Sagebrush-and-sadness - Athabasca - Tumblr Blog

Boothill would put his hat on your head and have you ride him for hours. Chuckling as you whine and sob from the overstimulation.

“Come along, beautiful. Surely you can hold out longer” the other man in the room encourages, red hair falling along both you and Boothill as the knight kisses your neck.

Argenti licking and worshipping you as you ride the cowboy. Chuckling and giving mocking encouragement as you whine and grip onto the metal underneath you.

You nearly scream when Argenti folds you against Boothill, allowing them to kiss each other with you sandwiched between them. Listening to you choke out moans as Boothill continues thrusting up into you, your sigh of relief when he finally cums at feeling Argenti grip his hair as they make out.

The hat falls off your head as you melt, cockwarming Boothill as the two men continue their kiss. When they finally pull away from each other the redhead pushes his hair back with a chuckle, kissing your cheek as he mumbles “My turn?”

It was gonna be a long night.

guilt🥀

Nah, I genuinely find the idea of hand-feeding Boothill bullets, like you would feed a horse some sugar cubes, fucking hilarious but surprisingly wholesome. It's like giving a dog a treat for good behavior. Since he munches on them out of boredome, having a handful of them in your pocket is actually quite useful. You want him to do something he would rather not do? Just tell him you've got some new, crunchy bullets for him to try and he'll be there, grumbling and frowning yet listening to you diligently.

He would actually lean down and take them from the palm of your hand with his teeth, too. Boothill knows it makes you giggle every time, so he's always ready to do the most boring shit for your sake if it means you'll smile for him.

Whoever was the first person to think 'Hm, Boothill should definitely have a golden tooth', I owe them my life because now I literally cannot imagine him without one. Like, it's almost a physical reaction, it just feels right to see Boothill having a golden canine tooth in my mind's eye, see it shining in his cocky grin... or him deliberately biting the bullet in half with it... He's so endearing.

MR. TELEPHONE MAN!

"𝘔𝘳. 𝘛𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦'𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦! 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺'𝘴 𝘯𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳, 𝘐 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦!"

Synopsis: Pick up, pick up, pick up— still no answer. Desperately trying to reach you after your argument, Boothill finds himself repeatedly directed to the operator's automated voicemail. 'Please hang up and try again, baby.' Genre: Comfort, fluff Character: Boothill x gn!reader Warnings: Established relationship, mentions of Dan Heng, a little strayed from canon events maybe, slightly ooc, mentions of prior argument, slight angst if you squint, half of the fic is just Boothill and Dan Heng having a heart to heart bro talk lol [masterlist] [about me]

Boothill cursed himself silently, though as vigorously as he could manage since his synesthesia beacon was malfunctioning. Walking briskly around the Parlor car, phone gripped tightly in hand, he couldn't escape the relentless sound of the dial tone on repeat. Meanwhile, Dan Heng observed him with a quizzical expression, one brow arched in curiosity.

Witnessing Boothill in such evident distress was a rare sight for Dan Heng. The ranger typically exuded an aura of nonchalant confidence, often adopting a "fudge it, we ball" attitude towards life's challenges. Consequences were either dealt with head-on or circumvented through sheer audacity.

Reckless. Yes, that word seemed to define him perfectly. And perhaps that's why he was so visibly agitated now. Boothill's thumb hovered over the name 'sweetcheeks' on his phone, a term that made Dan Heng cringe inwardly, yet he dismissed it knowing it was a manifestation of love.

"May I inquire as to your purpose for boarding the Astral Express today? If your intention is merely to cause a disturbance, I suggest you reconsider," Dan Heng stated firmly, crossing his arms and adopting his usual stoic expression, his brow arching slightly. While he and the other nameless welcomed all aboard the Express with open arms, Boothill remained a figure of caution, especially given recent events, despite the significant assistance he had provided.

"What? Ain't you the one who said I could drop by anytime?" Boothill retorted, his frown deepening as he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. His attention flickered momentarily to his vibrating phone before returning with disappointment when he heard the all-too-familiar phrase that had been echoing for the past half-hour. "Sorry, please hang up and call again."

"I never made such a claim," Dan Heng countered, a faint hint of amusement dancing in his narrowed eyes as he observed the disgruntled expression on Boothill's face. "Apart from the conductor, Pom Pom, none of my colleagues have had the pleasure of meeting you. It would be prudent for you to acquaint yourself with them before boarding."

Boothill let out a derisive snort, his thumb instinctively jabbing at the 'dial again' button as he locked eyes with Dan Heng. "Aw, come on now. The conductor already gave me the green light. Ain't that sufficient? And you, you actin' like a youngster. Do I gotta meet your folks before I can come over and play?"

Instantly, Boothill regretted his words, his lips forming a tight line as he realized he had overstepped. "Well, shoot. My apologies," he conceded, his voice softened with regret as he retrieved his hat and made his way to the nearest couch, slumping down with a heavy sigh. This was his perpetual dilemma— he was too forthright, too bold with his language. His words spilled out before he could filter them.

Boothill was baffled by his own behavior. Apologizing to strangers or mere acquaintances came naturally to him, the words slipping out effortlessly, whether they were genuine or not. But when it came to you, it was as if his internal wiring malfunctioned. His mechanical body buzzed with static, sparks dancing erratically, and his words emerged in a tangled mess. The simple phrases— "I love you" or "I'm sorry"— seemed trapped behind a barricade, struggling to find their way past his lips.

"Forget it," Dan Heng sighed, striding over to the dejected figure slumped on the couch. "But do enlighten me as to why you're here just to make a phone call, presumably to your significant other? Is it a must to reach them while aboard the Express?"

Boothill simply shrugged, emitting a grunt of frustration before pulling his hat down over his face, a gesture of defeat. "There ain't no signal anywhere else, I reckon. Figured your train might lend me a hand, even just a tad."

As the number continued to ring with no response from you, Boothill finally opened up, his voice softening as he admitted, "Got into a spat with my partner."

With those words, he began to dismantle the barriers surrounding his emotions, allowing them to spill forth within the confines of the Express. Dan Heng listened attentively, offering a supportive presence to the troubled man.

Boothill couldn't shake the feeling of remorse gnawing at him. He knew he had deeply upset you this time, and he had no one to blame but himself. Who wouldn't be hurt if their own partner hurled insults at them, especially when all they wanted was to show care and concern? Boothill couldn't help but imagine how he would feel if the roles were reversed, and the mere thought made his stomach churn.

"I think I really got under their skin— no doubt about it," he muttered to himself, replaying the scene in his mind where you were left with a furrowed brow and glistening tears threatening to spill. In that moment of frustration, he couldn't fathom why you would bother caring about him. After all, he was no longer flesh and blood; he was encased in metal, his heart silent, and his tear ducts dry.

He couldn't feel pain or sorrow like he used to. So why should you waste your concern on someone who couldn't be harmed or hurt? He couldn't feel anything beyond his face. There was no need for you to worry about him getting into trouble or getting hurt, because he wouldn't feel it.

It was a selfish thought, he admitted, yet at the same time, it wasn't. After all, you were human— a fragile being whose existence could be snuffed out in an instant— while he remained invulnerable. So why waste your energy worrying about him, when he should be the one worrying about you?

As Boothill drowned in his sorrows, his metal hand tapping incessantly on his phone in a desperate attempt to reach you, Dan Heng listened intently, a somber hum escaping his lips as he nodded along.

'Sorry, please hang up and call again.'

Well, fork me.

"Have you apologized?"

"I want to," Boothill admitted, his brows furrowing with guilt. He mulled over various ways he could make it up to you without actually uttering those two crucial words—an apology. Perhaps he could buy you your favorite cake, shower you with affectionate kisses until you couldn't help but giggle, and lavish you with words of admiration.

"That sounds more like a birthday celebration, Boothill. It would be selfish and ignorant of you to avoid apologizing," Dan Heng interjected, cutting through Boothill's thoughts with a firm reminder.

"But— But it's dang near impossible to say those words!" Boothill groaned, frustration evident in his voice as he sat upright on the couch, dialing your number once more, silently pleading for you to answer. "It's like pulling teeth."

"And that's precisely the issue you need to address," Dan Heng replied firmly, his gaze unwavering.

The Ranger slumped back, averting his eyes and releasing a heavy sigh of defeat. "…What do you suggest I do, then?"

"Apologize."

"…you—alright. Fine."

"But apologize like you actually mean it, not just because you have to."

As Dan Heng's words sank in, Boothill felt a sudden jolt of realization. Apologize like he meant it— not just because it was expected of him. The gravity of those words hit him like a ton of bricks, causing him to freeze in place, his wide eyes meeting Dan Heng's steady gaze.

With a nod and an encouraging thumbs up from Dan Heng, Boothill was left to ponder his next move in solitude. Did he truly mean it, this apology? Absolutely. It shouldn't be so difficult to utter those words, right?

His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar automated message playing once more: "Sorry, please hang up and call again, baby."

A small gasp escaped Boothill's lips as he jolted upright, his hands trembling as he fumbled with his phone. Could it be? Was it really you on the other end? "W-wait—! Darlin'? Sweetcheeks? Is that really you?" he stammered, lifting the phone to his ear and pacing in circles, heart pounding with anticipation.

"Forgot my voice already?" Your retort hit Boothill like a punch to the gut, and he could almost see the frown forming on your face. He let out a noise of frustration, his head bowed as he nervously fiddled with the hem of his jacket, rendered momentarily speechless. "Erm— nah. How could I?"

If he still possessed skin and flesh, Boothill was certain his palms would be sweating profusely right now. A man who had faced countless bounties on his head, vanquishing his enemies with a flick of his gun, and executing daring escapes from perilous heights— now reduced to a speechless fool at the mere sound of his lover's voice.

"I, uh… I wanted to talk to you," he finally managed to breathe out, his voice laced with uncertainty. He could almost hear the slight scoff on the other end of the line, a sound that made his heart ache with regret.

"About what? I don't think there's much to talk about after the tantrum you threw at me," your voice came through, laced with a hint of bitterness. Were you being immature? Perhaps. But you had every right to be upset, every right to be salty.

Boothill swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper as he stumbled over his words, the apology he wanted to offer caught in his throat. "I- uh, um…" He cursed inwardly, his free hand nervously tugging at a few strands of his hair in a panic.

Darn it, why didn't he ask Dan Heng when the Express would reach the planet where you resided?

"I wanted to say that I…I'm so—" He groaned in frustration, slapping his hand against his face as he gritted his teeth in irritation. Why was it so blasted difficult to express himself? "I-I'm sorry, darlin'. Truly, I am."

The silence from your end only intensified Boothill's nerves, sending a wave of panic coursing through him. Was this it? Were you going to leave him, leaving him to wander aimlessly without a home once more? "Please, sweetheart. I'm pourin' my heart out here," he pleaded softly, his voice trembling with genuine sincerity.

He listened intently, straining to hear any sign of your response. From the muffled sounds of sheets rustling, he could only guess that you might be on the verge of tears again, and it tore at his nonexistent heart. "I'm sorry for…for yellin' and such. I was actin' selfish and ignorant, and I know that was wrong of me," he confessed, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and guilt as he cast his gaze downward.

Desperation clawed at him, the longing for your touch, the warmth of your presence beside him each morning, the comfort of your embrace— it all flooded his senses. He yearned for a home to return to, a sanctuary where he could find solace in your love once more.

"I'll make it up to you, I swear," Boothill vowed earnestly, feeling a spark of hope ignite within him.

He heard a quiet sigh escape your lips, and he squirmed with anticipation, eagerly awaiting your response.

"You've got 10 minutes to get your behind back into our home, right this instant," you blurted out, attempting to inject a joking tone into your words, but Boothill could detect the slight tremor in your voice.

His heart soared with relief and joy at your words. "Alright— okay, I'll be there. Just let me ask Dan Heng when we'll be arriving, alright?" he replied eagerly, his demeanor brightening considerably. This was his chance to make things right, to rebuild what he had almost shattered. He wasn't about to let it slip through his fingers.

As Boothill's metal boots echoed through the halls of the Express, his heart lightened at the sound of your voice. "I miss you," you confessed, the sniffle in your tone tugging at his wired heartstrings.

A chuckle escaped him, his hand reaching for the doorknob that led to Dan Heng's room. "I missed you too, sweetcheeks. I'll make it up to you, I swear on my bounty," he promised, determination lacing his words.

He could sense the relief in your giggle as you bid him goodbye and hung up, prompting him to knock on Dan Heng's door. "Yo, bro! When we makin' a stop at my planet?"

"We're not," Dan Heng's muffled voice responded, causing Boothill to freeze in his tracks. "We're stopping at Penacony to go to The Reverie to pick up my colleagues."

"…We're what."

BOOTHILL HEADCANONS

author's notes just some silly goofy headcanons for Boothill because he's a cutie patootie and I love him fem!reader, completely SFW ♡ and ⥩ are appreciated!

※ He always patiently waits for you to finish applying sunscreen or moisturizer to his face before he can finally go shooting bad guys to his heart's content. Most of the time he jokes around or teasingly dodges your hands; sometimes he mumbles that this is embarassing and he really doesn't care, sweetie, come on, but he will always give you a kiss as a token of gratitude. Because, trust me, he does care.

※ Loves snapping his teeth at you. It's a (weirdly charming) sign of affection, a habit Boothill took up pretty early in your relationship. You teasingly call it a cute aggression and he doesn't deny it. However, if he does that in public at someone else, you better get a hold of him and scatter away because the man is getting pissed.

