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euthymiya · 7 months ago

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“i wanna ruin our friendship!” ft. wriothesley, neuvillette, alhaitham, and kamisato ayato

in which genshin men decide being friends is not enough. why be friends when you could clearly be so much better as lovers? part two of “we’re just friends, but…” (<- read part one for better understanding of each)

contains: female reader (use of miss, milady/my lady, lovely lady, and madame) ; fluff (slight hints of angst but all happy endings) ; confessions, friends to lovers, wriothesley: implied harassment of reader by an inmate, reader is a doctor at the fortress, angry and possessive wriothesley, jealousy ; neuvillette: reader works at the palais, melusine features, neuvillette is implied to be emotional and make it rain ; alhaitham: mentions of drinking alcohol (alhaitham), vulnerable alhaitham, reader can cook ; ayato: slightly insecure reader, mentions of reader being in a lower class than ayato

WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley is not a possessive man, despite his feelings for you.

he’s long accepted that somewhere between frequent visits to you in the infirmary and occasional lunches together as fellow colleagues at the fortress, he’s fallen hopelessly hard for you. how could he not, when you’re so gentle-natured, smart, and unfairly pretty?

but still, wriothesley is not a possessive man. when men praise you to the archons and admire your unearthly beautiful smile, he is not possessive. when he grumpily watches your fingers brush against bare chests of the wounded after pankration matches, he is not possessive. when you shyly thank an inmate who rushes to hold a door open for you, he is not possessive.

but even wriothesley has his limits. and they happen to snap over the edge today—because now, as a man corners you against the wall, pestering you until distress is clear on your face, wriothesley feels possessive.

it’s a shameful feeling, but it’s one he can’t help. he’s tolerated many things, enough of them that make him wash down the bitter taste of jealousy with the most soothing tea he can find in his collection. but this? this is beyond the patience of even a kind warden such as himself.

you, whether you or anyone else in this fortress knows it, are his to protect.

so he walks up, fisting the inmate’s shirt and lifting him up to drag away from you, jaw tight and locked as he asks lowly, “is there a problem? if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were giving this lovely lady here some trouble.”

“y-your grace,” the man, to his credit, has a good mind to look remorseful, eyeing you nervously for a moment before rapidly shaking his head. “n-no, i was just…i was just askin’ her if she’d like some help findin’ her way is all. you know the fortress can be confusin’ ’n such.”

the inmate trails off, nervously chuckling as he quivers in the warden’s unforgiving hold.

wriothesley glances at you, raising an unconvinced eyebrow as he asks, “and do you need any help finding your way, miss?”

“no,” you shake your head, voice a bare whisper.

his jaw tightens further, glancing back at the man before he snarls lowly, “then you leave her alone. don’t let me catch you bothering her again, understood?”

“y-yes, your grace!”

wriothesley releases the man’s shirt, crumpled from his iron grip as he stares, eyes narrowed—threatening, even, as he waits for the brave soul (for anyone who bothers you where he’s in charge is the bravest of all souls) to leave. not one moment is wasted before you watch the inmate scramble away, leaving you alone with a tense, disgruntled duke in your hands.

“thank you,” you whisper, “i’m not sure how much longer he’d have bothered me if you hadn’t shown up.”

“anyone else ever try that before?” he seethes. you’ve never seen him so angry before—something about it feels almost personal.

you shake your head, stepping away from the wall as you walk over to him. “no, wriothesley,” you murmur, “no one gives me a hard time. this was a first.”

“let me know if anyone bothers you,” he grunts, fist still clenched even with no shirt to hold like earlier. “i’ll take care of it.”

you eye the way it’s tightly curled, knuckles almost ghostly white from the pressure before you gently grab his hand, working his fingers loose from his tight grip and rubbing a soothing thumb over the crescent mark from his nails along his palm.

“of course,” you smile softly, “though, i’m sure word will spread quickly that the warden doesn’t appreciate his doctor being bothered by persistent men. i don’t think there will be any repeats of this incident.”

he should feel ashamed.

you think so highly of him—defaulting to believing he’d saved you because he was only worried for your wellbeing, and not because it burned him alive to see a man so close to you, a man who desired you just as much as he did and had stooped to such unchivalrous methods to have you.

faintly, he’s aware that your hand is still grasping his, still rubbing a thumb over the angry, red marks along his palm as you study him carefully. he’s sure there’s not much he hides in his expression—you must be reading him like an open book. he can’t bring himself to care, however, not when the sight of someone else pinning you to a wall and towering over you is still so fresh in his head.

“something on your mind, your grace?” you ask, leaning closer.

perhaps, if he was a stronger man, one with more firm principles, he’d know to pull away and give you your space. but you lean closer, and he’s weak to his own desires, so he takes it as an invitation to lean closer himself.

“yes,” he admits, “i…i’m afraid i had less than honorable intentions when stepping in.”

“oh?” you raise a brow, looking at him in fond amusement. maybe you already know, he thinks, if your lack of surprise tells him anything. “enlighten me, then. what were your intentions?”

“to make sure no man comes close to you,” he mumbles, leaning closer while you do the same, your noses just barely brushing as your breath all but mingles.

“why?” you ask. it almost sounds like a plead—like you’re waiting to hear something desperately.

“because it’s unbearable to see you with other men,” he says hoarsely. if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it. but he has reason to believe you’re quite the opposite, in fact, when your eyes seem to brighten.

“and if i were to say i appreciate your intentions?” you ask softly.

finally, his jaw loosens—instead, he replaces the clench with a loose, easy grin, one that allows him to chuckle lowly as he stares at you with a playful disbelief.

“that so?” he hums, “perhaps then you’d care to join me for dinner today, milady—i’ll have the finest meal the cafeteria has to offer waiting for you.”

“on a date?” you ask hopefully.

“on a date,” he confirms with a slight nod.

you kiss his cheek, making his breath catch in his throat as you step away and smile gleefully. “i’ll see you at dinner then, your grace.”

NEUVILLETTE

the first day you skip your newfound routine of tea and desserts with neuvillette and the many, many melusines that join, it rains. harshly so, in fact.

you walk up to the palais, soaked from the unexpected weather as you grin sheepishly at a concerned sedene.

“madame!” she gasps, “oh, you’ve been caught in the weather!”

“it’s alright, sedene,” you chuckle, “it’s nothing new in fontaine to have unexpected rain. i suppose i should’ve planned accordingly. is monsieur neuvillette in his office? i have papers for him,” you hold up a file.

sedene fidgets for a moment, hesitant as she says, “yes…he’s in his office but…well, i should warn you that he’s not in the best of moods.”

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, “how unfortunate. i’ll make it quick. they’re quite urgent papers.”

she nods at your promise—and just before you can turn to leave, she stops you, seemingly debating before making a final comment.

“you didn’t join us today, madame,” she starts, “for tea today during the monsieur’s break.”

“oh,” you tilt your head in surprise for a moment, “you’re right, i didn’t. i apologize if you were waiting on me. i was caught up with much paperwork to finish before i came in.”

“i see. perhaps monsieur neuvillette will appreciate knowing that, then,” she smiles.

before you can ask, she skips away, finding a group of melusines in the corner. you watch as they whisper away behind their paws, blinking back your confusion before walking towards the door of neuvillette’s office, knocking gently.

“monsieur neuvillette? may i come in? i have some papers that must be delivered to you.”

there’s a shuffle from inside, a clearing of the iudex’s throat before a raspy, “yes, of course. come in.”

you enter, walking in slowly as you close the distance between the door and his desk, smiling as you set the file down in your hands. he looks rather…well, you’re not sure, exactly—perhaps the best word would be melancholy. suddenly, sedene’s words from earlier ring in your head, and you wonder if there’s any relation between your absence and his seemingly downcast mood.

so you give him an apologetic look as you speak. “i apologize if my absence was a surprise to you today. it seems i lost track of time with paperwork. i hope you enjoyed a peaceful break with the melusines,” you hum, “you certainly need a proper break with all the duties you take on.”

against your better judgement, you reach over, brushing a strand of misplaced hair from his forehead and tucking it back in place. rarely does the chief justice of fontaine ever look less than prim and proper, if ever at all—and the action causes you to pause just as much as it does him.

he breaks the silence first, and if he notices the slight flustered expression on your face, he doesn’t point it out as he says gently, “it’s quite alright. i’m sure you’re a busy individual.”

