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nomazee · 2 months

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close to your heart and that bed of yours too

you've been having the same weird dream about dan heng, over and over, and it just so happens that he's had the same dream, too.

dan heng x gn reader — 2.4k — super suggestive content but definitely nothing serious or graphic, some guilt abt attraction, dreams, romantic fantasies but not weird ones, kissing and closeness and physical touch, literal sleeping together

notes: forgive me and my debaucherous writing... this is nowhere near smut but it's definitely suggestive they get touchy and feely but it's very emotions-focused...oh my god what did i write this is so

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

It’s probably not possible to get cabin fever on a constantly-running space train, but that’s the only reasonable explanation for the weird, weird recurring dream you’ve been having about Dan Heng. It’s not— not that weird, not weird enough that you feel like a complete deviant, but enough for you to realize that it’s a complete reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires, and that scares you more than anything.

The dream— it goes like this:

You wake up—not in real life, but in the dream world, which freaked you out the first time because you didn't realize you were dreaming at all so you thought everything was entirely real—and it’s usually because of the noise of your door sliding open. The instinct to look and see who it is doesn’t hit you. You lay there, gaze fixed distantly on the steel surface of your ceiling until the feeling of your bedsheets moving next to you pushes you to full awareness.

You still don’t move your gaze until you feel a body—warm, breathing, real real real?—lift up your blankets and slide underneath them, pressing next to you, curling into your side as if seeking out your life source. Your breath catches in your throat every single time as you turn to see that it’s Dan Heng, still dressed in his work clothes because he doesn’t understand the concept of pajamas, and his arm reaches around you and curls around your shoulder and he rests his head on your collarbone, gently, and you can feel his breath fan against the fabric of your shirt and your skin.

Dan Heng says your name with reverence, with something like desire, and it makes your stomach clench and he turns his body into you more. He tucks his leg between yours—not moving, just sitting there, a reminder of him, his warmth—and he’s so, so warm, it amazes you that he’s like a furnace, and that he’s so unbothered by laying so close to you under all of your blankets.

And he says your name again, each and every time, and it spurs something in you and you bring your arms around him each and every time, and pull him close, and feel the way he shudders, like a cold breeze wracking his body, like he’s never been this close to anyone before, and it dawns on you that he probably hasn’t—and that thought alone spirals into the realization that Dan Heng would never do this—

And then you wake up. Each time.

The first time it happened, you didn't realize it was a dream, and you were so overwhelmed with thought after thought and feeling after feeling and sensation after sensation. When you finally woke up, it felt like you were grieving a loss. You felt too cold, and too empty, and curled into yourself and laid in your bed for an hour taking in shaky breaths until you finally got over yourself.

You couldn't face Dan Heng for that entire day. Which was fine, because he spent his whole day in his room shuffling through the archives, so he was easy to dodge. But then you dreamt of him again. And again, and again, and then it just became a part of your nighttime routine to dream of your own friend so intimately and then wake up and pretend like nothing matters and nothing changed. Pretend like you didn't feel anything, and pretend like these dreams didn't flood you with guilt about your sick sick feelings and your sick sick fantasies.

You tried to rationalize it, make yourself feel less awful. The dreams never went past him laying beside you, for the most part, and you preferred it that way. If they got any more intimate than they already were, you would’ve thrown yourself off the Express the next morning.

Regardless, the Dan Heng in your dream and the Dan Heng that you saw every morning were different people, because the Dan Heng you saw every morning would never get so close to you. Would never lay in your bed and breathe on your neck like that.

Never. That distinction is the only thing that convinces you to let yourself dream. You indulge, and it’s sickening, but you let your dreams happen over and over, and each time you hold Dan Heng tighter and tighter and tighter, and let him breathe against your neck, and feel the rush of his blood circulating through his body.

One night, in one iteration of this dream, Dan Heng kisses you. It feels so real that it makes you nauseous. His lips were warm and damp and clumsy against the corner of your mouth, and he let out anxious breaths until you tangled your hands in his hair and tugged him closer and kissed him back.

You woke up sick, running to your bathroom to puke in the sink as your hands shook in guilt. Somehow, you could still talk to Dan Heng normally that day, stomach twisting only the slightest bit whenever your gaze lingered on him for too long.

Welt might have noticed how weird you were acting. There was a nagging furrow in his brow and he caught your gaze more than once and each time, you felt waves of humiliation crash into you, flooding you in heat and guilt and vertigo. He looked like he wanted to pry in that odd, awkward, old-man-paternal way of his, but you just shook your head and looked away and begged, hoped, wished upon a star that you would have a normal dream tonight.

The night— it goes like this:

You lay in your bed, staring at your ceiling, leftover remnants of guilt swimming in your lungs and nightly congestion forcing you to take shallow breaths through your mouth. Thoughts run through your mind and slam into your skull at rapid speed. Has Dan Heng noticed how weird you’ve been acting? He hasn’t treated you any differently, but maybe it’s out of pity. Maybe you haven’t been paying enough attention, because you’re so busy replaying that dream over and over and over, obsessive, wondering if you should just let go of the rope you’re suspended on and slam into the water and drown in your wants and your needs.

So you close your eyes, and you let yourself drift off and wake back up in your dream. You’re on your side now, instead of on your back, and the door is on the far wall behind you. You still hear it slide open, as it always does in this dream, and the footsteps get closer until you hear the shuffling of someone kneeling behind you. And then there’s nothing.

Your blankets don’t get lifted up. There’s no warm body tucking itself next to you. But there’s— a voice, Dan Heng’s voice, and your heart sinks into your stomach as you hear the pitch of his voice, the vibrations of sound.

“Are you awake?”

Your brow furrows, and you clench and unclench your fists twice before parting your dry, trembling lips. He’s never spoken in a dream before, not like this. He’s only ever said your name. Your fingers twitch with the instinct to pinch yourself.

“Yes,” you respond, hoping that the confusion isn’t clear in the timbre of your voice. “What’s— is something wrong?”

“No,” he says immediately. Clothes rustle as he adjusts himself. You’re scared to turn around and face him. You don’t know what you’d see. “You…” and he pauses, thinking of his words. Dan Heng would rather take a full minute to think about what to say, what words to pick, instead of stumbling over syllables, and it’s so unlike your own habits and as you think of this, your fingers twitch again. This time with the desire to hold his hand, because that’s what you’re supposed to do in this dream, but everything feels too real now and you don’t know where you are.

Finally, he finds his words. You’re patient with him. “I can’t sleep alone,” he whispers, as if embarrassed to admit it, “not tonight. I trust you.”

God. He can’t say that. He shouldn’t say that, because your head is spinning and you’re going to throw up. Your hand finds the strength to pick itself up and pinch the skin of your forearm. You’re not dreaming.

“Yeah,” you cough out, sniffling afterwards to cover up your budding anxiety as you finally sit up and turn to face him. “Yeah, you can, um. Sleep here.”

When he finally enters your field of vision, he looks the same as he always does—both in your dreams and in real life. It makes you sick. The guilt that you feel now comes more from the fact that he’s still in his typical outfit instead of pajamas.

“Dan Heng,” you start as you shuffle back on your bed to make space for him. He follows your motion, kneeling on the edge of your mattress before adjusting the sheets around you to tuck himself underneath and lay down. “We need to get you pajamas. I don’t know how you sleep like that.”

“I don’t sleep,” he admits, “not usually. I don’t need a lot of sleep.”

“You do. You might not think so, but you probably do. I wish I had a spare set of pajamas, but— they’re all, um, in the wash right now.”

“It’s okay. Your blankets are nice.”

Words tingle against your gums, syllables of confessions lighting up in your mouth. You want to tell him that a dream-version of him has slept under a copy of these blankets multiple times before, that you’ve dreamed for weeks about him curled into you and sleeping, and saying your name, and kissing the corner of your mouth. Right now, you’re just laid side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, but you can feel how warm he is and his hand is so close to yours and you just want to hold it. You want him to say your name and look at you and hold your hand.

“Good,” you say instead of everything else that you could say, because you have a sense of self control at times.

Then Dan Heng says your name, rolling onto his side to face you, hands tucked underneath the side of his face in a stupidly endearing sleeping position. You follow suit, because your self control isn’t that strong. He doesn’t say anything else. Just your name, once. With reverence and desire. Maybe you’re dreaming it, but you pinch your knuckles again and yet you’re still in the same room with the same man in front of you.

One of your arms is bent between you two, hand resting on the pillow that separates you two. Dan Heng’s own hand—warm, and breathing, and real— comes up to rest on top of yours, and you cannot believe any of this is happening. You want to pinch yourself again but his hand is curling around yours and he’s inching forward and you hope that your deer-in-headlights expression doesn’t scare him off.

“Dan Heng,” you whisper, voice cracking with an embarrassing desperation. It’s a warning for him, before he does whatever he’s about to do. But he says your name, again, and his face is so close to yours that you can feel every breath fan against your face, and your entire body is warmed and your hand flips over to hold his, fingers slipping between his and tightening around it.

“Have you had these odd dreams these last few nights,” he asks, a leading tone in his voice, “because I have. About you,” and he’s too honest, and you have to swallow your saliva before it turns into sweat and blood, and you feel his hand squeeze back around yours. His is shaking, and you find some kind of comfort in knowing that you’re not the only one.

“Yeah,” you answer, because you can’t get more than one syllable out at a time tonight. Could anyone blame you? Would Dan Heng blame you for that, afterwards, even though his face is so close and his hand is so warm and it’s tight around you, and he’s shuffling around again, constantly fidgeting, and he takes his other arm and slides it around you, hand between your shoulder blades. He hooks a leg between yours, tugging you closer and closer and closer. You’re blinking at him, heart caught in your throat and eyes landing on his lips so that maybe he’ll finally take the hint.

He does. He does, and as cliche as it is, it’s better than your dream. He kisses you, desperate, and right before your eyes flutter shut you catch the contemplative furrow in his brow. His mouth is—warm, damp, but you feel the crack in the skin in the center of his bottom lip. It scrapes against you and you can’t help the shaky sigh you release at the feeling, and the hand on your back curls into the fabric of your sleep shirt.

Your eyes are closed, tight, scared that if you open them, you’ll just wake up back in your room, alone and cold again with your empty steel ceiling. Dan Heng’s mouth is moving against yours with a practiced proficiency that you’re almost jealous of. You let your tongue trace the edges of his teeth, carnal in your desires, before you bite down on his lip hard enough to leave a temporary dent. He shudders, hand trembling against yours and lips pulling back from yours as he tucks his head into your neck and lets out shaky breaths lines with addictive sounds. You’re going crazy. He’s driving you crazy.

The hard, carved metal parts of his clothes dig into you. Your hand goes around him to rest on the back of his head, threading through his hair as his breathing slows against you. “We can go shopping somewhere tomorrow,” you tell him, already thinking of how you’d convince Pom-Pom to land at some shopping district of some planet. “You need pajamas.”

“There’s no need for me to have that,” he says, stubborn and set in his ways, even with something as mundane as sleep clothes. “My normal clothes are fine.”

“Not if you’ll be sleeping in my bed.”

