You weren’t sure.

Almost two years later, you’re still not sure. 

1 yr 10 months ago

The levels of separation were just enough that you didn’t cross paths at a lot of social events. But it was always a little thrilling when the circles did converge, when he appeared at the edge of the group, when the game became act normal in front of everybody. 

You like games.

Vernon does, too.

The first time he showed up unexpectedly at the bar, your stomach swooped, and you hid a sneaky smile by tipping back your glass, draining the rest in one go and announcing that you needed a refill. 

A game, knowing he’d watch you walk away. A game, knowing he’d have to look away again quickly, before anyone caught on. A game, pretending when you return to the group that you don’t remember his name. A game, knowing that at the end of the night, he’d come home with you and make sure you didn’t remember anything but. 

You had too much to drink, too caught up in the fun, in the promise of later, in the thrill of feeling like you were harboring a secret like a precious plant, cupped in loose soil between your muddy fingers. 

The alcohol made you lose track of your friends, of the time, of directional stability. You stumbled to the hallway you thought held the bathroom, one sweaty palm slapped against the wall to help you get there. 

You’d only been sleeping with him for two months, but his hands on your waist were familiar. So was his mouth, near your ear, asking a familiar question - “You okay?”

“Should probably go home,” you muttered, still present enough to know you were a mess. That others could see your mess. 

“Can you get yourself out front?” he asked, and there was something gentle in it. It made your stomach turn; or maybe that was the vodka. It made you want to run, to put distance between you, to remind him that you weren’t his to take care of. It made you want to hiss and spit to remind him that you’re an outdoor cat.

“Why?” you asked, turning in place to face him, something hard riding up in your chest. 

He shrugged one shoulder, like it didn’t matter to him if you listened or not. “If you go out now, I’ll order a ride. Then I’ll head out in a few, when the car is here. It’ll look like you left already when I go.”

You narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re being awfully strategic.”

He lifted that eyebrow again. “You want Chan to know we’re fucking?”

The word sizzled through you like an electric shock. But you took a breath and considered the question. “No,” you answered, once you muddled through your soupy brain enough to find the word. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay,” he said, as if that settled that. “I’ll order the ride. Your place okay?”

“Mhm,” you said, distracted, suddenly aware of your lack of equilibrium, nausea making its presence known. You might not have told him goodbye before pushing your way back into the crowded dance floor, weaving around people and squeezing through impossibly tight spaces until you find Chan again.

“My uber’s out front,” you said in greeting. 

“What?” he cried, looking betrayed. “It’s not even one-thirty!”

“If I stay,” you told him seriously, “I will hurl. Talk tomorrow?”

He pouted a little but nodded, waving goodbye as you turned and struggled towards the front door. 

Stepping from the loud, crowded bar into the quiet street was almost dizzying in itself; you struggled to adjust as you took a few steps away from the door. The lit-up signs from the nearby businesses swam around the edge of your vision, and you swallowed down a fresh wave of nausea. 

It seemed like only seconds later, though it must have been at least five minutes, when the car pulled up and Vernon appeared from out of nowhere to usher you into the backseat. 

You don’t remember the ride home. You don’t remember Vernon supporting you by your elbows to keep you from toppling sideways (or backwards) down the stairs. You don’t remember dropping your keys so many times that he’d taken them from you, let you both into the apartment. You don’t remember him helping you remove your heels, or placing a glass of water by your bed. 

You do remember waking up somewhere in the bright hours of early morning, still in your tight dress, head pounding and stomach rolling. 

Your apartment was empty; you hadn’t expected him to stay, but you’d checked the couch anyway, just to be sure. You drank the whole glass of water, sat on the floor of the shower and let the hot water punish you for your bad decisions, and then crawled back to bed. You texted Vernon - the first time either of you had texted while the sun was up - and apologized, thanked him for getting you home. 

You expected an answer as reserved as he normally plays things. You were surprised when, instead, he sent you back, “i think i’d be good at rodeo”, followed quickly by, “rodeoing???”

Frowning, you sent back a line of question marks.

His answer made you laugh through a groan, pressing your face into your pillows in embarrassment - “corralling you was NOT easy… but i did it 🤠”.

Face flushed with embarrassment, you sent another apology. 

You sank into quiet after that, unsure if you’d messed things up, made it too real, became a thing of responsibility instead of a thing of attraction. But he’d texted you the next weekend, those three little letters sending relief through your system: wyd? 

“Not drinking,” you said, and he wasted no time in sending back, “want to not drink at mine?”

1 yr 9 months ago

come over?

you come here?? ill order ur ride

ok 👍

“You seem weird.”

Vernon kept his expression even, though hearing the words made him want to grimace at being called out so immediately. He’d been spiraling for at least an hour; had at one point gotten so worked up that he’d slammed his laptop on the desk, causing it to show a shuddering blue screen before restarting on him.

If it hadn’t stumbled back to life, he honestly thought he would cry over it.

He might anyway. Fucking shit.

“I’m a weird guy,” he deadpanned instead.

“Weirder than normal,” you volleyed. “Everything okay?”

Vernon sent a dark look over his shoulder, where the textbook he’d been burying himself in still sat open on the page he’d been on when your text had rolled through.

