✦ summary : hsr valentine's special! how your faves would go about spoiling you this holiday.
✦ content warnings : none, a lot of fluff. find your love language, and see which characters would do the best at giving you it! — part two 'what are their love languages' coming march 14th
WORDS OF AFFIRMATION
They've always held you in high regard. Their partner is wonderful in so many ways words alone can't explain. But they'll find a way to worship you with them anyways. A coy smile on their face or a heartfelt expression is what you'll see as they shower you with compliments and minute things you didn't know they kept track of.
ft. jade, anaxa, CIPHER, feixiao, WELT, sparkle, SUNDAY
PHYSICAL TOUCH
You thought they were physical before? Oh you haven't seen anything yet. Valentine's morning, and they'll have a hard time letting you go. Your Valentine's with them is filled with cuddles, holding and kissing at every moment. They've given you their heart, and they can only hope to be closer to yours.
ft. topaz, BOOTHILL, constance, FIREFLY, guinaifen, MYDEI, kafka, ARGENTI
GIVING GIFTS
That odd device you mentioned a month ago? Merch of characters you told them you liked? They'll find a way to get you it. And don't get them wrong, their presents are passionate. Handmade crafts, considerate keepsakes. They'll either surprise you by sheer quantity or quality. Each gift is a fraction of their heart.
ft. ruan mei, AVENTURINE, phainon, CYRENE, serval, sampo, DAN HENG
ACTS OF SERVICE
They spend the whole day doting on you. Like it's their life's purpose to make sure you're not stressed, hungry or unsatisfied. They'll make you breakfast, massage your neck, get you your favorite drink. There's no uncertainty that you'll be able to feel how much they care. This day is all about you, and they're determined to show how infallible their love is.
ft. veritas ratio, HIMEKO, jiaoqiu, MOZE, gallagher, ROBIN
QUALITY TIME
They wish they could have all the time in the world to stay right by your side. Forever is a thing that's hard to imagine. But they don't have to worry about that as long as you wake up and go to sleep together. Whatever date night they planned ends up soothing their heart because you're there with them, busy schedules aside, they'll make dedicated time for you
ft. ACHERON, aglaea, CASTORICE, march 7th, JING YUAN, blade
no matter what, your faves love you in just the right way you need.
Genre: Fluff, crack
Characters: Multiple x gn!reader (platonic, but you can view it as romantic if you want...somehow)
Warnings: mild cussing, may be ooc
[masterlist] [about me]
☆ content/warnings: arlecchino - bondage, blindfolding, blood kink, pulse kink, body worship; aglaea - strip tease, masturbation, thread play, thigh riding; feixiao - vaginal sex, biting, oral sex (reader rec), multiple orgasms/rounds; mavuika - vaginal sex, body paint; navia - semi-public sex, quickie, oral sex (navia rec); nefer - pet play (one sided/internal), thigh riding, bondage, masturbation; all - sugar mommy (character)/sugar baby (reader) | read at your own discretion
☆ notes: HAPPY NEW YEAR!! 🥳 Since Suga Mama by Beyoncé took over my listening this year, I couldn't resist writing this with some of the genshin & hsr girlies I think could fit that dynamic ;). I hope you enjoy! Have fun and stay safe <3
☆ Read it on ao3!
arlecchino
"I know just what I'm doing, don't you worry it's cool; and everything is steady, got you on my taxes already."
It was only a matter of time before this… crude yet promising agreement bore fruit. Before you finally loved and embraced the silk of her web. You were never going to just warm her bed, no. Of course you would be splayed across her sheets, a ring of garnet and silver on your finger. Her black and grey tie resting over your eyes, tied securely around your head. Intense warmth cradled your hands together above it, her flame licking the rushing blood beneath. She could feel its thrum in her very bones, breath heavy despite the fleetingness of her touch.
Arlecchino adored the small jumps and quiet gasps each fickle fingertip left behind. Her mouth began on yours, hands holding your cheeks like nothing but a precious gem. She brought them careful and flat down each half of your neck, flaring out at the base. Her fingers returned up the side of each breast, their warmth potent over your skin’s chill. Her tongue inched along your carotid – its beat only intoxicating. Her strike ended at the shell of your ear, a single flick of the inner curve enough to make you shiver. Her thumbs gave a rough push of your nipples, pushing them aside toward her waiting palms. The mingling of her hot tongue and cool breath between your breasts enough to send your pulse further into Arlecchino’s brain. She simply couldn’t resist leaving a bite in that valley, the spark ignited by scarlet’s reveal enough to guide her mouth right back to you. Her hands shifted, finding a tight grasp on your hips as her head rested on your chest. Moon blessed eyes searched over your shrouded features, observing every twitch of your lip and brow, every swallow and quiver. Her tongue gathered twin streaks of blood, listening intently for your soft whine. She wanted another.
With a gentle suck over your bite, her wish was granted. Your voice came more brazen, hands begging for release. She wouldn’t give it yet. Especially not after precious metal coated her teeth. Its taste was all-encompassing, a rare provider of mindless bliss. Her hands cupped the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs perfectly around her waist. Her thumbs gave reassuring strokes as her lips finally wrapped around your left nipple, giving a gentle then harsh suck. The sensation was poignant, enough to propel your hips forward. The brush of Arlecchino against you prompted a satisfied hum, quickly cut off by the catching of teeth on a pebbled bud.
Her hands guided your calves around her back, one keeping hold while the other finally drifted between your legs. With your patience drawn thin and senses drawn higher, her heated touch gave instant relief. Like lightning to land, her touch was inevitable and electric. It fostered gentle bolts through your veins, Arlecchino’s affection for your chest drawing them to one grand shock.
Her lavish attention continued as you shook, mind elsewhere but body purely alive. She could feel the frantic, unsteady beat of your heart under her tongue. Another bite, flesh pillowed between her teeth. How beautiful you looked, completely lost from her weaving hands.
aglaea
"Whatever I get you putting it on; now, take it off while I watch you perform."
Aglaea’s fingertips caressed your waist, held in the gradient corset she crafted for you. It’s white and gold color shimmered with the setting sun’s glow, haloing your styled hair from behind. Her threads rose to your wrists and cheeks, keeping you on her lap while noting the heat steadily rising in your flesh. The visual was nothing but charming. The kiss that followed, however, was filled with only desire. It stoked the kindling within her chest, but only one fantasy could turn it into a fire tonight.
“Will you dance for me, dearest?”
“Of course. Anything for you, Lae.”
Exactly as she liked it. The sanctity of romance was far too precious from your hands. Her threads followed your movements as you stood, backing up and guiding them forth. They took the lead, showing you what angles their master wished for. A slow tease: a fluffing of your hair, a tight and sliding grip of your neck as your thumb brushed your bottom lip. As you moved your corset loosened, the ribbon falling to the floor faster than any human hand could provide. They wrapped around you from behind, gently pushing the reinforced fabric to the floor. Your palms traveled over your bare breasts, your freed waist and hips, ending in one final dip toward your cunt.
Aglaea’s legs parted, hooking on the sides of her plush armchair. She elegantly brought her dress up, fingers sliding and teasing her folds. At once her threads pushed your breasts forward, the compression furthering your arousal. Their soothing tickle only drove the beat between your legs frantic. Like a warm breath they passed over your nipples, tying into a bow between your breasts. More teased lower, mapping the curve of your hips and the swell of your ass. Some dared to venture deeper, curling around your thighs and leg, seeking some form of touch with your cunt through lace. Insistently they tugged, and you could hear Aglaea huff, no doubt cursing dressing you up in all of this to begin with. Finally they inched under the side of your panties, guiding them slowly down each leg.
