#sub ajax

[livelaughlovesubs]

Hi hii for the prompt event can i request dressing childe/tartaglia in degrading outfit? 🙏🙏 take ur time and thankss ^^

Hiiii it’s been so long since I last saw Childes name in my inbox, hope this is to your liking :>

Dom!reader x sub!childe

Warning: feminisation, teasing, cross-dressing

Anniversary event

“Is.. this really my size?” His awkward laugh echoed from the changing rooms, alongside the flicker of the shoji screen. You reassured him by yelling back, “I’m sure of it, it’s supposed to be a little tight. Are you done? Then come out.” One look and anyone could tell you were getting impatient, tapping your finger on your knee, gaze wandering around the establishment to look for anything interesting.

Despite your clear orders, he still hesitated, this time his hand emerged from behind the rood divider. “Are we alone?” The ginger asked, still mysteriously hiding himself, an act that was very uncharacteristic for him. “Yes, we are still alone, just like ten minutes ago.” You groaned, rolling your eyes at his behaviour. “Haha… right.” Tartaglia answered meekly, running out of excuses to use. The atmosphere was so dry, and so uncomfortable.

This time he really shot himself in the knees. He challenged you to a bet, and instead of you meticulously analysing your chances, you immediately agreed. That should have been enough of a sign, you’d never take on a gamble so quickly except it isn’t one. As things have been planned from the beginning, he lost, and had to obey to whatever conditions you set for him. Great, absolutely fantastic.

But why did your request have to hurt his pride like that? He could barely stand straight without shaking with his knees, and now you want him to expose himself to you? Bloody hell, you were so cruel he could feel himself falling for you all over again.

“Ajax, you really are testing my patience. If you don’t come out now, I’ll-” suddenly he moved the paper wall to the side and walked over to you, sighing defeated, “alright alright, I’m here okay?” Your expression changed for a split second, something like shock grazed your features, before you composed yourself again. He tried to stand normal and unbothered while your eyes scanned over his body, tracing every outline and shadow, devouring every inch of his body.

He felt like a prey being toyed with by the predator, you were making him squirm with that intense stare. That’s why you avoided eye contact, jumped from one foot to the other, and kept doing god-knows-what with his hands. At some point you were fed up and said, “hold still, are you a dancing monkey or what?” Childe could only response with another forced laugh.

As for why you were eyeing him up and down so much, well, simply put, he was wearing woman’s clothing. A qipao in a pretty dark red colour, the shade kind of reminded you of blood. Since the dress was cut to fit the build of a woman, it looked clumsy around his fairly muscular body. And even though it looked out of place, you still thought it was quite attractive. Unlike his usual fashion, the dress showed off his curves and exposed his bare legs, what seems to add to his embarrassment.

“Looks good.” You gave him a short, almost forced compliment. It wasn’t a lie, just you had way more to say than a simple ‘looks good’. “Wow, thanks I guess.” Tartaglia groaned, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Seeing what little effect your praise had, you decided to try again, “I mean it, you look good as a girl, as my woman.” Out of nowhere his body twitched and tensed up, he didn’t answer you verbally but with his body language. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging like crazy.

“Are you done gawking?” The male eventually asked, his face and shoulders got painted bright pink. His eyes told you the truth, that he was humiliated, ashamed and yet also excited. “What’s with the rush, can’t wait to show your new look off to the other people?” You teased, and your words immediately got his attention, making his brain ratter, “what do you mean by that?” A smirk plastered your lips, you chuckled amused as you explained, “we are going to have a nice little date night today, and you aren’t going to change until I’m done with you.”

The way the colours left his face, letting him become as pale of a ghost was pretty amazing. He was trying so hard to accept his current situation, his legs were shaking again. “Come on, I already paid for the dress. So let’s put it to good use.” You encouraged him, holding his normal wear in your arms, now he couldn’t even run anymore. It seems there was no way around the straight up shameful act he was going to commit, and as if to add salt to the wound, he felt himself getting hard beneath the skin tight dress~ ♥︎

You walked ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you. All he could do was obey your commands with a sheepish smile, quickly rushing to your side while letting you show him off like your own little pet.

[ma9ical5tar]

childe who challenges archon!reader knowing he'll lose but loves when you hurt him.

he draws his lip in between his teeth, trying to surpress the whimper that almost slips out as you punch him in the gut.

he doubles over clutching his stomach, you think you've hurt him too much but it's the exact opposite. he's biting his lip so hard it draws blood from how fucking elated he feels.

"tartaglia, are you alright? I knew I should've held back a bit," you mutter, walling over to the man dropping your weapon with a clash onto the domain floor. you and childes sparring sessions increased by the week from 2 days to everyday. of course it was no problem for you, you were an archon, and he is a meer mortal, one stained by the abyss, yet still a human.

"childe are you-?" he interrupts you by going back into his battle stance. "again, [name]," he grunts looking at you with eyes glazed with an animalistic lust. an unfulfilled desire tainting his soul. blood and sweat dribbled from his chin to the ground below with a soft plip "what? no, youre–"

"what? you scared?" he clicked his tongue, smirk making his smile lines more prominent. "typical, I guess the years really must've done a number on you, huh?" he taunts. your blood boils, you could take a playful banter but blaintant disrespect, no.

before you could even process your movements, you slap him straight across the face with some of your element infused causing him to fall to the ground. snapping back to reality you see him on the floor, clutching his cheek with one hand and the other over his cock.

"tartaglia, why would you rile me up like that?" you question bending down to lift his chin to inspect the damage. the area you hit already has a bruised forming and here he is, staring at you as if you've just hung the stars and the moon. he puts his hand on you face and leans his forehead against yours, eyes glinted with need, staring directly into your confused ones.

"o–once more."

listen to never young beach for a main character summer🙏🏽

[angelsrcute]

⌗ THEM FUCKING THEIR DARLING AT A MOVIE THEATER. 𐙚˙⋆.˚

(´∀｀*)ε｀　) ౨ৎ N–sfw content !! ; Dom!Alhaitham, Ayato, Tartaglia + Sub!F!Reader ➜ cws: Exhibitionism (Movie theatre), fingering(Tartaglia + Alhaitham), riding(Ayato), clit stimulation, raw + unprotected sex, almost getting caught, praising, dirty talk(Tartaglia). ᡴꪫ‎

꒰ † ੭ — For the event! + I'm sorry this took so long!! but I hope you'll like it.（×_×；） req by @vieannee

⌗ ALHAITHAM would shove his fingers in your cunt, your face all red with embarrassment as you try to bite back moans. Well, he really isn't a fan of romance movies, it's just not his cup of tea but he'd do anything for his darling. While watching the movie, he didn't expect a sex scene but he suddenly got turned on by the noises. So now he's here, a hand on your mouth so that the others can't hear his sweet little lover. He's definitely enjoying this too! Two of his fingers stretching your cunt out while his other hand rubs slow circles on your puffy clit, I mean, if someone really paid any attention, they'd hear the sinful noises coming from the back. Guess they're really enjoying the movie, huh?

“C’mon now, you wouldn't want others to know what we're doing here, do you? I'll fuck you properly when we get back home, so be a good girl for now.”

⌗ AYATO would book a whole ass theatre for you, having you sit on his lap while he plays with your hair, the sex scene in the movie caught him off guard, he got a boner too! Well, no one is here anyway, you riding him wouldn't hurt anyone, the sound of skin slapping filling up the room along with your mewls. His hands guiding your body up and down, groaning at how good your cunt feels, praising you. The guard coming inside the theatre and asking if everything's alright made him stop his movements, hands covering your mouth as he acts normal. His voice so calm, like he wasn't just fucking you.

“Ah yes, do not mind us, everything's fine, my lover feels a bit under the weather, I'm taking care of her, you see.”

⌗ TARTAGLIA would just tease you throughout the movie, commenting on how cute you look while blushing during some romantic scenes. He didn't know this movie had a sex scene! Well now he's blushing as his eyes flicker to you. Gloved hands covering your mouth to cover your noises as he scissors your cunt open with his fingers, hitting your sweet spot that made your eyes roll back. Whispering dirty words to your ear.

“Hey is it me or the sounds are too loud, like it's happening in this room” “Dunno man, I don't hear anything, you're thinking too much.”

Poor dudes, they didn't know there was a live show going on behind them, only if they turned their heads!

Taglist: @blueberrisdove

[l1tw1ck]

Till Debt Do You Part

Bottom!FTM Ajax x Top!FTM!Harbinger Reader

+ FTM voyeur Pantalone

🌊 Word Count: 1,709 🌊

Ajax pays off his debt to Pantalone by giving you his body

AFAB Language Used | Reader (He/Him) has bottom + top surgery

CW: Non-Con/Coercion, Size Difference, Voyeurism, Virginity Loss, Oral Sex, Cum Swallowing, Masochism, Asphyxiation, Belly Bulge, Creampie

Pantalone purposefully omitted the fact that Ajax will have to pay Pantalone in return for the money he borrows from him. He's so naïve that he didn't even think to ask. Now, Ajax has finally racked up enough debt to allow Pantalone's repayment plan to go into effect.

The poor harbinger steps into Pantalone's room, completely unaware of what's about to happen.

"Tartaglia, you haven't been paying me back lately." Pantalone says, leaning against his desk. "Do you know how much you owe?"

"Pay you back? You- you didn't say I had to.."

"Is it not a given that you must return what you borrow from someone?" Pantalone tilts his head.

"I'm sorry...I didn't know."

Pantalone chuckles and brushes the hair out of Ajax’s face. "It's okay, you can pay it back with your body."

"My body? Like fighting?" Ajax perks up, happy to hear that he might be fighting even more.

"No, I mean intercourse." Pantalone smirks.

Ajax frowns. "But I've never...Is this my only option?"

Pantalone wants nothing more than to see Ajax become ruined.

"Yes."

"..Fine." He sighs. "Are you going to have me do it with the soldiers..?"

"Of course not, you're too precious. And what would I gain from that? My trusty colleague will be the one to have you." Pantalone smiles. "I owe [Name] a great debt, funnily enough.” He originally wanted to use Ajax himself but once you came back to Snezhnaya and met him, you got Pantalone to pay off the debt he owes you by giving you Ajax’s body.

Tartaglia should feel relieved but he doesn't. You're scary, and by his standards that really means something, and around the same size as Pierro and Capitano. For you to be his first time…

"[Name] bought you something special." Pantalone says, turning around to open his desk drawer. He takes out a human sized collar. "Isn't it cute? It suits you." He walks behind Ajax and puts the collar on for him. It feels strangely intimate.

"I…I guess..” He touches the name tag. It’s fitting, everyone calls him the loyal but rabid dog of Snezhnaya.

Pantalone places his hands on Ajax’s shoulders and leans into his ear. “He’s waiting for you in his room. Make sure to be a good boy.”

Pantalone enters the room with Ajax in front of him him. He looks like a cold puppy. You chuckle. “I was right. The collar does look good on you.” You walk towards him. “We haven't had many opportunities to interact, have we?” You rub his cheek with your thumb.

“N- no, sir..”

“He's a virgin, you know.” Pantalone smiles.

“Is that so?” You turn around and sit down on your bed. “You wouldn't mind helping him learn the ropes, would you?” You begin freeing your cock.

“It’d be my pleasure.” Pantalone makes Ajax walk towards you. “C’mon, kneel.” He kneels in between your legs, Pantalone kneeling next to him. He guides Ajax’s hand to your length. He’s in shock by your size. He glances at your chest as you remove your shirt, then at your arm. Custom made. It definitely suits your build, despite its outrageous size.

“Now, lick it.”

Ajax frowns and nervously darts his tongue out, licking your length. It doesn't feel or taste as bad as he thought. He glances up at you for a moment before looking back at your cock.

"Try to put it in your mouth." Pantalone gently touches Ajax’s body.

Tartaglia gulps and opens his mouth, trying to take it all in at once. It reminds you and Pantalone of a certain pink video game character. He gags when your dick hits the back of his throat.

"Just start with the tip, puppy." You chuckle softly. He gets more red and does as he says, wrapping his lips around the head of your cock.

"Pretend it's a...popsicle." Pantalone brushes Ajax’s hair from his face. He starts bobbing his head up and down while looking at Pantalone for approval.

"This is how you eat popsicles?" You groan in pleasure, gently wrapping your hand around the back of Ajax’s head. "How cute." You run your hands through his ginger hair, admiring his charm.

“Isn’t he?” Pantalone carefully snips off Ajax’s shirt. “Don't worry, you won't have to pay me back for your clothes.” He says, knowing exactly what the ginger is thinking. He starts to grope the rookie’s breasts with his elegant fingers. “You're surprisingly soft.” He hums.

He’s extremely embarrassed but he keeps going. Once he starts something, he's determined to see it through. Even if it's something like this.

“You're making me impatient with those words, Pantalone.”

Pantalone giggles softly as he unbuttons the ginger’s pants, then reaches over to slide his hand inside. “Every meal deserves to be savored.” Ajax’s t-dick gets a cold hug from Pantalone’s slender fingers.

Ajax moans and stops.

Pantalone uses his other hand to spank Ajax. “Nobody told you to stop, sweetheart.”

Ajax does his best to keep going despite how sensitive his body is. “Mmh!” His eyelashes flutter beautifully.

“There you go.” Pantalone purrs, sliding his digits into the ginger’s entrance. “Good boy, all nice and wet for your master.”

Ajax’s ears redden. He looks up at you and the redness travels to his cheeks, a shudder down his spine from how turned on you look. You look, and feel, so aroused and the fact that it's his fault is causing so much internal conflict. It's not bad if he likes this, right? You want him to feel good too, don't you? He adjusts his pace, filled with motivation to please you.

Your groans of pleasure are starting to become music to his freckled ears. You grab a fistful of his hair and keep him still. Ajax’s confusion disappears once he feels your seed filling his mouth. He closes his eyes and swallows it all up. As your hand drags him back, his tongue gives your tip one final lick, a string of cum dripping onto his chest.

“Is that it?” He asks.

“Of course not. Do you know how much you owe?” Pantalone chuckles and helps Ajax stand up. “You’ll be doing this for a very long time, rookie.”

“That's right.” You wrap your arms around Ajax’s torso and pull him onto your lap. “A couple years at least.” Your mouth latches onto one of his nipples.

Ajax throws his head back and moans. A couple years of this sounds like a good deal. Your hands travel around his body, feeling up every inch of him, before landing on his ass. You gently grope him.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Pantalone asks, groping the ginger’s unattended breast. Ajax nods. “Say it.”

“I like– I like it~” He shivers as your cock comes back to life and happily leaks pre cum onto his stomach. You pull away, now he can really see your cock again. He stares at it with hearts in his eyes.

“See that, rookie? That's how deep he’ll be inside you.” Pantalone makes a line with his finger over the tip of your cock. “He's gonna fill you up, right to the brim.”

Ajax moans. You get up, holding him up as you do, and lay him down on the bed. You remove the rest of his clothing as Pantalone sits next to him on the bed.

The banker gently runs his fingers through Ajax’s hair, comforting him as you take his virginity.

“Mm-” He grips the bedsheets. Pantalone licks his lips, watching a bulge appear in Ajax’s stomach. Ajax slightly arches his back. “Big–”

“It hurts?” Pantalone asks. It's obvious from his tone of voice that it turns him on rather than worries him. “Don't worry, rookie..” He kisses Ajax’s forehead, his hand trailing down to grope his tits.

Ajax moans.

“I think he likes that it hurts, Regrator.” You notice a subtle change in the ginger’s expression.

“Is that true, cutie?” Pantalone coos.

“Mhm~” He mewls at the feeling of his nipple getting pinched.

“How about this?” Pantalone squeezes Ajax’s neck, the tag on his collar resting on top of his fingers. His eyes roll to the back of his head.

“I think you should suffocate him with something else.” You wink at the regrator.

“Yeah? What do you think, rookie? You want me to sit on your face?”

Ajax shivers and softly nods. Pantalone smiles and starts removing his clothes. Ajax stares at his superior with curiosity. He's never really thought about it, but looking at him now, Pantalone is definitely his type. Ajax scans his body as the older man adjusts his position, from his hardened pink nipples to the scars beneath his chest and to the trimmed black hair hiding his undoubtedly beautiful pussy. Ajax’s gaze remains fixed on him as he opens his mouth, more than happy to be suffocated by it.

Once you stop moving, Ajax can tell you're completely inside. It still hurts but he doesn't want to wait until it stops. You're on the same page as him and start fucking him.

Pantalone slowly grinds on Ajax’s face, twitching with pleasure from the vibrations of Ajax’s moans. The bed creaks as your thrusts become rougher. You praise him as your hand trails over to his t-dick, making sure he knows how much you appreciate his soft, wet pussy. His body shakes violently as he squirts.

Pantalone feels his own orgasm approaching as he watches Ajax’s eyes roll to the back of his head. He doesn't stop licking the older man’s cunt even as he starts to become overwhelmed and lightheaded. He didn't think sex could feel this good.

“Yes~ like that, Ajax~” Pantalone lets out an airy moan. He slides his fingers through his ginger curls. “Good boy…taking us so well..”

“We should've hired you for this instead of combat. You won't mind if I take him on a ‘vacation’ from work, would you, Regrator?”

“As long as you let me join from time to time.” He puts all his weight on Ajax’s face as he squirts, his slick sliding down his face.

“Of course.” Your orgasm quickly follows Pantalone’s, your seed pumping him full. You watch Pantalone get up and look to see if Ajax is still conscious.

“So good..” He mumbles before passing out with a smile on his face.

[kissenturine]

𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 tartaglia x m!reader — 3.8k words, not proofread, minors do not interact

TO NOTE: amab reader, reader is a dom at first then switches halfway through, reader is mentioned to be wearing lingerie, light feminization (childe says pussy once), use of good boy amongst other pet names, light degradation, praise (for both reader and childe), childe sucks reader's dick, childe also eats reader's ass, cockwarming (childe can't take it LMAO), no aftercare written but it is given, childe licks ur fingers to clean them, mating press, dirty talk. lmk if i missed any!

KAI SAYS: almost 4k words of pure smut haha but like omg i wrote this so late at night with my tip so pls spare me AND!!! this is my return post so...

Tartaglia knows you’re doing it on purpose now, because how can you not be? He whimpers, his cheeks flushing a rosy pink as he feels you clench around him. “Baby, please.” He whines out, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I-I can’t—baby, it’s been thirty minutes.” Thirty minutes he’d been buried to the hilt in you; his dick hard and twitching as it stuffes you full.

Tartaglia whines. He could faintly hear the sound of you taking a deep breath, but that’s not what he was focusing on. No, he was focusing more on the way you squeeze him as you inhale. It was on purpose, he knew you couldn’t just be faking this.

With a deep breath, doing his best to steel his nerves, Tartaglia pressed his thumbs into the joysticks of his console again. “I…” He murmurs softly into the skin of your neck. “I don’ think I can beat this level.”

“No.” You coo in that sickeningly sweet voice of yours. “You can.”

Tartaglia nods his head, your encouragement helping lift his mood somewhat. But, true to his word, he dies yet again. Tartaglia lets out a pathetic whine when he’s greeted with the ‘You Died!’ Screen for the nth time tonight. This bet was made specifically with his torture in mind. You knew he would never beat this level, so to “motivate” him, as you put it, you would sit nice and still on his sensitive cock until he beat it.

“Can’t you move just a little, please.” Tartaglia begs, his dignity long gone. You’re evil for this, he thinks, but all of that is lost when you shift your hips slightly, his mind going blank at just the smallest friction.

He feels his tip bump your prostate, and Tartaglia knows he’s hit it when you moan out, your mouth right by his ear as his fingers press harshly against the buttons of his game console. “P-please!” He whines again. “I-I need you t’move, just a little, just a little, please.”

