What I find irrationally hot: guys who stuff themselves with so much food that their bellys become so full and bulging that they have to unbutton their jeans to relieve themselves. That reach for the button, with the heavy aching belly getting in the way, the fumbling because the pressure is so great that the button barely opens, then finally it works, the relief on their face, the zipper pops open. And then that little shake of the plump stuffed belly until it sits comfortably over the zipper teeth, round and bulging, a ball of greed. Then the hand that runs over the belly, checking the freedom gained and occasionally adjusting or lifting the paunch which is filled to capacity. So hot, every single step.
You sat down behind your desk, grateful for the silence your office brought. Being the assistant of a harbinger wasn’t easy, but the job came with its perks, a calm work environment being one of them. Especially after the mess with your fellow Fatui members yesterday…
You jumped as the door slammed open. Scaramouche, who seemed to be in a fouler mood than usual, walked in. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him, simply heading to his chair. You could hear him mumbling something about Dottore, but couldn’t exactly make out what. You didn’t ask either, it was none of your business. Scaramouche may not have been kind with his words, but he was always clear when he’s addressing you. You got up to close the door behind him before sitting back down at your desk, processing the documents Scaramouche had asked you to work on yesterday.
“Hey, you,” Scaramouche barked. Him addressing you as ‘you’ was nothing new. He never used your name. “go wash this for me.”
Scaramouche held out his catalyst to you, which you could see was covered in blood. You got up from your desk and accepted the weapon, taking it to an adjacent bathroom to wash it. As much as you were not a fan of it, you were used to it. You rolled up your sleeves and got to work.
Once you were done you went back to your office and placed the now sparkling catalyst on Scaramouche’s desk. Before you could walk back to your desk, you heard a firm ‘stop’. You froze in place and looked up at Scaramouche. His eyes seemed trained on your arm.
“Lift your sleeve.”
You looked down at your arm and felt anxiety settle in as you realized part of the bruise from yesterday was showing.
“Sir, it’s nothing se-”
“I told you to lift your sleeve, not to talk back.”
Anxiety turned to fear as you saw cold eyes glaring at you. He was angry. You lifted your sleeve, revealing the hand-shaped bruise under it. Scaramouche’s eyes narrowed as he saw the bruise. He glared at it for a few seconds, before looking you in the eyes.
“Who did that?” His voice was colder than you had ever heard.
“Sir, it-”
“I asked you who, y/n.”
You muttered the name, hoping to not anger him any more. Scaramouche nodded and left the office without another word. He would teach them that nobody messed with what was his.
It was only after he closed the door behind him - gently - that you noticed that for the first time, he had used your name.
He says your name while towering over you in the dark. Your calves pressed against the edge of your bed, your eyes up towards him. Miguel’s face stained with tears while searching for an answer. You want to ask what’s wrong. Why he’s come to you distraught in the dead of night. But no words escape your lips.
Instead, you nod.
Miguel does all of the heavy lifting. He picks you up, laying you carefully on the sheets. Whatever he’s feeling, he’s not taking it out on you. He’s gentle, removing your clothes and his suit. His lips on yours were desperate, the unknown emotion fading with every kiss. His calloused hands trace your body as if you were a painting. The tips of his fingers move like a brush stroke.
You whimper from his caresses and he swallows them all. Completely absorbed by you. His fingers dip along your sex, chest rumbling at how wet you were for him already. Miguel holds you close while slowly pumping two fingers into you. A thumb lazily circling your clit. You try to hide as he pleasures you, but he demands you look at him. Desperation decorating his crimson eyes while they mix with lust. And you get lost in them. Relaxing your muscles only for them to jolt in pleasure. Pushing you to the deep end.
Miguel helps you ride your high as much as he can. His fingers slick with your arousal. As he turns you over, his lips press along your head, then goes down. To your neck, your shoulders, your back. All while making sure your hips are up in the air, face down. Even then he takes his time, making sure he's kissed every single part of your back.
Then he slides into you.
You whine at the stretch, tangling your fingers into the sheets. Miguel groans at how you feel, slowly settling himself all the way in. He leans over, a hand on top of yours while the other a firm grip on your hip. His face on your head as he takes a minute to be completely absorbed by you. Pretending you two were the only people in this world. Right here and right now.