You stepped forward as they trailed alongside, bringing Aglaea’s hands from her folds to your hip. Her wetness trailed across the bone, a smile growing on your face. You leaned down to kiss her steady and slow before shifting her hands further, allowing her to squeeze and splay the fat of your ass however she pleased. When her hands got too greedy, you lifted up a leg, fingers slipping under your garter and stocking. With your thumb and pinky out it was easy to guide the strapped fabric down and return it to Aglaea’s waiting palm. After a kiss and a thank you, the other came off.
Aglaea’s threads wasted no time tethering around your legs, bringing you further into her grip and finally grazing against your clit. Her tongue licked boldly between your breasts, moaning as you placed your knee on the chair, thigh lining up perfectly with her desperate cunt. She grinded forward, one leg losing its grip. Quickly she wrapped it around you, nudging you even closer. From this position, her threads had perfect access to every spot that would make you fall apart. Their tickle continued over your clit, their warmth stroked your entrance, and their constant breath over your nipples formed one wonderful fire of sensation.
feixiao
"Just the thought of making love to you; dropping everything, that's what I'll do."
Feixiao is a busy woman – that’s no secret within the Xianzhou. Yet despite her cluttered schedule you are always the priority. Even if you aren’t asking for her constant attention. Hence how you arrived here, in her sweat-laced sheets with her strap relentlessly fucking into you. She kept a firm grasp on your hips, face full of nothing but bliss as she relished in each of your reactions. It was difficult to part her gaze from the bounce of your breasts, but the pleasured look in your eyes proved its worth. This was the third round today, and you were about to practically break with how much she had worn you out. The first was a lunch break, taken advantage of very well. The second was her mouth on you over her desk, work very much forgotten. Now, within her bed, she was determined for as many as it took to have you marking up her back. Sex was one of the most important forms of training for Feixiao. Strength and endurance, memory and movement, instinct and sound.
Your body tensed, her focus returning to fast and steady strokes of your clit. You cried at her frantic touch, still sensitive from her afternoon desires. She mimicked your moan as you bit down on her neck, a muffled scream reaching her ears in victory. The feeling of your teeth on her left her insatiable, pace only quickening despite your overstimulated whines. She gave you nothing but praise: for taking her so well, for letting her spoil and ravish you, for always knowing when she needs you. This dance eats at her throughout the day, leaving only clawing want and the desire to seek you out behind. Feixiao is a superior hunter, after all, and what she wants always lands in her callused hands. Like now for example. Your nipples rest in her care, one flicked and sucked by her tongue and the other pinched between her fingertips.
Overstimulation had given way to pleasure now. She could tell by the lust-drunk glint in your eye. Her fingers slid against your clit so easily, she was tempted to forgo her strap entirely and get a taste. Just the thought of your juices on her chin and cheeks decided your final round for the night. All that stood in the way was orgasm four – but not for long. The near-liquid shake of your thighs around her waist brought her hungry mouth to yours. Each moan and whimper only drove her harder, the final brush of her fangs on your bottom lip enough to send you crashing over the edge. You shuddered against her, head thrown back and legs losing their strength. She took the time to tease, barely managing to pull out from your cunt and watch it continue to flutter. She could recall the feeling of its tight spasms from lunch, her fingers buried deep inside you while she ate.
Feixiao inched further down the bed, face coming right before your cunt. Her breath against your clit brought your hand to her hair, burying deep between her ears. Her teal cock pressed heavily against her stomach, but she couldn’t give a damn about it right now. Not with your lovely wet folds finally under her tongue. She began with soft and small licks, enough to warm and tease. After a minute she shifted to broad and slow licks, more tantalizing to your sensitivity. One sharp tug of her hair was all it took for the general to set off to work. You had a dinner appointment to make after all, even if it was just with friends.
Your final orgasm was a simple, tidal affair. It came with an unexpected flick of Feixiao’s tongue, right at the sweet side of your clit. The rhythm of pleasure could hardly keep your hips moving, muscles too weakened to catch up.
Falling in love wasn’t part of your agreement, but damn if you couldn’t get used to this. Feixiao’s moan at your taste gathered on her thumb seemed to hint that you weren’t alone in that thought.
mavuika
"Take my credit cards; here my house; take my car; don't forget to give mama some sugar."
Mavuika was nothing but passion and determination incarnate. When her sights were set, the result to follow was only a matter of time. Each of your brushstrokes landed like liquid fire over your canvas, at least from behind her sunglasses. She couldn’t help but pause her morning ride, not wanting to disturb the landscape you were so lovingly capturing. She often felt consumed to do the same, but today gas and wheels were her outlet. Before she traveled down the opposite path, she couldn’t resist walking up to you. Praising your work and inviting you to the Speaker’s Chamber for a private lesson to further hone your craft. She was entirely honest in her intentions… at first. Only months later when you finally tugged her in for a kiss did these “private lessons” transform.
Mavuika was pure muscle beneath you, flexing and responding to every grip and brush of your hands. They held her shoulder and bicep desperately, searching for purchase as you bounced on her scarlet cock. Orange and yellow swirled beneath your palms, obscuring earlier drawings of the sun and moon. She grasped your cheek with a warm hand, guiding your mouth to hers as she groaned. Her hips met yours in heavy, slow thrusts, a rhythm completely unlike your impatient search for pleasure. Her other hand tightened over your hips – a silent order to calm yourself and enjoy.
It was far too peaceful, simply sinking into her. Letting her caress every inch as you met her timed pace. Mavuika somehow felt more striking this way, her passion something deep and reverent. She gathered fresh paint, dragging it in one cold stripe down your spine. She flattened her palm over your lower back, forming one bold trail down your ass. With bright red on your fingertips, you gave her breasts a gentle knead, touch light over her hardening nipples. After one leisurely circle you squeezed them, sending a moan from her lips at the striking pressure.
Her tongue only sought yours, the rhythm of their dance languid. There was no rush, after all, and Mavuika was thorough. Capable of great ferocity and bold ideas. Of soft words and comforting touches. Of anything she set her mind to, really. How could you not agree with every proposition? Deny your lust and care for the sake of what? Nothing that mattered. In this moment, only she was important; her wishes and satisfaction.
Her hands shifted underneath your cheeks, sliding toward the bottom of your thighs. From here it was easy to flip you over and change the pace once again. To push your legs as low as possible and give. Feel your paint-laced palms drag across her abs, unsteady but loving. This is what she craved. Your whines and cries as you shook from the force of her care. Mavuika was nothing but passion and determination, especially in matters of the heart. It’s why she fulfilled every request and then took it even further. The feeling of satisfaction and want coursing through her veins was simply too much to deny. You were to, it seemed, from the way she shivered as you finally screamed her name.
navia
"Let me be, I wants to be, gots to be."
Navia is affectionate to a fault, how could she not be when confronted with you? Although you’ve never been particularly risqué, making out in your dressing room is a common occurrence. Or, at least, since your… agreement was made. She adored how you wore your success, the confidence that her light brought out of you. It made you bold, willing to back her up onto your vanity. Willing to hold her thighs around your waist as you kissed her senseless. Her fingers toyed with the buttons of your shirt, revealing just enough to turn her thoughts into a heartbeat of need. The lace of your navy bra peeked from beneath black silk, both picked by her expert hand. A simple golden rose dangled just above your breasts, its shimmer only highlighted by the sheen of sweat over your warm skin.
