imagining isekai!reader who has access to the stuff like leveling up, artifacts, stats, etc. they died and woke up in teyvat with video game controls. to which their first and immediate task is to start farming. with bonus x lohen or smthn.
the knights of favonius are having an issue regarding a concerned adventurer's guild about the very sudden and very significant drop in monsters sightings around monstadt.
while such news doesn't sound terribly bad, it has left most members in the adventurer's guild with not much to test their combat skills on. not to mention the fact that some adventurers had expressed fear regarding the matter, as upon inspection of the usual hilichurl camps and slimes–
"–found them utterly destroyed and drained of the usual spoils."
"are we sure it wasn't lohen who did it?" varka raised a brow, leaning forward where he had been sat on the couch. he would be right to assume if such a case was because of lohen, the kid didn't have much restraint when it comes to battle.
"as much as i'd like to claim this was my doing, grandmaster. this has got nothing to do with me."
it had left jean in quite the pickle. not only did she still have work to be done, but albedo and durin had received a call from alice, claiming that something had slipped through the borders of teyvat and ended up in monstadt. and while it doesn't seem to have any malovelent intent, they should still exercise some caution when encountering it.
luckily, the traveler happened to be around in monstadt at the time. so, enlisting their their help, jean had them go investigate the few hilichurl camps that hadn't been razed to the ground yet. oh, and lohen's coming with you too. he was curious as to what sort of creature could have possibly ran through all them.
as it turns out, it was not in fact a creature – but was infact, you. who was so gleefully in the middle of tearing through another hilichurl camp with a three star weapon you found somewhere and the shittiest artifact set equipped because you couldn't find anything better since you weren't at level 90 yet. which you were working on! beating a boss in your current state isn't exactly a walk in the park when your doing less the three-digit damage per second. still, at least stabbing kaeya's ex-cousins were a lot easier than you thought it would be! which was saying something, considering you've never held a blade in your past life – but hey! maybe that was just part of the video game mechanics.
its funny. because. they look at you. and it wasn't really in their expectations. they thought it was just some sort of monster, but no, it was just little ol' you! mind the fact that lohen jumped you the moment they tried to confront you, or the fact that he seems disappointed when you weren't the devilous creature he was hoping to get a good beating out of. (well if he wants a beating – all he has to do is ask)
they take you back to the knights of favonius. who are. also confused. because. you look pretty harmless. and you were the reason they ran out of monsters in Monstadt?? and youre like "yup. thats me. was that a problem. woopsie." because. well. they're gonna "respawn". the adventurer's guild can quit whining and bitching about it cause its none of your beeswax.
so then they start interrogating you, like yk the usual questions like "whats your name" "(name)." "how old are you" "old enough to sleep, drink, and go to prison, probably." "where did you come from." "not here." "why are you in monstadt" "cause i am." "why did you take out all those monster locations." "because i can." "how much do you know?" "pfft, I can give you the names four shades-"
too lazy to properly get into it but i just think the concept would be funny.
There’s something almost dangerous about Phainon. A man whose soft, blue eyes could fool anyone into thinking he’s gentle (which he really is). But behind that gaze lies a singular obsession: you, especially when you’re beneath him.
He’s addicted to the way your body responds, how your thighs tremble in his grasp as he parts them with a tight grip, only to thrust himself deep inside you, over and over again. No matter how breathless your pleas for mercy become, how many times you sob that it’s too much, your moans always betray you. Those sweet, sweet, helpless cries that tell him he’s the only one who’s ever made you feel this way. Like his presence alone could tear the stars down and bury them in your veins.
He lives for the sound of your voice when it breaks under him. It feeds something primal in him, knowing that he alone can make your vision blur, your thoughts dissolve, until all that’s left is his dick inside you. But nothing compares to the moment he empties himself inside you, hot, thick, and sticky, only to draw back and admire the mess he’s made. Watching his release slip from your ruined heat makes him stare at it with hunger all over again.
Before you can catch your breath, he’s dragging your legs back around his waist, thrusting himself into your warmth once more, whispering with a desperate tone in his voice, "Just one more. Let me have you one more time."
Because for Phainon, enough is never enough. He just can't get enough of you.
✩.･*:｡ CHILDE
Childe, easily the most unhinged man you've ever known. And yet, somehow, he still manages to outdo even your wildest expectations. What began as an innocent, friendly exchange spiraled so quickly, you barely had time to process how you ended up naked, blindfolded, and tied to his bed.
The silk around your wrists bites softly into your skin, binding you to the headboard, leaving you helpless. Every sound, every breath, every whisper from him lingers like fire on your skin. You can’t see him, but you feel him, devouring you with the hunger of a man starved.
His mouth is buried between your thighs, worshiping you like a meal meant only for him. You've already lost count. Twice, maybe three times? You've come undone beneath his relentless tongue, and he still hasn’t even put himself inside you. Typical Childe.
Your body arches, trembling violently as he circles your clit with slow, deliberate cruelty. And then he slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right. It’s almost too much. Almost.
You ache to grip his hair, to shove his annoyingly gorgeous tongue deeper into your cunt because archons, his tongue is working you over like he knows your body better than you do.
And maybe he does.
The truth is, you both might be equally insatiable. The way he devours you and the way your body surrenders to him, neither of you is stopping anytime soon.
✩.･*:｡ KAVEH
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”
But that was a lie, wasn’t it?
Kaveh meant every thrust, every desperate release. He meant to fill you up, again and again, because in his mind, someone as breathtaking as you deserves to be claimed, to be overflowing with his cum until there's simply no room for your tight pussy to be filled because once is never enough.
He's addicted, unapologetically so.
Even as he whispers soft apologies into your ear, he's still driving his pretty dick deep into your overstimulated cunt, unable to stop himself. His voice trembles with need, kisses trailing along your jawline, your cheeks, your neck before his teeth sink in gently, just enough to make you shiver from the mix of pain and pleasure.
And the way your sweet, slick walls tighten around him when you're close? It drives him absolutely mad. His eyes flutter back, breath hitching, hands locking around your thighs as he urges you to wrap them up around him. He wants to bury himself as deep as possible, to feel you completely as he pounds into that that spot inside you that makes you cry out like you were made just for him.
Kaveh is obsessed with every inch of you like how you feel, how you sound, how you take him in like you were meant to. He needs more—more, more, more—until even the Archons themselves couldn't pry him away.
Because Kaveh isn’t satisfied with just having you, he wants to ruin you completely.
✩.･*:｡ AVENTURINE
Gambling may be Aventurine’s greatest vice, but you? You're the addiction that truly ruins him.
He's obsessed, and not in the casual, playful way he handles his games. No, his fixation on you is raw, all-consuming. Cards, coins, stakes, none of it compares to the rush he gets when you're beneath him, moaning his name like he’s the only man in the universe.
It’s no surprise, really. He touches you like you’re the luck itself, fingering you under the velvet-lined poker table while he keeps a flawless poker face, murmuring bets to others with one hand while the other works you open in silence. And when the game ends? He doesn’t wait. He pulls you aside, presses you to the nearest wall, and slides his dick inside you like you’re his final reward.
But nothing compares to his private casino.
That luxurious, exclusive room where you’ve been bent over the felt-covered table more times than either of you can count. The scent of sex clings to velvet and gold trim, the deck scattered across the floor, chips and coins long forgotten as he thrusts into you with reckless abandon, making you cry out, gripping the edge of the table like your life depends on it.
And oh, the mess.
