#asa.writes 🌀

[wishluc]

Fair Play

CW: Yandere character, jealousy, mentioned abuse of authority

PAIRING: Yandere! Neuvillette x GN! Reader

Sigh…I can’t get him out of my head

Whenever Neuvillette makes time to visit the Champion Duelists’ arena, it's only ever to see you fight.

He reasons with himself that it is only because of the fascinating way you weave your battles. He is far from the only spectator to these duels—not just anyone can earn a place among the Champions, after all—though he is the only one who remains silent when the crowd erupts in cheers and praise. He prefers to send his compliments privately, through a regrettably short conversation after the audience has cleared out. He thinks you might appreciate his thoughtfulness, because you always stand up a little straighter and smile a little wider when you see him approaching you, ever so bright despite the sweat painting your skin.

Anyone who has watched your duels would say the same, would sing the same praises that he calmly conveys to you—that your movements are graceful, your strokes swift and your stance sharp. That you are a marvel to behold. He observes how your eyes narrow as your sword slices the air, and he finds it a breathtaking sight. Your duels—your skillful attacks and quick steps are a form of art, one that you embody with every lunge, swing and pause, and one deserving of a revering audience.

—However, he does not tell you all this in detail, as Furina had advised him against it. He settles for simpler statements; “You are extremely talented. Thank you for using your abilities to uphold honour and justice,” among others, and he is rewarded with your eager gratitude, your smile and your joyous call of his name.

Regardless, he's not pleased with all the attention directed at you.

He could understand those who admired you and your abilities. It was only right that your hard work be recognised, even if the cheering crowd often took your attention away from him. But the way the Harbinger looked at you was with an unsettling kind of admiration, running too close to bloodlust and exhilaration, that made his fingers clench and his gaze harden unbeknownst to himself.

You respond with your usual grace, listening intently to his introduction (Neuvillette pretends it does mot bother him how you seem unbothered by his status as a Fatuus, and a Harbinger at that), and smiling at his compliments. He wonders if you’re pleased by his praise, if it’s his status that leaves you awestruck. The Harbingers must be good fighters, too, and Tartaglia had his fair share of scars to prove his prowess in battle.

Then, he asks you to duel him.

In itself, the request is not an unusual or unreasonable one. Duels could be requested (and at times commissioned), though Neuvillette was unsure if outlanders knew of this, or wished to try their hand at it.

But seeing that it was the harbinger—Tartaglia—who was asking, Neuvillette could not help but be suspicious of his intent. Even if it was only a fight he wished for, why did it have to be you, out of all the Champion Duellists? And why was he so...close? He had moved closer to you now, a lopsided grin on his face as he suggests taking him on as a partner sometime, assuring you that it would be fun. Neuvillette hopes you find his self assuredness just as irritating.

Instead, you humor his offer.

"A duel?" you look bemused, "And what for, Master Tartaglia? Your honor?"

Tartaglia laughs, his head thrown back, "Anything you want."

The teasing air of your words sends a chill down Neuvillete's spine. The skies darken as his heart thunders, misery gripping him painfully. He wonders if he ever sounded as natural with you. If his words had that same ease, or if he sounded as awkward as he felt around you. If you would ever think about treating him with such informality, like you would a friend.

The obvious fact that you did not acknowledge him as such only further glooms the sky and his heavy heart.

The Harbinger walks away, apparently done with accosting you, and you turn to catch sight of him in the distance. Your steps quicken and your smile widens as you approach Neuvillette, a spark in your eyes that he tells himself was missing before. You say his name in a delightful way, teeming with cheer, and he questions, not for the first time, if you could hear the awe in his when he had the chance to call your name. He wonders if you’d be upset by the possibility.

“You were wonderful, as always.” You glow at his words.

“But that person you were talking to,” He hesitates, “Was that a friend…?”

“No, just someone interested in a duel. Though he did seem a little intense.” You shake your head, “No, I suppose there are people like that, hungry for fighting. There is quite a thrill to it.”

“And will you?”

You shrug, contemplating your answer for a few more minutes.

“I don’t know. Somehow, I have a feeling that he’s going to find trouble soon.”

Neuvillette, in the back of his mind, recalls the sentence for treason, and conspiracy. He promptly shoves that thought to the corner, where tendrils of frustration and envy reach to carefully cocoon the unjust idea. He is the Chief Justice, and he has to remind himself of the fact—his feelings should not affect him.

But you are a Champion Duelist of the nation, one who upheld the justice he strived for in your actions. And you are at risk of being manipulated by this criminal. Would it not be cruel to allow you to stray any further?

“With an appetite like that, it’s likely. But I would advise against it for his sake.”

You chuckle at that, fixing your gloves, “It would be foolish of anyone to wreak havoc here and risk making an enemy of you, Monsieur Neuvillette.”

That was true—Wasn’t his duty to exact justice for your sake? And when you spoke of him with such admiration, how could he let you down?

For once, he thinks he may be able to put aside any concerns for justice. There would be no need to involve the public or consult the Oratrice. This was his personal sentencing, to satiate his own raging thoughts—judgement excecuted by his very hand.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

Courtship

CW: Yandere character, obsession, power imbalance, implied murder, implied stalking

PAIRING: Yandere! Childe x GN! Reader

Childe, who is desperate to earn your affection, but is unsure of how to go about it. He's fought for all the things he loves; his family, his nation, his name—yet when he raises his weapon against a bumbling fool that dared to glance at you for a moment too long, you frown and his moniker falls from your lips as a harsh, curt order.

"Master Childe," your voice is as cold as your inconsideration to his intentions, but he steps back at once, as though your utterance of his title is akin to a harsh tug on a tightly clamped leash.

He earns a familiar look of displeasure when he reaches out for his dagger, and you hide your scowl with a stiff smile when interrupting his threats against his helpless victim. You swiftly enter his line of sight and render him unable to defy, and he wonders just when you'd realize why he was doing this.

But in the next moment, he's all over you again. Smiling, teasing, his arm around you as he continues his previous story about Teucer's latest interests without missing a beat. You don't pretend to humor him for a moment longer—all under a ridiculous pretence of what you call professionalism—and he's left alone, humiliated yet entirely concerned that you'd never spare a glance his way again.

Though your rejection stings, he's persistent, and the unassuming smile on his face does not falter. He continues to try and entice you with sweet whispers and cloying words, letting his hands linger on your waist as he tells you about how much he misses you. He leans in closer when you smile back—the gesture barely perceptible to anyone else, but Childe is extremely observant— only to be stopped by your hand atop his.

"It's getting late, Master Childe. I should be heading back now," and your smile grows, radiant against the aureate light.

"Dinner first, then?"

"I prefer to spend the evenings alone."

"Let me accompany you home, at least." Your lips press into a thin line before you nod, letting him lead the way. There was no point in pretending to be unaware of how much he already knew about you.

Your conversation has onlookers whispering amongst themselves, no doubt curious to catch a glimpse of the infamous Fatuus, before scurrying off as he turns, frantically avoiding his gaze. To anyone else, the scene must have appeared to be humiliating. Perhaps they expected him to lose his temper; to strike down an unsuspecting passerby or two in an attempt at unloading some of his growing frustration. To make an example. But he does none of that.

He's no saint, of course. Disappointment swells within him, and he has had to bite back a frown more than once during your meeting. He's only better at hiding it than you. Your upfrontness leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but it's still part of the reason he finds you so fascinating. Maybe you already know this. But you're a clever thing, despite how foolish it may be to try and provoke him. You know when to stop—right before he's completely sick of your disrespect, just as his frustration begins to peak—and reel in the demeanor to something less jarring. You're wholly aware of how cruel he can be, but also of how much power you hold over him as a result of his twisted love.

