Description: Ever since you started working for him, Dottore’s impact on you cannot be understated.
Reader specifications: AFAB, gendered terms (girl), reader is a bit dense no lie, assistant!reader
Character specifications: He’s an asshole. Newest Il Dottore. 0 regard for his clones. Still a maniac.
Tags: [bimbofication, dumbification, reader cums like a lot, masturbation, use of sex toys, “pining”, dildos, yandere, drugging, consumption of sex fluids, kidnapping mentioned, chastity belt mentioned, fingering, degradation, humiliation, violation of scientific ethics]
Note: lord above. i have no excuse. please take it.
I am 18+, have read the tags, and consent to seeing the content of this fic [yes ⬇️] [no ↩️]
———
You don’t notice it. Of course you don’t notice it at first. Nobody would.
Dottore is… a strange boss. You’re not here by your own free will, but you do get paid. Paid well. You’re surprised your old lab partner would go to such an extent, to drag you out of Sumeru and personally recruit you into the Fatui. He says he did for this two reasons. The first is that he could tolerate being in a lab with you, and the second is because he could. It was a… rocky start to say the least, but you settled into a routine.
You perform supplementary experiments. You analyse samples. You get him the parts. To be entirely honest, you do rather little for such a generous salary.
Dottore doesn’t seem to mind. He’s never brought it up.
In fact, he’s rather hospitable.
He brings you food if you’re working on something. He makes sure you’re drinking enough. You always get free time.
Sometimes you wonder if you function more as company than an actual employee. The arrangements, the workload, the environment and Dottore himself- all far too good to be true.
And if it’s too good to be true, it probably is.
The first red flag is when he leaves you alone for a week on Fatui business, and your mind won’t stop going to him. It’s ridiculous. It feels wrong. You’re not “in denial” about any feelings for your kidnapper. It’s like your brain is completely out of your control, the image of him flashing on the insides of your eyelids. You’re unable to divert your thoughts away from him for more than an hour, despite how much you’d looked forward to this Dottore-free vacation. The night before he returns, you end up masturbating on your bed and you can’t steer your train of thought. The sheets twist under your body and your pleasure is so hard to reach fully, keeping you on edge until you shamefully whimper out the word “Dottore”, imagining the man himself is above you.
You lie awake that night, hoping it resolves itself soon. You couldn’t masturbate to your boss, your literal kidnapper, and expect your brain to not program some kind of response into you.
Appealing to your own sense of logic, you end up rationalising everything. So what if you experience a bit of sexual attraction for the man? You don’t want him romantically- a relationship with him sounds like hell. It’s probably just because he’s the one of few people you see regularly, and so your subconscious has decided he’s the only viable partner. Maybe you just need to get out more.
The flaw in that plan is that Dottore doesn’t like when you go very far. He suggests that you stay with him, asking you rhetorical questions that make you freeze in place, appealing to your sense of logic. Scaring you with tales of Fatui soldiers, and arguing that being asocial is a blessing within the Fatui. And it always ends with you dutifully returning to your place by his side.
When things are like that, the way Dottore wants, it seems to calm you down as well.
It only gets worse.
He touches you and his cold hands are a soothing touch to your heated body, yet they only leave you hotter.
Heat, because you’re always a little feverish. Your cunt drips during the day and you find your legs rubbing together involuntarily during experiments. You have to stop- stop thinking with your pussy, stop masturbating to the thought of him, because clearly this is only happening due to your habits in that department. You take to masturbating before work to try and clear your head, and you moan his name when you do that, too. At least it manages to sate you for most of the workday, but it only leaves you feeling guilty. You know you’re digging yourself into a deeper hole.
“You’ve been rather unfocused lately,” He remarks, putting both of his hands on your shoulders. To your surprise he starts to massage them lightly. You have to hold back a needy whine, and thank the archons he’s behind you so he can’t see your heating face. “Is something wrong?”
Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it.
You swallow dryly. “I think I might be coming down with something.”
“That’s no good,” He coos. Your legs rub. You try to still yourself. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Do tell me if it gets worse.”
“I will.”
He goes, fiddles around with something in the break room, and returns with a glass of water, placing it silently to your side.
“Oh- thanks, Dottore.”
And he’s away again, briskly walking to the other side of the lab to resume his analysis of some petri dishes.
Are you falling for his gestures of kindness? Kindness only specifically towards you? Kindness you only see when you’re alone with him?
No, you can’t be. You know what he’s capable of. He’s a despicable man.
But it doesn’t stop you from crying out his name again that night, face down into your pillow.
———
Your workwear is growing more risqué underneath your lab coat. Shorter skirts. You unbutton your blouses at the top. You start wearing those thigh-high stockings with a garter that peeks out, something you’d found at the bottom of your drawers. You buy more. The blouses become a little thinner. Your lacy bras are visible underneath. You usually wear flats in the lab just to be safe, but you find yourself picking out mary-janes with a small heel. Just something a little more adventurous, but not something that would clack obnoxiously on the ground. The last thing you would want to do is irritate Dottore.
After your morning masturbation session, you get dressed into these increasingly “scandalous” clothes, fix your hair, make sure everything looks presentable, and you smile going out the door, putting your lab coat on top.
You’ve never been so excited about going to work before. The behaviour should strike you as odd, but you’re being worn down by the mere thought of Dottore. So you’re having a little honeymoon phase with the crush on your boss. May as well enjoy it, right?
———
It’s getting disgraceful.
Your crush, that is. Can you even call it that, or is it just uncontrollable sexual desire?
You have to use some of your lunchbreak to go to the bathroom just so you can rub your pussy in peace. Legs spread on the toilet, moaning into the crook of your elbow, trying to cum as fast as possible as to not arouse suspicion. You use the small clock on the bathroom wall as a reference, stopping yourself when five minutes passes.
Unfortunately, this leaves you desperate to orgasm more times than not, walking out of the bathroom and back to lab with lust ignited in your body and that same stupid smile on your face.
You always wash your hands thoroughly and make sure not a hair is out of place, your makeup perfect.
You hadn’t worn makeup to work before this. Dottore was the only one you see frequently, and you didn’t want him to think you were wearing for it him.
Now, well… you have no other excuse. You are definitely wearing it for him. Maybe he’ll notice your effort, have a fling with you, and this whole thing can break your heart and be over with.
———
Dottore burns a pair of gloves whilst handling an experiment.
“You aren’t injured, are you?” You say, moving towards him.
“No, it only burnt the gloves. At least they did their job.”
“Let me clean that up for you, sir.”
He’s smiling underneath the mask. You’re so helpful, aren’t you?
“Ah, just dispose of the gloves, (Y/N). I can handle the rest.”
You bend down right in front of him, legs straight, and pick off the glove he’d hastily thrown to the floor.
One is completely fried. The other, barely singed. You pocket the more functional of the two, devious idea hatching in your head.
That night, you put your hand into the glove and finger yourself with it on, imagining with more realism how Dottore’s fingertips would feel against your gummy walls.
You cum so hard you see stars.
———
You can’t stop thinking about his dick.
You’re such a pervert. The stolen glove was already a stretch too far- this entire thing has gone too far, your little performance to try and attract his attention. But Celestia above, when you walk into the breakroom and see him relaxing, your thoughts immediately go to kneeling between his legs and sucking him off.
There has to be some way of staving these thoughts off.
Well… your daily masturbation sessions have needed some excitement. The only sex shop in the area lies in a dark alleyway, a small room with various sex toys lining the walls and a desk crammed into the corner.
You pick out a medium sized dildo with far less shame than anticipated, hoping it would be just what you needed. Mm… maybe something else? A small, metal plug catches your eye, a jewel embedded at one end. You only live once. To top off the purchase, a vial of lube, just in case.
The woman at the desk smiles up at you.
And when you open up your winter coat, reaching into the inside pockets for mora, you realise exactly how you look. Shirt slightly undone, bra visible underneath, skirt hiked up with your bare thighs revealed.
The woman doesn’t seem to care. She tells you to enjoy your purchase.
Snezhnaya is cold, but the heat in your loins burns bright at the excitement.
———
You start training yourself to deepthroat. You’re dedicated, the sessions taking place prior to your morning masturbation. Afterwards, you usually pop the plug into your ass before putting your panties over the top- it’s fun to squirm against it as you sit in the lab.
It’s like your energy is allocated to your sexual endeavours instead of your work.
And Dottore still doesn’t care. Perhaps his workload has also fallen off a little, because he’s assigning less to you. He also has you follow him around more, and do your own thing less. You don’t mind. You’re kept busy with more writing tasks that now take longer than you remember, filing the papers for his experiments. If you successfully manage to orgasm during your lunch break, you can regain some cognitive skills for the later part of the day. You still do some experiments, but if you don’t manage to orgasm it’s like your brain is completely fried. You try your hardest to stop staring at him, an act which is now accompanied by the instantaneous thought of a brutal pounding from his cock.
You giggle when he approaches you, you giggle when he touches you. You try to flirt a little, but you can’t tell if he’s being receptive or not. Your mind blanks out as you focus on his lips. You want to kiss him. Something, anything.
He ends up having to repeat himself more, yet doesn’t seem to mind. He’s never even gotten irritated with you before.
He’s very kind. All this time, and he still makes sure to get your meals alongside his.
There’s a voice in the back of your head that screams something.
The subconscious mind is really complicated stuff. You shake your head and get up to excuse yourself for a bathroom break. Your cunt desperately requires attention.
———
During one of your evening masturbations, you think: wouldn’t it be nice if you had a dildo on the seat you use in the lab? Recently you’ve been obsessed with feeling full. Another trip to the sex shop has you returning with a bigger plug, and two more sizes of dildo- one smaller, and one larger than your current one.
Occasionally, you end up keeping the smaller dildo inside of you as you walk into the lab, the only thing keeping it in place being your panties, which the base of the dildo is able to be strapped around. You love riding it when Dottore’s back is turned, bouncing slightly on your seat for some friction.
It feels so much better to masturbate in the same room as him. It’s so naughty. But if Dottore hears the chair creaking, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t even need to cry out his name the first time you cum in the lab, a usual prerequisite for actually reaching an orgasm. You grit your teeth and try to moderate your breathing. Having him there is enough.
There’s no shame nor horror at your lewd act. Just your hole spasming around the dildo and some post-orgasm clarity as you dutifully file the rest of the report.
You head to the bathroom immediately after to clean yourself up, changing your soaked panties. You always have to bring a change these days.
———
You still keep the glove to rub yourself with. But nothing, nothing is comparing to orgasming with him actually inside the room. You need something more.
You’ve been having nasty, dirty thoughts. You want to steal some of his underwear so you can sniff it as you masturbate. Gross- it should be gross. But it isn’t. You’re really far gone, you think, from the person that Dottore hired. Why are you even still here? You hardly do your previous workload, you shamelessly play with yourself during work hours. You’ll have to offer yourself to him eventually. Plead and beg with the man to fuck you.
And what if he says no? The thought makes you feel violently ill. It would do more than break your heart. You’d be willing to do anything to feel his cock inside of you if just for a moment. You’d be willing to worship him, kiss the ground he walks on, if it just means a taste of your deepest desires follows the act.
How long will it take until he notices? You’ve did a good job so far, covering it all up from him… haven’t you?
Any rational thought would guide you to the solution that he definitely knows, but you don’t really have rational thoughts anymore.
You don’t wear your labcoat, now. It effectively removes you from the rather foolish notion that you’re a scientist, with the slutty outfits you kept underneath it, with all the rubbing you do underneath your desk, the edging, the orgasms you save for when he’s close enough. You resign yourself to the paperwork, filing his reports. In the morning, he sometimes unbuttons your shirt by one button, revealing more of your breasts. He pretends to be wiping something off your shirt, and you just let him.
You’re just grateful for any attention that you can get, which is why you don’t really care that he’s started groping you. One day, you bend over to pick up a paper, and his hands run over the globes of your ass from behind. “Well? Aren’t you going to give it a little shake for me, darling?
You giggle and obey. You do a lot of that. Your pert ass shimmies in the air as you’re still bent over. Dottore gropes it hard before he walks off again.
One day, he tells you to go up to his residence and do laundry for him. He doesn’t keep any housekeepers despite his status, and you’re all too happy to assist without question. It’s a slow day in the lab, you suppose. Being in his home triggers a a strong state of arousal as soon as you walk through the door, one that’s hardly resolved when you finally, finally dig out his underwear from the pile. In the end, you masturbate with your face down in the pile of laundry, sobbing out “sir”s and “Dottore”s along the way. Only then do you actually start doing it, hanging it up and returning to the lab for dinner.
You can do more than just masturbate, though, and this proves it. You can do whatever pleases him. You take up whatever menial tasks he offers, anything to feel his hand condescendingly pat the top of your head and call you a good girl. Your whole world revolves around Dottore and making him happy.
Your wearing of panties also decreases. Sure, you can’t have the dildo in, but you can still have your plug in and pray that Dottore notices your desperation. If you spoil yourself too much with orgasms, you might end up less willing for Dottore, and you don’t want that. But that does come with its own host of problems, namely that there’s nothing to stop your juices from leaking all over the place.
“Oh, (Y/N),” He sighs in disapproval. Your body freezes. “Surely not you’re not headed to the restroom already? You’ve made another mess on your seat. Lick it up.”
“Yes, sir.”
And before you can stop yourself, you’re bent over, face buried into your slick, tongue cleaning every last drop. Dottore approaches you from behind. You flinch at how his cold hands caress your ass. Your skirt is hiked up further, and-
“Oh? How interesting.”
Two fingers grasp your plug, pushing and pulling it out of your asshole. You let out an unrestrained moan- finally, finally something more- and he puts it back into place.
“When did you get it?”
“A little while ago,” You reply. “Maybe five weeks, sir?”
“And when did you start wearing it to the lab?” He asks, idly playing with it again.
“As soon as I got it.”
He hums.
“You don’t know this (Y/N), and I’m going to be surprised if it registers fully through your thick skull, but you’re a very successful experiment.”
“Did… Did I make you proud?” You gasp out, feeling a thumb running over at your labia.
“Proud..? I’m not sure if that’s the right word, dear. Proud of myself, yes. I’m not exactly sure if I would consider myself proud of the little slut that rubs her cunt during work hours. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’m pleased with you.”
“What-“
He puts two fingers into your pussy without bother and you squeal. “Nuance, (Y/N). I’m not entirely convinced your brain can cope with that anymore. I suppose I could fuck you, and you’d regain some of your intelligence temporarily, but I don’t think this-“
He emphasises by thrusting his fingers in and out, and even with no particular aim it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. Better than the dildos, and far better than just playing with your clit. You cum dangerously fast, moaning his name through your orgasm and continuing to gasp it afterwards. Your body is alight with pure ecstasy.
“- is going away anytime soon.”
He plays with the plug again. You buck your hips towards him, presenting eagerly.
“Maybe if you had been any more invested in your job, you would’ve bought a chastity belt to restrain your whorish tendencies as you worked up a resistance to the drug.”
Dottore’s hand leaves you. You finish licking up your mess, acutely aware of a new one between your legs.
“I suppose it’s a bit late for that. But I may end up having to get you one if you fail to control yourself. Hmm…”
You finally stand up again, running a finger up the inside of your thigh and cleaning it with your mouth as you stare into his eyes, free from the mask. Your thoughts are blank. He’s right. You’re failing to process everything he says.
And his lips finally meet yours, tasting some of your slick in the process. You gasp, eager, kissing him back for the short duration that he’s there. When he draws back, your glassy eyes can only focus on him.
Dottore exhales. “Yet, there’s some merit in keeping you as a drooling, mindless nymphomaniac. Come, I’ve been waiting patiently for an eternity- unlike a certain someone. Let’s run some… preliminary tests.”
Within five minutes, you’re in the break room, kissing the tip of his erect cock. It’s the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen outside of Dottore himself. He even said you can get yourself off on his shoe after, but you don’t need that, as alluring as it sounds. It’s enough to finally be pleasuring him, listening keenly for his groans and learning exactly what he likes. He’s impressed when you take him all the way in as well, nose meeting his midriff. Dottore’s shaft fills your throat nicely, and your hips rock with need.
“Good girl,” He breathes. “Someone’s been practising, I take it?”
In response, you move back and forth. His hand finds itself caught in your hair and you gladly let him set the pace, fucking your mouth however he likes. It doesn’t take long until he pulls out of you, using his hand to finish off into your open mouth and waiting tongue. You take care to taste his load. Warm, heavy, salty. And you gratefully swallow, smiling as it goes down your throat. Your legs squeeze together tightly, and you somehow manage to orgasm with no sensation. It’s weak, but you still whine lightly, no sensation to allow you to really ride it out. You’re trembling, unaware of if Dottore realises this or not.
“My offer still stands.” Dottore tells you, shuffling his shoe against the ground.
“Mm… I think my…” You start to stand up, Dottore also beginning to readjust himself.
“Makeup… got ruined…”
Dottore looks rather indifferent. “Well, you should go fix it then, shouldn’t you?”
You nod, trotting off to the bathroom with your purse and stopping yourself at the mirror before entering one of the cubicles.
For a moment as you look into your reflection, there’s everything. Rage, disgust, disappointment, a moment of clarity in the world around you where everything makes sense- the betrayal, hopelessness, shame.
And it goes away. You start using wet paper towels to wipe away your mascara and lipstick, carefully reapplying them after with a skilled hand.
You pop your lips, adjust your blouse, making sure your bra barely peeks out of it. You adjust your hair and admire yourself from a few different angles to make sure everything’s perfect.
♡ TW: a lot of different stuff today, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, yandere, stalking, gangbang, harsh language, sexual exploitation, bondage, zero holes safe, and more, read at your own risk
♡ FEM reader
Pride is an artist, and you, poor dear, are lucky enough to be his muse.
You’d caught his eye one day simply by coincidence while working your part-time job as a barista.
And though it had been a rather unorthodox request—between balancing school and work and constantly finding yourself both strapped for cash and strapped for time—you’d decided to quit and take him up on his offer—as what he was offering was about twice what you could make at the cafe anyway.
He’s not that much older than you, but he’s old money. And while you're stuck in community college, he goes to an elite art school—which he doesn’t even show up to, 'cause why would he? They can't afford to kick him out anyway, given his father’s donations make up half of their yearly budget.
And so he's free to self-study as much as he wants.
Yeah... he’s a little too used to getting what he wants—exactly how he wants it—without delay. So when you struggle to come to your sessions on time due to having to take the bus to the other side of town, he decides to solve it by buying you a car. And when he doesn’t feel like that’s sufficient enough, he buys you an apartment right above his own studio. And when you try to reject, he only has three concise words for you.
“Don’t be stupid.”
The way he says it leaves very little up for debate. In fact, it leaves you mute each and every time.
It was nice in the beginning—you didn’t protest to anything other than his overpriced gifts. You were flattered and blushy and giddy and more than happy to sit pretty for him for hours at a time while he sketched and sculpted and painted and whatnot. It was essentially nothing in comparison to the luxuries he gave you in return.
But you think, at some point along the way, he must have forgotten that he only owns the artworks he makes of you—not you yourself.
“N-naked?” you stutter, looking at him wide-eyed where he stands in his usual apron—flecked with the proof of your countless sessions. Honestly, it was getting to be a little strange posing for him in a room stuffed with a myriad of sketches, paintings, and statues of yourself. Hadn’t he had enough?
“I can’t capture you correctly when you wear all these rags,” he says—clinically, though with a pinch of impatience just shy of vexation—eyeing you from head to toe, almost with a look of disgust while beholding your clothes, despite being the one who’d bought them. “They obscure everything. So take them off.”
You knew he’d probably had about a hundred models undress for him, and stand here—old, young, men, women—you knew it probably didn’t mean much to him. He probably regarded it the same way he does everything—without even batting an eye. However…
“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do that…” You fiddle with your fingers, standing there, still dressed despite him standing ready at his easel, foot-tapping while waiting for you, already with a stick of charcoal between his fingers.
“Why are you making a fuss? You think I haven’t seen a naked body before?” he jokes, but without humor—no, rather strictness as if you’re wasting very precious time. “This is standard practice—don’t make it anything than what it is.”
There he goes again with those very final words that make you feel all in all kind of silly.
You bite your lip and mull it over before ever-so-begrudgingly uttering a weak little, “Okay…”
You suppose he was right. This is a job, and it’s just nudity—just another shape in the eyes of an artist—it doesn’t mean anything—is what you tell yourself while you undress. Still, you can’t help but feel flush—heart pounding in your chest as you fold your clothes all neatly for some other nervous reason.
