Yun-Yun

Yuuna | Artist | He/They | 16

[riricatria]

Hello, hello~

"Freaky Shit They Do" as in... Freaky shit they do. Essentially, smut with very little plot for all of the yandere men. Literally all the men I write for. I just really wanted to write smut ok 😭😭😭 Anyway, come get your food y'all ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)

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☆ Some of these have some plot, and some go straight into action; there's some variation between each part. The content warnings are difficult to mark here individually, so I'll instead mark them under each name in the post. There are, however, certain reoccurring themes which appear in all or most of the parts, so I'll list those here!

Characters include: EVERY SINGLE ONE; Anaxa, Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dan Heng, Gallagher, Gepard, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Moze, Mydei, Phainon, Dr. Ratio, Mr. Reca, Sampo, Sunday (Pre-AE), Sunday (AE) and Welt General content warnings include: SMUT, NONCON, cisfem!Reader (all parts), general yandere themes (possessiveness, obsessiveness, manipulation...), coercion, more kinks than you can list, various types of bindings, and (bringing my favourite tag back) this is 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 𝓪𝓼 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴. ⋆ Around 20,1k words, which means around 1,0k for each man. Minors, do not interact.

˗ˏˋ ★ Anaxa

☆ Content warnings include: A fucking machine, bondage, overstimulation, and he's really mean in this one.

You detest him. Most of the time, you’re mostly a bit startled by his presence, if not outright scared of him — he has a certain, obnoxious kind of domineering aura to him that has your heart rate picking up — but right now, you can’t help but hate the man to his core. 

The device Anaxa has set out for you is utter torture. For the better part of the last hour, the phallic tip of the machine has been ramming right into your most sensitive spot without as much as a minute’s break. You’re certain that he angled the thing like that on purpose, too: He knows your body inside-out, he’s aware of every last erogenous zone of yours, down to the ones you yourself didn’t even know existed, and he has taken advantage of that fact wholly. 

Your knees chafe against the ground due to how you’re set. The man was merciful enough to provide you with a short stool to rest your chest against, but even then, the position can’t exactly be called a comfortable one. He didn’t grant you the luxury of supporting yourself with your arms, of course: Your hands are neatly connected to the collar locked around your neck.

You have long since lost the will to resist the unrelenting pleasure or trying to tune out the inplacable haze of overstimulation. The proof of your predicament lies between your legs in a clear puddle consisting of both your own essence and artificial one, which Anaxa now decides to add onto.

Yet again, he walks over to you from where he has been sitting and enjoying the show with a much-too-obvious bulge in his pants. As he passes your front, he makes sure to dangle a small bottle right in front of your nose, taunting you with a complacent grin on his face. You would snap at him, spit unimaginably vile insults at him, but unfortunately, he prepared for that exact scenario: You’re unable to get a single, coherent word out through the metallic, ring-shaped gag in your mouth. 

Disappearing from your field of view, Anaxa makes his way to your back where the device is thrusting into your entrance. Popping the container in his hand open, he tips it over your behind until yet another, generous glob of lube lands on the base of the machine’s tip. The liquid is immediately swallowed by your cunt with a nauseating, sloshing sound as the thing continues filling you up over and over again.

”Ahn-ash-a”, you try to call out for him, but with the gag, the task proves impossible.

”Oho, that’s most certainly the most unique variation I have heard of my name”, Anaxa walks back over to your front, sneering down at your tear-stained, flushed face. ”Though, I don’t recall giving you the permission to call me that.”

He doesn’t bother to even crouch down in front of you — a gesture like that would be far beneath someone like him. Instead, he settles for bending over a little to be able to grab your jaw. You let out a pitiful whine in response to the action, but it only serves to widen the smirk on his face. 

”Let us give an attempt to it together, then”, Anaxa says, tilting your chin so you’re looking him in the eye. ”A-nak-sa-go-ras. Anaxagoras.”

You hiss out an unintelligible string of profanities and pleas which the man answers with a shake of his head and a disapproving tut of his tongue. 

”That’s not quite it. What’s the matter?” he cocks his head to the side. ”Is it truly that daunting of a task for you?”

You’re only barely able to stomach the way Anaxa looks down at you without bursting into tears. His natural ability to provoke, to arouse commotion with a single glance is nothing short of unhinged. The person in front of you is the definition of vociferous, and with how skilled he is at picking you apart, you’re certain that sooner or later, you’re going to lose your mind for good. 

Anaxa lets go of your jaw, allowing your chin to fall to your chest. He then proceeds to circle you in slow, daunting steps like strolling around in an exhibit. It’s probably quite close to what you are to him, anyway; a piece of interest to poke and prod at for his own entertainment.

A sigh breaks past his lips as he leans to the side to be able to trail his fingers down the curve of your back. Unhurriedly, he makes his way to the machine behind you yet again. 

”I suppose you’re ready for another one”, he then speaks, kneeling down beside your lower half.

As soon as the words leave his mouth, you start flailing around to the best of your ability, hysterically yanking your hands against where they’re connected to your neck, but to no avail. Desperately craning your neck to see what’s going on behind you, you catch the way Anaxa rolls his eyes with an amused snort before he snakes his hand around your stomach. 

Reaching for what’s between your legs, he uses his index and ring finger to spread your labia apart before setting the middle digit on your clit. There, without a further warning, he begins rubbing the pearl in a rapid, precise motion. 

You shriek through your gag, doing your best to clamp your thighs shut and push his hand away, to get him off of you, but it does nothing to stop Anaxa from forcing yet another climax out of you. With methodical motions, he knows just where to press to get you to fall apart under his touch, and no matter how you try to fight the stimulation, you can’t loosen up the coil that’s building up in your abdomen. 

Within seconds, he has you coming on his hand with a shrill, tearful cry. The rush is sudden and intense, much like the previous ones he has pulled out of you, but even then, he doesn’t let you rest for the least bit. On the contrary, he wishes to prolong your suffering: He strokes your clit through the high, making sure you feel every last bit of the orgasm he just gave you. For good measure, he pulls back the hood of your bud and pinches the bared bit in between the pads of his fingers. It’s only when your sobs get loud enough that he deems the round to be a success and detaches his hand from your sore cunt. 

You can hardly hold your head up by the time he stands up from between your legs and returns to his spectator seat with a vile smirk on his features. He sits down, crosses his legs, and gets comfortable waiting for when the machine is about to collect yet another climax from you, and so the cycle begins anew. 

˗ˏˋ ★ Argenti

☆ Content warnings include: Fingering, a mirror, and rose thorns (lol).

Argenti isn’t one to ever hurt you. He wouldn’t dare to lay a single finger on your ethereal beauty, fearing that even the smallest touch could ruin you forever. You’ve grown to trust that sentiment, to lean against it when you defy his whims, but alas, he, too, has his limits. You have come to see that though he has sworn to never do harm to you, it doesn’t mean that he won’t utilize the threat of pain if it means the results will be in his favour. 

You rest in his lap, back against his chest, on the plush sheets of your shared bed. Though the position is comfortable, you find it hard to relax against him due to how coils of thorny vines snake along your naked legs and wrists. The prickles are just shy of digging into your most sensitive bits, lingering mere millimiters above your skin — given that you don’t move an inch, that is. 

You find it difficult to keep still with how much is going on around you. Aside from the bindings, there’s Argenti’s feather-light yet all the more intense touch lingering on you: The pads of his fingers glide back and forth along your inner thighs, raising goosebumps in their wake. His bright red hair falls over your shoulder and down your chest in thick waves as he buries his nose into the crook of your neck, greedily inhaling your scent. 

Even that isn’t enough for him. Though you’ve been doing your best to avoid the sight, your gaze wanders to the foot of the bed yet again where the most intimate part of your undoing lies. In the reflection of the tall, crystal-clear mirror he has set out for you, you meet your own, hazy gaze. Not only does the view of your bare body against his own make you want to hide yourself away forever, but your heart staggers uncomfortably as your eyes stray upwards and settle on the deep flush that covers Argenti’s cheeks. 

He sighs against your skin. The air tickles your neck, but you don’t get much time to focus on an individual detail like that as his hands have begun making their way inward. 

The one bit of mercy he has graciously granted you is that his actions are never capricious: His goal never is to catch you off-guard, and so, he makes sure to take his sweet time caressing the skin around your core before even entertaining the idea of dipping in. His fingertips travel over your hips and along the bend of your groin, just shy of touching where you’re the most sensitive. 

Then, his touch abandons your lower half and instead moves up your waist, your sides, and finally, to your chest. 

A light caress over your nipples has you twitch involuntarily. You choke out a quiet yelp, catching yourself just in time not to have the thorny vines sink into your thighs. Argenti hums into your shoulder, singing an unknown melody in his rich, soothing timbre. His long lashes finally flutter open, and he leans forward to be able to catch a glance at your face. 

”Does it feel good, my love?” he asks in a breathy voice, his smile as gentle as ever. 

You can’t find it in yourself to answer him. Instead, you swallow down the lump in your throat, let out a near-silent whimper, and squeeze your eyes shut. Though he has done nothing worth instilling fear in your fragile being, you can’t help the way your heart races in something akin to panic when he looks at you. 

He brings his hand to your jaw. Tenderly, Argenti takes hold of your chin and directs your attention forward to where the mirror stands.

”You’re as breathtaking as the last rays of a scarlet sunset”, he muses as his free hand creeps down your stomach and slips in between your thighs. ”I could sing you praises until my tongue shrivells up.” 

His words go in one of your ears and right out of the other. It’s difficult to concentrate on anything else but the way the pad of his middle finger presses directly against your clit in a terribly gentle yet all the more intense touch. It’s what he excels in: Even at the start, it didn’t take him long to learn how to have you come apart under his attention.

Your breath hitches as Argenti begins moving his finger back and forth along your slit. He takes immense care to apply precisely the correct amount of pressure to dance the line between too much and too little, and oh, does he bring honour to his title with how he does it. It’s so easy, it comes so naturally to him.

You suck in a sharp gasp of air as his fingers hit a particularly good spot. Your reaction seems to please him, and as his touch once again slides lower, his digits carefully breach your entrance. 

He makes sure not to go too fast — he spends his sweet time slowly wiggling his way in with one finger before adding another — and then, with a hauntingly dexterous movement, he curls them right into your sweet spot. 

Your back arches off Argenti’s body. The vines once again threaten to pierce your skin, and he has to softly coax you to settle down and lean back against his chest. Though, he makes no effort to stop what he’s doing: Instead, he puts all his attention into prodding the front wall of your insides, gently massaging the spot without a hurry in the world. Even with how the head of his cock is pressing up against your lower back, he doesn’t dare rush the experience; not when it comes to you.

You make the mistake of allowing your eyes to return to your reflection once again. Right in front of you, staring back at you, you’re presented with every single inch of yourself, all in your impuissant glory. You can’t help the way your gaze strays lower and lower until you’re met with the sight of Argenti’s fingers sliding deep into your hole while his thumb circles your clit in slow, meticulous circles.

Argenti smiles against your skin. 

”I am most glad”, he responds to your unsaid words, just as he begins working another finger in.

˗ˏˋ ★ Aventurine

☆ Content warnings include: Toys, bondage and overstimulation.

It’s not easy to balance on one’s knees only. It’s the unfortunate reality you have come to face as you have yet again been subjected to one of Aventurine’s whims. If there’s one thing to be said about the man, it’s that he doesn’t do minimalism, and that fact is precisely why you have ended up where you are. 

Your entire lower body trembles from the strain of trying to keep yourself upright in the awkward position he has forced you into. Having taken care to strap your calves against the back of your thighs, the man has made sure you’re not going anywhere under his watch. The case is the same with your arms: His belt connects your wrists behind your back in a neat yet sturdy loop.

It’s not the bindings that are the most alarming part of the setting, however. The main attraction stands in between your legs, inches away from your bare bits. The wildly vibrating saddle-like apparatus that’s situated directly underneath your tottering body is difficult to ignore. If you were to lose your balance, even for a single moment, the surface you would land on is none other than the seat on the sybian.

”Hey now, don’t be difficult”, Aventurine sings behind you, rubbing his hands along your shoulders. ”I spent quite a fortune on this one, don’t you wanna try it out?” 

