#this image has been floating around in my brain for days I had to draw it (urgent)

[space-gutz]

one must imagine knuckles happy

[furrbbyx]

This is an idea I had because I really really wanted the wednesday show to be part elvira, part body horror, part camp, and utrerly the same vibe as the old movies. Kooky. BUT GROWN

Anyway heres the first part of a fanfiction I never really finished, fearuring a naga. I'm editing this on mobile which is to say im not editing this at alllll.

Approx 2200 words. Do not reproduce or copy.

Warnings...uh....really soft vore. This is maybe sfw.

In a haunted warehouse in upstate New York, on any given weeknight you can buy a ticket and enter into a delightful, odd place where nothing you experience can be trusted. Maybe you heard about it from a coworker, or maybe you were drawn by the eerie blinking lights announcing

Wednesday World.

Wednesday World.

Either way, you will be ushered into a seat on risers that climb high against the brick walls next to a couple sharing a soft drink and a hotdog, or a family of five all trying to get the best view and coddle the baby who is out way past it's bed time. Each act will strain your sense of reality.

A fortune teller picks a victim from the crowd and reveals a terrifying prophecy of failed love in a scratchy high voice. Will the prediction come true?

A magician mesmerizes the crowd with increasingly dangerous tricks. Did he really conjure a demon in a fiery cauldron? How it all seems like a dream when you wake up in your bed the next morning in your normal house and go about your normal day, pretending those feats weren't all that impressive. But maybe you aught to go back and see how to do that that hypnotism trick.

Yes, maybe the curiosities of Wednesday World are only as real people want them to be. Yet that never stopped a show, nor the crowds, nor the money. As for Wednesday Addams, well nothing stops Wednesday.

On this night, a brisk October evening where mist floats over the vast concrete parking lot like waiting ghosts, the last act of the night is drawing quite a spectacle.

A hand painted canvas hanging on the facade of the building reveals the biggest attraction of the night and tonight it reads:

"Sinful Snake-Monster Man! He'll devour your soul!" in bright blood-red letters. Below the lettering is the image of a beautiful brown-skinned shirtless man with glowing yellow eyes and a imposing black-scaled hood flared around his face and shoulders. He's a beautiful and terrifying beast who's smooth torso flows into the thick coiled segments of a white bellied snake. The artist is quite talented as this snake-man looks like he's about to slither out of the canvas and start eating the people lined up to buying tickets.

The crowds press into the building from all entrances. Their warm bodies add to the heat and the heady undercurrent of anticipation, stopping the freezing cold of the winter night from dampening the hype. They mingle and writhe like a sinuous creature themselves until the mood of the room changes suddenly.

Cheers erupt from the stands, clapping, and whistling and laughing humans ready for their entertainment.

Ah, the Ring Master has entered.

"My gracious fans" The RM coos into the microphone. The smile and charisma in his voice cause another round of appreciative whistling.

"Heh, you flatter me! Tonight my lovelies the greatest exibit to date, brought to you by the one and only Wednesday World. The night cirsu of delights and horrors, magic and mystery, danger and daring! We cannot be responsible for the state of your brain after viewing this specatcle. Those with weak stomach have been warned!"

The RM lowers their voice and spins slowly in place addressing everyone in the room.

"Deep in the indus valley lives one of the most deadly creatures known to man! Thought o be a myth, a silly tale to scare the children."

RM wags their finger as a nervous chuckle goes through the crowd

"No myth however! We have found him! Captured by the skilled renowned snake charmer Ares Zarin!"

With a flourish the RM gestures to a tall lanky human man who has come from behind the curtain at one edge of the ring. His tightly curled brown hair is cut close to his head and shines with pommade. The white linen shirt he's wearing is unbuttoned showing his muscled chest. At his hip is a long wicked looking whip. He walks with a confident swagger into the ring smiling and greeting the now wild crowd with waves and bows. He stalks around the ring in his big thick jungle boots as if he's never known a day of fear in his life.

"Come now friend, aren't you a little worried?" The RM goads Ares as they exchange a hand shake and hug greeting.

"Well I've never met a snake I couldn't control" Ares says into the microphone. Quite a few in the crowd can be heard swooning over his easy confidence and good looks.

"I don't know, ladies and gentleman. No beast can love it's captor." The RM sweeps their arm to the curtain again where two brawny pale circus workers and pulling a huge cage into the ring. Inside the barred cage is the snake man. He's been adorned with golden jewelry and a silken wrap about his hips. He looks relaxed but there is an agitation to his shifting coils and flicking tongue.

A hush ripples through the crowd.

"Abomination!"

"Monster!"

Some cannot contain their fear, compulsively screaming in the face of their worst nightmare.

The workers bring the cage to the middle of the ring and await the RM's next words. They are simple. The crowd is already stunned.

"For your delight! and fuel for your nightmares, Wednesday Word presents the Sinful Snake-Monster Man and the Charmer!"

The men work at the locks on the cage and the door falls open before they scramble away and the lights in the room cut off leaving only an ominous spotlight on Ares. Ares looks unaffected, bored even as the sounds of the snake-man uncoiling itself fill the ring.

The susurration of skin is the only sound coming from outside of the spotlight. No one can see what's hidden in the darkness, yet they already know what waits there.

The crowd seems to cringe as one, as the tail of the beast whips out from the darkness. Ares leaps to the side, rolling away from the first strike then another.

A loud hiss of anger blooms in the darkness. Ares uncoils the whip from his waist and stalks towards the the edge of the light.

"Come now, my sweet. Don't be sore. We've let you out of that cage, show yourself to the crowd" He says, taunting.

The hiss grows louder. Ares jumps back. The beast follows him into the light fangs bared and its patterned hood flared wide and quivering. Ares laughs.

"You see, he's vain if nothing else!" Ares shouts to the crowd. They whistle and cheer in response! Some stomping their feet in agreement.

The snake-man curls and twists his body into the ring. He so big that his long tail seems to encircle the entire space, leaving no room for escape. Ares holds the whip loosely, watching, not ready to strike at the snake-man but he reaches into his shirt with the other hand and draws out a peculiar object. A smallish thing that looks like a long-necked little gourd with a doubled fife stuck into the bottom of it. There's a net of cowrie shells around the bulbus middle and the neck is painted with arcane symbols of protection. Ares lifts it to his lips and begins to play a reedy rhythmic tune charging the ambiance with an eerie feeling.

The song calls the beast closer. It sways to the music, coiling and slithering with unnerving grace towards Ares. And it seems the human crowd is just as hypnotized by the sweet soothing noise.

Outside of the glare of the spotlight  all of this fanfare is being closely monitored by the RM and the grunts, yes, but also by the proprietor of this unholy circus: Wednesday Addams. Below the circus ring, in her tightly locked office sits the genius woman and mastermind of this operation. Wednesday watches the act, the RM, and the crowd as they are captured by her surveillance system. In fact she watches the entire building, the grounds the receiving garage and the corridor leading to her office on multiple monitors spread across on wall of the room. 

Wednesday has grown into a bewitching, maniupulative woman, Her gothic style is a symphony of darkness and allure, embodied in her striking hair and makeup choices. Long ebony locks cascade down her back in thick waves, contrasting against her porcelain skin. Her eyes are framed by dramatic, winged eyeliner, accentuating their piercing intensity, while deep, burgundy lipstick adds a touch of mystery to her full lips.

As for her attire, she embraces her gothic sensibilities with a bold and daring ensemble. A mesh top, intricately patterned with occult symbols, hugs her curves snugly, revealing hints of skin beneath its web-like design. Paired with a flowing black skirt that sways with each confident step, she exudes an air of elegance and defiance.Her gothic style is a symphony of darkness and allure, embodied in her striking hair and makeup choices. Long ebony locks cascade down her back in thick waves, contrasting against her porcelain skin. Her eyes are framed by dramatic, winged eyeliner, accentuating their piercing intensity, while deep, burgundy lipstick adds a touch of mystery to her full lips.

As for her attire, she embraces her gothic sensibilities with a bold and daring ensemble. A mesh top, intricately patterned with occult symbols, hugs her curves snugly, revealing hints of skin beneath its web-like design. Paired with a flowing black skirt that sways with each confident step, she exudes an air of elegance and defiance.

She's anticipating the climax of the act, having watched the rehearsals between her current lover Kaliya and the cocky Ares. She licks her lips. The unnatural scene in front of her is quite arousing. To the crowd it looks as if Kaliya is utterly under Ares's spell, they feel safe now that the snake-man is under control. But Wednesday knows Kaliya is stalking the man. No mortal could match Kaliya in speed or strength, nor in the bedroom Wednesday muses. For a few moments she's hyper focused on the thick smooth-scaled muscle of his tail especially where the sharp human hip bones meld into his monstrous snake body. 

He sways in front of her on camera while she toys with a nipple, sore from the fang marks he'd giver her just this afternoon. The sheer mesh of her top gives her easy access to her puckering nipples.

Ares plays like Kaliya is occupied with the sound of the fife, sauntering closer to the swaying snake-man. Kaliya plays like a docile beast for the crowds, until it's too late that is. The sudden speed with which the man's tail grabs Ares distorts the air with a noise so ominous it causes someone in the crowd to scream in its wake.

"Look out!"

The fife flies from Ares's grasp as he's stunned by the hit. The vicious tail lifts Ares by his leg dangling him above the ground like a bunch of grapes. Ares recovers quickly enough to grab at a hidden dagger and lunges for the appendage wrapped around his leg.Kaliya's hiss fills the room setting off the crowd like never before. Screams erupt as the crowd watches Ares become wrapped in writhing snakeflesh up to his stomach, still held high and being dragged closer to doom. 

"abomination!"

"god someone stop it! he'll be eaten!"

"Kill the beast!"

Kaliya seems to transform before their eyes, his body vibrating and expanding the distinctive reptilian hood of his species making him look even larger than before. His jaw grows wide, unhinges with wet pops until a terrifying maw opens around fangs as long as a tiger's, glittering with saliva. With shocking quickness the constricting coils around Areas release him suddenly and he drops down Kaliya's throat before the man has a chance to scream. Kaliya makes a single gulp around the fat bulge in a grotesque feeding display of Ares getting devoured alive.

Finally the spell of spectacle is broken as the people panic and start stampeding out of the circus. Suddenly more of the burly, pale workers appear among them guiding the flow, trying to stop the worst of the trampling and pandemonium. The ring is filled with 5 men and the ring master, making a show of conquering the man-eating monster and trying to save Ares. Yet they need not have strained their acting skills in such a way. The illusion had done much better than anticipated. Not a single patron stayed long enough to see Kaliya pushed into the shadows backstage.

[bakumu]

beautiful way

Raichi Jingo x fem!reader

wc: 1.4k

summary: a restless night lets raichi examine his feelings, what will he do when he can finally put words to his emotions?

cw: fluff, none really, reader has a cat

a/n: i love the idea of him running for love, so this will probably be a common theme in my writing for him. 

minors do not interact. this work contains mature themes and if you continue reading you have agreed you are willing to see such content

The moment Raichi realizes he's in love, he runs.

It's two-thirty in the morning and he's been trying to sleep for hours, but his brain won't stop. He spent his entire day off with you; the two of you at the farmer’s market in the morning, then home to make lunch, and finally an evening walk downtown past a little hole-in-the-wall that smelled too delicious to pass up.

Every minute of the day had been spent by your side, listening to your laugh. So why can't he fall asleep? It was such an eventful day and he has to be up in 4 hours… but the ache in his chest just won't go away.

Maybe ache is the wrong word. It’s like a constant whirl of electricity spinning around inside him, sending sparks to his brain that burst into beautiful images of you. They nestle themselves against the top of his skull, floating to the surface like messages in a bottle.

It's confusing, aggravating, and yet so pleasant that he doesn't want to close his eyes.

He rolls onto his side, and stares at his hand —the same hand that settled against your back when you walked through the crowded streets just a few hours ago— and he wishes that you were here right now.

He wishes that every second of the day could be spent with you. That your smile would be the first thing that he sees when he wakes up and the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes.

He stares up at the ceiling and imagines what a life would look like with you and the image appears to him much too quickly. A big house with a nice view, Sunday morning breakfasts, and you dressed in nothing but his shirt, swatting his hands away with a spatula. 

Fuck, his chest hurts.

He rolls over again, hoping that it will magically cure his restlessness. But it doesn't. His eyes remain open and he replays the morning over again in his head.

“Jin! Jingo!” 

Your voice calls him from his thoughts, and he puts the bouquet he was staring at back into its place at the flower stall. 

“What are ya yellin for? I'm right here.” 

“Well, you weren't listening to me.” There's a small pout on your face that he tries not to focus on. “Do you like those flowers?”

The only reason he was looking at them was because they reminded him of you. The arrangement was filled with bright blues and pinks, heavenly placed so that no one flower stood out against the other. It was perfect.

“They’re alright.”

“You’ve always been a terrible liar.” You shake your head and pick the bouquet out of its holder. “If you like them so much you should get them!”

He did end up buying them; they’re in a beautiful little vase that you lent him sitting in his kitchen right now. 

But he can't get the image of you holding them out of his head. You carried them through the whole market while he held all of the shopping bags. 

Watching you flit between stalls with the sun bathing you in its warm light gave him renewed energy. Every smile, every laugh, every time you pointed at something interesting or grabbed his arm to prevent him from walking away gave him a new meaning to draw breath.

It's not like these feelings are new to him. This feeling in his chest has been here for a while, for weeks or even months, but now…

Now it's different.

It's wholly encompassing, and every fiber of his being is begging for the truth to come out. For him to admit it to himself. 

To admit…

He bolts upright in bed, clutching at his chest. Is he.. 

Oh fuck.

He throws the covers off of him and starts pacing the room. 

He feels jumpy, so much more alive than he's ever felt in his life. And he needs to go. Run to you and tell you everything.

Raichi moves his hands through his hair as he checks the clock again. It's almost 3 a.m., but everything in his body is telling him that he needs to go to you. 

Without so much as a second thought, he puts on pants and a shirt before grabbing his phone and keys and rushes out the door.

The night air is cold and makes his chest burn as he runs. The streets are empty and the traffic lights are blinking; it's just him and the silence but it feels right.

He pushes himself harder, pumping his arms to run faster, to get to you quicker. 

He runs past the restaurant you ate at tonight, through the same park the two of you walked through hours ago. Your smile flashes through his mind once again, bringing a smile to his face as he runs. The excitement that he feels in his chest needs to escape. 

Running along the tree lined path, he can't help himself as he balls his fists and screams, pouring every ounce of extra energy he has into running faster and faster.

Birds rouse from their nests and fly from the treetops at his outburst, but he keeps running until he's out of the park. He rounds a corner and then another until he's standing in front of your building.

He’s sweaty, his chest is heaving, and he's sure that he looks crazed right now but he doesn't care. 

He takes the stairs two at a time to your floor and it isn't until he's about to ring your buzzer that it dawns on him that you're probably asleep.

His hand hovers over the buzzer, until he lets it fall. His own realization shouldn’t rob you of your own sleep. Raichi takes a step back from your door, letting all the emotions calm inside him before finally deciding to abandon your door. 

He takes a step back towards the stairs but something catches something moving in the corner of his eye.

Your black fluffy cat, Wolfgang, hops onto the window sill and parts the curtains with his head. Raichi stops in his tracks, turning towards the window and holds his finger up to the glass. Wolfgang tries to sniff it through the glass until something calls his interest from inside the apartment. 

You pull open the curtain and Raichi can hear your voice muffled by the glass, “What are you looking at—” You jump when you see his figure before your face relaxes when you realize who it is standing creepily outside your window.

You hold up a finger to him and close the curtain. He can hear some rustling from inside and a light comes on before you open the door.

Your hair is messy; you look like you haven't been able to sleep either, wrapped in a blanket that makes you look like a burrito, but to him, you’ve never looked more beautiful.

The still night fills the space between the two of you as Wolfgang rubs against your blanket.

“Hi.” 

“Hi.”

Your brow furrows as you scan him; you must be thinking that something’s wrong or that he's here for some insane reason —and he is— but he needs to take in every detail about this moment before he speaks.

“Jin, what are you doing here, it’s—” Wolfgang steps out of your apartment and Raichi can see the panic on your face. 

He holds out a hand to stop you from scrambling as the fluffy creature walks in figure-eights around Raichi’s ankles.

“He’s okay,” Raichi says, leaning over and picking up the big boy and cradling him in his arms. “He won't run off, he loves you too much.”

You relax now that Wolfgang is secured, leaning against the door frame. “So why are you here at 3 a.m.?”

“I couldn't sleep.” Raichi rubs under Wolfgang’s chin and the cat starts to purr.

“Me either, must be fate,” you say with a laugh.

He nods, smiling to himself. It's comforting to know that you were up too, maybe even for the same reason.

Raich steps closer to you, setting Wolfgang down inside the doorway. “I also had a realization.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Raichi stares into your eyes, and the electricity in his chest makes his heart beat faster. The whole night he’s been thinking about you, about how much he wants you by his side, and now that you're here, in front of him, he feels at ease. 

His gaze softens as he finally admits it to himself and to you.

“I love you.”

[maridotnet]

Hi!! I was just thinking about your Very Sad piece for day 23 and wondering about your drawing process, particularly because of the complexity of the water - do you sketch in pencil first? If you have the chance and feel comfortable, do you think you could share a couple of in progress shots of your beautiful art? <3

ARGHRHGH okay i had MOST of this answered and then my page suddenly crashed, so I'm very frustrated, but I'm DETERMINED to type it all up again! First of all thank you for the ask! :D I don't usually take very many in-process photos, although I might do that for today's so I can give you a better look. :) For this piece, I started off filming myself dragging around a body pillow as reference footage for the pose. Meet Chat Noir!

(My room's a mess because I still haven't finished unpacking, don't mind it lol) If the poses I want are very simple, or don't interact with each other, or I've drawn similar ones, I don't always need a reference. In most cases though, I'll either spend some time on Google Images or photograph myself to help. I went through my footage and found some frames that I liked, and sketched some of them out in a different sketchbook. It's bigger and I like using it for planning and reference practice. Here's that page!

Because I draw with traditional media, and I'm trying to do all of these pictures back to back in one sketchbook, I try to plan it out in a fair amount of detail before starting on the actual page. Once I get going, it can be tricky to shift things around, especially because I always sketch in colored pencil. (I think it looks nice, it's not as messy as graphite, and it also has a subtle bearing on the mood of the final piece. This one is a dark blue-green because I wanted it to look really waterlogged, but I've used pink, purple, or yellow for a lot of Marichats so far.) The pose here was something I put a lot of thought into because I wanted it to be close enough to show how protective and intense Marinette was, but also with enough distance that I could clearly show the strain on her body and his weight in her arms. The story is also important to all of this, especially in the sketching stage. I knew Chat would be floating partially, so that would affect his weight. I knew Marinette had been looking for him for a while, so her hair was plastered to her face - and she'd gone out in a hurry, so her raincoat was unbuttoned. Chat had been slumped in an alleyway for a while as the rain fell, so the blood was diluted and darkened. etc etc I picked the Place des Vosges for the background because a) it was simple b) trees and fences are pretty easy to wreak havoc on! (this is so long sorry) I sketched the people first, to make sure the pose fit into the frame, then added in some background markers, and a few directional lines to remind me of the water flow direction (I knew I wanted her fighting against the current to bring him home). I lined the people first too, leaving out the pupils and mouths til later, because those are the main indicators of emotion, and I wanted to make sure they would still work if the mood of the piece shifted. From there I lined the people in ink, added more detail to the background sketch to make sure it fit around them well and was still clearly readable, and then inked that. For the water...idk what to tell you, I was winging it which is funny because that's the part everyone's commented on the most sdflkjdf I did use some references (I googled like, "water moving past rocks") to see how water responds to obstacles, but water is really difficult to draw, so I just kinda...wung it and tried to create something genre-appropriate! I steered clear of realism bc I knew I wouldn't be able to pull it off very convincingly and would get bogged down in all the deatil it's possible to include. (@davey-in-a-minivan of the very big brain pointed out that the water looks like peacock feathers) After that, I think I lightly colored the people first, then the background, so I could keep a handle on how they affected each other. Again, the story is important here too, because it makes the clothes shiny, and darker if they're absorbent, and the water darker and with more debris because of the turbulence. I do have a picture I sent to a friend part way through:

After that, I just kept going until I was happy! I like dramatic shading, so I added in a bit more as I went, but because light on a foggy day is pretty diffused, I didn't do as much as usual with that. I added more detail to the trees and sky behind because it didn't fit well with the rest of the piece, and eventually I got here!

And voila!! I hope that offers some insight hahaha - thanks again for the ask :))) (I might take more progress pictures of today's project for the future)

[clementines-writing-corner]

inspiration, privilege, and a new character ✨

Hello friends!

This is my first update on my writing progress - just about a week after my first post (give or take a few hours)! I’m still not entirely sure how to go about writing this even as I am in the process of doing it. So, first and foremost, apologies for any awkwardness or stiltedness. Please bear with me as I continue to figure this blog thing out! ᕱ__ᕱ

A quick overview for those of you who want to speed through my rambles and get to the good creative development bits: This week I wanted to gripe about the fickleness of inspiration, discuss unrealised privilege, and give some details about a character I am developing! 

Inspiration

Okay, let's get the complaining out of the way first. Inspiration is so annoying!  Ideally, I would have a steady, gentle flow of inspiration, so I’m able to take my time to pick out the good ideas and discard the rest. But, noooooooo. Instead, my brain decides that I get one of two extremes most often: either I’m overflowing with inspiration, stuck, unable to even process the sheer volume of ideas that are floating about my brain, or my idea stores are dryer than the Sahara desert. It’s so frustrating!!!!!! Is this just a me thing? Do other writers deal with this? Ugh! I wouldn’t wish it upon anyone.

I bring this up because this week has been really dry for me. It just figures that as soon as I buckle down and decide to commit to working my creative writing muscles once more, my brain decides that - nope! no ideas for JP this week!

I did eventually get hung up on one idea, during a conversation with my friend about how much we both love morally grey characters. They are just so fascinating to read/think about! When we were having this conversation though, my friend ended up doing a google search on moral alignment charts and this was the first image she clicked on:

Now, regardless of your opinions about the comic book characters on this chart, what caught my attention was the top left corner. Upon seeing everyone’s favorite boy scout in red and blue spandex, I remarked, “Clark Kent seems like a good guy and all, but lawful good characters are so boring.”

  🌟

ᕱ__ᕱ

(Thus, an idea was born.)

A lawful good character that I, at the very least, don’t find boring. What an inspired idea! I rolled the idea around in my head for the next two days as I made my way through classes and finally (while I was taking a shower of course because the best ideas are shower ideas), I decided that I would rework and expand upon a character I had already started creating. One of the characters from my failed creative writing attempt from over the summer. 

Privilege

Because I have to make things terribly difficult and overly complicated for myself, I decided that I wanted to stretch out my graphic design muscles as well and draw my character. But I had a very clear vision of her in my head and wanted to bring her to life for you all to see. It mostly went well, which is good, seeing as I am still quite the novice in most artistic endeavors, until I got to her hair. My character is some type of fae creature (perhaps an elf? I haven’t determined that part yet) and has dark skin. I was originally going to give her straight hair, but ultimately decided that there was no reason she couldn’t have more textured, coily hair, so I set out to try and see if someone had created an accessible brush, or at least a tutorial on how to make one, to help me with drawing out my character hair. 

I found zero. My style is generally on the simplistic, cartoon-like end of the realism spectrum and I was going to style my character’s hair into long bubble-puff twin tails, so the brush type I was searching for wasn’t terribly complicated. And what about braids? I wasn’t able to find a single brush or tutorial for making a textured hair brush that was easy to search or accessible to me. So, I said screw that and ended up figuring out how to make my own. 

It is insane to me how some forms of privilege are so invisible until they smack you right in the face. I am white. I was able to find several downloadable brush options and tutorials on how to make brushes for straight hair. But not a single one for coily, textured hair, or even hair put in protective styles. It’s truly baffling, and I recognize even that feeling as a little privilege on my part because I’ve never had to think about it until this past week.

I’m glad I made the decision to give my character textured hair.

Character

As I stated before, I like to make things difficult for myself and of course with the snags I had drawing my character, much of the time I could have spent writing her was eaten away. However, here are some key details I hope to develop further:

Her name thus far is Ailidh (eyy-lee)

She is some type of fae folk (perhaps an elf - that’s what she started as but I may create my own magic system/world lore so who knows)

She is a noble 

Not royalty I don’t think (I’m fairly certain I don’t want the fae folk to be a monarchy)

Her family is very high ranking though (enough so that they may be part of a ruling class - perhaps and oligarchy type situation - they care for the fae living in there neck of the woods at least)

She is engaged (ooo drama!)

She does not want to be engaged

Ooo plot!

She is skilled with herbs and healing (and also poison) but terrible with weapons of any kind

She is very indignant that her parents send her around with more bodyguards than both of them have combined

She loves her parents and her fellow fae and has a strong sense of loyalty and duty

That, unfortunately, is all I have for now. Hopefully it wasn’t too bland. ᕱ__ᕱ Some world-building crept out at me as I was coming up with her character and story which is very exciting and gives me all sorts of new inspiration! At the very least I have 2 new characters to come up with (her fiance and a surprise). ᕱ__< But, I feel this has been quite long enough (4 pages of the doc I used to draft this on) and so I shall leave you all here for now. Kudos to those who managed to make it here through all my rambles!

And remember, dot your j’s and cross your t’s!

~Clementine J Quincey🪷

[heyheyloki]

U&I

Summary: The reader begins to realize his feelings for Saiki.

Saiki x M!Reader

Word Count: 8711

1. The Best Friends

Being friends with a psychic definitely had its ups and downs. At first, you didn’t notice a thing out of the ordinary with Saiki, well, granted you were kids when the both of you met so naturally you just wanted to be friends and thought nothing more. However, he noticed something odd with you the moment you two met.

He couldn’t read your mind.

Actually forget being about to read your mind, none of his psychic abilities worked on you. He couldn’t see through you and when he touched you without his super thin transparent gloves on nothing happened. You were basically immune to him.

At first, he thought something was wrong with you, or that maybe you had some psychic powers as well. That wasn’t the case at all. In reality, you were a normal human without any powers or tricks. That stumped Saiki even more, but it also became the soul reason he wanted to be your friend as well.

For one, he didn’t have to deal with your thoughts. Two, his image of you wasn’t ruined because he can’t see under your skin. Three, your calmer personality made him relax. And of course all those other things like your kindness and stuff, but those were irrelevant the moment he knew he couldn’t read your mind.

It’s been years since he met you in the park during recess, and now here you guys were, 16 years later and still friends. Oh, there was one thing that bothered him about you.

“What to hang out today?” You asked as you slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Sure.” Saiki said. Yep. That’s right, since he can’t get in your mind, he actually has to move his mouth when he talks to you.

It was a bit weird to others that he never did it with anyone else other than you, but he didn’t care.

On the way home he couldn’t help but notice you eyeing his antennas, the things that keep his powers stable. He turned his head towards you and gave you a curiosity look.

“Do those things poke at your head at all?” You asked, moving you hand up to poke at the top of the pink ball. “Like, does it make your head ichy?”

Saiki shook his head. He knew he had to talk to you at some points, but times like these he didn’t. He enjoyed that about you too, that you don’t force him to talk all the time. You knew it was a bit weird for him to talk, he explained it to you when he told you all about his powers.

“Hm,” you hummed out. Your hands going back at your side and into your pant pockets. “It would for me, if I was you. They just look painful, but I guess you gotta do what you gotta do if you don’t wanna blow up the world.”

