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prettyboykatsuki · 3 months

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sloppy seconds | s. getou + s. gojo

✮ tags ; afab +fem!reader, weird relationship dynamics, polyamory if you squint, mild obsession, overstimulation + unprotected sex, wet and messy, dubcon (gojo references passing out on readers end but its all consensual) 18+

✮ wc ; 2.3k

✮ a/n ; nonsensensically horny about this idk

Suguru doesn’t mind sharing. Not with Satoru.

Never with Satoru.

It’s easy to mistake that willingness for benevolence, and for a lesser sorcerer - fear. But it’s neither, nothing so complex. Nothing worth philosophizing over, something Suguru loves to do. Suguru just doesn’t mind sharing with Satoru for anything.

If he has to explain himself - it’s like this. Satoru is an extension of Suguru himself. A part of him, ingrained in him, grown into him. Not like ivy vines, but a flower pushing through concrete, a stubborn spectacle of Suguru’s gray matter. Satoru is the bluebell that refuses to be plucked, to die, to be anything but involved.

That and Satoru is not good at not coveting all things Suguru owns. He’s even worse at try to pretend he doesn’t want them. It's pitiful and frequent enough to make Suguru wince every time. A boy born into God doesn’t know how to play fair, even when his best efforts are made to do so.

When Satoru longs for something, his whole body has to whine for it. His eyes will flutter and he’ll slow himself down like a sloth, laugh less. When he really, really tries - he almost becomes a shell of himself. A shell of a shell, a masquerading puppet.

He’s not equipped for it. Suguru finds the whole display pathetic.

Well, Suguru likes appeasing him, too. That’s part of it. He’s not so dishonest that he can’t recognize that he enjoys seeing the way Satoru breaks the things Suguru gives him. There’s a novelty in that display, like a child crying for a toy and playing too rough. Suguru fixes them, sees if Satoru learns from his mistakes and he never does. Satoru likes things that are shiny, things he can’t have. Discards them and loses interest when it’s already his.

Suguru never gives Satoru something unless he’s certain he doesn’t mind it being broken, or being used, or being a little messy. If there is any apprehension, Suguru won’t do it. Won’t let Satoru cry his way into it either.

He also likes the chase. Satoru does. Like an overgrown dog. Likes begging and pleading, making a big show. He can be manipulative too, if it’s something that has to be taken, but he’ll heel if Suguru puts his foot down.

Most of all, Suguru enjoys cleaning up after Satoru’s messes. It makes him feel important. There’s always an undercurrent of amusement and warmth when Suguru picks up after Satoru. The strongest is uncharacteristically sloppy, and doesn’t know how to indulge in things without getting sick of them instantly.

Their relationship is like this - Suguru is the hand that feeds, and Satoru is the thing that bites. Suguru sighs and clicks his teeth, but the scars in his fingers and all the bite marks prove that he doesn’t really care about Satoru learning his lesson. He just likes to feed, likes to watch Satoru eat off his hand for a while before Satoru gives up on being good and uses his mouth to devour. Suguru watches this happen idly, lets the whole thing roll off of his sleeve and laughs. Because that’s just Satoru, after all.

For all reasons above and then some, Satoru's interest in you doesn't shock him at all.

Suguru loves you. Maybe in some twisted way, but it’s love. You’re rather obstinate. He suspects he might have a type, but he likes you so much for it. When Suguru pushes your buttons - you’re not the kind to sit back and take it. And for how much Suguru gets on your nerves, Satoru gets on yours worse. Between them, only Suguru only saw the best in you. Satoru didn't understand that part of you is what makes you so special. Only you could refuse him so often and keep Suguru wrapped around your fingers, unable to ignore you or keep his hands off of you.

(He’s a good enough man to you just to make you melt since he knows if you really got mad you'd leave. He knows how to smile and sorry until you lay in his arms and hit him soft because you claim to still be mad.)

The decision to share you is one Suguru makes lightly. It’s featherlight and simple. Satoru will indefinitely break you in some way. Will rip at you like the ill-mannered man he is. Suguru will bask in it like he always does. Satoru is only so keen on having you because Suguru so utterly adores you. Of course he knows that. But curiosity always wins Suguru over. He couldn't help but want to know what exactly Satoru will do with you once he had you.

It surprises him after, but Satoru doesn’t lose interest in you as fast as Suguru expects. Or at all. Maybe he should’ve predicted that, since he knows best you’re not so easy to break.

But Satoru tries. God, does he try to just do that.

Suguru glances back towards Satoru. He has a lot more energy than him. Enough to fuck you utterly dumbstruck

He watches on as he does it now, with the same mild fondness. Something stirs seeing you like that of course, but it’s not so distracting he can’t do other things.

Satoru has you in his bed with your legs pinned up against your ears. Impatience makes an interesting image of Satoru. His sweatpants are pulled over the meat of his thigh, covered in cum and sweat since he refuses to take them off. His shirt is still on in much the same condition, though the black fabric masks some of it. Still it sticks unmistakably to his abdomen, clings tight to the lines of his abs.

Satoru himself seems keen on making himself sick on you. His hands are folded underneath your knees with his face against yours - warm, wet and sloppy kisses making the entire room sound sticky. The air of his apartment is so thick with lust, Suguru’s sure he could slash through it with a knife and still not make it to fresh air.

Suguru is a little used to it. So he’s horny, but he’s not there yet. He approaches the bed with a smooth and familiar demeanor, the mattress dipping underneath his weight as he sits next to you. Your eyes are tear stained and wet as you blink, sensing his presence even amidst your delirium.

You try to reach your hand out for him but Satoru is quick to shut it down. Suguru tsks.

“Don’t get greedy,” Suguru reprimands, and Satoru only shoots him a frown. His focus in fucking you open doesn’t cease for even a minute. “Missed me did you?”

Your mouth forms around his name. It tries, but the words are muffled by Satoru’s own lips again. Suguru laughs a little louder this time, but doesn’t stop Satoru in any way. When he pulls away from you, your eyes are glazed over. Mouth open, tongue sticking out and covered in spit. Bitten to hell and pink with someone else's saliva. Suguru reaches towards your face and wipes your mouth, his back facing Satoru. You whine, letting your face curl against his hand. Desperate, so desperate for him despite being fucked out of your mind.

“So greedy,” Suguru teases, because you are - because he’s made you that way so perfectly in his image. “Satoru isn’t doing a good job?”

Satoru grumbles with possession he’s hardly earned, but again - this is of no concern to him. He watches Satoru ratchet his hips a little more, watches him fuck you on his cock even deeper than before. Your eyes roll back and your jaw goes slack, and from this angle - Suguru can see the way all the loads his best friend has pumped in you have gathered at the base of his cock. A thick, creamy ring of white making your pussy deliciously sloppy. Your cum drips down your sex, paints your ass white as he keeps fucking him into you with all that stamina.

That’s what gets him, he finds. All that energy, all that mess. Suguru feels a shiver roll through him as Satoru fucks his loads into you deeper. He’s longer where Suguru is thicker so Suguru imagines how far that really goes. How hot it must be inside of you, fucked so ruthlessly you’ve gone completely stupid in bliss. Satoru can fuck like an animal just like he eats like one, and god don’t you look so pretty being ripped apart in front of him.

Satoru bottoms out and stays there this last thrust, so hard the bed shakes. His thighs stick to yours as he grinds his hips up, pulsing against your gspot - reaching right into your womb. You moan brokenly, whimper as you get fucked. Suguru knows it now - that it means Satoru is about to cum in your greedy little cunt for umpenteenth time unconcerned with the consequences.

Satoru shivers, riding out his high as he pumps whatever he has left into you before he pulls away. Thick strings of arousal keep you two together before Satoru inevitably manages to get off of you. He sits on the back of his legs, admiring his work - his hands going to smack your puffy cunt - pleased and finally relieved. You yelp, completely worn out.

“You didn’t pass out this time,” He says, pleased and completely different than he was before “Good girl.”

You let out a pained whine, and Suguru coos.

Satoru gets off the bed and looks for a water bottle to drink, peeling his shirt off when he finds it and rehydrating himself. He has the courtesy to come back and let you have some when he returns. You swallow it as best you can when you’re laying down and drinking it from his lips.

“You gonna have your way with her now, Suguru? How cruel.” Satoru says.

Suguru ignores him. “Go wash up and order dinner.”

Satoru hums noncommittally and disappears, leaving you alone together. When Suguru replaces Satoru’s weight in the bed - your reaction is immediate. You close your legs, but Suguru forces them back apart as he gets a good look at your sore, abused cunt.

Satoru can be so brutal when he wants to, but thats what he likes most to see. You’re in a sorry state. He uses nimble fingers to open you up - looking with a wicked grin as your cunt opens up for him. Nearly gapes from how stretched it is, how much Satoru has fucked you. You’re still soft and sticky inside, your clit hard and swollen. Full to the brim with Satorus seed, heady with his scent.

He tsks at Satoru’s unprofessionalism, wonders if he’s been as dexterous as he should’ve been.

The questions answered when Suguru touches your pussy and you pull away - skittish and helpless as he pinches the hard bundle of nerves. He whistles at how easily you’re stimulated, and then groans at the way Satoru’s cum starts to drip out of your hole. He uses his pointer finger to collect it back up - pushing it back where he wants it. You cry out - for Suguru mostly.

Suguru hums delicately as he picks up after Satoru’s mess.

He unclothes you properly first. Takes off your shirt and dirty shorts before he undresses himself. You like skin to skin, so his shirt comes off as his pants lay low on his hips. When he’s like that, you reach your arms around his neck like you know what’s coming. Suguru chuckles at how instinctual it is, lets you reach out for him - your sticky body adhering to his skin.

“Messy little pussy. Going to let me fuck you some more? Fuck another load into you, huh beautiful?”

You nod stupidly. He kisses the side of your head. Of course you will.

It never fails to send pure electricity up Suguru’s spine when he fucks you like this. Never fails to make him so hard he’s lightheaded, feeling how soft and wet and sloppy you are. Your cunt doesn’t resist him in the slightest. He slides his thick, heavy cock right into your pussy with unbelievable ease and feels everything. Feels your walls pulse with tremors of orgasms, overstimulation making you dizzy with need.

Suguru groans. You feel incredible like this. Feel perfect, so stretched open, so delirious, full of his best friends cum. He’s never felt a single thing so euphoric as this.

He ducks his head down to give you the proper care. The best part of all of it for him. His mouth latches on your tender tits and his hand goes between your bodies - thumb circling your clit as he bottoms out easily into your pussy and stays there.

It’d be a waste to fuck you hard, everything dripping out where Satoru has worked so hard to fill. Suguru opts instead to lay you out on your spine and grind into you. Your legs weakly wrap around his waist as the head of his cock bullies your gspot, pushing into you and rubbing against the sensitive spongy area. Silky walls soggy as they cling to him while you cry out again.

With Satoru, you mostly keep to yourself. Bratty and firm. But with him, you’re so needy. You whimper his name and beg for his attention and ask for something you aren’t sure of because you trust Suguru so completely. You forget your obstinance as you beg him for a proper orgasm, not one that happened to get rung out of you because Satoru can’t help himself.

Suguru can never last long like this, but he lasts long enough to fulfill your wishes. He relishes in the weakened pulses of your pussy, spasming around him for the last time. Your nails dig into his biceps, as he hums against your tits and lets you ride out your continued high.

Only once it’s over does he let himself cum. Buries himself as deep as he can go and gives you his own load, grunting into the crook of your neck as he shakes - his abs tightening before going soft inside of you. Thick white ropes of cum filling you even deeper. Sloppy fucking pussy for his pretty. perfect girl.

“Suguru,” You whine, your hands gripping onto him for life - usual personality evaporated to mush. “Suguru I love you,”

He laughs to himself. See? No issues. Suguru always knows how to put you back together.

“I love you too, baby.”

#getou x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #writing tag #dubcon cw #idk if i like this i just wanted to get it out

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angelltheninth · 1 year

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Make up sex with Genshin men? I really love how you write all of them.

Well make up sex is supposed to be the best right? The sweetest of all. Other then maybe hate fucking which I also have an ask for.

Pairing: Kaeya, Itto, Thoma, Ayato, Cyno, Pantalone, Kaveh, Tighnari, Zhongli

Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, gentle sex, marking, possessive sex, jealousy, cum marking, make up sex

A/N: I already did this one for a few characters so that's why they're not included here again.

Kaeya doesn't like to go on a mission while fighting with you. It will be all he can think about, he can't be a good leader like that. His lips are very rough on yours, he's rushing through everything, he's thrusting into you with wild abandon, coming inside you as he groans apologies against your neck, he wants to make things better, but he also wants you to feel good after he's left.

Itto isn't too good with words of apology. He'll try to spin them in a semi joking way to make the situation lighter but he knows when things are messed up between you two. What do you want him to say? That he shouldn't have been so reckless? Maybe not, but he would punch a hundred men to protect what matters to him. So stop fucking looking at him like you pity him while he's trying to fill your womb with cum! You're gonna make him cry, that wouldn't look cool.

Thoma is all gentle touches and hushed apologies against your heated skin while he slowly moves his cock in and out from behind you. He doesn't want to leave an inch of your skin unmarked by his lips in apology. After tonight there will be no doubt of how sorry he was for not being with you more. Maybe he should ask for a little time off, so he can take you somewhere to relax, not just have quickies.

Ayato has you in his while he's kissing your hand, his eyes looking into yours, his cock slowly making its way past your entrance. He doesn't really want to move right now, he wants you to stay perfectly still on his cock, feel your inner walls fluttering around him, slowly getting him to an orgasm while the two of you talk through your issues, after which he will come into you as an apology for neglecting your needs for so long.

Cyno never likes to see you go to bed angry at him, it doesn't feel right to him. He'd rather you yell at his face for forgetting your date then have your back turned to him and him not being allowed to touch you. You really expect him not to try and say he's sorry? To not pull you against him and let his cock slide between your legs? Then why do you arch your back? Why do you moan for him if you want him to leave? Come on, turn around, let him see you, let him apologize with a kiss.

Pantalone doesn't have an easy time admitting when he's made a mistake. In his line of work mistakes cannot happen, so he has the same attitude in relationships. In fact he thinks you should apologize to him! The audacity of this man whose cock you have deep in your pussy as you cuss him out for being such a fucking idiot despite being really smart to not see when you were trying all day to get his attention. Now he has to sit still and let you take charge for a change.

Kaveh kisses your neck while he keeps your wrists pinned above your head, his hips making your legs twitch every time he slams them against yours. You're not getting away from him until you've worked this out. Him being jealous is not your problem. You can spend as much time with his roommate as you want. Correct. But he also has every right to fuck every inch of his cock into you as a way of asserting his dominance.

Tighnari thinks you're pretty attractive when you're angry but less so when that anger is directed at him. There have been some little arguments in the past but nothing that resulted in the two of you screaming at each other and him spending the rest of the day on patrol to blow off steam. The last thing he expected was for you to blow his cock when he got home.

Zhongli has you propped up on his desk, tail wrapped around your leg to lift it up, his fingers working tirelessly on your clit while his cock hammers away at your tight pussy. Relax, being so tight is only gonna make him finish faster and he's already stated he's not stopping until you agree that he can just work on papers when he gets home as well. You'll still have his attention, just divided between work attention and home attention.

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comfortless · 1 month

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I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

#könig x reader #konig x reader

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i-cant-sing · 5 months

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Just thinking about Yandere Todoroki clan and reader's random moments.

Reader coming home after a particularly bad day, but poor girl cant even cry or complain without everyone immediately overreacting and pulling you out of school/college or even keeping you from going out at all. So now, reader has to either cry in self pity before she enters her home, wipe her tears and fix herself just enough to show that she hadnt just bawled her eyes out moments ago. That, or do the more risky thing and go home, go to your room and cry under the covers, but then theres always the chance of Rei or the others walking in on you any moment.

Also thinking about baby/toddler reader being sick, just a common cold or flu, nothing major. But with reader whining and being so young, the family's infantalisation goes through the roof and theyd treat you as if you were immunocompromised. I wont lie, but I think Rei is almost kinda... glad when you get sick? She enjoys you being dependant on her for the most things, even when you grow up and are able to handle a cold, she still deludes herself into thinking that you need mommy to come and help you.