And that makes him succumb to your whims, much too easy for your own good, and you laugh when he lets out a weary sigh at your reciprocal stubbornness. Your fingers keep combing through his hair, soft and meaningful, until he falls asleep. You think you'll get him a blue plaid pajama set. He'd look nice in it.

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harbingersglory · 4 months

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Mayhaps something with (transfem) Kujou Sara fucking a bratty reader who (intentionally) pisses her off to the point where she goes all out with her full inhuman strength, ultimately knocking them up completely by accident because she was so caught up in the moment she forgot to pull out?

I bet nobody expected her to be first out of her siblings to become a parent, least of all herself, but she ain’t complaining!

{☆} characters kujou sara {☆} notes drabble, implied fem reader, sub reader, transfem kujou sara {☆} warnings 18+ content, breeding kink

Kujou Sara was not one to allow herself to lose her ironclad control– she was a general, above all else, a servant of the Almighty Shogun.

Yet try as she might, you..you had a way of getting under her skin in a way that had her patience and will tested. Maybe it was the bratty, teasing demeanor that had her jaw clenched so hard it creaked, or maybe it was the provocative words you'd whisper in her ear while she was trying to focus.

It was irrelevant in the face of her dragging you back to her quarters, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed into a thin line– she tried to be gentle, but her grip was firm on her arm as she pulled you into the delicately managed room, her composure cracking like shattering glass. She wanted to wipe that smug grin off your face when she slammed her hands against the door, the wall nearly splintering beneath barely restrained strength, her expression..less than amused.

"Just what are you trying to accomplish?" She ground out, her teeth aching from how hard she was clenching her jaw– and, though she refused to outwardly admit it, your little..distraction was working far better then she wanted to admit to even herself. "I told you not to..to do such things while I'm working. Do you ever listen?"

She nearly growled– like some common beast, she thinks, and she is glad for her tempered control that she did not embarrass herself in such a way. She still had her dignity. But Archons, you were testing that control even still– the way your tongue poked out like a child, mocking and teasing, as if you wanted her to snap.

She almost considered it, but..you were human, she had to remind herself. Archons knows she's never forgive herself if she actually hurt you.

"What? Can the General not handle a little playful banter?" Sara opened her mouth to snarl back a reply, but she closed it but a sharp click just as quickly, a grimace gracing her features instead. "Is that all it takes to rile you up?"

She wants to deny it, keep her sense of control, but damn it– the way your hands glide across her skin, your nails just barely ghosting across the flexing muscles of her back..she feels her control slipping faster then she can maintain it, her lip quivering.

"You.." She croaks out in reply, trying to subdue the uneasy urge that lingers in the back of her mind with every glance down at you, every touch of your hands, every word that drips from your lips like honey. The silence is broken by a low growl, her hands tugging you off your feet and practically shoving you onto the bed.

"What? Are you going to shut me up? Or are you going to admit you enjoy it?"

Fine, she thinks, fine! If this is what you want so badly, she's going to shut you up the only way she knows she can.

She wastes little time between shoving you onto the bed and climbing on it herself, one of her hands reaching up to tangle in your hair as she shoves your face into the mattress, her other hand fumbling with your clothes– just enough to expose your dripping cunt to her, nostrils flaring at the sharp tang of your arousal, her teeth bared in a snarl.

She can't help the raspy groan that tumbles from her lips at the sight– you looked perfect like that. Quiet, your face forcibly held down, your thighs soaked in your own arousal. She absentmindedly wonders if you'd been so wet the entire time– if you'd just been waiting, no, practically begging for her to just..she can't even finish the thought, her hands trembling and her control slipping even further.

Her free hand fumbles with the hem of her own shorts, freeing her straining, twitching cock, pre cum beading at the tip. Her fist tightens in your hair as she leans over you, pressing her chest against your back and aligning her aching cock to your entrance. She almost snaps out of the fog clouding her rationality, but it returns in full force when she snaps her hips forward, sinking into your cunt with a sharp hiss.

"Fuck," Sara curses beneath her breath, groaning at the tight heat enveloping her– Archons, she'd never get used to it. It only drove her further over the edge, rolling her hips to force more of her cock into you. "Not..not going to talk back?" She growled, huffing and releasing her hold on your hair to instead slip her fingers past your lips. The muffled, garbled response was..far more enjoyable than she expected, the hazy eyed look as she sunk fully into you.

It made her feel lightheaded, to be honest. She was getting a bit too carried away, but the way your walls squeezed against her..her teeth ached for an entirely different reason, tongue swiping over the sharp points before she leaned down to sink them into your shoulder, pulling out and slamming back in with a muffled groan. Her pace was frantic after that, dragging moans and whimpers from your throat like a chorus of broken notes.

She hated how easily you got under her skin, but damn it, she couldn't deny how good it felt to put you in your place. You couldn't even get away if you tried– you were human, and while it made you fragile it also made you weak. Easier to handle.

Even if your tongue was far sharper than your appearance would make one believe.

Archons, she was so close, though. She pulled her fingers from your mouth, nearly crumbling at the moan that tumbled openly from your lips immediately after– she may have chastised you for your attitude, but she still thoroughly enjoyed hearing you. Just knowing you were unable to form anything more complex then senseless babbling was a special kind of high.

She wants to speak, but even her own words fail her beyond a low groan, the absence filled with the slick sound of her wild thrusts, caring little about the stinging ache in her thighs as she pounds you into the mattress without a shred of hesitation or rationality beyond fucking you into silence.

A small part of her, the rational part, tried to remind her to pull out– but your cunt felt so fucking good she just kept going despite the sirens blaring in her head. Even as your limbs tensed and your voice grew hoarse from screaming, she kept you beneath her, nipping at your throat to leave her mark against your skin. She was so close, just..just a little more. Just a little longer. Archons, she doesn't ever want to leave– doesn't ever want to pull out.

Her hands grasp your hips tightly as she nears her own climax, slamming back into you with a broken moan– she barely registered the fact she had cum inside you beyond the thrill of it dribbling down your thighs, not even her cock enough to keep you plugged up as she tried to gain some semblance of control through the haze.

..Fuck. She was going to regret this. She was, every so slowly, coming back to her senses– the first thing she felt was embarrassment, then panic, and then resignation.

At the very least she hadn't accidentally fucked you into unconsciousness on accident.

She was much gentler as she sat up, her cock still half hard as she pulled out, inhaling sharply at the way her cum dripped down onto the sheets. She hated how arousing it was. No– no. She needed to get a hold of herself.

But then again..you didn't seem to be complaining, at least not yet. She hesitantly lifted her eyes to see your expression, her throat suddenly feeling dry at the smug satisfaction on your face.

#genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #minors dni #writing tag #kujou sara smut #kujou sara x reader #do you understand what this felt like to open my inbox and see this #it felt like a shotgun blast pointblank to the chest /pos #i am a weak man at heart i see breeding kink mention and my brain turns off #respectfully. lovingly. i am going to suplex you.#my weakness being used against me ohhh its over for me. if it isnt obvious by the word count idk man #quick hack into getting me to write for you. breeding kink. passes out #AND KUJOU SARA TOO??? lord have mercy #i am an electro women enjoyer this felt extremely personal #if this fic isnt coherent thats bc it isnt. i blacked out writing this. dont ask

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cashmoneyyysstuff · 6 months

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katsuki bakugou hates a lot of things

he hates people who walk slow, he hates people who chew loudly or people who talk loud in places they know damn well they shouldn’t.

he hates when people walk on the back of his shoe and he hates idiots like kaminari who talk during movies.

but most of all, katsuki bakugou hates seeing you cry.

it sparks something in him, something red, hot and so angry when he finds you in your dorm. tears running down your cheeks that show no sign of stopping. he hates it even more when you make eye contact and you curl into yourself even more from where you’re sitting on the floor.

katsuki immediately decides this is the thing he hates the most.

he’s on you in seconds, kneeling in front of you, searching around to get a peek of your face hidden in your knees. he places his hands on top of yours where they’re wrapped around your legs and his chest tightens when you flinch a little.

“ who was it ? who did this to you ?” he can’t recognize his own voice, his words come out so fast he barely registers what he’s saying.

you try to speak but nothing but more broken sobs and shaky breaths come out as you desperately try to catch your breath and katsuki realizes that you talking isn’t a priority right now.

his eyebrows are furrowed and he almost looks angry but he’s so, so worried. if anything, he’s angry at himself for being so helpless, for not being able to help you in a time where you clearly need it.

he grabs your shoulder softly and the weight his chest lightens slightly when you lean a little closer to him, before letting him pull you tightly into his arms

“breathe for me.” he utters softly, voice gruff and gravelly. he never actually talks this softly unless he’s around you, the difference is so stark it surprises him a little bit but he’s got more important things to think about. praise spills from him occasionally, muttering a “you got it. i got you” into your ear before pressing a kiss to your temple.

katsuki’s never really had to comfort anyone, he’s never felt the need to, but you’re not just anyone. your different, you’re his. his love his everything and he’ll be damned if he didn’t try his hardest for you.

you’ve calmed down a little bit, he noticed. you’re breathings calmed down a little and your sobs have been reduced to snivels. the tightness in his lungs is still there, but it’s less now.

“what’s goin’ on with you, hm ?” you’re grip tightens on his arm and you shove your head deeper into his chest. he moves his head away from your shoulder so he can place two small kisses on the top of your head

“talk to me, baby. needa know what’s up with you.” he pleads into the crown of your head. you sigh before speaking up.

“ i don’t know what’s up with me i just- it’s nothing bad i’m—” you’re desperately searching for the right words to use so what you’re about to say makes sense. “i just don’t—feel like myself today. i don’t know why, i just feel really bad today.” you let out a humorless chuckle and your voice dies out when you finish “m’sorry if i worried you” you sniffle.

he shushes you, his grip on you tightens when he hears you whimper “don’t..don’t fuckin’ apologize to me, got no reason to.” he spits. he sounds angry, and he is, why should you ever feel the need to apologize for feeling some type of way around him ?

“s’okay for you to feel that way..i do too, sometimes, you know ?” he knows you do. he knows you do because there are times where he comes to your room in tears, shaking and panicked. completely and utterly lost from the nightmares that had plagued him minutes before but knowing he had to come see you. you were there for him every time, gently soothing him and assuring him that he’d be okay. he owed it to you to do the same for you.

“s’okay to feel like shit sometimes, happens to the best of us.” he whispers “ but you can always come to me when you do, can deal with it together. an’ don’t go thinkin’ yer ‘bothering’ me either.” he says, parroting what you had just told him. “we’re together for a reason, dummy.” he’s soft spoken and his voice is so mellow despite his harsh little nickname for you, you could’ve missed it if he wasn’t sitting so close to you, it makes you a little dizzy and a little weaker in you’re already mushy knees.

he grabs your shoulders gently to get your eyes on him. they’re still a little glossy but they’re a little less dull when he looks at you “ we’re in this together, always have been, always will be, got it ? “ he asserts, waiting for your response. and then you smile at him, it’s faint but it’s there and katsuki feels like he can breathe again. he smiles back softly at you when you respond with a soft “okay.”

you suddenly grab onto him and pull him into you tightly, locking him in a tight embrace and squeezing like you’re pressing a lemon. it throws him off for a second before he’s squeezing you just as hard, pressing your body against his.

