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unearthly-doting · 2 months

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finding their soulmate: genshin edition.

a/n: i haven't made a post here in a hot second and i honestly apologize about that lol. the motivation to write just hasn't been there but!! here's a small lil genshin post for now. i just spun a wheel to pick who i write but if u want me to write for some of the others then just lmk!!

includes: xiao, kaeya, kujou sara, albedo, tartaglia, and ayato.

warnings: mdni, yandere content, not edited, gn reader, kidnapping, forced relationships, arranged marriage, manipulation, reader injury in both kujou sara's, albedo's and tartaglia's parts, childe stabs you :peace sign:, canon is a very vague concept in my writing more often than not btw, this is kinda cringey </3, the yandere content in albedo's part is actually very mild bc i was restraining myself bc there was a lot i wanted to do w it.

XIAO — never really cared much about finding his soulmate. His entire existence was dedicated to protecting Liyue, even if the nation no longer needed his protection. Besides, with how long he's been around, he just assumed his soulmate was long dead and that he'd never meet them. Though, a small part of him wondered... what was his soulmate like?

And, almost as if the universe had been listening, he ends up meeting you. His soulmate. It wasn't a classic, romantic meeting. He didn't save your life or anything like that. You were just a traveler who decided to stay at the inn.

He didn't think much of you until his eyes met yours and suddenly color was flooding into his world. It made him dizzy, and it stunned him into absolute silence because all he could so was stare at you with wide eyes.

You were clearly going through it as well, because obviously. You just met your fucking soulmate on a damn business trip. What the hell were you supposed to do now? It would be awkward to just... ignore what had happened, right? I mean, he's staring right at you and this was all just very overwhelming.

It was an awkward first meeting, that's for sure.

But during your time at the inn, whenever you were free from work, you spent it with Xiao. He was closed off, clearly keeping his guard up and not letting you get too close. You didn't know the reasons, but you didn't expect him to tell you his entire life story just because you two were apparently bound by the universe.

Honestly, you just assumed he didn't want to be with his soulmate. This didn't upset you. It wouldn't work out, anyway. You're only staying for a few weeks before heading home.

But archons, did Xiao want you. Behind his typical, distant behavior, Xiao was taking note of everything about you. Your interests, your habits, your sleep schedule, your favorite foods and desserts... everything you told him or subconsciously revealed, Xiao was tucking it away in his mind.

He wanted you. He wanted you to stay here, in Liyue, with him. Where you belong. But he didn't know how to express that. He's never been in love before, and it's not like he'll just suddenly become an expert at romance after meeting you.

When it was time for you to leave, he was crushed. He needed you to stay. He needed you by his side. Letters wouldn't be enough to fill the emptiness in your wake if you left. You had to stay.

You will stay.

And when you wake up to find yourself no longer in the inn, and instead in some small home deep within the mountains of Liyue, you're distraught.

Xiao looks genuinely guilty, robbing you of your freedom but... you understand, don't you? You have to understand. He just couldn't let you go. You're his soulmate, you were destined to be with him! You'll love it here, he'll make sure of it.

Just stay.

KAEYA — had always wondered what his soulmate was like ever since he was a child. He would spend hours just staring at the small crescent moon forever stained on his wrist, wondering if and when he'll meet the person with a matching mark.

Of course, as he got older he spent less time thinking about such things, though he did always hold out hope that he might be able to one day meet his soulmate. Little did he know, he's met his soulmate already. Multiple times.

You took over Sara's shifts at the Good Hunter whenever she had other things she needed to focus on, so Kaeya has spoken with you on numerous occasions, he's just never realized you were his soulmate because you keep your wrists covered. He's not one to judge, his wrists aren't visible either.

Him finding out was an accident. You had been handing him his order when your sleeves rolled up a bit, and his gaze just so happened to look at your wrists and he saw the very same crescent moon that was on his.

And for a moment, he froze. He just stared. Long enough that you were starting to feel a little uncomfortable. But before you could awkwardly send him on his way, he was showing you the crescent moon on his wrist as well and thus began your love story.

Or... well... it's what Kaeya had hoped for, but you didn't seem interested in soulmates at all. You didn't want the universe to decide who you were meant to be with, you wanted to make that decision yourself, so you had, to put it simply, bluntly rejected him.

And he gets it! It hurts, sure. He spent his entire life dreaming of this day, and it's not turning out the way he had hoped, but... you guys can be friends, at least, right? No strings attached?

For a while, Kaeya was fine with that. You and he had a really strong friendship. He cared about you, and you cared about him. Though your feelings were platonic, he was holding on to the hope that maybe one day, you'll realize you two were meant to be together.

But it was starting to seem as though that day might never come, because almost a year into your friendship with him, you had told Kaeya that you were thinking about entering the dating scene. He was... not too pleased about that, honestly. It was pretty obvious too, the way his entire mood soured the moment you brought the topic up.

He didn't stand by idly while this happened. Any person he saw you chatting up with romantic intentions would suddenly avoid you like the plague the next time you saw them. Any blind dates would end with you being ghosted. Hell, even some of your friends, the ones who were helping you get dates, were starting to avoid you too. It was so confusing.

But not Kaeya. No, Kaeya was always by your side.

Whenever you needed him, he was there. He always seemed to be able to make time for you. He listened to you vent your frustrations out, never once judging you or telling you that you were being dramatic. He was the only constant in your life these days.

Of course, you were completely oblivious to the fact that he was the cause of all of this. It's not that hard to blackmail people, he's learned. But they didn't deserve you anyway, seeing how easily they gave up on you the moment he approached them.

Maybe... maybe dating Kaeya wouldn't be so bad... I mean, you're the one deciding this, right? The universe isn't having any play in it. This is your decision. Isn't it?

KUJOU SARA — never cared about her soulmate. She knew she had one, you were in every dream she had. She found it to be more of a nuisance than anything else.

Her entire life was dedicated to her training, and to the Raiden Shogun. She neither had the time, nor the interest in searching for her soulmate. Besides, it didn't seem as if you resided in Inazuma. Your clothing was similar what people in Fontaine wear, and Fontaine was far away from Inazuma.

She was confident that she wouldn't be meeting you any time soon, so she never gave you any thought when she was awake. She never made any plans on what she would do if she did, by any chance, meet you. It didn't matter.

And she can't help but regret that, now that you're standing in front of her. If she had known that meeting her soulmate would make her feel like this, as if everything in the world suddenly made sense, then... well... she doesn't know what she would've done, to be honest.

No matter, Sara had no time to entertain you. Your stay in Inazuma was only temporary, so she saw no point in trying to form a bond with you. You, however, seemed to have different plans. She was used to seeing you in her dreams every night, but she was not used to seeing you in her waking moments.

Whenever she wasn't preoccupied with something, you were there to offer her company. It was annoying, and she's sent you away more than once, but that didn't seem to deter you. If anything, you seemed to become more determined each time she brushed you off.

At some point, she had given up on avoiding you. It was easier to just let you stick around. And, the more time she spent with you, the more attached she was becoming. It wasn't smart, she knew that, but could you blame her? You're so... irrevocably you.

Her fondness for you didn't go unnoticed.

Many people in Inazuma treated you with the same respect they treated Sara. You were her soulmate, after all. Should someone insult you, they would in turn be insulting her. Nobody wanted to get on her bad side.

There were, however, a few bad apples.

It should come as no surprise that a target was placed on your back the moment people took notice of Sara's attachment to you. She didn't think she'd have to worry much, because no one would be idiotic enough to actually try and harm you under her watch, but she should've known better.

It happened a few days before you were set to leave Inazuma to return home. A disturbance was going on within the city so Sara wasn't with you when you went on your daily walk just outside of it. It was supposed to be safe, but it wasn't.

Some vagrants had got the jump on you, and you nearly lost your life. You were lucky enough to have been found by some bystanders, but Sara was less than pleased when she heard about this. She had never taken pleasure in killing anyone before, but there was a deep-rooted sense of satisfaction deep within her chest when she watched the lives of those who hurt you fade away.

And as she sat by your side, waiting for you to wake up, she came to a decision. You can't be alone. If you are, you'll get hurt, and she won't be able to protect you. She can't let you leave Inazuma. She knows you'll more than likely hate her for making this decision for you, but if it means she can keep you safe, keep you alive and by her side, then... that hatred is something she'll be willing to bear.

ALBEDO — doesn't have a soulmate. At least, he's not supposed to. He's an artificial being, so it wouldn't make sense for him to have a soulmate. Of course, he does find the concept of soulmates to be intriguing. Who, or what, decides who people are destined to be with? It's a question he hopes to find an answer to.

So he wasn't surprised when he found you passed out in the snow, deep within Dragonspine. He's seen this countless times before, travelers who don't take precautions before trying to brave the deadly cold that comes with being here. He assumed he would just nurse you back to health and you would go on your merry way.

That changed, however, when he was cleaning your wounds and he saw his name inked on your skin, right on your collarbone. In his handwriting, at that. It confused him, because... that would mean that he's your soulmate. But he can't be. And yet, it didn't come off when he tried wiping it off. It was a part of your skin.

This left him with many questions, though none of them got answered when you woke up. You couldn't remember much about yourself, other than your name and a few other details. You didn't even know why you were in Dragonspine, or where you were from. You did hit your head pretty badly, judging from the headwound, so that would explain the amnesia, though he's not sure if it was going to be something temporary or not.

You both decided it would be best to just have you stay here until you were able to recover some of your memories and although Albedo wasn't eager to make friends with you, he was grateful for the company. He was incredibly patient with you too, answering any questions you may have had ranging from a multitude of different topics.

And in return, you helped out as much as you could without overexerting yourself and making your injuries worse. You'd make sure to keep his little lab tidy when he was away. You'd help out with some of his experiments too, if he knew you wouldn't get hurt doing so.

All while trying to figure out how he could possibly be your soulmate. He checked over himself. Four times. Your name was nowhere on his body. So why? Why was his name on yours? As much as he hates to admit it, he thinks he may never get an answer to this mystery.

Though... that's not such a bad thing, he thinks. He finds himself enjoying your company more and more with each passing day, the whole soulmate thing rarely even crossed his mind. At least, until you had asked him why his name was permanently etched into your skin. It was fairly easy to explain everything to you, though he was unable to answer a few of your questions, sadly. Soulmates were still a mystery, after all.

And when you asked if you could write your name on him so you two could match, he found himself unable to say no. He found himself unable to speak at all, actually, as you wrote your name on his shoulder. You even added a little heart next to it.

But no, Albedo was too busy coming to terms with the feelings he has for you. They weren't new. He's been aware of them for a week or so now, he just never gave it much thought until now. Now, with you so close to him, it was simply impossible to ignore.

And once you pull away, you smile at him and say, "There! Now I'm your soulmate too, right?" And oh.

Oh.

There was no way Albedo was going to let you leave Dragonspine now.

TARTAGLIA — feels a little bad for his soulmate, whoever they are. They can feel his pain, and he can feel theirs. So... they probably hate his guts, considering he's not the most careful person in the world. He pushes himself to his limits and beyond, and his soulmate has no doubt felt every single second of it.

Don't get him wrong, he would love to meet his soulmate. It's been a dream of his since he was a child, always eager to hear the story of how his mom and dad found out they were soulmates. Even as he grew older, the desire never went away. It was just... buried.

And his soulmate just so happened to be you, the significant other of a man who owed the Northland Bank a lot of money. He doesn't normally partake in debt collections, but he didn't have anything better to do so he decided to take this one on. He was going to use you as an example to your husband, though the moment his blade stabbed you, he froze.

He felt the pain. He stabbed you, and he could feel it. Oh fuck, he just stabbed his soulmate. That's definitely not the picturesque first meeting he was hoping for. Probably wouldn't be a good idea to tell his family this either...

Stabbing aside, he was utterly delighted. You, on the other hand, were terrified. Not only did this man just fucking stab you, his expression went from bored to something akin to crazed glee. He stared at you with a hunger that made you want to shy away from his gaze.

He doesn't care that you're already in a relationship with someone else. Not anymore, you're not. You're his, destined by the stars or however the story goes. And if your lover tries to get you back, he'll just kill them. Easy as that. Absolutely nothing will get in the way of him having you.

And he likes that you fight back against him. He especially loves it when you manage to escape. Hell, sometimes he'll even let you go just so he can chase you down again. It sends a thrill through him like no other when he catches you, and you stare at him teary-eyed and out of breath.

You're always so scared that he'll hurt you, but he would never do such a thing. He treats you like you're royalty, spoiling you with a seemingly endless amount of gifts. You're not quite sure how he knows what you like, and you're too hesitant to ask.

Honestly... he'd probably let you stab him. Y'know, he stabbed you, so it's only fair that you get to stab him in turn, right?

You think not. You're very hesitant, staring at him as though he were insane for even proposing such an idea. A part of him was disappointed. He wanted one of the many scars on his body to be from you. But a much larger part can't help but go soft at the sight of you shaking your head, sternly refusing to hurt him.

If he wasn't obsessed with you before, he certainly was now. You're too good. Too kind. He's holding you captive (lovingly, of course) and you refuse to hurt him? You don't even want to pinch him? How adorable.

Why, if he didn't know any better, he'd think that you might care about him.

He was nothing if not stubborn, of course. You might not care about him now, but you will in the future. He'll make sure of it.

After all, he's spent his whole life waiting for you.

AYATO — never had the time to think of his soulmate. He was blessed (or cursed, depending on who you ask) with the ability to see the red strings that tied people together. When he was younger, before having to take on the duties of the Kamisato name, he would always stare at the one tied to his pinkie.

He even has the habit of twirling the red string around his finger whenever he gets stressed. Only behind closed doors, of course. It would probably appear strange to others if they saw.

Meeting his soulmate was something he had always planned out in his head as a child, and when he finally did meet you, it was so... simple. There was nothing magical about it, you had just bumped into him one day when he was out in the city and that's what started all of this.

For you, it was a forgettable encounter, one that would never cross your mind again. For him, it was everything he had been waiting for. Thoma thought it was a bit strange, but he dutifully gathered information about you when Ayato asked it of him. He needed to know everything there was to know about you.

He already knew what he was going to do when he met his soulmate, the only thing left was to actually do it. And you were definitely shocked when Kamisato Ayato himself showed up at your home and asked you to marry him.

You said no, obviously, because why the hell would you agree to marry someone you didn't know? Ayato had planned for this, of course. That's why he had Thoma learn everything about you, so the moment you declined his offer, he just smiled and made a comment about your family. It was very obvious what he was implying.

And even if you aren't close with your family, you can't live with blood on your hands. You were pretty much forced into accepting Ayato's marriage proposal. He was pleased with this outcome, promising to take care of everything himself.

Marrying him meant that you would, unfortunately, have to leave your home and instead live at the Kamisato Estate. Everyone was under the impression that this marriage was one of love and not coercion. You highly doubt that anyone would believe you if you told them the truth, and you were too concerned about what the consequences would be if you did.

Everyone at the estate was nice to you, at least, though the only people allowed to actually get close to you were Ayaka and Thoma.

And when the wedding was over, it was time for your honeymoon. You were not excited about that, but it seemed Celestia itself was on your side during that time because he was too busy to spend time with you.

If he wasn't threatening the lives of your family, you would have made numerous escape attempts by now. Still, you've made it very clear that you hate his guts.

Your hatred is something he detests, though he can't fault you for it. He understands that what he's forced you into is wrong, but in his mind, it was something that had to be done. He's sure that given enough time and space, you'll grow to understand why he did what he did.

And even though you scorn his existence, Ayato looks at you as if you've placed the stars in the sky.

Your strings are forever tied together, so there's no getting out of this. He doesn't plan on ever letting you go. He'd be a terrible husband if he didn't keep you close, wouldn't he?

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ambrosiagoldfish · 4 months

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Lucifer, Charlie, and alastor with a Kitsune reader ? :0

Hazbin Hotel x Kitsune! Reader

(Lucifer, Charlie, and Alastor)

Safe for all Audiences!

Warnings: None! Gn! Reader! Reader being a mischievous Little Kitsune, chaos ensues.

Request Box: Open

Word count: 1101

A/n: Hi! thank you for the request! This isn’t terribly long so I hopes that’s ok!

Now, I wasn’t entirely sure if you want this to be Romantic or Platonic so I kept it pretty vague so it could be interpreted as either! I hope that’s ok, if not just send another request and I’ll fix it!!

But either way I hope you enjoy it because i enjoyed writing it!! <3

Proofread once soooo… if there are any errors please ignore them/inform me 😭

Lucifer

When you first arrived in hell, he wasnt the most impressed by you. Not in a mean way or anything, just that he’s lived for a long time and has met a plethora of different types of beings so he’s pretty used to meeting interesting looking people.

But even he has to admit that he was intrigued with you. Your 9 well-groomed and lush tails that quietly followed you with every step and the fur of your fox ears looked soft to the touch. The thing that he seemed to notice most though was the whole eloquent aura you had with every movement you did. Smooth, almost tranquil.

You being a Kitsune did cause you to stir up a bit of… let's say trouble. Your fox nature of course caused you to have a personality that leaned a bit mischievously. You weren’t malicious by any means, you judt had a very… unique taste in humor and how you wish to spend your time. Pranks, stealing random objects that interest you, and going places that you probably should be. This gets you in trouble with many a folk but it’s really not something you can’t handle.

On one of these occasions. you took interest in his custom made duckys. First off, it was something new to you, 2nd, you had never seen someone be this interested in ducks as him, so when you randomly stumbled into the big man of hell’s workspace that’s filled to the brim of them, each with unique features and colorful designs, needless to say you were quite interested.

He was a bit embarrassed at first when you found it but seeing that you genuinely were into them he literally couldnt stop showing them off. Going into almost ecrusiating detail of each one's design choices. (This man is so autistic-coded. I love him so much)

He even made a custom one for you which he gave you when both met again. It was a basic duck design, except it had 9 tail feathers and wore fox ears that clearly mimicked your own, including your fur pattern. He then spent an hour going through each of its features with you. To say you were grateful would be an understatement.

