˗ˏˋ ꒰ YOUR GENTLE MADNESS꒱ ˎˊ˗ Scaramouche

˗ˏˋ ꒰ BURN FOR ME꒱ ˎˊ˗ arlecchino

You are a ballerina. In the age of advanced technologies that develop faster and more realistically every day, you are afraid of becoming just a shadow of these technologies..

✧ warnings — NSFW. hurt/comfort, fem ! ballerina ! reader , gentle sex, romance, Arlecchino my husband. ✧ minors & non nb/wlw do not interact. !! ✧ a/n — I thought about the backstory of the fic for a long time, because I didn't want to write nsfw just like that lol, this is the first time I'm writing to a girl on my account, I mostly only wrote to boys..😅😅 (Arlecchino step on me)

You are standing on a small stage. You are wearing a white ballet skirt. A little fluffy, covered in detailed patterns, a little sparkling in the dark, gloomy little performance hall.

There are people sitting in the chairs, all dressed in the latest fashion, and somewhere above, a couple of important Fontaine officials are sitting, looking down on you like hawks at their next victim. And you dance, dance and dance like a white swan on the lake, your movements as precise as they are elegant.

And you are scared. Sweat runs down your back, making the fabric of your dress unpleasantly sticky and wet. It is stuffy, your head is spinning from the music, and if you look into the distance, it seems as if the whole space is shimmering.

.. And the music ends.. You hear applause.

You breathe heavily, trying to hide it. You stand up straighter, arching your back almost to the point of crunching, and bow. But when you straighten up, you understand that people are not looking at you. And opposite you, there, on the other side of the stage, is a robot. Without heavy clothes, without makeup that hides almost all the flaws of the face. Without ballet shoes shoes..

..Without a face that needs to be constantly controlled. Without eyes that can look into the abyss of feelings, if only you look into them in response..Without a heart.

The robot opposite you is singing a melody for your own performance. People surround this robot, looking at the miracle of mechanics with delight and childish spontaneous curiosity. They applaud, praise the creator of the robot and Fontaine's new policy regarding technological progress.

And you stand right in front of this crowd on a huge stage, in a belle skirt and ballet shoes. You see these people. Who applaud some robot, they listen to a mechanical repetition of how someone sang in the past. A repetition devoid of feelings and sincerity. A repetition set by some algorithm of numbers of a simple code - "one" - "zero" - "one" And so on - to infinity

And you Dance, stand. Dance, stand. And so on - to infinity.

You remember how a few years ago everything was different. Children loved to watch your performance, and people in the big theater did not take their eyes off you and looked at you with delight. You try not to look in the direction where the robot is standing and there are people who with trepidation and admiration surround this insensitive and heartless robot. When all the people left the hall, leaving you alone in this space..

You shudder.

You hear the only sound of applause very close, you turn your head to the side. A woman is looking at you and applauding, it seems, at you, and not at all at the robot. She is looking you straight in the eyes. Her smile is sincere. The woman's eyes are two strokes of scarlet, which are permanently burned into your retina.

She is tall, slightly taller than you. Slender, her waist is very thin. The woman is completely covered by some strange, but elegant clothes

of an alien style. Black-white-red. Three constants in her clothes.

You are silent. Over the past two years, you have forgotten how to perceive recognition. You bowed again, you smiled at her. You curtsied and the woman let out a chuckle.

The woman suddenly comes closer to you. There is something in her movements that you involuntarily take a small step back, still standing on your toes and in that damn ballet skirt, and it seems that you are still shorter than her.

The woman moves so close to you that you feel the air around you change with her breath. You feel the warmth, not of a machine, not of a monster.

Warmth. A little burning, unfamiliar, but inviting.

The warmth of a human body.

"Good performance. And a good mask on the face," the woman whispers in your ear, sending goosebumps through your body.

The woman barely noticeably runs the fingers of her right hand along your shoulder. You feel how sharp her nails are, but you don't feel pain, only unnatural warmth.

The woman's hand suddenly moves away, and you feel something cold in your hands.

The moment of warmth disappears as quickly as it appeared. The woman moves away from you and with the same smirk on her thin, even lips, goes somewhere, passing by the switched off robot where people were looking a couple of minutes ago. And you stand, looking after her as if amazed. Like the statues of the Archons, who are eternally motionless and which nothing can revive - not even the prayer of a desperate mortal.

You suddenly realize that you have barely breathed all this time and have heard nothing but a low, hoarse female whisper.

You blink, look around, but it is too late - the woman has already managed to leave the hall, haha, and you did not even hear the slamming door.

