Audio Porn Recs

I need more human muzan smut and I know you'll get the job done and do it amazingly

So imagine this human muzan getting pegged for the first time

I just KNOW he would wimper

OH Gloomy, Gloomy, Gloomy... I was doing so well at concentrating on my existing WiPs, and then you come here blasting my siren song. Human Muzan. Whimpering. How am I supposed to resist? (THANK YOU)

Pairing: Human Muzan x F!Reader

Content Guidance: NSFW. Muzan getting pegged. Dom!reader. Sub!Muzan. Approx 2k words.

There weren’t many people willing to spend a moment longer than necessary with Lord Muzan. While it was generally agreed upon that the nobleman was handsome, educated, and certainly wealthy enough to be a desirable husband, his temper and his vicious tongue drove everyone away; from suitors to servants. But not you.

Your humble home sat on Kibutsuji land, and each year you were expected to pay taxes in the form of resources. Game, fish, silk, anything which would make the noble family’s life more pleasant. 

Muzan’s health was in decline, and so he spent most of his days in his room where the elements couldn’t exacerbate his condition. Though he was terrible at showing it, you knew he appreciated your visits. He would lie on his back with his eyes closed as you read to him, his hands resting on his stomach, his expression for once relaxed. Sometimes he would have you play the koto for him and tsk at you when you refused to sing. Other times he’d ask you about the weather, to describe the ways the world was changing with the seasons, narrowing his eyes when you hesitated or repeated yourself.

You entertained him in exchange for the privilege of living on his land, but in truth, you didn’t mind it one bit.

Especially not when he asked for a kiss because he’d never had one and it infuriated him to think he was missing out. Or when he let you stroke his cock, shuddering in your arms as he muffled his cries of ecstasy against your breasts.

Gradually you showed him new experiences, new pleasures. And he was your willing pupil. 

It pleased you to no end to unravel him, to watch his pretty noble face contort in ecstasy as you rode his cock, to fulfill his desires and reduce him to a pleading, whimpering mess. He took pleasure in begging, in earning praise, in obeying commands. All his life he had benefited from his high status, but he would happily let you, a lowly commoner, subjugate him for the promise of the blissful heat of your cunt or your mouth. 

And it was during one of your visits, when the cherry blossoms hadn’t yet opened and the wind was still a little on the cooler side, that Muzan sat up in bed and took the book you were reading to him from your hands.

“I don’t want that today,” he said. “It’s tedious”

“Alright.” You drew your knees up as you sat on the end of his bed, your toes hidden beneath the bottom of his blanket to stop the cold from getting to them. “What do you want to do instead?”

Muzan pulled in a slow breath, his eyes lingering on your face, studying you as he so often did. “Have you ever fucked anyone in the ass?”

His question caught you off guard. “I… my lord?”

“I’m not going to tell anyone if you have. I’ve no interested in tarnishing your reputation or jeopardizing your future, I just want to know if you’ve ever worn a strap and fucked somebody. Or, I suppose, you can just tell me if you would be willing to fuck me that way.”

“Of course I would.”

Your answer pleased him. His lips curved into a smile. “Good.” He lifted his chin toward a drawer at the far side of the room, a beautiful, ornate piece of furniture with an oval mirror on top, which must have been passed down through his family for generations. “In there.”

He waited for you as you walked to the drawers and slid the top one open. There, nestled in a silk pouch, was a cock made of polished and lacquered wood, with a thick leather strap, and a bottle of carrageenan lubricant. You took it out and turned to see Muzan sat upright in his bed.

The corner of his lips tilted into a smirk. “Well?”

“It’s quite big,” you warned him. “Heavy too. Do you think you can take it?”

“I trust you to ensure I can. And, if the sensation becomes too much, I know you’ll stop when I say.” 

“You don’t always mean stop when you say it,” you countered. “Many times you’ve begged me to stop then gotten frustrated at me when I do.”

He let out a thoughtful hum and looked out of the window to the grove of trees affording them privacy. “Fine. You have a point. If I truly want you to stop I’ll say wisteria.” 

“Wisteria,” you repeated. “Very good.”

Muzan rocked forward to get on his hands and knees in preparation for you, but you halted him with a firm “ah ah ah.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. 

You stepped closer, placing your fingers beneath his chin and tilting his face up to look at you. “What do you think you're doing? I want you on your back. I want to watch that pretty face flush while you're taking this fat cock in your ass.”

The look in his eyes was a mix of arousal and excitement as his lips curved into a grin. “You’re wicked.”

“That’s why you let me get away with not paying taxes,” you quipped, raising your skirt to tie the leather strap around your hips. “Take off those nightclothes and get on your back, my lord.”

He did exactly as you asked, pulling off his crisp, white bed clothes to reveal his pale and slender body. It had been a long time since he even felt a moment of self-consciousness around you, and you around him. There wasn’t a single inch of your body he hadn’t kissed, licked, touched, and his body was as familiar to you as the path back home. You knew exactly how he liked to be touched, and despite his many shortcomings, he had committed the key to pleasing you to memory.

You also knew what he could withstand, what his condition allowed his body to endure. And he knew he could tell you if you misjudged.

And gods, despite the fact that he was the one who had initiated it, you could see the trepidation amid his excitement. His belly undulated with every labored breath as he lay back, bending his knees while you spread the seaweed jelly on the length of the cock. 

“What a sight,” he whispered, his breaths staggering as he gazed at you with desire-darkened eyes. 

His own cock was already at half-mast; engorged and lying against his lower belly, his foreskin still covering most of the tip. But the moment you pressed your slippery fingers between the cleft of his ass to circle his hole, his cock twitched toward you, a strangled moan sounding in the back of Muzan’s throat.

“Sinful,” he muttered, gripping the sheets as you continued your ministrations, feeling the tight muscle flutter with every slick stroke. 

“Nothing sinful about it,” you assured him. “Besides, since when have you given two shits what the gods think, Lord Kibutsuji?”

A slanted grin tilted his lips, interrupted by a cry as you pressed your finger into him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle into the soft warmth of his ass, stroking his inner walls.

“Oh fuck… nghh…Stop stop, wisteria!” he gasped, reaching down to grip your wrist, halting your progress but keeping you in place. A shuddering breath escaped him as you paused. “I need a moment. It’s… Gods, to be penetrated… to have you inside my body… it… I can’t describe it…”

“You poor thing,” you mocked gently, kissing his inner thigh affectionately. “I haven’t even gotten to the fucking you stupid part and you’re already slipping.”

His lips tightened as a groan escaped him. “Accursed woman, taking enjoyment in my ruin.”

“Oh, my lord, I haven’t even begun. I intend to have you whimpering like the dog you are.” 

His cock twitched once more as his lungs emptied and his grip on your wrist loosened. “Continue.”

It only took a stroke of your finger before the room filled with the deep, broken moans resonating from his chest. He tried to stifle them against his palm as you fingered his hole, stretching him out, readying him to be fucked. His cock stood taller with every passing minute, hard and heavy and begging to be touched. But you wouldn’t, not yet.

“You’re doing so well,” you whispered as you slid a second finger into him, taking more than a little pleasure from the way his back arched off the floor. 

“Fu-hu-hu-ck,” he moaned, threading his hands through his hair and covering his eyes with the heels of his hands. “More…”

"Harlot."

Of course, you obliged. Muzan’s toes curled as you pumped your fingers into him, stroking the slick heat of his walls, watching him come undone beneath you, his face flushed pink and his nipples puckering with arousal. 

“Are you ready to take this?” you asked at last, when you had worked him open and left him a panting, hazy-eyed wreck. 

He could only nod, spreading his legs wide and raising his knees to his belly, exposing himself to take the strap.

“Such an obedient little cock-slut,” you teased him, withdrawing your fingers and pulling a desperate whine from his lips. "So eager to get fucked."

Every panting breath staggered from his lips revealing the arcs of his ribcage. His mouth, which was so used to spitting vitriol and command hung open, capable of only wanton moans as you pressed the head of the cock into his eager hole. 

“That’s it,” you encouraged him softly, pressing a palm down on his belly. You eased into him slowly, letting him grow accustomed to the size and the stretch before you began to rock your hips. 

And gods, the sounds that emerged from him then. Gone was the composure and dignity of a nobleman. Muzan was a slave to the pleasure you bestowed upon him, gasping, moaning, rocking his hips down to take you even deeper. He tossed his head back against the pillow, long, black hair flowing like tendrils, eyes half-lidded one moment, then wide with ecstasy the next. 

“There… there, don’t stop that,” he gasped. “Fu-ck… gods… I’ll cum…”

Tears of pre-cum dribbled from the tip of his cock, pooling on the rim of his foreskin.

“Stroke your cock for me,” you told him. “I want you completely ruined.”

His teeth pressed to the plush of his lower lip as he obeyed your command. Slender hands wrapped around the length of his cock, stroking himself as you fucked him deeper. You ground your hips against his ass, drawing a whine from him as you hit the sweet spot inside of him he couldn’t get enough of.

His pretty face was dusted with scarlet, his skin glistening with perspiration as he veins on his brow throbbed. Teeth bared, eyes wild with desire. With every thrust of your hips he let out a breathy “Ah! Ah! Ah!”

And when you fucked him harder, his gasps turned to whines. He whimpered as your hips slapped against his ass, your bodies both slick from exertion, but neither of you willing for it to end.

The sounds emerging from him were divine, so lewd and ruined they tightened the coil at your core and made your chest ache. He was so receptive, so licentious, little more than a desperate slut fucking himself on your cock as he furiously stroked his. 

“Come for me, Muzan. Let me see you.”

Ever obedient, his cock erupted, strings of pearls spurting over his belly as he bore down on the strap, hissing curses and prayers in the same breath. “Nghhh fuck fuck fuck thank you. Thank you Gods in fucking heaven oh fuck, curse you. Thank you.”

Your chest heaved in time with his, as calm settled around you both like a blanket of purifying snow. He held on to his cock as it grew limp in his fist, his throat bobbing and pulsing as sweat beaded from him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, staring at the ceiling. “Consider your levy paid.”

“Thank you, my lord. But there’s no need. Call that a gratuity, I’m far from finished with you.”

A/N: I tried to research this as best as I could. As far as I can tell there are no records of strap-ons from Heian era Japan but, y'know... Muzan is a go-getter. Also in terms of materials, I went off of what sculptures of that time were mostly made of and what was commonly available, which was lacquered wood. Also the lube is a jelly made from seaweed. I don't think any of these things are recommended to go in your ass. Don't put them there.

Sub zhongli 

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐋𝐈

CW ⁞ oral (reader receiving), kissing, marking, face sitting, praise (both receiving), worshipping, reader has slightly low self esteem, straddling, mentions of marriage, fem!reader, zhong has a big pp, cumming untouched, squirting

The past few days have been rough. Work was piling up and after the last report you’d written was received poorly, you couldn’t help but doubt your abilities in the profession you’d chosen. To be fair, all the stress of your job was piling up and it didn’t take much for your husband, Zhongli, to notice.

He watched as your eyes filled with tears each time you walked through the door, how you sprawled on the couch after pouring yourself a cold glass of wine. Although he knew everyone had bad days, when it became recurrent, he knew he had to ask you about your feelings.

“My darling, what’s plaguing your mind?” He asked, hands slithering around your waist to kiss down the softness of your neck. “My ears are all yours.”

“Honey, I just don’t know what to do— work is so stressful, all my reports have been badly received, but they won’t even tell me how to improve. They throw it back! And it just makes me feel like I should give up and quit like I’m nothing to the company.”

It hurt him to see you like this, tears falling from your eyes. Where you worked was always like a dream, but as business picked up and more sales came through, he watched as that spark in your eye slowly faded each time you walked out the door.

“You should know that in whatever you do, I know you give it your all. If those in your workplace fail to recognize that, it’s not your fault. If they choose not to help you grow, it’s not your fault, darling,” he comforted, squeezing you tight, his soft lips grazing your cheek.

Though you knew he was doing his best to help rid you of your worries, you couldn’t help but feel his soft heartbeat against your back, each curve of his strong arms around your waist making you feel flushed in the face. “Li, sweetheart?”

He hummed in answer, his warm breath on your neck making you feel the need to clench your legs shut. When he was sweet and caring like this (granted, he always was), it always made you feel a particular type of way knowing how much he cared about you and your well-being.

“I know you like doing this. Will you please treat me a little bit today? If you know what I’m referring to,” you asked, trying not to appear bashful at the suggestive request.

“Archons, I thought you’d never ask. Please, (Y/N), after you,” he motioned toward the hallway, eying you with admiration as you nearly pranced toward your shared bedroom, lighting a few candles and taking a moment to clean yourself with a warm towel and little amounts of soap.