“And if you pull this feather back… Bubbles! Oh-ho, and that's not all! If you take this and-”

Charlie

Definitely more impressed than her father would be. Of course she has been in hell literally all her life and has seen some weird, wacky, hot and cool people but it still doesnt not surprise her when she finds interesting people. When you first met her she was really interested in you, asking a bunch of questions and It was almost scary how enthusuatsic about it she got.

She then started talking about her brand new “Hazbin Hotel.” It was something to reform sinners so that they had a chance at redemption. Charlie seemed so excited to tell you about it that you honestly did have the heart to tell her that you didn’t exactly believe a soul could be redeemed.

Now depending on if you’re hellborn or a sinner, things can go a bit differently. If youre hellborn she’ll offer you a job at the hotel, well to say a job would be a lie, you didn’t really have 1 given task to do, you just helped out when needed. if you’re a sinner, you of course get to stay in a room at the hotel. Whether you actually go along and try to get better is up to you. It was a free place to sleep, so hey? Might as well. Either way though, Charlie always sees the good in people, hellborn or not. So she would obviously want to help you grow as a person even if you are hellborn.

The michevues aspects of your personality tends to cause some problems for the hotel at times. Fights happen, lessons have ended prematurely, and you may have accidentally caused a bar fight between Angel and Sir Pentious. It really was an accident, how was you supposed to know “borrowing” one of Pentious’ shiny tools would cause such a ruckus?

Charlie lectored you about taking others' stuff and made you apologize.

As much as Charlie doesn’t want to admit it (at least before episode 5) she’s a lot like her dad. That also expands to their likeness for your fur. She really can’t take her eyes away from it, it just looks so soft and neat… and soft… eventually you catch her staring at your tails and you just laugh and ask her if she wants to touch them.

“What!? Pfft, noooo, no no no. hehe…he…unless you’re offering…”

Alastor

Considering Alastor died in the 20’s I don’t think he knows what a Kitsune is exactly. Which is probably why he’s the most interesting in you at first glance (you could have also met when he first manifested in hell, which would only further his intrigue)

Either way, your personalities seemed to mesh well for the most part. You both stir up trouble wherever you go (Alastor a bit more… maliciously than you but still)

Whether you’re hellborn or a sinner is irrelevant to how he treats you, though he has tried making a deal with you every once and a while. You always decline but he thinks it’s always worth a shot to ask.

Alastor is aware of your devious behavior and knows the best way to handle it if it ever happens to come his way. He knows that you’re harmless and not a threat which is exactly why he has taken a liking to you. You’re someone who can only really help his cause and nothing bad can really come out of you being around.

Pranks though, are the one thing that Alastor can’t seem to sway you out of doing. He can’t even begin to count the amount of times he’s been at the front end of them. Of course he always sees through them and they’ve never once worked, but boy are you sure determined to one day get him.

This was one such case where you attempted to steal and hide his radio cane while he was asleep, only for him to sneak up shadow form and scare you half to double death

“You’re going to have to try harder than that to pull one past me, my, oh-so dear, exquisitely fluffy friend”

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merakiui · 4 days

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me & you, beyond a horizon so blue.

scaramouche/wanderer x (gender neutral) reader cw: slight angst, brief and vague mentions of scaramouche's past and the shouki no kami fight, you and wanderer have adopted a child together, this fic takes place before scara tries to erase himself in irminsul note - after he's defeated in a fight against the traveler, scaramouche wakes up in the distant future and learns a few things about an emotion he's always felt undeserving of.

It’s dark until he has the courage to force his eyes open.

Immediately, he wants to shut them. Near-blinding, the afternoon sun beams into his room through a part in the curtains. If he were human, it would have caused some sort of irreversible retinal damage. He’s not—though he isn’t spared the impending irritation—and so he’s able to adjust with relative quickness, his indigo eyes soon finding comfort in the brightness. It means a new day has dawned. He’s not dead—if that mortal concept can even apply to a puppet like him.

With a weak groan, Scaramouche drags a hand down his face and, like a sluggish, reanimated corpse, sits up in bed. The sheets are clean and soft, a soothing balm amidst the unrest that vibrates through him. It has been a long while since he’s slept through the night, preferring the shadows over the sun. Nocturnal like nature intended. A creature created in gloom can change and adapt, but it will always seek familiarity no matter what.

Intrinsically like a rooted habit.

It’s only natural he would be forced into sleep, considering the fall was not pleasant, nor was the inevitable impact. He brings his fingers to his cheek, presses against the area, and assesses for injury. Nothing is damaged.

But then nothing is fixed. Not internally.

Having expected the dreary interior of an infirmary, he’s struck with bewilderment when he makes note of the bedroom he’s currently confined to. It’s furnished like a typical residence, unlike that of any inn he’s ever known, and there is a strange sense about this space. As if he’s always known about it and has just recalled it, destined to wake here one day and submit himself to its simple charms.

This can’t be right.

He’s never seen this bedroom before, let alone slept in it. Until now, that is. Perhaps a part of him has subconsciously willed it into existence with all of his fruitless wishing, the result of some illusion weaved from the intricacies of hopeful dreams.

Scaramouche glances at the bedside table, his brow furrowed in the beginnings of a wary scowl. Something is so obviously, painfully not right. He knows it has something to do with this room and the fact that he’s alone and unguarded. Lesser Lord Kusanali is not a fool, no matter how much he’d like to comfort himself with that delusion, and so he knows there should be no reason why he’s here instead of where he’s meant to be.

And then he hears them—voices. Three of them, actually. One is high and giggly. It’s a little girl. Judging by the intonation of the other, an adult. Her guardian, to be more exact. He can’t place the third, especially since it’s one that sounds so grossly affectionate. He’s never heard anyone, human or not, speak with such tender warmth.

He’s never known such a thing. Not in a long while.

Scaramouche throws the covers off at once, stumbling from the bed in a panicked flurry. Watching it like it’s a threat, he clutches his chest. He doesn’t feel a heartbeat; rather, it’s the crackle of Electro deep within the core of his being that resounds, fizzling like snapped, angry circuitry. His fingers dig into wrinkled fabrics and he takes pause, realizing his actions.

To think something as mundane as a bed could startle him.

To think comfort would feel like a curse.

What a joke. Even here, I’m not allowed the peace of a lonesome parting.

He walks on intact legs, bidding the room a final glower before throwing the door open and stomping outside. Wherever he’s found himself, whether the mortal coil or a place beyond, he’s determined to get out. He pays no attention to the picture frames on the wall as he stalks down the hall, his mind working twice as fast to conjure a plan. If this place proves to be foul, there will be casualties. Three of them.

Bloodshed is nothing new.

What is new, though, is the scene he walks into when he approaches the kitchen, stepping through the threshold and immediately stopping short when he sees himself.

Only…he’s different.

“You’re in poor shape,” his other self comments, almost conversationally, as if this sort of talk is casual. He’s dressed in breezy colors: whites and blues, the prettiest of hues. It’s a color scheme he would never entertain at present, but it sings of free skies with fluffy cumulus. An unburdened soul, light as a feather.

Scaramouche opens his mouth to retort—so are you—and shuts it because that’s not true. His other self looks better than ever as he sits at the table. He looks healthy.

He looks happy.

“Whoa! There are two Papas?!”

He flinches, horribly rigid, every sense on high alert. His gaze pans over to the little girl peeking out from behind your legs. She looks at him like he’s a wonder to behold—like he’s someone worth adoring.

It’s different. It’s not the fondly fearful gaze of a devout follower, nor is it the clinical stare of a mournful creator or a deranged doctor. It’s something else.

It’s…

What is it? What is that emotion—the one that has evaded him for the entirety of his existence?

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead. We were beginning to wonder when you’d wake up.”

He turns to look at you. A smile softens your features. Coupled with the glorious sunlight filtering in from the window, you are the most seraphic creature he’s ever seen. Horrified at the development of his thoughts, he hardens his face into a vicious glare and tamps down the weakness that rises to the surface.

“You were expecting me?” he asks, but it sounds like a demand. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Why don’t you take a seat? I can fetch you a cup of tea,” you offer, your voice gentle and coaxing. He glances at the little girl. Her gaze is worn down with worry.

“I will do no such thing,” he snaps, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no authority over me. I’ll sit if I so please, and I do not please. So I will not sit, nor will I indulge in tea.”

His other self barks out a laugh. “To think I was like that… I was intolerable.”

“Still are,” you reply with a cheeky grin.

“You’re just as bad,” he snipes back, but there isn’t any heat to the remark. There’s that emotion again, reflected so clearly when he’s looking at you. His other self smiles—genuinely smiles—and then addresses him next. The smile tightens into something serious. “Relax. We’re not going to bite.”

“No, but I can and I will. Don’t think for a minute that just because you’re me I won’t—” He stops himself when the little girl tugs on his shorts, peering up at him with more wide-eyed concern. Rather awkwardly, he does his best to bring his attitude to a child-friendly level. “I… I’m fine.” He searches the silence for her name.

“Aaliya! Nice to meet you, Papa Number Two!”

Scaramouche nods mechanically, moves to bend down to her height, and then straightens again, thinking better of it. “What is all of this?” His hand sweeps across the room. “Just who are you?”

Like clockwork finely tuned, you and his other self exchange a furtive glance before nodding. It’s some unspoken language Scaramouche can’t decode. He frowns as he watches this interaction, even more suspicious than before.

“Aaliya, could you draw something for me?” you ask, guiding her from the kitchen towards the neighboring sitting room. Aaliya grabs a notebook and pencil from the countertop as she goes, humming her compliance. “We need another masterpiece to hang up, and you’re the best artist we’ve got.”

She giggles. “You can count on me!”

The sound calms him. He almost allows his shoulders to drop. Almost.

Scaramouche watches from the doorway, observing the way you interact with the girl. It’s parental and adoring. You care for this child, and she cares for you.

Just what is that elusive emotion? Why can’t he place it?

Once Aaliya has been successfully distracted with the allure of art, you return to take your seat beside his other self. Scaramouche stares between the both of you, utterly lost.

“You don’t have to sit—not like I could get you to after you’ve made up your mind—but, at the very least, let’s talk.”

Scaramouche’s eyes narrow. “Speak.”

“So entitled…” His other self sighs. “I shouldn’t expect anything less. I am you, after all.”

“Was,” he corrects astutely. “This isn’t the present day, and it can’t possibly be a dream.” He scrutinizes his surroundings, slowly fitting the pieces together. “It’s gone on for much too long.”

His other self tilts his head, playful. “Are you sure you’re not just stuck under Buer’s thumb?”

Right. Dreams. Lesser Lord Kusanali can poke her nose in and out of dreams as she pleases.

“Plausible, yes. But this is too detailed. And you—” he gestures to Blue Scaramouche— “are different. I wouldn’t dream of something so inane. Something like…this.”

Something so carefree and content, he almost tacks on as an afterthought, but he refrains. Weakness.

“Oh, but of course. You’re too good for good things,” his other self jeers, sardonic in a way that incites violence. He pushes that urge away. There’s a child nearby. “For what it’s worth, we’re still the same person.”

“Do not compare me to a weakling like you.”

“Hah? You think I’m the weak one? I’ll show you—”

“Wawan, relax,” you say, moving your body to obstruct his view.

Both look on, horrified.

“Wawan?” Scaramouche ventures, brows furrowed.

“You…” He turns away with a huff.

“What? It’s cute! You like it!” You smile and nudge him.

Scaramouche is in awe, nearly slack-jawed from witnessing such a bold display. If anyone were to do that to him—to the fearsome Lord Harbinger Scaramouche—they would not get away unscathed. In fact, he’d subject them to a death so brutal they’d beg for release even in the afterlife. No one lays a finger on him unless they’re actively seeking a bloody finale. More importantly, no one reduces his being to such flowery nicknames.

Disgusting.

His other self—this Wawan fool—recovers from his flustered state and clears his throat. “Wanderer,” he says, hurrying the syllables before you can make any more comments. “The name I go by. You should know it because you’ll use it one day.”

“I will do no such thing.”

Wanderer’s expression softens at that—out of sympathy, he realizes. Uncharacteristic, Scaramouche thinks. I do not soften, nor do I sympathize.

“You lost, Balladeer. There is no future for the god you hoped to become because he doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

He bristles, suddenly defensive. “And who’s to say I haven’t already achieved godhood? Your claims are as useful as a corpse. You have no valid proof.”

“But I do. I’m you.”

“Even so, you’re woefully uninformed if you can so carelessly prattle on about—”

Wanderer sighs again, and this time you offer your hand. He hesitates, looking between Scaramouche and you, before his hand slips into yours, holding tight. Scaramouche’s face twists.

Foul.

“You failed, and this is the result of that—the future neither of us could have foreseen.”

“Failure is a strong word,” you chime in, running your thumb over the top of his hand. You look at Scaramouche next. “You didn’t succeed, yes, but you can learn from your mistakes and grow.”

“And grow I so apparently did,” he mutters, bitter and resentful. “Into a weakling who…” He pauses, his tongue heavy in his mouth, eloquence escaping him. “A weakling who… Who shackles himself to idyllic nonsense with nothing but…” His fingers curl into tight fists. “Nothing but filthy weaknesses to show for it.”

Nonplussed, Wanderer submits to temporary silence, to the comforts you provide. There’s a feeling sprouting between the both of you. Neither of you says anything, but you understand regardless. It’s a silent sort of communication, an undeniable connection. An understanding fostered from that despicable emotion.

With an offended scoff, Scaramouche turns swiftly on his heel and freezes when he finds Aaliya standing there. She peers up at him, studies his poker face, and presents him with her drawing.

“Papa tells me love is hard, but it comes easy when you’re with the right people. You need to be willing and accepting. When you are, love will find you and you’ll find love.”

She presses the parchment into his hands. Shakily, he beholds it. It’s a poorly drawn family portrait, but Aaliya’s artistic talents mean nothing to him. It’s the first time he’s ever been willingly included in a portrait. A family portrait. The only time someone has bothered to document a side of him that isn’t the vindictive, villainous, ever-raging tempest he’s known for. The one time he’s ever known what it means to be loved.

Ah. There’s that emotion. That temperamental, difficult, stormy emotion. It’s love.

In this future, he is treasured and cherished. He has a family. He has love, and he feels it and it’s reciprocated. Or Wanderer feels it, that is. But Scaramouche can see it: the quiet intricacies of your relationship—it’s all the result of love. You love him. Him—a being who was never created for the sake of loving. A being who has always been undeserving, unfit for the burden of divine admiration and reverence. You love him, and he loves you. Godhood and power and control—none of these things matter when compared to love itself.

Scaramouche stares at Aaliya next. He folds the drawing into a neat square, clutches it in a trembling fist, and—

And he cries.

Silently. His shoulders do not shudder. He does not gasp and wail like a newborn. It is entirely soundless, a reaction delayed by years. Tear trails streak down his porcelain cheeks in steady streams. His lip wobbles.

And he cries.

He cries as he brushes past Aaliya, ignoring her protests and your mumble of, “Let him go. He needs space,” while he flees, beelining for the bedroom. He cries when he unfurls his fingers to cradle the folded square in his palm. He cries when he thinks of the life he’s lived—the suffering and the lies and the tragedy and the backstabbing and the manipulation. He cries because he can’t hold back anymore. Because he failed. Because he will never be a god. Because he is inadequate in the eyes of the divine—as unsubstantial as a common pest.

He cries because he’s loved. Because someone has found something within his fractured being that’s worth loving.

He cries into the night, curled in on himself to protect what’s left of his exposed weakness.

It’s dark when he closes his eyes, and unlike before they remain shut. Because if he opens them—if he doesn’t patch up the damaged floodgates—he will cry.

And it hurts to cry.

And Scaramouche, for all of the pain he’s dealt, has never enjoyed being on the receiving end of agony, self-inflicted or otherwise.

It is a long, sleepless night punctuated with the soft pitter-patter of rainfall.

He’s lying sprawled like a defeated starfish when the first few rays of sunshine poke through the window. Groaning, he slides his arm over his eyes. He knows himself, even if Wanderer is a version of himself he has not yet experienced, and so he doesn’t expect to be checked on. The silence is both a comfort and a curse, smoothing his nerves and chewing through to the core of his being.

He thinks I’ll come to him first. How utterly foolish.

Scaramouche turns his back towards the sun and presses his face further into the sheets, drained of energy even though he’s just woken up. His ears prick at the sound of a girlish giggle and he lifts his head slightly, his eyes sliding towards the window. Aaliya skips down the pathway, carrying a basket in one hand and holding another girl’s hand with her other.

A friend, Scaramouche observes, watching the girls until they’re out of sight. He hears you call out to them even though they’re already long gone: “Be back before dinner and don’t get into any trouble!”

He peers at his own hand and flexes his fingers experimentally. Is everyone this feeble in the future, or am I just too strong?

There’s a knock on his door next. He intends to lie back down and block the world out, but instead he sits up and stares.

“Balladeer, I’ve put a pot of tea on. You’re more than welcome to have some if you’d like.”

He won’t dignify you with a reply. Or that’s what he initially thinks, but then he’s covering the distance to the door before he can stop himself. He yanks it open, much to your surprise.

“I—” he starts, his scowl mellowing into a reflection of the cold and cruel Fatuus he’s known to be. “I…will have a cup,” he finishes, oddly subdued.

“You don’t have to force yourself to talk. You can glare at us if it makes you feel better. Just make sure to take care of yourself, okay? We’re here for you if you need anything.”

He scoffs, straightens his posture into something regal, and pushes past you. “I was feeling much better until you opened your mouth and spat that irritating dross.”

You exhale through your nose, tentatively stepping into his path. For a minute he considers sweeping past you, but deep down he knows that he—the one he supposedly becomes in the future—would regret it. He would hate to push you away when you’re making an effort to be close—an emotional proximity he’s so clearly avoiding.

“You’re always welcome here.”

