What About Rich Boy Gojo And Your First Fight

what about rich boy gojo and your first fight 😭

𝐎𝐏𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔.

“baby, i didn’t mean to—”

“save it satoru,” you spit, gathering your things to leave gojo’s house. he frowns, shuffling out of bed and throwing on a shirt while you head for his door.

“hey, you didn’t have breakfast yet! it’s not good to leave on an empty stomach—” he calls, only to pause as the door slams in his face. groaning, he quickly makes his way to chase after you—which would be a lot easier if he didn’t have so many hallways to weave through.

“go have breakfast with your little date,” you say sourly, and he runs a hand through his hair with a sigh before jogging up to you. and just as you open the front door, it slams shut as he spins you around, frantic blue eyes searching yours as you refuse to meet his gaze.

gojo satoru is hot news. you know it, he knows it, the whole campus knows it.

evidently, so do the other snobby rich families his gets along with—and he’s always been used to being sought after, he’s never really given it a second thought when someone shyly asks him to accompany them for an event. he simply shrugs, mumbles out a bored “why not,” and lets himself get dragged around for a night as envious eyes watch his every move. he’s always figured it’s better than going alone (and better than getting teased by suguru for not having any game.)

but that was before you.

now he has you, and he’s become increasingly aware of just how unhappy you are with all the wandering eyes on your boyfriend, and he’s become increasingly aware of just how unhappy everyone else seems that he’s sought after you—someone who seems mundane to everyone else but gojo.

but you’re anything but mundane in gojo’s eyes. you’re fiery and thrilling and you keep him on his toes. you manage to find a way to humble him at every corner he turns, and under all the witty remarks and snarky comebacks, you’re gentle and sweet and you love him because he’s satoru—not because he’s one of the infamous gojo’s.

“i didn’t realize it was that big of a deal,” he sighs, rubbing his temple as if he has the right to be stressed. gojo’s mother keeps an impressive collection of potted plants by his large windowsills, exotic and expensive-looking flowers that sit in just as expensive-looking pots.

you think it’d be a real shame if you smashed them over his skull for his lack of self-awareness.

“of course, you wouldn’t,” you snarl, crossing your arms and glaring at him. he winces, looking over his shoulder to see the maids pausing and glancing at the two of you as you have your…disagreement, and he rubs his neck and lets out a deep exhale.

“can we go somewhere a little more private?”

“how about i go somewhere away from you, and you go get ready for your little event with your little date who i’m sure is just as excited as you are,” you say instantly, and inwardly, he groans at how you’re just as insistent on being difficult as the first day he met you.

“she’s not my date. well, it’s not romantic, at least. and she asked me way before you and i got together,” he defends, “maybe if you weren’t so stubborn before, i could’ve asked you to join me,” he grumbles.

and this is a dangerous game. gojo knows better than anyone else that you’re not one to mess around with when you’re angry, and more than anything, he’s sure you’re sick and tired of the whispers and stares and rumors that come with walking around with his arm around your waist.

but sometimes, he wishes you’d stop holding his background against him—it’s not as though he chose to be born into a wealthy family and a lonely home and a tiring reputation. he chooses to be yours with no hesitations, and he wishes you’d choose to be his without seeing it as a weighted risk.

“so now it’s my fault? how would you react if the campus asshole was chasing after you to make you one of his little crossed off names—”

“you know it wasn’t like that,” he cuts you off, furrowing his brows and frowning at you. his voice raises slightly, and suddenly, you both forget you’re out in the open for anyone in his home to witness.

“oh yeah? what as it like then?” you challenge.

“if i have to spell it out for you, then you don’t know as much about me as you think you do,” he grunts, glaring at you as anger slowly starts to wedge its way into his bones.

and you don’t know him—not fully, at least, and he’s starting to wonder if you’ll ever understand him enough to get to know him.

“i know you were just trying to get me into your bed. and now you’ve got what you wanted and you’re already making your way to your next victim—”

“i told you she asked me to go with her ages ago. i can’t just cancel now, it’ll look bad on my family—”

“it’s always about how you’ll look with you, isn’t it?”

“don’t act like you understand—”

“god, you’re just like everyone else, satoru—”

“i’m nothing like them,” he slams his hand on the door, voice booming into the room and echoing over the large walls. his voice is loud, but there’s a quiet whisper of hurt underneath his tone. everything stills, both of your eyes widen, and you can faintly hear one of his maids drop a glass in shock, glass shattering on the floor into little pieces.

it’s quiet for a moment, just you staring into his eyes, and him staring into yours, and then he’s off—and after your first argument ever, gojo satoru hurriedly makes his way back to his room, leaving you to stand by his door alone and let yourself out.

—

it’s a while before you speak to him again. a few days of angrily waiting for texts, of tearfully wondering if you were too harsh, of lonely morning showers where you don’t get to pretend to be annoyed as he sneaks in to join you, and of wondering if everything’s really ended as quickly as it starts.

it’s not until you get a call from his mother (and you can’t help but roll your eyes that he lets her take care of things for him as always) that you decide to visit him for a long-overdue talk.

“satoru, open up,” you say dryly, pounding on the large door with a sigh. “we can’t avoid this forever. quit being immature.”

it’s silent. there’s not a muffled grunt, not a single whine of protest, not even a stubborn hmph. it’s eerily quiet, and as much as you hate to admit it, it makes your heart squeeze just a little with concern.

“satoru, ignoring your problems won’t make them go away. you’re a big boy now, act like one,” you say sternly.

“satoru is not here. he’s dead,” comes a muffled voice, and even if you want to slam his head into a wall, you can’t fight the small smile that tugs at your lips at his antics.

“oh really?” you raise a brow.

“yes. it was really tragic. he’s missed by many.”

“well, how come i wasn’t invited to the funeral? i would’ve brought balloons,” you humor him.

“well, that’s exactly why,” he grumbles. rolling your eyes, you snort, shaking your head before letting your forehead press against the cool wood that separates you.

“satoru, your mother says you haven’t left your room. at all. it’s been fours days. i’m pretty sure you had a quiz yesterday, and it also means you skipped that event—you know how your father gets when you skip events. let me in so we can talk,” you say seriously, and once more, it’s silent for a moment before you finally hear shuffling.

“door’s open,” is all he says. you walk into the familiar space, stopping to roll your eyes at the small candy wrappers he’s likely replacing for meals littering his side table before taking a good, long look at him.

and, well…he looks awful. far worse than you—and that’s saying something for someone who wears designer brand outfits to the same eight am class you show to in sweats. you sigh, staring into his eyes (and trying to ignore the dark circles) before speaking up.

“you look awful,” you say bluntly. gojo purses his lips.

“being dead does that you,” he shoots back, “show a little compassion.” and this is gojo satoru, the one you’ve learned hides emotions with silly jokes and petulant tantrums—the ones that hide his true feelings—the vulnerable kind—because he just never quite thought they mattered that much.

no one’s ever stopped to listen, and he’s never stopped to ask them to.

“i just found out i can speak to the dead,” you snort, “cut me some slack too.”

you sit beside him, stare at your hands while he stares at the ceiling. you don’t know where to begin, and he doesn’t know where this will end, and it’s really just a mess—but then he grabs your hand, a soft pout on his lips as he brings it into his grasp and plays with your fingers.

