notes. in celebration of me getting my 1st diluc after 4+ years of playing, let’s see what he and the rest of our favourite genshin guys are packing AMIRIGHT??? first post kinda shy ,, should i do a part two
— DILUC's cock is a sight that makes your breath hitch, thick and long enough to stretch you wide as he presses the flushed fat tip against your entrance, the deep red blush spreading from the swollen head down the veined shaft like he's holding back a fire. you're already trembling when he sinks in slowly, every inch of his girth parting your walls with a delicious burn that has you clutching at his shoulders, his length filling you so completely that you feel him in your core. he's no grower, always half-hard from the mere thought of you, but he uses it with deliberate control, thrusting deep and steady to build heat until you're both lost in the rhythm.
“feel how much i need you,” he murmurs, voice rough as he bottoms out.
— VARKA’s massive length dwarfs everything else, so thick and big that you wonder how your body even accommodates it, the head nudging insistently at your slick folds while veins bulge along the shaft like ropes under taut skin, pulsing with his fastened heartbeat. he eases in with a groan, the girth splitting you open inch by agonizing inch, your pussy clenching around the invasion as if trying to hold on, and yet the stretch turns to pleasure when he starts to move, using his enormous cock to claim every part of you in powerful and unyielding strokes that leave you gasping and full.
“take it all for me, juuust like that,” he rumbles, hips snapping forward.
— KAEYA’s cock slides into view long and skinny, curving slightly to the left with a uniform tan hue that doesn't flush no matter how aroused he gets, the smooth length gliding against your thigh before he aligns it with your heat. it's not overwhelming in girth but hits all those spots inside you that make stars burst behind your eyes. he wields it with such teasing precision, angling the subtle lean to drag along your inner walls, drawing out your moans as he fucks you almost languidly, savoring every quiver.
“you just love how i reach there, don't you?” he whispers, smirking as he grinds deeper.
— CYNO's arousal builds fast. he's a true grower that swells to a relatively thick tan shaft veined subtly along its length, the tip darkening as he hardens fully before pushing into your waiting pussy with honest aggressive intent. he doesn't ease in—he thrusts hard from the start, the girth pounding against your depths, your body jolting with each forceful entry as he grips your hips, using his cock like a weapon to dominate and overwhelm, leaving you sore and satisfied in the aftermath of only the first round.
“you're mine to fuck however i want,” he growls, slamming home.
— FLINS boasts the longest cock among them, skinny and pale with a light, almost purplish blush tinting the tip and faint veins tracing its endless length, coiling around your fingers when you stroke it before he guides it to your entrance. it sinks in deep, impossibly so, filling you from the front to the back in one smooth glide that has your toes curling, and he uses it to explore every hidden spot, thrusting with an even, elegant rhythm to slowly build waves of ecstasy that crash over you endlessly.
“let me go even deeper inside you,” he breathes, inching further.
— WRIOTHESLEY's cock is a thick beast, pretty long too with a tip so fat it flares wide like a mushroom cap, pressing against your lips before he feeds it into your mouth, the girth stretching your jaw as veins throb under your tongue. when he finally enters your pussy, his swollen head pops past your rim and the length follows, stuffing you full with heavy, deliberate pumps that make your walls flutter wildly, his powerful thickness overwhelming you completely.
“swallow every bit of this fat cock,” he commands, voice low and gravelly.
— CHILDE's oh so long and relatively fat cock blushes a vivid pink across its freckled surface, the scattered spots dotting the shaft like stars as it twitches against your belly, hardening fully before he notches it at your core. he drives in with eager energy, the girth spreading you open while the length reaches deep, his hold on your waist tightening with each passionate thrust, using it to chase mutual pleasure in wild bursts that leave you both breathless and marked.
“look at how it blushes just for you,” he laughs softly, plunging in.
— HEIZOU might be a grower on the smaller side, but once it thickens to its full potential, his fat tip becomes his favorite tool, teasing your clit with lazy circles before dipping just the head inside your pussy, making you beg for more. he knows exactly how to use it, angling those shallow thrusts to rub your sensitive spots relentlessly, the girth of the tip stretching you teasingly as he builds your desperation with skilled, playful control.
“not yet—i wanna see what makes you tick first,” he teases, nudging insistently.
— KINICH strikes the golden middle, perfectly balanced length and girth with a smooth, warm shaft that fits you like it was made for this, sliding into your soaked heat with confident ease as veins pulse faintly under the skin. he wields it masterfully, varying his pace from slow grinds that savor the connection to quick snaps that hit just right, drawing out your gasps and shudders with intuitive precision that heightens every sensation.
“i'll make you come undone perfectly,” he promises, thrusting true.
Men who you can easily control and convince of things if you use your nuclear bombs, also known as your boobs.
There he was, sitting in that chair and reading documents for the past 4 hours. It is midnight and he still refuses to go to bed because those documents were apparently ‘really important’ and due tomorrow. Although you recognize his hardworking spirit, sometimes he takes it too far.
That’s why you used your biggest weapon.
You flashed him.
“I’m sorry, my love, but I really need to—” That exact moment of him finally turning his face to stare you back was when you lifted up your shirt, making him paralyze immediately.
His face was stoned at a perfect angle where he could clearly see and appreciate your breathing boobs, his eyes getting dry from the lack of blinking.
“Don’t you think you’ve worked a lot today already? You need have good-quality sleep if you want to work well…” You decided to act extra mean to him and used your hand to squeeze them in their favorite way.
He kept staring at your boobs in silence for some awkward seconds.
…
…
…
“Ok.” He immediately dropped his pen and jumped out of his chair and launched his mouth towards one of your breasts, taking it like he has been starving for it for years now.
genshin sugar daddies: when they finally meet each other
you have seven sugar daddies: one for each day of the week. and although it can get overwhelming at times, you’ve done well to keep each and every relationship relatively separate, no matter how demanding of your attention they are. well, that all goes to shit when they’re all attending the same fucking party.
tw: nsfw, dark content
you’re fucked.
