Had A Dream I Was Gaming So Hard During A Run Of Deltarune That I Somehow Unlocked All The Unreleased

It's Always Been You

Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Summary: Jealous? Jealous? No, absolutely not. (Or the one where Miguel can't admit he's jealous)

Word Count: 5.8k+

Warnings: Failed attempt at plot. Language. Bad attempt at writing British slang. A lil' Angst. A lil' fluff. Smut. Nipple play, oral (m receiving), p in v. Not beta read.

I feel this is kinda corny. Ya'll let me know.

Minors DNI.

...

Twenty minutes.

It's been twenty minutes since you've gotten wrapped up in a conversation with…that guy. A Spider-Man from a universe perpetually stuck in the era of 1950s greasers. His slicked-back pompadour hairstyle gleamed in the fluorescent lighting of the cafeteria, an unlit cigarette hanging stupidly from his mouth (no smoking allowed on the premises, of course). It shifted this way and that, dancing along with the movement of his lips as he talked and talked and fucking talked. 

And what were you even laughing at? 

Your head was thrown back, exposing your delicate neck, a delicious strip of glowing skin not hidden away by your fitted suit (it should be illegal, really, you wearing that all the time). He wanted to tear it off you—wondered what your skin tasted like, what it’d feel like to sink his teeth into you—make you gasp and cry for him, begging for his touch.

You'd probably sound so pretty begging.

Miguel grunted, shaking his head as if to physically rid himself of his thoughts. They came all too frequently recently.

He watched the exchange, arms crossed over his broad chest as he gnawed at his bottom lip, leaning his large body against a white column in the distance.

"What’s with the face?" Hobie appeared above him, hanging by a web with baby Mayday glued to his back like a spider monkey. The redheaded baby cried in glee, crawling out of her carrier and quickly falling into Miguel's waiting arms. 

“What do you want?” Miguel snapped as he held the squirming baby in his large hands, finally getting her to calm down when he set her comfortably on his shoulder. She settled down, leaning her tiny head against Miguel's.

"Oi," Hobie tutted, landing on his boot-covered feet, "what's got your knickers in a bunch, aye, bossman?" He followed Miguel's line of vision, the two of them now observing your interaction with Spider-Grease (a stupid fucking name as far as Miguel was concerned).

"It's the new bloke that s'got you livid, innit?" Hobie chuckled, watching Miguel's thick brows progressively furrow in irritation, "Plays mean guitar, that one. What’d he do to you?"

"Nothing."

"It's never nothin’ with you, man," Hobbie snatched Mayday back, placing her snuggly in her carrier backpack and slinging her over his shoulder, "bet s’got somethin’ to do with her.” He jerked his head in your direction. 

Miguel grunted, his eyes shifting to glare at Hobie. His intimidation tactic, while usually very effective on others, did nothing but amuse Hobie. He knew he struck a nerve. Talking about you always did.

“Ahh, bingo.”

“What do you want?” Miguel snapped.

“Right,” Hobie dug in his pocket, delighting Mayday with a sweet treat, “Babysittin’ the little one for Peter. Taking the rest of the day off, yeah?” 

“Lárgate.” Miguel waved him off.

“Thanks, bossman.” He was gone almost instantly, swinging away with baby Mayday’s snorting laughter echoing down the hall.

When Miguel's eyes fell back on you, his jaw clenched hard enough to shatter bone. The greaser’s hand was on you, fingers curling around your shoulder. Miguel could read you well enough by now. You didn’t really like it, but you smiled politely, eyebrows tense and nose wrinkled just a bit. You could handle yourself, he knew—he’d seen you take down opponents three times your size (with his help)—but it was a face you’ve rarely made since he’s known you. 

He didn't like it.

It was enough to send Miguel charging in your direction in a heartbeat, towering over where you both were seated. 

“Miguel!” You looked up at him with a grin, and he swore your pretty eyes lit up at the sight of him. 

“How you doin’, Mr. O’Hara?” the greaser smiled, hand falling from your shoulder immediately. Miguel regarded him carefully, eyeing him from head to toe. He couldn’t even remember how this guy got into the Spider Society (he blamed Jessica). He couldn’t even remember his fucking real name. Kevin? Keith? 

“Kenneth Conner, if ya don’t remember, sir.”

Right. Kenneth. 

Miguel remained quiet, eyes narrowing before turning his attention toward you. 

“I need you in the office. Now.” He grunted, walking away before getting a response. He heard you apologize profusely for his atrocious behavior before scurrying to catch up with him.

“You’re rude.” You said when you caught up to him, legs struggling to keep up with Miguel’s much longer strides. He was half expecting you to have that grouchy look on your face—the one you’d make when he added more work to your already large pile of responsibilities. It was cute. But when Miguel looked you over to gauge your reaction, you were hiding a smile behind your fingertips.

Insufferably cute, Lord help him.

“Whaddaya need from me?” You asked, watching him settle on the platform, already getting straight to work. The yellow holographic screens buzzed to life, illuminating his tanned skin as he swiped through them, almost on autopilot.

“Nothing,” he said, his back facing you. 

"Hm, that's strange considering you like to work me overtime, O'Hara." He wasn't looking at you but he knew you'd have your hands on your hips.

"Looked like you needed some help," Miguel muttered, absentmindedly switching between holo screens, viewing them but not really focusing on the information presented to him.

"Needed help from who? Ken?" You laughed—a pretty sound that only amplified his irritation. 

Ken? You were on a nickname basis now? 

"Do you like him or somethin'?" Miguel asked with a scowl as he looked over his shoulder, his red eyes bleeding into yours. You did indeed have your hands on your hips as he assumed, sporting a humorless twist of your lips.

"Pfft, why? You jealous or somethin'?" You mimicked him with a snort. His hands turned to fists at his sides, claws digging into his palms. 

Jealous? Jealous? No, absolutely not. 

"Shut up," he barked, turning away from the system before hopping off the platform, suddenly needing to be anywhere else but there, "Go report to Sector 8." Your jaw dropped, and he almost smiled cruelly at how comedic it was, but he had a reputation to uphold, so he schooled his features, putting on a stoic face.

"What for?" You demanded.

"I like to work you overtime, remember?" Miguel said, breezing past you.

"Mig," you whined, and he nearly stopped in his tracks at the sultry tone of your voice, "I was just about to go home!"

"Not anymore," he called over his shoulder with a sneer, "ask Lyla for the details. Get to work, Chiquita.” 

...

You were bare-skinned and glowing, waiting for him in the safety of his soft sheets.

You looked so small propped up on his pillows—just a pretty little speck in an ocean of dark satin.

Whining. You were always whining for him— impatient—your obscene noises making his blood sing and his cock throb with need. But he denied you, patiently watching from a distance. He smiled, fangs out as you begged, and pleaded for him.

"Touch yourself." He demanded. 

And you did, immediately swirling the pads of your fingers over your swollen clit before impatiently stuffing them into your glistening cunt. In and out they went, coating them in your slick till your pussy gleamed in the moonlight, ready for his thick cock to slide right in.

And that's when Miguel would be on the prowl, approaching slowly like a beast on the hunt, salivating, ready to dive right in.

He loomed over you, taking in the sight of your flushed face, your swollen lips, and your glossy eyes filled with unshed tears. Your legs were spread wide for him, bent at the knees to accommodate him. He lowered his hips, cock perfectly aligned with your opening, slowly pushing his fat head in to split you in half and—

Miguel gasped in the quietness of his bedroom, eyes shooting open, gazing straight into pitch darkness. He was cocooned in his sweaty sheets, chest heaving and cock standing at attention. He groaned, turning to look at the holographic clock on his bedside table. The digital image blinded him for a few moments before he focused on the yellow numbers:

4:00 AM.

He huffed, hands running down the length of his sweaty face in frustration. As if his waking life wasn't bad enough, he couldn't even catch a break in his dreams.

They came just as frequently as the daydreams, usually with the same conclusion: Miguel balls deep in your slippery heat, his hips slapping against your ass—fangs sinking into your pretty neck while you withered under him, scratching angry red lines down his back.

Some nights he'd wake up with his cum soaked into the sheets, a large wet spot blooming where his cock once tented the fabric. On other nights he had to finish himself off before he could even think about going back to sleep.

That night had been no different.

He spits in his hand and palmed himself, tugging and tugging on his cock, hair a mess and head buried in his pillow, till he came. It was hot and moist, his cum leaking through the cracks of his fingers, dripping over his abdomen.

It was messy and it was quick, but he'd do it again and again for as long as you were on his mind. 

And lately, you were always on his mind. 

...

"A date?"

Miguel scrutinized your profile with narrowed red eyes, processing the information like one of his high-tech computers. He blinked slowly, flaring his nose. He felt his skin rise in temperature, his blood steadily reaching a boiling point.

"Mhm," you confirmed, popping a small green grape into your mouth, "he asked me yesterday. Wants to go out tomorrow." Your legs swung back and forth against the ledge of the rooftop of HQ, cradling a white ceramic bowl in your lap filled with the sweet fruit.

"And you're….entertaining it?" Miguel snorted with a shake of his head, keeping his eyes trained on the city below. Cars whizzed by late into the night, lights beaming into the dark sky to the point where not a single star was visible. 

"Why not?" You shrugged, offering him the bowl. He grunted, declining it with a push of his hand, ignoring your frown. Grapes were his favorite but he’d lost his appetite suddenly. "He seems harmless, no?" 

Miguel shrugged in return, "It interferes with protocol."

"Oh please," you sucked your teeth, "didn't you go out with one of the spider-women? Jenna?"

"Eso no cuenta. It was brief." 

"What? Of course, it counts! You dated her for like four months!"

"You kept track?" He shot back, effectively silencing you, your lips forming a tight line.

"That's beside the point." You pouted.

