I imagine when you and Diluc first get into a relationship you’d think he’s very much an “acts of service” person.
He’s always willing to walk you home, offer you his coat, and stuff like that. But he does it in a very diluc (emotionally stunted) way. Hes not smiling or being coy about it. Hes just doing “the right thing” very :| faced.
BUT OF COURSE once the relationship progresses and Diluc lets down his walls. It becomes very clear that Dilucs preferred love language is physical touch. I’d imagine he’d always be pretty uncomfortable with pda but in private he’s kinda just always got his hands on you.
grgggggggr gb g the idea of diluc being this tough guy who’s strong and stoic but really sweet and squishy in private GEGGRGGGRGRGRG I NEED TO KISS HIS STUPID FACE
THE IDEA OF HIM COMING HOME AND HE STILL HAS HIS RESTING BITCH FACE BUT THE MOMENT HE SEES YOU HE JUST SOFTENS
don't call me that! — diluc x adventurer!reader ☆
⤷ you're a tease. and diluc hates it.
⤷ synopsis: stop calling him 'master,' or 'sir,' or anything along those lines. his heart can't take it.
⤷ cw: 18+ smut (minors dni), solo pervy!diluc. diluc gets off to you calling him ‘sir’. mentions of degradation, spanking. slight exhibitionism. no one gets caught.
⤷ wc: 2.1k
⤷ an: first fic o em gee. i love pent up men. sue me. if diluc hates when jean calls him sir, and if he hates being called the ‘dark knight hero,' i’d imagine it’d be quite easy to get on his nerves teehee
“Please stop calling me that.”
For what felt like the hundredth time today, Diluc groans as you pester him with another nickname. What originally started as ‘Master Diluc’ — a proper title befitting a man of his standing — has now morphed into something absurd. Last week, after hearing the Acting Grand Master use ‘sir’ in passing, you’ve been relentlessly inserting that moniker in conversation. This week, you’ve upped the ante from ‘sir’ to ‘Lord Diluc.’ And, now? Now, Diluc believes you’re just winging it.
“Master D? Really?” he continues, shooting you another pointed glare. You looked so proud of yourself, sitting on that barstool with mischief in your eyes that rivals even Venti’s. He blinks slowly. Small talk doesn’t come to him easily, but arguing with you certainly does.
“I told you, ‘Diluc’ will do just fine. No ‘Master D.’ No ‘Big D.’”
Diluc puts up a finger towards you, ceasing the churning thoughts in the gutter that is your mind.
“And certainly, no more innuendos involving the letter ‘D’ and variations thereof,” he says with finality.
The other patrons of the tavern don’t seem to catch onto your little spat. Though the crowd was sparse tonight, it seems the city was getting used to you driving Diluc up the wall.
“Understood, sir,” you smile, throwing up a salute for good measure.
A vein in Diluc’s forehead throbs. Is this what you wanted? A reaction out of him? You always looked up at him so eagerly, analyzing his expression for the smallest of changes. His eyes search yours, and before he can be caught staring incredulously, he turns back to the array of bottles at his side.
“You're awfully hellbent on calling me anything other than my name,” Diluc tuts, debating if he could pay you to leave him alone. But, the tavern was on the quieter side tonight, and maybe, just maybe, he enjoyed going back-and-forth with you. Sometimes.
“But, doesn’t everyone call you ‘Master’ or something like that?” you counter, lazily swirling around your glass of wine.
“It’s tradition,” Diluc sighs. His fingers graze over the set of bottles, turning one at the stem to read the label. Anything to not look at the way you’re staring at him. “It’s supposed to be a way of showing respect, something which you considerably lack.”
It’s your turn to get defensive. You sit up straighter in your seat. “I am showing you respect, Master Diluc. Or, well, I’m trying to. You’re the one who refuses to let me use your title, or any of my fun alternatives.”
“And, besides,” you continue, effectively cutting Diluc off before he can rebut, “I can’t not call you by a title. Wouldn't the nobles stone me to death in the city square for disrespecting you? Sir is better because it’s universal. Lord sounds too old, and honestly? Master is way too sexy. Like, don’t people use that in the bedroom when—--”
Diluc snatches the glass from your hand before you can finish.
“No more,” he says coldly. Diluc turns, pouring the contents of your half-finished glass into the sink. You open your mouth, about to plead your case, but he’s faster.
“This isn’t the Dark Ages,” he huffs, grabbing another glass. The clinking rings loudly, a warning for you to hold your tongue. “Nary a noble is going to ‘stone you to death’ as you so graciously put it. You’re affiliated with the Adventurer’s Guild. We’re… colleagues. Us being on a first-name basis is fine.”
Diluc trails off, face reddening at your later words. He didn’t live under a rock, yes, he knew the wilder, less inhibited types liked their power imbalances and pet names like ‘Master.’ While he hadn’t given it much thought, he wasn’t about to entertain any ideas of the bedroom, no less any dirty talk that could occur within those walls. Absolutely not – especially not when you’re here distracting him from running his own tavern with those eager eyes, those pursed lips, and that poisonous voice laced with faux innocence. He grits his teeth, pouring sparkling cider into the fresh cup.
“Drink.”
The cup clatters onto the counter, almost sloshing out of the rim. You can make out a small tinge of pink on his cheeks. You’re tempted to tease, to keep prodding, but his hardened stare gives you pause. He’d clam up again… or kick you out.
“Forgive me, sir,” you beam, taking a sip of your new brew.
Diluc’s eye twitches, and by the grace of the Archons, Charles returns from his break.
“I’ll be in the office,” Diluc calls out to his bartender, effectively walking away from you and your maddeningly smug grin.
The office door shuts with a thud.
While the second floor of Angel’s Share houses a balcony, a door on the other end leads to the owner’s place of respite – a sanctuary of solitude free from drunken commotion. Diluc lets out another breath, his hand inching to the knob behind him, and locks himself inside with a click. The office looked dull compared to the one at the Winery. A wooden chair faced a wooden desk, and a few old ledgers were scattered along dusty shelves. With a flick of his wrist, the lamps lining the walls come to life.
Diluc doesn’t move to the desk. He stays rooted with his back planted against the door, catching his breath for an encounter that shouldn’t have left him winded.
“Master.”
Your voice rings in his ear, and Diluc’s legs move without thinking. He’s sitting down now, facing a few documents that require his attention. He had brought them tonight, supposedly to work quietly as Charles ran the place downstairs. What better way to destress than to tackle important matters?
“Sir.”
Another shudder ripples through him as he’s reading a few parchments. Trying to read, at least. His eyes scan the papers: bills, orders for shipments, and a few event proposals for this very establishment. He fiddles with the corners, gloved fingers running along the edges of parchment. Maybe he could tackle the payments first? Angel’s Share was already at a surplus this month, a bit early for the season.
But, the shipments required a bit of mathematics and a fun game of strategy to determine which employee could deliver which barrels. His foot taps against the floor, the clacking of his dress shoes filling the silence of the dingy office. He could hire a mercenary to escort the deliveries given the recent uptick in Abyss Order activity. Enlisting an Adventurer would be cheaper than hiring a Knight, and Diluc would sooner be damned than trusting that lot again. Right, then, which Adventurer could he hire? No, no, don’t even think about adventurers, Diluc, you’ll think about —
“Daddy.”
Diluc’s hands smack against his face. He doesn't know where that one came from, not even sure how his brain could imagine words you’ve never even said in your voice. He lets out a low frustrated grumble, and pinches the bridge of his nose, attempting to will away the tightness in his pants.
