Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Below are the summaries of all chapters. Feel free to jump to the ones that most interest you.

Chapter 1: Jealousy
Modern-day and location, Scaramouche and Kazuha are dating, and get into a good ol' relationship argument. As, uh, normal couples do.
TW/Tags: Semi-dubious consent, rough sex (oral/anal), kissing, slight mention of blood, aftercare

Chapter 2: Hatred
The Balladeer is a rampant serial killer in Inazuma. Detective Kaedehara Kazuha has been tasked to find and arrest him. After six months, Kazuha is no closer to finding The Balladeer since the first victim. Coming home late at night from the station, he finds a stranger bleeding out in the middle of his kitchen.
TW/Tags: Drugged sex, non-consensual sex/rape, blood, (SFW) knife/blade play, sadism/masochist elements, anal, edging, orgasm denial, ruined orgasm, overstimulation

Chapter 3: Patience
In the face of immortality, Kunikuzushi grapples with choices given to him.
TW/Tags: No sex/porn, emotional chapter, includes Nahida, includes major character death

Chapter 4: Moments
After being deleted from Irminsul, Kunikuzushi returns to their meeting place to wait for Kaedehara Kazuha, with a shattered memory and a broken heart.
TW/Tags: No sex/porn, emotional chapter, angst I suppose lol

Chapter Text

“I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal to you.”Scaramouche was pacing around the dining room, hands waving in the air as he tried to accentuate his point. “We were just walking together.”

Kazuha, who was sitting in a chair at the dining room, recrossed his legs, “He smiled at you.”

“And?”

His boyfriend gave him a pointed look, “It pains me how oblivious you are at times.”

Scaramouche threw his hands in the air with a sigh, “And it’s stupid that you never say anything straight to me, man. What’s going on? Why can’t people smile at me again?”

“Well, you see,” Kazuha replied patiently, “Heizou likes you.”

Scaramouche blinked owlishly, stopping to sit in the chair opposite of Kazuha, “What do you mean Heizou likes me? He’s just a friend.”

“He smiles at you. Insists on walking you across campus. Constantly wants to buy you lunch. Tried to kiss you once while drunk- no, I’m not done,” Kazuha held up a hand when Scaramouche attempted to interrupt. With a small pout, Scara slouched down further in his seat while Kazuha continued, “Touches you constantly, on your arms, face and hair. Texts you after 3am. Wants to constantly go out with you alone. Have I mentioned that he tried to kiss you once?”

“I get it-”

“Oh, and the real kicker, my love, is that he doesn’t like me.”

“He does-”

“Scara, don’t even think to finish that statement.”

(Scaramouche wisely decided to shut up.)

“So,” Kazuha leaned back and smiled thinly, “any thoughts?”

Drumming his fingers on the table, Scaramouche huffed in frustration, “Okay, maybe you got a slight point. But it’s really not a big deal. Heizou is just like that, and besides, I’m pretty sure he’s straight as a rod-”

In a flash, Scara felt his chin being jerked up to stare into Kazuha’s crimson eyes, brimmed with a fury that felt so out of place on his usual mild-tempered expression. In fact, Kazuha was practically standing now, leaning across the table, nails lightly digging into his skin.

“I don’t want you talking to him anymore,” Kazuha said cheerfully, as if they were discussing the weather.

“Why?” he regained his senses and jerked his face out of Kazuha’s grip, “You jealous?”

Kazuha smiled, reclining back slightly, “Yes.”

Twice in one minute, Scaramouche was stunned into silence. Jealousy was not a color that he usually painted Kazuha in, but he wouldn’t deny that the emotions that were flickering across his boyfriend’s face were extremely alluring. Scaramouche was the emotional one. Kazuha was the practical one. Scaramouche was the one that got upset and angry first. Kazuha was the one who sought to find reason and logic.

And now the scripts were flipping. Scaramouche was curious as to what pages would fly out.

“Heizou wants to go out for drinks tonight,” Scara stated plainly, taking out his phone to flick through his texts. He pretended not to notice how Kazuha closed his eyes and took a deep steading breath.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, to the new club that opened up downtown.”

“I see.”

“Just a couple of drinks, we shouldn’t be out too late. Heizou said that he knows the owner and wants to give me a tour of the VIP section. Suppose to be super beautiful and high class. Private bar and attendants.”

“Hmm.”

“He said he wanted to invite you but he knows you hate loud places.”

“I see. How thoughtful.”

“Yep,” Scaramouche drawled, standing up and gazed over at Kazuha fully, seeing the look of faint amusement reflecting back. But Scaramouche wanted more, and so he pushed on the gas again, seeing how far he could take it. “I’m going to go change.”

Kazuha stood up as well, his face now neutral as he started towards their small kitchen in their apartment, “Go right ahead, Scara. You don’t need permission to change.”

Now the real test came. Scaramouche tapped his fingers on his lips thoughtfully, examining his wardrobe critically before a devilish grin spread across his face. And merely fifteen minutes later, he pranced out of their bedroom and into the living room, where Kazuha was sipping tea and reading a book.

His boyfriend looked up, mouth open as if to say something, and paused.

Scaramouche was dressed in a black tight practically see-through tank top that only reached down to his midriff and a pair of matching blank skinny jeans. He chose to go with tiny silver hoop earrings, a smidge of black eyeshadow across his lids and his usual accessories of silver rings and chains. Although not the sluttiest attire, he knew it was one of Kazuha’s favorite outfits and Scara was betting that it was definitely something Kazuha wouldn’t like Heizou seeing.

