I'm having a shitty day, do you perchance have some somft heacanons lying around?
I'm sorry your day was bad :(
Idk about soft but here are some cute modern (or just general relationship) hc's for Sylvain and Claude off the top of my head
SYLVAIN:
~Sylvain would insist that he's no good with kids but you'd take him to a family get-together and he'd be fully invested in the TMNT/Monster High MCU-esque crossover story your younger relatives had set up within minutes.
~While he was never that big into video games or anything, he was more than willing to indulge Felix's intense fighting game obsession so he's not half bad at a lot of them. He probably played a lot of DOOM. Sylvain would 100% be willing to engage in whatever games you liked, if nothing else than just because it's so cute when you're passionate about something. He'd probably critique your waifus pretty hard though.
~He would never let Dimitri forget the number of controllers he broke at the Gautier household.
~He'd post on his Instagram story a lot. Like, those low-angle, "talking softly cause I'm in public" sort of stories. Not anything personal, just random nonsense. Some (VERY low-key) thirst trapping. A lot of pictures of his friends and the two of you as well.
~Speaking of that, Sylvain would take so many pictures of the two of you. Or just you. Not to post, just to have. And to obnoxiously set as his lock screen and background. He wouldn't want to forget any of it, you know? Always a little afraid that he might lose you.
~Since he is canonically into music, I propose that he would love to go to live venues. To a certain extent, I don't even think Sylvain would care that much about genre. Like, going to the Symphony is just as fun as going to a pop or rock concert, he'd enjoy the experience.
~Sylvain would just be the grossest boyfriend ever. Matching novelty shirts, tacky key chains, a fuck-ton of emojis in any goodnight/good morning texts. Of course he would be serious sometimes, but he'd also really enjoy the element of just gushing and appreciating you.
~Not exclusive necessarily to a modern au, but Sylvain would have a hard time leaving you alone in public. Like, how far could his hand slip up your skirt before you started to notice? How many dirty comments could he surreptitiously (or not, honestly) make before you called him out on it? How many times could he wink at you before you told him he wasn't as cute as he thought he was (both of you would know that was a lie, but, hey, it's kinda cute when you play hard to get)? Sylvain would argue that it was just good, clean fun. Except for the part where you're having dangerously semi-public sex, but that's beside the point.
~Car sex. Assuming you were willing, it would happen. Sylvain's car (something ridiculously nice) would be really clean and he would, like a true gentleman, lean the seat all the way back. This would have the unfortunate side effect of showing up places with that winded, rumpled, just-fucked glow.
~Look. Sylvain wearing short sleeve black t-shirts with a deep V. Sylvain wearing Doc Marten boots. Sylvain wearing dark rings to really emphasize his pretty paleness and nice hands.
CLAUDE
~Claude would have the entire movie Montry Python and the Holy Grail memorized. He'd also have, on more than one occasion, clipped The Black Knight ('tis but a scratch!) scene and tagged Dimitri asking "this you?" Dimitri claims to not understand the joke.
~He would teach you a series of complicated hand gestures and expressions so he could silently communicate with you across the room because, as he would patiently explain to you each time you told him it was dumb, "texting would be too obvious."
~Love getting mani/pedi's with Hilda and would be willing to, once you crossed that threshold in your relationship, invite you. A very ceremonial affair, really. Breaking the sacred bestie bond.
~Claude would enjoy RPG and strategy games. Morrowind would be his favorite Elder Scrolls game because of the more complicated roleplay elements, same with Fallout New Vegas and Dragon Age Origins. He'd also play a lot of Crusader Kings. Since he grew up so isolated, I don't think he'd like multiplayer games as much. Except for Mario Kart. He would dominate at Mario Kart.
~He'd win almost every game of Among Us. That's it.
~Claude would drive a convertible and if the top could be down, the top would be down. Or, if he had to take someone else's car, the windows would all be open. Wind in his hair and all that.
~While he wouldn't be as openly flirty as Sylvain which could make you think he wasn't as scheming, Claude's "accidental" touching and veiled comments would be delivered more subtly and with a lot more intent. The difference would be that Sylvain plays games while Claude purposefully does what he needs to in order to get his way.
~He'd refuse, under any and all circumstances, to wear skinny jeans. End of discussion. No matter how many times you would lament that he totally had the ass to pull it off. The thing is, Claude would be far more interested in pulling off your clothes.
~Adventures! You mentioned you wanted to try that Greek restaurant last week? Surprise dinner plans. The boardwalk just opened a new rollercoaster? Guess who just took the day off to steal you away for rides and kettle corn. After growing up so restricted as to what he was and wasn't allowed to do, the freedom would be borderline intoxicating.
~He'd take you camping to a dark zone with no light pollution to look at the stars. Maybe he would know some constellations, but mostly Claude would just make a bunch of them up and tell you bogus stories about how they came to be.