You automatically look at your palm and find several large mora coins.

You swallow as you gradually return to reality and begin to see and hear everything perfectly. You look at several mora coins in your hand. The mask on the face always needs mora so that it continues to be beautiful and perfect.

But the heart burning in the darkness - no.

Your routine is simple. Put on makeup, put on a ballet skirt, bandage your chest so that it does not stick out, and put on ballet shoes. Lace up the corset. Repeat the dance that you have rehearsed countless times before. Inhale - exhale. Count to ten, put a smile on your face - and go out on stage. Lately, you are rarely invited to participate in solo performances in the theater. You look like a robot among artists, although in fact you are an artist and there are only mechanical iron things around you.

You stand up, long accustomed to the blinding spotlights in the first seconds of the performance. A couple of young magicians performed in front of you, you met them before, nice guys, they helped you once… but you don’t really care about it.

And it’s your turn, you start dancing, spinning, doing pirouettes and complex movements. All this is a continuous performance, and all life is a theater, you all need to play your roles on time. But isn’t there passion and tragedy in the theater at the same time?

You close your eyes and remember that very warmth. So human and inhuman at the same time. You remember the hot breath and inspiration that washed over you the moment you saw that streak of scarlet in that strange woman's eyes. If the heart could burn with a living flame, all your clothes would have burned away long ago, charred, and you would be dancing naked on this stage. But haven't you been naked for a long time? Doesn't inspiration burn away a person's outer self and set fire to his inner self?

You know that this woman is in the audience; sitting among the few spectators who still enjoy a living human performance, despite all the technological progress in Fontaine.

You don't wonder about her reaction, you don't think about the smirk on her perfect marble face. You don't imagine her words that would send a pleasant, euphoric shiver down your body.

You stop your dance with a bow as the music fades. You've already torn your heart out of your chest, it's burning - so why prefaces and afterwords? You open your eyes, the spotlights, as usual, blind you a little. But they seem like shadows compared to what's burning inside you. You look ahead. Someone is applauding you, but you're looking at that woman whose eyes are piercing your entire body like needles.

She's clapping too, and on her face is the same smile-smirk.

The spotlights disappear. The red curtain closes. And you exhale, carrying within you, somewhere deep in your body, that very spark. And the fire that started from that spark and turned that same spark into nothing.

---

You gasp for air and grip the edge of the dressing room vanity table with your hands. Someone else's lips on your neck are like tongues of flame and cold, sharp peaks at the same time. Thin, dark fingers with long nails gently brush your hair back. A bouquet of blood flowers that this woman gave you is lying around somewhere in the dressing room after the show. The dim light from the lamps dances bizarrely across the woman's face, making her look like something unnatural, illusory.

You swallow and exhale again, pressing your back against the tabletop. You reach for the human warmth and put your arms around the woman's back, running your hands over her bare, thin, slender waist.

"What is your name?"

You ask hoarsely between deep, shuddering breaths. The woman grins. She runs her hot, long tongue down your neck, leaving a thin trail of saliva. She looks up at you with her eyes, a thin scarlet streak. Then she straightens up a little and whispers in your ear, "Arlecchino"

Her answers are always like that - short and laconic. Always appropriate, even though you've only heard her answers a few times in your life.

Arlecchino spreads your legs with her knee, then smoothly lifts you by the waist and makes you sit on the countertop, pressing your back against the vanity mirror. The woman's hot hands fall on your hips and stroke them through the layers of your dress. You swallow and reach for another wet kiss, smearing the lipstick on Arlecchino's lips, mixing your lipstick with hers. Her tongue touches yours, and you shiver, feeling how wet you are becoming. Her hot, slender hands slide under your dress and touch your naked skin.

You break the kiss and throw your head back in pleasure, you painfully hit the cold mirror behind you with the top of your head, and Arlecchino removes one of her hands on your hips, and pulls this hand to your head, to the back of your head, to protect you from the unpleasant, cold pain.

You moan softly when someone else's lips touch your neck again. A hot tongue slides along your skin down to your collarbones. Arlecchino removes her hand from your hip and begins to feverishly quickly pull down the top of your dress, exposing your chest. When her hot mouth and hot tongue touch one of your nipples, you arch your back, breathing heavily and moaning with pleasure. If Harlequin hadn't protected the back of your head with her hand, you would have definitely broken the mirror.

The woman looks up at you, although she bends over because of her height. Her eyes burn with desire and anticipation when she sucks your nipple into her mouth again with her lips and makes a loud smack. You shudder again. You gently squeeze the other's breast, and your hand rests on her thigh.

