Part 2 of my headcanon post you can find here ! Requests are open :)
GN!Reader, this time with :
Zevlor, Gortash, Omeluum, Blurg, Barcus
Zevlor
Favorite place to kiss
-On the temple; it's easy to do, something he doesn't even think about or has to think about. It's simple, so he can do it in public, even if he's fairly okay with pda to a polite extent. It's also sweet and a big show of care. Zevlor wants to be seen as such, wants there to be no doubt he adores you. Bonus point if you're taller, it brings a very specific kind of flutter to his heart to have to lean up to kiss your temple.
Favorite place to be kissed
-On the cheekbone/bridge of his nose; the first one in public, it's chaste enough he won't get uncomfortable while still being rather close. His cheekbone happens to be a place where his skin has ridges, the 'hellish' feature something he often feels insecure about. Having that place kissed makes him feel a whole lot better. In private, receiving a kiss on his nose is a whole different reaction. He gets giddy, like suddenly he's younger again, getting dotted on. It's a cute gesture.
Gortash
Favorite to kiss
-On the jaw; it's the perfect spot to tease and be a little mean. He doesn't care about public versus private, he'll absolutely tease and be mean about it at times. It's his favorite place to pepper a kiss or two, maybe nip here and there. It's so close to your pulse, and it's midway to your lips if he feels like getting a kiss.
Fav to be kissed
-Secretly ? On the knuckles and back of his hand. It might take a long time to get it, if you even do, considering he hides it well, but he holds the touch of affection close to his heart. His hands are what he uses to make his creations, it's what holds his power... it's what holds you. A kiss there makes it special- especially so when it happens when he removes his gauntlet, a rare thing nowadays.
Omeluum
Favorire place to kiss
-Well... It can't kiss but will press its forehead to your knuckles in form of one. It's done in a chaste and gentlemany manner. It's not very big on pda, it's a little private on the edges, so it keeps it to that most of the time. Still, it's a sweet gesture and a sweet effort on its part, considering the lack of lips, still wanting to offer affection you're familiar with. Plus it likes the way it makes you smile, it's a nice bonus.
Favorite place to be kissed
-On the back of its hand; again, not a big fan of pda, but its willing to receive similar affection. It quite likes it, but it's quickly flustered, so be careful. Or not, if you're in private. It likes the feeling of your lips on its hand, at least, and while it's more of a hand holding kind of person, it definitely appreciates your affection nonetheless.
Blurg
Favorite place to kiss
-On the lips; he's big into big smooches ! Blurg loves holding your face between his hands while he smothers you in a barrage of kisses. He also loves doing it especially after a breakthrough in his research, as a way to celebrate. Goes from his notes or experiments to find you and plant a firm kiss on your lips, looking all so happy.
Favorite place to be kissed
-On the tip of his ears; it feels ticklish to him, he thinks it's very silly. Pointed ears tend to be sensitive, although it's dependant on the individual, but he's definitely in the sensitive category. The spot is more ticklish than sensitive for him, so it doesn't really fluster him however. It does bring a big toothy smile to his face, and even sometimes a snorting laugh if you manage to kiss him just right.
Barcus
Favorite place to kiss
-On the shoulder; it's not always easily accessed but it feels sweet and he's trying to be suave, sue him ! Might give you a little kick to the shin to get you to lean down, if you're taller. Not enough to hurt, just enough to get your attention as he clears his throat all flustered-like, before bringing you closer to kiss your shoulder - be it on available skin or above clothing. It's rare, but sometimes he does manage to be suave about it, and it's always a treat.
Favorite place to be kissed
-On the forehead; he feels embarassed about it, really, he does, but the heart wants what the heart wants, unfortunately for his ego. It's cute, it's sweet, and if he's smaller than you, the effect is doubled. Also, bald as he is, there's a lot of surface to kiss. Bonus point as well, if you wear lipstick and leave a, or a few, marks.
Soft dom!reader x Barcus Wroot. Size difference, size kink. Very soft. Reader has a pussy but no gendered pronouns used. Mentions of alcohol (mead because all the drinks in BG3 sounded nasty or expensive when I read their descriptions) NSFW. MDNI.
