Yakshi, born 2005. She/her. Trimming the hedgerows of the ever-sprawling πππ―π‘π’π« π¬π£ ππ₯π¬π―π«π°. 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
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 whatβs going to happen the second he walks through the door. Heβs 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.
βHey, baby.β He buries his face in your neck, and you know that youβre leaving this room, matching his limp.
Minutes. Thatβs 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 heβs breathed in months. βFuck, I missed youβ¦β
βItβs only been a couple hours, Ajax,β you laugh, flicking his forehead.
βThat sounds like the point Iβm trying to make,β he grumbles, swatting your hand away. In one fluid motion, he yanks your panties off. βCouldnβt stop thinking about eating you out.β
His pupils are so dilated, theyβre 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. βYou smellΒ divine. I could gobble you up and leave nothing behind.β His fingers trace down your slit, and he licks off your desire as his eyelids flutter.
βCanβt hold back anymore,β he pants, hot breath washing over your cunt. βNeed to devour you, pretty.β He dives in like heβs 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 doesnβt even stop him: he holds you down and makes youΒ take it.
βFeisty today. Iβve always liked that,β he purrs. βTakinβ it so well, girlie. I might ask forΒ even more.β Your hole greedily swallow the pads of his fingers, even though the rest of your body is hurtling towards an end you canβt prevent.Β
βAjaxβ¦β
He hums, busy treating your clit like a piece of candy. βHmmm?β
βGonna cumβ¦β He makes a sound halfway between a moan and a growl. He repositions, but you notice, even through your blissed-out daze β heβs 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.
βDidβ¦ did you hear me, mβgonnaββ He gives you a timely kiss to your swollen nub, all teeth and tongue, and you squeal as youβre 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 youβve had to date. You spray all over his face, and you feel the release he canβt 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. βAnother round, sweetie?β 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 heβs 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, heβs a little bit anxious and trying to mask it by pacing himself through it. He looks like he knows what heβs doing, but especially if itβs the first time, or if you both havenβt seen each other in a while, his hands shake when he goes to open the lube. Heβs hiding it in the blanket and talking you through it lmaooo
I think if you cracked a good joke, heβd laugh and be surprised he had it in himself, but heβd try to get back to business as soon as possible
If you manage to break open his shell after a fewΒ years, he might even joke back!
HairΒ (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 aΒ thick happy trail to match. Seriously, when he takes off his shirt itβs a religious experience
He doesnβt remove it unless you want him to. I donβt think it makes it onto his list of priorities. Heβs also constantly covered up inΒ multiple layers, so itβs not like thereβs a chance of anyone except you getting a scandalous peek
He trims for health reasons - he doesnβt like to get too messy, but once you two are a regular thing, heβll put a lot more effort into maintaining it, or shaving it off if you want that. I donβt think heβs a waxer
Itβs soft! It feels amazing to grind against, and itβs 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, heβs 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 youβre having a relaxed night at home, heβs cuddling with you by the fireplace, listening intently as you talk to him about whatever you want
Big emphasis on kissing and eye contact. Iβve mentioned it before, he just wants to make sure youβre absolutely comfortable to do this
He checks in with you regularly too. Heβs such a sweetie, heβs scared that heβll miss any potential cues because he knows heβs not the most socially gifted. Heβs 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 heβsΒ 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 heβs thinking βArchons, I hate myselfβ. He wishes he could take a cold plunge instead because he feels so sweaty and thereβs 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 donβt think itβs the money shot that does it for Diluc β more the complete intimacy of both of you sharing an orgasm, entwined together. Also part of his second (biggest) kinkβ¦
Breeding. He doesnβt 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 donβt 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 youβre 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. Heβs definitely more generous with you than the Knights of Favonius. βYouβre doing so wellβ when you take him down to the hilt, βso pretty for meβ when you squeeze around him
