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hcdragonwrites · 1 year ago

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Tangled Love

(A @semisolidmind Drabble)

Ok! I ran this by Semi before I posted just because I know absolutely nothing about LMK (except the animation can be so pretty!) just so I could get their characters down. I hope you all like it !

She just wanted to escape- both from this place and from her own mind tonight.

The ghosts of memories were walking and she had no distractions to chase them away.

Peaches walked the cool cavern halls of Water- Curtain Cave, her feet echoing in the depths. The sandals she wore and the ornamental clothing she had been thrown into made her scalp prickle and her skin itch. It was too much- but the attendants wouldn’t hear a thing about it.

She had to look the part of Queen.

Peaches, in the absence of the Lord of the mountain and his right hand and sword, was the remaining voice of authority.

To a point.

Finishing with courtly duties and listening in on behalf of her husbands wasn't a huge chore. The two of them rarely left at the same time however. If one was called away the other would remain. Or Peaches herself would be brought along.

This time however she hadn’t been.

It was the first time in ten years.

She had just this night- just this moment of reprieve and she would make the most of it. Or so she thought. Instead, she was fighting something that reared its head and struck her nerves like a asp.

However she wasn’t alone quite yet. As she rounded the corner and came to golden lacquered doors of her bedchamber - their bedchamber- she paused.

“Will that be all my queen?” One of the attending retinue of her guard asked. It was a guard her husbands insisted upon whenever both were away from home- a set of seven of the most battle scarred simians Peaches had ever seen.

They were tasked and sworn with following her everywhere - to the dining hall, to the throne room. If she wished to go and sit among the apple trees and listen to the wind play over the mountain grasses her guard would double in size. Peaches tried to not cause the denizens of Flower fruit mountain any more problems or stressors by going outside when both the King and his Brother in arms were away on a war path.

Her husbands.

It’s what they titled themselves now, after a decade of the terrible start they had on their relationship with her. When she had met the two, they had been just tiny monkeys. A sly looking ginger and gold monkey who had loved to cling to her arms and a dark black furred monkey that brought her fruits and almonds from the wild.

My sweet boys.

They had been her monkeys back then- the little prankster angels she had thought were just simple beasts, trying to survive out in the world.

She had been wrong.

The decision to upend her life, she guessed, had been floated around for months between the two disguised demons as they ate her fruit and enjoyed her touches. It was a mutual one that both had decided was the best option for her.

She took a steadying breath, coming back to the present. Peaches wanted a chance to be alone. Something so rare she craved it like a man in a desert craved water.

“Yes, general. I think I’ll retire early for the day.” She smiled at the monkey who dipped his body into a bow. The gleam of his armor set the flickers of a memory brewing. Fire in the trees, the smell of iron on the wind and a figure among the debris. She shook her head to dislodge it. The rest of them weren’t awful to her. Her husbands weren’t awful to her. They had just ….

Taken away her decisions.

“Very well Queen.” Peaches flinched, unable to quite stomach the title and what that truly meant. If I am queen then why am I without choices? “If you need us call us.”

She turned the handle in the door and slipped in side with as much grace as she could muster.

Peaches closed the ornamental doors to the bedroom, resting her head against the door. Steady. Deep breaths. In through her nose out through her mouth.

The illusion of a paradise that Wukong had built and Macaque helped facilitate always lost its color and believability when they were away. They couldn’t feed her the sugared lies and candied perceptions to tamp back the memories of that night.

It had been just another night on the small farm - a June night of heat and singing cicadas- of windows wide open and Peaches trying to escape that heat. There wasn’t much she could do to escape it. The moisture clung to her and made her bedding stick and clog her nose. So on these nights she stayed up, usually with a candle or the moon to illuminate her night, and read.

The knock on the door was not something typical.

The memory was rising and she couldn’t hold it back. I have to ride it out. Survive it.

Like she had survived that night. Getting visitors in the dead of the night had been unconventional- and she remembered the feeling of being perturbed. Don’t answer it, she told the memory. But this was the past and ghosts of the past didn’t change their course.

She had closed her book, had stepped down the hall to the door and had opened it.

I should have called through- told him to stay away! I should have never left my bed or my book.

It was a drunk man. A fellow farm hand called in for one of the families to help bring in a harvest that had proved too bountiful for the immediate family to handle. Peaches could see the man before her eyes, smell the reek of him.

A drunk.

“Well ain’t it the village spinster! Whaaa da pretty thing you are!” He was a cloud of bitter rice wine, of too much sake on his breath. The intensity of it had a physical effect on her memory and in the present, Peaches wrinkled her nose.

“You should go home Sir.” She had told him- tried to close the door.

His foot moved faster and his hands had caught the door.

A wild set of emotions swept through her. She had to sit her body down, thankful she had been able to get away from the other monkeys before the memory seized her like a vice. They would have been in a panic over her and she couldn’t let their little hearts worry so. There was nothing they could do to stop the remembering.

It was his fault this all happened. It was His. He didn’t have to be drunk and show up at my home- he didn’t have to shove his way into my house and try and grab me.

But he was just a single man. Did his actions warrant the destruction that happened next ?

