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dammitadolfnomorecake · 1 year

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**Cultivating Love**24**

Hiding away within his bedroom, Lance could hear Keith already awake and using the kitchen. He knew he needed to make a move of his own, yet he’d drunk too much the night before, Moontow having been excited at the prospect of signing Keith to Arus industries and sponsoring him. Keith was the hottest talking point in town, and the media had spent hours giving a play by play run down of “the mysterious cultivation wolf”. Speculation fell upon speculation. No matter how he tried to redirect attention onto himself instead, they all wanted to talk about Keith.

It was exhausting. Keith was exhausting. He wasn’t supposed to still have feelings for Keith and Shiro, not after two years. Not after all he’d decided for himself. To Keith he’d been gone six months… in Keith’s world he’d slept with Matt several months ago… but for Lance… he hadn’t known any human warmth like that for so long that he’d slipped. His mind filling with Keith after dressing his wounds. Keith was so warm. So alive. And Lance was so very starved of touch, despite how he acted. He’d kissed others, flirted, touched a little, but none of them had Keith’s touch or warmth. He hated Keith for coming after him. He hated him for how things had gone down. He hated that he said he hated him yet his heart didn’t. He was longing to know what had happened, why Shiro hadn’t come after him. What had become of the mermaid clan and if they’d fallen. He wanted to know it all. Yet the danger of the situation meant that knowing was the worse possible outcome at this time.

Knocking lightly on his door, Keith called out

“Breakfast is ready, Tailor”

He didn’t come in. Lance wanted him to. To be pushy and push him to point he had no choice but to admit things he shouldn’t. Keith had successfully debuted for Zarkon now, and Keith’s days would soon be hectic as his own. If Zarkon decided it, Keith could be given his own accomodation away from Lance’s home. Lance didn’t want that either. When he didn’t answer straight away, Keith called out again

“Tailor?”

“I’ll be there shortly, please go ahead and start without me, Yorak”

Shortly involved a quick shower, followed by brushing his hair and tail. Lance hoping to give himself enough time to calm his heart and mind before laying eyes on Keith again, only when he finally came out, Keith had patiently waited for him. Slightly blackened fish, over under seasoned rice, sat waiting at the table. Keith had never been the greatest of cooks, nor had he really cooked. The first time they’d shared a heat, he’d been busy looking after Shiro, yet Keith had tried to feed the both of them afterwards. He’d attempted to heat the food brought up by the maids, only to blacken it. Waving his hand to dismiss the memory, Keith gave him a confused look

“There was a fly. You could have started without me”

“I didn’t feel right about eating before you did… slaves should eat after their masters, right?”

Lance bit down sighing at Keith calling himself a slave. It was progress… Sitting down, Lance picked up his cup of tea. Keith had been heavy handed with that too. Plant parts floating up and reminding him that they’d been murdered for his morning tea

“You have a point. I’ll be meeting with Zarkon today to discuss Moontow’s sponsorship. The Arusians don’t have much power on their own, but it’s a good deal for a new comer. We’ll need to dress you properly for the palace”

“What do I wear?”

“What I choose. You’ll only wear your robes in the pit, but you do need to look more presentable than the last time you appeared before our lord. Once you’ve showered, I will do your hair properly. I’m not having my name slandered because your appearance is unkept”

“Do I need to have my hair done?”

“You do, and your tail needs grooming. You must endeavour to do all you can to live up to Zarkon’s expectations”

Keith gave a nod. Lance wondering if he knew how hard it was on him to groom Keith when grooming was such an intimate and affectionate thing. Mentally he cursed himself. He couldn’t waver any longer. He needed to cut these feelings out completely, and remember his own place as Keith’s new master.

Lance was acting strange. Keith knew he was supposed to be playing his part, yet his eyes kept being drawn to Lance. By the way Lance had spoken, he’d thought he would be meeting Zarkon with Lance. Only, he’d been left with Ezor and Zethrid, who’d kept him in a small bare room while Lance met the emperor alone.

He’d noticed the strangeness in Lance before they’d gone to the palace, yet now they were home again, Lance seemed on edge. His ears were occasionally flicking and Lance had chewed on his lip the whole trip back to his house. Something had upset him, and Keith wanted to know what it was.

Having been told to stay out of Lance’s bedroom, Keith tried to respect that. His own bed was two blankets on the floor in the living room area, or the sofa should he feel particularly uncomfortable. Lance’s lush bed was a far cry above that of what they’d had at the palace. It was the kind of bed that had Keith questioning why the cultivation realm was so far behind the demon realm in daily comforts… then again, he missed his daily comforts. The simplicity of the cultivation realm. He knew he shouldn’t invade Lance’s privacy, yet…

Knocking on Lance’s door, Lance didn’t answer. Having knocked, Keith could claim he’d tried to be courteous. He could claim that being groomed by Lance hadn’t done things to him, yet that would also be a lie. Opening the door, he found Lance in front of the mirror, seemingly lost in choosing what to wear

“What’s the occasion?”

“Zarkon has invited me to another of his formal events. You won’t be allowed to attend this one. Your grade isn’t high enough, so you’ll need to prepare your own food and keep yourself preoccupied for the night”

“The whole night?”

Lance paused as he threw a rejected shirt into the pile, before picking up another

“I probably won’t return until the morning. Keep the door locked and open it for no body but me”

The heaviness in Keith’s stomach dropped further as if weighted down by a bag of rice. Lance would be out all night. All night with other people. Doing… things with other people, maybe even those people. His heart taking a blow as did his pride

“Who will be there?”

“Zarkon’s guests, the elites, other fighters. It’s an honour after all”

“If I were a higher rank, would I be allowed to attend?”

“Not immediately. You have yet to prove yourself to our emperor. He’s entering into formal discussion with the Arusians over your sponsorship. It’ll all depend on your performance in the next fight. He warned me today that you being injured reflected poorly on my training of you, and should you be harmed again, you will be gifted to Sendak for personal training”

So that was why Lance was off. He’d messed up and made things trickier for Lance

“Should I apologise to Zarkon?”

“Let your actions be your apology. Then when you meet, apologise sincerely. He’s not a bad emperor, you just don’t understand the things he has done for this realm. To beg for forgiveness without understanding will only bring pain to your heart. Do better for his sake, so he might place a level of trust in you”

To Keith that was utter nonsense. Trust had to be earned and went both ways. He’d never ever trust in Zarkon

“I understand. Will other slaves be there?”

“Not tonight. Hopefully our lord will be announcing the participants for this years showcase. Only the very top are gifted a chance to compete. Naturally Sendak will as Zarkon’s number one fighter, but the rest of us are hungry for one of the other four places”

“What happens when you win?”

“You’re bestowed Zarkon’s favour. You have your voice heard and your choice in opponent for six more fights, before you ascend to his personal guard and begin palace duties. Sendak is the only one who remains constantly number one and isn’t elevated higher due to his popularity. No fighter has ever bested him within the pits. Not above a very wide draw, where he decides the fate of the challenger. I’ve drawn with him, but because of my popularity I was given a pardon. Zarkon has been closely guiding me since. He has big expectations for me, and I hope to make selection this year”

“Did you make selection last year?”

Lance changed his mind on another shirt before picking up another and giving himself a nod

“No. I was foolish and impatient. This shirt shall do. Do not forget to behave yourself in my absence”

Keith couldn’t beg Lance not to go, and Lance was very clearly telling him not to go through his personal things in his absence. He felt as if he’d barely seen Lance between the palace and now him soon leaving

“I will”

“Good. I don’t want anything happening to you”

Lance fumbled his shirt, Keith’s spirit soared at the idea Lance still cared, he wanted to push Lance on it, but he couldn’t. Turning away hurt. If he asked Lance then Lance could claim it was a slip of the tongue, so he’d much rather believe there was some kind of chance instead of none. There was nothing left for him to do other than bite his tongue and sit on the sofa. Lance was capable of taking care of himself and he’d simply have to deal with that.

Leaving Keith felt strange to Lance as he headed to Zarkon’s palace. The drive passed in a blur, and before he knew it he was arriving at the steps of the royal residence. Always clamouring for news, crowds had gathered, fans calling out his name as he stepped out the car. Pausing for a few moments, Lance waved and blew kisses halfheartedly before hurrying up the stairs of the palace.

He didn’t want to be there. Each step seemed to weigh him down. Zarkon had been very very clear that he wanted results with Keith sooner rather than later. He’d also tried to trick Lance into admitting he remembered his time in the cultivation realm, asking if Keith was like the spirit beasts he’d met before. No one was like Keith. Lance could search all three realms and never find anyone who matched him.

Following the crowd into the dining room, far more people were there than he’d expected from the sudden invitiation. Knowing drinking would be expected of him, Lance took a glass of wine and cast his eyes around the room. Once again, Zarkon’s wife appeared on his arm, masked as usual as they did the rounds. Something in the air felt different, a scent reaching his nose and sticking there, causing it to itch. His mind wouldn’t stop going back to Keith and his slip of the tongue. He couldn’t love Keith still. Even if he’d come to see that he loved Shiro as a master, and Keith more as a lover, he couldn’t go there again when so much was left unsaid.

Taking mental notes of those there, Lance didn’t realise how distracted he’d become until he accidentally bumped into a man who’d been in conversation with a woman. Raising his head, the first thing he’d seen was shining white hair that so reminded him of Shiro, followed by piercing purple eyes that he’d never seen outside of Keith’s. Purple irises weren’t uncommon in the demon realm, but to see both together left him momentarily distracted as he suddenly longed to be back with Shiro and Keith. Right. He’d walked into this stranger, he owned the man an apology

“I’m sorry, I was momentarily distracted. Are you alright, sir?”

As the man chuckled, Lance dropped his gaze again, feeling foolish. Surprised when the stranger lifted his chin with the pointer of his right hand. The stranger was handsome. His demonic energy high, but there was just something about him that seemed to stick in Lance’s mind other than his hair and eyes

“No harm done. Are you alright?”

Why was the man asking him when he’d been the one to blunder?

“I’m perfectly fine, as I said, a momentary distraction”

“Should I take that as a compliment? No? It is a shame, you’re quite attractive”

Great. He’d managed to accidentally upset a pervert. Continuing to smile at him, Lance wished the man would stop with the attention

“Thank you, I guess”

“You’re welcome, I’m simply stating it as I see it. You are Tailor, are you not?”

“You know my name?”

The stranger snorted

“I think most of the realm would. You’re very hard to forget. I think it’s time we should be taking our seats, Tailor. I do hope to speak to you again tonight”

“Thank you, sir”

Lance never would have guessed that would be the first interaction between him and the man he shortly found to the one this dinner was thrown in honour of. As Lotor joined his father’s side, Lance’s stomach gave a sick flip. Almost proudly Zarkon talked of Lotor’s time spent in the cultivation realm, and how he’d finally come home to his empire. Lance wanted to sink down in his chair until the ground swallowed him whole. It didn’t go unnoticed to him the way Lotor kept glancing his way.

Utterly devoid of appetite, Lance ate the bare minimum to be social. The after party was no escapeable, so he’d tried his best to vanish from it, escaping out onto the balcony for air. He should have expected that he’d be found, but all the talk of Lotor and the cultivation realm had left him shaken. That on top of the previous night’s drinking and unwanted feelings for Keith… he was not at his best.

“Shall I pretend you came out here for us to have a moment alone?”

If this had been the Shifting Space Palace, Lance would have taken his chances and jumped off the balcony. He couldn’t very well do that here. Forcing a fake smile to his lips, he turned to bow at Lotor

“I’m sorry I didn’t know who you were, your majesty”

“No harm done. Titles are rather stuffy, though my father does prefer them. Call me Lotor, Tailor”

Lance would rather not. Not now and not in the future

“I’m sorry, but it’s proper I address you by your correct title. Emperor Zarkon would not look kindly upon me if I did not give you the respect you deserve”

“Ah, I guess you may have a point. I was wondering if I might speak with you. I hear you’re from the cultivation realm”

Great. Great. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about. Turning back to lean against the balcony railing, it was very tempting to try jumping off. Lance didn’t like his current situation at all

“They said that I am, but it is hard to feel anything for a realm I do not remember”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, your majesty. How I came to be in this realm is a mystery to me. They tell me I spent six months in madness before being brought here. Your father raised me up as a fighter, and it’s because of him I enjoy the life I live”

“That’s a shame. I think you would have liked the cultivation realm. There are spirit beasts abundant”

Lance didn’t need to know that… Not only had the perverted stranger taken an interest in him, he was now attempting to bore him to death

“I have met some in my time here, I think the only thing different would be the location, given I have nothing to compare them to”

“Would you like to return there?”

Lance forced out a dry chuckle. Of course he would. Preferably with his friends and Keith…

“I’m more than satisfied with my life here. It is an honour to serve your father”

“You seem to have quite the fixation on him”

“He showed me mercy. I think that fighting for him is the only way I can ever thank him for what he does for me”

“And what about your own family? Do you think of them in such high regards?”

Lotor had to be working under his father’s orders. That was the only reason Lance could think of for him to be seeking him out

“You keep asking me the same questions as I’d expect different answers. I might be from that realm but I do not remember it, nor do I have any particular loyalty to it. I’m afraid on that topic I’m no expert”

“Shall I tell you about it?”

“I think you’d have a better time talking to someone else who can at least pretend to know what you mean”

Lotor moved to stand next to him. The an had no concept of personal space as he placed his hand on Lance’s

“Perhaps I’m tired of the same conversations. Fine, I shall indulge you, tell me about yourself”

“There isn’t anything to tell. I’ve been in this realm for approximately two years, and only conscious of it for about a year and a half after the slavers came for me. I survived my first fight and have fought for Zarkon’s glory and entertainment since”

“I think we both know that’s not true. Surely you have other habits? Perhaps of the more physical aspect?”

