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thegnomelord · 7 months

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Hi, I want to start off by asking how you are doing, and that I loved the monster task force 141 × reader fic and the cyber-punk sagau headcanon’s.

Ok, now into the ask. Can you do a smut fic with Childe where the reader is a sub top and Childe is a dom bottom where Childe whorships cyber-punk readers body running his hands all over readers joints which are bonded so reader can’t touch him while overstimulating and orgasm denying (is reader able to be overstimulated and have orgasm's... if not then forget about those 2 kinks.

Sorry for the long ask.

Kink list to make it clear:

- Body whorship

- Bondage

- Overstimulation?

- Orgasm denial?

Heck yeah my peep, I'm doing better, and it's great that you liked my other stuff, sorry it took this long, med school is a bitch. Hope ya like it:DD

P.S: ya'll are always free to ask me/give me ideas of what to write, i'm gonna be trying to write more from now on.

Pious Worship

CW: NSFW, body worship, bondage, overstimulation, orgasm denial, mild electro play?, SAGAU au! Cyberpunk reader!, Sub Top reader, Dom Bottom Childe, riding, Dom/Sub dynamics, Worshipper Childe, Bondage. NOT proof read lol.

It had taken you a long while to convince him to do this. For all of his devotion he had been... hesitant; To please you was the highest form of reward anyone could dream of receiving, but what you had asked of him felt wrong — the thought of binding you like the heathens who'd fallen for pretty lies made him physically sick, the thought of chaining you, his guide, his light, his Steel Forged God...he couldn't even come up with the proper words to describe the sickening disgust he'd felt in his very bones.

But you are his light, his guide, his merciful creator, so how could he possibly refuse?

Childe is insatiable.

He rides you with wild abandon like a beast in heat, too caught up in the desperate chase for release and the need to please you to care about the strain in his muscles or his burning thighs. He slams his entire body weight down on your cock, moaning and babbling about how perfectly you stretch him out, how you fill him up so perfectly he can feel you in his throat, how happy he is to be the one who pleases you like this.

His heart flutters as you watch him, drawing pleasure from his pleasure rather than from how tightly his body grips you, your arms tied above your head with the finest silk. The corp remade you for warfare, not pleasure. Steel is unfeeling, it can survive more than living flesh, and with your enhancements you barely feel anything besides the hot tightness of his body.

He drinks up the little rumbles of your synthetic voice box he manages to pull when he takes you fully, driving his body to bounce faster on you, racing towards his second release while you are nowhere near your first. He moans whorishly, his fingers dig into your shoulder joints, cock twitching as sperm and electro shoot from his body.

A strangled sound leaves your lips before your body shuts down without notice, voice box giving a mechanical screech as it glitches, every artificial muscle in your frame contracting from the sudden flood of electricity.

"My Grace! Are you- no, no, no, no- please don't be-”

You hear his worried whimpers when your audio receptors finally come back online, your optics shuttering open yet barely able to see anything with the sea of blinking warning screens in your view. You feel his calloused hands on your cheeks, the usually dull sensation now making you shudder as your combatting systems had turned every synthetic sensor up to 11.

“My Grace, please tell me you’re okay, please, I couldn’t have- I didn’t mean to- I-, I-, I-”

He hiccups, and you manage a glitched warble from your frazzled voice box as you assess your internal diagnostics— his electro delusion had shocked you enough to lock your joints in place without damaging the vital life support systems in your core. You should be able to move again when the electricity wears off, your body geared to survive stronger EMP bombs. You tell him such, reaffirming that he hadn't harmed you.

"Oh, my Grace, I am so sorry, please, forgive me!"

He says, tears prickling his eyes as he rises off your cock, pulling a surprised gasp from you when that small sensation nearly makes you cum on the spot, your cock — your whole body — sensitive to the smallest touch.

And Childe gets...giddy.

Not like a child with a new toy, but like Dottore when an experiment is successful.

Childe hung on every sound leaving you, eyes growing wide; Had you thought of this? Had you prepared just for this to happen? For his electro to make it easier to feel, to make it easier for him to worship you? Yes, that must be it!

“My Grace, you are beautiful like this. Thank you, thank you, thank you-”

His voice was a hoarse whisper as he slunk down your body, carefully holding up your leg with steady calloused hands. His lips are dry as he places reverent kisses the metal surrounding your exposed ankle joint. Your metal parts taste no different than the tips of his arrows, like blood and war, but the soft sounds you make from the odd sensation has him wanting to give more.

He doesn't even notice when he cuts his lip on a sharp edge, but aren't you proud of him? Who else would bleed for you like him? His tongue delves into tight little cracks between your pistons and wires where only the smallest of ripperdock tools had ever come. His tongue isn't as small, nor as precise, but the sheer eagerness in his movement has him touching and pressing on the sensitive sensors all the same.

You jolt, or you would if you could, overcome with sensations your body isn't built to process. More warning screens flash in your sight, static pleasure/pain buzzing along faux synapses. His heart all but leaps from his chest as he listens to the sounds you make.

So he redoubles his effort, clever little tongue licking at sensitive sensor arrays, mouthing and sucking on cables until soft frazzled sounds leave your glitched voice box. He can taste coolant on his tongue, his lips tingling with electricity, blood and spit mixing together in his mouth and making your metal parts glisten in the light. He polishes your ankle joint until it shines, before moving up towards your knee, tracing the edge where metal plates meet faux skin.

You're internal cooling system has started at this point, body shaking as best it can. Your sensors don't know how to interpret the sensations, corp augs having been geared for warfare and not worship, so the processors don't even try to categorize the new sensations into neat boxes. Instead you're hit with the full force of it, the feelings flooding your mind, zapping through every neural cell and artificial link.

He's at your hips now, eagerly sucking you off as his clever fingers busy themselves worming and rubbing delicate hardware and artificial ligaments beneath inside your hip joints. You feel like you're on the edge, your release so close you can feel it burning at the base of your cock.

But something is wrong, like a knot or a rock inside your stomach, something that's keeping you from cumming, forcing you to experience these overwhelming sensations. You sob, barely able to think, and his heart soars at making you feel this way, making you feel this pleasure.

