#unsightly pounds
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genshin men as shoujo tropes.
characters. neuvillette, wriothesley, & alhaitham.
note. in celebration of the shoujo renaissance (and also bc im having a hard time finishing the drafts i left half a year ago) i present to you the ideas i had while half-asleep this morning. i dunno if this will ever be a consistent series but here are the first 3! (heads up: female pronouns will be used in this fic!)
neuvilette ; the duke
it has to be said. he's the duke of the north.
you belong to an aristocratic family, but you're basically neglected due to being your father's illegitimate child with a maid and your younger sister is much better than you at every way there is. appearance, etiquette, and intellect—she is far more superior than you at these aspects. countless men ask for her hand in marriage, while none asks for yours.
but honestly, you didn't want to be wed to a noble. you dream of being a commoner, free from the clutches of your family who looks down on you and solely dotes on your sister. you could be a baker perhaps, since you've always had a hobby of making sweets.
yet your parents suddenly announce you're now engaged. and to the duke of the north, of all people! he has made a great contribution for the war against the monsters within the continent, but he is more known for his ruthlessness and harsh temperament. if you were to be his wife, what would happen to you? the duke holds a lot of power, but no one wants to marry him because they're all afraid of him, you included.
as you're being sent to his castle by carriage, you're already trying to comfort yourself. at least you're away from your family now. he couldn't possibly be worse than them. and as ruthless the rumors all say he is, duke neuvillette is not the type of man to beat a woman who has done no wrong.
your first dinner with him is completely silent. the clacking of cutlery pierces through the air, the only sound you can hear other than your heart rapidly pounding in your chest. your head is bowed, too fearful to meet him in the eye, but you can't help sneaking glances at him.
the duke doesn't appear in most events hosted by nobles, too busy defending his territory from monstrous creatures to attend. but you see now that those rumors about him being unsightly could not be any more false. his long hair drapes over his shoulders, not a strand out of place. his gaze is calculating, a fascinating blue you can't look away from, and his nose cuts a high angle—he'd look fetching if he wore glasses as he does paperwork. really... how could this man be your husband-to-be?
as you're busy worrying over how you shouldn't offend him and appreciating his appearance, neuvillette is trying his best to appear calm. the woman of his dreams is right in front of him, whose hand was promised to him if he won against the dragon slumbering in the northern mountains. the woman he had yearned for years on end, the woman who gave him strength as he was on the verge of death during the war, the woman who doesn't remember him anymore—
but he promised you long ago he'll make you the happiest woman in the world, and he's intent on keeping his vows.
neuvilette may appear stoic, but he's nothing but sweet to you. he accompanies you at every opportunity he isn't busy with work, spoils you rotten, and makes you want for nothing. word spread throughout the land that duke neuvillette couldn't be any more smitten with his wife, erasing all rumors that claimed he was heartless. you were intimidated by him at the start, but as you spent more time with him, you learned that there was no reason to be.
...however, that only applies to you. although you never said it outright, neuvillette can tell your family didn't care for you properly. he already had reservations with them, and now he has other reasons to be angry.
when your sister comes to his residence and claims there was a “mix-up” in the marriage, that she should be the one wed to him and not you, he is furious.
but there's really only one ending for this story—after all, his heart only belongs to you.
wriothesley ; the bodyguard
you're the only granddaughter of a yakuza leader and wriothesley is your bodyguard who will protect you no matter what. (not claiming ‘a girl and her guard dog’ energy; there are plenty of other mangas who have this trope too.)
you're just an ordinary girl with a very extraordinary family but you want to live a normal life free of violence and keep your family background a secret. you beg your grandfather to let you attend classes at a normal school, and he allows you in one condition: wriothesley must be with you at all times.
so yeah. this tall and absolutely ripped guy is behind you every time you walk to school, in the corridors, on the way to the cafeteria, and the only time he isn't following you is when you go to the restroom.
very protective. never lets his guard down when you're talking to boys. doesn't understand what you see in the handsome guy that everyone likes when his looks aren't all that great (he's just jealous).
“let's go home. it's about time for the car to arrive... what do you mean you still have something to do? ...there's someone waiting for you at the rooftop? you found a love letter in your locker? ...i'll wait for you at the door.”
he does wait for you at the door, but he also tries to hear the conversation you're having. and maybe he scoffs a little when he sees the guy who's trying to vye for your attention, because clearly wriothesley worried for nothing.
there will be a lot of dangerous events involved (i.e. kidnapping for ransom, attempts to kill you as revenge, wriothesley's enemies trying to harm you because you're the person he loves etc.) but wriothesley will save you each time.
“i'm right here,” he says as he cradles you in his arms, hugging your trembling body. “you don't have to fear anything now.”
it's nothing serious. just a pathetic attempt at kidnapping by a bunch of idiots who want ransom money. you're safe and sound in the car, waiting for him to finish his business with the delinquents, but that fact doesn't make his anger fade at all. “if i see a single scratch on her, i'll kill you.”
his head is bleeding, dripping crimson over his right eye, but all he sees is your bound wrists, the bruise on your cheek, the blood on your lip. he's out of bullets. you're both surrounded by henchmen. he has a single blade in his pocket. still, he roars with uncontrollable rage, “no one touches her!”
(very important detail: he calls you “my lady.”)
alhaitham ; the nonchalant male lead
he's definitely the cold guy who's (at first) rude and blunt to the female lead.
you've liked him since you were kids. your moms are best friends and you live next door to each other. both of your parents seem convinced you're going to end up together, but he rejects every single one of your advances—not that it discourages you from trying again next time.
you try to walk to school with him even though he always goes to the library too early and you're the furthest thing from a morning person. you offer him the best parts of the lunchbox you cook for yourself. you give him a cold drink after gym class. you invite him out to the mall during the weekends to hang out. you doll yourself up everyday with cosmetics and accessories in hopes that he'll think you're pretty.
but alhaitham always just looks... disinterested. especially during dinners where both of your families are present and his mother teases him about dating you for what seems like the nth time that night.
and you know he's not obligated to like you back or anything. but you still want to get his attention. you want to improve yourself to get him to like you.
alhaitham may come across as cold-hearted, but he buys you bread from the convenience store on the way to school because he knows you missed breakfast just to go with him. he keeps an eye out for any stray balls hitting you during gym class because for some reason you attract them like a magnet. he often declines your offer to go outside during weekends, but he's willing to tutor you for the test scheduled next week.
so you like to think of yourself as someone special. because surely, he doesn't do these things for anyone else, right? you must be one of the closest people to his heart, right?
but then the pretty girl from the class next door confesses to him, and you think you've lost your chance. she's tall and gorgeous, her clothes are always the latest fashion, and you're pretty sure she's around the same student rankings as alhaitham. they're talking by the cherry blossom tree, and no one can hear what they're saying behind the wall you're hiding from in your quest to eavesdrop on them.
but then alhaitham leaves first, not giving her a single glance after what you assume to be a swift rejection. the girl isn't crying, but she looks a bit shocked as she returns to school, not expecting the turn of events.
your classmates don't even pretend to be decent; all of them are asking her what happened. “he says he's not interested in dating, that's all.”
and at that, you sigh in relief. even if you're not special to him now, no one else is either.
you don't notice her looking at you, envy burning in her gaze. she didn't say any lies—but she did omit something important.
“i think... i like someone now. the most important person to me.”
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact imagines#genshin x reader#genshin imagines#genshin impact scenarios#genshin scenarios#alhaitham x reader#neuvillette x reader#wriothesley x reader#fluff
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Hi friends! I’ve been sitting on this for about 3 months now and had the spontaneous urge to share. More lengthy authors note is over on wattpad. ٩(◕‿◕)۶
This one is going to be a long, chaptered fic, and here's the first chapter!
Also, big thank you to Miss @freedomfireflies for her help brainstorming <3
WC: 6.5K
Harry thinks that prissy, pretty little princesses stowed away in his cabin, tied up with ropes like haphazard, shibari interpretations, outweigh all chests, upon chests, of dainty sapphire emblems and chunky pendants of gold. This particular …treasure, in fact, is worth far beyond her weight in pure gold. A sight for sore eyes, too. Still sopping from the sea, her low-cut neckline clinging to her flesh and her skirt sheerly draped over her parted thighs.
It’s a nice view.
Seren doesn’t know how she’s ended up strapped to some horribly uncomfortable stool in a rocking room that’s wood, ceiling to floor.
Well.
She knows that the boat she was on was a victim of piracy. She knows that the ship, aimed for Holland, met an unsightly demise at some point, in open ocean, between Rotterdam and Harwich. She knows she’d been in a cabin of the Mary when the first strike landed, when flames erupted over the forecastle, when the deck turned to screams and a beautiful morning of calm skies, wisps of white she’d admired minutes prior, meant virtually nothing to the tightening in her chest.
The pirate leans back against the wall. His eyes, like emeralds, wind over her shape. She grits at the balled fabric between her teeth, chest heaving. He’s a man — a man’s man, unlike in appearance to the men she’s used to spending her pastime around, back home. The kinds who wither at the sight of the wrong fork at the dinner table or something, and turn their noses up at the thought of carrying something heavier than forty pounds. The kind whose hair coils pristinely, seemingly solidified rock in place. The kind who carry umbrellas to ward off the glaring rays of the sunlight as they stroll through the courtyard of shrubbery in their fancy shoes and fancy garments. This man is not that type of man.
He’s different, she can see it just in the way he carries himself. He’s not scared to get his hands dirty, he’s not scared to do the work. The crest of his left cheekbone wears a scar, a nick, so small she wouldn’t see it had he not stepped into the buttery beam of the daylight cast through the little window on the precipice of wall and ceiling, particles of dust dancing in the makeshift spotlight. His fingers, adorned with chunky rings, his hands — they’re calloused, like a laborer. She can see it from her view. His garb is simple, clad over his skin for purpose and comfort, solely.
But simple isn’t the term she’d deem best to describe him, not with his myriad of accessories, from the trinkets glinting from his holster, to his plethora of rings, to the mysterious, rusted key that dangled in the glen between his pecs. That one’s highlighted against bare skin in the vale of his haphazardly unbuttoned shirt. From there, she can see ink over his torso, carved in shapes over swarthy flesh. All sorts of pictures; beaks, and wings, lines of careful shading and others of jet emphasis; thicker, deeper sketches in contrast.
He’s clean shaven, which is unlike any pirate Seren’s ever heard tall tales of. His mouth is pink, cushiony in shape, and when the corners of his mouth turn up, dimples wink awake beside the curl. An even slope of a nose, and jade irises that brew with mischief. Seren can almost see the way that the flinty shade would brew with a storm, like the sea. If he wasn't a pirate of the boat that’d throttled her own, sent it spiraling into the ocean as nothing but husks of chipped wood and dying ember, maybe she’d find an alluring quality to him. But it’s not food for thought.
“Should we try again?” he prompts, in his tantalizing cadence.
When she’d heard him speak, for the first time, she was floored. An Englishman. An Englishman, youthful and spry, sailing a pirate ship, and pillaging when so much more could be in the books for such a man. So much potential, wasted. What a crying shame. She’d heard of pirates, of brutish criminals from her homeland, but they were always, for some reason or another, older, unprepossessing, scarred and crude with unkempt beards and a lack of morals, too far gone to redeem. They had eyes much too hungry for riches, and lewd, groping hands that were much too focused on flesh. Seren eyes his hands. They’re colossal. He hasn’t touched her in that way, not like that, but the lazy smirk over his plush mouth, the way his irises rake over her neckline, down the meshified front of her dress — that practically urges her not to count her blessings too soon.
When he squats just ahead of her, watching her in pause, his eyes glinting with this sort of condescension, because she’s indisposed and at his whim, Seren wishes her legs weren’t bound to the legs of the chair. She’d kick him, if she could. She’d scream, and kick, and claw, and—
“Are you going to start shouting again? Is that what you’re thinking about?” he murmurs, the corners of his mouth buckling. When she’s unable to respond, for obvious reasons, the man cups his palm over the shell of his right ear and twists his head a tad, leaning towards her a smidge.
“M’gonna need an answer, if you’d like to me to un-gag you. M’specifically gonna need a no,” the pirate prompts, a jesting air to his tone that Seren would love to crush. Her chest is still heaving from the last screaming fit, from the first time he’d tugged at the rope pressing to her cheeks and pulled the smushed fabric off of her tongue. His mouth twitches wryly.
He plants his forearms onto his thighs, casting his gaze to her as he weighs out the options, lips crooked, but eyes narrowed, just a bit, in a way that wordlessly suggests she comply.
“Let’s give this another go.”
When the man digs his forefinger under the abrasive rope and yanks it down, over her chin, and then plucks at the outside of the makeshift gag, Seren doesn’t nip at his fingertips. She’d tried that, the first time, but he’d retracted before her teeth could come into contact, his mouth jolting at the fire within her he’d underestimated. She expected a smack, she’d expected her neck to twist as her cheek bruised in response to the attempt, but he’d just stuck his tongue against his cheek, all mirthy, until she’d started to scream. Then he’d gagged her again.
So.
That was a failure.