You would answer him with a retort if it wasn’t for the 8-ball-shaped gag stuffed in your mouth. You’ve gathered that, out of his vast collection of toys to use on you, it’s among his very favourites. It’s not even because of the actual function of the item — it’s way more about the humiliation factor. 

Aventurine’s hands move lower, trailing down your sides before resting over the curve of your hips. Gently, he urges your bottom lower, pressing down on the front of your thighs with just enough strength to waver your posture. You let out an alarmed squeal in response, shaking your head and trying to somehow convey your distress to the man, but alas, he seems to take a twisted sort of pleasure in witnessing your struggle. 

”C’mon”, he nudges a little harder. 

The phallic tip of the sybian grows closer to your entrance with each second as Aventurine shifts more and more force on you. His laboured breathing blows against the shell of your ear, and you can feel the way his hard-on presses against your back. His chin rests on your shoulder as he takes in the sight of you with a frenzied, hungry glint in his eyes. 

”Hey, it’s not even that bad”, he insists, wrapping one of his arms around your waist to keep you still. The side of his face is warm against your jaw. ”Plus, that’s only the lowest setting, you know? We’re in for so much fun tonight, so relax a bit for me, hm?”

He looks at you expectantly, one brow raised in an expectant expression. You don’t offer him an answer, however, nor are you able to properly meet his gaze with how you’re concentrating on staying upright. With how your legs tremble, you know that you’re on the brink of collapsing, but even then, fighting against the strain, you remain standing. 

Aventurine lets out a small, amused puff of air through his nose. 

Suddenly, he forces his entire weight on you, and with the shift, your thighs finally give in under the stress. A singular, strangled yelp is the only thing that makes it out of your mouth before your entrance is speared on the sybian’s rod, and your cunt is pressed flush against the ribbed surface of the saddle. 

The sensation is instant and unbelievably intense. Your entire lower half rumbles along with the device as the vibrations reach deep into the pits of your stomach and fry every last nerve ending they make contact with. It’s way too much, beyond anything he has ever had you go through with his regular tools, and your immediate, reflexive response is to try to get yourself off of the toy. It’s a futile effort, however: Aventurine keeps you still against him and snugly seated on the saddle, preventing you from as little as correcting your position. 

One of his palms rests down over your stomach where he feels how your rapid, uneven breaths force your muscles to go tense. Leaning into the side of your head, he lets out a mocking, whiny moan directly into your ear. 

”Mmh, that must feel so nice, yeah?” Aventurine groans, punctuating the words with a wet kiss on your temple. 

As if the torment wasn’t already cruel enough, the hand on your abdomen creeps down to where your cunt connects to the sybian. There, he slides his fingers between your folds and pinches your clit between the pad of his thumb and the ribbed saddle of the machine.

Ignoring your wails and cries, he presses his chest against your spine and begins rocking you back and forth against the seat, all the while making sure that your cunt stays firmly connected to its textured surface. He hisses out loud, biting his lower lip as he watches the way your bits tremble along with the toy. 

You try to find a better posture, any position in which your clit doesn’t feel like it’s going to fall off, but each one seems to feel more excruciating than the last. The rod inside of you nudges directly against your sweet spot with every push Aventurine gives you, and with how he drags your cunt along the bumps on the saddle, to your horror, you come to realize that the torture has begun building up to a climax. 

He seems to be very aware of the same fact as well. You don’t need to do as much as glance at his face to understand what the implication entails. In a desperate attempt to postpone your rapidly approaching ruin, you try to rise back onto your knees, but instead of succeeding in your endeavour, you only fall back against the saddle. Aventurine lets out a mean laugh at your failure, landing a sharp smack on the side of your thigh as a punishment. Your broken sobs are muffled by the ball in your mouth. 

In your delirium, you can barely out the sweet nothings he utters in your ear as he continues urging you closer and closer to the edge. No matter how you try to drown out even a bit of the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure raking your entire lower half, before long, you understand that there’s only one outcome that the man will find satisfactory. 

Soon, the simultaneously rapturous and excruciating sensation bursts in the depths of your abdomen. Your back arches against Aventurine’s body as your whole being tenses in response to the sudden, unbearably powerful climax. 

However, what pleasure was to be found in it is soon overshadowed by searing overstimulation. The sensation evokes the same sort of panic as if you were being tickled, but instead of being able to pull away, the feeling is completely inescapable. Your muscles constrict against their bindings in a desperate, uncoordinated effort to get away from the source of the affliction, only to be forced to weather it even more as the man presses you further down the toy. 

Though, even that doesn’t satiate his hunger: With a tremulous gasp, as if he was the one on the receiving end of the suffering, he reaches to the side for the control box in an awkward manoeuvre. A nearly inhuman shriek erupts from your throat as the sybian’s vibrations suddenly spike even higher. 

”That’s more like it”, Aventurine pants in your ear, stroking his hands up and down your weakly twitching thighs. 

Your eyes roll back into your head. Tears have long since spilled past your lashes, and your head falls back, resting limp against his shoulder. Letting out a dreamy sigh, he plants his lips on your cheek with an overly emphasized “mwah”-sound, all the while his hand slides back in between your thighs.

˗ˏˋ ★ Blade

☆ Content warnings include: Cockwarming, mild manhandling and little size kink.

Your sobs and sniffles are the only thing that can be heard in the small room you and him are spending the night in. At the start of the evening, you were afraid of the noise travelling to the other side of the wall, but the concern for that has long since dissipated into unadulterated panic that fills the entirety of your chest and causes an uncontrollable jitter in your limbs. 

You’re sitting on Blade’s lap with your back resting against his chest — though ”resting” is a bit of a generous term: Every last muscle in your body has gone tense from terror, and in his usual fashion, he has set his large hand over your eyes to obscure your vision. His bandages scratch against the bridge of your nose as you quietly weep, staining the torn fabric with your distress. 

His cock sits heavy inside of your cunt. Not only are you not the least bit relaxed, but with his size, it’s nearly impossible for you not to have an overwhelming need to squirm off of him. He doesn’t let you, though: His bicep is loosely wrapped around your neck, just shy of but uncomfortably close to pressing up against your throat. In the back of your affrighted mind, you know that he won’t actually choke you — at least as long as you don’t give him a reason to — but the threat itself is enough to set your anxiety haywire. 

A strangled, shrill cry erupts from your throat as Blade adjusts your position in his lap, unintentionally bouncing you up and down on his dick. He lets out a deep groan in response to the noise as if you were being a general annoyance to him, and the arm around your windpipe tightens the slightest bit. You immediately click your jaw shut, even though your pursed lips can hardly hold back the wails that are about to spill out. 

You’re not sure where you should put your hands, and so, they find solace in hanging onto his forearm like your life depended on it. His presence is much too overpowering to escape by dissociating yourself from the situation, and the only way you can hope to ground yourself is to latch onto him with all that’s in you. He doesn’t seem to mind the way you grip him; on the contrary, he loosens his own hold on you the tiniest bit, allowing you a little more space to rest.

You feel his breath on the shell of your ear. Using the hand over your eyes to tilt your head to the side, he buries his nose into your hair before inhaling deeply. The sensation makes your skin crawl violently, and your cunt clamps down around his cock. A hiss slips past his lips. 

”Sorry, sorry, please-please-please, I’m sorry”, barely intelligible apologies fall out of your mouth as an automatic response. The reaction has grown so customary that you hardly even register uttering it out before the words have already been spoken.  

Blade’s brows knit together against the side of your head. Concurrently, the arm around your neck lets up even more, and his hand trails down your stomach to where his body connects with yours. Your thighs quiver wildly as you feel the rough pads of his fingers settle over your clit. For a moment, he merely listens to how your gasps grow more and more hysterical by the minute, and as he begins rubbing your pearl up and down, you give up the fruitless efforts of trying to hold back your cries. 

His cock twitches inside of you as a series of sobs spew out of your mouth. You hug his arm like a lifeline, digging your nails into his coat’s sleeve, but he hardly reacts to your movements. Instead, he settles his chin on your shoulder, presumably to observe what his hand is busied with in between your thighs. 

”Please-please-please...”, you continue your mindless babbling, unsure of what you’re even begging him for. 

You hear him grunt against the side of your head. Next, his fingers leave your clit in favour of being able to slip his arm beneath your knees. You’re far too gone to understand what he’s doing until he bunches your legs up and lifts your body up his chest. A tiny gasp is the only thing that makes it past your lips as his cock slides out of you along with the movement, all the way until only his tip is still inside — and then he drops you back down.

A wail echoes around the room. Though you’ve had plenty of time to adjust to his length, the stretch is just as unendurable as it has been for the past half an hour. No matter how hard you’ve tried to will your lower half to relax, it’s an impossible endeavor to see through; it’s impossible with him. 

Blade doesn’t say a thing — he never does. Instead, with a low grunt, he moves the arm under your knees around your waist before leaning forward. In a somewhat clumsy movement, he forces you on your hands and knees with his cock still inside of you. Paying no mind to how you whimper out pleas for mercy, he instead presses his hand down just above your pubic phone, feeling the shape of his cock underneath.

”Stay still”, he snarls in your ear before he begins thrusting into you.

˗ˏˋ ★ Boothill

☆ Content warnings include: Rope, biting, and a tiny bit of blood.

Your neck is straining against the grip Boothill has on your hair. His metallic fingers have bunched up your locks, tugging on the back of your head surprisingly gently, just shy of crossing the line of being painful. It’s not that he’s trying to make it to be that way, necessarily: It’s more that his focus is elsewhere — he seems to be more keen on seeing what’s going on on your face. 

You weren’t exactly aware that he was skilled with rope, but considering his profession, it should have come as no surprise that he would know his way around lassos. You have gotten to witness it with your very own eyes: A rope is snugly coiled around both of your hips, connecting your butt to his crotch with not as much as an inch in between, and — more saliently — it’s making sure that his mechanical cock doesn’t slip out of your cunt. 

Holding one end of the rope in his fist, Boothill pulls the thing taut. The movement causes his dick to slide even deeper into you, eliciting a quiet mix of a sob and a moan from you. Your arms tremble from having to support the weight of your upper body, and your head is drooping limp against the pillows at the head of the bed. A sigh slips past his lips. 

”What’s with the tears, Sugar?” he asks you, tugging your hair back enough to force you to reveal your face. ”Did I bite too hard?”

A bright red indent of a row of razor-sharp teeth adorns the side of your neck. Speckles of blood have risen onto the skin at the points where his fangs sunk the deepest. 

”N’aww”, Boothill leans down next to your head with a much too obvious smirk on his features. He then gives a long lick to the shell of your ear, all the way from the base to the top. ”Sorry, pretty thing. You don’t know what you do to me.”

Eagerly, he thrusts his hips forward. His steel-hard cock works its way further into your insides, unforgiving in its intrusion. Unlike one of flesh, his member doesn’t cut you any slack: Your cunt is unable to adapt to the foreign shape of it, and the metal doesn’t give in even the slightest bit. Taking the foreign nature of his bits into account, it could be considered a miracle that he even managed to fit the thing in your slit. 

”You’re really forkin’ tight down there”, he then comments on the matter, letting go of your hair in favour of landing a spank on your rear. ”Loosen up for me, will ya?”

You bury your face in the cushions as Boothill pushes down on your upper back, coercing your arms to give out from under you. Consequently, his cock bends into a different angle, now prodding against the back wall of your core. You whine out your discomfort, weakly reaching for the bedpost ahead of you for something to hold onto, but he doesn’t let you have even the smallest bits of solace. 

”Don’t flee from me, Darlin’”, he warns you with a frisky click of his tongue, giving another tug to the rope that connects the two of you. ”Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

As if making a point, he snaps his pelvis forward again. However, this time around, he doesn’t pause his actions: Twisting his hips into a more comfortable slant, he starts fucking into you with steady, vigorous thrusts.

Your hands ball into fists as you gather up handfuls of the sheets to hold onto. Desperate for relief, you whine out a piping, disconsolate plea for him to go gentler on you, but your complaints go on deaf ears. Instead, Boothill disciplines you with a few harsher thrusts directly where he knows it feels the best for you, all the while he yanks on the rope so hard that it chafes against your hips. In the midst of his fun, he lets out an amused snort, reaching down to your head to ruffle your already matted hair. 