I think the one person who is most affected by reader getting sick, no matter what age, is Enji. The man just cant help but view you as a fragile, starving Victorian child the moment you fall ill. In his eyes, even a harsh blow of air is too much for a fragile thing like you, let alone something as bad as the flu. He just- he's holding toddler reader in his arms, who snuggles into his warm body, your tiny nose pink and he cant get the image of you crying and vomiting and being oh so feverish- thats just way too much for your small body. Oh how he almost cried when he took you to the doctor for a shot and you clung to him, trying to bury yourself into him as you begged him to make you feel better, cried to him that you didnt want to get the "big scary needle!" He just had to hold you there in his firm grip as you writhed, had to look away when you looked at him and he saw the feeling of betrayal in your eyes, had to keep himself from not strangling the fucking doctor for not being careful, had to walk out of the clinic and hand you to Rei because he couldnt hear you cry anymore, had to have Rei console both you and Enji (assuring him that "no, Enji. Y/n doesnt resent you for making her get a shot.") and he couldnt even sleep a wink that night because he was standing by your bed, holding your tiny hand with his pinky as a tear finally slipped out of his eye.

ALSO thinking about adult reader going out of the house to meet up with friends, except shes meeting up with them at a club instead of at their house like she told Enji and Rei, and now shes standing outside, abandoned by said friends, and shes now running because a group of pervy men are chasing her and she doesnt know who to call, so she just speed dials Shotou, except someone just changed all your speed dials to one number, and you think youre doomed when Shotou doesnt say a word to you and just hangs up when within minutes, someone comes in front of you-

"Dabi?" He tells you to cover your ears and look away, and you know well by know what that means, so you obey, feeling a bit regretful as those men begin to scream in agony. You dont know how long its been until Dabi pulls your hands away and examines your wounds. He lets you crash into his chest as you sob, and this time, Dabi simply decides to take you home quietly without a lecture.

Hmmm, also thinking about Natsuo who is usually cool as a cucumber, the most normal being in the family, except for his very rare episodes of unbridled rage where he suddenly becomes the Hulk. Good thing for you is that this anger is never directed towards you, rather towards people who actively threaten your life (except Rei cause she gets to play "Im your mom who became mentally unstable because of your abusive dad") The only time NAtsuo is stern with you is when it comes to your health. He's just looking at you with those strict eyes when you refuse to take your multivitamins, or dont want to get a flu shot, or try to make up an excuse so that he cant check your vitals. And when he just grabs your wrist and pulls you to sit down so that he can do his checkup, its in those moments that you realise just how strong your brother is... and how easy it may be for him to overpower you and sedate you if he ever followed through Rei's threats.

#yandere bnha #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere dabi #yandere todoroki clan #yandere endeavor #yandere natsuo todoroki #yandere enji todoroki #yandere rei todoroki

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rayroseu · 10 months

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I have this theory that Prince Levan and Yuu are similar.

Don't you think their traits so far matches? Kind, patient, able to traverse through adversities (for now its just raging Draconias lol), aspires to resolve conflicts between oppositions, doesn't possess any bias (maybe because they prefer peaceful options).

There is also a scene that matched well with what we know of Prince Levan with Yuu --

• Prince Levan dealing with Malenoa's tantrum safely -> Yuu telling Malleus to calm down and Malleus actually listening (during their trip kn GloMas)

• Prince Levan manages the foreign affairs of Land of Briar, he is negotiating to stop ravaging their land -> Yuu is assigned as the Prefect of NRC, they deal with the trouble ensuing in every dorm and striving to make its members work together.

• Prince Levan is Malenoa's informant and seems to be on the frontlines while Malenoa's the strategist -> Yuu is always tasked as the record keepers or watcher of events (even in main story) by Crowley, and sometimes if there's actual trouble, Yuu tells Crowley about it, providing Crowley some stand-in in dealing with NRC troubles rather than himself.

• If we assume that all Draconias are similar, perhaps its safe to assume that Malenoa was also interested with Levan because he treated her normally (because like Malleus she was also revered too much and didnt experience much normality).

It mirrors similarly to the dynamic of Malleus and Yuu in the present, how Yuu is not afraid of him and in turn, makes Malleus feel like a normal person.

• Lilia mentions him, Malenoa, and Levan are childhood friends. So, it means that Levan and Malenoa probably met when they were children. Malleus is only 178 out of 1000 years adult age, Lilia stated him as a child. Plus, if we refer to the past ages of official Yuu's (Yuuken and Yuuka are 17), they are children -growing up as well. (At least I think so-- 17 is really young for me lol) Anyways, we see that Malleus and Yuu got to know each other in their developing years or something--

• This is kind of a theory but Levan and Yuu have the traits of a beasttamer- Lilia states that Draconias are montrous (but they're still faes.) Yuu was dubbed as beasttamer by Crowley because of how they took care of Grim. Grim is a monster. And, both Yuu and Levan, like stated before, deals with "their monster's rages."

• Both Malleus and Malenoa seems to get attracted by Levan and Yuu because of their compassion to them. (Malenoa views Levan as "he's the only one she can depend on" and he cooked for her so we can believe that Levan was kind to Malenoa.) In contrast, Draconias are always seen as "ruthless villains" "cruel" and "terrifying."

• As the game repeatedly tells us, Draconias exceeds so much from the average. They are seemingly evil, powerful and ruthless to people, even when Malleus was raised by Lilia to be "a gentle fairy" he struggles still. And, because of the normality/kindness of Yuu and Levan, that they are most interesting to Draconias. Since all those traits (being normal) are essentially their unknown and the impossible---

• I think Draconias are also fascinated by the "weakness" and braveness of Yuu/Levan. (Levan was pitiful during the time where he, Lilia and Malenoa got lost while Malenoa just had a fun time out of it). Malleus teases Yuu about is he scary now since we always seem fearless to him- I wonder if Malenoa treated Levan this way as well... (because all Draconias seems to have same personalities lol i.e Malenoa has a habit of being talkative at unusual hours too much like how Malleus visits us to talk in the night)

• This is a reach, but Levan didn't get any silouette despite the fact he was explained many times by Lilia, just like how Yuu never gets revealed in game.

• The fact that Levan seems to be referenced from the two events: Glorious Masquerade and Halloween. These events have involved Yuu importantly instead of them just being on the sidelines-

Glorious Masquerade because it seems like he's Diablo-inspired and Malleus' outfit in that event has feathers of a raven. And, the fact Levan's Name is spelled like Raven. Plus, his outfit was designed to resemble royalty Briar Valley clothing and Levan IS a Briar Valley royalty (the princess' husband.)

Halloween Event because of Levan's title containing Long/Dragon Prince Levan. Malleus' Halloween costume was a Long/Chinese Dragon. Plus, the event highlighted the difference between Western and Eastern Dragon when Malleus info-dumped Vil about it so it holds significance that Eastern Dragons exists.

• There's also this parallel of Levan and Yuu being the one who goes and never returns. It seems that Malenoa sent Levan as her messenger to the Silver Owls to stop ravaging their land-- and now she is searching for him since he hasn't returned. Maybe we can assume Malenoa is regretting it because Levan's abscene is alarming that she is sending Lilia to find him. I think the act of "sending away" can be related to how Malleus accepted immediately that we're leaving to go back home despite his fear of losing us.

In conclusion, Malleyuu is generational OR In every Draconia heir there is a Yuu for them in the Yuuniverse population😂🐉🦐

Also, correct me if any of the info mentioned are amiss 😭 sometimes my mind just rolls and makes stuff up and I'm convinced it was real LOL

sorry if i didnt add sufficient screenshots, i didnt want to reach the photo limit lol and most of the things i mentioned about Malleus (for me) seems to be basic facts in the fandom so i thought it unnecessary.

credits to gasmask01 on YT and @/081314 for the translations

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privitivium · 2 months

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Yan dilf... I love old men sm istg

yan dilf w domtop amab reader ramblings :3

yan dilf realness. based. a different case than the uhhh,,, "prof dilf" thing. smth about a chubby middle aged dude fiending for ur attention and getting all giddy if he sees you making friends with his kid is so cute. i also had this one prompt about a dad - adult son yan duo, son getting curious as to why his dad is so happy and follows him to see you and him on a date then both r in love with you LMAO! i enjoy the dilf with an edgy reader/darling. him trying so hard to bond with you, his young coworker - inviting you out to local shows or gritty bars to see if that takes ur interest. i like an awkward yandere who doesnt know wtf do to with themselves bro its the best.

i understand all the suave sugar daddy yan dilfs but liek,,, a little pathetic sugar daddy yan dilf,,, like yeah this guys had tons of practice and honing his flirtation tactics to get whoever he wants - but when it comes to you he's all serious without intent - his tummy fluttering in lovesick nausea - having to look away because the sight of you makes his dick twitch. you make his dick come to life bro he can't not have you.

yan dilf who's a pathetic fucking freak who cant stand being around you because you constantly make him all fuzzy and hard n he thinks its sooo unprofessional in the workplace!!! hands notably shaking as he grabs the random stack of papers he needs to sign - did he need to the sign these? fuck he doesnt remember what you were saying... too busy wondering how big of a dildo he has to order to practice with as he catches sight of your soft bulge in your disgustingly tight khakis.

yan dilf whos all disturbingly awkward when it comes to you - but still, offering to take you out for drinks after coincidentally bumping into each other outside of work. yeah, haha, it's super weird how we keep meeting like this, i guess its fates way of telling us we should hangout, right? haha... it's a little pathetic, you observe with a smile - agreeing merrily. but it's so cute. he was so obvious - you'd seriously think a middle-aged man would have the smoothness to flirt, but it's clear he's lacking in that department. making you wonder if he makes up for it in another department. he was wondering the same about you... but instead, berating himself for being a disgusting old man, thinking dirty things about you.

or maybe its smth like you being a babysitter for this quietly rich guy,,, him being all intimidating, unsure of how to get you to see how cool and "chill" he is, rather an observer as he enjoys watching you take care of his tweens.

yan dilf who cannot get you out of his mind. at a family dinner, a private seating arrangement in an extravagant place losing himself in his thoughts as his children make animated conversation - simply wondering what you were eating at this lovely afternoon... wondering if you were eating ramen like that stereotype of broke college kids having nothing to eat. he'd have to... sneakly provide you money... he cant stand the thought of you not eating well - whats his problem‐?! he barely knows you yet he's stalking you through social media and your fucking windows - sneaking in and planting cameras now just to settle his paranoia about your wellbeing? he's just a poor obsessed manㅡtake pity on him, omg.

#yan dilf.......#ocs =͟͟͞͞★#x male reader #male reader #top male reader #x top male reader #x dom male reader #dom male reader #yandere x male reader #yandere male x reader #yandere m x m reader #yandere male x male reader #hoorayyy_!_!_!_!!

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papercorgiworld · 4 months

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Christmas saviours

Blaise, Draco, Enzo, Theo and Mattheo

A bit of an angsty beginning because of some Christmas loneliness, but you need not worry our most handsome Slytherins will save Christmas Eve with fluff and kisses.

Warning: only kisses and maybe some suggestiveness

Not proofread, feedback always welcome.

I planned on finishing another fic, but ended up writing Christmas fluff. I hope you enjoy it! I wish you all a wonderful Christmas and for those who don’t celebrate Christmas, I wish you a most wonderful day.

Christmas, you loved it! Every year you celebrated with your family and created some lovely memories. Although you knew this year would be different, you were confident that also this year you would manage to create wonderful memories.

You had only recently moved to the UK and this was your first year at Hogwarts. You were definitely the odd one out. Everyone in your year already knew each other for years and then there was you: new and permanently lost in the castle. You had made some friends, but also weren’t gonna win any popularity contests any time soon.

The news that your parents had to work this Christmas made your stomach turn and your heart physically hurt. However, you were already in the Christmas spirit so you were hopeful that you could still figure something out. You consoled your parents by telling them that it would be good to spend Christmas at Hogwarts to make friends.

And that was the plan. You invited everyone you had ever talked to at Hogwarts and also everyone from your year. And you learned a lot, like some people really need to learn how to say no in a polite way and most people go home for Christmas. Now Christmas eve was only a day away, two people had confirmed they were coming and there were two people left on your list who hadn’t responded. Possibly four people would show up, worst case scenario two.

Being hopeful and in full Christmas spirit you did your shopping, preparing everything for an unforgettable Christmas eve. On your way from Hogsmeade one of your invitees came running towards you. “Hey (y/n), so glad to catch.” You smiled brightly. “Here to help me with the groceries?” Your friend smiled. “Uhm, no, but I’ll help.” You’re pleased you can let go of some of the heavy bags. “I was actually looking for you, because I got great news, my parents made it back in time after all. So, me and my brother are leaving in half an hour. I'm really sorry we gotta miss out on your Christmas dinner.” Your smile fades, but you immediately force a fake one onto your lips.

Walking into the room of requirement you finally fall apart. You watch as Hogwarts conjures the most picturesque Christmas scene you’ve ever seen. Tears softly make their way down your cheeks, but you don’t sob, you try to ignore your misery. With shaky hands you put everything you bought in its designated spot. When you kneel down to set the four small Christmas gifts you bought under the tree you finally admit to yourself that you’ll be spending tomorrow evening alone, unwrapping your own gifts. After your moment of self pity you make your way down to your dorm.

The next morning you decide that there is still hope! Though the chances are slim, there’s still a chance one of the two who haven’t responded yet will show up or maybe both. You try and find them throughout the day, but fail. Around 5 you start dressing up. Around 6 you light the candles for your grand Christmas eve party.

Your heart twists and turns as it's hurting terribly, like it would rather stop beating than suffer another minute of agonizing loneliness. You stuff your face with delicious snacks. “What was I thinking? Like someone was gonna show up. I watched too many mushy Christmas movies. Christmas is overrated anyway! I’m turning into the grinch! Uh, I’m talking to myself! I’m going insane, might as well steal everyone’s Christmas next year.” You stop ranting and grab a plate, ready to start cleaning up and go to bed at 7.

Blaise

Suddenly the door opens and you stare in disbelief as Blaise Zabini walks in. “I was in the neighborhood, though I would stop by.” Like a deer caught in headlights you stand still. “Early? Aren’t I?” He looks around the empty room and continues. “If you want I can help you prepare.” You look down at your feet wondering what to say. “You look absolutely stunning, by the way.” “Thanks.” You put down the plate you were holding and manage to gather enough courage to be honest. “Everything is ready. And you’re not early. No one showed up.”

Blaise seems shocked by the news and makes his way around the table to you. “What? That’s horrible. All your effort.” His hands rest on your arms, giving you comfort. “I’ll live.” You say playing it down, but your glassy eyes betray you. “But why are you here? I expected everyone to be at their respective parties.” Blaise’s lips formed a line and you could see he was in deep thought for a second. “I am.” You looked confused at the Slytherin in front of you. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” You frowned and smiled at the same time. Happy with the news but not quite sure what to think about it.

“So… what’s for dinner?” You wanna question everything he’s doing, but his excitement distracts you and you start telling him about all that you had prepared. You two have a lovely dinner together. Blaise is his most charming self as he wants nothing more than to make you forget that no one else showed up. To any outsider it would look as if you two had planned to spend Christmas together. But you kept wondering why he was here. You had to ask. “Why were you in the neighborhood?” A lot of stutters escaped a normally always easy talker, which made you question whether he was in the neighborhood at all. “There was no reason for you to be here, was there?” Realizing it was pointless to come up with excuses, he confessed. “I know I told you I wasn’t coming to your party but I have a little something and that’s why I stopped by.”

You found his choice of words odd. “A little something? Like a gift?” Blaise thought for a moment. “No, not really. Stand up for me will ya?” He got up and you did the same as he requested. He signaled you to come closer and when you still stood too far away he gently tugged your hand until your chest almost met his. He smiled a little goofy and only after a moment did you realize he was nervous. Blaise reached for something in the inner pocket of his jacket. You watch him carefully pull out a branch of mistletoe. He held in between the two of you. “I brought mistletoe.” You laughed as he stated the obvious. “Isn’t it supposed to be above the person you wish to kiss?” He nodded and reached for his wand.

Casting Levioso made the branch float above the both of you. Blaise reached for both your hands and you in return took a step closer. You were now pressed against one another. “Merry Christmas, (y/n).” He leaned in. “Merry Christmas, Blaise.” You whispered against his lips before kissing him.

