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#[🦇] — my writing

vampcubus · 9 months

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Inexperienced Virgin!Giyu who’s never even touched himself, only ever cum in his sleep a few times by accident. And when you finally take him into your hot palm, he swears he’s seeing stars, crying out hoarsely as if he didn’t know it could feel good to have his cock touched. And as you work him diligently—ruthlessly to his fast-impending orgasm, he’s in tears over how good it feels.

He’s clinging onto you desperately, his eyes clenched and thin brows pinched in pained ecstasy. Shaking hands hold your shirt in a white-knuckled grip as he humps into the tight tunnel of your fist, trembling as your thumb mercilessly teases his slit. Pre beads at the tip relentlessly no matter how many times you smear it across his creamy head, and when you start to play with his balls he just can't hold on any longer.

His breath becomes frantic, and he struggles to form the right words to warn you.

“I-I think… I think something’s going t-to uhn, come out- please!” his shaking voice pitches higher, mewls forced from his throat as his peak hits him like a train. The feeling is intense and hellish hot, cum jetting out of him and spilling over your fingers. He cries out helplessly, widened blue eyes staring into nothing as he convulses and writhes, hips jerking with every pulse.

You coo at him and stroke him through it, leaning down to swallow his desperate moans with your lips. Eventually, he tugs at your wrist, whimpering that it's "t-too much, it's too much."

#‧₊🦇˚⊹ ashi writes #just needed to get this outta my system #giyu tomioka x reader #giyuu tomioka x reader #sub!giyu #sub!giyuu #sub giyu #sub giyuu #dom!reader #dom reader #n/sfw #sub kny

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chococolte · 9 months

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☼ — pietas maris

♱ : my take on sagau childe

including ☆! — him as a worshiper, and his reaction to being your lover ⛧

word count. 5.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl. ୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. now time for me to disappear back into the aether for another 6 months

The abyss is cold.

It is unfeeling, lacking warmth and passion. It is relentless, cruel, and unkind. It corrupts, ruins, and does so freely, without remorse or thought. It leaves you clinging to the hot blood in your veins, curled up and hidden in the dark reaches of its void.

Childe had always been versatile; quick to adapt, even at such a young age. He grew used to the emptiness, the swelling numbness, and the eventual gnawing loneliness left in his abdomen. They became a part of him as his lungs, as integral as air; to be without felt odd, foreign.

The glimmer of your existence kept Childe company. He did not know who you were, or how lucky he was— only that you brought him comfort, like an old lullaby, or a blanket worn from overuse. He reached for you when the darkness grew too much, too heavy a burden on his small shoulders.

He came to you with little offerings; small trinkets, tomes of unreadable text. Useless to him, but perhaps you would take pity on him in exchange, and let him take comfort in your presence for another day. Childe came to you with rubble shaped in hearts, the gentle breath of his voice as he spoke of his anxieties. He did not think of them as offerings then, merely gifts— pleadings for you to stay a little longer.

His hands, then unruined and soft, made you a makeshift altar crafted out of whatever he could find. He made sure to build it where he felt your whispers were strongest, where your light entirely overwhelmed the darkness overhead. Childe didn't think of it as an altar then, just a place to settle his findings, where he could pretend his sad, little effigy made of you was actually you.

The idol didn't look much like a person at all, and at the time, he didn't think of his behavior as odd. He desperately clung to you for survival, and with no other warm body besides his own, you were the only one he could talk too.

At times, he thought he was going insane. There was a pleasant buzzing in his ears whenever he neared your doll, as if it were calling him. Despite the fact that he had made it, proven by the tiny scars on his palms, he still felt as if it was yours.

In the darkness, Childe whispered to you. He said everything his mind could think, childishly exaggerated tales in hopes of impressing you. A foolish endeavor, considering you were a God— but he still hoped that maybe you'd think of him kindly, and let him bask in your protective glow for just one more moment.

He couldn't hear your words, but he could feel them. The twinkle of your laughter was like a soft whistle in his ears. When you were pleased, the air would lightly ruffle his hair. Despite how agonizing his loneliness was, at least he had you by his side.

Childe's innocence, as all things do, eventually withered away in that malevolent black.

He thought of you as his teacher; a guiding hand that trained him, molded him to fit against your palm. When he struggled against the abyssal beasts, he could feel you— a soft brush against his hand, a firm hold on his back, keeping him focused. You taught him when to still his blade and when to strike.

In the arches of his sword and polearm, in the taut and tense pull of his bow, in the whirlwind of his catalyst— you were there, shining from beyond the thin veil separating you.

When Childe was ripped out of the abyss, so was his connection to you. Like a thread snapping, he could no longer feel you; not in the darkness overhead, not in the grip of his blade, of the depths of his soul. You were gone, and he was once again nothing but a boy, lost and alone. Friends and family surround him, thankful for his return, but his mind is still reeling, still stuck in the abyss and the sudden emptiness left in your wake.

Despite himself, Childe had hoped you would have stayed, even once he was out. He thought he was done with being naïve, but that clearly wasn't the case.

He can’t feel you anymore. Where did you go? Why did you leave? What did he do wrong? Questions swirl in his head like whirlpools of thought. Childe feels like he's drowning, suffocating in the mess of his mind. His breaths come out short, quick and sharp. His throat squeezes, constricting his airways, as he realizes what's unfolded.

You left him.

He should've known better. On that first day, all you had done was take pity on him by letting him linger in your light. It was his fault for ever believing that he would never have to be alone again. That even if he had no one else, at least he had you.

This was the result of his own failure. If only he had proven himself worthy.

When his family found him, they found him gripping a small, rudimentary doll. Even when they reached their home, Childe was still clutching the thing as if possessed. When they tried tugging it out of his hands, saying it would help him eat better, he ripped it from their grasp, holding it to his chest.

Childe couldn't accept that you had left him so easily. At night, back in his warm bed, Childe tries to whisper to you again. The familiar warmth sinks into his pores, but it's nothing like yours. He nuzzles closer to the doll, ignoring how it tears into his skin.

"I'm here," he whispers.

Maybe you got confused. He knows you're a God, but even the Seven are not omniscient. When he was torn from the abyss, it was possible you hadn't meant to so cruelly cut the connection between you. Maybe you couldn't find him, and so he just has to tell you where he is.

So he whispers to you in the dark, just as he has so many times before.

Only this time, he's met with silence.

In the years that pass, you linger at the forefront of his mind, haunting him like a wraith. Childe can't bring himself to be rid of you, despite how it hurts every time he thinks about you for a little too long. He's still stuck, perpetually waiting for your return, despite how he knows you've long given him up.

Childe becomes Tartaglia, the 11th Harbinger under the Tsaritsa. He takes a new name, a new mask— he executes her orders dutifully, and he does his role perfectly. He acts as if she's you, despite how desperately he wants to believe otherwise. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can pretend that the cold that seeps into his bones in her presence is yours.

But no matter how many names and identities he takes, he'll always just be your Ajax; the boy who still misses you, despite how short your time together was. And that fact is what burns him the most.

Maybe he should be angry. He knows he has every right to be. Angry that you left him, that you discarded him as if he was nothing. Maybe he should hate you— hate you for leaving him alone, as if you weren't the only thing keeping him sane. Hate you for leaving as if his love didn't matter to you.

He comforts himself by thinking of the time dilation he experienced in the abyss. You cared for him so much that you spun three days into three months. He likes to believe he meant something to you; he must've, because why else would you lengthen your time spent together?

Childe knows it isn't true. He didn't matter enough for you to stay, after all.

