🔪 featuring {separate}: 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
🔪 tw: yandere content 𝜗𝜚 murder duh 𝜗𝜚 drugging 𝜗𝜚 jealous sex 𝜗𝜚 noncon 𝜗𝜚 size kink 𝜗𝜚 fear play 𝜗𝜚 kidnapping 𝜗𝜚 scent kink 𝜗𝜚 they're psycho 𝜗𝜚 lovebombing 𝜗𝜚 cherry poppin' 𝜗𝜚 blood kink 𝜗𝜚 sex after murder?? 𝜗𝜚 this lwk kinda scary 𝜗𝜚 aphrodisiacs 𝜗𝜚 full nelson 𝜗𝜚
🔪 an: her new boyfriend nexttt how'd I get hereeee?? 👀
🔪 CHILDE — Shits n' Giggles
Maybe if you don’t move, he won’t see you
You’re crouched between two crates, knees pulled to your chest, barely breathing. Your hands are clamped so tight over your mouth that your teeth are digging into your palm.
You saw it.
You saw Ajax laugh while he carved the man you were seeing apart. The way the hydro blades slashed n’ ripped.
Witnessing the moment your boyfriend stopped screaming, and he just kept laughing, louder and louder.
And then he looked right at you.
So now you’re hiding. Because you’re next. You have to be next.
His footsteps crunch over the gravel, slow and bouncy like he’s having the time of his life. Then the laughter starts again — loud, wild, completely deranged.
“Hmmm~ Where’s my favorite person?” Childe sings, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! I saved the best part just for you, babe!” Another burst of manic giggling echoes through the alley.
Fuck he’s getting closer way too fucking close.
Your whole body is shaking so hard that the crate behind you is rattling. Tears won’t stop pouring down your face.
Shit shit shit! He’s going to kill you. He snapped. He’s completely lost it, and now he’s going to—
“BOO!”
A bloody hand slams down on the crate right above your head. “AH THE FUCK-” You immediately slapped a hand over your mouth
Ajax drops down into a crouch in front of you, blue eyes wide and sparkling with pure insanity. His ginger hair is soaked red.
Blood smeared across his freckles like war paint. He’s grinning so wide it looks like his face might split.
“You really thought you could hide from me?” he laughs, loud and bright. “After I just put on a whole show for you? That’s so mean!”
He swiftly grabs your ankle and yanks you out from between the crates in one smooth motion.
THUD!
Hissing in pain as you hit the ground hard, but he’s already on top of you, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.
His face is inches from yours his mouth panting. You can smell the blood, see the lovesick glee in his eyes.
“You watched the whole thing, didn’t you?” he whispers, almost affectionate. “Saw me tear him apart... laughing while he cried like a little bitch. And then you ran away from me like I was gonna do the same to you.”
He drones off on that last part, Childe tilts his head, still smiling that terrifyingly happy smile.
“Wait...You thought I was coming to kill you next, huh? Pffttt!-” He bursts out laughing again — loud, unhinged, shoulders shaking as he presses his bloody forehead against yours. “That’s so fucking cute.~”
His cock is already hard, grinding against your stomach through blood-soaked fabric. You feel it twitch when you whimper.
His free hand slides down your side, gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. “I’m not gonna kill you, babe,” he purrs, voice dropping into something much darker.
“I killed him because he touched you. Because he thought he could have you. I did it all for us.”
He leans in and licks a tear off your cheek, blue eyes half-lidded with delight.
“Baby, stop crying and tell me how much you loved the show… or I’ll give you a reason to really scream.”
He says that last part with a proud little grin, an attempt to reassure you he’s stable.
You stare up at him, chest heaving.
“…Ajax is you on drugs right now?” you choke out.
He blinked once, then twice before laughing; his pupils literally dilated into tiny hearts as he pants above you, chest heaving, that manic smile never fading.
“Completely sober, babe. Promise.” He nipped your ear playfully. “Did it all on no drugs~,” he sing-songed.
“You’re fucking insane!” you scream, thrashing underneath him.
The insult lights him up like fireworks.
He moans openly, hips rolling slow and filthy, pressing the thick line of his cock against your cunt.
“Fuck— say it again. Louder.” Childe’s voice cracks with glee. “Call me a lunatic, baby. Please.”
You spit in his face. “Get the hell off me, you psychotic ginger bast—”
“Hah— you’re so h-hot when you’re mad at me,” he cuts you off delighted.
“You made me so sad when you decided to cheat on me, baby…” he coos.
“What???” This made you freeze. “We broke up months ago, you fucking psycho— get off—”
“No.”
The word drops flat. Instant. Like a switch flipped behind his eyes.
“No. No no no no no.” He’s giggling now, shoulders shaking as he pins your wrists deeper into the gravel. “Don’t do that. Don’t say that. We didn’t break up. I didn’t agree to that. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”
“Ajax…we broke up. Months ago. I left. You can’t just-”
“No.”
His fingers dig bruises into your ass. Cock twitches hard against your belly, leaking through his pants as he fishes it out one-handed. Thick. Angry.
Drooling precum in fat sticky ropes that splatter hot against your clit.
“Shhh gonna split you open, bunny,” voice still sickeningly sweet. Hips rocking forward as the fat head kisses your entrance—hot, demanding, wider than you remember. "Just relax… let me fill you up…"
“Wait!- hngh!-”
Plunging in deep you cried out nails scraping the gravel, walls fluttering uselessly around the sheer girth, trying to push him out even while more slick gushes out to betray you.
“F-ffuck! Didn’t you hear me??”
He sinks deep, deep, deep, blue eyes half-lidded in bliss while that smile never falters.
“Don’t say that again.” One blood-stained hand cups your cheek, thumb smearing red across your skin like he’s petting a scared kitten.
“C’mon, babe. We both know how this ends. Seems you forgot who you belong to. That’s okay though.”
With a broken moan his forehead dropped to yours pausing briefly.
“I’ll remind you.”
He starts moving.
Slow at first—wet, filthy drags that grind his cock against every raw nerve inside you.
Then harder. Meaner.
Each thrust timed with that same cheerful, hollow voice.
“Ya f-feel that, babe? That’s me. That’s us. No break-up. No ex. Just t-this pretty pussy squeezing me so tight like it missed its owner!”
You gritted your teeth and tried to twist away.
He’s too heavy. Too deep. Too gone.
“Ajax, ngh! puhleeasee! This isn’t!-”
“NO-“ plap! “NO-“ plap! “NO NO NO- don’t do that! Don’t say that!”
Every “no” lands with a vicious snap of his hips.
Cockhead battering your womb like he’s trying to fuck the memory of leaving him out of your body.
“-We’re on a nice date right now, babe! Can’t you hah…haha…see? I took you out, I got all dressed up for you, I’m being so good for you tonight!”
He’s screaming between giggles.
Tears pouring. Smile never drops. Just keeps stretching wider and wider like his face is about to split.
The wet pap-pap-pap of skin on skin echoes loud between you, slick and cum all mixing together.
You sob harder. “W-what are you ah!- talkin’ bout?!? I said we broke up! T-this isn’t a date!”
“NO!”
Another scream tears from his throat. Raw. Unhinged. Sinking deeper. Inch after thick inch.
“Don’t say that again. Don’t say that, don’t say that don’t say that - we’re on a date! This is our date!”
Laughing and crying and babbling all at once while heart-shaped pupils spin wildly.
As he fucks you in earnest—wet, filthy schlick-schlick-schlick echoing off the crates in the alley.
His leaking precum making an obscene mess between your thighs.
He’s laughing and crying and babbling all at once, that empty cheerful mask splintering wider and wider.
“You always come back to me eventually.” His voice fractures sweeter, darker. “This cunt is squeezing me so tight! Baby!— fuck, you missed me, didn’t you? Haha…”
You sob, hands gripping his shoulders tight so hard you made indents from your nails.
He only groans louder, pace turning relentless, hips grinding deep on every thrust like he’s trying to crawl inside your ribs and stay there forever.
In his shattered mind, this is a date.
The only one that matters.
And he’s never letting it end.
🔪 DOTTORE — Exhibit A
“You brought this on yourself, you know.”
The words hum down the long, sterile hallway, lazy, almost affectionate.
As if he’s scolding a pet who keeps making the same mistake.
You’re running as fast as your legs will carry you, feet slapping hard against the cold tile while your lungs burn and your heart hammers so violently you can hear it thundering in your ears.
Sweat pours down your spine, and your thighs feel way too slick, way too hot, and none of it makes any sense because you’re running for your life.
You’re sure you’re going to die, so why the fuck is your pussy throbbing and dripping down your own legs like this?
Your mind is spinning so fast it hurts.
You’d only come back to Snezhnaya because your ex said he needed to talk, and then you heard the screaming and the wet, horrible sounds, and then nothing at all.
Of course, you didn’t witness what happened, but you’re starting to piece together what unfolded now with every heavy footstep echoing behind you.
He killed him.
He actually killed your boyfriend, then he injected you with something, and now he’s hunting you through his own lab, part of whatever sick experiment he’s running, wanting you terrified and soaking wet at the same time.
Your head is pounding, your skin feels clammy and burning hot all at once, your heart is beating so fast it’s making you dizzy.
Yet still your cunt keeps clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs with every desperate step.
The ache between your legs is getting worse.
Throbbing hot and embarrassing, how are you running for your life, and your pussy is acting like this is foreplay?
“Do I really have to do this to teach you a lesson each time?” Dottore chuckled, his humming getting louder, his steps steady. “Running only makes the poison work faster, love~.”
His voice is so much closer now, curling up your spine, breathing down your neck, and you don’t dare look back.
You just keep running, gasping, crying, thighs trembling and slippery while that awful heat keeps spreading through your body, and you're so sure that whatever he gave you isn’t poison at all.
And then it hits.
It crashes through your veins like liquid fire, so sudden and violent that your legs give out instantly. You fall hard, knees slamming into the cold tile as a broken sob rips from your throat.
A puddle of slick immediately spreads beneath you, warm and humiliating, because you’re gushing so much it’s pooling on the floor.
Fuck
Your cunt won’t stop spasming, clenching, and fluttering around nothing while wave after wave of pure, pent-up arousal drowns you.
All you feel is white-hot need flooding every inch of you, so violent it rips a broken moan straight from your throat.
Attempting to get up, but you only twitch and writhe your limbs, feeling like static jello.
You look like you’re in the throes of a fever — flushed all the way down to the roots of your sweat-drenched hair, eyes slightly glazed and unfocused, lips parted as you pant like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Treachorous pussy won’t stop twitching against its will. Fresh slick gushes out of you in waves, so much that you can hear the wet sound of it dripping.
You can’t think...you can’t even remember why you were running.
All you know is that you’re burning, aching, dripping, and the man who just killed your boyfriend is standing right behind you.
“There we go…” he purrs, slow footsteps finally stopping beside you. “That’s what I wanted to see. Fascinating.”
His red eyes pierced through your trembling form like twin scalpels, cutting straight through whatever was left of your dignity.
You’re on the floor in a puddle of your own slick, thighs shaking violently, chest heaving as another wave of that cursed heat slams into you.
Shame burns hotter than the aphrodisiac.
Shame on you.
Shame on you for even considering giving him another chance.
That stupid letter he sent you had sounded so sweet, so almost-human.
You’d actually let yourself believe he might’ve changed.
What a fuckin' joke.
You left him for a reason.
No matter how tenderly he touched you, you could never tell if he was holding you because he missed you or because he was quietly counting your pulse for some new “stress test.”
Every damn time he looked at you, it felt like he was staring at a particularly interesting petri dish.
Those segments gave you the worst hive-mind uncanny valley feeling, like you were dating twenty versions of the same man who all saw you as data.
You were so fucking sure that Dottore didn’t actually love you.
That you were just his favorite little experiment.
And yet here you are.
Dripping all over his floor. Whimpering like a bitch in heat while he stands over you, looking as smug as always.
“Pathetic,” voice low and clinical, but there’s something darker threaded underneath it.
He crouches slowly beside you, gloved fingers tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet those crimson eyes. “Look at you. Running from me only to end up like this.”
You try to snarl at him, but it comes out as a broken moan instead.
Hips twitch uselessly against the cold tile, cunt clenching hard around nothing as another gush of slick leaks out of you. The shame is suffocating.
“I left you-” you gasp, voice cracking, “-because you don’t even love me. You look at me like I’m just another specimen. Those Segments… It’s like dating twenty of you, and none of them actually want me; they just want the data-”
Your words cut off into a sharp cry as he drags two fingers through your soaked folds, spreading you open without warning.
“Such a dramatic little thing,” Dottore coos, mocking. “All that fire with your pussy drooling all over my fingers the second I touch it. You really think I don’t love you?”
He laughs softly, dark and cruel.
“If I didn’t, would I have gone through the trouble of killing that worthless fling of yours? Would I have spent weeks perfecting this particular strain of aphrodisiac simply so I could watch you fall apart so beautifully?”
Your ex smiled eerily and slowly took off his glove.
“Did you have your fun? Did you get it all out?--” He pressed two thick fingers inside you without mercy, curling them viciously against that spot that makes your vision spark white. “-It’s time to come back to me.”
You sob, hips jerking, tears spilling down your flushed cheeks. “Zandik- hah- please”
“Please, what?” Twisting his fingers deeper, thumb circling your swollen clit with slow, teasing strokes. “Use your words, darling. You were so eloquent a moment ago about how I don’t love you. Tell me exactly what you need from the man who supposedly feels nothing for you.”
Your pride is crumbling fast.
The heat is unbearable now, every inch of you burning, pulsing, begging. You’re so pent up it hurts.
“I— I can’t— fuck— Zandik, please, I need—”
He pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whine pathetically at the loss, hips chasing his hand like a desperate whore.
“Beg properly,” he says coldly, eyes glittering with wicked delight. “Beg the man you claim doesn’t love you to fuck the need out of your pitiful, dripping cunt. Or perhaps I should just leave you here like this?... Let you writhe on the floor until the aphrodisiac drives you truly insane? Hm?~”
Damn him
You break. Tears streaming, voice shaking, pussy throbbing so hard it’s painful, you sob out the words he wants to hear.
“Please… please, Zandik, I need your cock— I need you to fuck me, please— I can’t take it anymore—”
Dottore's mouth curls, slow and terrifyingly satisfied. “Good girl.”
Two thick fingers push back inside you without warning, curling viciously against that spot that makes sparks explode behind your eyes.
You sob, hips jerking hard as another gush of slick floods out around his hand, pooling on the cold tile beneath you.
The pleasure is too much. Too fast. Your cunt keeps spasming and fluttering uselessly, greedy and desperate even as shame burns through you.
You try to close your legs. Try to bite back the whimpers.
Smack!
It was sharp - fleeting, even - but your entire body is jolting at the feeling of Dottore’s thick fingerpads smacking your poor cunt.
Right above your ravaged clit. “Ngh- Z-Zandik!”
“Z-Zandik!” he mocks your moans, voice higher than usual. “Thought you wanted hngh- to be quiet, whore?”
He grins, chuckling softly at the way you’re half-lucidly pushing at his rippling biceps - nails leaving neat little marks as you’re torn between pushing him away and wanting more, more, more-
“How are you gonna do that if you’re like this, huh?”
You fixed your quivering lips to say anything, but he did something unexpected-
He leans in and kisses you like he actually missed you.
Soft at first. Almost sweet.
His moves against yours with surprising tenderness while two thick fingers sink back into your dripping cunt, curling lovingly against that spot that makes your brain melt.
“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, his voice low and warm against your lips. “I’ve always loved you. Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve invested in you?”
At the same time, his fingers pinch your swollen clit hard, rolling the poor bud between his thumb and forefinger with mean, precise pressure.
You jolt and whimper into Dottore's mouth. “Mmnph!- no, you-”
He just kisses you deeper, swallowing every sound, murmuring sweet filth against your tongue.
“My perfect little whore,” he coos lovingly, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your tear-stained cheek, the corner of your eye. “Look at you. Such a pathetic, dripping mess on my floor. Crying and gushing like you were made for this.”
Another deep, affectionate kiss as he pinches your clit even harder, tugging on it while his fingers fuck into you with wet, filthy sounds.
“I love you so much,” he breathes tenderly, like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. “I’ve discarded less valuable things for far smaller reasons.”
You’re shaking, overwhelmed and confused at the constant contrast between his soft kisses, gentle confessions, and the ruthless way he’s abusing your clit is driving you insane.
He kisses you again — slow, deep, devoted — right as he gives your clit one last vicious pinch.
That’s what breaks you.
Your orgasm hits like lightning. You scream into his mouth as your cunt clamps down around his fingers, gushing everywhere in messy, humiliating waves.
Dottore keeps kissing you through it. Sweet. Loving. Like he’s proud of you.
Only when your body finally goes limp does he pull back, red eyes glowing with satisfaction.
Then his smile turns sharper.
“That aphrodisiac I gave you?” he says calmly, still stroking your hair like a lover. “It was always a hybrid. The paralyzing agent activates right after orgasm.”
You try to move your legs.
Nothing.
From the waist down… you’re completely paralyzed.
“Fascinating…” Zandik leans down and presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice soft and affectionate.
“You won’t need legs anymore, darling. I’ll take care of you from now on.”
🔪 RERIR — Fuck Your New Guy
He’s going to kill him. Right now.
That’s what the eye contact is for. You understand that now, tied to the headboard, gag wet from crying, that the man you’ve been seeing for three months is going to die in front of you.
Watching Rerir’s hand coil around your man’s throat, slowly wanting you to see all of it.
Your fling is begging. Grabbing at his wrist with both hands, saying things — please and wait and something pathetic about not even knowing you that well — and your true lover doesn’t even flinch.
Pink eyes bore holes through you, and somehow, you knew exactly what they were silently communicating at this moment.
You ran, his eyes say.
Across a continent, across a whole ass ocean. Inazuma. You made it to Inazuma and stood in your new home, and almost convinced yourself it was over.
His grip tightens slow n’ deliberate…You feel it in your stomach even from across the room, this horrible, telegraphed knowing, and you’re pulling at the rope again without deciding to, wrists burning, throat working around nothing-
CRACK!
The sound was loud. Wrong in a way that lives in your body now, permanent, a sound you will never un-hear for the rest of your life.
You closed your eyes tight as if that would make this go away. Flinching when you heard the deep thud of your ex's body dropping to the floor.
Still not opening your eyes. Just squeezed them shut harder, biting your lip behind the gag so the sob stays where it is.
How did this happen?
Why you?
Why not some other girl - there’s no way he’s this obsessed, right?!
It’s ok, it’s all a dream once you open your eyes; this’ll all be some sick nightmare that you can laugh about—
He’s right in front of you.
“EEP!-” You jerked back hard, skull connecting with the headboard, stars exploding across your vision.
Rerir’s hand shoots out, gripping your face hard. Cheeks squishing between his long, sharp claws, blood forming at the ends of his talons, forcing your teary eyes to meet his.
When he tore the gag off, you didn’t even breathe first. "I'm sorry!-"
Already. Before you can even think.
"I'm so sorry, okay, I know I left, but I just needed — it wasn't about you; he didn't even mean anything, I swear, I wasn't thinking. Please, I'll fix it, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't-"
Rerir stares at you, eyes narrowed in genuine confusion.
He killed for you. Crossed an ocean for you. And here you are looking at him like he’s something you have to survive.
It should bother him.
…it doesn’t.
He tunes most of it out.
The rambling.
The apologies.
The way your voice keeps cracking.
He just watches your face, searching for the girl who used to call him "Riri".
“—I can make it up to you.”
Oh
There she is.
“Make it up to me.” He drawls, repeating.
You gulp but nod frantically. “Yes. Anything! I swear! I’ll do anything.”
