Tags: All LCB Sinners (separate) x reader, fluff, some of these are more ooc than others
a/n: It's so clear that I know how to write like 3 of these guys sorry lol (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
Yi Sang
Very insistent on you taking the bed for yourself
Less of an embarrassment thing for him, more of a "I could never let someone else suffer when I could bear the consequences myself" type thing
However, if you insisted or made it clear that you'd feel uncomfortable being the only one on the bed, then he'd be more than willing to join you
Not a massive cuddler, but would end up curling against you
Would probably find your presence rather comforting, and would end up sleeping well for once
He'll probably ask you to do this again LK;DJSLJATILAJTIJELIJTIOL;J
Faust
Starts spouting some nonsense about how she is a superior being and that she doesn't need sleep
In reality her abundance of mirror world selves has not prepared her for this
Will not join you, no matter how much you fuss
Would only be willing if she REALLY liked you or you were great at emotionally manipulating her
Even if she didn't join you at the start though, she'd probably find herself joining you in the bed some time late at night
I feel like she'd intertwine her fingers with yours before sleeping
Don Quixote
Does! Not! Care!!!!!
Probably really excited about having a sleepover with you
There will most likely be a pillow fight, even if it's just you two throwing one singular pillow at each other
However those shoes are not leaving her feet sooo… good luck
Moves a lot in her sleep, will most likely end up with her arm on your face and her leg over your body
She's oh so sweet though so you can't truly get mad
Ryoshu
Congratulations on getting the chance to sleep on the floor
Share the bed? I.Y.D.
Call me a hater, I just can't see anything else from what I've seen of her so far (Canto 5)
Maybe. MAYBE if she really liked you then she'd let you in the bed
But she would probably cuddle with her sword over you
Meursault
He is similar to Faust in the sense that he is also saying a bunch of nonsense, but his speech boils down to "both of you need good sleep so you should share the bed"
Will not converse with you in the slightest, will simply tell you to sleep
Falls asleep at 10 pm flat and then becomes a rock until 6 am
If he likes you though, you may sense the slightest shift of his body towards your direction
Subtle to the point that you'd think you're imagining things
Hong Lu
Another person that I think would be fine with it
However him and his rich boy tendencies will make him take up most of the bed
I feel like his actions would change drastically depending on how he felt about you
If he felt neutral or mainly platonic, then I feel like he'd just end up intertwining limbs with you as he hogged most of the bed
But if he liked you, he'd be a bit more sly, taking the opportunity to cuddle with you
His hair would be oh so soft… but you would most likely end up somehow wrapped up inside of it by the time morning comes
Also if you couldn't sleep then you two would do skincare together
Heathcliff
He's fairly chill about it
I don't see him flipping out about it, but he's not super excited either
But if he likes you? Oh, then that's a different story
Desperately trying to keep his cool and seem impressive while in reality he's just kind of flailing around
If any of his actions make you laugh, he won't know if to feel happy or offended
Will take him a while to fall asleep, but once he does he'll end up holding you in his arms
Ishmael
Now this is the one person that I think has a truly normal reaction
She really just is chill with it regardless
She usually leaves her hair out when she sleeps, but she'd be willing to braid it for your comfort
If you offer to do it for her, she'll act normal but feel really happy about it
Ends up slightly curling up against you, absorbing your warmth
Probably the best sleep she's had in a while
Rodya
She's pretty happy about this arrangement
She gets to spend time with you and get some extra warmth? Win win
Will no doubt pull out a deck of cards from who knows where and play a couple of rounds with you
She's willing to lose a few games, but she will make sure she's the winner overall
Will most likely end up bear hugging you to sleep
Sinclair
He is so freaking nervous he thinks he's going to combust into flames
Offers several times to sleep on the floor, half for your sake and half for his
He's so nervous that he can't even remember how he normally acts
If he likes you and Ryoshu knows about it, then he might recite some of her horrible advice in his head just to keep his cool
Will not sleep a single minute that night, but will be very very giddy in the morning
Outis
Not delighted by this circumstance, but she'll make it work
From what I've seen, Outis doesn't really like being vulnerable, and this situation is just about as vulnerable as it could get
Starts rattling on about how you two cannot cause any issues to the Executive Manager, and therefore you must both get adequate rest
In other words, she wants to share the bed
Falls asleep in 5 minutes flat, and probably ends up slightly curling up against you
Will fully deny all allegations in the morning though
Gregor
Not a fan of this arrangement in the slightest
It's not about you at all, rather it's about him and his arm
Will refuse to share the bed with you, saying that he'll sleep on the floor and that's final
Above anything he could want, he doesn't want to hurt you
Will talk with you about whatever you want until you fall asleep
He might watch you for a bit during the night, wondering about what could've been if he wasn't a monster
i'm trully sorry about deleting previous chapter and making a confusion! i decided to re-plan the story. you can skip first part of it and read only second, if you read the first version of it!!
warnings: obssesive behaviour, sexual content
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chapter one: control yourself
before nordkrai
His earliest memory was his mother's tender eyes and the gentle smile on her pale face as she held him in her arms as though he were the most fragile creature she had ever handled.
For as long as he could remember, his mother had always treated him with the kind of immense love that only a woman who had always dreamed of motherhood could possess. His mother was a good woman. Devout, praying daily to Barbatos, never forcing him to do the same. She always looked at her husband with such devotion that Lohen — a spoiled and beloved son of his dear parents — wondered: why did they behave as though their only heir was not gravely ill?
Lohen knew that his mother had known from the very first moment he was born. She knew that Lohen carried something monstrous within him, something inhuman, something beyond all comprehension. But she never, ever addressed it, and never once in his entire life had he caught his parents asking their beloved anemo archon: what sin have we committed, that our long-awaited child is tainted by the abyss? Is this punishment for the sins of the Imunlaukr clan? Are we still paying the price for the blood of the princess and her people, whom our ancestor failed to save despite his oath?
Lohen, of course, did not know for many years that someone called Imunlaukr had ever existed at all. He knew it was his surname; he knew that his father's clan had once been one of the most respected and noble families in Mondstadt. He also knew that a certain fate hung over their family — a “blood curse” — which stirred a lust for killing in every heir from the youngest age. A rage that never died, even centuries after Imunlaukr's death, haunted them without end.
His mother wasn't even shaken the evening she ran out searching for her seven-year-old son and found him in the middle of the forest, with wolves dead all around him. She knelt before him, took him by the hands, and scolded him for leaving the house without permission — entirely as though he had not cold-bloodedly slaughtered an entire pack with nothing but a kitchen knife. She said then: "As punishment, you'll clean your room."
The abyssal voice in his head replied: "Anything but that."
And Lohen, with a boyish smile, wiped his tears and hugged her, saying: "Alright."
Perhaps his father was the closest anyone had ever come to breaking that cruel fate, for his wife — despite being well past forty — was still alive. All the wives and lovers of the Imunlaukr heirs had died young. A punishment that even the eldest daughters had to bear; all heirs, regardless of gender or whom they loved, had ultimately to face the cruel reckoning of losing the person most dear to them.
Lohen's father believed he had shielded his wife from everything. How many times she had stood at death's door had turned his hair white very early, yet he had almost accomplished the impossible. He had almost washed away Imunlaukr's sin. He had almost protected the woman of his life.
But then she fell ill with elzear and was condemned to a slow decay before her husband's eyes. And so, for years, Lohen had wondered — being so far from home — whether he would feel a chill of awareness when that day finally came.
Lohen left home to begin his wandering at the age of fourteen. His mother was already ill by then, but she did not hold him back — because she knew perfectly well that the day Lohen set out to discover the truth of his identity would come.
She had always known that some part of the abyss — to which she may have sold her soul when, curled on the floor after yet another miscarriage, she had begged anyone at all to hear her wish. If Barbatos had not listened to her prayers for all those years, perhaps some other god would.
Nothing happened. No one appeared to her. She felt nothing suspicious in her body. But ten months later she gave birth to a healthy son, and the moment she looked into his eyes, she already knew. It never made her love him less or fear him — she adored his eyes, so like his father, and felt an enormous surge of pride as, with the passing years, he looked exactly like her male version.
Perhaps that was what kept Lohen from… losing his mind. Had he not been spoiled and quietly accepted by his parents, perhaps the demon — or whatever it was — would not have been obedient for so long, as long as Lohen entertained it with murderous combat. That did not change the fact that he wished to be rid of it, and it was for that reason he had abandoned his comfortable life.
"Are you seriously stupid enough to turn down pocket money? Am I supposed to sleep in barns like some fucking beggar?" asked his infuriating twin — for that was how Lohen had thought of him: as an unwanted younger sibling.
Lohen smiled in response and began his journey as an adventurer, intent on finding someone willing to perform a late-term abortion on his brother.
His first stop was the capital of Mondstadt — for though it was his homeland and he had spent his entire life there, he had never had the chance to visit it. Not that his parents kept him under glass, but… being part of an ostracized clan was not the easiest thing. What gave them away were their eyes, which made it difficult to return to live in a religious society that had already branded them heretics.
The first person to take an interest in Lohen was a librarian so beautiful that he was somewhat flustered when he spoke a question to her.
"Careful — she'll cast a spell on you," laughed the second voice. "She's a witch, and witches feed on children's blood. You know, like that one story mama used to tell us — the one about the siblings who got lost in the forest, stumbled upon a sweet little cottage and an even sweeter old granny who was going to give them treats. But instead she baked them without mercy!" he added, excited. "Shame mama wanted to frighten us with it. I really thought we'd find that cottage and get revenge on our classmates," he sighed.
The librarian thought for a moment, shaking her head with disapproval.
"Sweet boy, I'm so sorry. Nearly all the texts you're looking for were burned in the Great Fire of Fall Equinox," she answered with a sympathetic smile, running her finger across her lips in thought. "However… Some of those books were transcribed in the House of Daena. Have you ever heard of the Akademiya of Sumeru?"
Lohen shook his head.
"I studied there, and it holds the largest collection of knowledge in all of Teyvat. I'm afraid not every book will be available to you — they are accessible only to senior researchers. But, my dear boy, if it matters greatly to you, I could reach out to an old friend of mine," she smiled at him, and Lohen, flustered by her knowledge, charisma, and sheer presence, shyly glanced away.
"Thank you. I think I can manage on my own. I'll go there at once," he answered pleasantly. The librarian frowned.
"Something is troubling you, isn't it?" she asked carefully. “Something inside—”
Lohen froze, and his hands began to tremble. The dangerous, mistrustful flash in his eye did not escape the notice of the well-read sorceress.
"No. I'm simply curious. I'll be going now," he muttered and made for the exit, but the woman caught him by the arm. The young man spun sharply, and his furious gaze struck her like a thunderbolt. She was not frightened; instead she studied the shift in his behavior with careful attention.
"I am able to help you—"
"I don't need help."
And he ran. The librarian sighed softly, disappointed that the boy had not trusted her. Though she very much wished to help, she could not force him, and so with a slight frown of worry she returned to her desk and continued her research.
Lohen ran with all his might until he found himself at the cathedral doors. He needed to calm down. The woman had unknowingly provoked that idiot who — worst of all — was not even remotely afraid of what the future held and was downright excited by the prospect of Lohen finding a way to be rid of him. He simply hated nosy people, and that was why he had reacted that way. It was his own business what lived in his head, wasn't it?
He stepped into the cathedral hesitantly. At once he felt the familiar sense of abandonment that had haunted him for years. If Barbatos truly cared for the children of Mondstadt, why had he never freed him from his curse? Why had he never answered his prayers?
He had meant to sit in a pew when, venturing deeper inside, he heard quiet sobbing and an indistinct conversation.
"I will pray for you," he heard a man's voice, and spotted a man dressed in church vestments, his back to Lohen. Before him stood a girl about Lohen's age. "I promise I won't say a word to Varka, but please — think this decision over, will you?"
"Can we leave? Crybaby’s annoy me."
Not wishing to intrude, Lohen slipped out of the cathedral as quietly as he could.
Had he only known that in the future he would encounter that weeping girl several more times — as though invisible threads had always bound them together. But he would not learn her name until years later, convinced that their later meeting was their first.
Several years passed since Lohen had become an adventurer, and he spent years that time in unceasing combat and the pursuit of knowledge, before Varka — on a very dull and ordinary day that nothing had foretold — took him under his wing.
His shadow had grown tired of fighting monsters. It craved human blood — but not just any: someone extraordinarily powerful, someone who could scrub the floor with his body. Lohen was in Liyue at the time and had been hearing rumors about a Grandmaster who was somewhere nearby, fulfilling diplomatic duties. Everyone who spoke his name mentioned his superhuman strength.
And so one night, Lohen crept forward and lunged at him with his spear. Two minutes later he was lying on the ground, and a drunk Varka was laughing uproariously.
"Hey, I know those eyes. Imunlaukr clan, is it? Looking for revenge because Mondstadt cast you out? Fair enough, but that has nothing to do with me," he answered with a grin, straightening his golden mane. "You know, I know a woman who's also taking revenge for the mistakes of her family's past. And she's doing rather well at it — I'm actually planning to make her a captain soon. What do you say to doing the same, and showing all those idiots that you're more than just your name?"
Varka extended his hand.
"Agreed — on the condition that you throw me around like that more often. That was fucking amazing".
Lohen took it.
At sixteen, Lohen joined the Knights of Favonius, and his parents sent him a letter saying they had always known he would achieve great things.
For Lohen, however, success would mean being rid of the parasite in his head. That was why he had undertaken the whole journey in the first place. But though he had read every book he could find — even the forbidden ones — though he had met a very pale woman with dark-ringed golden eyes and witnessed a problem similar to his own, none of it had given him the answer.
He made peace, then, with the fact that the only thing he could do to silence that voice was to throw himself into the heart of battle. Only then did absolute quiet reign in his mind.
A few years passed, Lohen was promoted to vice-captain of the Fifth Campaign, and Varka — with a smile — deemed him worthy of accompanying him on the most important mission of his life.
"What if I don't want to go?" he muttered, irritated.
"You'll find no chaos like the kind that reigns in Nordkrai. Have you ever heard of the Wild Hunt? Lucky are those who survive an encounter with that devilry," Varka answered as though he had heard the voice in his head.
"When do we leave?"
Lohen could not help a slight, exasperated smile, and a few months later he found himself in a place destined to serve his soul the way earplugs serve against noise.
He had not foreseen one thing, however.
That one day that infuriating voice would tell him — after their first meeting with you — that he had been beginning to fear his worse half had no taste.
now, Nordkrai
If Lohen could undo one of his life decisions, he would never have left with Varka's expedition to Nordkrai.
Never before had it happened in his life that he regretted anything. Yet now, looking at you, he wished your fates had never intertwined. He had lived through six months of complete agony and had to endure another six to free himself from you. He knew perfectly well, however, that when your paths finally parted, he would never be the same.
"Would you stop being so fucking sentimental?" asked the voice in his head, clearly irritated. "Could you straighten up? I don’t see her ass clearly."