“Maybe, if you last another thirty minutes, I’ll consider it.” You hum, and Archons Tartaglia thinks he's losing his mind with the way your breath trickles over his ear. “But, if you make it through the level…” Your voice trails off, but Tartaglia knows what you meant.

If he makes it through the level, Tartaglia could finally fuck you. Push you against the bed, wipe that stupid smirk off your face, maybe make you sit on his face until you cry. The options, at least to him, are endless.

You trail your hand over the neck of his shirt, and Tartaglia’s eyes dart from the screen to you. You, all dressed up in your white lace panties and thigh highs, with your chest arched against his chest and here he was, still fully clothed.

Well, only thanks to you.

You, like the cruel man you are, wouldn’t let Tartaglia strip. You’d forced him to watch as you changed, stripping off your pyjamas and slipping on the lace lingerie while he sat there, half sure he was drooling. And then you’d gone and pressed him to the edge of the bed, forcing him to sit as you pulled out his leaking dick, not even bothering to pull his sweats all the way down. Then you sat your pretty hole on his dick, and Tartaglia couldn’t pull his eyes away from the way your ass practically swallowed him whole.

And then, began this whole ordeal of pure torture.

You’re sat on his lap, facing Tartaglia as his arms wrap around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder as he looks over your body and behind you to the console gripped tightly in his hands.

Tartaglia’s eyes dart to you, and they widen as he watches you shift on his dick, your tip forcing its way over the hem of your panties, now drooling pre all over his shirt. Tartaglia squeezes his eyes shut. You press a kiss right under his ear and Tartaglia twitches inside you. You let out a lewd moan and he doesn’t think he can take it anymore.

Not another thirty minutes, or another five.

Tartaglia’s hands shake, and he’s forced to watch his in-game character die again. “Fuck…” He whispers, trying not to roll his hips into your heat. “I… You’re torturing me. Can’t take this.” He whines.

You shake your head. “C’mon, baby.” You coo, using the nickname Tartaglia always uses for you. It sounds almost mocking the way it slips from your pretty lips, but he doesn’t dwell on it. “You might wanna hurry up, or I’ll have to pull out my old dildo to help me…”

No! Tartaglia thinks, and he voices such thoughts with the aggressive shake of his head against you. I can do better than a stupid dildo!

“P-Please don’t.” he says weakly. “I’m trying, I’m trying.” Tartaglia starts to concentrate on his console once again, doing his best to ignore the squeeze of your ass and the warmth of your walls.

Your tip drools pre across his shirt, twitching gently against the fabric. Tartaglia’s mouth waters. He wants to taste you, wants to bury his face between your thighs and lick every drop up. It’s an indulgence he wants to become reality more than anything.

“Can I at least touch you, please?" he asks desperately, gaze not leaving your tip. Tartaglia wants to be closer to you, to have a hand on your soft skin, to play with your dick that was so close to the cumming. He’s ready to do anything in order to make you cum, to feel you pulse around his dick. He’s losing his mind, and the game was the least of his worries. Tartaglia wants you.

"Touch me before you finish the level, and there'll be consequences." You hum. "And trust me, if you think this is bad, just wait until you see what I have in mind." you press your lips gently against Tartaglia’s neck, trailing from his adam's apple to that sweet spot right under his ear. "I'm sure you'd deprive some sick form of enjoyment from that, though."

Tartaglia whimpers at the threat. He doesn’t know what would be worse: the current situation or the punishment you offer. Sick form of enjoyment… His mind echoes. He would most likely enjoy anything you gave him right now.

And like an answer to his prayers, you shift on his dick again. Tartaglia watches as your tip pokes above the fabric of your lace panties, even higher than before. The used-to-be white was now a dark grey with the way your pre had stained and wet through the fabric. Your panties were completely soaked through, the bulge from your dick covered in pre from your leaking tip, poking just above the hem.

Slowly, you tug your dick out of the panties, making sure to slather your fingers in your precum before pressing them against Tartaglia’s lips. "Clean them up." You whisper, and the sound of your voice almost makes him melt.

The instant your fingers press against his lips, Tartaglia is eagerly licking them into his mouth, his tongue swirling your digits around and coating them in his spit. He didn’t hesitate to continue sucking on your fingers, despite knowing they were already clean enough.

“Such an eager boy,” You murmur as you yank your fingers from Tartaglia's lips. There’s a string of drool that connects your hand to his pouty lips as he gives you another pleading look.

“Will you let me touch you now?” He begs, “Please, I’ve been so good for you!” Tartaglia licks his lips, savouring the faint taste of you. He wants more, he wants to grab you by the waist and bury his face between your thighs and suck you off until you’re nothing but a mess inside his mouth.

You bring your fingers back down to your dick, swiping them over your tip and harshly pressing them against Tartaglia’s mouth. “Suck.” You command in a harsh voice, completely ignoring his previous question.

Tartaglia’s lips go back around your fingers again. He doesn’t need to be told twice when you’re the one telling him. He easterly laps at your fingers, ignoring the drool that threatens to spill from the corner of his lips. You press your fingers down against his tongue and he chokes lightly, lifting his blue eyes to meet yours,

When you finally pull your fingers out of his mouth, Tartaglia buries his head into your neck about to ask to touch you again—only for you to beat him to it. “You get two minutes to touch me, but you can only use your hands.” You start. “And, we have to stay in this position. No pulling out or thrusting." You press a kiss against Tartaglia’s lips. "Think of it as... encouragement to finish the level faster."

Tartaglia nods happily at your words, pulling off your neck to get a better view of you. “Thank you—thank you, baby, needed this.” He slurs as his eyes rake down your exposed body before honing in on your sensitive cock. He wishes you’d let him lick that instead of your fingers, but you were clear on your rules for the two minutes.

Tartaglia has two minutes, a whole two minutes to make you feel good. There’s no way he’s let them go to waste.

He wastes no time when the game is finally paused. Tartaglia cups your balls gently, feeling the weight of them in his palm. He massages them slowly, his thumb rubbing up and down the underside of your dick, feeling the warmth and the leaking pre that slipps down your shaft. Tartaglia knows nothing can make you cum in this position, but he can make you squirm, he can tease you.

His other hand wanders up, his fingers ghosting over your skin, drawing circles around your nipples before pinching them gently. He wants to hear you moan, to see you writhe. Tartaglia needs to know he was pleasing you. He gazes at your face, waiting to see a reaction, anything to show that he’s making you feel good.

Your eyes roll back and your dick twitches hard against Tartaglia’s hand. “T-Tartaglia…!” You moan out, your back arching into his chest. Tartaglia’s fingers pull gently at you nipples, tweaking and twisting the nubs between his thumb and pointer finger. Your eyes roll back and Tartaglia whines at the sight, sliding his thumb faster up and down your dick, rolling it over your tip before sliding it against your slit.

He feels your hole clench around his dick, and Tartaglia has to squeeze his eyes shut in concentration to stop himself from bucking into you. He’s about to roll his hand again when it’s suddenly pushed away from your leaking dick. You yank his hands off your nipples too, panting as you do. “Two minutes have passed.” You mumble.

Tartaglia knows you were close from the way you sounded to the way you jerked your hips into his hand. “I’m sorry.” He whines, sounding like he’s carrying the weight of the world in his heart.

With a deep breath, Tartaglia focuses back on the game again, he hopes that this time he’ll finally beat the level. He’s determined, he wants to make you cum, to please you. He needs to win.

You slump against his shoulder, clearly needy. Tartaglia sucks in a breath. You were so close. He thinks. His focus turns back to the game, moving the joystick and pressing the rounded buttons as skillfully as he can manage with you taking his cock to the hilt,

Tartaglia feels you lean forward, your hands dipping under the hem of his shirt. “I wanna see you…” You whine and his face flushes. Tartaglia doesn’t have time to respond before the game console is slipping from his hands and you’re tugging his shirt off his figure.

Another eternity passes as Tartaglia picks up the console once again, doing his best to beat the level. He closes his eyes—just about to give up when the victory music blasts throughout the bedroom. “Finally—fuck, fuck, baby.” Tartaglia groans, tossing the console and pouncing on you.

His lips press against yours, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth. Tartaglia is kissing you harshly, his lips flush against yours as your tongue gently swirls with his.

He pulls away after a minute, both of your faces flushed and panting. “I-I’m sorry it took me so long.” Tartaglia apologizes. He wants to please you, make you cum, see you lose control just because of him. He was desperate to feel you squirm against him, he wants to see the way your face would twist in pleasure when he fucks you just right.

Tartaglia slowly pulls out, hissing as he leaves your comforting warmth and is met with the harsh, cold outside air.

“Let me take you, please…” He begs, his eyes filled with desire and the need to have you. Tartaglia wanted you—no, needed you. His hand wanders back to your dick, wrapping his palm around your shaft and quickly jerking you up and down at a messy pace.

Tartaglia would do anything to have you come undone on his dick.

“Uh-huh.” You whine, and Tartaglia thinks it’s cute how all your confidence diminishes the instant you're offered some dick.

He watches you twist your body to lay flat against the bed on your back. Slowly, your legs splay into the air before you pull them back and bend them at your knees. Your ass, all empty and clenching around nothing, is now fully exposed to Tartaglia. Your hole is stretched already, from the much too long of a time you spent just sitting on his dick. Your own cock lays across your tummy, twitching and drooling uselessly,

Tartaglia sucks in a breath at the sight of your hole. His dick is throbbing at the sight, pressing angrily against his tummy, so hard and needy. He wants to do nothing more than bury himself inside you, to feel your warm muscle clench around him once more.

Slowly, he lowers himself into a kneeling position right in front of you. Tartaglia dips his head to your ass, pressing light kisses across the curve of your thighs. He trails his mouth down to your dick, taking the tip into his mouth. His eyes roll back at the feeling of finally having you in his mouth. Tartaglia sucks harshly, bobbing his head up and down your length. He runs his tongue over the underside of your shaft.

Tartaglia swirls his tongue around your overly sensitive tip, watching and depriving pure enjoyment of the way your hips buck into his mouth messily. You throw an arm over your face, trying to muffle your breathless moans and flushed face. Tartaglia gives you a harsh suck for warning, letting you know that if you don’t remove your hand now, things would get worse.

You, of course, comply, pushing your hand to the sheets and clenching them in your fist.

Tartaglia hums happily, the vibrations travelling across your shaft. He feels you twitch in his mouth and your legs thrash beside his head, squeezing and pulsing by his ears as he goes faster, making sure to let the drool spill from his lips as he moves his head.

Tartaglia pushes his lips down to your base bringing a hand to fondle your balls gently and you whine, your back arching off the bed. Your hand goes to tangle itself into Tartaglia’s hair, pushing your dick deeper down his throat. “I—holy shit—I’m c-close!” You whine, and that was enough of a signal to pull off your dick.

Tartaglia smears kisses across your ass, ignoring your desperate whines and cries, before eventually leading to your puffy hole, all nice and stretched for him. He’s quick to bury his mouth against you, already feeling his brain go mushy at the feeling. His tongue slips into you easily, and you whine at the feeling.

Tartaglia fucks his tongue into you with great fervour, not even caring for his hard dick. All he can think about is the taste of you on his tongue, the way your hole clenches down so nicely against his mouth and those sweet, sweet moans of: “M-More, please, need you so bad!” That slip from your lips and get his hips rocking his dick into the side of the mattress.

Tartaglia’s tongue pushes and prods into you, again and again until he hears you moan loudly. His eyes dart up, barely able to catch the way your back arches. Your legs shake around him yet again, your thighs squeezing around his ears, which only drives him to thrust his tongue into you further. Drool slips down his chin, but he doesn’t care, all he wants is to taste you again, and again, because, fuck, if he died right here, between your thighs, he would die a happy man.

“Right there!” You cry, Your legs threatening to squeeze tightly on Tartaglia’s head. He pushes his tongue in again, thrusting it in and out of your hole with a scary precision, making sure he hits your prostate every time.

“O-Oh, my—fuck, can’t take it!” You whine and he smirks against your tightening hole. “I need you, please, please, please, pleasepleaseplease!” You’re a complete mess, babbling nonsense as he eats you out, eyes rolling back and legs shaking in ecstasy,

All it took was him shoving a finger in, curling it in time with his tongue, for you to cum. Tartaglia eagerly pulls off your ass, watching as your dick twitches against your tummy and ropes of cum shoot from your member. He waits until you're finished before pressing his face against the mess you just made and licking it clean.

Tartaglia looks up at you from his position against your belly. “I….” He whines. “I’m still hard.” He gives an apologetic smile before going back to his first position in front of the bed, this time standing up. He lifts your collapsed legs, throwing them over his shoulders as he slaps his cock beside your limp one.

As quickly as he can, Tartaglia grabs the bottle of lube from the nightstand and smears it all over his shaft. “Help me out, pretty boy.” He whines and you whimper at the nickname. Slowly, you push yourself onto your elbows just enough to push your hand to his dick and help him spread the lube.

Tartaglia doesn’t even bother to continue once you start, only throwing his head back with a loud groan. “That’s it, o-oh, archons you’re good at this.” His eyes squeeze shut and Tartaglia has to stop himself from cumming on the spot for the nth time tonight. He doesn’t even bother to lube your hole, only murmuring a sweet, “This pussies wet enough for me, right?” before he’s pressing a messy kiss to your neck.

“Not a pussy.” You slur, but he doesn't take any mind.

“D-Don’t worry, baby.” Tartaglia coos as he presses his thick tip against your weak hole. “Promise it’ll feel so good…” He wants to be inside you, to make you come again and again.

And suddenly, he’s halfway in, the thick of Tartaglia’s shaft being swallowed almost whole by your pretty ass was almost enough to make him cum right then and there. You whine lowly, back instinctively arching into him, forcing yourself deeper onto his dick.

“Fuck, baby, look what you do t’me.” He groans, pulling out so it’s just his tip stuck in your pretty, clenching hole. Tartaglia fucks his tip into you, watching it messily slide out then in, then out then in, over and over again until he can’t take it anymore and can’t help but want more.

Tartaglia—like the pathetic man he knows he is—can’t take it anymore. He pushes in fully, but just before he does, spits a large glob of drool from his lips to the tip of your spent cock watching it twitch under the feeling. He laughs, watching your dick twitch back to life. “And to think you get off to me spitting on you.” He murmurs, before finally thrusting in fully, in one, harsh movement.

The moan you let out is so pretty and high, and Tartaglia can feel his balls grow heavy at the sound. Your voice isn’t nearly as loud as the lewd squelch of his dick pressing in, in, in and against your prostate, his tip knocking easily at it.

Tartaglia pistons his hips into you, basking in the moans and pleas for “more, more, more!” that slipped from your pretty lips. He’s pounding into you, and Tartaglia watches your head fall back against the pillow. Your hands shake as you desperately reach out to grab onto the sheets for leverage as he pushes your legs up, leaning down onto your body as he forces you into a mating press.

And, oh, Tartaglia feels like he just slipped so much deeper into you, and with the way your walls squeeze and clench and you moan his name like a mantra—Tartaglia is sure he’s just died and reached heaven.

His thrusts start to lose their rhythm, but they still manage to fill you up so much that, before Tartaglia can process what’s happening, you're crying out, your ass clenching so tightly against him he thinks he sees stars.

“I—I’m close, ‘m so close!” You cry and Tartaglia can’t help but bury his face into your neck as he thrust into your ass.

“Me too, baby.” He whimpers out. Tartaglia reaches for your hand, intertwining your fingers with his much larger ones, before letting out a loud moan. “Together, please, baby, cum together.”

And you’re eagerly nodding your head, a mix of “yes” and “please” leaving your lips. Tartaglia isn’t even pulling out anymore, just knocking his hips against yours—no rhythm or pattern, just instinct as he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Cummin’ o-oh—fuck!” You whine and Tartaglia instantly does too, feeling the way your dick spurts thick ropes of white onto your chest and his only drives him to the edge. He buries himself as deep as he can before collapsing onto you, pressing his full weight onto his hips. Tartaglia shoots a thick load of his seed into your awaiting hole, whining in content as he feels you milk his cock, squeezing down on him.

You’re panting, laying on the bed with Tartaglia pressed on top of you. His arms snake around your waist, tugging and twisting your connected bodies so that he’s spooning you, his chin resting on top of you’re head.

After a minute of rest, Tartaglia’s arms squeeze around your waist. “Love you, so much.” He murmurs tiredly.

“Promise?” You giggle back, despite the feeling of your exhaustion weighing heavy on your eyelids.

“Always an’ forever.” Tartaglia whispers sweetly. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you bask in the afterglow in each other’s arms. “I’ll love you, always and forever.”

© KISSENTURINE. do not translate, plagiarize, edit, or repost

[brayneworms]

don't wanna know what's good for me

part one | m.list

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.2k

content. NSFW, merc!reader, rivals to Something, masochist!childe, public sex (they're alone but like ... ), gender neutral reader, mild violence + gore (stabbing, blood), degradation (slut), anal fingering, handjob, pet names (sweet thing), begging, reader is fucked in tha head.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes you will be blocked

♩ gods and monsters — lana del rey

The Snezhnayan air is bitter.

All the more for the fact that, even as you traverse the long lapses of snow and frozen rivers, you're still not entirely sure what you're doing here. Even as you emerge upon the house, a round hike from the bustling towns some way back, lit warmly against the overcast backdrop, you're not entirely sure what you're doing here.

Even when you knock and a tired-looking woman with blue eyes and fiery red hair opens the door, because when she asks if she can help you, you open your mouth and nothing comes out for a few seconds.

"I'm here to see Tar—Childe," you say. Oh. You guess that's what you're doing here.

The door stays pretty much put. The woman looks at you dubiously, and you realise with the same kind of shock a butterfly must feel when getting its wings ripped off that this must be Childe's mother. Archons, he has a mother. Not like you didn't know, but still. Sometimes it's so strange to remember that he's flesh and blood like the rest of you.

"Are you... a friend?" You can't fault her doubtful tone. You certainly don't look Fatui, but you're not an ordinary civilian, either. You probably should have stashed away your daggers before knocking; if you're honest, you hadn't expected Childe to live in such an ordinary home. "He's recovering right now, is all."

"No, yeah. That's why I'm here." The words feel stuck, awkward. Her deep blue eyes are swimming with doubt, so you reach into your pocket. Your fingers brush the hilt of a knife.

You hold up the little box you've stowed in your pocket. Gift-wrapped with a blue ribbon.

"I brought sugared almonds."

Childe looks thunderstruck when you walk in, and you take a moment to enjoy the honest shock on his face. He looks tired—when he sits up, the woven blankets fall from his shoulders and pool about his waist, displaying a bare torso bandaged to all hell. You can't fault his surprise whatsoever—it had been months since you'd seen each other, since he left Liyue after... well.

The memory of chalk and dirt under your nails, flaking in his hair. The grunts of pain and pleasure that became so frequent the line was quite blurred. You remember how the column of his throat flexed when—

"Scourge," he says, wide-eyed, voice a little rougher than normal. You're not entirely sure what happened in Fontaine, but it must have been exceptionally rough to put Childe on his back like this. You can't help feeling a smidge of envy toward whoever fucked him up so thoroughly. "Do my eyes deceive me?"

"Not this time," you say indifferently, taking a perch on the edge of his bed. His room is disconcertingly boyish, all carved wood and blue knit blankets. There are animals incised along the headboard of his bed, ducks and narwhals and whales. "Brought you a little gift."

You toss the package of almonds over, and his automatic catch of it makes him wince. His fingers are as steady as ever, though, when he deftly unties the ribbon. His eyes peer up at you, even more nonplussed than before. "Did you trek all the way to Snezhnaya to bring me sweets?"