“i do quite enjoy my routine visit,” you say shyly, “it was a shame i couldn’t join today. but rest assured, i’ll be present tomorrow.”

“i’m glad to hear it,” he seems to brighten a bit, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he admits in a quieter voice, “truthfully, i had assumed you didn’t want to join me—or excuse me, us,” he coughs, correcting himself at the end.

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, crinkles forming in your forehead as you quickly shake your head, “of course i love joining you. today was a rare occasion, i’m afraid. i hope i didn’t upset you, monsieur.”

“no,” he shakes his head just as quickly. he coughs, clearing his throat as he adds, “it’s just that i…well, i have come to enjoy your company. a little more than i perhaps should.”

he doesn’t meet your gaze, cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink as you take in his words. silently after a moment, with a bright grin on your face that spreads across your lips and finds itself in the deepest of crinkles in your eyes, you slowly reach over to cup his face.

neuvillette, no matter how trained in self control, cannot help but lean into your touch, staring at you with wide eyes as you rub a delicate circle into the swell of his cheek.

“i’ve come to enjoy your company as well, monsieur. perhaps…perhaps it would be nice to enjoy each other’s company outside of the palais as well,” you offer. and then, eyeing the small opening in the door, you add, “somewhere away from prying eyes.”

neuvillette watches as the door quickly shuts, the soft giggles of the melusines muffled behind the door as he chuckles in amusement. his hand cups the back of your own, cheek laying comfortably in your palm.

“yes,” he murmurs softly, “i think i would love that.”

ALHAITHAM

alhaitham is not drunk today.

you can tell when you open the door because he’s not swaying, or slurring his words, or staring at you with a hazy look. instead, he’s perfectly sober, perfectly rational, and perfectly collected alhaitham.

you look at him in surprise before smiling in greeting.

“you’re not drunk for once,” you murmur, “i don’t think i ever get a visit from you when you’re not drunk.”

the words make him wince a bit—he doesn’t like the implication of that. alhaitham enjoys your company when he’s not inebriated, especially when he’s not inebriated, in fact. mainly because he can actually recall things that way, like the way you laugh and the crinkle of your eyes. but somehow, being drunk has become a bit of a weekly routine for him at the tavern with his friends (which really, is just cyno and tighnari, and of course, kaveh—but kaveh can hardly be considered a friend these days).

coming to your doorstep every week when he’s drunk becomes a byproduct of his habits. he can’t control them, like an involuntary muscle that moves on its own accord without his permission. just like his heart beats and pumps blood, his feet carry him to find you.

it’s natural, autonomic.

“i didn’t want to drink tonight,” he explains, rubbing his neck awkwardly. alhaitham is blunt—speaking his mind is not a complicated task. he’s sure of his thoughts and opinions, and the response people give them is of little concern to him.

but his thoughts aren’t very coherent when they come to you. he’s not sure of even a single thing, in fact. sure, he knows he likes you—really, really likes you. but sometimes, he contemplates if he’s fallen in love with you. he can’t tell, if he’s being honest, because he’s never been in love before. it’s uncharted waters for even someone as knowledgeable as him.

and then there’s the more difficult part. he’s not sure if you feel the same, or if you’d respond positively to the idea of his developed feelings. logic tells him you’re kind, compassionate, deeply understanding. perhaps you’d let him down gently and still consider him a good friend if you don’t feel the same. but for some reason, there’s an illogical part of him. one he doesn’t recognize. one that tells him that you might walk away and never look twice in his direction again as soon as you realize the nature of his feelings.

logic doesn’t win in his mind for once. it hasn’t for a very long time. it’s why he doesn’t tell you for so long how he feels.but tonight he plans to change that.

regardless of your feelings, requited or unrequited, alhaitham will tell you how he feels. he owes you that much, for all the careful care and deduction you put into handling his drunk self. for all the meals you made and let him eat before letting him crash on your couch. for all the cups of coffee you made his hungover self as you carefully tiptoed around your own home so the noise wouldn’t disturb his pounding head.

he clears his throat, fiddling with his fingers as he stares at his feet.

“do you want to come in?” you offer.

he shakes his head. “i don’t think that’s a good idea. i came…i came to say something.”

“i see,” you nod, “then by all means, share what you have to say.”

it’s not so easy. not when he tries to plan the words in his head as he walks to your home, and not when he’s standing before you. alhaitham is a linguist. he speaks over twenty languages, some of which are known to be romantic by nature. he’s read the divinest of poems and decoded the most complicated of hieroglyphics. he, of all people, should excel in putting words together.

but his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth as he stares at you, though. distantly, he’s aware he must look stupid. standing here, silent and stiff as you stand by your door and wait for him to spit out what he has to say.

so he says the first thing he can think—and it makes his face burn as soon as he realizes what he says. “your sabz meat stew is my favorite.”

you grin, chuckling in amusement as you murmur, “oh my, i’m flattered. you came all this way to praise my cooking?”

“n-no,” he sighs in embarrassment, “that…that’s not what i meant.”

you hum, smiling at him softly as you patiently wait for him to speak again. a part of him feels like you’re aware of something, something that maybe even he’s not aware of himself. but he doesn’t want to dwell on that—perhaps your knowledge is a product of his drunken rambles, and he’s not sure he wants to even begin imagining what that might look like. what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“well, if you must know,” you giggle, “i enjoy making your favorite for you.”

“i enjoy your stew,” he mumbles, concentrating for a moment before his face hardens with determination and he looks at you, “i enjoy waking up on your couch, and drinking your coffee, and the way you hum when you get ready for the day. it’s enjoyable because it’s you.”

you process his words for a moment before smile slowly, eyeing him with wonder as you break into a fit of giggles. he doesn’t have time to dwell on whether or not you’re laughing at him because there’s an arm looping around his bicep, pulling him in past your door and pressing him against it as soon as it’s shut.

you’re close—it’s the first thing he notices, chest brushed against his chest as you look up at him with a fond, affectionate expression.

“you’re a smart man, alhaitham,” you murmur, “i’m sure you can figure out why i make your favorite every time you come. and make your coffee just how you like. and let you sleep in on my couch when i could be spending my morning enjoying the sun.”

he wants to tell you that he doesn’t feel very smart when he’s around you. it’s like logic is a foreign concept as soon as your smile invades his line of sight. but words are difficult enough to produce when you’re so close, he doesn’t think he could tell you even if he tried.

instead, he asks, “because you’re kind?”

“not kind enough to do groceries for two every weekend,” you chuckle. “unless…”

“unless…?” he asks breathlessly.

“unless it’s you, silly,” you snort. “do fill in the lines, will you?”

he allows himself to hope. because it doesn’t take logic to let himself hope you feel the same way he does.

“if…” he takes a deep breath, taking a moment to contemplate before boldly settling his hands on your hips, “if i come here next week sober, would you still open the door for me?”

“of course,” you whisper.

“if i came whenever i wanted, would you still open the door for me?” he asks, eyes peering into yours desperately, begging you to tell him what he wants to hear.

you sigh, gently cupping his cheeks as he closes his eyes and shudders. “always,” you breathe, “will you come?”

“yes,” he nods. his shoulders slump—in relief and in pure bliss as he lets his head drop to the crook of your neck, pressing his nose into your warm skin as you cradle the back of his head. “because i enjoy coming home to you.”

“and i enjoy welcoming you home,” you murmur.

and it’s at the same time that you kiss the side of his head and he kisses the soft skin of your neck, a stumbling mess of limbs pressed against one another as you both find your way to collapse on your familiar couch.

KAMISATO AYATO

it’s midnight when there’s a knock on your door. it’s rushed, an incessant tapping against the surface that almost has you concerned, but the familiar face through the peephole eases your worries.

and then it hits you—ayato is here. beyond the question of how he has the time to visit you so unexpectedly, there’s the concern of what people might think if he’s seen here so late, standing outside your door.

“ayato? why are you here?” you look at him in confusion as you open the door, eyebrows furrowing as he smiles at you.

“well, hello. such an enthusiastic greeting you’ve afforded me,” he says playfully, making you roll your eyes. “won’t you even invite me in?”

“well, come on then,” you huff, “it’s always something or another with you.”

“whatever do you mean?” he gasps, a hand pressing to his chest in mock hurt, “i’ve simply come to have a heartfelt conversation.”

