Yakshi, born 2005. She/her. Trimming the hedgerows of the ever-sprawling 𝔊𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔰. I don't dare ask what goes on in the castle.
Well, you can try wandering around. Who am I to stop you? As long as you know the way back.
Talk to the gardener
Read the plaque next to the rose bushes. They'll prick if you don't.
Study the tombstone covered in moss
Eat an apple
IMPORTANT: taking a break for exams, but the smut doesn't have to stop coming ;) posts are queued up from now until the end of my exam season. Any requests during this time will be completed and posted after July 20th. Thank you for bearing with me <3
Hello, thank you to everyone who has been reading my work! It's been very appreciated :) To the people who sent asks - thank you so much, I will get around to answering. Life has been up-and-down recently for me, and seeing your asks managed to put a smile on my face when times got rough.
Right now, I'm recuperating a bit from being in the wringer for so long. A lot feels uncertain right now, but I'm going to try to push through regardless. Amongst other life events, I'm still trying to decide what to do with this blog (nothing bad, don't worry!) It's a sideblog right now, but it might be interesting to give this blog its own capacity so I can say more (and have more of a say!) :D
If you read this far, thank you so much. I'm still thinking things through, and it'll take time, but I am still here! If anyone has any questions, please feel free to ask. It will also help me articulate myself better!
He's too eager, his smile is too sunny, and you're giving him ten minutes to get you off, or he walks out the door. Slight problem: you end up wanting him to stay so much, you end up choking him out with your thighs… he should be cool with this, right?
Next part of this series is the last! Every Genshin player ends up using this guy as their first DPS/support. But how is he at eating out? Does the battery last? Find out with our favourite Cryo prince in the next installment!
TW: sexually explicit, Venti giving AFAB!reader oral, Venti fingering AFAB!reader, praise, undernegotiated kink (accidentally choking him with your thighs), bratty!reader, ahegao, switch!Venti (sub to dom)
Happy late birthday to our beloved Anemo archon, sorry the only thing I'm posting is this heinous piece.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Header by the wind in my wings and the floral scent on the breeze, @slutreputation (check out their work!)
You’re convinced this guy watches too much porn. He smiles too giddily, comes up with entirely impractical positions to try in bed… and he hasn’t brought a condom.
You sigh irritably as he blathers something like “I could’ve sworn I had it when I left the house!” Again, it falls on you to remedy this situation. Sheepishly, he agrees to your subsequent vindictive measure: he’s going to eat you out. If you don’t cum in ten minutes, he’ll walk out of the door.
He settles himself between your spread legs as you matter-of-factly remove your skirt, gaping in awe at your panties. “Those are so cute—”
“Hurry up!” you bark. His back straightens hard. In one fell swoop, he tugs off your underwear, biting his lip as he stares at your pussy.
He has a nice face, and he can strum a lyre… maybe this won’t be entirely pointless. Tentatively, he kisses your inner thigh. When you don’t react, he continues peppering soft, sweet little nothings onto the skin. Your clit twitches.
You need more, though.
Three minutes, utterly wasted by the time he manages to work his way up to your pussy. You check your nails as his lips barely brush against your folds. Sure, your core is pulsing… but it doesn’t mean he’s going to make you gush. He nibbles at you, touch reverent when you prefer filthy, gentle where you prefer rough.
By the time he crawls to your slit, it’s been five minutes. Five minutes until –
With little preamble, he pulls your folds apart and spits.
You gasp, a glob of saliva dripping down towards your hole. Using the pad of his thumb, he drives it back up to your clit, as a nimble finger situates itself at your entrance. At the first roll of the pad of his thumb against your pearl, he drives his finger right into that spongy spot nobody finds the first time.
No sugarcoating it: you wail.
He doesn’t let up, the singular digit massaging your G-spot as his tongue replaces his thumb. He’s only kitten-licking at your clit, and you loathe how your stomach twists into knots.
Seven minutes. You don’t know how much of this torture you can take.
Venti has now uplevelled from gingerly lapping to slurping your clit with abandon, drool leaking onto the sheets below you. Conveniently lubing up your stretched hole, currently taking three fingers and still sucking them in like she wants more.
“Oh, she’s so good,” he moans. Even now, his voice lilts, like he’s not here in this moment, contorting himself for your pleasure. “So pretty when she’s dripping on my fingers. My wrist’s soaked, love. Your cunt's gonna squeeze the life out of me.” Fuck, you hadn’t expected him to be good at dirty talk. His voice vibrates against your cunt. He can’t mean to…
He pushes his head between your thighs like he’s trying to fuse with you, and groans.
You bite into your palm as you clench, only to be faced with the sheer friction of your fingers. Nine minutes, and your eyes are squeezed shut as you see blinding white. Your hips buck into his face as your thighs clamp together involuntarily.
Underneath you, Venti breathes raggedly. Your thighs press against his cheeks, his neck… nowhere for him to go but your pussy, even as he can feel his breath wavering as he exhausts his lungs. He’d die happy, right here.
You sob as his fingers fuck into you ruthlessly, as he laps and sucks and bites. His fingers dig into your hips, his marks imbued against your skin as his tongue laves you up. When you glance at him, the lewdest sight greets you.
His eyes roll back in his head, cheeks stained with your juices. His tongue lolls out, barely managing to lick at you before he shudders and gasps softly. His knees give out, your thighs the only thing holding him upright as he loses himself in an asphyxiating orgasm.
Did this man ahegao from a woman choking him out?
Brushing off his knees, he stands, wobbly on his feet. “Damn, I really did just come from that… haha! Can't be helped. See you around, sweetheart!” He licks your syrup off his fingers as he waves you bye, making a soft pop. “Hope you learn to take it slow!”
You blink after him, teeth gritting in rage. Oh, you have to delete his number.
Let's pose a question to the ever-eager floor: are the bitingly cold days of Snezhnaya worth it, when given the guarantee of warm, sulty nights with the love of your life?
Well, Ajax seems to think so, because your thighs make great earmuffs. Warning: product may constrict around the user's neck, causing unintentional lack of air flow. Comes with two-hour puppy-eyes and guilt-trip warranty. Available for the rest of your life.
Two more of these to go… the next guy has the chance to completely blow it, or take it like a god. If you think you know who this might be, come back to check if your guess was right. Next one's releasing next Wednesday!
TW: sexually explicit, AFAB!reader receiving oral, mentions of Ajax having been injured (not through sex), accidentally choking him with your thighs, fainting.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Header by the sum of the radiance of the sun, moon and stars, @slutreputation! Their writing is absolutely gorgeous, go check them out!!
You know what’s going to happen the second he walks through the door. He’s limping slightly, hair and clothes dishevelled. Purple blooms against his jaw, and his Fatui mask is cracked.
He got his ass beat to hell and back, but he probably won. Even like this, he looks devastatingly handsome, blue eyes shining, grin crooked as he beckons you into his arms, lifting you into the air and twirling you around. He smells like battle and aftershave: blood, sweat and the remnants of whatever cologne he was wearing to his morning meeting. The weight of his body against yours feels like home: like the promise of a hundred more nights of him coming home and greeting you just like this.