Draco

The door slams open and you’re shocked to see Draco Malfoy of all people. Is he lost? He looks around smugly, one hand in his pocket and a smirk on his face. “Quiet the party, new girl.” Gesturing towards the empty room. “Trust me the atmosfeer was great until you came in.” You immediately snapped back. He simply huffed and walked towards the table examining all the different dishes. “So where are you guests?” He asked sincerely but without looking up from the food. “I guess everyone had other parties to attend. Understandable.” Your voice was so soft and defeated it made Draco look up at you worried that you might start crying any moment.

He wasn’t really good at situations like these so he quickly made his way over to the drinks. “May I?” He asked politely, gesturing to a bottle of champagne. You nodded. “But it’s probably too cheap for your taste.” Draco gave the bottle one look, shrugged, and opened it anyway. “I’ve already had expensive champagne and cheap company today. Got bored. So I decided to come here for cheap champagne and better people.” You take the glass he offers you. “I’m sorry, it’s a ‘cheap champagne and no people’ kinda party.” He takes a rather large swing from the glass and looks at you with a softness you’ve never seen before. “I’ll take you and your cheap champagne over my family’s horrible Christmas party anytime. So, will you have me as your guest?” You nod with glittering eyes. You quickly explain all the different options your table offers.

He tastes everything and overflows you with compliments. His table manners are exquisite and he even teaches you some little details of fancy dining. But most of all you spent your time laughing at all the ridiculous parties his family organizes. It helps him vent and your laugh makes him heal, like it’s all alright now that you agree it’s just as absurd as he thinks it is. After you’ve finished dining you turn to the tree and the gifts underneath. “If you still have time I’ve got four gifts under the tree. It’s just little trinkets, but to leave them unopened just feels horrible.” The Slytherin stares at you with wide eyes as you make your way to the tree to pick up one of the gifts. When you turn around with a gift in your hands he gets up from his seat in a hurry. “I can’t stay.” Is all he says as he picks up his scarf.

“Just one gift.” Your voice is almost a whisper and Draco closes his eyes for a moment. “It’s just, I have nothing for you. I come barging in, eating all the food and now gifts, while I have nothing to give-“ “You showed up! You saved my Christmas. You’re like my hero.” Draco feels like he’s going to burst with emotion at your words. He… a hero, it made him feel like a whole different person. “Truth is, (y/n) you saved me and not just my Christmas, all of me.” Only now you realize how close together you are with only the gift between you two. He looks so fragile and that’s probably why you suddenly felt the courage and need to go in for a soft kiss. He was shocked for a moment with eyes wide, but surrendered to your warmth and kissed back, his hand reaching for the back of your head to deepen the kiss.

“Will you now open a gift?” You ask again when you break the kiss. He smiles sheepishly. “Yes, anything for my princess.”

Enzo

“I’m here!” You stare at energetic Berkshire as he comes through the door announcing his presence. “Might have nicked something fancy that might just save your Christmas.” He holds a bottle of expensive firewhisky up. “What are you doing here?” You asked, confused by his presence and enthusiasm. His smile softens and he puts the bottle down on the table. “I had a suspicion that the new girl’s Christmas party wasn’t going to be a great success.” You felt horrible hearing him say the obvious. He walked around the table towards you.

“I’m here to keep you company.” You huff at his offer. “I don’t need your pity. I’m sure you have plenty of other places to be.” Enzo grabs your hand as you try to turn away from him in an attempt to hide your misery. “You need my pity, this is a pitiful party.” You try to force your hand out of his grip but he has a surprisingly tight hold of you and you end up closer to him. “And also, there’s nothing for me at the other parties, because the cute new girl isn’t there.”

You look in his gentle eyes wondering if he really means it. “You want to spend Christmas eve with me?” You ask, almost afraid of the answer. He nods and an adorable smile tugs at your lips as you no longer can contain your happiness. During dinner Enzo catches you up on all the latest gossip. But after a while you get worried if people gossip this much at Hogwarts then for sure they will talk about your lame party. It’s this concern that leads you to ask for a favor. “Uhm. Enzo, about my party… could you not tell anybody. Like I can just say that I canceled it. I mean.. I really don’t want people figuring out about my lame Christmas party.”

“Can’t.” You stare at him as he swallows a bite of his desert. “If your party didn’t happen then where was I. I can’t have people thinking I was alone.” “But telling people you were at the new girl’s lame party won’t do your reputation any good either.” Enzo shakes his head and gets up from his seat opposite of you to take a seat next to you. “Darling, this is not a lame party. It’s a lovely party. We’ve got amazing decorations, delicious food, firewhisky, gifts under the tree and each other. Are you not happy?” You turn to him, feeling a bit embarrassed that you were so caught up with what people would think rather than when you think. “Of course, I was being stupid. This is a lovely Christmas, thank you Enzo.”

His smile turns cheeky. “Yeah, I kind of saved your Christmas eve. Didn’t I?” You nod and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Yes, yes you definitely saved my evening.” Enzo licks his lips in a mischievous way. “A kiss on the cheek?! That's all a guy gets for saving Christmas?” You laugh at his dramatics. You fake a scoff and get up from your seat. “Enzo, have you no shame.” Suddenly he grabs you pulling you into his lap, a giggle escaping your lips. “No.” He states and wiggles his eyebrows. “Fine.” You kiss him softly and bite his lip softly while purposely pressing your chest against his, giving him more than he bargained for. The kiss deepens and his hand slips to your thighs resting there and gently squeezing. “I definitely know some guys who’re going to be jealous when they hear about this party.” “Shut up, Enzo.” You say playfully before kissing him again.

Theo

Theodore Nott? Unbelievable? To avoid any snarky comments you decide to diss yourself before he gets the chance. “Welcome to the most boring Christmas party ever.” Theodore simply snorts at your fake enthusiasm. “Pretty sure, I just came from the world’s most boring Christmas party.” You huff. “Wow, I suck even in organising lame parties.” Theo looks around. “Pretty sure this doesn’t qualify as a party.” You narrow your eyes, how does he manage to always have the last word.

“What are you doing here, Nott?” You ask as your frustration with Theo beats the sadness over your party. “If I remember correctly you said my Christmas enthusiasm was as overrated as my academic skills.” Theodore can’t help but roll his eyes. women and their need to remember every stupid thing he says. “Sounds like me, probably was me. But clearly I’m desperate… so, do you take in strays?” Your attitude disappears as you look at him, he was in his way sincerely asking if he could stay.

“Of course. You’re very welcome.” Your voice comes out with a little more doubt than planned, but Theo takes your welcome anyway. You both sit opposite of one another. “You must be really desperate if you came to my party?” You ask softly, no snarkiness in your tone. “You must be really desperate for a guest if you let me in, after all I’ve not been my kindest self around you.” You look at the food on your plate. “I’m really desperate, since obviously no one bothered to show up aside from you. But also I can see the humor in most of the insults you throw at me.” A warm smile appears on the slytherin’s face, feeling understood and a little less bad.

For the most part your evening is filled with humorous insults and snarky comments, but as time passes your rivalry ebbs away. The conversations get more serious and Theo almost exclusively has words of endearment for you. His softness envelopes you and your Christmas joy finds its way to Theodore. After lounging on the couch for a while you pull yourself back up. “Gifts? I’ve got four and they’re all for you.” He growls gutturally. “I don’t like gifts, plus I don’t have one for you.” You frown. “Who doesn’t like gifts? You absolute weirdo.” Theo laughs at your unfiltered opinion of him. He pushes himself to sit straight and watches you pick out the first gift. You don’t see how fragile he looks as he watches your gentleness.

When you go sit next to him and joyfully present him the gift he looks in your eyes. “Come on.” You urge like an impatient child. “Fine, but me first.” You frown and purse your lips. “You said you didn’t have anything.” Out of his pocket a fumbled piece of paper appears. “It’s not something I wanted to share, but it’s Christmas right, so why not.” He nonchalantly pushes it to you, waving the paper impatiently, like he wants to be rid of it. When you take it he looks away avoiding your confused gaze. You ignore his bizarre behavior and gently unfold the paper, revealing a sketch of you: you paying attention during class, probably transfigurations.

Theo’s still looking at anything but you. You shuffle closer to him and cup his cheek, turning his face to meet yours. “You drew this? I love it. Thank you.” “You’re a bit of a distraction during class. Probably why I’ve been picking on you.” A soft laugh rolls over your lips when you hear his confession. “And how do I distract you? As you can see all I do is pay attention like a good student.” You hold the sketch up to him as proof. “You do a lot more than that, (y/n). You get me thinking.” You can’t contain your smile. “I get you thinking? How awful of me.” He hisses at your mockery, but when he closes what little space there was between the two of you, your confidence fades. “You have me thinking about doing this” His lips catch yours, he kisses you with so much passion your whole body goes crazy for him in an instant. When he finally releases you, your head feels hazy. “What’s that all about?” Theo grins, enjoying the obvious effect he has on you. “This is my Christmas spirit, I’m feeling generous.” Is all he says before he pushes you to lay on the couch and continues to kiss you with unrelenting passion.

Mattheo

You hear noise at the door and turn to look at it slowly open. You hold your breath, still holding the plate as Mattheo Riddle walks in. Holding flowers in one hand and a gift bag in the other. He looks at you, but you just stare quietly and then he looks around the room. “Oh, I’m too late. I’m so sorry.”

Mattheo Riddle, Slyhterin bad boy, Slytherin trouble maker, son of the dark lord, most handsome guy in your year - maybe even all of Hogwarts - show up to your lame Christmas party with flowers and apologies. Weird. You had indeed invited him, when you announced that everyone was welcome during potions class but you were pretty sure he was among the people making fun of you.

You snapped out of your thoughts, someone was here, you were in no position to be picky about who it was. “No, you’re not late.” He looks confused at the empty seats. “Then where is everyone?” You look around feeling exposed, but look back up at his questioning face. You bite your lip, trying to think of a lame excuse but finding none. “Uhm, no one showed up, except for you.” You eventually manage to say, eyes getting glassy. Mattheo makes a soft ‘oh’ sound and you quickly try to get rid of the awkward situation.

“There’s plenty of food if you wanna stay. And also four gifts for you, since you know no one showed up.” Mattheo stays silent for a few seconds. “But you don’t have to stay, this probably isn’t your ideal Christmas eve.” The slytherin simply shrugs. “It’s not like I have anything better to do and the food looks divine.” You can’t help but chuckle as the awkwardness ebbs away. “Flowers for the hostess.” He offers you the lovely winter bouquet he had been holding. A blush creeps up to your cheeks as you take them and conjure a vase.

Dining together has you feeling like you’ve known Mattheo your whole life. You’re surprised by so many things he tells you, but most of all by how easy it is to talk to him. After the desert you make your way to the couch near the Christmas tree. With the table between the two of you gone things feel different and you both fall silent. “You were actually the last person I thought would show up and yet here we are. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself so far. Because I definitely have.”

Mattheo stares at you fondly but doesn’t say anything. “Anyways let’s start with the gifts.” As you stand up to reach for one of the gifts Mattheo pulls you down. You now sit so close that your hips are touching and he’s still holding on to your wrist. “This whole evening has been wonderful. You’re wonderful, (y/n).” It sounds like a love confession and you hold your breath. “And at the risk of ruining this evening, I would like to kiss you. Is that okay with you?” Your heart melts, you can’t believe this and no one at Hogwarts will ever believe this. You nod softly, insecure about what you’re getting yourself into.

His hand holds your cheek and you lean in as his lips reach yours, light as a feather his lips brush yours. Ever so slowly Mattheo deepens the kiss, making you go crazy with desire for more. When you lay your hand on his leg for support he sees it as a signal that you are comfortable with him and snakes an arm behind you to pull you closer. Only when the kiss ends do you realize you’re laying in his arms. “When I said let's start with the gifts I didn’t know one of the gifts was wrapped up with a tie and good looks.” You joke as you undo his already loose tie. He smirks as he watches you all comfortable and confident in his arms.

His free hand reaches for your leg urging you come sit on his lap with your legs on either side of him. He pulls you in for another tender kiss. “I did actually bring a gift for you. So if you really want to unwrap-“ You cut him off by slamming your lips into his with passion and eagerness. He complies and pulls you closer into him until there’s no space left. “And here I thought you were all innocent and cute.” Mattheo says, clearly entertained by your enthusiasm. “I’m, I’m just being a good hostess by making sure my one and only guest is having a good time.” Mattheo’s face lights up with genuine happiness. “No doubt you’re a good hostess, pretty sure you would make a wonderful girlfriend as well.”

#slytherin #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #blaise zabini x reader #blaise zabini #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #blaise zabini imagine #draco malfoy imagine #theodore nott imagine #enzo berkshire imagine #mattheo riddle #papercorgiworldwritings

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ickadori · 4 months

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“Wow, that looks really good.”

“I’m not giving you any.”

“I don’t—I wasn’t going to ask for any! I was just paying you a compliment, Kento, geez.” You grumble, and he’d feel bad if he didn’t know this game play-by-play.

He’d eat at his desk, as always, and not even a second after his bento quietly clinked against the metallic desk you were wheeling your chair over to his cubicle, trying and failing to be quiet as the squeaky wheels gave you away. You’d hover for a few moments, ooh’ing and ahh’ing when he removed the lid, and then you’d throw out a compliment.

“That smells amazing, Kento!”

“God, you’re such an amazing cook! Did you, like, go to culinary school or something?”

“You should start a food blog or something, really. I think it’d really take off - I can set it up for you, actually!”

“Aw, you made a little face on the rice ball! I didn’t know you were artistic, Kento!”

And then a comedically timed stomach growl would sound, followed with a ‘I forgot my lunchbox on the counter again’ and a pleading look that could rival the beggars littering the corners - and Nanami was a nice enough man, so he’d usually split his bento in half, sometimes giving you a larger portion than his, but your begging was getting out of hand.

“I actually brought my own lunch today.” You proudly state, your hand thrusting forward to show off your lunch bag. It’s…childish, but with you being the youngest, and newest, hire in the office, he can’t say he’s all too surprised. “This is a new lunch bag, too, do you like it? I got it half off on clearance at the convenience store down the street. I had no idea they even sold them! It was hidden all the way in the back near the…”

You’re a chatterbox, and usually Nanami doesn’t like those, even goes out of his way to make himself scarce when the usual office gossips enter his vicinity, but he doesn’t mind you…too much.

“…what I brought today! I think you’re gonna be really jealous.” You snicker, and he’s forced to scoot his chair over as you plop your bag down on the desk next to his bento box and roll your chair forward. “But don’t worry, I’ll let you have some. It’s only fair, after all.” You practically rip the zipper in your haste to get it open, and the both of you blink at what’s found inside.

There’s a large thermos on its side, the contents that had been in it, a soup that did smell rather appetizing, floating around in the bottom of the bag. There’s a plastic ziplock bag in there as well that houses your crackers, although the hot soup had melted through the plastic and turned the crackers into a gooey mess. There’s a small container of chopped up fruit that wasn’t spared, the lid not having been shut correctly, and your plastic spoon is also a melted mess as well.

“…it said it was spill-proof.” You give him a pitiful look, and Nanami sighs through his nose as his knuckles rap against his desk.

“Did you put the top on right?”

“I thought I did.” You poke at the soup, yelping when you find out that it’s still hot, and you pop the singed digit into your mouth as you whine. “And I was so excited for you to taste it, too. It was my mom’s recipe.” You look dejected, sunny disposition nowhere to be found, and Nanami frowns at the restlessness that creeps up to settle in the pit of his stomach.

You close the lunchbox with a forlorn sigh, lips jutted out in a pout, and Nanami puts himself out there in a way that had grown foreign to him over the years.

“Do you have enough ingredients to make another batch?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, not at all. I kinda used up everything trying to make it taste right.” You flash him a sheepish smile. “This was the sixth batch I made—and it was really good, too!”

“If you’re not busy after work,” he feels a tad nervous, and his fingers itch to loosen the tie around his neck. “We could stop by the market and buy what you need. That way you could make it again tonight and just bring it in tomorrow.” A friendly, professional trip to the market, a small show of thanks for your failed attempt.

“Hm,” you tap your nails against his desk as you hum, and Nanami wonders for a second if he’s crossed some invisible boundary and will be called into HR in the morning. “I don’t think I trust myself with the thermos, to be completely honest. It would probably just end up spilled again…” Your eyes lock onto his as you smile, lashes batting and chair twirling back and forth. “How about you just come over to mine instead? That way you can get it nice, hot, and fresh? It’s best that way, y’know.”