He's quick to finish polishing your cock and even quicker to climb up and sink down again. But that only makes the maddening heat burning in your loins worse, every nerve in your augmented body feeling like it's on fire with no sight of release. You can barely see him through the cracks between different warning screens, sensor arrays screaming at you with information your body can't interpret any other way than pure sensation.

"Please, let me do this your Grace."

You watch — you can do nothing but watch — as he takes one of your limp arms. His muscles bulge beneath his skin as he has to work hard to move your arm now that your motors and pistons are momentarily inactive. He smiles at you, mouth opening wide before he puts your fingers in his mouth. Little jolts of sensation run through your body every time his tongue flicks between different joints, teeth scraping along faux skin and metal plates.

He continues to bounce on your cock, unaware of what blissful Hell he's making for you when he pulls your spit shined fingers from his mouth, urgently but carefully pawing at the plates which cover your hidden weaponry in your forearms.

"Your Grace, I'm a fool to demand this of you, but please, let me see them, let me worship you like you're supposed to be worshiped."

He says, eyes wide and pleading, laying desperate kisses at your wrist joint, lips almost burning from how hot your metal parts are becoming. He needs to worship you, all of you, especially the part you usually keep reserved for the battle field and nowhere else.

Your voice box is back online to the point where you can talk, and you know that if you told him, he would happily continue bouncing on your dick until you were finally able to cum, with all notions of his own need forgotten.

But you don't.

For as much as your systems may be screaming at you. For as much as your cooling systems struggle to keep you from overheating. For as much as you desire to cum... you want to please him — the first character you ever wished for, the first you ever mained, your favorite.

The look on his face when you manage to get your weaponry unlocked melts your heart despite the lustful heat in your chest. Your combat systems are blissfully unaware of your true intentions as they power on the pistons and gears in your weapons, making them extend to their proper configuration.

"Thank you, thank you your Grace!"

He breathes, immediately reaching out to trace the sharp points of your weapons with his tongue before he latches on the first joint that connects your weapon with your arm. It makes sensation, neither pain nor pleasure but pure feeling, rush from your arms right down to your dick still balls deep inside him.

Your vocal box glitches a second time, your head moving just an inch as you're subjected to his torturous worship again, and you can only pray that your body is able to move again before you loose your mind to the pure sensations.

#centerpieces of the hoard #x reader #male reader #top reader #dom genshin x sub reader #sub reader #dom Childe #Dom tartaglia #genshin impact smut #cyberpunk sagau #genshin cult au #top male reader #childe tartagalia #bottom childe #genshin impact x reader #answering asks

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rvels · 23 days

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SO WET F'ME? ➜

❥char-> Ajax x femreader (reader has a coin slot..)

❥warnings -> 「 fingering, cum play?, cum eating, degrading??, sub reader, dom char, use of ' daddy' , 'baby' and 'good girl' 😭 lmk if I missed any 」

"Your'e so wet f'me baby" He watches as your cunt coats his long fingers with your slick, he starts moving his fingers in and out making you moan loudly "this pussy is mine ya' got that?" He bit his lip at how you tighten around his fingers "How about I make you cum again? Is that fine w' you?" You nod your head so fast as soon as he said that "My good girl" he grinned while stroking your hair using his unoccupied hand "I— I'm so close daddy!" You whined, he was shocked when he heard the little nickname you called him, something hit inside him cause he sped up his movements making you moan and tighten around his fingers once again "cum for me, cum for daddy" he whispered to your ear making you paint his fingers white "of fuck- my good girl, such a slut for me aren't you? Pussy' so wet f'me" he pulled his fingers out of your wet cunt and licked his fingers "A—ajax mmh! Don't eat it, t-thats disgusting" He raised a brow at you "what? You do it all the time" he smirked palming his cock "now give me something in return"

a/n ➜ Hiii thx for reading I was literally gone for so longgg so here's a little treat if you liked this consider liking or reblogging ;)

#ajax #ajax x reader #childe smut #tartaglia #dom tartaglia #sub reader #dom character #smut #genshin imagines #genshin smut #genshin impact smut

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lyaism · 1 year

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I Challenge You!

ft. dom!Childe/Tartaglia x fem!reader

/WARNINGS: cockwarming, vaginal penetration, rough sex, clit rubbing, teasing, overstimulation, cum, calling you baby and good girl/

/words: 1.5k/

!!! NSFW minors dni !!!

It all started with a challenge to see who had more self control.

Now Childe was balls deep inside you, hardly breaking a sweat as he filled out the paperwork that comes with being a Fatui Harbinger, humming a carefree tune. Your pants and underwear had been discarded since the start of the bet while he had kept his clothes on, only unzipping his grey pants to push his thick cock inside your wet cunt.

You on the other hand were already regretting suggesting this. Your forehead glistened with sweat as you shakily breathed in through your mouth, trying hard to suppress your whimpers. Leaning back against his toned chest, you shifted your position a bit to prevent your legs from falling asleep. A soft whimper escapes from your trembling lips as you felt his cock rub against your walls and you squeezed your eyes shut, praying for this torturous feeling to end.

“Hmm?” Childe’s hot breath tickled your ear, causing you to squeak. “How are you doing baby? Wanna give up?” He pressed his lips against your neck, slightly sucking on the skin.

You bit your bottom lip and gripped his thighs as he continued to kiss and mark your neck. Your walls throbbed, clenching down on the thick cock inside you. Yes please just fuck me already

“N-No.. I’m good,” you breathed out, trying to calm yourself down. You couldn’t lose. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Alright if you insist.” He chuckled and his lips left your neck. “Tell me if you can’t do it anymore okay~?” he teased and gave the shell of your ear a nice long lick. You gasped at the wet feeling and your needy sobbing pussy flutters around his hot cock. “H-Hah.. such a lewd girl.. do you want me that badly?”