“Scara,” Kazuha's voice was worryingly monotone, as he placed his bookmark on the page he was on and closed the cover, “you’re not wearing that.”

“Why?” Scaramouche twisted his body a bit to look at himself, and Kazuha let out a short breath at the movement. “What happened to not needing your permission?”

“Because,” Kazuha was standing now, making his way over to Scara, “everyone will think you want attention, my love.”

Scaramouche swallowed, gazing up, trying to meet Kazuha’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what exactly his boyfriend was feeling, as the neutral expression that Kazuha had mastered before they met was as polished as ever, “What if I want the attention?” he finally dared to say.

“I think,” Kazuha murmured thickly, “that you should only need my attention, no?” and then Scara’s lips were captured in a kiss. The kiss was heated and filled with brimming emotion, teeth clacking together as they leaned closer. Kazuha bit down lightly onto Scara’s tongue, both of them tasting blood, and it was only after several long moments that they broke away from each other, with bruised lips and panting breaths.

Scara was about to say something, but was immediately caught off guard by Kazuha nudging him backwards until his back was against the nearby wall and they were back to kissing again. Kazuha’s hands slinked along his body, finding his way under Scara’s shirt and feeling his chest, pinching lightly at his nipples. Scara moaned desperately into his mouth, wanting to feel Kazuha too, but his hands were quickly pinned upwards above his head, preventing any movement.

“I didn’t know I had such a slut for a boyfriend,” Kazuha muttered, half under his breath, and then his lips dropped, teeth nipping at skin, eliciting an immediate needy gasp from Scara. Kazuha trailed down, continuing his descent until a line of random hickeys dotted Scara’s pale neck.

“Kazuha,” Scaramouche began but was cut off by him putting his hands on top of Scara’s head and gently pushing down.

Scaramouche’s knees hit the ground, back still against the wall, warily looking up at his boyfriend’s cool expression. Kazuha smiled, “You know what I want, my love.” And with Kazuha’s fingers beginning to curl into strands of his hair, Scara tentatively started to unzip and pull down Kazuha’s shorts. His boyfriend’s fat cock popped out, a sight that always made Scaramouche simultaneously nervous and even more aroused. Standing semi-erect at six inches, pre-cum was already leaking from the top and his mouth watered.

He licked, tasting the saltiness, and then slowly started taking the cock into his mouth, sucking as much as he could as he went. But he let out a muffled squeak of surprise when his boyfriend’s fingers in his hair tightened and shoved his face forward, sending almost the entire length down his throat. He gagged, spit dribbling from his open mouth, and after a few seconds, Kazuha graciously allowed him to gasp for breath, before yanking his face down his cock once more.

With all control being completely taken from him, all he could do is do his best to worship Kazuha while being facefucked, his mouth being forced to take the whole length over and over. In the midst of this, Kazuha had stepped closer and now Scara’s body was pinned on either side by Kazuha’s legs, leaving him very little room to move. He shuffled his legs and tried to use friction to his advantage to pleasure himself, already feeling himself leaking in his pants.

Of course, Kazuha noticed this and chuckled humorlessly, “My love, is something wrong?” Scaramouche gave a garbled reply, as Kazuha didn’t let up on his hair. “Mmm, I don’t know. I don’t think you really want my attention. Don’t you want to go to the club? Head to those VIP rooms? Get fucked by Heizou in the lounge?”

Scaramouche could only moan pitfully, tears streaming, smearing black makeup streaks down his face. One of Kazuha’s hands touched his face, gently brushing away some of the tears before finally he was let go, coughing and collapsing onto the ground. He was picked up easily, carried briefly across the room, before his body was dropped unceremoniously onto the couch armrest, his face landing onto the seat cushion and legs dangling over the side. His pants were dragged down roughly, hands beginning to massage his bare ass cheeks

“Kazuha-” he managed to say, but immediately his face was pushed back down, Kazuha’s body leaning over his, pinning him against the couch.

“Ah, don’t speak. Moan, or any of your safe words, my love.”

Scaramouche remained silent and Kazuha withdrew, continuing to caress the curves of Scara’s body and then paused thoughtfully.

“Mmm, you prepared yourself? How thoughtful of you to think of Heizou like that.” The black thick buttplug that was firmly plugging his hole was tugged on playfully and Scara moaned, leaning towards the touch. “Well, we wouldn’t want this to go to waste then, hm?”

The buttplug was promptly removed and before Scara could even process the emptiness, it was immediately filled by Kazuha’s cock, all at once. His hips slammed against Scara’s ass and Scara writhed painfully, hands scrambling for purchase as he began being brutally and deliciously fucked. He barely had time to get used to Kazuha, yet his body greedily took his boyfriend’s cock, massaging it as it rammed in and out. He couldn’t move, do anything, with Kazuha’s fingers digging into skin, dragging his body back to meet him.

The pleasure was electric, especially as Kazuha found the sweet spot that drew out a sudden gasp of surprise, followed by a desperate moan. A chuckle, then Kazuha withdrew and slammed back in, aiming perfectly, and Scara’s fingers dug into the sofa, another moan dragged from his lips. He relished the feeling of being full, of being used, of being pounded, and it built up until he was at the edge, moaning and shivering and begging-

“Please, c-can I cum?”

All movement stopped. Kazuha’s cock slipped out of his hole (he felt so fucking empty, he wanted him back, he wanted Kazuha’s cock, why did he say anything) and he was being picked up into his arms, head lulling against Kazuha’s chest. Faintly, Scara noted they were heading into the bedroom, still in his submissive cloud, and when he was dropped onto the bed, he could finally see Kazuha clearly since this all started.