With one final and encompassing kiss you brought your hands to her neck, delicately brushing the sides of her throat with your thumbs. They inched lower across her shoulders, tracing her clavicle, then the sides of her breasts. Your thumb teased each nipple through her dress, palms easing downward to her waist. They gave a momentary grip before your descent continued, hands securely holding her hips. Her neck fell into exposure as you danced over their curve, bite-laced kisses staining her pale skin. Navia’s hands found your shoulders, playfully pushing you down. It was far too easy to give into her commands, to fall to your knees before her backlit figure. To push her thighs open and treasure the hitch in her breath. To shift her panties aside and lick one broad teasing stripe up her folds – ending with a sharp flick of her clit.
Here she had to stay quiet, fight the urge to match every glide of your tongue and rattle the vanity. Navia is also expressive to a fault, and try as hard as she likes she couldn’t prevent the fall of your blush. Or your bronzer. Or your highlighter. Or that special, limited-sale powder. No matter, you could always find another from your fellow actors. She had a new powder for you anyway, resting on your loveseat in its gift bag.
Oh…
Your ruined eyeliner, painting your eyes an even darker shade of lust. Your ruined lipstick, no doubt covering her in the color of you. The thought was enough to teeter her on the sweetest edge, her ass held under your palms as she slipped back into the mirror and nearly off the desk, shuddering. With a final kiss to her sensitive clit, you backed away, licking your lips with a smile. She gave a breathy chuckle as she carefully slid back securely onto the vanity. Your fingertips brushed her forehead, returning strands of golden hair to their rightful place.
Her hands fisted into your shirt as her mouth sought yours, slotting and pushing her tongue between your lips. She adored tasting herself from you, it made her weak in the knees all over again. She would have directed you to the loveseat if not for the knock at the door.
“Everything okay in there?”
nefer
"Sit on mama lap."
Nefer met you during a night of drowning at The Flagship. Your employer closed their workshop without warning, and now you were without a job.
What an easy catch…
Your eyes practically lit up as she took the stool beside you, clawed hand pushing forward another shot. Idle chatter was a necessary step before her offer – a dinner shared at the Curatorium tomorrow night, prepared by Nod-Krai’s finest chefs. It was certainly too good to be true, even with no foreseeable catch. Yet as her hand perched on your thigh, perfume settling perfectly in your nose, it was simply irresistible.
An array of Teyvat’s cuisine lay on her office table, each a well-presented classic with a singular twist. Nefer asked you to guess what it was at the end of every serving. Correct guesses would warrant a reward while the opposite, well… don’t worry your pretty head. You’ll be sure to enjoy those too.
And enjoy you did. Every liquor-laced kiss and grind against her thigh. Here you would start, but certainly not end. She had plans for you after all, and Nefer always follows through. She smirked at every glide of wetness over her soft skin, claws keeping a steady grip of your hair. The other snuck under your dress, cold metal finding the heated skin of your back. She danced her fingertips across the plane, golden points tracing curves and nearly puncturing flesh. Danger was her allure – fangs provided more results than fur. In this moment the result she craved was your crumbling in her arms. A release of not only your desire, but your freedom. Nefer preferred nothing but obedience and compliance with her wishes.
Punishment came with silken ties tethered to the table leg. They started simply around your wrists, keeping your palms together as Nefer slid off her underwear. She tossed them aside and resumed her seat before you, a glass of wine in hand. She stroked your cheek as she sipped, that very hand shifting to dip below her dress and do nothing but tease.
Now, provocation proved to be her specialty. Claws held your tongue, their taste only reminiscent of blood. Praise fell from her lips as you traced them all the way to the tip, her mouth crashing into yours as her fingers finally reached your aching clit. She took her time tracking every piece of your puzzled pleasure, assembling the grand image from the outside in. The best predators make their prey willing, entirely unaware of the trap. Entirely unaware of their plan, of the cat slinking through the darkness. Ashru first brought her your name as a potential client, but her fascination with your daily life only grew into selfish desire.
That dreadful beast was fed only by your cries, by your sweet submission and descent into your new role. To some it may be nothing more than a prized pet, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. Nefer did indeed treat her pets as prizes. They received only the best Teyvat could offer, all to stay in her deadly hands.
characters: Dan Heng, Aventurine, Herta, Dr.Ratio, Feixiao.
tws: are stated for each character separately, reader is gender-netural, so everyone can enjoy!
Previous part
wordcount: ~5400
As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!
NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Not proofread. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes.
Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.
Dan Heng kisses you like a dragon who has starved for centuries and now finds himself trembling with the terror and bliss of being fed at last.
The Astral Express hums low and steady outside his door, the rhythm of its voyage lulling the train into midnight quiet. Everyone else is asleep: March curled in her blanket, Caelus absorbed in dreams too heavy for waking words, and even Pom-Pom is nowhere to be found, tucked away.
Everyone except you two.
You are tucked against the wall of his archive, seated comfortably on his futon as if it were a casual place to rest and not the nest of a Vidyadhara, layered and softened through instinct older than Xianzhou Luofu. You don't realize the weight of what it means to sit there. You don't recognize that you are in the heart of his den, where no one else has ever been allowed. You don't see his desperate pursuit.
He has been subtle at first: the small offerings left for you, pebbles smoothed to glass by river currents, shards of crystal glimmering faintly when the lamp light catches them. Some from his personal collection, some from the planets that you've visited together. Small, pretty trinkets you found by your bedside or on the edge of your desk. You smiled when you noticed them, touched them curiously, even asked if March had left them there.
Dan Heng had only looked away, ears faintly red.
He tried even harder. He has let his horns show around you, curved bones gleaming golden in the light of the monitors. He has let his tail slip into being, coils of scales patterned like green fire. He has even guided your hand once, wordless, to rest against one curved horn, shuddering when you touched him there. But you only smiled at the strange intimacy, never seeing it for the desperate language it was.
He understood it, truly. After all, Vidyadhara court with rituals humans cannot name. High Elders love as though eternity could collapse, and Dan Heng, reborn countless times, weary with centuries, wants, for the first time in all his lives, to bind himself to another.
And your obliviousness did nothing to soothe the aching need in his chest.
You just sit there, in his nest, glancing up at him with the restrained interest. His tail shifts, flicking once against the floor before stilling. Tonight, his horns caught your gaze again.
“Do you manifest them when you’re tired?” you ask softly, too innocent, too oblivious.
His lips press into the faintest line because no, Dan Heng manifests them for you. Because Vidyadhara don't court in words. They show. They reveal. They bare themselves to the ones they have chosen.
“Not always,” he breaths out, and you don't see the longing in his eyes, paying more attention to the old book that you hold. You hum in response, eyes on the worn-out page.
“...Aeons don’t dream-” you murmur absently, changing the topic and tilting your head as you reread a line aloud, “-do they?”
Dan Heng exhales slowly, a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He rises from the chair, each movement deliberate, shadow falling long across the futon as he steps closer.
“Probably not in the way we do,” he answers, voice low, careful, almost too measured.
The futon shifts when he sits beside you. The air changes, pressing in on your lungs with a quiet density. His presence has always been a calming one, but now, with his horns brushing close to your temple, his tail curled faintly against the futon’s edge, the weight of him is unbearable. The book stills under your hand as you gaze curiously. You can feel his heat even without touching him.
“...You shouldn’t stay up too late,” he murmurs after a silence that burns at both ends. His hand shifts, hesitates, then settles gently on yours.
You blink at him. “Why? You don’t sleep early, either.”