Lance took the chance and removed his hand from under Lotor’s

“The physical aspects of my day to day life are mine and whom I share them with. If I feel inclined I may sleep with someone, or I may go home. I have no hobbies, and spend my waking moments thinking of how best to entertain our emperor”

Lotor laughed softly

“I seemed to have offended you. I’m sorry, I have never met a spirit beast quite like you and I must admit I have been captured by your eyes. I’m sure a beauty like you left a string of hearts behind”

Lotor might like his eyes, yet Lance hated seeing those purple eyes of the prince’s. He hated it. To be examined so closely and keenly. They weren’t Keith’s eyes

“Even if I did, it amounts to nothing without memory. I think you should return to the party and it best I retire for the evening”

“I could show you up to one of the palace rooms”

“And I could show you what happens when you keep pushing my temper, and yet it’s best for both of us to do neither. It was a pleasure meeting you, and perhaps I will see you at the pits in the future”

Rather coldly Lance turned and left. Hurrying before Lotor could stop him without a scene being caused. He didn’t like the man and felt he never would.

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lovelybarnes · 3 years

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scars- b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: heavy mentions of insecurity, focus on scars, injuries, blood, wounds, canon violence about: requested! (PK9) kissing scars, bruises, scratches, etc. + (PF26) person a wiping person b’s tears away a/n: thank you so much for requesting!! i hope this is what you wanted and that you liked it!!

[ @tylard-blog1 ]

you’re aware that everyone on the team has them; natasha romanoff, even steve rogers, with his unbreakable milk skin, and bruce banner, with the green that tinges the hue of his temples when a scar is made. they’re reminders of what you do, some symbols of the lives that you’ve saved-- and others the lives that you’ve taken.

yes, everyone has them, but that doesn’t make you like the ones that litter your own body very much. nor does it stop you from looking away from them when you catch a glimpse of the scars that peek out of the clothing you specifically choose to hide them away from the curious eyes of the public. it doesn’t stop the frustrated tears that ebb in your eyes when you run the tips of your fingers over the raised tissue.

sometimes you realize how unfair it is of you to hate the scars that splay on your collarbone, and the ones that run across your hips and thighs, when you press your lips against the ones on bucky’s shoulder, pleading for him to believe you when you say you think he’s beautiful. the thought lingers when you playfully roll your eyes at natasha on the rare moment when she narrows her eyes at the healed bullet wound that sits above her hip, genuine words assuring her she looks great no matter what slipping out of the same mouth that utters ugly words at the mirror. you ignore it even as it guilts you when you touch the scars on bruce’s arms with featherlight fingers, pressing that they don’t make him a monster, or any of the hideous words with which he describes himself.

you try to tell yourself the reassurances apply to you, too, because they’re true-- the scars don’t diminish the beauty of your smile, or the glow that you carry, and they shouldn’t hinder the upwards pull of your lips when you catch a glimpse of them in the mirror-- but even as you try to convince yourself of that, your eyes always flit away, hand positioning itself in front of the scars as you examine the way you’d love yourself without them.

you were never aware of the blue eyes that caught your moments of dislike for yourself, missing the bead of worry that embedded itself in the cerulean of bucky’s irises.

it was on a particularly bad day of yours that one of your relatively smaller missions was scheduled. listed underneath your name was bucky’s, although he was only on there because he had demanded you never to go on a mission to an active hydra base alone, even though he knew you could handle it; you didn’t mind, always enjoying the quiet moments you got on the quinjet with bucky-- and the pilot, usually clint or steve, who bit their tongue, unlike sam or tony.

it would’ve been fine on any other day, but your day hadn’t started on the best note. the scars underneath your clothing seemed to burn every time you moved in the way they had when you first received them. you had stared at them for far too long, wishing you had the super-healing of the asgardian gods or the super soldiers you surrounded yourself with, who would never get permanent scars from the things you had experienced. they felt especially ugly sitting on your skin, making you want to lay in bed all day, pretending they didn’t exist.

your mission cut off your day of wallowing in your bed, forcing you to shove on your suit and sit in the quinjet to arrive at the mission you could’ve easily handled by yourself had it been another day and you had felt any other way.

you were from the same black widow program natasha was from; you were probably impossibly better, more ruthless and uncaring because from the moment you were born, you had nothing to lose, no family to protect, no memories of a childhood--even a fake one-- to hang onto. your movements were always calculated and perfect, like they had been forced to be, and your emotions were never supposed to cloud your anything-- they never did, except for when you had the days that knocked you off your feet, just like these.

nevertheless, you were distracted in the base with bucky, although you shouldn’t have been, considering the delicate information you were handling. you flawlessly did the routine of knocking guards unconscious, ignoring the way a harsh heat flashed in your hip when bucky’s hand touched the place where one of your more brutal scars was. it felt nearly as if he could feel it under his fingers, even though it was a ridiculous thought considering the material of your tac suit.

it was still going relatively fine; you had recovered the usb file you had been assigned to secure, and most of the guards were dead, fallen in a trail that created a clear pathway for bucky to find you, usb drive clutched tightly in your hand as you bled out on the floor, a knife thrown next to the pool of blood quickly forming underneath you and the person who had done it lying dead a few feet away. your gun was in your other hand, one of its bullets embedded in the hydra agents’ chest. bucky could hear the strangled gurgles of breathing coming from the agent, but he paid no attention to him as he rushed to your side, eyebrows furrowing as his hands reached the stab wound. you hissed sharply when you felt the cold of his vibranium fingers meet the burning hot of the injury, pressing down hard as lightly as he could while he mumbled something into the comms you never used. you were suddenly gathered into his arms, cringing when you heard a scream you didn’t realize was yours until you felt bucky’s lips moving in reassuring sentences next to your ear, a string of apologies falling from his lips. you never let go of the drive, desperate to keep hold of something that connected you to the real world, not wanting to focus on your other alternative: it was irrelevant when compared to everything else, but through the blinding red of pain, the only thing you could focus on was obsessing over the fact that a new scar would inevitably heal in place of the stab wound-- one you knew you would survive because you’d survived a hell of a lot worse than it, but the next ugly thing to form in your abdomen might just make you never want to see yourself again.

warm tears rolled down your cheeks as bucky carried you back into the quinjet, one of your hands tiredly fisted at bucky’s shirt, trying your best to stay awake but ultimately failing from the loss of blood and will.

it’s stupid. you’re aware, but your first thought when you open your eyes again is how there is yet another scar that will form on your abdomen, making tears rush to your eyes in frustration because it was your fault it was there anyways. had you just paid attention-- just not concentrated so on the wretched things, a new one would not be forming right now. the collection of ugly tissue that littered your skin was already too large.

the frustration you felt overpowered the painful numbness that settled over the wound in your abdomen, making dried tears spring back to life and dribble down your apple cheeks, alerting your boyfriend of your state. “doll? what’s wrong?” he asks, and at the sign he’s there, listening to your whimpers and audible disdain, the dam breaks loose, your hands reaching up to your face and tugging at the gash.

bucky’s up on his feet, tender hands circling around your wrists to pull them back down, “y/n, what’s wrong, doll?” he repeats, gentle blue eyes scanning your tear-streaked face. you squeeze your eyes shut, another salty trail making its way onto the bow of your lips. bucky’s warm fingers wipe away the wetness, his fingertips light.

“baby, please tell me what hurts,” he begs, his vibranium hand making its way into yours. you shake your head, squeezing his cold fingers. “i hate them,” you mumble, feeling his palm cupping your jaw, “i hate them so much.”

“hate what, honey?” he questions gently, brows furrowing further when he sees your hand curling into a loose fist above the place where his hands have lovingly settled: right on your scars. “i’m sorry,” you cry quietly, nose scrunching up when his fingers trace over the tissue he’s memorized the location of, “i hate them. they’re ugly and i hate them.”

“these?” bucky inquires, surprised. he lifts your shirt-- really, his-- to see the object of your tears, catching when you shut your eyes again and more tears drip off your jaw.

“bucky, no--”

bucky looks up at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “y/n…” he starts sadly, pulling away to get you to look at him. “they’re not... “ his eyes flick down to one of the scars, and he taps on it gently, “d’you remember this one? it was a couple years ago when i barely joined the team.” you can feel a lump growing in your throat, perfectly able to recall where you got it.

“you barely knew me back then, but you did know i was a super soldier, and you jumped in front of that bullet anyways. god, i knew i had to ask you out before someone knocked sense into anyone else.”

you sniffle, biting your lip, “this one,” he touches another one, “you saved nat and a little girl from a madman. her parents were so thankful they stayed with you until you woke up to thank you.” his finger wipes away another tear, “she invited me to her birthday party this year,” you snivel, and bucky smiles.

“these are not ugly-- you are not ugly, i promise.” he tells you. “i love you, every part of you--” his head suddenly ducks down, and you can feel his lips softly pressing against the scars, careful to avoid your newly forming one. your hand reaches his jaw, running your nail along his stubble as more thankful tears slip from your eyes. “i love you,” he repeats, kissing your lips.

“thank you,” you whisper against his lips, sniffling as you feel the burn on the scars slowly begin to disappear with the coolness of bucky’s vibranium fingertips.

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moririki · 3 years

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⤷ CLUELESS

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI X READER -> 1.5K despite your best efforts to confess your feelings to the infamous stone wall, he never quite seems to understand

REQUEST -> n/a CONTAINS -> ushijima being fucking clueless lmaooo, reader stumbling around being awkward, tendo being a jackass in the best way, obvious pining MORI'S THOUGHTS -> this imagine is based off of monthly girls' nozaki-kun, which is a pretty good (and short!) anime i watched on netflix hehe. the dynamic just reminded me of ushi for some reason so this became a thing

WHEN YOU FOUND YOURSELF FALLING HEAD OVER HEELS FOR THE CAPTAIN OF A VOLLEYBALL TEAM, YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. the two of you had nothing in common. the most you saw of him in a day was the brief glimpse of him before he headed into class. despite the fact that you could count the number of interactions that you've had with him on one hand, you were quick to develop feelings for the guy.

maybe you just had a type. he was tall, handsome, and quiet, but you were surprised that not many of the girls in your class gossiped about him. from what you knew about him, he mostly kept to himself or the volleyball team, with a very focused mindset accompanying him on and off of the court. the more that you knew about him only deepened your crush, to the point where it was getting unbearable to just admire him from afar.

while you felt like you knew the outcome before it started, you still decided to try your luck. today was the day of your confession.

"um, ushijima?" you tapped him on the shoulder hesitantly, stood next to his desk. he turned to you, face stoic as always. now or never. don't give away the fact that you're sweating bullets, you reminded yourself. your hands were balled into tight fists, nails digging into your palms as you felt your mouth open and close a few times with no sound coming out. fuck.

ushijima's face was blank, offering neither support nor disdain. well, the lack of outright disgust was always a good sign.

"i just wanted to say that i, uh.." you trailed off, resolve crumbling underneath the powerful gaze of ushijima. what were you thinking? you couldn't tell him how you felt, but you couldn't just slowly destroy yourself keeping it from him. might as well get it over and done with. "i want to be around you!" you ended up blurting out. and once the dam broke, more and more words started to spill past your lips.

"i've always admired you and how dedicated you are to volleyball, and i want to be around you more- and it's because i-" you finally hesitared at that, feeling your face flame up when confronted with the three little words which would change everything. but ushijima must have assumed that you had finished talking because your chance to confess had disappeared.

"i'm glad that you feel that way, y/n." ushijima's facial expression was still stern, but you perked up at his words nonetheless.

"you do?" you sounded breathless, eyes wide after you had just exposed exactly how you felt to your long-standing crush. ushijima nodded encouragingly, and you could feel a ringing in your ears as you begaj to think that you were dreaming. this was simply too good to be true, and you felt so lightheaded that you could float away with the lightest gust of wind.

"to confirm your position as manager you're going to have to fill out a form, but you can join practice tomorrow." you blinked, feeling yourself crash back down to earth when ushijima continued to speak.

"wait, what?" ushijima then looked at you in confusion.

"did you not just ask me to be a manager?" you hesitated, struggling internaly as to whether you should confess, again. but your cowardice won, and you sighed, nodding.

"i'll see you tomorrow."

the plasticky squeak of trainers hitting gymnasium floor welcomed you, and you steeled your nerves before stepping through the doors and being welcomed by the bright lights. you squinted as the glare hit you, hands holding onto your arms in an attempt to pull yourself together.

the sound of a volleyball being spiked into the floor harshly grasped your attention, and you watched in awe as the shiratorizawa volleyball team began to warm up. ushijima had just delivered that terrifyingly fast spike, and you felt a blush rise to your face as you saw how concentrated he was. cute.

"oh, hello!" a singsong voice and accompanying face invaded your senses, and you squeaked in surprise, taking an involuntary step back. the red-headed boy grinned at you, his frame towering over yours. "are you the new manager?" you nodded once, eyes darting past him to look at ushijima again. the ace still had his attention trained onto the court, despite the racket his teammate was causing. you sighed when you realised that your crush hadn't noticed you come in, and your action caused the redhead in front of you to narrow his eyes shrewdly.

"tendo, get back to practice!" a second voice called from the court. another guy with grey hair was stood there with his hands on his hips, staring at the male in front of you expectantly.

"coming, semi-semi!" tendo sang, offering you a cheery wave before running back. you were glad that there was at least one friendly face in the gym, though you had to fend for yourself now.

considering the fact that you had minimal support and nobody else to show you the ropes, you had actually picked up rather quickly on how to be a semi-decent manager. you fell into a rhythm over the next few weeks, filling up water bottles and preparing towels for the sweaty players. at least your failed confession had led to you taking part in a club that would look very good on your college applications.

another positive from this whole experience was the fact that you had gained two new friends, who went by the names tendo and semi. it was almost embarrassing at how quickly they figured out your crush for their team captain- semi tried to flirt with you, and tendo cackled as you stuttered out a rejection for his advances. next thing you know, one instinctive glance in ushijima's direction had tendo unraveling the entire mystery as to why you had signed up for a position as manager.

of course, the two assholes found the whole situation hilarious at your expense. however, you couldn't find yourself holding a grudge against the boys when they offered to act as your official wingmen. as for the very reason why you had joined the team, things were going about as well as you could expect. while he made no indication of going out of his way to talk to you, ushijima would gladly return any conversation that you struck up when handing him his water bottle or towel. he'd then return to practice promptly, help to lock up the gym, and then leave with not much in terms of a second glance. it was unsurprising behaviour, but still disheartening to say the least.

that's how you found yourself ranting to tendo during the team's five-minute break, with the boy watching your frustrated face in amusement.

