|| When you stop when they’re about to finish. || Genshin Impact Reactions ||
so I was kinda stuck because I couldn’t think of anything so that’s what took me so long to post lol how are we enjoying the new update? I absolutely loved it crazy how much genshin leveled up since mondstadt anyways enjoy the additional new cast wink wink
synopsis: the air is hot and heavy between you both. the tension escalating, he feels his release draw near but you suddenly pull away?
❥ Kazuha has quiet whimpers escaping him despite the flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. The gentle press of your lips against his neck coupled with the rhythm of your hand on his length leaves him completely undone, his breath hitching as climax nears with every passing second.
Then without warning, your touch vanishes as you draw away. His face remains flushed, chest heaving in a desperate bid to catch his breath, but his first instinct is pure concern for you. Despite the ache of denial, your wellbeing takes precedence — until a soft giggle breaks the silence.
A faint smile graces his lips as he lets out a shaky sigh, instantly realizing he has walked right into your game. Far from losing his composure, he simply admires your playful demeanor before speaking. His tone remains soft and melodic, yet carries an unmistakable edge of a quiet promise.
“One does not simply taunt the breeze without facing the storm that follows after….”
❥ Wanderer with a hand resting firmly behind your head, his breathing is heavy and his eyes remain closed as he loses himself to the pleasure. He guides your movement, matching your pace with a steady rhythm as he thrusts into your mouth.
His release is only a few moments away, pulse racing —until you abruptly pull back, causing his grip to slip. His eyes snap open, immediate annoyance flaring at the sudden interruption.
The loss of warmth leaves him tense and raw, his jaw clenching as he catches sight of your teasing, triumphant smile as you begin to stand up ー before you could, his hand shoots out to grab your arm. The irritation shifts into sharp intensity, his gaze locking onto yours with a heavy presence. Oh, so this is the game you want to play?
“Think you’re so funny, huh? Let’s see if you’re still laughing once I’m done with you…”
❥ Illuga has one hand muffling his trembling sounds while the other grips your waist, a vivid blush spreading across his features as he watches you ride him through hooded eyes.
The sensation builds steadily with every shift of your hips, forcing him to meet your movement as tension coils tight within him. Just as control is about to slip completely, you suddenly bring everything to a halt.
His mind remains a hazy blur as you pull back. Aching and thoroughly disoriented, worry briefly takes over as he checks your face for any sign of distress. Before catching the mischievous tilt of your lips, the worry instantly vanishes. A raspy groan slips past his throat as a wry smirk slowly tugs at his own lips. His grip on your waist tightening, wanting you to finish what you started.
“Teasing me now? That hardly seems fair…”
❥ Lohen’s gaze remains fixed on you, his fingers tangled in your hair as he guides your pace, entirely captivated by the view of you taking in his length with your mouth.
Unapologetically vocal, deep groans escape him as he gives in to the sensation, both hands guiding you as the peak draws near. He is so consumed by the momentum that your sudden retreat catches him completely off guard.
The trance shatters instantly, his eyes opening in brief shock before a dangerous kind of comprehension dawns. His expression shifts, his lips curling into a dark, knowing smirk. It takes only a beat for him to grasp your intention. A low chuckle rumbles deep in his chest — a sound more thrilling than comforting, before dropping into a menacing whisper.
“Oh sweetheart, do you really think you can play with fire and expect not to get burned?”
❥ Alyosha’s cheeks burn crimson, the atmosphere thick and heavy despite the chill in the air outside. His mouth remains pressed against yours in a passionate exchange, a breathy sound escaping him as your hands move with deliberate speed on his aching length.
His breathing grows ragged as the heat intensifies, the coil in his stomach tightening to its limit — only for all contact to abruptly cease.
The sudden vacuum leaves him motionless, his heavy gaze searching your face for an explanation despite the humiliating warmth pulsing beneath his skin. A subtle frown pulling at his lips as he runs a hand through his already wildly tousled hair. Realizing he has fallen straight into your trap, completely baited.
“Luring in your target just to retreat at the last second? I hope you realize how dangerous it is to play games with a hunter…”
❥ Mitya abandons all restraint to the overwhelming sensation, his fingers clutching the bedsheets while his scarf wraps securely around your waist like an anchor as you continue to ride him. Crimson creeps from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears, embarrassed by the soft sounds escaping him.
As the tension reaches its absolute peak, he reaches out, eager to pull you into a close embrace. Before he can complete the gesture ー you move off of him, leaving him feeling suddenly cold and exposed.
A quiet whine escapes him as a small pout forms, his expression shifting to one of flustered protest, burning hotter under your amused gaze. He stammers awkwardly, struggling to find his words while his scarf, which had briefly drooped at the sudden distance — springs back to life regaining its hold to halt your escape, coercing you to return.
“Y-You can’t just leave me hanging like this…! It was just… getting to the…good part.”
# sfw headcanon fic. gn!reader. just soft moments. the exact moment these guys realise that you mean more to them than they realised. No confessions, just that oh moment <3
✧ WANDERER (POST-NOD KRAI)
Wanderer’s initial reaction to catching feelings won't be soft affection. It will feel like a trap he accidentally walked into.
The wind howling through the crags of Nod-Krai was sharp enough to scrape paint off iron, carrying the bitter tang of old frost and gunpowder. You were huddled near the dying embers of the braziers, trying to nurse a lukewarm cup of tea, when the air pressure shifted. A quiet thud sounded above you as boots landed on the wooden rafters.
Wanderer sat perched on the ledge, one leg dangling over the edge, his broad hat tilted low enough to shadow his face. He didn't look at you. He was staring out into the dark, barren expanse where the Abyss-corrupted night air rolled over the hills. "You're making too much noise," he said, his voice flat, cutting through the gale with zero effort. "And your fire is smoking. A blind Hilichurl could track you from three miles away."
"I didn't ask you to stay," you murmured back.
A harsh, scoffing noise escaped him. "Stay? Don't flatter yourself. The draft is better up here." But he didn't leave. He didn't move an inch. Instead, as a brutal gust of wind whipped around the corner of the ruined outpost, threatening to blow out your tiny fire entirely, the air around you suddenly went still. A faint, glowing swirl of Anemo rippled in a protective sphere around your small corner of the ruins, deflecting the freezing gale over your head like an invisible glass dome.
Below the brim of his hat, his hands were tense where they gripped the stone of his Vision. His knuckles were white. He was looking down at you now—his indigo eyes narrowed, dark, and terribly intense, filled with a complex, burning frustration that had nothing to do with the cold.
Pathetic, he thought, watching the way you leaned closer to the warmth he was maintaining for you. Look at you. Vulnerable. Soft. A single misstep in these borderlands and you'd be ash.