“I-” Dan Heng cuts himself off. His throat works, words faltering where they should flow. His hand stays over yours, firm now, anchoring himself on you.
Tonight, that naive blindness of yours gnaws at Dan Heng. He watches you read from his Aeon texts, lips pursed, your gaze drifting over a history of gods while you sit in the nest he has built for you, utterly unknowing that you are his chosen.
Dan Heng finally shifts, and his horns angle low, framing your face like a cage. His tail slides around your waist, dragging against the futon as it coils possessively over your hip. The book slips from your hands. Your breath stutters when he pins you down with nothing but his presence.
“Do you know what you are to me?” His voice is low, rough, pulled taut by restraint.
“Dan Heng?…” You whisper his name as though it could save you from drowning.
His answer is a kiss.
It crashes into you like a tide breaking stone. His mouth claims yours with a force that startles, hunger uncoiled after too many days of silence. His lips are insistent, dragging your lower lip between his fangs. The strange slide of his forked tongue presses into your mouth with an intimate invasion, curling to taste the shape of you. Dan Heng groans, low and guttural, chest vibrating against yours as if the simple touch sears Imbibitor Lunae alive in his veins.
You squirm beneath him, half shocked, half entranced. He stills you, pinning you deeper into the futon, his weight caging you, his tail tightening its hold until you are wrapped under him, unable to move. The kiss is deep, molten, and dragging. His horns brush your forehead when he lowers his head further, pressing closer, caging you between bone and flash. Your trembling fingers rise to grasp his broad shoulders. Dan Heng shudders violently when you answer his desperate hope with your mouth, and his breath tears out ragged, his tongue strokes yours again in a long drag that feels like a vow written in heat.
“Mine,” he growls against your lips, a sound so primal you barely recognize it as his voice.
“You sit in my nest. You take what I give. You touch my horns. And still, you don’t see it.” His forehead presses to yours, breath hot, words spilling over you like flame.
“I’ve courted you as my kind does. Do you accept me?”
You stare up at him, pulse frantic, the realization beginning to dawn.
“Dan Heng… you-”
He cuts you off with another kiss, slower now, more devastating. His tongue coils languidly into your mouth, tasting, coaxing, drawing you in until your lungs burn. His hands cradle your jaw, trembling slightly, as if he fears the fragility of your bones beneath his strength. His tail winds tighter, a loop across your stomach, anchoring you in place as though you might vanish.
When he parts from you, his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, pupils in slits, glinting with a hunger that is more than physical. His voice breaks when he speaks, rough and aching.
“I can’t promise you a life unbroken by cycles of rebirth. But I can give you all that I am now and every fragment of me that survives.” His thumb drags across your swollen lower lip.
“Stay. You are a human, small and fragile, but please, stay… Let me build my eternity around you, and I carry the memory into the deeper space until my bones wither.”
Aventurine
tws: pure fluff and yearning, Aventurine's past mentions, you two are in love hihi
Aventurine kisses you like the final roll of the dice in a game where the prize is everything he has ever wanted, where the stakes are not just wealth or power but the fragile thing that is you.
The night is quiet outside your shared apartment, the soft hum of the IPC offices a distant lull, yet here, in your bed, the universe narrows until nothing exists beyond the press of your skin against his. Naked and tangled together after the fevered abandon of lovemaking, Kakavasha molds his body against yours as if you could become one. He holds you like you are the rarest treasure, the one thing in all the cosmos he cannot gamble away. Between you, silence settles. Every heartbeat is a confession. Every sigh is a vow.
Aventurine threads his fingers through your hair, tugging you just slightly closer, as if the world outside could only exist if you were in his arms. You trace small kisses over his jaw, his temple, his cheek in response, each one whispered and feather-light, as if the fragility of this moment could shatter under too much weight. His lips part with a sigh as your fingers brush the terrible mark on his neck, a scar that tells stories of survival, of tragedy, of a boy who was sold, abandoned, and yet rose to power.
You whisper his real name, "Kakavasha", and the sound of it trembles on your lips. His eyes close, glimmering with something heartbreakingly tender, and he tilts his head to capture your mouth with his.
He wants to answer, but words are useless when the press of your body against his says it all. He folds himself around you, every curve, every line of muscle pressing as if to become one with you, as if breathing is impossible without the warmth of your skin, without your tender heartbeat against his. Your hands roam over the scarred skin of his back, touching, tracing, memorizing, grounding him.
He tears himself from you only to murmur, "I love you," more to himself than to you, a promise that tomorrow is worth waking up for because you exist, because you are here.
After all, you keep chosing him.
Aventurine kisses you again, this time with a fierceness that contradicts the gentleness of before, holding you with a hunger that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with devotion. Each press of his lips carries the weight of every gamble he has ever taken, every life he has lost, every calculated risk that led him here, to you. You feel the faint shiver of vulnerability beneath his strength, the rare glimpse of a man who doesn’t hide behind smiles or charm, who is simply Kakavasha in your arms.
You return his kiss softly, letting him feel your certainty.
When you part, he buries his face in your shoulder like a child, inhaling the faint trace of your shampoo, the soothing scent of your skin. His hands slide down your back, the pads of his fingers brushing the sensitive skin along your spine, mapping every inch of you, committing it to memory. You laugh softly when he nips at your collarbone, a sharp contrast to his previous neediness, a small display that breaks the tension and reminds you that he is human, flawed, and perfect all at once. Aventurine hums against your neck, a sound of contentment and need, and you tilt your head to press your forehead to his.
You trace the lines of his face, the curve of his lips, the faint crease between his brows, and he leans into your touch, eyes glazed, sighing as if every worry has dissolved into the simplicity of being held. You whisper his name again, "Kakavasha", and he clutches you tighter, not wanting to let go. He nuzzles his nose against yours in a small display of affection, and a giggle escapes him. You mirror him, pressing back, laughing softly as your noses brush together again and again. His giggle vibrates through you with a mixture of joy, relief, and a pain that only someone who has survived everything alone can carry.
He buries his face in your collarbone after a few seconds, wrapping you impossibly close, murmuring your name like a prayer. His fingers rub small circles over your hipbone as he sighs against your chest. You kiss the top of his head, letting the warmth of your body remind him that home is not a place, but a person.
Just like this, you both drift into sleep, clinging to each other as if the night itself might steal the moment away. Kakavasha is finally calm, knowing that when morning comes, he will wake with your name on his lips, still wholly, achingly in love with you.
The Great Herta
tws: horny scholars (1/2), possessive behaviour, dollification(?) , you are her assistant.
Herta kisses you like the taste of your lips could be cataloged and studied, archived in her mind alongside all the brilliant formulas and theories she cherishes.
The Genius leans in a bit too close in her pristine laboratory, surrounded by the hum of machinery and the faint scent of antiseptic and exotic metals surrounding you both. Her sharp eyes glint as she tilts your chin upward with one demanding finger. Her other hand lingers over the fabric of your clothes as if deciding how best to alter them, how best to dress you in her aesthetic of controlled perfection.
You’ve always been plain, almost painfully ordinary. Just a statistic in a world that seems to value the extraordinary. But to Herta, that ordinariness is a canvas, a vessel she can shape. You shift uneasily under her scrutiny, acutely aware that her mind is racing far ahead, calculating, analyzing something that you couldn't even dream of comprehending.
“Assistant,” she says, stepping back just enough to examine you fully with her head tilted, one hand on her hip in that imperious stance you’ve learned to recognize, “I’ve been thinking… we should make a doll of you. A miniature, perfect replica of you.”