“Get out!” Her memory self cried. The wooden table she danced behind as the drunk stumbled and moved towards her, was her only shield.

“The Boys Said you prefer the company of wild animals …” his speech was hard to hear. The wine had made him bold, stupid, and aroused it seemed. “I thought I would give you mtaste of what a real man was, since the villagers are al’ ‘fraid of your Witchery with monkeys.”

She had run- she had thrown her things at him. It was probably the commotion of her breaking a pitcher over his head that had alerted her monkeys. The loud clatter of the pottery across the floor had sounded so sharp and final. It had only made the man more determined.

The drunk when he did get his hands on her was furious. He swung a fist and sent stars into her eyes. Peaches had clung like a wildcat to her conscious, kicking out with legs and swinging with fists. Her nose was full of the sour smell of him- had felt his hands and fought them. A kick to his groin had sent him wheezing. Another fist to her head had Peaches crying. She had stared that drunk in his mean little eyes as he whispered the terrible things he wanted to do to her.

She had been staring in those eyes when he died.

He never got to touch more than her arms that night.

Peaches heard something step through the door that had been left open to the night. She had heard the creak of her house as something walked within it. And the sound of something- like a water skin being popped and a splash of warm liquid against her belly had shocked her.

The Drunks eyes went wide with confusion, rolling horselike in his head. His bruising grip on her wrist had let go. In the present, She rubbed those wrists, the phantom pains hard.

“..mah… belly.” The drunk had mumbled then belched a bucket of blood onto the floor. Peaches could see something protruding from his middle- something long and thin like a stick. Or a staff.

Clawed hands pulled the head back and twisted with a fury. The sound of bones breaking was loud, as if a fire was consuming dry wood. The drunk crumbled in those hands like a puppet cut free of its strings.

A new stranger stood in her home, his frame large and broad and most assuredly not human. He tossed the body like someone would toss a rag across the floor. The glowing eyes in the sudden dark were all she could see. Her mind, even in its heightened adrenaline drenched state, recognized the face pattern, saw a familiarity in the fur. There was, in fact, still a little flower tucked against this demonic creatures ear. The same flower she had interwoven in her forest friend's fur that afternoon.

“Your… your my…”

Nerves and the come down from the adrenaline high we’re making speech hard. The monkey demon before her, who’s eyes seemed to spit fire, softened. Just a bit.

“You are my Peaches.” Wukong said, touching her hair, her face, her hands. Taking stock. Then he had taken those limp hands and threaded them through his fur, trying to get them to grip. It would help his own rage and calm her fear. It was thick in the air, ruining the natural sweet smell she had. That and the slab of flesh on the floors own fetid death scent.

Wukong was not the best at this - this comfort thing. But he would rise to the occasion. He would try for her.

Fury and rage made his tail lash and the fur along his neck to stand on end.

At first she had just been a simple human that would leave little offerings to him and his brother in arms. An oddity here in the shadow of his mountain. Most humans around here feared the monkeys and kept away from all of them, having a legend that if one was harmed a great calamity would befall them.

Wukong didn’t mind being that calamity. These were his people, his subjects. So hearing the chatter from some of his kind that a women had begun to leave out gifts had of course spiked the Kings curiosity. The humans beneath Flower Fruit Mountain were his lesser subjects. So he had come down from the mountain, disguising himself as a smaller and more approachable sized monkey, to see the fuss his subjects had started gossiping about at groomings. Only to see his brother, Macaque, already being petted and tended and kissed on each of his six ears.

Of course first impressions had been terrible and Wukong, used to getting the first pick of everything, had come screeching into the clearing and demanding his own pets. It had set off a very small and very mock little battle between the two brothers in arms. One that had Peaches separating them and scolding them as she patched up the little scratches they had taken from eachother. They could have each resisted her pull but both decided that play acting a fight, even if it had started as a bit of one, was the best way to get attention divided between the both of them.

Wukong hadn’t expected to become infatuated. Her name didn’t matter to him- he had rebranded her almost the instant she came to him and offered a smile and held out a handful of sugar and dates. Peaches. After the Kings own favorite fruit, the sweetest thing the mountain produced.

His Peaches.

Of course also Macaques. He shared everything with his brother, the dark furred and six eared demon who had faced battles and won wars besides Wukong. While Wukong had been more leery, Peaches won him over faster than Flower Wine loosened his rigid posture. They had both fallen for this mortal women. And, in the traditional way she belonged to them. She just didn’t know it yet. They had touched and groomed and cuddled and tangled limbs and tails. They were practically married without the marriage bit.

Wukong rubbed small circles into Peaches back, trying to keep himself from bearing his teeth in rage.

I should have taken her home the moment she kissed me.

They had been kisses of the kind one gives to a friend or pet. It had left the warlord craving more burning with more.

Of wanting to feel her give him more than just a chaste kiss on the side of his face.

She wouldn’t have been hurt if he had just taken her home.

Wukong and Macaque had taken to one or both spending the night in Peaches trees, to keep an eye on her. Wukongs obsession had grown into a fascination and warm buttery love. A love that was becoming a wild inferno as he fought to stay still and not leap upon the corpse he had made and turn it into nothing but bits of flesh and gore the crows could carry away.