“thank you, katsuki. you’re the best” you hum. he presses a long lingering kiss to your temple as response, before squeezing around your waist “ course i am.” he gloats. the smirk on his lips grows when you snort in response “what’re you laughing about, hah? don’t think so? don’t think i’m the best ?” he jests, using this as an opportunity to tickle you mercilessly. you kick and squirm but it’s no use, katsuki doesn’t stop until you’re a heaving , giggling mess. tears in your eyes as you plead and beg for him to stop but he doesn’t let up even when you’re laying on the ground with him on top of you.

“ i ain’t hearing what i wanna hear, you know what i want from you, baby.” he chuckles at the way you desperately gasp for breath, choking on your own spit in the process.

“y-you’re the ! the best, ‘suki ! the b-bestest of the best !” you gasp out, pushing blindly at his face to get him away from you and he finally let’s you go. “felt nice enough to let you off with a warning, won’t end well for ya if you try me again.” is what he says, playfully warning you and waving his finger around in your face. you’re completely out of breath, there are tears in your eyes again but they’re happy tears this time and you still can’t stop smiling and giggling as you try to bite at his finger and katsuki is more than happy with this.

because katsuki’s favorite thing is your smile.

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mxfrodo · 2 months

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y'all for fucking real. don't fucking write slave fics or x reader fics of aventurine's slavery??? are you guys out of your goddamn minds???

#i swear half of you don't fucking think.#what makes you think it's okay or “angsty” to write fics about suffering like that #especially without nuance?? or any understanding of the ramifications #its one thing to write about it being integrated into his past #but it's another thing to write it as an *in the moment* thing #especially if you're writing it to portray him being bought again -- who gives a shit if the reader “saves” him or “treats him nicely”#that's still a perpetuation of the cycle of abuses #like it's still already brain dead of hoyoverse to write about the suffering of POC by using a fair skinned blonde man #but come on #i thought we were better than this??#like yeahh #dont get me wrong - i love aventurine and his development. the writing is amazing despite how bad form using very white features #to portray a real race of color and it's suffering (the romani)#but you guys. come the fuck on #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #i know it's “NOT THAT SEROUS” because it's a fictional game but im still putting tags for racism and slavery bro. wtf y'all #tw racism #tw slavery #random talk

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4st4rion · 6 months

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if you ever feel like it i would love to see a fic where astarion's ears are particularly sensitive + tav finds out about this and begins testing his limits !! i wanna see him lathered in love and taken care of and made to feel good + i really love your fics🤍

ao3 link!

this was SUCH a cute prompt!! I had fun whipping this up 😊 let me know if you're on ao3 and I can gift it to you there as well!

made to feel good

500ish words, rating teen to mature, ear petting and some kissing, and second person pov (so astarion x you)

It happens by complete accident.

You just... Reach out. His hair is wild, as usual, and you think it'd be cute to tuck it behind his ear, and he shivers at your warm fingers brushing over it.

Time stops; he looks as surprised as you feel, like cornered prey, and you pull your hand back quickly.

"Sorry," you say, fast. "Was that uncomfortable?"

"No," he says, also fast, and his voice cracks in half on it. "No, no, it was... It was fine," he says, looking away from you and then back, then away again.

Nervous. You haven't seen him nervous like this in a while.

Slowly, you reach out again — he has ample time to stop you or tell you not to, but instead, he leans imperceptibly closer. He trusts you, deeply and fully, and your heart swells with love being reminded of it once again.

This time, you run two fingertips over his ear with plain intent. You trace the shape of it from the base to the tip, and he shudders.

"That is... Rather nice," he admits, so quiet you can only just hear him over the crackle of the fire.

You turn toward him properly and bring your other hand to his opposite ear, and this time, you pet your thumbs over the lobes and dip into the ridges, gently massaging warmth into his corpse-cold skin.

"Is this okay?"

He nods.

You continue.

At some point, he shuts his eyes. He leans into your touch like a satisfied cat leaning into pets, and it's hard not to smile at how relaxed he looks as you pet and squeeze his ears from top to bottom.

You pause briefly to pet his face, too, thumbing lightly over his cheeks and pecking him on the lips, and his eyes remain shut as he smiles in your hands.

Gods, he's beautiful. You still can't believe you're lucky enough to be with him.

You kiss him again, fingers returning to his ears, and he makes a soft, needy noise against your mouth when you stay there and he kisses back.

You stay like that for a while, kissing while your hands idly stroke and pet his ears. You scoot closer in the dirt to hold him and he scoots closer to be held, the two of you slowly entangling as much as you can with as little movement as possible.

You don't pull away until he whines against your mouth and you can feel him squirm against you.

It's only the two of you that remain at the fire in the middle of your camp. Everyone else went to their tents a while ago.

"Would you like to go to your tent?" you ask quietly, and his eyes shoot open.

"Yes," he says too quickly.

He clears his throat.

"Yes," he repeats, in a lower, more seductive tone. "I would like that."

"Okay," you say, and kiss him one more time.

You sit there nose to nose for another long moment before his smile falters. Your smile grows wider when he stands abruptly and turns away, toward his tent, and you make out the outline of a bulge in his breeches as he does.

You wonder how he'll react when you put your mouth to work on his ears, too, an even warmer heat than your fingers and much more tactile.

You imagine you'll find out.

#astarion #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #idk what else to tag this tbh. it'll reach its audience idk lmao

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chronically-ghosted · 2 months

Text

fade into you

rating: Explicit (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 4K

summary: counting down the days until the new baby arrives, you’re already wound to a breaking point. Fortunately, Dieter is as good a husband as he is a father.

warnings: pregnancy, hormonal behavior due to pregnancy, fluffy cute behavior with kids, oral (m!receiving), Dieter is a sensitive king and loves your tummy, brief body insecurity, pregnancy sex, smut, thigh fucking, daddy/mommy dynamic – mostly tongue in cheek, and finally the return of the greatest tag gone far too long from our lives - daddy!dieter

a/n: congrats @burntheedges you are the first prompt for my 1k follower celebration! This was your prompt for Dieter: "Your shirt is inside out." "Can you help me fix that?" This takes place in the same universe as Little Monsters, but you don’t have to have read that one to understand this one. Thank you SO much for sending this in!

🤍Dieter Bravo Masterlist 🤍Masterlist

I wanna melt in I wanna soak through I only wanna move when you move I wanna breathe out when you breathe in then I wanna fade into you

“C’mon – c’mon, just –,” your outstretched toe barely scrapes the end of the pen. You’re sweating – of course, you’re sweating, you’re always sweating these days. You try inching further down on the bed, as far as your aching back will allow, your leg fully extended, stretched so long you know you’re just flirting with a massive cramp –

You manage to snag the pen between your toes but as you bring it forward, the weight of the top slips back – “fuck, no!” and with a clatter, the pen tips backwards out of your grasp and onto the floor. After spending ten minutes trying to a fucking pen that you accidentally put there only after you managed to roll your way off the bed to go to the bathroom for the third time in forty-five minutes, the weight of it all hits you. The massive weight of you sinks back against the pillows, eyes scrunched shut, begging yourself not to cry.

You had all but demanded some time alone to work on the bills the producer wanted you to sort through. It was the last thing on your to-do list before you mentally allowed yourself to start your maternity leave and at this rate, it would be done by the time the nearly-grown baby in your stomach was a walking, talking ten year old. In that weird sixth sense mothers and their unborn children share, you feel your son turn and gently one foot presses against your forearm draped over your massive belly. In any other context, your heart would have been made ten times stronger, fortified by the love of your son.

Right now, it just makes you burst into tears.

You’re crying so hard you don’t hear the back door open, or the rousing chorus of Baby Shark that echoes through the house. If you were listening, you’d hear the squelch of wet flip flops traipsing through the kitchen floor, the song only occasionally broken by giggles and jokes about towel monsters coming to get little girls who drip water all over the living room, and a loud raspberry on soft skin.

He opens the door before you even have time to try to pull in the loud, wailing sob.

“Baby, look at –,”

“Dieter, don’t –,” you snatch up a pillow and shove your face into it, ashamed, embarrassed, and angry all at once. “Don’t look at me like this.”

When he had left you an hour ago, you had your hot tea by the side of the bed and your game face on – one of your sexier faces, if anyone asked him. You swore up and down this was the last thing and then it was smooth-sailing. You loved overworking yourself even while eight months pregnant, so Dieter and your doctor managed to make an agreement with you: all work must be done in bed.

You had your tea, a snack, even a towel wrapped around the headboard so you could pull yourself upright out of the bed to go to the bathroom unassisted while Dieter and Zelle went down to the pool . You, like you so often do, had a fool-proof plan. And to be quite honest, those were Dieter’s favorite kind of plans.

Listening to his ‘you think I can’t do it? watch me, fuck you’ wife and mother of his child (soon to be another) wail like the house was on fire made something inside of him break on a microscopic level. Like his organs were suddenly perforated with a million tiny cuts.

His bottoms still wet from the pool and Zelle’s wet suit quickly soaking the front of his t-shirt, Dieter approaches, his hand squeezing the arch of your foot to let him know he’s there. That did nothing to deter the anguish sobbing or inch the pillow away from your face.

With Zelle on his hip, he slides closer, touching you the whole time until he’s seated right beside you, his hand on your thigh. Your sobbing might only be second to Zelle’s own yelling cry in successfully destroying him from the inside out.

“Baby . . .”

You don’t flinch but he sees your knuckles go white – you’re nearly at the end, but you can’t seem to stop. As Dieter waffles between drawing you into his chest with his free arm or just being there for you while you let it all out, the weight on his hip shifts and a little pudgy hand brushes the back of your knuckles.

“Mama?”

Your sobbing stutters to a halt with a deep hiccup and all at once you go still. Very slowly, the pillow is lowered and your pink, snotty, dribbly face peers up at him. It’s not funny for you, and he knows this and he knows he won’t laugh but he wants nothing more than to pull you in close and kiss off those tears that have been nearly a constant presence in the last two weeks. Instead, his little girl beats him to it.

Zelle wiggles off his hip towards you and you take her in your arms, letting out one more whine as she wraps her tiny arms around your neck. She rubs her little face in your neck and you huff.

“Now, I feel silly,” you blubber. With a small chuckle, Dieter reaches over and gets a few tissues from the bedside table. He hands them over and you try to juggle Zelle and reaching over your swollen tummy to take them.

“C’mere, baby, let Mama have a second.” Zelle folds into his shoulder, her bright, inquisitive eyes never leaving your face as you wipe yourself dry and blow your nose. He rubs your thigh in circles. “You’re not silly. Whatever ever made you break out into deep sobs on a Thursday afternoon in our secluded bedroom is totally normal.”

You give a watery laugh, sniffing as you try to adjust your pillows, Baby Brave Number Two rolling back into your kidneys. He doesn’t kick, he's as unassuming as possible, but he can’t help how he floats.