Saiki nodded his head, his eyes continuing to linger on you. It was one days like these when he saw you thinking so hard about something that he wished he could just take a peak. At some points, he loved the silence, especially when the both of you were watching movies, but right now, especially in this moment, he’d give anything to know. It was mostly prominent when he’d stare at you during class and you’d have this far out look in your orbs, you drew him in, and perhaps that’s why he fell for you.

Though, there were other factors that won his favor. Mostly the fact that, unlike everyone else, he can’t stare right through you and just see your raw muscles and pumping organs. Instead, he was able to focus on your handsome face and not get side tracked about your racing thoughts. You were the only person in the world that make him feel somewhat normal. That was a love-hate relationship at times.

“Think I could sleep over tonight?” You suddenly asked, “we don’t have school tomorrow.”

Saiki stared at you for a moment just to relish in that fact that nothing worked on you. No telekinesis, mind control, no nothing. He was going to have to win your favor just like everyone else. To him, it wasn’t normal, but looking at you, he didn’t seem to mind the extra work.

“Sure,” Saiki said. He still had trouble talking aloud, hell, sometimes he will actually use telekinesis and wait for your response only to have pure silence. “My parents are leaving for a wedding, so the house should be free for a while.”

When the two of you got to Saiki’s house, it was a bit peaceful until his parents had to head out. You liked his mom and dad a lot, they were like your second family, so you wanted to wish them a good time. It was for one Saiki’s dad’s coworkers.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us?” Saiki’s dad asked his son. “You’ve met Kirishima before, and you can bring [Name] as your plus one date.”

You knew Saiki wasn’t going to be interested in a wedding. He always told you normal happy events for others is misery for him since he can hear the jealousy and pity that the crowd is thinking. You felt sorry that he couldn’t turn it off, but you were glad that you were the only person he could catch a break with. However, when you looking over at Saiki, he seemed to entertain the thought.

It was a new side to Saiki, one that made you confused. It was always either you or no one. You could tell the way he wanted to get away from many of the people in his class that seemed to have declared themselves his friends from a small interaction. Sure, you felt their interest, but it was just a bit sad to you that Saiki could never actually enjoy friends unless they were pure. Otherwise, he could hear all the backstabbing thoughts or otherwise stupid comments that go around in their brain that was thought to be private to them.

“I’m going to have to pass,” you commented. “I don’t have a suit, besides, you two should enjoy the night. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you both go out alone.”

Saiki’s mom smiled widely at you. Her eyes clouding over with a wet film before wrapping her arms around you for a tight hug. “Ah, thank you, [Name]! What would we do without you?”

You chuckled softy at the comment before saying, “Who knows, I rather not think about that.”

When she finally let you go, you and Saiki waved the both of them off as they left. Honestly, you weren’t sure if they’d even make it back at a reasonable time. It was a wedding, after all. Oh well, as long as they make it back drunk and safe rather than drunk and not safe, you didn’t mind. You were sleeping over anyway, so right now, you just wanted to hang out with your childhood best friend.

“What do you wanna do?” You asked with a calming tone.

Saiki turned his head to you. “TV?”

“Sure,” you smiled. However, as soon as you turned to the living room, you noticed the absolute mess his parents left behind. So, out of the goodness of your heart, you said, “How about you find something and all clean up this in the meantime. Sound good?”

Saiki nodded once more. He truly thought your actions were kind, but he rather have you watching TV with him than picking up his dad’s dirty clothes. He knew his father tended to be sloppy, but this was just a mess.

As you were about to pick up a pair of jeans, all the clothes that were strewn about the floor suddenly started to float in the air and shoot into the open washing machine. The trash floated itself into the garage while everything else was moved around to make it look clean until otherwise.

You pressed your lips together as your brows furrowed in annoyance. Once you turned to Saiki and saw his innocence face, you knew you couldn’t be angry but you had to ask, “Do you really want me to watch TV with you that bad?”

“Yes,” Saiki stated.

You sighed, your lips parting as you left the oxygen leave your lungs. “Fine, but let’s both clean up a bit before than. It’ll be a nice surprise and a way to thank your parents for letting me stay the night.”

Saiki nodded. “Okay.”

It took a bit of convincing on your end to let him let you help out. You may not have powers, but you didn’t want to take advantage of his. You knew it was effortless and he made it seem like it didn’t affect him whatsoever, but you knew every time he does something it takes a toll. His powers aren’t perfect.

You both ended up cleaning the living room, Saiki’s room, and now you were in the kitchen sorting the trash. Saiki was using his powers to sort while you whipped down the countertops.

“Good grief,” Saiki said aloud, his voice drawing your eyes to him. He was crouched down with two bags in front of him and the garage floating upside down, it’s contents was either going in the first or second bag.

“What?” You asked curiosity. It wasn’t all the time that he speaks from his mouth without you talking first.

“How could anyone have let it get this dirty in here?” He asked aloud. “I mean, really it’s a wonder we don’t have bugs.”

You were going to respond. That was until he suddenly shut his mouth, a chest deep grunt leaving him as you notice him stare at something on the furniture next to him.

It was a cockroach.

Mind you, the moment you realized what it was you weren’t the least bit surprised when he suddenly teleported. Saiki hates bugs. He could read the minds of humans, as well as animals, but he couldn’t with bugs. He thought they were small minded icky things. Hell, he couldn’t even let his powers touch the thing.

You counted down the seconds before he came back. It was around ten, maybe fifteen. He also teleported right behind you.

“Welcome back,” you greeted and watched as his eyes dart towards the floor.

“Sorry, I may have overreacted.” He muttered. “I just hate them.”

“I know,” you hummed out before looking around and grabbing a cup and piece of paper. Saiki watched you as you let the roach crawl on the piece of paper before placing the cup over it so it didn’t run away. You were quick to put it outside and close the window after so Saiki didn’t worry about it coming back in.

“All gone,” you cheered with a smile. “Now, let’s watch TV, ya?”

2. Saiki’s Pushy Friends

PK Academy was a school were many different personalities and people collided. It was always fun to meet new people in this school, yet on the other side of the coin, sometimes they were more than a little odd. Not like you can speak, your best friend was a psychic. Though, he wasn’t delusional like this one guy in your class that declared himself Saiki’s friend. His name was Kaido. He thinks he has powers and has an evil organization following him around.

Then, you have Nendou. Basically, he’s stupid. Not that you minded, but sometimes being stupid isn’t the best thing in the world, especially now.

It was the sports festival at PK and Saiki and you had to participate in it. You both were on the same team since all the teams were decided by class. This also gave you a good idea of the friends Saiki has made. It was safe to say that Kaido was growing on you. You felt a little bad for the guy, what can you say.

Let’s not forget about Hairo as well. You knew him a bit more from hearsay than the others, plus he was class rep. Though, you had to say, he was a little too overly enthusiastic.

It was kind of a surprise to see Teruhashi, the most popular girl in school, try and interact with Saiki. Though, it was a bit amusing since to him, she’s nothing more than walking muscle. However, you did think he would swoon over her like all the other guys in your school if she was like you. However, you knew Saiki had no interest in romance so you don’t care either way.

Finally, Nendou. You were originally going to say that you didn’t mind the guy that much and thought maybe he would be a good thing for Saiki. However, after just watching him take out one of the antennas from Saiki’s head, you started to wonder how much of a danger his stupidity is to Saiki.

You watched that pink haired friend of yours collapse to the ground with a hard thud as soon as Nendou pull the thing out of his head. You were quick to rush over to him and sit by his side. When you flipped him over, since he fell face forward, worry grew about your body and infected your bloodstream.

You heard protests about turning him over, but at this point all the worried voices drowned before they were even audible to you. His lips were parted as drool leaked from his mouth and went down his chin, his eyes dead and without life as darkness surrounded them. It didn’t take you long to recover and swipe the antenna Nendou was holding and pop it back in its rightful place in his pink locks.

You didn’t know how long it would take for him to wake up, or if he’d wake up at all. All you knew was to sit and wait for him to wake up. To your surprise, he woke up rather quickly. Maybe a mere minute or so after you fixed him up. When his eyes opened, you felt yourself suddenly get surrounded as Saiki’s friends crowed over him to ask how he was.

You noticed him using telepathy to talk to everyone when Hairo said, “You passed out after Nendou took that think out of your head, lucky for you, [Name] put it back right away!”

“Yeah, he saved your life!” Kaido spit out next, their hands placing on my shoulder out of respect and gratitude. 

Saiki’s eye then direct to you, his voice never leaving his lips for a moment before you noticed him flinch.

‘Ah,’ you thought. ‘He tried to use telepathy with me again.’

When he noticed, Saiki just nodded in your direction. You knew he was thanking you, he didn’t need to word it out to you. The look in his eyes was enough.

Lunch came immediately after Saiki ended up waking up, and it was understatement to say he didn’t want to be bother with anyone else besides you. He was quick to drag you to the roof of the school to eat.

The both of you sat against the railing, lunch in your laps. You wanted I just forget about the scare that Saiki gave you, but the after effects he was having wasn’t making that easy. He was having trouble, and it was easy to see when his hands were shaking so much that he couldn’t even pick up his food without it falling back in the box.

You side eyed him, his expression one of concentration as he tried to pick up his food again. Though, he dropped it again.

He sighed quickly after that, only looking down at his food as you saw his mind wonder off.

Once you finished chewing whatever food you had in your mouth, you placed your food to the side and moved so that you weren’t side to side, but rather across from Saiki’s body now. He didn’t register your movements until he saw a hand come into his view and pick up an item of food with his chopsticks.

When he turned to you, you had the chopsticks in your dominant hand and your other under the food so it didn’t drop to the filthy ground.

“C’mon, lemme help,” you said. It was easy for Saiki to pick up the worry in your tone, however he knew not to address it or else you’ll just either deny it or baby him. “Open up.”

He obeyed your command after a moment, opening his mouth wide enough for you to place his food in his mouth. The hand that was meant to catch the food if it fell made sure Saiki closed his mouth, his fingers placed a bit of pressure under his chin to shut his jaws before slowly trailing away. The food wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the chill that ran down his spine at your lingering touch that crawled on his skin.

“I could hurt you.” He suddenly spit out. It was pained. “Having my antenna taken out messed up my powers.”

You leaned your head to the side, your eyes never falling from his. “Yeah, I kinda figured.”

“You should go.” He stated.

“Why?”

“I just told you.”

You smiled. “Saiki, you could never hurt me.”

He looked at you like you had something stuck in your teeth. “You don’t know that, I may not be able to read your mind, but I don’t know how my other powers react to you.”

You remained quiet for a moment before shuffling your body side by side again, your head falling to rest of Saiki’s shoulder. You felt him flinch at the contact, his muscles even began to tighten just out of fear.

“Yanno,” you started out saying, your hand coming up to play the antenna that you could reach. “It’s odd to me how these things are the only thing keeping you stable.”

“Is it?”

You chuckled and nodded. “Small things like these verses your powers. The thing that gets me is that these things actually win in that fight. Though, I suppose it does complete the look you have.”

“And what look is that?” Saiki asked as he gazed down at you to see your eyes already on him. He could feel his fingers twitch as he watched you say shamelessly, “The cute, mysterious loner type.”

Saiki’s lips parted as he gazed at you. He quickly recomposed himself when he noticed you waiting patiently for him to respond. He sighed before asking, “Mysterious loner? Where’d you get that?”

You laughed before sarcastically questioning, “yep, I wonder where.”

3. Your friends are my friends

You don’t know how you got wrapped into this, but perhaps it’ll allow you to know Saiki’s friends better.

Currently, you were walking with Kaido, Nendou, and Saiki to a good ramen shop Nendou suggested. You were dragged along when Nendou remembered you from the Sports Festival and as Saiki’s friend. They never really got the chance to speak to you since you’re usually out the door as soon as the bell rings, but today they finally caught you.

At some point Teruhashi joined the group, though you feel like she kinda took over since now the boys, except for Saiki and you, were fawning over her. Saiki and you took it upon yourselves to give them all room to talk to her, so you both sorts trailed behind.

It was silent for a while, the only noise was Nendou or Kaido talking to Teruhashi. However, you caught the, “what does that even mean,” that Saiki mumbled under his breath.

“Hm?” You hummed. “What does what mean?”

It was obvious to you he didn’t realize he said that aloud. But he just seemed to be glad that only you heard that.

“Teruhashi wants me to go ‘oh wow’ or something to her.” Saiki revealed. “I don’t even know what that means.”

You kept your gaze on Saiki for a moment. “So, she likes you?”

“I guess,” he muttered. “I think it’s more that I’m the only guy that isn’t kissing her feet.”

You watched Teruhashi interact with Nendou and Kaido. You know that, normally, she wouldn’t take time to hang out with these guys. However, because of her crush on Saiki, she bares with them. In all honesty, she seems a bit perfect. Being able to deal with them just for the person she adores. It’s easy for anyone to do, and not a lot of people would even bother.

“She seems like a good fit for you.” You suddenly uttered out.

When Saiki heard that, he felt his hands twitch. He didn’t like that, not one bit. What irked him the most was that it seemed natural, like you actually meant it. And, of course, he had no way of knowing if those words were genuine or actually forced.

“No way,” Saiki stated coldly. “Never in a million years.”

“Damn, that’s cold, Saiki.” He heard you say, a teasing tone wedged in your voice.

“Why do you keep calling me Saiki, anyway? We aren’t acquaintances.”

“Hm?” You questioned. “I thought you don’t like me calling you by your first name in public?”

Saiki sighed. “Well now I’m telling you I don’t care.”

Saiki knew this way of showing that you were closer to him than anyone would ever be may have been childish on his part, but when he heard his first name come from your lips in front of his other ‘friends’, he felt more than satisfied. 

4. Friendship Can Bring Romance

Being able to rest during class was one of your guilty pleasures. Even if you got called out by your teacher, you didn’t mind. It was better when it was raining outside, the patter of rain when it hit the window made you want to nap.

“Hey,” a voice called out to you. You didn’t listen though, it wasn’t important.

“Hey, [Name],” it called out again. Okay, maybe you should wake up. Then again, sleep. You could always sleep later though.

You fluttered your eyes open as you felt your body being pushed around. When your sight became focused, the blurry figure in front of you showed a blue hair kid. You knew him, but from where?

“Saiki asked me to wake you up, sorry,” he confessed.

Oh, right. That’s Kaido, Saiki’s friend.

“Hm? Where is Kusuo?” You asked in a groggy voice, your hand coming up to wipe your eyes.

“Oh, he went home.” Kaido informed you. “Something just came up, I guess.”

“Alright,” you hummed before the end of your lips pulled upward. “Thank you, Kaido.”

It wasn’t easy for Kaido to wake up the quiet kid. Kaido only met the guy once or twice, and when he was hanging with him, you only stayed close to Saiki. It was kinda odd, but Kaido understood your attachment to the pink haired man. Saiki was Kaido’s first friend, after all, so he knew how awesome the guy was.

Though, he’s never got the chance to speak to you. He knows Saiki never really goes anywhere with you, and somehow you always end up by his side. He just always seemed to miss you when it came to getting the chance to introduce himself so Kaido was pretty glad when you came along the trip to that ramen place, even if it was a dumb and he got distracted by Teruhashi.

Kaido knew you were the closest person to Saiki. He’s pretty sure that not even Nendou is as close to Saiki as you are. And those two are best friends. Kaido didn’t know the extend of how long you two have been friends, but he does know from watching that Saiki has respect for you. So, it was critical that he makes a great impression with you so that he can become closer to Saiki and maybe you as well.

“S-Sure, no problem!” He stuttered, his bandaged hand retracting from your shoulder and holding them up in the air in a surrendered notion.

“Do you live around here at all? I’ll walk you home as a thank you.” You said as you stood from your seat and began to search for your bag.

“What? You don’t have to do that, really, it isn’t necessary!” Kaido spit out quickly, his words jumping all over the place.

“It’s really no trouble at all,” you stated as you put your bag over your shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get going before the rain gets worse.”

The rain eventually stopped when both teens got closer to your house. Kaido’s was further ahead, so he thought it would be better if he just walked you home instead so you didn’t have to walk more than you have to already.

“So, you’ve been friends with Saiki since he was little, huh?” Kaido asked as you explained why Saiki trusts you so much. “That’s pretty awesome! What was he like back then?”

“Pretty much the same.” You answered. “Though he did get more handsome throughout the years, and he used to be kinda sweet. Now, not so much.”

“I see, so you guys have been through it all together.” Kaido replied.

“Basically, though, he did start to worry me a bit since I was his only friend for a really long time,” you confessed. You paused as you looked up at Kaido and gave him a smile, “But I’m glad he finally made a friend like you.”

Kaido could feel his heart beat a million miles an hour just at the words you strung together. He never heard kinder words than those, and he was even more thrilled that he succeeded in making a good impression on Saiki’s childhood friend!

“It’s, uh, n-no problem, really!” Kaido muttered out as his whole face began to fluster, his hands going everywhere.

“Oh,” you hummed out.

“Hm?” Kaido questioned. His nerves going down. “What is it?”

“Did you know you were dragging your scarf the whole time?” You asked curiosity as your hands started to real in the extra fabric.

“What?” He asked out of pure shock. Though, realizing that he doesn’t make a fool out of himself he said, “O-Of course I did! It’s a fashion choice.”

“Not the best one,” you stated as you stepped closer to the blue haired male.

Kaido’s eyes widened as he stated directly into your colored orbs, watching them dance solely for him. It was like getting attention from a loved one, but this attention make him nervous to the point where he thought his face was going to explode with red. Kaido’s lips slowly started to disappear as the scarf started to build up around his shoulders and neck.

“There you go,” you said, “much better. Now your scarf doesn’t get more dirty and you look even better.”

‘Even better? What’s that supposed to mean? Does it.. does it mean he thought I looked good before?!’ Kaido thought.

Kaido let out an awkward laugh as he played with the end of the scarf. “O-Oh, haha, thank you.”

“Sure,” you hummed. “Now let’s get going.”

5. Blessing Turned On Jealousy

What’s that saying, the enemy of my enemy is my friend? Yeah, that’s it. See, that could apply to this yet at the same time it would go a little different.

More like, the enemy of my best friend is my friend. At least for your situation. You see, walking home with Saiki has now turned into walking home with Saiki, Nendou, and Kaido. Not that you mind, but sometimes you really do wish it was back to when Saiki and you got to spend time alone together. However, being friends with Saiki and then having his friends automatically become your friends may have some perks.

Like now. Bumping into Kaido’s mom was totally accidental. But, in the end it payed off. Why?

Because coffee jelly.

“I know it’s not easy being friends with my son because he’s so shy, but please be patient.” Kaido’s mom announced as she placed the coffee jelly down in front of Saiki and you.

“Please don’t say that mama—I mean—mother.” Kaido pleased, his voice cracking as it got higher with embarrassment.

Overall, the beginning was a very nice. Hell, it was damn near perfect. Although, you just had to snoop around. Well, it was more like exploring Kaido’s room.

Your fingertips brushed along the spines of the many books Kaido had stacked up in his bookcase. It was seriously amazing how many books he had, he even had some original copies of some famous old books.

“This is pretty awesome,” you muttered to yourself before your eyes spotted something that didn’t quite match with the others. In all honesty, you were simply curious. However, curiosity did kill the cat. In your case, more like awakened the Saiki K.

“Hey, Kaido, what is the Jet Black Wings?” You asked aloud as the group sat down eating whatever snacks were about. You would always hear either chewing or at least some conversation, but after that question left your mouth it was dead silent. You felt like you killed something, but when you looked over you noticed Kaido’s face beat red. Seriously, his entire face was as red as a blood moon.

“P-Put that back!” He stuttered out, the blue haired boy suddenly running up to you to snatch the book from your hand.

As he reached for it, you held it higher. Even if he was about the same height or maybe a inch or so taller, you just needed to make him miss his hand from grabbing it.

“Don’t be embarrassed, I’m just curious.” You calmly said. “Is it bad or something?”

“N-No! It’s nothing, uh, bad! Just give me it back!” Kaido begged this time around, his hands trying desperately to grab it from you. Okay, maybe you were being a little mean at this point, but it was kinda fun to tease him.

You began to back up as Kaido trying to nab the book in your hand. “Just explain it!”

“No! Never!” He shouted.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, though, that was your fatal mistake. Having yourself distracted by your own humor, your mind didn’t take into account the pile of prep books scattered about until it was too late. You quickly lost your voice, as well as your balance before slamming your head hard against the wood floors.

“Woah! You guys okay?” Nendou asked out of genuine concern.

As much as you would have liked to answer him, you were too concerned with the pain pounding into your skull like a jackhammer. Seriously, this is gonna give you one massive headache.

You scrunched your nose as your finally gave effort to open your eyes, though, they permanently remained open when you noticed a face staring down at you, a body on top of yours. You guessed that during the fall Kaido tried to save you, but only got dragged along instead.

“H-Hey, um, are you okay?” He asked under his shaky breath.

You only nodded before trying to avoid his gaze in any possible way. The position you were in didn’t help whatsoever in that department. Instead, you hoped that Kaido would take the hint and get off. That plan wasn’t looking too good cause all that was running through his mind was how you looked under him. Let’s say, the thoughts he had left a distaste in Saiki’s mouth.

Originally, he was just gonna let you handle it, but after hearing Kaido’s perverted thoughts about you, that plan blew up.

Saiki stood up, leaving his coffee jelly half eaten before grabbing Kaido by the back of his shirt and yanking him off of you. Saiki gave some strength into that but not enough to launch him into the bookshelf like he wanted too. He knelt down to come to your level and help you up, your massive headache being noticeable when you held onto the back of your head.

“Damnit, that really hurt,” you muttered to yourself but Saiki heard it clear as day.

It wasn’t long after that he took you home as well as the left over coffee jelly. Saiki advised you to stay home a day just to let the pain die down a bit before going back to school, so, the pink haired boy was all alone today. And all alone to everyone else meant to bother him more than usual.

Teruhashi, Nendou, Hairo. All of them. Though, it was a bit weird that Kaido wasn’t bothering with him today. Not that he was complaining, but he couldn’t pinpoint the answer until he heard Kaido’s thoughts, ‘I need to ask Saiki for permission. They’re best friends, it would be rude if I didn’t ask permission to ask out [Name].’

Never mind. He didn’t need to know that.

It was around lunch time that Kaido walked up to Saiki for the first one, the blush that littered his cheeks made Saiki want to gag for a moment.

“So, uh, Saiki, I have to ask you something.” Kaido uttered out lowly. Clearly, this was nerve wracking for him.

“What is it?” Saiki asked telepathically.

“Well, it’s about [Name], yanno, our [Name]?”

‘What other person has that name?’ Saiki thought. ‘And don’t say our, it’s creepy.’

“You see, I, well, I think I like him and I’d like your blessing to ask him out!” Kaido shouted, his body bowing at an almost 90 degree angle.

Normally, Saiki would just say to do whatever since he could read [Name]’s thoughts and see that he doesn’t like Kaido in that way. However, the one person in the world that Saiki actually wants is immune to his powers. He knew he needed to shut this down fast.

‘No way.’ Saiki responded.

“Thank you so much, Saiki, you won’t—wait—why not?” Kaido asked aloud, his voice getting higher the more he freaked out. He thought this would be easy, he means, it was Saiki. The most chill guy ever actually gave him a hard ‘no’ to asking out his best friend. Kaido shouldn’t be surprised, even though he is.

‘Because I said so,’ Saiki strictly put. He knew it was wrong to say this, who was he to say no to something that isn’t his business. Though, the feeling of relief that he still had a chance was more satisfying in the end.

By the time Saiki got to your house it was basically as soon as school ended. He used teleportation to get here as fast as he could, as well as just appear in your room. He wasn’t expecting you to still be asleep, though, he supposed this wasn’t too bad.

The pink haired male carefully walking up to the bedside of his best friend. It was odd to see your hair going in one direction instead of all over the place like normal, and don’t even get him started on the soft snores that came from your nose. Snoring isn’t usually the most attractive thing in the world, but this light snores from you made him think of the habit as cute.

Now, he would normally wake you up. But, just allowing himself to look at you for a moment longer without any consequences never hurt anybody. Saiki sat himself down on your floor, his eyes keeping to your closed ones as they slowly began to travel down to your lips. He doesn’t know what came over him, but it seriously began to freak him out when he started think about Kaido touching his lips with yours. After the freak out, jealousy was spiraling around in the psychic. He never knew that Kaido, of all people, would actually develop romantic feelings for you. If he did, he would have never allowed the both of you to interact the way you did at his house the other day.

Saiki let out a sigh before standing up once more, his hand came up to your shoulder slowly and began to shake it. It wasn’t long after that your eyes fluttered open and gave him that soft smile that caused his heart to skip a beat.

6. School Trip

The school trip was always the most looked forward to activity in high school. This year it was a three day trip to Okinawa. While you were excited to spend some time at a gorgeous place like Okinawa, Saiki was definitely less excited.

As kids talked with their friends in a group or just at their desks, you were currently sitting on top of Saiki’s desk with the pink haired boy sitting in the chair. This wasn’t something you always do, especially since at times Saiki has pushed you off out of retaliation, but after a moment or two of still being there, you knew he didn’t mind today.

“You excited?” You asked him.

“No. I don’t get the appeal.” He spit out, his eyes closing as he moved his head down. “I could get to Okinawa in three minutes.”

“Kusuo, not everyone is like you.” You explained. “So don’t go getting moody on this trip, I’m not letting you ruin it for me.”

“I won’t, I’m just saying a fact.” He replied.

You were about to continue with things you’re excited to do during the trip before Hairo came around to the both of you with a clip board in hand. He was responsible for dividing rooms.

“Saiki, [Name], did you guys decide on your group for the class trip?” He asked politely. “You should have three boys and three girls in your group.”

Saiki didn’t say anything, instead he just rested his head against your forearm. Perhaps he wanted Hairo to think he fell asleep and leave it to you, or maybe he was actually saying that he didn’t care as long as he was with you. Either way, you smiled at the contact and said to Hairo, “Kusuo and I will be rooming, it doesn’t matter who else is in our group.”

“Okay, great!” Hairo exclaimed as he wrote it down. “Kaido and Nendou are still available so I’ll just place Kaido with your group, and then randomly place you guys with a girls group.”

“Thanks, Hairo,” you hummed out as he walked away to probably inform Kaido about the rooming.

You never minded contact with Saiki, in fact, you sort of enjoyed it. However, seeing him still like this, even with Hario now gone, you worried.

“Hey, Kusuo,” you called out.

No answer.

“Kusuo?” You asked this time. And when he didn’t answer again you unconsciously moved your hand up to his head and moved it back to where you could look him in the eyes. Saiki’s face was still without expression, though, those eyes worried you. He seemed, almost, upset.

“Kusuo?” You asked. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, signaling that nothing was wrong. You knew he was lying.

You tilted your head, some of your hair moving with gravity to expose part of your forehead. “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not.” He said, his voice was steady and yet, that look in his eyes still bothered you.

You knew he wasn’t going to budge but still, just because you’re going to let it go now doesn’t mean that you weren’t about to keep an eye on him.

Throughout the beginning and the first day of the trip, you kept an eye on Saiki. He seemed way more tired than usual, but that didn’t startle you. Instead, it was how he was by your side more often now when Kaido was around. You weren’t an idiot, it was pretty obvious. You didn’t mind Saiki’s attention, but you didn’t want him to think just because you were friends with Kaido that he’d be put second.

“Kusuo, can we talk?” You asked him as the two of you had the room to yourselves. The others were out and about, but the two of you decided on an early night.

“About what?” He asked as he set up his sleeping area.

“Today.” You started out. “You’ve been acting weird around Kaido. Did something happen?”

You watched Saiki carefully, so carefully that you noticed his fingers lightly curl around the blanket. You didn’t want to push him, so instead of pushing him to speak, you allowed yourself to be silent and let him take his time. You don’t remember how many minutes pasted, but you swear it felt like decades.