Lohen sighed heavily, reaching for his mug of beer and drinking it in one gulp. Varka, who had pulled him close by the shoulder, was laughing uproariously at some joke. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you standing with Illug and Flins, listening to their discussion.
The camp, on evenings like these, divided itself into connoisseurs of beer and connoisseurs of vodka. The Lightkeepers shuddered at the weak, bubbly percentages, and the knights immediately winced after a single shot.
Lohen liked to drink from time to time. He didn't drink every time the camp had evenings like these, but today he really needed to unwind. All day, instead of slaying the Wild Hunt, he'd had to train his company, and he was not pleased with their results. Several of the knights had ended up in special training, and then…
… And then they had gone crying to your tent for you to tend their wounds and listen to them complain about him. Their intentions were simple — they were trying to drop hints, hoping you would talk to Lohen about his behavior and put in a good word for them.
He had expected you to be angry. He had expected you to come and chew him out.
But you surprised him once again.
"If I were you, I'd pack your things and go back to Mondstadt," he heard the swish of bandages. "You're incredibly lucky to be in the vice-captain's unit. You can say a lot of bad things about him, but while you were coming back from hunts with minor scratches, he is bleeding out."
"A compliment? That's new," if his other version had control of the body, he would certainly have smiled broadly. "Keep saying that and I'm fucking you tonight, my lady."
Lohen, instead of reacting and eavesdropping on the rest of the conversation, headed in the opposite direction. His heart was beating unimaginably fast, his thoughts racing like mad at the thought of things he wanted to do to you, and his cheeks burned furious red because he could do none of them.
And now he sat there, lost in thought and frustrated, unusually quiet, and Varka had not missed it.
"Lohen, what's wrong?" Varka asked, his tone still joyful. Lohen caught the stench of alcohol trailing from his mouth, and the larger man's arm grew even heavier, as if the litres of beer he was absorbing were increasing his weight.
"Poor thing is sexually frustrated," the voice responded. "It would not happen if he could let me take control."
"Everything's fine," he smiled as charmingly as usual. Varka, however, leaned in with narrowed eyes to read him, but then tilted his mug too far and part of the drink spilled onto Lohen's uniform.
Lohen closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Then he unceremoniously stood up, ignoring Varka's attempts to wipe him down with his own sleeves. He really, really was not in the mood today.
He stepped out of the mess tent and the cool night air hit him in the face. In a split second he noticed you standing with your back to him — Illug and Flins had just finished smoking and had gone back inside. You, however, had stayed outside.
Instantly a smile appeared on his lips and his eyes darkened. He crept up and grabbed you by the ribs, whispering in your ear: "Got you."
You didn't make a sound, but you trembled through your entire body, which he felt perfectly, and an expression of satisfaction spread across his face.
"Vice-captain, enjoying the night?" you asked, your head turning slightly toward him, making eye contact. You furrowed your brow. "You smell like beer."
"Varka spilled beer on me," he pouted and half-closed his eyes.
You immediately tried to break free from his grip, but he chuckled and tightened his hold even further. You groaned in disgust and gave in.
"Easy, easy," he chirped into your ear. "I heard you praising me earlier. I couldn't help myself." He loosened his grip and turned you around to look at your face. His hands dropped slightly lower, still keeping you from escaping.
"I wasn't praising you. I stated a fact," you said plainly, not looking away from his hungry eyes. He let you go and laughed, his posture visibly shifting. "Varka should have been more careful choosing people for the expedition."
Lohen crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head, listening to you with interest.
"But you said they were lucky to have me."
"Imagine how lucky you would be if you had me," the voice oddly sounded more… masochistic than sadistic, as was its habit. Lohen ignored it, too focused on you.
"Because it's unimaginable luck to have someone like you in the unit, Lohen," you shrugged. "You take every hit upon yourself, even those not aimed at you. You act like a living shield," you added, and Lohen raised an eyebrow. "I just haven't figured out yet whether it's because you're protecting your people, or simply because you enjoy it."
"My lady is sharp as ever," the voice chirped.
Lohen smiled.
"Would you like to find out, my lady?" he asked, looking at you with an excited glint in his eye. "Let's spar."
"I don't spar," you replied for the thousandth time. You felt the alcohol you had consumed muddling your head a little, loosening your body rather too much. The thought of driving your weapon into Lohen's arm to his immense satisfaction made you shudder inwardly.
Despite everything, something connected you to Lohen. You just weren't ready to realize it yet.
Lohen whistled, disappointed.
"What a shame," he murmured in a low voice. "You know I wouldn't hurt you, my lady."
"I would."
"I'm afraid that's one-sided."
"Fuck. Tell me more about it."
Lohen felt a pleasant warmth spreading through his chest. God, how he loved when you were this blunt. The tension that had been torturing his body all day slowly began to fade. You influenced his mood with such ease, and it was addictive.
And then he remembered that he was supposed to be keeping his distance from you, for your own safety.
Damn. But how was he supposed to do that, when he had barely blinked and already found himself at your side? He didn't even remember when he had managed to approach you and blamed it all on that damned alcohol.
The closer he was to you, the more aggressively his insides twisted with hunger. More. More, they screamed.
He felt an overwhelming urge to grab you by the wrists in that moment, to feel their pulse, to pull you toward him and sink his teeth into your carotid artery. To hear your pained moan, to see the fear in your eyes, and then the defiant will that would twist within them. Would you scratch him until he bled? Kick him? If he pulled away, would you spit at him to throw him off? If, with fervor in his eyes, he swallowed your saliva, would you call him a fucking freak before he grabbed your hand again? If he pulled you into a kiss, would you bite him and lick his blood from your lips?
Stop, Lohen responded, almost pitifully.
"As I said, it's not my fault that you are sexually frustrated."
Fuck. I will kill myself so I don't have to deal with you anymore, Lohen hissed.
"You know, you could at least wait until you're back in your tent before you start daydreaming," you rolled your eyes. "Your masochistic tendencies are genuinely unsettling sometimes, and I have no intention of indulging them."
Lohen laughed. He had already forgotten his irritation over the spilled beer, which had long since dried on his uniform.
"That's strange. Because last time you didn't even give me any anesthetic when you were stitching my wound," he chirped, leaning gently over you.
You looked away in another direction. You seemed to have nothing to say in your defense, and it was already too late to answer him with sarcasm given your reaction. Your cheeks flushed involuntarily, and Lohen licked his lips at the expression on your face.
"You are stronger than me. If I were in control, I would—"
He clenched his hand into a fist to control the sudden urge to grab you by the chin and pull your face toward him so you would look at him. If he did that, he would go mad. For the past six months he had done very well at stopping his instincts, but lately he had been catching himself at the last moment more and more often.
You would hate him, after all, if you found out how desperately he desired you. It wasn't even just about your body. If it were, perhaps it would have been easier for him to accept the primal urges that… well, over all those years had not often manifested in him. Of course women attracted him, of course he had his own needs, but he had never been frustrated enough to use his charm to sleep with any of them. They all looked at him with fear anyway, which effectively repelled him.
And for some reason, he wanted you to look at him that way too. With terror. He wanted you to back away when he drew near. He wanted you to tremble at his touch. All of this was in enormous contrast to his overwhelming desire to shield you from every evil in the world.
Lohen knew perfectly well that he was that evil. He would never forgive himself if one day his abyssal version were to hurt you.
It was so incredibly foolish of him. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not pull away from you. He could not ignore you. He could not look away. He wanted you to look at him with worried eyes when he stood before you covered in blood. He wanted you to stand between his legs as he sat waiting for you to tend to him. He wanted you to scold him after every mission. He wanted you to pick the thickest needles to drive into his skin, to punish him. He wanted you to feel guilty about it afterward, even though you knew how much he loved you when you did it. He wanted you, after his shitty flirting, to have that irritated expression return to your face.
Lohen wanted you so badly.
He wanted all of you, only for himself — he did not want to share you with his abyssal version. He wanted to hold your hand, to hold you, to kiss you, to make love to you or to fuck you, knowing that he would forever be the only man in your life.
Perhaps that was why it was so hard for him to leave you in peace — because he still held onto that stupid hope that once the abyss disappeared from his body, he would stop thinking about closing his hands around your beautiful throat.
You shook your head in embarrassment.
I could have just said I fucking ran out of anesthetic, you thought, irritated.
"Cat got your tongue?" he chuckled, and you finally looked at him.
"I wish I had her tongue," he sighed.
"I simply fell under your spell and was left speechless," you muttered sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "I'm going to sleep."
"I'll walk you back," he smiled charmingly. "It's dangerous for a lady to walk back alone in the dark."
"Goodnight, vice-captain," you ignored him and walked away. Lohen pouted with displeasure, keenly watching your silhouette, as if something really was about to leap out and attack you.
"Wait — take me with you," he gasped miserably. "Don't leave me alone with him."
Can you shut the fuck up? Lohen responded, now annoyed.
"Never."
And as more evenings like these passed, the inexorable day of your shared mission approached. If only he had known, he truly would have killed himself that day.
lohen + overstimulation. with how those tears look so pretty running down your chin and the faraway look in your eyes gives him the same rush as the surging adrenaline on the battlefieldー how could he not indulge? how could he not toy with your nerves and push the limits of your pleasure?
lohen + restraints but not in the conventional way. just a drop of potent muscle relaxant in your tea. just enough so he could enjoy the way your eyes dilate and shake when your body refuses to listen to your brain, and he's the only one who can grant you euphoria... either by pleasure or pain; whichever drives you over the edge.
lohen + sex marathon, because this psychopathic killer rabbit's stamina doesn't just end when he no longer wields his weapons. what better way to spend his rare day off than being rewarded with the erotic squelches of your tight pussy and your choked moans? not even a good vintage bottle of dandelion wine compares with how good it feels to lose himself in your sweet whimpers and the way your nails draw blood onto his skin.
𝒞ospℓαყer!𝐵oყfriend (𝒮cαrαmouche & 𝐿ohen) x AFAB!𝑅eader
꒰ 𝑀ODERN 𝒜U ꒱
🕸️️๋࣭ ⭑ Summary: Your boyfriend looks exactly like Scαrαmouche in real life, and he's built a massive TikTok following from cosplaying him. One day, while he's filming, you see Lohen's burst animation leak and lose every functioning brain cell you have. He notices. So he does what any normal, well-adjusted person would do… fucks you in the Scαrαmouche cosplay until you forget Lohen's name. And when that doesn't fully work? He shows up in a Lohen cosplay you didn't know he ordered, in your bedroom, just to prove he can still be the one you fall apart for.
Warnings (cw) .ᐟ cracking in cosplay ꒰ roleplaying ꒱, blindfolding, degradation, rough sex, near-blackout from choking, creampie ꒰ a lot... ꒱ , oral ꒰ f and m receiving ꒱, mild cnc undertones ꒰ consensual roleplay framing ꒱, established relationship, manhandling, suspended 69 position, aftercare, lohen nation vs scaranation...
Word count .ᐟ 16k+
𖦹.`` ꉂ🕸️ Author's note: This is a concept I had for a fat while (like years, not just months) bcuz of those TikToks of ppl dating a cosplayer and they'd flex about it, and I finally, finally put a cosplayer x reader into writing. Thank you to my wonderful, smart, gorgeous bestest friend @vvalentiqq, who helped me with this, especially with the crazy ass sex positions, so props to her!! And this, as always, is cross-posted onto AO3.
"Ugh, quit blinking, you keep making me mess up, Kuni!" You snap, yanking your boyfriend by the jaw closer to you.
He opens his right eye, the one you already applied eyeliner on, and glares, his eye rolling before closing back again. "I'm not blinking, and I'm staying perfectly still. It's your fault if you mess up, not mine. Don't get mad at me that you're shitty at this."
You take a deep breath, repressing the urge to slap him hard in the face, because you know it's useless. Your boyfriend lives to ragebait the shit out of you. You don't say anything in response; you scoot closer to his standing frame, your feet dangling off the bathroom counter as you continue working on his left eye.
"Do you want the wing straight up or straight out?" You ask, pausing with one hand on his jaw, and the other on his cheek, with the eyeliner hovering right above his lashline.
Kuni opens both of his eyes this time, stares straight at you, and rolls his eyes at your question like it should be obvious, "Neither? Obviously." He narrows his eyes, crossing his arms as he adds, "When have you ever seen me with that? You're my girlfriend, you're supposed to know that it goes out slanted. Not up, not straight. Slanted."
You narrow your eyes back at him, tightening your grip on his jaw in retaliation, "How am I supposed to know when you're ultra specific about everything and change your answer every time I ask? Two days ago, you told me to make it straight."
He flicks his eyes to the side like he's side-eyeing some invisible camera, and his eyes look annoyingly perfect when he does it. With the base shadow on his lids and the dark smudge along his lower lash line, and the contacts he doesn't need to wear.
His natural eyes are blue, but he insists on wearing indigo colored contacts because it's "more accurate", and you've learned not to argue with him about Scaramouche lore because you will lose. Every single time.
He glances back at you, his tone dry, "I told you that because last time was Xiao, not Scaramouche like today. Obviously. How many times do I need to say it for you to understand?"
You glance at him, copying his dry tone, "Just one more time, and I'll poke this pen through your eyelid. You wouldn't need someone to do your eyeliner by then."
He gives you a challenging smirk in response, "Do it, then. You wouldn't get that far to do any actual damage. I'll sue you and use the settlement money to hire someone who can actually do eyeliner."
You don't dignify that with a response. You tilt his head back with your grip on his jaw, angling it so you can drag the liner across his lash line in one smooth stroke.
You smile involuntarily when it comes out clean and matches the other side perfectly. It always comes out good when he stops being a little bitch about it… which is never, but today sufficed that never.
"The other side matches," you say, leaning back to check your work, watching as his eyes open slowly like he's unsure if you're done or not. "Perfect, like always, because I did it. Not you."
He scoffs, stepping back and moving toward the bathroom mirror, examining just what you're calling 'perfection'. You watch as he tilts his face to the left, then right, and as he leans in, he narrows his eyes.
The eyeliner is actually the last step of a much longer process. This part, the eyeliner, takes ten minutes tops. The puppet joints took an hour.
Every time he cosplays Scaramouche, Kuni sits in front of his vanity mirror with a palette of dark shadow and a thin, angled brush that he uses to paint puppet joints onto his own skin.
Knuckles first, every finger, dark, then his wrists, then his belows. He does his shoulders himself too, twisting in the mirror to get the angle right on the backs of them, and the concentration on his face while he does it is almost scary.
He's already head-to-toe in cosplay, minus the hat. As cringeworthy as it is to say, your boyfriend does look like Scaramouche reborn, and it's not just because of how accurate the clothes look on him, or how invested he is in cosplaying him. He looks exactly like Scaramouche would if he were real and not 3D.
The height… the weight… even his fingers match Scara perfectly. Skinny and long, the puppet joints make him look more biblically accurate.
He hates wigs, absolutely despises them, and as any person who finds their 'celebrity lookalike', or any 'lookalike' in general, he dyed and cut his real hair to match Scaramouches.
His hair is naturally black, and after an abnormally long hair appointment, the hairdresser was able to cut and style Kuni's hair to match Scaramouches without looking like some botched bowlcut.
