Zip It Up For Me, Would You Darling?

“zip it up for me, would you darling?”

premise: tonight, the two of you are attending a very important gala and you need help zipping up your dress. how does he react? tw: suggestive, minors dni

teases you

he'll zip it up, but not without a fight. you groan as he wiggles his eyebrows through the reflection of the mirror. instead of zipping the dress quickly like you'd hoped, his hands make themselves at home inside the dress.

his touch is light, but very much present, his fingers run down your back, tracing circles over your hips before wrapping around to your stomach. the way the dress hugs against your skin has his hands pressed even that more closely to you. he gives a playful squeeze to your stomach before trailing his hands lower—

you grip his wrists through the fabric of your dress.

"this is a rental," you remind him carefully. "you're going to stretch the dress out if you go any further."

he hums. "that's fine with me. i can always buy you a nicer dress."

he smiles coyly, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "in fact, i'd prefer there be no dress at all."

you stare at him, surprised. but before you can reply, he's already removed his hands and zipped up your dress.

"but we can always save that for after the gala, right?"

alhaitham, childe, kaveh, venti, gorou, kazuha, heizou, ayato, kaeya

uses it as an excuse to fluster you

he'll eye you intently through the reflection of the mirror before slowly dragging his gaze down the line of your back. his gaze is heavy, letting you feel his eyes prickle on your skin.

after moments of silence, he'll zip up the dress for you, just like you asked, but he'll also pull you close to him. his hands plant themselves at your hips. his chin finds its place in the crook of your neck as his lips rest dangerously close to your ear.

there's a sly smirk playing on his lips that's telling you he's up to no good.

"now it's your turn to return the favor, dear. i need some help zipping up my pants. or zipping down, if that's what you prefer."

alhaitham, diluc, kaeya, zhongli, childe, ayato, scaramouche, venti, cyno

gets flustered

when you asked him, he'd been too preoccupied with his own suit that he didn't notice your bare back exposed to him. but when he finally looks up, he freezes.

you peer at him curiously. "is something wrong?"

for the first few seconds, he makes no reaction. his eyes are stuck to your back. you smile at his silence. "what, can't handle a bit of skin?"

it's then that he finally snaps out of it. but he doesn't dare move or change his posture.

"um, no. it's fine."

you quirk a brow at him but say nothing more about it. "then can you help me? i don't think i can reach it."

he's hesitant, but moves towards you regardless. with a pair of shaky fingers, he zips up your dress.

if you pay attention close enough, you'll hear him whisper softly under his breath.

"this is dangerous."

xiao, tighnari, scaramouche, albedo, zhongli, thoma

makes you late to the gala

he doesn't zip it at all. in fact, the moment you offer, he's on you.

"you're so beautiful. how did i ever get you as a lover?" he says as he peppers you in kisses. his arms wrap around you, tugging you closer to him. "you're gorgeous. stunning. even without the dress. speaking of which..."

needless to say, the two of you arrive fashionably late to the gala. with both of you needing to redo your hair and makeup, you two don't arrive as early as you'd planned. nonetheless, while you exchange greetings with other guests, your delivering very specific looks to each other, as if suggesting round two.

kaeya, childe, venti, kaveh, heizou, itto

you loved when bakugou wore sunglasses.

his most used pair were these black shades. a typical pair, easy to style and pretty much went with everything. black rims with black lenses so that you never knew where he was looking. your favourite was when he’d come pick you up, leaning over the passenger seat to open the door to let you in, peering at you from over the top of the frames. head titled so he can see all of you in the warm sunlight, scarlet pupils flicking you up and down, a little dilated because it’s you he’s looking at. and you look at him too with his matching tight black vest, thin gold chain and black shorts. he looks so good. you’re about to tell him as you slide into the leather seat but he beats you to it.