“is something wrong, dear?” ayato inquires. you do your best to put on your prettiest smile, smooth down your dress like nothing’s wrong, and squeeze his hand to reassure him that everything is a-okay.
“i’m fine. feeling a bit under the weather, is all.”
everything is not a-okay. underneath your jewel-encrusted gown you are trembling. kaeya shouldn’t even be here, you think. but there he is, chatting up some local politician that ayato had introduced you to earlier. it takes everything in you not to suggest leaving the gala when you had just arrived an hour ago.
ayato smiles, pressing a chaste kiss between your brows. “alright.”
home. just a couple weeks ago, ayato has begun to change his vocabulary. he says ‘ours’ instead of ‘my’ and ‘we’ instead of ‘me.’ every time you take off your new diamond-encrusted ring, he gives you a look you can’t stomach and glides it back onto your finger whenever he gets the chance. he’ll kiss you sweetly like nothing’s wrong but from the way his hand lingers on your ring finger says otherwise.
“i wish i could take you home right now,” ayato laments, taking your hand in his and slowly caressing the back of your knuckles like a lover would. “but you know how things are. publicity is half of the job.”
that’s why we entered this kind of relationship in the first place. you purse your lips. it was supposed to be contractual, nothing more.
ayato’s whispers of sweet-nothings into your ear contrasts your thoughts. he tells you how beautiful you look, how your cerulean gown matches his suit, about how he’ll take it off when you get back, all the while he’s navigating you through the crowds of people. his hand rests gently on the small of your back, as if it was his way of soothing you.
you’re fine, you tell yourself. there’s too many people here. kaeya won’t see you. you dread the idea of locking eyes with him, the dark scowl that’d spread on his lips, if you had the misfortune of seeing him again tonight. he might’ve known that you had other clients, but if he met them in person, you’re sure you’d never hear the end of it.
“are you sure you’re fine?” ayato asks softly. he brushes a stray strand of hair away form your face. he presses his lips to your cheek like it belongs there.
a frank ‘no,’ dances on the tip of your tongue. your survival instincts are screaming at you, begging you to call off this entire thing. you want to go home. you want to tell him no, you’re not fine. but if you do, ayato would most likely take you home. not your home. but home. and as much as you wanted to escape, you knew being in a room alone with this man who stared at you as if you were is one and only was even worse.
so you don’t. you do what you practiced. you stare into this man’s eyes and smile like you mean it. you kiss him on the lips, to which he reciprocates eagerly, and tell him, “i told you, i’m okay.”
the way ayato smiles is devious. he smoothly hooks his hand around your waist and guides you to the center of the ballroom. try as you might, you can feel the envious gazes burning into your skin. towards you or ayato, you’re not sure, but you don’t want to think about it further.
ayato, it seems, doesn’t mind. his hold on you becomes all the more tighter, confident.
the two of you are once again talking to one of ayato’s associates. you’ve seen this man at other social events here and there, but you’ve never talked to him personally.
you shudder at the way he eyes you up.
“oh, you must be the rumored miss ayato seemingly can’t stop talking about,” the man surmises. he stares into his glass of wine before taking a greedy gulp. “ayato has never talked about a woman so fondly, so i figured you must’ve been really special. now that i’ve finally been introduced to you, i can see i was right.”
you open your mouth to retort, but ayato beats you to it.
his nails are practically digging into your bodice. “yes, this is my fiance,” he hisses. you don’t appreciate how much emphasis he puts into his words. you almost want to correct him, but you don’t, because this is what you’re paid for: to ward off potential marriage proposals. so sure, you’ll let this one slide, as long as he says nothing about it in private.
the man, seemingly oblivious to ayato’s rising anger, smiles. “ah, so you’ve finally put a ring on it? what a pity.”
“i can hardly say it’s a pity,” ayato mutters. “we’ve been together for a very long time, it was only a matter of time. if anything, it seems as if you’re trying to make a pass.”
ayato’s associate jumps at his tone. “oh, no, that wasn’t my intention...”
his words start to melt into the background noise, the music, the meaningless chatter. you smile awkwardly, knowing that if you tried to handle things yourself ayato would only take over for you. so instead, you stand there and look pretty, trying to not draw any more attention than you should.
instead, you opt to observe the room. between the crowds of mingling elites, you’re desperate to find out where kaeya had gone. was he close? was he far? did he leave? did he see you?
your stomach flips at the mere thought. at the very beginning, kaeya was fun. casual. he was friendly but not invasive. he’d flirt with you and mean it, but you knew his attraction to you didn’t extend beyond the bedroom. at least, that’s what you thought. before you knew it, kaeya had grown so attached to you it were as if you were his second heart, as if he wanted to meld you into his skin and whisper all of his thoughts and praises.
if he discovered you here with someone else, you don’t know what would happen.
in the midst of your discreet search, you catch a familiar glimpse of someone else in the crowd. you usually see him in his work attire when it’s designated day, but today he’s donned on an emerald suit, decorated with gold embellishments.
your heart drops to the pit of your stomach when alhaitham’s gaze sweeps across the crowd, as if he’s looking for something too. to his right, tighnari matches his pace. they seem to be in some sort of conversation, mumbling to each other over glasses of champagne as the crowd moves forward. they live on the opposite side of the city. what are they doing here? you were so sure that this event would only be attend by those with business in the inazuma district. what went wrong?
you’re just about to look away when it happens.
alhaitham looks back.
it’s like a bucket of ice has been poured over you.
his stare goes from surprise, to confusion, to realization, to absolute anger.
you don’t forget how ayato’s hand rests comfortably on your waist. alhaitham’s eyes seemed to be pinned there, like he’s undressing you with his eyes, burning holes into every pore of ayato’s hand.
you’re caught like a deer in headlights. tightnari’s trying to talk to him, but alhaitham ignores him entirely. his entire focus, his entire being, is locked onto you. you don’t know what to do at this point.
ayato’s tight grip loosens. without even realizing it you’re being guided away from the conversation.