His Peaches fingers finally grasped his fur and shook. It brought Wukong back from his montage of rage to the present. If only Mac was here — but he wasn’t. He was back at home on Flower Fruit mountain , giving his brother the night to enjoy and keep lookout at Peaches den.

“That’s my girl.” The demon tried to soothe. He really wished he could set Peaches down and finish off what he had started. This place had been bad. This village terrible. He hated every thing and one here that had dared to let a drunken fool up to his Peaches doorstep and allowed this to happen. In reality Wukong was mad it had been Mac’s own sense of importance on taking it slow and letting a little thing like a life outside of Flower Fruit Mountain stop him from from revealing who he was and taking her home.

I am done trying to woo her over slowly. They could have lost her this night if Wukong hadn’t been in earshot, hadn’t heard the crash of something breaking. His clawed hands wrapped around her back and beneath her legs. Before he could realize it, Wukong had her up and in his arms, already stepping on and across the corpse and out into the June air. Mine.

“Let’s get you home, lovely.” Wukongs voice was thick with emotion. Relief to finally, finally, finally have an excuse to take his wife home, to see her sleep in a real bed and eat real food made his heart swell. No more pretending. No more longing. It was happening now. Simmering beneath that emotion was the sweet bubble, the red misting rage, of violence. Once he got her home, got her safe, got her tangled within some of his and Macaques blankets to where the sour smell of fear would be lost within the scent of them- he could come back. He would come back.

He would destroy the village for being the obstacle it was in his conquest for this mortal girls heart. It was in itself, a relief to know he was justified in its destruction.

Look what this place did to bruise my sweet fruit.

Peaches was shaking. Clinging to him. I would have her cling to me always. He pressed his nose into her neck, breathing in as he walked off. She smelled so good. He rubbed his face to hers, affectionately smothering her fear scent. Wukong felt a smile curl his face. Finally. We can go home and put the charade to bed. Finally you are mine.

Peaches' memory of that night was mostly of clinging to Wukong as they flew through the air, of his voice a rumble of soft words and comforts. He was holding her close, pressing her in. Smothering her in a sense. But she needed it. She clung to it in a way to stop herself from being sick from fright. It was strange but familiar to hold this fur, to cling. Then she briefly remembered another voice, another set of hands. When she looked up and saw that her sweet dark monkey was also here, had also been a demon in disguise, something broke in her. Maybe hysteria. Maybe disbelief. Or maybe she knew, somewhere in her mind, that no matter what she said now wouldn’t save the people- the innocents- in her village.

Peaches had been transferred into the dark arms and THATS where she finally began to cry. The shock was fading and leaving behind ragged holes of emotion.

“Safe, you're safe now.” She was reassured. Hands had lifted her chin, her sweet little monkey- now a demonic one- was gently beginning to sponge away the blood from the cuts on her face. Her cheek swelled, her eye with it.

“Please don’t kill them.” She begged. “He already took care of the one who hurt me don’t kill my village.”

“Hush love…”

“Please!”

Silence. Something cold pressed to her face- a bit of snow from far up the mountain wrapped in cloth. Macaques ears twitched like flower petals in the night air.

“It’s already done. The village is already gone.”

The memory rode itself out in the present and faded slowly.

Guilt washed over her and she cried all for a new reason. She had been the catalyst for Sun Wukongs fury. She had been the decider to his want of destruction. Peaches may not have killed them, may have had a decade to realize that what had happened wasn’t her fault, but Wukong had done it in her name. He had erased that village and all its people like a cartographer reshapes a map. To all the rest of the world, their had never been a village in the shadow of Flower fruit mountain. Not a foundation, not a brick, not even a spare hair, was left of humanity there. Instead it had been cleared as if a fire had swept through. Peaches had seen it on one occasion when Wukong had been persuaded to show her. She had needed closure. Needed the peace.

Once she had healed she had been told her village was gone. She had been given a sweet lie- that Wukong had gone back and the villagers related to the drunk had been ransacking her house to see where she kept the money or any spare wine.

When Wukong had shown up demanding they answer to the crime committed in her home, they had attacked. Wukong had enacted a king's justice as was his right. He had told the remaining villagers to leave- to never set foot upon his domain again for the lawlessness that had been enacted upon their neighbor.

It had taken two years for her to be able to relax whenever he came in smelling of fire and iron. It had taken a few years more for her to remember what Macaque had said when he had pressed snow to her face.

They were the same little monkeys they had been before. But now they had less innocence when they pressed into her face for kisses, when they asked to tangle and cuddle limbs. They insisted she stay in the bedchamber and not move to her own separate room.

It had taken getting used to movement beside her as a hand tugged her hair, or a tale twined her waist. Or a leg curled with hers or hands holding her face. Sometimes in the dark Mac would press his head to her back, using her as a pillow. Wukong would yank her in when he thought her too sleepy to remember and whisper all the things he loved about her.

It would have been sweet. It was touching in a way. If not for the way they revealed themselves. If not for that memory and what she knew now had come after.