It never occurred to Barcus that he would fall for someone who wasn’t a deep gnome, but that was before he met you. It wasn’t exactly love at first sight, no, more like vague distrust and a general sense of unease, that the only reason you were being kind to him was to make your sudden and inevitable betrayal sting just that little extra.
But you didn’t betray him. Quite the opposite.
You became a good acquaintance, then a friend, then something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.
You were his sanctuary, when the ironhands were demanding answers he couldn’t give, when he felt like an inadequate leader, and when he had half a mind to track down Wulbren and admit he wasn’t cut out for the job. You were there. A confidant, and so, so dear to him.
You weren’t ashamed to be seen with him, sitting beside him on the balcony of your townhouse amongst the rubble of Baldur’s Gate. The little get-togethers he so looked forward to were always arranged after sundown, when the light didn’t hurt his eyes. And how cozy you made him feel, a warm blanket beside him should he need it, delicious food and drink, a footrest placed before the bench so his legs didn’t dangle mid-air and cause his lower back to ache.
You spoke to him as an equal, which shouldn’t have been extraordinary, but it was.
You were extraordinary.
“You’re so very good to me,” he told you on a night sweetened by blackberry mead and lit by distant starlight.
“Well, you mean a lot to me,” you replied, so matter-of-factly it brought tears to his eyes. You couldn’t know how remarkable that was. “I cherish our time together.”
“Oh…” His lip trembled, voice wavering, the sheer weight of being liked apparently more than his small self could handle.
He tried to focus on the familiar, the sight of your face, the sound of your voice. And it struck him suddenly just how beautiful you were. Not just beautiful for a human; beautiful like the stars, like the sweetness of the mead on his tongue, like the scent of the honeysuckle overtaking the balcony. You were beautiful and you meant everything to him.
He loved you.
Without realizing, he had fallen completely and hopelessly in love, and the thought of someone else realizing how beautiful you were and finding the courage to make you theirs before he did… Well, he simply couldn’t let that happen.
Nor did he have the courage to outright speak his mind.
“Thank you for another pleasant evening,” he said, watching the fragments of quartz in the stone of your balcony glitter beneath the faint celestial glow. “Spending time with you always puts things in perspective. You’re a good friend.”
When he looked up you were a smidgen closer than before, and visibly flustered.
If he didn’t know better he’d think you’d leaned in to kiss him and lost your nerve. But no, it couldn’t be that; surely it was just a trick of the light.
“Ah- are you well, friend?” he asked, the words barely pulling themself free from the tangle in his throat.
His question hung in the air between you, sounding a little foolish now that he had spoken it aloud. He hadn’t meant to call you out, but why else would he ask it?
“I don’t think I am,” you said, setting down your empty cup and turning to face him. “Barcus… I…”
In the darkness his eyes must have appeared black to you, but he could see every shade glittering in yours. And within them there was an unmistakable want that made his stomach flop.
“Oh, me neither,” he said. “I fear I want to do something rather foolish.”
You smiled, a gentle laugh of agreement alleviating some of the weight of the night. You were never, ever unkind to him. The thought that you were laughing at him was never once brought into question in his mind. You weren’t like that. You were rarer than diamonds and far far more precious.
“I’m thinking about kissing you,” he admitted, fidgeting with the ornamental handle of his cup. “I’m thinking about asking you to marry me and be mine forever. Or… not marry me and still be mine forever. The marrying part is neither here nor there honestly. It’s the ‘mine’ part that matters, because I want to be yours.”
He didn’t dare look up at you but he felt the shift in the air right before your lips grazed, soft and warm against his cheek, close— agonizingly so— to the corner of his lips.
And he felt that kiss in every cell of his body. Heat flooded like a tidal wave down his throat, through his chest and his belly, and down, down. Pooling and tingling between his thighs in such an agonizing, delicious way he couldn’t stifle the frankly pitiful sound that escaped his lips. A moan perhaps, or more like a whimper.
But you didn’t seem to mind at all. No, in fact, it seemed to encourage you. He turned into your next kiss, cradling your face between his hands and muffling the sounds he quickly learned he was incapable of stopping.
Your kisses were everything; overwhelming and lovely, sweet and sticky from the mead. And gods, you were so big.
