it’s the last merch if u didn’t know; oh and i got my early merch on aliexpress— top 3 trusted shops imo is MihoyoWorld iirc; Sunsyea; uhh i’ll get back to looking it up again i forgot lmao
inc. xiao, albedo, kinich, lohen, wanderer, cyno, tartaglia
premise. there was once a time when the two of you were dating, happy to spend you time revolving around each other. however, when you meet again after being seperated, how will you both react?
notes. modern au guyz live it up, reader referred to as female in some sections, varying relationship details, some r better than others, may be ooc but take my poetic reasoning that your more soft and intentional with exes bc theres a lot of history there, angst to comfort in some, lohen ends kinda suggestive idk!!, not rlly proofread xx ly all
xiao
dating xiao, in your eyes, was one of the best things you did. your parents loved him enough to invite him to every family gathering, and he somehow wormed his way into your dogs heart when he moved in.
or maybe that was the exact problem; as students with similar majors, you were around each other constantly. xiao was in half your classes, the same study groups, and then you'd go back to see him at home. it was never about being bored of seeing him, never, but you had always loved the individuality you had growing up. things were easier when you didn't have to constantly consider the feelings of someone you saw twenty-four seven.
it was a selfish thought, that you were aware of, but you couldn't help the nagging feeling of wanting to have your own space. but what were you supposed to say: hey, can you quit your classes so i don't have to spend as much time with you?
although, you probably should've mentioned these feelings to xiao properly instead of having a screaming match with him as soon as he got home one night. to make matters worse, he didn't even shout back. he'd tried to calm things down, failed, and just accepted his fate. the following morning he'd packed his things with swift efficiency, but the most time was spent with your retriever, coco. you'd felt bad for a while. after all, not only was the dog practically his too, but your friends, family; xiao had just agreed to avoid them without debate.
it had been two years since you last saw him. it was lucky, considering he was living with his dad in your city. sometimes, you'd see him view your stories or like your posts, and that regret would come back.
you groaned, dog lead in one hand as your other maintained typing on your phone. this music was awful; you didn't need depressing ex songs to send you back in memories. whilst trying to find something a bit more uplifting, your hand slipped slightly on the lead.
"jeez, coco, calm down. there's nothing to be that excited about."
the retriever kept tugging with a fiery determination. you tried pulling him back, just to slip from your fingers anyway, and he made no hesitation when bolting further into the park. your hands dropped your phone back into your pocket as you ran after her. "coco! where are you even—“
she'd found her target, alright. it didn't take longer than a few seconds to recognise him. you'd always said you liked his green hair, because it was unique enough to catch him in a crowd.
well, if you had noticed it in time, you would've definitely swerved.
"oh, uh, hi," xiao nodded awkwardly, his hands in limbo between petting coco and raised to you as if to say, 'i'm not hostile.'
in your mind, this had all played out quite differently when you imagined it. still, you couldn't deny that now you were in front of him, it was a pleasant surprise. you hummed. "hello, xiao."
coco barked, demanding more attention from him, which xiao gave in a reserved fashion. "oh, seems she missed you," you commented.
"well, i'd missed her too, so."
you nodded. this was so awkward. after two years, he still hadn't changed. same cologne, same hoodie that you used to wash for him on sundays. did someone else do that for him now, or—
"who washes your clothes?"
no, did you actually just say that?
xiao looked up with a quirk in his brow. truly, you had expected him to run off and call you deranged, but he stayed. "my dad. still living with him," he adjusted his gaze for his next words. "but he doesn't do it as good as you, if that makes any sense."
it did. you felt in when you fed coco, or took a test without him giving you a stern study session beforehand. sometimes. you'd even get out another plate before dishing up dinner. the one with a slight chip in it after you'd been reckless with the dishwasher. he said it was a symbol of love. seriously, after two years, you were still doing all of that.
"xiao, would you like to get coffee?" coco had barked in tandem, like she knew what you were saying. he smiled easily. would it seriously have been this easy?
"yeah, i'd like that."
albedo
albedo had always felt that he had a close-knit family. after his mother passed away, his auntie alice had moved in to take care of them, bringing her daughter klee with her. then, another boy the same age as him called durin not so long after. his family might not have been tied by bonds of blood, but he felt love was always present.
he'd experienced that even more when you used to visit. you had always been prepared: roses for alice, drawing supplies for klee, and durin had usually thanked you prefusely upon bringing a new book for him to read. apparently, you used to write notes for him to read in the margins. he hadn't realised till you stopped visiting their home.
at first, he avoided every trace of you. bagged his old bedding and replaced it, but that still didn't get rid of the scent of you, so he asked to swap rooms with durin.
(that didn't really help either. but he couldn't let durin think his sacrifice was in vain, and he definitely couldn't replace all of his belongings).
for the months that followed, it was just a known rule to not talk about you. klee would always slip up at times, as kids do; albedo couldn't even complain because he understood why they missed you so much. hell, so did he. you were one of the most insightful people he knew when it came to people, except maybe his auntie.
though, even a year later, it seems he can't escape mentions of you. they were all at the dinner table; alice had caved and bought chinese takeout.
"albedo..." klee started, her hands making a mess of using chopsticks. "i know we aren't supposed to ask, but why does name not visit anymore?"
he had heard durin sigh next to him, but that was no matter. it had been his fault in the first place; he told you ages ago that he didn't have the time. how was he supposed to explain that to a six year old, when klee knows him better than anyone? that he did have time, but not the effort. even worse, she looked on the verge of tears.
"just because you did something wrong doesn't mean that we did! can't you just ask?" her lip wobbled, chopsticks now discarded on the table. her feet pushed away against the carpet, and with choked tears, she made her way to her room.
his auntie had huffed a breath, muttering an excuse me before following after.
looking down at his plate, albedo ignored durin's small words of comfort, "i'll call her."
durin paused. "who?"
"name." it's not like he needed much convincing, anyway. he was out of his seat and heading into another room before he heard a rebuttal.
the phone rang out four times before someone answered. there was total silence on the end of the line for a few seconds; "okay, albedo, if you don't start talking in the next few minutes, i'm ending the call."
of course you knew he was there. you knew him best.
"hi. i'm sorry if this is random. er, klee just started talking about you again. i know we haven't spoke in a while, and it's a huge ask, but..."
was he seriously going to ask?
"could you come over? and— this isn't just for klee, it's for me. but, then again, if your still angry," he wouldn't blame you if you were, "just take it as a favour for her."
again, the line had drowned itself in silence. "name? are you still there?"
your voice came across slightly muffled. "i can come. but if it's not too much to ask, could we talk over things from last time?" the breakup. it had been the last time you spoke, considering you stormed off crying after he had asked for his belongings back.
his lips formed into a small smile. "of course. i have a lot i want to say, too."
you hummed. "well, i'll be over soon. don't get too excited!" you had laughed, properly laughed, before ending the call. even in the last few weeks you were together, albedo hadn't heard that sound. he was too busy avoiding you.
but, this time, things could be different. he was sure of it.
kinich
your local cafe had seen you in every state. after passing your exams, getting a new job, getting soaked in the rain, reeling from your breakup and even now, two months later.
people had told you every minute, 'oh, things will get better!'. well, if being better was still rocking up in his black zip-up to the one place where you both had your first date, then maybe they were right.
at first, it was embarrassing. all of the regulars used to coo at the fact you and your sweet boyfriend came in every week. kinich may have been a man of few words, but he had always prioritised you; it was always his card that had clicked pay before yours. everyone at the cafe recognised it.
so yes, they did notice when you came without kinich for the first morning since you'd met him. it was much easier to say that he got caught up in a sickness bug than admitting you had broken up with him after being finding out he had secretly been texting mualani for weeks. they still pried, but you monopolised on the free coffee 'for the stress he must be putting you through whilst sick' and left.
(it didn't exactly help that kinich apparently went two hours later, bright and healthy. he'd texted you about the lie you told in the evening, but you were quick to block him after that notification came through).
still, he may have once been all for you, but that chat log with mualani was inexcusable. apparently she liked him at one point; therefore, seeing nine text notifications and two missed calls was enough evidence for you to call it off. you didn't need to know the details — they had been talking for weeks and that was enough.
some would call wearing your ex's hoodie a crime to your dignity, but hey, that had already vanished two months ago. you couldn't part with it, because it did remind you of the primarily good moments the two of you had. so much for getting over him...
"wait, name?"
hearing that voice, you jumped out of your skin.
"ah, kinich... it's you!" you couldn't tell if that was the voice of someone pleasantly surprised or horrified. still, you turned, giving him a glance before looking down at your own clothes. did he really have to see you dressed like this? you were still wearing his hoodie that he never picked up, with joggers that had seen better days. and your hair—
"i didn't think you'd still have that," he mumbled, before tugging at the sleeve. you hated how your wrist followed with ease.
"it's good for winter. thermal conductivity." that was the lie you had told your friends, too. you don't know why; kinich always ran warm, so his jackets were thin.
still, he accepted your flimsy excuse. that was when you felt it, the watchful eyes of most of the regulars in the cafe. you weren't thinking about onlookers in your somewhat anti-climactic reunion. "err, have you ordered?" you rushed to ask.
kinich nodded, which gave you enough permission to drag him into a corner booth. he stared at you. "well, that's a surprise. you've been screening my calls for weeks."
"that's kinda what someone does when they block someone."
"for no reason," he added, his right hand moving with his voice. a quirk of his you'd always noticed; he could never stop gesturing whenever he felt strongly about something.
"pshh," was he being serious? "you literally cheated on me!"
a great moment for the waiter to drop both your drinks at the table. his face was clearly one of surprise, as his mouth dropped in awe. he didn't even say one of their usual happy catchphrases, running to spread the latest rumour through the mill.
kinich halted his words. "...cheat?"
"don't think i didn't see your texts to mualani! and all the calls! for weeks, right in front of me!"
he chuckled. "seriously? i was planning for us to go visit the resort she works at. for our anniversary." to prove his point, he quickly lifted out his wallet, showing you the two tickets neatly placed. easybreeze tour tickets for, you guessed it, your one-year anniversary.
"i kept them in my wallet in case... i dunno. you came back to me. and then i just kept them because i wanted to."
"so... no cheating?" he shook his head. "and mualani isn't a big deal?" another head shake.
well, now you felt silly. you hadn't even checked their texts, just assumed; and now put you both through two months of pain for nothing.
"sorry," you muttered, looking the other way.
"i'm just glad you were wearing my hoodie. i don't think i'd have recognised you otherwise. your hairs totally—“
"don't finish that sentence!" "i was going to say different."
god, you'd have to end that rumour mill now.
lohen
"you know i only ask this because your one of my only guy friends, right?" you teased, eyes passing across lohen who was beside you.
usually, break ups are a messy entanglement of she said, he said, and it results in nothing except regret or sorrow. for you and lohen, you couldn't say the same. you were still close friends; he came round to your house, cooked meals, texted you like you were still together. you saw it as the best conclusion to a relationship you thoroughly enjoyed.
lohen, on the other hand, fucking hated this situation. you were acting like you didn't even have history, and yet he was the one left dreaming of kissing you again every night? if he had any backbone when it came to you, maybe he would have actually spoken up about how insane this situation actually was. you'd dated for four years, broken up for three months, and yet you were so quickly back to being buddy-buddy? though, he supposed that having you close here was better than nothing. it's not like head to watch you go off with anyone else.
"this guy asked me out, and i don't know whether to say yes. should i?"
he slowly shifted to look at you. "are you being serious, bunny?"
you had hummed, eyes shifting back again to the magazine you'd been reading. from this angle, he could see the necklace he'd gifted you years ago, two ears dangling from a circle. it reminded him most of his favourite animals, and of you, so he quickly purchased it. but, you were still wearing it; was that a sign you still loved him? or a fucked up torture device?
there was an easy route to this, one that could still keep him in your good books. give the advice, then go and beat up whoever the hell this guy was. he would argue he's a much stronger guy than most; if they couldn't bean lohen himself, they didn't deserve you.
but then, if you did find out, you'd be quick to throw him on the streets. that means he'd never have a redemption; one fleeting chance to say the break up was a stupid decision and have you run back in his arms.
"is he... nice? the words felt like venom on his tongue. lohen wasn't always a nice guy, and yet you lasted four years. what about an angel incarnate? engagement? marriage? he couldn't watch that play out.
you mulled it over. "err, i don't really know him. my friends just sent me a picture of him and asked."
lohen smirked. "show me."
this was the true test. you can tell everything from someone's appearance, he'd learnt that the hard way. as your hands moved to pass him the phone, he could barely hold back a laugh. he could pick anything out! a bad hairline, a frown which could show bad intentions.
his eyes scanned the screen immediately.
"wait— fucking varka?" he yelled. you had titled your head, but his tirade was only just beginning. "varka? my boss, varka? you've literally met him!"
"he seems... cute." you shrugged.
"okay, i've had enough of this," lohen sat up, facing you directly. "i don't want you seeing other people. we were together for four years, bun, i'm not getting over it in twelve weeks. you can like me back or not, that's fine, but i can't watch you do this in front of me!"
he heard your giggles first. "wh—okay, what's so funny?"
"haha, it worked! it actually worked!"
"huh? what worked?" his hand was on yours now. sneaky guy.
you wiped the tears from your eyes, "varka asked me to do this because you were being so mopey at work... i just said yeah because i would've asked you out again anyway. pffft, this is amazing!"
lohen smirked. "intentional, huh?" he was even closer to you now. you hadn't noticed. "i'll get you back for that one."
wanderer
your old relationship with wanderer had always been described as odd. he was standoffish, even with you at times, though you swore he was different behind closed doors. at the end of the day, other peoples opinions weren't supposed to sway either of your minds; you were happy with eachother, and that's the priority.
well, that's what you had preached in the beginning. but after being told from your siblings, friends and practically everyone you interacted with that he 'never seemed interest' in you, you were hasty to cut it off. it was one of those decisions you had always regretted, and always would, especially since he still remained in your close circle of friends. you had always wondered why they all kept him around if he was such a disinterested guy, but they must have saw something you didn't.
that thought lingered at every hangout: you'd see him across the table, typically enjoying himself (though pretending he didn't). was this the side people thought was careless? you had never figured it out. it wasn't like you were together for long, a few months, but you'd liked him for longer. probably since you first met him. whether that was reciprocated, you had never been certain.
it was another one of those hangouts, though. the ones where you'd all crowd at someone's house and do random shit because you were all unemployed or bored. last month it was a movie night, you'd avoided wanderer with every bone in your body, but it was game night tonight.
not like you were really in it. you were surprised you had still been invited, considering you had an argument with one of the biggest personalities in the friend group. you were still permitted to come, but you couldn't help getting bogged down over it. after all, half of your friends were eyeing you up like they held pitchforks.
"okay, food break!" one of your friends had exclaimed, most of them running to the kitchen. they'd been cooking up a pot roast all night, so no surprise there.
you failed to follow, staring at your cards in the palms of your hand. then, the weight of another adjusted beside you on the couch. he was there; you hadn't noticed him get up to move.