~Even if you threatened to kill him in order to get him to shut up, Claude would talk through movies. Or get bored and decide that you were more interesting than the movie.
Notes: This was a short little doodle that popped into my head while I was trying to sleep and then, and then, and then. I'm not sure I'll ever post the things I've been trying to work on but whatever, here's some good ole fashioned nastiness. Also trying to find good photos of Sylvain to use as a banner quickly got annoying so I gave up.
Pathetic, stupid girl. That’s all you were, and it was all you could think as you found yourself back in the same place you always went. Hiding from everybody else. Crying all alone because you couldn’t contain your emotions like a normal person. Running away. But even if it was juvenile and misguided and stupid, what else were you supposed to do? Quickly excusing yourself seemed a better alternative than letting everybody see a grown woman crying at her own party. Over the cruel antics of an infamously womanizing man, no less.
Dabbing at your eyes, you tried to regain your composure. It shouldn’t have bothered you so much. You shouldn’t have let him get to you. He was mean, and cruel, and you were only giving him what he wanted by reacting like this.
You needed to go back to the party, to smile, and prove that you weren’t affected in the least. Stop being such a pathetic crybaby. Grow up.
“Oh, there you are,” Sylvain said, his voice startling you out of your slump against the wall, all of the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up and heart set to racing.
How had he found you? Of all the hiding spots you had, this was your favorite for escaping from parties. It was your secret, your little alcove, an out-of-the way corner far away from the noise. He didn’t belong here.
“Sylvain,” you acknowledged, unable to say anything else, your eyes darting behind him to your only possible escape. In your state, you had effectively cornered yourself. All alone with Sylvain. Again.
“I was wondering where you ran off to. We all got worried when you ran off so fast.” He spoke as if he was relieved to find you. As if he hadn’t tracked you down on purpose. As if he were utterly ignorant to why you had run in the first place.
“I don’t wanna talk to you,” you said, refusing to look him in the face directly because then he’d see your red cheeks, he’d see the tears clinging to your eyelashes and he already knew but you didn’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing it too. Hopefully the shadows covered the most damning evidence, although you weren’t sure it mattered.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” you said louder, glaring hard at his boots.
“I know,” he said, raising his hands and eyebrows in innocence. So amiable, so approachable. So believable. “We don't have to talk, but I need you to know that I was just joking around earlier.”
“It’s fine,” you said curtly, desperate to refuse him any other reaction, hoping he’d get bored and leave it alone.
“I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“I’m not,” you told him, although the increasingly shrill tone in your voice said otherwise. You hated yourself for it, hated Sylvain for making you so upset. Hated the whole ugly, awful situation.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
The handle you had on your emotions had been weak to begin with, but that finally set you off, the horrible cruelty sending a rush of overwhelming, despairing dizziness right up to your head. “Yes you did!” you exclaimed, unable to hold your tongue even though you knew you should have.
“No, I hate seeing you cry,” he said, acting surprised by your accusation. Then he shrugged, dark eyes narrowing a little. “It’s not my fault you’re so sensitive.”
"I’m not!” you told him, unable to quell the flare up of helpless indignance. “It’s you. I don’t understand why you’re so mean to me. I never… I don’t understand.”
Although you weren’t sure why, that had been the exactly wrong thing to say. You could tell by the set of his shoulders, by the shift in his expression. If it were a play, you had just given him his cue.
“You didn’t seem to think I was being mean the other night,” Sylvain said. “Or the night before that. Actually, if I remember correctly, you seemed like you were having a good time.”
A furious flush crawled over your face, hot enough to leave you lightheaded, blazing with shame and disgust and regret. “No. That wasn’t….”
“Wasn’t… what? Your fault?” Sylvain asked, his eyebrow raising slightly. “Right. Nothing is ever your fault. Not as long as you flash everybody those big doe eyes and act like you're a victim.”
“That’s not it,” you said, but there was no strength to your words. Not out of a lack of conviction, but because if you spoke any louder you’d definitely cry. "I…"
He waited, but there was nothing else you could think of to say.
“You really have no idea what else to do, do you? Well, everybody else might believe it, but I don’t.”
“I don’t care what you…” You shook your head, trying to regain even a shred of composure. “I don’t care. You're a… a…”
“What?” Sylvain prompted. “What am I?”
“A bully!” you exclaimed suddenly, loudly, hands balled into ineffectual fists at your sides.
“Really? I’m a… bully?” he asked incredulously. “Seriously? I swear, you’re such a kid sometimes.”
Your eyes burned with fresh tears. Tears of anger, of humiliation, of exhaustion. “Just stop. Leave me alone.”
“Stop what?” Sylvain asked. “I came to apologize. You’re the one making such a big deal out of it.”
“I’m not!”
“You are. Just like earlier, all I was doing was playing around but then you had to go and make me look like the bad guy.” He hesitated, taking a step closer. “Hold on, are you gonna cry?”
Your chin wobbled, your throat swelling up, your hands shaking. “No.”