“Hey, baby.” He buries his face in your neck, and you know that you’re leaving this room, matching his limp.
Minutes. That’s all it takes for him to have you flat on your back, hands bunched into fists. He noses at the crease of your thigh before pressing his face there, taking noisy gulps of air as your panties brush against his cheek. His eyes are closed, as if this is the first lungful of fresh air he’s breathed in months. “Fuck, I missed you…”
“It’s only been a couple hours, Ajax,” you laugh, flicking his forehead.
“That sounds like the point I’m trying to make,” he grumbles, swatting your hand away. In one fluid motion, he yanks your panties off. “Couldn’t stop thinking about eating you out.”
His pupils are so dilated, they’re swallowing blue. You gulp as his gaze flits over your face and drags down every inch of your body, stopping when he reaches your bare pussy. He groans shakily, fingers digging into your thighs. “You smell divine. I could gobble you up and leave nothing behind.” His fingers trace down your slit, and he licks off your desire as his eyelids flutter.
“Can’t hold back anymore,” he pants, hot breath washing over your cunt. “Need to devour you, pretty.” He dives in like he’s been unshackled, hands holding your hips down as he uses the whole length of his tongue against your cunt. You moan at the sudden pressure, before sobbing lewdly at the way he sucks and laps at your clit, two curious fingers stroking your entrance as his thumb presses tight circles against your perineum. You buck your hips into his face, and it doesn’t even stop him: he holds you down and makes you take it.
“Feisty today. I’ve always liked that,” he purrs. “Takin’ it so well, girlie. I might ask for even more.” Your hole greedily swallow the pads of his fingers, even though the rest of your body is hurtling towards an end you can’t prevent.
“Ajax…”
He hums, busy treating your clit like a piece of candy. “Hmmm?”
“Gonna cum…” He makes a sound halfway between a moan and a growl. He repositions, but you notice, even through your blissed-out daze – he’s shaking. He avoids leaning on his bad leg, and his hold on your thighs seems to have two motives: wanting you bad, and holding himself steady. His hands tremble and almost slip, despite their tight hold.
“Did… did you hear me, m’gonna—” He gives you a timely kiss to your swollen nub, all teeth and tongue, and you squeal as you’re thrown into ecstasy, thighs clamping around his head and neck as you ride his face, gushing. He strokes your hips, making a hapless little choking noise as you finish what he started with the hardest orgasm you’ve had to date. You spray all over his face, and you feel the release he can’t swallow drip out of the corners of his lips.
Legs trembling, you release him, and he lands hard on his ass, eyes crossing a little. You giggle as you watch him. “Another round, sweetie?” He opens his mouth like he wants to reply, before crumpling on the carpet like a ragdoll, hitting the ground headfirst. Passed out on your floor with your fluids all over his face, faint smirk persisting even though he’s unconscious to boot.
This can absolutely be read as a standalone, but part one is here if you wish for continuity :)
The Diluc NSFT saga continues, this time from G to L. This part includes Diluc's kinks, and I would personally say it's spicier than the last… read with caution, and as always, minors DNI.
TW: sexual content, masturbation, Diluc x afab/amab reader, Diluc presumed to be top & in control, mentions of breeding, mentions of having a family, mentions of semi-publix sex, mentions of somnophilia.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics.
Goofy? (more serious/humorous in the moment?)
Definitely more serious
Given his personality, and the added pressure of trying to get everything right for you, he’s a little bit anxious and trying to mask it by pacing himself through it. He looks like he knows what he’s doing, but especially if it’s the first time, or if you both haven’t seen each other in a while, his hands shake when he goes to open the lube. He’s hiding it in the blanket and talking you through it lmaooo
I think if you cracked a good joke, he’d laugh and be surprised he had it in himself, but he’d try to get back to business as soon as possible
If you manage to break open his shell after a few years, he might even joke back!
Hair (how well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)
Has a bush the same colour as the hair on his head, with a thick happy trail to match. Seriously, when he takes off his shirt it’s a religious experience
He doesn’t remove it unless you want him to. I don’t think it makes it onto his list of priorities. He’s also constantly covered up in multiple layers, so it’s not like there’s a chance of anyone except you getting a scandalous peek
He trims for health reasons - he doesn’t like to get too messy, but once you two are a regular thing, he’ll put a lot more effort into maintaining it, or shaving it off if you want that. I don’t think he’s a waxer
It’s soft! It feels amazing to grind against, and it’s hot to watch it get soaked against his skin as he drives into you
Intimacy (the romantic aspect)
The single most important part of sex for Diluc. In fact, he’s probably not going to bring anything physical up unless he feels like both of you have a strong emotional connection
Throughout the whole thing, he wants to do it properly. He gets you a bouquet of your favourite flowers and takes you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant. If you’re having a relaxed night at home, he’s cuddling with you by the fireplace, listening intently as you talk to him about whatever you want
Big emphasis on kissing and eye contact. I’ve mentioned it before, he just wants to make sure you’re absolutely comfortable to do this
He checks in with you regularly too. He’s such a sweetie, he’s scared that he’ll miss any potential cues because he knows he’s not the most socially gifted. He’s closed off at first, but has the potential to be a wonderful partner if you give him a nudge to open up a little more
Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Sporadic. I think he only really lets himself do it if he’s very pent-up: wet-dreams-every-morning type of pent-up
He dislikes the fact that he wants to do it, or that he has to. I think it makes him feel very disconnected from himself. Like an animal with no control. A lawless heathen. Every time he sees his boner he’s thinking “Archons, I hate myself”. He wishes he could take a cold plunge instead because he feels so sweaty and there’s precum everywhere, but he knows if he does that, the dreams will be Worse the next night
Quick, five-minute affair, done shamefully in the shower so he can clean all the evidence. Scrubs vigorously afterwards, but the embarrassment will never wash off.
Why are Kaeya and Diluc so different…?
Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Creampie. I don’t think it’s the money shot that does it for Diluc – more the complete intimacy of both of you sharing an orgasm, entwined together. Also part of his second (biggest) kink…
Breeding. He doesn’t care if you can get pregnant or not. What sells it for him is the idea of being secure in one another, enough to have a little family. The kids don’t have to be biological. Just the idea of being able to fantasise about a long-term for both of you, where he comes home to you every day, of a love so close it counts as a family, is enough for him
Body worship. This man treasures you and literally thinks you’re heaven on earth, why the hell would he not kiss his way down your body? Or give you oral with reverence fit for a deity?
