#THE COLORS AND SHADING MAKE ME GO INSANE

[doyouknowthemossinman]

So if I fly too far Will I still have a place inside your heart? And when you see what I've become Will you love me for who I am, not who I was?

i just finished reading ghost strings. again (for like. the 5th time wtf. it has 120+ visits in my history :sob:) so i decided to take that one sketch and actually color it. since it's based on an entire scene and everything.

[the specific chapter the scene is in]

[decaysate]

“    nail care is important as a bassist,    but it’s also nice to pamper yourself!    i just miss being able to paint them,    haha    ...    ”

[guccifrog]

lipstick 💋

chris sturniolo x f!reader

summary : chris loves watching you put your lipstick on.

warnings ⚠️ sub reader/ head (?)/idk/dick sucking i guess

this was my fav one-shot I wrote so far anyways go read think fast or I'll tickle ur toes and eat your dog

⋆.°🍒๋ྀི࣭⭑

If there was one thing that gets Chris on his knees, it's the sight of you putting on your favorite shade of red lipstick.

He loves watching you gently trace the outline of your lips, carefully filling them in with the soft crimson color. it's like he's watching a painting come to life right before his eyes.

He could feel the blood draining from his face, knowing exactly where it was going instead, as he imagined your soft lips wrapped around his hardness. The way your tongue would dart out to wet them, leaving a shiny, red trail as you took him deeper and deeper.

Chris was pulled out of his daydreaming by the soft sigh that escaped your lips. He looked up to see you frowning slightly at your reflection in the mirror, running a finger along your bottom lip. The way your eyes fluttered closed and your lips parted slightly as you did so only added to the intense lust building inside him.

He wanted nothing more than to push you up against the mirror and claim those lips for himself.

Chris slowly got up from his seat, unable to tear his gaze away from you. He walked over to where you were standing in front of the mirror. His hand reached out, tracing the curves of your hips, skimming over the fabric of your dress. His fingers graze the lacy edge of your bra, sending a shiver down your spine." what's wrong baby?" he whispered, leaning in closer.

"it looks bad, doesn't it?" you asked, biting your lip nervously, unaware of the effect it has on him. The sight of your plump lips parted ever so slightly, revealing the hint of your pink tongue behind them, drives him insane.

Chris leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching your ear, "No, it doesn't look bad, baby. It looks fucking amazing." He whispered, kissing your neck just above your shoulder. "You're so fucking gorgeous" he murmured, tracing his fingers over the lace of your bra. His other hand found its way to your hip, pulling you closer to him. "Let me see if I can fix it."

He kisses your neck again and then slowly pulls away, his lips brushing against your earlobe. slowly turning you to face him, the lipstick in your hand forgotten for a moment. He looks at you with his eager blue eyes, and you feel like you're drowning in them. His hands cup your face.

He leans forward, his lips barely brushing against yours, "I want you so bad." He whispered, The feeling of his warm breath against your skin sends a shiver down your spine. You can feel the hardness pressing against your stomach, and it only makes you want him more.

You feel a burning sensation deep in your core as you part your lips. Chris doesn't hesitate, pressing his lips firmly against yours, their warmth and familiarity sending a wave of desire through you. His tongue darts out, exploring the depths of your mouth, tangling with yours as he deepens the kiss. His hands slip down your back, cupping your ass, pulling you even closer against his hardness.

The kiss seems to last for an eternity, but Chris pulls away, breathing heavily. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust. "on your knees." He demands, his voice rough, You feel a thrill of submission course through you and without hesitation, you drop to the floor, kneeling between his legs. Your heart races as you take in his appearance, his messy hair that falls perfectly on his forehead, his flushed cheeks, and the way his chest heaves up and down as he tries to catch his breath.

His hand tangles in your hair, pulling gently as he guides your head towards his erection. You hooked your fingers into his belt, undoing the clasp and lowering his pants and boxers with a gentle tug. His cock springs free, thick, and hard. Your mouth brushes against the tip of him, teasingly, Your lips part, and you taste the precum that beads at the tip of his length. You suck in a shuddering breath, opening your eyes to look up at him as you slowly take him into your mouth.

The warmth of your mouth, and the feel of your tongue on him, sends shivers through his body. He moans, threading his fingers through your hair, urging you to take more of him."Ah, fuck" he groans, as you suck harder, taking more of him into your mouth. You can feel the veins pulsing on his cock, the muscles in his thighs tensing beneath your hands. His hips begin to move, fucking into your mouth, pushing you deeper, and seeking more contact.

You feel his hand on your head, guiding you as he thrusts deeper into your mouth. The taste of him fills your mouth, and the salty flavor mingles with the sweetness of your juices. You can feel your eyes start to water as he continues to push harder, and faster. His hips slam into your face, his groans filling the room, and You close your eyes shut, focusing on the warmth of his skin against your lips.

"don't close your eyes" he grunts, his voice ragged and needy. You feel the vibrations of it against your skin, sending a thrill through you." look at me, baby," You obey, looking up at him as he watches you with a mixture of lust and possession. His hands slip from your hair, finding their way to your neck, gripping you tightly as he thrusts deeper into your mouth.

The taste of him is intoxicating, and you can feel the heat building inside you as you suck him harder. His hips begin to move faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His cock feels impossibly hard and thick in your mouth, and you can't help but wonder how it could ever fit inside you. You can feel the head brushing against the back of your throat, making you gag a little.

You know that he's close, and you want nothing more than to feel his release deep in your throat.

As his thrusts become unsteady and uncontrolled, you try to match his rhythm, sucking harder and moving your head in time with his hips. His cock throbs in your mouth, the head pressing against the back of your throat, and you feel the first hot, salty rush of his cum spilling onto your tongue.

" swallow it," he demands, his voice rough and desperate. You do as he says, swallowing his release in greedy gulps, feeling the thick, salty fluid slide down your throat. He watches you intently, his hips finally slowing as he comes down from the heights of his orgasm.

With a shuddering sigh, he pulls his softening cock from your mouth, letting it flop to the side. You look up at him, breathless and flushed from the intensity of the moment. His eyes meet yours, dim with passion, and he reaches down to stroke your cheek with his thumb. "You're so fucking amazing," he whispers, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your now-swollen lips.

The red lipstick you applied earlier was now smudged all over your face, and you could feel the warmth of your skin where he'd touched you. You were still panting heavily, trying to catch your breath as he leaned in to kiss you again, smiling against your lips. "God, you're so perfect," he murmured, before pulling away slightly to look at your face again. His eyes studied your expression as if he were trying to memorize every detail.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as he traced your cheekbone with his fingertip. "Come here," he whispered, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer, pressing your body against his. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your ear. "You're going to be the death of me," he murmured, before leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time.

taglist ☆@mattestrella @chrisfavoritepepsi @sunsetsturniolos @littlebookworm803 @sturniozo @sturniolooooo @athaliahxoxo @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ev3rgreenxtrees @nonamegirlxsturniolo @mooniethesimp31 @ducksturniolo @ifilwtmfc @pepsiimaxx @sleepysturnss @lustfulslxt @ilovemattsworld @hrt-attack @flowerxbunnie @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @secret-sturniolo @that-general-simp @swangelss @familynotfandom @fuckshitslover @styles-sturniolo @lvr-111 @opheliaofficial07 @kiarastromboli @hearts4chriss @braindead4l @sturniolosreads @mattsturnzzz09 @itssophiasstuff @mayhem-72 @b2cute @buckys-celestes @graceciesiels22 @urmom2bitch @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @b2cute @1horrormoviewhore1

[11vr1]

Still Yours ⭒ Miles Morales

Part one: Been Away

Synopsis › You’re still his. You just need a little reminder.

Pairing › Earth-42! Miles Morales x Reader

Inspo › “Still Yours (feat. Big Sean)” - Bryson Tiller, Big Sean

Includes › ATSV SPOILERS, angst, fluff, swearing, Spanish, toxicity, going back to your ex, man has a staring problem, stalking, mentions of violence, manhandling i think?, kissing, terrible grammar, maybe some continuity errors (don’t think about it too hard)

P.S. › I had to write this part on my phone because my house has no wi-fi. Forgive me.

You were a vision as your head threw back in laughter at something your friend said. Absolute perfection in the way your uniform fits in all the right places and the gentle swoop of your edges framing your glowing skin in the harsh fluorescent lighting. It was aggravating. “When did she get that?” Miles’ rich eyes narrowed at you and your group of friends.

His best friend looked up from his phone in your direction. He didn’t need to ask who she was. “Get what?” he sighed, already sensing where this conversation was headed.

“Her lipgloss.” He tilted his head. “It’s Fenty.”

Ganke couldn’t remember when Miles became a makeup enthusiast, but he knew he was a Y/n expert. “And how do you know that?” he asked in disbelief. Their lunch periods had turned into a sort of Y/n watching session since your mysterious separation. He was over it and tired of watching his friend not-so-subtly stare at his not-ex-girlfriend. It was sad and getting a little creepy.

“It’s her favorite brand, but the shade’s darker. She’s never worn it before.” Miles’ food was left untouched, too preoccupied with the sight of you. You must’ve been doing this on purpose, he thought. Sitting directly in his eye line with your annoying ass group of friends. And Drew Harris, Brooklyn Vision’s resident dickhead jock, sat a little too close to you.

Ganke shrugged, turning back to his game. “I don’t know, man. It looks like the one she always wears.”

Miles tore his gaze away to face Ganke. His eyes hardened to an icy glare. “Why do you know what color she usually wears?”

“Chill, dude,” he rolled his eyes. “This break up is actually making you go insane.”

“We didn’t break up,” he snapped, but who was he fooling? Ganke was spot on. Miles was increasingly on edge, waiting. He’d texted and called multiple times since last weekend when finally spoke to you for the first time in weeks. But you didn’t respond or pick up. At this rate you were going to block him…again. Just when he thought everything was piecing itself back together, you slipped away out of his reach.

Ganke stood up with his trash. He had better things to do than watch his best friend run himself to the ground over a girl who obviously wanted nothing to do with him. “Broken up or taking a break, either way you’re miserable. You need to figure your shit out or move on before you burn a hole in the side of her head.”

Miles waved him off, not showing his words struck a chord. Moving on wasn’t an option. You were on his mind twenty four hours a day, seven days a week without fail. The thought of you waiting for him safe and sound kept him alive while he committed every crime in the book. Everything he did was for you, to keep you protected in this twisted city. Nothing was going to ruin his forever, not even you.

⋆

“Why not Drew?” Ellie suddenly asked while they walked the halls away from the cafeteria. You could tell she was enjoying having you back with their friends. “He’s all over you. You guys would be perfect,” she gushed, practically skipping across the tile.

You gave her a stern look, “Ellie.” You hated to burst her bubble, but she was too eager for you to be single. “I’m not interested in Drew Harris.”

“Okay, picky,” she hummed in thought for a moment. “Erik Falls? He’s on the basketball team and I heard he thinks you’re gorgeous,” she tried again. You stopped at Ellie’s locker. You weren’t going to ask where she heard such a rumor or why it seemed she had a mental list of the single male population.

You shook your head. A new relationship was the last thing on your mind. Miles was it for you, the one who made your heart sing, the man who made you believe you could be loved like in the stories. No one could compare, especially not a couple of immature jocks who would eventually become mere blimps in the timeline of your life. If only there wasn't a plot twist. “Despite what you think, I am more than happy being single. A new man is not on my list of priorities.”

“If you say so. You’ve just been so down since…” Ellie’s wide eyes briefly glanced over your shoulder. “I thought you and Miles weren’t together anymore?” her voice lowered to a sharp whisper.

Your response stalled, caught off guard by the question. Did Ellie know you and Miles had spoken? You didn’t want to imagine what kind of hell would be unleashed if she found out. “Of course not,” you forced a laugh. “Why?”

“Don’t look, but he’s at your locker!” she scowled, tossing her books back into her locker. “Don’t worry, girl. I got this.” Ellie pulled the earrings from her lobes along with her stack of bracelets, mumbling something about the “little creep.” She never hid her distaste for Miles, the two bumping heads more than once the duration of your relationship.

Against your better judgment, you looked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. Miles Morales leaned against your locker like he owned it. With his shirt untucked and tie loosened, he never failed to make the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

You stopped her before she stalked off in a fury. “Hold on, let me talk to him. I’m sure it’s nothing.” You didn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

Ellie drummed her fingers, lips pursed as she looked between you and the boy over your shoulder, skepticism written all over her face. “Fine, go ahead, Y/n. But I swear if he tries anything, I’m coming for his ass,” she pointed, making sure to shoot him a steely glower.

“I’ll be alright,” you assured her, already walking away.

You finally approached Miles, rolling your eyes at the enigmatic smirk on his lips. “You ignoring me, ma?” He asked, his gaze never leaving your face as you fiddled with the combination on your locker. “I thought we was good.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Miles. I just…” you struggled to explain without sounding like you were in fact avoiding him. Did he really think cornering you in an alley would fix everything? “I still needed a bit of space.”

He was clearly unsatisfied, but held his tongue. Instead he nodded his head. “Let’s take a walk, princesa.”

“I can’t,” you stuttered out, unable to trust yourself around Miles. Ignoring his messages took everything in you, so used to spending hours of your day spamming him with the most trivial things when you weren’t together.

“Yes you can. You have a free period.” Of course he had your schedule memorized. Nothing could get past Miles. He entwined your fingers in his, enveloping you with the rough calluses of his palms and dragging you through the halls without care for the curious stares directed your way.

The usual commotion of the city hit your ears as Miles swung open the rooftop door. Fond memories of your favorite meet up spot came flooding back, the late nights Miles would help you study for a Spanish test or when he simply wanted to sit in silence and bask in your presence. You’d fallen in love here over and over again, the stars and city skyline your only witness.

Miles had yet to release you from his hold, savoring your touch after being starved for so long.

He wasn’t going to let you go, not when you were finally where you belonged. “We need to talk.”

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” No one wanted to hear those dreaded four words.

Your attempt at humor was not appreciated. His grip squeezed your hands in a gentle, but firm warning. “I’m done playin’ your little games, mami. This back and forth shit ain’t gon’ work. I need you to be straight with me.”

The impending weight of the conversation began to settle on your shoulders. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Miles. That I’m totally fine with you being the Prowler and everything can go back to normal?” You avoided his gaze, choosing the cerulean sky knowing his gaze could pull whatever he wanted from you if you dared to stare too long. “You lied to me for the better part of our relationship. Where you go, what you’re doing, who you are and if you’re okay, like really okay. I can’t trust you!”

Too much had been broken for you to go back. And you tried! Lord knows you fucking tried. You hid your tears when Miles missed a date, coming up with some lame excuse. Or the days he’d return and couldn’t bear to look you in the eye. Your mind turned to the worst. Doubt festered where trust should have been. But you held on just as fast as Miles held onto you now.

Now you know the reality and it scared you more than any possibility you came up with.

Miles listened to the cracks in your pretty voice, seeing the damage he caused. He never hated himself more. Ripping out throats and cracking skulls he could stand, but the sight of those crystal tears nearly broke him. “Mi corazón...” A large pad tenderly wiped a droplet from the smoothness of your cheeks. “Lo siento.”

“Say what you have to say, Morales. You can’t keep wasting my time.” You forced yourselves apart to furiously rid the traitorous tears. He didn’t deserve them.

“‘A waste of time?’” he repeated incredulously. Miles grabbed your left wrist, tugging down the sleeves of your navy blazer to reveal the golden bracelet you wore and its various charms. The cursive “M” dangled in your face, mocking you and your devotion to him. “Is that what this is?” He fished the delicate chain from beneath his own uniform where he wore your name closest to his heart. “Are you done with me? Was all this pointless to you, Y/n?” he nearly shouted, doing his best to keep what little composure he had left.

The answer had never been more simple. “No, of course not,” you said. “I don’t regret loving you. I just can’t keep loving half of you when you already have all of me.”

Shock filled the silence between you. “You love me?”

“Yes, dumbass!” You pushed against his chest. He didn’t budge, too stunned to breathe properly. “I know you won’t say it back but I don’t care. You should already know.”

Miles cradled your head and leaned down, your noses touching, sharing the same air. “Say it again,” he ghosted your lips.

Your knees weakened, his heat creating a haze of solely him in your mind. You studied the gentle contours of his face, the fullness of his lips, the healed scar on the edge of his right brow, someone only as close as you could see. An inch was all you needed to think, but you were snatched back. “Miles,” you gasped in surprise, steadying yourself in his arms. Through layers of fabric, you felt the rapid rhythm of Miles' heart and you were positive he could feel yours.

“Dilo de nuevo,” he commanded, pressing your body against his in a vice and yet you were still too far. “Por favor, para mi.”

“I love you,” you began, but Miles cut you off as he eradicated the damned space between you. Your mouth parted, the taste of spice and uniquely him familiar, like loving Miles was a reflex you’d always succumb to.

You relented to your need to breathe, still cradling Miles’ face in your hands. “Te amo también, mi corazón.” You never thought he would return the words and you’ve never been happier to be wrong. “Let me do it right this time. Be mine again. No more secrets, no more lies. Prometo.”

One chance was all Miles needed to gain access to your heart. You should have kept his number blocked, called the police like you threatened to do, but his determination was endless. He wanted you and here you were in his embrace saying, “I’ll always be yours, Miles.” You reached on your toes to steal another kiss, consuming as much of him as you desired. The pink of his tongue peeked out as he licked the sticky glitter from his lips. You moved to wipe the remaining gloss about to apologize before he took your mouth again, his teeth teasing the delicate skin.

“It is new.”

[haykawas]

✩•̩̩͙*˚ THE ART OF (NOT) PULLING YOUR BEST FRIEND

summary : You've always been good at hiding your feelings for your best friend, but when Satoru finally manages to land a date with the girl of his dreams, something seems to shift inside you. But don't worry, you have another best friend there who's more than willing to care for you.

word count : ~ 11K for all routes that are out, ~ 2.8K for this part. tags : best friend!to lovers, modern AU, best friends gojo & geto, fluff, angst, eventual smut, drama, love confessions, multiple choices standalone.

It is known that blue is your favorite color.

Blue like the sea. Like the sky on a particularly hot day. Blue like the feathers of a magnificent peacock, and the flesh of a ripe blueberry.

His eyes are blue. They’re this piercing, icy blue you can’t seem to get away from wherever you are. – It is a coincidence that they are your favorite shade of blue, too.

You don’t know when you started liking the color blue with so much passion, and you think maybe you always have. Yet you don’t do anything about it, you don’t go out of your way to profess your love for it. You don’t seek it out and won’t admit it’s the only color that’ll ever make you feel the way you do when you look at it.

It’s okay. There are many other shades to love. It’s just disheartening that it seems to be the only one that suits you so well.

And it is this same shade of blue that is sparkling in Satoru’s eyes, screaming ‘victory’ as he comes back to your table in a confident stride. The wide grin that is stretching his pink lips is triumphant, and you know what this means.

He actually did it.

He slams the piece of paper on the table, leaning at your level to rub it in your face, his sunglasses threatening to fall off his nose. – He always looks so cute when they do that, his nose slightly scrunching to keep them from doing so.

“Ha! You owe me ten bucks.”

You roll your eyes at him, clicking your tongue in annoyance. “I’m sure she took pity on you. That, or it’s a fake number.”

You hope it is, but you would be a fool to believe that. Just a look at your best friend would be enough to understand the fact that he could get anything he would ever want. Like he loved saying, his face card never declined. – To your dismay.

“Oh I knew you’d say that, so I called the number just in case. And guess what?”

“Ugh, Satoru? That’s fucking insane.” You cringe without waiting for him to finish what he has to say.

His eyes widen comically, pointing at you with accusation. “It’s not!”

Suguru also grimaces,  “It is. Creep.”

You grin and silently mouth back the word to your white-haired friend, mocking him.

Satoru rolls his eyes, already exasperated with the both of you, “Whatever you say. While you nerds are gonna be drowning in your video games, I’ll actually be getting some action tonight.” He winks, emphasizing the word action and you feign a gag. And you don’t have to try too hard for it to come out as genuine.

Suguru chimes in, sighing, “Just don’t come crying to us when she ghosts you, man. Again.”

You hum, your chin propped up on your hand, “He sure knows how to pick ‘em, hm, Suguru?”

“She’s different, guys, come on!” He whines.

“Weren’t the three other girls before different too?“

“I believe they were!“ You say, feigning the act of pushing imaginary glasses up your nose. Suguru chuckles, and you grin at him.

“Well, y’know…” He trails off, sighing in defeat because he knows he’s been cornered. “I just really don’t wanna screw this one up.”

You raise an eyebrow, a forced smile on your lips. “We’re just fucking with you, ‘Toru.” You smirk, “But don’t worry, we’ll keep the ice cream ready just in case you come back with your tail between your legs.”

He groans, “I swear you two are perfect for each other. Always teaming up on me like that! What have I done to deserve two mean best friends?”

Suguru looks at you in amusement, and you instantly meet his eyes with a cheeky grin of your own. 

“Two pretty best friends.”

At this meaningful exchange, Satoru groans, throwing his hands in the air.

“See? My point exactly!”

You can’t help but let your lips curve into a half-smile at his antics, and you don’t notice how your eyes seem to shine so much brighter when they are laid on your best friend, but Suguru does. He knows you by heart, having spent so many days and so many nights by your side. 

At the time, you and Satoru came into a package deal as much as Satoru and him did. Naturally, after spending so many years by your side, he understands the mechanics of your brain. Sometimes, such as now, he even senses something’s wrong before you even do.

Right now, he knows that your heart aches. That it must be clenching painfully in your chest, that you must be punishing yourself for not feeling happy for your best friend when he’s been meaning to ask this girl out for weeks now. But how could you, when the mere thought of him touching and tasting someone else’s skin makes you feel like you can’t breathe? Like always, Suguru can’t help but want to protect you.

So he calls your name, and when you turn to him, he leans in to whisper in your ear, “Hey, you really okay with this?”

You try to muster a grin, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes, and like always he sees right through you. “Me? Why wouldn’t I be okay? ‘m just worried he’ll get his hopes up for nothing, that’s all.”

He lifts a brow not quite buying your act, but he doesn’t say a thing, and you’re thankful for that.

“What do you say we give him a taste of his own medicine then?”

You arch a brow in confusion, and he waves a hand before explaining himself. 

“Remember when you used to date this Nanami guy and Satoru constantly crashed your dates with phone calls and weird texts?”

“And when he actually showed up out of nowhere at the theater and shoved himself between us! I swear I was gonna rip him to shreds.”

“You gave him the silent treatment for a week after that, I thought I was gonna go crazy with his constant blabbering.” He groans, his almond eyes slightly crinkling as he reminisces your high school days.

You scoff, amused, “He always had some lame excuses, too. Nanami ended up breaking up with me 'cause he thought I was cheating on him with that fucker.” 

“So what do you think? Up for a little fun?” He says as he looks at you with mirth in his eyes, waiting for you to catch on. When you do, you can’t help but gasp at the implications of his words.

“Are you serious?”

He grins cheekily, “Let’s go to the same place he’s taking his date, but in disguise.”

“That does sound fun…” Suguru looks at you with anticipation. “But it’s very childish.”

“Yep.”

“And he might see us.”

“That’s a possibility.”

“He’ll be pissed, too…”

“Oh, he will.” He smirks and you can’t help but mirror his expression.

“I’m in.”

“Hey! What are you two whispering about?”

“Hm? Just girl talk, you wouldn’t get it.” You answer, and you hear Suguru snicker in the back. You also can’t help the cheeky grin forming on your lips when you notice Satoru’s expression, but you don’t give him time to argue. “Hey, where did you say your date was, again?”

That’s how you find yourself standing before the restaurant. You can’t help but scoff at the sight.

“Papa’s, seriously? It’s like he’s begging to get dumped!”

Your eyes shift to Suguru, and you burst out laughing at the sight. “You look absolutely ridiculous.” You say with a grin, and he mirrors your expression with a raised brow.

“Oh, and you don’t?”

Your eyes meet and you try to hold it in, – you’re smiling so wide it hurts your cheeks. Suguru turns his neck and averts his eyes so he doesn’t laugh, but you can see the grin stretching his lips.

“The mustache is killing me, man, I’m gonna blow our cover!” You laugh, “Take it off.”

“And ruin the vibe I went for?” He shakes his head, “Just say you want to sabotage me.”

“I do! You look way too hot in this, our cover will be blown immediately!” You tease.

He arches a brow, a hint of amusement gleaming in his eyes, “Do I now?”

“Uh uh,” You nod, “I’m this close to calling off the operation just so I can rock your world.” He lets out a deep laugh, hiding his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes crinkle in amusement.

You return his smile.

What should have been a depressing evening turned into one of the funniest nights of your life. You would try your best to keep yourself from laughing while Suguru would act all serious, without a hint of a smile. He plays his part so well that he makes it even harder for you to keep up your facade. Your laughter echoes through the streets as you try hard not to attract attention, failing spectacularly when you happen to catch a glimpse of Suguru’s costume, –  especially his top hat. 

