#and meddling when necessary

[bnnywngs]

Wei Wuxian was tricked to be here, he never once heard about this competition-like one month stay in the empress palace to choose the current emperor's second son's wife. They told him he was coming to study under the most famous scholar in their country and sure, Lan Qiren is there, but not as the teacher he expected.

All the men and women present were dressed in their finest robes and all looked extremely politely or were trying to be. The empress and Lan Qiren had told them what to expect of this month - what they were supposed to do and be taught.

He told them he was mistaken and was getting out, but Lan Qiren frowned and called him by name and said that his parents wrote him down as one of the candidates, shocking him into speechless.

(later that night he would find a letter from his mother asking for his forgiveness and that she was expecting him to do well in the competition, for his annoyance)

And when he turned around to leave the room, not believing what he was being told, he crashed against a solid body, going down with a surprised yelp. The man looked at him as if he was dust, used his feet to get him out of the way and treated him as rudely as possible for a second son when Wei Wuxian tried to get a apologies from him.

Angry beyond words, Wei Wuxian decided he was going to flawlessly do every damn step of this, win this goddamned competition and when Lan family would ask for his hand he would reject Lan Wangji with a beautiful monologue about rudeness!

Write that! He's going to be on the history books!

(as an emperor consort years and years and years later, as things happened and he fell in love with Lan Wangji, his brother in law decided to marry out and his father in law stepped down because he was already too old and his youngest son was good enough to be emperor)

[another-goblin]

Dr. Ratio: Just tell me if you can't hold on any longer.

So what exactly does this mean? Yes, he worries about Aventurine and can't hide it. But it's not like Ratio to just give empty encouragements.

To me, it looks like an offering of help: "Things went awry; you are in much more danger than we expected; I can help you if you want."

So what was he going to do if Aventurine said yes? Did he have an emergency plan? A way to remove Sunday's curse? To abort the mission and safely extract Aventurine from the Dreamworld and Penacony despite the absolute control of the Family?

[sheergeekypanic]

[vorfreudevortex]

apologies

✧.* gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna, yuji, megumi, noritoshi, ino, inumaki, yuta

notes: a somewhat happier resolution and part two of arguments! thank you for reading <3

✧.* check out the fun facts after the attachments for background info about their fights and a look inside my brain hehe!

my masterlist

© vorfreudevortex | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, repost, or otherwise share my work.

satoru cried in his office when he realized that he blamed you for something that wasn't your fault.

suguru's coworker sat on his lap as part of a weird inside joke everyone else at the school has between the two. he has no idea why he was so defensive to you and he truly wasn't cheating. he was so angry that you would believe he cheated that he started calling you out for the first thing he could think of, wearing revealing tops in public. satoru had to call you 8 times before you picked up and let him explain it to you. he's forcing her to transfer to kyoto so she never has the chance to hurt your relationship again (remember that suguru never left and became a teacher alongside satoru in my aus). the pictures sent to the reader leave out how suguru uncomfortably asked her to get off of him shortly after, since they were around other sorcerers and teachers (as politely as he could).

kento came home with so many flowers for you and he still feels awful.

toji's dumbass freaked tf out when you took home your clothes from his place. he was out drinking and gambling and didn't want to tell you. your relationship is rocky for a while but he hasn't gambled since.

choso is still learning communication skills and cried when he realized that he was being mean to you over nothing.

sukuna is a terrible texter and does NOT communicate his feelings well. this is him being vulnerable af with you because he really does love you and has no idea why he was grabbing another girl's ass at the bar. he tried to chase you down after you threw a drink on him, slapped and yelled at him, and ran out.

yuji completely panicked when a curse attacked him out of nowhere when he was out with you. you can't see them and you were so confused and scared that you couldn't move. he just cares about you so much and couldn't stand the fact that you could've died. he made megumi listen to him cry about how mean he was to you for like 3 straight hours.

megumi has no idea how to deal with his emotions and has never been in a relationship before so he literally thought you guys were broken up LMAO. he's trying really hard for you.

in my au toge can speak, just not direct commands, so he still rarely talks unless necessary. i thought it would be nice to have the reader understand that all of his communication skills are terrible and help him work on them.

noritoshi has a terrible outlook on love and relationships from his upbringing so it took him a minute to understand how awful his words were. he truly does love you and wants to marry you. he lowkey constantly thinks about cutting off the kamo clan so they can't control his life anymore.

ino literally cried to nanami after your argument. he's so used to putting jujutsu responsibilities before his own life and feelings, and struggles with having to take care of something that can't be fixed with his power or strength. nanami also called you and apologized for meddling in your relationship, he realized it was inappropriate but he just really cares about you and ino and wants the best for both of you.

yuta literally didn't even realize how insane and controlling he was being until you called him out. after he took you home, he latched onto you with his head crammed in your lap because he was so upset thinking that you might leave him. he swears to himself that he will kill himself before he treats you like that again, and he never does it again.

i don't like when big argument smaus end with "no biggie i forgive you! <3" so i tried to make sure that the reader either made sure they know they fucked up big time, apologized and talked to them face-to-face, they'd never do it again, or you wouldn't forgive them so easily, etc.

sorry this was so long! but i love knowing the background info and author's thoughts for smaus since they can be kind of limiting in content! i think i'll add background info and fun facts after all my future smaus for those who are interested. as always thank you so much for reading ♡

[everythingne]

little miss wingwoman (2) - ln4

penelope continues you meddling through you moving into lando's apartment, and saving a christmas disaster from happening.

warnings/notes: implied complicated pregnancy for kelly, most are complicated as far as i've seen (i dont have kids so. dont yell at me.), also implied family tensions for the reader, i used this recipe for the pasta they cook!! ignore im posting christmas fics after christmas i do not care <3

(prev | next)

Penelope gets to enact her first part of the plan a few days later. A small post-season dinner, just some drivers Max had been playing padel with earlier swinging by to help out Max with some baby stuff. You are home, of course, helping Kelly with some organization in the master bedroom.

You're struggling with one of the big thick boxes for toys, trying to build a shelf you'll have the boys carry into the room later. Most of the shelf was able to be paired together by hand, but a few screws at the end make you huff when you realize Max had taken the screwdriver.

Getting up, you wander to the bedroom where Penelope is watching the boys attempt to set up both the crib and the little handmade wooden mobile above it. Leaning on the doorway, your eyes naturally fall to Lando who is biting his tongue poking out of his lips in focus as Max curses over the screw being stripped.

Seemingly again, based on Charles' quick French quip as he digs in a box to find another screw.

"You're having about as much luck as we are." You finally find your voice, your eyes not leaving Lando's as he perks up, his tongue darting back inside as a rose dusts across his cheeks. Max sighs and hands you the screwdriver and you kneel down, jamming it in like a hammer until you basically brute force the screw into it's hole.

"And, if you don't need this, I'll be stealing it. I'm almost done with the bookshelves, we'll just have to secure them to the wall after."

"Yeah, just pull it in when you're done." Max says, thanking you for getting the screw in, before you're off to the other bedroom. Penelope stays behind for a bit, peeking into the room once or twice as you sit back down on the floor to finish the shelving.

It takes until you're on the last drawer for her to ask--

"Do you like Lando?" Penelope lingers in the doorway, and you just nod, eyebrows knitting as you get the loose screws to finally lock into place. You can hear Max and Charles celebrating getting something to work in the other room, Lando's laughter coming closer down the hall with his soft socked footsteps.

"I think Lando likes you." Penelope says with a matter of fact tone that makes you life your head, and Kelly tuts out a laugh, waving Penelope over. The girl happy smiles and runs over to hug a very sleepy Kelly, giving her mom's stomach a little kiss while she's at it.

"P, they're friends. Friends like each other." Kelly smiles, running a hand through her mini-me's hair, "you like all your friends, right?"

"But Mommy," Penelope scowls, climbing up to stand on the bed so she can lean into her mothers ear to whisper. You look down then, finishing up the last of the screws with a triumphant whistled sigh, overshadowed by Kelly's soft laughter.

"I'm being serious! I studied, and asked Maxie, and my teacher!" Penelope scowls, crossing her arms at her mother and just earning a soft laugh in reply. Looking over, you see Lando lingering in the doorway, offering you a smile as his hand to help you up.

"Pen said you need help moving this?" He asks softly, almost nervously, after helping to bring you to your feet with a warm hand in yours and resting on your bicep. You smile and nod, words failing on your lips. Your hand lingering in his longer than necessary, before you hear Penelope whispering to Kelly and you step back.

"Please," You say, smiling at the dimples that appear on his cheeks with his curvy lipped smile, "It's not heavy, just long. Max has the wall bolts in the nursery, so he can finish it in there."

"Sounds good to me, I'll get this side..." Lando walks off, and as you two move the shelves out of the master bedroom to the nursery, you cant help but laugh as the whole thing is so awkward to shuffle around. Once you get it out, Kelly lets out a cheer, and you look back to see Penelope wink.

It's been a few days, and while Lando's off on a ski trip with Quadrant, he gives you free reign of his apartment since you really only have clothes to move in since all of your old stuff is between boxes in your childhood home and two or three boxes you bring down from Max's apartment. Lando leaves to catch his flight with a slightly nervous smile, telling you to make it feel homey, if possible. So after a Max sponsored trip to the stores, you fill the backseats of the Porsche Lando let you borrow from him with just about everything. New pots and pans to replace his old stained ones, proper cleaning supplies, and plenty of house decor.

You'd driven into France to go shopping for the bigger items, planning for some little furniture bits to be shipped around the holidays. Everything you text Lando about buying is met with enthusiastic pleases and thank yous and probably a concerning amount of money wired into your account via Venmo.

You're unloading as much as you can into the apartment, taking probably far too many trips up the elevator, when Lando calls you as you're in the midst of restocking his fridge with actual food.

"I hope this isn't going to ruin your day," He opens with and you feel dread fill your stomach at his nervous tone, because with Lando, it could, “my mom asked if I could host christmas this year… and I kinda forgot I said yes..."

"Lando." You deadpan, looking at the bare apartment, "oh my god."

"Listen! Consider this payback for the rent or something! She asked me before Miami, how was I supposed to remember after that weekend!" He groans and you cant help the laugh that bubbles out of your throat as you look back at all the things you'd bought.

"You have to help me not make this a horrid mess, I'd never live it down!" Lando laments, his voice pitching higher, "I'm finishing up with Quadrant early, and I'll be home soon after. I've got them all a hotel room, so we at least don't have to worry about that. But we need... well, to make my apartment look lived in."

"I got some stuff already, as you know, but I don't have to see Penelope until tomorrow so I can head back out to the shops--"

"An extra of my credit card is in my desk drawer. Consider it my gift," He stammers, "Shit, my Ma is gonna kill me if she realizes I forgot."

You laugh softly, "Listen, when are you gonna get home?"

"Tomorrow morning, maybe?" His tone is light, but the hint of panic in his tone makes you feel a little soft.

"Today, I'll get what I already bought in the house and set up. Tomorrow, when you get home, we'll figure out what else we need." You say softly and Lando thanks you profusely, promising to buy you a bottle of whatever liquor you want for your troubles, and then he ends the call. Leaving you standing in the kitchen with a soft sigh and laughter. The whole situation was just... very Lando.

It's not like you're gonna go home for Christmas.

The next day, Lando comes home to your changes. Throw blankets, pillows, pictures his mother had gifted him on the wall after forever. You're in the middle of making lunch when he stumbles in, yanking his suitcase along with him in a less than graceful fashion. You watch as his eyes widen at the little table and shoe rack in the entryway, the carpet that leads into the main area where the kitchen and living room are. The lamps that you've gotten to warm the lighting, the new dishes, the little knick knacks you must've found in a box or two in the spare room you'd set up. You've even taken all his helmets out of their cases on the floor and neatly displayed them in the case his Dad had built for him forever ago, the shelves to expand it resting on the wall besides the case.

It's... it's a damn home.

"Hey," Lando smiles as he walks in, finally seeing you in the kitchen. You blush, looking down as you realize he'd caught you watching his sweet reaction. The way you fit so nicely in his home makes something twist in his head, making him feel oddly warm, bubbly in his chest, as you smile.

"Hey yourself," You chime back as you glance up, "do you want a sandwich?"

"Sure." He says, "You... made this place really nice. I'm impressed."

"Thank you, here, grab a plate..." You smile and begin listing new things you wanna do, build the new shelves, put a christmas tree in the middle of the big bay windows in his living room, maybe some stockings under the tv, and of course string lights all over. You contemplate some cute little knick knacks on the shelves you've put up, oh! Some lights inside the shelves for his helmets to be shown off, too.

You rattle ideas all the way through finishing his food, and you settle the plates down. Luckily for Lando, you give him some gift ideas too. Things you'd seen while out at the shops, and you thankfully know most of the drivers in Monaco well enough to have an idea or two of what to get them, and you remind him to buy gifts for his parents and siblings and extended family as you set a simple sandwich and chips down in front of Lando.

Lando just blinks before sighing happily, "You're literally perfect."

It makes you nearly choke on your sandwich. And he stammers with red cheeks, "Well, you are, but I mean--I mean like... you're exactly the type of person someone who doesn't really know how to adult needs. You've got everything all figured out, y'know!"

"I'm a nanny," You deadpan, "And Kelly didn't really know much when I moved in with her when Pen was a baby. And Max's apartment... it was close to yours. Except, at least, he knew how to live like an adult and not have expired food."

Lando shrieks out a "Hey!" That makes you both laugh, and his laughter melts into yours. It all feels so natural, the way you both just stand there grinning over little sandwiches.

Hours later, after ridiculous amounts of shopping, and take-out dinner, you get to setting up the Hallmark movie you plan to turn his house into. It really doesn't take long for you and Lando to fall into a rhythm, and by the time his pauses on the couch turn into him falling asleep on the couch, you're almost done. You finish up the tree, shoving the gifts you'd bought for the Verstappen-Piquets underneath, before turning to Lando.

"Lando," you whisper, shaking his shoulder, "Hey..."

He stirs, murmuring something intelligible with a pout that almost makes you giggle. It takes another few calls of his name to coax him awake long enough to at least get him in bed. Even if he's still in jeans, you happy to save his back from the horror of sleeping sitting up like you'd done once or twice.

The next morning, Lando helps you make breakfast and with Christmas music and movies playing for some background noise, you pretty much finish up the entire apartment within the day. Lando leaves around six to get some presents for his sisters, and ends up video calling you to ask about jewelry. He gets Flo a beautiful little silver horse necklace, with a little custom plate with her horses name on the back, and after an instagram peruse you determine Cisca should get something bold in gold, and he settles on a nice piece of earrings for her. Oliver is a bit harder, so you let him call his Mom to find ideas while you finish up cleaning.

And when he comes home, you teach Lando how to wrap his gifts, somehow ending up in a big plaster for a cut he gets on his hand and tape stuck in your hair.

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, kellypiquet, and others...

yourusername: everyone say thanks max and kelly for letting me take a week off so i could move into this random guys apt and make it look like a hallmark movie

tagged: landonorris

maxverstappen: you've done the unthinkable, make lando not live like a child

user: THEY LIVE TOGETHER??

kellypiquet: i need the skill you possess to make everything magical

user1: wait why is yn living with lando and not max??? is she not penelope's nanny??

-- yourusername: i still am her nanny dw!! with baby lion on the way I got evicted (rightfully), and lando lives in the same building and had an extra room he offered :)

-- user2: wait thats so cute

-- user3: romcom moment

maxfewtrell: THATS HIS APARTMENT?

-- yourusername: yes, you're welcome

landonorris: i feel a little attacked right now

-- yourusername: don't even try to get pity points, you had month old cheese

-- landonorris: in my defense i forgot it was there

-- yourusername: IT WAS MOLDY.

-- user4: prayers for yn

On the 22nd, you get to watch Penelope for the day since Max is finishing up meetings before his break for the holidays and Kelly's mother is over considering she's feeling quite swollen and ill. You'd been there since the beginning, with the issues and the pain. Max and Kelly had struggles, and you had taken Penelope out plenty of times for days when the two just needed a breath.

Watching Penelope so Kelly can go to an emergency appointment doesn't feel new, but it makes you so anxious.

So you and Lando have her come down to your apartment, giving Kelly a much longer hug than usual and wiping away her stressed tears as Lando shows Penelope the new decorations in the apartment.

"It'll be fine." You say softly and she nods, giving you one more tight hug before her mother brings her along. Shutting the door behind you, the way Lando holds Penelope up so she can place the star on the tree is so undoubtedly domestic to you it makes you feel warm as you shut the door.

"Penny," You call, and her head whips around as you ask, "Did Kelly make you anything for dinner?"

Lando pops Penelope down on the floor and then turns back to straighten the star. Penelope runs to give you a hug, clinging to your legs as she announces that no, she didn't get dinner-- and, she wants to cook the 'spiced' pasta with you, Lando tilts his head as he slowly makes his way over in his sweats.

"And you!" Penelope grabs Lando's hand, dragging him the rest of the way into the kitchen, "Please Yn! Please?!"

"You're sure you want the spicy pasta? 'Cause half the time I end up eating all of it and ordering you food." You place your hands on your hips, and when Penelope all but cries for it, you agree. The 'spicy pasta' is a normal corkscrew pasta with a gochujang based sauce. You typically make it a lot hotter, but because both Lando and Penelope don't like spice as much you change the plan.

Penelope helps Lando salt the almost boiling water and chop up the shallots while you root through the pantry, eventually finding all the ingredients. You'd bought them a week ago, when Lando hadn't been home, and made it for dinner so you knew you had everything. Dragging a chair over, you let Penelope jump up to sauté the shallots, onions, and garlic in butter and olive oil with Lando's supervision while you gather some spices.

"Here, P, let me get in there." You say softly, and miss Penelope's knowing smirk as she jumps down and scoots the chair out of the way. You begin to pop down a smaller scoop of gochujang than usual, whilst Lando watches curiously.

"Wait so, what is this red stuff?" He asks, grabbing the container once you close it. As you infuse the ingredients, you softly explain.

"It's gochujang," You look over to Lando to find him already intently watching you, "it's like a Korean fermented, spicy, savory paste. I used to cook a lot with my first family I worked for in London, and they loved Korean food."

Lando nodded, "Have you always been a nanny?"

"I was an Au Pair first, like a live in babysitter while I was in secondary school. But I started to nanny Penelope right around when she was born and haven't left." You look behind you, as if expecting to see Penelope, but she's gone. You and Lando share a look, almost as if saying ' of course she ran off' before he chuckles softly.

You turn back to the pan and nod, "Lando, can you grab me the green bottle next to you?"

He picks it up as you lower the heat, and your cold hands brush his warm ones as your take the bottle. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you pour a little bit of the soju in, capping it, and stirring again until it all thickens up while Lando drains the pasta noodles. He stands besides you as you let him stir slowly as you add in half and half and parmesan cheese until it's make a thick sauce.

Dipping a noodle in to taste, Lando groans, "this is actually so good."

"It's my favorite," You smile, "A good old comfort dish, since I don't have any from my family."

Lando nods and helps you add the pasta to the sauce, mix it up, and set it in three bowls. Settling down to eat in the kitchen, you watch as Lando and Penelope chat. Smiling softly, you rest your head on your hand, giggling along with Penelope's stories from dance class, ignoring the way Lando's smile makes your chest tighten.

After dinner, Penelope asks to watch the live action Cinderella. You've seen it with her in the past, so you have no issue turning it on as Lando finds a little bit of candy for Penelope to eat during the movie--like a dessert.

Once the three of you settle down, Penelope forces you three to share a blanket and you end up between her and Lando on the couch. The beginning of the movie rolls by, but soon enough Penelope is asleep in your lap, leaving just you and Lando far too close for comfort.

But it grows comforting as the movie picks up, and by the time Cinderella has met her Prince, Lando's shifted to allow you to lean against him.

Maybe watching a romantic movie with a guy who makes you flutter, if even you're not sure why, isn't the best idea because the both of you catch each other's gaze more than once. Biting lips to hide smiles and thanking the dark lights for hiding you blush.

Luckily, Penelope wakes up before the end of the movie, and Kelly comes back soon after the movie ends. You help Penelope pack up while Lando cleans up the apartment, and when you go to drop Penelope off, your eyes catching Lando's makes heat rush to your face.

Shit.

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[kiwriteswords]

I have a great idea for a one shot.. I cannot stop thinking about jealous BAU!reader with Hotch. Like a detective won't stop flirting with him and reader is just super jealous and hotch is super cocky about the WHOLE thing. And of course Rossi knows about both their feelings and he meddles. That's super specific lol.

I lit a thin green candle to make you jealous of me [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 1.4k|| AN: I hope you enjoy! Thanks for sending this in xx!

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, jealousy, canon-typical themes, bau!reader, cocky!Hotch, meddling!Rossi, Aaron Hotchner POV

Aaron Hotchner stood at the front of the local police station, briefing the officers on the case details. As the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he was accustomed to commanding attention, his tone authoritative yet calm. Beside him, you stood with your arms crossed, your focus not entirely on the discussion. Hotch couldn't help but notice your distracted demeanor.

During the briefing, Detective Sarah Jacobs, a striking and charismatic local detective, leaned heavily against Hotch’s side of the table. Her laughter was a touch too loud; her glances a tad too lingering as she responded to his procedural instructions. Hotch, ever observant, picked up on the tension radiating from you. Every time Jacobs smiled at him, your jaw tightened, and your notes were suddenly scribbled with more force than necessary.

Post-briefing, as the team dispersed to gather more information, Jacobs found reasons to stay close to Hotch, her hand brushing his arm under the pretense of pointing to details on a map. Hotch glanced your way, catching you glaring at Jacobs from across the room. There was an unmistakable flash of jealousy in your eyes, and something about it spurred a rare mischievous streak in him.

In the car, with only the two of you, Hotch couldn’t resist teasing. “You know, she’s just being friendly,” he remarked casually, eyes on the road.

“You don’t need to tell me about ‘friendly,’ Hotch,” you replied, your tone sharper than intended. “I know what flirting looks like.”

Hotch’s lips twitched into a half-smile. “Does it bother you?” he asked, glancing briefly your way.

You huffed, looking out the window. “No, it doesn’t bother me. Why would it?”

That smile became a full-fledged grin now, hidden from your view. “Just checking,” he murmured, his voice low and amused. It was rare for Hotch to indulge in such personal banter, but the evolving undefined relationship between you made the boundaries blur at times.

Back at the station, Rossi pulled Hotch aside, his expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You’re playing with fire, Aaron,” he whispered, nodding subtly in your direction where you were meticulously organizing case files, avoiding looking in their direction.

“Dave, it’s nothing,” Hotch assured him, his voice a low rumble.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “Nothing? That’s not what it looks like from where I’m standing. She’s clearly got it bad for you, and you’re not exactly pushing her away. What’s your angle here?”

Hotch’s gaze softened as he looked over at you. “There’s no angle, Dave. It’s just… new. We’re figuring it out.”

Rossi clapped him on the back. “Well, figure it out fast. She’s a keeper, and you’re not the only one who can see it.” With a knowing look, Rossi walked away, leaving Hotch to ponder his words.

That evening, as the team gathered to review the day’s findings, Hotch made a point of standing close to you, his presence a silent statement to any speculative eyes. His voice, when he addressed the team, was firm, but when he gave you a brief look, it softened just enough for you to notice.

Later, when Detective Jacobs approached Hotch with another question, he answered politely but with professionalism, putting a clear distance between them. You watched, your previous irritation fading slightly as Hotch’s attention turned back to you, his dark eyes locking with yours in silent communication.

As the team prepared to leave, Rossi sidled up to you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Don’t let him get too comfortable with all that attention,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But between you and me, I haven’t seen him this off his game in years. You’re good for him.”

You looked up at Hotch, who was waiting by the door, watching you with an unreadable expression. Walking over to him, you decided maybe it was time to have that conversation about what 'this' was. But as you reached him, all you said was, “Let’s get back to the hotel. We need to review the profile again.”

“Of course,” Hotch replied, a slight relief in his tone, but as you both walked out into the cool evening, his hand brushed against yours, a simple touch that promised more discussions to come.

As the BAU team headed back to the hotel after a long day, the atmosphere inside the SUV was thick with unsaid words. You were seated next to Hotch, the space between you charged with an undercurrent of tension and unsolved emotions. Throughout the ride, Hotch caught glimpses of your profile, illuminated by the passing streetlights. Your usual sharp focus seemed clouded with thoughts he could only guess at.

Upon arriving at the hotel, Hotch suggested a brief team meeting in the hotel conference room to finalize the profile adjustments. However, as the rest of the team filed out of the SUV, he held back, touching your arm gently. “Can we talk for a minute?” he asked, his voice low.

In the privacy of the parked vehicle, Hotch turned to face you fully. “About earlier—” he started, but you cut him off.

“It’s fine, Hotch. Detective Jacobs is just doing her job, right?” But your words came out more strained than you intended, and you couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

Hotch’s expression softened, his usual stern demeanor melting into a rare vulnerability. “It’s not just about Jacobs. I noticed you were upset. And if I’m honest, it bothered me more than it should have,” he confessed, his gaze steady and intense.

You finally looked at him, taken aback by his openness. “Why would it bother you?” you asked, a mixture of curiosity and something akin to hope flickering in your chest.

“Because,” Hotch paused, searching for the right words. “Because what I feel for you is... more than just professional concern. I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his admission. The jealousy that had been simmering within you now sparked into something more constructive—clarification of the bond you both were tiptoeing around. “I guess I was jealous,” you admitted, feeling a weight lift as you acknowledged it. “I didn’t like seeing her flirt with you. It made me realize how much I...”

“How much you what?” Hotch prompted, leaning closer, his interest evident.

“How much I care,” you finished, locking eyes with him. “And how little I like the idea of not knowing where we stand.”

Hotch reached out, his hand covering yours. “I feel the same,” he said simply. “I’ve been trying to keep things slow, professional, but maybe we’ve been fooling ourselves thinking we could control the pace of whatever this is between us.”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the conversation. “So, what do we do about it?” you asked, feeling more confident now that your feelings were out in the open.

“We redefine our parameters,” Hotch suggested. “Outside of work, we explore this... relationship. We see where it goes without the constraints we’ve been putting on ourselves.”

“And at work?” you asked, knowing the complications that could arise.

“At work, we remain the professionals we always are. But outside of it, I’m yours as much as you’re mine,” Hotch stated, his voice firm with resolve.

The conversation was a turning point. As you both joined the others in the conference room, there was a new sense of understanding between you. The meeting went smoothly, with both of you contributing to refining the profile. However, the real shift was noticeable afterward, as the team suggested grabbing a late dinner together.

Throughout the meal, you noticed Hotch shooting you small, knowing looks. You responded with subtle smiles, your earlier jealousy replaced by a sense of belonging and mutual recognition of the new, unspoken agreement between you.

Later that night, as you walked back to your room, Rossi caught up with you, a knowing grin on his face. “Looks like you two figured things out, huh?” he teased gently.

“Maybe we did,” you replied, your heart lighter than it had been in days. “Thanks, Rossi.”

Rossi winked. “Anytime. Just remember, the heart is just as vital a muscle to a profiler as the brain. Use them both wisely.”

With Rossi’s words in mind, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you and Hotch would face them together, not just as colleagues, but as partners in every sense of the word.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

@justyourusualash

@person-005

@iyskgd

[bitchlessdino]

boo-ty call 👻 (m)

Pairing: perverted ghost!jeonghan x cute neighbor!seungkwan x afab!reader Genre: supernatural comedy, smut Word count: 11.1k tags: a lot of puns, human body possession (con and dubcon), threesome by definition if you count a ghost, mention of food, cunnilingus, some degrading (slut), light spanking, unprotected sex Summary: As far as unwanted roommates go, your ghostly companion was one you never anticipated. But when this specter began to assert himself and meddle in your dating life—or lack thereof—you started to reconsider your stance; maybe having a roommate wasn’t so bad after all. Especially if he's helping you get laid. author note: it's sluttober! when did i last write anything and have it posted. that's crazy sorry about that yall, but i'm really trying my best to be more active, but ngl its hard. life really gets in the way and we have to remind ourselves to take a back sometimes, even from our hobbies. Thank you to @multi-kpop-fanfics and @seokgyuu for beta reading and helping me perfect this masterpiece and thank you to you guys for your patience. Enjoy! Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone

You should’ve known better than to find an apartment listing in the same place where people get lied to about the types of dogs they’re buying. To this day, your aunt is convinced her Chorkie is supposed to be pure Maltese.

Meanwhile, you’re about 99.999% sure your apartment is haunted, and whatever ghost this was, they really liked stealing your underwear. It should’ve scared you. It should’ve driven you away and rushed you out to find a newer, less haunted place to live. But it was cheap, fully furnished, and came with a walkable laundromat and a family-owned market with homegrown tomatoes. Nothing could beat that.

You could tolerate it. It was better than mooching off your parents, who ask every five minutes when you’ll get a 'real' job. Living away from your parents was necessary for your sanity and a dead pervert is much preferable to a live one.

“Can you fucking stop leaving the bathroom light on? I get that haunting is your job and all, but you’re not the one paying the electricity bill.”

If anyone could see you talking to thin air right now, they would’ve had you committed.

“And while we’re at it, could you stop stealing the lacy underwear? They’re gifts, and I don’t wear them, but I might someday, so leave me the option!”

The hallway light flickered before it finally stopped and swift air breezed past you in response, but no returning underwear. You let out a frustrated sigh and shove the rest of your dirty clothes into the hamper before proceeding with laundry day. 

You’ve never seen any part of them, yet you’re always aware of their presence. It was creepy at first, but that quickly turned into annoyance when you realized how limited their grasp on the living world truly was—just a bit of theft and light tinkering. It was manageable, but you still felt uneasy knowing you couldn’t change without feeling watched.

“I’ll be back. Don’t piss me off more when I do. It is not my week.”

Not a day had passed since you two became acquainted that he didn’t find some way to bother you, but there were definite perks to living in hell’s best apartment lease. As your feet scraped across the tiled floor, the afternoon sun briefly flushed your skin, and a familiar flutter stirred in your chest as the thought of something popped into your head. Instead of the usual contempt, longing filled your chest as you made your way to the machine.

“What do we have today, m’dear?”

Your ears perked up at the sound of his voice, and you pretended to nonchalantly turn around, as if you hadn’t just spent several minutes hoping for his appearance. “Oh, you know, the usual—interview clothes, some sweatpants, and a few coffee-stained rags.”

Seungkwan’s lips curled into a soft chuckle, his laugh warm as he tossed his own laundry into the machine beside yours. “Sounds spicy. Mrs. Whirlpool is in for a gourmet meal today.”

He said the weirdest, most ridiculous things, but the real mystery was how you still ended up wanting to kiss him anyway. There was something about his easy smile, the effortless way he tossed his dress shirt into the machine like it was some kind of party trick.

He had a knack for brightening the atmosphere as if he possessed a magnetic otherworldly charm. Whenever you arrived, you couldn't help but wish he would be there, transforming the ordinary task of laundry into an intimate little affair—just the two of you amidst a heap of dirty clothes.

You observed him from the side, noting that his stack of clothes was noticeably smaller than usual. This made you question why he would wash such a small load. “Today isn't your regular laundry day. It’s usually Fridays and Mondays, isn't it? Today’s Thursday.”

The second the words left your mouth, you cringed internally. Great. Way to sound like a total stalker. Creep much?

Seungkwan cocked a smile. “I’m flattered you’ve memorized my laundry schedule.”

You laughed awkwardly, scrambling for cover. “I pass by here and just happen to have a really great memory.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, this might sound kind of gross and embarrassing, but I found these abandoned at the back of my closet. They’ve been there forever, and I had some extra change, so I figured, why not? You know, especially since I’ll be gone at the end of October.”

“You’ll be gone for Halloween?” Well, don’t sound too disappointed.

“Yeah,” Seungkwan said with a soft chuckle, glancing your way. “Family traditions. Can’t miss them. You know, the usual—handing out candy, our neighborhood haunted house contest, all that.”

“That sounds like so much fun. Way better than my Halloween growing up.” 

“Aw, thanks, but trust me, it’s way more chaotic than it sounds. Kids screaming, neighbors going overboard with decorations—it’s a lot." He shrugged as he folded his laundry, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his tone. “What about you? Got any plans?”

“Um… I’m not sure yet. Still figuring it out, I guess,” you answered earnestly, suddenly feeling like a loser with no plans–which you were by definition.