It had not taken too long after that for her to start realizing that, though Wukong had saved her, neither of them had any regret of what happened. Neither of them was going to let her go.

When she asked about it or started talking of missing her home- the simple living, the ability to really on herself and choose for herself- Wukong would laugh and launch into one of his tales. He would brush her hair with his claws, run his face against hers and try and deflect her attention to new things.

Macaque, if Wukong was absent, would let her talk. Usually it happened when he asked her to brush his fur or he in turn asked to brush her hair. Peaches thought, just a bit, that the reason Mac was better at listening was for all the ears he had. Each time however, when she got to the part about how this had been her fault, he would stop mid way through a braid or pin and pull her in. Macaque would kiss the tears from her eyes, would press himself close to her chest.

“It was Never your fault Peaches.”

“I remember. I remember he went back- you said he—“

“Hush love you’ll grow hysterical. What Wukong did was justified- he defended you.”

“He killed.”

“I have killed.” He kissed her temple, gentle in his reprimands. He wouldn’t try and brush her words beneath a rug like Wukong. Instead he gave her a smile as wide as the crescent moon. “Let’s finish your hair and get you dressed. We can go see the baby’s, I know how you love the baby’s.” Baby monkeys were her weakness. They had been what led to her loving Mac before she had known he was a demonic warlord.

Peaches rubbed at her eyes and stood, the sorrow in her heart heavy still but the tears at least had stopped. Now she was just tired. Tired and cold and wanting to escape the feeling of it all. So she shed her courtly attire. All the clips and jewels and baubles and bits felt heavy. She placed them within the box at her armoire, then loosened her hair from its bindings. Jade pins, pearl necklaces, golden bracelets with bells of silver (Wukong loved this the best of all) all glimmered back in the firelight.

A pretty price.

She snapped the box closed.

On nights like this, she wanted to wear nothing but her smock, her simple clothing, and bury herself as far as she could go into the bed she shared with her husbands.

It was more of a pit set into the ground, circular in nature. Silken pillows, red sheets and a hoard of anything plush and furred had been thrown into the pit. It was also a snug place to bury herself within and one of the few things she didn’t feel resentment too right away. When the outside felt too bright and she couldn’t go about the mountain to her usual quiet places, she would retire here. To burrow, to bury, to hide.

Peach fell back into the pit of blankets and pillows and pulled herself beneath a fur of some striped monster Macaque had skinned and gifted to her. Tonight the bitter truth was hard to swallow and did circles in her head.

You did this. You caused this. You killed them. This is your fault.

She closed her eyes and hoped … hoped for what might be the worst thing yet. Her husband's return.

A time later she stirred. Something was in her room- was walking to the bed. Peaches felt a flutter of fear before hands reached into her hiding place and simply slid her out.

“Hello darling.” The silken voice belonged to none other than Macaque. His clawed hands entwined around her waist, his teeth nipping at her ear. “You are up late.”

“Does that mean it will be a late morning?” Wukongs voice came from the other side of the room. Peaches could see the ginger monkey removing armor from his shoulders and stretching. As the darker brother kept making a snack of her shoulder, Peaches noticed that the shine of Wukongs paldrom was dimmed. Something black coated the golden imprint of sunbursts across its armored surface. “I love late mornings! Means more time together.”

Blood?

“Peaches?” She turned her head, trying to see Mac. He had left off nipping her skin. A hand came away from her wrist and tipped her chin, forcing her to stare directly into his violet eyes. “What has upset you?”

Everything. Myself. Wukong. You. It was that simple question that set her sorrow to flowing again. She was confused, upset, and she wanted comfort. The only ones who could give her comfort were the very ones who caused her distress.

A vicious cycle.

The pillows behind her sagged. Wukongs hands were more aggressive in their touches, turning her about to stare into her face. He noted the tears, the bruising beneath her eyes. His lip curled in anger.

“Has someone upset you?” Wukong asked. He seemed ready to stand again, to grab his armor and step out into the night. “I will drag them here to give an apology. You name them and I will fetch them.”

Peaches shook her head.

“Just ….” You killing the villagers, Macaque telling me plainly that it was for the best, and my own head making me relive that night of events. Over and over and over.

“…. Myself.”

His face softened as he chirped a reassurance, pressing his nose to hers. Macaque peppered her in gentle and butterfly soft kisses to the back of her neck. The three fell back into the nest, limbs entwined and hands holding. Macaque had Peaches face buried in his chest as she sobbed silently. He cooed. He whispered how everything would be right as rain in the morning. His hands ran through her hair and messaged her scalp. Wukong held his Peaches, pressing her back to his chest in a solid wall against the world outside. He lavished her in praises and compliments, sometimes getting carried away and talking about himself until his brother would remind him with a flick to his forehead that it was their Peaches he should be reassuring.

And through it all, through this twisted and tangled weave of limbs and fur and warmth and sorrow, Peaches felt love. It grew in this dark place still, wanting to thrive. But how could it?

Still she fell asleep, lashes sparkled with tears and her heart lighter. One could only be sad so long in the wake of such waves of attention. Wukongs and Macaques love was the only solution to this ailment they had inflicted upon her, and she, the addict, swallowing the medicine that would give her release.