Childe knew that you were near your breaking point. After all, it had been a good half an hour. With his scarily long stamina, he could go on like this for hours, edging you until you cum. He couldn’t help but tease you, finding how you try so hard at something you weren’t good at to be so cute and adorable. But you had been sooo good to him all week though, he felt a bit bad teasing you like this. His baby girl deserved a reward, didn’t she? And so he ran his fingers down the sides of your body and grabbed your waist, giving it a nice hard squeeze, before snapping his hip upwards, his fat tip hitting your spongey sweet spot.

Overwhelmed by the pleasure doubled by your sensitive pussy, you let out a sinful moan and tears welled up in your eyes. You really didn’t want to lose, but your body is already giving up. He was just too good his cock was just too good-

“I give up I give up,” you whined, panting heavily, wishing for your sinful desire to be fucked dumb fulfilled.

Childe let out a breathy laugh. He was glad you gave up. Finally he can fuck you to his heart’s content. “Aww~ and you were doing so well baby.” His fingers were now rubbing at your clit. Moans and whimpers fell from your lips as your walls clenched down further on his cock. “Don’t worry.. I’ll take care of you now.” His hands travelled down your bare thighs and roughly gripped the back of your knees, raising your legs up and pushing them back until they touched your shoulders.

“W-Wait! This position is - nnghh!” You were cut off by a thrust so hard it knocked the breath out of you. His large rough hands were gripping your thighs with such force that you were sure they were going to leave bruises behind, spreading your legs further apart for his fat cock to bully you better and harder.

The sounds of wet skin slapping against each other filled the room, accompanied by your almost melodic lewd moans and Childe’s breathy praises of how good you felt. Thank god he chose this large and sturdy armchair to sit in, he thought to himself, picking up his pace as he pounded into you, making you scream and sob harder. The legs of the chair were scrapping so hard against the marble floor that he was afraid they could break off any moment.

“Thought you could challenge me to something like this huh?” he asked in a smug voice. “Looks like you’re regretting it.” He slowed down his pace.. only for him to snap his hips back up, his tip pushing the limits of your cervix. You cried out at the pleasure mixed with pain, drooling forming near the ends of your mouth. “Better think twice next time.”

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I won’t do it again!“ you sobbed as he continued to bury his cock deep within you.

“Good girl.”

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you looked down at the big fat cock thrusting in and out of your wet cunt at a brutal pace. Since your trembling legs were up in the air, your ass barely touching his lap as he bounced you up and down on his cock, you were powerless over your own body and had no way to stop if you wanted to. You were utterly and completely hopeless, at his mercy, and somehow that made your pussy tighter and your walls spasmed around his hard throbbing cock.

“You like this don’t you,” Childe panted, never missing an opportunity to tease you. “You like it when I handle you like this? When I fuck you like this?” He let out a loud moan when he felt your walls clenching down on him more.

Incoherent words spilled from your lips as your tearful eyes rolled back into your head, completely overwhelmed by the immense pleasure. You wanted to tell him how good it felt but only managed to moan out his name. “C-Childe.. nnngh..” You felt the knot forming in your tummy and knew that your high was near. Letting out a loud moan and babbling about how close you were, you threw your head back over his shoulder and he took that chance to suck on your exposed neck, never once flattering in his merciless pace to fuck your brains out.

“Cum for me,” he muttered against your neck, lapping up your sweat with his tongue. “Cum for me like the good girl you are.” He freed one hand from holding up your leg to reach down and rub roughly at your clit, speeding up your climax. He wanted to feel your pussy clamping down on him hard. And he wanted to feel it now.

The tight knot in your tummy became undone as you came with a pathetically loud moan, your juices soaking Childe’s pants. He hissed and groaned at the way your walls spasmed and squeezed his throbbing cock, bringing about his own high.

“Fuck I’m close.” His hand went back to gripping your thigh and raising your leg up. “You feel so good baby. Wanna fuck you faster and harder.” And he did, picking up his already brutal pace and making your sensitive body bounce violently with each thrust.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you begged him to stop. Your poor sobbing pussy couldn’t take it anymore. It was so raw and sensitive. Each thrust of his hips doubled - no - tripled the pain and pleasure. His fat tip hit that one sweet spot over and over again as his veiny cock dragged roughly against your walls.

“Just a bit longer I’m close I’m close,” he reassured you sweetly, still slamming his cock up into you. “Fuck.. shit I’m coming-“ He gave one final thrust before painting your insides white. You shuddered as you felt his hot white cum sloshing about inside. He let out a long moan as he let go of your thighs, your legs falling to either side. He felt his cum leaking out of your poor overstimulated cunt as it trickled down his cock and onto his balls, making a small white puddle between his thighs.

The two of you sat still for a while, catching your breath and filling the room with heavy breathing. “Mmm baby.. “ Childe muttered as he pressed sloppy kisses on your neck, his arms snaking around your waist. He wondered if he had taken it too far. “You okay?” he asked and you could hear the genuine concern in his voice. No matter how badly he wanted to mess up your insides, your ease of mind and well-being were his first priorities.

“That.. felt good,” you replied, your voice hoarse from crying and screaming earlier. “Even though I lost,” you added with an annoyed ‘hmph’.

He laughed, cupping your cheek with one hand and placing a gentle kiss. “Maybe I’ll let you win next time. But..” He blew into your ear, causing you to yelp in surprise. “I’ll be much rougher.”

His words made you shiver. He always knew how to turn you on with his words. Feeling like you were forgetting about something, you looked down and gulped at the sight. “By the way.. you’re still in me.”

#genshin impact smut #genshin impact sex #genshin impact childe #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #dom tartaglia #dom childe #female reader #genshin impact cockwarming

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zhxngii · 6 months

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I need to talk about this bc of some art i saw. i know i might've mentioned this before (idk?) but omggg

⎯⎯ 𒁍 Having a man on his knees before you as you sit there before him in such a pretty little outfit paired with some nice heels. He sits there with pink-tinted cheeks, looking almost embarrassed as he realizes just how hard he's become while in this position, a whine coming from his throat once you give the leash a small tug, lifting his chin with the tip of your heel afterward for him to look at you.

Oh, the look in his eyes like he just wants to eat you up already, wants to follow every order you give him. Will gladly sit there through your teasing antics, might just get desperate and beg for you to give it to him already but he's enjoying it so much with how turned on he is right now.

