#hsr x chubby reader

[moochalove]

Thinking about Yan!Boothill who...

Absolutely loves his chubbier s/o! Whenever you two are lying in bed he can't help but trail his cold metal fingers on your warm and soft body. He thinks you're so cute when you try to push him away! It's like you're asking him to squeeze your chubby face! If you ever happen to get on his nerves he'll dangle freedom in front of your pretty eyes. He'll encourage you to try to make a run for it. He knows with your extra body weight you won't get far- but he still kisses your stretch marks and says you'll do better on this attempt.

Boothill adores the chase, it gets his mechanical insides heated up. He's looking for a target that has the mindset of a scared little animal, and you happen to fit the shoe. Something that will run for dear life when he sets his sight on it. He seeks the thrill of pulling the trigger and seeing if his target will keep running or drop dead.

Even if his bullets land in your meaty flesh- he always promises to never hit anything major and to nurse you back to a healthy state.

When you first met him, you admired him. You thought he was very brave and courageous, you always wondered how he was so strong. You couldn't imagine working such a dangerous job. So, you gave him credit where credit was due.

To Boothill, you were the cutest thing he had ever laid eyes on. Your eyes were more appealing than others, your smile was a contagious one, and your laugh was that of an angel. He'd seen his fair share of people throughout the galaxy, yet none of them had left him with this warm feeling in his cheeks- it almost felt like he could short-circuit if he thought about you too much.

At first, he tried courting you normally. It seemed like you were reciprocating his attempts! The thought that maybe you felt the same way within your sweet little human heart made his artificial one "flutter".

But when he saw you with someone other than himself- he felt odd. He was too prideful to admit it was jealousy, but deep down he knew that was what he was feeling. If there was something his gun and a bullet couldn't solve, well, most of his problems would be unsolved. At first, all his thoughts were irrational, he was confused as to why he wanted to hurt someone who hadn't done a thing to hurt him. After a while, he drew out the reason why his thoughts were scrambled, it was because you played a minor role in all of this. There was no way he was gonna let someone else have all of your affection and love! So, how did he solve this problem? Obviously, he lodged his bullet in that person's chest! All while you were watching, too! He then proceeded to smother you with sweet affirmations with a giddy smile. The moment was romantic! (If you don't mind the screaming and yelling on your part) But that's in the past now! You no longer scream and try to fight him when he leans in for a kiss. It seems your life has practically gone back to normal, except you now have a dear lover. Boothill trusts you enough to do your own thing throughout the day while he does his own work. Though he would be lying if he didn't check (stalk) you throughout the day... You're the first one to arrive "home" most of the time, so you usually start prepping dinner for yourself. Boothill melts on the inside when he returns to see you wearing an apron. He knows he shouldn't bother you while you cook but he can't help it. He'll rest his hands around your soft stomach and lay his head on your shoulder while he tells you about his day. If he had a particularly rough day, you'll clean his robotic body with a warm rag and do any maintenance that you're able to do. Some days when you aren't feeling good about your body, he'll either declare he's too tired to do his work and he needs to stay with you for the day. The day usually consists of him reassuring you you're the prettiest person he's ever seen and that he loves your body, even if you dislike it. Sometimes he's able to bribe you with a sweet treat and a kiss to get you to speak your mind and share your insecurities. Other times when that doesn't work- he'll rest his face on the parts you're insecure about and say something along the lines, "Looky here darlin'," and he'll place a gentle kiss onto you, "The human in me loves you for you." Then he'll trace heart-shaped patterns into your warm flesh, "And so does the non-human part~" His eyes are practically hearts when he stares into your own, "You get it, don't you sweetheart?" Depending on your answer he will either: kiss you, hug you, or wrap his metal arms around you while nibbling at your chubby cheeks. "I know it can be hard for you- But don't ever think I don't love you. I've done things I can't take back, for you! If it's for you I wouldn't take 'em back. Hehe, don't you think that makes us seem like a married couple, it's kinda like a vow-Ow! 'Kay, I'll stop-Don't pinch me so hard!" After you exhale a breathy laugh all your worries go away. You hold him in your pudgy arms, pulling him closer to your warmer body that he can't seem to get enough of. "I love you, Boothill." That was the first time you said his name along with an "I love you". He lays there a bit stunned for a bit but eventually snuggles up to you. He can't believe how much progress you've made in your relationship. To think he used to use you as target practice... Ah, and the way you used to scream and cry all the time! He chuckles lightly at the thought of it before he notices that you've fallen asleep. It seems like he can start to relax again, as it seems like things are finally going well for him.

[help-i-cant-think-of-a-nickname]

Bird Nest

You like combing your husband’s hair. It’s soft and fluffy, his hair is thick and long so it’s nice to play with it. But there’s also another reason why you like combing his hair.

“Love! Let me brush your hair!”

You excitedly grab the hairbrush and stand behind Jing Yuan, ready to brush his hair. Jing Yuan chuckles and nod.

“Thank you, darling.”

You grin and start to comb his hair. Not after 2 brushes after, the hairbrush pushes a bird out of his hair. You giggle as you pick up the little bird gently.

“Your hair is really a wonder! You always have birds hidden beneath your hair!”

“But you like it, don’t you my dear wife?”

You nod happily and continue to brush his hair. After 5 minutes of brushing his hair, you discovered at least 6 little birds living in his hair.

“Your hair is like a headquarters of little birds.”

You exclaim at your husband as you let the birds free out of the window.

“You don’t get lice but you get birds. Is that even normal?”

Jing Yuan wraps his arms around your waist and puts it chin on your shoulder.

“But don’t lie to me, love, you married me because of those birds, right?”

You chuckle and kiss his nose.

“Maybe?”

Jing Yuan smirks and pulls you to his lap.

“Oh, my love. My hair is not only for bird nests, do you know what the other thing my hair can do?”

Jing Yuan whispers in your ear as he nibbles the tip of your ear.

“You can grip it hard while you moa—”

His sentence was cut off when another bird emerged out of his hair and peck his cheeks hard.

“Ow, ow, ow!”

Jing Yuan hiss, while you just laugh. Jing Yuan shoo the bird away and look at you. Seeing you laugh your heart away makes his heart pound faster than it could ever be. He carries you to the bed and nuzzle his head to your neck.

“Damn, you’re making me lose my mind.”

He kiss your forehead.

“I love you so much.”

You smile when he said those words as you play with his hair.

“I love you too.”

[bogartchive]

i'm sure all the hsr characters would love a chubby partner but i think this is especially true for luka, black swan, and gallagher 😇🙏

part of what motivates luka to train hard and get stronger is also to be able to lift his partner!!! they don't need to change anything about themselves (unless they want to, of course), luka will make sure that they get to be held safely in his arms!!!

being chubby herself, black swan just adores the curves of her partner. her touch is gentle, as if she was teasing them, but she makes up for it by leaving plenty of loving lipstick stains on her partner's soft spots...

gallagher appreciates a thicker body. his hands are so big and rough, he loves the way his partner's fat/muscle feels when he squishes them. the way they spill over his palms and jiggle a bit... this guy gets the overwhelming urge to (playfully?) bite his partner

[bwabys-scenarios]

NSFW

He enjoyed the little gasp you would let out when his hand slipped under your skirt while eating dinner with an acquaintance. Your cheeks would grow hot with embarrassment when they would ask you what was wrong, and you were forced to say it was nothing while his thumb rubbed circles into your clit.

You grasped the table cloth, biting your lip when he began fingering you. It was unfair how calm he looked while his fingers were knuckle deep inside of your cunt, curling up to hit that special spot that had you cumming all over his hand.

“P-please excuse me…”

You shyly stood, hoping that your slick was visible as it ran down your legs, speed walking to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

As you pouted and splashed your face to help lesson the heat taking over you body, you didn’t notice him sneaking into the bathroom until he was bending you over and pushing your panties to the side.

“I hate how they look at you…” he muttered, rubbing his cock against your needy cunt. “They need to know who you belong to.”

Without warning he thrusted into you, groaning into your ear as his hips rutted against yours. He was jealous and a bit possessive over you, his princess. He couldn’t stand when people stared at you for too long with their lustful gazes. Didn’t they know you were his?

Your makeup ran down your face, tears of pleasure falling down your cheeks as he turned your head so he could capture your lips in a sloppy kiss.

“Mine, all mine, got that?”

You nodded and let out a mewl when he hit that special spot, and he continued to fuck into you until he painted your walls white, leaving you a panting mess, covered in sweat and cum.

He was nice enough to carry you home without anyone seeing the fucked out state you were in, and made sure to spoil you with kisses, snuggles, and snacks once you were alone.

He loved you after all, and would make sure his pretty princess was well taken care of! 💗

————————

||GOJO |||GETO ||NANAMI ||TOJI ||CHOSO ||SUKUNA ||CHROLLO ||ILLUMI || KURAPIKA ||BLADE ||AVENTURINE ||WRIOTHESLEY ||KAEYA || DILUC ||ZHONGLI ||SANEMI ||RENGOKU ||MUZAN ||YOUR FAV

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐡𝐬𝐫/𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𓍼 𐙚 𓍢ִ໋🀦

art cred: gnillhem (x), howdong_ (x), mimmirii_ (insta)

❀ synopsis: how various men would love their chubby gfs <3

❀ genre: smut

❀ a/n: as a chonky gal myself this was so fun to write, also this was an ankn req from my old blog!

❀ tags: nsfw, mirror sex, praise, explicit, vulgar, cunnalingus, riding, fluff(?)

❀ Gallagher- You can’t tell me this man isn’t obsessed with curvy women. Absolutely enthralled by all your dips and mounds; feasting his eyes all over your figure and making sure no one in the bar ogles over you too hard. Just a little is fine though. Only a little.

He’s definitely possessive over you, but not controlling in the slightest.

In public, he’ll hug you from behind and squeeze you lovingly. And when you nap he’ll lay his head down on your stomach with his body inbetween your legs, loving when you graze your hand through his hair.

His hands though, love to hold every part of your body when you’re on top of him; especially your hips.

“Oh, god, right there,” you moaned, as his hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements up and down his cock. You could feel the heat radiating off his body as your skin pressed together, each movement sending a wave of pleasure through your clit. He relished in the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips, his hands roaming up her back, down your sides, never wanting to let go.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. He looked at you like you were the only woman in the world.

❀ Wrio- Doesn’t necessarily care about body types, but is obsessed with thighs. Doesn’t matter where, if he’s seated next to you his hand will be placed on your knee like a brace. He rubs them with his thumb, even if he’s driving they’ll be all over you. He’s always touching you, feeling your skin against his.

Oh yeah, by the way, he’s obsessed with your thighs. So much so that he’d do anything to be buried in them.

“Stay still…” He’d plead, muffled monotone coming from between your legs as is face is stuffed in the middle. His tongue traces up and down your exposed slit, hands gripping onto the fat of your thighs as his face is completely engulfed from side to side, marked up with marks of his teeth and colors of deep purple from his tender kisses.

“Wrio-“ You moan out- tempting to open your legs as the pleasure arose, earning a loud and stinging slap on your ass from your lover.

“Still.” He affirms, continuing to wring all the cum out of you, lapping it up while massaging your thighs with his palms.

❀ Diluc- Incredibly flaunting of you, you’re his beautiful prized possession. Not that your a trophy wife, but it would be a crime against teyvat to keep the world from seeing you.

Diluc especially loves to see you in the finest silks and chiffon.

The only thing he loves to see you in other than the most expensive fibers, is just nothing at all.

Every time he undresses you, his breath hitches at the sight of your benevolence. He loves the way you feels under his touch.

His favorite way to undress you, is right infront of the mirror. Standing behind you, he unties the buttons that trail down your back. It’s his favorite dress on you, but it’s subjected to the cold marble floors like every other peice of clothing he’s torn off you.

Slowly he drops the sleeves down, moving your hair out the way so he can plant kisses to your neck, one hand snaked around from behind you to hold your neck. The other groping and squeezing your breasts, before trailing down to feel your wet folds inside your panties.

“Pull these off.” He says, and you eagerly comply, sliding your panties to the side as he watches you infront of him in the reflection.

He takes in the sight before him, his eyes roaming over your exposed body, making you feel vulnerable yet completely safe in his embrace. 'You're perfect,' he whispers, before he turns his lips to descend on yours, igniting a fire within you that can only be extinguished by him.

It’s not long before he has you sitting on the dresser opposite of the mirror so he can force you to watch him fuck you. So that you can see how hungry he is for you, with your own two eyes.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[philistiniphagottini]

Take Me in Your Arms Part 2

Thank you to everyone who helped me come up with this second list. I appreciate the help and the love that you have shown to this silly little series. I really hope you enjoy the second part. Comments and reblogs would be highly appreciated if you want me to do a third part :D

cw. fluff, established relationships, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

Featuring: Topaz, Wriothesley, Zhongli, Boothill, Aalto, Yinlin, Gepard, Jiyan & Xiao

Part 1

Topaz:

Topaz invited you to morning tea, consisting of hot drinks and expensive, delicious pastries. You joined her everyday around the same time, without fail. You found her sitting at the table, a piping hot cup of tea in one hand while she looked at the digital tablet placed in front of her. Without even casting a cursory glance in your direction, she pats the empty spot beside her, inviting you to sit down and join her for your regular tea time break. You accepted her cordial invite and went to sit next to the empty spot beside her, completely missing the mischievous little smirk that painted her lips when you looked away from her. A small squeak was wrenched from your plush lips as she snagged her arm around your plump waist and drew you into her warm lap, your thick thighs draped over hers as she held you close. 

“Topaz” you sputter, swallowing around the nervous lump in your throat as you squirm in her lap. “I’m too heavy to be sitting on you.”

Topaz shot you an incredulous look. “Nonsense” she scoffed. “You’re not heavy at all.”

Her words made your cheeks burn with the force of a raging sun and you struggled to come up with a coherent response, pressed so close to her that you could smell the scent of her flowery perfume lingering on her skin. Her grip around your soft waist was firm, indicating that she wasn’t going to relinquish her hold on you easily as she reached for one of the delicious cakes sitting by its lonesome on the table. 

“These treats are delicious, you have to try them.”

She offered it to you, holding the sweet treat against your lips until you were tempted to have a bite. You spent the rest of the morning like that, having Topaz feed you delicious cakes while you sat pretty in her lap. Numby eventually decided to crawl into your lap, allowing you the honour of pampering him with ear scratches and chin rubs as you enjoyed your snack time with your girlfriend. 

Wriothesley:

You were sitting in Wriothesley’s office while he filled out a stack of paperwork. You were sitting on his couch, flipping through a fantasy novel while the phonograph softly played music to fill the void of silence. Your fingers tapped along the spine of the book to the gentle sway of the music. You were so engrossed in your reading that you didn’t notice that Wriothesley had stopped writing until you were engulfed in his shadow. You paused in your reading, casting your wide, doe eyes up to him with a hint of curiosity sparkling in their depths. A small smile played on his lips as he politely bowed before you, a hand placed over his heart as he offered his other hand out to you.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, a hint of playfulness to his voice. 