Nanami wants to retreat, go back into his shell and keep the relationship professional, informal, safe, but then you’re twisting again, and your knee is brushing up against his, and he likes the contact a bit too much.

“Is it?” He questions.

“Mhm,” you nod. “I’ll even make sure to give you something sweet for dessert.”

“I’m not a big fan of sweets.”

“You will be after tonight.”

“..”

“Please email me your address at your earliest convenience.”

#nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff

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targaryen-dynasty · 10 months

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DEPRAVITIES.

Prince Regent!Aemond Targaryen x female!Reader

When your husband feels overwhelmed reining in the stead of the severely wounded King, it is your duty as his wife to comfort him.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; profanity, lactation kink, lactating, pregnant reader, p in v, cuckolding, degrading, humiliating, tiddy slapping hehe, blink and you'll miss the size kink, very brief breeding kink, female Reader, Prince Regent Aemond

WORDS: 1.8 K

NOTES: Re-posting something I really enjoyed writing before going on hiatus.

Credit for the center piece goes to @justkwordme on twitter.

When the Great Hall slowly cleared, it was your turn to approach your husband, still seated on the large Iron Throne and the Conqueror‘s Crown atop his silver-blonde mane.

His shoulders and head dropped slightly with the heavy doors falling shut behind the last person leaving, clearly displaying all the pressure that rested on them. Your lips had dropped as well, into a pout that showed the pity you held for him.

You approached him with slow, careful steps not to startle him as if you were a hunter stalking towards its prey, not making a sound to strike in an ambush.

And when your hand eventually brushed his shoulder, he released a long sigh.

Without either of you saying anything, you positioned yourself onto his lap, straddling his thighs with your arms wrapped around his neck and the skirts of your dress rucked up around your hips.

Ever since you got pregnant, you hadn’t touched any of your normal dresses–the fabric either too heavy or too tight for your changing body. Lighter dresses with much less embroideries and other decorations filled your closets, a new one being fitted to your growing bump and breasts at least every fortnight.

Much to your husband’s delight, since he was utterly infatuated seeing your body swell because of him–or much more his seed.

Aemond fully embraced your advances and the position, head tipping forwards to rest his forehead against your swollen bosom, enjoying the simple proximity and comfort you brought.

Your marriage with him hadn’t always been like that, starting cold and with him showing no emotions other than the sense of duty for your arranged marriage.

Only after you both had learned Aemond had put a child into you, something primal in him set itself free, making him protective of you… but also obsessed.

Your pregnancy was nearing the seventh moon, and your breasts were swollen enough for your back to ache from the weight and for your feet to hurt with each step. It was rare you even left your marital chambers, mostly laying in bed with your feet positioned atop a few pillows.

The dowager queen had told you it was normal for a woman carrying a Targaryen offspring to experience such terrible side-effects during their pregnancy, as both she and her daughter had shared the same fate many times before.

You believed her–but only because you didn’t have another choice.

Your breasts were hot and tender to the touch and already swollen to the point one easily overfilled Aemond’s large hands. And just like now, they always tended to strain against the low cut necklines of your dresses, the fabric cutting into the skin and making your flesh appear to spill over it. That had earned you the curious glances of more than one man of court, much to your husband’s dismay.

The swell of your belly put some distance between your bodies, and Aemond had his hands planted on either side of it–a habit he had picked up rather quickly with your unborn babe starting to kick just mere nights ago.

When he pressed his chiseled lips to the exposed and flushed skin over your breasts in a soft kiss, the familiar warmth spread throughout your body, settling at the apex between your legs. It was a subtle movement as you ground your hips down on his, but still enough for Aemond to groan against your body.

A dark-blown pupil gazed up at you with his eye widened slightly, the lilac almost completely eclipsed by black, not having to say anything for you to know what he wanted.

You gave him a reassuring nod, and in no time, he had pushed the neckline of your dress down enough to free not one, but both your breasts out of their confines.

From the heavy sigh you released it was clear you felt relieved already, more so when his lips wrapped around one of your hardened buds. But the familiar stimulation of his fingers around the other one was missing–until you eventually felt his hand eagerly undoing the laces in the front of his breeches.

It was difficult for him to do so with you sitting on top, so you slightly raised your hips, allowing him to pull out his hard and throbbing cock.

You were surprised he went that far, especially because you were in the Throne Room with the possibility of someone barging into the room–but you also were excited.

“Aemond,” you spoke softly. “We cannot.”

Though your words were a weak attempt to protest, there did not really come any objection from you as he fisted himself between your bodies, yours already craving what your mind still needed to process.

He pulled back from you with a lewd pop, just a bit of your milk resting in the corners of his mouth. It was obscene, but in your eyes he had never looked so good. “We can,” he all but barked. “I will have the head of anyone that chooses to interrupt us right now–regardless of who it is.”

With that, he tugged the center of your smallclothes aside enough for his digits to tease your entrance, positively surprised you were already soaked for him and whining at the contact.

“I did not know I have married a whore,” he teased shamelessly, bringing the fingers covered with your arousal up to smear it around the areola of your right breast. “Are you certain my brother did not fetch you from the Street of Silk or Flea Bottom even? Or is everyone in the Reach just as depraved as you are, sweet wife?”

The profanity of his words sent a shiver down your spine, and if there even was a sense of restraint still left in your body, it vanished with your hand entangling into his silver mane to tug his head towards your bosom, clearly wanting to silence him.

“Enough,” you scolded teasingly, biting the tip of your tongue to suppress a smirk from taking over your features.

When you eventually sank down on his throbbing length in one swift movement, you shuddered, and Aemond and you both released a contented moan.

His lips locked around the bud that was covered in your arousal, sucking it in the rhythm your core clenched around him. There was no need for you to move–no, you didn’t even want to–fully satisfied with the way his member was just buried inside of you.

Your head tipped back in pleasure, and you tried your best to stifle your moans, only quiet whines and whimpers leaving your lips at the stimulation.

As the pressure in your breast slowly subsided, you were finally able to feel him suckle, and when you looked down, you were blessed with a sight that was truly created by the Seven.

Aemond’s chiseled lips were wrapped around your little bud, his eye half closed and his cheeks dimpled from the suction, amplified each time he swallowed the bits of your milk.

His tongue flickered over your hardened bud, eliciting a soft moan from the depths of your chest. You were able to feel him throbbing inside of you at the sound, followed by a growl that vibrated through your whole body.

You not-so-gently tugged on his hair again, seeming to spur him on even more, and whined a ‘you will have to do the other as well.’

As he pulled back once again, you couldn’t stop yourself from pouting, which was mended by the sight of him licking over your bud to gather the remnants of your milk–all while he kept his eye locked with yours. No matter how badly you wanted not to moan, you couldn’t stop the sound from spilling past your lips. It was certainly getting a reaction out of you. The possibility of being caught long forgotten.

“Stop being greedy,” Aemond panted, and you just bowed your head in submission and nodded. “You should be grateful.” As if it was not him asking for permission to suck your breasts in the first place.

“Y-Yes,” you mumbled in feigned humility, choosing to play into his game.

“Yes, what?” Aemond asked, serving a slap to your sensitive breast that had you wincing.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Better.”

And with that, he locked his lips around your other bud, but not without groping your rear to pull you closer towards him and deeper onto his cock–at least as close as possible with your swollen belly between your bodies.

You sat just right with the hem of his tunic rubbing against your pearl, every lap of his tongue and squeeze of his fingers around your other breast sending a bolt of pleasure straight down between your legs.

But then your hips started to move on their own accord, grinding down on him, riding him while he sucked every last drop of milk from you.

The aching of your back and breasts was long forgotten as you chased your pleasure.

A couple of moments passed until you felt Aemond’s breathing growing labored, his chest almost heaving with more and more muffled grunts and groans escaping his throat. He was loud–much to your surprise–but your body seemed to keen at that, the knot in the pit of your belly tightening at a rapid pace.

And then, you toppled over the edge of your peak with a loud cry of his name.

Your body crouched forward while both arms just wrapped around the back of his neck to pull him closer into your bosom, the coldness of the crown pushing against your collar bone a stark contrast to the heat soaring within your body.

You were trembling astride him, whining when you felt how your peak’s contractions were practically forcing the spend out of your husband’s cock.

Just like he was sucking you dry, you were milking him for every last drop of his spill, too.

And as he spilled inside of you, he released your breast to curse your name and bury his face between your now soft and tender breasts.

There was silence between you safe for your heavy breathing, before you leaned back enough to look down at Aemond. His lips were red and swollen, a soft flush covered his cheeks and neck, and the lilac of his eye was still completely drowned out by black.

Your head bowed forwards to capture his lips in a kiss that was shy of gentleness, the remnants of your milk on his tongue and lips spreading over to yours.

When he pulled back, a sly smirk was draped over his lips–a smirk that couldn’t mean any good.

“Let us retreat to our chambers, wife. I am not yet full.”

Aemond was insatiable, you had learned that very early into your marriage. And that meant you were in for yet another sleepless night, preparing you for what was to come once the babe was born.

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ddarker-dreams · 6 months

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a little fluff blurb for bladie from my google docs !! reader here is fem.

Blade almost took it personally when you failed to notice him.

His presence in your room certainly stands out. Everything about him contradicts the soft pastel colors, abundant flora, and cute finishing touches. Nothing in the universe aside from your kitchenette registers. You hum along with the song playing in your ears, waiting for your tea’s timer to go off.

He walked in when the countdown read five minutes. Presently, it’s at two.

You’re wearing dangerously short pajama shorts and an old t-shirt, the band’s logo faded out from years in the wash. He’d considered making himself known, but watching you frolic about proved too tempting. You have your back turned toward him, entirely oblivious, stuck in a little world of your own making.

Creepy as it may be, Blade considers it soothing to stare at you. Therapeutic, even. A way to unwind from the blood-filled jobs that beckon his mara out to play.

A wicked idea forms in his head. Going without you for so much as a day is enough to seriously dampen his mood. Normally, it’s his enemies that reap the consequences. He’ll miss their vitals just enough that they’re left to go into shock and bleed out, rather than a swift, merciful death. What can he say? It’s their fault for existing and cutting into his time with you. That’s on them.

He stalks over, movements akin to a mountain lion that’s located its unsuspecting prey.

You’re lifting the teabag out a few moments early. He’s close enough to double as your shadow, the corners of his lips twitching upward from anticipation.

The second your timer goes off, he strikes, large hands settling on either side of your hips. This unexpected contact earns immediate retaliation. You actually squeak, much to his surprise (and amusement). Your response doesn’t end there. From instinct, you twist your torso around, ready to ward off the threat.

Maybe it’s because you have an object in your hand, or maybe it’s because your subconscious knows you’re in no real danger, but you don’t materialize your weapon.

Instead, you try thwacking him with your dripping teabag.

He easily catches your wrist, thwarting your assault. It takes you all of a millisecond to understand the situation. You use your free hand to slowly remove your in-ears. He can’t help it — your pinched-together eyebrows and scrunched-up nose makes him chuckle. This worsens his crimes from your perspective, which you make evident by a non-threatening glare.

“Nice weapon,” he drawls.

“Hey, that’s— that’s unfair,” you complain. “I wasn’t expecting an ambush.”

Blade raises an eyebrow. “Is it an ambush if you expect it?”

“Yes? No. Maybe. Quit looking at me like that, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Mhm.”

He plucks the teabag from your grasp and throws it away. Meanwhile, you remain frozen in time, only moving enough to cross your arms over your chest. The wrath you try directing his way is largely ineffective. Your miffed countenance is akin to a bunny scowling.

“I was looking forward to your return, but I’ve since changed my mind.”

“Mm.”

He hoists you up onto the kitchenette’s countertop. The way the soft flesh of your thighs expands against the marble tempts him, but he knows he won’t be getting anything until your faux frustration is appeased. It won’t take much — or long. He just gazes into your pretty eyes, his bandaged hand cupping your face, the pad of his thumb massaging your cheekbone. You melt for him almost immediately.

“Everything alright?” You ask, your arms finding their place around his neck.

To Blade, everything’s more than ‘alright,’ because you’re here. Treating him with care he doesn’t deserve, and love he deserves even less. He used to worry he’d taint you, like clear waters turning opaque from filth. However, it’s as Kafka once said, likely pitying his lovelorn self.

“Shouldn’t you let her decide that for herself?”

For reasons genuinely beyond his comprehension, you decided he was worth the trouble.

His gloved hand settles on your thigh. The irony of how he caresses you with the same hand responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of deaths isn't lost on him. Since regaining a semblance of consciousness, that's all he thought he was good for. Bloodshed and slaughter.

He observes how you shudder through lidded eyes.

You don't look at him as if he's a monster. You should, he often thinks, because he is. There's no sugarcoating the truth. He's become everything he once swore to eradicate. Mad, vengeful, immortal. A product of the Abundance's perversion of the lines separating life and death.

And yet, all those centuries, all that suffering led him to you.

You aren't the light at the end of the tunnel — you're light in its entirety.

Blade is greedy when he slots his lips against yours. He's greedy when he pulls you closer, his bandaged hand tilting your head up, allowing him to devour you with ease. Your scent, your taste, your little laugh at how unabashedly eager he is, everything blurs together and threatens to leave him breathless.

How can he pull away when your legs wrap around his waist? When you thread your hands through his hair, reciprocating his ardor like he's worth even an ounce of your affection? He isn't, he's nothing compared to you, a ghost of a man who can't cross over into the afterlife.

Sometimes, he no longer wants to. Not if you're on this side of eternity.

"Well?" You pull back a few inches from him to ask. As pretty as your smile is, he likes your lips best when they're against his. "You gonna answer my question?"

He furrows his eyebrows together and tries kissing you again. Talking about emotions in any context isn't his forte, you both know that. He's always preferred to express himself through actions than words. However, when you deny him the pleasure of your lips a second time, impatience coils inside his chest.

He huffs.

"The best," he deadpans. You roll your eyes yet laugh anyway.

"You almost pout more than I do," you tease. For this infraction, he gives your thigh a pinch, enjoying the feeling of your soft flesh a little too much. "I just worry, y'know? You become such a sourpuss when we're apart for any length of time."

You aren't wrong, but he'll keep that to himself.

“Okay, okay, stop glaring. C’mere.”

You don’t need to tell him twice. He takes you up on your offer the second you’ve finished making it.

Blade might not know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but that doesn’t mean he can show you.

#blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade brainrot #my stuff

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bitterchocoo · 7 months

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Love Me, Love Me, Love Me!

Part One (You're here) | Part two

----------

Welt Yang | M. Reader

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"Don’t get angry. Don’t abandon me. Don’t go anywhere."

------------

You were always so cold...

That monotone voice of yours.. That blank expression... That indifference...

You're cold, unapproachable, intimidating, and indifferent to all. A selfish man that only cares for himself. And yet...

How did he manage to fall in love with you? What is this feeling? What did you do? How come he had fallen for such a selfish and manipulative man? The Welt Yang? Falling for the likes of him? Impossible! Even a Honkai won't believe it!

No one could ever believes it!

The ever so righteous Welt Yang. In love with a bastart like that? Did he drugged him? Put some sort of spell? Manipulated him? It's ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous! The two are like water and oil for crying out loud! And yet...

It happened..

The man continuous to act cold and indifferent as their relationship goes on, and for some reason Welt eats it all up. The two acted more like strangers rather than a couple. But Welt takes all that he could get and in the end... He grew addicted to it..

"What...?"

Welt's face twisted in confusion upon hearing your words. You wanted to break up? Even though he knew this was toxic, he couldn't break away. He was in love with the way you hated him. He never expected anyone to manipulate him so well.

His lips curled into a tired smile as he looked at face of the man himself. The one who has his heart, the one who holds it in the palm of his hand.. and the could freely do anything with it...

He held his hand out to [Name] as if he wanted to test something. To know something. A vow? A promise? A metaphor? What is it exactly?

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Welt?" [Name] ask with his usual monotone voice, his expression remains neutral as he watches him. He stood there, a good distance away from Welt as his eyes scan the other in front of him. Welt chuckled softly at the look on [Name]'s face.

"Oh, don't deny it. You know exactly what I mean." Welt's smile grew wider at the sight of [Name]'s unchanging demeanor. "You're a manipulative person. Even if you don't admit it, you know that you've been playing me like a toy all this time." He chuckled darkly, seemingly amused by the other's reaction.