”That’s the spot, yeah?” he taunts you, once again grabbing a fistful of your locks. ”Yeah?”

He repeats his words with a tenacious tug on the strands, causing your chin to tilt up from where you’ve hidden it in the bedding. Cracking one of your tightly shut eyes open, you get to watch the way he swipes his long tongue over his teeth in a wolfish manner.

”Think I’m gonna have to get something for your mouth the next time”, he then remarks, moving to idly nibble on your earlobe. ”I’m not plannin’ to share you with the wall neighbours.”

You let out a disconcerted yelp, craning your neck to look back at the man with wide eyes, but he pushes your body back down on the mattress with very little regard to the amount of force he uses in doing so. Again, he lands a smack on your behind — on the side of your thigh, this time. Simultaneously, his teeth abandon your ear and instead go for the back of your neck. 

”Settle down, Sweetheart”, he tells you, languidly thrusting into you. ”Am gonna take care of you.”

Boothill latches his lips onto your shoulder, harshly sucking on the bitemark there. The spot is still far too tender, and though he’s taking care to watch his gnashers, the ferocious way in which he suckles on the mark brings you very little pleasure. Half unwillingly, you make your discomfort known with the whimper you let out, but even then, he doesn’t seem to be too concerned with your reactions, as he’s much too busy chasing his own enjoyment. WIth the same enthusiasm, he puts more vigour into his thrusts, driving your spent body deeper into the mattress with each movement.

You’re not certain what it is that he gets out of fucking you — you’ve gotten the image that the mechanical cock doesn’t quite function the same as a human one — but regardless, the intent behind his actions isn’t a detail you’re actively concentrating on. As you mentally prepare yourself to take all he has in store for you, the man continues his joyride without a care in the world.

˗ˏˋ ★ Dan Heng

☆ Content warnings include: Double dihh and double penetration, and an extra warning for the thalassophobes.

The grip you have on his shoulders is trembling wildly. You’ve latched your hands onto the man like a vice, holding on for dear life as your bodies slowly sink into the chilly waters of Scalegorge Waterscape, one polished stone step at a time. Goosebumps cover the entirety of your bare body — a notable contrast to Dan Heng, who doesn’t seem to be the least bit bothered by the temperature. 

His long hair spreads over the sea’s rippling surface like oil. Fixed on the sight of the vast sea ahead, his eyes have gone cloudy. Though you have already seen his Vidyadharan form a handful of times, you still haven’t quite gotten used to the subtle change in his aura: His mere presence demands your attention.

You can’t help but wince when the water rises over your waist. In a desperate, reflexive attempt to postpone the inevitable, you wrap your arms around your captor’s neck, scrabbling at his head to find something more stable to grasp onto, but your flailing only serves to splash the water around.

Having grown agitated with your squirming, Dan Heng tightens the hold he has around your waist, hoisting you into a better position. 

”Dan-, Dan-Dan-Dan-stop-!” you squeal his name in an alarmed, shrill tone as you do your best to climb up his body, all the while he immerses the two of you deeper into the Scalegorge’s waters. 

He doesn’t respond to your pleas. He does, however, let out a small, exasperated grunt as one of your restless hands finds leverage in his dragonic horns.

”Stop”, he simply commands, digging his sharp nails into the sensitive skin of your hips as a warning. ”You’ll get used to it.”

”No, Dan, I don’t want-!”

”I said stop.”

He brings one of his hands to the back of your head before shoving your face against the crook of his neck, effectively silencing you. Without much of a reaction, he listens to your rapid gasps of air as the rocky stairs finally run out under him. With one last stride, he surrenders the two of you to the swirling of the gorge’s waves. 

Your knuckles have gone white, both due to the cold and the iron grip you have on him. Your thighs squeeze around his waist with every last bit of strength you hold, hopelessly trying to prevent yourself from sliding off of his body, not even daring to think what would happen if he were to let go of you. It’s not like he would let you fall, of course — he if anyone is accustomed to the unpredictable patterns of the currents — but you’re unable to beat down the terror growing inside of you, even when it’s what you should be the least worried about.

At the very same time as you remember the actual reason for your visit to his kin’s sacred home, Dan Heng proceeds to the next step of his ritual. As he once more adjusts you in his arms, you feel not one but two somethings poking at your behind. 

”No-no-no-no...”, you rapidly shake your head, hopelessly trying to squirm your way out of his grasp.

Sighing, he sets his hand on the back of your head.

”You’re fine”, he claims, clearly making an attempt at comforting you, but the stoic nature of his words does very little to alleviate your panic. ”It’s not going to hurt.”

It’s an empty promise. Regardless of how many times he has taken you, you don’t think you’ll ever get accustomed to having both of his cocks inside of you. Each time feels like it was the very first: The stretch is always a feat to overcome, no matter how long he spends preparing you for the deed.

Choking down a sob, you hide your face in Dan Heng’s shoulder as he aligns the heads of his members with each of your holes. With his free hand, he caresses the nape of your neck in a soothing motion.

Your lower half is much too tense to allow the intrusion. Even as he takes his time, gently coaxing your entrance to give way to him, he’s unable to push into you.

Letting out a soft huff as if he was disappointed in your performance, he makes the decision to take you straight to the deep end. With a swift nudge of his hips, he has you fall onto his cocks in a single motion. 

Your breath lodges in your throat, and the shriek that nearly erupts from your lungs instead comes out as a barely audible, repressed cry. The inescapable feeling of fullness empties your head of all thoughts, rendering you unable to do anything but gasp for air in short, spasmodic wheezes. Dan Heng listens to your hiccups silently, floating still in the water as he allows you a brief while to get used to the invasion. 

”There you go”, he pats your back as you sniffle into his shoulder. ”You’re fine.”

The sickening taste of salt lingers on your tongue. Your wettened hair clings to your face like a mat, concealing your pitiable expression and quivering lips from the man. You shiver against his body, fluttering like a leaf. 

His hand moves to the base of your head where he softly tugs at your hair, urging you to withdraw from your hiding place. Weakly, you raise your face from the crook of his neck to peek at him. Although you’re sure he notices the misery swimming in your eyes, he doesn’t comment on the matter. Instead, after wordlessly observing your features for a few moments, he leans in.

You dodge the attempt at a kiss, and in consequence, Dan Heng’s lips land on the side of your jaw. Displeased with your show of resistance, he proceeds to grab a fistful of your hair before forcibly pressing his mouth against yours. 

His unnaturally long dragonic tongue slides into your mouth and down your throat. At the same time, you feel him realign your bodies, and finally, he lets the two of you sink under the waves. The only thing you can hear is the relentless murmuring of the water filling your ears as Dan Heng finally releases his impatience upon you.

˗ˏˋ ★ Gallagher

☆ Content warnings include: Drugging, alcohol (not consumed), anal, fingering, and he's a prick.

You don’t have the faintest idea on what exactly was in that drink. It looked identical to the ordinary ones he makes for you every now and then, and you had no reason to be suspicious of him — at least not until the tingling started. Not long after, your entire body fell to the floor, flushed and unable to move. 

No matter how you try to will your mouth to open, how you beg your vocal cords to work, no coherent sound comes out from between your lips. You want to say something, anything, to get him to stop his torment, but the drug coursing through your veins has proved itself much too potent. It has rendered you completely helpless, utterly defenseless at the man’s mercy.

Nevertheless, the effect itself isn’t even the worst part of it all, no. By design, the concoction hasn’t messed with your sense of touch at all, and because of that, you’re able to feel every last inch of the cock inside your ass. 

A high-pitched, garbled whine spills out of your mouth as Gallagher hits you with a particularly mean thrust, going as deep as he’s possibly able. He then proceeds to grab your hips, holding your lower half up and flush against his, grinding against your butt in steady, unhurried movements.

He has to hold your body up in general, to be perfectly clear: Due to the drug, you’re unable to even wiggle your fingers. With your ass up and the rest of your body lying limp on the wooden floor beside the bar counter, there’s not much you can do other than take every bit of him as he has his way with you. He lets out a deep, complacent groan, and next, you feel yet another glass of wine poured over your bare back. 

Gallagher pays no mind to how his loosened tie is stained by the drink as the piece of fabric hangs over your body. The sickeningly sweet liquid sticks onto your skin and drips down onto the floor where it gathers under you in a puddle. He leans down, pressing his chest against your spine before licking a long stripe all the way up from the juncture of your nape to the base of your ear. He chuckles against the side of your face, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheekbone. 

”Look at you”, he sighs contently. You can feel the curve of his smirk against your temple. ”How is it?”

He knows you’re unable to answer him, yet he still questions you out of pure malice. Tears sting at your lashline, and there’s hardly anything you can do to stop them from falling. 

”Aww”, Gallagher brings one of his hands to your hair, ruffling it until there’s a huge, wine-soiled tangle at the crown of your head. ”Does it feel nice?” 

He then slides his arm down your stomach and over to where your bodies are connected. There, his large fingers dip down into your cunt while the pad of his thumb begins drawing lazy circles over your clit. 

Fat tears roll down your cheeks and catch on the pillow he has so graciously placed under your head. As heartless as the man is, he isn’t as evil as to have you bang your skull against the floor with each of his thrusts. Though, the gesture hardly brings you any further comfort as you feel his free hand on the back of your neck. Pressing his hips even flusher against yours, he forces your back into a deeper arch and starts fucking into you with newfound verve.

A tiny, whimper-like sound is the only thing you can muster in response. As if trying to console you, the fingers that work on your cunt hasten their pace. Gallagher rolls your clit in a routinely manner, targeting just where he knows will feel the best for you. It doesn’t take him long to have your bits start quivering around him.

The sound of skin slapping against skin is deafening. Even as you feel the peak of your climax approaching, you’re unable to muster up the strength to lift yourself off the ground. Instead, your arms lie uselessly by the sides of your head, unable to even bend the slightest bit. 

Moans slip out of your mouth as the pleasure grows greater and greater. Gallagher seems to encourage the act: His fingers leave the entrance of your cunt in favour of properly rubbing your clit in a swift, steady rhythm. His cock drives deep into your ass with every snap of his hips, and soon enough, you feel yourself being driven over the edge. Your lower half convulses wildly as you come around his dick. 

”Ahh, that’s what I’m talking about”, he leans down into your ear, slowing his thrusts down to a lazy, even rhythm. 

His touch on your cunt is on the verge of becoming overstimulating, but as if sensing your discomfort, he pulls his hand away. Similarly, his dick slides out of you with a wet, squelching sound. 

”Don’t worry, pretty thing”, he sighs into your hair. ”The drink’s gonna wear off in an hour or so. You’ll be alright.”

˗ˏˋ ★ Gepard

☆ Content warnings include: Sort of bondage, rimming, plus Geppie is losing aura.

In normal circumstances, considering the alternatives, you have very little complaints about Gepard’s behaviour. He rarely ever gets harsh with you — you don’t think he would be able to, even if he tried — and moreover, he isn’t one to be unpredictable. He takes vast pride in having you rely on him fully, and that can’t include him doing just anything he wants. 

He does, however, have a tendency to fall into temptation every once in a while. It’s not that he means to frighten you with his actions but the fact that he’s just completely and utterly unable to practice self-restraint at times. 

It didn’t even worry you too much when he pushed you down on the bed. The man occasionally has his moments, and though he sometimes gets impatient, you didn’t know to expect anything too out of the ordinary. 

”Gepard”, you speak out his name in a much more alarmed tone than you would like. 

Your hands are stuck above your head in a clump of his peculiar, blue ice. Strangely enough, it isn’t exactly freezing, but the pointy crystals are digging into the delicate skin of your wrists, mildly threatening. Moreover, you’re much more focused on the fact that your bottoms now lie in a pile on the floor beside the bed; you’re entirely bare from the waist down. 

He sits on his knees in between your legs, shirtless, and with a heavy blush travelling all the way from his face to the base of his neck. His hands are trembling visibly, and his mouth is hanging ajar. Most notably, though, the way he’s staring at you with hazy, unblinking eyes evokes the most concern in you. 

”Gepar-, Geppie”, you call him by his nickname in hopes of appealing to his gentler side. ”Please, Geppie, listen to me!”