He undressed, wrapping his familiar low ponytail into a messy bun to hold it out of the way. Resting against silk pillows, he just near came in his pants, watching you step out of the bathroom, pretty black lingerie decorating your body. Zhongli would never understand how you could hate anything about your body, from each curve to your love handles, to the perk of your breasts, to the dip of the contrasted muscle in your calves. He treasured it all so endlessly.

He’d seen many a portrait of what humans imagined the gods lost to time to look like, and not a single one measured up to your beauty. Long eyelashes and glistening orbs, sweet lips and soft smile, he was so irrevocably in love with you.

“Over here, dearest,” he says, invitingly beckoning his hand toward the plush of the bed. Though he knew his needs would have to wait, it was almost impossible to ignore the way his cock twitched, lying against the pillows to allow you to straddle him.

As your hardly covered sex grind on his large cock, you knew there was no way you could take him without preparing yourself in the slightest beforehand. Luckily, Zhongli had other plans to pleasure you, beckoning to his reptilian tongue that usually stayed fairly hidden.

“Beautiful, sweet girl. You’re so enchanting,” he says, accommodating the warmth of your thighs around his neck. With each subtle flick to your clit, a chill ran down your spine. He could always tongue-fuck you so well, but today you could tell he was putting his all into it.

The slurping of your juices made him impossibly harder, the depth of your insides his tongue could reach into always making you whine and whimper until he finally decided to let you go. His strong arms were buckled around your thighs and with each lick your eyes rolled back. “Y-yeah, that’s good— just how I like it,” you moaned, grinding your puffy and sticky cunt onto his tongue. “Li, it feels so good.. mm.. hmm!”

His tongue slid up and down along your slit, circling back to lick at the spot just above your clit. You could feel the tightness and slight discomfort as you neared your orgasm, hips stuttering while he ate you out. “You’re too good at this, g-gonna cum, baby,” you whined, gripping your headboard with every effort to ground yourself. “Pussy feels so good, love you so much— fuuuck! I’m cumming, I’m cumming—.”

Your thighs clenched impossibly tighter around him but that was the least of his worries. He was a god, he had a lot more strength than most. Every inch of your body was trembling and perspiring, orgasm raking through you, your warm and sticky sex throbbing around the feel of Zhongli’s tongue. “Feels amazing, love you so much— Li, h-honey, I love you so much—.”

He loved the way you bestowed him with that nickname, the way your juices flowed into his mouth, face feeling overwhelmingly flushed and stomach unbearably tight. Tonight was all about you, he could rub one out later, he wanted to heel impossibly good under his care.

As you lifted yourself off of his face with shaky legs, he breathed heavy, and you knew he wasn’t satisfied with what he’d done so far. “Edge of the bed?” You questioned, petting his wet hair, a mix of sweat and your fallen tears from pleasure upon his forehead.

“That’s right where I need you, allow me to taste more of that pretty pussy, please, dear?” He knew how to get the blood flowing in all the right directions. Spreading your legs, he sat on his knees, pretty back arched as he went down on you again. “Taste so good, darling— mmh, archons, this is all mine?”

“All yours, handsome,” you whispered, breath hitching in your throat as he lapped at your wet pussy. Your hands practically had a mind of their own when he went down on you, fingers intertwined with his brunette locks, the sunlight shining through the window highlighting the gold of his hair so beautifully. “So pretty, aren’t you?”

“Thank you, my love. Nothing can compare to you, all of you. You’re so mesmerizing, any other besides you taints my eyes. I’m a servant for your pleasure, most beautiful (Y/N).” You couldn’t help but flush, so deeply lost in the pleasure he gave you and the way your heart soared with love.

“S-so perfect, how’d I get so.. fuuck— lucky? Mmn.. hmphh.. gonna cum all over your tongue, baby, drink it all up, m— fucking GODS!— my pretty boy.” His tongue prodded deep inside of you, pressing up against that sweet gummy spot within.

“Mmh— cum, my goddess, cum for me, won’t you?” Your lip trembled as your eyes squeezed shut, tears falling down your cheek as you cried out, gushing all over Zhongli’s tongue.

Your moans were loud and erotic, heavy breathing echoing throughout your warm room. Lurching forward, your hands shook around the tufts of hair you had clenched. “‘S too much, too much, baby, no more—.”

“Apologies, my love. You taste heavenly,” he laughed, licking the sweet slick upon his lips. You watched how almost primal he looked, kissing up your leg and trailing up your thigh. It had taken you a long while to realize how needy he was, face red and hot all the way down his shoulders as he gently rubbed his weeping cock against your leg.

“Terribly sorry, darling— just hearing you… moan just as you were— made me so hard,” he admitted, continuing to rut against you, his hips stuttering whilst he whined. To silence himself, he tried to kiss into your skin once more, but the sound of your pleasure kept replaying in his head. “So sorry, but please, can I ask one thing of you? Spur me on, I’d love to cum all over you. I’ll clean you as well if it’s what you desire.”

“That’s a good job, Zhongli, keep fucking onto my leg, you sweet, desperate boy. You did so good.” You watched, amused as he bit into his lower lip, cheek pressed firmly against your thigh while he desperately tried to reach his orgasm. “You know what would make me feel even better? Having my way with you. Riding your cock until you’re spouting nonsensical nonsense, playing with you until you forget all what you are. The mighty Morax, so wonderful for a measly mortal, how did I get so lucky?”

He groaned, breath hitching as he came, spurts landing across your foot and along your leg, the white ropes running down, droplets sinking to the floor. “What a mess I’ve made, I’m sorry, my sweetheart,” he apologized, running his warm tongue across your leg and across your mid-foot.

“I’d stay right here the rest of my days if it meant I could please you, dearest,” he admits, getting up from the position on his knees and holding your hand to cup his cheek. You both were utterly wrecked, hair astray and sweat coating the surface of your skin. “I hope I’ve helped alleviate some of that anxiety you felt.”

“You did, Zhongli. Thank you, sweetheart. I love you,” you smile, kissing his lips, the remnants of your own taste lingering on the soft surface.

“But, I can’t help but wonder, what of all the things you said to me? Ride me until I’m ‘spouting nonsensical nonsense?’”

“Would you like me to show you exactly what I meant?”

“I don’t think it would hurt my feelings.”

You pushed him back into the sheets, head falling against the pillow. He was in for a long night, but no complaints were ever heard.

Bitter Poison

(The sequel to Sweet Elixir)

Pairing: Sub!Muzan x Dom! Female Reader

Summary: Five years ago, the massacre at the Kibutsuji estate claimed your father and his noble patient Muzan. Left with the burden of being the town's only doctor, you find yourself burned out and apathetic, numb to your loss and calling. But when the young lord you believed to be dead reappears as a soulless monster and confesses his horrific crimes, you finally find catharsis in treating him roughly, and enter into a pact with Muzan which will bind your soul to his for eternity.

Content Guidance: NSFW. Dom!reader is rougher than I usually write. Oral and vaginal intercourse. Reader gives: slapping, biting, hitting, nipple play, rough handjob, ruined orgasm, overstimulation. Reader receives: Orgasmic bites, cunilingus, creampie, and Muzan turns reader into a demon by fingering her. Approx 6.5k words

The massacre at the Kibutsuji estate rocked the town and neighboring villages. Someone or something had torn through the mansion, killing everyone in sight. 

By all accounts it was a bloodbath.

Your father was among the dead. And his patient, Muzan Kibutsuji, the young, sick nobleman with whom you had once shared a couple of beautiful, passionate hours, was gone. Whatever beast took him hadn't even left a body to bury.

You felt the loss of both men; the one you had loved your entire life and the one you had adored only briefly. But grief had to wait as you were saddled with the crushing responsibility of being the town's only remaining doctor. 

Still, even as you found yourself swallowed by work, you couldn’t go a day without being reminded of your loss. 

Theories ran as rampant as the perpetrator. Some said a bear or a wolf was to blame for the massacre. The men of the town organized a hunt, but the forests were strangely devoid of all predatory animals. Others suggested that Lord Kibutsuji himself was the killer, but logic told you that was absurd. Muzan had barely been able to walk, let alone massacre an entire household.

Five years passed and the frantic rumors turned to whispers, then eventually to stories. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who had seen Muzan Kibutsuji soaked in blood and prowling the streets. You ignored it as much as you could. Your work consumed you, as did bitterness. Night after night you were dragged from your home to tend to simple ailments which could have waited until morning. Night after night you felt your calling toward helping people dwindle. Your energy and your well of compassion depleted.

Time smoothed the edges of your mourning and you learned to live with that weight in your chest. Your work kept you busy. So busy in fact, that one night you fell asleep at your table with the oil lamp burning beside an open window and a stack of papers. You were fortunate to make it out of the house. But your research, your father’s notebooks, your home were all consumed by flames.

And it was then, as you stood helplessly watching your family home burn to the ground, that you saw him. 

Electric currents shot through your nerves, tingling along your spine as your eyes met. Muzan's gaze, once warm jasper red, was now a vibrant shade of crimson. He wore a fine black kariginu, elegantly embroidered with gold, and carried himself with an air of confidence– arrogance even– befitting of his noble name. 

The air in your lungs escaped you as you found yourself caught in a tangled web of thoughts; it was impossible, the man standing not ten feet away from you could not be Muzan, and yet… 

“How?” The one word which escaped you summarized so many of your questions. How was he still alive? How was he standing there so renewed, as if illness had never sapped away his strength? How had your father died and Muzan survived?

But he did not need to speak. Somehow you knew the answer; every fiber of your being screamed it at you: Muzan was no longer human. One word ran through your mind over and over: Yokai.

He approached you, each step slow and deliberate, as though he was still growing accustomed to his body. “You,” he said. His voice was the one thing completely unchanged; still as dark and enthralling as the first time you encountered him. “I… was searching for you.”

Your senses screamed at you to run from him, but your logical mind told you to stay. That urge to flee was wrong– there were no such things as monsters, of course he was human. What you were looking at was a miracle of medicine, nothing more.

Reaching out a hand, you gently clasped his chin between your fingers and tilted it from side to side, inspecting his visage. Though still pale, he was teeming with strength and every bit as beautiful as the day you met him. Your body reacted at once to his presence, remembering the way he had made you feel, surrendering himself to you and permitting you to use him for your pleasure. “You found a cure?”

“Yes.” His eyes fluttered shut at your touch, his lips parting around a hard-won breath. "And now I've returned for you.”

Muzan despised humans. 

The urge to kill, to end every life he encountered had been ceaseless since the day he imbibed the blue spider lily. Pitiful, wretched; every living thing was cursed to die sooner or later, and what better way than by his hands. He was a calamity, a natural disaster, a god of death, with power that mere mortals could not fathom coursing through his veins. Life in all its forms disgusted him. 

But…

Not you. 

Bathed in the amber glow of the raging flames, he found you, his Goddess, the one woman he had ever loved, if only for an hour or two in a life half-forgotten. He knew your scent, your taste, your soul.

His rage, his bloodlust, his vengeful heart stood still and meek at the sight of you in your soot-stained nightdress– so fragile and yet so powerful. And when you reached out to clasp his chin between your delicate fingers, oh… he felt as if his lungs had turned to iron. 

How could that be? How could such a gentle touch quell the raging beast? How could a mere mortal render a demon so powerless. A quiet sound of longing emerged from between his lips. Only it wasn’t simply a sound, it was your name, spoken with a reverence he hadn’t known he was capable of. He hadn’t even known he remembered it, the vestiges of his mortal life all but faded.

And then you kissed him.

Every atom of him pulled toward you; warring desires of lust and hunger as the supple flesh of your lips teased his. And before his aversion to humanity had time to kick in, he found himself kissing you back, his fingers threading through your hair, his heart beating to the fervent rhythm of a desperate mortal man. 

Oh, what was this power you wielded so casually? He was terror beyond comprehension, yet as your tongue slipped into his mouth, his knees damn near gave out.

Of course, he had lied to you. His true purpose in searching for your home had been purely to uncover your father’s notes and discover additional information on the formula which had transformed him… but as you kissed him, his grasp on that goal faltered entirely. Besides, your home was in flames, the research likely burned to ash. It didn’t matter.

“I thought you were dead,” you whispered, lips trembling against his before you pulled back and gazed into his eyes with a mix of curiosity and relief. As besieged as he was by his need for you, it seemed you fared no better. The fire behind you paled in comparison to the light you found in each other’s presence.

Perhaps his apparent resurrection had shaken you from your senses, perhaps you were susceptible to his sway, or perhaps you were simply a different kind of monster than he, but amidst the wreckage of your life, he saw no fear in your eyes. No. Your eyes reflected only his image. 

And as for Muzan… Muzan found himself blinkered to the world beyond you. The flames paled, the night faded, and the moon lost her luster. 

You were his moon now. 

His only moon. 

Dawn was fast approaching and he needed to shelter from the sun’s lethal rays. He would make you this thrall if necessary. But he would not let go of you now that he had you.