For once he felt tired.. For once he could only smile in pity at himself... He pity himself and the fact that he oh so willingly turn a blind eye at all of this... despite knowing how toxic it truly is.. He knew and yet he just eats it all up... He knew and yet he seems to be addicted to it...

Why..? Is it because he love the other too much? Had he fallen to a pit of no return? A pit in where he endlessly falls and expecting the other to catch him at the end?

It's unclear...

[Name] slowly step forward and approach Welt, his expression remains neutral as he accepts Welt's hand, holding it. "For once.. You're right.. I don't know how to love and I don't even know if I even have the capacity of loving either..."

"But the least I can do is take your hand and try, no?"

Is he being serious? Or is this one of his manipulation tactics? It's unclear... It's always unclear when it comes to that man... always so indifferent.. always so unpredictable...

Welt blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond. [Name] was actually accepting his hand? "You... you will?" His voice was soft and full of emotion. His eyes widened and his hand tightened its hold on [Name]'s then as if snapping back to reality. Welt let go of the other's hand and took the slightest step back, seemingly in disbelief.

This is [Name] he's talking about...

...Was he being pranked, or was [Name] telling the truth?

"Seriously?" His tone was soft as he looked up at [Name]. His eyes widened, seemingly wanting to hear his words again. "[Name]?" He spoke again, his voice full of emotion. "Do you love me?"

Ah.. Those words felt.. Foreign to the other... It felt so out of reach from [Name] and yet.. He sighs before taking a step backwards and opening his arms as if he's expecting a hug.

"Welt.. I love you.. So please.. Come back to me..." Is he.. Being serious? He's serious right? This isn't one of his manipulation tactics, right? Despite his monotone voice.. It's real, right!?

Welt's eyes widened at the sight of [Name]'s open arms. Did he really love him, or was he just being taken advantaged of again?... But those words, they sounded so real. So genuine.

"Yes. Of course."

Welt took a step forward, his arms wrapping tightly around [Name] before pressing himself tightly against him. He didn't want to let go, not even for a single moment. As long as he was in his beloved's arms, he was willing to forgive everything.

The words "I love you" seems to be stuck in his throat, and now matter what [Name] can't seem to let them out, it's not that he can't say it its just.... well... it's more like... it came out as hollow.. empty.. avoid of anything.. avoid of emotions.. a void of warmth and affection that the words tied themselves to..

As much as Welt wanted to believe those words... he could still hear how hollow and empty they are.. Welt hope for that.. one day.. [Name] is able to say it with the utmost sincerity... to be able to say them without it being hollow.. without it being a lie..

Unknowingly to him, that day eventually arrives... it's just that.. it's the same day that the Honkai strikes again..

[Name] found himself putting pressure on a wound on his abdomen he cursed out the very thing that puts him in this.. state. He could only put pressure on his wound as he sat at the ground, surrounded by ruble and debris. He can't leave unless he wants to attract the attention of the Honkai to his location or make his injuries worst.

Then as if the Gods hates him.. a Honkai starts sniffing out people in the area he's in, he knew that everyone had probably evacuated the area and it's just him so he can't use them as sacrificial lambs. He's stuck. He can't fight in his current state. He can't fight with his injuries. He's out of options. The only option is to accept his fate.

With a heavy heart he took out his phone and call a specific number, one that he's oh so familiar with, one that he took the time to memorized. As the phone rings... to his surprise.. it lead to voicemail. [Name] weakly laughs at the sound of the voicemail. He deserved that. He truly deserved that. A bastard like him... he deserved nothing less than being left like this..

As it beeps, [Name] starts to convey his message.

"I've been irresponsible from the start... I'm not pure, I'm dishonest and dirty.. I don't know what it means to love and to be loved.. which probably led as to why my words sounded so hollow and avoid of emotions..." [Name] paused, letting out a bitter chuckle before continuing.

"Welt... Your name was Joachim Nokianvirtanen, right? I remember you used to rambled on about some stuff... I think you said that once... Or was I wrong? Sorry... I was never good with names... Even though I may not look like it... But I was so happy when you gave me that gift... I've still got it displayed in my room." [Name] took a sharp inhale as he tries to put as much as pressure possible to his body that's slowly turning weaker by the second.

"I've let my guard down.." He muttered under his breath.

"I'm sorry..." He apologies once more, his voice growing quieter and quieter.. weaker and weaker...

"Welt, your animations are wonderful... You know, I was thinking that maybe you'll actually become a great animator one day... and Joyce.. I wonder what kind of adult he'll grow into.. hopefully not like me, yeah? call me selfish, but I want to be there to see it... not that I was the best partner or anything... But I'm glad that I've met you."

"And also... I have to tell you this.."

"Welt Yang, I love you."

Those words... they don't sound as hollow as before... it don't sound as emotionless as before.. it sounded real.. it sounded genuine.. it sounded like.. [Name] truly meant it..

"I'm sorry.... it took me so long..."

The last thing that was heard was the screech of a Honkai before it cuts off.

"No.... it didn't took you that long.."

Is what he would say if he had picked up the phone.

The day he opens his voicemail is the very same day he cried his heart out. Those words that his beloved had uttered with his last breath... he can't describe it... but every time he hears it... just made him cry even more.

Now that he's... in another world... now that he's a Nameless..

He could only sigh as he looks at the gift with a somber expression. An item he had bring with him. An item that he cherish so much after that day.

A ball-jointed doll of Joyce.

Welt wanted [Name] to remember or at least acknowledge the child he had neglected because of his work. He wanted [Name] to at least utter those sweet words or spend some time with the child Welt had cared for like his own. Welt had discovered that [Name] had a hobby of collecting thing a few years ago, ball-jointed dolls to be exact. So what's a better way to combine what he wanted him to do with the man's hobby as a gift?

And true to the voicemail... [Name] had kept it and displayed it on his shelf of his room... the doll is in its most prime state... completely clean and fully functional.. the limbs work perfectly, nothing is messed up.. [Name] had took care of the doll as if it's Joyce himself.

Seeing familiar faces in this universe convinced him to stay. But seeing his, unleashed a floodgate of emotions within him.

The moment he saw the other universe "him" in front of him. Perhaps this could be the happy ending he always wanted?

"Hello, please try to quickly summarize your intents and goals for this meeting." The man spoke up in an all to familiar tone. He then looks up at the paper he's holding and eyed the four people in front of him. What was their names again? March 7th, Dan Heng, Stelle, and Welt Yang? He was never good with names.

"Ah right... you're Her Excellency's honor guests, where are my manners." He says sarcastically.

"Name's [Name] [L. Name], now... what business do you have with me? I'm a busy man so make it quick."

#seme male reader #top male reader #x male reader #honkai star rail #hsr x male reader #hsr x reader #hsr #hsr welt #welt yang #welt x reader #welt x male reader #welt yang x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x male reader

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genshindsau · 2 months

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Summary: Scaramouche struggles to accommodate to his place in the harem. It isn't easier when some of the other members of the harem constantly try to talk to him or make him spend time with you. He tells himself he doesn't want to, that he is fine blending into the background and being easily forgotten (is he truly?). Concubine!Scaramouche. Empress!reader

CW: Reverse Harem, cursing, sexual implications, nsfw mentioned but not actually described, mentions of Scaramouche's past (as well as other characters), Scaramouche is rather rude in this and can be degrading to the other members, sexualization, literally just Scaramouche struggling with his feelings, non-sexual nudity.

AN: This wasn't exactly what I originally planned, I ended up including a lot about other characters rather than focusing just on Scaramouche and the readers... oh well. There are also a bit of time skips. Dialogue may be choppy as well, especially towards the end. If its to hard to follow please feel free to let me know.

"I'm just saying, when she does the thing with her fingers…" Childe, as he likes to be called, curled two of his fingers in front of Scaramouche's face. He was wearing a cheeky smile, his eyes glittering as he stared at Scaramouche.

Scaramouche clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together as his eyes narrowed at Childe.

Go away. Please. Go away. He kept repeating these words in his head.

"Oh," Childe leaned forward, his chin resting on his palm. "I suppose you wouldn't know."

His words held no malicious intent. There wasn't any pity either. Scaramouche knew that but he still wanted to scream. He also wanted to punch Childe right in his bright, smiling face. He was getting too much enjoyment out of bothering and annoying Scaramouche.

"There is nothing wrong with not defiling myself."

Childe snorted. "Is it really defiling? I mean," Childe shrugged his shoulders. "She is our wife."

"No, she isn't. Neither of us are legally married to her."

"Exactly," Childe snapped his fingers. "We're concubines; Her concubines. We get all the fun."

Fun? What part about being a concubine is fun? Childe is a mindless puppy who will go wherever you ask, do whatever you ask. Even kill whoever you want. He has had the unfortunate experience of seeing Childe covered in blood and a body at his feet. When you appeared, he expected the worse. Expected Childe to be whipped or scarred. Instead, you ruffled his blood-coated hair and said you deal with the clean up.

Why is he even listening to him?

"Look if you really don't want to spread your legs for her," Scaramouche cringed at Childe's words. He had a feeling Childe was making his words as crude as possible to get a reaction from Scaramouche.

He was succeeding.

"Then that’s fine. But you do a really shitty job at hiding the way your eyes linger on her."

"I - I do not!" Scaramouche balked at him, his cheeks heating up.

"Really?" Childe deadpanned.

"I would not consider it! She already has more than enough people who would let her use them. I will not be one of them."

Scaramouche felt like he needed to defend himself. Needed to make himself stand above the others and not be one of the men who succumbs to his position as a glorified body to use. He lasted this long - lasted through multiple masters without ever having to give them his body. He can't allow that to change.

You've never even touched him, his mind whispered to him. Aside from the time you disintegrated his previous collar, you've never laid a hand on him.

Childe quieted for a moment. It unnerved Scaramouche as Childe stared at him. He felt like he was looking into his soul and he almost wanted Childe to keep teasing him. He'd prefer that to how he was now looking at him.

"She's not like that." Childe voiced out. His voice almost stern.

"If you're really not interested, then whatever. That's fine. But don't assume things about her when you haven't even try to understand her. She may be cruel to her enemies but they deserve it. She would never force anyone - never force her concubines or consorts to do anything they didn't want. Whether that is in her bed or in their personal life."

Scaramouche's eyes wavered at the shift in Childe's tone. Childe sounded dangerous right now.

"Why," Scaramouche's voice cracked. "Why would I even want to know her - or understand her?"

"Our lives are dedicated to her. They belong to her, wouldn't you - "

Scaramouche cut him off " - And you're okay with that? Belonging to someone like her. Someone who is part of the Imperial Family?"

Childe cannot be that daft. Everyone knows about the Imperial Family. Knows that no one should trust them. Knows that they are cruel, tyrannical, and would do anything to be the empress. He doubts that you are any different. No, he knows that you are no different.

"Sure." Childe leaned back against his chair, his tone softening now. "She gives me whatever I want. Lets me have some control over my life. Lets me fight. But she also protects those who belong to her. She's stern and callous and can be this terrifying larger than life figure but that does not mean she is going to go down the same path as her family."

"… you can't be so sure of that."

"Just like you can't be so sure that she will turn out like her family. I believe in what I see. Maybe she puts on a certain façade in front of us but so what if she does? She still treats us better than anyone else would."

Scaramouche cant find it in himself to refute anything Childe says. He pointedly ignores the underlying truth in Childe's words. It doesn't matter if you've never laid a finger on him or even so much as spend time alone with him. You're royalty. You're part of the imperial family. That automatically makes you a terrible person in scaramouche's eyes.

Scaramouche was dragged out of his thoughts by the scraping of a chair against the floor as Childe stood up. He stretched his arm above his head before resting a palm on Scaramouche's shoulder, ignoring the flinch that came from Scaramouche.

"If you want to ask anything? Or If you want to try something? Anything? I'm sure she will listen if you ask. You just got to be brave enough to do it." Childe winked at him as walked out of the room, humming happily.

Scaramouche ignored the subtle blow to his character from Childe. He was fine the way he was now. He was fine staying in his room and being an easily forgettable presence (no, he wasn't). He was fine not getting close to you or the others in the harem. Keeping to himself is how he has survived everything he has been through, so he will do what he has always done.

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Scaramouche kept his eye trained on the plate, ignoring the simmering of anger and something else in his gut that he can't name. It was dinner. He dreaded dinner because he was forced to sit with everyone - with you, even though he is about seven seats away. You barely said a word. If it wasn't for the heaviness in the air he might have been able to ignore you and pretend but your presence always left an uncomfortable weight settling around his body - like your engulfing him; all around him no matter how far away he stands.

He wonders if the others feel it. If they do they don't care; or rather revel in the feeling. It just makes him overly conscious.

His hand clenches around the fork in his one hand, turning pale due to the strength as he has to listen to the incessant chattering of the others. It grates on his nerve, rubbing him raw as he has to listen to the happiness that flits from every voice he hears - yet he doesn't hear yours.

He startles as a hand clasps on his shoulders, a good portion of eyes also landing on him. He blinks a few times barely realize someone was calling him. His eyes land on Childe first because of course it does. He then looks to see Venti (fuck), Heizou (double fuck), and finally Itto (well now the world is just being cruel) sitting across from him.

Childe is leaning back in his chair, two of the legs lifting off the ground. "You really have no filter."

It took Scaramouche a moment to realize Childe wasn't talking to him but rather Itto who had an annoying innocent smile on his face. Venti looked somewhere between interested but closed off. His body curls into itself, his shoulders hunching in such a small move that Scaramouche is sure he is the only one who noticed. In the back of his mind, he wonders if these kind of talks drag up old memories for the other concubine - not that he cared enough to learn anything about the others, he just happened to hear about it in passing. Heizou on the other hand has a shit-eating grin on his lips, teeth bared in laughter.

"I - " Itto gawked for a moment. "It's a perfectly normal question."

Scaramouche tried to refocus, to remember what was said but he couldn't.

"Maybe so but asking at dinner, really?"

"Where else am I going to ask? He scurries off like a little mouse whenever he's spots anyone. It's natural to want to know more about each other." Itto is wonderfully dense at times it seems like both a blessing and curse. Scaramouche wants to curse him out but there is no malice in Itto's tone, just genuine curiosity and his words curl uncomfortably in his throat.

"And asking about the time he spent with y/n? That's getting to know him?" Though it may sound like Childe is admonishing Itto, the smile on his lips says the exact opposite. Childe could careless, he was just enjoying the way this would egg on Itto and annoy Scaramouche.

"Besides everyone know he hasn't spent the night with her - or even an evening with her." Heizou was the one who spoke this time.

"That is none of your business!" Scaramouche sputtered out, his ears turning red.

"Seriously?" Itto turned to Scaramouche with wide-eyes. "Why not?" It was an innocent enough question but Scaramouche wouldn't answer - much less at the dinner table where everyone is basically in love with you and not to mention the fact that you are only seven or so seats separated from him.

"It's no use," Childe shrugged. "I've already asked him about it."

"You didn't ask, you interrogated me." Scaramouche gritted back.

Childe just waved a dismissive hand.

"Why complain. As far as I see it, that means more time for us." Heizou spoke up.

"Well yeah," Itto agreed. "But still… you should be able to experience things with her. I mean, you haven't even spent any time with her? At all?" Itto seemed genuinely curious but all Scaramouche could do was grind his teeth as his eyes narrowed at the plate in front of him. He focus on ignoring the embarrassment that caused him to want to curl up in his seat and well just die. He thinks that would be preferable over what he is currently going through.

He's thankful that he is sat at the other end of the table. Maybe, just maybe there is a chance you didn't hear any of the conversations, the teasing aimed towards him. Yet he knows you did - that is if you decided it was important enough to listen to, you would.

Without meaning to his eyes flickered down to your end of the table. Your head was angled and he followed where he thinks your eyeline would be and landed on Aether and Tigh-nari who appear to be laughing together about something. You're face doesn't even twitch, your lips don't curve upwards but they don't frown either. It's completely neutral, just like it was when he first met you - when he still belonged to Ei - but it didn't feel nearly as oppressive.

He didn't understand why. Nothing's changed. Not for him.

"I don't want to." He kept his voice low. "And I do not see how it is any of your business or why you keep bringing it up," He glared specifically at Childe who stared back at him.