Kazuha was, well, a mess. He was completely naked, his eyes widened with intense arousal and desire. A lazy smile played at Scaramouche’s lips, because this was what Scara loved to drag out of Kazuha, the possessive controlling side that was only unleashed occasionally. One that Scara had come to know very well.

Yet there was still a softness in how Kazuha looked down at Scara, a gentle way he dragged his body to the edge of the bed and inserted himself back into Scara, both of them moaning appreciatively at the sensation.

Scara’s hands found their way down to his own cock, but was immediately batted away by Kazuha who replaced them with his own, slowly pumping up and down, in time with the strokes of his cock deep inside Scara’s ass. The pressure built, along with the speed, until Kazuha was back at the pace he had been at the couch, slamming into the tight hole and relishing the sounds he was able to get out of his boyfriend’s mouth.

“Kazuha,” Scara said breathlessly, hands tightening around the sheets, “Can I-”

“Yes,” Kazuha moved faster, watching as Scara’s eyes rolled, back lifting off the bed, trembling with the pleasure of his orgasm. Scara’s cock in Kazuha’s hand twitched and seed spilled out across Kazuha’s hand, Scara’s chest and the bed. His hole tightened even more and Kazuha groaned, feeling his own release quickly approaching, and came as well, filling his boyfriend’s ass with cum.

There was no other noise for a bit besides their collective panting, only punctuated by quiet moans from Scara, as Kazuha eased himself out of his bruised and battered hole. Kazuha immediately slipped away, returning only a few seconds later with a warm wet washcloth which he used to clean up Scara’s chest, legs and ass. Then, he helped Scara up, tossed away the top sheet for cleaning, and then tucked them both into bed, with Scara’s head laying on his chest, their legs intertwined and a feeling of peace layered on them both.

“You know,” Kazuha remarked softly, “if you just wanted to have sex, you could have just asked.”

“That’s no fun.”

His boyfriend laughed at this, drawing Scaramouche’s body closer to his own. His fingers ghosted over the bruises on his skin, and he dipped his head to kiss one gently.

“Did Heizou actually want to see you tonight?”

Scaramouche let out a huff, “To be honest, no. But if you really don’t want me to see him anymore, I’m fine with that. I was just playing with you earlier. If it makes you uncomfortable-”

“No, my love, it’s okay.” Scaramouche could hear the smile in Kazuha’s words as he continued,

“I like seeing Heizou squirm, knowing that you’re mine and he will never ever have you.”

Chapter Text

It was dark outside when Kaedehara Kazuha returned home. Only when the door closed did he finally let himself relax, immediately sinking onto the ground of his foyer and running a hand absentmindedly though his hair.

He examined the darkness of his house, trying to recall the last time he hadn’t just slept at the station. A few days? Weeks? Between the constant berating from the higher-ups, scrutiny of the public eye and fragile state of his partner, he often couldn’t justify coming home to relax. He didn’t blame any of them for the stress, but Kazuha still savored his moments alone.

It had been six months since the first victim: the wife of one of the prominent leaders of the Yashiro Commission. Since then, there have been a wild string of killings, all targeting government officials. The case had quickly fallen to Kazuha and his partner, Heizou.

The start had seemed almost hopeful. They were the most experienced detectives within the Tenryou Commission. There was evidence found at the crime scene, pointing to a criminal organizer called the “Fatui Harbingers”, led by someone called The Balladeer. But it became painstakingly clear that any evidence found was only what the Fatui Harbingers intended the Tenryou Commission to find. All the trails went cold. And bodies kept being found. All killed in their homes, three slashes across their chest, by “The Balladeer”.

Now, his days were filled with daily press meetings, heated debates with his colleagues and watching helplessly as Heizou sunk deeper and deeper into depression.

Six months, and they still weren’t any closer to knowing anything about The Balladeer, let alone getting an arrest.

After several long moments spent with his head against the door, Kazuha finally forced himself to stand, slowly making his way across his living room. Tea was definitely on the menu tonight. Then he was going to sleep until the morning, when he would wake up and return to the station to repeat the same fruitless ventures all over again.

But thoughts of his hot beverage were instantly banished when he stepped across the threshold of the kitchen, and promptly tripped over something that was lying across the entryway.

“What the-” Kazuha stumbled back, just barely catching himself from toppling to the ground. Blindly, he leaned forward, fumbling for the lights until he found the switch and flicked it on.

Before him was a slumped body, face and body obscured by a black cloak, with a small pool of blood around it.

Instincts took over. Kazuha immediately shifted the body, grabbing a cold arm and searching for a pulse. There was one, to his immediate relief, albeit faint and weak. But where was the blood coming from? Nudging the body over, the hood fell away slightly to reveal a man, with short sharply cut purple hair, pale skin and sharp features. His eyes were closed and they seemed to be unconscious. The cloak was made of a heavier material so it took some time to peel it away from their body, to reveal a large gash running along their shoulders and chest.

Kazuha didn’t recognize this stranger at all, and he pushed away the realization that someone had broken into his house, instead refocusing on the injury.

The cut wasn’t super deep, but was still bleeding profusely from multiple parts. It would definitely need stitches. In stark contrast to their smooth unblemished face, the man’s chest was riddled with scars and fresh bruises. His fingers fluttered across the marks, pausing when the man’s breath caught.

It didn’t take much deliberation as to what to do next. Kazuha slipped his phone out of his back pocket, starting to dial the emergency number, when the stranger suddenly moved, one hand snapping up to grip Kazuha’s wrist firmly, and painfully. Violet eyes flew open to stare at Kazuha, confusion plain on both their faces.