“at this hour?” you cross your arms, scoffing at his timing. still, you could never turn him away.

it’s not of any trouble to you—ayato knows it too. but there’s something oddly vulnerable about having him in your home, and unexpectedly at that. suddenly, everything feels out of place and untidy to you, a contrast to the large, sophisticated estate you’re sure he must be used to. you shift on your feet, feeling the scrutinizing gaze of someone as important as the yashiro commissioner, standing in your small home where you have nowhere to hide.

“ah,” he nods in amusement, “how impolite of me. shall i take my departure, then?”

“i could hardly turn the yashiro commissioner away without allowing him to speak,” you shake your head, fighting back a smile as he grins. “pray tell, what could have prompted such a spontaneous visit?”

“i’d like to ask for your hand,” he says bluntly.

you blink, gaping at him in disbelief. ayato has never been cruel—in fact, he’s always been much the opposite. especially to you. he’s become painfully important, a friendship you’ve never expected but cannot fathom existing without now that you have him.

but something about this feels cruel, like he’s aware of the deeper feelings you’ve accidentally let surface in the process, feelings you try to push back desperately. how could the yashiro commissioner be seen with someone so far from his realm? someone so disconnected from his world and status?

you furrow your brows, looking at him unimpressed as you murmur, “that’s hardly funny, ayato. be serious.”

“i am serious,” he tilts his head, “i, kamisato ayato, would like to ask for your hand, milady. if you would be so kind, that is.”

his hand is offered to you—and something in your aches to reach for it. to feel his fingers intertwined with yours, to feel the rough calluses of his hands from years of swordsmanship, to feel the gentle warmth of his palm pressed up against yours.

“i-in marriage?” you ask in utter confusion.

he chuckles, hand still outstretched as he raises an eyebrow. “well, i figured marriage would be a bit sudden, but far be it from me to deny such an enthusiastic idea.”

you’re not sure why (or maybe you are, and you simply hate to admit it), but there’s a burning sting in the back of your eyes. something bubbling between humiliation and hurt and flooding in the form of tears as you stare at him unsure if he’s lost his mind, or if he’s simply joking at your expense.

ayato has never made you feel like a victim of casual cruelty from his end, so a small part of you wonders if he’s truly serious. but the more logical part of you tells you that if not a mere attempt at playfulness, what else could this be?

“this isn’t funny,” you whisper, voice small. “i hardly find such pranks entertaining, ayato. i thought you to be better than that.”

it’s silent. deafeningly so, in fact.

his hand drops—slowly, hesitant as he eyes you in uncertainty. he takes a step towards you, closing the distance enough to notice every small detail of your face, but leaving enough of a gap so as not to overstep.

“i hardly find any entertainment in offering myself up, either,” he murmurs, “do reject me gently if you intend to. i’m afraid my age is catching up to me—i have a weak heart.”

“you’re hardly old,” you snort, watching him suppress a smile as he studies you. “you’re really being serious?”

“do you doubt me?”

“i suppose not,” you whisper. his hand extends to you again, something hopeful in his eyes, something almost desperate as he stares at you and waits for you to finally take it in your grasp.

your hand slowly finds his, fingertips grazing those calluses you’ve noticed for so long, rough and firm under the delicateness of your touch. finally, it hits you he came without gloves on, and you realize it must be for the chance of feeling your skin against his, bare touch with no fabric to separate either of you.

you feel him, taking in the years and years of training that show through such toughened skin, and he watches you carefully as you trace along his palm before flattening your own against him, slowly lacing your fingers together.

“i have found the man who attacked you,” he says quietly, “and i’m ashamed to admit the…unsavory methods i was prepared to take to punish his crimes.”

“i hope you wouldn’t stoop to such levels for me,” you say quietly.

“i fear there isn’t much i wouldn’t resort to for your safety,” he admits.

“i’m hardly worth such trouble,” you shake your head, smiling softly as you reach over and cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently against the mole you’ve always ached to feel. whether from the brush of your lips or from the graze of your thumb, you’ve always wondered how it’d feel. “there are much more worthy women to be the object of your affections, my lord.”

“ayato,” he corrects. it sounds like a plead, if you listen carefully. “and not to me,” he shakes his head. “it’s you i desire. i’m afraid i cannot concentrate on my duties until i have you. the nation shall befall a most unfortunate fate if i must suffer a single night more without having you.”

“i’m starting to think i am the only hope inazuma has left,” you roll your eyes, staring at him in wonder, “it seems it has fallen to me to ensure we have a functioning yashiro commissioner.”

“i do hope you’ll take such responsibilities seriously.” his hand lays over your own, keeping your touch in place as he leans his face into your palm further, closing his eyes and relishing in your touch.

“oh, ayato,” you chuckle breathlessly, eyes watery as you step closer, closing the gap until your chest presses against his. you wonder if he can hear the rapid thrumming of your heart, if he can feel it. “you’ll be the death of me.”

“i should hope not,” he chuckles, leaning closer and closer until his lips hover over yours, just a millimeter away from brushing against them, “i fear for my own sanity should such an ill fate come before you.”

“oh kiss me, you fool,” you scoff tiredly at his antics.

he doesn’t waste a moment, pressing his lips hungrily against yours, hands wandering to your waist and instantly pulling you closer, fitting his palm to cradle the small of your back. he chases your lips frantically when you pull away, a low grunt of disapproval rumbling from his chest before he plants his lips against yours once more. he kisses you like he’s crossed oceans upon oceans to find you, fixed on keeping you not more than a fingertips distance away at all times so that he’ll never lose you again.

and finally—finally, once he’s decided he’s sufficiently stolen the air from your lungs, he allows you to pull back and breathe.

“i’m afraid i can be a rather overbearing lover,” he murmurs against your lips, pecking them lightly. “you’ll hardly be free of me should i desire your company.”

you chuckle, leaning to kiss his mole softly, cradling his face. “i believe i’ll find a way to cope,” you grin.

ayato was fun to write last time, and he was just as fun to write this time and i am realizing i have some real hidden feelings for the man the more i write him. i really enjoy doing his dialogue, though i’m not sure if i do it justice. i sure hope i do 🥹

#writing tag #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette x reader #alhaitham x reader #ayato x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x you #neuvillette x you #alhaitham x you #ayato x you #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #wriothesley fluff #neuvillette fluff #alhaitham fluff #ayato fluff #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff

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the-faceless-bride · 5 months ago

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More Ideas for KNY (demon slayer) different characters ♡ (SOME NSFW CONTENT FOR SANEMI AND MUZAN AND MENTIONS OF GORE IN SANEMI AND LIGHT NSFW IN GYOMEI)

<- Part 1

Imagine being dangerously in love.

Imagine being a demon, obsessed with the brash, and blood thirst Wind Hashira. the first time ever being in battle with him is what leads you down a path of want and lust for the cruel hashira.

Imagine going out of your way to always be where he is, always catching his attention and being attacked by him. He believes you're mocking him, following him just to show off that he hasn't been able to kill you. But that isn't true at all. When you fight, you never actively try and gut him, only blocking your neck and leaving the rest of your limbs exposed to be lashed in this masochism tango.

Imagine struggling to hide your enjoyment and ecstacy each time his sword ripped, teard, and scar your body. He had to have known how me made you feel. He must. The darkness of your cheeks must've been a giveaway. Right? His eyes bewitching you in how intense he glares into your soul. It sets a fire under your cold skin, a burning desire.

Imagine one time when you and Sanemi are fighting. Other slayers show up. But they don't instantly jump into the fight. 1. from looking at the fight, you hadn't landed a single strike and seemed to be a greater deal slower than the hashira, and 2. Tanjiro made an odd comment. "Huh, it's like she's avoiding striking him on purpose."

Imagine how Shinobu decided the fight was long enough and tried to sneak in and end the fight. Only for a switch to set off and catch her off guard and spin at the speed of light, leaving a large gash across her body from her left founder to her hip. And Sanemi instantly tried to help her. Only to be stopped by your own weapon pressed so close to his neck that even swallowing made his Adamsapple scrape against a sharp blade. "Don't you dare. Your attention is meant for me. Are you seriously letting her attempt to get between us work?" And that made Sanemi pause... "us? Wha-" -- "don't play dumb darling. We're soulmates, Sanemi~" you whisper to him. "What the fuck."