“I dropped a pen,” you murmur with a sigh. “I just got comfortable after waddling back in from the bathroom and I dropped my pen.”

“Mama mad?” Zelle hides her little face beneath a curtain of hair. Dieter Bravo’s offspring in every conceivable way, Zelle is rarely this timid – only when there’s even but a hint of an implication that she’s in trouble. You’d see those same puppy dog eyes come out of the man with his hand up against her small back more than a dozen times.

“No, baby, I’m not mad.” You shake your head and those wide eyes get even bigger. “I’m just having a lot of feelings and I’m not doing a good job at managing them.”

“Yeah, like remember how you felt on your first day of preschool?” Dieter slides Zelle across his waist so she sits between you two. She glances back between your faces, anxiety and confusion twisting up her little features. “You were mad and sad and scared all at once so you started crying when we dropped you off?” She nods and he tucks a strand of delicate hair over her ear. “But then we had that talk in the car and you felt better. Mama just needs to do that.”

“Talk? Mama talk?”

He smiles at her and pulls her into his chest, smelling her strawberry L’Oreal shampoo, and a peace he’d never known before sinks into his bones. He feels whole with his little girl in his arms.

“Yes, she just needs to talk. Right, Mama?”

He pulls back and watches you visibly swallow. Not a knot of sadness but something else. It’s gone from your eyes by the time Zelle turns back around.

“I’m just really excited for your little brother to get here,” you say with a soft smile, your hand absentmindedly stroking the swell of your stomach where a little foot had been pressed just a few minutes ago. “Aren’t you?”

Zelle nods, smiling, and puts her ear to your stomach. A minute later, Dieter’s wide palm covers yours. He interlaces his fingers with yours and he smiles. The smile that’s been cultivated and cured over half a dozen years together, and recent late nights as new parents. A smile that has never graced a single magazine cover or Instagram reel. A smile that is forever and always will be yours.

“Come on, love bug, it’s bath time.” Dieter swings Zelle up into his arms and nibbles on her neck making her giggle.

“Then dinner time,” you grunt as you inch towards the edge of the bed. You try and swing your legs off the edge but end up nearly toppling over your lowered center of gravity.

“Baby –,” his firm grip steadies you, stops you from rolling into the bedside table. Those lines at the corners of his eyes sharpen for a second as he looks you over, worry all at once endearing and annoying. You hated being coddled but Dieter loved to coddle.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you can hear how out of breath you sound and you grimace. Dieter doesn’t let go of your arm until you’re firmly planted on the ground next to him and you squeeze his bicep as reassuringly as you possibly can. He loosens his grip, concern wrinkling his forehead, his hand sliding from your arm, to your elbow then over your belly once again. Baby Bravo jostles you where his father’s hand sits.

“See, we’re all okay.”

Your gazes meet at the same time and something softens in his eyes, soothes him and you down to the very beat of your heart. As if in a daze, Dieter’s eyelids flutter half-shut and his eyes slip to your mouth, he puts his hand on your swollen waist as he kisses you – deeply, with an intensity that makes your knees quiver.

“Ew.”

A puff of breath fans your cheeks as Dieter breaks the kiss with a laugh. On his hip, Zelle chews on her little fist, an all-too-familiar glint in her eye.

“You can’t say ‘ew’. You only exist because of kisses like that –,”

“Dieter!”

He shakes his head before kissing Zelle on her little nose. “Tough crowd tonight. But even little sharks need to get a bath before dinner.”

Zelle scrunches up her nose, baring her crooked little teeth, and raises her fingers like claws. “Rawr.”

You hear Dieter chuckle as he walks her down to the bathroom. “Yes, baby, that’s definitely the sound sharks make.”

The bills aggressively shoved to the floor, you are folding the last bit of laundry over the bed after dinner when Dieter saunters in. Still in his trunks and shirt from earlier in the day, a faint pink blush warms his nose and cheeks – which would be gone in a few days, only to be replaced by a gorgeous dark almond color. Dieter Bravo could naturally tan so perfectly it was honestly heart-breaking.

“She’s out?”

“She’s out.” He nods with a sigh. He scratches the back of his head and snags his phone off the bedside table. When he sits down on the edge of the bed, you see the tag of his shirt over the lip of his collar. You muffle your grin and quietly finish with the towels. “The guy who came up with the lyrics ‘Baby Shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo’ is either a genius or a madman. Two rounds of that and she’s basically comatose.”

“How do you know it was a man?” You arch your eyebrow at him.

Dieter lifts his head from his phone and smirks at you. He reaches for you and you let him tug you between his legs. He kisses your wrist, your hands curled around his broad shoulders. “That was incredibly sexist of me, darling, can you ever forgive me?”

Dropping his head, he presses a soft kiss to the swell of your stomach, his eyes flicking up to you at the last second, the bottom half of his face hidden. The sight, one you haven’t seen in recent months but one you craved like a drizzle of honey over a bowl of fruit, loosens the tension in your back and liquifies your underwear.

“Dieter?”

“Yes, O Love of My Life?”

“Your shirt is inside out.”

The sultry look in his eyes immediately flickers out and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head and pressing his face into your neck.

“What would I do without you? Can you help me fix that?”

“Mhm hm.”

His back arched, you roll the faintly damp shirt up his spine, careful to take in the notches visible through his skin. You watch in delight as more of that broad back is revealed, more golden skin and freckles. The rim of the collar catches the back of his head so when you finally tug it off him, his hair is scattered in a dozen different directions. It takes nearly all of your willpower not to moan at the site.

“Or . . .” you make a deliberate show of dropping the shirt and Dieter goes honey-eyed again.

“Yeah?” He tilts his head up, wraps his massive hands around the back of your thighs, squeezing you above the backs of your knees, then higher up, his fingers pressing into your inner thigh muscles, and finally resting on your ass.

You nod and gently push him back. He goes without being told twice. “I want to thank you for taking Zelle to let me work today.”

His eyes go wide, his elbows locked with his arms set apart behind him, when you go onto your knees in front of him.

“B-baby, your back –,”

“Then give me a pillow, Dieter.”

He nearly launches himself back to snag a pillow by the headboard.

“My back is one thing, but I’m more worried about the knot of your trunks.”

Dieter busies himself with the drawstring of his shorts, his movements frantic, giving you a chance to muffle a grunt as you ease the pillow underneath your knees. He’s right, of course, but fuck if you couldn’t get those goddamn bills done, the least you could blow your husband until he popped off in your mouth.

“Love, you really don’t have to do this.” You glance up at him and despite the evident tent in his swim trunks, his wide eager eyes, he will do everything in his power to make these last few weeks even somewhat bearable.

With a smile, you lean forward and squeeze his knees. “I know. And honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I wanna try. Is that okay?”

An awe-struck grin splits his lips apart and he laughs, a high-pitched sound and breathless. “How long you’re gonna last? Been half-hard all day since you put on those leggings this morning.”

“Well, you were so good with Zelle today, talking to her about feelings, it made me kinda hot and bothered so I feel especially grateful.”

You lean forward, fingers plucking at the damp strings and out of the corner of your eye you see his knuckles go white against the sheets. You tug and he helps you by lifting his hips.

“S-so that’s what that look w-was.” He swallows roughly as you take him in your hand, stroking him gently at first. He squeezes his eyes shut – god, could you really make him come with just a few touches? “I’m j-just – fuck – doing my part.”

You kiss along his length and his shoulders lock up as his breathing quickens. You suck the spit in your mouth before dropping a string of drool right on the head and Dieter’s groan elongates, the muscles of his neck tense.

“Well, Mommy likes it when Daddy does a good job.”

Tongue out and jaw loose, you swallow him down nearly to the base. Maybe you’re biased because you married the himbo attached to it, but Dieter’s cock is one of the – if not the – very best cocks you’ve ever seen in your life. Thick without being overwhelmingly long and always oozing precum the instant you breathe on it. A slick vein that has him whimpering with a single lick.

“Fuck, Mama, you’re so fucking good at this.” Dieter’s hand floats to the crown of your head, his nails scratching your scalp, the weight of his palm soothing as it follows the motions of your head. With every little sigh he makes, your pussy squeezes with every bob of your head. Dieter’s sensitivity has always been a near drug for you, a chemical reaction that floods your brain, branding those noises on the lining of your skull as he drips down the back of your throat. You meet his hot gaze just as you drag your mouth up and nearly off him, only to kitten-lick the lip of his head and he clamps his eyes shut, shuddering.

When you hear his heel kick the ground beside you, his chest heaving and chin tilted up, you drop your mouth down to his base – years of taking him training you to smother your gag-reflex – and with hollowed cheeks, suck him all the way up to the tip. His wiry curls smell like chlorine and musk.

Dieter jerks, his hand flying to your shoulder as if to pry you off him.

“Mhmm – baby, p-please – shit,” he swallows and you pop off him, his cock red and shiny from your spit. Dieter is panting, soft center fluttering, flush high in his throat. Your underwear sticks to you as you realize he very nearly came in your mouth without warning. Call it being a masochist but you loved making him come before either of you realized what was happening.

“Get off your fucking knees and come here –,” he yanks you into his naked lap and you go, giggling as he palms your ass and kissing you so hard you tilt back. He bites your bottom lip and you keen. “Can’t believe I let my pregnant wife fucking suck me off like that when she knows I worship that little pussy.”

He cups you through your leggings and the dampness soaking through the fabric sends a moan through both of you. Dieter’s jaw goes lax as he rubs his thick fingers across your folds, the material catching and dragging, and you whimper – and not in a way he knows means a good thing. His gaze floods with worry and you shake your head – the instant the doctor gives the go-ahead you’re gonna have him rail you through a bedpost – “It’s okay. I’m just sore, baby. Last night –,”

He tsks, frowning. “I told you I was being too rough.”

“I asked for it. Also, so not the time for an ‘I told you so’. Help me stand up.”

With his hands on your hips, he eases you off of his lap and onto your feet. You lift up your exasperatedly large shirt, the hemline of which has been steadily shrinking as you grow, and clip off your bra. Dieter stares, mouth open, as you slip your leggings and your sticky underwear off your round hips and to the floor. With your second baby, you’d managed to quell the looming anxiety about your body changing but with a boy, you just feel ten times your normal size, bigger than you did with Zelle. Your heart hitches in your chest as Dieter’s eyes roam from your shoulders to your swollen tits, your belly, your thighs, and you’d be happy if he just thought you were –

“Gorgeous, baby, just fucking gorgeous.” He stands and kisses you without another word, his thumbs on your jaw tilting your mouth into his. He palms your breast, hard and weighed with milk. He approaches you with a level of sensuality that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your knees shake. How can he touch you like that when you’re already filled to the brim?

“How do you need it, baby?”

The tension that had been locking down the muscles in your back, your hips, since you woke up this morning, only heightened over those stupid fucking bills and feeling incredibly sorry for yourself, cracks at his words. Without your hands on his chest and his big hands cradling your jaw, you’re sure you would have melted to the floor. You lick your bottom lip, eyes scrunched tightly to clear the sudden tightness behind them.