Scent kink. He knows your scent like the back of his hand. When youβre intimate, he prefers you to not use perfumes so he can be surrounded by you. Plus, it calms him β it reminds him of nights cuddling up to you, and that safe feeling he gets when he watches your chest rise and fall
I thinkΒ mild somnophilia? He likes watching you sleep, and he wouldnβt mind if you poke him awake for sex. Or if you woke him up by grinding on him and being needy. Heβs going to complain, because Mr. Ragnvindr has a reputation to maintain, but he likes the fact that you need himΒ way too much, so heβll still hold your hips as he grumbles about your endless appetite
If you call him some kind ofΒ nickname during sex, he eats it up. Heβd want to die if you called him that anywhere else, but when youβre crying out, completely incoherent, he doesnβt really mind. Calling him βhoneyβ or βsweetheartβ during sex has him falling apart in seconds. Itβs kind of comical how heβsΒ so down bad
Asking him for permission to cum does things to him - βplease please let me cumβ as he trails his tongue down your torso whilst fingering you? Absolutely. He doesnβt 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 youβreΒ 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 heβs built for a very long time
Location
Most days heβs firmly a bedroom guy. If youβre a little spicy, you probably start wondering when itβs 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 whatβs been done hangs in the space. Neither of you can shrug it off, you both have to accept it and move forward. Heβs 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 donβt allow for a comfortable sit: youβre 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 heβs ever been with you was when he took you on the bartop at Angelβs 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 couldnβt go hard because the counter was so gummy he couldnβt get leverage. You couldnβt 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, youβd 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!)
βYou need to learn to take a hint.β
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. Whatβs more, they often concede to his ostensibly superior intellect, adding his points to the syllabus. Every Akademiya studentβs Enemy Number One.
βWhat?β Itβs more abrasive than the tone he used with you, for sure. The smirk on his face tells you that he doesnβt mind.Β
βHe wanted you to continue debating with him.β
Heβs probably a trust fund type. He wouldnβt know anything about the horrors you had to endure to claw your way here. You roll your eyes. βLike Iβd take advice from some intractable smartass.βΒ
He looks even more smug now.
βWell, sweetheart. Since weβre being obtuse today, it looks like Iβll need to spell it out.β He takes your wrist in his hand harshly. βYour place or mine?β
Oh, how youΒ hateΒ 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 youβre being an ingrate, heβll spank you. Thatβs how this usually works.
βDoΒ better, mutt,β you growl, yanking his hair and pushing his face into your pussy.
βAwfully mouthy for a slut whoβs fucking drooling for me,β he bites back. βHuh, maybe I should use you like a fleshlight? Bounce you up and down on my dick until you remember how nice Iβm being right now?β
HeΒ 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.Β What are you going to do about it?
You arch your back, thighs tightening around his head.
Even locked into position, he doesnβt 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 beΒ so liable. Barred from all academic institutions for choking a man with your thighs. Hesitating, you loosen your hold on him.
βFuck no.β 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. βMost things donβt kill me, yβknow.β
You smirk. βWhat are you, a fucktoy?β A harsh smack against your mound jolts you.
βChoke me,β he seethes. So you do.
You force your thighs together until you canβt feel any air at all: just the hard edges of his nose and cheekbones, the crag of his Adamβs 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 heβll die if he lets go, tonguing your slit so viciously you donβt know what youβre 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. Heβs not getting any air β 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. Heβsβ¦ not moving. Youβre never getting eaten out again.
Before you can call someone for help, he emerges from underneath you, hands parting your thighs effortlessly. βI think that was satisfactory, hm?β He smirks, thumb flicking your abused folds.
βItβs high time I show you what Iβm capable of.β
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.