“Come,” he said, offering you his arm. “You can stay with me.”

Everyone had assumed the Kibutsuji mansion was empty. The gardens were overgrown, the windows boarded over, no one came or left. But somehow you found yourself in a room you had only ever visited once before but which you remembered in vivid detail– Muzan’s bedroom. From the inside the house looked exactly the same as it had five years ago; clean and elegant. The tatami mats in his room were well-maintained, the walls decorated with soft clouds and graceful cranes. The only change was that the somber air of lingering death was no longer present. 

The first time you met him you had felt that immediately; the looming presence of death and sorrow surrounding Muzan. But now, even knowing what had occurred in that house, that it was very possible you stood in the same spot that your father died in, you felt only relief, curiosity, and an overwhelming urge to be at Muzan’s side.

You couldn’t tear your eyes from him as he hung a red sheet of ramie fabric over the already boarded window, blocking out the pale gray slivers of light between the wooden panels.

“You’re an intelligent woman,” he said at last. “I think you know, don’t you? Your logical mind is telling you it can’t be true, but your gut is telling you otherwise. Tell me, what do you think I am?”

The question gave you pause. “You’re human, of course–”

“No, no…” he stepped closer, the fabric of his fine kariginu and hakama folding against your legs. “What does your instinct tell you?”

A chill crept along your spine as you looked into those blood-red eyes. His pupils were no longer round, but narrow almost reptilian slits. His skin was still as pale as the day you had met him, but it had been made flawless– without a blemish, shadow, or even pores. The air between you was stifling as you raised your hand to caress his cheek, finding his skin unnaturally hot. He should have been burning up with a fever. 

He bowed into your touch, breath blowing against your palm. Your lips found his once more, unable to resist the lure of his kiss even as your soul screamed at you to run.

But Muzan's lips remained still beneath yours, his hands grasping your upper arms with terrifying strength before the dam overflowed and he kissed you back slowly… almost experimentally.

And with that kiss you felt as though you were wrapped completely in a shroud of darkness.

“Yokai…” the word, spoken against his lips, sounded ridiculous and right on your tongue.

His smile widened as he pulled back and took your wrist in his hand, long talons pricking the tender flesh above your artery. “And yet, you aren’t afraid.”

"You killed my father, didn't you?” Heart emptying as the question left your mouth, you waited for the inevitable response. You knew before he even uttered a word. 

“Yes. I killed the doctor.”

The remnants of your world shattered around you as he admitted his crime so matter-of-factly. The pressure that had been building in your chest for five years finally released, and you felt as though you were drawing breath for the first time. 

“I was not yet a demon,” Muzan said, his eyes distant, the trace of his smile still lingering. “I was still very much mortal.”

Your blood burned. After five years of numbness your soul awakened, and your ire was unleashed upon the demon before you. 

“Curse you!” you spat, striking him across the face with all your strength. He didn’t even twitch, even though your palm throbbed and stung so severely tears sprung to your eyes. Still your rage poured over. You pounded his chest with the sides of your fists, over and over until your arms ached and your breath was nothing more than ragged burning gasps.“Damn you to fucking hell, Muzan Kibutsuji.” 

He simply stood and bore your wrath, his arms extending to support you when your legs gave out and you stumbled forward, tears soaking into the fabric of his kariginu. When you sank to your knees, Muzan knelt with you. The arms which wound around your back were strong and sure, nothing like the weakened limbs of the man you had known. And yet, as he held you and permitted you to cry and curse and strike him, you found comfort and catharsis in his rigid embrace. 

“And curse me too,” you wept. “Gods, I can’t help but want you.”

“Have me then,” he whispered, his thumbs swiping away your tears. His touch was comforting and infuriating, far gentler than a monster that you were supposed to hate should have been capable of. “You have been the torment of these past five years, the damned itch I could not scratch. I have wanted you every single day since that first encounter. Every day, both in this form, and the pathetic mortal I once was.” He forced a breath through his nose, his crimson eyes narrowing as he bowed his head to rest against yours. “I don’t care if you despise me. Just—”

You silenced him with a kiss, hard and deep, full of loathing and longing, your treacherous body aching for him, seeking the solace of simple pleasure. Muzan was familiar and strange all at once. He still kissed the same way he had as a mortal; his lips lazy and soft, receiving your kiss rather than kissing you. And yet It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the heat, the sensation, the delectable whimpers of yearning coming from him, purging the bitter poison which had infected your heart for years.

Despite his inhuman strength, Muzan bent to your will, allowing you to push him backward until he was forced to let you go, bracing his hands on the tatami mat by his ankles for balance, his torso arced toward you.

By some demonic art, his fine clothes simply disappeared, falling from his body in  tatters and dissolving into the air. His robe, his hakama, his kanmuri cap all seemed to melt before your eyes, leaving the man completely bare. His long, black waves of hair tumbled down over his shoulders as you traced the lithe shape of his abdomen, his muscles twitching and stuttering beneath your palms.

Even in this corrupt, demonic form, he was so beautiful he made your lungs ache, and just as willing to submit to you as he was when he was mortal. And while he seemed to feel no pain when you hit him, your gentler touches made him crumble. A broken sigh escaped his lips as you ran your fingernails across his chest, catching his nipples and making him gasp. 

Gods, you were certain you were going to hell; the nights you had silently resented your patients had long ago ensured that. What harm was there in indulging the whims of your desire? 

You kissed him firmly, sinking your teeth into his lower lip, relishing the deep, shivering groan which tumbled from his lips as you ran your fingers through the trail of ink-black hair starting at his navel, and wrapped your hand around his semi-hard cock.

“You destroyed my world,” you hissed against his ear. “Now it’s my turn to destroy you.”

“Do what you will,” he said, his voice strained as you pulled his hips toward you with one hand and began to pump his cock in your other fist. “I am yours.”

He should not have felt anything toward you, and it irked him that he did. That a demon should bend so willingly to a loathsome mortal– the fact that he didn’t loathe you at all. None of it made any sense. Every other human he had encountered had sparked nothing in him but an overwhelming urge to snuff out the miserable light of their existence and tear their flesh with his teeth. But not you.

Why?

The question ran around and around his mind. Why you, out of all the thousands of humans he had encountered in his demon form? Why didn’t he want to crush you, consume you, break you, watch the life leave your eyes?

His throat flexed as you pressed your mouth to his chest, your tongue slippery and warm against his nipple, sending humiliating bolts of pleasure darting straight to his cock. 

Fuck, the pace of your ministrations was brutal, the tunnel of your fist aggressively tight. Pleasure and pain tangled and became one as you bit his chest, pulling the air from his lungs as your teeth sank into plush muscle and flesh.

It was as if no time had passed at all the moment you touched him; you had complete dominion over his body and his pleasure. The strength and power he had acquired were meaningless in your presence. He was as weak to you then as he had been on his deathbed. 

“Ahh… curse you, woman,” he groaned, fighting the urge to put an end to it even as he thrust his hips toward you. "You'll be the death of me."

“Silence,” you hissed, firmly slapping his chest, making his nipples tingle and pucker before returning your mouth to one, and tickling the unattended one with your fingertips and causing him to moan.

The power you held over him was humiliating, and it made his cock so hard he could barely function. Your soft hands, punishing him with such ruthless pleasure, expertly pulled him apart. The bliss you gave him was the first he had felt since that day you bestowed upon him your own brand of medicine, and now, embittered and vengeful, you still felt just as sweet. His stomach muscles clenched and spasmed as he drew closer to oblivion, his eyelids fluttered shut.

“Ngh…” He panted. “I’m… almost—”

“Are you close, my pretty demon lord?” you whispered.

He nodded, his breaths just shattering gasps. “So close…”

“Good.” You stopped and released your grip. 

His heart emptied. “No damn you don’t stop. Don’t… nghhh… stop!” he cried out as his orgasm limped through him, its power completely dwindled by the loss of your touch. His cock wept pathetically, half-heartedly spurting and dribbling cum as he gasped for breath. “Cruel… torturess...”

“A small price to pay for what you’ve done,” you said, pulling off your sooty nightdress and casting it aside. 

Muzan’s breath hitched. He remembered your shape in vivid detail when he remembered nothing else of his human life; every curve and crease of your form, the warmth and plush softness of your thighs cradling his head. He remembered your taste, your scent, the way you had praised him, the way you had held him afterward and told him he had done well. But you were somehow even more beautiful having aged half a decade. 

He should have despised it; the relentless march of time, the fleeting nature of your mortality. But he could not despise you. Never. Time had softened you, made you somehow ethereal to his eyes. Muzan had never truly believed in gods, but you elicited the same reverence in him he imagined the temple monks felt when they beheld the rising sun. To him, you were divine, a vengeful goddess. 

And who better to walk at his side for eternity?

You leaned back in, taking hold of his cock once more, your touch sending jolts of searing torment through his body. It was too much, and yet he craved you so completely he was even willing to endure your cruelty.

And while you mercilessly jerked his cock, you slapped his chest again. And again. Of course, the physical pain was nothing to him, but your audacity, the way you humiliated him… it made heat pool in his chest, kept his cock from going limp, made his cheeks rosy, and before long he was little more than a blushing, mewling mess. “Please…”

“Please what?” Your soft hands pumped up and down his length, using his cum to make them glide. “Is this where you beg my forgiveness?”

“No… no I would never beg that… I don’t need your forgiveness– ahh-hahh–”

You bestowed another slap to his breast. Gods, it thrilled him to no end, to watch the blood and heat rising in your face, to know he was pushing you and you would keep on giving. Your domination was beautiful, your touch addictive. And you were enjoying this as much as he was. He could see the arousal in your face; the way your pupils almost drowned out the color of your eyes, your staggered breaths, and flushed cheeks. 

In five years of slaughtering every mortal he encountered, five years of watching them cower with tear-streaked faces and eyes bulging with fear, he hadn’t found a single one so unrattled by his demonic nature. And he simply adored you for that fact. Among others. 

He couldn’t stop himself from collapsing forward, to press his face to your neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of your skin. How his body ached for you; both the delectable taste of your flesh, and the divine sanctum of your cunt. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please…”

“I mourned you,” you said, your lips against his ear. “I wished you were back in my arms on the nights I had nothing else to cling to besides memories. And all along you were this… monster.”

He should not have cared. It was against his nature to feel empathy or even regret… but some part of him did. Some small, shriveled part of him did regret hurting you.

When you grasped his jaw between your fingers, he allowed you to lift his chin, moaning as your tongue slid up the length of his throat, warm and wet and voracious. His body undulated involuntarily, his hips pistoning away from you as the stimulation grew unbearable. 

“If I’d have come to you sooner you…” His body jolted as you took hold of his cock once more. “Mmhgh… you would have hated me even more than you do now.”

"Oh my foolish demon Lord, I don't hate you." You whispered, flicking his nipple with your tongue. "How could I bring myself to hate something so pitifully beautiful?"

"Pitiful? The gall…"

You smirked. "Yes, pitiful. Look at you, Muzan.”

Raising his head, he looked down at his body and a gasp escaped his lips. His chest was flushed pink, littered with bite marks he had no inclination to heal, his nipples swollen and glistening with your saliva. His cock was bright red at the tip, glazed with his own spend, twitching in your grasp. The humiliation of it all only made him need you more. “Only for you.”

“Such a pretty sight. So overcome. So utterly helpless. All for me.”

Your praise, your derision… It was too much. His broken breaths and clenching muscles made his chest and belly judder as he drew nearer his climax. His cock throbbed in your hand.

"Ah… you're close again?" You taunted, slowing your strokes to an unbearably languid pace. “Human or yokai, it’s all the same, Muzan. Your cock will always belong to me.”

"Ohhhh-oh-oh-oh curse you…" he ground out in agony, his eyes screwing shut. "If you don't hate me, why then do you insist on torturing me?"

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered against his ear.

Damn you. “Never.”

“Good. You take your punishments well, Muzan.” You smirked as he fell against you once more, desperately trying to buck his hips against your palm. “Tell me, who owns your cock?”

“I won’t say it.”

You pinched his nipple harshly, making him whine. 

His dignity was in tatters and you had the single thread holding him together in your grasp. “Fine.” He bared his teeth as your thumb teased the weeping slit of his cock with languorous circles. “You do.”

“Good boy.”

As soon as the words left your lips his orgasm erupted, his seed squirting from him in pearly ropes, spraying his thighs and belly as his back curved in euphoria. The broken, feral cries which emerged from him were muffled by your lips as you pulled him into a claiming kiss.

Even as he came undone, you managed to send desire spearing though his body, sucking his lower lip the way you had when he was mortal, your arms wrapping around his back, holding him firmly to you.

“Ffffuck, let me taste you,” he begged as you broke away from the kiss, gazing up into your eyes and despising the desperate whininess of his voice. One night was not enough. He needed to spend his unending years with you, surrendering to you and earning your adoration. "I need to taste your cunt. I need it.”