Your cheeks felt warm as you awkwardly cleared your throat. “I have two left feet” you explained. “I’ve never been taught a proper waltz.”

Wriothesley’s patient smile still tugged at the corners of his lips as he wriggled his fingers, trying to entice you to take his hand. “I can teach you. Just stand on my feet and I’ll do the rest.”

His suggestion makes you quickly shake your head from side to side, a timid look passing over your features as you shyly avert your gaze. “I’ll just squish your toes” you lamented. “I’m too heavy.”

The despondent tone of your voice only makes him worry. With the patience of a saint, he slowly reaches for your hands, making you drop your book as he wraps his large hands around your wrists and pulls you to your feet. Your surprised squeal quickly pivots into warm laughter bubbling up your throat as Wriothesley twirls your plump figure in a circle, strong arms catching you around your plump waist and pulling you closer until your chests are touching. You have to crane your neck back to look up at him, his ice blue eyes glimmering like crystals as he stares back at you. His thick arms wrap around your soft waist as he easily lifts you and hoists you until your feet are planted firmly on top of his. You shuffle awkwardly, scared that you’re too heavy to be standing on top of his toes like this but Wriothesley casts all doubt from your mind.

“You’re not a burden. Just follow my lead. You’ll be fine.” 

His strong arms squeeze your plump waist as you reach up and coil your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the baby hairs lining the nape of his neck as he leads you in a close, intimate dance. His heavy boots tap rhythmically against the floor as he slowly dances with you along to the soft melody, a smile playing on his lips as the tension slowly eases from your shoulders. Your soft body squishes under his touch as he spins you in place, eliciting a warm smile from your soft features. Only for you to erupt with laughter as he suddenly dips your body before wrenching you upright once more. 

“See look at that, you’re a natural” Wriothesley chimes as he spins you once more. 

You hum softly, eyes occasionally glancing at the placement of your feet. “It’s because you’re a good teacher.”

Wriothesley softly snorts in response, holding you closer as you both indulge in the dance just a little longer. 

Zhongli: 

You were dead tired after a long, hard day at work. A warm bath soaking in essential oils was a welcome treat and you simply melted into a warm puddle of goo as you relaxed your weary, plump body in the warm waters. Zhongli joined you as well, but not in the tub. Instead, he sat by the porcelain rim, helping to wash and detangle your hair of any knots. He even helped wash your back as you recounted the day's events, his deep voice calm and soothing to your ears as he washed your hair of any remaining soap suds. 

“And the worst part?” you added at the end of your story. “I get to do it all again tomorrow.”

A warm chuckle breezed past Zhongli’s lips, his rich voice sending a pleasant tingle down your spine as he carded his fingers through your damp hair. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to the side of your temple and making you purr in content as the firm touch of his hands eased the aches and pains in your sore muscles. 

“You’ll survive, dear” he replied. “You’re strong.”

You lapped up his attention eagerly, practically glowing with content. You soaked in the tub for a little longer, only considering getting out when your skin started to prune from being in the water for so long. Zhongli noticed too and he stood up to fetch your towel, his voice echoing off the tiled walls as it cut through the wisps of steaming stemming from your bath. 

“I believe it's time for you to get out now, dear.”

You hummed in agreement as Zhongli’s shadow fell over you, small ripples dancing along the water’s edge as you tucked your knees closer to your chest. It wasn’t that you were reluctant to get out, but your legs felt like the consistency of jelly and you didn’t know if you’d be able to stand without some semblance of pain lancing through your nerves. 

“I don’t think I can get up” you said. 

You were only half joking. You really weren’t sure. You still weren’t keen on getting out. But Zhongli did not scold or reprimand you, telling you that you were exaggerating or rolling his eyes at your antics. He pursed his lips as he hummed thoughtfully, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled past his elbows to expose the gold and amber engraved into his strong arms. 

“Then I’ll just pick you up myself.”

You only just registered his words as he reached into the tub, arms looping under your armpits when he was suddenly lifting you. With a surprised squeak you followed his movements, standing on shaky legs only to have them swept out from underneath you in the next instance. Your head was slightly dizzy as your plump thighs rested over Zhongli’s arm, the other looped around your soft middle as he effortlessly lifted you out of the tub, water sloshing and spilling over the lip of the tub to wet the tiled floor below. You knew Zhongli was strong and he had picked you up several times before, but it never failed to make you swoon when he handled you like your weight was not a burden to him. You were dripping wet in his arms but he didn’t seem to mind the contact of your soft body as he placed you down on an old, wooden chair that was seated in the corner of the bathroom. You were only shivering for a few, brief seconds before Zhongli wrapped your big, fluffy towel around your plump body, placing another on top of your head as he assisted you with drying your hair.

You stayed nice and still for him as he ran the towel through your hair, massaging his fingers through the damp strands as he scratched a pleasant itch along your scalp. You peeked up at him beneath the towel once he was done, a little smile dancing on your lips as your eyes shimmered with amusement. He cocked his head to the side, waiting patiently for you to speak.

“Can you carry me back to bed too?” you asked.

It was more of a suggestion. A hopeful suggestion. And to your delight Zhongli nodded along, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead.

“I can do that, little love.”

Boothill:

You noticed that you had been gaining weight recently. And that revelation made you feel miserable. Boothill started to notice your shift in mood as well. It was particularly concerning to your cyborg space cowboy when he noticed you picking at your food one day, a sullen look weighing down your features as you poked and prodded your food with the tip of your fork. He was sure he hadn’t seen you take a bite yet.  

“What’s wrong, darling?” Boothill asked, mechanical voice whirring with concern from the other side of the table.

Your gaze flickered over to him, the chair he was sitting in creaking when he leaned forward. You shook your head as your gaze travelled back to your plate of food. 

“It’s nothing” you denied, voice despondent. 

“Ah fiddlesticks, don’t say it ain’t nothing darl. You’ve barely touched your food. Come on, you can tell ol’ Boothill what’s got you so down in the dumps.”

So you tell him. You lament to him how you’ve noticed your recent weight gain and how it is making you feel miserable. You can’t bring yourself to eat. Food doesn’t bring you joy anymore. Eating just means you’re going to gain more weight. Boothill only interjects when you start comparing yourself to other people who have perfect, flawless bodies and how you could never hope to achieve something like that.

“Hold up doll” Boothill said, brows pinched together in a fierce look. “Has anyone been saying something about your weight? Because I’ll go and get the muddlefudger and give ‘em a real good shake down.”

And you reply that no, no one has been saying anything to your face about it. But Boothill could still see the sadness lingering in your stare and it made him draw you into his arms. You resist at first when he tugs on your wrists, but with enough gentle coaxing you get up from your seat and make your way over to Boothill. You fall into his lap as he loops an arm around your plump waist, his other metal hand resting on your back as you balance yourself on his knee. 

“Hey sweet pea, you’re not doing yourself any favours by stressing about it” Boothill said, his voice soft. 

You hummed in response, still weepy eyed and looking miserable. It only made Boothill want to coddle you further. He tipped your chin in his direction, the cold bite of his metal fingers on your warm skin only stinging briefly before the cool touch started to heat up from the warmth of your skin. 

“Now I know I could tell you not to worry about it until the cows come home and you’ll think I’m full of hogwash. But you’re the prettiest person I know and ain’t nothing gonna change that. It doesn’t matter to me if you gained a little weight. Hell, you need me to pick you up like last time and prove that I can still toss you around?”

His words eventually started to sink in the more he talked and that last part made you snort a little. Boothill was beaming that he finally was able to at least make you smile a fraction. He squeezed your soft waist, running his hand along the ridges of your spine as you settled more comfortably in his lap. 

“Come on darl. You’ve got to eat. And if you’re still upset about all this later? We’ll work something out, I promise.”

Aalto

You had been feeling down a bit lately and Aalto started to notice your sullen mood. When he asked you what was wrong one day, on a warm spring day where the flowers were just starting to bloom once more, you told him what was wrong. 

“I think I’ve been gaining weight again” you lamented, eyes downcast and shy as you avoided looking at your boyfriend. 

A thoughtful hum stirred in the back of Aalto’s throat as he peered at you beneath the rim of his sunglasses. “Are you sure? Here, let me check.”

You barely register his words in your head, a soft “huh?” falling from your parted lips as Aalto waltzed over to you, wrapped his arms around your plump waist and lifted you up. You barely had time to brace yourself, hands scrambling for purchase on his sturdy shoulders as he held you aloft with ease, arms hugged tight around your soft waist as he flashed you a cheeky grin. 

“Nah, you weigh the same to me” Aalto replied. “Light as a feather.”

A soft snort stirred in the back of your throat and you started to smile at his goofy attitude. Aalto was obviously impressed with himself, preening under your attention as you fondly shook your head, rotten thoughts dispelled as you pinched his cheeks until they were cherry red. 

“You’re such a charmer” you playfully bit. “And a bit of a dork.”

Aalto playfully wriggled his eyebrows as you cupped his warm cheeks. “Yeah, but I’m your dork, hun.”

You couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him stupid.

Yinlin

Yinlin’s lap is reserved for you and you alone. Whenever you’re having a particularly bad day or whenever you start complaining that you’re just a tad too heavy, she’s immediately pulling you to her lap to coddle you. She babies you a little as she wraps her arms around your plump waist and balances you on her knees. She means well as she pinches your chubby, round cheeks between her fingers and tugs until you are smiling at her, giggling shyly as you playfully swat her hands away. Yinlin is good at weaving her words, validating your feelings and making you feel desired despite your complex relationship with your body image and weight. You feel pleasant tingles run along your spine as her fingers dance along your back, drawing soothing patterns into your body as she gives your soft waist a squeeze. 

“Don’t beat yourself up, sweet thing” she coos. “I think you’re perfect, just the way you are. And no one can tell you otherwise. Not even you sweetie.”

You give her a bashful smile and nod, playing with the long strands of vibrant red hair as you silently start to knot braids into the silky smooth wisps, making yourself comfortable as Yinlin let you stay in her lap for a little while longer. 

Gepard

You were running through the streets of Belobog, very, very late to a meet up with Serval. You were hoping, praying, that you weren’t going to be scolded for your tardiness as you rushed through the streets, dodging and weaving past people as you rushed to her workshop. Unfortunately for you, just as you reached the front door, you slipped on some ice in your haste, the heels of your boots making a terrible, shrieking noise that grated against your ears as you skidded. But fortunately for you, you ran straight into Gepard just as he left his sister’s workshop and if it wasn’t for his quick thinking, you would have smashed your face into the pavement. 

Your head was spinning as Gepard caught you and saved you from a nasty fall, his strong arms wrapped tight around your plump waist as he held you aloft and completely halted your momentum. You swear you went cross eyed from the abrupt stop, your gut lurching and you felt like you were about to choke on the raggard breath that got lodged in your throat. You were panting like you were currently fighting for your life, your legs aching something fierce from having sprinted all the way from the other side of Belobog just to get here. You groaned in pain and squirmed in Gepard’s hold.

“Woah easy there” he said, arms squeezed tight around your soft waist as he continued to hold you. “Slow down and take a deep breath.”

You were both stunned from what just happened and unbeknownst to you, Serval was snickering at you both from the doorway, subtly reaching for her phone to take a sneaky picture of you two both in the moment. You absentmindedly pat Gepard’s arm as he helps to put you the right way up, yet he still refused to let you go easily as he examined you head to toe for any sign of injury.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine, Gepard. Thanks for catching me.”

“You need to be careful. You shouldn’t be running through the streets like that” Gepard lightly reprimanded. 

You opened your mouth to say something but you swallowed your words when you realised that he was still holding you off the ground in his big, strong arms. It was like your weight meant nothing to him and you were starting to swoon from the sight. Your head was spinning again for a different reason. 

“Um, hey Gepard?” you asked, interrupting his small tirade about safety as you timidly licked your lips. “Can you please put me down?”

It took a long moment before Gepard realised just exactly how he was holding you and that you were a tad flustered because of it. He immediately apologised, stumbling over his words as he carefully placed your feet back on the ground. You hummed in appreciation, sparing him a sheepish smile as you straightened your clothes out. Serval snickered from the doorway again, a little louder this time and you both heard it this time as she playfully waved her phone, the screen displaying the awkward moment in clear, high pixel resolution. She crowed about it the entire week, calling you the cutest couple she had ever laid her eyes upon.

Jiyan

“Is something the matter?” Jiyan asked. 

His question caught you off guard and the first thing to fall from your mouth was a very undignified:

“Huh?”

He’s not perturbed by your response. He actually thinks it’s a little endearing the way you had been caught in a seemingly peaceful daydream as you blinked owlishly up at him, the flutter of your lashes over your round, chubby cheeks an adorable sight that he smiled fondly at. He politely cleared his throat and started again. 

“I’ve noticed you stealing glances at me for quite some time now” he explained. “Is everything alright?”

You feel your cheeks get warm under his soft gaze and you can’t help but fiddle with the flaking skin around your nails as a small distraction. You obviously hadn’t been subtle enough with the longing glances you had sent his way, staring at him for longer than was probably appropriate but given how intimate you already were with the General, he didn’t take offence to it. It looked like you had something on your mind as he patiently waited for you to carefully pick the words out of your brain and form a coherent response. 

“I was just thinking…” you started. “I…have a request.”

You stole another glance at him, feeling your cheeks get hotter by the second as you squirmed on the spot and let your thoughts come tumbling out. 

“I…Can you-Could you please pick me up in your arms?”

Jiyan stared at you in mild surprise, the request not at all what he was expecting. Before he even got the chance to respond, you immediately cut him off, waving your hands in the air as you tried to swat the words out of the air and dismiss the request. 

“I’m sorry, that probably sounded a little weird. It’s just I let my thoughts wander but you don’t have to do it if you’re not comfortable” you rambled, going off on a tangent like you needed to give a satisfactory explanation for your behaviour. “Just ignore it, I know it’s a strange request and you-”

You only stop short when you realize Jiyan was standing right in front of you and bundling you into his arms without a second thought. You squeaked loudly, every muscle in your body locking up as Jiyan easily picked you up in a bridal carry, your plump legs thrown over his arm while he hooks the over around your soft waist. You stared up at him in a daze, words stuck in your throat as you stared at his handsome face as he offered you a kind smile.

“Like this?” he asked. 

You swallowed the nervous lump in your throat as you started to nod your head vigorously in agreement. He made it look so effortless and you felt weightless being held in his arms like this; a complete dream come true.

Xiao

“Are you coming?” Xiao called down at you from atop the roof of Wangshu Inn.

You nodded in response as you slowly climbed the winding branches interwoven throughout the humble inn. Dusk was just settling in and tonight was going to be a clear night. Perfect for sitting under the stars and gazing at them for hours on end. A small huff puffed passed your plump lips as you reached for the next branch, pulling yourself up as you neared the shingled rooftops. Xiao stared down at you from above, his lips pressed into a tight, thin line as he took keen observation over your footfalls. You insisted that you could climb up here yourself and that Xiao didn’t need to use his teleporting capabilities to whisk you up. It was partial because whenever he did use that ability on you, it left you feeling nauseous for several, terrible minutes. 