The second the back of her throat meets the air, rather than the garbling cloth, the young woman starts screaming. Again. He’d kind of expected it. It’s a very lovely attempt, she’s quite loud, and all, but unfortunately, her efforts are sort of moot. That kind of thing tends to happen when you’re miles, and miles, and miles out in the open sea aboard a ship of men who work for the opposing team. Harry would clap if he wasn’t putting on a show of tucking a finger into his ear at her shrill cries. Eventually, he just watches her, letting her scream for a bit, and she holds seething eye contact as her help rises in pitch.
“Okay— alright,” Harry shakes his head, balling the cloth, daubed with her saliva, and shoving it past her lips haphazardly. She attempts to spit, but can only wriggle as he presses the rope back over her mouth like the task is effortless.
For a moment, neither of them say anything. The princess can’t. Harry tuts.
His tone carries notes of amusement when he tells her, “You’re quite pitchy. D’you know that?”
Seren stares him down.
“Have you got rocks in your head?” his lips nearly jolt up at the blunt nature of his own inquiry. They don’t. “I tell you not to scream,” he waves with an arm, “you scream anyways. I say, let’s try one more time, because— you know. Maybe you didn’t get the memo, the first time.”
The princess watches him talk, bemused. He gestures with his arm like a tired parent, stressed and lecturing a menacing, little child.
“And you yell again. So I’m wondering, have you got rocks in your head?”
Seren says nothing. She does wriggle in the restraints, like his question has insulted her enough to launch at him. But she stills when he squats ahead of her, once more, her heart hammering behind her ribcage.
“Who’s going to rescue you?” the pirate asks. It’s obviously rhetorical, and he knows she can comprehend that much. When the roll of her chest slows and she settles back, he can see it in her eyes that his point has left her crestfallen. His mouth quirks, and Harry presses again. “Who?”
When he knows that the message has sunk in, when she stares at the wall behind him, blankly, the only evidence of her consciousness being her glazed over gaze and the flare of her nostrils on every inhale, Harry sighs down at his palms and shakes his head.
“I’d just like a chat.”
Seren twists her head away. As much as the binding over her neck and face allows for, anyways. Harry tuts.
“So glum. You’re alive, aren’t you?” he cocks his head, voice low, “You’re not at the bottom of the sea. Not like your little boat.”
Those words hit a nerve, he can see it in the way she side-eyes him, the flame reignited, kindling in her scorching gaze. The pirate nods down at his hands, twisting a ring with a ruby red gem, like a shitty mockery of a moment of silence.
“It can’t possibly be comfortable, sitting with your mouth full, like that. And you must be thirsty, what with all that saltwater you were gargling,” he raises a shoulder, a coy reasoning to his speech.
Seren doesn’t want his stupid water. He’d probably poison her, have his way, and roll her off the ship, back into the raging waters he’d pulled her from. Harry blinks. She doesn’t offer an inkling to show that she’s willing to comply, but he stands and reaches for the rope, digging the pads of his fingers under the binding, over her cheek. His forefinger brushes the corner of her parted lips.
“Third time’s the charm.”
Though, he doesn’t sound the least bit convincing, not even to his own ears. He cradles the square of cloth between his fingertips and listens to her screams for a moment.
And then he startles her when he starts to harmonize with her screeching pleas. The first one is enough for her vocal chords to stutter, for her to jolt back in her seat, alarmed.
“HELP!” Harry calls, stretching the vowel outweighing her own scream in volume as the young woman’s own dies off, and the princess balks, startling in the ropes at the sound. He takes a pause for a deep breath, and screams again, “HELP!” banging on the wooden beams over the ceiling, bumping with his palm loudly, in an outrageous display that’s clearly meant to taunt. The sound of him striking it, alone, causes her to jump in her restraints.
He’s unhinged. Seren is convinced. Her spine straightens out like an arrow, and her shoulders square as she ogles the bizarre display, watching him strike over the ceiling, the walls, stamp the soles of his boots against the floorboards. After a second, he settles down. His hand is crooked against one of the beams overhead, and his gaze roves over her slowly. Purposefully. The corners of his mouth curl up sardonically.
“It’s not a very nice sound, is it?”
He’s deranged. His screws are loose, Seren decides, her eyes still wide as the racing pace of her heart settles in her chest — but any man who sinks ships for fun, in the open sea, who sails and pillages, and murders innocents with a hunger for riches, has screws loose. These aren’t insightful revelations. Maybe she’d just expected him to be less …bizarre, in their interrogation. He was going to get his answers out of her — they were his, they were going to be, and there’s no kidding about it — but the young woman is unsure of what answers he’s looking for or why. Why, why, why. Why did these pirates sink her boat? It was nothing but a small ferry in comparison to the opposing monster of a galleon. It wasn’t even a merchant ship, there were no riches to be stolen. Ironically, the pirate reaches a hand out, and Seren fidgets until his fingers clasp over her ruby pendant. He lifts it from her skin with prodding fingertips and a gaze of scrutiny.
She won’t give him answers, the princess decides. Whatever dialogue he may want from her, she won’t comply. She doesn’t know what he has in store for her lack of subservience, but she doesn’t care. She will not bend her will for this mangy brute.
“This is a pretty piece.”
Loose tendrils, clumped wetly, sway as she jerks her neck to tug the pendant from his grasp. She fails. His digits twitch and flex over the pendant, and the chain digs into the skin at the back of her neck with the faulty motion. The corners of his mouth quirk up as the princess makes an mmph.
That’s a pretty sound.
“M’not going to steal it. What kind of a man do you take me for? We’re good men here, on this ship,” the pirate declares, a sort of vehement passion to his statement, but the crook of his mouth says it’s an unlikely story.
So do the remnants of her boat, somewhere at the bottom of the sea, Seren thinks dryly. Maintaining eye contact, he lets the pendant settle back between her collarbones. It is a pretty piece, Harry wasn’t lying. Real gold, too — no princess would wear something less. But he’s got no need to pilfer it from her. Every molecule of her being, every cell, will pay out tenfold the cost of the necklace. It’s with that thought that he fixes the gag back into place and leaves her, trussed to that chair in the cabin.
“Ta,” the pirate bids in his slow roam towards the door, a glance aimed over his as he tucks his fingertips into the belt holstering his array of daggers, one handle bejeweled. The look he fixes her is sure, the kind that’s relaxed, but showcases that his word is final and will be the outcome. “Chat soon.”
Fun fact; being tied to a shoddy, little wooden chair for hours on end fucking blows. Especially when your hands are bound, in such a way where the rope weaves through the pegs of the back of the chair, keeping your joints wrung together tightly. It’s really aggravating to have a coarse rope, its weaving splintered with pinprick-y tufts, stuck up over your cheeks to hold some sordid rag in place between your teeth.
It’s safe to say that the experience is not one of Seren’s most favorite past-times. She’s not sure how much time has passed before that heavy wooden door creaks open on its hinges, again. Only a few hours, it must be. The crack of a window behind her hasn’t broken with nightfall, though the light cast through its opening has dimmed, if only a little.
It’s the same pirate as before. All glimmery jade and the bare vale of tanned skin from the unbuttoned sector of his shirt, where she makes out a faint dusting of chest hair, between his pecs.
The princess is still a gorgeous view, in Harry’s opinion. Her thighs are still splayed, but her cream dress has dried some, now, and so has her hair. It’s wild, mussed and frizzy. A half-soaked clump rests over one of her eyes.
“Hello to you, too, darling,” he says in response to the glare she fastens him with through the one that’s visible, like instant daggers. The corners of his mouth crook. He ambles toward her with a steel cup of …something. Something mysterious, something unknown, something she eyes warily up until the point where he’s towering over her. The young woman tears her gaze away, casting it up to his handsome face, instead.
He pries and tucks his digits up under the rope that’s settled over her cheeks and drawn ruddy hues, but he pauses before he pulls it down.
“Y’gonna get loud?”
Seren doesn’t say anything. In fact, she sort of can’t, which is quite nice, Harry thinks, but she doesn’t even make a garbled sound to appease or amuse him. The captain is thankful for what little fragments of peace he’s been granted before he’s forced to endure her ludicrously grating screeching. He weighs his options for a moment, but ultimately, tugs.
Of course, the second he’s pulled the cloth out, the young woman is screaming, of-fucking-course she’s screaming. And at this point, it’s so obviously a ploy to irritate him, and Harry would laugh if the whole display wasn’t so vexing. There’s a tick in his jaw when he sets the lip of the tin cup to her parted, strawberry mouth, roughly — and he wouldn’t be so rough if she wasn’t so fucking loud — and tips. Instantly, that shout is garbled by liquid. It morphs into a cough and a much more tolerable string of sputters, as water leaks over and drenches down her chin, her chest, the front of her dress.
“There we go,” the pirate says, the smooth baritone of his cadence louder over the fit of her coughing, “Attagirl. That’s much better.”
He doesn’t tip more of the beverage into her mouth — a ransom on a princess who’s drowned in her own lungs is worth virtually nothing — and lets her cough and sputter a little longer. She strings together a sequence of breaths he deems good enough, before he smushes the rim of the metal cup back against her bottom lip.
“Drink,” Harry advises and nudges the tin back in a way, again, so that the liquid sloshes and spills out into her open mouth.
This time, she doesn’t cough. She expects it, the water. The princess affixes her top lip lower to siphon the beverage and takes a few swallows. Harry watches her throat bob, and he watches a little rivulet escape, too, dribbling down the corner of her mouth in a little streak. It drips down her chin, down her neck. His pupils follow the trail. He gives her a little break part-way, once the tin is close to empty and her neck is craned back with the swallows. He draws it away. Good. That was good, nice and easy. As easy as it could be, given the circumstances.
Except she fixes him with this horrible glare, again, as he pulls the cup away. This glare that speaks volumes, this glower that should warn him of his error before he lets it happen. Harry doesn’t catch the drift. Only a glimpse of her cheeks puffing before she puckers her lips and spits the remnants at him, coating the bottom-most half of his linen with a mist of the water. His belt too, and a bit of his trousers.
And then her mouth is empty and she’s just scowling at him, head tipped down in a way so that the chunk of her frizzy tendrils settles back over an eye. Harry doesn’t waste a second before angling the cup, miffed, and flinging what little water is left in the cup right back in her face.
And the way her eyes screw shut, the way her lips fall open in silent appall the second he returns the energy, (except, he’s far more polite, in his humble opinion. He doesn’t spit at her like an improper animal), when she’s doused in the chilled liquid, and it coats the face-framing layers of her hair, her lashes, and drips down her chin — that’s the highlight of his day.
He doesn’t instantly fix the gag back into her mouth, or slip the rope back over her irritated skin. He watches her, his jaw set, and when the young woman opens her eyes, she sees that storm brewing, manifesting — the kind she’d only imagined prior, in the flinty green of his irises. Like he’s harnessing his own composure. But then he takes a step back, and just. Leans against the closed door. Like he’s scoping her with his gaze. Like she’s just this shiny thing for his sight to pore over.
And Seren thinks that feels worse than if she were to face the bite of his skin against her own, the swat of his palm against her cheek. She’d rather that, honestly.
Her skin is cold from the water. She’s still sort of reeling that he’d done that, to begin with. He’s drumming the pads of his fingers against his bicep, over the nearly-sheer, cream sleeve of his shirt when he asks, a serious note of authority to the molasses of his speech, “Do you know who I am?”
Seren curbs parroting the question wryly. As much as she’d love to tell him her father will torch the ship he rides upon and hang every member of his crew, him and his stupid fucking dimples included, she’s sure that all she’ll receive in response is a grating twitch of his pink mouth.
“Hm?” he prods, making a show of cupping a palm behind his ear and steering his torso forward a smidge, half-expecting her response to be a series of shrill cries, for the hell of it.
Her answer is not one he expects. Frankly, the man doesn’t expect an intelligible response, the history of her opting for incoherent shouts, considered. But she speaks, afterall. It’s soft in decibel, feminine, and pleasant — her voice, unlike the aimless yelling he’d become accustomed to. Even still, it carries that undeniable note of derision.
Seren tells him, “Someone …terribly disturbed.”
Harry almost can’t help the way his cushiony mouth quirks.
Almost.
“Disturbed?” he scoffs, sardonically mirthy, “She spits at me like a fucking …filthy animal, and I’m disturbed. Aye, I’m disturbed.”
The princess makes daggers with the gaze she sends in his direction. He lets her simmer in the wake of the light insult, for a moment, just drumming over his bicep, his mouth twitching in a kind of way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I’m the captain of this ship,” Harry supplies softly, jade narrowed.
There’s a twitch to her face then, something that slots by and withers in the blink of an eye. Something like recognition. And, fucking finally, Harry thinks — he can practically hear the angels croon at the crumbs of reception, from her, to his authority.
“That means,” he motions out with the cup, his other arm still crossed, fingers wrapped about his waist now, “I’m in charge.”
His voice is soft-spoken, a croon that spells it out for her, if she hasn’t already caught the drift.
“I’m in charge of this ship. This crew,” he takes a step forward, ducking his chin as his eyebrows tip up a bit, “And you. And that means I’m in charge of what happens to you. So don’t you think it’s in your best interest to behave?”
If he expects her to bow down and kiss the toes of his scuffed boots, the young woman doesn’t bite the bait.