No matter which way he thought about it (or tried not to think about it), this was wrong. This is wrong. He shouldn’t feel anything other than indifference when you call him Master or Sir. Titles are proof of tradition, proof of the Ragnvindr Clan’s long lineage of boosting the city’s economy. Is he even allowed to think of you in that way? How could he, when he should be focused on his responsibility of continuing that legacy?
His mind shouldn’t conjure up images of you in precarious positions – on your knees or bent over his own – whimpering anything besides his name. He absolutely shouldn’t be imagining you, face down against this very desk, mewling and begging for release. Or perhaps you preferred being used? Yeah, maybe that’s what you liked, given your penchant for teasing. Maybe you’d even beg for him, needing his own release to defile your body, to be degraded in that sense.
His hand snakes down to his lap, palming the bulge in his pants. Diluc’s other hand is planted against his forehead, fighting his better desires away with the strength of a speck of dust. He peels off his gloves, tossing the pair on the desk.
It has been a while, he tells himself, unbuckling his belt.
Work can wait, he sighs resignedly, tugging at his zipper.
Yes, if this is taken care of, I can focus better, he reasons, pulling his cock free from his briefs.
Diluc leans back, legs parting as his hand slowly runs down his thick length. He’s lucky the tavern’s second floor is completely empty tonight, and even luckier that the distant hum of the first floor barely reaches his office. Images of you crop up in his mind: you sat downstairs, still nursing your drink and wiping lone drops from your parted lips. Flashes of your smile appear, wanting to wipe that teasing look in your eyes with a hard smack to your ass. Would you thank him? Thank your master for a fair punishment? Or would you cry out a pathetic apology?
“I’m sorry, sir.”
Diluc shudders at the thought, his more base desires peeking through the cracks of his usually restrained psyche. This was unbecoming. Sitting here in his office, jerking his stiff cock to the thought of you, is hardly appropriate behavior for a nobleman, no less a friend. But, Gods above, he hasn’t been this hard in a long time. Diluc dribbles spit onto his palm, languidly spreading it on his length. Self-loathing blends with his need, and he thrusts up. Short puffs of air escape him, his bucking hips meeting his quickening hand.
Living with nosy maids who cater to his every move and a butler who handles all his secondary affairs, Diluc had mastered the art of being quiet. Constrained by tight schedules and duties, he never allowed himself to let go. But, just this once, he’ll indulge. Just when you’ve overwhelmed his senses and threatened his better judgement. Diluc's lips part and his head falls back, fucking his own hand.
A knock raps at the door.
Diluc freezes. Cheeks flushed, he cups his hard-on and stares daggers into the lock. When the doorknob jiggles and stops turning, he lets out a soft breath of relief. Hands deftly working to put himself away, your saccharine voice stops him in his tracks.
“Master Diluc?” you call out softly. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I’m heading out for the night.”
Fuck, there’s that name again. You always had the worst timing. Heart pounding in his chest, Diluc's breath catches in his throat. He can’t. He shouldn’t. But, you sound so sweet, so wanting, so ready. How would you react if the door was unlocked? Would you blush too? Drop to your knees? Or would you scold him? Before he can stop himself, his thumb brushes against his tip, circling the sensitive head with repressed fervor.
“...No thanks for the drink, then?” he chokes out, barely stabilizing the shakiness in his voice.
He hears you laugh.
“Thanks for the cider, sir. I’ll pay you in full next time.”
Next time.
“Get home safe,” Diluc manages to sputter out. He can’t help it. He can’t hold back anymore, his hand now running down his aching cock.
Your footsteps echo away from his office door and disappear down the stairs.
As you leave, Diluc has to bite back the groan from escaping the back of his throat. With the depravity of a caged animal, he’s humping his hand, dick twitching at the sound of your voice ringing in his ears. Rubbing spit and pre-cum along his length, he succumbs to his own pleasure.
“So fucking good for me, yeah?” he mouths, imagining your nauseatingly sweet mouth between his legs. He could see it now: his cock in your mouth, jaw working to please him even as he’s handling stacks of paperwork. Or, perhaps you’d sink yourself onto his lap, rolling your hips against his cock for your master. You'd sound much louder that way, wouldn't you? His hips stutter, losing rhythm with his hand.
“I’ll be good for you, Master Diluc.”
“Do you need some help, sir?”
“Harder, sir, harder──"
With one final tug, Diluc’s cock spasms. “Fuck..." he groans, eyes slowly opening as they roll up towards the back of his head.
His girthy cock twitches, shooting out ropes of cum onto his palm. Waves of pleasure wash over him as he lazily bucks his hips, prolonging his much-needed high. He grunts, hands shakily hovering over the tip, taking care to not sully the paperwork on his desk. He at least has that much self-restraint. Chest still heaving, Diluc slumps against the chair, matted strands of hair sticking to his forehead.
Using a handkerchief kept in his coat pocket, Diluc swiftly cleans the scene, leaving no evidence of his degeneracy. He clears his throat, shuffling back into his pants with a clinking of his belt.
Reserved, stoic, elusive. Those were the usual adjectives to describe Diluc Ragnvindr, but the shame that runs through his veins make him believe otherwise.
Repressed. Perverted. Depraved.
In the silence of the dim office, Diluc wonders how he’ll look you in the eyes now. But, deep down? The worse parts of him wonder when he’ll get to hear your voice again.
the thought of his baby growing in your womb that he loves filling so much, it's too much for him. he fucks into you, fast and needy as he hooks your legs tighter around his waist so he can go deeper. his senses are completely replaced with the urge to breed you; it's his ideal to have you as his cute little wife, pregnant with his child, so everybody knows that you're his.
he's imagining how pretty you'd look, with your swollen tits and cute belly showing off what he did to you. he lifts your hips, spreading your legs impossibly wider, your walls clenching around his twitching cock. "...gonna make you mine... mine forever," he huffs, your sweet cries of his name only driving him faster. he pushes your thighs toward your chest, tip right up against your cervix, spurting his thick, heavy load deep into your pretty pussy.
he's kissing you hard as he rides out his high, messy and hot as you moan into his mouth. he made sure you're filled to the brim with his cum, for the highest possible chances of knocking you up... <3
— wriothesley, neuvillette, pantalone, cyno, diluc, caleb, ifa + your favourites ✩
diluc’s infatuation is growing with each passing day.
he tries to ignore it, but it’s hard when all he does is notice things about you. the colours you like to wear and buy, the foods and drinks you always reorder. the way you’re quick to friendliness, comfortable with conversation in a way diluc isn’t.
his attraction for you is a perfect study of contradiction. opposites attract.
he sees it now, as he follows you around the city, holding your shopping bags because he’s too shy to hold your hand. you’re constantly accosted with trays of samples or the list of latest markdowns, shopkeepers eager for your opinion and business.
at the blacksmith, wagner proudly presents you with photos of his daughter’s first ballet recital. at good hunter, sara tells you about a date she went on last night. even the gods could not conceive of a world where no-nonsense wagner would gush with no-nonsense diluc over a picture of a five year old’s ballet recital.
this is the third time he's accompanied you on an afternoon shopping trip in the market district. diluc much preferred conducting his business in the morning before other businesses were open, but with you, he sees the charm of it all.
it’d gotten him here, hadn’t he? in marjorie’s shop watching you look over pretty silks and sparkling jewels, brows drawn together as you contemplate your choices.
he’s pretending not to notice as you inch the neckline of your dress down, letting marjorie drape a fine necklace around your throat that lands just above your…
diluc clears his throat and looks away. he definitely did not notice that.
“maybe next time,” you decide a little glumly, joking about how you still need to pay rent. marjorie nods, understanding, sending diluc a pointed look.
he nods.
she unclasps the necklace, slipping it behind the counter instead of back onto the display as you readjust your dress.