“On my side, but between my thighs?”

His eyes are all heat, all dark wanting, but he hits you in the knees with one of his crooked grins. “Yeah, you’re gonna let Daddy fuck your thighs?” Total reverence, filth that has your toes curling coming as easy to him as it is to breathe.

“Please.”

He stands back at a distance, watching with half-set eyes as you climb into bed and peel back the covers. As you settle, Dieter flicks off the overhead light, and then the lamp by your bedside. His body lined in dark shadows and the cool touch of the moonlight, you track him as he rounds the bed, sliding in behind you in bed, the covers up to his shoulders. There’s a breath of silence, of anticipation, of a yearning so deep your skin flushes with goosebumps at his proximity. You know he’s there, you watched him dip on the other side of the bed, but a spark of panic tightens your lungs, you want to reach back for him, your baby unmoored as you are, trembling and desperate for the calming touch of the father –

He kisses you over your shoulder, broad, warm hand starting at your hip, then scooping down around your naked bottom to settle on your belly and from where his hand sits, you radiate with heat. Melting and growing sticky like tree sap, you drip for him, slick smearing across your thighs with no material to soak you up. His mouth is warm, the short hairs of his mustache numbing your upper lip, the taste of the red wine from dinner light against the back of his tongue.

When he cups you again, finds the sticky sap gathered in your curls and leaking onto your thighs, he breaks the kiss with a grunt and presses his teeth into your shoulder, his cock fully present against your back. You nip his bottom lip with your thumbnail, pleased beyond words at his reaction.

“I love you.”

That’s not what you thought he was going to say. He lifts his furrowed brow, eyes dark but struck with such earnestness, you feel your heartbeat in your ears. He sucks the mark his teeth made on your shoulder, his hips hitching closer, turning his weight over you, before dropping closer to kiss you again.

“How did I get so fucking lucky with you, hm?” He asks of no one. Delicately, he guides your knee back over his hip, his breath warm across the curve of your shoulder, his other hand pressing gently on the back of your neck. He would never, ever choke you in this state, but fuck you missed it. You missed it when Dieter loses himself entirely in you.

The head of his cock taps the wet triangle of your thighs and you fist the pillow beneath your head. He shuffles closer and you can feel his chest trembling with restraint.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he says in one breath. You know if you look over your shoulder, he’s fixated on watching you take his cock. Oddly enough, his ADHD always seemed to clear out during sex. “Do– do you need my fingers – a-a toy to prep you, ‘cause I can–,”

“Dieter, please.”

He exhales and, with a slow thrust that smears your arousal all over his spit-licked cock, you finally feel relief. The noise that leaves your throat is unrecognizable. That ruddy tip kisses your clit and the moan that tears out of you is nearly a scream.

A wide palm claps over your mouth, a breathy giggle falling down your back.

“Baby,” low, strained, barely audible over the sounds of your slickness sucking your thighs together around Dieter’s cock. “If you wake up that child before I’m balls deep in you, I will never forgive you.”

Using his hand as leverage, he pulls you back against him, pressing himself even further between your soaked lips, prodding your clit so gently it sends sparks up your spine and you come, a small wave, that somehow has you leaking more onto his cock.

“Ah – oh my god – did you just –?”

You whine and wrap your hand up into his hair, and finally he’s skin to skin up your back. His hips jolt you forward, the hard smack loud and sloppy in the mess between your thighs. Dieter leans over you and nips at your earlobe, his thrusts faster now, each one catching your clit with just enough time apart to send you ratcheting higher.

“That’s so good, Dieter, you’re doing so good –,”

A sharp intake of breath, high through a vocal shudder, and he drops down onto his shoulder against the pillow, looping his arm around your chest, a wide palm cupping your sensitive breast. Skin to skin, he is a wall of heat behind you, his hands both steadying you and begging you for more against your hip. It’s moments like these, when he’s swallowing up every sense you’re still in control of, that you really believe your soul lives in two bodies.

He tucks his lips near your ear and your skin tingles. “Can I touch your clit, or does that hurt?”

“Just put your hand –,”

You take him by the wrist from the curve of your waist, where he grips you tight, fingers pocketing your flesh, and slide him down between your legs.

“That’s it, baby, take what you need.”

Between the consistent bouncing of his cock between your pussy lips and the heat of his four fingers, stocky and thick, you have nowhere to go but up, your own hips thrust back aimlessly, bliss hurling towards you, until it breaks – and you whine, squeeze Dieter’s hand so hard, you think you hear a bone pop.

Wetness floods your thighs and, half a dozen strokes later, Dieter spills with a groan, white cream splattering against the low curve of your belly and onto the sheets. Covered in literal spend, exhaustion soaks your bones, gasping for air and never finding enough. You lie together, your bodies buzzing, blood roaring loud beneath your skin, until Dieter tilts his weight off you – you didn’t even realize he had nearly smothered you – and his cock slides out from between your numb legs, his grip loosening from your breast and his hand flopping down into the sheets. His skin is pink from exertion.

You grin and roll over as gracefully as you can, out of breath and the size of a house.

“An unexpected bonus,” you sigh, ringing your belly button with your finger, “I think we rocked him to sleep.”

Dieter huffs a laugh as he pushes a handful of damp curls off his sweaty forehead and his other arm curls around your shoulders. He rests his other palm over your fingers on your belly.

“Glad I could tire all three of us out.” You giggle into his shoulder. Both of you are sticky hot, sweltering in a fog of your own mess, and you can feel sleep tugging at the corners of your eyes. Humming, you curl up closer to him, your knee over his hip, tucking your nose into his neck as his fingers absently play with strands of your hair.

“I meant what I said, you know that right?”

Your body as supple as warm wax, eyes melting shut, you nod vaguely. “Mhmm hmm.”

“I love you, baby. Thank you, for everything.”

You return the sentiment, the words dribbling out of your mouth as sleep overwhelms you.

Later, when you wake up in the early blue hours of the morning, rain pattering against the glass, and you feel something cool and soft against your belly, you stir, reaching for him.

“Hush, baby, stay still for me.” He hums somewhere above you. You nod, on the precipice of sleep again. “You gave me the world, I’m just returning the favor.”

Later still, when you awake to a soggy light, Dieter and Zelle down the hall excitedly picking out which movies to watch on this designated Stay on the Couch day, you roll onto your back and realize he’s painted a globe onto your stomach.

A foot inside you presses up against Chile and you grin into space, content beyond your wildest dreams.

#dieter bravo #daddy dieter #gonna make this an official tag if its the last thing i do #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble

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loadedberetta · 7 months

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my brain cannot function until I write this out

Ghost has a one-night stand with Reader and she gets knocked up

TL;DR she can't find Ghost, all she knows about him that his name is Simon and he's a soldier since they knew each other for about an hour before hooking up.

Ghost leaves for a mission, isn't home for almost a year. in that time, she somehow, somehow finds a lead on him. (Christ maybe she meets Gaz's wife in maternal care while she's pregnant I'm unwell)

then she's introduced to Price and eventually brings the kid in a carrier when Simon arrives from a mission.

he's not mad she got pregnant, he's not mad she's asking him for child support, he's mad at himself because he didn't tell her his last name so the baby couldn't have his last name.

(he asks her out on the spot, nobody can convince me otherwise)

#berettalks #ghost x reader #anyone interested in a fic about this?#one day my mind will reach its full potential and I'll summon tags instead of having to write them #noone cares berry #cod mw fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod mw ii #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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chichikoi · 2 months

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hiraeth.

part II. synopsis: she watches as cassian falls for another, grappling with her own hidden affections and their newly snapped mating bond in the process. pairing: cassian x fem!reader fandom: a court of thorns and roses (book series by sarah j maas) genre: angst warnings: none a/n: house of balloons/glass table girls, this is his song... i love him. fluff part two coming up OBVIOUSLY, im not fucking ending it like this i cant do this to my #1 loverboy babygirl kitty princess beloved. @joyseuphoria hi <3

Cassian had always been the beacon of power and resolve, with a demeanor rugged and unyielding. But beneath the surface was vulnerability, and she knew that it was written in the stars for her to remain by his side as his closest friend and confidante, never to become one to uncover that side of him.

But it didn’t make it easier. Watching him as he fell for Nesta’s every glance, every touch, every word that escaped her mouth seemed to throw him deeper and deeper into a trance. And she was fine with that, and accepted it. Accepted that she would never be the object of his softened glances, his featherlight touches, his-

Her thoughts halted as Cassian stormed into the room, frustration radiating off him in waves. She glanced up from her book, her eyes immediately catching the tension etched onto his features. Without a word, she closed her book and shifted, making room for him on the couch.

Cassian collapsed beside her, his movements rough yet familiar. He stretched out, his feet finding their place on her lap almost instinctively. Y/N didn't flinch; instead, she settled into the comfortable silence, waiting for Cassian to speak.

"It's Nesta," he finally muttered, his voice heavy with frustration. "Training with her…it was like walking on eggshells. One wrong move, and she was tearing into me with those ice-cold eyes."

She listened attentively, her gaze soft as she absorbed his words. "It was like she was always testing me," Cassian continued, his voice growing softer with each word. "Pushing me to my limits, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself."

Her fingers instinctively started to massage his feet as he spoke. It was a small gesture, one born out of years of friendship and trust. Cassian didn't protest; instead, he leaned back against the cushions, allowing the soothing touch to ease the tension from his muscles.

As the minutes stretched on, their conversation ebbed and flowed, the weight of Cassian's burdens slowly lifting with each passing moment. Y/N listened, offering words of comfort when needed, but mostly content to provide silent support.

Cassian's breathing eventually evened out, his body relaxing against the cushions. Y/N glanced down to find him fast asleep, his features softened by the serenity of slumber. She smiled softly, her heart swelling with affection.

Suddenly, chains, bolts, and locks shifted, loosening, their weight growing just a little more tolerable. A soul peeked through. Broken, scarred, and trembling — with fear, she realized, but it stretched further and further. Yearning, searching.

It was as though a tether had snapped into place, an invisible thread binding her to Cassian in a way she had never felt before. Confusion flickered as she processed the intensity of the connection, the undeniable pull drawing her closer to him.

She was aware that this was not happening in the slightest. A mind trick. A dream, she thought. betraying once, the jolt of real-time that pushed through her. Burning her cheeks and stealing her breath. How the waking world slipped past the knobby parts of her fingers like a whisper, barely there, because dreaming was just a fancier word for getting lost. It held her there, suspended in imagination and for every second, it felt real. Like she could grasp the outlines and the textures. Like she could touch the weather, drink the clouds, and taste the sunlight.

The gods who had her in a chokehold withdrew.

Death feared her too, it seemed.

He was soaring in the air, and she was on the ground. She tried to reach him but he was far, far out of her reach. Seconds ticked by, and then minutes, and every thought that tried to sneak its way in, through this thick veil, bounced off and dissipated into thin air.

Because she then remembered… that beautiful things shouldn’t be broken. And she had a knack for breaking things.