But you weren’t here to help him study. You weren’t here to listen to him complain that he’d failed his last test, that his scholarship rode on this next one. You weren’t here to help him make flashcards, or even to rub his shoulders while he hunched over the textbook.

You were here so he could forget, for just a little while, that he was stressed in the first place. You were here to help him feel something besides the knots in his stomach, so he could hear a voice echoing in his head that wasn’t his own calling him stupid, stupid, stupid. You were here to melt the edges of his anxiety, the way he could have with a shot or a pill, if he were in a different mood.

He replaced the textbook on the flat surface of his desk with your bare ass, leaning over you to brace an arm next to his sleeping laptop. He let your soft cries take up space in his mind, crowding out his internal admonitions, his mind’s noisy cycling through the list of things he should be doing instead. His stomach muscles clenched because your fingertips trailed over them, not because he was imagining having to tell his parents he’d lost his scholarship. He groaned, long and guttural, because you felt like heaven clenching around him, hot and silky and perfect, not because he’d read the same paragraph three times and retained none of it. His fingers found the back of your neck and gripped you hard, holding you in place as his hips snapped into yours, instead of gripping the pen that refused to write answers that made any sense.

It worked; it helped. It was the first time in days that Vernon felt okay. He wished he could last forever - just so that he didn’t have to go back to reality, to life outside of this.

“Car’s on its way,” he told you, after you were cleaned up and dressed again.

You looked up at him from where you were perched on his desk, the same spot where he’d been drilling you only ten minutes ago.

“Thanks,” you said, then looked down at the textbook in your hand. You’d picked it up absently, but now you turned it over, reading the cover.

“This looks hard,” you observed. “Is this why you’re all…” You trailed off and made a face to indicate that Vernon was the human equivalent of a keysmash. You even mimed the keysmashing, in the air in front of you, with both hands.

The smile he gave you was probably sheepish. “Yeah. Test tomorrow. Flunked the last one.”

And he wasn’t sure why he was telling you, but you nodded slowly, eyes still on the cover of the book.

“Sucks,” you said sympathetically, and that was that. You didn’t make it a thing. You gave him a quick smile as you closed his door, and then you were gone.

Vernon took a shower, dissociated in the warm water until it ran cold. Then he heated up some instant noodles, and set everything back up on his desk to try again.

Maybe he should make fucking flashcards.

He was still at it around two in the morning, literally holding his eyelids up to stay awake, when his phone rattled on his keyboard.

good luck tmrw. hwaiting.

1 yr 8 months ago

“Go talk to him!”

“Chan, from the bottom of my heart, fuck off.”

Your best friend pouted at you over the top of his beer. “You haven’t dated in forever.”

You hadn’t needed to. You didn’t want domesticity, nor partnership. And the parts that were left, Vernon had been handling just fine.

But Chan didn’t know that.

“I don’t want to,” you snapped. “I don’t want to talk to that guy, and I don’t want to date someone. I want to drink with my idiot friend Chan. Is that a problem?”

His pout deepened. “No,” he sulked. “But I’m worried about you, noona.”

“Well, don’t be,” you said, softening. “I’m fine. I’m just not after… all that.”

Still looking a little bit like a kicked dog, Chan glanced down at his beer and then back up at you, timid. “Have you been… working on anything lately?”

You wanted to crawl out of your skin. You wanted to evaporate, slip towards the ceiling in tiny droplets of not-matter, vanish as you got too close to the sun.

“Nope,” you said, forcing a breezy tone.

His eyes on you were too knowing. Your clothes all itched, suddenly. “Nothing, since -?”

“Chan,” you said, not even trying to hide the desperation on your face, in your voice, in the way your hands reach out for his. “Please, can we not do the intervention thing right now? I really, really cannot.”

He went quiet. “Fine,” he said finally, and the timid-younger-brother thing was gone, replaced with something almost angry. Frustrated, at least. “Fine. You need a refill?” He downed the last of his beer and reached for your glass.

“No,” you said, pulling it further from his reach. “I need shots. Let’s go.”

The burn in your throat helped you move on, move away from the uncomfortable moment. You relished the slight sting, closed your eyes as you felt the heat make its way to your stomach. Kept them closed, felt everything tight inside you loosen by degrees, until you could breathe again.

You danced, you drank more. You did tequila shots, licking salt off the back of some girl’s hand, both of you giggling even though you never saw her before in your life and probably wouldn’t again once the shots were done.

At some point, you stilled, realizing you hadn’t seen Chan in a while. You rested your elbows against the bar for balance and pulled out your phone.

where are you? you sent.

His answer confused you. told you goodbye almost two hours ago, you fucking mess.

Then, another, do I need to come back and get you?

Shame engulfed you. You were a mess, always a mess. A fuck-up, a drop-out, a waste of potential. The idea of him having to come take care of you, come back to get you and babysit you, made you want to crawl under the sticky floorboards.

no, you sent back. i’m leaving now.

But the shame hovered over your shoulder. Its breath coated your neck in humid huffs, its claws pressed into the flesh of your arms hard enough to leave little crescents, its tail curled around your leg to hold you in place.

You ordered another shot.

The room was dark, and smelled stale, like a window hadn’t been opened in months.

The room was not the bar.