“You’re nothing but a mangy sea brute,” Seren declares, then, her chin held audaciously high, despite the ropes binding over her breasts and the foreboding ocean that sways beyond, with ravenous threat. He could lug her off onto the deck and chuck her off the plank, tied just like this.
He doesn’t.
He just stays leant against the wall, arms crossed over his bare chest.
“Mangy sea brutes,” the pirate weighs her words, nodding slowly as he purses his lips in deliberation. And then his brows pinch together, “that’s quite insulting, actually. I take pride in my appearance, I’ll have you know.”
“Mangy,” the young woman confirms, venom in her tone.
The pirate props himself up and off, taking a languid step, each syllable of his cadence laced with condescension, “Now, rugged—“ and open mouthed smirk, a nudge with his chin, “I’ll accept. You don’t think I spend time in front of the mirror, darling? Mangy. What a rude word. I wasn’t aware that Siren, Princess of Essex was so abrasive.”
There’s a flicker of something in her eyes when they flash to him — something like sharp surprise, mottled with pique. Like she didn’t expect him to know who exactly he was harboring upon his ship. The corners of his mouth crook. She’s seemingly appalled that he’s done his research. The glint of shock is gone, as soon as it shows itself.
“Oh,” the captain takes a slow step forward in this sort of way, as if his body language is entirely meant to taunt her, hand in hand with his tongue, “I see. You thought I didn’t know who you were. Just some nameless, pretty little thing on my ship.”
It’s a purposeful dig — the mispronunciation of her name. It’s only a vowel off, it could be chalked up to simple error, but it’s blatantly to mock her. Really, it’s a funny little dub since she enjoys spending so much screeching like the nuisance of a blaring alarm that just won’t shut off. It’s meant to demean her, to belittle her, because not even her name, blue-blooded and all, is worth correct pronunciation. That’s what she seems to hone on from the whole revelation, Harry finds.
“Seren,” she corrects with bite, that same glower she’d worn prior reincarnated.
The man takes another step. He cups behind his ear, and Seren promises herself that the moment she’s freed, she’ll personally chop off his stupid fucking ear for all the times he’d cupped behind that shell of it that way, so condescending. “What was that?”
“Seren,” the young woman scowls, “Seren, Princess of Essex.”
He pauses, a cinch in his brows with this patronizing nod, like he’s weighing her correction, and then he tells her, motioning with an arm as the cinch relaxes, “Siren, Seren. Tomato, tomato.”
He motions with his palm nonchalantly. She wants to bite at his fingers. She doesn’t.
“How dare you?” the young woman says instead.
Harry’s mouth quirks. How dare he? What a pompous inquiry, molded by prissy lips.
“How dare I?” the pirate repeats, and then just lifts his shoulder in a casually apathetic shrug. He takes a third step forward, raspberry lips smug and curled, “I just… dare.”
And before the princess can voice her obnoxious protest, he shoves the cloth into her mouth and tugs up the rope, plucking a garbled sound of anger from her in the process.
The silence is wonderful.
By the time Harry returns to her for the third time, it’s well past nightfall. Light stops leaking from the crack of the window. Seren watches the shift, the way it rolls as the hours tick by, in the room. It morphs from behind her, its bright gold slipping into a darker orange, mottled with pink, and then dimmer, and dimmer, and dimmer, as minutes leak away, until all that’s left is dusk and the glow of the moonlight.
The door creaks. She almost doesn’t see it, but she hears the pad of his boots over the wood and twists her neck to catch the sight of his legs as he steps through the threshold.
“Honey, I’m home,” the pirate calls.
Her eyes strain their sockets to catch the moonlight cresting off his cheekbones as his head dips, the dimpling that rises awake beside the corners of his mouth as they turn up at his own jest. He’s holding something. The captain winds around her, through the coat of darkness, and settles somewhere she can’t see. A thump, like something being set onto a table. Then, soft breaths fill the void of the silence. A strike of a match. Her eyes are forced to adjust to a warm, buttery glow as the little beam of fire, merged to a lantern, and then another, sends gold bouncing wall to wall.
That’s when Harry sees that she's managed to make a home for herself on the floor, the chair she’s been restrained to tipped on its side. He almost doesn’t think anything of it, for a split second, but then, as the pads of his digits work buttons through their slits to disrobe, the pirate casts his gaze up for a double take. A twisted coil of satisfaction blooms in his chest as he observes her, the thought that whatever faulty maneuver she’d made to escape had resulted in this, and, well. That makes something joyful and mean bud.
Seren listens to his boots, the step of them slow against the floorboards, until she sees him towering over her, in her peripherals. Her pupils shift.
“Comfortable?” his brows climb with emphasis. The work of his fingertips over the buttons on his shirt are sluggish. Tired. She notes that motion, too — that fact that he’s actively shedding clothes. Nonchalantly. And it must show in her eyes, then. Something vulnerable, something uncomfortable, something raw, and petrified, because, yeah, she’s a petulant, little princess strapped to a chair in his cabin, against her will, and she fights him tooth and nail in every instance that he comes to visit her. But she’s a princess strapped to a chair, against her will, and it’s nightfall, and his skin is growing more bare, square inch by square inch, as the seconds pass.
He must note that — whatever that shows, because the quirk of his priorly mirthy, strawberry mouth slips a tad. And then his features shape something relaxed. Something tired, again. Like he’s too worn.
The sarky comment has those same traces of exhaustion seeping into it as his dismissive gaze disengages, honing on the work of his digits as he loops the final button through, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. You’re not my type.”
The cloth slips apart, showcasing more skin. A line of hair from below his belly button, in soft, dark wisps that melts off behind his belt. Sturdy muscles of his abdomen that ripple as he moves, chin ducked—
His palms cup over the belt of holsters, and that clinks as he discards it, too, winding around to, she assumes, set it somewhere. And then, more skin to pore over when he returns, the sharp cut of a V, decorated with laurels, emphasized by the low hang of his trousers. He cocks his head down at her, like he’s contemplating. Contemplating what, Seren’s unsure. He moves out of her line of sight again.
Her arm aches. She’d tipped over onto it what felt like hours ago, and it’d taken the brunt of the fall, lodged against the side of the chair with the situation of her joints being married in the bindings, behind her. She’d managed to roll forward on her shoulder, just a tad, so that the press against it wasn’t constant, but it still fucking hurt. Her palms, down to the tips of her digits, were numb, she had this heinous crick in her neck, and she’s sure that the moment she’s able to stand her tailbone will hurt like hell. If she’s ever allowed to stand again. Maybe he’ll hurl her into the open ocean, strapped to this godforsaken chair, afterall.
For now, he just hauls her up. His touch — warm — skims the opposite arm before his palm wraps over the beam over the back of the chair and tugs, leveling her with ease. The young woman squeaks against the gag as she hovers, terrified to drop straight onto the limb again. She doesn’t. The pirate sets her straight with a tired grunt. His sight scales her arm, the one she’d toppled onto, and Seren can’t see, but she assumes it’s not in the most pristine condition. And then his touch smooths over the ache, a crease over his brow bone as his eyes pry, and she bristles.
His mouth twitches, but it’s tired. Tired after having to deal with her, tired from whatever he’d spent his time doing beyond the cabin. Tired after sinking her ship and taking her hostage, Seren thinks bitterly. How exhausting. And Harry takes his hand away.
From her new, upright view, she can see that little metal cup — the same one he’d brought her hours earlier. He’s set it onto the table, and she knows it wasn’t there before, which means he’s brought it with new water. Seren turns her head to face it. It’s the most she can manage given that she can’t tell him what she wants, what with the gag and all.
“Thirsty?” he notes, chin over his shoulder in her direction as he shimmies the sleeves of his shirt off. Seren eyes the expanse of naked skin as it expands, from cuts of muscle to ink sunk into the flesh of his arm. Certainly, if she wasn’t before.
The princess doesn’t answer. She can’t, and she’s not going to resort to a string of pathetic hums to get his attention. The captain sets his shirt onto the table in a pile of disarray, beside his belt, and takes the cup. When he makes his way over to her, Seren’s eyes don’t follow his figure. And for a moment, there’s only a deliberative sort of silence. She doesn’t look until he talks, until his tone is far more serious than she’s heard thus far.
“If you spit it at me again, I will personally make sure you lick it back up, off the floorboards.”
And wisely, she doesn’t spit the liquid back up at him when he tugs the gag free and tips the rim of the cup against her mouth. Seren doesn’t doubt he’s the type of man to follow through on his words. But that’s not why she drinks — she drinks because she’s fucking thirsty. Her tongue’s gone dry, and the back of her throat pinpricks with an uncomfortable soreness, and because the lukewarm liquid feels good spilling down her throat. She cranes her neck back, throat bobbing, and doesn’t stop until he’s pulled the cup away himself, and a little rivulet of water dribbles down the corner of her mouth. She takes a big gulp of air and expels it.
And then, with angry sorts of eyes, the princess declares, “I’m hungry.”
“You’re hungry,” the pirate mirrors, but it’s only wryly amused — his tired, sardonic smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and he sets the cup back onto the table with little urgency to get her food. “We don’t offer room service.”
“You haven’t fed me once today,” Seren declares indignantly when he winds behind her, out of sight. And then there’s a sigh and a creak, the kind that seeps from mattress springs compressing. “This is— this is cruel, I’ll have you know. This is torture, this is—“
“Thank you for your honest review, we’ll make sure to take your feedback into account,” Harry chimes at her in true, facetious fashion, scrubbing over his eyes with a palm as he knees his way onto the bed. And then the pirate tells her, with a more serious note to his drawl, before she has a chance to interject with another complaint, “If you’re going to talk all night, I’m going to put your gag back in until the morning.”
Seren doesn’t say anything. Finally, she doesn’t say anything at all, and it’s splendid. It’s peace and quiet, and all he hears, for a perfect moment, is the creak of the wood and the subdued roar of the waves.
“I don’t want to stare at the wall,” the princess speaks, eventually, like a petulant child. “Why am I staring at the wall?”
“Because …that’s the way the chair’s facing,” Harry responds, matter-of-factly and almost instantly, sure that a note of irritation has managed to teem into the words despite his best efforts. He will not let her know that her efforts of poking are chipping at his composure, he won’t.
And for another moment, Seren doesn’t say anything. He lets his eyes drift shut.
“I want to face you,” the princess says, eventually, and her tone implies she’s taken the bridge of silence to build the phrase up into something more demanding, something royal and authoritative. If he wasn’t so fucking tired he’d laugh.
“You want to watch me sleeping?” she hears the pirate from behind her, his honey-smooth drawl grown raspy and lower from, seemingly, exhaustion, “That’s an odd request.”
Her brows furrow as a scowl paints her mouth. The bed creaks in the gap of quiet. Every hair stands on end when, suddenly, he’s inches from her, his presence looming and warm from behind, with calloused fingertips brushing the side of her neck in their venture towards that godforsaken gag.
“Just turn me!” Seren shrieks, “Just turn me, and I’ll be quiet!”
He doesn’t put the gag in. He winds around her, hand still on the rope, his features shaped with apathetic seriousness, “If I turn you because you want me to turn you, what good am I at putting my foot down? Hm?”
Seren blinks up at him.
“Please,” the princess tells him, hushed and earnest, “I don’t feel …safe.”
His brows twitch. There’s something that blooms in the jade at her admission, but it flits by, gone as quickly as it’d appeared. And then his brows furrow, and he looks absolutely exasperated, the subtle downturn at the edges of his mouth emphasized with the roll of that same jade. The pirate scoffs, and his boots stomp over the wood, each step an inclination that his frustration has leaked into his body language.
“I told you—“ the legs of the chair screech against the floorboards — he doesn’t even grunt as he maneuvers her with ease, the motion rough like it’s a chore, “—that you’re not my type. Not everybody wants to fuck you, your highness.”
Seren blinks, pupils poring over the priorly unseen sight of the opposite end of the room. A slit of a window, brushing the edge of the wall that merges into the ceiling. A bookshelf of literature and knickknacks. A dresser, a queen-sized mattress on the floor. The pirate still looks absolutely miffed when he walks toward the table with the lantern, bare shoulders squared and the muscles in his back rippling. He sets the light out, kicks off his boots, and falls into the bed unceremoniously.
It’s a victory.
And for a moment, Seren thinks he’s just going to wordlessly roll over to avoid her prying gaze. He doesn’t do that. They bask in the crash of the waves outside, the darkness, and their quiet breaths. He’s got this knack — Seren’s learned. This skill of morphing from sarcastic and teasing to broodingly serious, and it’s mercurial, sort of. She wonders if this brooding side’s what’s brought him to lead an entire ship.
“Be quiet now,” the pirate drawls from the sheets, in that broodingly serious cadence, “If I hear another word, I’ll personally carry you out onto the deck, and you can sleep in the chair out there.”
The man rolls over to face the wall. Seren doesn’t say another word for the rest of the night.
