I stan gemocide

20 | she/her | hello please don't follow me i just want to look at things i like in peace

[solxamber]

Hi everyone!!

I never thought I'd actually finish this project anytime soon, so I kept it mostly under wraps for a long, long time.

And I cannot believe I'm finally able to say this but!!

My very own interactive fanfic!!

The characters in the game right now are: Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus, Lilia and Floyd.

The reader is gender neutral.

Each character has 12 obtainable endings — 6 romantic and 6 platonic endings! (A total of 108 Endings!)

You get to choose if you want a romantic or platonic end!

5+ scenes for each character with some having hidden triggers to get to them!

Each route is about 12k-17k words. (A total of 144,155 words!!)

The endings depend on the choices you make!

A very few of my mutuals and friends knew what I was upto, and I'm extremely thankful for their presence!!!

Especially @charredcipher who helped me test everything thoroughly. I genuinely owe them my life, and he's the reason I was able to fix and polish this so quickly!!

Anyways!! I hope you guys enjoy it <3

[meowdei]

enough of you — ft. kyryll chudomirovich flins

before you read: female reader ; smut — mdni ; established relationship ; implied sex beforehand ; nudity and post coital cuddling ; fluff and banter ; handjobs ; implied sex afterwards ; not proof read

Flins likes humans. They are odd little individuals with odd little habits, of course, but endearing all the same.

The humans also consist of you—a stellar reason to like them even more, if you ask him.

You poke the tip of his nose as you murmur, “Hey, are you asleep?”

His eyes are open and blinking. Of course he isn’t asleep, he thinks fondly—humans tend to do that, though. They ask questions with answers they already know. Curious as he is why, he doesn’t mind hearing your voice a little extra.

“Hm,” he pretends to ponder, “yes, I believe so. I am fast asleep, you see.”

“You’re not,” you pout. “Don’t lie.”

“I fail to see what significance it holds whether I deceive you or not,” he chuckles, “you already know the truth. But since you insist upon honesty—yes, I am awake.”

“Oh, good,” you beam, shifting your weight to roll over and sprawl across his chest. His hand instantly finds the small of your back as you do, rubbing slowly into the bare skin. “I missed you.”

Odd little individuals they are indeed, humans, he thinks. He’s right here, pressed tightly against your body so that not even air can slip between you. You’re here and he’s there and he’s not quite sure exactly where you end and he begins—he only knows that you’re here. And he’s there. And you’re both here and there together.

“I am right here, my light,” he raises a brow. “I have been comfortably beside you the entirety of this fine evening.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, delicately tracing a finger along his naked chest as you press a kiss to his jaw. “Sure, that might be true. But I missed talking to you.”

“You may converse with me whenever you wish,” he blinks in mild confusion. “That much, surely, you are aware of?”

“Yes,” you huff, “I’m aware. But I still missed you when I wasn’t talking to you.”

“I confess, I do not wholly follow your reasoning,” he chuckles quietly, “but so long as you feel welcomed to speak to me whenever you desire, I am comforted.”

“It’s like…” you pout in concentration, lips forming a delicate downturned curve as you think. “It’s like there’s never enough of you, you know? I want to be with you—more. So it feels like I don’t have you enough, and I miss you.”

“Am I not sufficiently present with you, my dear?” He frowns. “If I have not been, I must extend my apologies—”

“No,” you shake your head, pressing a peck to his lips in reassurance. “You are. But I just want more of you. I like you.”

“Only like?” He gasps in mock offense.

“Love,” you snort, correcting yourself. “I love you, and I never have enough of you, no matter what you do, because I will always want more. Does that make sense?”

It doesn’t.

(Doesn’t it, though? his heart screams. Doesn’t he feel the same way deep down in that bewildering organ that harbors every ounce of love in such a small, fragile network of tissue and muscle? Doesn’t he yearn to know every thought in your head and understand every emotion you feel? Doesn’t he long to count the lashes on your eyes and the strands of your hair? Doesn’t he crave to feel every inch of your skin and trace every line of your body?

He cannot witness or experience every part of you. Not all of them. He cannot watch your heart pump and see the proof of your existence with his own eyes, cannot watch your lungs expand and contract with every breath.

Never enough, he realizes. There is never enough of you, either. Even when you’re right there beside him.)

“Then perhaps I did not make myself sufficiently clear earlier,” he says smoothly, gently flipping you over so that he hovers above you. His lips find your neck, nipping at your skin before humming in approval at the sweetness of your scent. “Allow me, then, to offer you more of myself.”

He’s hard already. You shake your head in fond amusement again as you bring your thigh up between his legs, pressing into him and rubbing against the ache in his crotch. He groans, melting over you as he lets out soft breaths of pleasure.

“This is not exactly what I meant,” you whisper, “but I’m not complaining, either.”

Your fingers trace along the ridges of his muscled abdomen, feeling it flex beneath your touch before dipping lower—until you find the thick, lengthy cock standing fully erect. A teasing thumb smears the bead of pre-cum at its tip, making him shiver before you wrap your hand around him and squeeze. He moans softly—a delicate yet needy sound that shoots straight to your core.

“Is reminding you that I love you the quickest way to get you so excited?” you tease.

His ears flush a soft pink as he chuckles breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut when your thumb rolls over the swollen tip. “You unmake me, my dearest,” he murmurs, voice trembling in its restraint.

“Hmm,” you hum, smiling as you lean up to press your lips to his, kissing him softly and swallowing the low groans he lets slip against your mouth. “What a smooth talker. Perhaps that’s why I always let you get your way.”

He’s hot and heavy in your hand, thick and swollen with need—you trace the familiar vein along the side of his length with your thumb as you stroke up, satisfied with yourself when you feel his jaw slacken mid-kiss, an incoherent moan breaking free.

“F—fuck,” he gasps, “fuck, that…k-keep doing that,” he pleads.

“Feels good?” you tease.

“You do possess the most baffling habit of asking frivolous questions,” he huffs between strained breaths, pulling away from your lips to bury his head into the crook of your neck. You let him, pressing a tender kiss to his temple as your free hand buries itself in the long strands of his deep violet hair.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you respond cheekily. He doesn’t have time to offer a reply—he’s too busy letting out a choked, sharp grunt of pleasure as you tighten your grip and quicken your pace, stroking him mercilessly with the cruel, constant drag of your palm along his sensitive skin.

Flins is beautiful when he’s pleased. The sounds he makes are as polite and delicate as the man himself, yet tinged with desperation—something you enjoy far too much. You can feel your own bare cunt dripping, slick pooling between your thighs as you press your legs together to ease the ache. Still, you focus on him.

Sometimes, when you have him like this—intimate and bare and unguarded—you think the Gods may have sent him to you. They may have, in their rare benevolence, sent you a blessing in this lawless, archon-less land that you reside in.

“W-wait,” he pleads, “you…you must stop now or else…or else I will not last—”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur, “just let go. Please? I want you to cum. For me.”

Humans are as wicked as they are endearing, his mind thinks briefly. You are wickedly evil for saying words that will undo him like that—words that settle a sharp ache in his chest, making him forget the one building between his legs. For me, you say. As though it’s nothing. As though it’s merely a fact that everything he does is for you, shaped by you, influenced by you.

(And of course it’s true. Everything he does is an amalgamation of influences—and they began with you.)

“C-close,” he breathes, “I am so…so close.”

“Good,” you smile, pressing a tender, affectionate kiss to the crown of his head. “I love you. I love you so much, I always miss you. Even when you’re right here, you know that? I always, always want you.”

He falls apart at those devastating words. They stab through his chest and make him bleed raw before stitching him back together with nothing but affection. You love him. How fortunate he is that you have chosen him to love. How fortunate he is that you have allowed him—him, of all beings—to love you, too. (Or at least try. Flins will never be able to return the devotion you show him, he thinks. He is not capable of being as pure and worthy of you as you are of him.)

You feel him twitch in your hand, and then thick, warm ropes of release coat your palm as he lets out strangled gasps, tucking himself deeper into the crook of your neck. His hips move in tandem with your hand, rolling with the same steady rhythm of your strokes, fucking into your fist with desperate need. You feel the way his cock pulses as he spills into your touch, feel the hot rush of his ragged breaths against your skin, sending pinpricks of heat down your spine.

“M-my love,” he moans, unable to form proper sentences—reduced to little more than the precious sound of your name on his tongue. (It is all he can manage to say, all his mind can string together when he is barely hanging onto his composure and falling apart.)

“I love you,” you hum, stroking him through his orgasm, keeping the same punishing pace of your hand’s movement to work him through his high.

“Love you,” he breathes, voice breaking, “love you—always. Always.”

With one final shudder above you, he spills the last of his release. He slumps onto the mattress beside you, sweat clinging to his forehead, pale skin flushed a pretty, rosy shade. You take your clean hand and brush away the strands that cling to his damp forehead before cupping his cheek.

“Faring well?” you tease softly.

He shakes his head with a low, velvety chuckle. “In but a moment’s time, you shall have no cause for worry. I will return the favor most generously. It is, after all, the great fortune of a fae that his stamina so far exceeds that of a human.”

Anyway 🚶‍♀️since he was so well behaved on my pulls for his banner I thought I’d spoil him is all. Nothing more

[meowdei]

unexpected audience — ft. kyryll chudomirovich flins

synopsis: flins is good at fucking you—you know that, and he knows that, too. it doesn’t hurt if maybe the ghosts are also made aware

before you read. ❤︎ 2k word count ; female reader ; established relationship ; smut — mdni ; exhibitionism ; mating press ; unprotected sex ; creampie ; praise ; i have no dignity left from writing this so i could not bear to proof read lol </3

commentary. ❤︎ i have no comments i would just like to say everyone should block @luffysprincess and @neiptune while you have the chance there is pure evil in their dna’s

Your favorite thing about Flins is how good he is at talking. Ironically, your least favorite thing is also how good he is at talking.

You don’t like how convincing he can be. (But then again, it’s rather enjoyable when he’s…well, convincing. You don’t ever have a bad time.)

“How lucky I am,” he murmurs, his nose brushing against the column of your throat. He inhales. It’s a sweet scent—the smell of your sweat and your lingering perfume. He likes when he gets to breathe it in right here as his hands dig into your thighs and press your knees closer to your chest. “Aren’t you just a marvelous sight? Breathtaking as always, my light.”

“H-how would you know,” you stutter, “it’s dark—would it kill you to have some more light in here?”

He chuckles.

“Is it? But I can see you just fine,” he murmurs. He rolls his hips once more—the thick, warm girth of his cock dragging along your walls once more and building the pressure in your core with just a little more friction. You whine, and he grins with a little too much satisfaction. “Your face is glowing, did you know? And there’s that divine little way you scrunch your nose—I can see it all clearly. Oh, and we mustn’t forget the way your lips part when you say my name. Wouldn’t you be so kind as to say it once more? For me?”

You’d call him evil if you had the clarity. Instead, you cry, “F-flins,” with a sharp gasp as the tip of his cock slams against a particularly sweet spot at the back of your walls.

He knows that spot a little too well. It’s a little too familiar, and he never fails to remind you that he knows exactly where you need him to fall apart.

“Ah, there it is,” he says happily, “a precious sound, indeed. I envy anyone who gets to hear your voice utter their name—would it be selfish if I asked you to only say mine?” His tone enough makes you feel praised—something you crave a little too much when it comes to him. You like when he’s happy with you. He gives you plenty of honeyed, sugared words when he is. Words that make you so quick to become pliant and weak under his touch.

Spread your legs a little wider for me, darling—you know how beautiful you are when you do. Somehow, you always do when he asks. Ah-ah, don’t hide your face—let me see how you look when you come undone, won’t you? I craved seeing you all day. You can’t bring yourself to hide your face when he asks so politely. Give me one more, my light—you can, can’t you? You always do. And just like that, you’re caving and bending for his whims once more.

It’s easy for Flins to fuck you. He’s good at it when he does, and you can’t ever say no when he wants to. (Because you always want it, too, your heart tells you. No, he’s just very, very good at being convincing, your mind argues). But it’s easy. You make it easy for him to bed you, and he makes it easy for it to be worth it.

His fingers brush along your lower belly. The skin is smooth as silk and he traces it like he worships the feeling of you under his touch. Slow. Careful. Deliberate. Every second his fingertips trace along your body, you feel a dizzying heat of his touch mapping your body out.

And then it finds its way between your legs, right above where he has you split open on his thick length. His thumb latches onto your clit, rubbing precise circles that make your back arch upward—his other hand his quick to plant itself at the small of your back, cradling your body as you mewl.

“You seem to rather enjoy that, don’t you, my darling?” He coos, “Shall I keep it up? Touching you here?”

Another quick circle onto the sensitive bundle of nerves. It’s perfectly timed with a sharp roll of his hips, his tip bullying past your folds. It’s messy—there’s a pool of your slick at the base of his cock, and it’s smeared along your inner thighs. He made a good point of bringing it to your attention, too—my, what a pleasant mess I am greeted with, my dear. Surely I haven’t earned such an eager response from your body with so little? We’ve hardly begun.

Smug. He’s so, irritatingly smug with words dipped in gold. They’re soft and precious and rich the more pure they are, and they lure you in with greed. And you fall for it every time.

Every damn time.

“Close,” you pant, voice a breathless whisper, “s-so close, Flins—th-think…think m’bout to cum—”

He groans at that. He’s good at charming you, but he’s not immune to that effortless charm of your own. You don’t even know it, he thinks—you don’t even know that you have him wrapped around those pretty little fingers without even trying.

His cock does a twitch. He’s close too—you know because there’s a small change in his pace. A touch sloppier. A little less rhythmic with the way he drills into you. A little more desperate as he chases the friction of dragging every ridge and every vein along your slick heat.

You hum a little, grinning to yourself as you pull him down and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips into a wet, messy kiss. Your walls clench around him, and he groans into your mouth, making a soft, low sound that you drink up greedily.

“Does that feel good?” You whisper.

“Must I elaborate such obvious things?” He asks roughly.

“Won’t you indulge me with your usual sweetness?” You plead.

He’s weak—for you, he is. So he groans once more, heavy and labored breaths fanning across your lips as he feels the tight, warm squeeze of your walls around his cock. It’s good—so good, in fact, that he’s almost at a loss for words. (A miracle in and of itself, he thinks. Flins is hardly at a loss for words—he’s quite good at articulating what he wants to say, in fact).

“Well, if I must—yes. You do feel good,” he pants, voice breaking just a fraction as your walls flutter around the throbbing cock that bullies into you. “You…you are a wonder—so soft and sweet and exquisite. I fear one day I may wake up and find you gone. A figment of my imagination. You’d never let that happen, would you my dear?”

“N-no,” you whine, breath getting heavier as the familiar build up creeps up on you. “Never…n-never leaving.”

“An undeniable relief,” he chuckles breathlessly. “I was almost worried—”

He cuts off his own words the second he senses it. Flins can sense things a little quicker than you.

There’s a creak in the door. There’s a weird howl in the wind. There are the faintest, quietest echoes of what sounds like footsteps.

You think you’re imagining it. He knows a little better than that.

It’s not like you can pay it much mind—you’re in a bit of a predicament yourself to pay too much attention to your surroundings. One particularly harsh thrust of his hips, and you forget what you were thinking in the first place.

He tends to do that to you.

“What utterly unremarkable timing,” he almost grumbles. “I always thought my neighbors to be a little more…considerate.”

Flins lives alone on this small little island that he calls home. He keeps to himself. There are no signs of life apart from him and you and the frostlamp flowers that grow along the cemetery. There are no neighbors…unless he means the ghosts.

And then you notice it—the pair of eyes in the corner. The other right beside the first. The pair in the distance to your left and the one that’s a little closer to your right. They watch you carefully, watch the way your knees are folded to press you in half and the way his cock disappears and reappears every time he practically pulls out just to slide back into you all the way. You’re sure they take note of the way his hand—free of gloves for now, has a persistent thumb attached to your clit with those harsh circles that make you dizzy.

It feels shameful, having the dead watch you this way. It feels almost like they are mocking the way you are so alive—watching the way your heart is erratic and your body is worked up to such a heightened state.

“W-wait,” you gasp, “there’s p-people—”

“Yes, it would appear we have an audience,” he clicks his teeth, “how impolite. I don’t appreciate sharing—selfish as it may seem.”

“We should stop—they’ll s-see—”

“Then show them, my darling,” he leans down and presses a soft, delicate scatter of kisses along your jaw. “Perhaps they only wish to watch, don’t they?” His voice is almost a purr now, wicked and low. Still dangerously sweet. His hips snap into you harder, forcing you to take every inch. “Show them how beautiful you are when you come apart.”

Your protest dies in your throat when his thumb grinds cruelly once more over your clit, dragging tight circles that make your thighs shake. You can feel every stare searing through you, their hollow eyes fixed on where you’re split wide open around him. Shame burns in your chest—but it only makes the heat in your belly throb sharper, dirtier.

“Flins—ah, f-fuck—” you choke on your own words when he pulls almost all the way out—but you don’t mourn the loss of him filling you when he slams back to the hilt, the sound wet and obscene in his quiet home in the graveyard. His hand presses at your lower belly, holding you in place, making you feel how he fills you up inside. “They’re—they’re going to see me—”

“Let them,” he sings against your ear, biting at your lobe. “Let them envy what it means to have a pulse. Let them watch you bleed with pleasure.” His thumb flicks faster—it’s almost merciless, and you’re keening now, arching shamelessly so every phantom eye can see how your body reacts and begs for more.

You’re dizzy, your thighs are quivering, and your chest is heaving as you writhe under his touch. He pistons into you like he means to fuck you straight through the earth, the rich soil that houses his troublesome neighbors that don’t know to mind their business. He’s good at dragging the sounds out of your throat no matter how you try to swallow them—no matter how much dignity you try to preserve. His pace is too brutal, too expert at making you lose composure to keep it together in front of your….unexpected audience.

Finally, with a sharp cry, you’re breaking apart around him. You can feel your walls spasming around him with your release, wet and gushing over his cock. He hisses when you clamp down around him, thrusting deeper and rutting until he shudders inside you, spilling hot and thick ropes of cum while his teeth sink into your neck.

“P-perhaps one of these days you’ll kill me, too,” his voice cracks, “and I’ll join our intruders in the land of the dead with how you make my heart stop.”

“Flins,” you sob—it’s all you can manage to utter. All you can bring your incoherent mind to piece together as your nails press angrily into his shoulders and make bright red indents bloom into his skin. “F-feels…feels so good.”

“I’m sure they are aware,” he chuckles, “it’s written all over your face, my dear.”

He sounds a little satisfied with that. With the fact that there is a population of people—dead, of course, but a population all the same—that knows how good he is at fucking you. At making you fall apart around his cock and scream his name and weaken in his arms.

When you come down from your sigh, both trembling in the aftermath, he doesn’t let you hide. You try to pull hims down and bury your face into his neck, but he resists—instead, he drags your chin up so you’re looking directly at him, face fully on display. He’s still deep inside of you—and you’re still full of him, still stretched and dripping with his release.

“I believe they had a proper view, wouldn’t you say?” His voice hoarse but laced with triumph. “Even the dead cannot argue that I know your body better than anyone.”

Well .

[ewnamored-deactivated20260512]

✦ HOLD THE LIGHT, VEIL THE LIGHT ✦ FLINS X FEM!READER ✦

• SUMMARY: Flins is a big admirer of noticing every single thing about you. Can you blame him for using his own abilities to search for even more of what is there to you… and your body?

• CONTAINS: dub-con (to be on the safe side but reader’s into everything), impromptu aphrodisiac, nipple play, dacryphilia, obsessive behavior, praise, established relationship, 6.0 spoilers, slight somnophilia towards the end, table sex. WORD COUNT: 2,9k.

• NOTE: Here I go with another Flins fic, written by my hands steered by Flins-brain-parasites, shared with you for your enjoyment 😵‍💫. Divider: @/cursed-carmine. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Flins has boundless amounts of reverence and commitment that he offers to the case of appreciating you everyday.

He also has his less selfless moments when he’s interested in drawing impassioned reactions from you, be it by teasing or testing your resolve, just for the sake of enjoying them all and observing anything that makes you, you.

However, you didn’t expect him to reach for such an unsavory method this time. It was even more unforeseen by you when used during a simple moment of being his loving companion while he’s working through the Lightkeeper files at night, in his basement.

He likes to feed you different treats, especially those he has received from others, as they don’t fit his fae’s taste palette. Not once have you expected him to infuse it with that strange lantern’s flame; its power in safe amounts doesn't cause harm to humans but spreads a weird tingle throughout their nerves and muscles.

You notice something is wrong quite early after eating.

“Kyryll…” you say his name so softly he already is in awe, and place your head on his shoulder, feeling woozy and warm. “I think I might be getting sick,” you think you’ll melt in your chair next to his — or maybe just from the single lamp illuminating the room with barely any warmth. There’s concern between your brows, confusion, as even in sickness you didn’t feel this light before.

He chuckles at your vulnerability, appreciating it with great enthusiasm. “You’re not sick, don’t worry. Everything that you’re experiencing is to be expected,” he assures with no panic, posing a question for you the same, and brushes your arm with his hand — now with no glove on to write comfortably.

His touch, even if barely pressed, already tickles with something meaner under your sleeve. You gulp, starting to think he did something to you based on his words and your body’s reaction. After you have joined him in his lighthouse’s basement to be a chat between the lines, simply missing his presence before sleep, you did not expect anything elaborate tasting the midnight snack. “What do you mean?” you're immediately nervous, with your breath stilling in anticipation.

“That cake you just ate… I might have used my lantern to infuse it as a way put you in your current state,” he admits with no filtered confidence, even if his tone is as gentle as usual when taking care of you.

You turn your head at him, observing the interested gleam in his eyes. They sparkle like those gemstones he collects, which is a bad sign. Then he smiles innocently, as your stomach drops.

“What? Why would you do that…” you ask with difficulty to make a good judgment, feeling the room spin; while you're hoping that shared energy won’t hurt you.

Still, it going through your body is a rather pleasant feeling — the intensity is not more than being tipsy, but is much more steady and relaxing, and whatever he did causes you to suddenly need him desperately. It’s with the remains of clarity that you dig for answers.

“Please, do not fret. You’re safe, I didn’t do more application than a controlled amount would suggest. You always give me such beautiful responses, I merely wished to see their full potential; however, I don't plan to be entirely selfish if your enjoyment is still my utmost priority,” he reassures, grabbing your hand to kiss. “Perhaps you have noticed how the flame going through you reminds you of me.”