And the worst part—the part that made his chest ache with an old, bitter agony he thought he’d left behind in the Irminsul—was that if you became ash, he knew he would tear this entire region apart looking for the fire that did it. "Drink your tea," he muttered, turning his face away sharply into the biting wind, though the Anemo barrier didn't waver for a single second. "Before I decide to throw it into the snow.”
✧ VARKA.
The moment Varka realises he's in love with you, he goes quiet. Because he’s never quiet. He’s the guy who fills every silence with a boom of laughter, a clink of a glass, or a booming order. When a man who commands that much noise suddenly drops into total, uncharacteristic silence? That means something.
The table between you was strewn with the remnants of late-night work—spilled ink, burnt-out candle stubs, and an empty bottle of dandelion wine that Varka had finished an hour ago.
He was in the middle of a story, broad arms resting on the dark oak, spinning some utterly ridiculous tale about a northern bear that had allegedly tried to steal his boots during the expedition. He was leaning in, loud and animated, his laughter rumbling low in his chest like distant thunder, waiting for you to call him out on his obvious exaggeration. Instead, you just reached across the table.
You didn't say anything grand. You were just exhausted—eyelids heavy, voice soft—as you casually reached out, plucked the stray goose feather clinging to his lapel, and set it aside. Your fingers brushed the worn leather over his collarbone, trailing down for a split second to pull his askew cloak back over his broad shoulder so the draft from the window wouldn't catch him.
It was an entirely unconscious gesture. Instinctive, domestic. The action of someone who had simply gotten used to looking after him when he forgot to look after himself. And right in the middle of a syllable—Varka went dead silent. The sudden lack of his voice hit the room harder than a slammed door.
You blinked, looking up from his cloak, expecting to see him grinning or rolling his eyes. He wasn't. The lazy, theatrical warmth had entirely evaporated from his face. He sat completely motionless, his massive frame utterly still, blue eyes fixed on your hand where it still lingered near his collar.
"Varka?" you murmured, frowning a little. "Did I...?"
He didn't answer immediately. For three long seconds, the only sound in the office was the ticking of the grandfather clock and the howl of the wind outside the glass. In that quiet, you could practically see the gears turning behind those sharp eyes. The boisterous old lion was gone, replaced instantly by the seasoned commander—a man who had just recognized a massive, terrifying shift in the terrain and realized he was completely exposed. He wasn't scared; Varka didn't do fear. He was just... stunned by the absolute weight of it.
Ah, the thought struck him with the force of a broadsword. I’m done for.
Slowly, his chest rose as he let out a long, quiet exhale—no laugh, no joke attached to it. "No," Varka said softly, his voice dropping an octave, losing every drop of its usual performative flair. It was surprisingly rough, grounded, and entirely intimate. He reached up, his massive, calloused hand covering yours where it rested on his chest, gently trapping your fingers against the steady, thumping heat of his heart. He leaned back just an inch, his gaze locked onto yours with a terrifyingly clear, undivided focus.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he murmured, his thumb rubbing a slow, heavy circle over the back of your knuckles. A tiny, somewhat helpless curve touched the corner of his mouth—not his Grand Master grin, but something painfully real. "Just... stay right there for a second. Let me catch my breath."
✧ LOHEN
For a fighter used to sharp boundaries—someone enters your space, someone leaves your space—the concept of someone's presence remaining behind after their physical body has left is entirely foreign. It disrupts his internal logic.
The muffled rhythm of rain was tapping against the stained glass, casting long, fractured shadows across the stone floor of the archive. Lohen was leaning against the heavy oak table, arms crossed, trying his absolute best to look like the picture of composed authority. You were leaning over a spread of old maps, your shoulder brushing his sleeve every time you reached to trace a faded trade route.
"So," you said, not looking up, though the faint curve at the corner of your mouth gave you away. "If the shipment is delayed at the pass, your brilliant grand strategy collapses before the week is out."
"It won't be delayed," Lohen countered smoothly, though his eyes flicked down to where your hand rested on the parchment. "I sent the patrol out hours ago. Unlike some people, I don't leave my logistics to luck."
"Right. You leave them to terrifyingly precise planning and zero sleep." You finally looked up, turning toward him. You were standing entirely too close—close enough that he could see the tiny flecks of gold in your eyes, close enough that the soft, warm scent of bergamot and rain swept right past his carefully maintained defenses. Lohen’s throat went dry. He opened his mouth to deliver a sharp, witty comeback, but the words completely dissolved on his tongue.
"What?" you asked, tilting your head, amused by his sudden silence.
"Nothing," he said, stepping back just half an inch—a defensive maneuver he’d never admit to. He cleared his throat, forcing his usual smugness back into his voice. "Just waiting for you to finish cluttering my desk so I can actually get some work done."
"Charming as always, Lohen." You laughed, a quiet, rich sound that seemed to hum right through the quiet archive. You rolled up the map, tucking it under your arm, and patted his shoulder as you passed. "I'm leaving. Try not to miss me too much."
"Don't hold your breath," he called after you, watching as you headed for the heavy arched doors.
"Goodnight, Lohen."
"Night."
The heavy oak door clicked shut with a soft, final thud, the latch catching in the frame. The sound echo-canceled the energy in the room, leaving behind a sudden, heavy stillness. Lohen didn't move. He stood by the oak table, intent on grabbing his coat and heading out. But as he stepped forward into the space where you had just been standing, the air felt different. Thicker. Warmer. He caught himself inhaling—a slow, deep breath he hadn't planned on taking—and the faint, unmistakable trace of bergamot washed over him.
Lohen froze mid-step. He stared at the empty space in front of him, his chest tightening unexpectedly. His body leaned in just a fraction—an instinctual, unbidden impulse to catch the tail end of the scent before the cool draft from the window swept it away entirely.
What are you doing?
The thought hit him like a splash of ice water. He straightened up abruptly, a sudden flush of heat crawling up the back of his neck. He was a knight, a tactician—he tracked movements, anticipated strikes, read battlelines in seconds. Yet here he was, standing completely alone in a silent room, leaning into the lingering perfume air like a fool, trying to hold onto someone who had already left. He covered his face with one hand, letting out a breath that was half-sigh, half-disbelieving laugh.
Gods above, he thought, his heart hammering a stupidly fast rhythm against his ribs. I am in so much trouble.
✧ ILLUGA
For Illuga, love isn't just a sweet feeling—it’s an existential crisis. His immediate instinct won't be to jump in; it'll be to keep a protective distance to keep you safe from his "curse.” Wanting to survive for you becomes his greatest hurdle and his greatest growth.