"It's not a bowlcut," Kunikuzushi told the hairdresser, probably 4 times, just to get his point clear, "It's a mullet, mixed with a hime-cut in the front, and don't you dare forget the lighter colored streak in the back."
You remember being told that day to stick around, not in the waiting room, but in a chair beside the table your boyfriend was getting his hair done at. You had to get up at least 9 times to reassure Kuni that the hairdresser was getting the back right.
And after that day, after every time he put on his cosplay for this character that he's so obsessed with… he didn't look like your boyfriend anymore.
But you don't really complain.
"It's… acceptable," Kuni says to his reflection, the tiniest praise for the war you just went through, while doing his eyeliner.
You hop off the counter, tossing your hair back, while holding eye contact with his gaze in the mirror, "It's perfect, actually. You're welcome." You poke his arm from behind, giggling at the way he makes a disgusted face in response. "I love you too, you ungrateful man."
He doesn't respond to that; he just walks out of the bathroom and into his room.
He's already in the corner when you step in, adjusting his tripod and ring light, and you know the drill by now. Stay out of frame, stay quiet during takes, and entertain yourself until he's done being internet famous.
You grab your phone off his nightstand and settle onto his bed on your stomach, feet up, pulling up Genshin Impact. It feels like a chore to open this game up now, but you have to, for that stupid free constellation event where you have to complete your commissions and spend 120 resin.
You spawn in Nod-Krai, already moving your joystick to run towards the crafting bench, planning to craft your resin into condensed resin, but to your dismay, you already have 5 crafted resin from the previous days you tried this trick.
Domains it is.
You can hear your boyfriend in the background recording the same TikTok, over and over, trying to get the perfect take while you're teleporting to a random domain. It's annoying, and all you can focus on while you wait for people to join your world.
Once people join your world, and you start the domain, you move on autopilot. You don't really pay attention, probably fighting air every now and then, until a notification pops up from the top of your screen.
Even though you're in a co-up domain, your thumb his the notification before you can even finish reading.
The video loads, and it's what seems to be some sort of POV shot. It's like you're some enemy Lohen just knocked flat, because the view is from below, on the ground. His hand reaches down and grabs you, or the camera's face, dragging you to his height, and you spot his other hand raising a weapon, but you aren't even focused on the weapon… you're focused on the face he makes.
A grin with manic eyes, the expression of someone who doesn't just enjoy violence… someone who's aroused by it.
It happens so quickly that you watch it again, on loop. You watch the jaw grab again, the way he yanks whoever it is upward, the way his grin widens before the hit. You screenshot the maniac grin on the 4th loop… then watch it play through again.
Your thighs press together.
You scroll to the comments after the 7th rewatch, needing to see if everyone's losing their minds as hard as you are.
@scaramouchewho okay so we're all in agreement that lohen is what scaramouche COULD have been if hoyo let him be unhinged, right?
@kuniscaraworshiper everyone in the lohen tag better remember who paved the way. Scaramouche is the ORIGINAL unhinged short king… y'all are so disrespectful
@touchinggrassfearsme i just want lohen and scara to kiss… then me at the same time next… then they can kiss each other again after THEN THE SAME THING AGAIN
@mpreglover6769angie GET PREGNANT GET PREGNANT
You laugh seeing this comment, and when you tap on it, you're left with…
(This comment has been deleted.)
@lohennation BREED ME LOHEN. BREED ME. TEASE ME. USE ME. DEGRADE ME. oh and scara can watch ig… (yes i changed my user because of this video)
@wanderermybeIoved, you people don't know one thing about Scaramouche, and I don't want people talking about him when you clearly don't care about his character development or lore. He's more than just a "hot angry guy." Lohen fans (who just became fans of him less than an hour ago, mind you) wouldn't survive 5 minutes of scara's actual story because their reading comprehension is lower than a 4th grader's due to their goon-rotted brains.
@fatuiworshipper the way Lohen is just Scaramouche if he wasn't busy being sad all the time. he's happy to be evil… that's so hot
You scroll back up and watch the burst animation again. Your thighs squeeze together, and your bottom lip is caught between your teeth. You've watched this video at least 20 times now, and around the 10th time, your underwear became a wet, sticky mess.
"Hey."
You don't hear him, you don't even flinch.
"… Hello??"
Nothing.
"Did you actually die? Should I call someone or check your pulse first?"
You don't hear your boyfriend because you're still on that Lohen video, grinning at some dumb comment of yet another person leaving scaranation for lohennation.
"You've been ignoring me for like ten minutes," Kuni says from across the room, and you can hear the shift in his tone, the way it goes from casual annoyance to genuine irritation, "what is so interesting about your phone that you can't look up for even a second?"
You look up from your phone before he can accuse you of cheating, which technically, in some tiny way… You kinda were.
He's standing by his setup, ring light off, his phone in his hand with his arms crossed. His expression looks like he's in between choosing to be mean about it, or letting it slide. He looks annoyed enough that he won't let it slide, and 10 minutes is a long time, unless he was just exaggerating.
"…Hi." You say, sweet and innocent, still lying on your stomach, still with the phone in your hand as you glance at it just once, like a random comment, before looking back at him, not fully engaged.
His gaze drops to your phone in your hand, then lifts back up to your face. The corner of his mouth lifts with slow, unbelieving amusement, like your delayed little “hi” is almost too stupid to be real. "Welcome the fuck back. Where did you go?"
"Remember Lohen from that one quest in Mondstadt?" You don't wait for a response, voice breathier than intended because your brain is still stuck on that video, "His burst animation just got leaked…"
You watch as your boyfriend's face changes into reluctant curiosity that fights with the irritation of being ignored. He walks over to his bed and drops down next to you. "Really? Show me."
You sit up, holding your phone out, and he just takes it, angling the screen toward himself. You watch his face as the animation plays, how his jaw tightens, almost imperceptibly, and his gaze cuts back to you once it's over. "It's okay." He says, tone devoid of any emotion you can pick up on.
"Just… okay? Kuni. Did you see the grab, the way… the way that the angle is like a POV, like that's you, he's grabbing… the way he just, his hand goes like-" You mimic the way Lohen's hand, holding the weapon, goes from behind and towards who he's about to stab.
Kuni glances at your hand, then back at your face, your phone still in his hand. "Mhm. I saw the exact same video as you." His tone feigns nonchalance.
You drop your hand, continuing to yap while not reading the room, "And the grin… Kuni, the grin? It looks like he's about to-"
"I said I saw it." He hands your phone back, using his own to open TikTok, scrolling through his feed with such focused intensity that it doesn't do a good job of hiding how little he cares about this. "People are going to lose it over this."
"They already are, have you seen the comments?" You're already scrolling through them on your phone, looking for one that doesn't say anything about Scaramouche, but it's practically impossible. "Everyone's saying-"
"I know what they're saying, I don't need to see the comments to know." His thumb flicks through posts, and you can see his jaw working, yet again. "Same shit that infected my feed when Lohen was in that quest, and people barely had info on him. 'Scara's done.' 'We're switching.' Like their loyalty has a shelf life of milk."
He keeps scrolling through his TikTok feed, and annoyingly enough, every video that comes up is about Lohen. He's talking, ranting about character depth versus surface-level hype, something about Scara's arc having actual emotional complexity while Lohen is, "just a boy with a violence kink." He is making good points, but you aren't fully paying attention.
You're still scrolling through Twitter, lying back against the pillows, reposting mindlessly on fan art that already exists of Lohen, and trying not to laugh at the posts comparing Lohen to Scaramouche.
He turns his head to you, and he stops talking, because he notices your attention is elsewhere. You don't notice the sudden silence because your brain is so far inside your phone that the real world doesn't exist right now.
His lips touch your neck, a soft, tiny kiss with the warm press of his mouth against the spot below your ear, and he shifts closer. His hand lands on your thigh, his thumb drawing a slow line along the inside where the hem of your sleep shorts sits.
You tilt your head up slightly, giving him access without giving him your attention, as your gaze is still on your phone. Your body just responds to him on autopilot because of months of this exact pattern, him kissing your neck while you doomscroll, except this time you're scrolling through posts and posts of his… replacement.
His tongue touches the skin at your neck, a quick and wet drag followed by his teeth grazing that same area. His fingers itch higher under your shorts, pushing the fabric up your thigh.
"Kuni, not right now, I'm looking at something-"
He cuts you off with a "Mmhmm," not stopping at all because just a second after, he's sucking on your neck. His fingertips graze the edge of your underwear, tracing the elastic back and forth, back and forth. It's light enough that it could be an accident, but what he's doing to you is clearly intentional.
You're still scrolling even as your boyfriend, in cosplay, is practically making love to your neck, and his fingers… they slide down from the hem of your underwear, to where your slit is, through the fabric.
You let out a soft, quiet, "Mm…" moan, still not looking up. The only reply he gets is the little sound you make and the wetness between your legs.
His middle finger traces your clothed slit in a lazy back-and-forth, that's designed for teasing and nothing else. His mouth is still at your neck, and he bites softly at it while that Lohen video coincidentally pops up on your feed again. Involuntarily, your hips shift up against his hand while your eyes are still glued to the screen.
His fingers slide up from your slit, back up to your waistband. You let out the tiniest whine, but that whine turns into your breath catching when his fingers dip beneath your underwear and make direct contact through your folds.
"You're so soaked," he says against your neck. His tone makes your thumb pause just as you're about to click on the comment section. His cadence shifted into something that sounds less like your boyfriend and more like the boy he's currently cosplaying as. "And it's not because of me. It's hard to believe a pixel on a screen could make you this turned on… but I guess anything's possible with someone like you."
You feel his middle finger circling your clit, slow and teasing, not giving you anything that you want while you watch that video on loop, again. The pattern of it doesn't stop, but the desperation and need to have him stroke you properly makes your hips twitch, and your focus shifts from your phone to his hand, and only his hand, at an alarming rate.
"It must be embarrassing," he starts, the same condescending drawl Scaramouche's voice has, and it fits in his mouth uncannily well, "getting this worked up over a character animation. Over something that can never," the same index that was teasing at your clit pushes inside you, knuckle deep, and you clench around it, "touch you."
He's quick to add a second finger, his ring finger, because one isn't ever enough for you. He curls them upward, finding that spot he mapped ages ago. Your phone screen goes dark from inactivity.
He doesn't leave any achy part of your cunt unoccupied, especially if his thumb is currently being useless. His thumb finds your clit, and he rubs in circles while his fingers curl inside you. The dual stimulation makes your mouth fall open, and your phone falls out of your hand. Your phone hits the side of your stomach and falls down face-first beside you.
"There it is," he says against your skin, pressing a kiss to the mark he left on your neck. "Phone's finally down. Took you long enough."
He pulls his fingers out, and before you can even whine about it, he shifts on top of you, sliding down between your legs. You look down at him, and the visual of Scaramouche slipping under the covers and pulling at the waistband of your shorts is doing something to you that ten replays of Lohen's burst animation could never replicate. Because this is actually real.
He's sliding your shorts down when you mistakenly whimper out, "Kuni…"
He stops, hands pausing on the fabric at your knees. "Mm… no. That's not my name tonight." He pulls the shorts off completely, tossing them wherever without looking in his room, and his fingers hook into your underwear next.
"It's Scaramouche. That's who you're looking at… That's who's touching you. And, that's the only name I want to hear coming out of your mouth. Not Kuni, and definitely not Lohen. If you even try saying his name, I'm cutting your tongue out." He drags your underwear down your thighs, his eyes never leaving your face. "Scaramouche. Understood?"
You nod, too distracted by what he was saying to even realize you're bare from below, and you realize that the moment his mouth is on you.
His tongue drags flat across your clit, and you let out an involuntary, unfiltered moan at the contact. You'd care about his neighbors hearing if his mouth wasn't making you forget that other people exist.
It feels like he's reformatting your brain as he eats you out. Like every lick is deleting thoughts about Lohen and replacing them all with himself. His tongue works on your clit in patterns that make you let out dumb, uncontrollable moans. Two fingers slip inside you without warning, curling against your spot, and you can't help but grab onto his hair, that perfectly styled, dyed Scaramouche hair, and hold on.
Your hips twitch up, grinding into his face while your head tips back. "H-aah… f-fuck… Sca-"
He pulls back from your clit, fingers still working inside you, but at an even faster rhythm, "Louder than that."
You listen, brainless, doing whatever he says, "Scara… Scaramouche, I'm… hah… s-so close…"
He dives back onto your clit, mouth sealed on it, making you cum embarrassingly fast with his fingers curling inside your spongy walls. Your thighs shake around his head, and your grip on his hair tightens as you grind onto his face, clenching around his fingers. He goes slower once the aftershocks are over, and when you finally let go of his hair, completely out of breath, he pulls his mouth off your clit with a wet pop.
He wipes his chin with the back of his hand, the cosplay sleeve dragging across his face from his cosplay. The sight of that is so absurd and so hot that you almost cum again from that visual alone. The puppet joints look slightly faded on the two fingers he was fucking you with, and somehow that makes it worse.
He grabs one of the detached sleeves and slips it off his outfit. You watch him, brain still sluggish from the orgasm, fold it into a thick band, and you furrow your brows, confused. "What are you…"
"Scaramouche wouldn't let you see him lose composure." He slides up from between your legs, wrapping the fabric around your eyes, tying it behind your head before you can even protest. You can't see anything now, just darkness, and the sound of his breathing close to your face. "So you don't get to either."
You feel him move back and settle between your thighs, sliding them apart. You're still so sensitive from your orgasm that feeling his cock suddenly press against you makes an involuntary whimper slip out. He wastes no time slipping in, but he does it slow, stretching you open inch by inch, and you grab fistfuls of his sheets because the fact that you're missing one of your senses is making everything amplified.
"Oh my god…"
"Say my name," he says, and he feels deep enough inside of you that you can't tell how much more of him there is. You only know the stretch, the pressure, and how full you already feel.
A faint moan slips out of you before you manage, breathless, "Scara…"
"Yeah?" He says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, he knows you can barely think. "Too full to say it properly?"
Your fingers curl helplessly in the sheets. "Sc… Scaramouche…"
He starts moving, and because of the blindfold, every thrust feels amplified tenfold, so much deeper. His hands are gripping at your hips hard enough to bruise. You feel him closer, by your ear, voice still in character, "You think some new character is going to replace me?" He puncuates the end with a hard thrust, and your mouth hangs open with a gasp.
"Some battle maniac with a grin? Pathetic. I've been your favorite since 1.1," another thrust, and it hits you deep, he grinds into that same spot, "and no amount of leaked animations is going to change that."
"I know… hah… I know-"
He pulls back just enough that you feel the loss of him even though he's still inside. Your hips chase him up, a needy whimper spilling out because you don't feel him moving anymore, and you wonder why. You feel his hand leaving your hip to pull the blindfold off your eyes.
Light hits your pupils, and you squint, disoriented, and the first thing you see isn't him. It's your phone, held inches from your face, bright and open on the password screen. In a flash, your phone's unlocked from just your face, and just as fast as that happens, he turns your phone back to him.