※ Oh, he absolutely will blow raspberries on your neck whenever he has a chance to hug you from behind. And he's as sly as an old fox, lulling you into a false sense of security with gentle kisses and nuzzles — just to violently strike a poor, helpless you and dance away laughing joyfully.

※ Your first kiss with Boothill was that of desperation — he just barely made it out alive from one of the IPC warehouses, his left leg limp and dragging lifelessly across the floor, a few bullet holes adorning his signature hat, thankfully not lost in the heat of a battle. He looked no better than a wild ragged coyotte, a pitiful thing, an unsightly creature smelling of rot and blood, but upon seeing him, safe and relatively sound, your heart swelled with tenderness and your eyes — with hot tears. You wanted to kiss him then and there, and he anticipated as much, grabbing your face in his hands, firm yet gentle, and all but smashing your lips together. Perhaps, it was a shatter of all your dreams about a romantic first kiss, but at that moment it was the most perfect one...

...Or was it? As tender and loving as Boothill was with you, his tongue still tasted like oil and gunpowder. He laughed it off the first time you made a face, but since then he's made a mental note to always carry a bag of candies and lollipops with him.

※ He's the type of guy to randomly get you fresh field flowers.

Also the type to dance with you while holding one in his teeth. There is a whole anecdote about him picking an unknown flower that turned out to be quite poisonous and suffering from tongue swelling half a day after that. Don't bring this story up, though, his male ego is still recovering.

※ Boothill's upbringing obliges him to treat women with courtesy and respect. He may look like a heartbreaker to some, but in truth, his mindset is that of a traditional man. This said, he loves referring to you as a 'woman'. His woman. He relishes the fact and there is so much pride, so much infatuation and genuine awe behind this word every time he all but purrs it out. It's a strangely specific nickname of his, and no matter how unusual it might have sounded to you at first, now your heart flatters every time you hear it drip from his lips. After all, you are his woman and he is your handsome cowboy.

He might however bark at you when you're pestering him. Something in the lines of 'I'm busy, woman, what are ya yapping 'bout?'. Naturally, he never uses it as a means to offend and will put a bullet through the head of anyone who dares belittle you like that. The unspoken rule of a cowboy says: never criticize another gentleman's hat, horse and wife. And Boothill is very serious about his rules, even if technically you are not his wife (yet).

※ He adores it when you dress up for him. No matter how often or seldom you do that, no matter what exactly you're wearing — a cute cocktail dress or a strict suit — he would whistle low and stride right to you with the air of a beau who just saw the girl he'd buy a drink for. His sultry pretentious flirting never fails to make you giggle.

※ Boothill will always find time for you. No matter how many light days separate you from each other, no matter how busy the schedule or how dangerous the enemies, he can never really get you out of his head. You are always there, his little beacon of light, and he knows that you're waiting for him with worry and hope. He hates telling you that you can't come with him this time; hates seeing your smile drop and your fingers fidget anxiously as you watch him step on an unknown land. He misses you dearly five minutes into the mission, so he calls you as often as he can, showing you all the pictures he took or all the things he got for you as souvenirs. When it comes to your messages or calls there is never really bad timing for Boothill — an inconvenient one, perhaps, but even the heat of the battle will not stop him from picking up. He might even consider against shooting the poor son of a bitch that let him talk to you peacefully out of courtesy, but we will see about that.

※ Ever since you came into his life, Boothill's spending habits have gotten somewhat healthier. The thing is — the guy is loaded, yet money never held any real interest for him. After all, he became a hunting dog not for the promise of fresh bones, it was more of a pleasant bonus rather than a necessity. Most of his credits were spent on oil for his spaceship and himself, some repairs here and there, bullets and, surprisingly, booze — now unable to fully experience the harmful effects of a few bottles of whiskey a day, Boothill drinks it in the same manner some people chew on their gum. However you and your loyal companionship awoke something within him, something he thought had died many miserable years ago. An urge to care. And it came so naturally to him, too. It was very easy, on a level of subconscious, for him to pick up the habit of buying you food — the one he knows you like, of the highest quality. Or making sure you have an outfit for any occasion in your life and enough space to store them all. Or that all your beauty and health treatments are paid for. Or... and the list goes on and on. Boothill is a man who will respect you for wanting to be independent, sure, but will not shame you for wanting to be provided for.

English is not my native language. So please, if you see any mistakes in grammar, punctuation or spelling, or simply think that something sounds weird, let me know! Ty!

My biggest issue with Boothill right now is how different he sounds in English compared to other languages.

I play in CN and I love CN Boothill, he's loud and honestly reminds me of Itto. He's such a charming goof, the type to say the most random shit (the way he called himself Pom Pom... that was not an improvisation, it was his plan all along and he was proud of it) and make you giggle even when he didn't mean to do that. And it suits him!

And EN Boothill is so...ah. He's the kind of guy whose remarks make you blush - and he will chuckle and tease you when he sees that. He sounds so tough and rough, it's so remarkable and honestly so hot.

But how am I supposed to write about him when he kinda has two different personalities now?..

BOOTHILL — COWBOY BUSINESS

This is a big deal, cowboy. Of course, it'll be dangerous. ... Dangerous? Well, fudge. Dangerous for who!? Bring it on, baby!

h.how do we feel .

“Uh… sorry ‘bout the mess. I’ll make it up to ya.” For good measure, the space cowboy kicks one of the corpses to the side with his boot.

You clutch your chest tighter, heart racing. “You just killed fifteen IPC soldiers in my bar.”

“Yep.”

“You–”

He suddenly looks offended. “Hey. I did the world a favour. I don’t take kindly to rats puttin’ their fudgin’ filthy hands on the merchandise.” He gestures to his torso. Then, he whistles, placing his thumbs on the waistband of his pants. “But, nice place ya got. This your business?”

Dazed, you nod slowly. Your eyes flit to the broken sign and the smashed television hanging over the bar counter.

The bottles are smashed to bits. There’s liquor spilled all over the floor—expensive liquor. This would cost a fortune to fix, let alone to then replace all of the products.

You exhale shakily. You try not to look at the bodies.

The cowboy pities you. You can see it on his face. He says nothing. He awkwardly clears his throat and skims the rim of his hat with his fingers.

This sucks.

“How ‘bout this? I’ll give ya the bounty money so you can fix this place up.”

“Will you pay for my therapy sessions as well?” you chime in, murmuring beneath your breath.

He cracks a smile. “If that’s what you want.”

You lean over the counter and place your head in your hands. Tiredly, you ask, “how much?”

You hear the cowboy click his tongue in thought. “‘Bout… seventy-five? Give or take?”

You look at him from between your fingers. “Huh? Seventy-five hundred?”

The cowboy, yet again, looks offended. “Million, hun. I don’t do my job for cheap. What do I look like to you?”

You squawked. “Seventy-five million?”

“You heard me.” He cocks his head to the side, lips pressed into a thin line. “Why? You like that?”

“You can’t give me seventy-five million credits. Are you serious?” You could feel your face burning in shock. Your hands slam onto the counter, and you point an accusing finger in his face. “You must run some sort of shady business.”

The cowboy looks to the left for a moment.

He blinks at you like you’re stupid.

“You’re serious?” you repeat.

Instead of answering, he pulls out his phone from his pocket. You say nothing about the flimsy orange case, instead watching as he fumbles and squints at the screen before turning it towards you.

He shows you the recent deposit.

As he said. Seventy-five million fat credits sit right there in his account.

Hesitantly, you grab the phone to peer closer. Curiously, you start scrolling. These deposits clearly weren’t new to him. There were so many starting back from about ten years ago. There was a recent one of two-hundred thousand, then another just crossing fifty-seven million–

You were going to pass out. You hand his phone back to him with trembling fingers.

“Seventy-five sound good, or ya want some more?” He was tapping away on the screen again. “Gimme your bank details.”

“No!” You shake your head. “I don’t need your money. It’s fine.”

“How ‘bout eighty?”

“I–”

“Eighty-five.”

“No, I–”

“Round it up.” He turns the phone to you again, this time waiting for you to take it. An empty prompt of a receiver for the credits waits still. “One hundred.”

“Stop. I’m not taking your money.”

“I insist,” was all he said. “Got plenty to dispose of. And was never too responsible wit’ it anyway. Also, don’t really need to spend money on food and stuff, ‘cause, y’know–” He gestures to himself again. “I trashed your place. Lemme help ya fix it up.”

“I’m not taking your money,” you repeat.

The cowboy narrows his eyes at you.

To retaliate, you narrow them back.

Then, grumpily, he states, “you’re stubborn.”

“Yeah.” You bristle defensively. “And?”

“I like it,” he all but purrs. He leans over the counter, fingers drumming over the bench. “If ya don’t want my money, how’z about I take ya out for dinner? To say sorry?”

Huh? You lean back, cowering away from the sharp teeth he displays behind pulled lips. Your heart races in your chest, half out of the anxiety that riddles your veins, but also because he’s practically snapping his teeth in your face like a shark.

Your hands coil into weak fists.

“What do ya think, pretty?”

You look at him.

You suppose he’s handsome—you’re not sure if it’s appropriate to call a cyborg handsome. But he’s got lovely hair, and it falls over his shoulders like water. It covers half his face, but the eye you can see is… trustworthy, to an extent.

He’s definitely not the most insane man you’ve ever met, so that’s a bonus. He also just killed a bunch of soldiers in your territory. You didn’t like the IPC either, and maybe he did do you a favour, but still.

You sigh. You think the pleading flutter of his lashes won you over.

“Fine.”

“That’s the spirit.” He holds out his hand, palm facing upwards. “Phone.”

Your face twists suspiciously. “No funny business.” Hesitantly, you reach into your pocket and hand it to him.

He grins and takes it. “Not at all. I’m a super trustworthy guy.” You find it hard to believe him. Again, he seems to have trouble navigating your phone. He notices you staring. “Sorry. Can’t read very well.”

“Oh.” You straighten up slightly. “Do you want me to add your number instead?”

He makes a face at the phone.

“Nope. I got it.” He hands you back your phone after a moment. The contact is still open on the screen: Boothill. He’s somehow taken a photo of himself without you noticing. “Might’ve added an extra zero. Oops.”

“Oh.” You stare down at the phone number. “There's no zeroes in your number.”

“Sure.” Boothill pulls back from the counter with a tip of his hat. “I gotta run. I’ll set up our lil’ dinner date later.”

You turn your phone off. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You got it, babe.” He blows you a kiss and waves his hand behind him.

As soon as the door shuts, you get a notification of a successful deposit into your bank account.

Your face immediately drains of blood as you frantically open up the app.

Seven-hundred and fifty million credits sit in your account.

The message attached to it reads, ‘Dont bot her snending it back. Wont work. LOL.’

Ugh I've been obsessed not only with Boothill lately, but with Guns'n'Roses as well. Love their dynamic and aesthetics.

And I really want to write some small western!AU drabble with poly argenthill now. Especially since a lot of character × reader × character things aren't actually poly, but rather just reader having two partners.

Hope I'll find some time to fix this and make Boothill and Argenti kiss each other as well.

⟿ ˗ˏˋ𝐵𝑜𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓈𝒽𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 ࿐ྂ

Some sfw headcanons this time, but I just might make a spicier part two. gn!shy!reader, Boothill is pretty soft here, might be OOC since it's written before his release <3

Boothill who leans down to steal a kiss and uses his infamous hat to deflect the arrows of onlookers' prying stares – to hide your pretty, flustered face and his own toothy grin.

Boothill who cracks jokes every time you go stiff in his arms. He's a tease, quick-witted and silver-tongued ('Hey now baby, who's made out of metal 'ere, me or you?'), but he never lets his hands wander if he sees the crease of uncertainty between your brows.

Boothill who goes absolutely ecstatic if you do something as simple as smiling and giving him a thumbs up when he's dueling. Boy, will he giggle like a maniac while bullets sing and blood spills. He wants to impress you – always – and he doesn't need much encouragement to show off.

Boothill who, instead of tilting your head up with his fingers, crouches down to meet your averted gaze – much to your embarrassment and his own amusement.

Boothill who doesn't pry your hands away from your red-hot face, but rather nuzzles into them until he can get to his main prize – your lips.

Boothill who loves how warm your cheeks get when he flirts with you like there's no tomorrow. He knows damn well they're warm 'cause he'll definately press his own face against yours. Flustering you even further.

Boothill who is so used to the good ol' game of chase. He's a hunter, a predator if you will, stalking his prey like a wolf day and night, patient and relentless, waiting for the right moment to strike. Your heart is one of a wild rabbit, you're always on a run from him, embarassed, flustered, nervous and perhaps even scared of so many things. But he's a master of cat-and-mouse and he will catch you eventually.

And when he does, he will sink his fangs into you.

Notes: divier is by cafekitsune

a smutty mindless boothill rumbling; fem!reader (even though it's only stated in one phrase); pretty self-indulgent; some weird comparisons to canines

N.B. English is not my native language

MDNI

Do you think Boothill pants like a dog while he's balls deep into you? Red tongue lolling out, strings of saliva drip-drip-dripping down on your skin? Do you think his voice module cracks and wheezes with static, his breath a white noise against your own shaky moans?

With each thrust, each slap of his balls – soft, smooth silicone, warm almost like a human skin, a delectable stickness connecting your bodies, – he pants: ah, ah, ah. He sings of desperation and need, but the undertone is thick with untamed, unknown and unexpected lust.