Illuga’s voice carried over the wind with the crisp, ringing clarity of a drawn blade. "Third squad, fall back to the treeline! Hold the perimeter, don't break formation!" Efficient. Absolute.
In the heat of an ambush, he moved like water and struck like iron, stepping smoothly between a bleeding scout and an incoming blow, his shield taking the brunt of the impact with a heavy thud. He didn't flinch, he never flinched. Taking the hit was second nature—a bill he paid willingly every time he brought his people home breathing. It was only after the dust settled, when the silence of the forest crept back in, that the exhaustion set in.
He was crouched by the supply crates, methodically wrapping a strip of linen around his bruised forearm, when you sat down beside him. You didn't ask permission. You just reached out, took the bandage from his hands, and began fixing the messy, hasty job he’d done on himself.
Illuga opened his mouth to tell you he was fine, that there were others who needed the medic’s kit more, but the words died in his throat. You weren't yelling. You weren't even scolding him. But the quiet, sharp tension in your jaw, the gentle precision of your hands as you worked... you were angry because he’d thrown himself into the line of fire again. You were hurt because he treated his own life like an acceptable loss.
"Illuga," you murmured, your voice low, almost a whisper over the rustle of the leaves. "Stop treating your life like a spare part."
His chest tightened—a sharp, sudden ache that had nothing to do with the combat. He looked at you, really looked at you, tracing the exhaustion line under your eyes, the dust on your cheek, the fierce, stubborn concern glowing in your gaze. For years, he’d believed his life belonged to the ghosts he left behind. He was a shield, and shields were meant to break eventually. But as your thumb brushed softly over the back of his hand, anchoring him to the present, the realization hit him like a physical weight: If I break, I shatter them.
"I'm sorry," Illuga said quietly, his voice losing its commander’s edge, softening into something raw, human, and deeply tender. He covered your hand with his own, his large, calloused palm warm against your skin. "I'll... I'll be more careful. I promise."
And for the first time in his life, he actually meant it. Not just to win the fight—but to make sure he came home to you.
✧ FLINS
Flins uses death and his graveyard as punchlines. He’s the guy who teases you about having a plot picked out for you. The moment of realization hits when he tries to make one of those dark jokes about you—and suddenly finds the concept utterly revolting.
The air around the Final Night Cemetery was always biting, carrying the sharp scent of frost and turned earth. Flins walked with his usual measured, soundless grace, the azure light of his lantern casting long, eerie shadows against the gravestones.
You were walking beside him, bundled heavily against the Nod-Krai chill, complaining good-naturedly about the morbid route he’d chosen for your evening stroll.
"Come now," Flins purred, his voice a smooth, cultured hum as he tilted his head to look at you. His pupil-less yellow eyes caught the blue light of the flame. "It is perfectly peaceful. In fact, I was just admiring a spot under the weeping willows over there. It gets wonderful moonlight. I could reserve it for you, if you'd like?"
It was a standard line. A tease meant to draw out that exasperated little sigh he found so endlessly fascinating. You rolled your eyes, laughing breathlessly as a puff of white fog escaped your lips. "Keep it up, Flins, and I'll make sure you're the one who has to dig it."
He opened his mouth to deliver a perfectly timed, elegant retort—but the words died in his throat. The moonlight hit your face, illuminating the pink flush of the cold on your cheeks and the vibrant, undeniable warmth of your life against the frozen backdrop of his cemetery. Suddenly, the thought of you under the earth, cold and still beneath the willows, flashed through his mind. For a creature who had lived for centuries, who treated death like an old colleague, the imagery felt like a physical blow. The joke turned to ash.
The azure flame in his lantern violently hissed, flaring so bright it painted the snow in stark, electric blue. You blinked, startled by the sudden light, and looked up at him. "Flins? Are you alright?"
For a long, agonizing second, the Lightkeeper simply stared at you, his perfectly composed mask fracturing as an unfamiliar, suffocating possessiveness curled tight in his chest. He didn't want you as a memory. He didn't want you as one of the beautiful, tragic tales he told to travelers. "Yes," Flins finally murmured, his voice dropping an octave, entirely stripped of its usual teasing lilt.
He stepped closer, the graceful movement swift and almost predatory, until he was shielding you entirely from the biting wind. He reached out, his cold, gloved fingers gently but firmly adjusting the thick collar of your coat to cover your neck. "I just realized," he said softly, his golden eyes unblinking, "that I would very much prefer you stay above ground for a long, long time. Please... do not speak of digging graves tonight.”
"She is some kind of magic, some kind of chaos, and a little bit of poetry." ✧⋆.˚
✦ synopsis: the adventure of the youngest Hexenzirkel witch!
✦ a/n: This came to me in a dream, basically first meeting with witch reader (includes Durin, Wanderer,Dottore/Zandik/ Lohen)
You had been frantically travelling around recently, all Alices fault!
“Dearest D ,
It has been far too long since our last tea party above the Falcon Coast! I hope you are busy painting the stars somewhere wonderful and blessings to everyone with sweet dreams. I am writing to you because our beloved world is trembling again, and I need a touch of your unique mastery!
Please do come quickly things are becoming terribly interesting.
With affection,
- A.”
As the ninth Hexenzirkel member, to simply put, dreams are your specialty— wait D? You had never agreed on that code name. How simple of a thinking, a witch that can manipulate dreams has a codename of D!?
The ley lines at Nod krai seemed odd, usually with your powers you could access the lost memories there easily. Hmm how weird Alice didn’t mention this—
Thud!
You turn around with a baffled expression on your face to see who had bumped into you only to come face to face with purple-haired dragon who now had a embarrassed look on his face.
Followed by a blondie?
“Well then Durin why don’t you introduce yourself to the lady you’ve been starring for the last 10 minutes?” Oh wait thats Albedo, Golds kid — you joined much much later than the other witches, but Nicole has pretty much explained everything with every single detail. Uh-huh, Durin so thats the other ones name.
“Apologies miss D, I assume aunt Alice is the reason why you’re here?”
“Well yes, but her letter was fairly short, do you mind bringing me up to speed?” You nod, looking back at Durin who was now furiously blushing under your gaze hiding behind Albedo.
As per your mage friends concern you stepped foot into Sumeru, in her first letter she hadn’t clarified anything, but in her second letter which arrived shortly after, it gave instructions to go visit Sumeru to investigate the dreams of the citizens.
Well, more like nightmare which manifested with the combined help of traumas and hidden fears. The air itself felt amiss.
Following around the scared aranaras they lead you to someone. As a Hexenzirkel member, you recognise this face Scaramouche or Wanderer to be exact— you know his true origins and his past as a Fatui Harbinger.
But the little naras are practically begging you to wake up their friend from his ill nightmare. Kneeling down to his level, you cup his cheeks soothing the nighmare right away.