He’s already a thief of your reactions, spreading the kisses from the fingertips, through the knuckles, and to the wrist where your nightgown’s sleeve begins. Your breath hitches and his smile widens unpleasantly, even if his eyes remain enamored with you.

And you’re not sure if you entirely believe his statement. Flins is all nice most of the time, although as a fae bound to you, he experiences darker nights where he wants to make your attention, body, heart and soul about himself. He loves you; but when is love ever devoid of ruinous substance and wanting to devour? Perhaps humans would say it’s cruelty, and he’d tell them then they don’t know anything.

This man that helps and saves people.

You’re not given much time to think about truths when he lifts you from your chair and pushes gently onto the metal table, thankfully covered by some old red rag to not freeze your bones entirely. He parts your legs and steps between them.

“K-Kyryll… you, seriously, you are in trouble after tonight. You did everything behind my back…” is the last thing you're allowed to speak in protest if his cold hands move under your night dress and spread tingles everywhere.

His most meticulous touch always feels gratifying, especially with the intimacy and worship that it comes with, both sooner or later twisted into some selfish indulgence for him. You’re a bit angry at him; but when you're high on some type of power, everything directed at you is amplified to be made desirable despite his stunt.

He wasn't lying about giving you a good time.

Flins makes an entertained and enchanted sound again. He’s roaming his hands on the underside of your breast, preparing you for what he’ll do, as he eyes you with a new hunger, even more when you squirm. You displayed under him, wanton and restless, showing skin is the sight he wishes to repaint every night. “I'm well aware of the risk of your wrath. But perhaps, I will let you punish me, just because you desired so.

As for now…” he bunches up your nightgown to have it pool around your shoulders and lowers his face to kiss across your chest, causing you to kick your dangling legs a little in result. Your movements are somewhat limited in this hazed state, yet your body gladly accepts every touch as sensed perfectly — too intensely.

“So sensitive… you always are, but now… truly gorgeous,” he whispers, excited, and with a moan satisfied that he's able to do it, he suckles on your nipple. His hand plays with your other breast, kneading it to awaken more blood to rush everywhere.

Your shaky hands land in his hair to pull on it with need, and you already whine, feeling every motion move down your body to the gathered soak of your pussy. You wrap your legs around his hips, desperate to hump him and relieve the tension growing rapidly.

Flins groans as your dripping panties brush against his pants, the bulge already forming as an outline. “It’s unreal how you’re crying for me already. I think I’ve made a good choice, putting you in this state,” he marvels.

The words spread some shame that’s also quickly forgotten when his other hand rubs you clad clit with a thumb, this way messing the slick under the material clinging to your skin almost uncomfortably. “Kyryll, please…” Your body’s on fire, every touch is being brushed with a menthol to cool it, and you dream about his cock splitting your insides already.

“Hm, I can’t know everything you want if you don’t part your lips for me, my love,” he mutters between switch to your other nipple to please. “Did you mean this?” he digs his hand from your slit to the inner thigh most neuralgic, and you tremble. “Or this?” he slaps the flesh just lightly, not enough to hurt but enough to set another wave of flames and you moan. “Or perhaps this?” his hand finally slips under your panties, pushing them to the side so he can sink one finger into your weeping hole and stretch it to the knuckle.

You cry out, taken aback by sudden intrusion, yet quickly motivated into chasing more by jerking your hips. Whatever anger you have felt, you’ll show later. “So good… Kyryll, please, don’t stop…” you slur that with desperation.

“I wouldn’t dare to, no matter how enticing your begging is.” Pleas speaking of your belonging.

Flins appreciates you more by kissing the valley between your breasts, enveloping your body with a spread of his long hair when you let it go in purchase of his arms, as if to veil this moment between no more than the two of you. He sighs every few seconds, delighted by your reactions, noting to use his lantern’s wonders on you more often just to see such promising results.

With you being good for him, he rewards you with another finger, two digits thrusting into you with precision, remembering every spot and curve of your walls to attack.

You cry so prettily for him he needs to kiss you, with the softness not matching the sharp wetness echoing against the stone walls. Velvet plush against another, then you’re teased with a taste of his tongue on yours.

But as you grind onto his bulge again, the air in the basement becomes much more humid than usual quickly; he discard his shirt and vest without stopping the thrusting in your wetness, trying his best to undress with the other hand. It’s hard for him to not just pounce on you.

Seeing the familiar expansion of the pale skin, you quickly put your hands on his back, touching all that you can, scratching as you feel the raptures overwhelm you too soon.

So he deems you as ruined properly, knowing neither of you can truly wait with the best way to end the night, or how you might slip into too many aches if he doesn’t satiate the itch.

He’s next unzipping and lowering his pants as swiftly as he can, letting them hang by his hips. Flins grabs you by your hips and drags you closer to the edge of the table, then removes your panties and gown and throws them somewhere to the side. Allowing himself to look at the mess between your legs, folds glistening with what he has provoked, he grabs his cock and spreads your wetness across your slit, until his tip catches onto your hole. He sucks in the air through his teeth, feeling as your pussy tries to swallow him already.

You’re restless at just that.

“Kyryll, please, spare me the torment, you put me in this state…” you beg and try to guilt into work, unable to get rid off this stupid residue in your body until he has fucked you properly.

“This impatience doesn’t serve you well, if only makes me want to derive more reactions... but I don’t think I can wait much longer myself,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, and gasps sinking in with a hold on your waist. You’re tight, warm, full of life, and he knows your body refuses to let him slip out.

He takes stretching your hole slowly, letting his girth fill you inch by inch just to savor this moment properly and not break his poor darling. “Can you feel how I take you for myself? You can’t deny this moment, your belonging with me…” he says pleasured by the outcome of his experiment, all as if it’s a secret to own by you and him only, while you dig your nails into his back to hold tightly onto him.

It’s perfect; the bliss of the element input in you wanting him closer, his weight inside and on top of you, the fact he knows you so well, his touch, his love, the scent of frostlamp dusted with mist, the pulling sting of the intrusion. You don’t want to be anywhere else, so you nod desperately, inspiring a smile right as he fills you to the hilt. Your hands fall and you grip the edge of the table, holding tight when he begins fucking you.

He’s slow so you feel everything, but so is he going deep inside your pussy you feel even more when he’s dragging you onto his length by your waist.

You don’t dare to look away from his gaze, entranced by his ghostly beauty and in love, even if his eyes almost scare you with their intensity as they watch your sweaty body under the light. Perhaps you should fear him and what if he were to become entirely selfish just for you, keeping you here all day and night, yet you think you could do bad things to stay with him as well.

“Beautiful…” he says more to himself, moving one hand to wipe the drool of the corner of your lips that has collected with your lax muscles. “Just what I imagined would happen to you in this state.”

You clench at his praise causing your moan too, and provoked by both of the gifts combined with how you look at him with affection, he suddenly pulls out and flips you over onto your belly, before thrusting inside your clench again and having you yelp this way. Glad you can’t see him, as he’s not sure if he’s ready to let you peek on the weaker yet uglier side of him that is desperation and possessiveness just yet.

Your hands that are about to hold onto the edge of the table, he covers with and entwines fingers together with his own, before rocking his hips with more sharpness and devotion, bracketing your ass and hitting your clit with his balls.

Standing behind you while you try to be stable on your feet barely reaching the floor, he occasionally grinds his thrusts and groans along them.

When you are soon blissed out of this world, tickled by his hair into more sensitivity, and moaning loudly as you should for him, his lips start to suck on your shoulder and kiss between the shoulder blades.

The shadows of you both play out everything on the wall ahead, you nearly feel embarrassed watching them. He’s reaching everywhere, stretching you so good with his cock, and the ‘aphrodisiac’ makes it worse, allowing you to only lie there and take it as intended by him.

You’re wetting the table with your tears, feeling so good you wonder if it could be lethal. “Oh gods, Kyryll, I…” you gasp when he fastens, shaking like the table does and unable to speak properly as well. He’s rougher than typically, fucking you deep and fast in the race for something ecstatic.

He lowers his body on top of yours entirely, and speaks close to your ear. “I know, I know… but you’re doing so well for me, even when I affect your body,” he praises and kisses your cheek, hands tightening on yours too. “So delicate and sensitive.”

What else he adds in his own language is untranslatable to you, but you can tell he’s proud of you for showing the best of you under the influence; on top of the immense pleasure he chooses to feel properly by closing his eyes, high on the friction and your tightness.

It’s no surprise you already feel like coming and it’s almost scary how intense the buildup is, as if you might shatter after; perhaps you should try to destroy his lantern somehow, for your future’s sake. “I’m going to…” you warn with a high pitch.

“Let go. Let go for me, my love. I’ll hold you,” he urges softly, his face rested in your nape. To aid you, he reluctantly lets go of one of your hands and rubs your swollen bud between your legs.

You come undone hard on his cock, trembling, sobbing, and twitching around him, and he tries to not crush your hands when it’s all suffocating him. He’d break his own hands after as the repentance, he thinks.

Flins offers you a few seconds of respite, helping you ride out the high. When he believes you’re back with him, he’s helping you stand up, all buzzed and pent up for his own release when you look so ruined by him and cling to him for stability...

…He quickly decides to cut on the humility for at least the last moment — he hoists you and your confusion under your legs, and presses you against the bookshelf, waiting for you to wrap your legs and arms around him for stability.

You’re barely coherent at this point, pressing the back of your head against one of the shelves with all the leftover energy as a submission to his sudden whim. You know you won’t sleep good if he doesn’t fill you with his cum for a goodnight.

Flins stretches you once more, and with carefulness to not stir you too much, drags your body up and down onto his cock, chasing his own climax and knocking your insides deeply in this position. He looks down between your messed face and the way he disappears inside of you. You join him, quietly moaning at the sight of being fulfilled.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whines in the last few strokes, eating your humanity with his gaze at that. “I could do this every night… Maybe I should, actually… there’s no sight more beautiful than you coming on me. It's really only my awareness of your fragility that stops me from abusing my lantern’s power.”

Your eyes open fully when Flins buries his face in your neck and snaps his hips as close to yours as possible, before he’s releasing his load inside of you. You’d be scratching his back and pulling his hair at the last sharp thrust if it weren’t for your state.

He heaves after, allowing himself satisfaction to stay inside you like this a bit longer. Letting you down, some of his seed spills on the ground, that he feels the familiar need to go further than your limits inside of him; he shoves it away for your sake. On trembling legs of a deer, you fall against him, head hitting his chest — so he holds you close.

“I’m tired…” you murmur, all pleasantly numb. “You wore me out to the bone…”

“It’s alright. You can fall asleep now, I’ll carry you to our bed and clean you. You’ll feel normal again in the morning,” he reassures and kisses your forehead, gathering sweaty hair to the side while he’s at that.

Even if he’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep his hands to himself observing you in your peaceful slumber soon. He’d be eager to see more of your reactions, knowing you sometimes dream of the intrusion in your sleep, having been corrupted by his lust everyday. He also doesn’t know when that lantern of his might come in handy again…

[meowdei]

gossamer — ft. kyryll chudomirovich flins

synopsis: you haven’t seen flins in almost a week. when he’s unexpectedly taken a week off his duties, you want answers why—the answers come in…a rather interesting form. or: flins is not human, and his non human form happens to come with a rather interesting condition

word count. ❤︎ 10k words—i am speechless. truly no words

before you read. ❤︎ female reader ; established relationship ; fae go into ruts bc i said so ; flins has fae like features like pointy ears and wings ; he is in rut and not the right state of mind so ig slight dubcon ; dry humping + flins cumming in his pants ; flins has sensitive wings ; vaginal fingering ; mating press ; unprotected vaginal sex ; creampie ; slight breeding kink and talks of having babies ; slight size kink ; implied multiple rounds after ; not proof read pls it’s almost 7 am i wrote this in less than 24 hours cut me some slack i beg

commentary. ❤︎ uh yeah. anyway *jazz hands* flins fae rut. ALSO THANK YOU ARABELLA AKA USER PHAINANON FOR UR DELISHUS BRAIN FOR THE RUT CHARACTERISTICS

Kyryll is off duty for a week—this is what his superiors tell you when you visit the office of the division he is under, anyway. 

That is suspiciously odd—he is never off duty. Ever. Kyryll never gets sick, he never gets particularly badly injured, he never takes a personal day, and he never, ever, under any circumstances, takes longer than a day to contact you, regardless of how busy the wild hunt may have him. Something is wrong, and you’re worried, and you will figure it out. He needs you, probably—he has that annoying habit of trying to handle everything all on his own, even if it isn’t always the brightest idea. 

So you open the door to his humble little home at the bottom of the lighthouse and let yourself in. Kyryll does not ever mind. Kyryll is soft and open and gentle with you, and he does not mind if you enter his home—

“What are you doing here?” a breathless, almost pained voice all but hisses. Kyryll. His voice is never this distressed—it takes you a moment to get over the shock enough to properly turn and meet his eyes. 

He looks…distinctly inhuman. Not just inhuman, but also not himself. Apart from the pointed ears and the glow in his eyes and those bright, iridescent wings (you’ll focus on that later, you decide), Kyryll is also not wearing a shirt with his hair hanging in a loose bun to keep it out of his face. He looks hot and sweaty and flushed—so unlike that typical collected, well-dressed, and polished man that you know who always runs a little cold. 

“I was looking for you?” You blink at him as you answer like it’s obvious, “You missed work.”

“Yes. That was an intentional decision,” he says, closing his eyes and gritting his jaw. He turns away from you, as if the sight of you physically makes him sick. You’re a little offended. “You should not have come here.”

“What? I have not seen or heard from you in almost a week! How do you think it makes me feel when I have to hear from your superiors, of all people, that you’ve taken a personal leave from—”

He exhales, the sound thin and weary. “Yes,” he says at last, each word carefully measured, “I took leave—for a reason.”

You blink at him, frowning. “And that reason would be?”

He closes his eyes, his jaw flexing as though he’s counting to ten in his head. “A personal one,” he replies evenly, though there’s a faint tremor in the calm of his voice. “When I am ready to return, I will do so. Until then, I would be grateful if you allowed me some solitude.”

“Solitude?” you echo, incredulous. “Kyryll, that’s not how this works. You don’t just vanish without a word and call it solitude. You didn’t reach out, you missed work for nearly a week—I was worried.”

“I am aware,” he says quietly, gaze lowering. “And for that, I apologize. It was never my intent to worry you.”

“Then what was your intent?” you demand, stepping closer as you cross your arms. “Because you can’t just disappear and expect me to act like that’s normal.”

A muscle in his cheek twitches. He’s clearly fighting something internal, trying desperately not to let it show. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, careful. Pleading, even. “I know what this looks like to you. I know it seems as though I am shutting you out. But please—believe that it is not from malice or indifference. I simply cannot…be as I should, not right now.”

You hesitate, your irritation giving way to confusion. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he groans, “that there are parts of me I would rather you never see. And those parts are…difficult to keep hidden at present.”

You stare at him. You blink once, then twice, then you stare some more. “I have no idea what you’re implying, but your solution is to just lock yourself away and say nothing? That is ridiculous.”

He sighs, the sound faintly exasperated. “It is not ideal. But it is safer—for you, and for me.”

“Are you in danger? What is going on? Is something after you? Is it the wild hunt? Maybe we can—”

“You need to leave,” he cuts you off. “Please.”

That part makes you pause. He adds that last part with a broken, croaky little voice—like he’s begging, and it’s so bordering on pure desperation, you almost feel scared. What could possibly have happened in less than a week’s time to make him plead not to see you? To skip work? To…to look so different and not human?

Because he isn’t like you. Kyryll is not human, you realize. Concern for the man you are courting has caused you to overlook that very obvious fact for a moment, but reality has dragged you back to its awful truth and slapped the cold, hard facts into your shaky little sweaty palms and said: Look, the man you think you love is not who you think he is. 

You stare at him, the question caught somewhere between your throat and your lungs. What is he, exactly? His face looks the same—still that sharp-boned, beautiful thing you adore so much—but now, under the dim light of his living room, there’s something wrong. Perhaps not wrong, exactly. Just...unfamiliar. His skin seems to shimmer faintly, and his eyes almost illuminate the dark around him, and his ears—his ears are just a touch too pointed when he turns his head.

“Kyryll,” you breathe, “what’s happening to you?”

He exhales, a sound that almost feels laced with dread. “Nothing is happening to me—I am exactly as I am intended to be. Some traits that humans would consider abnormal are…well, they are not so rare amongst non-humans.”

You furrow your brows. “You mean to tell me you’re the latter?”

What a silly question, your mind hisses, what else would those features imply?

He hesitates, eyes closing as though it hurts to confess. “You have heard before, perhaps, that Snezhnaya was once a realm of the fae,” he says softly. “A race that is no longer of any importance, but one that does exist. I am proof enough of that, simply by standing before you.”

“And when were you going to tell me that?” you ask, your voice trembling just slightly. You wonder what that sinking feeling in your chest is—fear, perhaps? Are you scared of him? Scared of what he is, or what he isn’t? Scared that he is something else entirely, something beyond you?

No, you think faintly. Human or not, Kyryll would never hurt you. He would never let harm come your way—certainly not from himself. The ache that blooms inside you is not fear at all, but something heavier, deeper, more hurtful: the knowledge that Kyryll does not trust you. That he cannot bring himself to believe you would see him for what he truly is and still love him—that your eyes would see the what of him before the who.

“My light, it was never my intention to deceive you,” he says, pleading now. “I simply wished for more time—to cherish you as you are before the truth might…alter things between us.”

“Alter things how, exactly?” you frown. “Alter things because I’d leave? You think I can’t be trusted—is that it?”

“No.” He smiles sadly—a fragile little smile that still does something painful to your heart, easing and tightening it all at once. “No, it was never that I doubted your trust,” he murmurs. “Only whether I deserved it, once my nature was known. For that, I must apologize. I should not have hidden it from you. You are far too precious a person to entangle yourself with someone like me.”

“Oh, be quiet, you fool,” you huff, stepping closer to him. You press your palm to his cheek, and he leans into the touch with a soft, startled breath. “Self-pity will not earn you any leniency. Do not lie to me again. Understand?”

“Fae cannot lie,” he smiles faintly, eyes fluttering shut as your thumb brushes his skin. “Should we attempt it, we sicken. Very gravely, in fact.”

“Ah,” you nod with mock solemnity, “so you’re simply skilled in manipulation. How comforting.”

He laughs, just barely—a sound that fades too quickly as he pulls back, though not far enough to escape your curiosity. Your hand drifts upward, fingers brushing the sharp point of his ear. He flinches.

“Now…is perhaps not the best moment to be touching—”

“You also have wings?” you interrupt in awe, gently maneuvering him to turn around. He stiffens as your finger traces delicately up his spine from the small of his back. “Can you fly?”

“No,” he says shakily, “they would not support my weight. They are not a particularly useful trait of the fae—merely an aesthetic one, if anything.”

“Very aesthetical indeed,” you giggle.

“That is not a real word,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. His breath hitches when your finger drifts to the place where the fragile wing meets his warm skin. His skin is never warm. Kyryll runs rather cold—you complain about it often when you curl against his side. (It never stops you from cuddling him, of course, but the complaints never cease, either.)

“Hm, still clinging to your extensive knowledge of words, are you?” You roll your eyes. 

You gently rub along that small network of veins where translucent skin fades into flesh, where the shimmer of his wings dissolves against the pale slope of his back. The base of each wing seems impossibly fragile—paper-thin, like spun glass, yet alive and keenly receptive to your touch. They rise from just below his shoulder blades, delicate membranes threaded with faint iridescence, catching the light in colors that shift like oil on water. You stare in awe at that narrow strip of skin between wing and back. It’s softer, almost silken, and the sensation is strange—cool, like morning dew, yet trembling with a pulse beneath your fingertips, as though burning from beneath.

The wings flutter instinctively the more your touch wanders, a tremor rippling through the transparent folds and making him flinch—a sharp breath pulled through his teeth.

“Does that hurt?” you ask, pausing in concern.

He shakes his head, though his voice is strained when he answers. “No. They are just…sensitive.”

“I see,” you breathe in fascination. 

They are sensitive—you can feel it under your fingertips. His skin there runs cold, but the pulse beneath it beats hot and fast, trembling through the thin lattice of veins. The wings twitch involuntarily, like they’re trying to fold in on themselves to escape your touch, or maybe reach for it—you cannot quite tell. When you trace your thumb along the joint where the wing anchors to his spine again, his breath catches once more, rougher this time. The friction of your touch draws a low sound from him, half-strained, half-pleasured. The wings shiver—and then so does he.

“Kyryll?” you ask softly.

He only lets out a sharp inhale in response.

“Are you…” You falter. How do you even phrase it? How do you ask your boyfriend—who has only just shared with you his origins as something not human—the burning question at the back of your mind? There is clearly something in his system, something woven into his bloodline, his very DNA, the framework of who he is, that makes him so…pent up. (That is the only phrase you can think of.) “Is…is there something happening with you? Biologically, at least?”

He goes still at your words. The question hangs between you with thick enough tension in the air that you feel like it physically separates you, and for a moment, he seems unable to breathe. When he finally does, it’s shallow—careful.

“I—” His voice breaks, then steadies, smooth and practiced as though he’s forcing it into place. “That is…a delicate subject.”

You take a small step back. “Sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. I just—”

“I know.” His hand reaches and grabs yours, thumb brushing softly over your knuckles before promptly letting go. His eyes flick to yours—bright, sharp, and mesmerizing in the low light. You wonder how you never caught on before that he could not be human. “I did not intend for you to see me in such a state. It is a rather shameful condition—one might say it is…seasonal, or perhaps instinctive. A remnant of older blood. It makes my body…less easily governed.”

He swallows hard, turning his face away. The fine tremor in his wings betrays the effort it takes to keep control.

You reach out before thinking, fingers hovering over his arm. “Hey,” you say quietly, “you don’t have to be ashamed. I’m not afraid of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His laugh is soft, almost bitter. “You should be. There are things in me, desires in me, that are not…proper. Not human. When such old instincts rise, I am ruled by them more than I care to admit.”

He finally meets your gaze again, and something raw flickers there—fear, want, and the painful effort of restraint. The air between you tightens. Something shifts. Something that pulls you towards him just as fiercely as he wants to push you away. You ache to close that gap he wants so badly to put between you—a naive and optimistic thought process, perhaps. Kyryll knows himself and his state of mind better than you do. 

He has lived through it. For hundreds of years, evidently, and you have only known him for so long. He is perhaps, wisely so, protecting you from a part of himself that requires protection against. But you don’t find his warnings—nor his pleas for that matter—to stay away from him until this passes worth listening to. You won’t. You can’t bring yourself to. 