“Nothing happened.” He informed you. “His thoughts just aren’t for my taste at the moment.”

“His thoughts?” You questioned as you slowly approached Saiki on his blanket until you were right in front of him. “Okay, then, what’s got you all bothered? Let me guess, he’s thinking dirty things, right?”

“Sort of.” He replied.

“I bet it’s about Teruhashi,” you theorized. “Is that why you don’t like it?”

“No, it’s not about Teruhashi.”

“Really? Then who?”

Saiki went quiet once more.

You sighed. Your head moving down to get a glimpse at his face. It wasn’t until you moved your hand over by his, your finger tips brushing with his accidentally to get more stability as you leaned in did you hear him finally confess.

“It was about you.”

To say that you needed a minute to take that in was an understatement. Kaido was a good guy and all, but it was kinda startling to realize he liked guys, as well as girls, since you didn’t suspect that even for a minute with him.

“Seriously?” You asked once more.

Saiki nodded. “He asked me if he could ask you out.”

“And what did you say?”

“No.”

You couldn’t help a smile crawl upon your face with that one. You knew it was a bit hard to read Saiki, especially when it came to you, but you were just beyond happy to hear that.

“Good,” you suddenly shot out. Saiki’s head moving back up in an instant to see your happy features. “I don’t like Kaido like that anyway, saves me from breaking his heart.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope.” You hummed out. You knew this may backfire on you in more ways than one, but right now, you didn’t care. The happiness you felt told you to take a chance and throw out the bait. “I know you can’t read my mind, but I actually do have someone I like.”

Saiki aimlessly stared at you for a moment and took in the words you confessed to him. It was an odd feeling, the rapid beating of his heart, but perhaps this was finally the start of things going his way for once.

On the second day of the trip, everyone went to Emerald Beach. It was one of the many places were people could stare at others and no one would think anything of it. A perverts dream. Though, for Saiki, he just wanted to hang out with you.

“Where’s [Name]?” Kaido asked Nendou as Saiki stood behind the two.

“He said he had to go buy a swimsuit. The one he brought apparently went missing.” Nendou told the blue haired boy.

Now, that want a mistake. Sure, it may have been a dirty trick but Saiki rather die than see you in the swimsuit you brought. After all, you bought a shirt with it. He knew you didn’t take off your shirt often, even at the beach, but he was determined to see you with just a pair of shorts.

Much like how all the guys that crowded around the girls changing house waited patiently to see Teruhashi in a two piece swim suit.

It was a while after Teruhashi came out, and when everyone was in the water that you made your appearance. You had your hands wedged into your swim shirt pockets as you allowed your feet to take in the hot sand that felt magical between your toes. You gazed around for a moment before noticing pink hair sitting under an umbrella.

A devilish smirk crawled on your features as you began to slowly approach the male. This may give Saiki a heart attack, but it was worth it. As you stood over him from behind, you attacked. Your body shot down as your arms wrapped aruund his neck and pushed your chest into his bare back.

“Hey, what’s a cute guy like you doing all alone at a place like this?” You teased, allowing your voice to go on for some time so that he realized it was just you.

Saiki immediately flinched at the contact before noticing it was just you. However, when he noticed the touch of your skin against his, he could feel his entire body heat up. The sensation was new, he’s felt his face go hot before, but his entire body was a new one.

“What took you so long?” Saiki tried to play off.

You just sighed and got a tighter grip on the male, your chest pushing more into his back. “Someone stole my swimsuit. Sadly, I didn’t have enough money to replace the whole thing, so I had to go by some swim shorts.”

“Hm, as least you’re here.” Saiki stated, making sure not to comment on the ‘stolen swimsuit’.

“Yeah,” you uttered as you released Saiki from your grasp and sat down next to him. You gazed out at the beautiful ocean that was filled with laughing people with this loving look in your eyes, all the while not realizing Saiki’s held that same gaze as he stared at you.

When you did turn to him, he completely lost himself in his mind as his eyes wondered about your figure. You weren’t the most fit guy in the world, but you did have these subtle yet enchanting muscle lines along your upper body that made Saiki lose himself.

“I saw that.” You suddenly said. Saiki’s eyes now darting back to yours. “You just checked me out.”

Saiki saw no way out of this one. So, he just confessed it. “So what if I was?”

In all honesty, he just expected you to laugh and tell him that it’s only fair if he does the same. However, the twist was unexpected and, well, definitely appreciated. He watched as you gazed down, this bashful look in your eyes as you did everything to avoid his gaze. Your body language wasn’t helping either. Your fingers were tapping against the towel and the heel of your foot was moving back and forth.

Maybe this trip wasn’t totally for nothing.

7. All That Was A Secret

Spring break. It was one of those weeks that Saiki went to go visit his grandparents all the way in the middle fo nowhere. So, for the most of this break, you were home alone. 

It was kind of boring. This break was definitely not one that you looked forward to, more now then before, especially after the beach during the class trip. Those words always ended up repeating in your mind, way too much then you thought they would. Then again, you shouldn’t be surprised. All those days that you’d try to subtly touch him, tease him, it was just a way to relieve yourself of the pent up emotions you’ve had for him for a few years now. 

Currently, you were in your room upon your bed, hugging one of your pillows close to your chest. You never tried to dwell on if Saiki felt the same or not, but recently, it’s been clawing at you more and more. It wasn’t like you didn’t think you had a chance, but more if Saiki was more comfortable just staying friends. You would understand, even if it would hurt, you’d do it for him. You’d do anything for that guy. 

You sighed before slowly lifting your body off the bed. Today wasn’t a good day for being sad, it was summer break, after all. You knew you had to get your mind off Saiki, and him being away made it a bit easier. So, you grabbed some clothes from your closet and laid them on the bed. You weren’t sure what you were going to do, but you were determined to fine something to take your mind off him. 

You let your pants drop to the ground before taking the ones on your bed and letting your legs slip through each of the pant legs. Next, you stripped your shirt off and took in a deep breath. You paused for a moment before dropping the dirty shirt on the ground and grabbing the new one. In all honestly, you never really pay attention to your surroundings when changing. But, does anyone? It wasn’t until your head went through the hole on the top of the shirt did you realize that the bed in front of you was now missing and the wall you were staring at was not the wall of your bed room. When you turned your head, you locked eyes with Saiki in an unfamiliar room. 

“Huh?” You uttered under your breath before your eyes widened, your face felling hotter than usual before frantically pulling your shirt all the way down. Once down, you opened your mouth and said, “You can’t do that without me knowing! What if I was in the middle of a shower or something and not just changing?”

“I would have given you some of my clothes.” He replied nonchalantly.

You bit the inside of your cheek before crossing your arms over your chest. “Why did you teleport me anyway?”

“I can’t stand it here.” Saiki confessed. Of course, you knew he didn’t exactly enjoying visiting his grandparents but he has never done this before. “Just hang out with me. I’ll send you back after.”

You sighed. You can’t exactly say no after that, so, with that Saiki and you began to watch a movie. It wasn’t one you two watched before so it was easy to get lost in it. Though, it was also easy to focus on Saiki when he suddenly placed his hand on top of yours as you guys watched. You weren’t too sure if he thought you wouldn’t notice, but there was no way you were going to pull away. After all, it’s not like he placed his fingers between yours, if he did that, you don’t know if you could handle it. 

After a half an hour into the movie you finally got the plot of it, and you weren’t amused at all. It was a best friends to lovers troupe. More specifically, childhood friends that drifted apart only to be brought back together by work and now slowly are developing feelings for one another. Let’s just say now, you were a little more than nervous. 

Thank god Saiki couldn’t read your mind, because now, you feel like you’d give him a headache. You couldn’t help but ask yourself if he knows and is only doing this to taunt you, or maybe this was all just a big coincident. Yeah, one massive coincident. In reality though, Saiki was just teasing you. He had no idea of your feelings but he wanted to watch the movie with you to implant the idea in his mind of the possibility.

Well, his plan was working. Maybe a little too much. Though, as you were about to spit something out, your eyes suddenly shot down to the floor in embarrassment. Yep, a make out scene. Of course, Saiki had no idea about that, but it was better than just the sappy stuff cause now it was really ingrained in your head. 

Once it was over and you had somewhat of your cool back you couldn’t help it. You needed to ask. If it blew up in flames, then so be it. 

“Hey, Saiki,” you uttered out lowly. Saiki caught it immediately and turned his gaze on you. “I have a.. question.”

“What?” He asked.

“Well,” your voice trailed off as you moved your eyes down to where both of your hands connected. “We’ve been best friends for a long time now but, have you ever, um, thought about doing...that?

Saiki remained quiet for a moment, his thoughts going everywhere before thinking to himself, ‘All the time, actually.’

As much as he wish he could have said that telepathically, he could never try to say that vocally. So, he just opted for a nod and watched your body flinch. The hand he touched growing warm.

“You’re hot.” Saiki suddenly spit out. This time, you brought your hand back to your body so he couldn’t tell anymore. 

“S-So what?” You stuttered out.

To say that Saiki didn’t like this side of you was an understatement. He’s never never seen you so flustered before, and it was really adorable to look at.

“It’s cute.” Saiki commented, his body leaning in just to see your face closer.

You turned your head to the side, eyes darting to the tv just to look away for a moment to compose yourself. You knew that there wasn’t gonna be another perfect moment like this so, you slowly reached over to place your hand on the back of Saiki’s neck. It was warm. When he noticed what you wanted as you started to lean back and gently pull him with you, he complied quickly until he gazed at you from above. Suddenly, he was jealous at the fact that Kaido got to see this view before him. 

He stared at you for a moment before watching you bite down on your bottom lip, his mind doing backflips at the want to read your mind, but also at how good you looked under him. 

“Kiss me.” You whispered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. 

“If I do,” Saiki uttered lowly. “I might not be able to stop.”

“That’s okay.”

[pretendingboyfriends]

A/N: ok WOW first off, i’m so sorry i literally haven’t posted since december. these past few months have been so wild what with new classes and my mental health declining. i can’t promise the last few parts of this lil series will come at a timely manner just because my mental state can be very unpredictable, but i will try my best to get them out as fast as i can, especially when summer is right around the corner. i wanna thank @thestyleswritings and @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ for being my lovely beta readers. as i’ve said before, my writing is nothing without betas so thank u for taking the time to review my piece and give me honest feedback. anyways, i made this part extra long for you guys and i really really hope you love it. <3

Warnings: explicit language, panic attack, anxiety, deidre being a megacunt (as always), smut 

Word count: 9.3k+

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It’s been a few days since your first date with Harry, the two weeks you’ve planned to spend at the beach feeling far too short as each day passes like a whirlwind. And over these days, you’ve found that getting comfortable with him is an easier feat than you’d initially imagined. Moments with him are hardly fleeting. You find yourself spending most of your time with him, whether it be going for a swim on the beach or sneaking off somewhere in the house to make out. If this were anyone else, you’d feel suffocated spending so much time with them, but with Harry it’s so much different. You can’t keep yourself away from him, even if you try, and you’re beginning to think that the feeling is quite mutual for Harry as well.

The air is humid and warm, a quaint breeze sifting through the leaves of the palm trees that surround the pool’s fence, finding its way to where the three of you lounge. The kiss of the sun blesses your exposed skin as you and Deidre lie side by side on the poolside chairs. You've lost count of how many hours the three of you have spent in the afternoon sun, but, as hot as it is, you're thoroughly enjoying every moment spent actually being with Deidre for once. Even if you aren't actually doing anything but lying in the sun, just the fact that she's spending time with you for longer than an hour makes you happy. 

Your eyes scan each line of the book in your hands, allowing your brain to paint a picture of each image as best as it can. Deidre snores quietly beside you, arms draped over her face to shield her eyes from the blinding light and Harry splashes around quietly in the pool, occasionally pulling himself under for a few moments before coming back to the surface for air again. 

As you turn the page of your book, the sudden splashing of water fills your ears before several cold droplets hit your warm skin. It immediately draws your attention away from your book and up to where Harry stands in front of your chair. 

"Hi," You muse, pulling your legs up to curl beneath you. 

"Hi back," He smiles as he pushes his fingers through his long, dripping wet hair. 

You pluck your sunglasses from your nose and gingerly place them on the top of your head so that you can get a better look at him. "Need something?" 

"Could you grab me a Coke from the cooler, please?" He asks, yanking his towel from the edge of his own chair and wrapping it around his shoulders. 

"Yeah, sure." You nod, sliding a bookmark into the spine of your book and placing it beside you on the chair before reaching into the cooler next to you for an unopened can. The chilled perspiration dripping down the aluminum can causes a chill to travel up your spine as soon as your fingertips make contact with it. You reach forward to place it into Harry's hand, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment.

He mutters a quick 'thanks' before cracking it open and lifting it to his lips. As he does this, you're given an opportunity to allow your gaze to fall down the rest of his body. His tanned skin glistens delicately in the sunlight, each droplet of water illuminated like tiny specks of glitter all along his chest and arms. The dark ink that litters his skin has somehow become a shade darker as well, each detail becoming more apparent to your eye the longer you study the expanse of his chest and shoulders.

"Enjoying the view?" Harry hums, very obviously amused by your mindless ogling. 

You clear your throat, feigning innocence as you internally burst into flames of embarrassment. "I don't know what you're talking about." (Luckily, Deidre is still snoring peacefully beside you, completely oblivious to the flirtatious comments being thrown back and forth between you and Harry.)

He chuckles, sipping his drink one last time before placing it on the ground by his chair. "Are you sure you don't want to come join me for a bit?" He motions back to the pool as he drops the towel back on the chair. 

"I think I'm alright staying here," You hum, tilting your head to the side as you gaze up at him. "I'm quite enjoying my book." You sigh, picking your book back up and waving it in the air to show him. 

He sighs in disappointment, shaking his head. "That's a shame. The water feels fantastic." 

You watch him turn back towards the pool, admiring the way the muscles in his back flex with his every move. He crouches down at the edge of the water, placing one hand on the cement as he slings himself into the pool, water splashing all around him. He swivels around in the water so that he's facing you again, his eyes trained on yours with a mischievous look on his face. You squint in suspicion, tilting your head to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Nothin'." He shrugs, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. He continues to wade out a little further and you roll your eyes at him, turning your attention away from him and back to your book. 

There are a few moments of silence in the air as you're pulled back into the imagery of the book, paying no mind to whatever mischief Harry is up to in the pool. But then, before you have even a second to process what's happening, cold water splashes up onto your legs, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as the book slips out of your grasp. 

"Harry!" You screech, sitting up on your chair to scold him. He's standing in the water at the edge of the pool with an evil smile spread across his face, his hands scooping up the water and splashing it up in your direction. The mixture of your screeching and the cold water reaching her side of the pavement, causes Deidre to wake from her slumber, scrambling up into a sitting position. 

"Harry, what the fuck!?" She screams from beside you, grabbing her sandal from the ground and hurling it in his direction. He cackles dramatically as he dodges the shoe by swiftly slipping beneath the surface of the water. The shoe falls into the water behind him with a loud 'PLUNK' and then resurfaces, floating aimlessly.

He rises back to the surface within a few seconds, chuckling as he pushes the sopping wet hair out of his face. "Sorry, did I get ya?"

Deidre scoffs, angrily wiping the water droplets from her legs with her towel. "I was having such a good nap and you ruined it." 

"Oh, come on," He rolls his eyes, dragging out the 'n' with a teasing lilt. "I was just playin' around. It's gettin' kinda boring being in here all alone."

She lies back against the chair exactly like she had been before, draping her arm over her eyes once again. "Suck it up." 

Harry wades back to the side of the pool, folding his arms against the warm cement and leaning his chin against them with a pout on his lips. "Pretty please?" 

Before either you or Deidre even has a moment to respond, Deidre's phone begins to sing loudly with the sound of her ringtone. She pats her hand around the chair for her phone for a few moments, not bothering to lift her arm from her eyes to look for it. She finally grasps it, sliding her thumb across the bottom of the screen and lifting it to her ear. 

"Hello?... oh, hey, what's up?" She speaks to the person on the other end, finally lifting her arm from her eyes so that she can sit up on the chair. "Yeah, I'd love to! I can be there in, like-" she pauses to glance at the time on her phone. "10 minutes?" Another pause. "Okay, sounds good, see you there!" She lifts the phone from her ear, tapping the screen once to end the call before quickly standing up from the chair. 

"Who was that?" You ask, tilting your head at her in curiosity, though you sense that you already know the answer. 

"That was Jeff and the rest of the gang. They invited me to mini golf with them," Deidre replies, folding her towel over her arm and picking her sandal up from the ground. "You can come along, if you want."

Immediately, you feel your mood begin to plummet as you watch her get ready to leave, barely even giving you a second glance as she retrieves her sandal from the water. You know she's not doing it on purpose, but it's hard not to feel hurt by her inability to spend even so much as a day with you. 

"That's okay," You respond, trying to mask the shakiness of your voice with a cheerful lilt. "Have fun, though." 

"Okay, well, I'll see you guys later!" She smiles, waving back to both of you as she turns on her heel and bounds up the porch stairs.

After the sound of the back door swinging shut fills your ears, you glance over in Harry's direction to find that he's watching you intently. His playful expression from just a few moments ago is exchanged with a concerned frown. You sigh, picking your book back up in hopes of finding a distraction from the sinking feeling deep in your stomach, but Harry has other plans. 

A fleeting, silent moment passes before Harry decides to speak.

"Hey," 

The sound of his voice pulls your attention away from the book in your hands, forcing you to move it from in front of your face so that you can look at him. "Hi," you make eye contact with him, finding that he's still in the same position from before, arms folded on the pavement as his chin rests against them. 

"You alright?" He questions, tilting his head to the side as he watches you. 

You shake your head a little, glancing down at the book in your lap. "It's fine. I don't really know what I was expecting, she's been doing this for the past week and a half. I shouldn't even be surprised at this point."

He's silent for a moment, gazing at you thoughtfully as he thinks of what he's going to say in response. "You really should join me in here. It'll help you get your mind off things." 

You hesitate, rubbing the back of your neck with the palm of your hand as you mull over his proposition. It'd be nice to have a distraction from the nagging feeling of betrayal deep within your chest, and you know Harry will do anything in his power to make sure you feel better. After a silent debate with yourself on whether or not you really want to join him, you push yourself up from the chair, muttering a quiet affirmation before slowly padding over to the edge of the pool.

You crouch down, moving to sit on the warm pavement as your legs hang over the edge and dip into the cool, clear water. Harry pushes himself off from the wall, spinning himself around 360 degrees. 

"Come onnnn," He sings, wading closer to you. "Come swim with me."

You scrunch your nose, kicking your legs in the water and staring down at the way the water splashes up into the air. "Gimme a minute to get used to the water, jeez." You scoff, kicking a bit of water in his direction. 

He rolls his eyes, wading closer to you so that you can feel his warm breath against your knees and the current his kicking feet create beneath you. "That's an excuse if I've ever heard one,"  his fingers curl around your right ankle, giving you another mischievous smile identical to the one he gave you earlier. 

"What are you doing?" You squint your eyes at him, cautiously tugging your leg against his grip. 

"M'helpin' you get in," he hums nonchalantly. "Seems like you need a bit of coaxing."

A small smile breaks across your face and you roll your eyes, placing your hands on the pavement behind you and leaning back against them. "I'm quite comfortable right here, actually." 

"Alright, then you leave me no other choice..." Before you can even process what he's saying, he's grabbing your other ankle and yanking you into the water in one quick movement. The water splashes around you, engulfing you beneath the surface and immediately soaking into your bathing suit.

You resurface, sputtering and choking on the water as you rub the chlorine from your burning eyes. "I hate you so much right now," You huff, dropping your hands and squinting up at him. He's wearing an mischievous smile, fully content with his successful attempt of getting you into the pool.

"It's really not that bad," he rolls his eyes, wading further away from you. "You'll get used to it." 

You glare at him, shoving your hands forward beneath the water to splash him directly in the face, but he merely laughs and swiftly wipes the droplets from his eyes like it's nothing. You watch as he slinks towards the very edge of the pool several feet away from you, turning back to face you before grabbing a small, foam ball floating on the surface. He tosses it in your direction, watching it land directly in front of you, splashing the water gently. 

"C'mon, toss it back to me,"

You take the ball into your hand, squinting up at him. "Is this your idea of fun?"

He shrugs. "Got any other ideas?"

At that, you roll your eyes and reluctantly hurl the ball back into his direction. He catches it swiftly with both hands, tossing it up into the air a few times as he contemplates his next move. 

“Oh, my god,” you groan, rolling your head back onto your shoulders in dramatic exaggeration. “I’m not doing this.” You turn to wade towards the side of the pool.

“No, wait!” He calls, immediately running (more like bobbing) through the water towards you as fast as he can. 

You ignore his call and start to climb the side of the pool, but he catches you before you can fully climb out, curling an arm around your waist and tugging you back against him. 

“Please,” he mutters, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your neck. “I know you’re upset, but I just wanna help you get your mind off things.” 

You sigh, reluctantly dropping your hands from the edge of the pavement. You’re silent for a moment as he rests his chin against your shoulder, small puffs of air hitting your damp skin.

“I really thought she was going to try to spend time with me today,” you whisper, turning in his arms to face him. “She didn’t tell me she wouldn’t do it again, though, so I guess I’m the only one to blame.”

He frowns at that, shaking his head. “Don’t blame y’self for any of this. You had expectations for this trip and she completely obliterated them.” 

Jutting your bottom lip into a pout, you avoid making eye contact with him. You know he’s right. She promised you she’d spend the trip with you, just you, but she’s almost done everything in her power to do the opposite. 

Harry leans forward, pecking your pouted lips gently. He starts to pull away, but you want more so you lock your arms around his neck and he takes that as an invitation to continue, pecking your lips in quick intervals. Even though you’d only just begun to show affection towards each other in this short period of time, it feels like you’ve been together for years. Everything is just so easy with him. It helps that you grew up with each other, but your interactions were so scarce over the years that you didn’t even feel like you really knew him until this trip. 

As you’re opening your mouth ever so slightly for him to stroke his tongue over your bottom lip, the feeling of his fingers creeping along your waist has you chuckling nervously. “What’re you doing?” 

“Nothin’...” He hums, hooded eyes gazing into yours as he traces his fingertips up against your sides. He leans in for another kiss with a lazy smirk on his lips and you hesitantly grant him one, wary of his wandering hands. 

Suddenly, his hands aren’t so gentle anymore and the seemingly harmless pressure of his fingers has turned into almost painful tickling. You throw your head back against your shoulders with a cackle, pressing your palms into his chest in an attempt to push him away but he doesn’t budge. The vicious assault of his fingers draws giggle after giggle from your lips with the occasionally squeal of frustration as you squirm in his unyielding hold. 

“I. Hate. You.” You grunt between each word, smacking your hands against his biceps, chest, and shoulders playfully. 

Finally, you’re able to tear away from him, nearly diving into the water to get away from him, but he’s faster than you and within moments he has a large, tattooed arm curled around your waist once again. You scream out in frustration, kicking your legs in the water and causing it to splash out in front of you nearly six feet into the air. 

“You can’t escape that easy,” he chuckles into your ear, continuing his assault on your poor midsection as you whimper and struggle limply. 

Suddenly,  a loud rumble of thunder pulls your attention from Harry’s abuse and up to the sky. You've been so distracted by Harry’s stabbing fingers that you hadn't seen the dark cumulonimbus' gathering directly above you in the sky, uttering low groans of warning to anyone near. It begins as small, harmless droplets, but quickly blossoms into a violent downpour, pounding into the surface of the water. 

“Fuck!” You screech as you scramble to get out of the pool. Harry is taking his time, though, laughing at the way you’re panicking. “Do you want to get struck by lightning?!” You yell to him, yanking your towel and book from the chair you were lying in before. 

He laughs at you, climbing out of the pool and standing by the edge briefly so that he can wipe the moisture from his eyes. The sight of him standing there in nothing but a tight, wet pair of swimming trunks, nearly causes your mouth to water. If it weren’t for the raging thunderstorm pelting you and everything around it, you’d take a few moments just to soak in the view, but you have no time for that. 

You bound up the stairs leading to the back porch, holding your book and towel close to your chest to keep them from getting any wetter than they already are. Harry soon follows with his own belongings, giggling playfully like a little boy as the screen door slams behind him. 

“Shit- that came out of nowhere!” He chokes, pushing his hand through the sopping curls sprouting from his head and framing his beautiful face. 

You shake your head at him with a small chuckle as you toss your towel to the side and yank the sliding door open so that you can step inside. Harry tosses his own towel over a porch chair before he follows you inside, sliding the door closed behind him. The contrast of the roaring sound of the storm outside compared to the silence inside the house is almost deafening. Both of you are wet and shivering on the carpeted floor, looking shamelessly like a pair of greasy rats. 

Both of you shower (separately) and change into more comfortable, dry attire, soon finding yourselves in the kitchen scavenging for something to eat. 

“Y’know what I’m really craving right now?” Harry asks, standing in front of the open refrigerator. 

“What?” You reply, popping a grape into your mouth as you lean back against the counter.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

You pause for a moment, contemplating the prospect of freshly baked cookies melting in your mouth. “Now that you mention it, I'm really craving some as well."

"I think it's something in the water." He hums sarcastically, scrunching his nose to emphasize the sarcasm.

“Perhaps,” you hum in response, a smile itching to spread across your lips.

"Alright then, let's do it!" Harry says, pushing himself away from the counter. "Let's make chocolate chip cookies."

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah! Come on, we've got nowhere else to be. This will give us something to pass the time!" 

Soon, you find yourself hip to hip with Harry at the kitchen counter, a large spread of every required ingredient to make chocolate chip cookies laid out in front of you. You'd found a few old aprons in the back of the pantry and of course you'd both thrown them on to make the experience as authentic as possible. 

Harry's apron of choice is a bright yellow number with tacky, purple frills lining the edges and the words "Grandma's Kitchen" stitched across the breast in that same purple color-all you can do is giggle at the sight of him. Yours, however, is nearly the opposite of his; a plain white piece with a pattern of small, black flowers.

Harry frowns at you when you begin to laugh at the sight of him in the apron. "What?? You don't like it?" He huffs, placing his hands on his hips.

"No, no-" you snort, attempting to hold in the cackle itching to escape your throat. "It's great, I love it. Really suits you."

He smiles to himself, turning to the counter. "Thank you, I think it's quite tasteful as well." 

You notice that he's pulled his hair up into a bun, so you're able to admire his face in the close proximity. He really is handsome, you think. His eyes are shockingly vibrant - piercing yet kind all at the same time. When he smiles, the very edges of his eyes crinkle as if they're smiling with him and it's getting harder for you to keep yourself from getting lost in them. You'd always found him attractive like that, but within the past week and a half you've gained a different, more meaningful attraction to him. He isn't just your childhood crush anymore - he's Harry. Harry, the boy who remembers how you take your coffee; Harry, the boy who takes you out to coffee and bookstores and proceeds to buy you nearly half the store without you even knowing; Harry, the boy that would rather spend his entire vacation with you when he could easily spend it partying with a new girl every night. 

You shake your head at him with a small chuckle, turning back to the counter before looking down at the recipe shown on your phone screen. "So..." you begin, scanning over the first few steps on your screen. "First, we need to combine all the dry ingredients into one bowl and then combine all the wet ingredients in another bowl."

"Alright," Harry hums through a nod, selecting all the dry ingredients from the layout in front of you and collecting them into his corner. "I'll mix the dry ingredients."

You acknowledge him with a quiet murmur before you continue to scan the list of instructions. As you do so, your vision begins to blur slightly. You ignore it at first, hoping it goes away, but when it doesn't, you're forced to blink a few times in an attempt to clear it. Your attempts are in vain, however, because your vision does not improve. Nevertheless, you choose to ignore it in hopes that it will go away on its own. 