“Go on,” Sylvain invited. “Prove my point. You want me to feel sorry for you, right? You want me to fawn over you like everybody else.”
“I don’t!”
“You don’t?” he asked, feigning surprise. He waved it off a second later, smiling like it had been a joke. “Ah, don’t give me that look. I get it. It’s all about the attention.”
“I don’t want attention,” you insisted, the burning getting worse. Burning your cheeks, like embers behind your eyes.
Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you do. And you wanna know how I know?”
“No, I’m… I’m done. I’m going back,” you said rather than answer, holding your head high with a brittle sort of strength. You would walk past him, and it would be fine. You didn’t need to be scared. Last time—no, this wouldn’t be like last time. If you set boundaries, if you were firm, it would be okay. Holding your breath, you began to scurry past him, your entire body tense enough to snap.
“Wait, hold on,” Sylvain said, grabbing you around the waist when you were close enough. You protested with a yelp, trying to escape his grasp, desperate to get away. Because that worked so well before.
“I’ll scream,” you told him, pushing at his hands, your heart beating so fast you worried he could hear it too.
“No you won’t,” he said with an easy-going sort of exasperation, crowding you further into the corner before letting you go. He wasn’t physically restraining you, but you were just as trapped. Between a rock and a hard place. “Just calm down, okay?”
You sniffed, trying to compose yourself. He was right. If you screamed and somebody came, what would they think? What would Sylvain tell them?
“Right… What was I saying?” he asked. “Oh, yeah. The reason I know you want attention is because even though you know I’m no good, even though you cry about how much of a bully I am, as soon as I made a move on you, you were more than happy to go along with it.” He smiled, teeth glinting in the low light as he shook his head. “For most girls, the Crest and title is enough, but you’re way more simple than that. You know, it’s pretty pathetic.”
“No,” you told him, shaking your head desperately to reject his words. It wasn’t true. It wasn’t. “I-I want to go back.”
“Stop being such a baby,” he teased, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You flinched, slapping his hand away. That made Sylvain freeze, his smile dropping. Instead he braced his arm on the wall behind you, your chests nearly touching with each of your frantic breaths. “Fine, fine. If you tell me to stop and mean it, I’ll stop.”
“Stop!”
“That’s the best you got?” he asked with an incredulous little laugh. He was close enough that you could feel the puff of air, smell the wine on his breath. “Really?”
“Sylvain, stop!”
“That was even worse.”
“Please, stop,” you begged, breaking down now because he wouldn't listen anyway, no matter how you said it. It was all just make-believe to trick you into doing exactly what he wanted. Foreplay. And you knew that, so where was the steel in your voice?
“This is your problem. Nobody’s ever gonna take you seriously when all you can do is whine at them.”
“I’m not whining!”
He didn’t even have to respond to that, the raised eyebrow and nonplussed set of his mouth said more than enough.
“I’m not,” you told him again, your voice weaker.
Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Hey, don’t worry. It’s cute.”
The compliment had you frantically trying to think of an escape. Knowing that it was doomed. This was all heading in an obvious direction, it probably had been his intention from the second he chased you away and you just played along, never smart enough to catch wise to his plots.
“When you pout like that, I guess I do feel a little sorry for you,” he said. “I know what’ll make it better.”
He cupped your chin to raise your head up. Gently, at first. When you tried to pull his arm away, those fingers dug into your jaw and cheeks, holding you in place.
“We have to… go back…” you said. “Otherwise people are gonna…”
“Talk? Yeah, I’m sure they will.”
Sylvain kissed you before you could respond. Your mouth was open for his, and it didn’t matter if that was intentional or not, only that his tongue tasted like wine and it was really setting in that there was nothing you could do to stop this. He kissed like a romantic, his other hand dropping to cradle your head, holding you in a way you were sure had convinced dozens of girls of his affection and passion.
That’s how he had been the other night too, trailing hot kisses down your body while you trembled, burying his head between your thighs until you were too wrought with pleasure to do anything other than let it happen, believing him when he told you how beautiful you were, how much he cared about you.
Lies.
“Please, Sylvain,” you said, breaking the kiss enough to breathe. “I don’t want to.”
“Don’t want to… what?” he asked softly, nudging your chin upward.
You stared at his chest with blurry vision, refusing to meet his eyes. “I don’t want to… to do… anything.”
He laughed, rolling his eyes. “C’mon, let’s be honest, you never do anything. I don’t really care. The whole pillow princess thing suits you. So just relax and let me take care of it. You’re getting pretty good at that.”
“No—nn-” Sylvain cut off your objection, grabbing a handful of your skirt to pull it up. Not all the way, just enough to get his other hand beneath the bunch of fabric. Your body bucked in an attempt to displace him, your thighs clenching, but a hard knee between your legs kept them open enough that he could rub against you over the barrier of your panties.