#pirate!harry#pirate au#piraterry#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry styles writing#harry styles x oc#dom harry styles#harry styles#harry styles dirty fanfiction#enemies to lovers#harry styles enemies to lovers
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kiss it better
𓂅 genre: childe, diluc, xiao, and kaeya x gn! reader fluff
𓂅 warnings: mentions of scars
𓂅 summary: kissing their scars and how they'd react to it
𓂅 note: rawr hi hello <33 i'm really sorry for postponing chapter 1 of the series soooo here's an apology gift HAHSJS. YEA THIS IS JUST PURE BRAINROT FUELLED BY THIS ART BY THE TALENTED @calligraphii (go check him out rn u will Never regret it) I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY EITHER WAY ^^
CHILDE
like the bloodthirsty harbinger he is, childe gets into tons of battles which end up giving him some nasty scars.
he's never been afraid of showing them to you. in fact, he prides himself in his healed wounds because they symbolize victory and strength to him.
there's a story hidden behind each scar and he spends hours relaying them to you in animated excitement.
he has you cradled in his strong arms on the bed, allowing you to point out different scars and ask him to explain how he got them.
there's this one particular scar that leaves an almost concerningly large mark right across where his heart would supposedly be.
you trace it with your fingertips curiously, the tenderness and warmth of your touch causing goosebumps to raise on childe's skin.
"ah... this one..." he trails off, raising a hand to casually stroke the back of your head as you listen to his story intently.
he expects you to be worried, mad even. but when you lean down to plant a kiss to his scar, right above his thundering heart, his stomach starts doing wild flips and his eyes soften immensely.
"i'm just grateful you're still here. with me," you mutter softly. childe simply cannot resist the urge to kiss you at that moment. his hands cup your face, fingers caressing your cheeks as his lips mold into yours perfectly. usually his kisses are hungry and desperate, but this kiss was different. it was sweet, sincere, and entirely loving.
even when he's breathless he doesn't seem to want to part from you. but, when you do eventually part, he leans his forehead against yours, taking your hand to gingerly place it over the scab once more. you can vaguely feel how is heart thrums in adoration for you as he says, "still here and will always be here for you, sweetheart. i won't ever leave you."
DILUC
unlike childe, diluc is more reserved with his scars. he doesn't think you'd want to see something so like that on him.
however, when you do get closer in your relationship, he seems to forget that they're there in the first place.
you make him feel comfortable enough to change in front of you. he knows you'd never judge him no matter the circumstances.
the first time he does change in front of you, casually tossing his shirt to the side, he's a bit worried when you go completely quiet.
"is something the matter, love?" he asks, craning his neck to peer at your figure behind him. a shiver runs down his spine when he feels your fingertips trace over the ragged lines on his toned back.
"how'd you get these?" you ask, arms coming to wrap around diluc's waist as you continue examining the scar.
he relishes in your hold and replies to you by saying, "i got them from tending to problems caused by the abyss order. nothing new."
"they are rather... unsightly though," he adds. but, before he can ask you if you'd rather get him to out his shirt back on, he feels your lips press against his skin. at that moment, all his sane thoughts and coherent words fly out the window.
such intimacy was still a tad bit foreign to diluc, but he welcomed it nonetheless. he fears that you can hear his heart pounding out of his chest when you continue to litter loving kisses across the lines of his back before perching your chin on his shoulder.
"not at all, luc." the simple reassurance is enough to have the corners of diluc's lips tugging up into an uncontainable yet small smile. he thought he was already so in love you but oh boy... you just made him fall for you much harder.
XIAO
he's lived and fought for such a long time, it's impossible that the adeptus' skin isn't littered with battle scars.
similar to diluc, xiao is more reserved with his scars. he would easily get flustered and a little insecure at just the thought of you seeing one of them.
however, he can't hide all his scars. there are some thag are clearly shown on his exposed skin, and it's not that hard for you to notice them.
xiao is aware that the scars are there, but you haven't paid them any mind yet so he hasn't worried about them.
on the night you do notice them, he tries not to react that much, trusting you enough to trace over the healed wound with your hand.
the scar you were currently caressing was on on his shoulder. he kept quiet as you continued to trace over it, a faint pink dusting his cheeks.
he would have quietly explained the origin of the scar but it wasn't a particularly big. it was minor enough that he had even forgotten how he had gotten it. so without anything to say, he keeps his mouth shut in a thin line until he sees you leaning in dangerously close to his shoulder.
"what are you—" all words die on his tongue when he feels your lips press against the wound on his shoulder, eyes growing wide at your caring affection.
xiao can practically feel the way his heartbeat speeds up rapidly when you raise your head from his shoulder to look at him with what he can definitely conclude is love. he still has yet to recover from his shock when you tell him, "your scars are pretty."
at that, xiao's cheeks flare darker to the point where not even the darkness of night can conceal his blush. you're patient with him and xiao can never express how grateful he is when you give him space and time to collect himself in times like these. he's even more grateful when you're content with his curt and short "thank you" as a reply, pecking his cheek softly before continuing to sit in the peaceful silence of the passing night.
KAEYA
being a cavalry captain, despite how laid back kaeya always seems to be, is not an easy task.
he's had to undergo years of training to master the skill of swordsmanship. he's had his own fair share of fights throughout his years of being captain.
with his job injuries are inevitable, so he tok has many scars all across his body, the most common ones being on his hands.
underneath the smooth gloves that he wears are calloused, rough, and scarred hands that telk stories of hardships and triumphs.
he's rarely seen in public without his gloves on, but at his shared home with you, he lets his hands be vulnerable in your comforting presence.
he lets you play with them and hold them without any qualms. he even has the nerve to throw in some teasing remarks like, "oh, so you like them rough ;)" please smack him upside the head </3
it's gotten so normal for him to let you examine his hands so casually. so when you give them extra attention and love, he is pleasantly surprised.
on one night when he's simply reading a book and letting you toy with his hand as per usual, he's surprised when he feels you pressing your lips against the numerous little scars loitered on his palm. he tears his eyes away from the page, cupping your face in his hand and smiling softly when you nuzzle into his skin.
"you're rather affectionate today," he chuckles softly, setting the book aside to pull you into his arms for the night. you shrug and intertwine his hand in yours, pecking his knuckles softly.
"i just love you that much." you smile up at him and kaeya can't helo but smile back. he cradles the back of your head with his free hand, pulling you closer to press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. "well, i love you as well, angel. much more than you will ever know."
taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @dawndelion-winery @tiredsleep @codename-hiraeth @mari-san-cant @mininji @artificial-heartache
© withloveajaxx 2022. please do not copy, plagarize, or translate in any way.
#iely's writing#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#genshin headcanons#genshin impact headcanons#childe x reader#childe x you#childe x y/n#childe headcanons#diluc x reader#diluc x you#diluc x y/n#diluc headcanons#xiao x reader#xiao x you#xiao x y/n#xiao headcanons#kaeya x reader#kaeya x you#kaeya x y/n#kaeya headcanons#08/07/2022
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Delirium?
@lil-hun-bun , “Raph x fem!Reader where he's taking care of her because she's sick and they end up confessing their feelings for each other, perhaps?”
~xXx~
All it took was one word, and the red cladded ninja turtle was scaling across rooftops to your place of residence. Sick. That’s what you had texted him after rejecting his call to hang out. It had him notably concerned, as there had been times when even if you had a small cough you’d still at the very least enter a video chat with him. However, no interaction at all was very unlike you.
Raphael did his best to conceal his racing thoughts, picking the lock on your window before making his way in. He couldn’t quite understand why he was so worried to begin with. It wasn’t like you were in the hospital or anything else of a more serious level. Part of him was actually quite irritated by the his fretful emotions. Not at you of course, more of what you seemed to do him lately. He’d never been this concerned over something so silly before. Even when one of his brothers or April would come down with a nasty cold, he’d just offer if they needed something from the store and leave it at that. In fact, in most cases he’d leave things to Donnie, unless it was said terrapin who had been ill. Yet when he’d received your message, the thought to ask Donnie or give his brother the heads up, didn’t even cross his mind.
What was it about you in particular that made Raph of all people go out of his way, just by one simple text message?
The answer had struck him when, after giving you a quick heads up to his presence, he entered your room to find you in an unsightly state, his heart dropping in his plated chest.
Across the room, snuggled under a pile of blankets and surrounded by tissues, you lay as pale as your sheets and covered in sweat like on a hot summer afternoon. The weakness in just lifting your head to peer over at the larger turtle and the croak in your voice had Raph’s heart strings tugged.
“Raph? What are you doing here?”
It wasn’t even a second after finishing your question that you fell into a fit of coughs, and Raphael was quick to make his way to your beside, taking off and opening the small backpack he’d brought with him. Inside were bottles of water and multiple types of medicine he’d dumped in his rush to get to you.
“What da ya think? You don’t answer my call, send me a one worded text with no further explanation, and expect me to not show up?”
You gingerly reached for a water bottle he’d opened and offered you, sitting up as best you could to take a few sips and completely unware at Raph’s resistance to assist you.
“To be honest, I would have expected Donnie, but you’re a nice surprise.”
Raph raised a brow ridge, sitting at your feet, the bed dipping with his weight and you’re feet resting against his thigh beneath the blankets.
“I’m not sure how to take that, so I choose to take it as a compliment.”
You giggled at his scowling face, eyes crinkling in the corner. Man, even when bed ridden, Raphael couldn’t deny the way you caused a light flutter of butterflies in his stomach. However, the sweet moment hadn’t lasted long when you suddenly erupted into another, heavier fit of coughs. Seeing you turn over to your side, nearly dropping and spilling the water in your hand had he’d not rushed to grab it for you with his quick reflexes, Raph felt a newfound type of panic.
“Hey, don’t go dyin on me now, doll. Tell me what I can do.”
His voice was softer than usual, you almost hadn’t heard him, but you did, and could just about feel the deep worriment dripping from each word.
“Got any cough meds in that mystery bag of yours?”, you asked, laying back against your pillows, head pounding and body sore.
There was a minute of rummaging beside you, when your normally brutish friend procured a plastic bottle with red liquid within.
“Um, I’ve got this?”
You took a peak, too tired to sit up again.
“Cough syrup. That’ll work.”
Raphael said nothing in reply, simply working to get the lid off and pour the heavy cherry smelling liquid into the small cup it came with. No words were spoken or asked, as a large hand, one usually so fierce had cradled and lifted your head with the upmost care and gentleness. Raph watched as you slurped down the cough syrup, cringing at the sickly gag you let out once finished, before just as gently resting your head back down against your pillow.
“Need anythin’ else?”, he questioned, hand resting on the dip of your side as you slowly rolled over to face him.
“Yeah.”, you mumbled, snuggling into your covers but keeping your gaze tiredly focused on his, “For you to know I mean it.”
A small chuckle left Raph’s beautiful lips.
“Mean what?”
“What I said earlier.”, you murmured, reaching a shaky hand from your covers to reach for the wrapped hand resting by your pillow.
Even in such a weak state, the light caresses you made across Raphaels large hand was enough to cause his heart to skip a beat. He looked to the side, suddenly feeling pressure under your gaze, his cheeks tinting ever so lightly.
“Pfft, sure. You’re delirious.”
“Raphael.”
The full call of his name, as well as the light squeeze of his hand by your much smaller one, was enough to convince the ninja turtle to take a chance and look your way. Despite the bags under your exhausted eyes and the strands of hair sticking to your sweat clad face, you somehow managed to convey every bit of seriousness and truth to your next words.
“Why is me enjoying having you here instead of anyone else that unbelievable? You’re my closest friend. You know how much like being around you. . .how much I like you.”
The last words were said with your cheeks flushing a lovely red hue, and while you knew Raph was aware of the true cause, maybe, just maybe it could pass as due to being sick. Gently shaking your head, pushing aside the anxiousness in your own chest, you looked back up to offer a silent Raphael a gentle smile.
“And I’m not delirious.”, you reached up to gentle boop his nose.
Raph grasped your hand in his, but didn’t release it as he had started to copy the same soothing motions you had done with his hand a little earlier. His heart felt so full. Just as you caused him to fret so much over a single worded text, only you could make his heart do ninja flips while looking like the plague. Honestly, that somehow made him even more fond of you. Just like all those times you had gone out of your way to care for him, a mutant turtle who people only saw as a burly ball of anger and furry. Perhaps those times of your unique kindness towards him was also why he’d go out of his way to care for you in this moment as opposed to how he would for anyone else.
Maneuvering your hand, Raphael turned his face ever so slightly to place his lips softly against your palm, the feeling of a chaste kiss being left there as he spoke.
“Yah, I know, doll.”
~xXx~
#bayverse raphael x reader#bayverse raph x reader#bayverse raphael#bayverse tmnt x reader#tmnt x reader#aged up tmnt#fluff#comfort#sick reader#female reader#@lil-hun-bun#imababblekat's writing
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can we get a yoru x f/non-binary reader which doesn't end with the reader getting turned into a weapon (also with a little asa sprinkled in)
Love Yoru and Asa, but I dunno how much romance is actually in this thing. It's pretty long compared to my usual word count, so I don't know how spread out it could be or if things are rushed.
Anyway...
⊹ ࣪ ˖ Conflict of Interests ˖ ࣪⊹
Love Asa and Yoru and imo both need more love, but specifically Yoru.