At night, Childe finds himself listlessly thinking of you. It's a silent mourning. Quiet tears fall down his cheeks, soaking the pillow beneath his head. He chokes down every heaving sob that threatens to break from his throat; clenches his jaw when they claw too close to his lips. He slaps a hand over his mouth when he's too loud, biting his fingers until they're bloody and marred by his teeth. What would you think if you saw him this weak? Saw the boy you built up crumble, all because he can't feel even the softest traces of your presence anymore?

You would find him pathetic. All he's done is prove that you were right in abandoning him.

When the memory of you is too much to bear, he clutches the effigy in his arms, squeezing it against his chest until it's sharp edges dig into his skin. Even after all these years, he's still kept it close. He tries to feel the visage of you that was once attached to its bearings, whispering for you under the night sky, hoping it'll remind you of your time in the abyss— hoping that tonight he will feel you again, ruffling his hair with tendrils of wind.

He never does.

Childe barely sleeps, but when he does, he dreams of you. You have no body, no face— he can't even begin to imagine what you look like, and he doesn't dare too, even when he knows he has nothing to lose.

He's back in the dark, but you're still there with him, providing him light and comfort. If he knew that leaving would entail being without you, he never would have left at all. Better to be with you than to die without.

Sometimes, he dreams of you staying with him even after he escapes. Your warmth is ever-present. He gifts you riches, now. You have a voice in his dreams, and he can hear you speaking to him. You're kind, and gentle, and he wants for nothing. He has you, and there is nothing more to want.

He dreams he never lost you at all. It makes reality all the more painful.

In a way he knows is pathetic, Childe hopes you at least found him fun. He hopes you found him entertaining, despite how the thought twists his heart and guts into little knots, until he feels vaguely nauseous at the notion. At least then you would have reason to remember him. At least he could say he meant something to you.

In a hidden corner of his room, there sits an altar for you. His wealth as a Harbinger means he has no lack of resources, and so he bejewels the altar until it glimmers even without light. It's obnoxious and opulent to the point of vanity, but he figures that if you like it, he'll earn another whisper of warmth from you— in the vain hope that you hear him at all anymore.

With his hands, now calloused and worn, he carves sigils into whalebone. He doesn't know what they mean, but they were numerous in the abyss; and so he etches them into bone, hoping that whatever they mean, it reaches you.

Childe pushes himself more than he should. His back aches from all the weight he carries on his shoulders, but he trudges forward despite how it hurts. He is more fervent in conflicts, and spectacular scenes of blood and viscera follow him every time he walks onto a battlefield.

His tongue forms words of devotion for the Tsaritsa as he slays another enemy, blood staining his fingers, but in his heart, he only ever speaks of you.

When he fights, Childe can lose himself. He can focus entirely on the movement of his feet, the precision of his blade. He can ignore how badly he misses you, and how in the back of his mind, he desperately hopes that the more blood he sheds with your teachings, you'll find him satisfactory.

Adrenaline rushes through his veins, and once again he lets himself be drowned by the rush, letting himself forget all of his pain.

Childe is proud of the way that no one can recognize his style of fighting. It is exact and sharp— every strike hitting its target with ease, filled with vigor and intensity. He enjoys the gazes of jealousy, but remains silent when asked. My teacher taught me, he says. He sheds no further light on the matter, and any instance someone shows interest in learning from him, he instantly refuses. Childe wishes to keep you close to his chest, a guarded secret known only to him.

Childish, perhaps. He knows it is. But if he can't have you, then he will have the knowledge of you. He will keep it to himself, and there it will stay, safe in his tight grip.

It drives him insane, the way sees you in everything. When night falls, covering the sky in a blanket of stars, he wonders if you're staring at him from above. When the tides of the sea brush against the shore, he finds himself thinking of you as the moon— you are what anchors him, despite the fact that he hasn't felt you in so long. In his eyes, there is nothing you could not be, and with every breath, he only ever misses you more.

It's during his mission in Liyue that he feels you again. Childe is unable to breathe when he meets the Traveler, sensing you watching from their eyes. His heart thunders in his chest, tempestuous as a storm over the sea.

For a moment, he's happy. You're finally back. He wants nothing more than to run to you, to ask you why you left for so long, to ask how he can make you stay, but then he feels you— a familiar pressure bearing down on him, forcing him to say anything but what he wants to.

Childe watches the Traveler's back fade as it finally clicks for him.

You abandoned him for someone else. You left him... for this. The thought sends him reeling. You left him, just to go spend time with someone else— to give them the same company you gave him, to give them the same guidance you gave him— was he merely replaceable to you?

Was he just a test for you?

He should be angry. And he is, but the heartbreak overwhelms him. He's left choking, battling for air. The agony of having been tossed to the side, of having it be affirmed in front of his eyes. He wants to scream and cry, beg for you to return; but his throat squeezes every time he meets the Traveler, and the words die on his tongue.

You don't want him to speak. He's meant to play along.

Childe had waited for you for so long. Even after all this time, he couldn't get rid of the painful hope that you'd return. He had done his best to bottle his emotions, to keep them shut and locked inside, so that you wouldn't be disappointed in him upon your arrival. Proud that he never doubted you for a moment.

But he had. He had doubted you, cried at the lack of your comfort. Afraid of what it meant to be without you. Fearful of living, never getting to gleam your existence for a second time— and now you want him to pretend as if he never knew you.

As if he can't see the slight smugness in the Traveler's eyes.

His fight with the Traveler is personal. He bares his teeth, snarling like a rabid dog. His every strike is fast, precise with the intent to kill and maim. Childe hopes his emotions reach you, that you know of his bitterness and acrimony. That you know of how long he wished for you, how long he yearned for you to come back— how his frustration has twisted into pure rage, turned into a fine point.

He just has to simply show you how he's better. He has to show you that he's superior in every way to your choice. That you should've chosen him over them.

They are undeserving; watch how he rips through them like they are nothing, slicing through them like they are mist over sea. They are unworthy; see how easily he beats them into submission, how easily they crumble at his feet. The matter of the Gnosis is nothing to him, now— only whether you see how he should be the one you prefer.

It's then that he feels it. Your rage. Your anger at having been battered and bruised. The Traveler stands back up, but something is different now. Their strikes are fluid, prowess and skill increased by an outside force.

You.

Do you hate him that badly? Detest him so much, to go so far as to bless another with your strength so they can prove themselves to be his better? Even in his Foul Legacy form, Childe is forced to retreat; forced to bow his head in defeat, weakened by the burden of his transformation.

The realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He's done the exact opposite of what he set out to do. All he's proven is that your right.

Childe feels your crushing weight bearing down on him. He spits the words out, calls them 'friend' through clenched teeth. He dances to your whims, just as he had previously. Unnatural, stiff movements and words that speak the opposite of what he means.

And then you're gone, left along with them. He stares at their fading back. He can almost imagine you beside them, walking by their side just as you once did his.

It hurts.

The next time he feels you, there is no sign of the Traveler. Only a tight pulling in his chest.

He doesn't know what it means, or what it entails. But he follows, sensing you at the end, waiting for him. Childe doesn't allow himself to hope; that maybe, you have come around. That maybe you do care. That maybe, you never hated him— not truly. That you missed him just as he missed you.

Maybe he meant something, after all.

When he reaches you, he feels it. You're happy. You're happy with him. He feels you reaching out, tickling him with strands of your will. You brush against his skin, burrow deep inside. Childe lets you, still unable to breathe.