“why are you here?” he asks. it’s not accusing, just curious.

“your mom asked me to talk to you.”

“oh,” is all he says. he waits a moment before adding, “is that…is that it?”

you sigh, watching as he traces over the ridges of your palm and deepens his pout some before letting out a soft chuckle. “i guess i had to see my dead boyfriend too since he didn’t invite me to his funeral.”

“what if he’s turned into a ghost by now?”

“nothing will really change. he haunted me alive too, anyway,” you shrug, and he huffs, rolling his eyes and sending you a soft scowl.

“always so mean for no reason,” gojo mutters.

“satoru,” you start, and there’s a soft groan before he covers his face with your hand, hiding away from your serious expression, “we can’t avoid this forever.”

“avoid what, exactly?”

“satoru,” you warn.

“fine,” he mutters, letting your hand drop as he sits up. you miss the warmth of his skin under your touch instantly.

“why haven’t you left your room?” you start, staring at him sternly, side-eyeing the candy wrappers he’s carelessly discarded to his side table. “and when was the last time you had a proper meal? candy is not proper.”

“worse than my mom,” he grumbles, crossing his arms with a sigh, “i’m fine. you don’t have to worry about me.”

“i always worry over you,” you murmur softly, tracing over the stitching of his blanket that sits on your lap. he stares at you from the side, ponders your words for a moment before sighing deeply.

“i didn’t…i never wanted to make you feel bad, you know,” he murmurs, “i should’ve canceled going with her to that event. ‘m sorry,” he says quietly.

“‘s okay,” you hum—because, there’s really not much else to say. there’s no point in dragging it out, and it’s not like he ended up going anyway.

but he frowns, furrows his eyebrows and forms a small crease on his forehead at your words.

“that’s it? after all that, you’re just going to—”

“we’re just so different…you and i,” you cut him off, “everything that’s normal for you is crazy to me. and it’s just…it’s not easy.”

“i’m trying my best,” gojo says quietly, “but i don’t care if we’re different. it doesn’t—”

“well, you should. people don’t like seeing me with you, and you acting like you don’t hear what they say isn’t going to make them go away—”

“they’re going to say shit even if i do listen,” he cuts you off, sighing frustratedly before running a hand through his hair, “that’s how it’s always been. that’s how it’s always gonna be. so why listen if i don’t have to? i know i love you, and i’m hoping you love me too—or that’s kind of awkward because you have been saying it this whole time, you know,” he glances at you with a pointed look that makes you shoot him a scowl, “why should it be any more complicated than that?”

falling in love with gojo satoru is not easy—you don’t think it ever will be, but you think perhaps it’s time to stop seeing it as endless what-if’s and if-only’s. because gojo’s never lived one moment wondering about a what-if as long as you’ve been by his side. he’s happy, and in love, and he trusts you. and maybe, if you let yourself trust him too, if you let yourself count on his arms waiting to catch you as you fall for him, maybe the what-if’s and if-only’s won’t matter anymore.

“i’m sorry i don’t always trust you,” you admit softly, “i should stop doubting you so much.”

“yeah, you should,” he agrees, pouting slightly once more. cracking a smile, you lean into his side, poking his chest with your finger.

“don’t you dare ever think about taking someone else to an event that’s not me,” you warn, glancing up at his face as he stares on ahead. you almost think you see a ghost of a smile fight its way to appear across his lips.

“noted,” he nods, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer. “and you should stop treating your poor, sweet, sensitive boyfriend like he’s a sleazy jackass when he’s been nothing but hopelessly in love with—”

“i liked it better when you were a ghost,” you roll your eyes, and he huffs, pulling you down to lay with him as he brings the covers over your bodies. “i don’t think you’re an asshole, by the way. or that you’re like everyone else. you’re very sweet.”

he closes his eyes and hums, lips twitching at the corners. “and…?”

“...and annoying.”

“be nice to the dead,” he whines.

you let out a soft giggle, and he grins widely at the sound, and slowly, the tension shifts to the usual softness that’s always there when you’re with gojo. and maybe, he’s been easy to trust all along—if the gentle hearts he traces into your hip and the soft kisses he scatters over your forehead are any proof.

“and you’re a good guy,” you add with a gentle smile, cupping his face, “and i love you.”

“i love you too,” he grins.

“enough that you’ll come back to life for me?”

“i’ll see what i can do,” he chuckles before pressing his lips to yours, kissing you deeply to make up for four days of lost time.

ty ris for the idea i luv u ur so big brained <33

-ˋˏ ❚ EI & SCARAMOUCHE ⌯ ROCKET ! ꒱ ̣ ͘

❛ SYNOPSIS 、send all your sins all over me, baby.

› WARNINGS ꩜ꜝ ︰ fem!reader ⸝⸝ stepcest ⸝⸝ non consensual photos & filming ⸝⸝ degradation ⸝⸝ modern!au ⸝⸝ no prep ⸝⸝ no indication that the reader had cum ⸝⸝ dacryphilia ⸝⸝ squirting ⸝⸝ female masturbation ⸝⸝ ( unspecified ) age gap ⸝⸝ name calling ⸝⸝ teasing ⸝⸝ clit pinching ⸝⸝ slight corruption kink ⸝⸝ spit ⸝⸝ blackmail ⸝⸝ manipulation ⸝⸝ choking / breathplay ⸝⸝ fearplay ⸝⸝ minors & dc antis do not interact.

› NOTE ꩜ꜝ ︰ it isn’t exactly what i planned but i still am v proud so don’t let this flop T_T . . pls let me know if i forgot anything !

› WORD COUNT ꩜ꜝ ︰6.09k

WHY WERE YOU so perfect? Nobody is perfect— but you, you're perfect. You carry yourself in such a way that’s sweet and soft - a way that’s refreshing to the pair. You're pure and delicate, and while Ei likes that about you, your stepbrother could disagree. He sees you as golden— but in a way that's sickening. You shine annoyingly bright, and it makes him hate you. He hates how you insert yourself into his life, and how his mom welcomes you with open arms. Who the fuck are you, and why do you get the luxury of maternal affection? You're perfectly annoying, and Scaramouche hates you for it.

He hates how you address him. Every morning and every night, with that dumb smile across your face, “Morning, Kuni!”, “G’night Kunikuzushi!”; he's told you a thousand times over to never call him that. Are you dumb? Is your brain so dense that you can't comprehend his boundaries? He hates you for that. He despises how you kiss up to everyone around you. Always offering a hand with dinner and with the dishes, the laundry, the cleaning— every single domestic duty, you're quick to pounce on. Why? He hates you for that, too. Do you crave validation that bad? You intrude in his life. The way you prance around in your short, tight clothes, the way you stay up talking all night with your girlfriends, the way you've swayed his mom in your favor— he hates you for ruining everything.

Scaramouche is a brat. Spoiled rotten. His mother is to blame, but it's not her fault she didn't know how to be a mom. By the time her control was gained, it was too late. So living in this- house with you makes him tick. Like a time bomb, he ticks and ticks, slowly counting down until he explodes. He tries to ignore you. He tries to live past you, through you, and around you. You're persistent, and that's why you're annoying. Your irritating squeaks of “Kuni!! Come help me!” are frequent, and he hates it. You're helpless and dumb. He sees you as a waste of space. You take up time and he wishes you could just disappear. But as long as his mom adores you— as if you were better than him, you will continue to be a problem.