Your cum and his, hot and slick, drip down your trembling thighs, pooling beneath you while he moans shamelessly above, already hardening again. He always needs more, more than just a single round, more than just release. He fucks you like he’s staking everything he owns on the feel of your body wrapped around him, like you’re the one prize he refuses to lose.
This isn’t the first time, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. But every time he takes you, it’s like he’s doing it for the first time all over again. That’s what you do to him.
You’re his jackpot, and Aventurine plays to win.
didn't add warnings cuz yall know shit about to go down when there's a MDNI type of shit
"Freaky Shit They Do" as in... Freaky shit they do. Essentially, smut with very little plot for all of the yandere men. Literally all the men I write for. I just really wanted to write smut ok 😭😭😭 Anyway, come get your food y'all ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
☆ Some of these have some plot, and some go straight into action; there's some variation between each part. The content warnings are difficult to mark here individually, so I'll instead mark them under each name in the post. There are, however, certain reoccurring themes which appear in all or most of the parts, so I'll list those here!
Characters include: EVERY SINGLE ONE; Anaxa, Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dan Heng, Gallagher, Gepard, Jiaoqiu, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Moze, Mydei, Phainon, Dr. Ratio, Mr. Reca, Sampo, Sunday (Pre-AE), Sunday (AE) and Welt
General content warnings include: SMUT, NONCON, cisfem!Reader (all parts), general yandere themes (possessiveness, obsessiveness, manipulation...), coercion, more kinks than you can list, various types of bindings, and (bringing my favourite tag back) this is 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 𝓪𝓼 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴.
⋆ Around 20,1k words, which means around 1,0k for each man. Minors, do not interact.
⋆ Genre: Humble and honest horny content
˗ˏˋ ★ Anaxa
☆ Content warnings include: A fucking machine, bondage, overstimulation, and he's really mean in this one.
You detest him. Most of the time, you’re mostly a bit startled by his presence, if not outright scared of him — he has a certain, obnoxious kind of domineering aura to him that has your heart rate picking up — but right now, you can’t help but hate the man to his core.
The device Anaxa has set out for you is utter torture. For the better part of the last hour, the phallic tip of the machine has been ramming right into your most sensitive spot without as much as a minute’s break. You’re certain that he angled the thing like that on purpose, too: He knows your body inside-out, he’s aware of every last erogenous zone of yours, down to the ones you yourself didn’t even know existed, and he has taken advantage of that fact wholly.
Your knees chafe against the ground due to how you’re set. The man was merciful enough to provide you with a short stool to rest your chest against, but even then, the position can’t exactly be called a comfortable one. He didn’t grant you the luxury of supporting yourself with your arms, of course: Your hands are neatly connected to the collar locked around your neck.
You have long since lost the will to resist the unrelenting pleasure or trying to tune out the inplacable haze of overstimulation. The proof of your predicament lies between your legs in a clear puddle consisting of both your own essence and artificial one, which Anaxa now decides to add onto.
Yet again, he walks over to you from where he has been sitting and enjoying the show with a much-too-obvious bulge in his pants. As he passes your front, he makes sure to dangle a small bottle right in front of your nose, taunting you with a complacent grin on his face. You would snap at him, spit unimaginably vile insults at him, but unfortunately, he prepared for that exact scenario: You’re unable to get a single, coherent word out through the metallic, ring-shaped gag in your mouth.
Disappearing from your field of view, Anaxa makes his way to your back where the device is thrusting into your entrance. Popping the container in his hand open, he tips it over your behind until yet another, generous glob of lube lands on the base of the machine’s tip. The liquid is immediately swallowed by your cunt with a nauseating, sloshing sound as the thing continues filling you up over and over again.
”Ahn-ash-a”, you try to call out for him, but with the gag, the task proves impossible.
”Oho, that’s most certainly the most unique variation I have heard of my name”, Anaxa walks back over to your front, sneering down at your tear-stained, flushed face. ”Though, I don’t recall giving you the permission to call me that.”
He doesn’t bother to even crouch down in front of you — a gesture like that would be far beneath someone like him. Instead, he settles for bending over a little to be able to grab your jaw. You let out a pitiful whine in response to the action, but it only serves to widen the smirk on his face.
”Let us give an attempt to it together, then”, Anaxa says, tilting your chin so you’re looking him in the eye. ”A-nak-sa-go-ras. Anaxagoras.”
You hiss out an unintelligible string of profanities and pleas which the man answers with a shake of his head and a disapproving tut of his tongue.
”That’s not quite it. What’s the matter?” he cocks his head to the side. ”Is it truly that daunting of a task for you?”
You’re only barely able to stomach the way Anaxa looks down at you without bursting into tears. His natural ability to provoke, to arouse commotion with a single glance is nothing short of unhinged. The person in front of you is the definition of vociferous, and with how skilled he is at picking you apart, you’re certain that sooner or later, you’re going to lose your mind for good.
Anaxa lets go of your jaw, allowing your chin to fall to your chest. He then proceeds to circle you in slow, daunting steps like strolling around in an exhibit. It’s probably quite close to what you are to him, anyway; a piece of interest to poke and prod at for his own entertainment.
A sigh breaks past his lips as he leans to the side to be able to trail his fingers down the curve of your back. Unhurriedly, he makes his way to the machine behind you yet again.
”I suppose you’re ready for another one”, he then speaks, kneeling down beside your lower half.
As soon as the words leave his mouth, you start flailing around to the best of your ability, hysterically yanking your hands against where they’re connected to your neck, but to no avail. Desperately craning your neck to see what’s going on behind you, you catch the way Anaxa rolls his eyes with an amused snort before he snakes his hand around your stomach.
Reaching for what’s between your legs, he uses his index and ring finger to spread your labia apart before setting the middle digit on your clit. There, without a further warning, he begins rubbing the pearl in a rapid, precise motion.
You shriek through your gag, doing your best to clamp your thighs shut and push his hand away, to get him off of you, but it does nothing to stop Anaxa from forcing yet another climax out of you. With methodical motions, he knows just where to press to get you to fall apart under his touch, and no matter how you try to fight the stimulation, you can’t loosen up the coil that’s building up in your abdomen.
Within seconds, he has you coming on his hand with a shrill, tearful cry. The rush is sudden and intense, much like the previous ones he has pulled out of you, but even then, he doesn’t let you rest for the least bit. On the contrary, he wishes to prolong your suffering: He strokes your clit through the high, making sure you feel every last bit of the orgasm he just gave you. For good measure, he pulls back the hood of your bud and pinches the bared bit in between the pads of his fingers. It’s only when your sobs get loud enough that he deems the round to be a success and detaches his hand from your sore cunt.
You can hardly hold your head up by the time he stands up from between your legs and returns to his spectator seat with a vile smirk on his features. He sits down, crosses his legs, and gets comfortable waiting for when the machine is about to collect yet another climax from you, and so the cycle begins anew.
˗ˏˋ ★ Argenti
☆ Content warnings include: Fingering, a mirror, and rose thorns (lol).
Argenti isn’t one to ever hurt you. He wouldn’t dare to lay a single finger on your ethereal beauty, fearing that even the smallest touch could ruin you forever. You’ve grown to trust that sentiment, to lean against it when you defy his whims, but alas, he, too, has his limits. You have come to see that though he has sworn to never do harm to you, it doesn’t mean that he won’t utilize the threat of pain if it means the results will be in his favour.