“i just- i can’t believe that i talked myself into being a manager! all because of a crush! a crush that doesn’t even realise that i like him!” you placed down the towel that you just folded in frustration, and tendo couldn’t stop a giggle escaping his lips.

“look, that’s just how he is.” the redhead attempted to console you, giving you a pat on the arm. “he’s difficult to read, and he never talks about his emotions. besides, i don’t think he’s ever had a crush before.”

you sighed, nodding in defeat.

“yeah, yeah. i get it.” tendo’s focus drifted from your face to behind you, and he was quick to sling an arm around your shoulder.

“speaking of the guy...” he muttered to you under his breath. you turned to see the captain approaching, his brow slightly knitted. you smiled as best as you could, offering him a water bottle.

“bye, sweetie,” tendo cooed at you, shooting you a painfully obvious wink that had you blushing and looking down at your shoes. now it was just you and ushijima, the latter being as silent as ever. you coughed once, peeking up at his face.

“you spiked well today.” ushijima nodded once, a small smile spreading across his face. the motion had your heart swelling.

“thank you. you’re a very good manager.” you laughed, mostly to hide your blush and just at how ironic this entire situation was.

“thank you.” you smiled up at the man, and that was the end of your interaction. you watched his back as he returned back to the court, going so much further away from you. tendo shot you two thumbs up and received a slap on the back of the head from semi, and that made you giggle.

hell, even if you got here under circumstances that weren’t in your favour, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. something about getting to watch ushijima perform in his element every day was enough to keep your crush going, reciprocated or not. besides, who knew how the guy really felt after all?

your daydreaming had you staring off into space as the coach blew a whistle to mark the return to practice, and a pair of olive eyes tore themselves away from you to focus back on the court.

you had been paying attention to his spikes, after all.

back to the counter - ,, 💐 ·˚ ༘ ꒱

#moririki‧₊˚✩彡.🧺#x reader #haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu!#hq #haikyuu x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagine #ushijima imagine #ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #fluff‧₊˚✩彡.🕯

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gloryofluv · 3 years

Text

Reaction to You hiding under a table... (All the boys)

Hiding under a table. Reactions and laughs abound! All the brothers and the dateables.

Lucifer-

He walked into the room and saw you ducking under the table with the cloth hiding most of you. He lifts the cloth to reveal that you’re not shivering with fear at the sight of him. Obviously, you’re not just hiding like Mammon has done. Nope, you had a book and were under a… table???

Cue questionable scowl. WTF is this human doing now?

It only is more confusing for him when you glance up to see him, wave, and smile before returning to your book.

Does he even want to know? Actually, he does. However, should he spend the time to ask?

He does. He’s a sucker for you. Your response is simple. You wanted to read in peace, and (almost) no one would see you here.

He inwardly groans and tells you to go hide in his room next time.

No, he wouldn’t mind seeing you reading in there when he gets home. In fact, go ahead, make that your primary space to hide. Coming home to you would be exactly what he dreamt about.

Bonus points if you laugh and agree. Melted firstborn, anyone?

“If you insist on hiding from my brothers for some peace, you may do so in my room. I won’t be perturbed as long as you don’t tell them.”

Mammon-

Walks into the dining room to try and find something to sell for some quick coin. Scowls at the sight of your shoes sticking out from under the table.

Most definitely will crouch and stick his face in your space. This boi is perplexed at you huddled under the table with your phone.

Huh? Is this a human thing?

You smile and ask if he wants to come to sit with you.

Mammon will snort and toss an insult or bravado of some sort but still be really confused at your new place to sit.

Hiding from Asmo because he wants to dye your hair? Well, that makes a little more sense. However, he still doesn’t get it. You have a bedroom.

You pat the ground again, and he grumbles but agrees. Sitting with him, you start playing the funny Deviltube videos of demons getting scared by human items. You and he are laughing at the idiots together.

He soon wraps his arm around you as you’re cozy in the dim light. Forgetting about his task, he asks if you want to come back to his room. Ya know, to watch videos there???

If you agree, he’ll drag you off. It wasn’t the first time he was hiding under a table, but it would be your last.

“Now, human, that happens again, and ya just come to my room. I’m supposed to be watchin’ ya.”

Levi-

He was walking up to the bathroom. Usually, his nose was stuck to his D.D.D, but he caught sight of you. You were napping under a table?! What?

He thought about leaving you there. Belphie usually falls asleep in the weirdest places. However, why??? Why were you under a table? In the hallway???

Bending down, he touches your shoulder, and you wake up. He asks what you’re doing sleeping under a table like a normie?

You tell him that you were waiting for the bathroom to take a bath, but Mammon was taking forever. You got caught up reading a manga and fell asleep under the table.

Cue heart eyes and blushes! He stammers about going to use the bathroom. When he comes out, you were still under there reading.

Immediately he was a jumbling mess. Asks you if you would read it in his room instead of under a table.

If you agree, expect blushy boi to timidly ask what it's about. If you explain the plot to him, he will definitely show you similar types from his own collection!

He will likely keep you captive all night because the thought of you under a table with a manga stole his otaku heart out of his chest.

“If you d-don’t mind spending time with a disgusting otaku. You could come read it with me. I have more if you like. P-please?”

Satan-

Inquisitive and actually perceptive about his surroundings, he wanders into the library to immediately see you under the table in there. You pulled a chair over to block the view of anyone who would be just glancing in the room.

He ignores you, for the time being, grabbing the book he had an interest in reviewing. Instead of leaving, he picks that chair to sit in.

Minutes go by as he enjoys the subtle sound of your breathing and the beautiful announcement of the pages being turned when he thumbs them.

Is he curious why you’re hiding under a table? Absolutely. Will he ask? Well, he was debating on how long he’d let you believe you’re actually hidden.

Instead of asking flat out, he turns and slams the book on the tabletop, causing you to jump and bump your head. He’ll ask you why you’ve been hiding under a table at that point.

Lucifer.

Enough said. He offers a better solution to your issue. He invites you to his room, where you can seclude yourself from his fury until the firstborn is busy with other tasks.

If you agree, he’ll smirk and feel smug as hell. Lucifer will ask and ask where the human went, and he won’t say a word.

“Honestly, there are far better ways to disappear than under a table. Come to my room, and I’ll shield you from the chaos.”

Asmo-

Glorious clothes. Fabulous makeup! Asmo just returned from his shopping trip and was on a high. He walks into the sitting room to see you lying under the table.

What?

Flat out asks you what you’re doing under the table. Oh, you’re glancing at all the cute outfits in the latest Devildom fashion??? He would climb on the floor and join you if it wasn’t dirty.

Comments on the dirt.

You say that you’re waiting for Mammon, and he never looks lower than the sofa. You wanted to scare him for him stealing your hairbrush. True. Very true. A great place to jump out and scare him.

However, just not working for Asmo. Nope. Insists that you end your ploy to scare Mammon and help him go through his new things.

He promises to help you get back at Mammon with a better, less dirty plan.

If you agree, he will be skipping all the way up to his room. He’ll have you all to himself, and you both can do a fashion montage!!!

“Honey, he’s an idiot, but this is no way to treat your poor skin. Let’s go through all my new clothes and plan something far more deserving!”

Beel-

Baby boy just got done with his workout and was going to walk into the kitchen to make a snack. Walks by the dining room to see your knees under the table.

What?

He stops and scowls. This is a new behavior. Beel goes into the room and ducks down to see you huddled under the table… eating Simeon’s cookies?!

You give him a simper and offer the bag saying he can have one. Beel accepts and then asks why you’re under the table.

Hiding from the others because you didn’t want them to know Simeon made them just for you?

He's a little hurt that Simeon wouldn’t make him any, but happy that you shared. You ask him if he wants a few more because you only had a handful left.

He sits down and eats the offering with a smile. After you both have finished the cookies, he asks if you want to come with him to make a snack.

If you agree, this teddy bear is glowing. He’ll make everything you want, and you just need to sit on the counter and tell him about your day.

“If you want, since you shared, I could make your favorite snack. I love sharing my food with you too.”

Belphie-

Tired. Grumbly. Tired. He walks into the sitting room to see you stationed under the side table.

Um? What? He scowls and smacks his pillow at you reading a book before slumping on the sofa.

His version of asking you what’s wrong??? Well, it worked.

You tell him that Lucifer was looking for you to do a chore and figured you could plead ignorance if he didn’t find you sitting under a table.

Mammon never gets away with anything like that, and Belphie tells you so.

You curl smaller and laugh. See, he can’t find something this tiny, right?

Thump. Thump. Thump. Yes, his heart is just beating for how cute you could be. Tells you how ridiculously stupid that is instead.

You unbunch your legs and sigh. Well, he sucks at times… So, instead of apologizing, he offers to take you up to the attic and hide you in the blankets if Lucifer comes knocking.

If you agree, he walks with you all the way up, and when you snuggle on the bed together, he apologizes for being grumpy.

Turns into a melty soft boy when you run your hands through his hair and say you didn’t even notice with a smile.

“Well, if you want a plan that actually will work. You can come with me to the attic. I’ll hide you in the blankets, and we can nap.”

Solomon-

Walks into the library at RAD with one goal in mind. There was a book on energy manipulation he wanted to read. However, the goal is postponed.

Sees you under the table, and now, he’s completely intrigued. You had your book in hand. You even looked to be in perfect health. Hmm… odd.

Approaches you, and you glance up. No words. Not even a plea for help. Still odd.

He finally asks you why you’ve chosen this space to sit instead of a useful chair. You reply that there was a demon giving you dirty looks. So you ducked under a table, and the demon walked away in confusion.

He finds it fascinating that something this odd would work. Now is intrigued if that’s all demons or just you doing it.

Climbs under the table with you and asks what you’re reading. Makes no effort to remove you from under the table nor ask you to sit in the chair.

Both of you read under the table and watch as demons glance at you with pure befuddlement. Cue laughter and enjoyment. He would have never thought he’d walk into a rare social experiment with demons that day.

“You know, that poses an interesting question. Do demons insist on the same social norms as humans? Care to perform this experiment with me?”

Simeon-

Walks into the House of Lamentation to have tea with Lucifer. However, he is quite amused at the sight of seeing you trying to tuck as far under the side table near the hallway.

He walks over and ducks down, lifting the cloth, asking, what are you doing?

You rush out in a whisper that Levi is angry with you because you beat him at a game. You don’t want him to send Lotan on you!

He nods and hears footsteps on the staircase, so he stands in front of you. Levi comes storming down the staircase and asks if he’s seen you. Simeon spills a few lines from TSL. Levi is blushing and waves him off before stomping by.

He checks the hallway before bending down and whispering that you can come with him back to Purgatory Hall. He’ll explain what happened to Lucifer so he can calm Levi down.

If you agree, he doesn’t waste time to skirt you out the door and away from danger. What a freaking angel??? Well, maybe it’s a little selfish. He gets to keep you safe, after all.

“If you would like, you can come with me and have some tea to calm your nerves. You look shaken, and I do hate to see you out of sorts.”

Luke-

Skips into the sitting room at Purgatory Hall and immediately scowls. What are you doing under the table???

Walks over, and you press a finger over your mouth. You thought you saw a bat. A flappy bat in the sitting room! They see with sound.

What??? Is it a blood-sucking bat??? Does it eat humans? Are things like that really in the Devildom?

Climbs under the table with you and looks around with a hint of anxiety on his face. It doesn’t help that his clothing tickled your arm, and you jumped and screamed.

Insists that you both run into the kitchen to tell Simeon! He’ll know what to do!

If you agree, both of you are bolting into the kitchen to describe an exaggerated version of the event. Your fear was enough to scare this wee angel. You weren’t scared of demons, but were of a bat??? This had to be a very evil bat!

“If we run as fast as we can, it won’t find us right away! Simeon will be able to help!”

Barbatos-

He was well aware of lunacy thanks to his very creative prince. There were things he just expected to weave sideways from the norm. However, you under a table in the hallway of the Demon Lord’s Castle wasn’t one he foresaw.

Should he bother to ask? Yes, he best do so. Bends and questions your oddity.

You explain that one of the Little D’s was yelling at you for walking on their clean floors. It called you a stupid, ignorant human. You wiped your face, and he noted the blotchy color of your cheeks. Well, someone was going to have an unfortunate accident later…

He asks if you would like to come with him to the kitchen. You could have some tea while he prepares dinner.

If you agree (let’s face it, no one tells Barbatos no), he will assist you in climbing from under the table. He will pull out a handkerchief and wipe the tears from your cheek and escort you to the kitchen.

You may not have seen it, but it did bother him immensely that you were cowering under a table. He would fix that and have you smiling in no time.

“I’m apologetic that someone was rude to you. Let me make it up to you with some tea and cookies. We will cure this bad experience with a better one.”

Diavolo-

He was enjoying the party thus far but was in need of a moment, just a brief moment alone. Walking into the dark sitting room, he turns on the lights to see you under a table. Your formal attire was pooling around you.

He walks over and ducks down to see the shock on your face and D.D.D in your hand. Asking what you’re doing in here, he smiles.

You answer with taking a break from the party. Though it’s beautiful and jovial, you were tired of dancing with so many demons.

He agrees and asks if you don’t mind the company. Actually, while he’s asking, he found a way to duck his torso under the table with you. (Big boi could actually break furniture and you if he wasn’t careful)

You show him the cute animal videos off Deviltube, and both of you begin to laugh. One video leads to six leads to twelve. It didn’t matter. It was so nice to just spend time with you.

He asks you if you want to have another table date again. He actually would sit under any piece of furniture as long as you said yes.

“I’m so glad to see you! I was actually exhausted from all the dancing myself. Care if I join you in watching whatever was amusing you?”