“Resume the pose,” he says—almost like a drill sergeant. And you jump into place, timidly rushing over to the chaise where you lie down like before.
This does feel like it would be a better painting, you admit. More reminiscent of Renaissance art and such. Not that you know much about it, but thinking back to field trips through the museum, you seem to remember having seen plenty of portraits of naked ladies lying on pretty but uncomfortable sofas just like this.
He seems very invested, at least. A deep furl between his brows, nearly scowling at you while he works—though you’ve come to learn that it’s just his concentration face.
After a while, he sets his charcoal down and wipes his blackened hands on his apron.
You sit up, asking, “Are you done?” All but ready to leap from your seat to your clothes and finally cover yourself again.
“No, keep still,” he all but reprimands—voice intense as he stalks across the floor over to you with determination written plainly across his face.
You draw back in place as he rests his knee on the chaise and leans forward. It wasn’t uncommon for him to come and correct your pose, but you couldn’t help but flinch this time around, feeling just a bit too exposed.
His hands are warm and overworked, both dry and a bit clammy all at the same time. You didn’t mind much when you wore clothes, but it felt a bit too intimate now as he touched your bare skin. But you bear with it despite that.
Eyes closed, you repeat that same line from before—it doesn’t mean anything, this is standard practice, it doesn’t mean anything.
It works in calming your breath for a moment, but then he grabs your tit.
You gasp, jolting back while stuttering, “Wha–what are you doing?”
And yet, he keeps his steal gaze just as fixed and unfazed as before, sighing at you as if you were overreacting, before stating rather simply, “Getting a better understanding of your body.” He then reaches toward you again, showing no concern for how you shrink away. “It’s easier to replicate when I know it by hand.”
Again, you let his voice silence you, and again, you closed your eyes and let his hands wander—around your chest, up your neck, down your belly, and then—
“Wait! That can’t be necessary—” you blurt out, this time with your arms and hands shooting forth to distance him.
“Oh, trust me—it is.” Again, he pays you no mind, simply bearing over you with his entitled hands roaming whatever place he so wishes and chooses. Only clicking his tongue at you when you squirm, “Don’t fuss.”
You don’t exactly push him away, though you don’t exactly make his pursuit easier for him—lying there beneath his touches, wiggling and whimpering, though not really protesting either as he feels your slit.
Your fingers curl into his arms, gripping his messy shirt streaked with paint and coal—as his fingers run through your lips, teasing your entrance and your clit. He twists his hand around and presses his thumb down on the pearl after it perks for attention, then enters you with his pointer finger—drawing out wetness before promptly feeding you another.
You bite your lip as they curl and spread within you, testing you out while rubbing firm circles into your clit.
Gingerly, your hips return it, starting to move in tune with his ministrations. Thighs trembling, keeping your eyes squeezed tightly shut as you start to pant—small moans leaving your lips with every breath, feeling it build within you—a small flame at first, nursed until it fills and all but fights for room within you before finally bursting.
“That’s it—that’s the expression,” he purrs—voice much softer than usual—cupping your face with his other hand, holding you steady while taking in those dopey eyes sparkling with pleasure and those parted lips that never dare speak up—eyeing you like he's the proud owner of a prized possession. “Perfect.”
He hums, sounding pleased, then gets off you shortly after, sauntering back to his easel.
“You can get dressed now. I got what I needed,” he states, picking the stick of charcoal up again, ripping the last sketch off for a fresh sheet before starting anew as if nothing had happened.
And you, still lying there, are left just as mute as usual.
Wrath is your ex-boyfriend who refuses to get it through his thick skull that the two of you are over.
Any time you talk to another guy, he beats him up—to a fucking pulp, no less.
He’s always been that way, and still, it wasn’t always like this…
You started dating each other when you were young. He was rough around the edges, and you liked that about him—tattoos from his neck down to his ankles—the type your parents would have a heart attack if you ever brought home.
He was going to be a professional fighter, he’d say—mixed martial arts. He had all the rage and zero technique, but still, he’d land some of the best on their ass all through pure strength of will alone.
He was near impossible to train, though—always too wired to be able to take any pointers. And that’s why he needed you. You were his reliever. He’d fuck you like it was his last day on earth, and suddenly he’d be able to do anything. Like an enhancement drug, everything would start moving in slow motion, and he could somehow see all the moves of his opponent before they ever made them.
You admit you liked hearing him preach about it. It made you feel important—made you feel as if half the win, or at least some of it, was yours. And when he started raking in the dough as the champion, winning multiple titles across several tournaments, you were more than happy to be his lucky charm and cheer him on from the sidelines.
But then, you had this awful and sudden feeling of being just that—a tool for his success and nothing else. Sure, he’d give you presents—pretty things he thought suited you well—but you hadn’t gone on a date since his career started, nor had you had a proper sit-down dinner together either. He’d stick to his diet regime, be out training at the gym all day, and you’d be home, going about your own business.
And while you were doing that, you’d think—about the nature of your relationship. And what you found is that all it really entails in the end is him demanding a fuck whenever he needed it—before a tournament, before training, before an interview. And then, after coming to that glum conclusion, you can’t help but feel like nothing more than another one of those items he keeps loose in his gym bag.
And those thoughts only got validated when you tried denying him sex for the first time…
You were just curious, really—curious to see what he’d do. If he’d beg, if he’d plead, if he’d say boo, don’t be that way while down on his hands and knees for you.
But of course... he can’t get anything else but angry.
“If you’re not gonna give me the one thing you're useful for, then what the fuck do I keep you around for?” is what he’d said—no, barked. “You think you’re special? If you’re not gonna put out, I might as well go out and find me someone who will.”
He’d fucked off to some other room with a huff and left you standing there.
And you don’t know, amidst the shell shock and the ache of your heart coming undone... suddenly, you had no idea why you were there or with him or what you were supposed to do—and when you found no answer to any of those questions, it made no sense for you to stay. And so you went to your shared bedroom—or his bedroom, as a matter of fact, which you’d stayed in for the last months—quickly grabbed your things—your things specifically, and not all the other stuff he’d thrown at you—and stuffed it all haphazardly in your bag, then gone out to the entryway to put your shoes on.
That’s when he’d reared his head again with the gall of asking, “Where the fuck are you going?”
He hadn’t had that same raised tone as before. No, this time it was lowered—frayed—with a touch of urgency and unease as if balancing on the edge of a knife—as if he knew he'd done something wrong and was reaping the consequences and yet still hadn't the balls to simply apologize and correct it.
And so, you hadn’t answered him.
“It’s the middle of the fucking night,” he’d stated then, coming closer, ready to grab your arm with that hint of alarm in his voice increased. “Hey, I asked you fucking a question—”
That’s when you’d twisted around and slapped him. You’d put all your might into it as well, though you doubt it compared to much of what he’d felt in the ring.
And still, he’d looked at you as if he’d just lost all his titles.
He hadn’t said anything else after that—just stood there with his mouth agape as you opened the door and slammed it shut behind you. In fact, you don't think he even dared do so much as take a breath.
You’d gone and crashed at a friend's and rethought your life. There was no way you could ever go back, after all—not after what he’d said. Treating you like a stay-at-home whore. Who the fuck does he think he is?
What an asshole—you'd tried convincing yourself as you cried yourself to sleep…
The days and weeks after were nothing if not fucked up and toxic, to say the least. You’d go out to have a fun time and try to forget about him, but he’d always show up out of the blue to ruin everything—being his usual douche self.
Though… you can’t exactly claim to be any better than him—not after finding yourself in bed with his number-one up-and-coming rival.
Of course, it ends up all over the news—big headlines plastered on every gossip platform pushing your private affairs for all to see—a real media circus if there ever was one.
You end up back in his apartment. To talk, he’d said—a pretense you had a hard time believing in. He’s never been one to talk much. Honestly, you don’t know why you even bothered coming over when he asked. There might even be a chance he’ll kill you. This is how most homicides start, after all.
The two of you sit in silence for a couple of minutes. You look off to the side, waiting for him to speak because fuck knows you have nothing to say.
Meanwhile, he just stares at you—his big, hulking body leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands braided before his face. It’s the type of posture he’ll have when sitting in the corner of the ring—he’s got that same look in his eyes, too, deadset on you.
It makes you a little nervous, actually—maybe he really does plan on killing you.
“Why’d you do it?” he asks suddenly.
You almost scoff—almost roll your eyes, but you end up simply returning his dead glare. “Is that really what you asked me here for?”
He doesn’t answer that question. He just keeps staring at you.
You huff out a sigh, “I don’t know, maybe I just wondered what it would be like to be fucked like a woman for once and not someone’s toy.”
You don’t know why you decided to take it there when you both know why you’d done it. What other fucking reason would there be other than to get back at him? It’s a stupid question to begin with, and so you give it a stupid answer in return. And you won’t deny it feels fucking good—seeing him like this. Five o’clock shadow, eyebags, and uncut, disheveled hair.
He looks like a wreck, and rightfully so. Fuck knows what a mess you’d been before you finally managed to drag yourself out of bed. Funny what the single simple thought of revenge can do for someone so lost.
He scrapes his thumb down his jawline, over his stubble—a deep sigh running through him as he leans back on the couch. Offering no other reaction as he says, “I can sit here and act threatened, but you and I both know he was shit compared to me.”
He throws his arms up against the headrest, chin tipped up. Thinking he can hide it, thinking you can’t see right through him—to how hard he’s fighting to upkeep the poker face.
He’s forgetting who his opponent is.
“I know you, babe—I know your body. And there's no fucking way some shitstain you just met–”
“His dick was bigger,” you interrupt—face blank because two can play that silly game, and you do it better.
He’s shut up for a moment—you can see a vein pulse, but it’s quickly stifled, and he smirks instead, snickering despite his grit teeth, “Sorry, that must'a hurt given how much you cry with me.”
This time, you don’t refrain from scoffing and rolling your eyes, “That's all you have to say? Thought you were a fighter.”
“You want me to get jealous? Is that it?” he accuses then, starting to crack, throwing your scoff back at you, “Tch—should've fucked somebody important then.”
This time, you skip the eye-roll and flat-out laugh instead, “I'll keep that in mind. Next time, I'll call up your dad-”
That did it—got him out of his seat and everything. “Shut your mouth.” Standing big and hunched, all muscles and fury.
And you react in kind. Glad that you’re finally getting somewhere. “Make me.”
"You're fucking–" He clenched his fist in the air, scrunching his face in frustration, withholding a growl before releasing a heavy sigh instead.
Dropping his arms, shoulders slumping—hanging his head the same way whilst mumbling under his breath, “Fuck this… fuck this entire thing.”
And just as quickly as he’d sprung to his feet, he flopped down on the couch again.
“I don't wanna play games…” He looks up at you—now with the look of a starved and beaten dog. “I don’t want anyone but you.”
He reaches out slowly—big hands cradling your thighs, pulling you towards him gently, and you let him—put off by that strange new look in his eyes.
“You can fuck half the world, and I'd still only want you.”
It’s an odd confession. Unexpected coming from him. You’d anticipated more of a fight, not whatever this is. Looking at you with glossy eyes on the verge of tears. Suddenly, you feel kind of mean, struck with this sense of guilt for having reduced him to such a state.
“Don't take the high road. It doesn't suit you,” you declare, though without much bite.
And he just sighs, “Fuck that, we’re even now.” Pulling you even closer still—into his lap—he makes you straddle him. Forehead to forehead without kissing you yet. “So, are you gonna let me fuck you, or are you really gonna make me beg?”
And though you would kind of like to see what he’d look like on his knees, the sight of him like this was good enough proof that he’d learned his lesson despite it not being an apology.
Besides, he'd been all too right when he’d said the other guy couldn’t fuck you like him.
You volunteer at the homeless shelter and can’t help but feel extra sorry for him. He’s only around your age—so young yet with no future to speak of.
This winter, given it’s going to be an especially harsh one, all volunteers have been asked if they have any spare room they can be so kind as to give to those less fortunate. And though you’re not that well off yourself, you still have an extra room you’ve only been using as storage.
So, unable to look the other way, you decide to clean it out, get a bed, and host him.
You took precautions first, naturally—just to be safe. But, from what you could tell, he’s neither a drug addict nor has any criminal record to speak of. No, he’s just another abandoned kid who'd society had failed.
This is the least you can do to correct its wrongs.
And, of course, he falls in love with you for it. Not only do you give him a place of rest—but you make him warm food, give him fresh clothes, do his laundry, draw his bath, watch movies with him every night, and always ask him if he has everything he needs. You even cut his long, shaggy hair for him and give him luxuries such as face-lotion.
You’re a saint, too good for a filthy sinner like him, but he’ll never let you know that... No, your pity feels too nice—taking such good care of him—he’s going to leach off of you and your honeycomb heart for the rest of his life if he can help it.
He doesn't look too bad after he cleans up, and after a few more weeks of eating well and getting enough rest—he stops lurching and starts standing up straight, looking lanky and lean with muscle—at which point you can’t deny he’s even a little hot. You know… in that scrappy sort of way.
You feel weird about it, of course—guilty even. He’s a homeless guy you’re housing—you’d be nothing if not downright evil if you took advantage of him. But after a few weeks of settling in, he starts feeling like more of a normal roommate and not a stranger. And with that familiarity, you both lose the distance and become more lax and loose around each other—wearing less, talking casually, not afraid to brush up against each other, and before you even know it, you find yourself folded in half beneath him on the living room couch.
You don’t know what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into—but his cock’s so big he’s pounding the sense right out of you with every thrust.
He’s not even going fast. No, rather slow, actually—taking his time as if savoring it. But that doesn't take away from the pleasure bubbling up inside of you where his strokes hit so heavy, resting deep within, so fulfilling that it all but replaces your better judgment with the sole need to squeeze him with all you've got.
“Mh, you’re pussy’s so nice and warm—I could stay inside you forever.”
You’re so wet it’s ridiculous—like never before—like you’re the one who’s been starved and neglected and not the other way around. Getting your breath all but knocked out of you, getting fucked so utterly full, he’s making you kick your feet and curl your toes in the air, bucking your hips back into him like you’re desperately begging for more.
He’s got your knees hooked over his arms, keeping you neatly pressed under him. “You’re so good to me—so, so sweet, you must be the sweetest girl in the whole entire world. My guardian angel.”
All you’re able to do is babble and moan in return—misty- and cross-eyed with your dewy face cradled in his hands.
You just hold onto his wrists while he speaks fondly against your lips, “You saved me when no one else even bothered looking. Let me return the favor—give this pretty pussy all the thanks it deserves.”
When he re-angles and hits you in a different spot, the switch in your lower belly is immediate—making your whole body seize up and shiver, breath shuddering in your throat, followed swiftly by a pulse migrating from your core all throughout your body, tasting oversweet on your tongue enough to make you drool.
He locks lips with yours, slurping your spit up sloppily and keeping himself fully sleaved as you peak—feeling your wet, gummy walls tighten and flutter, rippling along his length like a rush of kisses.
Then, right before it fully dies down, he picks up the pace again and rekindles it—because fuck knows he’s well-rested and over-due and the farthest thing from done with you just yet.
You start off as a waitress at his restaurant. And yet, he’s the one who developed an appetite—for you and your pleasing smile and that busy-bee swing you have in your hip as you hop around from table to table.
He licks his lips at the sight of you more than he does the food he makes. He even had the uniforms altered in your image—made the skirts shorter and shirts tighter.
He's utterly shameless, but who can blame him? You’re such a little bite-sized treat—he just has to taste you.
And taste you, he most certainly does.
For breakfast and for brunch and lunch and dinner and supper, as well as a midnight snack.
“Your pussy juice is my favorite,” he groans from between your legs.
Fat-muscled chef’s arms, tattooed with all types of silly patches, curled tightly around your thighs, keeping you close despite those times you try and push away when it gets to be a little too much—because fuck knows he doesn’t have the same reservations. Nose and tongue and chin deep in your slit, slurping you down while filling you up with his words, “I want to flavor every meal I make with you.”
You keep a hand over your face, kissing your knuckles, sometimes with a bite—whimpering pitifully, “Gross…”
Of course, you can’t help but cringe when he says things like that. He’s your boss, after all, not a porn actor. Still, you don’t say it with much conviction. It’s just that you get so embarrassed you don’t know what else to say.
He chuckles, still with his face buried. “Don’t be childish.” Words muffled as he doubles down on his efforts of sucking on your clit like a piece of candy.
“I’m not,” you whine. “You're just weird.”
He smacks off of you at that, a refreshing sigh leaving him rugged and raspy, a devilish look in his eyes as if he’s about to eat you for real. “I’m a world-renowned chef—are you implying I don’t know my flavors?”
Everything in your gut coils with anticipation, nearly rumbling with need, while he pulls your lower half up and even closer—face glossy with the way he’d gorged himself already—licking his teeth now as he refocuses on your clit alone.
Flattening his tongue on it while he speaks, sounding like some type of beast, “I’ve tasted everything the world has to offer. And I'm telling you, this pretty little thing between your legs is the best there is.”
You can’t stand looking up at him. Beyond embarrassed, you hide your face with both hands. Mumbling out a weak, “Pervert...”
Again, he snickers, shaking his head as if he’s ripping into flesh when he’s really just got his tongue out—straight motorboating your poor pussy.
When done, he drops you onto the bed again, grinning while replying to your insult, “Can’t argue with that,” before promptly kissing and licking up your belly—with fingers replacing his tongue, pumping you on his knuckles, getting you ready.
He groans when his mouth reaches your chest, lips wrapped around a nipple, “If only these titties had milk. I could feast on you from every position.”
You don’t know if you should giggle or grumble—he’s such a baby—and a spoiled one at that. But really, his fingering is making it difficult to do anything but stammer and try and keep it together, “We talked about this—I’m not taking hormones just to breastfeed you, you weirdo.”
He whines then, “Please—it’s my only wish in the entire world—I need it.”
You struggle to argue, feeling like you’re under siege—an onslaught set out to make you breathless. “Well—” you pant, gritting your teeth and bearing it. “We can’t always get what we want.”
“Oh, I’ll see about that.” He takes it as a challenge, this time really locking his lips around your nipple and suckling—releasing just briefly to say, “I bet if I suck on these babies enough, they’ll give me what I want.”
He keeps his fingers working diligently while at it—used to multitasking—curling and spreading them out within you, pumping you so fast, you barely have the time to beg him to “Stop that—” before you’re already shaking and cumming for what must be the seventh time already.
He laughs breathily, kissing your teat goodbye as he lifts himself up again. Pulling his fingers out of you, he brings them to his lips and blithely sucks them off.
“You know I can’t stop, dear. I’m so hungry—I’m ravenous.”
You watch him from over the tips of your fingers. So hot and mortified you think you’re soon to pass out. Breathing heavily behind your hands, muttering, “You’re a glutton—that’s what you are.”
Again, he just cheerfully snickers, bowing down to your halfway-hidden face with a smile. “I hardly see how it’s my fault I can’t get enough of you.”
He spreads your legs again and finds his place between them.
“You’re the one who got me hooked—so you better take responsibility for it.”
Lust is your boss. He's the owner of the strip club where you work, your pimp when money’s tight, as well as the porndirector of all your lovely little films.
Yeah, you might as well have a tramp stamp of his name on your ass, the way he practically owns you…
He's around ten years older and has basically taught you all about sex from when you were only a fledgling in the industry. You live at his studio above the club since he keeps all your money in a bank account under his name, calling you his little sugarbaby and telling you you’ll get an allowance and that you can get more if and when you ask him nicely and tell him what it’s for.
“Don’t be a brat, baby. You know how I hate it when you're a bad girl,” he says when you raise the topic of moving out, treating it as if you’re a child threatening to run away from home.
“I don’t belong to you. Give me what you owe me.”
Honestly, you have no idea where you got the courage.
But is it courage? Or is it just plain stupidity? Because, though you’re increasingly more terrified as you quickly watch him lose his temper, it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise. And so, if you knew this is what was going to happen—why the fuck would you put yourself through it?
Must be madness.
“I give you everything, don't I? Food, clothes, a home,” he chastises, bearing over you while you’re down on scuffed knees, holding your wrist in a bruising grip and your face just as fiercely—nearly tearing the skin off your cheeks with the bite of his nails.
“And still, you have the fucking nerve to act like a goddamn bitch.”
You hiccup on sobs, spluttering out a desperate “Please—I’m sorry–”
"You and your entire slut body belong to me, you understand that?"