Opening his eyes slowly — woah okay this wasn’t the view he was expecting he thought it was Nahida..!
“Hello there.” You spoke calmly with a gentle smile.
How mature of the other witches to play a prank on you, there was no danger, only their greedy need for your special tea.
You had always been teased about being the youngest! In a fit of irritation for being pranked like this, you miscalculated your teleportation magic and ended up in the desert. Great, truly excellent.
Looking around you saw someone— a sunburned oy with a dirty Akademiya uniform, he looked so out of place. Out of curiosity and pure goodness in your heart you decide to approach him, with the means of helping him out.
He introduced himself as Zandik coldly as if he somehow had the upper hand in this situation. Anyone else would have been annoyed, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of this whole day.
Through the fit of giggles you tried apologising to Zandik whose face now was the color of zaytun peaches. Oh dear.
Sensing your friends presence there you set out to Nod Krai. Sadly you’ve never been great with directions. You were sure you were in Nod Krai, but not where exactly.
Strolling around trying to figure out where the hell you are—you landed right in the middle of a fight. The Wild Hunt couldn’t even touch a strand of your hair no matter how matter how hard it tried, a simple feat of the so known mistress of illusions and dreams.
Analysing the situation and the state of the knight s that you’re well acquainted with, the fight is quickly resolved, a simple feat of—
“As the Vice Captain of the Fifth Company, Lohen, I am grateful for your help in need of help. Miss..?” Oh so it was Lohen who dared to interrupt your little self-love session.
“You can call me miss D.” You said offhandedly.
Not long after introducing yourself Varka arrived, a face you well recognise. Given his very extroverted personality he invited you to Favonius Keep for a drink and a meal. I mean in all honesty, who doesn’t like free stuff?
Walking back you were infront, just in case. Unbeknown to you Lohen was also supposed to be infront, but this time the view from back happened to be much more to his taste.
warnings: pre-established relationship, use of "[name]," reader is an immortal in neuvillette's
notes: THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE!!!!!! IT'S BEEN TOO LONG BUT IT WAS SO SOSOSOS FUN
"Looks like idiots only attract more idiots, huh?" Wanderer spits, swatting the foul thing off of his table.
Someone really picked out those colors and thought they were something you'd like; it seems your stupidity rubs off on your admirers, because this one doesn't even know your preferences: things like how you prefer calmer shades over neons, how you'd much rather be able to read neater fonts than pretentious swirls which are added in for flare.
Even flies find beauty in trash. Your admirer must be a maggot, by the looks of things.
But again: idiots attract more idiots. It's no wonder that you, the greatest idiot of them all, have wound up on the receiving end of some maggot's affections.
He stares at the disgustingly bright envelope—now on the floor—with your name addressed as the recipient. How pathetic, he thinks. (How audacious, the sender, for daring to write your name so clumsily, with all those stupid swirls and all! Are they even literate? This handwriting looks to be atrocious! Does the Akademiya just let anyone in?! Even scum that don't know how to use a pen?!)
Wanderer walks away. Ever so coincidentally, the envelope gets caught in between the heel of his shoe and the ground, and, even more coincidentally, his heel turns, left to right, grinding the paper into the wooden planks of the classroom's floor.
If it wasn't unreadable before, it certainly is unreadable now.
"Excuse me!"
The doors slam open, revealing a haggard figure, clad in scholarly robes, chest heaving up and down as their head turns frantically.
"Has anyone seen a letter? It has a neon yellow envelope, and it's—"
For good measure, the heel of Wanderer's shoes dig deeper into the ground, the envelope still caught in between, crumpled. Wanderer has never once seen such an ugly letter (Neon yellow? he thinks, disturbed. What a tasteless imbecile.) His shoe might have, though.
A couple seconds pass, and the tasteless imbecile's eyes grow wide, vaguely resembling that of a bug's, before approaching Wanderer with a determined look.
"Hat Guy!" the tasteless imbecile exclaims. "Hat Guy, you're stepping on my letter!"
Wanderer looks down, the envelope still caught in between his heel and the ground. What a coincidence. Even more coincidentally, his weight shifts wholly onto that foot, the heel sinking, the paper ripping from the amalgamation of abuse.
"Oh, no!" The maggot gasps. "No, no, no! That's my letter! I wrote it for [Name]!"
Even more coincidentally (there are just so many coincidences in this world, it seems), Wanderer's foot slides forward, and the paper is dragged across the planks, and, out of nowhere, a gust of wind rampages through the classroom. How odd, considering the windows are closed.
"Hat Guy! You did that on purpose!"
"Hah?" Wanderer replies, humorless. "Do you think I have so much free time as to tamper with such a measly thing?"
"You just used your Vision on my letter! And you were stepping on it!"
Wanderer smirks, the expression not reaching his eyes, the cornflower irises devoid of any mirth as an incomplete laugh escapes his lips. What a perfect use, he thinks, using the sickening power of an Archon to destroy that ugly thing. He's really outdone himself this time.
"Why would you do that, huh?! What have I ever done to you?" the imbecile continues, damn near having a conversation with themself.
"How ridiculous," Wanderer remarks plainly, voice devoid of any remorse. "You left it on my desk."
"We don't even have assigned seats!"
"Well," another scholar chimes in, "it's practically assigned. Nobody ever moves from the seat they chose."
Wanderer huffs. Misplaced or not, how could this imbecile even think to leave such an insinuating letter out in the open? Especially with your name scribed onto its front, with such ugly penmanship? If this imbecile really liked you, they would never—Whatever, he thinks, arms crossed, head cocked to the side. This is none of his business.
Idiots attract idiots. Whoever wants you can have you: the most idiotic of them all.
"Oh, [Name]!" the imbecile has the audacity to exclaim, their frustrated expression shifting instantly, as if the feeling of your name on their lips is enough to melt the anger, shaping it into adoration. They turn towards the door, lips enraptured by a smile, racing towards you with their hand held up, waving.
A gust of wind rampages through the classroom. How odd, considering the windows are closed.
Wanderer passes (read: shoves by) the imbecile, his face unreadable, its tell given only by the slight crinkle of his eyes, the way your figure is beheld so tenderly within the pupil of a puppet whose body is incapable of a flush. Wanderer's artificial skin lacks warmth, for there is no heart to pump blood towards his limbs, to give his cheeks the blossom of red.
But he looks at you, the beheld, and that is enough.
"About time," he says, arrogant. "I didn't think you could even find your way here."
You just laugh. Wanderer's artificial skin lacks warmth, he knows this, but you laugh and you look at him and the beholder is beheld, and, and the wind subsides, and—
"I'm surprised you even showed up to class at all, Wanderer!"