Thisβ¦ this is part one. For one character. I'm not saying anything elseβ¦
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. Itβs a chance to get to show you all the things he struggles to say, like βI love youβ. If you break the ice and whisper to him βyou did so wellβ or (again) βI love youβ, he shudders and buries his face in the crook between your neck and shoulder to hide his red face
He doesnβt talk after sex. Heβs high off the oxytocin and kind of sleepy, but he likes to cuddle up with you. He also canβt hide the soft look on his face when he gazes at you. You could be grumbling, or knocked out, or chatting to him, and heβll stare at you with this awfully fond look on his face that makes your heart (and maybe something elseβ¦) 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 youβve 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 βwhen the fuck did I agree to thisβ¦?β 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 tooβ¦
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 youβre 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 - heβll start wondering if heβs going insane
Your face. He likes to watch as you cum, and he does check-ins to see your expression to gauge if youβre enjoying what heβs 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 heβs 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 heβs with a long-term partner he wonβt masturbate as often
It tastes bitter, slightly salty, but itβs not unpleasant
He tastes quite musky as well in a way thatβs unique to him
He cums aΒ lot because he refrains from jacking it as much as possible. If you let him cum inside, youβre going to be dripping for a few days
Likes to cum on your lower stomach, if not inside you. Itβs 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 doesnβt like the way alcohol feels in his mouth, but he thinks you could change that
When heβs alone, or really pussy/cock-drunk, he thinks about pouring Dawn Wineryβs 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. Canβt look you in the eye for a good three days after. If youβre wondering why heβs being cold to you out of the blueβ¦ congrats, you have your answer
Experience
Not a lot!
Sinceβ¦ well, the Incident after he just turned eighteen, he always regarded relationships with other people as a frivolity he couldnβt entertain. He doesnβt 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. Heβd 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 donβt think heβs entirely clueless. Being a single wine tycoon (and a hot bartender on occasion) heβs very much an eligible bachelor. Heβs had friends set him up on blind dates that didnβt turn out well, and more than his fair share of hammered patrons trying to make a pass at him, which he firmly refuses. Maybe heβs had sex once or twice in a relationship thatβs lasted a few months - I donβt 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 donβt think any experience he does have, has actually worked out for him long-term. Heβs in his head far too much to sustain one, which frustrates a lot of potential partnersβ¦ 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 isΒ 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, heβs 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 canβt watch your face contort for him. Same with positions with you on your front - heβll do them rarely, but he much prefers the top two
During some one-on-one βbonding timeβ, you end up choking him with your thighs by accidentβ¦ 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!)
Itβs rare that he takes his time with you.
Lohenβs 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 β only interesting insofar as his capability to destroy you.
But instead of being warped and destined for discardment, youβre being made anew. With every languid lap at your syrupy core, every soft suck at your engorged clit: whatever you were meant for, it doesnβt matter. You canβt even remember it.
βHah, look at this pretty holeβ¦β he coos. βOh, she just clenched now! Do you like that?β You sob as the pad of his thumb grinds into the spot youΒ know heβll ravage. Pure, simple conditioning β and if you havenβt learnt by now, heβs going to pound it into you.
You swear his smile just gets wider. If itβs possible at all.
βLeaking on my hand, too? Arenβt you abusing your power today, doll? Acting like a slut, because you know that batting your eyes at me will get youΒ whatever you wantβ¦β His tone darkens, and his expression drops. Youβre gonna get it now β the price of what you went asking for.
βYou think my patience lasts forever?β he spits. His breath is so warm against your pulsing cunt, and so close that you can only whimper. βYou think you get toβfuck, you think you can try me all day, just sitting there looking like a five-star meal?Β You were made to be mine. You hear?β You nod helplessly, gasping as his grip on your hips gets tighter. Youβre going to end up bruised, fingerprints marking you out as his and lasting for weeks. You always do.
Β Itβs how he likes you best: brought to the basest version of yourself, all teeth marks, scratches and throbbing, aching need that canβt be satisfied without him.
He tilts his head to the side, watching your pathetic show of pleading for him. Heβs not convinced at all, but that works out perfectly. Heβll discipline you, push you over the edge and watch you topple. Then, heβll pull you back by the collar and do it again. Over, and over, and over, until his hunger is completely sated. βTime to teach this pretty pussy a lesson.β
He takes away his hand, and you screw your eyes shut, bracing before you know what heβs about to do. You hear the impact before you really feel it β a wet, squelchingΒ slap! that echoes off the walls, a true testament to how soaked heβs 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.