"Oh, you didn't hear? My goal in life is to make you happy." You dig in your satchel, bringing out a small medallion. Childe's eyes glint with recognition when you pull it out into the firelight. "The traveller asked me to return this to you."

"Ah," he breathes. "What a sight for sore eyes." He reaches out, this time, takes it from your hand; you feel the dry brush of his skin against yours. The vision glows happily when Childe cups it in his palm, turning it over and over. "I was wondering how I would've gone about getting this back. The dear traveller is so busy, flitting from one nation to the next... I thought I might've had to trek all the way to Natlan, visionless."

You shuck off your boots and cross your legs beneath you. "Don't tell me you think not having a vision would encumber your progress. You'd really disappoint me."

Childe cracks a smile; there's a split in his lips that has scabbed over, and it strains when they pull apart. "Well, we can't have that, can we?"

He's still irritating, like a bug that buzzes faintly around your ear, the sort small enough to constantly evade killing. But something about seeing him stripped of all his usual finery, and trussed up looking exhausted in his childhood bedroom, is making you more amenable to him.

"Not to look a gift horse in the mouth," he says finally, popping a sugared almond between his lips, and you try not to focus on the way they purse and squish around the segment, "But what are you really doing here, scourge? Did you miss me?"

"I think we had this conversation before," you say dryly. "Something about swatting mosquitoes." You pause. "Liyue has certainly been quieter, though. Without all the gods falling form the skies, and torrential typhoons."

Childe's lips quirk. "Well, if you've come looking for adventure, I'm afraid things around here are spectacularly boring. In truth, I grow more restless every day. I'd be up and about already if my blessed mother didn't insist on making me rest. There are a great many things in this world worth arguing with, scourge, but a fifty-year-old Snezhnayan woman isn't one of them."

"I'll bare that in mind."

His eyes gleam. "Oh? You almost sound as if you're planning to stay."

Ugh. You hate when he trips you up like that. He's one of the only people capable of it, too—not that you'd let him know. You squint at him flatly.

"Well. Maybe if you make it worth my while," you drawl, biting back a smirk at the way it makes his ears turn red. "I'm sure I could find something to wave my big sword at in the meantime."

Childe's eyebrows waggle. "Well, if you're looking for a big sword—"

"Down, boy." You jab a finger into his chest, just shy of the bandage wraps, and his shoulders convulse around it with a choked gasp of pain. He glances up at you beneath gingery lashes, so pale you can see the wide, deep blue pools of his irises with eerie ease. Dead-fish blue. You raise your eyebrows. "What're you looking at me like that for?"

He huffs weakly. "I think we both know I have a propensity for a little pain."

"In your family home, Childe? Beneath your blessed mother's roof?" You drag your finger painstakingly down his sternum, over the bandages; you can see the frayed purpling edges of bruising beneath them when they dip beneath your finger, and Childe tenses and groans quietly. He shifts imperceptibly closer to you, and you let your hand drop.

It's too easy. He looks so boyish here. It's honestly throwing you off. You withdraw your hand, aware that something cold must be shuttering over your expression because you see his own one drop in response, brows coming to knit together in a tiny expression of confusion.

"Nah," you say lightly. "Come find me when you're a challenge again. Enjoy the almonds, sweet thing."

Because, yeah—you've never liked anything easy. It's why you carve your way through Teyvat in a bloody railroad, one gang out outlaws at a time. The money you get is only a bonus; your real price, the only one that matters, is torment.

Childe slumps back into his pillows, scrubbing a hand down his face with a wry chuckle. "Ha... might've known. Don't worry, scourge, I won't be such a bitter disappointment for long."

You stand. "I know. Or you're not the guy I thought you were."

It's a month or so before you see him again.

You stick to your word and hang around Snezhnaya, eventually finding some sort of cold, dusky beauty in the frozen plains. The architecture is intricate and colourful, and the people conservatively hostile, which works for you just fine. People were much too friendly in Liyue and Mondstadt; you feel more like you're among your own kind here.

You end up contacting the adventurer's guild and taking on a few bounties, just for enough cash to hold down steady accommodation and food. You don't think too hard on why you're determined to stick around, when flight has always been much more your style. You immerse yourself, for the next few weeks, in wrestling bandits off of trading routes and collecting Hilichurl masks.

It's one evening as you circle a frozen lake, picking off members of a bandit guild that have taken to pickpocketing merchants, that he reappears to you. You're locked in a pretty ugly fight with a monster of an outlaw, taller and thicker than you, when something wet touches your cheek. A flash of water, so hard and sharp as to resemble a glaive, cuts past you and slices through the guy's skin, bearing a spill of scarlet blood. He jumps back with a scream of pain and rage, hefts his rusted ax to take another swing, and you see a flash of ginger and white cut past you.

Childe's water-daggers move so fast that they look like wet blue blurs, making ribbons of the guy's shirt and flesh. Combined with the injuries you'd already imparted upon him, it was no time at all until he dropped to the ground, blood leaking from him to salt the frozen earth. The rest of his guys scarpered pretty quickly.

Childe turned around to face you, a grin on his face. His pupils were slightly dilated—probably sinking his blade into something after so long felt like taking a drink after a stretch of sobriety for someone like him. Not that you could judge; you got antsy, too, when you hadn't fought for a while. Like your hands were filled with too much energy, and if you weren't using them for violence you weren't sure what the point of them was. They became merely many-fingered appendages, attached decoratively to your arms.

"I had him," you mutter, sheathing your swords. Childe bobs on his feet, almost floating with ecstatic energy.

"I know," he says, easily enough that mollifies your bad mood a little. "Just got a little overexcited at being able to fight again. I've missed it more than you can know."

There's blood spattered across his front, a daub across his face and arcing down his pretty dove-grey suit. Here, in the cold of his home nation, he wears a thick fur cloak over his shoulders; it makes him look grander, more impressive. Fatui, indeed.

He catches you looking and his smile gets wider; it barely even resembles a smile anymore, actually, more a baring of teeth. Coupled with the wild eyes, he looked suitably as feral as he is inside. Something deep in your gut twinges at the sight.

"You know, you surprise me," Childe comments, his watery blades dissipating into the air with a flick. "You'll cut your way through a battlefield, but you won't fuck me in my childhood bedroom? Your morals are all over the place, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say automatically, finding you can barely blink when you look at him. "Fucking freak. You want me to make you cry when your siblings are running over the place?"

"They know not to come into my room," Childe pouts. "Mama doesn't like them to be able to stumble across all my weapons, lest they learn what I truly do for a living. Anyway, that isn't the point. I just can't work you out."

You work your jaw for a moment, trying to figure out what to say. You've never been very good with words—Childe seems to have an endless supply of them, with an uncanny ability to fashion them in any poetic formation he likes. He certainly knows which ones will get under your skin the most, and the pretty way his lips tie up like a bow when he puts emphasis on some of them. You've always been more hands-on. It's no wonder this is what you do for a living, really.

So instead you ask abruptly, "You're all healed up, right?"

Childe tilts his head, looking only mildly surprised. "Fit as a fiddle."

"Show me. You had a pretty nasty bruise on your chest last time I looked." You cross your arms expectantly as Childe blinks, looks around. The landscape around you is assuredly deserted; you're miles and miles from the nearby town. The risk of being stumbled across isn't zero, but it's pretty damn close.

"...Here?" Childe asks.

"Whose morals are all over the place now?" you grumble, indicating the bandit still bleeding out on the floor some feet away. Childe huffs a laugh, escaping him in a frosty white cloud.

"Fair enough. I concede to you, scourge," he sighs, and begins unbuttoning his shirt. You try not to look overly-eager, but something in your expression must give you away anyway, because he catches your eye and laughs as though enjoying a private joke. His fingers are deft as they slip buttons through expensive-looking silk, baring the pale slice of his stomach to you.

Around the snow's white glare, he looks paler than ever, skin practically lurid against the waves of dark orange hair and freckles scattering his shoulders. They spiral down his chest, absent of any bandages now, the only remnants of the ugly bruising a slight mauve discolouration crowding around his sternum.

You poke it; not much of Childe is overly soft, save for a small pouch at the bottom of his abdomen. He's all sinewy muscle, oscillating between lean and bulky. The tops of his arms and shoulders are broad, but he whittles down to a small waist and sharp hips, the suggestions of which you can see now with his skin bared: the ghostly impressions of bones, disappearing into his waistband.

"I'm a sight for sore eyes, right?" Childe says, a note of breathlessness in his voice. You hum dispassionately, poking at the remainder of the bruise; it gives like the skin of overripe fruit, smushing beneath your finger, and Childe shivers. "Wish mama let me out of bed earlier. I'd still have a lovely bruise for you to torment."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" you murmur, and run your tongue over your bottom teeth. "Lie down. I'll bruise you up again."

You follow him down to the ground; when you kneel, the snow starts melting through the fabric of your pants, makes your knees wet and cold. Childe lays on his cloak, looking up at you warily.

"I won't submit so easily this time," he tells you, sticking his chin up. "You'll have to fight me for control."

You shrug as though it doesn't make the slightest bit of difference. "Okay. I'll win."

Childe shivers; you expect that knowing you'll win is half the fun to him. He likes challenging you just to be shot down. You thought, before, that he was simply a masochist. Now you think that being overpowered, specifically, is what gets him off. Not that you care for the psychosexual intricacies of whatever is wrong with him. You just like feeling strong, and he's strangely pretty, and you like taking the will out of pretty things.

Still, he does begin to make good on his promise. His hand knots in the collar of your cape and he pulls you down for a bruising kiss. You realise with a thrill that he tastes sweet and earthy, and that he's been eating the almonds you left him. It's a fucking weird amount of preparedness, and the idea that he'd come here hoping for this... it excites you. You kiss him harder, shoving his shoulders down to the ground and climbing on top of him.

His hand slips under your shirt, fingers spanning over the stretch of your stomach, and you falter just momentarily. He hadn't really touched you at all, last time—your positions are remarkably familiar, but this initiative is different. Last time he had merely enjoyed being overpowered. This time, you think he craves the fight of it. His thumb strokes over the skin of your abdomen, tantalisingly close to your waistband, and you curse the warmth that unfolds in your gut. You can't start feeling good, not yet, not until you have the higher ground over him.

You drag your lips down, pin them against his cheek until you get to the sharp vertice of his jaw; you tongue the underside of it, finding the ridge of his pulse point and dragging your teeth over it, feeling his hand falter and clench involuntarily.

This is how it should be with him—teeth and nails and tongue. The kind of fucking that lovers do is a million miles from this. It's something sort of angry, sort of reverent, like the worship of an evil god.

"You're such a fucking slut," you growl, and you're close enough to his throat to see the way it flexes when he swallows. "You wanted me to fuck you that first day, didn't you? With your poor family on the other side of those walls? Do you give it up that easy for everyone?"

Childe's breathing picks up; beneath your legs, you feel the muscles of his thighs twitch. When he opens his mouth to reply, you jam two fingers between his lips, feeling the inside of his mouth. He makes a choked noise, but his tongue immediately comes up to lap at the pads of your fingers, lips closing around the knuckle.

You sate yourself, taking several deep breaths even though the hot, wet inside of his mouth has your skin tingling. He makes a humming sound in the back of his throat that reverberates through your flesh, and when you press down on his tongue he makes a pretty gagging sound that makes you close your eyes briefly. Fuck, you want to hear it again.

Whilst your distracted, Childe shifts his leg; his knee slots itself between your own, pushing up against you with a suddenness that makes you inhale sharply and grit your teeth. Childe can't exactly smile with your fingers in his mouth, but he makes a smug noise and his eyes flutter with faux-innocence.

With your free hand, you wrestle his thigh from you and pin it to the floor with your knee. Childe is still making obscene noises around your fingers—putting it on, you'd wager. He sounds like the squealing painted girls in brothels, just stifled by the digits down his throat. You glare at him because it's easier than admitting how much it's turning you on.

With your free hand, you fumble for the opening of his trousers, delighting in the way his throat spasms with shock as you open up the slacks. It's tricky work to shuck the fabric down his thighs, and even trickier to restrain yourself when his legs come into view. They're built, stocky, crisscrossed with pale scars and freckles, and the urge to grab and squeeze is actually painful to resist. Instead you focus on the bulge in his dark briefs and the way his skin pebbles in the cold.

You push your fingers down his throat once, further, until he coughs and jerks and then you pull them free. In the cool evening light, they glisten with saliva, rolling down to your wrist. Childe's lips are glossy, eyes glazed over as he watches you; when you squeeze your dry hand over the tent in his underwear, the full force of his moan rips from him, loud and wavering, perhaps unaware that he'd have to stifle himself now without the gag of your fingers.

He flings his spare arm over his face, mortified.

"Cute," you croon, changing tack. "You're so cute like this, Childe. All small under me, yeah?"

"Shut up, scourge," he groans. "You know where I'm not small?"

You pinch his thigh, making it spasm prettily. You watch the red mark bloom up and fade, like a flower's life in fast motion. "I know where I'm not gonna be touching, sure."

Childe cracks open an eye, staring at you. "Huh?"

You shrug. "What'd you think you were getting my fingers wet for? Decoration?"

You can see his eyes widen with the realisation, even as you tug his underwear down along with his trousers. He casts another furtive look around, but there's no real concern in his gaze. In fact, if you had to guess, he looks almost hopeful that someone will stumble across you both like this. Degenerate.

You slip your hand down his stomach, feeling taut muscle and soft flesh, watching as it twitches with each sharp breath. Between his legs, he's half-hard already, and he twitches when you ghost your hand, feather-light over him. His hips cant up, once, as much as they can with you sitting on his thighs.

You bypass his cock, using your knee to knock his legs further apart and reach between his legs. The first light brush of your fingers over his hole has Childe gritting his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek very hard. His eyes burn into you, cold blue fire, when you carefully ease the tip of your index finger inside.

You let out a breath, chest aching. He's hot inside, tight; you feel him trembling against you as you glance up at him. "No shot you're a virgin here," you comment as languidly as possible, as if your heart isn't beating a harsh tattoo against your ribs. "There goes my theory of how you got so high up in the Fatui."

Childe makes a strangled noise that was probably supposed to be a retort. You don't move your finger either way, watching his face closely for signs of honest discomfort or pain. But there's just a concentrated furrow between his brows.

"You want me to go further?" you ask, voice like silk. "You wanna feel me inside?"

He groans, twisting simultaneously to and away from you. "Scourge—"

"Ask nicely, or I'll stop."

He swallows again; his internal conflict with his own pride is tantalising in the way you wish it could be made into something physical, something you could eat.

"Keep going," he pants. He blinks big, round eyes at you, playing the innocent lamb. "Pretty please?"

It should be no dice—you want him to ask as him, to feel the scorch of humiliation, not as some character. But before you realise it, your finger is sinking into the first knuckle, and his head thuds back against the snow with a punched-out gasp.

God, you wish you could fuck him properly. You'd give anything to stretch him out around you, but you don't have any of the tools or supplies you'd need. So your fingers would have to do for now. Your free hand gathers a handful of his ass and gropes, watching the fat bleed between your fingers as he yelps, hips squirming against your hand.

It takes several minutes and a lot more spit to ease another finger inside of him, and his thighs tense at the brush. His hips rock insistently against your hand, groaning behind a bitten lip, and when your fingers finally have enough give to start moving he makes a cut-off strangled sound in the back of his throat.

"Bet I could make you come like this," you mumble, more to yourself than anything else. "Won't even have to touch your pretty cock, will I? Look at it, crying for some attention." You sort of flick it with your spare hand and he makes a sound like he's dying, eyes flying open.

"Scourge, Archons," he curses, dick jumping in interest despite it all. His mouth hangs open, a slack 'O' of over-sensation. "You're so cruel. That hurt."

"That's the point," you mutter. "Otherwise you wouldn't come to me for this, would you?"

Childe squirms, pouts. "Still. I'm but a simple village boy. I'm not built for a beast like you."

You laugh, almost genuine. "'S that what I am? A beast?" Your fingers curl up inside him, brushing against a tough spot that makes him keen against you, hips jerking.

"I—" he pants, lip trembling. "What?"

"Beasts are selfish creatures," you comment. "A beast would never think of letting you come on their fingers. So surely you're confusing me with someone else, yeah?"

"Yeah," he gasps, rocking against your hand. "Scourge, please. You're killing me here."

"I wish. You'd probably be quieter." But you acquiesce, starting a slow rhythm of your fingers in and out of him. You're slow, working them up to the second knuckle, trying not to shiver at the heat inside of him. When you curl your fingers up against that spot, he keens like a dying dog, thighs clamping around your body slotted between them. It's... a pretty sight, you think. You've never been averse to admitting that he's handsome. You've always had an affinity for breaking pretty things.

It's part of the game, you think.

You move inside him like you're ringing a bell, and Childe's breathing starts coming in short, sharp bursts as he writhes against your hand. After not too long at all his witty remarks trail off into bitten-off grunts and moans, twisting his head into the snow in some effort to try and hide them. With your free hand, you curl your fingers in his hair and yank, feeling the feathery red strands go taut against your digits.

"Don't hide from me, sweet thing," you croon, and Childe shuts his eyes as though praying for patience; his cheeks are bright red, making his freckles more lurid. He shudders and gasps when you yank his hair, body arching so much that he lifts off the floor. You take the opportunity to painstakingly work in a third finger. He shudders at the stretch, the inevitable burn, so you try to distract him. You push his shirt away from the rest of his torso, finding the nipple with a healed slash through it and rolling it between your fingers.

Childe shudders; he looks strangely young in this moment, the age he truly is—what, twenty-five? Barely that? He's flushed down to the chest, stomach convulsing under the comparatively soft gestures. You stroke and pinch him until his hips push tentatively back at your hand again—signalling, in his way, consent for continuation.

You tut. "So greedy. Did you forget anyone could walk across us?" you ask, and Childe makes a broken-off groan. "Maybe you want that? How long do you think it would take the talk to get back to the Fatui, hm? Nobody would ever take you seriously again. Some warmonger you turned out to be, writhing in the snow like a helpless animal, about to come on my hand."

Childe gasps, nodding frantically. "Yes—yes—"

"Yes, you're going to come?" You can't help the wicked smile that spreads over your face, like an infection, like a blight, like something that doesn't look at home.

"Yes, Archons, scourge," he wails pitifully. You get the feeling his body would be spasming if you weren't pinning half of it down. He's bright red against the plains of snow, lips bitten red, eyes barely able to stay open. One of his hands wrapped around your wrists, dragged your hand to his cock; it looked painful now, weeping pre from the tip. "Touch me here."

You roll your eyes. "Why should I?"

"Please," he whines, blinking up at you. "I'm sorry for being annoying earlier. I just wanted you to..."

"I know what you wanted. I'm not in the habit of rewarding brats," you say, but your eyes are glued to where he's put your hand. You haven't moved it, yet. He's hot and hard and wet under your palm, twitching to life when your fingers brush over the burning skin. He makes a wavery, sort of sobbing noise when you don't make any move, hips jerking pathetically for some kind of friction.

"For fuck's sake," you mutter, making your hand into a loose fist and wrapping your fingers around him. His jaw hangs open, eyes rolling back as his pale lashes flutter, and you stroke him quickly in time with your fingers moving in, out, the pace brutal and punishing—exactly how he likes it, and exactly how you like it. Every breath punched from his chest is a moan, hoarse and desperate. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and you realise he's torn the inside of his cheek to shreds with his teeth trying to be quiet.

It's thrilling, that he'd bloody himself just to try and get under your skin, and that he'd fail anyway. He's pretty like this. And close, you can tell by the way his muscles go tense, moving under pale skin like liquid. His throat is bared for you, head thrown back and he's uttering strings of unintelligible curses under his breath. Fuckohfuckpleasepleasescourgepleaseithurtsplease—

"Come on, Childe," you murmur, leaning in close, mouthing over his pulse point and feeling it jackrabbit against. "Make a mess for me."

