warnings: smut, penetration, size kink (i just know he's big okay?), unprotected (wrap it up people!), very subtle but implied (unlocking of a) breeding kink.
i wrote this thinking of permansor terrae but it can be any of the dan hengs really. i just think pt would be the gentlest soft dom but also so fucking big that it messes with my head sometimes. also, biologically infertile being unlocking a breeding kink is 😔
every time you insist on taking him in his permeance form, dan heng can't help but hesitate.
but he's a weak, weak man when it comes to those he loves — treasures them so deeply that he's willing to endure a millennia of burden and beyond for them — so, it's pretty much impossible for such a person to refuse you anything you plead for.
so, reluctantly, he agrees.
you don't understand. dan heng tries so hard not to hurt you, puts his everything into achieving the same.
but, each time, he fails miserably.
he spends countless hours preparing you; mouth working on stimulating you as much as possible, making your heat as wet as he can. his fingers slowly — thoroughly — stretch open your walls preparing them for something far larger that they don't even come close to imitating, scissoring it open to try and lessen the pain and discomfort that you are sure to feel.
both his fingers and mouth — individually and together — make you reach the peak so many times that you lose count not even quarter way through.
but, despite all that, it's still too much.
too much in the way his tip struggles to breach your entrance ever so slightly, even though his hands holding your thighs open for better control.
too much in the way silent tears spill down your eyes, that are shut tight from being so overwhelmed with everything that happened already.
too much in the way that your walls grip his girth like a vice not even quarter way through, as though trying to suck him in despite not being able to handle it at all.
too much in the way that he has to start moving in shallow thrusts halfway through to even try and reach a bit deeper with every forward thrust, tail wrapping around one of your legs.
the concern and worry constantly makes the raven ask if you want him to stop every few minutes, but your answer always remains the same; "d-deeper. want to feel you completely."
the heat that simmers under dan heng's bones is instantly pushed back somewhere deep inside where even he can't reach. because he knows that if he lets it free, it will boil across his blood and erupt out of his skin; burning you in its path to take, take and take whatever it possibly can.
when his length finally bottoms up in that tortuously delicious hollow, he doesn't stop the rhythm already built from the shallow thrusts that helped him bury himself to the hilt in the first place, one hand gently reaching to cup your face while the other, that is already on the thigh, helps it wrap around his hips. the cold scales on the tail helping him makes you shiver.
"does it hurt?"
his voice is so tender that it makes more tears spill down your already messy face as you shake your head.
"then why are you crying even more than before?" he can't help the twitch of his lips at the contradiction.
"e-motions," is all you can reply.
"is this pace okay, then?"
"yeah," your hands reach up to snake around his neck, pulling him down to let his lips press into yours. "it's more than okay."
he kisses back, sweet and soothing, thumb gently caressing below your eye to wipe away the wetness under it.
the speed never changes; slow, deliberate and devastatingly precise as it hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars.
it takes a while for the familiar knot to build up in your stomach, arms wrapping tighter around his neck as your muscles pulse around his shaft.
"close?" dan heng asks, even as his hand on your thigh reaches between your bodies to circle the bundle of nerves coaxing you close with that action alone.
you can't stop the twitch of your heat around his girth, breathing turning harsh.
"let go for me," the raven ends up peppering kisses all across your face, pace picking up just a bit now.
that, combined with his finger circling your clitoris is all you can take before you feel an orgasm crash over you like a tidal wave, walls clasping violently around him as you come.
you feel his hips stutter in their pace, length twitching erratically inside you as he chases his own release.
"close," the vidyadhara tries to warn, moving back as if to pull out, but your legs wrap completely around his waist, making it almost impossible for him to do so.
"what—" seeing him flustered is always a treat, given how composed and collected he is all of the time.
"inside," dan heng's eyes flash with something sharp for a second at your reply, before you feel hot splashes of his release pour inside as his movements lose and stop their rhythm.
you don't get to comment on his almost non-existent refractory period when, for the first time since you've made love, he requests for, "one more time, please."
Lord of Your Thighs // Doflamingo Donquixote x afab!reader // NSFW/18+
Kinks: Thigh-Fucking
CW: afab!reader [no pronouns used]; thigh-fucking; multiple references to vaginal intercourse; doflamingo is his own content warning™
WC: 1k // Fictober Masterlist
Doflamingo would rather destroy you.