Your body flooded with adrenaline so fast that you had to close your eyes and force an inhale.

You didn’t remember leaving the bar. You didn’t know where you were. You didn’t know how you got here.

The shame was back, tail heavy over your abdomen, but the spikes of fear were worse. You felt around the darkness until you could find your phone. You used its light to look around - you seemed to be alone on someone’s couch. Hand shaking, it took you three tries to open your maps app. You couldn’t get the screen to focus, couldn’t read to see what neighborhood you were in.

The screen swam before you and you clicked it off, closing your eyes and trying to breathe, trying not to cry.

Who could you call?

Not Chan, the shame whispered to you, lifting its head from slumber and opening its beady eyes, yellow across the dark room.

You didn’t have many other choices. You'd found that a symptom of isolation is that fewer people stick around, waiting for you to come out of it, to be normal again. You'd known this, logically, for years. You still couldn't help it when the urge to hunker down and speak to no one but Chan and your mom took over; you couldn't help when your stupid, broken brain told you that you were bothering everyone but to believe it. Don’t call Chan. You closed one eye and turned your screen on again, determined to make it make sense.

It was almost three in the morning.

You knew one person who might still be up.

Vernon’s hello sounded awake, and that’s what made you crack, tears starting to slide down your cheeks without permission.

“I don’t know where I am,” you admitted. The shame gave a hearty huff and lowered its head again. “I can’t - I can’t get a car because - I can’t see the - the buttons aren’t working -”

“Put me on speaker,” he said calmly, and you clung to his voice like the rung of a pool ladder. You didn’t need to climb up, you just needed to hold on.

“Okay,” you said, when you’d managed it.

“Go to your messages,” he said next, and walked you through each step until you’d managed to drop him your location.

“Thank you,” you’d said, tears dry. Everything dry. Even the shame seemed a bit opaque, the numbness strong enough to push away even this least desirable companion as it came creeping in. “Thank you, I’m sorry, I -”

“Stay on the phone with me,” he instructed.

“Vernon, no,” you protested. “You should go to sleep.”

“Wasn’t sleeping anyway,” he said flatly, and there was no room to argue.

You stayed on the line in silence as you hunted around for your shoes, or a coat. You found neither, though somehow your purse was still strapped to you. You did manage to find a front door. You exited the house, closing the door quietly behind you. You still didn’t know whose fucking house it was.

You threw up next to the mailbox. You collapsed into the grass, wet with morning dew under your back. You shivered, coatless and barefoot. Your phone was somewhere in the yard behind you, the call still connected.

Above you, the shame swam between the stars, twisting and undulating amongst the constellations until it made you so dizzy that you rolled over to throw up again.

When you saw headlights, you pushed yourself to sit, trying to breathe. The driver wouldn’t let you in the car if they thought you might be a puke risk. You looked around the ground near where you were sitting, trying to find your phone, realizing belatedly that you were still on the call with Vernon.

“Sorry,” you said, bringing it to your ear again. “I dropped my phone in the yard. The car's here.”

“I know,” he said simply, which didn't make sense, but you were too gone to figure it out.

“I'm gonna hang up now,” you said quietly. “Thank you for helping me.”

He made a noncommittal noise and you ended the call as the car coasted to a stop. You started to rise, to make your way unsteadily to the back door. Instead, the driver’s door opened.

“Vernon,” you complained, horrified that he'd come out at three in the morning to get you. He was supposed to be home, in bed, while a stranger drove you home - a stranger who you paid in money, owed no emotional labor for this effort. A stranger who could see you like this - a wreck, makeup smudged, confused, lost in multiple ways - and never see you again.

Vernon looked you over, then shook his head. He walked around his car and opened the passenger door, looking at you silently, waiting.

Finally, you stalked over.

“Why are you out here with no shoes on?” he asked, voice lower than normal.

“Lost them,” you muttered, dropping into the passenger seat. Your stomach swam again, but it seemed to be empty enough now that all you got was the suffering.

He drove you in silence for a little. Then, at a red light, looked over at you, that expression as blank as ever.

You were starting to learn his tells, though. His fingers tapped on the gear between you.

You’d made him anxious.

“What happened?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Blacked out,” you said, looking at your knees. “Didn’t mean to. I think some girls invited me along to their place? And then I must have passed out.” The tequila shot girl’s face swam in your mind - this seemed correct.

“Girls?”

You looked at him, surprised. Pieces clicked together.

“You think I called you to get me from a hook-up’s house?” you asked, defensive. “I’m a disaster, but I’m not a bitch.”

He cleared his throat. “I didn’t say that.”

You were both quiet a little longer.

“I’m not… I don’t…” You weren’t sure how to say it. “I know you didn’t ask me not to - and I’m not asking anything from you - but - I don’t…”

“Okay,” he said, stopping your ramble. You looked at him, relieved, so glad he understood. That you didn’t have to say it. “Cool.”

Cool.

If you could without throwing up again, you’d shake your head. He was just so… Vernon.

You were hungover for two days; you even called out of work for one of them. When the headache finally subsided, you told the cat you were never drinking again.

The cat jumped off the bed and trotted away; it might as well have called you a liar.

When the weekend rolled around, you didn’t text Vernon. The shame lay its heavy, clawed foot on top of your phone, leveled you with an even look that said don’t even think about it.