The soft rays of dawn streamed through the windows of the House of Wind, casting a warm glow over the sitting room where she and Cassian had fallen asleep. As she stirred from her slumber, she found herself alone on the couch, the imprint of Cassian's presence still lingering in the air. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, her mind foggy with the remnants of… dreams? Visions? She felt as though the very fabric of her existence had been torn asunder, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty, but when has that ever stopped her?

So she stood on the ground and longed.

part II here >>

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gfdazai · 2 months

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Kissing his tears away. ♡

no cws rlly, Atsushi is having a flashback and is in a state of confusion for the first half of it. established relationship. It implies his episodes to be a repeated thing towards the end. Hurt/comfort? Wc 500ish, not edited/proofchecked. GN reader! {No pronouns or terms (other than precious) being used towards reader.}

Atsushi, who's crying after having an episode of flashbacks. He's stuck in his dorm, curled up in a closet as he mutters and pleads for whoever to stop.

You, precious, you. You stepping into his dorm, the door falling shut alarming him of your presence — taking your shoes off by the door, wanting to be polite, after all.

Atsushi doesn't want to come out of the closet, scared of what's waiting outside of it for him. He's shaking — his breathing quiet, but panicked.

He's wants to plead for forgiveness, scared of whatever punishment he's getting from the head of the orphanage, but is frozen when he hears footsteps approaching.

He puts his hands over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut, silently praying for forgiveness, when he hears a short, soft voice.

"Atsushi?"

He pauses, not sure of what to do. What if this was all a trick? He's probably imagining you, and the director will find him any moment...

He doesn't fight when you gently tug him up, or out of the closet, just apologizing and standing there, unsure of what to do. ...Should he say he's fine, when he's clearly not?... He's never been caught in this bad of an episode. He's supposed to be bright and sunny Atsushi Nakajima.

"Atsushi..." You say softly, "Can I touch you?" His eyes slowly and hesitantly open, eyes fluttering to your face — the image being slightly distorted by his tearful eyes.

His hands slowly unclench his hair, the stinging finally settling into his scalp — he hopes he didn't cause himself to bleed. Again. He nods a little, swallowing — not trusting his voice.

You smile, and God. You look so trustworthy, so... So different from the director. Of course you're not the director — how could he ever think so?... The director is gone, Atsushi is out of the orphanage. He's not there anymore... He shouldn't be having these thoughts — these memories.

You gently tug him onto the couch, your hand lovingly combing out the tangles in his messy hair. He lets you. He stiffens a little at first, but when you intertwine your fingers with his? His breathing grows a little softer.

"Would you be comfortable sharing what triggered you?" You ask, voice not pressuring him at all, but he still feels guilty for not answering automatically. He swallows, his gaze falling to the floor as he shakes his head.

"It's okay, Atsushi." You murmur, and he feels your soft, slightly warm lips pressing against the coolness of his tears. When did he start crying?... He sniffles pathetically at that.

"I'm sorry..." He mutters, hiding his face in his hands. "I'm sorry." He repeats. He doesn't know how to react, but he doesn't stop you again.

"It's okay. I'm not mad." You mumble softly, and he folds, turning and clinging to you. He hides his face in your neck and just... Cries. He cries like a broken boy — like a broken child.

You kiss his tears, kissing away the salty, memories of the past. You kiss away his scars, his scares — his past.

Please don't steal my work, nor feed it to any sort of AI. Thank you! ♡

#꒰ ＃ 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑠' 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑠.ᐟ ࿐ ꒱#atsushi nakajima x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #atsushi fluff #atsushi angst #idk how to tag waaaaah T_//#bsd fluff #bsd angst #bsd scenarios #bsd x you #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #atsushi x reader #atsushi x you #atsushi x y/n #ITS BEEN FOREVER SINCE IVE WRITTEN ANYTHING #i never know how to end fics so if its rushed pleaasseeeee leave me beeee #i need praise .!

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yutaleks · 3 months

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was horny, had to get this out somewhere. wc: 1.7k. afab gn reader x yuuta, pegging. reader squirts. Divider by cafekitsune

There's something specific about a strapless strap-on that drives Yuuta insane.

You didn't really notice until the second time you had him laying on his back, knees clinging to your sides, and head turned away from you, his face pathetically buried in his pillow with only the red tip of his left ear and the reddened splotches on his neck bared to you. The first time you ever fucked him lasted a good whole three minutes before he was a mess of sweat and cum, but this second time at least he had enough restraint to last a little longer.

But paired with his newfound vigor for lasting longer than the length of a pop song was the fact that this time you could whole-heartedly study him. No longer was he on his knees and elbows, eyes screwed shut and body trembling like a wet dog in the breeze as you pushed yourself into his virgin hole; Instead, this time, you got to watch his reactions: a first-class ticket to the many faces you didn't think your boyfriend could possibly make.

The first was one of surprise: impossibly blue eyes widened and kiss-bitten, sore lips parted as you shimmied up the bed, your five-inch fuscia-colored silicone penis jutted out in his direction like an ominous warning. It's not that he was afraid (because, holy shit, that first time you touched his prostate was the first time he swore he saw God), but perhaps the vulnerability of the whole thing made his skeleton want to push its way out from under his flesh.

What if he came too quickly again? How embarrassing would that be.

And though he never subscribed to the ultra-masculine, rigid gender roles thought to be imposed upon most heterosexual relationships (I mean, you're fucking him in the ass for crying out loud), there was still some unconditioning that was happening in his mind; it was taking a bit of getting used to, to tell himself that it's okay to want this. While most porn in the vein of being penetrated had way too much aggression and leather for his taste, something about seeing you in this position, and the intimacy of being the one penetrated... well, the thought had him rock hard, frankly. He wanted it so badly he'd sit there spreading his legs for you any day of the week.

Which brought him then to his second set of endearing expressions. As your hips touched the back of his thighs, you produced a cute little remote, the color of which was matching with the strap-on. During your first time, you were easier on him--you'd used a more traditional strap-on, a silicone dildo placed into a harness which wrapped around your pelvis. It was simple, flesh-colored and barren of any fancy vibrational modes (pulsation? really?). So when you'd lightly tossed the remote with little warning, and giggled in an endearing way as he scrambled to catch it in his palms, you smiled at his expression of confusion.

"You can make it vibrate," you'd told him as you squeezed lube onto your fingertips.

"For me?" He blinked, voice too innocent for a guy who'd just had three of your fingers knuckle-deep in his ass.

"Either one of us."

He gasped a little bit at that, as if the possibility of making yours vibrate had never even occurred to him. His eyes followed, up and down, as you pumped the silicone shaft with a closed lubricated fist, not unlike what someone would do with an actual penis. Your level of command over yourself was intimidating, though he wouldn't tell you that.

As you grabbed the back of his thighs and adjusted your positions, Yuuta could barely even look at the remote, too entranced by the sight of you. With no straps hugging your sides, if it weren't for the pink color of the silicone, it'd almost feel real... something about that made the back of his neck sweat.

"Ready for me?"

He nodded twice before his expression of confusion, innocence, morphed into one of absolute desperation. And you hadn't even pushed in more than the tip.

"hah," he panted as you rocked your hips into him. You gave him an inch, and tugged it away, like the rise and ebb of ocean waves. "m-more,"

"Yuu-"

With eyes trained on your pelvis, mind swimming with thoughts about how much closer he felt to you without straps in the way, he'd reached out for your forearms, mumbling some pathetic verbiage that barely could count as a whimper. All you could make out was "closer" before the overachiever lifted his hips just slightly off the mattress. You'd notice his lust as you prepped him but his eyes took on a ravenous quality as he took in the image of you, silicone cock and no straps to be seen, fucking into him so confidently.

"okay, okay," you cooed as you leaned down, thighs pushing his own back until he had folded himself up. Leaning down, a new expression of his emerged: lids half-closed, pupils so watery and warbling you'd think he were crying. He outright begged to kiss you, as the last of the silicone cock was pushed into him by your merciful thrusts. How sweet you were, kissing and swallowing at every moan as his strong, toned arms wrapped around your shoulders, begging for more skin-to-skin.

Had he forgotten the remote entirely? You wondered.

When you were finally inside him, fully to the hilt of your strap, you felt the ridges of its base against your clit, and Yuuta outright shivered at the deep moan that left your lips. It was at that moment that he remembered the remote, the second button on it dedicated to the clitoral stimulator. Would you like that? He'd do anything you liked.

So as you pinned down his knees, lifting away just enough to get into a comfortable thrusting position, Yuuta found the remote that he had so carelessly discarded just on the pillow beside his face. A smearing of blush, just the faintest hint of pink, settled across his cheekbones as he watched you pull out and push back into him; from this angle, he couldn't even see the strap. It fooled him into this sense that he was being impaled on your cock.

Fuck, he already needed to cum at the thought.

He slammed one of the buttons without looking at which one, his face turned away to hide his weakening resolve. He thought he had pressed the button to stimulate your clit, or perhaps even the bulb inside of you; but to your chagrin, he had pressed the vibrating mode of the cock that was currently five inches deep inside of him.

"Ah!" he immediately yelped, having never felt a sensation like that before. The reddening of his skin worsened as you giggled at his helplessness, splotches of affection blooming from his jawline to his sternum. A particularly pointed thrust from you did nothing to help the matter.

"Yuuta, baby," you gave his knee a pinch, to which he turned just enough away from the pillow for it to count as a reply. "Want me to stop?"

"No!" he quipped, embarrassingly quickly and just as embarrassingly loud. "N-no, please,"

"You're so cute."

He retaliated with a press of another button. This one, the vibrator inside of you. Your hips stuttered, a labored breath leaving your lips as you paused your movements. With both ends of the strap-on vibrating inside of you both, suddenly Yuuta was so grateful you'd switched from the previous, simple strap. What an incredible feat of technology, he thought for a moment, watching how endearingly you gritted your teeth, attempting to keep your composure.

Perhaps Yuuta's next expression, one that looked to you as if he'd discovered teasing for the very first time, made your stomach flip on its side. Yuuta pressed the button once more, upping your vibrator. He could be a little cheeky when he wanted to be.

"The clit one," your voice, strained, asked him as you slammed into his backside. Each thrust into him had the ridged side of the strap nudging against your swollen, neglected clit. It was you, begging for relief, that spurred him to press the button.

"Oh, fuck,"

what a lovely sound to hear. Yuuta, with cock twitching against his navel, shut his eyes and babbled pleas into the space between your bodies. He pressed buttons on the remote at random, upping the intensity of each piece of the strap until he wriggled against the sheets, body convulsing with the need to cum. Vaguely he could hear you coming apart, a low, sexy moan rolling off your tongue as your grip on the back of his thighs turned painful. He didn't care; fuck he didn't care at all when he was seconds away from coming all over your dick.

Which he did, with an unceremonious sound that perhaps resembled an animal dying. You didn't remember it, fucking yourself on the base of the strap to chase your own high, which had been building slowly pre-clit vibrator. Smashing your hips against that thing felt so good that, as you watched the last drops of Yuuta's cum lodge themselves between the dark, incredibly sexy hairs of his happy trail, you gave yourself one of the strongest orgasms you'd ever felt in your life, juices squirting all over the silicone like it had been you who ejaculated all over it and not him. Or perhaps it was both of you--Yuuta loved to think so.