He wonders if this is really happening. Have you come back to him, truly? Have you finally realized how much better he is? He feels you graze his soul, reaching deep within. Childe feels you envelop him, swathing him in warmth and comfort.

You're home, you whisper.

He only hears the ghost of your voice, a chime in the wind; but he hears the intent, the meaning behind your unintelligible words, even though he can't understand them.

Childe breaks.

SANGUINE NATUS ; first meeting/as a worshiper

If even just your breath could leave him weak, then seeing you for the first time makes his knees give out underneath him.

It's a foolishly embarrassing display, but Childe can't find it in himself to care. He falls to his knees quicker than his mind can catch up, unconsciously posturing himself to make himself seem as small and harmless as possible— anything to make you stay, even if it means sabotaging his image.

He tucks his shoulders inward, struggling between looking at you until his eyes burn and your image is seared into the back of his eyelids, or averting his gaze because just touching you with them feels like he's sullying you somehow.

His breath comes out short and sharp, his entire chest heaving with each shuddering, raspy exhale. Before he can even manage a sound, he's sobbing, crumpling to the floor— there's no care taken to your perception of him now, only the wailful cries of one lost in the weight of your eyes. Childe knows he's being pathetic, a mess of airy desperation and red eyes; everything he was when he felt the ghost of you leave him, and everything he wished you'd never see. But it's you, and for the first time, he can truly feel your eyes on him.

It's all too much to bear.

"I-It's you, it's you—!" Childe manages to choke, wet tears caking the apples of his face. His eyes strain, burning to see the visage of you through the blur of his vision. Nausea bites at him, his abdomen a sudden storm from the tears that lick at his cheeks.

Childe has always been austere in his worship; strict, solemn in how he acts out every religious rite. There is an icy silence unlike him as he moves, particularly whenever your sanctity is involved. His fingers still tremble despite his stiffness, the desperation loud in every twitch of his limbs. The desire to see you, after all is said and done.

Seeing you for the first time feels as though a wave has overtaken him, drowning him in brine and the cerulean of muddy waters. There is no hiding what he could barely contain before— jerky movements filled with need and the dolor of one disappointed before.

Childe no longer finds himself able to veil it by lies and rushing fights of adrenaline; now, it lies bare, and there's no burning ache to keep it hidden.

His fervor is relentless; a feverish desire to please you coalescing until it's unbearable for his skin. Your reaction to his cries could have been cruel or kind, and it wouldn't have bothered him; all that matters is whether he has finally proven himself worthy of standing by your side.

His worship is eager words spilling from his lips at night, the echo of your name a murmur from his mouth like the sigh of the ocean's waves-- his blades stained red, limp at his sides-- the burning in the back of his throat that comes from years of pleading.

You're here now, even if he can't be with you at all times; and that knowledge leaves him whispering to you, uttering every thought without a moment of reconsideration. It is a ceaseless endeavor, as every word is listless praise and endless adoration. There isn't a moment where he isn't thinking of you in some way, and the mere thought of the opposite leaves him feeling vaguely sick.

He wants to think of you all the time. Though it's such a small thing, in his mind, he has you all to himself— in the sense that there is no one else to take your eyes off of him— there, he can make you happy; there, he can make you proud of him. In that world, you have no reason to be rid of him.

Childe's always kept his habit of crafting you makeshift gifts. They're rugged, imperfect things, but laden with his fingerprints and the palms of his hands. Before, he could only set them still on his altar for you, and hope that it pleased you somehow. He was only ever met with silence, but he could pretend you were happy with him, and the idea alone was enough.

When he catches sight of a sea conch, its pale marks swirled across its smooth surface, he can only think of handing it to you. It's a beautiful thing, and so simple and crude a gift; but maybe you will find worth in such a thing, the simplicity of its nature, and praise him for it.

He gives them to you physically now, unable to shake the urge to do so. His hands always tremble when he hands them over, his knees threatening to buckle underneath him whenever your fingers brush against his. He will never fail to drown in the sensation, allowing everything that he is to become thoughts of you.

Childe has always worshiped you in bloodshed. In the past, he hoped it would leave you satisfied enough to come back; now, it's to prove how much better he is than everyone else. His fear runs deep, like cracks in the earth far below the water's surface, and the sickening feeling of dread whenever you praise someone else suffocates him.

It's unreasonable, he knows, and he has no reason to fear, not anymore— but his heart still quickens at the thought, and his stomach still twists.

It's an all too familiar feeling. When he was first torn from you, he felt as though his heart had been ripped right out of him; and the panic he feels only reminds him of it.

When he's inevitably forced away from you on another mission, he deals with it as quickly as possible, no matter how bloodied or bruised he leaves it. He is brutally unkind in his workings, his words always terse and clipped; a slight edge that never really seems to go away until he knows you're somewhere nearby.

It's when he's forced to stay away from you for a longer period of time that he breaks completely. Upon his return, he is instantly back at your side, heaving sobs and ugly tears running down his face. He can barely think, and a flurry of slurred words leaves his lips— begging to never leave your side again.

Childe knows better than to think he is deserving of your kindness, but he’s desperate to at least stay in your shadow. There, he could stay near you, even if he was swathed in black— even if his only glimpse of you was your back, he would be in bliss. To be near you in some form is all he could ever ask of you.

For all of the power you have granted him, it's only right that he use it for you. A mere word from anyone that isn't pure praise has his grip on his weapon tightening, the tendons on his hand taut and his knuckles pale. He remains entirely oblivious to any moral ambiguity in your actions— whatever you do is right and just; as you are the only one worthy of judging yourself, he does not dare too.

Instead, Childe draws his blade in judgement of others— he will act as your hand and executioner, the arbiter of your faith; it's with only vigor that he hands out punishment, a ferocity bold and true.

AMANS IN SPINIS IACET ; as your lover

Childe's dreams have begun to take a sudden turn.

It's not anything he can control, despite how hard he tries too. They pleased him at first, even though he still couldn't help the way his heart tightened at the idea of you somehow knowing. At that time, they weren't occurring enough for him to be worried, and the content themselves were innocent enough for him to think nothing of it.

You held him close to you, pressing benign kisses across his freckled cheeks, playing with his hair with soft fingers; little things that he could believe meant nothing at all, just a desire to feel your affection in the only way his mortal heart knew how.

The dreams turn nightly, and Childe finally realizes it's much more than that.

It begins at signs of your favoritism. Glances that last more than they should, summoning him to your chambers more frequently; Childe does not deny you, and he can't help the faint giddiness that clouds his mind every time he feels your gaze linger on him. It's a euphoric sensation to know that he is the one you are looking at; no one else. Only barely does he manage to rein in his emotions every time.

You speak much softer to him, and your touch is more affectionate. He turns drunk on your approval, willingly dancing to your whims if it meant having your fingers coiled in his hair for another moment. Before he can stop himself for even daring to think it, Childe lets himself believe he's special to you— and that is where the problem arises.

The thoughts don't stop. Even if he screams to drown out the noise, they still manage to be so loud. The dreams are relentless, more loving, more vivid. He can feel the warmth of your palms as you caress his cheeks, the weight of your breath when you draw your head near; they feel so real, that for a moment, he thinks you're the one sending them to him.

He feels as though he's dirtying you in some form, as if he is the one committing an unforgivable sin against you; somehow managing to desecrate you with just his thoughts alone. The idea sends him into a panic-induced frenzy, kneeling before his altar with rushed, unintelligible apologies on his lips.