Her eyes spark with a mischievous glint, and you can almost hear the little hum of pride that always accompanies her genius. But those words make your chest tighten with something ugly.
“A doll… of me?” you whisper, uncertain. Her words send the cold brush of reality against your skin, the knowledge that perhaps she sees you as nothing more than an object, a vessel to satisfy her obsessive whims.
“Herta… I- I don’t know if that’s-”
“Shh,” she interrupts, observing you like a predator admiring a prize. Her fingers trace lightly along your jawline, brushing your lips, eliciting a shiver.
“So predictable. You worry you are insufficient for me, don’t you?”
Before you can respond, she closes the distance, pinning you gently yet unrelentingly against the cool, sterile wall. Her lips press to yours, firm and possessive, and you can feel the subtle, almost imperceptible tremor in her body, betraying how deeply her feelings really are. She presses her finger against your chest, right over your heart, and you avert your gaze in shame.
“You underestimate yourself. To me, you are extraordinary. But I want everyone else to know it too, and that is why dolls are necessary. Each of you for each of me.”
You remember the fleeting glimpse of Herta's fury when she saw another staff member leaning too close to you the other day. It was a rare tantrum that left her sharp and glowing with barely restrained possessiveness. And now, pressed against her, you understand fully: the Member #83 of the Genius Society wants you, all of you, and she is not willing to share even a fragment of your attention.
“I only wanted to make puppets of you for… emotional purposes,” she whispers against your lips, and you taste a mixture of steel and honey in her breath. Her hands are on your waist, pressing you closer, claiming the space that is hers by right.
“So that no one- no one- dares to flirt with you again. Do you understand?” Her gaze pierces yours, unapologetic and intensely focused. You nod, and she tugs at your collar, pressing possessive kisses over your neck. They bloom into the purple immediately, and you let out a small moan that makes her smirk.
“I- Miss Herta, someone might walk in,” you murmur nervously, still conscious of the pristine environment and the potential dangers. Her eyes only flash with defiance and amusement.
“Irrelevant. I am more concerned with you than with trivial intrusions-" her tone is unyielding but carries the same intoxicating vulnerability she rarely allows anyone to glimpse, "-and I demand your kisses.” She tilts your head to the side again, waiting, her breath brushing your mouth as she leans her forehead against yours.
“Come on,” she says, a sly smirk playing on her perfect lips, “create some problems with me~”
You can feel the weight of her desire hanging heavy over you. It is intense, concentrated, possessive, a tidal force contained within the curve of her lips and the precise placement of her hands. Your fingers curl against her waist in a desperate need to answer her invitation. Herta lets you lean in, humming contentedly, her plush lips demanding more and more affection. Even if you try to take the lead, in this dance, it's she who puts on the music and adjusts the rhythm.
When you part, smooth hands trail along your arms, thumbs brushing over your skin in patterns that feel both instructional and intimate. Herta adjusts your posture, your shoulders, the tilt of your chin, and each movement is both a study and a possession.
“There,” she murmurs, her voice softening just enough to send shivers down your spine, “much better. You are… my perfect little assistant.”
Your chest tightens with a mix of anxiety and longing. You’ve never felt so simultaneously admired and scrutinized, so observed and yet protected. In her usual brilliance, Herta senses the swirl of your emotions, and a faint smirk curls her lips.
“Ah… there it is. That little hesitation again. That tiny doubt. It is what makes you human… yet to me, it only makes you more desirable.” She presses another kiss to your lips, lingering longer, her tongue tracing the barest outline of your mouth in a possessive way. You gasp softly, overwhelmed by the intensity of her attention.
“I could spend eternity studying you like this,” she murmurs, “Exploring every nuance, every reaction… And I'll always want more-” her fingers tighten slightly around your wrists, “and more,” she repeats firmly, "and more," her voice dropping into a tone that is equal parts commanding and vulnerable.
“I want to show you that you are more than enough. That your existence is extraordinary to me.”
By the time Herta steps back, your cheeks flushed and your lips tingling, she is grinning that brilliant, infuriating grin of hers.
“Tonight,” she murmurs, “I will prove again that you are more than a statistic. That you are enough. More than enough. And you will understand exactly how exquisite it is to be mine.”
Dr. Ratio
tws: horny scholars (2/2), explicit content, anal sex (to keep reader gender-netural), Ratio is kinda autistic but hopelessly in love.
Dr. Ratio kisses you like a theorem being folded into skin, precise and inevitable, each angle tested until the solution holds.
By day Veritas is all about economy and measurement, kissing you while staring at some complex mathematical equations. Those kisses are never loud, never needy; they are the soft gratitude for your visits to his university office with a warm meal, pressed absentmindedly to your cheek, nose, or jaw. It is a tiny algebra of affection that Ratio tucks away and solves later in the privacy of his head.
But when evening folds the hallways into shadow and the outside noises thin to a hush, his restraint dissolves like chalk in rain. The office door clicks; the stacks of papers become a faraway island where his mind is no longer needed. Veritas closes his codex with an audible click, the sound of his focus snapping shut, and the man who has mapped the geometry of everything gives himself over to something he cannot reduce to theorem.
Ratio comes home and he comes to you.
The time before bed is when his mind slows down. The lights dim to the soft halo of a single lamp in the corner of your bedroom. You curl under the sheets with a worn romance novel, pages dog-eared where you favor the sentences. Veritas lays to your side with a slab of a book that folds logic into tight knots. For a while you read in companionable silence, the quiet of evening hours folding around you.
Then his book slides shut. He does not look embarrassed or theatrical about the motion, Veritas makes it decisive because precision is comfort to him. Slowly, he folds himself into the space on your side, until his long limbs tangle with yours. He is ungainly in the gentlest way because all his competence is reserved for equations and experiments, not for the small choreography of tenderness. His head rests heavy on your chest, ear pressed against your sternum, and you feel him breathe as if inhaling the sum of you.
Then, his lips begin their path along the valley of your front. He finds the beat of your heart near your collarbone and linger as if mesmerised by the proof of living. Then upper, along the column of your throat and the line of your jaw.
When his lips finally find yours, the kiss is long and interrogative, searching for a metric that will hold. You wrap your arms around him, books forgotten, and he relaxes like a student who finally understands the theorem. Ratio hums against your mouth, voice soft with the astonishment of not being able to solve the shape of you.
“You are… hard to quantify,” he murmurs, voice bright and brittle against your cheek.
“Let me try again. For science.”
For a moment his tone is cold, like the plaster head that he wears. Then his hands find your hips and the atmosphere changes. Veritas studies your curves again and again as if he can catalog every centimeter and reaction. His touch is expert because he knows your architecture by heart. He has traced these maps in countless moments, memorized the angles where you tremble. Slim fingers that explore between your thighs are warm and insistent.
Ten minutes later, you kneel on the bed, warm and ready for him, your back arched and your lips parted. Ratio positions himself behind you with that same efficiency he applies to everything he learns. His hands hook under your armpits to pull you closer. His chest presses to your back and his mouth finds the patch of skin at your neck, sucking and whispering small nothings.
Veritas pushes in slowly, not because he is tentative but because he is calibrating. The stretch is exquisite and welcomed, and he monitors your face as if checking instruments. His hips angle just how you like it, then snap with a delicious rhythm that surprises him into a mistimed grunt.
“So tight,” he breathes, each word a punctuation mark. “You are exquisite,” he adds, voice breaking on the last syllable. He sucks at the nape of your neck with a muffled praise.