Seungkwan hesitated, his hands stilling mid-fold, the fabric dangling loosely between his fingers. You could see something flickering in his eyes—a jumble of thoughts swirling in his mind like a muddled cloud, visible in the furrow of his brow. “Oh. Well, um…” His voice trailed off, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he were battling whether or not to say what was really on his mind.

"What?" Your curiosity spiked, your heart quickening as you waited for him to continue. For a moment, the only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, stretching the already lingering silence.

He quickly shook his head, offering a faint, almost apologetic smile before turning back to his laundry, his hands moving again, but less sure than before. “Nothing. Just—never mind.”

“Oh, okay.” The disappointment weighed on you, heavier than you wanted to admit. You glanced at the washing machines, trying to focus on the steady hum of the cycles, but your eyes kept drifting back to the numbers, slowly counting the seconds until the minutes ticked over, all while the silence between you grew louder.

You finished your load long before Seungkwan could wrap up his, the awkward tension of unfinished business hanging in the air like a thick fog. You glanced at him, hesitating for a moment before mustering a tight smile, trying to shake off the discomfort. “Well, that’s it for me. See you around, Seungkwan.”

He looked up from his laundry, the corners of his lips tugging down slightly. "See you, neighbor," he said, his tone laced with a hint of regret. The moment lingered in the air between you, thick with unspoken words, making it even harder to walk away.

With one last glance at his face, you stepped back, the soft chime of the door ringing behind you as you passed their glass doors.

As you walked  back toward your apartment, you couldn’t help but drop in confidence, thinking to yourself that maybe you didn’t deserve good things like cute laundromat boy. The hallway felt more confining than usual, the walls seeming to close in, echoing the insecure thoughts making rounds in your head.

You leaned against the cheaply painted walls of your cramped apartment, sliding down to sit on the floor with your head in your hands. It was just a childish crush—fleeting and meaningless—yet the thought of him going away scared you more than any real-life danger you'd ever faced. He was the only upside to moving to this part of town, the one thing that made the mundane feel even remotely worthwhile.

As you sat on the vinyl floor, you could still picture the sparkle in his eyes when he first opened those double doors, the warmth of his voice as he introduced himself. What had once been just laundry had turned into something to look forward to, a small break from the routine and a chance to brighten up your day in this sparse town. 

Maybe, if you were lucky, it could turn into a little small-town romance. But now, you couldn’t help but wonder if he even saw you beyond the casual pleasantries. Did he just see you as another neighbor, or maybe just a friendly face? 

The familiar flickering light in the kitchen pulled you back to the reality and up from the ground of your haunted apartment. With a frustrated sigh, you turned your attention to your unwanted roommate. “Yeah, yeah, I’m home,” you muttered, trying to shake off the feeling of melancholy.

As you walked toward the living room, the flickering lightbulbs in the lamps followed your path, their erratic dance a reminder of the presence that lingered in your space. Maybe getting rid of them wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. It could be a way to finally cut ties with the ghost that seemed determined to remind you of your solitude. You chuckled softly at the thought. Perhaps an exorcism could clear out both the ghost and all the pointless overthinking.

But that was a problem for another day. Rotting in bed sounded far more appealing right now. You shuffled into your room, the soft glow from the streetlamp spilling in through the window, casting faint shadows on the walls as the evening deepened. The coolness of the night crept in slowly, the faint hum of the city blending into the background.

As you sank into the familiar embrace of your blankets, the exhaustion in your limbs finally settled, but your mind lingered for a moment longer. You glanced outside, the dim light catching in the leaves of the trees below, and for a fleeting second were at peace. No ghosts, no old washers or dryers, no obsessive crush. Just sleep.

You sighed, pulling the covers tighter around you, letting the hum of old furnishing–and probably the old pervert ghost–as you drifted off into sleep.

Your rest was cut short by a full bladder, ready to burst. With heavy eyelids, you stumbled toward the bathroom, barely aware of your surroundings. As you relieved yourself, everything felt normal—the creaking of the bathroom door, the sporadic running of the faucet, and the occasional flickering of the lights above, indicating his restless presence.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes with your fists. “This wasn’t an invitation, Casper,” you muttered, irritation creeping into your voice.

As if to taunt you, the faucet suddenly turned on full blast, running wildly before shutting off completely, leaving you with nothing but the simmering annoyance bubbling inside of you. With a frustrated huff, you quickly flushed the toilet and turned to the mirror. The lone reflection staring back at you looked as tired as you felt.

With dark circles under your eyes and a complexion that could only be described as dull, it was starting to feel like you were one bad hair day away from getting "gave up" tattooed across your forehead. And suddenly you were wondering whether you looked more dead than the ghost.

Instead of wallowing more self-pity, you washed your hands under the running faucet. If the ghost wanted to bother you, it certainly wasn’t going to be about your hygiene. You kept that on lock.

You glanced back at the mirror and no longer were you alone. Instead, where your reflection should have been was the unsettling visage of your ghost, staring back at you with a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine. His pale features were striking, almost ethereal, with an undeniable charm that twisted your gut. Those mischievous eyes sparkled with a playful malevolence.

Your ghost was attractive–strikingly so–and for some reason that made you dislike him even more.

You shot your shared reflection an unamused smile. “Was that supposed to scare me?”

His reflection chuckled, leaning over his sink to give you an unfiltered view of every extraordinary detail etched into his face like a sculpture. “What? I thought I could finally introduce myself.”

“After months of me already living here? I feel the moment has passed,” you shot back, crossing your arms in defiance.

“Well, I had to pass my own judgment, didn't I? Do you know how many coke-huffing, cheese puff-grubbing, athlete-foot-walking slobs I’ve encountered in my place of residence?” He leaned closer, his expression mockingly serious, the flickering light casting playful shadows across his sharp cheekbones.

“May I remind you that those people were renters? If they paid to be there, who were you to deny them that?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Like I didn’t pay when I was alive? Plus, Muriel definitely wasn’t paying, nor was Monty. They were beyond sketchy.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly relishing the chance to air his grievances from beyond the grave. “Now that I think about it, there was definitely some laundry going on around here—and I’m not just talking about your underwear strewn all over the place.”

“Thanks for the reminder. Would you please leave the undergarments alone?” you replied, trying to keep the irritation from creeping into your voice as if you didn’t sound crazy enough talking into a mirror.

He shrugged nonchalantly, the flickering light casting shadows across his smirking face. “I will once you learn to toss them in the hamper like a normal humie. Upside to being dead: no laundry.”

“I don’t have to take this from someone who can’t even wear underwear anymore.”

“So you assumed I died without any on? How morbidly perverted of you.” His playful smile widened.

You scoffed, incredulous at the absurdity of the conversation you were having—with a ghost of all people.

“You know I’m right…I could sense your heart racing the moment you laid eyes on me,” he teased, a playful grin dancing across his lips as his jaw hung slightly slack in intrigue. His gaze swept over you, lingering on the way your breath caught in your throat, as if he were drinking in every detail, alive in the way his eyes glowed with mischief despite their soulless depths.

His ghostly figure was lean and toned, the contours of his form faintly visible like a lingering shadow, brimming with an energy that felt both alluring and infuriating. The flickering light cast an ethereal glow around him, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaws and the way his seemingly wet hair fell carelessly over his forehead. He leaned closer, the air thickening with a mix of annoyance and something dangerously enticing as if he relished the effect he had on you.

“Are you…flirting with me?” You couldn’t believe you had to ask, but the glint in his eye was undeniable.

“It’s not illegal. Not in the afterlife, anyway. Anything goes here.” He leaned back against the sink, bloodless veins pulsing against his forearms, enjoying the encounter more than he should.

“I…need sleep.” 

You peeled yourself away from the mirror, shaking your head in disbelief, and headed to bed without looking back. You slipped through the sheets, found comfort in their familiarity, and sighed, thinking you escaped.

“You know—”

“Jesus!” you burst out, your heart racing as you instinctively clutched your chest. Opening your eyes, you found the ghost looming above you, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. “What now?”

“Walking to a different room isn’t exactly a proper goodnight,” he said, crossing his arms over his spectral chest as if he were the arbiter of etiquette in the afterlife. His expression was mock-serious, and the playful glint in his eyes suggested he found the whole situation amusing.

“As if ghosts even sleep?” you shot back, rolling your eyes.

“No, but it’s polite,” he replied, feigning indignation, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a barely contained grin.

“Is this going to keep happening? You annoy me until I scrape together enough money to move out, or, if I’m not fortunate, end up penniless and homeless,” you lamented, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you threw your hands up in frustration.

“You tell me.”

With a sigh, you shut your eyes again and threw the blanket over your head, seeking refuge. “At least save it for the morning.”

And the ghost did just that—he saved all of it for the morning, better yet the afternoon. Since that’s when you woke up anyways.

“Do people always eat breakfast past two p.m., or is that a recent trend from the last two decades?” his voice called, cutting through the haze of your half-sleep as you started to eat 

“How old are you even?” you mumbled, cereal gnashing between your teeth.

“Old enough to know that you need more than cereal to sustain a healthy human body.”

“Riveting,” you muttered sarcastically, sipping the milk from the bowl. “Next, you’ll tell me that ‘ghosting’ is a real thing in your realm, too.”

“Actually, it is,” he retorts, his presence somehow stronger than it was in front of a mirror, “Happen to be doing it right now. Having some fun.”

“Is that your idea of fun? Stalking me from beyond the grave?”

“Call it what you want, but I’m just trying to keep you company,” he replied, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripping from a spoon. “Besides, who else is going to breathe some life into your dull existence other than someone who’s already checked out of theirs?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms with a playful huff. “Great. Just what I need—my own ghostly life coach. What’s next? A seminar on the benefits of double-scrubbing the bathtub?

It was meaningless stuff, really. The kind of chatter that filled the air like background noise, a gentle distraction from the world outside your walls. Yet, for someone who was supposed to be dead, he had an uncanny knack for conversation, it only made you assume the type of person he was alive. He could turn the mundane into clear images, painting vivid pictures with his stories about the afterlife—or, more accurately, his gripes about it. Not that you asked for it, but, it was like being told a grand story. Stories you could not for the life of you stop listening to for some reason.

“Okay, ghostie—”

“Jeonghan,” he corrected. “Say it with me slowly. Jeong. Han.”

“Mmh, ghostie! I’ll be back after the laundry is done.”

“No way you’re saving money with how often you—”

“Bye bye, poltergeist!” You cut him off with a wave, stepping out with a load full of laundry.

You had noticed how quickly the days were slipping by, how time seemed to blur when you shared your space with someone—or rather, something—that could actually respond to you in real-time. It was a strange kind of companionship, one that made you forget just how much solitude had weighed on you before.

The passing days also reminded you just how much you needed a breather, to clear your head from this bizarre living arrangement. And somehow, your laundry had piled up, more than it ever should have for someone unemployed who barely left the house. It was odd. Almost like time itself was moving faster, dragging the mess along with it.

“Hey, right on schedule—Thursdays and every other Monday and today’s Monday..”

You almost forgot about Seungkwan amidst all the supernatural nonsense swirling around you, but seeing him brought back memories of your last encounter, and you quickly put on a smile. “Hey there! Look at you, recognizing my laundry schedule too.”

“Thought I’d return the favor since you were kind enough to remember mine. Hope that’s okay,” he replied, his tone light.

You piled your laundry into the machine, carefully measuring out some freshly opened detergent. “It is.”

“Okay… I just want to apologize for being weird the last time we talked,” he said, shifting slightly as he leaned against the machine, his expression turning a bit more serious. 

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” you assured him.

“I just… I don’t know.” He glanced down at the floor, his brows furrowing slightly. “My mind went blank, if I’m being honest.”

You smiled reassuringly. “I get that. Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

He looked up, a playful grin spreading across his face. “So you think I’m pretty?”

Fuck. “It’s… just an expression.”

He leaned against his machine, his gaze fixed on you. “Didn’t deny it, though.”

You chuckled, feigning exasperation and mirroring his posture against your own machine. “You’re a lot more cocky than I realized, Mr. Seungkwan.”

“Do you like that?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were left speechless. Your mouth dropped open in surprise as your thoughts bounced from one corner of your mind to the other until finally, they found themselves running down between your legs in a new form of discomfort. “Umm…” 

You turned away for a moment, breathing to steady yourself, gently patting away your very alive heart.

“I made it weird again, didn’t I?” he said, his voice laced with a hint of regret.

You spun back around, shaking your head. “No. No! It just took me by surprise.”

“Sorry about that.” Not sounding all that sorry.

“That’s…more than I’m used to,” you admitted, a slight heat creeping onto your cheeks.

“Thank you?” he replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound brightening the air between you and making the moment feel lighter and more vibrant. Just then, the machine beeped, a sharp sound signaling that your clothes were done, pulling you away from the heated exchange.

A comfortable silence enveloped you both, but this time it felt different—like the crackling of kindling in the perfect moment when fireflies come out, illuminating the night as brightly as the stars in the sky. You exchanged a quiet glance, catching a glint reminiscent of those stars in his gaze, and for a second, it felt like the universe was telling you, ‘Hey, maybe there's something here.’

When you finally turned to leave, your smile was the biggest you’d ever had. And when he matched yours, it was like you had just won a bizarre lottery. You probably looked a bit unhinged, standing there grinning at nothing while swaying in the damp weather, but you didn’t care. The butterflies in your stomach danced happily, and you found yourself wishing you could hold on to this moment just a little longer, savoring the warmth it brought.

“You look happy.”

Not even the Ghostbusters’ final boss could ruin that for you.

“Cram it, Beetlejuice Lite,” you shot back, because although you’re in a good mood, you relished finding new names to call Jeonghan besides his own.

You hummed to yourself as you folded and neatly put away your clothes, feeling his cool, lingering presence behind you. He watched, like always—probably thinking up who put sugar in your cereal this morning for you to be in such an uppity mood.

“Well, I’ll be. You’re actually putting your clothes away like a functional human being?” His voice oozed mock surprise, but today, it just rolled right off you.

“Yep! Just felt like it,” you replied cheerfully, sliding the last of the shirts into your drawer with a satisfied nod.

“Strange. I thought laundry was your natural habitat now, seeing how often you’re in there… but I guess that’s thanks to a certain ‘living,’” 

You snapped your drawer shut, the sound echoing through the room as you whipped around to glare at him, immediately pulling you away from the happiness you felt not that long ago. “You—”

“Seungkwan, wasn’t it? Cute kid. Didn’t quite peg him as your type, though.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed, heart doing an involuntary somersault. Of course, he’d noticed. He seemed to notice everything, like some twisted version of a nosy neighbor, only this one didn’t have the decency to keep his opinions to himself. You wanted to fire back, but your brain was moving a step too slow, still caught up on the casual way he dropped Seungkwan's name. How long had he been watching you both at the laundromat?

“You’re stalking me outside of the apartment now?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“My spirit may be bound to this place,” he replied with an air of nonchalance, “but my soul can roam as it pleases.”

“Spirit? Soul? Aren’t they the same thing?”

He tilted his head, giving you a patronizing smile. “Not quite. My soul travels freely, observing everything within a reasonable distance—it’s not tethered to the apartment like my spirit is. My spirit stays here, out of my control.”

“So, you spied on me just because you could?”

"Call it research. Gathering intel." He shrugged. "Besides, it's not like you were doing anything interesting."

"Oh, I'm so glad I could provide you with such riveting entertainment.”

You shook your head, leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind you, only to have Jeonghan pass through it. "You know, for a ghost, you're surprisingly annoying."

"For a flesh-and-blood mortal, you're remarkably unfazed," he observes, his ethereal voice echoing slightly. "Most wouldn't last a day with my...unique brand of housekeeping."

You paused, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, well, I'm not most people."

“So,” he began, “about this Seungkwan guy…”

You stiffened, feeling your cheeks heat up. “What about him?”

“Just curious,” he replied casually, though there was a glint in his eyes. “He seems... nice.”

“He is,” you mumbled, suddenly finding your laundry far more interesting than the conversation again.

“And you like him?”

Your heart raced in your chest. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words almost sticking in your throat. “Maybe.”

“Does he like you?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “…I don’t know yet.”

There was a beat of silence before he offered, “Want some help with that?”

“No. What? How would you even do that?” You narrowed your eyes, already regretting entertaining this conversation.

He started circling you, wearing a grin that screamed trouble, like a cat ready to pounce. “The only time my soul and spirit are truly joined,” he began in a low, conspiratorial tone, “is when I possess a body and take control of their flesh.”

You rolled your eyes. “Where is this going, Bloody Maury? Skip to the part that makes sense.”

He stopped directly in front of you, arms crossed. “Well, if you’re interested in ‘skipping to the good parts,’ I could possess your body. Help you say what’ll win over Seungkwan in no time.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why in the hell would I be dumb enough to let you do that?”

He snickered, leaning in with a smug look. “Because you’re desperate and haven’t slept with anyone the entire time we’ve lived together.”

“…You talk too much.”

“Think about it,” he continued, unbothered by your glare. “You’ve already got a foot in the door with him. You just need a little boost. I can help.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes. “This sounds like some high-level scheme to take over my body. Then I’ll end up stuck sharing it with a ghost, screaming into the depths of my soul for eternity. Thanks, but no thanks.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve been watching too much supernatural TV. And besides, if I wanted to possess your body for good, I would’ve done it a long time ago. I do have some principles, you know. Consent and all.”

You shook your head, unimpressed. “Nope. I still can’t trust you, ghostie.”

Jeonghan, ever the persistent undead, didn’t know the meaning of giving up—and by now, you should’ve expected as much. And maybe, just maybe, his constant, incessant persuading was starting to wear you down. Sharing the same space day in and day out gave him the upper hand. He knew your quirks, your weak spots—the best and worst parts of you.

These past few days, you weren’t sure if you were going insane by agreeing with a ghost, or if he was actually starting to make some sense.

As you stared off at him, basking in the cool autumn air slipping through the balcony, you started to wonder if his intentions were not as venomous or malicious as you initially thought. There was a strange, quiet sadness in his eyes as if he longed for something he couldn’t put into words. Something that you couldn’t understand even if you tried.

“Am I really so pathetic that the ‘phantom reject’ is willing to help me with my love life?”

Jeonghan glanced at you with mild interest, noticing the way your curiosity had piqued. You sat comfortably on the couch, your elbow propped on the armrest, cheek nestled in your palm, as you observed him. He quietly approached, given that his feet were intangible and didn’t reach the ground, the silence was deafening and he lowered his head to level with you, staring back at you with so much intent it burned to feel his gaze.

He titled his head, brimming with pride. “Well, let’s just say I’ve never been rejected in my life. So.”

“You really think this’ll work for me?”you asked, skepticism lacing your tone.

“Of course,” he replied, with a grin. “You’ve got me.”

You were really considering it—letting a ghost help with your love life. Was this truly insane? Maybe. But it felt like it was worth a shot.

God, this was pathetic. And for once, you had something to be genuinely afraid of. And funny enough, it wasn’t possession. Until, well… maybe it was.

Life had never quite prepared you for this. Standing in your bedroom, surrounded by the overflowing pile of dirty clothes in the corner, you realized you’d put this off long enough—both the laundry and the body possession. You let out a shaky breath, glancing nervously from the mess to Jeonghan. 

His presence loomed, just as insistent as the neglected chores, and you had to steady yourself, mentally sorting through how you’d ended up in this bizarre situation. Laundry? Fine. Ghost possession? Not something you thought was possible. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to assess the ridiculousness of it all.

“Okay, Grim Peeper, let’s do this.”

Jeonghan chuckled softly as you tried, and failed, to shake off the nerves. His movements were deliberate as he approached, eyes narrowing in focus. He watched how the tension gripped your shoulders, the way your breath quickened despite your best efforts to stay calm. His presence felt heavier, and as he took his position in front of you, the air around him seemed to still. 

You could feel the weight of what was about to happen, the looming absurdity of it all. Jeonghan, who usually exuded a kind of careless charm, now looked oddly concentrated, as if he were preparing for something he rarely had the chance to do. His expression, though still smug, carried a certain gravity. But in all honesty, he wasn’t really sure what to expect.

“I’m about to make contact,” Jeonghan said, his tone unusually serious. “It’s going to feel a bit disorienting at first—like a cold shiver running down your spine. But after a few seconds, your mind will adjust, and it’ll feel like nothing ever happened. My voice will echo in your head, almost like it’s your own thoughts. I’ll let you know when it’s me taking control.”

His hands hovered over your shoulders, a ghostly chill brushing against your skin. For a split second, there was something oddly reassuring in his dead, sullen eyes. "You'll be okay. I promise, nothing will go wrong."

You sighed, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down. "Alright, I trust you." Then you glanced at him, a small smirk forming. "But seriously, what do you get out of all this? Helping me, I mean. I won’t judge... Boo-dini."

He let out a short laugh, tilting his head slightly as if considering how to answer. “I…want to remember what it’s like to feel alive again. See what I missed out on.”

“That’s fair,” you nodded, understandably.

“Expected more from me, humie?”

You shrugged. “Thought you’d have a deeper back story, but that’s fine.”

Jeonghan scoffed softly, giving you a teasing smirk before he began. In an instant, he was there—and then he wasn’t. The shift was so sudden it left you reeling. Just as he’d predicted, a shiver rippled down your spine, cold and unsettling. But what he hadn’t mentioned were the flashes of unfamiliar images that flickered behind your eyes, moments you’d never lived but somehow felt were real.

They came and went so fast, you couldn’t make sense of them—fleeting fragments of his past, perhaps, or echoes of something even older.

‘How are you?’ he voice said, interrupting your thoughts.

You quietly nodded, reassuring him.

‘Very well then. Your lead, dear host.’

You wandered into the laundromat with your overstuffed hamper, feeling a bit like a laundry pirate hauling treasure—or dirty socks—across the high seas. You’d made the executive–and rightfully cowardly–decision to skip your usual laundry day, and now it was leading up to this very moment. Jeonghan stayed mostly dormant in your body as you claimed an empty machine, the back of your head itchy knowing another being was sharing your body that has led you this far. And now it was going to lead you to get laid.

It was like clockwork. Any minute now, Seungkwan would stroll in, and Jeonghan would take over, handling all the nerve-wracking nonsense you'd rather avoid.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ his voice echoed, ‘I almost thought it was my own heart racing, then I remembered I’m dead.’

“Sorry,” you muttered softly under your breath, ignoring the supernatural’s attempt at a joke.

‘It’s fine. Everything will be fine.’

“I know,” you sighed.

“You know what?”

You spun around, facing Seungkwan, who’d entered with that casual, friendly energy you always admired. He smiled, raising an eyebrow at your startled expression.

"Seungkwan!" you blurted out, trying to push the embarrassment down as far as it would go.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greeted, already moving toward his machine, gently separating colors from whites. “How are you?”

“Good—Great! Why do you ask?”

He gave you a light shrug, glancing up with a playful grin. “Just sounded like you were talking to yourself.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” you quipped, trying to play it cool. “Sometimes thinking out loud helps clear the head noise, right?”

“Right,” he said, stretching with an amused smile, clearly entertained by your odd, jittery energy.

‘Wow, thank god you have me.’

You quietly cursed Jeonghan in your head for making this harder than it needed to be, before mustering up the nerve to approach Seungkwan, fingers nervously fidgeting.

"Hey, so... you mentioned you were going to be out of town for Halloween, right?"

Seungkwan looked up, surprised and then grinned. "You remembered! Yeah, what’s up?"

You hesitated for a second, feeling Jeonghan’s smug presence lingering somewhere in the back of your mind. "I thought..."

Seungkwan leaned casually against the now-humming washer, hands tucked in his pockets, his curious gaze fixed on you. "Yeah?"

You tried to keep your cool, but the moment the words "we could do something" left your mouth, your brain started to short-circuit. Seungkwan turned to you with that easygoing grin of his, waiting for you to elaborate, and you could already feel the awkwardness creeping in.

Jeonghan’s voice chimed in, ‘You’re fumbling. Let me take over.’

Before you could protest, the familiar shiver ran down your spine. Suddenly, everything felt distant—your limbs moved, but you weren't fully in control anymore.

Jeonghan’s smooth voice came out of your mouth as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I was thinking, maybe we could hang out before you head out of town? You know, catch a movie, grab a drink, something low-key, say my place?"

Seungkwan's smile widened, surprised but clearly intrigued. "You want to hang out with me?”

Jeonghan, still in control of your voice, replied effortlessly, "Of course." Before you could even process what was happening, your feet began to move on their own, gliding across the floor like a spy on a secret mission. Jeonghan closed the distance between you and Seungkwan, and suddenly, your hands were fidgeting with the hem of Seungkwan's shirt. “I figure it’s a good excuse to steal some of your time before Halloween hits."

Your heart raced, and you mentally screamed at Jeonghan, Okay, okay, that’s enough! I can take it from here!

But he was on a roll. "Tomorrow?" Seungkwan asked, leaning casually against the washing machine, though the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot betrayed his nervousness. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty.

"Tomorrow’s perfect," Jeonghan responded smoothly, maintaining the effortless flow of the conversation. "I’ll text you the details."

With each word, your body felt like it was moving on autopilot, and while you were horrified by the lack of control, a part of you couldn't help but feel a rush of exhilaration. Jeonghan was nailing it, but the closeness to Seungkwan was almost too much to handle.

Suddenly, Seungkwan playfully entwined his fingers with yours, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through your hand, as his grin graced his face. Your eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, savoring the warmth of the connection. When you opened them, you found an unreadable expression on his face—intense and smoldering. “Sounds like a plan,” he said, his voice slightly softer now. “Looking forward to it.”

The way he held your gaze made your heart skip a beat, and for a moment, the world around you faded into a soft blur. Even though Jeonghan was in control, your thoughts tangled with the heat of the moment, coursing through you like a fever. 

As soon as Seungkwan turned away to his laundry with a lingering grin, Jeonghan released control, and the reins were back in your hands. You blinked, still a bit disoriented from the possession.

‘See? Easy,’ Jeonghan’s voice echoed smugly in your mind.

‘You’re impossible,’ you shot back.

‘But effective.’

That night, you tackled all the prep work you knew you needed to get done. It had been a while since you’d done anything like this, and you definitely had some dust bunnies and spiderwebs in your attic.

“Humie–oh.”

“Jeonghan! What the hell?” Your eyes flew open as you scrambled to pull the shower curtain over your bare legs, the chill of the water sending a shiver up your spine from the products strewn haphazardly at the edge of the sink. “Do you fucking mind?”

“Well, well. Look at you, all cleaned up. At least yourself, anyway. Can’t say the same for the bathroom floor—or that mountain of grooming products over there.”

You gripped your makeshift cover-up a little tighter, groaning in frustration. “Privacy, please! I barely have any as it is.”

“I’m just saying, I’m proud of you. Now, if you manage to sweep up after, I might even give you a round of applause.”

“Out!” you snapped, glaring.

He shrugged, turning to leave with an impish grin. “Hey, roommates catch each other with their pants down one way or another.”

If you weren’t already a bundle of nerves, Jeonghan was getting far too comfortable for your liking. Leading up to that night and the big day, he had been dishing out advice on everything from what to wear to what movie to play, right down to critiquing the meager food stock in your fridge.

“That’s it, you need to go grocery shopping.”

“I can't afford that right now!”

“Just get Instacart. I don’t care. This apartment is as bare-bones as it gets.”

“I have popcorn, soda, and some chocolate for Halloween when I'm giving them out.”

“First of all, popcorn isn’t actually food. Second, prebiotic soda doesn’t count as real soda. And if you can get chocolate, then you can definitely manage to buy some real groceries.”  

But just as you were about to respond, luck decided to abandon you with a sharp knock at the door. “No time!” you hissed, “now scr—oh, you’re already gone.”  

One moment he was there, and the next, he had vanished. Now, it was all on you, and nothing felt more nerve-wracking. You tugged your shorts down just enough to cover the rest of your bottom, anxiety buzzing in your chest. Your hand hovered over the doorknob as you took a deep breath, trying to muster some confidence before swinging it open to reveal who was waiting outside.

“Seungkwan, hey!”  

“Hey!” he grinned, his Halloween-themed vest adding a playful touch to his outfit as he juggled a couple of bags in his arms. “You didn’t ask, but I thought I’d surprise you with some food. Pumpkin-spiced spaghetti and meatballs.”  

“Oh, uhhh…”  

He burst into laughter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just messing with you! It’s actually butternut squash gnocchi and some stuffed peppers that look like pumpkins.”  

“Oh, thank God! That sounds amazing.”  

“Yeah, it’s festive without going overboard.”  

You nodded in agreement, feeling a warm rush of relief. “Come in.”  

As you stepped aside to let him in, you couldn’t help but notice how wholesomely he was dressed compared to your casual attire. Suddenly, you felt a pang of self-consciousness.  

“I like your sweater,” you said, trying to mask your growing insecurity.  

He looked down, a hint of modesty crossing his face. “Yeah, I think it’s just the right amount of festive, but—”  

“It’s festive but not overboard,” you responded, playfully tossing his words right back at him.  

He grinned, “Exactly!”  

You smiled back, feeling a wave of warmth as Seungkwan's presence began to calm your nerves. As he settled into the familiar space of your apartment, you couldn’t help but discreetly scan the room for any signs of your ghoulish roommate. Half-relieved to find nothing, half-disappointed that your spectral “backup” was nowhere in sight, you let out a quiet sigh. And now it was just you—and the human you actually invited in.

Hesitantly, you eased into the spot next to him on the couch, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your hands were jittery as you picked up the remote, scrolling through the movies you’d lined up, your mind racing to figure out what to do next. 

You glanced at him, hoping for some sort of sign or direction, but the words caught in your throat. The longer you scrolled, the more painfully aware you became of the silence, as if it only heightened the nervous tension taking over your body, weirdly missing Jeonghan and how flawlessly he executed what he did yesterday.

"So, movies," you said, aiming the remote at the TV.

"Movies," he echoed, mimicking your tone.

“I mean,” You raised a brow. "What do you have in mind? And there is a right answer."

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Alright, I love Halloween, but..."

"But?" you pressed, leaning in slightly.

"I... really can’t handle scary movies. Halloween Town is probably my limit."

"Halloween Town? The kids’ movie?"

"Hey, don’t knock it. They had great graphics!"

"They had awful graphics!" you shot back, incredulous.

He grinned, half-joking but clearly standing by his point. "Yeah, now. But for its time?”

You shook your head in playful disbelief, unable to hold back a smile. “You’re ridiculous. But fine, your choice.”

You were left with very few options. Seungkwan had suggested a few festive, family-friendly titles, but you managed to persuade him to consider a couple of mild thrillers—some stupid but perfectly on theme.

“The zombie version of Twilight? Seriously? Zombies?" he repeated, stressing the idea with disbelief.

You shrugged, smiling from his reaction. “You might like it.”

He dropped his head in defeat, cute little whines escaping his pursed lips. “Fine, but you’d better be my shield for this, okay, neighbor?” 

The movie began to play, the take-out boxes popped open, and your nerves were on high alert, vibrating like something else does on a normal Friday night for you. Except now, it was just you and the incredible realization that the man you're very much interested in was mere inches away. You were a fucking wreck.

Surprisingly, Seungkwan was genuinely enjoying the film, finding unexpected humor and charm in the cringeworthy blockbuster. His laughter was soothing and infectious, gradually easing your nerves until you started to feel normal again. Why were you like this?

Wait, you felt normal again, but what was normal?

Before you fully grasped what had happened in that fleeting moment of clarity, your hand made contact with Seungkwan, trailing lightly up his forearm. He immediately turned to face you, and your eyes locked, but suddenly they felt as if they belonged to someone else as if you were watching a different kind of film—a film where you were a separate character, experiencing everything from an alternate reality.

“Seungkwan,” your voice spoke, sounding foreign and distant as if someone else were taking control. Jeonghan? 

‘It was so painful to watch.’

Jeonghan guided your hand to brush against Seungkwan's ear, teasingly grazing the tip and relishing the warmth that bloomed between your fingers.

“Hey,” he replied, his nerves speaking for him. “Is something wrong?”

A low chuckle escaped from the depths of your throat, echoing Jeonghan’s playful menace. “You didn’t think we were just going to watch a movie, did you?”

Seungkwan audibly gulped, his eyes darting around as anxiety crept in. “We aren’t?”

“What’s the matter?” Jeonghan leaned in closer, your lips brushing against Seungkwan’s ear. “Where’s that confidence you had yesterday?”