“Don’t call anyone.” The stranger’s voice was low, devoid of any real emotion. Kazuha immediately ripped his arm away, narrowing his eyes.

“Why?”

“No calling,” was his firm, but short, reply.

Kazuha snorted in disbelief, finger still hovering over the call button, “You have no grounds to tell me that. You broke into my house.”

The man’s gaze suddenly flickered with recognition. He opened his mouth, as if to say something else, but his eyes rolled back into his head and his entire body went limp, as he fell unconscious once again.

Kazuha hesitated. Studying the stranger closely, he knew common sense was to call for backup, call for Heizou, call literally anyone. His brain also screamed at him to not be alone with this man. But something made him pause. An instinct that told him to wait.

Always follow your gut, Heizou would always tell him. You have a sixth sense for these things. Trust yourself.

“If I die tonight, this is your fault, Heizou,” Kazuha muttered under his breath, and stood up to grab his first aid kit.

Only a couple hours passed before the intruder moved again from his position on the couch, covered with a blanket. The moon was still high in the sky, and illuminated the living room with a dull glow. Kazuha glanced up from his phone at a quiet moan of pain to see the man shifting, hands reaching up to touch his chest. It was now bandaged, wrapped carefully in white cloth. Thanks to Kazuha’s makeshift skills in medicine.

He sat up suddenly, a brief rush of panic until his eyes met Kazuha, who was curled up in a nearby armchair.

“Fuck,” the man’s voice was low, almost a whisper, and it almost made Kazuha smile.

“Good morning,” Kazuha chirped, tipping his head to one side, “Now that you’re awake, are you going to tell me who you are? And what are you doing in my house?”

A few seconds passed before the man begrudgingly replied, “You can call me Scaramouche. And to be quite honest, I have no idea what I’m doing here either.”

“Okay, how’d you get in?”

Scaramouche didn’t immediately answer, instead awkwardly pulling his arms out from under the blankets to stare at his hands, which were cuffed together and locked. He turned his face pointedly at Kazuha.

“How did you get your wound?” Kazuha continued on, smoothly ignoring the annoyed expression on Scaramouche’s face.

“I feel,” Scaramouche said flatly, “that you’re asking the wrong questions.”

Kazuha raised an eyebrow, “Oh? What answers do you think I should be asking, Scaramouche? If that’s even your real name.”

Scaramouche dragged his legs over to the edge of the couch, so they were resting on the floor, “Where’s my sword, Kaedehara?”

“How do you know my name?”

There was a humorless chuckle, “Still the wrong questions, Kaedehara.” He leaned back with a sigh, “Come on. I know it’s eating you up inside. I can feel the hatred and disgust festering in your soul. It’s healthier to let it out.” A flash of teeth as he smiled. “Archons knows I do.”

Kazuha was up in a flash at that, unsheathing a sword and striding over to point the blade directly at Scaramouche’s neck. There was a heavy silence, punctuated only by the shallow breathing of the detective who had dropped his mask, revealing a face filled with unbridled rage. A rage that had been building since he found the infamous sword that The Balladeer carried, sheathed around the intruder’s hips. The very blade that was now pointed at the culprit.

The Balladeer.

The serial killer he had been chasing for months, the one that has killed over twenty innocent people, had been bleeding out on his kitchen floor.

How fitting it would be for The Balladeer to die by his own weapon.

However, despite the situation he was in, The Balladeer’s eyes were bright with amusement, “Ah, there’s my sword. I trust you’ve taken good care of it?”

“S-shut up,” Kazuha hissed, twisting the blade slightly against The Balladeer’s neck. A bead of red swelled up and the man didn’t even flinch.

Instead he tilted his head to one side, a coy smile playing on his lips, “Doesn’t that feel good? To unleash your emotions in such a way. We may be more alike than you’d like to admit, you and I.”

“Do not,” Kazuha took in a shaky breath, “compare yourself to me, Balladeer.” he spat the name, contempt laced in his voice. “We are nothing alike.”

“So then tell me, why am I still here, Kaedehara?”

The air caught in his throat, and all Kazuha could do was freeze, staring at the serial killer that was lounging on his couch, in the middle of his living room, in his house. Why had he done this?

The Balladeer echoed his thoughts, “It’s a valid question, no?” Scaramouche tapped his chin with a finger thoughtfully, “You found the weapon, the proof you needed, to show that I killed those people of Inazuma. I was unconscious. Injured. But instead of me waking up in chains, surrounded by police, I’m here, tucked in with your blanket. Why’s that, Kaedehara?” he raised both hands, which were still bound together, tapping the blade away from his neck, “Were you curious? Well, you have me at your mercy, detective. What can I do to satisfy this curiosity of yours?”

“W-why?” Kazuha managed to spit out. It was an ambiguous question, but one that was brimmed with emotion. Despair. Hopelessness. Anger. And yes. Curiosity.

Why had he killed those people?

Why did he become The Balladeer?

Why was he in Kazuha’s house?

“Oh Kaedehara. I have such a simple answer, for such a simple question.” The Balladeer grinned. “Why not?”

“I could kill you,” Kazuha whispered.

The Balladeer leaned closer, until Kazuha could feel his hot breath against his skin, “What about the precious justice system that you work for?” Upon Kazuha breaking away from his intense stare, The Balladeer laughed, “No matter. I know that you won’t kill me.”

“I want to see your blood spill across the floor, for what you’ve done.” Yet, the blade was trembling in Kazuha’s hand, lowering to point at the ground.