➸ Yoru + !Neutral!Reader, Asa + !Neutral!Reader
➸ Word count; 3849 words,
➸ Warnings for gore, because this is CSM and it's Yoru. No spoilers (that I know of)
➸ Aside from the gore, I don't believe there are any other content warnings either. Don't know how well this flows because none of my work is beta read and I was also losing motivation by the end of this because I cranked this out in about two or three hours.
All things considered, you were adapting to your new life in Japan pretty well. At least, it felt like it.
Communication wasn't an issue, which was a relief - Neither was money, but your biggest problem so far was being directionally challenged. It complicated your routine to the utmost degree, and what was supposed to be a simple shopping trip had taken more than three hours because somewhere along the way you'd taken a wrong turn. Which was why, in your current moment, you were wandering aimlessly around the backstreets of Kyoto, meandering closely to the nearby high school. Silent as it was at the current hour, it still felt weird knowing that if you never left home, you'd probably be stuck in a building like that for hours on end.
You weren't though, and you were also lost. Which seriously wasn't fun, especially when you had a younger brother at home left unsupervised.
What was even less fun, though, (besides the thought of a rouge twelve-year-old boy) was the lack of people around you. Sure it was late, school was finished and the teenagers had cleared the food stalls and vendors and had already gone home, but it wasn't late enough that people would be tucking up in their homes already. The sun was still peaked beyond the horizon, casting pale light amok the city - The streetlights weren't even on yet, and yet the roads were emptier than a bucket with a hole in the bottom.
You weren't sure if that should make you feel relieved, or even more anxious than you already were.
Your first thought was a devil attack. They were common enough, and although the living embodiments of fear preferred more public areas (more fear to feed on, you assumed?) that didn't mean the weaker devils didn't slink around alleys like shifty cats when the darkness fell. And it was that thought exactly that kept you from calling out for help.
It was certainly a nerve-wracking thought, that was for sure, and a part of your new life that you weren't ever sure you were going to get used to. At least back home, devil attacks weren't nearly as common as they were 'round the streets of Kyoto. Sure, you'd go through attack drills like any other school, but luckily for you, you'd never had the misfortune of meeting one face-to-face on the streets. You couldn't even imagine the pure terror you might feel in that scenario - The pungent fear, the visceral pounding of your heart in your ears, the fight-or-flight instinct failing to kick in, maybe even the sickening, cloying stench of iron blood swarming your nose-
Huh. That wasn't good.
That sickly sweet, cloying iron scent of blood was swarming your nose.
You froze, rounding the corner, feet rooted to the ground. You almost flinched at the wet squelch that met your shoe instead of the steady tap against worn, greening concrete. Didn't have to look down to know that pools of blood were lapping seamlessly on your brand-new shoes. You didn't know what made you wince more, the price of the now ruined shoes, or the feeling of pungent fear that struck you at the unsightly view of bulging intestines flung around the wider street in front of you.
Gross - Disgusting. There was no immediate threat, you deduced after a second or two of not being attacked. No, the devil that made this mess (inadvertently or otherwise) was sprawled in the middle of the street, gangly, twisted, fuzzy and bulbous body blocking the road like the world's most horrific barricade. It wasn't moving, fur clogged with blood and flesh and guts only wavered with the faint breeze, but its sides didn't heave like it was breathing, although you weren't entirely certain that devils had to breathe. 'It could still be a trap' Was the thought that bullied its way to the forefront of your mind, and yet you still couldn't find it in yourself to move.
For the first time in what had to be a good long while since you'd left the store, you saw someone else. At first, your heart froze as the bee-like body of the devil shuddered and shook - It rolled onto its side, spilling more of its entrails onto the path. They slithered up to you sluggishly, like a trash heap toppling over, but the insectile face filled with jagged and snaggled teeth was blank as ever. There was no life behind those eyes, but you were more focused on the girl who'd effortlessly posed herself atop the body of the beast.
She wore a school uniform, you noticed, paired with an otherworldly cutlass held firmly in her right hand. The world around the two of you was eerily silent, ear-splitting and ringing in your mind. You clutched your bags a little tighter, the plastic crinkling, rustling ever so slightly in your fist.
The hunter whipped around to face you - She couldn't have been much older than you, but her darker hair framed her face fiercely, fire-ringed eyes glaring you down with such hostility that it almost gave you whiplash. She didn't budge from her spot, but her shoulders drew up tightly as she held her weapon in front of her defensively.
You just blinked - The smell of blood wasn't as pungent as when it first hit you, settling over you like a blanket. You just lifted your shirt, covering your nose as you waved the brooding, mysterious and most likely murderous stranger over to you. From where you stood, you could see the way she froze, face twisting from a scowl into confusion, before the crisscrossing scars on her face literally melted into her own skin, leaving her in perfect condition.
The sword clattered mutely against what looked like a misshapen lung, and the girl set her foot down firmly against the joint of a broken leg. It gave out immediately, and you could only watch as she yelped and tumbled haphazardly from the corpse into a pool of blood. The aura she'd been carrying up until that moment disappeared the second she looked up at you again. Her eyes no longer glowed like red-hot embers, mellow brown eyes looking nothing but defeated.
She shook herself once and heaved herself to her feet, shuffling over to your relatively clear patch on the fringe of carnage.
"Hello?" Her voice cracked awkwardly. You couldn't help but purse your lips sympathetically.
"Hey," You began, reaching into your pocket. Just your luck that you had a clean packet of tissues packed. "I was just wondering how to get back to the main road. I'm new to the area, and I'm kinda lost."
You offered her the tissues, and it looked like she was about ready to cry at the gesture.
"Oh, uh, sure. I could walk you," She froze, dabbing the blood from her cheek, "-only cause I also need to walk that way," Her face pulled into a grimace, and she subtly flinched as if someone was poking fun at her. She opened her mouth a few times, gaping like a fish before her face flushed red. Without another word, she hurried around the corner you'd just rounded, and you just followed without another word.
She didn't talk, never glanced in your direction to see if you were following her. You didn't mind, though, because you were just happy to see life slowly returning around you - Moreso the sounds of traffic and chatter and city ambience that you'd slowly lost over the past few hours. The joy of finally returning to a place you could somewhat navigate diverged your attention, so by the time you turned to at least thank your guide, she was already long gone.
It wasn't really your problem if she didn't want to stick around. What was your problem was the little brother you'd left at home by himself. You hoped that the apartment was still in one piece by the time you'd made it back.
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You finally visited the school. It certainly looked different teeming with student pushing and shoving their way to freedom. It also felt a lot different, seeing people your age running around in uniforms, talking to friends and passing by you without a second look. The uniforms, in particular, gave you a pause - They itched your brain in the most peculiar way until you remembered why. The same girl you'd met about a week ago, the one who'd slain the bee-like devil, had worn the very same uniform. Albeit, hers was doused in blood and cuts, it was no doubt the very same one.
That was a thought for later. You tapped your foot impatiently against the ground, waiting for your brother to finally make an appearance. You supposed his tardiness was payback for the time you got lost and spent hours wandering the backstreets of Kyoto, but you couldn't help but feel impatient.
He appeared a second later, thankfully, surrounded by a group of kids his age. It was nice to see him fitting in, especially after he'd only been going to his new school for about a week, although you had to admit it was funny seeing him freeze as soon as he saw you waiting at the front gate.
"Why are you here?" He scampered away from his group, looking more nervous than annoyed. You fixed him with a perpetually bored look.
"I came here to walk you home, idiot, why else? For shits and grins?" You quirked an eyebrow. He sighed and sagged his shoulders.
"But… I was gonna hang out with my new friends…" You gasped dramatically.
"And you were gonna make me walk home all by myself?" Your brother cringed. You felt nothing but satisfaction. With a sigh, you pat him on the shoulder.
"Just be back in time for dinner," You paused and set him with a stern expression. "And steer clear of devils, alright? I want you back in one piece."
He only gave you a big smile and a rushed thanks before running off, quickly rejoining his group. You shook your head and stretched your arms, noticing how quickly the crowds around you had thinned out around you.
"Oh, it's you again," You turned on your heel, coming face to face with the same, sharp-eyed dark-haired girl you'd briefly met a few weeks ago. Her face was riddled with scars again, clean cut, rough against her pale skin. You furrowed your brow, wondering if your memory was playing tricks on you.
"It's me? You were the girl who killed the devil, right?" You just had to make sure. She puffed up, eyes practically glowing orange and she fixed you with a pompous look.
"That's me. I'm an expert with any sort've melee weapon," She waved her hand as if shooing away an annoying insect from her ear. "But that's not why I came over here," Her eyes gleamed, "I was just wondering if you wanted to go shopping with me, y'know, have a walk around?"
You did a double-take.
The idea sounded nice, making a new friend, and there was a regular food vendor that you'd been meaning to try recently. But the idea of going with a stranger you'd really only just met set of alarms in your brain.
'However…' She was admittedly pretty. Those bright eyes that seemed to peer into your soul, a sharp, clean smile with long dark hair. 'Plus, it'll be in public, right? Plenty of other students and people around.'
"Yeah, sure, I have time," You missed the way her smile grew ever so slightly, stretching just further than a human could naturally.
However odd the situation was, you couldn't deny it was nice to finally have someone other than your brother to talk to. Admittedly, it was also odd how her bravado slipped the minute you turned to walk into the city, but you also found the marine life facts she sputtered out like she'd rehearsed were entertaining. She just seemed happy that you didn't seem bored out of your mind.
Asa Mitaka, you learned her name was. Wasn't usually one to talk to people, and she said it was a miracle she was able to muster up the courage to talk to you in the first place. She pointedly refused to make eye contact most of the time, which was fine in your opinion since at least the conversation was kept in a lively ebb and flow you weren't entirely used to.
She talked with an edge to her voice, not an annoyed one, but rather a nervous one. You didn't really want to ask about it, seeing as you used to do something similar when you were younger, however, Asa beat you to the punch.
"I don't have many friends - I had one before, but, well, she died in a devil attack not too long ago," She peered through a window store, just looking at the array of shoes that were for sale. "I mean, I haven't had many friends at all. Just the one." You stepped up next to her, but she just peered sadly beyond the glass.
Brown eyes. You squinted. Perhaps the light turned them orange. You once knew someone whose hazel eyes turned yellow under the light. Orange wasn't too far from brown.
"Maybe we can be friends," You asked, almost absentmindedly. Asa whipped around to stare at you, her mouth hanging open. Her eyes flickered back and forth - From your face, to behind you, maybe. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth nervously and didn't say anything.
That made your heart twist a little. Ouch.
Taking a break from the sun, the two of you were stopped at a vending machine under shade, grabbing a few drinks. It was mostly quiet aside from the sound of the machine working, clanging softly as coins were inserted. You were leaning against a wall when a little thing approached you out of the corner of your eye.
"Aw, cute. Kitty cat," You kneeled and reached out your hand, letting the feline sniff your fingers before it rubbed its head along your palm. Asa made a noise halfway between a choke and a squeak before shuffling a few paces backwards.
"Yeah, cute," She seemed preoccupied, whispering something urgently under her breath. Which was odd - You were going to ask if she was okay, but Asa was suddenly in your face before you could react, those same, orange-ringed eyes staring into your very being.
Orange. Not brown.
Preoccupied, a hot flush covered your face.
"Come with me. I wanna show you something cool," The bravado was back, oddly enough. No trace of the nervous high-schooler, but rather, the cool, confident and dangerous devil hunter you'd seen the first time you'd met eyes.
The change made you nervous, but also, you couldn't really say no to a pretty and confident girl asking you to come with her, especially when she'd been so heartening throughout your entire afternoon. She sealed the deal by taking your hand in hers, wrapping her lithe fingers confidently around your own in a way that made your heart thud errantly in your ribcage. Starved for human touch, you followed her as she tugged you along with enthusiasm.
It made butterflies tumble around in your chest, a sense of happiness and friendship you hadn't known in a while. It made you feel like a normal teen, running through the city with their friend, laughing happily together. You didn't have to care about making dinner, or phoning your parents in another country, or worrying about bills - You got to just run around without care plaguing your brain. You didn't care about the people you ran past, didn't even care as the streets thinned and people slowly appeared less and less around you. You didn't even realise that Asa had dragged you into something that was nothing less than an alley.
You only realised when she'd stopped laughing and was instead standing stock still between you and your freedom.
You also stopped laughing. Your heart dropped deep into your stomach.
"Ah, shit," You puffed, still catching your breath. "Well, I guess it was a dumb mistake to follow a stranger through the city." You tried to laugh away the atmosphere - You wanted to believe that you'd make it back home to see your family again, but somehow, seeing Asa's burning orange eyes made you doubt the chance that that would ever happen.
"Not surprised. Humans aren't the smartest," She offhandedly remarked, watching you like a dingo would watch a human baby. Although, no, that wasn't entirely right. There was a cold, analytical feeling behind it, not a sensation of hunger. But that word, the little indication - 'human.'
"You're a devil."
It was less a question and more of a statement. Asa smiled and cocked her head.
"A devil you couldn't even begin to fathom," Those same ringed eyes burned, pinning you to the wall. You furrowed your brow, gut-twisting and your neurotically swayed, judging how far you could possibly make it before she could close the distance.
"Lay it on me. I'm pretty smart," Were the dying words you chose to go with. However scary a devil she could be, Asa was also still in the body of a high-school girl. The sight wasn't particularly scary compared to the devils you'd seen in the past.