“Considering the circumstances, you have no choice but to be hospitable. It’s pointless to feign sincerity just because I’m here. I’m not fragile. Do not treat me as such.”

“You’re right. You’re far from fragile.”

He opens his mouth to argue that point and then pauses, absorbing your words with a dubious frown.

“You may not believe me, but you’re very resilient and so strong. I should know because I wake next to him every morning, and his existence is enough to remind me that he’s come a very long way.”

Smiling, you continue onwards. Scaramouche stalls, wondering what that could possibly mean. A very long way from what?

He’s not sure he wants the answer to that.

As if it matters.

“Without spoiling too much, I’ll say you’re in for a world of development,” Wanderer says once Scaramouche has graced the kitchen with his arrival. He’s sitting at the table, which is set for three people and adorned with the usual Sumerian snacks. The scent of tea hangs in the air, fragrant like perfume. “Lots of fun things.”

“Fun,” Scaramouche parrots, his nose scrunching. “What an unconventional way to refer to countless days and nights of agony.”

“I never said it’d be easy.”

“You never said it’d be difficult either.”

“Both of you,” you cut in—vocally and physically, you’re standing between the two of them— “no fighting at the table.”

Wanderer takes your hands in his when you lower into the seat beside him, his thumbs tracing delicate patterns into your skin. “Do you see how troublesome he is? Did you really have to put up with him all those years ago?”

“He’s part of you, Wawan.”

He scoffs. “No part I particularly care for anymore.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest so the couple in front of him won’t pick up on his discomfort. “I’m not asking to be cared for or coddled. Hate me all you want. I don’t intend to like either of you.”

“Well?” Wanderer raises a brow, a smirk lazily tugging at his lips. “Insufferable.”

“Bitter like your tea,” you agree, to which Wanderer and Scaramouche huff in unison.

They glance at one another, searching the other for an indication of mutual tolerance, before turning away.

“I suppose,” Scaramouche says after a beat of silence, “I shall indulge. Be grateful.” He steps closer towards the table, lifts his cup from its saucer, and brings it to his lips. It’s lukewarm and just as bitter as the tea he’s enjoyed in the past. “It would be a shame to let tea go to waste after your efforts to prepare it.”

He nods in your direction and you beam under his approval.

“Thank you, Balladeer.”

His brow raises, but he doesn’t ask. You fill in the blanks yourself.

“This is the current you. Right now, Wanderer and I, this entire home, the life we share, and even our dear Aaliya—none of it exists in your present. If anything, we’re just a dream to you. So who else are you if not The Balladeer?”

Who else…

“Obviously I’m no one in this…reality.” He frowns. “If I’ve become that, there’s no need for any of my current aliases.”

“Perhaps not, but you’ll see for yourself when you get there.”

“I’d rather not. I’ll simply shut my eyes.”

“Avoidance is a common symptom of unresolved trauma,” Wanderer oh-so-helpfully adds.

“Oh, you’re a comedian now, are you?” But he isn’t laughing.

“Just passing on a fact I learned. You’ll hear it for yourself one day. Why not share it in advance? Soften the blow a little.”

“And you’re so perfect?”

“I have no intention to be.”

“Sure.” Scaramouche sips his tea, swallowing the torrent of insults weighing heavy in his mind and on his tongue. “I suppose all of this just fell into your imperfect lap then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before they can continue their petulant bickering, you gaze sharply at Wanderer and then at Scaramouche. He’s never felt compelled to obey anyone; he’s never needed to heed those who have always sat below him on the hierarchical pyramid. But for some reason he shuts his mouth and lowers his gaze to the floor.

This is pointless. I must find my way out of here at the earliest convenience before he drives me into the ground with his irritating sentiments.

“Arguing isn’t going to solve anything. He’s our guest, first and foremost. We should treat him like one.”

“I guess it can’t be helped. If this truly is our reality for the next few days, there’s no point in living in denial and self-loathing,” Wanderer concedes with a huff.

“Which is precisely why we should welcome this opportunity. It might not come around again.”

“Let’s hope it never does,” Wanderer and Scaramouche admit at the same time.

That elicits a giggle from you, and they turn on you with disapproving glares. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not funny—I know. I just couldn’t help it. You’re the same person, yet so different. Even your stares hold different feelings.”

Scaramouche won’t acknowledge your observations with a response. Instead, he watches his reflection as it warps and wavers in the tea. And then he drinks.

This is by far the most excruciating dream I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

There is no pain or death in this dream. No power tantamount to that of a god. He may as well be an apparition without an apparent place in this world. But there is domestic bliss and that is by far the most torturous aspect of this dream.

To think anyone could look upon my visage with such tenderness… You must be out of your mind.

“It’s not like I particularly care, but you seem to lead a quaint life.” Scaramouche sets his empty cup down and leans against the wall, his arms folding impetuously. “Why?”

Wanderer, troublesome menace that he is, bats his eyes and pulls you against him in a possessive half-hug. “Difficult to believe, isn’t it?”

Scaramouche wants to scowl, but he refrains. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“It’s mostly quaint,” you cut in, smooth as alabaster. “Life is always busier when you’re with your loved ones and there’s plenty to do—never a dull moment, as they say—but I don’t mind it. I like busy days.”

The delivery sounds rehearsed, but Scaramouche suspects it’s the truth. Your eyes soften and your smile mellows into something adoring when you nudge Wanderer. He almost retches outright when his other self nudges you back, discreetly reaching for your hand beneath the table. He won’t comment, but it prickles his skin with disgust when he watches this display. His other self fancies you so openly… The current Scaramouche would never.

Could never.

“Also, busy days prevent useless idling.”

“And keep boredom at bay,” Wanderer finishes. He assesses Scaramouche with a fleeting once-over. “You’ve always been a sad, lonesome existence. Your busy days were but minor distractions meant to fill a bottomless void that could never truly be filled.”

“What of it? I prefer solitude.”

He exhales a humorless breath. “Centuries of solitude and all it took was a single vase of flowers… Neither of us could have guessed.”

A vase of flowers? he wonders, bewildered, but too prideful to ask for an explanation. When will I ever receive flowers?

“You don’t need to worry about that right now,” you say, sipping at your tea with a cryptic smile. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “I’ve had enough ‘good things’ for the rest of my life.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Even if you don’t think so, you’re deserving of good things. Everyone is, even if they’ve done something bad.”

He waits for the gutting punchline. It never comes.

He watches the world beyond the window: fluffy clouds, grass rustling in a breeze, a bird hopping about on the ground. His reflection frowns back at him. “I don’t agree.”

Wanderer shrugs. “If you say so.”

“That’s okay. If that’s what you think, who are we to judge your opinion?”

Briefly, Scaramouche wonders how you can have the patience to put up with him. With Wanderer, he thinks, even though he knows he’s just as troublesome, if not more.

He finishes the rest of his tea and then rises from his seat.

It’s not as if it matters. He doesn’t fit in this family portrait. He never will.

But he does in some distant future.

How peculiar…

Scaramouche wakes on his third day in a rather pleasant purgatory. As it happens, he’s still stuck in this unusual cottage with a bizarre doppelgänger.

So be it, he thinks, sitting up in bed. It occurs to him that he hasn’t been very resistant since he was plucked from his timeline and dropped here. But what is there to resist? You and his other self? This comfortable home? Family? Happiness? Love?

I should get back to my world as soon as possible. That’s my priority. Do not get distracted.

Ideally, he’d like to imagine that’s where he belongs, but he knows there’s no place in this world—or any other world and timeline—where he’s wanted and accepted. At the very least, there’s some semblance of home in his timeline. Even if it isn’t the most welcoming.

When he wanders into the kitchen, he finds you standing over the stovetop. Strips of meat sizzle in a pan. Sitting at the table, doodling on a blank page, is Aaliya. He hasn’t spoken much to her since his first day, and she hasn’t come to his room to pester him.

“Let him settle in,” you and Wanderer tell her whenever she stalks past the closed door.

Still, he feels the beginning of a smile pull at his lips as he watches her kick her legs to and fro to an imaginary tempo.

I’m looking after a child in this timeline. Me. A parent…

He struggles to fathom it.

“Oh, Papa’s back!”

“Already?” You whirl around, a greeting on your tongue. “Ah, no, honey, that’s our visitor. The Balladeer is his name. He does look like Papa, though, doesn’t he?”

“B-Balla… Ballaba… Babadeer?” She scrunches her face up, perplexed.

Scaramouche offers her a gentle, understanding smile. “You may call me ‘Baba’ if it’s easier to pronounce.”

She lights up immediately. “Okay! You’re Baba and Papa’s Papa!”

He finds that the term is more endearing than any alias he’s taken on in the span of his lengthy existence.

“Speaking of, where is he? I would assume he’d be smart enough not to leave me by my lonesome.”

“He’s out for the day. Won’t be back until later.” You lift the pan from the stove and proceed to distribute breakfast between two plates. He shakes his head at you when you attempt to fix him a plate. With a shrug, you add, “You slept in. How was it?”

“Acceptable,” he admits, lowering into the chair beside Aaliya. “I suppose it’s better than most places.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” You place a cup of tea in front of him. “Bitter. Just how you like it.”

Scaramouche eyes it like it’s poison. “Your hospitality is…appreciated.”

“What do you think?” Aaliya lifts her drawing, proudly showcasing the portrait she’s sketched of you.

Scaramouche is a critic of many things. Art is not one of them. Still, he takes the page in his hands and spends a moment admiring the shaky linework.

“Very wonderful,” he praises, and he means it. “You should become an artist.”

“I want to, but I also wanna be like Papa. He’s really smart.”

“Is he now?”

“Mhm! He’s studying at the Akademiya. My friends told me only really smart people go there.”

I’m a scholar? Truly? He looks to you for confirmation. The proud smile on your face is answer enough. To think this is what becomes of me in a distant reality…

“A commendable occupation. You should always do your best in your studies. They’re very important. But most of all…” He hesitates. Thankfully, his other self isn’t here to listen to his encouraging words and ridicule him. He’s certain he’d never hear the end of it. “You should pursue what you enjoy.” He reaches out to pat her on the head. “Always dream, Aaliya.”

“I will! I promise.”

Scaramouche doesn’t do promises, but somehow he’s convinced by this one.

You sit across from him. “Time to eat, my dear. You can finish your pretty drawing later.”

She nods and pushes her pencils and crayons away in favor of focusing on her plate. Scaramouche watches, stiff and awkward. Family meals are not an unusual occurrence, but it’s been so long since he’s spent quality time with another living creature. With humans.

Am I really so foolish that I’d willingly indulge in a life with humans? Don’t I know better?

“Wawan told me your arrival might be linked to a faulty Ley Line. We’re not sure when you’ll return to your world—if that’s even a possibility—but until we know more you can stay here with us.”

“If I must. Although I assumed that was already established.”

You chuckle. “Is that right? Then it looks like you’ve gotten comfortable in the three days you’ve been here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your singular deeds are not enough to earn my veneration.”

“I’m not trying to.”

With a huff, he averts his eyes. An uncanny feeling crawls up his throat and settles on his cheeks. You hide your playful grin behind your utensils and eat alongside Aaliya in peaceful silence.

If only everyone could see him: a puppet now named Wanderer, who attends the Akademiya and has a family of his own. A puppet who seems complete when he surrounds himself with his loved ones. It’s impossible to live in denial when all of it is unfolding before his eyes like a fantastical tale in a storybook. He really can’t believe it.

“Tell me—am I fulfilled in this reality?”

You blink back at him, and suddenly he regrets asking. There’s vulnerability in a question like that. An open wound waiting to be exploited.

“Will knowing put you at ease?” Before he can snap back with a defensive reply, you add, “I suspect you’re already aware of the answer.”

He stares at the amber-colored tea in his cup. “I am,” he confesses quietly.

“And do you feel any better?”

“Am I supposed to feel that way?”

“I can’t tell you because there’s no right or wrong way when it comes to emotions. You just…feel them.”

Just feel them?

“I’m more conflicted than anything else. That Wanderer fool… He can’t truly be me. I would never allow myself to grow so weak. To surround myself with weaknesses… How utterly thoughtless.”

“What you see as weakness is his strength.”

Scaramouche’s gaze slides from the tea to you. “And he… And I… I’m happy here? This isn’t a grand farce?”

“As absurd as it seems, this is to be your reality. You’re not always going to be happy. Sometimes you’ll dwell on the past. Sometimes you’ll feel angry and upset. It’s all part of existing.”

“That sounds horrendous.”

“What does?”

“Existing. Isn’t it tiring? I’ve never understood how humans do it.”

“It’s tiring, yes. But it’s also very rewarding. To exist is to cherish happiness and weather hardship. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. Sometimes all you need is enough.”

What if I’ve never had enough? What if I’ve never had anything?

He shuts his mouth. So many questions flit around in his head, but he already knows the answers to most of them. He just doesn’t want to hear it from himself.

To have enough when you’ve never had anything—when you’ve never felt like anything substantial—he surmises Wanderer can sympathize.

The first few drops of rain patter dry earth. Like dolls moved with wire, you and Scaramouche turn towards the window to watch water beads pearl on verdant fronds.

“Oh, it’s raining!” Aaliya exclaims with a delighted giggle.

Scaramouche reaches to touch his cheek. A single tear wets his fingertip.

“Huh,” he mumbles. “So it is.”

Sitting on the stoop, watching worms wriggle in wet soil, Scaramouche sighs.

“Did you know the worms sometimes lose their way when it rains?”

“Is that right?” he murmurs, glancing at Aaliya who scoops one up from the stone path and places it in the grass. He smiles at her kind impartiality. “It’s very admirable of you to help them.”

“Mhm! Papa tells me even worms need homes, so it’s important to help them when the rain washes them away.”

He breathes a laugh that sounds more like a scoff. “I really said that? That’s difficult to imagine.”

Ironic, too.

“If no one helps, how will they find their homes?”

“They’ll find their way. Everyone does eventually.”

“Even you?” She blinks at him from where she stands in the grass, worms held in her palms.

He exhales slowly and gazes skyward. The clouds have opened to let in the tiniest peek of sun. “If worms can find their way, then so, too, can I.”

He’s not sure he trusts it. Not now, at least. But it’s just as inevitable as the shifting seasons—an undeniable, irrefutable fact. He’s changing, if only slightly, and soon he’ll be in Wanderer’s shoes—a puppet with a home and a family. With all of life’s greatest joys and sorrows at his fingertips.

Aaliya sets the worms down in the grass before meandering over. She lowers to sit beside him, resting her head against his arm. “I believe in you, Baba.”

“Thank you.”

Soft as rain, subdued like a snuffed candle, his voice doesn’t waver. For the first time in a while, Scaramouche is defenseless. He’s not so sure he believes in himself. Wrapped in waning sun, listening to the hushed sway of grass, he tries on a smile. Albeit awkward, it fits.

He knows why his future self has become the wind, free and flowing, gentle and tumultuous all at once. Liberated from the past.

Even though he has his doubts, he knows he’ll get there soon.

The sky clears up just as Wanderer’s form comes into view. At first, he’s an insignificant pinprick against a blue sky. Aaliya jumps up from her spot on the stoop to run the rest of the way, calling out to him in an eager voice.

“Feeling any better?”

He keeps his eyes pinned stubbornly ahead. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

“You’re our guest, silly. Of course I’m going to be concerned if you’re not comfortable during your stay. Ah, but I expect you’re coming up on the end of that, aren’t you?”

He blinks at his hands and realizes they’re transparent. “So it appears.”

“Does it?” you tease, patting him on the shoulder. Or you try to, at least. Your hand goes through him. “Guess it wasn’t very funny.”

“Not in the slightest,” he snaps with a scoff. He checks to make sure Wanderer isn’t within earshot. He’s kept occupied with Aaliya, who jumps around him like an energetic bunny. “But… Thank you…for everything. I’m aware I wasn’t the most grateful guest, nor the kindest.”

“You don’t have to be. As long as you felt safe and secure during your time here, despite everything that’s happened in your timeline, that’s all that matters.”

Scaramouche stares at you. I suppose it was a worthwhile escape. Unnecessary, but worthwhile.

“It wasn’t as hellish as I thought it’d be.”

“I’m glad. It was nice having you.”

Just then, Wanderer approaches. Aaliya sits proudly on his shoulders, her fists in his hair. “Glad to see everything’s still in one piece. No atrocities today?”

Suddenly, any sort of security Scaramouche might have been feeling evaporates. He’s reminded that it’s impossible to endure his other self for more than a few minutes. It’s actually impressive you’ve put up with him for this long.

Love is weird like that.

“Go back to the Akademiya and maybe you’ll learn a better sense of humor.”

“Aren’t you a bundle of joy?” Wanderer chuckles and levels him with a playful smile. His next words are tender and truthful. “Good luck on your journey. Have lots of fun.”

What sort of fun could possibly be found in pain? I don’t want or need your sardonic optimism.

“Oh? Baba’s leaving already?”

Scaramouche and Wanderer share a look. You smile behind your hand.

“Baba?”

“P-Pay it no mind!” He reaches for his hat in hopes of relieving everyone of his flustered expression and stops short. He’s not wearing his hat. He hasn’t had it this entire time. Refusing to admit he forgot such a crucial detail, he turns away and folds his arms over his chest. “It matters not.”

“Sure,” Wanderer concedes, but Scaramouche can tell he’s thinking something snarky. “We’ll go with that.”

“Thank you for visiting us,” you interject before the two of them can argue semantics. “Even though our time together was short, it wasn’t any less enjoyable.”

“I’ll miss you, Baba!” Aaliya extends her arm for a high-five.

“Careful now,” Wanderer warns, steadying her on his shoulders. “I suppose, though you’re more trouble than anything, it wasn’t so bad seeing my past self again.”

“You’re a welcoming lot,” he says with a curt nod. “It made this entire debacle slightly tolerable.”

“Only slightly?”

“Your presence didn’t add anything of substance. Don’t get it twisted.”

“Hmm. Perhaps not. At least I get to say I saw you once more.”

At that, he rolls his eyes. Am I supposed to feel flattered?