The satisfied moan coming from his lips once you finally hover over him and sink your wet cunt onto his cock. The way he'll pant and tug at the restraints around his wrists behind his back, leaving him no choice but to just sit there and take your slow pace. How badly, terribly how he wants you to go faster, trying his utmost best to keep still and not thrust up into you because of how good you feel.

Kaeya, Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Childe, Diluc, Zhongli, Itto, Jing Yuan, Welt Yang, Gepard, Blade, Sampo, Dan heng. + your f/os.

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heizouz · 8 months

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thinking about sub!childe looking up at you with the biggest, brightest blue eyes, glossing over with pretty tears as you stuff his mouth with your cock. thinking about dumb boy moaning, whimpering around you, trying to take you as far as he can, drooling, all messy on your cock. he loves being there, between your legs, mouth open for you to fuck as soon as he gets to his knees. he's so shameless, so needy and pliant; hands on your thighs, blunt nails digging into the plush skin, staring up at you as he bobs his head desperately.

thinking about sub!childe having his head forced down, your hands gripping his hair tight to keep him in place and you fuck his throat, cock slipping into his mouth easily because he's so obedient for you—he's getting just as much pleasure from this as you are. he just takes it, even when the tip hits the back of his throat and his pretty eyes fill up with tears and he chokes and whines around you. not once does he try to pull off, even when he drools around you like a dumb dog.

sub!childe who moans when you finally finish down his throat, holding him down to "take all of it" and he does. sub!childe who falls apart at your feet, cock throbbing between his legs, back arched prettily, eyes fluttering shut as he swallows around you, taking all that you give him like a good boy.

and sub!childe who gasps and whines when you finally pull him off your cock, panting and swallowing to catch his breath. his hair still tight in your hand as you tilt his head to see his pretty face; tears streaking down his cheeks, eyes glittering and wide, lips parted and panting, curving into a pretty, dumb, fucked out grin when you lean forward and grab his jaw. tilting his head back almost entirely, forcing his back to arch even more, his chest pressing against your knees when you drag him into a messy kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

sub!childe who whimpers and pants into your mouth, pushing his hips forward to find friction against his leaking cock. pretty boy who blinks up at you, eyes hazy and lidded, bruised red lips parting to gasp when he feels you slap your cock against his cheek, prompting him to open wide so you can fuck his face stupid again.

#repost L #i need him so fucking bad bro #genshin impact #dom reader #genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #sub genshin #sub childe #childe #childe smut #childe x reader #sub tartaglia #tartaglia smut #tartaglia x reader #tartalgia

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tuhtofu · 10 months

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photograph

cw: dom reader, sub childe, masturbation, face slapping, nipple play, degradation, masochism, dacryphilia, coming in pants, coming untouched, gn reader, childe is a pervert

wc: 1.2k

Summary: Your virgin, touch starved comrade finally gets some action.

The rivalry between you and Childe has somewhat turned into companionship. Everywhere you go, you’ll find him lurking in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to cause a little trouble.

It’s not like you mind. In fact, it brings a tinge of thrill to your travels. You always end up sparring, pushing each other to the limit as you explore Childe’s tactics and weak spots. Once in a while, you like to explore one another’s weak spots a bit further.

At first, Childe thought you hated him. It didn’t do much to hinder his advances, because your passion for fighting was delightful. Holding back was never an option for you, and he loved it… A lot.

Enough to find himself in front of the mirror after every fight of yours, admiring the cuts and bruises formed by your hands. That was more than enough for him to fall to his knees, pressing on those spots and hissing in pain, thinking about the way you looked when you placed them on him until small beads of precum would make their appearance on his underwear.

He’s lost count of the amount of times he’s found himself in front of his laptop, biting his shirt and drooling on it while fisting his aching cock to whatever porn video he could find where the actor’s looks resembled yours even slightly.

Sometimes, he’d fall into a rabbit hole of S&M videos, unable to stop touching himself until he was hyperventilating from overstimulation, his whole room reeking of his smell, body covered in sticky cum and sweat. He wanted you to use him so badly.

Childe would become increasingly more obvious with his attraction towards you, towards your strength and the pain you inflicted on him. Grunts became louder, his legs would become shaky, and he’d even slip in quiet whimpers when you taunted him.

His swings would become clumsy for only a moment while his eyes zeroed in on your body, cheeks ruddy as he observed the way your muscles flexed and the teasing look in your eye, so determined to take him down. Fuck, when will you just force him to his knees and have your way with him?!

That instant of gawking was more than enough for you to trip him to the ground, the feeling of your sharp blade pricking the underside of his jaw just enough to draw a drop of blood, snapping him out of his trance.

“You’re pretty sloppy today, Childe. I’m disappointed.”

“You can’t expect me to always be in top condition. I have yet to recover from how rough you went on me last time,” he chuckled, chest heaving as he panted loudly.

“Right. I’ll believe that when you start wearing a pair of pants that’ll actually cover your erection.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, it’s not because of you.”

You inched closer, before stomping on his wrist with your foot, and Childe cried out at the sheer force of it.

“Don’t lie. The last thing a masochistic slut like you should pretend to have is pride,” you scoffed.

Oh, he knows. He just wants to savor the sight of you, looking down at him from above like this and mocking him.

“H-help me then. Hurt me, please–” Childe replied shakily in an attempt to entice you.

You’d be lying if you said that taking the chance to play with your sparring buddy like this was something you hadn’t imagined before.

That sitting on his stomach, ripping his shirt apart and toying with his body wasn’t in your list of fantasies. He was already arching up into you, trying to feel more of your weight on top of him.

Your hands cupped his cheek, almost surprising him with your gentle touch, before it left him abruptly, returning as a harsh smack to his face. A grin formed on your face, and you didn’t stop, alternating between his cheeks until they turned red, marked with your handprints.

He could probably escape if he tried, but why would he? You were touching him, and after all the nights he spent thinking about you, desperate to feel you in any sort of way, what you do to him doesn’t matter.

