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#rhine writes filth
gold-rhine · 1 year
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more afab scaramouche i beg of you
Sub! afab Scara x GN Dom! reader
warnings: nsfw, spanking, bondage, fingering, overstim, slight degradation (name calling), dacryphilia, squirting, vaginal penetration
wordcount: 1k
He hates not having your full attention on him. he starts acting so annoying, so teasing to get your eyes back at him, even if you look irritated.
He climbs all over you, pretends that he doesn't care, which is doubly maddening, because he's so obvious about being needy, yet he denies it so vehemently.
You throw him down, roughly, grab his hands to tie his wrists and pin his arms over his head. He struggles and curses under you, but only for show, he doesn’t say the safeword or put any real strength into fight, and when you yank his pants down, his cunt is already wet for you. 
You grin, slap his ass, and his skin is so tender, it colors pink immediately, and he yelps, shudders after every hit. You start slipping your hand to touch his cunt in-between the hits, alternating between the slaps and caressing his pussy, until the pain and pleasure blend together, you strike the soft flesh of his ass just as you stroke his clit. And he can’t help it, moans and bucks his hips, spreads himself wider for you. You tease his hole, his pink folds swollen and slick, and spank him at the same time, he whines, arches his back, his entrance pulses needily, leaking clear wetness, but you just circle it, do not enter
“Look who is such a fucking slut slut for me...”
“Fuck you…” he whispers, hiding his face in a pillow.
“I won’t, until you ask nicely,” you tease him, stroking his clit until he can't can't take it anymore
“Please….”
“Good boy,” you slip two fingers at once into his pussy, he’s so slick, that it goes easily. You fingerfuck him, while continuing to spank his red, achingly tender ass, and it makes such obscenely wet sounds, that he wiggles under you, bites on his lips to stifle the moans, tries to hide his blushing face in the pillows in humiliation. It doesn’t help, and very soon he comes, squirting, humping into your hand with high-pitched screams.
You let him ride the orgasm out and then turn him over onto his back, he’s soft and pliant in your hands, turns his head to the side, blushing, but obediently lets you spread his thighs. He’s sweet and pink all over under you, heated cheeks, tender peaks of nipples, reddened ass and thighs, swollen, glistening pussy. You nuzzle the head of your strap\cock at his hungrily pulsing entrance, and he can’t help it, thrusts up his hips with a needy whine.
“You want to be fucked so bad, don’t you?” you ask, smiling, sliding the length of your cock in between his puffy, trembling folds, hitting up his clit. 
“Yes…” he mutters into the pillow, his head turned to the side in shame.
“Despite all that attitude, you’re just my little whore, aren’t you?” you lean down, whisper in his ear, your hand stroking his clit.
His legs spread a little more for you, and helplessly, he breathes out “Yes…”
You finally thrust into him and he gasps, arches under you.
“Say it,” you tell him softly, catching his chin to force him to look at you, buried deep inside him. “Beg me.”
“Please,” he whimpers, eyes sparkling from tears, chest raising high and fast. “Oh pleeease, fuck me, I’m your good little whore, just, please, fuck me…”
You cover his gaping mouth with a kiss and thrust into him hard, and he comes, moaning against your lips, squirting on your cock, his legs flailing in the air. You keep fucking him, and he’s incoherent under you, thrashing and begging, tears glistening in his eyes, red eyeliner running, to pleeeease fuck him, please use his cunt, he’ll be such a good obedient slut for you, just for you, you wont need anyone else, he’ll do anything, but please fuck him. 
His pussy makes such obscenely wet sounds when you fuck it, he can’t even talk properly, just whines and writhes, absolutely helpless, open, squirts again and again. 
When you finally slide out of him, he’s a mess, his cunt is swollen and sore, his thighs trembling and covered in his wetness. You untie his hands and he takes quick, hiccupping breaths, squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lips, turning away from you.
“Hey baby,” you whisper to him quietly, pulling him close. “You’ve been so good.”
He whines and finally throws his arms over your shoulders, presses himself against you desperately. You hold him close, stroke the sharp knobs on his spine, his shoulders, his arched neck, his thighs, still open for you, promise him that he’s such a good boy, until he relaxes, his fingers stop digging into you so harshly. 
After, he’s shivering, pressing himself against you tightly.
 “Let’s get you cleaned up, baby,” you whisper softly into his ear, but he tenses up.
“Don’t let me go,” he says so quietly you can barely hear it, despite him being so close. “No matter what, *please*, don’t let me go…”
You stroke the dimples on his back, and with your other hand, the nape of his neck where his awkwardly cropped up uneven hair ends, kiss his temples, side of his face, corner of his eye where his long eyelashes flutter in a desperate attempt to hide his tears. 
“It’s okay,” you press your mouth against the corner of his bitten worried lips, until he turns his face to you, opens up. “I will be there.”
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rhine-gold-archive · 2 years
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Day 56 of waiting for sub heizou studysjsbnsns no pressure seriously I just simp
Sub! Heizou x GN Dom! Reader
A\N: It was tempting to wait full 56 days to write this, but i’m not that petty, I was just busy. Hope you enjoy.
Warnings: nsfw, overstim, slight degradation, spanking, leash play, anal sex, cock stands for strap\cock as usual.
Wordcount: 3k
I don’t think there needs to be a lot of analysis to justify Heizou being a sub, it’s fairly intentionally in your face in both hangout and ahem, birthday “yawning” art, because that’s the most most obvious bottom “O-face” since Gorou’s “moaning and tearing up over the bowl of onions” emoji.
Like in two endings he straight up says out loud his confidence is partly a facade and he’d really love for someone else to sometimes step up and take the charge, but no one does bc ppl think he’s too smart.
”Haha, well, as you might see, I’m a little less confident than people might think.”
“And everyone around me thinks I’m so smart that I should be able to handle every case on my own.<...> But you’re different. Unlike them, you don’t have that kind of prejudice towards me. <...> So I’d like you to decide whether we should expose the truth or not.”
He’s not a pushover and he’s not a pillow princess-y type, but he’s also not a brat. He’ll encourage you to take the lead and won’t criticize your choices, but he will *evaluate them*. 
First of all, on how well you’re keeping up with his hyperactive ADHD goblin nature, and second, he’ll leave the unspoken puzzle and see if you’ll manage to figure it out.
He’s open for experimentation and fairly shameless, but how far he’ll go pretty much depends on if he judges you competent enough for this.
Like, meeting him in the hangout starts with him openly calling Traveler “so dreamy”, and then he lets the Traveler decide what course of action to take, but only divulges hidden information after the Traveler showed that they have a deeper understanding of a situation and connected several puzzle dots themselves. 
His inner conflict is when it’s immoral or not to withhold information and does it depend on how capable a person given this information is. The law does not really factor into this, Heizou will act on his own principles instead.
Like in the hangout case he only tells the Traveler that he will follow their choice (see above) after the Traveler presents him with the evidence and proves they have sound judgment.
So he’d *LIKE* to let someone else make decisions, but he wants to make sure that someone else is qualified. So he won’t like outright lie, but he will withhold context if you don’t show him that you get it.
Then he can get quite clingy, like telling Traveler that he’d love to have them as a partner all the time, haha he’s joking, he wouldn’t want to be so greedy…UNLESS???
In a situation where he does trust the other person’s competence, he likes to feel helpless, overpowered and needy, if you indulge him in it. His ideal situation is where you understand that he’s smart and capable himself and he doesn’t strictly need you to take charge, but would enjoy it.
He wants to have fun without anyone making it too weird, and he wants to know you have a clear head on your shoulders, that’s it.
One day while you’re walking down the street near your home, a group of obvious miscreants runs by and a young man in white shirt and brown shorts follows them. The last of ruffians shoves him while they’re running past you and you catch him to stop him from hitting a corner of a house with his head. When the bandit looks back, you instinctively shield a man in your arms with your shoulder, and the bandit obviously judges it not worth the trouble, runs away.
When you look at the man you’re holding, he’s looking up at you with a wide smile, bright green eyes twinkling.
“Oh, thank you, my savior!”
“I didn’t do anything,” you say, putting him upright. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure, I’m fine!” he suddenly pauses, looks you over and says in a weaker tone, leaning into you. “I mean, I’m a little not fine, nothing major, but perhaps if someone could look after me for just a little bit?...”
You take him to get coffee just to keep an eye on him and end up talking for hours. His name is Heizou, he’s flirty, fun and cute, has ruffled mauve hair and little twin moles under his eyes, asks more questions than he’d like to answer about himself, wears a choker and a shirt that leaves his sides bare, and would very obviously love to get dommed from how he talks to you. But you cannot in good conscience take advantage of him now, because his eagerness might be an effect from the shock, so you let him go.
Day later you talk with a neighbor and he mentions how the young detective who from his words meets Heizou’s description just caught a group of pickpockets. 
“Detective, huh?” you ask out loud, and some things that didn’t make sense before fall into place. Like an exaggerated weak affect and how eagerly he pushed himself on you.
Couple of days after you walk into a confrontation in one of the secluded courtyards on the way to your home. There’s Heizou and opposite of him a group headed by the large white-haired oni. It looks incredibly awkward and staged.
“Oh, it’s my savior again!” Heizou says coquettishly, smiling at you. “Hello there! It seems you’re just in time to save me once again.”
“From what?” you say calmly, crossing your arms.
“From being mugged, of course.”
“So these guys need to be arrested, huh?”
A tall oni starts shifting nervously, looking back and forth from you to Heizou.
“Hey, hey, we didn’t agree on…”
A green-haired woman elbows him and he stumbles.
“I mean, you can’t arrest us, we’re big bad bandits, rawr!”
You ignore him, looking Heizou straight in the eyes. He pauses for a second, then pretends to be fainting in your direction. You catch him, rolling your eyes. Green-haired woman punches the oni in his side and they run away with the entire group.
“Oh, thank you,” Heizou says, looking artistically disheveled in your arms.
“No problem, Detective,” you say coldly and he tenses, straightens up.
“So you know…”
“Yeah. And I don’t appreciate being played for a fool.”
“Listen, it’s not like that… It’s just that I... I wanted you to treat me like a sub, but you didn’t do anything after we first met, and I thought maybe if you see me in an even weaker state...”
“I didn’t do anything because you seemed too irrational from shock. If you just told me the truth that you’re detective and were fine, you’d be spread on my bed few nights ago.“
He blushes, but his green eyes light up.
“I would? Oh, I mean, I am fine and we cleared the misunderstandings, so?... Um? About spreading?“
You shake your head, narrowing your eyes.
“Only come to me if you’re ready to drop your bullshit. I’m sure you can figure out how to find me, Detective.“
“Hey there!” he’s bouncing on your threshold a day after with the widest obnoxious smile, and you wouldn’t see the tinge of nervousness under it if you weren't paying attention. “So you said I can come if I dropped the bullshit and um, you can pat me over, including cavity search if you want, to make sure I haven’t got any on me”
You roll your eyes, hooking your fingers under his choker, pull him close and kiss him. He stumbles for a second, but then melts, throws his arms around your neck and presses against you. You can feel him getting hard as you pull him towards the bedroom and then throw him roughly onto the bed. He looks up, his green eyes sparkling in delight.
“Cavity search?” you say incredulously, crawling over him to slide your hands under his shirt and pulling off both of his layers. “That was terrible.”
“I know, I know, I panicked,” he moves his arms to help you get the shirt off, then pulls frantically at the ties of the armguards. “I was going to say you have a search warrant, but somehow it turned into a cavity search.”
“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” you grin against his cheek and pull his pants and underwear off in one smooth motion. He gasps, and when you grab his ankles and forcefully spread his legs, he blushes but looks you straight in the eye, already fully hard and breathless in excitement.
“I am? I mean, of course I am, but do tell me more about it.”
You kiss him instead, roam your hands over his slender body, and he arches under you, moans against your mouth. You slide your hand down, close it over hard, twitching cock and he whines, bucks his hips against your palm.
“Oh yeah,” he whispers feverishly. “Yes... Don’t be afraid to treat me rough…”
“Oh trust me, I won’t,” you grope his leaking cock and balls in your hand, firmly like you own them, and he whines sweetly, looking up at you with excitement in half-narrowed eyes. When you slide your hand down and circle his entrance, he comes immediately, pressing himself against you.
You chuckle, kissing him.
“In my defense, I spent some long nights imagining you touching me, so I’m not taking criticisms on how quick I came,“ he mutters, squirming under you, cheeks blushing brightly. 
 You grin and stand up, moving away.
“Well, you’re not getting away that easily, kitten. I’ll be back shortly.“
When you walk back to the bed, he has finished taking off the last piece of the guard and is waiting for you, naked except for the elbow-high fishnet gloves and a choker.
“I have something that I think you would like,” you smirk, showing him a leash and he gasps, visibly lighting up.
“Have you thought about becoming a detective yourself? That’s spot on.”
“It wasn’t a very hard deduction to make,” you hook your fingers under his choker, lifting him up, and he follows, grinning under the bitten lip. He’s so lovely in how blushing and eager he is while you’re closing the leash on his neck, looking up at you from under the ruffled bangs.
You turn him around, so that he leans against the bedrest and he giggles, settling down on his knees.
“Oh, great, I wasn’t sure how to breach the subject of… consequences of being naughty.”
“You don’t try playing hard to get, do you?” you grin, slide your hand from his intentionally arched back to caress smooth skin of the perky ass, obviously and eagerly presented for you.
“No, why, would you want me to?” he shoots you a sharp glance over the shoulder, analytical even now.
“No,” you say pleasantly and slap his ass, hard. He gasps, shudders, but arches even more, presses quickly reddening, tender flesh harder against your hand. You spread him and run your fingers between his legs.“I like it when you’re being open.” 
“I don’t see the point in denying the obvious,” he says, still sounding mostly collected, if a little breathless in excitement. “And if I don’t show what I want, how will I get it?”
You strike his ass again, several times in a row, until it’s blooming red and he’s whining quiet and sweet, then you stroke it.
“Very logical of you,” you say, squeezing his sensitive ass while he’s squirming needily under your hands, and kiss the sharp curve of his shoulder, move his ruffled hair aside and get to his neck. “Unlike the stunt you tried to pull earlier.”
“Oh well, I miscalculated,” he says airly. “And it’s not as if I was trying to deceive you, it’s that I know that once people hear who I am they misjudge… the way I’d want to be treated. So I just wanted to make sure you get the right impression.”
You tug on the leash, pulling him close, his back against your chest. He gasps, arches his back and rubs his ass against you.
“Or you could’ve just said so honestly, you dumbass,” you run your hand over his chest down, close it over his cock and kiss him, still tugging on the leash. He kisses you back, eager and a little sloppy, rocks his hips, rutting against your palm. 
“Well, taking your advice on speaking openly,” he whispers breathlessly after breaking a kiss, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. “I’m close again and I want to come from you fucking me.”
“Good boy.”
You pull him into your lap, over the strap\cock, and he squirms, straddling your knees. You catch his chin, while he’s lowering himself over onto the head of your cock, make him meet your eyes, his own hazy green, cheeks bright in blush, pink lips half-open and taking short feverish breaths. You put your hands on his hips and push him all the way down until you’re fully buried in him, and he moans, shuddering and arching in your arms.
“Ah! Oh yes, yeah, like that, oh fuck…”
He rides you, his hips moving rhythmically and his hard cock bouncing against his stomach, but when you close your hand over it, he whines, digs his fingers into your shoulders.
“Please, no, I’ll come too soon if you touch me…”
You let him go and chuckle, pepper kisses over his neck, chest, lick over his pink hardened nipple, while he’s whimpering pleas and fucking himself on your cock.
“You’re really such a slut, aren’t you?”
“Yes, fuck, I love it, I love how your cock feels inside of me, please…”
You tug on his leash, making him arch, suck on the tender juncture between his shoulder and neck. He comes just like that, screaming, his movements turning frantic. You push him down on his back, roll over him without taking your cock out.
“Can you take any more, kitten?”
“Yes.. yes, please keep fucking me,” he’s trembling under you, but says this firmly, looks you in the eye without hesitation, his ass clenching around you. “Use me like I’m your toy…”
You lift his legs up, pressing his knees against his chest, exposing his ass and thighs, still pink from spanking. You can see his oversensitive red cock getting hard just from being spread and exposed like that, and when you thrust deeply into him, he screams and tries to lift himself off the bed, writhing under you. You grip his hips and fuck him hard, hitting his prostate, until his mouth is going slack and his eyes roll over, his pleas turn into incoherent moans and whimpers. 
You lean down, cock buried deep inside him, kiss the corner of his mouth. He whines, his arms tightening around your shoulders and his hips rolling to take you even deeper.  
“You've been very good, kitten,” you whisper against his parted lips, his green eyes glittering with held tears. “Come for me, baby.”
He comes after a few thrusts, clutching at you, and you fuck him through it until he goes limp. Then you slide out of him, let him curl against you, his chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. You hold him and gently stroke his hair until he stops shivering, giving him time to come to senses before you’ll move to clean up.
“How fast will you want me to leave?” he asks, quietly, but his voice is firm, neutral. “I know I can be annoying in large doses, so if you need me to get out, I can…”
You silence him with a kiss, slow and sweet to calm him down. “It’s okay, kitten, you don’t annoy me. Don’t worry about it, just rest.”
He freezes for a second and then suddenly presses himself desperately against you, clutches at your shoulders. You stroke his hair, neck, sharp knobs of his spine soothingly, whisper sweet nothings in his ear until his body relaxes. He rubs his cheek against your chest and looks up with a cheeky grin.
“I am lucky that I’m cute, huh?”
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cargopantsman · 5 years
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On the Topic of Tribes, Part II
Disclaimer and Table of Contents
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So in covering Tacitus' naming of the three major tribes, or at least geographic groupings; the Ingaevones, Istaevones, and Herminones, I have better generalized grasp of the distribution of the Germans that Rome was primarily concerned with in the first century BCE. Exploring the mentioned names of the Gambrivii and the Marsi turned into a bit of a disappointment since the Gambrivii appear to have gained no major notority and the Marsi were brutally exterminated in their sleep by Germanicus Caesar around 15 CE.
In his listing of tribes descended from Mannus, he does mention the Vandali, which should seem familiar to most due to their famous sacking of Rome itself in 455 CE (granted they took the long way around both geographically and temporally to do it).
Pliny the Elder includes the Vandali (or Vandili) as one of five main groups of the Germans. "There are five German races; the Vandili, parts of whom are the Burgundiones, the Varini, the Carini, and the Gutones ... [Ingaevones, Irminones, and Istaevones] ... the fifth race is that of the Peucini, who are also the Basternæ, adjoining the Daci previously mentioned." Natural History (4.28)
Now granted, this is the same Pliny the Elder that claims "Male corpses float on their backs but female corpses float on their faces as though nature were preserving their modesty even in death." Natural History (7.77)
Aaaaaanyway. Including the Vandals as a major subgroup of the Germanic peoples is sensible enough because it allows me to nicely fill in a big empty spot on my map. 
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The Vandals contribute to an important linguistic division among Germanic peoples in that Scandinavia and the Ingaevones will branch into the North Germanic languages, the Istaevones and Herminones the West Germanic, and the Vandali the East Germanic/Gothic languages. The Vandalic/Gothic migration hit the shores of Northern Europe between the Oder and Vistula rivers prior to 200 BCE and had settlements in Silesia (the southern end of the Oder) by 120 BCE.
As concerns Rome, the Vandals were relatively quiet until the 2nd century CE. A footnote aptly summarizes their eventful future history: 22 [ The Vandals are said to have derived their name from the German word wendeln, "to wander." They began to be troublesome to the Romans A.D. 160, in the reigns of Aurelius and Verus. In A.D. 410 they made themselves masters of Spain in conjunction with the Alans and Suevi, and received for their share what from them was termed Vandalusia (Andalusia). In A.D. 429 they crossed into Africa under Genseric, who not only made himself master of Byzacium, Gaetulia, and part of Numidia, but also crossed over into Italy, A.D. 455, and plundered Rome. After the death of Genseric the Vandal power declined.]
As early as 200 BCE though, the Basternae enter the Greco-Roman historical record in the Balkans. Conflict followed in the first century BCE when the Basternae and other Sarmatian tribes resisted a Roman campaign to subjugate the Dardani and Moesi tribes north of Macedonia around 75 BCE. Gaius Scribonius Curio became the first Roman general to reach the river Danube with his army. Resistance from the Dacian area tribes persisted for decades under the command of Burebista, a Thracian king. Julius Caesar had plans set to fight on this eastern front, but was repeatedly punctured and was unable to attend. The Dacian/Thracian front collapsed anyway in that same year (44 BCE) upon the overthrow and death of Burebista. The Basternae, or Peucini, are debated to be of Germanic, Sarmatian, or Celtic origin, if not a mixture of all. Taking it on faith (read as: adding to my library list), Roger Batty in "Rome and the Nomads: the Pontic-Danubian region in Antiquity" argues that assigning an "ethnicity" to the Bastarnae is meaningless, as in the context of the Iron Age Pontic-Danubian region, with its multiple overlapping peoples and languages, ethnicity was a very fluid concept: it could and did change rapidly and frequently, according to socio-political vicissitudes. This was especially true of the Bastarnae, who are attested over a relatively vast area.
Tacitus relates "46. I am in doubt whether to reckon the Peucini, Venedi, and Fenni among the Germans or Sarmatians; although the Peucini, who are by some called Bastarnae, agree with the Germans in language, apparel, and habitations. All of them live in filth and laziness. The intermarriages of their chiefs with the Sarmatians have debased them by a mixture of the manners of that people." In this it clear that Tacitus would disagree with Pliny on the Basternae/Peucini counting as a fifth "race" of Germanic people due to this inter-nationality intermingling. The important point to draw from his mentioning of them at all is to highlight the extent of Germanic migration throughout central Europe. Not just along the Rhine border as stressed in the Gallic Wars and later Romano-Germanic skirmishes in the west, but also along the Roman provinces of Rhaetia, Noricum and Pannonia in the south and plunging deep into the eastern Black Sea regions where so many diverse ancient cultures collided.
All that remains to parse out of Tacitus' one line list of introductory tribes are the Suevi. . .
Let me tell you, this was, and still is a bit of a rabbit hole.
The Suevi, or Suebi, are mentioned often, to the extent that I'm not even sure what anyone is referring to. Julius Caesar describes them as "by far the largest and the most warlike nation of all the Germans." (Gallic War, 4.1) Strabo writes: "The country next the whole [eastern] bank [of the Rhine] is inhabited by the Suevi, who are also named Germans, but are superior both in power and number to the others, whom they drove out, and who have now taken refuge on this [western] side the Rhine." (Strabo, Geographica 4.3)
Later on within "Germania," Tacitus relates that "38. We have now to speak of the Suevi; who do not compose a single state, like the Catti or Tencteri, but occupy the greatest part of Germany, and are still distributed into different names and nations, although all hearing the common appellation of Suevi." A footnote for this paragraph continues; "207 [ The Suevi possessed that extensive tract of country lying between the Elbe, the Vistula, the Baltic Sea, and the Danube. They formerly had spread still further, reaching even to the Rhine. ...]"
The Suebi appear to take up the whole of Germania. To a point where Suebi might well be synonymous with German in its vague definition. At most it is handy to consider that mention of Suevi will encompass events in the south-west of Germania.
Beyond the expanse of space that the Suebi claim, there is a vast expanse of time between Caesar noting them during the Gallic wars up at least until the Third Council of Toledo, Spain where the Visigoth Kingdom of Toledo converted officially from Arianism to Catholicism, king Reccared I stated in its minutes that also "an infinite number of Suebi have converted" in 589 CE. It is from this "tribe" that we get the modern name of a region in Germany "Swabia."
Within the constraints of Latin, Suēbī is the nominative plural of Suēbus. According to the "Dictionary of Greek and Roman Geography (1854) William Smith, LLD, Ed." "SUE´BUS (Σούηβος), {is} a river on the north coast of Germany, between the Albis {Elbe} and Viadus {Oder}, which flows into the Baltic at a distance of 850 stadia to the west of the mouth of the Viadus, and which, according to Ptolemy (2.11.1), divided at its mouth into several branches. Notwithstanding these explicit statements, it is extremely difficult to identify the river, whence some regard it as the Peene, others as the Warne, and others again as the Viadus or Oder itself, or rather the central branch of it, which is called the Swine or Schweene {Świna in modern Poland}."