Youβre 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 β he jerks at the impact to his shoulder, and keeps a silent tally.
But he canβt be mad at you. Not really, when youβre 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 isnβt whited-out in bliss anymore, you feel his cheeks against your inner thighs. Your knees are locked behind his head, and heβs 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.
βYou have some nerve, Iβll give you that. Felt like I was fighting against your thighs and losing.β 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 ficβ¦) 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 youβre 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 β and this is hardly ever uttered to his darling devotee β 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 youβre 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 doesnβt 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 thrustingβ¦ it drives him insane. Likes playing with your nipples while heβs rutting in, and when heβs 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?
Heβs never been the forthright, sure type, preferring to plan his next move out in equanimity. However, heβs 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 heβs 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. Heβs as calculated with his words as ever, sparing but a curt, βGood. If you could please make a start on preparing the other medicines?β 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. βI would hate to see such a lovely shade marred by the heat of the fire.β Could that beβ¦ flirtatious?
Sometimes, he gazes at you, content to watch the focused expression on your face. Youβre beautiful, in the most terrible way; even the banality of you doing your daily tasks makes something wretchedΒ 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, isnβt definitive enough to conclude anything. But then, he catches it β the faintest rustle of your skirt. Are youβ¦Β pressing your thighs together?
Oh, heΒ 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 canβt go out in this weather β Baizhu wouldnβt allow it β 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.
βThis should help to alleviate any cold symptoms, and boost your immune system.β You peer into the cup he hands you, containing ginger stewed in honey. You try to mask your surprise as he clears his throat. βYou tend to shiver when you work next to the windows, and your iron levels are quite low.β Youβre surprised by the extent of his care, then your face warms when you realise that heβs been watching you.
βYouβ¦ you are quite observant,β 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.
βNot all attention is good attention, dear.β That, too: the start of him calling you these pet names. You canβt say you hate it, but you also canβt say that youβd much prefer it if it didnβt make your clit pulse. He watches the conflict on your face, and though heβs 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.
βSome attentionβ¦ it can be dangerous.Β So promise me that youβll be careful with how you wield it.β His hand is broad, warmth spreading into your skin, and heβs drawing circles with his thumb right above the inside of your knee. Almost like heβs completely unaware of how even that simple movement makes you drool all over your slit.
βWield?β you murmur. βLikeβ¦ a weapon?β 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 theyβre swollen and kiss-bitten, wants those pretty lips to moan around his name like itβs a lifeline. And somehow, youΒ notice. How his gaze turns dreamy yet focused, and you respond to it.
βThe most powerful weapon you have.β His eyes drag back up to meet yours. Heβs 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. Youβre going to chalk it up to general weirdness and sit this one out. Butβ¦ is he going toΒ 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.
βOh,Β Lohen!β You groan, aggrieved, as you pick up your favourite hoodie β now shredded into ribbons. You donβt 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. βMistress?β You hold up the offending clothing, as he scratches behind a floppy ear. βYouβre back!β
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. βMistress was late today. By two hours, and seventeen minutes.β
Sighing, you wonder how you got into the position of your beloved hybrid managing your work hours. βSorry, baby. I had overtime.β He hums, totally unconvinced, before he jumps to his feet and sprints off. Where he gets the energy, you have no idea.
βNever mind. Wait until you see your gift!β 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, heβs 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 donβt even want to think about the state of them.
Lohen springs back into the living room, absolutely giddy. βLook, look! It was honestly pretty fast, but I managed to chase it downΒ even faster. I kinda felt like it was pointless, because it wasnβt even a challenge, but youβre Mistress, and you could use it more than me, so I tracked it down anyway!β Heβs holding one of his shirts, thankfully, bundled up around something. Itβs 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. βTa-da!β 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 youβre sick of it. Youβve 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 withΒ that.
That, being your sweet lop-eared companion, who lately has taken to blowing up your phone, with photos of hisΒ gifts.