How could you face him again, anyway? Why would he want to see you, after he’d seen the truth so clearly - that you were messy, a mistake, more trouble than any situationship was worth?

Friday night came and went in silence. You were right - he wanted out. You didn’t blame him at all.

Then, Saturday night, a text came through.

you coherent? 😏

You laughed, rolled your eyes, sent back, unfortunately. can we change that?

want to try a different poison tonight?

is that supposed to be flirty?

if you need me to do the hard sell, my offer won’t end you up at a strangers house at 3am

that’s a solid argument

i’ll come get you. need some time?

yeah, gimme 30 min?

cool.

You snorted again. Cool. He was such a dork.

“Thanks for getting me,” you said, when you slid into his passenger seat.

“Can’t let you entertain yourself,” he said, ticking his head to the side like he’d learned his lesson. “You end up without shoes.”

The callback to last weekend made your face heat, and you expected him to lecture you - to tell you to be more careful, that you shouldn’t put yourself in situations like that, that your liver will quit someday.

He didn’t - didn’t bring up anything that happened until -

“Only need me, huh?” he asked, later, pressing so deep into you that you squirm away, delighted when he pulls you back roughly, puts you right back where you’d both rather you be. “No one else does it this good, right?”

“Shut up,” you huffed, half-laughing. “God.” Then he shifted his angle and you repeated yourself, a broken record, god god god, for a whole new reason.

1 yr 7 months ago

Everything was slow and heavy. Vernon’s eyelids lowered and then slid open again, slow… slow. Air army-crawled on elbows and knees into his lungs, slipped out too easily. His blood in his veins trudged; his heartbeat couldn’t whip it into going faster. The ceiling fan above him circled, chasing its tail in an endless loop.

come over.

It must have taken him two hours to type the text. Two hours for it to fly through space - is that how texts send? through space? - to your phone. Two hours for you to get there, to let yourself into his unlocked apartment.

“Took you forever,” he muttered, still watching the ceiling fan.

He was a little out of it, a little bit on another plane. Your hands were cool against his cheeks, thumbs cool as they traced his jawline. For a minute, they felt like the only thing tethering him to earth, keeping him in this room, in this apartment.

“You in there?” Your voice came from far away.

“Yeah.”

He opened his eyes again, and found you hovering above him, light streaming from behind you.

You didn’t mention his red eyes, didn’t tease him for the way his words came out one phoneme at a time. You just pulled your shirt over your head - he may have groaned when the fabric passed your tits, fuck you for showing up without a bra on - and then reached for his hem. Then you lay tight up against him, one hand absently stroking over his chest.

You let him make every first move, let him decide when he’s in his own body again. He kissed you slow, licked into your mouth like it was viscous, marveled in how your skin felt when his hands skated over your back.

It must have been two hours that he kissed you, only that, before finally tugging you to straddle him.

He’d been fucked up when he texted you, but he was feeling clearer now. Clear enough to peel your leggings over your ass, to lift his hips when you tugged on his sweatpants. Clear enough to let out a breath that shuddered embarrassingly when you positioned him at your entrance and sank to the hilt, stilling and tilting to look him in the eyes.

Sometimes Vernon thinks about Giles Corey. He shouldn’t even know about this random piece of American history; he definitely didn’t learn it in school. But sometimes Vernon would procrastinate real work by going to random Wiki articles, and sometimes what he read would stick. 

He remembered this one. During the early Salem witch trials, Giles Corey was tried as a witch, but not hung. Instead, he’d been pressed to death - the stones added one by one to the board over his chest. He was supposed to confess. 

He’d died that way, had been literally crushed to death, one stone at a time.

His last words had been more weight.

That’s how Vernon felt, most days. One stone at a time, pressing on his ribcage. It was never enough to crush him, just enough to make him feel like he couldn’t take a breath, enough to make him feel like his bones might crack and cave and it’s scary - but they never did. Or, they hadn’t yet.

Every day, Vernon woke up, spit at the feet of whatever church was awaiting his confession, and demanded, more weight.

But the stones had felt heavier, today. Some days were like that. Some days felt like hardly any at all. He tried to remember that - the lighter days would come.

He didn’t feel them at all, now. The only weight on his chest was your hands as you leaned your body forward for leverage, riding him at the pace he set with his hands on your hips, guiding you up and back - slow, slow.

“Fuck,” you groaned, eyes squeezing shut and then opening again, blinking quickly. “It’s too - god, I can feel everything - I don’t know if I can - it’s too -”

“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmured, reaching up to pull you closer, to bring you chest to chest.

“I need you to move,” you whimpered, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Please, I need you to go faster.”

Vernon swore fiercely as his body obeyed without his permission, feet flattening against his mattress and arms crossing over your back to hold you in place against him. You both gasped, equally shocked at the sudden change.

“More,” you begged. “Please, Vernon.”

More weight, he thought, and then he wasn’t thinking anything because you were wailing, fingers twisting in the sheets next to his shoulders, pulsing around him in dizzying, soul-sucking waves.

Sometimes Vernon thinks being alone will be the stone that kills him.

He almost asked you to stay, after, just to keep it at bay. Almost.

He thought that you might be his new favorite vice.