"Wha… what are you doing?" You're still catching up, blinking through your vision that's trying to adjust, even more now that a phone was shoved up in your face. He's swiping through your apps with one hand while the other pins your hip to the mattress. His cock is still inside you, not moving at all, and it almost feels painful with how much you're craving him to.
He pulls up Twitter, looking at your feed first before checking your reposts, because of course, the first thing that comes up is someone reposting that Lohen burst animation for the millionth time, like people haven't seen it already. He scoffs, tapping on your profile picture on the side, and looking through your reposts.
"This one says," he starts, scrolling with his thumb, his tone almost bored as he reads your reposts out loud, while he finally starts grinding into you, but it's slow, painfully slow. "I would let Lohen degrade, breed me, use me, and rearrange my insides until I pass out… You liked that one, reposted it from the same account that has your face on it. How dense can you be?"
You face heats up realizing just how embarrassing that is, only after doing it a while ago, "That's… that was just a joke-"
"Let's go to your replies tab and see if you did anything other than mindlessly repost whatever you saw," you watch as his thumb moves across your phone, he shifts his hips forward in a slow grind that makes your breath hitch, "Oh, so you did comment on something… that's it? Three fire emojis and a fucking… crying emoji? That's your contribution to the discourse? Really? Was your brain rotting that badly that you couldn't even type words?"
You don't even try to come up with a coherent response for that, and he doesn't wait for one. He throws your phone somewhere on his bed and leans down, propping himself up on his forearms on either side of your head, and the closeness of him in full cosplay makes your breath catch in your throat.
"You know what's funny to me?" His eyes never leave your face as he rolls his hips, still a slow grind that drags his cock against your walls in such a way that keeps you in between being able to think and not. "You have a cosplayer. An actual, real person who dresses up as your favorite character and fucks you in it. And instead of appreciating that… you're reposting about a character that doesn't even have a release date yet."
A weak protest slips out before you can stop it. "I do appreciate-"
"Do you?" He thrusts hard this time, and it makes your back arch, your hands flying up to grab his shoulders as he continues at the same deep pace, watching your face change with every thrust. "Because I'm literally inside of you in a Scaramouche cosplay right now, and 20 minutes ago you were eye-fucking a burst animation while I was standing 12 feet away."
Your face burns, "That's not…" You swallow, trying to gather a thought that doesn't sound pathetic, "That's not fair, he's just a character, you're-"
"I'm right here." Another deep thrust, his hand slides up to cup the side of your face, tilting it so you're looking directly at him. At the eyeliner you did for him, the contacts, and the hair you even helped style. "And I'm the closest thing to a fictional character you're ever going to get. So maybe," he grinds into your spot, and your eyes roll, "act like it."
Humiliation and want feel like they're tangling so tightly that you can't separate them anymore. You can't even form a proper response for that, only being able to muster out a, "F-fuck… Scara…." as your fingers curl harder into the sheets.
"Mm." He keeps the angle, keeps rolling into that same spot, watching as it makes you go stupider quicker while his thumb traces your cheekbone. "You know what you should repost? A video of this. Me, in cosplay, between your legs. See how many likes that gets compared to a leaked animation."
Your brain decides this is the moment to let something slip. Completely irrational. "A lohen cosplay would probably get more likes because he's… trending." You don't even mean it as a dig; you say it in the normal, supportive tone you always give when he talks about content, while getting dicked down.
And the second those words leave your mouth, everything goes silent. He stops, completely. Cock buried inside you, and his hand on your face tightens. His thumb presses harder into your cheekbone. His expression doesn't change, but his eyes do. It's this flat, cold look you can see even with the contacts, and the silence stretches long enough that you realize what you just did.
You scramble to backtrack, "I didn't mean-"
"No, don't backtrack now," he cuts in, voice eerily calm, tilting his head like he's studying any new reaction you'd make, "You sounded very sure of yourself a second ago. I want the same answer you gave before you realize I didn't like it."
You sink back into the pillows, head shaking, "Scara, you know that's not what I meant…" but you stop at the end when you see the look in his eyes darken.
He lets go of your face and pulls almost all the way out to slam back in, both of his hands gripping on the backs of your thighs, pushing them apart. He's fucking into you at a new pace that's faster and rougher than anything before this, every thrust feeling like a point he's making without words.
"He's an animation," he says between trusts, his voice strained, but he's still in character. "He doesn't feel like this…" A thrust so deep it pushes you closer to the headboard. "He doesn't sound like this." Another one, harder, and the sound that comes out of you is almost unrecognizable.
"And he doesn't know that if he hits this angle," he shifts his hips and nails your spot dead-on, and your vision whites out at the edges completely, "you make that exact face."
Your legs are shaking around his grip, your hands grasping at anything, his shoulders, his arm, the sheets, the only thought in your mind is him, the body between your legs trying to prove a point with his entire being.
Then, your phone lights up next to your head. It's a Twitter notification, something about Lohen, and the timing is so cosmically cruel. He sees it, and before you can even squint to see what it's about, he scoots back, letting your head fall off the pillow. You look at him, confused, completely innocent to the change of position that's about to happen.
His hands leave your thighs to grab at your hips, and in one inhuman motion, he lifts you off the bed almost entirely. Your back leaves the mattress, the entire room feels like it's tilting as he hauls your legs over his shoulders, your full weight being suspended against his body. His hands grip the front of your thighs, your arms scrambling for anything, and they end up gripping at the backs of his thighs. Your head is still on the mattress, and your arms, but everything else is up in the air.
He's about to fuck you upside down.
You yell out of panic, "Wha… SCARA-"
"You were about to check your phone." He says, voice unbothered like he isn't holding you in the air with his dick buried inside of you. "While I'm inside of you… While Scaramouche is inside of you." He adjusts his grip, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, and slides his hips back before slamming into you hard, forcing himself so deep that you see white. "Do I not have your full attention?"
Even as full, and thought empty as you are, you still try to defend yourself, "You do… hah… You do, I wasn't-"
"You were reaching for it," another hard slam, and you cry out, your nails digging into the backs of his thighs. "Your hand almost moved. Almost. You were going to look at a notification while im fucking you."
He fucks into you, over and over, your legs dangling on his shoulders, the angle hitting something so deep inside of you that your body doesn't know how to process it apart from going completely boneless.
You're limp, even being fucked upside down. Your muscles gave up, and now you're just a body he's holding in the air and fucking into.
Your weight being nothing to him, your pleasure being everything.
"Scara… Scara, oh my god, I can't… f-fuck… I can't-"
"Can't what?" His voice is annoyingly steady, controlled, even though he's holding you up and thrusting into you with a force that should effect both of you, but it seems like you're the only effected one. Moaning sounds that aren't even words anymore, just vowels and air. "Can't think? Good. You shouldn't be thinking. The only thing in your head right now should be my name, and the fact that no pixel on a screen," he thrusts up, sharp, and the sound you make is practically a scream, "has ever made you feel like this."
Even with your mind blank, you can process his words enough to know that he's right. Because he's here, and real, and holding you in the air and fucking the coherence out of your skull. "SCARAMOUCHE- fuck, please… please don't stop-"
His pace only grows faster, his grip on your thighs tightening in such a way that you know it will end in bruises when you wake up tomorrow. You cum with the lower half of your body, suspended in the air. Your body locks up, ankles rolling, feet clenching around his shoulders as the orgasm rips through you in waves so intense that you can't even keep your eyes open, can't even suppress or care for how dumb you sound.
You can do anything except convulse around him while he holds you through it like you weigh nothing.
He cums exactly five seconds after, the way your walls clench around his cock not letting him pull himself back any longer. He buries himself deep with one final thrust up that pins you against his hips. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, filling you up as his fingers flex on your thighs.
There's so much that your body can't contain it, even in this position, you can feel some of his cum leak around where he's still inside you, dripping down between your ass cheeks.
He holds you there for a moment, catching his breath and you still catching yours, and then he finally sets you down. He moves back, lowering you, and you bounce back on the sheets, still out of breath, gasping, legs shaking, cum pooling more properly between your thighs now that you aren't in the air.
He's already pulling at the cosplay before his breathing even levels out.
"Finally," he mutters, yanking at the chest piece with the urgency of someone escaping a straitjacket, "I can take this stupid fucking thing off."
The outer layer comes off first, and he gets out of bed to toss it onto his desk chair without looking. Then the arm pieces, what's left of them, since one sleeve is still tied in a crumpled blindfold shape somewhere in the sheets. He pulls the one he's wearing off and throws it on top of the outer layers on the chair.
He's left in the sleeveless undershirt, the tight black one that sits flush against his chest and shows the puppet joints he spent way too long on at his shoulders. The shadow has smudged from the sweat, the edges bleeding where the lines used to be clean.
"I was literally cooking alive in that," he says, working at the fabric that sits on his hips next, "do you know how many layers this cosplay has? About four. Four fucking layers in a room with one fan and a broken AC because Ei cares more about being at work all the time than actually caring about a home she's barely at."
You don't respond because you are, at this moment, a puddle of a human being with no functioning brain cells and shaking legs. You're lying exactly where he put you down, staring up at the ceiling, legs still open because closing them feels like an exercise right now.
He glances at you once the majority of the cosplay is off, just the undershirt and shorts, and he gets quieter. He disappears into the bathroom that's connected to his bedroom and comes back with a warm, damp towel.
He sits on the edge of the bed and pushes your thigh to the side, wiping between your legs without saying anything. His movements are careful, clinical, almost, like the same precision he gives his cosplay goes into this too.
He cleans the cum off your inner thighs, the crease where your thigh meets your hip, folds the towel to the clean side, and gets the rest.
You flinch at the contact, still sensitive, and his other hand presses flat against your lower stomach to keep you still. "Stop squirming."
"But… It's sensitive," you say, finally, voice weak.
"I know it's sensitive. I'm the one who made it sensitive. Stay still."
He tosses the towel onto the bathroom floor when he's done, then goes to his dresser, pulling out a sleep set and underwear that are yours. A cropped top and matching shorts that somehow migrated into his drawer because you're here more than your actual house.
He comes back and slides the underwear up first, lifting your hips with one hand to pull them over your ass. Then, the shorts come next, doing the same motion he did for the underwear. He grabs the top next, and this part requires sitting you up, and you're not cooperative.
You're practically dead weight.
He pulls you up by the arms like a ragdoll, gets the shirt over your head, and guides each of your arms through the sleeves. You keep going limp on purpose, and it's irritating him. "You're not helping," he says, which isn't a helpful remark on his part.
You can't do anything but let out a tired, annoyed sigh, voice moving slowly as you say, "I can't feel my legs, Kuni."
He pauses as he's trying to pull the top down, giving you a sideways look, "That's a you-ca n't-help problem, that's a you-won't-help problem. Your arms should work fine."
You give him a fake, straight smile, shrugging at a languid speed, "They don't, actually. You broke those too when you held me upside down, and I had to hold onto your thighs for dear life."
He scoffs, dropping you back against the pillows, and you sink into them, boneless, dressed, clean, happy that you've trained him well enough to do this much after sex, because it pays off every time.
He pulls the covers out from under you, and this time you actually scoot to give him space to tuck them over your body. He grabs both of your phones and plugs them in, then walks to his closet to take the top off and replace it with a plain black t-shirt, and tugs on a pair of grey sweats. When he's done, he always backs toward the bed to get into the covers beside you, but you stop him.
"Kuni, can you please get me water?" You ask, with a tiny pout.
The exhale he lets out is so deep it could qualify as a controlled breathing exercise. He stands there for a full three seconds, covers still bunched in his hand, staring at you with the expression of a man who wants to only pass out in bed and rot.
"You couldn't have said that before I walked toward the bed?"
You look up, pretending to think, mouth curling up when you glance back at him, "I wasn't thirsty before you walked toward the bed."
He rolls his eyes, his hand coming up to rub his fingers at his temple in annoyance at all of this, "That doesn't even make sense."
You clasp your hands together, pouting, again, putting on a sweet expression just to mess with him further, "Please?"
He drops the covers and leaves the room. You hear his footsteps down the hallway, and they're loud enough that you know he's being loud on purpose.
Because Kuni doesn't make noise when he walks unless he wants you to know he's annoyed.
His house is massive; you spend 99 percent of your time in his room, so you actually get jumpscared every time you leave it. The hallways are long, or probably longer than an apartment floor in general, with marble flooring and clear walls with art on them that his mother picked out and he's never looked at once.
The kitchen is insane. Countertops that stretch for what feels like miles, a center island bigger than your own bed, and appliances that look like they belong in a once luxurious restaurant. Every surface is spotless because the housekeeper comes three times a week, and Kuni is already a clean freak on his own, so the combination creates a kitchen that looks perpetually unlived in.
He opens the cabinet, grabs a glass, fills it from the filtered tap, and when he turns around, his mother is sitting at the island.
She's been there the whole time, apparently.
Ei is on a barstool at the center island, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of red wine in her right hand and her phone in her left. Her hair is long and ink-black, pin-straight, falling over one shoulder, and in the dim kitchen light, she looks less like a person and more like a portrait someone painted and forgot to hang.
She looks up from her phone at the sound of the glass filling.
Her eyes move over him, at the messed-up hair, the contacts he forgot to take out, and the faded puppet joints still visible on his knuckles.
And also the fact that he's getting a glass of water at one in the morning in a post-sex haze that he thinks isn't obvious but is extremely obvious.
"You're still awake," she says, her voice carrying that same low, unbothered tone that makes everything she says sound like an observation.
"You're home," he replies, matching her energy beat for beat, turning off the tap without looking at her. "When did your flight land?"
"Three hours ago." She takes a sip of wine. "I didn't want to interrupt."
The silence that follows is loud. He knows what that means, she knows that he knows, and neither of them will say it directly because everyone in this family treats emotional honesty like it's some disease.
"Right." He grabs the glass and turns to leave as fast as possible.
"Kunikuzushi."
He stops, but he doesn't turn around, his grip on the glass tightening.
"Eat something tomorrow. The fridge is stocked." She pauses to take a sip before continuing, "And take your contacts out before you sleep. They'll irritate your eyes."
He stands there for a second, then another, then another, then walks away without responding. And his footsteps down the hallway are quieter this time. Not on purpose.
He gets back to his room and shuts the door behind him with his foot. He walks up towards the bed and reaches over to hand you the glass. You take it, sitting up slightly, drinking half of it in one go while he stands there watching you like you just made him walk a marathon for a cup of water.
"Happy?" He asks, pulling the covers back.
You roll your eyes and hand him back the glass. He sets it on the nightstand and gets into bed, lying flat on his back. You immediately roll onto his chest like a magnet, your cheek pressing against the cotton of his t-shirt, and you can hear his heartbeat, still a little fast, coming down.
His hand finds your hair, starts that absent, repetitive thing he does, threading his fingers through the strands over and over. You press closer to him, tangling your legs with his under the covers, and his arm tightens around your back.
You close your eyes, and his fingers never stop moving through your hair.
