.*+.*.synopsis:after Receiving A Call From Your Former College Professor, You Agree To Meet Up With Mr.

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ synopsis: after receiving a call from your former college professor, you agree to meet up with mr. morax for dinner. you know, for old time’s sake…

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ cw: age gap, oral (f), masturbation (m), bathroom sex, sir kink, pussy job, hints of the ‘fucking your college professor’ trope smut written by a minor dni if uncomfortable

.｡*ﾟ+.*.｡ a/n: dedicated to my former hot physics dilf who makes me cream every time i see him in the hallways xoxo 

“fuck, marry, kill…” 

hu tao puts on a pensive face, twirling a loose strand of hair that had escaped the confines of her pigtails as she thinks. 

“how about mr. ragnvindr, alberich, and kamisato?” 

you rotate your fork around the steaming cup of instant noodles in your hand. “i’m marrying mr. ragnvindr, for sure.” 

“what?” exclaims hu tao. “with those anger issues? that marriage would never last… no offense.” 

Keep reading

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.”

𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐋𝐄 | 𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈.

akaashi wakes up to fingers tangled in his hair, threading through the dark locks in a gentle pattern. he realizes he’s laying on a lap, and he’s confused for a moment—the last time he checked, he was seated comfortably on the couch, doing work on his laptop as you sat beside him and watched your show on the television.

“are you awake, keiji?” he blinks up at you, eyes adjusting to meet your face.

“when did i fall asleep?” rolling your eyes—though you don’t look even the slightest bit mad—you cup his cheek, rubbing over the small red marks his glasses have left on his nose with your thumb.

“i think the third episode. well, that’s when your head fell on my shoulder, anyway. maybe you should fix your sleep schedule,” you chastise.

his face turns to bury itself into your stomach, and the way your palm glides up and down his spine almost makes him slip back into unconsciousness. it’s nice, he thinks, being taken care of. akaashi’s used to doing the caring, but the roles reversing is more comforting than he’d anticipated—and he’ll be the first to admit he’s a bit spoiled when it comes to you.

“‘m a hard worker,” he mumbles. “don’t hate me cause you can’t be me.” he smiles when you shove his shoulder, wrapping his arms tighter around you.

“i hate you cause you ruin my sleep schedule too,” you huff.

“and why’s that?”

“because i wait for you, keiji,” you whine. “i’m losing my sleep over a boy. literally.”

akaashi looks up amused, and his eyes look pretty even when they’re sleep laced and squinted, dulled by the dim lighting of your tiny, shared living room. and perhaps one day, he thinks, he’ll get to lay on your lap in a home that’s much larger—one you’ve both made yourselves, hand in hand. he grabs your hand in his. the tiny living room will do for now if he’s got you in his grasp.

“well, what’s stopping you? go to sleep,” he murmurs. your eyes roll as you watch him close his, and if you could stare at him like this forever, you think you would, sleep be damned.

“not on the couch. i already have dark circles for you, i’m not adding back pain into the mix.”

“if you loved me, you would stay with me here,” he murmurs.

and the gentle weaving of his locks between your fingers continues as you whisper “i do, i love you, keiji.”

and he knows it’s true because you settle yourself to get comfortable, eyes closing as you slowly drift off to sleep with him on the small, creaky, old couch. he promises to himself he’ll offer you a bigger one someday, enough for the two of you and maybe more. it’s what you deserve for sticking with him.

for bub, calista, and sayu — my fav keiji stans

𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐎𝐔𝐒 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔.

word count: 2.4k

notes: 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓, hand jobs, slight teasing, praising, mentions of insecurity, he might be slightly ooc don’t bring it up

notes: thank you ris for the consultations and for your genius i love you and your brain lemme have your kids

rindou is fuming, and you watch him, sitting still, calmly waiting for him to finish. if his attitude and his stubbornness aren’t enough, the short temper is added fuel to the flame, and truth be told, you should be tired. tired of his boldness as he glares at you from across the room.

rindou’s always been a little difficult, but you don’t hate it, you could never hate a thing about him. he’s got plenty he hates about himself—and adding to the pile just seems selfish. and he trusts you. he knows that at the end of the day, when he hangs up his attitude and stubbornness, when all that’s left is the lonely young man, who hasn’t changed much from the lonely young boy, you’ll be there to pick up the pieces.

but that doesn’t stop you from reminding him it’s you who gets to lay the pieces down.