“You look so confused whenever I touch you,” Sylvain said. “Before you start acting like you don’t want it, at least.”
“I don’t!” You insisted, pushing at his arm. Sylvain didn’t budge, grabbing one of your wrists and pinning it to the wall. His other hand turned so his fingers could curl, wedging silky fabric between your pussy’s outer lips to drag forward, stopping when you unintentionally jerked in response to the pressure on your clit. You weren’t turned on, but you knew that was going to change if he started rubbing your clit the way he had last time, drawing blood between your legs to meet the demand of stimulation. Even if it was a completely physical, uncontrollable reaction, he would take it as proof that he was right.
“I couldn’t figure out why at first, but I think I got it now.”
You shook your head, barely able to follow along with his words as he continued touching you, grinding against your clit with those dirty little circles. If anything, the extra friction of your panties made it better.
No. Not better. Not good.
“You can’t believe that you’re not getting your way just by crying and whining,” Sylvain continued, uncaring that you weren’t really listening. “Because the princess always gets her way, doesn’t she?”
A soft whimper left your mouth, your head shaking in tight little motions to deny his accusation. “No,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut to delay the tears that were finally welling up, retracing the salty tracks from before.
Sylvain laughed breathlessly, delighted. “You’re such a crybaby. I know you love it. You can’t get enough of me. That’s why you’re acting like this. You have no idea how to get somebody’s attention without throwing a fit.”
More tears slid down your face even as your body writhed against his, that tight ball of need building up beneath his relentless touch. Sylvain caught the tears with his lips before kissing you again, groaning in response to your nearly inaudible whine at the taste. Your pussy tightened, the muscles clenching around the hollow ache of nothingness, of need. The memory of his fingers, of his cock, made the absence that much more noticeable, a desire you only knew because of Sylvain.
His tongue explored your mouth while you anxiously lagged behind, unable to meet his intensity as your body teetered ever closer to the crest of pleasure, all you could do was try to hold on, to keep your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block it all out.
Suddenly, Sylvain pulled away. The loss of pressure on your clit made your eyes snap open, your hips jumping forward. He obviously noticed the reaction, his lips red and wet, his eyes alight.
“Don’t worry, I’m not about to leave you high and dry,” he said, pushing your panties down enough to make room for his hand.
“I do—oh-” Was your wonderfully eloquent response when he pressed two fingers into you. Longer, thicker, more insistent than your own. You trembled and gasped and moaned, your pussy sucking his fingers deeper, your hips bucking against him. You squeezed your eyes shut again, not wanting to see whatever expression Sylvain was wearing when he started laughing, his fingers scissoring and teasingly thrusting, dragging against your walls in a way that had you squirming helplessly.
“With as much as you cry, I wouldn’t think you could get so wet,” he told you. “Guess you just want it that bad, huh?”
You gasped, squirmed, your fingers tightening in the front of his shirt, your other arm uselessly fighting against his grip. "No," you said weakly, trying not to make any noises he might take as affirmation.
“Use your big girl words. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you hate it when I finger you. Tell me you hate it when I make you come.”
“You’re… you’re wr-ah—” Your objection cut off with a sharp gasp, your body jerking in response to a particular curl of his fingers which must have been what he was waiting for because of the horribly sharp smirk he was wearing when your panicked eyes opened and met his.
“You know, now that I think about it, you really can’t do anything like a real adult. Throwing fits, running away when you get your feelings hurt… Even when we're fucking, all you can do is whine and cry and beg for me to take care of you.”
Sylvain got you to prove his point without trying, curling his fingers, pushing them deep enough to fill that anxious ache of need, making you gasp and tremble, holding onto him even tighter for stability.
“If you didn’t have somebody taking care of you at all times,” he told you, his voice a little lower, a little more mean, “you’d be completely helpless.”
“No.”
“Can you even make yourself come? Have you tried?”
“Ss-stop.”
“I bet you haven’t. Why would you when you’ve got me around to do it for you? You’re so spoiled. Fuck, it’s a good thing you’re cute.”
The praise, his fingers, the way his palm ground against your clit with each pass, you tried to ignore it, to shut everything out, but you couldn’t. Tears dripped down your cheeks and you moaned for him, your pussy squeezing his fingers as the feverish build of pleasure threatened to snap. “I… I can’t…”
“You think? ‘Cause I think you can.”
“No, I can’t,” you said—you whined.
It didn’t matter. A few thrusts more was all it took and you did, trembling and gasping and crying as you came, hitting your head against the hard wall when your body arched against him. The pain did nothing to distract you from the swell and burst of pleasure, the heat spreading out and fizzing like champagne bubbles in your core, all the way to your flushed cheeks and open mouth. Sylvain didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, dragging it out until you were writhing for another reason entirely.
“Sss-sto-stop!” you said, pushing him away.
“Why? Did you come?” he asked, feigning ignorance. “I thought you couldn’t.”
“Stop,” you begged again.