Praise. He’s definitely more generous with you than the Knights of Favonius. “You’re doing so well” when you take him down to the hilt, “so pretty for me” when you squeeze around him
Scent kink. He knows your scent like the back of his hand. When you’re intimate, he prefers you to not use perfumes so he can be surrounded by you. Plus, it calms him – it reminds him of nights cuddling up to you, and that safe feeling he gets when he watches your chest rise and fall
I think mild somnophilia? He likes watching you sleep, and he wouldn’t mind if you poke him awake for sex. Or if you woke him up by grinding on him and being needy. He’s going to complain, because Mr. Ragnvindr has a reputation to maintain, but he likes the fact that you need him way too much, so he’ll still hold your hips as he grumbles about your endless appetite
If you call him some kind of nickname during sex, he eats it up. He’d want to die if you called him that anywhere else, but when you’re crying out, completely incoherent, he doesn’t really mind. Calling him “honey” or “sweetheart” during sex has him falling apart in seconds. It’s kind of comical how he’s so down bad
Asking him for permission to cum does things to him - “please please let me cum” as he trails his tongue down your torso whilst fingering you? Absolutely. He doesn’t want you to beg, he just likes you to want him
Wearing his clothes! He likes the security of you being wrapped up in his stuff, and the fact that when you do so, it feels like you’re his person. Like you belong to him. He gets a little possessive during sex, unlike his daytime persona, so it very much feels like a switch has been flipped, even if those emotions have existed under the thick walls he’s built for a very long time
Location
Most days he’s firmly a bedroom guy. If you’re a little spicy, you probably start wondering when it’s gonna get good. He just likes the safety, the fact that he can be in his own space and enjoy you, and the ease that comes with cuddling right after in his bed
Also the fact that in the bedroom, the weight of what’s been done hangs in the space. Neither of you can shrug it off, you both have to accept it and move forward. He’s sentimental like that
He might let you cockwarm him at his desk in the estate if you ask nicely (beg for two months). He takes a while to get comfy with it, but if he does, you might be in for a rare fuck on a bar stool. He likes it because the legs are a bit dodgy and don’t allow for a comfortable sit: you’re forced to take him at his deepest and grind, whilst planting your weight against a surface and holding onto him for dear life
The filthiest he’s ever been with you was when he took you on the bartop at Angel’s Share before the patrons came in. He hated the sticky counter and the fact that so many other people had been there, plus the fact he couldn’t go hard because the counter was so gummy he couldn’t get leverage. You couldn’t even clean yourselves up properly, and your shirt stuck to you with the remnants of long-dried alcohol and grubby fingers. Both of you promised that if you ever got that desperate, you’d just use the storeroom
He might be the Akademiya's prize student, but this privileged little puppet doesn't really know anything. Or so you think.
You're not so loud when you've got his thighs between his head, and he's daring you to try it.
Three more of these coming along. Let's hope the refractory period for the next guy is nothing like his cooldown time, or he's not gonna make very much of a splash :(
TW: sexually explicit, Wanderer giving AFAB!reader oral, face-riding, face-sitting, hate sex, mutual degradation, pussy-slapping (one instance), choking him with your thighs, the puppet puns
Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Header by the closest thing to chocolate chip cookies with brown butter in human form, @slutreputation (go check them out!)
“You need to learn to take a hint.”
You whip around to see him leaning against a tree, the brim of his hat pulled low over his eyes. They call him Hat Guy: the jaded student at the back of the lecture hall, inattentive until it comes time to pick a fight with the tutor. What’s more, they often concede to his ostensibly superior intellect, adding his points to the syllabus. Every Akademiya student’s Enemy Number One.
“What?” It’s more abrasive than the tone he used with you, for sure. The smirk on his face tells you that he doesn’t mind.
“He wanted you to continue debating with him.”
He’s probably a trust fund type. He wouldn’t know anything about the horrors you had to endure to claw your way here. You roll your eyes. “Like I’d take advice from some intractable smartass.”
He looks even more smug now.
“Well, sweetheart. Since we’re being obtuse today, it looks like I’ll need to spell it out.” He takes your wrist in his hand harshly. “Your place or mine?”
Oh, how you hate him. You ruminate on it with every harsh rock of your hips, gripping the bedframe as he lies beneath you. He holds your thighs apart as his tongue draws exact circles on your clit. If he thinks you’re being an ingrate, he’ll spank you. That’s how this usually works.
“Do better, mutt,” you growl, yanking his hair and pushing his face into your pussy.
“Awfully mouthy for a slut who’s fucking drooling for me,” he bites back. “Huh, maybe I should use you like a fleshlight? Bounce you up and down on my dick until you remember how nice I’m being right now?”
He is being unusually nice. His tongue flicks at your slit, downright teasing, before he suckles on your clit in earnest, teeth calculatedly grazing your pearly nub. He gives you a glance, then. What are you going to do about it?
You arch your back, thighs tightening around his head.
Even locked into position, he doesn’t let up. He moistens his tongue with enough spit to lube it, massaging saliva against your sticky hole. As you moan, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, chuckle distorted by the sloppy sounds your desperate pussy makes. Your thighs press together even tighter, the shells of his ears buried against the soft flesh.
Wait. You may hate him. However, if he actually died, you would be so liable. Barred from all academic institutions for choking a man with your thighs. Hesitating, you loosen your hold on him.
“Fuck no.” He snarls as he pushes your thighs into his face, cheek rubbing against the delicate skin. You suppress a keen.
He sighs, breath warm against your slick cunt. Your thighs twitch at the sensation. “Most things don’t kill me, y’know.”
You smirk. “What are you, a fucktoy?” A harsh smack against your mound jolts you.
“Choke me,” he seethes. So you do.
You force your thighs together until you can’t feel any air at all: just the hard edges of his nose and cheekbones, the crag of his Adam’s apple, and the softness of his mouth. Then, you bounce in earnest, pussy squelching lewdly as you shake the bedframe, his face trapped in the triangle of your thighs.
He sucks at your clit like he’ll die if he lets go, tonguing your slit so viciously you don’t know what you’re wetter from: desire, or the claim of his saliva. You sob as he pushes your legs together even more, forcing your clit against his nose as he works you open, licking right at the spot inside you that makes you see stars. He’s not getting any air – how the fuck is he moaning?
Your orgasm rips through you with the deadly, precise force of a bullet: you come out the other end ravaged, cunt dripping and red. He’s… not moving. You’re never getting eaten out again.
Before you can call someone for help, he emerges from underneath you, hands parting your thighs effortlessly. “I think that was satisfactory, hm?” He smirks, thumb flicking your abused folds.
I use these to get a little writing practice when I'm running on empty. Added them to queue because I can't leave you guys in a smut drought whilst I'm off.
This… this is part one. For one character. I'm not saying anything else…
Contains letters A through to F. Enjoy at your own risk, outlined below.
TW: sexual content, having a man care about you, masturbation, Diluc x afab/amab reader (mentions of such although amab is a little more inconsistent), Diluc presumed to be top & in control.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics.