His eyes drop for a second, then back up to yours. “Even that?”
You know exactly what he means.
The thing you always shied away from, always found some excuse for — you’re too big, we can’t, I can’t— and he was patient.
He was.
But patience has a limit, and you just handed him an open invitation.
His giant cock visibly throbs in his pants, a wet spot spreading from the tip as he leans in close, long sharp claws trailing down your stomach.
Rerir brings two blood-stained fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a slow drag of his tongue, pink eyes never leaving yours.
“You said I was too big.” His voice drops low. Husky. “Said you couldn’t take it.”
Clawed hand sliding lower until he’s cupping your soaked cunt possessively. “And now you’re tied to the bed, telling me you’ll do anything.”
“Ok wait- Rerir— I didn’t mean—”
“Fuckkk, I need ya.” He crashes his mouth into yours like a starving animal.
He doesn’t give you time to breathe.
One clawed hand tilts your head aside while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. His mouth attacks your neck — licking, sucking, biting marks into every inch the other man never touched.
“I need ya so badly,” he groans against your skin, “Been dreaming about this tight little virgin pussy the entire time I crossed that fucking ocean for you.”
You whimper as he frees his cock.
It’s monstrous.
Thick, veined, heavy enough that it slaps against your stomach with a wet thwack. The tip is already drooling thick ropes of precum.
“Rerir it’s— it’s way too big— I can’t— we shouldn’t—”
“Fuck no.”
He cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips, notching that fat cockhead right against your entrance. Pink eyes gleaming with something feral.
He pushes forward with just a tip. The bigggg stretch is immediate, stinging, and impossible.
Your back arches clean off the bed, a broken cry ripping from your throat.
“You got very far. Fuck, I’ll give you that.”
He’s panting against your ear, claws digging into your thighs as he forces you open wider. “Tied up. Begging to make it up to me. This pussy’s already creamin’ all over me, and I’m barely inside.”
SCHLCK!
Another thick inch sinks in. Your walls flutter desperately around the invasion, trying and failing to adjust. “Rerir!!— ngh!—”
Rerir’s claws dig harder into your thighs as he forces another thick inch inside you.
Your pussy has never taken anything close to his size before, and it’s fighting him, walls clamping down so tight it almost hurts him too.
“NGGH-” A broken whine rips from your throat. “-IT HURTS!” Your back bows clean off the bed.
“Just relax,” he hisses against your neck, “Hah, you’re already this tight?”
He rolls his hips again.
Slow and greedy.
Another inch sinks in. The fat head of his cock pushes so deep that the bulge in your stomach becomes obvious, moving with every shallow breath you take.
You’re crying now. Legs shaking uselessly in the air while the ropes bite into your wrists.
“I can’t— I’ve never—”
“You will.”
Your pussy flutters desperately around the invasion, creaming and dripping down his length even as you sob. Rerir groans. Low. Filthy. His claws flex on your hips, yanking you down to meet the next heavy push.
“This is what you owe me.”
He starts fucking you for real then — long, sloooooppy strokes that drag every veined inch through your walls, forcing them to stretch around him whether they want to or not.
The first real thrust tears a sharp sting through you.
Blood.
A thin trail of red mixes with your slick, smearing down his thick cock as he forces your virgin cunt open for the first time.
The sight makes Rerir shudder so hard you feel it in your bones.
“Fuck…” he groans, voice cracking with something close to reverence. “First time.”
Each pull back has your cunt clinging to him desperately, gushing and creaming down his length like it’s trying to keep him inside.
Every brutal push forward forces another wet schlck out of you, the obscene sound mixing with the faint metallic scent of blood in the air.
You can’t think.
Can’t even speak.
Just broken little cries and whimpers every time that fat, roverin’ reddened cockhead plunges between your pussylips and hits dead-set on the back of your cunt — splattering slick, cum, and blood upwards.
Bandaged torso presses flush against you, chest heaving as he drinks in every twitch, every sob, every tear.
“C-can’t wait til ya cum f’me, my girl. First time taking all of me — I want to feel it.”
He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, fangs grazing your lip as he feels your body start to seize again.
He drags his swollen cock all the way back until only the fat tip is teasing your puffy folds, letting you feel every single throb… then slams back in with a wet SCHLORP, bottoming out so deep the bulge in your stomach is obscene.
You bit your lip so hard it bled, tears falling freely from your eyes.
Laughing low and mean, another thrust, even harder, mercilessly bashing in the top of your cervix, so smooth and slick you were - your sure his rude tip has formed a bruise there.
“Who the fuck leaves a cock this big for some pathetic little fling?” he taunts, voice dripping smug cruelty. “Do you have any idea how many sluts would kill to get split open on something this thick? And you ran far n’ wide just to let some tiny-dicked nobody be your first?”
He punctuates it with a particularly brutal ram that made your cunt gush out more fluids.
Your only coherent thought, floating somewhere above the pain and mind-melting pleasure, is:
He’s really talking shit about my ex… right now? While he’s literally taking my virginity?
Rerir seems to read it on your face, grinning genuinely for the first time in the night.
“What? Were you actually gonna let that loser pop ya cherry?-” He laughs darkly, hips never stopping their brutal rhythm. “-Cute. Stupid. But don’t worry, baby… I ngh, made the decision for you.”
His hands angled your hips to hit right in that spongy spot inside you, pain and pleasure blurred together as you hiccup and gasp.
“F-FFUCK! RIRI!”
The nickname slips out before you can stop it… Moaning mindlessly, too cockdrunk to realize what you had said, wrists burning from your frantic moving around.
Rerir goes completely still for half a second.
Then something in his face does something complicated — jaw tight, pink eyes flickering, like you just reached into his chest and squeezed.
His next thrust comes slower.
Deeper n’ more deliberate.
"T-that’s it." Rough. Barely above a whisper. “Let go f’me.”
Toes curling until it hurts — you cum so hard your vision whites out, mouth in a wide 'o' shape.
Rerir's grinding down your g-spot perfectly, making you go numb with the pleasure of him poking that tight orifice — right before you're bursting into your very first orgasm.
He doesn’t pull away even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation.
Just keeps grinding that fat cockhead against your cervix like he’s never letting you go again.
Silky ropes of cum pour deep into the back of your pussy — thick, goopy, and endless.
Splashing around every time he fucks his groin inside, collecting right where he keeps pressing like a button he has no intention of releasing.
Being fucked through peak after peak.
Thrust after thrust all targeting that same ruined spot.
When you finally come down, those same pink predatory eyes are staring into your star-struck ones.
And you know with terrifying clarity, that he’s not chasing you a second time.
🔪 VARKA — “Too Much?”
I’m so mature.
Varka keeps telling himself that, knuckles white around the rag as he wrings it out over the bucket.
Pink. Then red. Then clear again.
Methodical. Steady. Same hands that carved through warzones without flinching. Same hands that just turned her little side-piece into red paste across the cabin walls.
Heh. Mature.
The rag rips clean down the middle.
He stares at the torn halves for half a second, lips twitching. Tosses them aside and grabs a fresh one.
I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so fucking mature.
Three weeks of that bullshit looping in his skull.
Ever since Kaeya dropped it so casually — she’s seeing someone now. Varka had just nodded, smiled, and gritted out through clenched teeth, ‘Good for her,’ with the straightest face in all of Mondstadt.
Then went home and split a training dummy clean in half.
Now the cabin reeks of iron.
Blood on the walls, floorboards, and blood drying in his blond hair and streaked across his scars.
And he’s still cleaning...calm as you please.
Because he’s the Grand Master, he doesn’t get jealous.
He's mature.
Footsteps hit the porch — right on time, like clockwork.
That familiar little rhythm that used to make his chest warm. Now it makes his cock twitch against his thigh like a goddamn animal.
Wringing the new rag, slower now. Blood drips plip… plip… plip into the bucket while his blue eyes flick toward the door.
Frozen in the doorway. Eyes wide. Pretty little mouth falling open at the massacre he made of her ex.
3...2…1
“VARKA WHAT THE HELL!”
Flashing her that same easy, sheepish grin he always gives when he comes home late from a mission.
“Princess-” he drawls “-it’s not what it looks like.”
You’re frozen in the doorway.
The entire cabin is covered in blood. It’s everywhere — walls, floor, even the ceiling.
The smell is so thick it makes your throat close up.
And there’s Varka.
On his knees in the middle of it all. Blond hair matted with red. Scars stood out sharply against all the blood. Blue eyes looking up at you with that same easy, friendly expression he always wears.
He’s casually wiping down his claymore with a rag like he’s cleaning dirt off it after training.
Your man... or what’s left of him is lying in a heap a few feet away.
He gives you a bashful little smile. “Alright, okay, I know how this looks,” his voice warm and almost playful as he wrings the bloody rag out between his huge hands.
“Things got a little out of hand. I really did try to talk to him first, doll. Swear on my honor. But the guy just wouldn’t listen. Kept going on and on about how he was in love with you and wouldn't leave you…” He lets out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed.
“I just didn’t like how obsessed he was getting with you. So… I handled it.”
Why and how the fuck is he so nochalant? Well, of course, violence wasn't new for him since he is the grandmaster...but this was insane!
This psycho literally killed your boyfriend, and for what?!-
Your eyes darted from him to the mangled corpse a few feet away then back at Varka, him catching your stare and chuckling at your expression.
That was until your knees started to buckle, and the world began to blur as the familiar feelings of danger banged in your head.
This is exactly why you left him.
The man can stand in a room full of someone else’s blood and talk to you like he just spilled juice on the carpet.
You thought if you left, he would've gotten better- you were so wrong.
You stumbled a bit, the faint deja vu of stress reeling in.
Varka notices immediately. His blue eyes widen. “Ah, doll—wait, don’t!—”
Your vision goes black before you even hit the floor.
.
.
🔪
SCHLCK! SCHLORP! SCHLCK!
He’s got you folded in half before you even wake up.
Strong forearms hooked all tight n’ draaaaagging them upwards- the moment your pussy’s smeared all open, it’s letting out the most lecherous squelch!
Your back plastered to his sweat-slick chest, pussy spread obscenely wide and already drooling all over his thick cock.
The moment he spears back in — SCHLCK! — your eyes snap open on a broken wail.
“NGHH… FUH—?!”
Varka groans low against your ear, chin digging into the crook of your neck so he can watch the way your poor cunt stretches around him.
Every brutal upward thrust makes your tits bounce, makes more of that gooey white cum he already pumped into you earlier splatter out in messy little bursts.
“Fuuuull fuckin’ Nelson,” he pants, hoarse and delighted. “There she is. There’s my good girl.”
He rocks you on his cock like you weigh nothing.
Huge hands locked behind your head, forcing you to look down at the obscene sight your puffy folds split wide, his fat, veiny length disappearing into you over and over, creamy ring of cum and slick coating his base.
Your walls flutter desperately around his girth, clenching, milking, trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once.
Legs tremble uselessly in the air. You can’t kick or twist. Can’t do anything but take it.
“V-Varka— what?—are you AH! doing?!!”
He chuckles warmly and unhinged. Another mean thrust, cockhead bullying straight into your cervix.
“You passed out on me, princess. Looked so fuckin’ distressed. Figured this woulda helped wake n’ cheer ya up.”
SCHLORP!
Your cunt squelches obscenely with every slam. Slick sprays. His balls slap wet against your ass.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
He’s huffing against your temple now, hips never slowing.
You sputtered, “FUH- hah! please- this is- ngh- too much!”
“Too much?” His forearms flex harder beneath your knees, yanking you down another inch so his cock grinds mean against your cervix. “Princess, I just redecorated the whole damn cabin for ya and yer tellin’ me this is too much?”
You sob again, voice hoarse, head lolling against his sweat-slick shoulder, trying to calm him down like you used to do before.
“Y-You killed him- we can’t just! fuck— okay, o-okay, slow down, talk to me— we can fix t-this!—”
The word “fix” makes something in him snap clean in half.
He groans way more animalistic than before.
Teeth sinking into the side of your neck as he grinds his cock in deep, swollen tip kissing your cervix over and over like he’s trying to knock it open.
“Fix?” His voice is hoarse now. Shaky. That warm Grand Master tone is completely gone. “There’s nothing to fix. Yer mine, always have been. That pathetic fuck thought he could have ya, and I handled it.”
“I’m bein’ so mature about this,” Varka grits out, teeth clenched so hard you hear them click.
One brutal thrust punches the air out of you.
“So fuckin’ mature. Could’ve killed ya too the second you ran off with that nobody. Could’ve snapped yer pretty neck and kept ya here forever.”
That made you whimper, realizing he still could do it with the way he gripped your head.
His hips are pistoning harder, cock buried deep in your stomach battering it over, and over and over-
“But I didn’t. I was good. I waited. I cleaned up my mess like a big boy and now yer cryin’ and beggin’ me to slow down?”
Every word gets more feral.
Every time you try to talk Varka down, he fucks you harder, like he’s punishing you for even suggesting he’s out of control.
You whimper, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry— please just talk to me; we don’t have to—”
He cuts you off with a broken moan that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Talk?” The word comes out shaky n’ unstable. “Ya really want me to talk while this pussy’s squeezin’ me so good? While you’re still drippin’ down my balls after I killed for you?”
His thrusts turn punishing. Short, deep, cervix-kissing jabs that make your vision spark white.
“I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so— fuckin’ mature—”
The mantra is falling apart. His voice is cracking. That easy smile you loved is gone, replaced by something wild and teeth-bared and terrifyingly fond.
You try one last time, voice small and trembling between moans.
“Ok look Varka… you’re scaring me—”
He buries his face in your neck, blond hair tickling your skin, and you feel his lips pull into a grin against your pulse.
“Good.”
Because he is scaring you.
And that fact alone has his cock throbbing so hard inside you it hurts.
You left him weeks ago.
Packed a bag in the middle of the night while he was out on some Grand Master bullshit.
Left nothing but a note that said you couldn’t do it anymore; the hovering, overprotectiveness, it all felt suffocating.
You ran.
He let you.
Told himself he was being mature. That if you needed space, he’d give it.
That the Grand Master of Mondstadt doesn’t chase. Doesn’t obsess. Doesn’t break.
Cause’ he’s handling it well!
Now here you are.
Folded in half in his arms like a fucking rag doll. Pussy gushing and fluttering and creaming all over the cock that just painted your ex across every surface of this cabin.
And you’re still trying to talk him down.
“You left me a note, princess. A fucking note. While I was out keeping Mondstadt safe. And the whole time I was tellin’ myself I was bein’ so goddamn mature.”
He shifted justttt enough to look at your face — eyes wild, pupils blown wide with obsession.
“Look at me. Being reasonable.”
His next thrust is so deep you completely went limp. "OHHH SHIT!-" Your eyes crossed, mouth slack.
SCHLORP—!
Thick ropes of fresh cum flood your insides without warning.
Hot. Endless. He doesn’t stop moving.
Just keeps grinding through his orgasm, fucking every last drop deeper while your own high crashes into you like a freight train.
You sob his name, orgasm crashing through, thighs violently shaking in the air.
Cunt clenching and gushing around him as he fills you past the point of overflowing, dripping down his cock to his balls.
Varka just holds you there. Folded. Full. His.
Pressing a slow, almost tender kiss to your tear-streaked cheek, blood from his face smearing against your skin.
“So glad I didn’t hafta kill ya princess,” he nuzzles into your neck chuckling lowly.
NSFW: SMUT-heavy, dub-con, Lohen is a sadomasochist, riding (cowgirl), oral (m and f recieving), face-fucking, cum play, implied heat (reader), collaring, choking, spanking, degradation and humiliation, cum marking, a bit of edging, blood as sexual stimulus, edging, your honor, he's a freak!
(If you find some more, please let me know.)
As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!
NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes.
Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.
“Lah– Loh– Ahh~ Lohen–!”
Your broken whimper barely makes it past your drooling mouth before Lohen throws his head back and laughs. This cruel sound echoes through the burrow like he’s just heard the funniest joke in Mondstadt.
“Ohhh, poor little kitten~” he cooes, voice dripping with fake sympathy while his crimson eyes glitter with pure sadistic glee. “Look at you, barely conscious, tongue hanging out like a cheap whore in heat. Pathetic.”
You sob, trying to ride him, weak hips rolling in shallow motions. Your thoroughly abused pussy makes embarrassing squelching sounds every time you sink down on his cock, pushing out thick globs of his cum, dirtying his thighs and abdomen, soaking the blanket. His belt around your throat serves as an improvised collar, and it digs in as he tugs at it, yanking your head forward so you have to look at his pretty, smirking face.
“Aww, is the big bad lynx tired already?” he pouts, voice sweet and condescending. “How embarrassing. I thought predators were supposed to be strong~”
He suddenly bucks his hips up hard, slamming into you with enough force to make you cry out. Then he does it again, laughing breathlessly, while more tears strike down your face and you try to bring your trembling thighs together with his lean hips in the way. Vice Captain smirks at the attempt, slapping your bruised bum with two of his palms.
“Too weak, huh? Fine then!”
With one vicious yank on the leash, he pulls you off his cock completely and roughly flips you onto your back. The sudden movement makes you nauseous, but Lohen pays no attention to that. He hooks your trembling legs over his shoulders, folding you in half until your knees are nearly touching your shoulders. Your fluffy lynx tail is trapped awkwardly beneath you, twitching weakly, fur matted with cum leaking out of you.
“Here ya go,” he growls, eyes wild and manic as he lines his aching cock back up with your leaking entrance. “Nice and open so I can breed you like the dumb bitch you are.”
One brutal thrust and he buries himself to the hilt inside your cum-filled pussy, moaning loudly, but it quickly dissolves into cruel laughter as he starts pounding into you with reckless force.
“Fuuuck– still so tight even after I’ve ruined you,” he whines, voice cracking with overstimulation, yet he refuses to slow down. “My personal lynx onahole.”
.
.
.
Yep.
That’s you.
Probably wondering how you got here, huh?
Well, let's rewind a bit.
Pretty little bun bun. That's what you saw. Sleepy crimson peepers half lidded like he just woke up from a nap about slaugering yet another ruin guard. Twitchy nose that wiggles when he's thinking about... what, manslaughter? And those ears… Silky, with the softest inner velvet you've ever seen. They flick and flop and flutter with every single emotion that crosses his deranged little face.
And you, stupid little apex predator that you are, looked at this deranged little creature and thought: prey.
Bottom of the food chain, theoretically. It's written in the goddamn stars, etched into the bones of the world by evolution itself. Natural order of things: cute little bun buns get eaten by big scary kitty cats.
And you are, obviously, from the second group. A whole ass lynx hybrid, honey. Tufted ears that swivel like furry radar dishes, picking up the faintest rustle of prey in the underbrush. Claws that could fillet a boar and use its ribs for toothpicks. Unmatched speed (oh, how he would mock you later), and strength (and he still could pin you down effortlessly). And that natural swagger that screams louder than any roar.
So you got comfortable. A bit arrogant. Fucking stupid, if you ask me.
But you probably wonder what exactly you did to end up in that burrow?
Well, you flicked one of those silky soft mint ears in the hallway outside the library and called him a bottom of a food chain right in front of Sucrose, who choked on her own spit and practically teleported out of existence in a cloud of panicked anemo particles.
You thought you were being funny. A little harmless fun, yeah? A playful swat from the big cat to the little bunny.
Mistake!
Because that particular bunny came off the assembly line fucking defective. They dropped him on his fluffy little head as a kit, or maybe his momma drank some bad firewater while he was in the womb, or whatever. You don't know what exactly happened, but something crucial snapped. Instead of developing a healthy ‘oh gods please don't eat me’ fear response to things with fangs, his brain rewired it into an obsession with the specific threat of being eaten.
