he's already covered in so many liquids. his skin is sticky from a mix of cum, sweat, saliva, and tears. under the moonlight from the window, it makes him glisten like a diamond--a slutty diamond that keeps crying for more and less at the same time.
every inch of his skin feels like it's on fire. the tingling sensation hasn't gone away since his first orgasm, and that was three ago. it's almost as if there's a wave of sensation washing over him each time you lazily stroke his cock, and the tide has no intentions of going out any time soon.
"nghhh... please..." he begged, voice barely above a mumble and so slurred you almost want to tell him you don’t understand him just to watch him whimper at the thought of using what little energy he has left to repeat it. however, the trail of drool dripping from his mouth persuaded you to give your darling a break.
"please what, my baby?" you ask in response, a hand coming up to his face to cup it and glide your thumb under his eyes, wiping away the tears only to have them replaced immediately with new ones.
he bites his lip, a gorgeous note of whine and moan leaving him as he blinks up at you with bleary, glossed over eyes. if it was possible, you'd say he looked more distressed after you asked the question, his pretty head shaking as he hiccuped.
"i don’t... i don’t know..." he cried pitifully, breaths coming out in short gasps as he arched into your fingers.
your hand moved down, grazing his balls just to watch him flinch before reaching his loose, wet, raw hole that clenched around nothing under your gaze. it pulsed, blinking at you like it was both desperate and afraid of you entering it again. not that it would hurt anyways, after all, it was leaking lube down between his cheeks and onto the bed beneath him.
"well... you have to tell me something, sweetheart." you told him. the condescension in your voice laced over mock comfort made him preen and blush. everything was just so fucking overwhelming. you could touch the tip of his nose and he'd sob.
his breathing picked up again, unfocused eyes watching you like you were the only thing keeping him even vaguely grounded. you looked so put together compared to him. just staring at the way your skin was soft and dry, your hair was still nice, and your expression was still sobered all made him want to curl up from embarrassment and arousal.
he opened his mouth again, trying to say something, anything, but he didn’t know what he wanted. all he knew was that he felt like he was high and also deep in some broken version of his mind at the same time. his shaking hands reached up to wrap around your neck, wanting you closer despite how sensitive he was and mewling into your shoulder when you conceded, pressing your perfect body and clean skin against his ruined, messy one.
"awww, my sweet baby." you cooed into his ear, voice soft and everything he needed for his eyes to roll back and his legs to fall open again, begging you for more even if he was already so shattered from what you had given him.
"please..." he begged again, voice trailing into a soft breath as you smiled down at his pitiful form.
"please, what?" you asked again, fingertips trailing slowly up his thighs, hips, sides, and ribs before going down again. his whole body quivered under the touch, trembling like a leaf, or a delicate butterfly fluttering in your palm.
"m-more." he whispered, face blossoming into a bright red from shame as he let out a soft plea for more despite how much you had already given him.
"as you wish, my love." you whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead and making him sob before burying his face in your neck.
your hand wrapped around his dick and he screamed against your skin, biting it to try and stop the whole neighbourhood from hearing. but, when your other hand slowly circled a finger around his rim before pushing into his sloppy, wet hole, he couldn't hold back the way his hoarse voice broke through the walls of your bedroom.
by morning, you'd have the city filing a complaint that would swiftly be thrown in the trash as you brought your darling back to bed for another dozen rounds.
YUJI, giyuu, kaeya, SIGMA, mammon, haibara, shigaraki, your favs <3
a/n: guess who's baaaaack 😛 i've decided to open requests back up for a little bit to get new inspo but don’t worry i'll still be working through my old ones. missed you lovelies!!
content: sub!childe, dom!reader, unhealthy dynamic!!!, childe is very obsessive and manipulative, mentions of stalking, threats of violence (not towards reader), reader is mean but childe is into it, begging, slapping, cockstepping, unprotected sex, hair pulling, degradation, possessiveness, slight angst, childe has a scent kink, marking/biting, praise kink, elements of petplay (reader calls childe “puppy” & treats him like a dog lol)
a/n: part two can be found here. i do not condone the behavior in this fic! please don’t read it if any of the themes may be upsetting for you, and never let a cancer man manipulate you into fucking him 🙏
word count: 12.8k
The hush that fell over Morepesok late into the night was typically one of comfort, a gentle blanket enveloping the village and drifting its citizens off to sleep. Tonight, however, there was a distinct lack of that peaceful lull you’d grown used to on your walks home. No soft veil of darkness, no calming silence that was disturbed only by the familiar rhythm of the sea—rather, an oppressive sense of dread hanging in the air, like when ocean waves receded from the shore moments before bringing about a devastating tsunami.
A thick sheet of clouds covered the sky, blocking out any traces of moonlight and promising fresh snowfall. Nothing unusual for Snezhnaya, all it meant was a few more inches of white powder crunching beneath your boots if you didn’t make it home in time. You pulled your hood securely over your head and, sure enough, it wasn’t long before the first few snowflakes began floating down in a delicate dance, so fragile that it was easy to forget how unforgiving they could be.
As you approached the walkway to your cottage, the source of all your foreboding suddenly became abundantly clear to you in the form of a distant silhouette. The faint light emitting from the streetlamps revealed a figure standing motionless in front of your house’s entrance, one you recognized all too well.
A horrible chill gripped your body, completely unrelated to the frigid winter air swirling all around you. It turned your feet into cinderblocks and your blood to ice. Despite every instinct screaming for you to turn tail and run the opposite direction, your heavy footsteps trudged on, only because you knew that the slightest glimpse of fear you exhibited would immediately be sniffed out and used against you. So, you continued steadily forward, ignoring the way your heart rate picked up with every step you took until the pale light finally illuminated the form that had been waiting for you. That thick, fluffy coat—you could never decide if it made him look absolutely massive, or highlighted how lean he really was underneath—and that bright, ginger head of hair, standing out against his surroundings like blood splattered in the snow.
“Childe,” you muttered. “I told you to stop coming here.”
“I know,” he let out a breathy chuckle, puffs of air fanning out around him in a ghostly fog. His eyes lingered on you for a few seconds before they darted to the ground, feet shuffling from side to side. It was a sight that was probably meant to appear sheepish, but you knew better than that by now.
If Childe had any shame, he wouldn’t have waited by your house again. He wouldn’t have come back to you time and time again in the countless months you’d been broken up. He wouldn’t have sent you so many gifts and letters that you’d come to dread the arrival of the mail. He wouldn’t have memorized your daily routine and used each day he was back in town to follow you everywhere you went. He wouldn’t have made the view of him on his knees for you so commonplace, breaking down crying with crocodile tears every time you sent him away again. At least, you liked to think of them as crocodile tears. The possibility that they may be real was too troubling to consider.
No, Childe didn’t feel any shame. He wanted you to make him feel it.
Another spell of that hollow silence passed between you two, interrupted only by the sound of your keys jingling as you crossed your arms, an indirect order for him to explain himself.
“I just really missed you,” he whispered at last.
You should’ve come to expect it by now, but those words never failed to soften your heart just as much as they struck dread into it. Oddly enough, it wasn’t so much that you were afraid of him. You pitied him, and that was what frightened you the most. Knowing that you still had the capacity to care for this man no matter how many reasons he gave you not to.
You steeled yourself, hoping your expression hadn’t already betrayed you. “It hasn’t even been a week.”
“Two weeks and a day,” he frowned, visibly drooping over the implication that you didn’t count every waking second you were apart the same way he did.
“Yeah, well…” You eyed your front door longingly, praying you could wrap this up as quickly as possible and head inside the warm sanctuary of your house. “That’s nothing. We’ve been apart for far longer before.”
That was your first mistake of the night. Childe’s face brightened over the acknowledgement of a “we”—you and him, together again. A single unit, exactly how it should be in his mind. You realized your blunder a split-second after he did, panic rising in your chest when you caught the pure glee lighting up his features. Before you could backtrack, however, he used the opportunity to his full advantage.
“Precisely why we should make up for all that lost time, right?”
He tilted his head in a way that was so deceptively innocent, it only made you all the more determined to get away from him. Before you could fall for it again, before you could make a far greater mistake. Swallowing hard, you took a step towards the entrance of your house, and like clockwork, he matched you, taking a step backwards so that there was no path ahead for you but him.
“Who knows how long my next assignment will take,” he added wistfully.
The snowflakes were falling faster now, forming a crown of crystalline flecks in his fiery hair. You resisted the reflex to reach up and brush them away, instead deciding to use the coming blizzard as leverage to get rid of him.
“Childe,” you gritted your teeth. “It’s cold. Go home.”
Whatever hint there was to be taken, he tossed it to the harsh, blowing wind without a second thought. Rather than moving out of your way like any normal human being would, he surged forward, engulfing your body with his. You stumbled backwards from the sheer force of his embrace, only managing to remain upright thanks to his arms wrapping around your torso like a protective belt. More like a cage, really.
“What are you—!”
“Warming you up,” he sang, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Before you could even think to react, he pushed past the shelter of your hood and buried his nose into the crook of your neck, brushing its reddening tip that you’d always found so painfully cute against your skin. He took in a deep, blissful breath, strong fingers clutching the back of your coat, eager to break past the barriers of fabric and get to you.
Then, his muscles stiffened around your body, just noticeable enough to put you on edge.
“You smell different,” his voice grew eerily low. “Were you with someone else?”
You blamed the shiver that ran up your spine on the sensation of his breath tickling you.
“No, Childe.”
He nuzzled his nose further down your neck, completely shameless as he rubbed his face all over your scarf and burrowed underneath to reach more of your bare skin, taking in your scent over and over like a guard dog on a mission.
“Where were you?” He sounded more distressed now. “Why are you back so late?”
What, too busy to stalk me, today? You bit back what you really wanted to say. Somehow, refusing to address that incessant, ugly habit of his felt safer to you in that moment—because admitting to knowing about it would be the same as admitting to allowing it. Perhaps it was better to play dumb, let him think he was more subtle than he actually was.
Or maybe, subtlety had nothing to do with it. Maybe it made no difference to him whether you knew he was following you or not. He wouldn’t stop, either way.
“That doesn’t concern you,” you shut him down before he could start his usual spiel. Not wanting him to get used to the proximity, you rested your hand on the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of his sweet-scented ginger hair and giving it a harsh tug. He didn’t fight back, but a soft noise rumbled in his throat as you yanked him away. The effect it had on you was even worse than if he’d just resisted.
Childe’s eyes fluttered open as he came back into view. Even in the low light, you recognized the look starting to glaze them over, pupils dilating after just a small taste of physical contact with you that no doubt left him hungry for more. He took in another deep breath, making it no secret that he was lingering on the traces of your scent in his nostrils.
“Why aren’t you wearing the perfume I got you?” He tilted his head again, and he was pouting. Reminiscent of a hurt child whose mother hadn’t hung his drawing up on the wall for everyone to admire. “The heart-shaped bottle from Ying’er’s shop, I thought it was your favorite.”