He doesn't tell you he loves you; he never does first. But his thumb traces a slow circle against your scalp, and his breathing evens out underneath you, and he doesn't move even when your weight goes fully dead against his chest.
That's how you know.
You're in your room today, not at your boyfriend's house like you usually are. You do like being in his room and hanging out with him constantly, but it's also constantly exhausting. Some days, you'd just prefer to be… alone.
Your room is the complete opposite of Kunikuzushi's aesthetic. Light beige walls so you can hang up cute pink miscellaneous things on your wall without them clashing. A fluffy, soft, pink bed that used to be a canopy until you woke up to a fat spider next to your face, as if it was their bed too. Plushies… lots of them, on your bed, some kept on a large shelf you bought to store the expensive anime figures Kuni always buys you. Long story short, the general vibe of your room makes you seem like someone whose entire personality is soft and sweet.
You're lying on your stomach on the bed, phone in hand, scrolling through the fallout of the Lohen leak from 3 days ago. The internet has still not calmed down… if anything, it's worse.
@scaranation4LIFE scaranation we STAND. Every character had their tiny moment of fame… our show lasted four years. FOUR. We were even on the news… lohen's gonna last one patch and you're all going to be crawling back
@lohenxscarabeliever i don't want lohen OR scara… i want them BOTH to ruin my life SIMULTANEOUSLY. Why is this so hard to understand
@wanderersfavoritebuttplug scara… I’d never replace you for that sadistic twink (maybe) (we’ll see)
The comments are always talking about the same thing, at least every comment section under a Lohen Twitter post, as the diehard simp, the one who wants Lohen and Scara to fuck each other, the one who wants to cuck Scara in front of Lohen, and the very few actual loyal Scara fans.
… You feel like you're a bit of both.
You're deep in the comments, simultaneously looking at edits of Lohen on TikTok, then taking a Twitter break, then TikTok, when at some strange point, your bedroom door opens.
You don't look up, you assume it's Kuni because your parents aren't home, and you gave him the key ages ago. "Hey, Kuni," you say, still scrolling, legs swinging behind you, "if you're here to yell at me about using your newest Flower Knows palette before you did, it's not that big of a deal-"
You stop because when you look up, what you see is something you'd never, ever expect from a surprise visit from your boyfriend.
Kunikuzushi is standing in your doorway in full-on, perfectly accurate, as always, cosplay. But it's not Scaramouche, or some other male in the game… It's Lohen.
Your phone hits the mattress.
The character you've been losing your mind over for 3 days, the one you've seen on your phone screen a genuinely convincing number of times, is here, in real life, standing in your pink bedroom doorway.
"When did you-" your voice comes out strangled, your mouth feeling dry, and your throat feeling so tight that you cut yourself off. Your eyes scan the cosplay, again and again, confused at why he didn't tell you about this. Especially ordering a unique cosplay of a character that hasn't even fully come out. "When… when did you order this??"
He grins, a toothy, sharp-eyed grin that looks nothing like Scara's smirk. It's so strangely accurate to the expression Lohen would make, and you wonder if he's spent the last 3 days practicing for this.
"I've been tracking you all day," he says, and his voice is different than normal, more confident, louder, less… restrained on what's deemed as good. "You've been hard to pin down."
He crosses the room, and your body does something it doesn't do with Kuni. It tenses out of something close to fear, but closer to not knowing what's coming next. His hand grabs the front of your tank top and yanks you off the bed. You yelp in a way that's higher, more startled, more genuinely caught off guard than anything Scara has gotten out of you in months.
"Nervous?" He questions, his grin widening, and his fists twist in your shirt, pulling you closer, until your chest is against his. He can feel your heartbeat… at least you assume he can, because you can hear it going haywire through your ears to the point that you'd believe it's audible even if he wasn't this close.
You deny because you hate admitting things to him when he's acting smug, even though anything you could say would be utterly pointless, as your face and the way you're barely moving prove his point way too well. "I'm not nervous…" You try a distraction, any, "Are you really wearing a wig, Kun-" but it gets cut off quicker than you can even finish the last word.
"Your heart feels like it's about to explode out of your chest." He leans in, his mouth next to your ear, and his voice drops, but he still keeps the edge of it in character, "What's different? You let Scaramouche do whatever he wants to you. But Lohen shows up and suddenly… You can't even talk?"
You knit your eyebrows, staggering to say anything that sounds like you're not any less dumb, "That's… it's different, you're usually-"
"Usually what? Predictable?" He pulls back to look at you, and you glance up and down at his cosplay once more, and it's even more annoyingly perfect up close. You seriously don't know how he does it; he even looks good in a wig, even though he hates them. "You know every move Scaramouche makes before he makes it. You're comfortable with that, and that's boring." He says it like an insult, and his grin drops suddenly, his eyes not leaving you once as he says, "I'm not comfortable. Are you scared of me?"
You answer a simple, "No." But the way you still haven't moved on your own since he appeared at your door proves without words otherwise.
"Liar." He shoves you, and you fall back before you can catch yourself on the bed, bouncing on the pink sheets, your tank top riding up slightly in the process. "Your voice had the tiniest crack in it."
He's on top of you before you can sit up, his knee between your thighs, his hand going to your jaw… and he does it.
The burst animation.
His fingers close around your jaw as he lifts your face toward his, slow, and the grin is right there, a perfect replica of the video you've watched on your screen more than 100 times.
"There's my favorite prey," he says, holding the pose for three seconds, and instead of reaching his arm back and stabbing you, he leans in to kiss you.
It's violent, that's the only word to describe it. Non ceremonial, just teeth, tongue, and a lot of force by him. His hand is still gripping your jaw, controlling the angle, and also making sure you don't pull away so soon. You make a sound into his mouth that's between a moan and a whimper, that's even more vulnerable than anything you've made during sex when he cosplays as Scaramouche.
He pulls back, unbuckling one of the belts on the cosplay, a strap that's a part of Lohen's design, and he wraps it around your wrists, binding them above your head against the bed.
"Every battle maniac needs a sparring partner," he says, tying the knot with one hand while the other shoves your tank top up above your breasts. "And you looked at me like you volunteered."
He strips your shorts, then your underwear, and he doesn't bother about being sweet with it. He yanks them down your legs and throws them somewhere behind him, and then his hands grip the backs of your thighs, and he pushes them up toward your chest.
Mating press, that's what he's doing.
Your knees are at your shoulders, your hips are tilted up, and he's on the bed, kneeling over you. His weight is driving your thighs down, folding you in half. Your wrists are bound above your head; you're just completely open and trapped.
"L.. Lohen…" You whimper out in the voice of both someone in awe, and in the tiniest fear of what's coming next.
"Hmm." He unzips his pants, frees his hard cock from his underwear, which he slides down just enough, and positions himself at your entrance, and he pushes in.
The first thrust is the full length of him burying himself deep inside you in one stroke; the angel of the mating press makes it feel deeper than it should. His cock presses against your cervix, and the sound that leaks out of you is closer to a sob than a moan.
"AH- oh fuck oh fuck oh-"
"Too much?" He asks, and his grin, that fucking grin, is right there, his face inches from yours because the mating press puts him on top of you… over you, covering you entirely.
"N-no, just- hah-" You get cut off with the way he pulls back and slams back in, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, before just fully closing.
"Not convincing." He pulls back, again, slamming into you harder than the last one, like he's powering up his thrusts, and your back tries to arch off the bed, but his weight is pressing you flat, and you have nowhere to go. You feel his hands at your face. "Your eyes are watering."
You open your eyes back up to look at him, head shaking, even though you do feel something hot and wet sliding softly down your cheeks. "You're lying, they're n-not-" You're studdering from the way he's repeditely fucking into you, especially hitting your deeper spots on purpose when you try speaking, but he cuts you off anyway.
"They are." He leans down and licks a tear off your cheekbone. The act is so different from the way he's currently fucking into you, brutally, and you're turning incoherent faster than ever, moans spilling out uncontrollably as the sound of his hips plaping against your ass fills the room.
"You cry for Scaramouche because it feels good. You're crying for me because you don't know what I'm going to do next." Both of his hands leave your face; one goes back onto your thigh, the other finds your throat. "And that scares you… Doesn't it?"
His fingers close around your neck, and he doesn't choke you the same way Kuni does during normal sex. This version is different, new, something you've never felt before. Lohen's choke. His fingers press into the sides of your throat, squeezing the muscles, not your windpipe, but the tissue around it. The difference, the way this feels new, is because it feels like it's designed to hurt, not to just cut off air. The pain is sharp, and you can still breathe, technically, but every inhale aches, and the compression makes the blood rush to your head in a way that amplifies every sensation that a blindfold never could.
You can't move your hands, even as they itch to grab or instinctively hold at his wrists, you're reminded that they're bound together by his belt. Your moans just get more amplified thrust after thrust after squeeze, "Nghh- Lohen… hah…"
"You can barely even say my name." He squeezes harder, his thumb pressing into the hollow of your throat, and the pressure pushes you right to the edge of too much. "Scaramouche gets full sentences out of you… Full moans… Full 'please'. But me?" He thrusts deep, grinding, holding himself inside you while his hand tightens on your throat. "I get syllables… Half-words… or just plain denial over anything I say. You're so nervous you can't even beg for anything properly."
He fucks you into the mating press until your thighs are shaking against his hands, and your voice is hoarse from the sounds he's pulling out of you. His hand stays on your throat. The pressure of his squeeze fluctuates a lot, from him tightening when he thrusts hard, loosening when he grinds slowly, a cycle of both pain and relief that keeps you permanently on the edge of too much without ever crossing into too much.
Because Kuni knows your body, he knows how much it can take. He pushes you close enough to passing out that your vision darkens at the edges, your mouth falls open, your eyes lose focus, and then he loosens his grip and lets the blood rush back.
And the gasp you take is almost an orgasm on its own. "Please- hah… please, I can't… too much-"
"You can handle it, you just don't know it yet." He squeezes your throat and fucks into you hard enough that a plushie falls off the bed. The grin on his face is still, still beautifully intact, and it's the most terrifyingly perfect thing you've ever seen from this close.
"You know what's funny? You were scared when I walked in. Nervous. Couldn't even talk to me." He leans down until his lips brush yours, his hand still on your throat. "But you're not trying to stop me, are you? Your hands are tied, your legs are pinned, and we have a safeword you could've used at any point, and you won't, because you and I both know this is exactly the type of 'too much' that you crave."
You cum with his hand on your throat and his cock buried so deep you can feel him in your stomach. The orgasm hits different in a mating press, so much more intense. Your walls clench around him in rhythmic pulses that you feel in your entire pelvic floor, and he fucks you through it, his pace not slowing, his hand not loosening.
And by the time the aftershock fades, you're boneless, twitching, and making sounds that are barely human.
He cums inside you, you feel the heat of it, thick, pulsating, his hips pressing flush against yours and staying there while his cock throbs. His hand finally loosens on your throat, and his forehead drops against yours.
His breathing is ragged, and it's the first time you've ever heard him lose the composure of the character, and for one second, between the last pulse and first exhale, it's just Kuni.
Then the Lohen grin slides back. He stays inside you for a moment more, his cock still twitching with the last of it, before pulling out in one motion that makes your body clench around nothing.
You feel the immediate emptiness, the warmth of his cum already starting to leak, but you don't get to process that because his hands are on your hips and he's flipping you.
Your stomach hits the mattress, your face presses into your pillow, and the shift of his cock inside you during the rotation makes a wet, obscene sound that you both pretend not to hear. Your wrists are still bound with the belt, and they're now pinned beneath you. You feel him reach under you, fingers finding the leather, working the buckle loose with one hand, while the other grips your hip to keep you from sliding forward.
The belt falls away from your wrists, you roll them instinctively, flexing your fingers, and before you can even appreciate the freedom, you feel the belt loop around your neck instead.
He pulls it taut from behind. He doesn't choke you with it just yet; he just lets it sit snug against your throat with his fist gripping the trailing end like it's some sort of handle.
"Ass up," he says, and you barely get your knees under you before he gives up on waiting and pulls your hips back toward him.
He slams in at a rough, fast, punishing pace. The sound of his hips against your ass is echoing off your room in a rhythm that makes your plushies at the edge of the bed vibrate, causing a couple of them to fall.
He uses the belt as a way to anchor his thrusts while he rails into you with a force that has your fingers twisting in your sheets, and your neck being forced to arch back.
"Fu- oh my g-god, Loh-" You can't even finish his name, it just dissolves into a broken moan as he hits your spot from this angle. The deepness of the backshots makes your toes curl against the bedsheets.
He keeps going, his pace not slowing down at all, and you're too far gone that you barely register it when his rhythm stutters for a second, especially when you hear him mutter something under his breath that doesn't sound like Lohen.
"This stupid fucking…"
Your brain is somewhere between your legs; the only sound that's audible and coherent to you is the sound of his hips against your ass, and your endless moans.
He thrusts hard, and you let out a whimper, your fingers flexing on the sheets, and your feet coming up, clenching, then dropping again. But between the next few thrusts, you catch pieces of something that doesn't match the character he's trying to play.
His voice sounds like it's shifting, not into Scara like it's some muscle memory he has, but into Kuni, your boyfriend, sounding genuinely irritated about something that has nothing to do with sex.
"I swear to god, it keeps sliding," he mutters, and his grip on the belt loosens for a second as his other hand does something behind you that you can't see. He does another hard thrust, and your face falls against the pillow now that he isn't yanking on your neck. But he doesn't pull you back, choke you, or do whatever you expect him to do.
He complains.
"This is the last time I'll wear a wig. The last fucking time. I told you I hate these things and you always ignore it and tell me to suck it up when it's a character that isn't him-" a thrust that makes your spine arch, "and now I have gross, synthetic hair scratching at my face, and I'm going to lose my mind."
You're barely processing any of this, still, it all sounds like fragments to you that don't make sense because of the thick haze of being fucked into your mattress.
He grunts, clear frustration, and you hear something that sounds like a clip, or whatever mechanism that's keeping his wig attached to his actual hair, and his pace slows down enough that curiosity overtakes the pleasure for one stupid second.
You turn your head.
And it's Kuni behind you, one hand still on the belt at your neck, and the other holding the Lohen wig that he just pulled off his head. His real hair is back, dark indigo, messy, slightly matted from the wig cap he also tore off. He hasn't noticed you looking yet; he's too busy glaring at the wig with genuine contempt.
He's out of character, fully, completely, for once mid-fuck. He never breaks character, and something comes over you… Maybe it's the absurdity of the visual, maybe it's because you're fucked stupid enough that impulse control is just completely gone.
Maybe it's because the opportunity is just too perfect to pass, and you've seen that TikTok audio one too many times.
You gasp, loud, dramatic, your voice coming out in that exaggerated, scandalized tone that you know he's going to hate, "he's BALD. He's bald, and he's torturing people who have HAIR!"
The silence that follows lasts exactly one and a half seconds.
His eyes snap to you, and you're looking at him over your shoulder, half of your face pressed into the pillow, and you're grinning. That kind of stupid, shit-eating grin that you know is about to have severe consequences.