To put it bluntly, Lohen looked at your proud predator stride and saw a dumb, pretty recruit who he could reduce to a drooling, cunt clenching, begging mess.
And oh, this motherfucker knows that he’s pretty and has something to seduce you with. He's got those big crimson eyes that can go from ‘uwu I'm just a soft little bunny’ to ‘I'm going to skin you alive’ in the space of a heartbeat. He's got those long legs that he loves to show off, wearing those high boots that cling to every lean line and curve. And let's not even mention his ass, presented so perfectly in those tight white trousers. He's got this lean and flexible body that he loves to show off.
After that single incident with a flick, it starts small. A hand on your lower back, fingers splayed, pressing just a little too firmly, lingering just a little too long. Him demanding you for the training. His hip bumping yours when he falls into step beside you.
"Vice Captain, what are you doing?" you hiss, trying to sidestep away.
"Walking with my favorite recruit," he says, beaming up at you. His hand finds your elbow, tucking himself against your side like he belongs there. His body is warm and surprisingly solid against yours. "You smell nice today. New soap?" He inhales deeply, nose practically pressed to your neck, and makes a satisfied little sound. "Mhm. That's the good stuff."
You try sparring, because you're still operating under the adorable delusion that size and species fucking matter. You're a lynx hybrid, and he's a rabbit. It should be easy; there is no way it wouldn’t work.
So you corner him in the training yard, claws half-extended, tail lashing behind you.
"Alright, cottonball," you sneer, putting every ounce of predator into the word. "Gonna bounce away like a good little snack?"
Lohen just tilts his head and looks at you with those dead fish eyes, and a little smile plays at the corner of his lips.
"Snack?" he echoes, voice light and airy. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a breathy little moan as his spine pops as he stretches. "Oh, kitten…" He drops his arms and rolls his shoulders. "You’re such a stupid, feral little pussycat. I guess it’s my responsibility to train you to sit, stay, and ro–"
You lunge, fed up with his nonsense.
Your claws catch his collarbone, and three perfect furrows bloom red and angry against his pale skin. Blood wells up immediately, fat and ruby-red and hot, coppery scent hitting the air between you.
Honestly, you expect him to let out a high-pitched squeak of fear and bounce away, running like a good little prey hybrid.
Instead?
"Hahhhhnnn~" The moan vibrates straight from the depths of his chest, travels through the air like a physical touch, and lands with a throbbing ache right in the core of your suddenly traitorous cunt.
"What the fuck?" you hiss, stumbling back a step. Your claws are still wet with his blood, but you are afraid to tear your eyes away from him.
His ears go flat, plastered against that messy hair. His whole body shudders, and you watch, transfixed, as a visible tremor runs down his spine and makes that plump little tail give an excited thump-thump-thump against the small of his back.
"Oh, kitten~" His voice is dripping with something absolutely filthy. "You have no idea how good that felt."
He rolls the wounded shoulder, watching a thick droplet of his own blood snake a hot trail down the corded muscle of his bicep. His tongue darts out and drags across his lower lip, chasing the scent of his own blood mingling with your sweat.
Your breath hitches when Lohen steps forward, right into your space. Close enough that you can see the way his pupils have swallowed the crimson of his irises almost completely.
His hand comes up, but your body is frozen, caught between predator instinct and something that's coiling hot and tight in your belly. His fingers find your chin. Tilt your face up. His thumb traces along your lower lip.
"Look at you," Lohen murmurs, and his voice is liquid condescension. "Big, scary lynx. All those fangs and claws. And you're standing here, terrified." He leans in, his lips brushing yours. "Want to know a secret, kitten?"
"What?" Your voice is barely a whisper, and you hate how shaky it sounds.
His free hand grabs your wrist, still wet with his blood, and presses it flat right over his heart.
"I'm not scared of you," he breathes. "You know what I am?" His hips roll forward, and you feel it – the hot, hard, throbbing line of his erection pressing against your hip. "I'm intrigued." He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, that unhinged smile spreading across his pretty face. "Imagine what you'd do to me if you actually tried to eat me…"
His hips give a tiny little jerk against your thigh, and you feel it again, pressing insistently into the muscle. He's rock hard from you clawing him open, hell, from talking about you wanting him.
"But here's the thing, kitten." His voice drops to a conspiratory whisper, lips brushing yours with every word. "I'm not the prey here."
Something snaps in you – fear or fury or some unholy cocktail of both – and you jerk forward and sink your fangs into the junction of his neck and shoulder. You taste blood, hot and metallic and his, flooding over your tongue.
His body goes rigid against yours, every muscle locking up, that plump little tail thumping frantically against his back.
And then you feel the pulse of his cock, twitching in his pants, soaking the fabric of your pants. His whole body shudders with a broken sob tearing from his throat. His hands fly up to grip your hair, holding you against his neck, keeping your teeth buried in his flesh as he humps your leg like a filthy animal.
"Ffffffuck– yes– fuck, don't stop–"
You release him, shoving him off, stumbling backward. Your mouth is smeared with his blood, but still, you are the one who is shaking like a leaf under his gaze.
Lohen just slumps back against the training post with a blissed-out smile spreading across his flushed face. His croth is visibly wet, but he doesn't seem to care.
"You're a freak," you spit, voice trembling. "A fucking freak."
"Yeah." He pushes off the post, sauntering toward you with that bouncy walk. "But I'm your freak now." He tilts his head, showing off the bleeding bite mark. "Fair's fair, kitten."
He pats your cheek, and the touch is so fucking condescending, especially from the guy who came in his pants when you bit him. You thank the anemo archon that at least nobody is on the training grounds to witness the whole embarrassing incident.
"See you at morning roll call, pet." Lohen winks, turns, and hops away, that fluffy tail bouncing with every step.
And suddenly, the day after, because the universe is a cruel cunt that loves to watch you squirm, Varka is slapping your shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise in the shape of his palm: "You're under Lohen's command now!"
Your brain short-circuits. " Wh– The... the rabbit?"
"The Vice Captain!" the beefy wolf hybrid corrects, beaming like he just handed you a puppy. "Sharpest mind and aggressive tactics I've ever seen. You'll learn a lot. Just... try not to let him get under your skin. He's got a talent for it."
Congrats, this herbivore is your boss now.
And then he's just... there. Everywhere. All the goddamn time. Bastard is basically shitting on the very concept of your freedom, and you can't even catch him to return the favor.
You smell the astringent bite of mint just around every corner. The air gets cold right behind you sometimes. When you spin, weapon drawn, claws out, ready to gut the stalker, there's nothing. Just the phantom thump-thump-thump of that fluffy tail and a breathy giggle that echoes down the hallway.
And the notes. Slipped under your door. Tucked into your boot. Folded into your training notes. Sometimes, to your genuine horror, appearing on your nightstand in the morning.
"Saw you stretching today. You are so… flexible…"
"You growled at that deer boy who bumped into you. Got me really worked up."
"Wore my tightest pants today. Did you notice? I saw you looking. ♡"
The dog hybrid boy who takes an interest in you doesn't know any of this.
He's new, transferred from some border outpost, all muscle and misplaced confidence. He's been watching you for a week now, his hopeful eyes tracking you across the mess hall, the training yard, the corridors. You've noticed, because, well, it's hard not to notice. He's big, and he smells like wet dog, and his tail wags every time you so much as glance in his direction.
And tonight, in the Angel's Share, he makes his move, sliding into the seat across from you with a blush so heavy it could rival a fresh sunsettia's colour.
"H-hey there," he slurs, visibly nervous. His scent is all eager-pup arousal and cheap ale. "You look really pretty today… N-no, that's not– I mean, you're always pretty, it's just today I finally got the guts to–"
The air turns sharp with frost before you even see him. One moment, the dogboy is stuttering through his confession, the next there's a slender, scarred hand fisting into his hair, yanking his head back at a brutal angle. The cold steel of a knife presses flat against the column of his throat, resting there with the weight of a promise.
"Sniff sniff."
Lohen inhales theatrically right beside the hybrid's ear, his nose brushing the fur, his crimson eyes fixed unblinkingly on you. A wide, sharp, utterly unhinged smile splits his pretty face, revealing those deceptively dainty incisors. His voice is lighter than chimes, softer than a lullaby, and it’s the most terrifying thing you have ever heard.
"Mhm. That's the smell. It's like... warm cream and soft flesh, isn't it? Makes your knot swell up just thinking about sinking into that wet heaven, huh?” Lohen's grip on the dagger tightens, and that unhinged note becomes more prominent in his voice. “But here’s a problem… You've been sniffing around what's mine, pup. That's very, very rude. Do you know what happens to rude strays who try to take what's mine?"
The knife tilts, just a fraction. A single bead of red wells against the poor bastard’s skin and rolls down the poor guy’s throat. The dogboy makes a keening whimper that cuts off when Lohen’s grip tightens.
"I'll tell ya," Lohen continues, still in that gentle tone. His eyes never leave yours. He’s putting on a show, you understand, and he wants you to witness every second. "First, I take this dagger, and I carve out your eyes. Then I pack your throat with cryo shards. Then I open your belly and watch the light leave your eyes while I pull out your insides. And when you’re finally dead, I’m going to take your fucking dick–”
He presses the knife a little harder, and the dogboy sobs.
“–and I’m going to have it in a jar, like a talisman. I’ll hang it on the wall of the burrow where I keep my mate, so every time I breed her to tears, she can look at it and remember what happens to anyone who tries to take her from me.”
Lohen pauses, tilts his head, and that smile somehow softens into something almost fond. He pats the trembling boy’s cheek with two condescending little tap-taps from his free hand.
"But I'm feeling generous tonight, because my beloved is right here watching, and I want to reward her patience. So I'll give you one chance.” He licks his lips, and you feel the twinge of something warm in your belly. Something that you shouldn't feel in that situation. “You’re going to walk out of this tavern while having your organs in the original packaging. Next, you’re going to write the transfer request. Finally, you’re going to fuck off back to that shithole that you crawled out from before sunrise. Are we clear?"
The dogboy nods eagerly. Lohen wrinkles his nose, releases him with a shove that sends him sprawling to the floor, and watches with lazy satisfaction. “Good pup.”
Poor dog hybrid scrambles to his feet and bolts for the door, slipping once in a hurry.
“Bye-bye~” he sing-songs cheerfully in the dead silent tavern. Every patron is staring. Lohen ignores them all, turning to you, twirling the dagger between his fingers with a casual elegance that makes your stomach clench and your cunt throb. That unhinged smile melts into something softer, but no less terrifying.
"Wha’?" He asks, as if he hadn't just graphically detailed a murder in a public establishment. "Can't have the strays thinking you're available."
You sit frozen, heart hammering against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything except sit here while Lohen saunters closer. He stops between your spread thighs and looks down at you with those black-hole eyes, pupil swallowed irises gleaming with mania and adoration in equal measure.
"I'm not yours," you manage, voice trembling. "You can't just scare away people who try to approach me!"
Lohen smirks, leans in, lips brushing the shell of your fluffy ear, breath scorching.
"I can, and I just did," he whispers and pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His hand, the one still holding the dagger, comes up and rests the flat of the blade against your cheek. The metal is ice-cold, and you flinch. He traces the edge along your jawline, feather-light, never breaking skin.
"I'll see you soon," he breathes, patting your burning cheek with a knife. “Try not to drip too much on Master Diluc's floor.”
Lohen winks, turns, and hops away, that fluffy tail giving a sassy little flick with every bounce of his perfect ass. The tavern slowly returns to life, whispers filling the silence he left behind as you sit there, frozen.
Since then, it’s gotten worse.
You're losing yourself. That sassy predator that you were decides to rest somewhere inside of you, and no matter how hard you try, you can't bring it out.
It's humiliating, really.
Every time you catch a glimpse of those soft ears or that juciest piece of ass you’ve ever seen on a male, you have to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching. The dreams are the worst – dreams where he pins you down and whispers the most horrific words while doing even worse things. You wake up soaked and gasping, fists full of sheets that reek of him because the sick bastard has been breaking into your room and rubbing his scent all over your bedding. It's not helping that your heat is nearing rapidly, making you more sensitive and jumpy.
So one day you finally snap. All it takes is too much wine mixed with this creeping dread curling in your belly. Just enough liquid stupidity to think you're still the fucking predator in this equation.
You corner your Vice Captain outside the city gates under a sickly yellow moon.
"Why don't you just bounce away, you little freak?!" you snarl, swaying, fur bristling along your tail, claws itching to rend. "You're a rabbit! You're supposed to be scared of me! That's the whole goddamn deal!"
Lohen turns to face you with an expression of serene delight, as if you've just offered him the most precious gift imaginable. A visible shiver that starts at his nose and travels down his spine, ending with his fluffy, cream-tipped tail giving a sharp thump-thump-thump against the stone archway that he's leaning on.
"Scared?" he repeats, and there's a laugh bubbling under the word when he steps closer. "Oh, kitten, you are really that dumb~"
He stops right in front of you, close enough to kiss, and tilts his head, those big crimson eyes looking at you with mock innocence.
"You're just a big, growly kitty with a wet little cunt and a brain that short-circuits every time I shake my ass."
"I am not!" The words tumble out, angry but unsure.
"You are~" He reaches up and flicks your nose, like you're the cute little pet. The audacity makes your claws twitch, but your body refuses to move. "You're so easy, kitten. I barely have to try. A little ear flick here, a little bounce there–" He demonstrates, bouncing lightly on his heels, "–and you're drooling."
Pissed off, you lunge at him – claws out, fangs bared, all that rage finally reaching its peak – but your drunk limbs are stupidly predictable. Lohen sidesteps easily, hooking one leg behind yours and catching you as you stumble. One deceptively strong arm snakes around your waist. Your legs buckle, and suddenly his face is too close, watching you with that unnerving stillness.
"There we go," he coos, holding you upright as you gasp and shudder against him.
"F-fuck you–" you spit, but it comes out as a sob.
"Soon, kitten. Just let me–" He shifts his grip, and the world tilts violently. One arm hooks under your knees, the other braces your back, and suddenly you're on his shoulder, staring at the mud and cobblestones whizzing past in a blur as he carries you into the treeline of Wolvendom.
You claw at his arms, his back, anything you can reach. Your nails leave furrows in the fabric of his coat, tear the cotton of his shirt, and draw thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades. He just moans louder and speeds up, those stringy legs eating up the ground.
“Put me down!” You whine, trying to punch him in the ribs with your knee.
“M’kay!” Lohen suddenly agrees and drops you into some kind of hole under an ancient oak. You land on a pile of blankets so soft they must've cost your entire year's salary.
It's a den, you understand after a second. Dug deep, shored up with gnarled roots, the air inside cold and still and smelling faintly of mint. There's a flask of fresh water. A neat little pyramid of sunsettias. A plate of fine steak, cut into delicate little ribbons. And in the center of it all – the nest. A little hollow lined with soft grasses, even more blankets, and what you now recognize as tufts of fur he's plucked from his own tail and ears, woven together to cradle two bodies.
"Lohen, this is–" you breathe, scrambling backward on the blankets until your back hits the earthen wall. "You can't just–"
"Can't what?" He's kneeling in the entrance, a dark silhouette blocking out the stars, pulling his shirt over his head with a languid roll of tight muscle. His pale torso is a fucking roadmap of battles, scars overlapping scars, some old and white, some newer, pink and puckered. And among them, fresh, still-bleeding furrows from your claws, beading crimson. You take note of the imprint of your teeth on his neck.
"Can't claim what's mine?" he finishes for you, crawling forward on hands and knees. "Can't build a proper den for my girl like any self-respecting male? Can't bring you offerings and keep you warm and safe and full? Can’t help my mate with her heat?" He leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of your head, caging you in. His face is centimeters from yours, those black-hole eyes boring into your soul. He smiles, predator-sharp.
"Get off me, freak!" You bare your fangs and roar, trying to scare this fucked in the head herbivore.
"Make me." Lohen grinds his hips down, and you feel the hot, hard, throbbing length of him pressing against your clothed cunt. The pressure is perfect, and a moan escapes before you can stop it.
"C’mon, make me!" His smile widens and his hips roll, slow and filthy, dragging the ridge of his cock along your slit through the fabric. "Tell me you didn’t rub this cunt raw while dreaming of me…."
You try to shove Lohen off, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand – one fucking hand, and he's a small animal hybrid and a herbivore at that, how is he so fucking strong – and leans down until his lips brush your ear.
"I've been courting you for months," he whispers, and the words drip off his tongue like honey laced with ground glass and obsession. "And you... Ohhhh, you've been waving this dumb little kitty cunt in my face the whole time. Flicking my ears. Making me bleed. Letting me stalk you..." He pulls back, looking down at you with those wild eyes. "And now... finally... I have you exactly where you belong. In my den. In my nest. Under me."
His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing past your lips and into your mouth. You taste salt and skin and him – sharp, clean, intoxicating. He pushes deeper, gagging you slightly, and his eyes flutter closed.
You bite down on his thumb, hard, to make this fucking freak recoil. Blood wells up instantly, hot and metallic, flooding your tongue. But instead of yanking his hand back, Lohen's whole body shudders with a guttural moan that seems to tear itself from somewhere deep in his chest. His hips jerk frantically, grinding his clothed cock against your cunt, and you feel a fresh gush of wetness soak through both your pants as he nearly cums right there.
"Ffffffuck– yes– do it again, bite me harder, make me bleed, make me hurt–" His free hand releases your wrists and flies to his own pants, fumbling with the buckle.
You release his thumb, panting. Your mouth is smeared with his blood. "You're sick."
"Yeah." He's grinning, blood smeared on his lip from where he bit it himself, pupils blown so wide his eyes look like black voids. "Terminally sick for you."
Lohen pulls his thumb from your mouth and licks the blood off, eyes never leaving yours, sitting back on his haunches, and now those nimble, scarred fingers are working his belt buckle with single-minded focus.
When he’s done, the leather slithers free with a soft hiss, and Vice Captain holds it up, considering it, then drapes it around your neck so tight it makes you cough.
"Pretty," he breathes. "You'd look so pretty in a proper collar. Maybe I'll have one made, engraved with my name. 'Property of Lohen' What do you think?"
You can't tell him to fuck off when the collar tightens on your neck. He unbuttons his pants, slides them down those stringy thighs, and kicks them aside. His underwear follows.
His cock is... god help you, it's pretty. That's the word that slams into your brain, unwanted and undeniable. Pretty. Pale and flushed pink at the tip, curving up slightly toward his belly, slick with pre-cum that's been leaking steadily and soaking a dark patch into the front of his discarded underwear. It's not massive, but it's thick enough that you know it'll split you open oh so sweetly. Below it, his balls are drawn up tight, heavy and full, the skin taut and slightly darker, clearly aching with the need to empty themselves inside something– someone.
Specifically you.
"Pretty, right?" Lohen reaches down and wraps a hand around his cock, giving it one lazy stroke. A thick bead of pre-cum wells up at the tip and drips slowly down his shaft, catching the faint moonlight filtering through the burrow entrance. He catches it with his thumb, brings it to his mouth, and licks it clean with a soft hum. "Mmm... Want a taste?" He smears another bead onto his fingers and holds them out. "Open up, kitten. Sample the goods."
You clamp your mouth shut, turning your head away. He tsks softly, disappointed but not surprised, and crawls forward again, sitting square on your chest. His weight presses your back deeper into the blankets, pins your arms at your sides, and leaves you completely helpless. That bobbing cock taps insistently against your sealed lips as he settles, leaving a tacky smear of pre-cum across your mouth.
“Oh, kitten,” he drawls, slow and syrupy, his head tilting so his ears flop adorably to one side even as his crimson eyes blaze with absolute, clinical madness. “Still playin’ hard to get? After all the notes I left? After I bled and came in my pants with your teeth in my neck?”