And when he id finally moves, it feels like a fireworks bollm under your eyelids. Its savoury, its achingly desperate, it makes your body tremble and burns in your stomach. It better than any action that you have had before meeting the pompous scholar.
And mind you, he is also affected by the feeling of you. You squeeze him so tight, take him so well and snug that Ratio goes cross-eyed behind you in a best possible way. He dirty talks in the way only he can: factual fragments that turn erotic because of the heat in his voice.
“I am filling you-” he says, absurd in its textbook bluntness, “-and this is optimal. You are calibrated to my geometry.”
Between those clinical confessions Veritas groans and stumbles on metaphors, alternating between ownership and worship. His stare softens into something unguarded, zeroing in on how your face contorts in pleasure.
"I must be violating every protocol," he pants, "but your compliance yields the most efficient results." His voice is rougher when he speaks mid-thrust.
"I like the way you compress, the way you take me. Measure me with your insides again," Ratio commands and then is aghast at his own wantonness. You push back on the trembling legs, meeting his rhythm with an urgency.
Veritas groans your name – he is terrible at pet names, so it comes out simple – then laughs, breathless and thrilled, the sound reverberating against your back as he speeds up, letting you get more addicted to being full of him.
He kisses the back of your neck again and again, mouth hot and wet, while his work in a rhythm that is nothing like the measured beats of his laboratory metronome. His hands are merciless and precise, fingers digging into the softness of your hips, thumbs pressing into the curve where your ribs fold into your waist.
You come apart with a cry that is animal in the best possible way. Ratio follows not long after with a stuttered arch, his body shuddering against yours as he fills you.
The aftercare is your favorite time. Ratio lays you down gently on the sheets, tucking you in like a puzzle piece he refuses to lose. Then he traces the line of your spine with his fingers, murmuring instructions into the air: “Breathe with me for ten counts,” “Stay still,” “Are you warm enough?” “I’ll bring you some water.”
The next morning Veritas is in his office at 8.00 am sharp, as usual, preparing for the long day of curing idiocy. The room hums softly with the sound of his measured steps as he gathers the materials for the lessons he must teach.
Yet everything he touches feels meaningless without you.
His notebook lies open on the desk, and in the corner your name is written with delicate precision, enclosed by countless little hearts that he has traced over and over until the ink began to smudge. A framed photo of you rests on the desk, glass slightly stained with his lip-prints, as though by kissing the glass he might commit every detail of your face deeper into his memory. Even the open page of his notes betrays his usual coldness, for there again your name lingers, ringed by those small desperate hearts, each mark proof of a love so consuming it spills past his control and stains everything he touches.
Feixiao
tws: no honry scholars in this one, only longing foxians, angsty, hurt/comfort
Feixiao kisses you like someone afraid of forgetting what love tastes like, as if every brush of her lips must etch itself into memory before war or fate can steal it away.
The mist over Rainsoar Lake clings to your clothes, to your lashes, to the hollow of your throat when you watch a peaceful landscape in front of you. Yellow heart blossoms drift past, landing on the water's surface like a golden blanket. Fishes leap and clap water against the air, gulls of sound in the hush.
Something shifts behind you.
"You always do this," you say, voice small in the mist. "Sneak up on me and then act like it is my fault for not noticing you."
Feixiao laughs with a sound that scatters the mist into finer beads. Her hand finds your body immediately and her fingers possessively curl around your waist.
"I knew you would be here," she says, stepping in front of you, blocking the peaceful scenery. When you frown at the audacity, she smirks and steals a sly peck from your lips.
Immediately, you relax in her gentle embrace. Your hands crawl under her coat, to the scar on her back that runs like a calligraphy stroke, painting the ail skin with pinkish hue. Now, you can recall its shape from memory. It’s narrow, but crude. But most importantly, you know that this is an old road she refuses to walk now but that still defines the direction of her steps.
In the lamplight of the lake, every scar of hers looks like a constellation. You trace them with your fingertips, and Feixiao lets out a sound that is not entirely a grunt but something closer to a purr.
The blossoms press their perfume into the air, sweet and heavy, and the petals stick to her coat and to your hair. Each time a fish explodes from the lake you see the motion in her jaw and the twitch in her ears: the hunt that is both memory and promise. You know your touch helps to keep her steady, so you keep soothing her aches with your hands.
"Feixiao," you murmur her name, because speech will not be wasted even under water and under mist. She shifts closer and her answer is a softer thing than you expected.
"You say it as if you are making a promise," she says against your lip. Her voice is a low thing, cheeky and dangerous, a soldier's laugh. "Say it again."
So you do.
“Feixiao,” the syllables come out like an offering.
Foxian hums and kisses you properly then, like a beast who has learned the art of gentling her touch. It is soft at first, too measured and almost ethereal. Her mouth fits around yours with the confidence of someone who knows where to press so things will not break.
But of course, there is a hidden wildness there because Feixiao is made of storms. When you part your lips, yearning, inviting, the kiss deepens, teeth and tongue finding one another in a soft insistence. Her hands move, one cupping your face with an intimacy that cracks something open inside you. The other firm hand slides down to your waist, anchoring you to her.
"You are warm-" Feixiao says suddenly, breaking the kiss long enough to press her forehead to yours. Rain threads down the fur on her ear, forehead, cheek, and finally mixes with the tears you didn’t notice you cried, "-and dangerous for me."
You laugh, small and breathless, because you want to soothe her aches so badly, yet you know that it is never enough to calm the beast inside her mind.
"You are supposed to be the dangerous one. You carry the title," the only thing you can say through the bile in your throat.
She snorts with amusement.
"Great General-" Feixiao repeats, using the title everyone uses to make her larger than a simple human, “-is a Lacking one.”
Her confession presses even harder into your heart. It’s not the emotion fully, no. It blooms like a poisoned flower between your ribs. You reach for the sprouting weed there, and Feixiao frames your hand in hers as if to show you a map of your own body.
The rain gathers around the syllables, approving or indifferent, you cannot decide. A fish keeps leaping near the reeds, scattering droplets that sparkle like punctuation. Feixiao smiles, and the fox in her creases into something softer, something younger and girlish at once.
"Will you spend this night with me?" she asks, absurdly direct as always.
You answer honestly, because loving her rewards bluntness.
"I will. And I will not-" you hesitate, because there are vows you cannot make for battles she might have to fight alone, "-I will never ever leave your side," you feel the tears build up again.
"Good," Feixiao says, and then kisses you again, this time slower and more deliberate. Her teeth gently press at the seam of your lower lip as if checking for breakage. The kiss becomes a conversation without words.
At one point she pulls back to look at you again, rainwater beading at the lashes of her teal-ringed eyes. There is the flash of something very old inside them.
"Stay."
You do stay, because you want to be a witness and harbour, because you want to be the calm island in a life seamed with storms.
You rest your hand against the scar at her collarbone, and Feixiao leans into the pressure as if it is the only thing steady in a changing world. Around you the lotuses bob and the turtles blink. A fish makes another impatient splash. The rain continues its soft, tireless hymn.
"Promise me… nothing-" she says after a long moment, voice low and absolute, "-but this: if I ever become the hunter and you will be my pray,“ she stills because this one thought, that she could hurt you of all people, almost makes her gag from fear. Yet, she continues, “-make me remember this moment. Make me remember that you will meet me with a kiss upon returning."
You smile, and the smile is a promise to be cherished.
“I will.”
.
Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!
I love Feixiao, but she seems to have so little recognition in the fandom that it physically hurts me. Also, did I say that writing for Ratio is a big pain in the ass? Well, now, I definitely did.