Itto gaped at him for a second before he shook his head. "We're not trying to make you uncomfortable or anything. I didn't mean to imply anything lewd. But… you don’t want to be involved in anything - whether it is with the harem or y/n. You're going to spend the rest of your life here, with her, with us - with all of us, even the people who seem to be the hardest to get to know want you to be comfortable and happy here. Closing yourself off, distancing yourself… maybe you had to do it in the past but the people here,” Itto shook his head and let out a heavy sigh. “What I am trying to say is that no one here wants to hurt you or see you suffer."

The last thing Scaramouche needed is to be told this by Itto of all people. He wanted to scream. Wanted to rip his hair out. Most of all he wanted to rip out the longing that wracked through him at Itto's word. It felt like he was peering down into Scaramouche's soul and voicing out everything Scaramouche had pushed down. Tucked so deep inside of him that even he forgot.

When he was younger, that was all he wanted to hear. After he was taken the first time, he imagined faceless people who accepted him and loved him but as months passed, then years and then he was sold to Ei, he forced himself to get rid of that pathetic yearning. People just weren't like that. People were selfish and cruel.

Yet, he saw it around the harem building and in the palace countless times. Thoma baking treats for the rest of the harem members just because. Venti who stayed up playing the flute for the others who couldn't sleep. Even Ayato - who Scaramouche deemed the most selfish - would cover the other harem members up in a blanket if they feel asleep anywhere. Aether, who knitted blankets in the winter, not only for the harem members but also for servants and staff.

You… you who never raised your voice at your harem members. You who took in a unconventional men - Itto, Venti - and never made them feel less than because of their background. You who carried them to their beds when they fell asleep. You who…

It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

"You're sheltered. Naïve." Scaramouche forced out between his teeth. "We're not family. We're not brothers. We're all stuck under the whims of a women who could kill us with a thought." His voice increased in tone as he spoke. He wasn't shouting, but he was loud enough to draw attention to himself. "I will never think of myself as lowly as the rest of you do." He squeezed his eyes shut.

He was telling himself to shut up. Screaming at himself inside of his mind but he couldn't stop.

"I won't settle for debasing myself like the rest of you do. Especially for someone who doesn't even love you back."

There was a small cough and Scaramouche froze. It was silent - no one else at the table spoke and he could feel numerous eyes on him. The color drained from his skin as he hastily stood up, throwing the napkin on the table before quickly leaving the table. He didn't even care for protocol or for your dismissal.

As he fled down the halls, tears of anger and embarrassment burned behind his eyes but he didn't let them fall, even as they blurred his vision. The door slammed shut behind him and he collapsed against it, his head thumping against it as he cursed at himself. Cursed at the others for being so kind to him. Cursed at you for not being as horrible towards your harem as he wanted to believe you were.

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No one spoke to him the next day. Not that he made it easy. He hid in his room, ate his breakfast in his room, stared at the window in his room. He only ever saw the two servants assigned specifically for him. They even brought up dinner for him - telling him that you told them to do that. You probably didn't even want to see his face. He lashed out at the others concubines; concubines you cared about much more than you did him.

It still left an uncomfortable burning in his chest. He made himself vulnerable. He showed too much emotion, not just in front of one or two people but everyone in the harem and yourself. He might as well as starting weeping in front of all them as well.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He blinked, lifting his head from the pillow. He wondered who it was. Servants only knock out of politeness once before entering the room, other harem members just barge in at times. For a minutes he felt a tinge of fear thinking that it was you, but you wouldn't knock either - you had no reason to.

Scaramouche moved to open the door so only a sliver of light creeped through. The first thing he saw was the long red hair, pinned back and the red robe - It was Diluc.

"Can I come in?" He asked softly - like he was coaxing a wild animal. Scaramouche nodded and opened the door further to let him in.

Scaramouche bowed his head, his eyes lingering on the embroidered robe Diluc was wearing. His eyes trailed over the golden patchwork. There wasn't a single stand of hair out of place, everything was perfect. He was perfect.

Diluc's eyes glanced around the room but he said nothing. Scaramouche was expecting an admonishment, something about his bed being dirty or the left over plates on the bed but Diluc's eye's just skimmed right over them.

"I wasn't expecting company." It came out harsher than Scaramouche intended. He had never been alone with Diluc before; barely said a few words to him besides the first few days he was introduced into the harem. Diluc was either busy, bustling about the harem building or he was by your side.

"I suppose I should have sent a servant or someone to tell you beforehand. I'm sorry if this seems abrupt, I just wanted to… see how you are doing."

"You mean after my outburst." Scaramouche forced out, his voice tight.

Diluc let out a soft, sympathetic sigh. "Yes, I suppose so. Though, I wasn't thinking about it as an outburst."

Scaramouche didn't care. If Diluc was here - all he could assume was one thing.

"So you're here to deal a punishment?"

"A punishment?" Diluc tilted his head, confusion in his voice.

"I insulted the other concubines. I left before I was dismissed. It's your job isn't it? As the head consort - you deal out the punishments."

"You misunderstand." Diluc shook his head. "Can I sit?" He motioned towards a small couch that was placed in the room. Scaramouche nodded and Diluc sat down, his hands smoothing down his clothes.

"I am not here to give out a punishment. You are not the first to resort to insults or get angry at the others. It is natural that it happens when there are so many of us, and with such different personalities." Even as Diluc spoke, there was a small smile forming on his lips. He almost seems like he is reminiscing as he speaks of the harem members.

Scaramouche takes small steps until he is able to sit across from Diluc, keeping a good amount of distance between the two of them.

"So you decided to what? Come here out of the goodness of your heart." There was distain in his voice as he tried to figure out Diluc's true intentions. "Or are you here to defend the others? Defend y/n? If you are, you can leave. I don't want to hear it."

Diluc just gazed at him, no malice or annoyance in his eyes.

"I am not here to defend anyone. I am here because I wanted to check up on you. I know we haven't had a lot of chances to talk or even get to know each other - that's no ones fault - but, I would still like for you to be comfortable in the harem. Find some sort of enjoyment in the life you are now living."

Scaramouche stared at Diluc, scrutinizing him.

"Why are you all saying that?" He shook his head. "You, Itto, even Childe for fucks sake. All of you go around, stating that I should be happy and appreciate the life I am given." Scaramouche raised from his seat as he spoke. "But all of you - you guys have no idea about how awful this world truly is. How awful it can be. How things can change in a split second. How can you come in here and - and lecture me about life when you and all of the others are sheltered behind the whims of a cruel woman."

There was silence. Scaramouche words continued to float through both of their minds. If he wasn't getting punished, he definitely would now.

"You don't think we're not aware?" Diluc question is so simple and it sends a shiver down Scaramouche's body. There's no heat to his tone and Diluc doesn't appear to be angry. But the way he says it, the small almost pained smile that graces his face, it leaves Scaramouche stumbling over his words.

"I - I didn't mean - I mean…"

"It's okay." Diluc lifted a hand as if to placate him. Diluc's eyes shifted away, as if in thought, before looking back at Scaramouche. "I grew up in a family with three sisters. They were…. terrible. Terrible people. Terrible wives. I would see my brother in laws hiding bruising, hiding their pain. I would hear the comments my sisters directed towards their own husband - comments so degrading and humiliating that even as a young boy, I wanted to curl up and cry just from hearing their words. They would even let others say whatever they wanted. They never defended them. Never did nothing. In fact, sometimes my sisters would egg others on to say even worse."

Diluc remained poised as he talked but there was a shakiness in his tone that betrayed his feelings. Scaramouche's heart clenched in his chest - though, he is not sure why.

"For the first 18 years of my life I grew up around them. Grew up in a family that basically trained me to be a perfect husband, seeing me more as an investment to getting rich than an actual person." A sigh slipped past Diluc's lips. "What I am trying to say is: I know we have different experiences. Everyone in this harem has different experiences when it comes to our time before we entered the harem but try not to let it define how you are going to live the rest of your life. I can't tell you to trust me, or trust the others, or even trust Y/n, that’s a choice you have to decide whether you want to make or not."

Diluc stood up, his movements effortlessly beautiful. He stepped closer to Scaramouche but didn't touch him. "If you do decide to try, you can start with something small. I promise you that, as long it doesn't pose a threat to you or anyone in this palace, it will be fulfilled."

With a small bow of his head, Diluc moved passed him and towards the door. "I hope to see you at dinner tomorrow."

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Start small. Start small. Scaramouche repeated those words inside of his head before letting out an annoyed, disgruntled sound.

His hands gripped at the strands of his hair, longer than he has ever been allowed to grow it out, as he paced around the room. The only light shining through is the moon and the stars - they are the only one's baring witness to his meltdown.

He doesn't want to. Actually, he does. He just doesn't want to admit it. Admitting it would mean allowing everything he pushed down into the small crevices inside of him would come spilling out. One at a time, slowly, over time until he can't stop it and he is overflowing with all the pain and loneliness that he thought he had moved on from.

He wants friends. He wants to be loved. He wants to be cared for. He wants to do things; explore, paint, learn to ride a horse. He wants it so bad that it makes him sick. He wants to be involved. He wants to believe that he is worth more than the shiny collar that used to be fastened around his neck - signifying that he is nothing more than a prize without a voice, without a say.

Not is, he tells himself. Was. He was nothing more than a prize. But, he doesn't have to be. Not if he decides to at least try what everyone else has been telling him.

But what if it goes wrong?

He can handle being dismissed and looked down on right now. He just stuffs the anger and despair down alongside everything else. But if he opens himself up; allows himself to possibly believe that maybe he can fit in and be accepted for himself, and it all turns to nothing… he isn't sure if he will be able to pick himself up again.

It is either do this one thing or don't do it. It's simple. The choice is simple. Pick one, ignore the other, that is all he has to do. It doesn't even have to be a lot of words, just go up, say what he needed to say then leave. If worse comes to worse, he could say the others encouraged him - that Diluc encouraged him. That would at least get you to think before you decided to lash out and punish him for interrupting you with nonsense.

"fuck, fuck, fuck," Scaramouche groaned as if he was in a lot of pain, a string of profanities leaving him, something he would never do in the presence of others.

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He stared at the bronze door in front of him, his eyes narrowed. He pointedly ignored the guards who stood at each end of the halls. He also ignored the looks sent his way when he entered the hall that led to your room. He wonders what is going through their mind when they look at him.

That he is desperate. Pitiful.

Maybe that he finally degraded himself enough to be used.

He raised a hand, his hands forming a fist as he prepared to knock on the door. He stilled right before he brought his fist down. What is he doing? What if you're not even in there? What if you just send him away without allowing him to say anything?

Nope. He's not going to allow that. He is not going to allow you to not listen to him when he had worked up the courage to come all the way up to your room - a place he spend his entire time in the harem ignoring.

Instead of rapping his knuckles against the door, his hand grabbed the two handles and pushed the door open.

It wasn't what he was expecting.

Well, he wasn't sure what he was expecting but not this.

You're room looked every part like it belonged to royalty but there was something else that left it looking almost cozy. In between all the furnished gold, there was tea placed on the table (two cups) and a half-eaten cake. There was a pale-blue silk robe thrown over the couch which he knew belonged to Ayato. There was cushions thrown on the floor along with a blanket. Leaning on the floor against one of the walls he saw numerous painting - some finished, some not - but none of them look like the ones seen hanging up in the halls of the palace.

He couldn't continue to look around the room before one of your personal servant's drew his attention. The servant startled at Scaramouche's unplanned and borderline inappropriate entrance into the room - a resort building on their lips but they quickly clamp their mouth shut as a voice - your voice - echoes from another room.

"Its fine. Leave us."

For a moment he thought you were talking to him but just as quickly the servant bowed to him, though their face screwed up. Their lips pursed like they were looking at some annoying pest. Since you were still in the adjacent room, Scaramouche felt brave enough to send a glare at the servant.

Concubine beats servant - even servants who work directly under you.

He can't lie, it felt nice to do that.

He was left alone in the room now. His feet were frozen to the floor as his eyes lingered on the open doorway, fluorescent light spilling out and into your bedroom. You were in there. You knew he had entered your room and you haven't told him to get out. Not yet at least.

"Are you just going to stand there? Or did you barge into my room without a reason? Unless you finally decided to give up the whole 'Don't talk to me. Don't touch me.' facade. I thought you'd hold out longer."

He flushed as you spoke. Both from anger and embarrassment at being called out. His feet carried him towards the entrance of the doorway, a resort building on his lips.

"I have in no way come here to spend time with you or be... touched."

"But you do want to talk." It wasn't a question. You seemed to already know why he had stormed into your room and now...

His eyes widened.

He had walked right into your bathroom and there you were. You were in a huge tub, naked but the water and suds covered you from the neck down. You still had your eye's covered as well.

His brain failed him. He couldn't form any words and a redness blossomed on the tip of his ears.

"You're leering."

"I am - I am not." He sputtered.

"Wanna join me?"

"Absolutely not."

You shrugged. "Then you're going to just stand there?"

"I - no I am not. I just came to -"

"To what?"

Scaramouche pursed his lips. His eyes flicker around the room, looking everywhere but at you.

"Diluc," he figured this would be the safest way to start. "Diluc said I should come and talk to you. The others did as well."

He trailed off awkwardly, expecting you to say something to him but you didn't. Instead you just leaned back against the tub.

"I wasn't going to."

You just hum.

"I thought it was a ridiculous idea but I just want to make things clear. I - I am not here to be one of your bodies to use. Or for you to assume that I am going to do whatever you ask me just because you're... you. I've spent enough of my life being surrounded by women who try to dictate everything about my life from what I eat to what I wear.

"I have no desire to understand you or get close to you. But I will apologize for the way I acted towards the others - your concubines and consorts, I mean. They - they are not you and just because I don't like you doesn't mean I should have been so... callous with the others and lashed out during dinner."

He let out a shuddering breath, a weight lifting from his chest as he said everything he wanted to say. He didn't realize just how nervous he actually was before coming into your room. His body feels limp.

You, however, didn't say anything for a short while.

In the back of his mind, he bet you enjoyed seeing him shift uncomfortably, a small sheen of sweat forming on his skin.

"Very well then."

He blinked at you.

"So that's it then." He stared at you, his eyebrows furrowing.

"That's it. Why? Where you expecting something else."

"Well no. I just - you're not angry. I mean at me insulting you earlier and then coming in here and basically saying I'll never," He trailed off, not sure why he was trying to explain anything to you - not when you don't seem to care.

You laugh softly. The sound ringing in his ears. "I was angry but not at what you said about me. You think you're words were insulting? They were the truth. Besides I've been called much worse." You shrug. "What I was angry at was your blatant disregard and disrespect for the others. But it appears that you've changed your mind and realize that you shouldn't blame them just because of your hate for me so no reason to linger in the past."

"You almost sound like you actually care about them." This slipped out before he even realized what he said. Perhaps after what he said earlier, after confronting you, he finds it harder to hold his tongue.

Your lips tighten but other than that you don't say anything. You don't agree or disagree with his statement.

"So you don't love them? Even though all of them seem like they are deeply in love with you."

You don't answer and Scaramouche thinks he screwed up.

"Does love have to be the only reason I take care of those under me? Can't there be any other reason?"

"Selfishness? Control? Pride?" Scaramouche spoke without thinking.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Scaramouche swears he see's your lips twitch. "I may not love them but they're mine. I protect what's mine."

So, he was right about some things.

"So it is pride and ego."

"…"

You shift in the tub, your head falling back against the marble. His eyes flicker down to your throat, watching as a bead of water travels down your skin before snapping his eyes back to your face.

"Most of them are innocent to the truth of the world." You broke the silence after a minute.

"They know men are deemed lesser in this society but they haven't experiences the harshness that the world can offer. Not like you have or Venti or Diluc."

He doesn't see how this answers his previous questions.

"Do I love them? No. I don't believe I am capable of loving anything. But, I care about them. About what they can do - both for me and for themselves. I don't want them to whither away in a society that takes everything from them and become a shell of who they are and what they want to be in the future."

Your fingers drum against the marble of the tub, a small sound echoing in the bathroom.

"You see me as a horrible, cruel person and in some ways, I would say its true. I don't care about the lives of people outside of this palace - not even the people I am meant to. I don't feel anything when I take the lives of others - whether they are enemies or just people fighting because they have to. Sometimes, I even enjoy it. That alone would have everyone labeling me as cruel and even sadistic and I would agree. However, I protect them, ensure they have a good life because I need to. I need their support. But… the people in this palace - they are my people. I want to keep them happy, keep them sheltered, keep them protected; and I'll do whatever that takes in order to guarantee that."