He looks unwell—he looks pained and in suffering and alone in this small, little home of his where nothing is there to ease his troubles, no one is there to ease his burdens or his aches. You take one look at that soft, rosy flush on his cheeks, the dampness of his clammy skin, the somehow even darker circles beneath his honeyed eyes, and you cannot fight the instinct in your heart that longs to take care of him however he needs it. The instinct that just as easily governs over your body against your will as Kyryll’s governs over his. 

Love, perhaps, is what your heart would call it. Foolishness, on the other hand, is what your mind would say. 

“It hardly happens,” he whispers, keeping his face turned insistently away from you, “once every decade or so, there are urges…and they are not very pure in nature. I am ashamed to admit I am unable to keep from harboring improper thoughts about you, my dear. It would be in your best interest to leave before I am incapable of controlling myself any longer.”

“Forgive me for being so candid,” you say with a small grin, amusement threading through your voice, “but we’ve been intimate before, you silly thing. What exactly are you trying to protect me from—sex? Kyryll, we’ve done that plenty of—”

“No.” His voice cuts through yours, low and sharp, carrying a kind of desperation that stills you. “This is hardly comparable.” He turns toward you finally, and even though his expression is composed, his eyes are not. They are hungry and wild, and his pupils almost dilate at the sight of you. His wings twitch behind him, restless. “This is not a desire one can reason with,” he continues quietly. “It is old. It does not recognize affection or care—only need. And I would sooner burn myself hollow than make an object of you.”

For a moment, you weigh his words. You can see how much effort it costs him to hold himself still, to speak in measured tones instead of instinct. So much care and respect are woven into that tense, agonized distance he keeps between you both as he wills himself to stand still. And you decide that you want none of it.

You do not care about his self-imposed moral limits and boundaries. He needs you—and by the Gods, you are going to give him what he needs.

“Kyryll,” you say firmly, the earlier humor gone from your voice. “You could have told me sooner.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling shakily. “And ruin the illusion that I am civilized?”

You shake your head, stepping closer despite his warning. “You never needed illusions with me. I am the first person you should be able to turn to when you need something—when you need someone to take care of you.”

“You cannot take care of me in this form,” he clicks his teeth, patience slowly wearing thin. (He is certainly not in his right mind after all, you deduce—your Kyryll is never impatient with you. Not his usual self, at least.)

“I can,” you say stubbornly, “and I will because there is no way I am leaving you like this to suffer—so if you must use me for your own pleasure, then I think that is exactly what I will have you do because I want it of my own will. See? It is fine now, so come here and—”

“You are playing dangerous games,” his voice is deeper, lower, almost a throaty sound that vibrates in a way you’ve never heard from his usual rich, smooth, almost velvety voice. “Humans are not meant to withstand this level of…depravity that becomes my nature—”

“You are infuriatingly stubborn,” you roll your eyes. 

You step closer, moving to wrap your arms around his neck. He catches your wrists before you can press yourself closer against him. His grip is gentle, but his hand trembles as he holds yours. His pupils are blown wide, the faint iridescence of his eyes flickering like they are something alive, something of a soul of their own. “Do not tempt me,” he breathes. “You do not understand what you are inviting.”

“I think I do,” you say softly. “You’re suffering, and I won’t stand by and watch it.”

He shakes his head, his voice dropping to a low, strained murmur. “It is not the kind of suffering you can easily mend. The endurance of a fae and that of a human are…not measured in the same way.”

“I’ve never been afraid of a little imbalance,” you counter, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I like a good challenge.” For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. The air between you holds still—tense, waiting. 

And then he caves.

His hand rises to your jaw, tentative at first, as though he’s still convincing himself he shouldn’t. But the moment his skin meets yours, all restraint shatters. You’re pulled in for a kiss just as fervently as you lean in for one. Neither of you can say for certain who leans in first—who reaches for the other first. You don’t think you’d ever truly know. 

His breath his hot against your mouth, and it comes out in nothing but heavy, short puffs of air that he all but gasps for. For all his stamina as a fae that he claims to have, he seems almost out of breath from just a little kissing. Your hands wander along his back, gently rubbing against the delicate portion between skin and wings as he lets out a surprised groan of pleasure at the feeling. You giggle into his mouth as he flinches in shock from the touch.

“You weren’t lying,” you murmur into his lips, “they really are sensitive, aren't they?”

“Amused, are we?” he huffs into your mouth. 

“Maybe a little,” you admit cheekily. He only grunts in response—Kyryll in a rut is a Kyryll with very few words that he can articulate, you realize. 

You feel the bulge of his cock against your thigh as he flips you around to press you against the wall, caging you with his tall, strong body as his hands desperately cup your jaw and angle your face up, kissing you with more hunger than before. It’s hot, his erection—you can feel that sheer warmth of it through the fabric and layers of clothes, and it’s thick and twitching through his pants in a way you’ve never felt him before, as though he’s already responding to absolutely nothing from how starved he really is for anything. 

You move your thigh up, pressing it between his legs to slot perfectly against his crotch. He all but whimpers at the feeling—shuddering against you before his lips break away from yours and his face buries into your neck. 

“D-don’t stop,” he pleads, “more. I need…more.”

“I know,” you soothe, gently tugging the hair tie that keeps his long strands in that low bun until it frees his hair and lets it fall down his back. Your fingers stroke through them, delicately raking your nails along his scalp as you murmur, “I know, baby. You need more. Got it.”

He shivers at the pet name, and you smile fondly. You would have preferred to relieve him of such a clear ache with more gratifying methods, but Kyryll does not allow himself to detach from you long enough for you to even reach for the waistband of his pants and use your hand. Your thigh is as good as he allows you to pleasure him with the way he’s pressed so close to your personal space. You feel him grind against it with his own pace, meeting your movements halfway as he chases the friction against his hardened cock. 

When your fingers move back to his back, tracing the sensitive little networks of veins along the base of his wings, he groans into your neck, biting into your skin hard enough that it stings just a little. 

“Does it feel good when I touch here?” You press gently into the base of his wing for emphasis. 

He lets out a soft, breathless, almost whiny sound as he nods shakily. “Y-yes,” he swallows thickly, “very…very good.”

“How cute,” you giggle. “You are so cute.”

“M’close,” he gasps, “so…so, so close.”

“Already?” you blink in shock–you’ve really only hardly begun, “but we—”

You don’t even get to finish your thoughts before the sound of his voice, gravelly and thick with pleasure, cuts you off. 

“F-fuck, I…I’m s-sorry,” he slurs his words incoherently, “‘m…c-cumming—”

You feel the familiar rush of warmth as he spills into his pants. (Kyryll has only cum in his pants once before—one night after he had a glass of wine too many, and you’d dragged your aching core against his own throbbing sensation between his legs as you shifted on his lap between kisses. It was cute then—seeing the adorable pinkness on his cheeks as he’d stuttered an apology. You enjoyed the slightly damp feeling of his release against your leg.)

But this time…it’s a little different. He absolutely soils his own clothes as much as yours. You can tell that much just seconds into his orgasm—the sheer amount of his seed that seeps through the fabric of his pants and dampens yours has you shocked. It’s…a lot. More than normal. More than you thought possible. Clearly not a very human amount, considering he is…well, very much not human. But you try your best to keep the steady rhythm of your thigh grinding against his crotch since he has stopped moving himself in favor of stilling—his body is taut and stiff as he shudders through every wave of his high, gasping into your neck and letting out choked moans against your skin. 

“S-sorry,” he rasps, “I did not…I had not meant to tarnish your c-clothes with—ngh—” 

He cuts his own sentence off with a low grunt as another thick, warm rope of cum spills from the head of his swollen cock. You shake your head in response to his apology—he does not need to apologize, you tell him softly—before gently rubbing his back as he rides out the last final waves of his orgasm. (It’s a long wave of pleasure—you’ve witnessed Kyryll fall apart quite a few times before. You like to consider your intimate life a display of healthy passion. It’s never lasted like this before, though—you don’t think you would forget it if you’d witnessed that sort of…well, spectacle seems not the kindest word for it. But it’s certainly a sight, that much is undoubtedly true. You decide not to comment on it for the sake of his feelings, however—you do not wish to embarrass him any further.)

“It’s okay,” you smile into his temple as you kiss it, “I don’t mind. Clothes can be washed, you know, silly.”

He pants into your neck, catching his breath for a brief moment before he reluctantly peels himself away from you. His face is even more flushed—his skin is practically glowing, and his wings seem even brighter as they droop into his back almost self-consciously. He doesn’t dare meet your eyes, as if his moment of self-indulgence is too shameful a scene for him to make peace with. You can practically hear his thoughts without him saying them—humping against your leg like that is the least dignified thing a man could do to the woman he cares for. Utterly unrefined and uncouth, and lacking in respect. 

You sigh, reaching to cup his cheek. “Hey,” you whisper gently, “don’t worry too much. Do you feel better now?”

He looks at you miserably. It’s only then does your gaze wander a little lower…and you realize that he is still hard. Very, very, very hard—in fact, you don’t think it ever stopped despite the way he clearly came undone just a moment ago. 

“Oh,” you breathe.

“…As you can see,” he says shakily, “this is not a problem that will resolve itself any time soon. Not even with your best efforts, I’m afraid.”

“So you need a few more rounds,” you shrug. He looks utterly horrified by your phrasing, which only makes you grin a little before you reach out to poke the tip of his nose affectionately. “I think I can handle that, baby—”

“No.” His voice sharpens, though there’s still that tremor of restraint beneath it. “You have already done far more than I deserve, my light. I will tend to the rest on my own. You should go—for your own sake, if not for mine. Though it pains me to watch you leave, it is the wisest course until I have recovered from this…condition of mine.”

“I’m not leaving,” you frown, your tone firm and unyielding.

He exhales, long and weary. “You are impossibly stubborn. Funny that you would have accused me of being just that, not too long ago.”

“I’m not!” you protest. “Look at you—you look like you’re in pain.”

“If you would kindly refrain from voicing such mortifying observations aloud,” he says with a tired sigh, “it would preserve what fragile shred of dignity I still possess, my dearest.”

You roll your eyes fondly. 

You and Kyryll are an oddly functioning couple. You only just started calling him by his first name a few weeks ago. Before that, he was simply Flins. Mister Flins, before that, when he was just a ratnik who had saved you from a creature of the wild hunt. 

Do be careful when you wander at night, Miss, he had said politely. 

And then he had been off on his way. You run into him time and time and time and time again after that. It’s an odd way the world works, you like to think—how you can meet someone so often after one encounter when just days before, you’d never been aware of their existence. How they can bleed into everything you know so suddenly, like they’d been there this entire time, even when you’d known nothing of them for so long. Your usual places, your usual routes and paths, your usual stops. All of them have been the same for long enough that you wonder if perhaps they have merged with your cells and become part of who you are. 

The one thing that was never there before was him. And then, as if the Gods had willed it, he was. Always, in every corner, it was Mister Flins. 

How funny of a way the world works that things are thrust into your small bubble against your will, invading the tiny space of what you know and becoming one with all the things you hold dear. 

Mister Flins at the market buying spices at the same time as you. Mister Flins walking down the same path as you are as he makes his way to his superior’s office. Mister Flins in the area to fix some broken part of his lamp. Mister Flins and a drink he asks to grab with you when you both happen to be free. Flins after that—he asks you kindly to drop the Mister. Flins and a nice dinner that he offers the bill for instantly. Flins at your place of work to escort you home in the evening—it’s dark out, you know, Miss. Flins in your kitchen as you make lunch while he’s in the area. Flins and that coat of his that he likes to drape over your couch when he’s here to stay for a while. Flins when you wake up in the morning, and he’s still there, tangled in the sheets with you. Flins who asks you to call him Kyryll, if you would accept—it’s only fair that two people who are courting use their proper names. 

How long of a way you have come—from calling him Mister and hoping if you might ever run into him again, to whispering Kyryll like it’s a prayer and letting yourself into his home as you please. How far of a way you still have to go—he is still too embarrassed to be open with the physical desire that consumes him so wholly despite being intimate with you so many times before. 

You wonder if a decade from now, Kyryll will warn you in advance that he will experience this same thing once more. If this time, instead of hiding from you, he might ask you to help him, take care of him. If he’ll trust you and put aside his composure and be fragile in your hands, so that you can carefully curl your hand and cup him in there, keeping him tucked into your hold, protected from the world. 

You sigh, shaking your head in fondness before you gently murmur, “If you would just shove aside your pride for a moment and understand that I do not find shame in your nature, then perhaps we might both have an enjoyable time. I don’t dislike being intimate with you, you know—it isn’t as though it’s a chore for me.”

He swallows, mulling over your words before his shoulders ease. A loose, breathless chuckle slips past his lips. “You are remarkably eager to bed me, my love.”

“Don’t be so smug,” you scoff, stepping toward him as your arms curl around his neck. 

He hums, burying his face into the juncture between your neck and shoulder and inhaling deeply, breathing in the scent of you. You can still feel the throbbing length tucked away in his tight pants—but you let him set his own pace for how he wants to do this. This is about him, you remind yourself, him and his…whatever this fever is called that has consumed him and turned him into a sexual-haze induced version of himself with mythical features you did not think people of this world could possess. 

You hesitate, voice gentle. “So…is this basically…like a rut or something?”

Kyryll stills, then exhales slowly against your skin. His laugh is quiet, resigned—the sound of a man who has given up on maintaining dignity. “If you insist on using such a barbaric term, then yes,” he murmurs, voice low and rueful. “It is something akin to that.”

“Ah,” you nod, trying not to grin. “Good to know.”

He lifts his head, eyes narrowing in faint amusement. “I can feel you laughing at me.”

“I would never,” you lie, smiling sweetly. Silence lingers for a beat before your curiosity wins out. “But wait—how come I never see your features like this? The ears, the wings…” your gaze drifts downward and back up again, “I’ve seen you naked plenty before, and those wings definitely weren’t there then.”

A soft sigh escapes him as he closes his eyes, the faintest trace of embarrassment lacing his tone. “I can usually hide them,” he admits quietly. “Most of my kind evolved to conceal the traits that set us apart. The wings, the ears—I have learned to keep them hidden away to pass unnoticed among humans.” His wings twitch faintly behind him, betraying his irritation. “But in this state…” his voice roughens slightly, “I cannot maintain that restraint. They emerge on their own.”

You hum thoughtfully. “So your wings come out when you’re horny.”

He groans, shoulders slumping. “You do have an unmatched talent for vulgar phrasing, my light.”

“I like to think it’s one of my more endearing qualities,” you grin, brushing a fingertip along the curve of his ear until he shivers. “Don’t you?”

He gives you a look—half exasperation, half resigned fondness. “Endearing is one word for it,” he murmurs dryly. “There are others I might choose.”

“Charming? Irresistible? The light of your lonely, dark little life?” you suggest, all innocent eyes.

“Insufferable,” he says immediately.

You press a hand to your chest in mock offense. “You wound me. Truly, so mean.”

“You’ll recover.” His lips twitch, betraying amusement. “You always do.”

You grin wider, leaning closer so your noses almost brush. “Only because I am so fond of you. The things I endure in order to love you are what some might consider horrors, you know.”

“I’ve watched you survive far worse than my teasing,” he replies, arching a brow. You hum thoughtfully. 

“True,” you whisper as you bite back a grin, “so surely, I can handle you when you are not entirely yourself.”

He exhales, a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a laugh—soft, endeared. “Incorrigible,” he murmurs, though the word loses its bite when you rise on your toes and press your lips to his.

The kiss starts tentative, almost cautious. You test the waters, and he trembles faintly against you, as though afraid he might hurt you just by touching. But when you tilt your head and draw him closer by the back of his neck, that restraint begins to crack. His hands find your waist, firm yet so achingly soft the way that Kyryll always is, and he kisses you again—deeper this time. Harder. Like he means it. The kind of kiss that steals the breath right out of your lungs as he inhales it for himself.

You feel his heartbeat where your palms rest against his bare chest, and the faint shiver of his wings brushing against your hands as they travel from his sternum to his back. When you part for air, he rests his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, the tips of his pointy, adorable little ears flushed a faint shade of rose.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, his voice hoarse with longing.

“Positive,” you breathe, brushing your thumb over his lower lip. He presses a kiss to the pad of your finger before nodding. 

“You’ll try to stop me if it’s too much? Perhaps we should keep something heavy nearby so you may hit me if I do not listen to reason—I will certainly survive the blow and—”

“I am not hitting your head, Kyryll,” you gape, “and I’m not backing out, either. Now fuck me—I want you.”

“Must you say it just like that?” he asks tiredly. 

You giggle, nodding as you murmur, “How else will I prove my enthusiasm to feel you?”

That seems to undo him completely. He looks at you for a moment—good and long and hard before he kisses you again. This time, it’s with the kind of fervor that feels almost desperate now, stumbling a little as you both move in a tangle of limbs through the quiet rooms of his home. His hand stays at the small of your back, guiding you blindly toward the bedroom, though his mouth never leaves yours for long.

The journey there is clumsy and impatient—you nearly trip over a low stool in your rush, and he catches you with a low laugh that melts against your lips. His wings flutter, brushing against furniture, fragile things trembling with the same tension that threads through his entire body. He moans into your mouth every few moments, unable to keep his usual composure and bite back the sounds. You like this version of Kyryll—the version that makes his pleasure a loudly known fact rather than a politely kept secret. 

By the time your knees hit the edge of his bed, he’s panting harshly, worked back up to impatience for release as his body burns with tension.

“This is your last chance to leave while you easily can, you know,” he says lowly—his voice thick, hoarse, and edged with something that no longer sounds entirely human. Each word rasps as though dragged through gravel, deeper and rougher than before, echoing faintly in his chest before reaching you. The sound sends a shiver down your spine—not from fear, but from the strange, thrilling feeling of want piercing through your spine. 

You meet his gaze steadily. “I’m not backing out,” you say, your voice so firm and sure.

He closes his eyes, jaw tightening as though your words physically pull at the fraying thread of his control. “You do not understand what you invite, my light.”

“I don’t want to understand,” you whisper, reaching for him, “I just want you.”

His breath stutters at the touch. For a moment, he seems frozen, torn between his care for you and his instinct of desire. Then—as if his biology finally wins over—whatever fragile barrier he’s built around himself shatters. The sound that escapes him is low, almost feral, but still unmistakably him. 

“I told you,” he says gruffly, “I will not be guided by my affections. Yet you insist so firmly to see a version of me that only fucks you with instinct alone—is that what you truly want? A man as depraved and senseless as this? What little regard for your fragile, human body,” he chuckles. 

His mouth claims yours before you can reply—hard and bruising and all teeth, filled with a relentless urgency. You gasp, arching into his touch as his large, impatient hands tug you closer by your clothes. (So this is what he meant, you think—Kyryll is utterly lacking in his typical gentleness. No—in fact, his gentleness is completely gone.)

Your clothes are torn off in a swift motion. He does not bother disrobing you, does not bother taking his time to admire you, or tease you, or simply just bask in the moment of being so intimately close to you. Instead, he grabs the fabric with a rough hand, pulls with more force than you’ve ever seen from him, and tears the fabric without remorse. You gasp at the sight of it being completely irreparable. 

“Kyryll!” you hiss, “soiling clothes is one thing, but destroying them is an entirely separate—”

“Enough,” he cuts in, voice low and edged. “They were in my way. I will not waste time with trivial barriers.”

You shiver at the sound of such a rough tone in his voice. Long gone is the delicate, well-mannered, and well-spoken man you know—long gone is his patience and sweetness and lingering precision in everything he does. 

His hands squeeze at your hips in appreciation as he marvels at the sight of your curves and bare skin. “Mmh, and to think I was going to deny myself such a splendid gift—where such patience had graced me, even I myself cannot tell. No matter—I will make the most of such a wonderful blessing.” 

You’re dripping—his words alone, his sheer desire to use you alone, have made the ache between your legs worsen, and the pool of slick collecting there does the same. It coats your inner thighs, and when he roughly spreads your legs apart, humming at the sigh of your bare cunt, you whimper. 

“What a sight,” he groans, “I cannot wait until I am buried in the warmth of such a beautiful, perfect cunt.”

He is much less hesitant to use filthier words, too, you realize. And less focused on you and your pleasure as his fingers sink past the velvety walls of your pussy, curling deep into that spongy, sensitive spot that makes you mewl. Nothing about this is gentle. Nothing about it is thoughtful and giving and filled with adoration like Kyryll always is when he beds you. Nothing about it puts your pleasure above all else and does it for the sole purpose of making you feel good and feel his devotion. 

No. Instead, Kyryll fucks his fingers into you because he needs you prepped and ready to take his cock. He also wants to feel the warmth of your walls flutter around his fingers because his mind is in a filthy haze. You can tell because the way he groans as his fingers pump into you, scissoring and stretching you open, has nothing to do with the way you gasp and twitch from pleasure, but everything to do with the wet, squelching sound he hears and that shiny, messy essence that he sees coating his fingers. 

“So warm,” he moans, “how long before I can sink the entirety of my cock into such a perfectly awaiting pussy, I wonder.”

“K-Kyryll, please—”

“Say that again,” he demands, “say my name like that again. Say it.”

“Kyryll,” you sob brokenly. His fingertips are so cruel, slamming and curling into that sensitive spot so rough and fast, so impatient to get you gushing around him so that you are ready to take his cock with ease. “M’go-gonna…gonna cum—fuck!”

“There it is, my dove,” he smiles, pleased. “I knew you would do well—after all, you always give me just what I want, don’t you? It’s what you know best, isn’t it? Such a good, obedient human.” 

Your orgasm doesn’t last long—it’s not like the usual sort of high Kyryll coaxes out of you. It’s not soft and prolonged and doesn’t make you slip into a hazy, blissful state that makes you feel like you’re floating. Instead, it all but makes you black out, a wave of pleasure that absolutely wrecks you and shocks your body right to its core. It’s impatient and fast, and when you come down from the split second of pure white-hot pleasure, he is already there, studying your fluttering walls and humming in approval. 

“I think you are sufficiently ready, don’t you think, my dear?” he all but growls. 

You watch deliriously as he unzips his pants, quickly shrugging them and his boxers off in a swift movement and freeing his cock—and oh. You have seen his cock. You have taken his cock down your throat and deep in your walls, and you’ve felt the weight of it in your hand. You are not a stranger to the sight of Kyryll’s cock, but you are a stranger to his version of it—the version of it that has thicker veins that are practically glowing along the side of his length. The version of it that has messy, runny, iridescent pre cum leaking from the tip and coating his pink, flushed cockhead. The version of it that looks even bigger and thicker, and longer than you remember it. 