He scoffs. "I'm not like you."
"That's not true," you reply, pointing at him accusingly, other hand resting on your hip, "your attendance record is just like mine!"
But it's true; Wanderer could never be anything like you.
Because you're lovely.
It's not often that the Chief Justice gets a break.
In this nation full of legislation, it's only natural that its most supreme judge is at work most days, whether it be overseeing trials or sifting through paperwork, there is always a job must be done, and a creature to serve in its place.
Neuvillette has long gotten used to his role, the duty which has been entrusted to him. But, every once in a while, there is a moment of respite, where he is able to look up from the stacks of papers, to turn around, thistle eyes piercing past the panes of the window, the clouds parting to reveal the enormity of the sun, its warmth palpable despite the distance.
The beauty of such light is best appreciated from indoors.
But, he thinks, eyeing the clock, a brief walk would not hurt.
He rises from his seat, gloved hands readjusting the fabric of his cravat, fingers trailing lightly over the desk once he's done, passing by the wooden walls of his office with a steady pace.
At the reception desk, he exchanges pleasantries with Sedene; just as he's ready to depart, however, she jolts up, returning behind the desk before revealing a frilly envelope, its paper adorned by hearts and roses.
"Monsieur Neuvillette," she says, waving the letter. "I wanted to show this to you."
He raises a brow. "What is this, Miss Sedene?"
She points towards the name such romance is addressed to. You.
Neuvillette just blinks, mildly confused. "I do not believe that [Name] works here, nor are they in any position to receive such a letter. They are abroad at the moment, are they not?"
"That's right, Monsieur. I believe the sender made a mistake, but I was unable to catch a glimpse of their face before they left..." she mutters, ears drooping slightly, cradling the letter close.
Neuvillette shakes his head. "Do not worry about it, Miss Sedene. When [Name] returns, you can deliver it to them, then."
Despite telling Sedene not to worry, the letter's existence plagues Neuvillette's mind like some haunting phantom, an itch that can never be scratched.
You have always been driven by wanderlust; no land could ever contain you, and Neuvillette has long made peace with this fact. All that he can do is serve as your landing ground, to greet you at Fontaine's borders when you do—and you always—return.
And when you do return, he will lend you an ear. He will serve you your favorite desserts, he will accompany you on your long walks which you so adore, whether it be in rain or in shattering light.
And when you depart once more, he will see you off at the border, just as when you arrived, and when you arrive again, whenever they may be.
Neuvillette is satisfied with the guarantee of reunion. He does not want you to compromise your wanderlust, to shackle yourself to a single place, for your presence to be near his in any capacity that is not founded off of your own desire.
Be free to do whatever it is that you want to do, to go wherever you want to go—and when you return, he will be there. As he's always been.
Every so often, you send him letters from the nations you visit, accompanied by various trinkets which you've collected. Sometimes, you send him rocks, or swabs of sand, or entire shells that must be delivered separately.
Neuvillette gets mildly disturbed whenever you send him something that looks to be made from the cooling of molten lava, as it has happened far too often, and it makes him wonder what in the world it is you're up to.
But that's a story which you will tell him yourself, when the two of you meet again.
Neuvillette is satisfied with the guarantee of reunion. Restraint is familiar to him; being in a position such as his does not give much flexibility for anything else. But he thinks of that frilly letter, addressed to you, adorned by romance.
How straightforward, he muses, remembering the lace roses which trailed all over the envelope, the way your name was its most extravagant aspect.
Neuvillette has made peace with the stutter of his heart, the way rain falls after your departure, the way the sun reveals itself, its radiance forcing his mind to return to the fantastical image of you.
Restraint. Neuvillette has made peace with your absence, and he always thought that reunion was enough. But he thinks of you, and there it is again: the ferocity of desire, the selfishness of his blood, the way dragons hoard treasure, the way gold glimmers.
It's raining.
Neuvillette looks up, bewildered. It was so sunny a second ago. But he looks around, and his fellow pedestrians seek shelter in nearby cafes, or huddle under umbrellas, murmuring about how unexpected this is.
How unexpected indeed.
Neuvillette continues forward, the coolness on his skin, suppressing the bloom of his ears, the way he stares at the last light of the sun before it disappears behind a grey cloud.
He wonders what you're up to right now. The last letter you sent was from Inazuma. You must be far, he thinks.
(Too far.)
But then, a voice.
"Long time no see, Neuvillette!"
His head snaps around, thistle eyes meeting yours, his mouth hanging slightly agape, a droplet of rain racing down from the duct of his eye.
"[Name]," he breathes, walking towards you with as much composure as a creature so hopelessly in love could ever afford to muster. "[Name], it has been so long."
"Right!" you say, wiping a swab of rain from your face. "You look even more miserable than when I last saw you!"
The subtlest of smiles tug at his lips.
You truly make him the most miserable thing.
"Anyway, I stopped by the Court to see you, but instead, Sedene handed me a love letter! Isn't that hilarious? I haven't gotten one of these in like, what, a couple hundred years?"
Neuvillette feels something stir within the confines of his ribs.
"Did you read it?"
"I did! It was great!"
Restraint. Neuvillette wants to ask more—he wants to know what you thought of such forwardness, what you thought of such a declaration of love. If he were to do the same, would you receive it with such mirth? Would you accept him, with all his rain, with all his misery?
"I found the sender just before seeing you here, Neuvillette!" you say, patting his shoulder, the reunion palpable. "I had to thank them for such flattery! Oh, but I did have to turn them down. I'm not really one for the immortal-mortal grief, you know? Parting with you is already a lot."
Neuvillette's breath hitches. What about the guarantee of an immortal-immortal match? What about the guarantee of reunion?
"You dislike parting with me?"
You laugh. "Nope, I absolutely love seeing your anguished face whenever I leave, and traveling alone, tasting water from nations, trying to act like I know something when really, there's no difference at all!"
The subtlest of smiles tug at his lips.
"There is a difference. Mondstadt's waters are crisp and pure, while Liyue's waters have an aftertaste, and Inazuma's water possesses a flavor unlike any other."
You elbow him roughly. He doesn't budge from the movement.
"And Fontaine's courts have the best macarons. Onwards, Neuvillette!"
The sun returns.
Neuvillette looks at you and, truly, the radiance is sublime.
There is nothing in this world that comes for free.
"So, name your price," the client says, head tilted to the side, smirking. "I'm confident I can fulfill whatever you demand, Kinich."
"I cannot take this request," Kinich states, readjusting the various bags which dangle from his shoulder, full of fruits from his most recent harvest.
"What?!" the client exclaims, their pompous expression contorting into that of utter disbelief. "It should be simple! I'm only requesting you because I know you can complete it quickly! I'll pay you double your rate, and—"
"Find someone else," Kinich interrupts. "I won't do it."