The only sounds Childe was able to let out were wails of pleasure, as his body squirmed and arched further into you. He finally spoke after you slowed down, allowing him to catch his breath. His eyes were teary, looking up into your own with nothing but lust.

“S-shit! That’s so good!”

You smiled mischievously, letting your fingertips dance across his neck and grazing it with your nails. That gentle touch of yours, paired with the stinging on his face, was like heaven to Childe. His cock was already throbbing within its confines, just as needy as him… just as pathetic as him.

“I can feel you poking me from behind. I hope you don’t think I’d ever touch that disgusting thing.”

A retort was sitting right at the tip of his tongue, trying so hard to save a fragment of his dignity, but there was no way he could oppose you. Especially not when he felt his tip drool because of those very insults.

Naturally, your next stop would be his chest, cupping and fondling it the way one would a woman. He could’ve sworn that you had at some point even teased him about it, referring to them as tits. Or maybe he had just imagined it when he was–

“Fuck! Why!” he yelped, yet his hips betrayed his words, bucking into thin air at the feeling of your fingers pinching his nipples, before gently circling his areolas.

You ignored him, continuing your attacks on his chest by flicking and pulling on each nipple while your other hand moved to his neck, ripping a shaky sigh out of Childe as you squeezed it.

“What’s the point of all our training, if you’re gonna turn into a drooling, good for nothing mess the moment someone touches you like this? What if a group of samurai attacked you? Would you squirm like a little girl and let them use you too?”

Your ridiculing wouldn’t cease, but Childe could only moan in bliss, the image you inserted into his head making his eyes roll back. The grip around his neck was tight enough to leave bruises, and he was sweating profusely, hands trying, albeit in vain, to claw themselves into the floor for any sort of support.

“M-more! Please, it’s too much!”

He couldn’t think anymore. There was no point. His cheeks were already stained with tears, his hips jumping uncontrollably as he cried out in pleasure, ropey streaks of cum spilling into his pants.

Even after you let go of him, his body wouldn’t stop twitching. He was in a haze, only snapping out of it when he felt your nails digging into his cheeks as you grabbed his jaw forcefully.

“We didn’t agree on letting you cum, did we? Yet you came in your pants like a teenage boy,” you spat.

“It wasn’t on purpose, I swear!”

“Looks like you’ll have to make it up to me, then.”

…

Why was this motherfucker grinning?!

#sub childe #dom reader #gn reader #sub character #sub genshin impact #dom!reader #genshin smut #gn!reader #sub tartaglia #sub!genshin

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brenbofen · 9 months

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AMAB Dragon Reader with Childe and Zhongli Brainrot

Broadcaster Message - Monster Fucker but I want to be tbe monster.

Notes 🗒️ - Sub Childe, Dom ? Zhongli, Dom AMAB Reader, Dragon Reader and Zhongli, Reader and Zhongli have two dicks, Double Penetration, Threesome, Multiple Orgasms, Cumflation, Praise, Tongue Fucking, Nipple Play, Biting and Scratching, All Childe Receiving, He’s goin through it.

Thinking about Childe between you and Zhongli. Zhongli has Childe’s head in his lap, gently brushing hair out of his face and praising him softly as you pound into him. Zhongli telling Childe how he’s doing such a good job at taking you, Childe so fucked out he can’t even process Zhongli’s words. Both of your dicks stuffed into his tight hole, globs of your cum spilling out with every thrust, your sharp nails digging into his sides to keep him in place as Childe grips onto your horns for some kind of stability.

Imagining how this would even happen, Childe not even knowing you were a dragon, laughing when you suggested having a threesome with Zhongli. He was fully prepared to tease the hell out of you both, but all these thoughts were fully thrown out the window when the time came. Childe’s face burning at the sight of your fat dicks, Zhongli coming up behind him and holding his hips while asking if he was ready.

Next thing he knows your shoving your length into him, just one of your dicks is so big and he can barely handle it, all while Zhongli his kissing him and playing with his sensitive nipples. He’s letting out whimpers and crying as you thrust into him, pressing your fingers in along with your dick, mumbling about how you have to get him ready to take both.

Childe can barely handle one, he can’t be believe you think he could take your other one, your so big and thrusting so harshly into him he feels like he’s going to be ripped into two. While this is happening Zhongli his holding Childe’s hands, saying he knows he could take you, how he’s doing an amazing job, he’s such a pretty thing.

Once you do get your second dick in Childe is screaming, it hurts so much but god it feels so good. Seeing a fat lump in his stomach, watching as it gets bigger and smaller with each of your thrusts, your so deep in him it’s driving Childe mad. His body is littered with hickeys from Zhongli and scratch marks from you, both of your tails wrapped around some part of his body.

Once you’ve had your fill Childe thinks your both done, groaning when you pull out and his stomach practically deflates as your cum spills out of his hole. He doesn’t even process you and Zhongli switching places until you drag your hand through his hair, asking if he’s ready to go again.

Childe staring at Zhongli nestled between his legs, gazing up at him with such a soft look he can’t help but lean back into your lap, nodding slowly, the loudest moan escaping his lips as he feels Zhongli’s tongue press into his hole, legs wrapping around Zhongli’s head as tears fell down his cheeks.

Ohh, he was gonna be here for a long time..

#📺 brenbofen brainrot #writing #childe x reader #sub childe #tartaglia x reader #sub tartaglia #zhongli x reader #zhongli x childe #zhonchi #zhongchi x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #male reader #dom male reader #soft dom zhongli #technically #dragon reader #non human reader #sub genshin impact

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angelsrcute · 3 months

Text

★ warnings: hate sex n mirror sex.

AN: valentine's day gift for my moots part 2! @prttykittes

Your pretty face in front of the mirror while your ass is in the air getting harshly pounded by your enemy. This was so wrong, you were enemies! not supposed to be fucking like this. The sound of his thrusts and your moans are the only thing you can hear. Childe who has a bruising grip on your waist as he degrades you.