Within Germanic language considerations, the name Suebi stems from the Proto-Germanic *swēbaz. The Proto-Indo-European root *swé is a reflexive pronoun "self" leading *swēbaz to form "our own" as a sort of cultural identifier. This leads me to think that the use of Suebi might well be the formation of a larger cultural identity to delineate themselves from their Celtic/Gallic and Roman neighbors.
Tacitus later names a "Suevic Sea" in paragraph 45 that is equated with the modern Baltic Sea into which the Suebus river flows. This is as much evidence as I have at the moment for the claims that the Suevi originated in the Baltic region and migrated southwest. But to take a moment to hop north of the Baltic into Swe-den, where we see the PIE root *swé again shifting into Proto-Norse *Swihoniz, Proto-Germanic *Sweoniz and, as Tacitus calls them in Latin, Suiones.
Short of losing myself in a whirlwind of linguistics at this point I think I will settle on chalking Suebi to be a name brought about by a particular migration from Sweden to the mouth of the Oder/Suebus river and spreading westwards and south while arbitrarily considering the eastward migrating tribes will be the forerunners of our future Goths. (Yes, subsequent migrations from Scandivania will follow and displace the Gotlandic pioneers, but let's keep this simple for now.)
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gold-rhine · 1 year
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sub! character x Dom! Reader facefucking
Characters: Tighnari, Venti, Heizou x Kazuha, Thoma x Diluc
Warnings: nsfw, oral obviously, gagging, rough sex, bondage, spanking, slight degradation, vibrators. well, threesomes, if that wasn’t obvious.
Wordcount: 1,5k
Tighnari
Tighnari sucks your cock like it's a work assignment. He's serious and focused, there's no hesitation or shyness in him, despite him sitting naked on his knees in front of you, only a slight frown of concentration and ears attentively tilted forward, like he's figuring out the best solution to a problem. He doesn't start slowly, instead, immediately takes you in deep, starts bobbing his head up and down fast and diligent. As with everything he does, he's very good and he knows it.
But his seriousness also makes him very fun to provoke, so you turn on the vibrator up his ass and his entire body jolts up in surprise. He gives you a glare, disapproving from being distracted, but with his mouth full of your dick, it looks adorable instead of menacing. He keeps working on you with the same steady rhythm, but as you increase power of the vibrator, he starts gradually giving in into arousal, blush spreading over his cheeks and eyes lidding over. In a little time, his composure starts breaking, he loses the hard pace, his own cock leaking and knees spreading involuntarily on the floor. When you put your hand on his head and bury your fingers in his soft hair, he melts under your touch completely, his ears tremble and flatten back, tail twitching. You fuck his slack and drooling mouth while he moans quietly and needily around your cock, his eyelashes fluttering, eyes hazy from pleasure. He comes with a shudder when you tell him how well he's doing, what a good little pet he is and how much you like fucking his mouth. 
After, you pull him into your lap and tell him he's done a good job. His ears perk up, but he says with almost insulted peevishness, despite still leaning against you, sweet and weak after orgasm "I know, and I wish you'd stop interrupting me." You chuckle and kiss his blushing cheek. "You should let go sometimes and just enjoy yourself, baby."
Venti
Venti is wearing his favorite lacy lingerie, with high stockings that leave his thigh tattoo on display, and you internally debate whether to take his panties off or not before spanking him, but in the end decide to leave them on. In a few minutes, you're glad you did, the intricate white lace looks delicious on his reddened tender flesh. and he moans sweetly when you slide your fingers under it to grope his sensitive ass. You turn him over, and he immediately spreads and lifts his legs, offering himself up, his bright eyes meeting yours, open and shameless.
You crawl on top of him until you’re sitting on his chest, and when you lean forward to tie up his hands, he giggles, completely unfazed, lifts his head to lick hungrily at the side of your cock. When you look down, he gleefully presents his open mouth to you. You slide your fingers into his hair, your knees around his head, and ram your cock deep inside his throat. Venti’s form was made by his own will and functions as he desires, and he has been a whore for several hundred years, so he doesn’t have a gag reflex at this point at all (unless you want him to gag. Which you do, sometimes. But not today)
You fuck his mouth brutally, hitting the back of his throat at every thrust, and he screams around your dick, writhes in ecstasy under you, his own cock bulging in his panties, pretty pink head peaking from under the lacy band. For a moment, you slow down, look down at him and he meets your eyes, his own green and sparkling with tears under the fluttering eyelashes. You gently run your fingers through his disheveled bangs, your other hand reaching to stroke him between his open legs. 
“You’re such a fucking slut, aren’t you,” you say quietly, not really a question, and he grins around your cock, shamelessly raises his hips to rut against your palm. You grip his hair harshly and bury yourself in his throat and he comes with a moan when you grope his dick. You come over his face and he opens his mouth wide, his pink tongue sticking out, trying to catch as much as he can.
After, he curls against you, lets you clean and hold him. He created his own body, so he can control it, make it resistant to weakness like this, but he likes it, feeling raw and tender after being used, he always liked bringing others joy, at least for a few moments, be it from his songs or his body. And when you whisper sweet praises for him, stroke his hair and back, hold him close, and just for now, it feels like even as he truly is, weak and sinful, not living up to the visage of the Nameless Bard, he can be good enough. 
Kazuha x Heizou
They are kneeling in front of you, naked and flushed, both of their mouths on your cock. Heizou throws you a mischievous glance, draws a long teasing lick from the base to the tip, and almost climbs on top of Kazuha’s lap, both of them already hard and pressed against each other. Kazuha doesn’t answer a provocation, focused on pleasuring you, his sweet mouth working on your tip. Heizou reaches the tip and leans into Kazuha aggressively. They kiss around your cock, whimpers muffled with their mouths full. 
You slide your hand into Heizou’s bangs and he follows your lead, lets Kazuha go, giving you his mouth with a string of saliva breaking between them. You fuck him, reaching deep in his throat, while Kazuha holds him, their arms intertwined. You then turn to Kazuha, fill him in until he chokes, his fingers digging into Heizou’s shoulders, who watches excitedly.
You start changing between them, slide through the swollen tender lips, their mouths open readily for you, cheeks pressed against each other, pink tongues sticking out sweetly, waiting for you to fuck them. They writhe against each other, Heizou is unashamedly humping Kazuha’s thigh, and even the usually collected samurai rutting against detective’s leg. 
Diluc x Thoma
Diluc watches you fuck Thoma’s mouth, intensely focused, frowning so that he looks almost severe. He lost his youth to trauma and hunting darkness, and now he feels insecure and inexperienced. He’s used to holding himself to the highest standards and not being perfect at something makes him feel worthless, no matter how many times you tell him otherwise. He is not jealous or bitter towards Thoma, though, he’s grateful to have his support and guidance, an example to follow instead of feeling completely lost. He wraps his arms around the blonde and studies hungrily how easily and deeply Thoma can take you into his mouth, how good he can work your cock, expertly twisting his head while bobbing up and down. 
When you turn to him and ask if you’d like to be next, he looks down, blushing, clears his throat and says in a controlled, flat voice that he’s sure you’ll have better time without him. 
You catch his chin and tilt it upward until he reluctantly meets your eyes.
“That’s bullshit. You’re doing so good for me. I want you, beautiful.”
He blushes harder, Diluc can blush in such a brilliant scarlet like no one else you’ve ever seen, and slowly, timidly opens his lips for you. You tell him “good boy” and slowly, carefully slide inside his mouth. Thoma holds the redheads’ hand and wraps another one around him, kisses the corner of his mouth, whispering reassurance. You thrust softly, gently, but Diluc frowns, stubbornly moves to take you in deeper himself and almost chokes at the attempt. You stop, let him get his bearings, while Thoma strokes his back, presses himself against him, tells him to relax. With some time and patience, you move again, deeper and deeper every time until you hit the back of his throat. He gags a little, but it passes quickly and both you and Thoma cover him in praises. You gently run your fingers down the side of his face, press your palm against his cheek, stretched with your cock buried inside his mouth, and meeting your eyes watching him in adoring hunger, in that moment he believes that he’s wanted, and doesn’t have to prove himself worthy and that he’ll be wanted even if he “fails” by his own expectations. He moans quietly, leans into you so trustingly as you’re not used from his ever guarded nature, and you can’t help it, slide out of him and lean down to kiss his swollen smiling lips. He coughs briefly, but then laughs, a choked, unfamiliar sound from him. Melting in embrace from you and Thoma, his bright red hair mixing with Thoma’s russet gold, he finally believes that he might be okay in the end. 
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gold-rhine · 1 year
Text
Afab! Scaramouche x GN! Dom reader first time
A\N: I guess technically it’s hurt\comfort. sigh. I don’t like to center my writing of trans characters on negative emotions, if you’ve read my previous stuff, you know when I write afab! male characters it’s like. Just guys, who happen to have pussies, having sex. And that’s how I initially started to write Scara’s afab first time prompt, but his canon storyline is so overtly about struggle of dysphoria, anxiety and self-hatred that it felt wrong to not incorporate it into my explicitly trans fic. So I had to rewrite it completely and I’m taking his part out of the compilation so ppl who want to avoid heavy topics and just have a good time reading smut can skip it. Otherwise, give it a try if you like complicated brats, I think it’s one of my good pieces and it has a happy ending.
Warnings: not sfw. graphic descriptions of dysphoria, anxiety attack, dissociation, angst, self-hatred, allusion to self-harm. Fingering, edging, overstim, spanking, oral (character receiving), vaginal sex. Cock stands for strap too, as usual.
Wordcount: 2k
You try to start slow and gentle with him, but he huffs mockingly.
“How long are you going to be wasting my time?”
“This is literally your first time, you little git.”
“Maybe you mortals need to be coddled, but I’m not a weakling.”
But despite his bravado, he’s tense when you kiss him, he doesn’t know how to properly kiss you back and what to do with his hands, so they just limply hang down. When you start opening his clothes to reveal his chest, he’s becoming more and more wooden. You try kissing him, his cheek, his neck, but it doesn’t relax him and he refuses to meet your eyes, still painfully clenched up, jaw locked tightly, like he’s preparing for something bad that he needs to just get through. He is not out publicly yet, still clinging to the belief that if he conforms to her expectations well enough, his mother will accept him. He’s so critical of himself all the time, especially of his body, which is just horrible and wrong, he hates seeing it himself and hates even more the thought of someone else seeing him naked.
“Hey, are you okay?” you ask quietly. “We can stop.”
“No!” he snaps. “I’m great. I don’t need to stop, are you stupid?!”
He wants you, is the thing. He wanted you for some time, got butterflies in his stomach, fantasized about you at nights. He wanted you more than anyone else in his life. So if he can’t bear even for you to see him, to have sex with him, then obviously something is deeply, fundamentally broken in him, no hope for him at all.
So desperately, he tries to find a roundabout solution. He’s still wearing a skirt, which he normally hates, but now it’s convenient, you could fuck him without taking it off.
“We don’t have to take off my clothes. There’s nothing good to see anyway. ”
He sounds frantic and frustrated, eyes alight with anger, and this does not look like a good situation to continue to you.
“It’s not a big deal, we can do it some other time when…”
“It’s just a cunt, you don’t need to see it!” He finally meets your eyes and you realize the brightness in them is not from anger, it’s from held back tears, because he believes you are rejecting him no matter what you say, “Why wouldn’t you just fuck it?!”
He hates his body and he doesn’t even want to have a pussy, but somehow subconsciously he feels like the one he has is also wrong, not even good enough for fucking, that whoever sees it will also recoil in disgust, as he does when he sees himself in the mirror. It’s ridiculous and he knows it, but he can’t help feeling like this, and he hates himself even more for this idiotic, nonsensical weakness, so this spirals into this vicious, unending cycle of self-disgust that he can’t see a way out of. What the fuck is so wrong with him that he can have a person he wants so much touching him and still be petrified, when it’s so easy for everyone else, and when…
You scoop him into your arms, turn him around so he doesn’t have to face you and hug him close to your chest. When he gasps and tries to protest, you clasp your hand over his mouth, kiss his ear.
“Don’t worry baby, I won’t look. But you need to calm the fuck down.”
He wants to struggle, but he’s so touch starved that when you embrace him, your warm breath on his skin makes him melt, especially combined with the wave of relief from your promise. He stops fighting you, curls up into a little ball in your arms, hiding his blushing face in a pillow, humiliated by how good it feels to be held, how little it takes.
“You don’t want me,” he says, miserable, but stubbornly proud, when you let go of his mouth. “You just pity me. I don’t want you to be here just because you feel bad for me.”
“I want you. I just wouldn’t want to fuck someone while they’re having a nervous breakdown. You or anyone else, for that matter.”
“It’s fine,” he says firmly. “I’m fine. I will be fine. Just do what you want to me, ignore my reactions, and soon I won’t even feel anything. It’s okay. I’m a puppet.”
It’s the conviction in his voice, the absolute certainty that there’s no better option that breaks your heart a little.
“Fucking hell, do you even hear yourself?”
“Why?” he says, face pressed against pillow, but calm, limp in your arms, a puppet with cut strings, and you hate it. ”It’s true, I am not like normal humans. You don’t have to treat me as one. It’ll be easier for the both of us, in the end.”
Maybe I just want you to feel good, baby.”
“Pffft,” he snorts like it’s ridiculous, like you’re naive and this option is not even on the agenda, and also so stupid he doesn’t even want to argue about it. “Even for humans, first time is supposed to be painful.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“No, everyone knows it, and…”
You clasp your hand over his mouth again and he starts squirming, noises muffled by your palm, but his protests die down as soon as your other hand starts siding down his body. 
“You’re so bossy for a little brat, aren’t you?”
You flip up his skirt and slap his ass, and he jolts up in your arms, gasps against your skin. You stroke the affected skin first gently, then with more and more pressure, until groping it, fingers digging into his tender flesh. “Maybe be a good doll and let me handle this for you.”
He didn’t know it could feel like this, not even when he came thinking of you before, so good, like he’s safe, being taken care of, but also so sweetly helpless, unable to resist. His head is light and dizzy with desire when you caress his thighs, nervously and instinctively clenched up, and he can’t remember his millions of concerns when you whisper “Open up for me, baby.”
He lets your hand between his legs, you slide into his panties and find him already wet, but when you stroke his clit and quietly tell him “Good boy,” it runs through him like lightning, eyes opening wide, moan escaping from his lips, his entire body arching up against you. 
“Yeah, that’s right, baby,” you keep caressing his clit, and he writhes more and more against you. “Doesn’t it feel good?”
His hand grips abruptly at your wrist, his slender fingers digging deep, and for a moment you think he’ll try to tear you off him, but then you realize that instead, he presses you closer to himself. You smile against his neck, the hand that kept at his mouth slides down, stroking his throat and down to his chest. At the same time, you slide your other hand deeper in between his legs, find his wet, pulsing entrance. You push two fingers into him, and he shudders against you, his fingers clenching at your wrist, but his cunt is wet and ready for you, stretching sweetly and leaking, his hips bucking against you. His breath is quick and frantic, heart beating rapidly, and then his fingers find your hand that isn’t buried inside of his pussy, leads it down his chest and then under the clothes, under the bra, to find and caress his small tits, and he whines sweetly, arches up, hard nipples poking at your palm. But when you take your fingers out of his pussy and press the head of your cock against his entrance, he tenses up again, his muscles spasming.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! Just do it! It’s supposed to feel good for you when it's tight, isn’t it? So just fuck it, I can take it!”
He shuts up with a tiny gasp when you press your teeth into the side of his neck, which lets you keep groping his tits.
“I’ve never met someone, for whom a ballgag is so obviously needed for survival before. It’s going to be okay, baby, relax.”
You stroke his clit and massage his breasts, cutting his protests short, his hands clutching helplessly at yours, not trying to stop you, but just trying to be grounded. 
“What if it’s not going to be okay?” he asks quietly, his face buried in a pillow. “What if I’m just built wrong, if it’s just always going to hurt when you try to fuck me?”
“Then we’ll figure out something to do that doesn’t involve penetrating your pussy. It’s not that hard, baby.”
“You would do that for me?”
“Of course, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to leave you just because I can’t fuck your cunt.”
“Really?” he asks, choked, trying for sarcasm, but failing badly, a raw edge in his voice. 
you would just switch to eating him out, but he seems pretty hung up on the inability to take you in, but from how easy it was to fit your fingers into him, how he seemed to enjoy it, you’re pretty sure the issue is psychological. So you stroke his clit, squeeze his breasts and kiss at the side of his jaw. You can feel his entrance involuntarily pulsing open and you push the head of your cock into him, feeling him stretching wider. He turns his head to you in alarm, but you catch his mouth in a kiss, keep caressing his body and slowly moving deeper into him. His fingers move from your wrists to intertwine with your hands, and when you squeeze back, he comes so quickly in your arms, before your cock is even fully sheathed inside of him. 
You hold him through the orgasm, then slide out of him, but then he turns in your arms, until he’s under you, he’s looking up at you, instead of being held. 
“I want more,” he breathes out, hot and heavy, and before you can think of the answer, he pulls his clothes open, opening his bra and revealing his chest, and then tugs his skirt and soaked panties down. He lies under you, both trembling and determined, his breath fast and nervous for exposing himself to you after trusting you won’t be disgusted with him, that you’’ll *want him*. 
“You’re so beautiful,” you run your eyes over him and kiss him, hard, and he presses himself against you, kisses you back with desperate abandon, but still when you break away from each other, he asks, his voice small. “Really?”
In response, you pepper him with hungry kisses, from the neck down the chest, ribs, stomach until you cover his swollen pink pussy with your mouth, while he’s leaking sweetly under your lips. When he comes, and he comes quickly, moaning loudly, you pull him close and kiss his lips with the taste of his own arousal.
“Really,” you tell him softly, while he’s blushing, soft and squirming against you. He shoots you a wry little look that you already came to associate with trouble coming, and says, trying to sound superior, but failing because of mischievous little smiles breaking his act
“So you like this body? That’s so degenerate of you, who would even like something so ugly and…”
He yelps and shuts up when you forcefully turn him over to lay on his stomach and slap his ass, but he looks pleased afterwards.
“There are much better ways to get spanked, you little brat.”
He arches his back, popping up his ass and spreading his thighs to show off his wet flushed pussy, entrance pulsing up open for you. Then he looks at you over the shoulder, eyes glinting in excitement, and sticks out his pink little tongue at you.
“Oh really?”
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gold-rhine · 1 year
Text
First time sub afab! Kazuha x GN Dom! Reader
A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. I actually had the visual for this when I was writing my main Kazuha piece, but in the end it didn't fit the pacing, so I'm repurposing it now. this one was quick, but hope you enjoy.
Warnings: nsfw, minors get out, fingering, oral (character receiving)
Wordcount: 1k
You wander the city the entire night with him, it’s summer so it's warm and the sky is hanging very low and black, stars bright and ripe like berries. You kiss him every time you get, until he’s disheveled and flushed, melting against you, eyes gleaming in the darkness. When you pull away, his fingers curl in the folds of your clothes, he looks up at you, biting his lips, swollen from the kisses, hips grinding against you, shy, but not ashamed. He has an understanding of what he wants, incredibly strong for someone so inexperienced, he could not be pressured by time or attention, only makes his move when it feels right. Like it finally does this night, with you.
“Not yet, baby,” you whisper, trail kisses down his arched neck.
“Why not?” he pouts, too sweet and sincere to be manipulative, and you have to fight an urge to take him right there, against the walls in this dirty alleyway, but he deserves better.
“Because I want to make your first time truly special.”
He gives you a small, wry smile. “Well, I’m not exactly a silk bed with rose petals kind of person.”
“I’d never offer you something so stuffy,” you catch his chin, run your thumb over his lower lip until he opens his mouth and takes you in, his scarlet eyes never leaving yours. “Trust me, my little wind, I know you.”
“What is the best place to meet the sunrise?” you ask him as the night is coming to an end and without a second thought he answers
“At the top of the old tower.”
“Let’s go then,” you grin, dragging him by the hand and he smiles, following.
The tower is a ruin left from the ancient defense walls and is of course closed, but Kazuha climbs the nearby tree and gets to the tower’s window through the long branch. As always, he is a treat to watch in motion, swift, decisive and precise. Like any wind, he resists being captured in a moment, each movement would not look too attractive if caught in a still picture, but together in real time they weave together with fluid grace.
He helps you to climb into the window, laughs when you pin him against the wall on the spiraling staircase. You kiss him until he’s flushed and panting, clothes in disarray.
“We’ll miss the dawn if we don’t go up now,” he whispers breathlessly, but doesn’t try to resist, his arms thrown around your neck.
“We won’t,” you kiss his neck, run your hands down his warm, pliant body. “How can the sun rise when I have all of the sunshine right there with me?”
He giggles adorably, squirming under your touch. He’s incredibly wound up after an entire night of teasing, desire is both a tight ball and fluttery wings deep in his belly. But he doesn’t mind waiting, his soaked cunt aches so sweetly, and he loves this dizzy haze, being carried helplessly and played by your will like a leaf in the wind, trusts that you won’t leave him unsatisfied by the end, and so it doesn’t matter when that moment comes.
You do not, in fact, miss the sunrise when you get to the top of the tower, but only barely. The sky is high and clear, deep blue in the west with the last stars and the narrow crescent of the moon still faintly glowing, and translucent gray and light blue at the east, an anticipation of the light. The city underneath the tower is still sleeping, the low ground streets drowning in cloudy mist, but the early birds nesting on the high roofs with reddish-purple shingles are already singing.
He looks at the east side, leaning on the stone parapet, when you catch his waist and decisively turn him around, kiss him while opening his clothes to bare his chest. He doesn’t try to stop you, just blushes brightly, looking up at you with wide opened eyes.
“Right… there?”
You smile, kiss him without answering, and he shivers when you slide his cloth down his shoulders. The morning chill mixes with his own feverish heat, and when you move your lips down his throat, tender juncture between the neck and shoulders, down to his chest, it feels like burning in contrast to the fresh air. You throw your jacket on the wide ledge of the parapet, and he gasps when you push him up on it. You suck on the hard pink bud of his nipple as you take off his pants, but then you straighten up, look down on him. You want to see him fully when you spread his legs, his lips swollen from kisses, neck covered in lovebites, he’s panting hard, blushing brilliantly, but looking you in the eye eagerly, his flushed pink cunt open to your view.
You slide a finger into his wet entrance and watch him moan, grip at the iron lattice on top of the stone ledge. You peper him with kisses until covering his clit with your mouth, and he shudders, gasping. You grin against the tender, slick skin of his pussy, suck on his clit and move your finger inside of him so torturously slow. His cunt clenches and he whines so sweetly, leaning back on the iron, feeling both exposed to the whole world and hidden from everything but you.
You ease another finger in and start pumping them in and out, at first slowly, then increasing the speed. His trembling legs rise up involuntarily, bending at the knees and pressed to his chest to expose his pulsing pussy even more and thrust against your movements. Overwhelmed, he arches, gasping with an open mouth, the edges of the iron lattice digging into his shoulderblades. When you curl your fingers inside of him, your lips on his swollen clit, he comes with a choked helpless moan, his head thrown back, and he sees the first golden light of dawn spread over the blue-gray skies above him while the wave of pleasure that consumes his own body.
You look up and see the tender, lemony yellow sunrays spill over his pale arched body, soft and flushed in contrast to the crumbling rocks and iron, his whimpers mixing with the bird songs. You straighten up and catch his mouth, your fingers still buried deep inside his wet, pulsing cunt, and his legs wrap around you, his mouth opening for you to slide your tongue in.
“I promised you something special, didn’t I?”
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gold-rhine · 1 year
Text
sub! Albedo x Dom! GN! Reader
Warnings: not sfw, edging, first time, fingering, anal sex, long dialogs discussing metaphysics of human connection. Cock stands for cock\strap as usual.