Wanderer smiles, but Scaramouche can’t place the authenticity. Maybe it’s there and he just doesn’t want to confront it.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know the feeling well enough.”

“And live every day one at a time. There’s no rush,” you advise, sweet like a real parent.

“I believe in you, Baba! You’ll find your way just like the worms.”

Wanderer raises a curious brow, but instead of ridiculing him he takes your hand in his and squeezes. Aaliya giggles and pats Wanderer’s head. The three of you make a family. Togetherness. Love. It’s everything he’s never had.

Now he understands. When Wanderer is with you and Aaliya, he’s whole. He’s happy. Free. He’s turned a new leaf. There are still so many apertures and questions—so much he’s missing from a puzzle not yet pictured to completion—but he isn’t worried. Equipped with this new information, he finds himself at peace with the present situation.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever have the chance to meet again in this timeline, but if we do let’s not dwell on the past.”

Scaramouche can feel his consciousness slipping from this realm, every sense pouring in like light through the gaps in trees. Just before he can make sense of it all, he notices the pendant glowing just above Wanderer’s chest.

Impossible… Is that what I think it is?

“You have a lot to look forward to, so next time let’s talk about the future.”

Suddenly, he’s not so sure he wants to leave. Scaramouche steps towards his other self, hand splayed, and wants to say something. Anything. A million words and phrases stick to the roof of his mouth.

I’d like that, he thinks just as the rest of his corporeal form vanishes in a blip.

Scaramouche comes to in the infirmary. He lifts his arm towards the ceiling, observing shattered fingers and broken joints. Thin cracks run along his arm—surface injuries as far as he’s concerned. They’ll be gone within the day, a testament to his self-sufficiency.

You’re very resilient and so strong. Someone once told him that. But who? And why does it warm him so?

“Oh, you’re up!”

He gazes sidelong at Lesser Lord Kusanali, the God of Wisdom, past the wellness bouquet on the bedside desk, and his features harden with antipathy. “Buer.”

“Did you have a nice dream?”

“Dream?” He scoffs. “I don’t dream. Not anymore.”

But it feels like I’ve been asleep for ages… Just what have I been doing all this time?

“Everyone dreams—even when they’re awake. Dreams are what give us hope.”

“Not me.” He turns on his side and shuts his eyes to block her out. “I have no need for childish dreams and misguided hope.”

What does it matter? I have nothing. I am nothing. There’s nothing for me in this rotten world.

Her hum of acknowledgment reaches his ears. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Scaramouche scowls. Stop poking around in my head. You have no authority over my thoughts, Buer. Get lost.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m here to give you a second chance.”

“I don’t want it. It’s pointless to put me on the path to redemption. Inane, even.”

“Redemption starts with recognition. If you realize that what you’ve done is wrong and are willing to change, redemption will find its way to you.”

He inhales a long, weary breath. “What more is left for me?”

Scaramouche, despite his grandiose title, feels small lying here and contemplating the worth of his existence.

“Plenty of things—good and bad—that you’ve yet to experience.”

He tries to envision what these things could be and turns up blank.

Strange. I was so certain… He sits up in bed, clutching the space where his heart would be if he was human. I could have sworn there was something…

He gazes at his palms next. What happened while I was unconscious?

Surely he witnessed a joyous scene. Otherwise why would he wake feeling so…hopeful?

Inhaling a resolute breath, Scaramouche decides it doesn’t matter.

“Why don’t you take some time to think about it? I may not know the full extent of the turbulence in your mind, but I do know it’s not something to treat lightly.”

The void is both loud and quiet when she departs, and now he’s forced to come to terms with his reality. He lost. Even as a manufactured deity, he was still unfit for godhood. It was a moment so short-lived it was practically a blink—insignificant in the colossal tapestry of time.

“What a joke,” he spits, glaring at the wall ahead. “All of that for nothing…”

He sits back against the cushions and drowns in the silence. It doesn’t comfort him.

Don’t be so hard on yourself. Where has he heard that line before?

Perhaps it was just another delusion.

Scaramouche’s gaze is drawn to the bouquet next. The flowers are fresh and vibrant, each blossom a representation of good health and happiness. Someone placed these here. Someone went out of their way to assemble a bouquet in his honor and then send it over. He wonders if this is the work of Lesser Lord Kusanali.

Who else could muster the empathy for a sorry creature like him?

Will knowing put you at ease?

He thinks it might. At the very least, it would soothe a restless part of his being—the part that craves a connection and yearns to be wanted despite everything he’s done. He wants a heart and a home. He wants to feel the rays of the sun stinging his skin and bathe in the exhilaration of being alive and in the moment. He wants to finally know all of the sweetness he was deprived of in life. The sweetness that comes from love in all its many shapes and forms.

Scaramouche reaches for the bouquet and pauses. He could swipe it off the table and watch rumpled petals scatter amidst shattered glass in a puddle. He could ignore it and pretend it’s not worth his time or attention.

He wants to act like it doesn’t matter, but something’s nagging at him.

For once, the feeling isn’t terrible. For once, he has something to look forward to—an anchor to cling to in this vast, wild sea.

And he isn’t going to let go.

#genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader

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urprettylittlething · 8 months

Text

Stuffed Full

Yandere - Gojo Satoru x CursedKitty! Reader x Geto Suguru

A/N - Again another part of CursedKitty universe! This is basically a smut series at this point but im not complaining lmao, this was partly requested by a lovely anon, which i also mixed with a request from someone on AO3 <333 Ty my lovess, ive been so busy recently and ive been getting little sleep but ive finally got another part for you all, they seem to get longer and longer lmao, And thank you all so much for all the love on my CursedKitty Universe <3333 It means a lot to me that you all enjoy it so much, i love to read any comments you guys leave it really makes my day :,) <333333 Ily all so much i hope you enjoy my second written smut ever </3 If you want to request anything feel free! <3

summary - You beg them for cock so don't be surprised when you get two.

warnings - she kinda begs for it so ig consensual? But Dubcon to be safe, female anatomy, smut, two cocks in one hole, double stuffed, clit play, squirting, a lot of cum, lots of praise, dumbification? i think so, very vague yandere vibes but theres something there, crying during sex, overstimulation? probably, shes desperate lol, heat vibes, (let me know if i need to add more please)

genre - Oneshot

wc - 2.3k

-not edited yet, will be soon-

It’s the end of the day when Geto and Gojo come back to see Kitty. They arrive at the high end apartment complex and start making their way up to the top. It’s paid for by Gojo who has the most money amongst the two of them, but Geto pitches in with the bills every now and then and food stock when they want to stay here instead.

It wasn’t often that they’d use Gojos apartment, but it was nice for some privacy every now and then. True privacy. It was also good during their vacation times. It’s especially come in handy now that they have a cute little kitty to look after.

They only keep things stocked really for them since Kitty doesn't need to eat any human food, but every now and then she gets curious about the snacks they eat. Being able to smell the scent of the chicken broth, or Gojo’s sweets looking particularly alluring with bright colors and fluffy insides.

So they’d feed her every now and then while she has fun enjoying the new tastes and textures in her mouth. Besides, they have fun too, pulling her into their laps and squeezing her hips and flesh while she nibbles on the soft sweets in their hands and licks the remaining scraps off of their fingers.

When they get to the door Gojo begins unlocking it and they make their way inside. Runes decorate the door on the inside, as well as every window in the apartment. Just a precaution they’re taking to ensure she doesn't accidentally escape, to keep her contained.

Gojo lets his bag slump to the floor while he stretches obnoxiously, looking forward to the entire week off they have with Kitty. Geto trails in behind him and actually hangs his bag up, closing the door behind him he calls out, “Kitty cat, where are you?”

A shuffle and thump could be heard down the hallway before the pitter patter of bare feet on the floor could be heard coming towards them. When Kitty rounds the corner she practically pounces on the first person she can see.

Her hands immediately gravitate towards Getos trousers, where she tries tugging and pulling on them in an attempt to get to what's inside.

A startled sound escapes Geto as he instinctively grabs onto her wrists and pulls her hands away from his dick. Now holding her squirming arms in the air his brows furrow as he looks to Gojo.

“Don’t look at me!” he says, holding his own hands up in the air in a mocking act of surrender. He’s leaned up against the back of the couch, one leg hooked over the other as he watches on in amusement from behind his glasses. “What’s got her so riled up?”

Geto huffs and looks back down at the squirming curse in his arms. She’s resorted to crying, large drops of tears trickling down her cheeks and dripping off of her chin. Her bottom lip is wobbling and she's looking up at Geto almost pleadingly.

The more the two men take in the curse the more they notice and the more curious they get. They notice the light sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, the way her thighs try and rub themselves together and the sticky wet sounds they make when they do.

Geto seems to clock it a second before Gojo does. Cooing down at the Kitty caught in his arms he practically purrs, “Awh, such a good kitty, were you trying to ask for my cock? Is that it? Need my cock to make yourself feel better?”

She's blubbering, pretty tears still falling down her cheeks as her hands still try and squirm away from his hold. She seemed to register his words at least somewhat as she looked down to his trousers again before looking back up at him with those begging eyes.

God, he can already feel himself hardening in his boxers.

“Oh? Kitty is asking to be stuffed, is she? This is a first.” Gojo says, already standing up and making his way to the bedroom.

Geto follows shortly behind him, lightly dragging Kitty along with him as she fumbles over her steps, his strides being bigger than hers. He hums in response to Gojo. Gently sitting Kitty down onto the ruffled sheets. It's clear she was in them before they got home.

Gojo grabs onto Kitty and pulls her further up the bed, pushing her onto her front when she tries to grab at his trousers as well. He keeps his hand on her head and pulls her hips up with the other, flipping the loose shirt over her ass and hips to rest on her arched back.

Her hips wiggle and Gojo groans. He brings one hand up to massage her ass, fondling and gripping the flesh. “She’s dripping Sugu.” He murmurs, voice dropping a few octaves and becoming husky.

Her tail had been curled around one of her thighs the entire time, some of the fur wet with slick as it uncurled itself and rested against her back, the tip flicking back and forth every now and then.

His hand pushing her head into the sheets briefly massages her scalp when she starts whining, becoming restless. A gentle purr starts up in her chest while her ears flatten against her head but she still continues to squirm.

“Okay Kitty, don't worry you’ll get your milk soon.” He brings the hand that was groping her flesh to his zipper, pulling down his trousers just past his hips, his boxers following shortly after. He spits in his hand and takes his already hard cock, giving himself a few quick pumps before lining himself up to her pulsing hole and pushing his way in.

He leans over her, one hand still keeping her head down while the other goes back to gripping onto her hip, no doubt bruising the flesh beneath his fingers. His glasses slide down his nose as he finishes sheathing himself inside of her.

Her little hands are resting either side of her head while gripping the sheets beneath. Her eyes are half lidded and small pants leave her open mouth, leftover tears dribble over her water line and soak into the sheets below her.

Gojo groans squeezing his eyes shut tight while his chest heaves, her tight walls still trying to suck him in further while they pulsate and flutter around his hard cock.

When his eyes open again he catches Geto’s gaze from where he's standing at the edge of the bed in front of Kitty’s head. “You didn’t waste any time, huh?” he says while raising an eyebrow.

“I was already hard and besides, she was begging for it.” Gojo responds after catching his breath.

“You didn’t even prep her.”

“She can take it.”

“Can she?”

“Are you jealous I got here first Sugu?”

Geto goes quiet for a second at that while they stare each other down. It’s only when Kitty starts trying to move her hips and whine again that he speaks up. “So what if I am?”

It’s Gojos turn to go quiet for a second until he blurts out, “I’m sure she can take two.”

Geto stares at him in shock as a small smirk graces Gojos face, his glasses slid down far enough that his eyes are exposed. A glint of mischief and lust present in the irises.

Geto sighs before smirking himself, “I guess we’ll find out.”

Gojo huffs out a laugh before reaching under Kitty and pulling her up with him so they're both kneeling on the sheets. She yelps when he pulls her up, his cock moving inside of her, before leaning against his chest. He rests his head between her fluffy ears while watching Geto climb onto the bed and kneel in front of Kitty.

Geto unzips his trousers and pulls them just below his hips exactly like Gojo did. The impatience getting to him as he eyes her dripping pussy being stuffed full with Gojos cock. He brings one hand between her legs to swirl loose circles around her engorged clit while he pulls his cock out.

Kitty squeals and her hips jolt at the sudden contact of his cold fingers to her hot flesh. She begins mewling at the consistent pleasure to her nub while Gojos cock presses against all her sensitive spots from inside. Her ears are pressed flat to her head while she twitches and gasps in his arms. Her hands grasping on tightly to the arm wrapped around her middle holding her up.

“Can feel her squeezing me.” Gojo murmurs into her hair, head tilted slightly so he can watch Getos fingers pleasure the cursed kitty in his arms.

Geto shuffles forward a bit more so he's pressed against Kittys front, her perky breasts squished between them while he stops circling her clit to rest the hand on her hip. The hand still gripping tight on his cock guids it to her already stuffed hole.

“It’s going to be a tight fit.” Is all he says before trying to squeeze his way inside the desperate Kitty they caught.

She wails at the extra intrusion, Gojo trying to calm her down with hushes and coos, using his hands to caress her flesh. When Geto is about half way in he stops for a second to groan and pant, murmuring about how tight she is before pushing the rest of the way in.

Kitty squeals at the feeling, being stuffed full with two cocks overwhelming her senses. She's mewling and blubbering, the pretty tears from before had returned to caress her cheeks. Geto joins Gojo in rubbing and whispering to Kitty, giving her a second to get used to them together. They weren’t that cruel.

Gojo brings his hands up to fondle and massage her Kitty ears, helping her relax faster as a small purr tries building in her chest, Geto continuing his caresses over her hips, sides of her breasts, shoulders and back.

It’s Gojo that starts moving first, beginning to thrust in her tight walls the smallest amount. Geto’s breath catches at the feeling before he begins to do the same.

They’re alternating between thrusts, whenever Gojo pulls out a bit, Geto pushes in. They’ve resorted to resting their hands on parts of her flesh to give them something to hold onto as they pick up the pace.

Gojo has one hand on her hip and the other arm wrapped around her middle. Geto has one hand on the other hip and the other hand holding the back of her head, pressing her into him more.

The more their pace picks up, the louder Kitty gets, sputtering and gurgling between the two of them, gasping and mewling as well. Her little pussy was stretched to its limit, pulsing and gushing at the unrelenting pleasure. It was getting easier and easier for the two to move inside her from all the slick she was producing.

When they’re finally at a consistent pace they both lean down to whisper and murmur in her ears, barely making out words of, “Such a good girl.”, “Such a pretty little Kitty, taking us so well.”, “Letting us fuck you at the same time, naughty Kitty.”, “ You’re my perfect little curse aren’t you?”, “God, listen to your pussy taking us so well.”

Neverending praises being fed to her while they pounded her with their cocks.

She's almost sobbing by the time they’re about to cum, her chest heaving, cheeks and chest flushed, eyes lidded while the tip of her tongue pokes out of her mouth, droplets of tears still fresh in her eyes.

When the two of them start panting and groaning, their rhythm starts to get sloppy, one of them reaching down with two fingers to rub and flick over the exposed nub. The juices that have dripped onto the sheets below provide more than enough lube to smoothly glide over the flesh.

They can both feel her tense up around them, an inhuman shriek leaving her as her whole body shakes. Gojo throws his head back and starts fucking into her with a rabid pace, chasing his orgasm with Geto. Her walls suddenly tense up further, almost making it impossible for them to move as her walls pulse and gush fluid, squirting out juices onto both of their cocks and soaking the sheets below them.

Kitty goes limp between the two of them. Holding her up while they finish groaning and moaning, fucking their orgasm up into her.

None of them move or say anything for a few minutes after they finish cumming. Leaning against each other while they try and catch their breath.

Eventually Gojo pulls out, bringing a whine out of the overstimulated Kitty in his arms. More of her juices, now mixed with their cum, drip from her hole, onto the ruined sheets below and down the length of Getos cock which was still inside of her.

No one says anything as Geto shuffles the both of them up the bed a little before collapsing onto his back, Kitty tucked into his chest with an arm going around her back and the other burying itself into her hair to massage the base of her ears.

A few light mewls escape her as another gentle purr begins building up in her chest, content now after being stuffed to the max.

Gojo comes back a few minutes later, collapsing into a pile on the sheets next to the pair after having run a bath for them all to relax in.

He looks over at the two, making eye contact with Kitty as she gazes at him with half lidded eyes. The small purr audible if you listen in closely. Gojo reaches over with one hand to caress her cheek. Dancing the tips of his fingers under her eyes and down the sides of her face.

“We really picked a cutie, didn't we Sugu?” Gojo murmurs.

Geto hums in response, voice husky, “Never letting her go.”

Gojo huffs a laugh as he brings his hand back to join the other tucked behind his head. “Wouldn't dream of it. Our pretty little curse.”

#Enjoy my second attempt at smut <3 #geto x reader #gojo x reader #geto suguru #gojo saturo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere geto #yandere geto suguru #yandere gojo #yandere gojo satoru #CursedKitty #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo x reader x geto #gojo smut #geto smut

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roses-for-rosalyn · 3 months

Text

Cowboys

Ellie x reader

Part 1

Summary: a trip to the local saloon? With a man?!

Wc: 2.1 k (shorter ik sorry)

For the ao3 girlies

Cw: cowboy! Ellie x fem! reader, drinking, reader gets drunk, Jesse (just a little side character), mentions of domestic violence, reader has trauma!, reader has scars, lesbian touching and yearning, lots of talking

Minors DNI (fr)

Seriously there’s some descriptions of abuse here y’all I tried to keep it vague, but it’s important I promise! I am not the kind of author who gives the reader trauma for literally no reason. That being said if this isn’t your cup of tea I’ll see you in another chapter or different fic!

LINKS TO HELP PALESTINE | DAILY CLICK

You wake up with the sun. The warm light forced its way through your eyelids, refusing to be ignored. You got up and attempted to get dressed as quietly as possible. You use the reflection of a steel pan to pin your hair back.