He has to be the only person in the world who’d think of dressing up as freaking Abraham Lincoln to spy on someone.

After this night, the bond between you two grows even stronger. Late-night conversations become the norm, and you’ve grown used to hanging out without Satoru.

It’s also due to the fact that Satoru would always find himself too busy to spend time with you, for some reason. He also misses on movie nights, and Satoru usually never misses movie nights.

You suspect it has to be because he’s seeing that girl from the Café.

You don’t want to think about it. Nor do you want to think about the distance that is growing between you. Yet you can’t deny that you miss him.

You miss him terribly, because he’s always been the only constant in your life and now it seems like he isn’t anymore. You’ve always shared everything with him, and him with you, so having him act so cold towards you feels strange. It feels like a knife in your heart.

You exhale, your finger hovering over the send button as you contemplate whether to send the message. Even if you don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, you refuse to let miscommunication come between the two of you.

you SATORU . you still coming tonight???:p

No. Too casual.

you wyd tonight? still on 4 movie night?;)

Ugh, too horny.

you Are you coming tonight or are you still avoiding us?

Hell no. Too truthful.

you you coming tonight?

Sent. As soon as you hit the send button, you throw your phone on the couch and bury it under a mountain of pillows. You sigh, feeling slightly stupid for freaking out over such a simple text.

But you never fight with Satoru, this is something you just don't do.

You’re so lost in your own embarrassment that you don’t see the screen of your phone light up, displaying Satoru’s contact name in bold letters.

satoru yeah i'll be there

The scent of sugar fills the kitchen, and you’re lost in thought as you watch the bag of dried corn turn into sweet treats under the microwave’s heat. You sigh for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, and Suguru groans at the sound.

“My mom used to say sighs brought out the devil.” He lifts a brow. “At this rate I’ll have to incense the whole house when you leave.”

“Your mom’s way too superstitious, and you know that.” You roll your eyes. “But if the devil’s real I hope he takes you first. You’re a pain in my ass.”

He hums with a small smile, “Seems like you’re in a mood to me.”

“Classy. And a bit sexist.”

“You know what else’s classy? Not burning up the only bag of popcorn we have.” He throws with a smirk as he leaves the kitchen.

You curse at him under your breath and make quick work to retrieve what can be saved. When you’re done, you meet him on the sofa, and find him already sprawled out.

He scoots over to make room for you, and you let yourself fall on the cushions, propping your legs on his thighs. You place the bowl between the two of you, and there’s silence before you hear Suguru snort.

“I tried, okay? It was all burnt!”

“You’re so not talented at this.” He bites his lip to avoid laughing, while his gaze keeps flickering from the bowl to your eyes.

“Stop looking at it!” You move the bowl out of his sight, “You won’t have any if you keep making fun of me.” You threaten, and Suguru retreats, his hands raised in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright! Give it back and sit down, the movie’s starting.” 

“I wish someone loved me like this.” 

You don’t realize you’ve said this out loud until you feel Suguru’s burning gaze on you. You don’t know if it’s because you’ve suddenly blurted out a lame, depressing confession, or because he thinks you’re crazy for saying it when you’re watching Shrek.

“I’m sure there is.”

You scoff, “Yeah, right.”

You turn your gaze back to the TV, but you can’t ignore the look he’s giving you. You try to ignore it, but he doesn’t let it go. And you know he has something to say. Something you won’t like.

“What?” You finally blurt out, appraising him with narrowed eyes.

“When are you going to tell him?”

“Tell who?”

“Don’t play dumb.” He gives you a blank stare, unimpressed by your act. “Everyone and their mother knows you have it bad for Satoru.”

“Suguru…” You groan.

“Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

Your mouth opens to try and muster up a lie, but you can’t come up with anything. You can’t lie about this, and he knows it.

He smiles, “See? You can’t even deny it.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Oh, did he tell you? Or did you just pull this one out of your ass?”

You roll your eyes, pushing him away. He chuckles, enjoying the sheer embarrassment displayed on your face. 

“You know he didn’t. But come on! You and I both know he never misses movie night, and he’s been bailing on us for weeks now.” You frown, “What kind of best friend does that?”

Suguru hums. “Yeah, sure. A best friend.”

You look at him with arched brows. He’s testing your limits, and while you’re used to this side of him, you’re not in the mood to play. At this point, you’ve both drowned out the sound of the TV, you glaring at him for forcing you to face the truth, and him just waiting for you to come to terms with your own feelings.

You let out a humorless laugh, throwing your hands in the air, “You know what?” 

“Yes, I’m in love with Satoru! So what? Do you expect me to run to his house and confess my undying love for him before it’s ‘too late’?” You exclaim, and you’re too engrossed in your speech to notice Suguru’s panicked expression as he looks over your shoulder, or his hand gestures signaling you to cut the conversation short.

You don’t realise you’re no longer alone until the sound of movement startles you. You turn around with a jump, and what you see makes your blood run cold. Satoru is standing in the doorway, his presence having gone unnoticed until then. You can see the shock on his face, a mixture of surprise and confusion.

You’re paralyzed. 

You feel like the sick butt of a joke. And if the fact that your childhood best friend heard you profess your love for him wasn't enough to make you wish you were dead, it’s the look on his face that crushes you the most.

His eyes search for yours in hope you’ll explain yourself, and it makes you want to disappear from the surface of the Earth.

You never wanted him to know. You never wanted him to look at you like this. Like… he pitied you.

Suguru extends an arm to hold you back, but he’s a few seconds too late. You can’t bear this, so much that you don’t let anyone say a single word before you flee the apartment, ducking under Satoru’s arm without sparing him a glance.

You absolutely won’t stand there and listen to him apologize for not feeling the same way you do.

You refuse to feel your best friends’ sorry glances on you as they comfort you. You know it’s cowardly, that you should just stayed and talked about the elephant in the room, or just lied your way out of it.

You didn't, though. You fled, and the shame is eating you alive, but you couldn't stay there.

Not today. Your dignity won’t let you.

Yet, it seems like fate has other plans for you, because you hear quick, familiar,  footsteps hurrying towards you.

And you know it’s him. 

Him? What do you mean by him? Help a poor writer out!

Suguru Geto, who else?

Of course it's Gojo Satoru.

hello hello, welcome to my standalone first choose your own adventure!! there are three routes to this story (one has two possible branches), two are already out, one is coming soon! i absolutely loved working on this, although this took lots of time. i hope you enjoy it!

rbs are much appreciated <3

[kaleldobrev]

Memories Are All I Have

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: You’re all Ben thinks about while he’s in Russia

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Cursing (6x), Mentions of torture (but nothing insanely graphic in description), Fluff (Ben just deeply loves reader & misses her)

Authors Note: Flashbacks are in italics | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

He found you washing dishes, wearing nothing but your forest green silk robe that he had gotten you for your birthday last year. Forest green specifically so you knew that he was the one that had gotten it for you (since that was his color). You were barefoot like always, humming 'Almost Like Being in Love' by Sinatra; the same song your mother would hum to you as a lullaby when you were a child. "You comin' to talk to me or are you just gonna stand there?" You asked him; not looking away from what you were doing.

"Hate when you do that," he chuckled, making his way toward you.

"You can blame Vought for that," you said, letting out half a laugh as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "And to be fair, you do the exact same thing to me." His chin rested on your shoulder, and your hands rested on his hands; your body slightly leaning into him as the two of you swayed a little.

Half knocked out, Ben could vaguely hear the Ivan's talking; going on about what experiments they were going to be doing on him today. Ben couldn't really speak Russian, or understand most of it; but he had been here long enough to know what certain words or phrases had meant when it came to him getting experimented on.

You were sitting on the counter, his hands on either side of you; essentially trapping you. Your legs were slightly wrapped around his waist lazily, along with your arms around his neck. He was simply just staring into your eyes; and this was the first time he had noticed small little specks of various color within them that were about a shade or two lighter than your actual color — it amazed him that he had never noticed this about you or your eyes before. "I love you," he told you, his voice slightly low. He caressed your cheek a little with his thumb as he searched for your reaction.

That's when you smiled at him. A smile that he's seen from you so many times before — one that was a genuine look of pure, unadulterated happiness. It was the kind of smile that he had wanted to just stare at and admire for the rest of his life. "I love you too," you replied back. You leaned in just then; your foreheads touching.

Ben heard the door start to open; but he was too drugged up to really respond to what was happening. He was so used to this song and dance at this point, as he's been through it all. He's drunk bleach, sulfuric acid cocktails, had AK's shot into his mouth, and torched with fire.

Ben had his eyes closed, but he knew that you were staring at him; it was just something that you did whenever the two of you were lying in bed together. He didn't mind of course, as he often found himself staring at you too when he thought that you weren't looking. "You're staring," he said, a small smirk on his lips.

"I call it admiring," you stated, your fingers tilting his chin up so he could face you more. As soon as you did that, he opened his eyes to look at you; admiring that soft smile you so often gave him. "Now you're the one staring."

"It's called admiring," he grinned.

"Smartass," you replied, leaning in, cupping his face and gently kissing him.

Ben was on the cold metal table now, strapped in like he normally was; still slightly out of it due to the Novichok. He could barely understand what they were planning on doing to him today; but the words that he could make out (as he had heard them plenty of times in this context) was gasoline and matches.

Ben was in the gym, punching away at a punching bag, attempting to get his aggression out. Today was one of the worst days he's had in a while, and all he wanted to do right now was curl up in bed with you after he fucked your brains out against the tile of the shower wall; but you were no where to be found.

He usually had a pretty good idea about where you could be, but for some reason you weren't in your usual places. But that's when he heard it; heard the pitter patter of your feet running down the hallway towards the gym, trying your best not to slide on the slick marble floors.

With one final punch, the door to the gym swung open, and he knew that it could only be you. But without fail, you did what you normally did in order to try and surprise him and placed your little hands over his eyes, promptly covering them. "Guess who!" You exclaimed.

"Noir," he smirked, and you laughed, removing your hands. God he fucking loved the way you laughed.

"You're very good," you replied, and he turned to face you, looking slightly down at you.

"Where were you today?" He asked. "I couldn't fucking find you anywhere," you frowned slightly, and he hated more than anything whenever you frowned — especially when he was the cause of it. "Don't frown Sugar," he said, tilting your chin up. "You're far too pretty to be doing that." Your frown instantly became a soft smile. "There she is," he grinned.

Today was one of the worst days as they bathed him in gasoline and lit him repeatedly with matches. The first couple of times, Ben held in the pain and simply just gritted his teeth as he didn't want to give these fuckers the satisfaction that they were actually causing him immense pain. But after about the sixth or eighth time (he couldn't remember), he actually let out a groan as he just couldn't hold in the pain any longer.

After he let out that groan; the Ivan's must of been satisfied, as all he could hear was the sounds of them laughing, laughing as if they were at some comedy show; and for the first time in Ben's life, his stomach actually felt like it was in knots — that was how disgusted he was.

"So, I met with my agent and Legend today," you said, starting to trace small circles on his bare chest. "And guess what?"

"What?" He asked, cocking a brow.

"You know the show Solid Gold right?" You asked him.

"Of course I do. It's your favorite fucking show," he said. "What about it?"

"Well...they're going to be doing a special episode coming up featuring Kim Carnes, the Oak Ridge Boys, Wayland Flowers and Madame, and they want us on the show too!" You exclaimed, smiling wide.

"Why wasn't I invited to this little meeting if they want me too?" He questioned.

"Because they know you'll agree to anything as long as I bring it up to you," you said, flashing that charming smile you always did whenever you were trying to butter him up to get something you wanted. Repeatedly he would tell himself that he wouldn't fall for it, wouldn't give in; but he always did without fail, as he found himself never being able to say no to you — he loved you too fucking much.

He sighed. "When do we film?"

You bit your bottom lip, almost as if you were afraid to give him the answer. "Friday," you mumbled. Today was Wednesday.

Memories of the two of you were one of the only things that had kept Ben going besides dreaming of the day when you would rescue him from this awful place. But if he was being honest, the longer he was here, the more he was starting to question if you were ever going to come and rescue him. Were you even looking for him? A question that started to enter his mind more and more lately; a question that he hated came to mind. But he had to hope that deep down that you were actually looking for him and have been for the past unknown amount of years because you had loved him just as much as he had loved you.

Tag List: @syrma-sensei @k-slla @justletmereadfanfic @deans-daydream @midorimachisenpaii @rachiem4-blog @taraswifes @zepskies @jackles010378 @mrsjenniferwinchester @globetrotter28 @deans-spinster-witch @mrlonelycat @zombie-freak @waywardlatina @crystal555 @missscarlettangel @livingordeadwhoknows @79winchester @savagemickey03 If you’d like to be added to a tag list please follow this link

[sanemi-whore]

All Night (Cruel World Pt.2)

Thankfully (for Sanemi's sake) you return from Final Selection alive and well. However, you being apart of the Demon Slayer Corps has his nerves going insane. To assure your safety, you often attend missions alongside him. word count: 15.150 warning: character death, blood, jealousy, cursing, smut, dark themes, aphrodisiac, anxiety, impregnation kink, mentions of abortion @roaringlion @kiki17483

Part One | Masterlist | Final Part

You felt old next to the other Final Selection survivors and the thought causes your heart to ache. You were an adult, far from the young age of 14 - the youngest apart of the survivors. To think children join the Demon Slayer Corps and put their lives at risk in order to help others - you wonder how old Sanemi was when he joined. Or Genya - all of the slayers you’ve met. 

The morning sun shines bright ahead of you and the other five survivors. Your eyes look forward to the mountaintop shrine, a soft smile forming on your lips at the two children standing before the survivors. 

“Welcome back.” they say in Unison. “Congratulations on completing Final Selection. We’re pleased to see that you’re all safe..”

There’s a low sniffle beside you. You hum at the sight - a young boy no older than 16. You recall just how terrified he was to encounter a demon coming at him with such speed that he barely managed to dodge its attack. It was raining that night and the boy's burgundy hair was clouding his vision. You intervene, slashing the demon’s neck. The boy, Shinra, never left your side until now. 

“First we must issue you all uniforms once we take your correct measurements.” the dark haired child started.

“Then we’ll engrave your rank on the back of your hand.” the white haired child continued.

“You then will be given the chance to select the ore that will be used to forge your weapon - swords. It will be 10-15 days before said weapons are ready to use.”

The black haired child claps their hands twice. Above you hear several crows, flocking their wings. You're excited, nearly ecstatic. You recall the many times you’ve been berated by Muichiro’s crow and how she loved him dearly that you wished to have your own. 

A crow flocks onto your shoulders. It flocks its wings several times before stopping, inspecting your face. 

“Now that you all are demon slayers, you are each assigned Kasugai Crows.” the white haired child spoke. “They are used to facilitate communication.”

The black haired child turned away to remove the long, blue cloth that laid above a table.”Now the time has come for you to choose an ore for your sword.” he says, revealing several ore’s for each of you to choose. 

“Shinra.” you call to the boy beside you, still sniffling. “Let’s go choose our Ore.”

Shinra’s eyes are wide as you speak to him, but he nods nonetheless. He follows you closely as each of the survivors inspect the ore’s.  You yourself are none the wiser choosing an ore. You contemplate having laid your eyes upon an ore and just thought it was another random rock.

“Which one should we choose, Shinra?” you smile at the boy. “I sense…that one,” you point to a medium sized ore. “Is a good fit for me.”

Shinra furrows a burgundy brow, “H-How do you know?” he murmurs. 

“I can just feel it.” you respond. You go to grab it.

Shinra’s eyes - a beautiful shade of azure,  widen and he too grabs an ore - the one directly next to yours. “Okay.” he nods. 

Soon you make your journey back to Sanemi’s estate. Your legs are aching for a break, but you do not allow them to stop. Your kasugai crow, who you learned was named Hiyori, now laid upon your shoulder as you walked. She had since grew tired of flying above you once she realized you had no intention of stopping for the night. How could you? You passed Final Selection and now was an actual Demon Slayer. 

The sky was now a dark violet color when you arrived back at the estate. You had many people to see - you agreed to visit Aoi, Sumi, Kiyo and Naho once you returned. You grew close with the young girls, often visiting them when you didn’t have to train until you dropped. You would have to thank Uzui, Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma for your combat training; Muichiro (and Ginko because she wouldn’t allow you to not acknowledge her if you met with him). Mitsuri promised you pancakes one you returned and you were craving them with extra honey - her western cooking was the best you’ve ever had. 

You opened the shoji doors of Sanemi’s estate. It’s quiet inside and doesn’t appear to have anyone in it. You make your way around the estate and hum, Sanemi was not here. 

You didn’t let the fact bother you. Sanemi was a hashira after all and had responsibilities. He could possibly be doing his rounds before he returned home.

You take this time to bathe, allowing all the grime to be released from your skin was refreshing. You’re unsure how long you’ve bathed for, but once your hands begin to wrinkle was when you decided to get out. You were refreshed now, dressed now in a light kimono tied loosely and your hair in a low bun.

You decide to do another round around the estate for Sanemi. You can hear them - faint footsteps.It’s coming from the opposite side of the mansion. Your feet begin to sprint across the cold hardwood floor, a wide smile on your lips.

Sanemi was here, you note, dressed in his usual Hashira attire. He appeared to have just came in from his rounds as you suspected. 

“Nemi!” you exclaim, jumping to wrap your arms around the man. He doesn’t move back an inch, even with the impact of you crashing into him. 

Sanemi’s nostrils fill with your scent - the familiar scent that he had longed to smell for the last week. His nerves begin to calm themselves at your touch, unaware that since you've been gone that he was unable to focus on anything but your survival. 

“I’m back from Final Selection!” your heart is pumping with excitement. “I even have my own crow like you all! Her name’s Hiyori!” you continue to babble on and on about everything that happened during your week, still wrapping him in a tight embrace. 

Your face then crashes into his chest and you’re silent. Sanemi doesn’t notice it at first - he assumes you were overwhelmed with emotions to fully focus on one topic at a time. But then his bare chest feels it. Wet - were you crying?

Sanemi gets his answer when your shoulders shake and his chest appears to be even more wet. He gulps, unsure on what to do. Why were you suddenly crying? Sanemi didn’t deal with emotions well. He hated when the lower ranks would cry, it irritated him to no end. It didn’t help either that they were often crying because of him - but that's besides the point. 

Sanemi places a hand upon your head. “Y/N…” he trails off. “What’s wrong?”

Your face lifts to look at Sanemi. There it was again - the jolt. He hadn’t felt the jolt in his heart in a week and swears he was cured of whatever sickness he had. Your eyes are teary and wet, lashes sticking to one another. 

“I’m so happy!” you sob, lips quivering. 

Happy?

You were crying because you were happy?

Sanemi’s shoulders falter and now, he finds himself wanting to laugh.

“I’m happy that I passed Final Selection and you didn’t waste your time training me.” you continue, wiping your tears away with your shoulder so you wouldn’t have to unwrap your arms from Sanemi. “I’m happy I was given the opportunity to make my own decision and not be fated to one.” you’re continuing to ramble on about how happy you truly were - claiming to be happy to be surrounded by such positive people even if they were working in less than positive situations. 

You do end up unwrapping your arms around Sanemi to fall to your knees. You’re bowing before him, tears not stopping. “Thank you, Sanemi.”

Sanemi gasps, but he doesn’t stiffen. “Y/N, you don’t-”

“I’m grateful that I’ve gotten to train besides you and the other Hashira and slayers.” you’re sobbing full on now, dramatic tears leaking onto the floor. “I promise to make you proud as your tsuguko! I’ll do my best on all my missions!”

Sanemi inhales. His heart is beating rapidly and he’s unsure how to respond to you. To think that he, a Hashira of many years now and had fought demons upon demons…was going to die now due to heart failure. He hoped that Shinobu and Aoi would be the first two to cry at his funeral for denying him (a fucking Hashira at that) service. 

Sanemi’s mind wanders. He’s happy, as well, he supposes. Genya was alive and well, even if he refused to look his brother's way, he often kept tabs on him. Sorai would tell him everything Genya did when he wasn’t on missions. You were alive now, as well. Overly emotional and grateful as ever. Sanemi finds himself silently thanking whatever God there was out there that you wouldn’t be yet another death on his conscience.

Sanemi slams the door of the butterfly mansion open, a feral look upon his face. Naho jumps, her braids swinging around towards the sound. Kiyo’s eyes widen at Sanemi while Sumi quivers. “Where’s Kocho or Kanzaki?” he hisses at the three girls. 

“S-Shinobu-san said-”

“I do not care.” Sanemi dismisses them. He doesn’t see either of the two girls he’s looking for and he turns away from them. He stalks down the halls of the butterfly mansion, in coming slayers flinging themselves into the wall just to avoid him and his wrath. 

It takes another five minutes to find Shinobu and it only took him slamming open three shoji doors. 

“Shinazugawa.” Shinobu’s soft smile doesn’t falter, not even when she’s annoyed with her office being intruded. She leans back in her seat and tilts her head at him. 

“It happened again.” Sanemi exclaims.

Shinobu raises a brow.

“My heart jolted again yesterday. Matter of fact,” Sanemi steps inside the office. “it didn’t stop jolting for another 30 minutes.”

Shinobu snickers. “Y/N must be back from Final Selection already.” she notes, more to herself than as a statement to Sanemi. “Please tell her to come visit us at the Butterfly Mansion for any injuries she may have.”

Sanemi’s eyes are glaring at the younger girl. “What the hell does that have to do with my heart?!” he was growing irate by the second. Each time he came to this place he was kicked out by giggling girls. 

“I’ve checked your heart countless times, Shinazugawa.” Shinobu states with a shake of her head. “There’s nothing wrong with it or you.”

Sanemi sighs and scoffs. 

“Maybe you’re in denial?” Shinobu shrugs her shoulders. 

“In denial?” Sanemi hisses. “You and that other little brat are in denial about my health!”

Shinobu wants to laugh right now, but having Sanemi constantly come into the Butterfly Mansion and scaring the nurses (and the slayers) was becoming overwhelming. 

“My,” Shinobu manages to giggle. “have you…ever thought that your heart is jolting only when a certain someone is around you?”

Sanemi’s eyes squint. “Where the hell are you getting at?”

“That maybe you’ve failed to realize that your heart is jolting because you happen to…like Y/N?” Shinobu doesn’t want to cause Sanemi to convulse by saying the word “love” just yet. “There’s studies that show that boys are less smarter than girls, so I’m not surprised you cannot tell the difference between pain and feelings.”

Sanemi’s ears and neck darken a crimson color and his hands clenched into fists. Shinobu’s now full on laughing at him. He’s had enough of her and Uzui’s constant teasing.

“Fuck off.” Sanemi hisses and then turns to walk away. 

“Shinazugawa!” Shinobu calls before he can storm down the hallway. “I think she likes you, too. So do the rest of the Hashira.” 

Sanemi doesn’t say anything and Shinobu doesn’t expect him to, but the blush on his cheeks don’t go unnoticed. 

Sanemi makes his way out of the Butterfly Mansion and back towards his estate. He managed to bring his breathing calm, but his mind is going crazy. He thinks of you and how each time he was with you, his heart goes insane and his mind seems to go blink. His anger appears to subside when you speak to him with such a soft smile. Your eyes never show any disgust towards him, instead they’re kind and warm.

“Nemi!”

Your voice echoes through his ears from behind him. He hasn’t seen you the last few hours and when he turns, he’s shocked to see your appearance. He swallows, throat quickly running dry. You’re running towards him, a wide smile on your lips. He notes that he’s rarely seen your skin - such smooth skin that now appears to shine underneath the afternoon sun. You’ve gotten your uniform and appeared to be an exact replica of Mitsuri.

“I got my uniform!” you say excitedly when you reach Sanemi.

Sanemi looks away to not catch himself staring too long at your appearance. 

“Is that Y/N-chan?” 

“She’s so cute!”

You’re beaming at Sanemi and he feels just how hot his body begins to feel. 

“Do you feel comfortable?” Sanemi asks. You never showed this amount of skin before.

You slowly nod your head. “It’ll take some getting used to, I suppose.” you respond.

Sanemi licks his lips. His eyes roam around the area to find several slayers looking their way - your way. His nerves were now kicking in at the eyes on you.

“Do I look nice?” you ask him. “I do think it’ll be a little chilly with the uniform, but I think I’ll be alright.” you giggle to yourself.

“Is Shinazugawa-sama blushing again?”

“Why do all the girls go for guys like him?!” a slayer throws his hands in the air.

“Here.” Sanemi removes his haori and hands it over to you. He isn’t looking at you when he does so. “So you don’t get cold.”

“Shinazugawa-sama is such a nice boyfriend!” a female slayer gushes. 

“Who knew he was such a-”

The slayers scurry off when a pair of lilac eyes glare at them.