He wraps the tail of the belt around his fist once, twice, tightening the improvised leash until the leather bites into the tender skin of your throat. Your breath hitches into a strangled wheeze, vision spotting at the edges as the collar cuts off your air.
“S’alright. I like you feisty. Makes it so much sweeter when you finally break. And you will break, kitten.” He rolls his hips, grinding his soaked cockhead across your sealed lips, and laughs when your nostrils flare involuntarily.
You glare up at him, defiant, mouth clamped shut. Lohen just smiles and jerks the collar hard. The sudden constriction forces a choked gasp from your lungs.
He uses that exact moment to thrust his length into your mouth in one merciless thrust, not stopping until his swollen balls are pressed flush against your chin and the fat, leaking head bullies its way past your gag reflex.
Your throat convulses violently around the intrusion, muscles spasming and squeezing him desperately. He throws his head back with a loud moan that echoes through the burrow, his silky mint-green ears pinning flat against his messy hair while his fluffy cream-tipped tail thumps wildly against his own ass in ecstatic beats.
“Ahhh– fuuuuck yes, there it is~” he sobs out, voice cracking with pure bliss as his hips grind forward until your nose is smashed into the soft mint-colored hairs, his musky scent flooding your lungs until you can’t smell anything else. “This is exactly where you belong, kitten. On your back in my nest, throat stuffed full of bunny cock like the stupid whore you are.”
Lohen drops the leash, and his fingers twist viciously into your tufted lynx ears and the hair at the back of your scalp, yanking your head back at a brutal angle to straighten your throat into a helpless fuck-sleeve.
There is no time to adjust as he starts fucking your face with fast and punishing thrusts – each one dragging his thick cock almost all the way out before slamming back in until his balls slap wetly against your chin. Obscene, wet gluck-gluck-gluck sounds fill the burrow as stringy ropes of throat slime, precum and drool bubble out from the stretched corners of your mouth, pouring down your chin and tits in messy rivers.
“F-fuck– squeeze me just like that, kitten–. You’re doing s-so good for me, makin’ me feel so loved,” he groans, eyes half-lidded and soft with obsessive adoration. His hips snap faster, turning the slow face-fucking into something meaner. Thick globs of your spit fly everywhere with every brutal plunge, splattering across your lips and cheeks.
Your vision is blurring from the lack of air and the constant battering of his cock against the back of your throat. Tears stream down your face, mixing with the thick strings of spit and pre-cum, and despite everything, your cunt is clenching desperately around nothing. Your hips twitch and roll uselessly in the air, searching for friction that isn’t there. Lohen’s nose twitches, catching the scent immediately, and he lets out a delighted little giggle.
“Ohhh? How embarrassing. You’re supposed to be the predator, but one taste of bunny cock and you’re already gushing like a broken faucet. Don’t worry… I’ll take care of that sloppy hole soon enough. But first–”
He suddenly pulls out with a wet schlorp, leaving your throat gaping and empty. You cough and gasp desperately, thick ropes of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the glistening tip of his cock. Before you can even suck in a proper breath, he shifts his weight, sitting heavily on your chest with his knees pinning your shoulders down. His hand wraps tight around his throbbing shaft right above your ruined face, stroking himself with loud squelching sounds while you heave.
“Gonna paint this pretty face,” he growls, voice low and trembling with the edge of orgasm, “Gonna cover every bit of you in my cum so no one ever forgets who this stupid slut belongs to.”
You’re too wrecked to respond. So Lohen does it for you – two fingers hook roughly into the corners of your mouth, prying your jaw open wide while his other hand pumps his cock faster, the wet shlick-shlick-shlick growing louder and more desperate.
“Stick your tongue out.” And you fucking do, like a mindless dumb kitty, too fucked out to think. “Yeah, jus’ like that– good girl~”
His hips jerk into his fist, ears flicking madly, fluffy tail going rigid behind him as the pleasure spikes. His voice starts breaking, words turning meaner and nastier the closer he gets.
“You think that fucking stray could ever make you feel like this? Huh? You think anyone else gets to see you like this? I’d gut them. You’re mine. Mine to– aah~”
The first thick rope of cum erupts violently across your forehead, splattering hot and sticky all the way up into your hair and across one eye. The second heavy spurt lands directly into your open mouth, coating your tongue in salty heat and overflowing down your chin in creamy rivers.
“Take it– take every fucking drop, you greedy bitch–”
The third and fourth jets stripe across your cheeks and nose, the excess dripping down into the hollow of your throat, where the collar bites painfully into your skin. More cum splatters across your twitching lynx ears, matting the soft fur, while another thick glob lands on your closed eyelid, sealing it shut with sticky warmth.
When the last watery dribble finally leaks out, Lohen slaps his softening but still twitching cock against your ruined face a few times – pat-pat-pat – spreading the mess even more. His breathing is ragged, but his eyes are zeroed in on you.
“Lookin’ so cute,” He pats your cum-smeared cheek with genuine affection, then slides off your chest, leaving you gasping and soaked and utterly debased.
But if you thought this was it… oh, poor baby… poor-poor baby…
His hands find the waistband of your pants. You try to buckle, coughing, one eye closed because of his spunk that threatens your eye. That does nothing to stop Lohen. He yanks, and your pants and underwear come down in one rough movement, the fabric tearing slightly at the seams, baring your traitorously weeping cunt to the cool air of his burrow.
As if bewitched, Lohen drops to his belly between your legs, arms hooking under your thighs to yank you closer, and presses his nose directly against your slick folds. His ears flatten, his tail thumps against the floor, and a guttural growl rumbles from his chest – a sound no rabbit should ever make.
“This is what I’ve been dreaming about,” he breathes, the words muffled against your pussy. “Gonna fuck this kitty cunt so thoroughly it’ll reject anyone else. You’ll be a one-rabbit woman.”
Lohen drags his soft, deceptively innocent pink tongue in one long stripe from your clenching entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit, collecting your slick like it’s nectar. Then the real hunger takes over. He buries his whole face in your cunt – nose grinding hard against your clit sweetly, tongue stabbing deep inside you, lapping and thrusting wildly.
You arch off the blankets with a broken moan, lava flooding your veins. “F-fuck– Lohen–!”
“Mhm…” he hums loudly against your folds and pulls back just long enough to spit a thick glob of saliva right onto your swollen clit, then slaps his tongue against it, massaging the swollen bud lovingly.
“So fucking tight and wet,” Lohen slurs, mouth still half-buried in your cunt. “Could eat this pussy for days, until you’re just a stupid pet who cums every time her owner comes home. Would you like that? Huh?”
“Lohen– please–”
“Please what?” He pulls back suddenly, lips shiny, chin dripping with your arousal, that unhinged grin splitting his face. He folds your thighs up and apart, nearly bending you in half so you’re forced to watch him work. A long strand of your slick stretches from his bottom lip to your cunt before Lohen laps it up with a happy little moan.
“Gotta be specific, kitten. I’m just a dumb bunny, remember? Tell me exactly what this sloppy cunt needs.”
A sob rips from your throat as the temperature of your body spikes up, your heat slowly claiming you. “I need– cum–”
“Whaa~? Say it properly!” He dips down again, dragging his tongue agonizingly slow through your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit. “Need me to make this pathetic pussy cum?”
“Yes, please! Need ta cum!” You whine with a voice so thin it almost sounds alien.
“Good little bitch~”
Lohen dives back in, tongue fucking into you, nose grinding against your clit. Two fingers suddenly stretch you, and you cry out. Lohen curls them upward to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes. His hand leaves your thigh and snakes down between his own legs, and you hear the frantic sound of his fist stroking his shaft while he eats you out.
And when you’re so close, right there, right on the edge, your claws shredding the blankets, your back arching–
Lohen stops.
The orgasm dies instantly, leaving you a convulsing wreck. Your denied cunt spasms violently around nothing, and more hot tears spill down your cum-streaked face as you choke on a broken wail.
“C’mon, move that fat lynx ass,” he giggles, voice bright and cruel as he gives your trembling thigh a patronizing little tap.”Need you to cum on my cock. Gonna show you what ‘fucking like rabbits’ means~”
You can only shudder, edged out of your mind, drooling and crying into the nest that reeks of mint and cum. Your hips twitch uselessly, seeking friction that isn’t there.
Lohen clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. Then, with terrifying ease, he manhandles you like you weigh nothing. Those deceptively stringy arms and compact muscles flip you onto your hands and knees in one smooth motion. Your face smashes into the soft blankets, ass forced high in the air, cunt and tight little hole completely exposed to his hungry gaze. Your fluffy lynx tail lashes wildly in humiliated protest, but he just grabs the base and yanks it upward, pinning it out of the way.
“Archons, fuck yes,” he breathes, as he kneads your ass cheeks roughly, spreading fat globes wide apart until you feel the cool air kiss your dripping folds and puckered hole. “And to think that you were so stubborn to admit that we are meant to be! Bad kitty…”
The first sharp slap cracks across your ass, hard enough to make the fat jiggle and bloom bright red. You yelp, claws digging deeper into the blankets. Vice Capitan watches the mark form with manic glee, ears flicking excitedly, that fluffy cream-tipped tail thumping wildly against his own back.
His palm rains down again and again. Each impact sends shockwaves through your body, turning your ass into a burning canvas of handprints. Every slap pushes you closer to the edge without letting you fall. You’re drooling messily onto the blankets, thick strings of slick, cum, and tears soaking the fabric as you whimper and sob into the nest.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Lohen stops, palms smoothing almost tenderly over the bruised flesh. But the gentleness is a lie – he spreads your ascheeks again, spitting a thick glob of saliva right onto your puckered hole before his leaking cock slides hot and heavy through your drenched folds. He coats himself in your slick, letting you feel every throb, the fat head nudging your entrance just enough to part your puffy lips before pulling back before you can envelop him.
“Ah-ah-ah~” he tuts, voice dripping fake sympathy as he slaps the heavy head of his cock lightly against your labia. “You really thought I was gonna let you cum that easily? No, no, kitten. Say you are mine first.”
You can’t answer – your voice is gone, replaced by ragged pants and whimpers.
“Say it,” Lohen repeats, a dark edge sharpening his words. He leans over you, chest pressing flush to your back, one hand snaking up to fist the belt still around your throat. He yanks the end of it, forcing your head up and your back into a painful arch. His other hand reaches toward his discarded coat, and you feel the flat of his knife press against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
Your breath hitches in arousal when the metal tip scrapes against your mound.
“Tell me your soul belongs to Lohen,” he whispers hotly against the shell of your tufted ear, voice low and venomous. “Say it, or I’ll keep you right on the brink until you’re nothing but a babbling mess begging for bunny cum. I can do this for a very long time…”
The knife traces a threatening line up your thigh, never breaking skin but promising it could. And what little remains of your pride shatters completely.
“It’s yours,” you choke out, voice wrecked and trembling, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Lohen! Please– Please–”
“Good mate,” he praises, planting a chaste kiss atop your head, right between your ears. The words sound genuine and reverent that they make you blush deeper, face turning crimson. “See? Wasn’t so hard.”
Lohen releases the leash slightly but keeps you arched, then sits back on his haunches. His hand tightens in the fur at the base of your tail, yanking your ass closer. The other grips your bruised hip hard enough to leave fresh marks.
His throbbing cock lines up again, the leaking head kissing your quivering hole. Your whole body tenses, every nerve screaming in anticipation.
"Welcome to the bottom of the food chain, kitten," he whispers, voice dripping with undiluted triumph.
His hips roll forward.
.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!
Series Masterlist: Creatures Features
I saw this crazy battle maniac 2.0 (hi Childe) in Varka's story quest and just couldn't... I had to add him. Yeah, I'm sorry for neglecting this series so much. Hope that you like this part at least haha!
Now that the Nod-Krai expeditionary force has wrapped up its mission, your lover Lohen, decides to commemorate his homecoming with a surprise pussy inspection (and perhaps test out that vial of aphrodisiac he’s been dying to use) — n’sfw ⊹ mdni
cw: aphrodisiacs (consensual)
When Lohen enters your bedroom through the open window, your duvet is the first to go. You stir from the rush of cold air, blearily sitting up, before an unforgiving grip locks around your ankle, and your mind recalls that your first instinct is to scream.
A hand clamps over your mouth, only pulling away once the panic dissipates as your eyes settle on your lover’s familiar red.
“Lohen…? You’re—” He cuts you off with a kiss; pulling you into his gravity with the enthusiasm of a man starved. After all, who could blame him? Even you have lost count of the days he’s spent stationed away in Nod-Krai. Yet when he pulls away, he does so with fervor in his eyes—cunning, and full of guile—and the anxiety of exhilaration ignites in your chest.
“I'm here to inspect you, baby.” he lilts, guiding you onto your back. He runs a hand up your thigh, easily shifting your nightgown up, panties lazily tossed aside, before finally spreading your legs apart until your cunt unfolds in between. Two gloved fingers part your folds open to the sticky sound of your arousal, delicately woven into thin strands of webbing that refuse to snap in spite of how far his fingers stretch.
Interesting, he thinks, humming as he observes just how wet you are. Lohen angles his thumb to run slow circles around your already puffy clit, watching as you squirm beneath him: your hole pulsing at the returning arousal, attempting to clamp around nothing at all.
Tsk tsk. “What did I say about touching yourself while I was away…” he sighs. The last letter he’d sent you rests on your nightstand — open, and bruised with the indents of a too-tight grip. He shakes his head in false disappointment, all the while pressing harder into your clit. His free hand reaches into his coat pocket, drawing out a glass vial full of ominous liquid.
A flick of the wrist. A pop. The substance stirs within its confines, and the bottle uncaps soonafter — his leather-clad fingers now coated in its thickness. ‘Liquid ecstasy,’ the merchant had called it.
You nearly jolt at the sensation as Lohen inserts a finger, pumping slowly in and out. The liquid is immediately cold…and then warmer as the aphrodisiac takes root. Too warm. It heightens your sensitivity — crawling through your nerves, leaving a disastrous wave of heat and need in its wake.
A sole finger…the slow pace… It’s not enough. Your thighs instinctively close, desperate to soothe the overwhelming sensation, but he holds you open, halting your brief search for friction.
“Ah ah,” he sings. And then he pulls out, inspecting the blend of fluids coating his glove. “Is this what you imagined when you touched yourself to my letter? Was the aphrodisiac as strong as you thought it’d be?”
You try to wrangle out an answer, but he never truly gives you a chance to respond.
“And how many times did you cum? Be honest,” he interrupts. “Once?” He prods two fingers against your entrance. “Maybe….twice?” he asks, and two fingers push their way in.
Your breathing changes with the stretch, gasping as he fills you more. Deeper, fuller…your only desire now is to unravel for him (to be unravelled by him) and yet, his languid movements are still too slow for how desperate your body has become — cunt unabashedly churning out slick for desires your lover refuses to fulfill.
…At least not in the moment; not when he loves how you cling to him so tightly, as if the intent to burrow deeper is a battle in and of itself. And with the way the aphrodisiac has seeped beneath your skin, a lazy curl of his fingers is enough to set your body ablaze, cunt gushing as you teeter dangerously close to finishing.
And Lohen knows. He tuts again, keeping his fingers curled against the roof of your walls as he pulls back out. “No, no, no you can’t cum yet,” he mocks, fully mesmerized by the glistening webs of slick suspended in the gaps between his fingers. “Look how wet you are…let’s see how you take three…”
You keen at the stretch, wondering if he knows how much thicker he is when he fingers you with those gloves on. If he knows how rough the leather grain is when he drags them against your gummy insides… (It’s not enough. It’s not enough.) When he curls all three inside you, you curl along with him — back arching clean off the bed as he digs the tips of his fingers into that spot. Bullying your insides as he continues to fuck you slowly, holding down your hips as you writhe. Angling his hand to thumb at your neglected clit, until the coil in your belly snaps and you cum with broken wail.
By the time you come down from your high, there’s a dull throb that lingers between your legs. You squirm atop the sheets, hoping some sort of friction might soothe the ache, but it leaves you all the more aware of just how empty you are, how empty you’ve been…the heat only growing in intensity as your leaking cunt remains unattended.
Lohen draws back, biting down on the tips of his (now-soiled) glove, before removing it with a quick tug. “You didn’t think just once would be enough did you?” he asks. “Come on baby, your body knows what it wants…”
Slotting himself between your legs, he traps you beneath him—leaning over your smaller frame with the unfinished bottle, once again, in his hands. He presses the opening against your parted lips, tilting gently until the vial runs dry.
“There we go,” he praises, “don’t worry, there’s still plenty more to come.”
notes: in case you didn’t catch it, it is implied Lohen and reader have already talked about everything in their letters so everything is consensual!!
i personally think that lohen wears the choker he has on his neck tighter than normal, not enough to suffocate him fully, of course, but definitely enough to feel it. this sadomasochistic fuck. and he'll definitely give you the same treatment in return.
imagine slotting your fingers in between the choker and lohen's neck, only to feel how tight the space is in between after yanking him forward to bring his face closer to you. after glancing down at your hand and back up at him, you both share a knowing look. "what? you curious about how it feels? freak." he grins, snaking a hand up and around your neck with a light squeeze, "i could always satisfy those dirty fantasies of yours, bunny."
so thats how you ended up in this position on your stomach as lohen pinned you down with all his weight and put you in a nasty headlock. you could feel his clothed cock grinding up against your ass as he whispered the nastiest shit into your ear, berating you for enjoying something like this.
"you're so fucking dirty, whining and drooling like some wild animal in heat. fuck, i havent even touched you at all yet," he sneered with a mocking laugh, briefly tightening his headlock as you whimpered, squirming around in his hold.
"i'm gonna absolutely ruin you," he whispered with a sadistic grin.
So what if Lohen has a couple screws loose? So do you. You two were a match made in heaven.
Warnings: nsfw content, dry humping (lightly), choking, knifeplay, exhibitionism, reader is tipsy but it's consensual, prommy.
(I forgot about warnings??? Omg)
Minors, DNI!
A/n: Dude. I've never posted on Tumblr like this and its obvious. Also, I haven't played the game since 2022
No idea what's happening with the knights or the fatui, last time I played liyue was having a festival and I was stocking up on limited time food items lol
There's something going on between you and Lohen.
The two of you are discreet, but it wasn't exactly a secret either. From laps around Mondstadt together, surveilling the surrounding area, to full-blown celebrations at Diluc's bar, all spent hip-to-hip.
Everyone noticed the way you would grab his drink by its rim, snarling at him and chugging it in one motion to taunt him. The polite thing to do was to pretend they didn't notice; why bring it up when the two of you clearly had no desire to?
Still, the two of you made it hard to pretend not to know. From the way you drunkenly clutched Lohen's coat, weakly whining about your nausea, or how his hands would wander just shy of your waist and the groping motion he made apparent when he politely bid everyone goodbye. It was something to gossip about as the party finally hit full swing.
"You're seriously a pathetic lightweight—er, I mean, you struggle to hold a single drink, you know. Why would you drink three of mine?" The cold wind forces you closer into his side as he began his approach to your home. He was more dragging you there than politely walking you home. You made a sick sound, hiding your cheek in his uniform; he clutched your wrist to his chest as a precaution, though the hand laid on your hip continued to fondle you with no false pretense of safety involved.
"Mmghruhh," you eloquently retorted. He smelled of mint leaf with an undertone of something stronger. You weren't sure how often the two of you were in this position once before, but you felt as though the amount h significantly increasing since you returned from your deployment away from Mondstadt.