Despite his self-hatred, whenever he wakes from one, Childe is left blissfully dazed, nuzzling into his pillow with hazy clarity— pretending that it's you, instead. He wonders what it would be like if his dreams were real, if he could really be so special to you in such a way; entirely irreplaceable, entirely yours.

It doesn't take long for his will to be eroded by his desperation. His desire to resist was already hanging by a thread, and as the dreams persist, any resistance on his end is lost. He falls ever deeper into an abyss of his own making, allowing himself to be undone by his own creation.

Childe has always been needy, but as his feelings rear their ugly head, it only grows worse. He has always loved you— and he had been struggling to choke his own feelings down for as long as he could, fooling himself into believing that they didn't exist in the first place. In his eyes, it's only right that you be the one to shake the foundation he lay; making him crumble until every dark part of himself is laid bare in front of you, only for your eyes.

There's a drastic increase in his desperation to be near you, and any lack of refusal on your part only exacerbates it. He neglects his duties entirely in favor of staying by you in some way or another, be it either by your side, or following you from a distance like a lost puppy.

Your admittance of feelings only makes Childe more fervent. He can barely hear himself speak, his heart fluttering against his ribcage like a caged canary. He can barely believe anything you're saying, and for a moment, he wonders if he's lost in another dream of his.

At your assurance, Childe doesn't dare to doubt you any longer. He falls entirely into you, allowing you to consume his every thought. He doesn't think to fight back, letting you envelop him until his every breath is coated in your name. He is yours, and he has no desire for anything more.

His desire for your approval now emboldens him. Childe's always acted out of an interest in garnering your attention, and though he now knows of your feelings, it does nothing to satiate him; instead, it leaves him hungrier, greedy with an eagerness to please.

He doesn't take from you without asking, but he asks enough for it to be a nuisance. Your affection is everything to him, and he can't bear to go a moment without it. He asks to lay his head in your lap, for you to play with his hair— the loss of your touch is the loss of himself, and sends him reeling back to memories of when he was without you.

The first time you kiss him, his legs instantly give out underneath him, a small groan leaving his lips. Childe doesn't bother to dull his reactions; you deserve to know how easily weakened he is by your touch, with even a brush of your fingers enough to leave him breathless and wanting.

As your favorite, Childe is quick to be rid of any competition. Whether or not you see them as possible suitors doesn't even cross his mind— the fear that snakes around his heart is ever-present, and if they're better than him in some form, it only grows in persistence. He doesn't hurt them, because surely that would upset you, and any devotee of you is worthy of respect— but he is quick to showcase his superiority, and to do so broadly without shame.

Childe grows used to his new status, and uses it to stay by your side constantly. Any attention you give to others is met with instant jealousy, seething glares sent to whoever stole your gaze, even if they only preoccupied a second of your mind.

He could never be mad at you, as clearly the fault lies within himself.

Any signs of your likes and dislikes are instantly noted. If you compliment someone for their behavior, he begins to emulate it, or at least he tries too. If you like Zhongli for how well he executes your orders, then Childe will be the same; only he will do it better, quicker, and prove himself still deserving of your love.

If he were perfect, then you would have no need for anyone else. If he were perfect, he would never have to worry about whether you'll grow bored of him the moment he stops being entertaining enough.

The thought of you with another leaves Childe sick without fail. He knows he has no control over you, and that if you wished to be rid of him, he would willingly walk into whatever punishment awaited him— but now that he has tasted what it feels like to be so utterly yours, he can't bear to imagine another sharing the same treatment.

You kissing another, holding another, letting someone else lay against you; all of it only serves to further blur his vision. Even if it is sinful of him to feel, he can't stop the emotions from swirling in his chest.

You are everything; the earth laid beneath his feet, the foundation of which he relies on. To be without you is to fall, to be without you means death; and if he must carve his skin and bone to fit the picture you want him to be, then he shall.

#[🦇] — my writing #genshin impact #yandere genshin #sagau #yandere male #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #self aware genshin #yandere childe #sagau childe #self aware childe #genshin cult au #cult au childe

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mmorw · 17 days

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I need to see more sub Diabolik Lovers 😭

So, hear me out:

imagine Carla Tsukinami riding his s/o's cock, and when he feels that his s/o is close to cum, Carla simply says "If you take it out and cum outside my cunt I will punish you! " which resulted in his s/o filling him with cum until he can't feel his legs

-🦇

this is so carla thanks 🦇 anon let me kiss your toes

cw: afab carla. unprotected. leash use. cowgirl position. tied wrists. uhh forced pregnancy ?? idk. sensible carla !!

the first thing you think about having sex with carla is really not a very nice feeling, i just know this man has some weirdly kinky fetishes who prioritize pain over.. well, everything.

he is a sadistic person, cruel and ruthless, never showing his weakness or soft side unless necessary. poor you who had to fall into the hands of a guy like that, ush.

he likes grinding, his hand roughly pulling from the loop connected to the leash around your neck, your hard cock is being foolishly stimulated by carla's folds, while that creepy smirk on his lips remains to shine brighter everytime.

“i really can't do this with my wrists being tied—”

“shut it if you don't want me to control your mind and trust me, it will be worse.”

your eyes are trapped looking down at your glans bathed in juices, a joint of your pre-cum with carla's thick slick; which only makes your dick to grind more easily. an soft whisper came out your lips when carla eyes at you and then bothers you moving more quick.

“carla— I don't think I'm getting blood to my wrists.” you gasped, almost saying it in a small whisper as carla moaned. “j-just untie them, how hard could that be?”

“are you still talking?” his hand pulled back roughly the loop of your leash, making your neck and head follow him. he seemed quite bothered, enough to make you look away. “i said shut it, pet. god, every good thing always has something bad glued to it.”

was he referring to your dick wasn't he.

your thoughts were interrupted as soon as you felt the tip of your member forcefully press against carla's entrance, his smirk becoming once again bigger than before.

“carla,” you gasped once you felt him tightening around, low and painful movement trying to sink your cock into his cunt; which carla only enjoyed more.

“listen here, you needy fuck.” he groaned a moment, hissing when he gently arched his back at the sensibility. “if you dare to take it out and cum on my stomach, i will punish you.”

carla was acting like a damn animal, even when the words left his lips as he didn't even took a second to immediately start riding you, pulling the loop of the leash to bring you consciousness again every time you felt your dick being embraced by the same arms of a super damn tight fleshlight— which made you start feeling quite dizzy.

the moans that left carla's lips were immediately heard throughout the room, the fucking bastard didn't even care if anyone close to the place could hear him, he was an exhibitionist !

“pet— you,” he groaned, his eyes closed as he jumped on it, his eyebrowns slightly frowned as he let soft moans subdued by the corner of his fangs, biting his lip harshly. “fuck! ”

your eyes widened a bit as the shaky and sharp sound of that moan, light beads of sweat falling from your forehead once you could see carla's blushing face, maybe it was because of the heat— dickrider at its finest.

you both closed your eyes at the same moment, engulfed by pleasure you once simply accepted that this time you wouldn't dominate (not like you ever did) that greedy cunt of his. as carla keeped moaning, shaky hand on his lips as the other one remembered the leash and pulled your neck roughly towards him.

“it's throbbing— it's throbbing, fuck-” he cried once he felt your hips move up to meet his as well, looking at carla's legs shaking as you bite your lip, throwing your head back in a gasp. “It feels so, so good.”