Boothill takes you with the selfishness of a starving coyote that finally sniffed out a piece of meat. He's greedy, cocky and perhaps a little too self-assured, throwing 'sweets' and 'm'ladies' and 'darlin's' left and right. But when you take off this hat of his, when the cold metal meets the silk of your skin, that's what he turns into – a dog.

He's rutting into you, movements uncoordinated and jerky, his body, a machine that's supposed to be deadly in its precision, failing him time after time, thrust after thrust, and he doesn't even need to breathe, not really, but he wheezes and whines, and groans, and almost coughs with the phantom feeling of pleasure creeping up his broken throat.

And if you look up at him, he'll smile down on you, all teeth, a crooked cut across his face, a feral display of desire to bite and rip apart. But that's what he's about – all bark.

Boothill laughs, the sound of it almost hurting your ears, and he's handsome and wild and perhaps a little fucked in the head, but you've never been more enamoured with a man before. And when he starts moving again, his brows drawn together, eyes hazy yet all-seeing, gaze heavy with lust yet all-knowing, his hot mouth close to your face, saliva hitting your cheeks, nose, forehead – that's when you know that between the two of you you are even crazier.

Because you'll definitely stay here, in his bed, come morning. You'll take the coffee he'll make for you and wear the hat he'll generously clap on your head. You'll let this scoundrel of a man whisk you away – and to hell with it all if you won't let him fuck you like this again and again.

'Atta girl'.

O4O: part i

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega for omega, soft smut || wc: 10.3k  || ao3 ||

Jing Yuan has been content riding out his heats alone for centuries. You, despite being another omega, are happy to lend a hand if Jing Yuan will have you.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

💦🎀 this piece is apart of SPRING FEVER: an omegaverse collab! 🎀💦

part i (here) — part ii (coming soon!)

notes: hello omega jing yuan omega jing yuan save me... the way omega jy has haunted me for months. MONTHS. this fic is incredibly indulgent soft, needy smut with non-traditional a/b/o dynamics. THANK YOU to the lovely @owlespresso for beta reading!! please read the tags and enjoy!! <3

CW: a/b/o dynamics, omega jing yuan (with afab and amab anatomy), omega reader (afab anatomy), past yingxing/jing yuan/dan feng, bottom jing yuan flavors (though reader does not do any penetration), use of toys, worldbuilding around omegaverse, lots of biting, milfy jing yuan, mommy kink without the word mommy (at least not in this part 👀💗!!),

Jing Yuan has not shared his heat with anyone in a very, very long time. Centuries, most certainly. Jing Yuan doesn’t find it very useful to keep track of that length of time— he finds it cumbersome if anything. There’s no use holding onto a past that only forces him to redigest pain. 

Jing Yuan rarely has heats. He keeps a diligent schedule of medication and only has to go through them once every decade or so. Occasionally less, if the Luofu is passing a particular star system or comet field. His heats are always cumbersome. He can conceal his omegan sensibilities often, but it is more difficult prior to a heat.

Preheat is a different beast.

When Jing Yuan sequesters himself in his estate for the better part of a week, anyone who knows he’s even there assumes it is to go through a rut. A week is a standard amount of time to take off for a rut and is expected. However, a heat has a standard time off of about two and a half weeks. Much longer to accommodate preheat and nesting needs. 

Jing Yuan rarely indulges his own. 

The Luofu, at large, assumes he is an alpha. This is manufactured, however only partially. Generally, the citizens of the Luofu assume, given that he is the General and he has a larger, broad-shouldered stature, that he is an Alpha through and through. He always wears scent patches in public, which is normal for both omegas and alphas. Betas, too, occasionally. Depending on the subtype. The Charioteers know that he is an omega, but they are committed to some amount of discretion and guard the information as a secret. Lady Fu, an alpha, will occasionally scold him for being so secretive. Like he harbors some sort of self-hatred that he is an omega. 

It is simply more convenient for him to be seen as an alpha. Jing Yuan doesn’t wish to disturb this perception.

And therefore, it is much easier to wait as long as possible between heats and bear them alone. Whatever instincts he has can be satiated with toys and a half-decent nest. Jing Yuan has always considered this enough. ‘Enough’. 

(It’s not sating. Jing Yuan cannot lie to himself about this. He remembers laying with Yingxing, and how the alpha made him feel more full and content than Jing Yuan had ever thought possible during a heat. Or ever, truthfully. He remembers how calming Dan Feng’s presence had been— grounding and reassuring, too. Jing Yuan was fucked, filled and protected. An omega’s dream.)

Jing Yuan... copes with what he has. A large, plush bed with a downy mattress, a few donated, alpha-scented garments, and a collection of inflatable, knotting toys. He always leaves his heat with lingering cramps, a brutalized hole, and a yearning that takes a few weeks to quiet itself. 

It is natural that he craves his mates. Even if they are long dead (not dead. Not really. Not the same as they once were, anyway.)

And certainly, never to be his again. The mating mark on his neck has long faded.

Jing Yuan tracks his heat so such yearning can be anticipated and planned for. He knows when his heat is approaching, down to the specific day it will occur. He titrates off his suppressants carefully, and maps out a portion of time off for himself a year or so in advance. 

Which is why it is very odd that he starts exhibiting preheat symptoms in the middle of the day, a random day, during a tactical meeting.

Even if he had been titrating down his dose in anticipation for a planned heat in a few months time, it is far, far too early to begin feeling symptoms. The familiar itchiness prickling under his skin is entirely unexpected. Jing Yuan has to put a particularly large amount of effort to get through this unnecessary meeting without letting a single symptom slip. He can only adjust in his seat so many times before it is improper, or juggle the cradle of his jaw from one hand to the other before it is clear something is wrong. 

If any of the Charioteers and their advisers notice anything amiss with him, they say nothing. The only one who looks off-put is Fu Xuan. She’s a spitfire alpha herself, and perhaps she’s keen enough to notice that Jing Yuan is beginning to feel... unwell. Though he is masking his scent as he always does, he imagines that the flush in his cheeks is becoming increasingly obvious.

Fu Xuan gives Jing Yuan a wary look as the meeting is dismissed.

“General,” She says curtly. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine,” He gives her a rich laugh as he stands, muffling a groan as his stiff back and knees ache. He’d sat for too long. He feels light-headed as he rights himself and Fu Xuan glares at him.

“I doubt that,” Fu Xuan huffs. “I will not interrogate you in public, nor do I think you would give me an honest answer even if I did—”

“So little trust in me, Master Diviner—”

“ However, I will urge you to go home. ” She takes a step closer and sniffs the air. It’s just the two of them in the meeting room now, the rest of the parties in attendance having filtered out. Subtly and without fanfare, she takes his hand in her own, and presses her wrist to his. Jing Yuan keeps an easy grin on his face but can’t help the way he tenses his fingers, flexing them at the contact. “Do you need an escort?”

“Is Lady Fu worrying for me? How kind.”

“I’m— not, ” Fu Xuan huffs now and more roughly smears their wrists together. The scent gland she is almost abusing is swollen and hot to the touch. It takes all of his composure not to squirm with her treatment. “I’m no fool. If you have a heat starting, you should be comfortable at home, not in a war room.”

“Master Diviner, you think I’m an omega?” Jing Yuan says with a smile. He knows she is already privy to this, but he can’t resist teasing her a bit.

“You are insufferable. Even in this state. Go home. I will take you there myself.”

“I’m afraid I can’t return home just yet,” He hums. He imagines he has a few hours before proper pre-heat sets in. “I have a lunch date that I cannot miss.”

“You— a lunch date?”

“Yes, of course. It’s a scheduled event, dear Diviner.”

“Do not patronize me.”

Jing Yuan laughs as she fumes. He has the urge to ruffle her hair, but thinks better of it. The complicated updo would surely be ruffled, and Jing Yuan is already getting an earful as it is. 

“I would never.”

Fu Xuan yanks her arm away with a growl. She wears some type of masking perfume, she always has, but with her frustration swirling, a bit of her actual scent peaks through. It’s light on the back of his tongue, floral almost. Nearly inedible, but the kind of scent Jing Yuan that makes him nostalgic—

(For a master with a scent like frost-covered roses, and a packmate with a scent filled with springtime lilac blossoms in fat clusters.)

“If this lunch is really so necessary, may I escort you there at least? Or will your alpha be meeting you here?”

“They’re not an alpha.” Jing Yuan hums. His stomach feels warm regardless. “And I’ll be just fine getting there myself.”

Fu Xuan looks at him, questioningly. Her lips open, then close once more. There are questions she clearly has. And for all her brashness and hot-blooded fervor, she understands decorum better than most. She pries out of care and her good intentions, and Jing Yuan can respect that if nothing else.

“I’ll concede,” Fu Xuan sighs. “ However, please let me know if there’s anything else you need. You have my number.”

“Noted.” Jing Yuan rises, and feels the heat clouding his head sink lower in his body. He’s being engulfed. 

Fu Xuan deadpans, “General—”

“Have a good rest of your day, Master Diviner,” He calls with a light laugh, slipping away before Fu Xuan can give him any further grief.

...

As the Arbiter General of the Luofu, Jing Yuan knows its streets and secrets very well. There’s more than one way to arrive at his favored terrace garden without being seen or smelt by the public. It is helpful that this path is lined near an aqueduct stream, surrounded by lush greenery and clumps of fragrant azure asters. This path is tucked away, straddling an external tunnel of the Luofu’s inner tunnels. Really, only the Calibrators aboard the ship use it, and as there are only a few and they tend to keep to their delve, Jing Yuan has very little fear walking this way at his own leisure.

He is glad you tend to take your lunch dates in the privacy of this particular garden, under the gazebo and nestled atop its many silken blankets and pillows. A conventional restaurant in this state would be doable, but unideal. 

Jing Yuan can smell you as he approaches. It makes him pause, just outside the gate. His hands hovers over his jade abacus as he opens his mouth to taste you in the back of his mouth.

(Warm, a familiar scent that he associates with the rare indulgence of relaxation. It’s not overly sweet or ripe, but balanced and full-bodied. Not quite floral or fruity, and not deep enough to be akin to an aged black tea. Perhaps like the roll of a hearth or the beeswax of a lit candle.)

He’s sighs. It calms him instantly. 

Even if you aren’t an alpha, you are familiar, as is the current setting.

You’re sitting at a low table in the shade of the gazebo. There are several plates of cheeses, cut fruits, salted meats, and nuts laid out. You’re ladling sticky honey into a small dish as he enters, and look up at the sound of the gate closing.

You smile when you see him.

“General,” You smile. “I apologize, I started setting up lunch without you. Everything should still be chilled.”

“No need to be sorry,” he laughs gently, brushing a hand against your shoulder before rounding the table, and taking a seat across from you. “I could never complain about your diligence. You have chosen quite the spread today, haven’t you?”

You flush with a nod, and gesture down to the table, “The markets were lovely today, I had to splurge. You’ll have to let me know what you think.”

“Only if you do the same.”

“I-I can do that,” You smile at him softly.

Despite your familiarity, you still regard him with some amount of anxiety. Jing Yuan has long since placed this has less to do with his status as General, and more than likely due to a deepened amount of affection that Jing Yuan... entertains. Enjoys. Thrives off of, even. He perhaps returns it, though he hasn’t told you that explicitly.

Besides, you believe him to be an alpha. He’s sure that, if you did know his secondary gender, such affections would fade quickly. The allure of what he could provide as an alpha is quite different from what he can provide as an omega.

Jing Yuan takes a sip of sparkling juice, and as he lowers the thin-necked glass, you look at him strangely. A crease knits itself between your brows.

“Did I get some on my face?” Jing Yuan chuckles and wipes at the corners of his mouth with his thumb.

“No... you just,” You stumble with your words, hands flexing in your lap. “Are... are you alright? Your cheeks look quite warm, and you’re sweating around your hairline.” 

You always have been keen to bodies other than your own. It’s not the most common trait. 

“... Am I?” Jing Yuan could choose to lie at this moment. It would be easy to say he was using a new brand of suppressants, or blame it on a stressful day. However, he doesn't like lying to you, only twisting the truth when entirely necessary. “I do suppose I’m at that point in my cycle.”

“Oh!” You startle and sit up more straight. You push a plate at him. “Pre-rut? You should eat, then. You’ll need your strength. Do— do you have someone I can call? I don’t mind.”

Your worry is cute. 

Jing Yuan can’t help thinking about it. You are an omega full of so much care and urge to help. Jing Yuan has seen it and experienced it many times, and has also seen how it has gotten you into unfortunate situations. You have a trusting mind and spirit, and more than once, it has been used against you. 

Jing Yuan likes keeping you close, so he can look after you, even if it’s from a distance.

He stares down at the plate. There’s a pile of glistening orange grapes, a few roses of sliced, cured meats, a chunk of honeycomb, and buttery looking crackers. It does look delicious, however Jing Yuan has always struggled to eat in his pre-heat. When he looks up at you to decline, your expression looks even more worried, almost sour.

Before he can speak, you are. Petal-soft lips lips downturned. “Are you... not in pre-rut, General?”

He deflates, slightly. He is old— and. He does not wish to steer you away from what is a correct assumption. You are his most trusted companion.

“I am not,” He says softly, and picks up one of the grapes. He squeezes. The skin is taut and tight. “And, please call me Jing Yuan. Formalities can be dropped, yes?”

“I— yes, of course.” You look from his plate to him. “So, you’re... pre-heat?”

“I am, yes.”