You stumbled over a loose pavement, knees caving under no pressure. He let an amused exhale escape his nose, looking to the side in some faux form of consideration. "You really know how to make yourself a public embarrassment, hm?" You lift your head enough to glare at him, coherent thought stringing together enough to know he is being a dick tonight. "Oh, I'm sorry, could you prefer the phrasing 'public disgrace'? How is it that whenever I find you, you're doing something laughable enough to pass between nations?"
He leans back, his thin smile traveling across his face fast. Sometimes he would get in moods like this; here his sole purpose was to step on your toes and see how much you could take.
"Don't look at me like that! You're famous for it! Your tales in Liyue traveled across Tevyat. Many days, your inanities would reach me before any letter of yours. You're really making a name for yourself, morsel." By now, you're angrily pulling away from him and grunting in dismay. His hands tighten around you, pulling your side into his until you both are cheek to cheek.
You try to think of something mean to retort, something better than what your drunken brain was conjuring. "You're mean!" Would only make you sound pathetic, and you didn't trust your slurring voice to make it sound like anything more than an insolent whine. "Eat my dick!" Felt somehow immature in the face of his insults. So you did what you did best and acted without thinking.
You pulled your hand off of the coat you clutched, weaving it tightly in his hair and then, with full force, pulling it like you were trying to tear it from the roots. You knew him; therefore, you knew how tender his head could be. A secret you swore to keep.
It didn't mean you couldn't use it against him, though.
He made a pained, keening sound while you dragged his face inches away from your own. Your other hand grasped its own bundle of hair, and you began pulling at his hair the same way an elder would pinch a rumbustious kid's cheeks. "Don't be a dick, Lohen!" You manage, stumbling back and forth as his hands begin to loosen from you and hover over your wrists.
"Fuck!" He winced, hands collaring your wrists and eyes closing for a moment.
"If you miss me, why don't you just—!" You hiccup. "You just tell me! You're always so annoyingly passive-aggressive with the weirdest things! You know I won't get it if you don't tell me!" You twist your elbows, really yanking him around for a moment. His hands stay on your wrists, and when you think he's going to pull your hands away from him, he presses them further into his scalp.
He chuckles, eyes opening to meet your graze. You barely register when he begins to angle your wrist towards his face more. "That's more like it, morsel. Do it harder."
"Huh?"
His eyes crescent at your incomprehensible response, and, out of kindness, he repeats. "Harder." Before sinking his teeth into your angled wrist with no let-up.
You shudder hard. A jolt of electricity followed by undoubted pain makes you cry out. The hand he isn't burrowing into thrashes hard, trying to yank him back by his hair. He makes a humming, moaning sound, and you feel his lips press into a smile on your wrist. Fuck, you're pretty sure he's drawing blood now.
You make a small sound of pain, but in stubborn refusal to lose, you lean close to his face, baring your own teeth.
It would make sense to bite his wrist, in retaliation, but his uniform wasn't quite as showy as yours. His neck would be an obvious weak point, but you weren't known across Tevyat for making reasonable decisions in the heat of the moment. Your mind bypasses all the right answers, and instead, you find yourself sinking your teeth into his cheek, right underneath his lovely mole.
There's a sobering moment where you think to yourself, 'What the fuck am I doing?' But rational thought dawns, and you bite down as hard as you can.
You hear him hiss and then a sharp guff of laughter vibrates against your wrist. You feel the familiar feeling of trickling blood down your arm, and it only reinforces your own vigour as you chomp down hard against his skin. His own soft skin vibrates under your jaw as you cry out from his own ministrations. Unwilling to yield, you raise your bare legs high enough to kick at his knees.
The word begins to sway to the side, and you both topple into the road. You feel his tongue lick into your bloodied sink before he releases and hooks his teeth into the back of your hand. In turn, you bite his other cheek and begin trying to wrestle your arms free.
"Let go!" You jerk back and forth, now on top of him in the middle of the ground. He rolls so the both of you are on your sides, and you see his eyes shake with something similar to exhilaration.
"Never." He promises, the start of the word peaking with excitement only he would have in this situation. You kick at his torso, hard, and listen to the wheezing giggle he makes. "Fuck, I missed you. I missed you so damn much."
You jut your feet into his side. "The feeling is not mutual, you asshole!"
In a fury of motions, he pins your wrists into the ground and uses the momentum to push himself on top of you. Lohen straddles your hips, leaving you defenseless on your back. "Lohen!" You whine out, angry and quickly exhausted. "I'm going to kick your ass; let go of me!" Flexible as ever, you jerk your knees into his backside then twist your hips to try and force him off of you.
"You know I can't do that." He sounds so sickeningly amused; it's really starting to piss you off. "Got ta' get even, babe." He leans down, his lips brushing the side of your face. You wriggle around like a worm and freeze when you feel his lips graze your jaw, pressing against your neck.
You quickly realize he's targeting your weak point now. In desperation, you throw your hips forward, only bucking him somewhat. "Oh, you piece of shi—mM! FUCK!"
His breath, his teeth and his spit lather and press the skin right below your jaw. Your hips buck again, not in a defensive way but instinctively. And he doesn't stop. His teeth press further into the junction of your neck. You angle your head away from him, unintentionally exposing more skin to latch on. "Mm! Le—let me—oh fuck, Loh-Loe—" Your hands lash out, back arching into him. You think you're bleeding again.
Vaguely, you remember you both are in the middle of the street. The moon is high in the sky, and the spot you're doing this is well lit. His grip on you slackens, maybe to see what you would do once freed, because his eyes are looking up at you for a response, dizzying you with his attention.
You're still shuddering, a small ache of need building in your gut. You weren't a stranger to getting off to violence; there was a reason the two of you were friends. Still, human willpower overpowered whatever desire pooling between your legs. You hated to be outdone, especially by him!
Your vision blurred from the pain of it, the ache of his bite marks on your wrist and hand and the growing neck wound. You turn your head back to him, hands going to his chest and fumbling weakly. Without another thought, you bite down hard on his earlobe, raising your hands over his chest, and start punching his shoulders.
"Im gfonna—win! Ow! Ow! Let go!" Your legs kicked helplessly behind him.
"That's all the fight you've got? Are you even trying?" His voice shakes. He was clearly getting something out of seeing you try with all your might. One hand gripped his shoulders, the other in his hair, yanking tightly until his neck was at your mouths' level, and you bit back hard.
His hands sieze your sides, digging into your sides hard. The sound he makes is something between a cry and a groan. You feel something poke against you, and the idea of him being hard because you hurt him a little has you gasping into his neck, blood against your teeth.
You wanted to hurt him more. Make him ache the same way you did; force him to make that same sound, over and over. You throb at the idea, whimpering when you felt his lips part from your throat. You fumble under his coat, searching.
"Fuuuck, do it again." He presses his face into your head, hands starting to grope at your chest.
"Lohen," you ran your tongue against his bite wound. Skin with a hint of salt chased your taste buds. Cold hands tickle between the openings on your shirt, one hand pinching your nipple through your undergarment's fabric, the other going to your throat, squeezing.
You clenched your thighs together. With a hand still searching, you went to his waistband, finding the dagger hidden there.
He quickly catches on to what you're doing, barking a laugh and pulling away from your mouth to gaze down at you. He feels you point the tip of it into his side, threatening the skin of his waist. "You're playing a dangerous game, morsel..." he warns, pressing his forehead against your own.
You want to say something mean and biting, just to amp him up more, but all you can manage is a little pant. Your lips quirk into a little smile, and you know you look absolutely disheveled by the way his irises shake with excitement.
Instead of plunging the weapon straight in, you slowly guide split layers of skin, watching his manic grin become more pained each growing second.
You watch with sick fascination as he breaks on top of you. The flushing of his cheeks, how his breath hardens, and the small involuntary shudder of his hips – all of it has your mind racing. He says your name like it's a promise.
While his attention is off you, you twist your waist once more, putting as much force as you can. He makes a sound of surprise when you settle on top, popping down on his growing erection without care. His hands slip from your neck to grip your chest in an almost painful grip. You cry out, bending into him so the two of you are chest to chest.
You return it by burrowing the tip of his dagger deeper into him, feeling him grinding into you. Your bare knees dig into cobblestone, eyes still hazy but focused on his expression.
He's so pretty; it's unfair. The way he's looking down at you through his lashes makes you grind back, slotting his clothed dick against you. You wonder if he can feel you throb. You're wet enough; it makes it easy to push against him. He reaches, grasping your hand with the dagger and messily dragging it down his side. The sound he makes has you biting the side of his cheek, igniting fresh pain. You jolt up into him from the jerking of his chest, then quickly pry your hand from his to raise the blade of his head.
"Hey," you slur, feeling your cunt throb in tandem with the pounding of your wrist. From where your hand hung above you, you see blood drip down, falling against his face. One lands close to his lips, and you watch as he licks his lips, pupils dilated.
"You're perfect for me," he whispers, delirious. You blink, your eyes going to his side and realizing how much blood he's losing. The white of his blazer is completely red, turning an ugly shade of dark maroon.
"Awh, shit. Lo," you smack his cheek, forgetting about the blade in your tipsy stupor, nicking skin. He makes a moaning sound, one you don't grace with any acknowledgement. Your hand slaps his cheek once more. "Lo, come on, baby, you okay?"
A voice calls from behind, "What the hell are you two doing?" Your body straightens on instinct, a permanent reaction built into you when you hear your grandmaster's voice. You cringe, slowly turning. To your horror, Jean is with him, a hand covering his appalled expression.
"Are the two of you fighting?!"
Lohens is still murmuring beneath you, "So... so... fuckin' perfect." He's long gone, and you try not to blush when he gives a small roll of his hips with you on top.
"Archons help me—" Varka exhales, hands on his temples. Jean struggles to comprehend what's happening, marching to the two of you and grabbing you by your armpits and into the air like a cat. Lohen's dagger dangles in your grasp, feet dangling over the mess you made.
Varka finally moves, staring down at a passed-out Lohen. He takes in Lohen's disheveled state, bite wounds on his cheek and neck, dishevious hair and still bleeding wound, as well as the erection that hasn't softened with time. He glances at you, the knife in your hand and the bite underneath it, your neck, your crumpled top, and your flushed cheeks.
Varka grabs Lohen by the scruff. For a moment, the two of you look like a pair of cats torn apart in the middle of a nasty fight. "What the hell were you two doing? What were you two thinking?"
You envy Lohen for a moment. Maybe you should go limp and pretend to pass out, but you have an ache to defend yourself. "We were playing around..." You frown, staring at the ground instead of your grandmaster's disapproving gaze.
He sucks his teeth, dissatisfied with your answer, and yanks Lohen over his shoulder.
"Hell, now we have to go to the church and explain your state to Miss Barbara. Are you both aiming to traumatize that poor girl?"
You hear Jean sigh, and in a moment of brilliance, you throw your head back and begin to fake a snore.
Never mind you keeping Lohen's dagger in your tight grip, or the fact that this position would make sleep impossible to come to.
They go along with it so as to stop further discussion of your misdeeds.
As the two of them sweep your injured bodies to the cathedral, you hear Varka grumble under his breath, "You two make it hard to pretend not to know what's going on between you."
You wanted a little pay back, so why not make it into a bit of a game? Who cares if Lohen wasn't aware of your little ploy? What's the worse that could happen?
WARNINGS: nsfw, improper use a knife, knife play(?), manhandling, choking, unedited as shit. Etc.
Minors, DNI!
A/n: this isn't edited at alllll. Sowwie
With one hand pressed on the desk, you bear down on Lohen, looming over him. From this angle you can only make out tuffs of blue hair beneath you. You lean forward, just enough to press your stomach into his seat, hovering your chest over the head of his chair.
"Say, Lo," you try not to coo. It would give away your intentions to tease him today. "Now that you're back, are you going to catch up on all this missing paperwork? It's a real pain for Jean to have to do them on her own." You reach for the top of the highest stack, letting your chest nudge the back of his head and swiftly pulling back in one fluid motion. "I tried helping her with them at one point, but it really is endless."
You babbled carelessly in the same mindless manner as usual, filling the unusually long gaps in conversation.
"Really? Jean let you help her?"
Your careful deliberation halts. He didn't put any emphasis on his words, but you still felt it. You pause, blinking down at his head (well, partially his head and your chest), and immediately fall for his bait.
You circle to the side of his seat, paper crumbling under your crossed arms. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Now that you're next to him, you can see that thin smile he always has on hand whenever things fail to interest him. He gives you a once-over, eyes pausing at the short pencil skirt you adorn today, then back to the paper, as if it were more interesting than your meek attempts to earn his attention. You grow more agitated, somehow.
"What do you think it means, morsel?" His voice slips into the sound of easy amusement, and you feel yourself quickly grow agitated by his ever-provoking nature.
Like usual, you rise to his provocation. "You think I can't handle your shitty workload? It's actually embarrassing how much you struggle to get any of it done! You know what?! Watch me!"
You drop the paper back into the pile you pulled it from, snatch the quill from his hand, and aimlessly glance around for a chair.
Fruitless in your search, you force his seat back with your hip and shimmy your way between his desk and chair. The back of your thighs brush his knees, but you angrily ignore the pleased sound he makes when he realizes what you're doing.
"Why the hell do you have an office with only one chair?" You grit out, bending forward to the far end of his desk to yank the upcoming summer schedule.
There's a pause that lasts longer than a few seconds. You hear him intake a breath before responding. "We have chairs here." It's simple, no snark, but you pay it little mind as the calendar catches on a high stack of papers. You let go of the calendar and stand to catch the stack, jostling into the boy behind you in the process. Only when you're sure it's safe to let go do you mutter your complaints to him.
"I can't exactly scoot that big ass couch to the other side of your desk, now can I?" You firmly plop down on his lap, schedule secured.
You expect him to say something belittling, maybe to taunt you for the fact that you chose his lap rather than dragging the loveseat to his desk, before it hits you.
You're sitting on his lap.
It was a mindless gesture within the moment, but you can endlessly tease him like this, couldn't you?
You bite your lip, pretending to ruminate on the schedule in front of you before lifting from his lap, grabbing a few papers from the tall stack in front of you, then roughly sitting back down on his lap with a grunt. You lean against him, your back hunched under so he can peer over your head at the sheets in front of you. You even give him a loving shake of your hips as you descend, grunting as if trying to grow more comfortable.
"Okay, so they left you in charge of managing the Windblume festival..." you mutter, acting as if you changed your mind about your sitting situation and bouncing forward. You grab his arm, pushing it against your breast and pretending to pass the schedule to him. In your sweetest voice, you ask, "Will you hold this for me, Lo?" Just to throw him off a bit as you reach for something else on his desk.
The vice captain is alarmingly silent but manages a charming response of, "How could I deny you?" While you pretend to busy yourself.
It's hard to ignore his scent, small puffs of his breath behind you. You feel his hand wrap loosely around your wrist, then trail up your arm. The gentleness of his touch makes you shiver. He presses his chin against your shoulder, hand wrapping around your torso tightly underneath your chest to drag you deeper into his lap. His voice is above a rustling whisper, tickling your skin. "You can't go over the festival preparations if you don't know who's on the coordination committee, sweetheart. Let me help you." He bends forward, pushing you with him in the process until you're both standing. You make a small sound from being forced up from your seat.
Something prods at your tailbone, heat flushing your face. He drops the calendar to the ground to grasp your hip before he pushes into you.
You clench around nothing, cool air hitting your wet, exposed pussy. The way he used endearing nicknames was so fucking odd, but it sent a pang of need through you. It was soulless, a term that felt degrading, like he was saying it only because you wanted to hear it. The nicknames would curl on his tongue, lashing out like an insult. He would call you "morsel" with more affection, for crying out loud!
He turns you around by your hips, smiling with sinister intent. You don't have much time to ponder before the back of his hand is caressing your cheek. Lohen ruffles your hair between his fingers, and dread flushes through you instantly.
"Lo—" You try to sound more intimidating than frightened. He tilts his head, dishonestly smiling before he pulls at your roots. It's hard enough to jerk your head to the side entirely, throbbing with sharp and constant pain. You cry out, trying to grab at his hands for respite, but you're forced back into the desk, neck exposed to him.
You dangle helplessly, his hand locked in your hair. Your back is arched, forced into an uncomfortable dance of balance, not quite on the table nor leaning into him.
"Oh? Is this a surprise for me?" He chirps, slotting his waist between your tense knees. The skirt you're wearing has climbed up the thickness of your thighs. You're exposed for your lack of clothing, panties.
Originally, you planned to flash him, lifting the tight fabric up your hips and even giving yourself a good smack before running off.
It was silly, and a sure fire way to get back at him for some fo the mean things he did on your last missions together, but now you were mortified.
His hand goes to the back of your thigh, pressing it it higher for him to see.
"N... no." You struggle, overwhelmed with the amount of humiliation you were experiencing in flares. He looks towards you through his lashes before his gaze fixates back on your pussy.
"No?" His tone is light and conversational. His fingers roam up until they're underneath your skirt, going to the thick fat of your ass. He squeezes, pitching the meat punishingly until you cry out. You whack at his shoulders, but he keeps going even as you begin to contort in place. His other hand stays in your hair, forcing you to cruelly carry your own weight. Just being able to lean on the table seemed like heaven compared to the growing pain in your lower back.
"Then what is for me, honey?" You feel your chest pang again from the demeaning way he titles you. "The heels you're wearing? Or, oh, maybe the dress shirt? Did you wear a tie just for me?" His hand escapes your leg, leaving the limb shaking from the force he put bruising it. You let a small cry, back bending to try and rush away from his hand that climbs up the curve of your hip before.
His hand climbs and climbs until it reaches your collar. He toys with it, bangs covering an eye as he looks through you. "Is it not for me?"
You guff, swallowing on your tongue. You don't know what the answer is; your thigh thrums with endless pain as you search for something to appease him with.
He curls the base of your tie around his hand, "Ye—ufck!" And tugs before you have the chance to finish.
"Too slow." And then hes laughing. Laughing at the hacking sound you make. His eyes stay opened, like he doesnt want to miss a moment of your face turning flush red or the way your beat against his chest.
He leans into you, hand freeing from your hair. He has proper leash to keep you suspended, now. Now with a open hand, he hums, leaning to peck the sides of your cheek, while his hand searches coat.
You're still hitting his chest. In short instances, he would loosen his grip to give you small moments for air but deprive you of getting enough. You cough in one of those instances, gasping through your mouth as tears slide down your face. You dare not waste the moment to get as much air in as possible.
You can recognize that he's got his dagger against your thigh just by the cold feeling of it. He pulls it off your skin to do a stupid trick with it in his hands to bask in the terror that must be on your face.
"Lo!" You try again. Unfortunately, that's all he let's you get out before tighten your leash.
The material cuts fabric easily, leaving your bottom half completely bare. You know he can see how wet you are just by feeling how the cold air hits you. Your punches turn into weak pushes at his chest. He lets you push him away but always insistently steps back into your space as soon as you do. You both are jostling back and forth at the desk, papers either squished or falling. A heavy stack goes sideways, floating momentarily in the air before gliding to the ground.
You would envy it, the feeling of being able to rest your back on something. Your lower back hurts like shit now, especially with the pushing you've been doing.
You manage a small croak, trying to close your legs around his thighs so you could finally land proper blows, but he makes an annoyed sound.
"No, this is definitely for me." He grabs both of your knees and slams them apart on either side until your kneecaps touch wood. You were completely exposed like this, but in his haste to keep your thighs open, he lets your back hit the desk finally.
You take in as much air as possible; the corners of your vision come back to you in vibrant flurries. Before he has the chance to nearly strangle you again, you tear off your top, buttons damned. The lack of oxygen has left you stupid, forgetting you have to manually loosen the tie itself.
You frantically fumble it off, throwing it off the far end of the table, then glaring with newfound vengeance. "F-fuckin.. fucking assho-" you hack, clutching your sensitive throat in your hand. You barely register the feel of him dragging the cold blade up your thighs again. Small, thin layers of blood begin to spot your skin.