"Yes-yes—please—I'm sorry! You're right! I belong to you! I'm sorry!"
That seems to calm him just a bit—at least enough to take the bite away from his voice, now cooing at you in an ugly mocking attempt at sweetness, “Yeah, you do every single little thing I ask. ‘Cause if you’re not gonna behave like a good girl, I have no other choice but to treat you like a bad one.”
He lets your audience be rowdier than usual that night, allowing them to slap and grab, then forces you to have an extra rough shoot afterward—with tighter bondage, more toys, bigger guys making use of you like a piece of meat, smacking and choking you as they find out how many cocks your holes can fit, every last one finishing on your face.
Then, when you’re all done and all used up for the day, he brings you upstairs—home, sweet home—where he treats you to some much-unwanted after-care...
You shiver and shake despite the hot water. Sitting in the bathtub, laying back with your spine against his chest, feeling thin like a sheet of paper, all crumbled up and torn—sniffling and sniveling as the after-shock of the day still ricochets through you like wind through a hollow husk.
“The shoot today was rough, huh?” he drawls, washing you with his own hands. Stroking your poor sore cunt despite how it makes you whimper. “Yeah... was it a little too rough for you, hm?”
You don’t do anything in return—but your body language says enough on its own, and he allows it to be your answer.
Sighing heavily, he wraps you up with both arms and squeezes you tighter, chin resting atop your head.
“You know… if you’d just be my good girl, I’d give you a good girl to-do list. Let you stay here all day, do some house chores while I’m gone, make love when I get home, hm? Doesn’t that sound better?”
He traces a welted bruise on the inside of your thigh, one you got from the shoot—roughly the shape of a hand, and a dozen more others layered on top of it. It makes you suck in a hiss.
“But if you’re gonna be a bad girl, then this is what you get.”
He settles into the grove of your neck, purring against your ear. “Are you gonna be my good girl from now on? Hm?”
You bite your lip, breath shuddering while nodding pitifully.
And still, he insists, “Say it so I can hear it.”
The water’s gone cold around you—just like everything else, as you say, “I’ll be a good girl.”
He seems pleased, at least. Nuzzling against your cheek with chin stubble and a smirk, asking, “Yeah? Whose?”
Your voice is small and pathetic, nearly a wince, “Yours.”
He groans then, “That’s right. My good girl.” Lifting his hand from the water, he takes hold of your chin, fingers pressing into those designated sore spots as he angles your face toward him and gives you a heartless kiss before growling against your lips, “And don’t you ever fucking dare forget it again.”
After he’s finished washing you up, he carries you out to bed. It's one you fear much more than the one down in the studio.
Because in this bed, just like every night in this hellhole… he starts teaching every last one of your holes who they belong to.
Or, well, no, he’s not your enemy, but you’re most certainly his enemy.
You’re just not aware of it because of what a ditzy and clueless airhead you are.
But fuck, he can’t stand you—you and your fake personality, acting all bubbly and sweet, cheering him on, always telling him to do his best—condescending little bitch acting like everyone’s friend—like he doesn’t see through you right to your rotten core. You don’t fool him—he knows you’re as bad as the rest of them, so just quit pretending like you’re better or something.
You’re under the false impression that the two of you are friends. You just think he has a strange sense of humor, but you laugh politely even when you don’t always get the joke.
Well, maybe it’s not so much politeness, but the fact that you have a big fat hopeless crush on him.
It infuriates him. He throws your niceties back in your face as insults, and you just laugh. How low do you think of him? Honestly? How tall is that high horse of yours that you have your head constantly in the clouds?
Poor you… you just think he’s so cool—always saying what he feels like, not a lame people-pleasing goodie-two-shoes such as yourself. You can’t help but follow him around like a lost puppy all day long. You’re always making sure you sit next to him during lectures—heart almost beating out of your chest, holding back from squealing when your prayers are answered, and the two of you are finally paired for a project together.
It really feels like the universe is on your side, and so you just can’t stop yourself from going the full mile—making chocolates and preparing him a hand-written love letter. You know he’ll think you’re a little silly, that he’ll make fun of you for it—but you can’t expect to get anywhere without putting your heart on the line, can you? For a chance at love, the risk must be worth it!
Yeah, you’re such a hopeless romantic—you feel it as he punches his fist through your ribs when he rips out your poor heart and stomps all over it.
“I fucking get it already! You’re little miss pretty and popular. Would you quit rubbing it in my face, or do I really have to spell it out for you? I. Don’t. Fucking. Like. You,” he seethes through grit teeth. “Go pick another one of the hundreds dying to be your partner and leave me the fuck alone!”
You shrink where you stand, shocked doe-eyes rapidly welling up like a flood, lips wobbling as you choke on your words, “Oh… okay… I’m sorry… I just… I–”
“You-you-you what?” he barks at your stuttering. “Spit it out already! What the fuck do you want?”
“I just-I-I just always thought you were amazing. So…”
His face contorts, scrunches up in a grimace different from anger, though not without it, as he spits out, “What the fuck are you on about now?”
But his voice is a little diminished now, with confusion usurping the place of his hate, suddenly feeling a little out of sorts because… what did you actually just say?
“I just, I really like you–” you repeat, hanging your head, only barely able to mumble through the tears blocking your throat. “But I guess I’ve just annoyed you all this time—I’m sorry...”
Only now does he notice you’re trying to hand him something—a flat little box with a pink note attached.
“This is for you, but I understand if you don’t want it.” Unable to look up, you just stretch your arms out until it gently bumps into him.
Baffled, he accepts without thinking.
“I’m sorry—I’ll leave you alone from now on.” And then you run off, disappearing with a sob that all but shoots him through the chest.
And slowly bleeding out, he remains standing there, eyes glued to where you'd left—mouthing the word what…
What did you just say?
Like? Him?
Did he mishear you, or did you just confess?
No way—that can’t be it, right?
But what the fuck is this heart-shaped letter, then?
"What the fuck did I just do?"
You look like you’ve been crying your eyes out all night the next day—your usual bubbly personality reduced to a ghost in a shell, walking the hallways like a zombie, slowly and without purpose, eyes on the ground—letting everyone bump into you.
You don't even so much as bat an eye when someone runs straight over you, fully knocking all your books and folders onto the floor.
You just get on your knees and start recollecting them.
A newfound hate flares up within him at the sight. “Hey, you!" He stomps over. "Watch where the fuck you’re going next time, dipshit.”
You look up at the sound of his voice—flinching before you notice it’s not directed at you.
No, rather, he’s got a boy up against the lockers, lifted by his collar onto the tip of his toes. Face only a few inches from his, glaring at him harsher than he’d glared at you yesterday.
“Now apologize to the girl before I punch your ugly face in.”
You stare at the altercation with large eyes, only able to blink as the boy who’d bumped into you starts spluttering on the verge of tears, “I–I’m sorry–I didn’t see you! Sorry!”
You don’t answer. Shocked and speechless, you remain on the floor in confusion, asking yourself why’s he doing this? Didn’t he cuss you out yesterday, or was it all a bad dream like you'd hoped?
He throws the boy on his way, then gets on his knees down alongside you—proceeding to help you gather your things.
You only watch on in wordless bewilderment until he starts muttering something under his breath.
“I’m sorry I made you cry yesterday.” He stacks all your things in a neat pile next to you while continuing his apology. “And for being an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”
He keeps his eyes fixed to the floor where his hands busily roam around until there was nothing more to retrieve.
He then hesitantly looks up at you—eyes flittering—a little too ashamed to hold your gaze as he says, “Your chocolates were really good.”
That’s when your heart starts fluttering again—as if new life was just breathed in and revived it.
He can see it as well—how you light up like a rekindled candle.
“They were?” you gush, shuffling closer on your knees all excitedly—face brighter than the sun on cloudfree summer day.
It blinds him—nearly stunts him, only able to utter a meager, almost shy, “Yeah.”
He then slings his bag in front of him and pulls something out.
A lunchbox.
“I made you these..." he swallows thickly. "As an apology…”
He’s utterly red—from the tips of his ears to his neck and entire face, even his hands.
“For me?”
“Yeah..." He reaches it over stiffly. “They’re not as good as yours, though...”
You eagerly accept despite his nervousness, popping the lid off where the two of you sit—right there in the middle of the hallway floor, with other students walking around you like water passing two rocks in a stream.
His blush grows ever more intense as you pick one of his crudely made chocolates up, not even examining it before throwing one into your mouth.
It was his first time making anything that required a recipe. And they most certainly did not come out well, but he figured the embarrassment was part of his atonement.
He didn’t actually expect you to try them.
But there you are—lying through your teeth, saying, “I think they’re great!”
He can only scoff out a soft laugh. “Of course you would.”
Turns out, you really are just a nice person after all. You don’t have the heart to be mean at all, do you? Yeah, you don’t even have it in you to feel any of the ugly things he keeps inside. In fact, he bets you don’t even have the means of knowing such ugly things exist.
That must be what he’s envied about you all this time…
He doesn’t want to share you with anyone and gets viscerally jealous each time you hang out with others. It’s as if he feels boils rising beneath his skin, simmering with a violent need to kill anyone and everyone you ever come into contact with—even if it’s just a passerby who accidentally brushes against you.
He can’t stand other people—how they think they can just come along and be your friend when he’s been your friend since you both were in diapers. What? Do they really expect him to share you with them? Just like that? No way. You’re his best friend. They should all go find themselves their own.
Actually, the term best friend doesn’t even really cut it… It’s a little too childish. You’ve both grown out of it. And besides, it never really fully encompassed what the two of you actually are to each other. You’re so much more than just friends, after all. Yeah, what you really are is soulmates. Yeah, that sounds more right. Soulmates.
And the bond between soulmates is like the bond between an addict and their favorite drug. You wouldn’t ask an addict to share his favorite drug, now would you? No. Not unless you’re prepared to either kill or be killed.
But he can’t say he blames them for wanting you, either. Of course, they’d want you—anyone would.
He pities them, actually. And you make it no better for the poor suckers, stringing them all along—acting as if there’s enough of you to go around. Well, there just isn’t. And even if there was, he shouldn't have to share you with anyone.
Yeah, the problem here is you. You don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand that you’re his.
Well… seems like he’ll just have to teach you once and for all, now, doesn’t it?
“What’s… this?” you mumble groggily once you wake, sluggishly tugging your bound wrists—not yet aware of what they are. Your eyes blow wide once you do—voice turning sharply frantic, “What’s happening?”
“We’re having a play date like we used to.” He comes into view just as the panic sets in—and though his face has all the familiarity to be a sign of comfort, his words evoke no such feeling within you.
“Remember? How we used to play house?" he says. "Granted, we're a little older now… so I thought I’d change it up a bit.”
He stands before the bed you’re currently lying tied down on. But he doesn’t look like himself. No, there’s something very wrong about all of him. Seeming way too at ease for the situation.
“Instead of making mud pies…” he continues. “I'm gonna fuck you and give you a creampie.”
Your heart lurches up into your throat at his words, and you choke. Your clothes from the day have been removed, leaving you naked. You spot them lying on the floor in a heap while you spastically look around for clues as to “What the fuck’s going on? This isn’t funny–”
“Shut up,” he says—his demeanor still as nonchalant as he climbs on top of you and pushes something past your lips, nudging it deep down in your throat.
Feeling it as it scrapes your tongue, you can tell it’s your lace panties, and you gag—shaking your head, trying to dislodge both it and his fingers, but he holds you steady.
“I have things to say. So, be a good friend and listen.”
You start crying then—brows cinched as you look up at him in terror, full-tremoring now while struggling under his weight and the all-too-intimate way he starts touching you.
“I'm glad you’re still a virgin…” he suddenly says, running his hands down your breasts, catching your nipples between his fingers.
You twist in disgust, halfway convinced you’re having some godawful fucked up dream—that this just can’t be happening—but somehow, at the same time, something deep in your gut that’s been lying there for a while ignored by your kind heart doesn't find it completely without warning, having felt how strange he'd been acting as of late—always looking at you a certain way and saying certain concerning things—certain concerning things he’s saying right now, “I’d kill all those little toy friends of yours if you were ever so stupid to let them have it.”
He glares at you—looking every bit angry, and yet you can’t describe it exactly. Something about that look in his eyes makes him seem like a complete stranger to you. Then he cracks a smile, and it makes it all the worse. Bowing down until his forehead presses clean against yours, noses rubbing against each other.
“But I think you knew. Didn’t you? Knew how it wouldn’t be right. Knew it was mine to take.”
He shuffles backward until he’s separating your thighs instead of straddling your waist. And you croak with an especially full-chested sob as his touches travel further down along with him—with savage goosebumps running rampant across your body once he rubs his thumb crassly over your slit.
“You see?” his breath shudders in his throat—thick with something mortifying that’s bound to ruin you forever. “It’s so happy to see me.”
You whine and scramble, trying to force your thighs shut—but he has the upper hand—keeping you spread with his body while two of his fingers slip through your lips and bully themselves inside.
He pumps them in and out with zero regard to how you recoil—only sneering at the way you worm in disgust, “At least your pussy understands where its loyalties lie.”
It’s not long before his ministrations draw wetness, and he pulls them out—inspecting them in the dim light he’s left on. Rubbing the digits together before putting them in his mouth.
You close your eyes with a whimper while listening to the sickening sounds of him sucking them clean.
He puts both hands around your neck next. He doesn't squeeze hard, but your breath stops nonetheless. Eyes stinging with both spent and still-welling tears.
“I’m upset with you,” he states, brushing his lips over your parted ones, still stuffed and silenced with your own underwear. “But I’ll forgive you if you apologize and swear to me that you meant it when you said we’d be friends forever.”
That look in his eyes—you still can’t explain it. Desperate, desolate, deranged, and enraged—something downright sick.
“But since you can’t talk right now, you’ll have to prove it some other way...”
One of the hands disappears, and you hear the following sounds of a zipper being undone, then the rustling of his pants being shoved down.
“Cum on my cock, and I’ll know.”
The room tastes of blood and something rotten as he frees his cock and graces your clit.
“Actions speak louder than words anyway, after all, don’t they? So cum on my cock, and I’ll cum in your pussy, so we can seal our friendship again—just like the time we married each other on the playground.”
He enters you, and you think you might just die in the mix of horror and grief.
And yet you remain perfectly alive—even as he rips through you and splits both you and your heart apart.
“You can think of this as the honeymoon,” he whispers. “Always and forever, happily ever after, never apart.”
synopsis!! everyone knows the creator doesn't favor diluc (everyone is wrong).
cw !! gn reader, reader is peak diluc simp 😐 somewhat self-aware characters, mild sagau themes (not too much), reader is recognized as the player, reader is a little shy at first. angst with reverse comfort!
note !! the plot feels a little everywhere but i tried to organize it as best as i can, i think i got carried away eheh honestly doesn't feel up to my standards but it was pretty enjoyable to write
word count !! 2.8k something
"No, it's definitely Outrider Amber, she was the first to ever be favored."
"Are you kidding me? Outrider Amber may be the first, but sir Kaeya was definitely loved. Have you seen the sword he was gifted with?" One growls.
"It's the Acting Grand Master Jean!" Someone slams the table with his beer mug, "Twice was she bestowed with fallen stars of gold."
"I'd say that wolf boy in the woods seem lucky."
"It has to be Bennett. I don't know why but that kid has two crowns! Two!"
"You're all missing out on Miss Lisa!"
"Stop, stop! You rowdy drunks! Every vision holder in Mond has been granted favor, this is just impossible to decide!"
There was a pause. "Well. . . not every." Someone mumbles under their breath.
"Not every? Who's the poor allogene that couldn't even get the Player's favo—" Shushing sounds break his sentence, the men glare at their companion, pointing to the redhead behind the bar.
It's useless, really.
Diluc has been listening in the entire time. He can't really help it when their voices were loud enough to reach where he stood. Still, he was merciful and pretended not to hear. He's not exactly bothered by what they're saying. It was the truth, after all.
For two years, vision holders all around Teyvat were being granted favor.
It often begins with a meteor shower gracing the sky.
A star gently falling into the hands of a vision holder, embracing them in warm light.
They call the ethereal sensation as something akin to "coming home".
The favored would then be given different things; quality weapons, enhanced abilities, beautiful crowns— Some allogenes were even gifted summer apparel (Mondstadt is proud that their Gunnhildr sisters were one of the very first). Even their equipped wings would change into ornamented works of art!
It's been two years, and it seems like every allogene he knows of has received the Player's grace.
He supposed he just wasn't favored. It isn't too difficult to believe that he isn't likable.
He convinces himself it's fine.
It's fine if his summoned weapon is a cheap claymore made of scrap metal. It's still efficient to have the extra blade while he manually carries around another claymore (commissioned from Wagner as the best money could buy). Or that his abilities can only be improved through hardwork, unlike the many who broke the limits of their power through your favor.
It's fine.
As the bar goers leave for the night, as Venti and Kaeya wave around their almost divine-looking five-star weapons to show the crowd, and as he's closing up the tavern and retreating to his upstair quarters for comfort, he convinces himself that the he'll be okay on his own.
•
The arrival of the Creator was festive and grand; The day the sky parted itself and glowed as the brightest of all stars fell with grace into Mondstadt's very own Windrise.
Teyvat rejoices in the ecstatic ideal of being loved.
A meeting of vision holders was quickly held in the Cathedral, discussing immediate plans as some of the most favored (Venti, Jean, Kaeya, Albedo to name a few) went ahead to fetch the Creator from the large tree.
While Diluc was often the center of any other meeting due to his authority and influence, this was something he chose to step back from. Standing by the windows, away from the meeting, he watched on as Eula and the rest conversed around the circular table.
He isn't even sure why he's invited. Perhaps they felt it was obligatory for vision holders, regardless of favorability? Then again, he could always offer a fraction of his mountain-loads of wealth to help with the festivities.
At least he's competent at being a wallet.
As the others pull out their crowns and stars, weapons and artifacts, eager to thank the one responsible for the gifts, an unknown emotion bubbles in his stomach. It's faint, but it's there.
He tries to look away.
"Everyone, everyone! They're entering the gates!" Fischl announces uncharacteristically to the room as her eye glows brightly, undoubtedly looking through Oz's eyes from the sky.
"We should wait by the statue to welcome them, right?" Barbara chirps in, hands clasped and wavy hair bouncing with every step.
Diluc watches as people steadily leave the room, following last as they walk down the steps to greet the approaching group. Some civilians gathered to see the scene, others didn't really understand what a Player or Creator was to a vision holder, while Diluc—
Diluc stood by the steps to see them crowd around you.
You, surrounded with words of gratitude and cheerful squeals. He sees the smile on your face and feels relief that you don't seem too overwhelmed.
He leaves the area without a second thought.
•
He doesn't exactly see you around the next few days. With Mondstadt celebrating a new festival, the taverns were always full and busy with customers (both local and foreign). You were probably busy too, spending time with the different allogenes and entertaining those who came from Liyue to meet you. He's heard of a funeral consultant with three crowns (are consultants that admirable of a job to you?) and an adeptus gifted with various five-star polearms (this was understandable for the adepti, unlike the consultant).
He doesn't expect to see you at all until you leave for the next nation, honestly.
That is, until the tavern settles into a more peaceful atmosphere and Jean rushes in with several other allogenes. It's unusual to see his childhood friend in the tavern; still, he greets her amicably and asks what brings her here.
"(Name) will be coming here soon with Kaeya and a few others. It's a little impromptu, but we were hoping for a place to settle in with drinks. Perhaps try some apple cider." She smiles, taking a seat by the bar.
(Name)? Jean was already on a first name basis with the Creator?
Diluc thinks perhaps Jean truly is the favorite, she does have a few golden stars in her home.
Somehow, it's not surprising at all to know that his apple cider was famous enough to drag you in. At least there's something about the Dawn Winery in your favor. He promptly gets his employees to work, clearing a few tables near the bar, rearranging the furniture to give space good enough for a group.
Your entrance into the bar was just as lively; with your favored allogenes chatting away with you, everyone falling into place at different parts of the tavern, ordering drinks and meals.
He's glad you enjoy apple cider.
•
You're trying to play it cool, really. Trying your best not to get overexcited and glomp everyone and everything.
You're taking things step by step as you converse with Jean, Lisa, and Albedo; as you share meals with Barbara and Sucrose; as you play with Klee and Diona; tour the city with Fischl and Bennett. There's plenty of time to meet everyone and your schedule has been filled to the brim with all the fun your having.