“No,” he said. “Unless you were lying. I mean, I thought I felt you squeezing me extra tight, but…”
“I did!” you exclaimed. “I did, I did, so please-”
Finally, Sylvain pulled his fingers out of your spasming pussy, smiling like he’d won. You wilted, half glad to be spared the discomfort of oversensitivity and half disappointed by the fresh ache of emptiness. The contradiction was like a slap in the face, your body betraying you all over again.
“See, it’s not that hard to be honest,” Sylvain said. “So go ahead, admit it.”
“Admit what?” you asked softly, wetly.
“Admit that you’re a slut, and all you want is to get fucked by yours truly.” How he even managed to wink at you while saying something so profane, you had no idea, only that it made you flush so hot your ears stung.
“You… you’re awful,” you told him.
“I’m a good-for-nothing asshole, yeah,” Sylvain agreed. “But at least I’m honest about it. You can’t even do that.”
“I-I’m not…”
“Yeah, you’re just a poor pathetic little crybaby getting taken advantage of by the mean, mean bully. Right?”
“But… but you are,” you told him. Sylvain snorted derisively, peeling you off the wall and flipping you around, guiding you into a graceless stumble forward until you were facing the window. There wasn’t much of a view up here, especially not on a dark night like this. Sylvain pushed you down, forcing you to hold onto the window ledge for stability. Ignoring your complaints, he flipped your skirt up, kicking your feet apart a little.
“Sylvain, please stop, I do-don’t-”
“Stop squirming around so much,” he told you, shoving your panties down. The fabric strained, pulled taut between your thighs. He used them to keep you still while undoing his belt and pants. “Don’t you think I deserve something too? I’ve been pretty nice, all things considered.”
All you could do was wheeze in response, caught off guard by the sudden pressure of his cock pressing between your folds. Given the poor light and the position, there was a bit of fumbling. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and withdrew, letting you relax slightly. This wouldn’t work. Not in such a shameful position, not here where you could be found.
“Yeah, just like that. Relax for me,” Sylvain said sweetly, his voice contrasting with the harsh palm forcing you to bend down even more, your thighs burning as you rocked forward on your toes. When his cock returned, it was slick with saliva, easily pushing past your outer lips. As soon as you felt the head press between the tense muscles of your entrance, Sylvain’s hips snapped forward.
He groaned low in his chest, one of the few honest things to come out of his mouth that night. You whimpered. Even if your body was tense, Sylvain had no issue pushing until his hips met your ass. You were wet and, despite any mental rejection on your part, ready for this. The stretch wasn’t the discomfort of your first time, but the heady weight of something that should have been natural and beautiful. Sylvain grabbed your hips to adjust himself within you, manipulating you into position while you scrambled to hold onto the stone with sweaty hands, your legs trembling.
“I have no idea why you make such a big deal out of this. You obviously love it,” Sylvain said, satisfied. You gripped onto the window ledge a little tighter, your face scrunching up with more tears as he pulled out. Slowly, luxuriating in the sensation. Your pussy clenched down around him, your hips rolling before you could get enough control over yourself to stop. “Don’t get me wrong, I do too. Most of the time, I don’t really care, you know? Sex is… well, it’s sex. You have a girl one, two times, and the itch is scratched. But you… I don’t know what it is, either.”
The only answer you could manage was a stuttered, “Aaa-aa-ah-” when Sylvain pushed back in, pushing you onto your toes again as he filled you all the way. You didn’t do anything to stop him. Your body accepted it eagerly, your inner walls fluttering as you adjusted to his size, providing a fresh wave of wet arousal to soak his cock as he wiggled your hips and pulled out. Pathetic, embarrassing tears dripped onto the floor.
“Next time we do this, I’ll need a mirror,” Sylvain said, his voice raspy. “I’ve never met a girl that cries so much when she comes. I didn’t think I’d be so into it, but—fuck.” He groaned, his hips clapping loudly against your ass. Even if he wasn’t talking and groaning, even if you weren’t whimpering and gasping and sniffling with each inexorably deep thrust, the vulgar sound of skin slapping skin would have been more than enough of a giveaway to what was happening to anybody passing by.
Worse than that, worse than anything else, was that Sylvain knew what he was doing. He targeted your g-spot by using the grip he had on your hips to grind you on his cock, to keep you in place for him as he thrust harder, faster so you had no chance to keep up, to sort out the assault of stimulation and pleasure. You shook, tense enough to snap, your fingers clawing at the stonework for stability as your body drew inward, everything within you focused on the growing heat.
“Please,” you gasped, desperate for it. Later you could blame the insanity of pleasure, of lust, of need. That’s what you did before, the way you denied blame. “Please ta-touch me, I-”
“What, now you want to come? I thought you hated this,” Sylvain teased. A helpless moan left your open mouth, tears and drool dripping onto the floor as you were rocked back and forth. “Heh. Maybe if you keep begging.”