He doesnβt seem to understand why you donβt like them. Equally, you cannot wrap your head around the fact that your lovely rabbit, whoβs 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 youβve started barricading yourself in. Leaves that he says are the same green as your veins β still rather creepy, but youβll take it over his re-enactment of The Purge β apples with a good crunch to them, that leak juice all over your fingers. Once or twice, he even returns your clothes. Theyβre drenched, but heβs 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.
Itβs 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 wouldβve accosted you by now, which is how you know you wonβt 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.
Β Immediately, you forget all animosity. βLohen!β You run into the living room. Archons forbid anything happens to him, youβll regret it all your life. βLohen, are you OKββ
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 heβs trying to drive his cock home, like heβs 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.
Youβve 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 thatβs all teeth.
βMistress,β he purrs, letting his cock drag slowly over the skirt heβs fisting. βYou finally accepted.β
βAccepted? What are you talking about?β The laugh he gives is almost drunk as he lazily thrusts into the black fabric. Youβre having a hard time keeping your eyes on his face, when his whole body is out for show.
βWellβ¦ now that youβve taken my gifts, why donβt you come sit here, Mistress? Youβve neglected me forΒ so long.β He sinks his teeth into his plush bottom lip, as he lunges meanly into the skirt. βOr, since weβre promised to each other, maybe I can just take what I want.β
You park your ass down promptly, watching Lohenβs tail twitch as he gasps suddenly, spilling into your skirt. You gape as he turns to you, cock still bobbing around his navel.
βLohen, you lookβ¦β
βSore?β he supplies. βAchy? Needy? Tiredβ¦β he leans forward, βof yourΒ shit?β 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.
βNow that youβre where you belong,β he whispers, βI want you to tell me why youβve been avoiding me during my heat.β Your eyes widen as you look around the room β anywhere but his flushed face.
βIβLohen. I had no clueβ¦β He laughs bitterly as he lets you go, patting your cheek.
βOfΒ course not. Silly human. After all I did to protect you, it ends with you abandoning me when I need it most.β He leans into your shoulder. βBut itβs fine. I can forgive you.β
βForgiveβ¦ me?β
βYes, pretty thing, I can.β His palm trails down, gently cupping your breast. βBecause I can smell the slick leaking out of that cute fucking cunt, and itβsΒ intoxicating.β He bites at your neck as you suppress a moan. βYouβve been neglecting her as much as youβve been neglecting me. I bet she has so much to say about it.β He smirks as he tugs your collar, exposing more of your throat to the sharp teeth in his maw. βCome on, Mistress. Let me show her some love. Please?β
Itβs 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. βJ-just donβt go overboard,β you mutter weakly. He throws his head back, laughter ringing into the room as he yanks off the thin barrier of your panties.
βYou know Iβm not stopping until your cunt is full, right?β He notches his cock right against your hole, threatening to push in. You gaze up, eyes doe-eyed and shocked. βNoβ¦ youβre not leaving until your tummy is swollen with our kits, pretty. And even then, if I need to use your hole, Iβll fuck into it until youβreΒ crying.β The head of his dick, a sore pink, frots filthily against the mess of your gooey slit, and now youβre keening, a thread away from your pussy being bred until the mess gushes out. Heβs grinning, nothing but feral as his pace gets more frantic, making you feel the friction against your clit.
βYeah,Β good girl, buck those hips into me. Losing your mind, and Iβm not even inside yet.β His teeth drag slowly at your earlobe. βThatβs how I know youβre gonna be a perfect bitch.β He angles his cock inside and sheathes himselfΒ all in one thrust. You scream, pussy milking him so hard he snarls.
βGonna be my pretty mate, forever and ever. And then, youβreΒ never fucking leaving me.β
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 βrapeβ, 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 β any fucking place β 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.
βAh, you bit so soon?β 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.
βYou see, this place has a strange way of sucking people in,β she explains. βIt's captivating. For all that I complain about it.β Her gaze turns distant as she stares at the rose bush. βThe princess comes back, the king makes his decreesβ¦ it's almost like the axe never even nicked them.β Her eyes gleam. "Shame."