"'Coulda fucking died!" You finally roar at him, grabbing whatever was underneath you to throw at him. Balls of paper fall off his head, one falling between the mass between your thighs. You tense when you see him reach for it, dusting all the paper balls from the desk. When he's done, he smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with delight.
"Doesn't it make it all the better that you didn't?"
Your heart was racing, your head struggled to maintain lucid thought, and you knew you looked like an absolute mess now. Popped buttons of your tight top expose your cleavage and the marks you knew were steadily developing on your neck, as well as the way he had your entire pelvis exposed. You force yourself up by your elbows to see what the hell he was trying to carve on your skin. You spy the letters "LO" and quickly try and slam your thighs closed once more. He again beats you to the punch, this time forcing them down rough enough for the sound to reverberate around the room.
You look at him, completely speechless for once.
Had he lost his mind? Or whatever little of it was left? How would you look at Barbara in the eye tomorrow? How could you let anyone heal this away, knowing they'd have to look closely at one of your innermost private areas to see the point of injury? How would you explain the letters or how they came to be there?
One thing was certain, you weren't letting him carve any more his letters into you. It was easier to explain away two letters rather the the entirety of the Vice Captain of the Knights of Favonius' name.
He looked content to stop there, though he was still doing stupid tricks with his knife in his hand like he was deliberating something.
"You wanna get off?" You blink at him, still lightheaded.
He's patient this time, unlike before. His two-toned eyes look at you with genuine curiosity. He watches you struggle to understand, leaning down to lick off dried drool that must've escaped past your lips in the struggle. The feeling of his tongue on the corner of your mouth has you instinctively closing your eyes.
They're still closed when he pulls away, chuckling at the sight of you sprawled across his desk, knees forced apart and breasts pressed together from the barely hanging top you wore.
"Well?" He watches the way the light hits your pretty, teary eyes when you look at him again.
You were most beautiful when you looked like the most destroyed version of yourself.
"...huh?"
He decides on his own after that point, making up his mind at the sight of your tight hole, mussed hair, and the single tear that crosses the side of your face, that he'll help you get your release.
Even if you were being a minx in the first place.
With one last trick of his dagger, he catches it, blade-side up, and leans down to chase the tear. It's salty.
"o-Oh, oh FUCK!" You cry out when you feel something breach your cunt. Something was wrong.
You hadn't seen him pull free from his boxers. You would've been more pliable towards him if it had meant your relief, if you knew he was finally going to pound your empty cunt full. As of right now, you're unprepared, still wet from the choking but with little foreplay from his fingers.
"L-lohhh!" Your voice obnoxious pitches into a cry you can't control. The hooked end of something pries you apart, and with shock, you finally understand what's happening. "L- lo- Lohan! You can't—" Fresh tears slip past your eyes. The next breath you take is hot. Your entire body burns.
"You c-ca-can't—oh, FUCK!" Your back jerks up from the desk, forced back down by the weight of his chest. "Oh fuck, oh my... archeons, archeons!" It sinks in deeper, sharp edges burrowing within your sensitive walls. You feel yourself throb against it, crying out pathetically before. He feasts on your tears.
"I'm hurt you're thinking of them at such an intimate moment." He teases, sucking the side of your jaw with intention to mar. "Is that who you were doing all of this for? The gods? Think they'll send you down a blessing for being dressed like a tramp around the vice captain? For being spread open against his desk, so easily taken? Without so much of a fight from you, even while you take his blade in this pussy?" He obnoxiously gasps, "Does this make my blade blessed by the gods?" And he's laughing again.
You can't hear him, only the sounds of your own whining noises. His dagger never looked long to you, but as another inch sinks in, more than you can take unprepared, you wonder just how big it is. His index fingers graze your pussy lips before he's finally pulling out the handle.
You cry out, somewhat from relief from the fact that he didn't shove the literal blade in your pussy. He pulls it out all the way, and you feel your cunt clench in an attempt to stop him from fully leaving.
Through wet eyes, you see him lean back to lick your arousal from the handle. You're mortified at the sight of how it looks; it's more twisty and crooked than you remember it being. You're not left wanting for long. He parts from it with a sound of delight before that crooked end is pushed back into you. Your legs are still painfully pinned against the table, numb and tingling.
You feel ruined. He hadn't inserted part of his body into you, but you were overwhelmed. You clench around cold, precious matter and feel wetness gush out.
"Yeah? Getting close?" You can hear him speaking, but by now your head is underwater. Your eyes roll back, and you feel him coo at you not to roll your hips too much, or else he wouldn't be able to control how much of his blade gets caught inside you. One hand, you're not focused enough to tell which, gropes your nipple through thin fabric. He pinches the sensitive skin hard and watches how it reddens.
You're being loud; you vaguely remember the walls here are thin, but you're too far gone to stop the wailing, unrestrained mewling noises.
You think about how many creatures he's killed with just this blade. You spasm around the thick material uncontrollably and try not to think about what this says about you.
You barely focus when you feel him bite the delicate skin by your ear and struggle to register your face, which is almost completely wet from both your tears and his saliva. Has he been licking you this entire time?
"–nd you are you under, huh?" You finally hear him. His nails are digging into your skin. The blade twists inside you. "Who's giving you what you want? Fuck," you hear him pant. He pulls back, looking at the wrecked state you're in from where he has you. You're reduced to nothing but a spasming mess on the brink of orgasm now his weight is off you.
"Loh..."
You sound completely exhausted even to your own ears but are still stupidly desperate and chasing the end.
You mindlessly reach down to rub your clit, but his hand clutches your wrist. You feel your tits bounce from how hard he presses your hand into the desk. It doesn't escape his notice either. He immediately leans down to kiss the skin between your breasts. You can see him gaze up at you, tongue dragging against neglected skin he'll suck a mark into later. You can only weakly whimper.
Your body hurts, but the pain is nothing compared to the edging. You jerk back when his teeth bite into soft breasts.
"Tell me."
You struggle to find words—to return to yourself after losing it in the heat of pleasure. You have to appease him to cum; to get what you want. Unfortunately, every eloquence evades you as you turn into a mushy mess of begging.
"Oohhmmyf... y.. you! It's fucking you!" A hard wave of pleasure blossoms when he sucks harshly against your nipple. You aren't sure when your shirt was torn apart. "Need it—ne-need you, oh, please, please, Lohen! Need your dagger in me, fuck, fuckfuck, fuck mmmee!!" You're babbling anything you think will get him to let you finish. You agree with cruel remarks he's made in the past.
"I'm your fucking whore!"
And make mindless promises to him
"N-noooo ooone! Only you—shIIIT!!"
You agree to things you'll regret; you tell him he's the best you've ever had without even having to put his dick in you. You swear and you promise until his finger finds your clit, and he gives a small circular motion that has your entire world crumbling.
You see white and feel yourself grab onto him; his is the last thing you say until your throat gives out on you. And even then, your body jerks against him long after his weapon is pulled out of you.
When you finally come down, you are struggling to breathe just as you did with your tie curled between his fist.
And by the way, he's looking at you, fully dressed and pleased with himself...
You're pretty sure whatever game you two were playing...
It was a bit strange to be doing something so normal with Lohen, but he enjoyed the simple pleasure of you choking around the thick base of his cock. Your gag reflex was something to laugh about; you struggled with taking even his fingers in your mouth, let alone his dick.
You try not to think about the first time you tried giving him a blow job. Your teeth scrapped around the head, and he shuddered with pleasure after receiving the worst head of his life. He hadn't softened the blow of telling you how poorly you'd done either.
And still, after practicing on him for so long, you still struggled to fit him in your mouth.
Drool pooled from the corner of your lips, and your fingers dig into his waist, trying to push away from his bucking hips. The asshole refused to let you fully push off, instead chasing your retreating lips until they touched skip.
"Fuuuuck," he moaned theatrically, his head thrown back as he forces your lips to his pelvis. The desk behind him rattles with the movement, papers falling off the edge. Your neck arches deeper into him involuntarily, eyes watering.
"Mmmfph!" Your nails pinch into him, trying to pull off of him.
"Oh yeah, just like—that!" His hand tightens in your hair. He pulls you off of him as if you're a ragdoll, then forces you down his length.
"Mm!" A tear escapes this time, and you're certain your teeth grate. He only punches over your head, both hands woven, tightened in your hair, and hips shuddering.
"Oh—oh fuck," he gasps. You feel his pulse against your tongue and the roof of your mouth. Aimlessly, you try and skim the bottom of his cock with your tongue to coax him closer to release. "Fuck, you're goddamn awful at this, huh?" He exhales with a shuddery laugh.
You make a pathetic sound below him, causing him to finally look down at you. At the sight of your teary eyes and flushed expression, he coos at you, hands messily petting your hair into your sweaty face.
"Aren't you cute..." His pupils are blown huge, with an unhindered smile on his face.
Lohen's thumb goes to the spit-covered side of your mouth, tugging it and revealing your canines. He pulls at the small corner until it stings. "Use more teeth this time, yeah?" Then pushes back into you, again and again, until your throat is sore and face is wet.
Giving lohen a shitty blow job and him being into it 🤤
hello im guilty of finding sylus hot in catch 22....... okay but hear me out HEAR ME OUT other than the tongue thing he which is obviously very silly right. he just looks so big in the kindled. do you know what i mean. like he looks massive for some reason and im just a lil guy.... im a simple woman....... im a zayne main but every once in a while im reminded why sylus was the one who got me into the game in the first place
-🩷
He does look massive i'm hearing you out for sure. I really like his build, it's very....large LMAO in a good way! I like looking at Sylus but Zayne...oh I could spend hours with Zayne...
NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT NEED THAT
okay what about. zayne, sylus, and reader doing food play but nasty food play not the usual oooh i have whipped cream on me hehe lick it off! nasty, hmm
You're definitely going to have to throw these sheet away after tonight.
"I-I can't!" You squirm against Zayne's tongue, your moans swallowed by Sylus's mouth. The taste of honey is evident, nearly overwhelming as he kisses you. You're practically covered in the stuff, though Zayne has done his best to lick it off.
"Yes you can." Zayne murmurs, tongue laving over your inner thigh to catch a drop of honey. His teeth scrape the thin skin, making you shiver. Before you can complain too much, Sylus distracts you.
"Open." Sylus tilts your head up, holding a pair of cherries to your lips. You open your mouth, keeping your eyes on his as your tongue wraps around the fruit. Juice slips from the corner of your lips, so Sylus leans in to lick it away, his lips stained pink.
When you swallow, his lips meet yours, tongue sinking into your mouth to find the cherry pits and pulling them away in his own mouth.
"Do you want more?" He murmurs, smirking as you pant against him. You barely manage to shake your head, your attention is pulled downward, to Zayne's other-wordly tongue.
"I-I'm gonna cum again!" You gasp, skin sticking to the sheets.
"Good. You'll give Zayne something even sweeter to taste."
zayne had a rough day at work—so many patients, too much paperwork, an excruciating surgery in between—he was absolutely beat. so when he trudges through the door with his tie loosened and very prominent bags under his eyes on his otherwise perfect skin, you tell him to go sit on the couch and relax while you finish whipping up dinner.
he wants nothing more than to shower the day off of him and crawl into bed with his wife, but you insist he needs to eat—the same way he would if it were you in his shoes. and because he can’t resist you—especially when you’re wearing a cute little apron—he begrudgingly obliges, letting his bag hit the ground and slumping on the couch, a single button on his crisp shirt unbuttoned showing off a beautiful sliver of skin.
he throws his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking of anything to take his mind off his grueling work, and he’s successful when his mind finally lands back on you. his sweet, sweet wife.
he tries to keep his thoughts innocent… tries not to think about you in your little apron looking like you came straight out of a male fantasy. tries not to think about all the things he could do to you. tries so hard not to think about how you could take care of his cock—the very same that’s growing harder and harder in his confined slacks.
he’s tired—can barely move, and yet, he still calls you to him.
“sweetheart,” his voice gruff, carrying a slight rasp as he beckons you. “c’mere please.”
a frown etches itself on your face, walking your way to him from the kitchen. “baby, ‘m almost done with din–”
you don’t get the chance to finish your complaint when he’s pulling you by the arm into his lap. a soft gasp leaves your lips at the sudden movement. then you’re settled, straddling the large expanse of his lap and you feel it.
he wraps his arms around your body, flushing you against his chest. his lips press against the shell of your ear and he whispers, “don’t care about dinner, just let me hold my wife, yeah?”
he swears it’s all he needs—to hold you close and inhale your scent—but his pulse is racing and blood roars in his ears all due to sheer desire and he can’t stop himself from shifting his hips the slightest bit.
you feel that, too. it elicits a sharp gasp.
you can almost hear the small smirk forming on his lips, “how was your day, beautiful?” he murmurs, hands moving to your hips.
and his movements are so calculated. from the way he ever so gently grounds you into him to the way his breath fans against your ear sending shivers down your spine.
“was fine…” you mumble, unable to stop the way you shift in his lap, body begging for more attention. “missed you.”
“yeah?” he asks, his voice is low and nearly unrecognizable. “missed you s’much more, my love. been waiting for this moment all day.”
you pull back slightly to look into his eyes. they’re tired. exhausted even, but they still hold that fire. that pure, burning desire. they’re his fuck me eyes. and, god, do you love them.
“zaynie,” you whisper, unable to trust your shaky voice.
he hums, and the soft, pitched noise has you leaking through your bottom, probably leaving a wet patch right on his pants. “tell me, sweetheart.” his hands squeeze at your sides and his hips slowly, but surely, roll into you. "what did you do today?"
you whimper, pussy clenching around nothing. "mmph, not much…" another roll, evoking another wet gasp. "fuck, just… cleaned, w-went on a walk—" he's pushing against you deeper now. you feel the outline of his cock push into you with every not-so-little thrust. "s-saw, saw that stray kitty in the park again."
"mmm, we should really take her in, shouldn't we?" he breathes, cock twitching at the sound of your voice breaking with every grind.
"zaynie," your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him back so you can look at him. his face is flushed, pink blooming over his cheeks and spreading to the tips of his ears. you gyrate against him, pulling a breathy moan from your husbands hung open mouth. "dinner's gonna burn."
"let it burn then." he says, the words coming out in a hiss. "need my wife—we can order takeout later, i'll even cook, don't care. let me just have you like this first."
a beg. to the untrained ear, you can't hear it, but you know zayne like the back of your hand. you know that heat curls in his stomach, that tension lies in every bone in his body, that pure desire is the only thing he feels right now. the need to be close to you is strong, but the need to be fully sheathed inside you, fucking you till he's completely stress free and you're completely full of his cum is much, much stronger.
it's why all the fatigue evaporates and he can't stop himself from flipping you onto the plush couch— rubbing into you you like he might die without feeling the outline of your pussy through your soddened panties and leggings . he can't even be bothered to rid you of your clothes… he craves the release. he needs it more than anything. needs you more than anything.
you let out a pathetic needy sob, overly worked up by him fucking you through your clothes. "z-zayne, more—ugh, need more. t-take it off, please."
his cock twitches helplessly at the sound. it's what he's been missing while drowning in work for hours on end.
"sweetheart," he moans brokenly. "promise i'll fuck you just the way you like—just need you to take this first. you can do that for me, can't you?" he whispers and the word shoot an immense amount of heat straight to your core. "you can be a good little wife, right, darling?"
you can never say no to him, especially when he talks to you like that. you respond wordlessly, giving your husband what he wants—no, what he needs—and wrap your legs securely around his slim waist.
"that's it, good girl." and the way zayne sounds is the polar opposite of the weight of his words. his voice is frayed, desperate. "f-feels, ha, feels so good like this, yeah?"
his hips move faster, imitating the way they would if he were actually inside of you fucking you with full force. your body rocks with every thrust, every grind, your tits bounce underneath your apron, the couch—even as firm as it sits—sways with you in tandem.
it goes on and on. endless, whiny praises from him, sobbing pleas from you, your bodies rubbing against one another effectively ruining his dry-clean-only slacks till you finally feel that tight knot form in your lower belly.
and he's close, too, but zayne's been close to coming undone—he just didn't want to let go without you.
it happens so quickly that you barely have the time to process it. "baby, baby," you gasp, nerve-endings coming alive while your heart pounds at the speed of light. "'m—oh, fuck, baby. 'm cumming, cumming, cumming."
"cum with me, sweet girl." he wheedles, never losing his momentum for a second. he grinds you both through it till he feels your body pull taut underneath him. till you're shaking and sobbing and clinging onto him for dear life.
then he stills and his orgasm is explosive. he's vocal, moaning out your name mixed with all the sweet pet names he's given you. his cum leaks through his boxers and said dry-clean-only slacks, beading out of the fabric in a taboo, yet very erotic way.
it takes you both minutes to come down till the smell of burning food fills your nostrils.
then you hear the unmistakable beeping of the fire alarm.
"oh, shit."
KIT SAYS... they took my yaoi/bl app away from me. if you guys know where i can read my yaoi ad free, email me. (dm me or send me an ask, I'm begging i need to fujo out over hot men that kiss) oh and this isn't proofread lol
Pspspsps imagine you wanting to cum and Zayne makes you spell something or give you a question (ex. math question or relationship questions) and if you get it right, you get to cum and if not then you’ll be denied and have to start all over again
I’m running away again hehe 🏃♀️💨
"Answer."
"I-I don't know!"
Zayne pulls his cock out, making you gasp out and tug at the handcuffs.
"N-no no please! Come on Zayne keep going!"
"Then tell me. What was the topic of my graduate thesis? It's not a difficult question." You swear he smirks as the tip of his cock catches your entrance, making your back arch off the bed.
"You know it's not! Please it-it's not fair..." You whimper as he slides back in, slowly fucking you.
"I'll give you an easier question. But if you get this one wrong, I'll have to edge you twice to make up for it." He seals his threat with a kiss to the corner of your mouth as you tearfully nod, waiting for the question.
"When...is my birthday?" There's amusement in his eyes, and you're so relieved you could cry. You lean up to kiss him, smiling as you murmur the date against his lips.
You’re not even really sure what happened. You’re having a good time, you are. It feels good, and you normally like this position.
So why do you feel so…dirty?
He notices your change in demeanour, the way your moans cease and you go quiet. He stops, pulling out slowly and reaching for you. You resist for a moment, not wanting him to see you crying.
“What’s wrong?” He sounds so worried about you. It’s his nature, to worry.
“Nothing I-I’m fine. We can keep going.” You sniffle, and his decision becomes firm. His arms come around you, pulling you into his lap and hugging you.
“We’re done, okay? Does anything hurt?” The tears are rushing out now, and you have to swallow your sobs to answer.
“N-no. I-I’m fine really I don’t-I don’t know what happened.” You don’t need to go into detail. Zayne hums in understanding, cool hand stroking your heated skin as he holds you closer.
“It’s okay. Let it out.” He presses a kiss to your head as you sink into his embrace, sobbing.
When you begin to calm down, he helps you sip some water, wrapping the blanket around you. Zayne doesn’t let you apologize, not for this, but you don’t let him say it either. It’s no one’s fault, the two of you agree.
SYNOPSIS: Seeking to deepen his understanding of the human mind, The Doctor offers a ‘special’ experiment to his favourite subordinate—you—and his dear friend, Regrator. Amidst the heat of the study, the fine line between scientific curiosity and personal intrusion blurs as the Second Harbinger finds himself joining in on the fun.