“i’m so sorry about that,” ayato murmurs as he wraps both hands around your waist. he presses into you, his nose finding its way inbetween your neck and your shoulder.
you’re entire body freezes as alhaitham’s gaze drags up your hips to your neck. for a second, his eyes catch yours and he gives you this look as if to say, i’m going to kill him.
“ayato, we’re in public,” you say as you gently press onto his shoulders. you hope that he can’t feel the way your fingers tremble.
“let them see,” he replies with a breathy exhale. “that way, no one ever tries anything with you again. besides, is it wrong for two lovers to express their love in public? especially so soon after being engaged.”
this is wrong. the ayato you knew when you first met didn’t like drawing attention to himself. he’d rather sit in the shadows and people watch rather than become the spectacle himself. and of all things, at the worst time.
you feel as if ayato is unknowingly digging your grave. every time ayato moves so much as a milimeter closer to you, you can see alhaitham’s jaw clench just a little tighter.
at this point, tighnari has caught on to what alhaitham has been so distracted by. tighnari doesn’t hesitate to size you up. the both of you. for a moment, his ears pull back. he’s threatened.
“my dear?”
you’re attention whips back to ayato. his gaze is almost intense as alhaitham’s and tighnari’s. it’s full of love, adoration, and obsession. he looks at you like you’re the one for him. that he had just discovered you two were soulmates. but you’re not.
you smile, even though you feel like turning your stomach inside out. you have to pretend that you’re fine. and you’re good at that, right? you’re good at pretending to be what these men want, which is convenient, emotionally available, and loving. even though you’re entire world, everything you’ve worked so hard to maintain, is falling apart right this moment, you will smile. because that’s your job, isn’t it? you’re good at giving what your customers need. you’re good at your job.
so you keep your voice nice and light, even though you’re words are anything but what ayato wants to hear. “but we aren’t engaged, though.”
he hums, nuzzling deeper into your skin. “but we are, aren’t we? my ring is on your finger.” his fingers thrum against your hips. “did you know? my name’s engraved on the inside.”
as much as ayato’s words alarm you, your entire focus is locked onto alhaitham and tighnari, who look livid. their mouths are moving. the two of them are speaking to each other, and it kills you not to know what they’re saying.
just before you can get away from ayato, they make their way towards you.
their pace is slow, but intentional. their gazes don’t dare pry away from you.
and just like that, it all becomes too much.
“i have to go to the bathroom,” you blurt out. with some kind of newfound adrenaline, you manage to push ayato off of you. he gives you a look of hurt, confusion, anger, and absolute shock. “i’ll be right back.”
ayato’s clearly confused, but as he attempts to reach out to you, you blend yourself within the throng of people. without looking back, you disappear into the crowd, leaving ayato all by his lonesome.
you’re quick to push through the crowds, but careful to avoid the other ticking time bombs in the room. you feel as if you’re being chased. and in reality, you are. you zigzag through different conversations, hoping to miraculously become invisible. and yet, despite your absolute care, you somehow step on your own minefield.
you hear the sound of your name first.
you see him second.
childe’s standing there, in a suit you’ve never seen him wear before.
is everyone at this party?
“i thought it was you, looking so pretty. are you all dressed for me?”
you both know what the answer is, and yet you don’t say anything.
childe chuckles. “why do you look so scared? you look like you’ve just been caught cheating.”
he slowly slides his hand down your arm, almost sensually. his fingers interlock with yours before he’s swinging it playfully, but you know his mood is anything but. he’s staring at your interlocking hands so intently. you look down to realize that he’s staring at the ring ayato put on your finger.
shit.
childe doesn’t say anything. he simply kisses your hand all prince-like, his gaze meeting yours. he’s so calm it’s disturbing.
“whoever got this for you has bad taste. i bet he just chose whatever ring had the biggest jewel, right?” he plays with your fingers dismissively, gentlely drawing patterns around your ring finger. “you always told me i couldn’t buy you a ring, and yet this fucker can. what’s so different? i bet he just thinks whatever is biggest is the prettiest. but truth is, it’ll never be pretty. it’ll never be my special kind of pretty, isn’t that right, girlie?”
you’re tempted to curl into yourself, but you hold your ground.
“let go, childe.”
“and let you run away from me to some other man who doesn’t know you as well as i do? hmm? he uses his hold on your hand as leverage to pull you closer to him. his other hand wraps itself around your torso, pressing you into him. you struggle to escape, but you can’t. to anyone else, you two would’ve looked to be in a lover’s embrace. he caresses your cheek, as if appraising you. “maybe i should leave my own mark on you. maybe that’ll show everyone who you really belong to.”
you wriggle in his grasp. “childe, i’m serious. stop—”
“hmm, at least your next is exposed. yes… i think a hickey here would be nice—”
“childe! what are you up to this time?”
childe immediately pulls away to reveal a man smiling amicably at the two of you. a pair of silver frames rest on his nose.
“ah, pantalone.” childe replies. “it’s nothing.”
you don’t hesitate to use this opportunity to escape. the moment you can, you whisk yourself away. you don’t care for niceties at this point. instead, you find refuge in the ladies’ restroom.
you lock yourself in one of the stalls, grateful that no one else is in there. with no one around to stare, observe, or judge you, you close the toilet seat and plop onto it unceremoniously with your head in your hands.
at this point, everything is spinning. your heart is thumping at thousands of miles per minute, and you’re trying to get a grip on reality. you think about the bills you need to pay, your overwhelming debt, and the life that rests on your hands. you think about all the things you need to do, and all the things you can’t do, not by yourself.
you need money to survive.
once you’ve properly calmed down, you take a deep breath and open the door. you look at yourself in the mirror, taking note of all the little details in your makeup and your outfit, all of which were made by ayato, for ayato. all dressed in light blues, you look like you belong to the kamisato clan.
you look like ayato’s wife.