A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. very soft, almost didn’t want to tag as as dom! reader, but the dynamic is specifically pronounced. but give it a try even if you’re just into bottom Albedo.
Wordcount: 3k
Albedo might seem like cold and disaffected, but that’s mostly Neurodivergency (TM)
He’s extremely introverted and demi, he’s usually not interested in people at all and so comes off as curt and rude
But rarely, if he does form a connection, he very much quietly and intensely hyperfixates on it
“I used to think interaction with others was a waste of time. But after meeting you, I'd rather spend my time on you than other matters.”
As you can tell from the quote and his general interaction with the traveler, he’s pretty open about his interest. Albedo has a mix of very quiet, shy social awkwardness in some situations, and almost clinically shameless directness in others.
He’s lonely, but he wants very specifically someone who can see and understand him for what he is without flinching, and the people for whom the nature of his artificial creation would not change their demeanor towards him is who he tends to latch on.
While normally very precise and methodical, he can throw logic and principles out of the window when it comes to the person he really likes.
Like remember the last dragonspine event where he turned into an absolute spineless mush in order to fix traveler's ugly doodle without actually admitting that it's ugly.
They even specifically spelled out his thoughts to show that he does think it's ugly, while he's muttering out loud "no, its uh great, i mean i can maybe add a few embellishments if you would like me too".
He becomes clingy, but in an extremely introverted way. He would not initiate contact, but he’d aggressively, though in a very roundabout-way hint that he would like your presence (his story quests, esp the last scene of the latest dragonspine event)
And when you do choose to spend time with him, he’s very open about how he doesn’t really care what you do, as long as you’re together, and that he would like to prolong that time.
He’s also very straightforward about letting you decide and following the lead after he’s already realized he’s into you
“Would you like to have a chat with me?
Albedo: Certainly. Uh... I will let you decide the topic of our conversation.”
(again, the fucking second-hand embarrassment horror of the last dragospine event’s painting lesson)
“Heh, where should I begin...? In your company, I never lack inspiration”
“By the way, after we're done. may I have the pleasure of inviting you to dessert with me? To continue our time together, and to thank you for your company.”
Albedo is not an easy, quick fun type, he's a long time, deep investment only. But in return, he’s very curious and open to experiments, doesn’t have any societal prejudices, very accepting of other ppl’s oddities, artistic, deep-feeling, imaginative, with a quiet, but intense need for acceptance and praise.
He obviously won’t be loud and expressive, but if he’s your type, effort spent on him can be very rewarding, he is the case where you can give the lightest touch and see it ripple through him like a hurricane.
It happens on a seemingly normal evening while you two are drinking tea with desserts in your room. Albedo tells you about his latest research project, or, if more precisely, about how Cyrus from the Adventurers Guild keeps interrupting it with his inane training activities on Dragonspine. For someone who doesn’t know him, he’d sound just politely dry, but you can read sarcastic exasperation in his tone, so you laugh and sympathetically pat his arm. It’s a fairly innocuous gesture, but he suddenly freezes. You immediately take your hand away and apologize, remembering that he isn’t a very physical person, but he shakes his head, says that it’s okay. But when he tries to get back to his story, he’s clearly distracted and still thrown off balance, so you try to clear the air by promising to not do it again.
“No, I’m not displeased. On the contrary,” he says, throwing you an inquisitive glance askew. “It’s a somewhat interesting development on a… matter that’s been perplexing me for some time.”
“Huh? And what is this matter?” you ask, grinning, and are surprised to see Albedo, who is usually very straightforward even with the most direct questions when his curiosity is peaked, frown hesitantly.
“Well, it… depends. Do you see me strictly in… ah, platonic capacity? Because in that case, I would prefer to not endanger our friendship and move on from the subject.”
“Oh?” you smirk, raising an eyebrow and watch his pale sculpted cheeks color slightly as he avoids your gaze. “No, I’d be interested in your other… capacities.”
“Well, in that case I think it’s fairly obvious that I’m attracted to you.”
“I wouldn’t call it fairly obvious, but do go on.”
“The attraction itself does not surprise me, of course. What I find perplexing is how disproportionately strongly my body reacts. If you’re not averse to the idea of physical interaction, I would like to see what direct skin to skin contact would feel like.”
You look over him, a slight blush on his cheeks, but bright blue eyes watching you intensely, and grin.
“Anything for science, my prince.”
He nods seriously, starts unbuckling the clasps on the elbow-long glove on his right hand, but you don’t wait for him to finish, slide your fingers into the gap on his thigh between his high boots and shorts. He startles, almost jumping up, looks at you with wide opened eyes like a deer in headlights, and you lean in and kiss him. He makes a tiny surprised noise, but answers, a little awkwardly, leans into you.
When you move away, he sits there in stunned silence, blushing, one glove half-taken off, and shorts-pant rolled up, really looking like a prince who tries to find an etiquette- appropriate response to being ravished.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly.
“Yes. But I feel a little dizzy, I’m not sure why.”
You smirk.
“It’s probably a sudden redirect of a bloodflow.”
He looks down at his crotch, blushes brighter, but says calmly.
“Oh. That makes sense, I suppose.”
“I guess this makes an experiment a success, huh?” “Do you want to go on?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “But I would like to have some time to prepare.”
You think that this “time to prepare” is just to mentally catch his breath, but when you walk back into the room after some time, you find him by the bed, completely naked, clothes folded neatly on the nearby chair.
You walk up to him slowly, smile, not wanting to spook him.
“Hey, are you sure you’re not moving too fast?”
“Do not patronize me,” he says firmly, narrowing his eyes. “I am more than 400 hundred years old, I know biology, I know how sex works. The process itself is not complicated at all, it’s simply a matter of stimulating the appropriate organs and zones.”
“Oh, such a romantic,” you smirk, moving to stand close to him, and he looks at you sternly, an interesting contrast to his stark naked body.
“I didn’t involve other people because it seemed too much of a hussle to satisfy basic needs of the body when I can do it myself.”
“Then why make an effort now?”
“Because…” he pauses, looks away briefly and continues more slowly, measurely. “Of the inappropriate reaction of my body to your touch. And because when I touched myself imagining you it felt much better than when I did without thinking of you.”
You raise your eyebrows at his admission, but he goes on, his voice frustrated.
“It makes no sense! It was the same hand and the same gesture, and yet it felt so much stronger. Why? The same stimulation should produce the same results, but it didn’t. And now your touch, even over the gloved hand, which should not even be a desired zone for stimulation, feels that much intense!”
You can’t keep away for longer, lean down, catching his mouth in a kiss. He moans, leans against you, his naked slender body trembling, arching when you run your hands down his spine, his cock already getting hard against your thigh. You push him down on the bed and he lets you, looks up at you with hazy, wide open blue eyes, wet lips half open, pink tongue showing, cheeks blushing, and he’s trying to hide his hard dick behind the half-closed pulled up knees. For a moment you’re tempted to take him right there, spread his legs and ram into him roughly, until he screams and loses his senses.
But it’s much more fun to play with him slowly, so you prop yourself on the bed next to him, catch his cheek in your hand, looking down at him with a smile.
“You have a theory on why, surely.”
He blinks a few times, swallows harshly and licks his lips, trying to stay in control..
“Yes, but I’m not sure I should say it right now. I wouldn’t want to ruin the mood.”
“The mood we started with was experimental biology, I don’t know how you can ruin that,” you smirk, but as he still looks anxious, soften your voice. “Baby, if I didn’t want someone weirdly over-analytical, I wouldn’t go after you at all, don’t worry, you can talk.”
“Well, it’s not directly correlated, but I think it works on similar principles. See, there’s a difference between just a rendering of something, no matter how accurate, and art including the same object. In fact, an art piece does not have to be accurate at all. I’ve struggled to identify it, but it is undeniable once you feel it. You may call it an inspiration in art, but it’s also that ephemeral and unspoken thing that separates home from the house, an acquaintance from friend, a string of words from poetry.”
“Oh, you *are* a romantic, huh,” you smile and stroke his cheek. He makes a small noise and leans into your palm. You run your fingers slowly, lightly down his neck, over the curve of his collarbones to the beating pulse in the delicate hollow of his throat, and he shivers, arches under your touch, his breath catching. His body, pristine, touch-starved, reacts so strongly to the smallest stimulation, but even as affected as he is, he still watches you sharply.
“Do you enjoy it, seeing the power you have over me now, how disproportionately I can’t help, but react?”
“Of course. It makes playing with you so delicious. Don’t you like it?” you slide your hand down his chest, thumb at the tender pink peak of the nipple and watch him squirm, his cock twitches against his belly and starts to leak.
“It's complicated,” he says quietly, pressing his head against your shoulder. “I enjoy the sensations, I feel excited and anxious about what’s to come, but I’m also acutely afraid to disappoint.”
“Don’t worry, baby.” you draw your hand down over his ribs, tensed up stomach, stroke teasingly at the lovely hipbones instead of finally touching his pulsing dick. He’s just such a fun, responsive canvas to explore. “You can’t disappoint.”
“Of course I can,” he says incredulously, but then you slide your free hand into his fluffy, soft  hair, grip at the flaxen blond locks and pull, making him arch his throat with a helpless whine. You kiss the golden diamond on his neck and feel him tremble and swallow harshly under your lips.
“This mark is not more sensitive than the rest of my skin, and yet when I know you caress my imperfection, it wrecks me,” he’s shaking in your arms, and yet his voice is calm, almost distant.
“Albedo, baby, the absolute most of humans would not look at this mark and think of it as “imperfection.” They would just think it’s cute.”
“Is it a sign of how deep my differences run then if it feels important to me?”
“Being anxious about perceived flaws that no one else cares about is the most human thing imaginable,” you answer softly and he chuckles, leans against you.
“I can’t argue with that, I’ve seen it too often. I suppose there’s no such thing as perfection for a human.”
“No, there is.”
He watches you with a raised eyebrow, and you grin, lean down, finally covering his cock with your hand, catch a tiny, strangled sigh from his parted lips.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get it. I’ll make sure of that.”
You stroke him slowly, trying to prolong the pleasure, but he was too understimulated for far too long, too high-strung, he throws his arms around your shoulders, his hips rocking into your hand involuntarily, eyelashes fluttering over the glazed over eyes, and he comes with a short breezy moan.
You kiss him lightly, stroke him through it until his body relaxes under you, frantic breath slowing down.
“Are you okay, little prince?”
He opens his eyes, and you can see him coming to his senses, the focus coming back into his gaze like a bright sharp edge of a scalpel.
“Yes. A little dizzy, but I’m fine. You can go on.”
“Are you sure you’re not too overwhelmed?”
His fingers dig into your shoulders just a little deeper.
“No. And I think I’m forming a theory.”
“Oh? I have to hear this,” you smirk, slide your hand between his legs to circle at his entrance.
“At first, I thought interaction with others was a waste of time, but now I realize I was wrong. Art can’t be created without inspiration, and inspiration has to come from interaction with the outside world,” he whispers, quietly, but with conviction. When you slide your fingers inside him, he presses his cheek against yours, his quick breaths damp and hot against your skin, his disheveled soft hair tickling at your temple. “A transformation can only be achieved through a reaction with a new reagent, and so the same with humans, a person can only change through the experiences obtained.”
You bury your fingers deeper, scissor and massage his walls until he opens up, his hips bucking up and cock getting hard again.
“See, baby, but if that reagent reacts like a human, then what does the origin of it matter?”
He looks up at you with a small, surprised smile, the sweetest and shiest you’ve ever seen on him, despite his trembling nakedness under you, the shameless spread of his legs, your fingers fucking into him and his pretty swollen dick twitching on his belly.
“You really think so?”
“Of course, my prince.”
He arches to press an awkward, fervent kiss against your lips and moans when you slide your tongue against his.
“Please,” he whines when you break up to catch the air. “I need to feel this, please…”
You take your fingers out and slide your cock\strap into him, pressing into him slowly, giving him time to adjust, but even so, he feels so full. He moans, throws his arms over his head to grip at the bedsheets. When you start fucking him, it feels so good, but also like too much, like his body is too small to contain it, and so he instinctively tries to let out the excess of energy, the crystalline flower blooming under his fingers. But it’s not his usual, perfectly structured symmetrical construct, the delicate amber petals sprout wildly, disproportionately at all sides, shutter and form again like waves with every thrust. Soon the pulsing gold flower is covering the rest of the room with a helplessly writhing form of Albedo in the center, and the outside layers start losing the definition, turn into flickering white wings of the crystalflies. He shudders with each movement, small, breathless “oh-oh-oh…” escaping his half-bitten lips, but he never takes his eyes off you, the bright aquamarine of the high, cloudless noon of the Dragonspine skies, sharp glow reflected off the untouched snow and the deep-glimmering ice.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he whispers weakly, barely audible, while the gold and white pulse of his flowers throw the flashing reflections on his body. “It’s too much, maybe I was never meant… to feel…”
“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you lean down, press the gentlest kiss to the corner of his open mouth, while fucking harshly into him, and he watches you hepleslly, intently. “You’re so beautiful and you’re doing so good for me. Just let go.”
He sees the way you look at him, the way you touch him, and finally he gets it, his body overripe, tension rippling on the cusp of revelation. When does a human feel perfect? Oh, but when someone sees them as such.
He arches in your arms and comes with a chocked scream, crystalized petals blooming all at once around you, and just for an endless moment, the chalk under his skin turns into gold.
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gold-rhine · 1 year
Text
Sub! Heizou x GN Dom! Reader
A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned.
Warnings: nsfw, overstim, slight degradation, spanking, leash play, anal sex, cock stands for strap\cock as usual.
Wordcount: 3k
I don’t think there needs to be a lot of analysis to justify Heizou being a sub, it’s fairly intentionally in your face in both hangout and ahem, birthday “yawning” art, because that’s the most most obvious bottom “O-face” since Gorou’s “moaning and tearing up over the bowl of onions” emoji.
Like in two endings he straight up says out loud his confidence is partly a facade and he’d really love for someone else to sometimes step up and take the charge, but no one does bc ppl think he’s too smart.
”Haha, well, as you might see, I’m a little less confident than people might think.”
“And everyone around me thinks I’m so smart that I should be able to handle every case on my own.<...> But you’re different. Unlike them, you don’t have that kind of prejudice towards me. <...> So I’d like you to decide whether we should expose the truth or not.”
He’s not a pushover and he’s not a pillow princess-y type, but he’s also not a brat. He’ll encourage you to take the lead and won’t criticize your choices, but he will *evaluate them*.
First of all, on how well you’re keeping up with his hyperactive ADHD goblin nature, and second, he’ll leave the unspoken puzzle and see if you’ll manage to figure it out.
He’s open for experimentation and fairly shameless, but how far he’ll go pretty much depends on if he judges you competent enough for this.
Like, meeting him in the hangout starts with him openly calling Traveler “so dreamy”, and then he lets the Traveler decide what course of action to take, but only divulges hidden information after the Traveler showed that they have a deeper understanding of a situation and connected several puzzle dots themselves.
His inner conflict is when it’s immoral or not to withhold information and does it depend on how capable a person given this information is. The law does not really factor into this, Heizou will act on his own principles instead.
Like in the hangout case he only tells the Traveler that he will follow their choice (see above) after the Traveler presents him with the evidence and proves they have sound judgment.
So he’d *LIKE* to let someone else make decisions, but he wants to make sure that someone else is qualified. So he won’t like outright lie, but he will withhold context if you don’t show him that you get it.
Then he can get quite clingy, like telling Traveler that he’d love to have them as a partner all the time, haha he’s joking, he wouldn’t want to be so greedy…UNLESS???
In a situation where he does trust the other person’s competence, he likes to feel helpless, overpowered and needy, if you indulge him in it. His ideal situation is where you understand that he’s smart and capable himself and he doesn’t strictly need you to take charge, but would enjoy it.
He wants to have fun without anyone making it too weird, and he wants to know you have a clear head on your shoulders, that’s it.
One day while you’re walking down the street near your home, a group of obvious miscreants runs by and a young man in white shirt and brown shorts follows them. The last of ruffians shoves him while they’re running past you and you catch him to stop him from hitting a corner of a house with his head. When the bandit looks back, you instinctively shield a man in your arms with your shoulder, and the bandit obviously judges it not worth the trouble, runs away.
When you look at the man you’re holding, he’s looking up at you with a wide smile, bright green eyes twinkling.
“Oh, thank you, my savior!”
“I didn’t do anything,” you say, putting him upright. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure, I’m fine!” he suddenly pauses, looks you over and says in a weaker tone, leaning into you. “I mean, I’m a little not fine, nothing major, but perhaps if someone could look after me for just a little bit?...”
You take him to get coffee just to keep an eye on him and end up talking for hours. His name is Heizou, he’s flirty, fun and cute, has ruffled mauve hair and little twin moles under his eyes, asks more questions than he’d like to answer about himself, wears a choker and a shirt that leaves his sides bare, and would very obviously love to get dommed from how he talks to you. But you cannot in good conscience take advantage of him now, because his eagerness might be an effect from the shock, so you let him go.
Day later you talk with a neighbor and he mentions how the young detective who from his words meets Heizou’s description just caught a group of pickpockets.
“Detective, huh?” you ask out loud, and some things that didn’t make sense before fall into place. Like an exaggerated weak affect and how eagerly he pushed himself on you.
Couple of days after you walk into a confrontation in one of the secluded courtyards on the way to your home. There’s Heizou and opposite of him a group headed by the large white-haired oni. It looks incredibly awkward and staged.
“Oh, it’s my savior again!” Heizou says coquettishly, smiling at you. “Hello there! It seems you’re just in time to save me once again.”
“From what?” you say calmly, crossing your arms.
“From being mugged, of course.”
“So these guys need to be arrested, huh?”
A tall oni starts shifting nervously, looking back and forth from you to Heizou.
“Hey, hey, we didn’t agree on…”
A green-haired woman elbows him and he stumbles.
“I mean, you can’t arrest us, we’re big bad bandits, rawr!”
You ignore him, looking Heizou straight in the eyes. He pauses for a second, then pretends to be fainting in your direction. You catch him, rolling your eyes. Green-haired woman punches the oni in his side and they run away with the entire group.
“Oh, thank you,” Heizou says, looking artistically disheveled in your arms.
“No problem, Detective,” you say coldly and he tenses, straightens up.
“So you know…”
“Yeah. And I don’t appreciate being played for a fool.”
“Listen, it’s not like that… It’s just that I... I wanted you to treat me like a sub, but you didn’t do anything after we first met, and I thought maybe if you see me in an even weaker state...”
“I didn’t do anything because you seemed too irrational from shock. If you just told me the truth that you’re detective and were fine, you’d be spread on my bed few nights ago.“
He blushes, but his green eyes light up.
“I would? Oh, I mean, I am fine and we cleared the misunderstandings, so?... Um? About spreading?“
You shake your head, narrowing your eyes.
“Only come to me if you’re ready to drop your bullshit. I’m sure you can figure out how to find me, Detective.“
“Hey there!” he’s bouncing on your threshold a day after with the widest obnoxious smile, and you wouldn’t see the tinge of nervousness under it if you weren't paying attention. “So you said I can come if I dropped the bullshit and um, you can pat me over, including cavity search if you want, to make sure I haven’t got any on me”
You roll your eyes, hooking your fingers under his choker, pull him close and kiss him. He stumbles for a second, but then melts, throws his arms around your neck and presses against you. You can feel him getting hard as you pull him towards the bedroom and then throw him roughly onto the bed. He looks up, his green eyes sparkling in delight.
“Cavity search?” you say incredulously, crawling over him to slide your hands under his shirt and pulling off both of his layers. “That was terrible.”
“I know, I know, I panicked,” he moves his arms to help you get the shirt off, then pulls frantically at the ties of the armguards. “I was going to say you have a search warrant, but somehow it turned into a cavity search.”
“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” you grin against his cheek and pull his pants and underwear off in one smooth motion. He gasps, and when you grab his ankles and forcefully spread his legs, he blushes but looks you straight in the eye, already fully hard and breathless in excitement.
“I am? I mean, of course I am, but do tell me more about it.”
You kiss him instead, roam your hands over his slender body, and he arches under you, moans against your mouth. You slide your hand down, close it over hard, twitching cock and he whines, bucks his hips against your palm.
“Oh yeah,” he whispers feverishly. “Yes... Don’t be afraid to treat me rough…”
“Oh trust me, I won’t,” you grope his leaking cock and balls in your hand, firmly like you own them, and he whines sweetly, looking up at you with excitement in half-narrowed eyes. When you slide your hand down and circle his entrance, he comes immediately, pressing himself against you.
You chuckle, kissing him.
“In my defense, I spent some long nights imagining you touching me, so I’m not taking criticisms on how quick I came,“ he mutters, squirming under you, cheeks blushing brightly.
You grin and stand up, moving away.
“Well, you’re not getting away that easily, kitten. I’ll be back shortly.“
When you walk back to the bed, he has finished taking off the last piece of the guard and is waiting for you, naked except for the elbow-high fishnet gloves and a choker.
“I have something that I think you would like,” you smirk, showing him a leash and he gasps, visibly lighting up.
“Have you thought about becoming a detective yourself? That’s spot on.”
“It wasn’t a very hard deduction to make,” you hook your fingers under his choker, lifting him up, and he follows, grinning under the bitten lip. He’s so lovely in how blushing and eager he is while you’re closing the leash on his neck, looking up at you from under the ruffled bangs.
You turn him around, so that he leans against the bedrest and he giggles, settling down on his knees.
“Oh, great, I wasn’t sure how to breach the subject of… consequences of being naughty.”
“You don’t try playing hard to get, do you?” you grin, slide your hand from his intentionally arched back to caress smooth skin of the perky ass, obviously and eagerly presented for you.
“No, why, would you want me to?” he shoots you a sharp glance over the shoulder, analytical even now.
“No,” you say pleasantly and slap his ass, hard. He gasps, shudders, but arches even more, presses quickly reddening, tender flesh harder against your hand. You spread him and run your fingers between his legs.“I like it when you’re being open.”
“I don’t see the point in denying the obvious,” he says, still sounding mostly collected, if a little breathless in excitement. “And if I don’t show what I want, how will I get it?”
You strike his ass again, several times in a row, until it’s blooming red and he’s whining quiet and sweet, then you stroke it.
“Very logical of you,” you say, squeezing his sensitive ass while he’s squirming needily under your hands, and kiss the sharp curve of his shoulder, move his ruffled hair aside and get to his neck. “Unlike the stunt you tried to pull earlier.”
“Oh well, I miscalculated,” he says airly. “And it’s not as if I was trying to deceive you, it’s that I know that once people hear who I am they misjudge… the way I’d want to be treated. So I just wanted to make sure you get the right impression.”
You tug on the leash, pulling him close, his back against your chest. He gasps, arches his back and rubs his ass against you.
“Or you could’ve just said so honestly, you dumbass,” you run your hand over his chest down, close it over his cock and kiss him, still tugging on the leash. He kisses you back, eager and a little sloppy, rocks his hips, rutting against your palm.
“Well, taking your advice on speaking openly,” he whispers breathlessly after breaking a kiss, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek. “I’m close again and I want to come from you fucking me.”
“Good boy.”
You pull him into your lap, over the strap\cock, and he squirms, straddling your knees. You catch his chin, while he’s lowering himself over onto the head of your cock, make him meet your eyes, his own hazy green, cheeks bright in blush, pink lips half-open and taking short feverish breaths. You put your hands on his hips and push him all the way down until you’re fully buried in him, and he moans, shuddering and arching in your arms.
“Ah! Oh yes, yeah, like that, oh fuck…”
He rides you, his hips moving rhythmically and his hard cock bouncing against his stomach, but when you close your hand over it, he whines, digs his fingers into your shoulders.
“Please, no, I’ll come too soon if you touch me…”
You let him go and chuckle, pepper kisses over his neck, chest, lick over his pink hardened nipple, while he’s whimpering pleas and fucking himself on your cock.
“You’re really such a slut, aren’t you?”
“Yes, fuck, I love it, I love how your cock feels inside of me, please…”
You tug on his leash, making him arch, suck on the tender juncture between his shoulder and neck. He comes just like that, screaming, his movements turning frantic. You push him down on his back, roll over him without taking your cock out.