"What?!" Ajaw exclaims, floating over to the client's side, his shades of green shifting to reds and oranges, his pixelated body spasming up and down as he pouts vehemently. "Come on, man! This is such a good deal! Since when could beggars be choosers, huh, huh?!"
Kinich ignores how Ajaw just likened him to a beggar.
"Why are you rejecting this request?!" the client shouts, hand outstretched, revealing an intricate envelope, adorned by shades of reds and pinks, its romance addressed towards a single recipient. You.
"My reason doesn't matter," Kinich replies.
There are some things in this world that cannot be done, regardless of the cost.
"Don't tell me it's because you have a crush on—" Ajaw starts, but is quickly slapped away by Kinich. The Almighty Dragonlord's figure goes flying out of the atmosphere, plummeting towards the sky, the last of his silhouette dissipating with the twinkle of what looks to be a star.
"Find someone else," Kinich says, again. "I won't do it."
"You'll regret this, Kinich!" the client-no-longer exclaims, sparing one last glare at him before trudging away, love letter still in hand. Kinich returns to his hut without a single thought, hauling his harvest, the weight amounting to nothing, as he mulls over the request.
He's not the type to live with regrets.
But, maybe there is one.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Someone bursts through the door, sauntering through his hut made-for-one, forcing it to shift and fit two. Kinich, unfazed, doesn't even look up from his spot in the corner, rearranging the fruits he had harvested, organizing them with the various containers of jam and breads which he bought the day before.
Silence. Kinich continues sorting through his items, feigning ignorance to the shadow which slowly creeps up on him, the shape shifting to reveal two hands, outstretched, vaguely resembling a pitiful wolf.
Your hands jump onto his shoulders, and Kinich remains as he is: completely unmoved.
"What?!" you say, absolutely flabbergasted. "Why didn't that scare you?"
Kinich looks over his shoulder, taken aback for just a second, your nose almost meeting his, your face so close he can make out each wisp of your lashes, the way you smile, teeth and all. He swallows thickly. He blinks and then he turns back around, breathing slowly, hands fiddling mindlessly with the jars of jam.
That scared him more than your futile attempt at a surprise attack.
"You're loud," is all he says.
"That can't be!"
But it is, Kinich thinks. You're loud. And you talk a lot, and you wear your expressions so evidently on your face. Kinich turns to you, your figure matching his, crouched, hunching over various trinkets and eyeing the jams as if you were some sort of connoisseur.
"And while I was out today, I was at the market, and—"
You're loud.
"There was this guy," you say, eyes scrunched shut, brows furrowing, mind seemingly in deep thought (How uncharacteristic, is all Kinich thinks). "He was like, so awkward with me! And he was like flailing everywhere, and he asked me to dinner, but I told him I already had plans with you, but then he got so nervous, and I was so confused, like, does he want me?"
You're always sharp when it's inconvenient, he thinks.
"It must be my aura, huh?"
Nevermind, Kinich annexes that previous thought.
"Anyway, that was pretty random!" you exclaim, clapping your hands together. "But I guess it's to be expected! I'm a catch! But, you know, that's the first confession I've received in a while. I feel like my aura wards people away, or something."
Ajaw returns from purgatory.
"It's not your aura! It's because of Kinich—"
Ajaw is sent hurling into space.
"Oh," you say, watching Ajaw get launched out of the open window. "I was wondering why it was so quiet!"
It wasn't, though, Kinich thinks. How could it be, when you're so loud?
"But anyway," you continue, "I'm looking forward to the meal today, Kinich! I'm your favorite freeloader, I bet!"
There are some things in this world that should be done, regardless of the cost.
Like your loudness, like your slurred words, your random interjections, your sidetracked stories. Some things in this world should be relistened to, should last forever, should happen, again and again. Like your weekly freeloading meals, like your anecdotes, like, like you.
You're loud.
Kinich would listen to you forever if he could.
And, just like that, there'd be no room for regrets.
They say that if you're scared of thunder, it's because you've got something to hide.
Boom!
Wriothesley's hands interlace with one another, his back hunching slightly as he leans forward, lips drawn into a pursed smile, pale eyes devoid of any mirth.
"So..." he starts, your figure submerged within the center of his pupils, head craned downwards, fingers tracing over the intricacies of a misplaced letter, its subjects addressed to you despite landing on his desk.
"Are you moved?" he then asks, not-so discreetly.
Boom!
Wriothesley, in this moment, considers himself to be quite scared of thunder. He's got quite a few things to hide; a handful of those many things involve you.
"Woah," you say, almost amazed, free hand raised to your mouth, eyes wide as you trace over each word. Wriothesley wonders what you're thinking right now—do frilly niceties like this charm you? Perhaps a bouquet of roses will make their way to your door tomorrow. Let's throw in a letter, and a shared cup of tea, too.
"This is pretty impressive," you remark, glancing up, meeting his gaze. Wriothesley never once tears his gaze from yours, the scenery of the city outside paling in comparison to the well-loved features of your face. From the bridge of your nose, the curve of your lips, the ridge of your brows—your existence makes a lover of him.
That fact, though not particulary hidden, is a secret that he carries with him, revealed only with each strike of lightning, the thunder that follows thereafter.
"Impressive?" Wriothesley echoes, the hints of a smile finding his face, the expression not quite reaching his eyes, organ still beholding you. "How so, if I may ask?"
"The sender knows I'm a big fan of theater plays," you state, "and also, that I like tea."
Wriothesley snorts. "Those are not things that are well-kept secrets."
You laugh. "I suppose that's true. Still, it's quite cute."
Wriothesley has watched quite a couple theater productions with you. His favorite part is when you debrief him on the plot afterwards, as if he weren't there to witness it himself (he supposes that's half true, though, since half of his experience is witnessing the play through your own reactions).
Also, in case you didn't know, he also likes tea. It seems the two of you have lots in common. How very compatible, if he does say so himself.
Boom!
The sound vaguely mimics the beat of his heart, its enormity enough to shatter his ribs, its vigor pumping blood to the tips of his ears, the apples of his cheeks. It's pouring outside. He wonders how many more secrets he must keep, how long they must stay hidden for, how cruel it is for each strike of thunder to be felt in front of the person who it all belongs to.
His most sacred oath. You.
Boom!
"I think I'll have to decline on this, though," you say, folding the letter back into its quaint envelope, hand now reaching for the teacup, glass raised to your lips.
He stares for a long while.
"I'm surprised," he remarks. "I thought you'd enjoy that sort of thing. Don't most of your plays involve a wondrous love letter?"
You laugh.