As he walks on in front of you (never too far ahead, lest the leash begin to slip from your grip), mouth set in a straight line and arms stiff by his sides, you saunter up beside him and fall into step. His hand finds its place in yours, and you take it without voicing out any complaint. It's strange for someone like him, who only knows how to want like he fights, intense and uninhibited—to be satisfied with just this simple gesture. But he stands here, placated with nothing more than a touch.

He ignores any hesitation on your part, tugging you closer until you jolt against him, and your joined hands are pressed in between your figures. He keeps you close to his side, occasionally bumping into each other as you make your way home.

It would be nice if you were so sensible more often. He has offered time and time again to take care of things in your stead. He'd eagerly bring you the head of your enemies and let you wash the blood off his hands, he'd spoil you in luxury and take only a smile in thanks; if only you wanted. Instead, you turn your nose up at him and return to the monotony of work. You brazenly claim, with nothing more than a sideway glance, that you had no need for his help. And to a certain extent, it's true. You're extremely capable. Is the way he trails after you not proof enough?

He's tried to convince you, but limp fingers cleanly removed and blood-red pearls earn him nothing more than a sigh and a mutter about impracticality. Even your initial fear at the sight of something so gruesome is quickly straightened out, though he catches wind about you investigating who they belonged to. He eagerly observes how you stop frequenting the markets after that. He may not have earned your gratitude, but you had developed a wariness he was more than happy with.

It's the last he attempts at gifting you something so morbid—though he likes to remind you that the offer will always be open—and instead sticks to trinkets you may find more use for. Rouge that he insists on applying, pressed up too close all while crooning about how well it suits you, perfumed oil he massages onto your wrists and nape with calloused fingers and delicate glass bowls to hold it all. He finds pride in knowing all his training has made his hands steady enough to carry out such intricate tasks, but your heart hasn't wavered despite his efforts and displays.

The silence, in itself, is comforting. For all he wishes to have you alone, he never knows what to say after. He thinks of nothing as much as he does you these days. Everything revolves around you. But with the quiet atmosphere, he can focus on your subtle scent, the flutter of your lashes, and the shape of your nails. If you were to be speaking, trying to remember the lilt of your voice and the underlying timbre, apart from your words and gestures, would have overwhelmed him. His desire to commit every detail to memory combined with his overzealousness would have exhausted him very quickly.

Instead, he lets himself plan. How else could he draw out more time with you? He could conjure up some reason related to your work and his, or he could stick to his usual plan of 'happening' to be around. He could insist on buying you a meal to make up for something or the other. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to think of elaborate plots to inch closer to you. Strategy in both love and war were surprisingly similar.

Or he could stop thinking so much and just take you. Who would dare try and stop him?

He'd like to have you in his arms, properly, and hold you against his firm figure. Some part of him has always craved the domesticity of such a fantasy, where you might tuck your head under his chin and smile against his skin when he greets you after a long day at work. He could do it if he wanted; take you home, and make you play pretend until it was all you knew to do. Simple signs of affection of the sort might soothe the ache of the wound festering at his side ever since he was handed over to the Fatui. But he wanted more than he deserved. More than your foolish games and his moribund attempts at playing along.

He wanted—needed—sincerity on your part.

Your steps hasten the closer he gets to your lodging, the gap between you widening until only your conjoined hands bridge it. Were you acting without regard for the consequences because you naively believed this little corner was free from his influence?

But tonight, his heart twists as you walk away. How cruel you are to him; who can only yearn.

You peek over your shoulder, mouth set in the slightest downturn as you thank him for escorting you. There's nothing genuine behind your tone, and he pretends it doesn't sting. He's spared nothing more than a blunt goodbye before you enter the building, not even glancing back.

There's always tomorrow. He'd work harder, learn more about your likes and one day...things would change.

[wishluc]

Blade likes to watch you squirm.

It's nothing unusual for him to see people cower at the sight of him, shrinking in on themselves with wide eyes and faltered breath, but it's different, when it's you. He relishes in your fear, and how you try to hide it. It’s almost adorable how you think he doesn’t pick up on the slight wavering of your voice and the trembling on your hands when he leans in too close for comfort, how you try to pretend he doesn’t bother you despite how your body stiffens whenever his hand brushes against you, and how you fumble over your words when he interrupts you with a sudden question. Even the excuses you make, to get away from him, are cute. Pathetic, but cute.

He takes advantage of your thinly veiled fear, learns to look out for the panic and the confusion that follows when he lunges at you from the shadows, revels in how his presence lingers in the back of your mind even when he’s long gone, how you peer around corners and stare suspiciously at anything that somewhat resembles a human figure in the dark. You’ve never caught the smile on his face, never seen how his eyes soften after you scurry away, but he prefers it that way.

It doesn't matter that you have someone walking with you, or that you're hardly ever alone in the ship these days. It doesn't bother him at all because despite their company, It's him you're looking out for, and though it shouldn't, the notion has him bursting with excitement.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

CW: Yandere! Welt, implied abuse of authority, manipulation

It was easy to forget about who he once was.

There was a time that Welt Yang had given all that he had for the world. When he bravely stood at the frontlines of danger and sacrificed everything for others.

And now, here he was thinking of the many ways he could have you.

A small part of him insists that his desires are justified; that his yearning for you—this deep, hungry yearning—is perfectly alright. He had worked so hard for all his life. Would it be so bad to put aside everythig else and indulge in his want for you instead?

Shouldn't he have a chance to finally take something for himself?

You are none the wiser to his inner thoughts, always sparing him a warm smile. With you, it's always sweet words and kind gestures. You place your hand on his forehead when he looks flushed, fretting over him when his gaze is instead glued to the alluring stretch of your neck. You hold onto him when the Expressabruptly jostles, and though you immediately remove your hand from his arm right after, he sees how your eyes linger at his bicep. You call him "Mr Yang," with a lovely, tantalizing curve of your mouth, and you listen to his every word with fascination.

You're unfairly sweet to him, though he's not much of a hero anymore—and he’s not used to such sincere words and awestruck looks, but he decides it's a luxury he can't let go of, now that you've given him a taste. You reward his lies with swift assent, not once questioning if he had other reasons for wanting you to stay on the Express longer. You looked at him and saw a man you could wholeheartedly trust.

Welt Yang doesn’t mind letting you down this one time.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

Hello! I’m a bit nervous since I’ve just started following you but! You said your asks are open so I’m giving it a go!

Soft? Yandere Diavolo? With him being all possessive and affectionate of the reader? And reader maybe being okay about it? Them being resigned to all the cuddling and just going “well what can you do?” While Diavolo is snuggling them feeling super euphoric?

I don’t know if I did this right.

If you don’t wanna do it or if this isn’t your style then that’s fine! no need to stress about it you can just delete this ask, it is you blog after all.

Anyways! I hope you have an amazing day. Bye ❤️

Hihi anon!! I really had sooo mcuch fun with this ♡ I'm terribly sorry it took so long to get out!!

There are worse places to be, you think, than in the arms of the future king of the Devildom.

At least you know that Lord Diavolo doesn't wish you any harm, not in the same way that others do. He whispers to you, with a large hand on your cheek and his voice unusually soft, that he'd never hurt you—you don't have it in you to tell him that his love, all his deliberate caresses and fond promises, was the source of your suffering. You couldn't admit that it shattered something inside you when he confessed his feelings, that you felt all your carefully built relationships crumble the moment he announced your relationship to everyone else, and that nothing hurt you more than the searing pain in your heart when it became abundantly clear that you were never leaving the Devildom. ("Your home," Diavolo had announced, "is in the Devildom now. Why would you want to leave?")