“you look wonderful in blue.”
you don’t have the time to turn before he’s on you.
if you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought that kaeya had returned to his old self. he’s kissing you like he hates the space between you. his mouth is hot and tastes of alcohol. his hands find their place on your hips like it’s natural.
you can’t breathe, with the way he kisses you.
underneath his heated movements, there’s a underlying desperation. like kaeya somehow needs to overdose on your every breath to survive. his hands are all over you, rumpling the dress you tried so hard to smooth out.
he pushes the two of you into one of the open stalls, smoothly locking it behind him. you’re pressed against the bathroom door, a hardness pressing into your abdomen.
“kaeya—”
your words are immediately swallowed up by his mouth. he can’t be bothered to speak to you. you can feel how angry he his with his fingers dig into your skin. he just wants to kiss you senseless, is that so wrong?
his tongue runs over yours. he’s exploring your mouth like it’s a treasure trove. as if this his first time ever kissing you and he wants to learn what makes you tick.
but really, you can’t breathe.
“kaeya—”
he pulls away from you like it’s the most painful thing he’s done. and it’s then you meet his eyes for the first time that night. his gaze is vulnerable. it’s obsessive, and needy, and desperate, and too, too much. too emotional. it’s not what you signed up for, and it’s not what he promised you.
but he doesn’t care about that right now. he nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent like it’s his drug.
“i saw you. with him.”
“who?” comes out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.
“i saw you the moment you got here,” kaeya replies, ignoring your question. “do you know how hurt i felt? how much i wanted to just strangle him? i could do it, you know. i could stage it like it was an accident. or make it look like he was a danger to the people. no one would know.”
you knew kaeya was a ticking time bomb, but you’ve never seen him like this.
he wraps himself around you and pulls you close, resting your head on his chest. you can hear how fast his heart is pounding. “you’d still love me, if i did that, right? you know everything about me, everything no one else knows. only you could love me.”
there’s a crazed look to him. he’s so out of it, you’re hesitant to touch him. his embrace steals the breathe out of your lungs, quite literally. he holds onto you like if he let up for just a second you’d disappear into thin air.
“kaeya—”
he kisses you again, a small moan leaving his lips. “say my name again, please. say it like it’s yours. i’m all yours.”
you run your hand through his hair and pull, but he only groans in response. you can feel his hard-on grinding into you. a whimper escapes you as he brushes against your clit through the dress.
if it’s not his name, kaeya’s bent on not letting you speak. his kisses keep getting more insistent, more greedy.
you run your hand through his hair and give it a hard tug.
“aagh—just like that.”
you’re out of options at this point. kaeya won’t pull away, so eager to breathe you in.
kaeya’s too lost in you to notice your hand blindly grabbing at the bathroom’s lock. when the door opens, it creates enough momentum to seperate the two of you. kaeya’s taken off guard, so you take the chance to bolt it out of there and escape back into the crowd.
you just want to run away from everything. from these disastrous men. from these claustrophobic parties. from this entire situation. from all your problems. your debt. from small, tiny hospital rooms and endless nights praying for a miracle—
you don’t care what you look like at this point. you don’t care that your dress is in disarray, that tears are probably streaking down your face, or that you’re so out of breath you’re gulping down air like it’s water.
fuck this.
fuck that.
fuck everything.
you’re so focused on escaping you bump shoulders with a stranger. quite roughly, at that.
diluc looks surprised. he appraises you concerningly, but you can’t stomach it. his gaze is so full of love and adoration and possessiveness you think you’re going to hurl.
you don’t even say anything. when you see kaeya chasing after you, you book it. you don’t even text ayato you’re leaving. you just…disappear.
the hospital room’s quiet. it always is. save for the occasional nurse, no one else is here, save for the patient.
in a way, this room is your escape.
you’re still in ayato’s dress. it’s a bit dirty from tonight’s events, a bit ruffled. you look like a victim in those crime TV shows with a shock blanket.
right now, you’re curled up on the sofa, staring into nothingness. you don’t want to think of anything right now. there’s no point in saying anything. you know she won’t say anything back.
what would she say if she were here right now?
she’d scold you, for sure. she’d nag you for how messy your apartment was. how you dropped out of college when you promised her you’d pursue your dream. how you haven’t once visited your parents’ grave. how you sold your mind, body, and soul just for some few bucks.
you crumble at the thought. oh, how much money it took to keep her alive. to hide the both of you away from them. to keep sniffing dogs off your trail. you could always move away, hop from place to place. but if you did, what would you do about her?
your sister was like a second mother to you. how could you abandon her like that?
the door opens so abruptly, you practically jump out of your skin.
“kazu?”
“i knew you’d be here.”
somewhere down the line, you heard that kazuha had descended from a long line of honorable samurais. seeing him like this, appearing out of thin air as if he was there all along, you thought it could be true.
kazuha enters the room like a soft gentle breeze, like it’s a suggestion.
you’re speechless.
he sits next to you on the couch and presses the side of your head to lean onto his shoulder. the two of you look at your comatosed sister together, as if if you stared hard enough, she’d finally wake up.
“it’s going to be okay,” kazuha whispers.
“how did you know i was here?”