You gasp at the sheer sight of it, instinctively pressing your thighs together in…in what? You do not even know. In fear? In excitement? In need of relief at the sheer excitement it sends through your aching core, or in need of a break before you’ve even begun from the sheer size of it that will surely break you. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper, “oh my god, it…it’s not going to fit,”  you shake your head. “K-Kyryll, you’ll…you’ll break me.”

“Will I?” he chuckles, slightly mocking as he leans down and presses a flurry of kisses along your jaw, sucking and biting at your skin before he makes his way to your neck and inhales the scent of you once more. It occurs to you then that perhaps the scent of you has only been driving him more mad this whole time—that with the way he’s taken every opportunity to sniff at your skin, he must be absolutely overwhelmed by the scent of you. “I specifically remember you saying you would not mind doing this with me and that it was not a chore. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“L-look at the…the size of…of it!” you stutter, “that is not what it usually is!”

“We will easily make it fit, my dove,” he hums, “not to worry. There is no doubt that this pretty cunt will open up nice and slowly for me—after all, she is a good, good girl, isn’t she?”

He traces a thumb over your clit as he says that—and when you whine, jolting from the touch, he chuckles in a sick, almost twisted form of amusement. Without warning, he grabs a leg, hooking it over his shoulder as his hand squeezes the meat of your thigh and groans. 

“You were made for my taking,” he says, staring at your body as though he’s in a heavy trance. His eyes are wide and dilated, unfocused and almost wild as he rakes them over every section of bare skin he can. “I am going to take great pleasure in feeling the tight warmth of you wrapped around me—what a wonderful fate life has granted me, indeed.”

With that, he leans down to hover over you, and the knee tossed over his shoulder bends and practically meets your chest as he closes the gap and kisses you roughly. The thick, blunt head of his cock meets the entrance of your cunt, pushing past the folds slowly, carefully for a moment that you almost think that this is your Kyryll—the Kyryll that you know and love. 

But then, with a rough snap of his hips, he’s pressed a good amount of his length into you, stretching you with a burning girth that makes you cry out in a sharp mewl. “T-too much, baby,” you sob, “w-wait—”

“You can take it, my dear,” he insists, kissing away the tears with chapped, warm lips that feel nothing like the usual soft and cool ones you’re used to. You hardly recognize the man who is taking you, and yet…and yet, you cannot help but fall in love even deeper with him in this state. Every fiber of your existence should scream to run, but instead, they long to be intertwined with him. Threaded into the very fibers of his own existence, living tangled and one with him. 

He’s right. You can take him—and you do. He snaps his hips one more time and buries the rest of himself into you, completely down to the hilt and completely filling you up until you feel almost certain that you can feel him in your throat and lungs. 

“S-so big,” you gasp, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him as your walls flutter around the intrusion of his thick, swollen cock. He groans, wings fluttering behind him impatiently as he waits for you to give the signal that you’re ready for him to move—he still has enough sense in his system for that much kindness. “S-so full, baby—m’so full.”

“Yes,” he says hoarsely, “what a sweet, precious girl, you are—taking me so well. Such a darling light I have that takes me so well and doesn’t complain. I simply adore you, my dove.”

You mewl at the praise, clawing at his back with your nails as you pull him closer—and impatiently, with a jolt of your hips, you plead, “M-move! Move, please…need to feel you so bad.”

Your hands rub along his back—and without the same careful, gentle precision as before, you rub at the base of his wings, too. Friction at the delicate, sensitive, almost painful nerve-endings at his wings that respond to your touch by twitching harshly. He lets out a gasp, jolting with a low, drawn-out moan that is obscenely loud. Obscene. Kyryll is never much of an obscene sight even in the throes of pleasure, but you suppose such a frenzied, desperate state of mind would make him prioritize his composure last. 

“F-fuck—I told you, those are sensitive,” he hisses, “you…you cannot simply just touch and feel them as you please unless you want to—”

You lean up and bite at his earlobe, effectively cutting him off as his breath gets caught in his throat. You hear the hitch before you whisper into the shell of his pointed ear, “Kyryll, just fuck me already. What in the Gods' names are you waiting for?”

That makes something in him snap. Something carnal and hungry and desperate and…so far gone in his desires, it almost feels animalistic. His hips snap, harsh and fast, and nudge his cock deeper and deeper past your folds, pressing effortlessly against that sensitive, delicate spot in the back of your walls. Your Kyryll usually knows where that spot is; he usually aims his thrusts to kiss that spot with the blunt head of his cock purposely. 

This Kyryll doesn’t try. He doesn’t even think to find your pleasure points, drilling his aching length and chasing the warm friction of the tight walls that surround him without a thought. It just so happens that naturally so, with the sheer size and girth of him, with the perfect curve of cock, he manages to find that spot anyway. 

“Fuck,” he groans, “ngh—you are so…so soft. So exquisite and warm and so fucking tight.”

Your legs wrap around his hips, bracing yourself for every forceful, heavy snap of his hips. It’s fast and rough and impatient. It’s everything your Kyryll is not. It’s hungry and mad and vulgar. There’s a filthy squelching sound that mixes in with both of your pleasured sounds—a wet, filthy one that comes from skin slapping on skin and the way his cock slips in and out of your dripping cunt. 

“I’ll fill you up,” he says lowly, “there is a perfect little womb right here,” his large hand presses against your belly, applying light pressure against it as he thrusts into you, making you wail. “And I intend to make good use of it. I will fill this womb up with my seed over and over again—until it takes. However many times I must, I will. Until you are swollen with a child that will have both the bloodline of a fae and a delicate little human.”

“P-please—”

“Is that what you want?” He coos, “to have a child you can bear with half of me and you? Perhaps my eyes? Your smile? Is that what my darling little human wants?”

“Y-yes,” you sob, “yes, yes—please!”

“Then far be it from me to deny such a precious request,” he hums. 

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you roughly. A messy dance of tongue and teeth and hot breath that you exchange between heavy panting. One hand tangles in his hair and tugs, and the other alternates between scratching into his back and rubbing over those delicate nerves at the base of his wings. You feel him jolt every time you trace them—feel him let out a tiny whimper into your mouth when your thumb catches over a particularly delicate membrane that makes his whole body shudder. 

“Oh,” he groans roughly, “I’m…I’m c-close—so…so tight. It’s never…it’s never felt like this before.”

For a fleeting moment, you wonder what he means by that—he’s fucked you plenty of times before. Plenty of times, he’s felt the slick tightness of your cunt and the warm walls that wrap around him invitingly. Then…then it occurs to you that perhaps…perhaps this is the first time Kyryll has ever fucked somebody at all during a rut. Perhaps he has never had the company of another while he locks himself away in his home. 

Perhaps, all these years, he’s had nothing but the frustrating company of his own hand against his cock, a limited and lonely form of relief for that awful, throbbing ache between his legs. You imagine it—the sight of him sprawled on his bed, bare and sweaty and painfully erect. The sight of his fist stroking his cock and squeezing at the base while he bites the palm of his hand and chokes on sounds he tries to suppress. The sight of him spilling into his hand and feeling the tremors of his pleasure all alone with no one to whisper sweet nothings to him as he comes down from the high. 

What a lonely, awful way it must have been to ease his aches. What a lonely, awful fate he was so willingly to resign himself to again before you had wormed your way into his home and demanded an explanation from him. A part of you knows he had done it mainly out of fear—fear of hurting you and losing control. Fear of slipping too far in his desires and taking it further than he would ever dream of, and causing you harm. 

But another part of you wonders if Kyryll is just too used to being alone. If his mind and body are accustomed to being alone during something like this, that even when his body craves the heat and closeness of someone else, even when his mind has envisioned you in less than proper ways, like he’s said himself, he is too ingrained in the habit of being alone. Being far, far away from others and handling things alone. Being far, far away from you when he thinks himself to be a burden who does not deserve your closeness or your care or your intimacy. 

And you don’t like it. You don’t want his mind to think that way on default and put space between you when all you want is to be nestled into his skin and make home in his ribcage. You’re safest there—he would protect you with his bones and shatter them first before anything would harm you. You know that. 

And you want to take care of him. See the less than human parts and make them feel welcome in this big, large world where there is room for both of you to exist with your differences. 

“Have you ever fucked someone like this, Kyryll?” You whisper, “When your body is flushed and warm like this? Has anyone touched these cute little wings of yours as you fucked your load into them? Held you as you come undone? That’s what you deserve, don’t you think?”

Filthy. That’s how you make him feel. That’s how he makes you feel, too. Even when you are being sweet, you are both downright, purely filthy. 

“No,” he rasps, “fuck—no, I haven’t. I’ve never…n-never had someone before you for…for this.”

“So I’m your first proper rut, is that it?” You manage to giggle even through his ruthless, heavy thrusts. Even as he bullies his cock into your folds as deep as it’ll go, you find a way to tease and mock him. 

(And he likes it. There is, undeniably, a part of him that excites when you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t feel him twitch inside of your cunt like that.)

“Yes,” he groans loudly, dizzy with pleasure as you squeeze around him, “yes…my first…first proper one.”

His hips stutter for a moment as he says the words—like he’s mulling them over and pondering on the implications of them before suddenly, your other leg is thrown over his shoulder and you cannot help but squeal in shock from the force of his body maneuvering yours. He folds you in half, and your knees are almost pressed to your chest. 

He rolls his hips in quick, impatient thrusts—sloppy in rhythm and no longer as deliberate as they once were in pace. He’s close. This Kyryll is so, so different from your Kyryll, but he’s still the same. You recognize the patterns as they come. That slack jaw and those eyes that flutter shut and roll to the back of his head. The deep, heavy breaths and the low, raspy grunts. The familiar way his pace becomes messy and less rhythmic as he tries to grind into you and chase the friction. And finally, the small, little twitch his cock does before he spills into you. It’s warm—so fucking warm and thick, and it fills you up from just a few ropes. 

“M’c-cumming,” he says hoarsely, so fragile and broken as pleasure bleeds through his veins and shoots along his nerves. “So…so good, love—you always feel so good.”

Just like the first time he came in his pants right against your legs, he spills more seed than you ever imagined possible. It paints your walls white, and he does a careful job of fucking the load into you as it spills, never stilling for a second. You can feel it leaking from your folds—there’s a mess of his cum and your slick leaking past your folds and coating your inner thighs, dripping along your skin. 

He watches, mesmerized. 

And when a particularly sharp thrust lands, you follow him as you fall off the edge and go hurtling into your own pleasure. It’s dizzying. He’s never stretched you like this—you’ve never felt veins this thick rub against your walls and drag along with such sickening friction. When you cum, you cum hard—harder than you ever have on his cock. You squeeze around him, milking him of the last of his thick ropes of cum and making sure he gives you everything he can. 

“Kyryll,” you gasp—you chant it a few more times as you ride out the final waves of your high, unable to form anything else but the thought of his name. “Oh,” you breathe, “fuck.”

He slumps over you as he finishes, catching his breath in the crook of your neck. His wings tremble faintly before folding closed, and for a long moment, the only sound is his heavy breathing and the faint hum of his heartbeat against your chest.

When he finally speaks, his voice is still rough, still deep and throaty. “I did warn you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “I told you I lose myself in this state. You insisted on testing me.”

You hum, utterly unbothered, fingers lazily combing through his damp hair. “Lose yourself? That was you losing control? I must say, I expected something a little more…dramatic.”

He lifts his head, giving you a look equal parts disbelief and exhaustion. “You have the audacity to critique my performance?”

“I’m just saying,” you tease, grinning, “for all that talk about feral instincts and uncontrollable urges, you were still very polite about it. You even romantically asked to start a family with me.”

A huff of laughter escapes him despite himself. “You mock me even now?”

“Only because it’s easy,” you grin, kissing his cheek. “All that talk, and you’re already out of breath.”

A low, breathless hum escapes him. “No need to worry,” he murmurs, voice rougher than usual—and you feel the familiar twitch of his cock. Still hard and still swollen inside you. “We still have a long way to go before my desires are satisfied. I hope you’re prepared.”

You tilt your head back to meet his gaze, eyes widening a fraction. “Oh…how long?”

Kyryll smirks—that infuriating, elegant smirk that makes you weak-kneed. “Well,” he begins, voice dipping, “I did say that fae have a lot of stamina.”

“Well…” you murmur, looking at him with defiant eyes. “I still think I can handle that.”

He groans, teeth grazing the shell of your ear, “We shall see,” he rasps, “because I am not finished with you yet.”

Well . Idk girl . Idk

[danijaci]

fury unleashed w/ diluc

based on this blog post! <333 by @wri0thesley (part 1) warning/s: violence

I actually wanna finish this but eh,, I got sleepy :>>> so I just decided to do it by parts hhhhhh stay tuned ig

[dragonkeeper19600]

One thing about Mononoke that I find kinda funny is that the samurai in the series are always pretty useless.

A lot of anime present samurai as these, like, hardcore unstoppable badasses, but whenever a Medicine Man runs into a samurai, they're either stupid, cowardly, or they just get in the way. At best, they're portrayed as being in way over their heads. Even the evil samurai in the series aren't particularly badass. They're just portrayed as thugs and lowlives that happen to have swords.

Not only is this funny, it also ties into the feminist themes of the franchise. A lot of Mononoke has to do with the hardships women face in a male-dominated world. That an exalted, all-male class like the samurai are in reality a bunch of losers helps show how bitterly unfair the gender dynamic in Edo society is. A lot of these guys are just allowed to fail upward because of their connections or social status or whatever while lower class women who are braver and more competent than them just get crushed by the system.

One thing that's never said outright but is still clear from the reactions of the characters is that only men of the samurai class are allowed to carry swords. Legally, a merchant like the Medicine Man isn't allowed to have one. However, not only are the swords the samurai carry completely useless against mononoke, but none of the samurai are even good swordsmen in the first place. Whenever they do use a sword to kill someone (which is rare), it's usually an unarmed civilian that can't defend themselves. These aren't hardened warriors; they're just bullies with a title. The Medicine Man is way more qualified to carry a sword than any of them.

[lantddinh]

According to the DVD/Bluray artworks, his hair is realllllly long. And I can't find scanlations for those anywhere.

I want to have some fanarts of the new medicine seller.

[digiflora]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐌 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍!

... aka something super self indulgent because i'm going insane right now

༊*·˚ featuring ➻ the hsr men

༊*·˚ gia's notes ➻ this is probably gonna get posted way after exam season is over but here it is!!! my coping mechanism!!! i have 3 exams in 8 days im gonna explode bro. and before that i had a THREE HOUR STATISTICS EXAM 😀😀

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 MAKES SURE THAT YOU SLEEP COMFORTABLY.

you've been running yourself into the ground recently with revision- yes, it's important and you need to study to get good grades, as he is more than aware of due to your multiple stressed rants to him when he suggests that you take a break.

it doesn't bother him, not really. he knows that you're beyond stressed right now and don't mean to be so snappy. he just wants to make sure that you're still taking care of yourself despite everything.

he's in your dorm room, not really making much noise, scrolling through reals with his phone on mute, just present to keep an eye on you and get you to take a break whenever it's been a little too long since you've moved from your desk.

it's some time where it's debatable whether it's very late or very early- both of your sleep schedules are fucked- and there comes a little thunk from your desk that interrupts the otherwise silent room.

your boyfriend glances up, smiling in triumph as he sees that you've finally succumbed to the nap that he's been trying to convince you to take for the past... 36 hours? something like that.

and now that your body has finally given in to exhaustion, he springs to action.

you'd been studying for days, you'd done more than enough for your upcoming exam, and a solid few hours of uninterrupted sleep is exactly what you need right now.

he slips off of your bed, his movements quiet and calculated as he sidles up next to you. your glasses are smushed against your face, and he gingerly removes them as gracefully as he can. you stir a little as he does so, and he grimaces, waiting for you to settle again.

it looked like you would wake up if he carried you to your bed- looks like he'll have to improvise.

he snags the fuzzy blanket folded neatly at the foot of your bed, wrapping it around your sleeping form still sat at your desk as best as he can. he then takes one of your smaller pillows, coaxing it between you and the solid wood of your desk as best as he can before admiring his handiwork.

hopefully, you wouldn't wake up with a stiff neck.

and finally, as a cherry on top, he places a kiss to your squished cheek and sits back down to let you take a well-deserved nap.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ BLADE, gallagher, BOOTHILL ++ your faves!

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 IS YOUR PERSONAL ASSISTANT WHILE YOU'RE STRESSING.

you don't have to lift a single finger when he's around. luckily for you, his exams finished a lot earlier this term than yours did, leaving him ample time to help you as much as he is capable of.

and what an attentive boyfriend he is! amidst all the stress, you can't help but swoon for him all over again because of how attentive he's being towards you. he just wants you to help you study and not worry about anything else!

if you're hungry, he'll have a plate of food ready for you before the request has even left your mouth. your back or neck is aching due to being hunched over? his strong hands are rubbing circles into the muscle, making you sigh contentedly as the stiffness melts away.

he's honestly like an angel in your time of need.

you feel guilty about how one-sided this all is, but he merely smiles, giving you a quick kiss and assuring you that he understands and just wants you to do well. you almost cried because of how sweet he was being.

once these exams are over, you're definitely going to make it up to him.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ GEPARD, jing yuan, sunday ++ your faves!

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 ACTS AS YOUR TEMPORARY STUDY PARTNER.

despite not doing your degree, he's clever, and he knows enough without googling to help you out when you revise.

he's an advocate for the "teach someone about a subject until they understand it as well as you do" and luckily for you, he's all ears... and even if he does get some things a little quicker than your fried brain can explain, he still bites his tongue and plays a little dumb to probe you further with questions to test your understanding.

it'll help in the exam.

you've decided that this is way better than being cramped in a booth in the library- you have the freedom to wave your arms around and pace the room, to fully illustrate your thoughts and knowledge as he flips through the colourful flashcards that you made, reading the answers on the back of each of them, grilling you on the questions like a tiger mum.

he'll be damned if you don't get an A.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ dan heng, DR RATIO, welt ++ your faves!

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 DEFUSES YOU WHENEVER YOU'RE GETTING TOO STRESSED.

in the days leading up to your exams, it was best to describe your stomach as a pit of nerves. it was honestly distracting you from revising, all the pent up anxiety that churned within you until you were on the verge of a meltdown.

and while you may be too stressed to realise all of this and do something about it, your boyfriend's watchful eye realises this.

and so he does what he does best- he makes you feel better.

he pulls your body to rest against his where he lies in your bed, his large hand drawing comforting circles up and down your spine- and after a few minutes he can feel you melt into him, your body finally releasing the pent up stress that it's been holding for too long.

"it's ok to take a break, honey."

you sigh into him, and he hugs you tighter.

"c'mon, let's go outside for a few minutes. it'll help you feel a lot better."

you shake your head.

"you wanna just stay here for a bit?"

he feels you nod against his chest.

"ok, then let's do that."

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ SAMPO, luocha, AVENTURINE ++ your faves!

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... do you want somebody like i want somebody?

the sweet and caring nature of the hsr men is also shown through them being your roommate <3

[kremnoans]

ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ꜰᴀɴᴛᴀꜱɪᴇꜱ ⨟ ʜꜱʀ ᴍᴇɴ

✭ pairing(s): aventurine, dr ratio, boothill, gallagher, sunday, sampo, jing yuan, blade, luocha, jiaoqiu, moze, dan heng, gepard, caelus, welt (seperate) x reader

✩ inspo: Satellite by Smash Mouth (i'm serious)

★ in which: his mind drifts off to when he's thinking about you.

✧ a/n: grinded too hard on this feeling like a degenerate. healthy body healthy mind tho :P

🗒 cw: SMUT, gn reader, window fucking, manhandling, oral, overstimulation, dacryphilia, shibari, frotting, edging, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, blowjobs, vague a/b/o if you squint, biting, clawing, cockwarming, pegging, getting caught, fliming, biting, clawing, predator/prey, slight corruption kink? (virgin reader in welt's), voyuerism, toys, stacking donuts on it, whipped cream, etc etc, blowjobs, not proofread

✎ wc: 4.3k

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY

⎯ Aventurine

Rest assured, AVENTURINE has all sorts of dirty thoughts running around in his mind. Some are jokes, he’ll bring up fucking you on the poker tables, but he never really means it. That one is far too outrageous for even him, he doesn’t want to damage his and your reputations. As much of a celebrity he is, there are certain things he likes to keep away from the media, and that includes you. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop the press from spreading rumors that he does, in fact, have a partner.

However, one of his fantasies isn’t far off from that idea. There’s something so scandalous about having you pressed up against the window, stripped completely, as he fucks into you. What are the odds someone were to look all the way up at his apartment, at that specific window? Will they see you? Will they see him? It sends a thrill down his spine, just to think about it. 

It’s not as if anyone would recognize you from that far up, and the same goes for Aventurine, but it’d be something to fan the flames of the rumors, no? It’s not like his apartment is public knowledge, thank Qilpoth. But being able to show you off like that, at your most vulnerable, in the most intimate way possible… and all his.

⎯ Dr. Ratio

VERITAS does not allow himself to think of such lewd thoughts throughout the day. It is inappropriate for someone of his position, and as much as he loves you, he doesn’t wish to distract himself. When he’s off work however, and especially when he has time with you, he doesn’t mind indulging in your fantasies. Your fantasies are his, he believes, and he’d do all he could to keep you happy, no matter how lewd it is.

However, you’ve noticed one thing he particularly enjoys is throwing you over his shoulder, carrying you to the bedroom, before keeping you on edge all night. It’s an artform that he’s perfected. Every lingering touch, every disapproving stare when you beg for more, as if you’re just so impatient. And yet, he praises you. Every single word goes straight to your core, causing you to whimper and shiver under his touch. And he rewards you with more praise, all while you feel as if your sanity is holding on by a thread.

If he finally has a day off that night? Good luck. His job isn’t exactly easy, you know, and a lot of times he feels particularly stressed… and what could make him feel better? That’s right. Indulgence. He wants you to be a trembling mess, perhaps even a crying mess, to be so reliant on him for your orgasm while he enjoys whatever he can. He buries his head between your thighs most often, feasting like a famished man, yet always pulling back when your moans become too loud.

⎯ Boothill

BOOTHILL doesn’t have many fantasies, not now, anyways. Especially sexual fantasies. He’s got all he wants when it comes to you, to taste you whenever he wishes, play with you how he likes. He likes to focus on your pleasure above his, even if he got his cock installed, sometimes he forgets he has it.