Maybe the signs were always there; his constant fascination with you and your world, his persistence that you spend nights at the castle and his barrage of invitations to dinner, taking you out to the Devildom's finest restaurants. You should have noticed how his warm smile dimmed when you went out arm in arm with Asmo and how insistently he kept asking you if you really wanted to stay in HoL after the incident. You foolishly believed that this was him making sure the exchange student was comfortable, and not his growing jealousy of the time the brothers had with you—Time he didn't have to spare. And you were still oblivious, even when the brothers started receiving a suspicious increase in their council duties, when the number of guests at the 'exchange student dinners' with Lord Diavolo dwindled in numbers until only you and him were left together, with Barbatos waiting nearby, and when his somewhat subtle words of affection turned bolder, his delicate compliments becoming audacious, almost, but you stayed silent despite how uncomfortable you felt. After all, this was his domain you were in, and by his kindness that you were able to live in relative comfort.

And when it finally occurred to you just how short the chains he placed on you were, you had long lost any opportunity to leave.

(Though a little part of you was aware that the moment you stumbled into the Devildom, the moment the smallest gleam of interest flickered in Lord Diavolo's eye, your fate had already been sealed.)

You tell yourself that you should be content that he's careful about where his hands linger now, gently wrapping himself around you while placing soft kisses on your skin, instead of excitedly smothering you like he used to do when you first met him. You try to be grateful for the little things—thanks to Barbatos's involvement, Diavolo was a lot more...lenient about how much time you spent with the others, and he had eased up on the extremely extravagant gifts. You can appreciate his sincere feelings, and you should appreciate it—who else can say they have a king wrapped around their finger?

But no amount of reassurance can quell your pounding heart or the instinctive tensing of your body as his hands stroke you in an attempt to ease you into his embrace. He's tried, before, to coax you with cloying, saccharine words, and he still tries it now, but it doesn't work in helping you relax. Every affectionate word only serves to heighten your dread, reminding you of just how serious he was. If he was simply just infatuated with you, fascinated by your unfamiliar manner of speaking and demeanor, you could hold on to the hope that his interest would whittle away, that something newer would catch his attention and you were free to spend the rest of your time in the Devildom in relative peace. But he spoke of love, of how much he adored you and how perfect you were for him, of how much he missed you and with every adoring word and intimate whisper, you could feel the part of you that was hopeful and optimistic dim and wither, until all that was left was a deafening silence and the crushing reality.

You've long tuned him out in the middle of him talking about his day. If it were the you from a few months ago, you would have listened closely to every detail and every happening, but now, from a combination of resentment, indifference and general despair, you could hardly bring yourself to listen.

"If you'd like to try it, we can go next week?" Your mind races for a moment; what was happening next week?

"I can't," you say, "I promised Mammon I'd go with him to a modeling gig."

You can't see him, with him facing your back, but you know he's frowning, the pensive look he always has when he's deep in thought.

"I'm sure Mammon won't mind if you can't make it," he instead says, breaking the developing silence, "I'll compensate him if he loses the job."

You want to shrink in on yourself again, suffocated by doubt once more. Would Mammon really be fine with it? Your relationship with the brothers was already delicate enough as a result of Diavolo's interest in you, and you were hoping the day spent with Mammon would help reassure you that it wasn't all that bad. That things could be salvaged. That you still had someone.

Clearly, Diavolo didn't wish the same.

"I guess that's dealt with, then."

Diavolo moves in closer, his lips pressed against the crook of your neck. The warmth radiating off him is almost uncomfortable now, but you pretend it doesn't bother you as one of his hands goes to find your clasped hands, gently tugging them apart only to grasp your free hand in his.

"I could take care of anything for you," a soft assurance, "you only need to say the word."

You sigh, defeated, "I know."

"I wish you'd ask more of me," he admits, his hand gently squeezing yours, in what you think should be soothing, "you can trust me."

You hum noncommittally.

The air around you seems to get tenser, his chest stiff against your back. He calls out your name softly, sounding almost vulnerable.

"Do I..." He hesitates, but you know the question is on the tip of his tongue, and you brace yourself, "Are you happy, with me?"

It's not the best situation to find yourself in; none of this is. But it isn't the worst. You could be back in the attic, strong hands around your neck, or you could be cowering behind a crumbling wall. You could be hiding in an empty stall, tears of frustration racing down your cheeks.

You bring your intertwined fingers up to your lips to leave a soft kiss, "Yes. I really am."

After all, there are worse places to be, worse fates awaiting you. In comparison, this isn't too unbearable. It's this reminder that keeps you from breaking down yet again, and this reminder that keeps the fake smile on your face later.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

Can I request yandere Malleus?🛐🛐

i want Malleus to be my tutor please. Please

Malleus likes your company more than he'd like to admit.

It's strange, even to him. You don't compare to him in terms of experience, knowledge or skill, and he knows there are other things he can busy himself with than to spend his time helping you understand the notes you've scribbled down or praise your efforts, but he finds that despite it all, you've carved out a little space for yourself in his heart. You've won him over, and completely entranced him with the mundane details.

His eyes linger on your frame while you tell him about the test you had just sat for in between sighs and groans as you reflect on how you did.

"Sorry, Malleus," your voice is uncharacteristically small, "you stayed up all those nights to help me, too..."

"It's nothing to be upset about," he assures you.

You sigh again, and glance up at him with furrowed brows and clenched fists. His hand goes to stroke your cheek, relishing in the way you relaxed under his light touch, practically melting onto his fingers He wants to gently coax out the worries clouding your mind, wants to hear you admit to him your troubles so he can revel in the pride of earning your compliments and praise.

He doesn't say it, but a selfish part of him is thrilled that you've not done as well as you hoped. After all, it entailed him having to spend more time with you later, more nights spent below dim lights as he taught you the history of ingredients and curses, more of your awed gasps and intrigued questions as he performs the simplest of spells, enough to fill you with wonder and fascination and enough to earn him your unwavering gaze.

He doesn't normally take this much effort for others, especially when it includes carefully reminding himself on how much time had passed before visiting you again (human days go by so quickly, after all, but seeing you so often is worth it). He gently corrects your mistake and lets the ghost of his touch guide you, watching as you shift towards him with a soft smile. He didn't even complain when you caressed the scales on his forehead, biting back any embarrassing remarks as he indulged in your delicate touch (and he remembers, too, all the lovely things you said, all your kind compliments and your sincere praises).

He finds that he doesn't mind, no matter how many mistakes you make; the time you changed the color of his shoes by accident, or when you forget the words to the spell he had just taught you. He thinks to himself, 'foolish child of man,' but there's no malice in the words, only a peculiar sense of fondness. If it means that you'll stay a moment longer by his side, looking up only at him with clear interest in your eyes, and melting into his touch, he'll listen to all the mistakes and the blunders and encourage you when you blank out.

As long as it's only him you rely on.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

I love yandre himeko thou what about kafka thou??😍😍

Literally insane about her it's crazy

A Stellaron Hunter has no business in the Space Station, as far as you're aware.

But it's not like you can go anywhere with Kafka's gun under your chin, her pink eyes looking up at you with unabashed interest. The contrasting sensations of cold metal and her burning gaze sends your heart faltering, your mind spinning as you try to come up with a way to escape the situation.

"Now, my dear," Kafka's smooth voice sends shivers down your spine, and she grins, clearly having noticed the effect she has on you and taking great delight in it, "no need to be so rash. Didn't I tell you to stay put?"