“what do you mean?” he turns to kiss the crown of your head so tenderly. “i’ll always be there for you, don’t you know that?”
your blood runs cold. you pull away to look at him. “kazuha, i never told you where i was. no one knows about this hospital.”
he looks at you earnestly, as if you don’t know any better and he adores it.
men who are so cocky about their dick game. he tells his friends he can fuck whoever he wants, whenever he wants and they'd be all over him for another round! no statement can be proven true without at least one example, so they make a bet—you. all he has to do is get you to admit you’d do almost anything for another fuck, and he had whatever rights he wants for a month.
and it’s fairly easy to coerce you into his bed; he’s not even upset either. your voice is silty and your moves as you dance are oh-so-sexy, even without the bet he probably would’ve tried to find a way to get in your pants regardless of the reason.
but he’s awestruck at how amazing you feel, groaning a deep fuuuck as he slides into you. is pussy supposed to feel this good? he’s practically losing his mind over here. your smaller hand is gripping his bicep as he bottoms out, pretty lashes barely cracking open as you meet his eyes. you’re so fucking gorgeous that he could cum from the sight alone, but he’s on a mission… that he actually forgot.
because you’re going a stupid amount of rounds that night; him bending you into all forms and positions so he can fuck you just right. you’re more than accommodating, sickly sweet in the way you fuck back and he swears he’s found his match made in heaven.
even when you try to leave after a couple of hours, he’s pressing his chest to your back, rough fingers dancing dangerously close to your sore clit as you attempt to pull your skirt back up. you should be going, you really should. but his breath is just so hot against your neck and his fingers are already sliding past your ruined underwear—come on, are you actually supposed to say no?
and he ends up catching you in some random convenience store two days later, nudging you slightly to get your attention. it’s completely shameless how he describes how much he’s been thinking about you, he needs those sweet lips wrapped around his cock again. wait, shouldn’t this be the other way round?
he guesses he can bend the story just a teensy bit to his guys in a couple of days because you’re the one who abandoned your somewhat full shopping cart to let him press you against the bathroom wall. his hand is pressed hard over your mouth as he fills you up with his thick length again, biting back another groan as you squeeze around him. fuck the bet honestly, he just wants you.
they love making you beg. not because they’re cruel, but because it’s intoxicating to watch someone confident unravel under them - it feeds their ego in all the best (and worst) ways.
will absolutely talk you through it. “yeah? that’s it. look at you, so needy. say it again. say what you want.” and they won’t give it to you until you do - grinning while you stumble over your words.
they're experts at edging - not just you, but themselves too. they love holding back just to draw it out, to tease you with how hard they are, how much they want you, and still keep control. you coming apart while they’re still fully clothed? top-tier victory.
will pin your hands not because you struggle, but because they like knowing you can’t touch them unless they let you. the power trip is subtle, but unmistakable.
they're vocal - low groans, dirty talk, absolutely shameless praise. “you take me so well,” “you were made for this,” or worse - “look how good you are for me.” they know the effect their words have and weaponize it mercilessly.
when they’re jealous, they don’t sulk - they prove themselves. the sex turns possessive, rougher, and they're not above saying things like, “remember who owns this,” while leaving marks in places you’ll have to explain later.
post-nut clarity doesn’t exist for them - if anything, they’re more smug after. “you can barely walk, and i’m still ready for round two. what now, sweetheart?”
mirrors are their favorite tool - bending you over in front of one or making you watch while they go down on you, eyes never leaving yours. “don’t look away now. you wanted this, didn’t you?”
surprisingly obsessed with aftercare. they might be cocky and overwhelming during the act, but afterward? they’re cradling you, massaging your thighs, stroking your hair, and whispering how perfect you were - always in that same teasing tone, just softer now.
when you try to take control or tease them? they let you… at first. let you ride it out, smirk while you try your best, and then flip the dynamic without warning. “cute. but let me show you how it’s really done.”
gm guys i just woke up and im thinking abt lazy morning sex with diff genshin characters ugh
kaeya would prob be so teasing. when u wake up and press little kisses to his neck, he makes fun of you - was last night not enough? are you still insatiable? he loves taking his time with you in the morning, climbing on top of you and slooooowly kissing down your naked figure until he made it to the apex of your thighs. as mischievous as ever, he takes his time eating you out in these early hours, slowly pulling an orgasm out you to make sure your day starts right!!
itto always was a little spontaneous in the mornings. many a time you’ve had your cooking interrupted by your boyfriends ravenous libido. you just looked too cute in his shirt, the hem of it hanging just low enough to cover your ass. your hair, too, still disheveled from the night before. it wasn’t his fault, it was just so easy to bend you over the kitchen counter and thank you for breakfast with a good dick down :’)
scaramouche tries to ignore the warm feeling in his chest while you sleep on him, though when you awake and smile at him with a sweet ‘g’mornin, mouche’ he looses it. he loves surprising you by flipping you over and chuckling into your neck while he slotted himself between your legs. he always pretended like he was this haughty man of high prestige that was too great for trivial romance such as this. you could always see past it though, especially when he whimpers while cumming inside you and asks if he can do it again <3
arlechinno lives a busy life with a bus schedule, so mornings are often the only times you two can be truly intimate. you’re quite used to being awoken by the shuffle of clothes while she gets ready, and just before she leaves, she always does the same - she kisses you slow and sweet, takes the dildo from your shared night stand, and slowly works you to a sleepy orgasm while she whispers promises of her return. she praises you through it all and tells you how perfect of a wife you are, how perfect and pretty you look this early in the morning when only she has the privilege of seeing you like this :3
[ Sub ] Gender-neutral reader
Contains: Finishing too fast, misunderstandings, made-up language, and virgin reader
Part 1: Accidents during sex headcanons - Alhaitham, Wanderer + Varka
[ masterlist ]
I lied, maybe I will make this into a series. Kaeya's part isn't technically an "accident," but please ignore it; I was probably inspired by last week's fic.
— ☆ Albedo
Finishing too fast
You’re absolutely mortified; no amount of lust or dopamine would ever be enough to stop you from wanting to cry, die, and crawl under the floorboards all at once. Albedo even blinks twice as he takes in the sight of the mess streaking your thighs and soaking into his sheets.
"Hm." That's all he said.
This is it. You’re going to throw yourself out the window.
“Do you want to keep going?” Albedo’s voice cuts through the haze of your panic. It's the same tone he uses when studying why an experiment went wrong, and wow, doesn't that make you feel better? You risk a glance up. He’s looking at you like nothing’s wrong, maybe a little confused, but his hand, the one still stained from earlier, hangs awkwardly in the space between you.