“Can you take any more, kitten?”
“Yes.. yes, please keep fucking me,” he’s trembling under you, but says this firmly, looks you in the eye without hesitation, his ass clenching around you. “Use me like I’m your toy…”
You lift his legs up, pressing his knees against his chest, exposing his ass and thighs, still pink from spanking. You can see his oversensitive red cock getting hard just from being spread and exposed like that, and when you thrust deeply into him, he screams and tries to lift himself off the bed, writhing under you. You grip his hips and fuck him hard, hitting his prostate, until his mouth is going slack and his eyes roll over, his pleas turn into incoherent moans and whimpers.
You lean down, cock buried deep inside him, kiss the corner of his mouth. He whines, his arms tightening around your shoulders and his hips rolling to take you even deeper.  
“You've been very good, kitten,” you whisper against his parted lips, his green eyes glittering with held tears. “Come for me, baby.”
He comes after a few thrusts, clutching at you, and you fuck him through it until he goes limp. Then you slide out of him, let him curl against you, his chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. You hold him and gently stroke his hair until he stops shivering, giving him time to come to senses before you’ll move to clean up.
“How fast will you want me to leave?” he asks, quietly, but his voice is firm, neutral. “I know I can be annoying in large doses, so if you need me to get out, I can…”
You silence him with a kiss, slow and sweet to calm him down. “It’s okay, kitten, you don’t annoy me. Don’t worry about it, just rest.”
He freezes for a second and then suddenly presses himself desperately against you, clutches at your shoulders. You stroke his hair, neck, sharp knobs of his spine soothingly, whisper sweet nothings in his ear until his body relaxes. He rubs his cheek against your chest and looks up with a cheeky grin.
“I am lucky that I’m cute, huh?”
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rhine-gold-archive · 2 years
Text
sub! Albedo x Dom! GN! Reader
Warnings: not sfw, edging, first time, fingering, anal sex, long dialogs discussing metaphysics of human connection. Cock stands for cock\strap as usual.
A\N: very soft, almost didn’t want to tag as as dom! reader, but the dynamic is specifically pronounced. but give it a try even if you’re just into bottom Albedo.
Wordcount: 3k
Albedo might seem like cold and disaffected, but that’s mostly Neurodivergency (TM)
He’s extremely introverted and demi, he’s usually not interested in people at all and so comes off as curt and rude
But rarely, if he does form a connection, he very much quietly and intensely hyperfixates on it
“I used to think interaction with others was a waste of time. But after meeting you, I'd rather spend my time on you than other matters.”
As you can tell from the quote and his general interaction with the traveler, he’s pretty open about his interest. Albedo has a mix of very quiet, shy social awkwardness in some situations, and almost clinically shameless directness in others.
He’s lonely, but he wants very specifically someone who can see and understand him for what he is without flinching, and the people for whom the nature of his artificial creation would not change their demeanor towards him is who he tends to latch on.
While normally very precise and methodical, he can throw logic and principles out of the window when it comes to the person he really likes. 
Like remember the last dragonspine event where he turned into an absolute spineless mush in order to fix traveler's ugly doodle without actually admitting that it's ugly. 
They even specifically spelled out his thoughts to show that he does think it's ugly, while he's muttering out loud "no, its uh great, i mean i can maybe add a few embellishments if you would like me too". 
He becomes clingy, but in an extremely introverted way. He would not initiate contact, but he’d aggressively, though in a very roundabout-way hint that he would like your presence (his story quests, esp the last scene of the latest dragonspine event)
And when you do choose to spend time with him, he’s very open about how he doesn’t really care what you do, as long as you’re together, and that he would like to prolong that time.
He’s also very straightforward about letting you decide and following the lead after he’s already realized he’s into you
“Would you like to have a chat with me?
 Albedo: Certainly. Uh... I will let you decide the topic of our conversation.”
(again, the fucking second-hand embarrassment horror of the last dragospine event’s painting lesson) 
“Heh, where should I begin...? In your company, I never lack inspiration”
“By the way, after we're done. may I have the pleasure of inviting you to dessert with me? To continue our time together, and to thank you for your company.”
Albedo is not an easy, quick fun type, he's a long time, deep investment only. But in return, he’s very curious and open to experiments, doesn’t have any societal prejudices, very accepting of other ppl’s oddities, artistic, deep-feeling, imaginative, with a quiet, but intense need for acceptance and praise.
He obviously won’t be loud and expressive, but if he’s your type, effort spent on him can be very rewarding, he is the case where you can give the lightest touch and see it ripple through him like a hurricane. 
It happens on a seemingly normal evening while you two are drinking tea with desserts in your room. Albedo tells you about his latest research project, or, if more precisely, about how Cyrus from the Adventurers Guild keeps interrupting it with his inane training activities on Dragonspine. For someone who doesn’t know him, he’d sound just politely dry, but you can read sarcastic exasperation in his tone, so you laugh and sympathetically pat his arm. It’s a fairly innocuous gesture, but he suddenly freezes. You immediately take your hand away and apologize, remembering that he isn’t a very physical person, but he shakes his head, says that it’s okay. But when he tries to get back to his story, he’s clearly distracted and still thrown off balance, so you try to clear the air by promising to not do it again.
“No, I’m not displeased. On the contrary,” he says, throwing you an inquisitive glance askew. “It’s a somewhat interesting development on a… matter that’s been perplexing me for some time.”
“Huh? And what is this matter?” you ask, grinning, and are surprised to see Albedo, who is usually very straightforward even with the most direct questions when his curiosity is peaked, frown hesitantly.
“Well, it… depends. Do you see me strictly in… ah, platonic capacity? Because in that case, I would prefer to not endanger our friendship and move on from the subject.”
“Oh?” you smirk, raising an eyebrow and watch his pale sculpted cheeks color slightly as he avoids your gaze. “No, I’d be interested in your other… capacities.”
“Well, in that case I think it’s fairly obvious that I’m attracted to you.”
“I wouldn’t call it fairly obvious, but do go on.”
“The attraction itself does not surprise me, of course. What I find perplexing is how disproportionately strongly my body reacts. If you’re not averse to the idea of physical interaction, I would like to see what direct skin to skin contact would feel like.”
You look over him, a slight blush on his cheeks, but bright blue eyes watching you intensely, and grin.
“Anything for science, my prince.”
He nods seriously, starts unbuckling the clasps on the elbow-long glove on his right hand, but you don’t wait for him to finish, slide your fingers into the gap on his thigh between his high boots and shorts. He startles, almost jumping up, looks at you with wide opened eyes like a deer in headlights, and you lean in and kiss him. He makes a tiny surprised noise, but answers, a little awkwardly, leans into you. 
When you move away, he sits there in stunned silence, blushing, one glove half-taken off, and shorts-pant rolled up, really looking like a prince who tries to find an etiquette- appropriate response to being ravished.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly.
“Yes. But I feel a little dizzy, I’m not sure why.”
You smirk.
“It’s probably a sudden redirect of a bloodflow.”
He looks down at his crotch, blushes brighter, but says calmly.
“Oh. That makes sense, I suppose.”
“I guess this makes an experiment a success, huh?” “Do you want to go on?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “But I would like to have some time to prepare.”
You think that this “time to prepare” is just to mentally catch his breath, but when you walk back into the room after some time, you find him by the bed, completely naked, clothes folded neatly on the nearby chair.
You walk up to him slowly, smile, not wanting to spook him.
“Hey, are you sure you’re not moving too fast?”
“Do not patronize me,” he says firmly, narrowing his eyes. “I am more than 400 hundred years old, I know biology, I know how sex works. The process itself is not complicated at all, it’s simply a matter of stimulating the appropriate organs and zones.”
“Oh, such a romantic,” you smirk, moving to stand close to him, and he looks at you sternly, an interesting contrast to his stark naked body.
“I didn’t involve other people because it seemed too much of a hussle to satisfy basic needs of the body when I can do it myself.”
“Then why make an effort now?”
“Because…” he pauses, looks away briefly and continues more slowly, measurely. “Of the inappropriate reaction of my body to your touch. And because when I touched myself imagining you it felt much better than when I did without thinking of you.”
You raise your eyebrows at his admission, but he goes on, his voice frustrated.
“It makes no sense! It was the same hand and the same gesture, and yet it felt so much stronger. Why? The same stimulation should produce the same results, but it didn’t. And now your touch, even over the gloved hand, which should not even be a desired zone for stimulation, feels that much intense!”
You can’t keep away for longer, lean down, catching his mouth in a kiss. He moans, leans against you, his naked slender body trembling, arching when you run your hands down his spine, his cock already getting hard against your thigh. You push him down on the bed and he lets you, looks up at you with hazy, wide open blue eyes, wet lips half open, pink tongue showing, cheeks blushing, and he’s trying to hide his hard dick behind the half-closed pulled up knees. For a moment you’re tempted to take him right there, spread his legs and ram into him roughly, until he screams and loses his senses.
But it’s much more fun to play with him slowly, so you prop yourself on the bed next to him, catch his cheek in your hand, looking down at him with a smile.
“You have a theory on why, surely.”
He blinks a few times, swallows harshly and licks his lips, trying to stay in control..
“Yes, but I’m not sure I should say it right now. I wouldn’t want to ruin the mood.”
“The mood we started with was experimental biology, I don’t know how you can ruin that,” you smirk, but as he still looks anxious, soften your voice. “Baby, if I didn’t want someone weirdly over-analytical, I wouldn’t go after you at all, don’t worry, you can talk.”
“Well, it’s not directly correlated, but I think it works on similar principles. See, there’s a difference between just a rendering of something, no matter how accurate, and art including the same object. In fact, an art piece does not have to be accurate at all. I’ve struggled to identify it, but it is undeniable once you feel it. You may call it an inspiration in art, but it’s also that ephemeral and unspoken thing that separates home from the house, an acquaintance from friend, a string of words from poetry.”
“Oh, you *are* a romantic, huh,” you smile and stroke his cheek. He makes a small noise and leans into your palm. You run your fingers slowly, lightly down his neck, over the curve of his collarbones to the beating pulse in the delicate hollow of his throat, and he shivers, arches under your touch, his breath catching. His body, pristine, touch-starved, reacts so strongly to the smallest stimulation, but even as affected as he is, he still watches you sharply.
“Do you enjoy it, seeing the power you have over me now, how disproportionately I can’t help, but react?”
 “Of course. It makes playing with you so delicious. Don’t you like it?” you slide your hand down his chest, thumb at the tender pink peak of the nipple and watch him squirm, his cock twitches against his belly and starts to leak.
“It's complicated,” he says quietly, pressing his head against your shoulder. “I enjoy the sensations, I feel excited and anxious about what’s to come, but I’m also acutely afraid to disappoint.”
“Don’t worry, baby.” you draw your hand down over his ribs, tensed up stomach, stroke teasingly at the lovely hipbones instead of finally touching his pulsing dick. He’s just such a fun, responsive canvas to explore. “You can’t disappoint.”
“Of course I can,” he says incredulously, but then you slide your free hand into his fluffy, soft  hair, grip at the flaxen blond locks and pull, making him arch his throat with a helpless whine. You kiss the golden diamond on his neck and feel him tremble and swallow harshly under your lips.
“This mark is not more sensitive than the rest of my skin, and yet when I know you caress my imperfection, it wrecks me,” he’s shaking in your arms, and yet his voice is calm, almost distant.
“Albedo, baby, the absolute most of humans would not look at this mark and think of it as “imperfection.” They would just think it’s cute.”
“Is it a sign of how deep my differences run then if it feels important to me?”
“Being anxious about perceived flaws that no one else cares about is the most human thing imaginable,” you answer softly and he chuckles, leans against you.
“I can’t argue with that, I’ve seen it too often. I suppose there’s no such thing as perfection for a human.”
“No, there is.”
He watches you with a raised eyebrow, and you grin, lean down, finally covering his cock with your hand, catch a tiny, strangled sigh from his parted lips. 
“Don’t worry, you’ll get it. I’ll make sure of that.”
You stroke him slowly, trying to prolong the pleasure, but he was too understimulated for far too long, too high-strung, he throws his arms around your shoulders, his hips rocking into your hand involuntarily, eyelashes fluttering over the glazed over eyes, and he comes with a short breezy moan.
You kiss him lightly, stroke him through it until his body relaxes under you, frantic breath slowing down.
“Are you okay, little prince?”
He opens his eyes, and you can see him coming to his senses, the focus coming back into his gaze like a bright sharp edge of a scalpel.
“Yes. A little dizzy, but I’m fine. You can go on.”
“Are you sure you’re not too overwhelmed?”
His fingers dig into your shoulders just a little deeper.
“No. And I think I’m forming a theory.”
“Oh? I have to hear this,” you smirk, slide your hand between his legs to circle at his entrance.
“At first, I thought interaction with others was a waste of time, but now I realize I was wrong. Art can’t be created without inspiration, and inspiration has to come from interaction with the outside world,” he whispers, quietly, but with conviction. When you slide your fingers inside him, he presses his cheek against yours, his quick breaths damp and hot against your skin, his disheveled soft hair tickling at your temple. “A transformation can only be achieved through a reaction with a new reagent, and so the same with humans, a person can only change through the experiences obtained.”
You bury your fingers deeper, scissor and massage his walls until he opens up, his hips bucking up and cock getting hard again.
“See, baby, but if that reagent reacts like a human, then what does the origin of it matter?”
He looks up at you with a small, surprised smile, the sweetest and shiest you’ve ever seen on him, despite his trembling nakedness under you, the shameless spread of his legs, your fingers fucking into him and his pretty swollen dick twitching on his belly.
“You really think so?”
“Of course, my prince.”
He arches to press an awkward, fervent kiss against your lips and moans when you slide your tongue against his.
“Please,” he whines when you break up to catch the air. “I need to feel this, please…”
You take your fingers out and slide your cock\strap into him, pressing into him slowly, giving him time to adjust, but even so, he feels so full. He moans, throws his arms over his head to grip at the bedsheets. When you start fucking him, it feels so good, but also like too much, like his body is too small to contain it, and so he instinctively tries to let out the excess of energy, the crystalline flower blooming under his fingers. But it’s not his usual, perfectly structured symmetrical construct, the delicate amber petals sprout wildly, disproportionately at all sides, shutter and form again like waves with every thrust. Soon the pulsing gold flower is covering the rest of the room with a helplessly writhing form of Albedo in the center, and the outside layers start losing the definition, turn into flickering white wings of the crystalflies. He shudders with each movement, small, breathless “oh-oh-oh…” escaping his half-bitten lips, but he never takes his eyes off you, the bright aquamarine of the high, cloudless noon of the Dragonspine skies, sharp glow reflected off the untouched snow and the deep-glimmering ice.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he whispers weakly, barely audible, while the gold and white pulse of his flowers throw the flashing reflections on his body. “It’s too much, maybe I was never meant… to feel…”
“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you lean down, press the gentlest kiss to the corner of his open mouth, while fucking harshly into him, and he watches you hepleslly, intently. “You’re so beautiful and you’re doing so good for me. Just let go.”
He sees the way you look at him, the way you touch him, and finally he gets it, his body overripe, tension rippling on the cusp of revelation. When does a human feel perfect? Oh, but when someone sees them as such.
He arches in your arms and comes with a chocked scream, crystalized petals blooming all at once around you, and just for an endless moment, the chalk under his skin turns into gold.
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gold-rhine · 1 year
Text
Sub afab! Kaeya x GN Dom! Reader
Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned.  Part two of this fic, can be read as standalone, but follows the emotional arc from the first part, so I think it’ll feel more rewarding to read them in order. But you do you, ofc.
Warnings: nsfw, bondage, fingering, oral (character receiving), vaginal and anal sex, overstim, graphic description of a panic attack. It’s a bit intense and angsty at one point, but it gets better, I promise
Wordcount: 4k
Trust me/ You can be sure
You kiss him, enjoying the languid and sensual way his tongue moves against yours, low sweet hum deep inside his throat. His hands are tied to the bedframe above his head, and his body is completely in your power when you slide down, pepper him with kisses, he’s beautiful and silken and arching under you.You suck on his clit briefly and then slide your tongue into his cunt, and his hips lift under your mouth, his legs shuddering and falling apart in pleasure, but his voice is still cocky and ironic, if just a little breathless
“I’m so sorry, I’m afraid that’s a wrong hole. I thought we wanted to try the other one.”
“And I think someone wants to get his smart mouth gagged.”
“You won’t,” he says with an arrogant smirk. “You like hearing me talk.”
He’s gotten more used to the compliments, but that only means he now sounds smug when fishing for them instead of bitterly sarcastic. You still can’t help but indulge him.
“I do,” you smile, straighten up to sprawl next to him, catch his chin in your hand to bring his face next to yours. “But there are ways to shut you up for a few moments without a gag.”
“Oh, you mean with a kiss?” he grins wolfishly, reaches up for you despite the cocky tone. “That’s chea…”
Holding his gaze, you slide two fingers into his cunt and watch him choke on his words, then smile wider and start caressing him in a way you know can drive him crazy in seconds, - thumb roughly at his clit, fingers hooked deep inside him, stroking his sweet spot with slow, methodic pressure.
“I would never cheat like that,” you tell him and you can feel his face heating up in a blush from how close you are. “Not when your mouth looks so pretty gasping for air.”
He blushes brighter and bites his lip harshly to stop himself from gasping, but can’t stop his body from betraying his desire, how he clenches around your fingers, turns from glistening to soaking wet so fast. It’s a different kind of powerlessness from just being tied, helplessness from how well you know him, how precisely you can break him, and he loves that you know it, care to remember it, even if he'll never admit it.
You can tell from experience when he’s about to come, when the thrusts of his hips first turn frantic, then his entire body arches up, desperately lifting off the bed, tense legs spread at the bent knees and breath held. You slide your fingers out before he can finish and he crashes down, glaring at you indignitally and catching his breath before he can speak.
“Oh, sorry, you said something about a wrong hole? I’ll leave it alone then,” you say with a feigned innocence. “Anything you want, as always.”
He groans, rolling his eyes.
“You were not such an insufferable tease when we first met.”
“I’ve learned from the best”, you grin and kiss the corner of his scowling mouth.
You use both lube and his own slick from his throbbing, soaked cunt to coat your fingers, then slide them down and start massaging the tight ring of his asshole.
“Babe,” you tell him softly, “remember, we’re just experimenting for fun. If it doesn’t feel good, tell me, we’ll do something else.”
He flushes, looks away and drawls with pointed irritation.
“Ugh, I wouldn’t tell you I haven’t tried it if I knew you'd make such a big deal out of it. It’s fine.”
Here’s the thing, you know sometimes he tries to hide his own discomfort if he thinks it’ll disappoint you, and also that he only gets so rudely defensive when you hit his sore spot. You can hear his heart racing in his chest even as his voice is confident. The time to be most gentle with Kaeya is when he tries his damnest to be the most unpleasant.
“Okay, just don’t hesitate to say something if it changes,” you bring your mouth to his ear and whisper quietly. “You are more than enough as it is, baby..”
He takes a shaky breath, still refusing to meet your eyes. You don’t pressure him, draw a trail of sloppy wet kisses down his neck, then on his fast rising chest, tense stomach, until covering his swollen clit with your mouth. It doesn’t take long of playing with it to make both of his holes twitch, pulsing open. You press one finger inside and he clenches around it immediately, his entire body tensing up. You glance up to see him arching, his chest with hardened peaks of nipples rising up feverishly in quick frantic breaths.
“Baby, are you okay?”
“Yes, don’t stop,” he says, sounding strangled, and then you catch a barely audible, tiny “please…”
You grin against his pulsing flesh and get to eating him out, with your finger slowly moving inside his tight, tense ass. When you start picking up the rhythm, he moans, hips bucking up to meet your lips, knees shaking and falling apart, toes scraping at the bedsheets.
“So you *do* like it,” you smile, actually relieved at this undeniable display of pleasure, no longer needing to worry that he tries to hide his discomfort for your sake.
“Can you…” he swallows harshly, still doesn’t look at you, even though his hips are rising eagerly to meet your movements. “I want you in my cunt too…”
You smirk and slide your thumb into his wet, trembling entrance, suck on his puffy clit. He lets out a choked noise, something between the strangled moan and a needy whine, his pussy clenches, gushing with wetness. Hiis legs jerk up to press his knees to his chest and offer himself better to you, toes curling in the air.
“Oh, so you *really* like it, hah?” you smile, move your tongue along his beautiful quivering folds and sliding another finger into his ass, eliciting another moan, his legs raising even higher up to expose himself. It’s humiliating, but he can’t help it, wants to be open for you, loves this feeling of being filled by you, wants even more, wants you in his mouth too, even if he’s too proud to admit it, having already openly asked for too much.
But you see him lick his lips and bite them, gasp, opening his mouth wider than he had to. You slide two fingers of your free hand into his mouth, and he shudders, tenses up, looking up at you paralyzed, like a deer caught in headlights. Before this moment, he didn’t know he wanted this so badly, but now it takes over him, how good it feels to be so open, all of him in your disposal, all of his holes, and how you still look at him with such a hunger, like you want even more, like you want all of him  
“Fuck, look at you. You’re so beautiful. And you’re mine,” you fuck into him, his cunt, his ass, and his mouth, and he trembles and arches, eyelashes fluttering helplessly. “Everything you have, I’ll take you whole.”
He comes harder than he’s ever had before, scream muffled by your fingers in his throat, cunt squirting on your hand, his mind completely black and blank, nothing but the waves of pleasure. You let him ride through orgasm until he goes limp, slide your fingers out and move to untie his hands, but he arches up into you feverishly, closes his legs around you.
“No, please, don’t stop yet,” part of him is embarrassed of how quickly he came, even larger part wants more of this thoughtless bliss, but there’s an unspoken, shameful undercurrent that aches to be held, can’t stand the thought of losing the feeling of being wanted so completely. (you offer him aftercare after every session and he shrugs it off, too proud of being in control, confusing genuine care for pity, because despite being brilliantly smart, he is sometimes a complete idiot) “I want more. I want you to fuck both of my holes, hard.”
“Are you sure you can take it right now?” you pause, looming over him. “It seemed pretty intense for you, baby. We can always try it next time.”
“No, let’s do it now.” He smiles seductively, his voice turning into a purr, but with a wry edge. “Come on, don’t you want me? Haven’t you promised me so many times, “anything for you”?”
You do want him, especially because he’s begging, so openly needy, arching and rubbing against you, without any irony or performative flirting. Here’s another thing. You think he has experience and knows his limits, so you can trust him when he says he can take it, and he thinks that being traumatized in other areas somehow makes him tougher in this one. This is, of course, not how it works.
You get the harness that lets you add a strap in addition to the first starp\cock. He’s on his knees in front of you, tied arms bent at the elbows, back arched and ass high in the air, exposing his soaked cunt. You cup it with your hand and stroke his swollen, pulsing clit, and he bites back a needy moan, rubs against your palm desperately, the slick petals of his folds visibly trembling open.
“Just fuck me already.”
“You can’t blame me for enjoying the sight. It’s not every day I see you begging to be used.”
“You could be,” he says quietly after a small pause.
You raise an eyebrow and make a mental note to bring it up later. You haven’t discussed many terms outside of the bedroom, and from his independent and flirty attitude you’ve assumed he wouldn’t want to be exclusive. He still didn’t tell you that he hasn't slept with anyone else, for which he has completely rational reasons, such as why would he go try some untested swivel when he already has a source of delicious wine, it makes complete sense without bringing feelings into this. And also all of the time that you’re not fucking him, he’s very glad that you don’t ask him to be yours, because that’s just more convinient for everyone involved, and the fact that he feels like dying if you don’t say it when you’re inside him is just. Hormones. Or kink. Or both, but who cares, it doesn’t matter.  
For now, you align the heads of both cocks against his entrances and carefully press into him. He shudders, gasping, an unfamiliar overwhelming sensation of both of his holes being stretched at the same time. You move slowly, give him time to adjust before every thrust, run your hand soothingly over the tense muscles of his back. He’s usually not very loud, but now he moans with every movement, tied hands clawing at the bedsheets. He feels so full, like there’s no way he could take any more and yet every time you push deeper, until both of your cocks are buried inside him to the hilt.