He shifted slightly and then returned to his relaxed position against the couch, “I believe you’ve already seen that.”

“I want to see you suffer.”

“I sense that you may be a bit upset at me,” The Balladeer remarked dryly, and then shook his head, “And I know you want your answers to your silly questions, but I’m afraid I must cut this conversation short. I have somewhere to be at dawn.”

“What-”

Several things happened at once. The handcuffs that were around The Balladeer’s wrists clattered to the floor, unlocked. The Balladeer grabbed the blade and yanked it towards him, pulling Kazuha with it. With a gasp, Kazuha stumbled forward and then was pushed back, falling onto the ground, the weapon clattering next to him. Then a heavy weight leaned against him, The Balladeer, pinning him under his body.

The shock rippled into horror as he stared at The Balladeer, who was dangling a small key in his hands, with blood dripping from the self-inflicted wound from grabbing his sword. “Your back pocket. You didn’t even notice. And here I thought you may be a half-decent cop.”

Kazuha bucked his hips in an attempt to dislodge the man, but The Balladeer didn’t budge, instead grabbing his sword to examine it. Deeming it okay, he tossed it aside once more, but further out of reach for both of them. Then his gaze returned to the red-faced detective, “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Swear you won’t tell a soul?”

“Get the fuck off me,” he lashed out with a punch, but The Balladeer effortlessly pinned both his hands above his head on the floor, with one arm, while his spare hand was digging around in a pocket of his jeans that Kazuha hadn’t noticed when searching for any concealed weapons.

He withdrew a small red pill and hummed with satisfaction.

“This is a wonderful little invention that my scientists crafted. It’s completely untraceable in biopsies. They had a more fancy scientific name for it, but I call it the ‘Hypnosis Pill’” The Balladeer flashed Kazuha a grin, “Care to guess what it does?”

“So you drug your victims?” Kazuha spat, kicking upwards once again, “How pathetic.”

“Ah well,” The Balladeer shrugged. “No one is perfect, sadly. Open wide.”

Kazuha did the exact opposite, and The Balladeer responded by pinching Kazuha’s nose until he gasped for breath, and then dropped the pill into Kazuha’s mouth.

Try as he might, Kazuha couldn’t stop the quick dissolving of the drug on his tongue. Both he and The Balladeer stared at each, as the adrenaline vanished from his system.

It tasted like sugar and lavender.

Honestly, it tasted pretty good.

“You don’t want to fight me, right?” The Balladeer’s voice was gentler now, a stark contrast to the sharpness before. But Kazuha didn’t pay attention to that. He nodded slowly, and The Balladeer let go of Kazuha’s hands. He left them above his head, choosing to stare at The Balladeer with a semi-childlike wonder.

An odd heat was building inside Kazuha, something he chose to ignore for a more pressing concern.

“Why are you bleeding?”

The Balladeer glanced down at his own body. He was, in fact, bleeding, in multiple places. His neck. His hands. The wounds on his chest probably reopened from his movement.

Before he could give a reply, or lull Kazuha to sleep, the detective raised a hand and placed it directly on the bandages, “Are you still hurt?” Kazuha’s words were slightly slurred, but still clear.

“Ah,” The Balladeer stared down at Kazuha, whose pupils were blown out and mouth slightly open as he traced a circle on The Balladeer’s chest, “No? You, hm, did very well. In treating me.”

Kazuha laughed breathily, fingers lowering slightly to brush against the skin below the bandages, “Oh, that's disappointing to hear.”

“Archons, you are thoroughly testing me,” The Balladeer murmured under his breath, before grabbing Kazuha’s hand and lowering it back to the position above his head. “But because you helped me, I will answer one of the questions you asked.” He leaned in closer once again, and Kazuha was captivated, staring up at The Balladeer, “I know who you are, Kaedehara Kazuha, because I’ve been watching you.”

“Watching… me?”

“Yes. The poor Tenryou Commission detective assigned to find me. The newspapers write more about your failures, than they do about my killings. Isn’t that sad?” Fingers brushed against his cheek, sending a shiver through Kazuha’s spine. “The people you’ve sworn to protect, with your very life, are the same people who are against you. Yet, I’m the bad guy.”

Kazuha didn’t notice the few tears that were rolling down his cheek.

“I don’t know why I came here, when I got injured,” The Balladeer murmured, “But I don’t question or regret my decision.”

The “hypnosis drug” as The Balladeer dubbed it was also, in part, an aphrodisiac.

It was typically an annoying side effect, but made people more pliable and willing to, well, die. He had never been attracted to any of his targets, but now, staring down at the panting Kazuha, with tears in his eyes and arms pinned above his head, he felt a stirring in his groin.

The Balladeer had been watching Kaedehana Kazuha for a while. It was always smart to keep tabs on the detectives assigned to his case, to stay several steps ahead. He knew Kaedehara probably more than Kazuha knew about himself. All his habits, his schedule, his history, his likes and dislikes.

And therefore, he knew it was a really bad idea to have sex with Kaedehara Kazuha.

But Scaramouche was rarely one to make good choices.

“Kaedehara,” he said in a low voice, “do you find me attractive?”

Kazuha blinked, “Er, yes?”

“Then keep your hands above your head, Kaedehara.” Scaramouche glanced towards the window, noting that the first signs of dawn were approaching. He had to be fast. Kazuha nodded, his cheeks flushed and he was rubbing his thighs together underneath Scaramouche, which was equal parts erotic and amusing.