You'll see that glimpse of red hair again— one that was lingering by the Cathedral staircase. Diluc doesn't like crowds, so it's fine that he isn't approaching you. It's also fine that he hasn't visited at least once, unlike the several raging from Liyue to Sumeru who took the journey to meet you early.
Diluc is too busy a person to meet you; whether it's because of the winery or his darknight hero duties, you wouldn't dare take his time.
— but when are you supposed to give him all the gifts you've brought for him???
Your determination to build him up in one go, from Talent levels to Constellations to Artifacts and Weaponry, all came down to this moment — and the man was simply nowhere to be seen!
An unknowingly loud sigh escapes your lips, catching the attention of the Cavalry Captain next to you.
"Now, what's got our (Name) so down in the dumps?" Kaeya hums, glancing at your face as you stutter a response.
"Aah it's not that, it's just. . ."
Your brother is too busy, I just want to meet him!!
"I'm thirsty." You deflect, looking around for a stall. The streets of Mond were nothing like the minimized version you see in the game; with the city being ten times larger than what you remembered it to be.
"Oh! Oh! Klee suggests apple cider!" The little girl giggles, running around your legs in excitement, "Angel's Share is nearby and big brother Albedo alwaaays takes me there for apple cider!"
Angel's Share. Bartender. A great idea has appeared!
At the excited look on your face, Jean walks up ahead of you.
"Why don't I go and inform the tavern to prepare us a space first, it would save us the waiting time."
"That would be great, Jean!"
•
You hope you aren't being too obvious.
With the way your eyes would linger on him, casting side glances and hoping he would greet you to strike up a conversation, the way most allogenes do. You didn't want to abruptly disturb his work, nor do you want seem desperate, so you waited for his initiative.
Yet, Diluc lingers just a little outside your group's circle. Your food and drinks were refilled by Charles, you've talked with nearly everyone but the person you want to talk to.
"It's getting pretty late, we should head home for the night." Someone suggests.
What?
No!
"Hm? Do you still have something in mind?" Kaeya asks. You realized you said it out loud, catching the attention of nearby patrons.
With a frantic glance around the tavern, your eyes make contact with Diluc's. He pauses as well, wondering what caused your little outburst.
You are definitely not leaving, not when you don't know when you could catch Diluc in his free time again! You'd be leaving for Liyue by then!
Hands slamming the table to stand up and with a small burst of courage, you approach the bartender who turns away from Charles. He raises an eyebrow at your approach. It's odd the way you feel flustered and nervous, finally facing him.
Pausing just in front of him, he looks on curiously.
"Would you like a refill?" He asks.
"A-ah no, I mean, yes but that's not why I'm here. I. . ." You stutter, stumbling over your words as you try not to behave awkwardly. Should you start with a casual topic?
"You seem to be quite busy." You say.
Diluc blinks. He isn't sure what you're implying. Neither is Kaeya or Jean, who stopped to look at the exchange of words.
"I suppose. . . but as a winery, we do thrive in impromptu festivities." He replies curtly before realizing, was it rude that he never visited the Creator?
"Ah, is it my lack of visit? I apologize, I would have visited but it seems that you were quite satisfied with your favorites and-"
"No, no, no," You wave your hand, cutting him off, "I understand you're busy. You don't have to visit at all! How could I take your time— wait," You pause, recalling his words.
"Favorites?" You tilt your head, "What do you mean I seemed satisfied with my favorites? What do you mean by favorites?"
"Your favorites... allogenes who received your favor. Those you have granted gifts."
Your jaw laxes. Favorites? They decided you play favorites based on how much you've built them?
"You think. . ." You say carefully, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, "That I offer gifts to my favorites?"
Diluc nods slowly, unsure of your questioning.
Although it would be a lie to say you didn't have your personal favorites, it would still be inaccurate that it's based on gifts. After all, you built everyone who came home by chance. As an avid player, you did your best to farm and push everyone to their full potential.
Diluc, however, never came home no matter how much you wanted him to. It can't be possible that he doesn't know how much he is loved, right?
"Then what about you?" You blurt out, "How do you think I view you?"
He stares at you oddly. At this point, many around you had stopped to tune in. Everyone knew Master Diluc never received your favor, so why are you conversing with him?
Meanwhile, Diluc wonders if you want him to admit it. Must he say it in front of everyone how he never received gifts?
"I suppose. . . I'm not one of them. It's quite understandable. I don't intend to question your judgement—"
"What?" You exclaim, a look of shock crosses your face, "You think I don't like you?" Voice raised in disbelief, you feel the eyes of many turning to watch the scene.
Diluc mirrors your confusion.
"I can't believe you would– no, that isn't it at all!" You stutter over your words, a frantic need to prove him wrong goes through you, "You— you of all people!"
"Me?" He repeats.
"I've always wanted you!"
A silence settles over the tavern. Did you have to put it so bluntly? You freeze in shock at your own words. Diluc's expression of disbelief turns flustered, face turning as red as his hair.
Explain yourself.
"I- I mean, I've always wanted you to come home. Ever since the start, really! It's just that you never did-"
"Hmm... so it implies that it's out of your control, correct?" Kaeya piqued, looking on curiously. He's been listening in the entire time. You nod your head.
"Yes! It's a game of chance for me as well. It's not to say that favor is an accident, I truly wanted everyone to come home! It's just that—" You turn to Diluc, "You never did, no matter how much I wanted you to. How was I supposed to give you your gifts?"
Diluc snaps out of his shock, blinking at you, "Gifts?"
"Yes, gifts! I've been saving them up for you, ever since the start." You pause, shyly looking away, "When I said I wanted you since the beginning I meant it. I came here for you, after all."
He looks at you in disbelief, and probably half the tavern as well. You can't help the small chuckle from your lips. With an outstretched hand, something materializes between you. It glows a blinding golden light, before settling to reveal–
"Wolf's Gravestone. It's a weapon for you."
You didn't have to say it— anyone with eyes could see how it was practically made for Diluc. With large handles and a color scheme that matches his own, Wolf's gravestone doesn't look as divine or ethereal as the other weapons you've gifted, but it looked just as powerful, if not menacing.
With a gesture, Diluc grips the handle.
"Fits like a glove." Kaeya whistles, impressed. As does the rest of the tavern who stopped to stare.
Suddenly, flames burst forth from the weapon. It sears and glows red. Unlike the common claymore that can't handle the the prowess of Diluc's flames, Wolf's Gravestone embraces it. Like an extension of his own hand.
He breaks his gaze away from the weapon to look at you.
"Thank you. . ." He mutters softly, but it's genuine. You smile.
"That's not the last of it, you know."
"What?"
With another flick of your hand, artifacts and talent books materialize. They flow around him like a dance as more and more begin to appear, lighting up the tavern like the night sky.
"I told you I brought gifts!"
All the days spent farming for him and other pyro characters finally paid off. The glimmering artifacts reflected in his own red eyes as he stares, entranced.
Favor did not come to him in meteor showers like it did to the other allogenes; rather, it came to him in your form. Proof of him being loved. The spectacle continued— after the artifacts and talent levels were the constellation (the crowd ooh'ed and aah'ed at the sight), then came the five star apparel (a nostalgic sight to him, and it changed his flames to a darker red), and the ascension materials you passed off as trinkets.
By the end of it, he had a hand over his lower face, his red bangs hid just the ends of his eyes. "I just thought I wasn't that favorable. . ." He muttered and you leaned in to peek at his covered face, wondering why he was shying away.
But it was evident to the tavern— the pink dusted ears, the flushed cheeks, and the overwhelming emotion in his eyes. Diluc Ragnvindr was flustered, and it's a sight enough to make even the drunks place down their beers for a closer look.
You bit your lip, trying to prevent the widest of smiles, "Do you believe yourself loved now?" You ask and he gives the faintest of nods.
"Thank you," He says, "For favoring me."
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note !! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE a very short brainrot that became a fic huhuhuhu
I don't often write creator sagau themes but here we are! this is like peak diluc simpery idk ive never been this down for a man. i wrote this immediately after getting his skin i just got so excited 😅 I wanted to spoil him so bad (but i gave all his mats to thoma before he came home :< )
Sakusa Kiyoomi who’s not so subtly obsessed with his girlfriend.
It all started lowkey, back when he just went pro and questions about the life of a promising player piled on to him, the clip of one of his first ever interview that happened off-court, and not in a conference room when they were all still covered in sweat and trying to breathe evenly, is still circling social media, the interviewer went with the anticipated question, “fans wish to know if there’s someone special outside the gyms, perhaps a partner?” to which Kiyoomi only nodded with the same level of sternness he carried during a match point.
Overtime it seemed to become much easier to let others in, he still appreciated privacy, but to know that people loved seeing him break out a grin whenever mentioning you after a good game was priceless. It was one time after an away game in Malaysia that they’d won in just two sets, he was approached by local reporters, swarming him with questions but one in particular stood out for him. So when he was asked “what do you miss about Japan?” he didn’t hold back the smile, instead leaning closer to the microphone and bluntly saying “my partner”.
Kiyoomi had already prepared for the worst when faced with the fame that’d come alongside success, he’d seen it happen before, the gossip and tabloids, people breaking up or even getting a divorce over others’ opinion, but seeing the feedback from his supporters each time a new photo of both of you walking around Osaka or visiting his family in Tokyo popped out only encouraged him to share you with the world further.
Eventually he had a whole highlight dedicated to photos of you in his instagram profile, stories piled up each year, sometimes domestic, candid ones where you’d be making cocoa or simply rearranging and cleaning his memorabilia that Sakusa had earned throughout his career, or less private moments of you walking around the streets of Rome when he took you with him to the training camp, moments from all across the world with you beside him.
It’s all gotten to the point where people recognise you in the stands when the Black Jackals are playing, some of Kiyoomi’s fans had even asked for a photo whenever you were wearing the jersey or jacket with his number.
One time on Valentine’s Day Kiyoomi had posted a photo of you sprawled out on your shared bed, hand on your heart and phone almost up your nose with a caption saying “sleeping through the special day”. He deleted it not even ten minutes later, but of course people had already screenshot it plenty of times, to this day remembering the random exposure that was gone in record time.
Safe to say one thing Sakusa was always good at was hard launching, brand deals, important events, friendships with players people wouldn’t even expect him to know, but one particular time outshined the rest of his shenanigans. It was nearing evening after a tough home game where they walked out with another win that Kiyoomi was stopped by a fan with camera angled at him, filming a video when they suddenly asked “what are you looking forward to after today?” when he simply lifted his hand, showing off the golden band on his finger, “seeing my wife”.
CW: sfw. 1.3K words. NOTES: !PLEASE COMPLETELY READ MY GENERAL RULES FIRST IF YOU'RE NEW IN MY BLOG! this was written on july 2024 and posted the file here before i deleted it shortly since this is a part of a series i've yet to finish. with few tweaks ofc, i wanted to post it again since it's his birthday tomorrow. also if athletes can't drink after a game, let's just pretend they can.
Regrets rarely visited the meticulous Kiyoomi and when it does, it doesn't just looms over, it consumes him.
It started when he just let your sight fade from his vision, a creeping touch reaching out to him slowly while their team entertained the press, mingled with sponsors, and indulged a bit of their fans, his people congratulating him and them—until regret covered him. Stagnant beneath his facade while everything happened.
Now as the loud music of the club blared around, everyone had their first round of shots to celebrate another win of the Jackals, he's barely there. Too lost in the past and waste in the future as he kept thinking about how he didn't just went for it and ask you out right then and there. When you were right there, so bright as you cheered for them, for him. Right there when you congratulated him, breathtaking words you tenderly said.
“You were incredible!.....you're incredible.”
Kiyoomi immediately downed his shot when they began. Washing away the cringe of the fresh memory of him just standing there and too flustered to reply a comprehensive thought before you bid goodbye as he was swept off by the chaos around them and he just let you. The high of the long game and their triumph instantly replaced with the ugly presence of regret.
It's only then one of them at last brought him out of his spiralling, finally saying something about it. “Why don't ya just call her and ask her out? It'll do everyone a favour.” Miya Atsumu rarely held anything back. The effects of the alcohol an immediate enabler to Kiyoomi's body— more from the sudden callout to him, red blushing on his cheeks that traveled to his ears and down to his neck.
Though he wasn't vocal about it at all, his lingering gazes and complete silence when you were there was more than enough for what anyone could say. They wouldn't leave him about it whenever it was just them.
A close friend of the head of their promotional team, you were introduced to them a few weeks ago. Four weeks ago precisely, he remembers. A writer and illustrator on the way to start a new work about a story revolving around volleyball, and what better way to learn you know nothing about than to ask a friend for help and bring you directly to the grounds of it. You found it easy to get along with the athletes as they were keenly enthusiastic to teach, tell about themselves, their stories, and simply be in their element as you spectate.
While Kiyoomi spectated you. He wasn't open with you like the others were a lot, barely contributing to what you were doing, at least that's what he felt like—you never missed a chance to say how everything to the smallest details anyone could miss or not care about that they tell you is a huge help either ways to your story building. Even to him, how he rarely talked to you and when he did, it's only short—yet you still treated him like everyone else.
Hah. Is the bar that low for him? But it is what it is.
“She might possibly like you, too!” Shouyou chirped as Kiyoomi remained unspoken after Atsumu did. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the ever jovial trio as Koutaro followed after—nonetheless his fondness for them, of course.
“She really does!” Koutaro added. That's not far off at all, he knows. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't brush it off as a mere—even barely an infatuation.
Yet he can't brush off that annoying gnaw from what he thinks he should have done.
“If yer still not gonna do shit. I'll just ask 'er out myself again, maybe she's changed her mind.” Atsumu goes again while he poured everyone shots for another round.
“What?” Kiyoomi sharply spoke, his boring gaze cold on the fake blonde. He knows damn well he's being baited but fuck all.
Atsumu smirked from the expected reaction but not saying anything then; Meian did as he laughed a bit. “He joked with her one time about asking her out if she's interested, she just said no.”
Kiyoomi's eye twitched. “I wasn't joking though,” Atsumu continued to taunt, taking another shot of his when he finished pouring all of them.
Kiyoomi sighed in frustration, forcing himself to relent to their trap, and he thought maybe it could at least take away a bit of what's bothering him. “Fine," he muttered begrudgingly before he held his phone again and looked for your account.
No amount of alcohol could soothe his nerves as he stared at your nonexistent conversation, but he's not a coward when he's being challenged, so Kiyoomi downed his shot again and pressed the call button after. He's gonna die.
He looks at no one as he laid his phone on his ear and waited for you to answer. Remaining to sit up straight in their booth with his phone still ringing, despite how he's leaning himself back, it's too clear he's tensed. His heart burned painfully when you picked up.
Your voice didn't waste a second to speak. The volume of his phone just loud enough for all of them to hear against all the sounds in the club. “Sakusa?” Surprised, nonetheless kind as always, he made out.
Kiyoomi's mouth parted a bit slowly with a faint breath he took. "Kiyoomi….Kiyoomi is fine," is what he said first, "I hope I can call you by your name as well.” His left hand that's on the edge of the table clenched to a fist to keep himself steady, keeping his eyes down as well and ignored the sheer presence of everyone's gaze on him. The trio are doing their best to keep themselves quiet, too giddy at what they're witnessing while the older men much invested as well but with just their proud smiles.
“Oh…it's more than fine,” you replied after taking it in, not at all keeping what you want to mean, he had observed that for quite a while. He feels the worry from your end ebb away after sensing there's nothing to be urgently worried about. “Kiyoomi," you echoed softly. He could see the smile you have right now, it made him blink firmly for a moment and not make himself weaker than he already is. His face is now utterly burning and the alcohol was barely the reason for it anymore. “Is there a reason you're calling? You guys are celebrating, right?"
“Mhmn, we are,” Kiyoomi answered. He unclenched his fingers with a tight force and chooses to just spit it out. “I think you're lovely.” No hesitance present but he did it benignly. He remembered your admiring words and he won't ever forgive himself if he doesn't return his gratitude for it. “You are lovely.” It's barely a murmur, yet it echoed loudly to everyone. He's hoping so much you won't take it in any wrong way, possibly think he's drunk or this is just a childish dare and he hoped as well you didn't think of him that lowly—therefore he made the advantage of the shortest silence from your end. “…I want to get to know you better..if you'll have me.”
You found your voice with a bit of soft laugh. “Kiyo…” That's a nickname he'll now engraved in him. “That's…that's beautiful," you said, and he's already breathing in relief from your acceptance, much more to your admission. “I'd love to let you.” The tender moment was all too fleeting because of the loud cheer of the men suddenly breaking through wildly.
Kiyoomi's left hand grasped on his mouth for a second, unable to withstand the trembling grin that he couldn't prevent. His heartbeat wild, the music and all the noise ringing in his ears but your laughter grounded him.
After finding his words with the rowdiness calming down, he spoke again. “Thank you." Because he is glad and damn thankful you reciprocated as much as he did. “Would dinner tomorrow night be okay with you? But whatever you're more comfortable with is better."
The agreement of your answer made the men howling once more with their feral cheers. It appears the Jackals have won twice on the same day
Finally, Kiyoomi felt like a winner and celebrated at last.
You're a very famous professional smut writer known for your filthy, kinky stories. Your biggest fan, Shigaraki, wrongly assumes you're as big a pervert as he is so he kidnaps you, and he wants to reenact all his favorite scenes from your books!
Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Quirkless AU. Dubcon. Kidnapping. Bondage. Rough Sex. Humiliation. Overstimulation. Mind Break. Aphrodisiacs. Creampie.
Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear! Any feedback/comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated!
“I told you, I can’t do it!” you yell, slapping your hand on the table.
The woman standing on the other side, your literary agent, rolls her eyes. “How are we supposed to do a book signing event without the author?”
You cross your arms. “I can stay behind a curtain. You can bring the books to me, I’ll sign them, then you can give them back to the readers.”
“And what proof will your fans have that I’m not signing them myself?” she asks, now tapping her foot impatiently.
Shit. You didn’t think of that. The curtain was your best idea. You’re certainly not going to show your face in public, not as the author of over thirty best selling smut novels. You write under a pen name for a reason: your books are absolutely filthy, and you’d die of shame if anyone in your private life found out about them.
“Well I guess we cancel the event,” you say.
Your agent looks positively livid. “Are you joking? It starts in twenty minutes! There’s already a crowd in the store!”
“Really?” you ask, stepping over to the door that leads from the break room you’re currently in to the main area of the bookstore. You crack it open and peek outside. Sure enough, there are dozens of people standing around, holding copies of your books.
In all honesty, you didn’t expect this. You thought people would be too embarrassed to show up, to let others know they read smut. You figured a couple of diehard fans might appear and be satisfied with the curtain trick. That’s the only reason you agreed to this in the first place.
Now, seeing the growing crowd of mostly young women, all smiling and chatting with each other while clutching your books, you feel stupid. And judgmental. And like a total bitch.
“How about this?” your agent says, and you turn around to find her holding a red hoodie. “Wear this and cover your hair. We’ll find some dark sunglasses and a mask. You’ll be unrecognizable but you can still interact with your fans. Hell, it might even make you a more alluring figure.”
You take the hoodie and pull it on. “I’ll try it.”
After you don the rest of your makeshift disguise, you give your agent a thumbs up, who signals to the staff in the store. You listen as someone tells the crowd to form a line, then you’re introduced as your pen name.
You step out of the door and find yourself behind a table. There’s a chair for you to sit in as well as a stack of copies of your latest book. A handful of pens lay neatly on the table.
Beyond that, you see a line of readers looking at you, their faces a mix of excitement and confusion, probably due to your appearance.
To your left, your agent explains that you’re a private person who wishes to remain anonymous. A few of the young women toward the front nod, understanding.
Feeling a little more comfortable, you take your seat as the first reader approaches the table. She’s sweet and friendly as she holds out a copy of your first book, telling you how much of a fan she is.
You wish she could see you smiling at her. Instead you thank her, sign her book, and wish her well.
It strikes you that most of these people seem so normal. Some of them seem a little shy, which is understandable, but the majority act like any reader of any other books. You honestly thought most of your readers are perverts. Now you feel guilty for that assumption.
There are even a few men! They seem a little more embarrassed to be here, but you appreciate them coming out at all. Your books are most often written from a woman’s perspective, using your own naughty fantasies as fuel.
Halfway through the event, a quiet young man sits down across the table from you. He’s cute, with shoulder length silvery-blue hair and pale skin. He’s wearing dark clothing and holding one of your books. But his most striking feature is his intense red eyes. Such an unusual color, and the way he’s staring at you, it feels like he’s looking right through your disguise.