He can't stand you any longer. The fake smiles and feigned care for your stories— he can't do it any longer. The way you suck up to his mom, and the way she receives your affection - it all makes him sick. He's so tired of the bullshit. He's been plotting, churning his thoughts deviously— practically dreaming about getting rid of you. He knows your weak spot, and he's observant. To get rid of you, he has to ruin his mom's image of you. You will be shunned and dusted off as fast as you were swept in. He knows how you get when you're alone, the night running over the sky and exhaustion hitting everybody’s brain. But you don't sleep. You're so sure you're alone and safe, and if the mood calls for it, you're not shy to slip a hand in your panties and please yourself. Your soft and sweet moans, your inhales and held exhales — you fall into euphoria at the hand of your fingers. As he creeps through your room, peeking and watching you masturbate, he cringes to himself. You're disgusting. Your legs wide open and your body facing the bedroom door, it's as if you want to be watched, to be caught. Do you want to? You're a slut if you do.

He's confused as to how you haven't spotted him. You seemed to be doing the minimum, so why are you cumming so fast? Are you that easy? That simple to please? You're weak and transparent. You make it so easy for him to pick you apart— he hates you for that too.

“You done?” his voice shocks you. You jump, yanking down the skirt of your nightdress, covering your body. You grab a pillow, covering your waist for extra security. Your face is hot, burning in embarrassment as his violet eyes burn into you. “H-how long were you—”

“Long enough. You're disgusting, you know that?” your eyebrows furrow. What did he mean? You knew he didn't like the idea of a new stepsister, but to say that to you? It hurt. You stammer, your lips moving yet no words forming. How were you to respond? Scaramouche knew how— you weren't. “A disgusting fucking slut. You wanted someone to catch you, didn't you?” you're offended. Your lips purse and your eyes twitch— why was he saying all this to you? “Dumb whore just wants attention, is that it?”

He enters your room, the door closing behind him as he invites himself in. Silence fills the room as he menacingly eyes you, walking around the width of your bed to end up on the side, leaning down to your face level. His face is incredibly close to yours, centimeters separating you. His exhales fan your face, his mean gaze burning harsher onto you. “What were you thinking about?” he utters the words lowly, anchoring himself onto your mattress as he leans closer. Your lips are now brushing, the faintest touch having you frozen. What were you to do in this situation? Defy him? You hadn't done that before (on purpose, anyway), and you were horrified of the consequences. “What made your sloppy pussy so..” he trails off, his hand sneaking up your leg. No panties? He shouldn't be surprised. His fingers graze over your labia, a shudder leaving your lips. “..fuckin’ wet? Hm, what was on your mind?” you bite your lip, shaking your head as his middle finger slips between your labia, running softly toward your clit. You hum lowly, your body reacting in a slight jolt that has him cracking a grin against you. He teases you ever so slightly, sliding his finger past your clit purposely, but nudging the bud ever so slightly, having you bite harder on your lip. “Tell me. Who were you thinking of?”

“Were you thinking of getting caught? Does it turn you on? Like the attention whore you are?” his words are rough and mean. You wince at them as they leave his lips, your eyes looking down at his forearm. “Bet you were. Wanting so bad to get caught, to be seen, huh. Do you like being the star? The center of attention?” no, you didn't. He was all wrong, but you were too scared to say anything. You bite your tongue and swallow your words, allowing him to berate you like trash. You're falling victim to his touches, your hips subconsciously rocking against his digit. That makes him smirk in pride. “You're so full of it. You wanna be the star? I'll make you a star.” you don't know what he means by that, and you have no time to think about it when his lips are crashing against yours, forcing you to release your lip and allow him to take control. Your eyes widen, your body tensing further under his touch. His kiss is rough and mean, his teeth occasionally baring against your lip as he lightly grazes over the skin.

You're frozen beneath him, not kissing back though he works against your lips. He forces his tongue into your mouth, exploring over with the muscle. He pushes your body back onto the bed, climbing on top of you and replacing his finger with his knee, grinding the clothed part against your cunt. It's then when your senses kick in, a subconscious reflex having you gradually joining the kiss, your lips syncing somewhere between. You find yourself in an internal battle— you know it's wrong, the way he's touching, kissing, and talking to you - it’s all wrong, but you can't help but respond. If anyone were to catch you two, all hell would break loose. Those thoughts cloud your mind, your hand slapping against his bicep. This can't happen. You can't let it happen. You're repeatedly banging your palm against his skin, trying to catch his attention. And you do, but not in the right way. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, pulling as he slowly parts from you, a glint of anger in his eye. “Wait- we shouldn't. I-it’s not right and.. mom could walk in at any—”

His gaze is deadly. You gulp, weakly peering up at him with fear in your irises. “Don't call her that. She's not your fucking mom,” his voice is low- deep and textured. His eyes meet yours, the darkened indigo in his eyes sending you with chills. “You want to be a part of my family so bad… I'll show you what it's like here.” you have no reaction time when he's pouncing onto you, pinning you to the mattress. He's serving you these threats, “I'll make you a star”, “I’ll show you what it's like here”, and it scares you. To the core. He's terrifying and his strong demeanor is weakening your wavering resolve. You're melting like putty under him, falling limp as he takes you. Your nightgown is shoved up, hiked over your breasts, leaving you bare. He doesn't admire you, doesn't even take a second glance at you like any other guy would- and it hurts. Your lips turn into a slight pout as he ignores you, pulling his pants off and pumping his hard-on.

He gives you no time before lining up with your entrance, pushing the head into your cunt. Your mouth drops, small whimpers passing through. He stretches your pussy to accommodate him as he slithers his whole girth in, bottoming out instantly. The squeeze is tight, and it makes him hiss- a moment taken briefly for him to sit in your warmth. You look up at him with a watery gaze, your lips pursed as you try to adjust. He doesn't give you time to.

In seconds, he's pulling out until the head dangles in your cunt, resting momentarily before slamming back in. You rock against your pillows, the collision banging your bed frame against the wall. This is how it starts. A steady rhythm of that, brutal but slow pace. The thrusts are hard— a whine or whimper coming from your lips at every hit. His cock delves impossibly deeper with each thrust, the lazy precision hitting your sweet spots easily. Your eyes are brimming with tears, your lips quivering as you swallow your moans. But it's so much. It's so much. It's only a matter of time before you're falling apart, becoming a moaning mess beneath him. “Ah—ah, fuck! Fucking.. hell—! S’good, ‘ts s’good, Kuni!”

He thinks this is pathetic. You have no shame in the way you moan and cry his name. It effortlessly rolls off your tongue, and though that should and would be something that’d turn him on— because it's from you, it irritates him. It angers him. It angers him how you claw at his skin, reaching for stability in his arms. It angers him how you don't shut up, your voice increasing in volume as you vocalize your pleasure. It angers him how your face contorts in pleasure, yet your gaze never leaves his. You're annoying, and he's only doing this to get rid of you - so why are you looking at him as if this moment was one to be cherished? You're peering up at him with such adoration it's making him sick. For once in your life, could you not strive to be perfect? Perfect for him, to please him though he's trying to ruin your life?