You take hold of the haori with wide eyes. “But what about you, Nemi?”

“I got more.” Sanemi shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Hm,” you hum, feeling the fabric in your hands. “Thank you. I’ll wear it on all my missions!” you place the haori over your shoulders and sigh happily.

Sanemi’s heart clenches and he inaudible sighs.

“Are you going back home?” you ask him. “I can cook us lunch if you don’t have anything to do!”

Sanemi nods and remains quiet.

“Good! Let’s go!” you hook your arm in his and begin walking.

Sanemi doesn’t mind your closeness, even if it does leave him surprised each time by just how willing you are to be entangled with him. While the pair of you stroll back to the estate in a comfortable silence, he’s thinking about just how nice you did look in your uniform - and how he didn’t like if anyone else thought the same.

When you suggested eating, Sanemi didn’t think you would invite others. You’ve just finished cooking when a knock sounds on his shoji doors. Sanemi doesn’t answer and you’re scurrying off to answer it yourself. The door opens and you’re beaming widely. 

Sanemi wants to scoff when his brother is behind the door - him, for some odd reason Tokito and an unknown slayer with burgundy hair. 

“I hope we are not intruding.” he murmurs to you, eyes only glancing at his brother for a moment. He hadn’t spoken to Sanemi in two weeks - not since the incident. 

You are, Sanemi wants to say, but he only snickers to himself instead. 

“Of course not!” you usher for them to enter. “I hope you all are hungry.”

Tokito remains silent when he sits upon the cushioned floor. He’s seated beside Genya and beside him, the unknown burgundy haired boy.

You go to serve the food for them, Sanemi grumbling to himself. He wanted to be with you - alone - not in his own home surrounded by brats.

You take your seat beside Sanemi and smile at the group of boys. “Please, eat.”

Muichiro wastes no time in doing as he’s told. Genya can feel eyes upon him, the glaring lilac eyes of his elder brother. He tries to think of your words two weeks prior - that Sanemi did love and care for him. It was hard believing you. He never made any attempt to speak with him after the fact and he grew slightly afraid that he would attempt to hurt him again if he tried. 

“I met Shinra during Final Selection.” you tell Sanemi after a few bites of the pork cutlet. “He’s so cute.” you gush.

Shinra’s cheeks flushed crimson at the sound of his name and the compliment. He feels two sets of eyes on him - one from the white haired man who he learned quickly was a Hashira and then the boy with dark hair and a mohawk. They’re glaring, he notes, with such dark eyes and hatred. 

“Look’s weak.” Sanemi retorts, sinking his teeth in the broccoli you steamed. 

“Very.” Genya snorts.

Muichiro turns his eyes to look at Shinra and hums in agreement.

“That’s not nice.” you frown at the three of them. “Shinra’s is a very capable swordsman.”

Genya had no issue with the burgundy haired boy. He appeared to be close in age with him and Tokito. However, if he had your affection then that meant it was taken away from his brother (and him) and he didn’t like it.

“Shinra even helped me defeat a demon, right, Shinra-kun?”

Shinra feels his throat clog up at the amount of eyes on him. He finds himself nodding - even if it wasn’t the truth. You were lying to save him the embarrassment and that caused even more self-pity in him. 

“Is that so?” Sanemi snickers. He leans forward. “He doesn’t even look like he knows how to hold a sword. I’m to believe someone like him helped you?”

You nod your head. You weren’t going to let them bring down Shinra’s self esteem about himself.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go on missions yourself.” Sanemi states. “If you need help from a weakling.”

Genya watches the way his brother glares at Shinra and now he understands where this was going. 

Sanemi was jealous - for no reason. Shinra was (for now) a weakling Mizunoto, yet you shared the rank with him. You were just lucky enough to have trained alongside several Hashira. Shinra was also only a child while you were an adult and only had eyes for Sanemi - but he knew his brother well enough to know that anyone was competition.

“Y/L-san is an amazing swordsman…woman…” Shinra’s voice is low and barely audible. He’s scared to even look the white haired man in the face but he’s grown great respect for you. “She killed the most demons during Final Selection…”

“How many did you kill?” Sanemi questions. 

“I-I…” Shinra gulps. He hasn’t killed nearly as much as you or the other survivors. He only managed to cut the heads of three - and even that took a lot out of him. 

“How about this,” Sanemi takes a bite of the pork and stands. “you show me just how good of a swordsman you are.”

“We’re eating.” you sigh, watching as Sanemi rounds the table to put (more like snatch) Shinra’s shoulder. 

“It’ll only be a moment.” Sanemi yanks Shinra from his cushioned seat and pulls him to his feet. “I have an extra sword.”

Shinra is visibly shaking in Sanemi’s tight hold. He’s pushed out the door and it causes Muichiro to snort. “Y/N.”

“Huh, yes, Tokito?” you say to him, smiling apologetically. “Is the food alright?

Muichiro nods. He licks his lips before his eyes turn to you. “Please tell Shinazugawa that no one is planning on stealing you from him.” he says nonchalantly. “All the slayers that do voice their attractions are scared of being castrated.”

You laugh nervously, eyes going wide. You feel yourself grow hot with embarrassment. 

“Genya even threatens a few that talk about you suggestively.”

Genya whips his head to glare at Muichiro, cheeks flushed. “I do not!” he hisses, denying rather quickly.

“Yes you do.” Muichiro takes a sip of his drink. “You talk down to anyone that thinks they could speak to Y/N.” Muichiro scoffs. And he was supposed to be the one with memory issues.

You get up from your cushioned seat and nod your head at the two (now bickering, more on Genya’s side than Muichiro) boys. You place a hand on both of their heads and it silences them. “You two are so cute.” you tell them. “Makes me wish I had younger siblings.” your eyes glance outside. You were going to have to save Shinra from Sanemi’s torture right about now.

You bow and excuse yourself and make your way out the shoji doors just as Sanemi swings a wooden sword Shinra’s way. “Sanemi!” you call, eyes glaring at the man. “Leave Shinra alone! We’ve come here for lunch not to train!”

Shinra’s able to dodge Sanemi’s attack by the grace of God, sweat pooling down his forehead and whimpering for whoever to save him.

Sanemi stops his attack and turns to you. You appeared to be upset, eyebrows knitted to a scowl. Your arms are crossed and for a split second his eyes flicker to your breast pressed together. 

“Shinra, let’s finish up your lunch, yeah?” you tell the boy who nods his head, far too excited to be away from the white haired maniac. 

As Shinra enters the house once more, your eyes turn to Sanemi. “What’s that about?”

Sanemi drops his wooden swords and goes to make his way back into his home. You step in front of the man. “You can’t keep harassing the slayers. They’re terrified of you!”

Sanemi scoffs. “If they’re terrified of me then a demon would have their fucking heads.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re a scary man.” 

Sanemi tilts his head and crosses his own arms. “You aren’t afraid of me.”

“Of course not.” you give him a teasing smile. “You’re nice when I’m around.”

Sanemi grumbles; maybe that’s why others would rather you be present if they had to approach him. 

“Promise me,” you begin, coming closer to him. You take his large, calloused hands in your soft ones. “That you won’t keep harassing the slayers. Especially Shinra and Genya.”

Sanemi groans. He likes the soft and gentleness of your hands on his own.

“I can’t promise that.” Sanemi says. “They all enjoy pissing me off.”

You giggle. “But they avoid you!” you exclaim. “Just try.”

Sanemi nods his head with a roll of his eyes. “Whatever.” he mumbles.

You wrap your pinky around his longer one, a tint of mischief in your eyes. “Swear.”

“Swear.” Sanemi murmurs. “Whoever lies will be made to swallow a thousand needles.” the two of you say in unison, a wide smile on your lips and a low one on his.

“CAW! Y/L Y/N is to report to Chiyoda City! A demon has been sighted in the Shrine!” Hiyori soars above you, her wings flapping.

Your eyes widen and you stand to your feet excitedly. “We’re going on a mission? Our first mission!” you were ready for a mission the same day you were given your nichirin sword.- a long sword with a black handguard that wraps right above your hand, offering an amazing grip. The blade is long and shiny against the bright sun - an emerald color shining down the sharpest part of the blade.

“Sanemi’s doing his rounds. I’m sad he wasn’t home to hear.” you feel saddened, but this was your moment to make him proud and assure that you’d come back safe. 

You make your journey out of the estate with Hiyori flying above you, leading the way. You’re pumping with excitement that it’s ridiculous. You were going head first to a demon - but you were bouncing with joy as if you were meeting your husband. You were just ecstatic to kill as many demons as you could and work your way up the ranks. You heard the amount of people wishing to become Hashira, but you’re content not being one. The 9 Hashira you’ve met were more than amazing at their jobs.

You reach the area in the middle of the night, the moon shining brightly and the area quietly. The air appears to be murky and foggy, a low fog that’s nearly blinding. You slow your walk, drawing your blade while your eyes scan the area. 

A sound to your left heightens your senses. More sounds from your right, above and even forward you. Small figures appear, no taller than toddler sizes. They’re demons - eyes black and soulless. There’s scars oozing blood beneath both of their eyes and there's a shadowy smoke that surrounds them as they push closer to you. As they come closer, you note that they appear to be floating rather than walking.

You raise your sword and swing when one shadowy figure lungs at you. You slice at their head, cutting off each one with swift movements - but they appear to never stop coming. It’s as though as soon as you kill one, five more come sprinting after you. Each shadowy figure has their own weapon - a knife, sword, cutlass.

“That man despises you.” a gravelly voice hisses behind you. The shadowy figures disappear and you’re left in complete silence.

You turn around, eyes glaring into the darkness. “Show yourself!” you call into said darkness.

Your feet walk stealthy behind the shrine where what appears to be a large pond is located. The water is still; unnerved. 

“You’re nothing to him!” the same voice hisses, this time besides you and now you sense it. A hand slams against your cheek and you’re sent flying towards the pond. It wasn’t deep, luckily, and you managed to keep your sword clenched into your hands. 

You leep from the pond just as the demon lunges at you. It appears to be a woman. She’s tall, appearing just a few inches smaller than Uzui. Her eye sockets are wide but they’re soulless, no pupils in sight. Her hair is long and flowy behind her, but appears to be wet and stringy. Her skin is a dull gray color and she’s snarling at you.

“Look at you,” the demon snarls, her fingernails gnawing at her skin. “So young and beautiful. No man will ever respect such a whore!”

The demon lunges at you once more and you manage to cut her hand off, long claws falling onto the ground below you. 

A loud, blood curdling scream echoes off the trees, coming from the demon. The sound is unbearable and you’re sure the demon is causing your ears to bleed. 

You got to your knees. 

“What would your father think seeing you now?” a voice says. 

“What about your mother? Your brother?”

The atmosphere appears colder now, the screams of the demon growing louder and louder. 

“What do you think Sanemi would think of you once you die here?” the screams appear louder and you’re certain your ears are bleeding. “When you die here tonight, you will be forgotten - just like your father forgot about you.”

You can feel the anger inside of you bubbling at the taunting words of the demon. “Come with me, I’ll put you out of your miserable misery.”

You lift your sword, trying your hardest to ignore the ringing in your ear. The demon flings itself at you and in one quick movement, you’re dodging its attack and slicing off her other hand. You get to your feet, sprinting towards the Demon. It wails loudly once more, but you ignore the painful ringing in your ears. “Wind Breathing: Second Form!” you lift the sword upwards towards the right and above your head. You release four vertical slashes resembling claws towards the demon. “Claws-Purifying Wind!”

You dash towards the Demon as your attack slashes them, black blood oozing out from their wounds. You make it your mission to get rid of this demon once and for all, raising your sword and bringing it down on the demon's neck. 

You drop to your feet, eyes on the demon's head a few feet away.The screaming releasing from its throat grows silent by the second as the head begins to disintegrate. 

It takes you a moment to move, your mind racing at the words the demon said.

That man despises you.

No man will ever respect a whore.

When you die here, you’ll be forgotten.

You sheathe your sword and begin to walk. Your ears are ringing as you make your way back towards your destination, Hiyori flying above you. By the time you’d return, the sun will be present and you’d hope to come face to face with Sanemi once more. You’ve grown close to the man and it causes you great shame to know that the words of the demon got to you; causing your heart to ache. You no longer cared about your fathers thoughts about you; you dealt with the man for years and his harsh ways. But the thought of Sanemi - someone you considered to be a great friend, even someone you loved dearly - forgetting about you; despising you. 

You exhale, deciding to pick up your pace to get back to the estate - and Sanemi - faster.

Sanemi’s sword slices against the tatami mat, slicing with ease. His mind is on you and when you are due to return. He’s upset that you were set on a mission - your first one at that - while he was out on his own. He’s positive that you were ecstatic and jumping with joy - it causes his heart to beat harder. He regrets not being there to send you off, even when his nerves screams at him to find you.

You’re an adult, he tells himself.

You’re now a slayer, fully capable of fighting low-level demons.

But still, you were someone he cared about.

Sanemi cannot keep his mind at ease when Genya is away on missions, now that he has you and his brother on his mind, he’s sure he’ll never find peace. 

Sorai, Sanemi’s crow, flocks his wings and places himself on a sliced tatami mat. The words released from the crows mouth has Sanemi’s eyes widening and his blood going cold.

Rengoku.

Dead.

Kyojuro is dead.

Sanemi’s right hand clenches his sword in his palm.

“I will annihilate all unsightly demons.” he hisses, turning away to make his way out of his home. His heart is pumping out his chest now and his nerves are screaming.

Kyojuro was a Hashira - a skilled one. What did that mean for you and Genya? You were out on a mission as we speak, too far away to know of Kyojuro’s death but that doesn’t ease his nerves one bit. He feels jittery. His mind is wandering to you fighting whatever demon you were sent out to and returning with serious injuries. His heart clenches when his mind flashes with you covered in blood, body lifeless. 

“Sorai!” Sanemi hisses and his crow squawks. “Go find Y/N.”

Sorai flocks his wings and begins his journey. Lilac eyes follow him until he’s nothing but a mere figure in the sky. 

Sanemi inhales deeply and exhales. He runs a calloused hand through his hair and down his face. He notices that his hand is trembling lightly with nerves.

You release a low sigh when you notice the familiar sight of the Butterfly Mansion. Your body aches and your ears are still ringing, but you manage to make it in one piece.

“CAW!”

Sharp feet landed upon your head.You hiss at the impact, wailing your hands around. “Sorai?” you murmur. “Where’s Sanemi?” you ask the crow. 

“Shinazugawa-sama has sent me to assure your safety!” the crow squawks.

You find yourself grinning. You pet the crows head lightly. “Yes, I’ve arrived safely.” you tell him. “I’m going to the Butterfly Mansion to assure my injuries aren’t severe.”

Sorai squawks again, wings flapping to fly and give the news to Sanemi.

You enter the mansion to find it surprisingly quiet.

“Y/N-chan!”

It’s Naho. She’s crying at the sight of you - did you look that bad?

“I’ll go get Aoi! Shinobu-san is busy.”

You follow behind her to the infirmary. You’re glad you can finally lay down and relax.

You enter the room and groan. You fell onto the nearest bed and sighed.

“You must be in such pain.” Aoi murmurs, eyeing the way your ears hold dried blood. 

“Little bit.” you mumble a response. “Just feel a little…tired.” you close your eyes, lids feeling heavy.

“Okay. You can sleep,Y/N-chan. I’ll give you some medicine for your wounds.”

You’re into a deep sleep by the time you hear Aoi’s words. It felt nice to be able to relax for now and not worry about anything.

Sanemi slams the shoji doors open, causing several nurses to yelp in surprise. 

“Shinazugawa!” Aoi growls, eyebrows knitting into a scowl. “How many times-”

“What happened to her?”

Aoi watches with angered eyes as Sanemi stalks towards your sleeping figure.

Sanemi lowers himself to inspect you. There’s a few scratches on your skin and blood (dried) on the sides of your ears.

“She passed out around 10 minutes ago.” Aoi responds. “Now leave, she needs-”

Sanemi sits on the bed beside yours, deciding to ignore Aoi altogether. Aoi scoffs. She turns her head to the other nurses and nods. They continue to scurry off out of the room. 

“I’ll be back with some medicine for her.” Aoi grumbles and makes her way out of the room.

Sanemi allows himself to breathe now. When Sorai had come back to him and stated that you had returned safely but at the Butterfly Mansion, he had to be sure you were safe. 

It was three hours later when you finally stirred awake. You feel groggily and your eyes are heavy. You yawned, pushing yourself up in the bed. 

“You’re awake.”

You yelp at the sudden voice. “Nemi.” 

Sanemi’s arms are crossed over his chest, eyes studying you.

“How long have you been here?”

Sanemi shrugs. “Not too long.” Sanemi responds. He hasn’t left since you were emitted. 

“Ah,” you lean against the metal frame. “I’ve returned from my mission.”

You’re smiling tiredly at him.

“My heart feels so full and heavy. My mind cannot focus on anything.” you explain. “It’s all so overwhelming to return alive and well.”

“Your ears are bleeding. Are you sure you’re well?”

“Yes.” you nod. “The demon was a very loud screamer.” you giggle to yourself. 

Sanemi swallows. He’s unsure how he was going to tell you about Kyojuro. You’ve grown close to the man and learning of his death would cause you great sorrow, and he didn’t like to see you upset or sad. 

“Nemi?”

“Kyojuro…” Sanemi begins. “...went on a mission before you had. He didn’t make it.”

You tilt your head, ears registering his words. 

“Kyojuro…is dead?” you swallow, throat dry.

It feels foolish to cry for someone knowing that this life was never guaranteed. You’ve grown close to him, sometimes speaking with him whenever you were free. 

“Nemi…” you trail off, feeling your eyes become wet. You feel for Kyojuro and his family and it even feels selfish of you to be scared for Sanemi’s life now. Kyojuro was a Hashira just like Sanemi and if he was ultimately brought to death…

Your legs ache, but you do not hesitate to jump from your bed to where Sanemi sat. You wrapped him in a tight embrace, wet eyes crushing into his neck.

Sanemi’s shocked by your actions. He didn’t know Kyojuro’s death would impact you this much.

You sniffled in his neck. “I don’t want you to ever be in harm's way.” you murmur. Sanemi, Genya, Shinra…you didn’t want to see death for anyone apart from the Corps. 

Sanemi gulps. He places an arm around you to bring you closer. He doesn’t usually touch you - sober, that was - but you were always clingy. He wants to comfort you, to tell you that everything would be alright. He wants to tell you that he wasn’t going to die - but he doesn’t wish to disappoint you with false promises he couldn’t guarantee. 

Sanemi doesn’t speak as he holds onto you, but he’s positive that he too does not wish you to ever be in harm's way - he’s unsure if he would be able to live with himself if you or Genya didn’t come back from a mission alive.

The next few months consist of you and Sanemi attending missions alongside one another, sometimes with other slayers. You want to question why you haven’t been on a solo mission, but you don’t. You assume after Kyojuro’s death, that the Corps would rather keep lower ranks with higher ones, but you cannot be 100% sure. 

However, you wouldn’t complain about being sent out with Sanemi. He was more of a guide, making sure nothing got too hectic for you - and it never did. He allowed you to behead any demons that you saw and the mission was complete. Then the two of you would return back to the estate until the next mission.

Weekly, you would have lunch that you’d cook with Sanemi, Genya, Shinra and Muichiro (whenever they weren’t sent on missions). Sanemi managed to bite his tongue and instead would grumble to himself, but it was progress. You enjoyed cooking for them and saw the three younger boys as little brothers.

Sanemi drew the line when you invited more - Tanjiro was such a lovely boy that you couldn’t help but want to feed him. With Tanjiro came Zenitsu and Inosuke - a brawl ensued when Inosuke insulted Sanemi and Genya retorted, both teenagers throwing insults and punches. But you enjoyed the lunch, nonetheless.

“We have another mission.” Sanemi says during breakfast. “Hiyori delivered it while you were bathing.”

“Ah, is that so?” you bring the sweet potato in your mouth and bite. 

Sanemi nods. “A Hashira is to be present. Me.” he says. “More slayers are attending, as well. We were told to pack a bag - it might take longer than we expect.”

You nod and when the two of you are done with breakfast, you go to pack your bag. It can be classified as an undercover mission, so casual wear is expected. 

It’s not long that you, Sanemi and a group of slayers are making your journey to Shinjuku, expected to arrive right in the evening. Sanemi wasn’t one to make stops, so you managed to pack a few snacks for the long way.

Once you arrive to Shinjuku you’re relieved. The sun was barely shining and you just wanted to find whatever demon was here and kill it. Seeing as the lot of you were expected to be undercover, you’re sure it wouldn’t work out that way.

“You,” Sanemi points to a group of 5 slayers. “find an inn and see what you can gather about our mission.”

The five slayers bow and head on their way. Sanemi’s turns his eyes to another four. “You do the same in the opposite direction.”

There's only you, him and two slayers left - one girl named Sumire and a boy by the name of Roshi. “There’s an inn on the outskirts of Shinjuku. We’ll head there, find a room and change. The sun will fall soon and we’ll have to investigate whatever demon lurks here.”

The inn wasn’t far and a ten minute walk has you four arriving there. It appears to be the nicest Inn in the city for it to be such a long distance from it. 

“Welcome in!” a woman behind the counter eyes the four of you, her eyes recognizing the uniform displayed. “Two rooms?”

“Four.” Sanemi corrects.

“Ah…” the woman leans forward, eyes staring at Sanemi’s chest, a grin formed onto her lips. “I apologize, sir, but we only do couples in Shinjuku.”

Sanemi scoffs. “What type of shit is that?” he hisses. He’s never heard of an entire city only catering to couples.

“We’re known as a honeymoon retreat here.” the lady shrugs. “I do apologize for any inconvenience.”

“It’s fine.” you sigh. “I can room with Sumire-”

“Please don’t.” Roshi whimpers, shaking his head. He wanted to be nowhere near Sanemi - especially not when his annoyance was rising. “I’ll take the floor so Sumire can have the bed - really!”

“Then it’s settled. Two rooms for two couples.” the lady turns to grasp a set of keys in both manicured hands and she dangles them out for you all to grasp.

Sanemi snatches the key and scurries down the hall while Sumire takes the other.

“We’ll get settled, changed and make our way out for the night.” you tell Sumire and Roshi.

“Yes.” Sumire and Roshi reply in unison.

Sanemi slams the door shut as the two of you enter, dropping his bag onto the large bed. 

“The sun will be setting soon.” you note aloud. “Do we have a set plan?”

“There’s obviously something going on here.” Sanemi says. He removes a yukata from his belongings. “Shinjuku was not known to be a couples retreat - not until now.”

“Do you think whatever demons here are targeting couples?” you tilt your head to think. Eating two people would be smarter than one, but still, a demon was stronger than a regular civilian. “It seems to be a lot of effort on the demon's part.”

Sanemi shrugs. Whatever the demon was doing, he’d be sure to put an end to it. 

Sanemi and you roamed Shinjuku. It appeared bright even when the sun was down. You noticed that it indeed was a couples affair - you noticed no one walking alone. What also caught your attention was the lack of children present - or those who were older.

“You two look new here.”

Sanemi’s eyes flicker to the voice.

“We are.” you smile at them, inching closer to Sanemi.

“Oh! How long have you two been married?” the woman asks and now you’re unsure what to say. 

“Honeymoon.” Sanemi responds. “Was recommended by a friend.”

The woman nods her head. “It’s amazing here! We’ve been here twice already. Have you two been to…”

You await for her to continue, but her eyes look as if waiting for you to catch on.

“...Uh…?” you turn to Sanemi who doesn’t even look interested.

“The couples…brothel?”  the woman flushes bright red as she speaks, her husband laughing nervously.

“Couples brothel?”

Sanemi was intrigued now.

“Yes. You have to be approved first - we haven’t.”

“What do you do there?” you ask, unsure of what in the world this mission was going to put you through.

“If approved, you get to be doted on…” the woman is far too embarrassed to continue but you’re sure you get where she’s going.

“Ah.” you nod your head. “I never knew that was something.”

“Yes. It happens every day at a different inn.” the husband says.

“Today should be…”

Sanemi sighs. He has a guess of what inn it would be happening at.

“We have to go.” Sanemi says, stomping off. 

“Sorai.” Your eyes look into the sky at the flying bird. “Inform the other slayers of the demon. Tell them to patrol the streets and make sure no civilians are harmed.”

“Where are we-”

“Back to the Inn.” Sanemi answers your question before you can respond. “That woman insisted on couples because that’s how the demon feeds without getting caught.”

“She chooses her victims strategically.” you murmur. “Not everyone gets accepted.”

“She must know we’re slayers - or at least senses that there’s something off about us.” Sanemi picks up the pace. “Only way to find out…”

Sanemi wraps you in a tight embrace as you both enter the inn. It catches you by surprise - his sudden closeness.