He reaches you the book to sign, and you blink behind your sunglasses. It’s your third book, and your favorite, titled “Fuck Me Until I Love You”. You glance back at his face, your own suddenly heating up. You’ve always thought you could tell a lot about a person by which of your books they like best, which filthy scenario they gravitate toward.
This book in particular is your favorite because it’s based on one of your deepest, darkest fantasies. It follows a young woman being kidnapped by a cute guy who ties her up in humiliating positions, force feeds her powerful aphrodisiacs, and roughly fucks her until she can no longer live without his cock.
It’s one of your darker stories, and it didn’t sell quite as well as your other books, but you’ve always had a special place in your heart for it.
“So is this one your favorite?” you ask the young man, who looks around your age.
“Yeah,” he replies in a quiet voice, his eyes never leaving your face.
“It’s my favorite too,” you tell him, picking up a pen. “Who should I sign this to?”
He hesitates, then says, “Tomura.”
You write out the standard message on the inside flap: “Thanks for being a fan, Tomura!” Followed by your signature. You hand the book back to him as you say, “I really appreciate you coming out today, Tomura.”
This is the part where he’s supposed to smile, maybe thank you for signing the book, maybe even tell you some random tidbit about how he became interested in your books. But he doesn’t. He takes the book back, those red eyes staring at you so intently that they’re starting to seem creepy. “See you around,” he says as he stands up and walks away.
Huh? See you around? He doesn’t even know who you are. Maybe it was just the way he usually says goodbye to people. You feel a strange chill down your spine, wondering how he went from a cute guy you’d actually be interested in to someone you’re vaguely afraid of in such a short span of time.
The rest of the book signing goes well. The event ends, you’ve sold a lot of copies of your newest novel, and the store has closed. In the break room, you remove the disguise as you chat with your agent, who is gleefully going over sales numbers with you.
You peek out the door. Only a few store employees are left, cleaning up after the crowd.
“I should have left earlier,” you say. “I could’ve blended into the crowd.”
Your agent pats your back. “Don’t be so dramatic! The people who work here have probably seen a hundred smut writers. They don’t care!”
“I guess so,” you say. The employees do look like bored teenagers for the most part.
You pull on your jacket and sling your bag over your shoulder before saying bye to your agent and slipping out the door. You try to be as casual as possible as you pass through the store and exit to the street.
It’s nighttime, just past dusk, and the air is cool on your face when you reach your car. Just as you pull your keys from your pocket, you hear a familiar voice.
“Don’t fight.”
You whirl around to find the cute but creepy guy from before standing right behind you. He’s holding something in his hand… a cloth? “Wait! Do-“
Before you can finish the word, he lunges forward and presses the cloth to your face. You smell a vaguely chemical odor before you black out.
When you wake up, your head feels groggy and your body feels sore. You try to lift a hand to your forehead, but you can’t. Why can’t you? Actually… you can’t move anything!
You snap to sudden awareness when you realize you’re immobile. Looking down, you’re horrified to see that you’re completely naked. Not only that, but you’re tied up with thin rope in a pose you recognize from your own writing. You had to research bondage positions, because you’ve certainly never tried them yourself.
This one is called the “frogtie”. Your arms are tied behind your back and your calves are tied to your thighs, leaving your legs spread widely apart. You chose this pose for your story specifically because it exposes everything. Your tits and pussy are on full display, completely bare for anyone to see. The rope is tight, restraining all movement of your limbs, making you more vulnerable than you’ve ever been in your life.
You feel panic rising in your chest, your heart beating wildly as you try to remember how you ended up in this situation. You did the book signing, then you went to your car. Someone attacked you! It was the cute guy with the creepy red eyes! What was his name again? Tomura?
Oh god. This is how your book started. “Fuck Me Until I Love You”. He said it was his favorite.
Your eyes dart around frantically, trying to find something, anything, to help you. A clue about where you are, a weapon, a sharp object to cut the ropes.
The room is dimly lit save for a lamp directly above you, illuminating your naked body. It appears to be a bedroom, a messy one at that. You’re on an unmade bed, leaning back against a wall. In the corner sits a desk with a computer and a red gaming chair. There are several cans of energy drinks and soda sitting around, and piles of mostly dark colored laundry lying in the floor.
It’s such a typical room for a quiet, intense loner, you almost want to laugh. But you can’t. You’re in very real danger here! You don’t know what Tomura is capable of, what he intends to do with you besides the obvious.
You hear footsteps outside the door, and your whole body tenses up. He’s coming inside! He’s going to see you in such an obscene position! It’s several seconds later that it occurs to you: he’s the one who tied you up this way. He’s already seen everything. Somehow that doesn’t help your embarrassment at all when the door opens and Tomura walks inside.
“You’re awake,” he says, as if he’s surprised. His pretty red eyes move shamelessly up and down your bound form, but his expression remains maddeningly calm. If he’s the lonely incel type you think he is, why isn’t he blushing or looking awkward right now?
You feel your own face burning with shame. You’ve never in your life been exposed like this outside of a medical setting. Even then you had a sheet and the doctor was a woman. But you have to keep your wits about you!
“Tomura, right?” you ask, hoping you remembered his name right. He gives a slight nod, so you go on. “Please untie me. I promise I won’t go to the police. I won’t tell a soul about this. I know you like my book and maybe it gave you some ideas, but you haven’t actually hurt me yet, right? We can just forget this ever happened.”
He listens to you speak but his face shows no hint that you got through to him. “You said it’s your favorite book too,” he finally says. “Fuck Me Until I Love You.”
“It is,” you tell him, “but it’s just a book! It’s fiction, a fantasy, a-“
“A fantasy,” he says, cutting you off with your own words. “I read an interview with you in a magazine. You said you base your books on your own fantasies. So this is your favorite fantasy.”
Oh no. You did say that! That interview was two years ago. Just how long has this guy been studying you? But if he’s a fan, maybe you can talk some sense into him.
“Look, Tomura, it is my favorite fantasy, that’s true. But just because someone fantasizes about something, it doesn’t mean they want it to actually happen. You understand that, right?”
He shrugs, and you can’t help noticing the way his black shirt rides up, showing a glimpse of pale, surprisingly toned abs.
No! Don’t think about that! Don’t think about how cute his face is, how soft his hair looks, how strange and alluring his eyes are.
“If it’s your favorite fantasy,” he says, slowly stepping closer to you, “it must turn you on. Being kidnapped, tied up, helpless…”
“No!” you shout, trying to shrink back away from him but having nowhere to go. Your back is literally against the wall. You’re scared, not just of Tomura, but of the dark truth of his words. You are getting turned on. You’ve touched yourself while imagining this exact scenario too many times to count. And the guy who has you at his mercy is totally your type!
He reaches out a hand and lightly touches your face, his thumb brushing over your lips. His touch is gentle, warm, and it makes you feel more conflicted than ever. You don’t want this creepy stranger to touch you… but at the same time you want to feel more of him. What is wrong with you?!
You watch as he pulls something out of his pocket. A small clear bottle. “It took a while to find this online, but it’s the real deal,” he says, popping the lid off with his thumb. “It’s super potent too.”
As he pours the entire bottle into his mouth, you realize what it is, because you wrote this story yourself. It’s an aphrodisiac. You try to squirm away but he grips your face with his fingers and kisses you, his tongue prying your lips open so the liquid can pour into your mouth and down your struggling throat.
It’s sweet and thick, and leaves a strange aftertaste once he pulls away, strings of sticky saliva dangling between your lips and his. He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe your mouth, then his own.
“It’s supposed to work fast,” he says as he sits down in his gaming chair to watch you. His gaze is heavy and hot, scorching your nude body and making you wish you could cover yourself or at least close your legs. The humiliation is unbearable.
For several minutes, you feel nothing out of the ordinary. But then it hits you like a truck - a sudden heat, a sudden arousal, a sudden desire to be touched. You shift on the bed, trying to turn away from Tomura’s stare. He was waiting for this, for the drug to take effect. Of course he’s going to notice!
At the slightest movement, cool air hits your bare pussy, and you can feel that you’re getting wet. You glance back at him, and he seems so much hotter now. You already found him attractive. Now he’s irresistible.
His own lips are parted and he’s breathing a little harder. That’s right, he had some of the aphrodisiac too. The bulk of it went down your throat, but he probably swallowed some as well. You can’t stop looking at him, your eyes moving from his mouth to the clearly visible bulge in his black pants.
Oh god. He’s hung.
He stands up from the chair and slowly approaches, a glimmer in his eyes that betrays his blank faced expression. When close enough, he presses one knee onto the mattress as he climbs into bed beside you.
You’re hyper aware of his warm body right up against your own, your emotions warring with themselves. You’re repulsed and terrified. You’re horny and desperate. You want to escape. You want him inside you.
He reaches one hand down between your tied open thighs and rubs your soft pussy, one finger dipping into your folds. “Guess it worked,” he says, holding up the hand to show you his glistening finger.
You turn your face away in shame, but he returns his hand, this time parting your flesh to let his fingers lightly stroke your quivering clit. You moan, your body trying to arch in the ropes, as he continuously rubs the exact spot that sets you off. You try to pull away, try to struggle against the ropes, but his fingers are relentless.
An embarrassing sound fills the silence of the room, the sound of his fingers sliding around in your own wetness. Two of them have slid inside you, making you wince, while his thumb continues to rub circles into your clit.
You can’t stop your body from trembling, can’t ignore the pleasure washing over you in waves or quiet the pathetic whimpers escaping your lips. It feels too good! You never imagined it could feel so amazing to have someone play with your body this way, while you’re tied up. Even though you wrote this scene in your book, you didn’t realize!
Finally you cum, your body straining against the ropes as a ragged moan bursts from your mouth. It leaves you panting and shaking, but you notice with alarm that Tomura hasn’t stopped. His fingers are still playing you like a violin.
Your orgasm has left you extremely sensitive, your poor clit throbbing under his merciless touch. You’re trapped in his bed, bound and defenseless, your body pulsing with stimulation. The pleasure is building again, way too quickly. Your heart is racing, your nerves on fire, as a second climax approaches.
But before you can cum again, Tomura suddenly slides off the bed and to his knees on the floor, facing you. His tongue replaces his fingers, his lips messily sucking on your clit. You cry out, slamming your own back against the wall behind you. Tomura’s face isn’t visible from this angle, only his hair as it softly brushes your skin.
You don’t know how something can feel so good and so terrible at the same time, how pleasure can be so intense it wraps around to become pain. But you’re feeling it now, tears dripping from your eyes as you beg him to stop, to wait, to just pause for a moment.
He won’t, because that’s not how you wrote the story.
Now you feel pity for your poor heroine who had to endure this, who had her clit toyed with until she was a weeping mess. You can hear the sounds of Tomura’s mouth, feel his wet tongue gliding over you, his warm hands on your thighs. It’s too much!
Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, wracking your body with spasms and twitches while you let out a long, throaty whine.
Tomura pulls away and stands up, looking down at you as he wipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His hair is messy, strands of it hanging in his eyes, but his expression remains neutral. It’s infuriating, how you can’t tell what he’s feeling or thinking at all.
He stares at you wordlessly for a moment, drinking in your pitiful state, watching your helpless body tremble from the sheer force of your climax.
He doesn’t wait long. Before you can even begin to recover, his knees are on the bed again, his body facing yours as his hands rush to open his pants. He pulls out his pale, girthy cock, leaving the rest of his clothes on. Somehow it makes you feel even more exposed.
“I bet this is your favorite part of the story,” he says, giving his shaft a few strokes. It’s plenty hard already, oozing from the flushed tip. Your eyes shift from his raging erection to his pretty face. The aphrodisiac is making you want him, making your body crave his cock, but the rational part of your brain keeps reminding you that he’s an unhinged fan who has kidnapped you. Who knows what he’ll do after he’s had his fun?
In your story, the heroine becomes so addicted to the sex that she falls in love with her kidnapper, choosing to stay with him in the end. But that’s ridiculous. You could never…
“Here it comes,” he says, his voice alarmingly calm, before he lifts your body slightly off the bed to give himself room.
“Wait, Tomura-“
He pushes in before you can finish your plea, sliding through your abundant juices until he bottoms out, stretching you wide. You hear his breath catch, then you look up at his face. Finally, his expression has changed. His lovely red eyes are widened, a pink tint to his cheeks, his mouth slightly opened. He looks like he didn’t realize how good it would feel to be buried to the hilt in your pussy.
For a moment, he stays still, remaining deep inside you. The stretch stings, making you wince and whimper. You’re unable to move, completely bound, your body open for him to use as he pleases.
And somehow, you’re turned on. Your pussy is clenching him, squirting out fluids as he finally begins thrusting. He pauses after a moment, his hands gripping your waist. He leans in close, like he might kiss you again, but instead says, “Oh. That’s right, the girl in your story gets fucked rough.”
Before you can argue or protest, he begins thrusting again, this time hard and deep. His motions are brutal and punishing, making your entire body jolt off the bed. It hurts, but there’s something primal about it, something urgent and needy about the way he grips you, the way his muscles flex beneath the fair skin of his abdomen.
It’s like he’s desperate for you, like he can’t live without feeling your softness wrapped around him. Such overwhelming desire is making you feel dizzy. When his hand slides over to where your bodies meet, and he begins rolling and pinching your aching clit between his thumb and finger, your mind goes blank.
Ripples of powerful pleasure run through you, filling your thoughts with nothing but Tomura, nothing but his thick cock hammering your pussy, his silky hair brushing your shoulders, his deep red eyes staring into your soul as you come unraveled.
By the time you cum for the third time, your brain has turned to mush. You sob out Tomura’s name as if he’s your longtime lover, as if your life is devoted to him. Minutes, or maybe even hours later, you hear Tomura groan under his breath as his cock twitches inside you. Then he cums, spilling his hot sticky load into your core.
Weeks later, you’re typing on your new laptop, banging out another smutty novel, when you hear the door to Tomura’s apartment open. You hurry to the living room to greet him, wearing nothing but sheer panties and a collar.
“Tomura,” you say in a pleading voice, stepping up to him, “hurry and come to the bedroom! I have a new scene we need to act out!”
Tomura smiles at you, a decidedly creepy smile, as he goes to the closet and pulls out some rope. “Show me what you came up with,” he says, following after you.
You’ve already written one novel since you began living here with Tomura. Readers felt it was darker and kinkier than your previous books, but felt more raw and real. They probably couldn’t imagine you were being tied up and fucked so hard you couldn’t think straight every single night.
It’s not the life you expected, but you’ve fallen for Tomura, for your kidnapper and biggest fan. You couldn’t be happier!
please pleaze please help me find this fanfic!!! it was a shigaraki x reader one cross posted on quotev and ao3.
it’s been a while but this is the plot from how i remember it:
starts with the reader walking home with her bf (both in college). she somehow ends up kidnapped by shigaraki. uhh, he ties her down to his bed a lot. oh, and when he tells her to take a shower she starts to take off her clothes in front of him and he calls her a slut.
then when the LOV have to move the the warhorse. shigaraki and the reader do it on the ground.… oo and the reader goes back to her family but decides to return to shigaraki.
in the end she’s in a psych ward counting down the days till she last saw shigaraki.
testing the limits ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ a valentines special
genshin men in different s*x tropes || part one
ᡣ—𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅— neuvilette, dottore, zhongli
note !! MAJORITY of it was written gender neutral, except for dottore (afab!reader for his parts) , NSFW, m!receiving (zhongli), f!ngering (dottore), different plots for each character some are placed in genshin universe some are not! enjoy!
it was a simple contractual obligation. stay married for a year until you can make yourself powerful and known within noble society. meanwhile neuvilette could get all the forceful mothers and constant begging of other nobles off his trail, plus the divorce would make him undeemable in society. who would ever want a divorced man?
It was a simple marriage. straightforward goals for you both. you to place revenge on those who have deemed you wrong, all while he offers aid and assistance as a grand duke.
it was supposed to be a simple marriage, so why does he feel himself wanting more after your one and only kiss since your wedding?
it was supposed to be a contractual marriage, no love, no strings attached. so why do you see him in your dreams, embracing you in your chambers while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear until your waking up in sweat and soaked undergarments?
"forgive me for my insolence..." is what neuvilette mutters under his breath, patience wearing thin all while his hunger grows ever more. next thing you knew, the hand that once tugged him back from leaving your room is now being pulled in his direction. soft lips crashing against yours full of despair, consumed in the ardor he had impatiently held from within.
large hands encasing your waist, while his foot forces the door shut. he's consuming your very being, its feverent far from the softness and gentleness your servants squeal to you about. there's passion rather than the caution he had placed from your wedding day, it's like he was trying to remember every motion for it may fleet away once more.
"mmh- my lord-" your hands weak from sudden discourse finally pushes him away. breathless you're cut off,
"neuvilette." you look up at him in confusion. quesitoning him from what he had just told you.
"I-" his eyes furrow, face inching closer as a warning.
"n..neuvilette... I've never done this before.."
"it's alright darling, we'll go slow..."
...
"mm-! neuvilette! s'too fast!" his face is deep in your neck, nibbling against your skin placing another love bite. you've failed to count how many times his lips covered your body, failed to count how many hours have passed in the night.
it's restless, no sense of patience placed in his thrusts. the pain long gone and instead your drowning in pleasure, but the absolute pace your husband was going at was overstimulating you to the brim. he's chasing another high, you still shaking from your previous orgasm, yet you're about to feel yourself release once more.
"i''ve been dreading for this moment. hah- dreaming of you every godforsaken night- heavens... of you beneath me just like this..." he's groaning as his pace only increaes, you're clawing against his back mewling at him all while you tighten against him. it has him cursing the heavens, cursing the gods for having him wait so long to embrace you.
"you're close darling? hmm?" a kiss is placed on your cheek, urging you for one more high. his hand holding your face as he places his forehead against your own.
"you can do it.. just one more time..." he's kissing you with so much impatience, hips languidly moving against you, addicted to the very feeling you were giving him right this very moment. his thrusts fasten, signalling he was about to release one more time, you're holding him so tightly afraid he may run away.
but neuvillette was far from running away. no, he was gonna keep spending this very moment, remembering every place of your body. every blemish and curve, you were an art piece. his one and only.
and he was never planning to divorce you from the very start.
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ dottore || exes and messes
it's wrong. you know how defile he is. how much he mistreats you, how many lies and facades he's put up in front of you within the duraiton of your relationship.
kept you hidden in the dark from his secrets, his chaos and his insane thirst for knowledge. you couldn't believe him nor yourself for how clueless you were to his experimentations, his mania for information.
how you turned your back to his unfufilled promises of showing up, to the fake pleasantries that he'd be there on your most important achievements at the akedemiya. it's been years since your graduation, years since you finally put your foot down. so why are you here face to face with a sudden dread to cling onto him once more..?
why is it that you feel your heart flutter at more of the lies hes whispering behind your back as his hands trace you from the waist down, sending shivers down your spine.
the doctor having caught wind of you showing up within snezhnaya, he knew he had to get a hold of you one way or another. it was deplorable, how someone so dignified as him is sprawling his hands to take back the person who he believed did him wrong. all he believed that this chase collecting data would benefit you soon enough, as it did him. it just seems you never agreed to his terms.
"you say you hate me. how much you despise me. so why are you here at the doorstep of my labratory way past midnight..? hm? care to explain yourself dearest?" his gloved hands were crossed behind his back, his unique mask placed at the nearby lab bench. those fiery red eyes bore into you for the first time in years as he leaned down at your unreadable stature.
"you don't get to call me that.." is all you could really say in response, because even now you're now questioning as to why your feet have dragged you here.
"really? yet here you are surrendering to my touch. blushing every time your eyes meet mine. you haven't changed at all y/n." now one hand held you by the chin, forcing you to look back up at him. and there you both stood there, looking deep within each others eyes... long enough that you soon both crashed into one another.
next thing you knew you were being pushed against the metal counter while his cold lips melted into yours. the sound of glass viles shattering, the sound of papers fluttering as dottore was pushing everything out of his way from hindering you both. he's lifting you with so much ease, moving in ways like he's done this with you countless of times, when this is the first time in his life he's touching you so indecently.
large, scarred hands encase your face, gloves long gone just so he could feel the very warmth you emanated. he's longed for this, he's never felt so warm in his life, the chills of snezhnayas night now disippating. it's like he cannot get enough of you, he's high off the feeling of just feeling you against his lips.
"I need you zandik..." you moan, hands sprawling to rips off his annoying lab coat and the other layers of his clothes. meanwhile one hand is now trailing down your body feeling you all over.