The thrusts get more frequent. They become angrier and rougher. His hips are slapping against your pelvis with madness, causing you to get swept up in the whirlwind of pleasure and carried off by the fervor. “Fuckin’ bitch..” he mutters, repositioning his grip to your waist, pulling your body to meet him halfway. Your cunt swallows him up easier that way, taking more of him deeper than you could imagine. It's almost painful how he has no regard for you or your pleasure, selfishly pounding into you. You're moaning and whining, yet you're not completely sure if you're on cloud nine anymore. You feel as though you've fallen, and are now boiling in a pot of his anger- simply melting into a vessel for him to use. “Only want.. your slutty cunt stuffed, huh? Wanna be family…”

He trails off, sucking a harsh breath— holding it until he rams back into you, grinding his hips against yours. He leans down over you, inches from your face like he was earlier, scanning your features. You're mindless at the moment, knocked around and rendered dizzy in the head from his incessantly harsh thrusts. His right hand comes from your waist to your face, squishing your cheeks and puckering your lips, “...yet you're fucking your brother. And you like it, don't you? Greedy like a whore, and disgusting like a bitch.” everything he's saying to you is truthful. He's not like everybody else, who's blinded by your brightness. Your perfect bullshit is a façade he's not falling for, and he wants you to know. To him, your bright light can and will be stolen from you, just like how you stole his life. “Want me to cum in you? Want.. this fuckin’ pussy full of me, hm? Say it. Say you want it,”

A glob of spit falls through your open mouth, landing on your tongue. Out of reflexes, you swallow, your eyes drifting to his disgusted expression. You can feel his cock twitching inside of you as if he was waiting for your ‘okay’. Perhaps it's because you're fucked out, or confused, or upset at his words, but you hum and nod, looking up at him, “...thank you, K—Kuni...n-nii. Cum in me..please,” you really are pathetic. He chuckles at you, letting his tongue slide over his teeth. If that's all it took to wear you down, he should've done this sooner.

He takes one final thrust before everything comes rushing through him, a high of a thousand men crashing over him and into your cunt. You gasp and whine at the fullness, rocking your hips against him like a bitch in heat. “I'm not done with you.”

And that's how it started. You don't know when he recorded the two of you, but the following morning, he greets you with breakfast and a picture. A picture of you, printed on paper, with your fucked out and spit slicked face. That becomes normal. Every day you go out, whether it be to the store, your lectures, with your friends, he sends bits and pieces of your late-night meet-up. You don't know what he wants from you. But it haunts your mind. Every time you see him at home, every time you lay down, he's there. He has this darkness about him, and now you find it looming over you. It plagues your mind, and in the way that you'd rather not speak on. You occasionally end up getting hot at the thought, crossing your legs and pressing your thighs together. You wouldn't lie and say he wasn't attractive- because you found him to be very handsome. But he was your brother, and with the way he treated and talked to you, you shouldn't be attracted to him— but you are. That was your first mistake.

Scaramouche is no idiot. He knows that you stare at him when you can and avert your gaze when you're about to get caught. He knows that you leave your door cracked on purpose when you're changing and that you “accidentally” leave your towel in your bedroom far too often for it to be a mistake. He's not an idiot, and it doesn't take one to notice how you've changed. How you've started dressing and talking differently, and appealing to his gaze and not everyone else’s. The way you shone is no longer prominent. It's dimmed, darkened by his lingering aura that clings to you. Perhaps that's why you're chasing for more of him—because you feel a need for him. Maybe he's to blame. Maybe it's you. Your weakness, your vulnerability. You're spineless. Scaramouche uses that against you, and that's why you're stuck in his palm. You've fallen into him, and it's uncertain how everything will end. Especially with your stepmom catching onto the difference in you.

Ei is observant, like her son. She sees how you fawn for his attention. She hears how you gush on the phone with your friends, inexplicitly describing him. She sees how you've changed for him. And though she promised she wouldn't treat you like how she did him, she finds it hard when you are slowly becoming like him. She sees you for you, but it’s proving difficult when Kunikuzushi has tainted you. His grimy paws have a grip on you that's nearly unbreakable - and she can't stand to see you this way.

She’ll take it upon herself. Calling you up to her room after dinner, patting the spot next to you to have you seat yourself next to her. You gulp, feeling like you're in trouble. Her eyes are soft but her face is dull. She blankly stares at you as you sit by her, your legs hanging off the side of her bed. “I know Kunikuzushi can be much. And I know he's… different. But don't- don't ever let him take control of you.” she leans down to you, her hands coming down on either of your shoulders, rubbing the skin. It's meant to be soothing, motherly— but you tense beneath her touch, glaring up at her momentarily. Is that where this would go?

“Once he has control, he doesn't let go. I don't want you to fall victim to that.” her words are soft. She means it. She's much kinder to you than Kunikuzushi is, and though she comes off standoff-ish and isolated— she's real. She didn't have to be a good mother at first to be a good one now, and you accept her and her words. A pretty grin stretches over your face, a nod coming in response to her words. She softly smiles back to you, her lips puckering before she lays a kiss on your temple. “That's a good girl,” you pause. You know it may not have been meant like that, but it sounds that way. She looks at you innocently— was she unaware of the weight of her words? She continues to smile at you, her hands falling to your abdomen, rubbing the skin,“Goodnight.”

You respond with your own farewell, hopping off the side of her bed. You keep your head low, steadying your breathing as you allow the heat to leave you. Your chest rises in an irregular beat, your heart pounding in your chest. Her touch was soft against your skin— and just feeling the warm pads of her fingers touching you, accompanied with her honeyed voice - it's enough to get a rise out of you. “Oh and,” she pauses, catching your attention. “you let me know if he's causing you any trouble. It’d be a shame if he was to jeopardize your success.” she says it as she knows about you two. You nod again, smiling as you watch her gaze drop. If you hadn't felt tension before, you were feeling it now. You sigh in relief when you close the door behind you. It's only when your eyes open from your moment of silence do you notice Scaramouche, his violet eyes seemingly illuminating the dark hallway. He pushes off the wall, inching closer to you. “Got mommy all concerned, don't you?”

He closes the space, his leg wedging between your own, his arm propping him up against the door. He leans his face to you, the tips of your noses rubbing. “She thinks I've tainted you?” he scoffs, a dry chuckle following. You gulp, the closeness of you two causing a drought in your throat. He erupts a certain fountain of emotions within you— all conflicting and confusing. You like him, but you don't. You want him around, but you don't. You want him to touch you, but you don't. It's an endless dispute between your thoughts — but at this moment, you're feeling sure that you want him. You want him to be spitting the rudest words to you, to berate and bully you as if you were children on the playground. You like when he dumps everything on you- because it's the one time he's real. The one time he's honest and vulnerable, though he may not be aware. You only want to know him. To be there for him, in any way you can. And if that means crossing moral lines and discarding your dignity just to be good to him? You would. You are. “She hasn't seen what I can do. Nobody knows what I'm capable of— but you’ll help me change that, won't you?”