"...hello?" it was more of a question than a greeting.
"you're wearing the scarf. the sad one."
hearing that, in any other context, would've made you laugh, but you knew what he meant. when you had been together, and even before then, wanderer always said that he could tell when you were upset because you wore the pink scarf from the back of your closet. it was comforting, but it was certainly annoying that other people could tell. or maybe it was just a wanderer thing.
but he was giving those eyes. you could never hide anything, not that you'd want to, but he had that certain look which made your words tumble out rather than come out carefully selected.
"i had an argument with someone here and i feel like everyone's mad at me 'cause they kept looking at me during the game. not competitive way but like ugh why are you here way—"
wanderer scoffed. "who?"
you looked around, before whispering the name into his ear. you didn't want to start anything new, and it sent an electric shock through your body to be that close to him again.
"her?" he looked deep in concentration as he spared a look for the cards in your hand. "i don't really like her anyways."
"huh? why?"
"because she was one of the people who told you to break up with me, right?" he looked at you.
your face flushed. "what? it— er, no—“
"shut up, i'm not blaming you," his fingers plucked a card. "it just annoyed me, since they were just doing it for their own personal gain."
well, that thought had crossed your mind since the breakup, but you daren't mention it to anyone in case you were wrong. but the scarf, the reassurance... were these things typical with a guy who doesn't care about you or your relationship?
"though..." he groaned. "i want to get back to where we were before. if you'd want that."
your eyes went back to the card he'd chosen. four of hearts. was that a coincidence, or?
"yeah. i think i'd like that, too."
cyno
"you may now kiss the bride!"
cyno, at his young age, loved going to ceremonies such as weddings, purely because he saw you and him at the forefront. he never questioned whether it would be him waiting for you at the end of that alter, or who his best man was going to be, giving the largest speech on his infatuation with you.
except, now that he was actually watching his first wedding since your break up, he could understand why people held such disdain for them. when there's no one to join the ceremony with you, or even to imagine yourself with, it's a much more boring affair.
he had never even asked if you wanted to be married in the future, nevermind to him. he just always kept it locked as a dream, one he could confidently rapture to you when the timing was right.
it was a shame the timing had never come, or maybe he'd missed his moment. watching you exit your shared home for the final time was hard to swallow, way harder than any confession would be.
truly, it was disgusting for him to be thinking about this. it was one of his friends weddings, yet he was sat here wondering about what you were doing. it was still relatively early; were you making breakfast? or still in bed? if he was there, he would've made you breakfast anyway.
"is it bad that i already know what your thinking about?" tighnari grumbled from beside him, jabbing him in the chest.
cyno just smiled into a sigh. "no. it shows we're a perfect pear. like— pair, pear."
"you can't seriously be doing this at a wedding," he whispered, frustration oozing despite the ongoing ceremony.
cyno returned to watching the happy couple. you hadn't spoken in a month, but he could still picture you perfectly. he was sure you'd wear a dress with flowers, you had always been obsessed with making chains out of them. he would ask to play genius invokation before the big day, and you'd probably slap him. that's where he wants to be.
everyone had slowly started fanning out of the hall when cyno had tugged on tighnari's arm. "tell the couple congratulations for me. i'm going."
"going? going where?"
"to tell her i love her, and that i'm going to marry her."
tighnari's jaw gaped open. "you're proposing to her? are you an idiot, you haven't even seen her in a month!"
cyno just shrugged, smoothly working his way around the sea of people. you could say no, but he was pretty sure you wouldn't. he had a feeling for stuff like this.
his car swerved in front of your flats soon enough. he probably should've conserved his energy for the big speech; instead, he ran up the stairs and pounded on your door like the world was about to end.
"god— i'm coming, i'm coming!" he heard you shout from inside. then the door swung open, and you seemed more exasperated than anything. "cyno?"
"marry me."
your hand dropped from the door handle. "excuse me?"
"well, that wasn't how i wanted it to come out. i was just at a wedding," as if you couldn't tell by his suit get up, "and i couldn't help thinking, that should be us. me and you."
"you know we haven't spoke in a month, right? we broke up, getting married wouldn't work."
"no, it's the solution! trust me, we can sort this all out. the argument was petty and i'm sorry but trust me on this. please."
the door moved to let him in. "just come in."
"i have more. we make a grape couple. great, get it? the fruit puns are really growing on me—"
you nearly slammed the door in his face.
tartaglia
alcohol, as one wise man must've proclaimed some years ago, was the key to unlocking the soul. otherwise, why would every inebriated individual spill out their guts after a few gulps?
that was tartaglia's argument for drinking so much at least. it was a truly immature act, in front of his co-workers, but he couldn't resist. he hadn't spoken to you in two weeks after he came home bloody and bruised from a street fight. you were usually so understanding, but everyone has limits, and he was sure he'd pushed yours to every limit imaginable before you finally shut him down for good.
though, that left him to reside in a god-awful tavern with workers who did a shitty job. you couldn't expect him to stop his fighting hobby, and he couldn't expect you to put up with waking up at forsaken hours to bandage his wounds before they got infected. upon reflection, however, he should have definitely toned it down when you asked...
ugh, he was done for. his words were flowing quicker than his thoughts, god, he even had four hands. was drinking truly this detrimental to one's health? he'd have to let you know on his forty-second voicemail.
"i could call name? i still have the number from a few months back," one of his co workers discussed with another, who agreed vehemently.
you had been revelling in the new tv show you'd decided to binge when you got the call. you recognised the contact; she was one of your ex's co-workers, yes, but a sweet lady who genuinely strived for the best. you answered swiftly. "hello? what's up?"
"name, save us!" someone screamed down the phone, and your feet stirred from the floor.
"sorry to call you, um... childe's here. he's being childish, ironically. he's just pretty drunk and keeps talking about you, and i'm so sorry to dump him on you—"
you sighed. the tv session was long gone by now. "i'll be there in ten."
thing is, you weren't even annoyed about seeing ajax, or as his co-workers named him, childe. why did he need so many nicknames? anyway, you saw your non-contact as a decisive break for him to get his shit together. though that had clearly backfired; he crawled onto you as soon as you entered.
"oh, am i dreaming...? it's you!" he cheered, drink sloshing at the sides as he toasted for your 'return'. jeez, you were glad you never went on a night out with him.
the two who rang you early waved meekly before scurrying off. seriously, no help to the car? not like you needed any, though; he was begging for you to take him home.
"i don't like this atmosphere when your around. you deserve better." "where were you, anyway?" "i got some good pics. i'll show you at home." "can we bake at home? brownies, wow..."
you'd call him a toddler if you weren't dumb enough to date him. he'd managed himself into the car, but you still had to lean over to push the seatbelt. "ah— name?"
"yes?" you sighed; you couldn't do this for much longer.
"i'm sorry. i won't stop my fight club for you, but i get i was pushing you too far. sorry."
his most heartfelt apology had been when drunk. you didn't know whether to laugh or scream at that. still, you laughed softly, leaving him for a moment to get in the car yourself.
"i'm glad you see where i'm coming from. i know your strong, ajax, but it's never nice to see you hurt and know your doing it intentionally."
"to get stronger," he retorted.
"still?"
he hummed, a lopsided smile on his face. "we're dating again."
"woah, i never said that," but as soon as you saw his face contort into a frown, you paused. apparently your break was over, lest you want ajax to actually cry in your car. "okay, fine."
patience [6/10] — lohen x reader, SFW/NSFW, a good bunny chapter 6 teaser
summary — lohen doesn't mind waiting for you, bun. he'll wait as long as you need.
themes — developing relationship, codependency, windblume festival date, fluff and smut teasers, first time teaser
WC: 764 out of 7.5k written | fic masterlist
Passage 1
It’s 8 PM at the Windblume Festival, and instead of wearing a spandex suit that makes you nauseous, you’re wearing a loose dress with your hand curled tightly in Lohen’s.
You stare at him as you walk, paying no attention to the crowd as it moves around you. The area’s abuzz with laughter and conversation, the sounds of children and drunk laughter coalescing over your head. You’re smiling at Lohen’s profile, your eyes fixed to the mole studding his cheek. His lips are moving and words are coming out, but all you can focus on is that charming face of his.
You grasp his hand tighter. Lohen’s head turns to yours, his eyes blinking.
“Tight grip you got there,” he says, a smirk rising to his face. “You know I won’t run away from you, right?”
Warmth floods your cheeks. Smiling still, you give him a small nod.
“This way, I’ll ensure it.”
Lohen laughs. Aside from his call of your name, aside from his confessions of love, that laugh of his is your favorite sound in the world.
“Wanna get a candied apple?” he asks. “The guy who sells ‘em here makes the best ones I’ve ever had.”
Your eyes flick to the line, which extends from the green-tarped stand to a solid ten meters into the distance. Wincing, you say, “No…I’m okay.”
“Hm. But I want one.”
The way he pouts at you makes your heart skip a beat. Your lips split into a toothy grin as laughter bubbles in your chest.
“Let’s get you one then,” you murmur.
“You’ll stand in that long ass line with me?” he asks. “Just for one candied apple?”
“You want it, don’t you?” You squeeze his hand firmly. “I don’t mind waiting.”
A touch of pink rises to his cheeks. He laughs, though it sounds somewhat different this time. In a low, rumbling murmur, he says, “I don’t mind waiting either.”
Passage 2 — NSFW
It’s nearly midnight, and you’re in Lohen’s condo, naked before him with your hands pressed to the mattress beneath you. His eyes stare at your chest, a smile rising to his face as color blooms in his cheeks.
“I, uh…” He steps closer, placing a gentle hand to your knee. “I had a lot of fun today. Thanks for coming with me.”
The way his thumb brushes your skin gives you pleasurable chills. You smile back up at him, lifting his free hand to your cheek.
“I had a lot of fun too,” you tell him. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Of course.”
The silence between you stretches on. You stare at him, he stares at you, and in an instant, you know what he’s thinking.
Slowly, you drag his hand from your face to your neck. You guide his palm across the flat of your chest before directing him to your breast. It doesn’t take much encouragement for him to start squeezing.
“Bun,” he says, his voice quiet. “For a while now, I’ve kinda been wondering about something. And if the answer’s no, that’s fine.”
Your heart skips a beat. Lohen gropes you beneath his palm, and your cunt throbs. You watch the curl of his fingers, your breath coming out shaky between your parted lips. When you look back up at him, you watch his throat bob.
“I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs. “But I’ve just been wondering…if you want me to put it in this time?”
Your breath catches in your throat.
You look down at his pelvis, where his dick is standing, his pink tip spewing precum already. It’s not a sight you haven’t seen before, but something about thinking of it inside of you, scares you.
But you trust him.
You need to—.
“I-if you want to,” you stammer, “then, yes.”
“I…only wanna do it if you want to,” he replies. “If you don’t, that’s fine.”
“I’m sorry,” you blurt. “It’s not that I don’t want to, I’ve just never…I’ve never done that before.”
His eyes widen. The way he squeezes your breast is so hard, it almost hurts.
“You’ve never…had sex?”
Your ears burn. You want to tell him that you’ve only ever used your mouth or your hands, but you don’t want to bring up the past. When Lohen leans in, his lips brushing the bridge of your eyebrow, you flinch and squeak, “I haven’t.”
Both of his hands lift to your face. He presses a kiss so chaste, but so firm to your forehead, it feels like there’s something sacred between you. His breath quivers when he says, “So I’d be your first.”
“My…my only.”
a/n: hehe, i hope you are excited for chapter 6 of a good bunny stays in her pen! it's a really good one, and i can't wait to share it on 8/5!
anyway, if you liked what you read, please consider leaving a me a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated!
icymi! chai's last lohen post:
charity, lohen nsfw oneshot (300+ notes)
masterlist | fic masterlist
⊹ ˖ fellow authors, i do not mind if you are inspired by my works to write something similar, but please credit me if you are. these concepts mean a lot to me, so i would really like to be credited for any of my personal ideas that inspire you.
summary⎯ They’re an iconic faceless streaming duo, adored by the internet for their chaotic dynamic, featuring lots of jokes, bickering, and charm. A bag swap in the local library makes them slowly become friends in real life, oblivious to the fact they’re already inseparable online.
It’s a Really Bad Idea if the Entirety of Sumeru Collectively Says So
Wanderer x Wife!Reader | Relationship Headcanons
Tags: Established relationship, Wanderer being an asshole.
Author’s Note: I wrote this when I was half-asleep and bored because I simply refuse to study for my exams until the last minute. Hope you enjoy it either way ^^
Proofread: Lightly. Grammatical errors may be there.
Summary: He wasn’t the kind of person that would have a wife. And yet, he did. And it was so messy and chaotic…
Word Count: 660 words
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☾ He never thought he’d ever get married. Yet, here we are. Two certified menaces living together. The moment people found out that Hat Guy was married? They assumed it was someone as snarky, as chaotic, and as sarcastic as him. They weren’t wrong. You matched him insult for insult. Which… never really ended well.
☾ Your arguments were actually so petty, they were completely unserious and downright hilarious at times. They weren’t even that serious. He’d forget to do the dishes, and somehow? It turned into low blows– you calling him a midget (despite being shorter than him), and him calling you an “insufferable human”. Nahida was always the mediator, and the poor Dendro archon was exhausted.
☾ One argument ended with you locking him outside the house. Why? Because he pulled a stupid prank on you– put salt instead of sugar in your tea. Intentionally. Of course, you were furious. In revenge, you hid his hat. Needless to say, he wanted revenge.
☾ For someone who insisted humans were troublesome, he spent an awful lot of time taking care of you. If you were sick, he’d cook for you. He would make sure that the blankets were tucked around you properly, he’d make sure that you were drinking enough water, having your medicines on time, and resting enough. Of course, he did all of that while mumbling “weak human”, “tch, so annoying” under his breath.
☾ If you asked him if he loved you? He’d click his tongue and say, “Tch. What kind of question is that? Why else would I have married you? Idiot.”
☾ He would sooner throw himself off the Sanctuary of Surasthana than admit it, but he had dolls of the two of you. He’d keep them on him at all times. If he wasn’t carrying them? He’d hide them somewhere you couldn’t find them. Because… It was extremely embarrassing for him– a former Fatui Harbinger carrying around dolls of him and his beloved? Laughable. And if you found out? He knew he’d never live it down.
☾ He'd grumble the entire time while brushing your hair after you'd washed it because you always complained your arms got tired. Every single time he insisted he wasn't doing it because he cared. And yet? Every single time he ended up finishing anyway.
☾ It didn’t prevent him from being an absolute douchebag at times. He once pushed you into a lake when you were strolling in the rainforest...only to fish you back out a few seconds later while pretending he wasn't laughing. What kind of husband even does that? Turns out, it was payback for locking him outside the house for an entire day.
☾ You two were the kind of couple who argued in the middle of the Grand Bazaar over the cost of spices or how “you were spending mora on unnecessary things”. They weren’t unnecessary! Well… okay, maybe they were. You really didn’t need another scarf, but.. It was so pretty! (He bought it for you anyway.)