Aftercare
Likes to snuggle with you right after. Skin-to-skin, eye contact
I think he gets shy right after sex, because he sees it as something vulnerable. It’s a chance to get to show you all the things he struggles to say, like “I love you”. If you break the ice and whisper to him “you did so well” or (again) “I love you”, he shudders and buries his face in the crook between your neck and shoulder to hide his red face
He doesn’t talk after sex. He’s high off the oxytocin and kind of sleepy, but he likes to cuddle up with you. He also can’t hide the soft look on his face when he gazes at you. You could be grumbling, or knocked out, or chatting to him, and he’ll stare at you with this awfully fond look on his face that makes your heart (and maybe something else…) clench.
Very acts-of-service! Wipes you down with a warm, wet towel (thoughtful king), runs you a bath and will even make snacks. Will also massage you down if you’ve cramped up, or are just generally feeling achy
He insists on changing the sheets himself every single time. He will not let you do it, period
Is also weirdly permissive after sex (not that he isn't permissive AT ALL, but he's so much more agreeable when he's all loved up >.<) Ask him to do anything he wouldn't usually do, and the answer is a nod. He will find himself going to a trip on Fontaine with you, bags all packed, thinking “when the fuck did I agree to this…?” That's right, when he was being all dopey after sex!
Absolutely freaks out if there are any visible hickeys on either of you that clothes can't cover, so he chooses to be proactive about it and keep a cold compress on him. At all times. He's kind of a hardass about it too…
Body part (favourite body part)
On you:
Your stomach. He likes how soft the skin is, and he likes putting his head there when he wants to take a nap. It feels comfortable and safe (plus he loves to cum on your lower stomach, right between your hips)
Your thighs. The way they wrap around him when you’re into it drives him crazy, and makes him want to fuck you harder. Wear something short to bed, or one of his shirts and knee-high socks - he’ll start wondering if he’s going insane
Your face. He likes to watch as you cum, and he does check-ins to see your expression to gauge if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you. Watching you orgasm is his undoing every single time. In the list of cute expressions you make in the back of his mind, your O-face is one of the top ones
On himself:
He likes his arm muscles. He knows he’s put a lot of work into his physique, swinging that big claymore/club around, and it reminds him of what he can provide for you. He wants to work hard to keep you safe
In a similar vein, he secretly likes his abs and back muscles
I think deep down he has a bit of an inferiority complex, so make sure to encourage him lots. One of the few men who could actually benefit from having his ego fed
Cum
Thick and white. It sometimes comes out in globs because when he’s with a long-term partner he won’t masturbate as often
It tastes bitter, slightly salty, but it’s not unpleasant
He tastes quite musky as well in a way that’s unique to him
He cums a lot because he refrains from jacking it as much as possible. If you let him cum inside, you’re going to be dripping for a few days
Likes to cum on your lower stomach, if not inside you. It’s like marking out his spot, in a way that drives him crazy. He likes the intimacy of wiping it off you too
Dirty secret
He doesn’t like the way alcohol feels in his mouth, but he thinks you could change that
When he’s alone, or really pussy/cock-drunk, he thinks about pouring Dawn Winery’s finest all over you, and drinking it out of the soft divots on your body
The biggest turn-on for him is thinking about if your natural taste, or the warmth of your skin, has any impact on the taste of the wine - hell, this might be the only way he drinks it
Has jerked off to the thought with Severe Guilt. Can’t look you in the eye for a good three days after. If you’re wondering why he’s being cold to you out of the blue… congrats, you have your answer
Experience
Not a lot!
Since… well, the Incident after he just turned eighteen, he always regarded relationships with other people as a frivolity he couldn’t entertain. He doesn’t like getting too close, plus he always secretly felt that it was more of a Kaeya thing to be good at flirting, charm and seduction. He’d always left those skills to him, without trying to improve them himself
Especially after he inherited Dawn Winery and became a vigilante, his brain has been tuned to the Fatui, the Abyss Order and business, with no room for distractions
I don’t think he’s entirely clueless. Being a single wine tycoon (and a hot bartender on occasion) he’s very much an eligible bachelor. He’s had friends set him up on blind dates that didn’t turn out well, and more than his fair share of hammered patrons trying to make a pass at him, which he firmly refuses. Maybe he’s had sex once or twice in a relationship that’s lasted a few months - I don’t see him as a hook-up kinda guy. He likes having a nice, semi-long period of courting where he gets to know the person, and from that point anything physical can be introduced gradually with plenty of discussion prior
I don’t think any experience he does have, has actually worked out for him long-term. He’s in his head far too much to sustain one, which frustrates a lot of potential partners… but he might be willing to let you in
Favourite position
Diluc is such a missionary man. Look him in his eyes and tell me there is anything going on in that dumb brain of his except soft vanilla missionary sex with lots of kissing. I dare you.
What can I say, he’s an eye contact guy. He loves watching you sob for him
Cowgirl is a close second. Likes the way it allows you to take charge, whilst also giving him a great view of you pleasuring yourself. The position allows him a lot of access, too - he can kiss you (spot a theme?), run a warm, calloused thumb over your nipple as you arch for him… so many ideas
He likes sleepy spooning sex! The only thing that irks him a little is how he can’t watch your face contort for him. Same with positions with you on your front - he’ll do them rarely, but he much prefers the top two
During some one-on-one “bonding time”, you end up choking him with your thighs by accident… how does he react?
This is the Lohen version: watch this space for your next fave. Hint: you're gonna be right against Pinocchio's nose ;)
TW: sexually explicit, Lohen, Lohen giving AFAB!reader oral, degradation, pussy-slapping, painplay, accidental breathplay, undernegotiated kink (of course he's into it. What do you take him for, a decent man?)
Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Header by my lovely angel of a moot @slutreputation (go check them out!)
It’s rare that he takes his time with you.
Lohen’s love is a ruinous thing. Every object of his pervasive obsession ends up as mulch beneath his feet, marred beyond its original purpose. Maybe you too are just another fleeting fancy of his, the same as a Ruin Guard or Mitachurl – only interesting insofar as his capability to destroy you.
But instead of being warped and destined for discardment, you’re being made anew. With every languid lap at your syrupy core, every soft suck at your engorged clit: whatever you were meant for, it doesn’t matter. You can’t even remember it.
“Hah, look at this pretty hole…” he coos. “Oh, she just clenched now! Do you like that?” You sob as the pad of his thumb grinds into the spot you know he’ll ravage. Pure, simple conditioning – and if you haven’t learnt by now, he’s going to pound it into you.
You swear his smile just gets wider. If it’s possible at all.
“Leaking on my hand, too? Aren’t you abusing your power today, doll? Acting like a slut, because you know that batting your eyes at me will get you whatever you want…” His tone darkens, and his expression drops. You’re gonna get it now – the price of what you went asking for.
“You think my patience lasts forever?” he spits. His breath is so warm against your pulsing cunt, and so close that you can only whimper. “You think you get to—fuck, you think you can try me all day, just sitting there looking like a five-star meal? You were made to be mine. You hear?” You nod helplessly, gasping as his grip on your hips gets tighter. You’re going to end up bruised, fingerprints marking you out as his and lasting for weeks. You always do.
It’s how he likes you best: brought to the basest version of yourself, all teeth marks, scratches and throbbing, aching need that can’t be satisfied without him.