“carla, please.” you said with your lips hard bitten, an slight eye looking at him on top of you. “i'm going to,, to—”

“shut it!” carla yelled, pushing his buttons further as he leaned towards you, his legs felt heavy and shakily, but he didn't stopped jumping, riding, whatever the hell he was doing.

the minutes passed painfully, and you could swear that you were hearing him beg in whispers how bad he wanted you to come, to make himself feel powerful for being able to make you cum so bad, like the damn slut he was.

miraculously, carla's words were heard taking no more than two more rough pounds for your hips to tilt again and let your glans kiss forcefully carla's womb entrance, letting you roughly came inside the small cavity between his legs.

carla forced his body to stay still, while his expression gave it all away; those stupid eyebrowns of his tilting as one hand fell on your chest, pressing you in place as he let out an shaky whisper of pleasure.

carla might be pretty good at hiding his things, but you immediately knew you'd done a good job once his legs won't stopped shaking after that.

maybe they wouldn't for some minutes, huh.

#dom male reader #dom reader #sub diabolik lovers #sub carla tsukinami #„🦇 anon“#yummy #not gonna lie i kinda lost my superpower writing stuff

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sillyvampireboi · 4 months

Text

Master?

Big yellow eyes sank into dark ones,

Suffocating by the darkness within them,

Silently pleading, pleading and pleading,

But without release.

Renfield messed up his task again,

And his master wasn’t happy with that.

Oh the terrible ordeal of being seen!

How he wished the Earth to open up

And swallow him.

Pathetic little creature,

His master thought,

While looking down at him amused,

How to hold the strength to berate,

And mark my punishments onto his head,

When he’s looking up at me so desperate?

He is so so sickly sweet to care,

About my musings and such.

The master looked down at him again,

Bestowing a fang showing smirk upon him.

— I might write/ finish this Renfield fic, who knows 👀. Let me know what you guys think ~

My commissions open ~

#my art 🦇#sketches #renfieldart #renfield (2023)#renfield my beloved #renfield art #r m renfield #robert montague renfield #renfield 2023 #renfield #renfield movie #renfield x reader #renfield x you #renfield Drabble #dracufield #dracula x renfield #my writings

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charliemwrites · 5 months

Note

how do each keeper and their pet celebrate halloween?🦇

Oohoohoo don’t mind if I do!

Feral loves a spooky scary Halloween!! She and Simon watch a horror movie every night, and she’s extremely fascinated when he chimes in on anatomy or torture. They bake treats and decorate the house all spooky and gothic. She even dresses up some days, which are obvs Simon’s favorite. They carve pumpkins (she is relegated to one of those janky little saws) and light them up with fake candles. Feral baked pumpkin seeds to snack on.

Shy Thing actually also likes horror movies! Not ones that seem realistic - like home invasions or kidnappings, for example. But she loves a paranormal stuff or creature features, even she screams and hides against Johnny’s shoulder. They bake pumpkin bread (Johnny kneads) and lots of sweets. Like so many sweets, dear god. They carve one huge pumpkin together and Johnny chases her with pumpkin guts. He also gets her a black cat plush that she adores and cuddles with when he’s gone.

Good Girl enjoys Halloween but she’s not keen on horror movies. She either thinks they’re dumb or needlessly gorey and cheap. But she’ll watch classics, and a couple of the higher rated paranormal ones. She has to be up on the couch with Price in case there’s a jump scare she’s forgotten. He happily pulls her legs over his lap while they snuggle; he also suffers through the more campy movies like Hocus Pocus and Rocky Horror (he gets the entire soundtrack stuck in his head for three days). He lets her carve a small pumpkin out on the porch while he smokes a cigar. They decorate the house together very tastefully - pretty new blankets, leaf garlands, tiny gourds. Also she loves candles, so when she’s been good, he lights them around the house.

#asks #my writing #thoughts™️#cod #fanfiction #keeper/kept au #keeper ghost #kept pet ghost #keeper johnny #keeper price #🦇 anon

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sn0wbat · 2 months

Text

a row of einarrs because.... why not tbh.

honestly i just wanted to have a reference for his hair and skin colors at different ages. he changed a bit

details under cut

toddler

born very light blond

still very baby

child

hair may start darkening, as is usual with most natural blondes.

turned out to be surprisingly good at sewing, placing him with the women at an earlier age than usual. :^)

he was trying to give his dress a more masculine tunic cut, because he liked it more for some reason. unfortunately, he did it maybe a little too well.

still a bit clueless about his gender situation, but Something Felt Off

really liked roleplaying... you will never guess what gender all his best characters were. (boys. they were all boys.)

teen

so apparently lye bleach was a thing?? anyway he probably did that with his hair at this point.

came out as a boy 🏳️‍⚧️

going by einarr for real now

father immediately accepted him, mother not so much.

constantly wearing an oversized capelet over his entire torso because he was dysphoric as hell.

fledgling vampire (age 24-40)

ah, the hubris of exploring on his own while the rest of the group were trying to pillage this mysteriously empty castle. it's an old ruin. and those just intrigue him a lot. they are fascinating to him

anyway so basically he ran into a vampire while going viking. ended up in a duel. died.

in his early vampire years, his growing bat form's white fur started to overtake his existing hair color. kinda similar to graying hair.

once he realized how hardy vampires were, did top surgery on himself with a sword.

then he had to stitch himself up. with his existing sewing skills - a skillset deemed to be very feminine at the time. something poetic about that i feel

stuck in a castle. doesn't escape until he's like 50

middle vampire (age 200-700)

hair has already gone fully pale a long time ago.

skin is getting paler. more purple in tone.

ears are slowly growing in size, gaining transparency along with it

however, has also figured out how to blend in with humans again at this time (through vampiric illusions that make him look mortal)

peasant for a while. growing dislike of kings and authority figures. ends up joining the pirates in his seventh (?) century

has been caught drinking blood from humans, has been caught stealing from the rich, and has been to jail several times. usually escaped pretty easily with vampire powers. has been responsible for at least one mass jailbreak

the look of his clothing actually shifted a lot over all these centuries, but this art wasn't really focused on clothes, so i just picked something basic

ancient vampire (900+)

skin gone blue. fangs gone long.

ears reached their max size a while ago.

gotten quite nostalgic; started to wear norse-style clothing in his own time again. it's comfy and familiar!

among the mortals it has been many centuries of trying to match contemporary fashions. genuinely enjoys working with textiles though, so it's no big deal. yeah he still does this.

cannot keep up a human disguise for more than a couple hours... maintaining an illusion gets exhausting when it's so many things at once.

mostly goes for fish blood these days. it's not the greatest blood, but he likes the taste of it the most and it's less of a hassle to get when he's at sea all the time.

avoids the greater vampire community. he feels it's too much drama all the time, all while they just tend to think of him as a hermit, and well. they're not wrong.

has been known to take some odd jobs here and there, pretending to be mortal.

i did not actually intend to write down this much but!! i just like him a lot. gotta stop myself from writing too much. there's so much more i could say about him, but we'd be here forever

#low stakes 🦇#my art #sure vampires can age but it's really really really slow #he turned at like 24. he's over a thousand years old now #i'd assume he'd look at least a little more mature at this point #no this is not supposed to be his entire history but i got a bit carried away writing this so you get a good chunk of it anyway

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celestialwhoree · 28 days

Note

the fuck??? they’re whining about the dad price fic? (as if they can’t scroll past a trope they dislike…)

get behind me angie, no negativity towards your work on my watch 🤺🤺🤺

ps. to said anons, angie might be nice and sweet but i bite.