The woman suddenly touches your breast in a certain place and hoarsely says: "What I like, I do not give. And if from this my hands become even more charred, then I will only enjoy it."

You suddenly understand where exactly this woman's hand is on your naked chest. Her hand is near the place where your flaming heart beats greedily. A crooked smile creeps onto your lips as you tremble with desire. You whisper with heat in your voice, looking at the blood-red streaks in the eyes of the woman in front of you:

"Well, then burn. Burn for me. Arlecchino.."

She thin lips opposite stretch into a hungry smile. You are kissed again, the tongue penetrating deep into your mouth. You respond to the kiss, clinging with your hands to the shoulders of Arlecchino.

You never really cared about the politics of other regions of Teyvat, too busy with your own problems. So you had no idea that this strange name "Arlecchino" had its own meaning, but you had a feeling that she was somehow connected with the fatui..

You were just thinking about how interesting this name was.

You will definitely understand everything much later: who this woman in front of you is, what she does, why her hands are so black, as if they were really charred. But maybe it's even for the best. Why prefaces and afterwords when the spark has already become a flame?

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee @s4nguiine

MY MAN

Late birthday post for my boy, wanderer (love him, main him, cried for him)

I’m not sure if I can say it’s suggestive; more like non sexual nudity?? okay, maybe a little bit, but really sweet Just wanted to point that out so no one is surprised

gn reader

Soft skin meets porcelain. Warmth lands onto that cold body of his. It’s weird, but somehow, he feels welcomed. With every motion of his hands, you feel like you’re about to be devoured. There’s something endearing in that, though. How gentle he is, yet also bold. It earns a chuckle from you.

When that freezing feeling reaches a certain spot, you shudder. He stops. Eyes laced with worry meet yours. A silent reminder of care. “It’s fine, you can go on” and so he does. Your hands wrap around his waist, to steady yourself. Uneven breaths tickle his neck, you never feel his. It all feels eerily.

He leans in, beautiful eyes staring at you, with that pleading expression you rarely see. You let him, eagerly welcoming that sweet feeling of his lips on yours. It’s the only time you feel his body heat. Deeper and deeper, he ventures, as if you’re some unknown land. Hands roam, with so much devotion even the quietest whispers can’t convey.

For a moment, there’s no friction between you. That human body of yours yearns for more, but patiently waits for the puppet’s choice. With that smile, you seem like a god in his eyes. A god he once tried to be, a goal he hoped to achieve with so much effort put, and so little practice of how to be one. You didn’t need it; you don’t need a gnosis, a perfect body (which you do have, in his humble opinion), a whole palace meant for you, you don’t need anything at all. Just one follower who’d die for your happiness - that is, him. How ironic; faithful followers is what he needed the most (even if he saw them as pests), and now he is that, which he hated the most - someone in love.

Warm skin melts with porcelain, like a candle. Two people turn into one in a dance of gentle love and passion. “Happy birthday. I love you always, and forever. Remember that, okay?” He loved you twice as much.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ NSFW ALPHABET꒱ ˎˊ˗ balladeer

wanna find out what your loved one likes within the framework of.. not exactly childish topics ?

✧ warnings — MDNI !! smut , fem ! reader, a bit of demisexual scara ? choking kink, electric sex, light humiliation, ✧ incomplete alphabet !!! ✧ a/n —This work is somewhat of an experiment, I welcome your participation in its development. Write to my inbox and write what character you want next. "Сhar name" + "for nsfw-alphabet", and then your application will be considered when writing. ✧ minors do not interact. !!

AYZHA NYREE x NO GUIDANCE REMIX 

✧ A: aftercare(after sex)

The night enveloped the room like a heavy curtain, absorbing sounds and light, but still there was a quiet rustle of your breathing. He sat on the edge of the bed, a puppet deprived of its thread, but he felt the one that was stretched between the two of you stronger than ever. His gaze, full of madness and devotion, riveted his attention to the sleeping you, who seemed invulnerable, immersed in a world of dreams and tranquility. The corners of his lips lifted when the sight of you a couple of minutes ago crashed into his head, so cute, so vulnerable, loudly moaning his name with shamelessly spread legs..

He could not even imagine how lucky he was to have you. After all his betrayals, after everything he had been through, you could not just leave him, he would not allow it. No.. If you leave him like everyone else - the whole teyvat will go to hell!

✧ B: bodypart(favorite body part)

Your shoulders and eyes.