"hah... really now? I thought you hated me dearest?" he teases, hand now pushing aside your panties feeling the pool of slick that has formed between your legs. your body never fails to deny him and it has him swelling in pride.
he doesn't waste time in pushing in two of his fingers, curling them within you letting you fall in ecstasy. you're consumed in lust and desperation for him and he's giving it all to you on a silver platter. his motions fasten before they stop, edging you from release.
"ah.. zandik please..."
"please what darling? you need to use your words" lips nibbling onto your neck as his fingers are sinking deeper into you. it's insane. this feeling is insane. he's insane.
"more.. i need more..." clawing into his shoulders, his pace increasing by the driven desire to see you absolutely fall by his hand. the sound of your slick along with your breathless mewls for release is like music to his ears.
his thumb presses against your most sensitive part, and your eyes are widening at the sudden surge of pleasure. hes moving in ways as if hes studying your very being in the midst of your high. you're tearing up at how insanely good it feels. it shouldn't feel this good, but here you are pulling him, begging him for more.
you were loving every breath shared with him, and he had no plans of letting you leave him ever again.
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡ zhongli || his sweet secretary
zhongli is a boss with strict professionalism. he sticks to the rules, and expresses great mannerisms no matter how difficult a potential business partner or employee might be.
an employee is acting out of line? talking back? he'll simply respond calmly all while having you write up a letter of letting go that very employee. its his "nice" way of firing someone so distasteful.
his demeanor is welcoming yet also one with unspoken boundaries that should never be crossed, at least that's what it always seemed. he's always so gentle when speaking with you, whenever he was off to a meeting—seeing you in the specially built in the office he had just for you. his ever so special secretary—he spares glances your way with a smile that had your coworkers swooning, but one you responded with respect.
but under those gentle responses to his kind gestures was one where you wished you were the one by his side every night. guiltily you've touched yourself at the thought of zhongli dominating you as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. you yearned for him to hold you, wanted him to-
"y/n? did you order the perfume sets to give to our client?" you were currently in his office, laptop on the side of his desk as you sat across from him. he had welcomed you in to eat a lunch with him while you finalized the contracts with the new partners he had recently made business with. yet instead of typing down the requirements and agreements, you were dazing off at thought of zhongli instead.
"oh! uhm yes yes... sorry sir..." you turn pink as you're brought back to reality, hastily typing away the contract. however zhongli places a hand a top yours, stopping you from typing any further.
"if you are tired and need a break, feel free to y/n. there is no need to rush, I do not want my secretary to fall ill now.." he looks at you softly, as if there was 0 desire behind those very eyes. however zhonglis versions of taking a break, turned out to be a bit more twisted.
really, he had 0 intentions to do this at first, especially within his office at this very moment. yet the way you looked so ravishing, so alluring, you were like a treasure he couldn't refuse. Just quietly munching at the sandwich he brought for you to share, full of the ingredients he remembered you liked most. he was cracking beneath his facade.
"could you come closer here y/n?" you nodded, getting up and circling around his desk until you were in front of him. there he rose up before looking deeply into you.
"sir..?"
"may I?" is all he asks and you quietly nod.
it's been an hour since then and now your on your knees beneath him, his white tie loose, pants and belt unbuckled. his length is held within your hands, lips teasing his blushed tip.
you're taking him in so well, his one hand is gripping tightly against your hair guiding your mouth along his cock. the other brushing his hair back so he could relish the view in front of him.
its curved a slight and covered in your messy, half assed efforts of sucking his sheer length. your lips are puffy, eyes welling up from his forceful efforts as he chases for a release. he's pushing your head down, letting you take all of him in.
"oh archons.. you're taking me so well..." he's groaning, your motions are getting messier and needier. the lewd sounds of you sucking him off is echoing within his office. the vibrations of your moans is throwing him into a fucking world of disarray, and it isn't long till he's releasing all over you.
you're gripping against his thighs, feeling his cock pulsate in your mouth as you finally break free from his hold. his cum and your saliva string along from your mouth, those golden eyes look down at you with absolute desire at the sight.
"come here sweetheart", he pulls you up wiping your face with a nearby napkin. you on his lap, feeling him growing hard again at the feeling of your ass against him.
thinking about sucking tomura absolutely dry until his thighs r shaking and you're both so caught up in the heat of the moment that you don't even notice he's decaying the mattress until you both tumble to the floor LMAOO
after a looong night with them, reader woke up with a very sore leg and have some trouble walking 👁️👁️?
OMG I READ THIS HALF ASLEEP AND THOUGHT IT WAS COMPLETELY INNOCENT. Like the reader was walking for the whole day w him and have sore legs :)
It was the eye emoji cleared things up for me to know that this was nsfw 👀
“take responsibility”
if you’re sore after having sex with them
*nsfw content
(ben, gerard, jake, donald, wolf)
ben park / park humin
Okay okay, let’s connect this to my other hcs. This dude is big ok.
He’s big and he can go for however many fucking rounds you want.
And that’s only on a normal day.
If he’s really horny, then just imagine how many rounds it would take to finally tire him out.
You woke up feeling a numb pain all over your body.
Ben was pretty damn rough last night. You actually felt like you were going to pass out if he made you cum another time.
Groaning, you rub your eyes, sitting up to examine the state of your body.
Pulling away the covers, you were revealed with hickeys and bite marks littered literally everywhere on your body. But it’s clean at least. So, Ben took the time to clean you.
Well good fucking job. Because if you wake up in that state AND is still dirty. He’s gonna catch some hands fr.
You heard some rustlings behind the door, and there you see. Your overgrown puppy boyfriend. Fidgeting with his fingers, looking oddly nervous.
“What are you doing?”
“A-are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?”
You deadpanned at him.
“Hm. Where are my clothes?”
“Oh. They’re in the dryer- Figured you wouldn’t want to wear yesterday’s clothes-“
“Then give me one of yours.”
He looked at your figure, then stared blankly at the floor.
“That’s too lethal.”
“Then?! You want me to go eat breakfast completely naked?!!”
And Ben decided that’s even more dangerous than the former. Quickly, he grab the smallest t-shirt he has in his wardrobe and handed it to you.
“Sorry. I- okay I have no excuse, I’m realllly sorry, babe.”
“Tch, stop with that. I’m so tired of you saying sorry and sorry only to keep going for more rounds after that.”
He sat on the side of the bed, feeling extremely guilty when you winced as you put the shirt on.
“You fucking asshole. Next time don’t push it in so deep. I have a migraine now.”
Ben promised to not touch you for a month after that, wanting to let you recover. Although.. let’s say, he’s not the strongest man when it comes to teasing.
gerard jin / jin gayool
Gerard would spoil you so much.
The two of you hadn’t had the time to be intimate with each other for a while now.
You have been busy with your school organisation life, and Gerard with his endless part-time jobs.
Even then, it was pure coincidence that your team decided to go on the location survey a day early. Leaving you with enough free time to visit your boyfriend at his place.
When you arrived, Gerard was passed out on the sofa.
You dropped your bag on the floor and made your way to your boyfriend. Lying on top of him.
After like three hours, you woke up. Feeling something rubbing against your thigh.
You looked up to see a red faced Gerard.
“Sorry, it’s been a while.”
He really made up for lost times after that.
Remembering how he was last night, you couldn’t even imagine Gerard acting like that in a normal occasion.
It’s not that he was rough or anything. He just won’t fucking stop.
“What’s with me today? I can’t seem to calm down.”
So here you are.
You wince as you sat up from the small bed. Gerard is still asleep next to you.
You give him a small kiss on his forehead. Stroking his hair gently.
He must’ve fallen asleep right away last night. Because you feel absolutely disgusting.
Taking a step away from the bed, you tried to walk yourself over to the bathroom, only to fall straight down with a thud.
Startling Gerard awake who immediately went to you and picked you up to the bed.
“What were you trying to do?”
“Baby, I need a shower.”
Biting the inside of his cheek, Gegard stroked your hair with an apologetic smile before putting on some trousers to get some water and wipe you clean.
He would be so so sweet about it too. Kissing your hand as he wiped down your body. Bringing you food in bed.
Anything you need, you get.
“I’m sorry for last night..”
“It’s fine. I liked it.”
“Ahh.. please don’t rile me up again.”
jake ji / ji hakho
With Jake, I see a very oddly specific scenario.
You were reading a new book you just bought. It had taken the book a month to arrive at your doorstep as it came from overseas.
So basically you’re very excited to read it. To the point where you would just ignore Jake’s advances towards you.
“Jake, seriously. Go grab a manga from the corner or something.”
“But, babe! I wanna do it pleaseee!”
You shoved him away in annoyance, making him scowl as he returned to his seat across from you.
With a brilliant, brilliant idea. He smirked, approaching you to whisper something in your ear.
Jake left your house swiftly after that. Leaving you dumbfounded and taken aback. But what does it matter. You have your book with you and you’re going to finish it by today.
Except what he said to you had more of an impact than you thought it did.
“If you want to read that book so bad, do it. I won’t come see you, or contact you. When you finally feel like doing it, come find me.”
You shook your head, feeling stupid. Fine. If that’s how he wanna do it, then so be it.
But one day turned into three. And three days turned to a week.
You’re feel a migraine building up. You can’t concentrate on the lessons at all. And your body feels hot every so often you catch a glimpse of Jake’s picture on your phone.
You just know that this mf is enjoying what he’s doing to you.
Eventually, after the two weeks mark, you caved. You texted Jake to meet you.
You really wanted to (affectionately) slap that grin off of his face.
Long story short, the two of you stepped into your apartment, he immediately pushed you to the back of the door. Kissing you as he began to frantically undress you.
“I didn’t jerk myself off at all for the past 2 weeks. You know what that means, right?”
Once you guys are finished, Jake would be back to his usual cheery self.
You didn’t know how many rounds you two went, but he really emptied all those accumulated loads from those two weeks out.
And for some reason, you felt more relaxed than you were the past week not seeing Jake.
He also would spoil you a lot after that, but not as much as Gerard.
He would give you massages, cook you food, bring you drinks. Rather than serving you, he would just be happy that he could see you again.
donald na / na baekjin
Ah yes, this guy.
When Donald is drunk, or if he drinks. It will take him a long long time to cum.
So, if you go and do it with Donald after let’s say a Union dinner.
He won’t be stopping until either one of you passes out. Most likely it would be you let’s be honest.
You woke up feeling like absolute shit. You’re hangover, your body hurts, you feel sticky, and sweaty.
A certain blonde is gripping you by your waist, maybe a little too tightly. Nuzzling onto the crook of your neck.
“Babe, let go.”
Upon further lucidity, you realised that he’s still inside you. And for fucks sake, he’s hard.
“Ugh.. y/n.”
Well, ngl his raspy morning voice is kinda (very) hot.
But no. No, no. You can’t take care of him right now. What you need is a shower. That’s right. Shower.
“I have to go shower, Donald. We’re both really nasty right now.”
Squinting open his eyes, Donald groaned, only pulling you closer. Unconsciously bucking his hips when he does so, making you gasp.
Shocked, slapped his thigh. Startling him a bit.
“Baby, why?”
“You! Let go of me, otherwise I’m banning sex for the rest of the month.”
“That’s too cruel, y/n. I didn’t even move when you passed out on my dick last night-“
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!!”
Donald laughed. Finally pulling himself out and picking you up with him to the bathroom.
“I can walk by myself.”
“No, you cant.”
The first fifteen minutes, he would really try to clean you and himself. But then he hadn’t really had the chance to relieve himself fully last night, right?
If you still can, he will ask you to help him with your hands. Otherwise, he’ll just do it himself and finish on top of you.
You’ll end up having to wash yourselves 2 times after that.
wolf keum / keum seongje
Wolf is rough on a normal day.
So imagine how this dude would be when he’s in pent up. For a whole month.
You were away for the entire summer to a summer school in London.
You should be thankful it’s in London, because if it’s anywhere in Korea, Wolf would kidnap you right back into his house within 2 days of you being away.
For a whole month, this mf would be an absolute nightmare for everyone around him.
He’s much more irritable and would snap at anything that breathes. Only calming down when his phone dings with a notification from you.
Today, you were supposed to return. As you told Wolf you would. You were only gonna stay for 3 weeks.
But some things came up, and you had to stay for yet another week.
When Wolf heard this, Hwangmo was ready to defend any expensive items in sight from Wolf’s rage. But was surprised when he simply pocketed his phone, eerily silent.
Not sure if it’s a good or bad thing, but he’ll take this over another broken macbook.
Wolf was smoking in his bedroom window when he heard the front door of his apartment click open.
You took your shoes off, putting all of the chocolates you bought for him in the fridge and walking into his room.
“Wolf?”
The second he sees your figure step in, Wolf immediately lost every ounce of self control he has in his body.
He immediately pulled you into a deep kiss, hands roaming all over your body. Pushing you to the bed as he sucked and bit on your neck.
“I’m done waiting.”
So that’s the story of how you end up with a personal purple haired butler who wouldn’t even let you lift a single finger.
“I’ll do it.”
“Wolf. I can do it myself, I’m just sore not sick.”
He wouldn’t say it, but he feels a tiny bit guilty when you said you couldn’t walk to the bathroom when you woke him up the next day.
Would be very clingy and cuddle you close after fulfilling every request you ask from him. (he would do it without questions)
I did ONE single doodle of Shang Qinghua as a cat - cuz if I like you, you get turned into a cat at least once - and bem I got an idea and there it is...
When does it happen in the timeline of the story ? Idk and Idc I just wanted my fav guy SQH as a cat and then Mobei-Jun decided to manifest himself. Typical.（︶^︶）
synopsis; request by anon (2): you mistaking one of dottore's segments for him and kissing him
REQUESTS OPEN FOR THIS SERIES | chapter logs
taglist: @nambii, @sweetcrunchygrapes, @bodilyautonomy, @51kim-dokjas-wife49, @zenzeanie, @mei-simp, @sweetagaves, @166c74, @yekaterina4848, @esthelily, @cemirre, @darling-5yndrome, @def-not-daria, @taibami, @lunia-likes-pomegranet, @squ4respace, @pneumousia, @lazygirl966, @minandras, @salamiwrites, @peachicafe, @nekobii, @google-was-my-idea-1, @lunar-atlantis, @sakusa-saffron, @atlasinsomniac, @draconyx7
it’s the gloves that fool you.
the familiar silhouette hunched over a worktable, shoulders angled in concentration, head tilted as though listening to thoughts only he can hear.
you don’t question it.
why would you? this is his lab. his space. and you are used to finding him like this, late into the night, absorbed to the point of forgetting the rest of the world exists.
“you’re still up,” you murmur fondly as you approach from behind. your voice is soft, already warm with the intimacy of habit. “i thought you said you’d be done an hour ago.”
he doesn’t answer.
that, too, is familiar.
you step closer, close enough to feel body heat through fabric, close enough that the scent of antiseptic and something faintly metallic settles into your lungs. you reach out, fingers brushing his sleeve, and lean in without thinking, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.
it’s meant to be quick. comfortable.
instead, he stiffens.
not the minute, controlled pause dottore makes when surprised. this is immediate, like a startled animal.
you pull back, confused, and meet unfamiliar eyes.
they’re the same colour. the same sharp brilliance. but the expression is wron, —wide, blinking, caught somewhere between astonishment and poorly concealed delight.
“oh,” the segment says.
your stomach drops.
“oh no,” you whisper.
there’s a beat of silence. the lab hums on, uncaring.
“you-” he starts, then stops, lips curling into something that looks dangerously pleased. “you thought i was him.”
“i- yes,” you say quickly, mortified. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t realize- your back looked the same and the gloves and i just-”
he laughs.
“fascinating,” he says, touching his mouth with gloved fingers as if checking whether the sensation is still there. “so this is what that’s like.”
you take a step back. “i really didn’t mean to-”
“oh, i know,” he interrupts cheerfully. “if you had, it would have been much more intentional.”
that does not help.
before you can formulate a proper apology (or flee entirely), the sound of slow footsteps echoes from the far end of the lab.
you don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“i leave for less than an hour,” dottore’s voice says coolly, “and return to… this.”
the segment straightens, clearly delighted by the attention. “prime. you’re back early.”
dottore’s gaze slides past him and locks onto you.
“…care to explain,” he says, “why my clone appears to be savouring your lips?”
“i thought he was you,” you blurt out, heat flooding your face. “i swear. i didn’t know. i just- he was standing there and i-”
the segment hums thoughtfully. “it was a closed-mouth kiss. i would rate it-”
“enough,” dottore snaps.
the segment grins wider. “you should be more careful about replication fidelity, prime. apparently i’m convincing.”
dottore doesn’t look at him when he speaks again. “leave.”
“a shame,” the segment sighs, already backing away. “i was enjoying the field research.”
he disappears down the corridor, still smiling.
the silence that follows is unbearable.
you brace yourself, hands twisting together. “i’m really sorry. i would never- if i’d known-”
dottore steps closer.
too close.
he lifts your chin with two fingers, not roughly, but firmly enough that you have no choice but to meet his eyes.
“you kissed him,” he says quietly.
“yes,” you whisper. “by accident.”
his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth.
“…interesting,” he murmurs. “same behaviour. different subject. and yet.”
“and yet?” you ask, heart pounding.
he leans in and kisses you.
this one is not tentative. it’s controlled, claiming, unmistakably his. when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.
“…the data differs,” dottore concludes. “as expected.”
you exhale shakily. “you’re not… angry?”
“i am displeased,” he corrects. “with the segment.”
his hand settles at your waist. “and mildly reassured.”
“reassured?”
“that even when deceived,” he says, voice low, “you were reaching for me.”
Lisa im having major braunrot about blade fucking Darling in his Mara struck state 👀
imagine how rough he would be <3.. im getting horny just thinking abt it 🥰
ooh yes anon!! blade would be extra possessive esp when the mara hits him!! plus his cock would be much thicker and harder.. poor darling. thank you for the food anon!!
~
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒..
Pairing: Blade x Female Reader (ft. Kafka)
TW: Yandere-ish?? Masterbation, lots of smut, vaginal penetration, bedroom activities basically. Everything is consensual here.
MINORS DNI. 18+ only.
~
Blade has time periods that occur every month due to being mara struck where he sorta becomes.. a completely different person. When he’s in the mara struck state, he becomes more.. insane for the lack of a better word.
He was already possessive of his darling before, but during this state, he becomes ten times if not more possessive. Blades mental state becomes more deranged and downright crazy. He’s more angry and more aggressive due to the painful memories that flash back to him. Blade also acts as if he’s in an animal in heat because of how horny he becomes. His cock becomes bigger and stretches out wider and the veins pop out more. His dick is flushing an angry shade of red and the tip is dripping out pre-cum. His cock is painfully erect and it always stretches through his boxers hence why there’s a large bulge forming in his pants.
Blade always has to deal with his.. problem by himself by sneaking off during a mission to hide in a private place such as a bathroom stall or just anywhere where there’s privacy for him and his horniness. He sits himself on his bed in the room that he’s currently staying in for a mission. What a pain, he grumbles as his bandaged hands quickly undo his belt and fumbles with his zipper. He shudders as his cock is finally freed from the confining place and he could almost cum from the feeling of the cold air hitting it. His hands work hastily as he masterbaits. He moans at how pleasurable it felt as his hands began moving up and down went faster and faster, until finally his dick splashes out thick ropes of cum and it squirts everywhere on his bed and dirties his pants. During his Mara struck state, his cum becomes more thick and the duration that it comes out becomes even longer. As for taste, it’s extra creamier and sweeter.
Kafka’s spirit whisper is able to help with some of the symptoms of his mara, such as utterly destroying his opponents, but she can’t do much about his.. hormones. Kafka tells him that her spirit whisper can be useful during missions but the best thing for him would be masterbation and having sex.
“Maybe Y/N could help you with it,” Kafka winks at Blade as she turns back to her magazine. Blade grumbles in pain as he leaves the Stellaron Hunter’s base as he makes the journey back to your shared home.
You weren’t aware about Blade’s tendencies due to the Mara quelling within him. But imagine to your surprise when you’re laying in your living room on the couch wearing one of your boyfriends shirts when Blade bursts the door of your shared home in hushed, raggedy breathes. His shirts covered in blood and his hair is slightly messy. When Blade sees you, he almost couldn’t restrain himself from pouncing on you. Fuck, you looked so gorgeous wearing his shirt and your scent smelled just like him. Blades thoughts were clouded with nothing but lust as he imagined the ways he wanted to ravage your body right then and there.