Seungkwan suddenly tossed a pillow onto his lap, speechless and blushing fiercely. “Sorry,” he stammered, caught off guard. “I never anticipated—”

“Oh, really? You never expected to do something other than watching movies?” Your hand gently cupped his cheek, and you could feel Seungkwan melt into your touch with a gentle whimper.

A delighted sigh escaped you, fueled by Jeonghan’s newfound confidence coursing through your veins as your thumb traced the curve of Seungkwan’s Adam’s apple, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse beneath your fingertips.

“You didn’t think for a second, I’d–you know–keep the night as is, did you?”

He softly groaned in his throat, feeling the tension seep inside him. “Are you suggesting?”

“I don’t want to just watch movies with you, Seungkwan. It’d be more fun to make our own. Isn’t that right?”

“...yes. God, yes.”

He leaned in, cradling your face in his hands, and pressed his lips to yours in a swift, hungry kiss, sending a surge of electricity through you as your tension unraveled in waves. His weight dipped against your body, pinning you against the rough tweed of the couch. His soft moans mingled with your breaths, muffled yet threatening, as if he were desperate to let loose and explore the desire in his heart while you were within reach.

‘That’s it.’

Your hand held the back of his head, catching strands between your fingers and tugged, ravaging his lips as if it’d be the last time you’d get a chance. You weren’t sure when Jeonghan gave you back your control, but in the heat of the moment, none of it mattered.

He tasted like a life force, fueling the fire burning in your loins and the fire kindling in your stomach; he had you wanting more with every passing second. His hands grabbed you recklessly, throwing his weight against you and squeezing your flesh until it was tender and malleable in his hands. This wasn’t something to unfold on the couch, you thought—not when a big, inviting bed lay just a few steps away, calling for you.

Your feet regained enough feeling to guide you off the couch, and before you knew it, you were stumbling toward your room, feverish and driven, with no thought of turning back. Your hands found his clothes, teasing beneath his holiday vest and up his torso, admiring the smooth flush of skin that graced your senses. He gasped, succumbing to your excitement and leaned into it, falling seamlessly into your rhythm.

“Didn’t want to stretch this, but,” he pulled the vest and shirt beneath over his head, tossing them aside in the corner. You let your hand linger longer on his body, running along the curve of his spine as he pulled you closer.

Seungkwan grasped your waist, savoring your lips with gentle strokes of his tongue before lifting you from the ground and onto the bed. Your bodies crushed against one another, peeling off articles of clothing one piece at a time until you were almost bare, expertly taking you apart to have you whole. All to himself as far as he knew.

“Seungkwan,” you called out in pleas, hands cradling the back of his neck as his hair fell over his eyes. “I want you so bad…”

“You’re telling me,” he managed to breathe out,  gripping your underwear at its hem and scrapping it over your hips as he pulled them down. “I’ve thought about you ever since I met you.”

Your heart bloomed in your chest, pleasantly startled by his confession. Your hands ran through his hand, pushing them over his forehead despite knowing they’d only fall back in place. “You were always so…friendly.”

He smiled, pressing it against the corner of your lips and decorating your cheeks and jaw with kisses. “Yeah. I always hoped that we’d be more than just friendly.”

“Well, mission accomplished.” You pulled him back into a lip lock, parting your legs to give him access.

‘Look at all the fun you’re having.’

Jeonghan was like a wandering whisper, weaving through your thoughts as Seungkwan enveloped your senses. Seungkwan’s hands were on your body, touching what’s yours and making it his, where Jeonghan could feel it as much as you could, and you knew it. He got off on this just as much as you did.

‘Feel him rubbing that pretty pussy of yours.’

“So wet…” Seungkwan said with ache, sounding like he was pleading.

His digits found your sensitivity and thumbed over your clit, stimulating you until your voice rang but the last thing you were doing was speaking. You became fluent in moans, fluid in body language, and perfect in Seungkwan. Your breath dragged on, panting against him as your leg hooked to his side, holding him with urgency.

‘So fucking horny…you were begging to be fucked, hmm?’

You couldn’t help but nod, hand lowering to find Seungkwan’s raging erection just within reach. He softly gasped, thrusting into your touch as you held his shaft, stroking his length that felt so full in your hands. So stiff, yet warm to the touch, almost tasting the tension on your tongue. 

‘Look at that size, huh? Imagine how that feels in you. Stretching your pussy and making you feel so full? Doesn’t that sound amazing?’

“I need you in me Seungkwan.” You begged in desperate pants, gripping him by the forearms. “I want to feel you inside me.”

There was a certain eagerness in his eyes, the kind that said he would do anything and everything for you in a heartbeat and succeed. You weren’t dealing with any average guy that wanted to get off. “Fuck,” he whispered, before lifting his upper body, putting himself on full display.

His physique was magnificent in every way, tantalizing and captivating like nothing you’ve ever encountered. You had an inkling of what he looked like under all his clothes, the veins always so prominent on his forearms and hands when he strained to reach something on a shelf, the line of his back when his lifted shirt revealed just a sliver of skin, or his wide hips, baring an ass so round and full they look like they came straight out of the oven. Never have you ever wanted to run your hands over something, nor have you ever wanted to sink your teeth into something. Yet, here was Seungkwan: utterly delectable.

Seungkwan dragged you by the ankles, moving you effortlessly as he angled himself between your legs, your molten heat practically dripping at the sight of him. His groan bounced off the walls, hand coming over your inner thighs and gently massaging your skin. As his kisses started to pepper over your legs, you felt your pussy physically throb, damned to eternal craving.

“You look like heaven,” He cried against your thighs. “Any protection?”

“It’s right–oh.” You picked up a rubber conveniently left at your nightstand, then handed it to Seungkwan. ‘You‘re welcome.’

He set it aside with a smile and instead of putting it on, his face fell on your heat. He tasted you like it was worship; the dance of his tongue was his prayers, while your response flowed like a cascade of blessings. You whined when you felt him pursed around your clit, teeth barely grazing you as he sucked down like you’re the last bit of syrup in a dessert.

At the same time, his eyes glazed over to yours, a hand hovering over your chest, inaudibly asking permission, and when you gave him a wordless nod, he grabbed handfuls of your breasts. He kneaded you between his knuckles, rolling your buds between his fingers, and having you surrender to his chase.

“Seungkwan, please…”

Seungkwan’s eyes glimmered with pride, a sultry testament to the depth of his exploration. The longer he ventured, the more you found ogasmic relief, feeling every ounce of his efforts and every ounce of his pleasure. You held him by his hair, leg anchoring over his back, feeling his tongue massage your inner walls. His voice vibrates inside you, somehow stealing your breath, and filling you with utter euphoria. 

‘You feel that? How much he wants you? How much he craves you. He’s been waiting for this day. And you should reward him. Don’t you think?’

You tugged him up, watch him gasping for air, replace one pair of lips with another. You flipped him on his back, gaining momentum, and relishing in the power of control, and swallowing his gasps. You aligned the hilt of his cock towards you, ensuring you wrapped it protection before it sat between the slit of your folds. 

Seungkwan tilted his head back, his eyes glistening with desire as he admired you, his gaze revealing his thoughts like an open book.  "You're so sexy," he murmured, the words spilling out without hesitation. While his look said it all, hearing it felt like a heated rush of affirmation, and it made you want him more.

You pushed his length in you, feeling his size pulsate through you, and a moan managed to pass through your lips. Shivers ran down through you, goosebumps pebbling your skin, and you realized the raging presence of Seungkwan was going to be the death of you. As he rocked inside you, he held your hips in place, guiding your form up and down on lap, adjusting to your squeeze, and adjusting to how it contracts. “Oh my god, please, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Just like I wanted,” You teased. 

Your lips brushed against his neck, grazing your teeth over his skin before making passionate kisses to his neck, grinding down on his body until there isn’t a hint of space between your bodies. You were growing weary–albeit needy–chasing a high that was so close to be conquered. You felt it, Seungkwan felt it, and damn well Jeonghan felt it. You needed more, just a little more.

Suddenly, the air was knocked out of your lungs, as if something vital had escaped from within you, and your movements were put to a halt. 

“Sorry,” you apologize, pushing the hair way from your face. “Not sure what happened. I promise–”

“Don’t apologize to me, Humie.”

You heard his voice—or rather, an echo of Jeonghan’s voice—calling from below you, and as you met his gaze in Seungkwan’s eyes, your expression widened in shock. “Jeonghan,” you declared menacingly.

“In the flesh. Well, not my own, but you get the idea,” he quipped.

You nudged at the body beneath you, careful of not hurting the host. “Get out of this poor human’s body right now! What happened to consent?”

“Oh, he’s very much consenting to the thrill of this level of intimacy,” Jeonghan replied, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“Not when it involves a literal ghost!”

“Relax, he won’t remember a thing. My spirit won’t let him. All he’ll recall is the good time he had,” the body thief winked playfully.

“Bullshit! Do what’s right and let the boy go.”

“But I am doing what’s right.” His grip tightened around your hips, pushing Seungkwan’s cock deeper in you as if it was possible and ebbing weak moans from as he pulled you closer, a wicked smile dancing on his lips. “So right.”

“J-Jeonghan,” you stammered, your pulse quickening.

“I just couldn’t take it anymore, Humie. You looked absolutely ravishing. I had to experience you for myself.”

Your head was screaming all kinds of denial, but your body thrived off his confidence, his energy was flowing through you, splitting through you and hitting a spot of pliancy. This was so wrong. “This…this is violating…for him…”

“But you love it, don’t you? It’s like a wicked thrill, a tantalizing pleasure that feeds your deepest, most tumultuous desires.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the pulsating cock rocking your very core. “And what kind of desires is that?”

“You want us both,” he answered plainly. “The human and me.”

You shook your head, fingers tightening around Seungkwan’s shoulders in a desperate bid for security as you fought against Jeonghan’s seductive temptations. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Then, why don’t you get off of me?”

“It’s Seungkwan I can’t get off of,” You clarified.

You could recognize Jeonghan’s smile, even though it was plastered on Seungkwan’s face—so conniving, so devilish. It exuded an intoxicating power that was inhumane, but irresistible. “But it's me you’re riding–and fucking hell–you look so good doing it.”

“Jeonghan…” You whimpered, pleading for release from his coercion, but as you feared, mercy eluded you entirely.

“Yes,” His palm rode up your body, his lips parting in haughty confidence. “Beg for me, beg for me to fuck you full.”

“...Fuck it. I want you to fuck me full.” You accepted him, feeling the tension of the cock inside you, ripple waves straight into your heat. 

Mindlessly, you accepted his domineering hand that landed on your mouth, feeling it travel past your lips, parting way with his thumb. You wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking them like candy, and the shame that once enveloped your paradoxical feelings dissipated, leaving only a deep hunger in its wake. 

Whether it was Jeonghan or Seungkwan beneath you, it was all true to its very core. You had an undeniable infatuation for your cute neighbor and a strange fascination with the handsome ghost. The connection you felt with both was more than palpable, leaving you with an unexplained frenzy of emotions that would require extensive therapy. You knew the logical choice was the one who was alive, but you had never considered that you could have both—especially not in such a chaotic, unorthodox three-way.

“Look at what a slut you are for us, your lips so perfect wrapped around these slender fingers of his.”

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” you quietly muttered to yourself, grinding harder, sucking Seungkwan’s fingers deeper, and gradually succumbing to Jeonghan’s demands.

Jeonghan let out a deep, rolling laugh that resonated from Seungkwan’s core, a sound so rich and dark it sent a momentary unease through you. “You’re simply giving into your desires, why fight it?”

“You damn well know why,” you spat out his fingers and gritted your teeth.

“Now that’s not nice,” His hand covered the shape of your ass, cupping them in his palms, “Do I need to show you how to be nicer to me?”

“Jeonghan,” you groaned, feeling his digits dig into your flesh as he spread them apart. 

“What’s that, baby?” he experimented, “Looks like I have to make this a teaching opportunity after all? Because you can’t show your gratitude?”

“Jeonghan, please.”

“Well, if you insist.” With an unexplainable, arcane, supernatural force, the dynamics were switched and Jeonghan had you on your stomach, ass conveniently placed in from of him. 

“Jeonghan!”

"I always knew you looked good from every angle, but wow—this one is something else." His hand glided over your curves, Seungkwan’s cock splitting down your divide, you grasped your thirst.

Anticipation was wreaking havoc on your sanity, leaving you in a deafening silence as you waited for Jeonghan to make his move, impatience following. “Will you just–”

A hand clashed against your backside, your skin stinging from impact, and relieving you from a ched yelp. Jeonghan braced you against a groin, the erection nudging at your skin. “So needy,” he chuckled. You felt the tip tease along your slit, eventually filling you up in that familiar way.

You whimper, the size still enticingly foreign, and back into his weight, feel yourself travel all the way down to the base.

“And impatient,” Jeonghan softly groans, grounding himself to you in careful, yet sharp thrusts.

You balled your sheets into fists, your voice muffled as you buried your face in a pillow.

He chuckled against his skin. “That good?”

“Y-yes,” you helplessly whispered.

He slammed down on you, releasing a squeaky spring sound from the bed, both embarrassing and strangely arousing. “Even when I do that?”

“Yes…more please…”

Jeonghan repeated the move, finding a steady rhythm, and watched as your skin and flesh recoiled back against him. He could feel his host basking in the intensity of this pleasure, tears swelling his eyes as your moans echoed in his ears, memorizing from the decibels your voice reached, to the way you looked from behind, and even how the flesh of thighs spilled when you collapsed wearily on the mattress.

“Insane,” He said in hushed whispers.

“Stop it,” you whined.

“Stop what? Showing you how fucking perfect you are taking my cock?” He grunted.

You pressed your lips in a firm lip, clawing down on the bed as your core tightened, every pound drilling into you, giving into his indulgence and taking you along with him. He made every thrust count as the echo of skin slapping faded into the background.

“Oh please, help me cum.” You begged. “Please, please, please…”

His pace quickened, his rhythm erratic. “Yeah, you want your cum to coat around my cock like a good little whore.”

“Yes, Jeonghan please, just give it to me.”

“You asked, and you shall receive.”

Finally, he bottomed out into you, unleashing the reins he held to prolong this moment and cut them lose. Your body was no longer yours, weakened by the spirit draining your energy. Your jaw fell slack, unable to close, a waning moaning stretching for miles, ecstasy coursing through your veins. 

You said one name, then another, and then again. This was really confusing but you were here, pounded into oblivion for what it seem endless eternity, until you realized you were full and not with what you had initially anticipated. In the remenance of fatigue from the sex, you fail to notice the lack of protetction seeing as proof of you supernatural rendezvous was seeping out of you like a slow river.

“Jeonghan!” 

“What?” he drowsily answered as he claimed the side of the bed besides you, evidently using the extent of Seungkwan’s body.

“What the fuck happened to the condom?”

“Please, that’s my own cum.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ectoplasm, you know. Comes from all sorts of places.”

“I hate you so much—am I gonna get pregnant with ghost kids?”

“Relax, and no you aren’t. It’s as effective as…something really ineffective–fuck, I’m tired.”

“And Seungkwan. What about Seungkwan?”

“He’s fine and his release became as good as mine when I possessed his body. His soul is asleep right about now, having a catnap. Now come here.” he pulled you towards him, throwing your covers over you and keeping you away from the draft into to room, slipping you into his arms. “Stop tiring yourself out any further and rest. Everything will be fine when he wakes up like a man that got laid: amazing.”

“Fine,” you muttered with heavy eye lids, “but only because im really tired.”

And from that moment sleep was easy.

You woke up to those same arms, now only asleep and less “ghost-like” and snuggled up closer to him, a newly acclaimed heat source. A soft chuckle escaped him, holding you tighter in his embrace as a kiss fell on the top of your forehead. “Hey there.”

You smile, cupping the side of his face in your hand. “Hi.”

“That was amazing, you’re amazing,” he said, planting another kiss on your nose. “Is it weird to say it felt so good I kinda blacked out?”

“Ha,” you shook your head, knowing the truth, “No, but thank you for the massive compliment.”

He grinned, a flush of red coating his cheeks, before pulling you into a deep and wonderful kiss, entanging his legs with yours. He seeped into realization when he found the mess between your legs, untouched since sex. “Oh shit, I did that, didn’t I?”

“It’s okay, I…have some sort of protection.”

“One moment.” Seungkwan came up naked from the bed, momentarily left the room, and with a noticeably wet hand towel. “I usually have an extra clean one on hand for after my workout. Glad I brought a backpack for no reason today.

As he inched closer, he sat between your legs, uncovering you from the blanket, and politely asked if he could help. When he received your consent, he brought it up to the mess, gently swiping between every crevice, ridding any remnants of cum that might have been left over. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” you reassured, visibly gushing.

“Of course, I do.” He insisted, a sincere smile gracing his features. “It's my pleasure taking care of you.”

It was so disorienting going from the original to Jeonghan’s version and back to the original Seungkwan. As if you were once looking through a window of an alternate reality. Still a lot to process what happened.

“I don’t usually do this,” you try explaining yourself, “I just…I’ve been into you for a long time and I just thought, maybe, you felt the same.”

“I do,” he pressed his lips to your inner thigh. “A lot.”

“So you wouldn’t mind seeing me again?”

“I wouldn’t object to the idea,” he grinned, “especially if we get to do what we did to make me black out in the first place.”

[v6quewrlds]

ALL MINE, TEE HIGGINS.

pairing⠀⁎⠀tee higgins x ex!reader. word count⠀⁎⠀7.4k.

summary⠀⁎⠀two years ago, you thought you had left tee higgins in the past. both ja'marr and tee's mother have been waiting to bring you back into the loop, by any means necessary.

author's note⠀⁎⠀i think i've written and rewritten this fic at least 4 times in the last two months. pls suspend your disbelief and imagine car sex isn't a semi-miserable experience. lost the original request for this but sorry it took me forever, here it is <3 warnings⠀⁎⠀18+ mdni, smut, jealous!tee, mama tee & ja'marr meddling, forced proximity trope, car sex, fingering, male masturbation, oral sex (m. receiving), facial lol, feelings, etc.

You took your seat, balancing your nachos in one hand and your soda in another. You couldn't believe you had agreed to come to the game tonight. The stadium lights reflected off the field, creating a kaleidoscope of color against the night sky. The roar of the crowd washed over you like a wave of nostalgia, a stark contrast to the quiet solace of your usual Sunday nights at home. You had hoped the distance between you and the game would be enough to keep you from seeing Tee, but the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

When Ja'Marr had bribed you with free tickets and the promise of seeing your hard work on his shoulder in action from the VIP suite, you had felt a flutter of excitement. It was the kind of experience you had always dreamed of, a chance to see the game you loved from a perspective most fans could only envy. But the moment you walked in and saw Tee's mother, your heart had sunk. You knew that look in her eye, the one that said she'd been waiting for this moment for nearly two years.

You knew Tee and Ja'Marr were extremely close, but you hadn't anticipated their families sharing a suite for the season - an oversight on your part that had led you straight into the lion's den. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the awkwardness to come. Tee's mother, gave you a knowing smile - one that mirrored Tee's - and a wink that made your heart race.

"Is that who I think it is?" You heard Tee's mother wonder out loud as you approached the suite. Your heart skipped a beat. You had hoped you could fly under the radar, but you should have known better. Tee's mother was sharp, and she hadn't missed a beat when it came to her son's love life.

You had met Tee's mother twice before, both times ending in an unspoken promise that you would help her son get his life in check. Now, as the woman's gaze fell on you, you felt a strange mix of dread and comfort. She was the kind of person who didn't miss a beat, and she wasn't about to let you slip away without making her intentions known. She wanted you back with Tee, and she wasn't afraid to play Cupid.

"I'm so happy you made it," Tee's mother said, her voice warm and welcoming despite the tension in the air. "It's so good to see you, baby." The Southern warmth enveloped you. You forced a smile, your eyes glancing at the field where Tee was warming up with his team.

"It's nice to see you too," you managed to say, your voice tight. You knew that the woman's welcoming tone was a loaded one, filled with expectations and hopes for a reunion you weren't quite ready to entertain.

Tee's mother leaned in, whispering in your ear. "You look gorgeous, darling. Tee's so hard-headed, but I know he'll be happy to see you." You felt a warmth creep up your neck as you took a sip of your soda, hoping the cool liquid would calm the storm brewing inside you. You knew that you had to be as normal as you could muster, especially considering the circumstances of your breakup with Tee. But as you watched Tee on the field, your thoughts drifted to those passionate nights the two of you had shared, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was still something there.

The game kicked off, and you found yourself lost in the excitement of the plays, the cheers of the crowd, and the occasional glance at Tee, his muscles rippling as he sprinted across the field. Every time he caught a pass, celebrated with his teammates, or flashed that million-dollar smile, you felt a twinge of something you had been trying so hard to bury. You focused on Ja'Marr's performance, nodding with professional pride at each catch and cringing at each hit he took.

The game ended just as explosively as it had started, with the Bengals claiming victory. The suite erupted into a roar of cheers and laughter, and you found yourself being swept up in the excitement despite your apprehension about seeing Tee. As the families began to filter out of the suite and into the hallway leading to the players' exit, you tried to hide behind Ja'Marr's parents, hoping to go under the radar just until you could congratulate him. But fate had other plans.

As the players began to pour out of the locker room to greet their families, you were quickly spotted by various team members who had become familiar faces at your clinic. They greeted you with smiles and updates on their recoveries, making small talk that you returned with genuine enthusiasm.

Tee stepped out of the locker room, standing head and shoulders above the vast majority of the crowd. His eyes scanned the hallway, looking for his mother and Ja'Marr's family. The sight of your signature sleek jet-black hair tucked between the sea of heads stopped him in his tracks. The jean shorts and jersey you had worn teasingly hid your curves in a way that had his thoughts drifting to the nights the two of you had spent together. He felt the heat of his shock and desire mingling, unsure which would win out.

A hand clapped down on his shoulder as he stood frozen in his spot. Ja'Marr's laugh only seemed to push his irritation further as he watched you interact with his teammates, all smiles and gentle touches that made his blood boil. "You can thank me later," he said, a smug smirk playing across his lips as he stepped in front of Tee to greet his family. Tee's mother pulled Ja'Marr in for a quick hug, whispering, "It's about time you got her down here, good job," before releasing him and turning her attention to her brooding, silent son.

The tension in the air was palpable as you and Tee locked eyes over his mother's shoulder. He couldn't read the emotions playing out on your face, but he knew you were just as annoyed as he was. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before he made a scene. He didn't know what to say to you, didn't know how to act with you so close to him. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the victory night for everyone with your personal drama.

Ja'Marr reached you before Tee could say a word, pulling you into a warm hug and breaking your eye contact with Tee. "Thanks for everything," he said, sincerity in his voice. "Couldn't have done it without you." The other stray players nodded in agreement, sharing their appreciation for your work. Tee felt his jaw clench, the jealousy bubbling to the surface as he watched you laugh and joke with the men he shared a locker room with.

But as the crowd thinned and the congratulations grew quieter, you turned to leave, your eyes avoiding Tee's gaze. You didn't want to deal with this, not now, not here. Tee's mother, ever the opportunist, called out to you. "How are you getting home, sweetheart?" She feigned innocence.

Your eyes snapped to hers, a silent plea to convince her to ease the pressure. "I'm all good. I didn't want to deal with the parking headache so I ubered over. I'll just order one to get home," you replied, hoping to keep the conversation moving.

Tee's mother, however, had other plans.

"Why don't you let Tee take you home," Tee's mother said, her voice a blend of sweetness and command that left you with little room to argue. To make matters worse, Tee nodded, seeing an opening and taking it without question.

"Yeah, you still live at the same place?" Tee asked, his voice low and gruff. You nodded, unable to hide the irritation in your eyes. You didn't want to be here, didn't want to deal with this, but you had no escape. Tee's mother had set the stage, and now you had to play the part.

"Good," he said decisively, leaving you no room to argue. "I'll take you."

The walk to Tee's car was a silent battle of wills, with each step echoing the unspoken tension that had grown between the two of you. You felt a storm of emotions brewing, a tornado of anger and desire that you hadn't felt since the last time you were together. You were torn between pushing him away and throwing yourself into his arms, but you knew the latter was a dangerous path you couldn't afford to take.

As you approached the sleek black sports car, you could see his eyes scanning the parking lot, looking for any sign of recognition or potential interested eyes. It had always been like this with Tee, a constant dance of public and private personas. You knew the weight of being a public figure's girlfriend - or fuck buddy - all too well, and you weren't sure if you wanted to step back into that world again.

But as the two of you climbed into the car and the door shut behind them, the outside world faded away. The leather seats were perfectly pristine, and the scent of his cologne filled the space, a heady mix that was both comforting and infuriating. You sat in silence, jaws set and tense. You were the first to break it.

"Why'd you say that?" you spat out, your eyes on the floor mat as you fidgeted with the zipper of your purse. "Why would you put me in that situation in front of everyone?"

Tee's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his head shaking, already rejecting your frustration. "What situation? You looked like you was having the time of your life flirting with my teammates," he shot back, the edge in his voice betraying his own jealousy.

"Flirting? I was talking to my patients," you retorted, your voice rising slightly. "But that's always your go-to, isn't it? Accuse me of shit when you know damn well I'm just doing my job." You glanced up at him, your eyes flashing with anger.

Tee met your gaze in the mirror, his jaw tight. "And what about you wearing my boy's jersey?" He gestured towards you, the frustration in his voice palpable. "That's not sending a message?"

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Tee, it is just a jersey. And last time I checked, I can wear whatever the hell I want." The words hung in the air, charged with the electricity of your unresolved feelings.

"Yeah, but why his?" Tee countered, his voice thick with irritation. He started the engine and pulled out of the garage, the tires squealing slightly as he hit the gas. The darkness of the night outside the car mirrored the tumultuous emotions inside.

"It's not just about the jersey, Tee," you sighed, your voice filled with a mix of frustration and longing. "It's about respecting me as a person. You don't own me. I can't believe we're even having this conversation."

Tee clenched his teeth, feeling his blood pressure rise. "You're right, I don't own you," he said, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. "But you know damn well that ain't what this is about." His hand reached over and rested on your thigh, his thumb making slow, deliberate circles.

You felt a shiver run through your body despite the warmth of his touch. "Then what is it about?" you asked, your hand hesitating before pushing his hand away. You shifted in your seat, crossing your arms tightly.

Tee's hand hovered over your thigh for a moment before retreating. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's about... us. And how we always seem to end up in the same fucked up situation." He paused, glancing over at you before continuing. "It's about how every time I see you, I want to love on you so badly it hurts."

Your eyes searched his profile in the dim car light, the glow of passing streetlights casting shadows on his sharp features. "And what about when you don't see me?" you challenged, your voice laced with bitterness. "You still get to fuck on whoever you want, whenever you want. But the second I try to live my life, you act like I'm the one who's wrong."

Tee's eyes never left the road, groaning in response to your argument. "You think it's easy for me?" he bit back. "You think I don't miss you every fucking day? That I don't lay in bed at night thinking about you?" His voice grew softer, the anger momentarily subsiding. "But every time we talk, it's the same shit. You push me away, and I don't know how to fix it."

You stared at your hands in your lap, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. You had missed him too, but you weren't about to admit that. Not now. Not when you had worked so hard to move on. "You can't fix it if you don't know what's broken," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the hum of the car's engine.

Tee sighed. "Then tell me. Tell me what the fuck I did wrong, because I've been playing this shit on repeat in my head for two years, and I can't figure it out." His frustration was clear, but so was the desperation in his voice.

You turned to face him, your eyes searching his for a moment before you spoke. "You didn't do just one thing wrong, Tee. It's like you never knew how to just be with me without all the drama and the games. And when we tried to get serious, you just... you just didn't get it."

Tee's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Get what?" he asked, his voice tight.

You let out a long, exasperated sigh. "You didn't get that I needed more than just... this," you said, gesturing between the two of you. "I needed someone who could handle being with me without all the bullshit, without treating me like a fucking trophy to show off to your boys. I just wanted you to be able to chill the fuck out around me."

Tee remained silent, his eyes focused on the road as he digested your words. The silence grew heavier, each passing second feeling like an eternity. Finally, he spoke. "I know I fucked up. But you gotta know that when I'm around you, it's like... I just can't control myself. I can't think right."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't deny the flutter in your stomach at his confession. "Well, maybe you should learn," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. But you knew he had a point. Whenever the two of you were together, it was like your emotions had a mind of their own, a tornado that wreaked havoc on everything around you.

"I'm trying," Tee said, his voice gruff. "But it's hard when I see you with other guys, talking with my mom, wearing another man's jersey..." He trailed off, his voice thick with unspoken frustration and something else - something that made your heart race.

"I'm not with anyone, Tee," you said, your voice softer now. "I've been focusing on work, on myself."

Tee glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment too long before returning to the road. "For real?" His voice was tinged with skepticism.

"Yeah, for real," you snapped, feeling the heat of his stare. "Why can't you just believe me?"

Tee didn't respond, his eyes flicking back and forth between the road and your profile. The two of you drove in silence for a few minutes, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. The city lights flashed by, a blur of color that matched the chaos in your mind. You could feel his eyes on you and the corners of his lips pulling into a smug smile. It was infuriating, but you couldn't help but be drawn in by his magnetic energy.

"I can't stand you," you huffed, your eyes never leaving his profile.

Tee chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You never mean that shit," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through you. He pulled into your parking garage, looking for a guest spot as he casually added, "When was the last time you got fucked right?"

Your eyes widened in shock, your breath hitching in your throat. "What the hell did you just say to me?" you hissed, your hand itching to reach for the door handle.

Tee's grin grew wider, his teeth flashing in the dim light of the garage. "You heard me," he drawled, pulling into an empty spot. "It's a damn shame you can't remember."

Your hand hovered over the door handle, torn between the desire to cuss him out and the heat that was spreading through you at the thought of your past encounters. "Why are you doing this?" you demanded, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and arousal you couldn't hide.

"Doing what?" Tee feigned innocence, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he turned to look at you. "Just trying to have a conversation, that's all. Remind you of what you've been missing." He stepped out of the car, the sound of the door slamming echoing through the garage.

You sat in the car, seething, trying to compose yourself. You didn't need this shit, not from him. But as you watched him walk around to your side, you knew you couldn't ignore him. You stepped out, your legs wobbly from the mix of emotions. He leaned against the car, arms folded over his broad chest, watching you with a smug look that made you want to scream.

Your eyes squinted, "Tee," you warned, "Don't start with me."

"I'm not starting anything," he said, his voice smoother than you remembered. "You remember that weekend you missed your flight?" Your cheeks grew warm, the memory rushing back. "You were so busy screaming my name, you ain't even notice the time."

Your nostrils flared, but you couldn't argue with that. It had been one of those weekends - passionate and all-consuming. But that was the problem with Tee. He had a way of making everything feel ten times more intense than it should have been, and you had been swept away by it every single time.

"Don't flatter yourself," you said, trying to sound unaffected. "It was just good dick."

Tee's grin never wavered. "Is that all it was to you?" He stepped closer, closing the space between you, your back pressed against the car. "Just good dick?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, his proximity making your head throb. You could feel his warmth, smell his cologne, and it was doing things to you that you didn't want to admit.

"Tee, don't do this to me," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. But it was too late. The dam had broken and you could feel the passion and frustration boiling over.

"You know it wasn't just that," Tee said, his voice dropping to a whisper. His hand reached up, cupping your cheek delicately, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "It was never just about the sex. Like the week before we broke up, you remember that, don't you?"

Your eyes narrowed, trying to fight the memories that flooded back. That week had been intense, a whirlwind of success after the Bengals won the AFC North Championship, and the private moments you had shared in the aftermath had been more than just physical. "You can't just throw that in my face," you murmured, your voice strained.

Tee stepped closer, his breath warm against your cheek. "But it's the truth, ain't it?" he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "You can't tell me you don't miss that connection."

Your eyes fluttered closed, the memories of your passionate encounters overwhelming you. "Fuck," you breathed, your voice trembling. "Sprayed me with champagne, didn't you?"

Tee's smile grew as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a seductive murmur. "And then I ate that pussy good, just how you like," he whispered, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. Your breath hitched, and you couldn't stop the images that flashed through your mind. That night had been explosive, a celebration of victory and passion.

Your body responded despite your resistance, and you felt yourself leaning into him, your hand reaching up to push against his chest. But instead of pushing him away, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. You whimpered softly, your resolve wavering.

