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moondirti · 10 months

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8. VICES

CHAPTER EIGHT OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter seven / chapter nine ⇀

summary: a shower, a training session, and a blowjob

explicit (18+) | 5.8k words warnings: enemies to lovers, training arcs, unhinged smut, dubious consent, it's rough guys, blowjobs, handjobs, miguel o'hara is a strict (asshole) mentor, throat-fucking, choking, mentions of infidelity, mentions of starvation, homelessness notes: well. hope y'all still respect me after reading this

The cell doesn’t last long.

You don’t know what you expected; the terms of your deal weren’t exactly negotiated in full. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t been discussed at all. You’d assumed Miguel agreed based on his reticence – as you’ve come to anticipate from him, a non-answer always means you have a point he’d rather not appreciate. But he’d added little else after the figurative pouring of your soul, his back turning towards you instead, fixing his hands on his waist. And it had stayed that way, up until you were escorted back to the laser enclosure, still as much a prisoner as anybody else.

So, perhaps you were wrong. You convinced yourself that it was okay, that you didn’t have any hope for your own redemption. You weren’t his problem to deal with anymore, not since you agreed to go home. He probably couldn’t see the potential in you, anyway. A string of excuses drawn upon one common line – self-degradation. Tamping yet another pipe dream destined to leave you evermore downtrodden. And that was okay.

That is, until you were roused from sleep by the scarlet spider much later. It’d been light, a rest on the verge of consciousness, contorted into the most compressed position possible to make use of limited space. In truth, you’d been thankful for it – to be granted a break from the fruitless struggle and, finally, some cue towards your fate. But he led you away from the anomaly imprisonment sector – opposite from the go-home machine you thought would be your adjudicator.

Now, you’re here.

“Was ordered to pull something together from a spare recovery room,” Reilly crosses his arms, giving an approving nod to nothing at all. “‘Course s’not the biggest – not meant to be used for extended periods of time, but I could manage if I were you.”

You don’t let yourself harbour a reaction, not before he leaves you to your own devices.

Because, well – it’s perfect.

There’s not much to compare it to, naturally. You’d grown accustomed to sharing a dormitory back at college, cramped in shoebox square footage with your roommate. Then, when your earth had gone to shit, there were no houses left to revel in. The past year since your miraculous escape have found you homeless, huddled under awnings or atop park benches, and by that point, discomfort had found a permanent friend in you.

Yet–

White asymmetric panelling hems the studio, broken up only by a triangular window that peeks out onto Nueva York’s cityscape. On your right, the wall recesses in to form a bed nook, where fitted sheets hug a thick mattress, two feather pillows stacked at one end. Opposite it hovers a multi-purpose desk, niche’s carrying reusable utensils, bowls, a lamp and a small first-aid kit.

And it’s all you could want. Gorgeous. Not conventionally so, no; it’s plain and lacklustre with an air of futuristic frigidness. But it’s clean, and comes equipped with an air conditioning system that puts you in control of the temperature you sleep in. It’s a stationary point for you to return to, no matter the day’s drag – a place to call yours if not home.

Not to mention, there’s a flat door towards the back, too plain to have caught your attention until you actively look for it. It has no handle, opened with a slight push that releases a latch, and swings outwards. Given the size of the corner, you’re forced to take a step back – which, a more ungrateful version of yourself would’ve marked as a con, but you’re too caught up in the novelty of what you’re led into.

A bathroom. A private, unrestricted bathroom – with a toilet and a sink and a fucking shower. You’re unable to repress the grin that stretches your cheeks, absolutely ecstatic with the – however temporary – development. No more sneaking into gyms to use their bath facilities, fortunes splurged on soap over dinner. You can wash yourself whenever you see fit, not have to feel guilty about deluding expensive memberships or your own hunger.

(Small blessings; that still-pious part of you succumbs to the sign. You’re being rewarded. You’re on the right track.)

Immediately, you schedule your night. A shower, first – partly for your excitement, majorly for the necessity. You doubt there are laundry machines nearby, if there’s any at all, so soaking your clothes in the sink should have to do the trick. You have no others, and to ask for more would be testing the grace you’ve been granted so far. Besides, the sheets look sterile – to lay in them bare can’t be the worst option.

Wiggling your fingers, you plug the drain to fill the basin. The garments you shuck off quickly settle there too, crumpled in a way that only exposes all their worn-down qualities. Jagged rips in your jeans, caked gore on your shirt. It’s instinct to turn away once the grime bleeds into the water, dying the once-clear pool with the unsavoury colour of your recent exploits. Harder, however, is trying to ignore the dried slick on your panties, bashfully tucking them underneath everything else.

Engrossed by the chore, you’re almost taken by surprise by the flash of your reflection in the half-body mirror. It comes suddenly, a shape in your peripheral that looks like it’s in the wrong place. An apparition in a horror flick – darkened, wrapped in bandages and dirt and set with heavy eyes from days of unrest. Your heart rate spikes, stuttering rapidly even as you realise that it is, indeed, you.

Or – you and Wraith. Both, existing simultaneously.

Because it is the image you’ve become familiar with. The slope of your cheeks, the curve at your waist. It’s off putting seeing her again after some time; you don’t think you’ve spared a glance for more than half a second since the day of the gala, when you’d sat crouched in front of yourself, swiping gloss on puckered lips. But it’s those same lips that purse back at you now, unchanged. You recognise it all so quickly.

None of it resonates.

An ugly bruise mars your temple, a yellowing one at your ribs. Your skin is littered with silver scars, or purple, depending on recency, like the two points at your neck where fangs have made their mark. Stark, white gauze circles each arm, one below your shoulder, the other above your wrist. And you’re… less, than you had been – evidence found around your cheekbones, or across your collar. Your flesh sinks into the hollow planes behind bone. When was the last time you’d eaten?

Wraith. This haunted, cursed figure.

You breathe through the discouragement. You tell yourself that it’s okay, the words quickly becoming a new mantra. You won’t go as far as to say it’s ambition – but the new sense of purpose that courses through you works to drown it out. You have something to work towards, no longer an aimless soul wandering uncharted realms. Whatever happened, whatever happens – all of it doesn’t matter now that you’re finally setting things straight.

Your enthusiasm is enough to tide you over, at least, and when you step in the shower, the final dregs of hatred drip away.

White noise accompanies the cleanse. You’re suspended, surrounded by the pitter patter of water splattering down on the tiled floor. It’s overwhelming – the system has been pre-programmed to a common preference, but you find that it’s too cold for you, turning it up to one that singes your exposed form instead. Your lungs tighten, unaccustomed to the steam that quickly replaces oxygen. Hair plasters to your ears. It’s good, though, an appreciated racket. You look for soap and can focus only on that, the buzz of guilt that constantly occupies you drowned out in favour for more menial tasks.

Of course, that really only leaves room for one train of thought.

You wonder what he’s doing right now. Has he retired for the night, back to a warm home with a partner already drowsy, cushioned in their shared bed? He seems like a family man, the type to have a galley kitchen that breaks open to a dining room, four chairs tucked beneath glossy oak. One supplanted by a high chair, maybe, meant for a squealing babe; because he’s a dad, for sure. You’ve never known Miguel to be tender, but that’s towards you and your criminal disposition. There’s a sort of careful consideration he harbours – like stopping mid sentence, that moniker, Wraith, on his tongue, and opting for something less loathsome when you grimace. You imagine it honed in a gentler setting, fostered by children he adores.

And his spouse–

You squeeze a generous dollop of shampoo on your palm, working it into your scalp.

What is his type, anyway? Dedicated individuals who prioritise discipline over all else? Certainly, he wouldn’t be married to another spider-person, not when their relationship jeopardises his mission’s motto. Someone homegrown, then, a childhood sweetheart who knew him before he became all that. Who continued to love every inch of him as sinew stretched to brawn, the civilian he once was falling out like a baby tooth, fangs spouting in its stead. Unconditionally, or something along the lines.

You recognise the notion, how important it is for a hero like him. To be tasked with responsibilities beyond human ability, one has to become more. A martyr, a villain when need be. You don’t exactly blame his vendetta against you, but you’ve come to resent the man regardless. Doubtlessly, the sentiment is felt by others he’s put in their place.

So, someone who sees past all that. Miguel O’Hara, as he is behind the mask.

The provided bar of soap is small enough to wrap your hand around. You flip it a few times, lathering it until suds form. It’s unscented, so you imagine what it could be. Patchouli springs up, the most immediate smell in your memory. You have to squash it down, alongside the ache that gnaws your core.

Sulphur, pungent and sickening as it permeates your earth’s atmosphere.

Ichor and its metallic aftermath, clinging to your tongue.

The catalogue presented in the last year isn’t exactly pleasant. You push beyond it, settling on a vague cloud that accompanied your college roommate. Her lavender lotion, of which she bought in bulk. You’d smear it over your knuckles and knees prior to class, comforted by the balsamic undernotes. Light, fresh. Your peers would gravitate towards you, divinely feminine, resting their heads on your shoulder when lectures droned on for too long.

(And you’re aware of how dead they all are, blown to ash because of you.

You’ll ask for lavender products, perhaps, when you’re sent back.)

Is it a prerequisite to being a hero – to be loved by someone from before, who sees you for who you are? You have no one, and you’re afraid of what it means for your salvation. The right thing, in your case, is eternal solitude. When it comes down to it, would you be able to accept that?

Your gut sinks; the answer you come up with is selfish still. No.

There’s a long way to go until that changes.

(Your skin prickles. The water sprays right through you.

You wait until you phase back in.)

With nothing left to do, you rinse off. You can feel the rot begin to grow on the sanctuary you’ve built, and with hope to return, you can’t have it destroyed just yet.

Your room is cold when you exit, recycled air nipping your balmy skin. The towel – found folded under the sink for resident convenience – is shorter than you would like, barely enough to wrap around your bust. That is to say, it’s utterly useless at preserving heat. It occurs to you to stand in place and drip-dry, but going to bed damp is asking for a sickness that’ll knock you off course.

You’re about to check the heater when you notice something strange, lumped by the entrance.

For all intents and purposes, it looks like a trash bag. Slouched in a teardrop shape, tied off with an expert knot. The colouring is off though – not the plain charcoal you’d expect, but grungier, stroked with a varicoloured grain. It seems to shift, too, flicking between textures; red, yellow, grey with little inked words, as if cut straight from a newspaper.

It’s so distinctive that you can discern who it’s from; a spider-person expressed in much the same manner. Hobie.

It’d do well to approach it with hesitation. After all, you have no business with him. The most you’ve exchanged was a thanks, after he’d defended your plea the first time you’d been captured by the spider society. It seems so long ago now, but you recall the comfort his stance had provided, already scared out of your wits by the hoard of stylised people who claimed they were like you. He’d been the only one to see that.

Sighing, you tear through the side, nails too soft to undo the top. The contents are remarkably plain. Leggings. T-shirts. Packs of underwear and a hairbrush. Long socks, meant for the boots he’d also thrown in. The only article that reflects his personal way of dress is a cardigan, patches haphazardly attached with yarn. In one slouchy pocket, a piece of parchment sticks out.

(A housewarming gift. Figured you’d need it.

– HB.)

And it doesn’t feel like charity, as opposed to Ben’s escorting you here. Rather, his genuinity registers through the scrawled handwriting; prompting a tired, thankful smile.

You do need it. Not just the clothes, but the reminder that you’re not as alone as you might feel.

“You’re late.”

His voice cracks the silence you’d been walking in up to this point, pitched with an irritation seemingly etched into his being. It takes you off guard – not for its husky quality, that which you’ve grown relatively accustomed to, nor his sudden appearance. No. It’s how he stands when he says it; brashly centre-stage, taking up half of the gym with presence alone. His eyebrow is quirked, lips pursed in an inquisitive line, and you have to cycle over the day’s happenings to land on the invariable conclusion that he, in fact, did not set a schedule for you to follow in the first place.

“Wasn’t aware there was anything to be early to,” You hesitate, lingering at a bench near the doorway, keeping an eye on him as you lay your things down. The water bottle you’d pilfered from the cafeteria crinkles under your tense grip, condensation licking a frosty trail down your fingers.

“Would I let you prance around HQ on your own?”

“That’s being hopeful, but no.” Miguel makes no indication of where to stand, so you continue to amble awkwardly in his perimeter. “Just– A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“And were we given a heads up when The Spider showed up on Earth-15?” He pushes, maintaining the line of questioning that starts to itch at you. You shake your head, doing your best not to tip your chin downwards – with your hands wringing the fabric of your sweats, you already feel like a child, caught elbows deep in a figurative cookie jar.

Tension plucks at the strings tethered to the both of you. He waits for you to come up with a retort, then sighs when you fail to.

“Part of being a hero is adjusting. Security isn’t in the books for them.” From the lesson, you hang on to his choice of language. Them. Not us. Again, you’re excluded, but it occurs to you that he seems to exclude himself too. “You didn’t expect me today. What were you going to do had that been the case?”

To exercise sounds beyond stupid, even though your attire and location announce it as the truth. It felt the most logical place to start when you’d woken up this morning, but Miguel is verging on philosophical now, and that’s something you hadn’t planned on at all. You don’t tell him that, though, because it would be asking to be sent home.

“To strengthen my stamina.”

“What for, exactly?”

“If I’m going to go back to that wasteland of a world, then I need the power to tough it out.” You’re getting real sick of how incompetent he’s making you sound. “Transportation is entirely contingent on how far I can walk.”

“Huh. That’s… dumb.” He says, arms crossing over his chest. They’re thick, built like tree trunks, with muscles bulging along their lengths instead of bark. How hypocritical, you think, repressing the shiver that crawls up your spine – it’s clear he works out himself. You’re only as dumb at the way he looks today; clad in those same grey sweats, a compression top sculpting every bit of him. Out of uniform – like he’d been using the equipment before you got here.

(Or, he’s dedicated the entire day to training you.)

“If you have a better idea–”

“Think a few jumping jacks will make you a hero?” A smirk edges his lips.

Your stomach lurches – whether in anger or a more mortifying emotion, you don’t know. “Can you stop with the questions, big guy?”

He cocks his head, countenance straightening to one more serious. It terrifies you a little, the carmine in his eye, how fast it glints, sharpened with a daring edge. “Okay, then.” Miguel’s stature slacks, an open invitation. “Show me what you’re made of.”

You regret speaking up at all.

“Like, on the treadmill, or…?”

“Pin me down.” He adds, as if it’s the most normal command in the world. Granted, his mind is probably not as far gone as yours. “Three seconds, and you’ll have proved your point.”

“That’s not–” Fair skids on your tongue. His potential reaction is simple to imagine (‘nothing is fair’), and it’s obnoxious at best. You’ve had your fill of the condescending jabs, wedged to a corner where you don’t belong, ineptitude assumed of you. If his intentions are to keep you there until you give up, then you won’t let them come to fruition.

He starts to shrug, but the dismissal is interrupted by your clumsy resolve. You collide into his abdomen, channelling all your energy into the impact, arms in an arch. It’s made to grapple him by the waist, leverage in overpowering him to the floor. The odds are stacked against you, though. Miguel – twice your size – anchors himself in half the time, hard as stone against the onslaught. And your stance isn’t wide enough, feet positioned in a way that robs you of the necessary stability.

Perhaps carelessly, you press on, pouring everything into your attempt. The sheer force behind your manoeuvre is palpable; you are a spider-person, after all, and your enhanced strength would be enough to put the average human to their grave. But your opponent is far from that – he’s the pinnacle of what you preach, the resistance he musters now an attestation to the fact.