"PleaseturnthatthingoffYuuta," you begged, overstimulation taking hold as your body plopped down on top of his own. He fumbled with the remote for what felt like forever, though it was probably a few seconds. But in the world of overstimulation the few seconds had you whimpering and begging against his chest, clawing like a wounded animal; which, perhaps if he had not just emptied the entire contents of his ballsack all over himself, would have spurred on a different version of that night's events.

But that, he would leave for another night.

With a relieved, blissful look he kissed the crown of your head, all vibrational modes off and a delightful mix of fluids rubbed between the two of you. Of all the looks he gave you, you think that satisfied smile served him best.

#yuuta x reader #yuta Okkotsu x reader #cw.pegging #I just needed to get this out v.v #ill count this as my bday fic its still my bday somewhere LKAJHSLD #writing tag

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lovesickeros · 2 months

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☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #tsaritsa #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #tsaritsa x reader #this is. technically not a sequel but not a prequel but a secret third thing (mental health crisis)#kidding i just wanted 2 write the prev fic from more reader oriented pov bc it wasnt fucked up enough!!!!!#i need fucked up reader who is irreparably changed in horrifying ways!!!!!! and they cant die bc teyvat kinda needs them 2 uh #exist at all. and if u die well thats it. hits reset button #the horrifying fate of a mortal forced to be a god against their will and all the drawbacks that come with it #where is love to be found when they all cannot see themselves as anything but beneath you? there will always be imbalance #oh they try. they claw and scramble and beg but being the creator has changed you.#none of their worship. none of their sacrifices and gifts and pleas make you feel a thing and what a haunting thing it must be #do they reject it? delude themselves into thinking that they must try harder?#or do they accept that this is a god? absolute. horrifying in its entirety. something that even the archons cannot truly understand #a manmade god who seeks absolution in only the most heretical. the most blasphemous #literally shaking chewing on the bars of my cage LET ME OUT #i love deep dives like this sorry 2 everyone i made think i was normal my bad #i just think immortality and godhood r funky concepts and i love making them WORSE #also this took so long because i was playing b@Idurs g@t3 3 erm. censored so it doesnt show up in tags PLEASE DONT SHOW UP IN TAGS #taking i need the tsaritsa to bite me to a whole new entirely worse level!!#i just think (starts talking for 5 hours straight and doesnt Shut Up)#this one is also. considerably more openly fucked up then the other fic. even if its hidden behind flowery language uh. take it seriously.#okay im done no more angst its fluff from here on out i need 2 be NORMAL. i am a normal well functioning adult. maybe.

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running-with-kn1ves · 3 months

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PUNISHMENT: A Reward

A/N: Decided to name our ‘PUNISHMENT’ fic boy Malachi, lemme know if this is a win or a fat L my scrumptious pogchamps. ALSO happy valentines day! (Posting this early let me be)

CW: Toxic relationship, possessive/obsessive behavior, suggestive themes, mentioning future seggsual acts/fantasies

Synopsis: Out on a group date for Valentine's Day with your possessive, jealousy-ridden boyfriend is never a good idea, especially when he finds the special surprise you’re wearing for him.

“Hrmm… seems like they have a lot of Valentine's themed stuff on the menu.”

“Well it IS the season! No other reason for it being so packed in here...” One of your friends across the table perked up, slightly annoyed at the stuffy atmosphere.

She was right, every table was filled, every booth full of chattering couples or first blind dates, even double or thruple dates just like the one you were on.

You were lucky your friend's boyfriend had managed to snag this place a week in advance, else you might be thigh to thigh with everyone else in a tinier booth. Ha, as if YOUR boyfriend would allow that; you'd probably be on the edge of the shared booth seat, nearly falling off just to save you from being ‘too close’ to anyone else, even your own friends.

“Annoying… I don't get why going out on Valentine's Day is so important, what happened to dates in the privacy of your own home.” Said the devil you were thinking of, that comment nudging to how he was far more in favor of spending a “romantic” evening home alone with you instead of being here with your two friends and their spouses.

“Awe, is puppy dog Malachi upset he has to share? We planned this weeks in advance, so suck it up, we have a right to see OUR friend tonight.” That same friend hissed.

Your other friend nodded. He would’ve added on, if it weren’t for the death stare your boyfriend was currently drilling into everyone else across the table. You hadn’t been out in a group setting like this in… who knows how long.

“Oh, really? Don’t fucking--”

“C’mon you guys,” You grabbed onto Malachi’s thigh, a tight squeeze making him stop in his angry tracks to look down.”I’m here right now, shouldn’t we be catching up, not fighting? I missed you, missed this.”

Your sincerity seemed to ease them up, a flash of contrition on your female friend’s face. She hated your boyfriend, clearly, wearing a scowl when she turned back to Mr. moody himself. He rested his face on his palm, looking at the other couples every now and again, always keeping a short glance at you out of the corner of his eye to make sure you weren’t having too much fun.

One of the spouses --you had forgotten the name of by now after the evening’s short introductions-- had begun talking, complaining about coworkers or customers, one or the other.

Wow, has it been so long that your friends have completely different lives now, new people that they spend their time with that you weren’t even told about? Well, its not like you’ve exactly been open to receiving that kind of news, or able to be, with so little time to make phonecalls lately, your phone always seeming to disappear, phone numbers no longer existing in your contacts… it was truly a miracle you managed to have this outing, and Malachi thought so too.

“I swear if she prods at me again,” Your jealous guard dog of a boyfriend started, hand clenching the red, heart-embroidered table cloth.

“Take it easy, okay? I know you don’t want to be here but-- just do it a little longer, for me. Thats what we agreed, right?”

You took his hand in yours, bringing up his clenched fist to your lips. You thanked the skies that physical affection always seemed to drown out his fiery temper. You wondered how much longer that’d last.

“Fine. But I can’t stand looking at them anymore, come ‘ere.” Malachi patted his thigh, hands moving to your hips to help bring you to your new seat.

“Seriously? We’re in a.. A nice restaurant, with my friends--”

He gave you a knowing look, one that said ‘if you don’t listen, i’ll drag your ass back to the car without the pleasure of friendly goodbyes.’

You didn’t know if you could handle the embarrassing shit he put you through anymore. It tested the strength of your will and the integrity of your soul at this point.

You did as he demanded, slowly making your way to sit on the edge of his lap. Most of those around you didn’t seem to notice, an occasional glance looking to see what you were doing, but ultimately going back to the lively story of one of the nameless significant others. You tried to hover above him, afraid to fully commit to sitting down on top of him, but a small ‘what are you doing’ and forced downward push of your hips made your butt make soft contact with his lap.

“That’s right… that’s better.” He cleared his throat, putting one arm around your waist and the other on your knee. You directly blocked his view, your boyfriend not moving to see the rest of the group, instead leaning against you like a perfectly shaped body pillow.

“Can’t you atleast act normal? Don’t you have any shame around other people,” You whispered, knowing that one of your friends was reading the uncomfortable expression on your face and was in turn, giving a similar expression of discomfort.

“Hey, you know how bad I can be, this isn’t even the worst of it. You want me to really embarrass you?”

A waiter broke the quiet spat you were having with him, asking if you’d like another drink. He didn’t acknowledge the man behind you, either out of not seeing him or to purposefully avoid the dark eyes digging into his soul behind your shoulder.

You croaked out a polite “yes please,” looking for your friend’s fellow responses. They all answered in kind, the waiter scurrying away to another busy set of tables.

Malachi scoffed, coiling around you tighter.

“D’you see that? I knew we shouldn’t have come out here, in front of prying eyes… bet he’s hit on every other pretty thing he’s seen walk in here, so don’t get any ideas.”

You almost turned around to gawk at your boyfriend, such an insensitive and insecure string of words wounding you.

“I would never..”

You almost let him ruin the rest of your evening, the dreadful pit of wanting to go home entering your tired mind. But you promised yourself you’d try to make an effort in repairing your friendships, attempting to memorialize your friend’s smiles and laughs, trying to come up with the names of their spouses you had just heard a half hour ago. If you wouldn’t see them again for a while, atleast you could have this.

And with the two-second memory your boyfriend often displayed,(except for when it came to your “betrayals”) he was enamored with something new.

“Oh, what do we have here…” Malachi tip-toed down the elastic waistband of your pants, looking at the lacey red lingerie underneath. It wasn’t hard to spot, not when it was a drastic change from your usual tame undergarments. Well, tame for him, he had seen them all at this point.

You wouldn’t have noticed his prodding peculiarity if it weren’t for that worrying heightened pitch in his voice, one that always started trouble. Fingers nipping your tummy and around your wrist weren’t unusual, you had become accustomed to it from how he pawed at you at home, never seeming satisfied, but this, wasn’t the usual lack of personal space.

“Hey! You weren’t supposed to see that.” You slapped his hand away, having which already gotten a full touch of the goods you were hiding.

“What is that supposed to mean--” Malachi started, and you knew he was about to expect the worst. You shut him up as fast as you could.

“It’s supposed to be for tonight, idiot!” You whispered with a harsh tone, starting to get fed up with his childish reactions, which always seemed to jump to conclusions. “...Did you forget that it’s Valentine’s day or what?”

You barely let the words escape from between your teeth, not wanting to admit the silent internet escapade you went on to find something that wouldn’t tear your ass in half or be so tight you’d be left with more marks from it than him. But even so, after the sneaking around in trying to catch the package before he could and clearing out your emails as soon as possible, he still managed to see it before you had planned.

Now, you wondered if it was worth it, with the lace itching your chest and the other giving you a wedgie.

“awe.. no way, for me? All for me?” Malachi was promptly sweet on you, much different than the heel-biting mood he was in a short few minutes ago.

You leaned back to get close to his ear, shifting your eyes anxiously. You really didn’t want your friends to know about the violently ravenous side of your boyfriend that wouldn’t stop him from making a scene about it here and now, which you anxiously tried to prepare for in case of the worst. “It’s for when we get back home…so lets just enjoy our time here, just sit still with me for a little longer.” You tried your usual ‘gentle parenting’ method, holding the heavy knuckles around your waist, to soothe him into letting you spend just a little bit longer with your friends.

Malachi kicked his feet, exasperating at this newfound interest and the ways he could torture you with it, could make you beg him for its secrecy. Oh how he could envision having you at his mercy, so cute and sexy but ultimately deserving punishment for going behind his back about something so temptatious, something another man could see and take if he weren’t there.

“But now, baby I don’t know if I can wait.” He grinned, raking his teeth over his bottom lip so much it looked like it hurt. You felt him shift underneath you, leaning up to grind against your backside. “Man, you really should’ve hid it better, ‘cause now its all I can think about..”

You rolled your eyes, feeling his heavy exhale against your cheek. Your friends were too immersed in their own conversations with their loved ones to notice anything else, legs strewn over one another and fingers interlocked as they felt the cheap haze of their Sweetheart Cocktail’s and Rosé’s of Love. You would’ve much preferred to be tipsy along with them by now, but the truth is you were too nervous with the possessive man beside you to truly let loose anywhere other than alone. On top of that, the scolding you’d get from him for being so relaxed was not worth the extra headache.