He’d known that all along, of course, you were his human friend whom he had to crane his neck to speak to, but with you pressed so close the difference between you was breathtaking. And he couldn’t get enough of it.
He was helpless, should you choose to make him so, and that thought was titillating beyond belief. The thought of being pinned down by you, being crushed, breathless and completely powerless shouldn’t have been as exciting as it was, but within seconds he was so hard he was lightheaded. That had never happened before.
Before he knew it he was on his knees, pursuing your kisses with passion he hardly knew he was capable of. And you had your arms around him, completely surrounding him.
“Am I crushing you?” you asked, your words carried on breaths that tickled his lips.
“Mm… I wish you would,” he said before he could stop himself.
And praise every god there was that his comment, fueled by a potent concoction of lust and mead, didn’t deter you in the slightest. Quite the opposite in fact.
“Oh?” you whispered, the flirtation and giddiness in your voice enough to make his toes curl inside his shoes. “You’d like that?”
“Very- very much…”
It wasn’t uncommon for the city streets to become a maze of hedonism once the sun went down, but for once Barcus found himself caught up in it, pressed back against the stone edge of your balcony bench, smothered by the warmth and weight of your body. The overgrown honeysuckle provided coverage from the main street, yet it felt so utterly salacious as you kissed him with such passion that his legs trembled beneath you.
“Do you want to go inside?” you asked, and he found himself nodding rapidly. Inside, into the warmth and softness of your bed, to be held and kissed and adored. Oh, how he wanted you.
You were the first to make him feel like he mattered like that. With you he felt small, yes, but never lesser.
Your lips adoringly caressed every curve of his body as you undressed him, ushering away his perceived inadequacies. It hadn’t occurred to him that you’d find him just as lovely as he found you, but you did, evidently. You kissed every tingling inch of him like he was the most beautiful, delectable thing you’d ever encountered. And then you sat astride him and undressed.
If he thought you were beautiful before it was nothing compared to how he felt when he saw you bare. Divine, perhaps, though that pretty word hardly did justice to the sheer awe and reverence overcoming him.
“Please be mine,” he begged. “Make me yours.”
A sentiment he repeated over and over as you claimed him. The sensation of you enveloping his cock– soft and wet and hot, and certainly more blissfully snug than he'd imagined– felt so good he couldn't stop his legs from trembling.
Barcus screwed his eyes tight, afraid that even a single glance would spell the end of it. Oh, you were so beautiful.
“Barcus?” you asked, a gentle hand against his cheek.
“I'm fi-hine,” he said, trying his best to maintain his composure.
“Am I hurting you?”
“Don't be silly.”
“Ah,” you said. You understood. He was on the precipice of pleasure after a few seconds. And then your wicked streak came out as you said, “Open your eyes, I want you to watch. And I know you’re not going to come just yet. I know you can hold off for me.”
And of course he did as you told him.
Brow furrowed in determination, he watched his cock disappear again and again into your perfect cunt, feeling smaller and more willingly helpless than he ever had in his life. Every thrust drew the air from his lungs, and every pause allowed him to refill them. You had him so wet, so hard and swollen he barely recognized his own body.
“Oh gods, you feel perfect,” he gasped, hands gripping the edge of the bed. Sweat trickled from his temples as he fought off the urge to release. “Thank you. Thank you… thank you so much.”
He felt you come undone, throbbing, pulsing on top of him, a flood of heat enveloping him as you collapsed from the intensity, pressing him down into the mattress. Your body snuffed out all light in the room, your scent and your touch was the only thing he knew, your lips glancing against his, breathing his breath, swallowing his desperate cries.
“Please…” he heard himself cry, though he was so far gone he had no idea what he’d do if you said no. Fail, he supposed. Come unbidden and take whatever penalty you deemed acceptable.
“Please what, Barcus?”
“Let me… let me come… please…” It was already too late. He felt that first throb of release, and no amount of thigh clenching or toe spreading could stop it now.
You chuckled drawing back to watch him fall apart. “Yes, sweet thing, you can come now,” you said, and the world tilted on its axis.
Of course he’d orgasmed before; alone more often than not, but with you it was different, far, far more intense. The sounds that tore from his throat sounded like they came from a much larger man, at least to his ears. He cried out as he came undone, his entire body ablaze with pleasure. And you kissed him, again and again; his lips, his throat, his racing pulse and juddering belly.