“Hello!” a lady claps her hands at your arrival. “Are you guests here already?” it’s not the same woman as yesterday, you note. 

Sanemi nods his head, arms wrapped tightly around you. “Yes. We’re hoping we can join.”

The woman is nodding, quite aware of what Sanemi is asking of her. “You’re in luck. Our mistress had not yet chosen a couple.” she eyes the way you and Sanemi appear. “I’m positive we found a good choice in the two of you.”

Sanemi swallows. He’s unsure how, but she knows there’s something off about the two of you - you aren’t an ordinary couple. She’s no demon, he would know if she was. 

“Follow me,” the woman motions with her hand for the two of you to come.

You walk, as does Sanemi. He won’t admit it, but having your body against his makes him feel at ease; just knowing you’re close and away from harm.

The hallway is long and seemingly away from the other rooms of the inn. The lights grow dim the closer the three of you step. You were sure it had to do with the demon.

“Go right into the room. The mistress will be in shortly. There are refreshments inside, as well.” The woman slides open the doors and bows as you enter. “Do have some fun while you wait.” She shuts them and you hear her footsteps pat down the hall until they’re inaudible.

“Room’s nice.” your eyes scan around the room, appearing quite large in size and lights just as dim as the hallway.

Sanemi grunts but doesn’t say a response. He sits upon the mat, eyes scanning for any sign of the demon.

You take a seat besides him and inhale. The room was humid.

“Have your sword ready.” Sanemi murmurs. You’re seated besides him, far too close. His noses appear to be heightened, your aroma nearly intoxicating him. He swallows thickly.

“It’s fucking hot.” Sanemi hisses. “Where’s that bitch?”

You were beginning to feel the same way. Your kimono wasn’t tight, but it felt as if it was sticking to you. The air felt so heavy, humid and…you shiver, goosebumps erupting onto your skin.

“I feel weird.” you tell Sanemi after a long moment. 

Sanemi’s eyes turn to you besides him. He notes there’s sweat lining your forehead and you’re panting lightly. Your legs are shuffling together, hands clenching in your lap. He notes that in the midst of your anxious state, you loosened your kimono and beneath it shows your uniform - the same uniform you wore when he gifted you his haori. He’d scream and berate the perverted kakushi for a new uniform just for you to wear both, stating that you didn’t want to be a bother. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the way you looked in it, not at all. He enjoyed it too much, often finding his eyes and mind wandering to places they shouldn’t. 

“You should drink something.” Sanemi tears his eyes away from you to eye the refreshments besides them. There isn’t any water, just wine, but it’ll have to do. “Just enough so you won’t feel parched.”

You nod your head. You wouldn’t be off your game after a sip of wine. You reach for the wine besides Sanemi, a low apology when your arm touches his. It sends a jolt throughout him, this time reaching lower than his heart. 

Sanemi’s eyes are shameless now. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s watching you. Your hands are shaking as you take the bottle of wine in your hands. You unscrew it and begin to pour. “W-Would you like some?”

Sanemi blinks at the sound of your voice, but he nods. He takes the small, silver goblet from your trembling hands and nods his thanks. He drinks the wine in one swift movement, downing it while his eyes watch yours. He was sure he could have another, and another as long as you served him. 

You aren’t as fast as Sanemi. You smell the wine first before going in to take a sip. It’s good - expensive too. You find yourself drinking the wine keen, enjoying the refreshing taste it gives.

Sanemi’s eyes watch as the wine, a crimson red color, drips from the corner of your mouth and down your jaw, to your chin and drips onto your collarbone. It teases him, he thinks, as it slowly drips onto your exposed breasts.

Sanemi licks his lips and groans. He yanks the wine bottle and pours himself another and downs it. He goes to pour himself another one, but he feels a hand on his wrist.

“You’re going to drink it all.” you say, voice laced with mischief. 

Sanemi inhales. The room was growing hotter.

Sanemi pours the wine, but this time he doesn’t drink it. He lifts it to your own lips, tapping them so you’d open them. You do, gently drinking the wine from his hands. You couldn’t contain the laughter coming from your throat as you do so, the wine splashing onto your kimono.

Sanemi feels hot all over again, his uniform beneath his yukata growing tighter. 

“Nemi?”

Sanemi gulps. “Hm?”

“Do you think I’m hot?”

Sanemi coughs at your question, flushing. 

Why was the room growing hotter?

Why does his clothes feel like they’re sticking to him?

Sanemi was growing confused by the second - why were the two of you even in this room?

“Why do you ask?” Sanemi drops the goblet.

“Because you never say it.” Were you intoxicated now? You didn’t appear to be, your words weren’t slurring and your vision didn’t appear hazy. “Are you attracted to me?” Sanemi feels you come closer. He’s stiff - you had to be drunk. You’re pushing off your kimono, now just only in the revealing corp uniform. He gasps when you climb into his lap, both legs trapping him beneath you.

“You look scared.” You were teasing him. You sit directly onto him, the bulge of his cock twitching when he feels the heartbeat that’s your pussy. “You’re supposed to be the fearless Wind Hashira.”

Sanemi places his hands against your exposed thighs and groans at the smoothness of your skin. He’d often wake from dreams of you and him being in this very position - he’d either have to shower with the coldest water or pump himself until he was cumming. The last option was the most embarrassing. 

“Are you afraid of me?” you’re teasing him again, repeating the same words he said to you in Asakusa. Though he wasn’t pressing himself against you like this, he wouldn’t complain either.

Sanemi groans once more at the feeling of you slightly grinding against him. 

Yes, Sanemi was afraid of you. You made him feel different - the jolting in his heart that dives all the way down to his cock. He often finds himself staring at you, so long that his eyes grow dry and he has to blink just to regain moisture. He often has to hear Uzui’s and Shinobu’s teasing of his feelings for you, no matter how much he attempts to deny it himself.

“No.” Sanemi murmurs, even if it was a lie. 

“Then kiss me.” you lean forward, inches away from Sanemi’s lips. He gulps, licking his lips. Your lavender aroma fills his nostrils and he finds all the sanity he had left gone. 

Sanemi presses his lips against yours, his fingernails digging into the skin of your thigh. He doesn’t want to let you go - whatever this was he doesn’t want it to end. All that clouds his thoughts now were you - your scent, your touch, the sound of you. It intoxicates him that whatever the two of you were initially supposed to be doing in this room has since been forgotten. 

You feel your throat tighten and you’re being lifted. Your eyes shoot open and you’re gasping for air, eyes watching someone - you? It wasn’t you.

The demon had taken the form of you now, leaning against a panting Sanemi. He’s in a trance, you note, not noticing that he was now in the hands of the demon. Her eyes look up at you once for a second and now, your blood is running cold. ‘Lower Rank Six’ engraved into her eyes. 

You struggle to get yourself loose. It’s obvious that the demon has Sanemi in a trance and you were the one that needed to behead the bitch.

“Thank you for bringing me a Hashira.” the demon cackles. “I can show my lord that I am capable of killing a Hashira and then I’ll work my way up. He has given me a second chance just for this moment!”

You struggle against a hooked tail, but manage to get one arm loose to unsheathe your sword. You swipe at it, slashing it so you can release yourself. “Get away from him!”

The demon’s eyes widen but she then laughs. “I’m sorry I have to consume your lover.” she taunts. “Virgins don’t know what to do with a man.” the demon taunts. The air appears to be foggy and once again you feel hot with desire. 

“You’re nothing but a demon that’s going to die here.” you spit at her.

The demon shrieks at your words. “Such a disgusting human! You don’t deserve to be in my presence!”

You swipe your sword to dodge her attack. You needed to get this over with now before you wasted any more time. Your mind was fogging with whatever she’s done, an obvious demon blood art. 

“You’re nothing but a weak lower moon.” you spat back at her with the same venom. 

The demon hisses and sends an array of attacks with her hooked tail. “Wind Breathing: Third Form:” you proceed to release a whirlwind of slashes around you to defend yourself from her attack.”Clean Storm Wind Tree!”  Your eyes focus on her neck - you had to finish her off now. You raise your sword and slash it across her neck, a clean swipe that cuts the demon’s head right off. 

The demon screams at her sudden defeat, but another gush of fog surrounds the entirety of the room just as her head and body harshly crash onto the ground. 

You drop your sword beside you, making your way to Sanemi. His eyes are closed and he appears to be asleep.

“Nemi?” you call, falling to your knees. You place a hand upon his cheek and flinch when his eyes dart open. “Nemi…”

Your words trailed off and neither of you talked, only stared at the other. The room was boiling now, sweat pooling off of your body. You were sure you’d hear a pin drop with how silent the room remained.

“We should…go…” you managed to speak, but it was difficult. Your throat is dry and your ears are beginning to ring. Your clothing is uncomfortable and tight, sticking to your skin like glue. “Nemi…I-I don’t feel good.” you admit to him after another few moments of tortured silence. Your legs are beginning to clench together, the friction feeling good, an electric shock between your legs. 

You knew this feeling, you were no prude. You were sexually frustrated. There was no doubt a wet spot between your legs and the friction of your thighs clenching together brought a temporary satisfaction. You would admit that you touched yourself often when you needed to just to let loose and unwind, but that frustration wasn’t anywhere near how you felt now. 

You scoff bitterly to yourself. To think you endured hellish training to become a slayer just for sexual frustration to be your downfall.

“Let’s go.” Sanemi nods, head heavy. “We need to get our stuff from the room.”

Standing is difficult for Sanemi. His clothing is tight and there’s an obvious bulge in his uniform pants. He allows you to lead the way, his sane mind screaming to not stare at the way your ass moves, but he doesn’t care. He was a man, after all, a man drugged by a demon. He wants to laugh at the circumstances.

The woman is nowhere to be found when you pass the front end of the inn. You assumed she was nothing but a pawn for the demon and was left alive as long as she offered her humans to consume.

Entering the bedroom, you close the shoji doors behind you and Sanemi.

“I hope everyone else is alright.” you murmur to yourself, leaning against the door. “We should probably be heading out-” You stop speaking once you realize Sanemi’s hands are clenching his hair tightly. His chest is rising and falling and he appears to be in pain.

“Nemi-” you reach out to touch him, but Sanmi harshly pushes you away. Your eyes widen at the sudden action. “I-I…are you in pain? I-”

“Leave, Y/N.” Sanemi’s gruff voice startles you. “Go to Kocho and take the slayers with you.”

“I can’t leave you here.” you say. You’re ashamed that his voice turns you on. You hold the edge of your uniform skirt. “You’re in pain-”

“You know I’m not in pain!” Sanemi hisses. His tone would have anyone else cowering, but here you stood with wide (heart) eyes and clenching thighs. “You know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

You gulp at his words.

“I’m trying my hardest not to fuck you against the wall.” Sanemi stares at your face. “Leave. Now.”

Sanemi turns away from you and you’re shocked by his choice of words. You’re certain the demon art is affecting him just as much as it’s affecting you. 

But…there it was. The sensation pooling between your legs - the heartbeat taunting you. His words made you wet, you note. It was a warning - don’t come closer, don’t keep trying to help; run away before he’d do something that he wouldn’t do normally. It’s a sort of adrenaline rush to be playing with fire.

“I can help you.” you gulp. You decide to step closer to him and wrap your hands onto his bicep. “I want-”

Sanemi’s fast in his action, gripping your jaw to press a firm kiss upon your lips. He’s holding back, you know, not wishing to hurt you. He knows you haven’t done this before and the sane part of him wants to stop - to not take you while he cannot control himself. “You need to leave, Y/N.” Sanemi’s pleading with you now. He didn’t want to have your first time like this. He’s trembling, all ounce of strength fighting animalistic urges. He almost feels nauseous, mind flashing in all the ways he could take you right now - how vulnerable you’d be beneath him and how good you’d look stuffed with his seed.

Sanemi shakes his head aggressively, wanting to get rid of the perverted thoughts of you, but he cannot. It’s humiliating to think that these thoughts were there before, but with the demon art, it’s completely unbearable. 

You were always the stubborn one, never heeding warning. You raise a hand to place it upon his yukuta. You clench it to pull him forward to press your lips upon his once more. Sanemi’s breathing intensifies in the kiss and still, there’s a little part in him that’s holding back the urges to completely demolish you like the demon art (and him, as well) desired. 

“Let me help you, Nemi. It doesn’t matter how long it takes!” you’re pleading with him now, heavily panting when you release his lips for oxygen. You’re also affected by the demon art, even if your own desires were buried deep. “You’d help me so much. I can do the same.” The sound of your begs drive Sanemi wild, his mind refusing to stop sending the illusions of you in different, perverted positions until he acts upon them.

Sanemi’s hands reach out to touch you, bringing you closer to him. You’re against his chest and when his hands sneak out to touch the curves of your body, he knows he won’t be able to stop. 

Stop - Sanemi tells himself.

You'll regret this.

He’d regret this.

He’s taking advantage of your vulnerable state - this isn’t you, this is the demon art.

You want this - another part of his brain denies the sane part of him. There’s an internal dialogue happening right in his mind.

He wanted this. He’d always wanted this.

He wanted to be deep inside of you - so deep that there wasn’t a way you couldn’t not be impregnated.

You’d be his and his alone - you’d give him the family he desired.

“Nemi, please…”

Sanemi doesn’t hold back any longer, fully succumbing to the demon art that’s blinding his best judgment. Your back slams against the futon, sending shocks all over your body, but you aren’t upset at Sanemi’s sudden change in demeanor. His hands are ripping at your uniform, not caring about any damage it causes. He shudders when his hands finally manage to touch you. The countless times he would touch himself to any little amount of skin you showed him - and now you were nearly nude before him.

Sanemi never wanted to thank a demon before in his life.

You’re moaning when Sanemi’s lips kiss along your neck, tongue trailing along as he does so. His hands are groping your breast, the bandages binding them are ripped apart in seconds and they spring free.

Sanemi’s face is between your breasts in seconds, kissing sloppily. You’re so beautiful. He wanted to admire your beauty as much as he could - there was no going back now and who knows what would happen when the demon art wore off. But Sanemi couldn’t slow his pace now, you made him delirious.

Your body jerks when you feel a warm, wet sensation on your nipples. Sanemi’s tongue suckles on your left while his thumb tugs on the right. It causes you to moan louder, the feeling foreign and you never wanted it to end. 

It wasn’t soon until Sanemi had you fully naked before him. He’s in awe, truly, eyes completely blown out. It’s unclear to him how he could still manage to hold back completely being barbaric when it comes to the sight of you, but maybe it’s the respect he held dear to his heart for you.

Sanemi’s lips kiss down your breast, to your stomach down to your abdomen. He pushes your legs apart and swallows when he catches sight just how wet you were.

You squirm under Sanemi’s gaze, unsure what he was doing. You go to close your legs but Sanemi only pushes them apart further.

“N-Nemi!” you gasp once you feel his tongue flat against your clit. It’s a weird feeling of euphoria that has your eyes rolling. “S-stop!” you’re struggling against Sanemi’s tongue, doing everything in your power to get him to stop. “I can’t take anymore, Nemi…”

Sanemi doesn’t care about your babblings. Your taste intoxicates him just like your scent does. Your moans are so sweet, like his favorite tune playing again and again in his ears. His fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh and he’s bobbing his head back and forth over and over again until you’re sobbing.

Sanemi lifts his head from your swollen clit and licks his lips. He’s hovering above your twitching form and even now as you’re overstimulated with pleasure and sobbing, he cannot bring himself to stop. 

“Nemi…”

Sanemi presses three fingers against your clit, rubbing tauntingly. “You can take it.” he encourages. After all, if you cannot handle his tongue and fingers, how’d you ever handle his cock?

Sanemi rubs a few more times before his fingers inch inside of you. His lips are kissing along your face, kissing along at the tears of pleasure. 

You’re tight and it excites Sanemi. Knowing that he would be the one to deflower you - be the first (and preferably only) man you’d been with. It causes goosebumps to litter his skin.

The feeling of Sanemi’s fingers inside of you hurts - you’ve never done so before. He isn’t going slow either to allow you to adjust, he’s pumping with such force that it compels you into pleasure. 

“I feel weird, Nemi…” you’re panting, feeling the bubbling feeling deep in your stomach. “Stop, I-I don’t wanna cum like this.” your hand wraps around his wrist to stop him - even if Sanemi refuses. “I wanna feel you around me when I do.”

Sanemi’s cock twitches at your words, but he wastes no time.

With hooded eyes, you watch as Sanemi undresses. You hadn’t realized just how clothed he was while you laid completely bare. 

Sanemi’s body was beautiful, chiseled muscles sculpting his entire body. You flush at the sight of his completely nude body - cock erect. Your legs twitch with nervousness..

Sanemi hovers above you. There’s a flash in his eyes - you notice. His forehead is pressed against yours and for a moment his eyes are soft, no longer harboring the feral reaction.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” he murmurs to you. It’s the voice that belonged to Sanemi - not the one under the demon art, but the man that you trained alongside for a year.

You didn’t have the chance to respond. Sanemi is entering you now and your hands go to clench his biceps harshly. It doesn’t hurt him, of course, but the pressure for you is nearly unbearable. Your legs wrap around him tight, hoping he wouldn’t move too soon.

You inhale deeply, trembling with the newfound pain. Sanemi is big - but any cock would be for you. You just hoped Sanemi wasn’t far too gone in the demon’s spell and wouldn’t hurt you too much.

Sanemi’s patience was slowly breaking. He found himself grinding into her for any sort of friction or pleasure. There’s only so much a man like him could take, his mind kept replaying the countless ways he could take you right now and he was truly fighting an internal battle. 

Sanemi thrusted out of you fully to thrust back in. You released a surprised wail, eyes shutting tight. Your fingernails would be another scar left upon his skin.

“I can’t take it.” you cry out, walls completely sore by taking his cock in you fully. The pressure was unbearable and by the looks of the man, he appeared utterly insatiable. 

“You can.” Sanemi’s voice is so raspy and deep that you were positive he was far gone. He continues to thrust deep inside of you that your back hits the futon with each thrust. He’s strong - far stronger than you’d ever hope to be - and getting him to stop was going to be difficult.

You felt the hot tears pool down your cheeks. You were being stretched out far too much for you to keep your composure. You were clenching around him so heavenly that he never wanted to stop - never wanted to be out of you; without you.

“Nemi, please…”

Sanemi’s hips buckled and he halts his movements. 

Keep going - the voice in his mind tells him.

But it’s your sadden pleas that has his sanity coming back - just for a moment. He witnesses your tears falling and his heart aches - was he the one making you cry?

Sanemi goes to pull himself out, but you stop him. You wrap your arms around him and bring him closer to you. His chest is against yours while your lips lined up against his ears. You’re panting, attempting to catch your breath and adjust to his size. 

Sanemi’s arms wrap around your body, the intimate moment was one he wished he could remain in forever; never wishing to let you go. 

“Nemi?”

You clench around him and Sanemi hums a response. You loosen your hold onto him, a signal that you wanted him to continue. 

Sanemi grinds inside of you, his hold on you only growing tighter. He’s deep, never wishing to be anywhere else but inside of you. He picks up his pace, noticing how your cries were becoming moans. 

This is what sex felt like. The pain was slowly subsiding and the pleasure was taking over. You can hear the way your pussy sounds against his pumping cock - wet and inviting, satiating his hunger for you. 

Sanemi releases his hold on you to lean back. His eyes are hooded as he watches the way your breast bounces. He picks up the pace, cock sliding in and out of you - rougher, deeper, faster.

So beautiful, Sanemi thinks. So beautiful and his - all his. The dark thoughts were coming back with each passing second and his sanity was losing to the demonic spell. 

You yourself felt whatever sanity you had left was now leaving. You no longer cared if Sanemi was hurting you or not - what you did know was that now you felt good; so good. His cock pumps inside of you at an alarming pace that would even be considered pleasurable if you weren’t receiving it. 

Sanemi’s hands grip your breast so tightly that he's sure they would leave marks. His eyes fixated on the bulge of your stomach, mind racing with the thought of you round and pregnant with his child. He allows one hand to leave your breast to cup your stomach, rubbing lightly as he fucks you.

“I can’t wait to fuck a baby in you.”

Sanemi’s words would cause you to gasp if you weren’t caught in the moment. Your mind was fucked out with how good he’s fucking you that a baby didn’t seem bad - how the two of you forgotten about the world full of demons and the mission you were currently on.

“Get you nice and pregnant. I’ll take care of you.” He’s now hitting your g-spot as he speaks, eyes completely blown out with pleasure. Your knees are touching your shoulders and you’re positive you’ve never been this flexible before. “I’ll take care of all of our kids.”

You’re crying beneath him, pleasure overwhelming. Your sobs don’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t care. He’ll fuck you until he was done - fuck you until he was sure you were pregnat with the child he was promising you.

“I want them to look just like you. So perfect.” Sanemi moans at the thought of you full of cum, round with his child.

You’re cumming, writhing beneath him. You’re soaking the futon beneath the two of you, but neither of you care. Sanemi was on a mission - a rampage. Nothing was going to stop him from achieving his perverted dreams.

Sanemi cums deep inside of you, twitching as he does so. He’s panting while sweat pools off of his skin and onto yours.

Sanemi wants more.

He flips you over, face burning into the futon. He enters you like an animal, continuing the brutal pace. He’s fucking into you deeper, your screams echoing off the room walls. If anyone was inside the inn, neither of you cared. He almost wished someone was listening so they could hear how good he was fucking you.

You’re drooling. You could no longer focus on anything but the cock inside of you - and even then you wanted more. Was this what heaven felt like? Paradise? To be stuff so good but the man you adored that you never wanted it to end?

How could you go back to pleasuring yourself when Sanemi knew how to do it so wonderfully?

Sanemi filled you again - three more times before he changed the position. He brought you on top of him and fucked into you, not allowing you any control. The stamina of a Hashira was amazing. He fucked you like a ragdoll, but you had no complaints.

His fucking dragged on majority of the night - against the wall, in his arms, on your back, on your side - every position he deemed fuckable, he had you in.He would hiss such dirty worlds in your ears that you’d convulse into a cumming mess for him.

One things for certain - neither of you wanted this night to end.

Your legs ached, as did the entirety of your body. 

You stirred away, the sun from the open window blinding your eyes.

You push yourself up from the futon, the blanket you were wrapped in falling to expose your naked figure.

You were sore and one look at your appearance has your mind fluttering with memories.

“Nemi…?” you call out to nothing. You were alone in the room the two of you shared the night prior. You scanned the area to find no trace of him - not even his belongings.

Your legs tremble as you stand to your feet. You take nearly 10 minutes to get dressed, but you cannot be blamed. Your body is covered with bruises and marks that hiding it with Sanemi’s gifted haori was difficult, but manageable. 

You make your way out of the room, belongings in hand. You walk past the innkeeper who doesn’t say a word - a different woman from the first two you met the day prior. 

“CAW!”

Hiyori flies above you just as you exit the inn. If you had to guess, it was an hour before noon.

“Y/L Y/N is to report to the Butterfly Mansion for treatment! Y/L Y/N and others to the Butterfly Mansion!”

“Hiyori.” you call the crow, holding out your arm. “Where’s Sanemi?”

“Shinazugawa-sama has left on his own in the morning!”

Left.

Sanemi had left you here?

Alone?

“Y/N!”

It’s Sumire and Roshi, returning back to you appearing slightly disheveled. 

“W-What-”

“Don’t ask.” Sumire’s flushing bright red.

“Please.” Rochi murmurs and you notice none of them can look the other in the eye.

Your mind connects the dots.

You and Sanemi were not the only two subjected to the demon’s spell.

“Did you see Sanemi leave?” you ask the two slayers.

“Yes. Shinazugawa-sama took the others and left. We were told to wait for you.” Sumire exclaims. “Didn’t say much but to wait until you were up to head to the Butterfly Mansion.”

You nod your head. You swallow, heart aching with the realization that Sanemi had left you.

Had Sanemi regretted the night with you? Had he woke up disgusted with your actions that he didn’t even wish to look at you?

No.

Sanemi wasn’t like this. He didn’t run from his issues. He had to go to the Butterfly Mansion with the other slayers. You wouldn’t think too much into it.

But it was hard not to think too much into it, you think. The entire journey to the Butterfly Mansion had left you completely distracted by memories of the previous night and the nervousness of having to face the Wind Hashira once more. 

The Butterfly Mansion was hectic, nurses scurrying around to help while Kakushi lined up to do the same. You almost felt out of place coming here. You didn’t even have any scars from the attack with the demon and it appears Sumire and Roshi were alright, as well, only a bit awkward.

“Are you two alright?” you turn to the two slayers who nod, avoiding contact with the other. “The mission wasn’t as deadly as we expected. The Lower Moon-”

“Lower Moon?!” Roshi and Sumire gasp in unison with wide eyes. “There was a lower moon there?” Sumire questions. 

“We fought off a few demons but they weren’t strong. They might have been only a few years turned.”