He tilts his head to the side, watching your pathetic show of pleading for him. He’s not convinced at all, but that works out perfectly. He’ll discipline you, push you over the edge and watch you topple. Then, he’ll pull you back by the collar and do it again. Over, and over, and over, until his hunger is completely sated. “Time to teach this pretty pussy a lesson.”
He takes away his hand, and you screw your eyes shut, bracing before you know what he’s about to do. You hear the impact before you really feel it – a wet, squelching slap! that echoes off the walls, a true testament to how soaked he’s managed to get you.
A little while after that, the burn sets in, a stinging wildfire spreading across your folds. You cry out as he lands another well-timed spank in the same area.
You’re wailing now, writhing in agony as your pussy reddens so cutely. He snickers as he watches you lose control of yourself, a hand coming down to register his stiffening cock. All you can hear over the blood roaring in your ears is a sharp gasp of air as your feet kick out, feeling something rounded and bony – he jerks at the impact to his shoulder, and keeps a silent tally.
But he can’t be mad at you. Not really, when you’re bucking against his mouth in your own primal version of exaltation. Not when your pussy tastes so sweet that you have him dripping pre in his boxers.
When you finally come to, once your vision isn’t whited-out in bliss anymore, you feel his cheeks against your inner thighs. Your knees are locked behind his head, and he’s groaning into your cunt as he slurps at your slit. Blinking dazedly, you release him, and he giggles, even as his face is red and his breaths are short.
“You have some nerve, I’ll give you that. Felt like I was fighting against your thighs and losing.” He coughs, but still licks his fingers clean. Men would be caged for far milder than the look he gives you: between murder, and rabid, unadulterated lust.
Hello, thank you for all the interaction on here, it has been so encouraging and flattering :) kind reminder that if you wish to interact with me, I will require an age in bio! I tend to block those who don't.
The Anemo archon does not demand much in the way of homage. Yet for his most devout follower, he cannot help but make an exception… very well. Only you can know this secret of his, OK? :P
TW: sexually explicit, breastplay. Author is sorry. I promise my parents are disappointed.
400-something words of filth, get your food pervs (I sure did writing this fic…) Dividers by @saradika-graphics.
Has anyone ever told you the best way to worship the Anemo archon?
He loves the reverence of your tongue tracing the ridged tip of his dick, lips parted in awe for whichever of his benedictions you’re praying upon. His eyes close in bliss as you wrap both your hands around his hot, hard length, beading sheer white all over your pretty fingers. But even more so – and this is hardly ever uttered to his darling devotee – he finds his deliverance in the valley of your breasts.
Every inch of you is stunning. He feels the same wondrous awe every time you shed your clothes and allow him to share in the perfection of your body: silvery stretch marks, bolting across the heaven of your plush skin… the slopes and rolls of your stomach, which he runs a fingernail across. When it finally comes time to unhook your bra, he does so with ease, eyelids fluttering, tipsy with desire as he presses a deep, longing kiss into your swollen lips.
Once you’re at this point, the haze in his mind overtakes him, making him more a creature of instinct than a god. He inhales shakily as he stares at the feast before him, a thousand ways to devour flashing through his mind. He grips his cock, almost indecisive as his thumb flicks at the slit. His mind is made up when you push yourself up onto your shoulders, questioning just what is running through the head of your dazed paramour. Your breasts bounce with the movement, and you duck your head, embarrassed, and he realises: he needs to show you what you do to him.
Likes to flick one of your nubs with the head of his cock as you push your chest together - he knows this position doesn’t offer you much - so to see you buck your hips as he draws a heart with his dripping tip around your nipple, precum staining your skin before he bites lightly, slips himself into the tight gap and starts thrusting… it drives him insane. Likes playing with your nipples while he’s rutting in, and when he’s done and sees them all red and sore, he licks and sucks on them as a way to say sorry :(
With the way his messy, drooling tongue laps at your buds, you start understanding that the best form of worship is to hand your body over to him entirely. There is nobody more benevolent than the god who rubs his cock ragged as he mouths at your breasts, is there?
Can you do Baizhu and how he initiates sexual contact with reader?
Thank you for the ask! I see Baizhu mains move swiftly on here… good for you guys! Love me some Baizhu!
𝖇𝖆𝖎𝖟𝖍𝖚 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖒𝖔𝖛𝖊
He’s never been the forthright, sure type, preferring to plan his next move out in equanimity. However, he’s nothing but decisive concerning the outcome: you, under him, gasping under the weight of his mind-numbingly slow thrusts, arching your hips into his to feel more of that pure friction against your G-spot.
So, although he’s unsure of himself, he determines that what must end slow, must start slow. And by the archons, does he have the patience to play the long game.
He starts off by making small gestures. A hand to the small of your back as he leans over your shoulder, inspecting your decoctions. He’s as calculated with his words as ever, sparing but a curt, “Good. If you could please make a start on preparing the other medicines?” If his hand happens to linger a few seconds beyond proper, neither of you say anything.
The touches become bolder, more confident. A hand on your shoulder, lean fingers resting above your bra strap as he warns you to tie your hair back. “I would hate to see such a lovely shade marred by the heat of the fire.” Could that be… flirtatious?
Sometimes, he gazes at you, content to watch the focused expression on your face. You’re beautiful, in the most terrible way; even the banality of you doing your daily tasks makes something wretched burn inside him. The pure heat in his eyes is somewhat intensified by his glasses, and as you turn around, feeling unnerved by the constant staring, you feel your stomach flip. The way you tear your eyes away from him, biting your lip and glancing at the floor, isn’t definitive enough to conclude anything. But then, he catches it – the faintest rustle of your skirt. Are you… pressing your thighs together?
Oh, he needs you now. He needs your want staining his tongue, the proof spasming around his cock. He wants your knees to your ears, folds split apart against the V of his fingers as your slick cascades out of your hole in messy tears, to the timing of your sobs. It appears that his paramour is shy. How could he not save you from embarrassment? Truly, in some lights he could be called chivalrous.
It finally happens when both of you are alone, rain pattering on the windows of the pharmacy. You simply can’t go out in this weather – Baizhu wouldn’t allow it – and so, here you both are, sitting in front of the fireplace as he brews something that smells heavenly. The flame glints off of his glasses.
“This should help to alleviate any cold symptoms, and boost your immune system.” You peer into the cup he hands you, containing ginger stewed in honey. You try to mask your surprise as he clears his throat. “You tend to shiver when you work next to the windows, and your iron levels are quite low.” You’re surprised by the extent of his care, then your face warms when you realise that he’s been watching you.
“You… you are quite observant,” you say haltingly, picking at your skirt. His eyes flicker from the hem, to your thighs, and back to your face, so fast that you hesitate to say he even looked. He chuckles at your statement, patting your shoulder.
“Not all attention is good attention, dear.” That, too: the start of him calling you these pet names. You can’t say you hate it, but you also can’t say that you’d much prefer it if it didn’t make your clit pulse. He watches the conflict on your face, and though he’s never proclaimed to be a mind-reader, he thinks he can guess the dilemma. Steeling himself, he places a hand on your knee. You freeze at the touch, looking into his face as he leans in.