To your dismay, you come to find that the trick holds very little effect. You’re about to call for him for one more time, but coincidentally, at the same time, your attention happens to travel from his face to his lower body. There, your gaze encounters the sight of his cock pathetically twitching in his pants. If the way his thighs quiver is anything to go buy, your words only managed to make him more excited. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you helplessly struggle against the ice around your hands. He watches your actions with an unreadable, detached expression. 

”Geppie, please, I’m-, I’m scared”, you speak to him, mustering up your best commanding tone. 

You swear that with your own two eyes, you see his pupils expand as the sentence leaves your mouth. Not only does the reaction itself evoke fear in you, but what follows raises the hairs on the back of your neck. 

”I’m... I’m sorry, I just need to...”, Gepard speaks in a thin, desperate tone that’s a far cry from the assertive front he puts up for his duties.

His hands settle over your knees before he coils his arms around the back of your thighs. A drop of drool hangs at the corner of his mouth. 

”I’m so sorry, just please let me...”, he looks down at your alarmed expression with clouded irises. 

Without a further warning, Gepard pushes your legs back, effectively folding your entire body in half. You shriek out in surprise, nearly landing a kick at the man’s face, but the grip he has on you is as unforgiving as his ice. 

With your eyes blown wide open, you’re about to question his actions, but quickly he answers your concerns without even hearing them: His eyes drop to your exposed ass, and with one more split-second worth of consideration, his mouth latches onto your rear hole. 

He goes from zero to one hundred in the span of a single moment. There’s nothing that could even remotely be called a warm-up: Trying to reach as deep into you as possible, the man urges your thighs apart and wriggles his tongue inside your ass like it’s the last thing he will do in his lifetime. His brows fall flat in something akin to relief. 

You’re much too nonplussed to do anything more than stare at the ceiling with your mouth wide open. The feeling of him breaching your most vulnerable points with so little prudence has you utterly incapable of forming even a single word to stop him. 

A string of saliva connects his lips to your hole as he comes up to inhale in the midst of devouring you. He briefly holds shaky eye contact with you before diving right back down. 

Though you do your best to force him off by clenching your thighs together, he isn’t deterred by one bit. Moreover, he snakes his arms over to your breasts where he greedily grabs handfuls of the mounds. He catches your nipples in between his fingers, gently rolling them around with his thumbs, all the while his mouth is busy licking and sucking everything it can touch. 

In your disoriented state, you barely make note of the way Gepard has begun humping against the mattress like a dog in heat. He’s whining out loud against your ass as he fucks you with his tongue, and with the vigour which he performs the actions with, you’re hardly able to fight the pleasure he provides you with. 

”Sorry, sorry, sorry...”, he mumbles between gulps of air, continuing to eat you out like his life depended on it. 

˗ˏˋ ★ Jiaoqiu

☆ Content warnings include: Drugging, sounding, and a needle is used.

Though Jiaoqiu is unable to actually lay his gaze upon your body, not once with him have you had the privilege of truly evading his scrutiny. It’s not about the way his undivided attention is on you — it’s never about that — but about how he seems to be able to pick you apart with as little as his presence alone. The terrifying mix of tenderness and cruelty never fails to get under your skin, just as it does now. 

An empty syringe rests on the nightstand beside the bed you’re lying on. It’s not often that he resorts to using it, but occasionally, he deems it necessary. He wasn’t cruel about injecting the drug to you this time around, either: On the contrary, he made sure to go as gently as he could, even giving you a countdown before the needle pierced the skin on your upper arm. 

In a tender, sort of compassionate manner, Jiaoqiu brushes his hand through your hair before moving a little lower to swipe his thumb under your lower lid where a few of your stray tears have leaked past your lashes. He looks down at you with a soft tilt of his head and a sympathetic expression, but something tells you that he isn’t exactly apologetic about his actions. 

You attempt to move your face away from him, pursing your lips together and averting your gaze, but your body only listens to your commands in sluggish, uncoordinated nudges. You’re certain he’s aware of the same fact, but out of courtesy, he doesn’t show it on his countenance. Instead, he gives you his usual, unintelligible smile before proceeding to reach for something on the shelf beside the bed. 

”What are... you...”, you try to speak out, but the words slur together as if you had just consumed copious amounts of alcohol. 

”Worry not”, Jiaoqiu responds to your incomplete question, his voice a little too cheerful to your taste, considering the situation at hand. ”There is nothing to be frightened of.”

It’s what he always says, regardless of what he’s about to do. Though, when your gaze flickers to his hands, you can’t help but dread that the black container he has picked up from the ledge doesn’t entail anything pleasant. 

With a small sigh, Jiaoqiu sits down by your feet on the mattress. He sets his free hand on your bare thigh, caressing along the limb for a moment before his touch creeps further up and under the hem of your flimsy gown. There’s not much you can do to resist as his fingers find the trim of your underwear, nor are you able to fight him when he pulls the garment down your legs. 

”I know it must not be pleasant”, he says as he lays his palms on each of your knees before gently nudging them apart, ”but it’s crucial for you to be still for this.”

He clicks the container open. For a brief moment, you can’t make sense of the thin, metallic item he pulls out, but as you slowly come to understand what you’re looking at, your eyes fly wide open. 

”No-no-no, please...”, you plead, trying to get your legs to rise off the sheets, but the most you’re able to do is have your thighs twitch a few times. 

”As I said, there’s nothing to be frightened of”, Jiaoqiu reassures you as he  proceeds to lather the metal rod in a clear substance. ”Relax for me, please.”

His words do very little to ease your panic. He has an unfortunate habit of using a sort of clinical language with you from time to time, and while it doesn’t usually bother you, right now, the professional part of him instills more fear in you than anything else possibly could, especially as you feel the cold tip of the tool prodding at your cunt. 

A fresh wave of tears gathers at your waterlines, spilling past your lashes and rolling down the sides of your head as you squeeze your eyes shut. Jiaoqiu isn’t deterred by your reaction, however: Instead, he uses his thumb to gently pull back the hood of your clit to reveal the tiny opening of your urethra beneath it. With a steady hand and precise movements, he inserts the sound into where you thought you would never be penetrated. 

You let out a tiny, strangled noise at the intrusion, making an attempt to tense the muscles in your abdomen, but it’s a futile effort. A sob makes it past your lips. 

”Are you in pain?” Jiaoqiu then asks you, not even bothering to raise his attention from the task at hand. As an offer of consolation, he swipes a few, quick circles over your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

”Feels-... Feels bad”, you squeeze out in a wavering voice. 

”But it doesn’t hurt, does it?” Jiaoqiu cracks his eyes open for the slightest bit; just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his yellow irises. 

You don’t answer him. Not minding your lack of a response, he simply gives you yet another, unbothered smile. He then draws a few more measured circles over your clit, but the push of the rod doesn’t relent. The cold metal presses up against spots you never knew could even be touched, and with him as your guide, you come to find that they’re oh-so-sensitive.

˗ˏˋ ★ Jing Yuan

☆ Content warnings include: Shibari, fingering, implied cunnilingus, and improper use of his glaive.

You lie on the soft sheets of your shared bed. Bright red, ornate patterns of rope adorn your nude body, crossing over your stomach, travelling between the mounds of your breasts, connecting your wrists to the headboard. “Embarrassed” would be an understatement to how you feel at the moment, but then again, considering your captor, it’s no wonder that you’ve ended up where you have: The person guilty of putting you in such a position is none other than the General seated in between your open thighs. 

Finishing the last bit of his handiwork — namely, tying a secure knot on the point that attaches one of your ankles to the end of his glaive — he leans back to admire the fruit of his labour with a content smile on his face. 

”Is anything too tight?” he asks, swiping his hair over his shoulder. 

You know better than to lie to his face. You have tried that before, attempting to delay what awaits you, but something like that is of no use with him: Jing Yuan sees right through your bluffs, even more than you would like to admit. 

Instead of giving him the satisfaction of answering him, you hide your face in your upstretched arm. He lets out a gentle hum, conveying something akin to endearment at your show of diffidence. 

”It would be best if you refrained from moving your legs too much”, he then says, stroking his warm hand along your thigh. ”I did the best I could, but the rope is prone to slipping.”

You don’t know where in the world he got the idea of using his weapon as a spreader bar. The General isn’t usually one to deviate from his usual patterns, but the case seems to be different today. Though the blade of his weapon is sheathed to protect your foot from getting sliced open, you’re not keen to find out what would happen if the cover were to slide off. 

You don’t get to dwell on the details for too long, however: With a thoughtful hum, Jing Yuan lifts the haft of the glaive enough to be able to duck underneath it. The heat radiates off of his body as he climbs over yours, and with his shirt long since discarded on the floor, his bare skin presses against your chest. 

”What would you like today?” he inquires in his deep, gentle voice.

You wince as he leans into you, shuddering at the way his breath tickles the shell of your ear. He seems to take note of the reaction, but instead of giving you space to breathe, he nudges the bridge of his nose against the side of your head in a loving manner. 

Travelling a little lower, he sets his lips on the spot beneath your jaw, planting a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive skin. He then continues downward, licking a stripe up your neck, leaving a wet trail in his wake. Simultaneously, you feel his hand creep to one of your breasts where he begins tenderly caressing around the general area of your nipple. 

”No preferences?” he quirks his brow at you. 

You remain silent. 

”I think I know what to do, then.”

Jing Yuan presses a final, languid kiss on the side of your face before he withdraws. 

Retracing his previous movements, he gently lifts the glaive’s handle over his head and pulls back from your body, but you only get a quick moment to breathe before he suddenly raises the haft in the air. Before you can speak out a protest, he presses the bar towards your head, effectively folding you in half and — more acutely — revealing your bare bits to his hungry eyes. 

A faint blush covers his chiselled face as he gazes down at the sight, taking in every last detail of your form. The way he looks at you has a certain, distinct quality to it: How he observes you, how his eyes wander over your form — it never fails to leave you feeling horribly self-conscious, no matter the context. 

”Try to relax a little”, he instructs you as his free hand creeps along your inner thigh, inching closer to your cunt. ”I’m going to be gentle.”

Your stomach lurches as you feel two of his fingers breach your entrance in a slow, careful motion. He wastes no time pressing his thumb against your clit to aid you in allowing the intrusion, and even with your best efforts, you can’t fight the way he curls his digits into the front wall of your insides. Having long since learned your body by heart, he immediately begins massaging the spot with his usual, tender yet strict manner. 

You crack open one of your eyes to peek at the man’s expression. Coincidentally, you do so just in time to see a strange glint in his gaze. 

The glaive prevents you from squeezing your thighs shut as Jing Yuan leans down in between them, bringing his face to where his fingers are already deep in you. He lets out a soft, content sigh before his mouth makes contact with your cunt.

˗ˏˋ ★ Luocha

☆ Content warnings include: Bondage, sensory deprivation, lowkey sadistic man.

There’s a blindfold over your eyes. It’s thick enough for you to not see proper outlines through the fabric, but at the same time, it lets in just the tiniest bit of light. Through the hazy filter, the only thing you’re able to see is Luocha’s form flickering in and out of your field of view. 

Much like he likes to do nearly every time, your hands have been tied above your head with a silk ribbon. Though the material doesn’t dig into your wrists — he always takes utmost care to ensure you’re comfortable — the notion itself has you dangling on the edge of hysteria. You hear him shuffle around you, clearly preparing something. His steps are eerily quiet, and you’re having a hard time determining where exactly he is. 

A hand sets itself on your knee. You jolt at the contact, involuntarily tugging against your restraints. Luocha, taking a seat by your side on the bed, lets out a short, amused sigh as he draws idle circles along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tracing his fingers along the veins. 

”Did I startle you?” he asks in his serene voice. 

You purse your lips together as you feel a stray strand of his hair land on your abdomen, right on the bare patch of your stomach that peeks out from under your top. It tickles, and an involuntary shiver has you raising your back off the mattress. 

”I hope I did not”, Luocha continues, moving to caress the side of your hip.

It’s remarkable how he’s able to spew such thinly veiled lies in a perfectly calm tone. You’re certain that the man takes pleasure in seeing your heart jump, but with how impeccable his facade is, it’s incredibly challenging to fight back at his whims. 