You rest in his lap, back against his chest, on the plush sheets of your shared bed. Though the position is comfortable, you find it hard to relax against him due to how coils of thorny vines snake along your naked legs and wrists. The prickles are just shy of digging into your most sensitive bits, lingering mere millimiters above your skin — given that you don’t move an inch, that is.
You find it difficult to keep still with how much is going on around you. Aside from the bindings, there’s Argenti’s feather-light yet all the more intense touch lingering on you: The pads of his fingers glide back and forth along your inner thighs, raising goosebumps in their wake. His bright red hair falls over your shoulder and down your chest in thick waves as he buries his nose into the crook of your neck, greedily inhaling your scent.
Even that isn’t enough for him. Though you’ve been doing your best to avoid the sight, your gaze wanders to the foot of the bed yet again where the most intimate part of your undoing lies. In the reflection of the tall, crystal-clear mirror he has set out for you, you meet your own, hazy gaze. Not only does the view of your bare body against his own make you want to hide yourself away forever, but your heart staggers uncomfortably as your eyes stray upwards and settle on the deep flush that covers Argenti’s cheeks.
He sighs against your skin. The air tickles your neck, but you don’t get much time to focus on an individual detail like that as his hands have begun making their way inward.
The one bit of mercy he has graciously granted you is that his actions are never capricious: His goal never is to catch you off-guard, and so, he makes sure to take his sweet time caressing the skin around your core before even entertaining the idea of dipping in. His fingertips travel over your hips and along the bend of your groin, just shy of touching where you’re the most sensitive.
Then, his touch abandons your lower half and instead moves up your waist, your sides, and finally, to your chest.
A light caress over your nipples has you twitch involuntarily. You choke out a quiet yelp, catching yourself just in time not to have the thorny vines sink into your thighs. Argenti hums into your shoulder, singing an unknown melody in his rich, soothing timbre. His long lashes finally flutter open, and he leans forward to be able to catch a glance at your face.
”Does it feel good, my love?” he asks in a breathy voice, his smile as gentle as ever.
You can’t find it in yourself to answer him. Instead, you swallow down the lump in your throat, let out a near-silent whimper, and squeeze your eyes shut. Though he has done nothing worth instilling fear in your fragile being, you can’t help the way your heart races in something akin to panic when he looks at you.
He brings his hand to your jaw. Tenderly, Argenti takes hold of your chin and directs your attention forward to where the mirror stands.
”You’re as breathtaking as the last rays of a scarlet sunset”, he muses as his free hand creeps down your stomach and slips in between your thighs. ”I could sing you praises until my tongue shrivells up.”
His words go in one of your ears and right out of the other. It’s difficult to concentrate on anything else but the way the pad of his middle finger presses directly against your clit in a terribly gentle yet all the more intense touch. It’s what he excels in: Even at the start, it didn’t take him long to learn how to have you come apart under his attention.
Your breath hitches as Argenti begins moving his finger back and forth along your slit. He takes immense care to apply precisely the correct amount of pressure to dance the line between too much and too little, and oh, does he bring honour to his title with how he does it. It’s so easy, it comes so naturally to him.
You suck in a sharp gasp of air as his fingers hit a particularly good spot. Your reaction seems to please him, and as his touch once again slides lower, his digits carefully breach your entrance.
He makes sure not to go too fast — he spends his sweet time slowly wiggling his way in with one finger before adding another — and then, with a hauntingly dexterous movement, he curls them right into your sweet spot.
Your back arches off Argenti’s body. The vines once again threaten to pierce your skin, and he has to softly coax you to settle down and lean back against his chest. Though, he makes no effort to stop what he’s doing: Instead, he puts all his attention into prodding the front wall of your insides, gently massaging the spot without a hurry in the world. Even with how the head of his cock is pressing up against your lower back, he doesn’t dare rush the experience; not when it comes to you.
You make the mistake of allowing your eyes to return to your reflection once again. Right in front of you, staring back at you, you’re presented with every single inch of yourself, all in your impuissant glory. You can’t help the way your gaze strays lower and lower until you’re met with the sight of Argenti’s fingers sliding deep into your hole while his thumb circles your clit in slow, meticulous circles.
Argenti smiles against your skin.
”I am most glad”, he responds to your unsaid words, just as he begins working another finger in.
˗ˏˋ ★ Aventurine
☆ Content warnings include: Toys, bondage and overstimulation.
It’s not easy to balance on one’s knees only. It’s the unfortunate reality you have come to face as you have yet again been subjected to one of Aventurine’s whims. If there’s one thing to be said about the man, it’s that he doesn’t do minimalism, and that fact is precisely why you have ended up where you are.
Your entire lower body trembles from the strain of trying to keep yourself upright in the awkward position he has forced you into. Having taken care to strap your calves against the back of your thighs, the man has made sure you’re not going anywhere under his watch. The case is the same with your arms: His belt connects your wrists behind your back in a neat yet sturdy loop.
It’s not the bindings that are the most alarming part of the setting, however. The main attraction stands in between your legs, inches away from your bare bits. The wildly vibrating saddle-like apparatus that’s situated directly underneath your tottering body is difficult to ignore. If you were to lose your balance, even for a single moment, the surface you would land on is none other than the seat on the sybian.
”Hey now, don’t be difficult”, Aventurine sings behind you, rubbing his hands along your shoulders. ”I spent quite a fortune on this one, don’t you wanna try it out?”
You would answer him with a retort if it wasn’t for the 8-ball-shaped gag stuffed in your mouth. You’ve gathered that, out of his vast collection of toys to use on you, it’s among his very favourites. It’s not even because of the actual function of the item — it’s way more about the humiliation factor.
Aventurine’s hands move lower, trailing down your sides before resting over the curve of your hips. Gently, he urges your bottom lower, pressing down on the front of your thighs with just enough strength to waver your posture. You let out an alarmed squeal in response, shaking your head and trying to somehow convey your distress to the man, but alas, he seems to take a twisted sort of pleasure in witnessing your struggle.
”C’mon”, he nudges a little harder.
The phallic tip of the sybian grows closer to your entrance with each second as Aventurine shifts more and more force on you. His laboured breathing blows against the shell of your ear, and you can feel the way his hard-on presses against your back. His chin rests on your shoulder as he takes in the sight of you with a frenzied, hungry glint in his eyes.
”Hey, it’s not even that bad”, he insists, wrapping one of his arms around your waist to keep you still. The side of his face is warm against your jaw. ”Plus, that’s only the lowest setting, you know? We’re in for so much fun tonight, so relax a bit for me, hm?”
He looks at you expectantly, one brow raised in an expectant expression. You don’t offer him an answer, however, nor are you able to properly meet his gaze with how you’re concentrating on staying upright. With how your legs tremble, you know that you’re on the brink of collapsing, but even then, fighting against the strain, you remain standing.
Aventurine lets out a small, amused puff of air through his nose.
Suddenly, he forces his entire weight on you, and with the shift, your thighs finally give in under the stress. A singular, strangled yelp is the only thing that makes it out of your mouth before your entrance is speared on the sybian’s rod, and your cunt is pressed flush against the ribbed surface of the saddle.
The sensation is instant and unbelievably intense. Your entire lower half rumbles along with the device as the vibrations reach deep into the pits of your stomach and fry every last nerve ending they make contact with. It’s way too much, beyond anything he has ever had you go through with his regular tools, and your immediate, reflexive response is to try to get yourself off of the toy. It’s a futile effort, however: Aventurine keeps you still against him and snugly seated on the saddle, preventing you from as little as correcting your position.