You nod your head. “Yes.” you look between the two of them. “Her demon art was…powerful. Are you sure the two of you are alright?”

You see flashes in your mind of you and Sanemi together the entirety of the night.

“Yes.” Roshi’s cheeks are dusty red.

“Yea.” Sumire responds, as well. 

You nod your head and offer the two of them a soft smile. “Okay. Good job on the mission.” you tell them. “Please rest.”

Your eyes watch Sumire and Hoshi scurry away and you release an exhausted sigh. 

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps to the sound of your name. You bow to Shinobu who does the same. 

“Are you alright? I heard your mission was successful by Shinazugawa.”

You nod your head. “Yes. I returned just now.” you wondered what else Sanemi had told her. “It’s hectic here.”

“Indeed it is. Uzui has returned with Tanjiro, Inosuke and Zenitsu. An Upper Moon was defeated.”

Your eyes widen. “An Upper Moon? Are they safe?” you returned seemingly fine after your battle - if you can even call it that, the demon appeared far too weak to be considered a part of the 12 Kizuki. You couldn’t imagine fighting an Upper Moon.

“Recovering. They’re all fallen into coma’s but we’re positive they will recover.”

A sigh of relief comes from your lips. “Uzui-san? Is he here?”

“Was. He left hours before you returned. He has retired as a Hashira.”

You were sure your eyes were going to pop out their socket one of these days. The sudden information was hitting you at each possible angle. 

“I know you’ve grown attached to the younger slayers. Maybe you can come visit them once everything settles down.” Shinobu offers a smile. “Uzui is at his estate with his wives as if he didn’t lose an eye or hand. I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

“Huh?!” your hands clench at - yet again - another sudden information. Uzui was a Hashira, so tall and muscular and extremely skilled. 

“Uzui is fine, truly. Rambling on about appearing even more flashy with an eyepatch.” Shinobu giggles slightly. “How are you, Y/N? Shinazugawa was here earlier but nothing appeared to be wrong with him or the others. I assume the same goes for you?”

You swallow and nod.

“Good.” Shinobu scans your appearance. You had the white haori that once belonged to Sanemi wrapped tightly around your frame. You showed no skin - which wasn’t exactly alarming, but you also never appeared so awkwardly nervous. 

Shinobu’s eyes are beautiful, so large and deep purple. Now, however, they seemed to be looking into your soul, searching for your deepest and darkest secrets.

“I should be going now, Shinobu-san.” you bow. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Y/N.” she offers a curt wave. “I love the new glow you have to you.” that tone in her voice - you feel hot with embarrassment. She was teasing you.

“CAW!”

You haven’t been outside for more than five minutes before Hiyori returns. 

“Oyakata-sama has sent for you!”

“Ah.” you sigh deeply. “I suppose I can see what Oyakata-sama needs.”

You made your journey towards the Ubuyashiki Estate, Hiyori soaring above you. It doesn’t take long and upon entering you note that Oyakata has already been waiting for your appearance.

You bow in front of him. “Oyakata-sama. I have arrived.”

Kagaya offers a curt smile. “Y/L Y/N. It is nice to be in your presence once more.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Oyakata-sama.” 

You lift your head, knees remaining on the ground. 

“Congratulations on returning from your mission safely. You have defeated a Lower Moon.” Kagaya praises.

Your heart feels full to be praised. 

“Thank you, Oyakata-sama. But please, it was nothing. Uzui-san and the others are the true remarkable ones.” You still cannot fathom coming in the presence of such a remarkably strong demon. 

“You also deserve praise, Y/N.” Kagaya says. “You managed to defeat a Lower Moon. There’s many slayers who did not have the same fate.”

You nod to yourself. You suppose he was right.

“You would make an exceptional Wind Hashira if the title was not already occupied.” Kagaya compliments once more. “I am content that you, my child, are a part of the Corps.”

“Thank you, Oyakata-sama.” you say, standing to your feet. 

“Thank you, Y/N.” Kagaya said, but before  you could speak, he continued. “Sanemi has transformed for the better. I assume that it is your doing.”

You swallow at the sound of Sanemi’s name. You had yet to see him  and speak about what has happened during the mission.

“I cannot take responsibility for Shinazugawa-san’s credibility. He was always an amazing Hashira before me!”

Kagaya chuckles to himself lowly. “Indeed he was, my child. But behind every great man, there’s a partner. A woman like yourself.” Kagaya lightly pets the crow that sits beside him. His head remains straight forward, body unmoving. “Give yourself more grace, Y/N. You are free to go as you please. Thank you for speaking with me.”

“Y-Yes.” you inhale a response, bowing before turning away. “Thank you, Oyakata-sama.”

The master's words replay in your head as you make your way to Sanemi’s estate. You deserve praise, he said. You changed Sanemi for the better. Did you, though? Sanemi always appeared amazing to you - at any and everything he did. Sure he had a temper but it was never towards you. Maybe Sanemi had taken the swear the two of you made seriously.

Entering the mansion, you note just how quiet it was inside. Where was Sanemi? You knew he returned earlier in the day.

You decided to not dwell on it and bathe. You hadn’t had the chance to upon waking up, only a light wash up. Witnessing the bruises and bites littering your skin causes you to flush at the memory of you and Sanemi together.

Hours had passed since you bathed and since then you had managed to cook dinner for the two of you - Sanemi’s dish had sat cold. You pondered where he could possibly be - surely Oyakata-sama didn’t send him on another mission.

You began to feel as if Sanemi was purposely avoiding you. As days dragged on, you had yet to see him. You continued your training alone, not witnessing any sight of him. You would eat alone without him, always setting a plate down for him that he would eat whenever he did return while you were gone.

It was only when the second week dragged on did Sanemi return, though barely. You caught a glimpse of him entering the bathroom just as you finished dinner. You waited for him to enter, and when he finally had you were left disappointed. He didn’t spare you a glance, entering his bedroom and not exiting.

Weeksn dragged on and you noticed that you and Sanemi no longer attended missions together. Hiyori would come and deliver your own solo missions and you’d go - not having someone besides you had your heart yearning for company. 

While Sanemi obviously ignored you, you would often visit Uzui and his wives. You’d relax at the onsen with them while not on missions, often eating dinner. Uzui was not a fool to notice the look in your eyes - you were attempting to get your mind off of a certain white haired bastard.

You visited Inosuke and Zenitsu, offering them sweets while they trained and waited for Tanjiro to wake. You remained cooking for Shinra, Genya and Muichiro when the three were free, Sanemi’s place at the table untouched.

There was a shift that everyone noticed. Sanemi’s attitude was going back to what it once was - abrasive and rash. The slayers had to tiptoe around him once more, not having you around as their savior. 

The Hashira has since taken note that there was something wrong with you and Sanemi. Shinobu had seen more of the Wind hashira at the Butterfly Estate to heal petty wounds that he'd usually got to you for - when she asked why he was there, he had snapped at her and stated that it was “her job” to do so.

Obanai and Sanemi train together often, now more than ever. He would visit the Serpent estate to train just so he didn’t have to be home - Iguro never questioned him.

Muichiro is air headed and often stuck in his own mind when he wasn’t out on missions. But he recognizes a shift in your behavior. Your eyes are sadder than he remembers them and all he can think to do is do the things he liked to do - with you. He’d watch the clouds with you, not speaking unless you did. He would make origami with you, claiming that yours were trash - it caused you to laugh at his insensitive truth - and would end up gifting you one of his origami pieces.

Mitsuri’s would often feed you, claiming that whenever she was down, she desired to eat delicious foods. She didn’t want to ask anything of you and Sanemi’s relationship, but she just hoped that whatever did happen that it would end soon. 

You were grateful for everyone's attempts in changing your mood and it would be selfish to say that it didn’t work. However, as the second month kicks, you realize just how foolish you feel. Your head has been far too into Sanemi and why he was ignoring you (and your own separate missions) that you ignored your own overall health. 

“Y/N.”

Shinobu tilts her head at you, curiosity in her eyes. Her face turns to a look of concern.

“Pregnant.” you repeat her words.

 Could you even be surprised? You were in the second month since the mission in Shinjuku. The last thing on your mind upon returning was a contraceptive and even when you woke up feeling less than yourself, you still couldn’t accept that you were with child.

“You must think I’m so stupid.” you laugh humorlessly at Shinobu, insect-like eyes watching your every move.

“Of course not!” Shinobu denies. “Why would you think such a thing?”

You inhale deeply. You thought as much because it was what you were feeling. Stupid - pregnant by Sanemi and it appeared now that he wanted nothing to do with you. Stupid for getting pregnant when your occupation was killing demons.

“Y/N. Are things with you and Shinazugawa…good?” Shinobu doesn’t want to pry, but now you were with child and appeared disgusted, concerned and frightened all at once.

You swallow, throat tightening. “Yes.” you murmur, an obvious lie. Everyone has noticed the shift in the relationship between the two of you and now Shinobu has an idea as to why.

“I assume Shinazugawa doesn’t know.” Shinobu states. “Y/N…there’s ways we can go about this now. If you aren’t ready I can assure you it will be painless.”

You blink at Shinobu’s words. You haven’t thought about a moment like this happening - not even the moment between you and Sanemi. When you arrived from the mission, you desired to see him and talk about whatever relationship the two of you had. But Sanemi turned cold, ignoring your presence all together and waving you off whenever you attempted to.

“If you do wish to keep the child, I will inform Oyakata-sama of the predicament and get you off from your missions. Since you’re early in the pregnancy, I’m sure you won’t have to-”

“I want to terminate.” you interrupt Shinobu. The Insect Hashira tries not to appear shocked by your words. She would never judge you for whatever decision you chose. 

You watch Shinobu nod her head. You couldn’t imagine bringing a child into the world now - not while you were a part of the Corps. It also wouldn’t be fair to Sanemi. You lived in his house, after all. He had made his decision when it came to whatever relationship you had and you were now making yours.

It’s nightfall when you return back to Sanemi’s estate and you’re surprised to see him at the table eating and Sanemi appears to be just as surprised to see you. Upon returning home from his rounds, he assumed you were in bed for the night - but he was proven wrong when you strolled through the shoji doors.

Lilac eyes meet yours and Sanemi notes that there’s something wrong with you. He remains silent, as do you. His heart continues to jolt in your presence, hands yearning to touch your soft skin again. 

“Shinazugawa.” you murmur your acknowledgment to him. 

Shinazugawa.

You never called him that, Sanemi things. But he doesn’t have the right to feel away about it.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay here.” you begin. Sanemi drops his chopsticks, attention fully on you. “I’m grateful to have been trained by you.”

Where were you going with this?

“I’ll be taking my leave.”

You turn away from him, Sanemi watching your figure saunter down the hall. He hears your shoji doors open but not close. There’s shuffling in your room and now he decides to get up to see what you were doing.

“Where are you going?” Sanemi’s heart is pounding now at the sight of you holding a bag with your belongings. It’s the first time he spoke to you directly.

“I’ve…decided to leave.”

Sanemi glances away. “Where are you going?”

You shift in your stance. “I’ve spoken to Oyakata-sama. I have a few missions lined up before I leave the Corps.”

Sanemi’s head snaps to you. He’s checking your face for any sign of deceit. He doesn’t find any - instead your eyes are lined with moisture. Your throat is bobbing as if attempting to not cry at the words you’re speaking.

“I’m sorry that I’ve become a burden.”

Reach out to her - Sanemi things.

Hold her.

Tell her she was never a burden.

Sanemi remains silent.

You stroll past him, your familiar scent passing him.

“You don’t have to leave.” Sanemi calls just as you’re a foot out the door. 

You don’t want to leave.

Sanemi doesn’t want you to leave.

Apologize to her.

Tell her how you feel.

Tell her you love her.

Sanemi’s mind races with his own thoughts that he doesn’t realize you’re already leaving.

“Y/N-”  Sanemi follows behind you, pace picking up to reach you. “Where are you going now? After you leave the Corps?”

You feel Sanemi’s hand around your wrist to stop you from walking. 

“Back home.” you respond, unable to look at him. You made your decision to leave and going against that wouldn’t be the correct decision for you.

Sanemi gulps. He releases his hand from your wrist.

“I hope you don’t feel as if it was a waste of time training me. I wasn’t a part of the Corps for long.” 

You were never a waste of his time, Sanemi wants to say, but his mind is racing and his heart is longing for you. 

Why were you going back home to your father? The same man that sold you to someone - that abused you for years on end?

“Thank you, Sanemi. For everything. I must be going.”

Tell her to stay.

Tell her she doesn’t have to leave here - leave you.

Tell her you love her- that you pushed her away because you were disgusted with yourself.

Tell her how horrible you felt that you took advantage of her innocence.

Sanemi doesn’t say anything and instead watches until your figure disappears. For the first time in years, he feels like he could shed tears at the loss of someone he loved.

Final Part

[melodygatesauthor]

Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Three - The Therapist

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

Summary: I arrived in a different universe, and in this one you’re a therapist. I saw your name on one of the doors when the orderlies were dragging me down the hall to a cell. I guess luck was on my side, I wouldn’t have to search very far for you this time, not that I would’ve been given a chance anyway. When the orderlies saw me, I think I scared them and they thought I was delusional. They took my watch, I’ll have to get that back…but I have to find you first.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was a morning like every other.

You pulled into the parking lot of the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, coffee in hand, ready to start your day. You loved your job as a therapist, especially when you felt like everything was in order. You had a good handle on your patients, all of them making good progress on their goals; nothing felt more rewarding as a mental health provider.

But you weren’t prepared for the wrench the unsuspecting six foot nine man was about to throw your way.

You wondered if your success was the reason you were assigned the new and highly delusional patient. After getting into your office and pulling out his nearly empty file, you looked at him from across your desk, his eyes calm, but unsettlingly trained on you. He had a slight smirk curling at the corners of his lips, as though he were trying to appear less intimidating. His size alone was enough to make any sane person quiver. He didn’t even try to tug on his restraints though, and that put you a little more at ease.

“Miguel O’Hara…” you said, closing the thin manila folder in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you I’m–”

“I know your name.”

Miguel sat, strapped uselessly to the wheelchair the orderlies had brought him in. He knew he could rip the restraints off at any given moment, but when he’d heard he was being assigned to you as his therapist, he decided to behave. He needed to see you; he needed to talk to you.

This was a change of pace. In his universe, you were a graphic designer. It was something you’d always enjoyed. In the second one, despite working at a coffee shop, you still seemed to have a hobby of creating artwork for some side income. Now you were a therapist. It was unexpected, but in the multiverse, anything was possible. Miguel was just glad that it seemed like in this universe, you’d never met him before, making this a lot easier - he didn’t have to worry about eliminating his alternate -.

“The orderlies said that you were wandering the halls when they found you? They said that when you saw my name you specifically asked for me to treat you. Why?” You crossed your legs and narrowed your eyes at the man.

You were careful while talking to this one. He was massive in size, not only in his height, but this man wasn’t skipping arm day, that’s for sure. You trusted him, despite being told not to trust patients - they can be manipulative - but you knew he was strong enough to rip his arms from the restraints at any given moment, and yet he sat there. To say you were intrigued was an understatement. Who was this man? And how did he know you?

After wasting so much time in the last universe, he wanted to change his approach. He wanted to try being more direct and honest with you. With a deep sigh, he pressed his lips together and looked you in the eye. You looked good all dressed up in your little pencil skirt and white blouse. He’d never seen you in a lip color that shade of red, but he liked it. Even if you weren’t quite the same, he liked the way you looked in this universe.

“Because, I traveled a long way to find you mi vida,” he started, smirking at you rather pathetically, but he was desperate for you to understand, “and I’m going to tell you why you’re going to take these restraints off my wrists and say yes when I ask you to marry me.”

Your patients had said some crazy shit before. Being in an insane asylum, even a minimum security one, naturally you would expect to hear some outlandish things, but that had to be the most delusional thing you’d heard to date. You furrowed your brow, continuing to take notes. You hummed in amusement.

“You’re very bold, Mr. O’Hara–”

“Miguel.”

“Miguel.” You cleared your throat, smirking in an attempt to show that you weren’t fazed by his surprising statement, “you’ve piqued my curiosity, but I’m certainly not sure why you think I would do that.”

“Ask me.”

“Ask you what?” You asked, scribbling more notes on your legal pad.

“Ask me how I became so wracked with grief that I created a device to travel the multiverse just so I could find you again,” he said, eyes darting between yours to see if you believed a word coming out of his mouth.

You were stunned. You’d seen patients in a catatonic state, but this wasn’t like that, he was far too clear as he spoke. This also didn’t present as the usual schizophrenic case you would expect to see from the majority of your patients. He was completely calm, making eye contact, and very direct in his line of thinking. He was either so deep in his delusion that he genuinely believed everything coming out of his mouth…or he was telling the truth.

“Miguel, why don’t you tell me more about how you got here, let’s start with that.”

Redirection didn’t always work, but if you could find a crack in his story, you might be able to get him back to a basis in reality.

“I used my watch, the one that security took from me. Gonna need that back by the way, very dangerous if it gets into the wrong hands.” He leaned forward a little, eyes narrowing on you. “I used my watch to travel from a universe where you were a barista with a piss poor attitude, to this one where you’re a therapist apparently.”

You scoffed, “I was a barista?”

Miguel could tell you weren’t buying it, so he decided to be more direct now. 

“Listen, I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die,” he watched your expression to see how you’d react.

Regardless of how delusional he sounded, something like that would make anyone feel a bit uneasy. You shifted in your chair, putting your pen down on the desk. Miguel’s expression softened, likely seeing that his words had an effect on you. After all the years of you being a therapist, you’d never let a patient make you uncomfortable like that. 

“I think that’s enough for today,” you said, standing up and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Miguel yelled, wheelchair creaking forward a smidge when his body lurched to try and stop you. It worked. You turned and looked at him. “You have to believe me. I’m just trying to keep you alive. If you don’t listen to me…you’ll die.”

“Goodbye, Mr. O’Hara,” you said, opening your office door. “You’re going to be reassigned to a different therapist. I don’t think I’m a good fit for you.”

“No no no, wait!” He pulled his hands free from the restraints, something you both knew he was capable of.

He grabbed you by the shoulders, “Help!” You yelled, only resulting in his strong hand covering your mouth quickly.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to talk,” he said, voice trembling in desperation.

You looked terrified, and rightfully so. This huge man that you’d never met before was towering over you, staring at you with such intensity, you thought you might faint in terror. He took his hand off your mouth and held a finger to his lips.

“Shh, mi vida, por favor,” he spoke softly, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“G-go sit down in your chair n-now,” you said, legs shaking wildly.

He put his hands up in surrender, showing you that he was willing to comply with your request. He walked over and sat down in his chair, the weight of his body forcing the equipment to sigh under his frame. There was a silence in the room, a silence that made it easy to hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You took a deep breath.

Miguel recognized that face, you were going to run. He sighed, he’d tried a different approach this time, and it didn’t pay off. Instead, his attempt had you rushing out into the hall, shouting for an orderly or two to help you. He didn’t fight them when they ran in, sticking him with a couple of syringes, being too massive for only one to do the job.

You didn’t stop thinking about him for the entire night. His words rang through your mind like a broken record:

‘I’m looking for the universe where you don’t die’.

No matter how hard you tried to shake it from your mind, it was impossible. For a week you managed to avoid talking to him again, but your curiosity - or perhaps it was your anxiety -, got the better of you. Your co-worker, and the patient coordinator, Stacy, spoke to you exactly one week after you’d last spoken to Miguel.

“He’s still asking for you every day,” she said, handing you his chart, “Dr. Harrow doesn’t want to work with him anymore, says he’s not getting anywhere with Mr. O’Hara.”

You took his file from her hands, looking it over, “So you put him back in there with me, knowing how dangerous he is and that he’s targeting me? That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

She followed you down the hall as you walked, “I said that, but the higher ups insisted that you should see him. They gave him more sedatives and stronger restraints than last time so–”

“So nothing, I can’t believe they’d do this,” you said, tone laced in frustration.

You weren’t sure if you were upset because you were worried he was going to physically harm you, or if you were worried that there was validity to the words that had kept you up every night for the last several nights. You stopped in front of your office door, letting out a deep exhale. Stacy touched your back, patting it gently.

“Well, at least he’s hot.” She chuckled.

You rolled your eyes at her before opening the door and stepping into your office. There he was, sitting in the chair, eyes hooded from the sedatives when he looked up at you. His restraints were doubled, both his legs and wrists tied down with metal this time, rather than the flimsy leather from before. You felt a little better, but you were still afraid of what he might say. No patient of yours had ever been so direct when targeting you before.

“Hello again Mr. O’Har–”

“Miguel…or you can just call me ‘baby’, the way you used to,” he said, words coming out in a slow drawl due to his mentally inhibited state.

“Miguel…” you said with a sigh, “I’ll continue to treat you, but you need to be more appropriate when you speak to me or you’ll have to seek treatment elsewhere.”

“Did I scare you? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sounded genuine, eyes looking up at you from under his lashes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting your unease, so you nodded with a meek ‘thanks’, before sitting down behind your desk. He leaned over and wiped his drool slick lips on his shoulder, unsuccessful in cleaning the mess. Inappropriate as it may have been, you weren’t going to let the poor guy sit there in a mess like that.

You took a tissue and walked over to him. Miguel couldn’t believe you would touch him, not after the way he’d frightened you. He thought this version of you would be impossible to get through to after his first interaction with you, but perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps being blunt with you was going to work after all.

You held the tissue in your hand and wiped his lips. You damned yourself for mentally commenting on how soft they looked. With a shaky breath, you finished and sat back down at your desk. You crossed your arms over your chest.

“You didn’t want to talk to anyone else so…go ahead…talk,” you took out a notebook and a pen, waiting for him to start.

“Was that Stacy? Or maybe it was Mira?” He chuckled, watching your eyes flick up quickly to lock onto his.

“So you saw my co-worker’s name plate at some point, I presume? Who let you walk by the front desk of the asylum?” You asked, feeling a pit of unease forming in your stomach at his mention of your two closest friends and coworkers.

He shrugged, “I saw Stacy’s yes, is Mira not your co-worker in this universe?”

He could see you getting anxious. You always clicked your pen incessantly when you did, back in his universe. He wasn’t trying to make you feel crazy, but rather, he was trying to make you realize that he was sane. Finally, you looked at him again.

“M-Mira used to work here, but how do you know–”

“What about Emily? Your step sister…”

“No…no, no, no…” you got up quickly, heading for the door.

Miguel called your name, and you stopped, turning slowly to face him.

“I’m not trying to scare you, mi vida, I’m trying to save your life. If you would…please…entertain me for just a moment.” He rattled his wrists in his chair. “I couldn’t do anything to hurt you even if I wanted to. I’m fucking…I’m drooling on myself and I’m stuck to this damn chair.”

You stared at him for a while, considering your options. If he was insane, which was the most likely explanation, then helping him through this was your duty as a therapist. If he was telling the truth…you needed to try and figure out what he meant anyway. No matter which way you sliced it, the only way you could sleep at night would be to hear him out. You slowly walked back to your desk and sat down. When you picked your pen back up you realized that you were shaking.

“Have you been stalking me?” You asked bluntly.

“No,” he returned your tone. “I know you, I know you well, and if you’ll hear me out with an open mind for just a second, I can explain everything to you.”

You gestured with your arms to give him the floor. He nodded, thanking you in Spanish before letting out a deep sigh.

Miguel told you everything, from the day you first met in his universe to the day you died. He talked in depth about things in your life that he knew only you would know. He damned himself for crying while he explained how much he loved you. Then he went on to tell you about the second universe, where you worked at a quaint little coffee shop barista, but he didn’t express the same emotion toward that version of you as he had the first.

When he was done, you sat there in awe, doing your best to process. Not only did you believe his every word, you were trying not to fall into an existential crisis upon learning that the multiverse might actually exist. You gulped, reminding yourself quickly that if a patient is delusional enough, they can tell a lie and still pass a polygraph test. All it takes is for them to believe that lie to be true with all their heart. If he was a good enough stalker, he could easily be making all of this up, and combined with heavy delusions, you had a recipe for someone too crazy for your paygrade. He needed more care than you could provide.

“Miguel…” you looked him in the eye, unsure of how to respond.

A buzzer saved you, indicating that the time for your session was at an end. He didn’t fight, he’d learned the hard way that breaking the rules of the asylum would get him nowhere. Regardless, he couldn’t continue like this for long, he was wasting too much time. If this version of you wasn’t going to see things his way, he needed to move on.

One more session…

Both of you were thinking the same thing without realizing. You would give him one more session to sway you one way or another, and he would give you one more to make up your mind before he moved forward.

He was already waiting for you in your office when he heard you clicking down the hall toward the door. He heard you stop, and then Stacy started talking to you.

“I texted Mira and she’s down, you wanna come out for drinks with us?” Stacy asked.