You gulp, watching closely as her eyes narrow, "Uhm, Miss…" Your tongue falters mid-sentence, terror tightening its grip on you as Kafka pushes her weapon into your skin, as though to serve as a reminder, "I don't have access to—"

"Shh," she whispers, slowly withdrawing her gun. Just when you thought you could finally relax your tense figure, she swiftly grabs you by the waist and spins you around, slamming your face up against the wall, wrists held behind your back. Your gasp echoes through the room, but Kafka merely chuckles, "My apologies. I need to take certain precautions, as I'm sure you'll understand. Though if we're being honest, I don't mind your fight. It's what I like about you, your resolve, your determination…you're a clever little thing, aren't you?"

"And please, call me Kafka. We have more than enough time to get acquainted with each other, don't we?"

You only manage to wheeze out a few words before Kafka shushes you again, "I don't have—"

"That's perfectly alright," Her voice is still light, her tone airy, like your current predicament was just a normal occurrence for her, "I don't need any of that."

Then, with a steady hand pushing against the small of your back with unexpected force, you feel her other hand dig into your pocket. Your shuffling and twisting do nothing to slow her exploration, as she finally pulls out your ID card (although you couldn't see her, you could swear that she had a triumphant smile on her face).

"[Name]…a researcher, I see? How interesting. How long have you been working here, darling?"

"3 years now," you focus on your trembling fingers, ignoring the way they grazed Kafka's skin whenever you tried to stretch them out.

"Are you interested a change in careers, by any chance? I have a wonderful opportunity for you. Though…" she trails off, as if internally contemplating something, "I wouldn't want any of my companions getting too close to you either…"

You're not sure if her question warrants an answer, especially considering the clear fact that a researcher like you has no place among the criminals of the Stellaron Hunters.

"Or not," she chuckles, "maybe," she brings her lips right to your ear, and you go absolutely still, too afraid to even breathe, and then she lowers her voice, "you'd like to be my pet instead?"

You don't even have the time to process her words before she's laughing to herself, a soft, lovely sound that worms its way into your soul, "just kidding, of course."

You're not sure what to make of this woman, except for the fact that she was probably half-mad. And you were going to be stuck with her longer if nobody came in to help, and who knew what she'd do to you then?

"How about this?" Kafka's grip on your wrists loosens, and she instead goes to hold your shaking fingers, gently squeezing them in her hands, "I have work to do here, unfortunately, so we'll have to part ways. But I promise you that I'll find a way to come see you again, so then…You'll come to greet me, won't you?"

You nod, wordlessly, and she finally steps away, allowing you to turn around and come face-to-face with her. She's smiling, just as dangerous and as beautiful as when you first saw her, her eyes glimmering with something you can only identify as amusement, and she holds, in between gloved fingers, your ID card.

"Good," she looks you over one last time, pocketing the card, "I won't forget, darling. So you keep your end of the deal too, alright?"

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak, and she begins to walk away, stopping at the door. Her head turns ever so slightly, her piercing gaze directed right at you as she utters her parting words, "I'll see you soon."

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

˗ˏ Playing Stupid Games

Silly little piece ft yandere alhaitham because I'm exhausted after farming for him. I hate you alhaitham!!! (I do not). I just want to shake him by the collar ♡. Not to be taken Seriously

Alhaitham's nonchalance irritates you to no end.

His casual disregard for the rage that boils beneath your skin and the frustration that's beginning to pile up on your shoulders, his apathetic glances at the splotches of color that decorate your arms after yet another attempt at climbing out a window, his offhanded comments and the way the slightest hint of something simultaneously amused and arrogant laced his words after the fact.

"I hope this will help you learn that you are here now,," he told you the first time, "and these pathetic attempts won't get you very far."

You hiss under your breath, "I don't want to be here."

He smiles at you. a cruel turn of his mouth, faux concern and mockery in his gaze, "Is that so? Well, that's too bad."

Nothing phases him, not the spite-filled words you spit at his feet or the frigid iciness of your stubborn silence. Any attempt is met with that same, cruel smile and retribution tenfold. Except his angry words come in the form of lost privileges—little things you'd hardly thought you'd miss until he had ripped it away from you. Even if it was just him taking away the warm drink you cradle every morning or the mattress you slept on, the slightest shift from the strict schedule he had you adapt to set your whole mood off. You're left feeling odd and uneasy for the rest of the day, and just when you get used to this routine, he switches back to your old one.

Your next attempt at revenge was hiding his things. It sounds useless, but when you're stuck indoors with nothing to do and with burning resentment, there's very little you can do to get back at Alhaitham. So, when he's out for work, you take his favorite mug and place it into a drawer filled with old gifts he doesn't look twice at, and you snatch up his pens and shove them somewhere under his mattress. You debate targeting his headphones, but he doesn't ever leave them lying around. Alhaitham finds everything every single time, but even then, he only gives you his usual unimpressed look and stalks off to do his work somewhere.

Some other petty tries involved using up all the hot water in the morning so he has to take a shower in the freezing cold water ("For your information, I always take cold showers," Alhaitham tells you over breakfast, much to your chagrin), placing the bookmarks in his current reads at different pages (He glances over at you, still unruffled, and shakes his head before flipping the page. The fury that fills your head almost makes you explode on him), and you even manage, on a day where you had to follow him out, sneak some sand into his shoes ("Good try," he clicked his tongue, "I'll have to reward you at home." Still, he trudges back with you by his side all the same, even if he was walking a little slower than usual, he didn't seem very affected. You hoped to save some sand to pour into his socks instead, but he stopped you. Yet another fail).

But now, you've got a wonderful idea, one you were sure won't fail to irritate him—after all, it's the very same trick he uses on you regularly. Every morning, Alhaitham has a warm cup of coffee to wake himself up and get ready to work. After observing his morning habits for as long as you have, you know how he brews his coffee by heart.

You can't throw out all the coffee in the house, but you have a better alternative. One that should frustrate him even more.

After he makes his cup, Alhaitham turns around for a few moments to reach for whatever book he was reading at the moment, before settling down. He used to try and spend this time talking to you, but you had hardly been cooperative during this time, and he had decided to leave you be—you suspect his morning listlessness had something to do with that.

He shoots you a suspicious glance when he notices you up and ready for him by the counter, but trudges past you without any accusations directed at you. He doesn't say a word as he brews his coffee, and you don't either, closely watching his every move, lying in wait as you wait for your prey to get distracted. Your heart pounds as he finishes stirring his drink, and just as he turns away to put everything away, you pounce, snatching up the mug and gulping down the hot liquid. A familiar, bitter taste fills your mouth, and there's a slight numbness in your throat, not quite used to swallowing something hot that quickly. By the time you've managed to place his empty mug back on the counter, Alhaitham had turned back around.

He exhales sharply, looking at you with that unreadable expression, and as he finally utters your name, you notice something. There's a slight strain in his voice, one you might not have normally noticed; but after all the time you've been stuck here with only his voice, apart from the the whistle of the kettle and the soft ticking of the clock, you could recognize the tiniest fluctuation. And you heard it, just then as he spoke, an unusual quaver—a slight emphasis that clearly wasn't intentional and an almost-choke—which was all you needed. The realization dawns upon you like a glorious revelation; you had finally been able to shake that apathetic exterior, even if only by a little.