“Torpe.”

Your ribs burn with exertion, body still recovering from the injuries you’ve accumulated as of late. In a fluid motion that belies his size, Miguel retaliates, seeing the futility in your struggle. His hands clamp down on your shoulders, warm and vaguely comforting for the second before he flips you off of him. You’re propelled backwards, his shove sending shockwaves through your frame. Your bones rattle when you smack against the wall.

“That hurt,” You hiss, scrambling to a stand.

“In case you didn’t know, grace is a prerequisite for this little spider-club.” He ribs, calling to your quip at the quarry. It would be enough to set you off on anyone else, but the humour isn’t lost on you. Not with him.

“Did you just make a joke?” You start to pace circles around him, assessing the best angle of attack. His head turns to track you, forehead marked with lines from his lifted expression. “As I live and breathe. Miguel O’Hara made a fucking joke.”

“Symptom of imminent victory.”

“Cocky bastard,”

“You gonna keep talking?”

“I recall asking you to stop the questions.” You run up behind him, hoping your footsteps are light enough to not call any attention to your advancement. It isn’t very successful – he catches on quick, pivoting to confront you head on. You’re ready for it though, ducking under his reach to slip to the other side. His back is open, the opportunity presenting itself, and you spring onto his broad back with little contemplation.

Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, securing your hold, legs thrashing to follow suit. Transformed into a glorified backpack, you stubbornly cling onto him as he attempts to shake you off.

“¡Qué mierda haces?”

With half your face buried in his hair, you don’t respond, focusing instead on using your weight to throw him off kilter. Or, you want to focus on it.

But he smells like patchouli, the robust aroma laced in every lock. It’s potent, much more than usual; without the sweat that usually dilutes it, you’re hit full force with every idiosyncrasy. Damp soil, freshly turned earth – rich, like the verdant undergrowth of a forest. You’ve never noticed the touch of leather underlying his cologne, nor its nuanced spice. Now, they worm their way through your rationale, parasitic, eating away at tissue until they find a blooming incurve to settle in.

Your gut; broiling in that specific way it does when he’s around. It sinks to your core, right where you’re pressed against him, stimulated by the frantic motions of his body. Miguel hooks onto your calves, prying them off, and it’s innocent enough to only make your sudden desire worse.

“Get. Off." He emphasises, authority compounded into every syllable. His jerks steer you in various directions, spurring nausea that blends in with your desperation. The mix courses through your bloodstream, sickening and, along with your headlessness, allows the slightest weakness to seep into your stance – a crucial opening that he seizes without hesitation.

Your vision swims as you’re capsized, thrown off course and onto the unyielding embrace of the ground. Pain shoots down your spine, the oxygen knocked out of your lungs dissipating into air. It takes you longer than necessary to realise what had happened, gasping for breath until you land on the reality that he had just used your lust against you. But of course, he doesn’t know that. To him, you’d just faltered – a rookie mistake for the rookie you are.

It’s harmless, then, when he straddles your chest upon impact, knees touching the ground on either side of your head. Pinned in place – a mounted butterfly, captured in the perennial moment of your shameful sin – you’re convinced you’ll die like this. Miguel’s crotch under your nose, rubbing your thighs together to rid yourself of the nagging pressure between them. Wanton for nothing, wanton for him.

And it’s not the first time, a bank of memories coming available at the familiar arrangement. When he’d finally detained you on 15, groyne cleaving your ass while he undid your restraints. That damned kiss, exploring the plush lips that currently curl with a complacent sneer. They’d been so soft, the impression of his fangs just barely grazing past. And how good those had felt, too; your arteries swollen, bloated with venom injected into your neck. Lethargic for hours afterward, unable to do anything to sate the response he’d triggered.

Now, you’re not as powerless. He’s on top of you, doused in some fragrance from heaven, blessed with a robustness you’re sure extends to every appendage. If he is married, how high would fucking him be on your list of transgressions? Surely, it can’t be your worst, though you hope you’re above it at this point.

(But, if he wants this too–)

You look up at him, mouth parted. It isn’t a request so much as it is an assessment, tallying every suggestive hint he gives. There is none. Instead, he does much the same, catching your scrutiny before promptly looking away to calculate his options on an adjacent wall.

(The logical part of you can already sense how dreadful this’ll turn out. You’re not thinking straight.

You hope he succumbs to your debasement.)

Your hips buck involuntarily, a rip release effect to your rising need. He takes it as a plea to get off; that which he defers to, dismounting your chest.

No.

You stop him, left hand clamping down on his thigh. Slowly, he sits back, tipping his weight forward, onto the curve where your clavicle plunges to your throat. You can hardly move, diaphragm pinching in a bid for breath, and it’s okay for as long as he stays where he is.

(Apollo, meet Dionysus.)

It’s gradual – deliberate – when your fingers meander on their trek to his waistband. You skim over his hips, pelvis protruding to border his V-line – which holds prominence, even under the layers of his sweats and boxers. Miguel does nothing; gives no shiver in encouragement, nor an order to stop. He just looks down on you, dissecting the fervour with which you touch him; a woman crazed.

His shirt is stubborn in rolling up, elastic and tight against his form. You want to feel the way his flesh heats, defined abdomen rolling in eventual pleasure, but it’s a privilege you don’t have in this setting. You’re only able to pull it out from underneath his pants, allowing a sliver of skin to be exposed to your gluttonous gaze. Bronzed, gorgeously brown in contrast to the desaturated colours he’s chosen to don. Drool pools behind your tonsils.

The cords of his waistband unlace when you tug it with your pointer, hinged at the middle. Miguel makes a sound, the beginnings of a growl rolling up his throat. It’s to tease yourself, you want to say – because the fuzz of his happy trail leads down to a darkened bush, and the brief flash will forever be seared into your mind’s eye. Goodness fuck, if your yearning were any worse, that would have been enough to tip you over the edge. It’s been so long since you’ve wanted anything this bad.

Pining wreaks a foreign mess on your systems. Toes curl within your boots. Lashes quiver with every ruminative blink. Your new panties are doubtlessly ruined, generic cotton soaked through with slick; you’d been so ashamed of it just last night, washing your previous pair in the sink. Now, all you can consider is how expertly he’d test you, calloused thumb running over your clit until he witnesses just how wet you can get.

(Is it the length for which you’ve gone without this, deprived of your favourite vice? Before you’d discovered the stars, you’d pursued your most carnal desires, jumping from one hookup to the next.

You didn’t suppose you'd missed it this much.)

Maybe that’s why you go for him, out of anyone else. Because he’s immediate, the most prominent presence in your life. A convenient outlet, for all your bad blood. He doesn’t stop you, either, his pinky instead grazing your wrist, almost pushing for you to reach in.

If you do, things’ll change. When they had just settled.

Your dynamic seemed okay to morph into what you needed it to be: mentor, and mentee. But this–

This is so fucked. You would rather be anywhere else if not seated on his lap, and that’s a level of dysfunction you should be unsure about. Would he even let this progress? Beyond a one time thing, so that it doesn’t become a fixture you’ll always regret?

(Does it matter?)

You dip into his boxers.

(So, it is your lechery that negates your need for consideration. Call it thirst, or self-sabotage.)

Shit.

He’s thick, fucking pulsing on your palm, dry and heavy enough to cause considerable trouble when fishing him out. You’re at an adverse angle, twisting your arm to grip the base. Miguel’s hiss thins to a whispered curse, a muddle of Spanish and English that loses legibility as he shifts to help you. Hand swooping next to yours, he cups his balls, hoisting them out of the suffocating fabric. His cock follows suit, slapping his tummy upon release.

It’s–

Angry. A blossoming shade of purple that grows more vibrant the lower you go, guided by two fat veins that branch along his frenulum. Huge, too – not the longest you’ve had in your mouth, but stocky enough for you to worry about it regardless. You run your nail up its length, doing the maths in your head.

“Intimidated?” He says. It doesn’t register as proud as he probably intends for it to be, voice too hoarse, broken by some unspoken lust.

“Cocky bastard,” You murmur, holding your arm above you in the meantime. He takes a second to understand what your extended hand is for, bowed in a reverent-like appeal. And, even when he does, he pauses, gathering the saliva around his teeth. “Take that as a double entendre.”

He doesn’t laugh, spitting onto your palm, watching as you smear the natural lube around his mushroomed head. It melds with his pre-spend – that which pearls at the tip – forming a pearlescent marker for where your caress travels. Above the glans, rounding to coat down the body, and running out before you reach the root.

It’s enough, though. Enough to provide momentum to your motions, jacking him off above your face. Up to this point, Miguel has eased his mass off of you, balanced on his haunches – but your ministrations have him losing that awareness, leaning further and further until he all but sits on your neck. His fingers latch onto your head, cradling your jaw in a similar fashion to how he treated your whiplash, each thumb at a cheekbone – waiting for the opportune moment to plunge into your mouth.

It comes with the hypoxia, his choking straddle clotting the oxygen meant for your brain. What you can see – him mostly, meaty thighs and a lean torso, with a face that screws up with controlled precision – spots as secondary to black vision, your eyes bulging at the edges, struck with stationary blood. It’s opposite to smoke inhalation, that scratchy condition that only grew more uncomfortable the more you coughed. This is debilitating, the last dreg of stimulants you need to embrace your drunk efforts. You’re drowned in a pool where nothing matters except what’ll pull you out – life vest, a buoy, the hefty cock tapping your bottom lip.

You unhinge your jaw the widest it can go, accounting for teeth and all. Hollow cheeks accommodate his size when he drives in, but your lips still stretch, aching at the corners where thin skin threatens to rip. Immediately, your tongue laps over the dense intrusion, mapping out the patches where he seems most sensitive. Below the head, along the ridge. Right between his veins, if you press down hard enough. Your usher more of it in, stuffing your gullet full of him.

How does he manage to smell good here, too? Muskier, still, a heady ambrosia of masculinity.

His balls slap your chin, stopping you from swallowing any more. Miguel doesn’t take too favourably to that, however, bending your head to parallel his pelvis and pushing. Your neck aches, spinal plates prodding at where it inclines – the combination of that, the choking, and the swollen head that spears your tonsils makes for a deadly combination. You’ve been doing your damnedest not to gag, clenching your thumb in a fist, but the sound erupts from you regardless. A lewd, wet gluck – tears pool upon your lashes, caught by the thumbs still guiding your face.

And Miguel groans.

“Mmmf–,” His hips withdraw, giving you an instant’s respite, before snapping back forward. “Se siente tan bien.”

“Hnmghh,” You attempt to reply.

“Filthy fucking girl. So– mierda, always so goddamn stubborn,” He continues, accent curling with a raspy quality, smouldering at its core. “Never listens, never rests.”

You’re unsurprised to hear that what he really feels for you, exposed in this crude confessional, is just more indignation.

(Does it matter? Does it really?

He’s fucking your throat like cumming down it will reaffix the spiderverse.)

The gags drop rhythm, snowballing to become a chorus of the most salacious whines you can make, punched in tandem to his thrusts. Saliva coats your lips, bubbling when he withdraws, welcoming him back with the sight of you wrecked, glazed in salty liquids from multitudinous sources.

You lose yourself to it, squeezing your eyes shut until he urges you to open them back up again, brushing the corner where your skin burns from crying. His brows are pinched, canyons of deliberation formed between them, regarding your debauched expression with something more than the base measures exchanged in the past half hour.

He pulls out with a pop. You clasp around his dick’s circumference – rubbing over the tip, where his hole leaks a steady flow of prespend – and question him with a keen. You can’t exactly manage anything else.

“Where do you want it?”

You frown, leading him back into your mouth. Where else?

It isn’t much longer until he carries out the promise.

The sequence of events is more organised than anything else that’s happened today. You’ve come to recognise it, an expert in unravelling. He jostles your head back onto the floor, stabilising you for when his rear lifts, slanting his cock ninety degrees downward to ram straight into your mouth. You wince, incisors accidentally skimming the surface, which only prompts him deeper in. Your nose squishes onto the coarse hairs of his groyne, soaked with drool, and his balls tighten under your mandible, leaden in an indication of what’s to come.

You want it, so bad you can hardly gulp in precious breath. Your pupils roll behind your lids. You want, you want.

And finally – for the first time, over the entirety of your relationship – Miguel O’Hara gives that to you. Readily.

He cums. Hard. In throbbing spurts that coat your oesophagus, your molars, the back of your tongue. It’s sweltering, viscous and thick enough to choke you again – you cough up the excess that doesn’t quite fit, sinuses screeching with the overexertion. You can’t gulp, not when he’s still buried in you, so you do your best not to suffocate as he rides through his orgasm. Rope after rope, until he releases you, excess drops splattering onto your nose.

Then, he tucks his softening dick back into his pants and moves off of you.

You swallow, left with a weeping cunt and a swift sobering up.

Miguel proffers a helping hand, meant to lift you off the floor. Swatting it away, you clamber onto your own, unsteady feet, collecting your abandoned things from the bench, and bolt out the door.

What the fuck did you just do?

chapter nine

find a position visual here

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other-peoples-coats · 11 months

Text

struck by the idea where, For Reasons, plan saddest desert hermit doesn't get off the ground and team proto-rebellion have to pivot and pivot fast.

chucking the conspiracy equivalent of a uey at 100mph on the highway, and everyone involved is sleep deprived, stressed as fuck, and experiencing y'know, several levels of Devastating Grief.

the person with the brain cell is bail organa, a man who in canon spends like 20 fucking years playing ding dong ditch with a genocidal psychic space wizard and his boss, an even more genocidal space wizard. This man is not lacking in gumption, one can say. he is possessed of life threatening amounts of chutzpah, one might also say, except that he spends twenty years winning the ding dong ditch match with, again, a genocidal fascist dictatorship which includes two genocidal psychic space wizards who literally know he was in tight with the genocided group of space wizards plus the [mumble] number of other murderous genocidal space wizards, plus the rest of the non-space wizard space fascist cohort.

So. What does a man with a spine of steel, a heart as big as a planet, and more gumption than anyone should possess do, when plan 'split up the kids and hide the most famous man in the galaxy on the saddest hell planet' is a no go?

lie. lie like a fucking rug.

What's palpatine going to do? day one of the empire, his super awesome chosen one space wizard makeover project is still in progress and not yet wheezing his way into the galaxy's nightmares, and bail fucking organa strolls into the imperial senate with:

one (1) baby (female)

one (1) baby (male)

several (~20+) aides and various hangers on, including;

one (1) brown haired blue eyed man who could, if you squinted a bit, probably get third place in a general kenobi lookalike competition, were those now not super duper illegal

Sidious, of course, could be like A JEDI KILL HIM TRAITOR ETC, but, crucially, his wheezing attack dog is still on the lab table getting seven inches added to his height and cup holders installed, or whatever the fuck skeevy sheev added in as extras. Palpatine is an old guy who is still trading on being A Beloved Grandfather who was Reluctant To Take The Throne, and is still easing the galaxy into the whole, y'know, we're a fascist empire now, kneel or perish.

Palpatine, on day one of the empire, can't point at bail fucking organa and be like HABOURING A TRAITOR unless he is really, really sure, like 110% sure, because it's bail fucking organa and every goddamn senator will baulk like a horse at a plastic bag if he accuses, again, the senator of alderaan of high treason on day one of the empire.