"Like I said," Miguel waved his hand about, dismissing the comment, "brief." 

“I dunno, she seemed really into you.”

“Hm.”

It was a waste of time really. Jenna was nice enough, a smart girl—decent in bed. She knew his coffee order and was almost as serious in her demeanor as he was. But there was one little issue. She wasn’t you. 

She didn't have your smile or your stupid humor. She didn't do that cute little thing you do when you poke your tongue out in thought. She didn't stay up late with him at HQ as you did, needlessly pouring over work just so he wouldn't feel alone. 

When he fucked her all he’d see was your face, imagining what it’d be like having you under him, how your features would twist in the throes of pleasure, back arched, and tight pussy soaking his cock. He’d be drunk on the thought, cumming inside someone who couldn’t give him what he truly wanted. Just a body in his bed. 

His standards were all fucked because of you. You with your pretty eyes and blinding smile. And what did he ever do about it? Nothing. He did nothing but watch you slip farther from his grasp. 

“Well, anyway,” you interrupted his thoughts, popping another grape in your mouth, “What could go wrong? He seems nice enough.”

What could go wrong? What could go wrong? Miguel could think of various ways it could go wrong. He hadn’t even had the time to do a proper background check on the guy (lies—Lyla did an initial background check when Jessica first brought him in, but still, Miguel preferred to do it himself this time around). He didn’t trust him, and he sure as hell didn’t trust him being around you.

"He's a fucking dork." Miguel reasoned stupidly. 

You let out the tiniest huff of amusement. "And you're not?" 

"His mind is literally stuck in the 1950s." 

"Not all of us were lucky enough to be born in the future, Mig," You threw a grape at him, giggling when it bounced off his forehead, "besides, aren't men from the 1950s supposed to be more…chivalrous?" Miguel was unimpressed.

"So you want him to open doors for you? Is that it? Because they open automatically now."

"That's not what I meant!" You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly.

“What do you even see in him?” He challenged, watching you ponder for a moment, biting your lip in hesitation.

“I dunno. Something to fill the loneliness, I guess.” You mumbled, fiddling with the bowl in your lap. Miguel whipped his head to regard your somber features, an ache blooming in his chest at your words. The wind picked up and played with your hair, and he had half a mind of tucking a piece of it behind your ear. He shifted his hand quicker than he could process but stopped himself short, deciding to place it over your kneecap to give it a squeeze as if to say I'm here, I'm here, I'm always here.

“It comes with the job, Chiquita,” he said instead, voice soft, “You know this.” 

“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” you countered, “we deserve to be happy.” 

Miguel didn't believe that, not really, anyway. He made a noise of acknowledgment, letting his thumb brush over your knee a final time before removing his hand altogether.

“And you think you’ll be happy with that guy?” He finally asked. 

You shook your head, “I didn’t say that. Just something to…pass the time."

Miguel ran a hand through his hair, “So then why are you even trying? Don’t you see that he’s not—” Good enough. He stopped suddenly, a growl brewing in his throat. Kenneth Conner was definitely not good enough. 

But maybe Miguel O'Hara wasn't either.

He remained eerily quiet, his claws digging into the concrete of the roof ledge, the tips strong enough to penetrate. If you noticed, you didn't mention it, your wide eyes pinned to his face in search of answers he wouldn't give you.

"He's not what, Mig?" You questioned softly, bumping your shoulder against his thick arm.

“Nada. Olvidalo.” He grunted when the silence stretched longer than necessary, the sounds of the street occupying the emptiness between them. “Have fun.” Miguel stood, feet planted firmly on the thin ledge. He walked a few paces along it, testing his balance.

“Wait,” you grabbed his calloused hand, your fingers cold against his boiling skin, “you okay?” Your eyes reflected the colors of the scene in front of them, your face shadowed in purples and yellows from the digital billboards as you seemed to plead with him for something he wasn’t entirely sure of. 

“M’fine.” He said curtly, snatching his hand from your grip. He hopped back down, landing on the rooftop ground gracefully, “I’ll see you later, Chiquita.”

“You’re a bad liar, Miguel O’Hara!” You called after him, following his form as he reached the emergency exit. You turned back to face the city, head dipping low and shoulders sagging in defeat when you thought he wasn’t looking.

He was. And his heart ached.

...

"You've been making that face all day," Lyla commented, hovering over Miguel's shoulder as he leaned back against his swivel chair. 

"Why is everyone always commenting on my face?" He muttered, "Can't help the way I look."

"Nope," Lyla shook her little digital head, "according to my data on human emotions, I calculate that you're feeling melancholic. Am I correct?"

"Melancholic is a bit of a dramatic word." Miguel rubbed his tired eyes, plopping his chin on his hand. Annoyed maybe. Lonely maybe. But not melancholic. That would imply he'd given the date you were currently on too much thought, proving your joking claim earlier that week that he was jealous, which he was not—

"Miguel," Lyla danced around his head before settling in front of him like a little forest sprite, hand on her hips and face bent toward him, "Get up, you're done for the day."

"What are you talking about, I still—"

"Go home. All of this will still be here in the morning." She insisted, shutting down the holographic computers one by one.

"Look, I make the rules here." Miguel pointed a threatening finger at his AI as if that would compel her to stop. 

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm telling you that nothing serious is happening right now. The multiverse can wait a few hours while you sleep. You weren't working on much anyway. Go on, shoo." 

Miguel regretted the day he programmed Lyla to control most aspects of HQ, including electrical circuits. The large ceiling lights turned off one at a time, shrouding him in darkness save for Lyla's bright yellow glow.

"Fine." He sighed heavily, making one final attempt to snatch Lyla as if she even had a physical form.

“Goodnight, Miguel.” Lyla grinned before vanishing.

Miguel had no intention of leaving HQ. He had too much pent-up frustration, and too many circulating thoughts in his mind. What good was going home when the stillness and isolation of the rooftop were calling his name?

He took the easy route, ignoring the emergency stairs in favor of scaling the sides of the building till he reached the very top of it. The view was always breathtaking, the bright colors of the city at night stealing his attention. But not this time. Within seconds of reaching the top, he immediately sensed your presence across the rooftop, your figure sitting at the usual spot on the ledge. 

"Chiquita?” He called out, and you turned to look over your shoulder at him. 

Miguel paused, his heart progressively picking up speed. You looked so stunning it was almost like a slap to the face.

He raked his eyes over you, taking in every little detail he could. Your eyes were rimmed in black, lashes darkened, cheeks rouged and lips plumped with color. Your shoulders were exposed, the rest of you covered in a vibrant red dress, fitted to the contours of your body.

Stunning wouldn’t even begin to describe you.

Miguel swallowed thickly, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he stood beside you, choosing to stay below the ledge.

“I was wondering when you'd get here,” you sniffled, letting your nude heels click against one of the metal railings. Upon closer inspection, he noticed your wet eyes, pink nose, and mascara bits dotting under your eyes. 

You've been crying.

Miguel's chest tightened, jaw tensing. His eyes glowed blood red in the moonlight.

"What happened?" He demanded, "Where is he? Did he do something to you?" He began pacing the rooftop, muttering to himself, "I'll kill him, I swear I'll kill him—"

"Miguel—"

"Where is he?" He repeated slowly, nose flared and fangs bared for you to see. You paused, your eyes wide as you watched him transform. You rarely saw him that way, the claws and fangs coming out whenever he was truly in a rage, usually when dealing with troublemakers and anomalies.

"Back home, probably." You quietly answered.

Miguel knew exactly where home was. Earth 5068. He could get there easily, just a few taps of his watch could open a portal and he'd be there in no time. He'd find him, beat his fucking ass—

"Mig, please," you pleaded, watching him pace a hole into the ground, "It's fine, I'm fine."

"No, you're not. This guy made you fucking cry and I'm supposed to be okay with that?" Miguel's suit rippled in the darkness, the blues, and reds glowing over his toned body as if in tune with his chaotic emotions.

"Ugh, just drop it please," you whined, rubbing at your nose, "s'not a big deal."

Miguel stopped his pacing, stomping over with a grunt. Without hesitation he pinched your chin between his large fingers in a tight hold, forcing you to look at him. You sitting on the ledge allowed him to have direct eye contact with you, the railing giving you a boost. You tried to hide away, embarrassed. He was having none of that.

"Chiquita," He tried again, his tone shifting significantly as he searched your face, mapping out every detail he could, "tell me what happened. Please." You closed your eyes, your tongue darting out to lick your lips.

"You were right," you took a breath and paused, waiting for a snarky remark but when none came you continued, "his mind is literally stuck in the 1950s, Mig. Said spider-women aren't normal, that we need to stay at home and leave it to the…men." You scoffed, and Miguel could almost feel your skin burn with rage at the sheer lunacy of the retelling. "Said I'm too pretty to be in the streets saving anyone." Miguel remained quiet, letting you simmer out your emotions. He so desperately wanted to cradle your face in his hand— to brush his thumb over your cheekbone and swipe off the tacky streak of tears. His words were useless now more than ever.

"He's a fucking asshole," you continued, ripping yourself away from his hold just to pinch the bridge of your nose—a habit you definitely picked up from Miguel.

"I could've told you that," he grunted, crossing his arms. Not the best thing to offer. You turned to glare viciously at him, something akin to a spicy kitten.

"Shut up," you hissed, "you're an asshole, too," you pushed him out of the way with a hand to his chest, shifting your body to hop off the ledge. He watched you pace this time, your pencil heels clicking against the ground so loudly he thought you'd crack the cement in your fury. “Had some things to say about you, too, ya know.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“He doesn’t like you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” 

“Said you’re a giant control freak with a big mouth and an annoying voice."