“i put it right here,” he snaps, his lips pulled into a snarl as he all but hisses at you. and rindou has a habit of doing that. he gets angry at the things around him for the ones that go wrong. maybe he was just taught to do that, or maybe he taught himself, but you think you’ll teach him right.

“rindou, i don’t know where your file is,” you say calmly. he seethes more at your composure. why aren’t you mad? why won’t you fight back?

“well, it was right here. where else could it be,” he spits, and you frown at his tone.

“i didn’t touch anything, baby.” baby. he hates that you use that name with him even when he’s irritable, and it only makes him that much more aggravated. he wishes he could be sweet like you, it’s what you deserve. but he doesn’t know how else to get his thoughts across when his mind’s fogging with frustration. they come out brashly, and he doesn’t have control over the staggering words as they tumble past his lips.

you’re always so soft with him, always so patient. you understand that he doesn’t like the sheets being made a certain way, you know he hates certain scents of perfume fiercely, you don’t mind that he needs time alone on certain days, and you’re patient when he isn’t particularly fond of a certain individual—even though he’s got no real reason. it’s nurturing, you sit through it with him, guide him even. and rindou’s not had a lot of that growing up.

“i need that for my next meeting, it didn’t just walk off on its own,” he grits. “you probably put it somewhere while you were cleaning,” rindou accuses. you know he’s taking it out on you, the bad day he’s likely had, and you’re waiting for him to come to his senses on his own.

but you don’t mind giving a little push if it comes down to it.

“i didn’t do anything all day,” you insist. “just sat around waiting for you to come back.” rindou sighs heavily, clenching his jaw as he shakes his head.

“whatever,” he says with much more aggression than really necessary, turning away from you in a swift motion. “don’t touch my shit, you’ll just mess it up.”

and he’s not sure when you’d gotten up from the couch and found your way before him, or when you’d pressed him against the wall, but you did. and you’ve got him looking directly at you with wide eyes, unsure of what’s even happened in the last ten seconds.

he could surely push you off if he’d wanted, but he doesn’t. and he won’t. you know he won’t. because he needs this more than you do. he needs to be taken care of, put in his place, reminded of who he is and where he belongs. he never got that as a child, and maybe it’s time he leaves all that behind when he’s around you.

“rin, you can’t speak to me that way when you’re mad. it’s not my fault.” he squints his eyes at you, bitter at the way you speak to him like he actually is a child—like you know better and he doesn’t.

he doesn’t need you, not your honeyed words, not your sweet touches, not your stupid little sickeningly gentle smile. none of it, he tells himself.

except, when your hand travels to his face, cupping it and molding against the roundness of his cheek, it all flies out the window. because he does need you. at the end of the day, he needs you. he needs to be grounded by your presence, and he needs to be the one you need too.

“it’s not my fault you’re fucking sensitive—” his breath hitches in his throat as he cuts himself off, the words getting caught when your hand travels south to the waistband of his sweats, rubbing a thumb over his v-line.

“really? am i, rin? who’s sensitive right now,” you quip, a smug little grin on your face, and he hates the glint in your eye. he hates that it has him so excited, so aroused, and you haven’t even done anything yet.

“shut up,” he growls, but he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut when your hand reaches past his boxers and wraps around his half-hard cock, squeezing gently. he lets out a strangled groan, chest heaving slightly as your thumb glides through his weeping slit, collecting the precum and smearing it over his length. and slowly, as you pull his sweats and boxers down, as you press your lips to his neck and suck gently on his sweet spot, rindou lets his anger melt.

he lets it leave his mind in his delirium to feel your hand around his pulsing cock, already aching to cum as he groans from the slow strokes you deliver. bucking his hip up, he hisses as you loosen your grip, shooting you a sharp glare.

“i’ll stop,” you warn. “don’t think you want that, do you?” growling, rindou wraps his hand tightly around your wrist as he stares at you with narrowed eyes, but you squeeze harshly around his length, and a strangled whine bubbles past his throat. in every step, he can always expect you to challenge him, and he doesn’t think he minds it as much as he should.

“fucking hell,” he chokes on a moan. “j-just do something.” he’s slowly cracking, you can see it in the way he’s panting now, in the way he’s slowly letting go of his grip and letting his senses be taken over by you. just a little bit more and he’s all yours. but then again, he always has been deep down. he just needs the pull to his push.