He was only able to stand watching you clamber up for barely a minute before he vaulted over the edge and decided to help you up himself. It’s not that you couldn’t do it by yourself, you were capable. It’s just he couldn’t think of all the possible cuts and splinters you would get, blemishes on your soft body that he highly adored. The thought irked him enough that he decided to help you the rest of the way. He wordlessly landed beside you and before you could get a word out, Xiao wrapped his arms around your plump waist and hoisted you up before he took a mighty leap and landed back on the rooftop. 

Your head was spinning but in a pleasant way as Xiao slowly lowered you back down until you were standing back on your feet. You offered him a shy smile, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The sunset was gorgeous from where you were standing and as you admired the view, Xiao gently grabbed your wrist and guided you to sit down. Only for you to fall into his lap as he purposefully tugged you down on top of him until you were firmly seated on top of his legs. You figured Xiao must have been in a good mood if he was being so bold with you and the thought made you feel a little warm and fuzzy on the inside. He silently wrapped his arms around your soft waist once more, tugging you closer as he hooked his chin on your shoulder and watched the sunset with you.

[wri0thesley]

lion tamer - jing yuan x reader (12.4k)

it's taken for granted you'll take the job that nobody else wants, whilst the general is indisposed. you just didn't expect things to turn out like this.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. chubby reader. reader is afab but no gendered terms are used. descriptions of raw meat (animals eating), food, pining, fingering, cunnilingus, coming inside. pet names including little bird, darling, little thing. reader is implied to be shorter than jing yuan.

This was a commissioned work.

It’s a quiet whisper, at first - gossip among the lower-downs of the Luofu. You hear it on the fringes and the edges, but you dismiss it as really none of your business; you’re already working harder than most everyone else thanks to the small matter of your far shorter lifespan, and you don’t intend to set yourself back by listening to idle gossip. You have other things to concentrate on; the busywork that you’ve been assigned to as a junior (very junior) member of the Seat of Divine Foresight. 

Really, though they call you a ‘non-administrative support specialist’, you know what you really are; a general dogsbody, somebody to pick up all of the pieces that others sweep by. Still; just getting a position here means you’ve outdone most people, and you hold in your heart the idea that you could get even further up this ladder of success if you simply tried hard enough. You’ve heard tell that even some of the long-life species haven’t managed to make it as far as actually working within the Seat itself, so really . . . you can’t help but feel a little proud of yourself. 

Which is why you choose to ignore the swirling rumour about your esteemed Arbiter-General until you’re called into a meeting with Yong Hai himself. 

(The General is sick, the rumours say. The General may not last another day. The General’s laziness has caught up with him, the General may not make it, and what will we all do then--)

“So,” Yong Hai says, all business. “You’ve probably heard about it already.”

There’s a flare of disquiet in your gut; that the gossip and the rumours you’ve been so steadfastly avoiding are true. You don’t know what the Luofu would do with General Jing Yuan; you cannot imagine the ship and the world without him, when he has been such a stolid presence - and the way that the general public will react doesn’t bear thinking about--

“Stop that,” Yong Hai says, with an amused look in his eye even as he fights to keep his mouth in a firm, commanding line. “It’s not as bad as people are saying. The General has simply . . . contracted something that he isn’t bouncing back as quickly from as we’d hoped. We’ve had to send him off to the Alchemy Commission for a few days, just to see if we can work out how to help . . .” The secretary catches himself, clearly remembering he’s talking to someone who amounts to little more than custodial staff. He coughs. “Anyway. It’s left us in a bit of a conundrum, and after some discussion, we think you’re qualified to handle it.”

You tilt your head to the side as you try and think what you could possibly do to assist in this matter.

You’re no healer; you’re no nurse. You can’t help them figure out how to cure the General, you’re not equipped to sit at his bedside and mop his feverish brow (your cheeks go hot and your face burns at the very thought of it). You certainly can’t take over any of Jing Yuan’s actual duties. The idea of you as any kind of military strategist is laughable--

“How can I help, Sir?” You ask, partly because that is what’s expected of you and partly because you really have no idea what use you’ll be in the situation. 

“Ah,” he says, and then he coughs again - he looks into the corner of the room, as if he’s begging someone to help him, and you remember that he and his sister are most often found together. But here, it’s just the two of you, and he has nobody to help him to break whatever news he’s going to break to you. You hope it’s not going to involve cleaning up a sick-room; you’re really not good with that kind of thing--

“We need somebody to tend to his home affairs,” Yong Hai says, eventually. “He . . . Ah, look, I’m going to come out and say it. General Jing Yuan has a penchant for taking in stray animals and the like, and he only even agreed to let himself be looked at on the caveat we had to promise to find someone to look after them.”

You think of the statues of lions that decorate the place, and you feel a trickle of cold sweat down the back of your spine. You hope desperately that the secretary isn’t implying that you’re about to quite literally be fed to the lions--

“Stop looking like that!” He says, exasperated. “All of them are perfectly tame, and you’ll be in no danger. He has a . . . lion that he’s incredibly fond of. Several birds. And . . . ah,” he looks embarrassed again. “He’s informed us he usually leaves out a veritable feast for any other neighbourhood strays on his balcony, and he was very worried that they weren’t going to be properly nourished whilst he was away.”

Finches. You can do that. Neighbourhood strays - cats and dogs, you suppose - are all very well. But the lion . . .

That doesn’t matter. Yong Hai seems to have reached the end of his meeting with you, to his tangible relief. He’s already bustling about his desk and looking longingly towards the closed door. 

“A new schedule’s been drawn up for you and sent to you already,” he says. “All of the relevant information should be in the attachments! Have fun, won’t you? The General is so very fond of his pets, you see--”

Your phone beeps as if it is punctuating his point; the secretary beams at you, and you get the distinct impression you are being told to put your best foot forward and roll with the punches. ‘Get on with it’, as someone without any manners might say. 

“Understood,” you say, and you force yourself to smile and look on the bright side of things even if you’re sure you’re going to have nightmares about being eaten alive by a lion tonight. This is a post that the General wanted filled personally! This is almost as personal as someone can get to the General, actually; it appears you’ll be working in his actual home! It’s a . . . a step up! A stepping stone!

You force yourself to ignore that it is actually very much a case of sticking the lowest ranked person (and someone well-known for taking on as much as they can with cheerful aplomb, due to your fear of ever really saying ‘no’) onto the job that nobody else wants to do. 

“I’ll do my best,” you say, and Yong Hai beams at you even as he gestures for you to go and get to grips with your new role. 

Well. 

You have no other choice then, really, but to Get On With It. 

You are quite frankly terrified the next day, when you turn up to your newest duty. The documents sent to you had instructed you to pick up raw meat for the lion from the General’s most trusted supplier before you went up to his chambers; apparently, birdseed and cat-and-dog food was kept there, but the lion’s appetite could not so easily be sated. You have to give yourself a pep-talk before all of it; have to convince yourself that running away from this new responsibility would be both awful for your career prospects and terribly cruel.

“Ah,” says the supplier, when you turn up and tremulously hand over your phone so he can see the attachments displayed on the screen giving you this new Meat Power, “So you’re looking after the waifs and strays and Mimi, then?” 

“Mimi?” You ask, your voice tremulous, and he laughs as he hands over two incredibly full buckets of raw meat. It’s a good job you’re not squeamish. 

“That’s the lion,” he says. “The General tried to name her Snow Lion after he realised she wasn’t just going to be a pretty little white housecat, but . . . Mimi fits. You’ll see!”

The concept of Jing Yuan attempting to adopt a pretty little white house cat and being saddled instead with a huge lion, and having to continue to refer to the powerful beast as ‘Mimi’ despite his best efforts, keeps you entertained right up until you’re outside the door to the General’s chambers and you remember that a carnivorous predator awaits you on the other side of it.

“Well,” you say to yourself, hoisting the buckets up and taking a deep breath, “there’s no point delaying the inevitable. If I get eaten today . . .”

And you let the pass-key you’ve been given float against the sensor, until the ornate doors to Jing Yuan’s chambers slowly part and admit you into the Arbiter-General’s inner sanctum. 

The first thing that you’re struck by is how it seems that the General left in a rush. The entire place, whilst not dirty, has an air of untidiness. You hear the cheeping of finches from the first room; excitement that their Master may have finally returned to play with them. You can’t help but feel sorry for them - from what Yong Hai has said, it may be quite a while before Jing Yuan is well enough to return to his home. 

There are touches of the General everywhere, now that you’re looking. Delicate flowers (you’ve heard he likes small, delicate things, and you can’t help the nervous tug at your clothing as you consider just how indelicate you find yourself). Ceramics and porcelain that you fear are so fragile they may shatter even under your gaze. An unfinished game of star chess, a coffee cup left half-drunk . . . That last one could fetch a fine price in the black market. You’ve heard those traders hawking ‘tissues used by Helm Master Yukong’ or even ‘a book enjoyed by General Jing Yuan’s protege!’. 

Before your mind can lead you too far down that dangerous path, though, the lady of the hour appears. 

She’s beautiful. 

You have to stop yourself gasping aloud. Any fears you might have had seem to fall to the wayside, unimportant, compared to the majesty of the lion before you; the pure white fur, the wise face, the mane that fluffs out from her. She’s pure white; lean, but perhaps with a little pouch at the tummy. Not a single snarl or tangle mars her fur, not a single speck of dirt upon her, like the false moon looking down upon the Luofu--

She sees that you’re holding two big buckets and seems to recognise them, because it’s barely a breath before her ears twitch and she pounces like a kitten, seemingly not realising that you are smaller than her owner and she is far larger than the average kitten is. All of the wind is knocked out of you as you cry out her name and are tackled to the ground. 

You find yourself beneath the warmth of her body, a sweet scent emanating from her fur as if the esteemed General regularly bathes and shampoos her. Delighted, she sticks her snout right into one of the buckets. A low, pleased rumble emits from her throat as she works her teeth over the meat--

You reach up, hesitantly, with the one arm that isn’t pinned by the great weight of her. Your fingers hover for a moment, unsure of what to do - is she like a cat? Does she prefer chin scratches or ear scratches?

You settle for a very light pet at the side of her mane, just by her face. Her fur is just as soft as you had thought she would be - a lady who is clearly incredibly spoilt. Well-cared for. You have another flash of a vision of Jing Yuan - combing her mane, tying a shiny ribbon about her neck to match the ribbon he wears in his own hair. 

Mimi pauses in her enjoyment of the food. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your senses on a sudden high alert - what if she didn’t like being touched like that? What if she’s about to mistake your hand for a part of the buffet you’ve brought her?

A moment that seems like an hour passes.

And then she leans into your hand with a pleased rumble-squeak-growl, her eyes closing in pleasure, and despite how your heart is beating and your legs are aching from the way she’s twisted them and trapped them beneath her . . . you smile. 

For the first week, every time you let yourself into Jing Yuan’s space, you are alone aside from the animals he keeps there. Mimi launches herself at you, but you’ve learnt to sidestep and laugh and ruffle her mane, offering her choice little tidbits to curl up and gnaw on her food whilst you see to the strays that congregate on Jing Yuan’s balcony. They had taken a little longer to warm to you, but after the second day when it became clear if they wanted the same food Jing Yuan usually prepared they would have to come to you, they had thawed considerably. You leave them to their devices, and finish off with the finches. 

They hop from place to place in their cage, cheeping brightly. Sometimes they hop onto your finger or your shoulder, looking at you like you’re the most wonderful being in the universe. Once one had hopped onto your head and you’d stayed stock-still for five minutes, afraid of disturbing it. 

After all of the pets and animals are fed, you’ve gotten into the habit of sitting with them for a little while. Curling around Mimi and stroking her mane and her tail (you’ve braided it, actually, and told her how pretty she looks with little red ribbons in her fur as she blinked at you her slow, lazy blinks). Listening to birdsong. Letting the strays rub about your feet and imagining the Arbiter-General himself doing all of these mundane tasks. 

It’s strange, to think of him as so . . . so much a real person. General Jing Yuan has always seemed a man of mystery and just a touch of romance to you; a long life species who has outlived almost everyone he’s ever worked with, who has steered the Luofu into glories and battled bravely and heroically against Abundance abominations for longer than you’ve been alive. The first time you’d met him, when you’d gotten your place at the Seat of Divine Foresight (before you’d quite found out how meagre your duties really were), you’d been utterly tongue-tied. 

He’d been charming, naturally. Smiling and charismatic and low and pleasant-voiced, saying how glad he was to have you aboard and how he hoped you would enjoy your time here. There’d been, perhaps, a flash of sadness in his eye at the knowledge you were a short-life species-- but you’d quickly tried to dispel that notion, scolding yourself for your own romanticism. Jing Yuan is your colleague, your boss - better to not harbour such idealism, to make him into a storybook character instead of a man. 

Still. It’s rather hard to imagine him out of breath, puffing and wheezing, after pulling the bucket Mimi had gotten her paw stuck in off of the silly lion’s foreleg before she sent herself into a panic. 

You think that the menagerie that he keeps in his private quarters have grown fond of you in turn. The task that everyone had seemed to find so onerous quickly becomes one of your favourite parts of the day; there is something to be said about the healing properties to the soul of having a lion roll over to show you her tummy and wiggle enticingly until you give in to her and give her all of the rubs and tickles that she so clearly desires. 

So for about a week and a half, everything chugs along; you fall into routine, and the animals recognise you in turn. They sometimes still crane their necks and heads hopefully around you to see if Jing Yuan is around (Mimi especially occasionally looks dejected at his absence, though her ears perk up once again as soon as she remembers the buckets you come bearing are filled with delicious morsels for her), but when it is just you they still seem somewhat satisfied. 

Nobody gives you any warning that Jing Yuan has returned to his own rooms. 

Which is why you walk into the main room with your buckets swinging on your arms, singing a silly little song you’ve composed for Mimi about how the meat is soon to be ‘delicious and yummy’ in her ‘full-up-tummy’, you’re so surprised to hear a velvet soft chuckle floating from the big circular sofa in the centre of it that you almost drop all of those delicious-and-yummy steaks and thighs all over Jing Yuan’s ornately tiled floor. 

You stare at the sofa, your cheeks going all-over hot, as a mass of blankets moves and shifts and a slightly ruffled pale head emerges from them.

The General himself. 

It’s obvious, looking at him, that he hasn’t been feeling his best. His normally tied up hair falls over his face in unstyled sweeps, there are dark circles beneath his eyes and a sharpness to his cheekbones that you have never noticed before. Instead of the armour you have grown so used to seeing him clad in, he wears civilian clothes; a loose shirt that shows off the lines of his throat, his collarbone. 

Despite all of that, though, he is still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. Your heart still skips a beat. He takes you in for a moment, his face scrunched up as if he is not quite awake; and then, a small smile spreads over his handsome face. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, in that low, musical voice. “I’d like to know where the song has to go, after her tummy has been filled.”