You lean down, gently move away the long strand of midnight blue hair to kiss his stiff shoulder, whisper into his ear, sweet and dirty. His forehead, damp from sweat, is pressed to the sheets, eyes squeezed shut, mouth opening silently in gasps for air. You hold him from behind, your chest against his back, one of your hands caresses his throat and then trails down to play with his nipples, another hand slides in between his thighs to stroke his swollen clit. He turns his head abruptly to catch your mouth in an characteristically clumsy, awkward kiss, his entire body writhing against you with needy abandon, his mind too far gone in pleasure to be concerned with pride. He comes like that, just from the feeling of you all around him and filling him up.
It’s so rare to see him unraveled so completely for longer than a fleeting moment after which his defenses go up again. You want to fuck him so badly, he’s so pliant in your arms, sweet and wet and open, but you contain yourself to ask
“Hey, baby, are you okay? Do you want more?”
“Yes,” he says immediately. He’s dizzy and breathless, but all he knows through the fog of pleasure is that it feels so good and he doesn’t want it to stop, doesn’t want you to let go of him. “Don’t stop.”
You don’t need anymore encouragement, start fucking him, slow at first and then raising the pace. He screams, choked and so unlike himself that you’d be worried he’s in pain if he wasn’t screaming “Yes” and “Please”. You dig your fingers into his hips, enjoy the obscene sounds of skin slapping on skin, of his gushing wet cunt being fucked.
It doesn’t feel like usual orgasm for him, not the tight knot in the pit of the stomach, but lightning bright currents rolling through his entire aching body, turning him raw and overwhelmed, like he doesn’t even belong to himself anymore, filled and used so deeply by you. After a little while, he loses both his mind and control completely, his mouth going slack and his eyes rolling, his body trembling and shaking helplessly under you. He almost blacks out when he comes, his screams turning more and more desperate until you stop, slide out of him.
You only move away for a minute to take off the harness, thinking he’s too far gone to care. He doesn’t exactly come to his senses, but the deep-ridden survival instinct urges him to take control. His mind is still blank and dizzy, black rings under his eyelids and heart drumming in his ears, and all he knows is that he’s alone and weak, so weak and helpless and TIED, he can’t move, so he struggles, pulls at his ties, but can’t break free and he’s horrified.
You turn back at the high clinking sound and see the icy crystalyne shield forming around him.  It looks fragile like cut glass, but the thought of forcefully smashing it, while he’s curled inside, scared and desperately trying to break free, is sickening. He’s weirdly quiet, he screamed in pleasure while you held him, but now he’s biting his lip and struggling silently, his eyes shut, his heart beating way too fast and his ears ringing, like he’s so sure he has no no one to help if he calls.
“Kaeya, it’s me, it’s okay, baby,” you touch the shield and it freezes your fingertips, but you don’t move away. “You need to drop your shield, darling, it’ll be okay, please, my love, you have to let go...”
You keep talking and gradually it gets through the ringing in his ears, he still can barely understand the words, but he can recognize that it’s you. All of his survival instincts scream to not trust you, not trust anything you say, because anyone can turn on him at any time, so he can never let his guard down. …but it’s your voice asking him to let you in.
He chokes on the breath, his arms tense and wringed in the ties, and drops the shield.
You move immediately, scoop him close to your chest, hold his shivering body with one arm, and clumsily try to untie his hands with the other. It’s not easy, but you’re afraid to let him go, and he’s shaking against you. You finally manage to free him and he curls against you, only now starting to sob. His wrists have deep red marks from the ties from where he pulled too harshly on them, trying to wring them out. You gently kiss the sensitive bruised skin of his inner wrists and keep telling him that it’s okay, he’s safe, you’ve got him.
He actually comes to his senses some time after, and the first thing he thinks of is how embarrassing this is. There’s a difference between being seductively helpless and horribly pathetic and he never intended to cross that line. He pushes you away, stands up, determined, if a little wobbly, and stumbles his way to the bathroom, holding onto the walls.
“I’m fine,” he snaps when you try to help him, but it’s hard to be pissed at his tone when he’s still so visibly weak and disoriented. You help him settle in the bathtub as the warm water fills up to cover him when the subject comes to him leaving after this.
“Are you kidding me? You cannot leave like that,” you say incredulously, and his gaze suddenly sharpens, turns cold blue.
“Why? You think you can actually order me around?” he drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm, but you don’t take the bait. You cover his hand with your own, look him in the eye and say slowly
“Kaeya, don’t be ridiculous. I won’t let you go alone in this state,” he visibly bristles, tensing under your hand and you continue calmly, “You can sleep on the sofa and never talk to me again after this if you want, but I won’t leave you alone like that.”
He looks away and tenses up, quiet for a long time, until he finally says “Okay, fine. Can you leave me be for a little while here at least?”
“Of course,” you squeeze his hand and stand up, fighting the urge to kiss him when he’s so obviously closed off. He still doesn’t look at you when you walk out of the bathroom.
You prepare the sofa for him and go to bed. He appears on the threshold of the bathroom sometime after, wearing your oversized t-shirt. Kaeya is someone who can make a potato sack look good, quite literally. Illuminated by the orange light from behind, ruffled hair and long slender legs and just a little of a curve of his ass visible under the baggy shirt, he looks incredibly hot.
He turns the bathroom light off and walks out to the other room with the sofa. He lingers at the threshold, glancing briefly back at you. You’re not sure if asking him to come to you will help or only spook him away, so you keep silent. After some hesitation, he walks out of the room and vanishes out of sight. You sigh and close your eyes.
Few minutes later, you look up at the quiet sound of the steps. He walks up to your bed slowly, a silvery silhouette, illuminated by the moonlight, but his eyes are invisible in the shadows.
“I thought if I’m staying at your place, I might as well enjoy the best sheets, which you will obviously have at your own bed,” his voice is confident, even cavalier, but he wavers in front of your bed, uncertain of your response.
“Of course. It’s the least I can offer you,” you smile at him in reassurance. He gives you a small, barely noticeable in the dark smirk, and finally climbs into the bed. Despite his arrogant tone, he freezes at the very edge of the bed, his back to you, visibly trying to take as little space as possible. His silhouette is sharp and tense in the moonlight and he pulls just enough of covers to put over his waist, laying exposed otherwise. It breaks your heart for some reason you can’t quite articulate at the moment, how lonely and guarded he looks just next to you, and you want to just reach out and pull him closer, but remember the cold crystalline shield and don’t do it. Instead, you carefully pull the bed cover onto him. After a few minutes, when you close your eyes and start to adjust to the cool air without the covers, he scoots over to you, bringing the sheets back to cover both of you.
You smile and softly kiss the back of his neck. He doesn’t say anything, but leans back against you, so you throw an arm over his waist and fall asleep, holding him close.
When you wake up the next morning and start stirring, the first thing you see is him looking up at you sharply, like he’s reading your reaction to seeing him. He only relaxes when you smile and say “Oh hey there, gorgeous.”
He grins and presses against you, sprawled at your side, catches your mouth in a kiss. He’s eager to prove to you that yesterday was just a fluke, that he can compensate for all the trouble, that he’s certainly, undoubtedly worth it.
He has nothing under his shirt and when you slide your hand up his thigh, it rides up, exposing his naked ass. He throws his leg over you, grinds against you a little too aggressively, when through the fog of morning sleepiness and lust you finally remember what happened last night and stop moving.
“Wait, I think you should rest up for at least a day, baby, let’s wait.”
“Ugh, I’m fine, don’t be such a bore.”
“You said you were fine yesterday and then almost gave me a heart attack. Sorry, I’m not risking it again.”
You say it in a light tone, so you don’t expect his response to be heated, but he abruptly moves away and glares at you, tensing up.
“So what, you’re just going to throw me out like that? Fine, I’ll go and finally fuck someone else then.”
“Kaeya, what the fuck are you talking about? Of course I won’t throw you out.“ He still stares at you incredulously so you throw an arm around his shoulders and pull him down on the bed next to you. “Come here. It’s way too early for this, babe.”
He freezes up against you, staring at the ceiling, your arm that’s holding him close burning him like a hot iron, but he can’t move. The sprouts of tenderness crawl under his collarbones, insidious and unwanted, his calculating mind frantically searching for any motives that aren't caring about him for you. He watches dust dance in early rays of slanted sunrise and wills himself to move away, to leave, but can’t. Fine then, if he can’t bring himself to leave, it’s not like being left instead was ever hard for him to achieve.
You start dozing off, your cheek pressed against his soft hair, when the thought of what he meant when he said finally fuck someone else crosses your mind. But before you can think about it any deeper, he plants his arm across your face.
You catch his wrist and gently move it away, squinting at him.
“Kaeya, are you trying to be annoying enough to make me throw you out to prove a point?”’
“No,” he grins pleasantly, his voice sweet. “I’m trying to find out “how” annoying I have to be to make you throw me out.”
“I won’t ever throw you out,” you tell him almost solemnly, holding his gaze, that is anxious under bravado if you know him well enough. Then you smirk at him. “But I might be forced to whack you with a pillow if you keep this up.”
He looks over you intently, his eyes searching, questioning if you really meant it, but then he grins back.
“Then I have to warn you that I’m ruthlessly proficient at pillow fighting, being an undisputed champion at the dawn winery except for the five months after Diluc hit the growth sprout first and his strategy of falling down like a cut tree log was paying off due to the sheer size advantage.”
“Hmm, it doesn’t sound like you’ve been winning due to skill then, maybe you’ve just never met a worthy opponent.”’
“Well, now I’ll have to defend the honor of my doofus brother. I can call him useless, but other people can’t.”
“I need to take your threats seriously then,” you catch his chin and gently rub under it in a way you know makes him melt. Then you kiss him and reach around to steal his pillow while he’s distracted. “So I better make sure you’re disarmed.”
He gasps in exaggerated dismay, not even trying to hide a grin at the same time.
“I cannot believe you’ve backstabbed me like that,” he says, sounding delighted, and breaks into laughter. It strikes you that you’ve never seen him laugh so carefree and openly, without reservations, not just a wry chuckle or a smirk, and how lovely and happy he looks like that. “I hope you understand that you leave me no choice but to retaliate just as ruthlessly.”
You smile at him, hoarding both of your pillows behind your back.
“Of course. Anything you want, as always.”
561 notes · View notes
gold-rhine · 1 year
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sub!Diluc x Dom! gn! reader
Warnings: very much not safe for w, edging, overstimulation, praise kink, minors get out of here. But also, some unabashed fluff. Yes, it contains multitudes.
words: 3,2k.
A\n: repost since my previous blog got shadowbanned
Listen, i know everyone hcs Diluc as a dom. And he can be a very nice service dom, but I’m here to convince you that sub!Diluc is actually not OOC.
First of all, he’s more repressed than a catholic nun. Diluc is like on six levels of dissociation at any given moment. He sees his body as a flesh suit he’s piloting that requires an inconvenient maintenance like sleep, food and occasional sexual release. He’ll jerk off by himself like it’s a chore.
Diluc is so touch starved it’s ridiculous, and *he doesn’t even know it*, that’s how much he’s disconnected from his needs.
And like. Helping ppl like that discover what they actually want and watching them come undone in pleasure they didn’t know they desired is so delicious. If you know, you know, there’s nothing quite like it.
But you have to go slow with him
I mean first of all, you shouldn’t mess with Diluc at all if you’re not in for a long haul, this man doesn’t do casual.
Oh, he’ll agree to try if he’s already into you, he’s incredibly indulging to the people he values. But also because at first he’ll be incredibly defensive.
Not because he’s not into it. Just as a defense mechanism, as he thinks he’ll disappoint you and he’s preparing for a failure from the start.
Diluc can see any activity with his important people as a trial where his performance will be evaluated. He is one of these “I need to get a good grade in X which is both normal to want and possible to achieve” people.
Remember the coffeeshop event where he was like “When I was a small child, my father told me to mix my first drink using all of the ingredients in the tavern. In hindsight, it was probably to see how creative I am and I must’ve failed because I just made a fruit punch and my father didn’t say if I did well”?
Like, Diluc. Baby. Honey. Sweetie. Your dad probably just wanted you to have fun in an improvised “take your kid to work” event. He didn’t judge your punch because it was about spending quality time together and letting you play with colorful syrups. Who the fuck would evaluate a small child’s creativity on the first time they mix drinks. You think he expected you to invent Pina Colada?
So yeah, he will see even getting edged as a thing he’s not proficient in, so he’s most likely to fail and disappoint you. And that’s one of the worst things he can imagine.
Because being useful is Diluc’s love language. If you read his voicelines or talk to him in teapot, you can notice how he’s very focused on doing things for you, like he’ll invent a drink specifically for you and keeps repeating that you should tell him if you need anything, but at the same time, he “doesn’t do chit chat” and wants to leave if there’s nothing for him to do.
Because Diluc knows he’s not easygoing or fun to be around. He has his charming brother who makes it seem effortless to compare himself with. He knows he’s kind of awkward, intense, brooding and direct to the point of coming off as rude. So he needs to feel like he’s doing something useful for you to justify spending time with you.
So for his first time, don’t tease him verbally. He’s incredibly teasable, I know. But he’s already very anxious about disappointing you even if he tries to hide it and he was conditioned to clamp up at the first sign of perceived mockery by his troll brother. Show him first how good it can feel before you start playing with him.
also, he obviously has a praise kink that he’s not even aware of. like, it’s not even up for discussion, praise from other people and approval from his dad are literally described as his main motivations
“The praise he received from his comrades and citizens spurred him on. But the words of praise he valued most of all were: "Good job. Now, that's my son." His father's words fueled the fire inside his heart and served as his greatest motivation.“ and sure, after he lost his dad and emotionally closed off, he doesn’t allow himself to rely on approval of others. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it.
You can tie his hands, but honestly I think it’s much more fun to just order him to keep his hands up. He’s so stubborn, it’ll be a matter of pride for him to keep his composure. And it will also make it that much more delicious to see it finally break.
When you tell him that he must ask for permission to finish, he just scoffs. He’s so sure he wouldn’t be reduced to that.
Don’t expect him to dissolve into stereotypical meowling and begging when you first start touching him. Again, he’s much too stubborn. He’s coming into this defensive and he wants to be in control of himself.
But hear me out - it actually makes it more fun to tease him. Diluc tries to keep himself still, but no amount of willpower will make him less sensitive and, again, touch starved to hell and back.
So at first, it’s the little things that betray him. How when you kiss his neck, his throat moves under your lips in a shaky intake of a breath, How the taut muscles of his scarred arms flex when you run your hands over his chest. How he draws in his stomach when you slide your fingers down it, slow, tantalizingly slow, making light patterns with just your fingertips. How he avoids your eyes because you haven’t even touched his cock yet and he’s already so obviously, painfully hard.
He has a beautiful cock, big and with a nice curve, and as for all pale redheads, it becomes brilliantly red when aroused. When you finally touch him, slowly stroking it up from the base to the tip, he draws in a breath through the clenched teeth and squeezes his eyes shut. You watch him struggle as you start pumping his dick faster and faster, his jaw clenching, his breath and heartbeat quickening, sweat beads forming on his forehead, his shoulders and hips flinching as he tries to keep himself from arching up and thrusting into your hand.
He’s fighting a losing battle and both of you know it by now. You could break him right here if you wanted. You squeeze and rub the sensitive tip of his cock, and see him open his mouth in a silent, chocked gasp for air. He manages to keep himself from clenching his fists, but his knuckles whiten when he desperately scraps his fingertips against the bedsheets.
But you don’t want him to feel like he lost a fight, it’s not about that, it was never about that. Even shame should feel good. You caress his high, sculpted cheekbones with your thumb, your other hand still on his cock. “‘Luc, look at me.”
He can’t disobey you, but he has to take a deep breath before he can open his eyes. He meets your gaze, anxious. What’s he going to see, mockery over how pathetically quick he’s breaking down? Disappointment for how bad and inexperienced he is at this? Just a cold, severe rejection?
“You look so beautiful, baby,” you tell him quietly and breath catches in his throat, his pupils widening, his cock twitching in your hand. You kiss the trail from his sharp jawline up to his ear, allowing him to turn away. “Do you enjoy this? Do you want me to keep going?" you smile warmly when he whips his head back to look at you and meet his dazed crimson eyes. “I just want you to feel good.”
This reframes the entire scene for him in a one fell swoop, turning it upside down, leaving him disoriented. It wasn’t a challenge that he was losing, or a trial that he was failing, him giving in to his desires was what you wanted all along? You enjoy seeing his pleasure, even if he’s not being useful to you in return? It seems impossible to him, yet when you look at him like this, when you touch him like this, like he’s precious and wanted, when he knows he’s broken and undeserving… it feels intoxicating and liberating at once, in a way he couldn’t imagine before. He realizes at this moment how badly he wants this, even if he still doesn’t understand how far he’s willing to go for it.
“I… ugh, I… like it,” Diluc swallows harshly, his mouth suddenly dry, and if you thought he was blushing before, now the pink dust on his cheeks turns into a brilliant scarlet glow, covering his face, neck and even top of his shoulders. He clearly wants to look away in embarrassment, but makes himself hold your gaze. “If you… enjoy this too and… want to go on…”
You rake your eyes over him, sprawled in front of you, and smile, meeting his gaze again. “Of course I enjoy it. You look so fucking hot like this.” his eyes widen and his lips part, you can feel his tip leaking in your hand, his entire body strung up like a bowstring. He doesn’t know what to answer and he couldn’t talk even if he did, so when you lower your head down to kiss him he answers eagerly, with passion and gratitude he can’t express in words. You start pumping his cock again, now faster and with a firmer grip, and drink in his abrupt gasp against your mouth, as he freezes for a second and then returns the kiss with twice the abandon. This time he doesn’t try to fight it, his body trembling under you, his hips bucking up to meet your hand, his hands closing into fists, toes curling.
He breaks the kiss when you twist your palm against his pulsing tip, and he cries out, low and strangled, his entire body arching up, but his unfocused eyes find yours immediately, his gaze frantic, almost feverish. He’s going far outside his comfort zone, he’s relinquishing control and he’s so unused to this, he trained himself for years to do the opposite of this, to see it as a failure, so he needs your repeated reassurance to soothe his anxiety, to prove he didn’t imagine your desire few moments ago.
You lean down to him without breaking eye contact. “You’re doing so good, baby. You’re being so good for me.”
It shoots through him, bypassing the brain entirely, through the entire nerve system and right down to the cock, like only discovering a kink you were entirely oblivious to before can. His body goes rigid and he comes, with a choked, shuddering groan.
You stroke him through it, until he limply falls back on the bed, spent and panting. He reaches for you and you let him pull you in, hold him while he’s coming back to his senses, run fingers through his soft hair. When he opens his eyes, he looks at you with a small, almost sheepish smile, and it’s impossible to resist kissing him.
“Are you okay?” you ask, stroking his cheek and he leans into your palm.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he answers immediately, then realizes how it sounds and tries to correct. “I mean, I’m better than fine. I’m... I feel good.”
You chuckle and his eyes flicker to watch your mouth, then throw you a glance from under half-lowered lids. It’s enjoyable seeing him open like this, but what you really want is seeing him come undone. He doesn’t look tired and you know he can go on for much longer, but today it’s more a question of mental state than stamina.
“You want to go for another round?” you ask softly him and he blushes lightly.
“Well, I did technically… um, break a promise to ask for permission in the end,” he says with the same small smile that grows even more sheepish as he tries to avoid admitting he desperately wants more. “So it’s only fair if I remedy that.”
“Oh, of course. Honorable as always. So noble of you, Master Diluc,” you run your fingers over his abs, spreading cum all over them, and his brilliant blush returns in full force. But he doesn’t stop smiling, trusting your good intentions, that you’re mocking the hierarchy of ranks and not him personally. You kiss the corner of his mouth to reassure him, and his smile grows wider.
“Well, you can’t be successful in the commercial trade if you’re not answering for your obligations,” he says, trying and failing to keep a straight face. He really does recover very quickly, you think, if he can already banter. “The Wine Guild would kick me out if they learned I’d backed down on a deal.”
“Well, at least I know I can complain to the Wine Guild if you misbehave then,” your voice is still light, but you catch his chin and lift it up firmly, and he tenses up immediately.
He looks up at you, eyes intense as always, but now glittering in anticipation and tracking your every move, bangs tousled and lips parted for you to claim. You kiss him, messily, greedily, slide your fingers to the back of his head and pull on his hair, forcing him to expose his throat for you. You leave the trail of sloppy kisses and scraped teeth down from his jaw to the collarbones before you let go of his hair and allow him to collapse.
When your hand finds his cock, it’s already half-hard, throbbing. red. This time, you don’t go slowly, you grab it and start pumping it fast. He shudders, still so sensitive after a recent orgasm, and instinctively tries to close his legs.
You don’t force them open, instead, you catch his chin and meet his eyes again. “No,” you say slowly. “Open up for me.”
The thing about Diluc is that he doesn’t do anything by halves if he sets his mind to it. Once he opens up, he burns for you with the same single-minded dedication as he does fighting enemies in the night. He might not know how to ask for help, pleasure or affection, but he sure knows how to give and to give everything he’s got. Do not ask to have him if you want anything less than the whole.
He grits his teeth, his eyes smoldering crimson, and forces himself to spread his legs again, against his basic reflexes. The touch to his overstimulated dick is painful and igniting at the same time, it feels equal parts wrecking and delightful.
You smile and praise him and pump him even harder and faster than before, and he trashes in front of you, muttering a litany of half-choked curses, throwing his head from side to side, hands clawing at the sheets, thighs shaking, but staying open.
You asked for him and you shall have him, no matter what.
It’s still not enough for you, though.
You sprawl on your side against him, circling one arm around his shoulders, still stroking him with the other. The fight goes out of him. He blindly leans into you, trembling, a small whine caught in his throat. When you kiss him, his mouth is soft and pliant, but his hands clutch at you desperately, like a drowning man trying to hold on to the solid ground.
It drives you crazy to watch him writhe under you, completely unravelled, glowing brightly from feverish desire, scarlet silk of his tangled hair sprawled on the sheets, his hips bucking frantically into your hand.
You whisper sweet, tender praises to him, caress his face, neck and shoulders like he’s the most precious and fragile thing in the world, at the same time as your other hand relentlessly winds him up, squeezes his overstimulated, pulsing cock harshly, twists the leaking tip. The pain punctuates desire, a delirious contrast of torturously sweet and deliciously cruel.
His fingers dig into you, holding you close. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, clings to you, seeking comfort and shelter from the same sweet, unbearable torture that is also inflicted by you. The pleasure melts him, but the pain splits him open, wrecks him to the core, he wants this to end, and he wants this to never stop. More than anything, he wants to be yours.
“Fuck, look at you. You’re perfect,” you tell him and you mean it.
He breathes in through his mouth, drawing in your scent. “Please,” he gasps so quietly, you could’ve missed it if not for his lips moving against your neck. “Please, let me…please…”
Next time, you might demand more. Next time, you might make him spell it out completely, what exactly he begs you for. But this is his first time and he was already so brave for you.
“Yes, baby. You’ve been so fucking good. Come for me.”
He comes immediately and so hard, his entire body is shaking, the strangled scream caught in his throat. You keep stroking him, letting him ride it out through increasingly frantic and desperate thrusts, squeeze every last drop out of him until he collapses, limp and shivering, but still clinging to you.
You hold him, stroke his hair and kiss his forehead, whisper to him softly until he stops trembling and his breath evens out. You realize that he’s too weak now to get to the bath, so you stand up to get something to help, but he reaches out, catches your wrist immediately.
“It’s okay, I’ll be back in a second,” you promise. After you clean him up with a wet cloth, he pulls you in and curls around you so possessively and needy, you can’t help but smile. He’s fighting a losing battle to stay awake, the endless sleepless nights finally catching up with him, now that he lowered his guard for a moment and let his body feel alive. But there’s one thing he needs to ask, suddenly apprehensive now that the rush of lust passed.
“Did you… Was I… Ugh, damn. Would you perhaps?..” he stumbles over his words, not knowing how to phrase his concern that he wasn’t good enough for you and you just indulged him. You stop him mercifully.