When he starts to move, you sigh at him pulling all the way back then pushing forward. Slow but powerful thrusts almost knock the wind out of your lungs. He lovingly traps you under him, his hand squeezing yours after each snap of his hips. His breath traveling down the nape of your neck, not wanting to part from you at this moment.
He picks up the pace of his slow rhythm. The grip on your hip gets harder and he starts being more vocal, whining in your ear. Sweat from your skin sticking to his chest. Goosebumps forming at hearing the sticky, wet sounds of your exchange. And you know he’s close so you let him ride that wave.
Miguel stills, letting out whatever he was going through. Filling you up with his cum while buried in your neck. He presses further into you, clutching on to make sure not a drop escapes. In the crisp silence, the soft sounds of crickets outside your window, he kisses your head. Still inside you.
“Thank you.”
A/N: Thank you, 'Dopamine' by Jackson Wang, for inspiring me.
A small rewrite of dating app könig, cause there was no grammar or anything in that so enjoy this. Mind you there's still most likely mistakes. König x black reader
My simple pleasure: Hunting
My greatest strengths: Me
Best way to ask me out: Please
While you sit there swooning about this mystery man from whatever strange dating app, you're friends share a worried glance at each other, looking through his profile,
"Look at him, isn't he so cute!"
Silence
A blur of man, a topples picture of him, head covered and in the snow. They're all less than impressed when they're met with a picture taken too close to the camera, hollow blue eyes staring them down.
Your first friend turns to you, "Listen, I'm going to hold your hand when I say this."
"There's no way this is real. Please don't tell me this is real?!"
"It's cool right! He said he lives in the countryside, lives off the land, that sort of thing!"
The look on their faces is nothing short of disapproval 'You can't really fall for this, can you?'
It's clear, with every photo and message they swipe through, their faith in you is lost.
"I've video called him so I know he's real!" Like that makes the whole situation better
"Did you show him outside of your apartment too(?)" Your friend is met with an elbow to her by one of the other
"You know what, call him. Right now, we need to see him."
You fumble around with the phone, half hoping he won't pick up. What's more embarrassing, he picks up and they only reply with "ew" or it goes to voicemail....
The tone rings twice before he picks up.
The screen is close to his face when he picks
"Hello!" He seems very excited to see you
"Hi ... just wanted to say hello, my friend also wanted to say hello." you angle the phone towards them, unimpressed as he hides away quickly
Kai would 100% burst into tears if "Are you okay?" left the Farmer's mouth.
I think Kai is a tough guy to make crack to cry. But it could be such a tender moment, and would have to be a build up of emotions that Kai has been resistant to express. Kai has been in survival mode since it was just him and Kai - young kits out in the wilderness and having to fend for themselves after the death of their parents. Certainly, Grimshire must have lent their support, but there are some things only Kai as the older brother could understand as a survivor and a guardian to the only family he has. He must feel as if he needs to shoulder all of this, on himself.
Survival was as rewarding as much as it was punishing - scrapes, bruises, empty bellies - but it had to be worth it in contrast with the joy of a large catch or a bushel of fennel, the grin of his younger brother and the swell of pride as they could sit beside their fire pit with full stomachs. Kai must of had to shove down the grief and stress for the sake of making sure Tano, didn't have to face the brunt of suffering. He can't afford to be weak. He could dampen such feelings when he had the routine and rhythm of survival to preoccupy him.
With the events of Grimshire, however, I can see things turn on its head. As soon as the Red Tide pulls in, so does Kai's anxiety. He calculates how much dried fish they have to live off of before their larder runs out, where to fish and hunt away from the Hunt, how much to ration (I always imagine Kai gave the largest portions to Tano, a point of contention between them now that Tano is old enough to know his brother's self-sacrificing habits), and by Anima, how to make sure Tano doesn't get sick. In my mind, Tano is always the priority for Kai before himself.
Then there's the beast in the woods, and I'm sure a majority of us can imagine the spike of anxiety Kai and Tano may have. The increasing threat of starvation and the thought of death looms over all. The Lynx Brothers are far more exposed to what beasts there may be, and Kai probably takes watch every night during that event. Sleep doesn't come easy, and most certainly won't if that happens to Tano.
So, imagine the Farmer, after tirelessly mining or foraging for the sake of the next town project - to find Kai perched on that incline the Lynx Brother's shelter in the Marsh. Haggard looking, yet eyes gleaming in the dark as the Farmer approaches, spear held tight. What semblance of ease only returns when the Farmer verbally announces themself, and the grip on the spear slackens. But he doesn't let go. His eyes, flicker behind the Farmer in occasion, on edge.