However, one thought has plagued his mind ever since he first saw you bare. He curses himself for always coming back to what he knows is destroyed and gone, and yet, he can’t help but see it so clearly. To make love to you; yes, proper lovemaking, as much as he’s grown fond of the feverish way he devours you, he wants to take his time.

He pictures you riding him under the stars of his home planet, out in the plains. To feel the warmth of your skin against him, how the moon bathes you in its ethereal glow. He wants to enjoy the night of Aeragan-Epharshel, and he can only wish that he was human again. To feel you around him, the way your thighs would press against his sides, your hands on his chest. This thought has been the only one to make him wish he had still been human, still been alive, or had simply met you earlier.

⎯ Gallagher

GALLAGHER is a simple man. Any fantasy he’s had is already fulfilled, he likes to think. Someone to come home to, someone to jack off to (as crude as it is), someone to simply hold. Yet, tonight, he finds himself dreaming of you.

Oh, what a torturous week it’s been. Every shift has been excruciatingly slow, from dealing with petty theft (how is that possible within a dream?) to chatting with regulars in the Dreamjolt Holstery. Both of his workloads have doubled in size, it seems, and he was finally starting to feel the effects of stress, something he swore he never dealt with. Yet, in those stray moments in the storage room, his mind finds its way to you.

To have you naked, spread on the bed, waiting for him, it makes him bite his lip. Sure, when he gets home, he can always ask… but there’s something intimate about you knowing he had a bad day, that he needs to destress. He imagines all the ways he would take you, doggy, prone, have you ride him til you see stars… Perhaps he could text you and get the conversation going, but that would lead him to be distracted at work.

⎯ Sunday

As virtuous as SUNDAY is, he cannot help but let his dirty thoughts get the best of him. For so long he had been neglecting his sexual needs, deeming such impure thoughts a sin and an obstacle to his pursuit for true order. And yet, of course he couldn’t push such thoughts away. As your relationship progressed, his thoughts only became more wild and unrestricted– or at least, as ‘wild’ as a man so vanilla could get.

It’s only natural for a man so tied to order to like the idea of relinquishing control. Not that he’d voice it, of course. He was head of the Oak Family, and was expected to keep up his appearances as such. No one needed to know that in his head, he was submitting to you so easily. He enjoys being underneath you, able to relax while you handle everything else. Even if you were simply riding him, it’s something that feels freeing. He doesn’t have to be in control all the time, especially with you. This is his way of saying he feels safe, even in such an intimate manner.

He finds it hard to tell you, of course. He trusts you, but admitting that he likes something like that? He’s never talked so lewd before. To come up to you, bring up the conversation, and say he wants to try being pegged? He blushes at the mere thought. It’s not that you would say no, he isn’t afraid of rejection. He simply can’t fathom the words coming from his mouth. He doesn’t enjoy feeling pathetic, either… knowing that he’d be putty in your hands as soon as the tip pressed in.

⎯ Argenti

ARGENTI, who submits to your every whim and desire, does his best to not act on his own. Because of his vow, he does his best to curb all indulgences, sinful or not. However, with you, he believes there is room for leeway. He can’t deny you, especially when the mere thought of you stirs up such delicious ideals, especially when you tell him all you’d like to do with him, and to him.

And that's when his mind wanders. When he’s alone, his mind occupied with thoughts of you and only you, he finds it hard not to touch himself. And so, he does, palming himself through his trousers as his breath becomes ragged. You’ll be back soon, he thinks, and it sends a shiver down his spine, making his cock twitch. What would you do if you were to catch him? Praise him? His cock twitches again, precum leaking through his trousers, as he continues to rub himself. Or perhaps you would scold him, how dare he do something so lewd. Without you. He can’t help the moan that falls from his lips.

He wants you to catch him, every single time. He leaves the door unlocked, sometimes leaving it open a crack, keeping his legs spread, angling his body towards the door. He does not mean to, but he tends to flaunt himself. It’s all he feels he can do as he waits, and waits, and waits. He needs you to see him before he makes a mess of himself, so proudly, all for you. You have caught him a few times, and you don’t disappoint when you do. Sometimes you do scold him, punishing him by deciding to finish the job yourself, only to leave him on the cusp, over and over and over, making him plead and beg you for more with such a beautiful face. Glossy eyed, flushed cheeks, raw lips, it’s wonderful to have such a pious knight at your mercy.

⎯Sampo Koski

You can never evade SAMPO, nor can you evade what dirty thoughts linger in his mind. He loves to tell you all he wishes he could do, either over the phone, over video, or in person. and he never ceases to get you hot and bothered. It’s simply the way of such a coy man, always eager to please and be pleased. Your satisfaction is guaranteed.

Of course he isn’t tame. When he’s horny, he has too much energy to spend, and it causes him to get antsy. He can’t focus until he gets off. So why don’t you help him with that, as much as you can? He’d like a little something he can keep with him forever, that’ll keep him going when you’re unavailable. So why not film your own porn with him? He introduces the idea with such fervor, beaming as he asks.

That becomes a habit. After a couple thousand watches, he decides he needs more. You can’t tell if he’s doing this to perfect his filming technique, or if he actually does just want more, or even both. The first one you two filmed wasn’t exactly the best, with his phone set up on the bedside table with the lamp as a stand. The shot wasn’t exactly perfect, but he could still see you riding him, and your moans were as clear as day. The second one is clearer, capturing your entire body as you rode his face, also with pristine audio of your moans. Do you see a pattern? It’s unclear if he likes to listen to it more than he likes to see it, as most of the time he is on the run. It doesn’t stop him from trying to film different positions, though.

⎯ Jing Yuan

Of course JING YUAN has all sorts of fantasies running around his head about you. When he’s just so bored with his duties, how can he not think of you? A little excitement keeps him wide awake in hopes he’ll be able to act on some of them when the day is over. Or, perhaps he could call you in to keep him company? So many options, he thinks, so little time. For now, he’ll have to keep himself occupied.

He’s not necessarily the most perverted man, but some of the things he conjures up makes him feel that way. Such a prestigious figure answering to his base desires, something about that is so lewd to him. From the outside, he seems calm as can be. But inside his mind, he sees you on your knees underneath his desk, his cock in your mouth, cheek pressed against his thigh as he pets through your hair. That’s not the only thought in his mind, however. To have you sit in his lap, or grind against his thigh as you do your best to quiet your moans, pausing when someone dares to enter his space.

One of his favorites, however, is dismissing everyone from the Seat of Divine Foresight, calling you in, having his way with you on the desk. Perhaps it is tame compared to the others, but there’s a certain thrill of it. The Cloud Knights that stand guard, would they know? Or perhaps they would assume it’s official business. Most people know of your relationship with the General, but sometimes a good reminder is needed. He’s not a jealous man at all, but sometimes the way people’s eyes linger on you irks him ever so slightly. To have you laid back on his desk, legs hooked over his shoulders as he sinks as deep as he can into you, not making an effort to hide your pleasure at all.

⎯ Blade

As stubborn as he is, BLADE doesn’t necessarily have fantasies. Unless you can count dying. What do you expect from a man like him? When he wants something done, he gets it done, and that includes sex. If he’s out on a mission where you can’t accompany him, then he does his absolute best to not think about his urges until he can get his hands on you again. Sure, he’s had his fair share of fantasies when he was Yingxing, but as Blade? Does a man like that deserve to have fantasies?

He only starts thinking about it when you ‘criticize’ him for it. When you share your fantasies with him, the most you get back is an ‘mh’ and a contemplative look. Is it wildly unfair that he doesn’t have such lewd fantasies? No. But you kicked up enough of a fuss about it and it made him start thinking. It was a blessing and a curse. Suddenly, he couldn’t stop thinking about your body, how you feel against him, your smell, every single part of you was suddenly put under such an alluring light. Senses within him that had been dormant for so many years suddenly reawaken.

Blade finds himself balling his fists every time he is away from you. He is suddenly more irritable and aloof, even anxious. For about a week every other month, a certain vision can’t leave his mind. You, naked and pressed against him, clinging to him as if he was your only lifeline. He has you seated on his cock, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips to keep you there, as he takes all he can from your lips, swallowing every little moan as if he truly owned them. Something about having you simply seated on his lap, begging for more, doing your best to try and move yourself while he pushes you back down with a grunt, it makes his cock ache. At the same time, he can’t see himself being that patient, he’s always been so eager to ravage you.

⎯ Luocha

LUOCHA is quite forward with his fantasies and you. He sees no reason to keep them to himself, the worst that could happen was that you weren’t into it, right? He doesn’t find himself fantasizing too much, however, his mind normally on his travels and his coffin. When he’s with you, however, his mind is alight with all sorts of scenarios, some as innocent and sweet as candy, and others scandalous and lewd.

One of his favorite things to indulge in is shibari, tie you up in such pretty patterns, and have his way with you. He quite enjoys the control he has over you, for a man so complacent to your whims. His favorite way to tie you up is the butterfly harness, the way it frames your build so perfectly, emphasizing all his favorite parts of you. Not only that, but it’s versatile, giving him the choice to tie your arms back, or leave them be. Sometimes he chooses not to, enjoying the way you feel him up so desperately, doing your best to coax him to let you cum. Other times, he enjoys tying your arms back, simply helpless underneath his touch, like the teasing asshole he was.

With you tied up, something he does quite often is drag you along his cock, laying beneath you almost leisurely while you moan and beg for more. He looks damn near angelic underneath you almost every single time, unbothered, his hair only slightly messed up, and a soft blush dusting his features. You can beg all you want for him to be inside you, and all he’d do is tut and say you were doing just as good like this, why would he need to do more? You hate his cocky demeanor when you're just so close to orgasm, and he’s so adamant on dragging this out.

⎯ Jiaoqiu

Needless to say, JIAOQIU likes to turn up the heat in bed. Sex with him can be as gentle and leisurely as you want, or as rough and fast as you’d like. All you need to do is ask. That sly smile has never done you wrong, aside from perhaps a couple of love bites and claw marks down your back. He has always been fond of such things, finding that it felt as if it was in his nature.

He does his best to leave your skin untouched, especially the areas where people could see. But a curiosity always lingered in him, on those days where he had been yearning for your body the most. When he has no time to pamper you in all the ways he wants, when he can only admire your beauty from afar. His eyes drop from your face to your neck, and wonders just how beautiful that soft skin would be if it brandished his mark. Could he stain such beauty?

Of course he can. And if he were to, he’d expect full well the same treatment. He’d love to mark you up, allow others to know you are his. But he wants the same, as well. He feels insatiable, while your relationship is known, he wants people to know that you are his one and only. And that he is all yours. He strays from such visible places because of your professions, knowing that it isn’t exactly… in the dress code. Such a shame, he thinks. You’d look even more stunning with such a mark.

⎯ Moze

MOZE enjoys cleanliness above all. The less mess, the better. Condom on during sex, with a washcloth ready at any moment, he tends to come prepared. Needless to say, he’s an aftercare king. He has a shower ready after you two come down from the afterglow, and pampers you in his own special way each and every time. He’s not necessarily the most gentle during sex, but that doesn’t mean he’s too rough, either. Just enough to make your legs shake.

And… he’d quite like to bathe you after he’s caught you, as well. What a thrilling thing, chasing after a mark that just so happens to be his partner. Because you know, wherever you go, you can’t hide from him, on any of the Xianzhou Alliance’s ships. Even if he doesn’t know the layout of some, he will find you. It’s a chase that could last all night, for all he cares. The thought of it makes him shiver, and he can only hope you feel the same.

When he’d finally catch you, he’d haul you back to your place and make you wonder what he’d do to you, such a successful hunt should be rewarded, no? It’d be hard to keep calm in his arms, knowing that you’re in for a long night, one where you’ll inevitably end up sore. If you were to indulge, he’d make sure to do something different, every single time. He wouldn’t want this to get stale, after all. He likes the thought of you squirming in his arms, trying to get off somehow, with no idea what he’d bestow upon you that night. With consent, of course.

⎯ Dan Heng

As DAN HENG is a Vidyadhara, there’s not necessarily a lot that gets him off (yet). After all, they reproduced asexually, and for a while, he really had no sexual urges, or anything of the sort. That doesn’t mean you couldn’t set an example, however. He’s grown fond of watching you pleasure yourself in any way, shape, or form.

It started when he caught you masturbating one night, too shy to ask him for help, yet the urge was too strong to simply ignore it. It was stress relief, in a way. Needless to say, it ended up in a long talk about your own needs and his, and yet… he encouraged it. It sent heat straight to his belly and made him feel things he didn’t know he could feel. Just because of the night, his mind tends to wander when he has too much freetime on his hands, or when the express is quiet. It’s excruciating for him…

And so, he starts gifting you all sorts of toys. To experiment with, of course. He likes to watch you use them most of the time, from vibrators, to dildos, sleeves, anything he thinks you’d like. He prefers to watch most of the time, from right behind you, or from the edge of the bed, as if he were any closer, he’d be interrupting something. On the rare occasion you’d invite him to help, he does everything with such hesitance, everything still new to him. It is wonderful to watch his cheeks flush when you moan a little too loud.

⎯ Gepard

If you were to ask GEPARD if he had any fantasies, he'd blush and fluster and stutter over his words, before vehemently denying that he had any, no matter if you two were just dating, or married. It’s hard for the captain of the Silvermane Guards to admit what he’s into, aside from taking care of you.

What he doesn’t tell you is that secretly, he quite enjoys being at your mercy. For everything he’s done for you, he’d like it returned in equal amounts. He wants to be spoiled, in bed, outside of bed, whatever you can do for him. Who knew that the captain you’ve come to know and cherish would just love giving up his control? It is the ultimate trust to him.

There’s nothing he won’t do for you (except tell you his ‘darkest desire’), so go ahead, pamper him! Pull out the strap and watch his cheeks flush, he would find himself unable to deny it. Spoil him the way he spoils you, do all the ‘hard work’, and he’s putty in your hands. He moans low and quiet at first, too embarrassed to hear such a lewd noise come from himself. When he really gets into it, however, you can see his body relax, and he opens his eyes, watching your face as he allows all sorts of moans to spill from his lips.

⎯ Caelus

CAELUS is kind of awkward at sex. He’s not necessarily the best, but he’s not the worst, either. He likes to make things fun, who said fun can’t be sensual? Of course, he has all sorts of silly and stupid ideas floating around his head, and he’s not afraid to share them, either. Half the time you can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious.

Three stupid little sayings have stuck, however. His most favorite one to blurt out? Stack donuts on it! And as time goes on, he becomes more serious every single time he says it. To the point where he’s begging you to. It’ll be funny, he assures you, and hey, you’ll get a good treat out of it! So, are you surprised when you walk into his room and he’s sitting there, with a box of donuts, after he had talked about it all day? No. You shouldn’t be, anyways.

It’s more like game night than anything, really. You’re astonished at how he’s actually able to stay hard with all your snickering and giggling. He seems to be proud that he’s convinced you, and you’re really only at two donuts. And when you can’t stack anymore, he’s whipped out a can of whipped cream. For what, you ask? All he does is point at his tip, and you get the idea. What had been a joke (you thought), turned into perhaps the best head he had ever gotten.

⎯ Welt

Gentle and experienced, WELT doesn’t let his mind stray too far when he thinks about you. He sees it as intrusive, as much as he loves you. He does his best to be careful, to be as gentle as he can with you. Especially with the knowledge that you were a virgin. You two had talked in depth about what would happen if you were to have sex, and he had assured you he’d take good care of you.

After all, who else would be better? He does his best not to think about it, as you do, because you yourself had been feeling some type of way recently, and suddenly talking to him about it after you just had a conversation like that was nerve wracking. What would you do? What would he do? You tell yourself there really is no need to be shy, that you can just… ask. That’s all it would take.

He takes pride in it, of course. He allows himself that much. When you find yourself underneath him with his cock fully seated inside of you. The way he shudders and moans is almost pitiful, perhaps he is sensitive because he never quite imagined you’d be this warm and tight, and it has him near whimpering. Was he this old already? Or perhaps he has been out of practice. He does his best not to dwell on it, and when you're ready, every thrust has him whining. He grips at the sheets so hard, his knuckles turn white. It’s magnificent, really. To have a man with so many accomplishments under his belt moan so loud because he gets to take your virginity.

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[areislol]

"i'm gonna marry mama when i'm older!"

pairings. argenti, aventurine, blade, boothill, dr. ratio, gallagher, gepard, dan heng/imbibitor lunae, jing yuan, luocha, sampo, welt, jiaoqiu, moze x afab/fem! reader

warnings. fluff, wife! reader, use of "mama", "papa" and "mommy" and "daddy", [c/n] = child's name, sampo being sampo, lots of girl dads

a/n. baby fever hit me. #foreverwithmybabydaddy

wordcount. 4.7k

synopsis. how do they react to their child wanting to marry you, his wife?

playfully teases your child

sampo —

✧ "well, well, seems like i've got a little competitor! but you’ll need more than charm to steal your mom away from me!"

✧😐😐 <- how he actually feels inside

✧ listen, sampo LOVES his little him to DEATH. but for some odd reason hearing his son suddenly burst out saying that he was going to marry you made his face go all sour and ugly.

✧ but he knows that he you would never allow that and that it was all fun and games, still, his smirk grows larger as his son barks back. "nuh uh!! mama loves me more than you, so i will marry mama first! not you!"

✧ a loud, audible, dramatic, heartbroken, gasp can be heard from sampo's wide open mouth, letting out a strangled noise. "you!! never!! my wife loves me more than you!" you let out an exasperated sigh, watching as your husband and your son bickered back and fourth on who you loved more.

✧ "c'mon!! tell him that you love me more than him!" "that would break his heart, sampo! absolutely not!" "but... he's breaking my heart..." ah, there goes his little pout and his puppy eyes that always magically work on you.

✧ "come on... please? pretty please? I'M BEGGING YOU I'M LOSING THIS ARGUMENT TO OUR SON!!!"

✧ your eyes flicker between sampo and your son. sampo is begging you, clinging onto the hem of your shirt as his kneels down while your son on the other hand is staring at his father in confusion and.. embarrassment? you stifled your laughter back, the sight of your six-year-old child giving his own dad a stink eye was hilarious.

✧ "are you laughing at me...?" sampo looks up at your face, eyeing your expressions and follows your gaze, turning his head he faces his son who stares right back at him. "oh..."

✧ "daddy why are you always doing weird things?"

aventurine —

✧ aventurine would laugh heartily and say, "oh, planning to take my spot, are you? well, you’ve got some big shoes to fill!" he’d probably challenge his child to a fun, friendly competition to see who can win over their mom’s heart.

✧ he knows that his child actually has no chance in marrying you, but hey, it's worth a shot to see how far they'll actually go.

✧ "babe!! little [c/n] here wants to marry you~" he says, beckoning for you to side beside him, your child's eyes sparkled at the sight of you sitting down beside him, they grip on your leg, hugging it tightly.

✧ "can i really marry you when i'm older?" you cock your head to the side, eyeing aventurine and your child. "what's all this about?" you asked, aventurine simply pulled you in close to him, his arm wrapped around your waist as he hoists his child up and onto his lap. "mmm... nothing really. so, who do you want to marry, me or this little kid here?"

✧ you caressed your child's hair, letting out a hum in thought. "well... [c/n] i'm already married to daddy..." you replied, and gosh do you feel your heart crumble into a million pieces when you see your child pout, their chubby cheeks prominent. b—but..."

✧ "it's alright sweetie, you can still try, but i don't think mommy will ever marry you—" "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" "WHY ARE YOU—"

✧ in the end you calm your baby down with aventurine who's gripping his shirt over his heart. both you and aventurine settled on letting your child compete with his dad in trying to prove themselves to "marry you one day". once they're put to sleep in their room, aventurine hugs you from behind, his arms snaking around your waist.

✧ "you only want me, right?" he sighed, face nuzzling in your neck. "well of course you're my husband. but don't get their hopes up too high okay? or else they might start crying in your ears again." you laughed. aventurine only let out yet another sigh, leading you away from your child's room.

✧ "child or not i don't want anyone else who wants to be with my wife."

moze —

✧ moze immediately perked his ehad up at the sound of his daughter's voice.. wait.. did he hear her correctly?

✧ though his face remained stoic as ever, the corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. he turns to his child, raising an eyebrow with his typical quiet intensity. "you want to marry your mother?" he asks, his voice low but carrying just the right amount of teasing. "you’re going to have to be real smooth if you want to outshine me."

✧ his gaze flicks to you for just a second, a glint of warmth in his otherwise composed demeanour. then, in true moze fashion, he quickly shifted gears, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, as he continued to joke around with his child.

✧ "do you even have a plan? flowers? chocolates? you’re up against some serious competition here," moze adds, his tone dry but playful.

✧ despite his typically reserved nature (but over time you got to really know the true moze and not the 'crow feathered weirdo'), moze had a way of making these rare moments with his family feel special. he ruffles his child’s hair, his smirk widens slightly. "maybe i’ll teach you a thing or two, but you’ll need to practice. being this smooth doesn’t come easy."

✧ moze glances at you again, his silent affection shining through in the way his eyes softened when they landed on you. though he wasn’t one for long speeches or grand gestures, his love for his family was always clear in these moments.

✧ he continues keeping his child entertained with more jokes and a rare display of his dry wit. though he acted cool and composed, these were the moments that he held onto, the ones that made him forget, if only for a while, about the covert world he was usually immersed in.

✧ "seems like i've got competition.. i won't easily be beaten though."

overprotective about you

gepard —

✧ gepard would likely have a soft, almost tender smile when he hears his child say they want to marry you, their mother, his wife. his voice would be gentle, filled with a mixture of pride and love.

✧ "marrying your mother is an honor and a responsibility. you must be ready to protect and care for her, just as i do."

✧ he would explain that love is about more than just affection—it's about commitment, duty, and being there for each other through thick and thin. kneeling down to his child’s level, he places a hand on his child’s shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze as he speaks.

✧ "if you're willing to do all those things then i think mommy wouldn't mind if you proposed to her." and oh does he thank the lord every day for blessing him with his child whose eyes sparkled at his encouraging words. "mhm mhm! i will!" and such chubby cheeks too.. he pinches them affectionately, a tender smile on his face.

✧ even after the conversation ends, he gazes lovingly at you, feeling grateful for the family you've built together.

✧ gepard stands behind you, arms snaked around your waist, his much larger and warm palms resting on your stomach, he hums softly on your head, kneading the soft fabric of your shirt. yeah, he could definitely get used to this life.