You liked the mornings, normally you were very alone, but even with company, it was a peaceful time. Golden light filters through your windows, everything and everyone is still beginning to wake up. It’s quiet.

A face appears behind yours in the reflection of the pan.

“Mornin.” Her voice was a bit low and gravelly.

“Mornin, where are you off to today?” You finish flattening out the last little stubborn hairs and turn towards her. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, and bruises had begun to form on her face, but with the way she carried herself, you would never know what happened last night.

“Was thinking of going to the next town over, I have a few people to talk to.” You grab your boots from the floor and sit in the same wooden chair Ellie had last night. You try not to think about how close you were or how warm she felt against your fingertips as you lace up your shoes.

“You’re lucky you have that bandana.” You stand up and grab the hem of the fabric. “You’re a bit of a mess.” You pinch her chin between your thumb and forefinger and force her to turn to the side, and for some reason she lets you. You turn her the other way, inspecting the intensity of the bruises. “These’ll be gone in a week.” You brush your finger over a particularly deep purple bruise on her jaw, she flinches a bit even at your featherlight touch. “This one maybe two.”

“Whatever you say doc,” she replies with a laugh. You let go of her chin and head towards the door.

“I have to go, but you’ll be back before dark right?” Ellie just nods and you leave, hoping that she does actually come back.

** **

Today when you’re locking up the schoolhouse you hear a different voice, “Hi there, sunshine!”

You turn around and see Jesse. You usually didn’t see him at this time of day. He walks towards you like he has something to say.

“What’re you up to today?” He asks with a charming smile on his face.

“I was just going to head home and have dinner. How about you?” You really didn’t care to hear his plans for the day, but you had to be polite.

“I was hopin’ you might accompany me to a show at Buckhorn tonight?” His eyes are hopeful, he reminded you of a little boy, he hadn’t had the same life you did. You had really hoped you wouldn’t have to deal with him asking to court you, not completely sure you could manage to say no. You didn’t have a good reason for refusing, and who knows what he would say about you if you denied him.

“Um, alright, I suppose I could go. I can’t stay too late though, I don’t like ridin’ in the dark.” You manage a smile. Jesse looks like he is just barely keeping himself from jumping up and down in celebration.

He nods, “I will make sure you get home safe and sound darlin’. Suppose we should head on over then.” You untie your horse and take her by the lead, walking beside Jesse to the saloon.

You didn’t have much to talk about, the conversation was mostly small talk. You let him ramble on about his journeys to Santa Fe, the Apaches he’s encountered, hostile cowboys, thieves. No one ever actually threatened him, just passed by, but with the way he told the stories you would think he would be covered in scars and bruises.

You finally make it to the saloon, Jesse orders you both whiskey. You down it like a shot and Jesse seems surprised, but not appalled like you would have expected. “You want another?” he asks with raised eyebrows and a laugh.

“Yes please.” You smile up at him, a little more genuine. Maybe you could have fun, with enough liquor in your system you could get along with anyone. Drunk you was charming, magnetic, bubbly, men usually tolerated that a little better. Plus the drinks were free.

The band starts playing and you pull Jesse out on the wooden dancefloor. The music pulls at your limbs. As you dance with him you feel smooth as water, the more you drink the smoother you feel. Soon enough you’re leaning into his chest, swaying to the music. The night went by in a blur. You are at the bar getting another round of drinks when you see a familiar set of eyes appear at the entrance.

She makes a beeline towards you, shouldering people out of the way as she approaches. Her eyes look angry, but all she does is brush her hand down your arm like she was making sure you were real.

“I couldn’t find you.” She says, and you swear everything and everyone else melts away as she speaks.

She was looking for you.

“I was here.” You say with a drunk smile, relieved to see her. “With Jesse.” you point over to him. She doesn’t even bother to look. You lean in towards her to whisper, “He’s pretty boring, but he gave me free drinks.” you hold up a glass of whiskey as proof, slightly swaying with the movement.

“I’m gonna take you home.” She says gently.

“That would be very nice, I’m sure Jesse wouldn’t want to take me all the way out there. Just let me go tell him.” You haven’t stopped smiling since you saw her.

“Alright,” she nods, “I’ll be waitin’ for ya by the door.”

You stumble over to him, “Jesse, I gotta head home.”

“Ok let me go get my-”

“No need, my bodyguard over there is takin’ me home.” You point to the masked cowgirl by the door. Jesse looks at you, confused.

“I’ll explain it to you another time, I promise I’m safe with him.” You pat him on the shoulder for reassurance.

“Can I at least talk to him? So I can know you’re safe.” Well at least he seemed to actually care about you, not just the concept of you.

“I don’t see why not,” you grab his hand, it’s large and rough, his palm felt like sandpaper against yours, “follow me.” You lead him towards the cowgirl. She’s standing with her arms crossed, observing the drunkards surrounding her.

“Hi,” her head snaps towards the sound of your voice, her eyes soften.

“Hello darlin’,” she runs her hand alongside your arm again. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her touch. She looks behind you at the man you’ve brought over to her. “Who’s this?”

“This is Jesse,” you pull him so he’s standing alongside you causing him to stumble a bit. You giggle. “He wanted to make sure you were gettin’ me home safe. Said he wanted to talk to you.”

Ellie reaches out her hand to shake his, “M’ Joel,” she says in a gruff voice. Jesse’s eyes widen a bit. You hadn’t heard her man voice yet, it was a little silly. “Why don’t you go wait by my horse darlin’? I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Um, alright.” You didn’t love being booted from a conversation like that, but you were starting to get tired and your feet were starting to ache.

You walked out of the saloon to Ellie’s horse. You feel light and heavy at the same time. Then you remember you brought your own horse here. Your thoughts were so jumbled.

You walk over to grab her, untying her lead after a bit of a struggle. Figuring you would pony her over to the house. You would not ride horseback drunk. Again.

By the time you get back to Ellie’s horse she’s waiting for you. She grabs the lead from your hands and helps you up onto the horse. You were going to try like hell to remember the feeling of her hands on your hips.

“Thank you good sir,” you say with a giggle. She just shakes her head and mounts the horse, grabbing your horses lead before her horse begins to trot away from the saloon towards the quiet desert.

You probably couldn’t help the way you leaned against her back, pressing your body to hers. She was so warm. Your hands wrapped nice and tight around her waist and she hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even moved. She stayed sitting right up staring straight ahead. You couldn’t bring yourself to remember why you shouldn’t be doing this. You only knew that you wanted to and that’s what mattered right now.

“Who’s Joel?” You asked, cheek pressed against her leather coat.

“He’s- he was a friend.” She can barely disguise the sorrow in her voice.

“Was he your husband or somethin’?” Questions tend to just pour out of you in this state with no regard for the person you’re asking.

“No, no he was a good friend.”

“Mm, you’re lucky you never had a husband.”

“Why?”

“Well I don’t know if all husbands are like how mine was, but I wouldn’t try it again, just in case.”

“What happened?” You let the sound of the horses hooves hitting the dirt path fill the silence for a moment. You hadn’t really told anyone what happened in your house on the edge of town, where no one could hear you or see you.

“Well, I’ll start at the beginning I suppose. My daddy got sick, real sick and he wanted me to have a man to take care of me after he was gone. So I married a man he chose for me. I didn’t know him, I barely saw him before we got married. But I wanted to make sure my daddy could die knowing I’d be taken care of, so I did it. I still regret going through with it.” You nuzzle your cheek into her back, trying to get impossibly closer. “I still don’t like to think about our wedding night.”

“I’m sorry darlin’ you don’t have to-”

“No I want to, I haven’t said anything to anyone about this before. Kinda feels nice, I feel lighter. Anyways, we moved into that tiny house. It didn’t take long for him to get mean, real mean. Since we lived so far away, no one could hear the screamin’ and yellin’. I still have some scars from that him, that’s why I had that medical kit for you when you got hurt. I’ve had to clean myself up more times than I’d like to admit.” You let out an empty laugh.

“Where is he now?” Ellie’s voice has an anger in it that was terrifying, the type that was calm and sure. She knew exactly how she would remedy it.

“Well, every time he would hurt me I would threaten to shoot ‘em. He would laugh in my face like I had told some sort of fucked up joke. Here let me show you somethin’.” You hike up your dress, exposing the large scar on your thigh. You grab Ellie’s hand from the reins and place it on the Scar, her fingertips run gently across it, like she would hurt you if she pressed too hard. She traces around the jagged raised skin, it was like she was trying to put a picture of it together in her head. “The night he did that I shot him right in the chest. He was an evil, evil man. No one missed him. He’s buried about 500 feet from the house, his grave is unmarked.”

You feel Ellie’s body relax a bit. “That’s good. You did good.” She’s still absentmindedly running her hand along your thigh. The feeling made your breath hitch. Your whole body grows hot. You hadn’t ever felt anything like that. “He deserved it, I hope you know that.”

“Still doesn’t feel good though, didn’t make me feel any better when he was dead. The only thing that changed was that I was safe again.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when her hand slowly leaves your thigh, pulling your dress back down for you.

“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense. Sometimes it feels like the only solution though.”

“Yeah it does.”

** **

You’re half asleep by the time the horse stops in front of your house. You barely manage to lift your head up, but somehow you get off the horse.

“Go on inside, I’ll get the horses settled.” She didn’t have to tell you twice.

You were halfway to the house when you remembered, “Ellie,”

“Yes?”

“Come and sleep inside tonight.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Taglist: @elliewilliamgfooc @bready101 @sakiigami @wishbones999 @a-little-bit-of-everybody @ellabssweetheart @lily-fics-11

If ur name is crossed out it wouldn’t let me tag u

Lmk what yall think! Notes, comments and reposts always appreciated! Thank you for all the support!

#ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x you #cowboy!ellie #western! au #cowboy!au #cowboys #cowgirl #the last of us 2

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houpss · 3 months

Note

Dawg I’m actually begging crying on my knees for you to do a reverse version where like reader dies protecting skz 😭😭😭 ofc obvi no pressure, like only if you’d like to 🙏🏻🩷 you write so well im like obsessed

ububububu.....I'm very pleased to hear this! thanks for the idea, love 🩷🫂

I'm eating strawberries and crying, I literally feel bad about this job 😭😭😭

SKZ's reaction to your death ver. hyung line

maknae line

It pains me to write this work, my heart breaks and I begin to believe in this nonsense... BUT REMEMBER THAT ONLY PERSONALITIES ARE TAKEN FROM THE REAL SKZ, EVERYTHING REST IS FICTION!

Bang Chan

It happened...suddenly.

Chan returned home before you, he wanted to cook you dinner and then turn on a new movie that he recently found.

He knew that you were stuck at work, so he wasn’t too worried.

An hour has passed... you're gone, but you should be back by now. Two hours have passed, Chan is nervous.

He called you, you didn’t pick up, he called you so many times, but you didn’t hear.

At two o'clock in the morning he receives a call on his phone. He jumps out of bed, hoping it's you calling, but it's just an unfamiliar number.

He picks up the phone, he just hopes you're okay.

"Are you Bang Christopher Chan? I'm sorry..Y/N Bang died."

Chan thought it was a joke, a very unfunny joke.

He can only come to consciousness when he sees your body. Road accident, you didn't survive.

He will ask Changbin, Jisung and Hyunjin to come out quite aggressively, because they came with him.

He ran his fingers over your pale face, tears forming in his eyes. Impossible.

He strokes your hair, strokes your hands, stopping at your fingers...he squeezes your hand tightly. Why did you leave him?

Tears fall on your lifeless body, you would be very upset if you saw Chan crying.

They can only drag him out of your room in the morning, he didn’t want to let go of your body until the end, it was like he was possessed.

"No, don't take me...I have to stay with her! I don't want to be taken away from her"

"she’s probably so cold and scared... she’s alone there, she’s already lifeless.”

He blamed himself, he could have taken you away from work, but why didn’t you ask?

The exit from the hospital is filled with reporters and paparazzi, the shocking news shocked many: “Model and Actress, Bang Chan’s wife Y/N Bang died in a car accident.”

Thanks to the members, they protected Chan from reporters and endless paparazzi. Chan did not walk behind as usual, but in the middle, and a ring was created around the participant.

Chan doesn’t remember anything, he just cried, he cries so much and loudly.

The members refused to leave him, although he asked so. They went to the dorm.

A day has passed... two days have passed... a week has passed. Funeral.

He remembers everything very vaguely, he was the last one to kiss your forehead before the coffin lid was closed.

Now he is completely alone.

He eats very little and hardly leaves the room. Minho literally force feeds him.

Your photos are open on his phone, you are on his wallpaper.

He doesn’t want to live without you, he wants you so much.

His tears never dry, he cries constantly. There are no emotions inside him, he is dead.

He looked through your correspondence... his heart ached madly.

He just loves you so much, he loves only you.

He apologized profusely to your family, it was his fault.

In the end he won't cope and he will leave for you. Chan was found hanged in his room. There was a note on the table with the words: “I can’t live without her, I’m nothing without her... forgive me.”

Lee Minho

People come and go. The simple meaning of life

But you couldn't leave him...not you

If you loved, then you would not have left...WHY DID YOU LEAVE HIM?

Overdose of antidepressants.

He found you in your apartment, you were lying on the bed, wrapped in a blanket... you seemed to be sleeping, but your heart was not beating.

What if he had found you earlier?

He would have stopped you.

He found a letter next to you... your last will and love for him

"𝐈'𝐦 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤...𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰"

"𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐇𝐨"

"𝐈'𝐦 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞."

IT'S NOT EASIER WITHOUT YOU

He has been crying for several days in a row. Even the members can't pull it out.

He became so aggressive and closed.

His heart rotted and broke without you

He falls asleep with your sweatshirt on, with your perfume on it.

The company releases a statement that Minho is taking an indefinite hiatus from activities.

He wants to close his eyes, open his eyes and have you next to him.

He went through many treatments with you and visited many psychiatrists.

You smiled at him so much, so what happened?

Minho cried for the first time in front of the members, everyone was broken with your death.

After your death, he smoked for the first time.

The cigarette smoke calmed him down at least a little. And in your dreams you came to him, you talked to him a lot.

He became very closed off to himself, even Jisung couldn’t get him to talk.

Everything and everywhere reminded him of you

Your bottle of perfume...your drawings, your rings, your elastic bands, your sweaters

You would curse if you saw him like this.

Only a month later, after your funeral, he dared to pick up your phone.

To mom, dad and sister: “I’m sorry that I’m so weak.. I would like a better life for you, I wanted to live better and happier. I’m a bad daughter.”

To SKZ:"Sorry...be strong, you are world stars and become even more popular..."

To Minho:"I repent of you, I hate myself for what I did. I have about ten minutes left...And in these ten minutes I will continue to love you, Lee Minho. Maybe we will meet in the next life?"

The emotions he had been holding back burst out.

He screamed, his scream deafening the silence.

Physical pain in his heart pierced him. how the bitch it hurts.

Now he's wearing your big jacket.

“Please protect me, Y/N.”

SEO CHANGBIN

"Police lieutenant Seo Y/N was shot..she died while intercepting a drug gang. The ambulance did not have time to arrive"

What did he just hear? Why are they saying your name?

Is this a mistake? Maybe they got it wrong?

He refused to believe it until he was asked to come to the morgue to identify the body.

Yes, you were lying there...a bullet in the forehead.

Changbin turned away, he couldn’t look at you. He's scared.

Probably then he realized all the pain, he stopped living.

Felix and Seungmin forcibly dragged him away from the morgue.

He was never against your work, he was just proud of you. Of course, his wife is a police lieutenant.

He knew it was dangerous, but could anything bad happen to you?

"Changbin, she died a hero, please...be the same hero for her."

There were so many people at your funeral, why did they all come?

Changbin felt lost, Chan was holding his hand. Changbin couldn't navigate the space.

Time doesn't heal anything, remember.

He lost the desire to exist

He hated your job after your death, it's all your damn job.

Will you protect Changbin? Are you his guardian angel?

From time to time he hears your voice.

He will come to your parents and ask for forgiveness.

Really, forgive him.

He will take your dog with him, it seems... the dog really misses you, where is his owner?

Changbin doesn't like music anymore, he stopped working out, he stopped eating.

"Y/N would be upset if she knew that you wanted to leave the group."

"She told you to create for the sake of people's happiness."

"WITHOUT HER THERE IS NO FUCKING THIS HAPPINESS..."

You would like him to continue writing and working.

He will stay for your sake... and for the sake of the members, these three months they kept him afloat, he literally clung to them.

Your dog now has 8 caring men

Changbin brings red Lilies, your favorite flowers, to your grave every week.

Hwang Hyunjin

You have been married for five years, recently celebrated your anniversary.

You were the happiest couple! STAY blessed couple , the participants were incredibly happy about your couple.

You found out that you are pregnant.

Hyunjin was incredibly happy! Members will become uncles to your baby.

Felix took the place of godfather.

Chan and Minho were responsible for choosing the name.

And Changbin, Jisung, Seungmin and Jeongin made rooms for your baby!

But...you had a back injury, which made it dangerous to give birth.

You didn't care, you were going to have the baby.

Difficulties began immediately during contractions, Hyunjin was with you all the time.

He was forced to leave the room in the middle of labor.

The members who were waiting in the corridor were very worried.

Sudden silence.

The doctor came out of the maternity room and said: “Congratulations, you have a daughter... please accept my condolences, your wife has died.”

What?

It sounded so absurd.

Hyunjin walked into your room, you looked so tired...so sad. sad aphrodite.

Hyunjin kissed your forehead, one hand on your neck, the other holding your hand.

"Thank you for daughter...and forgive me, I love you very much"

Tears rolled down Hyunjin's cheeks, the tears were like pearls.

Hyunjin went home with the members.. The workers left your daughter in the hospital for several days.

Hyunjin seemed to understand nothing, he understood absolutely nothing.