Miguel’s heart nearly stopped. Was this it already? Was this the day you’d die if he didn’t stop you from going out with your damn friends? He thought about the last universe though. You still died, even before you were supposed to go out with your friends, as though it were a static event that happened in every universe you existed in.

“Yeah sure that sounds fun! I’ll meet you at your place around seven?”

Once you finished finalizing your plans, you made your way into the office and sat down behind your desk, trying not to make eye contact with the man whose words had kept you up at night over the last week. You averted his gaze until you couldn’t anymore, finally looking at him and sighing heavily.

“Hi Miguel, how was your week?”

You started the same way you started every session.

“If you go out with your friends tonight, you’ll die,” he said, speaking coldly, “I told you that’s how you died before, remember?”

“You really expect me to believe that? Come on. I’ve been wracking my brain all week trying to decide how I felt about what you said and I’m not buying it.” You spoke with little conviction, voice wavering slightly. “Plus in the second universe you said I died getting hit by a car, not from being in a car so–”

“I know, but the days started the same both times, your friends talking about meeting up for drinks and you agreeing to go,” he sighed, “What have you got to lose, hm?” He looked intense now. “If I’m wrong, then you can toss me in my cell for the rest of my days and label me insane, but if I’m right, then you’re going to come back here and realize that I’m telling the truth.”

“How…how will I know that you’re telling the truth versus making this up?”

You’d left out the fact that Stacy and Mira died in each universe as well, not wanting to complicate things by mentioning them. He looked up at you, brow furrowed and face full of frustration. He was hoping that after you finally believed him, that this alternate version of you would be worth all this time he’d put into you.

“You’ll just know.”

He was right.

The next day you came into work, despite having just lost your two closest friends, to confront the insane man who suddenly didn’t seem so insane. If you’d been in the car with them that night, you would’ve died alongside them. You stormed into your office after demanding Miguel be brought in to see you immediately. You’d grabbed his watch from storage, putting it on your desk.

Success had never looked so heartbreaking. Miguel hated seeing you so distraught. Your bottom lip was trembling and your eyes were glossed over with tears. He hated being right sometimes. You pointed to the watch with a shaking hand. Your face held a combination of anger and sorrow etched in every pore.

“You’re saying that this thing is…you can travel to other universes–”

“Si, honey but listen–”

“-going on but I believe you, I really fucking believe you–”

Your eyes were crazed, “mi vida, don’t touch that please, it’s not–”

“-through the multiverse and I mean, you’re insane and I’m insane for even thinking you might–”

You picked up the watch, holding it in your hand and putting it on your wrist while you continued to talk over Miguel’s desperate protests. He started wriggling in his chair, trying desperately to get free. You didn’t understand how that thing worked. It wasn’t made for you.

“-I thought to myself why the hell didn’t I just take this damn thing and prove once and for all that–!”

It wasn’t made for you…

When Miguel built it, he’d put in a failsafe to prevent anyone else from taking it and using it. If someone stole it from him, or he ended up in an insane asylum and had it confiscated, they wouldn’t be able to take it to another universe, leaving him behind and helpless. Since there was no telling where the watch would take him, he wanted to prevent the possibility of ending up in one that didn’t have modern technology, and getting stuck there…without you. So it was hardwired to work with only his DNA, and no one else’s.

It would appear that his failsafe ended up being what killed you in that universe. You pressed the button on the watch, waiting for something to happen with bated breath. Miguel hoped that his device would malfunction. He’d taken a liking to this version of you, but it didn’t. He watched as your body convulsed, flesh bubbling and tearing from the inside out as the energy that would normally transport him from one place to another coursed through you.

Your screams would be etched into his memories for the rest of his days. It didn’t matter that you weren’t the original, it was still your voice crying for help and ringing through his ears. He’d never seen anything so horrific, not even in horror films. You were gone again, and this time he felt despair again. He almost wished that if you were going to die, that you’d gone in the car with your friends instead, that way he wouldn’t have to go to the next universe covered in your blood and with the sound of your cries on repeat in his head.

He managed to shimmy himself over to the part of your blazer where he knew you kept your ring of keys. Tipping over onto the floor he could get to them, moving his wrist in a way that just barely reached the lock holding his hand in place. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, truly, but when three orderlies and a security guard tried to stop him from getting his bag containing his personal items, including that photo of the original you, he had no choice. He even warned them to stay out of his way, but when they didn’t listen, he was forced to make them.

Stepping over their bodies, bag in hand and watch on his wrist, he activated the device. He was still searching for the perfect you.

Thank you for reading! You can support your favorite writers by the simple act of reblogging AND liking! Thank you again!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[daytaker]

The Gang's Tumblr Pages

Inspired by this and my own reaction to it.

Lucifer

Perfectly curated, perfectly formatted, and whenever there's a major change to the tumblr format, he simply leaves the website altogether in a huff of peacock feathers.

Lots of HD photography of nature getting reblogged.

Has an extremely complicated and specific list of tags he uses for every single post.

He only reblogs text posts that are sufficiently visually appealing. Very few meet his high standards.

You could look through his entire blog and not learn one single thing about him except that he's a perfectionist to the point of neurosis.

He has a lot of professional art blogs following him.

Mammon

Oversharing oversharing oversharing!!!!

He regularly gets himself in trouble by shouting about the shit he's done into the void of the internet.

Tried to have a tagging system but forgets about 7/10 times.

Reblogs himself all the time to say "AND ANOTHER THING!!!"

He hates looking at the actual blog pages. The text is always so tiny and some of them start playing music and changing his mouse into a weird shape? No thank you.

He has very few followers and he doesn't really care. Who goes on tumblr for the social element? Weirdos, that's who.

He's insanely easy to troll with anonymous asks. Everyone has done it. Even Lucifer, though he wouldn't admit it.

Some of his best asks:

"did u just post that you're okay with the idea of ponies and unicorns breeding. like no shade on that conceptually but why."

"If you reblog another 'reblog this for good luck' post, I will personally break down your door and steal your skin."

"ur ugly" "yeah-huh" "ugly" "no i won't 'come off anon and fight u' whhy don't you come ON anon and fight me?" "'i don't know how' sounds like something a chicken would say"

Leviathan

He just makes a blog like one of us. Fandom stuff.

Except he's multifandom to the extreme. It's impossible to keep track of his interests because he always has so many simultaneously.

He has the most followers of the brothers just because he gets so deep into so many fandoms that they come rolling in.

He has blocked all of his brothers except for the twins. They're okay.

His blog is a chaotic mess but there is order within the madness. He has a masterpost of tags that explains everything if you care to look at it. (I don't recommend it.)

Satan

It feels stupid to even put this in writing but...cat pics. Endless cat pics. That's like 90% of his blog.

The other 10% is a mixture of book recommendations and analysis, Lucifer shade, and a comprehensive, ever-expanding list of shit Lucifer has done to make Satan angry. It's a very long list. It's organized by theme.

"Lucifer inflicts unjust punishments." "Lucifer makes unnecessary snide remarks." "Lucifer simping for Diavolo and MC (pathetic)."

His blog itself is very minimalist and clean.

He's another fastidious tagger. He tags the cat pics by color, breed, age, number of cats, setting...

Asmodeus

He's not very into tumblr. It's like Devilgram but more complicated and less popular.

Sometimes he'll post or reblog 'aesthetic' things. Moodboards and the like.

In general though, he doesn't really 'get' tumblr.

People don't post selfies very often. Weird.

Beelzebub

Food blog.

Just food.

Reblogging hot dogs.

Reblogging nachos.

Reblogging ice cream.

Nothing else. Ever.

Belphegor

"This minimalist Tumblr has no posts."

No posts.

Default profile picture.

Sometimes he'll like something.

Usually he just looks at it.

Diavolo

There is no order. Only chaos.

He hardly ever uses it, then he'll come online and reblog a million things that have nothing to do with each other. Then he'll go silent again.

He has no tagging system.

He has no custom theme.

He is very friendly to all anonymous askers though.

Barbatos

Barbatos would never have a tumblr. Don't be ridiculous.

Solomon

He only posts very rarely. He prefers to lurk.

When he does post, it's something weird as fuck, like reblogging statistics about owl pellet contents.

He likes to keep people on their toes.

Simeon

Reblogging inspirational quotes, pictures of nature, and general positivity.

That is, once he figures out how the website works.

That takes a really long time.

What is a queue? What are tags? Why is it called a "reblog"? How does he track activity? How does he navigate the homepage? Why does it post things in such a strange order? What is a "Blaze"? What is a draft? Custom URL? Custom Theme? Sideblogs? Mass Post Editor?

Someone please help him.

Solomon probably does that.

Luke

Baking.

He uses tumblr for recipes and images of baked goods.

But tumblr isn't even the best place to go for that, so he isn't on very often.

He sometimes likes Simeon's posts, just as a show of support since he knows how hard Simeon works to post anything anywhere.

[ohgaylor]

In 2006, the year Taylor Swift released her first single, a closeted country singer named Chely Wright, then 35, held a 9-millimeter pistol to her mouth. Queer identity was still taboo enough in mainstream America that speaking about her love for another woman would have spelled the end of a country music career. But in suppressing her identity, Ms. Wright had risked her life.

In 2010, she came out to the public, releasing a confessional memoir, “Like Me,” in which she wrote that country music was characterized by culturally enforced closeting, where queer stars would be seen as unworthy of investment unless they lied about their lives. “Country music,” she wrote, “is like the military — don’t ask, don’t tell.”

The culture in which Ms. Wright picked up that gun — the same one in which Ms. Swift first became a star — was stunningly different from today’s. It’s dizzying to think about the strides that have been made in Americans’ acceptance of the L.G.B.T.Q. community over the past decade: marriage equality, queer themes dominating teen entertainment, anti-discrimination laws in housing and, for now, in the workplace. But in recent years, a steady drip of now-out stars — Cara Delevingne, Colton Haynes, Elliot Page, Kristen Stewart, Raven-Symoné and Sam Smith among them — have disclosed that they had been encouraged to suppress their queerness in order to market projects or remain bankable.

The culture of country music hasn’t changed so much that homophobia is gone. Just this past summer, Adam Mac, an openly gay country artist, was shamed out of playing at a festival in his hometown because of his sexual orientation. In September, the singer Maren Morris stepped away from country music; she said she did so in part because of the industry’s lingering anti-queerness. If country music hasn’t changed enough, what’s to say that the larger entertainment industry — and, by extension, our broader culture — has?

Periodically, I return to a video, recorded by a shaky hand more than a decade ago, of Ms. Wright answering questions at a Borders bookstore about her coming out. She likens closeted stardom to a blender, an “insane” and “inhumane” heteronormative machine in which queer artists are chewed to bits.

“It’s going to keep going,” Ms. Wright says, “until someone who has something to lose stands up and just says ‘I’m gay.’ Somebody big.” She continues: “We need our heroes.”

What if someone had already tried, at least once, to change the culture by becoming such a hero? What if, because our culture had yet to come to terms with homophobia, it wasn’t ready for her?

What if that hero’s name was Taylor Alison Swift?

In the world of Taylor Swift, the start of a new “era” means the release of new art (an album and the paratexts — music videos, promotional ephemera, narratives — that supplement it) and a wholesale remaking of the aesthetics that will accompany its promotion, release and memorializing. In recent years, Ms. Swift has dominated pop culture to such a degree that these transformations often end up altering American culture in the process.

In 2019, she was set to release a new album, “Lover,” the first since she left Big Machine Records, her old Nashville-based label, which she has since said limited her creative freedom. The aesthetic of what would be known as the “Lover Era” emerged as rainbows, butterflies and pastel shades of blue, purple and pink, colors that subtly evoke the bisexual pride flag.

On April 26, Lesbian Visibility Day, Ms. Swift released the album’s lead single, “ME!,” in which she sings about self-love and self-acceptance. She co-directed a campy music video to accompany it, which she would later describe as depicting “everything that makes me, me.” It features Ms. Swift dancing at a pride parade, dripping in rainbow paint and turning down a man’s marriage proposal in exchange for a … pussy cat.

At the end of June, the L.G.B.T.Q. community would celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots. On June 14, Ms. Swift released the video for her attempt at a pride anthem, “You Need to Calm Down,” in which she and an army of queer celebrities from across generations — the “Queer Eye” hosts, Ellen DeGeneres, Billy Porter, Hayley Kiyoko, to name a few — resist homophobia by living openly. Ms. Swift sings that outrage against queer visibility is a waste of time and energy: “Why are you mad, when you could be GLAAD?”

The video ends with a plea: “Let’s show our pride by demanding that, on a national level, our laws truly treat all of our citizens equally.” Many, in the press and otherwise, saw the video as, at best, a misguided attempt at allyship and, at worst, a straight woman co-opting queer aesthetics and narratives to promote a commercial product.

Then, Ms. Swift performed “Shake It Off” as a surprise for patrons at the Stonewall Inn. Rumors — that were, perhaps, little more than fantasies — swirled in the queerer corners of her fandom, stoked by a suggestive post by the fashion designer Christian Siriano. Would Ms. Swift attend New York City’s WorldPride march on June 30? Would she wear a dress spun from a rainbow? Would she give a speech? If she did, what would she declare about herself?

The Sunday of the march, those fantasies stopped. She announced that the music executive Scooter Braun, who she described as an “incessant, manipulative” bully, had purchased her masters, the lucrative original recordings of her work.

Ms. Swift’s “Lover” was the first record that she created with nearly unchecked creative freedom. Lacking her old label’s constraints, she specifically chose to feature activism for and the aesthetics of the L.G.B.T.Q. community in her confessional, self-expressive art. Even before the sale of her masters, she appeared to be stepping into a new identity — not just an aesthetic — that was distinct from that associated with her past six albums.

When looking back on the artifacts of the months before that album’s release, any close reader of Ms. Swift has a choice. We can consider the album’s aesthetics and activism as performative allyship, as they were largely considered to be at the time. Or we can ask a question, knowing full well that we may never learn the answer: What if the “Lover Era” was merely Ms. Swift’s attempt to douse her work — and herself — in rainbows, as so many baby queers feel compelled to do as they come out to the world?

There’s no way of knowing what could have happened if Ms. Swift’s masters hadn’t been sold. All we know is what happened next. In early August, Ms. Swift posted a rainbow-glazed photo of a series of friendship bracelets, one of which says “PROUD” with beads in the color of the bisexual pride flag. Queer people recognize that this word, deployed this way, typically means that someone is proud of their own identity. But the public did not widely view this as Ms. Swift’s coming out.

Then, Vogue released an interview with Ms. Swift that had been conducted in early June. When discussing her motivations for releasing “You Need to Calm Down,” Ms. Swift said, “Rights are being stripped from basically everyone who isn’t a straight white cisgender male.” She continued: “I didn’t realize until recently that I could advocate for a community that I’m not a part of.” That statement suggests that Ms. Swift did not, in early June, consider herself part of the L.G.B.T.Q. community; it does not illuminate whether that is because she was a straight, cis ally or because she was stuck in the shadowy, solitary recesses of the closet.

On Aug. 22, Ms. Swift publicly committed herself to the as-of-then-unproven project of rerecording and rereleasing her first six albums. The next day, she finally released “Lover,” which raises more questions than it answers. Why does she have to keep secrets just to keep her muse, as all her fans still sing-scream on “Cruel Summer”? About what are the “hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you,” in her chronicle of self-doubt, “The Archer,” if not her identity? And what could the album’s closing words, which come at the conclusion of “Daylight,” a song about stepping out of a 20-year darkness and choosing to “let it go,” possibly signal?

I want to be defined by the things that I love,

Not the things I hate,

Not the things that I’m afraid of, I’m afraid of,

Not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night,

I just think that,

You are what you love.

The first time I viewed “Lover” through the prism of queerness, I felt delirious, almost insane. I kept wondering whether what I was perceiving in her work was truly there or if it was merely a mirage, born of earnest projection.

My longtime reading of Ms. Swift’s celebrity — like that of a majority of her fan base — had been stuck in the lingering assumptions left by a period that began more than a decade and a half ago, when a girl with an overexaggerated twang, Shirley Temple curls and Georgia stars in her eyes became famous. Then, she presented as all that was to be expected of a young starlet: attractive yet virginal, knowing yet naïve, not talented enough to be formidable, not commanding enough to be threatening, confessional, eager to please. Her songs earnestly depicted the fantasies of a girl raised in a traditional culture: high school crushes and backwoods drives, princelings and wedding rings, declarations of love that climax only in a kiss — ideally in the pouring rain.

When Ms. Swift was trying to sell albums in that late-2000s media environment, her songwriting didn’t match the image of a sex object, the usual role reserved for female celebrities in our culture. Instead, the story the public told about her was that she laundered her affection to a litter of promising grown men, in exchange for songwriting inspiration. A young Ms. Swift contributed to this narrative by hiding easy-to-decode clues in liner notes that suggested a certain someone was her songs’ inspiration (“SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM SAM,” “ADAM,” “TAY”) or calling out an ex-boyfriend on the “Ellen” show and “Saturday Night Live.” Despite the expansive storytelling in Ms. Swift’s early records, her public image often cast a man’s interest as her greatest ambition.

As Ms. Swift’s career progressed, she began to remake that image: changing her style and presentation, leaving country music for pop and moving from Nashville to New York. By 2019, her celebrity no longer reflected traditional culture; it had instead become a girlboss-y mirror for another dominant culture — that of white, cosmopolitan, neoliberal America.

But in every incarnation, the public has largely seen those songs — especially those for which she doesn’t directly state her inspiration — as cantos about her most recent heterosexual love, whether that idea is substantiated by evidence or not. A large portion of her base still relishes debating what might have happened with the gentleman caller who supposedly inspired her latest album. Feverish discussions of her escapades with the latest yassified London Boy or mustachioed Mr. Americana fuel the tabloid press — and, embarrassingly, much of traditional media — that courts fan engagement by relentlessly, unquestioningly chronicling Ms. Swift’s love life.

Even in 2023, public discussion about the romantic entanglements of Ms. Swift, 34, presumes that the right man will “finally” mean the end of her persistent husbandlessness and childlessness. Whatever you make of Ms. Swift’s extracurricular activities involving a certain football star (romance for the ages? strategic brand partnership? performance art for entertainment’s sake?), the public’s obsession with the relationship has been attention-grabbing, if not lucrative, for all parties, while reinforcing a story that America has long loved to tell about Ms. Swift, and by extension, itself.

Because Ms. Swift hasn’t undeniably subverted our culture’s traditional expectations, she has managed, in an increasingly fractured cultural environment, to simultaneously capture two dominant cultures — traditional and cosmopolitan. To maintain the stranglehold she has on pop culture, Ms. Swift must continue to tell a story that those audiences expect to consume; she falls in love with a man or she gets revenge. As a result, her confessional songs languish in a place of presumed stasis; even as their meaning has grown deeper and their craft more intricate, a substantial portion of her audience’s understanding of them remains wedded to the same old narratives.

But if interpretations of Ms. Swift’s art often languish in stasis, so do the millions upon millions of people who love to play with the dollhouse she has constructed for them. Her dominance in pop culture and the success of her business have given her the rare ability to influence not only her industry but also the worldview of a substantial portion of America. How might her industry, our culture and we, ourselves, change if we made space for Ms. Swift to burn that dollhouse to the ground?

Anyone considering the whole of Ms. Swift’s artistry — the way that her brilliantly calculated celebrity mixes with her soul-baring art — can find discrepancies between the story that underpins her celebrity and the one captured by her songs. One such gap can be found in her “Lover” era. Others appear alongside “dropped hairpins,” or the covert ways someone can signal queer identity to those in the know while leaving others comfortable in their ignorance. Ms. Swift dropped hairpins before “Lover” and has continued to do so since.

Sometimes, Ms. Swift communicates through explicit sartorial choices — hair the colors of the bisexual pride flag or a recurring motif of rainbow dresses. She frequently depicts herself as trapped in glass closets or, well, in regular closets. She drops hairpins on tour as well, paying tribute to the Serpentine Dance of the lesbian artist Loie Fuller during the Reputation Tour or referencing “The Ladder,” one of the earliest lesbian publications in the United States, in her Eras Tour visuals.

During the Eras Tour, Ms. Swift traps her past selves — including those from her “Lover” era — in glass closets.

Dropped hairpins also appear in Ms. Swift’s songwriting. Sometimes, the description of a muse — the subject of her song, or to whom she sings — seems to fit only a woman, as it does in “It’s Nice to Have a Friend,” “Maroon” or “Hits Different.” Sometimes she suggests a female muse through unfulfilled rhyme schemes, as she does in “The Very First Night,” when she sings “didn’t read the note on the Polaroid picture / they don’t know how much I miss you” (“her,” instead of that pesky little “you,” would rhyme). Her songwriting also noticeably alludes to poets whose muses the historical record incorrectly cast as men — Emily Dickinson chief among them — as if to suggest the same fate awaits her art. Stunningly, she even explicitly refers to dropping hairpins, not once, but twice, on two separate albums.

In isolation, a single dropped hairpin is perhaps meaningless or accidental, but considered together, they’re the unfurling of a ballerina bun after a long performance. Those dropped hairpins began to appear in Ms. Swift’s artistry long before queer identity was undeniably marketable to mainstream America. They suggest to queer people that she is one of us. They also suggest that her art may be far more complex than the eclipsing nature of her celebrity may allow, even now.

Since at least her “Lover” era, Ms. Swift has explicitly encouraged her fans to read into the coded messages (which she calls “Easter eggs”) she leaves in music videos, social media posts and interviews with traditional media outlets, but a majority of those fans largely ignore or discount the dropped hairpins that might hint at queer identity. For them, acknowledging even the possibility that Ms. Swift could be queer would irrevocably alter the way they connect with her celebrity, the true product they’re consuming.

There is such public devotion to the traditional narrative Ms. Swift embodies because American culture enshrines male power. In her sweeping essay, “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence,” the lesbian feminist poet Adrienne Rich identified the way that male power cramps, hinders or devalues women’s creativity. All of the sexist undertones with which Ms. Swift’s work can be discussed (often, even, by fans) flow from compulsory heterosexuality, or the way patriarchy draws power from the presumption that women naturally desire men. She must write about men she surely loves or be unbankable; she must marry and bear children or remain a child herself; she must look like, in her words, a “sexy baby” or be undesirable, “a monster on the hill.”

A woman who loves women is most certainly a monster to a society that prizes male power. She can fulfill none of the functions that a traditional culture imagines — wife, mother, maid, mistress, whore — so she has few places in the historical record. The Sapphic possibility of her work is ignored, censored or lost to time. If there is queerness earnestly implied in Ms. Swift’s work, then it’s no wonder that it, like that of so many other artists before her, is so often rendered invisible in the public imagination.

While Ms. Swift’s songs, largely written from her own perspective, cannot always conform to the idea of a woman our culture expects, her celebrity can. That separation, between Swift the songwriter and Swift the star, allows Ms. Swift to press against the golden birdcage in which she has found herself. She can write about women’s complexity in her confessional songs, but if ever she chooses not to publicly comply with the dominant culture’s fantasy, she will remain uncategorizable, and therefore, unsellable.

Her star — as bright as it is now — would surely dim.

Whether she is conscious of it or not, Ms. Swift signals to queer people — in the language we use to communicate with one another — that she has some affinity for queer identity. There are some queer people who would say that through this sort of signaling, she has already come out, at least to us. But what about coming out in a language the rest of the public will understand?

The difference between any person coming out and a celebrity doing so is the difference between a toy mallet and a sledgehammer. It’s reasonable for celebrities to be reticent; by coming out, they potentially invite death threats, a dogged tabloid press that will track their lovers instead of their beards, the excavation of their past lives, a torrent of public criticism and the implosion of their careers. In a culture of compulsory heterosexuality, to stop lying — by omission or otherwise — is to risk everything.

American culture still expects that stars are cis and straight until they confess themselves guilty. So, when our culture imagines a celebrity’s coming out, it expects an Ellen-style announcement that will submerge the past life in phoenix fire and rebirth the celebrity in a new image. In an ideal culture, wearing a bracelet that says “PROUD,” waving a pride flag onstage, placing a rainbow in album artwork or suggestively answering fan questions on Instagram would be enough. But our current reality expects a supernova.

Because of that expectation, stars end up trapped behind glass, which is reinforced by the tabloid press’s subtle social control. That press shapes the public’s expectations of others’ identities, even when those identities are chasms away from reality. Celebrities who master this press environment — Ms. Swift included — can bolster their business, but in doing so, they reinforce a heteronormative culture that obsesses over pregnancy, women’s bodies and their relationships with men.

That environment is at odds with the American movement for L.G.B.T.Q. equality, which still has fights to win — most pressingly, enshrining trans rights and squashing nonsensical culture wars. But lately I’ve heard many of my young queer contemporaries — and the occasional star — wonder whether the movement has come far enough to dispense with the often messy, often uncomfortable process of coming out, over and over again.