“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out, awkward, nervous, unsure of what to say. “I-- nobody told me you’d be back, I can leave, I didn’t mean to--”

He holds up a lazy hand, the smile still on his face. His eyes are half-lidded, his overall look almost indulgent.

“Please,” he says. “I’m . . . better, but not fully recovered. I’ve been given strict instructions that I'm not to lift heavy objects or do anything more than relax for at least another week. I’d be much obliged - if it’s not too much trouble on top of your own duties, of course - if you could carry on seeing to my . . . what did they call it?” Another small, secret smile. “Ah yes. My little zoo.” 

“I-if you’re sure . . .” You say, surprised to find when you say it aloud that you’re relieved. You truly have gotten attached to all of the animals, even in this short time. 

Mimi butts your leg, impatient for her food, her huge paw petulantly tapping upon the floor. Jing Yuan laughs again, and you feel your stomach clench at the warm sound as it fills the room. 

“Oh, she likes you,” he says, in delight. “I’ve never seen her be so patient with anyone but myself, you know.”

“She’s been friendly since I met her,” you reply, reaching down to scratch her behind her ears and to place the buckets somewhere she won’t make such a mess (though she’s actually a fairly fastidious eater, for someone with no thumbs; you suppose she’s so proud of her lovely white coat that she doesn’t want to risk staining it).

Jing Yuan hums in consideration, his smile not leaving his face, as he watches you pet Mimi and her affectionate head bump before she dives back into her food. As you move into the other sitting room - the one that the finches reside in - you hear more rustling, and as you gather the birdseed you’re surprised to see that Jing Yuan is following you, sloping afterwards determinedly. There’s a definite tilt to his walk - the walk of a man who’s been in bed for a week - and you can’t help but say something.

“Sh-should you be out of bed, General?” You wince at the slight admonishment in your tone, fearing he will think you’re scolding him - but Jing Yuan simply smiles. 

“I need to check on my sweet little charges,” he says. “Come now. I’ve been in bed for days. Let me wander about my own rooms without worrying your pretty head too much about it, alright?”

It takes all of your grace not to turn into a pathetic, embarrassed mess at the easy way he says ‘your pretty head’ - somehow, you manage to keep your composure, keep some measure of poise, even as inside you feel yourself turn to mush. 

He sits down upon a chaise by the birdcages as you reach in to fill the small bowls and scatter the feed, his eyes not leaving you for a second. He smiles when he sees a finch or two hop upon your hand to peck at the seeds and bits left in the crevices of your palm. 

“A true animal whisperer,” he says, watching one of the more inquisitive finches hop up to your wrist and your forearm to tug teasingly at your elbow-length sleeves. “They’re not too fond of strangers, either.”

“I have been feeding them for a week, Sir,” you say to him, with a smile at the finch as you urge it off of your arm and back to the rest of its friends. “They’ve gotten used to me.”

He shakes his head, his hair falling about his shoulders, and you’re struck with the thought that he and Mimi even look similar. You’ve heard the old adage about how pet owners and their pets grow to look the same, of course, but you’d never realised quite how true it was until that moment and the sight of Jing Yuan doing a motion you’ve grown used to Mimi doing. 

He follows, too, as you take food and water onto the balcony. As cats wind around first your ankles, and then his - as dogs wag their tails and lick at your hands. 

“If I were a jealous man . . .” He says, laughing. “They must see something truly special in you.”

“Me?” You ask, aiming for a tinkly laugh but landing on ‘incredulous’. “No, they’re just sweet creatures. All of them are.”

He’s unerringly patient with the animals; his big hands tender as they scratch ears and tickle chins. Seeing the great General being so delicate makes your heart turn over in your chest; his big, scarred hands in direct opposition to the delicate bones and the soft fluff of all of the creatures that mass here. 

“Don’t be so modest,” Jing Yuan says quietly in reply. “I’ve known some of these animals for years. If they didn’t think you were something special . . .” 

Your cheeks are hot again. Somehow, in the course of this conversation, Jing Yuan has gotten closer and closer to you. Out here on the balcony, under the warm false sun of the Luofu, there’s nowhere for Jing Yuan to sit and watch - so he’s stood close to you. Close enough that you can see the warm gold amber of his gaze, the fan of his lashes, the mole high up beneath his eye. You swallow, and the sound is almost indecently loud even with the background mewls and barks and purrs. 

“I’m glad that they found someone so able to do this for me,” he says, his voice still quiet. That single word, those single two syllables, somehow manage to be imbued with more meaning than you’d ever imagined they could be. “I’ll be looking forward to seeing you.”

“Just until you’re feeling a bit better,” you reply, cheeks still hot, throat still sore, heart still beating far too fast in your chest. You wonder what Jing Yuan is thinking as he looks down at you - if he has noticed your anxiety, the way that he seems to set you all aflutter. You hope he thinks it is merely because he is your superior, and not because it’s so very hard not to dwell on his looks and his warm voice and the surprisingly different persona that he shows when he’s doing this--

Jing Yuan is still smiling at you, from back on the sofa covered in his blankets with Mimi spread out protectively over his feet, as you foolishly wave goodbye and leave his chambers. 

You get to witness Jing Yuan’s recovery firsthand. The first few days, he is still unsure of his own limbs; he still slowly lopes around the rooms. Once or twice, you come in to feed the animals and he stays wrapped within his blankets, Mimi only leaving his side to demand some cuddles and some meat from you. 

Despite his illness, though, he always has time to talk to you. He always asks you how you are feeling, what you have been doing; he teases you for how the animals seem to recognise you just as well as him now. When one of the finches pecks at your cheek, he chuckles and says;

“Ah, wouldn’t we all like to give our little bird a kiss like that?”

You don’t know how to respond to that, ducking your head, muttering something unintelligible that wins another of his laughs. His words err on the edge of being flirtatious. Once or twice he compliments your outfit, your hair - how lovely you look today. You never know how to react to such things; you force yourself not to dwell on them, reminding yourself of Jing Yuan’s own looks and his position and trying to tell yourself not to get attached and that the General is merely trying to be polite. 

One afternoon, he asks you to sit with him and have tea. 

It would be rude of you to say no; not when he has placed two teacups before him, anticipating your acceptance, a plate of sweet treats in an amount that would be gluttonous even for him arranged with the tea service. So you try and gracefully position yourself across from him. You try and remember your manners as you take the cup by the handle, as you choose the least ornamented and sugary of the delicacies on offer--

(It’s hard not to remember being told not to indulge at all. You feel conscious of eating in front of him--)

“Have this one,” Jing Yuan says, as if he can read your mind, and he pushes towards you an intricately decorated little cake resplendent with sugar roses and ruffles. “It’s one of my favourites.”

Your mouth waters. You give him an embarrassed smile as he encourages you further, reaching over to pick it up himself and place it upon your plate instead of merely pushing it.

“Really?” You ask, trying to pick it up neatly. “It’s a bit more delicate than I thought you’d like. I suppose I imagined you liking things a little rougher--”

Your face goes hot as you realise what you just said, but Jing Yuan ignores the innuendo and simply smiles at you. 

“Ah,” he says. “I like things that are . . . delicate. Smaller than me. So lovely to observe and enjoy, don’t you think?” His gaze doesn’t leave your face. You have never considered yourself delicate - the curves that you display have put an end to that - but under his eyes, you can’t help but think of the breadth of his shoulders and his height and think how a man like him could make even you feel small and breakable. “What do you think?”

The little cake is sweet on the tongue, flavoured with a hint of something you can’t quite name. Your eyes widen in surprise. 

“It’s wonderful,” you tell him, swallowing the bite and enjoying how the taste lingers. “Truly.”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” he says - and then, he reaches over the table. “You have something--” 

You go stock-still, embarrassed and shocked at the intimacy of the gesture, as he uses his thumb to wipe a smudge of icing from the corner of your mouth. He keeps your gaze the whole time. It is something a lover does - it is not something you’d ever expected General Jing Yuan to do for you--

“There,” he says, returning to his cake as if nothing has happened. “It would be a terrible shame if I couldn’t see all of your lovely face, after all.” 

He is always saying things like this; off-the-cuff remarks that, if he were not the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, you would interpret as being flirty. He mentions them when you have tea together, when he ropes you into playing a game of star chess (“Don’t think I will go easy on you because you are nice to look at,” he says, as he places the counters into their starting positions), when he watches you and Mimi and you and the finches and tells you that he cannot decide which is cuter. 

You see him get gradually stronger and stronger. No more limping. He is almost always dressed, now. His hair no longer falls in shaggy waves about his face. His dark circles dissipate, his voice getting somehow even deeper and more velvety. 

The unspoken reality that soon, Jing Yuan will be well and you will no longer have to take on this extra duty hangs over your head.

You find that the idea makes you feel sick. You are not only enjoying caring for the animals, now, but you’ve also started to look forward to seeing the General. 

Well.

That’s not quite it.

You have to be honest with yourself, don’t you? 

You’ve developed a crush on him. 

You can’t imagine not seeing him. Not being greeted with Mimi’s butts and her batting paws; not hearing the pleased chirps of his finches whenever they see you. Not enjoying tea with him any more, simply existing in this lazy golden time when you do not have to think about work or his position above you or anything other than the four walls that surround you and the multiple hearts beating within it. 

Jing Yuan brings it up first.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, coughing one day after the two of you have played a game of star chess that you were thoroughly destroyed during. “Well. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m getting better.”

“I’m glad to see it, Sir,” you say, forcing a smile to your face even as your heart falls into the region of your feet. “We were all very worried about you. Everyone is always asking me how you are and when you’ll be returning to work--”

His face clouds, a flinch so quick you almost miss it.

“Yes,” he says, a mournful tone to his voice. “I’ll soon be returning to work.”

You tell yourself sternly not to cry. This was never supposed to be permanent. 

“Then I suppose you won’t need me any longer,” you say, forcing a smile on your face. You are going to be gracious if it kills you.

“Ah,” Jing Yuan replies. “That’s what I’d like to talk to you about. I . . . we are all very fond of you, you see.” He motions to Mimi, who has come to curl beside you, her head laid against your knee. “I fear Mimi will riot if you were to stop bringing her all of those steaks, you understand. And who knows what she’d do, deprived of your song about her tummy?”

You squeak in embarrassment. Mimi lifts her head and gives you a slow, displeased look, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement. 

“Well. I’m very aware that it’s not part of your duties, and I’d be willing of course to pay you more for all of the trouble, but--” 

You see Jing Yuan falter for one of the first times; as if he is afraid that you are about to reject him outright. He coughs, trying to hide his anxiety, but it is an emotion you’re intimately familiar with and as such you recognise it for what it is. 

“We’re all so very fond of you,” he repeats. “Won’t you keep coming?”

You barely leave a breath before you’re happily agreeing. 

It’s not quite the same. 

You knew it wouldn’t be; you knew that you wouldn’t see Jing Yuan anywhere near as often, as he resumed all of the many duties that the Arbiter-General has to take on. Despite how unenthused he had seemed to be returning to his work, you knew that Jing Yuan took his responsibilities terribly seriously). 

Still.

You had thought you might see him more. Might still be able to drink a cup of tea with him, even if it could not be the same kind of slow, languid time the two of you had taken over it before. You’d thought that there’d still be time for a conversation or two. 

The reality is that you almost never see the General now. 

At work, your paths had crossed only rarely; now, hyper-aware of his presence, you realise that you see him almost never. Not at work, and not at his own home. 

You’re still excited to see the animals - for the finches to happily chirp at you as if they’re telling you about their day. One of them rides about on your shoulder, now, even when you go out to feed the strays. You’re still excited to tell Mimi what a good girl she is and rub her tummy and play with her (she’s inordinately fond of ribbons and the chasing thereof, like an overgrown housecat). 

But without Jing Yuan there . . .

There’s something missing. 

You still do your duties as well as you can - Jing Yuan has negotiated a hefty raise for you, all things considered - but you can’t help sometimes leaving his home feeling a little empty at the lack of seeing the General. You can’t help being disconsolate as you think about him - as you remember his flirty little asides, the way he’d looked at you across the room, the smile that played across his mouth whenever he did. You know he couldn’t really be interested in you, that he was probably like that with most people - but a secret little flame cannot help but burn in your heart even so. 

Days pass, quiet, lonely. You work, and feed the animals, and go home to your own empty quarters. You work, feed, go home, work, feed, go home--

Until one evening, when you’re just about to leave Jing Yuan’s chambers, when the door opens and the General appears. He looks a little red in the face; his breath comes in short little pants. You’ve never seen him so obviously flustered; usually, Jing Yuan fits perfectly up to his reputation as the Drowsy General. 

“Are you alright?” You ask him, rushing over. You’re touching him before you’ve thought through consequences; finger hovering over his pulse point, reaching up to feel his forehead to make sure he’s not running a temperature. Through the panting, he looks at you and smiles. 

“I’m afraid,” he says, still breathing heavily, his voice rasping. “I made up a little lie to be able to get back here on an errand that doesn’t really exist.”

“General,” you scold him. It’s not like him to shirk responsibilities. He laughs. 

“Yes, yes, I know, little thing-- but I had to see you. I wanted to see you again.”

You think he’s misspoken.

“I have to get back,” he says, and he reaches down - his hands upon your cheek again. You don’t know how to reply, what to say, what is going on. All you know is that you are there, and Jing Yuan is there, and something is happening. Fizzing on the air is a promise that something is going to change. “But . . . I couldn’t-- I needed to finally--”

Jing Yuan kisses you. 

It’s a kiss as messy and rushed as he is right now. A kiss that says that he has to hurry back, despite how much he doesn’t want to. You, unused to being kissed and even more unused to being kissed by handsome military leaders who feel a hundred times out of your league, do not kiss him back. He’s messy and wet, and his teeth clash against your lips as you stand there, feeling foolish and wrong-footed.

He realises you’re not kissing him back, and he stops - he draws back, his eyebrows furrowed. He opens his mouth to speak. 

He’s going to say it was a mistake, you realise. He’s going to say he thought you were someone else, that he was carried away in the heat of the moment. You and Jing Yuan? No. It couldn’t be. It’s absurd, it’s silly, nobody could ever believe it - and yet.

And yet.

Your heart couldn’t take his rejection.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out - and you push past him and out of the door and back towards the comforting ordinary normality of your own empty rooms. 

Despite your embarrassment, fear and all of those other emotions keeping you up all night, when you wake up the next morning you know that things will be worse the more you put them off. So you get dressed for work and you thank Lan that, when you walk into the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan is nowhere to be seen. 

You hope he is hard at work, far away from you. You cannot quite face him yet. You haven’t properly said goodbye to your foolish dreams. 

You can’t shirk your other duties either, so at the ordinary time you stand up from your desk (you’ve somehow been saddled with the job of reviewing paperwork for grammar inconsistencies. You feel certain there ought to be software of some sort that does this job for you, but it had been laid here on your desk when you’d gotten to it and you were not in the habit of arguing about your duties), and you head to the designated supplier of raw meats for Mimi’s consumption.

“Oh,” says the supplier, the evening after Jing Yuan had finagled a way to see you. “He told me to let you know to go straight up today.” 