Your head lifts from where it was resting against the tub. He can't see your eyes, the cloth still covering them, but he can feel your gaze penetrating him. The sudden pressure around him is becoming a constant whenever you decide to gaze at him.

"Now, that includes you too. You were a war prize originally, that much is true. You were a means to insult Ei but now you are one of my people. You may just be a concubine but I don't want you clinging to your old life and your old ways of thinking that you need to isolate yourself to survive."

He hated the way you see through him. This is the most you've talked to him - ever; and yet you read him without a problem. It leaves him feeling naked and bared in front of you, even with all of his clothes still on.

"Think what you want about me. I don't care. But the others, they are good and pure and kind. At least open yourself up to them. Each of them will take you in with open arms and love and care about you in ways you may have forgotten."

Scaramouche wasn't sure how to reply to all that. You weren't being vulnerable or even truly opening up to him but there was something in your words that left him shifting on his feet.

"And if I don't want to?" His voice came out shakier than he wanted. His eyes glued to his feet rather than looking at you.

"Then don't. Spend the rest of your time in the harem alone and miserable." You waved a hand like it meant nothing to you.

"I can make sure your fed and healthy but other than that everything else is you're choice."

#genshin au #consort au #empress au #genshin impact #genshin x reader #c:empress #genshin impact x reader #c:scaramouche #scaramouche x reader

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ozzgin · 8 months

Note

Hello, i wanted to ask you for a part 2 about the female predator from earth.

I wanted to know if you could write about the courting process with which male ? The gifts, show of power, that they are capable of producing and protect pups ... And one day reader has her first heat because before she didn't have potential mate. She's all sweet, affectionate and vulnerable, and that is total opposite of the typical female in heat who is dominant and fight her partner. How ours sexy hunters react and do ???

And expect me to soon ask a part 3 with a pregnant female 😁.

Bye, thanks for reading this.

Assuming the courting happens simultaneously I have a feeling it’d end in a bloodbath, so the harem shall be at distanced intervals for the time being.

Various Predators x Predator! Reader Headcanons: Courting

Featuring the previous Predators (Feral, Elite, Bad Blood and Berserker) but with a more detailed description of their courting process. Time to pick your baby daddy. TW: Dubious consent again.

Part 1: Meeting

Part 2: Courting

Part 3: Mating

Feral Predator is the most respectful and approachable of the lot. After all, he’s the one that introduced you to your lost heritage. His communion with nature and tradition shapes his beliefs of sacred respect towards the opposite gender. You’re the bringer of Life and his purpose is to serve you. He enjoys impressing you with his agile hunting prowess. He has perfectly adapted to Earth and if you desire to remain here, he is the only one that can provide for you. But don’t rush to assume he wouldn’t do well anywhere else. His blood is that of noble survival, relying on raw, primitive instinct and intelligence. He is not bound to technology or modern aids, just pure skill. Your lineage will have its success guaranteed under his watch. Feral Predator is briefly taken aback upon seeing your sudden affection, but he’s quick to figure out why you’re acting like this. At this point he may know your body even better than you do. No worries, he will show you the ropes. He will lead everything.

Elite Predator would very much like to simply scoop you up and return you to Yautja Prime. Though spending the rest of his life with a resentful wife doesn’t sound too fun, so he’ll have to make an extra effort to convince you. What do you even need convincing for? Truly, it must be your human background that stops you from seeing the obvious facts. He hasn’t been ranked Elite for nothing. He’s a veteran of the battlefield and has proven his worth plenty of times. You cannot possibly find someone better when it comes to guarding and training the offspring. He’s ready to put an end to your stubbornness when he notices your abrupt neediness. This it not how it usually goes and he’s unsure of how to proceed, but maybe this will serve as the final proof that you must choose him as your partner. Do yourself a favor and accept the given truth. There’s no one else for you.

The fugitive Bad Blood isn’t one to care much for approvals. Or morals, for that matter. Your protests are mere foreplay to him, although a little bit of compliance every now and then wouldn’t hurt. In that case he doesn’t mind threatening you with the lives of your little human caregivers. So you can be good and agree that he’s the best choice for a partner, or he himself can help you with your reluctance. Give you a little push. Oh, don’t make that face. Your parents would’ve agreed! There’s a whole universe to explore and you’re held back by pitiful attachments to creatures that don’t even matter. Once you accept him as your mate, you won’t need anything else. That’s a promise. It’ll be you, him, and the future sucklings as proof of your bond. There’s a reason he’s managed to survive for so long all alone: he’s strong. So really, it’s better to have him on your side rather than your opponent. Especially when you’re so vulnerable.

The Berserker doesn’t need to rely on threats or persuasion. He prefers to let his raw power and aggression speak for themselves. He knows that you can tell the difference: he’s a different breed altogether, stronger and bigger. Why would you willingly settle for less, when you can have the best of the best? You wouldn’t deny your future younglings the superior genes of survival. If you become his mate, you’ve sealed your success whether on Earth or any other Planet. As much as he enjoys your feisty, stubborn side, he finds your heated clinginess an addicting stroke to his ego. Your displays of affection are borderline pathetic, but that’s fine because it’s for his eyes only. See, you have the privilege of being as vulnerable as you wish with him as your protector. So go ahead and beg for his attention. He’ll be happy to comply.

#predator #predator x reader #predator headcanons #yautja #yautja x reader #prey #monster x reader

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loganlermanstanaccount · 8 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 8)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 7, Part 9

summary: You visit your ex. Miguel tags along.

warnings: mentions and description of depression. heavy angst, depictions of a toxic relationship. some suggestive language.

a/n: me when idk shit abt the american school system:

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 5.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you had forgotten; they were good.

Blank walls. Quiet corridors. The buzz of monitors and dull chatter sandwiched between blue vinyl and exit signs. You're not usually one to wander during your breaks; but you're going crazy looking at the same four walls.

That hair net itches and the strap of a blue mask digs into skin as you make your way to a little courtyard. You sit out on a paltry bench overlooking concrete. The spindly remnants of a tree provides little cover from harsh elements. Wind whips through its branches, whistling and cool, as you rip off the mask and crumple it up in your pocket. A heavy sigh, and you feel some semblance of peace. Some quiet, before the morning comes. Before a rush of orders and shunting plastic trays up and down the wards.

You screw your eyes shut to still the pounding at your temples. God. You're grateful for the job, really. And all things considered, it's not particularly taxing: coffee orders until the little cafe closes, meal prep for the morning rush, and sometimes you'd volunteer to take orders to bed bound patients. A whole lot of reheating and chopping and pressing buttons on the little machines. You don't quite get it, of course, but your lone coworker picks up the slack well enough.

The older woman doesn't do much for company, anyways. Riveting conversation comes in the form of grunts and sharp elbows when you get in the way or round the corner of the kitchen. It has you counting down the seconds until your shift ends.

And so you are grateful, well and truly. Jamie's not so sappy, anymore; doesn't partake in 'I love you's or grand gestures; but he is dependable. Safe. Willing to stick his neck out for you, at least. He'd gotten you a job at the hospital he has his placement at; with decent pay, and it slots in well with your other ones. He's taking you seriously – taking the news better than your parents. After telling him you wanted to go back to school, you're not met with thinly veiled disbelief, or lips pressed together with pity. He'd nodded, rather simply. Didn't make a fuss. No deep sighs, or heavy frowns. Okay , he had said. How can I help?

It was the simplicity of his reaction that had bowled you over, almost bringing you to tears. To have someone believe in you, for once – wholeheartedly and without an onslaught of questions – felt like a deep breath of air after almost drowning. It felt like love ; and after desperate breaths, gasping and gulping and clawing at something to hold on to, you think you've found dry land. Something solid, something stable; a rough palm to pull you out of swirling depths. Because, unlike your family, and unlike half-hearted friends: Jamie was there.

After heading back in to catch the morning rush, you're wiping down surfaces and sorting plastic trays onto a cart. Rote, repetitive, boring; you've settled into a routine that feels familiar. A couple more months, you reckon, and you'll be able to cover the costs for a second go at undergrad. You can shed the skin that seems to follow you at every family gathering, and the job interviews in between. Dropout – and when your Mom says it, it feels like a vile curse. Jamie calls it spiteful, and you opt for the democratic alternative; she's being dramatic - rather than cruel, rather than hurtful, rather than crass. You've heard enough, from all sorts: ‘too much pressure’, and ‘didn't think she had it in her, anyways’, are common phrases whispered in the background of phone calls home.

Your chest aches with the weight of it – the kind of ache that seeps into skin, and lines a casket. Grief; mourning a person you could've been, and a person you never would be. For a while, it left you paralysed by the what ifs and the maybes; rotting in a quiet corner. Sinking into sofa cushions or caked onto the bed sheets like the mystery mould bloomed onto the plates in your room. But Jamie was there, more than anyone else.

You'll wait for him in the corridor near the back of the service elevator, like you always do after a shift. You finish when he starts, early in the morning and rubbing away sleep from his eyes for ward rounds. You'll give him a kiss, and he'll give you a soft little smile to send you on your way. It almost makes the whole thing worth it. Almost.

You give and you give and you give. Your boyfriend isn't quite the same; doesn't pour into you the way you'd like him to. But it works. It works because it has to; a thousand miles away from anything resembling home. You can't ask for more – the right words die in your throat.

~~~

You've spent the past couple of hours in the library. Procrastinating for at least half of it, but you've managed to draft out a couple of essays and more or less reorganise your life. It's something you've been dreading for the past week or so; letting yourself get swept up in the monsoon that is your roommate. Miguel – sarcastic, saccharine-sweet Miguel – and his stupidly pretty lips, his pretty hands, and the pretty way he scrunches up his face like he's smelt something rotten.

You're staring at a computer with a slew of books spread out on the adjacent desk. Your half-finished report seems to jumble together on the screen; a tangle of citations and filler words and shitty diagrams. It's not quite clicking , and it's making you want to tear out chunks of your hair in search of relief. A tale as old as time, one you can merely wallow in and fold yourself between its pages. Struggling at school; and this time it's a stats module you thought would be an easy couple of credits, that you definitely can’t afford to fail if you want to graduate early.

You’ve picked a quiet spot on the third floor; a computer bay tucked into the corner. It overlooks a little window, cramped and claustrophobic and mystery mould in the corners of its grout. You've resorted to scanning the cracks with sharp eyes, light fingers on your neck to trace the leftovers of the morning. You can see it in the slightly mirrored surface of cloudy glass; you look like shit, you feel like shit, but you can still feel him. Lips on your neck, sucking soft hickies into the skin; and you can't help but like the way it looks on you. It's the same under your jeans, blooming like mauve and purple heather on a sprawling field.

You cross your legs, wincing at the dull ache that spreads. Sore, in that way that feels good; sending flashes of a morning with Miguel. Fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and the heat of him – cut and lean-lined – on top of you; it's impossible to ignore. Condensation drips from the panes, pooling in its corner and you swipe a finger in it, lazily. Again, you're reminded of him, for the thousandth time in the past hour: shaking legs, fisting his cock, spraying fat globs of his cum onto your face and chest.

With another glimpse of your reflection, you sigh. Deep and heavy, with the weight of half a decade of frustration, sexual or otherwise. You've never felt this good or had your needs satiated so wholly, so exorbitantly. It feels odd. You don't know where to put your hands, how to place your feet on the floor. Do you shout, do you scream? How do you tell all the poor bystanders that scatter the third floor: I'm sleeping with Miguel O'Hara! A walking red flag with cheekbones that could cut glass! He wants me, and I want–

Your phone rings. The noise catches you off guard, and has you stumbling to press accept.

"Hey," Miguel's voice sounds tinny in the speakers, and so you press it to your ears.

"Y-Yeah?" You steel yourself, batting away daydreams of your legs wrapped around his middle – too horny for your own good, clearly.

"I'm outside, chula. " He stops talking. The quiet ticking of an indicator becomes the only sign of life, before he says, "In that parking bay by the–"

"I know, I know. Give me 5 minutes." You rush to pack up, clicking off the monitor and haphazardly shoving your notes into your bag. Not everything fits, and you give up trying to cram that textbook in.

A beat passes before you realise he's still on the phone. Quiet, but still there.

"…I brought food, by the way."

You only just manage to catch it, slotting the phone between your ear and shoulder. That makes you perk up.

" Seriously? " You give him a small laugh. You think you can hear him smile through the phone. "Thank fucking God, I'm starving. But you weren't rushing, or anything, right? I mean, it's so soon after your session with… Sally, or–"

You're bounding down two steps at a time, so eager to see him – to get food , actually – that you're careless going down the stairs.

"Sarah . " He breathes, and you make your way downstairs.

It stops you in your tracks, for some reason.

"Okay. Sarah ." You say it with finality, voice tight. "What did you end up doing anyways? At her place, you said?"

"Pressure differentials. Modelling viscosity. It's not very interesting." He hums, shifting in his seat. "What about you? Did you get something done?"

You take a beat too long to respond, and it comes out half-baked.

"Loads, Mig."

He snorts. " Sure. "

" Fuck you. " You say it under your breath, ducking past the entrance, and into a side road.

And there Miguel is, car heaped onto part of the sidewalk. He's leaning back, lazy arm sticking out the car window, showing off muscle and pretty tan skin. It's getting cold, but he's cracked the car door ajar; donned in a well-fitting t-shirt and slack trousers.

You're trying not to drool; and he makes it a little easier by flashing a shit-eating grin.

Childishly, you stick your tongue out; wrenching the door open and slumping into the passenger side. You tuck your things by your feet, and it lands on the floor with a thump.

"You can put your stuff in the back.. . " Miguel frowns.

" Can't. We need the space, remember?"

To pick up the rest of your things left in your ex's apartment. You hope he can parse out the rest of that from a raised eyebrow.

He sighs, tossing a brown bag of takeout onto your lap. He starts the car. "...I didn't think we were still doing that, to be honest."

He seems disappointed, eyes flitting this way and that as he reverses and pulls out. You must've hit your head at some point, because you're in heat – pressing sore legs together at the way he does it. One arm on the back of your headrest, sharp jaw jutting out as he looks back, and bottom lip hooked under his teeth; he's just concentrating, trying not to hit one of the cat-sized rodents that roam the streets this late at night, and he's still hot .

"You promised ."

"I had my face between your thighs. Would've said anything if it meant I could have more."

You draw your lips in faux disgust – your heart's not in it, but it's enough to make him chuckle.

"Fuck you."

He doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "...you'd like that."

Lips pursed, you ignore the way it twists your stomach into knots. Steadfast, you stare out at the window, watching the yellow lights of a bustling city pass you by.

Miguel takes a different turning, one that'll take you across the city and away from your place. To Jamie's, most likely. You soften, taking a moment to look across at him.

His eyes flit over, intense and almost a deep red in the neon and lights. It's barely a couple of seconds, but he knows, just like that.

"Are you nervous?" He tests the waters, voice steady and non-committal. It's not an accusation; even though everything feels like one, lately. Not from him, though. Never from him.

" No ." Your tone is betraying, and you both know it. He seems to pretend not to hear that tremor in your voice.

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." He says it soft and low, not quite looking at you.

"It's just… it's the first time I'm going to see him after–" Your voice crackles. "After everything."

"You'll be okay," He starts. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude when he says it: it feels genuine and full-bodied and sonorous, clanging around your head like the chime of church bells. "Probably not right away – it's going to hit you like a semi, first. And you'll feel like shit afterwards. But it won't last. You'll move on, and you'll be okay; because you have to be."

He drifts off somewhere far away when he says that last bit; and you're not too sure what he's talking about anymore. Regardless, you wrap his words around you, holding it to your chest like a little songbird in the cradle of a tree.

You'll be okay. You have to be.

It feels less solid when it's not Miguel saying it, you think. You don't tell him that, though, sinking into the seat instead.

He doesn't let that silence sit for too long. Traffic creates a natural lull, and he reaches over to tap at the book in your lap – one of many different textbooks, the rest of which is lodged in your bag.

"You're taking a stats module, I assume."

You nod.

"With Dr. Karev?"

You sit up slightly. "...yeah, actually."

He hums. "You thought it would be an easy A, then."

He's right, but it doesn't make it sting any less. You were hoping for simple math and data processing, and here you were: drowning in matrices and linear algorithms.

"I thought it would be."

"Let me help you, then. I took one of his classes and he barely changes the syllabus. I could dig up my old notes, and–"

"You want to tutor me ?" You splutter – but you don't mean to sound as shocked as you do. " Why? "

"Why not?" He shrugs.

"I… I don't have any money, or anything."

"M'not offering because I want money." He's nonchalant, inching towards the car up front.

You squint. It's not adding up. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, I swear. Is it so hard to believe I'm being nice?"

Now, you feel guilty. "Sorry, Mig. I appreciate it, I really do–"

"Sit on my face and we'll call it even."

He turns to you now, face flat but with a twinkle in his eye. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned - amused. He thinks this is funny?

You give him a light shove as the traffic starts to break up. He's riled you up, now, and you're much too annoyed to be nervous.

"Eyes on the road, asshole."

It's more bark than bite, and you settle into the seat, finally cracking open the paper bag. You munch on fries and it makes him laugh. Miguel swears he can see it: the hint of a gentle smile on your face.