“Oh!” You immediately heap his plate with several other kinds of fruit, and grab a clean glass and pour ice water from a pitcher into it. “I apologize— for. Making such an assumption.”

“No need to apologize.” He soothes and lays a hand over yours. “I’m aware of what the vast majority of the Luofu assumes my secondary gender to be. It does not bother me. If it did, I would have corrected the greater public long ago. I apologize for not telling you directly until now.”

“It’s— okay,” you reply. Perhaps a bit hurt. “I never asked. I just— I just thought. Wrong.”

(Please be kinder to yourself, he thinks. It hurts to see you saddened on my account.)

“Nonsense,” he laughs and gracefully takes the water you offer. He downs the glass down his parched throat. He— hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. “No harm done. If anything, I’m grateful that you now know.”

(Regardless of how it could change your feelings toward him.)

Jing Yuan has tempered heartbreak for millenia. Another one— is not nothing, but it is manageable. Perhaps not during preheat, but he still has time to mourn. 

“I’m glad too,” you tell him, and squeeze back his hand. You only scent him sometimes, always so shy about it, but now you firmly rub the scent gland in your wrist against his. His aches, and the sensation and exchange of pheromones nearly makes him wheeze. He straightens his spine. 

“Was that—?” You almost pull away.

“No, it’s very welcome.”

You stare at him, intent and soft, before settling. Tentatively, you rub at the gland in gentle circles.

“You should eat,” you say after a moment. “Do you have an alpha I can call? Or— um, anything you need me to pick up for you?”

“I am fine.” Jing Yuan will text Qingzu for the essentials, rather than troubling you. “I’ll finish lunch with you, and then see myself home.”

“... No alpha to pick you up?”

“None to speak of, no.” Jing Yuan manages a smile.

(It has been— centuries since Jing Yuan had an alpha to care for and stake a claim on him. The notion of finding another has been put out of his mind since he himself had to confine Dan Feng to the Shackling Prison and exile the man Yingxing became. Even after meeting them as they are today, Jing Yuan knows they are no longer his mates.)

“Oh.” 

Every one of your emotions is so clearly on your face. You look so sad for him and you squeeze his hand. He has half a mind to pull away, and remind you that he does not need your worry. However, he is in pre-heat, and by Lan, he is craving worry.  

“And... heatmates?” You ask. “I don’t want to pry, but it’s hard to spend a heat alone.”

“Once again, none.” Jing Yuan replies without hesitating. The silence that follows is poignant as you study him. 

“I see.” You frown again, clearly thinking. Jing Yuan can see the thoughts turning around just behind your eyes. You pile on even more fruits to his plate. “Eat, eat. You need it.”

“This much fruit will give me a stomach ache, I fear.”

“Some of it, at least!” You huff at him. “For me, please?”

Jing Yuan meets your gaze, easy and soft. There’s no threat, only the heat that matches your scent and the feel that radiates in his chest.

(You are not his alpha. You are something entirely different— something that he wants so badly to hold.)

“For you.”

...

By the end of lunch (in which, Jing Yuan does manage to eat a decent amount of the fruit you’d put on his plate), Jing Yuan’s pre-heat has begun to simmer into a more uncomfortable territory. He desperately wants to shed his uniform and armor, and slip into a robe and no bottoms. He hasn’t begun to slick yet, but he will surely start to by sundown.

Jing Yuan stands after the meal, stretching. It’s proper afternoon now, and the birds of the garden chirp eveningsong. 

“Jing Yuan?” You ask as he stretches his arms above his head. His name sounds lovely in your mouth.

He hums, “Yes?”

“Do you want a heatmate?” You ask quietly. 

He looks at you. 

You’re fiercely meeting his gaze, even though you’re clearly struggling to. Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth, and you’re fighting a frown from the crinkles on your forehead. Regardless, you stand your ground and ask a question that is surely difficult to broach, especially so directly.

“I—I am offering.” You stammer. “To clarify.”

“To be my heatmate?”

“Yes— I hate to think of you suffering alone, Jing Yuan. If I can be by your side to ease it, if only a little, I would like to be.”

“That is very brave of you to ask.” He smiles with a tilt of his head. “And bold.”

“I— I’m being honest.” You almost whine. It’s so cute. “Is that a no?”

“No, not at all.” Jing Yuan replies. “However, I wouldn’t want you to help solely for my benefit. If you wish to enter my nest exclusively to be an aid, and not out of... personal wants, I would feel guilty.”

“It’s— it’s personal wants too.”

“... Is it now?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

“Even though I’m not an alpha, as you thought?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain.”

“ Yes, Jing Yuan.” 

“I cannot give you a knot—”

“I do not need one!” You break, much to Jing Yuan’s amusement. “I am happy to be by your side, regardless of that! If anything, I’m more than happy to share a nest with you without the assurance of a limp and a potential pup.”

Jing Yuan smiles, almost unrestrained, and your cheeks heat deliciously. 

You stammer, and poke at his chest, “You’re teasing me—!”

“I apologize, you must forgive me—”

“ Rude—!”

Your bury your face in his chest and nuzzle there. It’s— clearly a self soothing action, one you realize a moment too late isn’t quite proper. You stiffen, beginning to draw away, before Jing Yuan catches you by your scruff and holds you there. 

“You’re alright,” He holds a wide palm there. “I apologize for teasing you. I mean so warmly.”

“... Scoundrel.” The sound muffles into his chest.

“Am I?”

You peer up at him, so warm in the cheeks and eyes... almost watery. Something in his chest feels sticky and molten. 

“ Yes—” You dare to meet his eyes again. “But, one I’m very fond of.”

Jing Yuan steels himself.

You are an omega. It is not your pheromones addling his mind. There is clarity in the attraction and affection he has for you, one not influenced by the urge to be knotted and bred. Though, Jing Yuan wants that, maybe part of him needs it. There is a trunk full of toys and implements he has tucked away that will sate the urge. The feelings that he carries for you will not so easily be placated.

“I would like it very much if you were to share my heat with me,” He speaks softly, just for the two of you to hear. Not even the garden birds will know his words. “If you are still offering.”

“Yes,” You say quickly, tentatively wrapping your arms around his waist. “Yes.”

He chuckles, easy and low, and presses his nose into your hair. Perhaps it’s pre-heat, making him sentimental and mushy. He usually hides out and bears it alone in his comfiest nest so these feelings typically do not get expressed in any other way other than delirious, anguished cries while a knotting toy takes the edge off. 

Jing Yuan finds these are nice to indulge, as your scent envelopes him.

...

“I lied earlier,” Jing Yuan says as you enter the threshold of his estate. “I apologize sincerely.”

“Oh?” You ask with a tilt of your head, accepting a pair of house slippers eagerly. “... What about?”

“I am in pre-heat unexpectedly. Though I have been tapering suppressants for an anticipated heat, it has come far earlier than planned . Things are... not as I would like them. You’ll need to excuse me for a few moments.”

Jing Yuan, like any omega, is particular about his home and nest, especially around his heat. He knows his home and inner chambers are not to his liking and he’ll need to prepare them. Even if you aren’t an alpha entering his nest, you are a guest and companion he is very fond of. You deserve only the best.

“Of course, whatever you need,” you assure him. “Do you need me to grab anything while you do so? I don’t mind running to the market—”

Jing Yuan turns on his heel, grabbing your arm firmly, “You’re not leaving.”

“O-Oh.”

Your eyes widen, and heat rises in your cheeks. Your throat bobs as you swallow and nod. Jing Yuan— were he not in pre-heat, would perhaps be a bit embarrassed by his brazeness. However, now? The idea of you leaving his home sends him reeling. You cannot leave— not until you smell like him and his nest. Not until— not until this is over.

“I sent a request to Qingzu to fetch us a few things during the walk over. She’ll be here shortly. I do, however, have a bowl of fruit that could be cut up while I get myself sorted. How does that sound?” 

You nod eagerly, happy to follow instruction. Jing Yuan knows this about you and enjoys it thoroughly.

He sets you up in the kitchen with a bowl of sunsiettas, a box of meldberries, and a few bunches of perfectly ripe, round kaishen grapes. Jing Yuan leaves you to the task, which he can already tell you will do dutifully. You thrive off of praise and direction. It’s a dangerous trait of an omega to carry, even more terrifying to hold openly as you do. Jing Yuan knows it has burned you before.

However, he intends to indulge you well and kindly, as it pleases him very much.

His mind, far-too warm and itchy, yearns to spin fantasies as he locks himself in his room with a shake of his head. 

He must keep it together. Just for awhile longer. His bed is— not a nest. Not the nest he wants (needs) it to be. His duvet, thick and luxurious as it is, needs a fluffing and a fresh scenting. His pillows are not arranged to his liking, and he needs to poke through his linen closet and add some extra layers as well. He needs to make sure there’s lube nearby with clean toys. Water out. His phone charged and volume on— (though, he already sent a message to Qingzu stating his heat has hit and he’ll be out for at least a week. ‘Defer to Diviner Fu :3’ , which is Jing Yuan’s payment to Lady Fu for the list of errands he had sent her.)

Jing Yuan shakes his head with a laugh. The little alpha will certainly be pleased when she hear she’ll get to play General for a while. 

Pre-heat drives him forward. He sheds his many layers (without aid, which is objectively a headache and he regrets not asking you for assistance initially. However, Jing Yuan is fairly certain that if he were to be fully bare around you, regardless of his pre- heat or not, he may jump you and drag you into his nest—)

Pre-heat is also making him somewhat irrational.  

He throws on his favored robe, a silken, cream-colored garment with delicate gold and red embroidery around the hems. The sleeves drape at his wrists and a sash ties it snugly around his waist. The itch that’s been rolling around just under his skin feels duller, with the less restrictive garment. The fabric crosses over his chest in a way that is... revealing. Probably too revealing, under any other circumstance, especially given that you have never seen him in anything less than his daily regalia. 

The thought of looking so indecent around you has its allure to it. One that Jing Yuan lets himself entertain with a smitten smile as he works.

He is attracted to you, surely. This he knows and has known. 

Jing Yuan acknowledges that this is both emotional and physical. You are dear to him, truly. In a way that is unique to any of the connections, he holds in the present. Your presence is one he thoroughly enjoys, and, more than once, (many times), has craved during his late-evening ruminations in his courtyard. He— has thought about inviting you over, if for nothing else than a chat in the moonlight and tea or wine to your preference, however—

He has always stopped himself.

Yearning, he will allow in the ways he has learned to manage it over the centuries. Small doses of longing that can be enjoyed and swallowed down, without festering. Being brazen with his wants and feelings is... slipperier. Especially concerning you, as you are dear to him, and Jing Yuan, for better or for worse, would like to share space with you for as long as he can manage. 

This attraction is regardless of secondary gender. 

Jing Yuan has not cared about secondary gender for a great while (since he shared a bed with a short-lived alpha and one of Long’s Scions, who, like all Vidyadhara, did not have a secondary gender at all.) 

Your presentation as an omega was never a deterrent to him. If anything, it was something of a comfort. Jing Yuan was claimed long ago, and he knows that no alpha’s claim will feel the same as Yingxing’s and he wouldn’t want anyone, especially you, to attempt to emulate it. The ownership of a claim was not something he sought. Jing Yuan has had his heart broken enough for this lifetime. He is sure you could rend his heart asunder, however it would not be in the way of losing a mate that he is biologically tied to. 

Statistically, Jing Yuan is lucky that such a loss did not cause him to become Mara struck five hundred years ago.

He is very content with whatever your relationship could become. If nothing else, the prospect of it allures him. Especially now that you know his presentation and clearly seem undeterred yourself. If— if anything. Your scent calmed and cooled when he’d told you on the terraces. 

Another thing that Jing Yuan will have to parse when he isn’t so wet that he’s leaving puddles in his wake. 

For now, Jing Yuan’s nest is satisfactory aside from a few personal items. 

Now, all it’s missing is you. 

...

Jing Yuan does not find you in the kitchen, but rather the foyer, wishing Qingzu a goodbye with a wave and shout. 

Jing Yuan must—

(Temper his instincts because you are far too close to the door and you need to be in his nest and his teeth need to be in you and his scent on you—)

“Jing Yuan,” you say to him warmly, with a smile. There are a few canvas bags on your arms. “How are you feeling—?”

Jing Yuan can’t stop himself from dragging you away from the tall set of doors and back to the kitchen. You squawk at his firmness, but don’t reject his touch. He helps you heft the bags onto a low table. His own arms shake, with both the strain and his own heat-induced weakness.

“It’s really progressing, huh?” You tentatively raise a hand, and place it on his forearm to stroke there.

Jing Yuan practically purrs when you rub over the silken fabric, “It is. Quickly. However, my nest and appropriate supplies are ready. Did Qingzu deliver all that I asked?”

“It seems so.”

There are— three more bottles of lube. A few pearly-looking medicine pills, a specialty item from the Alchemy Commission. Several stacks of ready-made meals and electrolyte powder. There are several vials of milky-looking oils he had her grab for more scandalous purposes as Jing Yuan would like to avoid any type of friction abrasion. Lastly, there are few unmarked boxes with new toys.

“You’re so well-prepared.” Your eyes are wide as you take stock of the haul. Jing Yuan bundles things into a basket and ushers you to his nest.

“I have gone through many heats,” he chuckles. “I have learned the best tricks.”

“I-I can see.”

As you enter his bedroom, you stare at his nest with wide eyes. You jump when Jing Yuan locks the door.