“Some attention… it can be dangerous. So promise me that you’ll be careful with how you wield it.” His hand is broad, warmth spreading into your skin, and he’s drawing circles with his thumb right above the inside of your knee. Almost like he’s completely unaware of how even that simple movement makes you drool all over your slit.
“Wield?” you murmur. “Like… a weapon?” The wording causes your eyebrows to pinch. You glance at his face, to see his eyes dip to your lips. He wants to run his thumb across them after they’re swollen and kiss-bitten, wants those pretty lips to moan around his name like it’s a lifeline. And somehow, you notice. How his gaze turns dreamy yet focused, and you respond to it.
“The most powerful weapon you have.” His eyes drag back up to meet yours. He’s half an inch from you, hair brushing your face, and a brief calculation flickers across your face before he closes the gap, your body finally learning the weight of his hunger.
Your dear bunny!hybrid Lohen has been acting rather unusual as of late. You’re going to chalk it up to general weirdness and sit this one out. But… is he going to let you?
Or: Lohen is in heat, and you have no clue. Bunny!hybrid Lohen x fem!reader. Frankly, this is unhinged.
TW: Sexually explicit. Lohen (he is his own warning), hybrids, Lohen brings you a dead animal as a courting ritual, breeding, dubcon, mild degradation.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics.
“Oh, Lohen!” You groan, aggrieved, as you pick up your favourite hoodie – now shredded into ribbons. You don’t get how he even did it: the inside was fleece-lined! Surely it could have put up a better fight against a bunny.
Said bunny looks up from his perch on the floor, ears perking up. “Mistress?” You hold up the offending clothing, as he scratches behind a floppy ear. “You’re back!”
He springs up, right across the coffee table, and barrels straight into your stomach, winding you. You cough, gasping as you feel his considerable weight pressing against you. His cheek is squished against your collarbone as he pouts. “Mistress was late today. By two hours, and seventeen minutes.”
Sighing, you wonder how you got into the position of your beloved hybrid managing your work hours. “Sorry, baby. I had overtime.” He hums, totally unconvinced, before he jumps to his feet and sprints off. Where he gets the energy, you have no idea.
“Never mind. Wait until you see your gift!” His ears twitch, and you feel a pang of guilt. You could have been earlier, more enthusiastic to greet him. Lohen has always been the type to require a little more of a guiding hand, someone who can put in effort for his enrichment. And yet, he’s living with you, a worn-down office worker who barely has the time to clean the house. As it is, your clothes are strewn everywhere. You don’t even want to think about the state of them.
Lohen springs back into the living room, absolutely giddy. “Look, look! It was honestly pretty fast, but I managed to chase it down even faster. I kinda felt like it was pointless, because it wasn’t even a challenge, but you’re Mistress, and you could use it more than me, so I tracked it down anyway!” He’s holding one of his shirts, thankfully, bundled up around something. It’s weird. You could have sworn that shirt was blue, not red.
He puts it down on the coffee table with an audible slam. Alarmed, you continue watching as he whips away the shirt with dramatic flair. “Ta-da!” On your pristine, glossy white table, lies a rat the size of your arm, limbs askew. Your kitchen knife lies right in the middle of its chest, the silver blade now gleaming crimson. A dead animal, most likely pulled right from the trash, is bleeding out in your house, death rictus leering at your horrified face.
You scream.
Three days of this utter buffoonery, and you’re sick of it. You’ve started asking your boss for more on-call, and he looks alarmed before he rubs the back of his neck and slots you in. Better sleeping on the office chair with a crick in your neck, than dealing with that.
That, being your sweet lop-eared companion, who lately has taken to blowing up your phone, with photos of his gifts.
He doesn’t seem to understand why you don’t like them. Equally, you cannot wrap your head around the fact that your lovely rabbit, who’s supposed to be vegetarian, is going on a killing spree, as if you were some vengeful god who required appeasement through animal sacrifice. You tell him it sickens you, that he should stop.
Instead, he starts leaving other items in front of your bedroom door, seeing as you’ve started barricading yourself in. Leaves that he says are the same green as your veins – still rather creepy, but you’ll take it over his re-enactment of The Purge – apples with a good crunch to them, that leak juice all over your fingers. Once or twice, he even returns your clothes. They’re drenched, but he’s never bothered to learn how the washing machine works, content to lounge on the sofa and watch as you get on your knees to take out the wet clothes. He is, in fact, making an attempt.
It’s what makes you lower your guard ever-so-slightly. No sane person is awake at three, and this is the moment you choose to make your snack run, cracking open the door and checking the coast is clear before padding outside. Lohen surely would’ve accosted you by now, which is how you know you won’t bump into each other.
Tiptoeing to the kitchen, you open a cupboard, only to hear thudding and rough groaning coming from the living room. Almost… like someone could be hurt.
Immediately, you forget all animosity. “Lohen!” You run into the living room. Archons forbid anything happens to him, you’ll regret it all your life. “Lohen, are you OK—”
The bunny sitting on the couch is not Lohen.
No, the bunny sitting on the couch has his face buried into a pillow, teeth gnashing wildly. He rolls his hips like he’s trying to drive his cock home, like he’s angling for one particular thing. His nails scratch at the fabric, and beneath his heavy balls sit what used to be a skirt, now a cum-soaked rag.
You’ve never seen him like this, toned, scarred-up stomach bared for your eyes, that manic glint in his eye fuelled by sheer lust. His head snaps to yours, gaze locking, before he gives you a smile that’s all teeth.
“Mistress,” he purrs, letting his cock drag slowly over the skirt he’s fisting. “You finally accepted.”
“Accepted? What are you talking about?” The laugh he gives is almost drunk as he lazily thrusts into the black fabric. You’re having a hard time keeping your eyes on his face, when his whole body is out for show.
“Well… now that you’ve taken my gifts, why don’t you come sit here, Mistress? You’ve neglected me for so long.” He sinks his teeth into his plush bottom lip, as he lunges meanly into the skirt. “Or, since we’re promised to each other, maybe I can just take what I want.”
You park your ass down promptly, watching Lohen’s tail twitch as he gasps suddenly, spilling into your skirt. You gape as he turns to you, cock still bobbing around his navel.
“Lohen, you look…”
“Sore?” he supplies. “Achy? Needy? Tired…” he leans forward, “of your shit?” You gasp as he pushes you down, head smacking on the armrest. He places a hand around your neck, and squeezes softly for good measure, watching your face.
“Now that you’re where you belong,” he whispers, “I want you to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me during my heat.” Your eyes widen as you look around the room – anywhere but his flushed face.
“I—Lohen. I had no clue…” He laughs bitterly as he lets you go, patting your cheek.
“Of course not. Silly human. After all I did to protect you, it ends with you abandoning me when I need it most.” He leans into your shoulder. “But it’s fine. I can forgive you.”