✧ "maybe [c/n] wouldn't mind another sibling, hm?"

blade —

✧ blade’s initial reaction would be a mix of surprise and seriousness. (though your daughter probably can't read his expression) you were out shopping and left your child an your husband together in her room, it was trashed with toys, toys and more toys...

✧ blade was subjected to his daughter's antics, but of course he allowed her to do her thing (reluctantly). out of nowhere, she spoke, her words catching him off guard.

✧ "i'm gonna marry mama!" "...no you won't." "i will!" "...."

✧ "......................................................"

✧ blade leans down slightly, his intense gaze locking with his child’s eyes. there’s a seriousness to him, one that contrasts with the lightheartedness of the situation. his voice is calm yet firm

✧ "love is not something to be taken lightly," he begins, his tone gentle but unwavering. he wants his child to understand that while the sentiment is touching, the reality behind such words is far more intricate. "when you say such things, make sure you understand the weight of your words."

✧ weight?? of your words?? what does that even mean???? <- your poor, confused child. blade sighs, what was he thinking? could this little child of his understand his words?

✧ blade watches his child closely, looking for signs of understanding despite knowing that inside the depths of his daughter's eyes, is nothing. just pure bliss and not living naively in the world.

✧ he’s aware that she's still young, that the world of love and marriage is something that shouldn't concern them (blade is never letting his precious daughter marry anyone let alone DATE). yet, he also knows that these early lessons are important. he wishes to prepare her, to ensure she grows up strong and resilient.

✧ blade’s gaze softens just slightly, though his posture remains firm. he’s not one to easily show affection, but there’s a quiet tenderness in the way he holds himself at this moment. his child’s innocent declaration has stirred something within him, something he rarely allows himself to feel. ✧ "alright alright, fine. stop sulking."

✧ "YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!"

boothill —

✧ "you’re serious about that, huh? well, you’ve got to be strong and steady if you want to take care of someone like your mother."

✧ gosh, he's just so elated with the fact that little him gets him!! like, who wouldn't want to marry you? exactly!!! he gets it!!

✧ his rugged exterior momentarily softened by their innocent declaration. his voice would be slightly gruff, but there's an underlying warmth that shows how much he cares.

✧ when his child suddenly declares that they want to marry their mother when they grow up, he doesn’t make a big show of it. instead, he quietly observes the interaction, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing at the corners of his lips. boothill gives his child a small and gentle squeeze on the shoulder, shaking him ever so slightly, acknowledging the sweetness of the moment, but he doesn’t say much.

✧ but deep down, boothill just wants to lunge himself at his child, smothering them in his love, but refrains from doing so, remembering your words. "don't tackle him or anything, he's still small and fragile!!"

✧ ruffling his hair, boothill picks up his son up in his arms, a grin forming on his lips as he feels the all too familiar grubby hands gripping his hat, tilting it to the side, a fit of giggles erupted, apparently the sight of his hat covering the side of his face was hilarious.

✧ "is it really that funny, junior?" he sighed, carefully hoisting him up to make it more comfortable for the both of them. "ah whatever, let's wait for mama to come back from shopping alright?"

✧ at the mention of your name your son's head perks up, stopping his giggles. "mama!" he exclaims, this time fully yanking his hat off. boothill shakes his head at his actions.

✧ he knows that love is complicated, something that can’t be fully understood at a young age. to him, this is a reminder of the purity of a child’s love—something untainted by the complexities of adult life.

the romantic

jing yuan —

✧ "ah, you’ve got good taste, my little one. but remember, love is a journey, one that requires patience and understanding." he’d likely share a romantic story or two, expressing his deep affection for you, his wife.

✧ jing yuan would smile warmly at his girl's declaration. how sweet of her to be wed to you, although he knows it's impossible, he couldn't break his sweet child's heart.

✧ jing yuan would chuckle softly, his hand ruffling his little one's hair as she gazed up at him with bright, innocent eyes. "you've got quite the ambition, my dear."

✧ his golden eyes would soften as he exchanged a warm glance with you, his wife. "i think mommy might like that idea," he’d tease, his deep voice carrying a note of affection.

✧ kneeling down to his child's height, jing yuan leans in closer, his smile widening. "but you know, love isn't just about weddings or promises. it’s about cherishing someone every day, even in the little things."

✧ he’d pull you both into a gentle embrace, his strong arms encircling his family. "besides, your mother already has my heart. but maybe… just maybe, you can help me take care of her, too."

✧ the child would beam, feeling proud and important, while jing yuan would place a soft kiss on your forehead, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "looks like i’ve got some competition," he'd say playfully, causing you both to laugh.

✧ later, as he tucks your little one into bed and he whispers, "you’ll find your own special someone one day, but for now, let’s make sure mommy knows how much we both love her."

imbibitor lunae —

✧ a soft, knowing smile would spread on his face, his ethereal gaze settling on his child with a tender warmth. "ah, to marry your mother… a noble thought indeed. the bond between two souls is sacred, built on trust and mutual respect," he’d say, his voice as serene as a breeze.

✧ he then turns his gaze to you, his eyes reflecting centuries of love. "your mother is a rare treasure indeed, and i’m glad to see you understand this at such a young age." His words are gentle yet profound.

✧ kneeling down gracefully, he’d gently lift his child’s hand, brushing a thumb across their tiny fingers. "but love is not something to be rushed. it’s like the moon in its cycle—waxing, waning, yet always returning to full."

✧ imbibitor lunae would most likely recite a beautiful verse from an ancient text, encapsulating the sacredness of love and family: “like the stars embracing the night sky, so too shall our hearts stay intertwined across the ages.”

✧ with a chuckle, he’d then stroke the child’s cheek softly. "but until you’re older, why not help me look after her? there’s much to learn in the way of love and care."

✧ he’d then pull both you and your child close, his comforting and grounding presence enveloping the moment in peace. "together, we are strong. perhaps one day, you’ll find your own soul to cherish as I do your mother."

argenti —

✧ argenti throws his head back with a booming laugh, his hand ruffling his child’s hair with infectious enthusiasm. "ah, such noble sentiments! you wish to marry your mother? how valiant!" his eyes would gleam with pride, and he’d turn to you with an exaggerated, theatrical gasp. "it seems i’ve been bested by our own child!"

✧ with a dramatic flourish, he’d lift you off your feet, spinning you in a playful circle before setting you down (with you playfully smacking his arm), his voice filled with lightheartedness.

✧ "but alas! your mother has already claimed my heart, dear one."

✧ to celebrate his child’s declaration (yes, have i ever mentioned that argenti is absolutely dramatic??), argenti would likely organize a spontaneous "family adventure." he’d gather some flowers from a nearby meadow or call forth a small spectacle of radiant lights from his sword, creating a miniature show. "we shall offer these as a tribute to the queen of our hearts—your mother!"

✧ he would encourage the child to present the gathered flowers or lights to you, his smile proud as his child participated in the grand romantic gesture. "together, we shall shower her with the love and admiration she so rightfully deserves!"

✧ later, as you all relaxed beneath the stars, argenti would point to the sky, his voice soft yet brimming with passion. "you see those stars, little one? each one shines with the love i have for your mother. and someday, you will understand how to shine just as brightly."

✧ argenti has never been prouder of his little one. "for now, my brave one, let’s continue showering her with love, for the greatest battles are not won with swords but with the heart."

the pragamtist (will break your child's heart)

welt —

✧ welt smiles slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting in that thoughtful, knowing way of his. "that’s very sweet of you," he’d say, his voice calm and reassuring. "but your mother and i are already committed to each other."

✧ uh oh. he can his child's bottom lip quiver.. wait.. no.. he didn't mean it—wait—!!

✧ "WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH WHY DID YOU TAKE MOMMY AWAAAYY" ah.. there it is.. oh woe is welt. and so as your child wails and fat tears roll down his cheeks your ears perk up, obviously worried for your child who is quite literally screaming his lungs out.

✧ you walk out of your room and into the living room where you see welt trying his best to calm down his son, majority of the time welt does an amazing job in soothing him to sleep and cease his yowling but today? right now? it seems like no matter what welt tried it was to no avail.

✧ "what's going on?" you asked, raising a brow at this odd scene before you. taking a seat beside your son he quickly wastes no time in latching onto you, his chubby arms barely wrapped around your waist, his head squished against your thigh.

✧ you give welt a look. he sighs, staring down at his son who has successfully calmed down. "you see, [c/n] wants to marry you when he's older..." he begins, watching your reaction. "mhm.." you hummed, signalling for him to continue. "and i told him that we were already married."

✧ "... is that so..?" you giggled, looking down at your son who's gripping onto the fabric of your pants. "is that right, [c/n]?" your son slowly lifts his head up, an adorable pout on his lips. he stares at you before pointing at your husband.

✧ "daddy took mommy away!" he yells angrily, if it was possible, there would be steam coming out of your baby's ear.

✧ welt winces at the voice his child uses before speaking up. "you see, love is about understanding and growing with another person. it’s not just about wanting to be with someone—it’s about supporting them, no matter what."

✧ ??? "???? welt you're speaking to him as if he can understand."

✧ "oh, right." welt clears his throat, holding his son's much smaller hands in his own. "son, i understand that you love your mommy very much but..." he glances over at you. "me and mommy are already.. together. and mommy can't marry you because—"

✧ "WHY CAN'T I MARRY MOMMY" yet another session of crying begins. welt is practically dumbfounded.

✧ you click your tongue, lifting your son up into your arms, cradling him and patting his back. "shh, it's okay. daddy knows nothing... you can marry mommy if you want!" you cooed.

✧ "what—"

dr. ratio —

✧ raising an eyebrow at his child’s declaration he closes his book, his attention now fully on his child. " so you want to marry your mother, huh? well, while your intention is admirable, there’s a lot more to it than just saying 'i do.' you see, relationships are like a complex equation—variables, constants, and sometimes, unknown factors."

✧ 😐 dr ratio your child can barely answer do division calm down

✧ 'this is a great opporunity!' he thinks as he starts pacing, hands waving in the air as he speaks. "now, love, that’s the x factor! you can’t quantify it, but it changes everything. you might think it’s simple, but oh no, it’s much like trying to balance a chemical formula—get one thing wrong, and, well, it could blow up in your face!" he’d smile, amused by his own analogy.

✧ turning to you with a smirk, he’d nod. "your mother here—she's like the most elegant solution to the most complicated equation in my life."

✧ he’d then sit down beside his child, crossing his legs and leaning forward as if revealing a secret. "one day, you’ll find your perfect match—your own variable to balance things out. it’s like an ongoing experiment in life. but don't rush it! you’ve got plenty of time to gather data, test hypotheses, and figure out what works best for you."

✧ "and if you ever need help, your dad's here for you." with a grin, he’d ruffle their hair in a show of affection. "for now, though, we’ve got a pretty solid family unit here. no need to add more variables just yet." he hums.

✧ as he continued to ramble, you entered the room, finding your husband somewhat lecturing your child. he turns to you with a softer gaze. "our little one will understand it all someday. love is just like… oh, I don’t know, maybe quantum entanglement. two particles, forever linked no matter the distance."

✧ "what wont they understand?" you asked, wiping your hands off of the towel. "also dinner's ready. eating butter chicken today!" you chirped, walking back out and beginning to set the plates down on the table.

✧ eventually, dr. ratio would lean back, satisfied with his explanation. "do you understand?"

✧ your child nods their head eagerly, a wide and happy smile plastered on their face. "mhm!" but dr. ratio knows better.

✧ even if your child doesn't understand their father, that's fine. dr ratio loves them much more than others... he wouldn't mind giving them extra lessons to fully wrap the logic around their little head.

gallagher —

✧ though slovenly but content, he smiled gently as he listened to his daughter’s declaration. he was dressed in his usual disheveled manner—shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, and an apron stained with coffee and whiskey splashes.

✧ “marry your mother, huh?” he’d say with a soft chuckle, glancing over at you with warmth. "that’s quite the bold statement, kiddo." his daughter does nothing but gaze up lovingly at her dad, awaiting his advice.

✧ the three of you were seated in his usual haunt, a cozy corner of his bar where he’d brought you along for some family time—though even now, he remained courteous, casually nodding at a few patrons who passed by.

✧ wiping down a glass, gallagher would take a moment to think, his vigilance never fully dropping even in such a relaxed setting. "marriage," he’d begin, wiping his hands on his apron, "it’s not something you just do because it sounds nice."

✧ he’d glance at you with a half-smirk, then return his gaze to his daughter. "you see, love—it’s like making the perfect cocktail. you’ve got to find just the right ingredients, mix ’em carefully, and sometimes let it sit before you know it’s ready. rushing it? well, that’s how you end up with a bitter drink."

✧ there goes gallagher and his cocktail analogy.

✧ he tosses a rag over his shoulder, leaning forward, resting his arms on the table. "someone who fits with you like how your mother and i fit together. but don’t go ordering the drink before you’re ready for it, you know?"

✧ you smiled at your daughter, ruffling her hair. "why do you want to marry me, [c/n]?" your daughter turns to you, eyes sparkling with admiration. "because mama is pretty!"

✧ "🥺🥺 oh baby..." brb you're gonna go bawl your eyes out now.

✧ as you hoist your daughter into your arms and hug her tightly, gushing about how adorable she is and that you're the luckiest mother alive, gallagher finishes drying the glasses and watches the both of you with such a soft gaze that siobhan isn't sure if this is the gallagher that she knows, but everyone has their secrets.

✧ "for now," he says—interrupting your little moment— before sliding another glass your way, "we’ve got each other, and that’s more than enough. we’re a solid team. although I'm not sure if i appreciate you trying to steal my wife from me..."

"what did you just say"

jiaoqiu —

✧ jiaoqiu’s ears twitch the moment he heard his daughter’s innocent declaration, his sharp hearing picking up every word. "what did you just say?" his tone shows a hint of jealousy, his eyes narrowing slightly before he caught himself, realizing who had spoken.

✧ this was his daughter, after all—still innocent, still sweet, and still adorable as ever.

✧ clearing his throat and quickly composing himself, jiaoqiu smiled ever so softly, despite not being able to see, he had become accustomed to pinpointing where exactly a person was.

✧ "that is so sweet of you," he say, his voice now softening with affection. his tail flicks in amusement, but there would be no mistaking the tenderness in his tone. "your mother is truly special, isn’t she?"

✧ he pats his daughter's head, his expression full of warmth as he hears her giggle. "you’ve got good taste, of course. but let me tell you, your mom’s already been swept off her feet by someone else—yours truly."

✧ he pulls his daughter close, jiaoqiu ruffles her hair, his grin never fading. "keep that loving heart of yours, and i promise, one day you’ll find someone just as perfect for you. Someone who may or may not outweigh me in terms of cooking.."

✧ jiaoqiu lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he hears his daughter giggle, shaking her head. "just make sure you bring them to me first. i’ll need to give them the old ‘jiaoqiu test,’ alright?"

✧ "oh and make sure they have good taste in food, otherwise they aren't worth it. haha, just kidding.."

luocha —

✧ his green eyes widened slightly at the innocent declaration, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he processed what his daughter had said. luocha gracefully bent down, just enough to meet his daughter's gaze, his golden hair cascading over his shoulders like threads of light.

✧ the tender amusement in his expression didn’t hide the warmth in his eyes as he replied, “you want to marry your mother?”

✧ he paused for a moment as if savouring the sweetness of the moment, before gently pinching her cheeks. “that’s incredibly sweet of you, and it makes me happy to know how much love you have in your heart.” his voice was soft, as though he were speaking a secret known only to them.

✧ with a slow, deliberate motion, luocha brushed a strand of his daughter's hair back, tucking it neatly behind their ear. “but marriage,” he continued, his tone calm, “is a commitment, a bond built on trust and mutual care.”

✧ he glanced over at you (who is smiling like an absolutely mad woman), his smile deepening. “your mother is someone truly remarkable, isn’t she?” he let the words linger each one carrying its own weight. "i’m glad you see how special she is, just as i do.”

✧ luocha took his child’s small hand in his own, his long fingers curling gently around theirs. "you’ve got so much love to give, and that’s something to cherish. always hold onto that kindness, that love."

✧ standing tall again, his coat swaying behind him like a quiet whisper, luocha’s eyes softened even more as he gently lifted his child into his arms, holding them close. “for now,” he said, his voice tender but filled with certainty, “you’re already surrounded by love. our family is your home."

✧ he turns toward you, carrying your child effortlessly in one arm, his other hand reaching out to you. you gladly take it, the familiar warmth blossoming in your body as you feel his sweet gesture.

✧ luocha clears his throat. "that doesn't mean you can marry a boy, okay? boys are good for nothing.." "luocha!!" you frown, slapping his arm. your husband looks down at you, a sweet and innocent smile on his lips. "hm..? i didn't say anything," he hums before planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

ote: if you would like to be added to the honkai star rail taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

taglist 🏷️  @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!

another note: sorry for the delay guys..

[azullumi]

TO HOLD, TO FEEL, TO LOVE !!

premise — the intimate act of handholding, wishing to feel one another at the tip of the fingers; what are hands made for if not to hold one another? content tags — various characters with gender-neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, hands are mentioned multiple times, my small headcanons of their hands, not proofread, 0.7k words ; headcanons

note from me — something small and simple for me because i have 3 lengthy fic series (or events) in my drafts for all of you <33 also i dont have wifi here and just relying on data so im barely surviving

SUNDAY, he held the sun once; he held your hand. His hands are slender and bony, delicate and gentle yet his hold on yours is firm and tight—as if he doesn’t want you to let go nor does he want to let go of you. For him, it’s a way of protection, a grounding reassurance that you’re there with him, not an illusion, not a dream. He’ll always take his glove off when holding your hand, insisting that it’s much better to feel the warmth of your palms and the way your fingers fit in his.

AVENTURINE, has hands that are soft, slim, and slender with clean, trimmed nails. He uses his fingers to draw the stars and the universe on your skin, tracing the lines of your palm, kissing your knuckles so sweetly, so gently. Whenever he holds your hand, he often finds himself fidgeting and playing with your fingers—it’s a small habit that he does, one that eases and soothes the tremble of his own. The simple act of holding your hand grounds him and stables himself at times when everything feels so messy and suffocating.

VERITAS RATIO, is not one to ask for such things, at least verbally. He’ll show himself more through his acts, fragments and pieces of himself found in the subtle gestures that he does—such as the pinky of his hand finding its way on to yours, hooking itself, and letting it linger until you let him hold the entirety of your palm in his. It’s subtle, simple, delicate yet rough and sharp on the edges just like his hands. One thing is that when you squeeze his hand, accidentally or intentionally, he’ll squeeze yours back.

LUOCHA, how could his hands be more feminine and delicate than a woman’s while also looking like a man’s? His hands are pretty, fingers delicately thin and long with intricate lines on his palms that looked like it was carefully drawn by an artist. The way it looks when he’s holding yours is just mesmerizing, it’s like two missing puzzle pieces that finally found and fit into each other—he is never complete without you. Perhaps he has told you or perhaps he hasn't yet but the reason why he gets quiet when you hold his hand is because he’s relishing in this moment and burning its print into his memory so he’ll never forget how soft your hands feel.

GALLAGHER, touchy, needy hands that seek for the warmth and smoothness of your skin underneath his touch—he’s simply an affectionate man who adores seeing your hand in his. He’ll always find ways to lace his fingers in yours, always wanting to hold your hand; on the note of his hands, it’s rough and bigger than yours will ever be—years of his life honing and carving the shapes of his fingers into ones that you’ve known and always held in your sleep.

ARGENTI, an epitome of beauty and so are his hands, are the definition of it too. It’s slender, long, and pretty, a perfect pale shade that seems to glow underneath the sun, and his fingers have this naturally pink shine on them. He’ll sing praises of how beautiful your hands look, especially when he’s holding it in his—would adore it more under the light, as the shadows cast itself on your skin and everything around him feels so surreal. It's mesmerizing, wonderful, breathtaking, to think that you could be more beautiful in his eyes, even if it’s just something small and simple.

JING YUAN, has rough, big, calloused hands that never want to let go of you. To think that he had gone through a life where he never felt your skin, where he never got to hold your hand. He’s a clingy man, affectionate with adventurous hands that is always on you—whenever you’re near him, his hands are either holding yours or just on you, resting on your waist, wrapped around your figure, or just anywhere as long as he gets to feel you under his hands. It’s like your skin and his palms are magnets of opposite poles.

GEPARD, a little shy and hesitant in the aspects of affection, even if it’s just the small act of holding your hand. His face is flustered, cheeks covered with a shade of pink that is easily discernible underneath the light, and his lips are curled into a smile that beams only affection the same way he looks at you and your hands intertwined with his. His grasp on you is firm and strong but would easily loosen when you ask him to; he does get anxious though, thinking if his grip was too tight or too much.

special mentions to the wonderful and beautiful @toorurs !! i know i have already said this before but you’re a pleasant surprise in my life, and you have become someone special and dear to me. you’re an amazing friend, kind and sweet, as well as, talented <33 i aspire to have your strength and courage in situations that would have me just running away and just completely avoiding it, you’re a strong person and you’re doing amazing, and you’ll keep on doing amazing things. i’ll always be here for you no matter what happens, hoping and wishing that you’ll get everything you have ever wanted and wished for, and anyone who is a hindrance to your happiness will get a watermelon or anything thrown at their face (just point me to them)

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[quimichi]

˚✦ ˑ 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐫, 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭? ִֶ 𓂃⊹ - MDNI

WARNINGS: NSFW - MDNI, Pet names, sexual behavior, name calling, some a bit rough and mean

SUMMARY: They took your virginity. Case solved.

CHARACTERS: HSR Men X F!Reader (no aged up Charas)

WORD COUNT: 13.150

Argenti

All you can do is whine as his fingers scissor and stretch you, juices dripping down. His tongue softly rubs circles around your clit like he’s painting you, a masterpiece. And you can’t help but moan out at the new pleasure. His fingers hit that spot that sends an electric jolt to your toes and back, you desperately arch with another whine. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the pleasure. It's overwhelming you, he promised to be gentle, and he is. But never once did he tell you how good this will all feel.

“S-Shit Argenti-, I can’t—I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish your sentence, your voice begins to crack, your hips bucking widly as he speeds up. And then you’re coming, babbling nonsense and his name like a prayer as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. You don’t even comprehend that you squirt all over his hand and mouth, or that he’s rutting his hips against the bed and moaning into your cunt as he tastes you. Not only is it a pleasure to please you, beautiful you. It's a pleasure to be your first. It sends a wave of possessiveness through his body.