1 yr, 6 months ago

wyd tonight?

uhhh awkward. i’m. on a date?

why awkward? you’re allowed.

thanks for the permission.

i’m generous, what can i say

dont worry though its nothing. we got set up. its… not going great lol

i understand. hes got tough competition.

Please. 🙄

have fun

im not going home with him. i promise.

prove it.

how?

come here after.

ykw?? i think i will. Next ->

my first svt fic ever!!! thank you so much for being here! i hope you continue to enjoy!

[harringroveera]

Great advice Robin now they’re fuckbuddies

[cuubism]

No questions. I'm just attempting to kill a man or two by pulling this out of my sleeve >:)

hoooooolllly fucking shit, mayhem you absolute madlad

i don't even know what to say about this. i'm stunned into silence. i'm shook. i'm just staring at it. this is so much to cope with on a tuesday afternoon

@magnusbae come get yeeted off a cliff

[sukugo]

obi-wan should probably dedicate himself to something else instead of spending his time fucking pretty boys in the back of his car...........

[helenawrites23]

The Way of The Sword (Chapter 2)

18+. 3.8k, half-sibling incest, age difference, explicit content, strenght kink, breathplay, submission, intercrural sex, relationship problems, canon-typical violence. part 2/?. AO3 link part 1, part 3. Let me know if you want to be tagged!

The search for Naraku might be over, but Inuyasha hasn't escaped his past. He drags it around like a ball and chain. Then he crosses paths with his half-brother again, and learns how to let go.

In which Inuyasha and Sesshoumaru go training together, and reach an arrangement of sorts.

It was late in the afternoon.

Inuyasha was sitting before a fire in his camp, stirring a concoction of lye and animal fat.

Making soap wasn't difficult. He'd seen Kagome going through the motions before, those few times she'd run out of her flowery shower gels, and emulating her had been quite easy from the get-go. Of course, she'd been much more diligent about the whole thing, adding citrus slices, lavender buds, honey, and all sorts of girly things. Inuyasha was sure his own procedures weren’t all that sophisticated.

The first time she'd caught Inuyasha picking through her hygiene products, Kagome had been too startled to get properly worked up about it. She did wonder why a boy would be quite so preoccupied with proper grooming, especially one who was generally unkempt and cared little about appearances. Inuyasha, on his part, had found it hard to explain to a human how unbearable bad odors were to someone with a high sense of smell.

She'd found it hilarious, in the end. Inuyasha took it as just one of those many little differences that set their natures apart.

His knee was aching again. He shifted where he sat, trying to get some weight off of it. The pain didn't disappear entirely, but it did become somewhat bearable. In an attempt to distract himself, Inuyasha grabbed a handful of lemongrass and took a sniff. The smell was strong enough to make him dizzy, and he took care to only add a small amount. As he was getting ready to pour the concoction into molds, a different scent caught his attention.

It was somewhat familiar but too faint for him to recognize it right away. Inuyasha frowned and looked around. There was no one he could sense around the clearing where he'd made camp. As he closed his eyes, he could only hear crickets and small animals lurking about. Still, the scent prevailed.

Inuyasha left the hot cauldron over a pile of bricks beside the fire and marched into the forest. The scent became stronger, but he couldn't quite pinpoint where it was coming from. The trail led him in circles through the trees, increasing and diminishing like a flickering light. It took him too long to understand why, and by then it was too late. There was the sound of something cutting through the air, and then a cold blade been held to his throat.

Inuyasha went perfectly still.

“A hanyou caught with his guard down is just asking for trouble. Surely, you ought to know better?”

Inuyasha recognized the voice and felt himself relax.

“You are a fucking psychopath, you know that?” He said, using the tip of his fingers to move the blade away. No resistance was met from the other end. “I mean, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

When Inuyasha turned around to glare at him, Sesshoumaru had the gall to look amused rather than sheepish. He quickly put his sword back into its sheath, and the movement was so graceful one would not have been able to tell the weapon had just been used to play a practical joke. That was just like Sesshoumaru, though. Even at his most petty, he somehow managed to look dignified.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Besides being a major creep, I mean,” Inuyasha asked, crossing his arms. At the back of his head, he was wondering why he'd been unable to identify his brother's scent. He hadn't even felt him approaching.

Sesshoumaru took a step forward, standing just close enough to force Inuyasha to look up. Inuyasha held his gaze, resisting the urge to step back.

“I decided a visit was in order,” Sesshoumaru replied. “It wouldn't do to have you think I'd forgotten all about you.”

They weren't supposed to meet for a while.

Their last training session involved a few rounds of wrestling that had left Inuyasha limping from one leg, and despite his many protests, Sesshoumaru had dimmed that reason enough to warrant a few days of rest. It wasn't like him to change his mind without cause. It was also much too late to get any meaningful training done. Inuyasha had to wonder what his brother was thinking, dropping by unannounced and without a clear motive.

It had been a few weeks since Inuyasha had acquiesced to their arrangement. Today marked one month, exactly. Since then, they'd been practicing wrestling and sword fighting almost every day.