#obey me headcanons #obey me fandom #obey me humor #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelezebub #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me barbatos #obey me diavolo

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cinnamonest · 3 years

Text

Lupophobia

Yandere "Escape Attempt" prompt - Razor

-------------------- Words: 8,944 Warnings:-fem reader, attempted noncon beastiality (none actually happens), yandere/captivity, noncon, biting, breeding, brief gendered themes/tones involving animal mating. Heavily inspired by my degrees of lewdity "deviant"/beastiality playthrough. I applied things I learned in college linguistics for this. Truly putting my education to a good purpose. --------------------- The fortunate thing about animals, and their adjacents, was that they were very easy to deceive, and no matter what, they would fall for the same trick, time and time again. "You see it girl? You want it?" You grimaced at the slimy texture on your fingers, wiggling the fatty slab in your grip and swallowing the sickness that came from looking at it. Out of, you supposed, ingrained social habits, you gave an awkward smile as you wiggled the meat. In contrast, the wolf had the opposite reaction, her ears immediately perked up, and she leaped into a playful position, front half low to the ground as her tail stuck up, and a low whine escaped her throat, eyes fixated on the meat. Yes, unlike with people, who had a greater capacity for pattern recognition and learning, who followed the fool me once, fool me twice mantra, you could count on animals to be easily deceived over and over without having to change the way you deceived them. This was far from the first time you had pulled this exact move, nor was it difficult to do -- you merely waited for a spare moment to rip out a chunk of the meat and hid it away for a little while while the rest of the pack was not looking, too absorbed in their own gorging to even cast a glance in your direction. "You want it...?" You repeated, wiggling the slab again in front of the wolf's eyes. Drool spilled out of the side of her mouth between her sharp, glistening teeth, and she let out another whine.

This was not the first time this trick had worked. This was not the first time you'd managed to steal and hide a hunk of meat away while the animals gorged themselves on the remains of whatever poor creature fell victim to them. Hell, this wasn't even the first time that this specific trick had worked on this specific individual wolf. You'd come to recognize each of them with time, even assigned them little names in your head by identifiers. She was a mother, one of the wolves that remained behind at the little den while the others went out for hunting, leaving only the nursing females, the smallest pups, and, well, yourself. Albeit in a weakened state in nursing, they were still easily capable of overpowering you, and, through means you honestly did not understand, they somehow knew they were supposed to prevent you from leaving. Even when you stood up, one or more of them would immediately pick their heads up, ears falling flat and even letting out the softest of warning growls.

She whined in front of you, eyes fixated on the slab. You wiggled it again. It was an easy deceit to pull off. "You want it... then go... get it!"

You hurled the hunk of red flesh as far as your arms could manage, and, exactly per plan, the she-wolf immediately bolted in the direction of the throw. And likewise, you turned on your heel and began the now-routine dash in the opposite direction -- the direction of human civilization. That had been the easy part.