“I *did* enjoy it. You *were* incredible. And yes, I would very much love to do this again.”
“Oh,” he says, relaxing against you, the same precious small smile appearing on his face again, now more content than sheepish. You chuckle, stroking his face.
“Besides, you did break my order to keep your hands up. You’ll have to suffer the punishment, or the Wine Guild will need to hear about this.”
He snorts indignantly and blushes at the same time. For the first time in many, many nights he falls asleep with a light heart and a smile still tugging at his lips.
592 notes · View notes
gold-rhine · 1 year
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First time sub afab! Character x GN Dom! Reader
Characters: Kaeya, Ayato, Diluc, Gorou
A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. I generally don’t do specific scenario requests, but you’re in luck, bc Ayato and Kaeya parts fully formed in my head the moment I read your ask, and then I got an interesting visual for Diluc, to congratulate him for coming out as a kinky goth. I added Gorou bc you asked, but don’t really like how it turned out tbh, but I hope you’ll enjoy somewhat.
Warnings: nsfw, fingering, slight degradation (name calling), nipple play, praise kink, overstimulation, oral (character receiving), cock stands for cock\strap (only relevant for Kaeya’s part, bc of shameless favoritism he gets twice the content)
Wordcount: 5,5k
Diluc
His lips are eager when you kiss him, but he's a little tense in your arms. He tries to hide nervousness, keeping up his usual confident demeanor, unbuttoning his cravat and vest with brisk efficiency, but his fingers are a little stiff and his cheeks are pink.
A bit of anxiety is normal for his first time, but you start getting concerned when you get to his shirt and he tenses even more, his movements becoming wooden. This is not a spontaneous decision for him, he clearly planned this evening for some time - he spent his birthday collecting fresh valberries in the mountains, made a special dinner for the two of you and after it pulled you into his bedroom, crimson eyes intense and excited. But even so, something might be wrong and you know he’s the type of stubbornly proud to keep quiet even if he becomes uncomfortable, so you gently cup his blushing cheek.
“Hey, is everything alright? You know we can wait, don’t force yourself.”
He huffs, half embarrassed, half exasperated, still not meeting your eyes.
“It’s not that.”
This morning he put on fancy underwear, red silk and lace, an expensive piece he bought sometime ago on a whim and never wore before. It seemed perfect for the occasion, and throughout the day he felt tingly butterflies in his stomach, like he was hiding something - for once, it had nothing to do with violence or intrigues of his enemies, but a secret to be shared between the two of you tonight, anticipation of your surprise when you see it on him.
But now suddenly he feels anxious about it. This piece is so unlike him, a flimsy half-transparent thing, it was meant for someone sweet and seductive, with tender skin and delicate build, some society beauty and not a warrior like him. What if it looks foolish on him, with his prominent angular hipbones, hard muscles and many scars? He should’ve stuck to his usual style, plain and black, instead of trying to feel special, and now the idea of you thinking he’s ridiculous leaves him almost irrationally paralyzed.
“Then what is it, baby?”
Candleflames all over the room flicker as he grits his teeth. He feels frustrated, mad at himself, but his temper urges him to act when he feels unsure. He unclasps his belt with jerky motions, almost angrily, you frown at this until you notice red silk underneath.
“Wait, what’s that? It’s beautiful!”
He finally looks up at you with relief barely hidden.
“Oh? You like it?”
“I love it. It looks so hot on you.”
He lights up, trying to look nonchalant, but can’t help a small flattered smile when you pull him into a kiss, melts against you, anxious tension finally gone. When you start rubbing his clit through the thin layer of silk, he shivers, clings to you, and because his eyes are still closed, at first doesn’t see that the candleflames are flickering again, now even brighter. When he finally notices it, he sharply draws his breath and all fires go out, plunging the room into the darkness.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you whisper into his ear while caressing his tensed up body soothingly.
This is so embarrassing, he’s used to lighting up the candles with a quick thought, so now that his emotions are in turmoil which isn’t an anger of combat, his vision reflexively reaches for the familiar safe outlet.
“It’s not going to be okay when I burn down the house around our ears,” he grunts, violently bright blush glowing even in the darkness.
“You won’t. Let go, baby, just relax,” you kiss him, his lips, jaw, neck, keep stroking his clit until he starts squirming against you, unable to contain himself. You press him down on the bed, get rid of the rest of his clothes until he's wearing nothing but the red silk panties. You trail kisses down his body, sharp collarbones, heavy breathing chest, sensitive buds of his nipples that are hard even before you swirl your tongue around them, scarred ribs and tense abs, until you slowly pull his panties down and press your lips to his clit. He gasps silently, throws his arm over his eyes and clamps up his thighs nervously, and the candles lit up, volatile flames rising up.
“You’re so lovely, babe,” you whisper against his skin. “Open up, let me see you.”
He shivers like the candlefires all around you, anxious anticipation ready to turn to the deeper passion. He lets you tug his underwear off and spread his legs, exposing his wet flushed cunt.
“Good boy,” you murmur quietly and watch how his entrance clenches. You give it a slow, long lick and he gasps quitely, fire sparking up around the room. He’s been eating mountain berries all day, so he tastes fresh and sweet, a little tangy, his soft tender flesh pulsing under your lips in the same rhythm as the flickering flames.
When your finger circles his entrance, the light dies down again, you can see him nervously holding his breath. You suck on his swollen clit until his hole throbs and opens up despite the anxiety, then carefully slide your finger in and curl it to caress his sweet spot. He gasps, bucks his hips involuntarily, candles flaring up all around you. You ease another finger in, start fucking him, slowly incresing the tempo, and he tries to keep quiet, only lets out harsh chocked grunts, but the flames all over the room are beating feveresly like the wings of crimon butterflies, painting the room and his pale body in gold, orange lights and deep dark shadows.
When he’s close, he reaches for you, pulls you up with such a needy sweet whimper that you let him without resistance, throws his arms around your shoulders, holding you close. He’s thrusting his hips into your fingers, and the room is lit in the colors of the sunrise if it was not a slow ascent, but a beating heart, - pulsing splashes of amber and yellow, mauve pink and intense crimson, fires on many candlesticks and fireplace roaring up far bigger than they ever could. He comes pressed against you, fingers digging into your shoulders, and the candelabras and fireplaces all over the mansion light up, for just a moment the winery looks illuminated in the night like the dawn really exploded inside of it.
After, he falls down on the bed, breathing heavily, lips parted and crimson eyes glowing as he looks up at you, your fingers still buried deep inside him.
“Did you enjoy it, baby?”
“Yes,” he answers quietly, but firmly, blush on his cheeks, but no shame in his voice.
“Good,” you grin, spread his knees and watch his breath hitch. “Because your birthday present doesn’t end until you beg me to stop…”
Ayato
Ayato might not have personal experience, but he is not naive. He’s read about this. He knows all of the mechanics. He’s thought about this in detail and he has no shame about it. Why would he, when knows he’s exquisite, a pleasure for anyone to reap. False modesty seems ridiculous here.
He’s in between your legs, naked, his back pressed to your chest, a big mirror on the opposite wall, allowing you to see his pale, slender body fully.
Your hands glide over his skin, his shoulders, pluck his nipples, then down the chest and ribs and over tense stomach, until reaching down  to his thighs. You spread his legs and fix them with your own, so he’s completely open, his pink cunt exposed to your eyes in the mirror, already flushed and wet. Your fingertip circles his clit slowly, lightly, and his body tenses in your arms.
“It feels different when you touch me,” he says, drawing his breath. “Sharper, somehow. Better.”
“Compared to what?” you ask, grinning, watching his subtle squirms in the mirror as you continue rubbing his clit with more and more pressure.
“To when I touched myself, of course,” he says, completely shameless.
“Have you imagined me fucking you?”
“Obviously. Haven’t you imagined fucking me?” he meets your eyes in the mirror with his little arrogant smirk, even as your hand in between his open legs makes him shudder.
“Of course,” you admit, smiling against the side of his neck.
“How?”
You kiss his arched throat and tender juncture between his neck and shoulder. “I think it’ll be more fun to keep it a surprise.”
As you tease his clit, his delicate folds tremble and open slowly, exposing his entrance, dark pink and pulsing with desire. He holds your gaze in the mirror, even if he swallows harshly and blushes.
“Have you fucked yourself there?” you ask softly, your lips pressed to his ear, your finger circling his twitching, wanting hole without entering.
“Yes…” his voice falters, he watches your movements intently. His entrance trembles and leaks a clear string of liquid and he blushes harder, but doesn’t try to close his legs.
“How many fingers?” you ask, still teasing his aching cunt. Your free hand roams over his tense body, sliding over the tender skin, playing with hard, aroused peaks of nipples.
“Two,” he’s breathing heavily through the open mouth, and you can feel his heartbeat fastening. You tantalizingly slowly stroke his silken wet folds, delicate like petals of his heraldic camellias, allowing him time to fully take in the obscene image in the mirror.
“Have you tasted yourself?”
“No… not yet,” he lets out, head dizzy from the scandalous depravity of this view of himself, naked, spread wide open, hips squirming needily, trying to get your fingers on his throbbing clit or dripping hole, bedsheets under him already stained with a wet patch. Such contrast to his usual controlled elegance and detached sophistication, and anticipation that this is just the beginning turns him on even more.
You finally slide your finger inside. He’s so wet that it goes in easily, allowing you to bury it to the knuckle. You hook it, stroking his pulsing walls, as he clenches around you, gasping through the parted lips, his eyes fixed on your hand between his legs.
You pull your finger out, a wet string drawing out after it from his hole.
His eyes snap to yours in the mirror, intense, demanding, and you smile.
“Look how wet and desperate you are already. You thought you could compare touching yourself to what I’ll do to you?”
Holding his gaze, you bring your finger covered in his wetness to his parted lips. You put it on his warm, waiting tongue and he blushes harder, pink almost as dark as his cunt spreading over his cheeks and neck, and starts sucking.
“I’ll wreck you. I’ll drive you crazy, make you scream until you lose your voice.”
You kiss his neck and stroke his soft inner thighs, watching his hole pulse and drool eagerly, as his mouth is working on your finger. You slide a second finger through his lips and start gently fucking his mouth, and he moans, his hips bucking involuntarily against an empty air.
You grin, circling his hard nipple, fingers of your other hand sliding over his tongue.
“I bet I can make you cum just from this,” you whisper in his ear. “Just from fucking your pretty mouth and you seeing yourself wide open and wet like a little whore. Have you imagined yourself undone just from that?”
He shudders, his moan muffled by your fingers. In the mirror you both can see how his hole opens wide as it pulses, showing slick pink walls, beads of clear liquid dripping out. He makes a choked gasp when you thrust two of your fingers in and comes immediately, his legs shuddering and hands clutching at your thighs.
You don’t give him time to get a hold of himself, start pumping your fingers inside, stretching his throbbing cunt as it clenches around you. He can feel the pleasure building up, nerve endings still sensitive from orgasm flaring up almost painfully sharp, his pussy makes loud, obscenely wet sounds as you fingerfuck it. He’s panting hard until your free hand slides up to his neck, caresses it gently, but firmly, and he tenses up, mouth open, eyes going unfocused. When you tighten your grip on his neck, your other hand still fucking his tight cunt, he comes hard, eyes rolling back and hips rising from the bed in jerky, trashing motions.
When he finally calms down, sweating and shivering against you, his thighs weak and covered in his own fluids, you catch his chin, force him to meet your eyes with a smirk.
“Still think you can do it yourself?”
He gives you his little spoiled smile, eyes glimmering from under half-lowered eyelids.
“I never do something myself if I can find someone who can do it better.“
Gorou
You notice how he starts fidgeting when you groom his tail, especially when you touch the base of it. It twitches in your hands, and his whole body tenses, while he’s hiding his eyes from you. He tries to be inconspicuous, biting his lips to keep quiet, clutching his hands on his lap, but you can see how he’s rubbing his thighs together, trying to get any friction for his aching cunt.
“Is something wrong?” you ask with concern.
“No!” he protests immediately. He was too busy with rebellion for so long, too focused and preoccupied with being a good general and keeping up respectable image for his troops that he completely neglected his love life, and now he feels too inexperienced, doesn’t know what to do when he realizes that he wants you.
“You seem uncomfortable, should I stop?”
“No, please, I’m fine,” he mutters weakly, still unable to meet your eyes. He’s ashamed, but it just feels so good. When you touch him, liquid warmth pools down in his belly, pulsing so maddeningly sweetly like he’s never felt before.
“Do you want more?” you ask, catching his chin. He blushes brilliantly and, unable to force himself to say it out loud, nods.
“Good boy,” you whisper into his ear when he meekly lets you pull him onto your lap, and he shudders, going weak and dizzy from praise and your hands roaming over his body. He starts squirming when you kiss him, slide your hands under his top to find the small buds of his tender nipples, already hard. His pussy throbs almost painfully, he wants you to touch it so badly it drives him crazy, but instead you run your fingers over his tense stomach, stroke his ass and sensitive base of his tail. He whimpers and bucks his hips against you, cunt already soaking wet and needy, and you chuckle.
“What is it, baby?”
“Please…” he whines. “Please touch me…”
You smirk, kissing trail down his neck, and he writhes desperately in your arms, but freezes when he feels you playing with the band of his pants. You still don’t touch his pussy though, keep drawing teasing circles on his stomach, moving lower and lower, but slow, so torturously slow. At the same time your mouth finds his nipple, hot tongue circling a little hard peak, and he mewls pathetically, arching, drawn tense like a bowstring, his chest rising in quick and shallow breaths under your lips. He feels hazy and overwhelmed, blood ringing in his ears, all his nerves painfully raw, so when your hand finally covers his clit, he comes immediately with a choked gasp, his fingers clutching at your shoulders, hips trembling, instinctively thrusting against your palm.
You smile, holding him close, let him lean on you, rubbing soothing circles over his back, your other hand still in between his legs.
“You’re really so sensitive that you can cum just from that, huh, puppy?”
“I’m sorry…” He blushes even harder, tries to hide his face in the crook of your neck, ashamed of himself, but most of all, of the fact that despite just coming, he still feels horny, his hole unsatisfyingly clenching over emptiness, and he wants so badly to have your fingers inside of him.
“It’s okay, baby. You did good. Do you want to keep going?”
“Yes!” he answers so fast and his tail starts swinging so enthusiastically that you chuckle.
“Such a needy little slut,” you finally start massaging his wet aching cunt and he whimpers gratefully despite embarrassment. “Take off your clothes.”
He’s glad to receive orders, he likes clear commands that he can obey and know that he’s doing good, be rewarded for that. He’s pulling his shirt off, but it’s hard, your fingers caressing his pussy distract him, make him shudder and tangle in his cloth. He almost loses his balance, but finally gets free, pink and panting, and you reward him by stroking his clit. He moans, grinds himself against your palm and tries to take off his pants, but he’s too wobbly from pleasure, tugging fruitlessly at his belt.
Impatiently, you pull him down and turn him over, so he’s lying on his stomach, and yank his pants off. He yelps in surprise, but doesn’t struggle, secretly thrilled by how easily and confidently you handle him.
You run your fingers in-between his slick folds, and he instinctively rocks against you, lifting his hips and spreading his knees, his face pressed into the bedsheets. He’s dizzy from desire and the thought of pleasing you, and pangs of shame for acting like this, exposing himself so needily only somehow add to the arousal, make it sharper.
You press a finger against his entrance and scratch his ears.
“Are you ready, baby?”
“Yes…”
You slide your finger into his tiny cunt and despite how wet he is, he’s still so tight that you have to work it in slowly.
“Had you never fingered yourself?”
“No,” he answers quietly, too embarrassed to meet your eyes. He only stroked his clit before, rubbing his thighs together, imagining you touching him, and it was enough for him to cum. Now he’s gasping, arching his back, thrusting up when you start pumping your finger in and out, but when you press another at his entrance, he whimpers pitifully and clenches up.
“Relax,” you tell him, softly stroking his back in reassurance. “You have to open up, puppy.”
He looks up at you over the shoulder, his bright eyes unfocused and gleaming wetly, bangs tousled and plastered over the sweaty forehead.
“But it feels so big…”
“It’s just two fingers. You’ll have to learn how to take in much more than that. You want me to fuck you with a cock, don’t you, baby?”
He bites his lips and nods, blushing violently. You press your thumb against his clit, sending white hot jolts of pleasure through his entire body, and he melts, his hole unclenching so that you can ease another finger in.
“Here we go. Good boy,” you curl your fingers inside of him, making him writhe needily in front of you, then carefully start fucking them in and out, slowly increasing your tempo, until he’s moaning and making tiny whimpers, hips bucking up erratically, fingers clawing at the bedsheets, his mouth going slack so that small string of drool escapes his lips. When you finally take your fingers out, he’s lost count how many times he came, flashes of pleasure rolling over him one after the other, leaving his body limp and his pussy sore, but so satisfied. You pull him to your chest and he curls against you, feeling tired, warm and taken care of.
Kaeya
He doesn’t tell you that it’s his first time. In part, he’s curious if he can pull it off, make you think he knows what he’s doing. He’s confident and graceful enough to seem smooth, and an amazing kisser, tongue sliding against yours on the exquisite edge between sensual and filthy. A blush that would look bright on someone paler just gives his ochre-brown skin a warm pinkish underglow.
Another reason is that inexperience is always a disadvantage and he doesn’t like showing weakness, only lets people have as much power over him as he knows he can take back or work around. He doesn’t want you to know how your lips on his throat make a shiver run down his spine, how a liquid tangle of nervousness and desire grows in the pit of his stomach when you unbutton his shirt, expose more and more of his skin. He shrugs off his jacket with a pointed carelessness, confident smirk never leaving his lips when you fully slide his shirt off his shoulders.
There’s no reason to see this as something special anyway. He wants pleasure, not complications, and if you knew, you might get presumptuous ideas that it means something or, archons forbid, decide to get feelings involved. You might treat him differently, slowly and carefully, like he’s fragile, which he detests. He had to be on guard since he was a small kid, he can handle sex. He likes the unrestrained hunger in your kisses, how roughly you grab his hips to pull him closer, how your hand slides between his legs to find him already wet.
“Impatient, aren’t you?” he asks with a smug smirk, unbuckling his belt.
There’s another reason, deep down, in the darkest corners of his mind, that he thinks about only very drunk and doesn’t speak out loud even then. He doesn’t deserve gentleness, judged unworthy and left for dead a long time ago. It’s a good thing that he realized it’s better for everyone if nobody cares about him too much. Sex is just for fun and nothing more.
“I don’t want to waste any more time getting to the good part.”
He lets you push him down on the bed, leans back on his elbows and lifts his hips to help you pull off his pants and underwear, a barely noticeable flinch of his thighs when he stops an instinctive urge to close his legs.
“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow with a playful complaint. “And I was looking forward to teasing you a little more.”
“Well then, go ahead. Anything you want, my knight. And I’d love to see how you plan to do it after already…” you flick your eyes over his naked body and smirk, “baring all of your cards.”
He scoffs pridefully, lifting his chin, making sure not to show that you calling his bluff caught him off-guard. It doesn’t matter, he was never the one to back down on his bets. He always liked a challenge and he’ll be damned if he can’t put on a show. If he was marked a sinner just by birthright, might as well get some fun out of it.
So he arches his back and spreads his thighs, an intoxicating feverish thrill from how hungrily you rake your eyes over him mixing with both his own arousal and nervousness into a heady, daring mix. “This is not even half of my cards… and you might never see all of them.”
His heartbeat echoes in his ears, fast and loud, but he holds your gaze with the same teasing smirk as he runs his hand down his body before slipping a finger into his wet cunt. The way you watch him, captivated, hungry, spreads the liquid fire through his veins, he grins wolfishly, wild, radiant. It feels so good, how he can make you move closer just by arching his neck and moving his fingers, like tugging a string, an almost gravitational pull between you bodies, desire strong enough to be honest at least in something, and at least for five fucking minutes it doesn’t matter who he is, just what he is now - wanted.
“Is this teasing enough for you?”
“You win this round without question,” you lean down, hovering over him without touching, and he lets out a breezy chuckle.
“Then what are you waiting for? Give me my prize.”
You claim his smiling lips and slide your finger into him, and he surprisingly feels much tighter than you’ve expected. He takes a few ragged breaths, a torturous, sweet burn of both of your fingers stretching him makes him dizzy. He tries to smile nonchalantly, but it’s a little too much, both pleasure and discomfort and the shamefully shameless way his legs are spread and both of you are moving inside of him, fingers touching, working him up.
He doesn’t want to come undone while you’re still too pulled together, too in control, so he throws his free arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer.
“Come on, fuck me already.”
“You’re still a little tight, baby.”
He scowls, tensing up, so you kiss his jaw soothingly. “Just a bit longer, don’t worry.”
You misinterpret him, he’s not worried that it’ll take longer, he’s worried that you even cared enough to take longer, and even worse, that there’s something small fluttering under his collarbones at the thought that you might care.
“I thought you wanted to get straight to the good part,” he challenges, purposefully arrogant.
“I’ve already got there,” you gently pull his hand out and bring it to your mouth to kiss his knuckles that still have his taste on them. “Seeing you mad with pleasure *is* the good part.”
He blushes, breath hitching for a second, fingers twitching against your lips. Probably because he’s irritated at how stubborn you insist on being for no reason, treating him like he’s made of glass.
“It’s fine. I can handle it. It always feels like this.”
“I don’t know what oafs didn’t bother prepping you properly before fucking,” you ease another finger in, “but I know how to treat a treasure when I get my hands on it.”
“I bet you tell it to any pretty face you get into your bed,” he says dismissively, his face showing nothing, but you can feel him tighten around your fingers. You didn’t expect that he’ll react to the offhand remark and even more, try to hide it, so instead of joking in return, you answer seriously.
“Of course not. And you know that you’re so much more than a pretty face.”
He raises an eyebrow with a crooked smile.
“Oh, really? Could I seduce you with my strategic planning skills? My unmatched talent for creating ice bridges?”
It’s weirdly endearing how inconspicuously he tries to fish for compliments, hiding it under sarcasm. He was always so confident and flirty, you didn’t consider that he might be used to giving compliments more than to receiving them, which seems like a terrible oversight on the parts of both society and you.
“Your sparkling charm. Your effortless sharp wit,” you tell him, intentionally without even a hint of irony, while slowly stroking silky tight walls inside of him. “The way you look after people, even when you hate to admit it. How you are smart, funny, capable and lovely. And too proud to admit that you want anything of this recognized.”
He opens his mouth to retort and somehow can’t find any words, gasping for air, his thoughts tangling uselessly as your fingers move faster and faster, your thumb pressing on his clit.
“See, I couldn’t say it to anyone else,” you whisper into his ear, curling your fingers to hit his sweet spot, feel him pulse and buckle his hips. “Because there’s no one like you, Kaeya.”
It’s the way you say his name, low and tender, that finally unravels him. He moans shakily, digs his nails into your shoulders, rocks himself onto your fingers, toes curling on the bedsheets.
“Yeah, baby, just like that, come on.”
You fuck him through the waves of pleasure, until movements of his hips become jerky and erratic. Then you slow down, but don’t pull your fingers out, just lightly circling his clit with your thumb, and his cunt aches, too sensitive and raw after orgasm. He closes his legs, but it just drives your fingers deeper. Instinctively, he reaches out for you, but you catch his wrists with your free hand, pull them up over his head and feel his walls clench.
“Hmm, you like that, don’t you, baby? You should’ve told me beforehand.”
He didn’t know he liked it himself before the very moment current of arousal ran through his body when you grabbed his wrists. Now, as you hold him down, looming over him, fluttery desire is wounding up tightly in the pit of his stomach.
“Isn’t it more fun to discover things for yourself?” he tries to sound nonchalant, but his voice comes out rugged, huskier than usual. “I told you I don’t show all of my cards at once.”
You chuckle, giving him a light kiss, one of your hands gently stroking the tender underside of his wrist and the other - his swollen clit. He looks gorgeous sprawled under you, slender and long-limbed, muscles tensing under the smooth skin, flushed and breathing heavily in the afterglow, his cunt softly throbbing under your caress.