His touch withdraws from you. Inhaling deeply, you anxiously wait for his next move, holding your breath and trying to listen for the tiniest sound he might make. 

”I’m going to move to your abdomen now”, he then informs you, releasing you from the present suspense — only to create another right after. 

You shudder as Luocha’s fingertips make contact with your side. Gently, he slides his digits under your top where he traces the shape of your ribs underneath your skin. His hands are cold, and you can’t help but twitch away from him as his fingers near your chest. 

His free hand settles over your stomach to keep you still as the other finds your nipple. Tenderly circling the bud with his thumb, he teases it until it pebbles up, and only then does he move to the other one. You take it all without a single sound making it past your lips, biting the inside of your lower cheek and fighting the inexplicable sense of terror that threatens to rise into your throat. 

As if sensing your thoughts, Luocha slips the hand resting over your stomach beneath the waistband of your bottoms, and with that, you finally let go of your composure. Letting out a meek wail, you shake your head from side to side, squirming away from his prying touch. 

He follows your movements, however. No matter which direction you try to move in, his hand comes along, and you’re unable to rid yourself of him. Silently, he ignores every single one of your pleading “no”s and “don’t”s, firmly keeping his skin against yours. Patiently, he waits until your little fit of disobedience is over, and only then does he proceed. 

”I’m not going to hurt you”, he assures you in the same, calm tone as always. 

However, the tiny, off ring in his voice tells you that he isn’t completely unaffected by your struggling. You’ve come to recognize the tiny, nearly unnoticeable shift in his tone when his patience is starting to run thin. 

Confirming your fears, his fingers creep closer and closer to your bits underneath your clothes. With little dwadling, his fingers crawl past the waistband of your bottoms and continue downward until they slip in between your folds. You hold your breath.

The hand on your breast moves to the middle of your chest where he gently presses down, urging you to rest back on the mattress. It’s easier said than done, though: In between your legs, his rigid touch has found exactly where you’re the most vulnerable. Paying very little mind to how your bottom lip quivers at the feeling, wordlessly, he gets to work.

With ease, Luocha plays you like an instrument. With each tiny caress, he coaxes a reaction out of you, whether that be a shiver, a moan, or a sob. He takes his sweet time searching for the spots that draw the most intense sounds out of you, poking and prodding around until your jaw clenches and tiny, wet dots appear on your blindfold. 

The hand on your chest moves up to your head where he begins gently weaving his fingers through your hair. Tenderly, he combs the strands out of your face and behind your ear, quietly humming as he continues to torment you. The contrast between his actions is much too great for you to comprehend, and soon, you’ve been reduced to the sniffling, whimpering mess he seems to enjoy seeing so much.

Listening to your sobs, Luocha’s hand moves past your face and beneath your neck where he finds a tiny curl of baby hair. Gently, he begins twirling the strand around in a comforting manner. 

”Breathe”, Luocha instructs you, all the while the pads of his fingers dance along the underside of your clit. ”It’s going to be far more pleasant for you that way. As I said, I won’t hurt you. Settle down.”

His digits slip into your entrance.

˗ˏˋ ★ Moze

☆ Content warnings include: Daggers, a little blood, fingering, and fearplay.

The blade of his dagger is a mere inch away from sinking into your exposed throat. Looking down with wide eyes, you’re just barely able to see the metallic sheen of the weapon as it lingers right above your carotid — an unrelenting threat. 

The position Moze has put you in is nothing short of straining: Beads of sweat have risen onto your skin from having to balance on your toes with your chest pressed against the wall of your shared bedroom. You’re not sure how much longer you’re going to be able to keep the posture up with how your legs are trembling, and as if the physical aspect itself wasn’t enough, your captor seems to be putting his best efforts into getting you to falter. 

He has slid his hand inside the back of your bottoms, and two of his fingers are knuckle-deep inside you, prodding around to find any spot potent enough to shake your resolve. His chest is glued flush against your back, trapping your body in between him and the pale yellow wallpaper. 

Moze truly appears to want you to waver, to allow your neck to fall victim to his dagger with how insistently he’s playing with your bits, but then again, it’s now like he would ever actually let you. The act is about the sense of power it grants him — nothing less, nothing more. 

”I wouldn’t move too much if I were you”, he comments in his nonchalant tone, taking note of how a tremor travels up your leg. ”The blade will pierce you like butter.”

You’re unable to offer him an answer, much less a nod. With how your head is craned all the way back to avoid your untimely demise, it’s nearly impossible for you to move in any direction; certainly not forward. 

”Your blood would splatter all over the walls. It would be a hassle to clean up”, he continues the macabre remarks without a single hint of sympathy in his voice. 

You clench your teeth together and bend your back into a deeper curve as Moze attempts to wiggle a third finger inside you. His task proves difficult, however, as it's a challenge for you to loosen up with the imminent doom lodged against your pulse. 

As his efforts bear no fruit, his digits pull out of your entrance and instead curve around to reach your clit. He nudges the pearl back and forth in a somewhat tender motion while his thumb opts to sink into your cunt instead. At the same time, he inches the dagger further up your neck until the flat side makes contact with the tip of your chin. A tiny, choked sound escapes your mouth. 

”How does it feel?” Moze breathes directly into your ear, raising the hairs on the nape of your neck. 

You would be unable to speak out your answer, even if you had one: You’re afraid that if you were to open your mouth even the tiniest bit, the blade would sink into the underside of your jaw. 

He doesn’t cut you the least bit of slack: He clicks his tongue in a nearly performative manner before jabbing the thumb inside you and against the front wall of your cunt, persistently massaging the spot in circular motions. The stimulation is enough to draw a frightened whimper out from between your pursed lips, but even that doesn’t seem to be enough to satisfy him. 

”Does it scare you?” he presses, all the while he continues mercilessly fiddling with your bits. 

You cave in. 

One of your legs gives out from underneath you, and you reel to the side. Just as your life flashes before your eyes, Moze is lightning fast to pull the dagger away from your throat, quite literally saving your life. 

Unexpectedly, though, he doesn’t support your weight as you fall: Instead, he allows your body to stumble down on the floor with a quiet thud. Bracing yourself for the impact, you squeeze your lashes shut, but at the very last moment, he catches you by the back of your neck. Gently, he lowers your body down on the ground. 

As you weakly prop yourself onto your elbows and open your eyes, you come to find that the torment isn’t over quite yet. Blinking a few times, you take a moment to comprehend that you’re staring at the needle-sharp tip of the dagger pointed directly at your pupil. 

”Lie down”, Moze then commands, edging the blade closer to you, forcing you to rest flat on the floor. 

You gape at him with your mouth ajar, softly shaking your head and silently pleading with him, but it’s no use. His expression is as cold as his blade — although, it would be impossible not to notice the flush that plays at his cheekbones. 

Climbing on top of you, the man glares you down as the point of his weapon creeps closer and closer to your face until it settles in between your eyes. The metal makes contact with your skin, pricking a minuscule pinhole on the bridge of your nose. The touch is so steady that you barely feel it pierce your skin, but you become aware of the wound as you squint your eyes and see the dot of blood that rises onto the nick. 

You swallow thickly. Looking up at him through the sheen of tears gathering at your lashline, you can’t make sense of the look on his features. The moment only lasts for a second or two, however, as next, you feel his hand slide underneath the waist of your bottoms yet again.

˗ˏˋ ★ Mydei

☆ Content warnings include: Penetration, anal, improper use of his crystal thingies, mild degradation, kinda rough boombayah, predator/prey dynamics.

Your breath is wheezing so bad that you wonder if your throat is going to close in on itself soon. Even as you’ve been running for the better part of an hour, your legs are still going, though they have long since gone numb from the exertion. 

Despite the murmur of your blood coursing through your veins drowning out the majority of other sounds, you can still distinctly hear the clinking of Mydei’s armour behind you. The steady thud of his footsteps is right on your tail, unwavering in pace. Even though you understand that your efforts are futile, you can’t help but entertain the tiny slice of hope you have of outrunning him — but, alas, your journey is to end nowhere else but the destination he has set for you: His crystal-clad throne in the middle of Castrum Kremnos’ arena. 

Slowly, your steps grow slower and slower as you arrive at the centre of the stadium. Still holding onto the last bits of your dwindling spirit, you frantically look around, trying to find any direction to make your escape in, but quickly, you come to realize that there’s nothing but vast, open space to be found around you. 

”Have you finally admitted defeat, woman?” you hear Mydei roar from behind you as he, too, comes to a halt. 

You don’t answer him. Instead, you bolt for the throne. You don’t exactly have a plan in mind — it’s more of a reflex, more of an instinct to directly run away from the dangers that is him — but nevertheless, you don’t make it far. Just as you reach the deep red crystals, you feel a hand on your back.

Mydei forces your stomach against the throne’s flat surface, bending your arms behind your back with one hand. In his feral state, he hardly pays any mind to how you wail out as he yanks your flimsy nightwear aside in favour of getting to your bits. You can feel the heat emanating from his body; he drowns you in the sheer intensity of his presence alone.

In an act of mercy, he shakes his gauntlet off before sinking two of his fingers into your entrance. The article clanks against the ground a few times before settling somewhere next to him, but the distraction does nothing to deter him from his goal. He finds your sweet spot without delay, focusing all of his attention into pressing up against it, jabbing the vulnerable area with strength that’s right at the border of being too aggressive. 

The man growls directly into your ear, making his intentions known without having to speak a word. Having long since grown much too impatient for his own good, after a mere few moments, his digits are already being replaced by the tip of his dick. 

With a swift, forceful movement, he slides his cock into you. Your jaw falls open at the sting of the stretch, but instead of slowing down in favour of caring for you, your reactions only seem to fuel his fire.

He isn’t one to talk during the deed or really let you know what he’s about to do before he goes through with something, and that’s the case this time around, too. Rather than warning you about what is to come, out of nowhere, he takes the liberty of spitting on your rear hole. Straining your neck, you try to look at him over your shoulder to figure out what’s going on, but the only thing you manage to catch a glimpse of is a chunk of something deep red in his hand. 

”Mydei!” you call out for him in a desperate tone. 

”Weak thing”, he berates you, throwing his dishevelled hair back. ”There is nowhere left for you to run.”

You’re about to respond to him, but the words die on your tongue as you feel the warm head of a crystal — a phallic, sizable one — pressing up against your ass. A broken shriek is the only thing that makes it past your lips before the item sinks into your rear hole. 

”Mydei, no-!” you yelp out, but your sentence is cut short as he suddenly pulls back and slams the entirety of his cock into you yet again.

It feels like the air has been knocked out of your lungs, and to top it all, Mydei pushes the makeshift toy inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. Not wasting any more time, the man begins fucking you in earnest, finally letting go of his restraint and thrusting into you with ardour unimaginable. 

The sensation is way too intense for you to bear. In a weak effort to rid yourself of him, you try to wriggle your arms out of his grasp, but he doesn’t take kindly to the effort. Instead, he lets out a deep, guttural grunt and presses you even flusher against the seat of his throne.

Mydei lets go of the crystal lodged in your ass in favour of weaving his hand in your hair, gathering the strands in a good grip before pulling your head back. He doesn’t perform the action in a violent manner, however: Rather, he seems to offer you an act of tenderness with how he leans down beside your head and latches his lips on your earlobe. The gesture sends a tingle down your spine, and in consequence, your cunt constricts around his cock. You feel his grin against the side of your head.

˗ˏˋ ★ Phainon

☆ Content warnings include: Anal again, cunnilingus, he talks you through it, fingering, and lowkey manhandling.

”Come on, hey, look at me”, Phainon speaks in a tender, comforting tone — much too soft compared to the situation at hand. 

He has pinned you underneath him on the bed, one hand holding both of your wrists in an unyielding grip while the other presses down in the middle of your unclothed chest, forcing you flat against the mattress. His face hovers above yours, bright blue eyes observing your agitated expression with curiosity. 

The smile on his face is a complete contrast to how he’s treating you. The weight of his knees propped atop of your thighs keeps your legs separated, and most alarmingly, the head of his cock stands much too short of a distance away from your nethers. Having already lathered his member and your entire downstairs in a generous layer of lube, you thought it was going to be another few rounds of fucking you into the sheets, but alas, he had different thoughts in mind. 