His expression goes through several stages in rapid succession. Disbelief comes first, processing it comes second, then recognition of the reference, and on the last and final stage, something dark and focused appears that makes your grin falter just slightly.
He throws the wig, and it hits your vanity mirror, sliding off somewhere that you don't care to watch, and his now-free hand shoves your head back down into the pillow. It's not gentle. His palm is flat against the back of your skull, pressing your face into the fabric, and your giggle gets muffled by cotton.
"You think that's funny?" His voice drops back into Lohen's, but it's rougher now, meaner, the edge of genuine irritation soaking through the character because you made a dumb joke while he was inside of you. "You think you're clever?"
You're trying to respond, but your face is pressed into a pillow, and his hand is keeping it there. What comes out next is a muffled, "Mm srrhyy-" that dissolves into a yelp when he slams into you so hard your knees slide forward on the sheets.
"Every prey animal thinks it's funny right before the teeth close." He fucks into you at a pace that's brutal, and way faster than anything before. Each thrust is showing you further into the mattress while his hand keeps your head pinned, and the belt around your neck pulls tight from the motion. "You want to make jokes? I'll give you something to scream about instead."
His other hand leaves the belt to grab at your hip, yanking you back onto his cock with every thrust, and the force of being pushed down and pulled back simultaneously has you making sounds into the pillow that are just broken, raw sounds. Your hands claw at the sheets above your head, your back arching down, while your ass stays up, and you can feel his fingers digging bruises into your hip while the belt drags against your throat.
"Mmph- wait, f-fuck, I'm sorryyy, I was k-kidding-" you manage between thrusts, your words slurring against the pillow, saliva starting to collect at the corner of your mouth because your jaw won't close properly. "Loh-hen, please, 'm sorry, I didn't m-mean-"
"You have a funny way of apologizing," he grinds out, and his hand on the back of your head shifts, his fingers curling into your hair and pulling your face just barely off the pillow, enough that your moans aren't muffled anymore. "Usually, people apologize without laughing. You're still smiling about it, I can hear it in your voice."
He's not wrong. You are still smiling, with tears in your eyes, getting absolutely destroyed because the image of your boyfriend ripping off a wig mid-sex with that look on his face will live in your brain rent-free forever. "Liar… 'M not smiling-"
"You are." A thrust so deep your smile actually drops because your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open around a moan that's more of a wail. "There… fixed it."
His other hand releases your hair and goes to his own head. You can feel the shift in his movements, slightly distracted, one-handed thrusts that are still devastating but less focused as he runs his fingers through his real hair, fixing it through the vanity mirror on the far side of your room.
Because even while he's railing at you, Kunikuzushi will not be caught dead with bad hair.
He's multitasking, fucking you into the mattress with one hand on the belt, and styling his hair with the other… the worst part is, he doesn't even slow down.
He pulls the belt back just enough that you're forced to arch your spine, the pressure on your throat lifting your chest slightly off the mattress, and the angle change makes his cock hit differently, shallower but dragging against your front wall with every stroke, and the sound that comes out of you is embarrassingly close to a squeal.
"Ah ah AH, oh m-my god, oh my god, right there, don't- nghhh don't move from that, please plea-hease..." Your words are tumbling out in a slurred mess, your brain is completely out of your control, and your hips are pushing back against his on their own because the angle is too good.
He cums with a groan, pressing into the back of your shoulder, biting down on your skin through a moan he clearly didn't want to let out. You feel his cock pulse inside you, the heat spreading, and his hips grind forward in small, lazy rolls as he empties everything. His hand goes slack on the belt, and his forehead drops against the space between your shoulder blades.
He stays there for a second, breathing, then he pulls back, letting go completely of the belt, and you fall forward because he was the one pulling your practically limp body against him. Your ass is up in the air, and you feel him slide out, and the gush of cum that follows is immediate. It's thick, warm, spilling out of you and down between your thighs.
He sits back and watches it, you know, because you hear the sheets shift, and you can tell by the way he doesn't move or speak, just watches the mess he made ooze out of you.
His thumb presses against your entrance at the rim, and more cum leaks out around the pressure, sliding down in a slow trail toward your clit. "Look at that," he murmurs, his voice back in character for Lohen, in an amused, fascinated tone. "You can't keep any of it in."
His other hand comes up and spreads you open with his thumb and forefinger, holding your folds apart, and you can feel the cool air hit the mess inside you. You feel more of his cum spill out from being exposed. You bury your face deeper into the pillow because the visual you can't even see is somehow still the most embarrassing part of this entire night.
"Lohen, don't just… stare at it-" You mumble into the pillow, voice a bit pitchy as your thighs try to close, but his knee is in between your legs before you can even try to hide.
"Why not?" His thumb traces through the cum leaking down your folds, collecting it, spreading it in a slow circle around your clit, and your hips jerk at the contact because you're so overstimulated. "It's mine, I put it there, and I'll stare at it for as long as I want."
He leans down, and you feel his breath warm against your swollen, sensitive skin. Then you feel his tongue, a single slow lick from your clit up to your folds that collects everything in its path. You let out a sound that's halfway between a moan and a sob, your fingers crushing at the sheets. His mouth seals around your clit and sucks one, hard, before pulling off with a wet pop that's so loud it echoes.
"Ahh- hhah, that's... you c-can't just do that and stop..." You whine, your hips chasing his mouth, but he's already sitting up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
"I can do whatever I want." He says, like it's a fact, and his thumb pushes inside you lazily, scooping cum out and watching it drip off his finger before sliding it back in. "And right now I want to watch you try to keep it together while I play with the mess I made."
He does this for longer than is reasonable. Sliding his finger in, pulling it out with cum on it, pressing his thumb against your clit, watching you flinch and twitch and moan into the pillow while your body can't decide if it wants more or if it wants him to stop.
When you finally lift your head enough to look back at him, your vision is blurry, and your cheeks are wet, and your hair… let's not talk about that. But his hair, however…
It's perfect.
His actual hair, styled in Scaramouche's cut, falls over his forehead in a way that makes him look like a character rendered by someone who accidentally released him into the real world. He fixed it while he was fucking you, which means at some point of the most brutal backshots of your life, your boyfriend was simultaneously running his fingers through his hair to make sure it looked good.
And it does, it looks like Scaramouche wearing Lohen's clothes, the dark blue and silver of the cosplay framing his face differently than Scara's outfit does, and the combination of his real hair with Lohen's costume is somehow hotter than either one on its own.
"Your hair…" You start, breathless, head tilting, staring at him.
"I know." He doesn't elaborate, and for a second you did forget just where his fingers still are, but then you get instantly reminded when his thumb circles your clit again. His expression is annoyingly smug for someone who was complaining about a wig 4 minutes ago.
He slides back into you without warning, and you gasp, your head dropping back down, because you're still so unbelievably sensitive. Even though he did slurp some of it out, you still have his cum inside of you, and the re-entry just pushed every bit of the leftovers deeper. He does exactly two, slow thrusts from behind, enough to hear the wet sound of it, and enough to feel you clench around him involuntarily, and then he moves.
His hand wraps the belt tighter around your neck and pulls backward toward him. Your upper body lifts off the mattress as the leather digs into your throat. And at the same time, as if he's some pro multitasker, his other hand hooks under your thigh, and hauls you up.
The room tilts as he rearranges your body like you're a doll getting repositioned on a shelf.
He sits back on his heels, then further, his legs extending toward the foot of the bed, and he pulls you down onto his lap with your back against his chest. His cock is still inside you, and the angle of his cock in your folds shifts as gravity does the work of seating you fully onto him. Your weight pushes him impossibly deep.
"Oh my- f-fuck..." Your head falls back against his shoulder, your mouth open, eyes unfocused on the ceiling. You can feel him everywhere. The depth of this position, your full weight on his lap, is the kind of full that makes your brain actually go blank.
The belt is still around your neck. He grips the loose end in one fist, his other hand settling on your hip, and he snaps his hips up.
It's different from behind, and the mating press, and just any position he's ever tried with you. Every thrust pushes up into you while your own weight pushes down. The collision of both forces means he's hitting your cervix with almost every stroke. The belt pulls at your throat in time with his rhythm, and it's like a constant tug that keeps you slightly alert. He's using it as a leash while he fucks up into you.
"Lohen… Lohen, oh my g-god, that's so… hhh…" Your hands grip his thighs behind you for leverage, your nails pressing crescent moons into his skin through the dark fabric of the cosplay pants. Every thrust forces a sound out of you that you didn't choose. The sound ranges from breathy moans to hiccuped whimpers to full, unfiltered whines that bounce off your bedroom walls.
"Mm, good girl… Keep saying my name just like that." He says against the shell of your ear, his grin pressing into your hair, and his hips don't slow down at all while his free hand leaves your hip to cup your breast, squeezing it through your bunched-up tank top.
Then, suddenly, the pace changes. It slows like someone pressing on the brakes. The frantic upward thrusts melt into something grinding, deliberate, circular. His hips roll instead of slamming. His hand on the belt adjusts, and you can feel the leather pulling higher on your throat, the pressure shifting from the side of your neck to the front, directly on your windpipe, cutting your air down. It makes the room tilt and your head go light.
"Lohen is fun. I'll give him that."
Your walls clench around him so hard that you feel his breath catch, a tiny fracture in his composure that he covers immediately. The shift from Lohen's energy to Scara's is like someone swapped an entire soundtrack mid-song, same instruments but a completely different vibe.
"But fun is temporary." His hips roll in that slow, calculated grind that's purely Scaramouche. The one that doesn't just find your spot but sits on it, presses into it, with the exact amount of pressure needed to make your eyes cross. "Chaos without control is just noise."
He thrusts so deep that your vision goes white at the edges and your mouth opens around a shameless sound you can't hold back. "I'm not noise." He pulls the belt tighter, your air growing thinner as your head feels floaty and warm. "I'm the only voice in your head that stays."
"Scara…" It comes out of your mouth before he can ask for it, before he can demand it, your body just defaulting to the name it knows and has moaned out more times than you can count. Just the same as muscle memory.
"There she is." His voice sounds satisfied in a way that Lohen's never was. It's settled, fully sure, like something just got confirmed that he already knew. His thumb traces the edge of the belt for exactly one second.
Then his pace goes feral, the leash yanks tight, and you can feel the grin return against the curve of your neck, his teeth grazing over your skin. The whiplash of Scara's controlled grind slamming into Lohen's chaos makes your entire body jerk against his chest.
Then he goes back to Scara, slow, precise, the belt adjusting to hit your windpipe just like before, and your vision goes soft and dreamy.
Then Lohen, again, fast and reckless, the belt pulling to the sides, sharp and painful. Your vision snaps back, too clear… too much.
Then Scara.
Then Lohen.
The switches accelerate, and you're caught between two different rhythms that you don't even have time to get used to either one before it switches back and forth, and you're left shaking, trembling, your thighs quivering helplessly on either side of his.
"You feel so fucking good-" you can hear Lohen's signature grin in his tone, his hips snapping up hard enough that you bounce on his lap, "You think you can handle more?"
And then, like a light to a switch, Scara's back, his thrusts slowing into a grind that feels torturous. "Of course you can't… You never could. You just pretend."
"Mm… mmnhh, I c-cant, it's too much," you're babbling, the words coming out in disconnected fragments that don't form a single coherent thought, "both of you at the s-same time… I can't… my brain… can't…"
Your body is trying to process two characters and one cock, and one belt on your throat that keeps changing how tight and how rough it's being pulled, and the gravity pinning you down, and his hands on you everywhere. "Please jus- hha, pick one, p-please, I can't think when you keep switching, I-"
"No." It doesn't sound like either character he's playing as he says that, almost himself. "You don't get to pick, you get both."
You cum on the fault line. On the exact millisecond where Lohen's chaos collides with Scara's control. The two rhythms are crashing together inside your body like a wave hitting a wall. The orgasm rips through you so hard that your vision actually blacks out for a second.
Your walls seize around him in rhythmic, violent clenches, your back arching against his chest, the belt pulling taut as your body contorts, and the sound you make is raw, unformed, the kind of noise a person makes when their brain short-circuits.
He cums with you, his groan is buried in the crook of your neck as his teeth bite down on your shoulder. The belt goes slack in his hand, and his hips stutter up as he fills you again. You feel every pulse of it, hot and thick, and his hands grip your hips hard.
His breathing is ragged against your neck, not in character, just Kuni, just like before, catching a breath he doesn't need to catch because the adrenaline is still making his body do human things.
He lets go of the belt and unloops it from your neck. The leather slides off your skin, leaving a warm, raw line that you'll see in the mirror tomorrow. His hands settle on your hips, gentle, all the urgency gone.
He turns you around, rotating you by your hips without pulling out. Your legs swing around until you're facing him, straddling his hips. When your eyes meet his, it's your boyfriend looking at you, Kuni, with his makeup smudged, his real hair messy and falling into his eyes, wearing another character's clothes with his own face underneath.
He grinds up into you, slow, not thrusting, just rolling his hips with his cock still inside you, his cum still inside, and the wet sound fills the quiet room.
He kisses you, a slow kiss where his hand cups the back of your neck. His tongue slides against yours, and your hands find his face, holding his jaw the same way you hold it when you do his eyeliner. Your fingers on his cheekbones, your thumbs at the corners of his mouth… the grip is so familiar that your chest aches with it.
He pulls out, the gush of everything between you spills onto his thighs, and you whimper at the loss, your hips chasing him involuntarily, still kissing him, before settling.
He leans back, lies flat, and looks up at you. "Sit on my face." He instructs, his hands already going for his bottoms, shoving the waistband down with both hands, lifting his hips, and kicking the pants and underwear off in one motion that sends them somewhere on the bed. He settles back onto the mattress with his cock resting against his stomach and the rest of Lohen's cosplay still on his upper half.
You're still on top of him, and you start to move toward his face, swinging your leg over to straddle his chest, and just as you're about to lower yourself down facing the wall, he stops you.
"Other way." His hands catch your hips, holding you in place before you can settle. "Face my cock, not the headboard."
You turn, shifting on your knees so you're facing his legs instead, and the second your thighs are on either side of his face, his hands pull you down. He doesn't ease you into it, his fingers dig into your hips and yank you flat on him. His mouth meets your cunt like he's been starving for it. His tongue is on you immediately, flat and broad, licking through the mess of his cum and yours that's still leaking, and the groan he lets out against your folds vibrates through your entire lower half.
"Ah- oh my god, Loh-" Your hands brace against his stomach, fingers splaying across his chest, your body jerking at the contact because you're still so overstimulated that even his breath against you would be too much, let alone his entire mouth sealed to your cunt like he's trying to milk you dry.
He doesn't let up; his tongue pushes between your folds, lapping at the cum he left inside you, alternating between long drags up your clit, and pointed flicks that make your thighs clamp around his head. His hands keep your hips pinned to his face, and every time you try to lift yourself even slightly because it's too much, he pulls you back down harder.
You look down past his stomach, past his lips, and his cock is right there. Hard again, flushed at the tip, twitching every time you moan. It looks helpless, which is a stupid word to use for a dick, but that's what it looks like.