“Gonna help me even if it destroys your ‘good girl’ image?” his lips move closer to your face, his other hand rising to tilt your head with his index finger. You don't respond, but he knows your answer. “So compliant… so easy.. you almost make me feel bad for you, y’know?” his hand creeps around your neck, a grip forming. Your lips are brushing, and the tension rises higher. He knows what he does to you, and he likes how weak you get. “Cmon, say it. You know it's true.” he lets your lips touch on a minor level, a minimal amount of pressure applied. He's teasing, letting his tongue slip through his lips and trace over the skin of your lips, biting down as he simultaneously pushes his knee up to your cunt. You gasp, nodding hurriedly. “Y-yeah.. gonna be so good, gonna let you use me..!” he grins at the validation. As much as he despises you, you make it easy for him to have control.

With that, he's pulling off you in an instant, disappearing off to his bedroom. You're left with your thoughts, and a listening ear on the other side of the wood, all too clued into your relationship with him. Your bubbly giggles are giddy like a schoolgirl, your body scurrying off to your room to fawn in peace. This was your life, and you weren't one to exactly complain about that.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ೃ࿔₊

Being alone with him makes you nervous. Scaramouche himself makes you nervous. But when you're like this, in broad daylight, alone in your home— you get nervous. You get nervous with the way he invites himself into your room, sitting at the foot of your bed as you write away in your notebook. You're nervous at the way he rubs up against your leg, running his hand up to your thigh and inching dangerously close- just before returning his touch to your knee. You're nervous at the way he lays against your bed, his shirt riding up his abdomen, and his chest heaving. He knows exactly what to do to get you to shift in your spot, constantly clearing your throat and adjusting your comfortability. He plays you like a toy- a perfect wind up to his popping surprise churning at the ticking of your buttons. He can read you like a book, and with the way, you gulp as he makes eye contact — he could infer he's making his job easier.

“I want you.” that shocks you. Your pencil stops writing away at the paper, your eyes widening. You look over to him— and you're expecting that notorious grin that screams mischief - but it's not there. It's his straight face, his eyes boring into you blankly. He's propped on his elbows, his head hanging over his shoulders as he peers back to you. He cracks a small smile at your shocked demeanor. You're entertaining. “My cock.. s’hard— all ‘cause of you. Missed your annoying mouth and your cunt…” you can't tell if he's being genuine. He's not easy to read. But in his tone, and his delivery.. it makes you think he means what he says. He flips over, hopping fully onto your bed. His lips pucker, pressing small kisses in a trail up your leg. His eyes never leave your face, your expression priceless. “You missed me too?” it's hardly been a week since your last… meeting.

He cracks a smile against your skin. “Give yourself to me.. let me have you, right now.” it sounds more of a demand than a suggestion. You chew on your lip, your eyes flickering over to the window. At any moment, Ei could come home. You wonder, with that in mind, could he be plotting? You want to have faith in him. To have faith in his word and the man he's showing you he can be. Perhaps you've reached your goal, and he's showing you him— all of him. It's the thought of a formed connection that makes you melt, a nod coming as your answer. “Yeah? You're okay with letting me use you? With making you mine?”

That makes you halt. To give yourself to him was one thing, but to let him claim you? To have you for as long as he saw fit? You weren't sure. His motives are unclear, and though your gut tells you to proceed— you're scared. The consequences scare you. You aren't like this. You don't do this. Guys like him, you avoid. He's made it clear on multiple occasions he can't stand you - so why the sudden interest now? You question his intentions, and you don't mean to ponder on it too much. Out of pure idiocy, you nod slowly, grabbing his hand and guiding it up your skirt. He hasn't been the kindest to you, and you'll never forget any of the things he's said to you, but you trust yourself enough to judge him— and in this moment, you see through to him, allowing him the courtesy of having you. Had you known you'd thrown yourself into the lion's den, you may have considered your decision more carefully.

He climbs up your bed, his lips finding yours in a rough kiss as his fingers dance toward your pussy, hurriedly making their way to the barrier of your panties. You're wet, of course, soaking through the fabric and coating it in your essence. You're easy, just like that.

He's harsh as he comes onto you, making you fall back onto your pillows, your body cushioned by the plushness. That gives you a major sense of deja-vu. It takes you back to the first night with him, where you're scared and unsure, and letting him have control of your vulnerability. You're thrown back into the headspace of wavering resolve, the ringing thought of “this’ll ruin me,”, “nobody can know about this.” returning to you. You're reminded of how detrimental this is to yourself and your life. And with the way, Kunikuzushi blackmailed you repeatedly with photos, videos, and audio of that night— who's to say that isn't the case now. You can't fully trust him, but you want to. Is it your perfection drifting from you that's making you realize you're tearing your life apart? Is it the loss of yourself at his hand that's making you remember? Whatever it is, it makes you pause, pulling apart from him, just like you did on your first night. “Wait.. this isn't right— we can't, and we shouldn't…”

He looks at you as if you were dumb. “Are you joking?”

That's when it breaks. His short-lived façade, crumbling down before you. His hand cups your cunt, his other rushing up to grip your throat. If you thought you’d seen him upset before— you don't have a clue at what's coming toward you. He's angered, his grip tightening as his eyes narrow, watching you struggle against him. This must be what Ei meant: “Once he has control, he doesn't let go.”. You've tried to strip him of his control. You've given yourself to him and now you're trying to take it back. He doesn't take rejection lightly-- and he certainly won't lose. Everything he's done until now was to ruin you. To destroy you until there was nothing left, and you were weaker than before. He desires to have you crawling for his help, begging to get everyone to like you - only so he can laugh and swat you away like a fly. You're a pest to him— and pests shouldn't invade, let alone disobey. He implements fear into you with the way he doesn't relent on his grip. His fingers push past your underwear and tease your hole as his fingers mark your neck.

You wince as he nears your face, your eyes squinting and tears brimming your lids. He scares you. And perhaps you were right to be skeptical of him. His teeth grit and his eyes seem to glow— his vibrant purple producing a hypnotizing hue. He's enchanting, even when he's scaring you. “Listen to me.. you won't ruin my life more than you already have,” you nod quickly, out of fear. “you’ve given yourself to me.. so let me have you…” his hand tightens around your neck. He conflicts your mind with the way his fingers dance over your cunt and his other hand pulls the air from your lungs. Your head is feeling empty, sense escaping you with each exhale. You hum against his palm, nodding quickly. You're scared for your life, fearing the possibility of how far he’d go to prove himself.

He releases you from his hold, watching as you curl over and cough, breathing so heavily and rapidly that the air keeps you choked up on yourself. He gives you no time to recover, tossing you to your stomach. He's positioning behind you, tossing up the flowy fabric of your skirt, yanking your panties down, and exposing your cunt to his carnivorous gaze. His lips are slicked over as he licks them, tugging his pants down and instantly releasing his cock from the barrier of his pants. He wasn't lying when he said he was hard— perhaps it was the slight nostalgia that came with being in this predicament, under similar conditions. He runs the shaft through your folds, naturally lubing himself up with your sweet slick, you shudder, your ass angling up toward him for more friction. He grabs ahold, lining up with your entrance, a sharp inhale coming from him as he slides to your depths.