“... Is that alright?” Jing Yuan asks.

“Yes, yes, of course. I just—” You swallow. “I haven’t ever helped another omega through a heat. If you have any pointers or preferences, let me know while you’re still in your full mind, please? I’d like to make this as comfortable for you as possible.”

Jing Yuan thinks for a moment. With a tilt of his head, he rests his hands on your shoulders. Your scent is spiced, a bit nervous, but also undeniably aroused. Your gaze darts down to his exposed collarbones and chest, then quickly back up to his eyes. Heat rises fiercely in your cheeks. 

“Your presence will be helpful in and of itself,” he assures you with a squeeze. Carefully, he hooks his thumbs on your outer garment and pulls it down, undoing buttons and ties along the way. Your lips part, breath hot. “I’ll guide you as I need. My heats tend to be mild, though they do last a full week. There will be lulls, which I tend to be quite worn out during. I’ll need your assistance more than anything.”

You nod, taking in his response. 

Jing Yuan— he’s holding it together. Slick is beginning to drip down his inner thighs and there’s an ache in his core that feels heavier and hotter by the minute. However, he does want to do this part slowly. He prides himself on his patience. Piece by piece, he takes off your day clothes and tosses them into his nest. Without them, your scent is stronger. Your neck is bare from any topical or adhesive blockers.

“During the rest of it though?” You ask, softly. “When you’re in the throes of it.”

Jing Yuan hums, letting a shaking hand rest on the curve of your waist, “I’m not certain. It’s been quite some time since I’ve shared a heat with anyone.”

“... Really?”

“Yes.” Jing Yuan presses his lips to your forehead without thinking. The heat of it, of you, sinks into his own. He feels like he’s going to burn up. “Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.” You answer, and push yourself closer to his neck. Your lips part to taste his scent on the back of your tongue. “You are a catch. I know you have quite the lineup of suitors... I just assumed.“

“You also assumed I was an alpha.”

“The General is a skillful liar.”

Jing Yuan clicks his tongue, sliding a hand below your last garments. Satin, lacey things that are almost sheer. Thin. He could tear them easily, but doesn’t. His touch lingers.

“ Jing Yuan,” he reminds you. You stammer before pitching into him. He carefully walks the two of you backwards. His legs are close to giving out. “And I’d like to think of it as a skillful withholding of unnecessary information.”

“ Jing Yuan is very good with his words,” You murmur into the soft skin of his neck, lingering around one of the scent glands there. They ache, sore and unstimulated.

So carefully, you stretch up on your tiptoes to nose at one of them. Your scents bloom together and his eyes almost roll back into his head at the meld of it, the relief and rush of connection. 

It’s the last push Jing Yuan needs before dragging you into his nest with a stifled moan. Coherency is shattered and all he can do is crave, crave, crave.

...

You are a good heatmate.

Astoundingly good. Attentive, kind, and so soft. It’s a relief to Jing Yuan, who’s heat-addled mind is so used to loneliness and cold. You do not have the scent or knot of an alpha, but you’re more than enough. It’s presence and comfort in a way Jing Yuan so, so missed. It’s enough in a different way— and that difference is good. 

(You are not Yingxing or Dan Feng, and Jing Yuan is grateful that you aren’t.)

Jing Yuan finds himself on his back, with you wrapped around him. You let him pillow his cheek against your collarbone. His nose presses against your scent gland, and he pants against it with an open mouth and spit slicked lips. Your hand lays over his chest, cupping his breast while gently thumbing over his nipple. He’s so swollen there, aching.

He cries out as you pinch, as if it could relieve any of the pressure roiling around under his skin.

You curl closer into him with your lips against his temple. “Does that feel good?”

He can only keen and hope you understand that it’s a plea for more. 

You must because a moment later you’re squeezing with your entire hand. It’s— too big of a handful for you. Your fingers are soft and your touch gentle. The visual of the plump flesh of his chest bulging out from between your fingers rewires Jing Yuan’s brain for a craving he never knew possible. A rush of slick gushes from his cunt and— it’s so much. He lurches into your neck, licking blindly at your scent gland. Vaguely, he notices you stiffen and your scent grows a little sharper. 

It’s worry. Jing Yuan can’t have that.

With every ounce of his strength, Jing Yuan rolls you below him, and sits on your hips. You let him, so pliant and agreeable, and lay below him. Jing Yuan’s breath catches and drool slips to the corners of his mouth.

You are beautiful. You look debauched, and you’re not the one in heat. You’re flushed and damp with sweat, just as he is. The robe he’d draped you in is mostly open, revealing supple skin and your last bastion of modesty in the form of a cute pair of panties that Jing Yuan will fantasize about later. 

You look up at him in awe, lust-hazed just like him. There’s little composure to be had as your fists ball up in the sheets around his thighs. Your gaze goes glassy as you look from his face down to where he’s seated atop you and back again.

“No teeth,” he assures you. It is the last coherent thought he has, if only to provide your some comfort.

You look up at him sweetly and nod, grabbing the plump flesh above his hips. “No teeth.”

(A claim wouldn’t take, anyway. Not really. Omega-to-omega pairings lack the necessary pheromones to stake a claim on each other. The most it would do would indicate that whoever has been bitten is a submissive-leaning packmate. Which— Jing Yuan actually would not mind biting you. He would like his teeth in your neck if you would ever allow him.)

He groans at the thought, lowering his head as a silver mane of hair spills around his face.

Jing Yuan is drenched and hard, leaking from the tip of his cock and seam of his cunt. It’s— filthy. You’re soaked too, with a mix of him and undoubtedly yourself too, though Jing Yuan can’t scent it over the smell of his own heat. It’s regrettable as he is sure the mix of you must be divine. Heavenly. 

He wants it in his mouth.

Jing Yuan slinks down your body, licking and sucking at patches of your skin. You try to bat him off, haul him up and away from your own leaking sex, but he resists. He needs a taste or he’ll die, probably. His heat can be quelled in a number of ways, he presumes.

With his face buried in your cunt, surrounded by your scent, the ache for a knot is dulled. When you cry out on his tongue, it is almost deafened.

Jing Yuan drinks you up— he should pay more mind to your clit, probably, if he wants to get you off properly. However, he is so immensely distracted by your entrance and the essence of you that’s leaking out. There’s a rapidly widening damp spot beneath your ass. A steady flow that Jing Yuan needs in him. 

He seals his mouth over your cunt, and prods his tongue inside of you. He presses so close, suffocating with his nose tight to your clit, to lap at your insides. 

You— you wail above him. Your hands bury in his increasingly tangled mess of hair for any sort of leverage. Jing Yuan doesn’t let up; he doesn’t think he can. Your tone crashes into one that’s softer, more airy, begging for more. For less. Jing Yuan can’t entirely tell. He isn’t sure he cares, truthfully. All he knows is that your thighs tighten around his head with each suck and slurp.

The sound of it is heavenly.

Your thighs press around his face. Flush to his cheeks are the scent glands in the apex of your inner thighs. Not everyone has them, as they’re something of a recessive trait among all secondary genders. The scent that comes off them is your own, however muskier and deeper. It sticks to the inside of his nose and pours down his throat like a nectar. You mewl when he breaks away to lap at one, coaxing out more of the scent. He gluts himself on it.

He needs, he needs, he needs.

“Jing Yuan,” you pant above him, propping yourself up with one arm while the other blindly reaches among his nest. “Do you need it? Knot?”

He— 

(He needs to be filled. He isn’t picky if that feeling is quenched with his cunt, ass, throat, or nose. The scent of you is almost enough, even if he clenches down on nothing and feels hollow in his belly. The sensations are so dull with you nearby. He feels heat incensed, but in a way that craves closeness with you and not the manic pursuit of a knot.)

It’s refreshing. Jing Yuan regrets not propositioning you for this treatment sooner.

“Are you offering?” Jing Yuan purrs. He places his thumbs over the scent glands of your inner thighs and presses down on the swell of them, just under your skin.

Your back bends off the bed and you throw your hand over your mouth. Teary eyes meet him and you nod. From the folds of the nest, you pull forth a knotting toy with a shaking grip. 

It’s beautiful for a toy. It’s a model that Jing Yuan had seen in a few high-end adverts on the few social medias he moonlighted on. It’s a flesh-like plastic cock, with an inflatable knot at the base. A little, wired remote drags along the blankets of his nest as you hold the phallus out to him. The plastic of the toy is a light gold, cut with veins of blue. It looks otherworldly and unreal. Jing Yuan has never cared for much realism with his toys, though this one is human enough. 

He makes a mental note to get Qingzu a bouquet for purchasing it for him on such short notice. 

The head of it feels cool against his cunt. It’s a welcome sensation as it feels like his body is burning up from the insight. He lays over you, wrestling you a bit to be flat below him, with his thighs caging yours. He growls when you try to grab the toy from his hands to assist.

It makes you pause.

Your soft palms cup his cheeks, “Do you not want me to help?”

“The angle—” The angle won’t be right, Jing Yuan wants to say. His words feel lost in his throat as he slowly begins to push inside himself. He gasps and tries to duck into your neck, to like and suck at the gland there and feast on your scent.

“I can try—?”

“ No.” 

Jing Yuan wants you just like this. In his nest, smelling like him and arousal and safety. The toy that’s sliding into his cunt is mostly irrelevant, as is the twitch of his cock as he slowly and methodically fucks the toy into himself. Little by little, he bullies it into his underused hole. The stretch is— is not bad. It would be far more uncomfortable if he weren’t in heat and pouring slick. 

You ask more quietly, just as he bottoms out. You still haven’t let go of his face. “Are you sure?” 

He is, but he can’t find the words to say so. Instead, he nods and tucks himself closer to you. You pet down the back of his neck and push on his scent glands. They ache with his heat. The pressure and direct contact makes him grunt as he adjusts to the toy in his cunt.

You hush him and nuzzle in his cheeks, “You’re doing so well. So good, Jing Yuan.”

He keens and pulls back the toy cock, only to shove it back into himself a moment later. Praise from you is a drug. He’s sure. You’re unbearably earnest and sweet and you are too kind to him. You whisper more of them into his ear as he fucks himself, deep and slow. He feels the sentiment of your words more than he hears it. Deeply affectionate and caring. If he were more lucid, he would be disarmed by you, speechless even. Perhaps he is already speechless, but he blames that on the heat haze and how the head of the toy is pressing deliciously into his sweet spot.

He narrows his focus on the spot and fucks him on the toy in earnest.

Jing Yuan will have an arm ache after this. Many aches, actually. It will be worth it. It is easiest to bear with you underneath him, tilting your hips up to grind against his dripping cock. It’s not the friction his body craves, but it’s welcome. It sends sparks down his spine and he whines into your neck. 

You nip at his neck, high on the side of it, and Jing Yuan lets loose a cracking moan. It’s almost embarrassingly loud. Were Jing Yuan able to feel shame in that moment, he’d be red-faced.

Instead, he tips his head to the side, allows you room to mouth and suck marks as you desire. You catch on quickly, and hum, licking broad stripes and soaking him in your scent. Your marks. It surrounds him.

He fucks himself on the toy faster.

(It’s nothing like the heats he had while he was mated with Yingxing and Dan Feng. Not at all. They were shorter, back then. Perhaps it was his youth or the relentless pace and haze Yingxing kept that burned Jing Yuan out faster. Or, maybe it was that Dan Feng always made sure he was wrung out, despite not craving him in the same way Yingxing had. It was carnal then. It still is now, but it does not feel as manic. You are gentle without qualifiers, sweet without expectation, and happy to let him rut into you and back onto the toy as much as he pleases. Your kisses are bruising, but not bloody like Dan Feng’s. There’s a different pace, a different scent, and a different intent.)

Jing Yuan once enjoyed the desperation that Yingxing put into everything he did (including him). He had fallen in love with Dan Feng for his poetics and distanced care. You have neither of these. It is unfair, ultimately, for Jing Yuan to draw comparison. 

Perhaps, he’ll feel guilty over it later. For now, his arm gives out and he falls into your chest with a keen. His back arches, hips raised, and the new angle is so, so good. You run your hands through his hair, and move your thigh, just right, so he can grind on it to his heart’s content.

He’s close; he can feel it in his belly.

What sends him over the edge is the feel of your lips against his hairline, the way your lips have curled into a soft, easy smile as you kiss him there. You stroke down his back, like how a good lover would.

You are a good lover. 

He shudders as orgasm grips him. The sound that rips from his throat is shattering, as overwhelming as the heat that boils over in his guts. And you are such a good lover, that the little remote must have already been in your hand, as in the moment he comes, the knotted base of the toy begins to swell. Jing Yuan can’t— can’t chase his orgasm. He can feel his eyes growing wet while his body feels out of his control (he hates that, he really does). You, however, are a good lover and reach and stretch, matching his angle with the toy and fuck him through it yourself. The knot catches once inside him, then a second time, and with the third, it locks him and the toy together.

And with what can only be called a sob, Jing Yuan fully collapses on top of you.

He can’t keep himself upright, he realizes. His thighs tremble terribly, and his arms are the same. His eyes are filled with tears he didn’t expect and doesn’t know what to do with. It feels vulnerable. Too vulnerable, in a way that Jing Yuan has avoided for centuries now. 

Before the feeling can consume him, you’re coaxing him onto his side and wrapping yourself around him. A sheet gets pulled atop the both of you and you’re nosing into him wherever you can.

“It’s okay,” You tell him. “You’re okay, I promise.”

A muffled sound that comes from your throat, followed by the low roll of a purr. 