"They also involve a mysterious Duke of the North."
Boom!
"Will the Duke of an Underground Prison work?"
"More than that, actually," you say, head tilting to the side, eyes crinkled, your smile incomparable. "It's perfect."
Looks like he has nothing to hide now.
"Care for some dinner tomorrow?" he asks, finger raised to tap on the surface of the wooden table, the action soothing.
"At the Coupon Cafeteria?"
"Your pick. I'll be at your door tomorrow, as the Duke of an Underground Prison."
"I want roses," you say, "and a wondrous love letter."
Wriothesley smiles, its shape vaguely covered by the back of his gloved hand, his devotion revealed only by the ferocious red of his ears.
Wanderer fucking reader infront of lohen after he gets jealous seeing them interact..?
wanderer x fem!reader. lohen x fem!reader. smut. jealousy. masturbation. spanking. creampie.
lohen has been getting way too fucking comfortable around you lately. wanderer dispises the way lohen looks at you. his cocky, shit eating smile. how he always find some way to touch you when he talks to you. absolutely loathes the way he flirts with you.
for wanderer, there is only one solution here. put you on all fours, and absolutely ruin you in front of him.
lohen would see who's cock is making you feel good. so fucking good that sob while you cum, shaking while your pussy makes an utter mess on his cock.
wanderer's thrusts are dominant in every way. his cock head abuses your sweet spot, tearing a lewd moan from your throat with each thrust. your fingers claw at his sheets as his hips snap relentlessly into yours.
"oh archons! it feels so good! it feels so good!" you babble behind your moans. you arch back against him, your walls clamping gummy and tight around his cock.
wanderer smacks his hand across your ass, and you whine in utter bliss. his cock is squelching almost obscenely in and out of your hole. "fuck, you are swallowing my cock," he groans, bringing his hand down across your ass again.
he presses down on your back, pushing so deep into your sweet spot that your lewdest moan yet sounds from you. you squeak, embarrassed at how you sound, burying your face in wanderer's pillows.
wanderer grits his teeth, and glares. "oh no you fucking don't," he hisses, grabbing a handful of your hair. "i want him to fucking hear you moaning for me," he pulls your head up out of the pillows, "let him hear just how good i am fucking you."
lohen casually sits back in the chair next to the bed, legs spread and his hand on his cock. he can barely keep his eyes off how prettily you arch back into wanderer's cock. the way your tits bounce from the ferocity of wanderer's thrusts.
the way your body twitches, and trembles as a wave of pleasure overwhelms. the look in your eyes turning more cock drunk and hazy.
lohen couldn't say he didn't feel envious because he did. he presses circles on his leaking cock head, sighing as it throbs in his hand. he should be him fucking into from behind, filling your cunt so fucking full.
you should be moaning that lewdly for him.
lohen squeezes his hand around his cock, his eyes trained on the way your pussy is utterly ozzing on wanderer's cock. if he couldn't be the one breeding you, he thought antagonizing wanderer was a (un) fair compromise.
"she sounds so pretty," lohen smirks as his fists his cock, "if it wasn't for getting to oogle her pussy stretched so perfectly, i would close my eyes, and get off to the sound of her moans," he ruts shamelessly into his hand, not bothering to cover up his moan as his cock pulses in his hand.
wanderer glares at lohen, smacking his hand on your ass again. "don't think for one second you can fuck her this good," he hisses, reaching down to rub your puffy clit.
he is determined to make you cum hard in front of lohen.
you feel utterly boneless, barely able to hold yourself up anymore. tears well in your eyes as you look at lohen. an extra burst of aroused warmth courses through you. there is just something about lohen watching you get fucked, casually stroking his cock, openly enjoying himself..
you sob softly as your clit throbs under wanderer's fingers. "please..need you..to fill me..scara.." you babble, the tightening of your orgasm leaving you nearly breathless.
wanderer can't help but smirk as he rolls your clit between his fingers. "do you hear who's cock she is begging for?" hearing you cry like this for him makes his cock throb that much harder.
lohen mocks your moans as annoyance ripples through him. "your pet sounds so pretty when she begs. she'll scream while i breed her," your moans for wanderer sound way too pretty..
it made him want to stuff his cock into your mouth, and throat fuck you. wanderer wouldn't be able to hear your pretty moans with his cock down your throat...
wanderer hisses, his cock throbbing almost unbearably inside your cunt. he taps your clit with his fingers, relishing in your whimper of pleasure as you tremble. "if you fucking think you could even breed her, you are stupider than i thought."
your poor body is overwhelmed by this point. your pussy spasms tight as a sob tears from your throat. wanderer chuckles, soothing his fingers on your clit. "that's it, cum hard for lohen. let him see who makes you fall apart."
wanderer's hand grasping your hair is the only thing keeping you up as your orgasm washes over you. you barely hear your moans for a moment as pleasure to bursts white hot behind your eyes. your pussy gushes wet around wanderer's cock, making lohen lick his lips.
"fuck, i am cumming," wanderer groans, purely to spite lohen. he wants lohen to know the moment his cock spills cum inside you.
wanderer takes extra time fucking his cum back inside you. he is utterly delighted seeing cum drip from your hole when he pulls out.
lohen would be forced to cum in his hand looking at cum seeping from your abused hole.
----
DO NOT plagiarize/translate/repost on tumblr or any other site without my permission.
Imagining Wanderer who has to leave you and Durin for a few days for some Akademiya assignments. You take this opportunity to spend time with Durin after his stay in Mondstadt.
You adore his human form. Durins letter to you both did not prepare you for how different he looked (but also the same?), but you welcome him back to your home. Durin goes through his first storm in his human form and hes obsessed with the feeling of rain hitting his skin.
You tell him to go back inside, worried and unsure if he’s even capable of getting sick. He grabs your hand, tugging you away from the awning. You can’t say no to him, you can’t. You end up running after him as he flies around the streets.
The next day, you end up getting sick. Durin’s learned a thing or two thanks to Lisa about sickness but he still panics, he thinks you might be dying. You laugh at his panicked state, that doesn’t really help him.
Wanderer comes home to silence. Unusual, he thinks. There was always noise from you somehow, that’s what his home sounded like. He walks towards the open space and finds you BUNDLED in blankets.
“What the..” his eyes drift to a sleeping Durin, head laying on the space beside you.
“What happened?” He drops his bag of trinkets on the table, scooping Durin onto his arms and placing him onto another couch.
“I got sick, he panicked.” you tell him, your voice pitched lower than what he’s used to hearing. The couch dips as he sits near you. Cold fingers brush against your skin.
“Are you feeling better? Did he actually help you?” He hears you laugh. “He tried his best.. Even made us tea. It was okay. Welcome home.” The last thing you see before you fall asleep is the small smile on his face and the soft run of his fingers through your hair.