“hey princess, you look pretty.” and he says it so casually, so politely like he’s a good boy that spends his last few pennies to get you a single flower from the florist. not a very handsome pro hero looking so similar to sin and temptation in his sleek car that was worth more than your student debt and then some. he says it wearing those goddamn sunglasses with one hand on the wheel and looking at you. you’re not exactly sure where.

bakugou, on the other hand… his eyes bounce to your exposed collarbones, the centre decorated with a dainty necklace he bought you and… is that glitter across your chest? then the expanse of your neck, up to your ear, all exposed from your hair being up. he knew your hair always made you even hotter in this sweltering heat and he loved how it opened your face up. then his eyes drop down to your exposed plump thighs in your pretty little summer dress. so pretty. makes him wanna sit you on his lap and snuggle you to his chest. usually you’d push his head away when he’s so clearly checking you out. heating up cutely with embarrassment and shuffling to cover your skin. but you can’t tell.

“thank you baby,” you kiss his cheek, “you look handsome too.”

and it’s something about the way your boyfriends eyes are your favourite feature on him. yet you loved when you couldn’t see them when they were covered by the midnight black lens. it’s so obvious for you to love his eyes but it was true. you could see everything about him in his there; the way they shone like rubies when he was intimate with you, to the way they melted like magma when he was passionate about something. they were always alert and analysing, like he knew what was going on before anyone else did and he had to be aware of everybody and everything incase something happened. side effects of being a pro hero you assume. though of course, when he’s alone with you, at home, his eager eyes would soften, become lazy because you were here, safe. with him.

but… well wearing his sunglasses gave him that bad boy aura, that who’s he? you read about in those online books when you were 13. made him carry an air of mystery and expectancy, made you want to give him a reason to look at you.

though you didn’t have to try very hard. proven by the ring cladded hand that gripped your thigh as he drove, sometimes drifting to hold your hand but always landed back on your thigh. and how whenever he was at a stop light, he took it as his chance to give you another quick once over. you now with windows open, seat reclined and head rolling to look at him with the most gorgeous smile he’s ever seen because you can feel him staring.

“what katsuki?”

“nothin. can’t i look at my girlfriend? damn.” and he’d shake his head facing forward, foot back on the pedal as the traffic light beams green at him.

yandere! telepathic classmate headcannons

yandere! telepathic! classmate x telepathic! reader

premise: whenever someone falls into a pit of obsession with you, they open their mind and heart, therefore somehow giving you the ability to read your thoughts. having endured this for a long time, you’ve managed to avoid meeting disastrous ends with these admirers. that is, until you meet your new classmate (who claims it’s the first time you’ve met) who is somehow always able to see through your tricks. 

warnings: stalking, manipulation, unhealthy relationships

- thinking about yandere classmate! who, despite your claims, says it’s his first time meeting you. 

- yandere classmate! who has somehow stolen the hearts of your teachers and classmates alike with that dashing smile of his and amicable personality.

- yandere classmate! who you’ve sworn up and down that you’ve seen before. he looks so familiar, you can’t put a finger on it. 

- yandere classmate! who ignores all of your attempts to brush him off and always seems to be where you are. 

- yandere classmate! who greets you twice: once when he’s introducing himself to the class, and once in your head, in your thoughts. 

- hello, pretty thing. 

- yandere classmate! who’s thoughts are so...structured. who’s thoughts sound so scripted and unnatural yet you can’t call him out for it. as if he’s deliberately hiding from you. as if he knows. 

- yandere classmate! who you know has some sort of obsession with you but you just can’t read him. 

- yandere classmate! who somehow knows how to make you say yes to him, no matter how much you don’t want to.

- oh? you don’t want to help him bring the lab equipment back to the science classroom? well, you can’t, not when he’s asked you in front of everyone (including a very pushy, very expecting homeroom teacher). 

- you don’t want to study with him? well, you’re going to have to if you don’t want to fail calculus. he’s the top student in the grade, and everyone else seems busy. 