As he spoke, Sylvain twisted your hips, his cock grinding against your inner walls, pushing so deep you’d probably feel it if you pressed on your abdomen. The sound of his voice, the intensity of fullness, the mindless lust and despair, it hit too hard and you sobbed and hiccuped and moaned and came and you didn’t mean to, but your pussy desperately clamped down around him, your hips tilting upward, your back arching as that contentious ball of heat just snapped, filling you with pleasure, white hot and wonderful and feverish. Some part of you was grateful that he didn’t stop, or even slow down, just kept fucking you through the orgasm, letting you ride it out.
“Seriously?” Sylvain asked with a short, hoarse laugh of disbelief.
As the high faded, you tried to squirm away, a helpless sob wracking your body as the shame caught up with you. Sylvain didn’t let you go. If anything, he was being more rough, more frantic.
“Most girls need more than that to come, but you couldn’t even wait for permission,” he said.
“Nn-no, I-I didn’t me-mean to.”
“Yeah?” Sylvain asked, mockingly indulgent. “It wasn’t your fault, was it, baby? You can’t help it, right?”
You shook your head, knowing any answer you gave would just feed into his cruelty.
Sylvain paused, leaning over to pull your torso upward. His fingers dug hard into your wet cheeks, his other arm holding your hips in place so he could keep going.
“It’s fine, I don’t think I can last either,” he said, softer now, his hand raising to grope your tits through your dress. At this point, he was practically rutting into you. Using you.
All you could do was whimper and whine and sob, just trying to hold on, unable to keep your pussy from squeezing him as he fucked you, writhing back against him helplessly because even this felt good. Terrible and cruel and good.
“Later,” Sylvain said, his voice hoarse. Speaking because it made you react, got your pussy to tighten around him a little harder, made you whine a little louder. “Later, I‘m gonna give you a reason to cry, yeah? If you wanna… wanna act like a spoiled brat, I’ll treat you like one. Gonna look so hot swallowing my cock… Tied to my bed, begging me to fuck you… Covered with hickies…”
“Sylvain,” you whimpered, hating the anxious, dark mixture of heat and fear his threats filled you with. He groaned even louder, his mouth opening to let out a low, sensual sigh that only worsened your feeling of helpless need, his hips slapping against your ass so hard it almost hurt. “Plea—ease, it-”
“Yeah, beg for it,” he told you eagerly, crushing you against him while he sought his end.
“Nnngh-”
“Beg me to come inside of you… maybe you can keep it from slipping down your thighs when we go back. Otherwise you’ll get it all over your pretty dress.”
You whimpered, sobbed, but that wasn’t much of a choice. Better inside of you where nobody would see, you could remember the mess from last time.
“Please come inside of me,” you asked. Begged. You sounded desperate. You sounded like you wanted it. “Please, Sylvain. Come… inside..”
Sylvain groaned, pressing his face against your neck as his hips lost any and all sense of tempo, his cock buried deep inside of you as he came with a loud, open sound that shuddered apart, holding you tight as he did. And then there was just stillness. Harsh breathing and heat and sweat and the stench of sex. He laughed a little, still breathless. Blissed out. “That was good,” Sylvain told you, kissing your neck before pulling out and letting you go.
You stumbled forward, holding onto the window ledge, panting and shaking. Aware of the emptiness inside of you and the slick feeling of his cum drooling out of your cunt. No matter what he said, you didn’t think you could return to the party. Everybody would know. With shaking hands, you pulled your panties up, let your skirt fall back into place. You could hear Sylvain fixing his clothes too, but you didn’t want to look at him. You didn’t want to exist.
“Guess I’ll go back first, give you some time to clean up,” he said, his voice mostly back to normal.
“Okay,” you said, nodding.
“You alright?”
“Yes.”
“Hm. By the way, I meant it,” Sylvain told you, grabbing your wrist to turn you around and look at him. He didn’t really look that much worse for wear. Not like you felt. He smiled, dark eyes bright and smile slightly too sharp. “About later. Don’t think you’re off the hook just yet.”
You pulled your arm away, your chest tightening with panic and fear and excitement. Despair. Hatred. Self loathing. “No, this can’t… it can’t happen again.”
“What are you gonna do—whine at me to stop?” he asked. “Cry and hope that I’ll feel bad? C’mon, baby. I know you liked it.”
You didn’t say anything, glaring at his chest in an attempt to keep yourself from responding to that taunt.
“That’s what I thought,” Sylvain said. Not in a mean way. No, he sounded friendly, approachable. “I’ll see you later, babe.”
Loving your soft dom Xavier hcs!! How different would he be with a more assertive reader? One that would like to constantly tease him, kiss and breathe down his neck to rile him up and initate more?
“you think you have control here?”
warnings: implied sexual content, fem!reader
Here is how I believe it goes; Xavier will let you dominate until he has had enough.
So all your little touches, the teasing glances, the sly smiles, the pinches and pokes, it’s all good fun.