❄️ You catch him walking around with a hickey exposed on his neck.
ft: Lohen, Wanderer, and Illuga
//tw: sexual/suggestive content, Lohen being a freaky sadomasochist, lowkey yan!Lohen, jokes about violence and off-ing one's self, slight angst, characters may be ooc
notes: Actually losing my mind because I posted that wrong number texts (my first smau in years btw <3) right before I went to bed last night and woke up to over 200 NOTES??? HELLO??? So uh, here's more!!
Genshin Masterlist
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This work was written by and belongs to Malachi Exists, solely posted onto Tumblr and Archive of Our Own. Malachi Exists does not allow translations or reposts of their works nor do they support their work being fed into A.I.
♡ - Lohen absolutely craves and yearns to eat you our after a long day of going on expeditions, sparring, fighting and killing. he just needs that cookie to calm down yk yk!
♡ - he honestly isn’t above wanting you to sit on his face while he’s still bloody. he’s kinda freaky. especially if its blood of someone that rlly pissed him off, it would feel like a bigger reward. only if you’re into that tho!!
♡ - he’s the type of eater who would get INTO it. he’s messy and extremely passionate about it, kinda aggressive even. he’ll nip and bite at your thighs before going down on you fr, he likes teasing you a lot!!
♡ - he also likes when you pull his hair since it drives him to be rougher and go faster. he might actually nut on the spot if you do. Not too hard tho, or he’ll have to put you in your place. he likes when you’re whimpering or moaning ngl he doesn’t want you being quiet.
♡ speaking of volume, he’s NOT quiet either. He’ll be moaning and mumbling into your heat as he licks and sucks because he just cant hold them in!! he’s soo into it he just cant keep it in!! he’ll say stuff like “mh- soo good..” or “you sound so pretty..”
♡ - all in all he’s a biggg eater he really loves being between your thighs. you’re his favorite meal and he looooves to make you squirm and twitch. He thinks its so cute! like a little bunny!
𑣲⋆ Wanderer
♡ - okay. so.
♡ - i feel like at first wanderer wouldn’t realllyyyyy be into it since all this sex stuff is very foreign to him and he struggles with intimacy. he’ll find sex in general a bit intimidating, so going down on you might take a while.
♡ - however..
♡ - once he’s warmed up to it he is an EATER.
♡ - after a long day at the akademiya he’ll have been burned out by all the social interactions and the writing and the studying. so when he comes home, allll he wants to do is just eat it.
♡ - he’ll subtly hint that he’s pent up and you’ll have to catch the hint, but when you do he’ll be alllll over you and will be smothered between your thighs he needs it baaad
♡ - if you moan a lot he’ll like it a lot, since it makes him feel accomplished for making you feel so good. he himself isn’t suuuuper loud but he might make a slight noise every now and then. don’t mistake his silence for discomfort, he’s just so focused and relaxed and just content with going down on you that he doesn’t bother making noise.
♡ - when u finish he’ll lay on ur stomach, he just likes basking in your beauty like a kitty
𑣲⋆ Alhaitham
♡ - kinda a lazy eater ngl
♡ - okay maybe not lazy but more or less gentle
♡ - Alhaitham wouldn’t go down on you randomly or every night or anything but he definitely would make you feel good when he does. He doesn’t do anything halfassed, so he’ll definitely deliver
♡ - he’ll come home to you and notice how pent up you are and he’ll offer to ease your mind up. he’s a bit socially dense, but he’s extremely far from stupid.
♡ - he’ll spread your legs and dive in while rubbing your clit or whatnot, he knows a lot about anatomy cuz hes smart like that, so best believe you’ll get amazing head. Maybe not messy or sloppy, but still great
♡ - he wouldn’t moan a lot ngl besides like a few hums. he likes when you moan though, he thinks your voice is pretty and it shows that he’s doing it right. he’s attentive to what makes you louder and he saves it in his mind for future reference.
♡ - he would sorta talk you through it tho. he’ll say stuff like “that’s it.. good?” or “does that feel nice? knew it..” he’s analyzing your reactions like the nerd he is
♡ - if you pull on his hair he’ll lowk get kinda annoying. he’ll stop the eating and start nibbling at your thighs as punishment for pulling his hair. annoying ahh mf
𑣲⋆ Wriothesley
♡ - another messy eater
♡ - like.. REALLY messy.
♡ - he has no table etiquette tsk tsk tsk you’d think he has manners. but nope!
♡ - he’s a BIG eater he’ll deadass eat you out in his office in the fortress if he’s really hungry. doesn’t matter if you’re shaved or not, if you showered or not, he’s gonna eat it regardless. honestly respect
♡ - he’s also super messy, there’ll be spit dripping down on the mattress and his entire face will be soaked from how he’ll be buried between your legs. he NEEDSSS that cookie brah
♡ - will not be quiet either, oh nonono. He’ll be grunting and moaning, mumbling against you. he’ll praise you and tell you just how good you taste. “mfh- so good-“ or “I waited all day for this, mmhfuck..”
♡ - will eat it in any position too he is nottt picky. from the back? done and dusted. sit on his face? he’ll ask time and place. on your back? just say the date. he does nottt care.
♡ - he loves your taste so much he really doesn’t care about the conditions. just say you want your pussy ate and he’ll do it.
𑣲⋆ Varka
♡ - probably the biggest eater of them all man
♡ - very much like Wriothesley, he doesn’t care about the conditions or the situation, if he wants to eat you out, he’s gonna eat you out. hair or no hair, shower or no shower, he doesn’t gaf. he just wants your taste on his tongue
♡ - he’s ALSO super messy. and vocal. and passionate. man is just everything a good eater should be.
♡ - he’ll mutter praise as he absolutely devours you. shit like “that’s a good girl, that’s right.. come on, a little louder..”
♡ - LOVESSS when you’re messy too. if you get his face all wet ohhh he LOVES that. you taste sweeter than the dandelion wine he drinks, so having you come on his face makes him nut immediately.
♡ - after a long day of being grand master, alllll he wants is to just be buried between your thighs. He’s HUNGRY okay, please let the man eat the box.
♡ - he’s not above nutting in you and then eating you out again ngl. he’s kinda nasty but in a good way. he just loves you so much, he can’t get enough of you.
♡ - name the time and the place and he’ll eat you out he really really REALLY really loves going down on you. He has big ass hands too, so he can keep you spread open as long as his heart desires. he won’t let you get rest until he’s satiated.
a/n: sorry for all the delay with the requests!! i find it kinda difficult to write requests (,,>﹏<,,) I’ll try to have them all done by Wednesday!!!