And you, merciful goddess of vengeance, were only happy to oblige.

Muzan groaned as he dragged his tongue through the slick folds of your labia, sending frissons of pleasure rolling through your body. You lay on your back with him between your thighs, head raised to watch him devour you. Despite everything, his beauty still enraptured you; the ebony waves of his hair spilling over your thighs, his crimson eyes fixed on yours, the subtle curve of his lips as he tasted you again. So beautiful and so utterly wicked.

“That’s it,” you said, pulling in a shaking breath as his tongue lapped at your clit. “Keep doing that. Don't stop until I say.”

As a human his technique had been sloppy, unskilled but eager, and as a demon he was no different, only now his strength was unfathomable, and he apparently no longer needed to breathe. What he apparently lacked in experience he made up for with fervor, licking you with such frantic and animalistic passion you could hardly stop from crying out. Your hand came down to thread your fingers through his hair, your grip tightening as you bucked your hips against his mouth.

Gods, by rights you should have despised him; the monster who had left your life in tatters, but try as you might to hate him, your weary soul craved the comforting abyss of his. You knew the hands which clung to your thighs had choked the life from people. The mouth hellbent on driving you to euphoria had feasted upon human flesh. The heart you felt so strongly bound to was wicked and inhuman. 

And none of it mattered. 

None of it mattered because for the first time in five years, you had some semblance of control. The monster lapping at your core was yours to command, bending to your whims because it pleased him to do so. No one was begging you to save lives. No one needed you for anything more than your cunt. 

With that beast between your thighs you finally found peace. Muzan gave you such simple, primal pleasure which deadened the rest of the world. The cries of the dying, the fists pounding at your door, the choking coughs of the sick and frightened villagers who clung to you and pleaded with you to do what you could not… all silenced. 

The pounding rhythm of your heart, the gasps emerging from your lips, the growls and wet sound of his mouth devouring your essence, they drowned out the constant hum of the world. 

“Please,” he whispered against your cunt as he circled his nose around your clitoris and lapped at your entrance. He pressed two fingers inside you, pumping them slowly and sending electricity rolling through your spine with every thrust. 

You were close, your muscles clenching and breath becoming staggered. “Please…what?”

“This. For eternity.” His lips surrounded your clit, lavishing it with a deep, loving kiss before whispering against it, “Let me worship you forever. Let me take you away from all the death, the sickness, the misery.”

“Yes,” was all you could manage as you came undone, fingers tangling in his long hair, pushing him down to grind your cunt against his ravenous mouth.

The feral growl which emerged from him only extended your pleasure, your walls fluttering and clenching around his fingers as he put his wicked tongue to divine work. Waves of euphoria rolled through you as you cried out in bliss, only vaguely aware of a brief pinprick of pain deep in your cunt. 

And amidst the pleasure you felt the sensation of being filled, as though it was his cock inside you, spilling into you, pumping you full of his seed. But that couldn’t be.

“Muzan…” you gasped, “that’s enough.”

His chin was glistening with your essence as he withdrew his fingers and pulled back to kiss his way up your body.

“You are mine forever,” Muzan said as he lay down beside you. His breath was hot against your neck. “And I am hopelessly yours. If you are my moon then I am your wolf. Your hands are the only hands wound around my leash, your voice the only sound that can bring me to heel.” His eyes drifted over your flesh. “Please let me taste you.”

“Haven’t you tasted enough? Ever the greedy nobleman, even when you’re no longer a man.”

A slow smirk tilted his lips. “I don’t mean your cunt. I mean your blood.”

Logic told you that you should be disgusted by his request, but you were anything but. Some part of you was curious, some part of you no longer feared pain. And some part of you was deeply aroused by the thought of it. 

“Very well,” you sighed, “since you were so good for me.”

The sharp pain of his fangs piercing your neck was only momentary, before pleasure overtook it, stronger and even more consuming than any orgasm. It throbbed through your body, pulling primal cries of bliss from you. 

“Mmmhh…” A deep moan emerged from him as he drank your blood, his cock throbbing against you. 

The ecstasy was overwhelming and never ending; your cunt still throbbing while his teeth penetrated your flesh. That feeling of fullness bloomed in your belly, a heat gathering deep in your core, the pain of it deadened by the pleasure of his bite. Your lifeforce leaked into him as he lay beside you, his unattended cock pressed against your hip as he compulsively rutted against you.

Finally, he withdrew his fangs, lapping at the wound he left in his wake, savoring every drop of you. And at once your body was consumed by the throbbing pain in your core. 

“Gods… what did you do to me?” you asked, gasping for breath as your hand coiled around his bicep, anchoring you to him. The slick heat of his tongue on your throat made you ache.

“I gave my moon a gift.” He brought his trembling fingers up to cup your face, peppering your cheeks with soft persuasive kisses. “More than pleasure. More than love. I have given you eternal life.”

“What– Muzan… what is this?”

“Yokai,” he whispered against your ear. “We are the same, you and I. I gave you my blood and you gave me yours.”

Your heart rate spiked as the meaning of his words settled upon you. It was his blood inside you. The essence coursing through your veins was no longer just yours but his as well, his demonic power flooding through you, transforming your mortal body into that of a demon.

And it burned. It burned so badly you wanted to tear out your veins.

Some part of you fought back, perhaps your soul, or perhaps simple animal instinct, snarling in the depths of your mind that he had no right to this, no right to steal away your humanity and pull you into darkness with him. But that protest was swiftly silenced by the lure of the abyss he offered.

Muzan was the devil, but you welcomed his oblivion, knowing that the ceaseless din of life dared not enter his shadow.

So instead you clung to him, crying out in agony and euphoria as he held your convulsing body to his, the tender touch of his fingers threading through your hair at odds with the pain flowing through you.

"No more death," he said, holding you as agony and darkness engulfed you. In the shadows, only his voice remained. "You will live eternally at my side, bound to me as I am to you.” 

Muzan’s body no longer needed air to live, and yet he released a shaking breath as he lay in the aftermath of passion. He had given you so much blood– more than he had ever intended. It was a miracle that your cells hadn’t rejected his gift.

You had survived the initial transformation but had not yet awakened. Try as he might to detach himself from concern, Muzan's blood-red gaze remained fixed on you, waiting for movement.

And he despised that. He despised that he had allowed such turmoil, that his defenses were lowered and the last vestige of his humanity still clung to his soul like a parasite. It was against his nature to feel anything beyond bloodlust and hatred, to crave anything but violence. But as you slept peacefully at his side, the heart he thought long-dead ached with the thought that you might never wake. 

He should not have cared whether you lived or died. And yet, he couldn't stand the thought of you slipping from his grasp. Perhaps it was simply his pride, refusing the world the audacity to take what was his. Or perhaps it was the fact that your presence, your love, your domination quelled his raging soul.

And, oh, when your eyes opened, when they shone with renewed strength and divine malice, he could hardly contain his excitement. He bit into the back of his hand as he took in your visage; his perfect creation, his love, his moon. Any resentment was entirely forgotten.

“You are beautiful,” he whispered, sitting to observe you as you pressed your tongue to the tip of your fangs. You were his triumph. You were proof of his genius, his power, his wisdom.

Your eyes darted around the room, wide and frantic as if seeing the world for the first time. “I can feel your strength in my veins.”

How that pleased him. To think that he had succeeded so spectacularly, that he had known instinctively to create you and had achieved such perfection. 

And you were right. He knew it the moment you slammed him to the ground and pinned him down, straddling his hips and grinding your heat against his weeping cock. 

He had imbued you with near terrifying strength. 

Despite his own demonic power, as he tried to raise his hands from where you held them to the tatami mat, he found himself as weak against you as he had been during that first encounter when his mortal body was ravaged by sickness.

Somehow, he had made you even stronger than himself.

And damn it all, that excited him beyond anything he had ever known. There wasn’t a force on earth that could hold him down but you.

He was powerless as you lowered yourself onto him, the wet heat of your perfect cunt squeezing his cock and pulling a pathetic whimper from him. 

“That’s it,” you grinned, your fangs protruding over your lower lip. “You make such pretty sounds for me.” You pressed your clit to his mons and rolled your hips, damn near euphoric as you ground against his coarse hair, seeking friction. It seemed your transformation had heightened your hedonism, and Muzan found himself little more than a tool for your indulgence. 

“Curse you to hell,” he groaned, the heat rising in his face as you used his cock for your own selfish pleasure. 

“Now now, Muzan,” you chided, your voice as foreboding as an oncoming storm. “Play nice, or you’ll never get to cum again.”

His lip curled, bearing his fangs as you rode him at an agonizingly languid pace. “What have I done?” he groaned, throwing his head back as you kept him hanging on the edge of pleasure. “I’ve created a monster.” Try as he might, he couldn’t break free to grip your hips and control your pace. Your thighs kept him wedged so he couldn’t thrust up into you.

When you came his eyes flooded with tears of frustration and adoration and anger, even the walls of your cunt made stronger and more devastating by your transformation. Every pulse of your orgasm squeezed his cock almost unbearably tight. 

“Ah-ah-ah fu-uh-uhck,” he groaned, the sinews in his neck straining as he clenched his own core and tried once more to buck his hips into you, desperate for release. “Please please please please.”

“So you do remember your manners,” you smirked as you lifted your hips, until only the very tip of his cock remained buried inside you.

Gods, he was on the verge of tears as he raised his head to watch it almost slipping out of you. “No please, no please don’t stop… let me cum please don’t do this to me.”

Desperation cracked his voice but he no longer cared about his dignity. It was irreparable at this point anyway. His ego was gone, his only concern was that you kept on pleasuring him.

“Say you’re sorry for all you’ve done.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried, as sincere as he had ever been. “Forgive me, forgive me please.”

You simply threw your head back and laughed, dropping down onto his cock with enough force to drive a cry from his lips. And you fucked him hard, fast, the pleasure so intense his legs trembled. You released his wrists and lightly slapped his chest again and again, not enough to hurt, but enough to make the fat and muscle ripple beneath your blows.

Curse you. Curse you and the way you made him adore you. Curse you and the power you so mercilessly and perfectly wielded over him. 

“Oh fuck,” he gasped, sucking in a breath as the first throbbing pulses of his orgasm rocked through him. “Oh fuck.”

“Cum for me, Muzan. I won’t stop until it’s dripping out of me with every thrust.”

You tore him apart with your pleasure, his back arching as he flooded your cunt, cumming harder than he ever had. What a monster you were, what a wonderfully malevolent goddess.

“Nghh, fuck,” he groaned, covering his flushed face with his arms as you rode him tirelessly, not a drop of his seed spilling from you. “It’s too much… please…”

The gleam in your eyes said you were far from finished. “Now, Muzan… I’m disappointed. Surely you’re not so easily defeated. I know you can keep cumming for me, my pretty king.” 

Curse you. He was simply helpless. 

Tags: @vampcubus @cloverussy @birbgoboom @chiyoso @taramultiuniverse

And he adored it. 

Sub Astarion

[ cage training | astarion ancunin ]

✧ tags : muzzles, bdsm, sub!astarion, gender neutral + dom!reader, reader is strong (offers to carry him), dirty talk, orgasm control, feeding (?), cutting (for blood), anal (m!recieving), service dom reader, petnames (my star for astarion) a lot of alluding to hunger, more erotica than smut but 18+

✧ wc : 4.8k (what if all just kill ourselves)

✧ a/n : i dont even like this guy like this im just mentally ill about submissive men. also this is a very "read whats on the tin and make good choices" sort of fic.. i know this kind of play might be controversial for beloved white boy but they have a very loving dynamic Okay. Alright. its about Love.

ALSO. this is ASTARION FOCUSED. so reader doesn't cum (though astarion makes up for it as implied)

this is a fluke fic i cannot recommend following me for this guy!!!written mostly for a friend. had a lot of fun with this though!!!

✧ synopsis : astarion relearns manners and discipline. he's rewarded for his valiant efforts.

He comes to you wounded. Save from the scar on the curve of his spine, it's not a physical wound.

Astarion approached you like a caged lion, a circus animal - a predator paraded like a house cat who has only just remembered his teeth. That's why your empathy extended to his greed even when it caused him to wear the worst of himself. You don't think Astarion has ever understood the fact that he's hungry. He's always hungry.

He inhabits a body pushed to failure. His hunger cues are almost as ruined as he.

Like an animal in captivity, every choice he might've had to make slipped between his fingers for many years. How to live, how to hunt. Hunger is the hardest to remember, though it leaves the longest impression. It's a condition of a wounded mind. He had long since forgotten a body that knows a need stronger than staying alive.

He always waited for the violent gnawing to set in, the kind that can be ignored until it can't.