“thank you for accompanying me once again,” you say a little breathless from the walk and conversation as he escorts you back to your apartment. “lisa and jean were right, you are quite the gentleman.”
he pushes aside the knowledge that you’d been talking about him. “it was my pleasure.”
he follows you into your apartment, helping put away your groceries and shooing you away when you try and fail to conquer the top shelf. he notices that your faucet is dripping, so he fixes it, ignoring your protests. why wait when he’s here anyway?
“anything else that’s broken?”
“no.”
he knows you’re lying (the knights of favonius housing isn’t that great) but he’ll be back next week anyway.
“this is hardly adequate, but i got you something.” you say as he’s about to leave, holding a small, slim box out to him. “just as a thank you, for being so welcoming. you can open it if you want. or wait until you get home. or give it away if you don’t want it! no pressure.”
his gaze jumps from you to the box, his heart in his throat. you look just as nervous as he feels. he lifts the lid.
“it’s a pen,” you explain before he can finish unwrapping it. “lisa helped me find one. it never runs out of ink.”
he carefully lifts it from the box.
his stunned silence seems to fuel your nervous ramble. “you said you go through pens like crazy with all the paperwork you do. i just thought it might save you some mora on ink pots–”
“it’s perfect.” he tells you once he finds his voice, heat creeping up his neck. “it’s very thoughtful. thank you.”
your smile is twice as radiant as it was this morning, but maybe he just thinks so because it’s directed at him. “have a good afternoon, diluc.”
then you do the worst thing possible.
you kiss him on the cheek.
___
diluc crashes into his study, furiously yanking his gloves off. he knows fire and heat, but this is different. it’s not flames licking up the blade of his claymore or crackling upon his palm.
“fuck,” he grits his teeth, fumbling with his belt and then the button of his pants, shoving them below his hips. on the walk back, the friction drove him to distraction, and he couldn’t recall anything but how you’d felt pressed up against him, if only for a moment.
he glares at the opposite wall, gripping the edges of his desk. this wasn’t good. he was losing control of his emotions all this because– because what? you'd kissed his cheek? you’d innocently kissed him goodnight and his body was demanding more of you. he’s never felt like this before. he’s been turned on, sure, but never at the mere idea of being with someone.
you. archons, you. the thought of you and him crashes over him like a wave, and he drowns in it.
he wants this feeling to stop. he wants it to last forever. he wants. your touch. your lips. you. would you even want him back? would you want to be touched by hands that weren't meant to cradle delicate, precious things?
he wraps his fist around himself and thinks for a brief, angry moment that if he had half of kaeya’s charm, you’d be here with him right now.
hcs/drabble for my dear scholar since my friends don’t appreciate his greatness and insomnia has me in a chokehold😔✌️
Contrary to popular belief I think he’d be very sweet with his s/o
Not like “oh babe! I bought you a car with your face plastered all over it!” But more like your favourite cake on the table and a note that reads “I just happened to pass by the shop. Picked a random one.” Yeah right there are over 50 flavours in that shop
Would definitely be great at taking care of you in general
Himself? Not so much.
“Anaxa what are you doing! It’s 3am!”
“My dear- I can explain….”
Then there’s a big hole in the roof, the professors face is half orange and your clothes are doing cartwheels
Hear me out guys anaxa definitely has at LEAST a notebook dedicated to you
He records every date you guys went on and tracks all your tastes and preferences
“Their nose scrunches a bit when they smell raw fish — note to self: dislikes fish market”
anaxa gives me very switch energy
One moment he’s on top of you and demanding you let him see what’s on your phone that’s so secretive
Spoiler: it’s his engagement ring
after a few kisses he’s in your arms as you coax him into watching a movie instead
Very hard to read
“I got you a gift!”
“Thank you dear.”
*opens it*
“It’s lovely, thank you.”
*Completely neutral expression*
“???”
Ideal date would probably be a study date where he gets to flex all his cool knowledge on you only for you to pick up some where’s Wally book and get into a competition with him about who can find Wally faster
All and all he’s a cutie patootie ^^<3
pray for me guys I can’t sleep and I have pe class, two tests to sit and a coursework essay to get through tmr
Just a funny sex thought with whoever your fave may be:
You had to sneeze.
You REALLY had to sneeze.
His hips pistoned in and out of you, head buried in the crook of your neck. Slightly higher pitches moans came out of his mouth as his hands tighten on your hips.
You put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him up to meet your eyes and you voice your concern. He props himself on his forearms and stills his hips flush against yours.
But he was close to cumming, reeeeeeally close.
If he had some extensive knowledge of human anatomy, he would have known that your muscles SQUEEZE when you sneeze, including the muscles that was currently stretch around his cock. His mind was clouded with arousal, any other thought other than YOU out of the question.
You turn your head to the side and let loose, 3 sneezes in a row coming out. When you do so, your hole tightens VERY SNUG around him, tight enough to push him out if his wide, strong hips weren't hard against yours.
He collapses on top of you, moaning loudly as the 3 consecutive dick-choking sneezes push him over the edge. His hips move without thought, pushing his cum deep inside you before stilling again.
The room is silent for a few moment aside from his heavy breathing when you ask, "Did you really just cum?"
He props himself up again, eyes wide with a shocked look on his face. You can't help but giggle loudly, a wide smile on your face as you both come to the realization. You hear a few deep chuckles before he groans and pulls out, quick to fill you with his fingers ready to return the favor.
Fem!reader offering a very curious Flins the joys of human pleasure after he saves her, she thinks she has to guide him since it's his first but is hugely humbled when he makes her orgasm and squirt really hard, topping it off with a very good creampie, Flins apparently learned all of this through reading (it's a lie, hes a lantern fae he just snoops around his fellow lightkeepers when they mess around lmao but he just really wanted to feel it for himself so he accepted the offer and pretended to know nothing)
// note: very funny request, I love the idea of him acting all naive to disguise how freaky he can be, average fae behavior
he smiles at you all bashfully as you offer up your body as reward for his help, and for a moment he looks sooo shy you think he's about to turn you down as gently as possible, but then he nods and tells you he's "in your care for the night" ....... he's so polite that it even gets you a little wet...
you tug him a little away from the dirt path you'd been traveling along, before pressing him with his back to a tree, and he looks down at you in awe as you sink to your knees and start working to open his pants. he reaches down to help you take care of his belts, and you giggle when he lets them all fall to the ground.
you lick your lips at the sight of his cock, not too girthy but definitely more than long enough to satisfy you, and you can already imagine it kissing all the way up to the entrance of your womb <3
you test the weight with your hands, giving it one, two strokes before pressing a kiss to his tip and letting some of your spit dribble out. you jerk him off slowly, wanting him to get used to the feeling of someone else's hands on his cock before sinking down on it, your throat making room for the sizable intrusion.
he moans so sweetly at your ministrations, letting you do as you please, not even daring to weave his hands into your hair and push you down deeper on his cock. he's such a gentleman!
you bob your head up and down for a while, swallowing around him and using your hands on whatever length is currently not past your lips.