Imagine how now you make him feel so conflicted, how he hates you for what you are but loves you for how you make him feel... in his home in his spare time as the sun rises, his windows covered and locked tight as he has you on your knees, leaning forward and his chest pressed to your back. Your head locked between his bicep as his other hand held his sword under you. It nicks you each time he thrusts. If he pushed you forward anymore, his blade would surely cut your chest and stomach open. "I HATE YOU, YOU FILTHY DEMON. I DONT WANT YOU. CURSE YOU FOR DEMONIC TEMPTATION." You softy cry at the harsh words from your love, "I don't care if you don't want me... I'm yours right now..."

Sanemi Shinazugawa × Demon reader Trope: Yandere Lovesick/I hate you so much I love you.

Imagine being with Muzan his entire life... your family were servants to his family. And from a young age, you were assigned to be Muzans personal maid or companion as you were too young to really do any work than cleaning up his room. But since you can remember, you've always been with Muzan.

Imagine being the one he confides with most. His fears, his wishes, and despite his coldness. His shouldering eyes seemed to be less scorching when it came to you. His one and only friend. Even if you didn't have much of a choice in the companionship. It was you who sat in on his doctor's visits about his deteriorating health. When he got the news of how it would be a miracle for him to even make it to his mid 20s...

Imagine how one night after a particularly scary coughing fit, he simply places his head to your mid section as you blush his hair and pull it back into a braid. He softy thanks you as he tilts his head to look up at you, "Of course, I'm always happy to take care of you." But that isn't want he wants. He wanted to take care of you. Not you to him. And without thinking, he pulls you down to him.

Imagine His heat is pounding in his chest. You lay across him as his long and slim fingers tease you between your legs. You try and stay quiet, your face twisted with pleasure and guilt. You felt like you were taking advantage of the sick man who would never find love or feel the love of another in such a romantic and intimate way. You thought maybe that this was him just grasping for a moment where he didn't feel so useless being bedridden. But it was so much more. If this was the last thing he did, pleasing the only one who he cared for most. The one he wished he could've married... he would be happy to die. This surely isn't good for his heart, but he couldn't care less. You hovering yourself above him. As he tried weakly to pull you in to rest your whole weight. This was how he wanted to spend his last days, weeks, and months. However long he had left. He wanted it to be with you.

Imagine as days go by, and he feels more and more guilty. He starts to feel as though you let him do these things because you feel obligated as his personal maid to do so. Nights in the dark ask he fingers you, giving and receiving oral pleasure. But you still won't give him everything. You refuse to fully lay with him. Sometimes, he feels like it's because you don't really love him. Not like he does you. Or maybe you find him... pathetic... he can't actually make love to you. You'd be doing all the work. He doesn't want that, and it seems you don't either... eventually, his thoughts become too much, and he decides to let you go...

Imagine you were relieved of all your maid duties, not just to Muzan but to the family as a whole. You were heartbroken. And the heartbreak only worsened at the news of Muzan and his families and your families deaths. You'd cried more times than you'd ever had before in your life. And you were so very confused when you'd found a Man who looked exactly like Muzan sitting in your bed a few nights later. "Hello dear. I'm home." He invented to truly give you what you wanted, and he was eager to give it too you.

Muzan Kibutsuji × reader Trope: Unrequited/reunited love/soulmates

Imagine being Master Kagaya's faithful slayer, you'd always admired him. You and your Master had created a strong bond. Stronger than others. Moments like this reminded you that you were special. You sat on your knees as you just like you had the first time. Your head pressed to his chest and he dragged his fingers over your head.

Imagine trying not to tear up as you remember the first time you'd kneeled for him. You'd been reckless and impatient leading to a fellow slayer getting extremely hurt. You kneeled before him as you sat in the room alone waiting for him to speak. Doing your best to not make any noise as you silently cry. You'd failed him. Your beloved Master. But he didn't yell. He didn't make you feel like you were a problem. He merely hummed before knealing with you, one hand on atop your head and the other cupping your cheek feeling the wet stream of tears and wiped it away. "It's alright. You didn't mean for this to happen. I know you didn't. I know you're a good girl." And your breath hitched. He noticed. And from then on he gave you positive affrimations which encouraged you to do better. For him.

Imagine how as you sat there listening to his words letting yourself flow away and melt into your master. He thought it was innocent. He was simply your master helping you, if it wasn't him maybe you'd find these soft words from Gyomei or maybe even Kyojuro... but he was wrong. So wrong. It was him. Only him. You'd put yourself on the line so much more than you should've. All to hear those soft praises. His wife must not like you... you do take up more and more of his time as days go on...

Imagine how he softly calls to you. Late that night, he'd heard your footsteps. He sat with you talking. About anything that day. Soft and short conversations. Quiet but not uncomfortable. "You're my favorite you know." He sighed, before he let out a small chuckle "don't tell the others." You know he was teasing. But your heart told you other wise.

Imagine being hurt. In battle you were hurt. But even in your pain you still made your way to your master... your beautiful Kagaya... the married man, the family man, that you had fallen in love with. "My dear, you still come and see me while you're in such pain?" He seemed shocked. But you aren't sure why, you'd walk on hot coles and crawled on your hands and belly to kneel for him. You'd do anything for your master. And you could only hope as his favorite... you wouldn't let him down. Finally you lifted your head from his chest, pulling his hands from your hands, leaving a kiss to his knuckles. One day. One day you'll have him.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki × Slayer reader Trope: unrequited love/lovesick/slow burn

Special Part two of Forbidden love with Gyomei × demon

Imagine how the rest of the slayers flock around Gyomei, asking him so many questions. And he couldn't even answer them all. Too consumed by his disbelief that the person he'd fallen in love with so deeply, had turned out to be a demon.

Imagine how he layed in bed lonely and... missing you. He began to long of your cold touch, your voice, your laugh that was so contagious to him. He missed you. He'd fallen for you. Demon or not. He laid in his bed trying and failing to get even a wink of sleep. But just as he had almost fallen asleep he was awoken by a sound. 'Tap tap' was the sound, 'tap tap' on his window. "Gyomei... my love..."

Imagine how he practically leaped from his bed. Demon or not you had carved yourself a spot in his heart. Slamming open the window and pulling you inside, his hands instantly feeling over your cheeks, your nose, your neck. Kissing the knuckles of your cold hands.

Imagine being the one that made Gyomei for a moment stay from his faiths. Gyomei devoted his life to his beliefs, that includes waiting. Waited all his life for the one. Saving himself and waiting. But you both were in a unique circumstances... so from that point on Gyomei promised himself to you. You would stay with him in his home and he would always come back to you. That night he would kiss you, love you, lay you under him while he whispered for you to be his.

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riki-dazed · 8 months ago

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Best friends can kiss, right? -- PART 1

3:00 AM -- Finding Hope · part 2 · fluff · wc: 792

"I'm so tired," You sigh, watching Riki search for another song on the computer that he's currently sat in front of.

The both of you had spent the last couple of hours together in his personal studio, turning the tight space into a full blown karaoke room. All that you hoped for tonight was that no one would come knocking at the door, considering that Riki already had to sneak you into the company building.

Your body falls backwards against your sofa, yes, your sofa. The tiny, barely-seats-two one that Riki had cramped into the corner of his studio, just so you'd have somewhere to sit, or sleep on, when you'd visit him. You loved that about your best friend the most, his overly thoughtful and sweet nature. To Riki, your comfort and happiness has always been at the top of his priorities list.

Your gaze stays on Riki as you watch him scroll through one of his spotify playlists, your head resting on your arms in which are slumped over an armrest. Eliciting a hum of approval, he finally decides on a song after a few moments. The slow, soft melody that engulfs the space causes your eyes to flutter closed. It was a familiar sound, one of your favorites. You hear your best friend humming along to the tune, the sound of his soft tone further pushing you into a sleepy trace. It's about time the both of you finally took a second to calm down, to breathe.

Baby, it's three AM, had you on my mind...

"Here," A deep voice cuts you out of your trance, you blink your eyes open, "Lean on me, it's comfier,"

You glance over your shoulder towards the direction where the voice was coming from, suddenly finding Riki's body sat beside yours on the little sofa. You give him a small smile as you pick yourself up and off the uncomfortable armrest, you nuzzle yourself into his side. His body's warm, the fabric of his hoodie soft against the skin on your face.

He smells good, too.

"We should probably go home soon," You murmur against him, your eyes closing shut yet again. Who knows what the time must be, though, you're too comfortable and cozy to even care about it at the moment.

"Later," The boy beside you replies, his voice barely above a whisper as his hand snakes its way around to the side of your waist. He pulls you into him.