“Well, I could have prepared something if I knew, but I guess we’ll just improvise.”
You tie his hands to the bedframe with his own cape. He can tell it’s strong enough to keep him from struggling, but not too tight to hurt or stop him if he really wanted to get free. He likes that, the binds on his wrists certainly feel good, but he’s not used to this, would hate to feel actually trapped.
You stroke his inner thighs when you spread them, press the head of your strap\cock against his entrance. He watches you slide into him, breathing heavily through parted lips, hands that tied over his head balling up in fists, but from the intensity of the feeling, not the pain.  
“See? Doesn’t it feel better when you’re fully ready and opened up for me?”
He bites his lip and gives you a deliciously wicked grin, his voice dropping almost to a purr. “Fine, I’ll admit… You win this round.”
You catch his mouth and drive your cock deeper inside, until it’s buried to the hilt, and he moans into your kiss, rises up in a shaky, shuddering wave, his knees trembling closed and falling apart again when you start slowly moving your hips.
He rarely gets drunk enough to lose control, even slightly, no matter how much he drinks, and when he does, it’s always a conscious decision, a trade-off to forget himself just for a little while, even if he fully knows he’s going to feel like shit afterwards. Now he arches into you and closes his eyes with the same feeling, but it doesn’t matter. No one takes dirty talk during sex seriously.
“You can do whatever you want to me,” he whispers against your skin, barely audible, all in one breath like taking a shot of firewhiskey, “but tell me that you want me.”
“I want you more than anyone else,” you keep gradually increasing the rhythm of your movements, drink sweet choked gasps from his lips. “I want to take you whole, everything you have,” you reach between the two of you to stroke his clit, and he shudders, his long legs circling your waist to hold you closer. You see his long fingers twitching and reach up with your free arm, cover his tied hands with your own and intertwine your fingers. His breath hitches and he clasps at your hand almost painfully hard, and just for a moment he looks truly vulnerable and raw, no games, no smokes and mirrors.
“Promise me… Tell me that even if…”
He stops himself, shuts his eyes and bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, but the helplessness and yearning in his voice already cuts you like a knife.
“Kaeya, what is it? Tell me, what do you want?” you can feel him closing off no matter how much in your power his body is. “Anything for you, baby, just tell me.”
He comes apart, filled by you, legs tightening around your waist, fingers of his tied hands intertwined with yours, clutching hard enough to make even his tan knuckles whiten. When he’s arching in your arms, he blindly finds your neck with his mouth and lightly grazes it with his teeth, half a kiss and half a bite, leaving just a smudge of blood from his lip. Then he goes slack, his legs falling apart limply, his fingers letting go of you with a final shudder.
You slip out of him, but don’t let go, gently cup his cheek, his unsaid pleas still ringing in your ears.
“Hey, what did you want to say?”
He looks away for a moment, then meets your eyes with his usual easy smile.
“Nothing, You know how people talk gibberish when they’re close.”
Kaeya Part two
599 notes · View notes
gold-rhine · 1 year
Text
Sub! Xiao x GN Dom! Reader
Warnings: not sfw, fingering, obviously lingerie, praise kink, nipple play, edging, cockwarming, very slight degradation (like a single name calling), anal sex (cock stand for both dick and strap as usual)
A/N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned. this is not “Xiao is a mewling mess from the get go”, though we get there, trust me, but there’s a tsundere character development arc first. I planned it as a quick lighthearted thing and it kinda got away from me. Modern AU? sort of??? Just to have texting.
Wordcount: 2,3k
You have to leave for a few days for the first time since you started dating Xiao, and you know already that it’s very hard for him to form connections, but when he does, the attachment is incredibly intense and important for someone as lonely and self-hating as he is. He’s predisposed to feel abandoned even if he’d never admit and he rationally knows it’s not true.
So you decide to make him a cute surprise gift, as both a distraction and a token of affection. At first, he doesn’t take it well AT ALL.
“What is this? Some sort of a joke? If so, I find your mortal sense of humor lacking once again.”
“I just think it would look cute on you, baby <3”
You know already that arguing with him or answering with sarcasm is both tiring and unproductive. He is perpetually looped in a cat’s paradox, just as cats, god’s perfect killing machines, adapted to be house pets and want to curl on human laps and be scratched behind the ears, Xiao, a stoic yaksha general, is trapped in a touch-starved body with an easy blush and a sensitive cock. It’s just that unlike cats, he has to go through twelve steps of denial and grief before accepting it.
“Cute? That is the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard. How disrespectful of you to suggest to an adeptus to wear this, let alone a yaksha like myself, a weapon drenched in tainted blood for a millenium.”
“I *KNOW* it will look cute on you, little bird. Send pics when you try it on!”
He doesn’t deign to answer because there’s no dignified way to type out “Hmpf.” The absolute gall of your suggestion does not even warrant a reply. He spends the entire day quietly fuming about how OBVIOUSLY it would NOT look cute on him. In the evening, he unpacks it just to spite you so you can’t return it. And also just to see for himself how absolutely STUPID this idea is.
And it is stupid! The lingerie is so ridiculous and uncomfortable. The white high thighs that are so idiotically hard to put on and leave an unreasonable gap of flesh between the flimsy panties, which are sitting low on hip bones, barely covering even soft cock, not to mention… And the transparent little top, clinging so obnoxiously that the peaks of the nipples are visible. And the tiny lacy choker is so useless, so extraneous, such an obvious waste!
Of course, he doesn’t tell you that he tried it on and he doesn’t take pics. He spends the night, tossing and turning under the covers, intrusive images of you looking at him dressed like that, hungrily, calling him pretty, sliding hands down his legs, almost rolling the tight stockings down, squeezing his crotch under a thin, silky layer of underwear while your lips are roaming over his arched neck, your finger hooked under his choker…
He doesn’t touch himself because he refuses to admit images like this could arouse him, so the next morning he’s restless, high strung, horny and unsatisfied after what was basically edging himself for the entire night, and so his judgment starts becoming cloudy, searching for the “acceptable” ways to fall to the temptation. The part of him that wants this, wants you to want him like this and praise him for looking like this, is getting more and more insistent, but he still can’t admit it to himself, and so he subconsciously commits a sleight of hand. SURELY, you wouldn’t actually think this looks good on him, and so if you see it, you’d realize what a foolish mistake you’ve made and the question would be closed forever, so he wouldn’t need to feel conflicted anymore. And so obviously, the solution is to send you a pic, but, you know. Not the great looking one (though it’s not like something like this could even theoretically look great on him, of course), and making sure it’s visible that he doesn’t care and is, in fact, disdainful of the idea, and is only doing this so you can regret even suggesting it.
So he spends quite a lot of time and effort on taking the most bored and low investment-looking selfies possible, sends a couple of them to you with “And this rubbish is what you find attractive?” comment, immediately regrets it, throws the phone down on the bed and is on the verge of trying to delete the pics, when you reply, ecstatic, telling him that yes, of course he looks incredibly hot like that. He answers “Then you have a bad taste,” throws the phone down again, blushing violently and already with a hard-on.
When you send encouraging praises, telling him to greet you like that when you come back, he refuses vehemently, but the sweet warmth pools deep in his belly and he can’t meet his own eyes in the mirror for the rest of the night. He’s used to thinking of himself as a weapon, built for battle first and foremost, with strength and mastery in a fight as his only valuable traits, and even your attraction to him he sees as a fortunate, but weird quirk of your character, an unusual preference. But the lingerie makes him feel pretty in a way that has nothing to do with strength, the idea of being seen as straightforwardly beautiful is so tempting, but clashes with his perception of self so radically that he cannot reconcile this easily.
He might have resisted the corruption for hundreds of years, but it only takes a couple of lonely nights for desire to break his resolve. So when you finally arrive and walk into the bedroom, he’s in lingerie, kneeling on the bed, looking away both from you and the reflection in the wall mirror on the side.
You drop your bags on the floor, walk up to him and kiss him, push him down on the bed, while he’s blushing and still refusing to meet your eyes. You catch his chin and force him to turn his head.
“Look at me, my pretty little bird.”
He does, his golden eyes unfocused and half-lidded over, and can’t look away anymore, as you ravish him from neck to stomach, cover him with kisses, on the exposed skin and through the silky fabric, while he’s squirming under you and watching, transfixed, feeling sweetly weak and precious like he didn’t know he could. You hold his gaze when you draw your lips from his prominent hipbones down, lick at the strip of skin over the band of panties while he takes the rugged breaths, and when you finally kiss his bulge through the thin lace, he shudders, melts under your touch and whines needily, even though his words are protesting.
“No, wait, I’m close…”
You move up to kiss him and give him a slight respite, but your hand slides down, moving the fabric of underwear away to lightly tease his hole, and he comes just from that, moaning against your mouth and arching with a shudder, his legs closing over your hand. You chuckle, keep massaging his pulsing entrance.
“You came just from that, huh? You really did miss me then.”
He blushes brightly and doesn’t look you in the eye, still tight and nervous like a virgin when you slide your fingers in, it’s like the first time no matter how often you fuck him until he’s screaming.
“Don’t worry, I won’t punish you for coming without permission. You’ve been so good, I can’t blame you for being excited to look so pretty for me.”
It shouldn’t be physically possible for him to blush even brighter, but he manages.
“I wasn’t… I’m not.”
There was always something endearing about the ridiculousness of his denials while he’s sprawled under you, being fingered, toes scraping at the bedsheets, but with time it turns exasperating. It’s easier for him to avoid confronting his own desires if he pretends this is just for you, so he hides in the passivity of submission, allowing you to do what you want to him so that he doesn’t have to admit how badly he wants it too.
“Oh, you’re not?” you ask with deceiving softness, turning him over and sliding into him with your cock\strap. “Not even a little bit?” your tone turns teasing as he groans in desire, but you don’t fuck him, instead, you pull him up to settle in your lap, his back against your chest, your cock buried deep inside him. His hips buckle against yours, but you grip his thigh to still him with one hand and catch his chin and force him to look in the mirror with the other.
“Oh no, dear, you’re not getting it until you admit you want it,” you whisper into his ear, meeting his agitated golden eyes in the mirror. “Until you admit you like looking like this too..”
He bites his lip, glancing over his own reflection, he looks ravished and debauched, bright blush, lingerie pieces sitting askew, thighs in lacy stockings trembling open, cock getting hard again, it’s outline visible under the panties, still damp from him coming just now.
“Does it feel good, baby?” you ask quietly, trailing sloppy hot kisses down his neck. His eyes are lidding over, long black eyelashes trembling and he answers, a barely audible “Yes…”
“Good boy,” you kiss him in encouragement. ”See, it isn’t hard to tell the truth, is it?” you slide your hand under the flimsy layer of his top, thumb at his nipples. He grunts, his head rolling helplessly back to your shoulder, his legs spreading even wider open. You play with the sensitive pink buds until he’s squirming in your lap, arching against you so that your dick inside him is bulging slightly through his stomach and the swollen head of his own pretty cock is peeking from under his little panties and leaking on the lace. “And don’t you want more?”
“Yes…” he lets out with a shudder, both being horrified at what he sees in the mirror and not being able to look away, torn between the life-long belief this isn’t for him and an undeniable, sharp pleasure, a humiliating, shameful weakness that feels so good, so sweetly intoxicating.
“How could you even try to pretend, when you’re undone before I even touched your pretty cock?” you chuckle and press your palm against his crotch. He whines, clenching around your cock, ruts helplessly against your hand, losing the last shreds of control.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking hot like this. I’ll fuck you so good and hard right now, just ask.”
He arches in your lap, presses his head against yours, his mouth half-open, his hot and rugged breaths on your lips while his heart is racing in his chest.
“Please,” he whispers, low, choked, feverish like gasping for air while drowning. “Please, I can’t take it anymore, please…”
You kiss him, then throw him down on the bed and ram into him. He screams and keeps screaming while you fuck him, hard and fast, gripping his hips covered in lace, telling him how good he looks until his screams turn into shuddering, breathless whines. You grip black hair at the back of his head and pull him up again, force him to look up. He lost control and composure completely at this point, red eyeliner running at the corners of half-lidded glittering eyes, ruffled green-black hair, mouth falling slack open and trying to catch air.
“You love this, don’t you?” you slide your free hand down his arched body, ride up the transparent top, run fingers over the bulge in his belly and down to the open, shaking thighs, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to answer, too far gone to care.
“Yes!”
“You like being a pretty slut for me?” You kiss him and grope his throbbing cock as he’s bucking his hips against you, trying desperately to fuck himself.
“Yes!”
“Then come for me, baby, like a good little whore.”
He comes writhing in your arms, his hand gripping at your wrist where you hold his hip, and you fuck him through it, whispering praises and kissing the back of his neck. When he calms down and you slide out, move to take now ruined pieces of the lingerie of him, he at first tries to protest and do everything himself, as usual, but when you insist, gives up surprisingly easily, lets you slide it off him and then gently wipe him with a warm damp cloth, while he’s laying on the pillows, blushing and limp-limbed. He feels raw and tender all over, but in a good way, and when you pull the covers over him, their touch feels somehow overwhelming in their softness against his naked skin.
He curls against you in the nest of tangled blankets, warm and tired, feeling at the same time extremely vulnerable and hidden from the whole world.
“Sorry for ruining the lingerie,” he says quietly and you laugh.
“Oh, it’s nothing, it was absolutely worth it, baby.”
“Was it?” you can feel his cheek heating up when he blushes, but his voice is  anxious.“I’m far from suitable for such things, so…”
“Hush. You are the prettiest thing I’ve laid my eyes on, you’ve looked stunning in this, and I cannot wait to get you ten new sets.”
“Hmfp. Then you are truly delusional,” he says fondly and rubs his cheek against your shoulder. That night, Xiao lays there quietly in a circle of your arms, and despite being exhausted, resists falling asleep for as long as he can, basking in a feeling of, for once instead of an expendable weapon, being cherished and protected himself.
908 notes · View notes
rhine-gold-archive · 1 year
Note
sub xiao lingerie plssss everything u do with him is magic
Sub! Xiao x GN Dom! Reader 
Warnings: not sfw, fingering, obviously lingerie, praise kink, nipple play, edging, cockwarming, very slight degradation (like a single name calling), anal sex (cock stand for both dick and strap as usual)
A/N: this is not “Xiao is a mewling mess from the get go”, though we get there, trust me, but there’s a tsundere character development arc first. I planned it as a quick lighthearted thing and it kinda got away from me. Modern AU? sort of??? Just to have texting.
Wordcount: 2,3k
You have to leave for a few days for the first time since you started dating Xiao, and you know already that it’s very hard for him to form connections, but when he does, the attachment is incredibly intense and important for someone as lonely and self-hating as he is. He’s predisposed to feel abandoned even if he’d never admit and he rationally knows it’s not true.
So you decide to make him a cute surprise gift, as both a distraction and a token of affection. At first, he doesn’t take it well AT ALL.
“What is this? Some sort of a joke? If so, I find your mortal sense of humor lacking once again.”
“I just think it would look cute on you, baby <3”
You know already that arguing with him or answering with sarcasm is both tiring and unproductive. He is perpetually looped in a cat’s paradox, just as cats, god’s perfect killing machines, adapted to be house pets and want to curl on human laps and be scratched behind the ears, Xiao, a stoic yaksha general, is trapped in a touch-starved body with an easy blush and a sensitive cock. It’s just that unlike cats, he has to go through twelve steps of denial and grief before accepting it.
“Cute? That is the most foolish thing I’ve ever heard. How disrespectful of you to suggest to an adeptus to wear this, let alone a yaksha like myself, a weapon drenched in tainted blood for a millenium.”
“I *KNOW* it will look cute on you, little bird. Send pics when you try it on!”
He doesn’t deign to answer because there’s no dignified way to type out “Hmpf.” The absolute gall of your suggestion does not even warrant a reply. He spends the entire day quietly fuming about how OBVIOUSLY it would NOT look cute on him. In the evening, he unpacks it just to spite you so you can’t return it. And also just to see for himself how absolutely STUPID this idea is.
And it is stupid! The lingerie is so ridiculous and uncomfortable. The white high thighs that are so idiotically hard to put on and leave an unreasonable gap of flesh between the flimsy panties, which are sitting low on hip bones, barely covering even soft cock, not to mention… And the transparent little top, clinging so obnoxiously that the peaks of the nipples are visible. And the tiny lacy choker is so useless, so extraneous, such an obvious waste!
Of course, he doesn’t tell you that he tried it on and he doesn’t take pics. He spends the night, tossing and turning under the covers, intrusive images of you looking at him dressed like that, hungrily, calling him pretty, sliding hands down his legs, almost rolling the tight stockings down, squeezing his crotch under a thin, silky layer of underwear while your lips are roaming over his arched neck, your finger hooked under his choker…
He doesn’t touch himself because he refuses to admit images like this could arouse him, so the next morning he’s restless, high strung, horny and unsatisfied after what was basically edging himself for the entire night, and so his judgment starts becoming cloudy, searching for the “acceptable” ways to fall to the temptation. The part of him that wants this, wants you to want him like this and praise him for looking like this, is getting more and more insistent, but he still can’t admit it to himself, and so he subconsciously commits a sleight of hand. SURELY, you wouldn’t actually think this looks good on him, and so if you see it, you’d realize what a foolish mistake you’ve made and the question would be closed forever, so he wouldn’t need to feel conflicted anymore. And so obviously, the solution is to send you a pic, but, you know. Not the great looking one (though it’s not like something like this could even theoretically look great on him, of course), and making sure it’s visible that he doesn’t care and is, in fact, disdainful of the idea, and is only doing this so you can regret even suggesting it.
So he spends quite a lot of time and effort on taking the most bored and low investment-looking selfies possible, sends a couple of them to you with “And this rubbish is what you find attractive?” comment, immediately regrets it, throws the phone down on the bed and is on the verge of trying to delete the pics, when you reply, ecstatic, telling him that yes, of course he looks incredibly hot like that. He answers “Then you have a bad taste,” throws the phone down again, blushing violently and already with a hard-on. 
When you send encouraging praises, telling him to greet you like that when you come back, he refuses vehemently, but the sweet warmth pools deep in his belly and he can’t meet his own eyes in the mirror for the rest of the night. He’s used to thinking of himself as a weapon, built for battle first and foremost, with strength and mastery in a fight as his only valuable traits, and even your attraction to him he sees as a fortunate, but weird quirk of your character, an unusual preference. But the lingerie makes him feel pretty in a way that has nothing to do with strength, the idea of being seen as straightforwardly beautiful is so tempting, but clashes with his perception of self so radically that he cannot reconcile this easily.
He might have resisted the corruption for hundreds of years, but it only takes a couple of lonely nights for desire to break his resolve. So when you finally arrive and walk into the bedroom, he’s in lingerie, kneeling on the bed, looking away both from you and the reflection in the wall mirror on the side. 
You drop your bags on the floor, walk up to him and kiss him, push him down on the bed, while he’s blushing and still refusing to meet your eyes. You catch his chin and force him to turn his head.
“Look at me, my pretty little bird.”
He does, his golden eyes unfocused and half-lidded over, and can’t look away anymore, as you ravish him from neck to stomach, cover him with kisses, on the exposed skin and through the silky fabric, while he’s squirming under you and watching, transfixed, feeling sweetly weak and precious like he didn’t know he could. You hold his gaze when you draw your lips from his prominent hipbones down, lick at the strip of skin over the band of panties while he takes the rugged breaths, and when you finally kiss his bulge through the thin lace, he shudders, melts under your touch and whines needily, even though his words are protesting.
“No, wait, I’m close…”
You move up to kiss him and give him a slight respite, but your hand slides down, moving the fabric of underwear away to lightly tease his hole, and he comes just from that, moaning against your mouth and arching with a shudder, his legs closing over your hand. You chuckle, keep massaging his pulsing entrance.
“You came just from that, huh? You really did miss me then.”
He blushes brightly and doesn’t look you in the eye, still tight and nervous like a virgin when you slide your fingers in, it’s like the first time no matter how often you fuck him until he’s screaming.
“Don’t worry, I won’t punish you for coming without permission. You’ve been so good, I can’t blame you for being excited to look so pretty for me.”
It shouldn’t be physically possible for him to blush even brighter, but he manages.
“I wasn’t… I’m not.”
There was always something endearing about the ridiculousness of his denials while he’s sprawled under you, being fingered, toes scraping at the bedsheets, but with time it turns exasperating. It’s easier for him to avoid confronting his own desires if he pretends this is just for you, so he hides in the passivity of submission, allowing you to do what you want to him so that he doesn’t have to admit how badly he wants it too.
“Oh, you’re not?” you ask with deceiving softness, turning him over and sliding into him with your cock\strap. “Not even a little bit?” your tone turns teasing as he groans in desire, but you don’t fuck him, instead, you pull him up to settle in your lap, his back against your chest, your cock buried deep inside him. His hips buckle against yours, but you grip his thigh to still him with one hand and catch his chin and force him to look in the mirror with the other.
“Oh no, dear, you’re not getting it until you admit you want it,” you whisper into his ear, meeting his agitated golden eyes in the mirror. “Until you admit you like looking like this too..”
He bites his lip, glancing over his own reflection, he looks ravished and debauched, bright blush, lingerie pieces sitting askew, thighs in lacy stockings trembling open, cock getting hard again, it’s outline visible under the panties, still damp from him coming just now.
“Does it feel good, baby?” you ask quietly, trailing sloppy hot kisses down his neck. His eyes are lidding over, long black eyelashes trembling and he answers, a barely audible “Yes…”
“Good boy,” you kiss him in encouragement. ”See, it isn’t hard to tell the truth, is it?” you slide your hand under the flimsy layer of his top, thumb at his nipples. He grunts, his head rolling helplessly back to your shoulder, his legs spreading even wider open. You play with the sensitive pink buds until he’s squirming in your lap, arching against you so that your dick inside him is bulging slightly through his stomach and the swollen head of his own pretty cock is peeking from under his little panties and leaking on the lace. “And don’t you want more?”
“Yes…” he lets out with a shudder, both being horrified at what he sees in the mirror and not being able to look away, torn between the life-long belief this isn’t for him and an undeniable, sharp pleasure, a humiliating, shameful weakness that feels so good, so sweetly intoxicating.
“How could you even try to pretend, when you’re undone before I even touched your pretty cock?” you chuckle and press your palm against his crotch. He whines, clenching around your cock, ruts helplessly against your hand, losing the last shreds of control.
“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking hot like this. I’ll fuck you so good and hard right now, just ask.”
He arches in your lap, presses his head against yours, his mouth half-open, his hot and rugged breaths on your lips while his heart is racing in his chest.
“Please,” he whispers, low, choked, feverish like gasping for air while drowning. “Please, I can’t take it anymore, please…”
You kiss him, then throw him down on the bed and ram into him. He screams and keeps screaming while you fuck him, hard and fast, gripping his hips covered in lace, telling him how good he looks until his screams turn into shuddering, breathless whines. You grip black hair at the back of his head and pull him up again, force him to look up. He lost control and composure completely at this point, red eyeliner running at the corners of half-lidded glittering eyes, ruffled green-black hair, mouth falling slack open and trying to catch air.
“You love this, don’t you?” you slide your free hand down his arched body, ride up the transparent top, run fingers over the bulge in his belly and down to the open, shaking thighs, and this time he doesn’t hesitate to answer, too far gone to care. 
“Yes!”
“You like being a pretty slut for me?” You kiss him and grope his throbbing cock as he’s bucking his hips against you, trying desperately to fuck himself.
“Yes!”
“Then come for me, baby, like a good little whore.”
He comes writhing in your arms, his hand gripping at your wrist where you hold his hip, and you fuck him through it, whispering praises and kissing the back of his neck. When he calms down and you slide out, move to take now ruined pieces of the lingerie of him, he at first tries to protest and do everything himself, as usual, but when you insist, gives up surprisingly easily, lets you slide it off him and then gently wipe him with a warm damp cloth, while he’s laying on the pillows, blushing and limp-limbed. He feels raw and tender all over, but in a good way, and when you pull the covers over him, their touch feels somehow overwhelming in their softness against his naked skin.