Slowly, he withdraws his fingers, his glistening fingers running up to your waist.  “Such a dirty little rose,” he murmurs as he leans down, teeth grazing across your neck, hair tickling your skin. “Youre a sight to behold, breathless, dazed...divine.”

Aventurine

“You like that, don’t you?” He asks, grip on your throat. Its not enough to hurt you, but enough for you to know his hand is there. “You like my cock stretchin’ you out, huh?” You're unable answer him, the only thing you manage are whines and moans slipping through his fingers through your throat. He'd be mean to not let you moan out like a bitch in heat after all. Aventurine smirks knowingly, continuing his assault on your insides.

“Can't believe no one ever went inside you, youre far too good. Shit-you love it too, don't you?” You whine out, hiccuping out a moan as his other hand travels down your tummy, the soft touch sending waves to your core. His fingers eventually find your clit, rubbinh the swollen skin over and over again. Your eyes glaze over and roll back, it's too much, too much!

Your vision goes white as your orgasm hits you unexpectedly, stealing the breath from your lungs as your legs shake and back arches. “Mine, ok? Youre mine, my girl. You don't mind do you? Surely you don't...look at you, sweet girl.”

Blade

“feels s’fucking good—“ you mindlessly babbles out. His large palms are stretched out on both sides of you hips, nails digging into your skin. “Such a greedy little pussy,” he groans out with another roll of his hips. “keeps suckin’ me back in…you're a little greedy slut, hm?" he teases.

You can feel his hot breath fanning your ear while his dark hair tickles your neck. The sloppy sounds that fill the room seem to only grow louder with each thrust, as your arousal practically drips down his balls. Headboard constantly hitting the wall. You wouldn't be surprised if something would break this night, and it doesn't need to be the bed.

“if you keep moaning like a bitch in heat, i won't fucking stop,” he hissed out, as he presses down on your stomach which makes you whimper in response. "Naw, look at that," he points at the bulge in your stomach, "that's me all the way inside your greedy cunt."

Boothill

"you still good, darlin?" he asked, amused, his hands moving up to grab one of your tits, giving it a squeeze with his cold hands. He hummed at your subtle nod, his fingers pinching your nipple from below with just the right amount of pressure to bring you to the edge but not send you over. He knows he could do this for hours, his stamina is much longer than yours after all, but he doesn't want to push you just yet.

"shit.." he cursed, though not out of frustration, “your pussy is driving me crazy." he whispered against your folds, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your entire body, it almost felt as if you were being electrocuted or something. “its so fucking pretty for no fucking reason...”

Caelus

“shiiit-just like that...” he mumbles out as he lazily guides your movements, helping you bounce yourself up and down on his cock. Hands softly gripping your hips as he guides you. He smirks when he heard your whine as a reaction to his groans, golden halflidded eyes stare up at you. He thinks you’re adorable when you’re like this, so desperate for him yet so adamant on not asking for his help. You had no idea what you were doing, well, neither does he. But you insisted on riding him.

“doing so well,” he says with a slight whine as he thrusts his hips up in time with your movements. It doesn’t take much effort for him to flip you over and have you at his mercy. Your legs are now lifted over his shoulders while his dick is fucking you even deeper, "sorry,-shit-sorry I couldn't-hold myself back much longer-!"

Dan Heng

“just as i expected, it slipped right in...” your arm immediately slung over your face to hide your embarrassment. Something about the way he talks to you has you throbbing.

“fuck, so deep inside you already.” he breathes, as he eases his way into you. He's so painfully splitting you open. You whine and whimper, it feels too good to be true. “that’s it, there’s my girl.” his raspy laugh fills the silence. “youre doing so good for me, just a bit longer, ok?”

He speeds up his thrusts, "eyes on me," he says, "you can do it, eyes on me." And when he hits just the right spot, your eyes roll back and flutter closed.

"Good girl."

Dr. Ratio

“it hurts, doesn't it?” he whispers, no mock, no tease, unusual for him. He knows it hurts, he's just deep enough inside you, balls deep.

“yes, it hurts…” you whine, eyes watering as you adjust. He’s letting you distract yourself a bit, letting you soak up the pain with pleasure. “… so bad.” you keep whining.

"I know, it will get better." he presses his hips flat against you, just to slowly drag his cock out of you again, leaving just his tip inside. “Doing good for a first timer. Don't worry, I'll teach you everything you need to know.”

You nod desperately, biting your lip between your teeth.

“I'll be slow, we got time.” he mumbles, a sick grin painting across his face. He'd be lying if he would say he doesn't enjoy the power play that's going on at the moment. "I'M gonna teach you everything you need to know."

Gallagher

Your mouth falls open when he grinds his hard cock against your ass. Youre breathing hard, chest heaving. But you can't help but lean back against his chest. He slips a hand back into your underwear, rubbing slow circles against your clit. His breath is hot against your ear as he chuckles at your reaction. His middle finger slips between your folds and gathers some of your arousal to use it at your clit again. Once he had your hips jerking and whines leaving your lips, he slips two of his thick fingers inside. He moves slowly, fingers working inside of you like a caress.

“I- ‘m gonna-” you muster, weakly clawing at his arms.

He slips his hand out of your pussy again, letting his tongue run over his fingers, lapping at your juices. He hums, as the taste hits his tounge, “Shit, girl. Got me addicted already.”

Gepard

“That’s it.. Just like that..” He takes hold of the hand, kissing your knuckles, whispering soft praises into your skin to help you work up courage to keep riding him. He knows it's embarrassing for you, he knows you doubt yourself. But he also knows that you can do it.

“Doing so good for me, ok? So good, keep going..”

It takes his everything to hold back his hips and not fuck up into you, it's all too inviting.  He holds you, wrapping both arms around your torso and pull you close to his chest. One hand slips down to your hips, guiding you on his cock. "Like that, yeah."

Hot breaths reach your ear as he hums in approvment. "Good...shit--good."

Jing Yuan

“ass up. There you go, atta girl.” and you almost shiver from his touch on you'd hips as he turns you over. Jing Yuan stares at your ass, bringing a rough palm towards your left cheek. “Mm, nice. You're doing good. Don't worry, I'll go easy on you...for now.”

As he speaks, your cheek presses further against the pillow, hiding in embarrassment. Jing Yuan watches as your ass writhes and he hums, springing out his thick cock. “I'm going in, ok? No need to be scared”

“ok...” you breathe, big talk for someone who probably has way to much experience for his own good.

"I'll go easy on you, I promised you that birdie." He whispers in your ear as he leans over, slowly pushing in.

Jiaoqiu

He dives in, his tongue delving deep into your soaked folds. He laps at you hungrily, savoring your taste as he eats you out with wild abandon. His tongue swirls around your clit before sucking it between his lips, flicking the sensitive bud rapidly. “you're so hot...,” he hums against your core, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. “thank you for the meal...”

Your finger desperately looking for support and found his hair, scratching his scalp with your long nails in the process. You can't help but let one hand wander to one of his ears, tugging on it. Immediately a whine leaves his lips as he laps on you more desperately than before.

He doubles his efforts, lapping at your clit with broad strokes of his tongue before sealing his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves and suckling greedily.

"Do that again and watch me eat you up."

Luka

Luka leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as he pounds into you relentlessly. His hands grip your hips hard you feel like you might see some bruises tomorrow as a souvenir.

"Damn, you take my cock better than expected, baby," he rasps against your mouth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Way to fucking well, you sure you're a virgin?" he breaks the kiss to gaze down at you. “look at me,” he commands, "that pussy is mine now. Mine."

As you meet his eyes, he reaches between your bodies to rub your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Fuck-didnt know you could get any tighter."

Luocha

The next thing you felt was his cock entering you all at once, barely giving you time to get used to his huge size and thickness. Hes not a mean man by any means, but he figured that maybe him going in faster with the ammount of slick you already got, might be less painful. Wronh judgment in a hazy moment. And fuck if he didn't love feeling the way your cunt stretched to accommodate him, how your walls are so tight around his length.

When he did it, it was over for you, and you thanked him with the most beautiful sounds he ever heard. You squeezed him and croed out, making a mess of yourself as you grab onto his shoulders for support. It all was too much for you, too much happening all at once. But you'd be a lair to say you didn't enjoy it.

He would slowly start to run against you, holding your hips in place as he drags his cock in and out of your hole. His slow speed was annoying, painful, but so good.

But the best feeling was yet to come.

“Just you wait once I'm done with you. We'll have plenty of time left to get to know each other much better."

Sampo

Without warning, he pulled out – only halfway – and plunged back inside you with an almighty push. It .ade your eyes roll back into your skull, your mind went blank for a second. His teasing laugh pulling you back into reality, "Oops-went to hard there~" As a apology he went softer on you, slowly dragging his cock in and out of your hole.

“Doing so well for me,” he groaned, as he lightly speed up again, holding your hips in a tight grip.

"Damn-" he groans as you grap onto his shoulders and dig your nails in. "Careful there baby, you don't wanna hurt poor Sampo, hm?" He laughs again as he kisses down your neck and leaves yet another bite behind.

"We could do this more often, I know I wouldn't mind."

Sunday

The all so collected man practically loses it when you wrap your legs around his back. You unknowingly push him against you, silently asking for more. "Needy, needy." he teases as breaths in your ear, giving it a soft kiss afterwards.

“Dont you worry, I'm not done with you yet.”

Although his words came out more scary than they should, his action of hiding into your shoulder makes it all seem more pathetic than dominant. His wings flutter as your parted lips let a whine escape.

He groans, burying his cock deep just as it starts to gush, painting your walls white. Your nails dig hard into his scalp.

“That came...rather unexpected.”

Welt

“it won’t fit!” you sob out loud. No way this all will fit inside you, you never took anything, or anything that size. He's bigger than you, this wont fit without tears. But you're determined today, telling him you wanted to fit everything in you.

He trails his fingers up and down your side before one hand snakes down to thumb at your clit while the other large hand clasps your hip. "i'll make it fit, and I'll be careful." he promises, soft as he pleasures you. You expected nothing less of him, he always treated you with more care than any others. He softly rubs your clit as he enters, a way of distracting you from the pain that you will encounter.

"there you go, told you I'd make it fit."

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

experienced!omega!luocha taking care of inexperienced!omega!s/o during their first heat. like they don't need to worry about anything just let luocha take care of them. they don't even have to pick up a finger, let him do all the work. (afab!s/o btw)

(i feel bad for asking so many luocha requests-)

The afab tag doesn't work here for my version of omegaverse cause all dynamics have both parts just certain ones more developed(and focused on)than the other basically. If you meant she/her pronouns use f!omega instead :D

Also this feels a bit short to me but I might be just tired.

Cw: omegaverse, nsfw

Though they do have an idea of how heats are meant to be spent they've been on the strongest suppressants since they presented they've never experienced their heat even once. Omega!Luocha is worried from a medical side but also from his own omega side and while he's familiar with the agony that can come with a heat he knows the pleasurable side of it as well.

So when his omega mate makes the decision to come off their suppressants to experience their first heat he offers to help them through it. They wean off their medication bit by bit until they can finally come off of it and give him a heads up they'll be having their heat. Before any of the "fun" can begin he helps them build their nest and gather snacks and water and toys. They're a bit clumsy during this out of nerves and the medication wearing off but he doesn't mind assisting them with a gentle hand. Once preparations are complete all that's left to do is wait until their heat arrives which judging by how warm they've gotten is soon.

Since they're still nervous about experiencing their first heat Luocha decides to talk things out with his omega on what exactly they'd be alright with. Things such as heavy petting, oral, and the like. He wants to make sure their comfort comes first even if they're going to be out of it due to their heat they still have control over what does and doesn't get done to their body. Discussing things eases their worries a bit though they still have nerves they feel safer knowing Luocha will look out for them.

When their heat finally kicks in they're needy and begging for his touch even if he can't give them a knot the knotting toys he got them will do the trick but he doesn't use them just yet. He wants them to know as much pleasure from being an omega as he can. He'll make them cum on his tongue and fingers as he opens them up to make room for a small vibrating toy.

They cum again on just the lightest setting before he stops to give them a break even if they whine and paw at him for more he doesn't rush things and kisses them to pacify them for a bit as he pulls out the vibrator to slide in the knotting toy. They gasp and whine as he thrusts the toy in and out of them at a quick and firm pace. When they finally cum again he inflates the toy inside them and hums as he takes in their sleepy but blissed out expression.

They fall asleep purring in his arms and when they wake up to do it all over again they think to themselves that they should have stopped suppressants a lot sooner.

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Just being carried in their strong arms~♡

Luocha looks like he can't carry a ton but if he can carry a whole coffin around like it's nothing he can carry his love in his arms. Prefers carrying his love in his arms like royalty from fairy tales and will tease them that their his royal. This is the perfect opportunity to kiss him to shut him up though judging by his smirk this is exactly what he wanted.

Jing Yuan likes to carry his love by holding them underneath their thighs like one would a kid, not that he thinks of them as one. He just wants to show off his strength to his love and have them close in a way he can gaze up at them lovingly. It also is a great way to boost them up to the branches of a tree to show them more finches. Gives gentle kisses to their lips when their done.

Blade doesn't have a preference for how he holds his love just that he holds them. He'll hold them like a firefighter or like a sack of flour if his love doesn't complain about their comfort. Similar to Jing Yuan in that he'll hold them with one arm and his blade in the other though he'll likely not fight with them in his arms for their safety. His love will give him kisses on his forehead and face until he gets annoyed and kisses their lips himself.

[yvvxs]

Physical Touch...‎ ‎

‎ ‎↪ ft. argenti. arlan. aventurine. blade. boothill. caelus. dan heng & imbibitor lunae. dr ratio. gallagher. gepard. jing yuan. luka. luocha. sampo. sunday. welt.

Argenti brushing your hair, making sure to gently undo any knots found in it. He would help you clean up any dirt from your skin and clothes, making sure you looked even more beautiful than you already were. You were his beloved, and he'd make sure to make you feel like it was so all the time through soft moments just like these.

Being in the infirmary with Arlan, who bandages up any wounds you got. He places soft kisses over small band-aids or bigger scars, making sure to help you feel better. He wouldn't want to let you hurt any longer than you already did. He promises that it'll be all better with him by your side.

Aventurine would hold you close to himself as you both roam the casino. Winning every single game he played, as always. Letting every other patron there know that you were the only one allowed to be so close to the luckiest man in the building. No one would be able to catch his heart just as you have with him as he places a kiss on your forehead, silently reminding you with a smile.

In between missions, Blade would hold you close to his chest, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing soothing patterns into your back. Elio hadn't assigned him to the next thing in the script yet, so he still had time to be with you, to give you some attention before he has to set off for whatever dangers he'd be going through next.

Despite not being able to feel much, Boothill gives you so much love. An arm wrapped around your waist, tight hugs which brings you closer to himself. Whenever he feels like he wants to feel your touch, he just nuzzles his face into you, chuckling gently with a smirk on his face. Knowing you're too good for someone like him.

Caelus clinging onto you while the Crew watches a horror movie together in the Astral Express. He yelps at the smallest thing, holding you close to himself for dear life. Despite going through life-threatening things, he still was a little scaredy-cat underneath all of that, your little raccoon boyfriend would never change, not like you'd want him to.

Laying your head on Dan Heng's shoulder as he types out something on the Data Bank after your last mission. All of you were tired from what you had experienced, but he diligently writes more information for everybody. Also, gently caressing Imbibitor Lunae's horns, placing soft kisses on them as his tail wraps around your hips, silently trying to pull you closer to himself.

Bathing with Dr. Ratio, he thoroughly washes your body, touching you in places only he can. The bubbly sensation relaxing the two of you as you clean up together. Enjoying the soft, alone time, just for the both of you. With no other people to pry or disturb either of you.

Gallagher guiding your hands as you two work at the Dreamjolt Hostelry. Making sure to help you find the correct ingredients to serve to your different customers. Handing you something he was previously using, your fingers grazing over one another's and feeling the small and short touches that you two share every now and then.

Sitting in the Silvermane Restricted Zone with Gepard, as he lets you bandage his wounds he got from the battles with the Fragmentum. He wasn't fully invincible, and him getting hurt would be inevitable. He knew that his job was dangerous, but letting you at least know he was okay, and that you can make him feel better would make himself feel better.

Jing Yuan letting you sit on his lap as he works. His work was usually boring most of the time, but when you were there with him, it made it so much more interesting. He nuzzled into your neck every now and then, smirking against your skin as he inhaled your scent. He could never get sick of these times with you, and no one could take you away from him, not even the Master Diviner.

Cuddles with Luka after he wins his last match at the Fight Club. It's his little reward from you that he always looked forward to. Even if he did lose, which we all know would barely actually happen, he would always be spoiled like this. He would always love having your warmth and comfort after hard work put into his fights.

Luocha's fingers intertwined with yours as the two of you go through the Luofu together. He wasn't anyone else other than your lover when he was with you, and he'd make sure you know it. Kisses on the back of your hand or playing with your hair when the two of you were alone, or even when there was a man secretly watching from behind the scenes.

Holding Sampo's face in your hands as you gently scold him for conning another person. He just wanted to get money for you, but that didn't mean he had to get it through means like this. You remind him not to do that again, though we both know that he would do it again, all for you.

You were the only one who was loved enough by Sunday to be able to touch his soft wings, other than his own sister. He would let you clean them up, touch them up and even preen any loose feathers that stuck out from the rest. Normally, he'd do it himself, but if it made you happy to help, then he'd let you do what you want.

Laying down with Welt on the couch in the Astral Express' Parlor Car, cuddling with him after a long day of missions at your current stop. He would brush his fingers through your hair. Your head on his chest, his other arm wrapped loosely around your body. Resting for the next day that would be full of exciting adventures for the two of you.

Masterlist || Do not repost nor feed to AI. Reblogs & Comments are much appreciated.

[steadybear-deactivated20240720]

+𝟏.𝟓 (𝐁𝐉𝐊) 𝐋𝐗|𝐅 - 𝐈𝐌𝐕𝐘 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐮𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐚…

potential content warnings: 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈, 18+ content, male reader, amab reader, dom top male reader, gay sex, anal penetration, jealousy, yanderes, yandere character, yandere themes, blood, death, implied gore/somewhat written gore, kink talk, luocha is a little bit of a pervert... little bit of a freak... don't look i'm so normal about him.

There is a specific cut-off for those that want to skip over the Yandere Alphabet!! I know not everyone enjoys the dark content, NSFW alphabet starts after this mark:

+1 (Yandere Alphabet)

𝐛 for 𝐛𝐥𝗼𝗼𝐝, 𝐣 for 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝗼𝐮𝐬𝐲, 𝐤 for 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐥 for 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐱 for 𝐱𝗼𝐚𝐧𝗼𝐧

+2 (NSFW Alphabet)

𝐟 for 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝗼𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝗼𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧, 𝐢 for 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝗺𝐚𝐜𝐲, 𝗺 for 𝗺𝗼𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧, 𝐯 for 𝐯𝗼𝐥𝐮𝗺𝐞, 𝐲 for 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭

𝐛 for 𝐛𝐥𝗼𝗼𝐝

From my understanding of Luocha as a character, I see him as a yandere that is hot and cold.  He is either giving you 0% or 100%.

Him going from 0 to 100 can be interpreted in two ways.  One, whether or not he makes the decision to kill.  Two, how messy is this kill going to be? In my mind, doing anything around Luocha is like pulling the arm of a slot machine.  Whether or not you manage to land on the jackpot that turns this new rival into a victim is a complete gamble.  Should he be feeling merciful and not choose to kill his rival, there is still a 0 to 100 that comes into play.  When he’s deciding to be as normal as he can be, he turns to befriending his rival and confessing his long standing feelings.  Usually, knowing your friend is interested in the same person as you means you’d back off, right?  I mean, especially when he’s clung to these feelings for so long!  Should he choose the 100 option, he’s downright nasty.  Anything unpleasant that can serve as a deterrent to a person will happen.  Stalking, harassment, anonymous threats, dead animals at the door, you name it, if it’s unpleasant enough he does it. 

If he doesn’t choose to be merciful, the trigger for a murder is varied and the “severity” of the offense is unpredictable at best, and random at worst. 

The one thing that remains consistent is the fact that the nicer he is to the person before he kills them, the messier and more brutal he gets with the murder.  It’s more personal that way, a target who he has emotions attached to.  Sending a few menacing threats, hacking into an account, intimidating someone into silence, it’s done at an arm’s length.  There is no interpersonal relationship.  But if he chose to befriend you?  To spare your life, to bring you into his circle? And then you still choose to disrespect his love for you? Oh, absolutely not.  He becomes a blind butcher, cutting and hacking at whatever he can get his hands on.  Each and every single stab into the body is another unspoken “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”  When he comes to, there is little left that can be considered recognizable.  If he’s feeling merciful as a killer however, usually the death is done hands-off, quickly, and without any bloodshed.  Poisoning, smothering, drowning, etc.    Generally, it all depends on the build up to his fluctuating breaking point.

𝐣 for 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝗼𝐮𝐬𝐲

Jealousy is a difficult concept for Luocha to grasp.  He is 100% gone up there. 

In the moment, it’s almost never something he even reacts to in the slightest.  He’s off in his own little world when he spots the object of his desire from afar.  He’s just daydreaming and asking himself questions about what he thinks is happening in your day.  Just general little notes about your appearance, what he thinks your mood is, where he thinks you’re going based on the extensive notes and observations he’s carefully cultivated in all his stalking endeavors.  He’s coming up with a prospective schedule in his head when you’re approached by this random man being a little bit too friendly.  Not even missing a beat, he’ll write it off as some kind of friend just stopping in to say hi, not a random passerby thinking you look a little bit more handsome than the rest of the crowd on Xianzhou.  In all honesty, I think that’s where it would stop and end.  He’s Delulu, end of story.  He constantly puts up a charming front for everyone else, he convinces himself that it’s real and that you’re the real prince charming getting ready to sweep him off his feet. 

If he happens to be just close enough to catch wind of the conversation, however?  The 0 to 100 thing I mentioned rears its ugly head.

He tells himself it's fine, everything is fine.  Even if you’re being flirted with, it’s just a little test he can watch to test your loyalty.  After all, you know your soulmate is in this crowd watching over you like some guardian angel, don’t you?  He’s right here!  Don’t look at that guy, even if Luocha knows the man is exactly your type.  Even when you’re getting flirted with, he’s calm, he’s convinced you’ll turn the pretty stranger down. Should you fail the loyalty test, it’s like a snap in his psyche.  He’s so assured of this little story he’s written for the two of you in his break from reality, being forced to confront the truth that he was just a crazed stalker following after a normal, law-abiding citizen of the Xianzhou alliance ship is too much.  He takes a few deep breaths before he flees the scene.  Then he gets destructive. By destructive, I mean he’s probably throwing shit and breaking shit or even taking out his anger on random rivals or civilians that just happen to get caught in the crossfire.  So, word to the wise, don’t accept any numbers or make any plans while you’re out and about. </3

𝐤 for 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

Luocha and physical affection are confusing words to put together.   It’s one of his top three love languages, but that doesn’t fit with the character he’s picked for himself. 