“Blade? What’s wrong?” You asked him with your eyes full of concern.
Blade’s breathing becomes shallow as his finger points to a certain place. “The mara.” Blade isn’t a man of many words, you were confused on what he meant until you look down and oh. You quickly catch on and realize he’s having another Mara flare up at that moment and he’s painfully horny.
“I can try my best.. and help if you would like- woah!”
You barely even finished your sentence before Blade lifted you up and rushed to your shared bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress and he hurriedly rushes to undo his pants. You stare in awe as you look at how huge his cock had become. You could see the pre-cuz leaking out and how desperate it was for some friction. You and Blade have had sex many times in the past before, but the difference between now and then was big especially since this would be your first time having sex with him in his Mara struck state.
Blade’s bandaged hands begin to stroke himself and he groaned at the feeling. He quickly climbed on top of the mattress as he rushed to undo your clothing. Your shirt that you borrowed from him was quickly thrown and your laced panties were ripped off.
Blade immediately pounces on you and begins to push inch after inch of his cock into you. You cry out in pain because of how big and thick he is. Blade makes sure to savor every inch of your walls being wrapped around him and he groans at how tight you feel.
“M’gonna pound you,” He breathes out in rushed breathes as he begins to thrust in and out. “Gonna mark you up and make you mine..”
You moan at the feeling of Blade’s dick going in and out. It felt so good and you could feel every inch poking and prodding your insides. The bed began to shake as Blade started going rougher and rougher.
Unfortunately for you, Blades stamina is also increased a lot when he’s having a mara flare up. Which means that whenever you have sex with him during this, you can expect that he’s gonna be cumming inside you a lot and that you’re gonna be having rough sex for a couple of hours. You can also expect that from now on, you’ll be having sex with Blade during his mara flare up all the time since you so nicely volunteered to help him. You’re impressed and shocked with how Blade is able to have sex with you for such long periods of time and how hes able to bend and fold you in numerous positions as he thrusts in and out of your hole. At this point, know that you won’t be leaving the bedroom for at least a week every month.
After your first night of rough intercourse, Blade immediately reports back the good results to Kafka. She notices that whenever Blade is with you during his Mara flare ups, hes more calmer and hes able to control the Mara within him and keep himself more at bay. Meanwhile you’re laying on Blade’s lap with your clothed pussy is all used up and worn out from the abuse of his large cock while your arms, body, and neck are all covered in bite marks and hickeys. Blade has his arms wrapped around your waist as he rests his face on the side of your neck. He feels calmer now because his sweet girlfriend helped him.
Now imagine when you open the door to your shared home one day when you notice a pink present laying on top of your porch with a magenta ribbon. Curious, you open the box only to be greeted with a red laced lingerie set. Your face immediately heats up in embarrassment as you notice a note also placed inside the box.
“For Bladie’s next mara flare up ;)
-Kafka”
Your breath hitched as you feel a strong pair of arms wrap themselves around you. You realize it’s Blade as he nuzzled his face into your neck, then he notices the box you’re holding in his hand.
“Pretty.” He mumbles, “I want you to wear that for me.” You could feel his bulge start to harden as he grinds himself against your ass. “The mara is coming back..” Blade says with a hushed voice, “Be a good girl and help me.”
Well who were you to deny your boyfriend access? After all, you loved him a lot and you were of course willing to help him contain the Mara <3
synopsis : lets see what the new latest trending porn videos are
a/n: MWAHAHAHA IT'S FUCKING HERE
brothers ver.
The maroon fabric of your babydoll lingerie was rumpled, tearing not even a second later from how ironclad Diavolo’s grip was. One hand had the lace fisted, using it to yank you back on his cock, while the other was wrapped around your throat, veins highlighted and muscles flexing each time he effortlessly lifted your body and slammed it back down at the rough pace he was fucking you. Your legs were spread wide over his straining thighs, body just barely covered by the sheer material that adorned your sweaty body, hands white-knuckling his horns with your nails scratching along the golden ornaments . Each time skin met skin, it echoed in the room— adding to the sensual sight of the morning light reflecting off the golden floors, walls- the regal throne the two of you were seated in. His sounds were muffled from the way his head was buried in your neck, no doubt adding more marks to the already bruise-littered skin. Your own head was tilted back against his shoulder, his fingers squeezing visibly at your throat before two of them pushed past your parted mouth, making your high pitched moans turn choked. His rough pace got even more animalistic, feral growl escaping him as your body tensed, milking his cock as you came, pushing him past that edge too— and the video cuts.
Is this even legal to watch?? Cause if not, I’m happily packing my bags for jail
Typing this comment from my grave
*eats phone*
Amazing day to be a Devildom citizen folks
†
Hidden underneath the castle’s foyer stairs, the golden fractures of light shift as each of your bodies move. You were on your knees, thighs flexing, as you bounced up and down— riding Barbatos’ tail. The appendage forced itself deeper and deeper until the camera picked up on the arch of your back, the shimmer of your nails (painted in his colors) digging into his thighs, leaving behind wrinkles in the usually pristine black slacks. Gloved hands were tangled in your hair, gripping tighter the more his composure began to waver. The guided bobbing of your head went from leisure to almost desperate and then back again; after a particularly stressful day, he just couldn’t decide what he wanted. Only murmurs of praise left the royal steward, as opposed to your choked moans and whimpers and occasional gasps of his name when you came up for air before swallowing him down again. There was a brief moment in which he cupped the back of your head and shoved you all the way down- pausing- when footsteps ascended the stairs you were both underneath. Once it was quiet again, he pulled your head back with a caress of your hair and a soft apology, fucking you with his tail at a more rapid pace, insisting you needed to cum first. With you melting at his ministrations, he begins fucking your mouth, too, grunting almost inaudibly; the second your body wracked with your orgasm, he followed suit— and though only your backside view could be seen, the sounds of swallowing were crystal clear. With a low chuckle from Barbatos, and a breathy giggle from you, the screen goes black.
Scraping of wood against marble tile echoed faintly as the entirety of Mephisto’s desk moved inch by inch. The force he was pounding into you created small thudding noises, your clothes dulling the sound of skin slapping, followed by sharp grunts as he worked to keep the relentless pace. Lights of the newspaper club’s office highlighted your bodies, leaving nothing hidden as he bends you into an even deeper arch, face buried in the mahogany desk. Newspapers- published and uncompleted drafts- are crumpled underneath your hands; he couldn’t care less, though, not when you’re moaning and crying out his name like you are. It’s clear he tries to show some decorum, but the rare sight of his demon form screams how disheveled you’re making him— tails coiled around your waist, horns pressing into your shoulder, sharp nails digging jagged lines into the wood of his desk. An enchanted quill is frantically scribbling in the background, no doubt writing down what was happening into a page of the upcoming newspaper draft; depending on whether or not Mephisto remembers- or cares- he might just leave the article in. The thought actually has him whining, fucking into you a bit faster, because he’d love to see everyone’s reactions once they read the damn paper— knowing he had you right under everyone’s noses. A quick tug of your hair to pull you into a messy kiss that the camera can’t see and he’s spilling his cum into you- dragging you off the ledge with him- and pressing his body flush against yours. You stay trapped like that for a few seconds, quietly laughing and teasing him, before he huffs and pulls back as you both try to make yourself presentable again when the video ends.
What goes down in the news office doesn’t stay in the news office
Get that nOBLE DIck MC
Never thought I’d hear Mephisto whine—
†
White linen curls around your arms, clenched between your fingers, pillowing your head, delicately shielding the parts you didn’t want too exposed— all while the light in Simeon’s room bathes you in a replicated golden hour. His head is buried deep between your thighs, messy hair brushing your skin at each movement. One of his hands is keeping your left thigh flat against the bed, squeezing at the fat of it, while the other is subtly shoved underneath his body as he fucks his fist. With the leg that isn’t pinned down, your calf is resting over his shoulder, keeping him impossibly close; the sounds coming from him are muffled, as he’s barely able to breathe properly, but they’re desperate and needy, echoed by the mindless ‘please’s and praise he’s babbling out. The sheets covering his own body from view only hide his hips down to his mid thigh, giving the perfect- defined- view of his arched back and the flexing muscles rippling underneath smooth skin as he thrusts into the pleasure. There are faint reddened lines trailing along his shoulders and barely visible hickies on his neck, showing that, clearly, this hadn’t been the beginning of the night. It can also be seen in the way his hips stutter with overstimulation, toes curling at the sensation, even if he can’t stop because he still craves the release. It’s timed with the pace he’s fucking you with his tongue, moans harmonizing with yours, getting louder and breathier and a little whinier before he’s practically crying out an ‘I’m cumming!’. Not even a second later, both of your thighs are snapping closed around his head, trembling, as you follow. The come down is soft and sweet, whispered words and gentle caresses, with a murmured suggestion for a bubble bath just as the video cuts.
The scattered, organized, yet messy sight of school books, miscellaneous supplies, and the fact that you were in your uniform made it obvious this was one of RAD’s many closets. Raphael was sitting on top of an extra desk, legs spread rather wide as you sat on top of him; your skirt rode up around your hips, but his hands groped and squeezed your ass to shield it from view. He guided you at a quick, needy pace as you grinded against his clothed cock, sometimes jerking his hips up to meet the movements. The normally quiet and aloof Angel was panting and gasping, and if you listened closely, you could hear muffled whines every now and then when you moved at a certain angle. The sloppy sounds of wet kissing and tongues tangling seemed to echo in the small room, even despite his whisper of ‘have to be quiet’— in fact, he was more vocal than you, commanding you to go faster, asking you not to stop. Even the shadows passing under the door didn’t deter him from wanting you. The bell signaling class was about to begin made you pause without thinking, but he gave you no time to think: he grabbed you right up and twisted your bodies around until you were laying back on the desk, legs around his waist. With no room to barely breathe in between, he began fucking himself against you like an animal in heat, breathlessly apologizing and announcing he was gonna cum. With a few more rough thrusts, you can see his body shudder and melt over top of you— and the visible wet stain on the front of his pants as he gently helps you off the desk and fixes your clothes, suggesting a quick clean up spell so you can go to class, before the video ends.
I will take a shower of spears to see this in person
Mc is my hero
†
Whatever device was recording had to be enchanted, as the screen was divided perfectly to show the inside of the common room, where the seven brothers all lounged, and the hallway wall just outside, where Solomon had you hiked up against it. His head was buried in the crook of your neck, only a peek of his lips showing. The bottom half of your face that was in frame is covered by his hand, fingers digging into your jaw to keep you quiet. The only thing covering your body was his starry cloak; the fabric fell off your shoulder, showing off the many hickies and bite marks adorning your skin. Your body bounced upwards at every sharp thrust— he was unforgiving with his pace, frame flush against yours as he fucked you deep. The audio barely picked up on the ragged pants falling from his mouth, the debauched praises that he was damn near singing as he had his way with you, all while being ten feet away from the brothers. The muscles in his arm flexed as he held you up, fingers marking bruises into the skin he was gripping. You raked your hands through his sweat-soaked hair, tugging and pushing his head up until you had your mouth against his. A barely audible cry of his name reached the camera as your back arched, fingers pressing just as bruisingly into his back. He finally stuttered in his pace, mouth falling open; he came with his tongue tangled with yours, accidentally having let out a hiss when you moaned aloud. Lucifer, who had been glancing up occasionally, as if he thought he heard something, immediately stood just as all the others’ heads snapped up. With a desperate kiss, Solomon opened a portal and carried you right through, leaving the brothers to hastily round the corner and begin shouting, before the video cuts.
yep this is just what i needed before a job interview, thank you author you’re giving me the joy i need in my life i’ve been CRAVING barbatos smut 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦
Luo Binghe does not really use his tears before Shang Qinghua makes the suggestion to be pathetic, which is after Shen Yuan's return to the mushroom body.
As a disciple he is about efficiency and perfection and sneaking affection and being Shizun's favorite. By the Immortal Alliance conference he seems secure and even a little bold in that favoritism, enough to kind of flirtatiously test the waters ("does Shizun find me pleasant to look at" idr the words exactly), but not enough to not feel intimidated by even the hint of the slimmest possibility of a potential rival (i.e., leading Liu Mingyan away from Shizun's carriage). However, he is not weepy and does not want to be seen as pathetic. He wants to be COMPETENT and strong enough to protect those he cares about, something he probably also thinks Shizun wants him to be (re, the conversation right before the immortal alliance conference).
Flash forward to the return from the Abyss. Luo Binghe wants to be seen as a righteous cultivator and is actively trying to disprove whatever stereotypes against demons he thinks are in Shizun's mind. But when he perceives rejection from Shizun, all that goes out the window and he reacts with anger and provocation (all stemming from hurt and exacerbated by Xin Mo). But he doesn't think being pathetic will soften Shizun's heart, especially when Shizun disdains him and has no pity (he literally threw him into super hell).
Flash forward to Shen Qingqiu's resurrection. Luo Binghe knows he messed up. He misunderstood everything. Again. He probably hates himself at this point. Maybe Shizun was right and he is all those terrible things, but Luo Binghe is too selfish and greedy to let Shizun go. Maybe after he saves his Shizun, Shen Qingqiu will forgive him and hate him a little less.
WRONG lol, his Shizun literally pretended to die and gave him psychic damage because he would rather lose his life than be with Luo Binghe. It doesn't matter what Luo Binghe does, Shizun is always gonna hate him, so Luo Binghe might as well lock him up in his demon realm palace.
Except Luo Binghe isn't happy. Not really. Not if Shizun is unhappy and still hates him. But he still doesn't show his hurt as vulnerability, it comes out as provocation and anger with Shen Qingqiu as they tussle in the fake bamboo house.
Then he thinks he took it too far and killed Shen Qingqiu AGAIN.
And it is only after Shen Qingqiu escapes and protects him in the Holy Mausoleum, even showing tears, that Luo Binghe finally cracks and all the softness inside slides out like an egg yolk. And we see him go from angry possessiveness to clingy vulnerable cute teary needy pathetic possessiveness.
Wife is kinda scary 💔💔 Shockwave learns this the hard way sometimes 😮💨 one too many optic punches have occurred… you’d think he’d learn to listen instead of yap and complain always but yknow. Seems logic is lost on this one 😒
Summary: In another universe, the people who holds you near and dear to their hearts are women who secretly wish you would get the hint. Some are secretive about it, but others aren't so secretive.
Note: Did I plan on writing Genshin women x isekai'd!Reader? No. Did people (maybe like 3 people) want me to write it? Yes. This fic only has a few selected women in Genshin rather than every female character like my usual Genshin harem fic. Also, just because a character is mentioned in the fic or makes an appearance in the fic does not mean that they're a love interest. If you want to see who the actual love interests are, they're in the tags. Anyway, I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (also Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and AO3 (Aaliah_exo).
Warnings: None that I can think of
Word Count: 5.2k
You feel nauseous. Archons, so nauseous. The world is spinning around you, and despite having your eyes closed, you can still feel the room spin around you. Your head hurts, and most importantly, you have the urge to vomit. It takes you a minute to realize someone is cradling you in their arms, your head resting against their chest as they caress your face and head. The voices around you sound muffled, as if you’re underwater.
“It’s okay, [Y/N]. You’ll be okay,” says a familiar voice.
You groan in response, trying to force yourself into consciousness. Your eyelids feel like lead; it’s almost impossible to open your eyes.
You mutter out, “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
Slowly, the voices around you become clearer. Whoever is cradling you sure feels comfortable. Someone pats your cheek, trying to get you to wake up. You squeeze your eyes, struggling to open your eyes.
“This is what happens when you feed [Y/N] something they can’t eat,” Ei mutters.
“Look who’s talking! At least I can cook! With all due respect, Electro Archon, but you cannot cook yourself,” Hu Tao huffs.
Before Ei or anyone can retort, you manage to open your eyes and look around the dining room, causing everyone in the vicinity to quiet down. You rub your eyes with the heel of your hand.
Navia sighs in relief, hugging you to her chest. “Oh, you poor thing! I thought you died for a moment,” she says, resting her cheek on your head.
“I think they might’ve actually died after consuming whatever monstrosity Hu Tao cooked,” Furina quips. “Trust me when I say this: I saw their soul leave their body the minute they collapsed from their seat.”
You stare at the ceiling, questioning why you agreed to eat whatever Hu Tao cooked for you. How did it slip your mind that Hu Tao isn’t the best cook? You look at Hu Tao, who stares at you with worry.
You jokingly say, “You almost had a new customer at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, Hu Tao.”
Hu Tao laughs, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’ll make sure to be careful next time. Just don’t tell Zhongli about what happened,” Hu Tao pleads.
Clorinde sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose while shaking her head. “There will not be a next time, Hu Tao. Leave the cooking to Escoffier and Xiangling; they are professionals, after all.”
A knock at the door grabs everyone’s attention to see Sigewinne peeking inside the room with her first aid kit in hand. Arlecchino summarizes what happened to Sigewinne while the head nurse takes note, taking in every information given to her.
Sigewinne gestures to the couch. “Let’s get you to the couch before I begin with the checkup,” Sigewinne says, clapping her hands.
Before you can get up and walk to the couch yourself, Beidou approaches you and carries you bridal style over to the couch, startling you. Heat rushes to your face while you mutter about how you can walk to the couch yourself.
Beidou laughs off your comment. “Sorry, sweet cheeks. Let me take care of you just this once, alright? You had me scared when you collapsed, unconscious.”
Beidou, the ever so affectionate woman, gently lays you down on the couch before lightly pinching your cheek. Sigewinne does a quick evaluation of you before treating you. That’s how your morning started—almost dying from eating what Hu Tao cooked. You plan to go out to Liyue to shop at markets, and maybe stop by Fontaine to have desserts with Furina, but after what happened, Shenhe and Yae Miko forbid you from leaving your humble abode because of the possibility of you vomiting up what you ingested earlier today.
You plop onto the sofa, groaning. “Let me go outside! I crave vitamin D,” you writhe around on the couch.
Lisa snickers, ruffling your hair as she walks past the couch. “No one is stopping you from going outside, cutie.”
You blink at her. “But I want to go to the market in Liyue and eat desserts in Fontaine! I promised Furina that we were going to get desserts in Fontaine today,” you pout, petting the fluffy cushion beneath you.
Mid-Autumn Festival is fast approaching, and you want to be able to buy as many things as you can before the holiday arrives. While it’s happening two months from now, many stores in Liyue are putting out decorations for the holiday already. You want to be one of the first few people to be prepared for a huge holiday. These decorations are going to sell out before next month, and you don’t want that to happen like last time.
Lumine plops beside you, pulling you onto her lap while stroking your hair. “If you’d like, we can go to Liyue and Fontaine tomorrow! I’ll keep you company while you buy whatever it is that you need!” Lumine offers, running her fingers through your hair.
Paimon nods. “Yeah! Plus, you won’t have to worry about spending a single dime when it’ll be Lumine who pays!” Paimon interjects, looking smug.
You shake your head, against the thought of someone else paying for you. While you appreciate the sentiment, you can’t bear the thought of someone splurging a lot of Mora on you. Plus, it’s not like you’re spending thousands of Mora on luxury items. You’re buying decorations for your humble abode and ingredients to make traditional Liyuen dishes for the Mid-Autumn Festival.
You pat Paimon’s head, smiling at the floating girl. “I appreciate the sentiment, Paimon. But that won’t be necessary!”
Although you don’t mind having someone filthy rich spoiling the absolute hell out of you in the slightest! You just want to splurge on a lot of Liyuen decorations with the money you earned for the upcoming (technically two months from now) holiday.
“You two can accompany me to the market in Liyue! Then I’ll meet up with Furina in Fontaine for desserts!” You suggest.
Furnia pops up from behind the couch, startling both you and Paimon. “Whaaaat? But [Y/N] I thought it was just going to be the two of us!” Furina protests, propping her hands on her hips. Noticing the looks on Paimon and Lumine’s faces, Furina begins sputtering out an excuse while the apples of her cheeks turn bright red. “Not that I don’t mind having both of you accompany [Y/N] and me, but I find it a bit rude to invite additional people to plans that have been created already!”
You sit up and grab Furina’s hand, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Furina, you and I will still be having desserts in Fontaine together! Lumine and Paimon want to accompany me to the market in Liyue. I don’t think they’ll be with us in Fontaine,” you try to reassure the former Hydro Archon.
Paimon clears her throat. “Technically, it’s Lumine who wants to accompany you to the Liyue market! I’m just her wing woman!” Paimon nods, bobbing up and down in the air while smiling at you innocently, ignoring the flustered glare Lumine shoots in her direction.