One of his palms rests down over your stomach where he feels how your rapid, uneven breaths force your muscles to go tense. Leaning into the side of your head, he lets out a mocking, whiny moan directly into your ear.
”Mmh, that must feel so nice, yeah?” Aventurine groans, punctuating the words with a wet kiss on your temple.
As if the torment wasn’t already cruel enough, the hand on your abdomen creeps down to where your cunt connects to the sybian. There, he slides his fingers between your folds and pinches your clit between the pad of his thumb and the ribbed saddle of the machine.
Ignoring your wails and cries, he presses his chest against your spine and begins rocking you back and forth against the seat, all the while making sure that your cunt stays firmly connected to its textured surface. He hisses out loud, biting his lower lip as he watches the way your bits tremble along with the toy.
You try to find a better posture, any position in which your clit doesn’t feel like it’s going to fall off, but each one seems to feel more excruciating than the last. The rod inside of you nudges directly against your sweet spot with every push Aventurine gives you, and with how he drags your cunt along the bumps on the saddle, to your horror, you come to realize that the torture has begun building up to a climax.
He seems to be very aware of the same fact as well. You don’t need to do as much as glance at his face to understand what the implication entails. In a desperate attempt to postpone your rapidly approaching ruin, you try to rise back onto your knees, but instead of succeeding in your endeavour, you only fall back against the saddle. Aventurine lets out a mean laugh at your failure, landing a sharp smack on the side of your thigh as a punishment. Your broken sobs are muffled by the ball in your mouth.
In your delirium, you can barely out the sweet nothings he utters in your ear as he continues urging you closer and closer to the edge. No matter how you try to drown out even a bit of the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure raking your entire lower half, before long, you understand that there’s only one outcome that the man will find satisfactory.
Soon, the simultaneously rapturous and excruciating sensation bursts in the depths of your abdomen. Your back arches against Aventurine’s body as your whole being tenses in response to the sudden, unbearably powerful climax.
However, what pleasure was to be found in it is soon overshadowed by searing overstimulation. The sensation evokes the same sort of panic as if you were being tickled, but instead of being able to pull away, the feeling is completely inescapable. Your muscles constrict against their bindings in a desperate, uncoordinated effort to get away from the source of the affliction, only to be forced to weather it even more as the man presses you further down the toy.
Though, even that doesn’t satiate his hunger: With a tremulous gasp, as if he was the one on the receiving end of the suffering, he reaches to the side for the control box in an awkward manoeuvre. A nearly inhuman shriek erupts from your throat as the sybian’s vibrations suddenly spike even higher.
”That’s more like it”, Aventurine pants in your ear, stroking his hands up and down your weakly twitching thighs.
Your eyes roll back into your head. Tears have long since spilled past your lashes, and your head falls back, resting limp against his shoulder. Letting out a dreamy sigh, he plants his lips on your cheek with an overly emphasized “mwah”-sound, all the while his hand slides back in between your thighs.
˗ˏˋ ★ Blade
☆ Content warnings include: Cockwarming, mild manhandling and little size kink.
Your sobs and sniffles are the only thing that can be heard in the small room you and him are spending the night in. At the start of the evening, you were afraid of the noise travelling to the other side of the wall, but the concern for that has long since dissipated into unadulterated panic that fills the entirety of your chest and causes an uncontrollable jitter in your limbs.
You’re sitting on Blade’s lap with your back resting against his chest — though ”resting” is a bit of a generous term: Every last muscle in your body has gone tense from terror, and in his usual fashion, he has set his large hand over your eyes to obscure your vision. His bandages scratch against the bridge of your nose as you quietly weep, staining the torn fabric with your distress.
His cock sits heavy inside of your cunt. Not only are you not the least bit relaxed, but with his size, it’s nearly impossible for you not to have an overwhelming need to squirm off of him. He doesn’t let you, though: His bicep is loosely wrapped around your neck, just shy of but uncomfortably close to pressing up against your throat. In the back of your affrighted mind, you know that he won’t actually choke you — at least as long as you don’t give him a reason to — but the threat itself is enough to set your anxiety haywire.
A strangled, shrill cry erupts from your throat as Blade adjusts your position in his lap, unintentionally bouncing you up and down on his dick. He lets out a deep groan in response to the noise as if you were being a general annoyance to him, and the arm around your windpipe tightens the slightest bit. You immediately click your jaw shut, even though your pursed lips can hardly hold back the wails that are about to spill out.
You’re not sure where you should put your hands, and so, they find solace in hanging onto his forearm like your life depended on it. His presence is much too overpowering to escape by dissociating yourself from the situation, and the only way you can hope to ground yourself is to latch onto him with all that’s in you. He doesn’t seem to mind the way you grip him; on the contrary, he loosens his own hold on you the tiniest bit, allowing you a little more space to rest.
You feel his breath on the shell of your ear. Using the hand over your eyes to tilt your head to the side, he buries his nose into your hair before inhaling deeply. The sensation makes your skin crawl violently, and your cunt clamps down around his cock. A hiss slips past his lips.
”Sorry, sorry, please-please-please, I’m sorry”, barely intelligible apologies fall out of your mouth as an automatic response. The reaction has grown so customary that you hardly even register uttering it out before the words have already been spoken.
Blade’s brows knit together against the side of your head. Concurrently, the arm around your neck lets up even more, and his hand trails down your stomach to where his body connects with yours. Your thighs quiver wildly as you feel the rough pads of his fingers settle over your clit. For a moment, he merely listens to how your gasps grow more and more hysterical by the minute, and as he begins rubbing your pearl up and down, you give up the fruitless efforts of trying to hold back your cries.
His cock twitches inside of you as a series of sobs spew out of your mouth. You hug his arm like a lifeline, digging your nails into his coat’s sleeve, but he hardly reacts to your movements. Instead, he settles his chin on your shoulder, presumably to observe what his hand is busied with in between your thighs.
”Please-please-please...”, you continue your mindless babbling, unsure of what you’re even begging him for.
You hear him grunt against the side of your head. Next, his fingers leave your clit in favour of being able to slip his arm beneath your knees. You’re far too gone to understand what he’s doing until he bunches your legs up and lifts your body up his chest. A tiny gasp is the only thing that makes it past your lips as his cock slides out of you along with the movement, all the way until only his tip is still inside — and then he drops you back down.
A wail echoes around the room. Though you’ve had plenty of time to adjust to his length, the stretch is just as unendurable as it has been for the past half an hour. No matter how hard you’ve tried to will your lower half to relax, it’s an impossible endeavor to see through; it’s impossible with him.
Blade doesn’t say a thing — he never does. Instead, with a low grunt, he moves the arm under your knees around your waist before leaning forward. In a somewhat clumsy movement, he forces you on your hands and knees with his cock still inside of you. Paying no mind to how you whimper out pleas for mercy, he instead presses his hand down just above your pubic phone, feeling the shape of his cock underneath.
”Stay still”, he snarls in your ear before he begins thrusting into you.
˗ˏˋ ★ Boothill
☆ Content warnings include: Rope, biting, and a tiny bit of blood.
Your neck is straining against the grip Boothill has on your hair. His metallic fingers have bunched up your locks, tugging on the back of your head surprisingly gently, just shy of crossing the line of being painful. It’s not that he’s trying to make it to be that way, necessarily: It’s more that his focus is elsewhere — he seems to be more keen on seeing what’s going on on your face.