And afterwards, when the throbs of ecstasy and breathless words of praise had all but faded, you held him. You tucked him close to your body, lips resting against the crown of his head, and he felt you smile.
Whatever he had done to deserve such comfort and warmth, he wasn’t quite sure. But he knew better than to question it. You were his, and that really was all that mattered.
Barcus Wroot x dom!reader (Reader wears a strap-on but no anatomy or gendered pronouns are used.)
Content: NSFW. Anal fingering, pegging, slight delayed orgasm (his), size difference, and lots of fluff. Approx 1.6k words of sweet sweet Barcus lovin'. This is for me and @vampcubus and any other real ones (Barcus kissers) out there.
Strapped
“Surely that can’t be… what it looks like,” Barcus sighs, pointedly looking away before glancing back at the wooden dildo and its oxblood leather straps in your hands.
“It is.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it's too big. It'll never fit.”
The two of you are alone in your tent, as you so often are these days. It's an unconventional domesticity, but it looks good on him. Or rather, being adored and wanted and appreciated the way you do looks good on him. He's never had that before.
Curled up beneath the covers, Barcus has made himself very comfortable in your temporary abode, using an easel to prop up the thick, human-sized book he's reading.
He has no need for a light to allow him to see the words, but he keeps one lit for your benefit. And thank goodness for that flickering light, which allows you to see the curves of his bare chest and the sparse curls of hair adorning it. His shoulders are broad for a gnome of his stature, his belly recently a little softer than before he discovered the pleasures of being loved and content.
He lets the sheets pool around his hips, knowing you enjoy the sight of him.
And despite his frown, you could swear you see a twinkle of curiosity in his eyes as they focus once more on the toy in your hands. Perhaps even longing.
“I could have Halsin whittle it down?” you suggest, “Or maybe Gale knows a shrinking spell–”
“You will not!” he practically shrieks at the suggestion. “Your traveling companions don't need to know about it. At all. Where did you even get it?”
“They were selling them at Sharess’ Caress,” you say, lowering yourself onto the bedroll beside him and placing the strap-on on the sheets beside him. “It’s the smallest one they had. It comes with oil to make it easier.”
Barcus sniffs dismissively, the corner of his mouth lifting into an amused half-smile. “I can’t believe you just went in there and bought it. You’re so much braver than I am.”
“It’s Sharess’ Caress,” you say with a laugh, “They barely batted an eye.”
The gnome stares at it, and then at you, chewing his lip. “Promise me you'll be gentle.”
“Of course, Barcus, I'd never hurt you.”
At that his expression softens, those sweet, soulful eyes filled with nothing but the most ardent affection. “No, you wouldn't, would you. I may get struck down for this, but there are times I find myself wondering if you are in fact some kind of divine being.” He ponders it for a moment before chuckling to himself. “Well, it's silly, but it's the only explanation I've been able to come up with for how you make me feel.”
You would ride to war for this sweet man. Hells, you have; against goblins, duergar, drow… it's only thanks to Barcus’ kind heart that Wulbren fucking Bongle isn't currently floating down the Chionthar with your boot print permanently branded into his backside.
“Let me make you feel good,” you say, your lips just a fraction from his.
“You always do. You know you can always do whatever you want to me. I'm yours.”
The space between you melts away with the brush of your lips against his. Barcus moans softly when you kiss him. It doesn't matter how many times you do, how many nights you've spent together, he reacts to every kiss like it's the first.
He feels so small in your arms, so precious, though he'd fuss at you for saying so. But he loves it too, the differences between you, the fact that there's just so much of you, that he can lose himself in you. He never knew– or perhaps never allowed himself to admit– how much he needed to be held before he met you. And now he finds himself surrounded and safe, and loved. So very loved.
You make fast work of his breeches, tugging them down over his firm thighs and unravelling the knots in the linen cloth secured at his hips, freeing his pretty little cock. Gone are the days he was shy about his body; he knows how much you want him, and little by little he’s coming to terms with the fact that he’s more than enough for you. He’s everything.