You forced your eyes away from his puckered bottom lip. He must have caught the way you were staring, because the corner of his mouth twitched a bit, threatening to break into a smile.
“It is my favorite. That's why I save it for special occasions.” You saw no reason to deny that fact. “Anything else?”
He reached for your hand where it was fumbling with your keys in growing agitation, gloved fingers resting over yours. Despite the thick gear covering his hands, you could tell that he was still wearing the ring you’d gifted him over a year ago underneath—you knew the accessory by outline alone. A simple silver band with specks of ruby; his birthstone. The color of love and passion. The color of blood. Who knew where the gem ended and the bloodstains began.
“I miss it,” he murmured. “I miss your scent.”
There it was again, the earnest declaration that snaked its way around your heart and seized it in an iron grip, no matter how badly you wished you could remain indifferent to it.
“If you miss it so bad, you know where to buy the perfume,” you dismissed. Another impatient step towards your door, another step matched seamlessly by him. “Go home, Ajax. I have to be up early tomorrow.”
You’d thought that using his real name might help sway his obsessive mind and make him listen to you, just like it always used to. It was your trump card; soothing all his worries with your doting tone and putting his head into a happy haze, ready to follow any command you may give him. This time, though, it seemed to backfire. Childe’s entire face lit up over the first sign of affection from you, the closest his dead blue eyes ever got to reflecting light.
“I'll stay with you tonight!” he chirped. “I can help you fall asleep, so you’ll be well-rested for tomorrow.”
Only he could make such a harmless offer sound so inexplicably sinister. The worst part was, you knew he meant it, too. There was no underlying meaning to his words if you didn’t want there to be—if his sole use to you was helping you sleep, then he would gladly fulfill it.
And if you wanted to use him for anything else, well, he’d gladly fulfill that, too.
“I don't need help falling asleep.”
Another step forward. The lock to your front door was almost within reach.
“I can tell you a story or sing you some tunes, just the way you like.”
Against your better judgement, you paused. Memories flooded your mind of that sweet, charming voice that had first won you over all those years ago, the same voice he would sing his younger siblings lullabies with. It was uncharacteristically gentle and pure, so entrancing that you never stopped to think of the poison laced within it. An oleander voice.
Childe sensed your hesitation immediately. A fox on the hunt, scanning the undergrowth for the faintest rustles to lunge at and sink his fangs into. He leaned in closer, his hopeful gaze studying you so intensely that you worried it may actually burn holes into your skin.
“Please?”
“No,” you said at last, cursing the strain in your voice. “You can’t. You need to go, Childe.”
Back to Childe. It twisted the knife that you'd plunged into his chest all those months ago, the day you'd been foolish enough to think you could ever truly break free of him. His face darkened again, eyes narrowing with a predatory accuracy.
“Someone’s coming over, right?” he muttered. A barely concealed rage bubbled beneath the surface of his question, like the final moments before a dormant volcano erupted in the most violent of ways. “You’re seeing someone else behind my back, right? That’s why you’re trying to get rid of me.”
“I'm trying to get rid of you because you act like this,” you spat, giving his chest a shove. For all the force you put into it, he barely even stumbled. “No one's coming. And even if they were, it’s none of your fucking business. How many times do I have to tell you that we’re done?”
You’d half-expected him to look hurt— angry, even. To finally run out of his seemingly never-ending supply of patience for you and lash out at you for being so heartless, to give you another practiced pout that always made you forget why you felt the need to treat him so cruelly in the first place. But what he said next caught you off guard, taking your words and throwing them right back in your face.
“Until you mean it.”
Childe lifted his hand slowly, curling his fingers around the collar of his thick jacket to tug it down and reveal something that made your heart drop. A bruised patch on his neck, originally deep red and lined with indents where your teeth had dug into his skin, now faded into a purple-yellow color. Even among the countless battle scars riddling his skin, the mark stood out. It had been over two weeks since you’d given it to him—you couldn’t believe it still hadn’t gone away. But for such a fearsome warrior, Childe’s body had always been oddly delicate, quick to bruise. Especially around his neck, especially in your hands.
Or, the bastard might’ve taken measures to make sure it didn’t fade, pressing down on the damaged skin, breaking his blood vessels all over again to keep your brand on him for as long as physically possible. You wouldn’t put it past him.
The unwelcome reminder of that night made you wince. Of course. Maybe you were just as much to blame for this endless cycle as he was—after all, even the most loyal of dogs would eventually learn to stop returning to the same place over and over if it hadn’t grown accustomed to getting some kind of reward, right? But when Childe had finally returned from Fontaine a few weeks ago after being gone for much longer than either of you had anticipated, battered and bruised like you’d never seen him before, you’d had a moment of weakness. Or perhaps, several moments of weakness.
Rumors about what had happened to him in the foreign nation had reached your village; the unjust trial, his unexplained disappearance, his long, grueling battle with something horrifying and otherworldly that had left him so weakened he couldn’t make the journey home for months. You’d been worried sick about him, it was foolish to pretend otherwise. So when you found him on your doorstep again two weeks ago, still not fully healed, but smiling that sunbeam of a smile when he saw you, you’d let him fall back into your arms without much resistance. Back where he belonged, as he would put it.
You gave your head a violent shake, physically forcing the memories away. It had been a mistake. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Go home,” you commanded. “Now.”
“My home is here, with you.”
You forced out a scoff. “Give me a fucking break.”
It was obvious Childe knew just as well as you did that he was chipping away at your resolve, little by little. You had to put an end to this before it went any further, spiraled into something out of your control. Disregarding the crestfallen look on his face, you found the willpower to push past him at last and shove your key into the lock of your front door.
“Can’t you see how much you’re hurting me?”
His voice was far closer than you’d expected it to be, warm breath fanning over your ears and making goosebumps creep up on your skin. Struggling to focus, you threw out the first response that came to mind.
“You like it when I hurt you.”
“I do.”
You could hear his lips curving into a grin as he spoke. It made your stomach churn with disgust and desire, all at once.
“Goodnight, Childe.”
There was no room for debate in your tone, distant and resolute. Turning the handle of your door, you at last cracked it open, a fleeting sense of relief finding you as the welcoming warmth from inside began to seep out, beckoning you to safety.
“I guess I’ll stay out here, then,” he said quietly. “To make sure no one disturbs your sleep.”
If that was his last-ditch attempt at gaining some kind of sympathy, then you were confident that you’d won this battle. Stepping into your house with newfound certainty, you didn’t even spare him a glance as you replied.
“Don’t bother. You’ll freeze to death in this snow.”
“Are you worried about me?” he giggled. “Can't say that doesn't make me happy. But you should really be more worried about anyone who happens to pass by your house tonight.”
You froze.
“I don’t like hurting innocent people,” he continued on with a sigh. It was far too casual, as if he were discussing something as mundane as swatting a few pesky flies. “But who knows what kind of creeps might be lingering around here? If someone gets too close, I might not be able to tell the difference between them and the bastard who’s trying to steal you away from me.”
There was a soft crunching in the snow as he inched closer and closer to your rigid form until he was pressed fully against your back again, eclipsing you with his shadow. The comfort of your home was taunting you like a sick joke now, a mere step away from the nightmare unfolding behind you. It all clicked in your head. Even if the person Childe had it out for didn’t truly exist, he would make them exist. He would hold the whole world hostage if he had to.
“I really hope you won’t let it get to that,” he finished with a whisper. Low, barely there, but full of promise.
Your throat went dry, anything you’d planned to say shriveling up along with it. Given how uncomfortably close he was, you were certain he could feel the tension in your body. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear your heartbeat, pounding wildly against your ribcage like that of a cornered prey animal.
Whether it was an empty threat or not, you didn’t want to risk finding out. Every day, Childe challenged what you thought you knew about him, the limits you’d set in your mind for what he was capable of. He loved nothing more than to test himself, after all, and blurring the lines of his morality was no exception to that. The only predictable thing about him was his unpredictability.
He’d already given you glimpses of how far he was willing to go. His returns to Morepesok started becoming apparent to you not when Tonia would send you excited letters in the mail or when he showed up unannounced at your front door, but when the people you had grown close to in his absence inexplicably started to keep a distance from you. You didn’t know what he’d done to them—you weren’t sure if you wanted to know—but the very fact that they were still alive once he was finished with them sent a message in itself.
“Look what I can get away with when they lived to tell the tale. Imagine how easily I could get away with killing them.”
“Ajax,” your voice cracked on a single word, as did the composure that you’d worked so tirelessly to maintain up until now. Any delusions you’d had about being free of him just moments before seemed so laughable, in retrospect. It had been a losing game from the start, it always was.
He rested his chin on your shoulder with a carefree hum. “It is really cold out, huh?” he noted, hand reaching out to rest over yours on the door handle. “Do you think I could come in with you, instead?”
It wasn’t so much a question as it was an offer of mercy.
You nodded.
That was all it took for him to slip past you in a flash, swinging your door wide open and stepping aside to hold it for you. He watched eagerly as you brushed past him and entered the cottage, like a puppy awaiting some kind of approval for remembering his manners so well. You found yourself thinking that if he had a tail, it would surely be wagging by now.
The door shut with a heavy thud, at last freeing you from the unforgiving snowstorm that was swirling to life outside. But you were far more concerned with the storm brewing between you and the man you’d just allowed into your home. He mirrored your actions as you removed your heavy boots and shrugged off your thick winter gear. Rather than hanging his coat on a different hook, he draped it completely on top of yours, no doubt to make sure you smelled nothing but him the next time you wore it. It was so ridiculous, such an annoyingly him thing to do, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He met your irritation with a self-satisfied grin, almost cheeky enough to remind you of simpler times. A time when you were blissfully unaware of what that smile was capable of.
The coziness of your home eased your nerves a bit, at least, allowing you to feel more in control as you watched him wander down the hall, head turning curiously from side to side to take in every last detail of his surroundings. It earned a bitter laugh from you. As if he didn’t have every nook and cranny of your house memorized in that sick mind of his. As if he didn’t break in regularly when you were gone to see if anything had changed in his absence. If you’d purchased any new clothes or perfumes, developed a taste for any new dishes he should learn how to cook for you, or, most importantly, if any evidence of another person being there had been left behind.
The floorboards creaked under your feet as you followed Childe to your room, where you found him fiddling around with the items on your dresser. He inspected each one with a childlike fascination, toying with various trinkets and souvenirs and opening up the caps of your creams and lotions to smell them.
“You never change,” he remarked dreamily, placing a bottle of Inazuman, sakura-scented lotion back where he’d found it with a care he only reserved for you. For such a simple comment, it was full of overflowing adoration that you’d never been able to pinpoint the source of. You wanted to dispute it—to insist that you were no longer the same person you’d been when you and Childe were lovers—but you supposed the fact that he was back in your bedroom was proof enough that he was right.