P.S. I'll proofread it later, rn I'm just too tired :c
Aaaand I'm open for character suggestions for the next part!
You’re not sure what caused the tension to finally snap in you. One moment you find yourself unable to meet their eyes, yet still trying to sneak glances, fingers tapping against the closest surface, the next moment your fingers are tangled in their hair, lips slotted against theirs messily. What makes it all worse (or better) is the fact they don’t seem to mind at all. No, in fact they seem enthused, enthralled, and strangely relieved. Their hands hold you gently as you both melt into each other, the motions of your lips almost second nature. It’s fiery, the fluttering feeling they constantly brought out in you had boiled into this moment, where your veins felt hot and your lips tingled against their touch. When your traitorous mind would daydream of this moment, you never realized the immense sense of relief that would fill your entire being at finally getting to this moment.
And when you pulled back for a breath of air, they didn’t let you go far, forehead pressed against yours with a satisfied smile adorning their lips.
“It’s about time,” They murmured, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your hip (but it made your nerves burn alight, even with clothing blocking any direct touch).
“Shut up,” You glare, leaning in for another kiss to do just as you said. You hated loved how they eagerly met you for another kiss, and another…and another…it seems like you’re going to be busy for far longer than you thought.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖. 🍒 HOW THEY COMFORT YOU AFTER HAVING SEX WITH THEM .ᐟ
༄.° Paring : Phainon, Mydei, Aventurine, Fei Xiao x gn!reader
༄.° warnings : nsfw/smut, a lot of fluff, strap, (gentle) spanking, daddy kink, after-care, hickeys, thigh gripping, body worship, implied that reader is chubby. Over all there isn’t much warnings.
༄.° note : not proof-read sorry!
－୨ৎ PHAINON ；
The aftermath was quiet, save for the sound of your unsteady breathing. Your body still trembled, overstimulated and spent, the echoes of Phainon’s thrusts lingering like a phantom ache deep inside you. His cock had filled you so completely, stretched you open with a slow, deliberate cruelty that left your legs weak and useless beneath you.
Phainon exhaled a soft chuckle, voice smooth as silk as he traced lazy circles over your damp skin. “Worn out already?” His touch, so firm moments ago, had turned delicate—fingertips ghosting along your spine, pressing warmth into the lingering soreness. His other hand smoothed over your thigh, massaging away the tension he’d forced into it.
He shifted beside you, pulling you closer, his bare chest solid and warm against your back. “You take me so well,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. His fingers drifted lower, skimming over the bruises his grip had left behind. “Should’ve been gentler.”
His tone was soft, but there was something almost pleased in the way he kissed your shoulder—like he loved seeing the evidence of himself on you. Still, he took his time now, easing you down from the high he’d dragged you to. He adjusted his position, letting you rest more fully against him, his cock still slick and heavy where it pressed against your thigh.
“Breathe,” Phainon murmured, stroking his hand through your hair. “I’ve got you.”
Your breath was still shaky, body still thrumming with the aftermath of him. Phainon held you close, his arms wrapped snug around your waist, his touch a stark contrast to the way he’d handled you just moments ago. His cock still rested heavy against your thigh, slick and warm, but he made no move to continue—just held you there, pressed against him like you belonged nowhere else.
You swallowed, voice coming out soft and tired. “You really wore me out,” you murmured, resting your hand over his where it lay against your stomach. His fingers twitched, then curled slightly, as if savoring the plushness of you beneath his palm.
A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I could tell,” Phainon murmured, his lips brushing against your shoulder. “You always try to keep up, but by the end, you just let me take what I want.” His fingers traced idle patterns over your skin, following the curves of your waist before dipping lower to your hip, where a faint bruise was already forming beneath his touch.
You huffed, shifting against him just enough to glance back at his face. “You don’t have to sound so smug about it,” you mumbled, though your voice lacked any real bite.
Phainon smirked, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “Can’t help it.” He shifted, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before trailing his lips along the side of your neck. “You’re just too good for me.”
You sighed, letting yourself melt against him. His hands roamed lazily, smoothing over your soft thighs, ghosting over the marks he’d left on your skin as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you. He always did this after—touching, tracing, holding you close Like he never wanted to let you go.
His touch was different now—gentler, reverent, like he was savoring you instead of taking you apart. His fingers pressed into your softness, his palm spreading over your stomach again, rubbing slow circles against the plush skin. You felt his breath against your neck, warm and steady, grounding you in the quiet intimacy of the moment.
“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now, the teasing edge from earlier fading into something more tender.
You sighed, relaxing further into him. “Yeah… just sore.” Your hand found his and gave it a small squeeze. “You really don’t know how to hold back, huh?”
Phainon chuckled, low and pleased. “Not when it comes to you.” He shifted slightly, pressing his lips to your temple, his other hand continuing its slow, wandering path over your thighs, your waist, anywhere he could touch. “You can take it, though. You always do.”
You scoffed, though you couldn’t fight the warmth creeping up your neck. “You say that like I have a choice.”
Phainon smirked against your skin, nipping lightly at your shoulder before soothing the spot with his tongue. “You could tell me to stop,” he murmured. “But you never do.” His hand slid lower, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, as if to emphasize his point.
You shivered but stayed quiet, because he was right. Instead, you turned your head just enough to press a tired kiss to his jaw. “You’re so cocky,” you muttered.
“And you love it.” His voice was warm with amusement, but his hands never stopped moving—slow, lazy, possessive.
You exhaled, shifting slightly in his grip. “You’re not gonna let me move, are you?”
“Not for a while.” He pulled you in closer, his cock still pressed against your thigh, twitching slightly despite the tenderness in his touch. “Just stay like this.” His fingers traced over your stomach again, dipping lower, but not with any urgency—just enough to feel you, to keep you close.
You sighed, letting your eyes flutter shut. “Fine… but you’re carrying me to clean up.”
Phainon laughed, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. “Deal.”
✰
－୨ৎ MYDEIMOS；
The warmth of Mydei’s palm lingered on your skin, a soft sting left behind from the gentle spanks he’d given you earlier. He hadn’t been rough—not really. Just enough to make your breath hitch, to have you shivering against him, to leave the faintest warmth on your thighs and the curve of your ass. Now, though, his touch was nothing but soothing, tracing over the spots he’d struck as if to erase them. His cum oozing out of your entrance, as a little smirk formed on his lips.
You shifted in his lap, still catching your breath, your body spent from everything he’d done to you. His cock, still slick and heavy, rested against your thigh, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he’d ruined you. Mydei sighed, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, his arms snug around your waist.
“You okay?” His voice was softer now, his usual sharpness dulled by the haze of exhaustion and afterglow.
You hummed, your fingers drifting up to play with the ends of his hair. “Mhm… just sore.” You paused, shifting slightly, feeling the warmth of his hands smoothing over your stomach, your hips, grounding you. “You really like spanking me, don’t you?”
Mydei huffed, his breath hot against your skin. “You react too well to it.” One of his hands left your waist to cup the curve of your ass, squeezing gently before rubbing slow circles where he’d spanked you. “Besides… I never do it too hard.”
You scoffed, pressing your face into his neck. “Still stings.”
“Tch.” He clicked his tongue, but his hands never stopped moving, kneading your soft skin, tracing over every mark he’d left behind. “Want me to kiss it better?”
You huffed a laugh, wiggling slightly in his lap, feeling his cock twitch against your thigh in response. “You’re ridiculous.”