Miguel pursed his lips before grunting. "That...might have some validity—"

"—So I punched him." You interjected. Miguel blinked, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“...You punched him?” It came out more like a statement rather than a question. You stopped your anxious pacing and nodded, awkwardly standing there, unable to look at him.

“Broke his nose," you were fuming, absentmindedly rubbing your sore knuckles. Miguel’s keen eyes briefly caught a glimpse of the bruise forming over your skin, swirls of purple and blue indicating it was a hell of a punch. Pride bloomed within him, his skin prickling with arousal at the thought of you socking Spider-Grease in the face.

"No one gets to talk shit about you but me.” You mumbled with a certain possessiveness in your inflection, eyes downcast, your exposed pedicured toes robbing him of your full attention. You were pensive, fingers twitching at your sides.

“Oh yeah?” Miguel couldn't help the grin tugging on his lips, taking a tentative step forward as if worried he’d frighten you away. You looked at him, sizing him up with a twitch of your brow before stomping over, the little thing you were.

"You're an idiot, y’know that?" You jammed your finger into his hard chest with every word, a cute pout forming over your lips without you even realizing it. "A stupid fuckin' idiot!" Miguel stopped you before you could stab him with your finger again (why was that painful?), holding your wrist in a loose grip in complete panic, watching how your face fell apart, fresh tears ready to pour from your troubled eyes. “Y-you think I really wanted to go on that date?”

"Hey—hey, what are you talking about?"

You struggled in his grip, successfully yanking your wrist away to drag your fingers under your eyes in a pathetic way of salvaging your makeup. You sighed, shoulders caving in and hands covering your face before you took a pitiful breath. 

"For a genius...you’re pretty stupid." You eventually said, your eyes fluttering when Miguel finally took your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him while his thumbs wiped at the tears spilling over your cheeks. 

“Chiquita…”

“Miguel,” you began, holding on to each of his wrists, “I’ve always wanted you. It’s always been you.” Taken aback by your confession, he shifted a hand from your face to the nape of your neck, his fingertips gliding over your pulse point.

“So you were trying to get me jealous?” Miguel murmured, slowly backing you up until your back hit the ledge, his hands snaking down to grip your hips.

“Mhm,” you breathed, gasping when he lifted you up with ease, setting you on the ledge carefully so that you were eye to eye with him once again. He pushed your knees apart, situating himself between them snuggly. His face hovered so close to yours that he could feel your breath come out in small puffs over his skin, “did it work?” 

“Yeah,” he admitted, his large hands stabilizing you, caging you in, “yeah, it fuckin' did.” He let his lips skim over yours, teasing you a bit before pressing forward to kiss you gently. It was better than he could’ve ever imagined. Your lips were soft and malleable, pushing against his eagerly—wantonly, even. You tasted like peaches, the fruity lip balm you wore overwhelming his senses. Your hands moved up his toned chest before wrapping around his shoulders as he pressed his lips harder against yours, desperate to devour you whole. 

You moaned when he nipped your bottom lip, your fingers tangling through the dark waves of his hair, scratching his scalp. A groan rumbled in his chest, brewing as you continued, lightly tugging at the strands. Your hands felt like fire over his suit, as if hot enough to sear through to his skin. Miguel held you close, your chest flushed against his as he littered you with kisses.

“It’s always been you, too.” He professed quietly into your hair, mumbling as he smoothed down the unruly strands tossed around by the wind. 

“Hm?” You breathed, your nose pressed into his neck, inhaling deeply to secure his scent.

“I said,” he pulled back, tipping your head up by the chin, “It’s always been you, Chiquita.” 

...

He could’ve taken you on the rooftop of HQ. Would’ve. 

You had begged him for it, demanded it of him, even. But he didn’t. He took you home, his home, pressing you into his dark satin sheets like he’d always wanted.

You were pliable, like putty in his hands. 

Miguel wasted no time, seating you on the edge of his bed and getting on his knees in front of you. 

He pulled down the neckline of your red dress, pulling it off completely with your help. Your skin prickled immediately, nipples hardening like tiny pebbles once exposed to the chill air of his bedroom. His mouth watered, dipping his head to mouth at your breasts. You moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair as he nipped and sucked on each pert nipple, lapping at them and covering the sensitive flesh with his warm spit.

“I can suck on these all day,” he muttered over your flesh, “would you let me, Chiquita?” You squealed and sighed under his touch, his lips curling over a bud again to give it a noisy suck.

“Damn, Miguel,” you whispered, head thrown back as he continued to worship your nipples, sucking and tugging on each one till you were a withering mess in his hands, “fuuuuck, that feels amazing.” You held his head to your chest, letting him slurp over each bud, tugging them gently with his teeth.

You pulled his head away by his hair, surging forward to give him a sloppy kiss. His bare chest rubbed against your erect nipples, making you gasp into his mouth.

“Lemme taste you,” you begged over his lips, your hands smoothing over his shoulders and down his toned arms, “please, wanna taste you so bad.” 

“Fuck,” Miguel grunted, nodding his head, “yeah, you wanna taste? Go ahead, it’s yours.” There was a gleam in your eyes, a grin stretching over your swollen lips. You grabbed hold of his cock as soon as you both switched positions. You stared at it for a bit, intimidated. It made Miguel flush with arousal—the thought of you worried from the mere size of him. The large tip was wet, precome already beading at the slit, slowly leaving a sticky trail down the length. 

“Chiquita,” he said, bringing you out of whatever daze you had fallen into, “you gonna have a taste?” His cock twitched in your hand and with a determination he’d never seen before, you nodded wordlessly, slowly taking him in your mouth.

Miguel choked, gripping his sheets in a tight fist, the other fighting the urge to weave his fingers into your hair. 

You took as much as you could, letting your spit coat his length before swirling your tongue over the tip and giving it a nice, long suck. His head lolled to the side, his heavy eyes watching you work over him, jerking the part where your mouth couldn’t quite reach. You had tears in your eyes, the tip jamming against the back of your throat making you gag. It was too much. You pulled away with a pop, coughing, and sputtering over the tip.

“Spit on it,” he growled, and you obeyed, letting saliva pool in your mouth before draping it over his extremely hard length. You both watched it run along the shaft, allowing it to soak him completely before you jerked his cock with both hands. “Goodamn,” he groaned, tossing his head back. You grinned, your watery eyes watching how he fought to control himself.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop—” he panted, slapping your hands away as you giggled, lifting you up from under your arms, forcing you over his lap. “Almost made me cum with your hands.” He pressed his brow on yours, holding you close as he fought to catch his breath. 

“You okay?” you whispered, pushing back his sweaty hair, jutting your hips slightly to let his cock glide over slippery folds. You gasped, biting your lip at how hot his length was against your sensitive core. Miguel nodded, capturing your lips in a messy kiss while gripping your hips.

“Ride me.” He grunted, fingers digging into your skin so hard he knew he’d leave marks. Sweat began to build on his hairline, and it only increased when you mewled, lifting yourself to notch his tip at your entrance. You paused, hips in the air, brow still pressed against his, and dick notched in your cunt.

“Miguel,” your voice wavered, your hands gripping his shoulder in a death grip. You pleaded with your eyes when you looked at him, the silent worry etched all over your face. 

“Go, slow,” He cooed, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “Despasito más rico, hm?” You huffed out a tiny laugh, taking in a breath before slowly sinking onto his cock.

You were fucking tight. Unbelievably so. 

“Fucking shit,” Miguel hissed, feeling your walls flutter over his cock as you fought to take him in. You were whining—too big, you’re too fuckin’ big, Miguel—your pussy stretching to its limit. 

“Mmm,” you mewled, sliding down inch by agonizing inch, the heat of your cunt making his cock impossibly harder, “shit.”

You both whined and moaned until you were fully seated, filled to the brim. When you began to slowly bounce on his cock, he snapped his eyes shut immediately, absolute filth flying out of his mouth.

So fuckin’ tight, preciosa—you’re swallowing my cock so good—knew you could do it—goddamn—

He didn’t know what the fuck he was saying. All he knew was that he never wanted you to stop. You covered his cock in your creamy essence, every bounce making an obscene wet noise in the quietness of his bedroom, your juices flowing like a river over his thighs and down to his sheets.

Miguel fell back against the bed, his hands helping you lift off and slam back down.

“Ohhh f-” you whimpered, your pussy getting wetter by the minute. Your breasts bounced, giving him a show as he looked up at you working over him, mesmerized, your faces of pleasure completely etched into his mind.  

“That’s it, Chiquita, doin’ so good for me,” he panted, letting a large hand wander up your sweat-slicked torso, fondling each breast, pinching the nipples. Your mouth parted to release a broken sob. He knew he was hitting deep—so deep in fact that he had you coming thirty seconds later with tears running down your face and eyes screwed shut as your body shook from the pleasure. You clamped down on him, pussy squeezing so tight that it triggered his own orgasm, thrusting as deep as he could while he filled you with cum. 

But that wasn’t the end of it.

He pulled orgasm after orgasm from you, sob after sob, plead after plead.

He had you under him, hips slamming against yours unforgivingly. He had you from behind (he couldn’t wait to spread your ass to watch his cock disappear into your swollen hole). He had you on the floor, your body cushioned by his fluffy carpet.

“I-I’ve wanted this for so long,” Miguel panted over you, your legs draped over his shoulders, folding you in half to rip the sweetest sounds from you, “wanted you for so long—Jesus—you're so wet.” He pulled out his cock, holding it at the base in a fist and slapping it over your puffy cunt. You moaned, stretched under him, sobbing when he put his cock back inside.

“I cant, s’too much,” you whined, holding on to him firmly by the arms. You were painted in his cum, skin covered with his spend, your juices, and spit, a concoction that drove him to the edge over and over and over.

“Yes, you can, baby.” He leaned down to kiss your shoulder and up to your neck before carefully sinking his teeth, just enough to break skin. And that was enough. Your eyes rolled back and your back arched off his mattress as you cried out your pleasure.