Your cunt swallows him as he bottoms out, a choked gasp coming from you as the head of his dick grazes your G-spot. His hand smoothes over your back as he forces you to an arch, his arm extending to the back of your head. He uses you as leverage, pulling out from you just to bury himself deeper inside your pussy. He sighs in deep contentment— the feel of your gummy walls suctioning around him swelling a sweetness in his chest. He meant what he said when he said he missed your cunt. The way your body instinctively adjusts to him, contorting to fit his girth - welcoming him into your depths— all of it is special to him, introducing him to a warmth he's never felt before. He hates you for it. As if you couldn't get worse, your cunt had to be perfect too. That irritation drives him, a mean collision of your hips beginning the harsh pace. He bangs into your cunt with fervor, the meat of your ass smacking against his thighs, his balls slapping against your labia. His pace is brutal, and with the way, he's shoving your face into the mattress, you're caught in the whirl of your breathing, unable to keep up with everything.

Your moans are muffled, drool running down your chin and soaking the comforter beneath you. Your hands grip at the blanket, your body rocking up the mattress. He's unmatched in the way he pleases you, forcing you into euphoria rather than gradually coaxing you to it. His hand smoothes over your ass, pinching the meat and making you yelp. “Fuckin’ whore…” he kneads the skin of your ass, churning your guts with the roll of his hips. It's sensual despite his words, the degradation rolling off his tongue like butter smoothed on bread. “...Slutty pussy.. so fuckin’ tight— gonna make me cum..!” his voice is choked up, the prominent vein on his cock protruding through the skin and throbbing against your walls. Your sensitivity is through the roof, your back arching further as you prop your ass up higher for him, fighting for him to get that one spot - the one that'll have your head swimming in the clouds.

The two of you are so caught up— his mouth running on disgusting phrases to your mouth spilling your salacious sounds - you miss the door opening, and nobody other than Ei inviting herself in. Heat blooms in her face, yet her expression stays blank, not a sound coming from her until she's standing before you, her presence looming and becoming known. “Kunikuzushi.” that makes the two of you jump. You freeze, shivering from the tense cold front that blows from the interaction of the pair. “You’ll never make her cum that way.”

That makes him angry. She slides her purse off her arm, extending her hand to your face. She strokes and plays on your chin, smiling softly before looking back to her son. “You have no regard for her pleasure.. for all you know, she could be faking for the sake of your ego.” she's pushing his buttons. His eyes twitch, his grip on you tightens. “She's a mess. She likes it. Stop meddling where you don't know anything,” the tension thickens - it's almost unbearable.

“Worry about how shameful she is,” he grips onto your hair, yanking your head back on your shoulders, forcing his mother to look at you. “not so perfect, huh?”

Ei tsks, hopping onto the bed, her knees planted in the mattress. She leans over, snaking her slim arm between your bodies. “Let me help you.” Kunikuzushi freezes. Their relationship has never been perfect, but this.. this is a different level of dysfunction — and you happen to be caught in the middle. Her nimble fingers find your clit eventually, her soft pads rubbing the nub. You sigh, your body relaxing into her touch. “See that? See how she's feeling better? Aren't you..?” you hum, nodding as you roll into friction. Scaramouche isn't having it. If it was a competition that began to brew? So be it. He’s tired of being on the losing side.

He ignores how his mother coos at you, slapping your ass before picking up where he left off. His thrusts are never gradual, rough off the bat. He feels the difference in your cunt, your suction softer around his cock. His breathing is airy now, his eyes fluttering as fucks you straight to your high. The words of Ei are nothing but distant in his mind, an echo as he focuses on both of you. He feels a change of pace, and though he'd rather not fall under his mother's instruction, he can't help but ease into this new feeling that only occurred because of her. Wrapped up in his own mind, he's not aware of your orgasm— more specifically the cheers of not only his mom - but you. It's praise leaving your mouth left and right, and he's feeling a swell in his chest. “Look at that, Kuni..”

“Fuck— ‘ts too much!” you're squealing, not having come down from your previous high enough to fully grasp the stacks of pleasure. His legs drip in your essence— had he made you squirt? Had he succeeded in something? Something that has not only you, but his mom praising him? He feels a difference in the beat of his impending orgasm, the knot tying in his abdomen tightening. He wouldn't believe himself if he’d begun to be swayed by your perfection. you irk him, annoy him to the core— but now, here, at this moment, he can't seem to get enough of you.

He's washed his sins unto you, the burden of his problems washed away in his fucks to your cunt. He has learning to do, and he's sure with you, he’ll get his redemption. Whatever his mom may think of him, Scaramouche could say he's… content with his life now.

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐔

a/n: i've been so obsessed with royal!au lately so enjoy this! you're a herbalist in this who lives at the palace. (yes this is inspired from snow white with the red hair ehe)

DILUC: the eldest son of the king. he's a dreamboat no doubt; princesses from all over the kingdoms line up to be courted by him but alas, he rejects them all. his father warns him that he must marry soon to strengthen political alliances but little does the king know diluc's heart belongs to you, the royal court herbalist who has somehow managed to capture the young prince's heart.

KAEYA: the second brother to the throne. while he may be adopted and not true royal blood, the kingdom respects him the same. whether it be for his charming nature or the townsfolk fear of the royals, he rules alongside his brother with no protest. he often fakes injuries just to come see you at the clinic, claiming that he truly was hurt and might even have to stay overnight so you can monitor his health.

ALBEDO: the chief herbalist of the royal court. he's the one who appointed you to join the court in the first place. he truly saw lots of the natural potential you carried and admired your love for plants and medicine. he often asks you to accompany him to the greenhouse for assistance when really he just wants to spend more time with you.

THOMA: one of the princes personal advisor. he's always accompanying the princes and king with whatever it may be they need. although he may or may not sneak into your private quarters on evenings just to spend some time with you. he even brings you unique flowers he finds just to impress you.

KAZUHA: apart of the royal guard. he has been appointed to keeping the royal sons safe from any possible danger that may lurk in the dark. he often finds himself slacking off to watch a pretty herbalist walk through the gardens. he's always found you stunning, but isn't sure how to approach you just yet. so for now he'll just leave you small notes of anonymous poetry at your desk for you to ponder over.

CHILDE: the undercover spy from the neighboring kingdom. he was sent on a mission to gather as much intel as he could about the military and political affairs. he didn't meet you until he one day he was training too hard and ended up spraining his ankle. he was forced to spend time with you since you were attending to his injuries for the next several days. but he slowly found himself hopelessly falling for you. maybe he could take you away from this horrid place.

“friends don’t kiss each other like this.”

or: the things they’d say to you in return.

character/s: xiao, scaramouche, kazuha, ayato, childe, diluc, thoma, albedo

“then maybe we shouldn’t just be friends.” XIAO mumbles dazedly between your kiss, fingers tracing your jawline as he absently admires the soft luster of his saliva on your lips. he watches as you shyly lean in for another passionate kiss, and he can’t help the sly curve that threatens to contort across his lips when he pulls you in to willingly oblige.

“who said i wanted to be your friend?” SCARAMOUCHE sneers — triumphant in pinning your body to the wall to keep you from running away, yet equally mirroring the blatant crimson shade pouring across your face. he sneaks a hungry glance at your lips but doesn’t remember meeting them, until your timid initiation of a plush sensation vividly comes back to both his memory and reality again.