”I’m not gonna make it hurt, you can trust me”, Phainon assures you, letting go of your chest in favour of brushing his fingers through your hair as if to console you, all while gazing down at you with way too much excitement in his countenance. ”I can put my fingers in first, and then the stretch won’t be as bad. Doesn’t that sound alright?”

”No, Phainon, it’s not gonna-, it’s-, your thing will...”, your gaze travels down your body and in between your thighs where his dick is already twitching excitedly. 

”Hey, don’t be like that”, his brows fall flat in a sympathetic expression, but you’re unable to find any solace in it as simultaneously, his hand leaves your hair and instead goes for your bits. 

Understanding what is about to come, you start doing your best to wriggle yourself out of his grasp, clawing at his hand and trying to dislodge your thigh out from under him, but it’s a useless effort. You can hardly even budge, let alone get him off of you. He isn’t the slightest bit affected, and as if the notion itself wasn’t enough, you feel his fingers circling your rear hole. 

”To my understanding, it’s not that different from here”, his touch brushes over the entrance of your cunt, a little above his eventual target, ”and as long as I go slow, it’s gonna feel so good to you that you won’t be able to get a single word out!”

You stare at the man with your mouth ajar, listening to him babble in utter disbelief. He doesn’t allow you to linger in your bewilderment for longer than a moment, though, because the following second, you feel his fingers pushing into your ass. 

”Try not to clamp down on me so hard, heh”, Phainon chuckles, stroking his thumb along your wrist in an affectionate manner. ”It doesn’t feel bad, does it? I’d give your little button right here some attention if you didn’t try to escape me the moment I do, but do your best to relax, okay?”

Facing a little resistance, the fingers in your hole pull out a little before pushing back in with a bit more force. The man’s attention is mostly on your face, busy observing for even the tiniest changes in your expression as he gently works his digits in. 

Then, out of nowhere, it’s like a lantern had lit up above his head. 

”Hold on, I guess I could...”, the gears in his head turn for a good second before a wide smile finds itself on his features. 

You watch in horror as he manoeuvres himself into a position so awkward that a weaker-bodied person attempting the same would surely have fallen face first onto the mattress. It’s of no difficulty to him, however, and with a strenuous movement, he lowers his face down to your cunt while still holding your hands above your head. 

You feel his breathing fanning in between your thighs as he inspects your bits with an embarrassing amount of scrutiny. You clench your jaw and do your best to find the heat that creeps up your lower body, all the while Phainon takes his sweet time ogling at your most vulnerable spots. You let out a tiny whine, but all it gets out of him is a warm, airy chuckle. 

”That’s better”, he then comments, right before his mouth connects with your clit. 

You voice out a startled shriek as the man immediately goes for sucking the bud, not wasting any time on allowing you to adjust to the sensation. Your hips jump in a sudden jerk, almost causing his fingers to fall out of you, but he’s quick to get the situation under control again. Utilizing the brief moment of stir, he wiggles his digits all the way in. 

”Attagirl”, he mumbles into your cunt, unintentionally stimulating you even further with how his voice vibrates against your bits. 

Despite your protests and wails, he continues to pleasure you. Pushing a third finger in alongside the first two, he pays no attention to how his shoulders ache from the difficult angle he has set himself in. Putting all of his attention into overloading you with all he has to give, he refuses to pull up to even catch his breath.

Unintelligible wails, moans and cries spill out of your wide open mouth as you weather the relentless torture he puts you through. Gasping for air like you were drowning, there’s nothing you can do when you feel your climax building up, and within moments, Phainon has you coming on his tongue like the job required nothing of him. 

Your back arches off the mattress as you finish. Your muscles spasm wildly as your hole constricts around his fingers, but even then, the man doesn’t show you a single sign of slowing down. The pleasure quickly turns into intense overstimulation, yet no matter how you try to pull away from him, his mouth stays latched onto your much-too-sensitive clit. It’s only when your wails and ”stop”s grow loud enough that he finally gives your cunt one last lick and raises his head. 

His chin glistens with the remnants of your essence as he gets up from between your legs, rolling his neck back with a beyond-satisfied grin on his face. Carefully, he pulls his fingers out of you. 

”That must have been quite enjoyable for you, I hope”, he then sighs, finishing the comment with a gentle laugh. 

You’re much too out of it to even truly register his words. Your chest heaves up and down with each of your rapid inhales, and despite the way your thighs are still quivering from the force of your orgasm, Phainon isn’t ready to slow down any time soon. 

Aligning the head of his cock with your ass once more, he leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your sweat-clad forehead. 

”You can trust me”, he hums against your skin. 

Without further delay, he starts pushing into you.

˗ˏˋ ★ Dr. Ratio

☆ Content warnings include: Bath sex, degradation, penetration and anal.

You don’t quite understand what exactly you did to warrant such a reaction from him. One moment, you were resting in his lap in the bath, patiently waiting for the man to finish the chapter on whatever book he was reading, and the next, you’re clutching the side of the porcelain tub with both of your hands, holding on for dear life as Ratio drives his cock into your insides. 

The position is awkward for both of you, even to your standards: Not only is the water splashing all around the spacious bathroom, but you’re sure that one of you is going to slip sooner or later, and the session will end up with a cracked skull. 

Though, you can’t exactly say it’s the danger that you’re focusing on. Your train of thought is regularly interrupted by a mean, resounding spank on your bare, gleaming butt. 

You let out a yelp as the palm of Ratio’s hand makes contact with your behind yet again. The water does nothing to soften the impact — the complete opposite, in fact. Both the smacks and the rhythmic slapping of his crotch against yours seem to have been amplified by the wet sheen that covers your bodies. His other hand is busy pressing your back into an arch. With each of his thrusts, your chest is squeezed flatter and flatter against the cold side of the tub. As tightly as you’re clutching the bath’s edge, you feel your knees threatening to buckle under the strain. 

”I thought I asked you to stay still?” Ratio speaks in his usual, nonchalant tone. 

”I-”, you try to get a word in, but before you can even properly open your mouth, he shuts your response down with another spank on your rear. 

“Deplorable.”

In a desperate attempt to gain even a semblance of control over the situation, you reach your arms over the tub’s border. The action rebounds, however: Ratio immediately retracts his hand from your back and instead wraps it around your stomach, pulling you right back to him in a prompt, curt movement. As a result, his cock sinks as deep into your cunt as it’s possibly able, nudging up against a spot that sends a mean sensation up your stomach. 

”You’re utterly hopeless”, he leans down to sigh in your ear. ”Are there any bright thoughts to be found in that little head of yours?”

His fist comes up to your temple. He then knocks his knuckles against your skull, adding to the mocking tone of his previous statement. 

It feels like a punch in the gut not to be able to muster up a defence for yourself, but then again, it’s not like he would take you seriously even if you did. For the greater good, you decide to keep your mouth shut for the time being, but instead of savouring the silence as he usually does, Ratio decides to reach for your face next.

Before you can do as much as flinch away, he squeezes your cheeks together so that your lips fall open, and when they do, he seizes the opportunity to push his thumb past your teeth. The pad of his finger presses down on your tongue as if in search of something. He scoffs, moving the hand on your waist to deliver a particularly harsh hit on your thigh. You whine out an incomprehensible response, weakly shaking your head, but as is common, your complaints do very little to deter Ratio from what he has set his mind to. 

”You truly are a simpleton”, he berates you. 

As a final addition to his treatment, he rubs his palm up and down along your reddened butt for a moment before his touch creeps towards the middle. For a fleeting moment, his fingers circle along the rim of your other hole, and the next second, he pushes in. 

A pathetic squeal escapes out of your ajar mouth as Ratio suddenly hooks his thumb into your ass, purposefully searching for an ankle that would feel the most intense for you. As he finds it, he takes care to squeeze his digit in all the way to the root, poking and prodding around in a near clinical manner. Simultaneously, he pushes two more fingers past your lips, staining them in your drool and reaching for the root of your tongue. 

The bathwater sloshes around along with the rhythm of his thrusts, and with each one, he makes sure to drive the digitin your ass at least as deep as his cock. Although he no longer has a free hand to smack your behind with, the force with which his hips slap against your rear nearly achieves the same effect. 

”Perhaps I should plug you up before bathing from now on?” Ratio comments, idly jabbing his fingers around in your mouth, purposefully allowing saliva to drip down your chin. ”This blathering mouth, and this here”, he curls the thumb inside your butt, ”would be much better off with ample filling, no?”

You can only whimper in response. 

”How pitiable”, he continues, scoffing blatantly. ”Though, I suppose you were never meant to be anything greater than this.”

˗ˏˋ ★ Mr. Reca

☆ Content warnings include: Fingering + fisting, bondage, praise, and he records you while you're at it.

You can’t recall you’ve ever felt as vulnerable as you do at the moment. You know the device looming right above your face is nothing more than a bunch of plates and screws, but even understanding that, you can’t help but shy away from it — or, you would if your hands weren’t tied somewhere over your head where you lie on a mattress, completely bare. The lens of the camera stares right into your soul, carefully reaching into your deepest fears and most scandalous secrets, and no matter how you try to remind yourself that it’s no living being, you feel like you’re under the scrutiny of a giant eye. 

Due to the black veil that falls around your head and cuts your upper body from the rest of it, you’re unable to see what Mr. Reca is fiddling around with, but going by the sound, you’re certain that he’s lingering in the room: The never-ending melody of his quiet humming echoes around the walls, and judging from the faint clinking, he’s tinkering with something. Unlike you, the man appears to be in very high spirits. 

You test the give of your bindings. Even as you tug on them with a considerable amount of force, your wrists don’t budge a single inch. The same is with your legs: Though you can’t see them from behind the curtain, it’s not difficult to decipher that they’re tied to something. More worryingly, you become aware of the fact that your bare bits must be completely visible to him. 

”Reca, I...”, you speak, doing your best to sound resolute, but you can’t hide the way your voice wavers. 

”Patience, Dear”, his voice rings out from somewhere in the room. ”I’m almost ready.”

”Reca, please, I don’t like-”

”Oh, hush”, he cuts off your words with a chuckle. ”Would you truly be as cruel as to deprive me of admiring such a work of art?”

Reca has always been plentiful with words, even when there isn’t exactly a need for it, you have noticed. From what you’ve seen, he has a natural, terrifyingly accurate talent of tuning into people’s emotions and acting accordingly to whatever intentions he has in mind. Typically, he would excel in the arts of getting you to calm down even under the most fraught situations, but this time around, his words do nothing to relieve the dread that’s building up in your chest. 

His footsteps grow closer to you. Next, the camera lens that looms above your face makes a small, whirling noise, and the shutter flickers. The man lets out a satisfied hum. 

Bashfully, you try to hide your face in the crook of your neck, but the job proves difficult with your body restrained. Though you’re unable to see him, it’s not hard to guess what sort of a reaction your visible discomfort elicits in him. 

”Very good, very good”, Reca comments, both to you and to himself. ”You may look in the camera or somewhere else entirely, whatever feels the most natural to you.”

”Please”, the word comes out no louder than a whisper through your quivering lips. 

For a moment, the only thing that remains between the two of you is a deafening silence. As the seconds stretch on, your plea remains unanswered. 

You jolt as you feel his fingers ghosting over your inner thigh. Notably, his hand is bare, unlike usual: He much prefers to keep his gloves on, no matter the occasion, but not this time. The sensation couldn’t possibly be mistaken for anything else. 

”You needn’t do anything more than relax”, Reca instructs you in a soft voice, gently caressing your bare hip. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat as his touch lingers on your body. Though, your anxiety doesn’t truly jump until, without as little as a verbal warning, his fingers slip in between your legs. Reflexively, you shut your thighs around his hand, but you’re unable to prevent the intrusion: The man merely chuckles and gives your knee a fleeting, consoling pat. 

The camera stares you down, observing even the tiniest details of your expression with great curiosity. It records the way you squeeze your eyes shut as Reca tips a generous amount of lube over the general area of your core, supposedly messing around on purpose. 

”Relax, relax”, he sings, all the while his now slippery thumb strokes along the dip between your hip and thigh, taking his sweet time savouring your little whimpers and twitches. “Oh, sweet thing.”