Oh. 

All for him?

He shoves himself closer, skin to skin in all the spots he can reach. His tongue laves at your scent glands as his cunt flutters around the toy. He claws at your back before locking his arms around your waist. 

You’re purring for him.

He can help but do the same, even chirping without meaning to as he nips at your jaw. Jing Yuan trails his lips to your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. You curl and laugh at his touch, and Jing Yuan steals the lovely sounds from you with a kiss. It’s something deep and consuming, and Jing Yuan needs more of the taste of you. You squirm into it, gasping and opening your mouth for him to explore as he needs. Your openness continues to undo him. 

It’s all the reassurance he needs. Any poisonous feelings fall away, and Jing Yuan, for the first time in far too long, finds himself content and knotted. 

...

Jing Yuan has never had a heat quite like this one.

It is certainly more mild, and certainly a bit shorter than what he was expecting. The worst of it lasts five days, followed by three days that he can’t quite call post-heat. Though the desire in him is less feverish, he still craves your presence so much it hurts, and the idea of you being out of his nests sends him into a toothy panic those days. The ‘no teeth’ rule is modified to allow some biting, as long as it doesn’t involve any scent glands.

(However, Jing Yuan still would not mind putting a claiming bite on you. He makes a note to bring this up when he’s feeling some clarity of mind and can... attempt to court you properly.)

The most intense days of his heat are spent with a knotting toy in his cunt, rutting against your soft thighs, or with your hands wrapped around his cock. He eats you out whenever he can muster up the energy to shimmy between your legs and luxuriate there. Any down time is spent dozing in the warm sun rays that his bedroom is perfectly placed to receive. 

The latter days of his heat, Jing Yuan is more lucid. 

It’s in those days he truly enjoys his heat. Though the burn of arousal still lays within him, it is easily tempered with your presence in his nest and your many shared bite marks. Your time awake is spent lazily kissing, speaking in low voices, and sharing laughter and cups of cool water, one after the other. 

Jing Yuan, partially, did not think he would ever get to experience this type of connection again. with you or any other partner. The intimacy of the act is so deeply vulnerable, and after the spiritual loss of both Yingxing and Dan Feng, he never endeavored, or wanted to endeavor to, open himself up in that way again.

He, perhaps, convinced himself he did not need to.

(Nevermind the many nights, both heat-addled and otherwise, Jing Yuan spent craving nesting companions. Nevermind how many nights Jing Yuan lay alone, accepting his losses and mourning mates he’d never hold again. Jing Yuan could never choose to be selfish.)

It helped when Yanqing was little. He was just a small pup with golden eyes like Jing Yuan’s and a fiery spirit, even when he was so small. Jing Yuan had never considered himself maternal, however having a pup to take care of brought out latent instincts he’d spent the better part of his life pretending didn’t exist. As Yanqing aged, however, he was less receptive to such affections and connections. After presenting (far too young, poor thing, traumatized body), Yanqing wouldn’t share a nest with Jing Yuan unless he fell ill. Even then, Jing Yuan would have to coax him into it.

It quenched something in him. It allowed Jing Yuan to let himself care in the direct way he craved. With his position as General, how often does get to show care with his hands, and not with his words or stratagems? Not with sacrifice or poetry, but with his body and scent. 

Jing Yuan realizes now that there truly have been so many urges and behaviors Jing Yuan simply did not indulge.

And as his heat breaks, Jing Yuan thinks he’d like to start indulging them more.

...

On the last day of his heat, you stir around nightfall. You are exhausted, Jing Yuan knows this. Though his heat has provided him with a surprising amount of stamina, you are in standard condition, and looked wrung out halfway through day two of his heat. Jing Yuan’s grateful you’re as fond of midday naps as he is. 

You are cradled against his chest, your cheek pillows on his breast. He’d thrown a robe on while washing up, and hadn’t elected to remove it. The silky texture of it feels lovely against his flushed, sensitive skin. You seem to enjoy it too as you grip at the fabric of it in your sleep, nuzzling into his chest.

Your brow scrunches and a little sound pops from your throat as you try to burrow closer. It’s a hopelessly sweet gesture, desperate and honest. Jing Yuan can’t help but chuckle and smooth a hand over your mussed-up hair.

When your eyes crack open, your voice is raw, “‘S morning?”

“No, nighttime.” Jing Yuan nods to the darkened window.

You raise yourself up just enough to look, hum, and then fall back on top of him, “Feels like it should be morning.”

“We haven’t been keeping a very consistent sleeping schedule,” Jing Yuan rarely does, but he imagines that you and your position with the Sky Faring Commission have quite a regular routine. “You can keep resting.”

“I don’t wanna’,” Though, you shove your nuzzle into his chest, smearing him with your scent. “I wanna stay up and talk to you.”

“Me?” Jing Yuan smiles, smitten. He pinches your cheek. “About anything in particular?”

“... Not yet.” Your eyes slip closed. “Maybe later. I want to say things to you, but I feel... mushy. Inside my head.”

“Pheromone drunk?”

“‘Something like that,” Your words slur. “Not that I’m complaining. You smell so good, Jing Yuan.”

When you say his name, he shudders. The hand that’s been playing with your hand slips to your nape and squeezes. You keen at the contact and tangle your legs with his. It’s an impossible amount of closeness you are seeking, but Jing Yuan must attempt to give it to you. It’s abashed and honest, and in the stillness of night, how can he not indulge?

“Do I?”

“ Mhm.”

“Like what?” 

You’re falling asleep, clearly. You’re struggling to keep your eyes open even as you inhale deeply. Your lips part and you take his scent into your mouth. 

“Earth after rain,” You hum. “Sunbeam and linen. Warm milk.”

He squeezes you.

(A long time ago, Yingxing had complained about his scent. ‘Complained’. His face had been flushed crimson, telling him how distracting his sweet, rich scent had been. Dan Feng thought it was the funniest thing, considering Yingxing so clearly enjoyed Jing Yuan’s scent, as did he. They’d described it similarly— “petrichor” Dan Feng had told Jing Yuan while sweeping his mane back from his neck— “the smell of sunshine” Yingxing had told Jing Yuan after berating him.)

“How complementary.” Jing Yuan purrs and pulls you closer by the waist. Your face is smushed against his chest, but you don’t complain. You keep your lips parted to enjoy his scent. “And you like it?”

“So much,” You assure him, droopy-eyed. 

So good for him, so so good.

Jing Yuan presses the tip of his finger to your lips, a bit chapped from the dehydration and exertion. You chirp with it, a bit more awake.

He hushes you, and pushes his finger further into his mouth, “Sleep now, dear. You need to rest.”

“‘So do ya’,” You try to say, though it comes out garbled as Jing Yuan lays his finger on the flat of your tongue. Your eyes widen and go a bit crossed to look at his wrist, then up to his eyes. 

Jing Yuan isn’t entirely sure what compels him, but something does. Gently, he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. He idles there, and pets down your side.

“I’ll sleep soon, I’m sure you know.” Jing Yuan says softly. “Will you indulge me?”

(He asks to be selfish.)

Without hesitating, you nod.

(And you let him.)

Jing Yuan doesn’t explain himself. He doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s the specific sweetness his scent must take on, or the night air in contrast to the warmth and comfort of his nest, but you understand what he wants and give it to him without so much as a word.

Your lips open a little wider and Jing Yuan slips another finger inside. You stroke your tongue on his fingers as you close your mouth, eyes going dazed and heavy-lidded. You take a deep breath, inhaling his scent into the deepest parts of your lungs. You suck on his fingers gently. 

Jing Yuan watches with still, even breaths.

Later, he will analyze why this scratches so many itches in his brain. Why his post-heat mind feels more calm and sated than he thought possible. Why he wants more of this, always, even if he doesn’t have a name for it yet.

For now, he is so, so content to have you this way. You are lulled back to sleep so easily, sucking on his fingers with your cheek still smushed against his breast. Even as you sleep, Jing Yuan doesn’t remove his fingers. He explores the inside of your mouth with gentle, easy pressure, so as to not wake you. It’s exploratory, more than anything. 

He plays with you in such a way until he’s too drowsy to continue. Satisfied and warm, he drags you under the covers and holds you close, scenting you one last time before letting himself fall into a contented, new kind of sleep.

...

You depart suddenly, while Jing Yuan is in the kitchen deftly chopping fruits and assembling little parfaits. 

You had been in his bathroom, freshening up with whatever products you’d like from his stash. Jing Yuan had left you your own robe for when you exited, quietly beaming that he’d have yet another article with your scent on it.

However, when you do leave the bathroom, you are fully dressed in the day clothes you arrived in a week ago. You stand at the doorway of his kitchen, pausing, wide-eyed.

“I n-need to go,” Your voice wavers, like you’re going to be ill.

Something squeezes in between Jing Yuan’s ribs. There are thin, transparent patches on your neck on either side. Scent blockers. Your eyes look watery. Jing Yuan immediately sets down the knife he had been working with.

“Is everything alright?” asks Jing Yuan. He knows something is wrong, even if he can’t smell you, you’re clearly distressed and disheveled.

“It’s— it’s nothing. It’ll be okay.” You tell him. Your voice trembles and you shake your head. 

“Are you sure? I can help.”

“It’s— it’s really nothing. I need to leave. I-I’m really sorry.”

You look from him to the foyer that leads to his front door and back again. There’s a desperate look in your eye that Jing Yuan has never seen with such an intensity before. It makes his heart ache and his hands feel clammy. He sighs.

(And a quiet, ever-present voice in his mind says, “they all leave, eventually.”)

“Alright.” Jing Yuan gives you a smile, the best he can muster. He knows it must be sadder than intended, as your expression falls and you look like you’ve been punched. 

“I’m so s-sorry.”

“It’s alright,” It isn’t. Not fully. “Handle whatever it is that you must. I’m only a call away. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to contact me.”

“Okay.” You take a shaking breath and shudder out the exhale. You’re trying not to cry and it takes everything in Jing Yuan’s being not to rush to you and attempt to mend whatever is causing you distress but—

(He can’t. He can’t do that. You have asked him to leave you be and Jing Yuan has spent his entire life honing his ability not to chase, even when he so, so badly wishes to.)

You give him one final, fleeting look, “Thank you. I— I’ll see you at our next lunch, okay? I’m sorry.”

It looks like there’s more you want to say, but you’re already out the door before you can. Jing Yuan hears it open and shut with a soft thud that vibrates throughout his home. It leaves Jing Yuan standing alone in his kitchen, frozen, while the robe he wears slips down his shoulders. He bears your marks, and reeks of your scent. His nest grows colder each minute. And though his heat has ended, the yearning for you has not.

If anything, the feeling is far stronger than it was before.

He latches onto the fact you will have your lunches. That— he will find some clarity then. That he can inspect you for damage during the next sunshine-filled meal you share, and prod to see if the last week and half did not carry the same type of... meaning for you, as it did Jing Yuan. He will need to make sure you’re well. He’ll fret until then, he knows this.

(A more dormant, possessive part of him wishes he snatched you back from his foyer and threw you back into his nest. If something was wrong, he could. If something needed fixing, he could help. If it were anything official for your work, Jing Yuan would pull any and all strings to get you out of the obligation. If you were hurt, Jing Yuan would do anything to see you better.)

Instead, Jing Yuan idles in his kitchen, feeling struck and helpless. Something in him aches, deep and low, and Jing Yuan lays a hand over his chest and squeezes it into a fist. He had thought he had become used to this type of loneliness, but it aches all the same.

Stuck!

fireman! wriothesley and fireman! diluc x fem reader

your poor rabbit gets stuck and the men who rescued her get quite the thank you in exchange, inspired by this fanart that made me spiral

warnings: fem reader, threesome!, readers hair is described (pushed back behind ear, etc), double penetration, full nelson, spit, praise, heavy implication of subspace, squirting, double creampie, soft aftercare, self indulgent surprise at the end hehe :3c, not beta’d or edited

you don’t quite understand how you ended up in such a position, but you can’t say you’re complaining, especially not when you feel so full and drool is falling from your babbling lips.

only a mere couple of hours ago, your sweet bunny rabbit had gotten a little too excited while playing in your small backyard. a wire fence lined the area and you regularly took your pet out to get some fresh air and stretch her little legs. she tan and hopped as bunnies do, only when you weren’t looking for only a moment, she caught herself in the fence.

you bawled, trying to get her out to no avail and shakily calling the fire department for help. you received a small silence on their end when you told them your dilemma, but nevertheless the operator had promised to send out a few people to help free your pet. they rescue cats from trees, surely they can rescue a rabbit from a wire fence.

you weren’t even paying attention when the truck arrived at your house, only trying to calm your pet with gentle strokes to her face as she trembled. when suddenly, you heard a deep voice call out,

“miss? are you the one who called?” you blink up at the voice, your mouth going dry at the sight of not one, but two tall and incredibly handsome men staring down at you with calm expressions. they didn’t look bored or angry, the taller one with infuriatingly perfect messy black hair wore a friendly smile while the other - a redhead with his hair in a ponytail, stepped forward and knelt by your rabbit with genuine concern.

you nod, shuffling backwards in the grass, dirt staining your knees as they assess the situation, your rabbit flinches and when you sniffle, the one with darker hair pats you on the shoulder. you meet his icy blue gaze and your breath hitches when his smile widens.