Tee took this as an invitation, his hand moving to the nape of your neck and pulling you in for a deep, possessive kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, and you could taste the victory of the game on him, the sweetness of his triumph mixing with the bitterness of your past. You kissed him back with a ferocity that surprised even yourself, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions - anger, desire, and a hint of nostalgia. You didn't want to be here, didn't want to feel this way again, but you were powerless against the gravitational pull of your history. As you broke apart for a moment to catch your breath, Tee's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of surrender.

"Fuck you," you whispered, your eyes blazing with a mix of frustration and need. But even as you said the words, your body betrayed you, arching into his touch, your breasts brushing against his chest.

Tee chuckled against your lips, his hand sliding down to your ass, and squeezing gently. "I'm trying," he murmured, his teeth grazing your bottom lip.

The garage lights were dim, casting shadows over your bodies as you kissed, a silent symphony of passion and anger playing out between the two of you. You felt his other hand move to your waist, pulling you closer. You wanted to push him away, to scream and yell and tell him to leave you alone, but you couldn't. Your body was responding to his touch in a way you hadn't allowed it to in almost two years, and you were powerless to stop it.

With a low growl, Tee whispered, "You want this?" Your eyes searched his, a war of emotions playing out in their depths. Finally, you nodded, and Tee didn't need any more encouragement. He yanked you closer, his mouth devouring yours, his hands roaming over your body, relearning every curve and angle.

"Upstairs?" Tee murmured against your neck, his voice thick with lust.

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of desire that clouded your thoughts. "Can't wait that long, backseat's fine," you murmured. The words slipped out before you could think better of it, but once they did, there was no turning back. You crawled into the back seat, shooting him a searing glare as he slapped your ass before climbing in after you.

In the confines of the car, the tension between the two of you was thick. Tee didn't waste time, his hands roaming over your body as if he knew every inch of you. Your resolve crumbled as his lips found your neck, kissing and nibbling along the sensitive skin. You let out a soft moan, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt as you straddled his strong thighs.

"You missed this," Tee murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "Admit it."

You gritted your teeth, trying to keep your voice steady. "Just good dick, remember?" But your words held no conviction, and Tee's smug smile grew wider. He knew he had you, and the thrill of it was written all over his face. He reached up, cupping your cheek gently. "But it's more than that, baby," he whispered, his voice a seductive purr. "It's always been more."

As he spoke, his hand moved to unbutton your jean shorts. Your chest heaved as you felt his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties. The touch was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body that you hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity.

"You’re so fuckin' wet, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Your breath hitched as Tee's fingers found your entrance and circled it with a skill that had you biting back a moan. The friction was exquisite, and you couldn’t help but rock against him, your body begging for more.

"Tee..." you whispered, your voice a mix of warning and need. But he ignored you, his focus solely on the pleasure he was giving you. His fingertips found your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to make your toes curl in your sneakers. Your eyes fluttered closed as you gave yourself over to the sensation, the anger dissipating like smoke in the wind.

"Just like old times..." Tee murmured as he slid two fingers into you, the sudden fullness making you gasp. The leather of the passenger seat headrest behind your head was cold against your skin as you leaned back, your eyes fluttering closed. The sound of your breathing filled the small space, punctuated by the occasional moan that escaped your lips. You had missed this, the feeling of being filled and desired by someone who knew your body so well and on instinct.

But you weren't about to admit it. Not now, not when you were trying so hard to keep your walls up. "Don't get too cocky," you managed to say, your voice strained. "It's just been a dry spell."

Tee chuckled darkly, his thumb continuing to circle your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. "Dry spell or not, still got the wettest pussy I've ever had," he said, his voice filled with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

You couldn't help the moan that escaped you as he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss that left you gasping for air. His hand slid from your neck to your chest, cupping your breast through the jersey and teasing the nipple into a tight peak. You felt his cock strain against his pants, and the urge to feel him inside you was almost too much to bear.

"Take this shit off," he hissed as if suddenly remembering you were wearing Ja'Marr's jersey. The material of the jersey was pulled away from your body, revealing your plain black bra. The sound of the fabric tearing filled the car, echoing the chaotic passion between the two of you. Tee's eyes darkened with desire and a hint of possessiveness as he stared at your exposed skin.

His gaze dropped, and he leaned in to kiss the soft swell of your tits, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin before biting down gently, causing you to gasp and arch your back. His other hand remained between your legs, his fingers moving in and out of you, the rhythm increasing as his kisses grew more urgent.

You felt the beginnings of an orgasm building, your hips moving in sync with his hand. But you didn't want it to end there. You wanted more, needed more. With a growl of frustration, you pushed him back and began to undo your shorts, pulling them down over your legs as Tee chuckled, watching your impatience. You kicked them aside, straddling him again, and reached for his pants.

You leaned down to kiss him, your hand fumbling with his belt buckle. The sound of metal clicking open was music to both your ears. You felt his cock, thick and hard, pressing against the fabric of his briefs. Tee groaned, his hips bucking up to meet your hand as you freed him. The sight of him, so eager and needy, made your core throb with desire.

"Fuck, I've missed this," you murmured, your voice thick with lust.

Tee gripped your hips and pulled you down onto him, his erection pushing past your wetness in one swift motion. Your eyes rolled back as he filled you, the sensation of his thickness stretching you almost too much to bear. He began to move, his hips bucking up into you with a fervor that spoke of his own desire. The leather of the car seat was cool as it dug into your knees, but you didn’t care as you leaned into his thrusts, your breath coming out in gasps.

The car rocked slightly with your movements, the sound of your skin slapping together echoing through the quiet night. Your hands gripped the back of the seat, your nails digging into the leather as Tee’s hands roamed over your body, his mouth finding your neck again, sucking hard enough to leave bruises. You knew you would wear them with a disconcerting mix of pride and shame, but right now, you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way he felt inside you.

Tee’s hands slid up to your chest, squeezing your tits roughly, fingers tugging at the clasp, allowing them to fall from their restraint before wrapping his lips around a nipple. You moaned, your hips moving faster, urging him on. His other hand held you in place, keeping you tight against him as he picked up the pace. You could feel your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that was going to shatter you into a million pieces.

"Tee, oh my god," you gasped, your body trembling as you felt yourself getting closer. His teeth grazed your skin, his hand moving down to grip your ass tightly, his hand soothing over the skin before delivering a firm slap that echoed through the car.

"You like that?" he groaned, his voice muffled against your skin. "You like when I fuck you like this?"

You could only nod, your voice lost to the sensation of him filling you so completely. 

Tee wasn’t satisfied by that alone. He pulled away from your neck and stared into your eyes, his own filled with a dark hunger. "Say that shit," he demanded, his voice low and rough. "Say you missed this dick."

Your eyes flashed with defiance for a moment before you gave in, your voice a needy whine. "I missed this dick." The words left your mouth in a rush of air, and Tee's eyes lit up with triumph. He began to pump into you harder, his grip on your hips tightening, his movements more deliberate. The car rocked with each thrust, the leather of the seat squeaking slightly under your weight.

"Good girl," Tee murmured, his voice a low rumble in your ear. "You know you missed this." His thumb found your clit again, pressing down as his fingers continued to explore the depths of you. The sensation was too much, and you felt your orgasm build rapidly, a crescendo of pleasure that you hadn't experienced in so long.

"Tee, oh god, I'm gonna..." your voice trailed off as you bit your lip, your eyes squeezing shut. The words hung in the air, a declaration of your impending climax. Tee's strokes grew more deliberate, his hips meeting yours with a force that had the car bouncing slightly.

"Tell me what you need from me," Tee demanded, his breath hot against your neck. His strokes grew deeper, more powerful, as if he were trying to claim your very soul with every thrust.

Your breath was ragged, your voice strained as you whispered, "Just make me come, Tee. Wanna flood your dick, baby." The words were a mix of submission and challenge that made Tee’s eyes burn with lust. He knew you were close, your breath hitching and your pussy tightening around him. He reached up and pinched your nipple hard, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch your back and cry out.

Your orgasm washed over you like a wave, your pussy clenching down on him as you threw your head back, your eyes squeezed shut. Tee watched your face, the way your mouth fell open in a silent scream, the way your eyes shut and your dimples deepened. He could feel your juices coating him, making every stroke slick and hot. It was like coming home, a feeling he had craved for so long.

"Yeah, baby, just like that. Take what you need from me, baby." Tee murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watched you come apart in his arms. He could feel his own orgasm building, his balls tightening as he pumped into you slowly. He waited, savoring your climax before kissing you, his own climax still quite a ways away.

Your kiss grew sloppier, more desperate, as Tee’s thrusts grew more erratic as he bucked up into you. Your body was hum of sensations, your pussy still clenching around him as you rode out the last of your orgasm. He felt his own approaching, the base of his spine tingling with the promise of release.

With a rush of movement, he lifted you off his lap and dropped you to your knees. You stared up at him, chest heaving, eyes blazing with a mix of anger and lust. Tee took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. He leaned back against the car seat, his erection still standing proud. "Open your mouth," he said, his voice a low growl.

You didn't argue. With a flick of your tongue, you tasted the precum leaking from his tip. The familiar flavor of him washed over you, and you felt a sense of homecoming you hadn’t expected. Tee's hand wrapped around the back of your head, guiding you closer to him.

His hand gripped the base of his cock, stroking slowly as he watched you. You leaned in, taking him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip. Tee's eyes rolled back, his head falling back against the seat. He groaned, his hips jerking upward involuntarily as you took him deeper, your mouth sliding down his length. You knew just how he liked it, the way he liked to feel your tongue on the underside of his shaft, the way he liked to watch you take him in until he was all you could see.

You moaned softly, indulging in the taste of your love-hate relationship, your anger now a distant memory in the face of such raw desire. Tee's eyes never left yours, the silent communication speaking volumes about his need for you. He watched you intently, his hand still guiding your movements, his breathing growing harsher with every stroke of your tongue. Your cheeks hollowed as you took him deeper, your eyes watering slightly as you fought the urge to gag. It had been so long since you had done this, but your body remembered the rhythm, the way to make him moan and squirm.

He gently pulled you away from his length, strong hand moving to jerk himself off. "You gon' swallow what I give you, baby?" he panted, tattooed hand moving frantically over his thick shaft that glistened with a mix of your spit and arousal.

You nodded, eyes never leaving his. You hadn’t expected this turn of events, but you were too far gone to resist. Tee’s hand moved faster, his abs tensing as he approached the edge. Tee's head fell back against the headrest, and he let out a strangled groan, his hand tightening around his dick. You could feel his thighs tense, and you knew he was close.

You stared up at him, arousal and submission swirling in your eyes. "Mmhmm," you murmured, Tee's eyes snapped back to yours, his hand at the back of your head again, holding you as close as possible to his cock without allowing you the satisfaction of taking it in your mouth again.

"So fuckin' pretty, baby. Lookin' at me like that," he murmured, his hand stroking his cock. The sight of him, so lost in his own pleasure, had your pussy pulsing with a renewed hunger. You leaned in, your tongue darting out to lick the tip of his shaft. Tee groaned, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before snapping back open, a hint of challenge in his gaze.

He stroked himself faster, the sound of his hand against his cock filling the small space. Your mouth watered as you watched him, your tongue slipping out to catch the beads of precum that formed at the tip. "You want it, baby?" he asked, his voice tight.

"Mmhmm," you murmured again, eager to please him, to show him that you still knew his body, that you still craved his pleasure.

Tee's hand tightened around his shaft, his hips jerking upward as he reached the peak of his climax. With a final, guttural groan, he spoke, "Open your mouth, baby, take it from me." You eagerly obeyed, your mouth open and waiting. He erupted with a moan, the hot spurts of his cum painting your face and tongue. You took it all, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him on your tongue, the power of his release under your control.

For a moment, you stayed like that, Tee panting and you swallowing, your eyes locked. The tension in the car was palpable, thick with the scent of sex and desire. Tee leaned back, his chest heaving, and you wiped your face with your thumb a smug smile playing on your lips. "Missed me, huh?" you quipped, trying to lighten the mood, but the words hung in the air, loaded with the weight of your tumultuous history.

Tee chuckled, his hand moving to caress your cheek gently, wiping away a stray drop of cum. "More than you know," he admitted, his voice softer than before. You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand sending a shiver through your body. You didn't miss this, you missed him, you realized with a jolt. The way he looked at you, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

But you couldn’t let yourself get lost in that feeling. Not again. With a shaky breath, you sat back on your heels and reached for your discarded jersey, pulling it over your head. You had to get dressed, had to get out of the car, had to get away from him before you did something stupid.

"I'm starting to remember why I threw your ass out my apartment," you said, trying to keep your voice light as you pulled yourself together. Tee threw his head back, laughter filling the car. It was a sound that still made your heart melt.

"You know you liked it," he teased, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched. "Don't worry, I'll make sure to tell your Mom you were a good boy," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Tee's laughter grew louder, and you couldn't help but smile, the sound of it bringing back a flood of memories you had pushed aside.

"You still got my Mom's number?" Tee quipped, still chuckling as he tucked himself back into his pants, watching you struggle to maintain your composure as you dressed. You threw him a glare that would've made a saint sweat, but he just grinned back, unbothered. That was the Tee you missed the most. Not the arrogant superstar, but the goofball who knew how to make you laugh even when you were pissed.

You reached for the car door handle, but Tee's hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could make your escape. His grip was firm but gentle, a silent plea for you to stay for a little while longer. You looked down at your entwined hands, the tension in the air thick with unspoken words. When you looked up at him, you could feel your knees practically give out.

"Look," you began, your voice a shaky whisper.

He shook his head, both hands reaching for your waist. "Don't say it," Tee said, his eyes searching yours. "Don't push me away again. I can't handle that shit." The desperation in his voice was raw, a stark contrast to the cocky confidence he usually exuded. He swallowed slowly, trying to decipher the emotions playing on your face.

You looked down at his grip on your waist, not even realizing you were straddling him again, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. You didn't know what to say. Part of you knew better than to let him back in, but the other part of you, the part that had missed the warmth of his arms, the sparkle in his eyes, and the taste of his mouth, was begging for more. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

"You make this so hard," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion. You didn't want to give in, not after all the pain he had caused you, but you could feel the wall you had built around your heart cracking.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours. "I know, baby," Tee whispered, his voice a sweet promise that sent shivers down your spine. "But we can make it work. Just give me another chance. I swear I'll do better for you."

Your eyes searched his, looking for the lie you told yourself had to be there. But all you found was sincerity, a desperation that mirrored your own. You didn't want to be that girl, the one who took him back after all the shit he had put you through. But you were that girl, and you knew it. With a sigh, you nodded, your body melting into his embrace. "Okay," you murmured, the word a barely-there whisper that seemed to echo in the car.

Tee's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, as if he was afraid you would change your mind. His lips found yours again, a gentle kiss that spoke of his gratitude and his love. You kissed him back, your hesitance dissipating like mist in the morning sun. You had missed this, missed the way he made you feel. A nagging need for his touch, his warmth, his love.

The two of you sat there in the car, kissing, until the reality of your surroundings began to seep back in. You pulled away with a final peck, your eyes wide with the sudden realization of where you were. "Your family's probably wondering where the fuck you are," you said with a laugh, pushing him back gently.

Tee's smile didn't fade. "They'll be fine. They should know better than wait on me when I'm with you." He kissed you again, and you felt the warmth of his affection spread through your body. The moment felt so right, so perfect, like a scene from a movie. But you knew that life was rarely a fairy tale, especially for the two of you.

"Look, I'm not saying we're back together," you began, setting clear boundaries despite your wavering resolve. "But maybe we can see where this goes."

Tee nodded, understanding the cautious tone in your voice. He knew he had to tread lightly. "Whatever you need from me, I'll do it. Just don't push me away again, please," he whispered, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your stomach flutter.

You shared one more lingering kiss before you finally climbed off of him, fixing your clothes with shaky hands. Tee watched you, his own need to touch you still strong. "Need me to walk you up? It's dark as hell out here," he offered, his voice still thick with hope.

You nodded, unable to resist the comfort of his company. The cool night air hit you as you stepped out of the car, the garage lights casting a stark contrast to the inky blackness outside. Tee took your purse in his hand, the other reaching to hold yours, a gesture that felt both familiar and foreign. As the two of you made your way through the now-desolate garage, the sound of your footsteps echoing, you allowed yourself to lean into him slightly, the weight of your decision hanging heavy in the space between you.

[diejager]

a Miguel x f!reader "who did this to you?" Angst fic?

Bittersweet Devotion

Pairing : Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, neglect, canon death, dead wife, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.5k

Miguel’s been distant these days, the world around him coming to a stop. His temper shortened and his patience dropped lower than it was before, but his attentiveness to his work sharpened. He divulged more of his time to the cause, to defend the multiverse from every anomaly that kept popping up in wildly different universes, at the cost of his personal life. Ever since the *Miles issue* had been dealt with (Spots was stopped from ending Captain Morales’ life prematurely, the canon was kept safe and intact, but his parents knew of his identity and his duty to New York and the multiverse.), Miguel shut himself inside the main office, closed off from the wandering Spider-people he brought over to help him protect their livelihood. 

Atop his platform, he worked tirelessly, swiping screen to screen in search of any escaping anomalies. He depended on Lyla to help him search and the rest of the community to capture and contain these anomalies before they could be sent back to their appropriate universe, closing the rifts they used to escape. The brooding Spider-Man locked himself in, imposing shoulder peering from the edge of his high-floating platform while he stayed there most nights; days even, he hadn’t returned to your shared apartment in the building. He ate when you, Jess or Peter B. brought food to him, he drank and cleaned only when you urged him to do so. 

Staying in his den meant that he rarely slept, the dark bags under his beautiful eyes growing as the days passed. Anomalies appeared left and right, Spiders were dispersed to catch them, sometimes in solo missions, and other times in teams if Miguel deemed it necessary for the anomaly (Green Goblins, Vultures and Sandman were some that were harder to deal with for their volatile attacks.). If you weren’t sent away on a retrieval mission, you’d be working around his office, keeping it clean and usable while he moved around, growling and throwing things as he went.

That’s where things became complicated, Miguel hated meddling and you were often in his space. While he was soft and caring in your shared room (the one he hadn’t been in for weeks now), he was domineering and imposing around the others. His shorter temper meant he often hissed and growled at you, brown eyes glimmering red as he sneered your way. You hadn’t made much of it, contributing his issues to the stress and anxiety he felt while shouldering all this madness. His glares and growls meant little, he was under pressure, but his words, his rants in your face hurt.

His words burned you to your core, the degrading things he screamed at you when you did something that might’ve ticked him off or the insults he’d throw your way when you did something he deemed unsatisfactory. They stung, but you ignored the pain that tore into your heart, the tears that threatened to fall and the anger you felt at his shrugs. You simply missed him. 

Didn’t you deserve some affection? To feel the tender caresses of Miguel’s hands on your skin, the loving promises of his dreams and wishes, and the adoring stares he sent your way. Were you selfish for wanting that? For wanting to have your lover back in your arms. Or were you feeling neglected from the time you spent alone in your bed, the faded scent of his musk, the coldness of your apartment and the uneaten and forgotten plates on the dining table? Were you at fault for feeling forgotten? To sacrifice one for the good of thousands. To sacrifice your love for the safety of all universes. Did one outweigh the other?

“Hijo de puta! Why can’t you do anything right?!” He’d scowl at you, talons digging into the metal of his desk. The ear-splitting sound echoed as he dragged his talons to the edge of the table, red eyes brimming with wrath. He seemed on a warpath, ripping into anything he could get his talons in and throwing the things he could lift off the platform. (Motherfucker-)

You skipped around the objects he threw in his fit, ducking under a chair he gripped and swung randomly, over the desk he kicked, and around the cabinet, he swiped at. Every object he used to vent his emotions were light, in comparison to your given strength. He’d complain afterwards about his things being broken and needing fixing, something you helped him with unless they were too technologically advanced for your time. You webbed all the things you could, aiming your wrist and quickly sticking your end to the floating platform when it stuck to the victims of Miguel’s power. 

You danced around him, catching everything without getting too close to Miguel. He acted without thinking at times in these fury-filled moments, eyes tinging red and reverting to his more animalistic side. He’d warned you before about staying clear of him, to wait until he calmed himself down and realized the devastation of his office. Then he’d apologize and kiss you in hopes you’d forgive him (you always did, you knew his biology made him different - more violent - than you and the Spiders.). You’d fix the platform up, remake the broken parts or simply forget about it, like the many cabinets he ended up buying instead of patching them up.

Now especially, his tantrums began more often and lasted longer, a common occurrence when it was rare months ago. You couldn’t fault him, you didn’t want to, even if your heart throbbed painfully at his words, shoulders curving under the immensity of his tone and actions. You loved him, so you’d bare him in his best as in his worst.

“Detente- Simplemente detente!” In his fits of rage, Miguel reverted to his vulgarity, spitting Spanish words at anyone he faced. His voice was low and gravely, body convulsing as he swung at the fizzling, orange screens, dissipating under his aggressive gesture. (Stop- Just stop!)

When his fuse popped, he’d throw words left and right in Spanish, the enchanting slur of his Mexican accent turning hellish, slamming loudly like the Hephaestus’ hammer. Along his hit came the blow, the effects following them. Whether they were positive or negative, he pushed on, frenziedly hammering the weight of his words into whoever was the nearest to him. Which, coincidentally, happened to be you at the moment when you climbed onto his platform to relay the summarised report of last week’s missions from every Spider.

You let him ramble in silence, watching him twist on the spot and walk circles before his desk, turning and gesturing arbitrarily at something that wasn’t there. He’s expressive with his love, his spite, his care, his needs and his fury. He’d make big motions with his hands, voice dipping low and sometimes rising high with the pitch of his impatience. He growls when he’s displeased. He roars when he’s furious. He spits when he’s agitated. He smirks when he’s pleased. If not his voice or his lips, his eyes shine with emotion, showing those who knew how to read him how he felt.

That’s why you ignored the sharp nabs at your person, the low jabs at your work and how you dealt with the other Spiders as his right hand, or at your simple performance of his care. He didn’t want your care when he was busy, he didn’t want your soft and soothing words when he was tracking down another anomaly with vehement hate, and he didn’t want your meddling when he was focused on important matters of the multiverse. 

He was stressed, and pressure mounted over self-expectations made him lose himself. Down went his tolerance for failure and mistakes. Down went his awareness of his needs. Down went his patience with people and Lyla. Every man and woman would buck under intense pressure, some would break and stop working, and others would submit to the fate of their failures, but Miguel persevered, he pushed and pushed, pulling at the strings he could grasp, even the shortest ones. 

“Can you just- Coño- can you just shut up for a second?!” Miguel bucked, slamming his fist into the desk. It’d probably leave a dent for you or him to fix, a hole in the shape of his fist. 

You rushed to him, hand wrapping around his upper arm, supporting his hunched body as you webbed a chair closer to him, pulling on the synthetic fibre until it was behind Miguel. You whispered encouraging words into his ear, easing him into sitting on the rolling furniture. His legs shook, falling limp when he finally sat down, back slumped over and head low. You ran your fingers through his hairline, pulling up his wild mane. His eyes were closed, bags the deepest you’d seen, and his cheeks were sunken, near sickly. 

A chill wracked your body at his deteriorating appearance, his exhaustion had finally caught onto him. You wanted to fuss over him, to berate him for letting it get this far, but his exhausted figure made you frown and rethink your words. You couldn’t let this go on, you’d have to sit him down and talk to him after you took care of him. You lowered the platform, watching Miguel from the corner of your eye until you reached the lowest it could go. 

“Miguel,” you hushed, pressing your lips to his cheek, soft and gentle for his fatigue. “We need to get you to our room, you can’t work anymore.”

He grumbled, feet weakly moving to ease the weight on your shoulders, you wanted to remind him that you were strong and that you could easily carry him back if you wanted, but he liked to keep his pride as the strongest, the boss that people could depend on. You nodded at those who gave you worried glances, shaking their helping hands for carrying him (you knew Miguel wouldn’t have liked others to touch him so casually.) and asked some to run errands for you while you two were busy. Lyla would take over for now, until you took care of Miguel.

“Let me help you, Miggy. Let me take care of you.”

He slept better than night, the best sleep he’d gotten in weeks - months - and was grounded to a week of rest and recuperation. You helped him shower, washing his back and hair. You cooked his favourite dishes, following the Mexican cooking books you had laying around. You gave him daily massages for the aches over his shoulders and back, massing the tenseness off his arms and legs. At night, you’d force him to bed, blocking his access to his office and kissing him goodnight. The sun rose with you, you rode Hélio’s chariot, turning his nights into mornings as you pulled Selena’s moon into the sky.

While he rested, you worked tirelessly to fill in Miguel’s seat, scouring the multiverse for anomalies and sending Spiders to deal with them. You had Lyla run diagnostics and simulations about the chance for future appearances, playing the game of prediction and bettering the percentage after each successful prediction. Peter B. and Jess could help you around the clock, they shared the job you had as Miguel’s right-hand and worked fantastically together when put in charge of it. They were still sent on missions if you and Lyla determined it was too difficult to face alone, they were skilled and had experience, and they would mentor those who needed help. If the case came forward, you would step away from the office and jump through the multiverse, aiding your fellow Spiders to capture anomalies while Lyla took care of the office. 

Miguel came back healthier, stronger and more energetic. He thanked you in the forms of kisses and hugs, gratified words and gestures that made your heart warm, flutter like wings. It nearly made you forget all the heartache he burdened you with within the past months. Nearly. 

Something had ticked Miguel off, his ragged breath simmering in the air, a steady stream of fury. It burned like the lowest pits of hell, ruled by the cold tone of its god, seated at the top-most throne of the Underworld. Powerful and iron-handed, Hades led with strong principles and meticulous habits, much like Miguel did. His fury and anger were dealt by Cerberus, the three-headed dog of hell, as ferocious and dangerous as Miguel’s agitated state was. 

His shoulders shook, waves of unadulterated rage filtered off his back, rippling his sculpted back as metal creaked under his hands. His talons sunk into the metal, drawing lines in his anger-filled moment. He spun to face you with a roar, arms flailing until he faced you. He heaved heavily, shoulders and chest moving as his blood rushed with emotions, eyes dilated and turned deep red. He stalked towards you in all his mad glory, like the form of the Cyclops casting its dooming shadow on Odysseus’ men. Except, unlike his men, who were eaten in a blink, embraced by death in such a violent but swift way, you’d be ripped apart by it, pieces of your being torn apart for a slow and painful descent.   

He moved in big, lumbering steps, looming over you, shoulders broad and demanding. He sneered at you, in ways that would kill others but wound you deeply, to tear your heart out and throw it away like old, wilted flowers. The air seemed stuffy, hot and confining, his breath even hotter, burning you when he stopped inches from you. You gaped at him, eyes wide and fingers trembling, something crossed your mind, a flash of emotion that you never thought possible to connect to Miguel: fear. 

“Why can’t you be like-!” He started, mind dead set on breaking you down to your smallest, his force slamming into your softer one. Then he stopped, body seizing as if he was shot, but his round eyes told you he almost let himself slip, to let the name slip from his tongue in a haze. You knew who he was talking about, the memories that he related to her, that he was simply mad, but it didn’t ease the pain that ripped through your heart.

“Like who, Miguel!?” You cried back, hands clenching and rigid on your side. Your body trembling with disgust, shock and heartbreak. You couldn’t believe he would bring her up, to compare you to her and voice it out. It hurt; it drove the nail deeper into your coffin, adding another thing over the mountain of doubt and pain.

He just stared, he couldn’t finish his sentence, a starch contrast to his attitude seconds ago. It pained you that he couldn’t even say the words, to apologize to you about what he said. He knew how to run, how to ignore, and how to push things back. He did that well, and now he couldn’t face what he said to you was pathetic. 

“Like who, huh?! Like her!? Like Dana?!” Your vision blurred, and your breath hitched as your body crashed down with agony, sadness and betrayal. You shook this time while he looked on with desperation, body unable to make a sound or motion. 

“I- no- mi cielo, no- I didn’t mean to, I swear, ” he reached out, hand (his talons had received back into his pads) extending to touch you, to hold you in an apologetic embrace, but you stepped back, unable to contain your sobs. “Mi vida, please. Perdón, no fue mi intención.” (I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.)

You backed away from him, his warmth, his adoration, his love. His apology sounded guilty, dripping with regret and sorrow. He winced, watching you step away from him, regret gripping his heart as he moved to follow you. Every step you took backward, he took one forward, copying you, trying to approach you as if you were a wounded and unpredictable animal, to appease and soothe you. 

You shook your head, tearing your eyes away from his teary ones. You fiddled with your watch, opening a portal to your world and shook off your watch. You jumped back before he could catch you, hand extended to you in a desperate attempt to stop you. He wanted to bring you back into his arms, to kiss the tears away and beg for forgiveness until you let him back in, but to leave him, to throw away the watch that connected you to him. It broke him. 

He wouldn’t be able to see you unless you wanted to be seen, the tracker in your watch left blinking before his feet, discarded as you had with him; after he pushed you away, tore you down with his words spurred by the moment’s rush of negativity and pressure. It wasn’t an excuse, he knew that, but it didn’t ease. He sank to the floor, raking it with his talons as he cried out, a pained sob breaking out of his chest as he cradled his head, cursing himself for not being careful, for not heeding your winces and frowns, and not taking your heart into consideration. 

You fell when you landed in your universe, knocking a few boxes as you crashed onto your side. Your body jerked, cold droplets pouring down on your broken figure as you sat back up on the pavement. You hissed, the downcast atmosphere making your body heave a heartbroken sob, clutching your chest - where your heart would’ve been if Miguel hadn’t shattered it - and falling into yourself. You made yourself smaller, hiding your tear-stained face between your knees as you let the rain shower over you, soaking you down to your socks. 

A relationship built on pain, need and desperation was bound to fall. The carelessness of his ways cracked the edge of your relationship, slowly breaking it down into a shell of what it was. You bled for his cause as you bled for your loss. Like Apollo - a caregiver, a watcher of the fates of the people he oversaw, all the good and evil he could do just by saying the word - Miguel loved and felt, he gave and took, but lost it all in the end. His heart was broken and his soul lost over and over, the people he loved and cared for lost to time and fate. Like the Greek god, he loved what he could not have, loved what he could not hold, loved what he could not keep. 

As would Daphne’s story, she loved as much as you did, she cared as much as you did, and she hated as much as you did. In love was the god, as Miguel was with you, heart-stopping in every aspect. He stood like a god over them all, tall, broad and caring. But like any Greek love story, yours was as tragic, the hymn of your love left to fester with hate and anger, with regret and untold pain. Run, you did as Daphne had, crossing where you hoped he couldn’t reach you; where you’d be left hidden from the heartbreaking sorrow.

You didn’t know how long you sat in the rain, perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, but every moment blurred into one. The once vibrant colours of New York dulled to a boring monochrome, the world was swallowed in tones of black and white. Your limbs felt numb, you could hardly feel the cold, only the drops of rain and the heaviness of your heart in your chest. You could sit here a while longer, to drown in the sensation of the world falling around you-

Then it stopped raining. That wasn’t right, you could see the water crashing onto the ground by your feet, inches from you. Your side felt warm, a calm, soothing warmth that made your body quake from the cool air. You looked to the side and saw feet, big ones. You followed their body, tracing the lines of their soaking pants, to a warm jacket, broad shoulders and to a familiar face. 

“Oye, who did this to you?” His voice dripped with worry, a calmness that contradicted his frowning eyes. It was a familiar voice. It was a familiar face. It was Miguel’s face. Your lips quivered, staring at the face of your lover - ex-lover now that you thought about it - with newly shed tears. His eyes widened, even more worried than before as he crouched down to your height, hand running down your back soothingly. “Hey, hey, calm down. It’s all right.”

You wished you could believe his words, believe the softness in his tone and the beat of your torturous heart that missed the Miguel you knew. This one - your universe’s Miguel O’Hara (you didn’t even know you had one in your New York, it felt surreal to your depressed mind.) - was a stranger wearing the face of the person you loved. His face was a carbon copy of your Miguel’s, but softer on the edges, calmer and more… human than Spider-man 2099. His voice was gentler, caring more warmth for a stranger in need than yours has, like a whisper from an angel lulling you into a peaceful rest. 

“Vamos, let’s get you out of the rain first.”