#hcwrites #writing stuff #twice as bad AU #semisolid #bad end wukong #ALRIGHT I DID IT.#yes I wrote this in a dayish between work and my other writing #I haven’t done this much work in a long time and I was so nervous I would get this pairing wrong #bad monkey boys #they made a whole tangled mess of this situation.#they sweet but stinky #sun wukong #sun wukong x reader #six eared macaque #I based this off a idea and answer Semi gave in one of their blog posts #was I lurking? yes. Because there stuff also has a vice grip on my mind #I Dont know much about LMK so getting this Macaque down right took a bit of work so I didn’t mess up the vibe.#i am so jelly of the nest pit pls I would dive into that like a child into a ball pit #jttw tag #lmk #it think I’m tagging that right ?#I have a weakness for big possessive grumps loving their sunshine wives #six eared macaque x reader #hcfanfics

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songofwizardry · 1 year ago

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ok I'm not an expert but I'm not seeing much specific info going around here, and there's a lotta Palestine solidarity protests in the UK this weekend, so here is some (including UK-specific) protest info and resources (mostly pulled whole-cloth from Twitter)

policing is heavy at Palestine protests generally

Hamas is a proscribed org under UK law. that means "inviting support" for them or "wearing clothing or displaying articles" that implies you are a supporter is a criminal offence (if you're interested, here's the full list of criminal offences from gov.uk). Palestinian flags etc are ok*, but do not have something that could be mistaken for Hamas imagery. don't go out there looking for convictions pls.

*in spite of what Suella Braverman has implied, the London Muslim Community Forum has just confirmed that the Palestinian flag is not a proscribed flag and is not banned (apologies for quoting the "we advise the met police" group but I thought it was important to have that info explicitly)

don't talk to cops. that includes the police liasion officers in blue bibs.

particularly if you're concerned about your face ending up on social media etc, but also just good practice in general (both in terms of COVID and protest safety)—mask up. cover up tattoos etc.

have bustcards or contact details for protest legal support on you. Green and Black Cross can be contacted on 07946 541 511. write the number on your arm etc.

if you witness an arrest: check if there's a legal observer nearby and if so call them over; if not: if the arrestee doesn't have a bustcard, give them one, find out where they're being taken, and contact eg GBC or a protest support line

if you have the time and can help out, there will likely be arrestee support required after—GBC tend to post callouts on Twitter for this

other links

for particularly children and young people and their families being referred to PREVENT for pro-Palestine statements, contact PREVENTWatch and maybe also Palestine in School (newer initiative I think, I don't have an excessive amount of detail on them just FYI)

Liberty, Migrants Organise and Black Protest Legal Support have bustcards in different languages, including Arabic and Somali (also Liberty's website has lotsa useful info, including advice for disabled protesters, protesting and immigration status, and what to do if you're kettled)

GBC's thread on what to do if you see an arrest is useful, as are all their resources generally

if I've missed anything or made a mistake, lmk—as I said, I am very much not an expert. if you know people who are protesting, pass them the legal support line numbers; if you're attending, stay safe and be vigilant; and ofc carry water.

#palestine #current events #organising #acab #text post #my post #if there is a better post that i haven't seen with up to date uk info pls lmk and i will gladly reblog it #but i know there's ppl on here who aren't on twitter so #also #in my experience #palestine protests both bring out a large group of ppl who maybe have not been to as many 'spiky' protests or don't have #up to date support numbers etc #and bring out people who are targeted by the police bc of race immigration status being perceived as muslim etc #and like i do think the profile of protest safety is higher and people are more aware than they were in general in say 2019 #but i still don't think it's as high as it should be #so like #it's worth sharing and passing around #but again i am so much not an expert #this is all taken from people whose jobs is supporting folks who are protesting #please go look them up read their info share their bustcards etc #know your rights #don't talk to cops #no comment no caution no personal details etc

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bombuni · 1 year ago

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live in love and die (18+)

Summary: You’re starting to believe your husband isn’t really your husband anymore. Still, you let him take what he wants from you. (wc: 2.5k)

CW: There is an uncomfy undertone throughout the story (Miguel is from a different universe and reader can tell) so beware of that. Enjoy :) MINORS DONT INTERACT TY!!

He is exactly like your husband. No, he is your husband.

But you still can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes when you part to catch your breath. Like you’ll look up, see a different man’s face and find that he’s been wearing your husband's skin this entire time. For some reason, he’s rougher today. Breath heavy and bringing you in like he’s never been tempted by anything as much as you.

You still feel like you’ll drown in his hands, in the way he glides his fingers ever so gently over your sides. He’s treasuring you. Letting his body do as it pleases, and it wishes to control and seize every part of you. Usually, his body wants to memorize you. He wants to take what he wants from you, but with a smile and a blush on his face. Now, he does it hungrily.

This is fine, right?

Gabriella is still at school. You don’t remember what excuse Miguel had made up to stay home with you today. By the way he had followed you into every room, watched you out of the corner of his eye, you knew he had a reason for staying home. You usually didn’t mind spending time with him, but now you couldn’t get away from him. He seemed to watch you like an animal in a zoo.