“that’s it,” you murmur, pressing sweet kisses along his jaw, and moving up to his cheeks. he lets out a shaky breath, moaning when your hand picks back up at the slow strokes. “just relax, rin. long day, huh?” finally, he nods.

“fuck,” he says through a breathy moan, head leaning back against the wall as your palm rubs circles over his swollen tip, his thighs quivering as he tries to keep himself standing. your hand never stops moving, never stops pumping his stiff member as the tip flushes an angry red, but it’s also not enough, and he needs more. “f-fuck y/n, more,” he groans.

you smile at the way his cheeks are flushed, the rosy hue dusting across his neck and even the tips of his ears as he pants harshly, cock aching as he leans forward and presses his forehead to yours.

he aches for the intimacy, he really does. you know he does, but rindou’s stuck in a constant push and pull with himself with how he’s meant to let his guard down. but this makes it a tad bit easier, he bears himself to you, letting you see him in a way no one else does as he falls apart slowly and surely.

“you should start saying please, rin,” you hum, smoothing back the damp hair that sticks to his forehead with a brush of your fingers. the tips of them leave lingering jolts on his warm skin, and he leans his face in closer to your hand, chasing your touch. “it’ll get you places.”

“stop dragging it out,” he scoffs, whimpering gently when your thumb runs through his slit. you let out a soft chuckle at the sound, and he flushes a deeper shade of crimson.

“wanna see you cum,” you whisper, and he digs his face into your neck, groaning in embarrassment at your words, even though his dick is standing hard in your hands, balls heavy and aching for release. “wanna see you look all pretty,” you press soft kisses to the shell of his ear, and his hands grip your waist tightly, whining when you finally give him a firmer grasp of your hand, stroking his fisted cock faster. his breaths are erratic, and he’s moaning freely now, eyes screwed shut as you chase him towards his impending orgasm.

“s-stop saying shit like that,” he tries to say firmly—he tries, and that’s all he’s really doing right now. he’s trying to hold onto his dignity, trying to keep his composure intact, trying not to cum so fast, and he’s trying to keep himself stern like before. but he’s failing miserably, and it’s the hot, blinding pleasure of your hand that has him in such a mess, so unlike his usual stoic self.

long gone is his snark, and his arrogance, and his refusal to admit he’s wrong as he’s choking on gasps into your neck, moans ending off higher in pitch as he nears his high.

“i love you,” you murmur, stroking through his locks delicately as he all but thrusts into your fist, chasing his orgasm desperately. and he’ll be the last to admit that those words leave him breathless, that there’s a slight wobble in his lips as he clutches you tighter, closer, nearer. he’d crawl into your skin and be one with you if he could, dig himself deeper into your heart so that you could never let him go.

and rindou’s always wondered what about him is so appealing, that you stay. you stay and you never leave and you always come right back to him no matter how harsh he shoves and how far he pushes you away. he wants to know, craves to see himself through your eyes, to catch a glimpse of what you find in him that you can’t in anyone else. why don’t you give up on him? even after all he puts you through?

he wonders if he’ll ever find his answer.

“y-yeah?” he whispers softly—and he’s cracked, the composure is crumbled, and he’s latching onto you, clinging onto your body desperately as he feels his cock twitch, just at the precipice of his high. “y-you love me? what’s to love?” he croaks.

“everything,” you reassure. “you’re good, you know. you don’t need to prove it to me. never to me, i already know.” the chaste kiss to his temple somehow feels more intimate than your hand wrapped tightly around his cock, and it’s enough to send him hurtling over the edge, crying out your name as he cums hard. thick ropes shoot from his tip in spurts, and he whines softly into your neck, digging further into the crook of it as you slowly stroke him through his orgasm.

“f-fuck, fuck, please.” he doesn’t know what he’s pleading for, but the words fall from his lips anyway, and when your free hand moves up and down his back in slow circles, soothing him through his high, he feels tears prick his eyes from the way you overwhelm all his senses. he feels like he breathes you in, and he’s almost scared he’s losing you when he breathes you out. “ngh—shit,” he says through a breathy moan. “f-feels good.”