Furina tilts her head, tapping her chin. “A wing woman? I haven’t heard such an interesting term before. What is that?” Furina asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
Before Paimon can respond, Lumine lunges forward and covers Paimon’s mouth, her face bright red. Furina stares at the duo with wide eyes, turning to look at you. You rub the back of your neck, wondering why so many embarrassing things have to happen to you in one day.
Unfortunately, you never get the chance to go to Liyue market that day. You, in fact, did end up vomiting the food Hu Tao cooked for you. After the awkward conversation with Paimon, Lumine, and Furina, you were fighting for your life in the bathroom and were forced to retreat to your bedroom for the night earlier than expected.
The following day, you stand in front of a vendor in Liyue, debating if you should buy a pack of rice. Something in the corner of your eye catches your attention, pulling your gaze away from the rice. “Oooh, is that mooncake?” you gasp, staring at the fancy mooncake box in awe.
The vendor smiles with pride, going on a tangent about the designs of the box and what’s the source of inspiration for such a design. The box is gold velvet, smooth to the touch, and has beautiful embellishment on the box that represents Liyuen culture.
“I’m so tempted to buy it, but it would be too soon to buy mooncakes, would it not?” You let out a wishful sigh, gazing at the beautiful box longingly. “Perhaps I will buy it next time! I need to focus on buying decorations for my abode!” You say, beginning to walk away from the vendor.
Just as you’re walking away, you stop in your tracks when you see a familiar face among the crowd. Your eyes light up, and you wave to the Funeral Consultant as you and he lock eyes. A small smile appears as he approaches you, weaving through the crowd to get to where you’re standing.
Now standing in front of you, Zhongli nods. “It’s good to see you, [Y/N]. I see that you’re feeling well after the fiasco yesterday,” Zhongli comments.
Your eyes widen. “Oh! How did you know?” You tuck your hair behind your ear.
Zhongli laughs. “Miss Hu Tao told me the incident at Wangsheng Funeral Parlor today. She said it’s been eating her up all day yesterday and it still is today.” Zhongli replies.
You sigh, slumping forward. This morning, before you set out on your journey to Liyue, you received fancy floral arrangements from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor as an apology and get-well wishes from the director of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor. Now, some people would take that as a threat because why would a funeral parlor send beautiful flower arrangements to their abode? Could it be a threat of some sort? A, I don’t know, see you soon type of message? But you find it incredibly sweet of Hu Tao to do that, and you’re hoping to stop by the parlor to talk to her after buying a few things from the market.
You smile at Zhongli, guilt eating away at you. “When you see Hu Tao again, please tell her not to apologize. I’m not upset with her in the slightest, and it’s not her fault!”
Zhongli makes a face, as if saying, “You sure about that?” After all, you ate something Hu Tao made, and if you recalled correctly, Zhongli (along with Xiangling, Chongyun, and Xingqiu) warned you not to eat whatever Hu Tao cooks.
Both you and Zhongli continue to chat while walking around the market, catching up with each other before parting ways. The former Geo Archon bids you farewell before returning to the funeral parlor, leaving you at the stall that’s selling the beautiful and luxurious mooncakes you’ve been admiring.
The vendor’s eyes light up before handing you two boxes of mooncakes, informing you that the Tianquan bought two boxes of mooncakes for you after seeing you admire them. Your heart nearly drops into the pit of your stomach after hearing that. It’s not like you appreciate that Ningguang bought you two boxes of luxurious mooncakes! You didn’t know Ningguang was also present at the market until it was too late for you to thank the Tianquan.
“I’ll have to thank her later when I see her. Hopefully, she’ll stop by the house when she’s free.” But that’s wishful thinking because Ningguang is the busiest woman in Teyvat, and who knows if you’ll run into her. When you turn to walk away, you nearly bump into the woman in question. Ningguang crosses her arms over her chest, gazing at the luxurious boxes in your hands with a pleased look.
“I see you have gotten the mooncakes you desired,” Ningguang comments.
A big smile stretches across your face. “Ningguang! Thank the Archons, you’re still here! I was hoping to see you to thank you for buying me these mooncakes. You didn’t need to buy me the mooncakes. The Mid-Autumn Festival isn’t until two months from now, and I’m sure Shen would still have them in stock by the time the holiday rolls around,” you say, smiling at the white-beige-haired woman.
Ningguang chuckles, shaking her head. “While that is true, I need to remind you that there are limited quantities of luxurious mooncakes. Shen informed me that the ones you had your eyes on were low in stock,” she explains.
Your eyes widen. “They are?! I wasn’t aware of that at all,” you mutter, looking over at Shen.
“Have you eaten today?” Ningguang suddenly asks, her eyes staring into your soul. The more Ningguang continues to look at you, the more you feel flustered under her gaze. You shake your head wordlessly.
A small smile graces her face. “I see. Would you like to accompany me to the Liuli Pavilion for lunch? I heard you’re going to be having dessert with Lady Furina in Fontaine after your trip to Liyue, and wanted to have lunch with you before you set off on your journey to another nation.”
You nearly drop the mooncakes in shock. Ningguang, the busiest woman in Teyvat, wants to have lunch with you? As far as you know, Ningguang is always at the Jade Chamber because that is her home and her place of work.
Of course, you did not decline her offer because who in their right mind would turn down Ningguang’s offer? Certainly not you, that’s for sure! Both you and Ningguang have a private sitting area, away from the other guests in the restaurant.
While Ningguang is elegantly dining, you barely touch the food on your plate. You did take a few bites here and there, but you didn’t eat a lot, and fortunately, you and Ningguang ordered enough food for both of you.
Ningguang dabs her lips with the cloth napkin before gazing at you curiously. “Are you not feeling well?” She asks.
“Don’t worry about me, Ningguang. I’m feeling fine, but I’m taking it easy after what happened last night.” You reply.
You’re not entirely sure if Ningguang was present during yesterday’s fiasco. You’re glad that none of the girls witnessed your vomiting because that would be very humiliating. It’s already embarrassing when you collapse and nearly die, but you’re alive just to be able to think about that embarrassing moment over and over at 3 AM before you fall asleep.
Lunch went well with Ningguang! Aside from your changing the conversation every time Ningguang tries to ask you about the day before today, lunch is pleasant overall, and the tea that Ningguang had ordered for both of you tastes delicious and soothing. It certainly helps with the dull tummy ache you’ve been experiencing.
When you arrive at Fontaine, you automatically start searching for Furina. She said she was going to meet up with you at Hotel Debord, but when you arrived at the agreed destination, Furina wasn’t alone.
“Furina and Mavuika! Will you be joining us for dessert today?” You ask, looking at the Pyro Archon. Furina doesn’t look too pleased, but she does have a fake smile plastered on her face, trying to play it off that everything is fine.
Mavuika smiles, draping her arm over your shoulder before brushing her fiery red hair off her shoulders. “Of course, I am! I was here on a business trip, and our paths happened to cross! We were catching up, and well, here we are!” Mavuika answers.
Furina nods, trying her best to keep the smile on her face. Furina isn’t against the idea of people joining you and her on your date hangout, but what she is against is people joining last minute, hence why Furina isn’t fond of the idea of Lumine and Paimon tagging along.
“Furina?”
What’s next? More people are going to join you, Furina and Mavuika?
“Furinaaaa?”
Archons, this day was supposed to be perfect! Just you and Furina and no one else tagging along and ruining the moment between you two!
“Furina!”
Furina jumps, her eyes wide as she looks around the hotel in a frenzy, searching for whoever’s calling out to her. Furina feels a gentle hand covering her hand. Her eyes dart down to see your hand grasping hers. Furina gulps and looks to see you (along with Mavuika) gazing at her worriedly.
Heat rushes to her cheeks as she sits up straight in her seat, snatching her hand out from underneath yours in the process. “Ah, yes? I apologize, I got distracted by the array of dessert options on the menu!” Furina announces, waving the menu to show you and Mavuika.
“Are you okay?” You whisper to the former Hydro Archon.
Furina smiles and nods in response before proceeding to look at the menu with feigned interest. When it’s time to order something to eat, Furina’s the one who orders for everyone at the table. Once the waiter walks away, you get up from your seat to excuse yourself.
Furina quickly grabs your hand out of sheer panic, fearing you’re leaving way before the desserts arrive. “Don’t go!”
You stare at Furina with wide eyes. “Furina, I’m going to the restroom! I’ll be back, I promise.” You smile at the frazzled (ex) Hydro Archon. “You and Mavuika can continue the conversation you two were having before I arrived, and I will be right back!” You pat Furina’s head before walking to the nearest restroom.
When you leave to go to the restroom, a thousand questions run through Furina’s head. Mavuika talks about the state of Natlan and how Aether and Lumine helped her save her nation. Without the two blonde twins, who knows what would’ve happened to the Pyro nation? Furina tries her best to be a great listener; she really does! But how can she focus on what Mavuika is saying when she sees you talking to Emilie?! What is she doing here at Hotel Debord?!
“It’s nice seeing you again, Emilie!” You say, bidding her farewell.
Emilie waves at you before parting ways, walking to who knows where. Why’s Emilie at the hotel and talking to you!? You sit back in your seat between Furina and Mavuika. You open your mouth to speak, but Furina beats you to it.
Furina rests her elbows on the table, gazing at you intensely. “I saw you talking with Emilie! What were you two talking about?” Furina asks, smiling at you.
“Emilie offered to make me a custom perfume because I mentioned it to her a while back, but never got to talk about it again. We had a brief chat about it, but I’ll have to stop by her place for a full consultation!” You reply, nodding.
The hangout with both Mavuika and Furina is even more awkward than you thought it would be. You know Furina wants to have dessert with you at Hotel Debord with no one else tagging along, but you wonder why it’s different with Mavuika. The entire time, it’s mostly you trying to carry the conversation with Mavuika and Furina. Mavuika is very attentive, wanting you to try the desserts that are new on the menu—ones that make her taste buds sing. While discussing the topic of desserts, Furnia gladly takes over the conversation to give lists of what she recommends and where to find the best macarons.
Watching Furina and Mavuika converse with each other makes you happy after noticing small signs—technically, it wasn’t a small sign, it was kind of obvious that Furina wasn’t too happy—of Furina not being too ecstatic about having an additional person at the dessert hangout. While Furina and Mavuika are talking, you happily eat your dessert.
“I wonder if the mooncake Ningguang bought for me is going to taste as amazing as these desserts. I can’t wait to go home and try them out myself!” You subconsciously look over at the luxurious boxes of mooncakes in the empty seat across from you.
“Oh? Lady Ningguang bought you those luxurious mooncakes?” Furina asks, peeking over the dessert tower to stare at the fancy boxes.
Mavuika smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear. “How generous of Lady Ningguang. I have a meeting with her tomorrow regarding Natlan and Liyue’s economic trades,” Mavuika murmurs, taking a bite of her Petit Gateau Debord.
Oh, shit, did you say that out loud? You nod in response to Furina’s question. Furina hums, tapping on her cheek before waving down the waiter. She whispers to the waiter, making sure you and Mavuika don’t hear a single thing.
After the waiter walks away, Furina tells you not to worry about what she whispered to the waiter before finishing her dessert. Despite finishing everything that you three have ordered, you three continue to sit at the table in silence.
A large meal with Ningguang, accompanied by desserts with Furina and Mavuika, is rapidly catching up to you. You lean back in your seat and take a deep breath. Your stomach feels like it’s about to explode if you move slightly.
Furina sighs happily. “Whoo! I am stuffed!” She says, patting her tummy, and turns to look at you and Mavuika.
“The dessert was delicious. Thank you for inviting me to join you and [Y/N] for dessert,” Mavuika says, smiling at the former Hydro Archon. “I’m happy to be able to join you two.”
It takes a lot of convincing from Furina and Mavuika for you to finally step out of Hotel Debord. You want to sit down and maybe take a nap somewhere, but Mavuika urges you to take a nap at home rather than somewhere public because you also have luxurious mooncakes with you.
You hug the boxes to your chest, huffing and puffing with every step you take because, well, you ate a lot today, and the boxes of mooncakes are surprisingly heavier than you thought they would be. It did have some weight to it, but it feels even heavier now that your tummy is full of delicious Liyuen dishes and Fontainian desserts.
“[Y/N]!” You hear a familiar voice call out to you as the sounds of rapid footsteps approach where you, Furina, and Mavuika are standing.
You turn to see Chiori running up to you, looking perkier than usual. You smile at the Inazuman woman and wave at her despite your hands being full.
Chiori stops before you, popping her hands on her hips, looking proud. She briefly greets Furina and Mavuika before turning to you, her cheeks flushed from running. “Just the person I wanted to see!”
You stare at Chiori owlishly. “You were looking for me?”
Chiori nods. “I heard from Charlotte that you were going to be in Fontaine today with Lady Furina. I was hoping to run into you before you left, and thankfully I did!” Chiori smiles. “Anyway, I wanted to inform you that your custom clothes are completed and will be shipped out to you by the end of the day! However, I can give you the clothes now if that’s what you prefer!”
Your eyes widen, and your mouth is agape. Oh, Archons, has time flown by that fast? The last time you placed your order for customized clothing was two months ago. Since it’s close to the end of the day, and you have nothing else to do, it wouldn’t hurt to have Chiori give you your order now rather than shipping it out to your abode.
You nod. “Since I’m here already, might as well give me my order and I’ll take it home with me,” you say, earning a wide smile from Chiori.
“Great! Let’s go to Chioriya Boutique for your clothes!” Chiori says happily, grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you in the direction of her boutique, leaving Mavuika and Furina behind.
Furina watches Chiori drag you away from her, her mouth agape with bafflement. Mavuika reaches to pull Furina to follow along, but the former Hydro Archon pulls her hand out of Mavuika’s grasp, lightly batting her hands away.
Furina huffs. “This day isn’t turning out how I hoped it would,” Furina mutters and chases after you and Chiori.
Chiori takes the mooncakes from your hand and places them on the counter, and grabs your hand to usher you to where your clothes are waiting. You let out an audible gasp in awe at the clothes on the mannequins. The intricate designs and the silhouettes of your custom-made clothes are breathtaking! Not only that, but the fabrics feel divine to the touch, and it’s perfect!
You turn to Chiori, eyes bright. “Chiori, I can’t thank you enough! Thank you so much! Everything looks amazing all thanks to you.” You whisper in awe, pulling her into a hug.
Chiori’s eyes widen, and she quickly recovers, wrapping her arms around you. “It’s my pleasure, [Y/N].”
The bells at the entrance of the boutique chime, making you and Chiori pull away from the hug. Furina is panting at the door, her hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath. Behind her stands Mavuika, who looks around the boutique with interest.
“Furina! Look how beautiful the clothes turned out!” You say, gesturing to the mannequins.
Furina walks closer to where the mannequins stand and begins inspecting them while stroking her chin. “I’m not surprised the clothes turned out beautiful. After all, you did have a professional craft and sewed them for you,” Furina murmurs, looking at Chiori with approval.
Chiori smiles, brushing a stray hair away from her face. “Let me get them packed up for you,” Chiori says.
You help Chiori pack your order into boxes—well, that’s what you initially thought she was going to do, but instead, she brings out Chioriya Boutique shopping bags. The shopping bag is made of premium paper and luxurious fabrics (the handle of the bag). Chiori places each article of clothing in a plastic bag to prevent the clothes from getting dirty while returning to your abode.
“There! The clothes are ready to go home with you!” Chiori says, turning to you with her hands propped on her hips.
You bowed to Chiori. “Thank you so much, Chiori.”
Chiori laughs shyly, her cheeks turning bright pink. “There’s no need to thank me, [Y/N].”
The clock on the wall chimes, letting you and everyone know that it’s getting late. As you step out of Chioriya Boutique, you see Clorinde standing there. You stop in your tracks, adjusting the shopping bags on your arms and the boxes of mooncakes in your hands.
“Clorinde? What are you doing out here? It’s late,” you murmur, walking towards the Champion Duelist.
Clorinde raises her eyebrows at you, looking at every box and bag on your person. “I’m here to escort you back to your abode.”
Clorinde is going to escort you back to your abode? That’s sweet of her, but she doesn’t need to do that at all. Just when you’re about to reply, Clorinde takes the boxes of mooncakes from your hands along with the Chioriya Boutique shopping bags.
“It’s okay, Clorinde! I got it!” You try to protest, but she quickly moves out of the way, preventing you from grabbing the boxes and bags from her.
Furina, Mavuika, and Chiori step out of the boutique to see the Champion Duelist with your belongings. Clorinde nods to the three women, “I will be taking it from here, ladies. May the three of you have a good night.” Clorinde then gestures for you to follow her.
On your way back to your abode, it’s silent between you and Clorinde. You try to strike up a conversation with Clorinde, but she’s not much of a conversationalist, and that’s fine with you because you’re not much of one either. The majority of the walk to your abode is in silence, and that gives you the chance to admire the scenery around you.
When you and Clorinde approach the front door of your abode, you stop in your tracks when you see a fairly large box waiting for you. You approach the box, looking at the white label. The package is from Hotel Debord.
At first, you were confused about when you last placed an order with Hotel Debord, but then it dawned on you. “No…She did not…” You trail off before quickly unlocking the door to your house. “You can put the things on the table. I’m going to attempt to carry whatever is in this box into the house.” You instruct Clorinde.
You move out of the way for Clorinde, staring at the box. You squat and grab the box, testing the weight. It’s not too heavy, but it’s certainly not as light as the boxes of mooncakes, either. How long has this box been sitting outside your house?
“Do you need help with that?” Clorinde asks, now standing at the entrance of your abode.
You nod. “Yes, please.”
You and Clorinde carry the box into your house, putting it on the dining table. Clorinde cuts the tape on the box and opens it, revealing luxurious desserts. You’ve never seen these desserts before, heck, you don’t think they sell these types of desserts at Hotel Debord! They could, and the ones shipped to you are a fancier version of the desserts you, Furina, and Mavuika ate today.
A small white piece of paper catches Clorinde’s attention. She grabs the paper and skims through it—it’s a small letter written by Furina. You take the desserts out of the box, glancing over at Clorinde.
“What’s that?”
Clorinde hands you the paper wordlessly before helping you take the desserts out of the box. Surprisingly, the desserts didn’t smear onto the box. However, some of the desserts are big, and Clorinde needs to be careful when she takes them out of the box. While you read the letter written by Furina, you can’t help but feel Clorinde’s eyes burn into your skull.
“Oh, Furina. She’s so sweet,” you murmur, placing the card on the table.
Clorinde crosses her arms over her chest. “You somehow crawled your way into people’s hearts and made it your home.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks, making its way up to the tips of your ears. You know what Clorinde is implying, and you don’t know how to process that thought. You can’t use, “Oh, they care about me a lot because we’re great friends!” as an excuse for your overthinking mind. You don’t know what to do or how to grasp the severity of the situation.
Shit, you’re not used to people having feelings for you. Even if someone did have a crush on you, you wouldn’t be aware of it until years later. Heck, you like them back, but you don’t know how it’ll work out when some people are more possessive than others.
“You’re overthinking it.”
You snap out of your thoughts to see Clorinde staring at you, now standing a little bit closer than where she was standing earlier. You let out a sigh, rubbing your temples. “I’m going to deal with this tomorrow because it’s getting late and I need time to process everything. You can stay for the night if you’d like, Clorinde.”
Clorinde nods, a small smile gracing her face. You went to put the desserts into the fridge to distract yourself from dying internally. Dear Archons, how are you going to process everything without short-circuiting? Surely in another universe, this will be easier, right?
Note: No, I will not be continuing this fic because I don't really like how it turned out. Do I plan on writing anymore Genshin Women x isekai'd!Reader? Not really. Unless a thousand people demand more, I will do it. Other than that, this is the first and final fic for Genshin women x isekai'd!reader fics. Oh, and the reader is still gender neutral in this fic. There's no specific gender for the reader. Anyway, to all my new and returning readers, keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr), Ko-Fi (Genshinluvr/Aaliah_exo), and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!
Taglist: No taglist for this update. Will make a new taglist in the future.
Read more of my works on my Grand Masterlist, which contains every masterlist I have created! | Maybe support me by tipping me on Ko-Fi or by reblogging my fanfics! ^^ I will also be posting exclusive fanfics on Ko-Fi as well very soon! I might post all of my stories there, too, but who knows? You can also tip me on Tumblr if you'd like as a way to show support! ^^