“‘m sorry, love. i don’t think i can do it anymore.” KAZUHA smiles in defeat, yearning quietly as he stares transfixed by your lips, enchanted by the feeling of your mouth against his. he hopes it’s okay with you that he’s finally expressed his stubbornly pent-up feelings for you — he hopes deep down you’ll kiss him once again long before he forgets the exhilarating feeling of it. and when you bashfully move closer to capture his mouth in another soft kiss, he wonders if you had somehow heard him begging you to put your lips on his aloud.

“archons, please don’t remind me about that.” ALBEDO murmurs in a low and annoyed breath, pulling you back into his lips to steal several more heated kisses. he hadn’t planned on what to do if you would have pushed him away out of disdain, but the fact that he feels you carefully melt in his arms and your fingers run through the tousled mess of his blonde hair, makes him softly smile and wonder if you had been waiting for this singularly beautiful kiss as long as he has.

“so you’re saying that…if i called you mine, you would let me kiss you again.” AYATO hums aloud in contemplation, giving you a side-glance of confirmation. his heart soars when you hurriedly look away with a bashful expression, and he cups your cheeks for a second time, now with the faithful promise and intent of making you truly his, for perhaps eternity if you had allowed him, and even longer then.

“great. i always thought that we could do better.” CHILDE smirks nonchalantly, pressing a soft kiss against your jawline when he sees your cheeks instantaneously erupt in burning red. he’s been making discreet advances after all these long years, and eventually rendered you a complete and utter idiot when you had simply brushed it off as a courteous gesture from a friend. he knows kissing you will finally thrust his perseverant intention in your mind — and he figures by the flustered look on your face, you don’t seem to mind being on the receiving end for a handful more moments of his lips against yours.

“i wasn’t kissing you as a friend…” THOMA awkwardly clears his throat, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise to his ears. it had taken him weeks, or even months, to finally set his mind on the bold gesture of kissing you and asking you out. he had prayed to the gods that there was a possibility you wouldn’t reject him after everything you’ve made him feel, but that singular string of hope began to dissipate farther into the deep abyss. and he only manages to grab ahold of that long-drifting fantasy, when you’ve eventually brought him back to reality, by grabbing his shirt in hopes of meeting his lips for a second time, and maybe someday, a thousand more times.

“that’s fine, i wasn’t planning on staying as one for any longer.” DILUC whispers hotly against your lips, dizzy by the unfamiliar yet addicting sensation of the kiss. he knows he should probably distance himself from the close proximity, because if you keep clutching so tightly onto his coat for any longer, he might just take his chances and make the mistake of kissing you again. but you stay stubborn in your position despite looking hazy and flushed, and this time when he latches his mouth against yours, he doesn’t bother to care about any more regrets later on.

tattoo artist!xiao who had a half-sleeve going from his shoulder to his elbow and that you often admired as he usually wore tank tops.

tattoo artist!xiao who you could swear had the same patterns on his stomach when you caught a glimpse of his abs while he stretched his arms above his head.

tattoo artist!xiao who had a few piercings too - one on his lip and a few on his ears

tattoo artist!xiao whose amber eyes were focused on his task, not uttering a word and choosing to listen to you talk intently, offering simple shrugs and hums.

tattoo artist!xiao who sometimes mumbled something about him being almost over and watched in amusement how you looked away when he caught you staring, a teasing smirk tracing his lips and distracting you from his flushed ears, smooth voice praising about how you're doing so good right now.

piercer!kazuha who wore a soft smile on his face while he gestured for you to take a seat, used to seeing you in the waiting room whether it is an appointment for you or your friends.

piercer!kazuha who had a few piercings on his ears and a small tattoo on his wrist, barely visible but you noticed it - of course you did when you kept ogling him shamelessly.

piercer!kazuha who was sweet, though sometimes playful and flirty, gentle with his movements, thumb softly smoothing over the skin of your cheek before he got to work - quickly and efficiently.

piercer!kazuha who let his hand linger longer than he probably should have, chuckling lowly at the heat under his fingertips while his eyes bore into yours, refusing to look away until you admitted defeat - and that you did, lips jutted out in a pout that kazuha found himself staring at.

piercer!kazuha who always checked on you just after, crimson eyes searching for any discomfort and smiling when he didn't catch any, whispering something that sounded like doing good, sweetheart.

reblogs are highly appreciated! this is not proofread, sorry if i made any mistakes

trouble in paradise?

in which you and your rival co-actor were partnered up for your chemistry on-screen…and now that you’ve realized it, it’s proven to become more of a challenge not to fall for each other. (or : short dialogues shared)

character/s: albedo, ayato, childe, kazuha, scaramouche, xiao

a/n: hehe hi @sohyuki

childe.

getting interviewed about dating rumors,

“is it true that the both of you really aren’t together?”

it takes every fiber in you to not choke or spit out the water in your mouth, as you (shakily) set down the previously offered water bottle with a hasty and composed smile. “again, neither of us are interested in dating each other. we do admit that we have an…amiable relationship as co-actors, but definitely nothing more or less than that.”

yeah right, you can feel your inner voice openly chide as your eyes flit towards childe’s in masked panic. however, all you witness from your co-actor is his irritatingly polite smile, and a seemingly unfazed demeanor despite the intrusive and bothersome question.

“i don’t know, i think we look pretty good together.” he grins in a boyish manner, his slender fingers somehow finding its way to tease a lock of your hair within his grasp. you can feel a blush creep upon your cheeks at the unexpected remark, and you fight the urge to cuss him out in the middle of national television. not when your interviewer was clearly gushing at the sight of you two, and the glint of mischief in his ocean blue eyes almost dare to taunt you in his twisted idea of a challenge.

“it’s a shame,” you seethe through gritted teeth and a forced smile, discreetly unlacing his fingers from your freshly styled bed of hair. “that we’re just friends who aren’t attracted to each other.”

“says who?” you hear him pipe jokingly from beside you, and you swear your head whips back to him faster than lightning, a bewildered look evident in your eyes. “for all we know, i could have been secretly in love with you for the last few months.”

“ha ha, really funny.” you swallow the words as his fingers casually bump against yours, the warm sensation of it rendered as something foreign in your brain. it takes a moment to also register that his face was now inches from yours, a playful smirk on his face as he revels in the sight of your disbelief.

“funny, huh? care to find out whether it’s true, then?”

your tomato-hued face was the one thing childe took pride in, before the director giddily shouted ‘cut!’, and the interview was finally over.

the next day, your names were in bold headlines — and to much of your evident disappointment, even more rumors of the both of you “dating” were scattered all over the gushing press and intrigued audience.

xiao.

photographing for a magazine cover,

“how much longer do you have to touch me?”

“you think i appreciate this any more than you do?” he sneers, amber irises recoiling quickly in disgust at the sight of you. “stop moving and let’s get this over with.”

“that’s great, you two look perfect!” the photographer praises in evident enthusiasm from behind. “could you bring the lady a little closer to your chest?”

a squeak comes out of you when you feel your co-actor obey the order, much to his utter dismay. “you keep writhing. could you tone that down for a fucking second?”

“well in case you haven’t noticed, i’m not exactly the most comfortable with—!” your words catch in your throat when xiao slyly angles his head down to a patch of skin on your neck. you can hear his breath hitch and your pulse quicken at the little gesture, his seething words suddenly coming out clearer than ever against your flushed complexion.