With a few hoarse, desperate noises, a strangled "Fuck, fuck—" his body convulses beneath you, eyes squinching shut; his insides clamp around your fingers, spend spilling across your hands and his stomach in pearly arcs, hot and wet and pretty disgusting. You ease your fingers out of him as quickly and carefully as possible, not wanting to linger for the aftershocks.

He's limp like a dead fish beneath you, chest expanding, collapsing, over and over like a supernova as he struggles for breath. He looks physically winded, dazed like someone's beat the shit out of him. You take the opportunity to tuck him away and tug at his underwear and trousers, yanking them back up his thighs.

He mumbles something incoherently, sluggishly lifts his hips to assist you. After you button him back up he makes an effort to prop himself up on his elbows, looking up at you blearily.

"You didn't bite me this time," he says, sounding almost rueful. Your eyes dart to the healing ring of teeth at the junction of his shoulder, a mass of blunt scars coiled in a half-wreath. You pang at the thought that one day it might be replaced entirely by new, smooth skin, unmarred, unmarked.

You swallow. "There's still time."

"Nah. Moment's passed." He sighs, shaky fingers working at his shirt. "You'll have to do something worse next time."

Your mouth quirks into a smile before you can stop it. "Next time, huh?"

"I certainly hope so." He cocks his head, blue eyes catching the light briefly, the way they so often miss it. Like something inside it is permanently dampening it. "I'm only getting stronger, y'know. You'll have to fight me even harder for it next time. Or maybe I'll be the one telling you what to do."

"When hell freezes over, maybe," you say. The both of you cast a look around at the frozen wasteland around you and crack up laughing; it reminds you of the seldom times you'd spend together in taverns in Liyue, scarily normal for once.

"Well, I'll count the days," he hums, getting to his feet properly. His legs tremble a little, but he still offers you a hand. You take it. Maybe because it doesn't feel like it's accepting help, from someone so provably weaker.

Some feet away, the bandit's blood has turned the snow bright red.

[madammidnightsblog]

COD Ghosts in bed

Keegan:

At first, I wanted to say he was a dom but I started to really think about it and decided he would be a switch with a dom lean- a small one. He is someone that likes to take charge in and out of the bedroom but ultimately ends up allowing you to take charge sometimes because he needs that reassurance. He's not insecure in the slightest- he's pretty confident in himself but due to being more of a loner, he tends to overthink which leads to him distancing himself.

He's big on degrading and praising, the good 'ol mixture of both is all that leaves his mouth. "Good little slut, taking me so well like you're supposed to" or "That's it, pretty. Suck my cock like that whore you are". He doesn't like to straight up degrade as he sees it as a sin to degrade his baby only. You deserve praises too, after all, not just anyone gets to sleep with him.

Keegan is also a big fan of riding- strictly for you though, he's not really a fan of pegging or having his asshole touched so that's not part of the fun. Something about seeing you ride is enough to have him drool and cum drunk because he loves watching you move and take control. Watching you tire yourself out only for him have to hold your hips and fuck into you until you're stupid <3.

He's always there to perform aftercare for you but it will be a little bit lazy but not because he doesn't care. No, you just took so much energy out of him just riding him and having him fuck into you like a dog in heat. It will be a little half assed but he will make it up with cuddles and kisses.

Logan:

Okay, so my headcannon is that he tends to go nonverbal due to trauma so that will come into play even during sex. He does talk to you in and out of the bedroom but due to all the trauma from ODIN destroying the Earth in one day and just having to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, he sometimes is so overwhelmed he cannot speak. So, there are many nonverbal signs to ask if you're okay or you need a break or even to tell you that he loves you or he needs a break. He will always make sure you and him are safe and comfortable throughout the entire session, he may even annoy you a bit with the constant checkup. But he means well, and it makes your heart flutter to see how much he cares.

He is a dom all the way but a soft one, he isn't the type to be rough and hurt you unless you ask for it. He is more than happy to perform any kink of yours just to make you happy and he also likes to explore as he's not as experienced as his brother Hesh. So, he's learning all while making sure to satisfy you. But his main kink is biting because I think he would like to bite and mark you as his in a silent territorial manner. I can see Logan and Hesh have the same type in women and often had little fights over a crush, so Logan is just marking you to show off you're his to Hesh.

Logan only praises- never degrades only if you ask so it will be a lot of "good gilr/boy/baby" or "such a good bunny". He absolutely worships you like the goddess/god you are and will fight you if you ever try to down talk yourself in front of him. He is the king of foreplay and spends a good ten to fifteen minutes just kissing every inch of your skin and tell you how beautiful you are before he even gets to your pussy/cock.

Outside biting and praising, Logan loves finger sucking whether its him or you sucking. He loves hands and find them so pretty and if you have rings or painted nails, he will most definitely watch your hands more than whatever you're talking about. It's not because he doesn't care, it's just your hands are distracting him and the only way to get him to pay attention is to put those pretty fingers into his mouth.

Rorke:

Now this man was hard to really think much about because the obvious answer would have been Dom but when I really looked at him, I concluded Sub. Before you come at me, this man is a victim to dehumanizing torture and being brainwashed which means this sad man needs to be pampered and showed he’s human. He is a power bottom- a brat that just needs a little correcting done. But nothing that is under the impact play, he may act all big and tuff but in reality he’s a scared man.

So, his turn off and strictly forbidden plays are anything that under the impact label, degrading, and bondage. It’s all triggering for him and puts him in a bad headspace so his punishments are small yet effective reminders of who’s in charge. Such as, “Keep acting up and I will have to make you use a strap instead of your cock” or “Oh? So, if you’re such a big boy, then it shouldn’t be an issue to do without my pussy/cock for the day?”. He isn’t an easy man to make him fold but those little threats are enough to remind him just who is in charge and how easy it is for you to in fact, in force those threats.

Now, for his turn one are definitely roleplaying, DDLB/MDLB, and toys because they show how much care and attention you put in for him because you have to do any of those things with attention. Rorke is just a scarred and damaged man that just needs to be built back up and reminded not everyone he cares about forgot him or is out to kill him. He needs to be reminded that he is in fact loved and cared for so those are his safest options. He also uses DDLB/MDLB not just as a kink but as a coping mechanism so outside the bedroom you will expect him to treat you the same way and expects the same.

Hesh:

Hesh is a dom, I cannot see him going for a submissive role but not because he sees it as a negative thing but it’s just not for him. He will occasionally allow you to take charge but not often and it won’t last long. Hes someone that strives to protect and attend to others, the big brother in him will always have him taking the leading role even in relationships. And if you’re nonverbal or autistic or any form of neurodivergent, he is definitely the man for you thanks to his brother being nonverbal. He will be able to communicate and catch any stim or whatever you’re feeling in the bedroom. He will make sure to stop if needed and even give you several options outside sex for you two to do if you cannot bring yourself to keep going.

Hesh will be damned if he makes you uncomfortable or feel as if you need to continue if you’re too overwhelmed to do so. So, like Logan, he will make sure to ask you if you’re okay and if you need a break. His hands will gently caress your skin, following along the curve of your body while he pepper kisses along your skin while asking if you need anything and tell you you can stop if needed, he can always take care of himself if needed. After all, you come first, not getting his dick wet.

Hesh’s main turn on is literally you. This man gets turned on from anything you do- from your smile, laugh, and even the smell of your shampoo. He has many other woman he had slept with before ODIN so he knows what he does and doesn’t like but something about you drives him insane. Maybe it’s just the way you chose him when most girls/boys/ people like Keegan so when you picked him, he became obsessed with you. But in a healthy way, he isn’t someone that will be breathing down your neck every chance he gets but he will stare at you for hours without ever getting bored.

Please, dress up as kitty/puppy/bunny/whatever! He loves petplay and will do anything to see a pretty collar around your neck while you wear the cutest ears and tail while being on all fours. You will have him at your mercy and be fucked from behind until his balls run dry, he will shoot blanks after blanks with the most pussy/ass drunk expression on his face as he fucks into you like a bitch in heat. Something about you looking so pretty like a pet while calling him your Master or Daddy will have him needing to breed you!

Elias:

Elias is a simple man, he’s a dom and someone that’s very much into you wearing lingerie. He needs a little bit more foreplay than anything due to age which gave him Erectile dysfunction. No worry though, he’s a man with year of experience behind his belt and knows how to please a pretty little thing like you, so no need to worry about you being neglected. While you give his limp cock affection in hopes it will get hard, he will have you in 69 just to give your cute pussy/ass/cock attention so you feel good. He will push those panties or jock strap to the side and make sure that his little one is given the proper care.

Call him by his rank or sir, just fucking do it. He will be smitten with you and make sure you’re happy with riding his thigh, fingers, or tongue for as long as possible. He doesn’t care if he has work or where you two are, he will drag you to the nearest isolated area and tug your pants down to get to work. Don’t worry about being too heavy or rough, he’s a big boy, he can handle it, just put all your weight on him and let him worry about the rest.

Thanks to the Erectile dysfunction, he has a hard time getting to up so he will spend more time with sex toys to get you all messy and cute before eh can properly fuck you. No need to fuss over his cock when he can easy make you cum as much as needed with that stupid dildo and his fingers to the point you’re too dumb to tell the difference between a fake cock and a real one. He has no shame in that problem of his, it may have a disadvantage but it only comes with more improvement in other aspects. He will make your masturbating times a little harder because how well he uses your toys compared to you, it only makes you crave him more.

Merrick:

Another man with years of experience thanks to age and just overall the good boot camp and college days. He messed around and got into the hookup culture until he became as Ghost, that’s when he took himself more seriously and became more selective in that aspect. To him, teen and twenties are for hookups and regrets while everything after is times of being serious and settling down. So, I see him as a dom that has a little more a small breeding kink- if you cannot tell by that little intro. He’s ready to settle down and you are the one he cannot help but picture having a family with- that is if you’re afab. If not, then he will still bred you and adopt because who said family was biological only?

Big in DDLG/DDLB and loves being called Daddy so you better expect him to ask you to call him that. But also expect him to be quick as hell to perform aftercare along with making sure to create rules along with safe words for you two to use. He is all about safety due to the like of work he does and just naturally calls for safety in the bedroom, that is the only time you will see the soldier and civilian mind to clash. In and out of the bedroom he is in charge and is more than happy to show off his abilities to not only guide you but to put your cute ass to work. Want daddy to fuck you? Well, get under his desk to use that mouth as it’s meant to do the talking, so put it to work. Want daddy to breed you and make you all full of his cum? Then beg. Simple.

Another one that’s big with degrading and praising. He will tell you the most dirty yet sweet little things while you’re at your cutest state! “Mhm, thats a good little slut. Spreading your legs for daddy to breed you like the breeding whore you are” or “Get to work, whore. A cock doesn’t ride itself so move that pretty ass of yours and ride my cock like you’re meant to.” He never means anything he says when he calls you names, he loves you and sees you as the absolute king/queen you are. He just knows how much you tighten up when he calls you those names, knowing how much you like to when he calls you a whore and a slut but still treats you like the treasure you are <3!

Ajax:

Ajax is a switch with a sub leaning, he is someone that likes taking charge but much rather be receiving than giving. Not that he’s against giving, he just rather be the one being pampered until you’re flipping the switch. Ajax is all for being a pillow prince for you, being pampered and used as if he was simply a living dildo for you is all he wants once the sun goes down because when you ride him, there is not a single thought in his head. He lives to service you.

His kink is easy to tell, being used like a toy. He finds joy and pleasure in it because not only you're getting pleased but so if he, he finds no reason to be against it. What's there to hate when you both get to cum in the end? He loves it and loves it even more when he tries to speak and you scoff, "I didn't know toys could talk." Oh, how he loves being reduced to nothing but an object you use. It makes him cum so hard and quickly when you treat him like that because he knows in this moment that's all he is to you but once you're satisfied, he's your loving boyfriend.

Peg him. Just do it and you'll have an adorable babbling idiot under you while he's fisting the sheets and crying his eyes out from how good it feels. Something about being dominated in such a humiliating way for a man like him and you repeatedly slamming into his prostate, milking him dry is so yummy. Make him get on all fours, make him beg, make him call himself your bitch boy. Just do it and he'll be more than happy to comply.

Kick:

He was a tough one to figure out, but I ended up saying fuck it. Kick does not care about positions in bed, and he will follow whatever idea you had in your pretty little head. Want him to ruin you until you're squirting your worth into the sheets? Done. Want him to get on all fours and kiss your boots while thanking you for letting him eat you out? Done. He's not someone that is afraid to get down and dirty if needed- if anything, he enjoys it. Kick plays behind the scenes mostly so the fact you're allowing him to get up and personal is all he needs, and he shamelessly will enjoy it.

His biggest kink though is voyeurism. He loves all the little pictures and videos of you fucking yourself or wearing sexy little numbers just for him only for it to turn into him being tied to a kitchen chair in the bedroom just to watch you fuck yourself on a dildo. Nothing gets him harder than watching and seeing you all fucked out on a toy or even a guest Keegan you invited into the bedroom. It's so hot in his eyes and just knowing that his pretty baby is getting the best treatment while he got to watch was enough to have him creaming in his pants.

When it comes to actually fucking you, he's deranged and rough like a bitch in heat. He's panting and whining like a mutt while his pistols his cock in and out of you, his hands holding onto your hips and just fucking you like it's his last time. Kick gets so pussy/ass drunk and will literally start to drool and incoherently babble about how good you feel around his cock, he wouldn't even be making sense. All that matters to him is to fuck you as hard and as long as possible because how tight and warm you are, he cannot live without it.

All he wants is to make you feel good, but he cannot help but be selfish at times and rut into you in hopes to fill you to the brim with his cum. He doesn't mean to be mean, he just got so lost in the pleasure, he didn't even notice you crying and cumming over and over :(. Please forgive him, you just feel so good he went a little stupid and thought with his dick!

[fairybonesandstardust]

you can’t knowingly fuck a criminal and then turn around and get mad at them for doing something unethical, dubiously moral or illegal that directly involves you. what about this man made you think he follows the laws, is ethical or even moral? you knew damn well that he killed people for a living. how are you going to date someone whose probably on the FBI’s most wanted list (top 10) and then turn around and be surprised that he invaded your privacy? make it make sense. you can be mad at him all you want but shawty the man has proven time and time again who he is as a person. if this mother fucker is out here willingly killing bitches and has probably broken the geneva convention on multiple occasions what makes you think you’ll be exempt 😭? don’t be shy share with the class?

[rvels]

SO WET F'ME? ➜

❥char-> Ajax x femreader (reader has a coin slot..)

❥warnings -> 「 fingering, cum play?, cum eating, degrading??, sub reader, dom char, use of ' daddy' , 'baby' and 'good girl' 😭 lmk if I missed any 」

"Your'e so wet f'me baby" He watches as your cunt coats his long fingers with your slick, he starts moving his fingers in and out making you moan loudly "this pussy is mine ya' got that?" He bit his lip at how you tighten around his fingers "How about I make you cum again? Is that fine w' you?" You nod your head so fast as soon as he said that "My good girl" he grinned while stroking your hair using his unoccupied hand "I— I'm so close daddy!" You whined, he was shocked when he heard the little nickname you called him, something hit inside him cause he sped up his movements making you moan and tighten around his fingers once again "cum for me, cum for daddy" he whispered to your ear making you paint his fingers white "of fuck- my good girl, such a slut for me aren't you? Pussy' so wet f'me" he pulled his fingers out of your wet cunt and licked his fingers "A—ajax mmh! Don't eat it, t-thats disgusting" He raised a brow at you "what? You do it all the time" he smirked palming his cock "now give me something in return"

a/n ➜ Hiii thx for reading I was literally gone for so longgg so here's a little treat if you liked this consider liking or reblogging ;)

[adore-sweetdolly]

This person has been everywhere in a post about am asmr person making a McDonalds lunch and the comments were about "free palestine" which I also contributed too and this person has been telling every1 off and cursing them off please report them or block them if possible (edit; most comments were deleted and now people are spamming her other videos some people even told supporters of the other party to sewerslide and more stuff)

The user of the person who posted the video is "the princesses daily life"

Not very furina fan like of them I will be honest

[childes-w1fe]

♫𝑮𝑶𝑹𝑮𝑬𝑶𝑼𝑺♫ | Childe x Fem! Reader

❝𝙊𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚, 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙞𝙚.❞ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

Attending a prestigious university near your hometown, you live alone in your mansion by the vacant, serene seaside. You spend your extra free time playing video games to distract the raging waves of your loneliness.

Your life hadn't been smooth sailing for the majority of your childhood, and now, you could finally thrive, peacefully.

However, when you arrived back home after another morning of classes, the normal comfort of your home was replaced with a cold-tense feeling that flagged every warning sign in your body.

So when a muscular arm held a cold-translucent spear up to your neck when you moved to exit, you slowly turned your head to look at your captor, ignoring the sting from where the water blade was beginning to draw blood.

A shiver ran down your spine when you caught a glimpse of bright ginger locks and ocean-blue eyes.

Now, you had a reason to be scared

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

❝Whisky on ice, Sunset and Vine— You've ruined my life, by not being mine.❞

𓇼𓍢ִִ-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑹𝑺 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑬✎

✧.*Thank you for reading my Childe x Female reader! Update times aren't confirmed, as I run on a schedule of when I can update. Please keep in mind that I'm currently in high-school and have many classes a day. One could even say I spend more time at school than I do at home. I am very busy and that's not even including what I have to to outside of school. Not to mention if I get sick, or my mental health. (I do have depression.) Also—please don't ask for updates, in a rude way, of course. I don't mind if you only ask once, as I will give you an answer anyway. 

✧.*I do not own Childe, or any other Genshin Impact characters included in this story. They belong to Mihoyo. Any of the art used in this story isn't mine unless I specifically state otherwise.

✧.*Trigger warnings will be provided at the beginning of each chapter. Including lime. I'm not so sure if I'll be writing lemon yet, but we'll see.

✧.*The reader in this story is female, or what you would call afab, and uses the pronouns She/Her and They/Them. If this doesn't apply to you, I apologize. As a Demi-girl, I feel more comfortable writing a female protagonist.