Next

[bvidzsoo]

Cosmically divine

☆ Synopsis: Olympus, the place where Gods play pretend and do as they wish. Dion, the place where mere mortals suffer and do as the Gods wish. One might wonder, is life ever fair? ★ 

☆ Author: bvidzsoo ★ 

☆ Pairing: Ateez members x female reader ★ 

☆ Rating: nsfw, 18+ ★ 

☆ Genre: Greek mythology, dark romance, violence, smut, gore

☆ Status: on-going ★ 

☆ 1. Choi San x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Underwater ◖Ares x Naiad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: You knew that your love would never be fulfilled as the man you loved belonged to another woman. But can you help your poor Naiad heart when San, the God of war himself, seeks you out again and again when he is most vulnerable?

☆ 2. Kang Yeosang x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Marionette ◖Aphrodite!au◗ 

Summary: Doomed from the beginning, your mother, Hera, only saw a weapon in you. If you had once thought she loved you, she proved you wrong the second she cast you away once you failed to kill her enemy's son. Yeosang, Aphrodite's dearest and most prized offspring.

☆ 3. Kim Hongjoong x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Color of love ◖Hermes x Iris!au◗ 

Summary: If there was a God everyone feared, perhaps it was Zeus. After the continuous abuse he's put you through, you never thought you'd get to live your eternal life peacefully. That is, until the messenger God shows up and whisks you away before Zeus can see and stop him.

☆ 4. Jung Wooyoung x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Kingdom come ◖Oread Nymph x Dryad Nymph!au◗ 

Summary: Nymphs were nothing but deities that preserved nature and allowed the Gods to love them in return for their blessings. And when Zeus lurks around, you are labelled as his, never to be touched by anyone in the whole cosmos. But can you help yourself when the man he claims is Wooyoung himself? The gorgeous and warm-hearted Oread that coincidentally returns your forbidden feelings for him?

☆ 5. Song Mingi x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Dead man running ◖Hades!au◗ 

Summary: You were cursed, at least that's what your family thought about you. After a while, you started believing it too, the shadows that whispered to you convincing you that you were either crazy or just...different. And maybe you were, after all, the God of death himself, wouldn't have just called you his little shadow without a reason, right?

☆ 6. Choi Jongho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Nightmare ◖Phobos!au◗ 

Summary: Coming from a family that thrived under pressure and mayhem, it was only a matter of time until your father allowed you to join him on the battlefield. But perhaps what set you apart from other warrior families was the fact that each one of you worshiped a God of war. You just happened to make the mistake of offering yourself up to one in exchange for your dear sibling's life.

☆ 7. Jeong Yunho x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　One Kiss ◖Atë!au◗ 

Summary: Cast out of Olympus because Zeus has had enough of the mayhem and craze you created amongst men, living and meddling with mortals changed nothing. You thrived off of stupid men falling to their knees and begging you for attention, promising things no mortal could offer. But when a pure, untouched, and unassuming boy might just fall into your trap, you can't help yourself and entice him just to the point of madness.

☆ 8. Park Seonghwa x female reader ★ 

༄ ҉ 　Moonlight Melody ◖Poseidon!au◗ 

Summary: You always thought the man of your dreams never existed, would never come and whisk you away from this terrible terrible life that you lived. And perhaps when he starts showing up in your dreams, with promises that he'd soon come and see you, you find yourself hoping for a love that only the stars would bear witness to.

☆ A/N: Hello, my lovelies, I am here with a new story, can you believe it?! Because I can't lol, this wasn't supposed to exist but I thought...why not? Updates won't be too frequent, probably, as I have got quite a few others things to write, but I can't wait for you all to see what I have planned here! ^^ These stories won't be too dark, but I felt it necessary to mention dark romance as we're still dealing with some ambiguous topics. Taglist, as usual, is open and you are all very welcomed to comment on this post if you'd like to be added! Thank you for showing love, support, and interest in my works on here, they mean the world to me! <3 divider ★ 

↳Perm. taglist: @orshii @jjoongstar @tinyelfperson @thestarskiller @zuuhaa

@aaa-sia @gong-fourz @a-tinycarat @sooberryworld @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad

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@watermelon2319 @yoongzsmile28

❀ complete the forms if you're interested! ^^

[peachsayshi]

PEACH YOUR BABY DADDY!SUKUNA.....

He distanced himself bc he's not a good guy, he's got a shit job, can barely pay child support but he does what he can. And he always looks after your daughter when you're busy, takes every moment to be with her that he can, even tho he knows that you're the more capable parent. You were always too good for him, and he was your bad boy fling, your mistake.

"I think you love momma more." His daughter told him, bless her unfiltered thoughts. She was probably right. Somehow, after all this time, he still found you completely stunning. He felt guilty for the way he treated you, seeing you persevere and thrive as you've gotten older. If anything, you got more beautiful with each passing day, and he couldn't be happier that his child was being raised by you, even if that meant he had to be out of the picture.

"maybe I do." He chuckled, a tinge of regret to his words. He remembered the ways he hurt you, the look on your face when he made you cry. His selfishness. It was always his selfishness that got in the way. "But I'm not good at it."

// brutally soft // III. 

baby daddy!sukuna x reader 

tags: non curse au; tension; reader and sukuna are co-parents; girl dad sukuna; mentions troubled past with sukuna; alludes to significant size different; mentions drug use and drinking; mentions cheating; sukuna being soft; unrequited love; angsty | | read this for more context & this & this

note: (I am so sorry this took me so long to respond to) but!! you don't get to leave something like this and not expect me to sweetly return the favor by meddling with your feelings the way you did mine. because holy shit, nyx, just hearing sukuna say "I'm not good at it" in a hushed, sad voice made me want to take my own ribs out.

dni if your blog is blank / ageless / or are a minor

"mama! guess what!" your daughter says. "I have a secret!"

you smile to yourself because she always has a secret to share these days. little, innocent things that capture her attention which seem worthy of keeping confidential.

"you know," you say as you help her into her dress. "you're not supposed to tell secrets when you have them..."

"but I tell you everything, mama!"

you lift her up in your arms, the weight of her body getting heavier by the day and reminding you of how fast she's growing.

sukuna is taking her to visit her uncle yuji, and she has been over the moon about it. you place her on the seat of her vanity, and proceed to fix her hair since sukuna will be arriving in twenty minutes, and you want to make sure that she's all set once her dad gets here. you giggle at her response, "okay, okay, what's the secret?"

she looks at you from the mirror's reflection and covers her mouth as she chuckles.

"hey, what's with the sly face?" you prod, holding a chunk of her hair gently between your palm.

"do you know ms. kiko?" she asks, referring to her pre-school teacher.

"mhmm, what about her?"

she giggles again. "well, she told told mrs. chiyo that she thinks daddy is cute!!"

your heart thumps. oddly.

you're not immune to the way that the women look at the father of your child. it's the same alluring, seductive energy that drew you to sukuna in the first place.

but it's been years since you've both been intimate together in any capacity, you're sure that he's probably got someone on call if and when necessary. considering he has more spare time than you do without a child running around, you're pretty sure that sukuna is satisfied with whatever situationship he's in. you've learned to swallow the discomfort of the idea of sukuna with other women. just like how you had to bury the hurt of the very one who tore your relationship apart.

you hum at her observation, your fingers idly braiding her hair.

it's not like you were single anymore either. you've been casually dating a lawyer on and off. it wasn't serious per se, but it wasn't a fleeting relationship where it made you feel like you were entirely free of the attachment.

he's even met sukuna at this point.

granted those dates are few and far between, but you were a single mother who worked full time.

trying to commit to a relationship is hard.

even though, you would love to share all this with...someone.

"anyway, I had to warn daddy to be careful..." your daughter interjects.

"warn him?" you repeat with a smile, her choice of words adorable.

"yeah! so, I told daddy that ms. kiko was in love with him, and asked him if I should tell her to stop..."

"stop?"

"being in love with him!" she responds with a grimace.

that makes you laugh. "and why would you do that, hmm?" you question gently for fun.

"because I know that daddy loves you more, mama!"

your heart thumps again, harder this time. so hard you feel it nearly knock the wind out of you. you clear your throat to ease the apprehension while your daughter kicks her legs with anticipation.

"and how would you know that?" "because," she insists, "daddy told me that he loves you more than anyone else in this world"

her words spill out of her, a glass of water that's been carelessly knocked over. you scrunch your brows as each word registers into your brain, soaking over your to do lists and mental checks.

"what?" you whisper as you stare at this little girl who has already carried on the conversation.

"after me, obviously," she presses - because no one can take her place when it comes to the love that you and sukuna both give her.

"wait-wait..." you say a little breathless, your hands suddenly trembling as you do your best to finish the job you started. "what did your daddy tell you? I didn't quite-"

"he said he loves you more than anyone else in the world..." she repeats, her focus on the rogue hair brush that sits at her small vanity. "so, yeah, that's why I asked daddy if I should tell ms. kiko to stop saying he's cute..."

"your...your daddy is just being silly..." you murmur, trying to underplay the statement. you slip the hairband around her second braid to secure the style in place.

impossible, you think. that's impossible.

so much time has passed between you both.

you buried that part of your past long ago.

left it and refused to look back-

"nu-uh. he said that I don't have to say anything to ms. kiko. that it's okay because he loves momma more, anyway. but daddy also told me once that he's not that good at it," she adds on, her fingers picking at the bristles of her bright purple brush, "whatever that means..."

"when did you and your daddy have this conversation..."

the realization hits her then, and she stares up at you before covering her mouth. "oops," she states, glancing from side to side, "I pinky promised daddy I wouldn't tell you that..."

before you can fish out anything else from her, she hops off her seat, her feet pattering away as she moves across the room towards her pile of plushies.

"who should I take with me?" she says loudly, brushing aside the fact that she said far more than she should. she stands with her hip jutted out and her finger pressed against her lips, her back facing you.

you have to lean against her closet to steady yourself. you do your best to rationalize sukuna's words, trying to decipher the pieces in this game of whispers.

your mind flashes to the horrid break up five and a half years ago. a memory that exists hazily in the back of your mind, to the moment of you standing in sukuna's dingy old apartment holding a lacy white bra between your fingers.

it was not yours.

"what is this?" you gasped, your breath straining as your chest rose and fell with unease. "what the fuck is this..."

it's the only time you've ever seen sukuna panicked.

your memory only captures his words in blurs.

of him drinking too much.

way too much.

of him not waking up alone but swearing that he thought he was was you.

of him not recollecting his own thoughts because he blacked out that night.

of him being just as shocked when he realized the warm body next to him was not his girlfriend.

he begged you to forgive him.

"Baby, I swear. I fucking swear I will clean up my act. I-I'll never fucking drink again. Fuck, I went too far last night. One of the guys was passing around these pills I shouldn't have fucked around with them..."

you couldn't.

you couldn't accept any of it.

you already tolerated so much with him.

the drinking, the recreational drug use, his inability to keep a job, and him nearly ending up in jail for causing fights.

but you saw so much more in that man - and yet, he proved you wrong.

this betrayal spoke volumes.

this betrayal proved to you that you were expendable to him too.

that you just weren't that important.

that shadow of that man doesn't exist anymore. not with this new version of sukuna in your life.

he almost makes you forget the past. this man; your daughter's sunlight. her knight in shining armor. the source of her joy.

he may not have been good at loving you, but that little girl has him in the palm of her hand.

and he loves her with all his might, it feels like his absolution.

"mama?" your daughter calls out, snapping you out of your thoughts.

she's standing right in front of you now, holding a rabbit plushie in one hand and a penguin in the other.

"can I take both?" she asks innocently, her wide eyes glittering brightly as she remains oblivious to your own personal drowning.

"n-no," you stammer out, and affectionately poke the small dimple in her cheek. "just one, my love. we all know your uncle yuji will have more for you when you see him..."

her eyes widen, "that's right!" she exclaims, "he always finds the best and softest ones!"

the bell rings, and you abruptly stand on your feet.

your throat tight, your stomach fluttering.

"daddy's here!" your daughter cheers, and instantly runs out of the room.

you pick up her weekend bag and sling it over your shoulder. you pause and exhale softly, telling yourself to relax before following in her footsteps.

sukuna's deep voice greets you first.

"look at these braids on you..."

you find them both at the foyer, your daughter already scooped up in her father's big, muscular arms. his hand is tugging at one of her braids and she's smiling wildly in his direction.

he's wearing an oversized leather jacket, the fit only bulking up his stature. your daughter is gripping his black tee between her hands, and she yanks it gently before asking: "can we go now?"

sukuna smiles and your spine shivers.

age has done wonders for him too.

"easy, princess, let me say hi to your mom first..."

your fingers grip onto the strap of her weekender bag nervously. you don't know why you suddenly feel very aware of how you look.

of the fact that you're completely barefaced and running on five hours of sleep. that your choice in clothes is a pair of unflattering sweats and hoodie which has some coffee stains on it. you desperately need to wash your hair, and are due for a manicure appointment.

sukuna turns to face you, "hey you, I didn't notice you standing there..."

you clear your throat again, "hi! sorry...I uh-I didn't want to interrupt..."

sukuna adjusts the hold on your daughter, allowing you to approach him as he couldn't take off his boots.

"she all ready for me?" he asks.

"mhmm" you answer quietly, at a complete loss for words because all you can hear is "daddy said he loves you more than anyone else in the world."

you hand off the bag to him, which he takes with ease.

"it's not too late to join us," he offers, but you give him a small smile and shrug of your shoulders.

"trapped with work unfortunately,"

sukuna glances in your daughters direction, "I tried..."

she pouts your way. "you sure, mama?"

"yeah, my love, I am sure."

you slide into sukuna's frame, doing your best to carefully not touch any part of his broad canvas. you stand up on your tip toes and place multiple kisses on your daughter's cheek.

"I love you and I am going to miss you like crazy these next two days," you state sweetly, feeling her wrap her arms around your neck to give you a hug and a kiss in return. "promise me you'll be on your best behavior..."

"I promise!!" she answers.

you find the courage to meet sukuna's soft eyes, the ease on his face doing nothing to help your shattering state.

"I guess you're both set then," you say with a sigh.

he furrows his brow at your tone, and leans forward to make direct eye contact toward you. your lips part slightly at the close proximity of his face with yours, and he tilts his head like a curious cat before asking: "you okay?"

your heat burns so naturally. your heart ready to climb it's way up your throat. you blink back in surprise at his question, and stutter out a "I-I'm fine..."

"you sure?" he presses as he casually stands upright again, like he didn't just pop the bubble of your personal space. "you seem a little off..."

"I am okay," you reassure with a firm nod, before dropping your gaze down at your feet as you shift your balance. "I-I just have a lot on my mind today is all..."

there is a gentle tap just underneath your chin, your attention lifts up to look back at sukuna. his expression is stoic, but you can see the concern in his tense jaw. he taps the space just beneath your bottom lip, your insides turning at the gesture he used to do to you countless times before.

"anything I need to be worried about?" he asks calmly, his choice of words a veil over his obvious unsettlement.

you feel like you really can't breathe then.

your mind spins to when you carelessly kissed him. to when he returned the gesture at your daughter's play.

what seemed so innocent now feels like a serious overstep.

your hand circles around his wrist and you pull him away from you. "I'm fine, Ryomen," you acknowledge politely, trying to keep your words detached but kind.

after you see them both off and shut the front door, you find yourself pressed against the wooden frame. your back weakly glides down the surface until you're sitting on the floor. you bring your knees close to your chest, shaking at the prospect not because you don't want it to be true, but because you are terrified of allowing yourself to even open your heart to sukuna again.

he broke you. he hurt you. and yet, he somehow was the only thing that healed those wounds.

he is the reason why you were able to bring your daughter into this world. he treated her with immense love and supported you in every capacity to build this imperfect little family with you.

ryomen sukuna - your dark angel. the source of your deepest pain, and the reason for your happiest joy.

the wall that you've kept between you and sukuna exists as a safety barrier. you can peek over whenever necessary, but it doesn't mean you ever have to cross that boundary.

and yet, you've caught yourself with the consideration of sitting on the ledge, or maybe even stepping onto the other side.

all it takes for you is to then see the cracks and damages of the past as a reminder of what keeps stopping you.

"get a grip of yourself" you mutter out loud.

you let go of that love. you remind yourself, and you both are better for it.

sukuna is a completely different individual now, and you are in a much happier place than you were before.

the whirlwind romance, the intense passion and addictive excitement fizzled. the sparkle having faded the moment his betrayal was revealed.

maybe your love for each other is just too destructive when intertwined so closely. but existing loosely as small strings, and tethered to the singular entity that lives and breathes because of it...

maybe that should be more than enough for you both.

and you don't know why the thought breaks your heart a little.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Unspoken affection | {SaneGiyuu}

Theme: FLUFF

Note: i, for the first time, will see if I can try writing this as if it wasn't a oneshot meaning they won't already like each other bc it'll end up like 3 words if they do

A sprinkle of ObaMitsu

I started this Feb. 23, apparently 😭 mar.29 when i finished ;;

×××

Giyuu had been one of the first Hashira. The third, in fact. After Tengen and Gyomei.

He gotten along well with them, although... 'getting along' were relative words. More so, they tolerated each other. Giyuu didn't really talk much, opted to stay silent. Gyomei was comfortable with that and Tengen appeared not to mind because, though he was very talkative, he preferred when it was quieter as his hearing was sensitive.

So, Giyuu got along with the Hashira, mostly. Kanae came along sometime later. She was very cheerful and the polar opposite of Giyuu, but she was kind and didn't mind his quietness. He found that he didn't mind her presence much, albeit he still acted the same.

And then Sanemi arrived.

He was like the disruption of the peace created within the Hashira. It was irritating.

When he went to his first meeting, he had erupted in anger at Kagaya and had been shouting at him. It was loud. And then, after the meeting had ended, the other Hashira had berated him for this. 

Giyuu had stood by the side, deciding not to meddle with Sanemi. If he was always going to be an... explosive pomeranian, Giyuu should steer clear from this man.

Which was what he did. Mostly.

But it became obvious that it wouldn't be very easy when Sanemi decided to start bothering Giyuu, pestering him about being so quiet and unanswering. Normally, Giyuu would've ignored these irksome questions, but Sanemi was annoyingly persistant. And so, so very loud. Which was why he worked up the courage to respond, only to be talked over. 

And thus began Giyuu's hate for Sanemi. 

×××

When Sanemi had first become a Hashira, he had found himself in an almost feverish state. He was constantly tired and worked almost like a robot, doing things as if he had been programmed to. There were few times he felt like he could escape that, feel actually human again.

He found anger was a nice fuel of humanity to him, so he took it out on others, reveling at the feeling of temporary normalcy that came with it. It went away quickly and silence often brought back his numb, robotic state back, so he snapped at nearly everybody, making himself rather loathed personality-wise.

He didn't mind, not really. The only person he could care about what they thought of him was Masachika. And he was dead. So it really did not matter.

There was one Hashira whom he had decided to bother more than the others. Giyuu Tomioka, the Water Hashira. He was a really quiet person, rarely responding or speaking unless necessary. Because of Giyuu's ignorance, Sanemi found himself hovering around him more, feeling almost refreshed when immediate mirrored anger wasn't repelled back at him. It was annoying, of course. But annoyance meant he could feel. And feeling meant being... as okay as he could be.

Giyuu spoke only a couple times to him in response. Four, to be exact. His voice was quiet and collected, but a hint of irritation could be detected if you really paid attention. He was an interesting person, so full of mysteries and so closed off. Something else, besides his unbroken silence, drew Sanemi in. Like an old box in the far corner of the house, waiting to be opened and explored, except nobody was allowed to open it. Nobody was willing to, either. As if afraid something horrid would come out. Albeit it looked innocent on the outside, there was the small chance it would be filled with something terrible. To the point that even the box itself feared it's own being and refused to open up.

But Sanemi was curious.

Time flew on as usual—it never did stop, not for anyone or anything—and Sanemi grew less mechanical, more human. He found himself able to make skips in his usual schedule, able to live a bit more freely, despite his tightly programmed daily life.

He would use his occasional free time to wander around. He rarely actually spoke to anyone, only giving or following orders, occasionally engaging in small talk with some of the Hashira. But other than that, he kept to himself.

He was curious about Giyuu, however, which brought a bit of searching into his free time.

He would walk around, down random paths, looking for new places. Giyuu was one of the few Hashira's houses whom nobody knew where it was. Kanae's was free for anyone's knowledge, given that it was used for nursing people back to health often. Tengen invited the Hashira to his house from now and then, Kyojuro—who had become a Hashira recently—wasn't closed off about sharing and, though he didn't display it to the world, he did tell people if they asked.

Even Sanemi's, a select few knew.

But Giyuu's.

Giyuu's was only known to his crow, at this point, as he usually declined giving the knowledge to anyone. And something about that was peculiar to Sanemi. Like, what if there was an emergency? Would Giyuu simply live with the fact that whatever could happen might happen because nobody knew where he lived?

Although, it wasn't the worst thing possible, it was just something that set Giyuu aside from the others.

There was a lot that separated the Hashira from each other, of course. But Giyuu had something else that just... caught Sanemi's eye. Over and over again.

×××

Giyuu found himself growing more and more distant with the Hashira with each passing day. They already kept to themselves mostly, none of their schedules really overlapping, so it wasn't much different. But he started to avoid more so than mind his own business.

As the years past, more Hashira joined. Giyuu didn't feel connected to them, didn't feel like he could be like any of them. It was noticeable. And some of the Hashira tried to include him.

Although, include was a relative word. Some of them were kinder with it, but there were obviously those who were more... forceful. Like Sanemi.

Sanemi was, and had been since the day he'd became a Hashira, one of the most—or the most—irritating Hashira. He seemed apt to making Giyuu's life feel like that of a rat being chased by a cat, but not as life-threatening. Unless you counted going insane as life threatening. 

One day, Sanemi had gone up to Giyuu—somehow having found him as he finished training somewhere in the clearing of a forest.

"Oi, Tomioka," he shouted, over the rush of water. There was a river, a loud one at that, that cut through the forest and skimmed along the edge of the field that Giyuu had found.

Giyuu turned. The weather was hot, so he had taken off the top of his uniform, folding that and his haori and placing it aside. 

Deciding not to question why Sanemi was here, he cocked his head in question. "What?"

Sanemi seemed taken aback that he'd been responded to, but went on. "Uhm. Kanroji said that she wanted to invite all the Hashira on some shit sleepover and said I had to ask you to come," he said impatiently, his eyes flicking up and down, as if inspecting Giyuu.

"Oh. I won't go," Giyuu murmured. There was no reason to. It wasn't like the Hashira would actually want him to go.

Sanemi raised an eyebrow. "I figured."

"Then why did you ask?"

"Because Kanroji would get mad if I didn't. Which would induce ear-piercing cries about why," Sanemi snorted, rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms. He was sweating and the air was humid today, causing his hair to stick onto his skin. 

"Ah." 

Giyuu sheathed his katana, pulling his hair out of the ponytail to adjust it.

Sanemi watched him curiously, as if there was something to figure out. 

"What?" Giyuu asked, upon noticing this. 

"You never take down your hair," Sanemi said simply. 

He was a lot less shout-y today, it was unsettling, almost. 

"Okay." 

They lapsed back into silence as Giyuu re-tied his hair back up, his hands sticky with sweat. The only sounds were of the rush water and the occasional bird from up ahead.

Sanemi wasn't leaving, which was curious. Especially since his eyes seemed to be tracking Giyuu, as if he was put in charge to guard him.

"...do you need anything?" Giyuu asked finally, growing uncomfortable.

"No," Sanemi murmured, turning away. 

Confused, Giyuu watched as Sanemi left, without so much of an explanation. Odd.

×××

Fuck.

That day, that one day, that one stupid fucking day.

The sleepover thing was a lie. There hadn't been any sleepover. It had been an excuse to find Giyuu. 

Sanemi hadn't figured he'd have any luck, so when he'd seen Giyuu there he'd instinctively called out to him. He'd managed to hide his surprise enough and masked it with the question he'd made up. Luckily, Giyuu had shot it down. Because if he hadn't...

But that was beside the point. It wasn't the question that made Sanemi panic. No, of course it wasn't.

It was the fact that when he had seen Giyuu there, he had... felt. Something. Something different.

Usually, anger was his key to reality. But, then, he hadn't been angry then. He had felt something else, something true. He couldn't distinguish it, being in some stupid trance when he'd felt it. But he knew that it was different.

So now he was tearing at his hair, wishing he'd figure it out because it was eating him alive now, and had been since the day he'd seen Giyuu there. 

Giyuu without his-

No.

No, he wouldn't think about it. He wouldn't picture how Giyuu looked with his hair down, no shi... Shit. He shouldn't be thinking like this. He wouldn't!

Fuck.

Sanemi stood and grabbed his katana, pushing it into his belt and gritting his teeth in frustration. He stomped to the front of his house, slamming the door open and unsheathing his katana. 

He brought the sword above his head and slashed down.

One. Two. Three.

Don't think about Giyuu. Don't think about him.

Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

You hate him, remember? He's stupid.

Thirty six. Thirty seven. Thirty eight.

His boring responses and his way of ignoring.

Sixty four. Sixty five. Sixty six.

The way he distances himself, how he doesn't talk.

Ninety eight. Ninety nine. One hundred.

His stupid blue eyes and stupid black hair.

One hundred and forty one. One hundred and forty two. One hundred and forty three.

His stupid voice you want to hear every day. His stupid mouth you want to-

Sanemi threw his katana down in frustration, kicking the handle and making it skid away, hitting a small boulder a few feet from him.

He ran his hand through his hair, biting his bottom lip furiously until it bled.

"Goddammit," he hissed, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. 

He sighed and sat down, burying his face in his hands. Fuck. What the fuck was he supposed to do now?

×××

Sanemi's uncharacteristic behavior had caught Giyuu's attention. It wasn't in his full interest, of course, but it was enough to make him curious. Yes, the weather had been hot and it made some people drowsy but... it hadn't ever visibly affected Sanemi enough to make him so quiet and... yeah. 

Which made Giyuu wonder, was Sanemi ever quiet? The only time he could think of the scarred Hashira being silent was... when in Kagaya's presence. Meaning, only twice a year. Which meant it was very rare. 

So, upon this realization, Giyuu decided he would try to figure it out. It wouldn't hurt to try getting along with Sanemi, right? Besides, maybe that would mean less yelling. And he would have something to do.

For a while, he forgot he was going to find out the reason of Sanemi's random personality slip, as it had completely left his mind; Sanemi wasn't exactly a priority to him.

But then he ran into Sanemi again one day, who seemed to be in a subdued mood, not even bothering to acknowledge Giyuu.

They were in the middle of a town, though, so it wasn't completely unreasonable. 

Giyuu watched Sanemi carefully for a bit, before turning to continue buying his food.

Once he had paid and left, he turned back, noticing Sanemi instantly. He approached him cautiously, looking up curiously at the store the Wind Hashira had walked into. A sweets store? For pastries, mochis, and bread? Was he buying something for someone?

Giyuu hovered inside the store uncomfortably. A woman glanced at him and he quickly adjusted his haori over his katana; when people saw it, they usually called for security. He would know from experience.

Sanemi appeared to have noticed him immediately as he gave Giyuu an annoyed look, picking up a box of mochi that had been put down for him on the counter.

He walked towards the exit, muttering to Giyuu as he passed. 

"The hell are you doing here?" he hissed between his teeth, his voice low.

The store was filled with a low chatter by the people around them and Giyuu quickly followed Sanemi out, deciding he didn't want to stay in this enclosed space with an almost intoxicating smell of sugar.

Back outside—and thank god for the fresh air—Giyuu and Sanemi walked quietly, side by side, through the streets.

The box, Giyuu noticed, was full of ohagi. Who liked ohagi? Mitsuri, maybe? He wasn't aware that Sanemi and Mitsuri were on good terms. 

They continued in silence for a couple minutes until they reached a part that wasn't as crowded.

Sanemi stopped then, resulting in Giyuu stopping as well. They turned to each other and Sanemi glared at him.

"Were you stalking me or something? I saw you staring, earlier," Sanemi said, crossing his arms, the box of ohagi clutched in one hand.

"I wasn't," Giyuu mumbled.

"Right." Sanemi rolled his eyes. "Why'd you follow me into the bakery, then? You didn't buy shit."

Remembering the ohagi, Giyuu changed the subject. "Who is the ohagi for?"

"...The fuck does that have to do with anything? And it's not for anyone, I'm eating it"—he uncrossed his arms here, tapping the box—"And you didn't answer my question, dipshit." 

Completely ignoring the last part, Giyuu said, surprised, "You like sweets?"

Sanemi raised an eyebrow. "And you like ignoring me. What the hell does my taste in food have to do with shit??"

Giyuu frowned. If Sanemi ate things like ohagi often, why wasn't he nicer? Like Mitsuri! 

"Oi, you going to answer my question?" Sanemi snapped, waving the box in front of Giyuu's face.

"What question?" Giyuu asked, drawing blank. 

Sanemi groaned. "I can't tell if you're really that stupid, or if you're just pretending."

"I'm... not pretending," Giyuu mumbled, confused.

"Goddammit, never-fucking-mind," Sanemi sighed, turning. "I'm going to go. Don't follow me."

Giyuu's frown deepened but he nodded, watching Sanemi walk away.

Sanemi was in a peculiar mood that way. Although he was still as fiesty as ever, he didn't shout as much as usual. His voice was quieter. It was almost pleasant. Almost.

×××

Giyuu had been quite talkative that day. Had a randomly curious nature, followed by a million questions. Sanemi couldn't tell if he liked this or if he hated it. On the one hand, it was nice to hear Giyuu's voice a bit more. On the other, he was being ignorant and nosy as fuck. But... he seemed curious as to what Sanemi was doing. Was he interested in-

No. That was stupid thinking, and being a Hashira did not allow stupid thinking! 

Sanemi had been deep in thought about all of this for a couple hours now and was eating his ohagi whilst he walked towards... Where was he again?

He looked around, confused, and found himself standing admist a bamboo forest, water from a supposed river could be heard in the background. There was a house, a little ways forward, which was nestled comfortably in a small man-made clearing in the forest. The ground was gritty, like thickly packed sand, and it made a slight crunching sound as Sanemi walked towards the house, curious.

He'd never been here before. 

He looked around, his eyes catching onto everything. Then he realized there was approaching him from behind and he turned, noticing the motion of a person, entering the clearing. He quickly hid by the side of the house, waiting for the person.

Their footsteps were moderate but precise, and they grew closer to the house before pausing and suddenly moving quickly to where Sanemi hid.

Fuck.

But then the person came into view and...

"Tomioka?"

Giyuu blinked at him, his hand dropping from his katana. "What are you doing here, Shinazugawa?" he asked quietly, his brilliant blue eyes flicking over Sanemi as if he was searching for an answer written upon his body.

"I was just walking and ended up here somehow." Then, with a realization, Sanemi said, "Do you live here?"

Giyuu gave a hesitant nod. "I wasn't aware I told anyone of this place."

"You didn't. I don't know fuck where I am," Sanemi said, retreating from his hiding spot to stand in front of Giyuu. 

"Ah. Hello, again," Giyuu murmured. He turned, walking to his front door and unlocking it, opening the door. 

Sanemi nodded, standing awkwardly.

Giyuu glanced at him. "Are you busy?" he asked.

"No," Sanemi said. "My next mission is just patrol shit, and it shouldn't be too far."

"Okay. Do you want to come in?" Giyuu offered, stepping inside.

Sanemi raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to drug me with tea?"

"...What?" 

"Nevermind. Sure." 

Giyuu nodded, motioning for him to come inside.

The interior of Giyuu's house was modest, kept mostly simple—which made sense given that the Hashira didn't usually devote their time to decorating their house. Except Mitsuri, maybe.

Sanemi closed the door behind him, looking around. "Why do you never tell anyone about your house?" he asked, absentmindedly.

Giyuu didn't respond, getting something from a different room.

Sanemi sighed. "You don't like responding, do you?" he asked pointedly, following Giyuu into what appeared to be the kitchen.

Giyuu glanced at him, then handed the albino male a teapot. Steam was filtering through the top, making Sanemi's hand feel humid and hot. He placed it on the knee-high table, confused why he'd been handed it. Giyuu gave him two cups in following and he poured the tea into them, watching the steam swirl and dissipate into the air.

Sanemi picked up one of the cups, the warmth from the tea seeping through the cup and warming his hands. Giyuu sat down across from where Sanemi stood, picking up his own cup.

It was silent as the two Hashira sipped their tea, neither having anything to say. Sanemi looked up, taking in the sight of Giyuu who sat quietly, his cup clasped in his hands, his eyes cast down, watching the swirl of the liquid. He looked cute this way, really. He always looked so subdued but it was adorable.