You weren’t exactly aware that he was skilled with rope, but considering his profession, it should have come as no surprise that he would know his way around lassos. You have gotten to witness it with your very own eyes: A rope is snugly coiled around both of your hips, connecting your butt to his crotch with not as much as an inch in between, and — more saliently — it’s making sure that his mechanical cock doesn’t slip out of your cunt.
Holding one end of the rope in his fist, Boothill pulls the thing taut. The movement causes his dick to slide even deeper into you, eliciting a quiet mix of a sob and a moan from you. Your arms tremble from having to support the weight of your upper body, and your head is drooping limp against the pillows at the head of the bed. A sigh slips past his lips.
”What’s with the tears, Sugar?” he asks you, tugging your hair back enough to force you to reveal your face. ”Did I bite too hard?”
A bright red indent of a row of razor-sharp teeth adorns the side of your neck. Speckles of blood have risen onto the skin at the points where his fangs sunk the deepest.
”N’aww”, Boothill leans down next to your head with a much too obvious smirk on his features. He then gives a long lick to the shell of your ear, all the way from the base to the top. ”Sorry, pretty thing. You don’t know what you do to me.”
Eagerly, he thrusts his hips forward. His steel-hard cock works its way further into your insides, unforgiving in its intrusion. Unlike one of flesh, his member doesn’t cut you any slack: Your cunt is unable to adapt to the foreign shape of it, and the metal doesn’t give in even the slightest bit. Taking the foreign nature of his bits into account, it could be considered a miracle that he even managed to fit the thing in your slit.
”You’re really forkin’ tight down there”, he then comments on the matter, letting go of your hair in favour of landing a spank on your rear. ”Loosen up for me, will ya?”
You bury your face in the cushions as Boothill pushes down on your upper back, coercing your arms to give out from under you. Consequently, his cock bends into a different angle, now prodding against the back wall of your core. You whine out your discomfort, weakly reaching for the bedpost ahead of you for something to hold onto, but he doesn’t let you have even the smallest bits of solace.
”Don’t flee from me, Darlin’”, he warns you with a frisky click of his tongue, giving another tug to the rope that connects the two of you. ”Wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
As if making a point, he snaps his pelvis forward again. However, this time around, he doesn’t pause his actions: Twisting his hips into a more comfortable slant, he starts fucking into you with steady, vigorous thrusts.
Your hands ball into fists as you gather up handfuls of the sheets to hold onto. Desperate for relief, you whine out a piping, disconsolate plea for him to go gentler on you, but your complaints go on deaf ears. Instead, Boothill disciplines you with a few harsher thrusts directly where he knows it feels the best for you, all the while he yanks on the rope so hard that it chafes against your hips. In the midst of his fun, he lets out an amused snort, reaching down to your head to ruffle your already matted hair.
”That’s the spot, yeah?” he taunts you, once again grabbing a fistful of your locks. ”Yeah?”
He repeats his words with a tenacious tug on the strands, causing your chin to tilt up from where you’ve hidden it in the bedding. Cracking one of your tightly shut eyes open, you get to watch the way he swipes his long tongue over his teeth in a wolfish manner.
”Think I’m gonna have to get something for your mouth the next time”, he then remarks, moving to idly nibble on your earlobe. ”I’m not plannin’ to share you with the wall neighbours.”
You let out a disconcerted yelp, craning your neck to look back at the man with wide eyes, but he pushes your body back down on the mattress with very little regard to the amount of force he uses in doing so. Again, he lands a smack on your behind — on the side of your thigh, this time. Simultaneously, his teeth abandon your ear and instead go for the back of your neck.
”Settle down, Sweetheart”, he tells you, languidly thrusting into you. ”Am gonna take care of you.”
Boothill latches his lips onto your shoulder, harshly sucking on the bitemark there. The spot is still far too tender, and though he’s taking care to watch his gnashers, the ferocious way in which he suckles on the mark brings you very little pleasure. Half unwillingly, you make your discomfort known with the whimper you let out, but even then, he doesn’t seem to be too concerned with your reactions, as he’s much too busy chasing his own enjoyment. WIth the same enthusiasm, he puts more vigour into his thrusts, driving your spent body deeper into the mattress with each movement.
You’re not certain what it is that he gets out of fucking you — you’ve gotten the image that the mechanical cock doesn’t quite function the same as a human one — but regardless, the intent behind his actions isn’t a detail you’re actively concentrating on. As you mentally prepare yourself to take all he has in store for you, the man continues his joyride without a care in the world.
˗ˏˋ ★ Dan Heng
☆ Content warnings include: Double dihh and double penetration, and an extra warning for the thalassophobes.
The grip you have on his shoulders is trembling wildly. You’ve latched your hands onto the man like a vice, holding on for dear life as your bodies slowly sink into the chilly waters of Scalegorge Waterscape, one polished stone step at a time. Goosebumps cover the entirety of your bare body — a notable contrast to Dan Heng, who doesn’t seem to be the least bit bothered by the temperature.
His long hair spreads over the sea’s rippling surface like oil. Fixed on the sight of the vast sea ahead, his eyes have gone cloudy. Though you have already seen his Vidyadharan form a handful of times, you still haven’t quite gotten used to the subtle change in his aura: His mere presence demands your attention.
You can’t help but wince when the water rises over your waist. In a desperate, reflexive attempt to postpone the inevitable, you wrap your arms around your captor’s neck, scrabbling at his head to find something more stable to grasp onto, but your flailing only serves to splash the water around.
Having grown agitated with your squirming, Dan Heng tightens the hold he has around your waist, hoisting you into a better position.
”Dan-, Dan-Heng-Dan-Heng-Dan-Heng-stop-!” you squeal his name in an alarmed, shrill tone as you do your best to climb up his body, all the while he immerses the two of you deeper into the Scalegorge’s waters.
He doesn’t respond to your pleas. He does, however, let out a small, exasperated grunt as one of your restless hands finds leverage in his dragonic horns.
”Stop”, he simply commands, digging his sharp nails into the sensitive skin of your hips as a warning. ”You’ll get used to it.”
”No, Dan Heng, I don’t want-!”
”I said stop.”
He brings one of his hands to the back of your head before shoving your face against the crook of his neck, effectively silencing you. Without much of a reaction, he listens to your rapid gasps of air as the rocky stairs finally run out under him. With one last stride, he surrenders the two of you to the swirling of the gorge’s waves.
Your knuckles have gone white, both due to the cold and the iron grip you have on him. Your thighs squeeze around his waist with every last bit of strength you hold, hopelessly trying to prevent yourself from sliding off of his body, not even daring to think what would happen if he were to let go of you. It’s not like he would let you fall, of course — he if anyone is accustomed to the unpredictable patterns of the currents — but you’re unable to beat down the terror growing inside of you, even when it’s what you should be the least worried about.
At the very same time as you remember the actual reason for your visit to his kin’s sacred home, Dan Heng proceeds to the next step of his ritual. As he once more adjusts you in his arms, you feel not one but two somethings poking at your behind.
”No-no-no-no...”, you rapidly shake your head, hopelessly trying to squirm your way out of his grasp.
Sighing, he sets his hand on the back of your head.
”You’re fine”, he claims, clearly making an attempt at comforting you, but the stoic nature of his words does very little to alleviate your panic. ”It’s not going to hurt.”
It’s an empty promise. Regardless of how many times he has taken you, you don’t think you’ll ever get accustomed to having both of his cocks inside of you. Each time feels like it was the very first: The stretch is always a feat to overcome, no matter how long he spends preparing you for the deed.