Some part of you is disturbed by how intensely you've been studying him, if you're able to pick apart all the details in his voice. A larger part of you is excited at the small victory. With your eyes greedily observing him again, you pick up on more things—his eyebrows are slightly raised, and not in that sarcastic manner, his eyes widened just a fraction, but you revel in the joy of seeing anything other than smugness or indifference on him. You saunter away back to the safe corner of your bed, pleased with the little sign of weakness you've discovered. He'd get back at you soon enough, but the bitter taste of hard-earned victory would linger in your mouth for a while to come.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

How about a Yan Solomon (Obey me) who uses the fact that he’s a human like the reader, as some kind of leverage to garner readers favour? Like, Solomon always reminds reader that he is always here for you and that no one else—especially those demon brothers, even Simeon (despite being an angel)—will understand you the way he does. Because, would you rather trust a demon to a human? Trust him, he knows how Devildom works, he knows of the dangers that lurks beneath the shadows. And plus, you ought to stick together. It’s easier that way. Solomon will protect you from everyone else. If you stay with him, he’ll guarantee your safety and happiness.

I don't know why yandere Solomon hadn't occurred to me yet...he's really fun to write for 'ヮ'

✧ CW: yandere character, manipulation

✧ PAIRING: Solomon x GN! reader

Seeing how comfortable you were with him now, it would be unbelievable to anyone else that there was a time you found Solomon intimidating.

Asmo, naturally, was the first to insist that you try talking to him. Despite his assurances that the sorcerer would be delighted to finally talk to you, when you thought back to Solomon and the haughty way his lips curled when he greeted you for the first time, you weren't quite sure about it. After all, what would an infamous magician like Solomon have to talk to you about? You weren't particularly well-versed in magic or anything else that may catch his interest. In comparison, you must look like a foolish little human.

Though Asmo insisted that Solomon wouldn't look down on you for such a thing, just the thought of approaching him without having any qualifications under your belt made you feel uneasy. There should be some form of solidarity between two humans in the Devildom—at least, you hoped so—but with everything the other brothers told you and the mysterious air that shrouded your human counterpart, you didn't really know if he felt the same. You could use a human friend in the unfamiliar world you were thrown into, but Solomon had clearly already made a name for himself here, without your help.

It was during a class that you actually start talking to Solomon.

In retrospect, there was no reason for him to be in that class with you. It was a beginner-level magic class, and Solomon was widely known for his aptitude in magic. You chalked it up to Lord Diavolo intervening with your schedules to make sure you had a chance to befriend Solomon. Having the exchange students be unfamiliar with each other probably wouldn't reflect well on his program.

"So, we finally get to talk," Solomon said, spryly sliding into the seat beside you, "you should know that I've been trying quite hard to reach you, but the brothers have been...determined to not let me drop by and say hello." You instantly thought back to the obscure warnings you had received from your dormmates about the now perfectly ordinary-looking student in front of you. "I hope they haven't frightened you already. From what I've heard, they like telling you all sorts of exaggerated rumors about me." "I wasn't scared," you said, and then regretted it immediately, "I just didn't get a chance to say hello since my first day here." "Well," the smile on his face was almost wicked, tinged with just enough mischief to reassure you, "now you have one."

As you quickly learned, Solomon was everything you were missing in Devildom. He understood your yearning for human realm delicacies that weren't found in the Devildom, going as far as to try and recreate the recipe for you. He found ways to bring you all the music and films you wanted to see again, took you out when you were exhausted from studying, and—it was impossible for you to not grow to like him as much as you did.

Things that felt too personal—too intimate—for you to talk about with the demon brothers, you could tell Solomon. He assured you that even though you couldn't trust the demon brothers, because of their nature, you could trust him ; after all, why would a fellow human ever hold your insecurities and weaknesses against you? When you couldn't even walk around the Devildom without feeling like some devil was going to try and attack you, it was Solomon who kindly taught you some protective magic—though he promised you that he'd ensure you'll never have to use it.

One thing that wasn't developing was your relationship with the brothers. Apart from Asmo, who was content with sharing—his words—you with Solomon as long as you didn't play favorites, your other dorm mates didn't seem to share the same feelings. Lucifer was particularly vocal about his disapproval, claiming that Solomon was dangerous, even for a human, especially because of how powerful he was. (Solomon rolls his eyes when you relay his sentiments, muttering loud enough for you to hear that the brothers had put you in harm's way more than anyone else thus far). Levi was peeved when you told him you were watching the TSL DVDs with Solomon, ("Envy," Solomon chuckles, "typical."), and even Satan scowled at the mention of Solomon helping you with your studies.

"It's in their inherent nature," the sorcerer tells you, "as avatars of their respective sins. You can't really trust a demon, because they would feel no guilt about lying to you for their own gain. Remember when they refused to let us meet when you first came here?"

You nod, but a little voice inside you wants to protest. Solomon could be awfully cynical; surely, the brothers weren't that bad...?

He sighs, "it was expected that they'd become possessive of you. I have no idea why Lord Diavolo didn't plan for you to room in Purgotary Hall instead..."

"In any case, be careful around them," Solomon sounds uncharacteristically stern, "knowing them, they'll just toss you aside once they lose interest."

You had expected the conversation to end in this conclusion, but actually hearing him say those words makes your heart stop, hot tears stinging your eyes. You desperately hoped that the brothers, who you were starting to grow fond of, would also warm up to you. At least you assumed them starting to seek you out was proof of that, but you may have been blindsided; Solomon clearly had a more impartial view of your situation.

Now you were glad you heeded his earlier advice to not make any pacts with the brothers. His reasons were that it would be too risky, and hardly worth all the trouble. Solomon, with his many pacts, could confidently tell you that making pacts with demons was no easy task and that you could completely lose yourself in the process since the demon's feelings would affect you to an extent. Making one with an avatar would only make the effects worse.

"Why are you so insistent on making pacts with them, anyway? If it's leverage against them you're seeking, there's no need to worry. I'm confident I can provide something just as effective."

"You're always ready to mess with others, Solomon," you smile, despite the sorrow weighing you down, "I hope I'll never be on the receiving end of that."

"No, not you," he says, nonchalantly, "you're the only one who's safe."

"Not even Simeon and Luke?"

Solomon shrugs, "Only time will tell if they'll make an enemy of me. It's not that they wish to harm us, but they've got their own motives." You frown, "I can't imagine angels having ulterior motives." His lips quirk upwards, "You know how the demon brothers are loyal to Lord Diavolo? Similarly, the angels have their own loyalties, and I can't say for sure that your well-being is always their priority." "I guess...that makes sense," the realization does sting a little, "the brothers and Lord Diavolo will do anything to make sure I stay here and finish my year, so it's only expected that Simeon and Luke also want to make sure the exchange program is a success." "Don't be too disheartened," that teasing smile, typical of the sorcerer, had returned to Solomon's face again, instantly lightening the mood, "you know I'll always be by your side, right? We humans have to stick together in treacherous territories." You can't help the laugh that follows his dramatic statement, and you absentmindedly move down the couch to make space for him, instantly feeling relaxed when his familiar warmth filled your side. "Aren't you just so lucky to have me?"

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

might we see more yandere lilia... your way of writing him is so >>>>

You're too kind ♡ Thank you!

✧ CW: yandere character, manipulation, jealousy

✧ PAIRING: Lilia Vanrouge x GN! reader

Admittedly, Lilia thinks he may have been a little too soft on you

The realization only dawns upon him when he finds you in the hallway, after declining his offer to help you with some homework. He thought you did so because you were feeling unwell, or tired, but it was clearly not the reason. He notices, with a tinge of irritation, that you're holding your books, the polish on your little finger has chipped, and you're laughing, carefree and joyous, with one of your classmates. Bitterness fills his mouth when he realizes that you left him to spend time with someone else.

He doesn't let his irritation show, not even when he fluidly interjects your conversation to ask, his voice light, if you had gone to study with your friend.

"Yes," there's a faint giggle following your words, one that makes his eyes narrow, "He's been such a great help! I've never gotten so much done in a day."