And yet, the wanton expression he held for you, the hands that fiddled to get deep and play with his surprise, made you feel so wanted. More wanted than your friends had made you feel this evening. They just looked at you with concerned frowns and confused cocks of their heads as they questioned to why you were still with this crazed maniac.

“What I would do to bend you over in front of these idiots, make you do more than say my name while wearing these adorable lacey little--”

“Don’t tell me you’re already thinking of heading out.” Your female friend piped up, looking at the credit card Malachi put on top of the split receipt that has been sitting lonesome for a good while.

He almost broke, annoyed at the sudden interruption.

“Afraid so,” Your anticipating boyfriend gleamed, not even her sour attitude dampening the rising excitement in his perverted mind and tightening pants. “We have some other plans to attend to.”

“What could be more important than friends?” She asked, looking at you to advocate against your controlling spouse.

You felt a greedy palm reach up your shirt, falling back down to paw for the thin garment below your waistline.

“If we don’t go now.. I don’t know how much longer I can wait. Can’t promise that I won’t rip these fucking shorts off you here to see what all is underneath.” He whispered against you through gritted teeth, barely able to stop from kissing you raw.

“We’ll stay… just until the waiter comes back for his tip.” You choked out, not letting on about the roll of Malachi’s hips that pressed you up against the table.

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harbingersglory · 4 months

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Perhaps the Shogun Puppet and Sara (both trans) sharing the reader? The puppet offering up a volunteer (reader) as a reward for Sara’s devoted years of service, that quickly ends up with the reader getting spitroasted between them. Sara has the privilege of claiming the reader’s pussy (and by extension, their womb and eventual firstborn child) while the Shogun takes their mouth—this is meant to be Sara’s reward after all.

{☆} characters kujou sara, raiden shogun [ puppet ] {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader, transfem kujou sara, transfem raiden shogun {☆} warnings 18+ content, breeding kink, restraints, fingering, face fucking

Kujou Sara was many things– loyal, devoted and first and foremost a soldier. There was little time between a strict schedule for anything but honing herself like a dulled blade. She assumed she simply did not care for worldly pleasures, but now..

Her throat feels impossibly dry, her palms clammy as she tries to ignore how tight fitting her uniform feels all of a sudden. She cannot look away from the meek figure at the feet of the Shogun, her Archon, stripped bare and tied in an intricate display of winding ropes that accentuate your figure– she feels lightheaded at the sight, a broken groan tumbling from her lips, just barely muffled in time by her trembling hand.

"A reward," The stoic, unyielding voice of the Shogun rings in the room like the swing of a blade, cutting through the thick air with the ease befitting of such an imposing figure. "For your service, General Kujou." She gestures so easily to you, as if presenting an object to be owned rather then a person– she cannot find it in herself to dispute it. You are..beyond words. Ethereal, even as you are bound in tight ropes and left at the mercy of an Archon and a tengu.

"..I am honored by your generosity, Almighty Shogun." Sara replies quickly and stiffly, her eyes never drifting far from your body– always drawn back. "Yet you are still hesitant." The Shogun snaps back coldly, eyes narrowed– her shoulders grow stiff in tension, her mind scrambling for an excuse, yet she cannot manage to speak a word.

"If this reward is not suitable.." Sara nearly balks at that, her hands twitching and her teeth aching in an urge she thought long buried. Try as she might, she cannot ignore the desire she feels towards you..and she cannot simply refuse a reward from the Shogun herself. Archons, she is a weak woman, she realizes– her will broken by a pretty face..

"..It is suitable, Almighty Shogun."

Yet she steels her resolve like a honed blade, kneeling before her "reward" and clasping your ankles in her calloused hands– your skin is smooth, at least compared to her own, as she eases your legs apart. Archons, you are even more gorgeous up close. The satisfied hum of the Shogun, watching with piercing eyes as she claims her reward, spurs her on. She leans close to your face, cupping your jaw in her hand and taking a moment to appreciate your features. The bob of your throat as you swallow, the haziness of your eyes..she leans down further, pressing almost reverent, apologetic kisses to your jaw, exhaling heavily against your skin.

She cannot stop herself now. The sickly sweet scent of shampoo, likely the courtesy of the Shogun, fills her lungs and makes her feel dizzy. You're like a fine dessert and she wants to devour you.

Even still, however, she keeps a close eye on your face– watching the slightest changes like a hawk. She leans away from spots you seem to show discomfort from, pressing more kisses and nips to the spots that have your breath hitching in your throat. She likes it– seeing you beneath her like this..Archons, her uniform feels so suffocating now, her cock straining against it.

But she wants to take it slow, if only for her own inexperience. She wants to see your face twisted in pleasure, not discomfort.

So she takes her take unraveling you, her chapped lips kissing down your throat to your chest, the barest hint of bruises marring your skin as she drags her tongue across your nipple, a low growl building in her throat at the way you arched your back into her mouth. It's so distracting that she almost forgets the Shogun stands above her, watching like a statue as her hand slips between your thighs to sink a finger into your cunt– and how easily she does so, your thighs already sticky with arousal. She is slow in her movements, fingering you more like a lover, intimate in a way that feels foreign to her.

"You're so pretty," She murmurs in a haze, words slurred through the fog of desire, sighing softly against your shoulder as she eases another finger inside you, her tongue finding your other nipple. "Does this feel good?" Her eyes meet your own as she presses a kiss to your chest, practically pleading for the answer to be yes– she wants the validation, to know she's making you feel good, at least as good as she feels. Her touch is still uncertain and clumsy, but she has always been a quick learner.

It does not take long before you unravel beneath her, your squishy walls squeezing around her fingers as she eases you through your climax.

Your cum sticks to her fingers when she pulls her hand back, her own breath hitching in her throat as she swipes her tongue across her digits– had she not been in such a daze, she might've been embarrassed, but the taste upon her tongue only made the fog worse. She almost considered burying her face in your cunt for a better taste, but her cock was..painfully hard. So with a hint of reluctance, she fumbled with her uniform, tugging her aching cock free with a broken groan.

For a moment she almost seems embarrassed by your stare, her hands pushing your thighs further apart– but the look of raw need..it matches her own, feeding the almost animalistic urges that urge her to claim you, to push your legs up to your chest and fill your womb till it's bursting with her cum. Archons, she wants to. Just seeing her cum spilling out of your cunt would be enough.

Her nails dig into your thighs as she aligns her cock, dragging the tip through your folds before gently sinking into your cunt. It almost breaks her– the tight, wet heat of your folds around her drags a whine unbidden from her throat, breaths coming out in shallow panting. Her grip on your thighs tightens as she presses a shaky kiss to your chest, satisfied by the moans that tumble from your own lips. She wonders what it would be like to kiss you, but the thought is swept from her thoughts as quickly as it came, her cock slowly stretching your cunt around her, forcing you to take every inch.

You've never looked prettier in her eyes.

But her moment of admiration and awe is short lived, her body falling into complete stillness as she watched the Shogun step forward– Sara can feel her stare through the back of her head, sweat beading on her brow and her throat so dry it's difficult to swallow. Rather, instead of whatever Sara expected, the Shogun kneels.

It's only now she sees the twitching cock between her own legs, stilling any protests that bubbled up in her throat. She watched, transfixed as the Shogun slid a thumb past your lips, tilting your head back enough for her to sink her cock into your waiting mouth. The sight of it makes her heart stutter in her chest, her own cock twitching inside you as she bucks her hips instinctively, hissing at the sudden burst of pleasure.

Sara doesn't dare to speak up, but she can't help but feel transfixed by the way your throat bulges around the Shogun's cock, her hands digging deeper into your thighs. The ease in which you take the Shogun makes her wonder if you were hers– the idea of fucking the Shogun's pet..she was surprised to find the idea so enticing, her hips snapping harshly against yours as she fit herself fully inside your cunt, hands clasping your thighs to the point even her hands were beginning to ache.

The Shogun was still watching her, she could feel it, but it felt less suffocating and more..curious, maybe. Whatever rhythm Sara set, the Shogun would adjust, the gentle rolling of her hips accentuated by the short thrusts into your mouth. She felt dizzy at it all, burying her face against your chest and sliding her hands up your hips, along your ribs, clutching you tightly against as she pulled her hips back, nearly slipping out of your cunt altogether before snapping her hips forward harshly, the slap of skin making her groan.

She couldn't help it anymore– she needed to claim you, to see your face contort in pleasure as she claimed your cunt, filled you to the brim with her cum..she wanted it so badly it made her feel dizzy. A part of her wonders if the Shogun would even let her impregnate you, but she didn't care– she'd try anyway. Even if she had to fill you up again and again, as many times as it took.

Sara's gentle thrusts quickly crumbled into something much rougher, all sense forgotten at the promise of claiming you– of making you hers, from your cunt to your womb, and even your mouth, if she ever got the chance. She was practically an animal in her desperation, stretching your cunt to fit her with every harsh thrust and growling against your chest, leaving visible bruises and bites on your chest. The Shogun matched her with a robotic rhythm of her own, the sound of you gagging around the Shogun's cock making her shudder, her eyes following the drool dribbling down your face.

It was far more arousing then she wanted to admit, watching the Shogun use your throat while she used your cunt, giving you no room to breathe.

It is with a great reluctance that she pulls her gaze away from you and the Shogun, burying her face against your chest once more as the pressure builds, her lips caught between her teeth until the taste of iron flooded her taste buds. But she had no time to dwell on it, pressing her hips firmly against your own with a muffled groan as the pressure exploded, her cum painting your walls, still bucking into you in short thrusts.

She could only imagine the image of your throat being filled by the Shogun's own climax, her lungs straining as she gulped down air between shaky moans, pressing a kiss to your chest.

She was far from done with you, but you deserved at least a moment of respite before she filled you all over again.

#asks #anon #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #minors dni #writing tag #kujou sara x reader #kujou sara smut #raiden shogun x reader #raiden shogun smut #chewing on the bars of my cage OUGH #if the other sara fic was like a pointblank shotgun blast 2 the chest #this was like. an rpg point blank 2 the chest.#ei/sara/miko triple teaming reader is next /hj #also shogun played a smaller role then i would have liked but i wanted the focus 2 mainly be on sara #also lowkey puppy sara agenda was added #pathetic sopping wet puppy she needs validation when shes fucking your brains out okay #call her a good girl/boy and its over ur not seeing the sun for a week #yall need 2 stop w the breeding kink for my sake i die a little inside every time i see it #its my weak point i am nothing if not weak for a good breeding kink fic #really need 2 make one where its the real main focus at some point. ough.#need a family man like ch1lde but a woman instead smh #brain says transfem d1luc............#nav1a maybe but i feel like shed be lowkey abt it #ueueueueue ill shut up now this has nothing 2 do w the post anymore lol #also not proofread so like. if theres any typos or smth dont look at me. runs #also also lowkey implied reader is basically the shoguns uhh. pet? toy? w/e u want ig.#but yknow. sharing is caring!!

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