He lets out an ecstatic, dreamy sigh. Then, without prolonging the anticipation further, he wiggles two of his fingers inside of you. 

Your entire lower body tenses up in response, but Reca has never been one to slow down when he has his mind set on something. Hence, you feel him force a third digit in right away, not allowing you even a minimal timeframe to get properly adjusted to the first two. He knows just how to play your body, however: Even with the sting of the stretch, he prods directly at your front wall an inch or two in, attacking the spot with tender precision. Using his free hand, he applies pressure on your lower abdomen, pushing right against the pads of his fingers inside you. Lastly, his little appendage prods at the side of your entrance before it, too, is slipped in along with the rest. 

You can hardly control your breathing anymore, and it’s difficult for your bits not to go taut under the demand he has put you in. You feel completely full, but even then, the man doesn’t appear to be satisfied. 

”Don’t fret now”, he encourages you, continuing his ministrations despite the way your thighs have begun trembling against his wrist. ”You’re merely one away.”

You bite in a gulp of air, nearly choking on your own saliva as finally, you feel his thumb prodding against your thoroughly filled cunt.

”No”, you whisper out in a small, frightened tone.

The hand on your abdomen lets up, instead moving a little lower.

”I know, I know”, Reca sighs as he begins rubbing at your clit, quite obviously on the peak of his own bliss. ”Shh, Dear, you’re faring great.”

Then, with an insistent shove, his entire hand slides into you with a sound that can only be described as nauseating. In the span of a single second, it feels like your lower half has simultaneously been set on fire and overloaded with the most pleasure you could possibly ever handle. The sensation is so unbelievably intense that you’re unable to produce a single sound for a long, agonizing moment. Even then, despite your reaction, Reca doesn’t pause. 

You can’t stop the sob that bursts out of your mouth as you desperately tug on your bindings, only to find that the more you pull, the tighter the rope gets. He doesn’t mind your resistance one bit: Instead, as if prodding at a control panel, he insistently presses on your pearl while inching his fingers further inside you. 

”Yes, yes, you’re doing spectacular”, he inhales in a tone that leaves very little to your imagination. 

Gasping for air, you clench your teeth together. Abiding by your reactions in his own, terribly twisted way, Reca speeds up his actions, both inside and outside of you. With relentless vigour, he fucks you with his entire hand, not leaving a single spot untouched. In the end, you can do nothing but surrender to him as he takes you to your climax, reduced to your smallest and utterly helpless. 

At the very same time as your cunt constricts around his hand, he lets out an obnoxiously loud, wanton moan. With the last few curls of his fingers, accompanied by a string of airy, barely comprehensible praises, he pulls out of you with a wet squelch. 

”My beautiful, beautiful Darling”, he sighs. 

The tears that have pooled in your eyes spill down the sides of your face like a river.

˗ˏˋ ★ Sampo

☆ Content warnings include: Predator/prey, hypothermia, sucking the d, fingering, he's an asshole.

It’s arduous to run with how your bare feet sink into the snow with every step. You should have thought twice, you should have known better than to take the very obvious chance he presented you with, but nevertheless, it’s much too late for regretting your choices now. No matter how the freezing cold pricks your skin, you don’t stop for even a second to rest. 

Somewhere behind you, much, much closer than you would like, you hear the sound of Sampo tailing you. The man isn’t making an effort to be stealthy as he would in any other situation: Though the unforgiving noise of the snow squall drowns out most other sounds, you can make out the revoltingly familiar, distinct melody of his humming. 

Muffling your hacking cough into the sleeve of your sweater, you ignore the sense of sheer terror that threatens to consume you whole and continue your way through the wilderness. You don’t exactly know where you’re going — in every direction, the scenery consists of the same, cruel bedrock and measly, shrivelled-up trees — but you understand that the path you pick isn’t of that much importance. After all, in the back of your mind, you’re aware that you’re just postponing the inevitable. 

At the very same moment as the despair of reality catches up to you, a dagger swishes past your leg, tearing a gash into the side of your calf. You don’t even bother to silence the cry that erupts from your throat as you stagger to the side. Though you’re much too high on adrenaline to actually feel the pain that shoots up your limb, the bright red blots that spread over the pure white leave very little doubt of the injury’s severity in your mind. 

One, two, and on the third step, your knees give out. You tumble down onto the ground hands first, sinking into the powdery snow that welcomes you with a soft, silent fall like a frigid pile of feathers. 

Your limbs have long since gone frigid, and you’re unable to even feel the temperature anymore. Yet, the ice still seeps into your skin like a thousand, tiny needles. The only remaining signs of life in you are the flush that covers your cheeks and the puffs of steam that rise from your mouth with every rapid pant you let out. 

”Ooh, ouch”, Sampo’s mellifluous voice rings out from behind you. 

You don’t bother trying to raise your head to peek at his silhouette as it gradually comes into view through the dense snowfall. Seemingly in high spirits, he takes his sweet time walking over to your pitiful form, leisurely spinning his secondary dagger around his finger while dangling a heat lantern in the other hand. 

”Now, now, what do we have here?” he crouches down next to you and sets the lamp down beside your head.

Clenching your teeth, you jerk your arm towards him and attempt to land a hit on him, but the action is pitiably slow due to your state. He catches you by your wrist with ease, stopping the pathetic failure of a punch without having to use a single ounce of strength. He inspects your ice-cold limb with a smug smirk on his features, softly shaking it as if it were a malfunctioning gadget. 

”How cruel of you to go out to play without your dear Sampo”, the man then muses out, pursing his lips into a theatrical pout. ”How could this be? Could I possibly have left the window unlocked?”

He taps the tip of his chin with his fingers as if he was actually pondering the question. 

”Aww”, he moves to gently pat your head as plump tears swell up in your eyes. ”But I do think you owe little old me a favour after chasing you all the way up here.”

If you still had energy in you, your eyes would have flown open at his words. Instead, all you’re able to muster is a weak sob. It doesn’t evoke any sympathy in Sampo, though: As he’s done messing up your damp, partially frozen hair hair, his fingers go to his belt. 

You scrunch your face up as he pulls his already hard cock out of his pants, giving it a good few strokes. He then directs his attention to you, swiping his tongue over his teeth in a predator-like show. As he inches his member closer to your mouth, you do your best to pull away, even as the movement causes a sharp ache at your injured leg. 

”Hey”, he gives you a pitiful excuse of a frown, nudging the head of his cock against your pursed lips. ”What’s the hold-up? Or would you like it in another place?”

The implication is enough of a threat for you to forget your spite. With your eyes squeezed shut, you allow your lips to fall ajar. Sampo doesn’t waste a single second: Smirking widely, he slides his dick into your mouth with tangible excitement. A wanton, exaggerated moan erupts from his throat.

His free hand creeps down your back and slips past the waist of your bottoms. Taking care to make the experience as unbearable for you as possible, he makes sure to convey his truer feelings to you via touch: He tickles around the area just above your risqué bits, he stops to give a pinch to your inner thigh, and finally, his fingers press up against your cunt. No matter how you try to clench your thighs together, you’re unable to resist him as his prying digits find your entrance and push in.

˗ˏˋ ★ Sunday (Pre-AE)

☆ Content warnings include: Bondage, BDSM dynamics, mind control, shoe-grinding, a booty plug, he's lowkey very degrading.

If there’s one thing Sunday excels in, it’s evoking the kind of primordial rage in you that could very well summon Nanook with the sheer magnitude of the emotion. However, as strong as that urge is, he does, unfortunately, also have a talent for knowing just how to get you where he wants, whether that be via psychological torment or the terribly handy tool of Harmony. It’s a cocktail so unsavoury that each day, you wonder how you’re able to survive with him, but then again, you have come to see that the elasticity of the human psyche has very vast bounds. 

The man’s methods of manipulation are beyond anything you ever thought were possible. You can resist or comply, it will all end up the same, and regardless, he isn’t satisfied with anything short of utter and complete dominance over you. 

He sits on his chair with his legs crossed, all high and mighty, hands in his lap like he was in an official meeting. You, in contrast, sit by his feet on your knees with nothing but your see-through nightdress on — it’s his favourite one, precisely for its aforementioned quality. 

A heavy flush of humiliation dances on your cheeks. With your hands tied behind your back, you feel like a piece of interest at an exhibition, every last inch of you vulnerable to your captor to use as he sees fit. 

A plug of considerable size in your ass presses up against your insides with even the smallest movements you make. Yet again, he had to resort to tampering with your mind to get it inside of you, but now that you’re neatly bound up, he doesn’t have to worry about you getting the thing out. You think you might be imagining it, but compared to the usual ones he uses, the toy inside you is a little larger in size. 

Sunday lets out a quiet sigh through his nose. He tilts his head to the side before making a rotating motion with his hand.

You stare at the floor by his feet, unmoving.

”Was there ambiguity in the instructions?” he asks, raising his brows in a querying manner. 

Misery burns at your eyes, but you force yourself not to bare another inch of your vulnerability to him. Still, no matter how determined you are not to let them fall, you don’t need to be a member of the Intelligentsia Guild to know that he’s all too aware of your thoughts — probably even more than you yourself are. 

”Stop”, you let out a meek plea through your pursed lips, softly shaking your head.

”I’m sure you’re aware you’re not the one to make the decisions here?” Sunday squints his eyes the slightest bit, expressing more emotion with a single gesture than he could ever convey via words. 

”...”

You try to think of a suitable answer to his remark, but as the silence grows longer, you see the unmistakable, maddening hues circling your field of vision — like a faint, electric current buzzing through your brain. With your head hanging low, you waddle around on your knees in an awkward manoeuvre, turning your back to him. He lets out an approving hum. 

”Bend over”, Sunday then instructs, soft yet full of authority. 

You open your mouth to speak, but against all your mind is screaming at you to say to him, you remain silent. Instead, in a slow, shaky motion, you lean down and rest your head against the ground, exposing your bare behind to him. 

”Good girl”, Sunday praises you, though the phrase rolls off his tongue more condescending than commending. 

Wordlessly, with your heart in your throat, you expect him to do something, to stand up from his throne to get to whatever he has planned for the evening. He seems to thrive in your anticipation, to take pleasure in seeing you frightened and uncertain, so he prolongs the moment until you can hardly contain your anxiety, and then, only then does he proceed. 

The sole of his shoe makes contact with your behind. You let out a strained, barely audible sound in response to the action, but he hardly reacts to it. Instead, he aligns his ankle so that the tip of his foot nudges on the base of the plug in your ass, forcing the thing deeper into you. In an attempt to escape the stimulation, you arch your back, leaning forward into an even more uncomfortable position, but his shoe follows you, unrelenting. 

”Stay still”, he orders, giving a particularly mean shove to the toy. 

The command is easier said than done, especially as his touch moves down to your cunt where he prods at your entrance, deliberately getting your essence onto the shiny material of his footwear. 

Your shoulder strains from grinding against the floor with each push, but even with the ache, there’s an undeniable, awful scintilla of pleasure to be found in the way his shoe prods your clit. Clenching your teeth together and ignoring the way a tear slips down the bridge of your nose, you press your cheek against the cold ground. 

Sunday doesn’t let you distance yourself from the situation, however. Instead of allowing you to sink into despair, he once again utilizes the Harmony to get into your head, rummaging through all the sensations he’s offering you, until he finds a certain, specific one he wants to amplify. 

A sudden, overwhelming wave of pleasure spreads in your abdomen, nearly having you climax on the spot. You gasp out loud at the feeling, your eyes flying open at the sheer intensity of it, but at the very same time, the realization of its artificiality registers in your mind. Your eyes squeeze shut. 

Sunday lets out a soft chuckle. 

”I think I see how it is”, he speaks, the amusement audible in his voice. ”Enjoy yourself, by all means. You are to take all I give you.”

˗ˏˋ ★ Sunday (AE)

☆ Content warnings include: A vibrator, very mild breathplay, Welt mention, this is lowkey the sweetest one.

”Sunday, what-, what are you doing?!” 

You rest in Sunday’s lap on the Express’ wine-coloured couch in an awkward, half-sitting-half-lying position. The setting is far from comfortable; mostly due to the fact that you have refused to stay still in his hold. His arm has an uncharacteristically firm grip around your chest, though he still isn’t being harsh by any means — quite the opposite, considering how persistentlyyou’re wriggling in your seat. 