He’s supposed to be this classy gentleman, the “fake” prince charming waiting for be seen for who he truly is and whisked away by the real prince!  He’s not supposed to get hot in the face when you bless him with a brush of the back of your hand against his knuckle, he’s not supposed to feel empty when you aren’t making constant physical contact with him.  He should be more than fine when you step away to do something else somewhere else.  This “fake” prince charming is supposed to be cold and unfeeling so that when you’re warm to him, he can be the perfect recipient for all your affections.  After all, on the inside he is a villain, but one you will choose to love despite his flaws.  That’s what’s supposed to happen!  So why is he “coincidentally” pressing his back against yours while the two of you happen to be looking around the same section of a stand in Aurum Alley?

I think his compromise is a specific set of touches he deems acceptable for his character. 

For example, small touches that are accidental are 100% fine as long as they don’t happen too often.  The character he plays is not desperate, he’s supposed to be the one to lure you in with his perfect “fake” facade! When he’s either tricked you into starting a relationship with him or finally snapped and imprisoned you, he’s judgemental of the touches you initiate and the touches he wants to give.  No, the two of you can’t hold hands, he will wrap his arm around your bicep.  That is proper and what is to be expected of the two of you.  By who, you ask? Etiquette! Expectations! It’s common sense, silly goose.  So, instead of giving him a peck on the lips to say goodbye, be a dear and press a kiss onto each and every knuckle on his right hand, placing two on his ring finger :)

𝐥 for 𝐥𝗼𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

I don’t know how I’d go about making this sound less Stellaron Hunter-y, but in his mind, anytime he sees you it’s fate and he has to work for the most optimal outcome. 

It starts out as little chance meetings here and there.  Most likely, the two of you don’t even talk besides polite remarks.  Things like saying, “Oh, my apologies” when he backs up into your chest at the bookstore.  Maybe, if he’s feeling particularly brave, he might reach for the same book as you on the shelf to feel the brush of your hand over the back of his gloves.  It’s such a perfect thing to bring the two of you together, right?  He gets to feel the caress of your touch while also implying the two of you are the same in some way.  He’s reaching for the same book as you, the two of you must have similar taste in literature.  Maybe one day, if he keeps this up, you’ll initiate a conversation with him about book recommendations.  “Oh, I heard you enjoyed reading X series, what did you think of Y?  I wanted to read it, but I thought I’d ask someone who enjoys similar books.” 

But slowly, things become a little bit too… overt to be considered coincidences or even “fate” bringing the two of you together. 

It goes from maybe seeing him at the bookshop you frequent to suddenly he’s showing up outside of your workplace because he just so happens to be wandering the local area!  While he was wandering, it seems he got lost.  Would you be a dear and lead him back to the main strip so he knows where he is?  Oh!  It seems the two of you have gotten trapped in the same elevator.  It must be some kind of insane coincidence that the two of you are struck with such misfortune together!  While the two of you are waiting for someone to come help and get the two of you out of this sticky situation, why not discuss some of your favorite books together?  Oh here, there’s this one book he’s been reading, but one of the pages fell out.  It’s  your favorite book?  This page has a lot of your favorite quotes?  What fortune! Here, let him fold it into a paper rose for you to take back to work with you as a little good luck charm.  It just so happens that the elevator finally seems to be up and running again right after…

“It seems we meet again.” 

‘Oh god, not this guy again.’ 

You slid your thumb across the page of your book, slotting your bookmark into the top of it.  It was a recently released light novel you only managed to get your hands on the day before.  Some kind of murder mystery, though you obviously had no clue where the book was headed. 

You crossed your arms, “Mr. Luocha… to what do I owe the pleasure?”

It seemed his mood automatically brightened the moment you acknowledged him.  It made your heart squeeze with a certain level of cringe.  He followed you around; one, like  a stalker, but also two, like a lost puppy.   To a certain level, you sort of understood.   He wasn’t a Xianzhou native, he probably didn’t know many people.  But still, for all the charm he exuded, you’d think he’d have more friends. 

“Oh, nothing in particular,” he hummed, putting  his hands behind his back.  As always, he gave off the air of the perfect gentleman.  It was… creepy.  “I happened to be in the area and it seems we always manage to be at the bookstore around the same time.”

You nodded, slowly, “Ah, how… fortuitous.” You fidgeted with the soft cover of the book with your pointer finger, picking at the sticker on the spine.  It was about then you decided it was time to make an excuse to get out of here before things continued on too far.  Your eyes glanced up towards a clock at the back of the store, “It seems I’ve lost track of time, you’ll have to excuse me.” 

In a moment, it seemed the serenity dropped from his tone, replaced with a little bit of a sense of panic.  “Oh, but haven’t you just arrived?  Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to stick around for just a moment longer.” 

You bit back a grimace. ‘How desperate.’ 

You made a pointed effort to check the clock again, pulling your lips into a tight frown in the process.  “I have, but I only had enough time to peruse the books.” You gestured towards the soft-cover book with your other hand, “ I suppose I got carried away with the novel I’ve been rather taken with at the moment.  I’m sure you understand.” 

The blonde man in front of you nodded, though he seemed far too reluctant for your taste.  “I see…” 

Another pang of second-hand embarrassment struck your being.  “It seems we’ll have  to meet up another time, sir.  Do take care.”  Reluctantly, just to make sure you didn’t appear rude in front of the shopkeeper who absolutely adored your mysterious little stalker, you added, “I look forward to seeing you some other time, the new light novel I’ve been reading is terribly exciting.” 

As you scurried away from the shop, the man you’d seemed desperate to run away from found himself deep in thought.  

You see, he’d just finished up that novel you’d been holding in your hand.  The culprit turned out to be a rather attractive, charming CEO that was obsessed with a woman.  Were you… perhaps attracted to things like that?

Perhaps he should rethink his approach…

𝐱 for 𝐱𝗼𝐚𝐧𝗼𝐧

The amount this man worships the very ground you walk isn’t anything to be taken lightly at all.

In his eyes, you are this authentic, pure being that can combat the act he puts up to everyone else. With you there by his side, he can keep on going; accomplish anything. Inversely, if you aren’t there, he feels as though he is nothing. You are his future, his destiny. Your importance in his life isn’t something he takes lightly at all. When he’s given the chance, he will serenade you with praise, kiss at your feet, get down on his knees and tell you how much you mean to him. There will never be a moment you don’t know that you’re loved, it would be sweet if he wasn’t a delusional psychopath that had kidnapped and imprisoned you. Each little word is stated with such reverence it’s sickening, the man is so ill. But he’s ill about you! (...and a few other things, but mainly you!) If you end up becoming the object of his affections, expect to not have a moment of peace ever. Every spare moment the two of you have? It must be spent together in a manner that usually involves some kind of ritual he’s established to “show his appreciation”.

However, don’t expect any of this to happen in public. His worship is something that is only for you and him.

Like I’ve said before, Luocha has a specific vision in his head for how the two of you are supposed to act. You are a pure light that must be unadulterated, untarnished. He is a charming villain that puts on this facade for everyone but you, because of this, when his “facade” drops, it must be when the two of you are alone. Only you are allowed to see this desperate, starved version of him, pressing kisses to the inside of your wrist while he soothes the bruises the cuffs left on your beautiful skin. Only you are allowed to see him when he is angry and destructive as you deny him your love once again. Only you are allowed to see him in his entirety, that in and of itself can be considered a form of worship in his twisted and cruel mind.

“You are still as riveting as the day I first met you, my dear.”

A kiss on the inside of your ankle coupled with a slow, drawn out hand rubbing up the inside of your shin. It would’ve made you bashful had it not been for the fact his lips landed just above the metal cuff that confined you to the mattress. Maybe a few oh-so generous feet past that.

Another of his kisses on the inside of your knee.

Shins pressed to the carpet, sitting on the ground in front of you. When he met your gaze, you were automatically struck with the sick, overwhelming reverence swirling in the depths of his pupils. For your own sanity, you lost the eye contact immediately.

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” he leaned his chin on your kneecap, “Do you still remember it?”

The hand that was formerly exploring the expanses of the fabric on your leg suddenly clamped down like a vice on your exposed ankle. He peppered soft kisses all over the top of your thigh, mourning his separation from your skin. You thanked the Aeons he had the good sense to leave you dressed.

“...Would you ever let me forget?”

He chuckled against the fabric of your slacks, sliding his gloved hand under the ankle cuff of your pants. A shiver ripped itself up your spine, involuntarily and instinctually twitching away from his gentle caress. Even in the face of unintentional rejection, it seemed your captor was unphased.

“I could never let you forget; for it was the day my life truly began.”

He pressed one last chaste peck on your clothed skin. It held a sense of finality, lips lingering for just a little bit too long. He readjusted the blonde hair cascading down his back, throwing it behind his shoulder so he could rest his cheek on the inside of your leg.

“I want to go home, Luocha.”

He seemed to ignore you in favor of closing his eyes to nuzzle his jawline further into the plush fat that was pushed against the side of his face. You were repulsed by the happy noise he made, akin to a purr. His grip on your ankle was starting to hurt.

“Luocha,” you warned, shifting your foot to press it up against his stomach, “Take me home, I want to go home.”

He still didn’t respond, choosing to keep ignoring you.

You pushed him off of your thigh with your foot, drinking in the dissatisfaction of the rumble in the depths of his chest. “You’re ignoring me like a petulant child, I don’t appreciate being ignored.”

He pushed your leg back into place with one hand, the flat of your foot brushing against the carpet again. The jingle of the chain wasn’t dissimilar to the sweet carol of bells, but the noise cut as deep as the cold steel wrapped around your joint.

“I don’t know how else I can keep telling you this, darling, but your home is by my side.”

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭

𝐟 for 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝗼𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝗼𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧

Being so honest, the only real difference between yandere Luocha and canon Luocha is how much he pushes his ideals onto his partner.

Going back to normal Luocha though, there is always two sides to him. He has his normal, gentle disposition and then there is a freak buried in so deep he thought nobody would find it (not even himself). At the beginning of your relationship, he’s still trying to keep up the mask that stipulates him to be a kind-hearted, feeble traveler in the Xianzhou Alliance. He would claim his favorite position is missionary. Oh, he just loves how close the two of you feel! He loves being able to see your face and tell you how much he loves you when the two of you are making love. The sweet moment when he cries in overstimulation, only for you to pause to give him a proper break. You kiss at the tear tracks on his face and he leans into your palm as you wipe the crystalline tears so delicately with your thumb. Sweet kisses and stolen I love you when you start moving again, rearranging his insides as he allows him to fall victim to the temptations of lust.

But the further you get into the relationship? The more questions are starting to pop up in your head…

Maybe the two of you are in the middle of a… more passionate round, and you start to get carried away. Maybe you take a fistful of his beautiful blonde hair and tug on his scalp a little bit. Imagine your surprise when he cums on the spot, starting to tear up when you keep on moving. Generally, I think Luocha has a thing for being completely dominated. Even if he was in a straight relationship, I could imagine him being more than open to being pegged. I feel it in my bones, he is a pathetic little pervert on the inside. (It’s the delusion, I feel the delusions taking hold of my bones). His true favorite position is a seated reverse cowgirl with your hand on his neck. Aeons above, he would be so turned on if you just made him ride and ride until his legs were numb. Mr. Prim and Proper until you squeeze his neck when he starts to slow down. He could probably cum from being choked alone if you talked dirty enough to him. He’s just my silly lil perv (enemy to the Xianzhou Alliance) <3

𝐢 for 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝗺𝐚𝐜𝐲

As stated before, intimacy is the only thing that Luocha focuses on during sex at the beginning of your budding relationship.

He lured you in by being a gentleman, he’s not going to suddenly deviate from that and ask to be tied up. No, at the beginning of the relationship, the two of you have very vanilla sex that overall has a gentle, romantic undertone. The two of you just get lost in the feeling of each other's arms and the bliss that is slow, romantic sex. While yes, there was always nights where one wants things to be a little rougher, a little faster, more passionate and less gentle, the two of you prioritize the relationship part of the sex you two have together. Obviously, there’s nothing wrong if this is your sex life with your partner. But, it becomes a problem when one of you doesn’t exactly feel fulfilled sexually by that. Like I said earlier, Luocha is a little freak and vanilla sex isn’t exactly what he wants even if he was the one that set the tone of having a gentler bedroom.

Which is exactly why his partner has to be the one to bring up any kinks or more scandalous ideas when the two of you have sex.

If you happen to never notice he could quite literally cum in his pants while his hair is being pulled, then damn I guess Luocha is SOL. He’s so uppity about his image, I could never imagine him coming to his partner and asking them what they think about bondage or spanking. I also think he’s a little bit embarrassed of how much he’s hiding. Your relationship with sex starts on the basis of mutual respect and love, so how is going to be able to tell you he wants to be objectified and degraded from now on? Of course, once you mention a few kinks of yours that involve rougher play in the bedroom, he warms up to the idea of bringing up his own kinks to the table. The intimacy transition from slow, loving intimacy that stems from repeated affirmations of love to intimacy that stems from the trust he gives you as his dom. He’s treated like a sexual plaything not because you’re using him, but because that’s also what he wants and he trusts you to never cross any of his boundaries (even if those boundaries are nonexistent).

𝗺 for 𝗺𝗼𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧

Say it with me, Luocha is a pervert but you only know that after you’ve been together for a while. I feel like anything mildly sexual can get him going if he thinks about for long enough.

One of the more innocent things that gets him going is things like indirect kisses. I feel like he gets really flustered by little things like that. Why? Because he’s a little pervert on the inside. Like, wipe your mouth with a napkin and then wipe his mouth with the same napkin later? He’s popped a boner but he will never disclose it to another soul, not even the one that caused said boner. Accidental touches are another big thing. If they’re in provocative places he’s a goner, he has to leave the room for a second or something to wait out his boner (lest he forsake his dignity). I imagine him to be very touch-starved based on the walls he put up around himself of his own volition. He isn’t affected by dirty jokes or passes by other people because they’re on the outside of his walls. But his lovely boyfriend and partner suggesting anything intimate without saying it feels so lewd to him. It automatically gets his gears turning and suddenly he’s really pent up because he’s refrained from any sexual relationships for such a long time.

Of course, there’s also a little bit of a darker side to him. He’s a huge sub, so I think any kind of show of like power or strength is also really hot to him.

For example I can see him being so attracted to the sight of like bruised knuckles or calluses from weapons. Like the evidence that you know how to handle yourself in these wild ass streets is so sexy. Not only that, the sight of you injured after a fight is probably also extremely attractive. It doesn’t help that he’s a doctor and he’s supposed to be taking care of your wounds. Trying to hide his red cheeks behind a surgical mask, he’s doing his best to treat your injuries while also feeling so immensely aroused he can’t stand it. Sure, you’re supposed to be recovering… but it’s been a while since the two of you have done anything together and he’s feeling a little bit neglected (a lie). Maybe it wouldn’t hurt if the two of you just had a quickie in his office. He swears, that’s all he needs to get rid of this feeling! (A lie)

“Hon, are you sure you’re alright?  The heat isn’t getting to you?”

The two of you had chosen to take the chance to steal away on one of your lunch breaks. You only had an hour, but in that hour, you chose to eat AND enjoy the company of your boyfriend.  You worked a short walk from Aurum Alley, meaning now would be the perfect chance for the two of you to explore.  

Even better, you figured you could introduce your boyfriend to some of the local cuisine.  The two of you took a seat at one of the many tables in front of Spices Supreme, flipping through the menu and trying to decide what to order.  There were no problems at this point.  He was perfectly composed and just as charming as he always was.   The problem started when the two of you decided to split a rather messy appetizer. 

You folded your napkin again, setting the marinated beef skewer you’d been eating back down on the plate.  You pressed the napkin against your thumb, trying to get a majority of the sauce off your face with a quick swipe over the bottom of your face. 

“No, no,” he cleared his throat behind his own napkin.  Despite not having taken a bite of his own skewer, it seemed he, too, was wiping at the corner of his mouth rather frequently.  “I’m perfectly fine, I assure you.” 

You hummed, incredulous.  You took another bite of the meat, gesturing towards the one in your boyfriend’s off hand, “Well, I ordered enough for the two of us, love, there’s no point in just watching me eat.” 

You noticed the reluctance in the way he nodded, the long drawn out pause before he started to nip at the appetizer situated before the two of you.  He seemed overly careful in the way he ate, just barely picking at the meat in a way that would avoid getting any food on his face.  

You could care less about having a dirty face while you ate most of the time, but you figured your boyfriend preferred to be proper when he ate and the relationship was new enough you didn’t want to think you were a slob.  You were more than amused at his attempts to keep his face clean, “Luocha,” you snickered, “you can’t eat it properly if your face isn’t getting a little messy, you can wipe the sauce off afterwards.” 

Seeing as you were eating while he was eating, wiping the sauce off your face in the mean time, you reached over to his side of the table and grabbed his spotless napkin.  Folding it over your pointer finger, you dabbed a few more spots of sauce off your face, “See?  It truly isn’t something to be afraid of.” 

Instead of going about finishing his appetizer, he set the skewer down on the plate again.  He coughed behind his fist, avoiding eye contact.  

“I’m… afraid I am feeling a little bit under the weather, dove.  Please allow me to excuse myself.”

𝐯 for 𝐯𝗼𝐥𝐮𝗺𝐞

Luocha is so babygirl can I just say that. He tries to be quiet in bed, keyword tries.

You’ll get a lot of muffled whimpering towards the beginning of your relationship when he’s still shy. There’s a lot of hiding his face in a pillow, biting down on your shoulder, etc, etc. He’s embarrassed, he isn’t used to sexual affection or sex in general at all. He’s only just opened himself up to the idea of being in a relationship and suddenly he’s face down ass up on the mattress! Seeing as he isn’t used to sex, nor is he used to being on bottom, he’s really ashamed of the noises he makes during the phase the two of you go through when it comes to slow, gentle intercourse. He’s just really shy and overwhelmed when the two of you start falling into a rhythm regarding your schedule when it comes to intimacy. I’d say the further you get into the relationship, the more comfortable he gets with making noise in the bedroom. He’ll go from trying to be near silent to letting out noises when he’s really feeling good and losing himself to the feeling of pleasure.

When the two of you get comfortable enough to start indulging in his fantasies… oh my god. (MOVE MY TURN)

I’m just going to say he moans like a whore. They’re higher pitched and girly. He also will never say it, but he likes being degraded about sounding so lewd. Of course, he has a velvety smooth voice that’s deeper in pitch, so you’ll get some grunts, but when he’s bottoming and getting railed, he sounds like a woman. Even when he’s trying to sound sexy and masculine, if he’s still trying to hold his voice in, the noises come out three pitches higher than he meant them to. If Dan Heng wasn't the number one baby girl in Honkai star rail, it would be Luocha. He gets especially whiny and high-pitched in two scenarios; when he’s getting over stunned and when he’s getting edged. LUOCHA THIS COULD BE US BUT U PLAYING (read: fictional character currently in prison).

𝐲 for 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

Luocha has a pretty average sexdrive, all things considered. Even if he is clingy and touch-starved.

I think the one notable thing about his sex drive is that he never gets randomly horny. He has to be provoked into being aroused. Like, he doesn’t get turned on, you have to turn him on type deal. If there were nothing provoking him, he’s conditioned himself to not need sex because sex = vulnerability. Vulnerability is not exactly something you can open yourself up to when you’re planning on sneaking a stellaron onto the Xianzhou Alliance. However, like I mentioned earlier, I fear Luocha is a pervert. The moment you guide him onto the path for sexual feelings is the point of no return. Unless you are completelely closed of or you’re only talking to him in passing before you need to go do something else, he will find something to be turned on by. Depending on how long its been since the two of you have last had sex, the smaller the turn on needs to be to provoke him into being horny. Like, let’s say the two of you have been busy doing your own things for a month. You have some huge project at work and he’s working on getting things in order to smuggle in a stellaron, he could get unbearably hard if you so much as look at him a certain way.

The only problem? He will NEVER admit he is horny, he would rather blue ball himself than initiate.

The only time he will ever initiate is when he is quite literally so hard he feels like his dick is going to fall off. He relies on you to see that he’s horny and initiate yourself. I feel like this might have originally caused problems in your relationship, because his lack of sexual initiative made you constantly feel like you were badgering him for sex. But trust me, if you didn’t ask, the both of you would be living without any sex at all. Saying he never initiates doesn’t mean he doesn’t drop in clues about how he’s feeling, though. They’re things that start out as something that’s easily just something that’s just a little bit more affectionate than usual. Like, for example, instead of just holding your hand, he’s kissing the back of it every couple of minutes. It transitions from those more innocent things to things that might get a little bit more… lewd? Like dropping something just so he can bend over in front of you and pick it up slowly. IDK WHY ALL THE MEN ON THE XIANZHOU ALLIANCE ARE SLY LITTLE MINXES YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME

there's a note on the side of the phone booth, read it?

" guys i'm so normal about luocha you don't understand I'm breathing so normally right now "

Slot 2 of the event finally finished!!!! AND IT'S FOR ONE OF MY PROSPECTIVE HAREM MEMBERS

I have my wives and then i have my concubines and luocha is one of my most treasured concubines he's such an interesting characters

I fear one of the main criteria for whether or not I'll be into a man is whether or not he's all bark and no bite. I need him to cry when I give him push back

ANYWAYS

After I finish the first batch of these event slots (I think I'm going to do the six I currently have), i plan on releasing chapter 1 of a long form book with alhaitham x male reader where they're old flames doomed by the narrative hurt/comfort style teehee

Thank you to one of my anons for suggesting alhaitham for a book because im so excited to write it LMFAOOOO

I think after that, my next project will be making a blog regulars page and actually writing the requests I have lined up I PROMISE I DIDN'T FORGET ABOUT THEM I JUST LIKE RAMBLING ABOUT MY TAKE ON CHARACTERS

I think the way I'll do it is a oneshot fic and then one chapter of my longer books IDK

Thank you all so much for the support, we're already nearing 400 followers and I'm gonna cRY

WHERE DID YOU ALL COME FROM

- love, operator t-19