CONTENT WARNING: DUBCON, fatui!reader, reader is dottore’s subordinate, reader is referred to as ‘miss’, petty bickering between the old men, slight scientific jargon, prob inaccurate science stuff (sorry), slight pervert pantalone, smut (mdni), nipple play (?), pantalone-centric in first half of smut, p*rn w/o plot, exhibitionism, dottore gets FOMO lowkey, implied use of aphrodisiac (m), p in v, protected sex but eventual unprotected sex, threesome, double penetration, anal sex (f receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, not beta read.
WORD COUNT: 8.2k
NOTES: happy june :”3 !! i hope you enjoy this very self indulgent piece! i haven’t written a threesome in ages so apologies if its a bit clunky </3. div: babyg4rlhelps
The hallway leading to The Doctor’s laboratory was eerily quiet, his subordinates—like yourself—were currently on break at the cafeteria indulging in much needed fuel to power through yet another hectic day. The soles of your shoes echoed throughout the metallic floors, it served as a reminder at how deserted the corridor was; even though you’ve walked down this same path for years, the atmosphere never once failed to lick an icy shiver down your spine. It didn’t help how lifeless and dull these hallways were. As for the purpose of your early return in The Doctor’s laboratory, one of your colleagues had told you that the Harbinger required your presence urgently, and given your colleagues' words, it seemed to be a matter of importance.
Though, you wondered why The Doctor had specifically asked for you; as far as you were aware, your ranking as his subordinate wasn’t anything special—merely conducting experiments and quality control were your tasks, just like all the other subordinates under his authority. Ah, you didn’t mess up anything, did you? You always always followed protocols and it wasn’t like The Doctor had previously given you an earful for messing up an experiment.
In fact, he had been nothing but full of praise towards you; there was one instance where the Harbinger gleefully praised your intellect. Although to others, he never held back on his dissatisfaction whenever a colleague of yours messed up certain experimental procedures. The Doctor always spoke to them of the importance of materials as they were not easily obtainable, and to always carefully read the protocols. Unfortunately, his rather strange bias towards you made you the butt of the jokes amongst your colleagues in cafeteria conversations, and you were more than certain they were currently laughing at you behind your back.
“Hah! She’s like a teacher’s pet but instead of a teacher it's Lord Dottore! Hahahahahaha!” One of your colleagues started right after you were told The Doctor needed you back at the laboratory.
Of course, it was all light hearted but you wished they were a bit more mature about the situation because sometimes you couldn’t help but feel . . . weird around Lord Dottore at times—especially at times where he’d lean over your shoulder to inspect your task for the day. Maybe he simply needed a closer look but the way his chest ghosted against your back had you biting the inside of your cheeks.
Stepping inside the laboratory, you were greeted with an empty space, devoid of the man you were looking for. The room was how everyone left it before heading to the cafeteria—powered equipment turned off, hazardous chemicals stored away, and several documents sprawled across counters. For a supposedly urgent matter, you expected him to be at least present in his own laboratory.
Confused, you called out, “. . Lord Dottore?”
Silence stretched for a few moments before you received a response, “I am in my office. It would be preferable if you joined me.”
At the sound of his familiar voice, you followed its origin where it led you to the slightly ajar door to his office. Your heart pounded against your chest, you’ve only been inside there once to drop off research notes because the person who usually did it was absent that day, The Doctor also wasn’t inside when you had entered previously so this was your first time in his office with him.
Something about that unnerved you. Sure, he was somewhat ‘nicer’ to you but there wasn’t denying the fact that he was an interesting individual but you were under the same organisation, so it wasn’t your place to question the Harbinger nor his motives.
As you walked inside, you quietly closed the door behind out of politeness before turning around to get on one knee and bow your head. During the brief movement, you caught a familiar tall figure standing just off to the side of The Doctor’s desk.
“Lord Dottore, Lord Regrator.” But what was he doing here?
There wasn’t much you knew about Lord Regrator other than he was the Ninth Harbinger who was in charge of economic policies in the nation.
“There’s no need for formalities. Sit. I called you here to discuss a special experiment.” Dottore gestured a gloved hand at the empty seat before his desk, the corners of his lips slightly curled.
A special experiment? At the mention of an experiment, your heart calmed a little—it was your expertise after all, so there was no point fretting over it but the strange tension in the room seemed to scream otherwise. It also didn’t explain why Regrator was present, it wasn’t like they were about to start discussing finance with you.
You nodded, standing up to quietly make your way to the empty seat, “Of course. May I ask what this experiment is about?”
As you sat down, Dottore spoke up once more, both elbows atop the wooden desk, leaning a little closer, “Recently, I have been expanding my research on the human brain and its connection to the body regarding its response to bodily sensations such as touch. I have appropriate non-invasive equipment in my personal laboratory, however, the procedure is rather . . invasive.”
Invasive? What could Dottore possibly mean by that?
“Naturally, such an experiment necessitates a suitable candidate and their willing consent.”
A participant—you assumed that was your supposed role, the reason why Dottore required your presence. Once more, your heart thrummed out of nervousness, you weren’t going to conduct an experiment, you were going to be experimented on. The mention of an invasive procedure already had your mind spinning in a million different scenarios; he wasn’t going to cut you open, was he . . ?
“Your intelligence precedes your colleagues which is why I have found you to be the suitable candidate. Of course, it all comes down to your decision but it would be a delight to have your involvement.”
You sucked in a small breath, “May I . . read over the research proposal, Lord Dottore?” He wordlessly nodded, opening a drawer on his desk before sliding a neat stack of papers over.
Written in bold letters was the title: ‘Sensory cortex activation by stimulation’
The human mind remains an imperfectly understood mechanism. This study aims to document and analyze cerebral activity in response to external stimuli such as touch and pressure in order to better identify the relations between the human brain and body. The implications of this experimental research extend beyond mere academic curiosity, a more complex understanding of neurological behaviour under euphoric conditions may provide valuable insight into artificial human enhancement procedures. Experimentation of this nature requires a fully informed and consenting participant.
Methodology: The participant will be situated within a controlled laboratory environment under my supervision to maintain consistency of neurological readings throughout the duration of the experiment. Neurological activity will be monitored and recorded through the use of neural-imaging apparatus for high resolution cerebral observation. The participant will be gradually exposed to sexual stimuli in certain body areas as follows: nipple, clitoral and vaginal (penile penetration) leading up to orgasm which is the expected peak readings.
To ensure authenticity of collected data, the participant must remain aware and capable of providing continuous informed consent during all stages of experimentation and contraception will be used. Furthermore, a second participant (assigned to Pantalone) is set to carry out sexual stimuli mentioned above and is considered a controlled variable along with the primary participant. Collected findings will subsequently be analyzed for potential applications in the fields of cognitive enhancement and artificial synchronisation of human neural patterns.
In simpler terms, Dottore wanted to observe human neural activity during a euphoric state to better understand the connection between the brain and body? In all honesty, you were speechless. Not only was the former supervising the entire experiment but Lord Regrator was also a participant, at this point you were convinced this was some kind of humiliation ritual. There was no denying that The Doctor was extremely professional when it came to research, and you were more than certain it wasn’t going to be his first time seeing a naked human body—he had even written a formal proposal which further confirms that this experiment wasn’t some kind of perverted shenanigan.
“Do I, uh—Does the experiment require the primary participant to be . . fully naked?” You feigned a cough, flipping a page as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with Dottore. Though he wore a pointed mask, you were certain his eyes remained solely on you.
“It is not a necessity. Only stated areas in the proposal are required to be exposed for efficiency. I’d also like to mention that a generous compensation will be given once the experiment concludes.”
At the mention of compensation, your ears perked up. Even though the Fatui was an influential organization in Teyvat, the pay you received was fairly enough to get by but if you were being honest, you could use a bit more mora especially with this month’s bills rolling around. Without another word, you nodded, finally looking up at the Second Harbinger.
“Alright. I will participate in the experiment, Lord Dottore.”
Beneath the pointed mask, his rosy lips stretched into a wider smile, “Excellent. I require you to sign this contract then I shall conduct a pre-experiment interview to obtain better understanding of the participant.” Reaching over the desk, he flipped over to the last page of the proposal and slid a fountain pen over, silently tapping his gloved fingers against the wooden surface as he watched you sign.
With your participation officially sealed with a signature, The Doctor carefully placed the document inside the drawer and fixed his attention on you, gloved hands loosely clasped around one another, “Are you sexually active?” His question settled into the thick silence awkwardly, it stuck out like a sore thumb—all too sudden and personal yet your commander had simply asked it as if he were asking about today’s weather.
You were aware this was part of the protocol but having Regrator present in the office seemed a bit much for you; what was he even here for? Surely, he wasn’t about to start asking you medical related questions, he didn’t even work in the field. Discomfort enveloped your warmed skin, a thousand kisses akin to small prickles—hot and itchy.
Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you spoke, “N-No . . but I have had intercourse before.” Archons, if you were given the option between Her Majesty unleashing her unforgiving ice on you or to explain your sex life to The Doctor, without hesitation you’d pick the former. Dottore was still your boss, after all but thankfully, he was as professional as you expected, keenly listening to your reply while nodding—nothing more, nothing less. If he had any reaction to your answers, he didn’t let on.
“And when was the last time?”
God, when was the last time you had sex? You simply couldn’t remember. Being a Fatui wasn’t a walk down the park, days in The Doctor’s laboratory were long and tedious, by the time you return home late in the afternoon, you’d only have the strength to eat and wash up before welcoming the night. The routine was monotonous, yes but there wasn’t room to mope around and complain.
“I cannot accurately say but most likely a month ago.” With your boyfriend then but The Doctor didn’t need to know about your past relationship.
The Second Harbinger’s questions continued for a couple more minutes, he asked about every single medical related question you could think of—medical history, current medications, prior injuries, and existing neurological conditions. Naturally, you tried your best to answer as accurately as advised by The Doctor and each response was recorded with meticulous precision.
“Good.” The word sounded less like praise and more like a conclusion. “If at any point you wish to withdraw from the study, you will retain your right to do so.”
Silence stretched inside the cold room.
You stared at Dottore. Through his pointed mask, he stared back. Neither of you spoke as his words lingered in the icy atmosphere like wisps of smoke, light and airy yet it held a bitter taste. A beat passed, then, very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward.
“I assume you’re wondering whether I genuinely mean that.”
So The Doctor was aware of your growing suspicion regarding his previous statement; you knew well enough how he worked, his experimental endeavours weren’t obtained through ethical and considerate experiments, and for him to state something like that was clearly out of character. Or maybe he actually housed an ounce of decency in him.
“Pardon my brazenness but yes, a little.”
The smile on his lips widened, “Reasonable.”
“Coerced participation produces unreliable results, especially neurological results.”
It wasn’t concern nor ethics but merely data quality, you didn’t know whether to applaud him for being such a dedicated scholar. Surprisingly, his reasoning was sound, emotions can and will affect neurological scans; factors such as stress can create physiological ‘noise’ which would increase variability in data.
At the lack of your reply, The Doctor merely dismissed your silence as acknowledgement and spoke up once more, “As you’re already aware, this study requires two participants. The reliability of the data is dependent upon minimising external variables and, unfamiliarity constitutes as such.”
“In other words, you’re making us socialize.” Lord Regrator finally spoke up, his dulcet voice curling around your body like a serpentine predator.
Well, it wasn’t entirely odd to familiarise oneself with a fellow study participant, especially if intimacy was on the table but the whole situation felt rather awkward. Under more casual circumstances, you’d feel at ease but being confined in your commander’s office with another Harbinger felt nothing but forced; you felt nothing less than a puppet being forced to interact with another toy at the hands of a naïve child.
“Call it whatever you prefer. Participants exhibit measurably different neurological responses when interacting with unfamiliar individuals.” A gloved finger tapped the wooden desk, “Trust levels, social comfort, perceived predictability—they all introduce inconsistencies. Unless, of course, you want me to find another willing participant. After all, you do have the right to withdraw from the study, Pantalone.”
Hidden beneath Dottore’s words was provocation but to Pantalone, the taunt was clear as day. From where he stood, he could see the way the former’s lips curled into a smug smile—a silent challenge between both of them. But Regrator didn’t bite, no, instead, he shifted his attention toward you.
“Well.” He smiled pleasantly, “It seems we’ve been assigned homework. If Dottore wishes us to become familiar with one another, I suppose introductions are in order.”
Satisfied that events were proceeding according to plan, the Second Harbinger immediately returned to his notes. Lord Regrator watched his companion for a brief moment, “He’s actually taking notes. How amusing.” A gentle laugh escaped his lips, he moved a tad closer to get a better view and the scent of tobacco faintly invaded your senses.
For the next hour, conversation between you and Regrator drifted from formal introductions to declassified Fatui affairs to Snezhnayan politics, and for the entirety of it, Dottore wordlessly sat in his seat, taking notes of everything. The conversation started off stiff as expected—Pantalone may be a participant but he was still a Harbinger, and with it came formality but as words flowed, you eased slightly. You learned about his role as a high ranking Fatuus and despite your lack of interest in his field, you simply nodded along.
Lord Regrator differed from Lord Dottore, and whether that observation was positive or not, you were uncertain. Different in a way that the former was clearly built for conversations, he gave flattery when needed, smiled at your words, and gave colourful responses; you assumed he obtained his mannerisms through his role but even with his authority, he was easier to converse with.
“Alright, that is all for today. I shall require both your presence next week once I have the appropriate equipment set up.”
With that, you excused yourself first and headed back to the cafeteria with a racing heart. On the way over, you questioned whether what you were getting yourself into was something you’d regret in the future but all your mind could think about was the coming week. The mere idea of Lord Regrator intimately touching you shouldn’t have invited heat between your legs but with every step taken closer to the cafeteria, the more it grew. It didn’t help how obscene visuals of you and him flashed in your mind every second or so.
The new week rolled around with slight anticipation; it was embarrassing, really, the slight excitement buried in the depths of your core pulsing with expectation. It was weird to anticipate such an erotic experiment but pure lust fogged your mind primarily due to the fact that you simply haven’t had sex in a month. Weeks of pent up stress and emotions? You were definitely overdue for release. Though, you did have to constantly remind yourself that it was a formal study within a controlled environment, and not some kind of one night stand with your commander’s colleague.
“I trust you’re both well rested?”
The three of you were back inside The Doctor’s office, it was late afternoon, the warm glow of the sun spilled through the frostbitten windows, painting the rather dull room in a mellow hue. The rest of your colleagues had already left the laboratory which meant you, along with the two Harbingers were the only ones present. It made you a little nervous—being alone in a room with two of Snezhnaya’s influential individuals.
Pantalone hummed and you replied with a small nod, already feeling your skin starting to prick.
Dottore led you both into another room connected to his office, it wasn’t as vast and you assumed this was strictly out of bounds to everyone but him. The room felt unnervingly sterile, its walls were constructed from smooth metal panels with narrow seams, and bright white lighting illuminated the space.
At the centre of the room stood the experiment’s primary apparatus—a reclining examination chair surrounded by an intricate arrangement of cables, a machine, and polished metallic arms suspended from the ceiling. The most striking feature of the room was the wall opposite the entrance—a single pane of reinforced observation glass stretched nearly from floor to ceiling; beyond the glass you assumed was the control room, housing machinery responsible for operating the experiment.
“For the entire duration of the experiment, I shall remain inside the control room to oversee the study and note down all results. Remove any unnecessary layers of clothing such as overcoats and gloves, and meet me by the apparatus.”
Left in your blouse and pants, you headed to the center of the room where Dottore stood with Pantalone just a step behind. The former tinkered around the apparatus, pressing a few buttons and flipping switches with a gloved finger, causing the machine to whirr to life; it hummed a low, almost quiet tune that somewhat settled your nerves.
“Lie down.”
The Doctor looked over his feathered shoulder, pointed mask gleaming beneath the harsh lighting before turning his attention to the suspended metallic arms for inspection. You did as you were told, positioning the entirety of your body along the examination chair, the leather was cool against the fabric of your clothes which left tiny goosebumps from the difference in temperature. Wordlessly, you watched as he positioned the metallic arms near your head, several inches away from contact; its tips were equipped with a semi-circle that encased your head. So, this was what The Doctor meant about non-invasive equipment.
“Once I operate the machine, you may feel a slight sensation but do not fret, it is simply the apparatus emitting pulses of energy to record neural activity. And as for you, I require complete obedience—every single word.”
“Hah, you act as if I’m some kind of disobedient mutt. I’m wounded.” Regrator pressed a hand over his chest, a mocking smile directed at his colleague.
The latter didn’t bother replying and instead walked off to the control room, the soles of his boots clicking with every calculated step. Pantalone softly shook his head, muttering a faint “Lovely as ever.” beneath his breath, full of sarcasm.
“Any command given will be spoken through this intercom.”
Your attention quickly moved from Regrator to the mounted speakers on the corners of the room as Dottore’s amplified voice filled the space. Gaze darting over to the foot of the examination chair, just past the Ninth Harbinger’s torso, you watched your commander on the other side of the observation glass. Heat warmed your cheeks at the realisation that you directly faced the latter which meant he’d be able to see everything you exposed.
“Base readings first. In the meantime, Pantalone, I trust you have already taken the concoction I made prior?”
With the metallic arms whirring to life, you could barely hear The Doctor’s words over the pulsing of the machine. Just as he mentioned, there was a slight foreign sensation in your head, it felt like pressure but also not at the same time, though, it wasn’t painful. You could only watch as the two conversed over the observation glass.
“Indeed.” Regrator nodded.
Two days ago, Dottore had given him a curated substance meant to increase one’s libido, thus concentrating blood flow to the genitalia. He had no qualms consuming it but it was foreign, indeed, he had never taken such a drug before and it took all his willpower not to take you right then and there. It didn’t help how his semi-hardened cock twitched inside his pants, involuntarily rubbing against the fabric of his underwear.
Dottore jotted down a few notes as the monitors displayed your real-time cerebral activity; so far, everything looked good, “Commencing the first phase of the experiment: nipple stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. For the entire duration—without stopping—the nipples are to be stimulated via gently pinching or twisting.”
Thirty seconds didn’t seem too long, right? With that, you slightly lifted yourself off the examination chair, bringing your blouse over your chest before attempting to unclip your brassiere. Seeing your struggle, Pantalone brought himself closer, a faint whiff of tobacco following, “May I?”
Despite his chivalrous offer, his amethyst gaze kept darting at your clothed breasts and the smoothness of your skin—he knew it was impolite to do so but being under the influence of Dottore’s concoction had him acting a tad out of character. He cleared his throat as his cock twitched at the sight before him, swallowing down the low moan he almost let out. Could you really blame him? The garment was a black lace adorned with intricate patterns, not to mention the fabric being slightly see-through—a feature he found rather brazen. Pantalone could almost assume you wore this specific garment today for him to see. And maybe for your commander, as well.
“Thank you . .” You nodded and allowed Regrator to help.
“Pardon the intrusion.” He laced an arm through the narrow space between your back and the chair, lithe fingers expertly unclasping your brassiere with one hand.
Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat.
In one swift movement, the garment loosened around your torso, threatening to slip off. With slight hesitation and a burning face, you removed the fabric and shyly placed it on the chair right by your thigh. Almost immediately, icy air kissed your warmed skin which caused your nipples to harden, a small hiss almost slipping past your lips. While you were occupied with embarrassment, Pantalone’s gaze traced the curves of your chest, each mound sinfully beckoning his large hands—maybe even his mouth too. Obviously, it wasn’t his first seeing a naked woman but how his mind reeled with selfish fantasies was beyond childish.
In the control room, Dottore was unfazed—he had seen many nude bodies before and yours weren’t any different. It was nothing special, really but your cerebral activity on the other hand . . . That was more interesting.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He spoke into the intercom.
“I’ll be starting now, Miss.” Regrator sat on the narrow space of the chair, his clothed thigh brushing against your own; you tried not to think of the warmth which radiated from his body or how your name effortlessly rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.