"miss, I'm-", he tries to warn you, his hand gently brushing against your cheek, but you just press it there with your own palm as you quicken your pace, sucking harder and letting out a pleased hum. his precum had tasted sweet, and so does his cum as he finally spills his load in your mouth, breathing heavily and calling out for you.
you hadn't really been planning to let him have your pussy right here in the open, thinking only a very good blowjob would have sufficed as reward for the time being, and promising the rest if he'd agreed to come back to the inn with you, but the way he's acting is really spurring you on! you're so wet it would be uncomfortable to walk back like this anyway, and honestly it's not like somebody is going to stumble on the two of you this late at night, right? he probably won't even last that long anyways, you realize, if he can even get it up again so soon...
he's eager when you tell him to sit down on the forest floor, yet still charmingly polite, never pressuring you or rushing you as you bunch up your skirts and pull your panties off, already soaked and ruined.
you sit on his lap with ease, taking his soft cock in hand and rubbing the tip along your wet folds. you tell him he can touch you, if he's brave enough, because he's earned everything you can give him, and he smiles at you as he finally rests his hands on your hips, under your dress, and drags you a little closer to his cock, rapidly hardening again. what a pleasant surprise!
"sir flins, would you like to put it in?", you ask coyly, and he laughs.
"you're spoiling this humble ratnik, miss", you let out another giggle too, seeing the lust in his eyes despite the deflection, and you rise a bit on your knees so you can hover over his cock, now standing at full attention again, all wet in your slick. you press the tip right to your entrance and sit down inch by inch, letting out a surprised moan at how full you feel already, despite his cock seeming so lithe in comparison to some of the others you've taken in the past.
his grip on your hips is firmer when you take him all the way inside, shuddering at the stretch, and you rest your hands on his shoulders for support.
"miss, are you tired?", he asks, thought there's something other than worry in his tone. you feel weirdly dizzy. "we can stop, if you need. I can take you back to the town"
"no need", you let out, though you're struggling to rise on your knees again. his cock feels so good inside you, and neither of you is even moving yet... why do you feel so desperate to have him plunge into you?
"let's switch positions, then, so I can take the strain off of you", he murmurs against the shell of your ear, and though you want to complain that this is supposed to be a reward for him, you find yourself overtaken by the need, wanting him on top of you so badly that you don't even register the glint of mischief in his golden eyes.
he reverses your positions in the blink of an eye, having you sprawled out against the forest floor as he looms over you, his cock still deeply lodged inside you, but his grip shifts from your hips to your thighs, pressing them back towards your chest until you're basically folded in half.
he stares down at you with a wide smile. "miss, this feels so good already, but can I move now? I want to know how it feels to have you clench around me as I please you"
you nod again, your sight unfocused, and let out a whine as he pulls out of you almost completely, before sinking right back inside with equal parts gentleness and calculated movements.
you're too out of it to guide him, and it feels so good to let him use you as he pleases, his pace quickening with every thrust until he's pistoning in and out of you with incredible strength. you're a moaning mess under him, your legs resting on his shoulders as he leans down for a quick peck on your parted lips, before settling to stare in your eyes, almost rolled back all the way into your head.
the wet squelches and the slap of skin on skin surround you and drown out the noises of the forest, but you can't find it in you to care. you would have never expected him to be so good at this, fucking you not like a man who just lost his virginity, but as an experienced lover who can guess all your sweet spots and hit them with absurd accuracy.... and his stamina... ? it feels like he could go on for hours!
he fucks you over and over, coaxing one orgasm after another out of you, and even reaching down to play with your clit as he goes, until you can't hold back anymore and squirt on his cock, a scream of his name on your mouth.
he presses a sweet kiss to your cheekbone, murmurs a thanks in your ear, but you're too far gone to notice any of these actions; only when he finally pumps his load deep in your womb do you come back to your senses a bit, feeling so pleased and fucked out, reaching around his neck to pull him flush to you in a desperate hug.
later, when he's finally emptied his seed inside you multiple times, he'll pick you up a bridal carry, as you're way too tired to walk unassisted, and bring you back to the inn as you requested.
he'll stay the night too, and you'll beg him for a repeat performance in the morning, and when he leaves, a promise to meet again on his lips, you'll pretend not to notice your panties seem to have found their way into his coat pocket.
Gender dysphoria is so stupid like why is my brain upset that my height is wrong and my body hair is weird and my chest doesn’t look right, this is bullshit
God i hate being horny. I hate this gross dizzy feeling. I hate that i can’t sleep. I hate that i’m so easily turned docile by any person who shows me kindness. Cause i keep imagining scenarios where i marry this person i barely met. i wish i could rip my own organs out and peel off my skin and become something completely different from myself
Pairing: Sebastian (Stardew Valley) x Fem! Reader / You
Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 13 - Accidental stimulation. It's Friday night and the Saloon is busier than normal, Sebastian can't seem to keep his eyes off of Reader as she plays pool. He comes to offer his assistance and is left flustered, and now she has to sit in his lap...
Tags: Accidental stimulation, Dry humping/Grinding, Clothed sex, Semi-public sex, Coming in pants, Against a wall, Teasing, Friends to lovers.
Word count: 3.2k
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Authors note: It's finally here!! Sorry I'm falling a bit behind on my kinktober but as soon as I have time to catch up I will, I've just been a little sick lately :(!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡
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Friday night, Saloon night. Almost everyone in town was at the saloon tonight, more so than usual, as drinks were half-price tonight. You were in the little separate room off the main bar area, the one with the pool table, with your friends. This was quite standard for your little friend group, Abigail, Sam, Sebastian and you. You did this every Friday, rain or shine, but the amount of people there with you wasn’t usually this high. There were only so many places to sit. Sebastian was glad he’d been able to snag one of the chairs for himself, sitting comfortably as he watched you play pool against Sam. Abigail sat on his side, having a chat with some of the other residents of the town who were all gathered around watching the game and talking. He smiled subtly as he saw your flustered look, so many eyes on you as you tried to play your usual game against Sam. The room was filled with the hum of slightly tipsy conversation and normally Sebastian might have gone back home by now, not a fan of the noise levels, but you’re wearing such a tight skirt and bending over in his view so… how can he? He watches you line up shot after shot, a little shaky from all the eyes on you. He’s sure it doesn’t help that Alex is loudly rooting against you and for Sam. Sam has tried to get him to quiet down a few times, but Sebastian can tell he really likes the attention, even coming at your expense. On a normal Friday, you would be demolishing Sam, but he can tell your confidence is shaken. He feels for you, deeply, he knows what it’s like, especially as you still feel out of place in town.
“Don’t you dare let anyone steal my seat,” he hisses in Abigail’s ear as he stands. She gives him a quick nod and returns to chatting with Haley, he’s never seen them get along before… He stands just beside you as Sam lines up a shot. You turn to him and flash him an awkward smile.
“Need help?” he whispers softly. You watch Sam’s ball knock another into a pocket and sigh.
“Normally I’d kick your ass for even suggesting it but… yeah…” you admit, chewing your lip. He imagines how it would feel between his own teeth. “I can’t get my damn hands to stop shaking,” you whisper into his ear as Alex cheers and pats Sam on the back. “I feel like everyone is watching me,”
“Well… everyone is watching you,” he comments dryly and then laughs when you smack his arm. “Okay, okay, I’ll line up your next shot yeah?” he offers, his breath tickling your ear, making you squirm and him chuckle. He watches you bend over the table and try to set up a shot with trembling hands, his eyes skimming the curve of your back down to your ass for a second. Then he moves behind you and leans over to take hold of your cue. He didn’t think this through and immediately realises what a bad idea this was when his chest presses against your back. He tries to pretend he feels normal about this, about the fact his hips are about an inch from your ass, about how the smell of your perfume is suddenly all around him. He swallows as subtly as he can, knowing he’s right by your ear and lines up your shot, fighting to not let his own hands start shaking. Sam and Alex protest loudly from across the table.
“That’s cheating!” Sam whines.