Your callousness—your casual disregard for how he may feel hearing this—stings most. More than it does seeing another arm brush back your hair as you're leaving and your radiant smile directed to someone else when he's right there. More than the knowledge that he's been kicked to the curb so you could giggle away with someone else.

It appeared to him that you may have forgotten that Lilia was not always sweet and doting. You had gotten too used to your playful senior, unaware of the role he played many years ago in the Briar Valley. You had no clue that behind his gentle caresses were brutal strikes and behind his lively words, frightening commands.

But this could very well serve as a good opportunity for you to learn.

Lilia's initial plan was to target Malleus during Beanfest (all, of course, in good fun), but considering your recent show of ungratefulness, he decided to focus on you for a little while. He only wanted to scare you a little, just to shake you up and make you realize that Lilia could be frightening if he wanted to, and that you were extremely fortunate to be on the receiving side of his tender touch and not the cold point of his blade instead.

Honestly, he wanted to scare you just a little.

But seeing you sprawled below him, eyes wide and breathing shallow, heart pounding against your chest, your limbs unmoving and fear etched into every crevice of your figure, Lilia couldn't help but mess with you a little more. He leans in closer, letting you see the unfeeling hardness in his eyes and the menacing grin on his face, holding you still with an iron grip and digging his nails just enough to prick the skin of your cheek. The silence is deafening. He had planned well enough to lure you away from any crowds, leaving you even more terrified at the realization that there was nobody to help. Not that anyone in NRC was selfless enough to get in his way and sacrifice their lives for you.

"Caught you," his usual airy tone is completely gone, leaving behind something sinister and unsettling. He hears you exhale sharply, and watches as you begin to tremble as his hand squeezes you once more.

Then he pulled back with a light giggle, all previous signs of malice gone immediately and replaced by a mischievous grin.

"Oh? I didn't scare you too much, did I?"

Your lips part in an awkward, still-shaken laugh. Delight thrums in him as he observes how you still reach out to take his outstretched hand, despite how you're still reeling from the shock. There's still apprehension in the way you hesitate, and the heavy silence that follows, but Lilia wasn't bothered. He glances at your intertwined hands with a concealed smirk.

It was a lesson well learned.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

can i request for something with yandere alhaitham x reader? feel free to go ham with everything else!

✧ CW: yandere character, blackmail, manipulation

✧ PAIRING: Alhaitham x GN! reader

✧ quick context; reader met alhaitham when they came some time ago to 'fix' Katheryne after complaints were made (about when Nahida had control over her)

Alhaitham had been expecting your return.

However, you probably hadn't thought he would be waiting, seeing that you had yet to seek him out yourself. Why were you still so reserved about reaching out to him? He remembers how your enthusiastic conversation had faltered when he mentioned his official position during your initial meeting...did that have anything to do with your timidity?

There was no point in waiting around his office any longer. After all, if you weren't coming, then he'd have to seek you out himself. Fortunately, he knew exactly where you'd be, busy at work.

He calls your name with an ease that came from hours of saying it to himself, "back already?"

You pause, putting down your torch to turn and look at him, your warm smile greeting him so familiari, "I hope my quick return doesn't make you think any less of Snezhnayan technology, Alhaitham."

"On the contrary," the corners of his lips twitch as he looks down at your crouched form, "I find their quick service quite remarkable. So, is this just a routine check-up?"

You sigh, before telling him all about the new barrage of anonymous complaints that's been flooding the headquarters; all about how Katheryne, again, had started to leave her post unattended for hours and spoke oddly. Unfortunately, you had been reprimanded for not doing a thorough job when you were here merely a month ago.

Alhaitham almost felt a tinge of guilt, knowing that he was to blame for that. But it dissipates almost immediately when you address him again.

"Did you notice her acting strange at all?"

He shrugs off your question, instead opting to flip through the book you brought along with you. It just happened to be the one he recommended to you during your last trip to Sumeru, and a smile almost did break through his neutral expression. He thumbed the little colored tabs sticking out of the top, making a mental note to thoroughly examine your annotations sometime. He'd prefer if you come to show him yourself, though. For a moment, he looks up from the pages, his eyes flitting between you and the Katheryne you were examining.

"So? Is there anything wrong?"

"Everything's right where it's supposed to be, and it doesn't look like anything's wrong," as you speak, you let yourself get busy with the familiar process of inspecting the inner workings of the bionic lifeform. Alhaitham watches over you with the same, unreadable expression as before, "I'll still have to stay for about a week to observe her and ensure that she's really in good working condition, just like the last time."

A week, you said? Alhaitham runs through his own schedule mentally, before deciding that it just wouldn't do. He had to put his plan into motion, at once.

Alhaitham watches from a distance, coffee in hand, as you approach the pieced-apart Katheryne. Under the morning sun rays, you're quite the mesmerizing sight, despite your frazzled state. You shift through the scattered remains before slowly standing up, clearly puzzled. A small crowd had begun to look over at where you stood, amongst the inner parts of the bionic puppet, and Alhaitham contemplated joining them. At the very least, he'd be able to talk to you.

That's when he notices you making your way out of the crowd and towards the winding pathway that lead up to the Akademiya. With a small smile, he tosses a few coins on the table and briskly makes his way to your destination, delighted at the prospect of seeing you again. Exhilarated that you were finally coming to him first.

One week would have been far too short a stay, anyways. After your first trip here, he realized he had to take things into his own hands if he wanted things to go anywhere. Cute as you were, you didn't seem to take to him as well as he'd hoped. With Katheryne in this state, you'd have to remain here for much longer than you initially planned, with all the work it'd take to wait for your supplies, put her back together, write up a report...and all of this so far was merely to extend your stay and buy him some time. He has other plans to completely ensnare you in his trap, involving manipulated footage and a concerned letter to your cooperation. Lucky him, too, that he had a house spacious enough for you to stay in when you inevitably would come asking him for help.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

CW: Yandere character, manipulation, infantilization

PAIRING: Lilia x GN! reader

Out of all your seniors, you like Lilia the most.

When you tell him this while stretched out on the couch in Diasomnia's common room, Lilia chuckles in reply.

"I'm happy to hear that," he later added, "it brings me much joy to be of help to a cute underclassman like you~"

Lilia was never too much to handle. He always knew when a joke was going too far and when you weren't in the mood to talk. He eagerly helped you with your assignments, taught you spells you didn't know existed, told you stories from centuries ago, and apart from the many times he asked you to try out a new dish he made, he was one of your most treasured friends in NRC.

Initially, it caught you by surprise that the vice house warden of Diasomnia would take any interest in a regular student like you, but soon, you took to his friendship happily. You joined the music club because he advised you to, let him do your hair and nails, and gladly took a seat next to him whenever he waved you over. It never occurred to you that your kind, caring senior had other plans for you, not even when he started coddling you a little too much.

You still didn't question his motives, not when he starts insisting that you'd be better off being friends with Silver, or even Malleus and Sebek instead of whoever you're already close with. When he signs you up for the music club under the excuse that you'd be more comfortable there than the other clubs you were considering. When he ignores your suggestions and does your hair the way he likes it and your nails the color he likes it. When he promises to nurse you back to health from a cold that would have normally disappeared in a few days, but lingers for almost two weeks with Lilia's presence. When his stories distract you from getting any work done, making you run all the way back to him and ask for his help for the test you're got coming up. When you, unable to turn him down, eat the food he makes and suffer the oncoming stomach ache, with Lilia delightedly patting your back and bringing you water.

Out of all your seniors, you liked Lilia the most. Until you realize that there's something wrong with the way he treats you.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

Heizou likes giving you puzzles to solve.