Puppet approaches from behind when she notices you, not doing anything particularly serious. No one is going to attack you, scare you. And then gentle touches and strokes remain on your shoulders, as if Scaramouche is trying to warm you up, rub you. He likes to touch these places, outline each protruding bone with his finger, note your tension, see how your body is covered in goosebumps from his touch.

He leans forward, studying your shoulders with his lips a couple of times. And then you turn your head in a mixture of false displeasure, wanting to look into his indigo eyes, but notice a strange light in his gaze.

Eyes. He loves eye contact. He can just stare into them for hours… Seriously, he will do so if you give him the opportunity. He loves the way they sparkle and light up when you're happy. He loves the way they fill with tears when you're sad. He loves the fear in your eyes, the love, the excitement, everything. He can perceive all of you as art, reverent before this sight.

✧ G: goofy (how he perceives it)

Serious and slightly embarrassed. But over time, this changes. At first, he is surprisingly reserved and even more embarrassed, blushing and awkwardly switching to certain topics. This does not mean that he will not take you, but at first he will be cold and distant, almost nothing will be said, too embarrassed to call you dirty nicknames or humiliate you.

And his thirst for touch is partly a need. You are warm. The feel of your skin is soothing. He will not say that it is partly unrelated to sex, but sometimes, without realizing it, he puts his head on your shoulder when you sit on his lap.

Scaramouche was created to serve. To be a bearer of gnosis.. There is no sense of sexual arousal in his body, but "attraction" manifests itself on an emotional, psychological level, he wants you, but he does not want to "fuck" you into unconsciousness pressing you into bed, and say dirty things in your ear. He wants you differently, he wants to know that you desire him as much as he desires you, and an effective way to find out is to succumb to human lust for you. Scaramouche needs to know that he is not alone in this.

He is in a strange state during your bustiness, he takes the initiative, then he can become rough in touching and very tactile, but if sex becomes a topic of conversation, when this does not happen, then he worries about it, especially if you yourself bring it up.

But if it is not you, then an absolute "no." He is one of those who experience external disgust at the slightest mention of vanilla and sexual things. Even a puppet feels sick when he sees the manifestation of romance and love, when he hears it from his other subordinates, and he tells them to shut up or get out of his sight. But when he sees other people's looks and attention to your person, he can't help but show you that you should love only him.

✧ K: kink

Slight humiliation (not public!) / Possession / Marks

Humiliation..

He will shame you with words, making you blush and get angry, but you can't do anything about it.

"Stupid girl! How can you not understand? Have you seen their shameless, vicious looks at you? H-hah, don't tell me that you like it, tell me, honey, do you like it when I please you here?"

"Surely a naughty girl like you needed it.."

He lightly strokes your protruding ribs with his finger.

"She must have missed my fingers.."

He slowly whispers to himself, lowering your underwear, not taking his eyes off your clouded eyes.

"Missed my lips"

He kisses your neck softly and passionately, leaving an electric trace on your skin.

"Missed all of me, huh?"

Your eyes widen..

Possession..

He has always owned and owns you simply by being near you, without the need to tie you up and tie you to a leash. He kisses you passionately, harshly, desperately.. Touches you so that you tremble and press yourself closer to him for another portion of kisses that he joyfully gives you. His cold hands caress you gently, contrasting with your flushed skin, and these hands, stained with the blood of many people, grab and squeeze you like a vice, owning you.

And you will enjoy these hands? Yes, you will.

Marks..

The method doesn't matter. Anything will do. This is discovered by accident, after he unintentionally leaves behind a few bruises and scratches from digging his fingers too hard into your thighs. After that, he looks down at where you lie and sees the crescents of his nails… and then bruises appear there. It probably shouldn't be arousing… But it does, and he feels it again, hard to watch.

Over time, he realizes that this applies to other things too. To any visual signs that indicate his ownership of you. Because of them, he feels a comforting, but selfish feeling.

✧ O: oral

when he found out about this matter, he considered it as shameful as it was embarrassing, but when during your intimacy, you slightly embarrassedly asked him to caress you below, he did not understand at first, arching an eyebrow, mockingly looking at you. But after your explanation, he embarrassedly cleared his throat into his fist, and with a sigh went down, took off his hat, which was in the way, placing it on the wooden nightstand, he slightly spread your legs, exposing the view of your wet folds to his gaze.

Listening to your impatient sighs and exhalations and watching your swaying hips, he quickly threw out all thoughts about how humiliating it was for him.. How could he refuse his cute little kitten?