Now that he'd removed his gloves, your ring shone on display as he ran his bare fingers carefully along every bottle and piece of jewelry decorating your dresser, many of which were gifts from him that you hadn’t been able to discard. A detail that you were certain he took great pride in. The snow in his hair had begun to melt, dripping off his bangs and splattering onto the wooden floor in a rhythm that was partially soothing, and partially akin to a ticking time bomb.
Without thinking much of it, you opened one of your dresser drawers to pull out a hand towel, reaching up to press it against the droplets forming on his hair. His breath hitched as you dabbed at the wet locks, eyes darting to fixate on you, to make sure that you were actually touching him on your own accord and it wasn’t just his imagination.
You regretted the gesture the instant his widened gaze met yours. It was full of an emotion you’d never once considered could be dangerous before seeing it on him—joy, unbridled and far too intense for your liking. What was even more troubling than that, however, was the very obvious craving that lurked beneath it. Itching for more, he always wanted more.
“You were getting my floor wet,” you tried to explain, yanking your hand away just as you would when veering too close to an open flame. But he grabbed your wrist before you could, not breaking his stare for even a second as he guided you back to his head, tossing the towel aside and nuzzling shamelessly against your palm.
It was frightening, how right it felt to have your fingers tangled in his hair again, brushing through the charmingly messy strands and watching his eyelashes flutter shut in contentment. You fell back into your roles with such ease every single time, a domestic facade beautiful enough to trick you into forgetting about what festered underneath.
Your gentle scratches to his scalp came to a sudden halt when he turned his cheek without warning to press his lips into your palm. The peck was soon followed by another, then another, until he was leaving hungry kisses all over your fingers and down your wrist. Each one sent a jolt through your senses, hauntingly familiar.
“Childe,” you warned.
“You’re so warm.” His thumb pressed against your wrist’s pulse as he mumbled between kisses. “Missed you so much.”
“You have no right to miss me anymore.”
His lips stopped for a moment, body tensing against yours. You tried not to let it get to you, even if the thought of who might suffer the consequences if you angered him made a wave of nausea rise within you.
“Don’t you get it?” he chuckled, but there was a hurt crack to it. “I’m yours. I'm always gonna be yours, no matter what you do.”
“I don’t want you to be mine,” you said coldly.
“You don’t have to want me.” He rested his head against your chest with a happy sigh, burrowing into your softness and tracing patterns into your back with restless fingers. “I still belong to you. Throw me out like a used toy and I'll still be yours to play with. Give me to someone else and I'll still have your name engraved on me.”
“Ajax.”
You cut him off before he could rile himself up with his own delusions any further—or perhaps, before he could pull you into them with him.
Hearing his name uttered so harshly on your tongue was enough to snap him out of it, at least momentarily. The look he gave you would put a kicked puppy to shame, and you could only hope that the unnatural gleam you spotted in his eyes wasn’t the beginnings of tears forming. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to handle it otherwise, not when he was such a convincing crier. A pretty one, too.
“They’ll be dispatching me to Nod-Krai soon.”
Your heart dropped. This time, it was impossible to hide your reaction from him. Confusion, relief, dread—they all burst to life at once, a battle of emotions that you were certain Childe sensed in you with ease. You, on the other hand, couldn’t read his expression. It was good-natured as ever, completely detached from the situation at hand.
“Nod-Krai?” It came out incredulous. You wished you could just write it off as another one of his attempts to get in your head, but it was such a bizarre thing to lie about that you knew it had to be true. “Already? But you just…” you trailed off, mind racing a mile a minute with the implications of the news. Childe had just barely recovered from his extensive injuries in Fontaine, and Nod-Krai was far more unpredictable a place to roam, even for a Fatui Harbinger. Especially for Tartaglia, given his unquenchable thirst for throwing himself into harm’s way at any given opportunity. It was a lawless land, crawling with factions of varying loyalties, unbound by the same conventions as the rest of Snezhnaya—or any nation in Teyvat, for that matter.
Childe hummed, and you knew just as well as he did that you’d taken the bait he’d set out for you. Even so, you didn’t care about keeping up the act anymore. His revelation should’ve come as a blessing to you, it should’ve lifted the weight of his suffocating love off of your shoulders and made you feel light again for the first time in months. But you didn’t. All you felt was guilt.
Guilt for treating him this way when all he wanted was your love. Guilt for rejecting every letter, every gift, every desperate attempt to gain just a crumb of your attention, when you knew that any one of them could be his last.
“I’ll be gone in a week, maybe less.” He moved closer to you as he continued, very deliberate in his phrasing, you noticed. Not “leaving”, but “gone”. There was an unspoken air of permanence to it, one that had become all the more plausible to you after his brush with death in Fontaine.
You weren’t sure when he’d managed to grab it without you realizing, but that coveted heart-shaped perfume bottle was now resting in his hand. “Dunno how long this project will take, either. It’s a really big deal, apparently.”
You said nothing.
“So, I just…really needed to see you, y’know? Really need to be with you, right now,” he admitted with a feather-light whisper. “Will you let me?”
His finger rested on the bottle’s nozzle without pressing down on it quite yet, silently asking you for permission to spray the perfume. You just nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as a faint mist wafted over your skin, fragrant and nostalgic. A scent you would never be able to detach from him. Maybe that was why you still called it your favorite.
Childe was back on you in an instant, wrapping his arms around you in a bone-crushing hug and burying his face right back in the crook of your neck like it belonged there, like he wanted to get lost in you and never find his way out. You indulged him, petting the back of his head in an all too familiar motion as he took in a deep, unstable breath, whimpering softly in the back of his throat as the perfume flooded his senses. When he exhaled, it came out shaky, his whole body shuddering along with it and making you realize for the first time that the firmness you felt pressing against your thighs wasn’t just his Vision casing.
It made your insides coil—with dismay, and with something far more shameful. Hot and uncontrollable lust, pooling in your abdomen at an alarming rate. But you were past the point of lying to yourself, of pretending that you hadn’t anticipated this exact outcome from the moment you saw Childe’s silhouette awaiting you in the darkness. As soon as he’d stepped inside your home, you’d made your choice.
This time, when his lips found your neck, you didn’t stop him. His panting was like that of a starved dog, frantically trying to absorb your scent and leave uncoordinated, open-mouthed kisses all over your skin at the same time. His fingers dug deeper into your clothes, pulling you closer to him in fear that you might disappear from his grasp if he didn’t. You shifted your leg so that it pressed directly against the growing ache in his pants, drawing out a whine from him that activated an old urge within you—to make him fall apart.
“You smell so good,” he managed to gasp out between fervent kisses. They grew sloppier and sloppier with every new patch of skin his lips devoured, leaving hot, wet rings of saliva all over your neck that were as dizzying as they were sobering. Kisses that were so distinctly Ajax.
If all his nipping and licking wasn’t enough to thoroughly remind you that it was him, his nonstop chattering certainly was. “So good, so, so good. Need you. Need you so bad.”
You gave his hair a harsh tug as he wandered down the column of your throat to nibble at your collarbones, already completely drunk on you. “Is this all it takes to get you worked up?” You dug your knee harshly into his bulge. “You’re pathetic, Ajax.”
As if to prove your point, he let out a sweet moan of relief, mouth falling open against your skin and spilling out a dribble of drool.
“Slobbering all over me like a fucking dog,” you muttered. Using your grip on his hair, you yanked his head back. Though being forced away from your neck earned a tiny mewl of protest from him, he still complied without much resistance, giving you a lopsided grin when you came face to face with him again. You studied him for a moment, running your hand down his burning face and resting it on his flushed cheek, already smeared with his own saliva. Just a few seconds of not having his lips on you, and he started to grow restless again. He leaned forward on impulse, expecting you to kiss him, only for him to yelp in surprise as you shoved his head down and sent him to his knees.
“Act like a mutt, and I’ll treat you like one.”
Childe eyes gleamed. The only time they ever had any life to them was when he was gazing up at you. He gave you an obedient nod, far too eager as he tucked his legs underneath himself, waiting for your next move.
“Gonna collar me?” he asked sweetly, cocking his head to bare his throat. You weren’t sure if it was his intention, but it served as yet another reminder of the fading lovebite you’d left on his skin.
“Dogs don’t talk.”
He went quiet, a luxury you were certain would last no more than a minute or two.
You could see his hard-on clearly from this angle, the outline of his length was painfully obvious even through the thick material of his pants, visibly twitching with anticipation. Childe swiped tongue over his lips, already beginning to shift a bit in his spot. It was adorable, really, how hopeless he was when it came to staying still. There was nothing in this world that he wouldn’t do for you—he’d made that abundantly clear a long time ago—but his overzealous nature couldn’t be contained no matter how hard he tried.
His soft, impatient whine morphed into a gasp when you brought your foot down to his crotch without warning, pressing your sole against the bulging heat. Childe’s hips bucked up instantly, only to be forced back down with a warning shove from you.
“No way you're this hard already,” you taunted, trailing along the shape of his length. “Thought I’d let you fuck me, just like that?”
The way he throbbed under your foot was answer enough. You could tell it was taking every ounce of his strength not to rut up into your touch again, just to prove to you that he could be disciplined, that even a trigger-happy mad dog who acted on his most depraved wants would still do his very best for you.
“Please—mmph—I’ll be good,” he promised, voice trembling with effort. “I’ll be so good for you. Your good boy.”
“My good boy?” you echoed. They were the words Childe always yearned to hear the most from you, never failing to send him into a frenzy when they left your lips. But hearing them spat back at him with such disdain made his heart ache just as badly as his cock. “Does a good boy follow me around without permission?” You dug your heel mercilessly into his erection, making him double over with a pitiful choking sound. “Does a good boy break into my house? Take my things? Jerk off to my clothes and leave his filthy stains all over them?”
Childe’s expression didn’t disappoint. Eyes going wide in a rare display of shock, mouth hanging open uselessly—though, whether it was his surprise that had rendered him speechless, or a fresh wave of lust, you couldn’t decide.
“You’re not a good boy,” you sneered. “You’re just a whore.”
He keened, a low, primal sort of sound that made your core clench. His unsteady hands wrapped around your ankle, urging you to shift more of your weight onto his dick until you were fully stepping on it. You could hear how labored his breathing had become, see the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest as he struggled to speak.
“No, n-no,” he protested, nails digging into your leg, begging you to understand him. “I only do it to protect you. Need to keep you safe from all those rotten bastards who want you for themselves. Need to remind them that you’re mine.”
The irony of it all was almost enough to make you burst into a fit of laughter. As if there was anyone in this world you needed to be protected from other than the very man at your feet. You tilted his chin up with one finger, locking your eyes with his wild ones. Then, you drew your hand back and slapped him across the face. The sheer force of it must’ve caught him off guard, because it actually managed to swing his head to the side, sprawling his bangs over his eyes and giving you a clear view of the mark already reddening on his cheek.
“You think that justifies any of it?” you snapped. “You think you get to act like a mutt in heat in the name of protecting me?”
Recovering from the sting of your slap, Childe turned his head back to face you, jaw flexing under your fingers. As he came back into view, something twisted in your gut as you realized that he was smiling. Not only that, his length was practically ready to burst under your foot, pulsing with waves of heat that seeped through his clothing, threatening to ignite your skin.