- 🦇

Oh how I love you 🦇. Honestly? I got real upset when I got shit in my asks about how ew yucky flop pregnancy tropes are and why I wrote Price waiting outside the delivery room But then I deleted them all n reminded myself how fucking lame it is to waste energy coming on anon to shit on someone's work when you could just scroll!!

Still learning not to tolerate people's bullshit and not be a total pushover!!

#celestialwhoree #rambling ˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚#Angies asks!#🦇 anon #cod mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod #please don't be mean to me #i'm literally just a girl #seriously #I'm actually just a girl #writing my silly little fanfics #gotta respect the hustle #be nice #or my sweet darling 🦇 anon will whoop you

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ragnarokhound · 6 months

Note

AND AND AND a vampire letting himself get bitten is I know you do not feed like me, but I would be that for you if you needed it. I know how it feels to be on the other side and I’m giving it to you oughhh AND THE MUZZLE???! Who is it protecting, really? Tim from getting ravaged or Jason’s conscience? Is it ensuring that he doesn’t hurt anyone or that he doesn’t touch anyone but Tim? Getting to the point where Jason is so deep he can’t pretend he doesn’t want to. That’s when the muzzle can come off -🐺🦇

"I know you do not feed like me, but I would be that for you if you needed it. I know how it feels to be on the other side and I’m giving it to you" - *softly sobbing into my pillow over this T_T OTL

"Is it ensuring that he doesn’t hurt anyone or that he doesn’t touch anyone but Tim?" - AND I'M UTTERLY RABID ABOUT *THIS* to the point that uh. I put off responding to you because I had to write this:

“I still don’t think we need it,” Tim complains, turning the key in the lock. It clicks shut with a small snik.

Jason doesn’t budge an inch.

“Sorry, princess,” he says, his breath puffing warm past the cool metal bars against Tim’s neck. “Them’s the breaks. We agreed: if you don't bite, then neither do I.”

Tim feels his face heat. He huffs, settling back on Jason’s thighs and leaning back into the arm Jason has around his waist. He presses the key into Jason’s chest for him to take.

The muzzle is big on him, a loose cage of steel and leather; reinforced in certain places with silver. When the transformation takes him, he’ll grow to fit it— which, by the way, was not an easy measurement to get.

“That’s not strictly true,” he says, thinking about how he’d been forced to wrestle Jason down to the ground to wrap the measuring tape around his big furry head. He’d needed to use teeth to do it.

They’d both been bloody and sweaty by the end of it, and Tim was finding fur in places he didn’t want to dwell on for the next month. But at least it meant the wolf was in a playful mood for the rest of the night, and not a murderous one. Some nights it took longer than others to make that transition.

Jason raises an eyebrow. He puts a heavy palm over the key, trapping Tim’s hand against his heart.

“Oh? Please, enlighten me.”

Tim scowls, and he knows he must be practically scarlet from the lazy smirk sharpening Jason’s mouth, the smug glint in his eye. He loves to see Tim turn red.

“Quit it,” Tim scolds. “You know what always ends up happening. We go out, and then you get fussy, and what else am I supposed to do? You always goad me into biting you.”

It’s true, too. Tim thought Jason was bad enough outside the full moon, but that’s nothing compared to the unleashed desires of the wolf. Jason continues to look smug, and Tim narrows his eyes.

“Every. Single. Time,” Tim can’t help but tease, sinking the fingers of his other hand into the scruff at Jason’s nape and watching his eyelids flutter. “You can’t help yourself. You need it.”

Jason growls low in his throat, hand flexing over Tim’s. The moon hasn’t risen yet, but Tim swears his teeth have gone sharp.

“Shall we reevaluate, then?” Jason asks, voice low. He knows exactly what he’s doing. “How about this. The muzzle stays on—”

Jason pushes Tim’s hand to his own chest, then slides his hand with slow intent to flutter at Tim’s hips, digging into the meat of his thigh and pulling him flush to Jason’s core. Tim watches his lips move, hypnotized, “—until you take it off.”

Tim wraps his fist around the metal, feeling the weight of it in his palm and all it implies— and meets Jason’s dark gaze with his own.

#OwO #woof woof bark bark awooga #SORRY FOR LEAVING YOU HANGING ANON BUT I HAD TO DO IT TO EM #🐺🦇anon #my writing #jaytim #i'm NOT WELL ABOUT THIS VERSE #this is going to lead into Actual nasty monsterfucking werewolf sex but not until I'm done with my other fics OTL #i CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS #the wip mountain is fucking insurmountable #🐺🦇#asked and answered

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vampcubus · 1 year

Text

Sighhh, just Kyojuro falling asleep on you and waking up all confused ❤︎

Kyojuro awakens to fingers in his hair, cheek squished cutely against your soft tummy. He fades in and out of consciousness, blissed out by the gentle raking of your fingers over his scalp. Your affectionate scratching almost lulls him right back to sleep. He blinks his eyes rapidly to prevent himself from doing so, lifting his head from your belly to peer up at you.

You can’t help but grin at his confused expression, still half-asleep and processing his surroundings. You even get a peek of dried drool on his cheek.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, my love,” you giggle softly, heart skipping when his face brightens at the sight of you.

“How long was I asleep?” the flaxen-haired man hums questioningly before his lips part widely with a yawn.

“Hour or two. I wasn’t really counting,” you replied, fingers slipping from his bicolored hair as he sits upright to stretch. He tucks his legs underneath himself as he does so, wavering slightly in his sleepy state.

“My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to doze off on you like that-” he starts but you’re quick to silence him with a finger over his lips.

“It’s cute. I liked it,” you assured him. “you can sleep some more if you’d like. I’ll watch over you.”

His eyes soften and his lips pull into a sheepish grin beneath your fingertip.

“Thank you, but no, I think I’ve slept through enough of our date!” Kyojuro laughs heartily, taking a hold of your wrist and folding your index finger down so he can kiss your knuckles. “Now let’s spend more time together!”

You gasp as you’re abruptly pulled to your feet and only giggle as you’re tugged along, nearly tripping over yourself as you’re led from the tree you’d been resting underneath.

#‧₊🦇˚⊹ ashi writes #just needed to get this out of my system 😌#kyojuro rengoku x reader #rengoku x reader #kyoujurou rengoku x reader #kyojuro x reader #kny x reader #kny imagines

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chococolte · 4 days

Note

Your sagau zhongli is my fave! Devotion is soooo good he's so good!! If he were offered a reward, what would he ask for? He definitely deserves good things for being such a dedicated worshipper

word count. 1.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, sagau + cult au shit, religious themes, g/n reader.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. hi guys......... sorry i took so long to write this, and im so happy you like my characterization of him!!!! it means so much to me!!!

Your praise.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted.

When he was young, still arrogant and born of war, Zhongli didn't want— he took. He had no need of envy or desire. What he could not have, he would get in time. Immortality comes with an infinite patience.

If he was still that god, flippant and self-important, maybe he would demand some sort of compensation. Some sort of recompense for past agony.

For as long as Zhongli's lived, he has never wanted; not in the way a mortal yearns for their lover, or the way a dog longs for its owner until it whines. Never in any way that mattered, never before he met you.

Zhongli has had eons to become used to the loneliness that so often encompasses him. And now, knowing that you breathe the same air as him, he's become rather acquainted with the ever consuming desire to nestle close to you, like ink caressing every pore of canvas.

His desire runs through him— barking and loud, rapid and frantic— but when faced with you, a whisper, whimpering in the dark crevices of his ribs. At times, he comes close to asking you to hold him, but decorum and propriety keep him in place, tight and tense.