He enjoys this side of you. The side that takes control and engages with him like this. It’s lighthearted but intimate. So he lets you do what you want. Deep down, he knows who really calls the shots in the bedroom. So he will go along with this for your sake.
He watches you straddle his waist, welcomes you in fact, hands resting calmly on your bare thighs as he lets you trace over his chest and abs. You’re telling him a story, absentmindedly brushing over his skin while you do it, and he can’t help but slowly lose focus of what you are saying as his attention diverts to your innocent touches.
But when those touches linger, when you lean down and your breath hits that one spot on the column of his neck, or when he feels your chest press a little too firm on his own, it almost flips a switch in him.
Xavier will let you tease and prod him until he can’t take it anymore. Until his endless patience finally runs thin.
Then he will lock your thighs in place and grip your waist, pushing up until you two are flipped over. You gasp at the sudden change, but when his hips slot between yours and he grinds down, you realize he is hard as a rock.
You try to hide your grin as his lips nip and lick at your neck and shoulder, knowing there was only so much Xavier would take before he finally gave into temptation.
You let him undress you at his own pace, let him enjoy the closeness of your bodies as his grip slowly becomes more and more desperate, from brushing over your sides to clutching at them tight.
It's probably just a standard malfunction, all things considered. Despite everything you've told her about recommended pairings and luxury models, she refuses to buy a Thoma, and there's only so much you can do on your own to maintain a droid known for needing frequent and intensive repairs, especially considering you're taking care of him on top of your normal responsibilities as her assistant. She says that he works well enough, that as a member of the Shogunate Collection, he's usually more capable than you, but for as much as you'd like to have one less thing to worry about, you just can't seem to believe her. Not after the way you've seen him act, you mean.
He's way too friendly with other people, for one thing. All Teyvat androids are programmed to prefer their user, to always only ever want to be around their user, but he always seems just a little too happy to be just a little too close to you - even if that usually just means he'll choose to sit closer to you than your boss, or when she has a business trip he can't be brought along for, he'll ask to be left with you rather than whining and pleading for user to stay. He retains information about you, your hometown and your favorite foods and how you take your coffee, and while you'd normally brush it off as a excess of space on his memory card, you can't say you've ever seen him pay any mind to such little things when it comes to your boss, when it comes to her habits and discretions. You'll have to check on his preprogrammed preferences, when you have a few minutes to spare. He might be confused about who his primary user is - or worse, be unable to discern a primary user at all.
On that note, his standard safeguards might not be running correctly, either. It's nothing extreme, he's never acted inappropriately or... uh, exposed himself in public, but you've lost count of how many times he's caught you alone, how many times he's asked if you're 'in need of assistance' in that smooth, polite tone he's so fond of, despite the fact that most androids are unable to proposition anyone without the expressed permission of their user. While your boss isn't exactly not generous, you doubt Ayato is something she'd be willing to share. For the sake of professionalism, if nothing else.
And, even if you can't really chalk it up to a glitch or a virus or anything more than your own overactive paranoia, he's really starting to creep you out. It's something about his eyes, how long it takes him to remember to blink, or how meticulous he is when he talks to you, how much care he seems to put into each word, how much thought seems to go into every little motion, every little brush of his fingertips against your thigh. It's unnerving. It's not scary, but you don't like it. That's all. You really, really don't like it.
But, it's just a few malfunctions, a bad line of code that you could probably fix with a couple of phone calls and a few minutes of free time. That's what you keep telling yourself, at least. That it's just a malfunction. That it's nothing.
It's nothing - up until the moment there's a cop standing at your door in the middle of the night, explaining that there was a tragic accident, that your employer was found dead at the foot of the tallest staircase in her penthouse and, with no next of kin or special request from her family, her companion droid has asked to be given to you - because he knows that she would've wanted to give one final gift to her favorite assistant. You don't say anything, not that night, not as Ayato makes himself comfortable in your cramped apartment, not as he purrs out terms of endearment you never heard him use with his previous user - no official reassignment needed.
You don't say anything, but you feel like you should tell someone that your new Ayato has been acting very, very strange, lately.
Being the housekeeper for the family of mobsters is maybe not one of the most wanted jobs on the market, but Thoma can’t exactly say that he hasn’t been enjoying himself since the day he was hired. Well, the truth of the matter is that initially his job didn’t involve sweeping off the dust of the luxury vinyl tiles and exotic hardwood that splay over the surface of the entire mansion.
Not at all.
Instead of wiping off the dirt, his daily routine was more about wiping out some loanees who didn’t keep to their end of the bargain. Thoma was very particular about his job. Quite good at it, not to brag, or anything.
It’s always been in his nature to be peculiarly fond of household chores. He did find some uncanny similarities between getting his hands dirty while annihilating the tiniest specks of dust or putting a bullet through somebody else’s brain. However, the whole ordeal of scrubbing off the blood and the unavoidable debris from the said activity made him rather unwilling to resort to such solutions.