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

ੈ✩‧₊˚𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 

"Gorgeous," by Taylor Swift 

❝Whisky on ice, Sunset and Vine, You've ruined my life, by not being mine.❞

"Paper Rings," by Taylor Swift

❝I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings.❞

"Ocean Eyes," by Billie Eilish

❝Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes. Burning cities and napalm skies—Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes.❞

"Bust Your Knee Caps," by Pomplamoose

❝Jonny don't leave me, You said you'd love me forever. Honey, believe me—I'll have your heart on a platter-❞

"Somethin' Stupid," by Frank Sinatra 

❝The time is right, your perfume fills my head—The stars get red, and, oh, the night's so blue, And then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin' stupid like, "I love you"-❞

"High School Sweethearts," by Melanie Martinez

❝Can we just be honest? These are the requirements—If you think you can be my one and only true love..❞

"Do I Wanna Know?" by Arctic Monkeys

❝'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow and I play it on repeat-❞

"I Wanna Be Yours," by Arctic Monkeys

❝At least as deep as the Pacific Ocean—Now I wanna be yours-❞

"Supermassive Black Hole," by Muse

❝I thought I was a fool for no one—Ooh baby, I'm a fool for you-❞

"Panic Station," by Muse

❝Oooh 1, 2, 3, 4 fire's in your eyes—And this chaos, it defies imagination. Ooo 5, 6, 7, minus 9 lives—You've arrived at panic station.❞

"Teeth," by 5 Seconds of Summer

❝Call me in the morning to apologize—Every little lie gives me butterflies-❞

"Sucker For Pain," Imagine Dragons

❝Walk slow through the fire like, who gon' try us?—Take my hand through the flames—I'm a slave to your games—I'm just a sucker for pain-❞

"Him and I," by G-Easy

❝Cross my heart, hope to die—To my lover, I'd never lie-❞

"Animals," by Maroon 5

❝Baby, I'm preying on you tonight—Hunt you down eat you alive-❞

"Paralyzer," by Finger Eleven

❝Well, I'm not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you. I wanna make you move because you're standin' still. If your body matches what your eyes can do.❞

"Dance Macabre," by Ghost

❝How could it end like this? There's a sting in the way you kiss me-❞

"Kiss The Go-Goat," by Ghost

❝It ain't always what it seems—When you cling onto a dream—it ain't always there to please you. But he's the guy you wanna do—And you know that it takes two, luckily he wants to do you too.❞

"The Death of A Bachelor," Panic! At The Disco 

❝The lace in your dress tingles my neck, how do I live? The death of a bachelor—Oh oh-❞

"Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time," Panic! At The Disco

❝Five thousand people with designer drugs—Don't think I'll ever get enough—Champagne, cocaine, gasoline, and most things in between-❞

"Miss Jackson," by Panic! At The Disco

❝A pretty picture but the scenery is so loud—A face like heaven catching lighting in your nightgown-But back away from the water babe, you might drown-❞

"Wolf in Sheep's Clothing," by Set It Off

❝Beware, beware, be skeptical—Of their smiles, their smiles of plated gold—Deceit, so natural, but a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning.❞

"Rasputin," by Boney M.

❝There lived a certain man in Russia long ago—He was big and strong, in his eyes a flaming glow-❞

"Killshot," by Magdalena Bay

❝Something chronic—Bit demonic—Sin and tonic—Stupid promise—Can you make my heart stop? Hit me with your kill shot baby-❞

"Smooth Criminal," Micheal Jackson

❝You've been hit by—You've been hit by a smooth criminal.❞

"I Was Made For Lovin' You," by KISS

❝I was made for lovin' you, baby—You were made for lovin' me. And I can't get enough of you, baby—Can you get enough of me?❞

"Island In The Sun," by Weezer

❝When you're on a golden sea, you don't need no memory—Just a place to call your own—We'll run away together—We'll spend some time forever—We'll never feel bad anymore.❞

"You Give Love a Bad Name," Bon Jovi

❝Shot through the heart—And you're to blame. Darlin', you give love a bad name-❞

"Maneater," Nelly Furtado

❝Everybody look at me, me—I walk in the door, you start screaming-❞

"Partners In Crime," by Set It Off

❝You'll never takes us alive—We swore that death will do us part—They'll call our crimes a work of art.❞

"Rock Your Body," by Justin Timberlake

❝Don't be so quick to walk away—Dance with me—I wanna rock your body—Just wanna rock you girl.❞

"Criminal," by Brittney Spears

❝But mama I'm in love with a criminal—And this type of love isn't rational, it's physical-❞

"Dangerous," by Left Boy

❝Dangerous, ooh!, that sounds good yeah—Talk to me baby, like I'm your dude-❞

"Once More To See You," by Mitski

❝In the rearview mirror, I saw the setting sun on your neck—And felt the taste of you bubble up inside me, but with everybody watching us, our every move—We do have reputations—We keep it secret—If you would let me give you pinky promise kisses then I wouldn't have to scream your name atop of every roof in the city of my heart.❞

"There's Nothing Left For You," by Mitski

❝There's nothin' left for you—Nothin' in this room. Try and go outside—Nothin' waits for you. You had it once before—Not anymore—So go on to that sweetheart's door and find a new you.❞

"Recently," by Liana Flores

❝Hand in hand—The flowers understand that we're fine, you and I—Hands are tied. I don't mind—I'll make you be okay—And frequently I picture myself walking straight into the sea, laughing as the waves come rolling to my knees—What a place to be.❞

"Here With Me," by d4vd

❝I don't care how long it takes, as long as I'm with you I've got a smile on my face.❞

"Golden Hour," by JVKE

❝I was all alone with the love of my life. She's got glitter for skin—My radiant beam in the night.❞

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

⋘ 𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡... ⋙

1%

15%

45%

85%

100%

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ!

→𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : "Gorgeous," by Taylor Swift

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

❝You should think about the consequence Of your magnetic field being a little too strong❞

𓇼𓍢ִִ-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

Dust arose from the old book you opened, the pages were fragile from many years of wear and tear. 

You borrowed it from your family's overly large library, which looked like it belonged in a rustic castle, not a mansion located on a cliff near the sea.

Running your fingers over the decrepit pages, your eyes followed the faded words one by one.

"Το μέλλον," The title read. 

Despite only being 10, you were far more intelligent than most children your age.

You knew a few different languages and took multiple advanced classes in school. 

Though your family still didn't think you were good enough.

A frown spread across your face at the thought, the rainbow shimmer inside of your (e/c) irises, which your family also thought was odd, grew slightly cloudy.

Shaking your head to dismiss the looming sadness crowding your head, you looked at the title on the dusty book closer.

From what you could tell, the words read, "The Future," but in Greek.

Flipping through the pages, you skimmed over the sentences, seeing nothing interesting, until a certain tragedy plastered onto the top of a page caught your attention.

"The flood?"

Pressing the book harder onto the table, you leaned in closer, analyzing every word inked onto the paper.

Around 9 years ago, a disastrous flood wiped out a majority of the town you lived around 40 minutes away from.

Buildings were damaged, some almost beyond repair, and many families moved to get away from the aftermath. Others, however, weren't so lucky.

Nowadays, a town like yours, next to a large beach with white sands and crystal blue water, would be bursting at the seams with people and greedy contractors trying to sell out the locals. 

But the flood prevented that from happening.

And now, only locals remained in the now-rebuilt beach town, which looks almost brand new.

A major part of you was thankful for nature protecting your little slice of paradise from those who didn't belong.

The words on the pages described what happened during the flood in great detail, and the more you read, the more disturbed you became.

This book had to be multiple decades old, so why did it describe the tragedy so perfectly?

Lost in the rapid currents of your thoughts, the familiar sound of stilettos clicking against wooden floors startled you out of your daze.

You jumped and almost fell from the latter you were leaning against.

Jumping down from the latter, and almost twisting your ankle, you opened a random drawer at the bottom of the bookcase and shoved the book in it.

The large door to the library opened with a creak, as the sound of heels against the floor ceased.

"What are you up to?"

You turned around quickly, a guilty smile plastered on your face.

"Nothing Mother— I was just looking for a new book to read..." A worn-out sigh left your mouth, as your hands moved to brush the dust off of the expensive material of your dress.

She raised an eyebrow, a sour look overtaking her face. "Mhm. If only all that reading you've done would help with your studies." Your mother placed her hand on her hip, tapping her sleek-black stiletto against the wooden flooring.

You frown, feeling yourself lose patience. "Is there something you need?"

"It's Ma'am to you. And yes, there is. Your father is hosting a party with his colleagues and I don't need you looking trashy in front of business." She walks up to you as you back up into the bookshelf, cowering as you feel a manicured nail press against your shoulder.

"I've commissioned a designer dress for you, it's hanging in your room. All you have to do is to sit still and look pretty. Don't mess up."

Your frown deepens. "Yes Ma'am..."

She looks you up and down, the sour look remaining. "Good. Don't disappoint our family name."

Flipping her hair, your mother removed her nail from your shoulder, a crescent mark evidence of her anger, and walked away, not bothering to shut the door as her quieting footsteps furthered away. 

Sliding down onto the floor, you sighed, your silk dress draping around you and flowering onto the floor. 

"What I'd give for peace."

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

After some time on the floor to regain your bearings, you dragged yourself up, exiting the library and walking up a flight of stairs to your room.

Despite your parents' coldness toward you, your room was beautiful and made you feel at peace every time you were in it.

Your bed sat at the bottom of your room, and a spiral staircase led to a second floor where your vanity among other things was.

A dull murmur left your mouth, as you opened the door to your large walk-in closet and flipped the light on, your eyes landing on the dress that lay on your closet's island.

Stepping closer, light and almost unsure, you admired the dress, eyes twinkling at the pretty fabric.

Even if you felt bitter towards your parents, you couldn't deny their obvious talent in fashion. 

Against the light from your closet, the shimmery silver fabric or the gown sparkled, along with the light tint of (f/c) covering the material. The top of the dress fit a modest sweetheart neckline where the sparkly fabric was crossed over the other, with off-the-shoulder sleeves that draped off the shoulders from the excess material. A dark silver belt wrapped around the waist.

Smiling brightly, you picked up the dress and twirled around, an energetic giggle leaving your mouth.

"Maybe today won't be so bad after all."

Setting down the sparkling gown, you pulled the zipper down on the dress you were currently wearing and pulled it over your head, tossing it onto the floor to focus your attention on your new dress.

You patted down your petticoat and turned toward your attention to the gown lying on your island, carefully undoing the zipper.

With barely concealed excitement, you slipped the gown over your head, putting your arms through the sleeves and fixing the dress over your petticoat. 

Your breath halted as you slowly walked over to the large mirror at the end of your closet.

The dress fit you perfectly and shimmered every time the light hit it, resembling a diamond in the sunlight. 

A wide grin spread across your face as you clumsily stumbled out of your closet, leaving the door open and the lights on, and dangerously rushing up the spiral staircase in your room. 

You approached your vanity and plopped down in the chair in front of it, opening one of the drawers and grabbing a few makeup products out of it. 

A lopsided attempt at doing your makeup, you noticed, groaning and rubbing more eyeshadow onto your eyelid in an attempt to fix your mistakes. 

Though you were better at most of your age makeup, you still had a lot to learn.

A knock on your door startled you out of what you were doing, and you almost dropped the brush in your hand. 

Your eyes widened and you placed the brush back onto your vanity, almost falling out of your chair. "--Coming!"

Shifting came from behind the door as the knock increased in volume. "Ms. (Name)? Are you alright?" 

The voice coming from the hallway caused you to sigh in relief. 

Untangling your leg from the chair, (a result of not paying attention to your surroundings,) you walked over to your staircase and carefully, this time, walked down to your door. 

You grabbed the door handle and opened the door, coming face to face with your maid, Arabella.

"I'm fine Ari–what's with that face?" 

She stared at you with wide eyes, before her face twisted in a way that made her look like she was in pain. 

Covering her mouth with her palm, she averted her eyes, attempting to not laugh at your predicament. 

"Arabella?"

Arabella shook her head and calmed herself down, sighing and stepping toward you, placing a hand on your shoulder in sympathy. "Ms. (Name)...while I don't doubt your talents for a moment, I do believe you need some help with your makeup."

Now it was your turn to stand there fish-eyed. 

Bashfully, the floorboards seemed most interesting as you looked at the floor, nodding in embarrassment.

She smiled at you and grabbed your hand, leading you up the stairs and guiding you to sit in front of your vanity. 

"I'm guessing you favor a certain color, hm?"

Recovering from your embarrassment, you nodded, grabbing one of your many eyeshadow pallets and opening it to point at your favorite color. 

"What a wonderful choice. This color suits your complexion."

Arabella grabbed a makeup wipe and held your chin as she wiped your makeup off in a gentle manner. 

"Now–let's start fresh."

Grabbing a brush, Arabella began to lightly apply makeup to your face.

You hummed in pleasure at the soft motion, feeling yourself becoming sleepy. Who knew getting your makeup done could be so relaxing?

With a swift hand movement, Arabella applied a small amount of eyeliner over the shimmery eyeshadow you were wearing and then spun your chair around to face the mirror of your vanity.

"You can open your eyes now Ms. (Name)."

Peeking your eyes open, you grinned widely, beaming at the beautiful art on your face. 

Arabella noticed your silence and began to worry. "Do you like it? I can redo it if you don't–"

"I love it!"

You rushed and engulfed her in an energetic hug. 

She stumbled in shock before laughing and hugging your back, patting your head. "Now Ms. (Name). Let's not mess up your makeup just yet."

A huff left your mouth as you snickered, "Alright," you paused and let go of Arabella before smirking, "By the way, you can just call (Name)."

Arabella gaped before shaking her head. "Ma'am–"

"I see you as a friend. There's no need for formalities." 

She gave you a warm smile. "Alright then, (Name)." 

You giggled and she flicked you on the nose, rolling her eyes playfully. "It's almost time for you to greet your family's guests."

The calm expression on your face dampened and you frowned. 

Arabella noticed your discomfort and gave you a reassuring smile. "You'll do great, I know you will," Reaching into the pocket of her apron, she pulled out a necklace and placed it against your neck," If it helps, I found this on the floor of the library when I was looking for you. When I saw it I immediately thought of you."

You looked down at the necklace and gasped when you saw a beautiful white-gold ring, set with large ruby crystals in the center and adorned with a few navy crystals along the rim. Flipping the ring over, you looked at the band, which had a narwhal carved into the thick part of the back and the letter A carved into the thin part of the band. 

It sat perfectly on your collarbone, and the weight of the metal felt like it was meant to be there. Not to mention how the ring felt warm against your upper chest, and when you tried to remove it, frigidness would wash over you.

You smiled genuinely at your friend. "Thank you, Ari. For everything."

She pinched your cheek and lightly shoved you towards the door. 

"Don't mention it." Arabella brushes off your dress and tucks a wild strand of your hair behind your ear. "Break a leg."

The nervous smile on your face shifted into one of confusion. "What?"

"It's an expression. You'll do great anyway, I know it."

Before you could press her even further, she pushed you out of your room and shut the door behind you. 

A shaky sigh left your mouth and you made your way down the hallway, walking down two flights of stairs and reaching the entrance to the living room. 

You spotted your mother's authoritarian figure standing in front of the doorway, arm linked with your fathers, who was laughing proudly, raising a glass of whiskey to toast. 

Slinking quietly toward the entrance, you tried to slip inside to a corner where you wouldn't be noticed, but when your heels made a noise on the floor, your mother's sharp icy blue eyes turned towards you.

She gave you a look and you begrudgingly walked up to stand beside her.

A fierce whisper left her mouth. "You're late."

You gulped, cold sweat began to form as you could feel her free hand wrap around your wrist, her sharp nails threatening to break the skin. 

"But you didn't say when to—"

"That's enough. I don't want to hear your excuses. The only thing you can do to atone for your mistakes is sit still and look pretty. Got it?"

"Yes, mother.." You nod, tears threatening to ruin your makeup.

"Good."

She released your wrist, but the mark remained, already red and irritated.

Your father had finally finished his speech and looked toward where you were standing. He seemed surprised to see you there but frowned when he saw your watery eyes. 

He unlinked his arm with your mother and placed a hand on your shoulder, patting it softly. 

You smiled through your tear-blurry eyes.

Everything would be okay.

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

The party had ended after a few more hours after the tipsy stragglers left. 

With a renewed pep in your step, you gratefully left the living room, rushing up the stairs to the second floor to run back into the library.

Pushing the door open faster than you usually did, (and with the weight of the door, you'd be sore tomorrow,) you rushed toward the drawer you remember stashing the mysterious book in. 

Flinging open the drawer, you found the book just where you had left it,

A relieved sigh left your mouth. "Thank goodness."

You pick up the book and stuff it under your petticoat, making sure it won't fall out.

Shutting the drawer, you ran out of the open library, not bothering to look and see if someone was inside the hallway to witness your odd behavior.

Another flight of stairs later and a few confused maids, you had made it back to your room and locked the door.

You sat the book on your nightstand, deciding you'd read more of it after you got some rest.

Quickly taking of your dress along with your other items, you took your makeup off and lunged into your bed, snuggling into the silk covers as you drifted off to sleep.

But, what you didn't realize is that the book had fallen off your nightstand, hitting the floor and opening up to reveal a read and gold mask.

𓇼𓍢ִִ໋🌊🐚˖✩࿐࿔˚˖𓍢ִ✧˚

❝𝙊𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙗𝙡𝙪𝙚 𝙚𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚, 𝙄 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙄 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙞𝙚.❞

🐚 ྀ࿓(Childe/Tartaglia/Ajax x Female Reader)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @strawberrysunr1se 4/10/24

𓇼𓍢ִִ-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

[angelsrcute]

being sneaky w childe when the three of you (with traveler) are like adventuring or something

also good luck for your examss! 🍀

Crazy, Crazy in love with you. ౨ৎ

(´∀｀*)ε｀　) ౨ৎ N–sfw content !! ; Dom!Chile + Sub!F!Reader ➜ cws: blowjob, praising, aphrodisiac ᡴꪫ‎

Nothing much really happened, You, Traveller and Childe were out fighting some hilichurl because apparently a certain ginger was bored n wanted to fight! (deffo not Childe)

You and Childe had got lost afterwards and got hit by an aphrodisiac flower, Childe wanted to give you some flowers while throwing in cheesy pick-up lines.

You had been pushed to your knees, his cock throbbing with need in front of you and now, his hands gripping your hair, sweet praises leaving his lips as you try your best to suck him off, gosh, it's big. “Baby, your mouth feels so good, good girl, hah…so good f'me”

Where did the traveller go, you wonder, it'd be so embarrassing if you two got caught by the traveller.

A sudden thrust brought you back to reality, “Baby, keep your eyes on me, don't think of anything else..” Childe says with a pout, eyes dazed. With one final thrust he shoots thick ropes of cum in your mouth.

“Swallow,” he says. His hands pushing a finger between your lips, your tongue out, satisfied that you swallowed it.

“Hey, I think we have some time before traveller finds us, how bout’ having a quick fuck, please?” Childe says with a puppy look in his eyes, ah, shit, is that blond hair you see?? This guy isn't even paying attention to anything else but you as he undresses you.

[sidemari]

• After Dark •

A NSFW compilation of short texts (not so short) about their kinks. This could also be called "1 character, 1 kink".

Characters included: Childe, Diluc Ragnvindr, Dottore, Kaeya Alberich, Kamisato Ayato, Ningguang, Scaramouche, Wriothesley and Zhongli [separately] x Fem/AFAB/GN!Reader 

TW: Aphrodisiacs; BDSM dynamics; bondage; brat taming; breeding kink; consensual non-con; creampie; DD/LG; dirty talk; edging; exhibitionism; fingering; masturbation; oral sex (F/M receiving); overstimulation; praise kink; sub/dom dynamics; vibrators; unprotected sex. Let me know if I missed any.

WC: 10k+ (all of the stories together, of course).

Forgive me for any mistakes, I'm exhausted, and I won't read this giant post over again for the next few weeks, lol.

Childe 

Consensual non-con. (Fem!Reader) 

You were lying on the sheets, your wrists tied above your head with a bow he had tied himself — tight enough to keep the fantasy alive, but soft enough not to hurt you.

“Look what we have here…” Tartaglia’s voice sounded deep and theatrical, as if he were playing a character. He was looking down at you with a wild glint in his eyes, the crooked smile of someone who was having fun — but with his heart pounding with desire and zeal for you. You squirmed, trying hard to look scared, even though you knew that was exactly what he wanted.

“P-Please… Don’t do this…” You whispered, trembling on purpose, playing the role perfectly.

“You should know that you can’t tease someone like me and still get away with it, princess…” He growled, pulling your legs to the edge of the bed. The way his eyes bored into yours, even when he was playing his role, was still full of adoration. “It’s too late to regret it now.”

The sheets under you were damp with some of the essence that insisted on seeping from you, due to your anticipation. Your nipples were hard beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown, and he noticed every reaction — every little sign that you wanted this as much as he did. 