He would rather break you apart, piece by piece, bit by bit, until there’s nothing left of who you once were. And maybe one day he will—but not now, not yet. To him, you're not like the others. You're not a toy to be smashed apart and discarded—no, you're special, a plaything that deserves care, one that he intends to keep around and use again and again. As he watches you arrange yourself on his bedspread, looking up at him with such glowing adoration, he thinks he could even feel something for you one day, even if he won’t admit it to himself.
And how could he so easily damage such an enchanting little thing that could earn his love?
So, despite how tempting you look laying on his silken sheets— eyes glazed over with desire, fingers gripping the fabric in anticipation, bare and on display and ready to be taken—and despite how much he'd rather devastate you with little concern for your pleasure, he decides take his time with you, prepare you for what's to come.
He drips lube all over your thighs, licks his lips at how your skin glistens, how it trickles down your skin and begins to pool on the sheets. Doflamingo presses your thighs tight together and slowly slides his himself between them--oh, how he wants to ruin you right now, spread you open and sheathe himself in your waiting warmth, bask in the sound of every cry and every hitched breath and every pained groan as you stretch to accommodate him. It’s clear you want it too, the way you writhe and the way your hips shift as though you're trying to lure him inside you, desperate to know what it feels like to be filled in a way you never have before.
But there will be time for that later, all the time in the world to mold your body to him, for you to learn exactly how much you can take and be pushed further than you ever thought possible.
For now, he drags his length in and out of your plush thighs, throbs at the way your muscles tense and shake with every stroke. He overwhelms you in every way so quickly, his massive body engulfing yours, holding your legs aloft by the ankle with an ease that seems to almost frighten you at first. The expression you wear is intoxicating, one of insatiable longing, eyes widening at the way his cock-head pulses and reddens with every thrust.
“You like what you see, my pet?” Doflamingo teases, voice thick with lust. “You like what you do to me—to your king?”
The way you nod shyly, wordlessly, as if suddenly painfully aware of your own depraved desire on display, elicits a vulgar chuckle from him.
“Mm, such a—such a greedy. Little. Thing.” he groans in response, punctuating every word with a forceful thrust, reveling in the softness of your skin enveloping the sinewy length of him. He angles himself downward and with each forward motion, nudges against your swollen clit, leaking precum with every wanton moan that escapes you.
Doflamingo focuses his movements on you now, pressing against your slick cunt, his own climax nearing as your back arches and your mouth falls open, moans of ecstasy reduced to incoherent whines and hitching breaths with every movement. Your eyes shut and his name tumbles from your lips again and again as you’re seized by a rush of sensation, body shuddering uncontrollably underneath him, legs tensing and trembling with every beautiful spasm.
The way you climax, the way you call out for him and buck your hips against nothing, your trembling cunt wanting to be filled, pushes him over the edge. Doflamingo’s measured, insistent rhythm against you becomes erratic, his fluid movements now frenzied as he bucks his hips and strokes himself with your slick, soft thighs. Your insistent murmurs of “Please cum for me, please,” whispered between ragged sighs, push him ever closer to a jarring, pulsing climax. He finally groans in blissful agony and convulses against you, thick ropes of his spend splattering onto your mound and your stomach, dripping down your legs in slow rivulets.
Once your body has coaxed every last possible spasm, every last drip of his spend, out of him, Doflamingo finally releases his iron grip on your ankles and collapses on the bed beside you. He pulls your limp body on top of him, weak limbs dangling useless over his sides, perspiration-dappled head resting on his tanned, taut chest. He wonders if you can tell that every pounding beat of his heart is for you, just for you.
“Please, my king…I can take it…please fuck me,” you murmur weakly, your hips grinding weakly against his taut stomach. He inhales sharply through his teeth, your plea so enticing that his softening cock bobs and hardens again at the thought of pinning you down and taking you right here, right now. The thought of having you now at the peak of your need, your cunt dripping and still quivering from your orgasm, is almost too much to bear, and he feels precum gush from his tip in anticipation.