“don’t worry, we’ll make sure she gets out without a scratch”

and that she did, now your little rabbit slumbering in her cage with no problems, the two men incredibly gentle and prescise with how they cut the wire fence and freed your pet.

as thanks, you invited them in for lemonade and cookies. and you were just so incredibly cute and sweet to the firefighters - who introduced themselves as Wriothesley and Diluc, watched you with rapt attention as you shuffled around your tiny kitchen in your little sundress. your smile is bright, kind, as you thanked them for coming out for something as small as saving your pet.

Wriothesley laughs softly as he bites into his cookie, the plate almost comically small in his large hand that was littered with scars,

“it’s no problem, it’s our job to help out wherever we can. this,” he holds up the cookie in his fingers, icy gaze flashing up and down your figure, “is a definite perk though.”

Diluc sets his glass of lemonade down, legs spread on your couch as he sits back with his arms crossed over his chest. his deep red eyes feel like a fire under your skin, though his gaze feels more on the sharper side, like a bird of prey, when compared to Wriothesley’s wolfish one.

“however we wouldn’t want to take advantage of your kindness, miss.”

your heart hammers, and something deep within your belly flutters hard.

“it’s not trouble at all, i just wish i could thank you more, somehow. my rabbit really is my little best friend” you laugh softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

a kiss from one man turns into two more from the other, your dainty hands sliding into the ruby locks while a broad hand slides across your tits, groping you over the fabric. you gasp into Diluc’s mouth as Wriothesley chuckles against your shoulder, yanking down the collar of your dress to flick your bare nipple. you arch, breaking the kiss with a gasp when Diluc nips your jaw.

“you’re so pretty sweetheart, and so sweet. that lemonade was perfect, right Diluc?” Wriothesley croons, hands now cupping under your tits to push together and squeeze. he wobbles them with a hum and leans over to lap at them with a broad tongue.

“very sweet, i agree.” Diluc murmurs against your neck, hot breath fanning across your skin that pebbles with goosebumps. his touch is searing, while Wriothesley’s hands hold a certain coolness to them, bringing your nipples to their peak and making them sensitive to each lick of his tongue.

“please, i…i n-need…” you squeak when Wriothesley pinches your nipple. Diluc leans back from you, removing his suspenders from his shoulders to slip his tight black shirt over his head. the muscle and scars of his torso that he reveals makes your clit pulse, and before you can simper he’s cupping your face and diving in for another kiss.

your mind has become so foggy at every salacious grope of your body between the two gentlemen, that you can only pant and watch as Wriothesley moves your cotton panties to the side while Diluc keeps your legs open. he cups his hands under your knees and squeezes as you wiggle in his lap, feeling his incredibly hard erection pressed against your back. Wriothesley swipes a thumb across your clit and you gasp, feeling Diluc’s sloppy kisses against the shell of your ear and side of your neck. Wriothesley’s fingers are thick and rough, and he touches you fervently, circling your pussy and dragging its tacky, creamy wetness down to your tighter hole. he leans forward and spits there, a long line of drool falling onto your hole and he spreads it around with a lascivious smile on his perfect lips,

“you wanna take both of us, angel?”

Wriothesley’s strength is mind boggling, but currently you can’t find yourself able to comment on it, only your head falls back against his broad shoulder while his biceps bulge as he holds you folded up in his arms. a full nelson, it’s called. your legs pitifully dangle over his elbows as your sweet sundress stays bunched in your middle, tits wobbling and tears bursting behind your pretty eyes. his cock was difficult to take, wickedly thick, the tip in your slicked asshole alone had your toes curling so hard they cramped. 

you squeal when he jostles you in his hold, keeping you folded up tight against his impossibly broad chest while your mouth waters at the sight of Diluc approaching you with his own thick cock in hand. he pumps it in his grasp, prominent knuckles wrapped around the fat shaft to press against your sodden pussy. you jerk with a cry, and Diluc shushes you softly, a thumb running along your drooling bottom lip to soothe you.

“ready?” Wriothesley grunts, his hands flex where he keeps your pinned to him.

“uh-huh!” you cry, nodding dumbly, eyes squeezing shut as Diluc pushes in. you yelp, thighs shaking as he enters you with a shuddering gasp, his hips move back out and your mind melts at the sight of your slick clinging to his shaft, gossamer strings of arousal stuck to his pubic hair. he moves in you again, just as Wriothesley begins to bounce you on his own cock.

you’re so full, their hips moving in tandem while you can only take it, the pleasure sticking to you like syrup smothered on pancakes. you’re floating as Wriothesley plunges himself deeper into your asshole, and Diluc holds onto your calves as leverage to fuck himself into your oozing pussy. your walls contract around them both, the trio of you moaning almost in unison. they want to hear you though, Wriothesley biting down onto your shoulder while you keen, he watches Diluc’s lip catch between his teeth at the sight of your pussy spread for him, clit throbbing and swollen for him to draw hearts on with his thumb.

“im! i cant!” you cry, delirium on your tongue at the coil in your belly that winds tight. you’re going to cum, and it’s going to be hard, you shake violently against Wriothesley, his cock carving up into your ass and bringing bliss that sends electricity into your bones.

“it’s alright, darling, you can let go.” Diluc calls, your ears are stuffy, you can barely hear him.

“make a mess for us sweetheart, we’ve got you.” Wriothesley promises you from behind, nosing at your neck. you’re so slippery with sweat and slick, you’re sure Wriothesley is hanging onto you by sheer willpower, hips snapping and fat balls swinging as Diluc does the very same in front of your unfocused eyes.

you curse, cumming so hard you think you’re passing out, it’s accompanied with the filthy sight of you squirting, liquid sprays and you wail, Wriothesley laughs softly, balls tightening and his peak reaching its height.

“fuck, gorgeous, so good.” he grunts, pressing his face into your shoulder as his rhythm falters.

“good girl….” Diluc rasps, sweaty strands of ruby hair falling across his face and stuck his shoulders, he licks his bottom lip and pushes into you at the hilt over and over while you wet his lower abdomen.

“inside!” you gasp, craning your neck weakly,

“want it all inside!”

the two men look at each other, knowing exactly what you mean. Diluc curses hoarsely and Wriothesley’s hands squeeze your already boneless body.

“as you wish, sweetheart.”

you cum again, when they both push in at the same time. Diluc groans, his voice ruddy with smoldering greed just as Wriothesley’s cock reaches inside you until he growls shakily against the sticky wet of your dewy skin. the sensation of hot, thick warmth that floods you along with their thick cocks stuffing you to the hilt only has you surrendering to white hot pleasure, you weep at your second orgasm, so overwhelmed that you swear your soul leaves your body and you can only watch as the two men fuck you full and their seed drips onto an already soaked floor beneath you.

you end up in your bed, while warm and wet towels are reverently wiped across your body, all you hear is praise, and the feel of endless delicate touches to your worn out figure. you think you fall asleep at some point - only feeling a pair of lips kiss your forehead and another pair kissing your cheek, you sleep dreamlessly, deeply and comfortably, and someone pulls your sheets up to your chin.

when you wake, Diluc and Wriothesley are still there, they both offer you a smile each in their own respective ways. Diluc leans forward and brushes your hair from your forehead while Wriothesley chuckles and hands you a glass of water. you sit up a little shakily still, and the black and grey haired man sits behind you as a pillar of comfort.

“you didn’t leave?” you ask softly, your heart thrumming like a little rabbit.

“oh no way sweetheart, we would never.” Wriothesley promises, kissing your temple as you lay against him. Diluc leans forward to kiss your lips and smiles softly when you grin. his hand falls onto your knee under the blanket to give you a reassuring squeeze.

“we do have to go to work soon though.” Diluc says, his eyes holding an apologetic glimmer to them. the two men have tasted heaven, and the last thing they want is to leave it.

you agree with a cute pout, deciding to invite them to dinner and they kiss both sides of your face as a promise to see you later. and when the two men show up that evening with flowers and a bottle of wine in hand - along with a third person, soft aquamarine eyes and silver hair, his expression cool but curious -

you know that it’ll be a feast for all. 

♡reblogs and feedback appreciated!

dividers by Remi @/cafekitsune!

So, people seem to love werewolf Wriothesley and yet nobody has made him a werewolf? The two-meters-tall-monster kinda werewolf? The long-snout-and-sharp-fangs kinda werewolf? The actual kinda werewolf? With furry body, yellow eyes, dripping saliva and smelling of a wild dog?

That's very disappointing...

TOO CLOSE TO THE SUN

wriothesley x sub!fem!reader. nsfw content. 1 degrading name [whore]. rough sex at first. unprotected p -> v. r uses the safe word. fluff. mean wrio but den he's really nicey. petnames [baby/baby girl, honey, pretty baby].

"wrio— ! wrio PLEASE !" you cried out. not in pleasure, but in pain. none of it felt good anymore. your whole body hurt. your throat hurt from your cries, your cheek hurt from being pressed into the pillow, wriothesley's hand holding it down. and your back hurt from the way it was arched, with your bum in the air. his cock felt like it was tearing you in half. barely getting any prep of foreplay before this all started.

"hmm, how come ? can the baby not take it anymore ?" his voice was mocking, lips right next to your ear. so close you could feel his breath brushing against your earlobe. "you were begging for daddy earlier."

that wasn't necessarily a lie. you were the one who had brought up the idea of wriothesley being rougher than he usually was. having seen in a few video clips you had watched to entertain yourself while wriothesley was in his office. it seemed so enjoyable when you were watching it. but you were learning now that you were far too sensitive to actually experience it.

"you were begging for it. begging for daddy's cock like a stupid little whore" his words hurt more than his actions. striking you straight in the heart, feeling like you were being stabbed with something sharp.

"i-i can't ! i can't take no more !" fat tears ran down your face, staining your cheeks and dripping off your chin. "red !! red, wrio red !!"

the second you cried out the safe word, wriothesley's movements and words stopped. taking not even a second before pulling out. the sudden emptiness was welcome, like you could finally breathe again.

it was like a switch flipped in wriothesley, which suddenly reminded you that none of what he was doing was with the intention to hurt you. you felt bad for a moment, for using your safe word. but the sweet and worried look in wriothesley's eyes as he helped you to your back, and cupped your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with rough thumbs made it melt away. he wasn't upset that you used it.

"oh baby. my baby, what happened ? are you okay ?" he asked, his voice dripping with worry and concern for you. "are you hurt ? tell me what happened, baby girl"

you chewed on your lip, eyes gazed down towards the silky sheets you were wringing in your hands. "i just... didn't like it like i thought i would" you mumbled.

"oh babbbyyy" he cooed, reaching out and scooping you up in his arms. "my sweet little baby. i'm so sorry"

you shook your head, instinctually curling up against him as he held you. "no, it wasn't you" you said, voice quiet and eyes heavy, exhaustion finally catching up to you. "i just didn't like it. seemed better than it actually was is all…"

wriothesley peppered kisses all over your cheeks and forehead, "i'm so proud of you baby" he whispered against the sweaty skin of your temple.

you looked up at him, brows creased in confusion and curiosity "proud of me ?" you asked

he nodded, smiling down at you with such sincerity it made your heart flutter. "of course i am baby, usin' your safe word ? that's huge, honey." he slid you off of his lap, getting off the bed and pulling his underwear back on. brushing the hair from your face, he leaned down and kissed the top of your head. "i'll go draw you a bath, okay baby girl ? nice and warm, with those lavender bubbles you like. does that sound good pretty baby ?"

you rose off the bed, holding yourself on your knees. you reached out to him, fingertips grazing against the muscles of his chest, before falling back onto your lap. "actually... can we just cuddle" you asked him.

wriothesley smiled, crawling back onto the bed and pulling you close to him once more, head resting on his chest. "of course baby. whatever you want. you're my little princess after all"

you grinned at his statement. he certainly made you feel like a princess. "you haven't told me about your day yet" you said

"baby i don't wanna think about work." he responded with a light scoff, before tilting his head to give you yet another soft kiss "you're the only thing i want to pay attention to right now"

And las one for MEDICINE everyday therapy!

-> https://bit.ly/2XDPSzJ

So it’s some kind of weird cult where they wear vegetable costumes and dance around a big thing. They seem nice enough.

Over the Garden Wall (2014) 🍁🎃🍂

I believe in service top Childe supremacy. Subby top Childe who will hold still for you and listen to every one of your commands. He's all yours for the taking, all yours to use and mold into whatever you see fit.

You have a cock? Train him and he will spend hours warming it in his mouth for you, squeezing it with his wet tight throat, so dutiful he won't let you go even after he starts dozing off under the table.

You have a pussy? Then lay him on the bed after a stressful day and he'll be absolutely, utterly overjoyed to let you get comfortable on his face and forget all the worries plaguing your mind.

He's inexperienced, but he's also a quick learner and his tongue and throat will become skillful just for you in no time.

Ride him, choke him, make him beg for you to touch his cock, make him cry and whimper with every orgasm stretched further and further, make him forget all of his titles. Bestow a new one upon him, the one he will wear just as pridefully – the title of your own personal slut.

Alright, but when I tell you I want Zhongli to loose control during intercourse, I mean it more than just 'horns, scales, and a tail showing'.

No. I want a full dragon.

I want sharp talons to dig into the tender meat, one careless scratch away from drawing blood; I want saber-like fangs, smooth, mother-of-pearl white, and shining with saliva, to reflect moonlight when he growls and scowls; I want his great seprent body to be so strong – strong enough to crash bones and strangle an unfortunate soul in its embrace, – yet warm and careful, the dark scales glistening like opals.