He loved seeing you that way, loved how your face twisted and your body withered under his ministrations. It was better than those fucking dreams—better than anything he could have ever conjured up.

When he came for the fifth time that night, he held your limp body close, emptying himself into you, making sure that you took every last drop of him.

And after he cleaned you up and settled with you in his soil sheets, he held you close, your eyes fluttering and your lips quirking into a smile when he whispered in your ear: I'm still gonna kill him.

Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 2

pairings: Capitano, Kaveh, Tighnari, Zhongli x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort; hybrids, unwelcomed courting, kind of female objectification (all in Tighnari's part)

word count: 6.9k+ words

a/n: part 1 can be read here!

Capitano

Fast elegant fingers of a pianist run across the keys of black and white and the violins in the hands of other musicians are there to serve together with the chorus of beautiful voices, selected by Lady Columbina personally. The music infiltrates the souls of the nobles present, filling them with the sense of grandeur and glory, touching even their harsh unfeeling hearts.

The atmosphere of the gathering is gratifying, would’ve even been endearing if not for the stately figures of the Harbingers standing on both sides of the throne, where the Tsaritsa would've been seated had she not decided to refrain from attending it altogether. She has more important matters to take care of, and nine of her most loyal servants can definitely fill in her place on that yearly event.

Sure, this year it is more important since the two Harbingers are missing and the seats stay vacant - it's been the talk of the nation. Who is going to be nominated? Can it be influenced? Will they claim the names today?

Is the mysterious Commander, whose arrival became the topic of multiple speculations, be the one? A fierce warrior many heard of, but almost none saw face to face. The man was believed to be as powerful as the 11th Harbinger or maybe even the 10th! Having an army and an establishment of his own on the farthest line of the Snezhnayan border, he still is under the command of Lord Capitano, which makes it even harder to fish any more information than what is already known to the public.

"I only heard about him. He and his troops are protecting our borders from the monster's invasion in the North."

"Ew, who would've wanted to live in the North! It's much harsher than all the Snezhnaya."

"Shush, the Commander is wealthy and respectful, you can bear some cold."

"What do you imply?"

"The Commander is unmarried, there is no way he isn't, not with a life like this. But it can always be changed, and the woman he takes as wife would be one of the luckiest ones!"

"You are right… Maybe he is actually handsome. Maybe he'd be even willing to buy a whole mansion for his promised one and not take her with him to that awful place. Maybe…"

Maybe, maybe, maybe. It travels through the crowds like a storm in its wake, eventually reaching the Harbingers, who, for the first time after appearing and greeting the already arrived, stop resembling the statues. Eyes shift among the people and each other; some gazes hold interest, some - annoyance. Only Pantalone has an ever present smile on his face, fingers clasped in front of him and sapphire rings sparkle in the ballroom light.

"Looks like Capitano's estimated soldier caught everyone's attention. My, my, how curious and nosy the people can be…"

"I understand the curiosity though," admits Childe, arms crossed to prevent laying even a finger on his blade, that is resting on his hip. "This person sounds like an interesting specimen… I've heard of his talents in both strategy and tactics, and it seems like his strength is a legend. I'd love to spar with him."

"Oh you, thinking only about fights, young man," Pulcinella disapprovingly shakes his head and raises his cane to point in the gingerhead's direction. "I highly doubt our guest will have time to spare, considering the period of time concerning the stay that was mentioned in the letter we received."

"And I believe the majority of that time would be spent with Il Capitano, isn't it right?" Columbina's soft voice must be drowning in the music, but everyone hears her loud and clear.

"..." The Harbinger stays silent and nothing can be read from his body language since he is the only one remaining still in his place, his huge looming figure resembling one of the full-set armor nobles like putting in their halls as a part of interior. Except this one isn't empty.

"So much potential to become my test subject, to be perfected... Yet lost to the lands of Northern regions," Dottore huffs in disappointment, his sharp teeth peaking when he clicks his tongue. "Say, Pierro, can't things be rearranged? I'd happily have our dear border protector as my underling."

The silence between the nine suddenly becomes thick. There is something indescribably tense in the air and only Childe can't understand why some of his colleagues seem to be more interested in how the Captain would react and not the 1st of the Harbingers..

"You know why this can't be rearranged, Dottore," the stare of an icy blue eye would pin everyone to the ground, destroying their will and order to obey, though doing little to scare the Doctor. "And it was favored by the Tsaritsa herself."

The finality of the short statement makes the scientist back down from the proposition he's been bringing up every time the topic touches the Commander, yet ending up the same way as always - with an ultimate rejection.

Three heavy thuds make everyone in the room fall silent. Many heads turn to look at the ceremonial staff hitting the floor the last time and staying still in the hand of a tall, thoroughly dressed man.

"The protector of the Northern border, the glorified and esteemed warrior of Her Majesty Tsaritsa, The Commander has arrived," the master's of ceremonies voice carries like a thunderclap, cutting off the quite leisurely music the orchestra was playing for the dances and entertainment.

The rustle of note sheets is fleeting and not a moment later the musicians straighten in their seats, taking a deep breath. Trumpets boom in a spacious room and make nobles shiver in surprise, some especially susceptible women even lean on their partners for support. The choir and the violins join the triumphant song the brass instruments sing, signaling that the time has come.

Everyone holds their breath as the tall heavy doors leading to the ballroom are being pulled open. Everyone has their gaze glued to a slowly growing gap. Everyone keeps their eyes wide open, afraid that even one blink can cost them missing the legendary sight.

Everyone gasps.

The tall figure enters, posture straight and shoulders squared, confidence evident in every step. Black satin clothes are adorned with golden chains and intricate patterns. The white military coat stayed resting on the shoulders - showing off the position, the closeness to the Harbingers. And then there is the face - a scar crossing the left brow, calm bored eyes, not sparing anyone a glance, which do not fit the other female features of your face.

Yes, the Commander happens to be a woman.

Stopping by the steps leading to the throne, you bow - not kneel, bow, - holding your open palm by the heart and respectfully closing your eyes. Music stops.

“Greetings, my lords. Let Tsaritsa bless you and your mission.”

“Let Tsaritsa bless you and your service to her,” Pierro says, raising his hand. “Lift your head,” which you do, looking him right in the eyes, yet still holding your hand by the chest. “There is time for duties and there is time for entertainment. And tonight, given your rare visits to the capital, I suggest you enjoy the latter.”

“Much obliged, Lord Pierro.”

And with a wave of the older man’s hand, the orchestra starts a new composition, waking up the ones who were in a daze, reminding others they are here for drama.

And the first one to take action is the 11th Harbinger.

“Commander, Sir- I mean, Lady?” The gingerhead is the closest to you out of all his colleagues, having only to descend a few steps to be on your level. “I’ve heard a lot about you, many admirable things. How do you look at sparring?”

“Right in the middle of a ballroom? Quite positively, young man,” your lips twist in a half-smirk, baring a sharp pearly canine. “But I believe the nobles have already had enough shock to take and rumors to create. Maybe another time. Haven’t seen you before though. Are you new?”

“Tartaglia, the Eleventh Harbinger, Lady Commander.”

“Ma’am would be enough,” you click your tongue, glancing behind and noticing how slowly, but surely some of the aristocrats are inching towards you, clearly interested in conversation, Well, you are not. “On second thought, starting a duel right now and here doesn’t sound like a bad idea…”

“I’ve always known you are quite insane,” Arlechino butts her way in the conversation, giving you only a small nod as a greeting. You simply glance at her.

“For years I’ve been hearing of my insanity, think of something new,”

“How about, ‘the one who knows no limits’?” Pantalone’s smile is as dazzling as it’s fake and sometimes your hands are itching to strangle the man. Maybe even go all the way out and bite his head off. Literally.

“The only ones who know no limits are the wind and the stupidity. I’m neither. Who I am though,” your gaze travels higher, to the steps closest to the Tsaritsa’s throne, to there Pierro and the first three Harbingers are standing, “is a wife. And I’d like to have a dance with my husband.”

Not many heard your words, but the ones who did, gasp loudly, staring at you with wide eyes. Which get even wider when Il Capitano, a seemingly motionless statue before, turns in his place and, without a pause, steadily descends to you. Now, as you are standing so closely it becomes evident how obviously your outfits match. The chains, the patterns, even the precious stones - everything. Perhaps it is terrifyingly cute. Perhaps it's cutely terrifying.

“Husband,” your smile again, offering him your hand, which he immediately envelopes in his big clawed one.

“Wife,” is the first word the big figure rumbles for the evening, the void of its helmet staring at you. And that’s all you speak to each other, hearing the beginning of another melody and turning to join the dancing pairs.

“...What was that?” Childe voices what’s been plaguing the minds of the attendees. “First the Commander appears to be a woman, and now she is married to the Lord Il Capitano?” He glances at Pulcinella, who joins his side and decides to watch the pair that caused a commotion have their fun. “Do they not use their names?”

“They find no sense in them,” the Rooster answers just the last question. “And,” he lowers his voice and the ginger has to bend down to hear the next words, “I didn’t tell you that, but the Captain really loves calling her his wife. So be quite cautious while seeking a fight with her. You might end up impaled. By either of them.”

Kaveh

With a soft smile you watch a group of children merrily leaving their classroom, interrupting each other in attempts to tell everyone how exciting the lesson was. They do not forget to grin and wave at you, passing by, and you return the sentiment, contently observing their happy faces and sparkly eyes.

Every time this happens, a strange sense of fulfillment overtakes you - supporting and sponsoring Kaveh was one of the best decisions you’ve ever made. The greatest architect of nowadays is offering his guidance to the young generation, teaching them everything about beauty and practicality, helping them to develop their own creative vision, and at the same time boosting the confidence of kids of all ages. And you couldn’t be prouder of him.