You nestle closer into Riki, enjoying the warmth of his embrace, and the comfort of his presence. Every other irrelevant thought within your mind fades away as you focus on the soft music playing through the speakers. The feeling of contentment envelops the both of you.

Cause baby, if I find a way, I'm sure of it, this love won't stray...

"..just give me a chance to say I love you, and I need you, now are you here to stay," Riki sings along quietly, his deep voice is as soft and as smooth as a cloud.

Despite the late hour, you have nowhere else that you would rather be than right here.

Wanting you more and more, I can't help but think of what we could be...

Without a single thought behind your actions, the lyrics suddenly cause you to lift your head off him. As you meet Riki's gaze, you find yourself getting lost within his sharp eyes, seeing a reflection of the emotions swirling within your own chest. Neither of you exchange a single word, yet a silent understanding engulfs the space between the both of your bodies, a mutual recognition of something unspoken, yet deeply felt. You feel the weight of the lyrics echoe within your mind, and stomach, in the form of a hundred butterflies.

As you continue to scan your best friend's face, you see a vulnerability in his expression. It's as if he's laying bare his soul before you, offering you a glimpse into his unspoken feelings.

"This feels dangerously intimate," You murmur out of the blue, the sudden seriousness had caused you to almost start feeling awkward. You and Riki were barely ever a serious pair when together, you needed to lighten the mood somehow..

Riki can't help but shake his head over your sudden remark, he lets a chuckle escape his lips. You smile at his heartwarming reaction, yet you can't shake the feeling that had just engulfed you moments prior.

You can't help but realize that perhaps the both of you had been dancing around the edges of something more profound than mere friendship.

"Best friends can kiss, right?"

Your eyes grow wide as Riki catches you completely off guard with his sudden question, your smile drops off your face.

...

#enhypen #niki #riki #niki imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #riki-dazed #enha #enhypen scenarios #enha x reader #enha niki #riki imagines #nishimura riki

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terapsina · 22 days ago

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Can we take a moment away from Agatha's all encompassing grief for her son and acknowledge Rio's grief as well? Because she's Nicky's mother too.

She is Death, her son was never going to live, and unlike Agatha, Rio had nothing to rage against.

She's the cycle of life and the inevitable end but does being the personification of that really change anything about the fact that she had to take the soul of her own son?

She gave Agatha the one gift that was in her power to grant - even though it was against her own nature and against the natural order of things - she gave her love time.

And Agatha had six years with Nicky.

Rio didn't.

She might have been able to watch him through every dying flower he plucked from its stem and she might have caught a few moments when Nicky was at his closest to her - likely whenever it had been a while since Agatha had killed the latest batch of witches and used their life force to extend Nicky's life for a little longer - when he slept and the delirium of someone terminally ill granted her access.

But those would have been stolen glimpses. Brief, and precious, and painful.

And Agatha could hate Death. Could take all that grief and turn it into anger. She could hide her pain behind that fury. There's a sort of relief to that.

What did Rio have?

Love so strong she broke the natural order that governs her? A son she could only love from a distance as he grew... but couldn't grow up? Eternal hatred of the one person in eons she had ever fallen in love with?

And maybe Rio can visit Nicky in whatever corner of eternity she had helped him cross over to - I hope she can, it would be far too cruel otherwise - but does that really erase the tragedy here?

And on top of that pain there's also the fact that Agatha has avoided Rio for centuries and ultimately asks Rio to promise her that she would never ever have to see Rio's face again.

Death can be cruel. But I think sometimes mortals win that particular game by a mile.

#rio vidal #vidarkness #agathario #agatha x rio #agatha all along #agatha all along spoilers #terapsina rambles #terapsina's agatha all along rambles #rio and nicky #family: rio x nicky #otp: it's black and it beats for you #flashing gif

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sunderwight · 4 months ago

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SV scenario where Shen Jiu is also Shen Yuan's Meimei.

Trans egg SJ never got to examine her gender identity very much in her first life. What with all the enslavement, abuse (given as well as received), misunderstandings, betrayals, dismemberment, and death, there was far too much for her to ever come to terms with a set of concepts she'd never really had the luxury to entertain. By the time Shen Jiu was a peak lord, the Shen Qingqiu persona was locked in, and any dreams of a different life or inclinations to the contrary of her role were ruthlessly quashed by SJ herself.

But when SJ finally dies and her soul is free to reincarnate (taking a few more memories than usual along for the ride), she has mixed feelings about being born as the youngest daughter of a wealthy family.

The mixed feelings don't actually last long, though after a while she starts to wonder why the fates would grant her a reprieve? Maybe remembering her past life is her punishment, because it's certainly the worst part of her new situation. Her parents are indulgent, her older brothers all dote on her and spoil her, and when she tests limits she's only gently rebuked if she gets rebuked at all. Not only is she allowed to wear fine dresses and look pretty, she's expected to (actually the expectation does chafe, a bit). But even when she uses foul language, skips classes, reads controversial books, and commits myriad other tiny rebellions, no real retribution ever comes of it.

Even despite everything, after some years Shen Jiu starts to become... not complacent, but perhaps calmer would be a better description. She has a stable future handed to her on a silver platter. Very few things remind her of her past, either. She can read books about snotty highborn lords getting railed by werewolves as readily as classics of literature or academic papers on science, business, culture, politics, or whatever else takes her fancy. Her family doesn't even put demands on her to marry, despite some of her mother's hints in that direction. For the first time, Shen Jiu has a life where it seems like she can't fail, she can only succeed however much she wants to. It's like having nowhere to go but up, except without the part about hitting rock bottom.

A foolish set of assumptions, in the end. There's always something to lose.

When Shen Yuan suddenly dies, Shen Jiu recognizes the sinister hand of the same entity which oversaw her own reincarnation. One which had visited her dreams quite recently, trying to tempt her back to her first life with offers of being able to change the past. It wasn't even difficult to deny it. Shen Jiu doesn't believe she could change what happened, and she doesn't really want to try. Her one regret is what happened to that person, the one who died so horribly while rushing to her rescue, and even that, she doesn't know how she would change (because she still doesn't know why he bothered in the first place).

But how dare the System God take the silliest and softest of her brothers to try and fix her accursed first life?! Luo Binghe will eat him alive! Cang Qiong will mistake him for a demon or a madman or worse, and throw him into some cell somewhere, if they don't just kill him outright!

Shen Meimei tries to negotiate with the System, but it tells her the window of opportunity for her to go back instead has passed. Smarmy piece of shit. There's nothing she can do without supernatural help, however, except bide her time and wait for another "window of opportunity". It's in the midst of this that she discovers PIDW, and its (terrible) account not only of the broad strokes of her first life and death, but of what came afterwards. That little beast really wrecked the world, huh? And all those women, too. She's never been more grateful to have not figured herself out in her first life. But at least with access to this information, she can try and prepare more. (She's suspicious of who actually wrote this account as well -- is Luo Binghe himself in this world? Better to leave it now, in that case, before he inevitably makes another bid for power and destroys everything in his wake all over again!)

When the System finally gives her an opportunity to go back (as herself, or rather "Bonus Epilogue Side Character -- Shen Qingqiu's Mysterious Little Sister!") she is braced for any number of outcomes. Shen Yuan could be dead. He could be imprisoned. He could have had his limbs all cut off. He could be stuffed into a pickle jar. He could be hiding or on the run somewhere. Hopefully, he'll be hiding behind that person, confused and distraught but still intact thanks to the sect leader's guilt-driven sense of obligation. Most likely if the same number of years have passed since Shen Yuan "left", he's already been destroyed by Luo Binghe and all Shen Jiu will be able to do is avenge him. But she has some ideas of how to kill the beast, so, she will.

Of course, what she finds is nothing she expected, and almost even worse.

Luo Binghe married her brother?!

Death is too good for him! Shen Jiu's going to skin him alive!!!

#svsss #scum villain #scum villain's self saving system #bingiqu #qijiu bonus: former single-target sexuality self-presumed gay man yue qingyuan experiences attraction to a woman and is ??? about it

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adelheidvonschicksal · 8 months ago

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Don't you agree we need more A/B/O for love and deep space?

Omegaverse Scenarios with the Boys

Content warning: Omegaverse, jealousy, marking, scenting, fluff, mild sexual content, no pronouns, MORE ABO! MORE ABO!

Original Post

“You’re back.”