“pretty boy,” you mumble sweetly. “you’re my pretty boy, you know. don’t have to be so harsh all the time.” and slowly, he bears more of himself to you, panting as he catches his breath, his cum sticky as it coats your hand. he almost wants to protest when you pry his face out of your neck, but then he meets your eyes, and something about the way they glow as they meet his purple irises makes him lean his forehead against yours, searching your gaze for any hints of lies at your previous statement.

and if he’d found any, he thinks he might’ve shattered, but you show none, and he can’t still his heart as it beats rapidly.

rindou wants so badly to see what you do, to see what makes you look at him so earth-shatteringly sweet.

“love you too,” he says after some time, so quiet, it’s like a confession—and he’s almost sure you missed it. but you catch it perfectly.

“don’t have to be so snarky,” you soothe, still rubbing his back slowly as he grips the edge of your shirt, fisting it tightly. “i’ll help you find the file, yeah? did you check the drawer at your desk?” he shakes his head slowly, and there’s almost a ghost of a pout curled on his lips. you peck them softly, and he chases them again when you pull away, kissing you needily, longer this time.

“forgot to check there,” he admits quietly.

“i’m willing to bet good money it’s there,” you chuckle gently, and he avoids your gaze. you’re so sweet to him, so good, so gentle, so determined to take care of him. you care enough to push him right back into place, and he doesn’t think he deserves it, but he’ll be damned if he ever lets it slip past his fingers.

“guess it slipped my mind,” he huffs softly, gripping your hips tighter and pulling you closer—and you know it’s his way of admitting that he’s wrong, that it’s his way of asking you to stay.

please stay, he wants to ask you, but he doesn’t think he needs to.

and rindou revels in the soft chuckle you give him, exhaling slowly when you cup his cheek with your good hand and rub a thumb over the smooth skin, easing his conscience in a way only you can.

“you’re incredibly lucky i love you,” you say playfully, but he knows you’re right. he’s so damn lucky you love him.

“i love you too,” he breathes. “i love you.”

more genshin tattoo artist/piercer hcs bc i can <3 | part 1 | n.a : let's assume you're getting a piercing on your lips okay | warning : slight mention of blood in scara's part

piercer!scaramouche who barely utters a word, simply gesturing for you to sit and wait for him to get his material ready, not missing the way your eyes traced the pattern of his tattoo, from his neck to his chest - where it was hidden from his clothes.

piercer!scaramouche who catches your eyes running over his lips, how you blink and look away in embarrassment when he notices the way you were eyeing the snake bites piercings adorning his lips.

piercer!scaramouche who doesn't even try to hide his smugness, smirking down at your while his gloved hand turned your head towards him, it'll hurt a little falling past his mouth before he got to work.

piercer!scaramouche who keeps his indigo eyes focused on your mouth, thumb smoothing over your bottom lip before he worked fastly, the process nearly painless.

piercer!scaramouche who quietly looks your way to make sure you're not hurting too much while he cleans his materials quickly, pressing another clean tissue against the small beads of blood forming on your lips, an almost inaudible you did really good murmured under his breath while he offered you a rare smile of his, chuckling lowly when you turned away shyly from the close proximity between your faces.

tattoo artist!albedo who greets you curtly, i polite smile resting on his lip while he led you to a seat, noticing the way you let your eyes wander around his tattooed forearm and the star at the base of his throat.

tattoo artist!albedo who has a few piercings as well - two on each ear and one on his lips - and playfully smirked at you when he caught you staring at him while his ringed fingers weaved through his pretty curls, tying them in a low ponytail.

tattoo artist!albedo who asks you a few questions while he works, listening intently to your answers and pushing you to tell more about yourself, humming and giving a few replies to your small rants.

tattoo artist!albedo whose hands are gentle, whose words are sweet, making sure the needle doesn't hurt too much and pausing whenever you need to, small, nearly inaudible praise and encouragements falling past his mouth.

tattoo artist!albedo who mumbles something about being over in a few minutes, watching in amusement how you flustered from how close he was to you, raising his brows teasingly at you when you couldn't help but stare at his pretty face and from him removing his gloves slowly, gentle voice telling you that youve been really good, pretty and chuckling a little when you choked on your next words, patting your head in apology.

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

-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.

[ taglist! ⁆ ᳝ ࣪ ִֶָ @glowmiko @svgarslut @vlyntage @dottorology @lonely-hearts-hiraeth @evisnotok @albedos-canvas @kazewhara @hutaowrld @ravenina14 @poly-bi-mf . sign up here!