“Mm, soon sweet pet, I promise.” He kisses the top of your head and runs his long fingers up and down your spine, using every ounce of restraint he can to keep from pushing you down his body and lowering you unceremoniously onto his hardening shaft. “Soon you’ll have what you want.”
But not before he teases you again, lets what you truly desire be just outside of your reach, lets your greedy cunt flutter around nothing as he pleasures himself with your warm, welcoming body. He’ll give you his heavy, aching cock, but not before he winds you up into a frenzy, makes you so blind with desire that you’d do anything to obtain it.
Doflamingo will ruin you one day, but not before he lets you ruin yourself for him first.
I do not force xreaders to be blank slates. I do not leave hate comments if a xreader character behaves in a way I wouldn’t. I don’t demand part two’s. I let the writer take me on a journey and enjoy the fic as they intended as it is their labor of love. And if I don’t enjoy the fic? I EXIT THE FIC AND SAY NOTHING TO THE AUTHOR!!!
Asking for a part two and demanding one is very different. Demanding and pestering for more can be annoying, but leaving a nice comment then asking for a part 2 is absolutely fine
hello!! can i request reader x hsr men (aventurine, blade, mydei, phainon, and jing yuan) who really likes to sneak up on people and try and startle them. obviously it hardly ever works since most of them have an amazing awareness of their surroundings. maybe some of them play into it every now and then, pretending to jump and be startled. but one time she actually does startle them and they accidentally hit her. they're immediately on the ground next to her- making sure she's okay and what not.
sorry if this is too much!!
Reflexes and Surprises
Tags: Blade x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Mydei x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Platonic, Humor, Slice of Life, Light Romance (?), Teasing, Mild Injury, Protective Moments.
Warnings: Brief Physical Contact, Accidental Hitting, Startle Scenes, Minor Pain, Slight Frustration, Character Flinching.
It started as a game you never won.
Phainon had this uncanny sixth sense — maybe it came with being a “Deliverer,” or maybe it was the result of years in battlefields where a single misplaced breath could end a life. Either way, sneaking up on him was an exercise in futility.
You’d tried everything.
Tiptoeing across the courtyard while he read scrolls under the apricot tree? He’d greet you before you reached him.
Leaping from behind a pillar when he trained at dawn? He’d sidestep you, smile, and hand you a towel before you could even yelp “Boo.”
Once, you even tried disguising your steps with the rhythm of the wind chime. That time, he turned, caught you mid-pounce, and said, “You should teach the breeze that trick. It’s losing its timing.”
Phainon wasn’t teasing to mock — he was too gentle for that. He just… sparkled with that infuriating mix of kindness and awareness that made your efforts feel like play to him. And you didn’t mind. Seeing that small, amused smile tug at the corners of his lips was reward enough.
Until the day you actually succeeded.
You’d been waiting for the right moment — late afternoon, when he returned from patrols. The setting sun cast his silhouette long and golden across the steps. He removed his armguard, the glow of his Coreflame pulsing faintly through the leather choker at his throat. For once, he seemed lost in thought — not warrior nor myth, just a man watching the horizon.
Perfect.
You crept closer, holding your breath. Your foot avoided every creaking tile, every stray leaf. He didn’t turn. You grinned.
And then—
“Boo!”
His body spun on reflex — a blur of movement honed by years of combat. His arm lashed out in an instinctive strike meant for an ambusher, not a friend. Your world spun; the air rushed out of your lungs as his forearm clipped your shoulder. You stumbled backward, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
There was a heartbeat of silence. Then—
“Oh, Kephale—!”
Phainon was already on his knees beside you, the sunmark on his throat flaring in distress. His hand brushed your cheek, checking for blood, injury, anything. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— You shouldn’t have— Are you hurt?”
You blinked up at him, still dazed. “I— think I startled you for once.”
The look he gave you could’ve melted the armor off a Titan.
He exhaled shakily, eyes softening. “You did. And the world nearly died for it.”
You laughed weakly. “Guess I won the game.”
His hand hovered at your shoulder, gentle but firm. “No victory is worth a bruise on you.”
You smiled despite yourself. “You’re too dramatic.”
“Perhaps,” he said quietly, gaze shifting toward the horizon again, “but when you fight to protect, you learn that instinct doesn’t think. It only remembers.”