"The baby will grow up in love, Hyunjin"

"We will all take care of her..she is an extension of Y/N" These words from Chan hurt Hyunjin's heart...He will protect and love his daughter.

Hyunjin is always crying, his eyes are red, his face is swollen from crying.

It hurt even more when Seungmin brought your favorite coffee.

In three days we could pick up our daughter.

All eight participants went to the maternity hospital.

They brought out a small package for you, what a tiny little thing.

Hyunjin looked at the little baby as if he were the eighth wonder of the world, the girl was sleeping. Hyunjin could have sworn that she would look like you.

"We'll call her Viyoung" Why is this in tune with Vendetta?

The guy nodded approvingly, tears flowing down his cheeks again.

The members took turns holding the bundle with the baby in their hands.

"I will love you so much, Viyoung...just like your mother loved you."

“Your uncles will take care of you...you will grow up with complete love.”

They went home, everything will be fine. Your memory will never fade away. Hyunjin will raise a beautiful daughter. She's a copy of you, but with Hyunjin's eyes.

236 notes · View notes

anisespice · 9 months

Note

tokyo revengers boys when their horny but their s/o is too busy to deal with their shit? (u can add bonten-)

aye aye, anon! 🫡 needy men are my favorite flavor 🤤 thank you so much for your patience, and requesting ♡♡♡

pairing: tr x gn!reader

warnings: mature language, MDI. cursing, vague descriptions of sex, teasing, mild nipple-play, empty threats, crack!fic coded behavior, a tiny pinch of barely-there angst in mikey’s with a hint of misogyny, and i think that’s it :D feel free to lemme know if i missed anything!

notes: something about this request screamed sano to me, and maybe even throw sanzu in the mix for a little treat ( ˘ ³˘). also may have strayed a little from the original plot of the request, but the premise is fairly the same >:)) hope you enjoy !!

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @illegalspacecow

“Get outta there.”

Though your tone sounded stern, your demeanor remained placid as you continued typing on your laptop, making no move to actually stop the hands from creeping inside your sweater. You were well aware of their destination, and it was anything but harmless. SHINICHIRO was latched onto you the moment he arrived at your place, excited to spend his day off alone with you, and away from the prying eyes of his siblings for once. Rarely did the two of you get alone time due to your conflicting schedules, savoring the moments you did get without outward distractions in the way.

Things were going great for the most part…until your boss decided to dump busywork into your email, last minute.

“…tell ‘em to go fuck himself, so you can focus on fucking me,” Shinichiro grumbled into your shoulder, calloused hands feeling up your chest with slow, deliberate touches. You chortled, masking the small moan that nearly slipped out when he gently grazed your nipples.

“Good idea, Shin. But wait, oh shoot, fucking you won’t exactly pay my bills, now will it? So, knock it off.”

“Who says it won’t? I’ll pay your bills for the next month, hell, the next six months, if it means you’ll let me just stick it in, baby, please..”

You hissed through your teeth at the small pinch he gave your sensitive nubs, dick damn-near throbbing against your lower back as he rutted against you. Should’ve known sitting on his lap while you worked would backfire, poor thing’s so wound up, you felt a little bad. It’d been nearly three weeks since you and Shinichiro had even a second to breathe the same air, let alone touch each other.

You weren’t immune, craving a taste of him just as much, there’s nothing you wanted more than to succumb to his persuasion. But, having been on bad terms with your tyrant boss one too many times, you couldn’t afford to procrastinate.

“Shini,” you spoke, breathless as he suckled on your neck, growing more bold with his touch, “a-as much as I’d love for you to do that for me… you don’t exactly have the funds to make such an offer.”

He huffed, nipping playfully at your pulse. “I’ll get another job. Good? Good, problem solved, can you take your clothes off now?”

“Tempting…but no. Appreciate the sentiment, though.”

Shinichiro whined in the crook of your neck. His hands slowed to a stop inside your sweater, slipping down to rest on your tummy instead. It sent a tiny shiver up your spine, but was ignored all the same as you attempted to resume typing, seeming to have put a damper on his resolve. Or, so you thought.

Not even a minute passed when you felt his fingers searching for something else to play with. Something that has been calling his name since he waltzed through your front door. “Shin…”

Your warning fell upon deaf ears. Shinichiro merely shrugged, feigning innocence while his hands breached the waistband of your sleep-shorts, stopping right at your pelvic bone. Leaning back in the chair, the ravenette spread his legs further apart, forcing yours to do the same, giving him even more access to your already accessible center. Despite his lanky stature, homie had grip—Try and close your legs all you want, you’ll pull a muscle before pulling out of it. Your heart was borderline going Macarena, focus jumbled up to the point there were more typos than words in the report you tried completing.

You huffed, though your tone sounded less stern compared to the first time. “Shinichiro. If you don’t let me finish my work…I’ll ban your dick from ever entering me or this house for a whole month.”

On any other given day, that empty threat would’ve done the trick, hands flying off you so fast you’d think he got electrocuted. But, this wasn’t any other given day. This was already a two-week long hiatus of his most favorite place to be, in between your legs, and the only thing keeping him from it was your lack of underwear beneath thin-cotten shorts. Threaten him if you must, but it won’t work.

You weren’t fooling anyone.

Playing hard to get could take you so far, but he knew you were mere moments from crumbling to your desires you tried so hard to suppress, no shot you’d last another day, let alone a month. He was determined, and you were being stubborn—An immovable object verses an unstoppable force. Eventually, someone had to give. And it wasn’t about to be you.

It went on like that for another few minutes, him feeling you up and you batting him away. It only worsened the second he went further in your shorts, teasing your sex until you soaked through the fabric. You could feel his smug grin against your shoulder, no doubt thinking he was winning this battle. However, Shinichiro wasn’t aware of your trump card, your Charizard, if you will.

It’s a dirty trick. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

By slamming your fists atop of the table, startling him right out of your shorts, you turned to look him dead in the face, and said, “Don’t make me call Mikey.”

The mechanic widely blinked. But, his shock was short lived as he fixed you a sarcastic look, bringing his slick-coated fingers up to the light and right into his mouth to be even more obnoxious. After pulling them out with a wet pop!, Shinichiro called your bluff.

“You wouldn’t.”

“And would. Emma’s probably dying to catch up with me anyway, since I haven’t been around as much lately. And we both know Mikey would come just to spite you.”

As you continued to hold his stare, not backing down or giving any indication that you were joking, the sardonicism began to melt off his demeanor, and soon realization took its place. Shortly after that, betrayal. How could you be so cruel? He was already competing with an inanimate object, he’ll be damned if his siblings get added to the list. Taking a moment to weight his options, or lack there of, his face soon resembled a kicked puppy with his bottom lip stuck out and everything; you could’ve sworn his eyes started to water. “t’s not fair…been waiting all damn day…”

“I know, baby. But I need you to hang on for just a little longer f’me, okay? And once I’m done, then I’m all yours.” You cooed, placing a small peck on his nose as an olive branch. It seemed to do the trick, his frown softening as he pointed at his lips, puckering them. You snorted, but happily obliged, even placing a few more across his face until you got a smile. Shinichiro soaked up whatever he could as he leaned into you for more.

When it seemed he was satisfied, you turned back to continue working…only for the ravenette to try his luck one more time. “Can I get one here, too?”

You peered at him from over your shoulder—Give you one guess where he was pointing, wearing that all too pleased grin from before. You deadpanned.

“…I’m calling Mikey.”

“NoOO—”

—

“That’s considered sexual harassment, Mr. Sano.”

If he could time travel, MIKEY would beat the breaks off his past-self for ever encouraging you to fill the role of secretary at his work. At first, it seemed like a fantastic idea—Standing at his side, his pretty little assistant, wearing a tight uniform that left nothing to the imagination. He’d bend you over his desk and fuck you anytime he pleased, you’d call him Sir, and walk around the office filled to the brim with his cum until time to go home, then he’d fill you up all over again—The perfect work-life balance.

However, the gangster didn’t account for one teensy thing—You, actually taking the job seriously, and setting professional boundaries the moment you were hired on the staff. No matter if you’d be practically all over him in the car moments prior to clocking in, the second your kitten heels touched the marbled floors of the lobby…he wasn’t your lover anymore. He was your boss.

And he hated it.

“Sexual harass—You’re my s/o, [______].”

“Not within these walls, I’m not.” You continued reading one of the files left on your desk to review for tomorrow’s meeting, only for it soon to vanish right before your eyes. After a long blink, you held out an expectant hand to the stubborn blonde. “May I have that back, please?”

“No.”

“Mr. Sano-”

“If you address me formally one more time, I’ll take you right here in the middle of this hallway. Try me.” He hissed, holding the file out of reach.

You pursed your lips, fighting a grin. Seeing him get so worked up over not being able to get his dick wet was entertaining to say the least, but you were well aware he wasn’t kidding. Clearing your throat, you attempted to tread lightly as your expression morphed back to neutral.

“Alright. Mikey,” his eye twitched, but you continued, “would you be so kind as to let me finish reading the material for your meeting tomorrow? I would hate for anything to be amiss because I didn’t do a thorough review.”

“Tch. Where’s Kakucho? I distinctly remember assigning this task for him. Not you.”

You raised a brow. “You sent him on an impromptu errand to fill up the time he was spending ‘idling at my desk’. You remember that?”

Mikey averted his gaze. “…Don’t recall.”

“‘course you don’t,” you exhaled. “Mikey, with all due respect-”

“Not that name either.” He commanded, slapping the file back on the desk before placing his hands upon it to lean forward, towering over you. You couldn’t fight the grin this time, tilting your head up at him, amusement in your gaze.

“That’s your name, is it not?”

Mikey glared. “You know that isn’t the one I’d prefer you to use.”

With a shrug, you easily replied, “It’s what most of your employees call you. And last time I checked, that included me-” Mikey was quick to grab your chin, forcing you to look deep into his dark, deranged eyes. Man’s was definitely toeing line of his limit, and you were pushing it.

“And last time I checked, you aren’t like most employees. You’re my partner who’s working on my last nerve, and should really consider dropping this whole ‘professionalism’ act before I remind them why they were hired in the first place. And no, it wasn’t for your work ethic and attention to detail, or whatever bullshit Koko told you in the interview.”

Ouch.

Not to say you didn’t figure there were ulterior motives behind getting approved for the job, especially under the circumstances that you were heavily under-qualified to work in their type of environment. But, you tried your damnedest to keep up, do your part, and not be a burden on the team. For him to call it nonsense and boldly confirm such suspicions outloud? You think he realized his mistake the second your face reverted back to its neutral state. Wiggling out of his grip, you leaned back in the chair with your arms tightly crossed to your chest.

“That so? Well then, Michael, how ‘bout I remind you why a man shouldn’t mix his business with his pleasure. Things could turn ugly for him, maybe even end up losing both a loyal employee and a lover all in one day. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Out of all the names, that one made him cringe the most. A clear indicator of his grandiose fuck-up, one that if he didn’t fix immediately, he’d soon suffer the consequences. And your wrath.

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that. It came out wrong-”

“Oh, I’m sure it didn’t. You’re a man who speaks his mind, after all.”

Mikey, though subtly, panicked. This wasn’t at all how he expected the conversation to go. But, it’s not his fault! It was his dick doing all the driving. With you working for Bonten, his long hours became yours, and by the time you both got home, sex became scarce due to your exhaustion. He was immune to the taxation of the job, while it was kicking your ass. And to top it off, he couldn’t even cop a feel of his own s/o, in his own damn building, because of ‘power imbalances’ between a boss and secretary that was ‘socially unacceptable’, according to you…as you work for the biggest crime syndicate in all of Japan.

Flawed reasoning aside, it drove him insane.

But, no thanks to his lust-clouded brashness, if Mikey thought getting some action at work was difficult, his chances at home just got a whole lot worse. He’d be lucky if you even slept in the same bed tonight.

“[_____],” he sighed, reaching over to grab your hand, though you moved it away at the last second. “You do a fantastic job here, angel. Exceeded all my expectations, actually-”

“Well, based on the merits of why you hired me in the first place, that doesn’t sound like much.” At that point, you went back to reviewing the file he threw back on the desk, seeming disinterested. But, Mikey knew better.

He’d hurt your feelings. To be reduced to nothing but eye candy for him, when you were busting your ass off like everyone else, it stung. It was playful at first, but now the blonde had crossed a line. With determination, Mikey removed the file from your sight once more, rounding the desk before crouching down so he could level with you this time.

You allowed him to take your hands in his, still indifferent. Mikey spoke with a tenderness only reserved for you, one that never failed to melt any cold front you built to wane his efforts.

“I was being childish. I shouldn’t have diminished your role like that, and I apologize for making you feel like your work isn’t appreciated. I’m glad to have you as my loyal employee. Even if a visit in my office from my lover from time to time wouldn’t be too bad, either…”

His words trailed off, along with his gaze as he reminisced. You chortled, shaking your head. Mikey looked back at you, ghost of a grin on his face. “I’ll back off. Promise.”

You raised a brow, skeptical. “You mean it?”

“Mmhm. Under one condition.”

You groaned, “Mikey-”

“Manjiro.”

“Oh, is that the condition?” He lightly pinched you for the snark, resting his head on your lap. But, before you could reprimand him for his inappropriate position, your words catch in your throat.

His stare was intense as they gazed up at you with hidden hunger, the tenderness still swimming in the inky pools, but not as present compared to moments ago. Mikey licked his lips, nuzzling against your plush thigh.

“Work less hours. Don’t want you to run yourself ragged trynna keep up with the rest of us. We’ve been doing this line of work a lot longer than you have, baby. No need to overcompensate. I’m already proud of you.”

Steadily did those words make your heart melt, until your were practically mush once they’ve set in. To hear his pride in you almost made you kick your feet, for that was all you really wanted at the end of the day—Acknowledgment. Validation. Praise. And working less hours would definitely benefit in more ways than one, more so on your mental health. You won’t lie and say this new job hasn’t been a challenge, all the talk about blood, death and drugs, one could only handle so much.

“Thank you..Manjiro.” He lit up at the sound of his name spilling sweetly from your lips. “I greatly appreciate you saying that. But, what’s the catch?”

He hummed, hands releasing yours to caress your calves all the way back up to your hips. Mikey didn’t pull nor tug, more so just holding you in place as he continued to watch you like a hawk. Eventually he shook his head, tresses fluttering with him as they curtained the sides of his face.

“No catch. Work your hours, I’ll leave you be…But once those hours are up, you better be sitting pretty on my desk with your reports in one hand and your underwear in the other, waiting for me to choose between my business and my pleasure. Deal?”

—

“Pout all you want, I’m not sitting on your face.”

When you informed your darling SANZU that your Saturdays were strictly for housework, he honestly thought you were joking—What idiot in their twenties would spend the weekend doing that?

Evidently his idiot, that’s who.

Imagine his surprise when he showed up, unannounced, ready to have you on every piece of furniture, only to be threatened with a feather duster the second he went to grab your ass. “Paws off. I already changed the sheets on my bed, cleaned the bathroom, the kitchen, and mopped the floors, so unless you’re here to help dust or wipe windows, keep it in your pants, Haruchiyo.”

Needless to say, he wasn’t the happiest houseguest.

After the long work week he’s had, Sanzu was looking forward to locking the two of you in the back all weekend, going at it like rabbits with no other purpose but keep the neighbors up—Pretty much until the room stank. But, thanks to this cleaning ritual of yours, that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. Especially not with the various scented candles you were burning to hide the potent smell of bleach and pine-sol. God, he was getting such a headache from overstimulation…and not the good kind.

“This is such bullshit,” he groaned into the couch, where you banished him after he tried to bend you over the washing machine while you were loading another basket of dirty clothes. “Why’d you even invite me over if we weren’t gonna do anything…”

You paused from folding, side-eyeing him. “I didn’t invite you.”

“You said you were staying in all day. That’s practically code for: I’m bored, come dick me down.”

Your laugh had snuck up on you, racking through your entire body to the point you had curled forward. The leap he took to draw such a conclusion nearly gave you whiplash as you attempted to regain composure. “Maybe for freaky-fucks like you, but the rest of us usually mean it as something mundane. Like, oh I dunno, doing chores.”

“On a Saturday?? What ‘re ya, 80??”

You shrugged, placing another item onto its respective pile. “You don’t have to stay, y’know. If you have something better to do, then by all means, don’t let me keep you.”

Sanzu abruptly sat up from his position, the clothes you had laid on his back flopping onto the floor, instantly losing their folded shape. You shot him an annoyed glance, but figured some of the blame was yours for using his skittish-ass for a table. The pinkette wore a pitiful look, wide cerulean eyes piercing right through you as he gave a defiant punch to the couch cushion, “Was ‘posed to be doing you! And you are keeping me from doing that!”

With a huff, you set aside the pile you were currently working through to gather up the clothes that he so rudely let fall to the floor. “Unfortunate. Now lay back down, and be a good table. Since you wanted to be chair so fucking badly.”

“Piss off.”

He absolutely laid back down.

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bookworm551 · 3 months

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Take the Edge Off | Part 10 | Terrors

Summary: Late at night, Miguel confesses something that haunts him.

A/N: well, it’s time for me to post my bi-monthly part since I’ve been slacking sm lately. No good excuse, I’m not even sure if ppl read this anymore but oh well, enjoy

Warnings: smut, oral f-receiving

Word count: 8.4k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

You were sleeping peacefully when the sound of quick rustling startled you awake.

Something was thrashing beside you in bed, quick and panicked. You blinked your eyes open, your sleep-addled mind trying to process what was happening. You felt disoriented as you tried remembering where you were. The bed and sheets were most definitely not your own, yet they were somehow familiar.

Miguel. This was Miguel's bed.

Since your talk with him about being more than just fuck buddies, Miguel had actually kept his word. He communicated more about where he was, what he was doing, how late he'd be out. There were even a few nights like tonight where he'd let you stay with him in his room.

It was Miguel who was causing the rustling that now pulled you from your sleep. He was muttering something unintelligible as his legs kicked at the sheets. You rolled over to face him right as his form shot up from the bed. Through the darkness, you could hear his ragged breathing as he gasped for air, and you could vaguely see his silhouette hunched forward next to you.