A silent nod was all you could muster—not even a split second eye contact to acknowledge his presence out of politeness but from the looks of it, Regrator didn’t mind at all as he proceeded to bring both hands up to your chest. If only you’d look his way you’d see a shy hue of crimson dusting his pale cheeks and ears but alas, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above.
A small yelp forced its way past your lips; Regrator used both index fingers to gently trace your areolas a couple of times, mere centimetres shy from your pebbled nipples, the tips of his fingers were cold—not icy but enough to send a strong shiver down your spine. You missed the way the corners of his lips subtly curled upwards in utter amusement—who would’ve thought Dottore’s lovely subordinate hid quite melodious tunes? There was no doubt his Harbinger colleague thought of the same thing.
As a matter of fact, despite being behind an observation glass, Dottore heard the sound you made all too clearly. The door to the control room was slightly ajar which caused any noise—minute or not—to spill through. It wasn’t foreign for his experimental subjects to create any noise but today differed, what was usually tunes of pain turned into hums of pleasure, and he couldn’t decide between the two which he preferred.
Maybe, just maybe by a tad bit—from how his core twisted with delight—it was probably the latter.
But Dottore had no room to ponder over that, not when your neurological activity displayed exquisite images on his monitor. As expected, a small cluster of highlights illuminated the somatosensory cortex which indicated its activation; he quickly jotted down notes, eyes trained on the screen before him, trying not to let your saccharine noises get to his head.
Another twitch of his now fully hardened cock had him letting out a low groan beneath his shaky breaths. The sight before him was simply exquisite; Pantalone may not have the best eyesight but he didn’t need a perfect vision to deduce the divine beauty—breasts splayed flat, torso arching ever so slightly, your head turned to the side, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and brows furrowed in embarrassment.
Oh, what a shy little thing you were.
“Lord R-Regrator—!” He gently pinched your nipples which spread a sharp, quick shock across your chest. Another arch of your back pressed your skin closer to Regrator’s digits, he experimented with a slight twist, turning them between his index fingers and thumbs.
Archons, how embarrassing! You tried. You truly tried to hold back any unwanted sounds but the Lord Harbinger seemed to know what he was doing—how to please a woman—you couldn’t help but moan out his name from how amazing his hands felt against your feverish skin. Save for the low hum of machinery, the room was filled with complete silence and any noise made stuck out like crimson ink on a blank ivory canvas.
“Do let me know if my actions hurt you at some point.” Pantalone mindlessly murmured, mind completely fogged with lust, and senses drowned in your muffled moans.
You finally looked up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes, it didn’t help how the bright lights above drew sparkles in your irises. He almost missed the wordless nod you responded with, too focused on the growing haze painted on your face. As Regrator continued his stimulation, shallow pants filled the space above your face and by this point, your face was as warm as it could get. Occasionally, your body shuddered beneath his expert touch, slowly and steadily driving you over the edge as each second passed.
Before another embarrassing moan could spill from your lips, The Doctor’s voice flooded the room via intercom, “First phase has concluded. Moving on to the second phase: clitoral stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. As previously mentioned, stimulation has to be continuous for the entire duration.”
Even though embarrassment had slightly subsided, you hesitantly reached for the button of your pants, undoing them with trembling hands. Once more, the Ninth Harbinger offered assistance to which you thankfully accepted—there was no reason getting shy now, he had already played with your nipples earlier. Driving the soles of your shoes onto the cushioned examination chair, you lifted your hips and pulled your pants down along with your underwear with the Harbinger’s help—just enough to expose your cunt.
His eyes zeroed in on your glistening entrance. All for him? Oh, he was being spoiled, indeed. The sight of your cunt fanned the blazing flames of Pantalone’s ego—all this just from mere nipple play? How adorable. You must’ve been really touch starved.
“Before we commence the second phase, Pantalone, I trust you can find the clitoris, right? Perhaps you need my assistance?”
“I am not ignorant, Dottore.”
“I am simply making sure. No reason to get snappy.”
You wanted to laugh. Two Harbingers bickering should not have amused you but the pettiness behind your commander’s voice and the slight annoyance laced with Lord Regrator’s words was all too amusing. If you were to tell a fellow colleague about them two bickering whether one could find the clitoris or not, they would not believe a single word that’d come out of your mouth. Who knew they could talk about trivial matters, too, how interesting.
Lord Regrator returned his rightful attention to you, his dull expression immediately shifted into the soft smile he always wore, “Ready, Miss?” Meek, you nodded. The Harbinger repositioned himself, right knee slotted between your parted legs to get a better view of your wet cunt.
He gathered the slick coating your cunt, spreading it on the pads of his fingers before pushing back your clitoral hood to reveal the swollen nub of flesh all in its needy glory. Embarrassingly enough, a simple ghostly touch on your clitoris had your entire body jerking against the leather of the chair, followed by a wanton moan of the Harbinger’s title. You quickly turned your head to the side and pressed the skin of your forearm against your lips—a futile attempt as the moment you obstructed your face, Lord Regrator’s digit began rubbing your clitoris in tight circles, as though a wordless protest against muffling the sounds you made.
His fingers were good—amazing, even, to the point where you wished thirty seconds went as quickly as a single second. In your head, clitoral stimulation of that duration was doable but you wholly underestimated yourself and the Lord Harbinger’s skills, on top of that, you were still trying to recover from earlier. You weren’t supposed to orgasm on this phase of the experiment otherwise it would ruin it entirely but it seemed like he had a goal: to drive you over the edge before the thirty seconds were up.
“L-Lord Regrator, I think—Mhm!”
“Hm? Were you saying something?”
The arm slung over your face immediately flew downwards to grasp his wrist, attempting to slow down his actions. Your free hand gripped on the side of the examination chair, nails digging crescents into the leather to ground and steer yourself from the impending orgasm. You arched your back and moaned aloud once more, earning a satisfied smile from the Lord Harbinger.
Dottore’s gaze ripped away from the monitors and landed at the centre of the room where you and Pantalone where, he carefully watched as your body pathetically writhed under the latter’s eager touch. He could barely see your lust-bitten face but judging from the moans you let out, his friend was doing exceptionally well at pleasing you—even the activity displayed on the monitors could back that fact; more regions of the brain were now highlighted indicating an increase in activity,
It was indeed fascinating to observe how one’s brain lit up from mere stimulation.
The tune of shallow, soft pants filled Regrator’s ears, it was amusing to watch you scramble and gather the threads of sanity in your palms, refusing to let pleasure take control of your body. Did he feel bad? A little but he was no saint. He switched from tight circles to figure eights, pressing onto your sensitive nub with a little more pressure. Your legs shook with bliss, fingers wrapped around his wrist tightening as you teetered to the brink of an orgasm.
“Ngh—ah! Lord Re—Haah!”
“I suggest you use your words otherwise I cannot understand you.” Mockery laced his dulcet voice but with the hum of machinery mixed with your shameless moans, you didn’t pick up on it.
When did Pantalone last have fun like this? Sure, he was powerful enough to control the nation’s economic state with a mere snap of his fingers but being able to control the pleasure you felt? Beyond satisfying. Not only was he rewarded with your lust-fogged expressions but also how your body squirmed beneath his touch—desperate and pathetic.
Your core tightened, it stretched and stretched further waiting for the recoil called climax but before you could reach it, your commander’s cold voice filled the room once more, “Second phase has concluded. We’ll be moving on to the final phase after a short interval.”
With that, Regrator pulled away his hand which elicited an embarrassing whine of protest from you. In a daze, you stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked Lord Dottore for the short interval because you knew well enough you’d be a complete mess once the third phase began. Though, the Second Harbinger’s reasoning was most certainly experiment-related rather than pure concern for the subject.
The tight knot deep in your core disappointingly dissipated as each second passed without stimulation—it was beyond frustrating to say the least, especially after weeks without sex. Despite the cool air inside, a sheen of sweat lightly coated your entire body and you felt stuffy; suddenly, the fabric pulled halfway down your legs felt too restricting, the blouse pooled around your neck didn’t help either. At this point, you just wanted one thing, and judging by the crimson blush on Lord Regrator’s cheeks, he wanted it too—release.
Dottore simply wasn’t being nice with the interval, the main reason for it was to let your cerebral activity return to baseline, otherwise readings from the second phase would carry on to the third phase and mess with the experiment. But he did have a more selfish reason that didn’t need disclosing—the growing tent between his legs.
He only needed a few moments to recollect himself. His bodily response to the scene before him was normal—he was still a man, after all— but in a professional setting, it was undesirable. Dottore knew what he was getting into when he first wrote the proposal for this serendipitous experiment but he didn’t expect to be aroused by it. He leaned back in his seat, a subtle glance at the prominent bulge before letting out a soft sigh.
How truly inconvenient.
After a couple moments of recollecting himself—or simply trying to—Dottore spoke into the intercom to commence the final phase, “The third will be slightly different, there will be no set duration as the end goal of this phase is an orgasm but restrictions will be in order. That means strictly no touching aside from vaginal penetration, this would count as kissing, groping or holding one another. Doing so would interfere with results.”
Since Dottore observed the sensory cortex, other forms of stimulation besides penetration would also be recorded, lowering authenticity of the results.
“Contraception is located above the machinery.” He added.
Pantalone reached for the smooth surface of the machinery next to the examination chair where he grabbed a sealed packet. Lithe fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, you watched as he unbuttoned and pulled it down just enough to reveal his hardened, leaking cock. It slapped against his clothed abdomen, donning a crimson blush that mirrored the hues on his pale cheeks. The pearlescent glob of pre-cum coating his slit had you salivating a little, tongue subtly swiping over your bottom lip.
Wide eyed and lips slightly parted, you could only wordlessly stare at the foreign sight before you, he was decently thick and merely looking at it had you clenching around nothing—eager to have all of the Lord Harbinger inside you.
Pantalone let out a low hiss, expertly rolling the latex down his shaft, “Ready?” Amethyst eyes clouded with lust found your gaze. Lord Regrator’s expression was different from what he usually wore, the cunning, unreadable smile was gone, leaving room for a flustered one.
With a wordless nod from you, the Harbinger fully situated himself between your legs, both hands each circling around the back of your knees to push them to your bare chest, “Hold your legs open for me, will you, dear?” You did as you were told, hooking an arm on each knee, keeping your legs in place and eagerly waiting for his next move.
Knees digging on leather, Pantalone placed a hand on the wide headrest of the chair while the other curled around his base, slowly guiding his cock inside your sopping entrance. A mix of your moans lingered in the air as he bottomed out, the entirety of his shaft sat inside you—heavy and hard. The stretch was delicious, it almost felt purely sinful, you’ve never taken a cock that stretched you this good before and it was dangerous because you might just get addicted to it.
Pantalone leaned over you, free hand now joining the other on holding the headrest. The silvery chain of his glasses dangled mere centimetres from your face, teasing and ghosting over your feverish skin. He sat still for a moment to relish inside your tight, velvety walls, he felt like a boyish virgin all over again with how stimulated he was, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet.
But Pantalone had a job to do: to bring you to an orgasm because that’s what he agreed to upon signing the contract of this study—to put your pleasure before his own.
A beat or two passed ‘til he slowly drew his hips back—with only the bulbous tip remaining inside—and languidly thrusted, your nails dug into your soft skin, leaving small crescent-shaped indents. You could really only hold on to your legs and take the steady yet forceful pace Lord Regrator had set which caused your body to jolt repeatedly with every smack of his hips against your own.
It was pure torture for Pantalone, you looked absolutely divine yet he wasn’t allowed to hold you—to grope and squeeze at your bouncing breasts, to rub at your clit, to suck on every part of your exposed skin and finally taste you for himself. Alas, he could only rake his gaze up and down your semi-naked form and fantasize how you’d react beneath his palms.
The examination chair groaned underneath the weight of Pantalone’s thrusts, high pitched squeaks interlaced with the string of moans and whimpers filling the entire space. Pantalone carefully shifted his weight to his upper body, anchoring his hands on the headrest to piston his hips into your own.
“O-Oh, god! Lord Regrator!”
“God? H-Haah! Ngh—‘M no god, my dear.”
Bitterness laced his trembling words, it's almost as though he took offense and now he expressed his disdain by merely picking up the pace, rendering you a babbling mess to shut you up. Skin slapping and the smell of sex dangerously danced in the air, one Dottore couldn’t simply ignore—especially the former.
The Second Harbinger messily jotted down notes, fingers tightening around the pen every now and then whenever you let out a loud moan. He didn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where you and Pantalone were, crimson gaze locked onto your jolting form while his friend eagerly pounded you like a starved man. How your legs vigorously bounced in the air was enough to let him know how roughly Pantalone went on you.
The problem between his legs worsened and Dottore may or may not have rubbed his hard on a few times beneath the desk. Just to get a small taste of friction his hardened cock desperately wanted. Childish? Perhaps but fuck he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of trading places with Pantalone—even for a mere second or two. He was more than curious what you’d feel like around him.
“Lord Regrator! I’m—aah! I’m close—ngh!” Legs burning from holding the position, you let go and opted to wrap them around the Harbinger’s waist, locking him in a rather intimate distance. Pantalone let out a breathless chuckle and changed his pace into deep, short thrusts, he grinded into you every few strokes or so, allowing you to see the stars.
A few more sharp thrusts and the knot inside your stomach snapped violently as pure bliss engulfed the entirety of your body. Pantalone, unable to move due to your legs tightening around him, sheathed his cock deep inside and grinded on you, his fat tip rubbing against your sweet, sweet spot. He watched your limp body convulsed beneath him as shocks of pleasure came crashing into you.
He followed suit, spilling his warm seed into the latex while relishing in the tightness of your walls, a loud grunt forced from his rosy lips.
The two of you stayed still for a moment, individuals merely reduced to a heaving mess as the fog of orgasm slowly dissipated from your bodies. As if on cue, Dottore spoke through the intercom,
“The final phase of the study has concluded. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
A breathless laugh from the Harbinger above you, “I sure hope you managed to collect ample findings, Dottore.”
The latter could only scoff, of course he was able to do so. As opposed to his hypothesis—where he had only hypothesized two regions would be active—a handful of regions were active during an orgasm. It gave him a better understanding of how to map the human brain.
At the latter’s silence, Pantalone spoke once more, “Though, I am rather curious,” He let out a small hiss while pulling out. “Why did you need a second participant? Surely you’re more than capable of executing this task yourself, no? Unless . .”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you simply can’t do it.” To please a woman, he wanted to add.
There was only one way to interpret the Ninth’s words and despite it being ‘friendly’ banter, annoyance bubbled in Dottore’s chest, “Obviously, I would need to record findings hence my lack of participation in the study. But if you ask me, I would have done a better job.”
“Really?”
Silence followed.
Solely due to their brief exchange—or was argument a better word?—you found yourself sandwiched between Lord Dottore and Lord Regrator; every article of your clothing long discarded on the cold tiles, and machinery turned off, long forgotten. With the former laying on the examination chair, you straddled him, trembling legs on either side of his waist while the other Harbinger pressed his clothed chest against your back.
“Lord Dottore . .” You bit your lip.
In a haste, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his leaking cock, rubbing the bare tip up and down your sensitive slit. Behind you, Pantalone’s hands mindlessly wandered all over your naked form—from the plush of your breasts to the fat of your ass, he left no skin untouched. But it wasn’t his hands alone, his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, leaving a few small bites in between.
Pantalone gently ushered you forward, one hand splayed across your back to bring you closer to Dottore ‘til your breasts squished against the latter’s chest. Both Harbingers lined their cocks to your entrances and slowly pushed inside. Slumped against the Second, you trembled violently as they stretched your holes out—one wrong move and you were sure to come undone.
With both cocks fully sheathed inside, all you could do at that point was pant like a mere mutt in heat, you haven’t had proper time to come down from your previous orgasm so any form of stimulation quite literally melted your brain and brought tears to your eyes.
Dottore cupped your jaw with a large, gloved hand and angled your face, he examined your fucked out expression momentarily before closing the distance. Messy and desperate, the Lord Harbinger’s kiss simply knocked oxygen from your lungs, he eagerly plunged his tongue past your lips and explored the inside of your mouth.
The kiss and the sting of his pointed mask digging into your cheek was enough to briefly distract you from their experimental thrusts. Shameless, you wailed into your commander’s mouth, knuckles turning into a lovely shade of ivory as you gripped the collar of his coat.
The examination chair groaned beneath the weight of the Harbingers’ merciless thrusts and one could only hope it was sturdy enough to last an entire round. Creaks of the chair mixed with the sinful harmony of your moans filled all four corners of the room, thankfully this space was a bit more secluded in comparison to your commander’s laboratory which meant anyone else walking down the corridors wouldn’t be able to hear the lewd sounds as much.
Despite the eagerness behind their thrusts, it was certainly surprising to have their movements coordinate with one another—an unspoken rhythm with the sole purpose of bringing you and themselves to release.
Dottore pulled away to catch his breath, leaving a thin translucent string of saliva connecting his kiss-bitten lips to your own, hot breaths mingling together through rough pants. The corner of the Harbinger’s lips curled upwards upon seeing your drunken expression—who knew you looked utterly divine stuffed with two cocks? It made him twitch.
Pantalone’s gaze fixated on your lower half—how your ass bounced and jolted with every powerful thrust he gave. The mere sight of his wet cock appearing and disappearing between the globes of your ass had him heaving a little harder. Maybe it was also due to the tightness of your rear, or the fact that having another cock inside you intensified the pleasurable friction he felt.
A few more harsh thrusts, the coil inside you finally snapped once more, bringing you to a rather earth shattering orgasm. Your body violently trembled in pure bliss as you tried to moan their names to no avail. With the sensation being too much, you fisted Dottore’s clothed chest as if doing so would somewhat ease the pleasurable pain your entire body felt.
The Second soon followed suit, a couple of desperate thrusts into your sopping cunt—ones that had you wailing in overstimulation—before sheathing himself deep inside and releasing thick, warm ribbons of cum. A string of colourful curses in his mother tongue slipped past his kiss-bitten lips as he came inside. Dottore filled you all the way to the brim ‘til his seed slowly seeped out of your greedy hole and onto the leather cushion beneath.
Ah, he’d have to get it cleaned now.
This left Pantalone who greedily hauled your limp body against his chest; one hand expertly rubbed your swollen clit while the other held your jaw to angle your face upwards so he could plunge his tongue inside your mouth. You choked on the messy kiss as the new angle invited him deeper inside. Dottore’s cock slipped out from the change in position but he didn’t mind, instead, he sat up and took it upon himself to plunge two long digits in your cunt.
His fingers were already long enough to reach far but the added thickness of his gloves had you arching your back. If it wasn’t for Lord Regrator’s firm hold, you would’ve already been slumped against the chair long ago. The former’s fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ motion which allowed him to brush against your sweet spot. Surely you could handle another one, right?
“Oh—hng! Close! Ah—haah!” Hands flew down to circle around Dottore’s wrist, you attempted to pathetically remove his fingers from your cunt which shortly proved futile as he remained unmoved.
You came once more, another blinding orgasm ripping through your orgasm but this time, you could barely even muster a whimper—only a soundless cry and fresh tears streaming down your face. Pantalone grunted and bit your shoulder as orgasm hit him, hot cum painting the walls of your rear; he grinded his hips against your ass to ride out his orgasm before releasing your skin from his bite.
Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing filled the walls and for a long moment, the three of you remained still to catch your breaths with reality slowly seeping in to replace what was once lust. You wanted to sleep right then and there, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body from how hard they both worked you—too tired to even think of the consequences.
None of this was supposed to happen—at least not the unexpected threesome but now that both Harbingers have had a taste of you, they might just come back for seconds.
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