It was the rest of the way that would be difficult. This time of day was the only opportunity you had to pull this whole thing off, but the sun was quickly setting, and unlike the wolves, you were not exactly gifted with night vision. You likened the route to an obstacle course, a puzzle -- repeated actions that became muscle memory. The first few times, you'd merely stumbled around in the woods for a few minutes. With each successive attempt, you retained more knowledge of the path, could clear a longer distance in increasingly shorter times, memorized landmarks, remembered little helpful actions and hindrances, and with each successive attempt, you found yourself making it closer and closer to the end of the woods than the time before. There wasn't much else to go by, so you used trees that stood out to you. The huge tree with the hollowed out hole in the center was the first landmark -- go right. The tree that had an oddly-angled branch came next. So on and so on. You measured success by how many of said landmarks you could pass in time, striving to make each a longer and longer venture every time. Just when despair had been finally getting the better of you, the last attempt had had you finding a footpath used by the Springvale hunters, and that meant you were close. If you could just find that again -- there. To say flat ground was a welcome feeling to your bare feet was an understatement. The slimy dirt texture of the forest floor and prickly leaves and pine needles was not a pleasant sensation. Nonetheless, there was no time to savor it or anything, soon, soon, you'd walk on paved streets, and floors, and, and... You stopped for a mere moment, panting, desperately taking in deep breaths to soothe the exhaustion burning in your chest. You darted your head from side to side. There was no sign of anything coming your way. No footsteps or growls in the distance behind you. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, as much from physical exertion as it was from a blooming, disbelieving excitement. I might actually make it. Your legs felt weak at the prospect, and you steadied your stumbling against a tree. You were certain you'd never made it this far before. It was difficult to process, almost surreal. After so, so, so many times, over the course of months and months, you were so used to being stopped by this point that your brain half-expected it at any moment. You'd really reached a point at which the escape attempts were almost done with a knowing futility, you no longer really had much hope when setting out, merely running on principle and the faint chance that was now so real. You could be stopped any moment. And yet, after a few more breaths, nothing happened. You shook your head to clear the dizziness, taking a deep breath and squinting forward in the twilight. You nearly felt your heart stop when you processed a shape in the distance -- a building. Springvale. It was distant and downhill, but visible. Right there within your reach, and all you had to do was go to it, so you steadied your breath and took off as fast as-- The world suddenly spun around you as something snatched at your ankle. Your shriek echoed off the trees, reverberating until it grew silent. A clanging of metallic sounds accompanied it, rattling hollowed objects triggered into motion. Everything began to settle, the sudden flooding of stimuli to your eyes and the feeling of sudden movement both slowing to a gentle sway. You were unbreathing, unblinking, heart pounding as your vision spun and, in a panicked haze, you desperately darted your eyes and head each way, struggling to process your senses. Your head felt suddenly tight and tense, your upper half heavy, and a burning pain wrapped around your ankle. Everything was... upside down. You looked down -- no, up -- at your feet. One was bent at the knee, falling in the direction of gravity towards your head, the other was extended perfectly straight, tense and unable to move. A cord was snagged around your ankle, a perfect tightened knot that wrapped around the flesh. You looked up -- no, again, down -- at the ground. Nausea lurched in your stomach as you did, seeing the forest floor a good drop below. You took a moment to process. You followed the trail of the rope from where it tugged painfully at your ankle, followed it to the branch it looped over, and down the trunk to the base of the tree, where it was securely tied around a knotted root. The metallic sound had come from what appeared to be collected garbage, metal scraps, a glass bottle or two, and some metal tools and cans all tied up in a net and secured to the spot where the rope met the branch, an alert that the trap had been set off. Your mouth hung open, you blinked over and over, before finally, bitter anger burst in your chest. "Ghhhhh!" You let out a frustrated, furious cry, thrashing wildly and pulling at your scalp. You kicked and struggled, but only succeeded in making yourself swing, making the nausea and dizziness worse. A trap. Of course. The furthest you've ever gotten, and you were stopped by a fucking hunting trap. Damn those Springvale hunters for coming this far out into the woods. It could be worse, you tried to console yourself. It could have been a bear trap, which would have more or less destroyed your leg, possibly taken it clean off. But nonetheless, misery and frustration bubbled up in your chest as you swung back and forth, slowing down to stillness. You'd never made it this close to town before. You could see the road as well, albeit just barely, a few hundred yards in the distance. You could make out where the dirt path became gravel in the distance, upside-down in the last light of the quickly-setting sun, and, as tears filled your eyes, you reached a hand out to it, miserably grasping your hand shut before letting your arm fall. It was so, so close! Now you were trapped, stuck here in this miserable, humiliating predicament, and you'd have to wait to be saved, and inevitably dragged back the way you'd come. You thrashed again, trying and failing to curl your body up and reach your foot. Your fingers just barely grazed the knot of the rope, but even if you could reach it, it was designed for your body weight to hold the knot in place to begin with. You let out a shaky sigh and a small sob, tears dripping directly out of your eyes and falling downward with gravity. You wiped your eyes, and a thought made a bit of nervous, daring hope light up in your chest. You were close to Springvale, right? Maybe you could be heard. This trap was set by the Springvale hunters themselves, right? You'd seen these types before, a snare that, when tripped, released on one side and whipped around the center of the force that tripped the rope, forming a perfect, tight knot around the ankle of the prey before hauling it upwards by use of weight. You took a deep breath and cupped your hands around your mouth. "Help!" You called out, straining out the vowel as long as you could, before inhaling a ragged breath and repeating the action. As the echoes quieted, you waited, but nothing happened. You wriggled and writhed, but only succeeded in making the net of metal rattle. You supposed it helped the hunters hear animals struggling, and led them to the source. But the hunters wouldn't be back out until tomorrow, you couldn't afford to wait for them to come rescue you on their own. You waited a moment, trying again and again to yell. The Springvale hunters, a traveler on the road, hell, you'd accept help from treasure hoarders if they hung out in this part of the wilderness. Anyone, anyone human. Well, except one, preferably, but still. Any other human being. You couldn't even remember the last human interaction you'd had. At least, a fully human interaction, without any licks or whines or growls or other canid behaviors you'd become far too accustomed to. But nobody came. You waited. Tried again. And again. And again. No response. Your head was beginning to pound and throb. You'd black out if you stayed like this much longer, and you were pretty certain it could even kill you. But nothing was responding to your cries for help. You wracked your brain in panic for a solution. An idea popped into your head. You'd seen Razor do it before, and the wolves responded to him even though he produced the sound with a human voice, so maybe you too could... It was embarrassing, but worth a try. You didn't exactly have many options. You jerked your bodyweight in the other direction, making yourself turn to face the woods in the direction you'd come from instead of Springvale. You reached your quickly-numbing arms up and cupped your hands around your mouth, forming your lips into an "o" shape, and, well, swallowed your pride. You didn't have any better ideas. "Awooooo--" You tried to mimic the howls you'd heard so many times as accurately as you could manage, but it came out a bit strained and comical. You waited a moment, and, receiving no response, whimpered in your desperation and tried a second time. Your voice echoed throughout the trees. You weren't certain exactly how it worked, you were pretty certain they had different tones they used, some for aggression, some as a cry of distress, but you weren't capable of telling them apart. You could only hope for the best. It wasn't really as if they could help you, but at the very least, they would probably go find Razor for you. They'd done so before, after another humiliating failure when you'd fallen into a hole in the earth during a past attempt. You'd learned they were far more intelligent than you once thought, and they understood things like that, at least. But gods, did this make you feel dumb. Your face heated with embarrassment with each attempt. You inhaled to try a third time, but as you did, a shrill howl pierced the air from a distance. A response. Your heartrate picked up as a little spark of relief and hope -- albeit dread that lurked in the back of your head -- made you shudder. You howled again, and received a second response. It carried on for a few minutes that way, sounding back and forth, and it sounded like the other was getting closer. Finally, you heard steps, and anticipation swelled in your chest. You were pretty sure that the response howls had been that of an actual wolf -- even you, in your time in these woods, had learned to tell the difference between Razor's vocalizations and that of the wolves. There were simply some aspects of the canid sounds that human vocal chords could only mimic, but not recreate to a perfect likeness, and thus his vocalizations were a bit distinct. Still, you could be wrong, or, even better, perhaps the footsteps coming close to you weren't an animal at all, but perhaps a different figure, maybe a hunter...? No, that was definitely a four-legged gait. That, too, was something you had learned to tell apart, a two-legged gait versus a four-legged one. It kind of came in handy when you were trying to to hide or run and needed to gauge exactly what was hunting you down. You craned your neck to the best of your ability in the direction of the sound. A creature emerged from the trees. You took a sharp breath. ...It was merely a very large, brownish-greyish wolf. It gazed up at you with big black eyes and ears perked up in alertness. You squinted. You'd never seen this wolf before. You were fairly certain of this much; during your time in the woods, you'd learned to distinguish between them pretty well. You learned the little differences -- this one was bigger, this one had a scratch on its ear, this one had a scar on its hip, this one was more brown and this one was more grey, and so on it went. This one was different from all the wolves you'd become familiar with. The wolf sat down, tilting its head at you, tongue lolling out as it panted. It was huge, muscular looking. "Help," you whimpered. As aware as you were that it obviously did not understand, you couldn't think of anything else to do. You flailed a bit in your desperation, and pointed towards the spot where the rope was tied to the tree. "Help me... Come on, please..." The wolf actually followed the line of your pointing, eyes settling on the base of the trap. And, miraculously, moved towards it. Your heart pounded. Did it actually understand? Would it help? It walked over and bit at the rope, shaking its head rapidly in the same way you'd witnessed the wolves kill small prey, or how dogs played with toys. It was helping! You shuddered again, hope burning in your chest, and a tear of relief dripping from your eyes upside-down to the ground below. And if this wolf wasn't from the pack, it wouldn't take you back, right? How, you weren't certain, but the other wolves seemed to understand the... arrangement going on. Many of your escape attempts had been thwarted not by your captor himself, but by the pack -- surrounding you in a circle, barking and growling and snapping at you until you were forced to turn back, even tackling you as you ran, biting your clothes and arms to drag you back. But this wolf would let you go, right? .... Wait a second. Cold dread suddenly made your stomach lurch. This wolf had no reason to help you, and no reason to drag you back. It had every reason to see you as easy prey. Any relief or hope you'd felt was immediately replaced with a chilling rush of panic. Yes, you would be easy prey, right there for the taking. You thrashed about, trying again to reach up and loosen the knot on your foot, but failing. Fuck. You were trapped between two unpleasant options. There was a chance the wolf was just helping, but in the end, it was an animal, not a person, with instincts of goodwill or benevolence. It would follow its instincts. Once you hit the ground, you'd have to run. That was the only solution. But... it also occurred to you only then that you were hanging a good fifteen feet or so in the air. Upside down. What if the fall knocked you out? Hell, what if it broke your legs? What if it broke your spine? If it were Razor himself, he'd lower you down slowly, but the wolf lacked the sense or ability to do so. You'd just drop. Fuck, fuck, fuck. There was a thick coating of leaves on the ground, which would hopefully help, and this part of the forest had soft, clay-like ground rather than hard rock, but nonetheless, it was a long drop. Dammit! Your body wracked with a sob of frustration, anger, and panic. Why did all of this have to happen to you? You'd asked yourself that that plenty of times. You didn't do anything to deserve-- There was a snapping sound. You shrieked as gravity immediately sent you crashing down, world spinning around you, and you collided with the earth with crash that took the breath from your lungs; the sound flooded your ears, echoed as your head went numb. You landed directly on your back, eyes looking up at the trees and the sky beyond then as the world spun around you and your vision darkened. Pain ran through your body on impact, a rough, blunt sort of pain that ached through your flesh and meat and bones. You groaned in pain, teeth clenched as it flooded your senses, trembling as it slowly began to ebb away after the initial blow. The wolf's face popping into your vision sent you jolting back to awareness. It was startling, it's cold wet nose pressing against your own, and after a moment, it lapped its tongue against your face. Panic seized your entire body, and you were frozen, unable to move, not even breathing, eyes wide in terror. And then it licked you again, letting out a soft, tender whine. It was being friendly. You let out a shuddering sigh as relief washed over you again, and you thanked whatever god was looking out for you for granting you your life. "Th-thank you," you murmured, reaching a trembling hand up to pat the wolf's head, wincing at the soreness in your arm. It whined again, bumping its head against yours. Wolves were far, far larger than you were certain most people realized. Back home, you'd always thought that the howls you heard at night from within the safety of Mondstadt's walls were from creatures no bigger than the large hunting dogs you'd seen in Springvale. In reality, that was not the case. Even the smallest of the wolves were massive in comparison to those dogs, their heads easily twice the size of your own. You'd been utterly terrified of them in the beginning, bursting into frightened tears whenever one made its way over to sniff you in their curiosity, or dump an offering of a small creature's carcass at your feet in a show of friendliness (an unsettling experience, no matter how many time you were told it's good, 'cause they like (y/n)), or lick your face in an attempt to show affection. You'd grown used to it with time. But this wolf was even larger than the majority you'd seen, easily thrice your size in every capacity. Likely a loner separated from its pack. You were aware there were sometimes conflicts between the larger, stronger pack males that ultimately ended in the loser leaving the pack and heading off on its own, although it seemed nearly incomprehensible that a wolf of this size would lose to anything. Had it chosen the route of violence, you wouldn't have stood a chance. You laid there for a moment, head spinning as you took deep, shaky breaths, trying to calm yourself down and regain your sense of control over your body. You curled your fingers and toes, flexed the muscles in your arms and legs. You were a bit scraped up and your entire body still ached from the impact, but miraculously, nothing seemed broken. You closed your eyes, feeling the cool evening breeze and the wet tongue that was repeatedly lapping at your face. Finally, after a moment, with a groan at the ache in your body, you pushed yourself upward with your elbows, flipping over to your hands and knees, pulling your leg forward to stand-- The breath was knocked out of you yet again as a massive weight crashed down onto your body. You clawed at the ground, gasping to regain oxygen, body going tense. "Wh-what-" The creature let his bodyweight fall down on your frame, and you grunted as your upper half slammed into the ground. It rendered you entirely immobile, this wolf was both massive and heavy, you could barely breathe under the sheer mass of its body. You struggled to push yourself back up onto your elbows. "H-hey, what are you--" With a whine, it rutted its hips forward. Oh, fuck. "N-no!" You tried to rear up, pushing your upper half upward on your elbows as hard as you could, to no avail. Its weight was crushing. "B-bad! Bad dog! Stop!" You clawed at the dirt, gasping as it thrust again. "Get off!" It only let out the same high, throaty whine, thrusting its hips several times in quick succession, humping your ass with desperation. You could feel its blunt-ended cock digging into the flesh, making your blood run cold. When it rutted forward, the motion hiked your ragged little dress up, bunching up the fabric and exposing your cunt. You whimpered with fear, desperately trying to drag yourself forward. "Stop, stop, get off!" You thrashed again, achieving nothing by the action. The worst part, the dread that was quickly overtaking your thoughts, was that you knew it was futile. You'd learned a long time ago that your resistance would mean nothing, not by the brutal laws of the world outside of the fragile sense of safety human society provided. It was expected. It happened among the wolves themselves all the time -- the mates were not something that were chosen in the same way humans did. Too many times you'd witnessed the ritual -- the males would fight, snarling and growling and lunging at each other until one would give up and run scurrying away, tail tucked between its legs. Growing up with all the knowledge you'd learned from books and what humans generally observed of the animals, you'd always assumed that from that point, the she-wolves would then gladly and willingly copulate with the victor, but, you'd quickly learned, that was not the case. It had shocked you the first few times, your eyes widening and your mouth dropping open as you witnessed the poor females get tackled, mounted, their whimpers as teeth sank into their shoulders and kept them in place. It was brutal, and yet, you'd come to understand and accept it was simply the way things were. Perhaps the part that had shocked you the most was how accepted it was -- the other wolves would simply look on, adjusted to what was normal among them, and the brutalized female would, from that point on, act as a normal mate to what more or less was originally her assailant -- licking and grooming each other, sleeping next to one another, spending time with each other, all as if such a thing made sense. Given the acceptant, compliant state you sometimes found yourself slipping into, you supposed you weren't too different in that way. Because they're strong, you'd been told. Beating the other male and forcibly mating the female herself signified strength. They were supposed to try to run and fight, and the male was supposed to forcibly overpower them, a display of strength, of suitableness as a partner. That was why fighting back didn't matter -- it was supposed to be that way, in the minds of the animals, and thus they were content with that setup. The present moment was anything but content. Another rut of the wolf's hips brought you snapping out of your brief thought, back to the moment at hand. The forest was quiet aside from your own struggling, the last rays of light were fading from the sky, the moon hanging high in place of their light. You let out a shrill, squeaking cry, thrashing with renewed effort, but, predictably, not even budging. "Get off! Get off me! Stop it, bad dog!" No matter how you tried, you couldn't move your body in the slightest, perfectly pinned still. "Fuck..." It let out another whine, not even seeming to notice your struggles, grasping at your shoulder with its teeth, and you feared that if it bit down, it might shatter your shoulder. It rutted forward, and this time you froze, entire body going tense as the blunt head of its cock pressed firmly against your exposed slit. You finally managed to claw at the leaf-covered ground enough to pull yourself forward, if but just an inch -- and the wolf, snarling, thrust its own body forward to push you back into the same position. One of its front paws reached forward and clawed onto your shoulder, and you squealed as it pulled you back, forming a tiny cut in the flesh of your jugular. Your began to nearly hyperventilate, trembling, breaths shallow and quick. "S-stop..." Your plea was defeatedly quiet, realizing that further protest would only hurt you. Tears gathered in your eyes. Your back was bent at an angle under the sheer weight of the furry mass that kept you pinned, and it felt like your very lungs were crushed, breathing quickly becoming difficult. You began to feel your body tingling with numbness. It was so heavy and difficult to breathe you weren't certain you'd even survive if it fucked you. Panic seized your brain, overriding any coherent thought. There was a snarling, growling sort of noise that cut through the surrounding stillness. It wasn't coming from the creature mounted on your body. It didn't sound canid. It was human. Much like the howls, you had learned, with time, how to distinguish between the real and the imitation, those sounds that, no matter how long of a lifetime of practice one had, could simply not match the vocals of another species. The wolf stopped its motions, turning its head, and likewise immediately transitioned its entire demeanor, tensing up and returning the sound, a low snarl, baring its teeth as its snout wrinkled up. It dismounted your body and lowered itself to the ground, hips and shoulders raised as its core sank low, a preparatory stance ready to lunge. You fell forward, face crashing into the leaves, before scrambling upwards and falling back on your ass, propped up with your hands behind you and your knees bent as you froze, unable to move a muscle, eyes open wide and gasping for breath as air burned in your lungs. You could see red-orange eyes glaring in the moonlight from a short distance, and for once, the face of the wolf-boy made a wave of relief come crashing down, rather than panic at being found. He made another low sound in his throat, a snarling growl. His shoulders hunched up in a similar motion to the wolf, baring his teeth, glare locked on the transgressor. He didn't have a weapon on him, so his hands clenched into fists at his side. You'd witnessed this plenty of times in the past by now, but never before with him as one of the participants. The other male wolves within the pack hadn't exactly taken an interest in you, rather, simultaneously accepted you as one of their own, while seeming to recognize you as something of an "other," as they did him. Among them, though, these conflicts were regularly occurring, a constantly shifting hierarchal dynamic that was weighted in blood and pure brute strength. Your heartrate picked up anew. Strong as Razor may be, this thing was massive. And he didn't have his claymore, you remembered he'd left it near the den earlier, before going on his daily routine to check the various animal traps. This wolf could kill him. And given that it wasn't a pack member, it wouldn't hesitate to do so. The wolf took a few heavy steps forward, growling all the while, and the wolf-boy reciprocated the action, a deep low growl in his throat as he stomped forward, fingers curling into a claw-like shape, not exhibiting so much as the slightest hesitation to show aggression against the massive creature. You tried to stand on your shaking legs, but fell on your ass again. "W-wait, no, r-run," you stammered, words spewing out of your mouth before you could process them, "he'll hurt you--" Your vision went white, bright light exploded all around, a crashing, booming sort of sound cutting off your words. There was a heat to it that you could feel on your skin, but it blinded your vision, leaving you blinking as, in a mere moment, the electric energy faded to a purplish glow that sparked with a buzz in the palm of his hand. The wolf leaped back in terrified shock, immediately flattening its ears, turning and tucking its tail between its legs, scrambling with fear into the darkness of the trees. And just like that, the threat was gone. You were left slack-jawed, mouth hanging open, trembling and panting as you watched it disappear, footsteps growing quieter and quieter until they could no longer be heard. Instead, the leaves to your side crunched in a two-legged pattern as the figure drew closer, and then dropped down to his knees to get on a face-to-face level. You turned your head and your eyes met. His eyes were wide and pupils blown even wider, mouth slightly open, looking you over. His eyes had always had a softness to them, full of light. After a moment, he reached up, slowly, and wiped the tears from your eyes, a soft, unthinking gesture, and leaned forward. He nuzzled his face against yours, and, after a moment, licked a few quick, short laps up the side of your face. It was nothing you weren't very well used to, and you merely sat numbly as he did so. His eyes trailed downward, widening as they met the gash that had been created on your neck by the massive wolf's claws, and he leaned forward again, lapping at your skin. You inhaled a sharp breath at the sting of his tongue on the wound, but you knew it actually was helpful in terms of clotting, so you didn't resist. You sat like that for a moment, silent, still, letting him clean up the wound, saliva naturally helping the healing process. It was bizarrely intimate in its own way, but it certainly wasn't the first time he'd helped in that way with a wound. It stopped stinging after a moment, blood clotting under the wet warmth. He pulled his head back, looking over you again as if to ascertain your unharmed state, eyes wide and expression flat, looking directly at your face - your weary face, trembling lip, expression still uneasy from the remaining shock. "You... Okay?" There was a softness to his face, a wide-eyed look of innocent concern. You did your best to nod. Any hope you'd had left had been crushed at some point in the adrenaline of the encounter, and thus, all chances of escaping gone, defeat and weariness washed over your body, and you slumped forward in exhaustion. Of course, he was unaware of and most likely did not even consider why you suddenly fell against him, he tended to take any action you made at face value and accepted it as simply what it was, and likewise, every action he made was easily interpreted the same way. It was, you sometimes consoled yourself, a rather welcome simplicity in contrast to the hidden and subtle meanings that humans often portrayed through their actions, and you never had to worry about an innocent action being misinterpreted maliciously, nor did you worry that your emotions were too transparent in your actions. Instead, he merely seemed pleased by the gesture, eagerly wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling your closer, rubbing his head up and down so the sides of your faces nuzzled together, squeezing you tightly. "I heard you," he said, a cheerful sort of pride in his voice. "Came to help." You swallowed. "Th-thank you..." As much as his sudden appearance crushed any chance you had of reaching Springvale, you couldn't help but feel a genuine relief, even gratitude, for saving you from what would have undoubted been a highly painful and traumatizing experience, if you'd survived the lack of oxygen. Not that you weren't already getting your fair share of traumatizing experiences out here, but, well, none quite like what your experience would have been had he not shown up. After a still, silent moment of embrace, he released you, shifted and stood up, but then suddenly tensed, and his eyes widened with what seemed like surprise, or perhaps realization, mouth opening slightly. His eyes were cast downward, settled on the cord that was still tightly tied around your ankle, and reached down to loosen the knot, slipping it off and tossing the remaining cord to the side. You made a small sound as if to start speaking, but cut off and fell silent, shutting your mouth. And then, as he came back up, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and processing, mouth slightly open as he looked a bit to one side, then the other, to you, and up to the tree from which you'd hung. The wheels were turning. Finally, after a moment, it seemed to click, his eyes went wide with realization for a split second before he turned his head back towards you and narrowed his eyes in a glare. His "angry" face had always been a bit difficult to take seriously, he had maintained a baby face despite his age, big eyes and soft features making it look like more of a pout than anything, but in time you'd learned the rightful amount of fear to have at seeing it. Your heart sank in your chest. "You ran away again." His voice was a bitter, grumpy mumble. You'd feared that when you noticed the surprising lack of anger up until a few moments ago. That it hadn't yet clicked with him, until now, exactly why you were out here, how you got out here, in the first place. He might have thought the larger wolf had dragged you out here, or, perhaps more likely, it had not crossed his mind at all in the intensity of the previous moments, too focused on conflict and comfort. "I..." You trailed off, trembling. There was a moment of silence. You couldn't exactly argue against it. It was true that he was rather gullible, and would often believe rather ridiculous excuses or explanations that anyone else would never buy, but there were limits to that, and at the present moment, you couldn't think of any excuse that even he would believe. Even if the wolf had come in to drag you away, the she-wolf set to guard you would have made a noise to alert the others, and he knew that. There was a moment of silence, and, not receiving any objection to his claim, he exhaled a frustrated huff through his nostrils. "I'm mad." As nice as it was that you didn't have to worry about being misinterpreted, another pro to your situation was that your captor was easily the most transparent person you'd ever met, bluntly honest, so much so it sometimes worked against him. You were pretty sure he couldn't be indirect or subtle with his words if he tried. Passive-aggressiveness or anything of the sort was foreign. "I'm sorry," you murmured, hoping to ease his anger, but you knew by now those words didn't really hold any meaning to him. He opened his mouth, that same pout on his face, and took a breath as if to speak, but no words came out. He closed his mouth, looking at the ground for a moment, opened again, repeated the process, and again, before roughly shaking his head, head hanging and expression falling to something like irritation and disappointment. With other people, you'd feel more intimidated by silence, silence meant someone was angry and trying to get under your skin. And while he made no attempt to hide being angry, you knew the silence wasn't an intentional passive-aggressive act, but rather, just lacking the proper words. It was a process you went through frequently, and to some degree, you felt bad for him. Having feelings, having complex thoughts, but lacking the knowledge or ability to articulate them, being unable to adequately express what you thought and felt, limited to such simple terms as sad and mad, words that could only convey incredibly simple feelings... you could only imagine how frustrating that would be. He knew that those words weren't enough, but didn't have any other ones to use. You understood why, then, he grunted in frustration, kicking at the ground, sending a few leaves scattering. But you also knew that if he could not express himself with words, actions would have to suffice. You knew better than to expect any different. This routine, despite its variances in the specifics of how the events went down, went like clockwork from this point onward, the moment of defeat. They say humans are, after all, creatures of habit. You nonetheless let out a little surprised sound at the suddenness with which you were lifted by the armpits, quickly moved a few steps to the side and unceremoniously pushed forward, facing one of the many boulders that dotted the forest floor. Instinctively, releasing an exhale of defeat and acceptance, braced yourself against it, hands pressed into the rock. You were technically standing, but leaning far forward, bodyweight resting mostly onto the rock you were bending over on. His front pressed against you, hand pushing your back down into an arch, latching arms around your waist. There was no hesitation, no preparation, merely pulling the fabric of your dress up with one swift motion, and the waist of his pants down in another, all in a matter of a single moment, and rutting against you, once, twice, cock slipping against your folds, and on the third thrust, it actually slid in, pushing about halfway in with harsh force with no warning. You gasped at the sting, clawing at the rock as your face twisted with the slight pain, but his hand gripped hard on your shoulder. "Stay... Still." It was honestly impressive, you sometimes thought, to manage to get a cock inside you so easily with hip angling alone. He'd never thought to use his hands to do so, you guessed due to merely mimicking what he observed, as all humans did. Nonetheless, you let out a mewl at the feeling of friction against your walls as it dragged, pulling out a bit before slamming back in. Then again, faster. And again, faster still. And finally, setting into a rhythm, quick and harsh, your body lurching forward at the force. Defeat and despond had fully set in, and you made no movement to fight back, instead attempting to ease the discomfort by pushing back with the thrusts. And then, after a moment, it stopped. It often did -- again, a set pattern, a routine. Increasingly often these days, he changed his mind at this point, initially going with the instinctive, natural option, but it would take a moment to remember that there was an alternative. You shuddered at the sliding feeling and emptiness as he pulled back out, but even though you braced yourself, the air was knocked out of you as you were flipped over, back hitting the rock -- and this time aching as the bruising flesh from the earlier fall was hit again -- now leaning your weight onto the rock on your back, facing forward. The roughness with which you were tossed about and maneuvered was, you knew, not intentional, nor out of malice, but it always left you disoriented as your vision spun a bit. And it was only a single second before you were filled again, gasping a deep breath and reaching your hands out to claw at his back as you felt yourself stretched apart all in one motion, and your legs fell into the routine position of hooking over his arms. He liked it this way. The human way, he called it, with you on your back in some form rather than on your hands and knees, facing him rather than turning away, which had been the only way you'd done it -- you supposed the only way he had been familiar with -- for a good while. You'd introduced the position once when your arms and legs were exhausted from strain, and, perhaps to your relief, it became the most common way that the routine went down. You supposed that, deep down, no matter the way in which a person was raised, there were certain innate needs and instincts that could not be overridden, woven into the very biology of a person. For humans, intimacy, the feeling of affection, and you supposed that that itch was met for him more adequately this way. And he liked to mimic normal behaviors in that regard. You recalled a time ago, back before you were brought out here for good, the wide-eyed fascination with which he'd watch passing couples of people on the road and streets, would make an attempt to imitate the same actions, albeit lacking in the same gentleness, technique, or appropriate timing. Reaching out to grab and hold your hand (with a crushing grip) as you walked, awkwardly pressing your mouths together (so firmly that your teeth clacked and your jaw hurt). That, at least, had gotten better. Now, it was somewhat gentle, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Gentle, but still very awkward, lacking in the rhythmic motions with which you'd expect, more like holding still but pressing firmly against you, but lapping a quick lick to your lips. You could taste blood on his lips and tongue, a permanent coppery taste that never went away. That didn't last long. It was hard to maintain the mouth contact when he started rutting into you, causing your body to rock in jerking motions up and down on the surface, and his face buried itself into your shoulder, panting shallow breaths that were warm against your flesh. And again, like clockwork, you knew how the issue of your body rocking back and forth, disrupting the rhythm, would be solved, and you inhaled as you braced yourself, first for the tightening grip of arms around your waist, and then-- You gasped a sharp breath despite your mental preparation as teeth sunk into your jugular, opposite the one with the injury, further locking your bodies together. He growled, a low throaty sound. Teeth gnawed at your shoulder before releasing and sinking down in a different spot, digging into the flesh just short of the force it would take to break it. You cursed whichever god thought it would be funny to give him abnormally sharp canines. Even with your weight leaning against the rock, a good portion of it was still being supported by his arms, which, with any normal human being, you would hope would cause enough strain to perhaps slow down the actual thrusting, but you knew better by now. Nor did you expect any kind of buildup or anything, no, you gritted your teeth at the immediate fast pace that dragged against your insides, raw and with little fluid to lessen the friction. The quickness and suddenness always left you sore, your internal parts not having enough time or stimulation to expand or prepare, so each thrust that slammed into the top of your insides sparked a shock of pain and pleasure sensation so strong your entire body jolted with the feeling. The bruising soreness of the recent abuse to the same spot -- how many times earlier today, three, four? -- heightened the sensitivity. And, as with the rest of the routine, you didn't expect words. You couldn't blame him -- talking was hard enough when he was focused, you imagined it was much harder when preoccupied with sensation, and with less blood in the brain. It also made sense that he didn't seem to process anything you said either -- any slow down or wait fell on deaf ears, or rather, non-comprehending ears. Eventually you, too, fell into the same state- "I-- hah, ah, w-wait, mnn-" -- unable to form words, unable to take in anything around you, pure sensation clouding your brain of any and all thoughts. You heard your own little cries ring out and echo through the empty forest, and soft, pleasured whines in your ear, hot breath from panting that grew faster and faster as the thrusts became more erratic and harder, slamming in and out, the wet, slapping sound ringing out with your own voice. It pushed against all the right spots, stretching you incomprehensibly full, overloading your brain with the feeling, and the harder your nails sank into his back, the harder his teeth bit down into your neck. The sparks of pain from the feeling felt small, distant, erased by the overwhelming good feeling created by adrenaline and pleasure, and the thought of how badly it would hurt later was the furthest thing from your mind in the moment. And because you knew words meant nothing in the heat of these moments, you had learned that announcing or warning for orgasm didn't matter. Neither of you needed words -- as with many things, you could communicate it without them just fine. He could still sense it, the way you clenched and your hands grasped at his hair and raked down his spine, and in response, the thrusting somehow grew harder and faster still. A perfect and clearly understood communication as clear as any verbal exchange. The squealing you made, the way your body spasmed and your back arched, was better than anything you could have said, really. You weren't... actually fully certain he understood the action as anything other than communication, like a message indicating "cum now." You assumed that was what it meant to him, since, as always, you felt the movement stop, panting as he pushed into your one more time, holding your hips as close as possible as you felt a twitching inside. It was always perfectly coordinated like that. The peak was always too short, always that same burst of feeling that you wished could last just a moment longer, leaving you panting. Heavy breaths in and out, shuddering, sweaty flesh clinging to each other. You could feel the arms that held your legs up shaking with aftershock, forehead falling to rest against the spot between the mounds of your chest. Then, after a moment, a nuzzle, slowly rubbing a cheek against your collarbones. As soon as that stopped, his head popped up again, looking up at your face with those same wide amber eyes, soft and somehow, despite everything, they always seemed so innocent and bright. A curious, but fairly neutral, content sort of wide-eyed gaze. Anger resolved. Sometimes you were grateful it was that easy. "Ok. You're... good, now." You understood without needing it explained. "Good" indicated something along the lines of fixed or resolved, the phrase "you're good" indicating, in this context, resolution. You assumed it had originated from listening to others in some context or another. You swallowed, and nodded. There was no point in fighting now. A sort of numbing aftershock had set in, and your head was spinning so much that even if you ran, you might fall over on your own without the inevitable tackling. It was a struggle for another day... the same conclusion this always, always resulted in, a conclusion you reached more and more quickly each time, but you tried to put the concern that thought sparked away, merely standing on trembling legs. "...Stupid hunting trap," you muttered, giving the remains of cord a kick into the leaves. He tilted his head and made a soft hm? of confusion. "Th-the trap," your voice was raspy. "They laid out traps for - for catching animals, the hunters, you know." He blinked for a moment as he processed your words, then shook his head, but smiled, beaming with pride. "Mm-nn, I made it. Put lots of them around here." You squinted, head jerking up to scan the treeline - sure enough, now that you looked closer, you could see several treetops dotted with similar nets full of scraps set to make a sound when triggered and struggled against. In fact, the more you gazed around, you realized there were easily dozens and dozens of similar traps, some of different styles and shapes, all perfectly lining the edge of the woods before the road. "...You won't catch things like that," you muttered. "It's too close to the end of the woods." Another slightly confused stare. He shook his head. "Traps are... for you." You could always count on him for two things. Undying loyalty, and obtuse honesty. You blinked at him, expression flat in blunt surprise, then, with a crooked smile, you let out a single huff of bitter, tired laughter. You were numbed to the point that you were, at the very least, able to recognize the humor of it all. Another way of coping, perhaps. It only occurred to you then, as your thoughts cleared, how relief had washed over you when the lone wolf had run out into the night, but your mind had not been focused on your own violation. You remembered your words. Run, he'll hurt you. Your only concern in that moment had been his safety. The thought set off some sort of alarm bell in your head, but the utter exhaustion made it difficult to place much concern in anything.