A secret rebellion is fine, if not ideal; you can theoretically stamp it out, and, also, it's small, percentage wise.

The entire fucking galaxy thinking that, hey, if the guy in charge is going to go after fucking alderaan, what's to stop him going after us? bigger problem. huge problem. original trilogy kinda touched on that one. Day one of the empire, everyone is still basically on war footing, and fuck man, if alderaan is copping it....maybe this empire isn't great after all. maybe we can make our OWN empire, with a different emperor.

Would palps win? eh maybe. would it destroy all credibility forever and ever amen? yeah. the difference between a 'legally installed emperor' and 'a dictator we must overthrow' is how willing the galaxy is to lick boot, and there's not yet the fear of The Empire black bagging you to keep those tongues going.

so. palpatine can't say shit. palpatine can imply shit, palpatine can get his lackies to say shit. but, crucially, palpatine himself can't say fuck all about the goddamn kenobi lookalike that is now following after organa and wiping his kid's little butts and playing gofer and whatever else.

and what's more believable? bail fucking organa is hiding a traitor, or bail organa and his wife have a situationship with a guy who looks sort of a bit like a former general? the same kind of situationship that like, half the senate has had at one point or another with a guy (or guys) who looked sort of a bit like said ex-general. go to any high level business and/or political building, you'll find half a dozen guys who look vaguely like said hot ex-general, and many of them will have a more or less (often less) accurate coruscanti-ish accent. or will develop one.

(hey, it's a niche. gotta pay the bills somehow, and if you get the job because you dyed your hair and grew a beard, well, you're still using your political science degree, right?)

of course, that only holds for so long, but by that point it's been, y'know, a while. and that looks worse in a different way -- what, kenobi was fucking walking around in front of the whole imperial senate, and none of them noticed? absolutely not, all credibility is gone forever.

which means. that palpatine and the organas are stuck in a full on staring match about this guy who is 100% for sure not kenobi, because -- well. he can't be kenobi. becuase that would look bad. but also. it's kenobi. but also. it can't be kenobi.

(vader takes one look at this guy who looks like his master kenobi and then rolls his eyes, because he has already met aproximately 90,000 people who look vaugely like his master and he got very good at picking out how the newest one was not kenobi his master by the time he was a senior padawan.)

#bail organa #star wars #bailbrehaobi #like. implied #sort of.#star wars crack #coats originals #the plot here is not thought out. if you are like BUT THIS WOULDN'T WORK sssshhh it's for the bit #the bit of bail organa making skeevy sheevy's life miserable #bail like what're you gonna do. arrest me? for having a kenobi fetish? you gonna arrest half the galaxy too?

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kamotecue · 3 months

Text

the morning after ✮ l. walti

pairing: lia walti x fem!reader

summary: after what happened last night, this is how the relationship progressed.

part one, two, three and four.

the sound of birds chirping had awoken the brunette, her eyes had slowly looked around—analyzing the unfamiliar room. her head was clearly aching, as she brought her hand to her head, groaning a bit as she couldn’t remember what happened the night before.

“mein kopf hämmert. [my head is pounding.] “ the swiss said, as she gazed at the table—a bottle of water and a tiny bowl holding two pills was seen. she hummed, before taking the pills, opening the bottle of water.

as she stood up, freshly pairs of inside slippers were at her feet given by you to use. she slipped her feet in before heading to the door, not before looking back at the bed—the two framed football shirts caught her attention.

it was a match worn mapi leon shirt, that had it’s signature at the bottom right—and her national jersey that had walti on the back, her eyes caught attention at the signature at the top left.

“oh, nein.” she groaned probably realizing who’s bedroom this was. finally, the brunette made her way out of your bedroom, going through the hall—taking a glance at the living room, to see you peacefully sleeping.

the blanket was covering you, as you quietly snored. a soft smile made it’s way to her face, as her eyes looked at the table. your hearing aids were settled there, nothing else.

she went closer to you, kneeling on one leg contemplating if she should wake you up. but her eyes simply adored your face, she raised her hand to trace your face and as she did, you had slowly opened your eyes.

your eyes followed as she simply withdrew her hand, quickly standing up and heading away from you—your cheeks flushed red as you cleared your throat.

your eyes settled on your hearing aids, you had grabbed them, quick putting them on in case the midfielder had said anything.

“what happened last night?” you shrugged, leaving the arsenal player looking a bit stressed causing you to chuckle.

“nothing did, i was at a pub and you ended up knocking your drink on me.” you replied, leaving out the fact that she did vomit on you and in the car. after the needed shower, you had cleaned the car, making sure it was spotless and that it didn’t stink.

“that’s it?” lia asked as you hummed.

“not really, the drinks you and your team had were unpaid. so, i covered for it.” you said, as you got up stretching your arms.

“are you perhaps hungry?” you turned to look at her, “if you aren’t, i can drop you off at your place.”

“that would be great.” you grabbed your keys before getting your kit bag. gesturing for her to go first, she did.

if you were to describe how the car ride felt, it was silent. you got the idea that she was embarrassed about what happened so you kept quiet, not wanting to add fuel to the fire—or to make her uncomfortable.

before she exited the car, you handed her a bento box—figured that if she ever skipped a breakfast, the box would be a better option. it was filled with various types of fruit, crackers and a juice box. you bid goodbye before driving off, you had training the day as well.

meanwhile at the arsenal training grounds, the said brunette had pulled up in her own car, there were fans as she politely smiled and greeted them. swinging the strap of her kit bag over her shoulder, before grabbing the bento box.

her teammates had grinned as they knew she also was hungover. but the medicine that you gave had helped it. as it was gym day, lia made her way through the building—joining the rest of her teammates who were there.

“what’s this?” leah said, lia’s work wife as other people would say—gesturing at the box the brunette had placed.

“i haven’t opened it.” a confused look came across the english captain’s face, as she carefully opened it—revealing the pre made snack box, the one you made.

“so, strawberries, sliced apple pieces, kiwi, crackers and a juice box.” kyra said, as she appeared over, greeting her two teammates with a smile.

“is this a secret admirer?” leah teased, as lia scoffed before closing the box herself.

“there’s no one.” the swiss said, as the two teased their friend—heading back to their work out. but a small smile appeared on the brunette’s face.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso series #arsenal wfc imagine #lia walti #lia walti x reader #lia walti imagine

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whispereons · 10 months

Text

Oracle!Reader Part 4

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 3, Part 5

TW: this has death, mentions of child abuse, and more heavy topics. Remember that SAGAU is (usually) a yandere au and yanderes are a warning by themselves. Plus SAGAU is a cult, that makes it 10x worse depending on how it is. You've been warned.

You wake up feeling refreshed for once. You managed to get a full sleep and when you felt your face, the mask was still there. As you get off the bed your foot touches the bag the clothes were brought in. Now with more clothing options, you take a shower ready to properly wash your body.

The shower attached to your room was small and clean. This wasn't earth so no shower or bathtub but what they had was the closest to it since the Kamisato's were rich. In fact, you would even say it's better than Earth. Were the water bills here as high as it is on Earth?

You soaked in the warm water as you scrubbed away the filth. From the dirt to the dried blood and the pus from the electric wounds. Your hands traced the faint scars that covered your body. Little nicks from knives to full-on stab wounds from a certain relative.

Some days they felt like battle scars. You looked at them proud of how far you've come, how much you've survived from. Other days or most days you should say, they felt like your failures were on display. Whether from lack of awareness or for failing to save him.

The thought of him still makes you sad even though it's been years since it happened. It seems being in another world in a whole new situation couldn't shake his influence from your life. You aren't completely sure if that's a good or bad thing.

You finish your bath and apply first-aid to the minor wounds. You were quite skilled in this area from years of practice. Looking through the bag with a critical eye you choose one of the new outfits. It's unlike anything on earth. Both in style and fabric. Actually that's probably cause you were never able to afford high-quality clothes like this.

In typical Genshin fashion, it was asymmetrical with many accessories. You left most of the accessories in the bag and only wore the body suit pieces with the shirt and pants. Your feet cried in relief with the new socks and shoes.

As you finish doing your hair, someone knocks on the door. You open it to see a servant handing you a tray of food.

"Good morning, I'm here to deliver your food and a message." You take the tray from them and listen.

"The weekly festival and ritual for the creator will be happening this afternoon. As such Lord Kamisato has requested that you leave for Ritou after it. 'An oracle should attend even if not publicly. Especially as it's the Kamisato Clan's turn this week.' That is what Lord Kamisato message says."

Fuck. A ritual and festival for you? That's just begging for your bad luck to bite you in the ass again. You can already see yourself accidentally meeting Ei there.

"Thoma will bring you there after lunch. If you have any more questions please don't hesitate to ask." The servant gives you a moment to voice any questions before leaving.

Everything you wanted to ask isn't something they could have answered so it was best to wait till Thoma picked you up. You set the tray down and begin eating, it seemed this day wasn't going to be any less hectic than yesterday.

You were stuck in the estate while waiting for Thoma to pick you up. You couldn't leave in fear of meeting an enemy and dying. You may be the creator and should be a god therefore immortal. But did you really want to test that? No. You've skimmed by death enough times to know it's painful.

Trying to be productive you thought back on when you first arrived on Seirai Island. Now that you have a good identity with the Kamisato's approval you need to worry about living difficulties.

How will you get mora? A job would be best but you need one that allows you to travel around. You couldn't risk getting attached to one place in case your identity is compromised. It also can't be stationed in Inazuma meaning Komaniya Express was out of the question. The Adventurers' Guild was the only option.

You could probably sign up sometime during the festival but that could be risky if Ei requests their records to search for you. If the opportunity arises then you'll sign up today, if not then you'll do it in Liyue.

Since you'll be traveling around then a home or apartment isn't necessary. You'll probably need some camping gear to sleep and cook. Thankfully your life on earth has already taught you what you do and don't need. Plus a weightless game bag with little to no limit is priceless.

Now the hardest part is how you'll deal with the enemies. You don't know how to wield a weapon outside of a pocket knife and you had no controllable elemental powers. (The anemo and geo that helped you yesterday did not count. You couldn't actively call upon them.)

Learning a weapon was hard. A brand new skill and you weren't even sure which would work best with you. No vision, delusion (not that you would ever use one), gnosis, or main character powers like the traveler. You were really in a tight position, would the Guild even hire you?

The moment you think that you almost laugh at yourself. If reckless Pallad who was so weak he couldn't run away from slimes. Clueless Lynn that couldn't find apples or sunsettias unless they were handed to her. And Tiantian who doesn't even know what the Adventurer's Guild does could all be hired, then so can you.

That doesn't fix the initial problem as they all stay in their nations while you'll be traveling. Hilichurls and other monsters' aggressiveness may have been exaggerated for the games sake. But that doesn't mean they aren't aggressive and can't attack you.

A series of knocks matching a melody are heard on the door. Were you really deep in thought for that long?

Opening the door, Thoma stands on the other side with a smile. "Y/N, are you ready to get going? The festival is going to start soon and my lord went early with my lady to prepare the ritual. I can show you around it while we wait for the main event."

His fast-paced speech showed off just how excited he was. It was a cute sight. Would this count as a date?

"Yeah, I'm ready to go. Everything I have is in my bag."

"Perfect then let's get going." Thoma takes your hand and leaves the estate with you. You begin the trek with Thoma when you remember your original questions about the ritual.

"So this must be pretty popular if it's done every week. In the message Ayato sent me, he said it was the Yashiro Commission's turn. Does that mean the other Commissions take the other weeks? Who does the last week?"

"The last week is a collaboration of the Tri-Comission with the Elctro Archon in charge. We take the first week, the second week is the Kanjou Commission, and the third week is the Tenryou Commission. It's courtesy for each commissioner to attend them all but the Electro Archon only attends hers."

So no accidentally running into Ei at the festival? Perfect but you'll still be on guard. Ei may be the biggest threat but you haven't forgotten the others. Ayato, Yae, and Heizou were the top people to avoid to keep your identity. You had no choice but to meet Ayato and even though it worked out, you didn't want a repeat of that.

"Then the last one must be the most exciting. Can you tell me more about what to expect?" Thoma helps you past the rocky path as you are halfway to Inazuma City. His grip is tight when you jump off a particularly steep ledge.

"When we get there the ritual won't start yet but the festival will be in full swing. You'll be free to walk around and look at the stalls. Food, drinks, games, merchandise of the creator, and even some small plays."

"Merchandise and plays?" It's weird thinking that you have official merch. Especially since no one knows that you are the face of said merchandise. You'll probably need to buy some to upkeep your oracle schtick.

"Yup! Merchandise can range from posters, clothing, plushies, and even decorative food. The scriptures say that the creator is especially fond of F/F." Wow, they even know your favorite food.

"Would they be selling the actual food at the festival too?" Please say yes. You've been dying to eat something from your world. Teyvat is great and you don't miss your old life but that doesn't mean you don't miss the things you used to have there.

"Of course they do! Everyone loves to experience what the creator loves to feel closer to them. As for the plays, they differ every so often. Sometimes it's the classic 'Creator making Teyvat' while sometimes it's something more farfetched like 'Creator using the traveler and acolytes for their will'."

You're not sure if your wish is arrogant but you kinda want to see one of these plays. Hopefully, if you have the time you can watch one before the festival ends. You can see Inazuma City coming closer and closer.

"Then what exactly is the ritual?"

Thoma smiles mischievously at your insistent question. "You'll just have to wait and see. Since the creator sees through you best, we wanted it to be a surprise."

Sighing you give up, it didn't really matter since you'll be seeing it in person. You climb the steps and finally look around as the surroundings slowly got more colorful. Banners of you with a gold cloak on are situated all around.

Awed you let Thoma lead you deeper into the city. Many stalls were set up with everything Thoma said. The people were no longer NPCs with similar models and nearly identical clothes. Instead, people of all types were chatting as they walked the streets. Colorful kimonos, yukatas, and what were those called? Happi? Either way, the sheer variety and amount of people stunned you. The 'crowds' in Genshin always looked lackluster so this was a wonderful surprise.

All around you could hear everyone speaking about someone. About you.

"What a beautiful work of art. I'm sure the creator would be pleased if I hung this up in my house."

"The perfect figurine of the creator. I'm sure this shows only a fraction of their perfection."

"Mommy, can I please see the play? Mr. Sorahiko promised to do the play about the creator and the archons. It's my favorite one!"

"Yet again I had enough rent and a free day to attend the first ritual of the month. Our beloved creator always looks out for us."

Man, you weren't sure how they would react if they knew you were the creator. In fact would you even still be the same if you lived a year or two as the creator? You're most likely to get a savior or god complex judging by how they talk about you.

Thoma smiles at the sight of your excitement. The way your eyes never stop on one place for too long. Your fidgeting as if you can't wait to be freed and explore. He had made sure to have this time off to spend it with you. He wanted to spend as much time with you until you left.

"Y/N, I'll show you the best spots and places. Trust me when I say that-"

"THOMA!" Thoma is cut off by the yell of his name. The way his eyelids drop and his lips scowl for a second show his annoyance. Was this person super annoying or something?

It's an old man with balding white hair and a slightly hunched back. He's behind the counter of Shimura's restaurant. He must be the owner, Shimura Kanbei.

"Thoma get over here! I need to speak with you!" Yeah, you can definitely understand Thoma's annoyance now. From what you can remember Shimura only ever bitched about Uyuu restaurant. But he was also a samurai so maybe that's why he's so rowdy?