“Sorry,” he breathed, thick with lust. “‘M really, really sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you, I swear.”
He rubbed his aching cheek into your palm with a dreamy sigh, as if you hadn’t just struck him with that very hand.
“I’m so sorry. Won’t happen again, I promise. S-so please, take it easy on me, yeah?”
His tone sounded anything but apologetic, in fact, it couldn’t be more obvious that he was delighted with the situation he’d landed himself in. Coupled with the wide, insufferable smirk that had yet to leave his face, you pieced together exactly what he was trying to goad you into doing.
You grabbed hold of his jaw, digging your fingers into his flesh with little care for the whimper that slipped out of him.
“Liar.”
Childe didn’t falter. He batted his eyelashes innocently up at you, then opened his mouth wide to sink his canine teeth into the flesh between your thumb and index finger. His bite lasted for no more than a second, not strong enough to cause any real damage, but enough to make a sharp hiss rise in your throat. You freed your hand from his mouth and swung it back again instantly, coming down on his other cheek twice as hard as before. A loud, smacking sound echoed off your bedroom walls, only rivaled in volume by his sinful groan that followed.
He’d anticipated the second impact, but what neither of you had expected was the way his whole body convulsed as the rush of pain shot through his nerves. At first, when you caught his shoulders shaking, you thought the brat might actually be laughing. Then, with a weak gasp of your name, his hands flew to your foot in a panic, trying to lessen the friction and angle his hips away from your touch.
“A-ah, no, wait,” he grunted suddenly. “Too much, ‘s too much! Gonna—!”
Childe threw his head back with a broken moan, nails sinking into your ankle fiercely enough to leave behind crescent-shaped indents. The tinge of worry you’d felt for going too far soon morphed into understanding when you felt a fresh surge of warmth spreading underneath your foot, thick and moist. Just to be certain, you pressed down on his spasming cock a little harder, pleased to see the overstimulation make him writhe helplessly on the ground.
He panted as his unexpected climax started to ebb, leaving his head ducked low and his face burning with shame—a deliciously unfamiliar emotion, one that only you could ignite in him. Fighting back a smile, you tilted his chin up once more, but he couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye. His cheeks weren’t just flushed from the force of your slaps, anymore. The Eleventh of the Fatui Harbingers was on his knees for you, blushing like a flustered virgin after making a mess in his underwear.
“Poor thing,” you cooed, rolling your heel over his soiled, twitching crotch and eliciting a small mewl from him. “Couldn’t control yourself, hm?”
He nodded miserably, hands sliding up from your ankle to grasp on to your thighs. “I’m sorry,” he hiccuped, and you knew that this time, he truly meant it. “S-so sorry, I tried to hold it in. Just felt…felt so good. I was just so happy you were touching me again.”
“Shh. It’s okay, baby.” You ran your fingers through his hair in faux sympathy. As you brushed his tousled bangs out of his eyes, he finally found it in him to look up at you again. The tenderness of your touch was almost enough to fool him, until it was sharply contrasted by the scorn laced in your words that followed, “I don’t expect much from a dumb little puppy who can only think with his dick.”
He whined in protest. His hands pawed at your thighs in a frenzy, squeezing your flesh and clinging to you with very real distress that you may actually toss him out into the snow for being so pathetic. Childe hated finishing without your permission—or, rather, he hated missing out on the addictive praises you’d shower him with when he was able to hold himself back for you. But what he hated most of all was cumming anywhere that wasn’t inside of you.
“Please, please,” he begged, leaning in to bury his face in your thigh. You raised an eyebrow at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him away, only for the boy to latch on to you twice as hard. Anything you planned to say was promptly cut short when you suddenly felt his lips puckering against the inside of your thigh, pressing hot kisses to it as a meek apology. “Please,” he repeated, voice rising in pitch with each one. “Lemme make you feel good. I’m sorry, ‘m a good boy, y-your good boy.”
His kisses grew more erratic as he ventured higher and higher up until he came dangerously close to your heat. Your stomach flipped as it became clear what he wanted, fingers grasping at his scalp in a silent order for him to stop. Childe sucked in a deep breath through his nose, tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip as he took in your scent with absolutely zero qualms about letting you see how much he was enjoying it. You cursed the way it made fresh wetness seep into your underwear, praying that your arousal wasn’t obvious enough for him to smell.
“Why? Why won’t you let me?” He pressed his nose back into the spot where your thighs met, trying to calm himself with shaky inhales of your essence. “Don’t…don’t get rid of me. You know I can make you feel so good. Please, let me show you.”
It was true, his mouth was good for so much more than just spewing delusions and pushing all your buttons. You shushed his rambling with a firm nudge to his torso, easing him backwards with your foot so that he was forced to let go of you and balance himself with his hands. It left him sprawled out on the floor below you, arms and legs spread wide with the embarrassing wet patch in his pants clear as day.
“Easy, baby. I’m not done with you just yet,” you assured him, ghosting your touch over his cock that, despite his orgasm, still hadn't gone fully soft. Childe swallowed audibly, but his panic at least seemed to ebb at the possibility of a second chance to satisfy you.
It was still impossible for you to wrap your head around. Someone of Tartaglia’s sheer physical strength and international influence, someone who not only had the ability to get whatever he wanted in this world, but the ambition to go after it. All that power bursting at his fingertips, and the only thing he wanted was to be under your control.
You would never understand how the maze of his mind worked, but it would be a lie to say that it didn’t give you an adrenaline rush like no other.
“Undress,” you directed. With a final flick to the leather strap wrapped around his thigh, you turned and left him there, padding towards your bed and settling on the mattress. Childe didn’t take his eyes off of you the entire time he stripped, his movements uncoordinated and urgent as he fumbled with his belt. An enthusiastic puppy barely managing to follow his master’s orders when his favorite treat was dangling just within reach.
You beckoned him towards you with your finger, and he scrambled over in an instant, legs wobbly from kneeling in the same position on your wooden floor for so long. The mattress dipped as he sat next to you—almost completely on top of you. If he could have it his way, you were certain he would’ve meshed his body with yours and never let go. Your eyes scoured over his bare form, illuminated by the low light; it was impossible not to. Every time you saw him again, his shoulders seemed to have gotten a little broader, his muscles flexed with newfound strength, plenty of fresh scars and bruises decorating his skin like badges of honor. New additions to his wounds never escaped your notice, not when you were more intimately familiar with the map of his body than even Childe himself.
Old habits taking over, you reached out your hand, tentatively brushing along the recently gained injuries littering his skin. A long, rippling one across his toned stomach, several punctures on his chest that almost resembled the sharp teeth of some animal, a thick bump of healing flesh on his shoulder from a particularly deep wound. You traced over all of them with the same care you did when he was still the man you loved.
Maybe he was right, you never changed.
Childe’s eyes were half-lidded with contentment, never more at peace than when he was under your undivided attention like this. Tender fingers touching him like he was the most precious treasure in the world, keen eyes observing every last detail of his body to lock safely away in your brain. It was his own personal heaven. Your gaze gradually wandered further down, taking in his built chest, the lean muscles of his abdomen, the trail of soft, red hairs forming under his belly button, and finally, his length resting against his thigh. Just as you’d suspected, it was still half-hard, already beginning to twitch under your attentive stare as more and more blood rushed south, reddining its tip. Evidence of his earlier release was still splattered all over his dick and thighs, slick and glistening from his own mess.
With a start, you realized you’d been staring for far too long. You snapped your eyes back up in a flash before he could get the wrong idea, only for embarrassment to wash over you when you saw the sick elation written all over his face.
“You can stare all you want, y’know,” he giggled. “It’s yours.”
You hardened your expression again, leaning back against the headboard of your bed with what you hoped was an air of indifference. Even if his words set every one of your nerve endings ablaze, that was something best kept a secret. He was already manic enough as is.
“Let’s see if it’s worth calling mine.”
Spreading your legs, you took your sweet time removing your layers of clothing, acutely aware of his ravenous eyes fixated on your every move. As you unclasped your bra, his gaze dropped to your breasts with a speed that had your lips twitching in amusement. He was so transparent in moments like these, nothing cunning about him. His hands twitched at his sides, mouth watering with desire, but even so, he remained put, fighting the urge to lunge forward and bury himself in your chest with all his might.
Your fingers paused under the waistband of your underwear, an idea coming to mind.
“Wanna touch, puppy? Take them off for me.”
Childe’s breath hitched. The order had barely left your lips before erratic fingers were tugging at the garment, as careful as he could manage when in a state like this. You could feel the effort it took him to restrain himself, animalistic need bubbling under the surface of his skin as he slid your underwear off, eyeing the soaked fabric longingly for several heartbeats before swallowing hard and placing it to the side.
The look he gave you, earnestly awaiting your praise for not pressing his nose into the underwear like he’d so obviously wanted to, almost broke your facade. But you couldn’t give it to him yet. It was your private way of punishing him, however futile it might seem in comparison to the unstoppable tidal wave of his obsession. Withholding the approval that he depended on so heavily in the hopes that one day, you might be able to wean him off of it entirely.
Instead, you simply motioned for him to settle in the space between your thighs, ignoring his disappointed sulking. His dick rested against your folds, heavy and sticky with his own seed.
“F-fuck.” His hips jolted forward involuntarily, drawn to your dripping heat with all the natural force of a magnet. “Please, can I put it in? Please?”
He sounded like he may actually break into tears if you denied him any longer. It sparked something within you that was always lying dormant, no matter how tirelessly you’d tried to force it down until it was buried away for good. The need to comfort him, to satiate him just enough so that he wouldn’t spin completely out of your control—or at least, the illusion of control. You reached up to brush his bangs back, relishing in the brief sense of normalcy it brought you when he rested his cheek in the cradle of your palm.
“Come on in, baby.”
Childe fumbled with his cock for a moment, a tiny, frustrated sound forming in his throat before he was able to line its tip up with your entrance. He pushed past the slippery folds bit by bit at first, then, instinct getting the best of him, sank into you all at once with a powerful snap of his hips. You tightened around him instantly, adjusting to that familiar stretch that your body would recognize as his every single time without fail. His length had always fit inside of you so well, like two pieces of a puzzle, as he so gleefully loved to remind you when he was gushing lovesick nonsense into your ear.
The moan that slipped out of him as he bottomed out was pure sin. Drawn-out and broken and turning up in pitch at the end, almost like he was in pain. For a moment, you thought he might have actually cum again, just from the sensation of your warmth enveloping him. But his cock was still rock hard as it twitched inside of you. In fact, you could feel it growing bigger the more your walls squeezed around him, taking on every inch of his shape, pressing against every ridge and vein.
“I’m s-still,” he gasped, body slumping forward. “Still sensitive.”
You cupped your palm against the blazing hot skin of his face, tender to the touch where you’d slapped him. You rubbed his cheek delicately for a moment before trailing down to his neck. His pulse raced with adrenaline under your fingers as you wrapped them around his throat, pressing down on its sides to grab his attention.