Him, who meticulously prepares for every single lesson. Him, who is oh-so-gentle with his words and precise in his speech. Him, who teaches both Sumeru citizens and people coming from abroad. Him, who is as passionate about it, as he is about his designing job, telling you every single detail of how the lessons went on your way home or over the dinner. Him, who is happy and who makes you happy too with that fact alone.

When the last kid leaves, marking the ending of the final class for today, you glance at the clock. Now Mister Meticulousness will need half an hour to tidy up the classroom and put all the tools away. Tomorrow is free from classes at his (he always corrects your as in the both of you) school, so you can collect your stuff as well - after all, being the manager of this establishment and Kaveh specifically requires your presence. You can be strict and unyielding whenever he can’t and this partnership proves to be successful every day.

Just as you are writing down some financial staff, there is a soft knock on the doorframe. Immediately lifting your eyes you hum, observing a very good-looking woman and a boy, shyly holding onto her hand.

“Hello, how can I help you?” With a quill laid on top of your accounting book, you stand and round the table, offering the two to step closer.

“Ah, hello, miss…” eyes with long, pretty lashes flit to the name tag attached to your clothes, “...Y/n. This is master Kaveh’s artistic school, am I correct?”

“Yes, you are. Are you here to sign your boy up for a class?” You offer her son a sweet smile and he answers you with a small lift of his lips.

“Mhm. You see, he is a big fan of master Kaveh and his works - can study the pictures of his designs taken by Kamera day and night.”

At that, the boy lowers his gaze and blushes a little, digging a hole in the ground with the tip of his shoe.

“Oh, really?” A gasp that escapes your chest is one of excitement. “That’s marvelous! I am sure your hopefully soon-to-be-teacher will be very interested in hearing your opinion of his works, young connoisseur,” he giggles, lifting his eyes at you again, and there you see undisguised delight. “Oh, but my bad, I didn’t ask your names…”

The woman’s lips bare two rows of perfectly white teeth as she smiles at you, introducing herself and her son.

“We are from Fontaine actually. But my parents wanted to spend some indefinite period of time in Sumeru for their health and we decided to join them. So while we are here, I thought I’d make my son’s dream come true.”

“That’s so nice of you,” you can’t help but admire her a little for that. “I can tell you first a little about our school, you’ll ask all the questions you need to, and then I’ll show you around. Kaveh should be done with cleaning by then, so there’s a big chance you’ll even talk to him personally.”

“Really!?” That’s the first time throughout your entire interaction when the boy opens his mouth and actually makes a sound. “Master Kaveh is here right now?”

“He is. But can’t promise a long conversation - there are still blueprints waiting for him back at home.

“Ah, right… He is the great architect after all,” the woman hums, staring to the side as if in thought. “Between the commissions he takes and this school he must be making good money. Not to mention so handsome…”

Oh… What a familiar tone, what a familiar look in those eyes. Suddenly that ounce of respect you felt for her disappears.

“Money is irrelevant to him as long as he reaches his goal,” is your restrained response. 

“Ah, of course! Handsome, sweet, kind, good with kids and is not a snob. Sweety, you ought to charm him for me!” She pinches her son’s cheek. “Imagine Master Kaveh as your daddy!”

Oh Archons, again?

There is absolutely no doubt that the light of Kshahrewar is not only well-known and popular among kids, but is thirsted after by women. In a half of a year your school has been existing, there were numerous times when moms of little students made comments alike or some single females trying to schedule private sessions with the architect. What a sagacious decision it was to make group studying only, it saves you some drama, once the legal document is shown. Though there are exceptionally persistent examples…

But this time you pity the kid a little, because he genuinely seems to admire Kaveh. And his next words make you internally cheer for the little guy.

“Master Kaveh as my dad? But mom, I have a dad already,” the boy pouts, rubbing at the pinched cheek. You notice a red mark and two little crescent moons that her nails left on a tender skin. “I love him and don’t need another one.”

“Sweety, you just don’t understand how great it would be to have such a dad! Just trust my word-”

“Ahem, Madame, I kindly ask you to deal with your family affairs once you are out of here. As for the school - I am open for discussion.”

The displeased way she glances at you doesn’t go unnoticed, but you do not show it anyhow, calmly staring back at her, while your hand reaches up to your chest. As if finally remembering her initial reason for coming here with her son, the woman sighs and puts a palm on the boy’s shoulder.

“Of course, miss- I’m sorry I forgot your name…” And her eyes flit to the name tag again.

Momentarily the woman squints from the light reflecting on the metal, and when she blinks the bright spots away, there is a beautiful golden ring on your hand. The hand that is holding the flipped tiny plate with just two words engraved in it.

"Kaveh's wife"

With widened eyes she stares back at your sweetly polite smile. Not saying a word as if letting the notion sink in, you walk to the wall. Grabbing the backs of two chairs you drag them to your table so they could sit, and take your rightful place in front of them. 

“If you are here for something aside from or instead of signing your son up for classes, I believe my name should be irrelevant to you. My status though,” you knock a nail twice on the badge, “must. So… what are you here for, Madame?”

The boy climbs onto his chair right away, while his mother tarries a little, still shocked by the revealed fact and your suddenly changed demeanor. She needs a couple more seconds to compose herself, but eventually she too sits down.

Despite what happened earlier, your conversation proves to be fruitful and fifteen minutes later you are showing around the school, sharing some additional information and answering every single of the kid’s questions. 

When in the last room you find your husband, closing Mehrak and looking ready to leave, the boy lets out a gasp. The sound attracts the man’s attention, and he turns to the three of you with a soft smile.

“Oh, hello there, little guy!” The blond waves at him, breaking the blissful stupor of a child that immediately turns red and hides behind his mother. Surprised, Kaveh looks at you for explanation but, instead, takes notice of your name’s replacement. Oh wow, this again. What was the last time you did that? Two weeks ago?

“Ah, Master Kaveh!” The woman charmingly smiles, batting her lashes at him, which would’ve made you cringe had it never happened before. “You see, my son-”

“Pardon me, Madame, give me a moment,” the male softly interrupts her and reaches for a similar metal plate on his chest with his own name to flip it. It’s almost comical how sour the temptress’s face got in a second.

And there is what for. Now two words are proudly matching yours, engraved in an equally beautiful cursive to remind the world who the two of you become once stripped of your names.

Just his ”Y/n’s husband” to your “Kaveh’s wife”.

And like that one more kid takes part in your lovely school and one suitor less is after one of its founders.

Tighnari

With each passing day of your team’s research in the desert you found it harder and harder to control yourself. Some days you were even on the verge of clawing and biting, tail and ears twitching in annoyance and pupils turning into wild slits, making your hybrid nature more obvious.

Was it because of the research? No, it couldn’t be farther - your colleagues have been making so much progress, heeding your advice and following your lead. Was it the location perhaps? A little, but you learnt how to deal with heat and dryness. Was the process taking too much time? On the contrary, you are on your way home already, having finished the job 4 days earlier than you estimated in the beginning.

Then what on earth could possibly trigger you like this?

Well…

“Hey, forest foxy, want me to catch the Consecrated Flying Serpent for you?”

Ah yes, him.

Never again will you trust the higher ups at the Akademiya to sponsor your team with the bodyguards. Out of every possible candidate, your Herbad-titled colleague concluded that hiring five descendants of Valuka Shuna would be a marvelous idea. 

“They are the desert kind - they’ll be good guides.” “Look how much stronger they are, they’ll definitely protect all of you.” “They are of the same kind as you, Y/n. Don’t you think it’ll be easier for you, as the leader, to have someone akin with you?”

No, it absolutely would not!

Desert fennec hybrids are different from the forest ones - and it’s not even the case of your green and their sandy brown fur or their more brutal physique against your more delicate one. It’s their character and world perception. You’ll never call them barbarians, but they really developed more of the animal nature than your kind did.

And from day one it was a pain in the butt. 

One of your five new bodyguards was clearly the leader - he was bigger and broodier, with more scars littering his body, and his whole stance was screaming of a higher position. When you were introduced for the first time, something lit up in his grayish eyes, which were looking you over appreciatively. You ignored that, more focused on the discussion of the upcoming expedition and making sure the five were aware of what was required of them.

Luckily they were, and, admittedly, they did fulfill their task meticulously, proving to be great help. If only one of them wasn’t so diligent.

You lost count of how many times the leader tried to get into your personal space and you had to move away. Of the numerous invitations to hunt together. Of the endless displays of his strength and abilities. Of the many conversations you didn’t even try to eavesdrop on (they talked pretty loudly) around the topic of when will your shell be cracked and you’d accept the male’s courting attempts.

The answer was obvious, but he just never got it. Even when you called him for a serious conversation on the turning-into-an-issue matter.

“With all respect I must ask you to stop with whatever you’ve been doing to woo me. I have a husband.”

You still remember how he blinked at you dumbly, clear lack of understanding written on the sun-kissed face.

“...and?”

“The heck do you mean ‘and’?”

“Well, you don’t have a mate?”

It was your turn to stare at him speechless, ear twitching and tail curling closer to your legs. It was getting worse than just ridiculous.

“If we are speaking in such terms, then my husband is my mate. So, please-”

You nearly gasped when the male immediately leant closely, violating your personal space and practically stuffing his nose against your neck. Shocked by such lack of shame, you lost the ability to talk or move for a moment, gaping at him sniffing around and humming upon the discovery.

“You don’t wear anyone’s smell on you.”

You were not proud of yourself at that moment, but you absolutely lost it. Sharpened claws dug into his chest and with an angry snarl you pushed him back.

“Get away from me!”

You must’ve been a sight - canines bared and fingers twitching, ready to attack; fur standing on both your ears and tail, signaling your distress and eyes slitted in pure rage while directed at the man in front of you. The worst part? The idiot seemed to like it even more.