☾ The people of Sumeru thought the two of you being together was a bad idea because chaos always ensued whenever you were together. So much so that Lesser Lord Kusanali had to force the two of you to apologize to each other like disobedient children.
☾ Sometimes, when you caught him staring at you for too long, he'd immediately look away and scoff. You'd tease him for "admiring your beauty." In reality, he was simply memorizing your face.
☾ Late into the night, long after you were asleep, he’d sit on the roof and think. He was scared, worried. He was immortal, you weren’t. You were just a human, after all. He'd spent centuries convincing himself he didn't need anyone. Then you happened. And now? The thought of losing you terrified him far more than another century of solitude ever had. He had survived loneliness before. He wasn’t sure he’d survive it again.
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Written by @alalalalalalalalalalalalalalaska . Please do not repost or use my work without permission.
Synopsis: Reader has family issues and witnessed a traumatic fight between their parents, so they go to wanderer for comfort.
After the fight, you go to Scara looking for comfort, and his heart drops seeing your pained expression. He doesn’t question you right away, prioritizing you feeling calm first. His arms wrap around you tightly, and he hugs you, rubbing your back soothingly. When you start to breakdown he pulls you towards the couch so you can sit down. He lets you rest your head on his chest while one arm wraps around your waist and the other runs through your hair. You two stay like that for some time, and he lets you cry on him, not being bothered by his damp shirt or your snot, only worrying about how to make you feel better. When you feel a bit better, you open up to him and tell him what happened, and his grip on you tightens.
He would be very angry with your parent and would want to get revenge on them for hurting you and your family and for making you feel like this, but alas, he knows you need him more, and you don’t need anger right now. So instead, his hand leaves your head to rub your back as he responds to your words. “You are an incredibly strong person to be able to stand up to your parent like that. I know how scary that must have been for you. It’s just a shame that your bravery must be used for this. You deserve better, and I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
When you focus, you realize that he’s not rubbing your back in random motions but rather using his hand to draw hearts repeatedly. He knows his words and actions can only do so much, especially with how difficult your situation is and how society is not in your favor. This is part of the reason why he hates humanity, as it allows this to happen and protects the ones doing harm. He doesn’t want anyone to have to go through this, let alone you, the sole person he cares about. He wishes he could just fly you away far from here, so you never have to go through this again. Scara decides that once you’re rested and calmer, he’ll bring you somewhere beautiful to distract you. For now, he’ll try to distract you with his words.
He starts making plots against your parent, ranging from serious to stupid, just thinking out loud and listing things from the top of his head. You don’t know if he’ll do them or not, but the sound of his voice soothes you. A part of you feels like he may not be lying, and that uncertainty is a bit comforting. Eventually, he says a genuinely nonsensical revenge plan, and you let out a small laugh. He smiles at hearing his favorite sound, and cups your face, his thumb rubbing your cheek. “There you go.” His gaze is softer, and he wipes away tears, still looking at you like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, even if you’re a mess right now. That’s when you realize that his plans were dumb because he wanted to make you laugh, to distract you even for a little bit. Then he speaks again, his voice incredibly soft.
“I know I tend to not say this much, but I love you, and you have the most beautiful smile in all Teyvat. It is what drew me to you in the first place, since whenever you smiled at me, I felt everything else melt away, and I couldn’t hold up my guard despite how hard I tried. You are my sunshine, the light of my life, and I don’t know what I would do without you. I know other people see how brightly you glow too. So, I hope you never lose your light or let someone take it away from you.”
He plants a kiss on your forehead before letting you rest on his chest again. If you want to keep talking about how you feel, he’ll listen to every word. If you want to lie in silence, then he’ll keep holding you. Eventually, with his soothing ministrations, you fall asleep in his arms. Once he feels your breathing even out, he carries you to bed and wraps a blanket around you. When you look cozy, he lies down next to you and holds you. He stays like that almost all night. Why almost? Well, he wasn’t lying when he said that he wanted revenge, but you’ll find that out later.
summary — you had never felt more wanted than when lohen held you in his arms and told you he loved you.
how shameful of you. how sinful, depraved, and shameful.
themes — milf!reader, infidelity (reader has an unnamed husband), mommy kink, good boy lohen, praise kink, smut and angst, marriage of convenience, standing sex, backshots, risky sex, creampie, orgasm, suggestive ending, messy situation all around
WC: 1.5k | ao3
One moment you were hosting a charity event in your front yard, passing out free books to every curious passerby, and the next, you were pinned to the wall of your living room, caught between the white plaster and Lohen’s warm body.
“This isn’t really…I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said quickly, your eyes blinking rapidly. “It’s nearly seven, and my husband—.”
“Who cares about that?” Lohen asked in a low croon. As his hands worked their way up the shape of your hips, he murmured, “Didn’t you miss me?”
“Well,” you choked out, your hands curling into fists against the drywall. “I mean. It’s been five years, so yes, I did. But I also have a family now, so—oh, fuck.”
Your lips spewed an obscenity right as Lohen’s hips smacked into yours. He laughed by your ear, his gloved fingers curling around your barren hips. He held the skirt of your dress up high enough for him to have plenty of access to you, your lace panties pulled aside for his plunging cock. It had been a long five years since you last felt this fullness, stretching your inner walls farther than that husband of yours ever could. It was sinful and salacious, but you knew you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t miss it.
“Why’d you even go and do that?” Lohen asked, pulling your hips back into his with a powerful thrust forward. “I thought you said you didn’t want to marry him.”
“I didn’t really,” you sputtered, “but my parents really liked him, so—.”
“So you decided to have his babies. Instead of mine.”
“You’re ten years younger than me,” you argued. “Shouldn’t you go after someone your own age?”
“It’s not about age,” he argued. “It’s about you. It’s okay for him to be ten years older, but not for me to be ten years younger?”
With another pull of your hips backwards, Lohen stuffed you full of him again. A whimper escaped you when you heard the wet crackling sound of him receding within you, only to be interrupted by a moan when he again pushed forward. Heat consumed every inch of your being, sending your legs trembling beneath you when Lohen added his hot breath to the mix. He was staring at you, his chin hooked over your shoulder, and simply breathing against your ear like he belonged there.
“Besides,” he purred, in that low, rumbling voice that haunted your every wet dream since the moment you met him. “I know you like it when I call you mommy.”
“Oh,” you gasped, your hole clenching around his thrusting cock. “I missed hearing you say that.”
“Yeah, Bun. I know.”
“M-mommy.”
He let out a soft giggle. After a sweet kiss to your ear, he crooned, “Yeah, mommy. I’ll call you whatever you want.”
At the end of his sentence, he fucked into you so hard, your body smacked into the wall before you. You turned your head, pressing your cheek against the textured wall as desperate sounds escaped you, your mind turning delirious from the saccharine words being poured into them. The way he laughed, how he encouraged you, how he pulled you back into him with every thrust the way he knew you liked—it had you calling out for him like if you didn’t, you’d lose him.
“Oh?” Lohen asked, his hot breath wafting over your face. With a firm squeeze of your hips, he said, “Does my dick really make you feel that good, mommy?”
How filthy—how wrong and disgusting of you to get off on him calling you such a thing.
“It’s okay, mommy. There’s nothing wrong with liking it.”
“Fuck,” you whined. “Keep calling me that, Lohen.”
“Mhm. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it for you, mommy.”
Oh, Gods above—this man was dangerous. He was just as much of a devil now as he was at twenty years of age, when he looked you up and down and told you he wanted you. Telling him you were in a steady relationship didn’t phase him, and when he pressed further, exposing the lack of love you felt for that man, unearthing the fact that you remained with him out of obligation, Lohen had offered you a choice. Choose him, and he’d set you free. Choose your husband, and he’d respect it.
But he’d still come after you.
“Hey, mommy. Can I cum inside?”
You were ovulating, so it wasn’t the best idea.
“Yes,” you whined anyway.
His breath sounded shorter by your ear, hotter and sharper. The way he gripped your hips was hard enough to leave bruises along your skin, and the smack of his pelvis to yours only grew louder with every thrust. There was mirth in his tone, but also something vulnerable underlying it when Lohen asked, “Am I your good boy, mommy?”
Yes, Lohen, you are.
“Tell me I’m doing good,” he panted, fucking you so hard that you were incomprehensibly wailing. “Tell me I’m fucking doing good for you.”
“You’re doing good,” you sputtered, your vision growing blurred with tears. “Lohen, you’re doing so, so good.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, opening his mouth wide to drag his tongue along your ear. “Tell me more, mommy. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“I want you to cum,” you cried. “I want you to cum inside me.”
“Yeah? That’s where good boys get to cum, right?”
“Yes,” you bawled. “Only mommy’s good boy gets to cum in her.”
Lohen laughed again, but the way his hips sped up told a different story from the cadence of his voice. You could feel his grin on your cheek, and as the deafening plap, plap, plap! of his hips against yours consumed you, you practically writhed. You could feel him throbbing, feel yourself clenching, and with a loud, gut-wrenching moan, Lohen all but exploded inside of you.
“C-cumming,” he gasped out. “Fuck, mommy’s pussy feels good.”
“Oh, God,” you moaned, your eyes rolling backwards. “Lohen, you’re such a good boy.”
“Of course I am,” he said between hot, breathy whines. “I love you.”
Your lower lip trembled. Slowly, you dug your teeth into it, and as pleasured tears rolled down your cheeks, so too did ones of regret.
Why did you care so much if he was the right choice? If he made you feel loved, then didn’t that justify the cost?
“Ngh,” Lohen grunted, pushing his hips into yours, slow and deep. “I missed cumming in you, mommy.”
You felt his hand slide between your legs, and when he played at your clit, your body jolted like his touch was electric. He stayed inside you, giving you slow and shallow thrusts as he rubbed you with all the intensity you needed, sending sharp sparks of pleasure through every nerve ending you had. You whimpered his name when you came, spasming around him, bucking back into him, and in your strained voice, you said, “Good job, Lohen. Really good job.”
He giggled, closing his mouth around the lobe of your ear. As he continued his slow, grinding thrusts, he carried you through your orgasm, moaning your name all the while. When you finally began to come down from that sultry peak, your blurry vision slowly came back into focus.
You looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. It was 6:59 PM.
“Okay,” you blurted, “you need to go.”
“Huh? You don’t wanna cuddle in bed with me? I’ll even fuck you again, if you want.”
“My husband’s coming home soon,” you said in a rushed whisper. “Let go of me.”
“Hm…but I don’t wanna.”
“Lohen—.”
“I could just kill him,” he said with a smirk. “Make it look like an accident or something.”
Was it horrible of you to admit that for a second, you pondered it?
“Go out the back window,” you whispered. “Please.”
With a dissatisfied grumble, Lohen pulled away until you were free of him. The way your hole pulsed in lieu of his absence had you flushing with heat as you rearranged your skirts. You were beyond soaked, coated in his cum and yours, but it wasn’t like that husband of yours would ever notice. Yours was a loveless marriage, one that existed solely to appease both families and provide them with one or two grandchildren. Now that the child was had, he had no use of you, and you had no use of him.
Your eyes caught onto Lohen’s back. The way his fluffy teal locks bounced around his head made you want to run right back to him and bury your face in them. When he cracked the window open, he looked back at you, smoldering red eyes fixed to yours, and gave you a fond smile.
“Later, Bun.”
With that, he was gone. As soon as the window latched shut, your front door clicked open, and you were returned to the same mundane life as always. Your husband said nothing, but your little girl bounced over to you to say everything. She held the charity flyer you had left out front, decorated with a cute bunny wearing reading glasses, and beamed at you with her toothy grin and big red eyes.
You smiled. Running your hands through her wavy teal hair, you nodded your head and closed your eyes.
a/n: bro i get so embarrassed with mommy/daddy kink it's not even FUNNY! regardless, i had to put this one out there...
anyway, if you liked what you read, please consider leaving a me a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated!
icymi! chai's last lohen post:
gifts, lohen sfw oneshot (550 notes)
masterlist
⊹ ˖ fellow authors, i do not mind if you are inspired by my works to write something similar, but please credit me if you are. these concepts mean a lot to me, so i would really like to be credited for any of my personal ideas that inspire you.
this is the first chapter of the third and final arc!! we’re so close to the end!!
pretend tevyat has cars and trains (and streets and tracks) 🙃 also I know there are inconsistent texts on images 3 and 4 but I can’t be bothered to fix it
if you don’t know who’s cosplaying Ronald McDonald in that meme, unfollow me now 😆 /joking
Big hugs to you adore your works. I hope you're doing well! (How the con went, btw)
I've been thinking about obsessive and unrequited love for some time now. Hate/hate but in THAT kind of way, unhealthy and unwell. It's been on my mind for weekkkss I tell ya. I'm not sure what to write for details exactly, but I'm thinking about either Scaramouche or WanWan obsessing over reader. I hope the vagueness is alright. Sorry🥺
Hate that I love you
AFAB! Reader x Obsessed! Wanderer
CW: unhealthy obsession, smut, love/hate relationship, unrequited love at first, oral (fem receiving), yanderish Wanderer
He hates how much you're on his mind, how much he thinks about you.
A/N: I went with Wanderer because I feel like I write a lot about Scaramouche... I hope I did this justice.
The con was great! Exhausting though, 230k people over three days spent like a 1000€ on Scara merch...
Not proofread.
If there's one thing the Wanderer still resents about himself it's the intensity of his own emotions, after all it's what got him abandoned in the first place.
He tries his hardest to slowly accept them for what they are but it's still a struggle.
Especially when you come along.
It's hard to explain what he feels for you, your unconditional kindness rivals even Niwas.
Without trouble you worm yourself into his empty chest, he feels something he can't quite place.
Something soft, warm.
And when Nahida tells him that's what humans call love? He loses it, barely keeping it together until his assigned living arrangements.
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous, the very thought of such a feeling taking root makes him want to throw something, his leg bouncing up and down in irritation when he finally sits down.
Whatever, he'll just push it aside, it will go away eventually.
But it doesn't. In fact it gets worse. Way worse.
The more he pushes his interest in you down the more it sinks its teeth into his soul.
More than once he catches himself intently staring at you, even from a distance, glaring at nothing particular when he realizes.
Every waking thought is starting to be consumed by you, without your knowledge and he despises it.
Hates how he remembers your schedule, hates how his eyes automatically lock onto you whenever you're near, hates how much you're on his mind for simply existing, it's driving him insane.
What he hates the most however is the fact he knows you don't feel the same for him, after all how could you?
In his perspective he's the epitome of unlovable, no person would ever fall for him and your casual treatment of him is just confirming his inner doubts.
So he shields himself from the hurt, hiding behind anger.
You treat him like you treat anyone else, the same smile, the same laugh, the same politeness.
To you he's no one special at all.
It's an awful cycle, he's absolutely obsessed with you but resents you for it, he even tries to avoid you, getting annoyed whenever anyone even mentions your name, a snarl on his face.
Yet he can't stop, picking up on the tiniest habits of yours, noticing the smallest changes of your routine, even thinking of you whenever he attends his lectures at the akademiya.
