Fixer Upper

500 years and a fixer upper are no match for married mayhem…

Crack. Total crackfic. It started with a picture, and it just went from there. Gaykagome, for you. We said a picture is worth a thousand words. Your picture was worth 1100 (at least according to MS Word). Love you bunches!


She felt like they would never be done.

With the back of her hand, Kagome brushed a bead of sweat from her forehead and moved to stand in front of the box fan that pointed toward the open window.

“Oh”—she shook the brightly colored haram jumpsuit she wore free of her sticky skin and basked in the artificial breeze—“that is so much better.”

Flapping the loose material gently to cool herself further, she exhaled and closed her eyes as she tried to remember why she had been so obsessed with the idea of a cozy little fixer upper.

“Too much home design reality television, Kagome,” she mumbled to herself.

Still flapping, she laughed. It was true, and she had no one to blame but herself. Late nights filled with bowls of buttered popcorn, too much coffee, and the home design network had gotten the cogs in her brain turning.

The For Sale sign in front of a little Craftsman style house she found while driving home from the grocery store had been the final nail in the coffin.

Fully expecting Sesshoumaru to nix the idea on the spot, she had sped home. But to her surprise, he hadn’t.

She stared at him wide-eyed. “You’re serious?”

Sesshoumaru quirked a brow but didn’t look up from his laptop. “Am I in the habit of jesting?”

“No, not really. Though there was the time you—”

“We agreed to never talk about that.”

Kagome placed a finger on her chin and tilted her head. “Did we?”

“Do you want the house?” There was the tiniest amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth.

She grinned. “You’ll go all the Lord of the West the minute someone tries to outbid me?”

Eyes flashing red, he gave her a fanged grin.

She laughed.

Kagome smiled at the memory and went back to her paint roller. “Grumpy old youkai are the best.” Placing the roller against the wall, she gave it an upward swipe and then yelped when paint splattered everywhere.

“Ugh.” Setting the roller down again, she grimaced down at her front. “Paint on my clothes.”

“It is a miracle you can tell.”

Her head snapped up. “Sesshoumaru!” Grimace turning into a smile, she eyed the bag in his hands. “Lunch?”

“As requested.” A look of disgust came over his face, and he covered his nose. “But we are not eating in here.”

Brushing her hair off her face, she laughed. “Smell too much for you?”

“Hn. Indeed.” Braving the fumes, he walked up to her and slid a single finger under the thin strap over her shoulder. “What is this cursed ensemble?”

She glared. “It’s my painting outfit.”

“It is a tie-dyed pillowcase.”

“It’s a comfortable pillowcase.”

Gold eyes sparkled quietly as he reached up and tapped the pencil holding the mess of her hair in place. “And this?”

“Don’t act like you’ve never shoved the curtain hanging down your back in a messy knot, Sesshoumaru.” She grinned at his sour look.

“I do not—”

Whipping out her phone, she flashed the picture she gotten of him lying on his stomach on their new garage floor with sawdust all over his jeans while he sketched out a table pattern and chewed his pencil eraser to death. A ruler was shoved through the pile of silver on his head to keep it in place.

He cleared his throat, a faint flush staining his cheeks.

She snickered. “Five hundred years ago, if someone had told me I’d get a picture of you like this one day, I would have said they were crazy.”

“Get rid of that.”

Kagome pulled her phone back defensively. “Nuh-uh. I’m getting this blown up and framed.”

He growled. “Miko…”

She stuffed the phone in her pocket and darted left, mirth dancing in her eyes as he stalked her. “This is the only picture I have of your ass in jeans, Sesshoumaru.” Picking up the paint roller again, she held it between them and tried not to laugh as he glared. “You’ll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands.”

When he picked up the other roller, she paled.

“That so?” he said, pushing up his sleeves.

With fascinated horror, she watched as he bent and, without dropping eye contact, coated the roller in the dark grey paint.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh?” That damned eyebrow went up, and he straightened, lazily twisting his hair into a knot on his head. “Would I not?”

He flashed a feral, fanged grin, and Kagome immediately regretted that it was a tiny guest room she was painting.

This is going to end so badly.

He crouched. “The phone, Kagome.”

Wrapping her other hand around the roller, she shook her head, trying not to laugh. She was so screwed it wasn’t even funny.

“Last chance.”

Finally cracking under the absurdity of the situation, she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes and nearly backed into a wall. “Remember that I love you and you love me.”

“Is that so?” Cocking his head to the side, his sclera bled red as his mouth stretched into the macabre, sharp-toothed grin of his in-between form.

“For the love of the kami, Sesshoumaru”—she gasped and hugged her stomach, barely able to breathe through her hilarity—“do not break this house.”

“Your concern is misplaced.”

She shook her roller at him. “You stay out of my pocket!”

He smirked. “No.”

In the end she screamed, he lunged, and paint ended up on the ceiling, in her hair, and up his nose—the latter of which left him nearly blowing his brains into an unholy amount of tissue as he tried not to pass out.

Kagome rubbed his back as he splashed his face with cool water. “That really was an accident.”

A mock glare looked back at her through the mirror. “Lies.”

Drying his face and hands, Sesshoumaru turned and leaned against the counter before pulling her close. She sighed contentedly as his arms came around her.

“You have paint on your nose.”

“Huh?” Craning her neck around him, she glanced at the mirror, saw the splotch on her face, and wrinkled said body part, laughing. “Well, better on it than up it.”

“Very funny,” he said, tilting her chin.

Her laughter died away as his thumb brushed over the smudge, his eyes softening with something that couldn’t be fairly described as he held her.

Something warm tingled up her spine. “If you look at me like that, we’ll never finish painting.”

“Shame.”

And when he bent her back and kissed her, Kagome smiled.

Painting could wait.

5 thoughts on “Fixer Upper

  1. Eeeeeep! I love that you wrote in details about his face transforming – sure we hear about his stripes becoming more jagged and his red eyes but we rarely get the imagery of his unnaturally wide and quite alarming grin. That bit of controlled danger is, dare I say, seductive as hell.
    I see Sessh and Kags still keep it fresh after 500 years 🤣 Great fic!!

    Like

  2. I loved every little bit of this. By the time they got to roller fuels I was grinning like a crazy woman! This was delightful.

    Like

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