You try to not look in the mirror because of how embarrassing the scene is, but he holds your chin upwards and whispers into your ear. “Look at the mirror princess, I hope I don't have to remind you again?” He says as he kisses your mouth,exploring it. His thrusts get faster as he chases his orgasm. He cums in you as you finally close your to get some rest but he starts thrusting in you again.

“Don't think it's over, you still have to pay me back for all those little troubles you gave me."

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #sub reader #dom character #genshin impact #angelsrcute writes 𓆩♡𓆪 #childe smut #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia smut #ajax x reader #fatui x reader

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yaekiss · 8 months

Note

crawling like a zombie out of a grave with heavy brainROT thinking of that vampire bat thing… i KNOW that freak of a man childe would absolutely be into that, even biting his lips to add on more blood and get you hooked on and used to his instead of some lousy human… but also thing of cuties like kaveh who shiver at the taste, and you’re sure he’d be blushing if he could, whimpers flowing out from his lips so easily. a high class diluc having a glass pressed against his lips held from you, filled with exquisite blood that fills his mouth before you kiss him filthily, knowing full well how he loves how perverted it makes him feel, how his hands shake and grip tightens on you with every swirl of your tongue against his.

𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Sub! Tartaglia, Sub! Kaveh, Sub! Diluc (separate), no gendered terms for reader, vampire! AU, blood and biting, mentions of violence in Tartaglia's part, lightly implied top!reader in Kaveh's part, footjob and cumming in pants in Diluc's part, lmk if I missed anything! ꩜ A/N: I didn't mean for this to get so long... pulpie what did u do to me...... 2.2k of vampire brainrot orz,,, anyways hope you enjoy the difference in dynamics !! PLEASE FILL IN THE FORM HERE AFTER READING THANK YOU!!!!

🏷️𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝟎𝟕𝟐𝟎: 𝑻𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒂 ꒷꒦ Vampire!Reader x Human!Tartaglia ꒦꒷

Someone as battle-hungry as Childe never backs down from a challenge, even if it means trying to tame a literal creature of the night. (Although, reading through countless dusty tomes regarding vampire courtship isn’t really part of the taming process.)

A plus side to having a bloodthirsty harbinger as your partner is that you haven’t known hunger ever since he started trying to woo you! Dragging to you the, still warm, bodies of enemies he had to dispose of with a cheery grin, he watches, enraptured, as you partake in the meal he so graciously gifts you.

His eyes are trained on your form as you lap up the blood from the existing wounds he inflicted on the body during the fight, coating your lips in a sickening glisten. Childe squirms in his place, feeling a heat rising within. Tearing his gaze away from you, he looks down.

Fuck. He’s hard.

Shakily, he palms himself through his pants, looking for some relief. He tries to muffle his moans but he’s never really known to be quiet. His mind fills itself with images of you, appetite voracious as you drink from the body, bloodied fangs piercing through skin, and before it even registers, he’s whining for you.

Your shoes come into view and as he looks back up, he knows he’s been caught.

“Help me, please?” At that moment, Childe sounds too delectable, and coupled with the pleading way he’s looking at you, it seems that you crave something other than blood tonight too.

Your hands move to grab at his jawline, the sudden chill of your fingers against his skin makes his breath hitch and the way your sharpened nails graze him makes him all the more harder. Childe keens when your lips smash onto his, parting his mouth as you deepen the kiss, making him taste the lingering metallic tang of blood.

His brain is a traitorous thing when it inserts himself into the place of the body. The visage of your arms cradling him as your fangs trace over the exposed skin of his neck, teasing before they sink in, when he could be all you think of, the visage burns behind his eyelids. Pulling away to allow Childe to catch his breath, his mind betrays him a third time when he doesn’t think and bites down hard on his own bottom lip before he captures yours again.

Instantly, his taste fills your mouth. It’s not often you manage to savour the blood of someone touched by the abyss. The flavour is intoxicating and you find yourself wanting more. As if by instinct, your hand supports the back of his head and he moans into your mouth as you kiss harder.

Childe doesn’t know if he’s spurred on by the fact that you’re so taken by the taste of him other than that other lousy human or if it’s the hunger shining in your eyes. There’s a part of him that sings when the thought registers. The thought that he, his blood, has such an effect on you, amplifying your bloodlust a hundredfold, that he is addictive to you. That you want him.

Moving forward, he doesn’t bring you any more bodies. Instead, he just brings himself, and hopefully, he’d get a little lucky too.

Childe never backed down from a challenge, even if it meant being tamed by a literal creature of the night ♡

🏷️𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝟎𝟕𝟎𝟗: 𝑲𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒉 ꒷꒦ Vampire!Reader x Vampire!Kaveh ꒦꒷

A vampire Kaveh would be… a little pitiful. The thought of harming someone else goes against everything he stands for, let alone drinking someone else’s blood (even if the blood was obtained through honest, human-vampire-law-abiding, means.)

He resorts to drinking animal blood instead. It’s not the most satiating or nourishing but it’ll have to do. At least he doesn’t have to imagine a human face with a family tied to the bloody beverage he’s gulping down. However, it leaves him weak and prone to feeling faint at the most inopportune of times.

Times such as now, when Kaveh can’t find his keys again and he’s locked out of Alhaitham’s house and he desperately needs to drink but his blood stash is in the house and he can’t find Alhaitham anywhere. It’s not hard to see that your poor fellow vampire is spiralling when you open the door to your home that he’s been frantically pounding on.

You lead him inside, carefully setting him down on the couch since he was dangerously swaying back and forth while he walked. Kaveh and you go way back, so it’s not surprising that he seeks you out when he’s in need. You’re just so understanding, nothing like Alhaitham, and you’ve always looked out for him unceasingly all this time. His eyes catch how your hand is still supporting his arm from earlier and if his heart could beat, it would be fluttering right now.

“How long has it been since your last meal?” Shit, you’re grilling him and he’ll be dead twice over if you find out he hasn’t exactly been taking care of himself. He deflates pathetically in his seat before he mutters out his answer.

“A week and a half… maybe two…” His answer trails off and he can’t bring himself to meet your eyes. He quickly tacks on an explanation for good measure when the silence drags on for too long and he can feel himself being simmered alive (undead?) in your gaze.