Thoma smiles apologetically at you and says, "Just give me a minute please." You nod and watch Thoma go to Shimura. They talk and Thoma seems very insistent on something while Shimura keeps refusing. Seems Thoma lost the argument by the way he walks back to you with a disappointed expression.

"I'm sorry Y/N, I won't be able to spend time with you like I wanted. I owe Mr. Shimura a favor and he wants to cash it in now. I tried to convince him to let me repay it another time but it seems he needs it now. Again I'm really sorry Y/N."

Thoma's head was hanging and his eyes were closed with resignation. It was like looking at a sad puppy who was being punished for breaking his toy. You can't resist reaching over to pat his hair.

His eyes shoot open in confusion but he doesn't move away. He only stares at you with an unreadable expression and an embarrassed flush. You can't help but laugh a little and move your hand away after getting your fill of patting him.

"Sorry if that was sudden. You just looked really cute, like a puppy. You don't have to apologize for doing your job Mr. Fixer. This isn't the last time we'll see each other so go ahead and help the old man."

He looks away with a smile when you call him cute. He enjoys the way his face feels hot when you are around. The feeling of your hand on his hair was surprising but very nice. He wished you left it there a little longer. Maybe even forever.

"Thank you Y/N, I'll finish this up quickly and then join you! But before I forget, here, this is for you from my lord and lady." Thoma takes out a thick pouch and hands it to you.

The clinking, weight, and shape of the pouch give it away immediately. You open it a little to see loads of mora inside it. You could kiss Ayato, Ayaka and Thoma. You were no longer broke! Eagerly you put it into your bag for safekeeping.

"Use the money for whatever you wish. It's a present from them."

'I'll be sure to thank them when I see them. And thank you too Thoma for delivering it and escorting me here. Now go finish helping Shimura, we can hang out afterward."

Thoma smiles and jogs back to Shimura. You wave goodbye before strolling down the street. Once you get to a less crowded area you sit down and open your bag.

The game screen pops up and although the pouch is no longer there, your mora has gone way up. Instead of 108 mora, it's now 150, 108 mora. Knowing someone else gave you this money purely for whatever you want is really nice... Is this how Zhongli feels whenever Hu Tao and Childe pay for him?

Well, you won't be using most of this money, an oracle that wishes to stay hidden should live a frugal lifestyle. Plus you never know when you'll need to pay someone off to keep your face hidden. Even still spending some of the money now to enjoy this festival wouldn't be that bad. Right?

With renewed enthusiasm, you set off to explore the stalls. You make sure to keep your eyes peeled for any signs of Yae or Heizou. But it's all smooth sailing.

You get to a stall selling F/F and buy one. The taste is wonderful even though it's not exactly the same as the one you used to eat on Earth. Spotting a different stall selling Tricolor Dango, you get closer.

There's a little sign that says. "Tricolor Dango Creator Edition! Limited Sale!" It seems even here merchants won't lose a chance to make mora. The Dango is blue, gold, and purple colored. Curious you buy one and try it.

It's actually really good and it felt slightly nostalgic. Looking at the second one you bought, you stare at it trying to recall where you've seen the colors before.

It hits you that it's the same colors of the Fates you wish for in Genshin. Blue for the 3 stars, purple for the 4 stars, and gold for the 5 stars. They sold this as the 'Creator Edition' does that mean they can see your wishes?

A loud sound interrupts your train of thought. You and a few other bystanders look over to see Gorou looking distraught at his Tricolor Dango on the floor. A knocked-down stack of boxes on the ground and oh boy, Yae Miko standing right with him.

You can't hear what Yae is saying to Gorou as he fixes the boxes. But you can see the very uncomfortable look on Gorou's face as she circles him. You want to leave, Yae is not someone you want to get the attention of.

Steeling yourself to turn around and walk away, you try to look away. Yet you can't stop looking at just how badly Gorou wants to escape her. It bothers you to no end. You glance at the Tricolor Dango he dropped. It's the same creator edition dango you bought.

You groan and start walking over to them. This was so stupid, you were so stupid. Reckless, dumb, softhearted and-

You continue to beat yourself up as you confidently walk over to them. Yae looks at you with slight confusion as you sling an arm around Gorou's shoulder. The look on his face is hilarious.

"Hey, Gorou! Good to see you came back to Narukami Island so soon. I know you came back for your gig at the Yae Publishing House but I never even got to see you. C'mon, let's hang out while we have the chance. Oh, and you must be the Yae Miko right? A pleasure to meet you, I hope you don't mind me stealing him. Thank you, goodbye~"

You drag out the last syllable as you simultaneously drag Gorou away. Yae doesn't follow you to your relief and Gorou simply lets you pull him away. Once you're far enough away you let go of his shoulder and take a step away.

"So uh about what I said. You know what let me just be honest. I'm the creator's oracle and that's how I knew all that personal information about you. You just looked super uncomfortable around Yae that I couldn't walk away." Rubbing the back of your neck you look at Gorou sheepishly.

"Wow, that's uh a lot to process at once but let me thank you first. I was really uncomfortable. She isn't some horrible person but I'm not the best at countering her teasing attacks. Thanks for helping me retreat from that situation." Yeah, you did it at the cost of your own safety.

Even still the way his tail wags a little as he speaks and his ears twitch makes you want to reach out and pet them. Now that you can properly look at him, it was incredible to see actual animal ears on a person. You try to tamper down your excitement but it's a little hard since they move so often.

That's also when you notice the way Gorou is staring at your dango. His poor dango was left on the floor and he does have a big sweet tooth. Ah it's just one dango, you can get more dango later. You hold your dango out to him with a smile.

"I'm pretty sure Yae startled you making you drop your dango. You can have mine, it's the same limited creator edition." Gorou seems a bit bashful at his obvious desire but takes it from you gratefully.

"Thank you again. Even though you know my name I would still like to properly introduce myself. I'm General Gorou of the Watatsumi Island resistance. Even though the war is over, we still have official duties to maintain peace which is why I commute over here. What's your name?"

"My name is Y/N, as I told you earlier I'm the creator's oracle. As proof, I do have a fan given to me by the Yashiro commissioner." You take the fan out and it glistens in the sunlight. Gorou's eyes widen at the sight of it. Was it really that influential?

"I mean I already mostly believed you simply by the information you knew but to have Lord Kamisato's fan is impressive. It's an honor to meet you Y/N being the creator's oracle must be an envious position. That also explains why my body was weirdly okay with you pulling me along."

He really believed it just like that? Gorou isn't from Narukami yet he held the fan in such high regard. You mentally thank Ayato and have a feeling you'll be thanking him a lot more after this.

Gorou finishes the dango in record speed while you spot a stall selling creator merchandise. Gorou follows your eyes and stands next to you, his soft tail brushes against your skin. Man, you really want to pet him.

"Do you want to check out that stall together? I mainly came here for the festival and I already completed the work I had to do. It would be great to explore the festival with you."

You nod excitedly and tug at his wrist. "I don't remember much before I became the oracle so I want to explore everything! It wouldn't be embarrassing for the creator's oracle to buy some of their merch right?"

"Of course not! There is a lot of good things only available during the festival. And afterward, I can show you the best spot to see the ritual." Gorou lets you pull him to the stall full of creator accessories.

Really you just wanted something that would make you seem like a big fan of the creator. Nothing super stalkerish level but noticeable to those who are cultish, like the acolytes.

You look around at the items on the stall with Gorou. Nothing catches your eye until you spot a bracelet. The design is what really drew your attention.

The bracelet was gold with Intertwined Fates and Acquaint Fates as charms. It's incrediably beautiful but also worrying. How did they know this symbol when it's only in the Wish system and Paimon's Bargains?

Right when you're about to ask the vendor, Gorou looks at it and says, "Oh, I recognize those, pretty aren't they? It's written in the scriptures that when the creator is close to coming back they will use stars with fate's design to input their will into their chosen acolytes. I'm lucky to be one of them."

So that's how they know. Quite clever how they input the word fate into it hinting at the name intertwined fate. Or was it the other way around?

"Such rich history. I may be knowledgeable in some areas concerning the creator but in others, such as the history, I'm lacking. I hope by traveling around Teyvat I can grow closer to the creator."

"Don't say that Y/N! You are like a signal officer for the creator, hold that position with pride. No one expects you to be perfect right away. I don't know you very well but I can already see how hard-working you are."

Well, he wasn't wrong. Making up a whole new identity in a new world is hard work. But you decided not to buy the jewelry or anything else. Who knows what kind of act you may need to use later on? Expensive jewelry like that could hinder you more than anything.

"Thanks Gorou, I'll do my best to live up to the title of oracle. But enough about that, let's continue exploring. In fact, do you smell that? I can basically taste all the food they have here."

Gorou perks up at your words and points toward another stall.

"Do you like sweet food? I know all the best ones here. Even if you don't we can start there with the dango milk, it's a good warm-up for the other treats!"

You follow Gorou to the stall and order your own dango milk. Thick, sweet, and a weird texture? You can see why Ei likes it but you can also understand why Wanderer hates it. In fact, knowing that Ei loves this is ruining the taste.

"Are you okay Y/N? You don't seem to enjoy it. If you don't that's okay, not everyone likes it."

"I'm fine but yeah I don't really like it. Maybe because it's too filing." You chuckle weakly. You were enjoying yourself so much that the thought of Ei really ruined your mood.

Gorou glances around before gently holding your wrist and leading you to an empty bench. He makes you sit down before giving a 'wait here' gesture and leaving. You look at his retreating form in confusion and simply sit there.

You didn't do a good job hiding your emotions just then but his actions were still confusing. Wouldn't someone normally just say encouraging things and leave it there? You just met him today after all.

While you were still wrapping your head around his actions, Gorou comes back holding a box. He sits next to you and opens the box while speaking.

"I'm in no position to make you talk or vent your frustrations to me but I'm a firm believer in speaking your mind. Muzzling up all your thoughts never helps anyone. I may not have the perfect advice or any advice but I'm a good listener. But if none of those things interest you then you can eat this box of sweets with me."

He opens the box showing it full of taiyaki, sakura mochi, sweet shrimp sushi, and berry mizu manjuu. The way he holds it in his lap while offering it to you is like some teenager confessing. Especially with how his ears flatten on his head with his tail wagging slowly.

You can't help but feel thankful that out of everyone that you accidentally slipped up in front of, it was Gorou. Not only because he was a good person, but because he was the type of person to not overlook someone else's problems. At least that was the impression you got from him when he chose the books that would help Watasumi Island in that one event.

You smile shyly and grab one of the fish-shaped Taiyaki. The jam is sticky and sweet mixing with the crunchiness of the shell well.

"Well, I can't say too much about it but you're right that speaking a little will probably help me." You take a deep breath before retelling what happened with Ei. Of course, you used metaphors, alias, and even more tricks to hide the real story while getting the main conflict across.

As you speak, your emotions bleed through. You take angry bites of your treats leaving little crumbs on the corner of your mouth. Gorou is intently listening and nodding along the whole time. Absentmindedly he reaches out and brushes away the crumbs.

Both of you freeze once the action is done. You pull away with a slight blush and Gorou yanks his hand back as his tail wags rapidly.

"I'm so sorry! I was so caught up listening to you that I did that automatically." His face is starting to get redder and redder with each word. He buries his face into his hands in embarrassment.

You grin devilishly at the opportunity that luck has presented you with. You weren't Yae but a chance is a chance. You would be a fool to give it up.

"I understand and don't worry I'm not bothered by it. Just a bit surprised. But it's a bit unfair isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Gorou looks up from his hands as he feels a chill go down his spine.

"Well you got to touch me, shouldn't I get to touch you as payback?" Gorou's ears go straight up and his face all the way to his neck goes red.

"I'm talking about your ears of course! Your animal features are most similar to a Shiba Inu right? I would love to pet your ears." You can't tell if Gorou is relieved or disappointed by how he sighs.

"Y-Yeah, I guess I can allow that. Is it really that tempting?" He moves to sit by your side rather than in front of you. Now with him almost pressed against your side you pet his ears. Almost immediately he whimpers at your touch.

"Please. Please ignore the sounds, I can't exactly stop them." He basically begs you. With a small laugh, you decide to go easy on him and not comment on it. Instead, you focus on how his soft ears twitch under your hand.

As you continue quietly petting him, he seems to relax further into you. Before long the almost empty box of sweets is beside you with Gorou's head on your lap.

Was he sniffing you?… Should you take it as a compliment or as something creepy? Well it's normal for dogs to smell people and you weren't being any better petting him like this. So maybe you're both weird and it's best to ignore it.

His eyes are closed with his cheek laying on your lap. His tail wags rapidly thumping against the wood of the bench. He mumbles sounds of contentment with whimpering mixed in. It's an incredibly cute sight. To the point where perhaps everything you went through was worth it for this moment.

You sneakily pet his tail, to which his tail responds eagerly by wagging harder. Gorou is seriously lucky nobody is around to witness this. It's ironic how just like you helped him from Yae, he helped you deal with Ei. It makes you feel a certain sense of kinship with him. Even if yours was significantly more dangerous.

"Y/N, there you are!" You jump at the sudden yell of your name and Gorou immediately sits up straight. Gorou whips his head around a bit dazed trying to find the source of the noise.

"I'm sorry it took so long, where were you anyway? The ritual is about to start." Thoma jogs closer to you and Gorou- did Gorou just growl at him?

You stare at Gorou in slight disbelief, maybe he was still out of it from sleeping? Yet Thoma seemed to respond in kind by grabbing your hand and pulling you up onto your feet, away from Gorou.

"You were hanging out with Gorou? Makes sense as he tends to come over a lot for the festival and work."

Thoma's words may be friendly but the way he was staring at Gorou told a whole different story. Gorou stands up from the bench too with his ears straight up in alert. Gorou stares at him with a barely concealed growl while Thoma smiles with gritted teeth.

Holy shit, they were never this hostile before. Well, they never interacted or had any voice lines with each other but they are both just friendly people in general. Why the hell are they even fighting? You know what the cause doesn't matter anymore. You don't need this kind of attention coming towards your area.

"Alright hold it you two." You yank your hand out of Thoma's and stand between them. Giving them both cautious glances you try to clear up the situation.

"I and Gorou were just enjoying the festival since we ran into each other at a dango stall. He dozed off right when Thoma yelled my name. The growl wasn't intentional. And Gorou I'm sure Thoma was just worried due to the growl."

They both seem to want to say something but they shut up at the look you give them.

"You guys aren't angry are you? I mean we should be enjoying the festival for the creator especially since the ritual is about to begin."

"No, I'm not angry. I was just a bit startled by the sudden hostility." Thoma says trying to hold back his frustration. You raise an eyebrow at that seeing clearly what he was trying to hide.

"I agree with Thoma. It was a bit offensive that he believed I would hurt someone outside of battle but I'm guessing that he was just worried about you." The look they give each other once Gorou is finished tells their true feelings.

"Alright since neither of you are mad at the other, why don't you shake on it?" Were you just fucking with them? Yeah, but if they were going to tell stupid lies then you'll make them do stupid things. You still didn't fully understand why they were so mad at each other.

Nonetheless, they both robotically reach out and shake hands. You can easily tell how they are tightening their grip to bruise and intimidate each other. Thoma may have the height but Gorou is a general for a reason. They let go at a draw.

This was going to be fun. Smiling you link arms with them and start walking to the main area of the city.

"With that out of the way, we should head to the ritual. We need to get good spots to watch it after all. I still don't even know what the ritual is."