You pulled him into you as he kissed your neck. Miguel had never been a patient man, but he kissed you so fervently it felt like he was trying to eat you whole. You swear it's like a vampire trying to find your sweet spot.

Hesitantly, you lift him by his hair so you can search his eyes, “What’s with you today, Miggy?”

He’s reluctant to pull away and to answer, “Been a while.”

It’s funny, you think, how hard it is to get honest words out of Miguel. At least, whenever the subject is him. Whenever you ask about work and why he comes home late, he waves you off. If you were to ask what his hobbies are, another wave of his hand paired with no answer.

But you had had sex only a couple of days ago.

You don’t push it. You think you know your husband and he’s always been like this. Sweet, but silent.

Once he sees you’re satisfied with the answer he’s back to caressing you, gentler this time, like a wolf trying to sweetly coax a lamb away from its mother.

The part of you that’s still pointing out the differences in the way his lips feel is slowly but surely dying out. His weight on top of you as he pushes you back into the bed is too familiar and too tempting not to give in to. His touch always leaves you lightheaded and floating. You hold on to him so you don’t float away.

He’s pushy and already rock hard, you can feel it by the way he incessantly grinds down onto you, as he pulls your panties down. He kneads your thighs and stares at your pussy with a look you haven’t quite seen on him before. Maybe once, when you first had sex. He’d regarded you with such tenderness and desire that it made your skin too hot to be in.

His gaze turns to you again, licking his lips like he’s a dying man and he’s just found his first meal in a while. It’s too intense, too much, too quickly. His eyes pin you to your place and as much as you want to look away, you really can’t. Unconsciously, you’ve closed your legs. Why you’re hiding from him now, you don’t know.

“Abre,” He mumbles the word out coldly, like he’s really only here for one thing and you’re making him work for it.

You hesitate for a second, still frozen by his stare. He gently pries your legs open, pressing kisses along your calf when he brings your leg up to rest on his shoulder.

You feel vulnerable. Every now and again you are gently reminded of how big Miguel is, and now is one of those times. He’s engulfing you so that you can’t leave, taking all the breath in the room, and grabbing you by the waist to pull and maneuver you in whichever way he pleases.

He whispers into the skin of your leg as his kisses move closer to your middle, “So pretty, mami.”

It’s like he keeps having to reign himself in. Like he has to remember who he is.

Still, you sigh contently to yourself. No, that’s Miguel. Your Miguel.

But that seems to be the end of it. As soon as his thumb makes contact with your already throbbing clit he’s back to being greedy and aching. Hissing when he swipes over your already dripping slit, he’s quick to get his fingers covered in you. It’s like a fun game to him, the way his eyes light up at the sounds you make.

He pulls his fingers out and into your line of vision, “Look how wet you are.”

He says it in a matter-of-fact tone. For some reason, he can’t believe that you’re this wet for him. You blush at the focused look on his face as he watches the silver strand of your slick move between his fingers. Before you can say anything, he takes his fingers into his mouth. He licks his pointer and middle finger slowly and deliberately, wanting to clean them off as much as possible. Taste you as much as possible. It’s a pretty display. You find yourself, again, unable to look away.

There’s a string of saliva from his plump lips and his fingers as he brings them down to your entrance. Slowly, he enters them. Watching carefully how your hole is so eager to take him, any part of him. Watching your lips part and your brows furrow as you try to make room for him.

His fingers pump in and out of you, reaching as far as they can. Miguel still has a dazed look on his face, admiring the sight of your pretty pussy. It’s always a struggle with him being so big, but so eager.

As impatient as he was, he’d always wait for you. He wasn’t waiting this time.

Before you know it he’s pulled his underwear down and has his cock out, standing hard against his happy trail.

Weird. You remember he shaved.

He hitches his cock on your hole before you grab his arm, still dizzy from his touch, “W-wait, it’s not gon-“

He’s never shushed you before, but it’s not unwelcome. His lips on yours take your mind off of it, because this is Miguel. As sarcastic as he could be, your Miguel would never hurt you. You believe this with your entire heart and soul, so you let him in despite not prepping as much as you usually do.

“Just need to fuck you, okay?” He whispers against you.

You’ll never get used to the stretch of him, no matter how many times he fucks you. The burning feeling as he enters you is ingrained into you, so you hold steady against him and try to relax into him. You always do with Miguel.

He keeps sliding in until he bottoms out, letting out a guttural groan when he feels all of you. Again, like a dying man. He sits there for a second, both of you reveling in the feeling of being filled and squeezed down on.

And again, he’s unable to resist his own urge as he hurriedly thrusts into you. You’re his wife and you’ve been in this position countless times, but he’s looking down at you and you can’t really recognize the look on his face. He’s concentrated, like he always is, but there’s a dangerous look in his eye. The energy in the room shifts into Miguel’s control, instead of just two lovers. You realize he’s been in control this entire time.

He fucks you devastatingly, pulling out all the way before slamming into you at a fast pace. Miguel usually eases into it, but you figure he’s just stressed from work. That’s why you encourage him by pulling him down into you, close enough until you think he’s breathing for the both of you.