- you’re hiding in the corner during lunch to avoid seeing him? all of a sudden, he wants to eat in this specific spot in the corner of the school where no one goes to as well, conveniently right after you decided you wanted to eat there. 

- you want to go to your favorite bakery to relieve stress and forget about him? he’s sitting in that exact spot, your spot, the one you always go to to people-watch. and he’s sitting there with your usual order and an inviting smile. it unnerves you so much. 

- you don’t want to date him? you already are. he’s already told everyone through subtle social cues. by the end of the week, everyone thinks your dating, but doesn’t really let you know they know, convinced you like your privacy. 

- it isn’t until your friends ask you, offended that you kept something so important from them, that you realize what’s going on. 

- yandere classmate! who doesn’t accept your rejection, who just puts his hand on your shoulder and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. 

- yandere classmate! who interrupts every conversation you have with another guy. who wraps a possessive arm around your waist and presses a pretty little chaste kiss on your neck. 

- who thinks your mine, mine, mine, mine, whenever he sees you with someone else. 

- yandere classmate! who is somehow your partner in every group project, yet you somehow can’t get a read on how he accomplished such thing. 

- yandere classmate! who always knows what you have on your wishlist for every holiday and brings them to you wrapped in your favorite color. 

- yandere classmate! who one day slips up when he’s laughing with your friends that he’s somehow charmed without you knowing. 

- those same friends, who congratulated you on a happy relationship, happy you’ve managed to open up to other people. who you can’t bear to disappoint after years of being so-closed off and being a downer. 

- yandere classmate! who thinks you think reading my thoughts will change things? when will you give in and accept it? 

- yandere classmate! who pretends nothing is wrong when you freeze, baffled. instead, he kisses you on the cheek and your friends coo. 

- yandere classmate! after months of constantly making you say yes to his ‘requests’ finally lets you in on his secret. 

- yandere classmate! who now openly engages in telepathic conversations with you when employing his tricks. who smirks whenever you try to push him away. who enjoys the chase. 

- your thoughts are so pretty. won’t you decorate them with more thoughts of me?

TRIAL BASIS DATING: ATSUMU MIYA

sfw + no warnings. if the man wants a relationship with you, he’s going to have to work for it. ﾟ｡ ꒱

FIRST TEST: HOLD-MY-PURSE-WHILE-I-TRY-THIS-ON

If New York City had one thing to offer, it was glamour, shopping trips, and luxury. However, this vision of the city seemed to be slightly different for boyfriends, who’d rather view a trip to Soho as an arm workout. Atsumu had to agree.

“Hey, babe?”

The blond perks up at the sound of your voice, looking up at you trying on another pair of nude stilettos, “Hm ?”

“Which ones ?” You say, holding up another pair that was lying nearby, in the mess that was made up of shoeboxes and translucent paper, and placing it next to the shoe that you were currently wearing.

Atsumu can’t help but blink. “Babe.. aren’t they..?” Your pupils narrow down to slits as your boyfriend almost slips up. Luckily for him, he catches the hint, and tries as best as he can to make up for his blunder.

“I mean- No, it’s just.. That’s not what I meant to say! They’re so obviously different, the left one definitely more yellow.. ish?”

You pick up the left one, inspecting it, and Atsumu swears he felt a drop of sweat make it’s way down his forehead.

“Yeah.. Yeah you’re right. Thanks, baby, love you!” As you place a quick kiss on his cheek, you happily saunter over to the store assistant to let her know you’ve made your choice, and, unbeknownst to you, Atsumu feels like screaming into a pillow. Your purse is safely in his hands, he managed to provide worthwhile fashion advice, and most of all, he was still alive.

While he was very self-centered, for once in his life, your boyfriend was sure that the outcome wasn’t any of his doing. In fact, he wholeheartedly believed there was some extraterrestrial being somewhere that had taken pity on him, and helped him out.