He couldn't stop, the sight of you gasping from his caresses and trying to move away from his grip on your hips… Delightful! Delightful your taste on his tongue, caressing your clitoris with increasing experience and intensity, your eyes rolling up and your moans.. All this is delightful!..

"Do you like it, my dear? Do you want more?.."

✧ H: hair

He often strokes the top of your head, fiddling with strands of your hair, watching with strange pleasure how you fear that he might suddenly tug you or squeeze your hair sharply from behind.

He does.

Listening to your moans, he brings his other, unoccupied hand to your hair, squeezing it, burying himself deep, making you squeal. But he will not hurt you too much. Why would he do that?

✧ D:(dirty secret)

He found himself thinking how often, in fragile moments of loneliness, he had imagined his hands closing softly but firmly around your throat, filtering the flow of air and life that made you so vulnerable and attractive. There was something radiant and terrible in these fantasies - a writhing, attractive light, but also a darkness full of despair and obsession.

He sighed, and in that moment, his mind was filled with images: how you looked at him in bewilderment, how your shining eyes were full of confusion and fear, how you tried to free yourself… It was a sweetness he felt in every moment of youre togetherness wit hnim. He adored you not only for your innocence, but also for the strength he felt when he dreamed of you broken, dependent, and, in the end, his. Wasn't that true love? How he dreamed of getting you, making you his own, learning what it was like to own not only a body, but also a soul… Although he had already soiled your soul long ago.

"Scream for me, my Persephone. Show the world how much I please you"

✧ N: no(what he won't do)

He doesn't want to hurt you too much during his "impulses" of love and possession, because his main goal is to show his beloved how he can "love". But he can't help but deny how much he likes using electro, he likes to see you choke and twitch from the prickles of electricity on your skin.

A feeling of constant risk sits in you, because you understand the level of closeness with someone who throws lightning and can easily kill you with a couple of magical manifestations. Sometimes eye contact with light indigo eyes makes you shudder, and you can't do anything about it.

✧ Y: yearning(libido)

Low, 4.5/10 which is not surprising, knowing his nature. But his physical attraction flows out of mutual emotional commitment or a desire to show love to you.

ITS BAD ASF..

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee @bl0odyd0kuro @himasgod @shyentsmissingink @crimsoncandy04 @ariiadnes @hitomisuzuya

˗ˏˋ ꒰ YOU ARE A LIGHT OF EYES OF MINE꒱ ˎˊ˗ ballader / wanderer

you are a ray of light in his impenetrable darkness..

✧ warnings — mention of angst, fem ! reader, doomed relationship, mention of organs. ✧ a/n — sorry for the absence, i was busy writing part 3 of the fic with yandere scara) but for now enjoy a little angst ( BRUUH I will delete this shii tomorrow 💀)

must listen with .. A Little Death – The Neighbourhood

Scaramouche had been stabbed in the back three times, but only after the third time had he finally learned not to expose her to the blow, but to strike first. It was easy to hate people - easier than he had initially thought. Vicious, petty, deceitful and infinitely selfless in their desire to prolong life at any cost, even when it was devoid of the slightest sense… They worshiped the Gods with the most sincere faces, and then sinned with selfless rapture. They smiled kindly, showered pleasantries as if they were gold coins, but each time they began to swear as soon as they realized that there was no longer any need for pretense.

And that made it even more disgusting to realize that some part of his non-existent puppet soul continued to stubbornly strive to acquire this very notorious "humanity". The emptiness where the ribs should have been itched and burned - and he hoped to fill this hole with someone else's blood, pain and suffering.

Killing people is also simple - simpler than he initially thought. They have fragile bones, soft skin and hot hearts that beat in his palms in the last dying fit with quivering clots of bloody flesh.

But the Balladeer did not see beauty in human hearts - slippery, disgusting to the touch and foul-smelling. Disgusting even from an aesthetic point of view. He sincerely tried to discern something in them that would arouse at least a bit of interest in him, but stubbornly did not find it. Or he simply desperately did not want to notice anything, in order to finally convince himself that imitation of people is a waste of time, effort, not worth its cost.

The Electro Archon puppet is created to be the perfect vessel for the Deity. He is above people by right of his birth, by any other right that exists. Electro Gnosis alone will be more than enough to replace some pathetic piece of flesh that drives blood through the veins.

The divine doll Electro Archon was hardly interested in the human body in such a… vicious and obscene aspect.