Instantly, you felt awake and alert. Pushing yourself up from your pillow, you were immediately at his side. "What's wrong?" You asked, placing a worried hand on his shoulder. Under your palm, you felt the sweat that slicked his clammy skin.

Miguel flinched hard from your touch and jerked his arm away from your hand, still breathing in sharp, uneven gasps. Instead of replying, he turned his body away from you, ripping the covers off himself and moving to sit at the edge of the bed as he fought to steady his breathing.

You'd been in his position enough times to know exactly what was wrong. Nightmares had plagued you endlessly since the first time you lost someone you tried to save, and they didn't get easier with time.

"Lyla, turn the lights to 20%," you said softly. Immediately, a faint glow illuminated the room, and you could see Miguel's trembling body in the faint light. He was rocking back and forth slightly as whatever vision he’d had faded from his mind, and he didn't say anything as his heaving chest began to grow steady again.

You scooted closer to him but didn't touch him. You knew all too well that sometimes you needed a moment to understand that the terror in your chest was unsubstantiated, and so you gave him a second to deescalate before whispering, "Are you okay?"

He ran his hands over his face once before muttering, "Fine." He did not sound fine at all, but you weren't going to point that out to him. Instead, you carefully placed your hand on his shoulder again. He didn't flinch this time, so you slowly let it wander across his bare chest, wrapped your arm around him, and pulled his back against your body.

He still didn't say anything, but he lifted a hand to grab your arm and held it for a moment as a comforting gesture. "What was it?" You asked quietly, hoping that he'd open up to you. Under your palm, his heart was still racing, though he seemed to be calmer than before. He held onto you for a moment before letting his hand fall away, and he stood up from the bed.

"It was nothing," he muttered. "Go back to sleep."

You watched as he stalked over to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. Clad in only a pair of black briefs, his whole body was shining with perspiration in the dim light. He was clearly rattled by whatever night terror had taken over his sleep, but you knew he wasn't going to open up so easily.

Rather than listen to his order to go back to sleep, you waited for him to return. His face looked haunted and drained of color when he came back and slipped under the covers again. You slid next to him, snaking an arm across his torso and pulling yourself close to him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder. Miguel tensed at your touch, but he didn't try pushing you away.

You settled in silence for a while. Tilting your head up to look at him, you saw he was staring absently at the ceiling above, not even trying to fall back to sleep again. You understood that, too—the fear of sleeping in case the same nightmare took over again. You'd lost hours of sleep that way, refusing to close your eyes to keep away the monsters that plagued your dreams.

You quickly realized that Miguel wasn't going to talk unless you did. "I have them too, you know," you whispered, breaking the silence around you. His face didn't change, and after a quiet moment, he replied, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Talking about it helps," you offered. "Even if it doesn't make them go away." You watched his face carefully for a reaction, hoping he'd open up. Still, his faraway gaze never shifted, and he gave a barely-perceptible shake of his head.

Sighing, you looked back down at his chest, littered with faint scars from his time as Spider-Man. You wondered about the stories of how he got them. No doubt it had taken years to accumulate them all, each one a tiny reminder of the amount of traumatic events he had lived through. You had your own reminders too, and not just the scars on your body.

"Mine are usually memories of people I couldn't save," you admitted quietly. "Sometimes, it plays out exactly as it happened, sometimes it's a bit different. I used to tell them to my best friend, and it helped."

Your throat tightened as you thought of your friend. She was the only one who had known about your secret life. She had been the one to confide in, the one who listened. Late at night, when you couldn't stop shaking from the nightmares, she would answer your calls, no matter how late it was or how early she had to get up the next day. She had done so much for you.

And in the end, you had failed her.

"Then, I couldn't save her either," you continued quietly, a slight warble in your voice, "and the nightmares got...so much worse."

You felt Miguel's head shift to look down at your face. It was now your turn to avoid his gaze. Guilt and shame washed over you as you replayed that terrible day, the day you lost the most important person in the world.

There was a beat of silence, and Miguel's hand slid under the fabric of your shirt and began slowly rubbing your back across your skin in a comforting gesture—ironic given that he was the one still shaking off the effects of his nightmare.

"My worst ones are about her," you finally managed to say, still avoiding his gaze. "It's usually her on the ground, dead—" you took a shaky breath, "—but then she looks at me and asks why I didn't save her."

Over and over again, she would say it, and even now, you could see the scene clearly. Her body, sprawled and broken, her dead eyes glazed over lifelessly while her bloody lips moved and ask, Why didn't you save me? Why didn't you save me?

A shiver ran through you at the memory.

"I just had that one last weekend," you confessed softly.

There was a pause, and you could practically hear Miguel putting together the fact that you had been with him then, in that very bed beside him. You had woken up shaking and nauseous, but since he had still been sleeping, you had let him be while you stayed up for hours without closing your eyes again.

Miguel finally broke his silence. "Why didn't you tell me?" He asked. You gave a weak shrug. "Same reason you're not telling me yours," you countered. "It's not easy to talk about."

He didn't reply, but he did pull you closer to him so that you were lying halfway on his body, one of your bare legs draped over his.

Neither of you said anything for a long while.

You reflected on what you had said to him. That was the first time you'd ever told anyone about that particular nightmare. What you had said before was true—it's not easy talking about the things that scared you the most. Even just recalling it out loud made you want to curl up in a ball and hide under the bed, but now, you couldn't deny that you felt lighter, less burdened, less alone.

"It was you."

Miguel's voice was barely above a whisper when he finally interrupted the silence. You raised your head to look at his face again.

"Me?" You repeated quietly.

"You—something was coming for you. I don't know what it was, but I knew it was going to kill you."

His fingers curled into your back like whatever phantom had plagued his dreams was coming for you again. You were silent, barely daring to breathe. You were afraid that if you so much as blinked, he'd clam up again and refuse to tell you what was lingering from his dream.

"I tried running to you," he continued slowly, "but every step, I pushed you further towards whatever...thing was coming for you. And when it got to you..."

He didn't have to finish his sentence. You could see from the shadow that passed over his face that whatever he had seen in his dream hadn't been pretty. He just sighed and stroked your skin slowly.

"Have you ever had that one before?" You asked softly.

He shook his head faintly, and you held him a little tighter. The first time having a particular nightmare was always the worst, the hardest to convince yourself it wasn't real. It was no wonder he shook you off before. In his confusion, he probably still thought you were dead.

"It's over now," you told him quietly. "I'm alright."

Miguel said nothing, his eyes still fixed determinedly on the ceiling. His absent gaze didn't waver for the few heartbeats of silence that followed your words, and you were sure he was replaying the vision of whatever darkness had consumed you in his sleep.

Lifting your head up from his chest, you tried to capture his gaze with your own, but he refused to look at you, almost as if he was afraid that your eyes would be as lifeless as he had seen in his dream.

You cupped his cheek with one hand and gently pulled his face to look at you. He didn't resist, and his eyes finally blinked and met yours.

"It's over now," you repeated softly, "and I'm right here."

Miguel took a moment to study your face, like he was trying to memorize every line and curve that made up your appearance. You didn't move, didn't flinch from his gaze, letting him see for himself the life that still flowed inside you.

After a few seconds, you lowered your lips onto his to let him feel the warmth of your mouth, the heat and desire you had for him. Miguel responded by subtly pulling your body tighter to his as he moved his lips against yours.

Breaking away from you gently, there was the faintest softening of his face. "I'm glad you're here," he murmured quietly.

You felt your face glow at his words. You understood that he meant more than just you being there with him at the moment. He was glad you were alive, glad you were with him through all the shit you both had to deal with.

"Me too," you replied before placing another quick kiss to his lips again.

Settling back down at his side, you casually traced your fingers over his chest. So many reminders, so many terrors. You thought about all the sleepless nights you'd experienced since becoming Spider-Woman, all the strange visions that came to you in your dreams.

"I once had a nightmare that I had to shoot webs out of my ass," you told him in an attempt to lighten the mood.

There was a pause before Miguel huffed out a single, soft breath. "You too?" He replied. Your eyebrows shot up. "You too?" you repeated in surprise, a smile pulling you out of the somber mood. "It must be a canon event for us Spiders."

Miguel hummed and looked up again, and even though there was still that lingering appearance of melancholy, his face seemed more relaxed now. Your ear was pressed against his chest, and you listened to his steady heartbeat. His hand still rubbed your back slowly, the feeling apparently grounding him back to reality.

"You should go back to sleep," he told you. You shook your head. "I'm not tired," you replied. "Are you?"

"Even if I was, I couldn't fall asleep," he said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above. You nodded. "I get it."

Silence returned.

Your fingers continued stroking his stomach slowly as you replayed his words, and your chest felt warm by what Miguel revealed to you.

He was scared of losing you. The fear of it made stole his breath away and caused his body to quiver. His face had looked haunted as he recovered from his night terror. It was such an intense and visceral reaction to the idea of you dying.

Soaking up his warmth against you, you knew you felt the same way—the same fear, the same helplessness at the thought of losing him. You hadn't even realized how deeply you had fallen for him, hadn't realized how important he was to you until recently. It consumed you so completely that the idea of him not being here with you made stomach tighten nauseously.

Turning your head, you brushed a kiss to his chest. Just a simple touch, just to remind both you and him that he was there now. You felt him shift to look down at you, and you were somewhat surprised when he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered for a moment before he breathed a sigh against your skin.

Facing up at him, you met his gaze in the dim light. His eyes took in your appearance, and you took in his. An understanding passed between you, one that acknowledged what you were feeling, the fear and anxiety as a result of your feelings for each other. One look that told each other everything you were too afraid to say.

Your lips met his in a soft kiss—slow, gentle, comforting. You broke apart for a mere second before moving into another one, and then another, until he was leaning forward and pulling you in harder against his mouth. Your hand rubbed against his chest more intentionally while his tongue teased at your lips, and you parted to let him taste your mouth with a small moan.

Your heart began pounding in your chest. Each movement he made was slow and sensual, and he took each touch to remind himself that you were alive. His hand roamed up your back to feel your warm skin, and your loud sigh was proof of the breath in your lungs.

Your hand wandered lower and lower down his abdomen, the hard muscles flexing beneath your touch. You reached the band of his briefs before you stopped. Any other night, you would've jumped on him without hesitation, but you found yourself pausing and wondering if making a move for sex was wise.

Pulling away from his lips, you whispered, "Would this make you feel better?" You didn't need to clarify what you meant.

Miguel's eyes were half-lidded as he stared at your face. A faint smile pulled at his lips, the first crack in his wall of gloom, and he raised a hand to brush his fingers across your cheek. "It definitely wouldn't hurt to see," he breathed in reply.

A smirk pulled at your lips. "It could hurt if you want it to," you mused. "Just a little bit." His lips curved up a little more at your implication. Before he could reply, your hand pressed down on his cock over the materials of his briefs.

Miguel bit back a groan. You rubbed your hand over him with tantalizing slowness, watching his face as he closed his eyes and pressed his head back. Kissing his exposed neck, you reveled in his pleasure and pushed down harder against him.

"It doesn't have to hurt, though," you continued quietly in his ear. "It can be soft and gentle." You kissed him again just under his jawline. Under your palm, you could feel him growing hard. You smiled at how your words and some simple touches made him crave you.

"Or it can be hard and rough," you continued, your hand pushing down against him harshly, and you nipped at his ear. Miguel sucked in a sharp breath and pushed his hips upwards into your hand. He groaned your name softly, and just the sound of it made your core grow hot.

You slipped your hand under the black material that strained with his growing bulge. Miguel's breath stuttered as you wrapped your fingers around his hardening cock. "We can do it however you want," you finished with a smug grin.

You could feel his jaw clench under your lips. "Fuck," he breathed softly. You let the single word fuel your movements. You squeezed tightly as you slowly pumped your hands up and down his length. Another soft groan sounded in his throat, and he turned his head to kiss you again.

Still stroking him steadily, you broke away from his lips to ask, "So, how do you want it? Gentle or rough?"

His breath was hot against your mouth before he murmured, "Why choose when we can do both?"

A wicked smile grew on your face, and in a heartbeat, your lips were crashing down on his, devouring and exploring every inch of him. Your hand followed after your mouth's eagerness, stroking him with a stronger need.

Miguel pushed his hips up off the bed in encouragement, and in the same motion, he tugged off his briefs to free himself from the constricting fabric. Now, you could see his full length, so large and stiff that it made you ache.

Your breath grew heavy as your hands continued smoothly sliding up and down his cock. Turning your head, you nuzzled your face beneath his jaw and sucked at the skin of his neck. Miguel seemed utterly paralyzed, and his deep moan tickled your lips.

"Relax," you purred. "I'm gonna take care of you."

Miguel's hand moved under your shirt—his shirt, actually—and up your back. His callouses felt rough against your skin, and they wandered across your body and pulled you closer to him. You nipped gently at his throat, and Miguel's fingers dug into your back.

"Does that feel good?" You asked smugly, already knowing the answer. He nodded in response, his eyes closed tightly as his chest heaved uneven breaths.

"Talk to me," you implored in a smug voice, never slowing your hand's pace. "Does it feel good?"

Miguel was trying his best to answer you, and through his stuttering breath, he managed to sigh, "Yes. God, yes."

You loved the desperate edge in his voice. It sent a thrill running up your body. You lowered your face from his neck to his chest and placed long, wet kisses all over him. A growl sounded in his back of his throat. When you glanced up at his face through your lashes, his eyes were closed, and his head was straining against his pillow as his muscles flexed in pleasure.

"I love hearing you," you murmured against his skin, never ceasing for a moment the stroking movements of your hand. "It makes me so wet, every sound you make."

Hearing your words, Miguel actually moaned, and he pushed his hips up into your hand. The sound went straight to your core. Your blood was growing hot, and the deep throbbing between your legs was almost unbearable. You squeezed your thighs together to try and gain some relief, and you let out a quiet moan of your own.

Miguel must've heard you because something in him snapped. His eyes fluttered open, and he pushed himself up to capture your lips. Your hand increased its pace as Miguel explored your mouth with desperation.

He broke away from you for a second and gasped softly, "I need to feel you."

You smirked and lifted yourself up off his body. His impatient hands began tugging at your shirt, and you had to move your hand away from his cock to allow him to rip it off your body. With the shirt gone, you were left in only a pair of underwear.

Miguel was eager to feel you. He rolled his body onto yours and settled between your legs. As he hovered over you, he had one arm planted on the bed to support himself while the other wandered up your body, feeling your bare skin beneath his palm.

Another soft moan escaped from your lips as his rough hand slid over your body, kneading at one of your breasts as his lips latched onto your neck. Your thighs squeezed around his hips reactively when you felt his hardened length nudging against the soaked fabric of your underwear.

Your desperation to feel him inside you was overwhelming. Letting go of Miguel, you started tugging at the band of your underwear. He knew what you were doing, and so his lips broke away from your neck as he hooked his fingers around the top of your underwear. Sitting up off your body, he pulled them down your legs and tossed them aside.

Miguel stayed sitting upright for a moment, drinking in the sight of your bare body before him. Even in the low light, you were able to see how his eyes burned with desire, how they took in every inch of you with longing.

You looked up at him, too. His body towered over yours. The contours around his muscles were exaggerated by the soft light overhead, making him look like a god. His dark hair was mussed, and strands of it had fallen over his face. Between his powerful thighs, the sight of his cock made you ache.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to how good you look," you said softly.

Miguel's eyes flicked up to your face, a small hint of surprise in his expression. You didn't praise him often enough, you realized. So often, he was the one idolizing your body while you were rendered speechless from his touch. Seeing him now with his god-like physique, you realized Miguel deserved to know how much you loved being with him.

Sitting up, you ran a hand up his sculpted body, feeling the muscles underneath his warm skin. He flexed reactively as your fingers skimmed up to his neck, and you pulled him into another slow kiss.

With your other hand, you reached down and stroked his cock. Miguel let out a low moan against your mouth, making you smile. "I don't think I'll ever get used to how good you sound," you whispered, pulling him back down to the bed.

He followed after you eagerly, his body hovering over yours as he continued kissing you ravenously. Despite being on top of you, Miguel was following submissively with your every physical direction. He was propped up on one elbow while his other hand held your thigh. His body was practically trembling in anticipation while your hand continued stroking him slowly, but he remained hovering over you and waiting for your permission to enter you.

You were just as anxious to feel him inside you. Pulling his head down with one hand to kiss you again, you guided his cock to your soaking entrance.

"Now, remind me of how good you feel," you told him quietly.

Miguel didn't need any more prompting. In one smooth movement, he pushed into you. Your head fell back against the bed with a loud moan as his cock stretched you out. His breath caught in his throat for a moment as he felt the wet warmth of your pussy around him.

"Mierda," he breathed against your neck as he began pumping long, smooth strokes into you. You couldn't even speak from the pleasure that overwhelmed your senses. The most that you could do was force yourself to take ragged breaths while Miguel continued rolling his hips into you, in and out, over and over.

He whispered your name as he pushed himself into you over and over again. You whimpered softly. At the sound of it, Miguel's lips came crashing down against yours, and his tongue explored your mouth with a growing desperation.

"More," you whined into his mouth. "I need more."

Miguel groaned. His movements evolved from strong, steady strokes to relentless, harsh thrusts. You cried out as the sound of him pounding into you echoed around the room, his cock sending pleasure pulsing through your body.

Miguel shifted his body above you. He pushed himself up off his elbow and up onto his knees. With his hands, he gripped you by the waist and hoisted your hips effortlessly into his lap, your back now arched with your shoulders still resting on the bed. Holding you firmly in place, he ever-so-obediently began fucking you mercilessly.

The air was snatched from your lungs as he began driving his cock into you with unrelenting desperation. One of your hand reached up and grabbed the edge of the headboard while the other clawed at the sheets.