And so, his hunger became his ruin, became his new captor. Astarion met you in the midst of that delirium the first time

Once you let a captive predator free, you've damned it. A caged lion cannot become uncaged. Survival instinct has all but degraded to nothing, leaving only a wounded animal in its place.

You must nurse it to health. Care for it as it renavigates the world.

Curb its hunger when it threatens to wreak havoc.

Sanctuary. Regiment. Retraining.

It's easy enough to discern what he needs. All tender with wounds that need to be licked.

The muzzle is fitted. A gesture of glimmering gold adoration among the steely black of whips and chains.

Astarion is beautiful. Tenfold on his knees.

The leather straps pull back slight against his skin, three in total clipped together at the back of his skull. The thickest strap flattens sweet white curls, thinner ones curved around his ears and jaw.

The structured leather cage, reinforced with metal, rests over his nose and mouth. It fits better than you could've hoped. There's a collar around his neck to match it, with a weighted chain in your hand. He's looking up at you with a softened gaze, ruby red and lidded. Needy.

The velvet of the loveseat dips comfortably under your weight as you sit. Astarion stays where he is. He's as pleasant as he's capable of being, hopeful as he scoots in closer to you.

He succeeds in acting cute, naturally talented in the art of being appealing. He scoots himself close to your legs and positions himself to rest his chin on the edge of your knee.

You meet his eyes amused. You let your hand brush along the pointed shell of his ear. Little goosebumps form in the wake of your touch.

"You should know better by now that those sorts of tricks don't work on me, hm?"

He huffs. "Well that's not true. They usually do work on you. Rather well, I would say."

You pause, taken aback, before relenting with a laugh His pout endears you. You let your eyes narrow a bit in knowing.

"Not like this though. You know that very well."

His frown deepens. You really do adore him. He taps his forehead against your leg as you bite back a smile, his muzzle making the touch briefer than he'd prefer.

"Gods. Of course I know but this, this is torture, darling."

Pleasant and noncommittal, your hand cups his nape. You pet him wherever you can reach, his head before slipping along his shoulder and against your lap. You settle at his back, tracing over raised scars.

A sorrowful hum leaves your lips. Neither of you believe it.

"Torture? Perhaps I've gotten too soft if this is torture."

"Oh you're so awful," He huffs, biting his tongue and choosing to rest against your leg in frustration for a while longer. "Sure, fine - torture is too perfunctory. But it's been terribly difficult! Where is your sympathy."

"What's difficult, Astarion?"

You're being cheeky asking him. After all your rules have been clear and reinforced well for the two tendays that have passed. You've been working hard on reteaching him patience. He used to be so patient, back when you were exploring and unsettled but you've let him take too much and now he'll interrupt you at any moment just to get what he needs.

(Astarion leans on you for guidance. Of course, he has himself - has his freedom that he took with bloodied hands and a broken heart. There’s many choices that he’s able to make for himself, some of them he can’t explain even to you. Whatever they are, they’re his to make and yours to support. 

It’s different though. Not having a choice, and someone making choices for him out of something inscrutable. You don’t bed Astarion until you fulfill the promise of killing his master. More accurately, you don’t lay so much as a hand on him. Only intimate, sparse touches. Only love. Only patience.

You’re disinterested in only having his body. His heart, and his mind, and his very soul - all of it. You want to grasp them so firmly and never let go. The chains and leashing and discipline are testament to what you want most of Astarion - and that’s all of him. You want to enrich him in every conceivable way.  Astarion deserves the granular finery of thoughtful guidance more than anyone. He's brighter when he feels special, after all. 

You’ve broken down the walls between you with a closed fist for this purpose - a not so quiet ask to love him by opening your hand. He’s given you the honor to let you think and act for him so he doesn’t have too. Duty binds you to reteaching him virtue.

It's a privilege to think for him. To wipe his bloodied mouth and care for his appearance prim and his mind sharp. No longer a matted beast but a loved, loved little vampire in the crook of your arms 

You’re not strict to no end. You'd rip the Astral Planes apart in search of what he desires, should he ask it of you, after all. 

Only the best for your immortal love. )

His neediness makes him more misbehaving. He’s been scaring away anyone who looks at you too long for business and otherwise, unable to keep his hand away from between your legs or his head in your lap. 

"Not letting me drink your blood for two tendays is unreasonable enough but on top of that," He's exasperated just explaining the dilemma to you. His muzzle is cool against your pant leg. "On top of that I'm not even allowed any relief. Despite all of your cruelty, you wicked thing. I never took you for such a sadist."

He scoffs. There's poorly masked lust in the last sentence. You stop yourself from smiling.

"Sadist? Really? I don't see it that way. Seeing you act so desperately all this time and keeping my hands neat at my sides... I'm a paragon of patience." You pull on the leash in your hand but don't pull him forward - though you tighten your grip. "It's…good to lead by example."

Excitement flashes over his face in a short burst. It's so brilliant you swear his eyes look white instead of red.

"You cheeky little—" He huffs at you. You smile warmly as he starts to curl in on himself. He already knows how to get himself what he wants. 

He gives up on pretenses. Briefly, just to beg, a monumentally hard thing. "Please. I can't take a minute more of this."

There's a croak to his voice. He has a hard time covering its tracks, even with his propensity for theatrics.

His throat is so thick with want. Something ripping at the seams of him and begging to be released.

"You've done well if it helps, but" You praise. He preens. Instantly. He squirms and wiggles around but doesn't move much more than that. "You act like I don't feed you."

"It is not the same, my love. You're well aware."

You ignore him.

"I even bring you human blood, don't I?" You tease, and his frustration darkens him. "I brought a beautiful and fresh body to drain just yesterday."

"Yes but," His hands turn to tight fists. He isn't sure what he wants to do with himself. You pet him a little more. "It's not the same, damn it. I want yours. Just yours. Just you,"

He adds the last bit quieter than the rest. Your expression is unchanged and cool though your heart might give you away with how hard it pounds.

"Just mine?" You tease. tugging at this leash a little. He makes a face like he's infuriated, a poor mask for embarrassment that endears you even more."Is that flattery?"

You're being a little mean this time. You'll make it up to him. He almost panics before he realizes just that.

"Gods you're insufferable," He complains with no bite. He's hoping for mercy you truly have no desire to give him. "You know that it's not."

"You speak so beautifully it sounds like it. Such sweet little noises you can make."

You let the heel of your boot press along Astarion's crotch. He makes one for you, involuntary - skin pink and sinful.

"See? How pretty."

Astarion is easy to bring to ruin as is. His own snark and disobedience is a poor disguise for that truth. A little tenderness and honesty makes him fall apart. Flirting back with Astarion goads him, though. Fuels his desire to win one over you. If you meet his cheekiness with more cheekiness, he won't relent at all.

Normally that kind of response would make him nip at you. It speaks to his desperation that it doesn't. That instead of making his own snarky remark, he tenses. A deep, shaky little breath. You could tip him over the edge through his clothes at this rate.

You're not so cruel. Not for today, at least.

"Sit up straight."

He does so without protest. You place a hand on his shoulder, the other one tight around the chain of his leash. Carefully, you drag your sharp nails down the front of his chest - leaving light pinkish marks on the pale skin. Over and over and over in light drags. His chest raises under the gesture, your nails scratching soft against his nipples.

"Hng," His voice is feather light. He's trembling at the slightest touch. His spine arches like he's trying to get more friction. "Don't you think you've proven your point?"

You let your palm drag down the smooth plane of his stomach, stopping at his pants. His cock twitches hard against the seam of his pants. You let a finger pull into the waistband, but don't go any farther.

"Not sure," You let the leash drop into your lap. You threaten to pull them down, but don't. Expression blank, you tilt your head to one side. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"My lesson," He repeats sarcastically. You feign innocence as you nod. "Really, darling?"

"I'm not so much of a tyrant," You let go, letting your hand cup the outline of his hard cock. "To torture you without reason, right? So what have we practiced?"

He stares. It must really be getting to him. "Patience."

"Yes. I ask you to be patient. Never kind, but patient. Because I'll give you anything you ask for if you wait. Things are better when you wait for them, right?"

He frowns in annoyance and disbelief. He's exasperated, rightfully - because you are messing with him. Just a little. "Right."

You squeeze his cock tighter. He hisses immediately, grinding into the touch. You blow hot air against his ticklish skin, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"So, have you learned your lesson?"

Your grip goes tight. Astarion craves the touch so badly. You doubt he's ever gone so long without anything at all - if the desperation he's rutting his hips with is anything to go by. His head drops heavy from his shoulders, his hands on the edge of the couch gripping for his life. Manicured nails digging into the cushion like it will save him. His voice is weary.

"Y-," He shudders but you don't let go. "Yes, I'm very sure I have."

"Oh, you're sure."

You enjoy bullying him. At a certain point, it bares itself out against all your own evading. Astarion knows it well enough, though normally it's through less truly intolerable means. Keeping him inside you soft or scraping orgasms one after another until he's too stupid too talk are favored between you.

Astarion likes being given a hard time, in general though. You're made for each other.

"Pretty little thing aren't you, my love?" You tell him, suddenly warmed. You miss the tadpole sometimes. If you could touch his mind right now, you would. Violate his thoughts with your own wants. You settle for a long stare. "So sweet,"

The anticipation makes his breath hitch. He goes completely limp in your grasp, weak and desperate. The weight of it all cracks and he looks up. His eyes glass over.

He shatters under his own need. "For the love of—please. I c-cant, I need to-"

"Shh." You quell him with a tender pet to his head. "You're looking at me so pitifully. Is it starting to be too much?"

He just nods. Your smile widens.

"You've been very patient for these two tendays, haven't you?" You lay it on thick. This is the part you like. You watch as Astarion goes boneless, the words reaching so deep into him he can do little more than collapse himself into your lap. You release all grips of him and let him hold against you soothingly, cling to your legs. "A very, very good boy for all this time. You're quite capable of it when you need to be, aren't you?"

He doesn't reply, but you can feel him melt into you further. For a minute you think you've broken him until you hear him mutter the softest yes you've ever heard.

(Astarion is not so easy to break, of course. And not so keen on opening up the softened wells of his heart to any stranger.

But he does break for you, and gods haven't you worked hard for that? It's a testament to all you've poured into him. Like you know all the right buttons to split him open tenderly.

And he lets you look. Touch and feel and cover your fingers with blood. He trusts you to stitch him closed.)

"Yes, that's right. You've learned your lesson now, and you're going to be proper and well-behaved because that's what good boys do. And Astarion is a very good boy. My very, very good boy."

He picks his head to look at you properly. He's darling. His face is flush, mouth turned into a soft pout and utterly, utterly desperate. His mouth is bitten, indented holes in soft lips.

"Yes, I'm. Please. I want you to touch me."

You aren't sure what you want to start with. He's being needy and you could almost feel guilty.

You pick up something from your side. A dagger from your days of travel. You unsheath it quickly, and let the blade cut along the tip of your middle finger. The blood comes quickly after, ruby red and thick. 

Astarion goes wide eyed. He’s hungry, so hungry - like he always is. But there’s something defeated in the ways he hesitates that make you relish. You push your finger through the cage of his muzzle and tilt your head. There’s mirth in your eyes.

“Go on,” You say, tease, mock maybe. “Eat.” 

He abandons restraint. All of it. You don’t make him work more for it. You push your finger down close enough for his mouth to lick at your wound and let your hand rest on the cage. He can’t get what he’s craving like this. The bone deep sensation starts to claw at him, a soft whimper tucked in the back of his throat.  

More. He wants more. Of course he wants more. 

“You look drunk.” You say, and there’s sharpness to your words. The ways in which Astarion is erotic have nothing to do with his theatrics. He is appealing when he’s giving up on everything but what he wants, always has been. “Have you missed it that much?” 

“Yes.” He supplements, letting his tongue run over “More.” 

You pull your hand away. “Take your clothes off.” 

You watch Astarion scramble to stand. You bring your dagger with you then reach over to the table beside you. Scented oils roll around in the drawer. You’re careful with the blade as you fish out a bottle of it, taking it in your hands. Astarion stands naked, the heavy chain of his leash brushing against his skin. 

“Kneel and lean on the couch, my love.” 

Astarion is the picture of obedience. He leans on his elbows on the couch seats, with his legs spread apart, leash in a pool next to him as he folds his arms and tucks his face. You stand on your knees behind him, admiring his back in the lowlights. 

Your hands rest on his thighs as you kiss up his spine. Small, short kisses all the way until you’ve reached the back of his neck. Your lips brush his nape, nose nudging against the metal of his muzzle. 

Something overwhelms you. Addicting, euphoric as your clothed body drapes around Astarion, free hand on his waist - moving up his stomach to toy with his nipples. It thrums through you, listening to the ragged anticipation and distraught way he moves. Against you, against everything. Aching for touch. 