“neither am i. now you’d better shut up, before i make you.”

“that pose is perfect! adjust your expressions — yes, keep it like that for a bit longer!”

it almost hurts to keep your breathing controlled, but it’s all you can do to calm the thrumming of your heart, as your conflicted eyes meet his indecipherable irises boring straight back into yours.

“…fine. dickwad.”

“incessant bitch.”

scaramouche.

bickering after a kissing scene,

“oi, someone get me some mouthwash.” you hear your co-actor grumble in disgust, while hastily wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“a mint for me.” you scoff in return, only rolling your eyes when he turns to you with a death glare that seemed to harbor a shred of disbelief. “what? you taste like shit.”

“yeah, because i kissed shit.”

your scowl deepens at his words, and it takes the director’s exhausted command to split the sparking tension apart between you two. a part of you felt bad, considering this had already become some sort of “normal” routine ever since he scouted the both of you to play the main roles in a romantic film. but could he blame the both of you for getting pissed off after having to repeat that damned kissing scene for several takes?

“the good news is,” the director inhales a hefty breath. “that’s the last kissing scene you have to do together.”

“well, i wouldn’t intend to kiss her ever again.” scaramouche snorts. “she’s one hell of a shitty kisser.”

“oh like you were any better, dipshit.”

“you really wanna go at it right now?” his eyes flicker over to yours in a fit of darkness.

“what, you’re gonna prove me wrong or something?”

“maybe i will.” he growls in irritation, before violently snatching your wrist and dragging you with him to retreat inside his trailer, as you both quietly bicker amongst yourselves…but nevertheless, strangely don’t seem to be recoiling away from each other at the notion of kissing again.

“but, we have another scene to film in seven minutes—”

“any of you step inside that trailer and i’ll beat your ass up.” he threatens for the last time, a mysterious glint in his eyes as he lazily glances over his shoulder to meet the rest of the production crew’s astonished gazes. “we’ll come out when we’re finished with our business.”

kaedehara kazuha.

walking on the red carpet,

“y/n, over here!”

the flashing of crowded camera lights momentarily blind you with their intense illumination, but you work up a smile for the audience anyway. it’s been thirty minutes since you’ve found yourself posing for the cameras, however now you wanted nothing more than to sit down and tend to the blisters that were beginning to sting at your feet from your heels.

you take a few steps toward the venue, ever so slightly swaying in your stance as you grit your teeth and endure the sudden bursts of pain. if you could just walk a bit quicker to reach the confines of the marbled threshold that awaits…

but the deafening shout of the final group of photographers snap you out from your daze, glancing over your shoulder as they excitedly beckon you over to take the last batch of photos before entering inside.

you shift in your steps…albeit a little too hurriedly, as your feet begin to wobble and you feel yourself about to fall down —

only to be (unwillingly) caught by none other than your unfazed co-actor. his hands slip around your waist to securely straighten your body, and you can’t help but gape in astonishment at the uncharacteristic yet gentlemanly gesture.

“love, you look like an idiot staring at me.”

your eyebrows furrow at the slightly rude comment, annoyed at how his averted eyes never seem to meet yours. “i think i had it under control.” you mutter beneath your breath, forcing a smile for the cameras and gushing photographers, as his thumb lazily traces circles on your waist in a form of reassurance.

“you can bicker all you want later, when we reach the entrance.” he smirks in amusement, before nonchalantly resting his head on your shoulder to pose differently for the pictures, his intrusive breath tickling your ears. “just smile and look pretty, love. like always.”

it’s frustrating to fight the blush that settles on your cheeks as he puts on a facade and eventually guides you inside with that fucking knowing grin.

albedo.

attending a costume fitting,

“stand still.” you hear him mutter in a low breath, as he wraps the measuring tape around the curve of your waist.

you let out a dry scoff. “who let you do this?”

“it’s not that difficult of a task,” albedo replies, peering down at the red number on the white band. “so i offered to help out.”

“well make it quick,” you clear your throat, cocking your head to the side in attempts to hide the flush on your cheeks. “it’s been fifteen minutes. i’m starving.”

“are you?” he hums, never raising his teal irises to meet yours in turn. “or are you just scared?”

you frown at the boy. “why would i be scared?”

albedo tugs lightly on the measuring tape around your body, causing you to tumble forward and closer to his face. your eyes jolt wide open at the close proximity, and the forbidden thumping in your heart grows worse at the clearer sight of him.

“a-albedo?” you blurt out, shifting your eyes somewhere else to avoid his piercing gaze. “what the hell are you doing?” you peek over his shoulder at the wide open door. “what if someone sees us?”

a corner of his lip tugs upward in an attractive manner. “ah, is that why?” followed by a teasing chuckle. “you’re scared i might do something to you.”

“jeez, i’m not afraid—” you bite your tongue hastily in aggression, when he suddenly tilts his head to inch closer towards your lips.

“it’s in your eyes right now,” he remarks in a low voice, noting the way your breath remains caught in your throat. “you’re scared i’ll end up kissing you.”

you swallow thickly in the haze of his pervading cologne, unable to say anything to refute his words. because yeah, maybe he was right. maybe you were scared about the centimeter distance. maybe you were scared that your rival co-actor might press his soft mouth against yours without acting. maybe you were scared about what that would mean in your career and competitive relationship.

bringing your hands down to his, you pry his grasp off the tape around your waist. “well, you got what you needed. i’m leaving.”

as you hurriedly make your way towards the exit of the room, albedo stays behind to fill out the last measurement required on the sheet of paper, before eventually allowing a begrudging sigh to escape from between his pressed lips.

“ah…for a second, i almost wanted to kiss her.”

ayato.

helping with your make-up,

“why does he have to do this again?” you groan in your seat, jutting out a finger at the boy setting down another cosmetic near a station organized by the wide mirror.

“‘cause i know how to do it well.” ayato smiles, but there’s something close to a mischievous intent masked behind blue-grey irises.

you glare over at the director, who ended up shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “just a few more minutes and it’s over. you’re getting paid to put up with him anyway.”

“god knows i wish i wasn’t,” you scoff, about to bury your face in your hands, before suddenly remembering you were already caked with make-up.

“one last touch,” you hear him hum, watching as he swipes his finger across a light pink tint before reluctantly bringing his hand closer to your face.

you can’t even protest as he brushes the pigment softly against the plush of your lips, the rest of his fingers cupping your cheek in a gentle manner. ayato strokes the shade once, twice, and perhaps once more for an extra measure — before suddenly pausing in his movements.

you wonder what he’s busy gawking at, and then it belatedly hits you — he’s staring at your mouth.

“ahem,” you aggressively clear your throat, snapping him out of his temporary daze.

“ah, it’s done.” ayato instantly comments, and it irks you to see how he doesn’t even seem bothered that you had clearly caught him admiring your lips back there.

“weirdo.” you grumble, pushing yourself off the seat to scrutinize the boy’s finished work in the mirror. “hm, i suppose it’s…not bad.”

your hesitant comment causes his eyes to shift from the cosmetics, towards the sight of your reflection in the mirror.

“well, would you look at that,” he grins cockily, ignoring the way his heart subconsciously races a tad too quickly at the pleasant view of you.

“i finally made you pretty.”