You frown, not quite sure why; you hope Mimi is alright. It feels strange to be going towards Jing Yuan’s home without your arms weighed down with buckets of meat, but you push forward even so. You hope last night - the awkward kiss, the way he had looked at you - does not sour things between the two of you. You hope that he isn’t about to tell you to never come back. Your heart makes a new home, somewhere in the vicinity of your throat, as you hesitantly knock upon his door.

A beat passes. Your mind helpfully provides you with all of the ways in which Jing Yuan could be about to fire you - or worse, let you down gently and admit that he had a moment of weakness. In that moment, you suddenly seem so much more aware than before of yourself - of the unfashionable curves, of the amount of space you take up, of how a man like Jing Yuan could surely not have really wanted to kiss someone like you - and then, he has opened the door and he is smiling at you and he doesn’t look angry.

Instead, upon seeing you there, a smile passes across his face; tugs at the corners of his lips, crinkles the corners of his eyes.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says to you - and he reaches across the threshold and his hand brushes your cheek, as soft and tender with you as he is with his finches. “I’m sorry if I frightened you last night.”

“I’m sorry I ran,” tumbles out of your mouth. “I just . . . I didn’t think you-- and somebody like me-- and I was afraid--”

He lays a finger over your lips, still smiling. 

“It’s alright,” he says, in that low, smooth voice. “I’m sorry if I caused you undue trouble, little bird.” The pet name falls from his lips as easily as any other trifle, though it makes you feel hot and aware of yourself and flattered all at once. “Please come in.”

He takes your hand to gently urge you across the threshold, his touch still feather light. You think, as he does it, of all of the other things those hands have done; all of the battles they have waged, all of the strength that must be contained within them despite how gentle his touch is now. 

“I’ve asked someone else to take care of the animals,” he says to you, not letting go of your hand as he leads you through the front room. You realise with a start exactly where he is taking you as he approaches a door you have never had reason to open before. He looks at you, eyes keen and golden. “I wanted us to be alone. I would hope, little bird, if you do not want this . . .” 

“I do,” tumbles from your mouth. It is nothing but the honest truth. You let the crush that you’ve been trying to deny, the fear of Jing Yuan not liking you or finding you attractive, the anxieties of not being good enough, all wash over you, in favour of the beating of your heart and the feel of his hand on your face and the sight of his hand upon the doorknob of his bedroom. 

He turns fully so he stands before you. Hands come up, cradling your face; thumbs brushing the plump apples of your cheek, fingertips upon the soft flesh. He is smiling still, even as he dips his head lower, so low you can see the multitudes of swirling shades of gold in his eyes. 

“Promise me,” he murmurs, low and soft. “Tell me you want me the way I want you. No expectations, little one. Your career, your position, your everything - nothing will change if you do not want me as badly as I desire you. Honesty.” You realise a tear has escaped from the corner of your eye. You have never felt so . . . seen. So very much wanted. So sure of anything in your life. He wipes that tear with his thumb, tilting your face closer to him so that if you just angled your head differently you could kiss him. “Promise me.” 

“I promise,” you whisper, and Jing Yuan’s lips meet yours. 

This kiss is entirely unlike the one from yesterday; this kiss is slow, luxurious. Jing Yuan starts off gentle with you, his hand still cupping your jaw - his lips moving against yours in slow, indolent waves. He nips at your bottom lip with his teeth and wins a gasp from you, a hitch of your breath, as your own hands come up to rest lightly upon his chest. You feel his mouth curve into a smile against your own. 

“You’re adorable,” he rumbles, pulling back just enough that you can still feel his breath on your face. “Truly - you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this to you.”

“I--” You helplessly stare up at him. You can barely believe this is happening, as he pushes open the door to his most private of domains. “Really?”

He laughs again, gently taking your arm and urging you into the room. You are helpless to do anything but follow him - to let him slowly, slowly, slowly pull you beside him and onto his bed. 

“You really have no idea how . . . desirable you are?” He asks, voice low and husky, humming with want. His hand skims over your cheek, the nape of your neck, following the line of your jaw and your throat to linger over your collarbone. His eyes follow the path his fingers take, not moving from your form for an instant. “You really didn’t notice me staring at you, little bird?” He leans in, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. His lips brush over the pulse point in your neck, making you squeak in surprise again even as it sends a bolt of heat to the space between your legs. “Imagining what you would feel like under my hands? Imagining what you would look like, divested of that maddeningly conservative uniform they make you wear?” Another kiss, this one with a hint of teeth. You realise with a hot flush of embarrassment mixed with want you have cried out at the sensation of the almost-bite. “Imagining how you would react to every touch I gave you?” 

“Sir,” you pant, dazed and amazed and hot and needy. “I-- I thought about you, too--”

“Oh,” he murmurs, as his big fingers slide over your body, feeling the ample shape of you through that same conservative uniform. His big palms brush the soft chub of your upper arms, the meat of your chest, the shape of your waist and over the curve of your hips, basely appreciating your body even beneath the fabric. “I’m sure they were no match for the utterly filthy things I imagined doing to you.” 

His thumb digs into the indent of your waist, tugging you closer to him so that you’re pressed tighter against his body. He smiles down at you, every inch the conquering general, and your heart beats in time with the pounding between your legs. He looks at you like he wants to devour you. Wanting and hungry and lustful, like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever seen. It’s not a look you’re overly familiar with receiving - but oh, does it feel amazing to be on the receiving end of it from Jing Yuan. 

“Such a fragile thing,” he murmurs down to you, and you almost laugh, for you do not feel fragile - but Jing Yuan continues speaking, and you get lost in the dulcet tone of his voice. “So very mortal. So very ephemeral . . .” He sighs, dips his head and kisses you again, a flurry of pecks upon your lips as his thumb draws circles where it rests. “Will you let me make the most of having you, little bird? Let me show you how beautiful you are?” He smiles. “I have always had a weakness for delicate things.” 

He means it. 

Any time you have ever felt too big; ungainly, or ill-shaped - all of it falls to the wayside under the warm haze of being looked at and admired and wanted by Jing Yuan. You find yourself smiling up at him, aware you probably look as though there is not a thought in your head, but the General doesn’t seem to mind as he looks at you with hunger colouring his gaze. 

“May I undress you?” He asks, voice low and cajoling. His fingers tease beneath the neckline of your uniform, and it feels as though they leave a trail of fire everywhere they linger. You do not trust yourself to speak; you nod at him, your breath coming out in short little pants. He makes a soft noise of approval, before his fingers are working at buttons and fabric. Cool air hits your bare skin; your uniform is gently cajoled off of your body, tossed aside to be worried about later as Jing Yuan’s hungry eyes drink in every new inch of your exposed skin. 

He does not stop praising you as he does it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, as your top half is bared, as his eyes roam over your chest and his hands come up and squeeze the generous curve of them, palms rough against delicate skin. You shiver as his thumbs find your nipples, as they rub over them again and again until the buds stiffen beneath his touch and a soft whine escapes the back of your throat. “You’re beautiful.”

His tone is nothing if not worshipful. By slow, luxurious degrees, Jing Yuan helps divest you of your garments. As your underwear and bottoms are rolled down, as fabric bunches at thighs and knees, he does not stop murmuring sweet nothings about how soft you are, how beautiful, how lucky he is to be able to see you like this. 

About how he has been thinking about having you like this since the moment he saw you. 

“You looked so beautiful then too,” he murmurs, as your underwear is pulled from your ankles. He briefly gazes at it, the gusset saturated with your slick, and he smiles. “Ah . . . that little song, the nervous, shy reaction to realising I was there - the sight of you all soft-eyed and adoring with Mimi . . . I’ve never wanted to have my wicked way with somebody quite so much.” 

You’re bare beneath him, Jing Yuan slowly urging you to lay down upon the coverlets of his large bed. You suppose that it’s so large so that if Mimi desires to sleep with him, she can, but it alongside Jing Yuan’s own size simply helps you feel small and delicate and breakable in a way you never have before. 

“I wanted to know,” Jing Yuan murmurs, leaning down and brushing his lips over yours, teasing and feather-light. “If you would be quite so adorable, squirming and nervous and vulnerable, if I were to have you like this.”

Your cheeks are hot. Jing Yuan has not lost a single garment of his own, but you are entirely unguarded to whatever he wants to do to you now - bare of every scrap of fabric. His gaze lingering on your body almost makes you want to draw in; to curl around the exposed flesh of your stomach, to cover the pudge. 

Jing Yuan notices something in the way you hold yourself. He smiles down at you and cups your cheek.

“Don’t hide,” he breathes. “I want to see all of you, little thing. I want you to know how beautiful I find you.”

“I--”

He takes your hand in his, shifting so he is on his knees between your legs. Gently, he guides your unsure hand to the space over his own crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, you can sense the heat of him; the stiffness pushing against his trousers.

“If I did not want you,” he says, “why would you make me so needy, hmm? Feel what you do to me.” He presses your hand a little harder against it, a soft hiss of breath escaping him, encouraging you to not simply take his word for it. Your face hot as ever, you do so; give a gentle squeeze that makes him groan. “Ah-- be careful, sweet thing. I want to take my time over you.”

He lets go of your hand, gently urging you to place it back beside you. Your fingers find purchase in his sheets. You still cannot quite believe where you are; that it’s the great Arbiter-General leaning over you, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing that he’s ever seen. 

“I-it’s not fair,” you say to him, your voice dry. “I’ve lost all of my clothes, and you’re still fully dressed--”

He chuckles. This time, when he bends down, there’s a slow, deliberate quality about him. He kisses your neck again; trails wet butterfly kisses over your collarbones, lower and lower to the swell of your chest. His hands come to cup the generous weight of them, even as his mouth floats closer and closer to your nipples, tightening and stiffening in anticipation. 

“I told you,” he says, murmuring in between flicks of his tongue against the buds. “I want to take my time over you.” He looks at you, eyes half-lidded. “Ah, you short-life species . . . You never learn patience. I have all of the time in the world to give you ecstasy over and over--”

People call Jing Yuan the Dozing General. As he applies his tongue to your nipples, though - as he suckles and nips and bites, as he kisses and squeezes until you feel dizzy with the attention he’s lavishing upon you, you realise that they are misinformed. Jing Yuan is not lazy or dozing - Jing Yuan merely likes to take his time over things. 

And oh, is he enjoying taking his time over you. 

You whine under his touch. You whimper and squirm, your cheeks flooding hot, your entire body prickling with tension and pleasure as his attentions upon your nipples send shockwaves of pleasure down to your sex. You feel wetness fair seeping out of you; slick rolling down your thighs, making a mess of Jing Yuan’s bed sheets. 

“Please,” you manage to get out, dry-voiced and wanting, after what seems like an eternity. “Please, Sir--”

“Jing Yuan,” He corrects you, a smile on his face as he continues to trail wet kisses over your bare skin. “What kind of man would I be if I allowed you to call me ‘Sir’ buried knuckle-deep in you, sweet thing? We are on even ground here.”

It’s hard not to think of him as the General. You are currently barely able to string a thought together, and he hasn’t even touched the place between your thighs yet. Still - you need him to touch you somewhere else. You need his attentions to give your chest a break (your nipples are sore, stiffened points - your skin slick with the wetness of his licks and kisses) and move to somewhere else. You force out, through your desire to genuflect to his status, his given name.

“Jing Yuan--”

“Hmm?” He asks, raising his head. His lips are swollen and pink, his eyes amused. “Do you need something, little bird?”

“Please . . .” A soft exhale, trying to work through the mass of sensations and needs that your body seems to have become. Jing Yuan does not stop touching even as you try and get out your words; still gently squeezing and toying with the weight of your chests. He’s smiling, enjoying watching you desperately work through the haze of your desire. 

“Your words,” he says, a maddening smile pulling at his lips. “Tell me what you want, and I promise I’ll do all in my power to give you it.”

“Please,” you say again, your brain fuzzy. His hands move from your chest now; big palms travelling over the curve of your stomach, your hips, resting there in a way that makes you almost lose all of your senses. “I want you to touch me . . . there--”

“Where, little thing?” He’s still smiling. “Here?” A gentle squeeze to your hips. “Here?” His palm roves over your stomach, the soft pouch just above your mound. You whimper again. “Ah. Come now--”

“Between my legs,” you whisper, voice tight and breaking with desire. “Jing Yuan, please--”

“Ah,” he laughs, dips down and kisses you once on the mouth. “You need only to ask. Spread your thighs for me, lovely thing.”

You do, utterly helplessly. Jing Yuan sighs reverently, moving further down so that he can bend his head to look at you. Your face burns under his scrutiny, fearful that he will find something lacking in your body even as his eyes greedily drink you in like you are the finest wine. He breathes deeply, and you hope that your scent is not off-putting - and then, his fingers are sliding slowly and surely up the soft plush of your legs and closer and closer to the space between your thighs and your heart is beating too fast and your breath is coming in short pants.

“Calm down,” he murmurs, and you keen as his hands reach your sex; as he uses his thumbs to spread the plump lips of your labia apart and the cool air hits your slick, heated core. “Ah, darling . . .”

There is so much in those two syllables. Hunger and desire and adoration, all mixed together as one. In another world, with another person, it might have made you feel self-conscious; but Jing Yuan looks down at you as if you are the most beautiful treasure he has ever had the good fortune to witness. 

He leans down, down - and you squeak as you realise what he’s about to do, surprised, but it does not deter him at all as he lets his tongue take a slow, luxurious lick down your sex. The base of his tongue presses against your clit, the pressure on the swollen hitherto ignored nub almost enough to make you come right there and then - but then he pulls back again, chuckling.

“Mm,” he says. “If I allow myself to sample too much of something so sweet, I’m afraid I’ll lose my composure.” He moves his hand instead; lets his fingers explore the length of you, fingertips brushing against your clenching entrance and dancing about your swollen clit. There is little pressure exerted on your sex; merely Jing Yuan’s slow, considering explorations. You clench your own fingers into the bedsheets in order to stop yourself writhing. 

“Lovely,” Jing Yuan says to himself. “Ah, you feel like velvet. Such a pretty thing; so perfectly made . . .” He sighs, even as the tip of his longest finger nudges against your entrance. Your hips move of their own accord, trying to suck him in and get him to put his finger inside of you, but he clicks his tongue with an amused chide; “Impatient,” he says. “Ah. You’re lucky you’re so irresistible--”

He slides his finger inside of you, slowly but certainly. You sigh, your lashes fluttering closed - his touch stokes all of those fires inside of you, of course, burning to fever pitch . . . but the sensation of finally having something inside of you has also made you realise how empty you felt before. It feels good, to have something to fill that pulsing space. Jing Yuan watches with rapt attention as he slides his finger half out, and then half inside of you again. 

You have had some experience, but you have never felt the way Jing Yuan makes you feel. 

“You take it so well,” he murmurs. “Look how pretty you look with something inside of you. Ah. I could spend hours doing this to you . . .”

You make a soft whine of discontent at the idea and he laughs, clicking his tongue even as he’s letting his second finger dance at your entrance ready to join the first. 