She turns to you, still holding the apple in your weak hand. βAs you walk around, taking in the scenery, consuming the fruits of this place's immense toil to existβ¦ 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.β Her grin widens, antithetical to that prospect, and you shudder. Looks like you're stuck here for goodβ¦
"Uhβ¦ the garden was planted in 2005," the gardener begins. βBut really, it was bought then. Some kind of legal jargon I don't understand. The only thing new is the roses.β She points to a healthy plot of rose bushes.
βWhole place used to belong to some batshit woman,β she mutters. βThis place is fucking haunted.β She continues to trim the bushes, the weight of the pliers looking far too comfortable in her hand. It's then that you realise β however much she cuts, the stray edges don't become any shorter. In factβ¦ the blades phase through.
βAnyway, my name's Yakshi. I've been working here for about a year. Doesn't pay, but fuck if I'm not stuck here.β 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.
βRoses bushes are growing nicely.β She smiles, but you can't read her expression. βMust be that new fertiliser. Hey, you. Why don't you go check on them for me?β
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 gameβ¦ youβd think he were a ghost if not for how much heΒ complains.
Yes, he has no issues chewing you out when he thinks his coffee is too sweet β 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.
Youβre 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.
βHow much longer, Iβve had to lose to this thing six times already.β Itβs not a question, so you donβt answer, patiently explaining into the mic that no, you donβt 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 arenβt any pickles in the milkshake.
After what feels like an age, you pay for the food and pull off as fast as you can.
βIβm fucking tired.β
You sigh. βI know, Scara.β
βMy stomach is killing me.β
You sigh again. βI know, Scara.β
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.
βOh myβoh my God? Are you choking?β His face turns puce, and you gasp, slamming a hand between his shoulderblades whilst trying to keep control of the steering wheel. βIβll get you to the emergency department, hold on!β
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.
βPicklesβ¦β Right. That.
βThey put pickles in your sandwich? Again?β 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 thatβs had pickles on it because he can still smell the vinegar, even after dousing it in detergent. Life works in strange ways. Maybe itβs his karmic debt for being an asshole.
βYou can put them in my sandwichββ Predictably, he shakes his head, not that you expected anything different. βCome on. What will you eat? We donβt have any groceries, eitherβ¦β
βItβsβ¦ itβs fine. Iβve lost my appetite from that awful experience.β He clears his throat, trying to reassemble the scraps of his dignity into something shapely. Which doesnβt work. You have too much dirt on him to respect his supercilious act.
βDinnerβs gonna be late tonight,β you remind him. βWe have to go unpack, remember?β He crosses his arms, glaring at the glovebox.
βIβll be fine. Iβve done worse.β 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. βAre you crazy?β he hisses. βYou couldβve crashed!β You donβt reply, speeding right into the car park of the fast food restaurant. Now his eyes are bulging out of his head. βWaitββ
You exit the car, offending bag of food in hand, and he unbuckles his seatbelt. βWait! Itβs fine, I can put up with it!β he yells. You ignore him (somewhat of a recurrent theme for you), opening the glass door, forcing him to run after you.
βCome on, donβt embarrass meβ¦β You stop cold in your tracks, turning to him.
βDid we specify no pickles?β Your tone is authoritative and calm: heβs never heard you like this before.
βYes, butββ You show him the receipt, βNO PICKLESβ written in bold. He closes his gaping mouth. βWell, if you really want to do something stupid like this, Iβm not going to stop you.β He looks away, but you donβt miss the flare of crimson on his cheeks. You make your way to the counter, showing a frazzled employee that receipt.
βExcuse me,β you say loudly. βMy boyfriend asked for no pickles.β Scaramouche hides behind your figure β or, more accurately, uses your body as a shield. Youβre sure his hat has its own hitbox.