That questioning speaks to an earnest conundrum that queer people confront regularly: Do we live in this world, or the world to which we ought to aspire?

Living in aspiration means ignoring the convention of coming out in favor of just … existing. This is easier for those who can pass as cis and straight if need be, those who are so wealthy or white that the burden of hiding falls to others and those who live in accepting urban enclaves. This is a queer life without friction; coming out in a way straight people can see is no longer a prerequisite for acceptance, fulfillment and equality.

This aspiration is tremendous, but in our current culture, it is available only to a privileged few. Should such an inequality of access to aspiration become the accepted state of affairs, it would leave those who can’t hide to face society’s cruelest actors without the backing of a vocal, activated community. So every queer person who takes issue with the idea that we must come out ought to ask a simple question — what do we owe one another?

If coming out is primarily supposed to be an act of self-actualization, to form our own identities, then we owe one another nothing. This posture recognizes that the act of coming out implicitly reinforces straight and cis identities as default, which is not worth the rewards of outness.

But if coming out is supposed to be a radical act of resistance that seeks to change the way our society imagines people to be, then undeniable visibility is essential to make space for those without power. In this posture, queer people who can live in aspiration owe those who cannot a real world in which our expansive views of love and gender aren’t merely tolerated but celebrated. We have no choice but to actively, vocally press against the world we’re in, until no one is stuck in it.

And so just for a little while longer, we need our heroes.

But if queer people spend all of our time holding out for a guiding light, we might forgo a more pressing question that if answered, just might inch all of us a bit closer to aspiration. The next time heroes appear, are we ready to receive them?

It takes neither a genius nor a radical to see queerness implied by Ms. Swift’s work. But figuring out how to talk about it before the star labels herself is another matter. Right now, those who do so must inject our perceptions with caveats and doubt or pretend we cannot see it (a lie!) — implicitly acquiescing to convention’s constraints in the name of solidarity.

Lying is familiar to queer people; we teach ourselves to do it from an early age, shrouding our identities from others, and ourselves. It’s not without good reason. To maintain the safety (and sometimes the comfort) of the closet, we lie to others, and, most crucially, we allow others to believe lies about us, seeing us as something other than ourselves. Lying is doubly familiar to those of us who are women. To reduce friction, so many of us still shrink life to its barest version in the name of honor or safety, rendering our lives incomplete, our minds lobotomized and our identities unexplored.

By maintaining a culture of lying about what we, uniquely, have the knowledge and experience to see, we commit ourselves to a vow of silence. That vow may protect someone’s safety, but when it is applied to works of culture, it stymies our ability to receive art that has the potential to change or disrupt us. As those with queer identity amass the power of commonplaceness, it’s worth questioning whether the purpose of one of the last great taboos that constrains us befits its cost.

In every case, is the best form of solidarity still silence?

I know that discussing the potential of a star’s queerness before a formal declaration of identity feels, to some, too salacious and gossip-fueled to be worthy of discussion. They might point to the viciousness of the discourse around “queerbaiting” (in which I have participated); to the harm caused by the tabloid press’s dalliances with outing; and, most crucially, to the real material sacrifices that queer stars make to come out, again and again, as reasons to stay silent.

I share many of these reservations. But the stories that dominate our collective imagination shape what our culture permits artists and their audiences to say and be. Every time an artist signals queerness and that transmission falls on deaf ears, that signal dies. Recognizing the possibility of queerness — while being conscious of the difference between possibility and certainty — keeps that signal alive.

So, whatever you make of Ms. Swift’s sexual orientation or gender identity (something that is knowable, perhaps, only to her) or the exact identity of her muses (something better left a mystery), choosing to acknowledge the Sapphic possibility of her work has the potential to cut an audience that is too often constrained by history, expectation and capital loose from the burdens of our culture.

To start, consider what Ms. Swift wrote in the liner notes of her 2017 album, “reputation”: “When this album comes out, gossip blogs will scour the lyrics for the men they can attribute to each song, as if the inspiration for music is as simple and basic as a paternity test.”

Listen to her. At the very least, resist the urge to assume that when Ms. Swift calls the object of her affection “you” in a song, she’s talking about a man with whom she’s been photographed. Just that simple choice opens up a world of Swiftian wordplay. She often plays with pronouns, trading “you” and “him” so that only someone looking for a distinction between two characters might find one. Turns of phrase often contain double or even triple meanings. Her work is a feast laid specifically for the close listener.

Choosing to read closely can also train the mind to resist the image of an unmarried woman that compulsory heterosexuality expects. And even if it is only her audience who points at rainbows, reading Ms. Swift’s work as queer is still worthwhile, for it undermines the assumption that queer identity impedes pop superstardom, paving the way for an out artist to have the success Ms. Swift has.

After all, would it truly be better to wait to talk about any of this for 50, 60, 70 years, until Ms. Swift whispers her life story to a biographer? Or for a century or more, when Ms. Swift’s grandniece donates her diaries to some academic library, for scholars to pore over? To ensure that mea culpas come only when Ms. Swift’s bones have turned to dust and fragments of her songs float away on memory’s summer breeze?

I think not. And so, I must say, as loudly as I can, “I can see you,” even if I risk foolishness for doing so.

I remember the first time I knew I had seen Taylor Alison Swift break free from the trap of stardom. I wasn’t sitting in a crowded stadium in the pouring rain or cuddled up in a movie theater with a bag of popcorn. I was watching a grainy, crackling livestream of the Eras Tour, captured on a fan’s phone.

It’s late at night, the beginning of her acoustic set of surprise songs, this time performed in a yellow dress. She begins playing “Hits Different.” It’s a new song, full of puns, double entendres and wordplay, that toys with the glittering identities in which Ms. Swift indulges.

She’s rushing, as if stopping, even for a second, will cause her to lose her nerve. She stumbles at the bridge, pauses and starts again; the queen of bridges will not mess this up, not tonight.

There it is, at the bridge’s end: “Bet I could still melt your world; argumentative, antithetical dream girl.” An undeniable declaration of love to a woman. As soon as those words leave her lips, she lets out a whoop, pacing around the stage with a grin that cannot be contained.

For a moment, Ms. Swift was out of the woods she had created for herself as a teenager, floating above the trees. The future was within reach; she would, and will, soon take back the rest of her words, her reputation, her name. Maybe the world would see her, maybe it wouldn’t.

But on that stage, she found herself. I was there. Through a fuzzy fancam, I saw it.

And somehow, that was everything.

[lover-of-mine]

I have more unhinged thoughts about Buck and costume design choices, so stay with me for a bit. I will be using Buck's previous relationships to make the point tho, so tw Taylor Kelly.

This started going around my head in a very innocent "it's so cool that they chose to put Buck in green during the coma dream" because Buck wears red a lot. Like, a LOT.

And green is on the other side of the color wheel. So him in green during the coma dream deeply bothered me for no reason.

Because like, when Buck is wearing bright colors he's usually around here on a color wheel because there's the burnt orange he wears sometimes too. So they put him in his complementary color, and the whole thing with complementary colors is to create contrast and I was mindblown by that a little bit once it registered.

But then I was making an edit and I noticed that Buck is wearing green when he breaks up with Taylor. Which is fine, we all know the whole Blue and Green thing with couples in 911, right?

So I just moved on with the idea that they put him in green because the relationship is wrong and moved on, until I noticed he wasn't always the green character. Because then shit gets interesting.

Because, when does he become the green character? When he tells her that he kissed someone else. So he's the one wearing green when the relationship starts to fall apart and when they break up.

And that alone for me is fascinating because oh my god the costume department is out there working overtime. But I am a dog with a bone and what's another time where Buck is wearing green? The fight with Ali. Who's also wearing blue, very light blue but still blue.

But also just accepted this as just a blue and green thing with couples because Ali is not around enough for me to use her to establish a pattern.

But I was also on high alert about other situations he might be wearing green, not that all of them fully registered until this morning when it finally clicked that he's wearing green on the cemetery scene.

Because another time he's wearing green on his own is when he takes Red to see Cindy and when he talks to Maddie about Abby and being left behind right after. Also when he's hiding in Eddie's place so he won't have to talk to Taylor.

I don't know about yall but I feel like this does establish a pattern of him wearing green while doing misguided stuff in his chase of his idea of romantic love.

But I have more points if you're not convinced yet.

We established that he wears a lot of red and that the thing with complementary colors is contrast, right? I'm not gonna sit here and tell you that there's a set pattern on when he wears red because he wears red in multiple circumstances, but I will tell you a few scenes that back me up.

Because baby boy is wearing red when he finally lets go of Abby, on both occasions, and when he's literally talking to Maddie about what love really means leading to him finally making the right choice to stop hanging on to Taylor.

He wears red when he finally does the right thing when it comes to love and he wears green when he's trying to convince himself he's doing the right thing. Contrast.

This show is crazy. Insane. Absolute madness.

Edit:

Okay, extra point here. I went against adding this particular scene because I legit can't tell if his shirt is green or blue here. But I got a reply here and decided to check.

so it went to color-hex to try and determine it, well, this is definitely a shade of green. I actually made a whole pallete of his shirt. This is definitely green.

So another point to team he does misguided shit on his quest for love in green clothing because this is the scene where he's telling Maddie about Abby and Maddie is telling him that she's bagging other guys but he chooses to ignore it.

Am i crazy? probably. But what's that thing once is a chance twice is a coincidence and three is a pattern? Thats 4 scenes with the green and him doing stupid shit in the name of love.

[genericpuff]

Why is the art so unappealing in lore Olympus now Persephone looks like a highlighter and maybe it’s just me but the proportions like the fingers in arms are soul over the place I don’t think they used to be this bad. Am I just looking at it with nostalgia or am I crazy ?

Honestly, nostalgia does play a huge part in it, even to this day there are times I look back on old S1 panels and go-

Actually here's a great example that literally just happened yesterday in the ULO Discord that nearly had me on the floor LOL This is from Episode 70:

Like I didn't even believe that that was real until I was told what episode it was from and I was just. Astounded and flabbergasted. The over-shading of the blanket that just makes it look like a really bad edit. Insane.

And yeah, there are a lot of old panels that hit different now that the rose-colored glasses have been removed, crushed, and thrown into the trash compactor.

I think that's why it makes it all the more amusing when people come into my inbox and ask me "wait, why did you like LO to begin with?? It's always been ugly as shit, I think you're just romanticizing it" because like... there's something to be said about art and subjectivity, even if something is ugly to one person doesn't mean it isn't beautiful to someone else. It's why I try not to be too mean towards the fans of this comic for still enjoying it, because while I definitely have strong opinions about how "LO has gotten worse" and what kind of following Rachel has cultivated (cough cough), there are also just as equally valid arguments that LO has never begin good to begin with that I can't necessarily disagree with now that I'm looking back on it with a more critical eye.

That said, there's tons of media that I enjoy that is objectively awful. Like y'all, you don't need to take my opinions about a dumb pink x blue fantasy romance comic seriously, I like Starfox Adventures-

Like yeah it's a badly made rushed piece of shit that was developed right on the ass end of Rare's glory days and was really an original IP (Dinosaur Planet) that got Frankenstein'd into a Starfox game so it could "sell better" for Nintendo, but I don't give a fuck, I love Starfox Adventures and some day I wanna be in the top 10 speedrunner leaderboards for it, which I know doesn't mean much because no one is speedrunning Starfox, but I do and no one can take that away from me dammit-

Anyways. Lore Olympus has, in many regards, always had "bad art". But "bad art" can and should still be enjoyed by those who find joy in it.

And in LO's case, the world it existed in when it launched was a lot smaller than it is now - more specifically, the world of Webtoons. We can look back and see how 'bad' LO looks and reads now because there are genuinely way better comics surrounding it. It was unique and refreshing and experimental back then... now it's just "that stupid blue and pink comic for horny teenagers".

In most cases I would consider that "cringing in hindsight" feeling a good thing because normally it means something has grown and that it seeming "bad" in hindsight would mean that it's outgrown itself and moved onto bigger things. But LO has the more unique problem of "its current stuff is shit and it's making us want the old stuff more, even if the old stuff wasn't good either". In that regard, LO is closer to being like Harry Potter. Remember when The Cursed Child came out at the height of Rowling being exposed for being a TERF and even people who liked Harry Potter didn't like The Cursed Child because it was just objectively worse overall (with or without Rowling's bullshit attached)? It made a lot of people go back and re-read / rewatch Harry Potter with a more objective lens and go "wait a minute guys, I think we only adored these books so much because we were 12 when we read them". Often times it's the good memories we have surrounding certain things that make us have the opinion about them that we do.

Of course, LO is definitely not as politically weaponized as Harry Potter is, so that's where that comparison ends. But my point is that LO is definitely in a situation where it's been riding off the same privileges it had back in 2018 - having an 'experimental' art style while also utilizing tropes and characters that were VERY popular at the time (remember that 2017-18 was when Tumblr was at its height of H x P "Hades was a chill accountant guy who wore socks and sandals and didn't cheat on his wife like Zeus did" fantasizing) - and thinks that those same tricks and tropes will still work today.

Because of this, the art in LO really, really hasn't aged well, even the stuff that we look back on fondly. But I think it's the panels that we specifically think of when remembering "old LO" - the ones that stuck in our memories the most - that are the ones that make us miss or just not care about the panels that don't look good (the panels that make people question why we ever liked it to begin with).

We liked it because of how it made us feel to look at panels like these-

Those genuinely wonderful panels that we think back on the most don't exist separately from the bad panels, they exist in spite of them. Even if we can look back on panels like these and pick out problems in the lineart or the proportions or the color travelling outside of the lines, that can't and shouldn't change how those panels made us feel at some point or another. And that's why when people ask me "why were you even into LO in the first place" I don't have any one answer, because I can't fully explain how something made me feel to justify why it's good to someone who can see from the outside - without rose-colored glasses - that it evidently isn't. It's very much a "you had to be there" type of thing.

Unfortunately, nowadays even the 'best' LO panels in S3 still don't come close to what the S1 panels accomplished - because for many of us, the rose-colored glasses are gone, we can't appreciate the good among the bad because we know now how bad it truly is and so the good just feels like wasted attempts at trying to recreate something it can no longer be. It "came back wrong" so to speak.

LO came back just regular. But our journey to resurrecting it changed us to such a degree that even its closest intimacies are now foreign to us. Sorry dude.

This is still probably one of my favorite panels out of the entirety of S3 for being as close to "old LO" as I've seen since S2, and even it feels like a mistake, an accident, how could a panel like this exist in S3 when so much of it is a dumpster fire? It's like a flower growing in the ruins of an apocalyptic wasteland.

But wasn't that always the case? Isn't that 'always' what LO has been, since the very beginning? A poorly cobbled together mess of writing and panels that, every now and then, manages to leave an impression that makes you feel something? Did we ever truly know LO? Or have we just been relying entirely on an idea of it that we've built up in our heads that when it does do exactly what it's evidently always done (even if not made apparent until looking back on it in hindsight) we think it "came back wrong"?

[miasmaghoul]

Kinktober Day 1 - High Sex

Wow, I can't believe it's already October 1st! I can't WAIT to see what normal things this month holds. I certainly hope Swiss doesn't go absolutely insane in Australia and destroy us all!

(Look, just be thankful I'm trying. Huge shoutout to @kroas-adtam for putting together this year's prompts!)

Green is the Warmest Color

Rating: E Pairing: Aeon/Swiss Word Count: 2.2k Contains: stoned, sappy ghouls, shotgunning, cock warming, lazy sex, banter, body worship, the boys being Real Fucked Up and absolutely loving it

-----

“You’re staring,” Swiss lilts, eyes crinkling as he brings the smoldering end of their joint to his lips.

Aeon's sure he's right, but in fairness, how couldn’t he? Swiss is a vision, sitting pretty in his lap in a wide straddle with a hand planted on Aeon’s stomach. The setting sun throws every inch of the other ghoul into such sharp relief; everything from the chips in his curved horns and the strong line of his jaw, to the breadth of his shoulders and the slight softness of his stomach. From the swollen, stiff peaks of the nipples Aeon had spent ages teasing once they’d finally fallen back into bed, to the flushed length of Swiss’ cock where it sits heavy against Aeon’s pale belly. Dribbling sticky fluid into his happy trail with the occasional languid rock of those incredible hips. 

"'Course I am," he replies, loose and relaxed, "you're real nice to look at."

-----

Read below, or on AO3!

Lazy.

That’s how Aeon would say his day with Swiss has been. Lazy, but in the best way. 

He’d woken late, drenched in the early summer sunlight pouring through Swiss’ windows. Wrapped in a tangle of limbs and blankets that he hadn’t found himself particularly eager to escape. Swiss seemed to agree, when he eventually cracked an eye open to find Aeon staring at him with a sleepy, besotted smile on his face.

“Finally, jeez,” he’d teased, planting a kiss on Swiss’ bare shoulder and flashing him some fang. “Thought I was gonna have to watch you drool forever.”

“You love when I drool,” Swiss had countered, raspy and thick but still playful as ever. He’d threaded heavy fingers into Aeon’s mop of messy waves, scratching at the spot behind his ear that always makes his leg twitch.

“Maybe,” he’d purred, tipping his head into the touch, “but I think there’s better things for that mouth to be doing.”

Swiss hadn’t argued that point, a slow grin splitting his face as he hooked a finger under Aeon’s sharp chin. As he knocked their horns together and nuzzled his cheek. Brushing their lips together in the barest hint of what Aeon was asking for.

“You have eye boogers,” Swiss had informed him then, thumbing along his lashline with a crinkled nose, and Aeon hadn’t been able to hold back his laugh.

“And you have morning breath,” he’d chuckled, looping a long arm around Swiss’ shoulders. “Kiss me anyway.”

Swiss had, happily so, and to Aeon’s delight there was no urgency behind it. No rush, no invasive tongue, no gasping for breath. Just the scratch of Swiss’ stubble, the tickle of his mustache and the warmth of his mouth. A kiss they had both gotten lost in, drifting on nothing but the feel and taste of one another.

The rest of their day had been equally indulgent; a long, hot bath filled with more of those decadent kisses and wandering hands. Hours spent in their pajamas on the common room sofa, Aeon sitting between Swiss’ knees so the other ghoul could play with his hair. A late lunch at the lakeside, Swiss occasionally tossing a grape into Aeon’s mouth from the other side of the blanket they shared. An early evening stroll to the greenhouse spent talking about everything and nothing, their tails idly curling together along the way.

Aeon had busied himself visiting his favorite plants once they arrived, chatting with one of the lesser ghouls tending to the table of orchids. Admiring petals in all shades of purple, caressing stems and verdant leaves with gentle fingers while Swiss hunted down Mountain. It hadn’t taken him long - Swiss creeping up behind him a few minutes later, looping his arms around Aeon’s waist to nose behind his ear, asking if he was ready to head back. Aeon had hummed, but hadn’t made an effort to move. He’d leaned back into Swiss instead, fingers dancing along a bud that had yet to bloom. In no particular hurry to abandon the beauty laid out before him.

Then Swiss had held up a baggie of prerolls, had kissed his neck, and Aeon decided that stopping to smell the flowers could wait until tomorrow.

Besides, his current view is infinitely more enticing.

“You’re staring,” Swiss lilts, eyes crinkling as he brings the smoldering end of their joint to his lips.

Aeon's sure he's right, but in fairness, how couldn’t he? Swiss is a vision, sitting pretty in his lap in a wide straddle with a hand planted on Aeon’s stomach. The setting sun throws every inch of the other ghoul into such sharp relief; everything from the chips in his curved horns and the strong line of his jaw, to the breadth of his shoulders and the slight softness of his stomach. From the swollen, stiff peaks of the nipples Aeon had spent ages teasing once they’d finally fallen back into bed, to the flushed length of Swiss’ cock where it sits heavy against Aeon’s pale belly. Dribbling sticky fluid into his happy trail with the occasional languid rock of those incredible hips. 

"'Course I am," he replies, loose and relaxed, "you're real nice to look at."

Swiss smiles down at him, washed in warm light that perfectly matches his golden eyes. Eyes that are both blown dark and red rimmed, heavy in a way that makes Aeon throb. He knows Swiss feels it deep inside, can tell by the way his breath stutters and his lids droop. 

Aeon can't stop touching him, talented hands drifting from Swiss' knees to his chest and everywhere in between. Right now he has one on a strong thigh, thumb tracing ticklish half circles that make the muscle there jump. The other sits on Swiss' stomach, kneading gently at the little bit of pudge Swiss holds there. Aeon's obsessed with it always, but high as he is, the feel of it right now is simply exquisite.

"Easy there, kitten," Swiss sighs, his own hand gliding from Aeon's belly up towards his narrow chest. "Don't go bruising the goods." He rubs over a tight pink nipple with a slow thumb and Aeon groans.

"Can't help it," he replies, offering up a stoned smirk. "You're just so…"

Aeon trails off into a sound of faux frustration, grabbing at Swiss' tummy with both hands, digging bony fingers into soft flesh. Swiss laughs, a rich, warm sound that melts into a pleasured moan when Aeon twitches inside him. Swiss moves his hips in a slow circle and they both hiss with it. 

"Fuck, you feel so good," Aeon murmurs, tongue flicking out wet his lips, and Swiss’ only response is a rusty purr.

He’s been sitting like this for a while now, keeping Aeon’s dick nice and warm while they finish off their treat from Mountain. A comforting weight that perfectly complements the fuzziness in his skull and the floatiness of his limbs. Aeon has no complaints about the fact that Swiss hasn't so much as bounced on him, neither of them in any rush to do more than enjoy the slow, luxurious grind. 

Aeon somehow manages to pry his hands from Swiss' belly, settling them on his hips instead and encouraging him to circle them again. Swiss clamps down around him and it sends a wave of warmth through his pelvis so intense that Aeon shudders. Swiss hums his amusement around the joint, sucking down the last of it in one long pull. It's far too much at once, his broad chest puffed up to full capacity by the time he's done, but then Swiss is looking at him with a glimmer on those gorgeous eyes and Aeon really can’t be bothered to worry.

Smoke's already curling from his nostrils when Swiss leans down, dropping the roach into his ashtray before getting both hands on Aeon's shoulders. Settling his weight onto his slight chest and pressing their foreheads together. Aeon's arms snake around him in an instant, and then Swiss' mouth is on his and Aeon's world becomes nothing but scratchy stubble, soft lips and herbal smoke.

He drinks down all he can, licking it from Swiss' mouth and filling his lungs with the sweetest kind of poison. Swiss' tongue against his is heavenly, warm and wet and perfect to suck on when he's too out of breath to continue the kiss. Aeon exhales slowly through his nose while they soak in it, Swiss' nose rubbing against his and his velvety walls quivering in the most delicious way. 

It's a challenge to convince his eyes to open once he's done, but somehow Aeon manages. Cracks lavender eyes no doubt redder than his flushed cheeks. Cheeks that go two shades darker when Aeon finds the other ghoul already watching him with a gentle warmth in his gaze. 

"Now who's starin'?" Aeon teases, voice honey thick, claws trailing over Swiss' back in nonsense patterns. Oh he is very fucked up.

"Is it me?" 

Well, at least Swiss is too.

"'S okay," Aeon assures him, as though Swiss would ever think staring was a problem. "I like when you look at me like that."

"Hmm?" Swiss cocks his head, squeezing at his shoulders. "Like what, starshine?" 

Aeon's lips curl into a smile, one he offers up in a quick peck to Swiss' cheek.

"Like you love me." 

He says it with such ease that it can't be anything but the truth, and despite the glazed look in his eye Aeon can tell that Swiss hears it too. He feels Swiss' cock throb where it's trapped between them, and Aeon hopes that the sticky spot on his stomach has grown larger. 

"Maybe I do." Swiss sounds so goofy, so pleased. "What're you gonna do about it?"

Aeon offers a shrug, looping one arm around Swiss' waist while the other travels south. Coasts over the curve of the other ghoul's ass - Aeon grabs a nice handful, tugs at Swiss' hole a little just to hear him gasp - before slipping over his hip. Fingertips wiggling into the space between their overwarm bodies. 

"Dunno," he answers, his casual tone a stark contrast to the way his greedy fingers worm their way closer to their prIze. "Could make you cum, I guess." 

Aeon finds the slick head of Swiss' cock and sneaks two fingers between it and his own stomach. Massages the frenulum the way he knows Swiss' likes best. He's rewarded with a deep, dark moan, one that sinks into his skin like a tangible thing. 

"Guess so," Swiss says, just a touch more breathless than he was a minute ago. "If you wanted."

Oh, Aeon definitely wants. Stoned as he is, that much is still obvious. He hums, catching the larger ghoul in a kiss that leaves him breathing heavier too.

"Sit up for me," he speaks against Swiss' lips, half into his mustache. "Wanna see you."