“You can have Alex line up your shot, I don’t mind,” you grin, your eyes flickering up to meet Sam’s challengingly. Sam chuckles nervously. The comment stirs something in Sebastian, your implication in what you’ve said to Sam is clear and glaring. That if Alex was to line up his shot, it would be in some way… flirtatious? Suggestive? So what did it make him lining up your shot? You shift under him, moving to more comfortably angle the cue where he’s shown you and Sebastian momentarily tenses. Your ass brushes against him through his jeans. He doesn’t spot you reacting. Did you do it on purpose? Or did you not even notice? He backs off, standing upright for you to take your shot. He stares at the curve of your ass, fighting against the temptation to grab ahold of your hips and press you against the table and grind on you from behind. That little brush had felt amazing, much more intense than it probably should have, aided by him having already been stirring from watching your ass all night as well as his thoughts just now. He doesn’t even mind the looks he gets from Alex and Sam as he clearly ogles your ass. You make the shot and shoot up, clapping excitedly.
“Yeah, yeah, but Sebastian can’t help you anymore, you have to win on your own merits,” Sam asserts, shooting you both a look. Sebastian shrugs.
“Good luck, don’t get so in your head,” he whispers to you, before returning to his (thankfully still empty despite Abigail’s clear lack of focus) seat. It’s ironic, because he’s entirely in his head, trying to figure out what to make of all that. Surely you hadn’t brushed against him like that on purpose? Why would you have? Especially as you hadn’t seemed to stop to spot any sort of reaction from him. It was an accident, he concludes, a very exciting accident. You’d really felt good against him, soft and full, perfect just like you looked. He continued to watch your game intensely, his eyes straying downwards periodically. You seem calmer and less shaky now, and you’re playing better, even with Alex still there being obnoxious. Sebastian feels bad, clearly, his presence and assistance had calmed you down, but he was being a complete perv about it. He kept his eyes fixed on your shoulders and above from then on.
You win the game despite the less-than-promising start and gloat in the boys' faces. Alex seems more put out than Sam is, despite not having been the one playing, grumbling and frowning at you. Sam challenges Penny to a game, who accepts, despite not being too familiar with the game. You hand over the cue and whisper a few tips to her, telling her to destroy Sam in a playful tone. Sebastian smiles at you fondly. You come over to where he and Abigail are sitting and pout.
“Where can I sit?” Sebastian glances around and realises that indeed, there don’t seem to be any free spaces to sit, even the place Penny was just sitting across the room has been filled by Alex, sitting down for a drink break. It’s never been this busy in the games room before and he wonders if watching people play pool can really be this interesting to this many people.
“Sit in his lap,” Abigail suggests with a grin. Sebastian shoots her a look. Abigail is the only person who knows about his feelings for you. Sure, Sam has caught him looking at you a fair few times, but he likely chalks that up to simple lust. A lot of it is lust, it’s impossible for it not to be when you’re as attractive as you are, but he really does like you. He might even love you, but he doesn’t know how to start unpacking that when you don’t even know he likes you. He’d told Abigail because, after seeing his eyes straying a few times, she had insisted on starting to ask questions rather than just to leave it alone. He doesn’t know how to handle it when you shrug and sit yourself sideways across his lap, your thigh frightfully close to the bulge in his jeans. One of his hands flies onto your leg, just above your knee, to steady you. He swallows, surprised by the casualness of your body language given the situation. You act like sitting in his lap means absolutely nothing. He realises with a mental curse that it probably doesn’t, you’re friends, and he’s the one reading too much into it and assigning it unnecessary meaning. He feels like a perv all over again. You watch the game of pool, swinging your legs softly, oblivious to the silent conversation between Sebastian and Abigail.
They communicate through looks. Sebastian is furious that Abigail suggested this to you, even if it feels good. Abigail is just amused and tries to silently tell him that you clearly don’t mind sitting there. His fingers tense and release on your leg, wondering desperately what you might be thinking right now. His hand slides a little up your leg, just enough that there’s still plausible deniability if you question him about it, but you don’t react, your feet still softly bumping against his calf as you swing them. He enjoys the feel of your skin under his hand, soft and warm. He’s unsure if he’ll ever be granted an opportunity like this again, with everyone around you drunk enough they won’t recall seeing this in the morning, so he sneaks his hand just a little higher up your outer thigh. Once again, you don’t react, although he thinks he sees the beginnings of a smile on your lips.
You suddenly shift in his lap, turning yourself to face forward toward the pool table. He inhales sharply and presses his lips into a thin line. Your ass is right on his erection, oddly, not for the first time tonight. He tries furiously to will it not to grow as you shout across the room at Penny, trying to give her advice on the game. You wiggle in his lap inadvertently, trying to demonstrate over the hum of conversation to poor Penny how she should position herself. He takes shaky shallow breaths behind you as you wriggle against his ever-hardening cock. By now, you must have noticed, or at least you will when you stop writhing in his lap. He’s unsure what to do, mortification setting in and his cheeks going pink. In a last-ditch effort, he places his hands on your waist and tries to gently urge you to stand. You finally stop wriggling and turn back to look at him in confusion. He sees on your face the moment you put it all together, his flushed cheeks, the hardness pressing against your backside, him trying to move you off of him. He braces himself for your anger. Yet it doesn’t come. You look shocked for a little while, but then you smile mischievously.
“Is that what I think it is?” you lean back to whisper in his ear, your back against his chest. His hands thoughtlessly slide around your waist to hold you there.
“Yeah,” he exhales, seeing no way to deny it when it’s so painfully obvious. He’s relieved to hear you giggle softly.
“Sebastian! I didn’t know you liked me like that!” you tease, wriggling again, making his eyes flutter. He groans softly, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Shut up…” his voice is too weak to be convincing, not that he’s ever actually wanted you to shut up a day in his life. You just laugh again and continue wriggling against him. He can’t believe this is happening, that you’re doing this, knowing how he’s reacting to it. He tightens his arms around you to force you to stop moving. As much as he loves the feeling, there are way too many people around, and, more than anything, Abigail could turn away from her conversation with Haley any moment and he’d never hear the end of it. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he grumbles in your ear. “Come with?” he adds with a surge of confidence when you clearly seemed disappointed for this to be stopping.
“Hmm, yeah, I need the bathroom too,” you chuckle and he chuckles too. You subtly grasp his hand and feel it flex under your touch. Your hand fits perfectly in his. You try your best to remain in front of him as you leave the room, protecting him from the gazes of the others in the room. Luckily, no one is paying much attention anyway. You guide him to the storeroom instead, turning to face him. He searches your eyes.
“Come here…” he urges gently, his hands coming back to your waist and squeezing gently. You reach forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him desperately against your lips. He kisses back with just as much fervour, pressing himself against you, walking you back until your back is against the wall. His hand skims down to the curve of your hip, grabbing greedily. Your lips mould together, pressing and sucking, full of the need you have for one another, suppressed since the day you met. Your hands come up to rake through his jet-black hair, tugging gently and making him groan against your lips. He kisses harder in return, exhaling harshly through his nose. His hands are all over you, memorising your shape for later use. One hand slides onto your back under your shirt, his cool hand against your overheated skin. The other smooths up and down the arch of your hip. “So perfect,” he praises you. “Feel as perfect as you look,” his lips push harder against yours. His tongue presses itself into your mouth, exploring with clear excitement, swirling softly against yours. The kiss becomes open-mouthed and needy, drawing noises from the both of you. Your hands slide down his chest, tugging down the zip of his hoodie. He shrugs it off clumsily, too focused on getting back to you. It hits the floor with a soft thud and his hands return to your body. You map out his slender frame with your hands, making him shiver as you trace your fingertips across his abdomen. You spot him twitching in his jeans and smirk to yourself.
“When did you get hard?” you ask teasingly as his lips venture down your jaw and to your neck. You rest your head back against the wall and moan softly as he gently sucks on a few spots.