The atmosphere relaxes for a minute as both men admire the sight of you. Your strength and willpower to keep plowing forward with both of them in tow despite their spat. They give each other a dirty look behind your back before walking in step with you.

"We should go to the left side Y/N, you did say we could hang out once I was done helping Mr. Shimura."

"The right side is better. I did promise to show you all the best spots."

And here they go again. By the time you get to the main area where a crowd was slowly forming, you were ready to sit in the first spot and ignore them both.

Like an angel from heaven Ayaka strolls to your group with her practiced perfect smile.

"Y/N, are you enjoying the festivities? The ritual is about to start and I'll need to bring Thoma with me to help out behind the scenes."

You release Gorou and Thoma as Ayaka gets closer to you. You've never been so happy to see her before. Still aware of the people watching you only hover near her.

"It's been a lot of fun, everything looks beautiful. I'm going to get a good spot for the ritual thanks to Thoma and Gorou. But of course, I understand that you need to take Thoma. I'm excited to see what you and Lord Kamisato have prepared."

"I'm just as excited to see your reaction Y/N." Thoma walks over to Ayaka as cheerful as ever but you can clearly see the way his shoulder sag. You wave goodbye to them both and Gorou has a smug smile. The minute he sees you looking, his smile softens to something kinder.

"Alright Gorou, lead the way." You still didn't fully understand what's making them so hostile but honestly, it didn't really matter. They weren't hostile to you and you were leaving today anyway.

"It's just up these stairs, and-" Gorou's words are drowned out by an overwhelming sense of something watching you. More like someone you realize as the sight of pink fox ears flickers in the corner of your vision. Seems like Yae has decided to watch you or Gorou, maybe even both.

You sit down with Gorou and pay extra attention to manage your expressions. The last thing you want to do is slip up again. A huge crowd formed near the stage, it looked suffocating to be there. Thankfully the spot Gorou brought you to was still close but high enough that you weren't being trampled.

On the stage is a statue of yourself. The statue is holding the Inazuma symbol in its hands as if displaying it. This statue is made of stone instead of wood like the one in your temple. The clothing and hair were made of Obsidian while you were made of Jadeite. The most notable detail was how gold lines seem to follow your veins in the statue.

Was that some sort of reference to the story of the creator bleeding gold? From what you remember reading in the room in the Kamisato estate, the scriptures said "The creator's blood is like flowing gold. Sacred and holy. Never should it have to be shed, and if so, may the offender pay for bleaching their golden blood."

You sure as hell bleed red so it's most likely that it's metaphorical rather than literal. But how many people in Teyvat see it that way? You had a feeling everyone took that chapter literally instead.

Ayaka goes up on stage holding a box while other servants that you recognize from the estate follow her holding more boxes. She gives her box to someone else to hold before going to all the other boxes and taking out the contents.

Gold, jewels, jewelry, fabric, and bottles of something presumably fancy are laid at the feet of your statue. Two servants place incense at either side of you before Ayaka lights them. The smell is refreshing and vaguely reminds you of cinnamon.

Your body seems to relax automatically but you keep it still since Yae may still be looking. Just as you're about to comment on the smell, Gorou speaks up.

"I've always wondered what it smells like." What? Gorou who has a great sense of smell can't smell it? You look around to see nobody else reacting to the smell.

Quietly you ask, "What do you mean by that? I thought we were just too far away to smell it."

"The incense used for rituals is special. It's specifically made with elemental power. Its concentration to make the sticks is so fine-tuned that only the creator and archons can smell the true scent. Everyone else smells nothing or a indescribable smell."

Well bullet dodged, you almost got caught there. By claiming to smell something, you would have drawn way too much attention for something that couldn't prove you well enough. You nod quietly and look back to the ritual.

Ayaka had now opened the box she was carrying showing two elemental decorations. It made sense that it's the highest prized offering since the Kamisato Clan deals with elemental energy the most.

She places a beautiful Sakura made of ice near one incense and a crystalline Camelia near the other. They were both truly beautiful, you would have loved to take them with you.

Ayato strolls to the front from who knows where and kneels at the statue. Never did you think that you would see Ayato kneel and clasp his hands in prayer at a statue of yourself. Yet everyone takes his lead and kneels down. The moment you see Gorou kneel is when you follow along.

Ayato's voice rings out over the dead-silent area.

"We offer these humble gifts to the creator. Our one and only maker that sacrificed themself for their creations. From every pebble to all the blood that exists in Teyvat. They all belong to you. We will continue to worship and offer to you as long as we still have the oxygen to do so. Let your title be our dying last words as you take us from this world into your loving eternity."

Damn, if you forgot that basically all of Teyvat was a cult, you sure as hell remember now. Just yesterday you were joking and play fighting with Ayato and now he was praying to you to basically make sure that he dies thinking of you. At least you knew that your worries about him killing you weren't unfounded.

You hold back the sigh of relief when Ayato says 'Amen' and everyone stands back up. Thoma opens the gate to your statue as the rest of Kamisato Clan leave the small space. People form a line to the statue holding offerings and boxes.

Old, young, men, women, and other species besides human all go up to your statue with gifts. They place them down and mutter a short word of thanks before moving for someone else. You look over at Gorou who's watching everyone with you.

"I didn't know what this ritual was so I have nothing to offer this time. Do you have anything to offer?" Gorou smiles mysteriously at your question.

"Yes, but I already gave them my offering. Really, I and her excellency offered on behalf of Watatsumi Island but I still count it since I was the one who caught him. But you won't see him till the next part of the ritual."

Oh, was sacrificing the next part? It wouldn't be pleasant to see animals be sacrificed in your name but you could deal with that. You wonder what kind of animal Gorou caught.

"Well just let me know which one you caught." He nods and rests his head on your shoulder as the line finishes. You can still feel someone staring at you. It seems Yae still hasn't given up.

With everyone out of the area around your statue, the gate is closed and Thoma walks onto the stage pulling 3 people along. They're in chains and old ragged clothes. Cuts, bruises, and dried blood cover parts of their bodies. You hold your breath at the sight of them lined up.

Ayato walks to the front of the stage and Thoma forces all 3 people onto their knees.

"People of Inazuma, this week will be slightly different from the Yashiro's usual sacrifice. Instead of one, we have three prisoners with the highest amount and the worst crimes committed."

Ayato unsheathes his Amenoma Kageuchi, the sword you had maxed out for him. He points it at the first prisoner.

"This man was a samurai that used his status to kidnap, rape, and kill multiple children. For the lives and innocence of those children he will face capital punishment. May the creator carry out their will through his punishment."

Oh my god. Yes that man is horrible and if his punishment is execution then let it go through but in your name? No, no, you don't want that man's life on your consciousness. Ayato points at the second prisoner.

"This woman was caught by the Grand Narukami Shrine. Not only was she colluding with a foreign nation to start a war but she was also found poisoning the water supply in the Shrine. That resulted in many shrine maidens becoming permanently ill and even dying. It also damaged the Sacred Sakura, she will face capital punishment. May the creator carry out their will through her punishment."

Was he going to say that for all of them? How many people have been sacrificed in your name? You barely breathe in fear of choking and calling attention to yourself. Right before Ayato points at the third prisoner, Gorou points at them first.

"That man is the one I caught."

Such a simple sentence yet it made you so nauseous. Were you dumb or just in denial for wanting to believe earlier that he was talking about an animal?

"This man was caught on Watatsumi Island. He had been found planting multiple explosives near the crop and farms on their island. This would not only kill a good portion of their population but also ensure that they would starve in the upcoming winter. For the attempted murder of so many lives he will be charged with capital punishment. May the creator carry out their will through his punishment."

The prisoners keep quiet with their heads down. Were they feeling guilty, resigned or apathetic? Doesn't matter, for what they did they deserve capital punishment but not under your name. They were still living beings that should rot rather than be killed for a god that didn't even ask for it.

"After hearing the crimes of these individuals. What punishment will we carry out in the creator's and victims names?" Ayato's voice booms and the public responds in kind.

At first it was a jumble of yells for certain executions. Seeing all these people including children yelling out for punishment in your name left bile in your mouth. You weren't about to say that all life was precious and that killing them in general was wrong but you were selfish.

The main reason you were so against it was due to your own conscious. Because this whole scene is confirming something you never wanted to believe. Something you struggled to accept or deny.

The masses seemed to reach an agreement and Ayato announced to everyone.

"The samurai will be forced to commit seppuku, the shrine maiden will be beheaded and the arsonist will be burned at the stake."

The stage is a blur of movement as the crowd cheered. The roaring applause and yells of excitement made you dizzy. You watch in a daze yet hyperaware of everything.

It starts with the child abuser, Ayato forces the man's hands around what looks like the man's sword. Ayato forces him to stab himself in the stomach. Its dragged from right to left. The blood sticks to the sword as Ayato pulls it out, the sight is disgustingly familiar. The samuri has his hands handcuffed behind him as he is left to bleed out to death in front of everyone. You aren't quite sure but by the way his mouth is moving, he seems to be screaming in pain.

The guillotine must have been set up while you were watching the samurai. Ayaka forces the bound woman to her knees and closes the top trapping her head. The shrine maiden is muttering judging by her mouth movement. Ayaka raises her sword and at that moment, the shrine maiden yells above the noise.

"Oh, beloved creator! Take me into your sweet embrace and show them all the truth of this world! Just as I have done everything for you, please-"

Her words are cut off as her head rolls. Ayaka stands there with a bloody blade and a frosty glare. The woman's head is stuck in a pleading expression and tears drying on her face. Your hands slowly grow paler with every second. The sound of desperate pleading brings your attention to the arsonist.

The man is already tied to the stake with wood at the bottom of it. Thoma's vision lights up but instead of hitting the man with his fire, he simply lights the wood on fire. The fire licks the thrashing man's feet and grows up the stake.

You can't stop staring at the two men slowly dying. In seppuku someone is supposed to cut the head off but no one will do it. And usually with burning executions they add more wood and fire to hurry up the process yet no one is adding anything. These two men are rightfully suffering for their crimes but you can't help but feel isolated as the crowd cheers for the men being publicly tortured.

In your name, in your name. Their deaths are on your hands. Those lives were taken due to you. You already had someone else's life on your hands, how could you handle any more?

A soft touch on your shoulder makes you look toward the source. When did he even move his head off your shoulder? Gorou is looking at you with worry evident on his face.

"Are you okay Y/N?"

More than anything you want to say no. You want to hide away and forget the deaths you just witnessed. More than anything you want to cry and not worry about the consequences. But things like that are too good for you.

You are sure of it now. Your identity must be hidden forever. The minute anyone finds out your true identity is when you'll suffer a worse death than those prisoners. Your brain and body seem to finally catch up with reality. You give a sad smile to Gorou.

"This is something completely new to me. Truthfully I'm just confused about how to feel about all this. But the creator's feelings are echoing clearly. They are thankful and very happy to see how devoted Inazuma and its residents are but... At the same time, they can't help but feel sad too. Innocent people suffered and even though those criminals are getting their due punishment, they still feel love for them. Because all of Teyvat and its beings are their beloved creations."

Gorou nods his head in understanding before asking.

"But what about you? This must be pretty intense for you as it's your first time."

Gorou really was kind, he's still worried about you. It's too risky to ever open up like you did before but you still need to maintain a close relationship with him.

"You're right, I think I need to step away for a little while. The creator's feelings mixed in with mine are creating a mess." Gorou nods in understanding before holding your hand and leading you away. Your skin pricks at the feeling of being watched so intensely.

Your mind is running a mile a minute to categorize everything you've learned. To think of a plan on what you'll do when you get to Liyue. Yet every time you go into the deep crevices of your mind with thoughts like 'Should I just live in the wilderness forever?' It's Gorou's hand that grounds you back to reality.

Reliable as ever you think to yourself as he sets you down on a bench near the Inazuma City entrance. It's funny how you are being taken care of by him twice in your first meeting. It seems even knowing how he gave a horrible man as a public sacrifice isn't enough to dissolve your love for him.

In fact your love for Ayato, Ayaka, and Thoma as people still existed in your heart. For years you had Genshin and it's people as your only source of safety and comfort. Despite your fear and desire to be away from Ei, you still wished that she would have some form of happiness too.

"Do you want to talk to me about it? If not then I can just sit with you until you're feeling better."

"It's fine Gorou, you should just go ahead and enjoy the rest of the ritual. That man you caught almost did irreplaceable damage to Watatsumi after all."

"You may be right but he's already suffering his due punishment. I'd rather help out my comrade than spit on the defeated enemy."

Gorou's words though encouraging will only lead to more trouble. Not only would you start becoming dependent on Gorou if you relayed your troubles in another metaphorical tale. But Yae's eyes are still watching you and it's quiet enough that her ears won't miss a sound.

Hmm, this plan might be risky but risk is necessary to trick Yae. You chew on your bottom lip while looking away from Gorou.

"I'm just a little sick. All the sugar and excitement wasn't the best combination for my stomach. Just let me have a breather and I'll be good to go. Go on ahead without me, I'll be fine."

Gorou is about to retort but a yell of "General Gorou!" cuts him off. A Watatsumi soldier stands closer to the main area waving their hands.

Gorou sighs and stands up with his tail drooping. He looks apologetically at you while you only smile nervously back.

"Don't worry about me Gorou. Just go ahead, I'll catch up later."

He nods and leaves. Once you're sure he's out of sight you slump against bench in relief. A matching sigh of relief leaves your lips as you tilt your head back and close your eyes.

"Well, aren't you a sneaky one?"

You hide your smile by rapidly sitting up straight almost hitting Yae who was behind you. Her teasing chuckle as you move to stand up and spin around to face her, lets you know that it was successful.

"No need to stand up little one. You're quite skittish for someone that managed to pull that cute doggy general away from me."

You duck your head and look away with a nervous chuckle.

"It's just that I was startled by you. I really mean no offense Ms. Yae." You finish speaking and can't stop your teeth from biting your inner cheek.

Yae smiles at your little tell as she places her hand over her mouth mockingly.

"Startled? By me? I believe you aren't being entirely truthful. But it's fine by me if you want to keep up your little lie. It's just that..."

Your eyebrows pinch in worry as she trails off. She stays silent as you begin fiddling with your hands.

"You'll have to be my precious 'friend' seeing as you stole Gorou from me earlier. At least for a little while."

You light up at her words and smile. Relief is clear in your face as you hold your hands together in front of you.

"Isn't that more of a good thing? I mean everyone says that you are very popular. I guess all the talk about kitsune biting was false!"

You immediately slap a hand over your mouth as Yae laughs at your words.

"Do we now? You must have heard such things from one of my editors."

Your cheeks take a light pink hue as she steps closer and peers down at you. Her gaze is piercing and you turn your head away slightly.

"I-I'm so sorry! Please don't eat me!" You speak with a pleading tone and your eyes screwed shut.

A little zap from her electro-fox hits your forehead making you look at her in confusion.

"I'm not going to eat you little one. My word, do I really have that fearsome of a reputation? That does make me wonder why a little lamb like you is wearing a gold kitsune mask if you are so scared of being eaten."

Time to see if you've built up enough credit for your trick to work. Your eyes wander around the area refusing to look her in the eyes. Your lips start to turn a little red from how harshly you're biting it.

"It was just pretty."

"Even though it's broken?"

"...it was cheaper that way." Your eyes are a little glossy from embarrassment. Your lips tremble as you stare sadly at the ground.