“Forgive… me?”
“Yes, pretty thing, I can.” His palm trails down, gently cupping your breast. “Because I can smell the slick leaking out of that cute fucking cunt, and it’s intoxicating.” He bites at your neck as you suppress a moan. “You’ve been neglecting her as much as you’ve been neglecting me. I bet she has so much to say about it.” He smirks as he tugs your collar, exposing more of your throat to the sharp teeth in his maw. “Come on, Mistress. Let me show her some love. Please?”
It’s a sick contrast, the sweetly-condescending tone of his voice, compared to the sheer girth of the cock you can feel brushing against your drenched slit. “J-just don’t go overboard,” you mutter weakly. He throws his head back, laughter ringing into the room as he yanks off the thin barrier of your panties.
“You know I’m not stopping until your cunt is full, right?” He notches his cock right against your hole, threatening to push in. You gaze up, eyes doe-eyed and shocked. “No… you’re not leaving until your tummy is swollen with our kits, pretty. And even then, if I need to use your hole, I’ll fuck into it until you’re crying.” The head of his dick, a sore pink, frots filthily against the mess of your gooey slit, and now you’re keening, a thread away from your pussy being bred until the mess gushes out. He’s grinning, nothing but feral as his pace gets more frantic, making you feel the friction against your clit.
“Yeah, good girl, buck those hips into me. Losing your mind, and I’m not even inside yet.” His teeth drag slowly at your earlobe. “That’s how I know you’re gonna be a perfect bitch.” He angles his cock inside and sheathes himself all in one thrust. You scream, pussy milking him so hard he snarls.
“Gonna be my pretty mate, forever and ever. And then, you’re never fucking leaving me.”
Provided I have time, I will be happy to write requests :) please ask away! As you've probably gathered from my intro… I like to write ( ._. )""
Requests are closed (please check pinned)! Please bear in mind that I have a very busy schedule (full-time uni), so I may take time to get back to you. When requests are closed, you may still send in asks, but please note that these will not be released until I open up my requests again.
I usually write fluff and smut, because I'm self-indulgent like that. This is also a DDDNE (dead dove do not eat) blog. As such, lots of kinks can go down, except for the ones down here:
no outright piss/scat/emeto (bladder desperation is OK)
I won't use the word “rape”, but I'm down for dubcon/coercion/corruption/gaslighting/intox. Any of the shades of grey
no wound-fucking, bloodplay is OK though. Even erotic stabbing is fine
no doctor x patient, no doctor x nurse
teacher x student is OK for uni settings, but not any younger
no paedophilia (age gaps are OK)
no bestiality (hybrids and monsterfucking OK)
You take a bite into the apple, feeling the juices run down your chin. Immediately, your mind starts to feel foggy. You stumble around the courtyard gardens, looking for anywhere – any fucking place – any reprieve from this nightmarish reality.
You hear the crunch of boots against worn rock. The gardener stands in front of you, pliers in her hand. The smile on her face is almost kind as she kneels to your level, inspecting her face.
“Ah, you bit so soon?” She turns your jaw this way and that, grip iron. You don't get it. How are her fingers not phasing through you. Sensing your apprehension, she laughs, sitting cross-legged on the moss-ridden ground.
“You see, this place has a strange way of sucking people in,” she explains. “It's captivating. For all that I complain about it.” Her gaze turns distant as she stares at the rose bush. “The princess comes back, the king makes his decrees… it's almost like the axe never even nicked them.” Her eyes gleam. "Shame."
She turns to you, still holding the apple in your weak hand. “As you walk around, taking in the scenery, consuming the fruits of this place's immense toil to exist… it remembers you. It becomes you. And you become it. So eat a lot more, OK? I'd hate to see the rose bushes try to find something to devour beyond the fertiliser.” Her grin widens, antithetical to that prospect, and you shudder. Looks like you're stuck here for good…
"Uh… the garden was planted in 2005," the gardener begins. “But really, it was bought then. Some kind of legal jargon I don't understand. The only thing new is the roses.” She points to a healthy plot of rose bushes.
“Whole place used to belong to some batshit woman,” she mutters. “This place is fucking haunted.” She continues to trim the bushes, the weight of the pliers looking far too comfortable in her hand. It's then that you realise – however much she cuts, the stray edges don't become any shorter. In fact… the blades phase through.
“Anyway, my name's Yakshi. I've been working here for about a year. Doesn't pay, but fuck if I'm not stuck here.” She snorts humorlessly, continuing to snip a bush that her pliers cannot cut. She leans back, squinting at the far end of the courtyard garden.
“Roses bushes are growing nicely.” She smiles, but you can't read her expression. “Must be that new fertiliser. Hey, you. Why don't you go check on them for me?”
Some fluffy Scaramouche for the soul :) also, I want to see him at a fast-food restaurant. I think he'd go to Subway.
Scara has a potty mouth. 1.5K for word count. Divider by @saradika-graphics.
Your sullen, introverted boyfriend feels more like a shadow than a person. Quiet, sitting in his dark room playing some video game… you’d think he were a ghost if not for how much he complains.
Yes, he has no issues chewing you out when he thinks his coffee is too sweet – not that you can control the sugar levels in UHT milk. Telling him this only earns you an irritated sigh and an eyeroll. He, in fact, enjoys berating his coworkers loudly over the phone. No qualms has he about insulting people, to the point your parents have requested not to bring him over for family celebrations, to keep the peace. He comes anyway. Just to see the petrified looks on their faces, and laugh right at the doorstep.
And yet.
You’re both sitting in the drive-through of some fast-food chain restaurant. You have one hand on the steering wheel, trying to remain level-headed as you repeat your order for the fifth time. Clearly, this employee has other things on their mind. Your other half, the love of your life, groans, then hisses as his avatar drops to the floor, clutching their chest.
“How much longer, I’ve had to lose to this thing six times already.” It’s not a question, so you don’t answer, patiently explaining into the mic that no, you don’t want to participate in the loyalty scheme, you just want two burgers and a milkshake, one with no pickles. The employee stutters out that there aren’t any pickles in the milkshake.
After what feels like an age, you pay for the food and pull off as fast as you can.
“I’m fucking tired.”
You sigh. “I know, Scara.”
“My stomach is killing me.”
You sigh again. “I know, Scara.”
With no small amount of frustration, he tears open the bag, fully intending to go ham on his poor cheeseburger. He takes a hefty bite, pauses, then begins to gag.
“Oh my—oh my God? Are you choking?” His face turns puce, and you gasp, slamming a hand between his shoulderblades whilst trying to keep control of the steering wheel. “I’ll get you to the emergency department, hold on!”
He gurgles, scrabbling inside the bag, and pulls out a wad of tissues, spitting vehemently and coughing. Slowly, his face turns from purple to green. He mumbles something, barely audible, and you strain to hear him.
“Pickles…” Right. That.