Your legs were trembling in aftershock, numb and heavy, but it wasn't as if that mattered. Even as you briefly put a hand to the stone beside you to lean your weight onto in an effort to stand, you knew you wouldn't be walking anyway, that wasn't part of the routine. And sure enough, as you got about halfway upward, arms wrapped around your waist instead, and you were roughly maneuvered, tossed like a ragdoll, knocking the breath out of you as you were tossed over his shoulder. "Okay, we're going home, now." He started taking a few heavy steps forward, not even struggling in the slightest to carry your full bodyweight, instead walking as if you were light as air. You didn't protest. You slumped over defeatedly, merely casting your gaze all around, trying desperately to memorize the locations of at least a few of the traps in the dark, but knowing full well in the back of your mind you'd never get past them all. No matter how you may outsmart them, you could never win. It occurred to you that, in a way, you were the one falling for the same trick over and over, continuously placing a ridiculous hope in escape and falling for your own foolishness time and time again. Perhaps that made you a bit more like the animals than you liked to admit.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader

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cnderyne · 3 years

Text

Your Happy Ending.

Summary: You have your happy ending with Diluc. He was there to mend what Kaeya destroyed. It isnt the ending Kaeya wants.

Part 2 of He Was Supposed To Be Yours.

Part 3: You Were Supposed To Be His

Genre: fluff and a bit of angst.

Pairing: Diluc x Reader (fluff) Kaeya x Reader (angst and very little of the pair)

Warnings: like one swear word and it is kinda long

Word Count: 1,325

A/N: Thank you @reveltica for requesting a part 2 and thank you @imnikki for the idea :D. I... may have went a bit to overboard on the relationship with Diluc so no jealous Kaeya is in this but I promise I will do a part 3 of this v soon. I also changed the title of part 1 to 2nd person bc it really didnt fit. Anyways, thank you for reading <33

You never actually had such a malicious intention to break Kaeya using his brother and you still don't. Even through all the torment and emotionally abusive things Kaeya has done to you, using an innocent person is unfathomable to you. Diluc managed to hurt Kaeya because he wanted to court you. I'll give an overview of how you got to the point of a relationship.

After you saw what Kaeya did, you avoided him. There was no dramatic fight nor was there any confrontation about what you witnessed. He just… stopped being in your life. Of course you needed to let him know you guys were over so you opted to just send him a letter that you wrote while drinking at Angel's Share.

Dear Kaeya,

I knew you never wanted me so I will let you go. I hope you are happier with Traveler.

Y/N xx

Those kisses were meaningless and you hoped he would see the humour in that last sentence. Tears still welled up as you wrote that. Emotions were hard to get rid off after all. Diluc saw this. Everytime you entered the Tavern, his eyes lingered on your graceful figure but always lowered his gaze whenever you would run into Kaeya's arms. Diluc was conflicted at the time. How dare he hold feelings for you while his brother held you. That feeling never left after seeing you hiding from Kaeya whenever you were both in the bar. I mean, you were his brother's ex. Oh but how he wanted to indulge in a relationship with you.

That all changed one week. Kaeya was out on a mission for a week so you allowed yourself to meander around Mondstadt with finally a genuine smile on your glowing face. The townspeople, who knew of the situation, were affected by your change in mood and soon, the whole town of Mondstadt shared a similar feeling.

A night alone at your house felt lovely but now you could roam around, so you decided to go to the tavern to waste all your money on alcohol. You seated yourself at the bar so you could get your drinks quicker. This was something you never did and Diluc realised that. He was aware of his brother's absence and was rather grateful because he got to see the gorgeous smile you rarely showed after the break up. It really suited your face and he couldn't help but fall for you again. This time there weren't any problems with his feelings.

"Hi Diluc! May I have a glass of dandelion wine?" Your energetic voice filled his ears, soothing him like a melody Venti would play. You noticed his… dazed look so you called out to him. His eyes widened a bit and began to process your request.

"Sorry. Let me get that for you." When he turned to prepare your drink, a dust of pink covered his cheeks. Diluc gave you the drink, with a bit of fumbling. You took a sip of the wine and the refreshing taste cleansed your palate. The drink dwindled and but there was still a craving for more. After a lot few glasses, your speech started to slightly slur and you that familiar lightheaded feeling comes that happenes everytime you drink. However, there is warmth surrounding you instead of that empty and icy feeling that always hurts.

"Aaah Diluc, your drinks are always the best. You're just what I need," you looked up at him and was met with an averted gaze on flustered face. You continued to praise him, "Diluc, I am being serious. I really like being around you. It makes me feel so warm and comforting. Are you my panacea or something?"

"I-I think you've drunk a bit too much." Diluc slipped the glass out of your grasp and placed it behind him, while you were frowning and holding his arm to get it back.