He doesn’t know whether to drag this out as long as he can or to chase his own high.

He groans into your neck, “Like it when I fuck you like this?” Emphasizing his words with a hard shove of his cock as he finishes his sentence.

He’s definitely worked up.

“Yes. Yes, Miguel.”

Your breathless and light words spur him on as he keeps thrusting in you, gripping your hips so hard you’re sure you’ll bruise. It reminds you of just how much he’s holding back. How if he wanted to, he could simply pick you up and fuck you in the air.

He has half the mind to do just that.

He’s still being greedy in how he fucks you, solely focused on the way your pussy tightens up every time he whispers dirty nothings into your ear. He’s sweaty and you’re entirely sore at this point, but neither of you really care, too lost in each other to really pay attention to anything else.

The feeling of him taking control and losing himself in you as if he hasn’t had any semblance of you in years has you closer to the edge than you thought. Your spine tingles with a hot, electric buzz and your legs tense with every single thrust. You’re acutely aware of everywhere you feel Miguel. His hot breath fanning over your neck, his hands digging deliciously into your hips, and his big cock shamelessly drilling into you.

He raises his head, brown locks falling into his face, “You gonna cum?” He whispers hoarsely, the words only ever spoken for you.

You nod into the pillow, too far gone to think about an actual answer. That should be enough, you think, he has you so fucked out that you can’t even come up with a sentence.

He tsks as he suddenly stops all movement. The loss of friction makes a pathetic squeak crawl out of the deepest parts of you. The fire that he started within you is dull again, but aching to spark. You look up at him, expecting some sort of hang up.

“You gonna answer me properly?” His hips still, deep in you.

Ah.

The question makes you pause your imploring whines. It hits you deep, and your mouth moves before you can even stop it, “Wanna cum so bad, Miguel,”

He tugs you down by your hips, impossibly close. He has a sardonic smile plastered on his face, smug like he knows that you can't stop yourself from bending to his every whim. He slides his cock out teasingly slow and pauses when just the tip remains. Just when you think he’s going to start up that heat again, he leans up and away from you.

Miguel has never been so sadistic. He always gave in to you, never one to tease or taunt you because he just couldn’t resist watching you writhe under him.

He’s looking down at you with that look again. The look you can’t quite place. There’s a wanting in his eye, and his smile is faltering. He studies you for a second and you think he’s going to tell you what’s wrong.

“Ruégame.” His tone is final and demanding. You don’t hear it often other than when he’s scolding Gabriella.

His hold tightens on you, like he’s afraid that single word he uttered will make you run. But he’s not nervous. He’s sweaty from the excursion and steel faced, waiting patiently for you to speak. As if his cock isn’t twitching inside you, just as ready to fuck you as you are to take it. His demand makes you blush from embarrassment, but you both know you can’t help but do as he says.

You slur out through the heat that’s taken you over, “Please, let me cum, Miguel. Need to feel you,”

You’re absolutely sure there’s bruises on your hips already forming as he grips you even tighter, “Not good enough.”

You shake your head fervently as a small tantrum comes over you, “I’ve been good, Miguel, please,”

He smirks, almost patronizingly, down at you as he splits you open on his cock, moving his hips forward slowly but surely. He’s enjoying the way you’re broken down to your bare bones and begging for him like it’s instinct. He likes this game he’s made where he makes it his mission to make you just as desperate as he is.

“Yeah, you’ve been so good for me, haven’t you?”

You nod, embarrassed and ashamed at how fast your head moves to answer his question.

“My baby needs her brains fucked out, doesn’t she? Looks so pretty when she does.”

You let out an involuntary whine at his words. They fill you up and take you over until all you can really register is how good he fucks you, how big he feels, and how he’s not letting you go at all.

He’s back to that fast pace he’s now accustomed you to. He fills you up like he was meant to, like this was your entire purpose in life. To lay here and take Miguel and let him use you like he wants. Yeah, that might be right. You don’t really remember anything else.

Before you know it there’s pleasure traveling up and all over you. The tingle runs up your spine before spreading out into every limb of yours, too numb to even hold onto Miguel. You try to warn him when you’re close, but his cock shuts you up.

He groans out when he feels you squeeze down tighter and tighter until you let out a yelp, a sudden ball of sparks and fire erupting in you and having no place to go but on Miguel’s cock. He fucks you through it, whispering in your ear about how ‘Te vez tan hermosa así, mami.’ He keeps thrusting until he finally cums in you, bottoming out and moaning divinely into your ear as you take every drop he has to offer.

He thrusts one last time, shoving any of him that managed to leak out back into you. It’s a silent claim that you don’t bother arguing against.

Your husband loves you. He loves you enough to stave off his sleepiness after sex. He always gets up and walks to grab a rag to wipe you down. He always kisses you where he reaches, apologizing silently for being too rough with his puppy-dog stare he gives only you. He always checks on Gabriella one last time before kissing you goodnight.

Miguel nods wordlessly when you ask him to bring you a rag. He returns with a yawn and usually you’d apologize for keeping him awake. Tonight, you’re too nervous to say anything. He wipes you down, but he does it in an unfamiliar and disconnected way. He doesn’t know-or remember-how to care for you.