“You’re so wet…” He commented as he slid his fingers between your legs. “You’re begging me with that little body, even though you’re saying ‘no’ with your mouth.” He leaned in and whispered against your ear, “But I know your body better than anyone, my love. I know when it’s desperate for me.”

“P-Please, don’t do this to m-me… I’m… so sorry for—” But he didn’t let you finish. He thrust into you hard, in one motion, eliciting a scream from you that was a mix of shock and pleasure. You arched your body, pulling at the sheets, feeling the heat rise like an overwhelming wave.

“Beg me.” He ordered, his voice hoarse with lust. “Tell me you need it. That you can’t live without my cock ravishing your cunt.”

“Ajax, please, use me… Fuck me until I can’t think anymore…” You moaned, your eyes moist, no longer from pretense, but from real, deep pleasure. His hips moved with rhythm and strength, your name escaping between his lips. The act had already given way to surrender — the game was exciting, but what made it all intense was the trust between you.

He leaned in, his red hair wet with sweat, his eyes fixed on yours.

“Is everything okay?” He asked softly, breaking character for a moment, just to be sure.

You nodded with a lascivious smile. “I can still take much more, love…”

And he provided that to you, until your legs were trembling, until your eyes watered with pleasure, until your voice broke. And when it was all over, he released you with loving hands, kissing each mark and scratch, wrapping you in his arms as if you were fragile. 

“It was perfect.” He whispered. “You’re perfect.”

Diluc Ragnvindr

Bondage. (Fem!Reader) 

The flames in the fireplace cast warm shadows over the stone walls of the room. The unmistakable aroma of wine and wood filled the room, and the silence was broken only by the soft crackling of the fire. You sat on the edge of the bed, your heart racing, your eyes attentive to Diluc’s every move as he walked back towards you. 

He looked even more imposing under the golden light, his red hair loose over his shoulders and an expression that mixed concentration with restrained desire. In his hands, he held the red satin strips that you had timidly suggested the night before. 

“Are you sure about this?” He asked in a low, husky voice, kneeling before you. His hands caressed your thighs gently, reverently, as if preparing the ground for something deeper. “I only want this if you want it too.” You nodded, your face hot, your breath shallow.

“Yes. I do. Just… just take care of me.” A small smile appeared on his lips — a rare, intimate smile that made your chest tighten. 

“Always.”

Patiently, Diluc led you to the center of the bed. His kisses came slow, intense, as he took his time to undress you, piece by piece, as if each button and strap were a ritual. When you were naked beneath the fine linen sheets, he pulled away just enough to tie your wrists with the satin, crossing them over your head and securing them firmly to the headboard.

“Let me know if it’s too tight.” He said, caressing the skin of your arms, his dark eyes assessing your expression every second. You felt the knot tighten securely, but it didn’t hurt. It was firm… comforting, even. You trusted him. You always had.

Diluc lay back down beside you, his fingers gliding over the curves of your bound body, his eyes exploring every detail as if he were memorizing the landscape of the woman he loved. He leaned in, kissing your collarbone, your jaw, until your lips parted reflexively.

“You’re so beautiful like this…” He murmured against your skin. “Surrendered, only mine.”

His words made something inside you melt, even more so when his hand went down between your legs and found you already wet, hot and pulsing.

“Already so wet… I’ve barely touched you.” He chuckled softly, a deep, satisfied sound, before pressing his thumb against your clit and making slow, teasing circles. Your hips moved instinctively, but he held them back with his other hand, holding you in place.

“No.” The word was spoken tenderly, but full of command. “I’m the one in control here.”

You bit your lip, arching your back with a restrained moan. Tied up and exposed, each touch felt more intense. Diluc knew that. He knew your body like no one else. His fingers danced between torture and pleasure, making you writhe under the delicate control he masterfully exercised. His breathing was also heavier, his dark eyes fixed on your face, capturing every reaction. He alternated soft caresses with firmer touches, sometimes leaning in to kiss your breasts, sometimes whispering praises in your ear: 

“You endure so much for me… so obedient…” 

“You’re driving me crazy like this…” 

“I need to hear you beg, love.” 

You felt yourself getting close. Your body trembled, your muscles contracted, your orgasm building like an inevitable storm. But then, just as the wave began to rise, he stopped. He removed his fingers, went back to kissing your neck, leaving you on the edge — dragging your pleasure with refinement and intention. 

“D-Diluc, please…” You whimpered, your eyes watering, your body arching toward him. “Don’t stop…”

“You haven’t reached your limit yet,” He replied quietly, his voice low and husky, his fingertips tracing your abdomen. “I want you to need this. To really beg for me.” You panted, your body too hot and sensitive. Each pause was sweet torture, a flame that burned without consuming — until the desire became something deeper, more urgent. And then, when you finally moaned his name, begging without pride or shame, he smiled.

“Good girl.” He positioned himself between your legs, kissing you hungrily, his entire body pressing against yours. The heat of his skin, his weight, the firmness with which he held your hips — everything about him was absolute. When he finally entered you, slow, deep, your body cried out in relief. It was as if everything fell into place — as if the universe were spinning on its axis again. He groaned softly, his lips against your neck, his hips moving with a rhythm that was torturous, but felt so good.

“You’re perfect. So tight… You take me so well…” His voice was hoarse from pleasure. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this… about you, trapped, moaning my name…”

The restraints kept you from touching him, but that only made everything more intense. You felt vulnerable and adored at the same time. His thrusts became harder, but the bed creaked in protest as he lost himself in you.

“Look at me.” He pulled your face with one hand. “I want to see your eyes when you come for me.” And you obeyed. There was no other choice, no other destiny, no other name to say but his as your body shattered with pleasure — the orgasm ripping through every inch of you hot, overwhelming. Diluc continued for a few more seconds, until he spilled himself inside you, trembling, his face hidden in your neck.

When your breathing returned to normal, he carefully untied your wrists, kissing every red mark left by the satin. His fingers caressed your arms, your hair, your waist.

“You were wonderful,” He murmured, pulling you to his chest. “Thank you for trusting me.” You smiled, tired, satisfied, whole. In the flames dancing in the fireplace, everything seemed safe. Everything was love.

Aphrodisiacs. (Fem!Reader) 

You were sitting on the couch in Diluc’s private library, wrapped in a light robe, your body still tingling from the wine he had brought. But it wasn’t just any wine. It tasted exotic, sweet and spicy — with something that made you feel warm from the first sip.

Your heart beated faster, your skin felt more sensitive, and every glance Diluc made in your direction made your breath falter. He was there, standing in front of the bookshelf, watching you with those intense red eyes, like embers about to catch fire. There was a small smile on the corner of his lips — a smile that betrayed that he knew exactly what he had done. 

“This wine…” You began, your voice lower than you expected. “There’s something more to it, isn’t there?” Diluc approached slowly, his hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes fixed on yours. 

“It’s a special batch. Made from a rare variety of fruits grown in the fertile soil of Sumeru. Some say it… stimulates the senses.” He stopped in front of you, leaning down just enough to touch your chin with two fingers. “Do you feel it?”

You nodded, your lips parted, the heat growing in your lower belly like a fire slowly spreading. He gently removed the robe from your shoulders, exposing your skin to the warm air of the room.

“You look so beautiful like this… all flushed, breathless…” He knelt between your legs, his fingers sliding up your bare thigh. “Sensitive.” His lips brushed against your skin, each kiss sending electric waves to the core of your body. It was as if each touch of his tripled in intensity. The wine, or whatever it was, made your body beg for more — made you writhe under the softest caresses, yearning for something that had yet to come.

He pulled your legs up to his shoulders with ease and buried his face between your thighs, his hot tongue sliding inside you with precision, firmness, and calculated pleasure. It was almost cruel, the way he used his mouth — as if he studied your reaction to every movement. You moaned, your hands going to his hair out of reflex, but he held them with one of his large hands, keeping you in place.

“Stay still,” He murmured against your skin. “Let me take care of you.”

And you tried. But it was impossible not to writhe, not to moan, not to beg. The heat was too much. Your body throbbed, hungry, desperate for release. And when you were finally on the edge, arching your back and gripping the seat under you, Diluc stopped. His red eyes rose to yours, hungry, and a little cruel.

He stripped off his own clothes, revealing the strength contained beneath his formal attire, his muscles defined in the firelight. When he lay down on top of you, the heat of your two bodies met like a spark in gunpowder. He entered you slowly, filling you completely, and you both gasped in unison.

“You’re… tight,” he whispered through his teeth. “Like you’ve been waiting for me for days.” His movements began slowly, deeply, and you felt every inch of him as if it were the first time. The aphrodisiac made your body vibrate, your skin tingle, your senses plunge into a pleasurable torpor. It was impossible to control your moans, the way your body trembled beneath him, the way your hips sought more. Diluc bent down, kissing your neck, your shoulder, biting carefully. 

“Are you this sensitive because of me? Because I filled you with that wine, knowing what I would do to you later?” The answer escaped like a sob of pleasure. 

“Yes…” He increased his pace, his movements more intense, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the muffled room. His hands held your waist firmly, keeping you in place as your body was taken deeper, faster, harder.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your mouth. “Only mine. I want you like this… writhing in pleasure, calling my name, begging for more.” You couldn’t think, speak or breathe properly. The pleasure came like violent waves, and when it arrived, it was overwhelming. Your body arched, your eyes rolled back, your moans were lost in Diluc’s mouth as he also spilled himself inside you, with a low, hoarse grunt, full of pleasure.

He stayed there for a while, still on top of you, kissing your forehead and stroking your hair. Then, he pulled you to his chest, covering the two of you with a blanket.

“Next time,” He said with a satisfied smile, “I’ll use a smaller dose. Or maybe not.”

Overstimulation. (Fem!Reader) 

The night had started slowly. Calm kisses, hands exploring patiently, and tender whispers exchanged under the soft light that entered through the mansion’s windows. Diluc was always meticulous with everything he did, and with you it was no different. He made love like someone who appreciates a rare wine — slowly, savoring your every reaction, every sigh.

But that night, there was something more. A glint in his eyes, something hungry, that made your entire body react even before the first most intimate touch. He wanted more — and he wanted you to feel more.

Your eyes met his for a moment, and all you could do was nod, already feeling the heat begin to pulse in your belly. Diluc smiled — not that gentle smile of his usual, but a slower one, full of dangerous promises.

The sheets were rumpled beneath you, your hair spread across the pillow as he settled himself between your legs again. You had already gotten there — not once, but twice. Your body was trembling, sensitive, a little fragile under the touch of his hands… but still hungry.

“Look how wet you still are for me,” He whispered, sliding two fingers inside you, slowly, almost reverently. You gasped, your body reacting with small spasms, as if you were on edge — and you were.

“Diluc…” Your voice was broken, pleading, but he just smiled and lay back down between your thighs. The first touches of his tongue were almost unbearable. Your skin reacted with small tremors, the pleasure coming fast, too aggressive, as if every nerve was screaming with the accumulated intensity. You tried to close your legs, instinctively, but he held them firmly.

“Don’t run away now, my dear,” He said in an almost serious tone, looking at you with his red eyes burning with desire. “You can handle it. I know you can.”

And he went back to licking, slow and deep, exploring you with the precision that only he had. His hands held your thighs open, pinning you to the bed as if he wouldn’t let you escape for even a second. Your head threw back on the pillow, moans escaping loudly, uninhibited, because you could no longer control anything.

It was too much. Everything was too much. His mouth, the heat, the perfect and cruel rhythm, the feeling of being consumed entirely. Your entire body trembled, and when the orgasm arrived — a third, overwhelming one — he didn’t even give you time to breathe.

“Diluc, please… I… I can’t take it…” You whimpered, almost sobbing, your body contracting as if you were running away and searching for more at the same time.

“Of course you can,” He murmured, his fingers now replacing his mouth. Two firm fingers, thrusting in and out of you at a torturous pace, while his other hand caressed your clit with soft, rhythmic circular strokes. “You’re so good for me… you always give me everything.”

You whimpered fearlessly, shamelessly — your moans mixing with disjointed words, your eyes watering. Each wave of pleasure was more intense than the last, each one stealing a piece of your air, your strength. And yet… you didn’t want him to stop.

Diluc was visibly aroused by your surrender. His eyes were glued to your body, to the way you trembled and moaned and begged. He climbed on top of you, pressing your body against his, and aligned himself with your entrance again — hot, hard, hungry.

“One more,” He whispered against your mouth, his lips crashing to yours in a searing kiss. “Just one more for me, love…” And when he entered you, everything went blank for a second. Your body, which already seemed about to collapse. He moved with force, with need, each thrust deep and accurate. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, his moans mixing with yours as he held your face, his eyes fixed on yours. 

Your entire body exploded in pleasure once more, with such intensity that tears escaped your eyes. You moaned loudly, your whole body arching, your hands gripping the sheets as if you were going to come undone.

Diluc hugged you tightly, burying his face in your neck when he came too, with a hoarse moan. His body shuddered against yours, and then everything was quiet for a moment — just your hearts beating fast, your breathless, sweaty, and exhausted.

He kissed your forehead gently, running his fingers through your heat-soaked hair.

You smiled against his chest, your body still trembling, but completely sated.

Dottore 

Sleepy sex. (Fem!Reader)

The lab finally fell silent. Vials still pulsed with faint blue glows, remnants of some unstable mixture he had decided to leave for the next day. For the first time in hours — maybe days — Dottore was without his mask and his impenetrable posture. Just a man with heavy eyes and slow breathing, slumped on the couch in the next room, his shirt half open and his hair still a little messy from the last time he ran his hands through it.

You approach him silently. He knows it’s you even before he opens his eyes, and he murmurs something hoarse, low, almost swallowed by fatigue.

“You should be sleeping…” But his arms open anyway, as if his body were defying its own order.

When you lie down next to him, he immediately pulls you onto his lap, burying his face in your neck as if he were trying to hide from the world. There’s something curious there — he seems more fragile than you’re used to seeing. The defenses that always make him so hard to read were now slowly melting away in the heat of your skin.

“You calm me down.” He confesses softly, between warm kisses on your shoulder. His voice is still slurred, half-sleepy, but the desire… that was already starting to boil beneath the surface. His hands slide down your thighs more slowly than usual, as if he were too lazy to let go of his control — but also without the slightest desire to resist you. Each touch of his is a little more needy than technical. You see him without any armor, and yet so sure of himself, even tired.

Your lips meet slowly. It’s a lazy, slurred kiss… but full of that typical Dottore intensity. He murmurs against your mouth:

“Do you want this now?” And when you respond with a whispered yes, he sighs as if he already knows. “Of course you do. You always know how to make me weak…”

The excitement grows between kisses and touches exchanged in silence, almost respecting the tiredness that weighs on both bodies. Still, there is something delicious in losing yourself like this — in bodies intertwined without haste, in moans muffled by the pillow, in panting breaths that mix.

Dottore’s surrendered more than ever. With half-open eyes, he observes your every reaction, even as he moans softly as he feels you mount him with the calm of someone who knows all the shortcuts to your pleasure. His hands hold your hips, sometimes tightly, sometimes just caressing you with his fingertips, as if he wanted to prolong that moment as much as possible.

You move your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him, feeling how his body trembles beneath yours.

“You’re driving me crazy…” He says, his voice deep and broken.

“Then go crazy with me.” You reply. And he does exactly that.

There, between the rumpled sheets and the drowsy smell of experiments and desire, Dottore lets himself go. Cumming with you on top of him is almost cathartic, as if his own body were thanking you for letting him come undone like that — tired, vulnerable, but satisfied.

Then, he keeps you there, lying on his chest, fingers drawing circles on your spine. The drowsiness is now real, deep… but in the midst of the torpor, he still says with an almost choked voice:

“You are the only experiment I never want to end.”

Kaeya Alberich 

You being on top. (Fem!Reader)  

He loves to tease. You know that. Just look at him, with that crooked smile and his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. But behind the sharp words and calculated charm, there is something else — something that only you know.

It is the Kaeya who moans softly when you hold his chin firmly and tell him to stay still and obey. It is the Kaeya who shudders when you push him against the bed and ride him at your own pace, making sure to control every moan, every sigh, every tremor of his body.

“Are you that sensitive already?” You ask, feigning innocence as you move over him, slowly burying his cock deep inside you, staying there for a few seconds, grinding your hips against his, before starting the movements all again. He bites his lip, his eyes moist with pleasure — that pleasure that burns in his chest, that almost hurts because it feels so good.

“You’re going to kill me, love… I can’t take it—”

“Yes, you will. You’ll take it because I want you to.” And he obeys. Always.

He loves seeing you on top — literally and emotionally. He loves when you hold his wrists against the mattress and straddle him with a sweet, dangerous smile on your lips. He loves feeling his entire body begging for release, while you deny it, only to see him begging for more.

“Touch me… Please, just a little—” His voice breaks, choking, and he turns his face away, ashamed of his own weakness. But you hold his chin, forcing him to look you in the eyes. “Or else… At least let me touch you…” His hands struggle against yours, winning and lifting one of them to touch your breast, squeezing it devotedly. You pull his hand away, preventing him from touching your body under the threat that you wouldn’t let him cum if he did.

“Look how beautiful you are like this… Whimpering and almost crying just because I’m giving you pleasure in my own way.” The moan that escapes him is almost a sob. A muffled sound, drenched in emotion and desire. You don't need to do anything else — just exist, and he's already surrendered.

“Can I?” He bit his lip, trying to hold your hips only to have you slap his hands away.

“Can you what? Use your words, Alberich.” Heavens, iit was so good to see him like this, escaping his dominant and sharp personality.

“C-Can I cum? I'm so close, p-please…” Your movements became faster and your own hands guided his so that one of them stimulated your clit while the other squeezed one of your breasts, teasing your nipple every now and then. That was your way of saying — without words — that he could cum. And he did, becoming a whimpering mess under you.

“Remind me to tease you more often if you're going to treat me like this.” He murmured, before pulling you off of him so that you two could switch positions. “Now I need some revenge, right?”

Bondage. (Fem!Reader) 

You were there, your wrists tied above your head, your back against the mattress, your body exposed and heated by his voice. Kaeya was an expert at seduction, but with you… he sometimes left a little teasing aside, just to show how much he knew what he was doing.

“Don’t worry, love,” He whispered, adjusting the tie on your wrists with surprising care. “If you want me to stop, just say so. But something tells me you won’t.”

The fabric he used to restrain you was soft, allowing it to be firm enough to impede most of your movements. His kisses spread like slow fire — down your neck, against your collarbone, across the curve of your breasts. Your eyes returned to his for a second, and Kaeya gave you that mischievous and affectionate smile, his fingers sliding between your legs, teasing you just enough to make you gasp.

“Look at you… You’re already so ready, and I barely touched you.” His fingers penetrated your folds, curving to reach your g-spot with ease and mastery. It was almost as if he had memorized your body: every curve, every sensitive spot. Teasing was a game he mastered. 

Then he bent down and devoured you with his mouth while his fingers didn't stop their movements. His tongue lapped at you with a precision that made you writhe, tied up, completely helpless in the face of the pleasure he administered with dedication.

"Stay still for me, darling," He murmured against your sex, his dark blue eyes fixed on yours. "Let me take care of everything." And you let him. 

The world was reduced to his hands, his mouth, the weight of his body on yours. He made you ask — not beg, because he knew the difference. He wanted to see you surrendered, but with pride, surrendered to him because you trusted him, not because you were forced. And that made him crazy with desire. 

When he finally entered you, your moans mingled with his, muffled by deep kisses. The thrusts were firm, constant, followed by sweet and dirty words in equal measure.

"Just like that… You're mine, all mine. I'm going to remind you of that every time you cum around me." And you both came, strong and overwhelming, the waves of pleasure washing over your bodies. He released you afterwards, with gentle hands, worried eyes, covering you with kisses and caresses.