There was an awkward silence after you spoke. On the outside Yae isn't affected by your words but you caught the way her ear flickered for a moment. She's feeling a bit guilty.

Yae was arrogant and for good reason too. But it was also this arrogance that helped you get to the point where she won't ask about the mask anymore.

She can't help but feel the need to tease someone easily embarrassed like Gorou. By mimicking that flustered state with a dash of enthusiasm due to your first appearance being so energetic. You made yourself a perfect target for her to underestimate.

This paved the way for her to feel superior to you. That's why such an easily faked tell like biting your lip or really any area of your mouth worked so well. Made sense since most highly skilled people find the beginner tasks the hardest after they become masters. Something about being too used to harder things makes them either look too deep into simple things or overlook it completely.

You only could pull this act and not reveal your oracle due to Yae not feeling any bond. Ayaka didn't feel any bond or familiarity because you never pulled her. You didn't pull for Yae either and it seemed your theory is correct. Since she doesn't sense your divinity, she has no real interest in you besides your mask.

You can only hope that you managed to swindle her enough for her to lose interest in you completely. She wasn't heartless but she also had no problem leaving people to suffer unless it concerns someone she cares about.

The smell of burning flesh reaches the area and your act falters. You cough and wipe away a small tear. You peek at the fire that completely enveloped the arsonist and the black smoke rising. Your face grimaced at the sight of it. Was that samurai still bleeding to death?

Even from far away you can hear the people cheering as the stake falls down. You can imagine the way the burnt corpse crunches as it hits the ground. Was that shrine maiden head and body still there as it grows cold and stiff?

Yae tilts your head to look at her using her wand stick. The ribbons tickle your skin as you look up at her making sure to keep your eyes reminiscent of a doe.

"If you think your little act was enough to fool me then you're wrong." Shit, did she see through you at any point? No, it can't be. The only thing you let slip was your distaste.

"Stepping away from the ritual to avoid watching any more of the bloodshed is quite selfish. It's our job as the creator's subjects to dirty ourselves with blood in order to keep our creator pure." You recognize this from the book you translated to read. It spoke about the people of Inazuma only offering blades never used, therefore 'clean' to the archon. It seems it applies even more to you as the creator.

"Inazuma is filled with bloodshed, I suggest you learn to live with it. The Shogun fought numerous wars for this nation and even more for the creator."

You keep your mouth shut. As much as you would like to retort and speak against it. You really can't afford to bring any more attention to yourself. Your safety is on the line.

You keep a sad and guilty look on your face as you listen to her.

"Are you from Inazuma? It's honestly quite disappointing if you are, a resident not knowing Inazuma's history with the creator is a crying shame."

Shame bubbles up within you for not being able to speak your true thoughts but you use it to your advantage instead.

"I'm sorry... I just don't know how to read. I'm one of the residents forced out of Yashiori Island due to the war and tatarigami. I'm really sorry."

Another silence ensures and you don't even have to look at her to see the pitying look. It seems you were right about her feeling bad for those affected by the war. It was only a guess due to the counseling services she holds for samurai returning from war but it paid off.

"Don't look so pitiful like that, you're making me look like the bad guy. Nevertheless, ignorance is not an excuse to do wrong. I expect to see you stay for the whole ritual next time."

Yae only gives you a glance before leaving. You keep your head down as her footsteps slowly get quieter. You wait an extra second before slumping onto the bench and groaning.

This was exhausting, you couldn't wait to be on the boat to Liyue already. As you sat there trying to ignore the loud cheers from the main area thoughts of what Yae said kept trickling in.

It's the people's job to be dirty with blood for the creator? Bullshit. Even if some people were overzealous and wanted to sacrifice evil people, they shouldn't force other regular believers into it!

Just how many people were peer pressured into joining the cult's violent nature? If this whole creator religion started so long ago then what if those who refused to participate were turned into sacrifices? That would have forced people to join in fear of being killed.

After centuries or even millenniums of this pattern, this obsession and violence became normal and even expected behavior. As much as you enjoyed almost everyone's company, you could not afford to stay even a day longer. They may start expecting you to join in on stuff like this. You are no stranger to death and violence but Teyvat was supposed to be your chance to change. Not for you to find a new reason to inflict harm, especially for a religion about yourself.

Through the smoke and noise of everyone partying, you can smell the incense Ayaka lit earlier. Just a few minutes to relax you tell yourself. Bringing your knees to your chest to sit in a fetal position on the bench, you hide your head. You watch two cats play fight nearby as you think.

You just need a minute to decompress.

The beginning with Gorou wasn't the best but I think I got it to improve as the chapter went on. The real struggle was Yae. Personally I'm not that fond of her and writing her was hard. I hope all you Yae lovers weren't too offended, I really did do my research to keep her in character. This was actually half of a chapter but I really wanted to publish something. 10K words here instead of 15K like the other one is progress in my book. I'm trying to find a happy middle of 'long enough that it doesn't drop off' and 'not long enough that editing makes me cry'. Besides I wanna spread out the trauma I'm giving reader. Gotta save some for next chapter. All the comments and hearts are very appreciated!

Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl, @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @conspicuous-mayonnaise, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention If you are in italics that means I couldn't tag you! Usually you'll need to check your settings to fix that.

#yandere genshin impact #whisp's amateur work #yandere genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin sagau #genshin impact x reader #yandere sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau #sagau x reader #yandere thoma #yandere gorou #yandere ayato #yandere ayaka x reader #yandere yae miko #yandere x reader #oracle au #yandere x y/n

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d4yl1ghts · 23 days

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i’ve got you

finnick odair x fem!reader

summary: you go with finnick to help katniss and the mockingjay squad but you begin to regret it as you realise you could lose the one thing keeping you grounded

warnings: mention of death, panic attack

You placed your backpack down before you sat down as you felt the cool metal through your hands. The rigid material was not comfortable but it would have to do. You supposed this was what one could expect if they were to aid the rebellion. Rustling through your bag, you heard sos,one plop down beside you. You turned around and saw your boyfriend, Finnick, who smiled at you cutely. His dimples were creased and his eyes were glistening in the low-lighting of the underground and you couldn’t help but stare. He wasn’t called the ‘Capitol darling’ for no reason.

You waved at him like a child who didn’t know they were in a war. He let out a low chuckle. “How are you feeling, baby?”, he gently asked you. “Tired.”, you muttered quietly as you rested your head against his shoulder which was conveniently padded with his uniform. “Me too.”, he yawned to emphasise his point. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”, he questioned as he looked down at you, careful not to move his shoulder. “Not really.”, you mumbled into his shoulder. “Will I have to give you a piggyback around?”, he joked teasingly. “Yeah, I’d love that actually. Can we just do that every day from now on?”, you said playfully. “No. I need to keep my muscles fresh. Sorry!”, he stated confidently. “What muscles?”, you asked as you squeezed his massive bicep. He laughed. “I’m joking, they’re huge.”, you stated.

He smirked down at you in victory. You loved his biceps and he knew that.

You glanced up at him before asking, in a softer tone: “What if I lose you?”

“Hmm?”, he mumbled, not hearing you. “What if I lose you or you lose me?”, you questioned cautiously. “I won’t lose you, I’ll protect you. Darling, you’re my number one priority.”, he said, not elaborating on the first part. “What if I lose you?”, you repeated, more clearly this time. “You won’t lose me. Why would you?”, he reciprocated. “Finn, I can’t lose you. I couldn’t live with out you. You’re the only reason I’m still here, Finnick.”, your breathing picked up as you imagined a life with out him.

“You won’t lose me.”, he repeated with certainty in his tone. “You’ll probably pull out some stupid hero move. Finnick, you can’t risk it because that’s just selfish, okay?!”, you questioned in one breath. Your vision had started to get blurry and your heart rate had picked up. He looked down at you and noticed your state. He moved in front of you. “Baby.”, he cupped your cheeks. “You won’t lose me, okay? I won’t leave you. I would never do that to you.”, he replied to your worries. “Okay.”, you answered, trying to focus on your laboured breathing.

“Follow my breathing, baby.”, he guided you, telling you to “breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth.”

“I’ve got you, baby girl.”, he added as he took your hands into his. You gazed into his sea-green eyes as you kissed his slightly chapped lips. He’d usually have chapped lips, it was one of the side effects of living by the beach. You took in his scent: a mixture of freeing sand and captivating cologne. He instantly kissed you back, loving the feeling of your lips against each others. Your lips were moulded for each other. You were now out of breath for a completely different reason to before.

Finnick had his hands placed softly around your waist whilst yours laid happily in his hair. You sighed contentedly into the kiss as you gently ruffled his fluffy hair. You felt his lips curl upwards against yours, causing yours to do the same. After a long minute, you had to pull away to take in some oxygen but it was a lasting kiss.

Finnick pecked your forehead as he hoisted you onto his lap. “We need to get some sleep, baby girl.”, he mumbled into your hair as you made yourself comfortable on his legs. “I love you to the bottom of the ocean and from the depth of my heart.”, he stated charmingly. “I love you, Finn, so much.”, you pulled him as close to yourself as you could.

#finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair imagine #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick x y/n #finnick imagine #finnick fanfic #finnick oneshot #thg finnick #hunger games finnick #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games imagine #the hunger games x y/n #the hunger games x you #fem!reader

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heesnui · 1 month

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peach iced tea — 박성훈 wc. 0.9k

summary. you thank sunghoon for helping your brother (jungwon)

pairing. classmate!sunghoon x fem!reader

genre/warnings. fluff, jungwon gets in a fight, mentions of blood

the sound of foot tapping on the ground fills the police station jungwon was now in, his eyes glancing at the small cuts on his classmate's face, taesan. they got in a fight at school simply because taesan said he'll sleep with you, and, because jungwon loves you and is very protective, he punched him in the face.

his eyes catch your shocked figure entering the room, you legs running towards his chair, crouching in front of him as you take his face in your hands.

“are you hurt? did he hit you?”, rambling, he places his hands over yours, kissing your palm.

“i'm fine, don't worry” he assures you, and you turn to your left to take a look at the taesan's face, the guy who used to be one of jungwon's best friend.

as soon as you entered the house, you were faced with your grandmother's angry face, her hands on her hips while her foot tapped on the ground. you gulped hard, anticipating her reaction. however, her features soften when she saw jungwon's bruised face, along with the few cuts he had on his lip and forehead.

“jungwon, what happened to your face!” , her hands grabbed his face, placing her fingers on the cut situated on his upper lip. when he hissed, you hurried to grab the medical aid, but he insisted he would like to take a shower first.

“you should've seen him! after i punched him, he started yelling like a girl!”, jungwon explained while you were cleaning the cuts on his face, hissing when you touched a particular spot.

“but who called the police if it was just you two?” , you wonder and he's quick to answer you, a big smile on his face.

“sunghoon hyung”

oh. park sunghoon, the guy you were too scared to share your feelings to.

you nod, smiling to him after you announce you're done and that he can sleep now, he must've been tired, you think to yourself. once you make sure he's sleeping you text sunghoon.

you | can we meet at the convenience store?

sunghoon | sure, i'm already there.

as soon as you read the message, you hurried to take your coat, basically bursting out on the front door, your grandmother's voice echoing through the house.

you stop in front of the store, hands on knees while you try to catch your breath. your eyes scan the interior, and you see him putting his items in a plastic bag, ready to exit the store. you fix your scarf and bag, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“oh, you're here?” , he says, and you only nod, smiling.

you think the spring weather is only for the beauty, as you feel the cold wind blowing, making you shiver. you suggest sitting down and he quickly agrees, sitting down at a table in front of the store.

you reach inside your purse, taking out a sweet red bean bungeoppang, wrapped in a small pouch.

“i'm not eating this” . right. you should've guessed, it's not like you were friends.

you're taken back when his hand takes the food from yours, splitting it in half as he gives you a part, while he eats the other half, scrunching his nose. the act purely makes your heart beat faster, a tint of red making its way on your cheeks.

“it's very good, did you make this?” , he speaks with his mouth almost full, looking at you while blinking fast as he takes another bite. you hum, nodding.

“yeah, i helped my grandmother make it”

“then it's ten times better”

you blushed again, eating the last bite you took, opening your mouth to speak again.

“thank you for helping jungwon”

he turns to you, trying to remember what your brother did, after a short time you see him closing his eyes, remembering the events, probably remembering jungwon's bruised face and the way taesan cursed at him.

“oh, it's not a big deal”

you only hum, wiping the remaining crumbs on your mouth, getting up to leave. you both get up at the same time, and he reaches in his plastic bag, grabbing your hand and placing the drink in your hand.

peach iced tea.

letting out a small gasp, you can't help but wonder why he would give you this. you weren't close, or even friends. seeing your puzzled expression, he opens his mouth to speak.

“you once said you liked it, so when you texted me i bought one”.

you remember you said that in freshman year, and yet he still remembers. you don’t even know if he was there or he just happened to hear, but that still surprises you.

“thank you, sunghoon, for everything”

he smiles again, adjusting your scarf and brushing the small cherry flowers from your brown coat. before you leave he mutters something, making you turn back.

"let's go on a date sometime”

“i would love to”

and that's how you two became friends, maybe even more. but each time you have school, he wakes up an hour earlier before you do, going to the store to buy you tea, placing it on your desk with a small note each time.

just like now, except you find a small piece of cake on your desk with a note written.

“they ran out of peach tea :( sorry…

i'll make it up to you after school...iced peach tea date? :)"

HEESNUI. 2024

#sunghoon drabbles #enhypen angst #enhypen #heesnui #sunghoon angst #angst #sunghoon headcanons #sunghoon #enhypen fluff #enhypen drabbles #enhypen x reader

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mediumgayitalian · 3 months

Text

The infirmary door creaks slightly as Nico pushes it open, wood swollen in the summer heat. He freezes, listening for the sound of angry curfew harpies, but luckily there don’t seem to be any around (they tend to camp around the Hermes cabin, understandably).

The infirmary is much darker than it usually is, letting the three or four people in it overnight rest. Some softer lights are on at the nurse’s station, making the blonde head under them glow. Nico pads forward, steps a practiced silence on the clay tiles. He can’t see if Will has his hearing aids on under his hair; he probably does, because Nico can’t imagine him on duty without them. Either way, he makes sure to approach the medic from in front, tapping the counter when he’s close enough. Will doesn’t startle, only glances up, flashing a smile — he heard.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greets.

Nico rolls his eyes, firmly holding back the smile that tries to force its way on his face. “Hey.”

“Nightmares?”

Surprisingly, no, although maybe that’s just because Nico couldn’t fall asleep at all. After the third hour of trying — which was, frankly, remarkable, he should get an award for staying in his bed the entire time like the Mature Person He Is — he gave up, figuring he might as well put all his annoyance to good use. And Will, for some reason, is endlessly amused by Nico’s complaining, so it’s his personal mission to make the stubborn boy crack. One day, gods help him, Nico will turn that usually sunny grin into a scowl, just so he can make an irritating Apollo-related comment about it.

(He’s hoping for the same eye twitch he gets when he attempts any ‘Underworld-y stuff’).

“Something like that.”

Will hums, but doesn’t press. After a minute he gestures to the spinny chair behind the nurse’s station. Nico takes the hint, ducking through the half-door and sitting on the old leather.