“I’ve basically been hard all night, your stupid little skirt,” he growls, carefully sucking on your pulse point, not thinking about the consequences of leaving marks on you. You chuckle, amused that you’d been torturing him all night without even realising it, he smiles against your skin, loving the way you vibrate with your laughter.
“You like it?” you tease. He looks up at you with a soft grin, kissing down to your collarbones.
“Yes, I like it, babe,” he nips the skin at your collarbone gently, making you sigh. He pecks his way back up to your lips once more, kissing you deeply and pressing you harder against the wall. Your head tilts to deepen it, tugging at his hair once more, which he seems to enjoy. His hand slides down your body once more, grabbing your hip for a moment before lifting your thigh and wrapping your leg around his hip, the movement causing your skirt to ride up to the tops of your thighs. You both gasp as his aching hardness presses against your clothed core. He growls against your lips, starting to softly rock his hips. You hold onto his hair, panting between feverish presses of your lips. He slides your skirt even further up, pressing as close as he can to you without removing any clothing fully. Sure, this was a compromising position that you could be caught in any minute, but being caught in some state of undress too would be infinitely more embarrassing. He grinds slowly against you, nipping at your bottom lip. You arch and squirm, feeling his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your thigh. He adjusts himself against you until he’s rocking perfectly to stimulate your clit with his aching bulge. He wishes desperately that he could do more, but he knows he can’t. “Your place after this?” he pants against your lips.
“Yeah, definitely,” you respond breathily, using your leg to try and pull him impossibly closer. He starts to rut against you faster, twitching needily in his jeans, the rough fabric providing a delicious layer of extra friction.
“Can’t wait to fuck you later, feel you around my cock,” he groans, placing sloppy kisses across your jaw. You moan, bucking your hips against his. “Yeah? Want me to fill you? Make you feel good? I’ll make you feel so good, I’ll fuck you all night,” he promises hoarsely, his hips rutting furiously against yours. He wraps his arm around your back, bracing you in place, his other hand still tightly gripping your thigh, nails digging into your skin. You feel a knot tightening in the pit of your stomach, making you whimper and hold him tighter. “You close?” he asks breathlessly, to which you can only nod, not trusting the volume of your voice if you were to open your mouth. “Me too,” he chuckles, pressing himself even harder against you. You flutter your eyes open to look at him, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, pupils blown wide as he stares at you, lips pink and parted with soft groans. He grinds deeper, pressing against you hard, his hips starting to falter a little. He’s so worked up, and watching as you tilt your head back against the wall and moan loudly, still staring into his eyes, undoes him entirely. He ducks his head down against your shoulder, gently biting down to muffle his choked groans as he pulses in his jeans, coming embarrassingly hard, gasping for breath and letting his eyes close. He feels you still gyrating your hips against him and he helps guide your hips as he comes down from his high. He peppers kisses on your shoulder. “Come on, let go, babe,” he encourages softly. With a couple more shaky rocks of your hips, you still and cry out in pleasure as the knot finally snaps with a wave of pure heaven. He clamps a hand over your mouth, shushing you gently as you ride it out. You whine against his palm, feeling the warm haze of pleasure settling over you, your body tingling with a pleasant buzz. He presses a firm kiss to your cheek before slipping his hand off of your mouth. You can only hope no one heard you, based on the consistent buzz of conversation down the hall, you’re probably safe. You smile at each other, a little dazed. This was certainly new.
“So… my place?” you suggest playfully, lowering your leg from his hip, your skirt sliding down a little with it. He smiles, squeezing your waist once more.
“Definitely,” he chuckles, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips which you happily return. “But I need to go to the bathroom first,” he hums, kissing one of the marks he’s left on your neck.
“For real this time?” you tease, running your fingers through his mussed-up hair. He smiles against your skin.
“I kind of have a mess to clean up,” he grins teasingly. “And it’s all your fault,”
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hey you! want to get tagged in my work when it comes out? click here! (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
your cute hubby who can’t control his urges for you even when you’re hard at work on the farm, telling himself over and over as he daydreams about your plush thighs, cute face, and warm pussy while idling around the house that he can’t disturb you, that he has to keep it to himself
but without even realizing it, he finds himself ramming into your poor cunt over and over against the shaking wall of the shed, frantically pummeling his cock inside you, panting in your ear in the hot sun as your eyes threaten to roll back by the desperation of it all
“i’m so sorry, i couldn’t… couldn’t keep my hands to myself… seeing you all hot ‘n pretty ‘n hard at work like this…”
୨୧ you love your boyfriend, even though he's chubby.
ʚ tw : unprotected sex, nsfw, lots of compliments, kisses, lots and lots of love, cumming on her stomach, body insecurities, y/n loves her adorable boyfriend, gentle sex.
You first noticed it a few days ago. Abel, your boyfriend, that sweet and gentle angel who always managed to brighten any dark corner of Paradise with his shy smile, was different.
He, who used to laugh loudly at the silly jokes you told while strolling through the ethereal gardens, now seemed distant, his honey-colored eyes losing some of their usual sparkle.
You lived together in a cozy room in the vast celestial palace, a space you had transformed into a private nest, far from angelic responsibilities and the shadows of Abel's family past—after all, being Adam's son wasn't easy.
At first, you thought it was just tiredness; the recent events at the Hazbin Hotel, or rather, the repercussions in Heaven after the confrontations with Hell, had left everyone a little shaken. But then came the day he asked, so casually it almost went unnoticed.
You were in the room, you carefully adjusting his wings while he looked at himself in the large, gold-framed mirror. He was wearing a loose tunic, and you could see how he pulled the fabric over his stomach, as if he wanted to hide it.
━━ Hey, love... do you think I'm, I don't know, taking up too much space lately? ━ he said this with a forced chuckle, turning to you with his cheeks flushing slightly, as always happened when he felt vulnerable.
━━ Like, with all these celestial feasts and banquets, I must look like one of those chubby cherubs from old paintings, right?
You stopped, your heart clenching. It wasn't an innocent question. Abel was chubby, yes, with soft curves, a soft belly that you loved to playfully squeeze, strong but plump arms that enveloped you with so much affection.
He had never complained before, but you saw it now; the glances he gave himself in the mirror, the way he avoided sweets at dinners, the way he shrank a little when other, slimmer angels passed by. He was sad about his weight, thinking he wasn't good enough.
But to you, he was perfect just like that. Chubby or not, you loved every inch of him, the softness of his skin, the warmth of his body, the gentleness that overflowed in everything he did.
That night, you decided to show him. Not with empty words, but with actions that spoke louder. You had been dating for months, and your love was pure, yet profound, full of gentle touches and intimate moments that made Paradise seem even more heavenly. Today, you would make him feel loved, desired.
You returned to the room after a long day, the eternal sun of Heaven filtering through the tall windows, tinging everything with a soft gold. Abel sat on the edge of the king-size bed, covered in immaculate white sheets and fluffy pillows, and let out a sigh.
You approached from behind, wrapping your arms around his waist, feeling the softness of his stomach beneath his tunic. He blushed immediately, shy, always surprised by compliments, as if he didn't deserve them.
━━ You're beautiful, you know? ━ you murmured in his ear, lightly kissing his neck. He chuckled softly, but there was a hesitation there.
━━ Oh, stop it... I'm just... me. ━ his voice was soft, almost embarrassed, but you felt his body relax slightly against yours.
You gently turned him to face you, carefully sitting on his lap, your legs on either side of his thick, soft thighs.
━━ No, Abel. You're perfect, every part of you. ━ your hands slid under his tunic, tracing the curve of his stomach, feeling his warm, smooth skin.