“You wanted to make me feel good, right?” you frowned. “Now’s your chance. Fuck me like a good boy.”
Childe’s eyes clouded over, the words fogging up his mind like he’d fallen into a trance. You could feel the vibrations of his moan rumbling against your palm as he gave you a shaky, obedient nod, sinking his teeth into his lower lip and forcing himself to pull out despite his hypersensitivity. You tried not to think too hard about how your walls ached at the loss, immediately longing to feel him filling you up again. And like a good boy, he did exactly that.
Slowly, he eased back into you, inch after inch until his cock was almost entirely sheathed in your pillowy heat. You both sighed in unison, an undeniable sense of relief overtaking you that you were sure to reprimand yourself for later. He took a few extra seconds to bask in your wet warmth before pulling back out again, his trembling breaths puffing out against your face as he began to properly rock his hips. Each burst of pleasure he felt was accompanied by a tinge of overstimulation that made his brain go haywire, and after just a few agonizing thrusts, he was reduced to a wreck above you.
“So—fuck!” he choked out, barely able to string a sentence together when your walls sucked his cock back in so seamlessly every time, taking any coherent thoughts along with it. “So good, f-feels so fucking good. I missed you. Missed being inside you so much.” His forehead fell against yours, the pace of his strokes gradually picking up until he found a steady flow. You dragged your nails down his throat, encouraging him to keep going in the language he understood best.
“You…ah…feel so perfect around me,” he whimpered, lips brushing against yours, so rife with desperation that you could taste it dripping off of them. “So warm and soft. So…so wet.” He interrupted his rhythm suddenly to pull all the way out of your pussy before slamming himself back inside in one fluid motion. It created an especially obscene smacking sound, emphasizing his words and making his stomach twist with gratification.
The swollen head of his dick dragged against your sweet spot as he did, earning a soft moan from you that you couldn’t suppress. Childe throbbed inside of you, visibly ecstatic over the smallest indication that he was pleasing you right. Eager to draw more sounds out of you, he repeated the action, taking on an uncharacteristically careful pace that had your composure slipping further and further each time he filled you to the brim.
“Only I can make you this wet, right?” To anyone else, it might’ve sounded like he was simply stroking his own ego, but you knew better than that. He was genuinely asking, he needed to hear it from you like the oxygen he needed to breathe. “Only I get to—hah—feel you around me like this, fill you up like this. Make you feel g-good. Only me, right?”
You could’ve blamed it on the pleasure muddling your mind and allowing your heart to take over, but that was far more damning an admission of how you truly felt about the mess of a man sinking himself so deep inside you that you’d think he wanted to meld his body to yours. Swallowing down another moan, your hands found the back of his head again and tangled in his damp, fluffy hair.
“You think anyone else is filthy enough to do what you do?” you answered with a breathless question of your own. It wasn’t exactly the doting response he’d hoped for, but it was more than enough to placate him for now. His lips crashed into yours, tiny huffs rising in his throat and spilling into your mouth as he returned to his breakneck speed from earlier. The sudden whiplash his change of pace brought might have caught you by surprise if you hadn’t known Childe so well. Slow and steady never lasted long with him.
His kisses were a whirlwind of teeth nipping at your lips and drool coating your tongue, every bit as intense as his thrusts, like he was trying to suck all the air out of your lungs and selfishly keep that for himself, too.
Even if you didn’t say it, he was right—no one else could make you feel the things you experienced with him. No one else could ever replicate his essence; animalistic, but not purely in a chase for mindless pleasure, he was far too passionate for that. It was a chase for you, a perfect balance of primal and emotional craving that only you could provide him.
Your head was spinning by the time you forced him to break the kiss, drunk on all the moans he’d emptied into your mouth that still managed to be so loud despite your lips muffling them. Childe didn’t miss a beat before diving back into you, pressing sloppy kisses to the corner of your mouth, licking a messy stripe down your jaw, and latching on to your neck. The sensation of his canines pricking your skin made your body jolt in a different kind of way—bringing you back to your senses.
“No,” you warned him. “No biting. Bad boy.”
His hips stuttered, a wrench thrown into his frantic pattern of thrusts as he was denied by you yet again. It was cruel, really, for you to expect him to anchor himself long enough to form a response. He was so far gone, already, only able to peer up at you with wide, pitiful eyes.
“H-huh? But…please,” he resorted to begging right away. “Please, please, please. ‘S not fair. Everything’s faded, there’s no—ngh—!” He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his hips to a stop long enough to gather his words. “All my marks are gone. P-please, need to make new ones. Need everyone to know you’re mine.”
His teeth dragged helplessly over your flesh, threatening to sink right back in at any moment. Your mind raced. Marks were far more tangible than an unwanted memory that you could banish to the depths of your conscience. Marks left evidence of your mistakes, taunting you with your own body each time you caught sight of your reflection. The marks you’d left on Childe were exactly what had landed you in this situation in the first place.
“No, Ajax. Do I need to muzzle you?”
He whined low in his throat, already beginning to grind into you again, pressing his cock against the ridges of your walls in a way that was so dizzying it made rational thought an impossible feat.
“If I don’t…” he panted. “Someone might t-try something with you and I’ll just have to kill them, instead. You don’t want that, right? Right?”
His words made you stiffen all over again, an ice-cold, brutal dose of reality crashing back over you like a crack had formed in your walls and allowed some of the raging blizzard outside to seep through. In your alarm, you squeezed around his dick even tighter than before, making him collapse into you with an angelic sigh that was so wildly detached from what he’d just said, it was almost comical.
“Or…do you?” he mused, drawing playful patterns against your skin with his lips. “Want me to—ah—prove myself to you, yeah? I’ll do it, y’know. I’ll do anything for you.”
You said nothing, simply tilting your jaw back and pushing his head into the crook of your neck to grant him permission. With a grateful hum, Childe parted his lips, latching on to the patch of skin right below your jaw and suckling like his life depended on it. There was no doubt in your mind that he’d deliberately chosen a spot high up so it’d be difficult for you to cover with your clothing. He gradually began rocking his hips into you once more, picking up the delicious buildup of pressure in your stomach exactly where it left off.
It made you feel a tinge of disgust with yourself—wanting nothing more to be free of this man one second, then shamelessly using his battered body for your indulgence the next. But just like everything else surrounding Tartaglia, there was no single, clear answer to your feelings towards him, there was nothing black and white about it.
You didn’t have time to brood over it for long, as the slew of sensations overtaking your body quickly consumed your thoughts again. The combination of his teeth devouring your neck and his length pumping a delicious friction inside of you was nothing short of addictive. It drew all your focus back to him at once, like he’d sensed that your attention had slipped off of him for a minute and greedily tried to snatch it back.
Not satisfied with just one lovebite, he quickly moved on to the base of your throat to create another. More, more, more, he always wanted more. His canines sank into your skin deep enough to make your back arch, rolling his cockhead against the roof of your walls and dribbling a pool of saliva onto your neck as his mouth fell open in a groan. Every sharp prick of his teeth was accompanied by a soothing lick over the damaged area afterwards, as if to apologize for being unable to control himself.
“Crazy, crazy, crazy,” he babbled against your shoulder. “You make me s-so fucking crazy.”
“I don’t make you anything.” It was hard to sound as stern as you wanted to when your voice was so full of lust. “You’re like this all by yourself. A mutt that only knows how to fuck.”
A high-pitched whine met your ears at that, hands grasping your hips to pull you impossibly closer to him, plunging his length into the deepest parts of you. Your whole body jolted with pleasure, thighs wrapping around him and ankles locking behind his waist to trap him close to you. Childe finally pulled away from the crook of your neck, utterly lovestruck as he studied the array of marks he’d left all over your neck and shoulders.
“Did that feel good?” As expected, he’d caught on to your reaction immediately, even when you’d thought he was too busy making a meal of your throat to notice. “Am I—hah—making you feel good? Please, t-tell me ‘m doing well for you. Just wanna be a good boy.”
Endless praises for him danced on your tongue, yearning to be set free. The closer your orgasm drew, the harder it became to restrain them.
“Please.” He repeated the motion, and its effects hit you twice as strong this time, twisting the coil in your stomach so tight it was unbearable.
You relented. The ways he’d use himself for your pleasure were frighteningly easy to get hooked on, but that alone had never been the reason you let Childe back in, time and time again. It was the look of pure, unbridled need in his eyes, more irresistible than anything his body could make you feel and more honest than anything that could come out of his mouth. Raw, innocent love. You knew better than to believe most of the lies he fed you, but you would never be able to deny the fact that he loved you.
“It’s good, baby. You fill me up so well. Doing such a good job for me,” You appeased him at last, sickeningly sweet, reaching up to pet his head for good measure. “Keep it up, okay?”
His head fell into your chest, all the power of his arm muscles effectively rendered useless as they crumbled under his weight upon hearing a few simple words of approval from you. The sounds he let out eclipsed yours in volume as his hips pistoned inside of you, hellbent on bringing you to your climax. He breathed in your scent as he nestled his face between your breasts, pressing feverish kisses into the soft flesh and sucking fresh marks wherever he could. It came slurred and incoherent at first, but eventually, amidst the creaking of your bed and the smacks of skin, you realized he was saying something. Or rather, repeating something.
“M-mine—ngh. Mine, mine, mine, mine,” he chanted. The closer you listened, the less they sounded like possessive growls and more like desperate whimpers, pleading for it to be true. For you to agree, to let him know that you craved him just as carnally as he craved you.
His hands slid down from your breasts to grip your thighs where they were wrapped around his waist, pawing needily at them in a thinly-veiled desire to push your legs back and bury his cock as far into your heat as your bodies would allow. However deep he was inside of you, he needed to be deeper, he needed to reach parts of you that no one else but him could ever touch. The only thing stopping his insatiable greed was the remaining few shreds of his sanity, telling him to control himself, to be good for you, to show you that he deserved to be yours.
You could practically hear the pleas on his tongue without him having to speak a word.
Not enough. More, more, more. Need you more.
“You’re such a greedy puppy, y’know that?” you clicked your tongue. Using your legs’ hold around his waist, you raised your lower half off the mattress just enough to press fully against his pelvic bone, granting his wish and pushing his dick further inside you. Childe keened your name, his brain short circuiting for a few moments before he remembered to resume his thrusts, slipping his hands under your back to help support you.
“Th-thank you, thank you,” he stammered. “Fuck, can’t get enough. Wanna stay like this forever.”
Coming from him, you knew it wasn’t an exaggeration in the slightest. The new angle was dangerously electrifying with how it allowed him to roll his tip perfectly into your sweet spot every time he sank into you. It wasn’t long before that familiar feeling in your core reached its limit, coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped all at once. You sucked in a sharp breath, thighs squeezing around his hips so fiercely that it became difficult for him to move. Still, completely lost in you, Childe continued grinding diligently, making each wave of your climax all the more intense as his length didn’t falter its strokes once.