You pretend to sleep when he settles back into bed, hesitant lips touching your temple.

You don’t say goodnight.

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #can i say i am a PETER B PARKER STAN!#i want miguel to die but i also want him to dominate me so #pls lmk of any formatting issues! first time using read more

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toxintouch · 2 months ago

Text

Absinthe & Sugar:

"They" pronouns used for MC, Unspecified background, no gendered language or descriptors used. WARNINGS: MDNI. Suggestive content/non-explicit smut (very little description used). MC is specified to be the receiving partner (penetration) for a round. Exact relationship dynamic is left heavily to interpretation but I'd say skip if you are sensitive to toxicity. ✦Read on Ao3.

The only difference between Leander and the Senobium is the uniforms, Vere said.

The sex isn't quite the way they intended. Leander is eager, desperate and overly affectionate. It rattles them, incongruent with the playboy image of a man they thought they were inviting into their bed; the casual escapade they were inclined towards doesn’t seem to be what they received.

They try to exert control—they do exert control, though it feels like a hollow facsimile at best. He accommodates their whims, accepts and welcomes their harsh treatment even as they dig their cursed nails into his flesh, press bites against his lips when he seeks their kiss. His eyes never seem to leave theirs, even as they parry and avoid every intimate gesture he offers them. Their first fuck is rough—a relief—absolution and damnation in equal measure.

They’re high on adrenaline for the second, nerves singing as he sears worshipful kisses against their golden fissures, laces their fingers together with his, murmurs nonsense.

They lose count of the rest. Their mind is lost in the heat and the sweat, the green haze they wish they could blame on liquor. It’s a dream—feeling someone so completely, without any of their usual visceral fear. But it’s a nightmare. The way they tip their head back to hold back their tears and end up showing their throat, the way they swallow his whispered promises.

Leander doesn’t behave decently. Doesn’t escort himself out afterwards. He spends all night crowding them in bed, arms encircling them, his heavy weight trapping them against his chest. They shove at him, weak and ineffectual, exhausted from the night's activities. While their eyes droop, fluttering closed against their will, his stare is vibrant, an affectionate smile upon his still-wet lips. As they drift off they feel the press of his mouth against their temple. They tell themselves they hate it, lips too numbed with impending sleep to protest aloud.

They mean to rebuke him when they wake. Deride his terrible etiquette as a one night stand. Tell him he smothered them with his body heat and hogged the blanket, contradictions be damned. They spend a long moment internally repeating what they’ll say—studying his sleeping face, the stress he carries during waking hours so obvious now that they see him not bearing the burden. The moment slips away when he opens his eyes, words momentarily caught in their throat as they admire the color of them, as they listen to his easy pillow talk. The curve of his smile, the crinkle of his eyes at their stilted responses. His warm embrace.

He holds them all night only to get on his knees for them in the morning.

The pleasure is so intense, they feel like they’re about to lose their own mind.

They dig their nails into his back when he fucks them, snapping his hips in a rhythm that steals their breath away. They hold him with the same fervor he held them. (As if that might be the tipping point—their last ditch effort—they’ve scared away anyone they’ve ever wanted just by wanting—)

And he says it; into their ear: “I love you.” And his voice is wrecked but he still manages to make it sound like a prison sentence. “I love you. I have you, I have you, you can—”

They score a punishing red line down his scarred bicep with one cursed hand, gripping his hair with the other to wrench him away, to make him look them in the face. He groans low in his chest, eyelashes fluttering—a true masochist—but his gaze meets their own with intent. He pauses, pulses inside of them but doesn’t come.

“Maybe I have you.” They spit viciously, though they don’t think they do.

He’s immune to their poisonous tone like he’s immune to their curse.

But they’re weak to whatever he is. To his soft retaliation.

They try to tug their hands away from his reaching grasp, but he doesn’t even acknowledge their resistance. He laces his fingers with theirs, saccharine sweet, pressing the backs of their palms into the mattress.

“I’m glad,” he says tenderly. Affectionate like he has the right, like he’s anything more or less than the worst decision they’ve ever made. “I want to be yours.”

His absinthe green eyes seem to peer right through them.

“And you're mine, too…aren't you…?”

The only difference between Leander and the Senobium is the uniforms.

They wonder at the fact that they listened to Vere, believed him wholeheartedly, and still did this.

#lmk if i need any other warnings and I will add them I haveeee some plague brain fog; i am unwell pls send soup #(interaction is soup)#leander x reader #touchstarved fanfic #touchstarved game #touchstarved leander #18+ mdni #dividers are by me & i want u to know this image was so beautiful at full size and I have to stop making them at full size bc i am sad #anyways if u wanna use it for some reason just throw me an @#“He’s immune to their poisonous words like he’s immune to their curse.” has been in my drafts since like 1st week demo sad to see it change #sad to see it leave the nest #I will probs reuse the original tbh that is THE LEANDER & ATHERIS DYNAMIC TO ME #Flavor tags:#{This} Verse {The Same As The Last}#{Absinthe & Arsenic}#{Absinthe & Sugar}#citrus fiending tag #toxintouch writing

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