In his free hand, he holds a wand-shaped vibrator: Round-headed, textured, and most prominently, the size of your entire forearm. He brings the device closer to his face, inspecting the control buttons with a mildly intrigued look on his typically unexpressive features. As if the tool wasn’t already looking intimidating enough, he presses one of the switches, and the toy whirs to life with strength you don’t even want to imagine having any point of your body subjected to. 

”Sunday!” you repeat his name in a more desperate tone, smacking the arm he has around you. 

”Yes?” he asks, his voice as nonchalant as ever, hardly even bothering to glance at your face over your shoulder while fiddling with the thing’s controls. 

”What are you gonna do with that?!”

”... You have been disagreeable.”

You’ve come to find that Sunday has never been great at talking about sexual things, but then again, the degree of it is sometimes nearly enough to make you crack up. You choke down the terrified, jittery laugh that nearly slips past your lips. 

”Wait, okay-okay-okay, hold on, where’d you get that?” you stare at the device in horror as instead of toning the vibrator’s intensity down, the man ramps the speed up. ”Sunday, where’d you-”

”Please keep it down. The others have already gone to bed”, he answers, not a single ounce of sympathy to be found in his words. 

You open your mouth to express your mind, but the words on your tongue pull back as you see the vibrator closing in on your thinly clothed groin. 

”Sunday-Sunday-Sunday, stop, seriously-!” you kick at the couch cushions to the best of your ability but to no avail. 

”Please stop”, Sunday sighs, stopping his advances for a moment in favour of pulling you back against him. ”It appears much more frightening than it is”, he sets the wildly vibrating head of the wand against your thigh, causing you to jolt, ”and Mr. Yang was gracious enough to provide me with it. Please don’t waste his kindness.”

”Huh?!” you strain your neck to look at him, wide-eyed. ”Hold-, wai-, Sunday, wait, what did you-uuh-!”

Cutting off your stream of words, Sunday presses the vibrator firmly against your covered bits. Simultaneously, clearly having predicted your reaction, he tightens his hold around you before you can flinch away from the sensation. Though you put a considerable amount of effort into trying to disconnect the toy from your cunt, he doesn’t budge an inch. 

As the first strategy doesn’t work, you desperately try to squeeze your knees back together — half out of reflex, partly to deliberately get the thing off of you — but you come to find that Sunday isn’t particularly pleased with the effort either way. Letting out a soft, mildly frustrated huff through his nose, he carefully wrestles your legs apart by forcing his own over them. As if to make a point, he switches the vibrator on a higher setting still.

”Please keep it down”, he repeats his earlier words while pressing the vibrator directly over your clit in gentle, circular motions. 

”Sunday, stop-stop-stop-stop-!”

Sighing, he lets go of your upper body in favour of bringing a gloved hand over your mouth. Though you immediately start throwing your head from side to side to hopelessly attempt to reopen your airways, you quickly come to find that he isn’t goint to let you go through with your whims: Carefully, he makes sure to trace your every movement, keeping his hand securely over your whiny mouth. Your whimpers and wails are muffled by his palm, and even as you start clawing at his arm to get him to let go of you, he calmly resorts to pinching your nose shut for a moment, silently warning you of the further consequences. As much as you hate the effectiveness of the method, with a great amount of mental strain, you force yourself to give up the struggle.

After an embarrassingly short while of resisting him, you surrender to your fate, doing your best to rest against his chest even as your lower half is tormented by the relentless stimuli. Satisfied with your compliance, Sunday moves his arm back around your upper body and returns his full attention to what’s going on in between your legs. 

One of his Halovian wings comes to rest over the side of your face in an affectionate manner. He idly strokes his thumb over the bare skin of your shoulder, all while his other hand focuses on nudging the vibrator back and forth, left to right, clockwise and counter-clockwise. Finding the sight too much to bear, you squeeze your eyes shut and instead try to drown yourself in the relentless buzzing noise that fills the dim room. 

Sunday isn’t yet particularly skilled in taking you to your peak, but the more times he has done it, the better he has gotten. After not that long of a while, the muscles in your lower half tighten, and the tingling sensation of an oncoming climax have you once again trying to clamp your thighs shut. He doesn’t let you, however — instead pressing the toy flusher against your bits — and after a moment or two, you reach your peak. 

He takes you through your high carefully, silently observing your expression to pinpoint exactly where the pleasure is on the brink of turning into overstimulation. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to beg him to stop his ministrations, he removes the toy from your bits. 

Completely drained, trying your best  to catch your breath, you rest limp in Sunday’s arms as he switches the vibrator off and sets it aside. With his hand now free, he proceeds to silently wrap the same arm around you as well, wordlessly lingering in your afterglow, taking in the feeling of your limp form against his. Slightly adjusting your position to be able to properly embrace you, he sinks his nose into the crook of your bare, heated shoulder.

˗ˏˋ ★ Welt

☆ Content warnings include: Fingering with a tiny bit of angst sprinkled in.

You hug the blanket closer to your chest, even though the fabric is already bunched up as close to your skin as it can. The cover provides you with a sense of comfort, even if the feelings the man behind you evokes from you are the complete opposite of that. 

It’s one of those days again. Welt has given you plenty of time to prepare for yourself for what is to come, but despite the merciful frame he has granted you, you’re feeling as anxious as always. It’s of no matter, though: Nothing you couöd have said or done would have gotten you out of it, anyway. 

You sit on your knees in between his legs with your bare back facing him. Though he doesn’t allow you the privilege of clothes, he never really minds it when you hide yourself in the comforter. If there’s one good thing to be said about the man, it’s that he at least tries, to the best of his ability, to take your emotions into account. 

Your shoulders jump as the warm palm of his hand settles in between your scapulae. The ritual is more or less the same each time around: He makes an attempt to familiarize you with his touch before he takes you to the deep end of the pool, but no matter how many times he does so, you can never help the way you jolt. 

Welt lets out a quiet sigh through his nose. Dragging himself forward on the bed, he shortens the gap between the two of you. Though you don’t dare to peek at him, you’re all too aware of the expression his face must have moulded into: A heart-lurching mix of tenderness, forlornness, and twisted adoration that goes far deeper than you could ever even begin to imagine. 

The hand on your back moves downwards. You try to curb the chills that rake your spine as the pads of his fingers glide over each vertebra, travelling downwards until they reach the curve of your waist. 

Something wet makes contact with the back of your neck. In your jittery state, it takes you a second to figure out that it’s his lips, and you’re unable to hold back the fearful gasp that slips out of your throat. As if to comfort you, his hand slides past your side and underneath the blanket you hold onto, settling over your stomach, warm and grounding. Disconnecting his mouth from your skin, he instead plants little pecks along the shape of your collarbone and down your back. 

You’re doing your best to keep your breathing at bay, but even then, your inhales have grown thin. He takes note of the shift, of course, but instead of stopping altogether, his solution is to slow his pace down a little. Where he would normally slip his free hand to your bare breasts, he now settles for resting it over your thigh. 

You bury your face in the blanket in your arms, quivering as he caresses the side of your hip in gentle, soothing motions. You listen to the near-silent, wet sounds his lips produce as he works his way to your other shoulder, leaving traces of saliva over your heated skin. Then, you feel the fingers on your stomach creep downwards. 

”Please tell me if anything feels uncomfortable”, Welt whispers into your skin, his voice wearied yet still maintaining the same, steadfast tone his composed demeanour is known for. 

He doesn’t mean the mental aspect, of course. Though he claims to care for it deeply, in moments like these, he seems to force the thoughts to the back of his mind entirely. 

You wince as the hand on your thigh urges you to spread your legs wider. The gesture barely makes a difference, but in the end, it’s more of a forewarning to you than anything more. Deeming the adjustment period long enough, he allows his fingers to dip into your nethers. 

The contact makes you shudder. Welt is much too far in to stop, however: Rather than pausing his actions, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him until your back touches his bare chest. His skin is warm against yours, his scent lingers all around you, you hear him breathe against the crook of your neck, but out of everything, the way his fingers dance along the slit of your cunt has your stomach sinking the most. 

None of it hurts, though — he makes sure he never gets rough with you unless your behaviour warrants it, just as he has promised to you countless times. Even as one of his digits breaches your entrance, he takes care to go as slowly as he’s possibly able to, coaxing lubrication out of you with feather-light touches. 

His mouth travels up to the back of your ear where he plants one last kiss against the sensitive skin. 

”Try to relax”, he murmurs into your hair. ”It’s going to be easier that way.”

A/N

Oh my-my-my, long time no see. Welcome to the pink Riri-era. I needed to improvise on the post's appearance a bit because there was no way I could fit twenty different men into the banner picture, but I hope the change in looks isn't too jarring ( ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ )

Which voiceover do you use? I myself use the JP dub, and sometimes, when I do research on the characters to get the dialogue and such accurately, I end up facing the dilemma that the vibe which I'm used to isn't translated in the EN lines, like, at all. I occasionally notice in game that some lines might even be entirely different in contents when comparing the voice to the text 💀 For characters like, say, Mydei, characterization is easy because the EN and JP versions convey more or less the exact same type of personality, but with Sampo, for example, the JP and the EN are like two completely different characters due to the VAs' personal interpretations. At the end of the day, I prefer to characterize by voice, and so if you get a strange vibe from certain characters, it might be because of that! Or, alternatively, I have missed the mark and need to be sent to fanfic writer bootcamp. I'll leave that up to you to decide.

[do-mkokoro]

Why are they giving different testimony…

[kiraras-lore]

Introduction

Hi~ this is my first introduction, please treat me well everyone (=>_<=)!!

Hi! My name is Kira, some call me Kirara! I'm 16 years old.

i'm a professional yapper and an artist, you may know me from my KAngel arts (or not) on my other blog @pyonamii0 !!

I go to a vocational multimedia school that supports my dream to be an illustrator but often times i get low grades so.. more work for me T-T.. but! i still make time to post every now and then! i'd like to write a book one day and i'm currently making a game (story in progress) for my OCs and also for other fangames like FNAF for example!

Enough yapping, hope you enjoy your stay! thanks for reading!

[pyonamii0]

Do follow my other account if you're interested!

[kiraras-lore]

Introduction

Hi~ this is my first introduction, please treat me well everyone (=>_<=)!!

Hi! My name is Kira, some call me Kirara! I'm 16 years old.

i'm a professional yapper and an artist, you may know me from my KAngel arts (or not) on my other blog @pyonamii0 !!

I go to a vocational multimedia school that supports my dream to be an illustrator but often times i get low grades so.. more work for me T-T.. but! i still make time to post every now and then! i'd like to write a book one day and i'm currently making a game (story in progress) for my OCs and also for other fangames like FNAF for example!

Enough yapping, hope you enjoy your stay! thanks for reading!

[pyonamii0]

haii iliterally loveyour art style somuch itssooo cute:333

Thank you! i truly appreciate your support!! (◍•ᴗ•◍)

[pyonamii0]

NSO - KAngel 💌💌

[barkittybark]

This is amazing! :3 I luv ur artstyle!

[pyonamii0]

thanksies (≧∇≦)/

[pyonamii0]

My sona and his brother

[pyonamii0]

[theorygenic-deactivated20250424]

where i got the icons from for this blog and aspengenic! show them some love guys!!

[pyonamii0]

<333

[perfectquote]

“We all eat lies when our hearts are hungry.”

— Unknown

[tartppola]

happy april foolz

[pyonamii0]

Hi guyss, what do y'all think of my new art style? :3 I'm still using my old one for most of things lolz

What do you think?

I like it

Ehh..

Voting ended onApr 16, 2025

[pyonamii0]

connected to the previous KAngel art, I'm planning to make a standee out of it LOLZ

[pyonamii0]

NSO - KAngel 💌💌

[pyonamii0]

i love your srtstyle so much omg

Omg thank you??? so much???? hi???? i truly appreciate all and any form of support! (つω`*)

Thank you to you and everyone for the notes and reblogs!!

[pyonamii0]

Barbara 💕💕

(edit : i forgot to color her lineart so ignore that and I'll reupload tomorrow)

[pyonamii0]