He swallowed hard, his honey-colored eyes blinking rapidly, his cheeks flushed as if it were the first time he'd heard something like that.
━━ Do you really think so? Really... like that? ━ he gestured vaguely to himself, referring to his chubby body, but you left no room for doubt.
━━ Yes. I love your soft belly, how it fits perfectly when I hug you. ━ you kissed his chest, slowly moving down, while gently removing his tunic. ━━ I love your strong arms, the ones that protect me. ━ another kiss, on the curve of his shoulder. ━━ I love your thighs, so warm and comfortable. ━ you squeezed lightly, feeling the flesh yield under your fingers.
He groaned softly, shyly, but his body responded to your touch.
━━ You make me blush... but it's good to hear that. ━ he pulled you into a kiss, his lips soft and hesitant at first, but soon deepening, his tongue exploring yours with a sweetness that was all his own.
You kissed for long minutes, his hands moving up your back, tracing your curves with reverence, as if you were the most precious thing in the universe.
You gently laid him on the bed, calmly removing his clothes, revealing his naked body: his rounded belly, his soft breasts, his thick thighs, and his already semi-erect member, throbbing slightly.
━━ See how you excite me, Abel. Just looking at you. ━ he blushed even more, covering his face with his hands for a second, but you pushed them away, kissing his palms. ━━ Don't hide. I love you like this, I always will.
You moved slowly, the sex as gentle as a celestial dance. You mounted him, guiding his member inside you carefully, feeling every inch fill you perfectly.
He was slightly thick, warm, and the sensation of his soft belly against your skin as you moved up and down was delicious.
━━ You fit so well inside me, Abel.. ━ you moaned, beginning to move slowly, up and down, the rhythm smooth but steady, feeling the pleasure build in your womb.
He held your thighs with trembling hands, gently squeezing the flesh, his eyes fixed on yours, full of admiration.
━━ You're beautiful.
His movements synchronized with yours, gently pushing upwards, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you both. You kissed constantly, wet kisses on the neck, shoulders, lips, sighs mingling in the warm air of the room.
Your hands moved down to caress his stomach as you rode him, tracing the curves lovingly, showing that you loved every part.
━━ You excite me so much.
The pleasure grew slowly, but intensely. You quickened the pace slightly, feeling your clitoris brush against his body with each thrust, the delicious friction making your body tremble.
━━ Darling... I'm close... ━ you whispered, and he responded with a deep kiss, a hand sliding down to caress your clitoris with soft, hesitant fingers, as if still shy but eager to give you pleasure.
━━ Go on, love. Come to me. ━ he murmured, blushing, but continuing the perfect, circular touch.
The orgasm hit you like a gentle, overwhelming wave, your body convulsing around him, your inner muscles tightening around his penis as you moaned loudly, your nails digging lightly into his thighs.
━━ Ah~ Abel... yes!
Pleasure spread throughout your body, leaving you breathless, but you didn't stop, continuing to move slowly to prolong the sensation and take him with you.
Now it was his turn. He moaned louder, his hips moving with more urgency, but still softly, sweat glistening on his chubby skin.
━━ I-I can't take it anymore... ━ he warned, his eyes half-closed in ecstasy.
You gently pulled away from him, lying down beside him and carefully pulling him on top of you, guiding his member to rub against your stomach.
━━ Come on my stomach, love. ━ he obeyed, his hand movements quick but gentle, his member throbbing against your soft skin.
With a deep groan, he came, his thick, hot semen spurting in jets onto your stomach, running down your curves, mingling with your sweat.
You embraced afterward, breathless, your sweaty bodies intertwined, the semen still warm on your skin as proof of his love. He kissed your forehead, smiling.
━━ Thank you for making me feel this way. For loving me this way. ━ you kissed his lips.
━━ I will always love you, darling. Every part of you, chubby or not. You are perfect for me.
And there, in the room that was only yours, paradise seemed complete, enveloped in the warmth of the love you shared.
The first day was a bewildering blur of gold and pink, a whirlwind of paperwork, unfamiliar faces, and the heavy, lingering scent of his father’s cologne that still clung to the Commander’s office. You were there, a steady, silent presence at Abel’s side, your own Exorcist helmet tucked under your arm as you watched him try to fill a throne he never wanted.
From the moment Sera had declared him the new Commander, a title that felt both too large and too sharp for his soft shoulders, you had glued yourself to his side. It wasn't just out of duty as an Exorcist, but out of a ferocious, all-consuming love that burned in your chest. You’d seen the way Lute’s single eye had narrowed into a shard of pure venom, the way her lips had twisted into a permanent sneer whenever Abel so much as fumbled with a stack of scrolls. Adam’s death had left a power vacuum, and Lute was furious that it hadn't been her to fill it, but the one person who stood in her way was the one person who had never wanted it in the first place.
Lute’s eyes had burned with a fury so intense you were surprised the marble floors didn’t crack beneath her feet. As the celestial court dispersed, she had stalked past your little group, her shoulder deliberately knocking into Abel’s.
“Watch it, Commander,” she’d spat the title like a curse. “Don’t trip over your own halo.”
Before Abel could even stutter a response, you were stepping forward, your voice a deceptively sweet chime that held a razor’s edge. “I’d worry more about your own balance, Lute. It must be difficult, walking around with that much bitterness weighing you down. I’d hate for you to take a spill.” You looped your arm through Abel’s, pulling him gently away from her toxic aura. “Come on, darling. We have actual responsibilities to attend to.”
Abel had looked at you then, his pupil-less amber eyes wide with a mixture of anxiety and sheer, unadulterated gratitude. You just squeezed his arm and shot him a wink.
And so, you became his shadow, his shield, his most vocal advocate. When Lute would "forget" to forward a crucial missive, your voice would cut through the celestial air, sweet as poisoned honey. "Oh, Lute, darling, having trouble with your memory? Perhaps all that time scowling has addled your brain. Don't worry, I've already briefed the Commander." You always emphasized his title, watching with satisfaction as a muscle in her jaw twitched.
The second day was worse. The initial shock had worn off, replaced by the crushing weight of reality. Piles of scrolls detailing extermination schedules, inventory lists for holy spears and “pointy things,” and missives from various Seraphim about “security concerns” littered the massive obsidian desk that had once been Adam’s. Abel sat behind it, looking small and swamped, his wavy blonde hair perpetually messy from him running his hands through it.
Lute was a constant, venomous shadow. She’d 'stop by' without an appointment, criticizing his every tentative decision.
“That’s not how Adam did it,” she’d snipe, looking over his shoulder at a troop rotation chart he’d been working on for hours.
“Well, I’m not Adam,” Abel had mumbled, shoulders hunching.
“We’ve noticed,” she’d retorted, her voice dripping with contempt.
This time, you didn’t bother with subtlety. You stepped between them, your posture ramrod straight, your gaze cold enough to freeze hellfire. “Lute,” you said, your tone flat and final. “The Commander is busy. If you have official business, file a request. If you’re just here to mourn your unrequited crush, I hear the empty training grounds are excellent for wailing. Now, get out.”
The sheer audacity made her biological and steel hand close into a tight fist. For a moment, you thought she might actually draw her blade. But you stood your ground, your love for Abel forming an impenetrable shield around him. With a final, hateful glare, she spun on her heel and left, the door slamming shut behind her.
When she tried to undermine him in a strategy meeting, suggesting his father would have "just attacked, no questions asked," you didn't raise your voice. You simply leaned forward, a serene smile on your face that didn't reach your eyes. "And look where that got him," you'd purred, the words hanging in the air until the silence became uncomfortable. "The Commander is considering all options. It's called strategy. Something you might want to familiarize yourself with."