You whip your head around to see Xavier standing at the balcony door, looking serene as ever in the mid-morning light. The soft look the sunlight gives him brings a smile to your face. However, it quickly strains and breaks, collapsing into a frown as Xavier steps out onto the deck. There’s nothing scary about his demeanor; he seems calm as usual but there’s a subtle tension in the air that fogs heavy from him.

Wordlessly, Xavier scans you up and down, focusing on…something. You’re not sure what he’s searching for, but you suspect he’s found it when his forehead creases and his voice drops.

“Did you visit Philos while you were out?"

"How'd you guess?"

"You smell like Jeremiah,” Xavier concludes coldly, which causes you to hold on tighter to the little packet of plant food clutched between your hands. “What were the two of you doing?” he follows up; this time he fixes his face and flashes you that sweet smile.

You’re smart enough to not be fooled by the innocent expression he puts on whenever he tries to pry information out of you. However, you have nothing to hide and answer honestly.

“My friend has been sick, so I wanted to send her some flowers.”

“Is that all?”

"I also got plant food for the strawberries," you add, flashing the green packet of nutrients.

"That's not what I meant."

Your suspicion tipped off, you raise your eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Xavier closes in on you, each step making your heart pound as he boxes you in between himself and one of the large ceramic pots homing the strawberry plant. Raising your hands to your chest, your knuckles brush against the tassels of his hoodie as you try to make some space between the two of you. It's clear you have no room to run, and a part of you isn't sure you want to escape.

Xavier reaches out to you; his hand sweeps under the collar of your black turtleneck, sending jolts through your body when his fingertips hit the sore bruise in the soft junction of your neck. The way he immediately finds that tender target reminds you of the way he hunts down wanderers with precision, persistence, and unfortunately, pinpoint accuracy. Despite the severe shivers being coerced in your soul, it doesn’t frighten you as he traces around your scent gland.

“You’re practically shaking,” he mumbles, gripping the neck of your shirt and giving a gentle tug, exposing your bond mark. “Are you cold?”

“No," you answer immediately, watching his snooping hand from your periphery, "and don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not,” he says with a shake of his head as he continues to fumble with your clothing. “I was just wondering why you were so covered up.”

“There’s no reason,” you breathe out, distracted by the fierce concentration reflecting from dark pools of blue so different from the soft glimpses and angelic gazes he normally shares with you. They strike you so deeply, peering through you so sharply that memories from how the mark was made begin to flash through your mind, fumbling any other excuses you might have said.

“None at all?” he comments, making your face warm. “If the mark hurts, it’s nothing a hot bath won’t fix.”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

“Then, why are you covering it up?” he asks; this game of cat and mouse quickly unravels when he brings up, “Did you not want Jeremiah to see it?”

“That’s not it,” you deny with a sigh, pushing his hand away.

You never understand how Xavier can be so jealous. Jeremiah is a friend to both of you; he has been for centuries from your understanding. Even if there was some point in those decades that Jeremiah possibly had feelings for you stronger than friendship, you didn’t hold those same feelings for him. You only desired to be bonded with one person, the one standing in front of you. Even when he was being a needlessly jealous dummy.

“It has nothing to do with him.”

“Do you not like the way it looks?” He questions instead, his demeanor softening only slightly with regret. With a slight blush, Xavier pouts and rubs the back of his neck. “I admit I was a little out of it when I did it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it! It’s pretty,” you finally yell, which causes him to clamp his mouth shut enough for you to explain better. “This is the first time anyone made a bond mark on me, and it’s a little embarrassing cause then everyone knows, we’re um…” you start to lose your concentration when he looms over you. You take a sudden step back, stopping only when the pot behind you threatens to fall over when you bump it. “Doing things…together.”

Chest aching, you hope your explanation is satisfactory. You never want to make him insecure but the idea of people knowing intimate details of your love life makes you sheepish.

“So, you don’t want him to know.”

“Xavier, did you not listen to what I said?”

“I did but isn’t what you said still a roundabout way of saying you’re hiding it?” He teases with a small laugh. There’s a pleased curve in the smile on his face and a shimmering light like stardust in his eyes; unbeknownst to you, that’s from knowing he’s the first and only one to ever mark you. How proud he would be if everyone was aware of that fact. “You don’t have to be embarrassed by something so natural. Everyone, especially him, should know you’re mine and I’m yours.”

You open your mouth to protest but you’re interrupted by him grabbing your wrist in one hand to prevent you from squirming away as he hooks a finger into your turtleneck. Pulling your collar, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your bond mark then higher up to nip the soft flesh under your earlobe, higher until he's breathing into your ear.

"I'll fix it," he murmurs and kisses your neck again and again until all you can make sense of is the heat blooming along your throat with each touch of his lips.

His kisses lack his normal gentleness; they’re filled instead with a desire that makes your knees shake and buckle. You’d fallen if he hadn’t held you closer, squeezed you to him like letting go would be the end of him, as if he finds joy in feeling the aftershocks of your fluttering heart against your ribcage.

“Xavier, what are you-you-ah."

You desperately hold in the moan that builds up in your chest as he continues to bite into your skin and the sound of his kisses fills your ear smooch by smooch. Xavier chuckles against your flesh.

“Relax. I’m not going to do anything bad to you. I’m simply making a few minor adjustments to your first mark." He hums, tongue sliding along your neck to mark its target. “I think this is a good spot,” he whispers before sinking his teeth into your pulse.

It burns in a searingly blinding way, and your eyes roll up when he sucks onto your bite-broken skin. He doesn't stop until he manages to ring out a strangled moan from your throat. He cements his work with another swipe of his tongue then pulls away to admire it.

He paints that innocent smile back on his face as he locks his eyes with yours. His voice is light and airy like a weight is off his shoulders when the fresh mark peeks from your turtleneck. "This time I gave you a mark you can’t hide."

It’s another day at the arcade and another day Zayne watches you spend an exorbitant amount of money winning a plushie you could’ve easily ordered cheaper online. The Tinkle Toy you win this time is cuter than the normal fare at least. It’s a bright candy streamer rainbow, with smiling pink cotton candy clouds.

“I did it!” you cheer and hold out your prize to him in search of his approval. He congratulates you on your well-earned victory. With a smiling face, you push the toy closer to him rather than hug it to your chest in your normal possessive manner.

“What is it?”

You wave the toy back and forth. “You know.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

In truth, Zayne knows exactly what you want, and it makes his neck hot under the collar. He presses his pointer finger to the bridge of his glasses and pushes them further up his nose as an excuse to avoid your slowly narrowing gaze. Your previously cheerful smile flattens into a stern line and your tone becomes more demanding.

“Zayne,” you repeat ominously, like a parent scolding their child for not finishing their chores. Somehow, it always works to earn his attention, and he briefly glances over the toy again; it looks much less cute this time, the carefully stitched smiles now a mocking grin.

Zayne examines his surroundings: the kids running around the overly decorated and gaudy arcade, the bored and drowsy-eyed employees behind the gift counter, the many older siblings and parents trying to win tickets for the little ones, and, well, you, glaring him down. That look tells him you’re not going to be willing to let this go despite how crowded the arcade has become in your short time here.

“You want me to scent your toy for you?” he questions, adding for emphasis, “Right here?”

“Rainbow Candy can’t join the other plushies in the nest without being christened by the leader.” Poking out your lip, you give him the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. It doesn’t move him enough to give in, not until your eyes start to gloss like stained glass and you softly plead, “Please, Dr. Zayne.”

Ice quickly breaks and chips in the mildest bit of sunlight, dissolving into warm puddles, and it’s just like that when Zayne finally breaks and melts at the smallest insistence from you. Grabbing the toy, Zayne quickly shoves it against his throat, ignoring how plush the toy feels against the underside of his chin. He trails it up and down the column of his neck, swiping it one final time under his chin. It’s a simple motion, done quickly and precisely to efficiently cover the toy in his scent in the least amount of time possible, yet it still feels so inappropriate to do here under your watchful, yearning gaze threatening to make his body stiff.

As he feels his limit about to be broken, he hands the rainbow back to your waiting arms.

“Is this satisfactory?”

You squeeze onto the toy as if someone could snatch it away. You press your face against it, smelling deeply, and when you look up at him from under your brow it’s with the sweetest smile he thinks he’s ever witnessed.

“Your best work yet, Dr. Zayne. Good job!” you giggle, and he has half a mind to pinch your cheek and wipe that childish grin off your face. “Now, I’ll have something to remember you by while you’re at work today.”