“No, even I do not have the patience for that right now,” he agrees. “Not when you feel so wonderful, little bird. Not when I cannot wait to see you come apart.”

The second finger; a slight scissoring motion as it enters you, getting you used to the size and stretch of two of his digits instead of one. The heel of his palm presses against your clit with every wet pump, sending frissons of pleasure to the tips of your toes; but he still does not rush himself. He still lets himself enjoy the feel of you clinging tightly to his fingers, the sight of them disappearing inside of your slick, drooling hole. 

“Does that feel good?” He asks you, deciding you haven’t spoken recently enough. “Tell me if you want me to go faster, sweet thing--”

“Please,” you say, ragged, breathing heavy. You can feel a tight hot ball of tension between your legs, rolling in your gut, threatening to overwhelm you. “Please, Jing Yuan, faster--”

“Very well,” he smiles, and he crooks his fingers inside of you to find your g-spot - causing your back to arch involuntarily, a whine of pure enjoyment to loose itself from your throat. At the same time, his thumb moves to play with your clit - to toy with the bud, to roll and to circle and to press against the swollen bundle of nerves. What already felt like electric shocks of pleasure move on; instead, they are lightning bolts, ricocheting up your spine and stopping just short of striking earth. 

“You’re close,” Jing Yuan says, and you are staring at his mouth. How a strand of your own gossamer-thin arousal is still glimmering at the corner. How his eyes are so focused on you that his gaze feels almost scorching. “That’s right. Let go for me, sweet thing--”

His soft entreaty pushes you over the edge, and the lightning strikes home as your peak hits you with all of the force of a storm.

His fingers work you over the crest of your orgasm, the two inside of you constantly rubbing against that spongy spot that makes you see stars, the big pad of his thumb roughly sliding over your twitching clit in circles and lines. As the waves come to a head and then slowly begin to dissipate, he slows his attentions too - until the slow strokes of his fingers fade out into nothing. He does not seem to care that you’ve soaked his fingers and his palm and the fabric he wears and his bed too - merely keeps looking at you, smiling, like you’re giving him the most precious gift imaginable. 

“Good,” he praises you. “But . . . I’m afraid that just that taste from earlier wasn’t quite enough, little bird. May I use my mouth on you?”

Who would ever believe this? Who would ever imagine little old you, on the Arbiter-General’s bed, as he looks at you and waits for your permission to fuck you with his tongue? You feel rather tongue-tied yourself - but you recall what Jing Yuan said earlier, about using your words.

“Please do,” you say, aloud, and Jing Yuan gives you that same smile that makes you feel like the only being in the whole universe.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding entirely like he means it - like it’s truly an honour for him to be able to serve you on his hands and knees. And then he has moved his body further down the bed, elegant and graceful and leonine, and his mouth is heading towards the slick-soaked place between your legs and his tongue is glinting wet in the bedroom and then he is on you, licking at you, hungrily devouring your sex like it is his last meal before an execution. 

You’re still oversensitive from his earlier attentions, and the sensation of the wet muscle of his tongue working over you almost pushed you into another early orgasm. Your fingers move from where they’re still clenched into the bedsheets to cling to his hair instead, pulling on the silvery pale strands as your back arches and you blindly cant your hips forward towards his mouth.

He groans aloud at having his hair pulled, and the groan sends vibrations all through your body that make you feel weak at the knees, your toes curling. His tongue continues its assault; back and forth, back and forth. Wetness drools from your sex and onto his face; you can feel the heat in his cheeks, the fan of his lashes against your bare skin. 

He twirls his tongue about your entrance, teasingly dips into it, as the channel of your sex constricts and pulses in an attempt to pull him even further in. He groans as your hands knit further into his hair, fucking you for a moment with his tongue before he seems to try and work his face further into your sex. 

It’s like he wants to engulf you; soft noises of pleasure keep falling from his mouth, interspersed with rumbling groans. He’s almost gyrating against the bed, you realise, your cheeks hot - grinding his crotch into the mattress as if he’s desperate to have some attention of his own. 

That sight makes your mouth go dry; all of the moisture in your body instead congregating between your legs to make a new home in Jing Yuan’s mouth and smeared across his cheeks. 

His tongue flicks across your clit and the noise that escapes you is almost animal; Jing Yuan says something, perhaps, or at least makes some kind of muffled noise from his position happily buried in your sex before he shifts his tongue just so and his mouth fastens around your clit fully. 

Sucking and licking, suckling upon the pearl like his life depends upon it; tongue occasionally just brushing under the hood, where you’re most engorged, and you can do nothing but cling onto his hair and pull at it as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt rips through your body.

You cannot put into words the way that you feel as Jing Yuan devours you. Your entire body feels, suddenly, as if it weighs nothing; as if sparkling lights suffuse your fingers and toes and you float into the stratosphere, white lights dancing behind your eyes in time with your whine (a whine so loud you’re sure everybody on the Luofu must have heard of it).

You come down, eventually, to the sound of Jing Yuan panting. The wet noise as his mouth separates from you, the pleased grin on his face as he uses his thumb to wipe his mouth of some of your slick. It’s a pointless endeavour, really; his face is so saturated with it you’re not sure if he’ll ever be dry again. 

“Darling,” Jing Yuan repeats, looking you in the eye, smiling like the cat who has gotten the cream. “You have no idea how much I enjoyed doing that.”

The words almost make you go over shy - but you push that to the side. There is no point, you decide, being nervous of a man who has now known you so intimately.

“In which case,” you say, breathlessly - your voice is still a little scratchy from the moaning and whimpering you’ve been doing - “Will you let me make you feel just as good?”

He looks at you for a moment, before he throws his head back and laughs.

“Why,” he says. “Of course I will.”

“Come,” Jing Yuan is murmuring, and he is finally removing his own clothes. Armour drops to the side of him, shirts unbuttoned and fastenings unhooked. His body is muscular and dotted with scars, befitting his status as a military hero; a light dusting of pale hair upon his proud chest, down into a trail to the vee of his hips. You swallow, your throat dry, trying to blink back the waves of pleasure that are still lapping gently at your shores in order to concentrate on what’s going on. His face is still wet with your slick, his hair damp with sweat and falling in messy strands over his flushed face. He looks well-fucked even without you touching him back, as if merely getting you to feel good was enough for him. 

His cock. It’s stiff against the hard planes of his abdomen, a thick, pretty specimen bubbling with precome at the flushed tip. He sighs, running his hand over it once, and your mouth practically waters at the way it twitches. It looks stiff and hard enough that you wonder if it hurts, to want so badly - but Jing Yuan looks at you and smiles, as he rearranges himself on the bed. Pillows are moved, and before you know it he has sat against them, propping himself up like an emperor upon his throne. His cock stands proud and wanting, and he gently pats his thigh as if he is calling an obedient animal to him.

“I don’t wish to hurt you, little bird,” he says - and again, you think of how it feels to be smaller than him. How he does not care about the flesh that spills from straps or curves over fabric. How he looks at you like the most beautiful thing in the world and calls you ‘delicate’ and ‘little’ and ‘precious’ and means them. “Come. Take a seat. As slowly as you need.” 

Despite how he has seen you so intimately, you cannot help but feel a little flare of fear as you approach him. He smiles, entirely at peace and at comfort with you going at your own pace, and you could kiss him for it.

“Touch,” he murmurs. “Don’t be afraid.”

With trembling fingers, you reach out; let your hand encircle his cock, get used to the width and the feel of him and imagine it inside of you. He pulses beneath your palm, a soft hum of pleasure falling from the back of his throat as you give it a cursory pump. He curses softly as your thumb rubs across the slit of his cockhead, the bubble of precome wetting the pad.

“Touch,” he says, with a smile. “But don’t get me too excited, little bird. I don’t want to come anywhere but inside of you.”

Your cheeks go hot at his easy profession; your tongue darts out to trace your lower lip. You’re used to the feel of him now; the heat that seems to stir beneath the surface of his cock, the veins that marble the side of his shaft, the ruddy pink of the head. Taking a deep breath, you spread your legs and let yourself readjust, straddling him. His own hands come up to cling to your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh there.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, as if in devotion, as if praying to an Aeon. “You’re beautiful.” 

His cockhead brushes your clit as you fit it snugly between the lips of your sex; you shift your hips, until it catches against your entrance and your eyes flutter closed. 

Your eyes are still closed as you begin to lower yourself down, so you feel every inch of him as he makes his home within your body. Your eyes being closed, of course, you miss the softness and the warmth that fills Jing Yuan’s gaze as he looks at you. The brief moment of sadness that passes behind his eyes as he remembers that you are a short-life species; that he cannot have all of the time in the world with you, to teach you pleasures the likes of which you do not yet know. The sadness he cannot spend his lifetime learning you by heart--

But you hear the soft murmur of your name, as he bottoms out inside of you and you take a moment to simply rest there with him buried as deep inside of you as he can go. You feel the way one of his hands slides up your spine to grip the back of your head and to pull you into a kiss as deep and adoring as anything else he’s done so far. 

Teeth and tongue and lips, whimpering and gasping into one another’s mouths until you do not know where he ends and where you begin, Jing Yuan somehow manages to murmur;

“Move whenever you want, sweet thing. Set the pace.” 

It does not, in the end, feel like either of those things happen. Instead, it feels as though the universe sets the pace for you; as if you simply know when to begin to move your hips, how to bend and angle yourself just so in order for Jing Yuan to hit all of the most sensitive spots inside of you.

One hand remains on your hip, helping you with the pace - the other remains on the back of your head, to allow him to kiss, as if he doesn’t want to let his mouth separate from yours for any longer than necessary. It’s a romance that you didn’t expect of the General, but it’s hardly one you’re going to complain about when his mouth feels so good and the constant nibbling of your lip and curl of his tongue against yours is distracting you from the mounting pleasure already starting to coalesce inside of you. 

There is nothing in the world for a while except Jing Yuan’s body underneath yours. His hands, his mouth, the feel of his shoulders beneath your own palms where you cling to him for leverage. You sweat and breathe and kiss and fuck as one, until the call inside of you becomes too much to ignore.

“I’m--” You pull back from the kiss to whisper, voice hoarse. “I’m going to--”

“Shh,” Jing Yuan says, kissing again. His own voice climbs in pitch, and you hear a shiver and a shudder in his syllables that makes you aware that he, too, is not far from his own release. His teeth nip at your lower lip as he half-begs into your mouth. “Please. Come again for me, sweet thing, little bird, pretty-- let me feel you--”

Your third orgasm crashes over you, your sex spasming around his cock, tight and hot and pulsing - and Jing Yuan groans into your mouth as you push him over the edge too, and you feel his cock spasm in turn. Ropes of hot release shoot inside of you; you had thought, earlier, that having his cock buried all the way inside of you was the extent of how full you could feel. 

You were wrong.

You bite at his lips, whining and half-sobbing, as the please encompasses you like a cloak of warmth. Jing Yuan groans in return, his hips making needy fast circles to chase the dregs of his own release. It feels right, for the two of you to peak together like this. For the two of you to chase every last drop of pleasure, entwined together and sweating and kissing and as close to one being as it’s possible to be.

Eventually, your breathing slows. Eventually, the kiss turns tender instead of frenzied. Eventually, you pull back from Jing Yuan with a foolish smile on your face and your cheeks hot and tears of pleasure (that you hadn’t even realised you had cried) rolling down your face like sparkling diamonds.

You stare at each other, the enormity of what has happened washing over you. Jing Yuan’s face is calm and serene, but his eyes are bright still, his cheeks still high in colour. 

You fear for a moment that he is about to dismiss you; that what the two of you just shared will mean nothing now that it is over. You fear that you’re about to go back to what you were before; a colleague and an employer, a General and a subordinate. But then, Jing Yuan lets out a deep rumbling sigh, pleased, as he collapses back upon the pillows. He opens his arms for you to dismount, his cock sliding slippery and wet outside of you, his come trickling down your thighs.

“Come here,” he murmurs, sounding tired but terribly pleased; the cat who has gotten the cream. He’s like a lion once more. You are helpless to resist his indication that he wants to cuddle, and so you let him pull you into his arms, let him manoeuvre you to lay against his chest until you can hear his heart beating. His fingers stroke your head, like you’re a sweet-tempered animal yourself. “Mmm. Rest with me, little bird.”

You let yourself. Your body is aching and sore from the orgasms and the sex, and you let your eyes drift closed, lulled by the comforting rhythm of his breathing. 

A sleepy kiss is dropped onto the crown of your head.

“Enjoy it whilst you can,” Jing Yuan hums. “Before we start having to make room for Mimi every night.”

[xiao-come-home]

PLEASE PLEASE PPLLLEEEAAAASE GIVE ME HEADCANONS OF BOOTHILL WITH AN INSECURE CHUBBY S/O. I KNOW THIS MAN WOULD SHOW EXTRA LOVE AND KILL ANYONE WHO MAKES FUN OF HIS BELOVED

Oh wow hehe twirls hair did you just call me out in this ask because its so me 🧐 some are a little sugg/estive but yea, you ask and I shall deliver 🙏

Boothill does not care that you're chubby at all - quite the opposite, he loves it! He genuinely thinks you look gorgeous, but most importantly, he's obsessed with hugging you and how soft you are! It gives him the fuzzy memories and reminds him how much he misses his old body.

Boothill does not tolerate yours or - aeons forbid - anyone else's bad comments about your body. Sure, he might laugh at some jokes you make, but once you take it too far, he gently reminds you that you're just as human as anybody else and should respect yourself! He won't judge you either, I mean - you're dating a cyborg, so if you love him for who he is in and out, he'll do the same.

Boothill might be a little too happy to touch your love handles at any occasion he gets. He's a little bit of a chubby chaser (like Itto, but it ain't about him) in the best way possible, he really likes to just... Grab stuff. Especially if it's about you.

Boothill might not be that good with words, but will always reassure you that he truly just loves you, regardless of how you think about yourself. Boothill will scoop you in his arms, kiss your cheek gently and wipe your tears if you truly feel down about your looks that day.

"Listen up, sweet pea," Boothill smiles at you softly, "all I can see is absolute perfection. Ya might not feel the same and it's fine - but I promise ya, pretty thing, I'll never get tired of seein' these beautiful curves."

He's definitely willing to prove his words with actions, though..

Try prying away Boothill from your thighs when he gets to them, I dare you. God, he loves, fuck, LOVES everything about your thick thighs. Having them as pillow, having his face squished between them... He jokes it's his only place to die the second time (💀). He just might go insane if you wear shorts that emphasize your revealed thighs.

He might just be laying between your thighs when he recharges. There's no reason to it, he's enveloped by two warm pillows and he's on cloud nine. Deal with it.

You may not notice, but Boothill sometimes just drools over you. If you're chubbier in the butt - he fights himself internally not to pull you from behind by your shorts against him and shamelessly grope you. Chubbier tits? He's almost barking when they spill from your bra. Chubbier stomach? God, the way some of your clothes stick to it, it makes his head dizzy. A little bit of everything? Good, he wants it all. Just sit on his face and stop talking.