Choking down a sob, you hide your face in Dan Heng’s shoulder as he aligns the heads of his members with each of your holes. With his free hand, he caresses the nape of your neck in a soothing motion.
Your lower half is much too tense to allow the intrusion. Even as he takes his time, gently coaxing your entrance to give way to him, he’s unable to push into you.
Letting out a soft huff as if he was disappointed in your performance, he makes the decision to take you straight to the deep end. With a swift nudge of his hips, he has you fall onto his cocks in a single motion.
Your breath lodges in your throat, and the shriek that nearly erupts from your lungs instead comes out as a barely audible, repressed cry. The inescapable feeling of fullness empties your head of all thoughts, rendering you unable to do anything but gasp for air in short, spasmodic wheezes. Dan Heng listens to your hiccups silently, floating still in the water as he allows you a brief while to get used to the invasion.
”There you go”, he pats your back as you sniffle into his shoulder. ”You’re fine.”
The sickening taste of salt lingers on your tongue. Your wettened hair clings to your face like a mat, concealing your pitiable expression and quivering lips from the man. You shiver against his body, fluttering like a leaf.
His hand moves to the base of your head where he softly tugs at your hair, urging you to withdraw from your hiding place. Weakly, you raise your face from the crook of his neck to peek at him. Although you’re sure he notices the misery swimming in your eyes, he doesn’t comment on the matter. Instead, after wordlessly observing your features for a few moments, he leans in.
You dodge the attempt at a kiss, and in consequence, Dan Heng’s lips land on the side of your jaw. Displeased with your show of resistance, he proceeds to grab a fistful of your hair before forcibly pressing his mouth against yours.
His unnaturally long dragonic tongue slides into your mouth and down your throat. At the same time, you feel him realign your bodies, and finally, he lets the two of you sink under the waves. The only thing you can hear is the relentless murmuring of the water filling your ears as Dan Heng finally releases his impatience upon you.
˗ˏˋ ★ Gallagher
☆ Content warnings include: Drugging, alcohol (not consumed), anal, fingering, and he's a prick.
You don’t have the faintest idea on what exactly was in that drink. It looked identical to the ordinary ones he makes for you every now and then, and you had no reason to be suspicious of him — at least not until the tingling started. Not long after, your entire body fell to the floor, flushed and unable to move.
No matter how you try to will your mouth to open, how you beg your vocal cords to work, no coherent sound comes out from between your lips. You want to say something, anything, to get him to stop his torment, but the drug coursing through your veins has proved itself much too potent. It has rendered you completely helpless, utterly defenseless at the man’s mercy.
Nevertheless, the effect itself isn’t even the worst part of it all, no. By design, the concoction hasn’t messed with your sense of touch at all, and because of that, you’re able to feel every last inch of the cock inside your ass.
A high-pitched, garbled whine spills out of your mouth as Gallagher hits you with a particularly mean thrust, going as deep as he’s possibly able. He then proceeds to grab your hips, holding your lower half up and flush against his, grinding against your butt in steady, unhurried movements.
He has to hold your body up in general, to be perfectly clear: Due to the drug, you’re unable to even wiggle your fingers. With your ass up and the rest of your body lying limp on the wooden floor beside the bar counter, there’s not much you can do other than take every bit of him as he has his way with you. He lets out a deep, complacent groan, and next, you feel yet another glass of wine poured over your bare back.
Gallagher pays no mind to how his loosened tie is stained by the drink as the piece of fabric hangs over your body. The sickeningly sweet liquid sticks onto your skin and drips down onto the floor where it gathers under you in a puddle. He leans down, pressing his chest against your spine before licking a long stripe all the way up from the juncture of your nape to the base of your ear. He chuckles against the side of your face, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheekbone.
”Look at you”, he sighs contently. You can feel the curve of his smirk against your temple. ”How is it?”
He knows you’re unable to answer him, yet he still questions you out of pure malice. Tears sting at your lashline, and there’s hardly anything you can do to stop them from falling.
”Aww”, Gallagher brings one of his hands to your hair, ruffling it until there’s a huge, wine-soiled tangle at the crown of your head. ”Does it feel nice?”
He then slides his arm down your stomach and over to where your bodies are connected. There, his large fingers dip down into your cunt while the pad of his thumb begins drawing lazy circles over your clit.
Fat tears roll down your cheeks and catch on the pillow he has so graciously placed under your head. As heartless as the man is, he isn’t as evil as to have you bang your skull against the floor with each of his thrusts. Though, the gesture hardly brings you any further comfort as you feel his free hand on the back of your neck. Pressing his hips even flusher against yours, he forces your back into a deeper arch and starts fucking into you with newfound verve.
A tiny, whimper-like sound is the only thing you can muster in response. As if trying to console you, the fingers that work on your cunt hasten their pace. Gallagher rolls your clit in a routinely manner, targeting just where he knows will feel the best for you. It doesn’t take him long to have your bits start quivering around him.
The sound of skin slapping against skin is deafening. Even as you feel the peak of your climax approaching, you’re unable to muster up the strength to lift yourself off the ground. Instead, your arms lie uselessly by the sides of your head, unable to even bend the slightest bit.
Moans slip out of your mouth as the pleasure grows greater and greater. Gallagher seems to encourage the act: His fingers leave the entrance of your cunt in favour of properly rubbing your clit in a swift, steady rhythm. His cock drives deep into your ass with every snap of his hips, and soon enough, you feel yourself being driven over the edge. Your lower half convulses wildly as you come around his dick.
”Ahh, that’s what I’m talking about”, he leans down into your ear, slowing his thrusts down to a lazy, even rhythm.
His touch on your cunt is on the verge of becoming overstimulating, but as if sensing your discomfort, he pulls his hand away. Similarly, his dick slides out of you with a wet, squelching sound.
”Don’t worry, pretty thing”, he sighs into your hair. ”The drink’s gonna wear off in an hour or so. You’ll be alright.”
˗ˏˋ ★ Gepard
☆ Content warnings include: Sort of bondage, rimming, plus Geppie is losing aura.
In normal circumstances, considering the alternatives, you have very little complaints about Gepard’s behaviour. He rarely ever gets harsh with you — you don’t think he would be able to, even if he tried — and moreover, he isn’t one to be unpredictable. He takes vast pride in having you rely on him fully, and that can’t include him doing just anything he wants.
He does, however, have a tendency to fall into temptation every once in a while. It’s not that he means to frighten you with his actions but the fact that he’s just completely and utterly unable to practice self-restraint at times.
It didn’t even worry you too much when he pushed you down on the bed. The man occasionally has his moments, and though he sometimes gets impatient, you didn’t know to expect anything too out of the ordinary.
”Gepard”, you speak out his name in a much more alarmed tone than you would like.
Your hands are stuck above your head in a clump of his peculiar, blue ice. Strangely enough, it isn’t exactly freezing, but the pointy crystals are digging into the delicate skin of your wrists, mildly threatening. Moreover, you’re much more focused on the fact that your bottoms now lie in a pile on the floor beside the bed; you’re entirely bare from the waist down.
He sits on his knees in between your legs, shirtless, and with a heavy blush travelling all the way from his face to the base of his neck. His hands are trembling visibly, and his mouth is hanging ajar. Most notably, though, the way he’s staring at you with hazy, unblinking eyes evokes the most concern in you.
”Gepar-, Geppie”, you call him by his nickname in hopes of appealing to his gentler side. ”Please, Geppie, listen to me!”