Hell, he even dreams of you.
You're not even physically around him and he's still crazy for you.
It makes him want to rip his hair out, yell even.
He wants to scream at you, cut you out of his life, if looks alone could kill you would have dropped dead on the spot from his harsh gazes.
At the same time though he wants to hold onto you, kiss you until you're breathless and never let go, keep your affection only for himself.
Sketches of you fill the edges of his class notes, some carefully drawn with delicate pencil strokes, others clearly scribbled crudely in a fit of rage, the war inside him obvious from these doodles alone.
God he loathes you and his adoration for you, he knows it's unhealthy, unwell even.
What breaks him is seeing you interact with another guy, it makes him see red, jealousy cursing through him like a bolt of lightning.
It's nothing special, just a friendly conversation, no flirting whatsoever but it wakes something in him up, makes him realize that if he doesn't want to continue suffering in whatever purgatory he created for himself he has to act.
Has to actually try and get your attention or he'll forever be stuck drowning in this endless misery.
Twice as much now since his distance has made you start disliking being around him, he honestly can't blame you.
He'll have to actually work for a chance with you, he can't be sulking in his bitterness and blame you for his unrequited love when he has done nothing to woo you over.
Starting small he actually talks to you, even if through gritted teeth and clenched fists, leaves you tiny things here and there, your preferred sweets, earning your trust back.
Perhaps this is the only way to finally make sense of the mess inside his head.
When you don't immediately reject his advances he gets a little bolder, getting you your favorite flowers, of course he knows which, why wouldn't he?
Never will he tell you that he's been taking notes about your likes and dislikes like some stalker, or that he asked Nahida personally where to pick said flowers himself.
Wanderers patience is thin though, snapping when one day some poor fool tries hitting on you in the akademiyas library.
Obviously he can't force romantic feelings from you but he takes the fact you're starting to flush when he approaches as a good sign.
No more avoiding, no more watching from afar, for weeks he tries to actually court you, even if subtly.
Said person quickly flees, stuttering excuses when he notices Wanderer glaring daggers at him from behind you, promising bad things without saying a single word, an intimidating skill left over from his days as a harbinger.
Dragging you to a quiet corner in the house of Daena he traps you between his arms against a bookshelf, hands slamming next to your head.
He swore to himself he'd try to properly win you over, that he'd restrain himself but he's just too furious to think straight right now, he can't stand when a random man tries to snatch you away, angry at you, himself and his damn contradictory emotions.
Grabbing your face he doesn't hesitate, doesn't even think twice about it, crushing his lips against yours in a feisty sudden kiss.
It's not gentle, it's desperate, every ounce of hate, love, madness he's been bottling up for months pouring into this single moment, an outlet.
And when you don't pull away or slap him but instead shyly kiss back? Any remaining doubts disappear like smoke, he devours you like you're his last meal.
The sun over Sumeru has long set, the only remaining students the ones that have fallen asleep at the tables studying or researching, no one bothered by you two basically making out by the side.
Mouth moving against yours an unexplainable hunger settles in him, hunger for you he can't control, like a dam has broken.
In seconds he separates from you, pulling you to a place with more privacy, where nobody could walk in or interrupt what he craves.
Once again your back hits the cold surface of a wall, again and again he places smooches wherever he can reach, his body pressed tightly to yours.
One of his thighs finds its way between your own, rubbing against your sensitive clothed cunt, his face burying in your shoulder, overwhelmed with want for you.
Palms explore, squeezing before planting themselves firmly on your hips as he kisses your skin down your cheek, jawline, neck, leaving hickeys, eventually making his way across your sternum, waist and stomach.
Digits snake under your top, tracing along the edge of your waistband, wrecking shivers through you as he kneels in front of you, looking up at you with wild, dilated pupils, silently asking for permission to let loose.
Tugging your bottoms down when you nod he helps you step out of them before being greeted with your panties, slowly soaking the more he showers you with attention.
Guiding the tips of his fingers through covered folds he maps out every inch, noting the way you buck into them for more friction, trying to stifle any sounds that want to escape your throat.
Oh, he'll hear you soon enough, he'll make sure of that.
Back and forth they go, feeling you get wetter by the minute, fabric starting to cling to your clit, just begging to be teased.
Removing the last barrier between him and your pussy he pulls your underwear down as well, immediately relishing in the sight of you bare for him.
Wasting no time at all he dives in immediately, his tongue now replacing his digits, his hands now placed on your legs instead, hiking one over his shoulder for deeper access.
You taste heavenly to him, sighing in content he can literally feel any resentment he might have still had for you melt away like chocolate on a hot summer day.
Licking stripes down towards your quivering entrance he circles it once, twice, dipping the tip in shortly before bringing it back up to your sensitive nub.
Scooping it between his lips he gently sucks on it, jolts of bliss making your thighs quiver around his head as he feasts happily on you, holding your gaze from below.
Over and over he repeats the same rhythm, faster and faster until he actually plunges his tongue into your hole, coaxing the sweetest whimpers from you, whimpers he wishes to ingrain forever into his brain to listen to on repeat.
His grip on you tightens, he's the only thing holding you upright anymore, your knees threatening to buckle under you.
By your clenching he can tell you're close, your fast and heavy breathing is music to his ears as his thumbs caress across your skin, encouraging you to just let go and give in, humming against your cunt.
Holding onto a fistful of his soft indigo hair you twitch, orgasm crashing into you like a wave, chocked gasps leaving you as you gush right onto his features.
And he couldn't be more glad about it, even cleaning you up, nursing you through the aftershock.
Can I ask for a married au where its reader's birthday and scaramouche acts like he forgot it but then surprises the reader but the reader is still upset so he lets her to do WHATEVER she wants hehehahwhwe
Would love if it was sub scaramouche and went as far as oversimulation plsplspls 😓😓😓
Birthday gift
AFAB! Reader x Husband! Sub! Scaramouche
CW: smut, sub Scara, riding, overstim, multiple orgasms
Perhaps his surprise backfired and there's only one way to fix it.
A/N: I wrote half of this delirious because I was (once again) sick
I don't know how to properly write overstim yet, forgive me 🥹 I tried
Not proofread.
After several years of marriage you'd think he'd remember important days like the date you started dating, your marriage anniversary or even your birthday.
Waking up today you're excited, it's the day you were born after all, the one time you can allow yourself to be pampered and horde all the attention to yourself.
You expect your husband to be the first to shower you with love, looking over at where he's slowly waking up, rubbing his eyes.
All that you get however is the usual good morning greeting and forehead kiss, you can barely register what just happened before he already disappears into the bathroom, getting ready.
Whatever, surely he'll remember at breakfast, right?
But even then there's nothing, only casual conversation as you poke at the food you yourself made for both of you.
Throughout the hours many people congratulate you, family, friends even coworkers and yet there's radio silence from Scaramouche.
No messages delivered from subordinates, no gifts dropped off from him.
It makes you incredibly sad, you were looking forward to having an excuse to hang around him today.
Did he really forget? Does he care that little?
Perhaps he's just busy with harbinger duties?
Still it stings that your own spouse would be so oblivious.
Trying to distract yourself you decide to go out to eat with some acquaintances, receiving gifts but your heart stays heavy at the lack of acknowledgement on his part.
Coming home in the evening your shoulders are tense, a frown gracing your features.
Half expecting him to already be in the bed sleeping you're completely caught off guard by the sight of a cake resting on the dinner table.
Clearly handmade.
And sitting next to it is your husband, staring at it before noticing you're standing in the doorway, frozen.
"You're home." His gaze softens as he gets up, rounding the table and walking towards you.
Pulling you into a gentle embrace he rests his chin on your shoulder.
"I was waiting for you." A whisper, barely brushing against your ear.
"Did you really think I forgot? Happy birthday, darling..."
So he was waiting for you to leave to start baking. Probably had the home surveillanced by his underlings.
A sweet gesture, one that makes you happy and yet you can't help but feel disappointed, evident by how you're still not smiling at him.
He notices of course, mirroring your expression, asking what's wrong without words.
"I wanted to spend time with you." Instead you spent the whole day feeling down, in the trenches when it should have been full of joy just because you thought it slipped his mind.
Realizing that him ignoring you since this morning basically sucked the fun out of these past few hours for you has him feel embarrassed and guilty, an emotion he doesn't feel for many.
Now that it's late, almost night there's not much he can take you to to make up for it, it seems his attempt at surprising you failed from the very start.
"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the cake. But I wish we could have made it together, you know?" Wrapping your arms around him you pull him closer.
"I wanted to have you all to myself for once, no distractions, no meetings or missions. Just us."
"Then have me." The sentence slips out before he can think twice about it, a hidden opportunity showing itself.
You blink, once, twice even, your mood suddenly magically lighter.
"Really? You'll be my birthday present?" Grip tightened on him you don't let him squirm away, don't let him back out.
Oh dear, what has he gotten himself into?
But the sparkle in your eyes shuts any doubts down he might have had, nodding even though he's getting nervous.
"The whole night. Do whatever you want, with or to me." He might regret this later. Or maybe he won't, only one way to find out.
In seconds you're on him, guiding him backwards into the bedroom, towards your shared sheets until he falls onto them with a shove.
Crawling above him you cage him between yourself and the mattress, eyes now wild and focused only on him.
Carefully but swiftly you undress him completely, laying him bare before you.
On instinct he tries to cover himself somewhat, you don't let him, grabbing his wrists just as fast and pinning them down, a silent order to keep them there.
You trail your fingertips down his arms, to his chest, only barely making contact with his skin.
Goosebumps spread across, a shiver wrecking through him at the slight caresses, he feels absolutely exposed with him nude but you fully clothed.
Tracing even lower your digits brush against his waist, slender sides shying away, over his hips and to his thighs, completely avoiding his hardening cock on purpose.
Instead you massage the softness of his upper legs a little, squeezing, exploring so close to where he wants you to touch but never actually grazing it.
Bucking into your hands doesn't help either, you just pull away, teasing him until he's literally squirming, dick twitching from the slightest breeze, aching.
Leaning down you blow on it a little, enough to make him jolt off the pillow, shifting around.
Giving you this much power might have been a bad idea.
Kisses now replace your fingers, following the path they went in reverse, up his legs, torso until they pepper across his neck, finally landing on his lips.
The moment your mouth connects with his any restraint you might have still had evaporates.
You're hungry, incredibly so, starving to the point you devour him, pressed against him.
Grinding your covered cunt against his almost painful erection has him unable to hold his whimpers back.
"Can you please just-" cutting him off with another smooch you shake your head at him, scolding.
He doesn't get to dictate the pace, not today.
Nevertheless you're getting impatient too, freeing yourself of any barrier between his cock and your pussy, letting it glide between your folds.
Scaramouche sighs shakily at the wet friction, head falling back a little at the sensation.
Moving back and forth a bit he doesn't expect you to slam down on him without warning, taking his entire length abruptly.
A chocked gasp leaves him, he has no time to react before you're already continuing on, lifting yourself until only the tip remains before dropping back down, bottoming out.
His back arches, he's extra sensitive after your shenanigans, your tight heat enveloping him without mercy.
Bouncing up and down again and again you absolutely rock his world, his face completely blissed out, letting you ride him like he exists just to give you pleasure.
His hands fist the sheets, the urge to grab and guide you but when he even as much as lifts them towards you they immediately get pinned back down by you.
Over and over his cock rubs against your inner walls, your speed decreasing whenever he tries to thrust up, leaving him on the edge several times until he can't take it anymore.
Moans rise in volume, chest heaving up and down.
Writhering he comes undone, seed releasing inside you as he quivers, eyes glossy.
He goes boneless, limbs heavy but you don't stop, in fact you go even harder, faster.
The sting of overstimulation sets in fast, it's so good yet too much, he can't decide if he wants to pull away or lean in for more. Not that he has either choice with you on top of him.
You're relentless, his dick never even fully softening under your continued actions, he's shaking from the assault on every single one of his senses.
Nerves feel like they're on fire, his skin is flushed red, heavy pants leaving his throat.
Purposefully clenching around him has him blabbering nonsense as he feels a second orgasm build, tears pricking at the corner of his lids from being so overwhelmed with ecstasy.
Having you gush around him it slams into him full force, hitting him like a punch, even more intense than the previous one, leaving him breathless.
Trembling he can't even get any words out, mouth open but so sound leaves, his brain has short circuited.
Sitting there, still with him inside you, you watch him carefully, no one else but you gets to see the mighty 6th harbinger this ruined.
Removing yourself from him has him seize up, any featherlight touch now perceived as incredibly extreme.
If this is how he ends up at the end of the day you don't mind him pretending to forget your birthday more often.
SCARALING PLS I BEG OF YOU you can delete this and or not accept ofc bc it's not reaaallly a request
i looked at your progress list, tattooist Scaramouche and the phrase you have for that story🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 im so curious what else you have in mind for it
Ink
AFAB! Reader x Tattoo artist! Scaramouche
CW: smut, reader gets tied up/cuffed, creampie
He's had enough of you squirming around like a worm so he takes drastic measures.
A/N: I lowkey forgot that i planned this... I remember it once randomly came to me one evening but I completely forgot what I actually had planned for it...
On a side note, is this layout I always do fine? Or should i change/add some things...
Not proofread.
You've been playing with the thought of getting a tattoo for years now, it's something that never really left your mind.
So you decided to finally muster up the courage and get one done, booking an appointment with Kuni, a tattoo artist you've met in passing at a friend's birthday party.
The two of you hit it off, a little flirting here and there over a few drinks.
He himself has several tats, up his back and arms, clearly visible under his sleeveless turtleneck.
Seeing them is what finally encouraged you to get one yourself, they look so good.
Ultimately he gave you his contacts and told you to shoot him a message if you want one.
But you didn't expect it to be so intense.
The studios door is locked so he can work on you in peace without interruptions, blinds closed for privacy, no one can come or look inside.
Perhaps it's the placement you chose, right under your chest on your ribcage, in combination with his intense stare as he concentrates that has you feeling incredibly exposed.
Sitting there basically shirtless without anything to cover your tits expect your hand has you flustered, especially in front of the guy that you've been hitting on.
Or maybe it's the fact you didn't expect it to hurt that much, the tiny needle jabbing ink into your skin again and again.
Whatever the reason, you can't sit still properly, constantly jolting or shifting in the reclined seat.
His eyebrows twitch in irritation, a scowl on his features as his eyes shift up to yours.
"Stop moving so much, you don't want me to mess up." A simple command before he goes back to work.
Biting your inner cheek you try to keep still, you're the one that wanted it in that specific place after all, despite him discouraging it for your first ever inking.
Not to mention the detail and size, you'll be here for a while.
And yet you're still shuffling, uncomfortable from the tiny pokes.
"Oh for gods sake." The tiny cap filled with black liquid almost spills over as he slams his machine down on his side table, not enough force to damage it but enough to rattle the surface.
"Stop squirming. Or do I need to pin you down and tie those pretty wrists up?" Glaring at you it's clear he fully means what he says, one more twitch and he'll get out the binds.