His eyes snapped open as he processed your walls clenched wildly around him, darting down to study the spot where he was thrusting into you. You could see the moment it clicked in his head as he noticed the fresh juices dripping from your slit and coating his cock, his entire face lighting up with a giddy grin.
“Did you cum?” he asked breathlessly. “You—hah—you came, right? I made you feel good, right? Did I do a good job?” He lowered his head again, nuzzling his sweaty face against yours in ecstasy.
The aftereffects of your high were still in full swing, a light, floating sensation replacing the complicated web of emotions you’d been working fruitlessly to detangle up until now. Overcome with bliss, you finally stopped trying to fight back the affection banging at the confines of your heart, begging to be set free and reach him.
“Mm. Good boy, Ajax,” you murmured at last, pressing an encouraging kiss to his forehead. “You did so well for me, baby. My good boy.”
The final thread in Childe’s brain snapped. A violent shudder rippled through his whole body, hips bucking forward reflexively as the words he’d been driving himself mad to hear finally graced his ears.
“O-oh, God,” he choked out, nails clawing pitifully at your back. “Again—ngh—please, say it again.”
All the added slickness from your climax allowed his cock to slide in and out of you even faster than before, and given how manic he was, the force of his thrusts quickly had your sensitive insides burning.
“You’re my good boy, Ajax.” It was a challenge to keep your voice from shaking when he was rutting into you with reckless abandon, no longer able to restrain himself. “My one and only. No one makes me feel as good as you.”
He suckled at your collarbone with a sweet, high-pitched whine that completely juxtaposed his intense movements, hands grabbing and squeezing at your flesh erratically, just trying to have as much of his skin in contact with yours as possible.
“I l-love you. Love you, love you, love you, love you.”
For once, you were grateful for his mindless babbling, because it left no space for you to have to say anything in return. Maybe, in the very back of Childe’s fucked out mind, he was thinking the same thing. If he kept repeating the words over and over himself, he wouldn’t have to face the silence that followed when you didn’t return his declarations of love.
“Love you s’ much—ah! ‘M gonna lose it.” His dick pulsed inside of you, giving you a warning of its own. “Can I, please? Wanna c-cum inside, fill you up. Want you to always be full of me. Only me.”
Despite already reaching your own peak, his pleas made your toes curl all over again. It was so tempting to deny him, just to hear him grovel for you a bit more, but your walls were already overstimulated from the nonstop, merciless pace he’d taken on after you’d climaxed; you weren’t sure how much more you could take, either. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, you clenched tightly around him, adding a mind-numbing pressure to his every stroke.
“You can let go, baby,” you encouraged. “Cum for me like a good boy.”
That was all it took for Childe to fall apart. Pushing his cock as deep inside of you as he could, his high crashed over him in an all-consuming tidal wave. You could feel his stomach flexing rapidly against your clit, broken cries and curses falling from his mouth as ripple after ripple of pleasure passed through him. Spurts of his release coated your walls with each one. Even after cumming once already, there was still so much of his seed spilling inside of you, hot and thick enough for you to feel as it filled you up. He never gave you anything less than his all, and this was no exception.
As the peak of his climax began to fade, so did his string of moans, quieting down into weak whimpers until he was left panting above you, shoulders rising and falling in exhaustion. He swallowed down the saliva that had pooled in his mouth, then parted his lips to say something. But all that came out was a giggle; boyish, cute, and utterly infectious. Coupled with how innocent his eyes looked, blown-out wide so that the black eclipsed the blue, you felt yourself melt a little.
Childe at last removed his hands from under your back, still trying to catch his breath as he slumped his body weight on top of you like a blanket. You huffed at the impact, but your arms slipped their way naturally around him nonetheless. He hadn’t pulled a single inch out of you, even after readjusting his position, and as he nestled his head into the pillow of your chest, you could guess why.
“Can we stay like this a bit?” he mumbled, as close to shy as he ever got around you. “Want you to remember my shape inside you. Wanna remember how you feel around me when I’m gone.”
Reminded once again of his upcoming departure, you couldn’t have rejected him even if you’d wanted to. With a murmur of agreement, you reached up to play with his hair, curling your index finger around the unruly blond streak that stuck out in his bangs.
It was moments like these where the reality of what had just happened should’ve shattered your peace, extinguishing the afterglow with dread and regret—but that was never the case. Seeing him so docile in your arms, drowsy from pushing himself to the limit and clinging to you to stay grounded, only added to your bliss. If you could just contain him like this, keep him secure and satiated so that none of his poison could seep out and harm anyone else, then that was enough for you.
He blinked his eyes open to watch you as you played gently with locks of his dampened hair, a dreamy, lopsided smile plastered to his face. His gaze flickered lower down, admiring the utter chaos he’d unleashed on your body—neck, chest, and shoulders all littered with deep, blossoming lovebites and very clear indents of his teeth. A thought seemed to occur to him, because suddenly he didn’t look quite so pleased with himself.
“You didn’t leave any on me,” he pouted. “Mine are fading too, y’know. I can barely see them anymore.”
He used some of his waning strength to tilt his head back as proof, and you tried not to grimace. It had been a very intentional decision on your part, even if the sight of his bared neck, ripe for the taking, had been tempting enough to make your mouth water as he’d rutted into you. You’d forced yourself to keep your mouth off of him, in the feeble hope that he wouldn’t be able to use it against you the next time you found him sitting at your doorstep.
“I hate it,” he added with a grumble. “I hate it when there’s no trace of you on my body. Doesn’t feel right. I'm yours.”
“You have my ring, don’t you?” In an attempt to soothe him before he could get riled up again, you cradled his face with both hands, squeezing his cheeks together in a way that made him look so harmless it was almost cruel. He considered what you’d said for a moment, his thumb coming to rub subconsciously over the silver band with a fond expression. Still, you could tell you hadn’t entirely swayed him.
“Mmm, but I want more. I’m greedy, right?” he imitated your words with a childish lilt. “So, you can just give me new ones tomorrow when we wake up. Please?”
You pressed your lips together. There it was—the beginnings of a crack forming in the illusion, exposing it in all its fragility. “Ajax,” you said lightly. “I have to be up early, remember?”
“Do you?”
He tilted his head, chin still perched on your chest. It was an unassuming gesture, cute even, but it made your skin crawl with unease. Of course. He’d seen through your bluff from the very beginning—he of all people would be acutely aware of what your schedule looked like the next day, after all. It was pointless to even consider lying to him about it.
Though he’d more or less just announced that he knew you were deceiving him, he didn’t look upset in the slightest. Instead, he shifted his body so that he could lay on his side, pulling you along with him and letting out a soft grunt as his length rolled against your insides in the process.
“Let me sing you to sleep then, like I promised.”
He nestled back into you in a heartbeat, slotting his body against yours as he laid his head back against your chest and began to hum a gentle tune. It was one you recognized from the very first note, one you used to call your favorite. The sound of it made your entire being ache with nostalgia, mourning the past, mourning this current moment. Guided by the honey-sweet melody, you started running your hand up and down his back, eyes fluttering shut as you allowed that oleander voice to lull you to sleep.
𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: sub yandere childe, handjob, heavy praise kink, not exactly petplay but there's a lot of dog imagery and reader calls him puppy, light begging, an instance of biting + blood, he's messed up in the head but you like it lmao
𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨: hi guys this is both my first smutfic and first tumblr post...hoping at least one person enjoys🥹never thought i'd write nsfw but this man makes me a little too feral sigh
ᯓ♪ your lover is too greedy for his own good, but you so love indulging him.
Greedy. Your lover was greedy.
But oh, it was beautiful. Beautiful in the way his hands tugged at your clothes, trying to pull you closer as you pressed him into the wall, like he could never get enough. They were callused with years of training and fighting; you loved watching the surefire steadiness when he easily cut through his enemies with even the dullest of blades.
Yet they shook when he clawed at you.
It was beautiful in his eyes, pools of the darkest recesses of the ocean. The almost haunted eyes that stared down at you, pale, gingery lashes fanning over freckled cheeks. You could get lost in them, you thought, lost in the storm of love and lust and greed and want all tangled together until neither of you could tell where one ended and the other began.
The light never hit your beloved's eyes, yet you found you couldn’t care less.
Your fingers slid to the nape of his neck, tangling in the silken hair there. Beautiful he was, looking at you like a starving man. Every inch, every scar, every freckle…you wanted to engrave it forever in your mind.
But perhaps the most beauty was in Childe’s mouth, pink and plush and so willing when you claimed it. The greed seeped like venom into your own, settling hot under your skin. On instinct, your tongue slid across his bottom lip, lapping up more of that sweetness.
“[name]…” His heated breath puffed against your mouth between desperate little kisses. “Fuck, I need you. I was so good today.”
His usual melodic voice was reduced to a halting, barely restrained whisper. Greedy lips tried to chase yours as you pulled back, but you held Childe back with the grip on his hair. A strangled noise caught in his throat, fathomless eyes fluttering open.
“Were you?”
He shuddered when you spoke. “Yeah, y-yeah, ‘course I was. I got rid of him, that scum that was bothering you earlier. He’ll never dare even think about it again.”
Ah, so that’s why there were smears of blood on his clothes. After the first several times, you’d stopped noticing; judging by the breathless giggle that escaped your lover, he had fun with this one. And that was all you wanted, wasn’t it? For your beloved to be happy.
You indulged him, free hand cradling his cheek, thumb tracing his lip. You'd meant for it to be an innocent gesture – however innocent it could even be with a man such as Childe – but the wetness of his tongue lapped at the pad before he sucked it into his mouth. Greedy as always, even when you weren’t giving him what he actually wanted.
“Good boy,” you murmured anyway, watching the pretty flush on his cheeks darken. Childe’s breath quickened against your hand, teeth scraping your thumb. You experimentally pushed it further; he took it like he always did. Like a dog, eager to have anything given by its master. Even when the corner of your mouth tugged up in the faintest of smirks, even when drool laced your thumb, he didn’t budge. Just stared at you with those wild eyes, chest heaving.
There was only a thin ring of blue left in them.
When fingers yanked on your clothes again, you took pity. Your lover had never been a patient man; this much restraint for him was like the flames of hell softening to a lull.
“I get a reward, right? I protected you so well…” slipped breathlessly from Childe’s spit-slick lips as soon as you retracted your touch. One of his hands detached from your shirt to come up to your own, pressing your palm harder against his cheek. Without your thumb stopping it, his mouth curled into a semblance of a grin. It was more a baring of teeth, a little too wide to be completely natural. But you loved it, like you loved him.
“Mm,” you hummed, noncommittal, as you leaned in to mouth at his jaw with a leisure he couldn’t afford. Your lover’s hips pressed into yours inadvertently, seeking, as he let out a ragged breath. “I suppose so.” You let go of his hair to instead slide your hand down his torso before slipping under the hem of his shirt. The skin there was feverish, and the muscles of Childe’s stomach jumped beneath your fingers.