You’ve tried your hand at a variety—moving wooden blocks and turning little cogwheels, twisting smooth knobs and piecing together pictures—but he always had something more innovative to show you. You enjoyed the challenge, even when it took hours to figure out the final move, and Heizou wasn’t one to jeer at you when you struggled.

You liked uncovering mechanisms and missing pieces, however, you didn’t quite like when his puzzles started resembling games; handcuffing to himself you and grinning as you contemplated how to escape, for example, or tasking you with hiding from him for a whole day. It was…strange, how his eyes lit up when you slumped down against him after exhausting yourself (though it was his fault for twisting your hands in a manner that made it extremely difficult to move), and how he laughed at your scowl after asking you if being stuck by his side was really that bad.)

It wasn’t easy when you had to compete against Heizou, either. He was competitive, cunning and at times almost cruel. You’ve wanted to complain about his tricks before, but he always reminds you that there are no rules—or at least, none that apply to him. You were never allowed advantages or hints.

With this puzzle, it’s clear he’s been planning for some time.

Perhaps it should have struck you as odd when he seemingly disappeared for few days, but Heizou was busy and secretive when it concerned his work. Still, when he offhandedly mentioned communicating with engineers from Fontaine for his next puzzle, and when he insisted that you should not participate in any events for the upcoming festival as you'd be occupied, you should have been suspicious. Foolishly, you had shrugged off any doubts and brushes off any ominous feelings.

Now you were tied up in an unfamiliar room, with Heizou acting as your jailer.

“It’s an escape room,” he smiles, bright and lively, “As you might have realized, you’ll have to escape from me.”

There’s no need for pretences anymore—the detective knows you will not clear this round.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

✧ CW: yandere character, stalking

You'd never have guessed that General Mahamatra Cyno was such an avid fan of Genius Invokation TCG.

It came as a huge shock when you, waiting for an opponent to duel with, heard the all-too-familiar voice addressing you.

"May I join you for a game?"

That day, Puspa Café was bustling with patrons, as per usual. Still, you had managed to find yourself a seat on a secluded table by the corner, where you could comfortably wait for someone to join you. Despite being somewhat new to the game, you had quickly grown to love Genius Invokation TCG, and were now a regular customer here.

You watch, with wide eyes, as Cyno stands by your table with an expectant look. Immediately shaken out of your trance, you nod and, with bated breath, stare at him again as he takes a seat across you.

"Excuse me," Cyno says, before surveying your cards, picking up one to look at the back. It doesn't seem to bother him that you've not given him a single response yet.

"General M—"

"Cyno the Adventurer," he smoothly interjects, closely inspecting your card back, "I hope that you won't let my position waver your interest in my duel, but if it helps, you can just think of me as someone else. So while I'm here, please refer to me as such. You had this commissioned in Liyue, yes?"

"Yes..." you're not sure how he knew, but maybe Cyno was familiar with the artist's works, "But, adventurer...?"

He nods, "and you are...a poet traveling to find inspiration."

"A poet," you echo weakly, confusion heavy in your voice, "yes..."

"Before we begin, I'd like to give you some tips. You'd be better off using an artifact card than this weapon card. Also, the synergy between these cards won't be as good as these, and..."

Was this just a characteristic of a professional player? You're not sure how he managed to identify your go-to cards and analyze your usual strategy so quickly, but it didn't appear too strange that someone like Cyno was so quick to identify the flaws in your gameplay.

The duel itself was undeniably exciting. Cyno had cards you hadn't seen yet, cards, he told you, that were exclusive to Mondstadt. Even his card back was done by a famous illustrator based in Mondstadt. You were almost envious of his cards. However, when Cyno unsurprisingly won, he only frowned. Your mind raced for explanations. Was he disappointed in your play? Did he think you were holding back in fear of upsetting him? It would be awful if he had a bad impression of you just from a card game, and though he didn't strike you as someone to hold such views, you couldn't help but be cautious.

"Another game?"

After a considerable amount of time had passed, and three more games had ended with varying results, Cyno was finally ready to retire.

He clears his throat, "next week," he declares, "I'll be here again. Will you be available for another game?"

You mentally ran through your schedule. Next week...you didn't have anything planned as of yet. Regardless, how were you going to turn down a personal invitation from the General Mahamatra himself?

"No," you tell him, "then, I'll see you...?"

Cyno hums, looking deep in thought.

"Next week, I'll be the ex-leader of an Eremite camp. A fugitive seeking to reform his old ways. And you can be..." he trails off, instead giving you a gentle command, "surprise me."

You don't know what to think of him, really. He was a lot more eccentric than you had heard, but for the most part, he was...harmless. Ultimately, like the other players in the café, Cyno was just here to have fun. While you mull over the possibilities on your way home, you fail to realize a card from your deck had gone missing. It was one of the weapon cards that Cyno himself had advised you against using, and at the time, you hadn't noticed anything, so overwhelmed as you were by his presence, but he had pocketed it for himself. It would soon find itself a new home inside Cyno's own case, not that you would ever know.

It was only a small token taken to commemorate your first official meeting. Next time, Cyno was hoping to get his hands on a much better prize.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

Hello! May I request yandere Adeuce duo who knows reader trust them the most among the other students and will believe everything they say.

Because why would they lie to you? They’ve been through life and death together with all of this overblot. So of course you trust them!

Adeuce manipulating reader into rejecting all of the dorm leaders after finding out their romantic feelings for the prefect.

They don’t want to lose their best friend. But hey! If you want to date so badly, you have two candidate right in front of you!

Thank you and have a great day!<3

I have a soft spot for Adeuce haha. Sticking to only Malleus instead of all the dorm leaders ♡

✧ CW: yandere characters, manipulation, jealousy

An awkward silence has been hanging over your head since bumping into Malleus earlier, with Ace and Deuce being uncharacteristically pensive. The two of them have been sharing unreadable looks, but haven't said a single word to you. You want to break the growing tension with a clumsy joke to snap them out of their thoughts or change the subject into something lighthearted, but deep down you really don't want to face their line of questions about Malleus.

But when the three of you finally find some space to yourself, the dam breaks and the questions come gushing out.

"You're seriously friends with that guy? Malleus Draconia, of all people?!"

You stare at the scuffed tip of your shoe, pretending like Ace's intense reaction hardly bothered you.

"Yes?" You lift your head, eyes flitting between Ace's prominent scowl and Deuce's startled gaze, "Why's that so surprising?"

"He's known for being pretty unapproachable, right?" Deuce awkwardly chimes in, "It's just strange that you managed to get close to him."

"I didn't really know who he was when we first met," you admit, and you have to force yourself not to shrink away under Ace's sharp glare, "and it doesn't change anything for me, anyway. He's a really nice person to be around, even if he does take some getting used to."

"How'd you even meet him? I don't think I've ever caught a glimpse of him around all this time," Ace asks, his voice a little calmer now, "do you see him often?"

"He was walking around Ramshackle one night, and we just started talking about magic and some other things. He didn't even tell me his name," you explain, "I really had no clue that it was him. Besides, he doesn't come by very regularly, maybe about once a month...? I'm not sure."

"So he loiters around Ramshackle at night, and didn't tell you his name at all, right? That just sounds really creepy," Ace says, suspicion clear in his tone, "And, I mean, if you two are friends, or close enough for him to be using all sorts of weird names for you, why didn't he ever try to help you out with the overblots anyway? He knew it was all happening, and he obviously heard you were involved, and it's clearly in his ability to help you, so..."

"Ace," Deuce hisses, nudging him harshly, "we can't expect the upperclassmen to meddle in things that aren’t their responsibilities."