The rest of the day was a cycle of Sera asking for his “valuable input” on matters of cosmic security—which made him break out in a cold sweat—and Abel trying, and failing, to decipher his father’s chaotic filing system. By the time evening cast long, golden shadows through the grand windows, he was a taut wire of stress. His halo was tilted at a truly precarious angle, his hands were shaking slightly, and his answers had devolved into a series of nervous “Yepperoni”s and “Okay-dokay”s.
You watched it all, your heart aching for him. This wasn’t your bright, silly, sweet boyfriend. This was a scared young man buckling under a legacy of violence he wanted no part of.
Enough was enough.
You found him in his new office—Adam’s old office—a space that still reeked of ego and stale beer. Abel was drowning in it. He was perched on the edge of a ridiculously ornate chair, surrounded by a sea of parchment, his wavy blonde hair disheveled and his dented halo tilted at a dangerous angle. He was muttering to himself, "...and the logistical report on cloud density for troop movement, and the... the... what even is this one?"
You closed the door with a soft, definitive click. He didn't look up, too lost in his spiraling thoughts. "Just a moment, I just need to... to cross-reference this with the..."
"Abel," you said, your voice soft but firm.
He jumped, looking up at you with wide, startled eyes. "Oh! Hey, baby- i didn't know it was you! I'm just... swamped. So much stuff. Sera wants a preliminary report by morning and I can't even find the... the thing for the..."
You walked towards him, your movements slow and deliberate. You didn't say a word, simply reaching out and gently prying the crumpled papers from his white-knuckled grip. You set them down on the desk, one by one, smoothing the edges with a tenderness he so desperately needed.
"Wha... what are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with a frayed anxiety.
You just smiled, a slow, knowing smile. Then, you let your voice drop into that register you reserved only for him—a silky, syrupy sweet purr that promised nothing short of sweet oblivion. "My poor, sweet Commander. You've been working so, so hard."
His breath hitched. A faint blush crept up his neck. "Baby- not- not now I have to- I have to do a lot of.. of stuff and- and- and.."
He was rambling, his brain struggling to catch up because that voice always short-circuited his higher functions. He was cornered, not by an enemy, but by your overwhelming presence, and he was backing up until the backs of his knees hit the plush couch his father had used for… well, you didn’t want to think about what Adam used it for.
You placed a finger gently on his lips, shushing him softly. "I know how stressed you've been, my love. I've been watching you. And I'm going to make it all better. I promise."
Abel’s resolve, what little he had left, shattered. A deep flush spread from his cheeks down his neck, disappearing under the high collar of his uniform. He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing, and just nodded, his eyes wide and utterly trusting. In all honesty, he was wound so tight he felt he might snap. He needed an outlet, a release, and what better one than the gorgeous, loving body of the angel who adored him more than anything in all of creation?
His brain was screaming about reports and Sera and Lute, but his heart, his soul, his entire being was leaning into the safety and warmth you offered. He needed this. He needed an outlet, a release, a way to just feel instead of think.
You smiled, a genuine, loving smile, and gently pushed him down to sit on the couch. He went without a shred of resistance, his body pliant. You then settled yourself in his lap, straddling him, your weight a comforting anchor. You cooed at him, running your fingers through his soft, wavy hair, messing it up further in that way you knew he loved.
“There’s my good boy,” you murmured, leaning in to capture his lips in a sweet, unhurried kiss.
He melted into it with a soft, desperate sound, his hands coming up to rest hesitantly on your hips. As you kissed him, your fingers made quick work of the golden buttons of his ornate military jacket, pushing the heavy fabric off his shoulders. He was left in the simple, soft linen of his underclothes, and he already looked more vulnerable, more like your Abel.
He was already melting, his hands resting weakly on your hips, his eyes wide and dazed. He was your baby, through and through: eager to please, desperate for direction, and so, so responsive to your every touch.
You sat back, rocking your hips against the growing hardness you could feel beneath you, and you were rewarded with a sharp, pathetic whine as the friction brushed against his growing hardness.
“P-Please…” he pouted up at you, his big, liquid gold eyes swimming with unshed tears of frustration and building pleasure. “Don’t… don’t tease me, pleaseee.”
You chuckled, a low, affectionate sound, and kissed him again, deeper this time, swallowing his weak pleas. "Shhh, my love. I'm taking care of you." You then lifted your hips slightly, making to move off him.
He immediately whined in complaint, his grip tightening. "No, wait—"
You tutted softly. "Darling, there's no way I can get these pants off if I'm sitting on them, now is it?"
“Shhh, baby, there’s no way I can get these off of you if I’m sitting on them, now is there?” you reasoned, your voice still that hypnotic purr.
That shut him up real quick. His mouth closed with a soft click, and he blushed even harder, looking adorably chastised. You took the opportunity to swiftly unbutton his trousers and tug them down just enough to free his cock. It was just like him—a bit thick, a bit soft, perfect.
You wrapped your hand around him, giving him a few slow, firm strokes.
“S-So good… your hand feels… ah…” he babbled, his head falling back against the couch.
“Just you wait, my love,” you cooed.
Then, you positioned yourself and sank down onto him in one slow, deliberate motion. The stretch was divine, as always, making you gasp softly. But Abel’s reaction was far better. A broken-off, shuddering moan was torn from his throat as he immediately clung to you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His arms wrapped around you like a vice, his whole body trembling. His eyes, when you glanced down, were crossed and hazy, shimmering pools of liquid gold.
“ba-ah-byyy…” he whimpered, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust upwards.
You began to move, setting a slow, deep, rolling rhythm. As you rode him, you rained down syrupy sweet praises, your lips close to his ear.
“You’re doing so well, Abel. My perfect, handsome Commander.”
“Everyone is so hard on you, but you’re so, so good.”
“You’re so beautiful, my sweet boy.”
You reached one hand up to stroke the nape of his neck, scratching lightly through his hair. You knew that spot made him completely boneless, and you felt him go limp against you with a shuddering sigh, his whines becoming higher pitched.
But you weren’t done. You wanted to wipe every last thought of Lute, Sera, and exterminations from his beautiful, stressed mind.
Your other hand trailed down his back, over the soft linen, and further, until your fingers gently brushed the base of his magnificent golden wings.
The effect was instantaneous and electric.
His wings ruffled and puffed up with a soft shhhk sound, every feather standing on end. A sharp, choked whine escaped him, and he jerked inside you, his grip becoming almost painfully tight.
“B-Baby, please! You- you know what that d-does to me!” he babbled, his brain-to-mouth filter completely obliterated by the overwhelming sensation. The dual assault of your body milking his cock and your fingers stroking the hyper-sensitive primary feathers of his wing was too much.
“I know, baby,” you purred, deliberately clenching around him as your fingers traced the arch of his wing. “I know. Just let go. Come for me.”
That was his undoing. With a final, high-pitched whine that sounded like the yip of a puppy, he fell apart. His eyes rolled back, his head lolled against the couch, and he spilled into you with a series of weak, helpless jerks of his hips. He was whining and whimpering your name, his hands weakly pawing at your back as he rode out the orgasm he had been so desperate for.
Feeling him pulse and throb inside you, so utterly lost in his release, triggered your own. You clenched around him, moaning out his name as pleasure washed over you in warm, crashing waves.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your combined, ragged breaths. Abel was completely spent, a boneless, whimpering mess beneath you, nuzzling pathetically into your chest. You gently stilled your hand on his wing, instead opting to stroke his hair and back soothingly.
“There,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead. “All better now?”
All he could manage was a weak, breathless little nod, his eyes fluttering closed.
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