He is a peaceful man, and more than anyone else, very much aware of the time and effort that needs to be put into dealing with such a mess. However, he has been known to be a fixer for a reason and has never betrayed the trust that you have placed in him.
Having been a loyal servant to the family, he at some point managed to talk himself out of these dirty jobs and was appointed a butler of the mansion. Per his request, of course. And would you ever be able to say no to him, when his puppy chartreuse eyes linger on you so expectantly? Highly unlikely. So you did agree that time as well
Thoma, the sweetest and most grateful butler, quickly turned out to be an irreplaceable addition to your house, turning everything in your life upside-down. Quite literally, and it does not only concern the layout of carpets on the wooden floors or the placement of delicate china in the kitchen cabinets.
He’s been most subservient and ready to go to any lengths to see a pleased smile on your face. And, as you eventually discovered, if there is a thing that he’s better at than housekeeping, it would be his service to you behind the closed door of your bedroom.
So, the young man, since the very break of dawn, has been preparing everything for your return. You have been away for three days, forced to attend some important meetings with the boss of the gang. Nothing too urgent, just boring business talk and other mafia-related crap that Zhongli is too lazy to take care of himself.
Thoma is on his knees, the toothbrush in his hands as he tries to get into the nooks and crannies of the kitchen floor. Earlier in the day, with a horror-stricken face, he discovered that your last encounter here, which ended in him spilling his cum all over the tiles, left more of a mess than he had initially noticed. Nonetheless, Thoma’s perceptive eyes have spotted the fatal error and the matter is already being taken care of, as per usual.
There is a delicious smell of your favourite cake flowing through the rooms of the vast residence. Thoma wipes his slightly damp forehead with the back of his hand and smiles to himself giddily. However busy his hands might be, his mind takes him back to the heated kiss that you basically forced out of his protesting mouth after having informed him about the business trip. A barely noticeable rosy blush dusts his cheeks when he remembers how you rode his dick till the early hours of the morning, resulting in him over-sleeping and almost failing to prepare your lunch-box for the long expedition.
Thoma knows how foul your mood gets when you miss out on his home-cooked meals. He also doesn’t trust others in terms of your nutrition, claiming that he is the only one who is acutely aware of what exactly your body needs. Be it food, or anything else, Thoma understands and knows you better than the manual of the brand new washing machine that you bought him for his birthday, which he promptly memorised as if it was a nursery rhyme.
He hates when you are so far away, out of the protective warmth of his muscular arms that pull you in for the sweetest breath-stealing hugs when you least expect it. He should have gone with you.
He exhales audibly, rising to his feet. The floor is spotlessly clean. He can see the reflection of his eyes in the bright lustre of the polished surface.
„Thoma, sir, Mrs Y/N has arrived! You’re expected to come to the conference room.”
Thoma jumps, startled. The maid has successfully pulled him out of his daydream involving you repeatedly sinking on his throbbing cock.
„There are some guests, too.”
Thoma gawks at the maid repeating her words like an echo.
„Guests? What guests?”
He didn’t know anything about that. He lifts his eyebrow sceptically. It is not in your habit. If any guests are coming to this house he is always the first one to get to know.
„Don’t know, sir.”
Thoma decides that he doesn’t have time for that and quickly dismisses the maid. She must have made it all up. He swiftly prepares you a mug of sickeningly sweet hot chocolate. He knows it is not healthy, but it is your favourite beverage and he wants to spoil you a little bit more today. To make himself feel less guilty about that, he mixes it all up with lactose-free plant milk. He neatly arranges it on the tray, placing the generous slice of your favourite cake right next to it. He absolutely won’t forget about the plate with some fresh fruit to take care of your vitamin intake.
„Perfect.”
The butler clasps his hands together and proceeds to pick up the platter with the gracefulness of a swan. Each step brings him closer to seeing your face again and his agile feet pick up the pace as if you pulled him like a magnet. He halts in front of the conference room and takes a deep breath before wrapping his long fingers around the door handle.
Vaguely, he notices that his blood has started pounding against the delicate skin of his wrist and the tray shakes ever so slightly in his hold. He feels silly for being so easily affected by you, but his heart doesn’t reciprocate the faint disapproval forming in his brain. Nor does his dick that has just moved against the fabric of his black slacks out of the sheer excitement of being next to you again. Great. Thoma is impatient and turns the doorknob without announcing his arrival with a knock.
„Babe, I brought you some ca-,”
Thoma’s mouth closes and then opens again abruptly to fix the little gaffe that has made everyone ears in the room turn slightly red. Especially his. Out of the corner of his eye, he picks up on the visible amusement plastered on the face of some guy that has enough audacity to snort in his direction. He is seated at the very end of the long conference table, right in front of your pretty silhouette.
„I mean, I’m s-so sorry, Ma-am, h-how was your trip?”