Swiftly, Scaramouche shuffled back and started to remove layers of Kazuha’s clothes. As Scaramouche dragged Kazuha’s pants down, he hummed in satisfaction, as the detective’s long and fat cock popped out, already hard and weeping pre-cum. He reached down, firmly giving it a few pumps, which drew out desperate moans from Kazuha’s lips.

“I can make you feel good,” Scaramouche murmured, glancing up at Kazuha’s hungry expression. “But you have to be honest with me and answer some questions, okay?”

When Kazuha didn’t immediately respond, Scaramouche twitched his hands around Kazuha’s cock, and immediately Kazuha nodded, back arching slightly from the ground, “O-okay, yes. I’ll answer. Please, please, keep touching me.”

Scaramouche let go, which made Kazuha mewl in disappointment, but immediately was shut up by the sight of Scaramouche stripping his own clothes off. His body was sculpted perfectly, though small and lacked any visible muscle. His own dick was only semi-erect, and was smaller than Kazuha’s.

When Scaramouche hesitantly looked at Kazuha, he saw the detective staring at his body with an open mouth, which he decided to interpret as positive.

He settled himself into position over Kazuha’s body and then asked slowly, “Why did you not call the Tenryou Commission, when you found me?”

Kazuha was quiet for a bit before answering, “Because I followed my instincts. I felt like I shouldn’t, that I needed to wait. But honestly, I don’t know.”

Scaramouche nodded, and then sank down onto Kazuha’s length, hissing in pain as he was still dry. The pre-cum wasn’t sufficient enough lubricant and even Kazuha flinched, struggling a bit underneath Scaramouche’s body. As they both adjusted to each other, Scaramouche leaned forward a bit, flicking Kazuha’s nipples playfully.

“Good boy. Now, why are you a detective?”

“Ooh, I-, uh, I didn’t want to be a detective. It pays well, though.”

Scaramouche raised himself a bit and then slammed down, “Oh? Why don’t you want to be a detective?”

“I-I ah~ decided to be a detective because, mm, my father wouldn’t find me here.”

“Interesting.” Scaramouche started fucking himself slowly, moaning a bit at the pleasure of Kazuha’s cock deep inside him.

“And-” Kazuha was trying to speed Scaramouche a bit, raising his hips to meet Scaramouche’s faster, out of time from Scaramouche’s methodical strokes, “And my friend wanted to be a detective.”

“Who?”

Kazuha’s eyes darkened considerably, “He’s dead.”

Scaramouche noted that was a topic to probably avoid for right now and interrupted Kazuha’s thoughts by going faster, relishing the feeling of being full and watching the notes of bliss on Kazuha’s face swiftly returning.

“Mmm, do you want to have sex with me, Kaedehara?”

The detective’s expression became extremely conflicted, “No. Yes? Mmm~ I don’t know. I-I know I hate you. I know I despise you, but-”

Scaramouche nodded, still keeping pace, “So what do you want right now?”

“I want to fuck you. I want to make you scream out my name. I want to see you cry, feel your nails dig into my back, I want to make you bleed, make you choke, make you-”

“Do it.”

A heartbeat later, Scaramouche was being slammed onto his back, looking up into the fiery eyes of Kazuha, who was drunk on both the power that was being given to him and the aphrodisiac pumping through his veins. The side of Kazuha that had shown itself briefly when he had just woken up reared its head fully now. The aggressive side. The side that Scaramouche took the most interest in. They were still connected, Kazuha’s cock deep inside Scaramouche’s ass, and Kazuha took a deep steadying breath.

“Balladeer-”

“Call me Scaramouche,” he interrupted and Kazuha narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll call you what I fucking want. Shut the fuck up.” A slap across his cheek and before he could even process the pain, he was overwhelmed by the sensations as Kazuha started to fuck him hard.

His legs were pushed up, till they were next to his ears, the delicious burn of his legs, the pain of the wounds on his chest, combined with the raw angry hate-fucking he was receiving was already too much to Scaramouche. He moaned brokenly, hands clutching at his own legs, trying to keep them up, to keep himself open for Kazuha.

“Fuck,” he cried out, shivering, legs trembling. He felt so full and this position enabled Kazuha to constantly hit that spot, that sweet spot, the one that made him see stars and he was so close, so fucking close, and Kazuha’s hands grabbed at his chin, forced him to look up, eyes so cold,

“Don’t cum until I say,”

The next few minutes were a blur, as pleasure blended together. Occasionally, true to his word, Kazuha would reach down and choke Scaramouche, oftentimes until his vision went dark and blurry, but always at the precipice, he would relinquish his hold, letting Scaramouche gasp for breath.

Scaramouche’s eyes widened as he got closer and closer, and he didn’t even realize was begging until he heard Kazuha laughing, “Please, please, Kaedehara, please, I need to cum. I’m so, ah~ close, fuck, mm, please-”

“No.” And Scaramouche’s world fell apart a bit at that word. “Why would you get to cum?” Kazuha started going faster, the sound of flesh hitting flesh loud in the living room, “How people have you killed? Yet, it seems like you’re just a cock-loving slut. Is this what you do to people? Break into houses and ask them to fuck you? Drug them so you can pretend someone cares for you?”

“I-”

“Don’t speak. And don’t you fucking dare cum.”

A sob left his lips and he laid limp, focused on not cumming, focused on not paying attention to the way he was being so thoroughly fucked, focused on-

Kazuha’s hand found Scaramouche’s cock and started rapidly pumping it, and Scaramouche moaned, now trying to wiggle away because how could he not cum now, but Kazuha grabbed Scaramouche’s hair, dragged him back into place.

“Say my name.”

“K-Kazuha, please, aha~”

“Cum for me, you worthless shit.”