If he had no need for food, water, or banal rest, then for bed games - and even more so! And did Raiden think about such functions of the puppet organism, creating it…

But when he found such an innocent and bright creature as you, somehow managed to change his opinion about the human race. Hah.. In all his 500 years, he could not even imagine that a creature like him would so tenderly embrace, so passionately kiss and speak such sickeningly sweet words to some human maiden…; he always considered human feelings so alien and forgotten for him, Its uch an unearthly and alien feeling for him… so wrong, but so pleasant… It's as if you're dispelling his bitterness with your sweet taste.

He had no idea how he allowed some girl like you to cross the dangerous line and get so close to him.. Although he does not regret anything. But sometimes he thinks that it was better to kill you then than to break your fragile, like crystal soul into a thousand pieces… He initially understood that your attachment to him was a mistake. A terrible mistake.

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee

Happy Birthday, Wanderer!

"Happy birthday, Hat Guy. I finally found you! So, what do you think of my suggestion, eh? How about trying a new hairstyle? It'll totally lift your spirits!

"...Tch."

Yandere Genshin Men Memes

Repost since I managed to delete it

I was bored so I decided to make some yandere genshin men memes(^з^)-☆ (this is just for fun and they’re meant to be silly and stupid)

God this is so dumb＿|￣|○

Masterlist

(Ignore how the fonts are different)

✧ last song — AYZHA NYREE x NO GUIDANCE REMIX , yzha Nyree - No Guidance (sped up)

✧ favorite color — cool colors, black, maybe red

✧ last book — history of Russia LMAOO

✧ last movie — substance (pls help)

✧ last tv show — "следствие вели", honestly..

✧ sweet spicy or savory — ALL OF THIS! I LOVE TO EAT! RAHH

✧ relationship status — I'm single but in love))

✧ current obsession — scara/wanderer (but my girl has a special place in my heart)

✧ looking forward to — lot of things!!

@hitomisuzuya @shyentsfoundherink @hairstuckinmythroat @bl0odyd0kuro @himasgod @bladeswifesthings @simp4konig

Ten people I’d like to get to know better ᯓᡣ𐭩

Ty for the tag @thebiggerbear 💙💙

last song: Black Moon by Creeper

fav color: Blue

last book: Lovely War by Julie Berry

last movie: The Nightmare Before Christmas

last tv show: The Mandalorian

sweet/spicy/savory: Sweet!

relationship status: Single

last thing I googled: List of Horror Movie Monsters

current obsession: Jason Todd (as always) and Tea

looking forward to: Rewatching Over the Garden Wall

no pressure tags 🥰: @batchilla @sunnie-angel @jjenthusee @chaibarbie

˗ˏˋ ꒰ LABORATORY GAMES꒱ ˎˊ˗ Il dottore

Dottore decided to pamper his dear wife right in the laboratory

✧ warnings — NSFW, petting, wife ! assistant ! reader, dottore being loving , detailed description of genitals, no "pussy" "tits" etc.a bit non-canonical dottore (but I tried lol) ✧ minors do not interact. !! ✧ a/n — AAHHHH he's so hot, so elegant, but he scares me..

Dottore, taking you by the hands, escorts you and seats you in his chair. He leans on the armrests and hangs over you, leaning forward to kiss. Again, sweetly, with the desire for your lips, with feeling, relaxed. It seems to you that only he kisses like this - so imbued with the moment, so pleasantly.. You have long been convinced of this, now you only see confirmation.

For convenience, he puts his knee on the edge of the seat, between your legs. You hug him, raising your hands high, touch his shoulders, run your fingers along them and take hold of the edge of his black shoulder straps on his chest, wanting to feel your husband even closer. The chair awkwardly wobbles from side to side because of the hinge in the mount and the wheels on the stand. And it seems that one of you does not like this at all.

The harbinger moves away, stands up straight and, without asking you anything, moves the seat and its back to the table. It comes out somehow even rudely, you grin hysterically, seeing the strangely serious expression on your partner's face even behind his mask. And he is near you again, puts his palm in a black patent leather glove with blue palms on your thin neck, presses his thumb under your chin, lifting your face. The doctor kisses you again, but not for long, goes down and gives attention to your neck, pleasantly touching it with his lips. There are pale scars from his teeth on your shoulders. He still does not spare you. Unbuttons your shirt, doing everything even too quickly. Dottore is incredibly patient, you know, but… Now with you is not the same person with whom you spoke ten minutes ago.

"Maybe you have any bright preferences?" - He asks and with the nose of his beak mask outlines your cheekbone, tickling..

"Uh… I don't know…" - you feel awkward talking about this, that's all.