His eyes? Two lakes of molten gold, two pieces of amber and you're naught but a moth that got stuck in there, a little mouse caught in the eyesight of a hawk.

That's what I want and that's what I expect when I see a 'dragon!Zhongli' warning, thank you very much.

･✻･ What sharing a bed with them is like ･✻･

• ══─━━── ⫷⫸ ──══─━━ •

I've decided to break my silence and finally share my opinions on Zhongli and Childe as your partners because I love them a healthy amount. It's pretty vanilla and romantic, but still NSFW, so be mindful.

These are simply my headcanons and thoughts based on my view on the characters. Hope you enjoy!

P.S. please, note that English is not my native language, so perhaps some phrases may sound unusual. If there are any grammatical/syntactic/spelling mistakes, you may let me know, I'd really appreciate that!

CW: AFAB reader, soft dom!Zhongli (praising and pet names), switch!Tartaglia (inexperienced partner)

• ══─━━── ⫷⫸ ──══─━━ •

Now, we all know that ultimately Zhongli and Childe are two very different men.

One will become your personal island of peace and serenity, his calming presence grounding you, his strong arms never letting you fall and his gentle gaze being your guiding light in the darkness.

Whilst the other is a fierce wildfire only you can tame. And instead of biting, burning your flesh and spitting sparkles in your eyes, it warms your hands, it pumps your blood and crackles comfortably within your chest.

But no matter how different these men are, there is one thing that unites them and makes them oh so similar in their love – they have a soft spot for you.

• ══─━━── ⫷⫸ ──══─━━ •

Zhongli is your wall of stone raised to guard and protect you, but never to keep you in, should you decide to leave. You won't, though. This feeling of being watched so carefully and tenderly is your comfort and you know that this wall of his is warm, stones caressed by the sun. Why would you even want to escape?

Zhongli is soft with you, his every touch a measured tenderness on the border with animalistic fervor and lust. Even in bed he will guide you, will lead you – will hide you among the sheets of silk, behind closed doors and heavy curtains. He's not possesive by nature, this wise gentle dragon, and he doesn't fall into the pit of jealousy quite as easily as humans do. Yet he is a genteel man, a quiet lover that would fight for your honour and shield your dignity. You are his and nobody else's for as long as he is yours.

Zhongli is a dominant one, his every word a soft spoken command you wouldn't dare to disobey, you wouldn't even think to do so, you wouldn't want it in the first place. The way he treasures you, the way he talks to you, the way he touches you, looks at you, smiles at you, even the very way he breathes when you gaze at him from under your trembling lashes – everything is to ensure that you feel safe and sound in his arms, that you are ready for him, need him, want him, that you are ready to serve him. So don't let him down now.

Zhongli is always oh so generous. His voice is a river of sweet, sweet honey, praises dripping from his lips like ambrosia, and you drink it up, lap at it, lick it away from his mouth, feeling it in your belly warming your insides, the very core of your being.

"Good girl", when you drop to your knees, your breath leaving your lungs at the sight of the God you're ready to worship.

"You're doing so well, my darling", when you take him to the base, his cock a heavy pulsing heat burning you from the inside, every thrust sending starts dancing in the darkness before your eyes, every low growl making you wetter and wetter. Just for him, only for him, now and forever.

"Ah, my love, my pearl, my precious little priest, I'm so proud of you", when you whisper his name to the skies above in hopes it will reach the Gods of Celestia herself and make them turn their heads away in shame. Only Zhongli will make you feel this good, only he can make you feel this good, Morax, The Lord of Stone, the God of your heart, the Dragon of your soul.

Zhongli is here to take care of you, always.

• ══─━━── ⫷⫸ ──══─━━ •

Childe, oh sweet Childe. He never ceases to amaze you. You know his heart is loyal to the Tsaritsa, not you, just like his hands are loyal to his blades and not lovers, yet when it comes to you he's the softest he can be. This form of tenderness only a wild fierce beast can muster. He's very careful at first, almost timidly so, his touch a lingering warmth on your skin, his deep dark eyes watching every movement, every change on your face, catching the very breath leaving your chest in steady calm streams, his fingers caressing you down there so lightly it almost feels like a wind's touch, his lips pink and boyishly plump, unused to kisses and bites. You smile and reach out your welcoming arms towards him.

Childe is inexperienced and this fear that he may hurt you sticks to his face, hiding in the crease between his eyebrows, in the trembling corners of his lips, in the warm air that slips between you two in places where Childe is too afraid to touch you. He wants to please you, wants to make love to you so intensely, so passionately, wants to mark you as his even if you will never truly belong to him, wants to hide your heart in his big rough hands and steal your breath away. But he cannot do that, not yet.

Childe respects you. No matter how many times you fall in bed together, how long you look each other in the eyes and how often you share the secret words of love, you will always remain a person he values as a friend as much as a lover. You're his comrade, almost his family, and he will never disrespect you. Neither with his hands, nor with his words. As young and unskilled in love and sex as Childe is, he is ready to learn and accept your wants, your desires, your needs, he's ready to obey your rules and be a good boy for you, ready to serve and worship you – but he will never be ready to use a dirty word to address you, will never be ready to land a hand on you. You are way too precious for him, a stolen sun shining for a murderer with blood on his hands.

Sometimes Childe doesn't know what he wants, but with your careful guidance and gentle coaxing, he'll understand eventually. He wants to trust you, wants to put himself into your loving hands, and let you know better. Strip him of his control, tie him up and chain him down, love him in the way he deserves – in the way nobody loved him before, make him forget about names other than your own, about colors other than the color of your eyes, about sounds other than the sound of his own broken voice. Take care of him so thoroughly it leaves him falling into pieces. Take him apart and then put him back together again.

Childe is here to be better for you, always.

• ══─━━── ⫷⫸ ──══─━━ •

you're still streaming!

about how streamer childe forgot to shut down his cam before enjoying his time with you... on a pretty naughty way

warnings: kinda smut (?), all the viewers of Childe's channel are +18, exhibitionism, dirty talk (?), praising, filming (?), idk i just got this idea while in heat i'm sorry, the streaming platform works how i want it to work don't blame my little pc knowledge pls, we imagine childe's community is super safe an everything gets deleted and no one saves clips most savage ones just jerk off, some uses of pretty princess.

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ ---- ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪɴᴇ

"And thanks to WhitedHaired for those subs!" Childe's hands are still quick on the controller as you keep observing him from behind. Your shared bed is a strategical point to be on, since his tall silhouette and the big chair he got last month cover you sitting on your bed side. You're reading a book, his grateful words and the way he talks with the chat constantly making you smile and give a look to your boyfriend.

Childe decided to try luck on that world after being a huge fan of the biggest streamer of all Liyue for months. He was even able to make a gameplay with Zhongli, even when his calm energy doesn't match your boyfriend's chaotic one. He got a lot of subs quickly, and he had a lot of good welcoming and love, so you're happy as well!

You've played some games with him without showing your face, because you don't really like all those comments of "look how he kisses her while playing, because she's so bad she need reassurance" and some others. Even when most of your boyfriend's supporters are nice people, there's a huge amount of them who want him all for themselves. And it shows today, when he asks you a question and you answer from behind him, making the wave of negative comments grow out of nowhere.

Usually, Childe has a couple moderators on his chat to avoid this type of things, but today he gave them a free day, saying that today's gameplay was age restricted because of the violent videogame content, and he really thought adult viewers would be pretty respectful, but he was wrong.

"You all better shut up or else you'll obligate me to ban each one of you individually."

The chat stayed quiet for a long while, and you knew Childe disabled the alarms to avoid you hearing all those shitty stuff while he bans some viewers, keeping the good chat and the jokes with the others. There's just ten minutes of stream left.

Faster than you thought, Childe is saying goodbye to them all. "Thanks for today's streaming, hope you guys had fun! I'll see you all tomorrow at 17:00 as usual!" Childe makes the next steps on an automatic way: closes the streaming window and, without even looking at the monitor twice, takes his headphones away and shuts off the monitor, already looking at you.

"I'm sorry for all that, baby. I tried my best to ban all of them." he walks lazily towards the bed. He doesn't know all his followers, the ones that stayed on the stream even knowing he shut down the laptop, are getting a free face reveal of the cute partner of their favorite streamer. Once he arrives, he kisses you in the most sweet way, both hands cupping your cheeks as his large body kneels on the bed, demanding more.

Some of the viewers try to warn him and most of them leave the stream, confused, but knowing he forgot to shut down everything and that they aren't invited to see that.

Even when Xiao, his friend, reminded him that every single modification you do during stream - as silence alerts, as he did.- needs a double confirmation. If you forgot to do that confirmation mid-show, the program will, of course, ask you to save the changes before closing it. The pop-up reminding Childe to save the configuration about the alarms is popping on his laptop. By shutting down just the monitor, he didn't shut the entire PC, so the webcam, with an imperceptible white light, keeps streaming the images behind his desk and directly to his bed. Even when the chair is sometimes covering both of you, the way he pushes your body against the bed is clearly seen by the couple viewers that are still inside. His mouth leaves a trail of kisses from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck and clavicle while he lifts your t-shirt enough to kiss your ribs.

"Didn't you had to watch Xiao's stream...?" you ask in low tone as your hands run through his hair, capturing orange locks as his head reaches your belly button.

"Mmh." it's the only thing that escapes his mouth before his long and delicate fingers reach your pants' waist, little by little taking them away while he licks his lips, impatient for the meal under them. Your legs shake by themselves and you can't help but put his head closer. You want him to undress you now.

"Wow, wow, so impatient." he teases, a little smile on his lips as his tongue plays with the fabric of your panties, soft black lace directly on his mouth. "I bet you can't even articulate a word now." His lips are now against the fabric, pressing a kiss as you cover your mouth with your hands. Even when you're used to this, it's true that Childe knocks you out every time he does it, every time he plays with your anticipation, tensing and loosening your pleasure as if it was a band. Making you reach the higher points still dressed to give you the hardest of endings against his bare tongue. "You thought I wouldn't notice, right?" he says, jokingly, as he takes air and passes his tongue again, hands sneaking up to take yours away from your mouth, as his fingers search yours, tangling them on your stomach, not letting you cover your moans again. "That I wouldn't notice how needy you were. You looked at that clock as if you were threatening him to pass hours faster." he murmurs as now his teeth give soft bites on your inner thighs, letting you rest from all the direct stimulation, making your skin shiver in pleasure. "You even went to the bathroom, I wonder why? It was too little time to masturbate, darling. I wondered what you were doing until I noticed something. You phone was with you." His lips are again against your panties, now soaked, as he goes with his little theatre play. "And, then, I remembered how much my pretty princess likes to take pics for me!" your cheeks are red. Totally red. He knows you too well. You did went to take some pics. You could tease him while streaming, just a little revenge on every single picture or video he sent you while you were working. But you decided to keep your composure and wait until he was done. "I would ask you to see them, but, we can save them for another necessity moment..." he takes your panties away with his teeth, sliding so sweetly down your legs. Once he has them out, hanging from his teeth, he gets closer to your mouth again, crawling on the bed, letting the panties fall to a side before putting his face close to yours. "... and you could show me live what you have under all those clothes, hm?"

Behind the screen, some of the spectators left - not a lot. - felt as if they were watching the best romantic film out there. Between all of them, Xiao's emoji popped. With a sigh and a cringing sound, he leaves as fast as he entered.

With Childe opening your legs and sliding his fingers down your stomach, free hand unbuckling his belt on the most hot way possible, his phone rings. He was about to ignore it, but you passed it to him.

"It's Xiao, maybe it's important." He growled as he sat in bed, doing you the same, covering your exposed body with the nearest blanket.

"What do you want?" he asked Xiao, a little anger on his voice. He was about to have probably the best sex session of the week with his gorgeous girlfriend.

"To tell you to please turn down your onlyfans stream."

The room gets silent. You're freezing and Childe doesn't know even how to act. Xiao hangs with a sigh.

Childe get's up running, making sure your body is still covered as he puts his belt back on, turning on the monitor. There, the goddam message to save the configurations makes the stream keep going, even when just some people is still in it. Childe sits in front of the computer again and takes his headphones. He takes air.

"I'm sorry for what just happened. It wasn't intentional and I'm really sorry this happened." his tone turns now a little more dark. "But, if I see a single clip, a single picture, a single meme about her... then be sure I won't be sorry for my actions."

Just imagine...

...getting fucked by all your favourite men, one by one. They take their time with you, savouring the pleasure of your tight heat and your quiet whimpers – and the fact that you cannot see them.

Blindfolded, tied up, absolutely helpless you can do nothing but throw yourself at their mercy as they take and take and take. However, there is a catch. Of course, there is a catch.

Little one, can you tell which one is which? Can you name him when he enters you? When you cannot see him, cannot hear his voice, cannot feel the touch of his skin, of his breath, of his hair, of his anything – but his dick inside of you?

You have to tell though. Utter a name between sobs and hiccups. Are you trying your luck? Or do you actually know it? 

If your guess is correct, you get a reward. If your guess is correct, he will kiss you. Take care of you. Whisper in your ear how proud he is of you. Oh, what a good girl you are for him. If your guess is correct, you will have the permission to come with him.

But If your guess (how unfortunately, how truly unluckily for poor little you) is wrong... well then. Good luck coming on the next dick, sweetheart.

(Oh, but trust me, in the end they will fuck you so good, so thoroughly and so great, gods, they will fuck you so much, you will be able to tell them apart just by the tip of their cocks. They will make sure of that).