You feel it overwhelmingly as you close in on his ear. Astarion huffs, long panting breaths. He needs this.

“Look at how naturally you yield to me now,” You all be coo. Astarion groans. Shuddering, your hand slides around his narrow waist and wraps a fist around his cock. He gasps. “You’ve become so pliable, so needy. But you know my star, I quite like when you’re needy.”

He hiccups and shivers and whines. “You’re the prettiest when you behave like the sweet little thing you can be, like I know you are. When you listen and yield and let me adore you in all the right ways. Such a sweet boy you can be, if only you let yourself.” 

“Darling,” His voice cracks. There’s a helpless quality to it. A little more, that’s all you need. “I — you —” 

You pull back and straighten your voice out, taking off Astarions muzzle after the valiant efforts he’s been making to wear it. It falls onto the couch unceremoniously. 

“I’m saying, well done Astarion. I’ll reward you for all that effort. I’ll slash another scar in my hand for you to drink from and then again in the evening when I’ve recovered,” You lean back on your legs as you make promises on your own words. “I’ll bleed for you until you’ve sated yourself and let you get drunk on it. Then, when you’re malleable, I’ll fuck you. Again and again and again until you’ve all but forgotten yourself. All but forgotten who exactly you behave for.” 

You open the oil and let it drip onto his back, watching mesmerized as it slips against every curve and crevice. When there’s enough to make opening him up easy, you stop and reach for your dagger.

The weapon  slashes over the same wound. You’ve done this tens of times now. You don’t let the scars heal with a potion or some kind of spell. Astarion is far from the comfort of romance, but it is its own promise. Your scar is his.

 The pain is brief, but it’s enough to feel it. You don’t flinch, though. When the blood finally seeps from it, you find yourself over Astarions back once again. 

You let your bleeding palms clamp over his mouth. It’s as close to sacred as you can forge between you. Astarion moans. It is shameless. Pitchy, high with want and utterly broken. He laps at the blood like a dog, his tongue sharp against the familiar wound. You can feel his body twitch beneath you, the muffled sounds of his voice.

There is no performance in that kind of pleasure, but the amount of arousal that spikes Astarion’s whole body never fails to surprise you. 

When he’s feeding from you, you busy your other hand with fucking him open on your fingers. Your dominant hand slips down the smooth curve of his spine, oiled skin soft and cool under your palms. He’s built like a dancer, beautiful curves. He’s a little softer now that he eats well. It looks good on him. 

You let your middle finger brush over his hole, relishing in the soft gasp he lets out as you do. Astarion’s aroused enough to accommodate you as you circle it. The tight ring of muscle is familiar, and welcoming to your touch. You don’t need to teach Astarion to breathe, don’t need to remind him of it. You can feel his whole body push along your hands as if urging you towards him. You’re too delicate about the matter for his time. 

Astarion is warmer inside than he is out. It fascinates you, makes your own stomach churn with want as your middle finger curves slowly. You pump in short motions until the resistance is all but gone. When you’ve made it as far as the knuckle of your middle finger, you start to search. You curl and press yourself against soft insides, search and search for what you’re looking for. 

Astarion lurches forward when you find it. The most pitiful little moan you’ve ever heard squeaks out from his lips, against your hand.

“That’s it, isn’t it? Right there?” 

Astarion makes noncommittal noises as you repeat the process again. Another finger, your ringer - spreading him open. Tight hole giving into your touch, filling him. Your mouth kisses the skin that you can reach. You peck and bite along the curve of his shoulders and all over his back as your ring finger penetrates him. His insides soften as you find your pace. 

You see his hands start to fidget, but you chide him before he can do it. 

“Not yet. You can touch yourself when I tell you too. Not before.” 

 Astarion needs more than this. You’ll give it to him, but patience is the virtue here. 

You don’t know how long that’s going to stick though. The way Astarion is shaking underneath doesn’t give you confidence he’s going to hold out long enough for you to take him apart like you want. You’ll give him something proper later, when he’s not so pent you think the slight brush of skin could make him cum. 

You do, desperately, want to see Astarion cum. But it has to be done the right way, or everything would go to waste in a single moment. You fuck him open on your fingers with a pinpoint pressure and accuracy, gauging his every move with the little gestures of his body. You know perfectly, know every inch of him inside and out like a book you’ve read page to page with the corners turned. The way he sways, lays intimately on the edge of cumming but never quite pushing himself over the finish line, speaks to that.

That, and the way he licks the blood from your palm like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted in his life. You can feel it, how messy it is - lapping at the split wound. Sharp unruly teeth digging into your skin, the soft breath of his nose tickling your hand as you cup his mouth. He licks so fervently, like it’s mouthwatering enough to die for. 

It doesn’t help the arousal between your legs. It’d be damning for him to know how affected you are by this. By him. 

“My beautiful boy,” Your voice is thick with desire. You can’t help yourself, the low possession laced it in. “Fucking perfect,” 

“My love,” The words muffle against your palm. You move your hand away to let him speak and his face moves instinctually to bury himself back in it. “P-please. Let me touch myself, it aches,” 

You weigh it for a minute, watching his body lurch forward as you fingerfuck him. You make a noise in the back of your throat, dropping your forehead against his spine - adrenaline making sweat drip down the crown of your head. 

“Poor thing. Aches does it? Touch yourself for me, Astarion. I want to see you make a mess.” 

He groans, hands moving immediately to fist his cock. You can hear it, the sound of him fucking his own fist like a wet, welcoming hole - cock wet and dripping with prespend. Astarions whole body starts to fall limp. His face pushed into the seat, little wet sobs spilling from his lips as he swears over and over. 

It doesn’t take any time for his body to give into the feeling of being pleasured from all angles. You feel his face nudge against your hand for blood as his muscles start to go tighter and tighter. 

“Shit,” He huffs, pushing himself back into your hands. “I’m going to cum.” 

You keep your other hand in place, pace steady. 

“Cum for me, baby. That’s it, easy does it.”

It happens so quickly you’re not sure if you should be impressed or if you should laugh affectionately. You can feel it, the way his hips stutter to a stop, his whole body grinding against you and holding tight to whatever he can cling to for purchase. His body weakens under the weight of your own, going completely tight like a bowstring before falling utterly helpless. Astarion moans loud when he cums, thick white ropes of it dressing the upholstery of the couch and falling to the floor. It’s an impressive amount. Save for what lands on the velvet, it pools thick and heavy. There’s so much, it’s like he can’t stop cumming. At least a minute passes before the twitching ceases. 

He lays there, ragged and weightless and limp. You take your hand away from his mouth and slowly ease yourself out of him as he stays and catches his breath. You press soft, warm pecks up his spine. 

You move away from him to give him some space to breathe, sitting back criss-cross on the ground. Astarion has no intention of getting up on his own, though. Before you can make sense of it, he crawls over to you. He must be worn out, given how willingly he’s coming into your arms in pure exhaustion. His cock is spent, soft against his belly and pink. He’s still naked and leashed. 

Still needy, but the lust has subsided if only a little. Astarion seats himself between your open legs. You laugh lightly, letting him rest in your side - face in the crook of your neck in utter exhaustion. 

“Hero of Baldurs Gate this, savior of the city that. I know evil when I see it, darling. Just outright cruel.” 

You break out into a laugh at the change in behavior as he pulls away to look at you. His eyes are remarkably watery. 

“That claim is undermined by that mess you’ve made on the floor there. Did you enjoy yourself?” 

He almost looks embarrassed by it, a pinkish tint turning the tips of his ears bright. 

“You’ve given me two terrible choices. I say yes and you think it’s a clever idea to do it again or I say no and I never experience whatever that was again in my life. A lose-lose situation.” 

“So you did enjoy it,” You say warmly. Astarion scoffs but doesn’t protest. “I’m glad. You’re very attractive when you’re pitiful.” 

“What despicable taste. I’m beautiful irregardless.” 

You let your head bump against his, and Astarion half-heartedly returns the gesture. “That’s true. A sight for sore eyes as they say.” 

“If you’re true to your word then I’ve earned a little more than just one,” Astarion purrs. Before that, he examines your (still bleeding hand) and picks your palm up to kiss. You grin wildy at his tongue lapping over the wound. “And you’re properly pent up, aren’t you? Let's get this cleaned up and let the real fun begin.” 

“Aren’t you insatiable today? As you wish, my prince. We can move upstairs.” 

He bemoans this. “You’ll have to drag my undead body up there if you’re asking me to get on my own two feet.” 

“Or I could carry you like a bride.” 

“A bride? How ostentatious. I’ll allow it.” Astarion says, then adds more quietly. “But we can stay… here a little longer first.” 

You hum against his skin, peppering his face with soft kisses; he doesn't turn you away from the skinship, which you’re pleased by.  “Of course my love,” 

He lays in your arms quietly and the thought reaffirms itself. You’d do anything for him.

✧ a/n : no one is more upset by the length of this than me. trust and believe this. also sorry for the yapping i just... posting this is so foreboding. it feels like that picture of spongebob who puts his hands up so a car doesn't fall on him. i am Afraid.

maybe ill write a part two of him eating box or something. we'll see. anyway thanks for reading </3. please do rb if you enjoyed. so scared to be in the tags for this.

Otter Neuvillette

Neuvillette x GN!Reader

Summary: There is one secret about Neuvillette that no one in Teyvat knows: he has the remarkable ability to shape-shift into a cute sea otter. This unique ability is a reflection of his deep connection to water and his desire for moments of solitude and peace.

One fateful day, as you collect data on plant species along the coast, you come across a disturbing scene. A lone sea otter, under attack by Fontemer Aberrant Crabs, struggles for its life.

A/N: This is my first time writing ^^

On an idyllic day in the tranquil Beryl Region, you were leisurely gathering data on the local plant species. The gentle rhythm of your exploration led you to the shoreline, where an unsettling sight unfolded before you. A lone sea otter, besieged by a group of menacing Fontemer Aberrant Crabs, fought desperately for its life. Without a second thought, you sprang into action, unaware that this seemingly ordinary otter concealed an extraordinary identity—the very Chief Justice of Fontaine, Monsieur Neuvillette himself.

Approaching the scene, you raised your voice to divert the crabs' attention away from the distressed otter. "Hey!" you shouted, flinging rocks towards the aggressors to protect the otter. As the crabs retreated into the ocean, you cautiously approached the otter, who had huddled into a protective ball, concealing its face with its paws.  "Hey there, little buddy," you whispered soothingly, crouching down to its level and tenderly caressing its head. With gentle strokes, you comforted the otter, who responded with a soft chirp, its eyes filled with gratitude.

Concerned for the otter's well-being, you inquired, though fully aware that animals couldn't comprehend human language, "Where's your family, buddy?" However, your attention was soon drawn to the otter's wounded arm, a clear reminder of the recent struggle. "Oh, you poor thing," you sympathized, "Let me tend to your injuries before you swim back home." Scooping the otter gently into your arms, you made your way back to your nearby campsite, your heart touched by the vulnerable creature in your care.

Settling the otter on a soft blanket at your campsite, you meticulously cleansed its wounds with a clean cloth, offering solace and relief from its pain. The otter seemed to find comfort in your presence, nuzzling its body and face against your hands as you tenderly attended to its injuries.

"Are you hungry, little one?" you inquired, rummaging through your supplies and offering a raw fish. To your surprise, the otter seemed uninterested in the fish but eagerly eyed a plate of sandwiches you had prepared for dinner. "You prefer a tuna sandwich, perhaps?"

The otter's eyes widened with anticipation upon spotting the tuna sandwich, and it chirped with enthusiasm, extending a paw toward the plate, as if imploring you to share. With a warm smile, you obliged, offering the otter the prized sandwich, which it eagerly devoured. It was evident that this was a particular culinary delight for the otter.

Even after savoring its meal to satisfaction, the otter continued to nuzzle and seek your companionship, its eyes conveying a heartfelt desire to remain by your side. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soothing glow across the landscape, you contemplated the otter's silent plea, tempted to let it spend the night alongside you.

"Hmm... You still need time to heal," you mused, gently petting the otter, your fingers tracing its unique features, "Maybe you can sleep with me. It's dangerous for you to be out alone at night." While your heart longed to keep this adorable creature with you, your conscience reminded you of the importance of wildlife preservation. "Animals belong in the wild, and I think I could get into trouble if I keep one for myself," you sighed, resigned to your role as a temporary protector, "Oh well, I'm going to cuddle with you to my heart's content tonight, my little baby!" With that, you bestowed a gentle kiss upon the otter's fluffy cheek.

The otter responded with an affectionate nuzzle, its whiskers fluttering with delight. As the sun dipped below the horizon, you and the otter nestled against each other, lulled by the soothing sounds of the ocean.