Honestly, something must be horrible wrong with Sanemi if he was thinking like this. He couldn't stop, somehow. Which was irritating to himself, almost worrying, really. Mostly annoying. He didn't want to be thinking about Giyuu 24/7, didn't want to be unable to look at Giyuu without falling into a fucking puddle.

He was fighting so hard to keep his composure at the moment, hoping beyond hope his face wasn't red. It was so fucking stupid, to look at Giyuu and think, God that man is so beautiful. Had he, or had he not, hated him before? Albeit, it hadn't truly been hate...

"What?" 

Sanemi looked up at the sound of Giyuu's voice, startled by the sudden noise in the previously hushed room.

Giyuu was staring at him, his eyes wide. It was tripping to see him whenever he showed emotion. It was unnatural on his face.

"What?" Sanemi asked. He placed his cup down on the table, having finished his tea a couple minutes ago.

Giyuu's mouth opened and closed soundlessly before saying, quietly, "You... think I'm pretty?"

Sanemi blinked. "The fuck are you-" ...Oh. Oh, oh god, he must've said it out loud, he must've told Giyuu without even realizing that-

Giyuu put his cup down as well, biting his lip. His face was mostly impassive, though, and it made everything... so much worse.

"No. I, uhm, I didn't... I didn't mean to say that-" Sanemi stuttered, worsening matters. He should've just said it was a joke, or something, what the hell was wrong with him? He was stumbling over himself, backing away. Why was he so nervous? This was Giyuu, for fucks sake! He didn't actually care! ...Right? 

Giyuu stood as well, nearly knocking down the table in the process. He steadied it and moved forwards, reaching an arm out to grab Sanemi's wrist—instinctively, most likely—but Sanemi had retreated already, was out the door and heading towards the front. 

Giyuu followed him quickly, stopping him before he opened the door.

"Shinazugawa?" 

And then it was like words suddenly stopped existing and Sanemi froze, his eyes flicking around nervously. "W...What?" he asked, his voice meek and timid. Disgusting. Why was he being like this? God, he needed help. What the fuck.

"Did you... Did you mean it?" Giyuu mumbled, his hand clasped around Sanemi's wrist. The feel of his palm was warm and, though his hands were calloused from years of training, his hand was almost soft. 

"Mean what?" Stupid. This was stupid, Sanemi was stupid, everything was-

"What you said about... me." 

Yes. He meant it. Meant more than that. 

"No."

"Oh."

Giyuu let go of Sanemi's wrist and his arm fell to his side.

There was an awkward moment of silence and then-

"...sorry. Bye, Shinazugawa," he said quietly, opening the door for Sanemi and backing away slightly.

Sanemi didn't move for a second, his body feeling numb for no reason. 

"Are you leaving?" Giyuu asked uncertainly.

"...Yes," Sanemi said, regaining feeling in his body and quickly making his way out. 

He shut the door behind him, walking quickly through the clearing and back onto the path outside of it. He looked from his left to right then, deciding he didn't know where the hell he was, turned left and broke out into a slow run, his pace quickening by the second.

As he ran, he felt as if his lungs had deflated, and he breathed heavily through his mouth, as if suddenly he had lost the ability to run. 

What the hell was that? Why had he acted like that? What the fuck was wrong with him?

×××

Giyuu was in a panic. He was panicking because:

1. Sanemi had found his house somehow.

2. Sanemi had been quiet for the longest time possible for him.

3. Sanemi had been drinking tea with Giyuu inside Giyuu's house... quietly.

4. Sanemi said that Giyuu was beautiful... then went on to deny it.

5. Sanemi had been so awkward.

6. Sanemi had then proceeded to run away after Giyuu had caught hold of his arm.

What the hell had just happened?!

×××

Sanemi was also panicking. Waaay worse. 

He found Obanai quickly and, in the most incomprehensible way, recounted what had happened.

Obanai stared at him, confused and irritated. "What? Will you slow the fuck down and catch your breath first?"

Sanemi ignored him, deciding to explain in a faster way. "I think I like Tomioka."

Obanai crossed his arms. "Okay?"

"'Fuck you mean, 'okay'?!" Sanemi snapped. 

"It was obvious that you liked him, idiot," Obanai said. He rolled his eyes. "Is that all? A stupid revelation everyone but you already knew? If so, I will be with Kanroji, thank you very much."

"Oh my god, think about something other than your girlfriend for once!!!" Sanemi groaned. "And what the fuck do you mean, 'everyone already knew'? I didn't even know!"

"Riiighttt, this is a massive waste of my time, I'll be off now," Obanai said, turning away. 

"Bitch," Sanemi grumbled, watching Obanai practically skip off to Mitsuri.

He sighed, sitting down on the ground, leaning against a random tree that just so happened to be there.

He buried his face in his hands, wishing he knew the answers to the world. And wishing he wasn't thinking about Giyuu.

×××

Sanemi had suddenly become a person that Giyuu could be more than mildly interested in, someone he needed to find something out about but he didn't quite know what. And given that Sanemi had basically run away from him the last time they'd met, Giyuu opted to talk to Obanai about Sanemi.

Upon approaching him and asking him about Sanemi, Obanai simply said, "He fell in love with someone," and gave no other explanation before leaving.

Almost frustrated by this response, Giyuu searched for someone else who could tell him a little something about the Hashira he'd always wanted to avoid.

He went to Mitsuri next, whom was known for her friendliness and perhaps she had managed to speak a bit with Sanemi before.

She didn't say much, only burst into a fit of giggling when he asked about Sanemi.

Giyuu just stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do. 

Mitsuri told him, then, that perhaps Sanemi was acting like this because he liked someone.

Which only made it all the more annoying.

Shinobu, Tengen and Kyojuro only gave similar answers to those of Obanai's and Mitsuri's. So, Giyuu gave up asking the Hashira and quickly tracked down Genya.

Genya was surprised to hear the question.

"Aniki?" he'd said. "What do you mean?"

"Yes. That's what he said. Then he left," Giyuu said blandly.

"Oh. Uhm." Genya hesitated. "I don't know. I don't know him as well as I used to." 

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence.

"What do you know about him, then? Be it not of his present self," Giyuu asked.

"Uhh... He's really good with children! He cared for me and my younger siblings really well, as if he was our father," Genya said, a smile slowly spreading on his face. "He was really kind. I remember he would do anything to help Mother when she needed it, even did most of the things she usually did just so she could sleep well that night."

Giyuu raised an eyebrow. "He sounds very different."

Genya frowned. "I'm sure he's still like that..."

"Mhm. Go on."

"Alright. Uhm..." Genya then proceeded to go on a rant about the most random facts about Sanemi, from his favorite food—ohagi—to the friends he'd had in the past.

Giyuu listened with interest, not realizing there could be so much character to a man who seemed to make it his life goal to annoy people.

At the end of Genya's rant, he had said, "he might like you, you know, if he said that. Or he was thinking about someone else?" Genya concluded, referring to Sanemi calling him beautiful—then claiming he didn't mean it.

"Like me?..." Giyuu asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mhm!" Genya waved, walking away. "Tell me if anything happens!"

"Alright..." Giyuu watched him leave, then turned back to his own thoughts. 

Like him? Why would anyone like Giyuu? And, of all people, Sanemi! Although, it would tie together with what the Hashira had said, given that they'd all said that Sanemi had 'fallen in love.' 

But... how? And why?

×××

Sanemi successfully managed to avoid Giyuu for about three days before he was found. He had been walking down a path after his mission, on his way home, when he ran into Giyuu. Giyuu, as it turned out, had had a mission near Sanemi's and had also been on his way home. 

"Shinazugawa?"

Sanemi's heart stopped. Fuck. 

Giyuu was standing there, his expression all innocent and unassuming and... God. Yes, yes he looked like a fucking god. 

"What?" Sanemi snapped, fighting against the heat that rose in his body. Goddammit.

"I've been looking for you..." Giyuu said, stepping forwards to be face to face with the Wind Hashira, his gaze curious, a contrast to his usually impassive expression.

"...Why?" It's not because he's interested, it is not. Sanemi's eyes flicked anywhere but to Giyuu's face and he pursed his lips uncertainly.

"I wanted to ask you about something," Giyuu replied, tilting his head slightly. "...Why won't you look at me?"

"Why the fuck are you so talkative?!" Sanemi asked, his voice coming out more irritated than he'd intended. His heart seemed to be working again; or maybe not. It beat quickly, too quickly, and his breath came out forced and quick. 

"Are you okay?" Giyuu's voice was concerned, he frowned. "Your face is red..."

"Fuck off. It's... 'cause I was running a lot. And you aren't answering me," Sanemi mumbled, turning his face away.

"Oh." Giyuu paused, seemingly forgetting what he was doing here. "I wanted to ask you some-"

"I get it, you want to ask me something. Get the fuck on with it! I don't have time to waste on your shitty ass," Sanemi said, crossing his arms. Why was he acting like this, as if he could barely control his emotions anymore. It was stupid, and annoying.

"...Sorry." Giyuu pouted. "Do you... like me?"

Sanemi froze. "What?" 

"Do you like me?..." Giyuu repeated.

"No, I heard you, don't fucking repeat it," Sanemi gritted out. "Why the hell would you ask that?!"

"...I was... wondering about your behavior. It was peculiar and I... couldn't fathom why you had acted like that," Giyuu said quietly. "I asked the Hashira and your brother and... they all said you liked someone—though Genya said that, more specifically, you might like... me?"

"I..." Sanemi was at loss for words. He couldn't like Giyuu! Not that stupid, quiet, bitchass bastard! Except, it would make sense. It would explain why he always felt so... Oh my god, he needed to get out of here. He couldn't bear having Giyuu's annoyingly pretty eyes staring at him curiously, as if he hadn't just dropped the worst question he ever could. 

"No. No, I hate you! I don't like you! Fuck off!" Sanemi shouted, turning and quickly running off, not looking back.

Fuck.

×××

There was something wrong with Giyuu.

When Sanemi had left, shouting that he didn't like him, Giyuu had felt a pang in his chest. As if he was disappointed.

Why would he be? He'd never cared much what Sanemi said before. And yet... 

And yet now he suddenly cared, suddenly wished to know why. Why what? Why everyone claimed Sanemi had fallen in love? Why Sanemi had called him beautiful? Why Sanemi seemed to hate him so much? Why he felt like it all actually mattered? 

He had trudged home, nearly bumping into several trees in the process. Then he had flopped onto his futon and proceeded to stare at the cealing, re-thinking his life. The image of Sanemi from earlier flashed in his memory. Sanemi, his cheeks flushed,—from running???—his eyes averted and face scrunched from anger. He looked like an angry dog, really. But cuter. 

Wait. What?

No, no, not cute. Sanemi was never cute.

Giyuu sighed, dropping a hand onto his forehead and running his hand through his hair, closing his eyes. What the fuck was wrong with him?

×××

It was dark and raining, though the air was warm. Sanemi was trudging through a muddy forest without a clue to where he was going, exhaustion dragging him down. He was soaked to the bone and shivering despite the warm weather. As he walked, he noted that somebody was somewhere around him. He kept his guard up, quieting his footsteps as he continued on. Then, at an intersection of the path, he bumped into... Genya.

Genya had his arm over his head and had apparently only just noticed Sanemi, skittering backwards in his surprise. "A-... Aniki?!" Genya said, startled. 

Sanemi grumbled. Of course it was him. "What?" he asked, irritated.

"Uhm. I was on a mission," Genya mumbled.

"What, are you going to bleed to death now??" Sanemi said, noticing the blood staining Genya's clothing. "Quit the fucking Corps if you're going to be so useless at your job."

"No! I'm fine! It's a light wound. And I won't quit!! I'm not useless!" Genya insisted, pouting.

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "Then get your ass to Kocho's. I don't want to deal with you right now," he said, turning away from his (not) brother and stalking away.

"Wait- Aniki-" Genya called out, following him.

"Fuck off! And I'm not your brother!" Sanemi snapped, not turning to look at him.

"Please-"

"Shut the actual fuck up," he said, turning and pushing Genya to the ground.

Genya slipped on the mud and fell on his back. He frowned but stopped following Sanemi who walked away, through the forest.

Sanemi looked around, trying to figure out where the hell he was. He noticed a path that looked vaguely familiar to the left and he followed it, his steps slow. He let out an exaggerated sigh every now and then, wishing he could just stop Genya from being Genya for once.

He looked up and found that, as the path went on, there was one part that entered into what looked like a bamboo forest. Ah. Giyuu's house.

He contemplated going inside for a minute before deciding to just walk past it, not wanting to deal with Giyuu asking if... No, he wouldn't finish the sentence.

So he trudged on. Then, to his luck, he heard his name being called out. He turned with a sigh, meeting Giyuu's gaze. "What is it?" he asked, his voice coming out harsher than intended.

"Uhm. Shinazugawa, what're you doing outside now?" Giyuu asked. "It's raining, you should get inside unless you want to get a cold."

"Yeah, well, I have no fucking idea where I am. I'll be fine," Sanemi said, shaking his head. 

"Come inside!" Giyuu insisted. "I have a mission I have to get to in a bit, I think, but it'll be fine. You can stay here so Kocho doesn't kill you for getting sick."

"Fair enough..." Sanemi sighed, caving in. He followed Giyuu inside, slipping off his shoes. 

"You should bathe and change," Giyuu said, looking Sanemi up and down. "I'll put extra clothing and a towel in the bathroom and make an extra futon for you."

"Alright. Thanks," Sanemi said, wondering why the hell Giyuu was talking to much.

Giyuu nodded and went off to do what he had said, leaving Sanemi standing in the hall.

×××

After Giyuu had made sure that Sanemi had everything he might need—putting out a tray of food next to the futon as well—he quickly wrote a note explaining that he would be out on a mission and that Sanemi could sleep or whatever he wanted while waiting.

He left the note on top of the futon and grabbed his haori, slipping it on. He picked up his katana, pushing it into his belt, and heading outside into the rain.

The mission was easy—the demons being surprisingly incompetent for a Hashira to be called there. And, after making sure the surviving rank-and-file Demon Slayers were alright, he made his way home. Unfortunately he'd been held up by the other Demon Slayers so dawn was already approaching. 

The rain had settled to a light sprinkle, almost non-existent, and the sky was brightening as the sun slowly arose.

Back home, Giyuu quickly bathed and changed, then went to look for Sanemi. He entered his room and found Sanemi entangled between the sheets of his futon. The food was half eaten and the note sat on the tray.

Giyuu almost smiled at the sight. It was really nice to see the humanity in Sanemi; it was rare. He slipped into his own futon and closed his eyes, falling asleep soon after.

×××

When Sanemi awoke, light was filtering through a window. He ran a hand through the mess of his hair, moving the blankets off of him. He looked to his left and saw Giyuu fast asleep. He smiled—then quickly frowned at himself for smiling—and turned to his food, which was mostly cold now. Regardless, he ate the rest of it. Once he finished, he picked up the tray and took it to where he presumed the kitchen was, washing his bowls.

As he dried his hands, he heard Giyuu walking and turned.

Giyuu was at the doorway, looking quite illegally adorable in all his sleepiness, his hair messy as hell. He blinked wearily at Sanemi. "Good morning."

"'Morning," Sanemi returned, nodding. "It's strange to wake up actually in the morning."

Giyuu nodded back. "Mhm."

"Are you hungry?" 

"A bit."

"Want me to make something?" he offered.

Giyuu raised an eyebrow. "You can cook?"

"Don't look at me like that. Of course I can, what kind of eldest sibling would I be without knowing how to cook??" Sanemi scoffed. "I'll show you."

"I wouldn't want to bother you, it's fine," Giyuu murmured. "I can make myself something."

"What, canned tomato sauce? I'm making it. I took your question as a fucking challenge," Sanemi said, pushing Giyuu out of the kitchen. "I'm going to use whatever the hell you have in here, by the way!!"

Giyuu called back a complaint in response. 

Sanemi grinned and started scouring the kitchen for ingredients, deciding he would make the most elaborate food he could with what he found. Literally for no reason at all.

×××

Sanemi had called Giyuu in to eat—after he had waited for an hour—and now, sitting before him, was... The most food he'd seen in front of him in his life since... Since he was thirteen. No, well, not the most. But it reminded him of when Tsutako had guests over and she wanted to make the food be the best it possibly could be.

"Uhhm. Thank you..." Giyuu said, still in shock.

Sanemi smirked. "Who can't cook now?!"

"It wasn't even a challenge!" Giyuu whined. 

"Mhmmm, well now it is! Whatever you don't eat I'm sending to Rengoku probably. Or Kanroji. Either of them will eat it without a question," Sanemi said, crossing his arms. "Now, eat."

"Why're you feeding me???" Giyuu huffed, though he sat down and picked up a fork that Sanemi had laid down for him.

"Because I never do this anymore and I was bored. And I didn't feel like training yet," he said simply, sitting down across from Giyuu. "Why, do you not want to eat?"

Giyuu shook his head. "No, no, I do. You're just being so nice today-"

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll stop being nice." He stood and walked to the other side of the table and smacked Giyuu's head. "Eat!!"

"I... I preferred you when you were nice..." Giyuu admitted, quickly starting to eat. 

"Exactly. Besides, you can't be questioning me when you're talking as much as Rengoku today," Sanemi pointed out.

"No' af mush," Giyuu mumbled through mouthfuls of food. 

"Hm. True. And don't talk with your mouth full or I'll squeeze the food out of you," Sanemi threatened, going back to his side of the table and plopping down.

Giyuu glared at him but finished chewing before responding. "What are you, my mom?"

"Yes, I'm your mom now. Manners!!" Sanemi shouted, picking up a piece of bread and chucking it at Giyuu.

"Hey- Parents don't do that- I think-" Giyuu whined, picking up the bread and putting it on the table. 

"You 'think'??" Sanemi asked incredulously, starting to eat.

"My sister raised me," Giyuu said with a shrug—then realized what he said and quickly stuffed food in his mouth, wishing he wasn't being so open suddenly. Something about Sanemi's atmosphere today just made him so comfortable, though. His teasing manner—and not in a rude way. Like... Sabito.

"Ah. Nice," Sanemi murmured, picking up a cup and filling it with tea. 

"Mm. Thanks for the food, again," Giyuu said, giving him a slight smile.

Sanemi raised his eyebrows at the smile, but said nothing of it, simply nodding. "Sure."

×××

Back at his own house, Sanemi was changed in his uniform again. He laid the clothes Giyuu had let him borrow down and- Oh shit, he had taken them home- He contemplated going back to Giyuu's house, then decided he'd rather not bother and headed outside to train.

His mind was filled with thoughts of Giyuu—Giyuu's smile, his house, just him in general—and he found it hard to concentrate on his training. So, only ten minutes after he'd started, he promptly gave up, deciding to do something else and set out on a walk. 

Over the next few days, Sanemi found himself mostly alone. Although there was the occasional nod from Obanai when they passed by each other, he was mostly solitary. Days were busier now, with demons multiplying each second. The past dull of life seemed to have faded recently, however, which made him not mind the constant missions. In honesty, he felt relieved. But he had a feeling Giyuu had something to do with his life feeling like life again, a fact which he preferred to ignore. There was no way in hell he would ever admit to anyone that he liked Giyuu, because it was Giyuu. If it were literally anyone else, he would've just told them. But Giyuu?? The 'I'm not like you' quiet-ass bastard who was way too cute than he should be allowed to be—who was a stupid, oblivious fuck??? Him??

Nah.

Honestly, Giyuu seemed to have it figured out though. So hopefully Sanemi wouldn't have to clarify. Because if he did, then they were better off not interacting at all. 

×××

"He likes you, it's obvious," Shinobu said, rolling her eyes. She taped the bandage around Giyuu's wrist and let go of his arm. "Anyway, I'm done. Don't force your arm past its limits, know your own strength, idiot. Or weaknesses, if you may."

Giyuu blinked. "I don't think he likes me. He said he didn't."

"Does Shinazugawa seem like the type to be honest when it comes to this?" Shinobu asked, raising an eyebrow. She stood, putting away her supplies. 

"He's annoyingly honest," Giyuu murmured, standing as well.

"Fair point. But! Keywords, 'when it comes to this.' He wouldn't just straight up say, 'Hey, I like you.' Doesn't sound like him," Shinobu said, picking up a pen and tapping Giyuu's nose with the tip of it. 

Giyuu batted the pen away, shaking his head. "No, he seems like the type to do that."

"Hm. Not with you, then," she said, grabbing his non-injured hand and forcing the pen into it. 

"I don't need this," Giyuu said, trying to give it back.

"You do. Sign this," Shinobu said, shoving a paper in his face.

Giyuu eyed it. "What is it?"

"You're overworking yourself. This gives you permission to have a break," she said impatiently. "Write your name there." 

"...No. I'm alright," he said, frowning. 

She sighed. "Worth a shot. I'll just forge your signature. Anyway, back to Shinazugawa."

"Hey-" Giyuu whined as she snatched the pen and paper back. 

A smile as sweet as a lemon spread across her face. "Yes?"

"...You're a pain, Kocho," he grumbled, sitting back down.

"That's all? Very well, let's go back to the topic of your boyfriend. Now, tell me, do you like him?" she asked, leaning closer to him.

Heat seemed to flicker into his cheeks and he fidgetted with his sleeve. "No..."

She laughed. "I'm not Uzui but I could hear your lie from miles away."

"I'm not lying..."

"Okay, well, tell me this. Since all of this"—she waved her hand over him, as if it would explain anything—"has happened, you've been, one, talking more, two, a lot more expressive, three, more distracted. And... four? You're blushing. When I asked you, you turned red."

"I did not!" Giyuu said indignantly, although he was sure he only turned redder.

"You're annoying. You're like a child," she said, exasperated. "Fine. Be it your way. But he does like you, mark my words. So if you two end up dating, I get to say 'I told you so.' Also, I better be the first person you tell."

Giyuu frowned. "We won't date. I don't like him, and I'm sure he doesn't like me."

"Suit yourself." She hit his head with a ruler that she'd apparently conjured out of nowhere. "Now get out. I have more important things to deal with."

Giyuu sighed and stood, quickly leaving before she decided to bother him again.

There was no way what she was saying was true. Why the hell would Giyuu fall for... Sanemi?! And vice versa. It just didn't make sense...

×××

"You're going to be the death of me," Sanemi said, sighing. Giyuu was currently on his back, clinging on for dear life, as Sanemi stalked to the ravenette's room. 

Sanemi had finally decided to bring back Giyuu's clothes—once he'd worked up the courage to willingly visit him—only to find Giyuu collapsed on the ground having apparently been training for some hours and hadn't been hydrated enough. 

"I'm sorryyy," Giyuu mumbled into Sanemi's shoulder.

"Save your apologies for Kocho, you better hope she doesn't barricade you in your room," he said, rolling his eyes. He kicked down Giyuu's bedroom door and marched inside, dropping the Hashira on his bed. "Sleep."

"I'm convinced you're trying to mother me," Giyuu said, a hand drapping over his forehead and obscuring his eyes. "First you cook me food and now you make me sleep."

Sanemi scoffed. "Your fault for being so incompetent. And I'm not your mother. What, do you want me to be? Want me to kiss you goodnight?"

Giyuu raised his arm to look at Sanemi. "Would you do it?"

His eyes were curious, a striking blue. Usually they seemed to hold no life in them, no emotion, no passion, no nothing. But there was a glint to it now, seeming to light up Giyuu's face like a beacon. 

Sanemi swallowed. "Would you ask?"

Giyuu's lips curved in a small smile. "Touché."

Sanemi sighed, shaking his head—more at himself. "You're stupid." 

"I'll sleep now," Giyuu informed him, pulling the sheets over himself. 

"You better. I'm staying here 'till you sleep."

"What?! You creep," he whined. 

"Either that or I tell Kocho," Sanemi said, set on his decision.

"...Fine, stalk me all you want," Giyuu said, frowning and closing his eyes.

Sanemi smiled to himself, leaning against the wall and waiting.

The room drew to a quiet hum, the only sound being the two Hashira's breathing.  After a while, Giyuu's breath finally calmed into a slow, settled sleep, his face relaxed and soothed.

Sanemi stepped towards the bed quietly, hovering over him. He knelt beside Giyuu and, once he decided that he really was asleep, started to step away. Then he paused, his eyes trailing to Giyuu's lips. 

He immediately struck down the idea, mentally berating himself for even thinking it. He parted the dark locks resting on Giyuu's forehead, placing a gentle kiss there before quickly fixing the Hashira's hair and retreating from the room, making his way outside. 

The cool air hit his face as he stepped out, but he barely noticed it, heat flickering in his cheeks as he walked out of the clearing and into the path that would lead him back. God, why was he such a mess...

(i loved writing that sm)

×××

Giyuu was a light sleeper. 

Anyone in the Demon Slayer Corps had to be, or they wouldn't even pass Final Selection. So, of course, he had awoken. Though he had been too sleepy to comprehend why he had woken up so randomly, and so quickly, at the time, he quickly realized it once Sanemi had left.

Now he lay, curled up in a ball, his face buried in his palms, mentally screaming. Because.. what the hell had just happened?! But... he wasn't complaining.

Wait- Why not-

He pulled the blanket over his head, engolfing himself in the darkness. No, this wasn't better. It only made his face hotter. He sat up, the cool air bursting upon him. He fanned himself, trying to calm his heartbeat. 

Fuck, he was in love, wasn't he. He was in love, he was in love with Sanemi Shinazugawa. He was a fucking mess.

×××

"...You look like Tomioka just kissed you," Obanai said, crossing his arms and leaning back against a tree.

Sanemi had found him, after a while, and was trying to get his thoughts together, pacing up and down on the side of the path. "He didn't! I did!"

"Wait what-" Obanai said, standing up straight and leaning towards him. "What do you mean?!"

Sanemi let out a half-sigh, half scream, raking his hand through his hair. "Not... Not fully, just on his forehead. And he was asleep. BUT STILL!!"

Obanai slumped back against the tree, rolling his eyes. "Coward," he coughed.

"Oh, shut the fuck up. It's not like you have kissed Kanroji yet," Sanemi spat, stopping in front of Obanai.

"Yeah, well, unlike you, I have still been way more successful!!" he retorted. "All you have done is eat breakfast with him!! Meanwhile, I've eaten lunch and breakfast with her many days, gone on walks with her, bought her gifts, hugged her..."

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "Yet you haven't told her that you like her."

"Hey! You haven't told Tomioka either!!" Obanai pointed out. 

"Righhttt, and who, exactly, has liked their crush for longer?? Hmm? Oh, right! You!" Sanemi laughed. "Your arguments are pitiful."

"You're freaking out about kissing Tomioka on the fucking forehead when he was asleep, don't call me pitiful," Obanai grumbled.

"Hm. Fair enough," Sanemi decided. 

"Look, take Tomioka out on a walk or something equivalent to a date, for all I care. But if you keep ranting about how you kissed him on the forehead without him knowing then I'm going to find Tomioka and tell him how you feel. I don't give a fuck anymore," Obanai told him, moving away from the tree and walking back onto the path.

Sanemi turned towards him. "Consider it the same for you. I don't know how long I can stand hearing you talk about Kanroji. 'Oh my god! Kanroji told me we can eat lunch together, just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before, and the day before, and the day bef-'"

"I GET IT!!!" Obanai snapped, rubbing his temples. "Fine. You stop, I stop."

"Deal."

Sanemi grinned. "Have fun eating lunch with her again. Or, rather, watching her eat lunch."

Obanai pushed him. "Fuck off." 

×××

Sanemi had kissed him. He'd kissed him, he had kissed him, oh my god, Sanemi had-

Well. It could've just been to the joke from before. About 'kissing him goodnight.' BUT STILL. AND GIYUU HAD BEEN ASLEEP(ish).

Which made it all the more... Confusing. Maybe Sanemi saw him only as a sibling or a child or something. He did keep taking care of him, which didn't even seem coincidental anymore. As if, assuming one could believe in fate, they were being purposefully brought together. Constantly in each other's ways. ...Not that Giyuu minded.

In fact, he liked spending more time with Sanemi.

The fact of which was a huge shock to himself. Hadn't he just hated Sanemi?

Well. Things always changed, no...?

Maybe this change wouldn't be bad, though. Maybe he should try embracing it.

Giyuu found himself constantly distracted by these thoughts as he went on with his days. But, surprisingly, he didn't come across Sanemi for a while. Either Sanemi was avoiding him—which was reasonable, yet disappointing—or their schedules just kept them apart from each other. Whatever the reason was, Giyuu ended up going in search of Sanemi, wanting to clarify the ki...

No, he wouldn't say it. Wouldn't think it. He preferred not to feel as if he would have a heart attack—an abnormal heartbeat and flushed face...

He sighed, mussing up his hair so it covered his face, continuing to walk briskly down the path. He avoided some Demon Slayers who had seemingly popped out of nowhere and were attempting to talk to them, mentally berating himself for not being careful and getting unwanted attention. Just as he was about to give up and let them talk to him, he noticed Sanemi somewhere in the close distance.

He sped up, ignoring the calls of the other Demon Slayers who trotted behind him.

Sanemi looked up upon all the noise and seemed to be holding back laughter at the sight of Giyuu's pleading gaze. He cleared his throat, grabbing Giyuu's arm and pushing him behind him. 

"The hell do you want?" he asked the others, glaring at them.

They all shrank back. One of them spoke up timidly, his voice shaky. "W... We just wanted to talk to Water-Pillar-sama..." 

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. See, I need him somewhere. You all can go now," Sanemi said, waving them off.

"But-" 

"I said I need him. You said you wanted something from him. Need is more important than want, fuckers. If you don't leave now, maybe we can see how well you can weild your katanas against a Hashira," Sanemi said, a hand hovering over his katana handle.

"Shinazugawa, there's no need to-" Giyuu started.

Sanemi shushed him, turning back to the Demon Slayers. "So? What will it be?"

They seemed to hesitate for a second before deciding it wasn't worth it and collectively agreed to leave, scampering away.

Sanemi turned back to Giyuu, a smirk growing on his face. "Got people falling on themselves for you now, hm?" he teased. 

Giyuu sighed. "Will I have to find someone else to shoo you away?" he asked.

"I was joking- The hell did they even want from you, though?" Sanemi said, crossing his arms.

"I don't know," Giyuu murmured. 

"Right." An awkward silence spread between the two and they stared at the ground, unsure what to say.

"Uh. Now that you're free, guess I'll be taking my leave-" Sanemi said, appearing to want to dash away. His cheeks were dabbed in a dusty pink as he stepped back.

"Wait- Shinazugawa, I wanted to ask you something," Giyuu said, grabbing Sanemi's wrist as he remembered why he had been outside in the first place.

"Which is?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Giyuu paused, glancing down at his hand which was still clasped around the scarred wrist of the other Hashira. Sanemi's pulse was fast. Why?

"Uhm. A few days ago... when you told me to sleep," Giyuu started quietly, unsure how to go about it. Then, deciding that there was no use stalling, he blurted out, "Why did you kiss me?"

Sanemi stared at him, in shock apparently, then let out what sounded like a muted scream, burying his face in the hand Giyuu wasn't holding. "God, you were awake...?" he mumbled, sounding as if he was regretting everything. Which he probably was doing.

"I... woke up when you did that," Giyuu murmured. 

"...Of course you did," Sanemi said.

Giyuu cocked his head to the side. "Can I ask you something, Shinazugawa?"

"What now...?" he said with a sigh, running his hand through his hair—or, more, tearing at his hair.

"Why is your heartbeat so fast?" Giyuu asked.

Sanemi looked up, glaring at him. "Stop asking questions I'd rather tear my chest out than answer," he grumbled.

Giyuu raised an eyebrow. "What-?"

"Nevermind."

"Okay..." Giyuu let go of his wrist. "Will you answer the questions?"

Sanemi hesitated. "What happens if I don't?"

"I'll... ask Genya for help?..." Giyuu said slowly, knowing it would irritate Sanemi—and hopefully convince him to speak.

Sanemi's eyes narrowed. "Fuck, fine." He let out an exaggerated sigh, then without warning reached up and clasped his hands on either side of Giyuu's face, pulling him closer.

Giyuu's eyes widened and he felt himself flush at the proximity, his stomach deciding to do some acrobatic trick of Mitsuri's, followed by what appeared to be a bunch of Shinobu's fluttering around.

"Shinazugawa...?" he mumbled, his voice muted from his own shock.

×××

Do it. DO IT.

Sanemi let out a breath, his eyes searching Giyuu's. He found no sign of resistance, only question and surprise. 