He helped you sit up, his touch steady, careful. For a while you both sat there, the last light painting the sky in streaks of fire.
Finally, he chuckled — that soft, honeyed sound you always loved. “You really startled me. That hasn’t happened since… the war.”
You tilted your head. “Then I’m honored.”
He grinned, faintly sheepish. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re predictable,” you countered.
He raised a brow. “Oh?”
You grinned. “Next time, I’ll go for left side. You always turn right.”
Phainon laughed, head thrown back, voice warm as a hearth. “Next time,” he said, “I’ll try to be surprised for real.”
Mydei was impossible to startle.
Not because he lacked humor — though his stoicism could make statues blush — but because his awareness was ironclad. A prince raised in exile and a soldier forged in war didn’t do surprise. Even when he pretended to play along with your little ambushes, you knew it was pity, not actual shock.
Once, you tried creeping up behind him during sword drills. Before your fingers even touched his shoulder, he murmured, “Three more steps, and you’d be impaled by my shadow.”
You jumped back so fast he actually cracked a smile. “Relax,” he’d added, “it’s only half a warning.”
But today… today you caught him off-guard.
He was sitting by the fire pit, polishing his blade — the crimson runes along the metal glinting like embers. The flicker of flames danced across his eyes. He looked tired, but peaceful, for once.
You inched closer. One step. Two. The crackle of fire covered your approach perfectly. You crouched behind the log beside him, suppressing laughter.
Then, with a sudden leap, you shouted, “Gotcha!”
Mydei reacted instantly. His arm swept backward in a blur; the flat of his palm connected sharply with your arm. Pain stung, and you yelped as you toppled backward into the dirt.
He froze.
“[Name]—!”
The blade clattered to the ground as he spun around, eyes wide with horror. He knelt beside you, grip trembling slightly as he cupped your shoulder. “Did I—hurt you?”
You winced, rubbing your arm. “No, I’m fine. Just surprised.”
His voice dropped to a low, remorseful murmur. “That was reckless.”
You snorted. “You? Or me?”
He blinked, then exhaled, lips tugging faintly upward. “Both.”
You sat up, noticing how his fingers still hovered near your arm, hesitant to touch. The fire crackled softly between you.
“I keep forgetting,” you said lightly, “that your instincts are… sharp.”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “They were sharpened by necessity. Reflex, not choice.”
For a long moment, he stared into the fire, its light flickering in his eyes. “I’ve spent years surviving things that don’t announce themselves. It’s… difficult to turn that off.”
You tilted your head. “Guess I should stop trying to sneak up on a demigod.”
That earned you an amused huff. “If you insist on it,” he said dryly, “at least wear armor next time.”
“Deal,” you grinned.
Mydei actually laughed — low and genuine, rare as starlight. The sound made the whole incident worth it.
Later, as he packed away his blade, he said quietly, “You startled me.”
You blinked. “Really?”
He met your gaze, a small, unreadable smile forming. “Yes. And I’m grateful for it.”
“Grateful?”
“It reminded me that even the most guarded walls can still let laughter through.”
You’d made it your unofficial mission: wake the “Dozing General” with a good scare.
Of course, Jing Yuan wasn’t really asleep half the time — he was meditating, or listening, or pretending. You never could tell. But that didn’t stop you from trying.
The Cloud Knights adored it. Every failed attempt became a running joke. “General will see through any ambush,” they’d say. “You could drop from the rafters and he’d catch you midair.”
Challenge accepted.
One quiet afternoon, you found him leaning against a railing overlooking the courtyard, sunlight painting his white hair gold. His lion companion was nowhere in sight — the perfect opportunity.
You tiptoed closer. Jing Yuan’s back was turned, his posture loose, the very image of serene unawareness.
Now or never.
You lunged forward with your loudest “Boo!”
In a flash, Jing Yuan pivoted, hand snapping up — the flat of his palm striking your shoulder before he even registered who it was. You stumbled back, eyes wide, the sting spreading through your arm.
Then everything happened at once — his hand dropped, his expression broke, and he was crouching beside you, worry etched deep into his face.
“Ah—[Name], I—!” His voice faltered for once, that calm composure cracking. “Are you all right? Did I—”
You blinked, still dazed. “I guess that’s a no on startling the General, huh?”