Freezing you meet his intense stare, swallowing hard at the threat, that’s not just an empty promise and you know it.
“Be good now.” Is all he says, resuming the process of permanently marking you, acting completely unbothered by your flushed face.
But try as you might after 5 minutes a particularly sensitive spot has you once again shying away from the assault creating beautiful artwork on your very being.
Pausing he takes a deep, almost disappointed sounding breath, fishing for something under the chair with one hand.
Cuffs. Actual soft padded black cuffs. He really wasn’t joking.
Never will he let you know he got those laying around specifically for you, that he hoped you'd fidget just so he'd have an excuse to see you all bound just for him.
Giving you barely time to react both your arms are quickly trapped above you with a firmness that doesn’t allow any more room to move away, the locks clicking shut with finality.
No escape until he finishes this properly, until it meets his standards.
This new position now leaves you with nothing to cover up, your palms now out of reach while also restricting you from being restless.
He pretends to be unaffected by it, pretends to be professional, he has seen many peoples body parts in his time as an artist after all.
Being so close to your bare breasts however is greatly taking its toll on him, you’re not just any client after all, you’re someone he’s been actively pinning after at every shared event your shared friends host.
Now you’re here, right in front of him, unable to even pull away from the tool in his grip anymore.
It’s not like he can claim to ever have tied up another patron either, you’re the first.
Finally able to finish without any more interruptions on your part he leans back, admiring his lines before his sight shifts to the swell of your tits, staring without any obstacles in the way, unashamed.
Placing the second skin over the fresh tattoo his knuckles ‘accidentally’ brush across their underside, relishing in the way you shiver at the slightest contact.
You’re not yelling at him to stop, not struggling in your restraints or shouting at him.
Instead you’re just blushing, silent except your shaky breathing, looking oh so helpless and delicious, nipples pebbling.
Encouraged by your lack of resistance his irises finally force themselves away, locking onto yours instead as he leans in closer, hovering above you, blocking out the overhead light with his silhouette.
Giving you all the chance to turn your head away or kick him he slowly inches closer until his lips barely touch yours, feeling little puffs of air hit them, hesitating for only a second.
Any doubts go out the window when you start chasing his mouth yourself, kissing you properly after weeks of back and forth feels like little fireworks exploding across his nerves.
Hungry he basically devours you, not gentle like in some cheesy romance novel but desperate, the kiss is full of want and need as his hands hold you down by your waist as if you could somehow get away in the first place.
Making use of the vulnerable pose he’s put you in his fingers trail up, leaving goosebumps in their wake until he cups your tits properly, feeling their weight before squeezing, kneading them between his digits.
Pinching the mounts carefully has you gasping, muffled by his attack on your lips, sliding between your opening legs feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Pressing right against you, his weight leans on you as he keeps playing with your chest like they’re his personal stress balls, fondling, basically payback for making him lose his patience.
Rocking his hips against yours his hardening erection is very much obvious, how could he not get riled up by this sight alone.
He grinds against you, unhurried, teasing you through the fabric of your bottoms that he quickly gets rid of.
Even now you can’t squirm away from pleasure, one index rubbing against your bare clit in circles, your pussy soaked from the perverse attention, thighs quivering around him.
Your whines and whimpers egg him on even more, his own willpower running thin as he lines himself up with your hole, biting at your neck as he thrusts in without any warning.
Wrists tugging at the cuffs you attempt to get free, wanting to touch him too, however Kuni doesn’t give you that satisfaction, considering this punishment for all the times you acted oblivious to his advances.
His pace starts slow, bottoming out all the way and just staying like that for several seconds, only to pull back out in an almost torturous tempo, the tip of his cock dragging against your inner walls.
Slamming back in he repeats that exact motion, speeding up the slightest bit as you clench around him tears of frustration stinging your eyes, you wish he’d just go faster yet you can’t do anything about it at his mercy.
As if he read your mind he suddenly accelerates, rutting in deep and harsh over and over, one palm still on one of your breasts while the other thumbs at your sensitive bundle of nerves.
Wrapping your legs around him you trap him, not allowing space between you two.
Moans rise in volume, the sting of your fresh tattoo long forgotten as he stretches you out elsewhere, senses overwhelmed with bliss delivered to you by his dick instead of pain from a needle.
Hitting that sweet spot buried far inside of you has you trembling below him, tightness spasming around him.
The feeling is overwhelming for both you and him, his own sounds of enjoyment escaping his throat, no matter how hard he tries to hold them back.
You’re just way too amazing like this, he could do whatever he wanted to you like this.
Shoulders shake as he attempts to keep at it without falling off that tempting edge just yet, wanting to indulge just a little longer in this sin but when you yourself clearly can’t take it anymore, gushing all over his cock and the seat it sends him following not much later.
Cumming in your sweet cunt he takes a moment to calm down, removing himself just to watch your boneless self on his chair, leaking his very essence as he unlocks those cuffs.
You might become a regular if this is how sessions end, maybe you’ll squirm around on purpose.
OKAY IDK IF I CAN WORD THIS RIGHT BUT MAYBE SOMETHING LIKE IDOL READER×PAPARAZZI SCARA..?? idk if it could be like stalker? Idk BUT THAT DUO SEEMS COOL idk and smut plsss!! Love your writings 💗
Biggest Fan
AFAB! Idol! Reader x Paparazzi! Stalker! Scaramouche
CW: smut, stalking, obsessive behaviour, idol and paparazzi relationship, fingering, slight mirror sex
You see him again and again, at one point you even start looking for him in the crowds.
A/N: This was supposed to be done way sooner but I had a lot of stuff to do.
Also my fics are somehow getting longer and longer
Not proofread
Since your childhood you’ve been dreaming of being an idol, making music, appearing on stage, inspiring fans.
You started small, a few covers here and there on social media and YouTube, then original songs, working your way from nothing to the top.
One after the other your songs trended, becoming hits, many people resonated with your lyrics and instrumental delivery to the point you managed to host a few shows.
Then more, until you have finally now clawed your way into the industry, millions of followers and listeners, touring worldwide.
Gaining popularity came with hardships you didn’t expect however, your life and everything surrounding it suddenly public knowledge.
Reporters and photographers are after you constantly, their cameras pointed at you from every possible angle, capturing every blink and change in expression, sometimes you wonder if they even consider that you’re only human.
Living in a world of flashing lights the one sanctuary you have to breathe and relax are your hotel rooms, you’re barely home anymore.
And even then paparazzi follow you to the very doorstep of where you’re staying, security keeping them from chasing after you any further.
Flopping down face first on your rooms bed you can’t help but let out a heavy sigh, exhausted after another successful concert.
The constant surveillance is getting to you, they keep swarming around you like shark circling prey, overstimulating and irritating you to no end.
While you adore your fans the unlimited attention of media is making you question if this was all worth it, privacy is now a privilege that seems far out of reach.
Thinking you’re at least safe in these four walls your eyes drift shut, completely tired and ready to rest.
But then you hear it, the click of a shutter you’ve unfortunately become so familiar with.
Shooting up you scan your surroundings but find nothing out of the ordinary. No blinking lights in any corner, no obvious lenses pointed at you.
Yet another quiet click is audible, a white flash going off outside your window.
Peeking out the curtains you’re immediately blinded by it, tiny specks dancing across your vision before you can shift your focus on the person currently taking pictures of your balcony.
Starring back at you are indigo irises, the man they belong to unashamedly holds up the little device, risking another shot before being ushered away by males in black suits, not an ounce of regret in his expression.
You know that face. His unusual hair color makes him easy to spot in crowds, he’s been at every single one of your tour spots for the past few months.
Panicking you search the entire internet for any recent articles or posts regarding you and your location, you can’t have your exact room number leaked, it would put your safety greatly at risk.
Not finding anything however, not even hours after the incident you get more confused than paranoid.
How did he know your exact position and what is he doing with those photos if he doesn’t post them or use them for work?
Why has he been following you around the globe? He’s obviously not just a casual fan or paparazzi, there has to be more to it.
You should be terrified, maybe even report him but you can’t help but be more curious than scared.
Has he done this before? Have you maybe just not noticed or questioned his pursuit of you?
Making it your goal to find out you finally go to sleep, getting the rest you should have hours ago, windows and blinds shut so not a single soul able to peek through.
Outside he still lingers, scrolling through his latest catches, you’re completely unaware of the fact his phone and any electrical device he owns, even his walls are filled with hundreds and thousands of images, all containing you, snapshots no one has ever seen before.
Some more risky than others, more personal, clearly taken from hidden spots.
This has been going on for way longer than you think, he isn't interested in the professional front you put on for his colleagues, he wants to see the real you, unfiltered.
And he doesn't plan on ever releasing those to other people's sights, these are just for him.
Now that you’re aware of his existence you had a feeling he'd try and sneak in backstage upcoming concerts, just to get more material for his collection.
The moment you pick up on the tiniest sound of a camera you pounce, head whipping towards its origin, standing face to face with him.
Cornering him he doesn't look the least bit regretful, in fact he looks delighted, your attention is solely on him and in his mind that's a wonderful experience.
"Why do you follow me everywhere I go?" Straight up asking him seems to be the only way to get some answers to your burning questions, the only way to ease the paranoia of finding something online that shouldn’t be.
"There's no reason for you to do so, there's enough other famous people to report on." Glaring at hi doesn’t seem to faze him one bit.
He just smiles, tilting his head, unsettling.
"They aren't you." And with that he sprints off, bolting for the exit just as security rounds the corner behind you.
It quickly becomes a game of cat and mouse, you'd try to catch him at every show, at every destination but every time you manage to actually talk to him he gives you the same reply.
Without even realizing you learn more about him the more you interact with him, automatically searching for him in all those masses.
His name, his age, where he's from, you get closer to him than you'd like to admit despite his very obvious obsession with you, even giving him a permanent backstage pass so he doesn't have to juke staff anymore.
Relishing in the fact you give him special treatment he visits you every day, still often snapping pics when he thinks you’re none the wiser.
Rarely does he publish anything about you though, hording everything to himself, like a lovesick stalker.
You can’t bring yourself to mind though, especially when he once again keeps you company at your make-up station late evening.
Stylist have all already gone home, the only people left are now the guards at the entrances and you two with him sitting on the desk of your vanity, facing you as you clean yourself up, completely fascinated by your movements and natural beauty.
Alone with him you allow yourself to relax more often than not, no facade masking anything.
Putting down the item you were holding you meet his gaze, he doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t avert his eyes.
Instead he leans in, invading you space to the point you can feel his breath brush your skin.
“Are you still wondering why I find you so interesting?” Caught off guard you just nod, watching as he slides off the surface, walking behind you.
Resting his hands on your shoulders the only way to observe him now is the mirror.
Maybe you'll finally get answers?
Massaging you gently you can't help but melt a little, you didn't realize how tense you are.
Whispers hit the shell of your ear, words meant just for you, even if you're both the only ones around.
"You radiate kindness, compassion, even though you have millions of fans you stay humble." His palms knead firmer but not rough.
“Your features are striking, no matter the angle you look like model.” The compliments make your cheeks flush, his chest pressing against your back, warmth seeping into you as his fingers wander down your upper arms, squeezing occasionally.
“Emotions you feel are very much visible, you don’t hide them away.” Digits trace even further down, drawing nonsensical shapes on your waist.
“I like that about you. Happiness, anger, sadness... I’ve seen almost every single one cross that gorgeous face of yours. Except one.” Even lower, playing with waistband of your bottoms as if contemplating something in his thoughts before moving on down to your thighs.
At this point you’re squirming in your seat, flustered, he knows exactly how to rile you up, what to say and do.
Placing his chin on your shoulder his stare finds yours through the mirror, intense as always.
“Won’t you allow me to see what your pleasure looks like?”
Breath hitching you’re thrown off by his boldness, you shouldn’t have expected anything less from someone lingering outside your windows though.
Holding eye contact you don’t object as his fingers sneak under your clothing, one under your shirt, the other into your panties.
Trailing along the underside of your bra he teases the skin below it, simultaneously dragging his digits through your folds, back and forth slowly, enjoying the growing wetness, fully aware he’s the cause.
Legs twitch close on reflex, closing around him as you arch into his touch, nudging him where you want him.
His thumb lazily rubs circles across your clit, the tips of his index and middle playing around at the edge of your quivering hole but not dipping in just yet, withholding them on purpose as he views every reaction of yours on that reflective piece of glass in front of you.
If he could he would immortalize this very moment on a film roll but he prefers having his hands full of you instead of some tech right now.
Palming your chest through the fabric of your underwear he brushes across one of your sensitive nipples, feeling it pebbling under his caress.
A whines escapes your lips, one he’d gladly listen to over and over again.
Nipping at your neck he toys with your bundle of nerves, waiting until you’re restless in your chair before finally plunging two fingers into your pussy, no warning whatsoever.
Your head falls back, a surprised moan ripping from your throat from the sudden intrusion but he can’t have you just stare at the ceiling, can he?
Grabbing your cheeks, he guides you to look forward again just so he can keep savoring the bliss written all over your facial muscles, your eyes dazed and unfocused, completely ignoring your own reflection.
Unwilling to rush this his pace is unhurried, pulling out just to thrust them back in, careful but determined to make you feel good.
In and out, again and again he dives them in, scissoring them apart, that sweet sting of being stretched making you shiver.
Nerves feel like they’re on fire as he ruins you right there and then purely to satisfy his own curiosity, speed getting harsher and faster the louder you get, his mouth leaving hickeys you’ll definitely have to cover up later.
Currently you couldn’t care less, you only care about the ecstasy jolting through your entire system, shocking as if you got hit by lightning.
The thrill of being so intently observed in such a vulnerable state makes you clench on his hand, to him you’re like an artpiece he gets to analyze.
Harder, deeper they push, making you see stars, not from camera lights for once but from the sheer amount of stimulation inside your cunt, tips rubbing against your inner walls.
The constant assault on your poor pussy has you reaching your high fast, especially when he keeps grazing your bean without hesitation, evident in how vocal you’re getting.
Coming undone you gush all over him, soaking through whatever cloth is still covering you as you tremble, only then does he slow down, removing himself from your tight heat.
Entranced by the way you look when you cum he can’t quite believe he got to witness such a private spectacle, not only that he’s the whole reason for your orgasm.
Lifting you he sits you down on his lap, burying himself in your hair, the smell of your shampoo easing his mind.
You already know your manager and crew aren’t going to be happy when you tell them your voice is hoarse. Not that you’ll give them details as to why it is that way.
what if u did yhe idol x paparazzi/superfan thing but SCARA is the idol and hes a yandere and reader is the superfan… hehehehehehehehe👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤
—⛩️
My darling fan
AFAB! Supefan! Reader x Yandere! Idol! Scaramouche
CW: smut, yandere Scara, Scara is called Kuni, modern
Social media drama gives him the perfect excuse he needs to lure you to him all alone.
A/N: my first assigned emoji anon hehehe...
Tbh I'm running out of ways to make my smut interesting, I feel like its all just the same repetetive shit...
Not proofread.
Discovering Kuni has changed your life completely, for better or for worse is arguable.