"Did I tie you up too tightly?" He asked, caressing your cheek affectionately.

"No, I like it when you do that." You kissed the corner of his mouth. "Can we go again?"

"Always."

Aphrodisiacs. (Fem!Reader) 

You didn’t know exactly what he had put in that wine — but you knew he wouldn’t do anything you didn’t want. Kaeya was a tease, but he loved you. He loved the way you trusted him even when your eyes were clouded with desire, even when your body trembled for more.

“Just a touch of something special,” He whispered against your lips, holding the glass that was still between his fingers. “Something to... ignite what’s already burning.”

The drink tasted sweet, almost fruity, but the effect was immediate: your skin tingled, every heartbeat seemed to echo between your legs, and Kaeya’s presence, with his scent, his smile, and his cool fingers against your warm skin, became unbearably addictive. 

He noticed the effect, of course he did. He sat behind you, pulling you onto his lap calmly, his chest against your back, his hands traveling over your body, mapping it with care and intention.

“It’s hot, hm? It’s the aphrodisiac... But it’s also me.” He chuckled softly, kissing the side of your neck. “Your body knows who it wants.” 

You moaned softly when his hands reached your breasts, squeezing them gently, his thumbs playing with your nipples through your thin clothing. Your hips moved unintentionally, seeking friction, relief — and Kaeya guided you with pleasure.

“You’re sensitive... So beautiful like this. I could make you cum with a touch.” 

He laid you down with all the care in the world, removing each piece of clothing with lingering kisses. His fingers stimulated your sex just enough to make you shiver, and he smiled, fascinated by the intensity of your reaction.

The aphrodisiac pulsed in your blood like fire, and Kaeya enjoyed every second — with patience, with precision, with desire. His touch was the final dose: you came with just his fingers and tongue, your entire body arching in response.

“That’s it...” He whispered, between kisses on your belly, moving up to your lips. “I want to make you come like this again and again.” And he really did.

With his body pressed against yours, his eyes fixed on yours, Kaeya penetrated you slowly, moaning with the pleasure of being inside you — and feeling how hot, tight, desperate you were. You scratched his back, and he moaned back, asking for more.

“It’s my fault,” He murmured with a dirty smile. “I left you like this... and now I’m going to fix it.” 

Overstimulation. (Fem!Reader) 

He had already made you cum once. Then twice. And now your body felt like it was about to collapse under his every new touch.

“Kaeya… P-Please…” You moaned, your voice broken by the excess of pleasure, by the tremors that ran through your open legs, still exposed to him.

But he didn’t stop.

His tongue moved slowly over your clit, as if savoring your every reaction, every involuntary spasm, every breathless sob that escaped your lips.

“You can still take more, can’t you?” He asked in a low voice, his lips wet with your essence, his eyes half-closed and hungry. “Your body is begging me even if your mouth says otherwise.”

You tried to close your legs, but his arms were firm, keeping them apart. Kaeya was gentle, but determined. The pleasure was already unbearable — and yet, you wanted more. 

“You look so beautiful when you crumble like that,” He whispered, before lapping at you again more firmly, his fingers sliding inside you with ease, curling at the exact spot that made you gasp. Your back arched once more, the orgasm ripping through your body with force. He felt it and smiled, because he knew there was more to come.

“How many times can I make you cum before you pass out in my arms?” He murmured against your skin, kissing your inner thigh, his fingers still inside you, moving slowly, as if he was testing the limits of your sensitivity. 

You whimpered, struggling weakly, your body already too sensitive, your clit throbbing, your mind clouded by so much pleasure.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” He whispered, moving up to your lips and kissing you tenderly. “You’re doing so well...” Kaeya entered you slowly, feeling how you trembled, how your body pulsed around him, completely surrendered. He moaned against your mouth, pleasure consuming him too. 

“Let me take you to the edge… Just one more time.” He asked, his voice choking with desire and affection. “I’ll take care of you later, I promise.”

And you let him. Because there, even in the midst of the chaos of absolute pleasure, Kaeya was your safe haven — even when he made you forget your own name with yet another orgasm that made you see stars.

Kamisato Ayato 

Bondage. (Fem!Reader)

You had lost count of how many times Ayato had told you that he loved seeing you surrendered to him. But there was something in the way he said it — with that serene smile, his clear eyes fixed on yours — that made everything inside you warm. With him, even submission was wrapped in elegance and reverence. And that night, the touch of the silk tying your wrists only confirmed that.

The softness of the sheets contrasted with the gentle tension of the ribbons that held your arms above your head, firmly on the back of the bed. Your legs, equally spread and immobilized with delicacy, made you feel vulnerable... and deeply desired.

Ayato was kneeling between your legs, impeccable even in that intimate moment. No part of him seemed out of control — everything was calculated, refined, even the way he ran his fingers through the ties to check if they were tight enough without hurting your skin.

“You trust me, don’t you?” He asked softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead, then your lips sweetly.

“Of course I do.” You replied, your voice trembling with anticipation.

“Good girl.” He whispered with a crooked smile that made your stomach turn. “Then let me guide you tonight.” His hands were as gentle as they were firm. He began exploring your skin with light touches, trailing his fingers along the curves of your body, slowly moving downward. He kissed each spot patiently, with a silent adoration that made your skin shiver from head to toe. And then he stopped, observing your bound body as if it were the most precious of works of art.

“You look so beautiful like this... exposed just for me.” He said in a low tone, almost like a prayer. “Every sigh you take, every shiver... it’s all mine.”

You gasped as you felt the tip of his tongue slide down your belly, rising to the base of your breasts, where he stopped to nibble lightly. The restraints made it impossible for you to try to squirm, and that only made each touch intensify. You were surrendered, and he knew it.

Ayato brought his fingers to your intimacy, touching slowly, exploratively. Your hips moved, an involuntary reaction to the growing pleasure, but he held you firmly.

And with that, he bent down, his tongue taking the place of his fingers. Ayato’s tongue was a precision weapon. He knew exactly where to lick, where to suck, when to speed up and when to stop just to watch you writhe, begging for more.

The tension of the tapes on your wrists made each sensation even more vivid. Your senses were heightened, your body reacting to each stimulus as if it were the first. Your moans became pleas, and when the first orgasm came, you practically cried out in pleasure, trembling under his touch.

He climbed up your body, his chest pressed against yours, his eyes staring into yours with a glow that was both hungry and calm at the same time. 

"You're not done yet," He whispered, his lips almost touching yours. "Not until I say so."

And then he positioned himself and penetrated you slowly, with an almost cruel slowness. You were so sensitive that the simple act of feeling him inside you drew a loud moan. He moved firmly, controlling each thrust, watching every expression on your face, as if memorizing every nuance of yours.

The silk ribbons held your arms in place, and that only intensified everything. You couldn't touch him, couldn't pull him closer, only feel — and obey.

“You’re mine.” He whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “So obedient, so perfect for me…” The climax came again, even stronger, making your vision blur for seconds. Your entire body trembled, sweat stuck the strands of hair to your forehead, and all you could do was call his name, as if it were all that mattered in the world.

And when he finally came undone on top of you, with a low, satisfied groan, Ayato wrapped his arms around you, whispering praises, loosening each bond with affection. His kisses were now tender, and he murmured between one touch and another:

“You were wonderful... as always.”

Aphrodisiacs. (Fem!Reader) 

The evening began with a treat. Ayato appeared with a small, ornate wooden box adorned with the Yashiro Commission seal and a delicate silver-blue bow. He handed it to you with a restrained smile, but his eyes — always so serene — gleamed with something more mischievous.

“A special Sumeru delicacy.” He explained, sitting down next to you. “Sweets made from the nectar of a flower called the Nilotpala Lotus. They are known for their… stimulating properties.” You looked at him with a mix of curiosity and amused trepidation. 

“Stimulating how?” Ayato smiled, taking one of the small candies with graceful fingers and bringing it to your mouth. 

“Why don’t you try it and find out?” Your distrust didn’t last long. You always trusted him — and besides, the scent emanating from the little box was sweet, delicate, and enveloping, like jasmine with a hint of honey. When you bit into the first sweet, a warm wave ran through your body. It wasn’t just the taste — melting on your tongue like silk — but the sensation that was slowly spreading through your limbs. Heat. Sensitivity. A silent awakening in every spot of your skin. Ayato watched, enchanted by every expression that took over your face. 

“It’s starting to take effect, isn’t it?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. 

“It’s like… my body is more alive.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

He moved closer, his fingers gliding along your bare thigh with reverence. The contact made you hold your breath — a simple touch sending shivers that seemed to run down your spine. Ayato smiled with silent pleasure, as if appreciating the fruits of a carefully laid plan.

“You’re so sensitive… so receptive.” His lips touched your collarbone, then your neck. “Every part of you is begging for attention.”

Gently, he laid you down on the sheets, pulling the fabric of your robe with slowness. The cool air against your exposed skin contrasted with the heat building inside. Ayato took his time — he explored every inch of you with kisses and caresses that set you on fire. He knew your body like no one else and seemed determined to enjoy every second.

When his mouth found the curve between your legs, you gasped. His tongue was patient, meticulous, eliciting reactions heightened by the sweets. It was as if his every touch was magnified tenfold — and you couldn’t escape the sensation.

“Ayato—!” You moaned, your hands gripping the sheets.

“Yes,” He murmured between kisses, “I want you to say my name like that. I need to hear you come undone for me.” His fingers gripped your thigh more firmly, preventing any movement. Each lick was a delicious torture, each pause a subtle punishment. You felt the muscles in your stomach contract, the heat between your legs growing until it became unbearable.

“Please... more...”

“More?” He teased, looking up with that calm smile. “But I’ve barely begun.” When he finally entered you, with the same careful rhythm, your bodies fit together as they always did — perfectly. But now, with the aphrodisiac coursing through your veins, it was all too much. Too intense. Too pleasurable. Each thrust was deep, calculated, and you whimpered in pleasure, completely surrendered to this man who never lost control — except when he wanted to make you lose yours.

“You’re so beautiful like this... all surrendered, all mine.” He whispered against your ear, the sound of his voice like velvet on your skin.

Your orgasms came in waves, shaking your body with force and he was there, steady, attentive, guiding you through it all, as if it were the only thing that mattered in the world. In the end, he held you against his chest, running his fingers through your sweat-dampened hair.

“Maybe we should bring more of those sweets home.” He whispered. “Or maybe… you only react like that to me.”

Overstimulation. (Fem!Reader) 

The night was silent inside the Kamisato residence, and the intimacy of Ayato’s room seemed separated from the rest of the world. Candles in thin holders cast soft shadows on the walls, and the light scent of sakura petals invaded the room through the half-open window. You knew him well — every subtle expression, every restrained gesture. And you knew exactly how to make him lose that control.

Ayato lay on his back on the futon, his hair slightly messed up by the silk pillow. The blue yukata he wore was loose, his chest partially exposed, rising and falling with his already irregular breathing. 

“Are you comfortable?” You asked, your voice soft as you caressed his abdomen with your fingertips.

“Yes,” He replied, his tone low, almost a whisper. “But you… are playing a dangerous game, my dear.” You smiled, leaning in to kiss his collarbone. 

“Maybe I am.” Your fingers slowly moved down, tracing the length of his cock before wrapping your hand around it with precision. The moan that escaped Ayato’s lips was suppressed, but you felt his body shudder.You  started slow, almost lazy, and his eyes closed as his hips lifted, seeking more. 

Your tongue collected the pre-cum that leaked from the tip of his cock, tasting it before taking his length into your mouth, sucking just the tip before sucking him completely — the head of his cock hitting your throat and making you choke on sinful sounds.

“You’re already so sensitive…” You murmured, watching his skin react, his entire body arch in response.

“You… always know how to disarm me, don’t you?” He said with a crooked smile, trying to maintain his composure even though his toes were already twitching.

The first time he came was quick: he’d been on edge since the very first touch of you — hot spurts of cum hitting your throat, and you drank all of him with need. But you didn’t stop. You continued to stimulate him, now with slower, delicately torturous movements from your hand, that stroked his cock with devotion. Ayato gasped, his neck and back arching. 

“Wait… ah! You’re teasing me—”

“I’m taking care of you.” You whispered, caressing the side of his face. “You always take care of everyone and everything. Now it’s your turn to surrender, Ayato.”

The second time came with more difficulty. He groaned your name, his hips shaking as the pleasure coursed through him again, this time more intense, more desperate. His eyes were watering, and you leaned in to kiss away the silent tears that trickled from the corners of his eyes.

“You’re doing so well,” You praised, and he shivered all over at the compliment whispered in his ear. “So beautiful, so obedient.” Ayato smiled, his lips trembling, his cheeks flushed. “You’re cruel, love…” You just laughed softly. 

“Cruel? Never. I am devoted. To your pleasure, at least.” And when he reached his third orgasm — shaking, sobbing, completely lost in the touch, in the words, in the suffocating intimacy of that room — you wrapped your arms around him, kissing his forehead tenderly.

“You were perfect,” You whispered, stroking his hair as he caught his breath. Ayato smiled, tired, satisfied. 

“I love you.” He murmured against your neck.

“And I love seeing you like this… All mine.” 

Ningguang 

Exhibitionism. (GN!Reader) 

It was night in Liyue, and the high moon was shedding its silvery light over the rooftops of the Jade Chamber, making everything even more luxurious and enchanting. You were there, alone with her, after a long day. Ningguang, as always, maintained her impeccable posture, sitting elegantly on the divan in the center of the hall with large windows, which offered a full view of the city below.

"Close the door." She said, her voice like silk, low and sure. "And stay where you are. Don't come any closer yet."

You obeyed, not understanding at first, but soon your eyes fixed on the way she stood up. The soft light illuminated her contours as she slowly dropped the white robe she was wearing, revealing the scarlet lingerie, convenient, tailored. It was delicate, lacy, with small provocative slits on the sides. She turned to the side, purposefully, knowing exactly how the curve of her waist and hips would steal your attention.

“I spend my days being admired by everyone. Desirous glances, restrained suggestions. But tonight,” She walked to the glass windows and stood there, facing the city, “Only you will see me like this... and only you will be able to touch me... When I allow it.”

The position was daring. Anyone with a well-positioned around that building could, in theory, see that enchanting silhouette through the windows. But Ningguang didn’t seem worried. She was in complete control of the situation — and you knew she wanted it that way.

She glanced over her shoulder, her red lipstick contrasting with her pale skin and her steady gaze.

“You like seeing me like this, don’t you?” You nodded, your breath catching in your throat.

Then, with calculated slowness, she reached for the clasp of her bra and unclasped it, letting the garment slide off her shoulders. Her exposed breasts were exposed under the moonlight, and the view was as mesmerizing as it was forbidden. She didn’t cover anything, showing herself with all the naturalness of someone who controls her own desires — and those of others.

“You’re so quiet…” She teased. “Did the image of me undressing for you in front of all of Liyue leave you speechless?” Her hands then went down her own thighs, until she reached her panties. She didn’t take them off right away. She just moved them a little to the side, revealing just enough to drive you crazy with desire. Her fingers slid there, and an almost silent moan escaped her lips. She touched herself in front of you, slowly, with evident pleasure. “Stay there. And just look. I want you to learn... that my lust is a gift I grant you.” 

Little by little, her body began to move more rhythmically, her hips undulating slightly against her hand, her moans becoming more frequent, although muffled by her ladylike composure. She arched her back against the glass, knowing that this accentuated every curve, every tremor, every breath.

You wanted to touch her. You wanted to be part of it, but she hadn’t let you yet. Then she stopped all stimulation abruptly, earning a curious look from you. She turned slowly, her hair fanning out over her bare back as her gaze met yours — steady, warm, with a glow of victory. 

“Come.” She said, holding out a hand. “You’ve endured my teasing well. Now you can worship me up close.” 

Scaramouche (Wanderer) 

BDSM, brat-taming. (AFAB!Reader) 

You teased him. You knew exactly what you were doing — every defiant look, every insolent retort, every cheeky smile. You knew Scaramouche wouldn’t let you off the hook. And that was exactly what you wanted. 

He sat cross-legged, watching you with feigned boredom and a sharp glint in his eyes. The silence was thick in the room, until he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and spoke in a low, harsh voice: 

“Say one more word in that tone, and I’ll make you regret every syllable.” You smiled. Sweet, defiant. 

“What if I want to be punished?” It was too fast. In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet. You barely had time to step back before you were gently pushed back against the bed, your body restrained firmly. His fingers gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“You don’t want punishment. You want attention. And you’re begging for it in the most childish way possible.” He growled. “But I’ll give you what you want. Only my way.” He tied you up with leather handcuffs attached to the corners of the bed. There was no rush. He made sure to maintain control over every movement, every touch. The straps tightened just right — security and submission. You bit your lip, already feeling the heat building between your legs, and he laughed mockingly. 

“Look how you look just being restrained... so easy to read. So predictable.” He leaned down to your ear, his voice a whisper full of promise. “And you love it. You love challenging me just so I can bend you.” Scaramouche then slowly removed his blouse, letting you watch — like a small visual punishment. Without being able to touch, without even being able to brush your fingertips. He came closer again, his eyes sparkling, his fingers tracing your exposed body with a sharp caress. 

“You’re going to beg today, you know?” He said, his hand squeezing your thigh firmly. “And I won’t give in until I hear you ask for it. No smiles. No sarcasm. Just you, little  brat, surrendering.” You shivered under his touch, feeling his power wrap around you like an invisible chain. And for the first time that night, you were speechless. He smiled. A victorious smile, dark, hungry. “Good, you finally understand who’s in control here.” 

Scaramouche pulled away just enough to let you feel the emptiness of his absence. The handcuffs forced you to stay exactly where he wanted you — exposed, vulnerable, irritatingly aware of your own arousal. His gaze slid over you like a cruel caress, and the smile that formed on his lips promised no relief, only torment. 

“Did you really think you’d get what you wanted that easily?” He knelt between your legs, his fingertips sliding along the inside of your thigh but never reaching where you needed him most. “Not after all that petulance.” He leaned in, his lips brushing your skin — a touch that was almost chaste, almost pitiful. Almost. You arched your hips, desperate for more, but he pressed his hands against your thighs, keeping you still. 

“Tsk.” His tongue ran a lazy path, too hot and too light at the same time. “So sensitive... Already shaking from that? And you think you’re strong.” You moaned softly, trying to press yourself against him, but the chains wouldn’t let you. And he smiled, cruel and calm. 

“Not until you ask. Not with the boldness from before. I want your real voice. I want your surrender.” He then brought his hand between your legs, running his fingers over your sex without actually touching. Just the heat of the contact hovering there, making you cry out in frustration. Your body begged, throbbed, but he just watched. “Do you really think you’re going to cum before I let you?” He laughed, soft, contempt slipping through every syllable.

“You have no control here. I’m the one who decides when and if you deserve it.” Then he went down again, with his tongue, his fingers. The pleasure flared like fire. You arched, trembling, almost reaching… And he stopped. Nothing. Cold, suddenly. You gasped, desperate. 

“N-no… please, Scara, don’t do this—” He looked at you, and his gaze was pure dominance.

“You’re going to beg for real. You’re going to moan my name and call me master in that sweet little voice. Or you’re going to spend the whole night like this — trembling, wet, and empty.” His finger came back, teasing. Another slow kiss, a warm breath. But it was all superficial. Punishment disguised as affection. And you were already starting to give in. You bit your lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. Your entire body ached with need, and yet he hovered there, cruel and serene, as if your suffering was entertainment.

Scaramouche tilted his face, his eyes narrowed in pure delight as he watched you squirm.

“Almost, aren’t you? That cheeky little mouth has lost its power. Where did all that teasing go, hm?”