"Please let me have one more drink," You begged and gave his arm a little squeeze. This resulted in you stating, "Oh my! How big are your muscles? Sheesh, you're so strong!" An innocently intended question made Diluc jolt his arm back and the colour of his faced matched his hair. Startled by his sudden movements you immediately apologised. You may have been drunk but you still knew when you messed up.

"It's not your fault. I was just... surprised what you said and if you keep drinking, you won't be able to walk back home."

"Then you can walk me home. If that is okay with you that is." He informed you that it will be really late by the time he can walk you home. You responded with, "It's okay. I can wait for you."

And so, you and Diluc got closer than ever. The conversations shared that night flowed with ease.

The walk home was filled with laughter and subtle glances. The night air felt uncomfortable on your skin as goosebumps were raised to keep your body warm despite Diluc feeling like a portable heater next to you. Diluc saw your hands rubbing your bare arms in attempt to gain heat so he plopped his large coat onto you. The smell of alcohol and sweat invaded your senses but it wasn't as bad of a smell as you would think. You nestled into the oversized coat and wished you could stay in it forever.

"My apologies that it doesn't smell good."

"Don't worry about it. It smells homely and your coat is really comfy." He let out a light chuckle and you continued the conversation.

You told him the story of how you once got your ass handed to you by a whopper flower. An embarrassing yet humorous tale. The dim street lights eluminated Diluc's face to bless your eyes with his tender smile, obviously smiling at your ridiculous telling of the story. In return, he told you “one of many” stories he has about things that happened while he was working at the Tavern. As that story came to a close, you were at the doorstep of you house.

"Thank you for walking me home! I had a lovely time with you today. Here is your coat back." Taking it off, your body was exposed to the chilling air, which made you shiver slightly. It was a shame you had to take it off. It was really fun to wear.

"I hope it was able to keep you warm," Diluc took it into his hands and put the coat back on him. "If it is okay with you, can I take you on a date?"

"Only if you give me a hug." You attempted to be playful only resulted in you wanting to die of embarrassment more than when you told that story. However, Diluc immediately embraced you. He didn't want to miss the opportunity to hug you and get a date with you. The hug was unlike any other. You relaxed into his hug absorbing the heat he emitted. His hand was carefully placed your waist and the back of your head. He curled up around you and held you close, as if you were about to leave him for good. You decided that the hug would definitely happen again.

His embrace weakened but was still unwilling to let go. Soon after, he withdrew himself from the hug. "I'll pick you up at 6." With that, he walked away.

Despite how reserved he is, Diluc was very good company that night. He was also very good company for the following days that soon turned into weeks.

You hopelessly and utterly fell for the red head that brought you the company you craved. Unlike how you begged Kaeya for attention, with Diluc, it felt healthy. It felt right. You got your happy ending with Diluc and you are happier than ever with him.

However, Kaeya found out that you and Diluc. Needless to say, he wanted his "doll" back.

#genshin impact #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact diluc #diluc fluff #diluc x reader #diluc x gender neutral reader #kaeya angst #kaeya x reader #kaeya x gender neutral reader

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prettyboykatsuki · 3 years

Text

♡ GENSHIN IMPACT + HOW LOVE FINDS THEM ♡

➳ ft. kaeya, diluc, zhongli, tartaglia

➳ tags ;; tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol as a coping mechanism, a little angst but happy endings always, extreme kaeya bias ngl, spoilers for kaeyas story, nonsexual nudity, gn!reader

➳ a/n ;; first time writing for genshin so if the characterization is funky.. my fault

➳ summary ;; genshin impact characters and how i think love finds them when they find you

ZHONG-LI

Sometimes, he admits to himself, it feels forbidden to love you.

When love finds him, it is on the stairway of a small cottage, tucked into a corner of Liyue. It is quiet and unassuming, more importantly shared. A place you’ve decided to spend hefty mora on to live in.

There’s a backyard and a space for a garden and there are sweet flowers that always seem to regrow after you pick them. On the walls are weapons and hunting gear but in the drawers are spare clothes and change. It’s got two stories but it’s not big. It’s a home, still.

You’ve invited him inside, an adopted street-cat at your feet as you make dinner. Zhong-li is a working man, but he spends his days off here. You are an adventurer, strong with a big heart and bigger dreams. Your silhouette makes up all the shadows that dance on the wall and you sway to the beat of a soundless song. A smile makes the corners of your lips twitch up and you stir the pot of whatever you're making with boundless enthusiasm.

Zhong-li would not wish godliness on anyone. He thinks about it often. Where Rex Lapis ends and where the human, the mortal Zhong-li starts is a blurred line. Humanity is a grieving thing. People live and are happy and then they pass and it is the only thing someone can guarantee. You will be born into the world tearful but you will pass silently - like a wind.

Godliness means little is forbidden to you. Reality is something you fumble with in your clumsy hands and hope you can get right and humanity is a grieving thing. Always in that order. He knows there is no such thing as love that is truly forbidden - feelings like love and sadness and joy are things that cannot be settled by contracts or understood. They simply exist as if they are their own religion.

Zhong-li watches you pick up a white furred cat and let it’s nose rest against yours for a brief moment. You hug it and sing to it like it is a child and when you’re done, you let it fondly nudge against your legs.

“Stop being bad and let me cook dinner,” you’ll say, like it knows. And maybe it does - Zhong-li thinks to himself that it might. It prances off and sleeps in the basket you’ve bought, covered in blankets and linens. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes dancing down your silhouette.

There is something remarkably human about love. Perhaps love is the one thing gods cannot truly get their hands on. This greed, this loneliness, this tender feeling - so soft it might fall apart in his hands. In all of his years of living, he likes to believe he has known love. For his companions and for his people.

But this affection that soaks his bones, greedy and aching to be cared for, must be something only a human could get their hands on. He thinks he could only love you like this with his mortal body, his beating heart and dry mouth. With golden eyes that blink at you, curious to know what you’ll do or say next. If humanity is grieving, perhaps love is acceptance. Reconciliation. Maybe the reason no human complains about a short life is because they, at least once, have loved.

He thinks he understands it briefly. If redoing everything meant he couldn’t be with you, even once, he would keep it all the same. What a sentiment. He smiles at you as you dance and the sunlight hits the bare skin of your thighs, buried in the expanse of your skin. He longs to be so close to you too.

Remembering he can choose to be so close to you. That he can act upon this insatiable desire to be loved. It feels forbidden and unreachable.

But it isn’t.

He holds out his hand to you and you pause, tilting your head before taking it. He stands and wraps his arms around your waist and stares down at you with so much affection you falter. His lips press against the crown of your head. You’re warm and real.

When love finds him, it is just like this. Under the setting sun of Teyvat, harbored in his mortal body.

TARTAGLIA

You never wrap his wounds with care.

The process is rough and not very quick. It must be comfortable for you to put your hands on him because you never seem to show him any mercy. He’ll enter your quarters with something like a wince. A wound - red and bleeding in his shoulder. He’s got his blazer dragged down his biceps, an uneasiness on his face as he drops into the room. You’re clearly busy doing something, but that’s never stopped him before.

Wordlessly, he drops himself into the chair to the left of the little table in your room. He sits in it before dropping his head back, looking at you upside down. A frown etched into your features, eyes low and exasperated. You give him a look of discontent that he returns with a shit-eating grin. His heart stutters when you stand but he says it’s blood loss. You shut your book and place it on your bedside table.

Underneath your bed is the first aid kit, which you grab - swift like ocean waves. He scoots back until he’s facing you. You stare down at him for a long while, brow furrowing. He gives you a dizzying smile.

“You’re staring,” ― he proclaims, brunette hairs sticking to sweaty skin ― “Do you like the view?”

You ignore him. Instead, you place your first aid kit with a slam onto the table and rummage through it. Nimble fingers quickly take out clear vials of alcohol, bandages, a pair of small scissors and some creams of your own making. He thinks you’re brilliant and he wants to tell you as much but the words feel too unruly, too soft spoken from his mouth. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes so forlorn by your lack of attention that you speak.

It’s a sigh first like the wave of a white flag.

“Take your shirt off,”

“Take me for dinner first at least,”

You give him an unimpressed look.

He replies by sliding his shirt off his shoulders with a little grunt. Worry plasters itself all over your face and you don’t make any attempt to hide it. He watches as you walk towards the opposite end of the room - grabbing a towel and a bowl of water. You clean the wound by pressing on it, even though it seems like the blood has dried. It’s rough - you’re rough with him. A sharp inhale of air makes its way through his teeth.

You don’t apologize, nor do you want to. He watches as you clean the blood off and then inspect the wound for a long while. Afterwards, you mumble underneath your breath, speaking mostly to yourself than to him.

“No stitches needed.. that’s good,”

You sound so relieved his heart aches. There’s a brief moment of silence where neither of you know what to say and Tartaglia stares at you with soft eyes. There is always this longing feeling. A constancy to his need for your touch that brings him to his knees, weakens his resolve until he’s stumbling to your bedroom instead of going to see a doctor or a god. He needs you before he needs forgiveness or life. For him, loving you is an act one can only describe as selfish

He knows this because he still comes to you like this, body bruised and battered. When your worry filled eyes look over his skin, he feels like a second rain has come. Your concern is it’s own addiction, intoxicated by it. It is selfish to want you to worry, even more so to make sure of it.

But how else can he hold your love if not to make you look at it? How else can he know love if it’s not in the furrow of your brow or the way you push him so hard. When you get angry for him and at him. What is love if not a violence? If not teeth in the nape of his neck or your fingers on his bruises?

You rub alcohol in his wounds to clean them before taking your fingers and dipping them into a cream. It smells like mint, making his eyes water. You do this step with care, running your hands over fierce marks and scars with heartbreak written all over your eyes.

Love must be a violence. It must be - this stinging feeling in the way you look at him like he is a dead man walking. Love must be a hurricane that rips through him. A storm, an uncentered and reckless devotion. He thinks, even if it was your hands who gave him this wound, he would ask you again to heal it.

Tears spill at your lashes. He softens, smiles.

“C’mere”

You relent, give in. Exhaustion settling in your bones you let yourself be wrapped into his arms. He holds you to him, lets you be frustrated with him. He is too, would you know?

Love finds him like this, in your room. Begging you to look at him, getting drunk off the taste of your devotion. You squeeze his heart in your palms and he lets you. He would let you a hundred times over.

KAEYA

Sobriety is a fragile thing.

It’s not that he doesn’t like being sober, but he spends most of his time around liquor. It’s comforting - the smell, the rush of heat - not scorching but warm, the dizziness. Kaeya doesn’t drink enough to have a drinking problem but more times than not, he wonders if there are answers at the bottom of a bottle. If maybe he chases the end of the pint, he can find answers on his own misery.

Sobriety is.. fragile in that way. So easily he could drink himself to sleep but he has duty and responsibility. A life to live and sins to atone for but the laundry list of them just keeps growing larger. Bigger than his dexterous hands can cover for. It’s not that he’s miserable or lonely, but there is this lingering hollowness in his chest.

On his fathers birthday, he sits on the rooftop and drinks. He takes about 3 days off, every year, just for this. He’ll sit on the rooftop of the tavern day of, legs swinging off the edge as the world becomes an array of color beneath him. His thumb is over the mouth of the wine bottle, and he moves it just to drink.

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him, but it makes goosebumps appear on his skin. He’s clad in a thin white dress shirt and it prickles as the breezes brushes by him. His chest is warm as you drop yourself down next to him.

At first, all you do is sit silently. Leaning back on your palms, you watch the stars and constellations shimmer like they always do in Teyvat. He smells strongly of alcohol but it’s nothing to scrunch your nose at. He takes another drink. Unsure of how to handle his misery, his grief gracefully at all - he gives you a strained smile.

“Has someone come to join me in my demise,” ― his voice is raspy when he speaks but he doesn’t miss a bit ― “How apt,”

Wordlessly, you take the bottle from his hands. He’s about to argue with you to give it back but instead, he watches you take three long gulps before pouring the rest out. Shocked, he watches it drip down the tile and onto the concrete below.

“Why’re you...”

You don’t reply with words but instead, lay back and drag him down with you. He can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. He lays down anyway, back hitting the tile as he blinks.

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

There’s no hidden meaning to your words. They are straightforward and laced with nothing but honesty. It makes him choke back a sob, the way you ask. Without much left to give, he cracks a barren smile.

“What could you possibly mean?”

Normally, you’d laugh at his despair. At his attempt at nonchalance. But you don’t, turning to your side to look at him. You reach your hand out to rest on his chest and he grabs your hand, shutting his eyes. Tears pool at his lashes but he laughs anyways.

“Kaeya,” ― you say, rubbing his chest and scooting in close to him. He turns to face you, for real, for the first time ― “How long, Kaeya?”

He doesn’t sob. Doesn’t cry or let himself be hurt. He gives you a misty smile and laughs as tears falls horizontal on his cheeks. You can hear his heart rate, erratic but slow.

“When it feels like enough.. when I’m forgiven,” he tells you.

“Whose forgiveness will it take? Dilucs?”

He shakes his head, unsure. You press your hand onto his skin, golden even in the cold blue of night. His cheeks are in your palms, he shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. You sigh as you wrap an arm around his waist, loose. You bring his body to yours, letting your fingers rest in his scalp. In the nape of your neck, warm tears rolls down your shoulder. Your body is a safety like a brick house - like no wind or storm and disaster could ever take him from you. When he lets his cries turn into sobs, he mourns.

A life he doesn’t remember but atones for. The only family he ever had. For Kaeya, love finds him like this - grieving. A loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, frayed and long forgotten. Love comes to him while he is in tatters, offering itself to him.

“I forgive you, Kaeya,”― you repeat to him, over and over like an incantation ― “I forgive,”

This is how love finds him, in your arms. Forgiven

DILUC

He rests his head against your knee, body stiff after a long day. It’s a wordless evening - sky painted with a layer of pink and orange. It pours into the room in heavy waves, paints his pale skin with a warn shade of pink. His skin is warm from the heat as his shoulders slump in exhaustion.

You drag your fingers down his scalp before letting them slip beneath the hairtie that keeps his red hairs up. You drag it slowly, carefully down his back until it’s free. Red and unkempt - tangled from days out in the wilds. You give it a quick brush through, a quiet sigh leaving your lips.