As you begin to crack eggs; scoop perfectly measured cups of sugar; and combine softened butter all together into a bowl, a slight wave of light-headedness overwhelms you. It's unexpected, so you place the bowl on the counter, sliding it away from you slightly so that you can grip the edge of the counter to stabilize yourself. 

Harry seems to notice the shift in your behavior, nudging your arm gently with his elbow to grab your attention. "Is everything alright? Y'look a bit flustered," 

Before you're able to respond, your heart rate suddenly and noticeably begins to increase as well, causing your breathing to become more labored and frantic. You shake your head, gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles are white, head hung on your shoulders as you attempt to catch your breath. "I think I'm- I think I'm having a panic attack," 

You sense him moving closer to you, a warm palm pressed against your back in a soothing manner. "Can I- What can I do to help?" 

"I just- I need to sit down," You mutter between breaths, turning slightly to slide down the cabinets and onto the floor with your hand still firmly placed against your chest. A slight numbness begins to form around your nose and your hands begin to shake uncontrollably as you crumple onto the kitchen floor. 

Harry follows quickly, moving to sit directly in front of you and gently taking both your hands into his own. "Can you try to breathe a bit slower for me?" He mutters, rubbing his thumbs against your knuckles soothingly. "Maybe in through your nose and out through your mouth?" 

You nod to him, taking deep breaths in through your nose and then breathing out through your mouth just like he'd instructed. The feeling of his thumbs rubbing against your skin so gently helps to ground you in the moment, although the feeling of panic and anxiety still rages through your veins. Just his presence alone gives you a level of comfort, but it isn't enough to obliterate the numbness in your face and the hot tears gliding effortlessly down your cheeks. 

You don't know how much time passes, but eventually your breathing has gone back to normal and you're left exhausted and still shaking. 

"Are you feeling better?" He hums, gently pressing his lips to your knuckles as he gazes up at you with the same concerned expression he'd been sporting as soon as your episode began. 

"Yeah- Yes," You stutter in response, leaning your head back against the wooden cabinets. "Fuck, I don't even know where that came from, I'm sorry." 

"No, please, don't apologize. Just wanna make sure you're alright,"

You give him a weak smile. "I'm pretty exhausted, but I'll be okay after lying down for a bit or taking a nap." 

"Yeah? Need me to help you up or do you want to sit here for a while longer?" He asks, tilting his head to the side as he smiles back at you.

"Do you think you could get me some water, please?" 

"Of course," He nods, immediately standing up in front of you to grab a fresh glass from one of the upper cabinets and fill it with water before kneeling back down to place it into your trembling hands. "There you are, babe."

You smile up at him. "Thank you." 

He smiles back as if to say "you're welcome" as he gently rubs his knuckles against your arm to give you some form of comfort.

It takes nearly 10 minutes for you to gather your bearings on reality again, but having Harry there helps so much more than if you were experiencing this alone. He watches you intently the entire time, hyper aware of every breath you take like he's afraid you'll fall apart in front of his eyes, and all you want to do is reach up and smooth out the deep creases between his eyebrows. 

"Could you help me up now?" You croak, squeezing his hand gently. 

"Yeah- yes, of course." He scrambles to securely wrap an arm around your waist, his other hand still clutching one of yours as he lifts you from the kitchen floor. Once you're fully stabilized on both of your feet, you look at Harry, hands resting on his shoulders as he cups his hands around both your elbows, searching your face frantically for any sign of distress. "You alright?"

You nod, giving him a weak smile and sliding your arms up around his neck to pull him in for a hug. His arms immediately fall to wrap around your waist, pressing your body into his in a warm, comforting embrace. 

"Sorry I couldn't finish making the cookies with you," You mutter into his ear, pressing your face into his neck. 

"S'alright, I can manage on my own." He replies, rubbing his hand up and down the length of your back. He can feel the erratic thudding of your heart against his chest, your slow, shaky breaths fanning directly over his ear simultaneously. His heart aches. 

After you take yourself back to your bedroom to rest, Harry finishes the cookies by himself. Due to his previous baking experience, the task is a breeze, but during the time he spends mixing and preparing the cookies, all he can think about is how angry he is with Deidre. He'd seen her, time and time again, take advantage of your kindness without a single thought as to how it might make you feel. She's selfish, and you're far too good for her. Deidre doesn't deserve to call you her best friend.

Just as he begins to pull the steaming, golden cookies from the oven, the sound of the front door swinging open from behind him catches his ear. Deidre stumbles in from the pouring rain, fumbling around as she removes her sandals and tosses her tote bag to the floor next to them. 

He pokes his head into the living room to look at her. She's almost completely soaked-- her long, dark hair is sopping wet, clumping together in thick strands, and her thin cover-dress is soaked completely through, sticking to her figure like a glove. He hadn't even noticed it's been raining this entire time. 

"Hey! Mini golfing got cut short 'cause of the rain." She smiles, pushing her hair out of her face as she looks at him. 

He responds with a low grunt, stepping back into the kitchen without a single word. Her peppiness annoys him. 

"Did you bake something?" She continues, sauntering into the kitchen. "Smells fantastic!"

"Chocolate chip cookies," he replies bluntly as he wipes the counter down with a damp towel.

"Can I have one?" 

"Sure, do whatever you want." He snaps, tossing the towel into the sink in frustration. 

She frowns at him, her shoulders dropping a little at the sight of the slight scowl on his face and the sudden outburst he'd just had. "What's your deal?" 

He turns to her. "What's MY deal? My fucking 'deal' is that you were meant to come here to spend time with your best friend and the longest you've spent in the same vicinity with her is when you're sleeping! She came here expecting to find a distraction from the shitty time she's been having at school and you've made it worse for her!" 

Deidre stands in shock, the hand that had been reaching for a cookie now fallen limp at her side. 

"She's in bed resting right now because she had a panic attack on the kitchen floor not even an hour ago-"

"That's not my fucking fault!" She interrupts him, throwing her arms out expressively. 

"Maybe not, but you're not doing anything to help her! You knew she was having a hard time at school and invited her here as a distraction, yet you left her to spend two weeks all by herself! If I hadn't have come along, she'd have been left on her own or forced to join you on your little escapades without a single choice." He huffs, yanking the strings of his apron to untie them from each other before pulling it over his head and hurling it to the ground. 

“You know, I asked her every time I went out if she wanted to come with me,” Deidre grumbles, shaking her head, “but she turned me down every single time.”

“Yeah, y’know why she turned you down?” Harry immediately retorts with a growl. “Because she didn’t want to spend time with a couple of random blokes that you know far better than she does!”

She snaps her mouth shut, a deep scowl etched across her brow as she stands in front of him. 

"You have no regard for anyone else besides yourself and I am not going to let you ruin this trip for her. So, PLEASE, keep doing exactly what you're doing because I'm positive she's had more time with me than the two of you ever had together!" With that, Harry storms out of the room and into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him and leaving Deidre standing speechless in the kitchen.

Unbeknownst to Harry and Deidre, the quarrel wakes you from your slumber in the other room, causing you to become a bit curious and move closer to the door so that you can listen to the lava spewing from both sides. The fight isn’t long, but you hear nearly every word. The way Harry so passionately defends you in the situation, which had initially caused you to feel so unbelievably helpless, gives you a sense of comfort. You know he cares about you, but there’s something so endearing about actually hearing him defend you with so much fervor. 

The slamming of Harry’s bedroom door echoes down the hallway, indicating the end of their conversation. You step away from your own door, the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the mattress as you sit. You can hear Deidre walking down the hallway, so to make it seem like you weren’t eavesdropping on their entire conversation, you return to where you were on the bed previously and pretend like you’re asleep.

“Harry?” Your knuckles rap against the wood of his bedroom door gently, careful not to wake Deidre in the other room by knocking too loudly. There’s a brief pause and a shuffling of bed sheets from behind the door before it cracks open, revealing Harry in his sleepy, disheveled state. 

“Hi,” He croaks, licking his lips and crossing his arms over his hoodie-clad chest. “Is everything alright?”

You sigh, scratching the back of your head nervously. “Yeah, um- sorry, everything’s fine, I’m just- I’m having some trouble sleeping and- this is stupid, but… could I stay in here with you?” It takes a moment for him to process your words, but once he does he’s nodding and stepping aside to beckon you into his room. “I’m really sorry, I know you were probably sleeping-”

“S’alright, babe, don’t worry about it,” he shakes his head. “Why don’t you go and get comfortable on the bed while I grab us some tea?”

You nod, giving him a small, tired smile as he steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked slightly. You make your way over to his bed, the duvet pulled back along with the sheets, indicating where he’d been lying on the bed moments ago. Your knees land on the soft fabric as you crawl further into the queen sized bed, finding your place on the other side where the duvet is untouched. A warm mixture of chamomile, jasmine, and a hint of cedar wood engulfs you when you lay your head on his pillow. The smell is intoxicating, one whiff could send you into a peaceful, drunken slumber. But, instead of actually falling asleep, you lie there for a few moments, listening to the gentle sounds of the ceiling fan spinning above your head as it lulls you into a quiet reverie. 

Soon, Harry is entering the room again, breaking you from your thoughts as you look to find him stepping through the door with two white, porcelain mugs filled to the brim with steaming tea. 

“I hope you’re alright with green tea ‘cause that’s all we have,” He murmurs, moving very slowly towards the bed.

“Green tea is perfect, thank you.” You smile, making sure not to burn yourself or spill any of the precious beverage as he crawls onto the bed beside you and places one of the mugs into your welcoming hands. Once the tea is secured, you adjust yourself so that you're sitting against the headboard, body tilted slightly in Harry's direction.

“So,” He starts, blowing on his own tea in an attempt to cool it down faster. “Is there a specific reason why you aren’t able to sleep?”

You take a deep breath, crossing your legs comfortably. “I'm, um, having a bit of anxiety and sleeping with Deidre just isn't helping since she's always making some sort of noise."

“Anxiety?” He frowns, moving his lips away from his tea so that he can be fully attentive to what you're saying. “Are you alright? Do you need me to help with anything?"

“I guess I'm still a bit on edge from earlier, so there isn't much you can do besides just keep me distracted,” you reply, forcing a small smile. "And the tea helps a lot as well."

"I can definitely do that." He smiles, leaning in to peck your lips gingerly. Of course, you welcome the kisses happily, pulling him in for a few more after he pulls away from the first one. He chuckles into your lips, deepening the kiss by tilting his head every so slightly to the side. Your free hand rests against his chest, so you can feel the gentle vibration of his chortle through the fabric of his hoodie and it makes you smile.

“Oh, also-” you continue after you've parted from his lips. “I never properly thanked you for the books you bought for me. I really do not deserve all that, but thank you, really. They will definitely be of good use.”

He smiles and shakes his head, “S’no problem. You seemed so enthralled by each of them and I thought it’d be a shame for you not to go home with at least a few.” 

You smile to yourself, glancing down at your tea. "You really didn't need to do that, but, again, thank you." You reach up to gently cup the side of his face, leaning a little bit closer so that you can capture his lips between yours once again. This time, the kisses aren't as innocent. Your fingers find their way to the nape of his neck, drawing him closer to you as his tongue slowly slides against your bottom lip. If it weren't for the steaming mugs of tea in both yours and Harry's hands, it would be so much easier for either of you to take more control of the situation and move into something more than just kissing. You can sense that he wants to do something, and admittedly you do too, but you pull away before anything can happen.

"That isn't the only reason why I came here tonight, though," you speak again as your lips part from his.

He frowns slightly, tilting his head to the side as if to ask: "what's the other reason?"

"I overheard your conversation with Deidre earlier." 

His eyes widen. "Oh, fuck- listen, I'm sorry I got kind of carried away. It just made me so angry to see her continuously treat you like that and I- I didn't mean to, like, speak for you-"

"No, Harry, it's okay," You interrupt him before he can continue rambling. "I appreciated it. I probably wouldn't have been able to do it myself, so thank you."

“I really didn't want to make it seem like you can't stand up for yourself, but I know it's just been affecting you so much lately and she needed to be put in her place, even if it made her angry."

"Thank you, really. Usually, Deidre would've been the person to stand up for me for something like that, but lately we just haven't felt as close. Even before this trip. Kinda started to think she just invited me here out of pity... And I honestly wouldn't blame her if she did. " You shrug, staring down into the tea to avoid direct eye contact. 

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t think like that-- I’m sure she really did want you to come, but just got distracted by other things. She tends to do that sometimes.”

You shrug wordlessly, keeping your eyes trained to the gently swirling liquid in your cup. 

When you look back up at him, you realize how cozy and warm he looks just sitting there in his hoodie and sweatpants, mug of steaming tea sitting at his pink lips. Your tank-top and shorts aren’t doing much to help with the chilled draft wafting throughout the house, so seeing him like that makes you want to crawl into his arms in search of warmth. 

He notices the way you’re shivering and moves to set his mug on the bedside table. “Are you cold?”

You smile sheepishly. “Yeah, a little. The anxiety gives me cold flashes.” He quickly tugs his hoodie over his head as soon as the words leave your lips, carefully taking the mug of tea from your hands and placing it on the bedside table before holding the hoodie open for you to slide your arms in easily. Your heart nearly melts at the sentiment, sliding your arms into the sleeves and pulling the piece of clothing over your head. It’s warm, soft and smells just like him, and it immediately gives you a sense of comfort. “Thanks.” You smile.

“S’no problem,” he replies, reaching over for your mug to offer it back to you. You carefully take it from his hands, thanking him before taking another tentative sip. The liquid is still a bit hot, but it has cooled down just enough for you to sip at your own leisure. 

“You’re way too sweet to me, Harry,” you sigh, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie over your fingers.

“Y’know, I don’t think I am,” he shakes his head, moving closer to you on the creaky mattress. “Think I should be sweeter, show you how much you deserve it.”

You scoff quietly, looking away from him to hide your flustered expression. “Oh, shut up.” 

He falls silent, the only sound that can be heard being the shuffling of the sheets and creaking of the mattress as he moves closer to you again. And then you feel it: his lips pressed to your shoulder through the thick material of his hoodie. It’s soft but it’s there and as soon as you turn your head to look at him, he pulls away, staring directly into your eyes with an almost unreadable expression.

“You deserve so much more than what you think you deserve. I wish I could show you that.”

You maintain eye contact with him, breath caught in your throat. You’re rendered speechless at the depth of his words, forced to take slow, deep breaths to calm the pounding of your heart as he inches closer. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re unable to speak a single word other than the faint murmur of his name. 

His hand finds both of yours as they clutch the warm mug of tea, (tighter than you’d initially intended due to the tension clouding your brain) carefully prying it from your fingers before placing it on the bedside table. You angle your body towards him, taking his face in your hands before moving forward to plant your lips against his. He immediately returns the kiss in a slightly more fervent manner, pushing you to fall back against the pillows as he cages you in with his arms. 

Despite the unexpected escalation of what began as an innocent conversation, Harry begins kissing you slowly, his tongue laving over your bottom lip and into your mouth. You allow his body to move between your legs as he kisses you, your hands holding desperately onto the nape of his neck and curve of his jaw.

“Wanna show you,” He mutters between hot, wet kisses. “Can I do that?” His face hovers over yours for a moment, waiting for you to say something. 

“Yeah- yes, please.” You breathe, reaching up to place your hand on the back of his neck and pull his lips back into yours. 

Immediately, Harry’s fingers curl into the waistband of your shorts, helping you tug them down your bare legs and toss them to the side before he lets his hands glide down your legs from your thighs to your calves, reveling in the softness of your skin. He pulls his lips away from yours, staring down into your eyes as his hand falls between your legs, fingers slowly finding your clit over your warm, damp panties. 

You hadn’t planned any of this so, of course, so your panties are nothing special, but when Harry lets his head fall down to look at where his fingers meet your sex, a shaky sigh leaves his pink lips. It sounds as if he’s in pain just from the sight of you and he hasn’t even taken your panties off yet. 

His lips fall to your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses along each side before trailing down the front of your hoodie clad chest. Once he reaches your lower region, his arms hook beneath your legs, slinging them over his shoulders as he moves to lie on his stomach between them. His hot breath washes over your clothed cunt, causing your legs to quiver around his shoulders at the sensitivity and you suck in a breath to hold back a gasp. 

He starts slowly as he peels the soft cotton of your panties from your skin, dragging them ever so slowly down your legs before nudging them aside on the bed. You’re finding it increasingly difficult not to squirm beneath his scorching gaze, but with his arms locked tight around your thighs, your movements are clearly limited. 

Harry begins to press gentle, open-mouthed kisses to the supple skin of your inner thighs, nipping lightly between each kiss. Much to your dismay, he pulls away, his knees still planted on the mattress between your legs as he scoops his luscious hair into his hands and pulls it back into a quick, messy bun. You lie there watching him, chest heaving with your labored breaths and he smirks. 

“Haven’t even started and you’re already out of breath,” he drops back down to hover over your body and you're left to cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, feeling the heat radiating from your skin to your palms. His long fingers circle your wrists, gently tugging your hands away from your face so that he can plant another firm kiss to your lips. "You sure you wanna keep going?"

He stares down at you with a cautious and gentle look in his eyes as he waits for you to respond. His need for consent is comforting and you can tell he really cares. "I'm positive. Please, keep going."

Content with your response, Harry smiles, pecking your lips one last time before crawling back down your body and slinging your legs back over his shoulders just like they were just moments ago. Since he'd removed your panties, there's no barrier between his lips and your glistening sex, his warm breath washing over your sensitive skin and causing your thighs to quiver ever so slightly. 

"Ready?" He asks quietly, virescent eyes meeting yours through thick, brown lashes. 

His purposeful prolonging has caused you to grow a little impatient, so you huff a frustrated "please," to him in hopes of speeding up the process. He chuckles a little, but finally brings his mouth to your hot skin, tongue peaking out from between his lips to slowly drag against your clit. A shaky breath escapes your lips at the initial contact, and then he presses forward, wrapping his pink, swollen lips around your sensitive button, sucking gently and it causes a much louder moan to tumble from your mouth. Your hand falls to his head, fingers pushing into the hair that was once pulled tight against his head by the messy bun. He lifts his head slightly at the sound of your moan, bringing a finger to his glistening lips as he gazes up at you, mischievous glint behind his eyes. 

"Sorry, sorry." You whisper breathlessly and he shakes his head, shoulders shaking with his slight laughter. 

His mouth finally returns to your lips, eyes trained to yours to ensure that you don't make any more loud noises before he delves back in, fully devoting himself to your pleasure. Your lip slips between your teeth in a feeble attempt to contain the breathless whimpers and moans itching to spill from your mouth and your hand continues to press into his hair. The pleasure you feel from just his lips and tongue is undeniably amazing. It's obvious the man doesn't shy away when it comes to foreplay and that only eggs on your aroused state. 

Languid strokes of Harry's tongue gradually turn into quick, firm flicks that cause your thighs to quiver with pleasure as you clamp your own hand over your mouth to muffle your involuntary noises. He hums against you purposefully so that the vibrations double the work of his tongue and lips into a delicious harmony of blissful ecstasy and your back arches from the sweat-damp sheets beneath you. Your skin is clammy and hot from the heat being emitted from your body, yet the uncomfortable, tacky feeling of it is the last thing on your mind. His mouth is a drug and you're an addict, beseeching for the next dose. 

Muffled moans and the sound of his swollen lips colliding with your dripping folds fills the small bedroom and it only makes Harry move faster, desperate to have your release glistening against his chin and upper lip as he gazes down at your heaving body. He wants you to fall apart; he craves to watch you find that burning release within the pit of your stomach and melt into the sheets from the pleasure of it. If only you knew how many times he dreamt of having you in this exact position, nearly sobbing from the work of his skilled mouth. 

"Thought about this so many times-" he pulls away, allowing his thumb to take the place of his lips and rub gentle circles against your throbbing clit. "Taste better than I could've ever imagined. Just wish I could really hear you." 

His drawled words and the lack of warmth directly against your cunt draws you to look down at him breathlessly, unable to muster a response to his confession. He chuckles at that, not expecting a response before he returns to the task at hand. By now, you're teetering over the edge, aimlessly grasping for a pillow to press over your face in an attempt to silence the growing sounds that emit from the back of your throat. Finally, you find yourself toppling over the notorious edge, the pillow that's pressed firmly against your face throughout the entirety of your orgasm doing its job in muffling your noises.

Harry watches you pulse and shiver helplessly for just a few moments before his hands are pulling the pillow from your face and tossing it above your head so that he can kiss you again. His lips and tongue taste of you as he explores the depths of your mouth and your heart continues to pound against your chest with your labored breaths. 

He pulls away from your face after a moment, smiling as he tilts his head to the side. "How was that?"

"That was-" a puff of air leaves your lips, "that was good."

"Just good?" He frowns, pecking his lips down the column of your neck. 

“I- fuck, Harry I don’t even know what to say, it was amazing.” You laugh breathlessly, tucking your fingers into his hair. 

“Amazing, hm?” He smirks. “Would you say it was five out of five stars?” 

A broken laugh leaves your lips again. “Yeah, I’d say it was five out of five.” Heat thunders across your face as you breathe another flustered giggle and he chuckles along with you, leaning forward to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. He presses a few soft, wet kisses to your skin and exhales, his warm breath causing goosebumps to bloom there. His ego has inflated quite a bit from your confession, but that doesn't hinder his desires to make you as comfortable and satisfied as possible.

“Do you need some water, or maybe a snack?” 

You push yourself up onto your arms, frowning at him. “What about you?” It’s almost unbelievable to you that after he worked so tirelessly to make you come, his first thought is to ask you if you need anything more, as if he hasn’t already done enough for you.

He rolls over onto his back beside you, staring up at you. “What about me?”

You briefly glance down his body, noticing the visible tent in his sweatpants. “Can I do something for you?”

“If you want to,” he shrugs, trying in vain not to show his agony. He’s obviously uncomfortable. “But I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do anything.”

You nearly roll your eyes at his unwavering chivalry, wordlessly lifting yourself up and slinging your leg over his hips to straddle him. “I want to.”

At that, Harry lifts himself up off of the bed and wraps an arm around your waist to press you into him, that small bit of friction alone causing a low whimper to slip past your lips. His mouth finds yours, fervently pulling kisses from your lips as he guides your hips against his own. You’ve imagined this scenario so many times, yet the feeling of your own fingers frantically coaxing you to release is nothing compared to the feeling of Harry’s warm body beneath you. 

Even through the fabric of his sweatpants, you can feel how thick he is and it only makes you want to move faster. His lips have attached themselves to the spot between your jaw and neck, skillfully biting and sucking at the skin as your hips gyrate against his. You can already feel the burning sensation growing between your legs due to how sensitive you are from your previous orgasm, and Harry seems to be reaching his own climax as well. He’s clawing at your hips and ass, desperate to have you as close to him as possible as low grunts fall from his lips.

It doesn’t take long for you to find your release, choking out Harry’s name as your fingers tug and yank at his now lopsided bun. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, continuously swiveling your hips against his as he chases his own impending orgasm.

“Shit!” He groans a little too loudly as he comes, but you’re quick to shush him, slapping your palm over his mouth while your hips work him through his climax. Your thighs are burning and beads of sweat break out along every inch of your skin, but the satisfaction of knowing you’re working him down to his very last drop is enough to keep you going until neither you, nor him can take it anymore. 

Once you finally fall limp against his body, he musters enough strength to roll you onto your back, pressing a few chaste kisses along your jawline. 

“Was it five out of five?” You breathe, keeping your eyes shut as you lean your head back against the pillow. 

“Hm?” He hums, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Would you rate my skills five out of five?”

“Oh, definitely.” He chuckles breathlessly. 

feedback is always welcome and don’t forget to reblog!!

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[captainrexforever]

His Queen

Rating: T

Word Count: ~3k

Summary: You’re a little hesitant about wearing makeup due to a past experience. Din has no problem changing your mind.

Warnings: childhood trauma??, little bit of angst, fluff, steamy makeout

Note: After the amazing response I received on my last fic I decided to write another one. After all, these ideas are still going to be swirling around my head even if I don’t put them in writing. I hope you enjoy!

Sidenote: Imagine him looking at you like this *swoon*

“Are you sure we don’t have any additional rations in the crates?”

“No, the kid snuck into the stash last night. I didn’t notice until after he polished off the last of the rations.”

Din just sighs.

“I can make the trip to the market while you finish the repairs.”

“No, I’ll go, I don’t want you to deal with all the bantha shit that goes on at these markets.”

For some reason-don’t ask why-it’s incredibly attractive to hear him curse. 

It’s touching to hear the protective note in his voice, but you feel that you are well enough equipped to handle yourself. As a teenager, you had been taught the essentials of self defense by a family friend.  

“It’s alright. I’ll have my comm with me and it won’t take long if I just place an order for delivery of the rations.”

“Alright, if you insist. Be careful.”

“I will.”

He stands from his kneeling position on the floor, where he had been checking the netting beneath the bench for any additional ration packets. You prepare to leave, patting down your pockets to make sure you have your credits, your blaster, and your comm before you set off. When you look up again, he’s standing in front of you, a tilt of his helmet betraying his inner thought process. A smile tugs at your lips.

“Looking for a goodbye kiss?”

He sighs again, and you’re certain he’s rolling his eyes beneath the helmet.

“Ner verd’ika, you are a tease.”

You giggle before raising your hands to the sides of his helmet, eyes fluttering closed as you tilt it upwards. With an accuracy born from hours of practice you lean forward, raising on your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips before allowing the beskar to fall back into place. He lets out a disgruntled huff, his hands falling to your hips and tugging you against his torso so that he can rest his forehead against yours.

“Be careful.” He repeats.

“Always.”

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

It’s surprising how many people can squeeze into the small marketplace, vendors and townsfolk chattering away as they bargain for an agreeable price. Animals bellow in the distance, adding to the noisy buzz that fills the crowded streets. 

You find yourself enjoying the bustling atmosphere, welcoming the stark juxtaposition to the quiet serenity of the Razor Crest. Before you can become too distracted, you steer your feet towards the largest area of the forum where several shops display food and beverages. 

After placing an order of rations and directing the shop owner to deliver the crates to the spaceport, you find there are a few spare moments to wander around the market before returning to the ship and tending to the delivery.

After traveling with Din for some time now, it has come to your attention that each planet you visit boasts a unique variety of wares. The citizens of this particular planet seem to possess a fascination with water-colored mugs and delicate embroidery. Not that you are complaining, everything that greets your eyes is absolutely gorgeous.

Upon rounding the next corner though, you stop dead in your tracks. Before you stands what is obviously a cosmetics shop. Holoimages are projected against the walls of the stand, each image featuring breathtaking models who-to your immense surprise-don't have you feeling even a dash of envy. What has you so enamored is the crowd of young women that peruse the shop. They are obviously a group of friends, but what shocks you the most is the presence of their mothers. Each parent is eagerly pointing out cosmetic items and encouraging the younger women to apply the samples that are provided. Bitter tears bite at the surface of your eyes, and you blink furiously in an effort to keep them contained.

As a young woman you had constantly been dissuaded from wearing makeup, told that it wasn’t appropriate at your age. You feel pathetic, chastising yourself and turning around with the intention of returning to the ship. But you don’t get very far, a feminine voice floating past your ears.

“Miss, Miss? Would you like to join us?”