Swiss complies with absolutely no urgency, unhurried in the way he pushes himself upright. Relinquishes his grip on Aeon's shoulders to stretch those long arms over his head with a low groan. Aeon could watch him do this for days - could study every line and curve of the other ghoul's body for the rest of his existence and still want more. His admiring gaze travels from the tips of Swiss' fingers, down his arms, his chest, his stomach. When it settles on the swollen length of his cock, flushed dark where it's caged in pale fingers, Aeon can't help the way his own pulses.

Swiss must be so slick inside by now. Aeon can’t help but wonder, if he pulled out right now, if the mess of pre he’s been leaking for the better part of the past half hour would drip right down Swiss’ balls.

Swiss finishes his stretch with a show, running his own large hands down his torso with another roll of his hips, and Aeon sucks air through his teeth. Swiss gives him a devilish grin, hands coming to rest on Aeon's pecs, rosy little nipples pebbled under rough palms. Swiss kneads at him then, but Aeon's the one that purrs. 

"Didn’t you say no bruisin' the goods?" Aeon barely recognizes his own voice for how slurred it is.

"I'm exempt," Swiss tells him, happily pawing at him while his cock throbs in Aeon's grip. Aeon snorts, free hand moving to stroke Swiss' thigh.

"'S'at so?"

"Uh huh," Swiss confirms, catching Aeon's nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He gives them a nice tweak and Aeon yips, an embarrassing little sound that sends a flash of heat through him.

"What a surprise," he tries to deadpan, but the giddiness supplied by the weed makes it come out a bit silly. Swiss sticks out his tongue, and Aeon bites at the air as though he could reach it. 

"What wa'zat about makin' me cum?" 

Lucifer, Swiss sounds good when he's high. Aeon hums like he’s considering the concept, adjusting his hold on Swiss' twitching length. Less of a grip, more of a flat palm pressing it to the finely muscled plane of his stomach. Swiss gasps when he does, rutting forward on instinct and spitting another blurt of pre by Aeon's navel.

"Think you have everything you need to make that happen," Aeon croons, tongue poking out between his fangs. "Go ahead, I'm not stoppin' you."

Swiss groans deep in his chest when his brain processes the words, and then he's grinding again. Hips working in achingly slow rocks and rounds, each one designed to put Aeon's cock exactly where he wants it. Aeon adores the way Swiss' brow creases every time he hits an extra good spot, a beautiful sight that goes straight to his balls. 

"Gonna take a while like this," Swiss huffs, despite the way Aeon can already feel him starting to flutter inside. Not that that’s a problem, there’s already heat starting to coil low in his gut with every move Swiss makes.  

"'S'okay," he coos, the hand on Swiss’ thigh wandering up to nestle in his chest hair. “Jus’ promise you won’t stop if I blow first."

Swiss gurgles, spurts more pre, and Aeon’s content to lose himself in the wet sound of Swiss taking what he needs. There’s nothing he’d rather hear.

[infinite-orangepeel]

“get too close to your muse & you, the artist, will lose all ability to decipher one shade from the next on your palette. keep your distance…”

fall quarter begins at the curly roots of eddie munson’s ineffable head, runs its’ labyrinthian course through passageways of blue veins & black ink, & ends at a set of hairy crimson painted toes.

steve finds himself squandering every waking moment of his lifeblood & attention somewhere, egregiously, in the middle.

“say you’re drawing a bed of flowers,” his professor lectured a few weeks back, “what happens if you put your nose in the middle of those flowers & try to recreate the details on your canvas? you come up with color and shape, sure, but it’s blurry—isn’t it? it’s a big blobby blur of nothing. that’s not very good life drawing, i’m afraid.”

flash forward to the present—

the bed is firm but comfortable. reminding you of its’ presence.

it doesn’t encourage daydreaming &, yet, steve is ignoring the better advice of his mentor & pressing his curious nose directly into the bud of an all too striking flower.

he knows the intimate contact could kill the rose, is aware of the thorns lining the stem, but he can’t stay away.

he’s struck by fear and temptation and self-loathing and a beauty that stings like a slap across the face.

eddie’s his roommate, his friend, his muse for the most important project of steve’s career as an art student.

& getting too close is lethal, so he creates a sort of optical illusion.

designs an environment in which he can pretend they are star-crossed lovers in a broken world that won’t let them be together. in which touch is a small death each and every time.

steve flits to eddie like a dragonfly to water—

never touching.

never spending too much time in his orbit before making up an excuse to leave & jerk off to the smell of old cigarettes in the bathroom.

everything he really wants to say sits in the back of his throat like a painful, malignant lump & gets spat out onto his sketchbook in a tragically romantic exorcism.

doing the dishes next to him is enough to drive him insane.

drawing him, butt-naked, is another story.

“is it supposed to be so….erotic?”

eddie arches an eyebrow as steve traces the outline of his cock into his sketchbook.

“it’s not that erotic,” steve says, blushing into his charcoals, “besides no one will know it’s you. it’s art.”

art is supposed to be weird & naked. now, hold still, & let me draw you.”

it’s definitely erotic.

there are roses—de-thorned, for safety—shrouding eddie’s dick & leaving a trail of pink petals across his pale thighs.

eddie’s hand is draped over his head; exuding a certain brattiness, lust, boredom—

as if he’s lying there because he wants someone, like steve, to stumble upon him & use his body the way it so clearly needs to be.

his lips are parted on the precipice of whispering some filthy secret into steve’s ear while milking him like a simple farm girl with nothing better to do.

fuck.

he can’t be this close to eddie without losing his mind.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

it’s just a body. just limbs and a huge cock and—

eddie’s quiet for a little while which is rare for him, before he pipes up again.

“what if we painted the flowers together?”

steve wipes the sweat from his brow, drops his pencil, and looks up at eddie across the mattress. working overtime to avoid staring at the erection sticking out amongst the bouquet of roses.

“the piece isn’t supposed to be very colorful. i’m going for muted tones. that’s why i picked the pale pinks and whites.”

eddie giggles a little and, it’s so cute, steve has to pinch his own thigh through his shorts just to maintain composure.

“i don’t think you’re understanding—the colors wouldn’t change much. except for some more white, if you catch my drift,” eddie pumps his hand over his cock several times and mimes cumming stop the petals, “might look cool. might get you extra points with that asshole professor of yours. you’ve said he likes ‘shock value.’”

“i—i guess you’re right. that’s a pretty….different and unique….um….idea. yeah.”

it’s like this that steve strips naked and clambers as close to eddie as he can possibly get without laying a finger on him. adhering to the rules—keeping a particular distance between artist & muse.

they lay side by side. sunlight streaming in through the blinds & bathing eddie’s spindly fingers in gold as he touches himself.

“harrington, don’t act like you haven’t been dreaming about this since day one,” eddie snarks, “i’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. your eyes are gonna burn holes in my ass if you’re not careful. touch that pretty cock of yours, lemme see you.”

before steve can do anything about it or change his mind, he’s got a fist wrapped around his own cock and the other hand pinching his nipples. left and right, back and forth, dragging his nails through the hair sprouting around them.

“didn’t think you thought about me like that,” steve whines, watching as eddie edges himself methodically—

moving faster, slower, squeezing at the base, thumbing over the slit, cupping his balls, slapping the insides of his own thighs until they match the pink petals.

“i like a little pain,” he comments when he catches steve’s wide eyes, “and i’ve always was hallucinating the first time i walked into this room and saw you on the bed—thought i was going into the light and seeing an angel.”

“you’re so full of it.”

“i’d like to be full of you,” eddie breathes against steve’s neck, not allowing his lips to pass the barrier, “but i don’t know if you can handle me, big boy. you’re blushing like a nervous little schoolgirl.”

“am not—”

“are too, &, you’re about to cum just listening to my voice. it’s so crystal clear. look at you—fucking yourself so stupid.”

eddie looks so beautiful.

laying there like a forsaken god locked out of heaven.

steve’s been so good about keeping his hands to himself, about keeping his nose out of the flowers, but desire and temptation are stronger than any amount of remaining willpower he has.

he grabs eddie’s shoulder with his freehand & kisses him until they’re both seeing stars.

celestial explosions of pleasure & truth & this thing that’s been growing violently between them since the moment they first met.

“i’m cumming. i’m gonna—fuck steve, it’s gonna be on the flowers—i hope that’s okay—”

they cum in tandem over petals of pink and white and thornless stems.

steve gets an A+.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @neverlandwaitingforme @swiss-cheeze

[silassinclair]

Michael's Girl PT. 1 \\ PolyLostBoys + Michael x Reader

Summary: Michael's girlfriend wishes to become a vampire too after learning how Michael was tricked into becoming one. So he takes her to see David and the other Lost Boys.

CW: Kind of a cliffhanger, Vampires, Crying (Left the summary pretty vague for you guys, this’ll be a multi part series <3)

🖤 → Next Part

"So you're telling me that four guys who live in a cave fed you blood and turned you into a vampire?"

Michael rubbed a hand down his sweaty face, of course you wouldn't believe him. You're probably thinking this is some excuse for why he's been ghosting you lately.

Nodding Michael held your hand to his chest. "Yes yes that's exactly what happened. I would never lie to you okay! Yes I've been keeping the truth from you but that isn't exactly lying."

Giving him an open mouthed stare you slowly nod as if he were insane. "And you expect me to believe this... Why?"

Your boyfriend groans and throws his hands up in defeat letting your hand go. "God dammit! Just... Just believe me alright! Why would I lie to you about this? I'm in deep shit and I'm telling you because I care about you and I know you're worried about me and mad. You wanted an explanation so here it is."

Sighing in defeat you bite the inside of your cheek in thought. Looking back on it now Michael has been pretty... vampiric so to say. The sunglasses, angry demeanor, going out only at night and not eating as much. There was no way he'd go so far just to back up some silly lie/excuse.

"Can you prove it?" You ask with the quirk of your eyebrow. Michael ponders for a quick moment then smiles.

"Okay, but you gotta promise not to get scared alright?" He says and holds both your hands in his. Giving him a nod you give him a light upturn of your lips in reassurance.

"Of course, I could never be afraid of you."

Satisfied with your answer Michael shuts his eyes. Carefully you watch his features. Your eyes widen as you notice his eyebrows and face structure become sharper and more defined. Fangs poke through the gap of his lips. And when he opens his eyes you gasp in shock. Hs baby blue eyes are now a violent, predatory shade of yellow. A venomous color that screams danger. But you aren't afraid.

Your hand cradles Michael's vampiric face. "It's true... What you said. I'm sorry I doubted you love. I'm not afraid of you... So don't worry okay?"

Michaels vampire features morphed away back to his gentle human ones. Seeing a gentle smile grow on your boyfriend's face you can't help but smile too. He pulls you into a hug, his face in your neck. You feel him take a large intake of air.

"Thank you thank you thank you baby. Mmm my God I don't deserve you... also you smell pretty good." He mumbles into the soft flesh of your nape. Feeling a shiver go up your spine you gently caress his hair.

"If you ever feel hungry I wouldn't find if you took a bite Michael." You wink at him. But immediately the boy pulls himself away from you and looks at you with worried eyes.

"Baby don't say that.. You know I would never want to hurt you." The brunette's bottom lip juts out as he pouts, not liking the sound of him feeding off of you in the future.

"Well my boyfriend has to eat one way or another right? Can't let these guns shrink." A dopey smirk is plastered on your face as you squish his bicep muscles. Michael groans.

"Ugh stop."

Michael pulls you into his lap as he sits back on his bed. His Mom, grandpa, and Sam were all out right now so you and Michael had the place all to yourselves. You were lucky you got to convince your parents to let you go to California. Telling them you wanted to go to school there, and saying that living with Michael would cheapen things convinced them. But in reality you just wanted to get out of your home and move in with your boyfriend.

"So why did you wanna become a vampire? This means you can't go out into the sun right?" Worry laces your tone. You didn't understand why Michael would make such a brash decision, plus you two only recently arrived in Santa Carla.

Michael looks to be in thought. A frown pulls on his face as his hold around you tightens in the slightest, "I was sort of tricked. Those guys challenged me, taunted me, played me like a fucking fiddle. I was pretty stoned too which clouded my judgement. Then they hand me this bedazzled bottle of wine saying to drink it if I wanted to be like them. Sleep all day, party all nigh, never grow old-"

You felt anger build up in you, anger towards the men who dared trick Michael into falling into this curse. For using him when he was vulnerable, for cursing him with eternal life and him being doomed to watch you die one day.

"Pause." You cut in. "You're gonna be immortal now?" Your eyebrows furrow. "This means... This means we can't grow old together Michael. You can't go out in the sun with me or-or do anything like that. You're gonna watch me die." Your mood tanked so fast. Eyes welled up with tears as Michael shushed you and held your face to his chest.

"I know baby I know. But there's no way out of this now. Soon I'll be a full vampire and have to... I'll have to leave home. I'll have to run away and leave you, Mom, Sammy, Grandpa. I'll be a killer." Michael seems to have already accepted his fate, his curse of everlasting life on Earth. But you were in shambles. Unless...

"Michael."

He looks down at you and caresses your soft, tear stained cheek. "Yes beautiful?"

"Turn me into a vampire too."

The brunette jerks up in shock. His hands hold your elbows close to him as his eyes look into your own, all seriousness in his gaze. "Would you really do that? Just to be with me forever?"

You give him a firm nod. "I'm serious Michael. You're it for me, and I love you more than anything. I'll gladly love you forever if I may..." With the palm of your hand you wipe a tear that falls from your eye. Michael tilts your chin up with his index finger to look into your eyes once again.

"Y/n. You have to be absolutely sure about this. And I'm sure as hell that I want to be by your side forever. But I need to know if you really want to do this. You'll have to go into hiding, eat people, never go into the sun again."

His face forms into a look of despair, he's 100% sure you'll refuse now. "Do you really want to suffer with me?"

Instead of giving him a verbal answer you pull him in by his collar and kiss him on the lips. A groan of pleasure leaves his lips.

"I-I'll take that as a yes." He mutters as you continue your onslaught of affection, littering his neck with kisses. You draw back from him momentarily.

"Michael." You stop your affections and pull him up from his bed. "Take me to that cave. Where you said it all happened."

Your boyfriend nods and he leads you downstairs. Quickly slipping on your shoes you head outside with Michael where he mounts his bike. Like usual you sit behind him and wrap your arms around him securely.

"Because it's night they probably won't be at the cave. So we're gonna go to the boardwalk first alright?" He says as he revs his engine then zooms off down the driveway. Nodding, you rest your head against the back of his shoulder.

.

.

Under a streetlamp by the red painted seawall are four motor bikes. Standing by each bike is the owner of which. The night was still young but the four vampires settled for just chilling and talking by their bikes on the boardwalk.

"So as I was saying," Paul rambled on, "Movie sequels always suck ass because movie companies always wanna choke an extra buck out of the audience by using a great movie as their tool. Like take uhh... Jaws for example. The first movie was cool and original but because it was successful they think making more will make them more money. It does but like, they rush the production so much to the point that the movie sucks ass."

Dwayne looks at his brother like he's got no skin on. "Since when did you get so intellectual?"

Paul just shrugs and puts his arm around his taller brother. "I always have it in me, it's just that I'm not stoned today. Sober me is a different dude."

The tall brunette sighs. "Of course. How could I forget."

Marko meanwhile is playing with a rubric’s cube that some teenager dropped earlier and David smokes as he watches his curly haired brother try to solve the puzzle.

"Marko I don't think you have enough smarts in your pea brain to solve that." David says while blowing his smoke with a sly smirk. Marko only growls in frustration.

"Oh shuttup man! Great now I messed up, fuck you." Marko throws the cube onto the sandy beach behind him.

Today was slow. The boys were still well fed from yesterday's hunt and the fact that it was a weekday only made everything slower. No one on the boardwalk started a fight for the boys to jump in on. So the four of them are bored and left with nothing to do.

"This is boring." Paul says when he finishes with his movie rant that left Dwayne thinking.

"You can say that again Pauly." Marko groans but an imaginary lightbulb blinks on above his head. He sits up straight from his once slouched postion.

"I know what we can do! We can pay Michael a visit and annoy the shit out of him!"

David smirks, "Oh I like that. Well let's ride boys-"

The sound of a motor bike catches their enhanced hearing.

"Speak of the devil, there he is! I thought he'd never want to willingly see us again." Paul says with a wide grin. He waves to Michael but lowers his hand when he notices someone else on the back of his bike.

Michael pulls his bike up next to where the other four are parked. Kicking out his kickstand he gets off. He then offers his hand to you off your seat which you gently take.

David looks at Michael and then you.

“Who’s this supposed to be Michael?” David says. His expression is unreadable. The leader of the pack has always been by far the most mysterious of the four. And rather unpredictable too.

Michael puts hid arm around your waist and you lean into his side. You look at the four boys, no, men. Vampire men. They are all dressed wildly and you assume that influenced Michael into getting that earring. Not that you’re mad though, it’s pretty sexy actually.

“This is my girlfriend, Y/n.” You feel Michael kiss the top of your head. For a moment you forget that there are four dangerous vampires in front of you because of Michael’s peaceful presence. But the good feeling washes away when one of the vampires speak up.

“You’ve been hiding this hottie from us Michael? She the reason why you make up shitty excuses to head home sooner~?” A tall blonde taunts. The curly haired blonde next to him pats him on the back.

Michael stiffens. “Well as a matter of fact, yes.” He says firmly. “But there’s something else you guys have to know, we can’t talk about it here though.” Michael sends a look to the platinum blonde.

“Sure Michael. Let’s take this back to the cave yeah? Bring your little girlfriend with ya too, if she isn’t scared”

Unimpressed you fire back, “You four don’t scare me. If anything I thought you were all groupies for Rob Halford from Judas Priest.”

An eruption of laughter comes from the two blondes. The one brunette smiles while the leader just smirks.

“Yeah. She’s coming along, right Michael?” The way he says his name makes Michael shiver. Uncertainty washes over Michael. He looks to you and you two silently communicate. His eyes ask if you're absolutely sure about going through with this.

Your only response is a simple nod.

"Let's get going before it gets too bright out now yeah?" You say and get back on Michael's bike. The four vampires share a look, suspicion.

"Yeah. Let's." The platinum blonde smiles. "My name's David by the way. Just so you know what to scream later sweetness." David says and winks in your direction. Michael mounts his bike and says nothing.

All six of you drive away. David leading everyone to the location of the cave by Hudson’s Bluff.

[mayajadewrites]

I Wish I Hated You

summary: You don't do second chances. Especially after you gave your heart to Levi Ackerman, and he decided to throw it away so the next person has to repair the damage. Will Levi put his ego aside and finally admit his feelings for you are far deeper than you imagined? Or is a second chance out of the question?

warnings: eventual smut, this is a slow burn

ao3

C H A P T E R T W O: R E D

You watch Levi walk through the door with Erwin following closely behind. Erwin immediately spots you and mouths 'sorry' before holding up his phone to signal that he's going to text you. 

Levi doesn't make eye contact with you but he knows you're there. He walks up to the bar and orders two whiskey drinks for himself and Erwin. 

You feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, assuming it's a message from Erwin.

Erwin: He insisted on coming here. I didn't want him to come alone and do something stupid.

You: Did Hange tell him I would be here?

Erwin: Not sure. He might've heard her talking to you though. She's awfully load.

You: Of course. 

"Hange, I'm gonna need you to start being more self aware." You sigh. Hange tilts her head to the side and looks at you before following your eyes and turning around to see Levi. 

"Fuck, I'm sorry! I didn't think I was talking that loud!" 

"It's okay. We're bound to run into each other at some point or another." You take a sip of your drink, letting the liquid slide down your throat. "I need another." 

"It's on me." Hange stands up and orders another round at the bar. She stands next to Levi as she waits for the drinks, pushing on his shoulder. He's wearing a grey henley with black jeans and black boots. You can't hear what's being said, but you see Levi's eyes dart away from Hange's. 

"Here you go!!" Hange danced as she brought the drinks back. "Man, your ex is a dick." She sipped her beer. 

"You're telling me. Cheers to me for not being with him anymore!" You clink your glasses, receiving a glare from Levi. 

His slate colored eyes finally met yours. One of his eyebrows were raised as he sipped his drink, holding your gaze. You can't help but stare into his eyes - the eyes you woke up to most mornings, the ones that observed you so closely that he knew exactly what to do to make you go crazy. 

You chug your 4th drink, wiping some excess liquid off your lips. Your head feels like it's spinning, which means it's time to stop drinking because it'll only get worse from here. 

Erwin comes over and says hi verbally, giving you a hug. "I'm sorry about this again. He's been in such a mood today." 

Your eyes fall to Levi again, this time he's already staring at you. Your heart feels like it's skipping several beats as he gets up from the barstool, seemingly coming your way.

"Levi, go away." Hange waves her hand. "You want to cause more damage? She's having fun."

"She's drunk." Levi said flatly, examining your face. "You see her cheeks? They're a shade before red. She needs to go home."

"You have no authority over her anymore, Levi." Hange's tone turned serious. "She's not yours." 

Levi didn't respond. He kept his eyes on you as you looked back and forth between him, Hange, and Erwin.

"I'm fine." You finally speak, sipping on the water Hange brought for you. "I'm gonna uber home once Hange and I are done." 

"No, I'm gonna drive you home." Levi pulled a chair to your table. 

"I'd rather walk home." You turn your head away from him. "I'll call a ride." 

"From who? What's his name?"

"Why do you assume it's a man? I was talking about calling Mikasa. I'll take any other Ackerman to drive me home other than you." 

Erwin could not help but laugh when you said that. He patted Levi on the back, shaking his head. "Levi what am I gonna do with you." He says between laughs. 

"The only Ackerman that will be driving you home is me." Levi ignores Erwin. "I'll make sure no one else can pick you up." 

"You're insane." You finally look at him, which was a mistake. Your heart almost melts at the sight. "Fine. If it'll make you shut up, you can drive me home."

Levi is content with that answer. He starts a conversation about something else for a bit, occasionally watching you. Soon Erwin pays the tab because he feels so bad about Levi.

"Next time I'll text you for drinks." Hange hugs you. "Small fry, please get her home safe. I don't want to hear anything crazy tomorrow."

"I'm always safe. Thanks for your concern, four eyes." Levi holds his hand out for you to take to get up from your seat.

"Absolutely not." You slap his hand away. "This is a ride. Because I'm drunk and can barely see my phone screen." You stand up slowly. "Just take me to your car." 

Levi walks in front of you to his car and opens the passenger door for you. You refused to take a step until he gets in the drivers seat.

"Come on, stop being stubborn." Levi rolls his eyes.

"Sit in your seat then I'll sit in mine."

"Even when you're obliterated you're hard headed." Levi went to his side and got into the drivers seat. You climb into the passenger seat, buckling your seatbelt and closing your eyes. Your apartment isn't too far from the bar, so this won't be too torturous - being in a car with Levi. 

You turn your gaze to him and watch him drive. He has one hand on the steering wheel, the other one tapping his leg almost nervously. His face looks stone cold. 

"Thanks." You open your door and get out of he car. "I'll have Hange bring me to my car tomorrow."

"I'm helping you inside." Levi turns the ignition off and  stands next to you outside. 

"I don't need anything from you. Especially your help." You fish through your purse for your keys. You can barely tell which is which but you will. 

"I need to make sure you don't die in there. I don't want you to choke on your own vomit." 

"That was one time." You rolled your eyes, walking with Levi to your front door. 

He uses his key to unlock your door before sliding it back in his pocket. 

"I'm gonna need that back." You look at him before walking in.

Levi doesn't answer, he just walks into your home. He grabs a bottled water from the fridge and some medicine from the cabinet. "Go change."

You don't have the energy to say anything back. You go in your room and put on one of your favorite baggy tshirts that covers your ass, so you don't need to put pants on. You pull your hair into a messy bun and you pad to the living room and grab the water from him. 

"I'm good now. You can leave." 

"I'm staying and taking you to your car tomorrow."

"Levi, can you please leave me alone?" You throw your head back. "I've thought about you every fucking second of this last month. I don't need to see you in my house." 

Levi sighs and sits on the couch. "I'll leave once you fall asleep." He looks down, interlacing his fingers together.

"Levi." You sigh. You watch as he looks up at you, his eyes look... sad. Unfortunately for you, you possess empathy. "Fine." You turn around and walk into your room and take a sip of the water. Once you get in bed, the room feels like it's spinning and you close your eyes to stabilize yourself. Then, you doze off.

You feel a warm hand on your cheek but you refused to act like your felt it. A thumb moved across your cheek to your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear. Then the hand was gone and you heard your bedroom door close, and then your front door. 

- 

When you wake up, it's noon. Good thing you're off today. 

Your head is pounding but not as bad as it could be. You take a sip of the water thats on your nightstand and stretch your upper body. 

After you brush your teeth and hair, you make your way to your kitchen to make a quick lunch. You see a cup of iced coffee and a bagel on your counter along with a note. 

Your favorite hangover meal.

Levi