He likes the infirmary at night. Maybe it’s a strange place for him to find so much peace — ghosts often linger here, many of them pained, and it always smells of rubbing alcohol and eucalyptus — but he likes it anyway. It’s less visually sterile than a hospital, more akin to an apothecary, and the whole place always feels warm. Will’s off-tune humming echoes quietly as he works, mixing with the soft snores of the few patients and the repetitive grinding sound of whatever poultice he’s currently preparing. If Nico wasn’t so randomly wired, the sounds would lull him to sleep. They have before.

“Prepping for tomorrow,” Will explains when he catches Nico looking. Some of the softness on his face fades as he tightens his jaw. “I’m sure we’ll need it.”

Nico uncurls slightly from the armchair, peering curiously forward. He’s not sure what’s more intriguing — whatever healing magic Will is prepping, or the uncharacteristic bitterness in Will’s voice.

“…Need what?”

“Everything.”

“Oh, well, thank you, that clears things up nicely.”

Will snorts. His grip on the mortar loosens.

“C’mere, then, I’ll show you.”

When Nico is close enough, he sets down the pestle, revealing very fine, almost bleach-white powder.

“Shells,” he reveals, pointing to several still-whole ones. He smiles slightly. “It’s the kids’ job to gather ingredients, and this is probably their favourite. They’ll play with the naiads for hours to get enough, Gracie’s always tuckered right out after.”

Nico matches his small smile. Gracie, Will’s youngest sibling, is a cute kid, obsessed with mermaids. He imagines collecting seashells from the Greek version of mermaids is practically a dream come true.

“What’re the shells for?”

“They’re pure calcium carbonate, basically. Good for dyspepsia, which won’t help for capture the flag, but also good for caustic burns, which will.”

Nico nods. He has, for some reason, spent enough time around the apothecary to pick up more than a few medical terms – largely because Will talks like he swallowed a pre-med textbook, which isn’t that far off from reality.

“Why use shells, though?” He gestures to the powder Will is still crushing, even though Nico can’t imagine it getting any finer. “Why not just have Chiron order the stuff? It’d probably be easier.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t work as well.” Apparently finally satisfied with the crushed shells, Will tips the powder out into a much bigger bowl, then sets it aside. He carefully selects six of the whole shells and begins to crush them – Nico winces, because the first few cracks are much louder than he was expected in such a quiet room. “Whatever Chiron ordered would be crushed by machines, in a factory, probably made from chalk or limestone. It would still function as an antacid, sure, but –” Will pauses for a minute, facing Nico fully. His voice is softer, and he has to lean in to catch it. “Seashells held living beings. For years, they were homes. Maybe for an entire lifetime. And they were gifted, willingly, by spirits of the sea, and then crushed by human hands. At least three exchanges. There’s magic in that, and that makes them more powerful.”

As Will crushes the new shells, Nico steps up beside him, reaching into the larger bowl and digging into the powdered carbonate. The granules are finer than sand, fine as sugar – he buries his hands in them and concentrates, and in seconds he can feel the tiny remnants of spirits in them. Not souls – there is no human death lingering here – but thousands and thousands of fractured pieces of something that was once living. His arms tingle, goosebumps raising all over his flesh.

“Huh.”

Will grins. “Yep.”

Nico watches him out of the corner of his eye as he works. He is totally focused on his work, face slacking again as he sinks into the motions of it: twist, twist, scrape, check grain size; over and over, again and again. His arms must ache. It’s something like three in the morning, he’s been on duty since ten. Nico knows him too well to assume he’s been sitting idly for any of that time.

“Why don’t you ever play capture the flag?” he asks, surprising himself. He’s not usually one to break silences. Will tenses slightly beside him, and the rest of the words come tumbling out of his mouth, although he was unaware he’d been holding them in so tightly. “I mean, you’re always on shift. I know you’re in here a lot, but you like training, usually. Especially stuff where you get to run around. I would’ve guessed that –”

“I know that capture the flag is important,” Will interrupts. His hands have gone still. Nico snaps his mouth shut immediately. “Obviously. Everyone needs to keep their skills sharp.” His presses his lips together. A particularly loud snore from one of the patients makes them both look over, and it’s a long time before he speaks again.

“But I don’t like when we play war against each other,” he says. He turns to Nico and smiles humourlessly. “I know it’s dumb. But it just feels…I dunno. I’ve treated the injuries after the fact for years – too many of them aren’t accidents. Besides, I’m more help here, anyway. Chiron’s a field medic, anything more serious will need the infirmary.”

He abruptly turns back to crushing the shells, clearly ending the conversation. He has also begun humming again – aggressively and upbeat. The tension is gone from his shoulders, but his knuckles are white against the grip of the pestle.

He is not telling the full truth, Nico thinks. Will is a bad liar. All Apollo kids are, but Will especially – he squirms.

But Will is his friend. And Nico can take a hint – or maybe a silent begging to drop it.

“What time does your shift end?” Nico asks. “Six?”

Will slumps in relief, shooting him a genuine smile. “Yeah. Austin’s taking over for the morning while I sleep, then I’m back again at 2, just before the game starts.”

“I’ll stay up with you, then.”

“Absolutely not, doctor’s orders, Nico, you need to sleep –”

Nico places his hands over Will’s shaking ones, fleeting. His stomach erupts in a way he’s learned to ignore. The tremor in the medic’s hands finally stills, grip loosening.

“I’ll stay up with you.”

“Yeah,” Will says finally, starting the pestle up again. “I guess that’s fine.”

———

part two

#i have lore again #i love lore #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #will/nico #nico/will #solangelo #deaf will #pining nico #pre relationship #ctf au #fic #my writing #longpost

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year

Text

Aftercare with Luffy (Post Aphrodisiac Sex) (FLUFF)

Sanji Aftercare

Zoro Aftercare

WC: 1.7k

This is a continuation of THIS FIC please read this first before continuing here !:)

CW: Learning about Aftercare, Luffy Learns How to be a Better Boyfriend, Kisses, Soft!Luffy

Enjoy!

It has been about an hour and a half since the effects of the aphrodisiac wore off of Luffy. He managed to actually fuck you until you both passed out leaving a sweaty cum filled mess on top of your bed.

You were the first to wake up seeing his stretchy limbs wrapped around your sticky body, his face was drenched in sweat drooling on your neck not wanting to let go. You tried sitting up but it deemed difficult seeing how tangled your body was with his.

“Luffy..” Your Voice was groggy and a little swelled. You managed to free one of your arms out of his grasp to grip his hair firmly and lift his head, he had that same blissful smile he usually has when he is sleeping with a few hickies on his neck. “Luffy…get off of me.”

The sounds of him groaning mixing with whining not wanting to budge from his grip, so you sigh trying to adjust yourself but you moan out feeling his cock still partially inside you.

“Luffy! Luffy! Luffy!” You slapped his shoulder repeatedly.

“‘M tireedddddd.” He pinched your sides making your shriek.

“Get upppppp!!!”

“Mmm…Y/N! Oooh you look a mess are you okay? What happened?!”

“I’m—ow!” You slapped his rough hands rubbing your sides harshly away from you as he was seated in between your legs. “I’m fine just get up!”

“Oh okay!…can you walk?” He asked noticing your struggling to get up, he immediately aids you from the bed and now holding your waist from behind, but he notices the marks and bruises on your back, “Y/N what the hell happened to you?! Who hurt you like this??”

Your eyebrows furrow cocking your head at him and turn to his face, “Uh..you did.”

This was probably one of the first times you seen Luffy’s smiles slowly fade into worry, “Nuh uh. I—-oh wait! “ He laughs holding his head now recalling past events, “I did! Sorry about that! You felt really good though, but I’m STARVING now.”

He places you back down to sit on to walk over to your shared drawers, squatting grabbing something to shove his face with.

He always did this.

After sex it’s either Luffy gets up and goes to eat or falls asleep immediately. You grown to not mind it, but right now you kinda felt a bit….

Sad, almost.

It was weird you felt like your mood just shifted from okay to sorrow and you don’t understand why. You grab each of you some clean clothing and place it on your bed. Luffy turns and watches you while still eating studying your saddened gaze.

“You okay? Does your butt hurt ?” He asks noticing the slap marks on it, you look back to see and shake your head, you felt so weighed down for some reason and you couldn’t figure out why. You have no complaints about the sex that isn’t the issue but after such an intense session.

You just

Wanted to be held right now.

“Let’s take another bath. I’m sticky.”

“Ughhhh whyyyyyy just throw on a dress! You’ll be okay.”

“Can you at least come to bed I’m tired.”

“Just a second Y/N im hungrrryyyy…” He scrambled in the drawers for more food contemplating to quickly get dressed and head to the kitchen.

For some reason Luffy’s defiance made your chest hurt, he’s always like this, but right now him not wanting to do anything made your lips quiver. You looked glossy in the eyes holding his clothing. It wasn’t until your did a soft sniff he turned his head back at you.

“Y/N…” He seen your head down, thumb caressing his shirt, still in the nude and fighting back your will to cry for something you don’t understand why. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You handed him his shirt to grab your robe hanging off your door, “‘M ganna take a shower.”

You left Luffy alone to start up some water, the bathhouse was cleaned top to bottom from when you and Luffy left it with a note on the mirror.

“To Y/N & Luffy: At Least clean the bathhouse before leaving to have sex! Perverts! -Nami”

Now not only are you sad, but embarrassed now.

“Ugh.” You groaned tossing the note to start some water to hop in the shower, but right before you stepped in here comes a naked Luffy causing your eyes to widen

“LU!” You pulled him in shutting the door behind you wondering what the hell was going on, “You can’t keep walking around—“

“Its fine nobody is awake.” He didnt break contact of your eyes. Luffy felt a bit worried seeing your storm off, and he could have sworn you—

“Did i make you cry?”

“What?” You snap your face at him, subconsciously touching your warm cheeks, “no you didn’t.”

“Then why are you—“

“Nothing Luffy.”

“Tell me.” He grabbed your arm before you could walk inside the steaming water, you kinda hoped he would come to join you, but you also had a bit of you wanting to just be alone to rid of the pains you felt.

Both physically and emotionally.

Luffy didn’t quite understand why your mood changed, youre usually as happy as he is after sex,

“Was i bad?” He finally broke the quiet tension between you both.

“Hm?”

“Was i bad? Did I not make you feel good?”

“No Luffy it’s just…” you sigh rubbing your forehead, before pulling him inside the shower with you, he waiting patiently as you began to clean his back, maybe not looking into his eyes will ease some of your nerves. “It’s just…after we have sex…sometimes I just…wanna be held by you. I know it sounds stupid, but i like a little comfort after we finish…being told I did really good, ….maybe even a kiss, but—-“

In an instant your lips were pressed against his, they were always smaller than yours, lower lip just a tad plumper than his top, his cold wet hands cupped your warmed cheeks, you felt his thumb rub against your temple gently as if he wanted you to know he heard you.

“Like that?” Still holding your face, he looked into your eyes filled with some hope he did it right to make you happy. You lean into his touch and smile.

“Yeah. Something like that.” Your face finally cracked into a smile, which in turn made him as well.

“Oh thank God!” Luffy exhales making you both laugh, “All you had to do was ask Y/N I’ll do whatever you want.”

You almost felt stupid not asking him sooner, your communication with Luffy wasn’t far from bad. He spoke to you about things he wanted and needed out of you so what makes you think you couldn’t?

“Here. Turn around.” Your raven haired boyfriend moved you and you heard what you assumed to be the body wash tab open and his hands rubbing roughly against each other, but by the smell you knew—

“Wait wait! Lu!” You reached over in front of you to grab the soap to hand him, “that’s shampoo not soap!”

“…aint it the same thing?”

It was such a comforting silence for a moment as Luffy washed you, he was delicate with his touches after a while, cracking jokes per usual to hear you laugh again. Once you both rinse each other off you were ready to get out, but Luffy didn’t seem ready to do so yet.

“Wait!” He pulled you closer to him, your breast now smushed against his, his stare was almost intimidating right now, “um…”

Your boyfriend grabbed your cheeks again to kiss you, this time small pecks not giving you anytime to return the favor which made you giggle, “h-hey-“

“I do lo…um…I do…love you…y/n. You know that right?”

His stutter made your eyes widen. Why was he so nervous to say that? You wonder, but instead of questioning it you nod, “mmhm. I love you too Luffy.”

Hearing that made his heart feel funny, he masked his worry with that pretty big smile you loved so much.

Once you both get out and head to your room in your towel and robe you felt him hold your pinky in with his, when you felt the tightness against it you looked and then seen him look the opposite way, possibly hiding the small blush on his face as you walked to your room. You smile at the sentiment.

“Let’s get something to eat.” You suggest brushing Luffy’s hair as he sits in between your legs, “I know You’re still hungry.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, arms wrapped around your waist and face in your cleavage, “‘want meat.”

You both sneak your way into the kitchen praying Sanji’s 6th sense doesn’t get him to wake up and catch you both. There was a note on the fridge.

“To my dearest Y/N: I made a plate specifically for you, whenever you come to eat. It’s your favorite! -Love, Sanji”

There was tears on the note.

Sanji also left a note for Luffy too:

“I hate you. Don’t eat Y/N’s food. - Sanji”

There were two plates for you both, you grabbed them and Luffy grabbed some more for the road and you head back to your room to eat.

“Y’know i still don’t know why I did that.” Luffy muffled, face stuffed as he was eating across from you on the bed crisscross shirtless, “You think it was something i ate?”

“Ion know.” You shrugged eating with a little more decorum than your boyfriend, he shrugs as well. Best not to think about what the possibilities were, not like you remembered much hours prior.

“You did do good by the way.” He spoke again, this time his voice more clear and soft, “You always feel really good. I don’t think you understand that, but I can tell you that more.”

“…thank you, Lu.”

“Hahaha, i like when you call me that too. It sounds so hot when you moan it—“

“Okay, Luffy!” You groaned, you knew sweet moments with him never last, he laughs holding his stomach at your embarrassment.

Once you both ate Luffy stretched out his body for you to lay on, your weight felt so good against him. He could get used to moments like this, moments where it’s just you and him. Relaxing.

You adjusted on top, arms and blankets around you both, he was so comfortable to lay on, his heart beat still relatively fast, but soothing none the less.

“I love you, Y/N.” Was the last thing you heard and a peck on the forehead before dozing off again.

It felt good to you both to learn how to properly take care of each other.

#one piece #one piece headcanons #black reader #one piece smut #one piece x female reader #mugiwara no luffy #luffy x black reader #luffy x reader #luffy imagine #luffy scenarios #luffy smut #luffy fluff #luffytaro

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wildemaven · 5 months

Text

saturdays with javier : tied together | javier peña

-> pairing: javier peña x f!reader

-> word count: 3489

-> content warning: 18+ blog; talk of food, feelings of nervousness, alluding to spicy time but I decided to give them some privacy, she likes the tie so it stays, established relationship, reader has zero descriptive features, post Colombia life, if I missed anything please let me know and I’ll add it

-> notes: it has taken me so long to finish this, but I’m glad it’s done! I’ve been in such a writing slump and words haven’t been working well for me. I think my lack of sleep is my main reason so I’ve been working on that— it definitely helped me yesterday. Big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being a cheerleader and beta reading this for me!!

series masterlist / main masterlist

“Shit!”

His focus is scattered as he watches his hands work together to secure the tie around his neck, a task he hadn’t done in what felt like years, his nerves not aiding in the dexterous process.

“Cariño, what time do your parents get in again?” He shouts down the hall to you where you’re busy about the kitchen, before refocusing on his reflection in the mirror.