It's dangerous to be out this late. He may say, low and chiding. The Farmer could probably only pose the something similar - Yet here you are. And here is Kai.
There could be a quiet talk between the two, hushed to not wake Tano as they discuss the events of the season and those past. It's only when there's a lull, that the questions turn to Kai - Have you eaten? How long have you been awake? Perhaps the questions start to prickle Kai, already sleep deprived, not wanting to seem weak and briefly thinking the care is judgement. But the soft utterance of Are you okay?
He's silent. Of course he's not. Of course he's hungry, tired, and scared. Scared for Grimshire, scared for his brother, scared for himself. But how can he say those things aloud? Complaining is a luxury, fear is for kits who could hide in the arms of their parents. Yet warm tears slide down his face before he can look away and stop himself, the darkness of night betrays him when he lets out a shuddering breath when he tries to deflect with his answer.
Maybe that's when he and the Farmer sit down, or maybe the Farmer ushers him into a hug to cry into their shoulder, a moment of trust and vulnerability without judgement.
Guess who wrote another First Aid/Reader ficlet!! That's right, ME.
Just Another Slap
Tags: First Aid/Reader, Rated E, spanking, Sub/Dom relationship, Bullying, Dacryphilia, Bot reader, 600ish words
"We made a deal," you say, pulling First Aid over your lap, "and you know the consequences for breaking it."
First Aid buries his head into his arms, legs spreading open. He whines as you trace your fingers down his back, briefly pressing down on his wheels, before stopping just above his panels.
"I think you might just enjoy the punishment," you chuckle, "Why else would you be constantly provoking me?"
First Aid says nothing to deny it. The click of his fans powering on tell you enough.
"Naughty, naughty!" You tut, bringing your hand to cup his warm closed panel. "Now open up."
His panel slides open eagerly under your fingers. His valve is already slick in anticipation. It's cute, how excited he gets. You trace a finger along the edges of his valve, watching how he trembles in your lap. Your other servo moves to rest upon his back, a firm pressure, reminding him to stay still.
You tease his valve more, running your finger up and down, spreading his lubricant. A gentle pinch to his node brings out a low whine. You spend your time on him, building up his anticipation.
"Now that you're warm and ready, I think it's time for your punishment. Do you want it?"
He nods, legs spreading slightly wider in invitation.
"Good!"
You bring your servo up from his valve, the digits glistening. You admire his blinking node, before swiftly swinging your servo back down.
A ringing slap, directly to his valve.
First Aid jolts, a sharp "Ah!" that morphs into a groan.
You bring down your servo again, just as hard as before. You continue, starting with a slow rhythm, before slowly speeding up.
Each slap pulls another whine from First Aid; another groan of pain and pleasure, delectable to your ears. Lubricant drips down from his valve, adding a wet thwack to each additional hit. He recoils at each slap, just to follow it as it lifts back up. Only your servo upon his back keeps him from arching completely off.
It's addicting, watching him unravel on your lap. His valve swells at the abuse, pulsing under your servos as you take a moment to inspect it.
"Had enough yet?" You ask, with no intent of actually stopping.
He only shakes his head, panting too hard to respond in words. His visor has a glassy look.
"You're doing so well," you coo, pinching his swollen and abused node. He keens at the touch.
You give it one last twist, then recoil your servo to resume again.
First Aid lets out a sob as you smack his node directly. Again, you aim at his node, intending to draw out more cries. Ruthlessly, you smack it, each time slightly harder then before.
First Aid is crying now, head twisting in his arms at each consecutive slap, completely lost to anything but your harsh servos. He sobs, legs kicking out ass you pinch his flashing node yet again, only to immediately give it another brutal slap.
His valve is a weeping, swollen wreck, bruised from your onslaught. He babbles between his tears, begging for you to stop.
"Remember," you say with a pointed slap, "This is a punishment. You don't get to decide when we're done."
"Please!" He wails, throwing his head back.
Unrelenting, you continue. You know he doesn't mean it. First Aid knew exactly what he was doing when he provoked you earlier. He was the only who proposed the deal in the first place, after all. You wonder if you can make him cum, just from this. He's certainly wet enough from this for it to be possible.