Just lying there… hard… neglected, pulsing at nothing while his mouth does all the work on you. The visual of that all, combined with the way his tongue just circles your clit makes your mouth water and your body move on its own.
You lean down, lips pressing against the tip, soft, barely any contact, and you feel his hips twitch upward at even that little touch. You open your mouth wider, about to take him in, settling your weight forward onto your forearms on either side of his hips, and then his hands move.
They leave your hips, and you feel them slide down your back, his arms wrapping around your torso, his palms pressing flat against your shoulder blades from behind, and before you can even register the shift in grip, he lifts you.
Your knees leave the mattress, your thighs slide up his shoulders until they're hooked over them, his arms anchored around your back. You aren't straddling his face anymore; you're suspended above him, upside down, your entire lower body held up by his arms, and your upper body hangs between his legs with his cock directly in front of your face.
"KUNI- what the HELL-" Your hands scramble for something to hold, and the only thing available is his back, his sides, your fingers digging into whatever part of him you can reach. "Stop putting me upside down!! How are you even this strong??"
He ignores you, his mouth is still on your cunt like the position change was nothing, like rearranging your entire body didn't interrupt the rhythm of his tongue.
Your thighs are wrapped around his shoulders, your calves pressed against the sides of his head, and his arms are locked around your lower back and hips, creating a cage of muscle that keeps you from falling. Your stomach is pressed against his chest, your breasts squished between your body and his, and your face is hovering directly over his cock with your hair hanging down.
He doesn't pause to let you adjust; his tongue pushes inside you from below, curling, and the moan that rips out of you vibrates against his inner thigh because your mouth is right there, inches from his cock, and you can't even hold back the sound.
You take him in your mouth because his cock is right there, hard, flushed, leaking from the tip, and this is the only logical response you can think of.
Your lips close around the head, and you can hear, feel, his groan vibrate against your clit from below. The sensation travels through you, making your thighs tighten around his shoulders, and you take him deeper in response, your jaw stretching as you slide down his shaft.
His hips start moving, and he's fucking up into your mouth with thrusts that push his cock past your tongue and into the back of your throat. The angle of being upside down makes your gag reflex hit differently, sharper, your throat constricting around him with every push.
"Mmph-" You gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth and running up toward your nose because gravity is working against you, and your eyes water as he pushes in deep enough that your lips press flush against his base.
He pulls your hips down against his face at the same time, grinding your cunt onto his mouth, and the dual sensation of his tongue on your clit and his cock in your throat creates a never-ending loop.
Every sound you make around him vibrates through his cock and makes his groan against you, and every groan he makes against you vibrates through your clit and makes you moan louder, and the cycle just keeps building on itself until neither of you is making sounds that qualify as human.
Your hands grip the backs of his thighs, nails biting into his skin, your only anchor while the rest of you is suspended in the air, getting destroyed from both ends. His arms tighten around your back whenever your body jerks too hard, keeping you steady, and the strength required to hold you like this while simultaneously eating you out and thrusting into your mouth is something you'll think about later, when you have brain cells to think with.
His tongue circles your clit and then seals over it, sucking hard, and your entire body arches in his grip. Your moan around his cock is muffled and obscene, a wet, gargled sound that would be embarrassing if you had any shame left, and the vibration of it makes his hips stutter up so hard you choke.
"Mmngh-" Spit drips down your chin, or up your chin technically because you're upside down, and his cock slides out of your mouth for a second while you cough and gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft.
He doesn't give you a break. His mouth doesn't leave your cunt, his tongue pressing harder, faster, relentless, and your mouth finds his cock again through the haze, taking him back in because even choking on him feels better than the alternative of not having him in your mouth.
His hips roll up in longer strokes now, less frantic but deeper, and you can feel the tension building in his thighs, the muscles tightening under your fingers. His arms squeeze around your back, pulling your hips down harder against his mouth, and his tongue works your clit in tight, focused circles that are designed to break you.
Everything builds at the same time. His cock pulsing heavier against your tongue, your walls clenching against his mouth, the pressure in your core climbing toward something massive, and his breathing getting faster against your cunt, his groans getting louder, less controlled, desperate in a way he only gets when he's close.
You cum first, barely, by maybe a second.
Your walls seize, and your thighs clamp around his shoulders, and the orgasm crashes through you in a wave so intense your jaw locks around his cock. The constriction of your throat, squeezing around him, plus the vibration of your moan, plus the way your entire body shakes in his grip, is what sends him over.
He cums in your mouth with a groan so deep you feel it in your spine. His hips push up one final time, his cock pulsing thick against your tongue, and you swallow around him because there's nothing else to do in this position, the cum sliding down your throat (or up, gravity is still confusing) while his tongue works you through the last aftershocks.
His arms loosen, not all at once, because if he did, you'd drop violently onto the bed. He eases the tension gradually, lowering your hips back toward the mattress, and you let his cock slip from your mouth with a wet sound that you're too brain dead to be embarrassed about.
"Put me down," you mumble against his thigh, your voice wrecked, your arms shaking. "Please, Kuni, put me down before I die in this position, and you have to explain it to my parents."
He lowers you down carefully, his hands guiding your hips and legs until your back is flat on the mattress beside him. Your head is at the foot of the bed, and your feet are near the pillows, but you don't really care because you're horizontal and alive, and that's enough.
He sits up, looks at you sideways on the bed, completely destroyed, and he doesn't say anything. He just moves you, his hands sliding under your back and your knees as he repositions you properly to put your head up against the pillows where it belongs.
He's quiet when he cleans you up this time, zero commentary about you squirming, no dry remarks about sensitivity, just the warm cloth from the bathroom, careful movements between your legs while his other hand stays on your hip to keep you still when you flinch.
He brings new clothes from your dresser, a pair of underwear, which goes on you first, slides up your legs, then shorts, then a top he pulls over your head and feeds through your arms without asking for your cooperation because he's already learned you won't give it.
He doesn't talk the whole time, which is unusual, because Kuni always has something to say, always has a complaint or a remark or a correction. But right now he's just doing it quietly, focused, tucking the hem of your top down with his fingers before standing up and walking toward your closet.
He changes into the pajama pants and black shirt he keeps in your drawer, and he pulls the Lohen cosplay off in pieces as he does it, dropping each part onto the chair by your desk.
"I'm never wearing that thing again," he says, pulling the top layer of Lohen's outfit off his shoulders with a grimace, his tone flat and final. "Whoever designed this character hates the human body. It feels like it's over 6 layers, especially with the long-sleeve, the cape thing… everything." He drops the last piece and kicks it under the chair. "Scara's cosplay isn't even that heavy because Scara was designed by someone with common sense."
You watch him from the bed, half-lidded, sinking into the pillows, your body so heavy that you feel like you're melting into your own mattress.
He walks back and pulls the covers up, sliding in beside you without ceremony. The second he's horizontal, you're already moving toward him, pressing your face into his chest, your hand curling into the front of his shirt, and his arm wraps about your back.
He kisses your forehead, soft, and then the bridge of your nose when you lift your face up enough, then the corner of your mouth. It's small, quiet presses of his lips against your skin that feel nothing like Scaramouche or Lohen. These are Kuni kisses, the ones he gives when no character is being performed.
The ones he probably doesn't even realize he's giving because they come out of him the same way breathing does.
He tips your chin up with his finger, and his eyes are just blue. Not indigo contacts, not the ones he wore for the Lohen cosplay, just his natural, stupid, annoyingly pretty blue that you fell for before you even knew that you cosplayed.
"Who do you want?" He asks, his voice low, and it's the softest you've heard it all night.
You look at him, at the messy hair, at the body who dyes his hair for a fictional character and hates wigs and complains about having to style his hair everyday and who buys you an abmormal amount of primogems, and probably would get you c6 r5 Lohen the minute he drops because he does that for every character, even when he gets jealous when you simp for a character that you don't just ask him to cosplay like any other logical person dating a cosplayer.
"Kuni," you say, and your voice is small and sure. "Just Kuni."
His mouth twitches, and you can see the shape of a smile trying to form before he catches it and pulls you closer, tucking your head under his chin and pressing his lips to your hair.
"Good answer," he murmurs into your scalp, so quiet that you almost miss it.
You close your eyes, your face against the fabric of his shirt, and you're asleep before you can respond. He stays awake for a minute more, his hand moving through your hair in slow repetitive movements. He stares at the ceiling fan, and he doesn't say anything.
He doesn't need to.
I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)
Lohen struggling to understand why you're crying when he tries to fit the entire length of his cock deep into your pussy hole.
Your tears are never ending when he rams into you so hard that your jaw is permanently unhinged at the sheer depth of his stupid cock fucking into you.
"What's the matter? Oh, let me guess.." this bastard pretends to think when suddenly pulling his cock away with a sly smirk, watching you squirm and cling to his arms as he giggles at your struggles.
His index and middle fingers spread over your clit to stimulate it, biting his lip while watching you stutter out a gasp, "O-Oh fuck! Lohen..!"
He laughs and rubs your clit, harsh and unrelenting before stabbing you with his cock once more, the tip reaching the gummy base of your cervix, "Shh.. did that feel good bunny? Does the little slut feel good?" he feels the clench around his dick and your face contorts into the expression he just loves to see, tears and snot ran down your face.
"Ah, ahh.." he moans high pitched and obnoxious, his pretty voice sending arousal straight to your belly, the heat pooling there is unbearable as he messes with your clit.
The double stimulation is so unrelenting that fresh tears run down your eyes at the sheer amount of pleasure you're feeling.
Lohen growls when you try to move away from him, your hand pushing his away from your clit as he pinches it to halt your movements, "W-Wait! Ah! wait..!" he stops moving all of a sudden and watched how your face contorted with something akin to bleary confusion.
"W-why... did you stop?" you question, your hips bucking forward to reach the peak of your climax but he tuts annoyed.
"You were the one who said to wait, right?" his cock is still warm and cozy inside of you but he doesn't move. Not one inch.
You shake your head and bit your lip, "I.. I know but.. I really wanna.." he cups his hand over his ear, condescendingly so, "Can't hear ya.. maybe repeat that?" he replies smugly, smirking when your breaths get heavier, your legs twitching.
"C-cum.. I want to cum." you shake your head and your hand squeezes his as a silent plea. He hums pleased at your lack of defiance, though honestly, there wasn't much to begin with. You're quite the naughty little thing aren't you?
He tsks and slaps a palm on your ass, relishing in the way you squirm and twitch, "Uh huh... but where exactly are your manners?"
"Please, I want your cum! please cum in me Lohen!" you continue to cry for him to fuck you and finish inside of you, much to his surprise..
"Oh yeah?" he relents and shushes you softly, "Here. Take my load. Take it." he snaps his hips forward until he's sure he can feel your tight little womb. He feels you whine out, your pussy squirting out liquid and he takes that as cue to spill his seed into you the same time, successfully creaming your walls clear white.
You practically cling to him when he continues to thrust into you, feeling your body spasm from sensitivity.
"Have to.. keep it all in." he whispers into your ear, cradling your head as he snugly fits his cock into you. He breathes softly and watches you hide into his neck. Lohen pulls back slightly and grips a handful of your hair to connect his lips to yours.
"You were so good bunny." he praises with a gentle rub to your ass. "If it spills out of this slutty hole? I'll just keep pumping more into you. got it?" Lohen hums when you nod rapidly with blushy cheeks. Very eager to please him huh?
He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, "Atta girl."
Hi! I really like your limbus company stories and read them damn near everyday.
Can I get some kissing HC about the sinners, please? thank you!
P.S. here's a pic of my oldest cat! Her name is Harriet!🥹
A/N: Hi, hello, I tried to get this out as soon as possible because your cat is very cute however this will have to come in two parts because I need to practice writing kissing apparently.
₊✦Limbus Company | Sinners x Gn!Reader | Some MotWE and beyond spoilers! ✦₊
Yi Sang’s kisses are always fleeting. He'll press his lips against your cheeks, nose, forehead, the backs of your hands and maybe even the back of your shoulders for a brief kiss. Your lips are sacred, so he only kisses them when it's a special occasion.
Yi Sang’s hands cup your cheeks, holding you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world before he leans in for a kiss. His lips merely brush against yours and he takes in the feeling of your skin against his for the brief moment that he allows himself before pulling away with a smile.
Going any further than this might lead to Yi Sang fainting.
Faust’s kisses are timid and rare; never on your lips. She hides behind excuses to avoid kissing you — partly due to her own insecurities, partly due to her desperation to appeal to look cool in front of you and the Gesellscheft — but she'll never say no to you kissing her instead.
She doesn't respond to the feeling of your lips against hers, her only reactions being her shoulders tensing ever so slightly and the sound of her breath hitching. You might think that she dislikes it or that she's simply not interested in kissing you, but the truth is that she simply doesn't know how to kiss you back.
She is up to experimenting with you, but it might take her a while to take up your offer.
Don Quixote is nothing but eager to kiss you whenever she gets the chance, however she’s stuck between wanting to kiss you and wanting you to kiss her instead.
The kisses she initiates are few yet eager little pecks, some to your lips but most to your hands. If you let her, she’ll pepper your hands with kisses like a knight pampering their liege. She’ll kiss your wrists, palms, fingers… any inch of skin her lips can reach, she’ll kiss it.
But when you’re the one kissing her, she’ll return your kisses with just as much fervour. She might even pounce on you depending on how eager she is.
Ryoshu’s kisses are reserved and chaste. She loves a good sloppy make out but a majority of her kisses will be pecks to your cheek. The rare instances she kisses your lips can get a bit intense.
Her mouth will be on yours in an instant; tongue prying your lips apart and pushing its way inside. She'll take her time enjoying everything that you have to offer. The only time she'll allow you to pull away is when you need to breathe, the corner of her lips quirking up into a smirk as she sees the string of saliva connecting her lips to yours and she watches the way your chest heaves up and down.
She won't let you have a break for too long and will pull you right back into the kiss once she decides you've had enough oxygen. If she's feeling nice, and if you've been "good", she might let you dominate her this time around.
Meursault's kisses are chaste and always on your cheeks with few exceptions. Even when you're making out — which happens more frequently than one might expect — his attention is always on your neck or collarbones, peppering those areas with kisses instead of paying much attention to your lips.
It's not that he's bad at kissing, far from it. He kisses your lips like how one would drink from a glass of champagne; slow, elegant and relentless— not stopping until he's had his fill and then some.
Unfortunately, despite how good his kisses feel, you can count how many times he has kissed you like that on one hand.
Hong Lu likes having you on top of him whenever the two of you kiss. Be it on his lap, straddling his waist, or when he’s simply carrying you.
His arms will be wrapped around your neck if he’s taking the lead; one hand massaging your scalp while the other pulls you close as his lips move against yours. He’ll take his time kissing you, partly to make up for lost time and partly in an attempt to tease you.
His hands will be on your hips instead if you’re taking the lead, thumbs tracing circles before his hands eventually go up your sides to explore the rest of your body. But despite his wandering hands, he’ll let you do whatever you want to his body so long as you keep your pretty lips pressed against his skin.
<- Back to the masterlist?