He curls against you in the nest of tangled blankets, warm and tired, feeling at the same time extremely vulnerable and hidden from the whole world.
“Sorry for ruining the lingerie,” he says quietly and you laugh.
“Oh, it’s nothing, it was absolutely worth it, baby.”
“Was it?” you can feel his cheek heating up when he blushes, but his voice is  anxious.“I’m far from suitable for such things, so…”
“Hush. You are the prettiest thing I’ve laid my eyes on, you’ve looked stunning in this, and I cannot wait to get you ten new sets.”
“Hmfp. Then you are truly delusional,” he says fondly and rubs his cheek against your shoulder. That night, Xiao lays there quietly in a circle of your arms, and despite being exhausted, resists falling asleep for as long as he can, basking in a feeling of, for once instead of an expendable weapon, being cherished and protected himself.
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gold-rhine · 1 year
Text
Sub! Ayato x Dom! gn reader
Warnings: not safe for work or minors, edging, bondage, overstimulation, slight degradation, power play, anal sex, spanking. I’m gonna mostly say “cock” for the reader, but it stands for both cock and strap, it’s just unwieldy to specify every time and I usually call strap “cock” irl anyway.
Words: 4k
A\n: repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned
Ayato is the biggest pillow princess out there. The entitlement on this one.
A connoisseur, seeks the thrill of new combinations of exciting experiences, both physical and mental, but is also a brat. Not in a usual sense of being deliberately antagonistic and difficult, it’s just that if you don’t keep him in check, he will steamroll you with sheer demanding presence, all with a pleasant little smile.
He wants to be surprised and lose control, but also has a compulsive need to plan and manipulate everything from the backstage. So he’s a handful for sure. If you’re into his kind of mind games, he can be exquisite like no one else, but he’s so high-maintenance, just energy and attention-wise, constantly testing your willpower.
“A luxury few can afford” meme, but it's on a diamond-encrusted choker.
You know how his story quest just stops dead to have a Boba Tea Interlude, where he orders tea with the weirdest ingredients and everyone around is openly disgusted? And they could’ve stopped the joke here, but no.
Ayato goes on to have a whole discussion about the nature of pleasure with Paimon, who is btw entirely out of her depth and can only master “Ugh?? Food should taste good?”
And this mf proceeds to argue that actually, things that just straightforwardly feel good are boring. And it’s better to experiment and seek out new interesting experiences that push your limits, even if they end up not feeling good.  And those things that don’t feel good, but in interesting and exciting ways, are better than straightforward good-feeling.
Like, just say you’re into kink and stop confusing poor Paimon. You don’t have to give a whole ass philosophical speech about wanting exciting things that feel bad to be inflicted upon you.
And he likes obedience, sure. A nice service top who just does everything he wants entirely according to a pre-approved script is probably his comfort zone.
But you know what’s a fun thing to do with a bossy brat like him? Tease him. Throw him off his script. Wipe that mild, confident, slightly bored smile off his face and see genuine emotions. See him come undone.
Also, you know he’s so used to being indulged. The experience of being challenged, loss of control, the inability to predict what’s gonna happen next is going to feel much more exciting than a bad-tasting boba tea.
Like, his only friend outside of the circle of people actively dependent on him, like Ayaka and Thoma, is Itto, the most irreverent delinquent in the city. And sure, Ayato tries to minimize the connection in his voice line (bc he’s a fake bitch), but from Itto’s line it’s clear that they are in continuous contact. They are actively hanging out, all the while Ayato doesn’t disclose his station.
Ayato found one dude in the entire city who doesn’t know who he is and is not gonna bow down to him. In fact, he’s gonna treat him in a way that would be considered scandalously rude for a head of the commission. But they are playing Magic the Gathering at a local McDonalds while Yashiro ninjas keep the cashier at a knifepoint so he doesn’t accidentally expose who Ayato really is to Itto.
He obviously wants to be seen for something else than the social image he created when he had to become the leader of his clan. He had to be so tightly wound up and in control all the time, impeccable and untouchable, or not only him, but his closest people would pay the price. Of course he wants to be able to let go, to feel human and imperfect, but accepted with the imperfections nonetheless. He just doesn’t know how, since he’s been living in nothing but a PR performance since he was a young teen.
Unless he’s literally forced to.
Ayato is never gonna admit that he wants to be put in his place, but he will certainly enjoy it.
Specifics-wise, I'm getting strong bondage vibes. Especially rope bondage, shibari knots. Popular choice for the pillow princesses in general, and rope instead of handcuffs gives both interesting texture and flexibility, you can change it up in many ways from session to session to keep it fresh.
But honestly, that’s details. What’s important is the mind games. The power play. The exciting stakes, even if inside of play. The rollercoaster of ups and downs. The push and pull of an invisible leash will matter much more than the physical one.
He’s so casual and calm when you start tying him up, even though he’s already naked. Sometimes you tie him in his clothes ruffled, halfway undone, but today you want his bare skin. You start with his chest and shoulders, and the purple rope looks amazing against his pale flesh.
Nudity doesn’t make him vulnerable though. He stands there languid, loose and long-limbed, follows your instructions to move his hands back so you can tie them with poise and elegance, like he’s getting an expensive suit tailored. Sometimes, you’d want to break his posture, throw him on the floor and fuck him until he’s a screaming mess, and only then finish the bondage.
There are always so many options to consider with Ayato.
But today you want to play the longer prelude. You know that the slow, almost ritualistic adjusting of the ropes over his body winds him up even if he doesn’t show it.
You work on tying his hands behind his back, then move to his torso. The ropes over ribs and stomach don’t actually hold much, but by god, they look pretty, the rhombs in the center and the violet lines going across his taut muscles.
You move deliberately slowly, handling him with long practiced firmness and effectiveness, except for the fleeting moments when your fingers linger, lightly trace the lines of his body, but leave before he can even react. A stroke from his sharp collarbones to the shoulders, a flick on the pink nipples, a caress across the sculpted abs.
This is a game where you almost pretend to be professional, and he almost keeps up the indifference. It’s a shaky pyramid of glass, barely balancing on the edge, the anticipation of waiting for exactly when it’ll fall down and shatter into tiny pieces.
The fun part about this is watching his cock hardening with your every move, how it slowly grows from soft to aroused, pointing up on his stomach. He can pretend to be indifferent all he wants, you have the evidence of how much he needs this right there.
He watches you intensely, even if it’s only in half-glances, his upper body is already covered in an intricate, beautiful harness.  
“Lean against the table and lift your leg, please”, you direct him to the high table beside the bed and he obeys with the same casual confidence. You tie his ankle to his thigh, moving the rope across the tender, sensitive skin of the inner thigh, and watch his cock twitch and redden. You then continue to fix his bent leg with ropes so that it’s pushed sideways and keeps his thigh open, working slow, methodical. He’s almost fully hard by the time you’re done.
“Violet really is your color,” you say casually, and slide the rope between his legs, under his balls and between his asscheeks. “Really brings out your eyes.”
His hips flinch, his cock fully erect now, but his voice is even and mild when he answers, “So nice of you to approve.”
It’s a stalemate of sorts, who is going to expose themselves first, but you have the advantage of not being naked, tied, and unable to close your legs. The chances are in your favor even against the calculating Yashiro commissioner.
You smile and lay your hand on his hipbone. He expects you to move to his dick and when you don’t, glances down and back up at your face in a politely hidden frustration.
“I’d prefer to continue this on the proper bed,” he says, still calmly, but with an insistent undercurrent in his tone, like a VIP client demanding a luxury section of the restaurant.
The fucking entitlement. Exactly what you were waiting for.
“Oh,” you smile, deceptively soft and lift your hand to stroke his sharp cheekbones. “You’d prefer the bed?”
He senses the shift in your tone, his muscles tightening, but he doesn’t flinch away. Not just entitled, but so self-assured too.
“Yes,” he answers, holding up your gaze. “I think it’d be beneficial to the both of us.”
You smile wider, from soft to mocking, “I wasn’t aware of your priorities,” your voice is calm, but when you swipe your thumb across his lips, it’s harsh, applying enough pressure to force his mouth open.
Your other hand finally grabs his cock, roughly, sending a jolt through his entire body. You stroke him and slide your fingers down between his legs, cup his balls and then move farther, to his tight hole, to show that everything he has is open to you.
“I was under the impression that you want to be fucked,” you say, looking into his eyes and he breathes out through the mouth you’re still keeping open.
You smile again and remove your hand from between his legs. “But apparently you just want the bed. Perhaps I should just leave you there alone like this.”
His eyes are stormy violet, but his body leans so receptively against you, shudders with obvious need. The tip of his cock is leaking pearly precum.
“I never said that,” he answers with strained tightness in his voice.
You sigh and lean into him, pressed close enough to feel him struggling not to arch into you, and tenderly kiss his lower lip, then the tiny mole under it.
“Then stop making demands or I’ll shut your pretty mouth.”
He looks so scandalized, it’d be funny if it wasn’t so hot. His mouth *is* really pretty, especially half-open and breathing heavily like this. It’s a challenge, almost a dare. ‘Oh, you think this is bad? Just wait for what I do next’.
You don’t tell him that, though. Why ruin a nice surprise.
You step back a little, grab him, turn him around and throw him roughly over the table, enjoying his shocked gasp. The elegant porcelain vase that was standing on the edge falls down and breaks, delicate petals of white camellias that were kept there scattering on the floor. You press your hand between Ayato’s shoulderblades, keeping him in place when he struggles to move, and hoist his tied leg up on the table, forcing him to balance on his free leg, his ass entirely exposed. He glares angrily at you over the shoulder, his cheek pressed to the table, but you just smile and arch your eyebrow expectantly, looking over him splayed like that in front of you.
It sends shivers to his core, the rough handling, demeaning exposure of being bent over the desk like a common whore, the anticipation of being used, but not knowing how exactly… But he will try to keep up the appearances even like that.
“This was an expensive vase”, he says flatly.
You lean down, still smiling, and close your hand over his dick, squeeze painfully so that he arches, his thighs shudder. “More expensive than this cock?”
“...No,” he finally lets out, strained.
“Then I can afford it,” you tell him with a smirk and watch with satisfaction an angry blush appearing on his cheeks. It’s only the beginning, though. Time to escalate.
You move away and and soon come back, catching his jaw and forcing a gag into his mouth. His indignant protests are muffled, but still loud enough.
“What’s wrong, your Highness?” you ask pleasantly, looking into his stormy eyes and stroking the exposed curve of his asscheek while he writhes in front of you. “I told you I’ll shut your mouth if you make demands, so you thought you can keep talking back at me if you don’t technically demand anything, because you’re so clever?”
You can see in his affronted glare that it’s exactly what he thought. You grin at him and slap the skin you were just caressing. He yelps, a sound choked by the gag, tries to move, but you press your hand against the back of his neck, pinning him to the table, as you keep laying blows across his ass and thighs. His flesh is so pale and tender, a true aristocrat, it turns a bright red immediately, in gorgeous contrast with the dark ropes.
When he shuts his eyes, long lashes squeezed tightly, and his grunts turn from protesting to shaky, you start alternating pain with caresses. You stroke the skin that is still stinging from a hit a second ago, slide your fingers between his legs to cup his balls, grab his painfully hard, leaking dick. The noises he makes, tiny muffled half-gasps, half-moans, are delicious. He bucks his hips as you twist the sensitive head of his cock with one hand and strike his ass with the other. This time his moan is loud, needy.
“So nice of you to approve,” you say teasingly and reach for the lube. You pour it on your fingers and press them against his hole. He tenses in anticipation, you see the muscles of his tied arms strain against the ropes. You start massaging his entrance and run your free hand over the sharp knobs on his spine.
“Relax,” you tell him softly and slide your fingers inside. Shudder runs through his body, his back arching, forehead pressed to the table and hair falling to cover his face. You lean down to kiss a small mole on the back of his shoulder, your fingers working inside of him, opening him up, hitting the sweet spot until he whimpers, his hips twitching under you. You lightly bite his shoulder and with your free hand you grab the criss-crossed ropes on his back and pull them slowly, making them taut, pressed harshly against his skin, so that he moans hoarsely, clenches around your fingers. You fuck him faster and faster, watch how the trembling turns into writhing and moans grow louder.
“Are you already close, your Highness?” you hook your fingers inside him, and he arches deliriously, exquisitely, thrusting into your hand. You can tell that he’s on the edge and you slap his ass harshly.
“Come on, cum for me then,” you tell him and drag your nails over his sensitive, stinging flesh. He comes with a long, shaky scream barely muffled by the gag, and goes limp under your hands.
You take your fingers out of his ass and gag out of his mouth, and smile, looking at his trembling form sprawled on the table.
“I’m sorry, did you say something? I didn’t quite get it.”
He coughs a little, his throat dry from screaming, breathing heavily through his mouth to regain his composure, then swallows harshly and licks his lips.
“My title is not “Highness”,” he finally says, meeting your eyes, his voice a little hoarse, but still haughty. You can’ help but smile. He couldn’t very well say he screamed because he loved how you fucked him, but there’s no one else who could be bent over the table and fucked like that, turned into a screaming, writhing mess, and then still glare at you with this dignified primness, all the while with his ass still exposed and arched up.
“Why not?” you turn him over and pull him up by the rope harness on his chest, so that he’s standing up face to face with you.
“I’m not a prince, obviously,” he says calmly, rolling his eyes just so, and you chuckle, catch his chin and trail kisses down his jawline teasingly, your body pressed flat against him.
“You are to me,” you tell him, grinning, and this earns a fond, surprised chuckle from him. You kiss his smiling mouth, and he answers eagerly back, his tongue sliding against yours, his body arching in your hands.
Ayato doesn’t really have a praise kink, but he loves to be complimented and feel special for the reasons other than his heritage or political status, especially from the people who otherwise treat him as equal. The pointed irreverence is what makes the endearment count.
“I’ll even get you to the bed, isn’t it a royalty treatment that you wanted?” you tell him, breaking the kiss, turn him and push him down, so that he falls on the bed next to the table. He lands on the mass of pillows, and grins with a smug satisfaction, a cat that’s gotten what he wanted.
It’s worth getting him to the bed for the view alone, though. He’s insanely gorgeous, sprawled on the dark silk like that, pale sculpted body against the sleek black of the sheets, managing to look both elegant and ravished, the red marks from your touch decadently obscene on his tender skin, light hair looking even better when disheveled. The temptation to just fuck him right there, wreck him immediately, roughly, is immense.
But that’s obviously what he wants. He knows how exquisite he is, the honed, cherished masterpiece, the way he looks at you from under half lowered eyelids, languorous, confident, not even as much demanding, as sure you won’t be able to resist him.
Is he worth the trouble? Gods yes. But it doesn’t mean you’ll play along to his tune.
You kneel over him, kiss his soft, expectant lips, run your hands over him greedily. You move your mouth down, to claim what’s eagerly offered to you, the arch of his neck, the slopes of his delicate collarbones, the broad chest, heavily rising as he breathes feverishly, pink nipples, hardened under your caress, sculpted abs and carved hipbones.
He’s throbbing hard when you get down there, but you don’t touch his dick. You reach for the rope and start tying his free leg in the same position, ankle to the thigh.
He groans in frustration, rolls his head back on the silken pillows, he’s breathing heavily, impatient. You kiss the line from his exposed inner thigh to the tender juncture where his leg meets the torso, and finish up the knots. He trembles under your touch, arches as much as he can, fixated as he is.
You raise from the bed and step back, admiring your handiwork. He’s splayed on the bed, thighs forced open, shoulders slightly drawn back and chest arched due to his hands being tied behind his back, his gorgeous long cock is throbbing hard, violet ropes drawn over his body like the edges on the luminous stained glass, he’s breathing feverishly from his parted, swollen mouth, silver-blue hair falling around his face like a tangled halo, his eyes a wild, delirious lavender.
You sit back in a chair and watch over him with a smile, as he struggles and finally lets out, huskily. “What are you waiting for?”
“I remember we had an agreement. I get you to the bed and leave you there by yourself,” you say, smirking, and meet his angry glare.
“You wouldn’t,” he grits out.
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t…” he stops himself, takes a deep breath, licking his lips, realizing that saying ‘You wouldn’t dare’ could only spur you on. “What would you gain from it?”
He really thinks that fucking him is the limit of human aspirations. You smile teasingly.
“Oh, for a start, I’d enjoy immensely watching you writhe and beg desperately like a common slut, my princeling. Maybe I’ll roll you onto a pillow and tease you until you start humping it like a dog.”
His eyes widen, horrified, breath catching in his throat at the imagined humiliation. Oh, this is too good. You should absolutely do it to him. But not today. Let him stew in this thought, be both aroused when he thinks about it afterwards and appalled at his own desire, let him wait with a baited breath if you do it to him for the next few sessions, be both relieved and - secretly - a little disappointed that you don’t. Then you can spring it on him when he least expects this.
It always pays off to play the long game with Ayato.
You don’t show your decision though, sitting impassively yet, watching him squirm.
“Don’t do it,” he breezes out, looking you in the eyes, biting his lip, almost anxiously for someone always so confident as him.
“Convince me then,” you tell him with a smirk, move to sit on the edge of the bed, looming over him, but not touching.
“Please,” he manages, strained. “I’m so close. Let me finish.”
You scoff, lean down and run your thumb over his cheekbones teasingly. He trembles nonetheless, too overstimmed and wound up, raw and sensitive to every touch, his eyes hazy from desire, his breath laborious.
“Is that the best you can do? Is this your famed eloquence? If so, it’s not giving me much motivation.”
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, licks his dry lips. When he meets your eyes again, he doesn’t look necessarily calm or collected, but focused, determined, his raw hunger sharpened into a thin cutting edge.
“Please, I want you to fuck me,” he says, his voice deep, low, shameless, almost purring. “Take me, fuck me hard, wreck me, I beg of you. I am yours to use.”
You can barely restrain yourself to let him finish the sentence before you claim his mouth. You move to position yourself between his legs and slide your strap\cock into him, slowly, but forcefully, in one long thrust. He arches under you and you drink a sweet, shuddering moan from his lips. You fuck him hard, quickening the pace, gripping the ropes that are digging into his hips, and his moans turn into erratic, desperate screams, his head lolling back helplessly
You lean down to him, slide your hand into his hair and tug, forcing him to expose his throat, close your other hand over his leaking cock, feel him choke on his breath and tremble feverishly, his open, tied legs shaking.
“That’s right, come for me, baby,” you tell into his ear, his soft hair tickling your face as he leans into you. You roll your hips, cock buried deep inside him, and squeeze his dick. “Let me see you fall apart.”
He comes, crying out against your skin, trying desperately to thrust into your hand. You stroke him through it until pleasure becomes blinding as the pain and he starts trashing under you, whimpering incoherent pleas, completely unraveled.
He goes limp when you slide out of him and get to untying the ropes. You get to the knots on his upper back when he turns to you over the shoulder, catches your mouth in a softly tired, lazy kiss.
“How are you?” you ask, undoing the last knots. “Limbs didn’t fall asleep?”
“No, I’m fine,” he says mildly, but his fingers close on your forearm, asking you to stay close a little longer. You circle your arm around his shoulders in reassurance and he leans into you. You kiss his temple softly, and he smells of expensive perfume, sweat and an incoming summer rain, that didn’t yet catch you, but already echoes in the wind.
You glance down at him, because he is too quiet, and sure enough, he’s thinking. And not just thinking, his lips are pressed, eyelids half-closed, but tight around the corners, brows furrowed just so. Oh no. This is the Strategizing face.
“Ayato, don’t do your fucking deluge thing or I swear to fucking gods! No, it’s not a suitable substitute for a shower, you absolute…”
“I wasn’t going to!” he laughs with an exaggeratedly affronted look, breaking the concentration. “You made your opinion perfectly clear last time, no need to yell at me again.”
“Then what are you scheming about?”
He doesn’t try to deny that he’s scheming.
“I want you to choke me next time,” he says matter of factly.
“We’ve discussed this before. Your skin is too tender, marks are going to be too obvious.”
“I’m going to get a high-collared outfit.”
“Do they even make collars that go right under the chin?”’
“Of course they don’t,” he scoffs. “I will get one custom-ordered.”
You laugh. “Of course you will, your Highness. Is there going to be a new fashion trend in Inazuma city because the Yashiro commissioner really wants to have his pretty throat choked?”
“It’s a good look anyway, so I don’t see the problem. As a fallback option, there are some suitable paints I can get from our festival supplies. And of course, if all else fails I can always blame it on the assassination attempt.”
“I wish you were more careful about the assassins than the custom-made collars.”
“I don’t even get that many assassins these days,” he shrugs dismissively with one shoulder, the other pressed against you. “Just a few Fatui strugglers, grasping at the straws. They are bound to run out soon.”
“I still don’t know if you’ve planned this thoroughly enough,” you tease him. “What if you cause an international diplomatic incident by accusing the Fatui of trying to kill you by choking and spanking your ass?”
You catch a sharp elbow under your ribs, but it’s worth it.
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gold-rhine · 1 year
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hm.. kaeya, albedo, and childe for mirror sex, begging, and exhibitionism? tried to avoid the ones I've already seen asked with Albedo, since a couple of my first ideas were (if one of these is accidentally repetitive... your choice I guess??)
warnings nsfw
don't worry about making it repetitive, as long as there are other characters, the whole point of this game is mix and matching :)
actually i think each of them can be fun with each prompt, so instead of usual process of elimination, i'm just gonna go in order of hotness, and since i'm biased, it starts with the prettiest and the only character in genshin impact. fucking kaeya in front of a mirror would be insanely delicious. this is the shit devils are tempting saints with. tying him up wearing nothing but his choker, gorgeous and lithe in half-shadows and slanted moonlight, highlights in his hair turning silver where the light touches them. meeting his eyes in the mirror while fucking him and he smiles, a slow lop-sided smirk, filthy and pleased. making him fuck himself on your cock\strap, and he's shameless, in fact, he's posing, arching to look more seductive, but sometimes, when it suddenly gets too real, teeth scraping on the side of his exposed neck, cock hitting just the right spot, fingers digging into his thighs, when his composure wavers, he meets his own eyes in the mirror both to check that he let nothing show and to make sure he's being the same perfect fantasy. imma stop here bc i plan to sometime write an actual piece on kaeya's relationship with sex as the performance and watching himself in the mirror both to evaluate his own performance and make sure partner enjoys it, the struggle with being watched, but not seen.
albedo is breathless, overwhelmed, so used to feel in control that he doesn't know how to handle so much desire, so he reaches to you, almost as for help, despite you being the one who inflicted this on him. "please" as if "i don't know what do with myself, but i trust you to know", bright blue eyes wide open. "please what?", stroking the tender inner sides of his open thighs, and he swallows, but doesn't look away, doesn't blush, bites his lip with a concentrated little frown "Please fuck me. What do you want me to say that you don't already know? You know I want this badly enough to say anything, you've brought me to this on purpose. What would exact words matter?"
childe is so into exhibitionism, like have you met this whore. what the fuck is that half-open jacket on the naked torso. his shirt is like literally closed on only one button up top. that's ridiculous. tartag, wear some fucking undershirt. and this is not the same as geo men's straightforward sluttiness with crop tops or just being shirtless, no, childe wants to have some intrigue, to pretend it's a tease. except he doesn't have patience or self-control to be a tease, so he's like one step above the flashers. oh i'm srs business fatui, i'm wearing a srs bsns suit, it just happened to be dangling on a single clasp and showing off my abs wink wink. shut up, you whore, no one is buying that shit. if i met him in public and he introduced himself as "toy salesman", i'd think he's gonna try to sell me some vibrators by demonstrating them on himself right there. hold still girlie, im taking a dick pic. ok this somehow derailed into tartag slutshaming, but to be fair, if you made him undress somewhere where there's a chance he could be seen and then just kept telling him what a pathetic whore he is, he'd come untouched in ten minutes flat, which would be too soon bc i didn't even get to the fact that he's 11th harbringer and after signora and scara are out, there are only like 9 ppl left in harbringers AT ALL, what kind of LOSER do u have to be, so he'll have to keep standing on his knees, covered in cum, like a cringeslut failwhore he is
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