To your dismay, you come to find that the trick holds very little effect. You’re about to call for him for one more time, but coincidentally, at the same time, your attention happens to travel from his face to his lower body. There, your gaze encounters the sight of his cock pathetically twitching in his pants. If the way his thighs quiver is anything to go buy, your words only managed to make him more excited.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you helplessly struggle against the ice around your hands. He watches your actions with an unreadable, detached expression.
”Geppie, please, I’m-, I’m scared”, you speak to him, mustering up your best commanding tone.
You swear that with your own two eyes, you see his pupils expand as the sentence leaves your mouth. Not only does the reaction itself evoke fear in you, but what follows raises the hairs on the back of your neck.
”I’m... I’m sorry, I just need to...”, Gepard speaks in a thin, desperate tone that’s a far cry from the assertive front he puts up for his duties.
His hands settle over your knees before he coils his arms around the back of your thighs. A drop of drool hangs at the corner of his mouth.
”I’m so sorry, just please let me...”, he looks down at your alarmed expression with clouded irises.
Without a further warning, Gepard pushes your legs back, effectively folding your entire body in half. You shriek out in surprise, nearly landing a kick at the man’s face, but the grip he has on you is as unforgiving as his ice.
With your eyes blown wide open, you’re about to question his actions, but quickly he answers your concerns without even hearing them: His eyes drop to your exposed ass, and with one more split-second worth of consideration, his mouth latches onto your rear hole.
He goes from zero to one hundred in the span of a single moment. There’s nothing that could even remotely be called a warm-up: Trying to reach as deep into you as possible, the man urges your thighs apart and wriggles his tongue inside your ass like it’s the last thing he will do in his lifetime. His brows fall flat in something akin to relief.
You’re much too nonplussed to do anything more than stare at the ceiling with your mouth wide open. The feeling of him breaching your most vulnerable points with so little prudence has you utterly incapable of forming even a single word to stop him.
A string of saliva connects his lips to your hole as he comes up to inhale in the midst of devouring you. He briefly holds shaky eye contact with you before diving right back down.
Though you do your best to force him off by clenching your thighs together, he isn’t deterred by one bit. Moreover, he snakes his arms over to your breasts where he greedily grabs handfuls of the mounds. He catches your nipples in between his fingers, gently rolling them around with his thumbs, all the while his mouth is busy licking and sucking everything it can touch.
In your disoriented state, you barely make note of the way Gepard has begun humping against the mattress like a dog in heat. He’s whining out loud against your ass as he fucks you with his tongue, and with the vigour which he performs the actions with, you’re hardly able to fight the pleasure he provides you with.
”Sorry, sorry, sorry...”, he mumbles between gulps of air, continuing to eat you out like his life depended on it.
˗ˏˋ ★ Jiaoqiu
☆ Content warnings include: Drugging, sounding, and a needle is used.
Though Jiaoqiu is unable to actually lay his gaze upon your body, not once with him have you had the privilege of truly evading his scrutiny. It’s not about the way his undivided attention is on you — it’s never about that — but about how he seems to be able to pick you apart with as little as his presence alone. The terrifying mix of tenderness and cruelty never fails to get under your skin, just as it does now.
An empty syringe rests on the nightstand beside the bed you’re lying on. It’s not often that he resorts to using it, but occasionally, he deems it necessary. He wasn’t cruel about injecting the drug to you this time around, either: On the contrary, he made sure to go as gently as he could, even giving you a countdown before the needle pierced the skin on your upper arm.
In a tender, sort of compassionate manner, Jiaoqiu brushes his hand through your hair before moving a little lower to swipe his thumb under your lower lid where a few of your stray tears have leaked past your lashes. He looks down at you with a soft tilt of his head and a sympathetic expression, but something tells you that he isn’t exactly apologetic about his actions.
You attempt to move your face away from him, pursing your lips together and averting your gaze, but your body only listens to your commands in sluggish, uncoordinated nudges. You’re certain he’s aware of the same fact, but out of courtesy, he doesn’t show it on his countenance. Instead, he gives you his usual, unintelligible smile before proceeding to reach for something on the shelf beside the bed.
”What are... you...”, you try to speak out, but the words slur together as if you had just consumed copious amounts of alcohol.
”Worry not”, Jiaoqiu responds to your incomplete question, his voice a little too cheerful to your taste, considering the situation at hand. ”There is nothing to be frightened of.”
It’s what he always says, regardless of what he’s about to do. Though, when your gaze flickers to his hands, you can’t help but dread that the black container he has picked up from the ledge doesn’t entail anything pleasant.
With a small sigh, Jiaoqiu sits down by your feet on the mattress. He sets his free hand on your bare thigh, caressing along the limb for a moment before his touch creeps further up and under the hem of your flimsy gown. There’s not much you can do to resist as his fingers find the trim of your underwear, nor are you able to fight him when he pulls the garment down your legs.
”I know it must not be pleasant”, he says as he lays his palms on each of your knees before gently nudging them apart, ”but it’s crucial for you to be still for this.”
He clicks the container open. For a brief moment, you can’t make sense of the thin, metallic item he pulls out, but as you slowly come to understand what you’re looking at, your eyes fly wide open.
”No-no-no, please...”, you plead, trying to get your legs to rise off the sheets, but the most you’re able to do is have your thighs twitch a few times.
”As I said, there’s nothing to be frightened of”, Jiaoqiu reassures you as he proceeds to lather the metal rod in a clear substance. ”Relax for me, please.”
His words do very little to ease your panic. He has an unfortunate habit of using a sort of clinical language with you from time to time, and while it doesn’t usually bother you, right now, the professional part of him instills more fear in you than anything else possibly could, especially as you feel the cold tip of the tool prodding at your cunt.
A fresh wave of tears gathers at your waterlines, spilling past your lashes and rolling down the sides of your head as you squeeze your eyes shut. Jiaoqiu isn’t deterred by your reaction, however: Instead, he uses his thumb to gently pull back the hood of your clit to reveal the tiny opening of your urethra beneath it. With a steady hand and precise movements, he inserts the sound into where you thought you would never be penetrated.
You let out a tiny, strangled noise at the intrusion, making an attempt to tense the muscles in your abdomen, but it’s a futile effort. A sob makes it past your lips.
”Are you in pain?” Jiaoqiu then asks you, not even bothering to raise his attention from the task at hand. As an offer of consolation, he swipes a few, quick circles over your clit with the pad of his thumb.
”Feels-... Feels bad”, you squeeze out in a wavering voice.
”But it doesn’t hurt, does it?” Jiaoqiu cracks his eyes open for the slightest bit; just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his yellow irises.
You don’t answer him. Not minding your lack of a response, he simply gives you yet another, unbothered smile. He then draws a few more measured circles over your clit, but the push of the rod doesn’t relent. The cold metal presses up against spots you never knew could even be touched, and with him as your guide, you come to find that they’re oh-so-sensitive.
˗ˏˋ ★ Jing Yuan
☆ Content warnings include: Shibari, fingering, implied cunnilingus, and improper use of his glaive.
You lie on the soft sheets of your shared bed. Bright red, ornate patterns of rope adorn your nude body, crossing over your stomach, travelling between the mounds of your breasts, connecting your wrists to the headboard. “Embarrassed” would be an understatement to how you feel at the moment, but then again, considering your captor, it’s no wonder that you’ve ended up where you have: The person guilty of putting you in such a position is none other than the General seated in between your open thighs.
Finishing the last bit of his handiwork — namely, tying a secure knot on the point that attaches one of your ankles to the end of his glaive — he leans back to admire the fruit of his labour with a content smile on his face.