He’s barely even shy as he climbs onto your lap, turns around and bends over, presenting his ass to you. His hole flutters beneath your touch as you circle your oiled fingertip over the puckered skin, easing him into the sensation and relishing the hitches of his breath and the way he whimpers your name into your thighs.
“Is that good, my love?” you ask, despite already knowing the answer. His cock is already drooling onto your stomach.
“I- I’m… I’m lightheaded,” he stammers. “How can it feel so good?”
“Because it’s us.”
Breathless, he chuckles at that before melting completely into your touch.
It only takes the tip of your pinky finger to make him moan— a stuttered cry from the depths of his throat, a mixture of shock, pleasure, and perhaps just a little discomfort. So you take it slow, easing into his tight ring of muscle, massaging the oil into his flesh until he’s backing onto your touch. He takes your pinky all the way to the knuckle, then the next, crying in ecstasy as you stroke his prostate and trying to muffle the sound against the seam of your thighs.
“More,” he begs, “I’m ready for it.”
He’s more than ready. He’s desperate.
His quick and dexterous hands assist you in buckling the leather straps to your hips, trembling in his eagerness to explore this new thing with you. His earlier reservations are completely forgotten, as they always are, as he climbs on top of you, groaning with the strain of stretching his thighs wide enough to straddle your hips.
Working together, you bundle the blankets beneath his feet, allowing him to support himself a little better. And Gods, with him sat up there you can see just how huge the dildo looks when compared to him, jutting out from his thighs and reaching way past his navel.
“Are you sure?” you ask, your hands rubbing his thighs, palms fully covering them, massaging away some of the ache.
“I can do it,” he says, with steely determination. “I want to be good for you. I love you.”
And with that he takes the vial of oil and drizzles it over the head of the dildo, before using both hands to spread the slick. Even just the sight of him like that is enough to make you wet for him. Breathless, excited, sweat beading down his temples. He looks to you for approval as he finally takes your strap, his mouth falling slack into a silent cry of pleasure.
“That’s it,” you tell him, propping yourself up to watch the tip of dildo disappear into his ass. He can’t take the whole thing, not yet, but you encourage him nevertheless. “Look at you, taking it so well.”
He can hardly breathe, let alone speak, the broken syllables of your name tripping from the end of his tongue.
He braces his hands on your lower belly as he rides you, his little cock bouncing and dripping along with his thrusts. And he yelps so sweetly when you wrap your hand around it, letting him fuck the tunnel of your fist, doubling his pleasure.
“I- I’m not going to last long if you do that,” he says, screwing his eyes tight. “Feels too guh-hood.”
“Just a little longer,” you tell him. He looks far too lovely like this to let it end too soon.
Nodding rapidly, you can practically see him gathering his resolve, his lips pressing to a thin line to hold back his moans, as if that will be any help at all.
But his cock throbs against your palm, slick and hot and desperate for release. He pulls in a long, shivering breath, the sinews in his neck tight as he tries not to cum. And beneath the plush of his belly his abdominal muscles clench. He’s close. Painfully close. “Please?”
“Soon. You’re doing so well.”
“Mh… alright… ah- anything for you…”
And he means it too. If you asked him to delay his release for hours you’d get no argument from him. He’d absolutely fail, of course, but he’d give it his all.
He whines so pitifully when you sit up to kiss him, shivering as you caress the pointed tips of his ears and tell him, “I love you so much.”
No sooner have the words left your lips than he’s cumming, his spend splashing across your belly while he shudders through his orgasm.
He admitted to you once that before you, he’d only experienced a handful or climaxes throughout his life, and all of them when he was much younger. Oh, they felt good, he said, but they left him feeling hollow and alone afterward. But with you, it’s a different story. He clings to you as the pleasure subsides, nuzzling your stomach, his hands curling at your hips while he catches his breath.
“May I pleasure you next?” he asks, tilting his face just enough that you can see the candlelight glint in the dark of his eyes. He doesn’t need to say what he’d like to do; you know all too well how much he adores pleasing you with his tongue.
“In a little while. Rest first. You’ve earned it.”
And he smiles as you gently scratch his scalp with your fingernails, goosebumps rising on his skin.
“You treat me far too well, you know,” he says.
“I only treat you as well as you deserve.”
It’s still a little hard for him to fathom. But he’s getting there.