For a second, silence. Then Jing Yuan exhaled — long, heavy, almost laugh-like. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“You hit me,” you deadpanned.
“Reflex,” he admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been ambushed too many times to risk a repeat.”
You couldn’t help but grin. “So I actually startled you?”
He chuckled, helping you to your feet with surprising gentleness. “You did. Mark it in your record — the first and last victory.”
“Last?” you challenged.
“I’m retiring undefeated,” he said with mock pride. “Though… I suppose I owe you a drink as apology.”
You laughed. “Make it two.”
He smiled — that soft, amused curve of his lips that warmed more than the sunlight. “Done.”
Later, as you both leaned against the railing, the moment behind you, Jing Yuan said quietly, “It’s good, you know.”
“What is?”
“That you try to startle me. Reminds me I’m still human enough to flinch.”
You glanced up. “And here I thought I was just annoying you.”
“Annoying?” He laughed softly. “Perhaps. But it’s a kind of joy, too — knowing someone cares enough to interrupt my peace.”
You nudged him. “Next time, I’ll bring confetti.”
“Next time,” he said, eyes glinting with mirth, “I’ll let you win.”
With Blade, it wasn’t just hard — it was suicidal.
The man lived on the knife’s edge between awareness and violence. His instincts were weapons sharper than his sword. The Stellaron Hunters warned you. Kafka warned you. Heck, even Silver Wolf placed bets on how many seconds you’d last before regretting it.
Still, you couldn’t resist.
You’d gotten used to his quiet habits: sitting on the edge of rooftops, sword resting beside him, the wind playing with his hair as he stared at nothing. Always distant, always somewhere else. He rarely spoke, but you’d come to understand his silences. They weren’t cold — just… tired.
So, one night, under the cold glow of the stars, you decided to try. Just once. For fun.
He didn’t even seem aware of your approach — his breathing slow, steady. The broken sword gleamed faintly beside him. You tiptoed behind, hands ready.
“Boo!”
In less than a heartbeat, his body twisted. Steel flashed. The air screamed. The sword’s flat side caught your ribs before he halted mid-swing — horror flashing across his crimson eyes.
You gasped, stumbling backward, clutching your side.
“[Name]—” His voice cracked, low and harsh, as if dragged from his throat. The sword clattered aside as he grabbed your shoulders, pulling you down carefully. “Did I—did I hurt you?”
“I—ow—maybe just a little,” you wheezed, half laughing despite the pain.
His hands trembled. Trembled. Blade, the immortal weapon, the man who bled and healed without pause — looked terrified.
“I didn’t know it was you.” His tone was rough, like broken glass. “I—shouldn’t—”
You managed a pained grin. “Guess I startled you.”
He stared at you, disbelief flickering. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — something between relief and amusement. “You… did.”
You nudged him weakly. “See? Even the unflinching can flinch.”
His expression softened, the red in his eyes dimming to something almost human. “Don’t do that again.”
“Scared you’d hurt me?”
“Scared I wouldn’t stop next time.”
The honesty in his voice was like a blade itself — cutting, but clean.
You nodded quietly, letting him help you sit. The night wind brushed past, carrying the faint hum of city lights below.
“Hey,” you said after a while. “I didn’t mean to—”
He shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You smirked faintly. “Except scare an immortal man.”
That earned a breath of a laugh from him — rare and fleeting. “Congratulations,” he murmured. “You’ve done what even time couldn’t.”
You grinned. “I’ll frame that.”
He looked at you then — really looked — and said quietly, “Thank you.”
Folks, friends, y’all…. esk*mo is a slur. I understand a lot of people don’t know that, I don’t want to be a dick about it, but I’ve been seeing it in fics. Wanna write “esk*mo kisses”? Just say “nuzzled noses” or something.
I’m not here to call anybody out, it’s been in multiple fics, I’m not vague posting. This is just a psa. 👍🏻
[Text Description: “Hey! Reminder: Eskimo is a slur. It means ‘snow eaters’ in Cree and is a slur against Inuit . Also don’t use ‘Eskimo kisses’. It’s called Kunik. It is a greeting mostly used for family… Kunik was how I’d greet my mom and grandmother as a small child.” /TD]
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