Yi Sang | Faust | Don Quixote | Ryoshu | Meursault | Hong Lu
As your requests are open, could I please request any kind of headcanons for a Yandere Yi Sang? Or perhaps just notes on how you’d characterise him as a yandere? I am desperate.
❆ During the first few cantos you won't be able to tell he's a yandere. Nor that he even likes you. He's silent as ever.
❆ Before his turn, he believes he's unworthy of you, your presence. He had seen you in his mirror worlds. Out of his reach. Ideals that could never be achieved.
❆ He'll seem a little less tense around you, maybe be more open to listening to you talk, paying some semblance of attention past his blank stare he gives others. However it's hard to notice.
❆ He stares into the mirrors. Wading through memories of other IDs and the two of you that exist someplace else. He'll only hold you back in this world. Drag you down in his hollow apathy.
❆ He'll let you order him around even more so than the others. He trusts your judgement. You manage to fill a tiny bit of the gap in his heart. Yet not enough for the obsession to fully kick in.
❆ Once He's had his turn and gets his wings, the obsession takes flight as well. Yet still more subtle than some others sinners' tendencies would be.
❆ He'll engage in conversations with you more. Responding instead of just listening. Sometimes going off on rambles. A mutual sharing of information and philosophy. Sometimes He'll talk so late into the night Faust has to separate you two.
❆ He notes important things you've said in conversations. Writing them down in a notebook. He mentally notes any quirks you have too.
❆ He's constantly asking what you think of things. Of plans. Of battles. Wanting your inputs and ideas. To which he'll try to bring it up to Dante and Faust and advocate for your idea.. giving a disappointed sigh if rejected by them.
❆ He overthinks everything you give him. Smiles. Frowns. Silence..comments. Constantly looking for approval or disapproval. He wants your validation. He wants you two to be like he'd seen in the many mirror worlds. Ignoring all the ones he saw where you crashed and burned.
❆ He starts to get overly panicked if he thinks he made you upset. Profusely apologizing and even self demeaning in response. Most of the time it's just a joke he took too literally.
❆ He gets defensive and on a rare occasion raises his voice just slightly to defend you in conversations with other Sinners.
❆ In battle like most sinners, his passives seem to cater towards you, but he'll still help his team. He'll take damage for you if he has higher speed. If he can't.. he suggests Dante to perhaps change his ID for the next battle.
❆ He idolizes you to a toxic degree. Refusing to see faults. Simply reflecting them onto himself. They're somehow his fault. It can be overwhelming. Unerving.
❆ Seeing his typically merciful and kind self grow a bit more apathetic at some of the people you encounter. He doesn't necessarily revel in these foes dying.. but he doesn't advocate for some like he would have before.
❆ He covers your eyes when there's a gruesome display of violence. No words coming from him. Stuck in his own world within his mind. Judgement clouded. Seeing a version of you sometimes rather than the real you.
scenario lacks canon backing and depends on reader's imagination as his circumstances of existence are special and impossible for this. No dialogue (P.S. present reader means past reader for him).
He doesn’t quite look like Sinclair. Well, he does, but not your Sinclair. He’s definitely older. Like he went through a massive growth spurt, which somehow feels like the most unbelievable part of all this. His hair is longer too. You don’t notice at first since the front looks almost the same. His clothes stand out the most. They look worn and unfamiliar, like he was pulled straight from a battlefield.
When you first met, there was something menacing about him. It’s embarrassing to admit, but his presence genuinely frightened you. The way he stood felt heavy and unyielding. His gaze wasn’t even on you, yet you could still feel the weight of it, sharp and unsettling. Then his eyes found you, and everything shifted. It was instant. His expression softened, like a switch had been flipped. He looked almost as stunned as you felt. Seeing someone from your past is no less overwhelming than meeting someone from the future. That brief moment of gentleness was enough to tell you the truth. He really was your Sinclair after all.
You reach for him without thinking. It feels like the only right thing to do. He doesn’t move right away, as if holding himself back, like someone keeping a careful distance from a flame to avoid getting burned. You step closer anyway and wrap your arms around him. His clothes smell of smoke and things best left unnamed. It hurts to realize the future he comes from hasn’t been kind to him. For a moment, his hands hover awkwardly, unsure of where to go. Then one settles on your head, gently patting it. You used to be the one always messing up his hair...
You slowly look up, finally meeting his face properly. Your eyes trace every detail, as if trying to commit them all to memory. A thin scar cuts across his left cheek. You lift your hands and gently cradle his face, your thumb brushing over the mark with care. He looks confused for a moment, then a small smile tugs at his lips. His gloved hands come up to hold yours in place, a quiet sign that he’s finally letting himself give in. He leans into your touch and presses a soft kiss to your palm, never breaking eye contact. Heat rushes to your face. You can’t help but wonder if the age gap makes him feel bolder, or if he’s truly changed this much.
You can’t help but wonder what kind of relationship you’ll have in the future. Maybe the moment he appeared here today changed everything, and you’ll never see him again. Even if he vanishes when he returns, even if his only purpose was to show up here just this once, you’re glad you could be a place of comfort for him at the end. And if nothing has changed at all, you hope that you’re still there for him when the time comes.
A/N : literally had to take a 10 minute pause and just stare at him. Kjh, give me a heads up next time, I almost had a heart attack
Aesop is honestly one of my favorite characters, so I have a lot of thoughts about him. Something I think about often is how it's mentioned that Aesop is rather particular about things.
He's well groomed, neat, and presents himself so clinically. I think we can all agree that goes for other aspects of his life, especially his romantic and sexual life.
With how he grew up, Aesop's love map became a bit skewed, with how he romantices death, how preparing a body is almost an act of love in itself. Aesop likes to practice that kind of ritual with you. It's intimate for him.
Aesop finds satisfaction in grooming you, like a bird preening its lover. Combing your hair, bathing you, shaving you, dressing you, etc. All the things you would do to prepare a body for burial, but he doesn't bury you, he gets to keep you…
He gets to appreciate every aspect of your beauty as you sit quiet and pliant for him, gloved hands working meticulously. He stares down at you fondly, like a darling doll he gets to care for.
Sometimes it stays just that way, intimate and sweet, while other times he can't help himself. He’ll find his hands, eyes, mind wandering… but you don't mind, right?
May i...ask for yandere illuga x manipulative reader?
Darling knows hes obsessing over her and she loves the attention and makes him break more whit her manipulative ways? What do you think would the outcome be? Would he notice? Thank you♡
Spoilers for the Nightingale's Song World Quest Series
Oh Yandere!Illuga my beloved…
There is no one who loves his darling like he does, he would take a stab would in the chest before having any harm befall her.
Now that being said, if you want to manipulate him? You have as much of chance of doing that as surviving a Wild Hunt attack alone, so not going to happen.
Illuga is sharp, a respectable member of the Lightkeeper, the son of the current Starshyna, there is no way he has not been tricked and manipulated before by others, even by the Wild Hunt before, so his darling has next to no chance of deceiving him as such.
Now he will be more than happy for her attention and that she does not fight him, it makes his heart flutter so knowing she does not fight him on his protective behavior towards her. Though when she looks at him and bats her eyes while all cuddles up on a cold night and asks if he could take her out on a walk in Dreadshade Mire and…
“No.”
He does not even think about it before he answers, not even looking up from the reports he was reading, just pulling heads closer with his free hand to get her to lean on him.
Then again when he is going to Nasha Town to pick up a few materials and drop of some supplies for the other Ratnik there and as he is getting his coat on she asks so sweetly with a kiss on his cheek if she can come with and-
“It is too dangerous, no.”
He just leaves with a quick kiss and trust her care to his father in his absence. Just leaving his darling standing there stunned as Nikita trying to urge her along to get back inside and out of the cold.
He keeps his darling where she is safe, where he can ensure her protection. If she wants to go out on a walk in the safety of Piramida then by all means, she can even go out by herself as long as she returns by a certain time, all the other Ratnik know to keep an eye on her. Though if they are currently staying at the Cliffwatch Camp then under no circumstances is she allowed outside, though he will make sure she has plenty of things to do, even if it is busying herself with stitching up Lightkeeper uniforms.
Of course he is not totally opposed to getting her things like cute dresses, special snacks, or books, it just is like with any gift, a special occasion or just because he wanted to treat her. She is not going to get something just because she gave him a hug that morning. If she has a special request for meals then he is perfectly happy to fulfill her request, he loves to cook, especially for his loved ones, he will even invite his father often to eat with them, even letting his darling have a few sips of the mead Illuga likes that his father brings as a gift.
Illuga is just so protective of his darling, he loves her more than she can possibly imagine, but he is no fool. He has no problem putting her in her place with a firm but gentle hand if she pushes his good graces too much.
A/N: I'll prolly come back to this and write a proper (angsty) one-shot
₊✦Limbus Company | Lord of Hongyuan!Hong Lu x Gn!Reader | No spoilers! ✦₊
The truth that Hong Lu loves you more than anything else when he spent most of his life reigning in every emotion besides wrath and keeping his distance from people is hard to swallow.
He still keeps his distance from you, well, tries to at least. Whether he succeeds in doing that depends on how busy he is with other matters, and if he’s not, then he tends to stay near you— not too close so that you won’t get ideas because Hong Lu would never admit that he fell in love with anyone, let alone give you the chance to think that was the case.
Not that it stops him from worrying over your well being. While he’s confident that keeping his distance from you and acting cold towards you is enough to convince people that you mean nothing to him and so keep you out of trouble, a voice at the back of his head demands that he takes precautions to prevent any harm that could come to you.
So he does what he thinks is best and gives you the leash to the heishou si branch. “For safekeeping,” is what he tells you along with other meaningless excuses. It’s strange, but nothing troubling for him since he still holds the leash of the other eleven packs. It’s not like he’s losing much by doing this either since whatever the si branch can do, the other branches can do as well.
There’s no harm or disadvantage to losing one heishou pack that’s replaceable and you just so happened to be nearby. There’s nothing more to it.
hiiiii, i just came across your work and i have to say its really good ^^
if you arent too busy could i request some general dating headcanons for gregor :) ?
-🪲anon
A/N: yes ofcccc, I need to write more for Gregor anyway 😭
₊✦Limbus Company | Gregor x Gn!Reader | No spoilers! ✦₊
Gregor has a habit of being timid and not speaking up for himself when the situation calls for it, that’s not new to anyone. However for you, his does his best to change even if it means coming out of his comfort zone and bringing attention to himself.
This does mean that, unless you’ve been unofficially together for a long, long while to the point Gregor gets angsty and decides to risk everything to ask you out, you’ll have to be the one asking him out on a date. He’ll giddily accept and probably spend the rest of the day — and maybe the following days — happy because someone amazing asked him out. High chance he’ll consider the date you asked him out the best day of his life, too.
Despite that though he’s far too timid to react normally to you being affectionate to him in public. He’s fine with holding your hand or letting you kiss his cheek or vice versa, but anything further will make his brain short circuit. That said, he’s not that much better in private either. He’ll need some time getting used to affection from you first.
Gregor’s not one for nicknames or petnames either, but he’ll call you babe here and there.
There isn’t much change to his personality or behaviour besides him being a lot happier when you first start dating, but he does get jealous easily and tends to happen relatively often. Some part of him can’t help but wonder why you’d settle for someone like him when you could’ve gotten with someone so much better.
He knows better than to take his jealousy out on you — the last thing he wants to do is snap at you because of his feelings of inadequacy, though he supposes that would be further proof on why you deserve so much better — but every time he sees you smiling at or laughing with someone else, he ends up distancing himself from you. It’s definitely something that he needs to work on.
For dates, Gregor does his best to save up and take you somewhere that’s fancy though he isn’t opposed to going somewhere casual or even just hanging out at home. He does his best to make every date romantic just as he tries to make sure you know he loves you via romantic gestures, though whether they work and end up being romantic ends up being a coin flip more often than not.
As for fights, there aren’t many mostly because Gregor just goes along with what you say because he doesn’t want to upset you. The few times you do get into fights though, he makes sure to buy a bouquet of your favourite flowers as well as whatever treats you like as an apology when he cools off.
I'm just writing whatever comes to mind; it's all just rambling
Cyan..........
Hong Lu’s partner always loved playing with his hair.
When loose, it cascaded like a waterfall, smooth and silky, carrying a light, gentle fragrance. Its softness made it irresistible to touch.
You would lean against his shoulder, gather all his hair forward, then twirl a few strands around your fingers—round and round—before letting them unwind. Sometimes you’d just space out like that, other times you’d chat softly.
Once in a while, you’d ruffle the top of his head, like petting a puppy or a cat, though it always ended up tousling his hair into a mess.
“People say,” he turned to look at you, his eyes translucent in the sunlight, “if they ever see my hair this messy, it must be you playing with it again.” Hong Lu pinched a stray lock of his bangs, tugging it lightly until it stuck up even more.
It was hard to tell whether he was blaming you or just resigned, but seeing his ruffled hair still stirred a hint of guilt in you.
“Guess so,” you murmured quietly, picking up a comb nearby to gently smooth his bangs, then the hair at the back. As you combed, you suddenly mused, “It reminds me of the willow branches in the courtyard. When the spring breeze comes, they sway all over the place. I used to love watching them dance in the wind, and I’d often shake them playfully.”
Hong Lu didn’t respond right away. After a pause, his words drifted over, “Then you are my spring breeze.”
He said it so naturally.
You let out a soft hum. “I’m a mischievous breeze. When I was little, I’d pull off willow twigs to braid them. Want me to braid your hair too?”
“Mhm, okay.”
"What if I pulled your hair out too?" you asked.
"You wouldn't," Honglu said. "You like my hair so much, how could you do that? Hehe"
So he sat still and let you braid it. When asked about it later, he’d always say happily that you were the one who braided it for him.
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During the day, Hong Lu was quite different.
His hair was neatly tied up with that Cyan hair tie, but no matter how tidy, a few longer strands always escaped. With his bangs and the loose locks framing his face, they swayed gently with his movements.
The hair near his temples often fell into his eyes, especially the strands hanging by his cheeks. In your free moments, you’d call him over to help pin them back. Whenever he tilted his face up, you could feel his soft, attentive gaze resting on you.
“Is there something on my face?”
Hearing this, Hong Lu simply smiled with his eyes.
“Nope~ It’s just that looking at you makes me happy, so I can’t help but keep watching.”
If you ever needed it, Hong Lu would gladly do your hair too.
In the mornings when your hair was messy, he’d run his fingers through it, using his hand as a comb.
Hong Lu would reminisce about old times, mentioning how he occasionally styled Xichun's hair. Sometimes Xichun would bring over a notebook and say she wanted him to learn a new way to do hers—or that she would learn and do his in return.
His fingers would brush past the back of your ear, gently tucking away a stray strand.
Watching her admire the finished look in the mirror, tilting her head this way and that with such visible delight, always lifted his spirits a little.
“If there’s any style you like, I’ll learn it for you.” Hong Lu’s movements were deft—gathering your hair in his hands, slipping the hair tie around it in just a few motions.
Maybe that explained why Hong Lu loved watching you so much.
⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹
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