Liyue was built knowing your gaze followed him. Its foundations set, earth molded, and its rivers bent, hoping they would be fit to your liking. His every breath spent chasing after your favor, desiring to be remade in your image, to be exactly what you want him to be. Afraid that, when finally met with you, you will not like what you see.

Zhongli has rarely ever wanted, and rarer still, has he ever feared.

It's a mortal's fear. The fear of their lord displeased with their harvest. A boyish fear, made up of desperation and the fear of disapproval; one he shouldn't feel, one he should feel no familiarity with. One he suspects many have felt when within his own presence.

When you ask him what he would like in return for all of his efforts— a reward, you say— Zhongli feels his breath seized from him.

Zhongli lived much of his early life against you. At every opportunity, he rebelled at what he thought was a cruel god. Imperious and charged with Guizhong’s death, he would have demanded answers.

For him to have lived while those he cared for perished without a moment's repose, for him to have survived every moment of cruel war when each breath was like a whip against his lungs— he deserved to know, if you were as real as Guizhong so staunchly believed, why he had lived in her place.

Yet, despite centuries of tempered rage, Zhongli has become content to live as nothing more than your servant.

He tells you he wants for nothing. That all he desires now is the simplicity of being beside you; the escape of your laughter, where there's no need to concern himself with anything other than you. He tells you he only wishes to know how to take care of you better, how to align himself with your tastes and desires.

"I insist," you say, and Zhongli realizes it's a command. His mouth turns dry, and every word settles on his tongue like heavy weights, dead and still.

You stare, and his breath hitches, his heart a swell in his chest. Zhongli thinks of every answer, how your reaction to any could either breathe life into him, or leave him broken. How, for a moment, he amuses himself with the idea of asking for your touch— the cusp of your palm on his cheek, your fingers against his spine; how he could ask, and how you might favor him enough to do so.

He then thinks of asking you for reassurance. For affirmation of forgiveness for the actions in his youth. To finally have the certainty that he hasn’t failed you, and maybe, the confirmation that you may care for him.

“Forgive me for my impropriety, Your Grace,” Zhongli begins, voice light and breathy. His hand rests on his chest, fighting the urge to dig into his skin, hoping to calm the pounding of his heart. “But… if I may, I was wondering if I had done right by you?”

You sit inertly in silence for a moment, and Zhongli wonders if it’s on purpose, some sort of punishment for daring to ask such a thing. You had no reason to reward him, and he had been blessed enough to hold your attention for longer than a moment. He had no right to ask for your thoughts, not so directly.

He thought he knew that. It was why he followed you, why he made sure your every request was completed to the highest standard. If you mentioned the taste of your tea being too bitter, or sweet, or that you’d rather he prepare something else for you entirely, he would rush to follow your word. Even if he had been the one to brew it, even if it was him who cultivated the leaves, even if he thought it would be to your liking.

All he needed was to be helpful. All he needed was you. Within you, was his salvation— within you, was love itself. Without you, the once great Lord of Geo was but a fragmented elemental wisp of energy, only ever calling your name.

A spike of adrenaline rushes through him, fear and anxiety denying any sense of hope. All he hears is the solitary sound of his heart in his ears.

“You have only ever done good by me.”

Zhongli’s heart lurches, heat rippling through his body. You say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and his mind feels dizzy at the implication. The ground sways, and his feet feel light.

“You deserve more than that, I think.” You step forward, and Zhongli is so lost within his own thoughts, he takes no notice of your sudden increase in proximity— but his breath still quickens, and red still coats the apples of his cheeks.

“Kneel,” you whisper, and though you say it so softly, it's as though the sky had been torn asunder with the speed he responds. Zhongli’s mind still feels far away, but he hears your orders as if spoken directly into his ear.

He drops to his knees, no care for whether he does so elegantly enough. All he can focus on is the weight of your gaze, and the way he's the only thing under it.

“Do you want me to praise you?” You trace his jawline with your finger, still speaking in a soft, unhurried tone. “Do you want me to tell you how much of a good boy you are?”

Zhongli inhales sharply, fighting every thought that screams at him to eagerly lean into your hand. He stares up at you, russet lashes fluttering and amber eyes swallowed by adoration and worship.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he whispers hoarsely.

Your thumb swipes over his lower lip, and a whine rises to the back of his throat.

“My good boy.” Zhongli’s entire body shudders, his chest heaving. A shaky breath escapes him. “You've been waiting to hear that for so long, haven't you?”

He whimpers, then nods in a way he hopes doesn’t come across as overeager— quickly bereft of any sense of propriety, or care for whether or not he’s making a fool of himself. All he can concern himself with is how close you are, how easily your scent renders him still, how quickly he borders on senseless.

You smile at that, and he bites his tongue to stop himself from whimpering.

“Do you want me to tell you how grateful I am?” Your fingers move across his neck, brushing against his Adam’s Apple, watching it bob as he gulps, trying to keep himself steady and not fall against you. “How you're my favorite?”

An ugly sound rips from Zhongli’s throat, and it's one he's instantly ashamed of. Every part of him feels bare in front of you, laid out messy and without decorum. The mask he’s worn for eons steadily breaks, and every one of his veins and bones scream out for your warmth.

The Lord of Geo wouldn’t have ever allowed himself to be so vulnerable. He never would have amused himself with the thought of pleading for anything, or kneeling and falling apart because he was treated softly— least of all, of being so desperate to know that you love him; that you favor him.

Zhongli, now without his Gnosis, is as mortal as the men he used to lord over. And perhaps it’s his newfound mortality that moves him to lean into your hand, frantically trying to meld your fingers against his skin until his flesh is like clay inlaid with your fingertips; hoping that you’ll rebuild him until he fits your desires, and tell him again that he’s proven to have done good by you.

Every thought is a prayer, another hymn, another psalm.

“Am I? Your favorite?”

His voice trembles, and breathes into a soft whisper. Zhongli doesn’t mean to sound so desperate— he doesn’t mean to be so greedy— but his soul has never felt so full before. His mind is so mired by your touch and voice that he doesn’t realize his lack of formality, or how he might come across as arrogant.

He wants only to think of you, and so he does. Nothing else matters.

“Yes.” You chuckle, and his heart speeds up at the sound, fervent. “Why would I want anyone else?”

Zhongli whines, and faintly, through the blur of fanaticism and worship, thinks that no matter what you asked of him, he would do it without hesitation.

#[🦇] — my writing #genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin x reader #sagau #cult au #sagau zhongli #yandere zhongli #cult au zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere male #yandere male x reader #male yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere #self aware genshin au #self aware genshin #gender neutral reader

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kitwasheree · 4 months

Text

Happy Birthday, Iris !

12/31.

happy 900 and... wait, how old is he again?

(please click on the image to see the details tumblr always crunches all my art into oblivion)

vvv bonus doodles + personal story under cut

malva belongs to @1dont-really-know , thank you princess of briar valley for quality wine

NRC School Newspaper

A Birthday Interview with Iris

Yuu : Hello! Happy birthday to you.

Iris : Well, thank you… I haven't celebrated my birthday in a very long time before coming to Night Raven College, but I suppose it’s nice to hear a greeting.

Iris : I don’t really see the point in making a big celebration over another year of your life passing, but maybe to humans there is much to cherish.

Iris : …Whatever the case, I’ve dawdled enough. Let’s get on with the interview.

Yuu : What are your thoughts on the party?

Iris : It’s not bad, but I think I’d prefer something smaller. I don’t really think that my birthday is worth a lot of fuss, after all, it’s just one year in many years of my life.