Finally, Scaramouche gasped aloud and was just about to go over, when Kazuha stopped, pausing in his strokes, and his hands left Scaramouche’s cock. Instead, he pinned Scaramouche’s body in place, preventing any movement.

“N-no, Kazuha, I’m c-cumming-” And then The Balladeer came. Ruined. He felt the peak of pleasure rush over him and was quickly replaced by an uncomfortable pain. He tried to move his hips against Kazuha’s cock, to feel anything, but he was held fast in place and he could only weakly twitch and watch as his cock pathetically dribbled out cum, sliding down to pool on his chest. A hot wash of embarrassment and disappointment filled him, visible enough to make Kazuha laugh at him once more.

After several moments, he was released and Kazuha watched him, no remorse in his eyes, before starting to move again.

And a new form of pain unfolded, as Scaramouche started struggling fruitlessly against the rapid pounding in his ass, being thoroughly overstimulated from his recent orgasm. When he tried to cry out to stop, his mouth was covered by Kazuha’s palm and he could only whimper for, well, forgiveness. Tears were now streaming down his cheek as he couldn’t do anything but let Kazuha use him for his own pleasure.

Kazuha started moaning loudly, going faster and faster, chasing after his high, until he stopped, shuddering, dumping his seed deep into Scaramouche’s hole. Then he collapsed on top of Scaramouche’s body, shaking with the aftershocks of his own orgasm. Pulling out slightly, his warm cum spilled out onto the floor and trickled down Scaramouche’s asscheek.

“You know,” Kazuaha murmured, “you deserve so much worse.”

Scaramouche didn’t say anything to that, instead opting to softly say, “Go to sleep,” and Kazuha immediately passed out, courtesy of the drug. And The Balladeer laid there, under the dead weight of the detective, and contemplated the consequences of his actions.

Dawn had broken by the time The Balladeer slipped out of Kaedehara’s home, glancing back only once to stare up at the curtained windows. The drug would wear off around mid-day, and the detective would wake up to find himself bathed and tucked into bed. Perhaps he’d think the happenings of the previous night was merely an erotic dream, especially with finding no evidence of The Balladeer being there. For an ordinary detective, they probably would have assumed it was.

But The Balladeer knew better. Kaedehara Kazuha was smarter than that.

And when it hit noon, Kazuha woke up with a start, grabbed his phone and called Heizou.

Chapter Text

(Deleted and moved to another stand alone book, in my works)

Chapter Text

Will you remember anything?

Kunikuzushi sat alone. The tavern was buzzing with life around him. Although a few patrons shot a glance his way, he was mostly left alone to stew in the corner, hands wrapped around a mug of tea that has long since gone cold.

Will you remember me?

“Are you waiting for someone?” the bartender interrupted his churning thoughts, hovering like a pesky gnat in the corner of his vision. Given that Kunikuzushi had been taking up an entire table in the bustling inn for nearly eight hours every single day for the past two weeks, and always ordered nothing more than one drink, the human spoke with a level of politeness that any normal person would lack.

Keeping that in mind, he attempted to control the annoyance that threatened to sharpen his tongue, “No. I shouldn’t be much longer.” And as the bartender still stayed, uncertainty and confusion glimmering in his features, Kunikuzushi raised the cup to his lips and took a sip of the bitter cold tea, trying not to grimace at the taste.

“Of course, no worries,” was the only response, before the bartender flitted away to tend to other guests.

Are you worth this wait?

He absently drank again, barely noticing the flavors this time, as he returned his attention back to the entryway. The idle chatter of the people around him faded as Kunikuzushi sunk deep into his memories.

Often he found himself like this. Trapped in his mind, peeling through layers of what he thought was reality. To live over five hundred years, Kunikuzushi had plenty of memories. But to live two entire lifetimes, two realities that overlapped each other, and were simultaneously a truth and a lie, that would be enough for even a discarded puppet’s mind to crack under the pressure.

Moments that he thought defined himself were only fabricated by Iriminsul, in an attempt to fill the empty spaces of his past. Moments that actually occurred had been erased, his existence whittled away until there was nothing left.

In the end, he had no place in either world, either reality, yet here he was.

In the center of it all though, there was always him.

Will you ever understand how much you have helped me? Changed me?

Their bodies pressed together, hands intertwined. White strands of hair falling across his lap. A coy smile. Laughter. A hand on his chest, secrets exchanged under their breath. A gnosis pressed into the other’s palm.

          I don’t need this anymore. Do you trust me?

                    I trust you.

Then a promise made by the man with crimson eyes. A promise that made his past self believe that, perhaps, there was no need to seek out a heart, if one was given to him so readily.

          Meet me in the tavern.

                    I’ll be there.

                    We will run away, find a way out of Inazuma together.

                    I swear.

A promise that was promptly broken. Because after several hours of waiting, Kunikuzushi had found a small package outside containing the gnosis. Not even a note. Still he stayed. And waited.

And waited.

Until finally, Kunikuzushi had picked up the broken pieces of himself and carried them straight into Dottore’s arms, to begin the preparations of becoming a God. To cast away all the parts of his humanity that tore away at his chest, stripped his mind and paralyzed his body.

Ultimately, that ended in failure as well, becoming nothing more than a scratch in the universe, one swiftly covered up with false memories. None of which contained himself.

Kunikuzushi dragged in a shaky breath, gently resting the cup on the table and then froze.

He’s here.

And before Kunikuzushi could grapple with what exactly that meant, in through the tavern door, he entered. A few greetings rose up, directed at the newcomer, which were swiftly returned with an earnest smile. Then he sauntered to the bar counter, plopped down and started conversing with the man behind it.