"Listen. If you hate this, just push me away. I won't resist," Sanemi advised, his tone as serious as he could force it to be with his heart flying circles in his ribcage, as if trying to break free. 

"Do wh-"

Before Giyuu could finish, Sanemi fit his mouth against the Water user's, one hand tangling in the dark locks of Giyuu's hair, the other slipping down to his waist. He paused when he got no response, and started to move away, but then arms wrapped around his body, pulling him closer and back into the kiss.

They stumbled through the embrace, their legs tangling with one anothers. He didn't know who finally pulled away, but when they did, the two stood there, Giyuu resting his head on Sanemi's shoulder, their breaths harsh and quick—not solely from the kiss.

Then, as if just realizing what they'd done, they scrambled away from each other, looking like embarrassed puppies.

Giyuu was the first to speak, his voice meek—not that Sanemi could blame him. "Do you... like me?" he mumbled.

Sanemi frowned. "I thought I told you to stop asking me questions like that."

"Like what?"

"Questions that I'd commit seppuku before answering," he said, crossing his arms. 

"...Sorry," Giyuu said, pouting.

"You better be. Also, the answer should be fucking obvious. If it's not, then you're stupid." Sanemi rolled his eyes, stalking towards him and grabbing Giyuu's arm. "We're going somewhere private now. C'mon."

Giyuu nodded quickly, following him. "I'm not stupid," he muttered, more to himself

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

×××

Since then, Giyuu and Sanemi avoided each other. Mostly from embarrassment and neither wanting to bring up the topic again. After they had left the public eye, they had made out for a bit, being too shy—which was definitely not a word that would usually describe either of them—to talk about anything. It had been exactly a week, two days, four hours, and thirty one minutes since they had parted ways—yes, Giyuu had been counting.

But—finally—they had decided to meet again, talk about it more formally. Rather, Sanemi had invited Giyuu to lunch and Giyuu had agreed. He stood, waiting, in front of a restaurant. Apparently Sanemi had reserved a table but had forgotten to tell Giyuu, so now he was awkwardly hovering in front of the restaurant wishing Sanemi would hurry the fuck up. 

After a few agonizing minutes of waiting, Sanemi appeared at last, looking out of breath. His hair looked oddly neat and well kept—unlike usual—and he had a smell of flowers wafting around him. 

"Hey," he said, nodding to Giyuu. "Sorry for keeping you waiting. Iguro wanted me to help him with something then Kanroji came by, carrying like fifty bottles of perfume and wanted to test them out on me..." He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

A smile crept up Giyuu's lips. "So that's why you smell as what I'd imagine a bee would during the summer?"

"Shut the fuck up," Sanemi said, opening the restaurant door and tugging Giyuu inside.

After they had found their table and ordered some food and settled down, Sanemi rested his arms on the table, clasping his hands together and turned to Giyuu. "So!" he said, as if trying to say something he most definitely did not want to say.

"Hm?"

"...I hate how little you talk," Sanemi grumbled. "You only ever talk to ask the most embarrassing shit ever."

"...sorry??"

Sanemi laughed, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "Yeah, no, nevermind. Let's just wait for the food."

Giyuu nodded, his heart beating faster than a humming bird's wings. 

They waited in silence, conspicuously avoiding each others eyes.

When the food finally arrived, they took the opportunity to busy themselves with eating, pretending like they both had things they wanted to discuss but couldn't bring it up. Halfway through the meal, Giyuu gave up and said, abruptly, "Are we dating?"

Sanemi all but choked on his food, grasping for a cup of water. Giyuu hurried to help him, panicking.

After he had calmed down, Sanemi said, "I'm convinced you're trying to kill me, Tomioka."

Giyuu apologized again. "I didn't mean for that to happen..."

"I know. I was joking. Seriously, you really are stupid," Sanemi deadpanned.

"I'm not!" Giyuu whined.

"See, that was also a joke. Okay, maybe it wasn't. Also you sound like a child. But, uhm, back to the topic," Sanemi said, his tone switching completely.

They lapsed back into silence, staring at each other awkwardly.

"...are we, then...?" Giyuu mumbled, unsure what to make of the atmosphere.

"Uhm." Sanemi coughed, trying to think of a response. "Do you want to?"

Giyuu frowned. "Yes... Do you?"

Sanemi pushed a bowl of salmon daikon towards Giyuu, folding his hands on the table. "Then we're dating."

"What? But you never said if you-"

"I literally did, just not directly. But if you need me to spell it out to you then, yes. I do. And since you do too, apparently, then we're dating," Sanemi told him. 

"...okay!" Giyuu said happily, taking the bowl with a small smile.

"Mm. How is your smile so small yet it lights up your whole face..." Sanemi said, resting his elbow on the table and head in his hand, laughing gently.

"I'm smiling? Sorry," Giyuu said, his lips quickly curving to its usual neutral state.

"Why sorry? Your smile isn't terrifying," Sanemi said, frowning. 

"Kocho said it's weird," Giyuu mumbled. 

"Well fuck her, then! It's not weird, it's... cute." 

He flushed. "It's not cute!"

"Says you." A playful smirk rising upon Sanemi's face. "Anyways, hurry up and eat. I don't feel like waiting forever."

"Aren't you going to eat?-" Giyuu asked, looking up from his bowl.

"I finished."

"...oh."

××× (it's js sillyness from here on out)

Sanemi and Giyuu had come to a mutual agreement to not tell anyone of their relationship, or mostly keep it private. Both for the reasons of disliking gossip. From Tengen and Shinobu in specific. They were 99% sure that, if by any way, their relationship would become public knowledge, Tengen and Shinobu would have fun making up theories and teasing them day and night.

So, despite everyone somehow knowing that Sanemi liked Giyuu, the only people that knew of their relationship becoming real were Obanai and... Obanai. Just him. 

Sanemi had said that they could tell their closest friends—as long as they swore not to say anything. Giyuu said, quite exactly, "I don't have friends."

Which... lead to Sanemi having to comfort him. 

But all was said and all was done and the two found ways to meet in private between missions and training, managing to keep their relationship a secret for a surprisingly long amount of time. Of course, nothing ever lasts, and the Hashira eventually caught on. 

Sanemi was a lot better at hiding it, just snapping at Giyuu all the time like usual—which he assured Giyuu that whatever he said wasn't what he truly meant, until they were alone. But Giyuu, on the other hand... Well, Sanemi assumed that he'd be alright at acting given that his face was always so irritatingly impassive. He'd assumed wrong, however, and eventually found that out.

In his attempt to fulfill Sanemi's wishes to not get the word spread out—and Giyuu was dreading the time when Shinobu would find out—Giyuu kept up the act for a good couple weeks. But, since Sanemi would act a lot more affectionate with him, he was less and less used to the previously usual aggression shown to him by his boyfriend (in public) as the days past.

Needless to say, Giyuu was the reason they were exposed. Which unfortunately happened in front of the whole Hashira—right before one of their biannual meetings with Kagaya.

×××

Giyuu had entered the garden a few minutes after Sanemi, on the opposite side, not wanting to cause suspicion. He stood by a tree quietly as the other Hashira trickled in.

Mitsuri bounded up to him, talking about something he wasn't necessarily listening to, his gaze set on Sanemi who was trying to obscure Obanai's eyes from seeing that Mitsuri was talking to another man. 

Supposedly noticing the gaze, Sanemi looked up and glared at Giyuu, raising an eyebrow as if to tell him to snap out of it.

Shinobu noticed this. 

"Ara ara, are you two fighting again? I'm surprised you haven't shouted at him yet, Shinazugawa," Shinobu commented, a sly smile forming upon her lips.

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Kocho."

"No need to be so harsh," Shinobu tutted, crossing her arms and shaking her head disapprovingly.

Gyomei agreed. "And please refrain from swearing."

Mitsuri had stopped talking, looking from one Hashira to the other.

Tengen laughed. "Well, there's been a lot less tension between Tomioka and the dog," he remarked, grinning at Sanemi.

"WHAT DOG?!?!" Sanemi shouted, stalking over to Tengen.

Obanai rolled his eyes. "Stop shouting."

Giyuu stood watching everything and wondering if he should speak given that he seemed to be apart of this argument. "What dog?"

Sanemi pointed at Giyuu, though he faced Tengen. "SEE?? THERE IS NO FUCKING DOG."

Gyomei frowned. "Do not shout, you will disturb the Master."

Sanemi let out a breath. "Fine."

Giyuu walked over to where Sanemi and Tengen stood. "Is Shinazugawa the dog?" he asked quietly.

Sanemi let out a gritted scream, looking ready to explode. Tengen looked equally like a timed bomb at its last second, although for completely different reasons.

"I'MNOTADOG!!!" Sanemi screeched, grabbing Giyuu by the shoulders and shaking him.

Giyuu ducked down, stepping away from Sanemi. "Okay."

Gyomei let out the longest sigh in history as Shinobu supressed a laugh.

"My, my, you're talking a lot today, Tomioka-San!" she said, looking up at him.

"Oh."

Sanemi rolled his eyes. "Well he should stop talking, he sounds like Uzui when his wives get a paper scratch," he said, crossing his arms. 

"Is that supposed to be an insult?!" Tengen gasped, looking mildly offended.

"You're the one panicking when they so much as cough!!! You're all 'OH NO ARE YOU OKAY?! Nooo, KOCHO HELP ME!! DON'T DIE ON ME, PLEASE DON'T DIE ON ME—'" Sanemi said, pitching his voice higher. 

Giyuu frowned. "I don't sound like that," he and Tengen said in unison—although Tengen with a considerably larger amount of theatrical flair.

"Oh yes you do! And I mean both of you!" Sanemi said, placing his hands on his hips.

Gyomei shook his head and went to go stand next to Muichiro who was staring at a beetle in his hand.

"...I do?" Giyuu whined.

Tengen seemed to have gotten over it quite quickly and was completely unfazed now.

"And worse!" Sanemi said, a mocking smile curving his lips.

Giyuu bit his lip, looking down.

Obanai sighed. 

"The fuck are you looking at??" Sanemi asked, raising an eyebrow at Giyuu who wouldn't meet his eyes.

Tengen's mouth curved into an 'o' and he backed away quickly, whispering loudly to Kyojuro, "Shinazugawa just made Tomioka cry-"

"He cries??" Kyojuro whispered back, seeming to think they were actually being quiet.

Tengen shrugged and leaned against a tree, watching.

"...Why are you crying-" Sanemi said, fighting the concern that rose in himself. "You a baby???"

Giyuu looked up at him, pouting, unwilling to respond.

"Ara ara, looks like you shouldn't have said that about his voice! I would be offended as well if you compared my voice to Uzui's," Shinobu said, shooting a mischevious look at Tengen who appeared wounded.

Sanemi frowned. "It wasn't even that bad of an insult," he scoffed, trying with all his might to make Giyuu act fine without saying anything. 

Giyuu sniffed loudly, ignoring Sanemi. He promptly turned away, stomping to the back of the garden and crossing his arms, acting as if he was waiting for Kagaya.

"Oooohhh-" Tengen said, a tone of amusement entering his voice. "I didn't know Tomioka could be so petty."

Shinobu raised an eyebrow. "Neither that he could be so affected by what Shinazugawa said."

Sanemi, fed up, sighed and stalked towards Giyuu, pulling him into a hug. "Giyuu, I didn't mean shit, I like your voice, okay??" he murmured, placing a kiss on Giyuu's nose. "Don't ignore me."

Giyuu seemed to brighten up instantly—which made Sanemi irritated because it had probably been an act then—and nodded. "Okay!"

"...ARE YOU TWO FINALLY DATING-" Kyojuro said, much too loudly.

"I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO!!!" Shinobu shouted triumphantly.

Obanai shook his head with a sigh. "Well it was going to get out sooner or later."

Sanemi shot a glare at them. "Oh, fuck off."

Giyuu rested his head on Sanemi's shoulder, a small smile playing on his face.

×××

"I thought we agreed to keep it a secret..." Sanemi whined, as he and Giyuu were on their way back home.

"I'm sorrryyy," Giyuu said, pouting. 

"Mmmhmm, well, I'm not giving you cuddles for three weeks now!" Sanemi told him, quickening his pace.

"WHAT?? NO-" Giyuu shouted, chasing after him.

Sanemi laughed, turning and abruptly stopping Giyuu, placing a kiss on his cheek. "I told you to work on differentiating a joke from a serious comment, Giyuu."

"...Well I'm trying!" Giyuu insisted, huffing. "...you're not going to take away my cuddles, are you?"

"No. That would be taking away my own, anyways. But! I'm still not letting you off. Which means I'm not making you salmon daikon for the rest of the week," Sanemi said, dragging Giyuu down the road.

"Awh..." Giyuu whined, trotting after Sanemi.

"Be glad it's Friday."

××× (this last part is completely random and has nothing to do with anything but I js wanted to write this)

Sanemi pushed Giyuu down, pinning him to the floor. He fit his lips to Giyuu's, closing his eyes. Legs wrapped around his waist as Giyuu clung onto him and Sanemi tangled his hand in the tangled mess of his boyfriend's hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. 

"Sa...nemi," Giyuu breathed between kisses, his face dusted in pink. 

Sanemi pulled back, letting him breathe. "Yes?" he murmured, resting his lips upon Giyuu's forehead in a gentle kiss.

"I love you," Giyuu said quietly, his arms tightening their embrace around Sanemi's torso.

Sanemi smiled. "I love you most," he said, pulling Giyuu back into a kiss.

"Tha's... not fair...!" Giyuu whined, trying to avoid the kisses.

"Mhmm, I'm not fair at all then?" Sanemi said, peppering Giyuu's jaw with kisses.

"Nooo..."

Sanemi laughed. "Do you not love me, then?"

"I love you!" Giyuu insisted, turning back and catching a kiss on his bottom lip. 

"Love you too, darling."

×××

 « Word count: 11,420 »

ELEVEN THOUSAND, FOUR HUNDRED AND TWENTY WORDS OF PURE FUCKING FLUFF. 

anyways back to writing angst ;v;

will y'all forgive me for getting lazy and making it rushed because it took me over a month to actually finish this (loss of motivation+procrastination+rereading+editing+long asf+stalling)?

[sleepymarimo]

𝕨𝕖𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕤

summary: after becoming the greatest swordsman and learning of his bloodline, the next logical step for zoro would be to return to wano and marry into the kozuki family, right? if only you didn't look so good as a bridesmaid... pairing: zoro x afab!reader cw: mdni, vaginal sex, drunk sex, infidelity, cursing, mutual pining an: this idea has been in my head for a while, so... enjoy!

It's the day of the wedding.

Well, his wedding.

After being the world's greatest swordsman for a few years, Zoro had decided that he had wanted to return to Wano. He never explained why, barking at whoever asked him that it was none of their damn business. The crumpled up paper you'd found in the corner of the training room, which contained details about his lineage, gave you an idea of why he was adamant on returning.

The swordsman was someone you admired very much, from his sometimes frustrating temper to his unshakable will. After sailing together for so long, it was difficult to not develop feelings for him. You liked to think that the two of you were relatively close or at the very least that he tolerated your presence more than others. He never strayed too far from you and even shared his sake with you on occasion, his annoyed grumbles doing little to hide how much he enjoyed providing for you- even if it was just a sip from his bottle.

Your outlooks on life might have been different, but there was a lot to learn from one another. This learning was often done on warm nights aboard the Sunny after a few bottles of sake and a playful spar. Even when there were no conversations happening, you'd enjoy the comfortable silence and the sense of security he brought to you.

Yet, ever since he had achieved his goal of becoming the greatest swordsman, you had to admit that he seemed… different. He of course was as brash as ever, always ready to stand by the crew and act as a protector when necessary, but he seemed to be itching for something. He was lost, plain and simple.

Your mind, ever tumbling with thoughts, wonders what the green haired samurai's goal was in returning to Wano. To reconnect with his roots? To stay? You doubted he would, but the thought still made your stomach drop.

Now, a few weeks later, here you are at the wedding celebration of Zoro and soon-to-be-wife, Hiyori.

Celebration is an understatement, as the whole thing could be confused for a festival. An entire courtyard full of seats, all open to the people of Wano. Its extravagant and lavish, with vendors and performers ensuring that the party would last well into the night. The tables are piled high with a plethora of food and sake. Hiyori had wanted a grand ceremony and it was definitely something, though the large crowd and the unavoidable spotlight didn't seem like something Zoro would enjoy. After the bachelor party, which involved the guys drinking until they couldn't stand, Brook spilled to you and the girls that Zoro hadn't even been the one to propose. Allegedly, he was just going with whatever his teal-haired partner wanted, and she was happy to take over as long as she had the samurai by her side.

The whole thing didn't quite sit right with you, something gnawing at your chest. Jealousy? Worry? You weren't exactly comfortable bringing it up with anyone else, but judging by the knowing looks that Robin sent your way or how Luffy would gaze off to the side and pucker his lips at the mention of the wedding, you could tell that you weren't alone in your thoughts. While you would ask Zoro yourself, the way he responded to Luffy's meddling a couple of days ago has you hesitant to do so.

"But Zoro!" Luffy had whined, wrapping his limbs around the swordsman with a pout. "What about-" Zoro's words were spoken through clenched teeth, one of his calloused hands tightening into the fabric of Luffy's red kimono. "I dare you to keep talking."

Currently, you're chatting it up with Nami and Robin in the bride's quarters. The three of you are in the bridal party, getting ready for the celebration that is soon to be underway. As per Hiyori's request, the bridesmaids are fitted into navy blue kimonos that are woven from the softest material you've ever felt. Your hair is neatly styled and your makeup light as you help the other girls get ready for the wedding. Your chest tightens every time your eyes glance over at Hiyori, her radiant beauty and cheerful demeanor causing your confidence to waver.

The whole thing has you craving some alone time before you go out there and watch your vice captain be wed, so you stand from your mat and give Nami and Robin a small, slightly forced smile. "Hey, I'm gonna take a quick walk. D'you guys remember where that nice koi pond was at?"

Something flashes in Robin's eyes and she sits up a little straighter, giving you one of those smiles that you've come associate with trouble. She gives you directions, but they're a little all over the place and have you questioning every turn. You'd been wandering around the halls for a while now, sure that you were lost as you murmured some curses to yourself.

You're about to turn back altogether when you pick up on a familiar energy. It's Zoro's, of course it is, but there's something different about it. The closer you get to the groom's quarters, the more you pick up on the underlying currents of unease than emanate from his aura. Worry grows in your chest, as such levels of doubt and anxiety weren't usually present in the swordsman. The fact that he isn't even bothering to conceal these emotions is even more concerning, since you knew he had a very good grip on his haki.

One of your hands comes up to lightly knock on the sliding wooden door. You give a small greeting, telling him that it's you.

Zoro, who had been staring blankly at the wall with a bottle of sake in his hand, snapped out of his daze when he heard your voice. He quickly straightened up, his usual irritation returning to his face as he roped in the tendrils of unease that he had unintentionally let slip loose.

"What the hell do you want?" He grumbled, his voice a bit hoarse from the tension. He didn't bother to open the door, expecting you to understand that he wanted to be alone.

“Zoro…” You sigh, your tone laced with caution as you stand behind the door and make it clear that you won't budge until he confirms that he is alright.

"Seriously, I'm fine.” He replied, his voice strained. "Just leave me alone. I'll be out in a minute." His tone was defensive. Though he tried to hide it, he couldn't deny that the weight of the wedding and everything that came with it was overwhelming him. The anxiety and doubts were gnawing at him more than he cared to admit.

Before he could ask you to go away again, he felt a knot forming in his chest. He sighed, realizing that shutting you out wouldn't solve anything. You of all people could ground him, could be there for him when he was feeling things he had no idea how to process. It was a trait of yours he envied, your ability to show people warmth and empathy without a second thought. He needed that, needed you, needed every bit of you.

He finally slid open the door and revealed himself, looking disheveled and restless. His bandana on his arm was slightly askew, and the collar of his ceremonial kimono was tugged open, the belt loose. His green hair seemed even messier than usual, disheveled.

"What the fu-" Your eyes widen and you quickly enter the room, sliding the door closed behind you. The sight of him makes you raise your hands up to help, but they remain suspended in the air as you ponder where to even begin with him. The smell of sake is strong, his posture tense and his eyes slightly blown from the copious amounts of alcohol that's in his system.

“I don’t- Zoro, what’s going on?” You ask, your head tilting.

A light sigh tumbles past your lips as you tug his kimono closed, scrambling to soothe out any wrinkles and make him slightly more presentable. Where were the rest of the groomsmen? Grumbles are all you hear from him and it doesn’t make the process any easier. After you attempt to smoothen out his hair, he scowls and ruffles it up again.

“This whole damn ceremony.” He growls, shaking off your hands and turning on his heel as he walks to the table to open up another bottle. “It’s not-“

A long sigh is heard from him, the sound rumbling in his chest. He takes a long swig from the bottle, wiping away the excess sake from his lips using the back of his hand. He shakes his head and turns back to meet your gaze, taking a few steps forward until he’s in front of you. When he speaks, his tone is stern but forced, like he’s putting in effort to remain calm. “I’m not sure this is what I want.”

His admission leaves you momentarily stunned as you try to make sense of his words. Your hands fidget at your sides, your voice laced with concern. “The wedding? Hiyori?” His state ignites something within you, an overwhelming urge to comfort him in any way you can. "I thought you wanted to come back to Wano."

“Both.” He confesses, spitting out the word like it was made of poison. “And I did. I’m just, damn it, I don’t know! I'm already the greatest swordsman, so I should be out here and doing all this domestic shit, right? Coming back to Wano like my ancestors would've wanted? Marrying into the damn Kozuki family?"

The pieces slowly come together. A swordsman who has accomplished his dream and is unsure of what goal to chase next. On paper, it sounded ideal, like a fantasy that only one in a million could achieve. Yet, Zoro is restless and unable to feel at ease. He's taken to following expectations in a bid to fill the small gap of emptiness that came with establishing himself as the strongest swordsman, a title he fought for almost his whole life. Now that he had completed it, he struggled to find purpose, to find a use for himself other than being a fighter.

His frustration is clear, from the way his jaw tenses to the rigidity of his stance. He’s itching to release his emotional tension, his body twitching in anticipation. It's like watching a caged animal. You’re silent for a moment and sense that he has more to say. He huffs and stares down at you with an almost unreadable expression, the distant sounds of the celebration barely audible through the wooden door.

His mouth opens, before he quickly closes it and clenches his teeth together, looking away. Red tinges his cheeks, from the alcohol or something else, you cannot tell.

“Can I try something?” He asks with only a slight slur, stepping closer. His voice is low and gravelly, his eye shining with a drunken determination that hides something you can't pinpoint just yet. “To see if I’m doing the right thing? With the right person?”

You release a breath that you don’t even know you’re holding, nodding slightly. You’re unsure of what to expect, but there was nothing you wouldn’t do for your crew, especially Zoro.

“Yeah.” You affirm, your voice a bit more timid than you would’ve wanted as you feel the heat radiating from his body into yours.

He grunts in acknowledgment, his eye assessing each and every one of your movements. For a few seconds, he doesn’t do anything. As you’re about to open your mouth, he brings a hand up and places it at the nape of your neck.

You don’t even have time to ask him what he is doing before he brings his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter closed, nails digging into your palms as they tighten in response to the sensation.

It was wrong, wasn’t it? Here he was in his groom’s attire, his own wedding ceremony about to be underway. You should be pulling away, stopping him from betraying the woman he was set to marry within the hour.

Yet, when his tongue swipes across your lower lip, you part them without question. He groans. His other hand finds purchase on your hip, rubbing circles on the sensitive flesh there using his thumb. The sake from his tongue fills your tastebuds as he eagerly explores your mouth, drinking in the taste of you as if it were his own brand of liquor.

You couldn't resist him even if you tried, your hands sliding under the collar of his kimono and gliding along the skin of his shoulders and chest. He melts under your touch and takes this as a sign to bring you closer to him, eliciting a gasp from your lips when you feel his already half-hard cock rutting against your tummy.

A string of saliva tethers you two together when you finally pull away, your face hot as he stares down at you with a possessive affection. His gaze shifts from your eyes to the rest of your form, your figure accentuated by the kimono that hugs you.

The effort he puts in is minimal as he wraps his arms around you and raises you off the ground, your hands tightening on his shoulders, though he wouldn't dare drop you. He lays you on one of the soft mats which adorn the groom's quarters, kneeling between your legs and lazily grinding his hips against yours. The sensation has your back arching and your panties dampening.

"Least Hiyori can do one thing right." He drunkenly groans as he continues to grind his dick against your clothed slit, his hands firmly gripping your thighs as he looks down at you. His words are slightly slurred, the lust in them more than apparent. "Gettin' you all nice n' pretty for me, wrapped up like a fuckin' gift."

You hiss and buck your hips to meet his thrusts against your core, your hands tugging at the collars of your kimono in a bid to find some reprieve from the heat that's coursing through your veins. He gets the idea and doesn't waste another second before sliding the fabric off of your shoulders.

His steel colored eye drinks in every inch of you, his hips jolting forward when his calloused hands cup your breasts and knead the soft flesh. Your whines only increase when his thumbs tease your hardened nipples, sending waves of pleasure right to your core. You catch sight of his tongue swiping across his lip before he leans forward and captures one of the pebbled buds into his mouth.

Your hands tangle into his green hair as you hold him there, his fingers lightly tugging and rolling at one nipple while his tongue swirls greedily around the other. The groan he lets out against your breast is desperate and hungry, his hips continuing to grind against yours. He's completely hard by now, and what you feel against your clothes has you thinking about how full you're going to be.

Its already too much and you swear that you're seeing stars.

Through pants, you manage to grab his free hand in one of yours and guide it towards your aching cunt. As soon as his hand slips past the waistband of your underwear, his fingers become coated in your arousal. They swirl just outside your entrance before coming up and messily rubbing at your clit, making you gasp and clench around nothing. When he finally slides a finger inside, your walls pulse around the sudden intrusion. He shudders, wondering just how good it'll feel around his cock.

He adds another finger, then another, every thrust and curl bringing you closer and closer to the edge. When he hits a particularly sensitive spot, you choke out a low moan. "There, there, there!" You cry, feeling your thighs starting to tense.

A low, guttural noise erupts from his throat at the way your pussy is starting to tighten around his fingers. He tugs on your nipple a little harder, his teeth grazing along the other. The sound of wet slaps echo throughout the room and its downright dirty, only increasing your desire for him. Your pupils are blown when you look down at him, his ceremonial kimono making him look unbearably handsome. He makes for one hell of a groom.

When you gasp, he gives your nipple one last lick before gazing up at your face, eager to see you come undone. "C'mon dollface, give it to me." He gruffly orders, curling his fingers just a little more.

You only babble his name before everything gets hazy. Your walls clamp around him and your hips buck desperately into his fingers. The waves of pleasure cascade down your whole body and in the midst of it all, Zoro leans forward and captures your mouth in his. He eagerly swallows all of your moans and cries, continuing to thrust his fingers into you until he deemed it necessary to stop.

Satisfied by the blissed out look on your face, he tugs off his hakama and frees his cock from its confines. He gives it a stroke or two to relieve some of the tension, before he aids you in shedding the rest of your kimono.

He settles once more between your thighs. His eye is fixed on the wetness pooling in your core, his hand lazily guiding the head of his cock up and down your slit.

“Been thinkin’ about this pussy for way too long.” He growls, positioning himself in front of your entrance.

His tone has you whining, your hips gyrating in a way that has his tip slipping into your cunt. The action has him groaning, his patience finally snapping as he buries himself inside of you to the hilt.

The stretch is mind blowing, your hands coming up to his biceps and squeezing the taut muscles in an attempt to ground yourself. Your body reacts to the sudden fullness by clenching tightly around him, the spasms only serving to heighten his pleasure. The grip he has on your hips strengthens and you’re sure it’ll bruise.

In his drunken state he wastes no time, his hips hammering into yours with utter desire. His breaths are heavy as he stares down at you, enamored by how your mouth hangs open and how you cling to him so desperately.

Your back arches, hips angling in a way that has jolts of pleasure running up your spine.

“H-hah! Zoro!” You babble, your whole body hot with delight. His biceps feel like steel under your palms, the sensation making your head feel even lighter.

Your pleas spur him further and he tugs your body closer until your thighs rest snugly atop of his. He releases his grip on your hips, placing his forearms on either side of your head as his thrusts become short and forceful. The muscles in your legs tense at the new angle and you mewl.

The tip of his cock pounds into your cervix, making you let out a choked moan as the pain and pleasure mingle into one glorious sensation. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you bury your head into his neck. With a light head, you plant sloppy, open mouthed kisses onto the sensitive flesh there in an attempt to return a fraction of the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Fuck!” A groan tears out of his throat and you can feel the vibration from his chest. “Takin’ me so well.”

A particularly sharp thrust has your breath hitching and your eyelids fluttering, your head falling back slightly. His cheek is pressed against yours, his skin cool and clammy from the thin layer of sweat that has formed on his body.

Your eyes lose focus and you pant helplessly. His earrings dangle in front of your face, the metal pieces clinking together in a rhythmic melody that rings louder than the wedding bells banging in the distance. “S-S’good!” You stammer, your grip on him tightening.

Another curse or two spills from his lips, his words grunted through clenched teeth. “Yeah? That right?” He smirks, absolutely reveling in your pleasured state, his core tightening as your body clamps around him in the most delicious way. You have him close, too close, and he doesn’t want this to be over just yet.

His cheeks are colored red when he sits up and pulls out of you. A whine falls from your mouth, pleading with him as you buck your hips for any sort of touch. Your thighs hang over his, while his frame towers over you. “M’not done with you, yet.” He roughly reassures while he brings a hand up to your thigh and rubs gentle circles.

He starts to run his other hand up and down his length, positioning the head of his cock right up against your puffy clit as he jerks himself off to the sight of you. Every stroke of his hand has your hips bucking in pleasure as his tip hits and swirls against you, the clitoral stimulation sending you spiraling. There’s not much to do other than writhe and babble praises at him as you feel your climax inching closer, his tip leaking precum right onto your wet clit. You feel another orgasm creeping up on you, the coil in your tummy ready to burst.

"C'mon!" You whine, your hips bucking as you look up at him with desire-glazed eyes. "Zoro, please! Wanna cum!"

He doesn't deny you, he never would, so he makes sure to keep hitting that spot until you're arching and mewling for him. The way your eyes screw shut and your mouth falls open has his chest swirling with pride. Just as you get pushed over the edge, he makes his move.

Without much warning other than a low growl, he folds you in half until your thighs hug your chest and your ankles rest on his shoulders. His hands are secured under your knees, ensuring that you won't wriggle out of his hold. In this position, your pussy is presented to him beautifully and he sinks into you as you cum.

Your walls are still spasming, clenching when he pries you open with his cock. The gasp that leaves your mouth is akin to a sob as he brutally hammers into you, chasing his own high. The overstimulation is too much and you try desperately to wriggle from his hold, but its useless.

Yet, when your eyes catch a glimpse at his expression, his lustful gaze and reddened cheeks, you can't help but let him crack your knees open a little wider.

"Atta girl." He praises with a half smirk, his thrusts becoming short and erratic.

His grip on your knees tightens and he throws his head back, utterly consumed by how your plush walls are squeezing him. When his breath hitches and he grunts out you name, its not long after that you feel a hotness in your core. His cum coats your insides in bursts, the thick, white ropes pooling all around. Everything sounds more wet, more raw, as he continues to shallowly thrust into you, riding out his orgasm.

He finally lets your legs go and they tremble as they settle back down around his hips. When he collapses onto you, his skin is hot against yours. He rasps out some breaths, his back slowly falling and rising. You can feel his heart beating strongly against your chest, the sensation grounding you.

His body atop of yours serves as a sort of anchor, your thighs twitching as his hips continue to gently rock against yours. He takes a few deep breaths, his head turning to the side to catch a glimpse at you. Lazily, his nose nuzzles your temple.

“Fuckin’ marry me, woman.” He grumbles, his tone stern as his eyelids flutter closed. "You're the one I want.”

Of course, you can't say no.

In your post-coital haze, you can't help but wonder what mess is going to come from this, but Zoro has always had a way of calming your ever-racing mind. So instead, you sigh, running a hand through his slightly dampened hair as a corner of your lips quirk up into a half smile. "Can we still have cake?"

He snorts in an attempt to hide his laugh, saying nothing as he flips you onto him and gives your ass a slap.

[songforeddiemunson]

Into the Woods

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (description vague apart from AFAB)

Summary: Eddie and Reader engage in some camping shenanigans.