Boothill might short-circuit when you sit on his lap for the first time because any aeons out there, this is heaven. Literally just marry him on the spot please. He isn't letting you go once you sit down. He's literally the "let's fucking go" meme afterwards.

You just have to slap away Boothill's hands in public from time to time because this man's hands slowly progress from just holding your waist, then firmly holding your hips, and traveling to finally hold your ass.

Though, when someone dares to speak something that makes you doubt yourself even more, let alone make you cry - things are going to get violent. Boothill won't let it slide, and on top of that, he's fucking pissed off. Boothill will hunt them in every lifetime.

[venusandsaturnsrings]

Many thoughts of guard dog boothill... -chubby darling anon

MY SWEET!! thank u for sharing the boothill brain mwah mwah!! love u always U^ェ^U

there’s an issue, however… boothill doesn’t make a very good bodyguard, much less a guard dog. he has a habit of causing more trouble than he protects you from, something about his ego, which means that the second he gets even the slightest idea that someone’s looking at you a bit too long?? he’s lunging at them. all sharp teeth on display as he loads his gun with whatever bullets he can grab, inside or outside his body. even if the person was just looking past you, boothill sees it as a personal slight; they were obviously trying to rile him up!!

he’s not exactly the kind of guy i can imagine in a hybrid scenario, mainly because he’s such a mashup of parts already, but a being a dog would suit him… perhaps an australian shepherd… food for thought…

anyways, hiring him as your body guard?? a bad choice and also very bold of you to assume he’d agree!! he’s the travelling type, being a galaxy ranger, so consider this: forbidden lovers.

you were the esteemed child to an esteemed set of parents that expected no less than perfection of you. on one such interastral expedition, boothill happened to be on your planet for reasons he wouldn’t disclose but it all came down to an evening you shared. there was a reception of sorts for an upcoming book your family had endorsed, so you were expected to attended and, at your mothers word, perhaps look for a suitable partner. this particular breed of gathering wasn’t your speed, nor did you have any interest in scouting amongst the primarily geriatric body of people for a potential spouse. inevitably, you ended up tucked off on a balcony, some sort of fruity cocktail in hand as you idly played with the stir stick and waited out the party to its end. that was until a tall and out of breath gentleman stumbled onto the same balcony with a sharp whistle and sigh. it took a couple moments for him to notice you timidly staring, but when he did he jerked out a hand for you to shake and announcing himself as ‘boothill’ with a strangely charming accent. thus began a series of secret meetings and stolen kisses between giggles and the walls of places you’d never been; boothill was quite good at expanding your comfort zone.

eventually, your parents did find out and were livid that you’d been fooling around with a ‘no good wanted criminal,’ and demanded you see him one last time to have him turned in to the authorities. they didn’t realize just how slippery he could be or just how you had been waiting on the chance to finally leave so, you slipped out with all that you needed in the middle of the night to a grinning boothill. he promised to take you to even better bars and shooting ranges on much cooler planets so long as you stayed with him (you couldn’t possibly leave now).

[jadefruitsoup]

I think that ppl who like to make their chubby s/o feel a little shy and embarrassed are soo hot... squeezing and kneading and squishing... hushing and cooing at the way you whine and squirm

I can't really think of any Genshin chars like this off the top of my head except maybe Kaeya or Lisa... maybe Pantalone, too... oooh... Pantalone is an absolute meanie about it for sure - condescending when you pout at him...

As for HSR chars, idk very many of them yet but I think Jing Yuan COULD be guilty of this. He's not necessarily mean about it like some of the others can be - you're just so soft and warm and cuddly... and so cute when you fluster

Ughhh idk I need to play more HSR so I can actually get a grasp of char personalities. I have blorbos and hardly even know them...

[l3viat8an]

Brainrot rn is!!- Clumsy, blushing, just absolutely lovesick just sooo down bad for u making out~ it’s midnight so ignore typos ‘kay? Thanks! 🫡

It’s a little obvious when he’s trying to work up the nerve to actually kiss you first. His hands fidget in his lap and he glances at you every few seconds, blushing a little before turning away again.

Until finally he’s kissing you, it’s only happened when you both just happened to turn and face each other-

But once he gets the hang of it, he’s pretty good~

I mean still a little awkward, at least at first, because he still doesn’t know what to do with his hands….and kinda ends up holding your forearms so you can’t pull away too soon as his lips clumsily lock with yours.

But then~

When your lips are on his and you’re not pulling away but instead leaning in for more, he relaxes instantly and just enjoys the feeling of your lips on his.

He doesn’t even notice at first that his arms moved, to pull you closer. Practically holding you against his chest as he begins to nibble on your lip.

He always loves having you straddle him as you make out, playing around with the pace of your kisses.

Lips moving slower, while he holds you so close that there’s no space left between you, until he leans back~ Taking in your flushed face and watching you suck in air.

Now that he’s got you like this his hands are far more confident and moving all over you~

[help-i-cant-think-of-a-nickname]

Grimalkin

Seeing your husband walk in to your house with a baby lion is a shock. But he’s so cute with his smile while cradling the small, white baby lion.

“Can’t you believe that merchant is selling a grimalkin?”

Jing Yuan said while looking at you. Grimalkin? Those extinct species?

“Love, grimalkins are already long gone.”

“The merchant said that this grimalkin is from another world, I’m planning to call her Mimi.”

Okay, now you want to tell your husband that the one he’s carrying is definitely a lion and not some just small cat, but she is definitely small and cute.

You stared at the baby lion, at Jing Yuan, back to the baby lion, and back at Jing Yuan.

“Maybe it's because you two have similar hair and fur color. You two are look alike.”

You mindlessly said, making Jing Yuan chuckle.

“I’m flattered to be called cute by my dear wife.”

You just sigh and put your hand to your forehead and massage it. How will you tell him? He’s the general but he just got scammed.

“You do know that you need food and other necessities for Mimi, right?”

Jing Yuan nod.

“I just hope we won’t go poor when Mimi got bigger.”

You sigh as Jing Yuan just looks at you while carrying Mimi happily.

[wri0thesley]

business dealings - sampo x reader (3.5k)

sampo's line of work has given him a lot of experience in getting what he wants.

cw: corruption kink, naive virgin reader, sampo is manipulative n kinda sleazy. reader is afab but no gendered terms/language are used. reader is chubby, shorter than sampo. loss of virginity, blowjobs, coming inside.

not sfw, minors dni.

At heart, Sampo is a businessman.

He knows what he wants - generally, as much shield as possible - and he's willing to do almost anything in order to get it. Bartering, trading, a little bit of illegality (it's only illegal if he gets caught, after all) - talking his way both out of and into things. 

So when you'd looked at him, with your eyes all pretty and big and doe-like, admiration leaking into your tone as you asked him about what the underworld was really like . . . he'd decided that what he wanted next was . . . well. You. 

It’s surprisingly easy. 

Easy, because you’re malleable and naive to the ways of the more . . . nefarious sides of society. You’ve never had to worry about stepping foot out of your comfortable life, beyond the vague threat of the Fragmentum and the Eternal Freeze that bothers every citizen of Belobog. But your life within the city isn’t threatened; you look at the Silvermane Guards with respect and awe, but you don’t honestly believe yourself in any danger. And because of that certainty that bad things will not happen to you, you’ve developed quite a cute interest in those other things - like Sampo, and his trips to the underworld, his easy way of slipping between things, his adventures and the embellished stories he tells you. And you’ve become quite easy to get information out of, on top of all of that - anything to help Sampo out, after all. 

Oh, you’re adorable. 

He thinks about you a lot, when he’s embroiled in another danger he brought upon himself - imagines how to spin it so he’s the hero, and you look at him with those wide eyes and your mouth open, lips soft and kissable in the glow of the heat lamps, and you breathlessly say; “Oh, Mr Koski!” in that awestruck little tone he cannot get enough of. 

He thinks about you a lot, too, alone in his bed at night with one hand wrapped around his cock and his back arching. He thinks about the shape of your body beneath your clothes; the ample curve of your chest, the wide contour of your hips and how perfectly they would fit in his grip if you were beneath him. The fullness of your cheeks and lips, and how they would look wrapped around his length - the soft noises you’d make as he pushed it in just a little further than you could handle. 

He thinks, perhaps, he should feel guilty about it. The thing in your eyes when you look at him is almost hero worship. But Sampo Koski did not get to where he is by way of self-reproach, and surely one wants to help out their heroes when they can? 

So he does what he always does. He sets his plan in motion. 

And if this plan does not end in shield, but in someone sweet wrapped around his finger, thighs wrapped around his hips, mouth wrapped around his cock? Well. It’s a plan nonetheless, and Sampo has never been a man who says no to the spoils of his own schemes. 

He starts only small. 

Bends his head closer to yours when the two of you talk, making sure that you’re made entirely aware of the breadth of his shoulders and his biceps, the peek of his bare chest beneath his complicated (but fashionable--) outfit. Allows the sharp emerald of his eyes to wander, just enough to be appreciative - just enough that he can sense how your cheeks heat, how you twist your fingers shyly into the fabric of your garments. 

Lets his hand wander to a place that skirts the edge of being respectable; your waist, but almost your hip. The dip of your lower back, but so close to the tantalising curve of your rear. Your cheek, but so so close to the delicate pulse beating in your throat that he sees how it speeds up at his touch. 

Pays you compliments, thrown out as casually as a breath but aimed to strike at the heart. How pretty you look today. How much he appreciates your time together. How you’re always the highlight of his time on the surface - how he simply couldn’t imagine not coming to see you. You respond, as he knew you would, with eager little soft-voiced entreaties about how you feel the same, how much you appreciate him, how you’re always so happy to see him. How you just love having the chance to help him.  He knows that the time is ripe when he catches your chin in gloved fingers and smiles down at you and says, his voice carefully pitched like affable velvet;

“And what if I asked you for your help with something else, sweetheart?”

Your eyes go all big and wide. Even through the fabric of his gloves, he can feel the heat that has risen to your face. There was never any doubt about it, but he’s glad to have the confirmation even so - you’ve been nursing an innocent crush on him. 

It won’t be so innocent when he’s done with you. 

“Mr Koski,” you say to him, your voice squeaking with nerves. He can see, again, the quick beating of your pulse - the eager-to-please nature that makes you such a thrillingly delicious prospect to have in his bed. That hopeful look that you can be of use to him. He wants to ruin you. He loves the way you say his name. “Of course, I’d do anything you asked me to!” 

He chuckles at you affectionately and leans in so close he can feel your breath against his lips. You tremble under his touch even now - he can’t wait to see how you’ll tremble under his clever fingers later on, when he has you somewhere more private. You look into his eyes with the breathless delight of someone having a fantasy come true. Naive little thing. Still. It wouldn’t hurt for him to play the gentleman just a tiny bit longer. 

“Can I kiss you?�� He asks, chivalrous as he wants you to think he is. Your lips part, and he thinks about choking you on his cock even as you go giddy inside over the concept of your first kiss.

“Yes,” you breathe - and Sampo’s lips meet yours. They curve into a smile as you kiss back - unsure, prim, pure as the driven snow. 

Sampo’s plan has been a great success. 

He’s going to get what he wants. 

He takes you somewhere that he knows will not ask questions. The Goethe Hotel is not an option, but a man like Sampo doesn’t get where he is by not having connections - connections who will not ask about the pretty, wide-eyed Overworld denizen who’s clinging to his hand so tightly, looking around like they’ve found themselves in a storybook. You don’t even have the sense to ask him where he’s taking you - you’re all caught up in the romance of his kiss, the sweetness of his compliments, and the fact that your daydreams are coming true. 

“You wanna make me happy, don’t you?” He asks you, thumb skating over your cheek, and you nod at him with a sweetness that makes his teeth ache. “Come here, sweetheart. Pretty thing.” 

You shiver under his touch like a shy flower blooming, petals soft and untouched by human hands. You whisper out his name when his fingers find the buttons of your outfit, your skin going hot and nervous - but he makes soft little noises of comfort, reassuring you even as you’re bared before his eyes. He can barely stop himself throwing you onto the bed and having his way with you. 

“Look at you,” he says instead, as you stand before him all shivering and hopeful and naked. “You’re gorgeous.” You press your thighs together at the compliment, teeth biting into the plumpness of your bottom lip. His hands slide over you appreciatively, pulling you closer to where he sits on the bed. He maps out those same places that have haunted his wet dreams; all of those curves, the plumpness of your thighs and your stomach, the weight of your chest in his hands as he swipes his thumb over your nipples and you make a sweet little noise of surprised desire that makes his cock throb in his trousers. 

“C’mon,” he says, with that crooked smile that makes fireworks go off in your stomach. “Would Sampo hurt you, sweet thing?” You shake your head, immediately - even now, you’re unwilling to think the worst of him. You’re perfect. “Get on your knees. I’m gonna teach you somethin’.” 

It’s a scene right out of his nighttime fantasies when you hesitantly sink to your knees. Your desire to please warring with your desire to hide. But oh, do you look lovely down there. 

“That’s right,” he practically purrs, stroking your cheek. He feels giddy with the power of it all as he looks down at you - and as he unzips himself, you stifle a gasp and he feels his cock twitch in his grip. He’s proud enough of what he’s packing, but he sees it through your eyes and wishes he could take a photograph of you right there and then. Hesitant and eager and shy all at once. “Open your mouth for me, hmm?”

Obediently, you do exactly as he asks. One of his hands fastens about the back of your head, keeping you in place - you start but do not fight it, looking up at him with your expression utterly open and guileless. You trust him, and the thought makes a ripple of pleasure go down his spine. Your tongue is pink and wet in the lamplight. 

“Good,” Sampo praises, and your skin heats again. He guides himself into your mouth - you make a soft noise of surprise, but don’t pull away - your eyes stay locked on him, an unspoken question in your eyes. Am I doing this right? Is this good? Are you happy with me, Mr Koski? “Use your tongue for me, sweetheart. That’s right. You’re doing great.”

You look up at him from between his thighs and he lets out a muffled groan of pleasure as your tongue swipes unsurely over the head of his cock. You’re so cute down there. Even better than he imagined. There’s no satisfaction like a plan that’s going off without a hitch - and as you manage to swallow down even more of his cock, as a trickle of drool escapes from the corner of your mouth and your eyes go watery with the effort, he can’t help but cant his hips into you.

“Shh, shh,” he says, as your eyes widen in surprise and you almost try and pull back. His hand stays in place on the back of your head. That look on your face is going to keep him company through some very lonely nights. “I’m only doin’ that because you feel so good, sweetheart. Don’t stop, okay? You’re so good for me. Perfect.”

The last comes as you bob your head, tongue tracing the veins of his shaft - he relaxes his grip just enough for you to carry on the movement. Sampo lets a sigh fall from his lips as he enjoys the wet tightness of your mouth around him, the hesitant licks. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate someone who knows exactly what they’re doing in a blowjob - but something about you, and this? Something about knowing he’s the first man to have your mouth like this, to guide you through these motions? Nothing could compare. 