You felt the hitch in his breath against the pads of your fingers, then – “Come on, please…” It was an almost imperceptible whine. You pulled back enough to glance up at him and had to hide a smile. The grin that had stretched his face mere moments ago was gone, replaced by a childish petulance at not receiving an immediate shower of praise for his good behavior. Childe stared down at you, unblinking as usual, but his brows were furrowed, the flush on his cheeks matching the redness of the waves that tumbled into his eyes. You couldn’t help yourself from leaning in and kissing the pout that painted his lips, swallowing the little grumble that escaped him.
The pout remained even when you pulled away. “What do you want, puppy?”
Your thumb lazily pressed into his jaw when he stayed stubbornly silent, urging him to tilt his head to better expose the expanse of his neck. He obeyed, of course. Always obeyed, even during one of his fits of paper-thin defiance. Your lips found a familiar patch of skin and bit down, and the choked sound that followed fed the curl of heat in your gut.
It only took one bite for Childe’s hands to slide from your clothes and rest on your hips, squeezing desperately. His fingers dug so hard into your skin that they’d surely leave pretty little crescent moons in their wake, crescents your lover would trace in the morning with a kind of awe.
Your teeth sank deeper in response until you tasted the metallic tang of blood bubbling in the wound. He whined, hips canting into yours with a sloppy sort of desperation. Unsurprisingly, you could feel his arousal pressing against you, the restraint he was trying so hard to hold onto to not grind against you.
“I want,” he huffed, and it seemed as if this was a great effort for him to form a coherent sentence with the exquisite pain of your teeth still in his neck, “want you to touch me.”
You licked your lips and pulled back enough to smile, a teasing little curve. “Hmm? Where? I’m already touching you, puppy.”
Another whine, the sound of an indignant child. Childe glared down at you, but any real threat it might’ve held was lost in the haze of desire painted on his features. You had to hold in a laugh as he spoke. “You know where.”
“Oh? Your dick, Ajax? You want me to touch your pretty dick?” you crooned, leaning in to nip at his jaw.
Your lover shuddered, the fight slowly seeping from his shoulders, and with that, you knew you had him. You always had him. Childe’s face burned, but he didn't deny it, just gave a miserable little nod. It didn’t matter if you humiliated him like this. You could kick him away time and time again and he’d still come crawling back to lick crumbs off of your hand.
And yet, despite it all, you still found yourself giving in more often than not. Maybe that was why your lover’s avarice knew no bounds; you indulged it every chance you got. Perhaps Childe’s greed was your fault as much as it was his.
“Alright, alright,” you finally agreed, relenting, and Childe sagged in relief. “Good boys do get rewards, hmm?”
He immediately perked up, falling over himself to agree before getting cut off when you pressed into him. His breath hitched as you finally unzipped his pants, and he let out a shaky sigh of relief when your hand wrapped around his length. He was already hard, throbbing in your grasp.
“There we go,” you cooed, swiping your thumb over the tip to smear the precum gathering there before slowly starting to stroke him. “Happy now?”
Childe didn’t answer for a moment, instead burying his face in the crook of your neck as his hips bucked into your touch. His breath was hot against your skin, body trembling as he took in ragged inhales of your scent. When he finally spoke, his voice was muffled by your neck. “Yeah. Yeah, t-thank you, more please…”
Oh, Ajax. Not even five minutes into his reward, and he was already asking for more in that broken voice that yanked your heartstrings. You couldn’t help yourself from spoiling him this time, smiling before placing a kiss on his temple. “I know baby, I know. I’ve got you.” Besides, you already knew what you wanted to do with him later to satisfy the heat rushing in your own veins.
You obliged and sped up your touch, your other hand sliding down to press into his hip and hold him in place. He was trying so hard to hold back, to make this last, but it was a losing battle. He was too desperate, too greedy for anything you could give him. And you, how could you hold back when such pretty little sounds fell against your ear?
When you twisted your wrist just right, Childe keened, unable to continue clinging to you as the back of his head hit the wall with a dull thud. “Please, p-please, haah, ‘m close…so close…” The words slurred together in between the punched-out breaths that left him, the freckles on his navel jumping.
"It’s okay, sweet thing," you murmured, the softness of your words starkly contrasting the roughness of your grip. "Go ahead. Cum for me."
That was all it took. With a choked cry, Childe spilled over your hand. His whole body went rigid and then slumped against you, boneless and panting. You held him through it, rubbing his back and murmuring praises into his hair.
When he finally came back to himself, he pulled back enough to look at you, cheek resting against your shoulder. He didn’t say anything, silent in a way he rarely was – just stared. Stared with a worship that was almost frightening in its intensity, stared like you were the one who’d hung all the stars in the sky. You smiled at him, gentler this time rather than amused, and your free hand came up to card through his hair akin to petting.
Your lover preened under your attention, eyes fluttering shut. He really was like a dog, your Ajax. A loyal, loving, dangerous dog who would do anything for you. And you loved him for it.
When those fathomless eyes finally opened again to meet your own, you brought your messy hand up to his lips. He didn't hesitate. His tongue darted out, lapping at the mess on your hand with an eagerness that was almost pathetic.
But how could there be shame when you spoiled him so? When you gave and gave and gave, and let him take and take and take?
thinking abt monsterfuckers but instead of the reader being the monsterfucker, it’s the CHARACTERS
mmm characters who are considered tall, big and intimidating in human standards. big buff arms, thick thighs and strong calloused hands that can crush a grown man’s skull in. but compared to you? their lover? they’re nothing but a tiny creature. an incomplete being, a small little toy for you to pick up or poke around for your own amusement. their large and heavy weapon is nothing but a stick in your hand, a mere small wand you wave around with a bellowing amused laugh
hand holding? they’re just thinking of how you can forcibly keep their legs open during intimate times. an innocent peck or you licking off something on your lip? they’re staring, drooling, closing their legs shut as they wonder how deep that forked tongue can be showed down their throat. how you could practically rearrange their guts with that thick tongue
don’t even get them started on the way they unashamedly stare at your crotch or chest or strong thighs when you do simple stretches. they have a hole and a goal, they’ll forcefully make your cock fit inside their warm walls. anatomically impossible be damned, they want your babies, they want you to use them like they’re nothing but an onehole to you, a stress toy you can blow off steam on. mouth? jaws open and looking up at you prettily. prefer their tight walls? already prepped, a whole bottle of lube ready and bending over for you in any position, place you want. want to use their thighs? legs closed, raised high, ready to drool as they see your heavy, inhuman cock disappear and appear through the flesh of their thighs. you have clawed fingers? it doesn’t matter, they’re already squirming in their seat as they see your claws gets clipped a bit on the front, dulling the sharpness. for them
it doesn’t matter how many times you two have sex, every goddamn time they’ll be squirming, thrashing around, sobbing and getting drunk on the feeling of your cockhead pushing past their walls. just the head in and they’re already feeling like they’re gonna cum. you slowly ease them down into your thickness, their hole tightening around you so much to the point you nearly think that the blood circulation will stop. you would ask if they wanna stop, want you to pull out or have a break. they’ll vehemently shake their head no, asking you to keep going, fuck them dumb, use their body and fill every one of their holes until they’re overflowing with your cum
sweet little thing, so small compared to your monstrous form, already shrieking and squirting when you bottom out inside their soft warmth. they’ll try to weakly bounce themselves on your cock, trying to get some friction but all they can manage is meager grinds. you would chuckle, lean back and watch them make themselves stupid with just a few movements when you two haven’t even properly started yet. such an eager mortal
watch them get dumb, getting all the logics fucked out of their head as pretty eyes roll back, pupils so wide you can’t see their original eye color. mouth always open, punched out breathy “aanhh… ah ah angh mmgh! s-so bigg… f-fucckiinngh my guts♡︎♡︎!!” come out, already lost as they clench around you again. cute little mortal lover of yours, getting their holes stretched by their inhuman lover. circle your finger or claw over the bump in their belly and they’ll squeal, kicking their legs as they lean back against your chest
if they get too loud, don’t worry, you have large fingers and long tongue for a reason. kiss their lips gently as a silent form of warning before showing your tongue down their throat. place the tip of your finger pad right against their adam’s apple and feel as their esophagus widen just a bit with your tongue inside them. lick the insides of their mouth, exploring the wet cavern and feeling their tongue flatten against yours as a muscle memory. only to pull out and shove a finger into the first knuckle, making them choke due to the change in thickness. just a single finger to the first knuckle and they can’t handle it
if they bite down on your finger or tongue or even your cock, you can bite back too. just gently add some pressure onto your fangs that rest just over the back of their neck. they’ll thrash around like they don’t want it but their bucks into your awaiting jaws says otherwise. they’re just waiting for the day you would finally mark them, make them your mate so they can tell other monsters of your race to fuck off
but your human lover becomes hundred times worse when your heat cycle hits. it’s over for both them and you. you’re not getting out of the house and they can’t even feel their own body but they will always drunkenly blabber for you to “c-cummmgh!! cum insiidee♥︎♥︎k-knock meengh up♡︎knock me up!! make me yo-oongh your your mate...♡︎♥︎♥︎!!” while they stare at you with drunk eyes and drooling lips. since they asked so nicely, surely you can fulfill their wish this year and knock them up right? and mark them as yours while at it too
in conclusion; pls send help i’m horni and want to be a monster
characters: jing yuan, blade, dan feng, dan heng il, himeko, gepard, wriothesley, neuvillette, zhongli, baizhu, capitano, pantalone, dottore, childe, pierro, sampo, gallagher, ayato, alhaitham, kaeya, diluc, calcharo, jiyan, geshu lin, yuanwu, yhan, scar, aalto, diavolo, beelzebub, lucifer, mephistopheles, thirteen, raiden ei, black swan, kafka, yae miko, clorinde, navia, baizhi, rover, taoqi, changli, yelan, xianyun, welt yang + anyone you like
FERAL XIAO — a beast who was never meant to be seen, and yet you found him . . .
gender neutral reader / feral xiao x reader / emotionally scarred / aggressive trauma response / desperate under the surface / he says he’ll kill you but you’re the only one who’s ever spoken gently to him / turning him soft
masterlist | intro post | carrd . . .
a/n: been searching for a fic like this about xiao for so long, so I decided to just make it myself!! I think it's perfect with his lore. (btw dw!! part two of my last post is coming after this)
Ruins bore no name here. Time had long since scoured the stonework bare, ivy veining over toppled columns like bloodless threads on a withered corpse. What lingered of the ancient structure slumbered beneath the cliffs of Minlin, swallowed by bramble and a fog thick as mourning veils. Locals spoke of it in hushed tones, whispers of madness, of vanished travelers, of the god who once ruled here and went mad beneath the weight of his divinity. Even so, your footsteps carried you forward.
Wind stirred the trees restless, circling like breath from something snoring just out of sight. The lantern in your grasp flickered at your hip, casting unsteady shadows across the moss streaked walls. You hadn’t meant to stray this far from the trail, but the pull had been undeniable; an invisible string winding into your chest, plucking something deep behind your ribs. It wasn’t a voice. It was a hum, thrumming low against your heartbeat, and it asked only that you listen.