“What me and my partner do must be of no concern to you. I told you ‘no’ and I mean it.”

But bold of you was to assume he’d stop. Oh no, it’s gotten worse. Now he was actively calling you a ‘forest foxy’, absolutely abandoning your name and even trying to scent you. It was suffocating - the desert aridity was lighter in comparison to the male hybrid’s pheromones. 

Never in all your academic practice have you wanted to return home so badly.

Fortunately, your colleagues quickly caught on to what was going on and always helped you to escape the unwanted interactions. Plus they were equally as mad as you were, because his individual scent irritated their human noses - and that was the main reason why you and Tighnari, both spending a lot of time around other people, did not practice it. Partly, you are sure, this whole situation was the reason for your earlier return - and you were grateful for their understanding.

However, your stubborn suitor did not dream of giving up. Killed desert animals were still offered to you, stories of his legendary battles with monsters were told for the hundredth time (even though no one was interested in listening at that point) and attempts to lure you with the musky smell once again made. Archons, and the green-furred fennec girls from your teens used to dream of that.

Maybe Lesser Lord Kusanali would be merciful and you’ll meet your husband somewhere on your way?

“Herbad Y/n!”

…wow, that was quick. Not Tighnari, but incredibly welcome too.

“Collei!” For the first time in days there is a reason for your soft smile. Which the young girl mirrors, waving at you from not so far away. You notice a couple more of the Forest Rangers at her side, and that sight alone makes you finally exhale in relief. You are so close to being home.

“Master is here too! Want me to get him?”

Oh, Dendro Archon, thank you.

“I’d really appreciate it, dear!” With a quick nod the green-haired apprentice disappears in the bushes, and you turn back to the scholars of your group. It’s time to abuse your power a little. “We are almost at the Devadaha Pool. Since all of you live in Sumeru City I hope you’ll excuse me for staying behind. As for you five,” your gaze moves to the bodyguards and it’s so hard not to rejoice - soon they’ll be just a memory, “I ask you to accompany the rest of my team to the Akademiya. Then you can consider your job done and be free. Keep the payment for the last three days that didn’t happen - think of it as a bonus for a good job.”

All but one eagerly nod and bid you farewell with wishes of getting home safely. And frankly speaking? You couldn’t care less for that one when you spot familiar and oh so dear big pointy ears with an intricate golden earring adorning one of them.

“Tighnari!” You didn’t want to sound so desperate, you really didn’t. But when those forest-like lovely eyes look in your direction, it becomes clear to you - the yearning has gotten unbearable.

“Y/n…” His smile is dazzling and the way his body immediately pushes to walk to you almost makes the memories of the last weeks’ events go away.

The key word - almost.

Someone grabs your elbow when you want to meet him halfway. Oh right, you already forgot about him.

“Let me go, you, imbecile!” And again you have to snarl and be rude, ripping your arm out of the strong hold and quickly darting into your husband’s embrace. The natural smell of the leaves, the flowers, the sweet and bitter concoctions he makes in his home laboratory, comfort you and your whole body goes nearly limp in his hold. It’s been weeks and you are tired of fighting with the brick wall - this time you want your lover to handle it for you.

“Y/n, my lotus, are you alright?” Gentle fingers comb through your hair and scratch at the base of your ears - a whole ass adult, that you are, wants to tear up. But you can only shake your head a no. “Has this man been bothering you?” This time it’s a yes. “I got you, dear.”

“So,” the browny green eyes sharpen upon staring at the cause of your current state, when it starts speaking, “you are that ‘husband’ the foxy has been talking about? I thought you’d be stronger. Or at least taller. Now I see that I was right and you really can’t be her mate.”

“Oh but I am. Not that we have to prove anything to a stranger. Y/n,” he carefully pries your face from his shoulder, caressing your cheek with a beanie pad, “let’s go home. You must be so-so tired.”

“I am, ‘nari. I am exhaus-”

“There’s no smell of you on her and vice versa,” the desert descendent of the Valuka Shuna seems to not be planning to stop. “Her neck is not marked. You let her wander by herself for weeks? And you keep calling her by the name. Her name should've stopped mattering once she became your mate!”

The hand around your waist tenses and you can feel the claws threatening to tear through the gloves he always wears. You don’t need to look at the face of your lover to know how pissed he is. And if Tighnari decides to attack him and tear his tongue out? You will not stop him.

“I am going to say it once and only once. She is not just a mate, she is my wife, by the Sumeru law and by the blessing of the Dendro Archon. And this fact must matter to you more than the case of her name. So fuck off and leave my wife alone. And if you don’t get it in a civil way - this woman is taken. And this territory is mine.”

With that, the Forest Watcher effortlessly lifts you in his arms and, holding you as if a precious bride, turns around to leave. You haven’t looked back once.

“You can’t imagine how much I missed being called your wife,” you quietly confess, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Especially after he didn’t listen when I said that I am.”

Tighnari hums sympathetically, leaning close to rub his nose against yours.

“Will it be okay then if today I address you as my wife only? When we join the other rangers, I mean.” 

”...if you think I will be embarrassed - make it a whole week.”

With a soft chuckle your husband plants a kiss on your lips, sealing the deal and promising you tranquil days at last.

“As you wish, wife.”

Zhongli

"...and so Rex Lapis takes the form of a dragon, a majestic creature he was born as - the one of whom the fair maiden would never be scared of. Lady Guizhong's robes flutter in the tender wind traveling among the mountain peaks and caressing the earthly scales of the God's enormous body. His eyes, shiny as gold, gaze at her with an unfamiliar softness as she holds a gentle flower - a delicate gift from her lover, the one that proves that under all that armor is a stone heart capable of love. Heart that is beating for her."

To loud applause the Iron Tongue Tian bows his head, drawing the legend of the gods in love to its end. You cannot bring yourself to clap even politely, both hands on your lap, hidden under the table, twitching when a man beside you lets his gloved palms meet each other a couple of times.

It’s the second time you had to sit and endure the baloney from the very beginning to the very end, not to count all those times you overheard it in passing. From the moment you settled in the Liyue Harbor together with your husband, to live the rest of your incredibly long lives together among the humans, you've been painfully aware of their interpretation of Rex Lapis and his relationship with other immortal beings. Before that you rarely accompanied him during the walks, busy with helping Yakshas and other adepti protect the said humans to grant them a peaceful life - as immortal guardians grew fewer, every single one counted.

Never have you ever imagined that knowing so little of the citizens’ folklore would backfire so hard. It seems that people got somewhat bored listening to the stories of Liyue and Rex Lapis, no matter how many interpretations existed. Literature became more diverse in genres and romantic novels were on top of the list, so street narrators started losing their audience little by little. Before it could grow into something more drastic the new side of history was presented to the public - stories about love among immortals appeared and its freshness and uniqueness caught people’s attention immediately.

In their searches for new material, speakers dug through hundreds of volumes. The main interest was the Lord of Geo, of course. If you have a story of a presumably stone-hearted creature ever having fallen in love with someone - that’s pure gold! But who could you present as a love interest of the Archon? It must be someone very close to him and, obviously, no one is more well-known for that than the deceased Archon of Dust.

You sigh, reaching for your cup and declining Madam Ping’s offer to pour you some more tea - for an unclear reason the fellow adeptus joined you two tonight. You have thousands of years of life behind your existence, a soul hardened by constant battles, and mannerism as polished as a jade statue, yet for a moment you feel concerned that the woman would notice a pang of hurt in the smallest of your features.

Zhongli definitely noticed the first time. It was meant to be a date night - simple, but sweet, with the evening lights, delightful aroma of the finest tea and the tales pouring from skilled tongues reflecting the atmosphere of what your nation really is. However, the luck of the land of trades wasn’t on your side, as someone requested the “Guili legend” as they called it. At first you were confused. Then in disbelief, almost turning to look at your mate, with whom you were bonded long before he became allies with the ash-haired woman. In the end you felt something you thought was beyond you - bitterness.

When you left the restaurant, slowly walking back to your house, Zhongli’s fingers gently touched your elbow, asking for your attention.

“Does it bother you that much, my love?”

Bother you? Well… It does feel insulting when someone speaks of your husband having been in love with someone else, but mortals can’t possibly know the truth for many reasons.

“I can’t say it doesn’t,” you admitted calmly, stopping and turning fully to him. He did the same, gazing at you with a hint of worry in those golden eyes you loved so much. The ones, you knew, always looked only at you. “But it can’t be helped, right? There was a reason and mutual agreement why you, as Rex Lapis, made our union unknown to your people, and now, since you are “dead”? There is no one to tell our story. Don’t worry though,” you put a hand on top of his and smiled, when his other one was laid on top of yours in a gesture of comfort. “I can deal with it. I know you love going to the storyteller’s performances. I’ll just try to ignore what they say about you and Lady Guizhong.”

Sometimes Zhongli thinks he does not deserve you. Ever so patient and understanding, you always had your husband's best interest at heart. Marriage, however, in its basis is a form of a contract, and a good contract is all about both sides being equal in everything. And if you must know one thing about Rex Lapis - he never makes bad contracts.

When the audience calms down, the man decides to make his presence and intentions clear by raising a hand. From the corner of his eye he notices you slightly turning your head to glance at him, and he catches a glimpse of puzzlement in your gaze. He can't help but think how adorable you are, even if you deny it again and again, claiming that nothing can be adorable about a several millennia-old warrior. Maybe not, but his wife definitely is, and he thinks with a primordial pride igniting in his chest, that mating with you was the best decision his past self had ever made.

Reaching under the table he rests his free hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it in reassurance, offering you the warmth of himself, seeping through his glove. Just as your shoulders relax to his delight, the raised hand adorned with rings is finally noticed.