Iris : ….Still. It is nice to see Axel and the rest of the dorm having fun. Makes me a little envious, even… But nevermind that.

Iris : I’m grateful for the sheer amount of presents. Really, what am I going to do with all of this…?

Iris : I’ve even received multiple gifts from the same individuals. Trying to get into my good graces? …Cunning, the lot of you kids nowadays. I suppose this still is Octavinelle, though.

Yuu : What sort of presents do you like to receive?

Iris : Anything will do, really, as long as it isn’t unpleasant. Although, I personally enjoy small food and drink. For example, Ashengrotto gifted me a bottle of cranberry juice. It seems to be rather good quality, too.

Iris : ….I have a feeling his gift has another meaning, though.

Yuu : Another meaning?

Iris : Perhaps it’s his way of gifting me something similar to wine, without actually getting wine. Clever boy. He knows I’m particular about wine, so he chose to play it safe.

Iris : Over the years, the quality of wine has drastically decreased. I’m rather disappointed, I thought humans were supposed to be ‘advanced’? And yet it seems most wine that is sold now is subpar at best.

Iris : At least there are still some businesses that are family-run and are still able to make good-tasting wine from hundreds of years ago.

Yuu : I see. You seem to know a lot about wine…. How old exactly are you?

Iris : I wouldn’t be able to answer that, even if I wanted to. It’s nothing for you to think about, though. I simply know a lot about wine, because it is my favourite.

Yuu : Alright, then. Do you have any hobbies?

Iris : Hobbies… I suppose I used to play the violin, but then I left it to collect dust for quite a while. I only recently picked it up again, because of that Vanrouge.

Iris : He’s been inviting me to join the Pop Music Club for quite some time, but he must be positively mad. Senile, even. He says we could do a duet, but that’s nonsense, I play the violin and what does that man play? The electric bass.

Iris : Perhaps there isn’t a single sane person in this school, his clubmates dabble in entirely different forms of music, too. But maybe…. Just maybe, I’ll consider it. I make no promises, though.

Yuu : I’ll look forward to seeing you perform if you decide to join, then.

Iris : Thank you. I’ll think about it more, the old violin needs a good dusting off. For now, let’s just enjoy the party.

Yuu : Thank you for sharing all of this with us. Once again, happy birthday!

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hypocriticaltypwriter · 14 days

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youtube

Some of yall... DON'T GET IT... What this song does to me... IDEK WHAT IT DOES TO BE BUT ITS SOMETHING 🫵

Idk why I've always had such an unnerving... Vibe from it. It has this weird underlying nostalgia to it for me- like whenever I hear it a go back to this time in my life when I would sneak books like Interview with a Vampire from my moms room and hide out reading them in my tiny ass closet in the smallest bedroom imaginable I shared with my twin sister.

Or when I used to watch this really weird French film of Beauty and the Beast or Phantom of the Opera when all my family went to bed and then go to sleep imagining The Goblin King or the Phantom finding me and carrying me away into the night whilst a slept OH MY GOD

I WISH I WAS A NORMAL KID 😭

No yeah anyway this is basically the White Wedding AU theme if you even care 🫠

#AND IF ANY #ANY OF YOU 🫵#BRING UP THAT FIC I MADE LIKE 2 YEARS AGO ON MY SECONDARY BLOG #ELECTRIC CHAIR 💥💥💥💥#THAT WAS MY FIRST TIME GETTING REALLY COMMITED TO WRITING OK #fruitbats🦇🍒#🦇🤍White Wedding AU🤍🦇#the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys #tlb 1987 #tlb #Youtube

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shiemori-writes · 1 year

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Hello! I see that the request are open so, Ace, Deuce, Jack and Azul x gender neutral! Reader, separately, headcanons, where the reader plays the pocky game, and when they are about to kiss, the reader intentionally break the pocky as a little prank. Don’t worry, in the end the boys get a little picky on their cheek.

Thank you!

—POCKY KISSES!

You decide to tease the boys with the pocky challenge, how will it go?

characs: jack and azul

contains: sfw, fluffish crack, gender neutral reader

notes: hello! gardener since I already wrote for ace and deuce in my other pocky works, I decided to just write for Jack and Azul, hope thats ok!

♡︎JACK HOWL♡︎

Jack doesnt really know what the pocky game was to be honest, and he'll communicate as such, but he's open to trying it out.

You explain the rules to him and he tries (keyword:tries) to keep himself as composed as possible and has to constantly try to keep his tail from wagging

He agrees with little to no complaint and accepts your "challenge" he likes seeing you all awestruck after all. Not that he'd ever say that outloud.

Jack decided to take initiative and grab a pocky stick, plopping one into his mouth stiffly as he waits for your response, giggling you simply bit the end of the pocky gently and hummed happily, enjoying both the flavor and jacks expression hehehe

Deciding to be bold, you leaned closer and closer, seemingly trying to get a peck from him to tease him

Jack merely froze, his tail going stiff and eyes wide as he anticipated the kisd until-

chomp!

"Hehe~ looks like I win jack :D"

...Oh

Oh.

Dear sevens end him now

Trying to keep any sense of composure both for his sake and yours he awkwardly coughed and nodded, hesitantly praising you for your win, albeit with a badly hidden disappointed tone

Taking notice of this, you chuckled quietly as you leaned in for a sweet peck on the cheek, satisfied with the game.

Jack really couldnt conceal his grin that day

♡︎AZUL ASHENGROTTO♡︎

Ah, the worldly known bussiness man Azul Ashengrotto, to what does he owe the favo- oh,— uh prefect!

Dropping the scheme he was about to play upon realizing it was just you, he merely waved at you as his gaze landed on the treat you were currently holding.

"Oh? Are you trying out a new treat prefect?" He raised his brow "Or perhaps we could sell those, Its quite popular, I've heard, for whatever reason." He replied, grinning at the possibilities he could—

before he can continue with hid inner-bussiness-monolouge you decided to interrupt his train of thought by saying you wanted to play the pocky game... With him... Ok ok, cool, the pocky game hm, yes He supposes he can sp- THE POCKY GAME?!?

Now Azul wasnt a stranger to this game that landdwellers seem to love, he's been aquinted with the Cater Diamond after all, so of course he knew. But dear sevens orefect were you hearing yourself?!

Trying to keep his voice from shaking, he covered his red face with a cough, agreeing in a formal matter as if it was a bussiness proposal (i love this dork sm)

As he motioned you over to the VIP section for.. privacy-

(he didnt want the tweels to tease him with this)

He let you grab a single stick as you beckoned him over, his hands clammy he decided to step closer, taking a bite at the pocky as he shakily took a breath. Keep calm azul, keep calm- PREFECT WHAT ARE YOU((-*WKCJWICBE

YOU WERE LEANING IN CLOSER OH LORD HE'S SEEN FILMS WHAT IS HE GONNA DO- oK cALM DOWN ASHENGROTTO. YOU GOT THIS. BE SUAVE AND COOL SUAVE AND—

CHOMP!!

.....

....What?! Did he hype himself up for nothing!? He- he read the signs wrong he-

"Hehehe! I win zuzu~" you coyly announced, proud at his flustered state.

Deciding to apologize you kissed his cheek gently as he looked at you in bewilderment. Stuterring out a quiet "not fair" response as he pouted at you.

Congrats! Now comfort your sad pouty octopus

#t'was rushed but WOOO I FINISHED IT #i did this instead of studying for my exam r u happy /j #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland scenarios #twisted wonderland imagines #quinn writes🦇💕#jack howl x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader

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