“Uh… I mean… m-maybe? You haven’t, uh…” You trail off, pulling your knees in slightly, trying to make yourself smaller. The words die halfway out of your mouth, and you feel like maybe you should apologize. Your gaze drops from his face, down to the star-shaped tattoo on his neck, following the sharp lines of his abdomen and the dip of his hips, where you could see if he's still- nope. Absolutely not. You’re not going to check if he’s gone soft; that would kill you. Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut and cover your face, your cheeks and ears burning with heat. If you don't look, it doesn't exist.
There’s a beat of silence. You can hear the faint rustle of fabric, his slow exhale, and the pit in your stomach deepens. Embarrassment twists into something heavier. Albedo must be disappointed in you. Somehow, that’s worse, and it makes your chest tighten. Your bottom lip trembles, warmth prickling at the corners of your eyes. You feel gross and dirty, and you just want to go home, where it's safe and you can be alone.
“You’re trembling,” his hand settles lightly on your arm, “You don’t have to look at me. Just breathe.”
You do, though it comes out pathetic.
Albedo shifts closer, his hand sliding to your waist, fingers tracing the curve of your side until they settle in a light hold. His other hand finds the back of your head and guides you down until your back meets the sheets again. His lips brush over your fingers, still clamped stubbornly to your face, as if coaxing them to move. You stay firm, unwilling to let him see you like this. He exhales softly, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin before it turns into a quiet, amused sound. His lips trail lower, past your knuckles, down to the curve of your jaw, where he leaves a featherlight kiss.
“I’ve read,” he murmurs, voice calm and thoughtful, “that when you’re deeply attracted to someone, your brain releases a flood of excitement and bonding chemicals. The body becomes overstimulated and reaches orgasm faster.”
He pauses there, his lips still close to your skin. You can feel the faint movement of his mouth quirking up when he adds, “In truth, I find this quite flattering.”
You groan into your hands, voice muffled, but you do move your index fingers to peek between them, “Albedo, please stop whispering science to me to make me feel better. I actually hate you so much.”
A quiet chuckle rumbles against your throat as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His expression isn’t teasing, though; his eyes are soft, the faintest crease at the corner showing a mix of affection and curiosity.
“Hate me? I thought that information might be comforting,” Albedo says. His tone is light, but there’s an apology tucked somewhere between the words. The hand at your waist moves in slow, steady circles, the warmth of his palm easing the tension from your muscles. “On the contrary, I find you… remarkably beautiful.”
He studies you with the same focus he gives to his alchemical work, though now that you look closely, there’s nothing clinical about it. His gaze traces over your eyes first, the curve of your cheek, the flutter in your throat when you swallow, and then up to where your hands still hover awkwardly over your face. When he reaches up to move one aside, you let him do so, and that makes him smile sincerely.
It still feels strange seeing Albedo like this. You remember when you first arrived in Mondstadt, a city built on freedom, wind, and dandelions, watched over by the Knights of Favonius and the Anemo God, Barbatos. It was quaint and open compared to where you’d come from, yet with its high walls enclosing the City of Freedom, it also felt safe and stable. You’d passed by the alchemy station one afternoon, right beside that little shop you’d made a mental note to revisit for groceries. That was when you saw him for the first time, a man with pale blond hair and a star-shaped mark on his neck. You remember pausing, struck by how pretty he was, though the blank look on his face as he read over his notes made him seem almost bland. Unremarkable, if you were being unkind. So you walked on without giving him another glance.
Now, that same man is here with you, his palm pressed gently over your pounding heart, his other hand tilting your chin just enough to hold your gaze.
“You always look away when I do this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your sternum, “But you are fascinating to me. Every breath, every small reaction… I don’t want to miss any of it.”
His words aren’t meant to flatter; he's just simply stating facts. He presses a light kiss to your temple before resting his forehead there, his voice dropping softer, “Is that strange to you?"
You shake your head, though your throat feels tight, and you don’t trust your voice just yet. Then, when he’s sure you won’t pull away, Albedo’s hand begins to move. His fingers draw a slow path upward along your chest, following the shape of your collarbone, stopping just below your throat. Your breath catches, and his gaze flicks up to meet yours. He tilts his head slightly, and his thumb traces the hollow of your throat, the faintest pressure there sending another shiver through you.
“I like you,” he murmurs, his lips barely grazing yours as he speaks the words, letting them linger in your mind, “All of you… exactly as you are.”
— ☆ Flins
Saying the wrong name
You don’t notice it the first time it happens; you’re too lost in the haze of heat and breath, floating somewhere between exhaustion and bliss to register anything coherent. Words melt together, touches blur. But then it happens again. And again. Often enough that your mind finally catches up, alarms blaring because- wait. Who the fuck is Anamarë? At first, you try to give Flins the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s a nickname. Something poetic, something old-fashioned he picked up from one of his dusty books. That’d be cute, right? It’s not. That theory goes out the window when he greets you by your real name the next morning, perfectly normal, as if nothing happened. It’s then completely shot dead when you realize he only says it in bed, right when he’s about to cum. A breathy moan into your neck to muffle the name, but still burning it into your skin anyway.
And that’s what bothers you most. Anything said during that time is pure instinct and therefore, honest. Flins doesn’t even seem to notice that he says it, and you can’t decide if that makes it better or worse. You lie there afterward, staring at the ceiling, your hand tracing idle circles across his back while your thoughts spin. You’ve debated bringing it up, but where would you even start? “Hey, who’s the person you keep calling out for when you’re inside me?” Yeah. That’s not going to end well.
Still, it eats at you. You like him. A lot. A lottt. But do you like him enough to let him call you by some random name? I mean..maybe? Sure, the sex is great, but it’s not just that. You like the way his voice softens when he says your name, the way he carries himself like a gentleman, the quiet half-laugh that escapes him when he's caught off guard. You like how seriously he takes his duties as a Lightkeeper and how dedicated he is to his role as the guardian of the Final Night Cemetery.