“Is that why you demand I scent all your toys?” he asks, and you nod slowly.

“You’re always so busy that I hardly get to see you outside of the hospital, so when I get lonely I just cuddle with these guys,” you confess. You press your nose deeper into one of the garishly pink cotton candy clouds; this time when your eyes waver like watery skies, it isn’t to sway him. “When the teddies smell like you, it’s like I’m holding a piece of you too.”

Those words connect everything that has ever happened between the two of you together, stringing the moments like a red line of fate. Despite the words I love you never leaving your lips, it excites the same effect that can make a sane man an idiot, an effect not even Zayne is immune to when you so innocently and freely express your feelings to him.

It’s a skill he struggles with; though for you and your happiness, he’s willing to give in and let loose the restrained mask he wears on his face as he listens to the one person he’s longed for all this time admit that they get lonely without him beside them.

“I think scenting you before my shift would be more comforting,” he offers; the adoration glowing in your irises makes him weak enough to stroke your forehead with the back of his hand. There’s a little whimper muffled into your plushie while your forehead feels hot to touch before your face falls into shock and your eyes dart around the room, like his before. As sweet and innocent as you can be, you can also be very easy to read. “You’re thinking inappropriately.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Not here.”

“I wasn’t going to ask.”

Zayne gently pokes your forehead to clear your head of the improper thoughts running through it causing you to whine and rub the spot, which only reminds him how you’re much, much cuter than any plushie.

You hold in a giggle as Rafayel shoves his face against the crook of your neck. Since you came over to his studio, he hasn’t been able to tear himself away from you, which left you sitting on the couch, covered in little splotches of dried paint, trying to discern why he feels the need to drag his hands down your arm and audibly sniff your hair.

His breath is heavy and ragged as he sucks in a breath, or rather your scent, and continues to trace up your skin until his finger can finally sink into the collar of your button-up. “Did you do something different today? New lotion? Bath Soap?”

“I did what I normally do every day.”

Rafayel groans against your skin again. You haven’t seen him hot and bothered, face soaked and flushing red with fever, since his last ebb day, which already happened earlier this year.

“Are you sure?” His lips on your skin feel so familiar that your body is immediately on edge and reacting to every stuttered exhale he makes whenever your leg so much as brushes against him. He sinks closer to you, removing any space in between your bodies. “You smell delectable.”

“Rafayel?”

“I just want a taste.”

“Rafayel, are you rutting?”

“No, I’m not,” he groans, laps your shoulder without any care for the fabric covering it, then pricks his canines against vulnerable, pulsing skin. You can tell he’s about to lose it when he pops the first button on your shirt, not even paying attention to the way his nails draw across your upper chest. “I’m just…admiring you…there’s nothing wrong with that.”

There’s a whimper melting from his mouth when you press your hand to his chest and push away. Your confidence is quickly rising thanks to the pitiful expression on his face, highlighted by parted, puffy lips and wide violet-pink eyes fogged with hazy lustful clouds.

“I charge by the hour for appearances.”

Rafayel huffs lightly in response. Something about him is different today; something that your experience tells you is due to the rut he fails to explain away. He misses the usual flare he has, the coy seduction that he uses to draw you in. He trades it for brute force, spurred by the mind-numbing need to have this fire in him quenched inside of you as he grips your wrist and forces you closer to him.

“Just send any charges directly to the studio,” he pants out in desperation between sporadic breaths. His voice hitches, forming a short gasp when you grip his chin and focus his sights back on you. He follows so readily at any touch you offer him no matter how rough. Your mind was becoming fuzzy with how much power you have when he’s like this.

“I only take payments in kisses, but I’ll be sure to let Thomas know.”

There’s a moment where his eyes narrow, perhaps in frustration, before they drop and lock on your mouth; specifically, he's memorized by the motion of your tongue glancing across your lips. Rafayel is only consumed with thoughts of how gravely he wants to be the one wetting them despite doing so hundreds of times before. His body wildly craves yours like the months before he was graced with a taste of you, or maybe this yearning is because he knows exactly how it feels to be touched by you as you are now. Rafayel isn't sure which it is anymore, the lines fade and blur, becoming harder to trace by the second. It hurts being this vulnerable, his body uncontrolled by himself, but if you’re his mate then there isn’t anything to fear, at least not this time.

“On second thought, I really should settle my own debts.”

“Are you sure you can afford it?”

“I’ll gladly pay you with interest, darling,” he barely manages to force out in his last single coherent thought. “Now, let me taste you already.”

Rafayel leans closer, aiming for your lips, but is stopped by your nail dragging up the center of his neck, unhindered by the thick gulp he takes to stop his heart from jumping into his throat. You creep your finger up his chin, stopping at the point to force his head up and eyes to lock with yours. The smile on your face is torturous, the look in your eyes out to kill as your lips purse and part to form one simple word,

“Beg.”

The arrogant smirk on your face says you know he will; Rafayel knows he will; anything for a small taste to quench this thirst built in him since eternity for you, but he also knows he’ll have you in his trap instead very soon.

#xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #xavier smut #rafayel smut #zayne fluff #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace fluff #omegaverse #tw:omegaverse #adelssmut #notsfw

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foone · 2 months ago

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So, Bashir and Garak from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, won't you?

Bashir is the man who has one big secret and it's his entire life, and he has always assumed it will destroy him if it gets out.

Garak is a man made of fractal secrets. The cast-out student (and secret son) of the head of an empire-wide spy agency. He's stolen secrets from every power in the alpha quadrant. His own personal history is nothing but lies, possibly even to himself. He lies so completely it took Bashir visiting GARAK'S DAD to figure out that "Elim" is his first name.

If truth was a river, Bashir's is wide and free-flowing, with a real big meander where it goes kilometers out of its way to avoid a huge rock that we don't ever talk about.

Garak has dammed his river with endless pebbles of lies. There's no truth there, only more lies. This is a man who lies reflexively, who once claimed (in one of the few true things he ever said) that lying is a skill you must practice constantly.

Garak is such a liar I don't think he really understands how to tell the truth. When he was dying from his addictions, instead of admitting the problem he made of stories to try and scare his doctor off, to let him die. When an assassin showed up to kill him, he got the local police involved by attempting to (almost) assassinate himself first. Garak carries a big hammer labeled "lying" and every problem is a juicy nail.

These are not two different people, this is the same person at different scales. Bashir is one big lie in a Star Fleet uniform, Garak is a multitude of tiny lies in a lizard suit and a very fashionable outfit of his own design.

In Ancient Greek Mythology*, humans were single souls split into two bodies, male and female, forever searching for their other half so they can be whole again.

They may have been wrong about the gender and species, but Bashir and Garak are definitely two parts of the same original material. They were chiseled from the same piece of marble, cut from the same cloth, split from the same soul. They deserve to be together, not because they'd be good for each other (dear God, no. They are terrible for each other in many ways!) but because they're incomplete without each other.

* not to be confused with Star Trek, which is Ancient Geek Mythology.

#star trek deep space nine #Garashir

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hamilando · 4 months ago

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ੈ✩ my muse (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : max verstappen x fem reader

summary : the chaotic private account of an artistic soul 💫

tw : fluff, a little chaos, suggestive

a/n : So this was requested anonymously, so if you are seeing this, Hope you like it 💫

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by max1, lordperceval, albono, lilihye, alexamiuex, and 37 others

maxwife the italian view 💫 one for the day ☀️ one for the night 🌝

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lordperceval yet we drive each other crazy @ max1 max1 🤭💌

maxwife yall are banned, that's it, OUT 🤺

liked by max1, albono, hamwich, fransisca.gnomes and 28 others

maxwife the muse and the art 💫

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max1 she gifted me the painting y’all

max1 I won in life 😙😌

alexmiuex love, we need to visit the museums together 🫶🏻

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fransiscka.gnomes amour ❤️ ?

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max1 you are the love of my life, the reason I look forward to every day, the muse and the thrill to win each and every race max1 if you were not there, I would have not survived the lowest of my life max1 I want you to know that whatever I may say, I hold you above anyone else, and if needed, I would die for you without anything asked maxwife I am crying now 🥹 I love you so much my wdc ❤️ Pierre, take tips pierreneedsgas yes ma’am 🫡

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firstfullmoon · 1 year ago

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Years ago, I received a query from a prominent editor about a line in Mahmoud Darwish’s long poem, “The ‘Red Indian’s’ Penultimate Speech to the White Man,” (If I Were Another). The poem channels Chief Seattle’s voice and spirit. In the poem’s second section, the line in question follows an address to Columbus, “the free [who] has the right to find India in any sea, / and the right to name our ghosts as pepper or Indian.”