His fingers slid in again, this time touching exactly where you wanted it most — but only for a second. A warm, lingering touch and then emptiness again. You gasped, sobbing, your hips trying to follow the absent touch. 

“P-Please…”

“Please what?” He murmured, with a satisfied smile. You hesitated, pride throbbing in your chest. But it was useless. You were already defeated.

“Master…” The word escaped in a broken voice. “Please, master… let me cum. I need…”

“Ah…” He sighed with pleasure, as if those words were sweeter than any moan. “Now my little brat knows how to behave.”

He returned with his fingers, his mouth, his body — all at once, without mercy. The touches came fast, intense, too skillful to resist. You moaned loudly, feeling the orgasm build up like a colossal wave. The tension made you tremble, the pleasure bordering on unbearable.

“Cum for me. Now.” He ordered, his voice low and hoarse. “Show me who you belong to.” And you broke: your body buckled, the chains rattling with the force of your climax. A hoarse cry escaped your lips, his name lost between sobs and moans. He held you tightly, whispering praise, guiding each spasm of your body. 

“Look at you… So beautiful, begging and cumming like this, all mine…” When the tremor passed, you could barely breathe. But his smile said he wasn’t done with you yet. “Now that you’ve learned your lesson… let’s see how many more times you can obey.”

Wriothesley 

Breeding kink, praise kink. (Fem!Reader) 

There’s something about the way Wriothesley watches you that goes beyond lust. It’s control, care, and such a genuine desire to see you rendition to him — completely vulnerable — that makes it impossible not to surrender to him.

When he praises you, his voice is low, gravelly, almost a whisper as he explores your body with caresses, touches, and kisses. His cock brushes against the folds of your sex, which is crying out to receive him after so much teasing, but penetration doesn’t happen — he continues using the tip of his cock to stimulate your hard, swollen clit, occasionally putting just the tip inside you, but never penetrating you completely. Your sanity was running out. You needed him, you needed him to fill you, stretch you, mark you as his.

“Wriothesley… please!” You moaned in frustration, your hands gripping his biceps, your nails digging into the skin. “Fuck me already.”

“Patience… Didn’t you say you’d be a good girl for me?” His words silenced your desperation — you wanted his approval, his praise — even if it meant your frustration would only grow. You nodded, biting your lip and leaning your head back against the pillow as you felt your orgasm approaching. It was almost strange how just the act of grinding against each other could completely break you. More moans left your lips and he smiled. 

“You’re perfect.” He murmured, thrusting into you without warning, reaching the deepest point inside you in seconds. That was enough to make you cum, your walls contracting against his cock, milking him. “Fuck, always so tight… and so warm…” He pulled you into an urgent kiss, his orgasm approaching as well. 

“Cum inside me…” You begged against his lips, your nails scratching his back, your body jerking against the sheets with every thrust of his hips. “Please, I’ve been a good girl.” 

“You look so beautiful like this, begging for me… Your body knows you belong to me, can you feel it too? It’s begging me to fill you completely, to plant my seed in your womb.”

“I…” You could barely speak, a second orgasm quickly approaching. “I want to feel you stay in me for hours, I want to feel you dripping out of me just so you can fill me up again.”

“So tight, s-so hot…” He bit his lip, his words failing and his eyebrows furrowing, a clear sign that he was about to cum. And he did: hot and deep. Spurt after spurt of his seed invaded your womb, marking you completely as his. “Good girl... My girl. So obedient, so perfect, so… mine.”

Zhongli 

Edging, use of vibrators. (Fem!Reader) 

The room was calm, silent, as if the world had stopped to watch you both. Zhongli always treated pleasure with reverence, as an art that required patience, study and devotion.

You were lying between the silk sheets, your body already covered in a thin layer of sweat, the sheets messy beneath you. Your legs trembled slightly, and your breathing came in ragged pants. The vibrator in your intimacy vibrated in a soft, continuous rhythm — but never enough.

Zhongli was beside you, on his knees, his golden eyes fixed on each of your reactions. His expression was calm, almost solemn. As if he were praying with his eyes, adoring each sigh that left your lips.

"You're doing so well, darling." He murmured, his voice deep and calm, almost a whisper that touched your core. "So sensitive... so obedient."

The vibrator was lightly pressed against your clitoris, and you gasped, your hips arching reflexively. But, as he had done before, he pulled the toy away before your climax. Again. Once more. You moaned in frustration, almost tearful, feeling your own essence drip down your thighs. 

"Zhongli… Please…" Your voice was a raw, trembling plea. He smiled gently, caressing your face with his fingertips, as if you were made of porcelain.

"Patience, my dear. Pleasure must be built, polished… almost like a rare jewel." He slid the vibrator over you again, this time with a light circular motion, unhurriedly. "When I allow it, it will be the kind of pleasure that will completely break you. Isn't that what you want?"

You whimpered in response, feeling every inch of your body tremble under the touch of the toy and his words. The moans came low, almost desperate, your mind clouded between torment and ecstasy. And he watched, mesmerized by how beautiful you were as you lost control for him. And then he finally whispered those words against your ear. 

“Come for me…” You knew you were lost — and at the same time, exactly where you wanted to be. 

The permission came as a blessing, and you came hard, your body arching in pure bliss. The sounds that escaped your lips were hoarse, beautifully uncontrolled. And Zhongli didn’t look away for a second: he matched every spasm of your body with his firm hands on your thighs, keeping the vibrator gently pressed against your clit even as you shuddered in extreme sensitivity. You gasped, breathless, and yet… yet you wanted more.

“You look so lovely like this.” He murmured, tracing the contour of your belly with his fingertips. “So surrendered… So mine.”

You tried to push the toy away with trembling hands, but he held them easily, his fingers intertwined with yours. His gaze was calm, but there was a spark of raw desire burning behind the gold of his eyes.

“I’m not done with you yet.” And then he turned the vibrator back on — a lower intensity, but focused, insidious, teasing exactly where you were most vulnerable. You let out a sob of pleasure, your body convulsing in immediate response.

“Zhongli… It’s too much, I can’t—”

“Shh…” He leaned down, kissing your lips tenderly. “You can, I know you can. Trust me.”

He knew your body like he knew the stories of every era of Teyvat— deeply, with respect, with adoration. Every pause between moans, every quiver of your muscles, every new limit crossed was memorized by him — memorized with mastery, just like the stories he had once told you.

“You deserve every drop of this pleasure.” He whispered in your ear, as his cock finally replaced the vibrator. “And I will be here to guide you through it.” You whimpered — a beautiful, husky, indecent sound — as your second orgasm came fast, violently, stealing your breath, your strength. But he didn’t stop his thrusts, because Zhongli didn’t love in a hurry. He loved like a god who had all eternity to worship his favorite mortal.

Breeding kink, DD/LG and praise kink. (Fem!Reader)  

The candles cast a soft amber light over the room, dancing over the contours of the antique furniture and heavy curtains. Zhongli was meticulous even in his intimate moments — everything around him seemed carefully prepared to make you feel adored. And it worked.

You lay between the silk sheets, your breath held as he knelt between your legs, his golden eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made your entire body shiver. 

He leaned forward, his hands firm on your thighs, spreading heat wherever he touched. “You’re perfect like this, you know that?” His voice was deep, sweet, enveloping like a balm. “So receptive, so mine… Just like the good little girl you are.” His kisses began softly, almost reverently, on your abdomen, then below your navel, until he was inside you again — slowly, deeply, filling you as if each movement meant more than just physical pleasure. 

“Zhongli, please…” You whimpered, your hands finding their way to his back. 

"You drive me crazy." He murmured against your neck, his thrusts deep and slow, his hips pressed against yours as if he wanted to merge the two of you into one body. "Every time I feel you like this, so hot, so tight... All I can think about is filling you to the last drop." Your moans were interrupted only by the words he whispered in your ear, between kisses and caresses that left your skin on fire. 

"I’ve been thinking about fucking a baby into you…" Zhongli brushed his lips against your ear. “Every single day, every now and then, I catch myself thinking about knocking you up, making you round with my child, tying your soul to mine because of our heir…” His thrusts became more rapid, almost violent as he continued his monologue. “Would you like me to do so, my girl?” Your eyes widened — you suspected he had some kind of breeding kink, but having him finally admit it… it made your heart warm up in adoration.

“I’ll happily nurture your heir inside my womb.” You reassured him. 

"You deserve to be praised, adored… You deserve to be filled with me, like the good girl you are." You felt him grip your waist, keeping you in place, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t disappear. The pleasure was intense, pulsating — and he knew exactly how to handle every second of it. "Atta girl... Just like that, love, you're taking me so good.” 

“Daddy… I’m…” That name slipped from your lips unintentionally, and you felt aroused by it. You had never called him that, even though you fulfilled the role of being his little girl. “I’m so close, please, daddy… Cum inside of me.” 

When he finally reached his limit, his moan was muffled against your skin. His orgasm provoked yours: your cunt convulsing around his cock, milking every last drop of his cum out of him, the contractions of your walls helping his seed reach deep inside of you, invading your womb without warning. 

The silence that followed the climax was thick and full of meaning. Zhongli didn’t pull away immediately — instead, he remained above you, his body still entwined with yours, his fingers slowly tracing your waist, as if he wanted to memorize every curve again.

Your breathing was irregular, your eyes half closed as you felt the heat of his body mixed with yours. There was still the sensation of his semen inside you, hot and abundant, as he had promised.  

The kiss he placed on your forehead was slow, like a seal of care. Zhongli then pulled out of you calmly, carefully observing your reactions, as if any discomfort you felt was a crime he would never forgive himself for committing. He lowered his gaze to where your bodies separated, and the sight made him let out a heavy sigh — satisfied, possessive, enchanted. And even breathless, he still whispered with possessive caress:

“Look at you…” He murmured, his fingers tracing the inside of your thigh, where his cum dripped lazily. “So full of me…”

You moaned softly, shuddering at his touch, and Zhongli smiled. A small smile, but full of tenderness. He rested his forehead on yours, his nose lightly brushing against yours, before murmuring in the softest voice you had ever heard as his fingertips caressed the skin of your lower bell in an instinctive, protective way. 

“You make me want a future.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head. “With you. With the two of you.” 

[karteinss]

Virgin No More | 04 Alhaitham

Dom! Reader x Sub! Alhaitham

Part 04 of my “Maid cafe” series! (Requests are open!)

Slut shaming, slight feminization (hole being referred to as cunt), bottom/sub Alhaitham, cock can be seen as a strap!

You were an office worker that's nearing their 30s and yet, you were still a virgin.

And you couldn't handle it anymore.

You weren't interested in sex at first but eversince you encountered the maid cafe, you couldn't help wanting more.

Maybe it was because you craved physical touch?

Or you just wanted your cock get stuffed in between a man's tits.

.

.

.

“Welcome, dear customer!” A familiar orange haired man in a skimpy maid dress exclaimed as you went inside the dimly lit maid cafe.

Ah, it was Ajax.

You politely smiled at Ajax as you sat down on a nearby table.

It was like the last time you were here—

But you weren't here just to get blowjobs or handjobs.

No,

You wanted to have sex.

With who? Well, that's the problem.

Anyone would do, but you can't help but miss the warm pink lips of a certain violet haired man whom you haven't seen for the past month.

His plump pink lips stretching so much from your thick cock, tears streaming down his face because he couldn't fit your humongous cock—

Gods, you missed him, you really did.

But, it was just a “One Night Stand”— So why do you awfully crave him so much?

...

You didn't know.

You wanted him, but you couldn't find him.

So right now, you just wanted to get laid as fast as possible.

To have experience, of course.

It wasn't as if you were hungry to get your dick wet.

.

You looked around the place, trying to see who could catch your attention the most—

And, no one did.

Well, not yet.

You roamed inside the cafe, looking for someone that would fit your standard.

Suddenly, you bumped into a quite soft “something”.

You looked up to see a taller man with a buffer figure—

You bumped into the man's seemingly soft chest

His chest was literally popping out of his tight maid dress, making it quite an erotic view.

You didn't notice how long you were staring at the man's chest when suddenly, the man coughed.

“At least have some decency not to directly look at a stranger's chest, sir.” The grey haired man said, his voice seemed emotionless.

You finally realized how shameless you were as you immediately stepped back, your cheeks and ears pink.

“I-Im sorry!” You quickly apologized for bumping into the quite handsome man (and for looking directly at his manboobs—) which the man just nodded in response.

“Its fine.” He said before continuing, “Are you here for our service or—”

“Your services.” You quickly responded, your eyes looked up to see a better view of the man—

The taller and more buffer man had pale skin, and light turquoise eyes with yellow pupils.

He looked really pretty.

Well, at least you know who you're going to fuck this night.

“I..I'll order you.”

.

.

.

The grey haired man led you to a room, very different from your previous rooms.

It felt more comfortable now, and had a sensual atmosphere to it...

You let out a soft hum as you sat yourself on the now much more comfortable bed as the grey haired man started to take his underwear off.

“My name's Alhaitham, by the way.” He introduced himself, his maid dress was still there but you could see how his panties werent— He seemed to be ready for your cock

You decided to unzip your pants and release your hardened cock from your boxers, which Alhaitham gulped at its size. He was on his knees as he puts his fingers on the base, he gave your tip a small kitten lick before licking the base up and down.

He looked so pretty, his flustered state and how he's looking so lewd, his eyes looking at yours.

The way his hot tongue was dancing on your cock almost made you cum— You couldn't stand it anymore as you thrusted your cock into his small mouth.

His mouth was small and tight as you let out a groan from the tight heat surrounding your cock.

Alhaitham was taken aback as he tried to moan around your cock.

“mffhh~” is all he could release, your thick length was stretching his oh so beautiful mouth.

Your eyes were of a predator's— you looked as if you were going to eat him.

Well, who wouldn't do that?

He looked so beautiful, his mouth stretched around your fat cock, and all you could do is close your eyes from such pleasure that he was giving you.

He starts to move his tongue up and down, cockwarming your length with ease.

He feels so warm, so tight...everything.

You brought  a hand down to stroke his soft grey hair as he slightly shifts, but that didn't stop him from licking your cock clean. He looks up at you, his turquoise eyes were looking so submissive— you grabbed a patch of his hair as you fucked his mouth.

All he could do was choke on your cock, tears forming in his eyes as he makes audible noises.

“mffh!!!~”

You eventually came with a loud groan.

Both you and him were panting, as you let go of his hair you realized you accidentally came inside of his mouth. You gulped as you wanted to apologize. “i...hey, I..I'm sorry..” You nervously said as you looked at Alhaitham who was barely even processing your words— He instead looked so...out of it.

The sight was very lewd, his mouth was hanging open as your cum was leaking out.

“H-hey, you okay?” You asked, as you caressed his hair which he came back in response.

“y-yeah..I am. No worries” He immediately got up and spat your cum onto a tissue and threw it in the nearby trashbin.

As you were about to lie down and take a break, you were suddenly met with a hand on your cock— it was Alhaitham putting a condom on you.

Oh, right..

“Did..did you do any preparation?” You asked, worried for his wellbeing which the man just scoffed in response. “Dont worry, it's not like you're that big.” And that made your ego shatter.

As Alhaitham placed his hole on top of your already hardened cock, he dropped—

You both let out loud moans but Alhaitham's was especially loud.

“ANH—” He moans loudly, only your tip was inserted in but he already moaned like a slut.

Oh, how exciting.

He was breathing heavily but he decided to push down further.

“Nhh~ mfff....” All he could do was moan like a pretty slut, he was crying from the stretch in his hole. You weren't even fully in yet and he's already crying from your cock. His hole was as delicious as his mouth, the way his hole was tightening every second and how warm it was made you groan.

“agh... Alhaitham..let me fuck you—” You groaned out, you couldn't handle it anymore, you wanted to abuse his tight pink hole.

But Alhaitham refused to, he instead didn't listen to you as he still tries to get used to your length and thickness.

Which you finally snapped, you were embarrassed that he referred to you as "not that big" and now he's going to pay for it.

You Part his cheeks to spread his hole further which he loudly moaned in response, it was so wet and tight that you forced him down on your cock.

Which he screamed—

“ANHHH~! N-Noo..! P-PLEASS~” You bounced him up and down on your cock, and all he does is moan like a cheap whore, needy and begging to be filled with your cum. His manboobs bounced as you bounced him faster and faster, he was making audible noises as you tried to find his prostate.

“N-noohh~ p-pleash...mffhh—” He cries out, your cock was abusing his tight warm hole, the way his mancunt was desperately clinging onto your cock made you let out yet another moan.

“Nghh...— Fuck, you're like a cheap whore, alhaitham...begging to be filled, aren't ya?” You smirked as you said that, you were also struggling to talk because of how tight he was clenching down on your cock.

All Alhaitham could do to respond is with loud sobs, with "no" 's and "I'm not a whore" 's.

You gave alhaitham a gentle kiss on the cheek before you switched positions, it was doggy style now.

He couldn't look at your wide smirk that was on display now, as you fucked him over and over again— His slutty hole was begging to be filled as you held his hips tightly.

His warm walls were clinging onto your cock, as if  it's begging you to ruin his insides.

You fucked him faster and faster, his moans got louder as you degraded him further.

You might be a virgin but you know some knowledge about sex, at least.

Now, you hit a certain spot that made Alhaitham cry out louder than his other moans.

“Oh? What's this, did I hit your prostate, sweetheart?” You smirked as you already knew the answer, you didn't even let him response as you kept moving your hips with his, fucking him in a brutal pace and hitting his prostate with your fat cock over and over again.

If only you could see how slutty his face was, he was indeed a mess.

“P-please~~!!! F-fuck me harder— Nghh~!!” He moans out, drooling saliva like a dumb whore who's thirsty for another man's cock.

“You're so fucking tight right now...it's as if your cunt is begging to be bred by my cock, no?” You leaned in and whispered into his ear, you were panting and nearly out of breath but that didn't stop you from fucking him vigorously.

“Y-yes♡~!!! p-please..make me..your—!!! NGHH P-PLEASE!~~~” He was fucked dumb as you ram up your speed, the sound of skin on skin was heard throughout the room and especially Alhaitham's pretty noises, begging to be filled.

“Please what, my dear?” You asked him, your tone was teasing as you suddenly slowed down your pace which Alhaitham let out a loud whine in response.

“N-noo~ f-fuck me dumb..please..?” He turned to look at you, his face was a mess. His hair and his eyes were puffy from tears, he was a drooling mess and he looked like he had hearts in his eyes.

Oh, how could you ever decline such a sweet request?

Before he knows it, you fucked him like a rabid dog, you were hitting his prostate over and over again as you held a bruising grip on his waist.

“Anh~~ I..I love your cock!!!nhhHHH please..let me..I wanna— NGHH~~!!”

You decided to tease him by pinching his nipples, you were flicking them as you fucked him dumb.

He was a drooling mess, all he could do is moan like a dumb slut.

You finally came with a final thrust, you came... unfortunately not inside of him.

You pulled out with a groan as you took off your condom, Alhaitham's body immediately fell and he seemed to pass out.

Oh, your fun wasn't done just yet.

[brayneworms]

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

[fairszy]

genshin impact nsfw links ♡ 🕊️

an: hello my loves and welcome to a collection of nsfw videos i’ve found that remind me of our darling genshin males ! ♡ please feel free to request specific characters in the future, enjoy loves ~

♡ — thigh fucking with diluc !

♡ — sub lyney with a dom reader !

♡ — trans kaveh with al haitham !

♡ — mornings with ajax !

♡ — scara + aether ! (has two separate videos !)

♡ — thoma can’t help himself !

♡ — playing with baizhu !

♡ — breeding gorou !

♡ — late night videos from al haitham !

♡ — overstimulating wriothesley ! (before anyone asks, it’s male arousal fluids ! not piss <3)

♡ — zhongli + childe !