He let out a quiet grunt, but you could feel the way his grip tightened just a little, the way his lips brushed against your temple, soft despite the roughness he always carried. “You’re the ridiculous one,” he muttered, shifting you slightly so you rested more fully against him. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you.”
You exhaled, letting yourself sink into his warmth, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. “You take care of me after,” you murmured. “You always do.”
Mydei was quiet for a moment, his arms tightening around you, his touch lingering where he’d marked you. “…Of course I do,” he said, as if the idea of doing anything else was absurd. His lips brushed against your shoulder, lingering. “I’ll clean you up in a minute,” he murmured, his voice lower now, quieter. “But stay like this for a little longer.”
You sighed, pressing a tired kiss to his jaw. “Yeah. Okay.”
You felt Mydei exhale against your skin, his breath warm and steady as he held you close. His fingers dragged over your thighs, then up to your waist, smoothing over the softness of your stomach before drifting back down again. His touch was lazy now, slow, as if he wasn’t ready to let go of you just yet. You didn’t mind. Being in his arms like this—after everything—felt grounding, safe.
“You always get so soft after,” you murmured, shifting slightly in his lap. His cock twitched against your thigh at the movement, but he didn’t react beyond the slow rub of his hands over your hips.
Mydei huffed, his lips brushing against your temple. “Only for you,” he muttered. His voice was quieter now, lacking its usual bite, like he’d poured out the last of his sharp edges into you and was left with nothing but warmth.
You smiled against his skin. “Good.”
His grip tightened slightly, fingers pressing into your softness before he let out a slow breath, forcing himself to relax again. His thumbs smoothed over the faint marks he’d left on your thighs, his expression unreadable as he traced over them again and again. You could tell he was thinking about them—about how hard he’d spanked you, about whether he’d gone too far.
“I’m okay, you know,” you murmured, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his jaw. “You didn’t hurt me.”
His eyes flicked down to you, golden and unreadable for a long moment. Then, he clicked his tongue, his fingers giving your hips a small squeeze. “You’d tell me if I did, right?”
You nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”
Mydei studied you for a moment longer before exhaling through his nose, like he was only half satisfied with that answer. Still, his grip softened again, his hands trailing over your body in slow, grounding touches. “Good.”
Silence stretched between you for a while, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You let yourself relax against him, your body still tingling from everything he’d done to you, from the aftershocks of pleasure that still pulsed through your limbs. His cock was still there, pressed heavy against your thigh, but there was no urgency left in either of you—just warmth, just the quiet hum of shared exhaustion.
“…You like seeing the marks, don’t you?” you murmured after a while, your voice laced with amusement.
Mydei stiffened for a fraction of a second before scoffing, turning his head slightly so you couldn’t see his face. “Tch. Don’t start.”
✰
－୨ৎ AVENTURINE ；
Aventurine’s touch was slow, teasing, as he traced his fingers over the faint warmth he’d left on your thighs. He had spanked you just enough to make you shiver, just enough to leave a lingering sting that had you clenching around him, whining so sweetly for more. But now? Now he was all indulgence, all slow, soothing touches as he massaged the tender spots, rubbing circles into your skin as if he hadn’t been the one to mark you up in the first place.
His cock still rested heavy against you, still slick with everything he’d done to you, but he made no move to do anything else. He was enjoying this part—holding you close, letting his hands roam over your softness, feeling you tremble under his touch. His voice was smooth as silk when he finally spoke.
“You always get so needy after, don’t you?” he murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. “Clinging to me like you can’t get enough.” His fingers dipped lower, smoothing over your stomach before sliding back up again, appreciating every inch of you.
You huffed, shifting slightly in his lap. “You’re warm,” you muttered, your voice muffled against his chest. “And you feel nice.”
Aventurine chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. “I do, don’t I?” His palm smoothed over your stomach, fingers spreading out to squeeze the soft flesh there before drifting lower, rubbing gentle circles into your sore thighs. “You’re so warm too, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “So soft… you fit in my lap perfectly.”
You huffed, squirming just a little, but he only tightened his grip, keeping you snug against his chest. His cock twitched against your thigh at the movement, still slick and heavy, a quiet reminder of how thoroughly he’d taken you. He let out a slow breath, nuzzling into your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there.
“You were such a good thing for me,” he murmured, his tone deep and sweet, like honey drizzling over your skin. “Taking everything I gave you, letting me leave those pretty marks on you.” His fingers trailed over the spots where he’d spanked you, pressing just hard enough to make you whimper. “Bet you’ll feel them tomorrow.”
You shivered, leaning into his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach despite how exhausted you were. “You were the one who kept telling me to take it,” you muttered, voice still breathless. “Daddy.”
Aventurine groaned softly at the title, his grip flexing over your hips before he chuckled, low and indulgent. “That’s right,” he murmured, his teeth grazing your ear. “And you were so good for me. So sweet. Letting me spread you out, take my time ruining you.”
You whined softly, pressing your face into his neck to hide your embarrassment. He loved this—loved drawing out every little reaction, loved making you squirm even after he’d already had his fill. His fingers continued their slow, lazy path over your body, tracing the curves of your thighs, your waist, your stomach—anywhere he could touch.
After a moment, you sighed, your body melting further into his embrace. “You’re gonna clean me up, right?” you mumbled.
Aventurine smirked against your skin. “Of course, sweetheart,” he purred. “Gotta take care of my precious thing.” He kissed your jaw, lingering, his hands still roaming, still enjoying you. “But let me hold you a little longer first.”
You exhaled, sinking into his warmth, letting his hands and voice lull you into a hazy, blissful calm. “Fine… but I’m not moving.”
Aventurine chuckled again, kissing the corner of your mouth before resting his forehead against yours. “Didn’t expect you to, darling.”
✰
－୨ৎ FEI XIAO ；
Fei Xiao’s fingers traced slow, thoughtful patterns across your thighs, her touch featherlight as she smoothed over the warmth she had left behind. The soft sting of her palm lingered, a quiet reminder of the way she had handled you—firm, teasing, always in control. You could still feel the weight of the strap resting between your legs, still feel how deep she had taken you, but she wasn’t moving now. Just holding you, feeling you, her breath steady against your skin.
She hummed, the sound low and pleased. “You always go so quiet after I fuck you,” she murmured, dragging her nails lightly over your stomach before flattening her palm, rubbing slow circles into the softness there. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
You swallowed, shifting slightly in her grip. “Just… tired,” you mumbled. “You really did a number on me.”
Fei Xiao chuckled, her arms tightening around you. “Did I now?” Her lips brushed against your shoulder, teasing, but there was something softer beneath it, something warm. She rolled her hips slightly, just enough to remind you that she was still inside you, still filling you even now. “You took me so well,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Made the prettiest sounds for me.”
Heat pricked at your skin, and you nudged her with your elbow. “You always have to tease me, don’t you?”
She only laughed, shifting to kiss along the side of your neck, her lips dragging slow, deliberate paths across your skin. “Wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t.” One of her hands slid lower, smoothing over your thigh before squeezing lightly. “But I mean it—you were perfect for me.”
You sighed, letting yourself melt further into her touch. “You gonna clean me up, or are we just staying like this forever?”
Fei Xiao grinned against your skin. “Tempting.” But she was already pulling back slightly, brushing her fingers through your hair, tucking you against her chest. “Just a few more minutes, then I’ll take care of you.”
You huffed, but you didn’t argue. “Fine. But you owe me a massage after.”
Her laughter was rich, indulgent. “Anything you want, sweetheart.”