He almost doesn’t want to pull out. He almost wants to keep going - to see your surprise when he comes in your mouth, to implore you to swallow and call you such a good little thing, to shower you in praise until you’re dizzy and drunk from it - but . . . ah. Who knows when he’ll have the luxury of this much time with you again? And you keep shifting on your knees, your chest heaving, surprised by your own arousal . . .

It would be a hard heart indeed that didn’t let you have the full experience, and Sampo Koski is a soft touch. 

“D-did I do a bad job?” You babble, as he pulls his cock out of your mouth. It slaps softly and wetly against the plump fullness of your cheek and Sampo swallows back more thoughts of hitting your pretty face with it until you pout and beg him to put it back in, to choke you on it, to ‘please please please let me make you come Mr Koski--’

“Nah,” he says, affectionate and easy. “Not at all, sweetheart. I just . . . have other things I want to show you.” Your face is open and hopeful as he leans down again and takes your jaw in his hand. “Tell me something.”

“Anything,” you breathe to him, and he thinks that he could make you spill every secret in your pretty little head right there and then. 

“Are you wet for me, angel?” 

Your eyes widen, and he chuckles again. Your gaze flutters shyly around the room, away from Sampo’s own - but he doesn’t let go of your chin. He jerks it just so; not too hard, just enough to be playful. He doesn’t really need you to say it - not from the reaction you just had - but . . .

“C’mon,” he says again, smiling crookedly. “Tell me. I’m not gonna think less of you.”

You swallow. He raises one eyebrow.

“Do I need to check for myself?” He asks you, and shoots you a wink. “Stand up.” You follow the order helplessly, breathlessly, still just a little too shy to put word to the feelings that Sampo is pulling forth from you. His hand slides over the fullness of your thighs, and you reflexively push them together and win another laugh from him. “Don’t be shy,” he says. “Spread your legs. C’mon. I’ll be upset if you aren’t, y’know!”

You let out a slow breath as you follow his order and his palm curves around your thigh, as his fingers slide up and tease the seam of your sex - and Sampo follows suit, a satisfied exhale as he finds you hot and slick. He lets his fingers slip between the plump lips of your sex and wins a soft little ‘oh!’ of surprise, a flutter of your lashes. His cock twitches again. 

He fondles you for a few moments; lets his middle finger slide to your entrance, tease it and draw circles around it. You bite your lip again, but you spread your thighs further apart to allow him better access, breath hitching as he slides just the tip of one finger inside of you. His smile doesn’t falter as he looks at you. 

“Sweetheart,” he says to you, voice like smooth silk. He sinks his finger in further, to his knuckle - you’re tight but wet, and you take it easily. “You’re soaking.”

“I--I--” You falter, almost ashamed, and Sampo lets his eyes go half-lidded. There’s a whine to your voice that Sampo knows well. “Mr Koski--”

“Sampo,” he corrects you. His smile is rakish. “Mr Koski’s cute and all, but . . . not when I’ve got my fingers buried inside of you, yeah?”

“Sampo,” you breathe out, and he gently moves his finger; pumps it in and out of you a few times and enjoys the sight of your thighs flexing, of your body shivering. Your nipples are hard in the cool air, the tremble of your body a siren’s call to throw you onto the thin little mattress. He lets his thumb ghost across the swollen nub of your clit and you let out a strangled noise of pleasure, a whimper that’s so close to a moan he can taste it. 

“That’s right,” he says. “Let’s get you on the bed.”

You’re pliable to all of his pushing, all of his touching - obedient to a fault, as he kisses your cheeks and props your hips with pillows and lets his hands stroke all over your body, learning the most sensitive places. The soft noise of surprise when he digs his thumbs into the indent of your waist, the inhale when he grasps your hips, the flutter of your lashes when his lips brush across your stomach . . . he commits them to memory. Part of the fun of taking someone as sweet as you is teaching them all the pleasures they didn’t know their body was capable, and Sampo is a thorough man. 

You tremble for him so sweetly, when he finally has you caged beneath him. 

“You’re beautiful,” he says, again, and delights in the way you shiver, the shy way you pull away from his gaze. “Don’t hide.” The rub of the head of his cock through your slit, wetting himself in your slick, makes you squirm hot beneath him and gasp in surprise. He repeats the motion, swirling the tip of him against your clit, until you whine and your thighs twitch and he wonders if he could make you come just like this.

Right now, though . . . he doesn’t have the patience. 

Your hands curl into the broad muscle of his shoulders as he splits you open on his cock. You cry out, but it’s a noise that’s a culmination of pleasure and surprise as well as just a little sting, and Sampo commits it to memory the same way he tries to commit the velvet cling of your walls and the tight heat and the feeling of you, letting him take you in every way possible. 

“Sweetheart,” he says to you, his own words getting lost as months of fantasies and pining and imagining you come rushing to the forefront of his mind. “You feel incredible--”

He might say more. It’s hard to keep track of anything when he gets lost so quickly in the pounding of his cock against your walls and the way you gasp and cling to him as he fucks into you more desperately than he realised he was going to. You’re vice-tight about him, utterly willing to give yourself up and let him show you what to do. He has the sense to slip one hand between you both to play with your clit as he fucks you - Sampo Koski is a gentleman, thank you very much, he might be taking advantage of your naivety but obviously he’s going to make you come, dammit - and you respond to him with helpless, brainless whines and little thrusts of your hips. 

You’ve never felt like this before. You’ve touched yourself a few times - thought of Mr Koski a few times, if you’re honest with yourself - but this is new. The feeling of something thick stretching you out, of a handsome man above you sighing and whispering out your name . . . The delicious feeling, too, of doing something you’re not supposed to be doing. 

Your orgasm hits first, your body unused to the touches of someone who knows what they’re doing. Sampo is ruthless as you gasp out his name--

(“Mr Ko-- S-Sampo--!” - somehow, the way you trip over the title and replace it is even better than just hearing his name issue forth from your pretty mouth). 

His fingers don’t stop working over your clit even as you come, your channel pulsing around him wildly, your spine arching and a cry that’s pure pleasure working itself loose from your throat. All that your peak does is drive Sampo on, teeth grit, hips hungrily fucking into you until he feels himself twitch and his balls draw in tight and hot. 

He should pull out. The thought tickles the edges of his consciousness; that he should let his release splatter all over your thighs instead of filling you up with it, letting himself keep fucking it shallowly into your tight little cunt with the weak aftershocks pushing him to carry on thrusting--

But . . . oh. The thought of you beneath him, fucked out and leaking his come. Your virgin sex full to the brim with him, claimed and taken and filled . . . 

Sampo groans out your name and shoots rope after rope of his own release inside of you, losing track of anything but the feel of your body and the feeling of conquering something uncharted. 

You lie there beneath him, big pretty eyes blinking up at him, cheeks wet with tears of pleasure and surprise and over-stimulation. Your chest heaves against his, your heart rabbiting. Both of your skins sweat-slick where they press against one another. 

You look up at him like a hero who’s hung the moon and shown them a brand new world, and Sampo looks down at you like you’re just the cutest damn thing you’ve ever seen, committing the sight of you - fucked for the first time, ruined for the first time, claimed for the first time, and all by him - to memory. 

“You did great,” he says to you, and kisses you softly on the forehead. “Thanks for the help, sweetheart.”

He knew what he wanted, and he got it. But looking at you beneath him, remembering all the things he’s fantasised about, taking in how your hero worship doesn’t seem to have ebbed even the slightest bit . . . 

Business deals don’t have to be a one-time thing. 

[venusandsaturnsrings]

The school year finally ended... I hate college SO much :( but I am alive!! I beg for some crumbs of thoughts on Sunday... -chubby darling anon who is very much alive and finally got a mitsuri scale figure <3

putting all of my other fics, blurbs, and asks on PAUSE for this!! congrats!! no more school foorrr… 3ish months!! after dropping out of uni, i’ve been finally considering going back myself for phlebotomy!! canadas health situation is lack lustre rn and the course is less than one year + paid practicum + immediate job placement which is kinda sweet… CONGRATS ON THE FIGURE TOO!! i recently (like a month and a half ago) procured the hatsune miku jirai kei subculture fashion figure and i cannot stress how pretty she is <3 sits on my pc right now bc my shelves are full… ANYWAYS… love you!!

includes: silly sunday hcs, potential story spoilers, maybe ooc im still feeling him out, praise, degradation, riding crops, his hands…, and gender neutral reader!!

very poignantly the hopeless romantic type. he’s always functioned as a ‘singularity’ of sorts and over the years developed a certain fondness of it, even if it hurts. it’s worth noting he vividly reminds me of the line ‘i miss the comfort in being sad,’ from nirvanas ‘Frances Farmer Will Have Her Revenge on Seattle.’ he’s the type of partner to always be stuck in that self-absorbed martyr mindset a little bit.

pragmatic to a fault. Sunday is deeply a skeptic, take his departure from the harmony in favour of the order, as an example. it’s cool because it means you’ll never have to worry about any technicalities but it also means he has a hard time letting go of control or being spontaneous.

very into more subtle romantic gestures and an absolute gentleman. you’ll have flowers at your door at least once a week and he makes sure to take all of your preferences into consideration when planning dates (he will be the one planning). keeps his hand on your lower back most of the time, the waist is far too scandalous!!

not a big texter. he prefers speaking face to face and will call if he can’t come see you. that said, he’ll make sure to like or respond to all of the silly pictures and messages you send, even if it’s a dry ‘haha’ or just a heart. occasionally, you’ll find that he’s sent you a letter, ask about and he’ll shrug and say he simply wanted something more heartfelt if he’s to communicate written. he’s got a special stamp to seal the ones he sends you.

grabs your phone when you go to show him something. no explanation i just feel it in my bones.

although he’s no singer, he’s still a classically trained musician. i imagine he was taught the violin but went on to learn his preferred instrument, the harp, himself. he’s a bit shy about playing so rather than asking, just wait until he thinks it’s late and you’re not around to hear; he’s got quite the set of fingers.

…speaking of fingers, my bread and butter, he’s beyond skilled with playing you. while he enjoys getting down to business, getting to leisurely spread you open and thrum against all your nerves gets him going. could spend hours having you laid out, in his lap, on the floor, wherever, just gently coaxing you open, wet, and pliant for himself.

off of that, he likes you best worn down to soft edges and weak desperation. getting to play the saviour, making you come undone, has him stiff in his pants.

lots of sweet praise and subtle degradation. things like, “you want to be good for me, don’t you my sweet?,” or, “now, now, don’t get greedy on me. be patient, silly thing, and i’ll appease all of your foolish whims,” annddd, “come now, you’ve been so well for me, angel, don’t ruin that with any useless whines.”

he’s not one for being too harsh against you but push the right buttons and you’ll get a ‘dumb’ or ‘stupid’ here and there. Sunday doesn’t curse but he knows his way around how to make you feel inferior and looked down upon.

he likes the power play of staying fully and pristinely clothed while your completely nude, save for maybe a pretty collar he’s got you belled with. if you’re real trouble, say maybe a no good criminal causing problems on Penacony and once arrested you’re at his disposal and oh so pretty, he’ll find a nice muzzle to fix you with.

strikes, no pun intended, me as the type to have an affinity for riding crops over anything else for punishments. you’ll get the same sugarcoated degradation while he comments on how you’re not even good enough to be so close to his gloved hand that he just must use the crop!! (he likes the pretty bruises it leaves).

[derocatem]

i will go insane i fear

listen, all i'm saying is, if jing yuan can easily wield a weapon that is so heavy it would take 2 people to lift it, then he can lift you, no matter how heavy you are.

[jymwahuwu]

Navigation (Penacony & IPC & Intelligentsia Guild)

A collection of my replies, ramblings, and thirsts content.

Here's a lot of DARK CONTENT, including but not limited to: yandere, non-con/dub-con, harassment, coercion, abuse of power, forced pregnancy, etc.

Sunday

Sunday’s method of discipline

you being a reporter for Cosmos Newspapers

Jing yuan/Sunday w a really really really shy reader

Yan!Sunday with a darling who just accepts his behavior

you're a visitor to Penacony and accidentally asked Sunday for help

reader is trapped in a time loop (oops, actually that's brainwashing)

Sunday with fem reader that forget everything so easily

Sunday with exhausted reader

arrogant reader will def be fighting for dominance anytime when it comes to sunday

Sunday with pregnancy kink

What if Sunday doesn’t even pretend to be gentle when reveals true nature

Sunday will take you away

Conversation about monitors

Sunday would be good with a puppy reader in comparison to Aventurine?

The concepts of "breakup" and "divorce" do not exist in Penacony

What would sunday do with a darling that can't be a housewife

Sunday removes admirers from your side silently

Sunday puts mini you in a little cage

the desperation in size (mini reader!)

Sunday’s logical loop

Sunday with a darling who he can't just shrink and kidnap without dire consequences

Sunday puts you in a glass jar as punishment

Sunday’s controlling nature

Sunday with a pretty masculine and independent

cw: forced feminization

Sunday puts you (mini state) on his crotch

Opinions about Sunday+ Body Worship

desperation in size

friction is the main way for mini reader to get pleasure

Sunday considers you a troublesome outsider

Sunday is undoubtedly a religious conservative

Sunday’s home has a prayer room and a punishment room

Sunday gives mini!you a “mobile phone”

Would sunday clip the wings?

mini you can be taken care of quite easily

Sunday’s Halovian darling

HSR retro AU

Who do you think would be into a kuudere type of Darling?

Sunday would do to his Emanator of Harmony darling once he traps her

Sunday is just thinking how suitable the reader is to be his wife

Devil! reader x Sunday

Sunday would be the one who insists on breeding while you are awake

Mini! you set up a booth at the IPC exhibition

You discovered eggs on the bed after mating

Aventurine

Aventurine carries a timer

arrogant reader is demoted and sent to Aventurine's side as an assistant > Aventurine humiliates arrogant reader

If you are stuck on the wall

Aventurine raises a pair of kitty cakes

Aventurine maintains a harmonious relationship with all your family and friends

Aventurine puts a gemstone necklace on you

Aventurine gives you a prize wheel > Reader cheated on the prize wheel

You were kidnapped as a casino prize

Aventurine likes his darling chubby

ncontinence + humiliation

Aventurine detects your birth control

Considering his luck you are likely to get multiples

You’re sitting at the gambling table

Aventurine scamming the reader only to end up caring for them afterwards

Aventurine + gunplay

How about a powerful mini darling?

Aventurine gives you lots of gifts

Aventurine and Ratio humiliate the maid! reader

Senses blocked + tied up (by Aventurine)

cockwarming Aventurine while he’s gambling

Jing Yuan/Aventurine would purposely put their dicks on your belly to show you

Aventurine making his IPC darling go undercover at the private casino he’s attending

Dr. Ratio

Dr. Ratio + spanking

If you are stuck on the wall

Dr. Ratio with a Reader who thinks he hates them

really oblivious dumb reader x yandere ratio

Ratio gave you a thick “Maid House Rules”

Would Dr Ratio punish the reader for the amount of money they spend on a game?

Ratio and the “bad example” he sets

Aventurine and Ratio humiliate the maid! reader

Ratio + forced study program