She reads it carefully. βMaβam, have you checked the bag?β
βExcuse me?β You cross your arms in front of your chest, making your figure look more intimidating. βWould I have come here if I didnβt? What if my boyfriend is allergic to pickles?β Youβre 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. βHe could have died. I could be suing you, yβknow? That would look like a completely different conversation. You want me to take it there?β
The employee holds her hand up placatingly. βMaβam, Iβm sure we can settle this without going to court. Can I please check the meal you were served?β
You tilt your chin up, looking at her down your nose. βSure,β you sneer. βBe quick about it.β Scaramouche opens his mouth, but seems to think better of saying anything. Not when thereβs steam practically coming out of your ears.
She opens the boxes, inspecting the filling. She looks back at you, biting her lip. Youβre 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.
βUm, soβ¦β The employee wrings her hands. βWe canβt refund you. Iβm really sorry.β You continue to stare, eyes wide, even as youβre holding up the line. Someone snickers.
Youβre completely caught between saying βthank youβ and admitting defeat, or doubling down and insisting βI would like to speak to your manager.β Instead, you open and close your mouth, like a lobotomised goldfish, and stutter out, βI would like to thank your manager!β
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. βThank you. Iβ¦ uhβ¦ IΒ am the manager, so I supposeβ¦ if you really wanted to express your gratitude, you could fill out a review?β She hands you a QR code. βNot that Iβm pressuring you, of course! But it would really help sales, and future serviceβ¦ andβoh. I got carried away. Please scan the QR code! If you want!β
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 youβve completed it.
βThank you! Itβs been a pleasure to serve you at Wanminβs!β 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.
βWe canΒ never go back there.β You sigh. βDo they inform other local branches about weird customers?β
Scaramouche presses his lips together. βUmβ¦ do you want to find out?β You groan again, aggrieved.
βLetβs just learn to cook,β you beg. βWe can make, likeβ¦ pasta.β Itβs the only dish you can make, thatβs for sure.
βYeah, uh, we can, I guess. Should we get groceries?β 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. βWait, where areββ 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.
βI meanβ¦ thereβs always cereal.β Holding back tears, you nod. At least your boyfriend has some goddamn sense.
βYeah, there is.β
βGood. Because, frankly, I need to cool off.β 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 youβd just walked past.
Vetted by gaza-vetters number in the list β 365β
Hello, my name sooad Muhammad, I am a 61-year-old mother and former school teacher from Gazaπ
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 conditionsβwithout 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 luxuryβI 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 muchβjust 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 π
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.
Or: you're going through one of the most stressful points in your cycle, and your favourite men are here to help out. With Ayato, Baizhu, Tartaglia and fem!reader.
TW: mentions of pregnancy, sexually explicit
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Ayato
Is cooped up in his office when you approach him, holding together what little of your sanity remains. He doesnβt look up from his papers. "Is something wrong, dear?" he asks absently whilst flipping through paperwork. He hasΒ no clue that something is wrong. Heβs sitting on a bomb thatβs going to blow up in his face.
You push his files and binders aside, sitting on the table and planting your feet on either side of his thighs. βDo you know what time it is?β you hiss with venom. He blinks away the flash of surprise on his face, cataloguing your presence and whatβs changed. Messy hair, eyes glazed overβ¦ ah. Your figure has filled out a little more, particularly at your breasts and stomach, and your chest is heaving. Youβre clutching at the table so hard, your nails could split the lacquer. Itβs obvious thereβs only one thing on your mind, as your gaze lands at the seam of his trousers. He finds it cute to see you so desperate, when he hasnβt even done anything. Itβs far more adorable to know that itβs because he doesnβt have to.
βAhβ¦ so thatβs why you came to disturb my work. I was in the middle of something very important, you know?β He smiles teasingly, even as he leans in, catching your scent. Sweeter, muskier. He doesnβt know how he could miss such a thing.
You grab him by the collar. βTheΒ onlyΒ job you have, as the clan head, is to provide the family with anΒ heir.β With that crazed look on your face, the heat radiating from your face into his skin, he canβt possibly refuse his sweet wife.