Not wanting to expose your current state of turmoil, you scrub frantically at your tear-stained face, hoping to avoid further humiliation. When you feel presentable, you turn slowly, coming face-to-face with a girl that stands even shorter than you. Practically an impossible occurrence at your height, Mando would have teased you if he was here.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were by yourself, and well, on our planet it’s tradition for women to join together and add to their makeup collection on this particular day. It’s like the New Years of cosmetics.” Her eyes are shining, and she seems so genuine that you feel silly for your earlier judgement. “Although I am almost certain you are just visiting, my friends and I would be honored if you would join us.” Almost as if on cue, her friends rush up behind her, pleading with you to stay for just a little bit.

“Well, I…” Din will be expecting you back soon, and you don’t want to worry him.

“Pleeeaaaase!” They all beg, drawing out the word as they stare at you.

“Alright, just for a few minutes.” He won’t mind, you think to yourself. He and the kid can catch up while you are gone anyways, they haven’t been able to spend much time together lately.

The girls’ smiles are blinding and the first one grabs your hand, pulling you along as they all return to the stand to continue shopping. “I’m Tasha, by the way.” She beams. You smile back, sharing your name as well.

“What will you purchase?” Another girl questions.

“Oh, actually I don’t wear makeup.”

“You don’t?” They looked like you just told them Life day was made up.

“No, I....I never learned how to apply it.” That was close enough to the truth.

“Don’t worry, we’ll show you how!” Then Tasha is beckoning her mother over and soon they are exchanging ideas so quickly that you lose track, only picking up on fragments such as “transition”, and “complementary shade”.

“Could you please sit for a moment?” Tasha’s mother inquires, gesturing to a chair that rests next to the booth.

You’re a little hesitant, the assortment of items that they are both clutching in their hands has you yearning to turn your back and run.

Take a deep breath, it’s just a little bit of makeup, it’s not going to kill you.

After your flight instinct recedes a little, you move to sit in front of the older woman, trying not to flinch as she gently dabs several types of cream-like products on your face. She tuts here and there, discarding some of the products that she is holding as she works through all of the samples. Eventually, she finishes, holding out a wipe as she gestures for you to wipe your face. Once that is accomplished, she’s attacking the various assortment of products that Tasha is still holding. You idly wonder if it’s sanitary to be layering so many products over the sensitive skin of your face, but assume that it is probably alright if this is a common practice for most women.

What feels like hours later, after your face has been contorted into every position imaginable, your eyes weighed down by what seems to be a boat anchor attached to your eyelashes, Tasha and her mother proudly declare that you are ‘finished’-whatever that means. Then Tasha is holding out a bag of products for you to take. You eagerly accept the bag, feeling quite mature all of a sudden, and swagger over to the counter to pay the clerk. To your immense shock, Tasha’s own mother is sitting behind the register, and when you approach she insists that the items are ‘on the house’, refusing to accept any form of payment.

With a blush, you suddenly realize you have no idea how to apply any of the products yourself, but before you can even open your mouth, the older woman is sliding a piece of flimsy towards you. A detailed assembly of holoimages decorates the flimsy, demonstrations and instructions outlining the correct application technique for each product. There are tears welling in your eyes again, but you blink them back and circle the table to engulf the woman in a heartfelt embrace. She accepts the action with an affection you can only describe as motherly, patting your back gently until you pull away, then fixing you with a radiant smile.

Suddenly your heart drops into your throat, and your own smile fails. You can’t return to the ship looking like this! Din will be appalled that you delayed your departure from the spaceport to indulge in a personal shopping trip. Tasha’s mother frowns, watching as you suddenly turn frantic, scanning the nearby vicinity like a child who has been caught stealing a dessert cube. You reach for the packet of makeup wipes that sits upon the table, hastily rushing to explain the thoughts running through your head.

“This makeup is lovely, but I can’t return to my…” kriff, what should you call him...“friend looking like this.”

“And why not?” You are taken aback a little at the tone of your voice. She’s not angry, though there are hints of disapproval and surprise laced into her words.

You stammer for a response. “He...I…” Your brain sputters as you try to conjure the right words.

“Oh, I see. He’s that kind of friend. Well, if he doesn’t like the way you look, then you seem like the type of person who will have no trouble putting him back into his place.”

She continues speaking even as your jaw falls open.

“However, I heavily suspect that won’t be necessary.” The knowing grin that spreads across her face is like that of a loth-cat that just caught a canary.

“....” You can’t manage to utter a single word, trying to force down the blush that is rising to your cheeks.

“Here, take a look into this mirror.”

Woah, is that your face? Whatever had been applied to your eyes had caused the color to pop, drawing attention to your now piercing gaze. Every feature appeared to be enhanced, and you couldn’t help but note that your jawline seemed capable of cutting through duraplast, like a vibroblade through bantha butter on a hot Tatooine day.

“I look...wow.”

The older woman chuckles gently. “You look amazing dear. Embracing your natural beauty is important, but you shouldn’t be afraid of enhancing it either. No matter what, your inner beauty always speaks louder than any outer appearance ever will. Now go catch that man of yours. I’m sure he will agree with me too.” She ends with a pointed wink.

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

Shadows stream past you as you jog back to the Razor Crest, hoping you are not too late to meet the merchant who is delivering the order of rations. Of course your luck is worse than you expected, and not only is there no merchant in sight, but it seems that Din has already finished the repairs. Kriff. Well, you’ll just have to return to the shop and apologize to the owner before pleading for another delivery opportunity. Then, after you settle that, you will need to prepare an explanation for Din. 

Kriffing hell.

 How do you always manage to get yourself into these situations?

“And here you had me thinking that you might have finally ditched me.” Din startles you, but there is a teasing lilt to his voice.

How is he still in a good mood? Wait, where is he?

“Up here.” He’s chuckling now too, probably at your apparent confusion, the bastard.

You look up and place your hands on your hips in disbelief of what you’re seeing. A shake of your head does nothing to help you understand what exactly is going on. At the moment, Din is flying figure eights in the air using his jetpack, the kid tucked securely in his arms while he squeals in delight. You shake your head again, looking down at the ground as a rush of affection floods your chest. The damned Mandalorian can be such a romantic without even realizing it. 

As of late, it has been difficult for either of you to discreetly purchase jetpack fuel at a decent price. Yet, here he is taking the kid for a ride, probably because he looked into those big brown eyes and couldn’t resist indulging the kid in a quick flight.

Their maneuvers continue for a few more minutes, and you wonder if you should head back to the market while Din and the kid are still occupied. Abruptly, you decide to take a seat inside the Crest for just a moment before jogging back to the store. It’s not until you scale the ramp that you notice the newly delivered crates resting inside the storage netting.

“The delivery arrived before you did, so I made sure that it was unloaded onto the right ship.” If you weren’t so relieved you might scold him for scaring you like that. Then again, he probably enjoys sneaking up on you. You scowl goodnaturedly, he’s lucky you lov--. Oh no, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no.

No, no, no.

No, no.

No.

He’s lucky you love the kid. That’s right, that’s what you meant to say.

Whew.

You move to rub your forehead, then realize that you’re still wearing what feels like fifteen layers of bantha paste and an entire canister of glitter on your face. Uh-oh. Has Din seen your face yet? You don’t think so. Your back is still facing him, but at any second he’s bound to step in front of you and notice that you’re all decked-out in makeup. 

Despite the kind words from the woman back at the market, you feel yourself begin to panic. What if he thinks you look silly, or worse what if it changes his perception of you? 

His footsteps advance forwards and you hold your breath, only for him to continue towards the kid’s hammock. It’s then that you realize the kid has fallen asleep in his buir’s arms, obviously worn out after his latest adventure. Din is exceedingly gentle as he sets him into his hammock, rocking the child for a few seconds to ensure he remains fully asleep.

As you bask in the sight of a soft, caring Din you don’t realize he’s turning around until it’s too late. He lets out a punched out sound once he is face-to-helmet with you, and although you are never sure where his visor is pointing, you know without a doubt that it is currently directed at your face. 

Neither of you move, gaze fixed firmly on the other for several minutes as a lingering tension brushes at your spine. Before you can explain yourself the lights flicker and plunge the hull into darkness, gloved hands and a beskar covered chest suddenly slamming into you, pinning you against the nearest wall so quickly that your back aches a little from the force of the impact.

“Kriffing hell.” He manages.

Oh, you definitely shouldn’t find that as attractive as you do.

“Is this what you were doing all afternoon?” His words are followed by a resonating clang, and you find yourself begging whatever deity is above that he is about to kiss you senseless. Sadly, he seems too interested in pressing a kiss to your neck while he whispers shamelessly into your ear. It’s a close second though, and you're definitely not complaining, especially when the position allows you to drop a hand down to squeeze his perfectly sculpted ass.

He lets out a growl at your feistiness, sucking at your neck in a manner that is sure to leave a visible hickey. “Maybe I should send you to the marketplace more often if this is how you’ll return.”

You let out a pleased mewl at that, proud that you are able to elicit such a passionate response from your usually stoic companion. “Sounds...sounds good to me.” Your reply is breathy, and there is no way that your lungs are supplying sufficient oxygen to your brain right now. It doesn’t help that Din has decided to wrap one of your thighs around his waist, your body erupting into flames at the suggestive positioning.

“Look so good.” It’s muttered between butterfly kisses, his lips charting the skin of your neck like it’s a flight path. “So pretty.” Another scorching kiss on your neck. “My sweet girl.” It’s half spoken-half growled against your throat.

A moan is ripped from your throat at that last sentence, and your free hand is scrabbling for purchase in his hair, using your touch to coax his lips to meet your own neglected ones. This man is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it. He’s mewling into your mouth, half-chuckling because he knows how much you appreciate that specific action, then he’s pressing his tongue in as well, sliding it across yours as he dares you into a battle of dominance. You can’t help but indulge him, fingers tightening in his curls as you allow yourself to be a little more aggressive, pushing into his mouth as you lead him on a merry chase. Even in the most intimate of acts, Din is ever the hunter and he takes control in a record amount of time, knotting his hand in your hair so that he can position your head in whatever manner he desires. The whole act is absolutely delicious and your toe curls as you wedge yourself even closer to his armor-clad chest.

“I sure hope you have more of that stuff.” He mumbles against your lips when you both separate for a breath.

“Huh?” You finally manage after gasping down a breath.

“It makes you look like a queen.” He elaborates.

There’s no point in arguing with him, especially when his mouth returns to yours to shut down any rebuttal you might have.

It’s safe to say that any of your hesitations towards wearing makeup were cleared up after that particular incident, and you learned a couple valuable lessons that day. The most important being to buy extra makeup wipes for the Mandalorian himself. Let’s just say Din was an...enthusiastic kisser.

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

Ner verd’ika: my little warrior

Buir: (mother or father), in this case it pertains to ‘father’

Life day: the equivalent of Christmas in the star wars universe

[bookwormsid1015]

Operation: Baby Talk [1/3]

Hizashi pounds his fist against the mahogany door rapidly while Shouta and Oboro stand behind him, Shouta with his standard bored expression and Oboro with shifting, anxious feet. Beside them, a small white cloud floats drowsily with a small grocery bag full of chili bean soup and medicine inside it. 

Unlike the three boys, Nemuri is already living alone in a small apartment complex a few streets away from UA High School, working two jobs to keep up with rent and her own chaotic interests. Although her independence gives them a great place to hang out to play video games on weekends, it also draws most of her attention away from them most of the week. Despite this, Nemuri has always been a punctual, upstanding student who turns in her homework on time and always makes room for friends. Nothing has ever stopped her before, and it still amazes Oboro to see her act like such an… adult. 

Bottom line: Nemuri is a busy bee and it’s not uncommon to not see her for days on end. What is uncommon, however, is discovering she hasn’t been at school or internship for the past three days and apparently called off work for the next two weeks.

This knowledge has been bothering Oboro nonstop. Is she okay? Did she get hurt while on patrol with His Purple Highness? Did she get sick? Is she all alone? Her parents live in Saitama Prefecture, a whole three hours away from Musutafu. If she is sick, knowing Nemuri and her stupid habit of hoarding her burdens to herself, she didn’t tell them or anyone else. Oboro knows for a fact she didn’t tell him, Shouta or Hizashi; the only reason they know of her strange absence was through Iida Tensei, who Oboro shares his math class with. 

“Oh, she called His Purple Highness and told him something came up and that she wouldn’t be coming in for a while,” Iida had told him casually. “Why? She didn’t tell you?”

It pissed Shouta and Hizashi off that Nemuri wouldn’t let them-- her best friends-- know about her getting sick, but it just worried Oboro. It took a lot of convincing, but he managed to drag them with him to the local grocery store, grab Nemuri her favorite soup and some medicine, and come all the way over here. Shouta and Hizashi kept on glancing at Oboro strangely and whispering to each other, but Oboro doesn’t understand why they would act so weird about it. He’s Nemuri’s friend! Friends are supposed to look out for each other, right?

“Nemuriiii!” Hizashi shouts through the door between rapid knocking. “I know you’re in there, I can smell hoe for miles! Open up the mcfuckin’ dooooorrr!”

Shouta lifts an unamused eyebrow at Hizashi. “Dude, what the fuck?” he deadpans, and Hizashi glares at the ravenette from over his shoulder. 

“We’re friends! I’m allowed to call her a hoe.” Hizashi turns back to the door. “Nemuri! Open the DOOR!” He emphasizes “door” with a high pitched shriek, and Oboro shoves his palm into his face to stifle his snorts.

“You guys are both assholes,” Shouta grumbles, though it’s obvious he’s smiling.

The door swings open in a quick arc that slams into Hizashi’s forehead with a comical bonk. Nemuri is standing in the doorway, clad in her pajamas with baggy pink sweatpants and a white tank top with spaghetti straps. Her red glasses sit on the bridge of her nose, her deep indigo hair tied up into a short messy bun atop her head, and her tired blue eyes glare at the boys with exhausted irritation. Seeing Nemuri without her usual playful smile is surprising in and of itself, but Oboro’s sky blue eyes widen at what she’s holding against her chest with one arm. 

A small baby dressed in a cute little sailor suit is leaning into her chest, snoozing quietly with one thumb in his mouth. He looks like the splitting image of Nemuri, with a matching mole under his right eye and pale skin. The only thing that differs from her is the baby’s hairstyle, which is short and curly. 

Nemuri releases the door knob and readjusts her grip on the baby, still glaring at the boys. “What the fuck, guys? You couldn’t even call in advance?” she hisses at them. 

Shouta and Hizashi stare between Nemuri and the baby, speechless, while Oboro’s brain turns like slow moving gears. After a solid three seconds, he suddenly utters a horrified gasp that attracts the eyes of all three friends. “Nemuri! You were pregnant?!” he shrieks.

The accusation breaks the shocked spell in an instant, and suddenly Hizashi is lying flat on his ass, howling with laughter. Even Shouta ducks his face away, trying to stifle his giggles; Nemuri narrows her eyes at Oboro pointedly.

“Oh yeah, I got pregnant and gave birth in three days. Of course I wasn’t pregnant, dipshit.” Nemuri readjusts her grip on the baby again, holding him up a little higher. “This is my older sister’s kid. Say hello to baby Haito, everyone.���

Not knowing what else to do, everyone waves at the little baby, and the baby lifts his head drowsily. When he opens his eyes, Oboro is surprised to find the baby’s eyes are a light blue that matches the hue of the sky above, with faint freckles dusting over his cheeks. Upon seeing the newcomers, the baby fusses anxiously and buries his face in Nemuri’s bust. 

Nemuri’s attitude changes in an instant, from tired and angry to worried and tender. She lifts one hand to gently pat the baby’s back and she rocks him from side to side. “Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay Haito-baby. It’s okay. Auntie Nemi’s here. You’re safe with me,” she coos into his hair, and the baby’s whines quiet down. Her voice is so soft and gentle it warms Oboro’s heart just by hearing it, and he can tell Hizashi and Shouta are just as shocked by her motherly tone.

After the baby quiets down, Nemuri lifts her head to peer at her friends, suddenly tired all over again. “Sorry for being a bitch, guys. My sister and her boyfriend had to go abroad for some job interview in South Korea, and since my parents think her boyfriend is a deadbeat, they want nothing to do with him or the baby. So she gave Haito to me,” Nemuri explains, punctuating her words with a tired sigh. “I’ve had, like, no sleep for the past three days. Damn… and my rent’s due next Thursday…”

Shouta and Hizashi look between themselves, unsure of how to react. Only Oboro is willing to meet Nemuri’s eyes, and worry pangs to life in his chest at the dark bags under her eyes. “When will they be back?” he asks her.

“Hm? In about two weeks, I think,” she says, and Oboro can almost feel her invisible walls rising, guarding her from their worry. “Don’t worry, guys. I’m fine. I’ve pulled all-nighters before, this is nothing.”

“You weren’t taking care of someone’s kid, though,” Oboro gently protests. “Have you been eating anything? Anything at all?”

Nemuri pries her eyes away from his concerned stare. “I had a protein shake yesterday,” she replies stiffly.

Oboro’s brows lower into a frown. “For breakfast or dinner?” he presses.

Nemuri sighs. “Breakfast…” she mutters in response, then quickly shakes her head as a wobbly smile forces its way onto her lips. “It’s nothing. I mean it. You guys don’t have to worry about me.”

Oboro is already shaking his head. “That’s bullshit,” he tells her, and when he sees her shoulders haunching defensively, he quickly adds, “I know you can take care of yourself, but as your friend, I still worry about you. I mean, look at you! You look like you could pass out any second now!”

“I’m fine,” she replies, her tone harder this time.

Oboro stares at her incredulously. Why can’t she just let them help for once? She has it in her mind that she has to be the strong one, the responsible one. Why can’t she see that she’s a kid just like the rest of them? It frustrates him to no end, yet in the depths of his exasperation, an epiphany comes to mind.

“Why don’t I help you take care of him?” he offers, and his friends’ eyes fall on him in surprise. 

“You? Help me? Take care of… a baby?” Nemuri echoes, her words slow and meticulous as if she were taking her time tasting a treat, figuring out whether she liked it or not. She glances down at the baby in her arms, then to the small cloud floating beside the taller boy, eyeing the small grocery bag full of medicine in particular. Oboro has never seen her look so… anxious before.

Assuming she’s just not used to being offered help, Oboro goes on cheerfully, “Yeah! I have a little brother, remember? I’m a pro at babysitting!” Something about his words is bothering him, the reason flapping seamlessly in the back of his mind, though Oboro can’t pin down why. He just smiles joyfully at her, hoping his smile is convincing enough.

Finally, Nemuri sighs. “Come around six tonight,” she tells him, her tone strange. “Haito usually gets fussy around dinner time.”

Oboro flashes her a thumbs up. “Bet!” he cheers.

Nemuri smiles at him, and Oboro’s heart gives an unexpected beat; somehow it feels different from her usual broad, gleaming smiles. He doesn’t have enough time to decipher it before Nemuri quickly bids them goodbye and closes the door, disappearing back into her apartment. 

A long beat of silence passes between them, and Oboro doesn’t dare move his eyes away from the front door. He can feel the hot stares of Shouta and Hizashi on his back, pinning him in place like a butterfly on a bulletin board.

“Holy fucking shit. Did you just…?” Suddenly, Hizashi’s face splits apart into a bright smile, and he latches his arms around Oboro’s to shake rapidly. “Dude, I can’t believe you did that! You’re so smooth!”

Oboro blinks at him owlishly, still not comprehending what just happened. The flapping in the back of his mind is deafening, now. “Eh? What’d I do?” he asks.

Hizashi laughs loudly. “Don’t play coy with me, bro! You totally went, ‘fear not, my love. Even if this child is not mine, I shall support both you and the baby!’ That was so domestic it made me blush!” he squeals.

The puzzle pieces finally fit together in his brain, and a blush hits him with the speed of an oncoming train. Suddenly, he remembers the faint blush on her cheeks, and the tender pull of her smile. Although Nemuri is the type of person to extend a helping hand out to anyone in need, she rarely accepts help from anyone else. In spite of that, she’s letting him help her with taking care of her sister’s baby? 

Oboro has no idea what expression is on his face right now.

“Oboro.” Shouta’s stern voice reaches his ears, grounding him before his brain could float into the sky like a balloon. He slowly turns to face the ravenette, and finds Shouta watching him with dark, serious eyes. “Do you have any idea what you just did?” he asks, his tone flat.

Oboro blinks slowly, his brain slow and muddled yet filled with thoughts moving at the speed of light. “I… said I’d help wit’ da baby…” he murmurs dumbly, the words feeling alien on his tongue. Shouta sighs.

The trio finally gather their wits and begin walking away from Nemuri’s doorstep. Oboro is suddenly thankful her apartment is on the first floor; he doesn’t think he has the motor skills to walk down stairs right now. “I know you said you have a little brother, but it’s been seven years since you had to change a diaper. Do you think you can handle this?” Shouta asks the taller boy, and Oboro wrings his hands together tightly. 

“I mean, yeah, why not?” he replies, more so to convince himself. “Between me and Nemuri, how hard can it be?”

[littleoldrachel]

"how much did you drink?"

for the utterly wonderful @gumnut-logic who asked for how much did you drink? with virgil and scott from this prompt list. tysm my lovely 💚💚💚💚 this ran away from me a bit and i am Not Sure but i hope you still enjoy!

[if you wanna prompt me, hmu! but beware i am slooooow]

Scott slinks through the sliding doors, relishing the cooling sweat on his skin as the sky begins its raspberry ripple across the tropical island. His dawn runs are the only time he gets to really be - he loves his family with everything he has and more, but that half hour with just the consistent crunch of earth beneath his feet is his own perfect sanctuary.

And goodness knows he needs it after the past couple of days.

A flash of Alan’s terrified face as the grapple line gave way and he’d plunged -

Scott screws up his face, crumpling the image like one of Virgil’s discarded “rubbish” (read: brilliant, if rough around the edges) sketches.

Speaking of which, it’s time for Scott to do the rounds and check in on his sleeping brothers.

There’s Alan, sprawled haphazardly across the floor of his bedroom - the only sign of his near-death encounter in the careful bandaging around his forearm (“I can too still game like this, Scott, I’m not balancing the controller on my wrists??”). Gordon too, is starfished on his duvet, but beginning to stir as fractured sunlight dances across his room.

Virgil, however - most unusually - is not burritoed in blankets, which sets Scott’s choir of alarm bells ringing. He hesitates, then sighs, patching through to Thunderbird Five even as he makes his way to Virgil’s studio (also empty).

“John?” he asks quietly, because John works on an unpredictable sleep schedule that gives Scott more stress than he cares to admit, but he would like John to be sleeping right now.

“John is sleeping, Commander. May I be of service?” EOS’ voice is more than a little grating in comparison to the bird song that floats through Virgil’s open windows. Scott resists the urge to grit his teeth - he is trying, okay?

“EOS. Hi.” He rubs his chin, eyes catching on the top sketch of Virgil’s messy pile: Thunderbird One streaking across a stormy sky mid-lightning strike. “Can you tell me where Virgil is?”

“Virgil is in the hangars, where he has been for the last thirteen and a half hours,” EOS says primly.

Scott’s head snaps up, even though there’s nobody there to stare at. “What? Did he fall asleep down there?”

“No, Commander, he is very much awake.” There’s something in her tone that riles him up, a pre-rehearsed nature to it, but he deliberately sets it aside for Future Scott. He’s given a curt thanks to EOS before he’s even registered that he’s striding down to the hangars, concern driving him with a speed usually reserved for rescues.

He hears Virgil before he sees him, a loud swear and a clatter of tools as he’s rounding the corner into the workshop.

Virgil is kneeling over a workbench, picking glumly through the jumble of parts skidding across the surface. Dark brows knitted tight, skin pale beneath fluorescent white lights, a graveyard of abandoned mechanisms, drained mugs, and scraps of graph paper all around him.

"Virgil."

It comes out a little sharper than intended, slicing through the silent workshop and causing Virgil to start violently.

"Scott! What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you the same thing?"

"I'm…" Virgil gestures vaguely at the chaotic work surface. "Fixing."

"Have you had any sleep?

Virgil frowns. "I'm fine, it's not that late yet."

Scott stares, concern steadily rising. Virgil is known for losing track of time when absorbed in a task, but only usually with his art, and only for this period of time when he's upset, working something through, or...

Only then does Scott take in the way Virgil's hands tremble around the pieces of metal in his fingers, the jittering beat of his leg like helicopter wings, and slight dampness of the unstyled waves of hair across his forehead. He blinks at Scott, squinting a little in that way that Scott knows means a killer headache is brewing.

Methodically, the Commander of International Rescue surveys the room, searching for the source of the issue. His eyes land on the culprit: a coffee-stained jug, completely drained save the dregs of coffee grounds plastering the sides of the container.

It’s a big jug.

Scott swears.

“Virg. How much did you drink?”

Virgil’s eyes dart all over, not resting for a second on Scott’s face. “I - I don’t know. I just had some whenever I got tired and now I’m-” He wrings his hands, sending metal parts spilling from his palms.

“But why? What the hell were you thinking?” Scott’s tone is chiding, too harsh, and he makes a deliberate effort to reign in the reprimand that’s rearing up inside him.

“I just... “ Virgil swallows, meeting his eyes for a moment, looking away at the disappointment there. “I just needed to understand what happened to the grapple lines. To make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Oh, Virg.

Scott softens, Commander melting back into Protective Big Brother because he gets it. God knows he gets it. He steps towards Virgil, wraps a hand around his elbow, feels it shake beneath his touch.

But why like this, Virgil?

“For thirteen hours?”

Virgil blinks and the genuine surprise in his eyes is enough that Scott accepts that this wasn’t a deliberate act of self-destruction and that loosens the anxious knot in his chest a little.

“I didn’t mean -”

“I know.”

Virgil ducks. “I just needed to find out -”

“I know.”

Virgil bites his lip, and Scott knows the image of their littlest brother’s panicked face is stuck on repeat in his mind. Scott closes his eyes, allows the video to roll in his own head, and the pain that rips through his chest has him tugging Virgil into his arms for a hug. Big as he is, Virgil is never one to say no to a hug, and he folds himself into Scott’s chest with a sigh. Scott can still feel the tension thrumming through Virgil’s body, and he instinctively tightens his grip.

Trust Virgil to hurt himself with his bean-juice addiction. Frankly, they’re lucky this hasn’t happened before with the amount of the stuff he pours into his body.

“I know I’m not having a heart attack, but -”

“You know I love it when you begin a sentence like that -”

Virgil tries to laugh but it comes out a little shaky. "Shut it, you." He rests his head on Scott's shoulder. "My heart is going so fast it hurts. Feels like a goddamn panic attack."

“What the hell have you done to yourself?”

“Mild caffeine overdose,” Virgil’s voice comes out muffled. “Sorry.”

“Mild. Caffeine. Overdose.”

Virgil laughs again, a little surer this time and pulls back from the hug. “I’ll be okay. Just gonna feel horrible for a bit, I think.”

“You think. Let’s see if Grandma agrees.”

“No! Let her have her time away - this is - it’s stupid. I’m fine.”

Scott gives him a Look, but Virgil glowers right back.

Scott loves him, but Jesus, does he wish he could trust Virgil to be honest with him about his health.

“Don’t make me set you up in the infirmary. You know I’m not bluffing.”

The glare intensifies. “I’m fine, Scott.”

Scott resists the urge to roll his eyes with a truly Herculean effort. “I want to do a scan, just to be sure.” “Scott -”

He plays the trump card (regrets playing it at the look on Virgil’s face, but needs must). “I could have lost Allie too, Virg. Don’t make this harder than it is.”

Virgil sags. He taps his watch. “EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Please can you pull up my vitals for my dear big brother to fret over?”

“Of course, Virgil. Though I don’t understand why you want Scott to fret, he seems grumpy en-”

“Thank you, EOS.”

A holograph flickers into view, and Scott scans them, relaxing slightly at the lack of danger. Virgil’s heart rate is too high, as expected, and he’s dehydrated and exhausted, but otherwise, he really does seem okay. Still, Scott knows how dangerous dehydration and exhaustion can be, and more to the point, so does Virgil.