Morning arrived, and you woke up feeling a weight on your chest. Groggily, your hand began to explore the unexpected presence, and you muttered, "Baby, you feel so heavy." Your eyes snapped open as your fingers encountered smooth, silky hair, not fur. To your astonishment, you discovered the Chief Justice, Monsieur Neuvillette, lying on your chest.

Gasping in disbelief, you opened your eyes to behold the Chief Justice, his supple body nestled within your embrace. His expression mirrored your shock, a deep shade of crimson flushing across his face. "Er... it's.... It's not what it looks like," he stammered, his gaze shifting away in embarrassment. He struggled to find words to explain the unexpected situation, his composure faltering. "I... um... I..."

Your cheeks burned with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. "Monsieur Neuvillette? Why are you here?" you inquired, staring at the Chief Justice, utterly perplexed. He still appeared flustered, and you urged him to collect his thoughts.

Recalling that you had tended to an injured otter, not the Chief Justice, and not recalling any alcoholic consumption, a wild idea crossed your mind. "I know it sounds crazy, but... were you the otter I saved yesterday?"

The Chief Justice furrowed his brows, his face reddening. "Ah... you remember?" he admitted with a quiet sigh. "Yes, I was indeed the otter you saved yesterday." He confessed, his embarrassment palpable. "It was an accident. I thought I'd just transform briefly to calm myself down, not expecting you to actually..." He stuttered awkwardly.

It was a revelation beyond your wildest imagination—the typically stoic Chief Justice harboring such an adorable and unexpected secret. You couldn't help but chuckle softly to yourself. "It's fine; I only did what was right," you assured him. However, the proximity of his body atop yours was causing a different kind of fluster. "Um... Monsieur Neuvillette, do you need something to cover yourself?" You averted your gaze, your cheeks now sporting a deep blush, and it was then that you both realized the rather compromising position you were in.

With a light chuckle, Neuvillette acknowledged his state of undress, his own cheeks flushed. "Er... ah... y-yes, please," he replied, turning away to search for a cloth to preserve his modesty. Once found, he hastily draped it over himself, providing a semblance of cover. He let out a sigh of relief, rubbing the back of his neck, his nervousness still evident. "Ahem... th-thank you."

It became apparent that Monsieur Neuvillette had no immediate intention of returning to the Court of Fontaine. "You're welcome to stay here a bit longer until your injuries heal," you offered, extending a welcoming smile.

Neuvillette's expression softened, a small smile gracing his lips. "If it's alright with you… I'd like to stay a while longer to finish recovering, that is" he admitted, his tone still somewhat awkward. The allure of your tranquil campsite seemed to be drawing him in, despite his official duties.

You patted the makeshift bed, inviting him to join you, and Neuvillette accepted the gesture, his body sinking into the mattress. He smiled, letting out another sigh of relaxation as he gazed up at the sky. "It's remarkably peaceful here," Neuvillette remarked. "Much better than my office at the Court of Fontaine." He sighed deeply, a sense of calm enveloping him. Your proximity offered a sense of peace that contrasted starkly with his usual courtroom environment.

As you scooted closer to him and wrapped your arms around him, Neuvillette's heart raced with a strange mix of emotions. He felt both comforted and unsettled, unable to fully comprehend the feelings that had arisen within him. His eyes met the serene horizon, and he sighed, trying to make sense of it all.

"It's hard to believe that even in your non-otter form, you're still quite adorable, Monsieur Neuvillette," you whispered, closing your eyes and drifting back to sleep.

Neuvillette blushed once more, his heart pounding in his chest as he lay beside you. The warmth of your embrace filled him with both comfort and a newfound sense of vulnerability. He allowed himself to enjoy the moment, not fully comprehending the depth of his feelings. As he closed his eyes and drifted into slumber once more, he couldn't help but wonder what the future held for this unexpected connection.

Zhongli

Zhongli is normally a calm man...but his affection for you introduces him to an unfamiliar emotion.

Embarrassment was never in Zhongli's expansive dictionary. Not in the past thousands of years when he's asked humans some silly questions while ruling over them, and certainly not in the present when putting things on Wangsheng's tab when his own wallet is absent.

But now, you've joined the funeral parlor as an employee, and Zhongli had expressed the appropriate amount of curiosity about you; curiosity which soon turned into caring, and caring which gradually turned into attachment. Zhongli now likes you very much, something he hopes to convey to you when the time is right.

So now, whenever he does something strange that makes him look silly in front of you, he finds his cheeks burning hot with mortification.

Like the time he asks Xinyan to perform her rock music...at a funeral. When the debacle occurs, the rockstar raising a hue and cry at the preposterous request of the consultant, Zhongli catches you stifling a giggle out of the corner of his eye. Oh no, you find him silly..? He finds himself rather upset at the notion, a first for the nonchalant god.

"Aww, are you pouting, mister Zhongli?" you tease afterward, which makes his face burn even more as he hurriedly excuses himself. (He tries to discern in the mirror, later, whether his pout could have been seen as attractive.)

You and him are out on the way to see a client when you're accosted by a gang of Fatui. Zhongli disposes of them with ease, proudly returning to your side and glowing at your praise of his skill. "Oh, you've got a bit of dirt here..." You dust off the sleeve of his outfit, and Zhongli, normally unconcerned about the inevitable evidences of battle, finds himself blushing. How much cooler would he have looked to you if he'd beat them all up without a single mark on himself? Now he's just flustered.

He goes over conversation topics in his head, attempting to figure out what would best keep you engaged. He wants to share fun bits of knowledge with you, but how can he do that when 'fun' is subjective? Zhongli sincerely hopes you'll find Blackcliff Forge trivia interesting, for he might just crumble if you don't.

Zhongli

A dragon's guide to courting.

Zhongli x F!Reader

Content : fluff, crack, cue confused zhongli, slight jealousy, drabble.

Synopsis : Zhongli is an intelligent man, no doubt, but he's dumb in understanding the ways mortals court.

It was another bustling day at Y/n's flower shop in Liyue. The fragrant scent of blossoms filled the air as customers browsed through the colorful arrangements. Little did Y/n know, Zhongli, the seemingly stoic consultant, had developed an interest in her that went beyond the usual scholarly pursuits.

One sunny afternoon, as Y/n struggled to shift some heavy pots, Zhongli appeared out of nowhere, effortlessly assisting her. With a polite nod and a grateful smile, Y/n noticed a glint of amusement in Zhongli's eyes. As she unearthed a particularly pretty pebble from the soil, Zhongli's eyes followed her every move.

"Look at this, Zhongli! Isn't it charming?" Y/n exclaimed, giving him the pebble.

Zhongli, never one to express emotions overtly, cracked a small smile and accepted the gift. Little did Y/n know, this innocent exchange set off a chain of events that would leave her utterly bewildered.

The next day, Zhongli returned the favor. He handed Y/n a similar pebble, and she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in confusion. "Uh, thanks?" she said, unsure of the significance behind the gesture.

Zhongli, however, believed this was the mortal way of expressing interest. Determined to court Y/n in the way of the dragons, he began showering her with gifts – expensive trinkets, handfuls of Mora that seemed to multiply like rabbits, and lavish presents that left Y/n gaping.

"Zhongli, seriously, are you a secret Fatui agent? Is this much Mora even legal?" Y/n exclaimed, her eyes wide with shock.

"I assure you, my wealth is legitimate," Zhongli replied with a goofy smile, completely missing the confusion etched across Y/n's face.

Not one to be deterred, Zhongli continued his extravagant courtship. Y/n, feeling overwhelmed, sought guidance from her friend Childe, who was equally clueless.

"What's up with Zhongli, Childe? He's giving me stuff like there's no tomorrow," Y/n whispered, glancing over at Zhongli, who was watching them with an intense gaze.

Childe cluelessly waved at Zhongli, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing. "I think your consultant friend is gonna burn holes in my head with his glaring," he whispered back, causing Y/n to giggle.

Just as Y/n started to unravel the mystery with Childe, Zhongli swooped in, making up some excuse and whisking her away, leaving Childe standing there with a bemused expression.

"Zhongli, what's going on?" Y/n finally asked, her confusion reaching its peak.

Zhongli, wearing a pout that looked almost comical on his usually composed face, handed her another pebble. "I thought you might like another one."

Y/n sighed, adding yet another pebble to her growing collection.

Y/n's room had transformed into a chaotic display of Zhongli's courtship attempts. Trinkets, stones, and various lavish gifts adorned every available surface. It was like a dragon's hoard in miniature, and Y/n couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

In her flower shop, the situation was no different. The counter was cluttered with sparkling stones, and the shelves were home to a variety of odd trinkets that Zhongli had bestowed upon her. It was like a secret treasure trove hidden within the blossoms.

As Y/n admired a particularly ornate stone, the shop's bell jingled, and in walked Childe, ever the playful troublemaker.

"Hey there, Y/n! I see you've got yourself a playboy millionaire or maybe a sugar daddy," Childe teased, winking mischievously.

Y/n rolled her eyes, accustomed to Childe's banter. "You wish, Childe. It's just Zhongli being… well, Zhongli."

As if on cue, Zhongli entered the shop, holding yet another wrapped gift. Completely ignoring Childe, he walked straight toward Y/n with a focused determination.

"Ah, Y/n. I have something for you," Zhongli said, presenting the gift with a small smile.

Y/n groaned, "Not again, Zhongli. I don't need more stuff."

Childe chimed in, "Come on, Zhongli, share the wealth! I wouldn't mind a little gift myself."

Zhongli shot Childe a glare that could freeze water. "These gifts are only for my mate," he declared, emphasizing the word 'mate' in a way that left Childe looking thoroughly confused.

"Who calls someone a mate these days?" Childe whispered to Y/n, who shrugged in response.

Childe, undeterred, draped an arm around Y/n's shoulder. "Well, if you've got a mate, then I want in on the action too!"

Zhongli's jealousy flared up, and he excused himself, muttering something about needing to attend to important matters. Y/n sighed, caught in the middle of their peculiar dynamic.

Later, as Y/n closed her flower shop, she noticed Zhongli sulking in the shadows nearby. His usually composed demeanor had given way to a hint of vulnerability. Y/n couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy.

"Zhongli, what's bothering you?" she asked, approaching him cautiously.

"You and Childe seem close," Zhongli remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

Y/n, caught off guard, furrowed her brows in confusion. "Well, yeah, he's a friend. Why?"

Zhongli's gaze drifted away, lost in thought. "I may have misunderstood the nature of your relationship. It seems my attempts at courtship are not as effective as I had hoped."

The puzzled pieces finally clicked in Y/n's head. She cupped Zhongli's face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Zhongli, you're courting me? Why didn't you say anything?"

A genuine surprise painted Zhongli's features as he spoke, "I assumed… I thought the gifts and gestures would convey my intentions."

Y/n burst into laughter. "Zhongli, you're a fantastic consultant, but when it comes to courting, you're seriously lacking in communication."

Before Zhongli could respond, a pebble appeared in his hand as if summoned by magic. He presented it to Y/n with a slight flourish, a sheepish smile playing on his lips.

Y/n deadpanned, "Another pebble, huh? Are you secretly a geo-vision magician or something?"

Zhongli chuckled, "I thought you might appreciate it."

Y/n rolled her eyes playfully. "Zhongli, you don't need to impress me with gifts. Just tell me what you feel."

His stoic demeanour wavered, replaced by a more earnest expression. "I… I value our time together, Y/n. And I may have underestimated the importance of straightforward communication in matters of the heart."

Y/n grinned, realizing the depth of Zhongli's feelings. "Well, now that we've cleared that up, maybe you can court me like a normal person."

Zhongli nodded with a soft smile, relieved that Y/n seemed receptive to his unconventional courtship.

Zhongli

Hug

pairing. zhongli x fem!reader cw/genre. fluff, slight angst, reverse comfort, stress. masterlist! requests open!

As Y/N walked through the halls of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, Zhongli's quiet sobs echoed in the muffled corridors. She stopped when she reached his office.

"Uh- Is that Zhongli?…", Y/N wondered in his head.

With slow, silent steps she approached the trembling figure of the man, who stood with his back to her.

As she approached him, he slowly turned around. Light tears flowed from his eyes. His lips tightened, hiding any form of sadness or weakness.

Y/N's previously curious look had turned to concern upon seeing Zhongli like this.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." He apologised beforehand.

"…Uh, are you alright?" she asked, somewhat shyly.

He nods slowly and sighs. She is a little surprised to see a normally stoic and calm person so vulnerable to even the simplest question. He sniffles and his lips quiver slightly "I'm fine.."

"Excellent, what a good question, Y/N." she spoke to herself in her head, wanting to slap herself on the forehead for asking such a silly question.

"Uhm, may I come in?" Y/N asked, as she didn't know if Zhongli would be uncomfortable with her presence.

He'd be silent for a moment. He'd finally open his mouth and speak slowly; "Sure."

Y/N nodded her head. She took a few more steps, staying close to him but not invading his personal space.