Soon, the corridor narrowed. Then came a breath, a sound so low and guttural that it was almost animalistic. Beyond the final archway, the air shifted, heavy with the scent of rust and ancient stone. When your fingers brushed the wall, dust fell away to reveal carvings: clawed talons, coiling beasts, a sigil wrapped in iron chains. Something had lived here, or died here, perhaps both.
The corridor opened into a cavern, hush settling over it, broken only by the slow drip of water and the soft glow of fungi clinging to the ceiling like scattered stars. Below, a shallow pool mirrored the pale light, sending ripples over iron bars sunken deep into the floor. Behind them, hunched in the furthest corner, was a man. Or what was left of one.
At first glance, you took him for a beast. Too lean, too sharp, limbs curled tight, hair falling in tangled, sage-dark knots across his face. Thick shackles clasped around his wrists, wrought from iron that shimmered with faint sigils. Seals, still active, still pulsing with containment. A muzzle was plastered over his mouth, forged from the same cursed metal. He didn’t move, but the weight of his gaze struck all the same, piercing the dark like a blade sliding clean between ribs.
A growl vibrated from his chest, ragged and low, somewhere between warning and wound. You startled, but didn’t back away. There was no true malice in the sound. Only pain. When he finally raised his head, you saw the color of his eyes—gold, but not the gentle hue of fireflies or autumn fields. Starless gold, fierce and ancient, the kind that remembered ruin, the kind that burned without warmth.
“Leave.” His voice scraped like gravel, coarse from disuse. “Go now. Before—” He choked on the words as his body shuddered, then lunged just far enough for the chains to snap taut and yank him backward. The force dragged him to his knees, spine arched, breath torn in broken bursts. Still, you did not flinch.
“You’re hurt.”
His chest rose and fell in ragged rhythm, sweat glinting despite the chill. “I said go,” he snarled. The muzzle warped his words, saliva stringing at its edges. You took a step closer.
His entire frame recoiled like a wounded thing. He thrashed, slamming his shoulder against the bars, wild with panic. But in the midst of the fury, you saw something else. Not rage, not madness, but fear. His hands trembled where they met the ground, not from wrath, but restraint. And that tremor said more than any growl ever could.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” you said gently.
“I will,” he grounded out through clenched teeth. “That’s what I do. That’s what he made me do. I—” His words faltered, voice cracking like splintering ice. “I don’t get to choose.”
“I believe you,” you whispered. “That you don’t want to.”
No reply came, just the rasp of breath and the soft clink of chains. But as you studied him, you began to see more than just shadow and weaponry. A jawline, high cheekbones half obscured by matted hair, the silver web of scars across his collarbone, thin and branching like frost on a window. He had once been something else. Someone else.
“You should hate me,” he said at last, voice hollow. “They all do. They scream when they see me. Or they don’t get the chance.”
“I don’t hate you.”
His head jerked, disbelief lighting his face like a spark. Anger, sorrow, and something else flashed in his eyes. “You should,” he said, almost a plea. “You have to.”
“What’s your name?” you asked.
The question hit him like a blow. “That’s not—names don’t—” A swallow. “I don’t have a name. Not anymore.”
“Then I’ll give you one.”
“No.” His voice broke. “No. Don’t. Don’t make me something I’m not.”
You knelt by the bars, closer now than anyone had dared in what felt like centuries. The space between you was thin, filled only with breath and stillness. “Then I’ll come back tomorrow, and maybe the day after that.”
His head whipped up. “Don’t.”
“I will.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“I trust you not to.”
“You’re stupid,” he spat. “Naive. You think kindness will undo what I am? What he made me into?”
Your hand rested just inches from the rusted bars. “No,” you said. “But maybe it will remind you that you were more, once, and can be again.” A silence thicker than smoke settled between you. Then you stood, his breath caught, and you turned away.
“Wait,” he said, but too softly for you to hear. The word broke apart behind his teeth, something like a sob, or maybe it was only the wind through the cracks in the stone. He pressed his forehead to the ground once you were gone.
Prayed you would never return.
Prayed that you would.
It began again with footsteps. Softer this time—not the cautious tread of a stranger stumbling through forgotten ruins, but the quiet return of someone who remembered the way. They came like the first stirrings of spring through wintered trees, patient and inevitable, brushing against the silence with the grace of thawing snow.
He remained still in his chains. The memory of your voice lingered like the sweetness of a forgotten lullaby, one he had not permitted himself to dream of. Dreams were dangerous things, after all. He knew this better than anyone.
When you appeared at the entrance of his prison once more, light wrapped around your figure like a misplaced sunbeam breaking into a tomb. In your arms, a cloth bundle was cradled against your chest, tied with a ribbon the color of old blood. Red—like orders barked through gritted teeth, like shackles that seared his skin, like the stains on his conscience. Yet somehow, in your hands, the color seemed gentler. Like the ribbon of a child’s gift, not a soldier’s command.
“I brought you something,” you said, voice soft as dusk. “It’s not much.
He didn’t look at you. If he stayed still long enough, maybe you would vanish like all the other foolish ghosts who thought they could reach him. Maybe you'd realize what he was and leave him to rot among the stones and silence. But you were already kneeling, already unwrapping the bundle with fingers as careful as if you were handling something sacred. From the folds emerged a small wooden container, simple and worn. Steam curled from its seams.
“It’s Almond Tofu. My favourite. I thought you might like it too.”
He bared his teeth, slow and deliberate, the muzzle pressing against his cheekbones with the motion. “I told you to stay away.”
“And I told you I don’t listen very well,” you replied, calm as though he hadn’t just threatened to maim you.
“I could tear your eyes from your skull.”
“If you wanted to, you would’ve done it already.”
You stood, walked past the shattered threshold of his cage, ignoring his previous words. As though you weren’t walking into the belly of a creature who had once been made to devour dreams and leave behind husks. The metal of the muzzle clicked faintly as Xiao’s breath hitched, chains groaning beneath the sudden tension in his limbs.
He said nothing as you sat down beside him, close enough that your shoulder brushed the boundary of his karmic debt. And then, without asking, you reached toward the clasp of the muzzle that had seared skin and spirit alike. He flinched, not from fear, but from disbelief.
It did not burn you.
Your fingers brushed the iron like it was no more dangerous than a breeze on stone. With a soft click, the clasp gave way. The muzzle slipped free and fell to the ground with a hollow sound that echoed louder than it should have. Xiao blinked. The air against his lips felt strange, wind against skin that hadn’t felt the sun in years. He said nothing, but the silence was no longer sharp.
You lifted a spoonful of the tofu, steam curling from the trembling surface. “Here.”
“I don’t eat human food,” he muttered, though his gaze followed the spoon with the reluctant intensity of a starving animal who refused to beg.
“Then pretend. Just one bite.”
He stared at you like you were made of thorns and light. Then, without breaking the stare, he leaned forward and took the bite. The taste bloomed on his tongue like a long buried memory, soft, sweet, subtle as snowfall. It was nothing like the raw meat the god used to feed him between commands. It was gentle, kind. As if food could carry emotion and this one had been made by someone who’d never once tasted cruelty. His brows drew together.
“Well?” you asked. Another beat of silence.
“...More.” A smile tugged at your lips, and you didn’t hide it.
The second bite came easier. Then the third. And by the fifth, he was sitting straighter, eyes no longer wary, but puzzled. He couldn’t understand why something so simple had shaken the dust off a corner of his soul he thought had died centuries ago. And when the last bite was gone, he looked at the empty container with the quiet devastation of someone realizing a miracle had a limit.
He looked at you then, truly looked, and hated that something in his chest gave way when he did.
You began to talk. Not of this prison or the god whose voice still echoed in his bones, but of the world beyond these walls. You painted it with your words, each one a brushstroke: ships that floated among clouds, skies blooming with lanterns during moonlit festivals, gardens that glowed like constellations, and markets alive with the scent of dumplings and the sound of laughter.
He didn’t interrupt. Not once. His eyes remained fixed on your face, as if the movement of your lips could become a lifeline. He drank in every word like a man parched, terrified to ask for more.
When you told him about the wind on the Jade Chamber’s terraces, his fingers twitched.
When you spoke of honey lotus pastries, his mouth parted ever so slightly, as though tasting them from memory he never had.
And when you said, barely above a whisper, “I’ll take you there one day,” he turned his head from you.
“You wont,” he said, but the words no longer bled bitterness. They sounded tired, soft.
He didn’t stop you when you placed the empty tofu dish beside his chains, didn’t growl when you stood, brushing dirt from your knees. Didn’t speak when you turned to leave, but his eyes clung to your back. When the echo of your footsteps began to fade into the cavern, his voice cracked into the silence.
“...Bring more tofu.” It was the first time in four hundred years he had asked for anything.
Ventis breath hitched as your fingers slid over his veiny cock and over his slit. You had been doing this for the last hour, and it was pure torture. Loud moans filled out the room as you started to jerk him off. Just when he thought he could have his sweet release this time, you stopped again. He whined as you let go of his cock. He tried saying something and moving a bit closer to your hand, but being tied down to a chair and gagged made this an impossible task. He whined yet again, trying to get to your heart so you'd feel bad and finish him off.
You get up and go to your drawer, and you pull out a wand vibrator. His eyes follow you as you grab more lube and come back over to sit in between his legs. No amount of whining from him stopped you from turning on the vibrator in your hands and pressing it against his cock. He screamed at the sensation of the wand vibrating against his sensitive tip. His hiccuped breaths got faster, his legs shook uncontrollably, his face was red and his cheeks were stained with tears.
Finally, he came and collapsed into your arms. You untied him from the chair and took him straight to the bathroom, softly kissing his face along the way.
bratty boys being on your naughtly list for christmas. <3
obviously they play dumb, acting all confused when you tell them that theyve been naughty lately and saying that they should be punished for it. they even wore your favorite red lingerie set for you to surprise you, of course he's not a brat. but you don't fall for it or take any of his bullshit.
so when you sit down on a nearby chair, patting your thigh to tell them to lay there, he can't help but be excited on what you're going to do. so when he lays down on your thigh, his stomach on your legs, he can't help but let out a gasp at the feeling of your hand going down on his ass, the loud smack ringing in his ears.
immediately he lets out a whine, his ass stinging. soon after only a few more slaps to his ass, his dick is embarrassingly hard against your thighs. the similar position and the mention of him being on the naughty list reminds him of past memories of him sitting on santa's lap as a child which only adds to his embarrassment at the now lewd situation happening at the moment.
"you've been naughty lately, haven't you baby?" smack "and you know what naughty boys get?"
he turns his head aorund slightly to look at you with teary eyes and a flushed face.
"ngh t-they get p-punished."
how about you teach him a lesson? maybe next time he'll end up on the nice list with him on his knees staring up at you with pleading, puppy eyes