Right on cue, you come back, having paid your new shoes, “Come on, hurry up, there’s this other store I wanna check out next!”

Even though these sort of days were definitely rewarding; watching his girlfriend change into form-fitting outfits was always a good thing, Atsumu was already begging for the extraterrestrial’s return.

The colors and brand names you were throwing at him were making the poor man’s head spin; Apple green or Forest green? Ocre or light brown? Prada or Balenciaga? Moschino or Valentino? Atsumu didn’t even know what a Moschino was, and when he’d asked you if it was a coffee machine brand, you had almost thrown earlier’s nude stilettos right at his face.

“Come on, just five more minutes, I promise!” You answer your boyfriend from the changing room, as he had let you know about his need to go back to the hotel as soon as possible.

The blonde, who was sat in a puff chair in front of your changing room, was beginning to get really frustrated at the seemingly endless shopping trip, when he hears the curtains being drawn back. There you were, standing in all your glory, waiting for a comment on his part. Unfortunately for you, your appearance seemed to have made his mouth out of service. His jaw was slacked open, unable to utter a single word out.

“Well ?” You raise an eyebrow.

Maybe an arm workout in Soho wasn’t so bad after all.

note. This is for the girlies who take hours in the changing rooms. I see you, and I get you! Take your time queen you deserve it ﾟ｡ ꒱

©234423zip ALL RIGHTS RESERVED do not copy modify or translate my work/theme

-> second test

genshin sugar daddies

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)

tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni

mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.

on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.

periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.

then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.

even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.

when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.

you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.

"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."

he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.

"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."

you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.

tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.

or a dollar.

childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.

"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."

you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."

you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.

"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"

"childe!" you chide.

he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.

he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.

you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.

the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.

"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"

of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.

but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.

"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.

it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.

"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"

the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"

"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.

the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.

"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."

his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."

your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.

"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"

he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."

wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.

out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.

you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.

even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.

you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.

"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"

it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."

"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."

his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."

his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"

he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.

"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."

"kazu—"

"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"

"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"

there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."

after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.

after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.

on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.

you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.

his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.

except when spring comes.

when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.

you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.

the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.

as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.

"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"

some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.

and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.

then the process starts all over again.

when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.

"why won't you leave them all for me?"

you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."

his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."

his words make you freeze a bit.

you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.

so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."

as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.

you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.

at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.

when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.

when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.

and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.

sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.

in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.

after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:

outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.

somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.

outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.

the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.

his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.

your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.

you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.

"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."

he smiles.

"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."

saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.

on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.

today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.

it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.

ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.

"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.

"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."

he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."

you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.

at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.

somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.

but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.

instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.

you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.

when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.

instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.

sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.

in other words, he sees you.

at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.

conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.

kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.

at least, that's how you used to be.

you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.

and that's not the only thing that's changed.

the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.

but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.

vulnerable.

after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.

although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.

his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.

the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.

instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.

but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.

you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.

confectionery

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — SUNA x MAID! FEM READER; KAICHOU WA MAID SAMA AU

Suna becomes a regular at your maid cafe - a regular thorn in your side, that is. 

wc — 1.4k

tags — fluff, reader works at a maid cafe 

next: omakase | shoujo series masterlist

“Yes, master,” you practically bite out the words.

Suna raises an eyebrow at you. “Aren’t you missing something?”

Ugh. This man is insufferable. With a pained smile, you wince through the last part of your mandatory response to orders. “Nya! One Kitty Kitty Paw Parfait coming right up!” 

In the back room, you drop to your knees, cradling your head in your hands now that you’re safely hidden from the eyes of your customers. 

You have to do it. 

You have to kill this man. 

There’s no way you can keep serving him these ridiculous orders. You’re going to die of embarrassment. If it’s him or you, you’re going to choose yourself. 

Working at a maid cafe only started because of your best friend. She convinced you to do it with her, only to quit a few weeks in. You had stayed, against your better judgement. 

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