"Shyness is the enemy of debauchery. Flower." - he whispers in your ear, instantly spreading crowds of goosebumps on your shoulders.

"Don't you want to feel the best of what you can get?" — a soft and usually wet tongue runs along the shell of your reddened ear, it gets hotter..

"Dottore.. I…" - you are gently taken by the jaw and turned away, not letting you finish. He understood perfectly well what exactly of his actions turns you on, it was your whole body that betrayed you. The body-traitor, unconsciously giving an impulse to the fingers that yours squeeze the robe on someone else's shoulders.. The way you tremble and breathe heavily..

The doctor obviously knows well how the body works and reacts, and it is easier to read you than to read the title of a book. Now he is not interested in your curves, he needs a reaction. The essence of your desires, to understand who you are beyond common sense. To get to the truth, to the deepest plan, intentions. His "love" shifts to the collarbones, now open to the man. His butterfly kisses cover your bust, while his palms make their way to the belt. It is stuffy under your wet shirt, feelings are revealed anew when the scientist's fingers touch your back. You arch your chest forward, ribs become clearly visible, while Dottore unfastens your bra.

(And yet, when deeply in love, petting and sex are many times more pleasant than in other situations.)

A slight movement - Your bra is pulled up, your breasts are perfectly visible to your partner, who is trying hard not to examine you in too much detail so as not to embarrass you. Shame, shame after all.

One of your breasts is carefully squeezed in his palm, feeling it in a way that pleases you. Dottore, in order to restrain his sick impulses and not to scare you away, mentally prayed even to the damned Archons.

The blue-haired man kneels in front of you while you were sitting half-dry on the chair, he comfortably sat between your legs and thanks to his height, he leans towards your body on the chair, licks your areola with a tight movement, which causes a recoil between your already wet thighs, closing his lips he slightly sucks your nipple, pressing his finger on the second. You do not hold back a moan while inhaling, the sexual tension grows by the minute.

Next, your stomach is subject to attack, a weak spot for tickling, from which you twitch, trying to hold back involuntary laughter. The scientist takes your legs and puts them on his shoulders, looking into his eyes through his mask. You thought that it was impossible to blush even more than before? Well, it is very possible.

The heat burns your ears and cheeks. Incredible luck! you are wearing a skirt today… Yes, a skirt with gold inserts and patterns, quite detailed, in the style of Teyvat fashion. But today this skirt will be a provocation.

"What do you want to?…"

"To satisfy you," He enthusiastically turns his head and kisses your knee, not at all embarrassed to talk about what is happening.

You did not dare to answer, control is enough only to watch an interesting show under you. Dottore, having gone a little further with his lips along your limb, bites you, again with a hint of rudeness. Your nylon tights are running, what a bastard! They are expensive..! At the same moment you notice a clear and distinct reaction to what is happening on the scientist's trousers, it becomes somehow completely unbearable for you to sit and endure his.. attacks.

You offendedly let your right leg go from his shoulder, not having received its portion of kisses. The Doctor, not distracted from biting you, turns his gaze to the movement, but quickly turns around. You, looking at his groin, then at his mask, touch his erection with the toe of your foot, press lightly, and hear his sharp sigh. He lifts your pelvis and, taking you by the ankle, leans your foot against himself.

"Hmm, don't fool around, naughty girl" Having slightly come to his senses, the Doctor smiles. — "Come to me."

Of course, you lean over, it is clear why - even more kisses. The Harbinger, now with a clear intention, brazenly kisses your lips. His palm slides along the smooth fabric under your skirt, the hem of the skirt is already lifted due to the position. Now your thigh is crumpled by his long fingers, looking for the waistband of the tights. At the same time, Dottore presses his tongue on your lips, forcing you to open your mouth wider. A new vulgar gesture - the teeth are briefly outlined by the tongue, it moves towards yours. It strokes the roof of the mouth… For a second it seems to you that your husband's tongue is too long. Dottore has found the edge of your clothes, using his other hand he pulls them off you.

"You have a long tongue," you note out loud, already vaguely.

"Why do you think I talk so much?" — an object of interest opens up to your gaze… Archons…

Twice as long as average, together with the teeth it looks even slightly creepy, including unnatural. Your eyes widen, your cheeks are smothered with a blush, Dottore smirks and hides his dignity.

"Just genes"

"You never showed it before…" — You are shocked. What will happen now, Tsaritsa, have mercy…!

"Relax your muscles, just remember how it was the first time, haha.." — But still, the man is so calm and gentle, skillfully seasoning it with pepper of rudeness, that you cannot help but melt from excitement - it is impossible.