"You're bravado won't save. It certainly didn't save my host," Asa reached out her hand toward you, pinprick eyes staring you down with such complexity. The visage reminded you of an owl.
"I am not Asa," Asa began - "Asa is a part of me, and I am a part of her, yet, in the end, we are two different beings." You tilted your head.
"Then, who are you?" You shimmied against the wall, trying to perhaps slide your way to freedom.
Asa closed the distance instantly, digging her fingers into your scalp with such ferocity that you could feel it digging into bone with enough force to pin you to the spot, but not enough to shatter your skull instantly.
"I don't have a name, but I go by Yoru - The devil of war."
.
"(Name). Spinal cord sword."
You held your breath.
Nothing happened.
Yoru furrowed her brow.
"(Name). Spinal cord sword."
Her face morphed into a scowl, and then a snarl.
You gave her a look, one that asked 'what the hell are you doing' and you knew she knew exactly what you were thinking.
"What the fuck - Why isn't it working?" She let you go, shoving you painfully into the wall. You were dazed, now had a sore head and probably a minor concussion, but you were alive and your limbs weren't twisted into a gorey weapon. Your eyes focussed just in time to see Asa, or Yoru? Punch a hole in the nearby brick wall.
"It's because of you!" Yoru shouted at a patch of empty air. "You and your stupid human feelings and your pathetic nature to fall in love with someone who shows you a smidge of kindness and your stupid nature infecting my mind! Sharing a body with you has done nothing but hinder me!"
Yoru howled and whined like a toddler, bashing her fists against the same wall she'd punched a hole through, clutched her hair with her face screwed up into a childish scowl. She whipped around to stare in the vague direction she'd done so before, her scowl deepening with her teeth bared in a snarl.
"I AM NOT STUPID!" And with that, the anger was gone. The scars were gone, too. Her eyes were a rich shade of brown, deep, with flecks of gold and faint rings that seemed reminiscent of the war devil's own eyes. You had no idea if it was the influence of the devil herself, or if Asa's (?) eyes naturally looked like that.
An ear-splitting silence settled over the scene. Asa slumped against the wall, curled into the pit of carnage Yoru had carved with her bare fists. She just sat there, staring blankly ahead, eyes hooded and squinted as if someone was yelling at her. You were in a similar boat, head pounding, trickling of blood dribbling from your hairline, down your face and dripping onto the concrete below.
"So," You hummed. Asa flinched, but she didn't stop staring into the empty air ahead of her. "What the fuck was that all about?"
"That, uh, was Yoru." She didn't say anything else.
"And Yoru is the war devil?" Asa nodded.
…
"Mind explaining what's going on?" Asa finally pulled herself together, physically.
"It's a long story," She offered, trying to pull her hair into a pair of twintails.
"Well, I have to make dinner. Fancy staying over?" The words were out of your mouth before you could even think about them. Why you were inviting the war devil over for dinner, or at least the host of the war devil, you had no idea. But you just had one question you really, really had to ask.
"Hey, do you know why she's such a baby?"
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"I'm heading out, be back soon!" Your brother yelled into the apartment, shrugging on a jacket.
"Don't fill up on junk food and don't talk to any weird devils, 'kay?" You yelled back. Your brother paused and looked at you before nudging his head in the direction of the other room. You scoffed.
"You know damn well what I mean!" Your brother laughed and locked the door behind him as he left.
Yoru appeared in the doorway as he left, a loaf of bread tucked under one arm with a slice hanging from her mouth.
"Where's he going?" The devil sat next to you at the kotatsu, absentmindedly watching whatever was playing on the tv set.
"To hang out with friends. He probably won't be back later so don't eat all the goddamn soba this time," You pointed your pen in her direction. The devil didn't seem particularly threatened, so you made a mental note to put aside a bowl for your brother.
"Hey, Yoru? Quick question," The devil grunted. "When will I see Asa again? Not that I don't appreciate your…" You paused and looked her up and down "Wonderful companionship, it feels weird to only see one of my girlfriends on a near daily basis."
Yoru scoffed and shrugged.
"When Mitaka can take control of this body, she's more than welcome to hang out with you," Yoru took the piece of bread she'd been eating and pressed it against your lips. You quirked an eyebrow but took a bite of the offered piece of bread. You decidedly didn't comment on her eating it plain, as last time resulted in a forty-minute tantrum including someone called 'Fami'.
After a moment of silence, Yoru stopped and grinned sharply. The same smile she gave you back in that alley all those months ago.
"Are you bullying Asa-" Yoru reached forward and grabbed you by both your wrists "-again?"
…
"Yoru?" The war devil smirked like a bitch.
"Yeah?"
"You're doing this to tease Asa, aren't you?" Yoru only cackled.
"Perhaps."
Asa is crying and shaking at the end. She can't believe Yoru would do something like that in front of her.
#asa mitaka x reader#asa x reader#yoru x reader#csm x reader#chainsaw man x reader#yoru is a black cat gf#asa is an orange cat gf#some fluff#can't believe yoru eats her bread plain smh#war devil x reader
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Chapter 1: The Flawless Performance
pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader
tw: professor/student dynamic, reader is 21, riled emotions, distrust towards reader, mentions of female masturbation, fantasising about her sexy professor, explicit content in all subsequent chapters
summary: You had been his favourite. It should have stayed that way, and Professor Nanami would realise the error of his ways one way or another.
Chapter 2 | Masterlist
“I think you’ll find, Sir…”
The rest of the sentence was obscured behind the wild pound of his pulse. Every nerve set ablaze by the sugary sweet voice that was the bane of his very existence. Strong fingers gripped the pen in his hold with renewed strength, feeling the give of the flimsy plastic as he crushed the life out of it. Splintering shards flooded his palm, and he had to fight every urge not to show the evidence of his ire.
A sea of faces stared down at him, a range of expressions from over-eager interest to downright blatant boredom, and among them–you stood out. It was impossible for his eyes not to swivel straight to where you sat, the same seat you always took. The one dead centre, ensuring that he would give you the majority of his attention–you demanded it after all.
Professor Nanami stared down his charges; long had he become disillusioned with the life of a teacher. It felt like an age had passed since he had considered himself eager to share his knowledge, now finding solace as the clock above the door ticked towards clocking off time more than anything else. There had been a time when he was fresh-faced and excited to encourage the next generation, but as everything else had in his life, the shine had worn off remarkably fast.
A haunted silence rang through his mind despite his awareness that you were still talking, not a word of it did he hear. His elbow braced upon the lectern he stood at, one foot crossed over his opposite ankle as if he were bored stiff. The ability to mask his emotions came in handy at moments such as this, although it was becoming increasingly difficult and he knew exactly what the reason was.
Kento’s gaze wandered somewhat aimlessly around the slightly raised platform that he stood upon, searching for something to focus his attention, and it fell on his meticulously clean desk on the far side.
A desk that suddenly seemed wrong; his brow lowered in concentration as he focused on the cherrywood desk. He scrutinised every inch with his sweeping gaze, something was out of place and not being able to spot the oddity was only causing his wrath to grow. It wouldn’t be long until it consumed him, that ugly feeling spreading like a sickness throughout his body until it succeeded in darkening every corner.
There it was.
A vibrant pink pen with an unsightly fluffy pompom at the end lay across his open planner. He glared at it. He wished for nothing more than to set it ablaze with his eyes alone. This was not the first time he had seen this particular pen, it had a strange habit of appearing on random parts of his desk despite the numerous times he had disposed of it, and the wild thought of who this pen likely belonged to struck him right between the eyes.
The phoney cutesy voice was still going strong as he attempted to tune back in, your words dissecting every point he had made within the last forty-five minutes of his lecture. You wielded your words like a surgeon wields a scalpel. Nanami walked to his desk, each step of his feet sounded like an ominous thunderclap on the polished wood.
There was no other noise within the auditorium other than his footfalls and the incessant crucifixion of today’s lesson, he could sense the brewing storm that pressed heavily upon everyone present. It was evident from the way he watched students shuffle in their seats, that uncomfortable squirm that spoke of their wish to be able to escape the impending doom.
He reached the desk in a mere six paces and picked up the offending pen with his finger and thumb, holding it like it was something he’d rather not touch at all.
Wait, was that a falter in the diatribe being spouted?
Nanami rounded the desk until he could lock eyes with you, amused at how you had rushed to continue your speech. Hazel eyes stared directly into yours, he held your gaze as his fingers released the pen to fall to its death within his trash can, the clatter of the plastic meeting metal sounding far louder than it should.
At long last, you had come to the end of your admonishments, and a slow smile spread across his face. You didn’t need to know that he was literally biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in line, very aware that if he were to act upon the wishes he had at this moment, he would lose his job in a heartbeat. The shocked expression that graced your pretty face was victory enough.
Whatever you had expected from him, it surely wasn’t this and he was filled with momentary satisfaction that was far too fleeting for his liking. It was not nearly enough to douse the flames of irritation, but enough to allow him to find his voice once more. Walking with considered steps he stood centre stage and brushed a hand through his slightly ruffled hair.
“And with that, ladies and gentlemen, my character assassination as a Professor is complete.”
Kento pressed his arm tightly against his front, bowing as if he were an actor in a play and the curtain had finally fallen. Tinkling awkward laughter rang through the room, and he took the opportunity to spread his arm towards where you sat. Your eyes widened in surprise, your mouth popped into a small ‘o’ that looked so damn appealing to him at that moment, and such a tight hold on the pen in your grasp that your fingers were visibly trembling.
“Why don’t you stand and take a bow? Such a wonderful performance as my assassin. Clearly, you know more about the subject than I, the Professor do.”
Silence.
All laughter died in the throats of the students as they twisted in every direction to get a look at the girl in question. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t feel sorry for you, but it was so insignificant in comparison to the months of harassment he had suffered through that it was easy to squash the feeling under his heel.
Some may think that his lacking compassion made him cruel. How wicked to toy with his students in this way, he must have no feelings or empathy, but this was far from the truth. He did care, despite his waning enthusiasm for his profession, he still wanted the best for the students that walked through his door. The only crime that Kento was guilty of was being consumed by his thoughts–thoughts that were far from pure and just.
His annoyance for the mental and emotional torture he had been put through by you was more than evident, but more importantly, it was his annoyance for letting himself get this riled up in the first place that bothered him the most. For allowing it to get this far without putting a stop to it–he held the authority to do so, and he worried for a second that a part of him might have sickeningly enjoyed it. Who in their right mind would be so depraved to have enjoyed what he had experienced?
Speaking of his tormentor, you slammed your open notebook closed with an echoing thud. The reverberation rattled at his nerves, and he ground down on his molars as you got to your feet to give a cute curtsey. Ever the brilliant actress, no one would ever suspect the evil mind that was housed within your angelic-looking head.
Damn you…
~
Professor Nanami, why do you snub me so?
What changed, and why do I care more than I’d like?
It was always a challenge to interject into one of his lectures, despite the alarming regularity with which you did so. Everything about him was imposing; from his stature to his authoritative voice. It would be a lie to say you hadn’t found yourself staring at the broad frame of your business ethics professor on more than one occasion. Getting woefully lost in your mind at just how wide his shoulders were beneath the crisp button-ups that he always wore.
You remembered well the day at the beginning of the summer months, the one when the weather seemed intent on cooking everyone to a sizzling crisp. Reliving the memory of the mesmerising way he had rolled his sleeves to the elbows. Not only had it exposed his muscled forearms, the thick tendons pulled taut whilst his equally thick fingers worked the stiff fabric, but also the tawny complexion of his skin.
How amusing that he should teach business ethics when you had long strayed into very unethical territory, but it wasn’t enough to stop you in your endeavours–not nearly enough. He deserved it after all, stringing you along only to cast you aside for seemingly no reason at all. Could you really call it stringing you along?
If you thought about it rationally for even a second, you would likely conclude the insanity of the emotions that ruled your head but it was difficult when you manifested hearts in your eyes every time you walked through the hallowed doors of Professor Nanami’s lecture hall.
You weren’t some silly sixteen-year-old girl anymore, so why did it seem your emotional maturity regressed within his presence? From the very first moment you met him, you were hooked. Down so sickeningly bad that you went out of your way to impress him time and time.
Shrugging off the whispered sneers of “teacher’s pet” and becoming top of the class with a lot of hard work and dedication to the subject matter. Weren’t you the perfect cliche; lusting after your handsome professor like some lovesick puppy?
You tried to forget about your attraction, tried valiantly to socialise with your peers and find a man of your own age to fantasise about in the dead of night when your thighs tightened against the pillow shoved between them and your spine bowed off your lonely, single mattress.
It was always eyes of warming sun-kissed brown that pierced through the veil of your arousal. Hair the shade of harvest-ready wheat that you imagined buried at the apex of your thighs and the tick of his expensive timepiece that marched steadily onwards whilst the hand attached curled around your waist.
Kento…
You had learned his given name quite by accident, hearing another Professor address him by it when they both assumed they were alone and since then you had longed to whisper it in his ear. How perfectly it rolled off your tongue, the syllables melding together beautifully in the breathless way you exhaled it as you fell apart on your fingers, wishing they were his.