Whatever amount of control you'd had over Miguel vanished, and any sort of restraint he'd had before snapped. His cock buried deep inside you and pounded against your G-spot mercilessly. Ragged cries tore from your throat as your whole body began trembling.

“Fuck,” you managed to groan, your fingers clenching around the sheets beneath you. Miguel was ravenous. His large cock stretched you out until it nearly hurt, and his fingers threatened to leave bruises on your hips.

“Like that?” He asked smugly, his words breathless as he continued slamming into you. You whined and nodded, your arms shook with the strain of their grip on the bed. Miguel leaned over your body while keeping your hips up on his thighs, one hand supporting him above you. His lips found one of your breast, and as he fucked you, his ran his tongue over your nipple.

Moaning salaciously, your body trembling as he completely overwhelmed your senses. In his throat, Miguel growled in approval of how you responded to him. His cock continued pounding against your G-spot, and he pulled his head up for just a second to watch your face before he bit down on your nipple.

You cried out as pleasure coursed through you, sending you hurdling into your release. You barely registered how you moaned his name as your climax took over your every faculty. Miguel noticed and gave a few more hard thrusts into you, drawing gasping cries from you.

You were seeing stars as you lost yourself in your bliss. Your body felt electric as Miguel slowed to a stop and pulled away from you, watching you slumped on the bed, unraveling underneath him.

"You look so beautiful when you cum like that," he panted, slowly moving his body further down the bed. "I can't get enough of it."

You moaned, unable to respond to him otherwise. Your heart was pounding furiously in your chest, and you were gulping down deep, uneven breaths. He lowered his face to kiss your neck softly, and you threaded your fingers through his hair. He made you feel like a goddess, and he was your most faithful worshipper.

Your body was still trembling while he placed kisses between your breasts to your stomach. As he moved lower, your eyes fluttered open to look down at him. Through his dark lashes, Miguel was watching your face as his lips trailed lower and lower down your abdomen.

Your body shivered when you realized what he was going to do. "Wait," you gasped quietly, squeezing your legs together around him. Miguel paused right as he was beginning to wrap his arms under your thighs, his gaze restless. He seemed to be exerting all his will to obey your single-word command.

"It's- I'm—," you fumbled for the right words in your unfocused state. Damn him for melting your mind like this, any semblance of rational thoughts shattered by his cock. Taking a steadying breath, you managed to say, "I don't think I can take that right now."

You knew exactly what he could do with his head between your legs, but you were currently still piecing yourself back together, and the thought of him ravaging you with his tongue while you were still coming off of your climax seemed torturous.

Miguel didn't move, but you could see in the dim light how his eyes flashed with need. "I'll be gentle," he promised in a low voice. "I'll go slow. I just want a taste." He shifted, and you noted the restless movement along with the desperate edge in his voice when he added, "Please. Just a taste of you."

Fuck. There was no way you could say no to the sounds of him begging.

In silent reply, you relaxed your legs. Miguel slid his arms under them, his powerful hands gripping your thighs as he pulled them open, baring your soaked cunt before him. His eyes never left yours as he lowered his face down and took a long stroke of his tongue up your pussy.

You couldn't suppress the cry that wrested from your throat. Your whole body felt like it had been set on fire as he licked at you again, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat as he tasted your desire for him. Your eyes squeezed shut, and your legs fought the iron grip of his hands.

Slowly, gently—just as he promised—Miguel explored your pussy with his mouth. His tongue trailed between your folds, avoiding the very top where your swollen clit was still too sensitive for his touch. You sighed at the feeling, the warmth of his tongue sending delightful shivers across your body.

Moving lower, he slid through your wetness until the tip of his tongue teased the outside of your entrance where his cock had been mere minutes ago. Your breath hitched at the feeling, and Miguel took that as a sign to push his tongue in as deep as it could go.

Your back arched off the bed as he pushed into you slowly again and again. You moaned his name as he tasted you so passionately. Miguel's hands pulled your legs open further while he fucked you just like that, his tongue sliding in and out of you at a pace just inside of what you could handle.

"Mmm, Miguel," you whined, one hand gripping at his hair while the other reached for the headboard again.

It felt so good, impossibly good. Everything he did to you made you wonder how he could possibly be real, how he could possibly be with you. Your first time together, you hadn't thought it would ever happen again, let alone evolve into what you had now. What had started as a one-time fuck was now a constant need to be with each other, to hold each other close and never let go.

Your hips began shifting restlessly under his mouth. Your very blood felt as if it were on fire. Already, he had brought you from being overstimulated to craving another release.

Miguel lifted his face from your pussy for a moment. His glistening lips were parted as he panted lightly, and his eyes were glazed over with lust.

"You taste so good," he murmured, his voice hoarse with desire. "I could eat you out every day if you'd let me." You moaned softly at the thought of it. "I'm not stopping you," you replied breathlessly.

His lips curved up into a smirk before he lowered his head down again to drag his tongue up your cunt, carefully testing your sensitive clit. Your body squirmed under his firm grasp, and you gasped at the hot pleasure coursing through your veins.

Miguel seemed satisfied by your reaction. He took another slow stroke over your sensitivity again, trying to gauge how much you could take now. To answer his unspoken question, you groaned and pressed his head down harder. You felt more than heard his deep chuckle at your wordless instructions, and he obliged you by sealing his lips over your pussy and pressing his tongue against you.

You writhed on the bed, your thighs straining against his hands as he ate you out with greater fervor. Your whines and sighs filled the room, and your grip on the headboard tightened to an almost painful degree.

Miguel sucked, licked, and wholly devoured your cunt. You could feel the pleasure beginning to coil deep inside of you, and he seemed to read it in how your body struggled in his grasp. Falling into a steady pace of strong, even strokes, he moved tirelessly to earn more moans from your lips.

Your fingers gripped his hair tightly, and you glanced down at his face between your legs. His dark eyes were half-lidded and unfocused, completely pussy drunk. In them, you saw his utter surrender to your taste and the complete abandonment of his restraint.

Despite your legs still struggling under his grasp, he released one hand from your thigh, and before you could understand what he was doing, he inserted two fingers into you.

Your hips arched off the bed as a shuddering cry tore through you. His fingers curled inside you, working in tandem with his tongue still swirling around your clit. His pace was unrelenting, desperate, like he needed you to fall apart as much as he needed to breathe. Every nerve was on fire as you felt yourself completely lose yourself in the pleasure of his mouth and fingers.

You might have been screaming, you weren't sure. Every thought and scrap of awareness was washed away by the tidal wave that was your orgasm. Your body felt like it was shattering, and you lost all control of yourself as you lifted your hips off the bed with trembling effort. Miguel stayed securely attached to you, his tongue and fingers working you through it with a final desperation.

"Miguel!" You cried out as you struggled against him, your pleasure an overwhelming force that threatened to tear you apart. He slowed his hands to a gradual stop and raised his head up off of you, his eyes drinking in the sight of you unraveling under him.

"Beautiful," he purred, watching your body as the trembling finally eddied away. "Did that feel good?"

You were still gasping for air, and it took every ounce of your focus to reply, "Yes. Too good. I—I'm gonna need a minute."

His lips curved into a self-satisfied grin, and he placed a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh. "I'll take my time," he replied smugly. He placed another kiss a little higher, and then another on your lower stomach, until he was trailing his lips slowly up your body.

You groaned as he moved higher. Your body was thrumming with the aftermath of pleasure, and you were still breathing heavily when his mouth pressed over one of your breasts. You shivered at the touch of him, his warm tongue swirling around your nipple in lazy circles while his hand palmed your other breast with greed.

"You're insatiable," you groaned. You heard him chuckle quietly. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he said against your soft skin. You hummed, unable to keep the smile from growing on your lips. "It's not," you replied, "but I might not be able to walk tomorrow."

Miguel turned his face up to look at you, a smug grin tugging at his lips. "You need me to carry you around the base?" He asked in amusement.

You actually laughed at him. "Mmm, no. I'd hate to hurt that hard-ass reputation of yours," you told him. He hummed thoughtfully, pressing another kiss to your breast. "I think your reputation would be the one at stake," he replied. "After all, what would people think about you being with a hard-ass like me?"

You chuckled, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. "They'd be jealous," you stated. "I mean, half the Society wants to sleep with you, and the other half is lying about not wanting to."

That earned a low laugh from Miguel, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. "Well," he began slowly, bringing his face up to yours, "I don't want to be with half the Society, or the other half." You smiled up at him, your eyes never leaving his as he rested his forehead against yours.

"Just you," he whispered.

You held his stare and soaked in his presence, the lingering hum of pleasure in your body, the feeling of his heat pressed over you. Your hand slid down from his hair to cup his cheek. If you could stop time and hold onto a moment forever, it would probably be this one.

Gently, you pulled his face down to yours and kissed him. Your taste still lingered there, and after a second, you broke away to whisper, "I was hoping you'd say that."

He chuckled, and before he could respond, you pulled him back into a deep kiss. He parted his lips to slide his tongue against yours. You made a soft noise, and your lips moved against his smoothly, your kisses running together until your breathing grew heavy again.

Miguel, you could tell, was more than eager to be back inside you. His hand palmed your breast hungrily, and his whole body moved with anticipation. You quickly realized, however, that he was still holding out, waiting instead for you to give him permission to continue what you had paused.

You shifted your hips up to him, moaning softly when his cock brushed against your entrance. His breath shuddered, and he looked down at you to read your face. You nodded, answering his silent question before kissing him again.

You moaned into his mouth when he pushed into you once more. He moved slowly, so slowly inside you. Every thrust was long and deep, like he was trying to feel every inch of you. Your breathing was heavy as your fingers dug into the skin of his back.

The pace he set was vastly different than before. His pace was controlled and even, withdrawing all the way to the tip before pushing all the way to the hilt. This wasn't just fucking, you realized—it was love-making. Watching your reactions, waiting for your command, doing everything in his power to please you—Miguel completely encompassed what it meant to be a lover.

He broke away from your lips after a moment to catch his breath. You were both breathing hard, and as he continued moving steadily inside you, his eyes blinked open. They met your own, and he stared down at you with something like reverence in his gaze.

"I'm glad you're here," he gasped softly against your lips.

Your heart skipped a beat as he repeated his words from before. It was one thing hearing it in the quiet calm of lying together, but in the midst of the heat and passion, hearing them again gave them more weight, more substance. Even as he was deep inside you, he was still thinking about how grateful he was for you, that you were with him.

"I'll always be here," you promised quietly.

He let out a soft grunt at your words, his hips driving into with more force. Your eyes rolled back into your head as your whole body moved with each thrust. The rhythmic slapping of his skin against yours filled the air, and you couldn't help the quiet whine that left your throat as he pushed so deeply into you.

Your lips met his again in a desperate kiss. His hips thrust into you harder and faster now. You gasped as he pushed into you with greater need. The feeling of his cock moving deep inside of you was driving you insane, and your desire felt insatiable.

Miguel lowered his head to your neck, his hot breath fanning your skin as he continued passionately driving his cock into you. You felt his teeth graze against you, and a small whimper sounded in your throat. He growled at the sound and nipped gently at your flesh. You gave another small cry at the sensation, your fingers digging into his skin.

"You're so responsive," he murmured without lifting his head. "Every noise you make drives me crazy."

You moaned again for him. "It's because you feel so good," you whispered to him. "God, how do you always feel so fucking good?"

He groaned, thrusting into you over and over again with endless passion. Under his breath, he whispered your name. You could feel his hand sliding up your torso, until at last it found your own hand. His fingers entwined in yours and pinned it to the bed above your head.

You stared up at Miguel when he rested his forehead on yours. His eyes were closed as he fully immersed himself in the pleasure of your cunt. Small grunts sounded in his throat as he moved passionately in you, growing more and more hungry for his release until he couldn't hold back his sounds anymore.

With every thrust, he groaned softly in your ear. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to push deeper. You could feel how the hand that was entwined in yours trembled, and his arm that supported him above you buckled at the elbow.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice taut. "I don't think I can last—"

You didn't let him finish his sentence before you yanked his mouth down to yours again. His moan tickled your lips as your tongue slid against his, and he shifted his body to release your hand. Before you could mourn the loss of that intimate connection, Miguel's hand drifted down your body until his thumb brushed just above where his cock was moving in and out of you.

You gasped as white-hot pleasure shot through you. Your thighs trembled with every circle he made over your clit, in time with each drive of his cock. Digging your fingers into his skin, you held him tightly while you cried out at his perfect touch.

"Oh god, Miguel," you whined, unable to say anything else. His thumb worked rhythmically, pressing down just hard enough that your hips bucked against him. He was breathing hard above you, thrusting with deep, hard strokes.

Your body tightened, and your breathing was growing shallow. You could scarcely think about anything as you felt yourself growing closer and closer to the edge of your release. Miguel, you knew, was also growing closer based on his grunts of pleasure.

You managed to look up at him and were immediately captivated by his face. His dark hair had fallen over his forehead which glistened with sweat. His full lips were parted as he panted, and his eyes were focused on you. His gaze was electrifying, and as he stared down at you, he whispered your name so softly, so reverently, that you could barely hear it over the sounds your bodies were making.

That was all it took to send you over the edge. You were barely able to make more than a strangled cry as your climax racked your body. Every nerve was set ablaze as wave after wave of indescribable pleasure crashed over you. Your back arched off the bed, and you pulled him down in a tight embrace, your shuddering body pressed against him.

Miguel became ravenous at the sight of your undoing. His hand moved quickly from your clit to wrap under your back as he gave himself over to his desire. His hard thrusts had you clawing at his back, completely overwhelmed with the sensation of his cock slamming into you.

Just as you were coming down from your high, Miguel found his. His body tensed and stilled, a loud, gasping moan filling the air as he spilled himself inside you.

Your body still trembled against his while you both gasped for breath. His skin felt hot and alive, and in the stillness between you, he pressed a sloppy kiss to your neck. Against your chest, you felt Miguel's erratic heart hammering in time with yours. You moaned as he rolled his hips into yours with a few lazy thrusts before he pulled out of you entirely.

You remained sprawled out on the bed while Miguel collapsed next to you with a grunt. For a while, it was silent except for the sounds of your heavy breathing. One of your arms was pressed against his, and the other was draped across your face as you recovered from the intensity of what he had just done to you.

Noticing your posture, Miguel turned to you and brushed his fingers across your cheek. "Are you okay?" He asked softly.

You huffed out a breath, your arm sliding off your face as you looked at him with a smirk. "You just made me cum three times," you told him. "I would say I'm better than okay."

His lips tilted up in a smile at you, and his eyes studied your face intently, taking in every detail of your features. You remembered then why he was even awake, how you were startled from sleep by his thrashing. You had almost forgotten about the terror you had seen in his face earlier that night.

As you leaned your face into his hand, you asked, "Are you okay?" He considered you for a moment, his subtle smile still on his lips. "I just made you cum three times, I'm better than okay," he replied smugly.

Your smile widened, and you rolled your eyes. "You're unbearable," you mumbled, causing him to chuckle. His fingers still traced over your skin, and he added quietly, "I'm always okay when I'm with you."

Your face softened. In the low light, you could just make out his features, the shape of his lips, the angle of his cheekbones, the honesty in his eyes. He was only ever like this, open and vulnerable, with you in bed, still coming off of the high of an orgasm. Outside of sex, he mostly interacted with you through sharp wit and banter. This was the only time he ever lowered his walls enough for you to see soft side of him.

Instead of responding to him, you moved closer until your lips met his gently. You held the kiss for a moment before resting your head down on the pillow next to him, looking into his face with admiration. He stared back at you for a moment with a faint smile on his lips until he closed his eyes as his smile faded, and he let out a deep sigh.

"Hmm?" You hummed questioningly.

"Hmm?" He echoed back, his eyes still closed.

"That sigh—what are you thinking about?" You asked him.

The corner of his lips quirked up. "Maybe I'm sighing just to sigh," he pointed out. You gave a disbelieving scoff. "A likely story," you replied sarcastically.

His smile widened, and he finally opened his eyes to look at you again. You stared at each other for a quiet moment, each waiting for the other to say something. Finally, he sighed again, and you smiled up at him questioningly.

"What?" You prompted quietly.

His faint grin disappeared from his lips, and his eyes roamed over ever inch of your face. "I just—I don't think you realize," he said at last, "the power you have over me."

You blinked in surprise. Whatever you had expected him to say, it wasn't that. Miguel must've read the emotions in your face because he smiled softly again and closed his eyes. "Too much power," he added quietly.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and your cheeks grew warm. He so rarely ever admitted that he cared about you. Despite all the nights like these, sweaty and breathless, and despite the pretty things he’d say in the heat of the moment, and despite the special gifts and treatment he gave you, Miguel hardly ever expressed with words how he felt about you. So, when he did, you often found yourself flustered by those rare confessions.

"Well," you began slowly, "I've heard that with great power comes—"

Miguel groaned, cutting you off. "Don't finish that sentence," he grumbled as he pulled you over to him so that your back pressed against his chest. You giggled, knowing that Miguel had probably heard every variation of your mantra during his time in the multiverse.

He nestled his face against your neck and wrapped his arm around your torso. His warmth enveloped you, and his breath tickled your skin. You rested your arm over his, entwining your fingers together.

"You have power over me, too," you told him quietly. "Way too much."

Miguel didn't say anything in response. A small part of you wondered if he had heard you, but then, he placed a lingering kiss on your shoulder and sighed.

"You should get some sleep," he said at last. "I'm sorry for waking you." You chuckled. "Well, I'm not," you replied wryly, earning a huff of amusement from him. "And I need to get cleaned up."

He grunted his understanding, tightening his hold on you for just a moment before pulling his arm away to allow you to slip out of bed to the bathroom. When you returned, Miguel had the covers pulled back up, and his breathing was deep and slow.

You slid between the sheets and curled against his side. Even as he was drifting off, his arms pulled you into an embrace. Your own eyes felt heavy now that all your arousal had been satisfied. As you drifted off into sleep, you couldn't tell if you imagined it or if he really did mumble one last time, "I'm glad you're here."

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