Ace rolls his eyes, "I'm just saying," he mutters, "it's not like it was any of our issues to deal with either. We did everything we could, right? It wouldn't be so difficult for him to make sure we didn't go through hell and back tryin' to defeat all those crazy guys. Honestly, with how things are going, I won't be surprised if the guy's next to overblot."

Deuce opens his mouth to protest, but your sigh stops him, "I don't think he cares all that much.”

Ace freezes for a moment, the frown slipping off his face as his eyes dart towards Deuce. But just as quickly as he's caught off guard, he quickly regains his composure, looking at you with just a hint of sympathy, "well, that figures. You can't expect all those arrogant—" Deuce's protests go unheard "—seniors to actually want to be around us. They all probably think they're too good for us, 'cause we aren't as powerful."

You like Malleus, but you know better than to expect his help in any of the troubles you face in NRC. Maybe he would help, if you pleaded with him, but the likeliness of that is so close to non-existent that you’d rather not ask at all. You would rather keep your friendship how it’s always been, pretending to be unaware of the other’s troubles outside of the current conversation, never delving too deep with the questions. You’ve always known that it's a possibility Malleus was only coming to see you out of boredom, and not because of genuine interest, but hearing your innermost doubts be declared so boldly as an obvious fact makes your heart shatter. Deuce catches onto your crestfallen expression first, always far too observant, and places a tentative hand on your arm.

"It's alright," you've always liked the way Deuce says your name, in a low, soft voice. It sounds like he's gentle with the letters, stringing them together in a deliberate manner that fits you. You've also noticed, internally filled with pride, that it's only your name he says with such care, "I'm sure he cares about you too..."

He meets Ace's sharp glare and stumbles over his next words, sounding more and more unsure by the end of it, "...even if his...way of showing it is a little…unusual. He’s probably just got a strange idea of how friends are."

"Friends?" Ace scoffs, "he's treating them like a pet. Did you even see how he looked at them? All amused like he didn't expect to see them still doing alright. He probably thought it was funny that they hadn't figured out who he was!"

A pet. What a miserable label, but how fitting. Suddenly the insightful discussions and meaningful moments feel painfully one-sided. He must have thought your wonder and awe to be cute, in an awfully condescending way. And perhaps the thing that hurts the most is knowing that despite how much you look forward to seeing him and how much you think of him, soon, you would only be a small moment from his past, likely forgotten.

“I can’t believe I fell for him, too,” you groan, unaware of how Ace and Deuce immediately go still, “I feel so stupid.”

“You like him?!” Ace’s head whips back to stare at your crouched figure with wide eyes, “like…that?”

A hesitant nod is the only answer you can spare.

“But you barely knew anything about him! How—”

“Are you sure?” At your bewildered look, Deuce scrambles to elaborate, “I thought I—we—would be able to tell when you liked someone, since we’ve been around you for so long. But there was nothing to give it away.”

“I’m sure,” you sigh, but when you think of telling them how Malleus makes you forget all the things you wanted to say or how you find yourself thinking of him all the time, you decide it’s too embarrassing to say out loud, “listen, it’s not something I can explain. But I really do like him—or did, I guess.”

“Huh,” Ace slumps down beside you, “never would’a thought you’d have such terrible taste. I mean, seriously? He’s boring and a total creep.” He manages to dodge your incoming elbow jab just in time, “What? It’s the truth!”

“It’s not your fault that he turned out to be a jerk,” Deuce consoles you, “don’t worry about it. You can’t help how you feel.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you grumble, “I’ll get over it, eventually.”

“You will,” You can’t help the smile that appears on your face after seeing Deuce’s reassuring one, “we’ll make sure of it.”

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[wishluc]

hello miss asa! i was hoping you would consider my request: lilia taking care of a sick darling? i'm feeling very under the weather right now, and i'm just aching for lila to nurse me back to health <3 (i adore how you write him, so delightfully evil <3)

Awe anon :( wishing for your speedy recovery!

✧ CW: yandere character,

"Oh my," Lilia's cold hand brushes away some hair that had fallen over your forehead, "you're burning up," The way he says your name, oddly apathetic despite your state and the slight twitch of his lips makes you frown and sink down further into your bed.

Maybe he should try harder to appear concerned—not that he wasn't; there was genuine worry laced in his words—but the bitter taste of betrayal is still fresh in his mouth, and the displeasure that shuddered through him when he found you standing painfully close to your friend hasn't left him completely. Besides, he glances over to your figure, collapsed onto your sheets, you're clearly not in any state to be thinking too deeply about the off-putting smile and the hardness in his gaze.

Your reply is an incomprehensible garble, but by the tone of your voice, Lilia can already tell that you were protesting his aid, insisting he go back to his dorm. It was just like you to do that, even though it was clear from the tissues littering the floor and the circles under your eyes that you were hardly able to get by without him. Besides, your condition wouldn't ease up for a few more days, and this would serve as the perfect opportunity to spend some time together—something he wasn't able to do with you for a while already.

"Now, now," his airy laugh fills the room, and his hand goes to gently pinch at your cheek, "how could I leave you alone in this state? You forget that I've done this countless times before. I promise it's no bother."

He smiles at you again, light and easy, reminding you that despite the cracks in his exterior, he was still your ever-caring senior. His fingers caress your sweltering cheek before he makes his way around your room, cleaning up as he goes. Lilia talks to you, ignoring your dazed state, about his meeting with the music club, and how SIlver had fallen asleep mid-potion again. He doesn't mention Jamil, whose cooking you were complimenting the other day, jealousy still coiled around his heart. He rapidly flits around your room, flipping through your books and papers, staring uncomfortably long at the tart Trey had left you earlier before swiftly tossing it into the bin with all your other trash—even if you wanted to eat it, you couldn't have protested in your current state—and picked up your haphazardly thrown coat with a soft chuckle. Even your messes were endearing.

"I don't know how this happened" you mutter, cradling a cup of water in your hands, "I just woke up sick."

"Humans are so sickly," Lilia sighs, "Silver fell ill quite often too. But something about your demeanor tells me there's more to it than a simple illness. Almost like..."

He waits for you to take the bait, though he's tempted to just lean over and caress your cheek and whisper in your ear about how it had been quite some time since he last used this curse and how he carefully ensured that it shouldn't drain you off all your energy and leave you a corpse, but you wouldn't take well to that, even in your current state. Instead, he stays exactly where he is.

"What else...?"

Red eyes stare at you, void of any emotion. Lilia's mouth is set in a stern line, not allowing for an inch of familiarity, and slowly, he cocks his head to the side, his gaze narrowing and eyes gleaming. Your face looks almost as delightful as it did when he had you trapped during Beanfest, taking in shallow breaths and watching him warily. How cute; you were so utterly, helpless.

"It must be a curse," Lilia finally declares, pulling away so quickly that it shocks you, "there's no other explanation for your awful state. I wonder who you've upset so to get such a nasty little thing latched onto you..."

"A curse?"

"Mmm," he shakes his head, feigning concern, "I do believe it was that Pomefiore student you were studying with. They're quite good with their curses, aren't they?"

He expects to hear some words of defense, but to his surprise, you're uncharacteristically silent. He wonders if his earlier ministrations scared you after all.

You don't meet his eyes, "Can you remove it?"

Lilia takes a moment to really look at you; weariness set in so deep that you look depleted of any life, voice listless and distant and eyes drawn to the ground. At this rate, you'd hardly be able to get up and get yourself some water.

"Removing it is a simple matter," Lilia reassures you, "but you probably won't be able to take the stress of it. I think you should rest for a little while first. Don't worry," a small spell to put you to sleep is on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said, but his soft smile gives nothing away, "I'll be right here when you wake up."

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)