You’re one of his top listeners, your walls are covered in posters and photos of him, nothing and no one else ever plays from your speakers.
Every meet-and-greet possible is attended, pictures taken with him are treasured like an heirloom, every concert you fight your way to front row, cheering and singing along.
Never do you question why it’s so easy for you to get VIP tickets or why it’s basically guaranteed for you to get barricade while others complain about missing out.
So sweet and dedicated, completely oblivious how his arm stays wrapped around your waist just a little longer while posing for the camera together, his smile genuine or how his eyes seem to follow you whenever you’re in his field of view.
And if you do notice his gaze? You get excited for about 30 seconds before telling yourself you’re probably imagining things, fans wrongly think their idols are looking at them all the time after all.
He probably doesn’t pay much attention to your existence anyways, right? To him you’re just another face in the masses, maybe even obnoxious.
How wrong you are.
You’re unaware he personally makes sure you get your tickets as cheap as dirt, makes sure security gets you to where he can clearly see you, right in front of him and that his own collection of you rivals yours.
From the beginning he has been fixated on you, his very first live show he spotted you in the crowd, more enthusiastic and genuinely happy for his success than anyone else ever has seen.
It stirred emotions in him he swore to never feel again long ago.
Never would he have guessed you’d be everywhere, no signing missed, always following along his tours, it’s no wonder he gets obsessed.
Every single event has been in your favor, people who were in line right in front of you often getting worse seats than you.
Nobody else matters to him, he only actually cares about your support.
All those other screaming and fawning enthusiasts annoy him to hell and he’s not afraid to show it, often snapping at anyone that isn’t you or shooing them away.
None of them know his favorite color, favorite food, movie, genre, drink or even snack.
But you do, he knows that as a fact, he has seen your social media accounts after all, filled with posts about him.
Having such a devoted admirer makes his heart almost flutter, he’s addicted to the feelings you bloom in him.
Yet it’s frustrating you don’t seem to notice any of his hints, songs are clearly about you but you’re clueless.
Prolonged eye-contact goes right over your head, he could be staring at you unblinking the whole evening from up the stage and you still wouldn’t get it.
Then one day a specific tweet graces his timeline, one he can't just ignore.
"Anyone else sick of @/kunifan being so obviously favored?" A post by some random jealous girl, likely in response to you showing off your perfect tickets again.
His soul almost leaves his body, how dare they call out his blatant bias towards you.
"What are you talking about? :(" An innocent comment from you just below, clearly somewhat upset people would accuse you of something like this when it’s out of your control.
Gripping his phone just a little tighter he tries to keep himself together, the urge to respond himself huge, battling with his rational side.
"Don't play stupid. Are you dating someone higher up to always snatch the best deals before they even start selling? Wonder how they feel about your obsession with little Kuni. I almost feel sorry for them."
That's it. The pure audacity to even suggest you're sleeping with someone for these benefits you don't even realize you have, the very thought of you being with anyone but him makes him almost sick.
Anger spreads through his chest, he doesn't want to entertain people like this, they can barely call themselves supporters when they act like this towards each other.
Calling his manager on a whim he tells her to cancel the concert tomorrow, send everyone E-Mails and refunds except you.
Before she can ask he hangs up on her, he has to be sure he's ready for what he's planning.
Standing in front of the supposed show location that following evening you're very confused, not a single person in sight.
After that exchange on twitter you took a little offline break, silencing any notifications.
Checking online you find loads of disappointment about the performance being called off on such short notice, many mad about not even getting an explanation.
Feeling sad you're about to turn around and leave, perhaps the announcement automatically got filtered as spam in your mail?
Typing away on your phone in an attempt at finding out how you missed such crucial info you shriek when a hand lands on your shoulder from behind, stopping you in your tracks.
Spinning around you’re met with your idol standing right in front of you, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath.
Tilting his head he looks you up and down subtly, now that he’s not being rushed by staff to move on to the next meet-and-greet guest he has all the time in the world to properly take in your image.
The way your shock is written all over your features, holding the sheet of paper that was supposed to be your entry to the venue loosely.
Absentmindedly he brushes some strands of hair back into place, a silent gust of wind tugged them out of place.
“Didn’t get the news?” His tone is innocent, sounding even nicer so close instead of just hearing it come from a microphone.
“Technical problems. No music tonight.” A smooth lie, you don’t need to know he threw the whole gig away over a few snide comments.
You’re flustered, embarrassed about the whole situation, you can’t believe you’re the only one who actually came here today.
Twisting a lock of yours between his fingers he hums as if in thought.
“Why don’t you come in? It would be a shame to just leave when you came all the way here.”
You feel like you’re going to faint, he doesn’t give you time to turn him down, dragging you by your wrist to the entrance and into the empty building.
No security is present, no technicians or other staff, it’s only the two of you.
Moments after you pass the door you’re suddenly pressed against the wall, he’s tired of waiting, of pretending in front of everyone that you’re not the one he desperately wants.
Now that he has you here he isn't letting go, you don't even have time to react or wonder what this is about.
Lips meet yours, so incredibly soft but insistent, no more stalling, no more hiding.
Freezing it takes a few seconds for you to register what just happened, that this is reality and not just one of many dreams.
Pulling back he observes you, your cheeks heating up, the way your gaze is dazed, how you don't even push away.
The opposite actually, you tug at him to bring him closer, hoping this isn't just a fantasy you'll snap out of.
"More?" A silly question, like you'd say no when this is all you've ever desired.
Sentences fail you so you just nod, eager to receive any affection he might give you.
Kisses pepper everywhere he can reach, your forehead, jaw, nose, corner of your mouth until he once again lands on your lips, pouring all the passion he bottled up into it, as if he'd suffocate without you.
His body slots against yours, not a single inch allowed between you two.
Without separating from you he hoists you up the cold surface, your legs automatically wrapping around him.
If anyone sees you making out with him Kuni's career is over, not that he cares, you're way more important to him, he’d throw away his future in a heartbeat for you.
Devouring you like you’re his last meal on death row his palms rest on your hips, kneading and squeezing, you’re basically putty in his hands and he loves it as much as he loves you.
Quiet sighs and noises leave you, one out of plenty signs he’s getting to you, your digits tangling in the back of his hair.
He can’t claim to be unaffected though, especially when when his cock starts to harden from how sweet you sound, how amazing you smell, pocking right against your cunt.
Shifting a bit you grind on it accidentally, sending a shiver through his entire nervous system, teeth clenching to keep himself from whining.
Such a small motion has him unraveling, months of pent up energy bubbling over with no control.
Hips bucking into you like an animal in heat he can’t help himself, hands wandering under your shirt, upward, cupping your chest, enjoying its heaviness, pinching your nipples through the fabric of your bra.
Whimpers escaping you sound better than any melody or music he ever listened to, this is a song he’ll never let anyone else hear.
Impatiently he starts removing your bottoms, immediately pulling your panties with them, noting how drenched for him you already are, only pausing to search your expression for any discomfort.
Dick twitching in his pants, painfully erect he loses all composure, his own shorts are gone in a flash, member lined up with your dripping entrance.
Drawing teasing circles around the edge of your hole he takes his time to delight in your restless squirming, savoring every hitch of breath until you’re literally trembling.
Only then does he actually push inside, slow and careful despite every cell of him screaming at him to just hurry up and finally take what he has been wishing for.
But he doesn’t want to hurt you, he’s not above violence when it comes to your well-being he’ll admit but never would it be directed at you.
Bottoming out all the way he stays still for several long moments, letting you adjust, barely keeping his calm as your arms snake around his neck for support, thighs tightening around him just a little more.
Slowly and gently he removes himself until just the tip remains, holding that position, feeling you clench on it before slamming back in.
Again and again he sets an unhurried pace with that same routine, in, out, pause and repeat, constantly keeping an eye on how you’re doing.
Your moans rise in octave, echoing in the empty halls as you cling to him like a koala, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.
Bit after bit he speeds up, the head of his member dragging across your inner walls over and over, reaching so deep it has you seeing stars dance across your vision.
His tempo almost knocks the air from your lungs, rutting into you like a feral beast feeding after having food dangled in front of him, out of reach for too long, his only goal is making you cum right on his cock.
And when he feels your pussy clamp down around him he realizes he’s closer to the finish line than he might have guessed.
Fingers keep themselves busy, still rolling your sensitive hardened buds between them, his mouth occupied leaving hickeys all over your skin, as visible as possible.
The assault on your senses soon becomes too much, you’re gushing on his dick before you can even as much as warn him, shocks of pleasure buzzing through you.
Riding out your high you bury your face in his shoulder, quivering from the intensity in his grasp, you only half register how he shoots his own release right inside of you.
Minutes pass where you both just catch yourself, content in each other’s embrace until he lifts you properly, carrying you towards the backstage private bathroom.
You’re officially trapped in his net, marked and weak for him, rumors are sure to spread.
He’ll gladly correct every single one of them personally.
Tagging along with your roommate, now best friend (and fuck buddy), to go to Mondstadt for a short vacation. He talked about some sort of deal, meeting his "friends"; he spoke rather reluctantly, spitting that word out as if it offended him.
Now, the problem is, upon arriving at the gates of Mondstadt, you were not expecting to see your ex's face, Albedo—but, is he really an ex if you two never broke up?
You'd gotten with him on a whim when you had spent time in Mondstadt long before settling in Sumeru for your studies. It was soon after that that Nahida had helped you move into a house nearby, where you had the unfortunate chance to meet that twat, Hat Guy.
Now, you stand on the bridge before Mondstadt City as Albedo's shocked expression scans you both up and down. But it only lasted the briefest moment, before he glanced back at a rather nervous and jittery guy with purple hair and dragon wings??
After you politely introduce yourself to the young male, Durin. Albedo takes the five of you up to Dragonspine—yes, five, Klee decided to join. And by decided, I mean Jean told her to go to give her some peace of mind.
On the way up, it seemed like you were the only one freezing their tits off. Besides the two pyro users running around, one causing chaos while the other trailed after her, worried. You had a puppet on your left and a homunculus on your right.
Fucking great.
The best part is they don't produce ANY body heat. Encouraged by Albedo, you run after Durin for warmth and good conversation. He really is a sweet guy. You being with them was the perfect opportunity for Wanderer and Albedo to discuss this rather odd dynamic. Leaving you out of the conversation.
By the time you guys reach his lab. Albedo has you sit down near a fire, and he runs off to fix everyone a warm drink. Wanderer lightly scolds you for being underdressed, only to scoff and ruffle your hair when you pout in retaliation.
After Mr. Genius returns, the five of you bond over memories. Not long after, Wanderer tells Durin to take Klee home. Giving them ample time to carry out their experiment.
You bid the two farewell with hugs, going back to the fire to be wrapped in blankets, when Albedo stops you. He grabs your hand and pulls you closer to the table.
A strangely warm coloured vial.
"What's this?" You ask, glancing at him. Cheeks warming up under his gaze.
"I'd like to know the answer, too." He chuckles, stepping back. He looks over at Wanderer, who's clearing the other table to place his own books onto it.
"What? Judging by the ingredients, there's no use making me drink." Wanderer rolls his eyes, coming closer, standing on your other side.
"I know." Albedo smiles, plucking the bottle by its neck and swirling it around before your eyes.
You groan. "So, you want me to drink it?"
He chuckles, "You catch on so fast." Bring the pinkish orange vial to your lips.
You shrug. Fuck it, what's the worst that can happen? Projectile shitting in front of your two uhh situstionships? It'd be waaaay worse in front of the kids.
"Carefully, drink sips at a time—" Albedo's voice drops in bewilderment.
Wanderer glances up from his book. "Don't tell me she downed it in one go."
To which you grin, glancing back at them. "I did."
For the first ten minutes, you could not sit still. Constantly moving around, looking through Albedo's books, pestering Wanderer, and bothering the Alchemist again as he takes notes of your symptoms.
You rave on about how this is an amazing invention and that this warms you up very well—a little too well. Now, your body feels heavy, knees buckling as this aching feeling gnaws at your core, making you squeeze your thighs together.
You sit beside Wanderer, the cold chair pressing against your hot skin makes you hiss. Squirming in your seat, you try to shake this feeling off, but you're sweating. It's fucking blizzarding outside, there's snow falling, piling! On the ground, and you're so horny it's putting your system into overdrive.
The men share a glance. You notice, of course, you do. They are right in front of you. Looked at each other, then at you. And that's when you knew it.
You are so fucked.
If only you had Wanderer's mean mouth degrading you as he pounds from behind, or Albedo's soft lips on your chest as he licks circles on your areola, ungloved, pale fingers pumping in and out of your cunt.
He yells. "Oi. Come." Wanderer pats his thigh. An invitation. Working on carnal desire, who were you to disobey, but you still stayed in your seat. Glancing over at Albedo, who was writing in his clipboard. Guilt washed over you as Hat Guy continued to chuckle, cooing like a bully. "Aww, aren't you a sweet girl? Hmm? What? feeling guilty?" He reaches over to grip you by the chin. Eyes swallowing yours whole. "You slut." He spat the latter out like poison.
Your body's trembling. A normal person might think it's from the fucking freezing temperatures, or maybe because you're scared?
Albedo takes this moment to unglove his right hand, snaking it down to your inner thigh. Rubbing and squeezing the flesh, maming you jolt from the surprise touch.
"Apologies for the sudden touch, but it seems your…core is all worked up. You're squirming about too much while rubbing your thighs together." He states, monotone voice laced with care. His voice is velvet soft, a gentle spring breeze caressing your cheek on a warm day.
In contrast to his melodious voice comes the sharp comment of the other man. A sarcastic coo, teasing, mocking. "Aww, getting riled up already?" He's being meaner than usual. Now, Wanderer has left his crueler self to the dust of Irminsul, yet once in a while, he catches himself having such banter with you that it makes him believe a part of you, some weirdly masochistic part, enjoys his cruelty. He pulls his chair aside and motions for you to stand up. You only tilt your head, not wanting to expose yourself to what's happening between your legs.
Wanderer walks across the table to the opposite side of Albedo, whose head is still deep within the thighs of his books. Soon, he closes it and turns his attention to you with a strange smirk.
"I have thought of a remedy for your predicament. Come, now." He pats the table. Your heart's racing out of your chest, as now you have two pairs of eyes observing your body. The worst part is that nothing gets past these two.
Albedo mentally notes your thighs pressing together, again, as your body slightly jolts…perhaps he should have told you that this was an aphrodisiac when overconsumed. A special concoction reserved for you, after he realised its effects.
Wanderer smiles at how your eyes shift between the two men. That guilty face of yours loosens the restraints on his urges.
After a moment of thinking, you get up and sit at the table. Spreading your legs yourself, before Albedo. Leaning back till you feel Wanderer's chest cushion you.
The two men gasp, Wanderer chuckles, playing with your hair.
"Why the sudden change in attitude?" Albedo asks, leaning down to be eye level with your soaking underwear.
"Well, whatever you had given me was probably an aphrodisiac? I'm ashamed to say, but I am rather aroused, and this is quite the predicament I am stuck in, so we ought to clear ourselves before Klee and Durin get back."