The line in question is this: “You have burst seventy million hearts…enough, / enough for you to return from our death as monarch of the new time”:

isn’t it time we met, stranger, as two strangers of one time and one land, the way strangers meet by a chasm? We have what is ours…and we have what is yours of sky. You have what is yours…and what is ours of air and water.

“I just don’t get where he got the seventy million from?” the editor asked.

I didn’t reply. I didn’t wonder about the accuracy of Darwish’s claim. Maybe he included all the Natives annihilated in the Americas over the centuries. The only thought I had in my head was, “Is this really what’s bothering you about the poem?”

Years later, in a daydream, a marginalia of my soul visited me, and it spoke thus: “Do you remember those seventy million punctured hearts in Darwish’s poem? If you’re ever asked again, if the person who asks you says that historical studies show the number is not possible or whatever, remember the buffalos.”

The buffalo hearts are also native hearts. Who will count the donkeys, dogs, and cats in Gaza? The birds will return.

— Fady Joudah, in his essay “A Palestinian Meditation in a Time of Annihilation”

#w #lit #fady joudah #mahmoud darwish #from the river to the sea

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peonysgreenhouse · 7 months ago

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-`♡´- return.

summary: the obey me datables & luke react to mc coming back to life!

tags: obey me datables (simeon, solomon, diavolo, barbatos) x gn!reader, luke & gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied character death, mentions of violence in solomon's parts, solomon goes a little crazy teehee

i. simeon

he sees you there, in the celestial realm. he had known your soul was pure from the very beginning, but seeing you among the angels was like a knife to his gut, a reminder of his failures to protect you.

you weren’t supposed to be here, not now, at least. it was far too early for you to die. simeon can’t help but feel bitterness well up within him as you turn from michael to look for someone in the crowd (he knew it was him. he hoped it was him).

your features light up – simeon feels his heart skip a beat. even now you were just as he last remembered you, he had always taken the time to visit you in the devildom, even after his internship was over. you more beautiful than any angel he had ever seen.

you embrace him tight, and the tighter you squeeze the more he feels like he can’t breathe, the combating feelings waging a war in his mind. he should’ve been watching over you; what kind of guardian angel was he to let his human die like this?

“i’m sorry,” he doesn’t know why his voice cracks when he says it. simeon? losing his composure? he had garnered many millennia of years of experience working to keep it up. “i’m sorry i didn’t protect you.”

“it’s okay simeon,” he feels your hands squeeze the back of his cloak. a wicked thought crosses his mind; maybe if you dug your nails in harder he would have some penance for his failures. if you cut through the bone and marrow and reached his heart then maybe his father would forgive him – maybe you would forgive him for his short-comings. “i’m here now.”

“right,” he breathes you in as if to convince himself. simeon feels the strength of his bond with you overwhelm him, he can feel how much you care for him and he feels his chest fill with warmth, chasing away his guilt, if for the moment. “you’re here forever. with me. nothing can hurt you here, i promise.”

ii. luke

luke had always told you to be mindful of demons, that they were evil creatures who would take any opportunity to kill you. it had seemed that his warning had proved true in the worst way. if only he hadn’t been a cherub; if uriel had promoted him to be your guardian angel like he had asked, maybe this could’ve been avoided.

but he was overwhelmed with how happy he was at the fact that you would be spending time with him forever in the celestial realm. he had wanted nothing more ever since you had become friends in the devildom. you were the one light for him in the exchange program.

“you’re here!” luke chirps, sprinting down the golden bricks of the road to the archangels’ house. “you’re really–!” you’re suddenly enveloped in a hug as luke wraps himself around your waist.

“hello luke!” you smile from ear to ear, ruffling up his neat hair. usually, he’d make a comment about you not treating him like a child, but for now it seems he’s too busy nuzzling into you. “it’s good to see you again.”

“yes! i’m happy to see you,” he pulls away, cheeks visibly flushed. “i’m sorry that i wasn’t there to protect you from those mean old demons but… everything will be fine now that you’re here!”

“would you like to give them a tour of the celestial realm?” michael chimes in with a smile, the younger angel’s eyes lighting up like a christmas tree.

luke nods excitedly, taking your hand in his, already tugging you out of the estate: “we have so much to do! we can’t waste any time!”

iii. solomon

solomon spirals hard.

there was a reason solomon pushed everyone away, why most people in his life were kept an arms length apart. he got too attached to things; to power, to magic, to anything that gave him that needed adrenaline rush… why would you be any different? you, the only person he has ever loved had been snatched out of his hands.

and worst of all, he had been powerless to save you.

all the magic and demon pacts and connections in the world couldn’t stop you from bleeding out in his arms. humans like you were much too fragile for his liking; he had worked tirelessly his whole life to be anything but.

if he couldn’t get what he wanted from the damned, he would have to turn his eyes to the celestial realm. if he had to tear down the heavens and bring you crashing back down to earth, he’s sure he would.

making bonds with angels was much more difficult than that of demons, but he found after nights of endless research that plucking a few of their feathers would get them to sing.

he’s covered in golden ichor when he manages to bring you back – a life for a life. he finally was able to do it, not only to bring a human back to life, but to bring you back. solomon rises, shakily, as you feel your body materialize out of the magic sigil etched into the floor. he smiles gently, looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered.

so why do you look back at him with such horror?

iv. diavolo

he had bargained with the archangels before, but never for a life.

in all accounts, a human choosing to leave the celestial realm and go to the devildom was unheard of. being cast out of heaven was notoriously the worst punishment anyone could receive.

but you do, you would always choose him over all the luxuries and beauty of the heavens every single time. it was true that love made people do stupid things.

michael sends you back to the devildom months after diavolo’s terms were set, a gift with the price of owing the ruler of the celestial realm a favor. michael was known for his kindness, but diavolo knew that there was more to him than that. he was smart enough to know that michael would never jeopardize the devildom, but angels never forgot debts owed. it was a risk, but one diavolo had no choice but to take.

above all the benevolence and good-will he draped himself in, at his core, he was a selfish demon; perhaps moreso than anyone else in the devildom.��

he holds you against his chest the whole night. in the morning, he’d have duties and meetings to go to. but for now, you were his.

“little one,” he mumbles into your hair, hands tight around your waist, “make a pact with me. that you may be at my side forevermore.”

v. barbatos

in so many other timelines he sees you, shining, alive. he starts to resent the other versions of himself for being happy with you (or even worse, happy with any of the others). barbatos could pull you out as easily as he could breathe; he had a mastery over his powers that other lower demons could only imagine.

but it wouldn’t be the same, he reminds himself, it wouldn’t be his version of you.

he knew the way to get you back, it’d be to break his own rule: do not interact with the past. diavolo had given him permission to bring you back, it would be a stain on the exchange student program if one of the humans came back dead after the second semester. but he wasn’t so sure, what if the you he brought back wasn’t the you he remembered?

barbatos does it anyways, knowing he can’t refuse an order from his lord. the you in the celestial realm will be erased from existence replaced with the you of the past, the one who doesn’t know what it’s like to die. the two can only hope it doesn’t cause drama in the celestial realm.

“barbatos?” you question as you walk in the gardens with him, completely oblivious to it all. if he hadn’t been so happy that you had returned, he would feel guilty for not telling you of your death. sometimes, ignorance was bliss. “are you okay? you seem more quiet than usual.”

“do i?” he muses, forcing a soft smile for you. “i’m afraid i’m simply just a bit tired. sleep evaded me last night.” the last part wasn’t a lie.

“sorry to hear that,” you pout, “if you want to go nap, you should!

“do you not wish to spend time with me?”

“it’s not that…” you kick at the ground, arms crossed behind your back. “it’s just we have all the time in the world though, right? i want you to be rested when we’re together.”

he feels as if you’ve struck him with an arrow to his chest. barbatos sees your lifeless body in his mind, did you know and were trying to taunt him? or were you simply just this sweet?

“i suppose you’re right.” he nods his head, “but you’re coming with me.”

#simeon #solomon #diavolo #barbatos #luke #simeon x reader #barbatos x reader #solomon x reader #diavolo x reader #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me nightbringer #imagines #hurt/comfort #angst #ficlet #x reader #repost !#q

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