And Dottore keeps trying to pull your clothes off. Very intrusively. You are sprawled in a chair, led by your beloved, who, thanks to the position you have adopted, is still doing what he wanted. He is still on his knees, on the floor, between the tables, in an open laboratory, where one wrong move and an overturned flask can injure you both, He is going to satisfy you. What a shame, if someone comes in, you will not survive the shame!

His cold to the point of goosebumps hand, still elegantly covered with the fabric of the glove, touches you through your underwear. Strokes your vulva, slowly, viscously, torments, makes you almost fidget. He is handsome, damn elegant and smart, ideally knows anatomy and therefore understands perfectly what to do with you. Something in your lower abdomen is cramping from such thoughts, especially when he so dominantly and playfully pulls you towards him by your tie.

"Are you satisfied?" He whispers into your ear, you catch yourself thinking again that he sees your sensual gap and is pressing on it right now.

"Yes, but… That's not all, right?" — You insert a short, embarrassed answer, hug your lover's shoulders, he changes the position of his fingers on your external genitals - he puts his fingers on your clitoris, knowing the anatomy perfectly well, he instantly feels the organ.

"Hahaha… No, not all, darling" — His velvety and deep laughter reaches your ears, you involuntarily shrink in your chair.

"Wonderful, What an anatomy you have… Archons!" — He has such a tart whisper that butterflies fly in your stomach…

"You will do what I tell you, right?" —After a pause, you barely shake your head in agreement "Wonderful, my dear. Listen to elders, be a good girl,"

He exhales onto your skin, languidly, completely depravedly, — "How long do you think you'll last? Two? Three times?" — You sob pitifully into Dottore's shoulder, his dexterous fingers keep a clear and almost fast pace on your clitoris, and you are sensitive, especially because of trust. It appeared with the advent of experiments - after them He treated you carefully, honestly. He always felt sorry for you, all this is just for science, you help your beloved, you are ready to do anything for him. It's a pity, it seems so only in a fit of bright emotion.

"We will do everything so that you leave here on shaking legs, okay?" — Playfulness and craving in his tone, especially to warm you up. You feel the rush of pleasant sensation characteristic of an imminent orgasm. There was no need to say anything else, the first extravaganza hit you with a terrifying suddenness. Your fingers turned to stone, clutching the Doctor's robe, your breath caught, you barely breathe, receiving your well-deserved portion of all-consuming pleasure. You whine piteously, throwing your head back, listening to Dottore's approving hum.

What kind of reaction is this? Naturally, an orgasm that will overtake you too quickly to resist the feeling even a little. Dottore sees everything perfectly well and therefore, instead of brazenly interrupting your pleasure, he connects his long tongue, invading your warmth, making you literally jump on the chair, Dottore gently held your hips, forcing you to stay in place. After another thrust of his tongue inside you and massaging your clitoris - quickly brought you to the cherished climax.. You fell tiredly on the chair, throwing your head back.

"A successful and precise position of the fingers, foreplay and its continuation - the best mixture for getting an orgasm.. Don't you think so, darling?"

You should catch your breath for a minute, your partner patiently strokes your thighs, allowing this. He kisses somewhere behind the ear, since you are still hugging him. It's so strange, remembering the past, the end overtook you rarely in the company of a partner… Did the advantage of the profession work, or something else?

"Everything is fine?"

"Yeah… For some reason I feel so ashamed," - Ashamed.. It's because Dottore, during your work, said that sex and the caresses that come from it are disgusting. You generally thought that you would never get such a pastime from him, but fate decreed otherwise.

"No need to be ashamed. I am interested in watching you and participating in your satisfaction," - He cooed as straightforwardly and calmly as always.

"You are probably right. Oh, my leg is so cramped," - You smile embarrassedly and sit up straight, bending and unbending the mentioned part of the body.

"My poor girl, was I too hem, harsh with you?"

His charming voice and the same expression on his face.. And for some reason Dottore still doesn't get up from his knees, still sitting between your depravedly spread legs. You notice this and want to quickly cover your legs together, but Dottore's torso gets in the way.. He notices your nervousness, grins and slowly lifts the mask up.

"Is it okay for you to sit on the floor?" - You adjust your skirt, placing it on your knees.

..

"So we haven't finished our.. little experiment.." His smile is ingratiating, even creepy, he slightly tilts his head up, looking at you with a cloudy gaze, now you can clearly see his red eyes under the slightly raised beak-mask.

"In that case, why should I get up?"

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