That’s what makes it hurt. Because if Anamarë is someone else, someone he loved, someone he lost, then what are you? A stand-in? A replacement? You squeeze your eyes shut. If you ignore it, maybe it will go away...
"Is something wrong? You seem troubled. Have I done something to upset you?" Flins asks in the quiet of the night. The room is dim except for the faint blue glow seeping through the window, soft light painting the edges of Flins’ face in silver. The sheets cling to your skin, still warm, a mix of sweat and salt. Flins lies beside you, both arms folded across his chest and hands placed on his stomach like he's prepped for his own coffin. It's all a bit too ironic not to get mad at.
“Uh, no. You were uhh… great. Yeah.” You laugh under your breath, awkward and too quick. You sound like someone caught stealing. Flins only tilts his head slightly, still watching you. There’s no judgment in his expression, only patience. You sigh, it's barely been ten seconds, and you're already bending the knee, “Actually, no. I lied. There is something wrong.”
“Please,” he says softly, “tell me what ails you so I might make it better.”
That genuine voice makes it worse. Why couldn't he have been some apathetic piece of shit who kicked you out on the first night into the cold cemetery? That would’ve been easier to deal with. You don’t want to see kindness right now.
“It’s… that thing you said. That word. Ana… Anami? Anamary? I don’t know, however it’s pronounced,” you fidget with a loose thread at the edge of the blanket, twisting it around your finger until it bites into your skin, “Why do you keep calling me that? I have a name, you know. Feelings too, and I don’t like- no, I hate it when you call me someone else’s name.”
You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The moment the words leave your mouth, regret burns through you. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him.
Then Flins blinks once, slowly. And to your utter disbelief, he laughs. That breathy half-laugh you’ve grown far too fond of fills the space between you. It’s light and low and so pretty that it makes you both ache and want to smack him. The nerve of this lightkeeper. You're going to kill him.
“Please, excuse me,” he says between laughs, lifting a hand in apology, “I did not mean to offend. I am, a-ha, embarrassed.”
His smile falters into something more bashful, “Anamarë is… a term of endearment in my language. I had not realized I was saying that in our moments of passion.”
Your stomach sinks. You can feel the blood rushing to your face. “Oh.”
And then again, miserably. “Oh.”
"I'm so sorry for accusing. I can't believe I just- I'm sorry, Flins,” you groan, burying your face in your hands, “I’m such an idiot. I should’ve just asked instead of jumping to conclusions and exploding on you.”
Flins shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. He looks calm, maybe even relieved, “You are forgiven.”
He really shouldn't. Sure, you didn't have a psychotic break and attempt to key his lantern, but isn't he a little bit too nice? You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The tension in your shoulders eases a little, but the embarrassment lingers. You peek at him through your fingers, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest. His hair is messy from the pillow, strands curling slightly near his temple. He only gazes back at you through thick lashes and that sleepy smile.
“So… can I ask what it means?” you manage, lowering your hands and trying not to sound as nervous as you feel. He hums softly, thoughtfully, and sits up a little straighter. The sheet slides down his shoulder, revealing a glimpse of smooth skin before it pools at his waist.
“There is no exact Teyvat translation,” he begins. His tone is careful, almost hesitant. A faint pink rises to his cheeks, “But the closest meaning would be ‘soul light.’”
You nod slowly, unsure what to say. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket, tracing the seams to keep yourself grounded.
“But when directed at a person,” he says, quieter now, “it means…”
His gaze drifts down, then back up, meeting your eyes. The smile that follows is small but sincere, something warmer than you’ve ever seen on him before. He leans in, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but you don’t. The faint scent of salt and candle wax lingers on him. His breath brushes against your ear, and every nerve in your body seems to notice.
“It means,” he murmurs, his voice a soft tremor against your skin, “the one who illuminates my spirit.”
Anamarë
Anam – Irish word meaning soul.
Arë – Quenya-inspired suffix (from Tolkien’s constructed language), meaning sunlight, warmth, or daytime.
— ☆ Kaeya
It doesn't feel good
You remember hearing your peers gossip and boast about their first and future trysts, how “amazing” or “mind-blowing” it supposedly felt. Hookups and one-night stands have become common parts of everyone’s vocabulary. But you never had much interest in them, not quite trusting the idea of letting some random stranger see you that vulnerable for the first time.
Still, you didn’t want to die a virgin. You were simply more selective about who you wanted to share your first time with, and for all intents and purposes, Kaeya isn’t the worst choice. He seems experienced, if the bar patrons are to be trusted, so you don’t have to worry about any clumsy accidents or injuries. Plus, you’ve never heard him talk openly about his partners or "exploits", so even if it goes badly, no one else will know. While you would have much rather waited for someone special, someone you loved, Kaeya is a good guy with a good face, and there are far worse people you could have asked.
The arrangement itself ended up being rather awkwardly professional. While you and Kaeya aren’t exactly friends, you’re acquainted well enough to chat whenever you happen to cross paths. You offered, and he accepted.
And well, honestly?
It doesn’t feel that great.
“Not up to your expectations?” Kaeya asks, his tone light but not mocking. He notices the tension in your face, the way your body doesn’t quite relax beneath his touch. He slows even more, watching carefully, “Do you want to take a breather? Am I hurting you?”
You hesitate, embarrassed to admit the truth, "I... think maybe we should stop.”
Even though it's a reasonable request, heat crawls up your neck as you avoid his gaze. You had built this up in your head, convinced yourself you were ready, only to be left with disappointment and being entirely too self-aware. A sinking dread tells you that any future attempt will just remind you of this moment, of how badly it went, and the idea of intimacy already feels tainted.
But Kaeya doesn’t look annoyed or frustrated. He just shifts slightly, easing back without complaint.
“Of course, thank you for telling me," he brushes his thumb along your cheek, wiping away the wetness you hadn’t realized was there. His hand is warm, surprisingly warm for someone with a Cryo Vision. You almost make a joke about it, something about him freezing your tears just to save face, but you stop yourself. He’s taking this seriously; you should too.