“You’re a stubborn idiot, you know that, right?”

“I learned from the best.” Virgil’s smile is teasing, but he’s okay, and Scott releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, Scooter, whatever you say.” Scott glares. “Right. You’re grounded for at least a day -” To his credit, Virgil only looks a little crestfallen. “- And you’re going to rest.”

Scott can practically see the cogs turning in his brother’s mind as he seeks a loophole or way to escape, but for now, he’s going to ignore it. Another problem for Future Scott, poor guy …

“Let’s go. Up to the lounge, now.”

“I should clear up -”

“Nuh-uh. Lounge. Now.”

Virgil lets out a loud sigh, and with much griping about leaving the workshop messy for Brains, leads the way up to the lounge. Scott follows closely, eyeing how Virgil’s feet drag with exhaustion even as his fingers tap away with restless energy.

Scott deposits him on one of the couches, tosses a throw over him, and resists the urge to tuck him in, but only because -

“I’m not sick, Scott. I’m okay! This isn’t necessary,” Virgil calls after him. Scott returns seconds later, a glass full of water.

“Drink all of this. And then have these.” Scott drops two electrolyte tabs beside Virgil. “Now excuse me, but I’m going to consult a qualified medical opinion before I believe you.”

“I am a qualified medical opinion -”

“- Who hasn’t overdosed on caffeine this morning.”

Virgil scowls. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

*****

Scott returns with Gordon, whose concerned professionalism quickly morphs into a shit-eating grin when it becomes apparent that actually, Virgil - for all his brilliance and talent - is an idiot.

But he’s surprisingly gentle when he fetches Virgil another glass of water and suitably soothing as they take a calm stroll around the flatter paths of the island to help Virgil burn some restless energy. The waft of pancakes draws them back into the lounge where Scott has stacked up thick, fluffy pancakes that melt on their tongues and warm them inside out.

By now, Virgil is visibly less shaky, and Gordon’s concern has dissipated to the extent that he blatantly steals three pancakes off Virgil’s plate. To be fair, Virgil probably doesn’t need six pancakes, but still. It’s the principle of the matter.

Scott - bless his heart - has also queued up the latest series of the ocean documentary that Gordon and Virgil gush over, but that Scott himself finds mind-numbing. The three of them squash together on one sofa, chomping pancakes and squabbling over blankets as the sun rises on another beautiful day.

Alan strolls in, nose first and still half-asleep. “Pancakes?” he says hopefully.

He catches sight of Virgil and seems to shake himself awake immediately. “Virgil? What the hell are you doing up?”

“Language,” Scott says thickly, the effect lessened by the mouthful of pancake and chocolate spread inside it.

“What the heck,” Alan waves a dismissive hand. “It’s barely ten, Virg?”

“Tell him what you’ve gone and done,” Scott says, because damn straight is he going to hold onto this one the next time Virgil’s yelling at him for taking a stupid risk. Well, at least I can drink coffee without poisoning myself, Virgil can just hear it now. .

“I drank too much coffee,” Virgil tells the ceiling.

“Sorry, V,” Gordon says, his smile wicked. “Allie didn’t quite catch that.”

Virgil sighs. “I overdosed on caffeine,” he says loudly.

“That’s a thing?!” Alan splutters. And then he bursts out laughing and Virgil wants to glare because he’s exhausted and his head is throbbing and there’s an anxious wriggle in his chest that keeps poking at his limbs.

But he also thought for one terrible moment yesterday that he wouldn’t get to hear that laugh again. The relief is infectious.

It never takes much to set Gordon off, but cracking Scott is a true victory, because for a second, the lines around his eyes crinkle with something other than stress.

Alan sets himself up with pancakes (far too smug that he’s allowed the chocolate spread on his where Virgil was only allowed syrup), and plonks himself down on Virgil’s right, bandaged arm and all. Whilst Gordon and Alan quarrel over species of tropical fish, Scott looks over at Virgil, raising his eyebrows. Are you okay? it says.

Virgil smiles and nods.

Inevitably, Scott and Gordon are called away on a rescue, just as Alan has grown tired of the nature documentary and is demanding something more exciting. Virgil consents to the first movie Alan picks out, because he’s too busy watching Gordon fly his beloved ‘Bird away with an expert hand.

God, he’s so tired. His limbs are heavy and aching from the tension of holding them in place all night and his head pounds in beat with his too-fast heart..

He’s utterly exhausted. If only his mind could get the memo. Instead it careens between thought processes: the grapple lines, his failed calculations, the disaster zone he’s left the workshop in -

It doesn’t matter though.

Because Alan’s alive and that’s all that matters.

Alan, whose gentle hand snakes through Virgil’s hair in a tender, soothing way that plucks at the knot of anxiety in Virgil’s chest, whose ministrations are a blessed, momentary pain relief for his sore head.

*****

It’s dark when he wakes, though he doesn’t remember his overwrought brain finally giving into sleep. His limbs no longer feel like they’re spasming out of control and his head aches with a more manageable pain, but he’s still drained. On the floor next to him, Alan is snoring at the centre of a nest of blankets - at least two of which Virgil is sure were wrapped around himself before...

He raises his head to look for his water glass, and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of his oldest brother standing in the shadows, watching. He’s still in his uniform, which suggests Thunderbird One just docked - presumably her engines through the open patio doors are what woke him.

“What the fuck, Scott?” he hisses.

“Sorry,” Scott says, though he doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. He moves into the light, and repositions Alan so that he can rescue one of the blankets for Virgil once more. “Go back to sleep.”

“Did the rescue go okay?” Virgil asks instead, relieved at Scott’s easy nod - and relatively clean, dry appearance.

“Gordon’s heading back now, all good. And no issues with grapples today, thank God.” Scott’s voice is low but Virgil still flinches from it.

“I’m going to find out what happened, Scott, I swear -”

“I know you will.” Scott’s voice is so firm, so strong that it momentarily steals Virgil’s breath how much faith Scott has in him. "I know you’ll figure it out, Virg. But you don’t have to do it on your own. You and Brains will work on it and find a solution, John’s going to identify the person responsible, and EOS will make sure they can never do it again. But it’ll be when you haven't overdosed on caffeine. Do you understand?”

It’s the kindest of reprimands. The same kind of pleading why won’t you just take care of yourself tone that Virgil finds himself using more and more on Scott these days, but with so much understanding and love, Virgil finds himself blinking back tears.

He can only nod and Scott steps back. “I’m going to go shower. Get some rest, Virgil.”

Scott turns to leave and Virgil forces himself to muster up his barely replenished energy reserves. He snags Scott’s sleeve, “Scott - thank you.”

Scott smiles a smile that’s just them, soft and trusting and concerned. “God knows you’ve looked after me through far worse hangovers than this. But don’t you dare do this again, Virg. I mean it. Don’t make me confiscate all the coffee on the island, because you know I’ll do it if I have to.”

“I know you will.”

Scott runs a hand through Virgil’s messy waves fondly, letting his hand rest at the nape of his neck where the headache pain is regrouping. “Sleep, Virg.”

And he does.

[minister-for-femslash]

Here

Summary: After Jester tells the Nein what she saw while scrying, Yasha and Beau try to deal with how they feel about this latest revelation and find themselves leaning on each other in order to do so. 

Pairing: Beau/Yasha

Word Count: 2,646

Warnings: Spoilers up to and including Campaign 2 Episode 111

There's silence as Jester finishes telling them what she saw. Molly. Several looks pass between them, full of worry and concern, and maybe a hint of fear, but none of them speak, none of them know what to say.

Beau feels Yasha's grip tighten, her fingers squeezing so much that it hurts. There are obvious tears in Yasha's eyes and Beau makes a decision.

“We need a minute.” Beau turns and the two of them walk away from the rest of the Nein. Nobody tries to stop them and when they're far enough away, with the rain falling heavily down upon them, they reach for each other, holding each other tight.

They stay there for a while, slowly sinking further into the other's embrace, until eventually the rest of the Nein begin to talk, to make plans, their voices rising just enough to make Beau and Yasha pull back, and when Jester makes her way over to them a few moments later they've parted completely, a clear gap between them.

“Caleb thinks we should head back to Zadash, at least until we can figure out where Molly is or what he's doing. Are you okay with that?”

Beau waits, giving Yasha the chance to speak but when she says nothing, Beau nods her head. She takes Yasha's hand once again and the two of them follow Jester back to the rest of the group.

Caleb is already drawing the teleportation circle on the ground. He looks up at her, his eyes asking a thousand questions; questions that Beau doesn't have the answers for, at least not yet, so instead she glances Yasha and subtly shakes her head and Caleb quickly turns away, finishing the rest of the circle, and they all step through.

Caleb makes the mansion for them again. Yasha quickly heads to her room, her hand sliding away from Beau's, leaving her feeling empty and a little alone, but if Yasha needs some time then Beau can understand that and so she stands back, watching as Caleb and Veth show Yeza and Luc around, Luc's obvious excitement over everything, but especially the cats managing, somehow to bring a slight smile to Beau's lips.

“Honey, would you like to see our bedroom?” Veth asks Yeza, with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

Beau decides that maybe it's time for her to go to bed as well and with a mutter of a word she floats upwards.

Caleb intercepts her before she can reach her door.

“Beauregard.”

“Yeah.”

“I just wanted to say I'm sorry, for pushing for us to -” he sighs and averts his gaze - “go and talk to Molly. I understand how upsetting his death was for you, for all of us, and in the moment I didn't see that what I was suggesting hurt you.”

“It's okay. It looks like it was a good thing we went.”

“I was hoping to apologize to Yasha as well, but she's already gone to bed. Maybe I'll wait and talk to her tomorrow.”

“That's probably a good idea. 'Night Caleb.”

“Goodnight Beau.”

He begins to walk away, only to stop. He keeps his back to her as he stares down through the towers, focusing on Jester, Fjord and Caduceus who are still sitting in the dining room. “Do you think it's him?”

Beau takes a moment, she already knows the answer, but she takes the moment anyway, because she needs it, because she knows the words will taste like ash on her tongue. “No. I don't think it's Molly.”

“Me neither.” Caleb walks away.

Beau steps into her room and closes the door behind her. She heads straight for the writing desk and pulls out her mountain of notebooks, determined to write about what just happened, what it means and how it connects to the other threads she's trying to pull together, but all she can manage is a few sentences. Her mind should be swimming, buzzing with the new information but instead it's empty, like all the thoughts have been drained out of her, by confusion, by grief, by the uncertainty of what happens next, and after an hour of sitting and staring at an almost blank piece of paper she gives up, snapping her pencil until three pieces and tossing them onto the desk.

She decides to train instead, pummeling the punching bag, trying to expel whatever it is that she's feeling in a frenzy of sweat, pain and eventually exhaustion.

When her limbs are sore and her brain more fuzzy than when she started, she crashes down onto her bed. Her eyes close and her body sinks into the mattress. Sleep will come in a matter of moments, or it would if there wasn't a knock at that exact moment. It's so gentle that Beau almost doesn't hear it, but she's glad she does because when she drags her tired body to the door she finds Yasha on the other side.

“Hi,” Beau says.

“Hey. I erm... Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, no. I was still awake. Are you... Do you need something?”

“I can't sleep.”

“Oh. Do you... Do you want to come in?” Beau asks.

“Please, if that's okay.”

“Sure.”

Yasha steps inside and after giving her a few moments to change her mind, Beau slowly closes the door, her mouth going a little dry at the thought that the two of them are alone. She stands back and watches as Yasha moves around the room, finally coming to a stop at the fireplace, that roars into life, and staring into the flames.

“Do you want something to eat?” Beau asks. “You haven't eaten much today.”

“Neither have you.”

“Okay, so lets tell the cats to bring us up some pancakes, and that is not the weirdest thing that I've ever said, if you can believe that.”

“I can believe it, and pancakes would be nice.”

“Or I have pocket bacon? Do you want some pocket bacon?” Beau quickly rummages through her pockets, grabs a couple of strips of bacon, and holds them out for Yasha.

“Thank you.”

Beau asks the cats to bring them up some pancakes and it's as weird as she thought it would be, then her and Yasha settle down in front of the fire.

“Beau, why do you keep bacon in your pockets? Is there a reason?”

“I just really like bacon,” Beau says with a smile, but it's a smile that Yasha doesn't return. “I started doing it back in Kamordah. I had a pretty major fight with my dad and so I left, I just walked right out of the door. I stayed away for about a day, but I was cold and lonely, and honestly starving, so I went back which my dad loved because it proved his whole everything I do is to protect you and therefore it's okay stuff he has going on.”

“He wasn't worried?”

Beau shrug her shoulders. “My mom was worried.” She goes quiet for a moment, actually contemplating the question; if her father was worried then he didn't show it, but she likes to think, no, she wants to hope he was.

“Beau.”

The gentle touch of Yasha's hand on her arm is enough to pull her from her contemplation and she looks up.

“Sorry,” Beau says.

“So, what about the bacon?”

“Oh yeah, I erm, I realised that there were going to be times when I just needed to get out of that house, to just run away and I wasn't always going to know when that was, so I started keeping things I might need to stay away longer, like food, on me. Bacon tastes the best, so pocket bacon.” Beau smiles again and this time Yasha returns it, slowly, but she does return it.

“You know -” Yasha's hand is still on Beau's shoulder, she moves it down, her fingers brushing against the fabric of Beau's robe, until she reaches her hand and grasps it - “you don't have to run from us.”

“I know.”

“Ever.” Yasha's grip on her hand tightens.

“I know.”

“So why did you put that bacon in your pocket last night? You're not planning to...”

“No. No, of course not. Yasha -” Beau shifts forward in her chair - “I'm here with you. For you. With you.” The words come so easily, easier than any words ever have before. “I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.”

“Good. That's good.”

Yasha moves forward and for a moment, this small microsecond, Beau is certain that both of them are leaning in at the same time. She holds her breath, a slight quiver on the back of her neck as her eyes close and she waits for what seems at this point inevitable. She can feel Yasha's breath on her lips and her stomach tightens.

The moment is ripped from them by the sound of a soft meow and a gentle tap on metal. The warmth of Yasha's breath disappears and after a moment Beau opens her eyes. Their pancakes have arrived.

Beau takes the pancakes from the ginger cat and thanks them, once again struck by the weirdness of it all. She places the plate on the table between them and Yasha quick digs in. Beau takes a few bites herself but she mostly allows Yasha to eat. Instead she stares up at the stain glass window just above the fire; the image of the Mighty Nein staring out over the fields of the Empire. Beau is in the middle, with Jester and Yasha on either side of her, then Caleb and Veth on the left, Fjord and Caduceus on the right. There's no Molly.

Beau doesn't think that Caleb meant anything by it, he probably didn't want to bring back painful memories, but now, after what they know, his absence from the scene is far too obvious. She wonders if Caleb would mind if she asked for Molly to be added, and then decides against it, choosing to wait until they know what's happened to him.

“It's beautiful,” Yasha says. Most of the pancakes are gone, there are just a few left and she pushes the plate towards Beau to finish.

“What?”

“The window, it's beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Does it move?”

“No, I don't think it does.”

“Oh.”

“That's okay. I kind of prefer it this way.” Beau thinks it's a deliberate choice by Caleb, to create this static moment of happiness, of togetherness that will never change and never disappear. He knows her so well.

Yasha yawns. She tries to hide it but Beau sees.

“Maybe we should try to get some sleep.”

Yasha averts her gaze. “I don't think I want to be alone right now.”

“That's okay, you can, erm, you can -” Beau stutters slightly when Yasha looks up at her and there's a moment of anticipation as they stare each other - “stay here. I mean, only if you want, but you could stay here, maybe. The bed is big enough for, erm, or you could take the bed and I could take the floor or something.”

“I'd like that.” Yasha stands.

Beau hesitates, her hands gripping onto the arms of the chair.

“Is the mirror still above your bed?”

Beau laughs. “I actually haven't had a chance to look yet.”

“Then we should look.”

Yasha disappears into the bedroom and Beau smiles to herself before she stands up and follows her. Yasha's already on the bed by the time Beau gets there, her eyes closed, her boots kicked onto the floor. Beau joins her. She gently sits on the side of the bed and after a quick glance at Yasha and a bite of her own lip she lies down.

The blue rope hangs down and Beau pulls, the curtain sliding away and she's staring at the reflection of the two of them, lying side by side. There's a gap between them, less than an inch, most wouldn't notice, but to Beau it's obvious.

Beau stares at the reflection of Yasha's face; at her hair splayed out across the pillow, at the sharpness of her jaw line, the softness of her lips. Yasha's eyes slowly open and Beau is struck by how beautiful and how bright, despite the sadness, they are. She closes the gap between them, the back of their hands brushing together.

“Do you intend to use it?” Yasha asks.

“I don't know, probably. I mean Caleb went to all this trouble, it would be rude not to and if you can find the right person then this sort of thing can be, well, fun.”

“Any thoughts on who?”

“What?”

I know you've had...” Yasha trails off.

Beau thinks about Keg, and about Reani, and Tori, and while she can imagine all of them being invited into the tower (even Tori), and she can also imagine them being invited into her room, but what she can't imagine is any of them making it here, lying beside her on this bed. Not now.

“Right now, the only person I feel comfortable having in here is you.”

They stare at each other in the mirror.

“That's good, because I like it here. Caleb did a really good job.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“We should do something nice for him, to say thank you. Maybe we could get him some books or some nice parchment and a quill, just a little something to show he's appreciated, you know. He might need it after seeing Trent again.”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“We could go tomorrow,” Yasha says. “We have a couple of days before we have to go and see Vess DeRogna.”

Beau feels her stomach tighten. She pulls her gaze away from the mirror, no longer satisfied with just Yasha's reflection and rolls onto her side. “Yasha, are we talking about Caleb because you don't want to talk about Molly?”

“Is that okay?”

Beau wants to say yes. It very much feels like the right answer because it's the answer Yasha wants, but there's this tiny part of her, this small voice in the back of her head begging her not to say it. “I don't know. But if you did want to talk about him then I'm happy to listen.”

Beau stares at Yasha, watching as she takes a breath, and another, and another, and just as Beau thinks she isn't going to get an answer, Yasha also rolls onto her side and they're staring at each other.

“Do you think Cree is forcing him to go somewhere?”

“Jester said that he seemed willing. That he was smiling.”

“You don't think it's him, do you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I can't imagine Molly coming back and him not doing everything he could to find you, to let you know. He cared about you too much not to.”

“Even at end?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if he remembers and he hates me?”

“Yasha, why would...”

“Because I'm the reason he's dead. I could've stopped them from taking us. I should've stopped them, because if I had, you wouldn't have gone after them and Molly wouldn't be dead. It's my fault, why wouldn't he hate me?”

“Yasha, nobody ever blamed you for what happened. The Iron Fucks could've got the drop on any of us, Molly certainly never blamed you. There are a lot of things I didn't know about Molly, clearly, but one thing that I'm certain of is that Molly would never hate you. He loved you.” Beau places her hand on Yasha's shoulders.

“Thank you, Beau,”Yasha says, but there are clearly tears in her eyes.

“And whatever happens next I'm here, okay.” Beau's hand slides from Yasha's shoulder up to the back of her neck and pulls her into a hug. Yasha's hands grab at her waist and the two of them hold each other until sleep eventually takes them.

[agentrouka-blog]

@ ygritte hate post. In broad strokes, we agree Jon and Sansa are on parallel journeys, there is also plenty of parallels between Hound's sexual assault night with Jon and Ygritte (steel kiss, hand on face, and so on). (1/3)

Then Jon gets into it at the water pool, that is his "unkiss", no doubt. Notice though, the details about him getting riled up by sex red hair, she saying she is half-fish, debating fucking your own sister. I'm forgetting stuff of course. I'm sure that chapter is rife with that. (2/3)

Jonsa fans have speculated over Unkiss being a cover for another kiss (always with the cousins, the blood and fire cloak, and so forth). It could be that cave means much the same for him. Like said they are on parallel journeys and there's all those throwbacks to each other. (3/3)

So like Sansa, Jon is repressing something there. Something that happened in the winterfell pools. Bran remembers bathing with his sisters, but unlike Bran (who did saw OSHA getting out of one in that segment), Jon saw something that was a revelation. Like Florian when he saw Jonquil bathing with her sisters. Something red and then wanted to kiss, not downstairs but upstairs. Maybe he did... and maybe Ned caught him at it, because he later dreams of being caught there being innapropriate. (4/3)

In the dream he screams he will never father a abstard, he hates being one for they are lustful creatures born of lust and lies. Like lusting after their sisters. Its not like he is a Targaryen! Distraught, Jon decides to prove his nature wrong. He is not a deviant because he is a bastard lusting after his sister! So he decides to go to the Nights Watch, where he'll be chaste ever. Maybe. Kind of creepy but funny. It all comes together too, all those tidbits that are otherwise scattered. (5/3)

PS: Six maidens in the pool... Six Stark children. Not seven for once either way. And so Jon says in the show "we should have never left Winterfell" because it echoes the We shouldn't have left the cave. And Jon says they'll go back and Yggrite yaps You Know Nothing, but he was right. Jon will go back with the real redhead Sansa, back to Winterfell real pools. (6/3)

Thank you!! This ask really sent my brain whirring.

I already like the idea of the Unkiss drawing from a repressed memory, but I hadn’t noticed how the Ygritte memory-edit might interlock with that. 

We have this confirmation that they were fairly natural and relaxed about nudity among children:

"Might be there isn't." She grinned. "What are you staring at, boy? Never seen a woman before?"

"I have so." Bran had bathed with his sisters hundreds of times and he'd seen serving women in the hot pools too. Osha looked different, though, hard and sharp instead of soft and curvy. Her legs were all sinew, her breasts flat as two empty purses. "You've got a lot of scars." (ACOK, Bran II) 

Hundreds of times. We know Sansa associated hot water in a bath with Winterfell. 

The hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had not washed since the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water became. (AGOT, Sansa VI)

So does Jon:

It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. (ASOS, Jon XII)

Then we have the image of the Water Gardens.

It was Daenerys who filled the gardens with laughing children. Her own children at the start, but later the sons and daughters of lords and landed knights were brought in to be companions to the boys and girls of princely blood. And one summer's day when it was scorching hot, she took pity on the children of her grooms and cooks and serving men and invited them to use the pools and fountains too, a tradition that has endured till this day." (…) 

As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection. 

(ADWD, The Watcher)

And we know that the children of all ranks played together in the godswood, too. 

He had watched wistfully while the Walders contested with Turnip the cook's boy and Joseth's girls Bandy and Shyra. The Walders had decreed that Bran should be the judge and decide whether or not people had said "Mayhaps," but as soon as they started playing they forgot all about him.

The shouts and splashes soon drew others: Palla the kennel girl, Cayn's boy Calon, TomToo whose father Fat Tom had died with Bran's father at King's Landing. Before very long, every one of them was soaked and muddy. Palla was brown from head to heel, with moss in her hair, breathless from laughter. Bran had not heard so much laughing since the night the bloody raven came. (ACOK, Bran I)

It’s fair to conclude that the Jon and the Starklings may indeed have not just played but also bathed together in the godswood. 

There is an interesting association with Maidenpool, which is tied to the romance of Florian and Jonquil.

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooton's red salmon still flew above the castle on its hill, but the town walls were deserted, the gates smashed, half the homes and shops burned or plundered. They saw nothing living but a few feral dogs that went slinking away at the sound of their approach. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. "Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool . . ."

"What are you doing?" Brienne demanded.

"Singing. 'Six Maids in a Pool,' I'm sure you've heard it. And shy little maids they were, too. Rather like you. Though somewhat prettier, I'll warrant."

(ASOS, Jaime III)

Jonquil bathed with ther sisters, when Florian first glimpsed her.

The pool becomes filthy and spoiled. Like Sansa’s bathwater, but also like the muddy Winterfell pools. Choked with corpses?

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red.  (ASOS, Jon VI)

The memory edit and the switch toward “love” in the cave is mirrored in this rather defiant dream, that recalls the pools at home, his father’s watching face, but also the laughter at home in the godswood. A pool in a sacred place spoiled with death. 

A memory spoiled by trauma.

Dany, who I would argue is a character strongly foreshadowed in Ygritte, has her own association with sacred pools.

They rode to the lake the Dothraki called the Womb of the World, surrounded by a fringe of reeds, its water still and calm. A thousand thousand years ago, Jhiqui told her, the first man had emerged from its depths, riding upon the back of the first horse.

The procession waited on the grassy shore as Dany stripped and let her soiled clothing fall to the ground. Naked, she stepped gingerly into the water. Irri said the lake had no bottom, but Dany felt soft mud squishing between her toes as she pushed through the tall reeds. The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her ripples washed over it. Goose pimples rose on her pale skin as the coldness crept up her thighs and kissed her lower lips. The stallion's blood had dried on her hands and around her mouth. Dany cupped her fingers and lifted the sacred waters over her head, cleansing herself and the child inside her while the khal and the others looked on.  (AGOT, Daenerys V)

This recalls Ygritte in the pools and Sansa in her filthy bath. But the presence of the blood of a horse slaughtered for her to eat its heart, the presence of the Stallion that Mounts the World, the prophecy and the things we know comes after... all that is ominous and the kiss of the cold is unlikely to be tender. 

"When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it," he declared. "Waiting won't make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it."

"Kiss her?" Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

"A steel kiss," said Littlefinger. (AGOT, Eddard VIII)

or..

But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,

and a bite sharp and cold as a leech. (ASOS, Jon I)

or...

Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. (ASOS, Catelyn VII)

The layers in this… 

Anyway, there’s foreshadowing to Dany in the Ygritte mess, but it’s not exactly happy, while the Sansa connections in there tend to be positive. Sweet and foul all mixed up.

Sansa “remembering” the Unkiss in relation to kissing children (Margaery’s Girls, Sweetrobin) and with “awful” memories (Myranda’s wedding night)  has that same air of mixing something rotten with something that had been perhaps sweet but confusing. I.e. covering a traumatic event with something else. 

Then there’s another interesting association with the incest peach.

As she sat in the common room in her stupid girl clothes, Arya remembered what Syrio Forel had told her, the trick of looking and seeing what was there. When she looked, she saw more serving wenches than any inn could want, and most of them young and comely. And come evenfall, lots of men started coming and going at the Peach. They did not linger long in the common room, not even when Tom took out his woodharp and began to sing "Six Maids in a Pool." The wooden steps were old and steep, and creaked something fierce whenever one of the men took a girl upstairs. "I bet this is a brothel," she whispered to Gendry.

 (ASOS, Arya V)

Right after this they meet Gendry’s half-sister Bella, a “peach” at the Peach.

“I’m named Bella,” the girl told Gendry. “For the battle. I bet I could ring your bell, too. You want to?”

“No,” he said gruffly.

“I bet you do.” She ran a hand along his arm. “I don’t cost nothing to friends of Thoros and the lightning lord.”

“No, I said.” Gendry rose abruptly and stalked away from the table out into the night. 

Bella turned to Arya. “Don’t he like girls?”

While the bell recalls Dany, we should remember that 

Sansa plays “the high harp and the bells” (AGOT, Arya I) 

“Bella” translates to Beauty 

this scene is an unsubtle shout-out to Jon stalking out of the welcoming feast after Benjen teased him about fathering bastards and knowing a woman. After calling Sansa radiant. (AGOT, Jon I) 

So the Dany hints are joined by the Sansa hints. The Dany hints are negative (bells = battle), the Sansa ones positive (bells = music). Why are the Sansa hints there at all?

Before anyone goes “Jonrya!”, remember:

For half a heartbeat she forgot who she was supposed to be. She wasn't any peach, but she couldn't be Arya Stark either, not here with some smelly drunk she did not know. "I'm . . ."