The man behind you pokes fun at your phrasing. "Clear ourselves?" He grabs your chin and tilts your head towards him.
Your blush only intensifies when you make direct eye contact with him. "Well, uhm, you know? To alleviate oneself of this—Ah!" You moan into his hand. Looking down to see an ungloved Albedo. His nails are digging into your thighs as he licks your folds.
They both halt at your reaction; you seemed pained. "What did you stop for?" You whine, urging Albedo to continue, which he gladly does with a laugh.
Wanderer, on the other hand, decides it is his turn to have some fun too. His cold hands slither under your shirt, feeling the plush of your tummy, soon cupping the swell of your breasts. But before you could utter another word, his lips encase yours in a kiss. He massages your right breast with one hand, while the other bullies your left nipple. Pinching it till it's hard, rubbing it between his fingers.
Swallowing your moans as Albedo's covered in your juices. White slick drips down his chin as he probes his tongue deeper. Relishing the way your body jolts after a certain point. Your hand is pulling at his hair, tugging him closer. He takes it as a sign that you like it, and continues to abuse that spot until you cum on his tongue. You've never seen him this messy.
After he helps you down from your high, Albedo glances up at you. Assessing your sweet face, still unsatisfied. He moves past you to Wanderer, who's itching for some action. The two share a glance, and they switch places before you know it.
Now Albedo's the one behind you, kissing your nape, biting at the flesh while both his hands work on your breasts. Wanderer shoves a finger in without warning, gathering all your slick. He brings them to his lips for a taste, then hums in delight. The heat between your thighs and the frost nipping at your skin contrast each other in the way that you are the only one producing body heat, while the other two are as cold as dragonspine.
He shoves a finger into your folds, curling it till you moan, pumping it in and out. His other hand holds yours in an act of comfort and perhaps an apology. His finger is soon covered in your orgasm. "Came so soon~" He chuckles, his pace unrelenting as he introduces a second finger.
While Albedo has his fun, slightly turning your body, so he can suck on your breast. Biting the flesh, lolling the bud between his lips, using his teeth to pinch it, eliciting a moan from you as you wince.
Their combined assault is all too much. Worst of all is their stamina outpaces yours by lightyears, feeding into a darker fantasy. Albedo releases with a pop, spit glistening on his lips as he moves to entertain your other breast. Placing his fingers on your lip, you moan as he inserts two into you, allowing you to suck on them.
You've come a third time now on Wanderer's fingers. Unable to concentrate on anything, you feel your head spin as Albedo cradles your torso while the two men discuss. You let out a broken whine, thinking they're going to end it here.
But before you know it, you're getting manhandled off the table. Feet touching the ground as Albedo reaches for a soft cloth to place on the cold surface. Wanderer then bends you onto it. His hard-on is pressing against your ass while Albedo, before you, only smirks at you fucked out face. Hands brushing away stray strands of hair, he cups your cheeks and places a sweet kiss on your lips.
"We'll make sure you will be back to normal before the kids arrive." He smiles, unzipping his pants. Wanderer laughs at the sight of you clenching on nothing. He grinds into you, but before you can register what's happening behind, you feel something prodding at your lips.
Had a dream about your writings, LMAO. It was a dream where I dreamt about one of yours (nonexistent) works, woke up, and asked you here to write more of the story because I was so invested... lol ANYWAY
Awkward first time. I know a lot of writers do these scenes perfectly. Everyone is satisfied, and everything is right and correct, but how about no
I just wanna see smth a little more realistic, not fleshed out "Yeah we know everything," but both of them find out what they like and don't like, doing smth incorrectly and awkward
First Experiences
AFAB! Reader x Scaramouche OR Wanderer
CW: Smut, first time, virginity loss, first experiences with intimacy, Scara is called Kuni, a little awkward but soft, Kuni is whipped for Reader, Can be read as either Scara OR Wan
Both of you have been dancing around this topic in fear of doing something wrong and he's tired of it.
A/N: I hope I did this justice... I tried to think of a few things that might not go smoothly at first try.
I'm flattered that you like my works so much you that you dream about them!
You didn't specify if this was for Kabuki, Scara or Wan so I kinda just wrote it so it can be read as either or... might be leaning a little towards Wan though.
Not proofread.
Despite living such a long life Kuni isn't exactly experienced in intimacy.
He simply had no interest in it, even thought of it as stupid considering it involves a certain vulnerability and trust he wasn't ready to show anyone.
Until you came along and slowly unraveled him, worming yourself into his feelings with no trouble whatsoever.
No matter how much he tries he can't deny himself these tiny pleasures.
A kiss here and there, a hug, holding hands, indulging in the small acts he's denied himself, no one else gets the privilege of seeing him this soft.
His affection is clumsy, his knowledge on any sort of lovey dovey couple basics is close to zero.
It takes a few attempts until he properly finds your lips, even if it's just a little peck, takes a while to be comfortable showing love in public.
So is it really a surprise he's super unsure when things get more serious?
Caresses start to linger longer, get more frequent, even sneak into teasing behavior the longer he considers himself yours.
Perhaps he's scared or maybe he's just treading unfamiliar territory.
Despite his obvious beauty the thought alone of being bare in front of the person that owns his non-existent heart for the first time feels odd.
The topic of intercourse is one you both have been dodging, too afraid to mess up and somehow upset the other.
An irrational fear and yet you can't help yourself, shying away from when anything even gets near that forbidden subject.
Tonight however Kuni feels particularly bold, pulling you into his lap instead of letting you lay next to him in the bed.
Constantly dancing around this issue is tiring, especially when he actually wants to be this close and connected with you.
Screw the awkward avoidance, this stupid panic of somehow disgusting the other and abandonment, he won't let it get in the way of what he craves any longer.
But actually having you sitting on his thighs now, warm and soft has him basically malfunctioning, hands frozen your hips as he stares at your blushing face.
Neither of you has any idea how to actually initiate anything.
You two stay like that for a solid minute, just looking at each other completely lost before you scoot a little closer, breath mixing with his.
In truth you're sick of letting your insecurities stop you from getting what you want as well.
Carefully you press your mouth to his, gentle, barely a brush but it's enough to snap him out of whatever trance took hold of him.
Confidence returns, striking him like a lightning bolt, causing him to lean in more, deepening the kiss.
Fingers automatically find their way into his hair, trailing from the back of his head all the way down to his nape where his electro symbol permanently marks him.
A shiver runs through him at the contact, it has always been incredibly sensitive to any kind of stimulation.
It's pleasant, a nice sensation, like a massage after a long day, no surprise you feel his cock start to twitch below you.
Egged on by the obvious positive reaction you keep tracing it, nails drawing light lines across, enjoying how he trembles in your grip.
Still as much as he likes it it quickly gets too much, too overstimulating when you rub over it again and again.
Shaking his head he grabs your wrist, stopping you mid motion before it gets too sore.
Flustered you try to recoil, obviously embarrassed you already did something he didn't like but his grip tightens slightly, keeping you in place.
Instead of letting you pull away he entwines your hand with his, a silent way of telling you that it's okay, he's not upset or angry.
Pushing you backwards, onto the mattress on your back he crawls above you, slotting himself between your legs, trying to hide how unsteady he is propped up by his arms.
Immediately the distance between you two shrinks, he can’t stand to be away from you and your heat right now, chest against chest.
Your heartbeat is steady but fast, fluttering nervously like a restless bird and he can’t deny he loves feeling it, reassurance that you’re very much alive and just as affected as him.
Unhurried palms drag up your sides, all the way up to your ribcage, the fabric of your top bunching around your waist, exposing some of your skin.
His member presses right against your cunt through layers of clothing, his hips rutting against you on instinct without any real thought behind it, grinding without any real consistent rhythm.
If he could he’d always stay like this, all his senses are filled with you, content.
Peeling away your bottoms with anxious movements he takes in the sight of you showing this much of your natural grace, his gaze soft, searching for any sign of distress or discomfort.
When he doesn’t find any he hooks his digits through the waistband of your panties, hesitating, chewing on his lower lip, suddenly unsure of himself.
Yet when he sees you wiggling to get out of them, the underwear soaked from his dick prodding against you, he quickly rids you of them, your pussy now visible in all its glory.
For a moment he’s absolutely hypnotized, blessed by the sight, relishing in the trust you show him even as you cover your face in shame.
The second his his thumb makes contact with your folds though you jolt, thighs clenching together on instinct.
He’s absolutely fascinated by your wetness, feeling around, exploring with the single goal of making this as blissful as possible for you.
It’s not that he’s completely unaware of anatomy but to his dismay he’s having quite the trouble finding your clit, a little lost now that he actually has you in his grasp.
Try as he might he misses it, barely but still only grazes it at most, it’s frustrating him more than it is you.
Deciding to help him out you reach down and guide him to the sensitive bundle of nerves, a gasp leaving your throat once he actually applies the tiniest bit of pressure on it, squirming under him.
You look so good he could watch you writher all day and not get bored but his cock is so painfully hard at this point that he can’t wait any longer.
In the blink of an eye his shorts are gone, too inpatient now as he lines himself up with your quivering hole, poking and testing until he finds the right position.
Desperation and want takes over his mind, he slams inside with a single thrust, only realizing when he hears your chocked shriek.
Stilling he instantly regrets his mindless actions, he can’t stand the fact he might have gotten too carried away and might have accidentally hurt you in such a vulnerable state, the one person he swore to never ever cause pain.
Kuni is about to remove himself and tend to you but you wrap your legs around him, locking him in, it’s clear you don’t want to stop.
“Slower...” Such a tiny whisper that carries so much in it, so powerful and heavy with need, you refuse to let a few mistakes ruin this night.
With unbelievable care he embraces you in his arms, face buried in your shoulder, tiny smooches pressed against it as silent apologies, he can’t undo what just transpired but he can soothe you and learn from this.
Letting you adjust he starts a relaxed pace, making sure you’re fine, thumb still drawing circles on your nub, bolts of pleasure shooting up your spine.
Back and forth, rocking in and out repeatedly he listens to your voice, moans and whimpers starting to spill from you, it shows him he’s doing somewhat of a good job.
Bottoming out his tip glides smoothly against your inner walls over and over, dragging deliciously against them.
However no matter how much he tries to hold it together, the combination of months of yearning and your hot insides around him has his poor untouched body on the edge very quickly.
Unused to this kind of sensation he shudders, he just can’t last long, can’t keep himself from already cumming, sheathed in your cunt his seed floods deep, mortified by his early release, you just feel way better than he could have ever imagined.
Instead of getting mad or disappointed you stroke his strands, fully expecting this to now be over, not that you’d complain, this felt good after all.
That won’t do in his eyes though, as unexperienced as he is he won’t leave you hanging like this just because he couldn’t control himself.
Imagine your shock when his fingers don’t pause on your clit, his other hand making its way up to your breast.
He’ll get that orgasm out of you, one way or another.
The jester's quarters is usually shrouded in a heavy, suffocating silence, reserved for the grim reality of planning a war against the divine. The maps spread across his enormous oak desk are stained with the ink of fallen nations, and the air always carries the faint, ancient scent of ash and dried parchment.
But then there is you. And the soft, mechanical click of a kamera lens shifting into focus.
When you first asked him to buy you a kamera, he didn't think much of it; you always had a habit of staring at scenery for far too long, or of saying out loud how beautiful something in your line of sight was, so naturally he assumed a kamera request was to capture such sights. Pierro never thought that the real reason behind the request was simply to capture him.
Of course, you always took pictures of beautiful sights, but more often than not, when Pierro was around, the first thing he could hear was the soft click of your kamera towards him.
At first, it caught him off guard.
Click.
He was reading reports.
Click.
He was overlooking troop deployments across Snezhnaya.
Click.
He was quietly watching the snow fall beyond the palace windows.
Every time he heard that familiar shutter, he expected you to be photographing something behind him.
Instead...
The lens was always pointed directly at him.
...click
Pierro doesn’t move immediately. He keeps his gaze fixed on a pile of documents, his gloved hand hovering inches over a document. A deep sigh comes out before he even looks up.
"Again...?" He asks before another sound invades the room.
...click
"...Is there something amusing about my paperwork?" Pierro's tone deceptively flat.
"Nope." you reply easily.
"...Then?".
"You look pretty... even when you're so focused like this."
"..."
Silence.
Not uncomfortable.
Merely thoughtful.
There was something in the way you said 'pretty' that awoke an amused feeling in Pierro; he never thought someone would use such word about him so matter-of-factly.
Maybe it was that amusement that made him allow you to take pictures of him in the first place. Although Pierro had set a rule about taking pictures while he was working, just in case your clumsy hands might lose the camera and it may fall into the wrong hands, but besides that, he truly never minded how many photos you took of him. How could he deny your happiness?
Having someone look at him through a lens just to find something beautiful to preserve is the only warmth he has left.
CAPITANO
The first time it happened, Capitano assumed it was an accident.
The quiet click echoed through the camp. He turned his helmet slightly toward you, waiting for an explanation.
You simply lowered the kamera with a smile.
"...Apologies," you said, though your expression suggested you were not sorry in the slightest. "The light looked nice."
He gave a single nod.
"I see."
That was all.
Or at least, that was what he thought.
Capitano is not a vain man.
Praise means little to him.
Admiration even less.
His entire life has been devoted to duty, to honor, to protecting others before himself. He neither seeks attention nor enjoys standing at its center. If anything, he prefers remaining unnoticed, his face forever hidden behind cold steel.
Which is exactly why your fascination confuses him.
One evening, after hearing the familiar click for what must have been the seventh time in the span of an hour, he finally speaks.
"...May I ask something?"
"Of course."
"You possess hundreds of photographs."
You nod.
"I do."
"...Then why continue taking more?"
You blink as though the answer is obvious.
"Because they're all different."
"...Different."
"You're never doing the exact same thing."
You begin scrolling through the kamera.
"Look."
You move beside him, showing him the tiny photographs.
"This one's when you were talking to Ororon."
"..."
"This one's after Sandrone's tea party."
"..."
Capitano studies the images in silence.
None of them are grand.
None are carefully posed.
They are simply... moments.
Small things.
Things he himself would never notice.
"I still don't get why I am the solemn center of each photo..."
"Because i love you." You simply said. "Isn't normal to take pictures of one's true love because they're the most important thing in someone's life?"
You made a small pause.
"Besides i like the idea of preserving your memory with photos... just in case."
Capitano's shoulders become strangely still.
"I see."
From then on, he never asks you to stop.
Sometimes, while you're fumbling with your Kamera, he'll patiently wait before walking away.
"...Finished?"
"Almost."
"...Take your time."
DOTTORE
He notices long before you realize he has.
"You've photographed me forty-three times this week." His voice suddenly interrupted.
You nearly drop the kamera.
"...You counted?"
"I remember." He quickly answered, his gaze hovering over you for a moment.
"...Curious."
"What is?"
"You never photograph my laboratory."
"You never photograph my work."
"You photograph..."
"...Me."
He gestures toward himself.
You simply shrug.