"I just... I-it's not you-sorry, you already know that- uh-" you swallow hard, feeling your cheeks heat up further as you pointedly turn your face to avoid looking into his eye, "I want to do it right...but I don't think I can...if that makes sense..."
“It makes perfect sense,” he says after a moment. “It’s your first time, right?”
You nod, feeling the heat creep back up your neck.
He hums softly, thoughtful, “Then there’s nothing to worry about. It’s normal to be nervous, to not know what you like yet. Everyone has different bodies, maybe this just isn't something you like."
You blink at him, the tension in your shoulders slowly easing. Sure, you know that, but hearing it from someone like Kaeya, who actually knows what he's doing and does it well, makes you feel a tiny bit better. Gives him more credibility and he isn't saying whatever will get you to stay in his bed. He moves his hand from your cheek to your jaw, tilting your head slightly so you’re looking at him again. His thumb rests just below your lower lip, not pushing, just there.
“I can guide you,” he says quietly, his tone more tender than you expected, “But only if you want me to.”
Something in your chest tightens at the way he says it, not as a tease or a challenge, but a real offer. Not the half-hearted one you gave him. The hesitation, the nerves, the uncertainty all start to blend with something else. You’re still embarrassed, but beneath that, there’s relief. Your hands flex at your sides, twitching with something to do, weighing if you should reach out to him. You don't want to seem like a "selfish participant" that others harp on. You want to prove that, although you had asked Kaeya into your bed on a whim, you still want to try and care.
“Did you know? Some people have sensitive ears, while others can’t stand even a breeze brushing past them," His voice is calm, almost casual, but the closeness makes it hard to focus on the words. When his hand lifts, fingers tracing the curve of your ear, you tense before you can help it. The touch is cold this time, a sharp contrast to the heat gathering beneath your skin. You swallow, trying to say something back, but the words don’t come out. It’s not unpleasant, just unfamiliar, but it also doesn't feel good either. He hums when you shake your head.
“This one’s my favorite,” he murmurs, tapping lightly at your sternum. The contact makes your breath hitch. His hand drifts lower, fingertips tracing slowly over the sensitive point of your chest, lingering just enough for you to feel every inch of his movement before settling. You make a small sound without meaning to, something caught between a gasp and a laugh, and Kaeya chuckles softly, clearly pleased.
“The good thing is that you know your limits. You know when to stop. That’s more important than pushing yourself through something that doesn’t feel right," he says, his voice returning to that patient, steady tone. His thumb strokes gently along your skin, “So please, don’t cry. You did nothing wrong.”
The reassurance makes your throat tighten even more. You sniff, blinking at him. The kindness in his words and the patience in his touch are almost overwhelming. You hadn’t expected this; you always thought of Kaeya as kind of a sleaze, the type to flirt just to see how far he could get. But now, sitting here with his hand resting lightly against your skin, he’s nothing like that. He’s gentle. Easy. Real. It throws you off balance in a way you don’t know how to handle. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words dissolve before they can take shape. Your chest aches, not from embarrassment anymore, but from something warmer, heavier. He tilts his head slightly, studying you, and the faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s small, almost cautious, like he doesn’t want to push. His thumb grazes your cheek again, slow and deliberate, and you realize you’re leaning into the touch before you can stop yourself.
You think, helplessly, that you could be falling in love.
Hi hi could I request Itto, Diluc, Kaeya, and Dottore reacting to the tummy bulge on their bottom cat-girl!reader. I'd really love for Itto's to be a size difference, if that's okay. Love your work, you don't have to take this ask if you don't want to.
🔞minors dni
warnings: afab reader, belly bulge, cat girl reader, rough sex, creampie, size difference (itto), spanking + breeding (kaeya), reader is tied up and gagged (dottore)
// note: nobody ask me how old this req is🙏 anon forgive me and I hope you like this
itto: he's so much bigger than you and his cock is so long and thick that just being fully sheated inside you will give you a belly bulge, good luck reader! will fuck you so hard it'll make you understand why they call it "rearranging someone's guts" and yet you can't go two full days without begging him him to fuck you until you can't walk. he's a very sweet lover despite it all, and the first few times he'd seen you struggle to take him all he had been more than ready to call it quits for your safety, but you'd never give up some good dick just because your pussy is too tiny. he's so big that he can reach your sweet spot even with just half his length, and sometimes, putting it all in is enough to make you cum without even rubbing your clit.
diluc: a regular occurrence with him too bc he loves fucking you as roughly as you can stand, his fat cock begging for entrance against your abused cervix, and he loves planting a hand on your stomach to feel his cock moving in and out of you. you thunk the pressure is making you feel insane, heightening your pleasure as he makes cum and squirt on his cock, rubbing your clit with his other hand so you'll clench harder against him. he also loves cumming straight in your womb over and over, so that you'll have a small tummy bulge even when he pulls out!
kaeya: it takes him a long time to realize he's fucking you so hard he can make your belly bulge bc he mostly has you in doggy style. he loves the access to spank you, and the way he can grab fistfuls of your hair, your kitty ears drawn back in pleasure, to make you arch your back so sweetly for him. you're on your fours again when he notices the first time, only because he's daydreaming about breeding you and starts rubbing your tummy in large strokes, from your bellybutton to your pussy, until on a particularly hard thrust he can feel his cockhead bulging right under the palm of his hand. he's immediately so elated thag he starts fucking you even harder!
dottore: it first happens when he has you strapped down on his experiment chair, your feet tied to the stirrups holding your legs fully apart, your hands tightly gripping the plush armrests as he fucks you so roughly. you moan through the ball gag in your mouth, drooling out of the little holes poked in it, and you try to open your eyes again as you hear him let out a pleased hum. "look at this, kitty", he grins, index finger circling the bulge in your belly, "you've finally loosened up enough to let me into your womb. let's see how long you can last with me this deep inside you, and how you'll react once you're filled with my cum as well"