“M-my commissions haven’t been coming in and- and money is a little tight-” he sighs, “-before I even realised it, the amount of blood I have left was already running low…”

Your hand leaves his arm and the action has his head snapping back to look at you. He feels you rise from your seat next to him on the sofa and alarms blare in his mind. Did he say something wrong? He knows he should look after himself more, fuck, you don’t hate him now, right? He’s brought out of his thoughts when you push a cup into his twiddling hands.

“Drink up.” Kaveh looks up at you, expecting to see a disapproving frown. However, when all he can see is worry and concern on your face, he’s a little caught off guard.

“But isn’t it… human blood?” He’s sheepish when he asks this, brows knitted together.

“I’m sorry, but it’s all I have currently and you look like you’d faint if you don’t get something in your system right now.”

Even so, he doesn't budge, just holding the cup in his hands. Usually, the scent alone is enough to send hungry vampires into a frenzy. Judging by how hard he’s clenching it and how he’s definitely starving by now, you can tell he’s holding himself back. You don’t want to risk anything bad happening to Kaveh if you go out to buy a bag of animal blood right now so you press on.

“Is there any way I can convince you to drink it?”

Maybe it’s the spiralling state of mind he has, or the loopiness from the hunger, or that determined gleam you have in your eyes, but something weakens inside of him as he blurts out.

“Can you feed it to me? I don’ wanna think ‘bout who the blood came fr’m.”

His vision spins as you gently take the cup out of his hands. Why is the room spinning? Why are you getting closer??

Your lips meet his and suddenly his slurred words click in his mind. Eyes widening, he looks at you but he makes no move to push you away. He just leans into your touch when your hands cup his cheeks and as you part his lips, the taste of the blood hits him.

It’s been ages since he’s savoured this flavour, and with you kissing him too? He can’t stop a shiver from rocking through his body when your tongue enters his mouth, pressing his thighs together as he lets out a loud whimper. Your hand cards through his hair, messing up the blonde locks but he can’t find it in himself to complain, not when he’s practically melting in your arms. Now, it’s become less of trying to feed Kaveh before he dies, and more of making out with the closest companion you’ve loved all this time.

Filthy whines escape him as the initial exquisite flavour of blood mellows out, giving way to the taste of you. Did his fang accidentally pierce your tongue? He doesn’t have the power to think about it when all he can comprehend is you, the taste of your blood, the touch of your skin, your tongue down his throat. You override his every thought and he’s left craving.

The intimate moment lasts for a bit more before you break apart. (To Kaveh, it felt like something between a split-second and his ever-eternal lifespan.)

He’s still a little shaky, it’s obvious that that little mouthful of blood isn’t enough nourishment for him.

��Will you drink if you can only think of me while you do?”

Kaveh leaves your home glowing the next day. (He’s limping too but let’s not talk about that.)

🏷️𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝟎𝟒𝟑𝟎: 𝑫𝒊𝒍𝒖𝒄 𝑹. ꒷꒦ Human!Reader x Vampire!Diluc ꒦꒷

It’s awfully gratifying to have the Diluc Ragnvindr, a noble of high vampire society, knelt at your feet, his hands held behind his back. You don't even need to bind his hands. Frankly, it wouldn't really do anything because of his supernatural strength. But, oh. There's something so delicious about him willing to keep his hands behind him just because you asked. The way you have him utterly wrapped around your finger... tantalising.

You hold the wineglass of your blood above him and he instinctively shuffles in closer, a low whine leaving him before he even realises. As you tilt the cup towards him, his plush lips close on the rim, fervently lapping up what he can. He's terribly messy though. Tsk, and to think he's supposed to be high class.

The frenzied way he's drinking up your oblation, watching the crimson trickle past his lips, staining his pale skin such a dazzling red as it drips further down to his bobbing throat, he really is mesmerising. And what’s this?

Your dear Diluc is rutting against your shoe, trying to get off while you’re so graciously feeding him. Greedy.

He’s panting in between gulps, his eyes unfocused as the lust building in him drives him mad. There’s a conscious part of his brain saying that he shouldn’t be trying to cum right now, you’re being so nice to him, but fuck, it feels sosososo good!

You think he’ll forgive you when you cruelly pull the cup away from him.

Immediately, a pitched whine rips from his throat, and he chases after your blood, eyes begging for you to return his sweet salvation. But Diluc thinks otherwise about opening his mouth to try to reason with you when he feels your foot against his crotch.

“I’ll let you drink again after you cum, hmm? It’s not good to be distracted while you eat.”

His brain kicks into overdrive when the tip of your shoes presses down onto his dick, the pain bleeding into sinful pleasure. Diluc lets out a sharp hiss as you move your foot, teasing his length that’s straining behind his pants. He’s grinding his hard cock against the bottom of your shoe, the darkened patch of fabric growing and lewd moans slipping from his lips as he does so.

You can tell when he’s about to cum, his eyes are screwed shut and his moans become louder and more clipped, focusing more on the tempting heat rather than getting proper words out. Quickly, you take a mouthful of blood before you lean in and pull him in by the collar of his shirt.

The kiss is nothing shy of filthy, smearing blood on your lips and cheeks as he drinks desperately. He’s addicted to the heat of your mouth, your blood, on his skin, and the ravenous way you’re kissing him makes him feel like he’s the one being devoured instead. His neck is straining from being tilted upwards but there’s no other way he’d have you, as if it was only natural to have a powerful being like him on his knees at your side.

A hard press against the tip of his cock is what sends him off the edge. Cumming with a shout, he leans into your kiss, the hands he held behind his back all this time shooting forward to grasp at your thighs. Diluc shakes as he rides out his orgasm, groaning every time he ruts against your shoe.

Pulling away from him, his tongue lolls out of his mouth with a dazed expression on his face, as if he’s been fucked dumb. You drink in his appearance. He’s dishevelled, his usual tidy ponytail all tangled and messy, a wet patch at the front of his pants where he came in his pants. Diluc suppresses a shiver when he notices the swirling hunger in the gaze you regard him with, the roles of vampire and human so easily reversed and perverted by you.