He looks different.

Older. Wiser. More tired. But it was still him. The same white hair, the same shocking streak of red, the same aura of peace and tranquility. A sword was sheathed at his hip, which he adjusted more comfortably across his lap as he sat, fingers playing with a charm at the hilt.

          Who gave you that?

                    A friend. A very old friend.

He couldn’t do anything but stare, frozen in place. Watched as he laughed. Watched as he drank. Watched as his gaze flitted around the room, but never fell on him, shadowed in the darkened corner. Watched as the hours slipped back, the inn getting quieter and quieter as the night got darker and darker.

And finally, the white haired man stood and walked out the door, out of sight, and Kunikuzushi didn’t even realize he was moving until he felt himself fumbling for his coat, stumbling out of the chair and was out the door, feet pounding on the dirt road outside.

Kunikuzushi saw that the figure ahead had paused, head cocked, eyes meeting him for the first time, and he gasped out the first thing that came to mind.

“Kazuha.”

Do you remember me?

There was a heavy silence, filled with uncertainty as Kazuha turned to face him, expression neutral as he took in the ragged state of Kunikuzushi.

Only now did Kunikuzushi notice the wariness in Kazuha’s eyes and the way his hands wavered between his sides and the hilt of his sword, the way his feet were slowly inching back into a defensive stance.

“I felt you looking at me in the tavern,” Kazuha said, his voice slow and musical, “What’s your name?”

                    What do I call you?

          The Balladeer.

                    What do I actually call you?

“Kunikuzushi,” he whispered.

Kazuha paused at this, considering him closely, before relaxing slightly, “I see. You know my name. Is there something you wish to tell me?”

“I-” his voice caught, “I thought I recognized you.”

An eyebrow raised, “I don’t believe we’ve met before, Kunikuzushi.”

                    I love you.

          I don’t even know what love is.

                    That is okay.

                    I will teach you what it means to be loved.

Kunikuzushi was a stranger.

Nothing more than a stranger.

He turned away, cheeks red with embarrassment and self loathing, because what was he expecting. He had always known, just as Nahida knew, just as the Traveler knew, solemn faces filled with pity as he told them that this would be different. That Kazuha would remember.

“You were erased from Iriminsul,” Nahida had whispered, tentatively as if speaking to a startled animal, “Which means that you never existed, not in the minds of anyone in Teyvat.

This includes him.”

There was no one to blame but himself, even if that self felt like a distant bygone memory, an ailment in his side, a whisper in his head.

Kunikuzushi wanted nothing more than to scream at Kazuha, beg for answers, ask for his embrace, but what could the samurai truly give? In his reality, Kazuha had never met a lost and injured Fatui Harbinger. There were no promises that he had broken, because there was never one made.

Kunikuzushi would never know why Kaedehara Kazuha had betrayed him.

Kunikuzushi would never know if Kaedehara Kazuha really had loved him.

In this reality, Kaedehara Kazuha did not love him.

As Kunikuzushi grappled with the rampage of thoughts in his head, Kazuha stepped forward to tentatively tuck a piece of violet hair behind Kunikuzushi’s ear.

Kunikuzushi’s world stilled.

          Why do you always touch my hair so much?

                    Because your hair is so beautiful. Because you’re beautiful.

“I have returned to this very tavern every month,” Kazuha murmured, “For what reason, I know not. I feel my soul searching for something and when I felt you, it felt like a final piece fell into place. Why is this? I have never seen you before, yet you look at me like you know exactly who I am.”

                    Nothing in my world made sense, until I met you, Kunikuzushi.

                    You were the last piece of my puzzle. The other half of my soul.

          You always say the stupidest things, Kazuha.

                    Hehe. But my words always make you blush.

                    And you look so pretty when you blush.

Kunikuzushi’s hand subconsciously reached out to lightly graze Kazuha’s, before shying away from Kazuha’s touch, schooling his features to close out any trembling emotion, “I am sorry. I’ve mistaken you for someone else.”

                    What are you afraid of?

          I-I’m afraid I’ll mess this up somehow.

                    Don’t be afraid.

                    Nothing you can do will ever change how I feel about you.

Kazuha hesitated, “You are lying.”

                    I always know when you’re lying, Kunikuzushi.

          How?

                    The wind tells me, my love. Don’t lie. Not to me.

He shook his head, while Kazuha stepped closer, eyes searching his, “How do you know me?”

“I don’t know you.” The words felt like hot stones in Kunikuzushi’s throat, but he spat them out anyway. 

This wasn’t his Kazuha. Not any longer.

          Kazuha?

                    Yes, my love?

          I-I love you.

                    I love you too.

“But-”

          Forever?

                    As long as you’ll have me, Kunikuzushi.

“Stop,” Kunikuzushi squeezed his eyes shut, willing his tears to not spring free. “I have to go, I am sorry.”

As he stepped away, Kaedehara Kazuha called out to him, “Will I ever see you again, Kunikuzushi?”

Kunikuzushi stopped in place, one foot still placed before the other.

And without turning around, he replied,

“Maybe in another life, Kaedehara Kazuha.”

                    I will love you in every universe, my Kunikuzushi.

          Just not this one.

And in another reality’s past, Dottore smiled broadly.

“You’re making the right decision, Kaedehara Kazuha. Just leave that little package at that meeting spot. The Balladeer is smart enough to take a hint.”

                    “Just… promise me that you won’t hurt him.”

“Oh, I promise. He won’t feel a thing.”