“Their flight lands at 1 pm, and you’re picking them up at Gate 15— Javier, what’s with the tie??” You appear in the doorway, leaning into the frame, your arms crossed watching the nervousness permeate off Javier as he finally settles a knot at the base of his sculpted neck.

“What’s wrong with my tie?” Brows knitted together in question, looking at you then back to his reflection.

“Nothing, it looks good— it’s fine. I just haven’t seen you wear one in, well awhile.” You push off the door frame, maneuvering between Javier and the bathroom counter, your fingers toy with the ends of his tie as you try your best to ease his mind. “It’s just my parents, no need to worry too much. And they love you, with or without a tie.”

“I know, I just—“ He takes in a deep breath, his lungs filling with the calmness you always bring to him, resting his forehead against yours, his hands running the length of your arms. “You’re right. I just get in my head, always thinkin’ they’re gonna find something and decide I’m not enough for you.”

“You’re always enough, Javi— with or without their approval.” Your voice is tentative and soft, dripping in assurance.

His hands find their way under the hem of your skirt, pressing his body ardently into yours. Fingers dancing delicately up your thighs, settling at the curve of your hips. There’s deliberate restraint in his grip on you, wanting nothing more than to haul you onto the counter and slowly pull you apart.

“Javi—“ Breathless and floating. Pulling back just enough to witness the growing want igniting in his eyes. Your hands smooth over the wrinkles in his crisp shirt, securing the knot of his tie firmly at the base of his neck. “Hmm. You should probably get going. You don’t want to keep my parents waiting. But we can always revisit this later.”

“Tell me again why you’re not coming with me to pick them up.” His lips desperately chase after yours.

Javi is your weakness. Giving in to him is an effortless choice. Minutes tick by, floating around the two of you. The kiss meanders through a vast range of intensity. Fluid and velvety, as it edges the border of a sensual climb that you both constantly crave. Realization hitting you first has you halting the flow before things progress past the point of no return.

Javi catches on to your stunted movement. His efforts to subconsciously sway you into calling off your parents so he can stay lost in this moment with you were valiant. He removes his hands from under your skirt, allowing the flowy fabric to fall back into place. Taking a step back, boots clicking on the tiled bathroom floor, his hands resting at his waist, while his labored breathing slowly returns to a comfortable steady rhythm.

“Because— I can’t be in two places at once. I need to get dinner prepped and started, so it’s ready when you get back here with them.” You fix the few of his stray hairs that have fallen out of place. Your fingers tracing down the sides of his handsome face, soothing over the tightness of his clenching jaw.

“We could just order something, then you can just ride with me. Your parents love that little Italian place over on San Dario.” He suggests. Reaching for one of your wrists, your hands are still cradling his face, thumb smoothing over your pulse point as he turns and places a kiss to your palm.

The bathroom fills with your boisterous laugh, your body vibrating as your head falls against his chest.

“What? What’s so funny?” You settle yourself back against the counter, pausing your laughter to wipe the tears from your lashes with the backs of your hands.

“The little Italian place? You mean Olive Garden? Javi, you’re going to be fine, I promise. Listen to some music, enjoy the drive and you’ll be home before you know it.” You grab his arm, twisting his watch face in your direction. “Okay, no more stalling Peña. It’s a two hour drive there, plus the wait— you need to get on the road.”

He releases a heavy sigh into the small space. Palm scrubbing down his face, mentally preparing himself for the long drive and your parents. He watches as you head for the kitchen, stopping at the door and resting your head and hand on the wooden frame as you look back at him.

“You’re enough Javi, always will be.”

The drive is easy enough. 165 miles straight up Interstate 35 will drop him into the heart of San Antonio, according to the directions you wrote out for him on the back of the electric bill envelope. A drive he’s taken many times over his life and has no trouble recalling the exact route as your car travels across the Texas countryside. But he likes— loves —that you care enough to make sure he has every exit and turn written in your pristine all-caps writing, keeping them visible and ready just in case there’s a chance he needs them.

An FM classic rock station and bag of peppered sunflower seeds keep him company most of the 2 and a half hour drive. Yet, even with a string of 80’s ballads crooning through the speakers, Javier still finds little pockets of time to get lost in his thoughts.

Blips of his time in Colombia trickle in from the depths of his mind. A wavering feeling of relief that all of it is behind him meshes with the doubt of whether he did enough or not enough, at the same time.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. Anger and frustration resurfacing. A nagging turmoil bleeds through him slowly. His teeth gnaw anxiously at his bottom lip. He’s eyed several gas stations in the last 2 miles that he knows are fully stocked with enough nicotine to burn out every bit of anxiousness nagging at him.

Somehow, while you’re busy making dinner hundreds of miles away, you manage to save him from spiraling.

He thinks of you often, how can he not, but especially in moments when his thoughts start to get heavy and dark. Your smile pops into his head and instantly soothes away any oppressive feelings.

The overwhelming airport traffic takes over his train of thought. Maneuvering your little blue Volvo in and around parked cars, taxis and shuttles is an easy task. He glances down to the envelope, checking he’s in the right lane. The gate numbers boldly displayed above the terminal doors as he drives in the direction of the one you have written down, Gate 15.

He’s grateful there’s an open space to park along the curb when he arrives. Glancing at his watch, it’s a little after the 1 pm arrival time, which means your parents should be headed to pick up their bags and on the lookout for Javier to pick them up.

Javier contemplates whether he should wait by the car or snake his way through the crowd of airport goers to greet your parents, grabbing any bags or luggage to help them to the car.

It’s a quick decision, your father’s stone expression the main deciding factor. Another once over of the gate and time to double check he’s in the right spot, then he’s locking the car and venturing in the direction of where your parents will be arriving from.

He runs through a series of greetings as he waits.

Hello, it's good to see you both. Feels too informal for in-laws.

Oh, I’ve missed you both so much, here let me take your bags. Way too enthusiastic, especially for him.

Hello Sir, I love your daughter very much. I plan to spend the rest of my days loving her and showing her how much she means to me. Over the top? Your dad already gave him the approval before he married you— maybe just in case.

Hug? Handshake? A wave of Hello?

He takes a deep breath. Pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He’s overthinking it. He knows your dad likes him. Your dad’s never been crass or rude towards him ever. The complete opposite actually. He’s treated Javier like family since the day you introduced them. Welcoming him into their home with a hand shake, then pulling into a warm hug. Pushing away the doubt and the fear of not being enough in your fathers eyes.

Your words washing over him— You’re enough Javi, always will be —he believes you.

“Well, well. If it isn’t Javier Peña, in the flesh!”

An all too familiar voice catches him off guard, pulling him from his thoughts of your parents and greeting scenarios.

“Steve?” Steve Murphy. Standing in front of him, shouldering a worn leather duffle bag and a carryon at his feet. He looks like a day hasn’t passed since they had last seen each other years ago. The wedding?

“Thought we did away with the ties and suits, buddy. Ya heading to some kind of meetin’?” Steve, dressed in a polo shirt and blue jeans, flicks at the navy tie you had bought him a few years back.

“No, I’m picking up my in-laws. They should be here any minute.” He nods in the direction of the baggage claim, then looking down as his hands smooth down the tie in a presentable position.

“Is that the story she went with?” Steve says with a hearty laugh, readjusting his bag strap.

“What do you mean? What story?” There’s a flash of confusion in Javier’s eyes. Head tilting and forehead creased as he tries to make sense of what Steve has said.

“You aren’t pickin’ up your in-laws. You’re pickin’ up me— Surprise!” Steve seems thrilled at how stunned Javier must look at the realization of what is happening. “I’ve got some business to do here in Texas for a bit. Connie mentioned it when they were havin’ their weekly phone call. I had a few free days, so she planned for you to pick me up so we can catch up.”

“She didn’t say anything about you coming.” Javier thinks back over the last few weeks, trying to remember if you had and he just forgot.

“No shit. That’s the whole point of a surprise, Javi. Good to see ya partner.” He throws an arm around Javier’s shoulders, giving his back a few good pats. Steve steps back a bit, his hand resting on Javier’s shoulder. “We gonna just stand here and catch up or can we go get somethin’ to eat. The plane food sucks and I’m fuckin’ starvin’.”

Steve pulls the handle up on his wheeled carryon and begins walking towards the exit. Javier turns on his heels, a bit of relief settling in. Smiling at how you were able to not only pull this off, but had him convinced your parents were coming and let him worry about it for weeks.

“Yeah, the cars parked right outside.” He calls out to Steve, shuffling through the bodies that put a little distance between the two of them.

Javier finds Steve leaning against the trunk of your car, having recognized it was yours from the few times he and Connie havevisited over the years.

“How’s Connie and Olivia? We got the pictures— she’s gotten big since we last saw her.” Javier asks as he pops the truck, grabbing Steve’s bags off the sidewalk, moving things around so they’re secure among the other things you store back there.

“They’re good. Connie wants to plan for us all to come out for a visit sometime. Maybe after the holidays or somethin’, when work slows down. Maybe we can go duck hunting? Like old times.” He says watching Javier over his shoulder play Tetris with his bags and the trunk contents.

“I’m not going fuckin’ duck hunting, you goddamn Hillbilly.” Shutting the trunk and making his way to the driver's seat. Steve, amused with himself follows, suit on the other side of the car.

It takes a few minutes to weave the car through the growing traffic and out of the airport madness.

“You gonna wine and dine me all dressed up like that, Peña?” Steve asks comfortably from the passenger seat.

“Yeah, there’s a little Italian place on the way.” Javier chuckles, looking over to Steve who’s wearing a shit-eating grin. He shakes his head, not realizing how much he missed his old friend.

“Oh! Authentic?” Excitement sparks in Steve’s voice.

“No— Olive Garden.”

“Asshole.”

It’s a few hours later when Javier drops Steve off at his hotel across town. Plans to meet up in the morning for breakfast at the little cafe with the best coffee in town. Javier promises to not show up before 9 am, so Steve can sleep in a few extra hours to shake off the jet lag. Javier pockets his sarcastic comment about how old Steve is getting until tomorrow when they’re deep into their breakfast burritos and a few cups of coffees in.

Things look quiet in the house when he parks your car in the driveway. The night sky now prominent and bold, a stark contrast from the harsh sun when he left earlier in the day. The soft glow coming from the bedroom windows must mean you’ve already begun to settle in for the evening, waiting for Javier’s return home.

Javier immediately rids himself of his stuffy suit jack the moment he’s inside, laying it over the back of the couch, a problem for tomorrow morning while he’s killing time waiting to meet up with Steve. He runs through his usual evening routine as he makes his way into the house. Front doors locked, window curtains closed and keys hung on the little hook by the door. The kitchen is clean and quiet, no sign of any cooking you had been talking about anywhere in sight. He fingers through the stack of mail that must have come while he was out, mostly bills he can deal with at a later time in the week.

The soft brilliance radiating from your bedroom pours out into the hallway, guiding the way for Javier. A beacon of light after a long day of driving. You are his final resting place.

Hands settled into his pockets, he shoulders himself quietly against the door frame. Movements still as he watches you, not wanting to announce his arrival right away. You’re bathed in the glow of the table lamp, propped up by the pillows and wrapped in your favorite robe, bare legs crossed over the plush comforter. It looks like you have made a decent dent in the book you had mentioned wanting to read when you found a chance— he can’t wait to hear you tell him your thoughts on it when you finish it.

“How’d it go, Javi.” You’ve already sensed his presence without a glance in his direction. Turning the page, a devilish smirk slides over your face.

“Funny thing about that, Amor. I got to the airport and I ran into an old friend. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” He asks as he makes his way to the dresser, discarding his watch and wallet into the small tray, where they are kept for the night.

“Hmmm. Would this old friend resemble someone who is actually a dear friend and answers to Steve?” You fold the corner of the current page you’re on. Closing the book and placing it on your nightstand. You watch Javier loosen the knot of his tie with two fingers, freeing the top button that you know irritates him fiercely. “Were you surprised?”

“Very. A little relieved, too.” You shift your legs over allowing him room to sit. His hand wraps around your ankle before you can move them too far out of his reach. His palm is warm against your cool skin.

“Good. It was hard to keep it a secret. I made Connie and Steve promise me they wouldn’t tip you off. And your dad knows you’ll be busy the next few days while Steve is here, I told him about it when he came over for dinner earlier.”

“It was a great surprise. But you didn’t need to keep it a secret. I’m sure Steve would have loved to have you come along, too.” His hand glides softly up and down the length of your leg, finally settling where your robe stops mid-thigh.

“Well, you work too hard, Javi. I think the last time you took an actual vacation was our honeymoon and that was years ago. I think some time alone with your friend was needed, even if it took me doing a little scheming behind the scenes to make it happen.”

He knows you’re right. It has been a while since he had let himself take some time for himself. He likes staying busy. The weekends are reserved mostly for time with you. Weekdays he’s pushing through the tiredness and running on coffee while he helps his Pop as he transitions into taking over operations of the ranch and cattle— Chucho no longer able to do it himself as he gets older.

Maybe he should take more time off like this. Even in the short time from when he picked Steve up at the airport to dropping him off at the hotel, he enjoyed himself more than he thought he would.

“I can hear you debating with yourself on this. You deserve it, Javier. It’s just a few days, let yourself enjoy them completely. The ranch will be waiting for you when you’re done.” You tell him, all sincere and honest. You shift yourself forward next to where Javier is sitting. Your legs folded under you, arms wrapped around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Okay. I’ll enjoy it.” He releases a heavy sigh into the air.

“I have another surprise for you…” Your lips curl inward, trying to hold back your bubbling laugh as you watch Javier’s eyes roll playfully.

“Querida, I don’t think I can handle any more surprises today.” He groans, pulling you over to him so you're now straddling his lap. His forehead rests on your collarbone, your fingernails running lightly over his scalp.

“My parents are coming at the end of the month. They’re staying for a week. My dad said he wants to take you golfing— something about showing you how good his swing is.” You murmur against the top of his head.

“Baby, I don’t know how to golf. I’m going to have to bullshit my way through it, and I don’t know how convincing it will look.” He pouted. He moans at the sensation of your nails scratching at his scalp a little harder.

“Javi, I’m just kidding.”

“Thank god.” Relieved he doesn’t have to bullshit his way through 18 holes and several hours stuck on a golf course.

“Only about the golfing part— they’re still visiting.”

“That’s enough out of you, Amor.” Grabbing your hips, he’s flipping you both so you're lying beneath him on your bed. Your legs wrap around his narrow waist, drawing him down closer to you, his lips finding yours instantly.

“Let me get these clothes off real quick.” He stands to his full height, beginning to work at the knot of his tie.

“Leave the tie.” You purr as your foot rises up to his chest and presses against his hands, halting his movements. You pull at the belt of your robe, revealing your naked self to him, barely catching the way his breath hitches at the sight of you bared to him. “I get casual Javi every night, seeing you in this tie today was a fun change. I think I want Agent Peña tonight though.”

He’s on you in an instant. Hands roaming over your body, soft and riddled with goosebumps. Hips settling firmly against yours, an experimental thrust has you gasping and tingling with anticipation. The lightest nips to your jaw. His breath is hot across your face as he finds your lips again. Deepening the kiss in a desperate manner. Your whimpers and the way you chant his name like your favorite song nearly takes him out. His grip on your thigh is delicate but demanding in the most intimate way. Your back arching into his touch, craving more. You always crave more.

“Baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.” He whispers into the kiss. And he will give you everything.

#javier peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x female reader #saturdays with javier #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes #pedrostories

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