βAn heir, you say?β He stands up, lifting you into a bridal carry. You squeak at the sudden change in position. βWell, my dearβ¦ if youβre so insistent on performing your duty, Iβll just assume you are prepared to be put to work for the next day or two.β
Baizhu
He already tracks your cycle religiously, with a calendar you both keep in your room. That morning, when youβre late to get up, he already knows why. Heβs pressing a cup of tea into your hands and making you soup to settle your stomach, already giving you a lecture. βIt is extremely important to hydrate well,β he drones as he hands you a bowl and a handful of dates. βYouβre also low on iron.β You roll your eyes as you eat, more focused on the sliver of his stomach shown by his tight-fitting outfit.
βIβve been noticing how youβve been complaining less of mittelschmerz,β he remarks. βYou present with fewer instances, and of each instance, you report a decreased severity of pain.β He chuckles indulgently as you squirm. βHowever, I do think we should go for another round, just to make sure.β
Tartaglia
No hide nor hair of you has been seen for three days now. Itβs starting to worry your clingy boyfriend. He regrets all the times heβs gone on missions for longer. How lonely you must have been during those timesβ¦ A taste of his own medicine shouldnβt hurt him, he supposes.
He asks around, but everyone gives the same response. βSheβll come around. Just leave her be,β they shrug. The very thought of leaving you alone when you could be depressed, or scared out of your mind, or archons forbid,Β hurtβ¦ It leaves an acrid taste at the back of his tongue. His skin crawls, until he canβt stand it anymore and turns up at your door. You answer, rubbing your bleary, red eyes, standing in your pajamas. Instead of your food delivery, in front of you stands your boyfriend, arms crossed.
βYou didnβt talk to me forΒ three days.β He frog-marches you into your living room, setting you down on the couch. βYou know how worried I was? I was going to put posters all over Snezhnaya, ask for the Tsaritsa to put the country on lockdownβ¦β He notices you guarding your stomach, brows furrowed. βWhat happened, sweetheart?β
You explain what it is: youβre ovulating, and it hurts. You feel on-edge all the time. Everything you eat makes you feel sick. He listens to it all, brow furrowed. βIβll clear up some of this. You should go and rest up. Iβll be back soon, OK?βΒ
True to his word, heβs back within minutes. You watch him, forearm muscles flexing as he does chores, and something flickers at the base of your gut. He pads into your bedroom, voice soft.
βHey, sweetheart. Iβveββ You cut him off with a hungry kiss, sucking his tongue, and your eyes press shut, moaning. This is exactly what you need. He kisses back hard, letting a hand wander down your front until it rests over the swell of your lower belly. He pauses, then tugs off your trousers. βYou know, I know of a way to get rid of these cramps. All I have to do is touch youΒ right hereββ he thumbs at your clit over your panties β βand theyβll be all gone.β He gives you a rakish grin. βHow about it, sugar?β
You read the plaque, scoffing. This place, with its crumbling brick strangled by ivy, is slowly wearing at your nerves. Your eyes follow the full inscription down. Clearly, some poor sod took too much time writing all of this.
NO MINORS. Turn back immediately. All my blogs are strictly DNI for you all, no interacting, no nothing. Scroll past. Same goes for ageless blogs. Age in bio, please.
No LGBTQ+ phobia, including TERFs.
No pro-Trump, Zionists, Nazis or right-wingers here.
No racists.
No sexists.
If interacting, please be clear, and be polite, so I don't mistake you.
Failure to act within these boundaries will have you blocked.
Rolling your eyes, you follow it down. Something pale glints under the shadows of the bushes, buried under the dark rot of the earth. Intrigued, you follow it as far as you possibly can without getting pricked, loosening clods of soil off with your shoe.
A smiling face stares back at you, hollowed-out. Its eyes are dull and lifeless, but its lips are painted rouge. Like it was alive until yesterday. Like the wiring is still intact.
You jump back, unnerved to the core. Just what the hell is this place? As you tremble and sweat, mind racing with questions, you feel it instinctively, in every hair that raises on your skin. You are being watched.