"Ah, Mr Zhongli! Such an honor to see a regular, especially someone as wise as yourself!" Iron Tongue Tian beams with a wide smile, closing his fan and focusing his full attention on the history connoisseur. "I doubt you have questions, given your vast knowledge, and I can't wait to hear what else you can add to this already heart-felt story."

You force your lips not to twitch, hiding behind the tea cup again. Suddenly it tastes bitter. But another squeeze your husband gives your hand doesn't let you dwell on it too much.

"You are correct, I do have some knowledge to offer. However, it might disappoint you, as it will completely destroy the story of the Geo Archon and the Archon of Dust."

The whispers ran through the crowd like a powerful wave, and you can see confusion written over every single face. But also, there is intrigue.

"I took it upon myself,” Zhongli however continues, “to invite Madame Ping to back up my story, as she was the witness to it," the elder woman - a well-known Adeptus that doesn't hide her existence among mortals - nods with a soft smile.

"I read this in legends a long time ago, but remembered only when the 'Guili legend' became popular. Rex Lapis indeed had a lover, however it was not Lady Guizhong," the gasps are almost deafening. Just as your quickened heartbeat.

And for the next hour the man by your side and the elderly-looking woman that joined you tonight proceed to tell the story of the adeptus, who was the first and only to ever bring the Geo Archon to his knees, to be worshiped like a goddess by his eyes, by his words, by his very heart. Of a warrior, whose fierce eyes and valiant nature made a dragon in Rex Lapis roar in delight. Of the woman, who entranced him with her beauty, caring soul and motherly attention directed to other adepti - Madame Ping adds with a laugh of how the two created a parent-like dynamic even before they became official (at that you find it so hard not to turn bashful).

They tell the legend of the silk flowers - the ones you might see everywhere in the vast lands of Liyue. How the Geo Archon personally asked the Dendro Archon for guidance to cultivate the tenderest of flowers, how he taught his people to make the delicate fabric out of it, but even then it couldn’t compare to the skin of his immortal mate.

They tell stories of how annoyed she was when the god turned into a dragon to fall asleep somewhere in the depths of the earth for years without telling her prior, and how he returned with the purest stones and metals and with his own hands forged the pair of matrimonial rings (yes, the ones wrapped around your fingers to this day).

Madame Ping fondly speaks of all those thousands of years of protection the said adeptus spent to make sure that her godly spouse’s people were safe and maybe just a tiny sliver of pride rushes through your heart at the public acknowledgement.

“But she wished not to be known,” the woman sighs and you know she glances at you reproachfully. Well-deserved, given the circumstances you are in right now. “Thus it’s not much of a surprise people made a mistake like that. Besides, you won’t find much information in written sources about her either way.”

 “But she must have a name at least!” Someone from the fairly grown crowd exclaims.

“That she does,” Zhongli nods, lacing his fingers with yours under the table, lips tugging in a calm smile, when you squeeze his hand in return. “Though I am afraid it would be pointless to try and find out now - we wouldn’t want to disturb her mourning the departure of her husband, would we? After all, they must’ve loved each other so much.”

“But how can you be so sure?”

“Because,” golden eyes are on you, catching yours, pulling you in, whispering for your soul and heart to get lost in them, “I can understand how this love was born and got to bloom. My wife showed me that.”

😭😭😭😭

Tag yourself, I’m the Classic.

👓🕷️

Can I get Delmont HC’s for when one of their ex flings or situationships try to get at the Delmont’s again and reader just gets sad instead of jealous ☹️

Oh this was so good my hands started typing before I could stop em!

A/N: Yandere, murder mentioned in Marcos, Manny kills someone,

Starting with OG lover boy, Cas takes your relationship very, very seriously.

Let's set the scene, the two of you are cuddled up at a work party of yours and a coworker you didn't really talk to much comes sauntering over with a smile far too friendly for your liking, it made a nasty feeling settle deep within your gut, something about her gaze lingering on the tall man by your side made you feel uncomfortable.

"Caspian? I haven't seen you in ages! How are you these days?" She'd ask completely ignoring your presence. Your eye flickered from the long legged woman to your now tense boyfriend. Caspian was almost always relaxed and happy with you, so you immediately clocked his off behavior.

"Hey Ana, been good." Was his simple, curt response, his hand moved from it's warm spot on your waist to his pant pocket, (He felt his temper instantly rise and couldn't risk hurting you so he moved his clenched fist to his pocket.) and you felt silly about it afterwards but in that moment, that small action felt like a rejection. The ugly feelings brewing in your stomach made the drink on your tongue turn bitter.

"You look amazing Cas, I see you kept up with our gym routine after all huh?" She giggled as if it was an inside joke between them, her body faced him, now closer than before, and you felt like a stranger intruding on something personal, all too quickly, you felt your throat tighten.

"It's so crazy running into you here, I was just thinking about how much fun we had together, we should go out for a drink later, maybe catch up?"

Caspian stared long and hard at the woman but your emotions were quickly spiraling out of control, you could feel your gut twist at the thought of him entertaining her, and before you could hear his response, you muttered out a barley audible "Excuse me." To the pair, quickly making your retreat to the nearest bathroom, thanking the universe that it was empty because no sooner than you closed the door did your bottom lip start to tremble.

Had you stayed you would have seen the downright murderous look on your boyfriend's face.

In his head he's trying to figure out the best way to turn her down without embarrassing you at your job, it's the only reason he doesn't notice your sudden mood shift.

He was trying to process the woman's audacity, a curt decline on the tip of his tongue, when you suddenly disappeared from his side. In an instant panic, he not so subtly shoves his way past the woman to where he thinks you went.

He uses the tracker on your phone to track you down to the bathroom and fully intended on waiting by the door until you came out, but then he heard the sound he hated most in the world, you sniffling.

Bursts in the door like there's a fire, not caring about anything but getting to you, checking you over. He ignores your gasp and hushed whispers to get out before he got in trouble, and cradles your wet face between his big hands.

"What's wrong Honey? How can I help?" He's staring at you with those big red eyes, brows furrowed in concern, and you can't help the tearful giggle you let out at his behavior.

"It's stupid-"

"If it made my baby cry it's far from stupid." He corrects immediately, thumbs wiping at any stray tears left.

"That woman- the way she spoke to you. I just, I hated how that made me feel and I don't know- I'm sorry, we can just go back to the party okay?" You turn from him to face the mirror and in an attempt to brush past what you considered an embarrassing moment, begin wiping at the smeared mascara on your eyes.

He smacks his teeth at his own idiocy, he hadn't even considered how that stupid wench made you feel in the moment, god what must be running through your mind, he couldn't imagine an ex of yours trying to ask you out in front of him, the guilt swells immediately, he wanted to run back out there and throw that harlot down the stairs for making your pretty face fall the way it had.

Instead he made his way to the bathroom door and clicked the lock in place, you turned to face him but your questions died on your tongue as he made his way towards you with that particular dark look in his eye.

"Forgive me, my love. I didn't mean to make you upset, I just didn't wanna make a scene at your job." He says casually falling to his knees before you, his hands trailing up your calves, to your thighs, finally settling on the thin fabric of your underwear, he stared up from between your legs with the softest look on his face.

"Let me make it up to you Honey."

Gabe has a much more explosive reaction

You two are at the gym, Gabe was sweating and sitting there all gorgeous and shit, he's making sure you watch as he lifts, his veins bulging in his arms as he winks at you. "Be my spotter baby I need my motivation." He grits out with that wolfish smile stretched across his flushed face.

You weren't nearly as athletic as the man and sometimes it felt as if you didn't belong in the gym, but he was quick to snuff out these thoughts, swearing up and down he preformed better on his sets when you were watching, that he needed you by his side even if you weren't working out as well.

He not only wants you around because he can't get enough of you, but he also really wants you to see him be hot, unfortunately that meant everyone at the gym got to see it too.

"I'll be right back baby, gonna go grab you a water." You smile at his immediate pout, the grabby hands he makes as he demands a goodbye kiss, even though you'd only be gone a few moments, but that's all the time the blonde woman stalking up to him needs.

The stranger to you was an old fling of Gabe's, he barely recognized her when she invited herself to his personal space like she was allowed, the only reason he didn't immediately brush her off was because she said his name, he was confused as she neared him, her smile too wide to be genuine.

the blue haired giant was the best sex of her life and despite the fact that she saw his blatant affection for you, she made her move anyway.

You came back to quite the sight, Gabe sat stiffly on the machine he was at, his elbows on his knees as he stared up at the blonde beside him, his face set in that sinfully attractive hardened stare,

The woman currently leaning too close for comfort on his machine looked like someone out of a fitness magazine, she was fit, completely toned and gorgeous, you couldn't help the twinge of discomfort at how close they were, how they looked like the perfect couple.

You neared them awkwardly as her back was to you and heard her say, "It's been too long Gabriel, I miss you, god your body is still insane, what are your benching now 250? 300. You could definitely still toss me around the bed." Her tone was dripping in flirtation, she dragged a finger up the pole of the machine he sat on, leaning down to press her chest together.

Before you could think about turning away from the upsetting sight, Gabe abruptly stood up, his glare dead set on the woman, his eyes flickered to you, immediately clocking the way your shoulders shrunk in, how you seemed to deflate at the situation, he could practically read your mind, knowing how easily your brain went to the worst places, he felt his temper skyrocket at the mere idea of you being upset by this nobody.

"Baby! I think we should end this early yeah? I got a better idea for a workout that involves you, me, and my backseat." He says almost whining as he throws his sweaty body all over you, his arms holding you tight against his body as he kissed the top of your head, rocking into the hug.

"This place just let's anybody in, we should switch to a new gym." His glare turned to the woman, if looks could kill she'd be on the ground. "C'mon ma, let's go before I get belligerent."