Warnings/Tropes: Established relationship, smut, fluff, crimes against tents. Just a silly little smutty cute thing.

WC: 1550

Note: I'm sorry, I know I should be working on my series (and I am! albeit sloooowly), but I just couldn't stop thinking about this scenario. Labor Day is coming up and I've got nature on the brain. Enjoy!

MASTERLIST

The weather forecast for Labor Day weekend looked wonderful, so you decided you were going to drag your boyfriend to the mountains to go camping. Eddie hadn't gone camping since he was little, so when you suggested it, he looked at you as if you had just turned purple.

“Why would I want to sleep outside on purpose?” he said. “I used to have to do it after I got kicked out of the house and I’d rather not repeat the experience.” He finished with a soft chuckle; his usual deflective technique when referring to his difficult past.

“Yes, but this is different…” you countered. “The sun and fresh air and scent of nature, ah, it’s wonderful. It’s good for the soul and might help your peace of mind.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Ok look,” you sighed. “If we go, I’ll pick a really secluded spot and we can spend the majority of the time mostly naked.”

“And what time will we be hitting the road?” he replied amenably, and you burst out laughing.

You could feel the stress flowing out of your body the moment you left the city limits, and the long highway flanked by trees beckoned you deeper and deeper into the wilderness.

You were not destined for some family campground full of screaming children with quiet hours after 10pm; you wouldn't dream of it. You wanted true seclusion, and no meddling eyes unless they belonged to some sort of forest fauna.

You drove deep into the preserve down a bumpy dirt road until you reached a secluded lake shore, and the late afternoon sun glinted tantalizingly off the water. You couldn't mask your happiness as you stepped out of the truck. Eddie only looked around, unsure of how to feel about his surroundings.

You chose a flat, shady spot to set up the tent, and twenty minutes later you stepped back to admire your work.  "Not bad,“ you said appraisingly.

“Have you done this before?” Eddie asked.

"Yes, but it’s been ages. I’ve been dying to get back out here.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you inhaled the sweetness of the air.

Eddie nudged your arm and you looked over at him. He waggled his eyebrows at you. “Ready to break it in?”

You laughed. “Seriously dude? Fine, fine, we did have a bargain,” you admitted, and the two of you stumbled into the tent whilst clumsily pulling your clothes off.  

After you finished undressing– which you had to do on your knees because the tent ceiling was so low– you collapsed onto the sleeping bags in a tangled heap.  You began to kiss each other fervently as Eddie hummed softly in a low pitch; obviously he was quite aroused. He trailed his fingertips lightly up the side of your rib cage en route to your bosom, making you giggle. The other hand took a more southerly route.

"I can’t wait any longer,” he murmured into your ear, as he stroked and teased.  

"Then what are you waiting for, Munson?” you replied breathlessly.

Eddie raised himself on his knees and tugged the zipper of the tent door closed, sealing you inside.

"I don't think that was necessary," you laughed.

"I don't want a bear to see my ass bobbing up and down and mistake me for something to eat," Eddie said, making you laugh harder.

"You do have quite the peach," you said. "Very edible."

"Why thank you," he said, as he lowered himself back down between your legs and kissed you deeply. He positioned himself at your entrance, and after a subtle coo of consent from you, he sank inside fully and ground his hips in a circular motion.

You keened at the sensation, and Eddie began to pump; gradually picking up speed and force as he went.  He alternated shallow thrusts with deep ones, using his hips to pull the most delightful sounds out of you. His pelvis slapped against your ass and thighs audibly, and before long you were thankful that you were in a secluded space; the soccer moms at the KOA would not be amused by your cries.

You rode out one intense climax as Eddie fucked you, and your second was rapidly approaching.

When you were in bed back at home, you had a habit of reaching back and grabbing a bar from the headboard during moments of intense pleasure, and you instinctively reached up to do the same as you succumbed to orgasm number two.

Unfortunately, you were in a tent and not a bed, and the headboard was really a bar holding the tent up. When you arched your back, cried out, and reached back to grab it, the entire tent collapsed on top of you. Your cries dissolved to giggles, and Eddie breathlessly cried, "Ah fuck!”  

"Oh my god!" you screeched with shock and hilarity, but Eddie didn’t stop thrusting. You couldn't tell if his grunts now were from frustration or pleasure-- probably a bit of both, but he was determined to finish, despite your current situation. It didn't help that every thrust now swished with the sound of nylon fabric that enveloped you, but it wasn't long before his thrusts faltered, and he moaned as he painted your walls with his completion.

When he was finished, the two of you lay there panting, covered with the collapsed tent in a heap. Eddie started to chuckle, which progressed to full-blown laughter.  The two of you laughed together for several moments before he slid out of you and tried to raise himself to his knees.  "Shit!  Fucking tent,“ he laughed, and the sight of him trying to struggle free of the nylon made you laugh even harder.  "Oh quit your laughing,” he scolded jokingly, “are you going to lay there or help?”

You managed to disentangle yourselves from the tent and stood naked looking at the mess. “Oh for crying out loud, let’s do this again,” you laughed, and the two of you set about the process of putting the tent back up.  Fortunately it was a warm day, and your nakedness didn’t present a problem.

“Fancy a dip in the lake?” Eddie asked when you were finished with your task.

“Eddie, no. You’re crazy. That lake will be cold as shit.”

“But it’s so warm out! C'mon, how bad can it be,” he pleaded. It was true; the day was quite warm for September in the wilderness, and you were a little sweaty from your recent exertions. You knew better though. A warm day in the mountains did not mean the water was a pleasant temperature.

You gestured to the lake. “See for yourself.”

“Very well, I will. You can watch and miss out on the fun.”

You laughed.  "Oh I’ll have fun watching all right. By all means proceed, daring one.“

He did precisely that. In the absence of a dock to jump from, he settled for running toward the water at full-tilt.  He plunged in; feet splashing in the shallow water at first, then slowed as the water reached his torso.  He pushed slowly onward for a couple of steps before stopping. The water had reached his chest, and he slowly revolved to face you.  His face was slack with shock, his eyes bulging.  "Juh-jesus,” he stammered. “Jesus fuck! This water is fuh-fuh-FREEZING!”

“I told you that,” you said calmly.  

Eddie frantically splashed his way back to shore, and he stood before you; naked, dripping, and covered in goosebumps.  "G-g-g-god damn,“ he said, teeth chattering. He wrapped his arms around himself for warmth.  "You weren’t joking!”

“Of course not,” you said resignedly. “The air may be warm, but that water was probably sixty degrees at best.”  You went back to the tent and retrieved a blanket.  "This will do,“ you said, as you wrapped him in the blanket. You threw on a T-shirt and shorts, and began to gather wood and twigs with which to start a fire.

"You’re never going to let me live this down, are you,” Eddie asked as you busied yourself with getting the fire started.  You laughed. He looked like a gnome all huddled up under his blanket by the fire. Adorable.

“Definitely not. You should see yourself. Lucky for you you were only in the water for a minute. Nevertheless, you should sit by the fire for a bit.”

Eddie's shivering began to taper off as warmed himself.  He looked at the lake whimsically.  "But the water is so inviting,“ he pouted.

"I know,” you said. “But much in the way a venus fly trap is irresistible to flies, that shit will kill you.  Camping in the wilderness is fun, but you need to keep your wits about you. These are just the things you learn.”

“Consider myself taught,” Eddie said.

The sun was beginning to sink below the trees by the time Eddie was dry and dressed in dry clothes. The timing couldn’t have been better; as the sun dipped lower, the temperature began to drop as well.  You lit a couple of lanterns and retrieved a bundle of food from your pack.

After finishing your snack, you walked back down to the water.  You watched the spectacular sunset as you sat between Eddie’s legs with your back against his chest.  He wrapped his arms around you, and you sighed contentedly at the perfection of this moment.

“Wow, it really did get chilly,” Eddie said, rubbing your arms with his hands.

“Like I’ve said–”

“I know, I know,” he laughed. “Things are different out here.”

You smiled. "Did you have a good day though?“

"Sweetheart, I’ve been taken to the middle of nowhere, had a tent fall on me, nearly froze to death, and I need to hide my food in a tree to prevent bears from coming to eat me.”

“I’m sorry, we don’t have to do it again,” you said, dejected, as you turned your face away.

“Silly girl,” he said, and turned your face upward so he could kiss your lips.  "I’m having the time of my life.“

Thank you so much for reading! As always comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of any fic writer. Please consider showing us some love.

MASTERLIST

[dimplyowl]

Okay has anyone written any meta about the differences between our two first mates, Auntie and Izzy? Because I just finished rewatching s2 and was struck by how similar their situations are, and their temperaments, and yet how very completely opposite they behave in nearly identical situations.

Cause like. Both their captains are insanely infamous, badass pirates who have an image to uphold, Ed as Blackbeard obviously, and Zheng as the pirate queen who conquered China. They both become romantically interested in someone who honestly has no business being a pirate: oluwande and Stede, both described as soft, not masculine, yes in the end willing to do violence if necessary, but it’s not their preferred way of handling conflict. People who, maybe rightly, the respective first mates consider potential threats to their captain and crew.

But just the way that auntie handles the situation compared to Izzy. Auntie doesn’t meddle. She is vocal about what she thinks of Oluwande, about her concerns about Zheng being distracted, “compromised”, not focused on the mission. But she’s ultimately acting as an advisor for Zheng, which is exactly what her role is. She doesn’t try to control Zheng, she doesn’t remove Zheng’s agency, she doesn’t threaten Zheng or tell her that she’s pathetic for mooning over Oluwande (I know we never get to see any mooning onscreen but cmon, there has to have been some). When the Revenge crew escapes her ship, and she knows she fucked up, Auntie doesn’t run salt in the wound the way that Izzy would take pleasure in doing. She starts to say “I told you so,” and Zheng very firmly tells her “Don’t”, establishes a boundary that Auntie respects, because ultimately Zheng knows she fucked up and she’s not a child who needs to be taught a lesson or managed. Auntie respects her and her personhood.

And compare that to Izzy, who consistently manipulated Ed to get in between him and Stede, threatened Stede’s life on multiple occasions, essentially mutinied against him, sent the cops after them, and then berated and threatened Ed over being heartbroken.

Like, even down to nearly dying. Auntie has a severe gunshot wound in her shoulder that she will clearly die from if she doesn’t accept help. She’s spent the entire season being tough, unwilling to show weakness, equating softness to weakness, but in the end she decides to accept help, to accept a little bit of softness, to change and accept that softness can be good. Izzy in contrast, declines help, knowing that he’s done. He knows he can’t fit in to this new world, this new piracy, where people can be soft and vulnerable and still fucking kick ass. He’s been resistant and outwardly aggressive to this idea, and he chooses to die rather than accept that softness. Ofmd is ushering in a new era of pirating, and Izzy doesn’t fit in it, and doesn’t want to fit in it, and ultimately, narratively, that’s why Auntie survives and Izzy doesn’t.

[volkoss]

Fic: Brilliant Things

While Rook is trapped in the Fade prison, Johanna and Emmrich are forced to help each other overcome their own regrets. DRAGON AGE | EMMRICH & JOHANNA; EMMROOK | WORDS: 4,553 | RATED: G

(AO3 LINK)

It’s pathetic, really. Volkarin has always been a soft touch, but this snivelling is something else.

Despite her own prodigious knowledge of anatomy and the undead, Johanna had not known the human body capable of making such a hideous racket prior to the events of these past few days. Corpses do not weep, and even if they did, she hardly cares. 

The worst part isn’t even that she’s reduced to mere ornamentation in the already ostentatious study of one of Nevarra’s greatest necromancers, forced to watch him burn a hole in the floorboards with each anguished thump, thump, thump of his feet as he teeters at the edge of a nervous breakdown borne by the weight of his own misplaced compassion. No, this part was inevitable. Volkarin had always been destined to crack one day—she just wished she could have been the one to cause it.   

No, the absolute worst part, worse than having been denied the opportunity to gloat over her lifelong rival, is that despite the circumstances, the lovelorn fool’s dedication to his Watcher duties have been thorough to a fault. Johanna has of course tested the wards binding her soul to her remains multiple times; she’d been trying to escape before this most recent escalation in their circumstances, it would be downright idiotic not to try when facing down the end of the world as they know it. Especially while her only hope at salvation rubs his red-rimmed eyes and mutters inconsolably under his breath, unwilling to accept that it is in fact his infernal meddling which has doomed them all.  

It’s simple, really: if Volkarin had just stayed out of her way, left her alone, Johanna would still have her beautiful bone construct—the culmination of her life’s work—with which she would’ve had the power to raise an army of undead to defeat this so-called god, this Elgar’nan. 

But Volkarin had possessed the sheer nerve to outplay her at the most inopportune moment. Although she’s ordinarily capable of giving credit where it’s due, she cannot respect the lack of long-term strategy. Of all moments to finally locate his own backbone!  Volkarin had always been like that, though. Capable of surpassing his own self-imposed limitations given the correct impetus. What else could one expect from such a hot-headed, idealistic man as he. Ugh. And couple that all that with a new paramour, a bright-eyed young thing surely twenty years his junior, it’s no wonder Volkarin’s been distracted (but not distracted enough) of late. 

What needs to be done now is plainly obvious to Johanna, or indeed, anyone with half a functioning brain. For whatever reason, everyone in this crackpot team of would-be heroes that Volkarin has somehow gotten himself mixed up in relies on Rook, even though Johanna’s not sure what the impudent whelp brings to the team, other than a tendency to meddle which rivals even Volkarin’s. And as the group’s resident expert on the Fade, Volkarin is the most well-placed to tear a hole in reality itself to locate his misplaced lover. Even Johanna can see that would make for a most romantic story indeed, and she doesn’t even read that sort of dreck.

But it’s clear to Johanna that Volkarin is functioning at perhaps one-tenth of his usual operating capacity, compromised as he is by needless sentimentality. Of course, the type of man who would sacrifice not only his lifelong dream—immortality itself!— for a mere wisp, of all things, would struggle without the guidance of a more indomitable hand.

And in Rook’s absence, the task falls to Johanna. Unfortunately. Here she’d hoped her days of solving Emmrich Volkarin’s problems for him were over, but no matter. Unlike Volkarin, Johanna Hezenkoss does not shy away from necessary evils. 

As always, she chooses her words carefully, delicately balancing dramatic effect and efficiency.

“You know this is entirely your fault, don’t you?” 

Volkarin stops dead in his tracks as though she’d just punched him. The respite from his infernal pacing is most pleasant indeed, and she’s elated by the knowledge she can still instil such a reaction in him even while bereft of limbs.

Expression jumping from shock to outrage and then, most curiously, to acceptance, Volkarin raises two fingers to rub at his temples, quietly answering, “I know.” 

Johanna’s mandibles clench tightly and it is only with some difficulty that she manages to relax them. For Volkarin to admit his failings so readily, the situation must be worse than she had feared. “And what do you have to say for yourself?” she asks instead. The last thing she needs him to know is that she’s worried. 

Volkarin averts his gaze as he hunches into himself. She remembers the stance well from his days as a young child at the Necropolis. “I should have confessed the truth to Rook while I had the chance,” he admits in the most mournful, pitiful tone that makes even Johanna feel sorry for him as much as it makes her want to vomit, if she were still capable of such a thing. 

While it’s not quite the answer she’d hoped for—then again, Volkarin would never debase himself by offering her a proper apology for everything he’d put her through—it’s one Johanna can work with nonetheless.  Doing her best approximation of a tongue-clicking noise, she replies, “Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on that argument you had with your paramour.” 

As planned, the words bait him back into action with a sputter. Back straightening and fingers curling into the palms of his ungloved and unadorned hands, he snaps, “Still hung up on—” before cutting himself off and pinching the bridge of his nose as he breathes deeply to regulate his emotions, the same exercises they’d been taught as apprentices. Johanna had never cared much for them. 

The next words that come out of Volkarin’s mouth throw her for a loop. “Have you ever been in love, Johanna?”

One of the downsides of no longer having muscles or tendons is the inability to answer questions through exaggerated facial expressions alone. As much as it pains her to lend legitimacy to this line of inquiry, there’s a frightening intensity in his eyes suggestive of a commitment to this topic of conversation. She suspects he won’t accept a total deflection, or worse, that such an attempt might set off his moping again.

That still doesn’t mean it’s any of his blasted business. The time to be asking these types of questions was thirty years ago, not now. “I’m familiar with the concept,” she says acridly, hoping it’s enough to satisfy his curiosity before swiftly adding, “Not that I see how it’s of any relevance.”

Of course, Volkarin simply can’t leave it there. Instead, his lips purse, the look he now fixes Johanna with one of mixed pity and disappointment.

Infuriating man, to think such condescension could possibly affect her!

“Then you would know what it feels like,” he continues quietly, “to leave such matters unresolved with no resolution.”

Of course he would turn it around on her: a most pathetic and transparent attempt to make this an exercise in ‘practicing empathy’ instead of learning to properly communicate himself. She deftly avoids the obvious trap, cutting to the chase instead.

“You’re an idiot,” she states cleanly, simply. There’s a lack of malice in her words that surprises even her.

Volkarin must sense it too, because even though his body visibly tenses at the accusation, his reaction is short-lived. Instead, he allows his shoulders to slump—terrible posture, really—before running a hand through his tousled hair, the action accentuating the dark circles beneath his eyes. Finally, he sighs, a little huff of intermingled acceptance and defeat. Pinching the bridge of his nose once more, he answers, “I’m afraid you’ll have to explain yourself, Johanna.”

Now she’s really concerned, and even more adamant about not admitting it. Esteemed Professor Volkarin, inviting her to lecture? She’d never thought she’d see the day. Preening nonetheless, she doesn’t bother to disguise the elation from her voice as she points out the obvious. “Your paramour is trapped physically in the Fade, correct?”

Volkarin blinks; it’s too difficult for Johanna to distinguish whether he’s simply concentrating or staving off a fresh wave of tears, so she doesn’t bother.

“Correct,” he answers, fingers rubbing at his chin now, itching at the three-day-old growth which is a sight bewildering to even Johanna.

She does her best to continue ignoring the absurdity of it all as she continues.  “And my understanding is that you are indeed Professor Volkarin of the Mourn Watch, one of Thedas’s leading experts on the properties of said Fade, are you not?”

The masseter muscle in Volkarin’s jaw twitches. “I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“You always did lack a certain vision,” she says with a sigh which could be described as downright nostalgic. “I simply ask, what would happen were the situation reversed? If you were the one trapped in the Fade?”

Volkarin’s face softens, lips twisted into a smile so besotted it sickens her. “Rook would stop at nothing less than breaking into the Fade barehanded.” Johanna watches him expectantly as his eyes widen in realisation and he mutters, “Oh. Oh dear.”

It would, of course, be too much to hope for him to actually admit that she had a point, that she was in fact, entirely correct as always.  “You always did give up far too easily,” she admonishes instead. “I’m frankly astonished you ever got anything done without me.”

Not only does he have to the gall to ignore her reprimand, he even adds to her immense displeasure by resuming his infernal pacing. There he goes, thump, thump, thump against the floorboards again. All take and no give, just as always.

A newfound wave of frustration pulses through Johanna’s consciousness and she’s hardly a patient person to begin with. “You know, when I told you this situation was entirely your fault, I wasn’t talking about the missteps you’ve made in your pathetic love life.” There’s a new vigour—an urgency—to his steps when he finally deigns to face her. His hands together with frenetic energy. “Johanna, this is hardly the time. There’s so much to set in motion—”

No. Absolutely not.

She refuses to be overlooked again.

Shouting over him, she demands to be heard. “YOU. RUINED. EVERYTHING.”

But Volkarin still won’t be diverted and waves a hand as though before himself as though to dismiss her accusations. What’s downright infuriating is the confirmation that this infatuation with some youth he’s known for less than six months means more to him than all the years they’d spent working together. He pulls books off their shelves with alarming velocity, muttering titles under his breath that Johanna can’t quite decipher.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Johanna tries again. “If only there was more at stake than locating your lost paramour,” she hedges.

Volkarin continues to ignore her, but she can see his hands shake.

She makes another attempt, but this time she doesn’t even bother to disguise any lingering traces of bitterness evident in her voice. Not that she had been holding back on purpose, of course. It’s simply a most peculiar situation in which they find themselves. “If only you had an old friend with practical experience in creating receptive Fade eddies.”

A sharp intake of breath. Aha! A reaction! He doesn’t look at her yet. “What do you suggest?”

She’s not going to let him off that easily. “I don’t know. I didn’t realise you were seeking my opinion on the matter.”

“Johanna.” He finally turns from the bookshelf, pushing back unruly locks of hair from his forehead. “I could not have expressed myself any more clearly.” “Only because I had to do nearly all the work of leading you there!” she snaps back in return. Despite her gnawing frustration, there’s comfort in the familiarity of their conflict, the back-and-forth, the diametric oppositions of their world views.

Johanna will never, ever admit it aloud, but she has missed him. Not that it means she wants to spend the rest of his life trapped in his study, mind you.

But still, better this than death, better this than the cowardice Volkarin had embraced with open arms. For all that the good professor harps on about morality, of propriety, of decorum, of kindness, the real difference between them is that Volkarin is little more than a persnickety academic, but Johanna is the true innovator. An inventor. Her experiments speak for themselves. Yes, her aptitude for the more experiential aspects of their art had resulted in her current predicament, but failure is only ever a temporary setback, so long as the fundamental nature of existence remains intact.

And right now, that can't be relied upon. Elgar’nan had changed the trajectory of the moon itself! Even Johanna balks at such audacity.

It's only then that she realises Volkarin has been silent too long, which is entirely suspicious for a man who so adores the sound of his own voice. But at least he isn’t snivelling again. No, instead his forehead is furrowed deep in thought, fingers scratching at his chin once more.

“Careful,” she warns.

Volkarin blinks, his attention snapping back to her. “What is it?”

“You’ll hurt yourself, thinking that hard about it.”

Strangely, he begins to smile. Maddening man! “I suppose it would be too much to hope for you to simply help me out of mere goodwill.”

Something about his tone and his expression manages to get under her skin even though she no longer has any. “Obviously. You know me better than that.”

“But you are considering offering lending your knowledge to our cause due to the mutually-aligned nature of our interests.” “I would’ve used less words,” she answers in agreement. He holds up an index finger as though about to lecture, but it’s evident in his posture that he’s barely able to restrain himself from pacing again. That he does manage to do so is a point in his favour, for now. “You’ve certainly made clear your opinion on my relationship with Rook.” When she opens her mouth to interject, he raises the other fingers on his hand, and despite herself, Johanna falls silent and allows him to continue. “Which brings me to the realisation your motive was to provide a distraction from my grief so I could recalibrate and continue on the necessary work that must be done in Rook’s … absence.”

While she’s glad to hear Volkarin’s voice tremble as he dances around the topic of the void Rook has left in his otherwise obviously miserable life, the fact that it even does so still rankles her. Even more frustrating is Volkarin ascribing emotions and feelings to her that she does not possess, as though he’s some sort of Chantry sister instead of a powerful necromancer.  “I just wanted to stop the racket,” she snaps.   

“Be that as it may, I couldn’t help but notice your choice of topic.” He sighs again, an exhalation of air that’s heavier than any of the noises she’s heard him make throughout their entire conversation. His shoulders slump. It makes her wish she could slap him with a ruler.

“For what it’s worth,” he continues, “I am sorry. Sorry lichdom failed you. Sorry you were unable to reach out to me. I amespecially sorry you felt the need to conquer the capital in order to attract my attention.” When he lifts his gaze to look at her properly, she is surprised to find his eyes glittering with a mischief that makes her feel thirty years younger. “Forgive me, but I am unaccustomed to receiving overtures of friendship disguised as attempted acts of war.” 

She has told herself many times over the years that she has always hated him. She wants to continue hating him the same way she has survived these last decades in his absence. But in this moment, something within her breaks. Perhaps it’s the way they’re hovering on the precipice of the end of the world, or maybe it’s even the way Volkarin’s eyes resemble a baby labrador’s. 

As it turns out, even she is not entirely immune to the proximity of Emmrich Volkarin’s moral fortitude. Everything according to the Mourn Watch’s plan, no doubt. Oh, she’s not an idiot: she knows why it’s his office in which she has been assigned to complete this part of her penance, even if Volkarin pretends they’re still figuring out the details. All these years of exile but still trapped by the consequences of oaths she had made when she had been much younger and more naïve.  

The realisation should really disgust her but she finds herself devoid of her usual anger and envy, bitterness and rage. She realises, too late, what it is that has broken inside her: the dam that had kept any other most inconvenient emotions at bay.  

A wave of vulnerability crashes over her and she is powerless to stop it. Her next words slip out of her before she’s even had time to think.

“You abandoned me.” Once spoken aloud, she wishes for nothing more than the ability to take the words back, if only to stop Volkarin staring at her like she’s just kicked him. The flame of hatred she holds for him at her core begins to flicker back to life.  

“Johanna, I….”

“Don’t you dare apologise to me!” she screams. Maker, she’d throttle him if she could. Discrete emotions become increasingly difficult to identify, she only knows that she’s been knocked off course and discombobulated despite only trying to help for once. She feels seven years old again, lost and scared in the chambers of the Grand Necropolis, hating all these stuffy mages and their prim propriety, hating the newfound knowledge that such arcane energies filled her veins as well. The only friendly face a shy boy not much older than herself, and she’d helped him out of his shell with her façade of fearlessness.

And in turn, she had watched as he had become one of them.

“You don’t understand,” she hisses. She chances a look directly at his eyes again. He’s patient. Waiting. Despite it all, he wants to understand. Damn him.  

But whether Johanna is capable of letting herself be understood is shakier ground, part of a vast expanse of uncharted territory that lies between them.

Putting it as bluntly as she can, she simply states, “Your parents died. Your parents loved you.”

Volkarin steeples his hands together, comprehension dawning on his features despite what continues to be left unsaid between them. “Ah. I—you never did tell me how you came to live at the Grand Necropolis.”

She scoffs. “What was there to tell? It’s only the same tale from all over Thedas. Parents have child. Parents don’t want a child with magic. Pah!” A surge of resentment swells within her. Why is she talking about this? Why is she talking about this with him? She hasn’t so much as thought about this in years. It hardly matters now. Just look at everything she’s achieved! She’s fifty-one years young and she’s going to live forever.

The thoughtful expression has returned to Volkarin’s face, and she’s grateful to find herself capable of hating it again. “You told me you were born near Perendale.” Why does he even remember that? Regretting ever telling him anything about herself, she answers, “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” Next he was going to be asking her whether she had ever been in love again. Why did he always insist on meddling in matters that didn’t concern him!

“That’s no insignificant distance to travel, especially with a young child in tow.”

“As though you’re an expert on travelling with young children,” she answers hotly, before recalling that pet skeleton of his. The way he doted on it, Johanna would be unsurprised to discover that Volkarin had indeed mistaken it for a real boy.  Very magnanimously, she decides against saying this part aloud.

She just wishes Volkarin would let the topic drop. In the past, she’d always retreated whenever he had threatened to dismantle her walls and bluster with his disaffecting sincerity and dogged determination.

But now, she is at his mercy. And she knows—better than anyone—that despite his spotty track record at seeing through his commitments, Volkarin is nothing if not thorough.  He’s an indecisive man, not a slothful one.

“I simply believe most parents do their best with the resources available to them.” He scratches at the side of his nose. “Most people do, in fact. Even if we cannot, at times, predict the consequences of our actions.” At this, he fixes her with a downright professorial stare.

“I am grateful I wasn’t snatched up by templars,” she begrudgingly admits. “I could have been sent to Kirkwall.”

The corner of Volkarin’s lips twitch. “Perish the thought. I do profess my gratitude that the Mourn Watch was able to take me into their care.”

It’s only when Johanna remains silent that Volkarin appears to realise his mistake. “Ah. Of course. They never did truly appreciate you.”

Volkarin’s words sound downright strange to her until she’s able to identify the anomaly: the phrasing is hers, not his. She continues to say nothing, entirely too suspicious of where he’s beginning to go with this. “And although I wouldn’t, as you said, dare apologise to you, I do want you to know I am aware that it was wrong of me not to speak in your defense when it came to the growing number of censures that had been amassed against you, even though your experiments benefitted my research. If I could redo that time in our lives again, I would have severed our partnership earlier and provided you a proper explanation of my decisions. “I suppose I assumed you would come around to my position on the matter. But I dare say you thought the same as well.” She watches the smooth column of his throat as he swallows nervously. “There was so much I was willing to overlook until I thought the price too high to pay. Naturally, recent events and conversations have elucidated to me that we have vastly different thresholds for such matters.” To say she is stunned is an understatement: that she has allowed him to prattle for this long without interruption is testimony to this fact. But it is even more stunning that to receive a proper explanation for the events that have haunted her for decades from the most conflict-avoidant man she has ever known. Other partnerships are unlikely to be repaired by an admission that they should have separated sooner, but nothing had ever been what one would call normal when it came to the two of them.

As much as it displeases her to admit it, Johanna is certain that Volkarin’s capacity to deliver his soliloquy was driven by Rook’s influence. What other force in this world but love would be strong enough to push a man like Volkarin to the brink of foolhardy bravery?

And while the thought is still annoying, it doesn’t sting as much as it once had.  

Thus, it is with nostalgia and not bitterness that she remarks, “We could have done brilliant things together, Emmrich.”

Her use of his first name does not go unnoticed. How could it? His eyebrows raise so high they nearly disappear into his receded hairline. “You haven’t called me that in over thirty years,” he protests.

“And it’ll be thirty more until I use it again,” she insists in return. “Just tell me the truth. Was there ever a moment in time when you appreciated the power and potential at our fingertips? That you thought we could have been the ones to rule this world?”

He averts his gaze. Grinds his teeth. “Yes,” he finally admits. “I saw it. But it would have never been worth the cost.” Johanna scoffs. “There’s always some crackpot trying to take over the world. It might as well have been us. We had the best chance of it. Both of us liches, our knowledge combined, my brilliance counterbalanced with your compassion… There was a reason I kept a bleeding heart like you as a partner for so many years. But I underestimated your sentimentality.” She wouldn’t be making that mistake again, that was for certain. Just look at the situation it had landed her in! She would simply have to figure out how to best wield it to her purposes while she remained trapped here. If Volkarin thought she wasn’t going to continue using every tool at her disposal to facilitate her great escape, then he was sorely mistaken.

“Yes,” Volkarin answers softly, crows’ feet at the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he gazes at her with discomfiting fondness. “I dare say you did. Just as I am guilty at times of underestimating your brilliance.” He swivels on the spot and Johanna is afraid he’s going to resume his pacing but the walk he has in mind for now is mercifully short, only over to the bowl on his desk where he’s deposited the majority of his grave gold.

“What are you doing?” she hisses, hating how urgent her voice sounds to her own consciousness. She always hates it when he behaves erratically.

“I was under the impression we had work to do, my dear.”

“Absolutely not.” Surely it hadn’t been so long he’d forgotten her utter loathing of pet names.

He laughs, then, long and rich. It is a definite improvement on the snivelling. “Force of habit. Won’t happen again,” he promises. “First things first. I do believe you had some knowledge to impart on the practical applications of receptive Fade eddies?”

“Getting ahead of yourself as always, Volkarin,” she says by way of reprimand. “You need a bath. I don’t have olfactory glands and even I can tell that you reek. And a shave.”

He rubs his hand against his chin again, eyes widening as though surprised to find it covered by hair. “Ah! Yes. Thank you.”

“Completely and utterly useless.” This time, she’s disgusted by the tenderness in her own voice. Oh, no, this won’t do at all. “While you’re at it,” she adds, determined to get their shared task back on track, “get the elf girl and your skeleton boy. We’ll need to replace the stolen dagger in order to kill a god. And I don’t know about you, but ancient elven gadgets are hardly my area of expertise.”

“Of course, I’ll speak with Bellara.” His brow furrows. “But why do you want Manfred?”

“Because I don’t have arms, you idiot.” It really does make building things more difficult. And she won’t even be able to inadvertently kill the wisp this time due to the aforementioned lack of limbs. It’ll work perfectly, really.

“Consider it done.”

Not having much other choice in the matter, Johanna watches as Volkarin gathers his bathing supplies and heads towards the door.

It is on the threshold that he pauses and looks back at her, his hazel eyes bright with fiery determination. “I’ve always appreciated you, Johanna Hezenkoss. Let us continue doing brilliant things together.”

And then he is gone, door to his study closing gently shut behind him.