Although hanging around Sesshoumaru often and for long stretches of time was a novelty in itself, Inuyasha didn't feel like their relationship had changed in any meaningful way. His half-brother was as distant as always. While Sesshoumaru's disregard for personal space persisted, as well as their almost flirtatious bantering, things between them just didn't seem to be clicking. Inuyasha wasn't at all sure what they were doing, or where they were heading.

It occurred to him then that this may be Sesshoumaru’s odd way of pressing forwards.

“Yeah, whatever. My camp's over there,” he said, not quite looking his brother in the eye. “Unless you wanna stay here and skulk around the forest some more.”

Sesshoumaru hummed. Although his expression hadn’t truly changed, he seemed somewhat pleased by the invitation. He refrained from answering and instead extended his hand, gesturing for Inuyasha to lead.

It'd been a while since Inuyasha had sought out anyone in this fashion. This was not for lack of interest, at least on his part. Kagome had been, admittedly, something of a prude. Even making out had been an act that came with its own set of rules and limitations. Their social circle at the time was also unhelpful. Looking back, Inuyasha realized that many issues in his and Kagome's relationship stemmed from the fact that they never truly had the chance to be alone. Even if she'd dared, it would have been quite impossible to have any type of intimacy.

In this part of the forest, there were no interruptions or unexpected visitors to be had, though, and Inuyasha found a certain reassurance in that fact.

“Well, here we are,” he said.

Sesshoumaru glanced around as he made his way into the clearing. Inuyasha felt a tad of discomfort as he noticed him staring at the cauldron, still steaming over the pile of bricks. If his half-brother had any comments about it he kept them to himself, though. It seemed to be one of those days in which words had to be dragged out of him.

As the silence stretched, Inuyasha shifted on his feet. His knee was giving him trouble again. Suddenly, Sesshoumaru took the swords from his belt and laid them down on the grass beside the fire. Then he rose and threw an expectant glance at Inuyasha. It took him a moment to realize what was being asked of him. Not without some doubt, he took out Tessaiga and laid it down as well.

Inuyasha knew what the act of setting their weapons aside meant. It was a promise of peace. A pledge to keep violence out of whatever took place between them tonight. As he stood back up, Inuyasha found a knot at the base of his throat.

He'd come to understand quite quickly that Sesshoumaru wasn't fond of small talk, or any social niceties for that matter. When his brother pushed at a mechanism on the back of his armor to remove it, choosing to forsake any words, Inuyasha was neither fazed nor surprised. He did take the time to stare as Sesshoumaru easily lifted the heavy metal shell over his shoulders, laying it down with as much reverence as he'd done with his weapons.

Inuyasha didn't think he'd ever seen him without it. The contrast made him look remarkably thinner. Somehow exposed.

He found himself approaching almost without meaning to. Sesshoumaru took him by the waist, easily pulling him forward. Inuyasha could feel the smell of rain steadily increasing around him, and a puncture of electricity just at the tip of his nose. Although in retrospect it should have seemed strange, it felt natural to lean forward and sniff at Sesshoumaru's throat, taking in the scent.

“This is nice,” he muttered.

Sesshoumaru hummed, seeming unfazed by his actions. Inuyasha was dimly aware of him sniffing at the crown of his hair, tickling a canine ear with the tip of his nose. He let his hands wander, feeling the muscles of Sesshoumaru's back flex through the fabric of his haori. It was almost absurd, how strong his half-brother was. In the past, that had been a source of constant worry and frustration. Now, though, Inuyasha was finding it increasingly difficult not to relish that strength.

More than once he'd found himself admiring Sesshoumaru's boundless power from afar. Even dreaming with it, sometimes.

Inuyasha pulled back and tilted his face up. Sesshoumaru met him halfway, taking him by the back of the head. This kiss felt different from the first one. There was a hunger behind it that hadn't been there before. Inuyasha was very aware of their fangs occasionally bumping together. He also realized that to make out with Sesshoumaru he needed to keep his heels off the ground, which was a strange discovery. He hadn't been aware their height difference was quite so significant.

The hand around Inuyasha's waist moved lower, grabbing one of his buttocks. Their position allowed Sesshoumaru to easily push their hips together. Inuyasha's legs shook. He hadn't realized how worked up he'd gotten. Sesshoumaru chuckled, backing away to lessen the pressure.

“Oh, you are too precious,” he said, voice rough and right beside his ear.

“Fuck off,” Inuyasha replied. “It's your fault, anyway. ‘Been giving me blue balls for a whole fuckin’ month.”

“Ah, how rude of me.”

Sesshoumaru slid his hands up Inuyasha's chest and under his haori, pushing it off his shoulders. The sun had set by then. The evening breeze should have been enough to give him goosebumps, yet Inuyasha felt warm. Almost unbearably so. It was something in the way Sesshoumaru was looking at him, eyes wide and terribly dark. He couldn't help but wonder what his deal was. Inuyasha knew he had something of a scrawny physique when compared with his brother.

It was not something he wanted to consider, at the moment. So he gripped Sesshoumaru by the forearms and dragged him into another kiss.

There was some desperation to the act. Inuyasha was not quite ready to admit how much time he'd spent ogling and waiting, the last month. He'd been alone for quite a while too, and that hadn't made it easier. Sesshoumaru seemed somehow impatient as well. He pushed Inuyasha back and they tumbled together onto the grass.