So, yes it was petty, and yes you knew it was wrong to torment him as you had been, but you weren’t going to stop. Not unless he forced you to, and that very thought was exhilarating. The battle of wits and resolve would continue until he saw the error of his ways, you were special and he should admit that to himself instead of shutting you out.
#delirious writes#nanami x reader#nanami smut#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento smut#jjk smut#tw teacher/student
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hey! Hope im not late.
May I have Lucifer with "How long have you been cheating on me?" and "What can I do to make it up to you?" prompt? Like Lucifer cheats on Mc and they just, no screaming, no fighting, just a cold stare, a only question question and finally they just leave taking their son with them and the son maybe hitting his dad (Lucifer)? sorry if its to specific and Thank you! And it's okay if you don't do it :D
⌜ Lucifer ⌟
11. "How long have you been cheating on me?"
32. "What can I do to make it up to you?"
warnings: gn! reader, parent! au ([s/n] = son's name), cheating.
You had tried to just ignore the thoughts that crept into the back of your mind when Lucifer wouldn't return until the early hours, the gut-wrenching feeling you'd get when he told you an obvious lie, the heartbreak of knowing he wasn't thinking of you when he looked at you. You had cried plenty of tears, too many tears, and now all you could do is stare blankly at the wall, your only reprieve being your son.
But you couldn't do this anymore, you couldn't pretend to be happy, pretend to not know. Entering the familiar home office, you made sure to lay your son down before confronting Lucifer. He didn't look up from his paperwork as you cleared his throat, only a hum of acknowledgement that stung harder than a bee.
"How long have you been cheating on me?"
Your words finally caught his attention, and he whipped his head up. His eyes were wide, shock evident on his face. "Wh... What are you talking about?" But what scared Lucifer the most was the plain, cold stare you held. Emotionless, you were exhausted.
"You heard me. How long have you been cheating on me? Do you think I don't know?" Lucifer frantically puts down his pen and rushes to the other side of his desk.
"I- It's not like that, okay, I love you, you know that, right? Right-"
"How. Long." You strain your voice, not wanting to get into an argument— not sure if you'd be able to handle a voice-raising argument.
"..." Lucifer sighs, running a hand through his hair. "A few months..." He's quick to try and find your eyes, "I didn't mean for you to find out, listen, you'll always-" His words get cut off by the sobs of his and yours son, him rushing in and pounding his little fists against his father.
"Wha- Did you tell him?" Lucifer looks pained, not wanting his son to see him like this, but it was too late. Your son had seen you sneak away to cry too many times, had noticed the strange behavior of his father...
"No! They didn't say anything! You're the big meanie!" Your son cries, and your ears are ringing. You try to bring your son towards you, but he is relentless on ragging on Lucifer.
"What can I do to make it up to you?" Lucifer begs, and had you been looking, you'd see tears in his eyes. He gets on to his knees, pulling you towards him, trying desperately to get you to look at him. Your son scoffs and tries to push his father off of you.
"Nothing, Lucifer. There is nothing you can do." You whisper, your eyes falling on your son, who's crying for you. "Well, there is one thing..." You pick up your son, stepping away from Lucifer who debates on crawling towards you, begging for your forgiveness. He knows he doesn't deserve it, but he craves it nonetheless. He loves you, or he used to, and he can't bear the idea of you leaving him. He'll break up with them, they didn't mean anything, but nothing he promises seems to capture your full attention, seems to make you believe him.
"Sign the paperwork I send you." Is the last thing you say, "I'll be staying with some family, and I'll be taking [S/n] with me." At the thought of signing divorce paperwork, Lucifer begins to plead in an unsightly manner, fighting for your attention, or any remaining bit of your love. But you don't say another word, simply taking your son and leaving.
#obey me x reader#obey me imagines#obey me headcanons#om x reader#om imagines#om headcanons#omswd x reader#omswd imagines#omswd headcanons#lucifer x reader#obey me angst#om angst#omswd angst#angst#x reader
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Base off this post:
Idk where to go from here, so I will continue when idea's strikes. Or they upload a part two snd I can be free from my mind.
=================================
"We are married, by the way."
Huh? What is this man talking about.
I woke up with a pounding headache, and my body tied to a chair. As far as I can recollect, my nemesis, scaramouche had foiled my long term project in the akademiya again. Furious, I stormed my way to find him, and somehow get wrap up in an intense duel. I must have lost my consciousness during then.
When I opened my eyes again, I was in a dimly lit storage room. The rope was very tight and any big movement would cause it to suffocate my skin. Realising it a futile attempt, I quickly look around my surrounding when the wooden door creak open.
It was scaramouche. Internal panicking, my mind jump to amnesia. Yea he will completely believe me if I told him I forget everything..
"Well you're finally awake. I did not think you would lower your guard so simply."
I stared at hin with confusion, or at least I hope that how it would appear to be. "Hey mister, where am I? I felt like I just woke up from centuries of sleep. I can't remember who am I, or what's my name."
He stared at me, albeit a bit taken aback. Since like I have quite the talent in acting. "What games are you playing? You think that would help you escape?"
"Escape? Mister, are you the one who tied me up? Are you someone I know? Uhh whoever you are, I'm very sorry if I done something to warrant your actions. Can you explain the situation a bit?"
His questioning gaze was gone, after all i almost never apologise, not to him anyway. "Stop calling me that, just call me scara the way you always insist to."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "We are married, by the way." He get down on his knees to untie the rope.
Wait. WHAT.
This wasn't part of the script. What do you mean we are married??? Plus who even ties up their lover onto a chair??? Could this be another scheme of his??? Wait what will he even gain by claiming I was married to him???
My brain was still processing this development when he finish untying me. "Are you okay dear?" He stared at me nonchalantly. He called me that as if he been calling me that for the last century. What happen to "insignificant insect" and "unsightly worm"???
My lips were sealed for a second as I think carefully about how to reply him. "Mis- I mean Scara, you are saying you are my husband? Then can you explain why am I here, all tied up?" Let's see how you get out of this.
He nods. "One of my enemies blackmail me with your life. No worries, I have already took care of them." He helps me get up like the caring husband he claimed to be.
"I..I see, that explain why I have some burns on my arm..."
"They must've hurt a lot." He gently go over the burns. "I am going to make sure whoever did this will wish they were never born."
It was you. It was your electric shocks. I never realise you can spew so many lies so naturally. Seems like he will also be a formidable enemy if I ever pursue an acting career. Nonetheless, I still have to held back until I escape from this rundown storage.
"Scara, uhmmm if you truly are my husband, can I ask for some food?" Gosh why does that word roll off the tongue.
It was very brief, but a blush definitely painted his porcelain cheeks. "Ah come on let's get some Fatteh at the market place."
#scaramouche x you#scaramouche#genshin scaramouche#scaramouche headcanons#scaramouche x reader#modlybread
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Kinktober: Day Twenty
Bites And Kisses (Xiao x Sub GN Reader)
marking, possessive sex!
ooc(?) how tf would i know T-T
The adepti were protectors of Liyue and yet, Xiao found himself following you like a shadow; he felt as if he couldn't be away from you, perhaps if he did, someone else would steal you from him.
You were the one he held closest to his heart, he cherished you more than anything else. Your sweet smile had him in shambles, and you weren't even aware of the effect you had on him.
It annoyed him greatly to see others attempting to take you for themselves, extending their greedy hands towards you. Time and time again, you'd reassure him that no one would be able to steal you from him and yet, and yet, someone did dare.
How dare they—laying their filthy hands on you, dirtying you with their putrid scent. His jealousy reared its unsightly head, bearing its sharp fangs, just who would they pierce? the thought generated within the deepest recesses of his head.
And now, you're against the wall, all vulnerable and full of openings just for him. "X, Xiao—" a sharp gasp exited their mouth, desperately clawing at their lover's toned shoulders. Drool built up in their mouth, dribbling down their chin.
The adeptus' tightened his grip on their thigh and waist, his hips repeatedly jackhammering into them. His growls and grunts echoed in your ears, along with the lewd sound of his skin slapping against your own.
Another orgasm rippled through your sensitive body as he bit down on the other side of your neck, sinking his sharp fangs into the joint where your neck met your shoulder.
Your hands marked up his back and shoulders, scratches littering his upper body—not that he cared, he'd love for you to claim him as yours. The loud babbles and moans leaving your lips sounded like music to his ears, he never wanted to stop hearing them.
Xiao pushes his lips onto yours, exploring your mouth with his tongue. His thrusts never faltered, cock repeatedly plunging into your sensitive hole and carving its shape into your velvety and warm insides.
No matter how much of his seed poured into you, it never made him stop—he wouldn't stop until every single bit of their scent was replaced with his own, fuck being rational, he'd already abandoned all of his reasoning the moment he fell in love with you.
He was never greedy, but, he became the embodiment of greed when it came to you.
His hair stuck to his forehead, sweat glistening under the light of the moon. Half-lidded amber eyes gazed into your own, admiring the heart your pupils formed. His thrusts slowed, not halting completely, "I love you, don't ever forget that" he whispered, voice hoarse. He plants a soft kiss on your damp forehead before continuing at a pace a lot more softer than his relentless pounding.
"wove you t, too" they babbled, leaning onto his chest.
@mirology
#lawless.writes#lawless'.kinktober#genshin.writing#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin x gn reader#genshin xiao#xiao x reader#alatus x reader#adeptus xiao#genshin impact xiao
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White Lotus, Polite, Dumb@ss MC
1. I offer a hesitant smile, my heart pounding. Please…I hope he doesn’t take what I say weirdly. “Excuse my curiosity,” I begin, my voice trembling slightly, “but may I ask what time of day it is?”
In response, an unsightly frown creases the man's weathered face. Lovely. This is all proving rather embarrassing. I try to gather myself, fighting back the self-conscious heat that crept into my cheeks.
My words stumble out in an attempt to clarify, "I mean, is it... foggy, dark, or bright?" My cheeks flush deeper with each word, and I curse my inability to articulate a simple question. His perplexed expression doesn’t help, as though he were sizing me up for my strange use of words.
“Sorry,” I stammer, my voice faltering. "I wasn't clear. I just meant, is the sun or moon out right now?"
I could feel my cheeks flare even more from his obvious squinting, as if he is silently judging me for my peculiar phrasing of him. I wish at that moment that I could burrow into the ground and disappear. His scrutiny was becoming unbearable. I knew he was going to judge me!
Finally, he sighs, his breath heavy with impatience. “Are you asking if it’s morning or evening?”
MC: having a stupid moment
Soldier:
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Every non-political article now a days is like LATEST HOT NEW TREND! Women cut off pounds of their flesh and sells it for a quick buck online. Some experts say it is hazardous to their health and we must find other ways of helping women to pay the rent. Cannibals say women should be able to do whatever they want with their "excess unsightly flesh." We interview this influencer who says she loves being hacked to pieces....
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7 snippets tag
tagged by @oh-no-another-idea a while back, thank you! i'm going to leave this one open tag - feel free to tag me to share your snippets!
I'm going to go through the 7 recent files on my wip-list, and pull my favourite bits from each for this, just for a bit of variety today~
cut for length. below you'll find a mix of fic from BG3, War of the Spider Queen, The Legend of Drizzt, and Dungeons & Dragons
1 - drink me dry - (baldur's gate 3, Durge/Astarion)
And they both have missing pieces. Cazador—walking corpse, he thinks, undead is not dead, is not offal, is not carrion—took Astarion’s life and embedded a mystery in his skin as a display of mastery. Someone stole Rune’s life and left him with an empty head and a hungry knife and he doesn’t know why yet, but soon he’ll make that rotted little butler talk.
2 - light me up - (Obsession series, War of the Spider Queen/Forgotten Realms, Vizaeth/Rhylfein)
Rhylfein leans towards him, voice low. “Go on then, Thaezyr. Make me bleed.”
Vizaeth’s pulse pounds in his temples. He can’t let go and he can’t look away, and whilst he’s trapped, Rhylfein takes the predator’s chance and darts his head forwards to capture Vizaeth’s mouth with his own.
3 - a delight to be around - (baldur's gate 3 , bard Tav/Gale/Astarion)
“Well, that’s sweet of you, but I don’t drink. So why don’t you two enjoy your wine and I’ll just go…find another bear or something.”
Delight, never one to fall at the first, second, or even fifth hurdle, has already planned for this. They smile, and hold up their wrist.
“I thought Gale and I could have wine, and you could drink as you normally do.”
Gale makes a sort of strangled noise, like a cat choking on a hairball. Astarion’s eyebrows raise. He eyes Delight’s wrist, then shrugs. “Alright. I’m game if you are, Gale.”
4 - many hands - (the legend of drizzt, gromph/kimmuriel)
“My physical body possesses but one set of hands,” Kimmuriel said. “My mind may possess as many as it wishes.”
“Four hands ought to be quite enough for anyone,” Gromph replied. No sign whatsoever of any amusement from the psionicist. Only a measured blink and then two more hands manifested at his shoulders; then another two at his ankles. “Eight might be called showy, my teacher.”
“Do you protest because a mage hand provides you with but one arcane limb? Or because you fear what I might do with more?”