"She's my sister." Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man's shoulder, and squeezed. "Leave her be." (ASOS, Arya V)

Arya is not a peach, she is a sister. Little sister. 

And there’s this:

He liked the deep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up high, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken tower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl that slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all.  (AGOT, Bran II)

Jon only tastes the cold when silver-haired Val tastes sweetness in the air, but way up high the winter peach makes the air taste sweet, too. 

"Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones." (ACOK, Daenerys II)

But foul smells might cover sweet ones, too. The Unkiss covers a bitter trauma, but perhaps it was drawn from a more innocent kiss in the past.

The naked red-haired girl by the water might trigger a rewrite of Jon’s perception of Ygritte, but it might draw that from a different kind of confusion, surrounding the same memories that feed Sansa’s editing.

The godswood is certainly a stage for kissing:

As she stood there, all the memories came flooding back to her. Her father had taught her to ride amongst these trees, and that was the elm that Edmure had fallen from when he broke his arm, and over there, beneath that bower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.

She had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been — she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded him between them, serious and giggling by turns. (…)

Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword, and Catelyn found herself wondering whether her son had ever kissed a girl in the godswood. Surely he must have.  (AGOT, Catelyn XI)

Memories that flood back, young children, innocent games that have consequences much later on, a specific Connection drawn to the Starklings and the Winterfell godswood.

More kissing:

 "I won't! I saw you kissing in the snow. She's just like her mother. Catelyn kissed you in the godswood, but she never meant it, she never wanted you. (ASOS, Sansa VII)

and yet more...

Theon Greyjoy was no stranger to this godswood. He had played here as a boy, skipping stones across the cold black pool beneath the weirwood, hiding his treasures in the bole of an ancient oak, stalking squirrels with a bow he made himself. Later, older, he had soaked his bruises in the hot springs after many a session in the yard with Robb and Jory and Jon Snow. In amongst these chestnuts and elms and soldier pines he had found secret places where he could hide when he wanted to be alone. The first time he had ever kissed a girl had been here. Later, a different girl had made a man of him upon a ragged quilt in the shade of that tall grey-green sentinel. (ADWD, The Prince of Winterfell)

Starklings, kissing and the hot springs all in a paragraph.

I would say there is material here. If GRRM wants to write about Sansa and Jon sharing a memory that involves the hot springs, kissing and references to Florian and Jonquil, he will have planted the hints. It would certainly be a bit poetic if both of them used the same memory soup to create their trauma responses.

**

Before anyone tries to accuse me of hypocrisy when it comes to age gaps, abuse etc. I do not think this was a case of Jon perving on his young sister. Cat was 12 when she played kissing games with a much younger Petyr and Lysa, and I don’t think we are supposed to consider this a threesome. It’s child’s play. That’s my angle here. 

[wyofabdoms]

Undercover I Do - Chapter6

Characters: Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: While on an undercover assignment posing as a married couple, you are attacked and nearly assaulted. Upon waking, all you remember about Javier Peña is what you remembering seeing from two photographs of the two of you posing as the happily married couple. As you struggle to regain your memories, Javi struggles with his own feelings for you.

Rating: Mature (Eventual smut)

Warnings: fake/pretend relationship, married and undercover trope, temporary amnesia, injury, swearing, domestic Javi, feelings, I have no idea how amnesia really works, brief mention of masturbation

Word Count: 5220 (Whoopsie!)

Notes: Home from the hospital, you settle into your home with Javi and continue trying to remember...

Read on Ao3

You come home from the hospital on a Friday midmorning and spend much of the day resting in bed...it seems like the simple task of walking up your apartment steps takes so much out of you.  When you enter the apartment, Javi greets you carefully, timidly, giving you a gentle and almost awkward hug around the shoulders and watches you carefully as you gaze around.  When you catch him looking at you, he inquires if you’re hungry.  You admit that you are and he goes to work reheating the food he had had the insight to order.  He gets you situated at the table with a glass of water and your food and joins you soon after.  As the two of you eat, you notice a small bouquet of flowers in the middle of the kitchen table and when you ask your husband about them, he dips his head and grunts something about being from some of the guys at work.  

You chat idly during lunch and spend some time looking at the pictures on the refrigerator door and tracing your fingers along the spines of the books on the bookshelf in contemplation while Javi cleans up after.  You pick up the wedding photo of the two of you from a bookshelf and trace a finger along the sliver of distance separating the two of you in the picture, casting your thoughts into the empty depths of your recent memory, trying to remember this moment, this day.  You sense him behind you and replace the frame quickly where it was before turning and mentioning to Javier that you're a little worn out; he immediately encourages you to lie down and rest, ushering you towards the bedroom before leaving you alone for privacy to change.

Opening your closet door, you quickly find a pair of sweatpants.  As you search for a shirt, your eyes slip from the side of the closet that is obviously yours and over to your husband’s side.  You notice a lovely purple colored button-up on the edge of the rack and reach for it without thinking, pulling it over your head, breathing deeply as it passes over your face.  You plan to take it off, but your eyes can’t seem to open once the worn-soft material is settled on your skin.  Even though it’s silly and it's just a shirt, something about knowing that it’s one of your husband’s seems to cocoon you with comfort and peace.  Which, you know, is crazy: this man...your husband...this level of intimacy with your former partner at this moment could make him practically a stranger.  But this feels...right.  You reach for another shirt, then another, then one of yours...you pull a dress off a hanger, then a suit jacket from Javier’s side.  You bury your face in each item, hoping that something will knock loose.  That something will blow the fog from your mind.  

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you hear him tap on the bedroom door and you shake yourself from where you’ve settled on the closet floor.  You call to him quietly, your voice ringing loudly in the small space that surrounds you and a few moments later you hear his concerned voice as he realizes where you are, his voice rising an octave as he says your name. 

“Hey!  What happened?  Are you ok?”  You can hear the concern in his voice as he rushes to you, traipsing over the pieces of clothing surrounding you and dropping to his knees next to you, filling the small walk-in closet with his presence, making it seem even smaller with the two of you crouched on the floor.  He cups your face in his hands carefully, turning you up to look at him, searching your eyes for any sign of pain.  You take in a pull of air at the sudden intimacy of the touch and his closeness.  His scent washes over you: Old Spice and cigarette smoke and something that is distinctly manly, distinctly Javi.  You carefully touch his wrist with one hand, trying to reassure him.

“I’m fine,” you say, huffing out a small laugh and gently pulling your face away from his hands.  He doesn’t believe you.  “No, really, I’m ok.  I just…” you gesture around at the clothes and shoes and belts and ties hanging in the closet, one side carefully arranged by color, the other looking as though it had been haphazardly shoved onto the rack in five minutes without much thought.  You duck your head, feeling slightly stupid. “...I was...smelling.”  You can barely get the last word out.  Javi looks at you confused for a few moments.  You glance up at him just as you see understanding cross his face as he surveys the clothing you’re clutching in your hands and covering your lap, next to you on the floor.  

“You were trying to remember…?”  You nod miserably, trying to avoid his gaze.  He puts two fingers under your chin and carefully lifts your face to look at him.  His eyes are kind, sympathetic, curious.  “Any luck?”  You shake your head, sadly.

“No, not...not really.  Not much more than I’ve already remembered.”  You suddenly feel even more tired than when you had first arrived, not just physically but as though your brain is ten times too large for your head and filled with slippery sand.  You feel your body sag against his hand and he reaches his arm around your shoulder, supporting you.  He takes the salmon colored button-up of his that you’re holding clutched to your chest and tosses it into the pile of other clothes, then carefully helps you to your feet.  He gently steers you to the bed, arranging you there before tenderly pulling a soft blanket up over you, flicking on the small lamp next to the bed.  He moves to close the curtains, darkening the space and his shadow whispers from across the room that he’ll be right back.  You feel yourself getting sleepy as you relax into the pillows, Javi’s touch and scent a comforting echo.

As promised he returns a few minutes later and places several items on the nightstand: a glass of water, some magazines, a book with a bookmark in it, the cordless phone, a piece of paper, and a handgun...your firearm, you realize.

He arranges them in order of least to greatest importance it seems: the phone, paper and water closest to you.  He sits next to you on the bed as you settle yourself more deeply into the pillow, suddenly finding it nearly impossible to keep your eyes open.  Half of his face is hidden in the shadow cast from the soft lamp light; the image he cuts is reminiscent of the space he takes up in your memory: mysterious, half hidden in darkness...but comforting and caring.

“I need to go in to work for a few hours.” His voice is low and gentle and washes over you like a lullaby.  He brushes your hair out of your face, his sudden touch causing your droopy eyes to open wide again suddenly.  He removes his hand quickly, as though your gaze on him burns him.  He swallows hard and nods towards the night stands.  “The office number and my pager number are written down, so if you need anything at all, you call me...ok?”  You nod sleepily and he stands, tucking you under the blanket more carefully, checking if you need anything else.  When you shake your head, he nods and you see him hesitate for several long moments, hovering over you, seemingly partaking in some great inner struggle.  Then he carefully leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.  He pulls away and whispers into your hair.  “I’ll be back soon.  You rest, cariño.”   Then he reaches over and snaps off the lamp…

...and then, just like your memories of him, your husband is gone in the dark.

+

+

+

+

You’re not sure how much time passes, but when you wake up, the apartment is still empty and the shadows have drifted from one side of the room to the other.  Feeling refreshed, you move carefully around the apartment, investigating the little things that make up a person’s home.  Your grumbling stomach directs you back into the kitchen and you rummage through cabinets after finding nothing much edible in the refrigerator.  Finding a package of pasta and an unopened jar of sauce you start water to boiling and as you wait, you’re drawn back to the refrigerator as you pour yourself another glass of water.  You remove the photo of Javier in a graduation cap and gown with...his father?  It must be.  You smile as you study the slightly blurry photo featuring a younger version of Javi and seek out resemblance between your husband's face and that of the older man in the photo.  You see similarity in his father’s eyes, perhaps, along with an extreme amount of pride.  You wonder if you’ve met him?  Was he at your wedding?  

Thoughts of your wedding cause you to go wandering again back into the living room and back to the wedding photo on the bookshelf.  You pick it up and carry it around the room with you as you continue your investigation.  You recognize some of the pictures and artwork hanging on the wall: that painting was from a brief stint you did in Cuba.  That ceremonial mask you found at a floating market in Cambodia.  And that pencil drawing you had picked up at a Saturday flea market while visiting a colleague in Atlanta.  You remember what a headache it had been shipping your belongings here two years ago...how customs had had such a field day keeping your stuff detained and how you had lived in this stark apartment for three weeks before Dixon and the Embassy had stepped in and your things had finally been delivered.  

By that time, you remember, you had already made two lab busts, witnessed a fairly violent interrogation, been shot at twice and had raced through the streets of Bogota after a group of sicarios.  You had also already fended off multiple advances from her handsome partner, Javier Peña, which had culminated when he had slid his hand up her inner thigh, resulting in your socking him across the chin and knocking him off his stool in the crowded work bar.  You grinned at that memory, then your grin faded as a new image took its place:  it was blurry, muted, like listening to a cassette tape that was playing at a ten times slower speed, warped and in slow motion...only playing out in images.  You remembered a man’s hand sliding up your inner thigh, brushing against you.  You couldn’t see the man’s face, couldn't tell anything else about him other than he was hovering above you.  Was it your husband?  You didn’t think so.  Javi might feel like a stranger to you right now, but you knew in your very core that he was safe, that he was good...kind.  But you felt cold at the memory of this man.

Then just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and you were just left holding the picture frame, standing in front of your record player.

***

Javi heard the music halfway down the building staircase.  He thinks about knocking, but he doubts she’d be able to hear him over the music.  He juggled the grocery bags in his arms, fishing her apartment key out of his jacket pocket and struggling to get the door open.  When he does finally manage, the sounds of Three Dog Night covering “Your Song” nearly bowls him over.  He deposits the groceries on the kitchen table, startled to find a pot of nearly empty water steaming and popping, having boiled over on the stove.  He clicks off the heat, removes the scorched pot, then steps into the living room to find his partner sitting on the floor in front of the record player, sleeves and vinyl records strewn around her, her back against the living room couch.  The “wedding” photo has been moved and is sitting on the coffee table at eye level.  She stares at the photo of the two of you, her brow furrowed in concentration.  He can see frustration behind her eyes, too, and he notices that her eyes are puffy and red.  She’s clearly been crying.

He moves to the player and turns the volume down.  She barely registers his presence until he sits next to her on the couch.  The movement on the cushions behind her startles her and she jumps, jerking away from him.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa…” Javi leans away, his hands raised. “It’s just me.”  Recognition crosses her face and she settles back into her previous position, sighing heavily.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”  

“No.  I’m sorry.  I was...I wasn’t paying attention.”  She looks back at the photograph in front of her.  Javi looks at it, too, then back at her, studying her face.  She turns to him, and he sees her eyes sparkling with tears building up there, filled with questions.  Javi juts his chin towards the blaring player.

“I never have understood why you like these guys so much.”  He smiles at her, hoping to distract her.  She returns his smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes, still reflecting the sadness he sees in there.  She gestures to the scattered records on the floor.

“I was trying to remember again.  I thought...I thought maybe a song might help me remember something.  I got to looking at our wedding picture and thought maybe I could remember a song we danced to or something.  I…” her brows lowered over her eyes and she seemed to be studying something in the distance that only she could see.  “I keep remembering…”  Javi looks at her eagerly but he doesn’t rush her.  “You and me...at least, I think it's you and me...dancing somewhere.  It’s like watching a silent movie with all of the faces blacked out, like witness protection, and everything in the background is blurry, like it’s out of focus.  But I’m…” her voice trails off again and she looks up into his face curiously.  “I’m almost sure it’s you.  We’re at some kind of...celebration I think, like maybe a club or something?  I thought maybe…”  Another hesitation.  “I thought maybe it was our wedding.  Maybe some music added with what I can remember might clear the other stuff up, but…”  She shakes her head.  “Nothing seems to be working.”  Back to him again. “Do we go dancing a lot or something?  Did we have a song? Like a song we danced to a lot, like at our wedding?”

Javi gulps, not quite sure how to answer all of her questions.  He thinks for a moment.

“We, uh….no, we don’t really...we don’t really go out dancing or anything like that.  Work keeps us pretty busy.”  That’s all true, he thinks to himself.  No lies. He’s more careful with the next of her questions.  “We didn’t...that…” he gestures at the photo, avoiding using the term “our wedding”.  “...Was pretty informal.  There wasn’t a reception or anything.  It was small.  We didn’t have dancing or anything like that.”  She nods in understanding.  “And we don’t…” he shakes his head.  “No song or anything…” he chuckles a little.  “I’m more of a rock, country kind of  guy, we never really seem to agree on taste in music.”  Also true, he thinks, recalling the multiple arguments they’ve had over the radio station on stakeouts and when driving to locations throughout the city.  She smiles distractedly, mumbling something about how it must be an older memory with someone else, then.  She  seems to think of something.

“I saw the picture on the fridge of you and your dad.  Have I met him?  When we got married or anything like that?  I can’t remember him.”  Javi shakes his head, again thinking for a moment before answering.

“No, you’ve never met.  He doesn’t really travel much, he’s got the ranch back home to worry about.  He hasn’t had a chance to make it down.”

“So we got married here?  In Columbia?”  Javi felt his throat stick...this was dangerous territory; surely she would want to know about her own family, whether they had come down for the “nuptials”.

He and Dixon (along with her doctor) had spent the afternoon on the phone with her parents and family in America, filling them in on the situation.  Over the course of their conversations, they had all agreed that, should she reach out to any of them, they would also play along with the “married to Javier” ruse for as long as it seemed to be appropriate.  Javi had heard the uncertainty in their voices when they had inquired as to just how carefully Javier would be “looking after” her.  He had done his best to assure them that he would respect their daughter and sister, that he would do everything he could to abide by their relationship boundaries prior to her memory loss.  And, he had reiterated what the doctor had said from the beginning; he had promised them that he would not lie to her.  Realistically, though, everyone had walked away from the conversation understanding that he may very well have to bend some boundaries in this situation.  By the end of the conversation, the family had given him their blessing and had made him promise to stay in regular contact with them.  He had been exhausted when he had left work, feeling the weight of his partner’s recovery on his shoulders.  

But he wouldn’t have it any other way; she was his partner.  He would have her back no matter what.

“It was...sort of spur of the moment, happened pretty fast.”  Before she could ask any more questions he sat up straight and smacked his palms on his legs.  “Hey, are you hungry?  I haven't eaten all day and I got some stuff-”

“Oh God!  I started some water boiling and…” she jumped from her spot on the floor.  Javi stood at the same time.  

“Yeah...we’re probably gonna need a new pot.”  She looked at him sheepishly, mumbling an apology.  He gives her a teasing grin and for a moment it felt like before: giving her a good natured hard time and her ready to fire back at him, both of them comfortable with the ribbing back and forth.  

But then she crossed her arms in front of her chest and he felt the barrier of unfamiliarity rise between them again. 

+

+

+

+ 

They fall into a familiar ease as they go about preparing dinner.  Javi is reassured by how easily she becomes comfortable with him.  The moments when she had jerked away from him when he was near her had him a little worried, but there are none of that now, as they move around each other, next to each other.  

“Why don’t you let me deal with the sauce,” she says over the soft sounds of music coming from the radio in the window.  She puts a gentle hand on his bicep and pushes just slightly to move him away.  “You always oversalt things anyway.”  Javi chuckled and shifted over to the pork chops in the pan...it took him a moment to register what she had just said.

“Hey!”  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her.  “You remember that?”  She seems startled by the fact that, yes, in fact, she did remember that.  She looked at him, a dazed smile on her face.  

“I guess...yeah, I do remember saying that to you before.”  

“Yeah,” he grins, nodding at her encouragingly.  “You never let me cook anything...you claim I put too much salt on stuff because-”  She cuts him off and finishes the thought as it comes to her.

“-You’ve scorched all your tastebuds from smoking like a chimney!”  Her eyes light up in delight when he chuckles, affirming that that’s exactly what she always says.  She laughs carefully, following the memory, seeing if it might lead her to anything else.  

Javi recalls other nights like this one when, either in his apartment or hers, when they have worked together to make a meal, moving in unison just like they did tonight, just like they do at work.  He had never allowed himself to venture any further past the thought of: we make a good team.  More than once, Javier had found himself lightheaded and felt his heart tug as he gazed at his partner through a cloud of smoke from his cigarette, watching her laugh across the table at something he had said, appreciating the way she would curl herself into a ball with her feet tucked beneath her on the couch as they watch some terrible movie, admiring the curve of her neck or the rounding of her hips and backside as she stood at the sink to do dishes.

He glanced at her now, his gaze taking in that same curve of a neck, drifting upwards to her face, studying the shape of her nose, the flush of pink across her cheeks from the stove heat and the memory.  He marveled at how long her eyelashes were and was hypnotized everytime she blinked and they brushed against her face.  A wisp of hair fell out of her ponytail and across her forehead; she tried to blow it out of the way without stopping what she was doing.  Not thinking, he reached out and brushed the strand away from her skin, his fingertips ghosting across her face.  She started only a little, nothing like the other times he had touched her.  He pulled his hand back quickly, realizing he had been lulled by the domesticity of the moment, allowed himself to lapse into an intimacy that he did not actually have with his partner…

...when she turned her face to his, he was startled by what he saw in her eyes.  A curiosity flitted across her face, but in her eyes he very clearly saw want, saw desire.  She tilted her head upwards towards him a little bit more and he felt her body, already close to his, almost imperceptibly shift and lean into him ever more so slightly.  It was an invitation, a go ahead.  His eyes drifted down to her mouth and he felt himself stir when her lips parted and he saw the tip of her tongue streak across from one corner to another, wetting the skin.  His heart started pounding.  Luckily, the buzzing of a timer saved him from having to analyze what to do next.  He had never removed something from the oven so fast in his life!  The charged moment was blessedly broken and as they put the final touches on their meal, he was careful to keep his distance.  

They enjoyed their food, their conversation mostly about older memories from when they first worked together, which didn’t require him to be quiet as cautious with his words.  They were memories she already had, things she knew.  As they finished, she started clearing plates while Javi ran water in the sink.  As though by wrot, he rolled up his shirt sleeves and started washing while she started drying and (he noted) putting dishes away confidently, as though she remembered where every plate and utensil belonged.  As he was finishing the last tray, a familiar song filtered through the radio speakers.  His head came up and he started.

“Oh!  That was us!”  He said excitedly.  When she just looked at him in confusion he dried his hands on the towel and spoke quickly.  “The memory you were talking about earlier, of us dancing.  It was us.”  He nodded towards the radio as a sultry dance tune played.  “A few weeks ago, we were….ahhh...we were at a birthday party.  It was in a club like you said and...yeah, this song was playing.  And you and I danced to it.”  

He felt his cheeks color as he recalled exactly how they had danced after a few tequila shots with Ortiz and their guise as a couple in full swing.  He had never wanted anyone as badly as he had wanted her that night, one hand gripping her wiggling hips, pressing her ass back against him, the other tracing up her outer thigh, pulling the hem of her already deliciously short skirt higher so he could access the soft skin there.  She had pressed herself back into his chest, had lifted her arms above her head and behind his neck, one hand gripping in his hair, the other gently caressing the side of his face, stroking his ear, pulling his lips down to that spot on her exposed neck…

He gulped as he refocused his concentration on looking for more dishes to wash.  “I...forgot about it.  But you were right.  That was us.”  He released the plug in the soapy water and looked at her.  “That was a recent one!  A recent memory.  From during the…”  he caught himself before he said “undercover op.”  “...During the time you haven't been able to remember.”  Her face lit up, then fell again almost instantly.  

“It’s so random, though.  And it's taken so long just to remember that one thing…and not very well, it seems.”  

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”  When she still looked frustrated he gently touched her shoulder.  “Be patient with yourself, ok.  We’ve all just gotta...we all just need to be patient.”  He sighed and gave her a smile.  “But, hey!  This is really great, right?”  She said nothing, just looked at him forlornly.  “Come on, it is!  You’ve remembered something recent.”  When she merely shrugged and stayed quiet, he propped a hand against the counter and leaned on it, jutting out a hip and putting a fist on his waist.  He leaned forward and stared into her face until she made eye contact with him.  He said her name meaningfully.  “This is good news.  It’s gonna be ok.  I promise.”  She smiled after a moment, then nodded in agreement.  “Whadya say we celebrate.  I’ll run out and get some of that orangesicle ice cream junk you like.  I’ll even let you decide what to watch on TV.”

She smiled again at the sweet gesture, but shook her head meekly

“I’m still a little tired, Javi.  I’m sorry.”  He assured her there was no need to apologize and that he understood, of course she needed to rest.  Listening to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, he collapsed on the living room couch, sighing heavily.  His brain hurt from concentrating on not saying anything he shouldn’t with her.  He wasn’t too terribly sad about the fact that she was ready to head to bed.

Bed.

He sat upright quickly and then scurried into the bedroom just as he heard the tap turning off in the bathroom across the hall.  He rummaged around in the closet quickly, grabbing a spare pillow he’d seen there earlier when he’d unpacked his things, as well as an extra bed sheet.  He rushed out the bedroom door just as the door to the bathroom opened…

...Javi had never been so grateful for a pillow.  He felt himself harden in his jeans as she froze, clutching her clothes to her chest.  She had a towel wrapped around her, but it left nothing to the imagination.  He felt like a deer caught in the beam of a headlight, and he had to remind himself to breathe.  He screamed at himself to stop staring, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her flushed, pink skin, her silky smooth legs, the way her wet hair framed her face and danced over her bare shoulders, shedding drops of water onto her skin.  He followed the route of one particular drop as it left her hair, fell to her clavicle, slid down her chest, over the curve of her breast and disappeared beneath the towel.  He gulped, willing himself not to lick his lips.

“Sorry…” He was slightly horrified by the high pitched croak that was his voice as he forced the word from his throat.  He cleared his throat and finally managed to tear his eyes away from her, staring down at the pillow and sheet in his hands, stepping out of her way.  “Sorry,” he said again.  “I just, uh...wanted to get a pillow so I didn’t have to bother you…”  He watched her carefully from beneath his eyelashes; saw understanding, then relief, then….disappointment?...flash across her face in an instant.  

“Oh…”she said softly.  “Well…”  He glanced up at her again as she carefully moved towards the bedroom...he moved further from her naked body down the hall.  “I...I feel badly that you’re sleeping on the couch…That….that won’t be very comfortable…”  He nearly lost his mind when he caught her biting her lip, knowing that she was thinking, weighing how comfortable she would be with offering to let him sleep in the bed with her.  He grimaced to himself.  As far as she knew, that was “their” bed, and it should be the most natural thing in the world for a husband and wife to both climb into bed together and share the space for sleep.  

And he certainly wouldn’t have minded climbing into bed with her, not in this moment, not after seeing her like this.  

But they absolutely wouldn’t be sleeping.

“No, it’s ok.”  He saved her the trouble of having to make a decision.  “The couch is fine.”  She twisted her face, not believing him one bit.  “Really.  You need to rest.  It’s ok.”  He turned and started towards the living room reminding her to call for him or wake him up if she needed anything.  He heard her soft voice call his name behind him and he looked back at her.

“Thank you.”

He smiled, feeling her words go straight to that secret, soft spot in his heart that only she could seem to get to.  He nodded and murmured good night before she closed the bedroom door between them.

Javi tossed his bedding onto the couch and plopped down after it, still feeling his pants stretching uncomfortably across his groin, the memory of her standing wet and nearly naked in front of him seared into his brain.  It was all he could do to not take himself in his hand right then and pump himself to completion at the memory of that drop of water on her skin, the feel of their bodies grinding together in that club, how her hand had gripped and tugged in his hair.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”  he muttered to himself.  You gotta at least wait until she’s asleep, Peña!  He did wonder what would happen at the thought of her catching him thinking about her, groaning her name softly as he came in his own hand…

Stop being a pervert, you asshole!  He chided himself stretching out on the couch and flipping on the TV, searching for something desperately boring to distract himself with.

How the hell was he ever going to be able to do this?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 7, Chapter 8,  Chapter 9, Chapter 10,  Chapter 11,  Chapter 12,  Chapter 13

[haloud]

day 7- uranus

Michael rolls his head over the back of the lawn chair, closing his eyes, letting all the tension out of his neck and shoulders. Then he blinks his eyes open, staring up at the stars. They’re faint, light pollution from the nearby town, his eyes too unadjusted thanks to the crackling fire at his feet. He’d have to stare straight up for a long time to pick out most of his favorite stars, but the Big Dipper is an old friend, so he’s content.

A car pulls up, and then there are footsteps on the gravel approaching him. He takes a second before looking up. He likes it, that people know they can find him here in the early night. Likes that people do.

“Hey, uh…Michael?”

Michael sits up so fast he cricks his neck at the sound of Max’s voice. Wincing, he rubs it and says, “Well look what the Chupacabra dragged in.”

“Um, yeah,” Max says, doing that awkward thing he does where he rubs the knuckles of both hands together, a nervous habit he’s had most of his life. Michael kicks the chair next to him.

“Sit down, stop hovering.”

Max sits. His long legs sprawl a little too close to the fire, but Michael doesn’t say anything that might get mistaken for nagging, for taking too much care. Anything that might start a fight.

“So I’m guessing you noticed I’ve, uh, not been around a lot lately.”

Michael gropes for a beer from the sixer at his feet and pops it with his brain, taking a deep swig. If Max wants one, he can ask for it, he thinks mulishly, then hands him one anyway.

“You could say that,” Michael says shortly.

“I’m…sorry. I…learned something about our history that I don’t know how to…”

“Oh yeah?” Michael drawls. “’Bout six foot one, beard oil connoisseur, really shitty accent he thinks no one can tell is fake?”