There were lips sucking a steady line across Inuyasha’s neck. Then Sesshoumaru was untying his hakama and pulling it down. Inuyasha had to remind himself that it was okay. There was nothing hasty or reckless about what they were doing. If anything, things between them had been going agonizingly slow, as of late. Still, he couldn't quite shake off the apprehension.

Inuyasha had only ever had sex with men he didn't know. Clandestine encounters with humans who were looking to satisfy some morbid impulse. Although there'd certainly been a thrill to the mere carnality of the act, it had only ever left him a distinct feeling of wrongness in the aftermath. Inuyasha had not been able to put it into words, at the beginning. It was like an itch spreading through his body. As if he'd been cut, but no wound or blood was left to show. Just a dull ache whose origin he could not determine.

In the absence of affection or respect, a very peculiar type of cruelty can arise from a casual encounter, especially when one part sees the other as a lower creature. That cruelty, Inuyasha had come to find, didn't have to translate into violence in order to hurt. If given the chance back then, he would have chosen physical pain over the humiliation of a crude comment or the sting of a cold dismissal. As used as he'd gotten to that treatment over the years, Inuyasha wasn't sure he'd be able to handle it, if it came from Sesshoumaru.

“What is it?”

Inuyasha had to force himself to look up at his brother.

“What you mean?” He replied.

Sesshoumaru was left unimpressed by his poor attempt at deceit.

“You've gone awfully still.”

Inuyasha hesitated. He felt naked, in more ways than one. Sesshoumaru's hand was resting on his hip, idly stroking the protruding bone with his thumb. Inuyasha was very aware of his erection hanging just inches away. He knew he wanted Sesshoumaru. There was no reason to reject him now or postpone this any more than they already had.

“Nuthing. We can, uh… talk about it later,” Inuyasha said, knowing perfectly well he wouldn’t dare to bring this up again. 

Although his brother didn't look quite convinced, he also didn't protest.

There was suddenly a hand over Inuyasha's chest, pushing him back down with astonishing force. His head reeled for a moment as he made contact with the ground. Then Sesshoumaru took hold of his cock, and any thought about stopping or slowing down left Inuyasha for good. The hand pressing him down wouldn't budge. Its hold was strong enough for him to know that he wouldn't be able to break it, even if he’d been inclined. Inuyasha wasn't. Sesshoumaru wanted him down, and he felt oddly willing to indulge him, at the moment.

“Mmn, I like this a lot.”

As Sesshoumaru began to stroke him, a ragged breath came out of Inuyasha.

“What’s that?”

“You, all quiet and meek,” Sesshoumaru replied. In the dark, his eyes were barely illuminated by the fire. “There is a first time for everything.”

“Ugh, so even in bed you are a bastard. Good to know.”

For some reason, Inuyasha had thought Sesshoumaru's hands would be cold. As it turned out, they were warm and soft. The friction as they moved down his body was not rough and awkward, the way it'd been with others. Inuyasha had enough self-awareness to realize that his own anticipation played a part in that. If he hadn't been so beside himself, he would have been embarrassed.

The hand over Inuyasha's chest moved upwards, pressing down his throat. He didn't fight it. Although he probably should have been, Inuyasha wasn't afraid. He opened his legs wider, moaning unabashedly as Sesshoumaru started to squeeze. His hold was not painful. In fact, it wasn't strong enough to entirely cut off Inuyasha's breathing. There was something liberating about the experience. Some primal sense of release that came with the act of surrendering to Sesshoumaru.

Blindly, Inuyasha reached for his brother's hakama. He struggled for a minute or two with the ties until Sesshoumaru took pity and undid them for him. With only a hint of hesitation, Inuyasha reached inside to take out his cock. The grip on his neck tightened to an alarming degree, then loosened again.

Sesshoumaru's cock felt hot to the touch. Inuyasha knew, in some abstract way, that Sesshoumaru was attracted to him. There would have been no sense in their arrangement if he wasn't. Still, he found it strange to realize he had the power to affect him in this way.

Inuyasha shivered as he felt Sesshoumaru drag his tongue over the skin of his cheek, fangs bared and breath unbearably warm.

“Careful there, you-” Inuyasha cut himself off, barely managing not to choke as he felt Sesshoumaru's mouth close around his throat. Fangs grazed the sensitive skin. He wasn’t sure, at the moment, if what shot through him was fear or arousal.

Inuyasha blinked, dazed, then tried again.

“You're starting to look like you wanna take a bite outta me.”

Sesshoumaru backed away, just enough to look him in the eye. They were so close their noses were touching.

“Maybe I want to,” he replied.

Inuyasha bit into his lips to keep any sound from coming out. In the state he was in, he worried he might let him if he asked politely enough.

Sesshoumaru took him by the hips and turned him on his side. Inuyasha let him, too worked up to mind the manhandling. Laying down behind him, Sesshoumaru easily slid between his thighs. Only then did Inuyasha understand what he meant to do. Although he found the alternative somehow more intriguing, he figured it was only sensical, what with the lack of lubricant.

As Sesshoumaru left a trail of kisses down his neck, Inuyasha realized the nature of the act was entirely trivial. He pressed his thighs closer together, and felt a thrill run through him as Sesshoumaru groaned into his hair. Then he was leaning forward, biting into the soft flesh of Inuyasha's ear. A heavy sensation settled in his groin.