5 - untitled praise kink breakdown fic - (Obsession series, War of the Spider Queen/Forgotten Realms, Vizaeth/Rhylfein)
“Hey, shh, come here.” Rhylfein is still stroking his hair. He’d be disgusted if he knew how Vizaeth got it. He’s not good, he’s not perfect, he’s not beautiful; he’s a freak. A patchwork of scars and necromancy posing as a boy.
6 - untitled degradation kink fic - (Obsession series, War of the Spider Queen/Forgotten Realms, Vizaeth/Rhylfein)
He doesn’t like being on top like this, but he likes how Rhylfein’s hair fans out around his head, a tangle of red. He’s not going to tell him that—he’s learned quickly how little Rhylfein enjoys compliments. For whatever reason, anything that would make Vizaeth squirm with suppressed pleasure make Rhylfein recoil in disgust.
7 - sacrificium - (Dark Ascendance campaign fic, experimental BBEG OC backstory fic)
the magic that blooms with her adolesence is unsightly. untrained, unwanted, unpredictable—burnt hands, broken plates and shattered windows. matron shouts and sisters sneer and zeerith—magicless, forgotten—zeerith salves her burns and repairs the plates and sweeps the glass. he has nothing, and what she has is not worth having, so together they are less than any t’sonri should be.
#writeblr#tag games#7 snippets tag#fanfiction#snippets#wip#fic wip#bg3 fic#dnd fic#oc fic#obsession fic blogging#c: rune#c: delight#c: vizaeth thaezyr#c: rhylfein dyrr#c: elvrae t'sonri#these are like 90% dialogue i have a problem#(it's not a problem i love dialogue)#i should finish the elvrae fic i miss her
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"Heh— what a strange child, you're not frightened of me at all?"
Silver blinks up at the figure bleeding out of the forest shadows, darkness clinging to them like a second skin. He's certain he's not dreaming this time; he's not sure his imagination could conjure up a stranger with such a piercing crimson gaze that peers at him as if sifting through every mundane thought in his head and finding him completely, utterly ordinary. He's also fairly sure that he's not imagining the stained sword held loosely in black-tipped fingers, a stance beguiling how easy it would be for the fae (if the tipped ears weren't clue enough) to cleave it through the air and any obstacle in his way.
Reaching up to gently pat at the squawking bird perched on his shoulder, he hardly managing to soothe her displeasure at their sudden intruder as he gazes warily back at the fae.
" . . . Blue says you must have come from over the valley, she thinks you're a soldier."
"And you disagree?" The fae seems genuinely curious, an elegant dark brow lifted and what almost seems an amused gleam in those reptilian eyes as if they were simply chatting in a market square and not the middle of a forest.
Silver winces; he hadn't thought his doubtful tone had been so obvious. In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes.
" . . . Your hair is pink," he points out mulishly, feeling a flush creep over his cheeks as a grin begins to widen on the fae's lips. "You look like an overripe strawberry, everyone would target you."
There's a beat of silence before raucous laughter fills the glade, an unsightly noise for the slim being before him as the fae flashes sharp teeth in the dim lighting and beams at him as if he's told the funniest joke in all of the Valley.
"Well now! Where have the Seven been hiding you?"
Silver swallows hard; suddenly, it feels like he had made a great mistake taking the lefthand path this morning.
#lettie writes#twisted wonderland#twst wonderland#twst fanfic#twst lilia#twst silver#listen....an au with general vanrouge and a teeny silver?#also yes he named his bird friend blue#not a great deal of imagination with this one huh silver
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Hello tumblr, oli is still alive. Wasn’t sure if I should update this series cuz idk if anyone enjoys it but eh I like writing for it so here have part 3 ehe ok byebye
Xiao x child!reader Pt 3
Masterlist
Tw/cw: -
Having you around really did drag his days longer than he would have fancied. If he didn't notice it before, he did now.
Make no mistake, you were a burden to him, an unnecessary and annoying addition to his work. Your presence had interfered with his usual patrol routes. Now, even traveling from place to place was an agonisingly slow chore.
Why were children's feet so small? He glanced back at you, pathetically waddling up the slope to where he was.
He sighed in annoyance. Even your full strides were tiny. He eventually gave up pestering you to keep up with him, and settled with adjusting his walking pace to that of yours.
This was getting nowhere. Not being able to efficiently carry out his job was gnawing away at his sanity and he was getting more and more jumpy with each minute that passed. He felt as if he was leashed to a snail, punished to stand around idly all day waiting for it to catch up to him.
By the time he got to fulfiling his so called adepti duties, he'd be old and batty like the other adepti... brooding their days away and selfishly guarding their abodes, along with whatever treasure their sentiment clung onto.
He pictured himself sitting crossed legged by the entrance to his realm with a scowl, stray wrinkles an unsightly addition to the corners of his eyes.
Did he gain a few pounds? He crinkled his nose as he caught sight of a layer flab peeking through from under his chin.
Slightly horrified by the scene that wormed its way into his head, he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. It worked, pulling him back to reality.
It was all your fault, the extra waiting time had slowed his world down. It allowed his mind the unwanted luxury of wandering to all the drifting thoughts he never had the time to indulge in before you ever came into the picture.
Don't think, Xiao. Hand the child over to Wangshu and you'll be on your way. He stretched his back muscles, unused joints popping away as he shuffled around restlessly. The lack of exercise was getting to him.
“Are we there yet? How long moree?” You groaned.
He spun around, hand on hip, giving you a cold glare.
“If you stopped complaining, we would have reached Wangshu Inn a long time ago.” He pressed, leaning his weight on to one foot while tapping the other impatiently.
“Less whining, more walking.”
The idea of freedom never felt so out of his grasp.
“Can't we just piggyback? I don't wanna walk anymore!” You slouched over, taking another half-step forward.
“No.” He said firmly.
He had resorted to piggybacking you a few days ago. It seemed to make the day go faster, he could cover more ground and get things done. Plus, you seemed to thoroughly enjoy him leaping into the air and plummeting down from the heights.
It was reassuring that you trusted him enough to not screech and wail for your life during the ride, unlike a certain handful of ungrateful humans whom he had unfortunately encountered throughout his years.
His internal thanksgiving session was abruptly interrupted by the feeling of your legs clanking down the side of his thighs.
He celebrated too soon.
“Am I a horse? Stop kicking my sides.”
You ignored his comment, squishing his cheeks and forcing his face forward. “Giddy up, boy!”
He grimaced.
“That's it. You're walking the rest of the way. Don't come complaining when your feet are sore and you can't walk anymore. I don't care.” He snapped, setting you down on the ground.
“Aww, but–”
“No buts. Walk.”
As a high and mighty adeptus, he wasn't going to let you get the better of him this time... Not anymore. He had the pride of an adeptus to uphold, and it should never have been trampled upon by a human child.
Cursing himself for letting his guard down, he took a big stride ahead of you, swiftly hiding his conflicted expression from your curious eyes. Was he getting soft? Maybe some endurance training was in order...
You, on the other hand, weren't planning to give in. It was entertaining. Plus, your feet were indeed sore from all the walking.
And so continued the incessant squabbling between the adeptus and the child. You were both stuck in this stupid game— a game of you picking away at every one of his nerves, and him trying to deflect all of your witty little remarks in his signature deadpan manner... That is, until either side caved—not something you both planned on doing anytime soon.
#oli tries to write stuff#genshin impact#genshin impact fanfic#genshin impact xiao#genshin impact xiao x reader#xiao x reader#xiao x child!reader#genshin impact x reader
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find the word tag CCCLXXXXV
I do have other tags in my hoard but I'd have to crack open another scrivener doc to do them and. I don't wanna.
a broach with onyx stones from @author-a-holmes
wet (spectator, spectacle, 2020)
I just want to play with you.
can you take out your insides and hang them up like curtains?
I’m afraid they got all wet in the rain.
cold (ff: jedi: kivarin v.2)
He looks down at the [cup] and picks it up wordlessly, placing it on the table before draping the blanket over you. "I know space is always cold, especially after a desert." His hand smooths out the fabric and pauses. Cal frowns, then brings the hand up to rest on your forehead. It feels amazing.
grey (ff: jedi: kivarin v.2)
The first drops land on you and you're frozen in place. Even when the sky goes from grey to white to grey again, and when the earth splits beneath your feet with the following clap, you stay still. You only know you're breathing because of how hard your heart is pounding. The rain falls steadily in small droplets, taking its time soaking the ground, and you. The ship is just behind you. Shelter is just behind you.
And someone is approaching you.
But you can't move.
broken (but I was a saint you couldn't own, 2021)
you were a warpath, you and your endless screams;
a tightening of broken fingers on a cut that will always bleed
a yesterday of sorrows too unsightly for tomorrow’s reprieve
a message for another to cherish while pining for a moment’s heat
tired (ff: jedi: kivarin v.2)
"Felt a disturbance in the Force, huh?"
He looks at you with half his mouth in a smile. "That's a very Jedi thing to say."
You shrug, which shifts your body to slump against him, which you don't prefer to be doing, but again, he's warm, and you're tired and in less control of your body than normal. And Cal feels safe, like no one has before.
"I used to hang around them, remember." You mumble it into his shirt, stretching your neck a little to ease the pain.
I'm so out of practice I forgot to include words in those tags I did before WHOOPS
clue, kind, forget, above. BONUS: retaliate, defend. @ink-fireplace-coffee @akindofmagictoo @mjjune OR ANYBODY
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read on ao3
Rathbone swings at him.
The Doctor ducks, but he’s clumsy with the condensation-wet metal of the floor, and turns the blow from damage to glancing, knuckles clipping his jaw. “Please, Rathbone! It doesn’t have to be this way!”
He has barely enough energy to look at Charley over Rathbone’s shoulder. She’s struggling with the fire axe attached to the far wall, strapped in securely; her fingers must be numb, he thinks, the buckles done too tight, and -
“You bastard,” Rathbone snarls, flying at the Doctor down low, his shoulder winding the Doctor right in the stomach and sending him to the floor, “You selfish bastard!”
“No, you don’t understand -” the Triskele weapon is slippery in his sweaty palm. Rathbone straddles him, muscular thighs around his waist, pinning him very effectively to the floor; the Doctor starts thrashing madly, his hands above his head, the Triskele device just out of Rathbone’s reach. “You’ll kill us all, Rathbone, every last one of us! Every last one of you! This wasn’t meant for you to use!”
“You’ll use it for yourself,” Rathbone pulls his arm back and punches hard; the Doctor chokes and the world, for a moment, is black and starry. “I know what you’re like!”
“No - please -”
There’s a metallic clatter and a terrified cheer; Charley has loosened the axe, then. The Doctor turns his face just in time for Rathbone to punch him on the other side of it; then, he flattens his broad-chested body against the Doctor’s, trapping his arm against the floor, and creeps his fingers up the Doctor’s forearm. “Give - it - to - me-”
“Oi! Arsehole!”
Charley slams the butt of the axe into Rathbone’s back. The ensuing chaos is enough to let the Doctor recover, coughing, his head pounding; he scrabbles back against the slick floor and uses the nearest strapped-down cargo box to stand up. “Ow,” he says, and once more with feeling, “Ow.”
“Doctor? Are you all right?”
Charley, bless her, looks like some poster for war in jolly old Blighty, the axe held across her chest, her hair descending from the mannish style she’d it tied in; it’s a pleasant chestnut colour, and only slightly longer than the Doctor’s now. Her cheeks are high and pink and her booted foot is placed square on Rathbone’s back. “Doctor?”
“I’m fine,” he assures her, looking down at the Triskele, “Now-”
“Raaargh!”
Never underestimate a humiliated man. With an indignant scream, but caught off guard as she is, Charley loses the fire axe to Rathbone in a brief and fruitless wrestle, who staggers ungainly to his feet, snapping and snarling. There’s drool on his chin. He looks most unsightly. “Give it to me,” he says, teeth gritted, axe hefted, “Give it to me, now!”
“Oh, well,” says the Doctor, and before he can think about it he turns, chucks the Triskele device out the small hole in the hull, and squats down with his arms over his head.
Later, Charley will describe it as a cat chasing a ball of string, but now in the depths of the R101, it doesn’t look like anything so tame. Rathbone’s clearly been driven mad, some combination of the Uncreator Prime and his own devilish desire for bloodshed and power, and puts his head down like a charging bull, roaring unconcernedly. He only stops for a moment, aiming a rough, steel-capped kick at the Doctor’s side, but it impacts; as Rathbone bursts through the hole in the hull after the Triskele device, widening it considerably, so too the Doctor begins to slide, unmoored by the momentum.
“Doctor!”
“Charley, I-” his breath is knocked out of him along with much of his thought; the hole in the R101 is now large enough to create a sucking pressure void, and the slipperiness of the metal means no matter how much he suddenly scrabbles, he can’t catch grip on anything. “Charley!”
She’s clutching a guide-rope, something come loose and flapping from a side wall, her eyes bright. “Oh - oh -”
He has just enough time to acknowledge the absolute cosmic irony of the whole situation, wet moisture from the invading clouds cold on his cheeks, when the Vortisaur collides boldly with the bottom of the ship.
Of course it does.
if i don't write something to cope with my lesbian feelings towards pained paul mcgann i might go insane. im writing smth for every audio drama i listen to. paul ur insane
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