"You honestly don't seem well, did something happen?" her voice came out soft and calm.

His body tensed again when she spoke to him. His eyes wandered sideways, but never to her. His breathing was a little faster than usual. He hesitated between looking down at his hands as he spoke a little "…Today has been a very stressful day…. That's all."

On the other hand, Y/N never failed to keep her eyes on him.

"Hmm, I see…" she replied. Y/N sensed that there was a slightly stronger reason within that little explanation, but she didn't probe further so as not to make him uncomfortable or push him.

Her curious hands approached his face, it was a slow approach so that he wouldn't startle and if in any case he didn't want the touch, he might pull away.

Zhongli did not pull away from her hands as she slowly approached his face. Her gentle touch seemed to calm his nerves a little and his tense body relaxed a little. He took a deep breath and finally looked up at her, revealing his amber eyes.

Her hands fit perfectly on his face. She gently wiped away the tears with her thumbs. "I don't know what is truly tormenting you, Zhongli…" her voice was warm, her face close to his, "…but believe me I will be here for as long as you need."

Once she finished saying that, she placed her forehead against his, still not releasing her hands from his face.

The slightest bit of moisture formed in his eyes as his breath caught once she had placed herself so close to him, his heart was hammering at this exact second as her touch was comforting. All his stress seemed to escape him the moment she were near. He'd slowly place his hands on hers as he sniffed.

It wasn't many seconds before Y/N felt his thumbs being moistened again, more tears falling from Zhongli's eyes.

It was almost as if her words, in addition to soothing him, had opened up that mass of emotions inside him.

Y/N pulled away from his forehead, wiped his cheeks again and released his hands from his face.

His tears had started to stream down his cheeks as the floodgates had opened from the dam. He was now a mess in front of her as his breathing was shaky. He finally wiped some of his tears away with his sleeves "..I'm sorry…"

Y/N sighed, she thought that by telling him that she had made him cry more, but on the other hand she thought it was better that he let it all out.

"Can I…?" Y/N asked, as she opened her arms so she could hug him.

At first he hesitated but seconds later he melted his body into hers. Choked sobs escaped his lips, the grip was tight.

Y/N's arms closed as she held him close. She began to stroke his back as she heard his sobs continue, the gentle pats she was giving him were a way of saying 'let it all flow'.

At that moment Y/N's body was pressed against Zhongli's, chest to chest, heart to heart. In short, recreating the anatomy of the hug.

Zhongli's breathing would start to slow down as he sniffed a bit. He was finally able to drop his stoic shield and relax around her. He'd slowly start to lean back and place his head on her shoulder as she caressed his back.

One hand continued on his back while the other went to his hair, stroking and playing with it.

"Much better?…" Y/N dared to ask, as she heard no sobs, only hiccups left in the aftermath of crying.

Zhongli's eyes were closed when she spoke. He'd slowly nod and hum out a quiet 'hmhm' as he tried to hold back the last remaining tears he had left to shed. His body relaxed more as he placed his head on her shoulder. His breathing became more even and his heart settled down.

"I'm glad…" Y/N sighed in relief, a small smile forming on her face.

She continued to play with his hair, both of them still standing in the darkness of his office, the only light there was from the window.

His mind was slowly easing away from what caused him to cry in the first place. He felt so safe being in her presence. His quiet voice broke the silence "..Thank you. ..You are so gentle and kind.." Then he remained quiet but his breaths were so quiet she couldn't even hear them anymore. His body was almost asleep in her embrace.

"Heh, don't thank me." She spoke, still in a calm and gentle tone.

Y/N was mildly surprised to barely hear his breathing. "Oh, are you falling asleep?" she asked softly. Though it wasn't to be expected after he had cried.

"..Mh.." His breathing had become so peaceful. She could feel his gentle movements through her hug as he slowly open his mouth and released a small yawn from under her shoulder.

Another smile appeared on her face as she held him still in her arms in that almost sleepy state.

"You'd better get home, Zhongli." She spoke, patting his back so that he could wake up a little and not sleep until he got home.

His eyes opened and he slowly lifted his head from her shoulder with tired eyes. His body was still a little numb from the events before. He'd finally speak again and give a soft smile "..Ah..I will take your consideration.."

Another small yawn escapes his lips as he stood up from her embrace.

"Alright, if it's no problem I'll come with you." She spoke, stretching her body slightly.

The two of them left his office and Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, heading for Zhongli's house.

He'd nod slightly at her offer as he began to walk with her out of the office. As two of them walked through Liyue Harbor, he was completely silent, and he didn't mind it. He felt so calm and at peace while being with her.

On the way, Y/N took her hand, so that he would not stay behind her. The silence between them was comfortable. Hanging lanterns lit the streets.

Before long they arrived at Zhongli's house, he'd finally speak again though he sounded tired; "Thank you again for accompanying me."

She could tell he was still a bit drained from his emotional outburst earlier.

"You're welcome, Zhongli." Y/N sketched a soft smile, then released the grip she had on his hand.

"Ehm, well, I'll be going home now." She spoke again, taking two steps back.

"Ah… of course, I wish you a good night's rest." He would bow his head politely by way of farewell, but before parting he called softly to her, "Wait-"

She smiled and turned around so she could go home until she heard his voice calling her again.

"Oh-" she blurted out.

"What's wrong?" she asked turning again in his direction.

Zhongli reached over and gently grabbed her arm, as he spoke calmly.

"Before you go, can we… can we hug again?"

Y/N was slightly surprised by the request, however it seemed sweet.

"Of course I do." She said and then went over to hug him again.

He'd tightly wrap his strong arms around her in an embrace. His hands would softly brush against her back, his breath was quiet against her neck. He'd speak from that point with a smile on his face

"Thank you.. For listening to me.. For being there for me.."

"I told you it was okay, Zhongli…" He replied quietly.

They spent a few minutes like that, until they parted. "Well, I'm off now." She said with another smile.

He let out a deep sigh and slowly nodded "…I'll say goodbye then…".

Somewhat hesitantly he took a step back as he spoke again "Mhm, on second thought, could we cuddle to sleep?"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh softly at his sweet proposal. "Alright, let's go."

Sub dr.ratio

dr ratio x top male reader

this idea came to me in a dream..... dr ratio it seems i've grown quite fond of you. nsfw, gets wholesome at the end

"see, dear, if you insert your cock in me at exactly 67 degrees to the right, we'll both feel the maximum amount of pleasure." dr ratio says confidently as he precisely adjusts your tip at his entrance to his desired position. "are... are you sure?" you can't help but stare incredulously as he treats your cock like it's a mathematical instrument. "don't be silly. i'm always right." lying beneath you, he finally finishes calibrating the angle he wants you to fuck him in. "okay. put it in me now!" he declares triumphantly, clearly proud of his own work. you can't help but shake your head fondly at his antics, his dedication to using his intelligence to "optimise" every situation was rather.... silly sometimes. nevertheless, you push into him slowly, enjoying the sound of him trying the stifle his moan at the feeling of your cock stretching his tight walls. "s-see. i told you so- mmph." his pride meant he'd completely deny this in front of anyone else, the way you'd fucked him like a whore, thrusting in and out of him at "the optimal speed" (according to him), but in private, you were the only one who he wanted to please. increasing your speed of your thrusts without warning, you can't help but smirk at the way he bucks his hips into you, legs shaking and hole clenching even tighter. "you idiot! i told you to follow the speed-" he starts to protest, but he's quickly quietened by your hand over his mouth as you lean forward and whisper lowly to his ear. "you talk too much, baby." he shudders at your words. "need some....stern teaching?" despite the intimacy of the situation, you have to try not to laugh as you repurpose the conversation you had a few days ago to rile him up. hearing you use his own words to tease him, he glares at you, but can't get any words out as his mind is so focused on being pummelled by your cock. it's so pathetic, he thinks to himself. usually his brain is so busy, endlessly pondering, but now he can't think of anything but the way you're fucking him. "shit...i'm gonna cum..." you breathe out as you hold his hips, almost reaching your limit. "do it in me." he says sharply, his attitude coming back in an instant. you have no choice but to oblige, pumping him full as the both of you climax. the two of you collapse onto the bed, a heap of sweaty bodies and unspoken affections. you lie on his chest as he strokes your hair, trying to catch your breath. "well done. plus 10 points." "what the fuck are you saying??" you laugh as you throw the pillow at him. "nothing... just talking to myself." "weirdo."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

"you know, you might be an idiot, but you're my idiot." he suddenly says, looking back as you soap his hair in your shared bath, cleaning up from your intense session earlier. his words carry a level of warmth to them despite their bluntness, a warmth he'd never give to anyone else. "stop calling me an idiot." you pout, leaning forward to smack him on the head playfully. "i'm serious! don't worry your pretty head about anything, i can do more than enough thinking for the both of us." you place your arms around him and hug him from the back in a tight embrace, the warm water surrounding you only adding to the romantic atmopshere. "whatever you say, veritas." ♡

omg i based his personality completely off his leaked voicelines and tried to incorporate some of them here hfgdhgd

Sub! Heizou x GN Dom! Reader

A\N: Repost bc my previous blog got shadowbanned.

Warnings: nsfw, overstim, slight degradation, spanking, leash play, anal sex, cock stands for strap\cock as usual.

Wordcount: 3k

I don’t think there needs to be a lot of analysis to justify Heizou being a sub, it’s fairly intentionally in your face in both hangout and ahem, birthday “yawning” art, because that’s the most most obvious bottom “O-face” since Gorou’s “moaning and tearing up over the bowl of onions” emoji.

Like in two endings he straight up says out loud his confidence is partly a facade and he’d really love for someone else to sometimes step up and take the charge, but no one does bc ppl think he’s too smart.

”Haha, well, as you might see, I’m a little less confident than people might think.”

“And everyone around me thinks I’m so smart that I should be able to handle every case on my own.<…> But you’re different. Unlike them, you don’t have that kind of prejudice towards me. <…> So I’d like you to decide whether we should expose the truth or not.”

He’s not a pushover and he’s not a pillow princess-y type, but he’s also not a brat. He’ll encourage you to take the lead and won’t criticize your choices, but he will *evaluate them*.

First of all, on how well you’re keeping up with his hyperactive ADHD goblin nature, and second, he’ll leave the unspoken puzzle and see if you’ll manage to figure it out.

He’s open for experimentation and fairly shameless, but how far he’ll go pretty much depends on if he judges you competent enough for this.

Like, meeting him in the hangout starts with him openly calling Traveler “so dreamy”, and then he lets the Traveler decide what course of action to take, but only divulges hidden information after the Traveler showed that they have a deeper understanding of a situation and connected several puzzle dots themselves.

His inner conflict is when it’s immoral or not to withhold information and does it depend on how capable a person given this information is. The law does not really factor into this, Heizou will act on his own principles instead.

Like in the hangout case he only tells the Traveler that he will follow their choice (see above) after the Traveler presents him with the evidence and proves they have sound judgment.

So he’d *LIKE* to let someone else make decisions, but he wants to make sure that someone else is qualified. So he won’t like outright lie, but he will withhold context if you don’t show him that you get it.

Then he can get quite clingy, like telling Traveler that he’d love to have them as a partner all the time, haha he’s joking, he wouldn’t want to be so greedy…UNLESS???

In a situation where he does trust the other person’s competence, he likes to feel helpless, overpowered and needy, if you indulge him in it. His ideal situation is where you understand that he’s smart and capable himself and he doesn’t strictly need you to take charge, but would enjoy it.

He wants to have fun without anyone making it too weird, and he wants to know you have a clear head on your shoulders, that’s it.

One day while you’re walking down the street near your home, a group of obvious miscreants runs by and a young man in white shirt and brown shorts follows them. The last of ruffians shoves him while they’re running past you and you catch him to stop him from hitting a corner of a house with his head. When the bandit looks back, you instinctively shield a man in your arms with your shoulder, and the bandit obviously judges it not worth the trouble, runs away.

When you look at the man you’re holding, he’s looking up at you with a wide smile, bright green eyes twinkling.

“Oh, thank you, my savior!”

“I didn’t do anything,” you say, putting him upright. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I’m fine!” he suddenly pauses, looks you over and says in a weaker tone, leaning into you. “I mean, I’m a little not fine, nothing major, but perhaps if someone could look after me for just a little bit?…”

You take him to get coffee just to keep an eye on him and end up talking for hours. His name is Heizou, he’s flirty, fun and cute, has ruffled mauve hair and little twin moles under his eyes, asks more questions than he’d like to answer about himself, wears a choker and a shirt that leaves his sides bare, and would very obviously love to get dommed from how he talks to you. But you cannot in good conscience take advantage of him now, because his eagerness might be an effect from the shock, so you let him go.

Day later you talk with a neighbor and he mentions how the young detective who from his words meets Heizou’s description just caught a group of pickpockets.

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