Your lips shine with a saccharine sheen under the dim lighting as they part to ask him.

“And what do you say, Diluc?”

“Thank you.”

It's safe to say that, unlike Diluc, your hunger isn't getting abated anytime soon.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

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brayneworms · 11 months

Text

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar.

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins.

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about.

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

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thegnomelord · 1 year

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Devotion in Steel

How They Worship You After The Hunt: Dottore, Childe, Zhongli.

So this is based off This idea I had about a cyberpunk reader in a cult!Sagau genshin, so this is just me testing the waters. I spent wayyy too much time on this one lol but this brainrot is still going strong.

CW: Suggestive themes, cult/yandere characters, reader is GN, mentioned gore for Zhongli part. First time writing Yandere's so tell me how it goes lol.

Dottore: Silent Curiosity

He does not worship you openly; he doesn't sing hymns about your mercy or your cruelty, nor does he press his face into the ground whenever you pass, like certain archons wishing for redemption. His worship is quiet. To the unworthy, the way he touches you — with clinically cold hands, examining every gear, and bolt, and piston with the same calculating gaze reserved for one of his machines — may as well be the highest form of sacrilege. Who is he to act as if you are just another of his toys? Who is he to not even say a single word to you? Who is he to touch and pull on your mechanical components like some urchin child toying with an object they do not realize is precious? But they can't do anything, because You do not see it their way. You do not stop or punish him, you encourage him; it isn't rare to find you two alone, him on his knees with your arm held in his hands, silently watching the moving mechanisms beneath your plating as you explain the intricacies of your mechanical form to him in that synthetic voice of yours that makes his bones tremble. His touch is clinical, precise, but it is by no means cold; His worship is conveyed through his actions. With reverence he cleans the dirt and grime from the seams in your armor, happy to stay on his knees for hours, days even, so long as not a single speck of dirt is left to mar your perfect body. With piety he polishes every gear, with admiration he oils every piston, worshiping even the smallest piece in your body like it is a holy relic. To Dottore, being able to see technology millennia ahead of his own and learn of knowledge yet undiscovered would have been bliss. But to feel it beneath his fingers? To feel it in his bones as that artificial voice of yours reveals the world's secrets? Heaven.

Tartaglia: Eager Veneration

Once, Tartaglia had only known of you from the stories his parents had told him; of a loving creator, a place of safety and solace in this harsh world. Later, when he fell into the Abyss, Skirk told him new stories of you, passed down to her by the denizens of the Abyss — ones his parents wouldn't have dared to utter lest they tempt Celestia to punish them for heresy. So when you descended, full of harsh edges and your body geared for battle, he embraced you as you were. He would have loved you regardless of your appearance, but something about the mechanical version of you made sense to him; Children resemble their parents after all, why should you have appeared like the demure little thing the tapestries depicted you as when Teyvat could be harsh, and cruel, and cold? He remembered his parents teachings, tried to be respectful like the other acolytes, on their knees, with their heads pressed to the ground. He would have done so happily, would have kneeled before you until he was nothing but bones, would have slaughtered countries in your name... yet the abyss gnawed on his bones, needing your attention like a babe needed a parent. So when you showed him favor? When you offered him to touch the divine metal of your cybernetic body? He couldn't stop himself. Anxiety tempered his eagerness, he did not seek more than what you offered him, yet his hands still glided over your skin and metal with the same energy as the little gears beneath your outer shell. Trembling fingers traced old dents and scratches that ripperdocs had neglected to fix, words of absolute devotion leaving his lips as he put his head to your chest, listening to the tik tik tik of mechanical organs beneath your chassis. But your weapons enchanted him the most. It reminded him so much of the Foul Legacy hiding under his skin; the promise of danger and death lurking beneath the surface, ready to be used as soon as a threat appeared — a similarity between you two that no one else could claim. He could spend days simply kissing and lavishing the seams in the armor, feeling where fake skin transitioned into metal which hid your weaponry from the world. Though you never allowed him more than a look, he yearned to touch them, to kiss the sharp blades, to feel his bones bend under your mechanical strength, to feel the monowire burn through his skin... Please, won't you let him? He survived the Abyss, he promises that he's tough, he can handle the pain... just this once, let him worship you, all of you, please?

Zhongli: Desperate Absolution

Zhongli is afraid; to touch, to breathe, to even exist near you. How can he not be, when he is the reason for your missing parts? Your aching joints? When he was the one who harmed you, who tainted your holy body with his hate and prejudice? When he was so prideful as to forsake his creator because they did not fit his own imagination? When the truth was revealed, the real impostor laying dead and your mechanical frame speckled with drops of your golden blood, he understood he was in no place to anything but bow and pray your fury would be swift and merciful, though he did not deserve it. Yet even as he knelt before you, head bowed so low it was flush with the ground and eyes shut tight, not daring to even glance at your metallic feet, a part of him still yearned for a chance at redemption; to earn back the chance to worship you, to earn your forgiveness through devotion. He would do anything for it; Kiss and lick the dirt off your mechanical feet, be at your beck and call till the end of time... If you wished to regain your lost parts — he would scour the far reaches of Teyvat until he found all the metal pieces you had lost, and those that were permanently damaged? He would carve his bones into shape, until they fit... If you told him to forfeit his flesh like you had done — he would claw at his skin until not a single scrap of meat hangs off his bones. He would happily wander the earth as a skeleton, grafting pieces of old Khaenri'ahn technology to himself until he resembled you, just so you could inflict the same wounds he had done to you... Yet you did no such thing. Even as his thoughts gained a voice, escaping his mouth through muffled whimpers, all you did was watch him, your mechanical gaze racking over his shivering form as he tried to stop his hiccupping cries. Truly pathetic. Then your fingers found his chin, gripping him in a bruising as you raised his head to look at you. Your mechanical eyes reflected in the tears running down his cheeks, the metal joints in your fingers nipping at his skin. His eyes met your cold gaze, and he wondered what you will ask of him — His eyes? His tongue? His arms? The impostor would have demanded all that and more... He would give it in a heartbeat. But please, find it in your cold heart to forgive him.

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