Ricky fully ignores the interaction lmao it's so rude

You'd come to the Auto shop with a homemade lunch for your sweet Ricky as he forgot to pack his own and called you to bring him one (he definitely did this on purpose just to see you at work)

You enter the shop and start to head straight to the back before being stopped by a manicured hand snapping in your face rather rudely.

"Hi ma'am, you can't just walk in here, you have to make an appointment." The woman behind the receptionist desk was new, you'd never seen her in here before, she was practically sneering at you, her plastic, customer service smile held no warmth as she tapped her nail against the sign in sheet impatiently.

You laughed instinctually at the tense situation, trying to dispell the awkwardness, you didn't understand her hostility, "Oh my boyfriend works here, he's expecting me." You say offering her a friendly smile, trying to smooth over any unpleasantness.

"Well I'm going to need some identification." She says matter of factly, her body now blocking your path. "uh no?" You said not wanting the stranger to see your information, you'd come to the shop hundreds of times now, everyone knew who you were, everyone but this woman it seems.

She scoffed at your refusal her voice raising in anger as she glared at you, "If you don't cooperate I'll have to call security." She threatened not knowing how deep she was digging her grave.

"My love? What's going on." Ricky's deep, baritone voice suddenly called out from around the corner, he thought it was odd you hadn't appeared yet as his tracker app said you'd arrived at his work minutes ago, it wasn't like you to delay so he listened to his gut and went outside seeing you being harassed by the new receptionist.

His blood pressure rises instantly and he has to fight to keep his hands from yanking her away from you.

He'd only signed off on her hiring because he knew she was infatuated with him, they hooked up once a few years ago and she would do anything to have it happen again, of course Ricky had no intention of fulfilling her desires, he just needed someone he knew would keep their mouth shut if they happened to see/notice something funky with the shop.

But her value immediately diminishes the second she gets in your way, his glare could melt glass as he tells her a simple, but aggressive, "Move." He holds his arms out to you and when you curl into his touch he makes a point to kiss your temple, his focus completely on you. "Are you alright love? What was she doing?" He asks tenderly rubbing your face. The receptionist opens her mouth to respond but Ricky shuts her up with a single raised hand, "She was just asking for my ID, I brought your lunch!" You say excitedly, his gaze grows warm at the adorable sight before he turns to the woman, his eyes dead, his aura dark and imposing.

"Clean out your desk immediately, I want you out of my shop before I come back out here." His tone left no room for argument, almost threatening as he places a hand in the small of your back, gently leading you away. "You didn't need to do that for me-" he cuts you off with an intense, breath stealing kiss, "Of course I did, no one interrupts our time together."

Marcos had always been afraid of his promiscuous past coming back to haunt him, and his violent reaction to this shows.

The two of you had been at a club for a while now, both proper sloshed and sweating, hours of grinding on each other to every song that came on the thumping speakers, he's in heaven with his arms around your waist, his nose buried in your neck as he mouths needy kisses up and down your throat.

You motion towards the bar, your drunk body demanding more alcohol and he begins leading you towards it, his hands never leaving your body.

He all but pushes a guy out of his seat so you can rest there while he gets the bartenders attention. He freezes when the woman turns around. The bartender shoots him a knowing, flirty grin, leans over close and yells over the pounding music, "Hey Marcos baby, you come back for more? I can take my break right now if that's the case."

His eyes flicker to you and his heart stutters at the sad look on your face, be it the copious amounts of liquor you had in your body or how just how gorgeous the woman hitting on him was, you feel your spirits drop, your mind tortured you with images of them together, of him with another, and the insecurities bubble up faster than you can handle, "scuse' me." You drunkenly mutter clasping a hand over your mouth, your stomach felt queasy all of a sudden and you all but ran to the bathroom on shakey legs.

Marcos is seeing red, his mind panicking as he watches you retreat to the bathroom he feels sick himself at the thought of you leaving him, the fear that you may be comparing yourself to such a nothing person, the terrifying thought of this insignificant person making you see him different, it had his chest heaving in a barley concealed rage.

He fixes his burning stare on the bartender, his eyes holding pure malice as he holds himself back from pressing his thumbs into her eyes and slamming her into the bar until it broke.

He says nothing to her, his eyes making her so uneasy she baked away slightly, his mouth felt dry as he pushes and bullies his way past the crowd to barge into the bathroom where he finds you curled around the toilet, he's falling to his knees beside you in an instant, he keeps your hair from your face, a soothing hand on your back as you empty your stomach.

His words are soft and encouraging as he helps you to your feet, uncaring about his expensive clothes being dirtied, uncaring of how messy you look, his eyes are full of love, even a bit teary as he helps you to the sink, as you wash your mouth out he's wetting a paper towel and dabbing the cold cloth to your burning neck, "Oh baby, my sweet girl are you okay? I'm so sorry, come here let me see you."

The moment sobers him entirely, he's calling a deluxe Uber to pick you both up and sending a message to his twin about the bartender, he wanted the bitch dead for even momentarily causing you to frown, he's holding your swaying form against him protectively as he waits for the car, his mind swirling with thoughts of violence and revenge, how dare that waste of air upset you so much? The crime would be repaid in blood.

Manny has the most volatile reaction.

The two of you are a late night, semi exclusive car show, Manny loved watching the races, he stopped racing in them the second you said you worried for his safety but his love for the adrenaline filled sport remained, the classic cars were beautiful and he always smiled so brightly when you indulged his more risky interests.

He loved pointing out the racers he liked or hated, his favorite cars and why, sharing this with you was one of his favorite ways to pass time. You always looked so beautiful under the neon lights, the smell of gasoline in the air.

It's rare for him to leave your side when you're out and about so this happens in front of you, the two of you are cuddled up together, sat comfortably on the hood of his car, his arms around you as you leaned back into his chest, when a woman in leather saunters up to his car.

"Hey Manny, long time no see pretty boy." The woman coo's from her position, her eyes drinking him in, blatantly ignoring your existence.

"Yeah." Is Manny's only response, his grip on your hips tightening before he moves from holding you against him to stepping in front of you, keeping his body between you and what he felt was a threat.

His hair moved everytime a car whizzed by him, but he didn't flinch, his cold eyes trained on the woman from his past.

His voice was clearly irritated, tone leaving no room for friendly interpretation, and yet she persisted, taking a step closer to the tall man who had begun to clench his fists, his body trembling in unfiltered rage.

"You wanna' take another ride? This time if I win, I get my prize up front." Her tone was clear, her implication made more lewd as she looked him up and down.

"Don't talk to me like you know me. Don't talk to me like you're somebody." His voice was dripping venom as he spoke, and if he wasn't furious before, the sad, almost deflated look on your face at her comments made him see red.

The crowds of people were so thick and intense, the loud sounds of the revving engines and screaming spectators only added to his slip of control.

"Relax Manny baby! I'm just teasing you." She puts her hand on his chest and before you could blink the woman's body is flying out towards the road where a car smacks into her with a sick crunch, her limp body is dragged as the car speeds along, unaware of the carnage it caused, screams and shouts of horror come from all around you, people beginning to panic as Manny turns around, all malice gone from his face as he lifts you off the car and ushers you to the passenger seat without a word. "Time to go!" He all but sings as he peels out of the parking lot.

"Holy shit are you okay?" You asked him turning back to stare as the horrifying scene grew farther and farther from his rearview mirror. He placed a shaky hand on your thigh to calm himself as he spoke, "I'm okay baby girl, are you? I'm so so sorry you had to see that." He says, his only guilt came from your date night being cut short.

"Don't be sorry baby, no one could have known that would happen Jesus Christ." You put a hand to your chest trying to ease the fierce beat, he grabbed your free hand, bringing the back of your palm to his lips for a sweet kiss, his eyes crinkling in joy at the thought of her now crumpled body.

"Yeah, accidents happen."

I live for The Great Seven™ gossiping about NRC x MC like teenagers and having their own ship wars with each other

Queen of Hearts: *to the King of Hearts* Riddle and MC are so cute together. They must invite me to their wedding.

Jafar: Their wedding?! I assure you that nothing of the sort will happen. Why only yesterday, MC had praised Jamil on his progress in sorcery. They're only one carpet ride away from their inevitable romance.

Hades: Jaffy, babe, have you not seem how close MC is with my man, Idia. Sure he never gets out but Ortho sees them as a big sibling and they always spend time together in his bedroom. *mutters* Now all he needs are a few pomegranate seeds and-

Scar: Leona's scent is all over them. No one else has a chance against a lion.

Ursula: You should've seen how enchanted MC was when they went swimming with Azul in his merform. You lot underestimate the power of body language tentacles and a well written contract.

Evil Queen: None of those boys are even remotely worthy of breathing the same air as MC. Why would they settle for a ghastly fixer-upper when they can have the most beautiful man of all. Vil is a much better match.

Mistress of All Evil/World's Best Grandma: I'll have you fools know that my grandson has been courting MC since the day they met. Don't worry Queen of Hearts, I'll make sure to give everyone an invite to their wedding. Now where did Lilia keep those marriage papers?

They all have bets placed and are actively sabotaging the others

Queen of hearts sets a picnic? Maleficent ruins it with thunder

Scar sets up Leon with a walk? Dowshed by Hades

A deal with the sea witch? Haha good luck with jafar rooting for jamil

Gwen, about Miles: "we’re getting someone new in the group."

Hobie: "Are we stealing them?"

Pavitr: "New or used?"

Gwen: "Wonderful responses, both of you."

Lego I'm begging you, I could make you millions ....

U know who should be the real villain of spiderverse???

The guy who has to clean all the spider webs.

The whole city is covered with them, the subways, the cars, the tall ass skyscrapers. It's every fucking where and the cleaner is tired.

It's time for his villain arc.