Inuyasha closed his eyes, zeroing in on the feeling of Sesshoumaru’s hands on him. The harsh panting just beside his ear. The sound of their bodies slapping together at an ever-increasing pace. He hadn’t expected it to be like this. So effortless and simple.

They lay together for a while, afterward. As he came down his high, Inuyasha was only aware of heavy breathing somewhere behind him, and cold lips wandering the skin of his back.

“Well, it took us long enough,” he muttered.

In response, Sesshoumaru offered nothing but a noncommittal hum. Inuyasha hesitated, but in the end, forced himself to speak. It was easier, somehow, when he didn't have to look his brother in the eye.

“I was starting to think that maybe… I dunno, you were having second thoughts.”

It took Sesshoumaru a weirdly long time to answer.

“Second thoughts about what?”

“Eh… you know. This,” Inuyasha said eloquently. He cringed at himself, then tried again. “It's just… a whole month went by. Not even a kiss.”

“That would not have been appropriate,” Sesshoumaru replied.

Inuyasha turned to look back, confused. Sesshoumaru's face was showing a peculiar emotion. That mild discomfort that comes with explaining out loud something that is common practice and widely understood.

“Uh… why?”

“It was not my place to seek you out if you were not ready.”

Inuyasha considered that for a moment.

“So, don’t know if you’ve realized. But I’m not really great at giving first steps.”

“Ah. Yes, I realized.”

Inuyasha couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a dumb argument to have. Internally, though, he was becoming increasingly annoyed with himself.

The more time he spent around Sesshoumaru, the more aware Inuyasha was of all the things he ignored about youkai. It was getting old fast. He couldn't help it, though. Although Inuyasha was a half-demon, his mother had been human. His father had never been in the picture. He understood very little about youkai when it came to instincts, expectations, and even customs.

He hadn’t minded before. Inuyasha had always known that ostracization was the norm for most hanyou. Now, though, these seemed like things he really needed to know. At least, if he wanted whatever was happening between Sesshoumaru and him to work out.

The sun had not yet come out, by the time Inuyasha woke up. The first thing he realized was that he was still naked. The second one was that Sesshoumaru was no longer beside him. There was no time to reflect too closely on that, though. A quick inspection of the vicinity revealed him setting by the fire, idly stirring the cracking flames. Inuyasha sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Hey,” he said.

Sesshoumaru turned to look at him but said nothing. Inuyasha was too used to his silence to be affronted.

“Did you not sleep?” 

“I was not tired.”

Inuyasha put on his hakama. He flung his haori over his shoulders but didn’t bother to tie it back up. Sesshoumaru took his leave, he would probably go to sleep again once. It wouldn't be long from now. Somehow, Inuyasha could tell. At least he'd waited for him to wake up before walking away. As he got dressed, Inuyasha could see him approaching from the corner of his eye. Unwilling to let his brother hover over him, he stood up.

Sesshoumaru was wearing his armor again. He was also fully dressed, looking as regal as always. Even his swords were back on his belt. The last few hours suddenly felt like a hazy dream. The sight was so affronting Inuyasha was about to ask him to be done with it and leave. Then he noticed it. Sesshoumaru held it up in both hands, offering it back with a mindfulness Inuyasha found odd.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, taking Tessaiga back. Inuyasha had to wonder when he'd stopped being nervous about his half-brother touching it.

“You did not recognize me, back in the woods,” Sesshoumaru said.

Inuyasha frowned, unsure why he was bringing it up. It wasn't the first time his brother snuck up on him.

“I was wondering why, until I saw that.”

Sesshoumaru tilted his head to the side. Inuyasha followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of the cauldron sitting beside the fire, still brimming with a dense concoction of lye. He turned to look back at his brother, confusion written over his face.

“Strong herbs are bad for you,” Sesshoumaru said. “Don't you know that?”

Inuyasha hesitated.

“Uh… no?”

“They’ll make you lose your sense of smell. It's not something you should be playing with.”

“Oh,” he said. “I guess... I'll be throwing that away, then.”

Sesshoumaru had the grace not to say anything else.

It was humbling, in a way. Inuyasha knew that if their roles were reversed, he would be relentlessly mocking him.

“Is your leg better?”

“Yeah. Kind of. It'll be fine tomorrow morning, I think.”

Sesshoumaru nodded, seeming satisfied. Inuyasha pulled his haori tighter around himself, waiting for him to say something. He didn't. Awkward silences were not rare between them.

“Yeah, anyway,” Inuyasha said. “Bye, I guess.”

If Sesshoumaru was offended or took it as a dismissal, he didn't let it show. He stepped closer again and took him by the waist. Inuyasha couldn't help but be annoyed. He wasn’t in the mood to make out or play at sweethearts anymore. Clearly, his brother had better things to do. Sesshoumaru didn’t linger, though. Instead, he pushed Inuyasha's hair out of the way and kissed him on the forehead. It was a quick press of the lips, and then he was moving away.

Inuyasha shifted where he stood. He hated how hot his face felt.

“Goodbye, Inuyasha,” Sesshoumaru said, and just like he'd come, he was gone.