"I like you."
He pauses.
Not dramatically. Not visibly. But something in his focus sharpens.
"Can you repeat that?"
"I like you, is it a crime to photograph something i like?"
He studies your face with unmistakable curiosity.
"...Fascinating."
Rather than discouraging you, he begins doing small things in return, he'll deliberately lean against his desk while reading, knowing the angle of light will change, knowing it will alter how he appears in your frame.
He'll remove his gloves before writing notes, slower than necessary, as if testing whether you notice the difference.
He'll pause in the middle of speaking, just long enough for you to react, as if waiting for the exact moment your finger tightens on the shutter.
Click.
"...As expected."
"You did that on purpose."
"I wished to confirm a hypothesis."
"...You posed."
"...If that is your preferred terminology."
It even surprises him how much he enjoys it.
Not the attention itself, but the fact that its you giving it. That distinction becomes important to him in a way he doesn’t fully articulate, though it lingers in the way he allows himself to be seen a little more often than before, he's is not someone who cares for vanity, nor for how he appears in a frame. And yet, the knowledge that you choose to capture him out of everything in your world truly fascinates him.
He's even looking forward to seeing the results.
"May I see today's collection?"
COLUMBINA
You never really hid the fact that you took pictures of her, in fact you were quite obvious, despite that, she never really said anything, sometimes you wondered if Columbina was even aware that the subjects of the pictures you took was her despite how obvious it was. Of course, Columbina wasn't dumb.
...click
Today she slowly turned her head, as if the light itself has gently called her attention, not startled but curious, her movements are soft, unhurried, almost dreamlike.
"Are you taking a picture of me again?"
"Mhm."
"May I see?"
You hand her the kamera without hesitation.
She looks through every photo with quiet curiosity, her expression unreadable but not unkind. She lingers on some longer than others, tilting her head slightly as if listening to something only she can hear within the images themselves.
"..."
"...You always photograph me when I'm singing."
"I think you look happiest then."
She tilts her head further, almost childlike in her curiosity.
"...Do I?"
"You do."
A gentle smile appeared on her, soft and distant like moonlight on still water, beautiful, at least you saw it that way. Very dramatic that is true but, Columbina's beauty was truly the best thing you could've captured.
At least that's what you tell everyone.
"...Then keep taking them."
"Even if I take a lot?"
"Especially then."
Sometimes she'll quietly wander over while you're reviewing the pictures, footsteps almost silent, as if she’s afraid to disturb the moment even though she’s already part of it.
Without asking, she'll lean her head against your shoulder, watching the screen as if sharing the same memory, breathing in the same quiet.
"...I like seeing myself through your eyes." She said suddenly.
You blinked.
"You say that like it's strange."
"Is it?"
She blinks slowly.
"I think it's nice."
She never thinks your habit is strange.
If anything...
She finds it sweet that someone would treasure even the smallest, quietest fragments of her existence.
"You know..." Columbina suddenly whispered.
"hm?"
"I think i would like it if you were in the photos with me too, we can't let your beauty go to waste."
Your shoulder stiffened slightly, your gaze flicked away as your cheeks burned slightly.
"Don't say things like that so suddenly youー"
click
"huh-"
"hehe now i have a picture of you too, all flustered ( ◜‿◝ )♡"
ARLECCHINO
You never hid the fact that you took pictures of Arlecchino either, and it wasn't like you could hide anything from her regardless. It had never bothered her this small habit of yours, however she did set a clear rule.
"The House is off limits."
You nod immediately.
"No operations."
"No confidential meetings."
"No children unless they're not doing something important and have clearly stated properly that they're comfortable with pictures being taken."
"I understand."
Her rules are absolute, and you respect them without hesitation, its not like they don't make sense.
Outside of work...
She has no objections.
She's reading in the lounge.
Click.
"..."
She doesn’t look up.
Making coffee in the early morning light.
Click.
"...You’re persistent."
Fixing a loose button on her coat before stepping out.
Click.
"...I can hear you, you know."
"I know."
One evening she catches you scrolling through thousands of photos, her presence silent behind you. You don’t even notice her until she speaks.
"...You kept this one?"
She points toward an image taken after a long mission.
Her hair is slightly messy.
She looks exhausted.
Human, in a way few ever see her.
"You look very handsome when you're exhausted." You reply honestly.
Silence stretches between you for a few seconds.
A very faint, incredibly rare smile tugs at the corner of her strict lips. She lets out a quiet, fond sigh, shaking her head.
She leans slightly closer, just enough to see the screen better.
"You document everything."
A pause.
"Even moments I would consider... unnecessary."
Her eyes narrow slightly, but not in displeasure. More like she’s trying to understand the logic behind it.
"I like seeing you even in your most unflattering moments."
"As romantic as that is, I don't think anyone appreciates a bad photo."
She straightens, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she reaches out and gently tilts your kamera down, not stopping you, just adjusting your angle with precise, practiced care.
"If you insist on doing this..."
Her thumb brushes the edge of the device.
"...then at least do it properly."
SCARAMOUCHE
Scaramouche at first finds the whole thing annoying, as much as he loves you it is truly persistent how you keep trying to capture every single moment of him.
"Put that useless piece of junk away before I shatter it into a million pieces. I am not joking."
"No."
"..."
He walks toward you.
You instinctively hug the kamera closer. He just stops close enough that it feels like he could take it if he wanted to... and he did.
He snatches it with effortless speed.
"Hey—!"
You expect him to delete the pictures immediately.
Instead...
He stares at it.
"..."
The silence stretches longer than it should, his eyes narrow slightly, his thumb hovers over the device, not quite pressing anything. For a moment, he looks almost irritated at the idea that something so small has managed to capture him so easily.
He tilts the kamera slightly, and the screen reflects faintly in his eyes.
"You really think this is worth keeping?"
"Yeah." You reply quickly.
That single word makes him pause.
Not visibly.
Not dramatically.
He scrolls slowly and reluctantly
And then stops.
It’s a picture of him when he thought no one was looking—standing alone, wind brushing through his hair. Just... quiet.
"..."
He clicks to the next image.
Another.
Then another.
Each one makes his expression shift in the smallest, barely there, but still there way.
And yet he keeps going.
"...Why do you even take so many?"
He looks at you.
Really looks.
Then he immediately hands the kamera back.
He turns his head away as if that ends the conversation, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fully leave. He clicks his tongue once, like he’s trying to erase the entire interaction from memory.
He complains every single time.
He rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, calls you ridiculous, insufferable, and worse, but never actually stops you. He just stands there enduring it like it’s a personal inconvenience he refuses to admit he tolerates, like your presence has become an irritation he’s quietly accustomed to.
Yet...
After complaining so much, now whenever an entire day passes without hearing the shutter—
"...You've been quiet."
"Hm?"
"...No pictures today?"
You smiled mockingly.
"Aww do you miss the attention?"
"...Don't misunderstand."
He crosses his arms, looking away, voice sharpening as if to cover something else.
"...It's simply strange."
A pause.
"...Annoying, even."
But he doesn't leave the room right away.
SANDRONE
When you first asked Sandrone for a kamera she expected for you to document the tea parties she hosts, after all it's probably one of the only beautiful and peaceful moments that she has and she takes good care of making everything nice and sets a beautiful table presentation.
So when she finished setting everything every time she didn't expect for the kamera to always point at her.
At first, she assumes it is a mistake.
"...You are not photographing the table?"
Her voice is flat, but there is a faint pause at the end—like she is genuinely trying to understand.
You lower the kamera just a little, still smiling at her.
"I am. But you’re part of it."
She blinks once.
She thought it was just a one-time thing.
But then it happens again.
And again.
Every tea party, every carefully arranged afternoon, every moment she designs for “peace” ends up with your attention drifting away from the porcelain or mechanics and toward her instead.
"...You are doing it again."
"I know."
A pause.
"...I wanted to."
"...Why."
"Because you look cute."
There is a pause.
A long one.
Her fingers tighten slightly around her teacup.
"...That is not a sufficient reason."
But her voice is quieter than before.
And she still doesn’t tell you to stop.
The next time, she prepares more carefully.
The table is even more precise than usual. The lighting is adjusted. Everything is arranged like a display meant to be observed from a distance.
She sits down.
"...This time, focus on the table."
"Mm-hm."
You say it too easily.
Suspiciously easily.
She narrows her eyes slightly.
And then—
Click.
"..."
She doesn’t look up.
She just lets a long sigh out.
It was her again.
Of course it was.
"You are not listening."
"I am."
"You are not."
"I am listening and taking pictures."
"You should be listening and then taking the pictures."
"It works for me this way."
click
She knows she can't change your mind about the pictures you take, and deep inside she probably would be sad if she ever managed for you to actually stop taking pictures of her.
But she won't ever say that out loud of course.
SIGNORA
There are very few things Signora considers worth preserving.
Power fades. Beauty withers. Nations rise only to collapse beneath time's heel. Even people are fleeting; she learned that lesson five hundred years ago when Rostam died and Rosalyne died alongside him, leaving only the Crimson Witch... and later, the Eighth Harbinger. Every attachment she has ever treasured has ended in ashes.
So when she realizes that you are trying to preserve her...
She doesn't understand it.
At first, she assumes it's infatuation, the kind that fades.
She has seen nobles obsess over appearances. Diplomats flatter beautiful women. Admirers become bored after a season.
She expects the same from you.
After all there's no denying that she's a beauty, even she knows that. She expects admiration.
The familiar click of the kamera echoes through the hallway of the Zapolyarny Palace.
She doesn't even bother turning around.
"You've photographed me three times since breakfast."
Click.
"...Four." You grin shamelessly. "You looked pretty."
"..."
A faint sigh leaves her lips.
"You have remarkably low standards."
"You are my standards."
"..."
For a second, only a second, you catch the slightest pause in her stride before she continues walking as if nothing happened.
You photograph her while she's reading, while she's silently drinking tea, while she's staring through palace windows during snowfall, while she's half-asleep on the couch after returning from an exhausting mission, the glamorous moments, the ordinary moments.
The moments no one else is ever allowed to witness.
That confuses her more than any compliment ever could.
"...Why?"
You lower the kamera.
"What do you mean?"
"Why preserve... these moments?"
She gestures vaguely toward herself.
"I am not attending a banquet." She says."I'm hardly dressed for court, there's nothing impressive happening."
"...Because it's you."
"..."
"I don't need a special occasion."
"..."
"...I wanted to remember how peaceful you looked."
She looks away before you can notice the tiny crack in her carefully maintained composure.
People think Signora is vain.
She certainly enjoys elegance.
She carries herself with impossible grace, expects refinement, and refuses to tolerate sloppiness.
But beneath that polished surface is someone who once loved so deeply that grief transformed her into living flame. Someone whose memories of happiness became buried beneath centuries of pain and duty.
Your photographs begin reminding her of something she thought impossible.
Being remembered.
Not as "The Fair Lady."
Not as "The Eighth Harbinger."
Not as the Crimson Witch.
Just... Rosalyne.
Even if neither of you says the name aloud.
PANTALONE
To the Regrator, everything in existence has a price tag, a net worth, and a calculated return on investment. Relationships are usually no different. But when it comes to you and your constant photography, he becomes endlessly amused by your habit.
Whenever he catches you aiming the Kamera.
"Would this side be better?"
"...You're posing."
"I'm investing in quality." He smiles. "Am I providing adequate material for your collection today, my dear?"
He enjoys teasing you far too much, adjusting his posture just slightly every time you hesitate, as if the entire world is simply another negotiation to be refined into something more profitable, more perfect, more you-approved
If you gasp because he looked particularly handsome in one picture...
"Oh?"
"That expression."
"You liked that one."
"I—"
"You did."
He never lets you finish your denial, smiling likes there’s something quietly satisfied in the way he watches you react.
Eventually your old kamera starts struggling under the weight of constant use, worn down by how often it’s used to capture him in every possible light, every angle, every expression.
"A muse of my stature deserves only the finest tools for their craft. The resolution on that standard-issue Snezhnayan model is quite tragic."
You blink, lowering the kamera.
"It works just fine, Pantalone, is just a bit worn down."
He simply chuckles. "Nonsense. Only the best for the one documenting my legacy."
And without a word, it disappears.
The following morning, a beautiful new one rests on your desk, polished and far more advanced than anything you owned before.
"...You bought me this?"
"It captures finer details."
"You didn't have to."
"I know." Pantalone spoke with a pause. "...I wanted to."
he becomes your most cooperative model. He will literally pause high-stakes financial meetings with foreign dignitaries the moment you walk into the room, raising a hand to silence a trembling merchant just so you can get a clear photo of him looking imposing.
"One moment," Pantalone will tell the terrified merchant, completely ignoring the man's panic as he turns his most charming, radiant smile toward your lens. "My partner requires a portrait from my good side. Pray ensure you don't catch the glare on my rings, darling."
CHILDE
Taking pictures of Childe was the worst habit you could have possibly developed. Not because he hated it, the exact opposite.
He enjoyed it far, far too much.
The first few times, it was innocent enough. You'd catch him laughing after a fight, completely focused while cleaning one of his weapons, doing anything really. You'd quietly pull out your kamera, snap a photo, and he'd only glance over with that familiar fox-like grin.
"You taking pictures of me?"
"...Maybe."
"At least get my good side, baby."
That should've been your warning.
Because the moment Childe realized you genuinely loved taking pictures of him...of him, not because he was the Eleventh Harbinger, not because he was famous, but because you simply liked watching him exist...
he made it everybody's problem.
"Look at this picture my baby took of me!"
"So fucking stubborn aren't ya? haa, i guess once my baby sees me they'll have to take a bloody picture of me."
"Oh, this? My partner took this, aren't they talented?"
Every time he notices the kamera...
"Wait!"
He strikes an exaggerated pose mid-step, almost too fast for you to react.
"No, no, this angle!"
He shifts dramatically, turning his chin like he’s on a stage, eyes bright with anticipation as if the world itself is an audience.
"Oh! Get one while I'm sparring!"
He’s already halfway into a stance, energy coiling through him like a spring.
"Now! Before I move!"
Click.
His grin widens immediately.
"Oh! One more!"
And then another.
And another.
You end up with hundreds of dramatic photos of him mid-action, mid-laugh, mid-everything he possibly can turn into a performance. He treats your camera like an audience he never wants to disappoint, always trying to outdo the last version of himself you captured, as if each picture is a challenge he intends to win.
And somehow, he never runs out of energy for it. Even when he’s clearly been training for hours, even when sweat clings to his hair and his breathing is just slightly heavier than usual, even when he's bloody and on high, he still finds a way to turn it into something theatrical
"Alright, We're taking a double portrait," he declares, snatching the kamera right out of your hands and holding it up at arm's length.
"Smile!"
He spends the next ten minutes dragging you into a dozen messy, laughing selfies, some blurry, some with him kissing your cheek, and others where he's making a ridiculous face.
"We're sending the best one to Teucer," he says proudly, carefully slipping the kamera back into your coat pocket before planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "Gotta show the kids back home that their big brother found the best photographer in Teyvat."