“No, not him. This is something a little closer to home. And I didn’t know how to talk to you about it, so I…but that wasn’t fair to you. Trust me, I’ve heard that plenty from Isobel and Maria. Even Alex dropped by the Pony to give me a piece of his mind.”

“Oh yeah?” Michael says, keeping his voice impressively level. The idea that anyone would stick up for him over Max ignoring him is…not something he knows what to do with.

“Yeah, man. Scary stuff.”

Max laughs without a shred of humor, chugging half his beer at once.

“Okay, now I’m worried,” Michael says. “Just spit it out, man. I’m sure it’s nothing worse than any other shit we’ve dealt with. I am numb to bombshells at this point.”

It’s a long time before Max says anything else. Michael finishes his beer, doesn’t grab another one, just watches the leaping flames in Max’s eyes.

“A few months back when Sheriff Valenti was after me for killing Noah, she sat me down to talk about all the ways I fit the profile. Y’know, uh, white male, 18-40, anger issues...One of those ways was, uh. Troubled childhood. Tried to tell her my childhood was fine, but she pointed out that wandering the desert naked at seven years old isn’t exactly a lack of trouble. Turns out she was the deputy on our case, back then.”

“Huh.”

Explains a few things about the way she used to look at him every time he got hauled in, before she just got used to it.

“She told me that she came to see us in the group home the day Isobel and I were adopted.” Max takes a deep breath.

Stop. Michael wants to tell him to stop. Doesn’t want, doesn’t need to hear what comes next. Doesn’t remember that day, doesn’t have to. He knows, enough, from what people have told him. Can hear the screams, see the red on the walls.

“Good for her,” he grunts.

“She told me that—fuck, Michael, there’s no good way to say this—she said that. That I was the one screaming and drawing on the walls, that you…you calmed me down, but…it was too late, and the Evanses had the wrong idea, and that’s why you were left...” Max chokes off, puts a hand over his eyes. Michael doesn’t have to have his and Isobel’s connection to recognize the awful emotion crushing him.

Michael opens another beer.

“Say something,” Max almost begs.

“Why.”

Michael has to swallow around the lump in his throat, his rabbiting heartbeat.

“Why even tell me this? What fucking good does it do? I can’t—you can’t—nobody can change what happened, even if I believe you—”

“You deserved to know.”

“I wish you hadn’t told me. Since when does the world give a fuck about what I deserve?”

Max flinches. It doesn’t make Michael feel any better. Just like putting a fist in his face wouldn’t make him feel better, and neither would screaming at the world for not being fair. He did a lot of that when he was a child and still believed in a few things that might be listening.

He doesn’t take another beer, if only because only something stronger would put a dent in the feelings he wants to drown, and he doesn’t keep any of that shit around.

“Whatever. It all worked out in the end, yeah? The guy who doesn’t murder people with his hands got the short end of the stick and was therefore responsible for disposin’ of a few less bodies. Highlight of my fuckin’ life, that one. You’re welcome.”

His mind doesn’t go easy on him, whirling with images and thoughts from Max tied to the bed, Max exploding and killing Father Davis to, absurdly, would Alex have ever noticed me if I was preppy Michael Evans. He laughs just to do something with his mouth that isn’t screaming, clenching his left hand into a fist and squeezing the knuckles, though it isn’t as much of a distraction now as it used to be, without the pain.

“Hey, you wanna thank me, make me some business cards—Michael Guerin, mechanic, gravedigger, and total fuckin’ mug—”

He breaks off into more laughter, until he’s bent double, clutching his knees and wheezing.

Max hasn’t said a fuckin’ word.

“Well?” Michael demands, straightening up, looking Max in the eye.

“I don’t know, Michael, I don’t know! I don’t know what to do with any of it, I don’t know what to do with, with you, with everything you’ve sacrificed for Isobel and for me, I don’t know how to be worthy of it, I don’t know how to thank you, I don’t, I don’t know.”

Michael rocks back in his chair, face pointed up at the sky again, drinking in the constellations until he covers his eyes with his hands and lets out a shout of frustration. Everything around them not bolted down lifts and inch and slams back down for emphasis.

Calmer, then, Michael says, “We were seven year old newborns. I’m pretty sure I didn’t do it for gratitude.”

“No, you couldn’t have. Which means you just did it on instinct. It’s just who you are. You protect us, and we, and we…”

“Don’t,” Michael cuts him off, wearily. He doesn’t need to hear any self-recriminations.

“No, Michael, come on. The things you’ve done, the ways you’ve been hurt, you…there aren’t words to describe the gratitude, I just...Thank you, Michael.”

The only sound after that is the crackling fire, and in that silence, Michael floats Max over another beer.

It would be easier if Michael could resent him. If he could want to go back and do it all over again without knowing in a place deep enough in him it could be his cells or a sickness that he’d do the exact same thing, go through all that hell a second time, a third.

“Nobody can change the past,” he says eventually. It’s something Sanders used to say to him any time he made a mistake, when he was just a kid and learning and not a certified ace mechanic who ought to know better. It’s weird, to Michael, right here and right now, having the wisdom of somebody else in his mouth.

This life hasn’t had all bad things.

“But we can try and change the future,” Max says. “I know I’ve done a hell of a job of it these past weeks, but I don’t want to pretend like we don’t know this. I want things to be better between us. I want to be a better brother.”

“Oh yeah? Like how?” Michael’s voice slips into mockery; he doesn’t try to prevent it. “Find me a job that you don’t want? Toss me a hand me down phone when you get an upgrade? Biweekly pity parties? Been there, done that, was given the t-shirt against my will.”

“Yeah, okay, maybe! Just not like that, man, we’re not kids anymore. Maybe we could, I don’t know, try to figure out what being better means together? No more sacrifices. No more charity.”

Michael picks at the label of his latest empty bottle. 

Voice quiet, almost inaudible over the crackle of the fire, Max says, “Dude, my heart only beats because of what you did for me. I came back to life knowing that. This just puts it into perspective.”

“I didn’t do that alone. Liz and Valenti were just as important. More. Rosa kickstarted you. I was just the assist.”

“Michael.” 

“What?”

“What do you need from me? What will help you understand how much you mean to Isobel and me. It’s not charity, man. It’s family. We keep saying that, but I think we need to do a better job defining it, you know?”

What does he need. It’s such a rare question he doesn’t know the answer.

“Free drinks at the Pony for life, a nice, cozy alibi, and your head on a pike instead of mine when Maria finds out.” he says.

Max laughs, the sound strained but genuine, his head thrown back to face the stars.

[dapandapod]

A soft plucking of heartstrings

So here I am, 2.30 in the morning, just finished a promptchallange from the fantastic @sleepingreader!  It may have gotten a little longer and a little softer than I intended, but please enjoy!  Here it is on Ao3!

Also, here is my challangers writings and I can’t tell you enough how amazing i find it! 

Soft plucking of strings. Spots of candlelight give the tavern a soft and homey feel. The patrons sit with rapt attention listening to the bard on stage with the cornflower blue eyes.

His eyes are closed, his voice dancing with the notes from the lute, weaving a tale of longing, heartache and lust. Every eye is fixed on him where he sits on the stage, no one can miss the raw emotion making itself known through music. Jaskier is lost. Lost deeply in his memories, in his feelings, in the words falling from his tongue and the soft vibration of the instrument in his arms. He loves this song, but it leaves a bittersweet taste. Especially when Geralt is around, as he is tonight, knowing what the price was. Everything is alright now, but the memory is still there. The pain, that hollow space carved out still makes itself known every now and then. The last tones ring out and Jaskier takes a breath before he opens his eyes and lets them roam over his audience. As soon as his eyes are on them they break into applause, almost as if they were waiting for him to return. He makes a sweeping bow and leaves the stage to sit down with his witcher. His witcher, yes. Geralt came to him after the disaster of a dragonhunt. It took them awhile to find their way with each other again and if Jaskier is perfectly honest he prefers what they have now. It’s fragile and honest and something entirely new for his whitehaired friend. Their friendship has blossomed into actual friendship now, not the push and pull of wills they had before. Now they see each other, and listen like they didn’t do before.

As soon as Jaskier sits down he gets showered in coins and ale. The patrons share their coins and their stories with him, what his song reminds them of, their own heartache, longing and lust. Geralt says nothing, just sips the ale pushed into his hand. The night is young and he is asked to sing another set, so he does. And when they finally retire for the night Jaskier finds his coin purse heavier than it’s been for a long, long time. He counts them out in their shared room, Geralt claiming the bed closer to the door and undresses. It’s entirely unfair of him to expect Jaskier not to sneak a peek as he takes off his shirt. Jaskier absolutely sneaks a peek, because expecting anything else of him would be plain stupid. And of course Geralt notices him staring. “What?” He asks over his shoulder and yup, time to kickstart the brain. “I have decided we stay another night.” Jaskier says, gathering the coins and putting them in the leather purse. “Why would we do that?” Geralt asks as he unlaces his trousers and yes, that's just unfair all over again to expect Jaskier to be able to hold a conversation with this view in front of him. Geralt pulls them down and Jaskier has to look away because Jaskier is many things but he is not cruel to himself. There is only so much he can take. Jaskier is also very good at lying to himself so he watches from the reflection of the small window instead. “Because today I have earned us more than we have gotten in months and it is time I give myself a- uh. Give us a treat. In the morn we shall go shopping!” Geralt snorts and lays down on the mattress. Jaskier swiftly undresses too, but takes a long time to fall asleep. He is mapping out all the stands he wants to visit and the sweets he wants to taste. And wants Geralt to taste! And with that image floating through his mind his eyes close and he drifts off.

When morning comes, Jaskier is almost bouncing with enthusiasm. It’s been a while since he dared spend coin as he will today and still expect to have some left for later. Geralt is slow out the door so he impatiently grabs him by the wrist and drags him along. If he had looked back at the witcher he would see a small smile curve and his finger flex, but he does not look and so it remains a secret. The first stall they visit has, surprise, knives. Geralt stops and admires the handiwork as Jaskier studies the rings next to them. The silver work is expertly done, but not what they had in mind. So Jaskier draws him to the next stand. And the next. They find a woman selling plums, the first of the season. She recognizes him from the tavern, and when they buy a handful of her plums she puts in two apples for them as well. Jaskier gives her the brightest smile and a squeeze of her hand. They find a stall with hair jewelry. Small beads to put into braids, hairclasps, ribbons and leatherstrips worked with fine details. Jaskier sends Geralt to find… something, anything that makes him go away as Jaskier buys two small beads of carved bone with intricate patterns and one of those worked leather straps. He adds a silver comb adorned with swallows for Ciri and folds it all into a piece of cloth. When Geralt returns he already stands two stalls over, a thick man with a thin mustache selling strings and flutes and for some reason, hats made of straw. They didn’t mean to, but a young girl on the street next to a barber shop grabs ahold of them as they pass. “Good sirs, are you not weary from your travels? If you follow me inside my father can offer the best trim of beard and hair this side of the river!” Geralt gives Jaskier a one-over and firmly nods. The bard needs some taking care of, he seems to decide, and they both walk out of there an hour later with hair newly washed and oiled up. Jaskier will never say it out loud, but he longs for the stubble to return to his witcher's face. The girl sees them outside and gives them a satisfied smirk. “Did I not say so, good sirs, that he is the best?” They nod their agreement and hand her one of the apples they were given. When they make it back out to the market Geralt stops by a big stand with tacks and blankets and brushes and many other things Jaskier is not very familiar with, but feels like they are meant for horses. Geralt picks out new reins from soft leather and grease to keep them smooth. He finds a big brush with long strands that looks the perfect amount of firm and soft, if Jaskier is any judge at all. And new saddlebags and, of course, a big bag of treats. Geralt opens his own money pouch to pay but Jaskier smacks his hands away and enjoys the feeling of giving. He likes that feeling, and all the gods know Geralt has seen too little of that in his life. “Jaskier, this is going to sound odd.” Geralt says after a good 30 minutes of ogling at a blacksmith stall. “But can I have the leather pouch for a moment, and can you go look at the bookstore?” Jaskier can only give a crooked smile and oblige, small butterflies making pirouettes in his stomach. And after a while Geralt comes to him, carrying a long wooden casing. Jaskier squints at him suspiciously, but Geralt simply can’t play fair and the smile he shoots him makes Jaskier lose his nerve and look away. It is a frightening thing, looking at someone you treasure so much without a hope of ever being treasured the same way back. To see them smile towards you as if they actually might. Jaskier buys a new notebook, Geralt a pair of new leather gloves. They buy a few jars of cherries and other sweets, and by then the sun is hanging low on the sky. The money pouch is very much lighter but not empty, just as he planned. Geralt walks them out on the fields, past farmers and cows and a cat on a fence, blinking at them with big eyes. Jasker simply cannot walk past the cat, her big eyes and pink nose and tail that is curling, even though cats' tails normally don’t curl. He bends down to pat her, and Geralt stays back. “Oh no, you big oaf, you come here right now and pet this cat.” Jaskier demands of him, but Geralt stays. “Cats don’t like me.” He mutters, and looks away when the cat leans against Jaskier’s legs, purring loudly. The bard reaches for his friend, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. “This one doesn’t mind, do you my girl?” Jaskier croons at the cat, and she blinks up at him and then at Geralt. She doesn’t hiss, she doesn’t bite, she just purrs and waits. “I uh.. I never touched a cat before.” Geralt admits, at loss at what to do. So Jaskier drags him over and places his hand over his. Together they stroke the cat on the back. Geralt's skin is rough and warm under Jaskiers fingers, and the uncertainty radiates from his friend in waves. Jaskier is only a man, and he is a man with a day filled with treats, so he allows himself another one. With his thumb he strokes Geralt's hand before he releases it and sits back a little. He looks at the cat and then back to this big man, this witcher, this old grumpy lump of muscles he calls his friend and his… everything. He studies the way Geralt's mouth is slightly open in awe, and how the cat blinks at him and how he instinctively blinks back. How his finger lingers on the soft fur, how carefully he scratches behind her ear and under her chin. And then the cat wanders off, leaving them there to look after her. They look at her go, and then they keep walking to where Geralt was leading them.

As it turns out, Geralt was aiming for the riverside. They sit down a bit away from the water's edge by a big tree. The grass is tall and tickles his ankles where his trousers ride up. They sit close together and their shoulders bump every now and then. They listen to the water and to the birds as the day slowly settles into night around them. And then Geralt picks up the wooden casing and puts it in Jaskier’s lap. “I know it’s your money but I saw you looking at it and…” Geralt opens the casing and inside lies a beautiful rapier, inlaid with dandelions along the hilt and the handguard. Jaskiers mouth opens and closes and he reaches out a hand to softly touch the cool metal. “Geralt.” He breathes. “Geralt.” He looks up, looks down, his eyes stinging a little. “You shouldn’t have” He says when words finally return to him. He did admire it when they stood there, and he did miss the weight of a rapier in his hand at times while on the path. “In a way, I didn’t. You did. And I wanted you to have it and you have spent so much on me today so it was time you spent some on yourself.” Geralt says to him, and Jaskier can’t remember the last time his friend used so many words and for the simple reason to… to what, really? He looks up at Geralt, mouth working to find the right words but he can’t. “Thank you.” The smile Geralt gives him could buy the moon. It's soft and warm and only for him. And Geralt picks up one of the jars of sweets and opens it. He picks up a small cherry and holds it to Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier looks at it, and then into Geralt's eyes. He is watching intently and this doesn’t feel like something friends do anymore. But he opens his mouth and takes the cherry, Geralt's fingers brushing against his lips. A small tingling sensation rushes through him, and down his spine and out to his toes. They are still looking at each other, eyes locked, all smiles gone. And as the sun slowly sets, Jaskier leans forward, leans into Geralt's space. Their noses touch when the last rays of sunshine filter through the treetops. Their breaths mingle, eyes fluttering shut and then they share a soft kiss. Barely a brushing of lips. Jaskier leans over the wooden box, pusing it down on the grass to get onto his knees. Geralt's hand curve around his neck and the tingling explodes to fireworks under his skin. They press their lips together again, a taste of sweet cherries and sunshine and birdsong. They kiss again and again. Jaskier will treat himself more often in the future, he thinks as Geralt's arms snake around him to hold him close. Kisses that taste like cherry and pearls to braid into witcher's hair and apples and plums and sunshine. And when the morning comes he makes sure to give Roach a treat too. And when they make their way out on the path again, that pain, that hollow inside him is filled with feelings and hopes he never allowed himself before. As a treat.

[lemonlushff-iy]

(Lostinfantasyworlds here!)

I’d love to hear more about Mad Scientist please!! 🥰👀

AHHHHHH THANKS FOR ASKING @taryn-artistic-optimism  🥰 🥰 🥰

This was inspired by @clearwillow and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and COVID. Because most things in my life are inspired by @clearwillow. Specifically Strange...which everyone should TOTALLY check out! With her permission though, I followed the urge for an evening to see what happened. 

I started this...I think last year. I can’t recall anymore because...what is time?? Anyways! It’s a modern take on the classic... And...Here’s the first highly unedited chapter. Sometimes I need to just...write the first chapter so I can refocus on the babies that are already “out”. 

List of WIPs HERE

“Your request to move forward with human trials has been denied.”

“Denied.”

Denied.

The word swirled around his brain like the steam in the shower, flooding his senses and  clogging his brain. It kept repeating itself over and over and over and over again…He was sick of it. This wasn’t the first time. Hell, it wasn’t even the second. 

No. 

This was the third time, and he was running out of funding...but what the hell was he supposed to do? He wasn’t approved to take his project to the next level! And it was absurd! They needed to begin testing immediately. 

They just…

They had to. 

Inuyasha closed his eyes, allowing the nearly scalding water to run down his body as the spray of the shower coated his flesh. He liked it hot. He hoped it would wash the feeling of failure from him. 

Denied.

Bunch of pricks. The whole lot of them. 

He turned the knobs, the metal squeaking as he stopped the flow of water from the head above, and wrang the excess out of his long black hair. He watched it pour to the tile below his feet as he opened the glass door, grabbing the towel on the hook just outside the shower. 

Denied.

Maybe...maybe he shouldn’t try a fourth time. Maybe he needed to refocus his attention. Give up the lab and start teaching. 

What was the saying?

Those who can’t do, teach?

He didn’t feel like he could do, that was for certain. 

He sighed, stepping out of the shower and smoothing a hand across the glass of the mirror above the sink. 

Denied.

Sunken, taupe eyes stared hollowly back at him. Frown lines marred his forehead. Stress was etched across his face. A face that should be more vibrant. Excited. Determined. It sure as hell used to be. What had happened to him?

Denied.

He smiled sullenly at the face in the mirror, and the expression was returned to him. 

Denied.

He should update his resume. Start applying for teaching jobs. He was a waste. All those years of schooling...all those years in the lab...What was it even for? He had nothing to show for it.

He closed his eyes and the image of his lab partner floated past his mind’s eye. 

Kagome Higurashi. Smart. Funny. Sexy. Completely out of his league, and yet inexplicably single. He just didn’t get it. The woman was perfect. More than perfect. She was…

If Goddesses were real, she may as well be one. 

She was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. Her unflinching determination to get the serum to work. Her unshakable confidence. Her and...Well...The obvious. 

He ran his hand down face, trying to not think of his mother right now. He had been dodging her calls all day. Which, with as perceptive as she was, meant that she already knew. 

Denied.

His hand fell to the edge of the sink and he gripped it between his fists, his knuckles turning white. What was he going to tell her? He’d been so sure that they would be approved. He’d been ready to spend the night with Kagome at a sushi place eating dragon rolls and throwing back sake. Now he was...sullenly eating take out and trying to swallow his egg rolls around a thick throat. 

Denied. 

He was a failure. 

He couldn’t get their approval and now because of it, his mother…

Denied.

He wasn’t ready. 

He wasn’t ready!

Denied. 

He didn’t know what else they could do! Kagome had suggested morphing the protein a little more. Just a bit more, and they would be good to go. They could proceed with the H4NY0U drug, and then they could…

He pinched his eyes shut - his breath hitching in his throat. 

That wasn’t going to happen because he was a fucking failure. He didn’t care what she said. They’d never move forward with it. And it was because the head of the board had a grudge against him. 

____. Fucking asswhipe. He’d hated them since the first grade. How he’d gotten to be the head, he’d never understand. He wasn’t smart. Wasn’t talented. He suspected that the only reason he was interested in this particular project was because of Kagome. 

Sweet, beautiful, smart Kagome…

He sighed and backed away from the sink, pulling the towel from around his waist and rubbing his hair in it. 

Denied.

He tossed it to the floor as he heard the vibrating of his phone from the other side of the room. When he got to it, he saw the litany of missed calls, including this one. All were from his mother, and Kagome. He couldn’t bring himself to call either of them though. He couldn’t handle the disappointment in his mother’s weak voice...or the overly enthusiastic optimism from Kagome.

He just couldn’t handle that right now. 

Denied.

His phone clamored down to the top of his night stand, breaking the otherwise crypt like silence in his bedroom. 

He believed in what he was doing with Kagome. So much. He believed in their mission. In what the H4NY0U serum could do for the weak. Those dying from Y0UK4I virus. Those like…

His mother. 

He pinched his eyes shut and rubbed his fingers in the corners of his eyes, trying to dispel the negative thoughts, but it wasn’t working. He was spiraling again. Thoughts of “how could he let her down” and “failure” were flooding his mind and his chest. He could feel the painful throbbing of his heart with every beat as he tried to pull himself out of it but it was just getting worse. 

He was killing his mother by not being able to convince them to move forward. 

Denied.

She would be dead within the year. 

Denied.

He had promised her he’d help her. 

Denied.

Was this helping her?

Denied.

Was failure helping her?

Denied.

No. It wasn’t. 

Denied.

He was killing her. Just like the Y0UK4I virus.

Denied.

But there was nothing wrong with the serum! 

Denied.

He believed that! He believed that to his very core!

Denied.

Hell, he’d take it if he could!

Denied.

He would!

Denied.

He’d march right into that lab…

Denied.

Pick up a bottle…

Denied.

And give himself a dose. 

Denied.

His face went slack as the idea permeated his being. Take the serum himself. 

Take it. Himself. 

He hadn’t considered that before. It’d never really occurred to him to use himself as the test subject. But...Why the hell not? No, he didn’t have the Y0UK4I virus...but...also...The serum did so much more than cure it. So why couldn’t he take it? Why couldn’t he get stronger? Why couldn’t he improve his overall health with it?

Denied.

That was just a word. That wasn’t his fate. He wasn’t going to let that lone word control himself, or his destiny, or Kagome’s, or his mother’s. 

Denied.

No. He wasn’t going to let that stop him. He believed in their work. Believed in the serum. 

Denied? 

No. 

Accepted.

***

The glass doors of the lab closed nearly silently behind him as he entered. It might have been nearing midnight, but so what? He wasn’t giving himself a chance to second guess this. He believed in this. In them. This was how he was going to prove it. 

Inuyasha set up his cell phone on top of the desk, turning it on to record. 

“Day 0 of the H4NY0U trial,” he began, looking at his visage in the glass screen of his cell phone. “Doctor Kagome Higurashi and I were once again denied moving into clinical trials of our serum. Something that I, strongly believe, is a mistake. I’m not going to wait for the board to continue to deny us our research though,” he explained, noticing the tick in his left jaw muscle from clenching it so hard. 

“I’m going to volunteer myself as a willing subject, just as Alexander Fleming did when he discovered penicillin. I believe just that strongly in the H4NY0U serum. I’m of sound mind, and perfect health. There are no blemishes or rashes on my skin. I’m not currently experiencing any aches or pains. I’m going to move forward with injecting the serum into my right forearm, as I am right handed.”

He quickly stood from the desk and opened the refrigerator in the back, grabbing a syringe and alcohol swab as he returned to his place in front of the camera. He held the materials out in front of the camera, making sure it focused on the serial number on the bottle before he read it aloud.

Inuyasha glanced down at the camera, giving it a small smile as he removed the syringe from it’s plastic packaging, sticking the tip of the needle into the top of the bottle. He read out the exact amount he was drawing, and took an alcohol pad to wipe down and cleanse a part of his skin. 

“This is for you, Ma,” he muttered as he placed the tip of the needle on his skin, closing his eyes. 

He wasn’t going to turn back. 

He couldn’t. 

He couldn’t let her die. Couldn’t let years of research be for nothing. 

He pressed the down on the plunger, and felt the cold liquid shoot into his veins. 

It was done. 

***

“What do you mean you took the serum, Yash?” Kagome demanded, looking at the place he had injected himself in disbelief. His skin was a little red - a little irritated. But wasn’t anything major. It certainly wasn’t worth her fussing over it. 

“I mean I took it,” he shrugged, taking his arm back and hiding it behind his back. “It’s ready. We know it’s ready.”

“But the board--”

“--the board was never going to approve it. You and I both know that now, Kags,” he sighed, unable to bring himself to look her in the eye. “I thought you believed in this…”

“I do,” she insisted. “I’m just...They denied it for a reason…”

“Did they?” he demanded, and he watched her shift her gaze away from him. She doubted it too. He could see it. Clear as day. She thought that they were full of shit too. 

Good. 

It wasn’t just him.

“I’ll be ok, Kagome,” he promised, smiling weakly at her. “Trust me. Trust us,” he insisted, taking her hands in his. Her skin felt so soft…

“Trust us, huh?” she breathed, glancing from their hands back up to his face. “I think I can do that…”

***

He felt hot. 

More than hot. 

His whole body was on fire. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. 

It was like he was being suffocated as searing pain shot through every joint - every limb - in his whole body. He tumbled out of bed, trying to get to the bathroom. 

He needed to cool off. Needed water. Needed air. 

He shoved his boxers down his scrawny legs, turning the shower on as cold as it could get. His flat chest was coated in a sheen of sweat - as were his thin, wiry arms. He pushed his way into the shower, allowing the cold spray to cool his body. The cold felt good. Calming. For a time. He could feel his muscles contracting beneath his skin. Could feel something happening to his bones. His eyes. His smell. It was overpowering him. 

Can’t think. 

Can’t breathe. 

Can’t…

Can’t…

Darkness. 

***

His teeth were chattering when he awoke. His jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. He was lucky that he didn’t bite his tongue off. The spray of the shower still fell around him, but instead of burning, he was freezing now. His fingers were blue, and he took that as a good sign. 

A horrible side effect of the H4NY0U serum, for sure...but...He was fine. That was what mattered. 

He rose up from the tile floor of this shower and turned the knobs, making the spray stop. His head felt weird. So did his mouth. His tongue felt thick and fuzzy. Like he was hung over, but he hadn’t been drinking. He needed to make note of these side effects. 

This was important research. 

Inuyasha grabbed the towel off the hook outside of the shower, running it through his black hair as he tried to warm up.

He patted it over his face as he stepped out, walking to the mirror above the sink so he could get some water. Maybe wash out this bitter, horrible taste in his mouth. He’d known that there would be side effects, but this...this wasn’t something he had anticipated…

He wrapped the towel around his waist, and turned on the sink, filling the glass beside it with water. When he turned it off, he caught something silver in his mirror out of the corner of his eye. 

He paused. 

Straightened his back. 

And looked in the mirror. 

There, standing behind his shoulder was a perfect copy of himself. Only this copy wasn’t his mirror image. 

His copy was athletic. Strong. Muscles rippled beneath the skin of his naked body. Silver hair flowed down his back and shoulders. A purple, jagged stripe was on each cheek. Pointed ears sat atop his head. Molten red eyes with turquoise pupils stared unflinchingly back at him...a smirk plastered across his face, baring a hint of...fang?

“Hello, weakling.”

His glass slipped from his grip, shattering across the floor as he fainted.