There’s not a proper bathroom here - far out and away from the city. It’s an old house with an outhouse and dusty floors. After a particular difficult encounter with an Abyss Mage, you’d found refuge into the abandoned location. Without a bathroom, it would be hard to freshen up but you gave Diluc a playful half-grin.

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,”

He thought you were kidding but now the two of you are out by the lake. And this is too intimate for two people who are really only supposed to be working together. It’s too gentle, the way your fingers comb through his red hairs and the little bottled shampoo you keep in your bag.

There’s something about the way you touch his scalp so careful that is too intimate. His shirt is somewhere inside, over the back of a chair. Pale skin that’s hot to the touch as your fingers work through each individual hair. A long, tired sigh leaves his mouth.

“So much hair,” ― your murmur under your breath. A blush turns him hot. His father was a good man.. affectionate and caring and proper. But this is different. Too much, even ― “But it looks good on you,”

You say it so easily. Just like how you touch him - unconcerned for what it means. For Diluc, the idea of romantic love is something awkward. It is clumsy and confusing. Love, has always been something that hurts, more than it has healed.

But his head is resting on your thigh and you’re touching him like he’s precious. As if he’d break if you’re too rough with him. There is an intimacy in it. A well-meaning and innocent love in the shape of your fingers and how they drag against his skull.

“...You’re so forward,” he tsks. You give him a gentle laugh, running your hands down his jaw and tilting his head back so he’s facing up at you. Your hands cradle his face with delicacy, thumb dragging across his jaw bone and admiring him. You’re being sincere, but he can’t meet your eyes.

“You don’t like it?” you ask him. He grabs your hands and puts them away, huffing under his breath. He is childish like this, with you and only you. No longer the Dark Knight or Master Diluc. Easy to jealousy and even easier to agitation, the kind of man who the world stops for seems to crumble at your feet.

“No,” he replies, unusually dishonest.

You lean forward until your arms are wrapped around his barren shoulders. He can feel your skin against his, the way your heartbeat sounds, the fanning of breath of his throat. It’s too much but he can’t move as your arms wrap around his shoulders. You know too much, see too much. There is something so all-knowing about the way you love him. How you tease him.

Love is a worship when it finds him. You are the closest thing to heaven he has ever believed in - sheer bliss in the way your eyes linger on his silhouette. Diluc is a devout lover for you, a follower in your all-knowing religion of love. Of affection. He leans his head back again to look at you as you look down at him, smiling.

“You’re troublesome to love, you know that?” he admits to you. You bend down to meet his lips in a kiss. Chaste. Holy

A smile parts your lips that Dliuc finds himself mirroring.

“Of course I do,”

Love finds him like this, in your arms - skin to skin underneath the summer sun. Alone in the fields of tall-grass and wheat. Love finds him like a religion, so much devotion and prayer for you to keep him in your heart always. He knows he would do anything for you.

#genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #writing #formal #there must be mnat errors in this but its 5am and i am sleepy.. take it or leave it <3

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harfanfare · 3 years

Text

How to win a heart of Jamil Viper?

1. Don’t be a typical hero(ine).

Contrary to the popular romance trope, tripping over the air to land on a certain cool-looking boy, and dropping all carried things, wouldn’t make Jamil fall for you. Instead, just falling because of you and sharply crashing with a floor would make him rather cautious around you and keeping a distance whether he has anything in his hands.

Believe him or not, he doesn’t need another ditsy and erratic person around him—like a certain leader from a certain dorm, who happens to create a mess anytime, anywhere.

So, let someone else be the protagonist of the story.

In that situation, you may be a side character that gets its way through obstacles and classic borders of story scheme and is much more interesting than the main persona.

That’s how you get his attention.

‎‎‎‎‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Be a help.

Oh, a person that would help him with his chores means to him much more than gold. Sometimes.

“Can I help you anyhow?” you asked when Jamil was going to the kitchen after a daily training with the rest of the dorm. He lifted his eyebrow, waiting for further explanation. “I mean with cleaning or something.”

Jamil glanced at you, not sure about your intentions.

Who would like to do something to help without having something in return? With only your will? No, it doesn’t work well in the same sentence.

But some help would be great. So, he just needs to keep sure that he won’t fall into any trap for letting you help, yes?

“Sure,” he said casually, not letting his face nor voice reveal any of his thoughts he run into. “[Name], right? Could you bring and clean the dishes from longue?”

And you helped. You really helped him a lot, staying over two hours till everything was shimmering with cleanliness and your abrupt desire to clean something and be more useful, burned out.

“Thank you for your help,” Jamil said, after correcting the last cushion in the Scarabia’s longue. You flashed him a smile. “But why, if I can ask, did you offer it in the first place?”

He got a quick response in form of a shrug.

“I... don’t really know,” you admitted, glancing at him. “...But you don’t complain, no?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3. Be his dish taster.

“The way to a one's heart is through his stomach.”

“Try it,” Jamil handed you a spoon filled with some kind of stew. You consentaneously your opened mouth and drank all content of the spoon. Your mouth filled with many flavours and you couldn’t be sure if you ever ate that good combination in your life. “How was that?”

“Excellent as always.”

You said it all sincerely and maybe would have asked for seconds, if not the fact that Jamil already turned his back to you and got back to pots. He took another spoon and tried the dish himself, clicked his tongue and added more salt.

Once again, he turned to you and handed you a spoon.

“And how was that now?”

“Excellent as always,” you chuckled as he frowned at you.

“Don’t you think that you should add more words to your dictionary? You say the same thing on every dish,” once he said that you finished drying the last plate and preparing silverware for today’s fiesta.

“Don’t you think that I won’t be able to eat anything at the party when I will eat enough of your cooking now to write a poem about each of your culinary masterpieces?” Jamil chuckled slightly at your words.

“So, you don’t want any more?” he teased, but inside he was really flushed. Praises or cajolery, it all makes his heart skip a beat.

Finally, there was someone who appreciated all work he’s done.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4. Distract Kalim from him.

“You really shouldn’t go there,” you said, your voice as serious as you could keep it. “I mean, what if there is a monster who wants to kidnap you?”

Kalim cocked his head a little, considering your words. After a while, he nodded, fully convinced by your argument.

“You’re right,” he said. “I will warn others about this..!”

Kalim turned on his heel and spotted some people returning from morning classes. He ran to them, greeting them and walking with them as he tried to introduce the situation.

Still not believing Kalim fall for your words, you were standing alone in the centre of the corridor, a bit dumbstruck to discover the excuse Jamil came up with work.

“...Are you sure, you don’t want to tell him that some student’s from other dorm are here?” you asked as if saying to yourself your thoughts aloud.

But there was someone, someone who was hiding behind a big potted palm. He only gave you thumbs up as a preventative measure if there was still a chance that Kalim didn’t just dash through the halls to talk with some dorm students.

Jamil only looked at you and mouthed “No. Party. Today.” and quietly shifted to the corner, where the wall hid him and he could finally get up.

Mission accomplished.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5. Get rid of bugs for him.

“[Name],” Jamil called out to you, bursting through the door to your room. He looked very pale and panic was staying still in his eyes. “Would you be so kind to... deal with an intruder?”

You frowned a little before biting back a sigh. At first, you were concerned. Even Kalim getting in a serious mess didn’t make him react that seriously. But then you remembered that there was one thing that could make Jamil call you out of nowhere, acting like in an emergency. Emergency only in eyes of few.

Bugs.

Jamil never admitted to you that he is scared of them, but every time you brought up the topis, he snapped his fingers at it, saying that insects just aren’t his favourite kind of animal.

“Hmm~ Maybe after I finish this chapter,” you said, conspicuously turning a page of the book you were reading and with all your will trying not to smile nor to look at the wincing expression Jamil was wearing.

“[Name],” he said, his voice shaking with anger or frustration. “Go there right now or I will make sure you won’t get today’s dinner.”

...No dinner?

“Yes, mum,” you said putting the textbook aside and getting up from the comfortable couch.

Of all people, Jamil is probably the only one—well, maybe also Trey—that could make those words sound dangerous. Like, no dinner made by the best chef in Scarabia? It would be pure agony.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6. Have competitions.

“Aren’t you a little too good in this game?” you asked, regretfully placing pieces of the game back to the initial places.

He gave you a smile that slowly turned into a smirk, as you groaned at the next round you have lost. You flopped on the big pillow, all your will to play destroyed, as you sank between really cosy material.

“I told you I won’t give you a head start,” Jamil said, his steady voice mixed with amusement. “You even told me that you don’t want me to go easy on you before the game started.”

“Too bad,” you clicked your tongue at his response. “I was sure that after watching you play with Kalim, I remembered your tactics.”

You’ve watched at least eight rounds of Jamil and Kalim playing this game, and when it was coming to end, you were almost sure you understood and remembered the technique he was using in certain situations.

But, to your disappointment, it looked like he – even without using any of his tricky cards in his sleeve – was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, because, after three moves, you knew that probably all three were wrong when the opponent was Jamil.

“You gained nothing by it. Of course, I lost to him or... there would be a trouble,” he exclaimed. “You are different.”

“Oh, thank you. I can lose but he can’t, huh?” you frowned at him as he almost choked on the surprise he felt by hearing your response.

“...Yeah, that’s it. Just it.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7. Have study sessions together.

“One class had a test before us,” you said scrolling through your class chat group. “They said that there wasn’t any question about these dates.”

Jamil scribbled down years of the most important magic wars, from time to time looking at you who were listing some test exercises and feeling somehow unmotivated to even properly open a history book.

Your notebook was lying in front of you, today’s lesson topic on the top of the page and many detailed doodles on its margin.

Once again... what was the unit you are having an exam about?

“It doesn’t mean, we won’t get a question about that,” Jamil tried to convince you, sliding textbook your way. “Now, read that aloud, while I prepare notes.”

You blinked twice as if woken up from daydreaming. Were you daydreaming?

“Are you sure..? I mean, all I will do is reading. Wouldn’t you rather want us to read it silently and then share our notes after this?”

“Don’t think about it much. I really like your voice,” he said it so thoughtlessly you weren’t sure if said it as an unarguable fact or just his smooth talker abilities were showing off, “and gave me your notes for the last exam so we’re even. And you won’t do any good notes when you’re sulking over this exam like that.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8. Remind him to take breaks.

“You won’t get out of here,” you exclaimed spreading your arms as shielding a door from him. “Not a chance.”

Jamil stood a feet next to you, grimace stretching on his lips as he knew what’s coming up.

“I have to go, [Name].”

He tried to get through you, lightly removing you of his way. He wasn’t a fan of using force on anyone, and he was a hater of using force on you.

Much more than a speakable argument, you were pushing each other closer or further from the door, having a staring contest and reciting all the things he had done in the past two days; except for his daily duties and with the upcoming birthday party of few students of Scarabia who happen to have a celebration in the same day, the number of tasks he was given was overwhelming.

“Stop it!” you protested, trying to push him back. “I am seriously worried about you! Please... take a break.”

Every time he was coming closer to the exit, you stepped back, blocking his way, bumping into him and having to try again.

“You know I have a lot of work to do,” he said, finally stepping back and giving you a break from trying to separate him from the door. “I can’t just give up all my duties, even if I would love a break.”

“I can do it for you,” you quickly offered. “But please, now, go to sleep and don’t you dare touch anything related to school or cleaning.”

...What a weird request.

When was the last time anyone told him to take a break?

He doesn’t remember.

But now, he can say it was recently, all thanks to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9. Promise.

It was really hard for him once all his hard work to keep a high position within the dorm students suddenly dropped after his overblot accident.

“[Name]...”

However, the thing he regretted the most was hurting you. Taking the whole dorm under his unique magic spell, the hypnosis also affected you, making you another servant of his. Even you weren’t the one he ordered a lot, you felt betrayed that even the friendship you two developed didn’t stop him from overblotting.

And if he knew that you would avoid him like fire after the accident, he would probably hesitate a lot.

His throat tightened as he saw you one day in the corridor, looking somehow lonely and tired. He dashed to you, beseeching you to talk to him.

“Sorry for asking, but, Jamil, you don’t hate me, right?” you asked with a pain in your voice. You couldn’t even look at his face, feeling the incomprehensible weight in your gaze. “I mean... Do you only act in front of me friendly? ...Like... with Kalim..?”

“No, no, no,” he protested quickly, making it almost sound like a plea. He gently grabbed your hands, praying that you won’t harshly jerk them back because of him. “I don’t hate you. I really like you. I mean every word I said to you.”

The feeling of release struck you like thunder, you took a big breath, your eyes watering. You slowly reached for his touch, finally ending in a hug.

Jamil ran his fingers through your hair, smelling a familiar, reassuring scent of yours. After a while, he whispered a question.

“So... could you please not avoid me anymore? I know it will be hard to bring up the same relationship we had, but... could you give me a second chance?”

“Okay. But under one condition,” you said, slightly backing off from him. Before he could wonder about the term you would require from him, you finished your thought. “You must be honest with me. I... don’t know what will I do if it all turned to be a play...”

“I will,” he replied, putting his whole heart in these two words. “I will always be honest with you. And won’t ever use my unique magic on you.”

You looked up at him, a small smile starting to rise and heart-throbbing more wilder with his words. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10. Make him confess.

“What are you doing this weekend?”

Jamil appeared in front of you, almost like popping out of nowhere, as you were done with today’s lessons and slowly heading to your dorm. He caught up with you, changing his pace to match yours.

“I have no plans. I will be probably sleeping or something,” you answered honestly, shrugging and reminding yourself that you should finally hang out with some people from your class to make sure your social life isn’t all over dead.

You were walking in quietly before Jamil broke silence and spoke up again.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” he asked his voice only giving a hint of nervousness—it was nothing compared to the stress he felt inside. It was just a “yes or no” question, he knew that he will meet in future many amazing people like you and shouldn’t be stressed, but having someone so dear to him being asked for a meeting where he will try to finally out find his feeling... it is stressful.

“Hehe~ what, are you asking me on the date?” you teased, but much more than mocking, you were hoping for an answer. For the honest answer, he promised you.

“...And what if I am?” he asked, his voice a bit hushed, but steady.

You felt how heat was coming all the way up to your cheeks, although you tried your best not to let anything more, as if a blush wasn’t obvious enough, know how excited and spellbound you are.

“Then, your wish is my command.”

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