“They put pickles in your sandwich? Again?” He nods, looking for all the world like a cat pulled from a lake, sopping wet and sad. It could have been funnier: the meanest person you know hates pickles so much, he refuses to eat from a plate that’s had pickles on it because he can still smell the vinegar, even after dousing it in detergent. Life works in strange ways. Maybe it’s his karmic debt for being an asshole.
“You can put them in my sandwich—” Predictably, he shakes his head, not that you expected anything different. “Come on. What will you eat? We don’t have any groceries, either…”
“It’s… it’s fine. I’ve lost my appetite from that awful experience.” He clears his throat, trying to reassemble the scraps of his dignity into something shapely. Which doesn’t work. You have too much dirt on him to respect his supercilious act.
“Dinner’s gonna be late tonight,” you remind him. “We have to go unpack, remember?” He crosses his arms, glaring at the glovebox.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve done worse.” You know he has. Which is exactly why you decide to do what you do next.
You swerve hard enough that he drops his phone, eyes widening. “Are you crazy?” he hisses. “You could’ve crashed!” You don’t reply, speeding right into the car park of the fast food restaurant. Now his eyes are bulging out of his head. “Wait—”
You exit the car, offending bag of food in hand, and he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Wait! It’s fine, I can put up with it!” he yells. You ignore him (somewhat of a recurrent theme for you), opening the glass door, forcing him to run after you.
“Come on, don’t embarrass me…” You stop cold in your tracks, turning to him.
“Did we specify no pickles?” Your tone is authoritative and calm: he’s never heard you like this before.
“Yes, but—” You show him the receipt, “NO PICKLES” written in bold. He closes his gaping mouth. “Well, if you really want to do something stupid like this, I’m not going to stop you.” He looks away, but you don’t miss the flare of crimson on his cheeks. You make your way to the counter, showing a frazzled employee that receipt.
“Excuse me,” you say loudly. “My boyfriend asked for no pickles.” Scaramouche hides behind your figure – or, more accurately, uses your body as a shield. You’re sure his hat has its own hitbox.
She reads it carefully. “Ma’am, have you checked the bag?”
“Excuse me?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, making your figure look more intimidating. “Would I have come here if I didn’t? What if my boyfriend is allergic to pickles?” You’re building up steam quickly. The boyfriend in question turns a furious red, finding a fascinating wad of chewed-up gum on the floor to stare at. “He could have died. I could be suing you, y’know? That would look like a completely different conversation. You want me to take it there?”
The employee holds her hand up placatingly. “Ma’am, I’m sure we can settle this without going to court. Can I please check the meal you were served?”
You tilt your chin up, looking at her down your nose. “Sure,” you sneer. “Be quick about it.” Scaramouche opens his mouth, but seems to think better of saying anything. Not when there’s steam practically coming out of your ears.
She opens the boxes, inspecting the filling. She looks back at you, biting her lip. You’re already studying her name badge, ready to report her to the manager, but then she turns the boxes around, taking off the sesame bun.
There is one with a large bite in it, containing pickles. There is one without a large bite in it… with no pickles. Your mouth gapes open, staring at the irrefutable evidence. Scaramouche peeks over your shoulders, then doubles over, head in his hands.
“Um, so…” The employee wrings her hands. “We can’t refund you. I’m really sorry.” You continue to stare, eyes wide, even as you’re holding up the line. Someone snickers.
You’re completely caught between saying “thank you” and admitting defeat, or doubling down and insisting “I would like to speak to your manager.” Instead, you open and close your mouth, like a lobotomised goldfish, and stutter out, “I would like to thank your manager!”
Scaramouche facepalms so hard, the impact is audible. The employee looks shocked, then remembers to plaster on a polite customer-service smile, no doubt concerned about what the fuck is going on with the socially-challenged patron in front of her. “Thank you. I… uh… I am the manager, so I suppose… if you really wanted to express your gratitude, you could fill out a review?” She hands you a QR code. “Not that I’m pressuring you, of course! But it would really help sales, and future service… and—oh. I got carried away. Please scan the QR code! If you want!”
The world is moving sluggishly, as if suspended in syrup. You scan the code the quivering manager shows you, noting the name on her tag, and fill out the form. Scaramouche stands at the exit, hat pulled low over his face. The manager beams at you once you’ve completed it.
“Thank you! It’s been a pleasure to serve you at Wanmin’s!” You speedwalk out of there, running to the car. Scaramouche follows closely behind. You pull out of the parking lot so fast your wheels screech on the tarmac, driving in complete silence until you end up at your apartment block. You put your head in your hands and groan.
“We can never go back there.” You sigh. “Do they inform other local branches about weird customers?”
Scaramouche presses his lips together. “Um… do you want to find out?” You groan again, aggrieved.
“Let’s just learn to cook,” you beg. “We can make, like… pasta.” It’s the only dish you can make, that’s for sure.
“Yeah, uh, we can, I guess. Should we get groceries?” You nod miserably. You could use that burger right now. You pat your thighs, then check around your seat. You even lean over and check Scaramouche. “Wait, where are—” A memory flashes in your mind: one where you peel out of the fast-food place after getting your ass handed to you. You almost start crying. Scaramouche scratches the back of his head.
“I mean… there’s always cereal.” Holding back tears, you nod. At least your boyfriend has some goddamn sense.
“Yeah, there is.”
“Good. Because, frankly, I need to cool off.” The statement sounds weird to you, but you brush it off in favour of your rumbling stomach and shattered ego. If only you knew the minefield of ammunition you’d just walked past.
Hello, my name sooad Muhammad, I am a 61-year-old mother and former school teacher from Gaza💔
After the army entered the city, we went out to Rafah under the attack of planes and missiles.And the bullets that spare no one, we lived in torn tents that did not protect from the heat, the cold, or the rain. All the words in the world cannot describe what we have lived through. All I want is for you to look at me and my family with a merciful heart and help me.
Before October 7th, I lived a humble life, dedicated to teaching and raising my children. But everything changed. Since that day, my family and I have been living in unimaginable conditions—without electricity, without clean water, without safety.
Our home was destroyed, and we now sleep in a torn tent, exposed to the freezing cold. My children cry from hunger and fear. The markets are empty or unaffordable. Bread is now a luxury—I knead pasta just to make something to fill their stomachs
Please open your heart and stand with us in this time of despair.
We are not asking for much—just a chance to survive. A blanket for the cold. A piece of bread. A roof that does not leak. A moment of peace for my children
I am humbly asking for your help. Your donation, no matter how small, can give us warmth, food, and hope. It can help us survive these dark days and rebuild a life with dignity.
Your support means the world to me and my family.
Please donate 🙏
All the destruction that you see, we live every day a hundred times, and we live hunger, death, and a life that has no taste of life
Hello, serious post here. There is political turmoil and uproar worldwide, but we cannot forget Palestine, where there is still an active genocide that is brutally killing people, and displacing others. Please continue to keep them in your hearts, donate if possible, and spread the word.
Please ensure to donate to Sooad, who has children depending on her for food and shelter. Thank you if you've read all the way through, we just need as many donations as possible.