~~~

He pulls up to the apartment complex. Modest, close to the hospital; and you probably couldn't have afforded to live there without your ex. Jamie was lucky; his parents could foot the bill of moving out, and he had family that lived in the city.

It feels odd to be on the outside looking in. The building's windows become snapshots into other people's lives. For some, it meant an early night, blinds drawn and lights off. From the parking lot, you can see the dim yellow of lights streaming through other apartments. Silhouettes flit past every now and then; the only sign of life.

Jamie's apartment is on the top floor, the two windows on the far right. You crane your head out of the car window, to get a better look. The lights are on, with one window left slightly ajar.

Miguel moves to get out, with shuffling that breaks the silence. You stop him with a hand on his arm.

"No, no. I'm going up by myself."

He cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly.

"...you sure? If you need help shifting boxes, I can–"

"I'm good, Mig. I just needed the car."

It comes out snappier than you meant it to, already irritable. With that, you pop the door open with a thunk . You can't see it, but he frowns, watching you swish and sway towards the entrance.

You trace familiar steps to Jamie's apartment. The door code hasn't changed, and so you buzz yourself in. This is something you can do quickly and efficiently, you've decided. In and out, and you don't have the energy for much else. Bracing at the door, you get ready to knock, hand curled into a fist.

The door swings open before you get the chance. He's there; still in light blue scrubs and a name badge pinned to his chest. It's the first thing you see, trying not to look at his face. But it's like pulling teeth, you decide: less painful when it's quick and sharp.

" Where's my –"

" Your stuff's in the –"

In a great clash of words, you finally look up at him. Where you're expecting some form of emotion – a flash of something, even for just a moment – Jamie is steadfast. Blank; blinking back sleep, if anything. You clamp down what feels like bile rising in your throat and push past him into the front room.

"Is this how it's going to be?"

Head down, you grit a quiet, "Don't . "

It's just as you left it, to the point it's almost comical. The same pillows you'd bury yourself in after work, the patterned tea towel you'd bought on a whim. The bar stools in lieu of a proper dining table, and that great big desk he had insisted on carting to the living room for years . Bits and pieces of you, of your relationship, and he barely bats an eye. He'll use your mugs and sleep on your patterned sheets.

It makes you sick .

You head to the second room. There's a stack of boxes, hastily stashed in the corner. There's still permanent marker on them from when you first moved in. Now, it houses the things you couldn't take with you the first time – everything you left behind.

Sick, sick, sick .

You take a moment to dig through the top box, that's clearly been moved. Knick-knacks, books, clothes and all the clutter you've acquired; and it reminds you of family, it reminds you of friends.

Jamie leans by the doorway, looking on in silence.

When you pick up a box, straining to lift it, he doesn't offer to help. He watches as you flounder, dragging it towards the door.

You're huffing when he finally says something; something that's clearly been on his mind for a while, with the way he says it.

"Are you seeing someone?" He's looking out of the window, gaze fixed on the car parked outside. Miguel's car.

Your eyes widen. You don't quite trust yourself to speak.

You leave the box by the door. "Are you?“

He shrugs. "Don't have the time."

It's noncommittal and frustratingly blasé. He's not giving you much, and it's fucking with your head. This whole thing feels like a big joke – he wants to talk, and all he's doing is asking bullshit questions. Once upon a time, you would've stewed in it; sat with that question on your tongue and let it rot.

"I don't understand." You croak. It hurts to say out loud, but you say it. That's the important part. "I don't know why you're doing this… why are you still doing this?"

"I don't like how we left things." He says it slow, like he's choosing his words carefully.

You want to scream.

" So? "

" So , I need some kind of closure. We've got unfinished business."

" Unfinished business? " You roll it around on your tongue, reeling at its bitter taste. It feels clinical and lifeless, yet again.

And then… oh. It clicks. Looking at him, arms folded and leaning on a wall, he looks antsy and uncomfortable. Now, when forced to face you.

" Closure. " Another word that tastes like shit. You give a watery laugh. "You feel guilty."

He doesn't say anything but his body language says enough. He shifts his weight side to side, unable to make eye contact.

You don't bother to stick around for an answer, snatching up the box as best you can. Through the doors, and down the corridor. You stagger down the flight of stairs, gritting your teeth. It's heavy – you've packed as much as you can inside, trying to get this over quickly – and you make it to the first floor before it clatters onto the steps.

You fold ; knees drawn to your chest and hands tight in your hair. Heart racing, chest pumping: you're trying not to get swept away by heavy emotions. The tide rises. You pump your legs around the swirling mass - barely staying afloat in deep, deep water.

You'll be okay.

You remember Miguel's words, gentle and sweet and kind. You remember the way he said it; firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The kind of grace that you don't have to work for and doesn't need a performance. He believes in you, at least; thinks you're stronger than you have any right to be. And you think of him in the car: eager to help and reassure. You brushed him off. You were mean.

Deep breath.

Miguel's waiting for you, just outside those doors. Diligent and patient, saccharine-sweet Miguel. Getting up, you make your way down the stairs with that box.

When he spots you, a pretty little thing in a hoodie and jeans, he leaps out of the car.

"Hey, hey, easy… "

"I'm good, Mig – "

You're struggling with the box, and he eases it out of your hands without breaking a sweat. One hand on the boot of the car, the other holding up the heavy box effortlessly, and he gives you a quick once over.

"...he didn't offer to help?" His face is scrunched up - disgusted by the looks of it - and all you can manage is a limp shrug.

It doesn't take him long to figure it out. You're dejected; nervous, down-trodden, blue in every meaning of the word; losing a little bit of that shine you had started the day with. If he had to guess, and he knows you well enough he'd bet money on it, it was that ex of yours – stealing away that light in a burlap sack, a thief in the brilliance of bright sun.

It makes him grind his teeth, eyes flicking up at the fourth floor window.

"I could help." He offers, a hand on your shoulder. It's your favourite hoodie, he thinks, as he circles the soft fabric with his thumb.

You purse your lips, thinking it over.

"It'll be quicker, chula. "

That pushes you over the edge, and you finally nod.

It must be a sight, knocking at the door with Miguel hot on your heels. After living with him for so long, you've forgotten how intimidating he can be when you first meet him; taller than Jamie, and mean-mugging the blonde with a deadly look. If you weren't so on edge it would make you laugh: you know your roommate is mostly harmless.

Jamie doesn't, of course. He visibly bristles, looking you both up and down.

"I just need some help with the boxes. This is my roommate, Miguel."

You turn to the man beside you.

" Miguel ," You say it softer. "This is Jamie."

Wordlessly, he stretches out a palm,

rough and broad and tan. Hesitant, the man in front of you takes it.

"Hey, man." Jamie flashes you a strange look when he says it.

Miguel doesn't answer.

You lead him to the second room, divvying up the boxes as Jamie hovers at the doorway. It's surprisingly efficient: Miguel insists on taking the heaviest boxes, hauling them up onto his shoulders, before stacking them up at the door. You'll take the smaller stuff, and it seems everything will be done in far fewer trips than before. It's hard to say out loud, but you're grateful for his help – Miguel was right , for once.

After the first trip, he's bounding back up the stairs for more. You've both made it into a game, with neither one of you having to explain the rules. He pinches your arm whilst you sift through boxes, and you stick your tongue out in response. Elbow deep in crap, and he manages to make it feel a little better.

Jamie stews. Jamie festers. In a corner of what used to be your shared apartment, he pretends to tap at his phone, uninterested. You know him too well for that facade to stick.

Miguel takes the last of the boxes down, and you're straggling behind, picking up the last few bits and pieces. You're left alone with your ex, for a brief moment.

"You're fucking him." He says it quiet, in a whisper that sounds oh-so loud in that little room. Fucking. He spits it out, and makes the word feel cheap and dirty.

You look up from across the room. Slowly, he traverses its width, gaze pinning you down like a bug under a microscope.

He brings a hand to your chin, cupping the flesh tenderly. It's intimate and familiar, reminding you of better days. Something bubbles up in your stomach, sweet and innocent. That feeling doesn't last long.

"You're fucking him."

It's accusatory, spat out with a rueful smile pulling at his lips. His fingers brush over your throat and you squirm, pulling up the mouth of your hoodie.

Those hickies, blossoming like flowers in the spring. They crackle across your skin like fallen leaves in autumn.

"It's none of your fucking business."

"Of course you are. I can't believe you." He rolls his eyes, half-laughing. "I was going to apologise! I was planning to say sorry for the way I handled things and you had to rub it in my face."

" What ?" You croak.

"You brought the guy you're fucking to our apartment!" He explodes.

His lips flatten into a tight line.

" ...now it's our apartment? You kicked me out. You dumped me ."

"Don't…. fuck , don't do that. Don't make me the bad guy, here. I gave you plenty of time to find a new place."

"Two. Weeks." You grit. "You gave me two weeks, asshole. You left me alone, and told me to fend for myself whilst you fucked off to your sister's."

That fire dies down as he hesitates. "I… I would've let you stay longer. You know that, baby."

" No. No I don't know, 'cuz you don't tell me shit , anymore." You blink back hot tears. "I don't make as much money as you do, and my family can't support me like yours can."

"I would've–"

"You didn't. " You swallow roughly. "You didn't. I don't even know what I did wrong ."

"No, no." He cradles your face with his hands, swiping at stray tears. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Now, you look up at him. With glistening eyes, and a heavily furrowed brown, it barely comes out as a whisper; red-raw and strained.

"Then why don't you love me?"

He doesn't deny it. There isn't a scramble to reassure you; to pat your head and kiss away tears to show you how much he cares. Instead, he steps away guiltily.

"I care about you, of course I do. Remember when you changed your major?"

You nod.

"I was there, wasn't I? I stayed up for hours talking you through it. And when you dropped out, I came over on the weekends and brought you groceries."

"I was there. I helped you through that funk , and helped you get that job for school. Every stupid little question, every depressive episode, all those moments where no-one else would help: I did. Even though I had other things going on in my life, I showed up. For you. It was enough, for a while."

Until it wasn't. He sighs.

"I'm starting my residency next year… and you're still in school, right?”

“Yes, I am.” You say it simply, not able to say much more without breaking down.

“I'm happy for you, really - proud that you actually got that far. But we're going in different directions, and at different paces. It's easier now that we're not together.”

You bristle at his tone: still in school, actually got that far . It oozes pomp and a quiet kind of superiority. Easier now, like it was difficult before.

“I didn't make that decision because I hate you, or because I don't care about you. I know you're angry.” He places his hands on your shoulders, and doesn't break eye contact. For the first time since you got here, you think he's finally showing emotion; quiet melancholy just below the surface. Up this close, you can see it: deepening bags under his eyes, sallow skin, and fine lines. Jaime looks tired. In fact, he seems exhausted .

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you brought your fuck buddy here, when I just wanted to talk.”

It feels cruel. The way he looks at you, and the way his demeanour switches from the Jamie you knew before, to this .

"I wanted to talk." You strain. " Months ago. After you broke up with me, and disappeared off the face of the planet. Every time I called, crying and panicking, it went straight to voicemail."

You shake his hands off of you, stepping back.

"Miguel's a friend… did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed some help moving my things, Jamie. Maybe I don't have that many friends since they stopped talking to me because of you, Jamie. Maybe, there's not some devious plot to spite you."

You pick up the rest of your stuff, a little basket of trinkets and books. The very same books that he had told you to pack up; to make some space for his textbooks.

"Get your head out of your ass. Don't call me. Don't text me. I'm done. "

You're already halfway out of the door. With that, you start to storm off; clattering into Miguel by the stairs. When your things spill out of your hands, you both drop to your knees in a scramble to pick them up. You're chewing the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood, fumbling around. Miguel is more efficient, scooping up your belongings back into its box.

You're drooping, only able to mutter a quiet thanks. On the way to his car, you're dejected. Miguel watches carefully, trailing behind.

~~~

He doesn't know what to say.

You've left him speechless before. Many times, in the span of your couple months together. Miguel recalls it in exasperated messages to Lyla; you're something else entirely. Frustrating, sometimes. Quick-witted. Perceptive. Thoughtful. A million and one words to describe you, and yet, it still doesn't paint the full picture. You are multi-faceted and brilliant in a way he's not sure he completely understands.

[Sent: 22:33]

Can't explain it, Ly.

[Sent: 22:33]

I'm going fucking crazy.

[Received: 22:34]

ur being dramatic :p

[Received: 22:34]

think u just need to get laid

[Sent: 22:34]

Fuck off.

[Sent: 22:35]

I said I'm taking a break. Meant it.

[Received: 22:37]

(image attached)

[Received: 22:37]

got this at the party

[Received: 22:37]

ur staring, mig

[Sent: 22:38]

…

[Received: 22:38]

that's my dress! told u I have great taste :))

[Received: 23:06]

miggyyy

[Received: 23:06]

stop ignoring me! its not fun anymore >:(

That was a while ago. Before anything serious happened between you both. And he's had the privilege of seeing you in many different ways; stressed, angry, beaming with joy. Bouncing off the walls after too much coffee, or crawling out of bed following a late night. He's seen your lips curve to form a delicious O as you writhe underneath him; he's seen you smile. He'd tattoo it onto his skin, if he could.

Fuck . He's overthinking it.

You've retired to your spot on the couch, and yes, he's staring. Tracing the slope of your jaw and the tilt of nose outlined by the glow of the TV. After getting back home late, he brushed off limp protests and took most of the boxes up himself. It sits in a pile by the dining table. You'll deal with it tomorrow, he supposes.

Retreating behind your ratty blanket, you stare blankly at the screen. Glassy eyes, you've curled up to watch reruns late into the night. Can't sleep, you told him, as he hovered by the doorway.

He should go to bed. It's nothing to do with him, really, and he shouldn't have overheard as much as he did. Miguel is curious but not nosy, and well-versed on the art of minding your business . So he shouldn't feel his heart splintering; creaking like the trunk of a felled tree; hacked into two by the way he sees you drowning.

He sits by your side. Not too close, of course, he's wary of all the shit you've been through today; not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable.

He's reminded of a childhood holiday. Half a summer spent at a campsite, bounding through woodland and creeks somewhere up north. Gabi and him would disappear, forgoing the beaten paths for their own adventure. Miguel couldn't make friends the way his brother could, so he'd straggle behind; watching from afar as the other kids would climb trees or swim in quiet lakes. Reading by the banks, and he remembers a time someone had slipped under the water. Drowning, and it wasn't anything like the movies. It was quick, silent and deadly. Thrashing under choppy water, and then…

…nothing. Just quiet.

He feels that panic rising now, watching you stay so eerily still. You've slipped under the waves, and he doesn't know what to say to pull you back out.

Miguel isn't too good with words. He's not known for his warmth, or comforting presence. Sometimes, he thinks he wasn't built with that switch turned on in his head – and he certainly didn't learn the right words from his parents. And so, he gives you comfort the only way he knows how. He shows you. He takes care of you.

You come to him. Like two parts of a whole, you slot together perfectly: your head on his shoulder, at first. You end up on his chest, curled up like a housecat; matching shaky breaths to his steady ones. He brings a hand to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles in the fabric to soothe you.

With the dull chatter and gloom of the TV, you fall asleep. It takes Miguel a little longer, but he wraps his arms around you. He listens out for it: the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Steady, like a metronome, and it grounds him – drowning out the creak of gears.

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