”Is anything too tight?” he asks, swiping his hair over his shoulder.
You know better than to lie to his face. You have tried that before, attempting to delay what awaits you, but something like that is of no use with him: Jing Yuan sees right through your bluffs, even more than you would like to admit.
Instead of giving him the satisfaction of answering him, you hide your face in your upstretched arm. He lets out a gentle hum, conveying something akin to endearment at your show of diffidence.
”It would be best if you refrained from moving your legs too much”, he then says, stroking his warm hand along your thigh. ”I did the best I could, but the rope is prone to slipping.”
You don’t know where in the world he got the idea of using his weapon as a spreader bar. The General isn’t usually one to deviate from his usual patterns, but the case seems to be different today. Though the blade of his weapon is sheathed to protect your foot from getting sliced open, you’re not keen to find out what would happen if the cover were to slide off.
You don’t get to dwell on the details for too long, however: With a thoughtful hum, Jing Yuan lifts the haft of the glaive enough to be able to duck underneath it. The heat radiates off of his body as he climbs over yours, and with his shirt long since discarded on the floor, his bare skin presses against your chest.
”What would you like today?” he inquires in his deep, gentle voice.
You wince as he leans into you, shuddering at the way his breath tickles the shell of your ear. He seems to take note of the reaction, but instead of giving you space to breathe, he nudges the bridge of his nose against the side of your head in a loving manner.
Travelling a little lower, he sets his lips on the spot beneath your jaw, planting a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive skin. He then continues downward, licking a stripe up your neck, leaving a wet trail in his wake. Simultaneously, you feel his hand creep to one of your breasts where he begins tenderly caressing around the general area of your nipple.
”No preferences?” he quirks his brow at you.
You remain silent.
”I think I know what to do, then.”
Jing Yuan presses a final, languid kiss on the side of your face before he withdraws.
Retracing his previous movements, he gently lifts the glaive’s handle over his head and pulls back from your body, but you only get a quick moment to breathe before he suddenly raises the haft in the air. Before you can speak out a protest, he presses the bar towards your head, effectively folding you in half and — more acutely — revealing your bare bits to his hungry eyes.
A faint blush covers his chiselled face as he gazes down at the sight, taking in every last detail of your form. The way he looks at you has a certain, distinct quality to it: How he observes you, how his eyes wander over your form — it never fails to leave you feeling horribly self-conscious, no matter the context.
”Try to relax a little”, he instructs you as his free hand creeps along your inner thigh, inching closer to your cunt. ”I’m going to be gentle.”
Your stomach lurches as you feel two of his fingers breach your entrance in a slow, careful motion. He wastes no time pressing his thumb against your clit to aid you in allowing the intrusion, and even with your best efforts, you can’t fight the way he curls his digits into the front wall of your insides. Having long since learned your body by heart, he immediately begins massaging the spot with his usual, tender yet strict manner.
You crack open one of your eyes to peek at the man’s expression. Coincidentally, you do so just in time to see a strange glint in his gaze.
The glaive prevents you from squeezing your thighs shut as Jing Yuan leans down in between them, bringing his face to where his fingers are already deep in you. He lets out a soft, content sigh before his mouth makes contact with your cunt.
There’s a blindfold over your eyes. It’s thick enough for you to not see proper outlines through the fabric, but at the same time, it lets in just the tiniest bit of light. Through the hazy filter, the only thing you’re able to see is Luocha’s form flickering in and out of your field of view.
Much like he likes to do nearly every time, your hands have been tied above your head with a silk ribbon. Though the material doesn’t dig into your wrists — he always takes utmost care to ensure you’re comfortable — the notion itself has you dangling on the edge of hysteria. You hear him shuffle around you, clearly preparing something. His steps are eerily quiet, and you’re having a hard time determining where exactly he is.
A hand sets itself on your knee. You jolt at the contact, involuntarily tugging against your restraints. Luocha, taking a seat by your side on the bed, lets out a short, amused sigh as he draws idle circles along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tracing his fingers along the veins.
”Did I startle you?” he asks in his serene voice.
You purse your lips together as you feel a stray strand of his hair land on your abdomen, right on the bare patch of your stomach that peeks out from under your top. It tickles, and an involuntary shiver has you raising your back off the mattress.
”I hope I did not”, Luocha continues, moving to caress the side of your hip.
It’s remarkable how he’s able to spew such thinly veiled lies in a perfectly calm tone. You’re certain that the man takes pleasure in seeing your heart jump, but with how impeccable his facade is, it’s incredibly challenging to fight back at his whims.
His touch withdraws from you. Inhaling deeply, you anxiously wait for his next move, holding your breath and trying to listen for the tiniest sound he might make.
”I’m going to move to your abdomen now”, he then informs you, releasing you from the present suspense — only to create another right after.
You shudder as Luocha’s fingertips make contact with your side. Gently, he slides his digits under your top where he traces the shape of your ribs underneath your skin. His hands are cold, and you can’t help but twitch away from him as his fingers near your chest.
His free hand settles over your stomach to keep you still as the other finds your nipple. Tenderly circling the bud with his thumb, he teases it until it pebbles up, and only then does he move to the other one. You take it all without a single sound making it past your lips, biting the inside of your lower cheek and fighting the inexplicable sense of terror that threatens to rise into your throat.
As if sensing your thoughts, Luocha slips the hand resting over your stomach beneath the waistband of your bottoms, and with that, you finally let go of your composure. Letting out a meek wail, you shake your head from side to side, squirming away from his prying touch.
He follows your movements, however. No matter which direction you try to move in, his hand comes along, and you’re unable to rid yourself of him. Silently, he ignores every single one of your pleading “no”s and “don’t”s, firmly keeping his skin against yours. Patiently, he waits until your little fit of disobedience is over, and only then does he proceed.
”I’m not going to hurt you”, he assures you in the same, calm tone as always.
However, the tiny, off ring in his voice tells you that he isn’t completely unaffected by your struggling. You’ve come to recognize the tiny, nearly unnoticeable shift in his tone when his patience is starting to run thin.
Confirming your fears, his fingers creep closer and closer to your bits underneath your clothes. With little dwadling, his fingers crawl past the waistband of your bottoms and continue downward until they slip in between your folds. You hold your breath.
The hand on your breast moves to the middle of your chest where he gently presses down, urging you to rest back on the mattress. It’s easier said than done, though: In between your legs, his rigid touch has found exactly where you’re the most vulnerable. Paying very little mind to how your bottom lip quivers at the feeling, wordlessly, he gets to work.
With ease, Luocha plays you like an instrument. With each tiny caress, he coaxes a reaction out of you, whether that be a shiver, a moan, or a sob. He takes his sweet time searching for the spots that draw the most intense sounds out of you, poking and prodding around until your jaw clenches and tiny, wet dots appear on your blindfold.
The hand on your chest moves up to your head where he begins gently weaving his fingers through your hair. Tenderly, he combs the strands out of your face and behind your ear, quietly humming as he continues to torment you. The contrast between his actions is much too great for you to comprehend, and soon, you’ve been reduced to the sniffling, whimpering mess he seems to enjoy seeing so much.
Listening to your sobs, Luocha’s hand moves past your face and beneath your neck where he finds a tiny curl of baby hair. Gently, he begins twirling the strand around in a comforting manner.
”Breathe”, Luocha instructs you, all the while the pads of his fingers dance along the underside of your clit. ”It’s going to be far more pleasant for you that way. As I said, I won’t hurt you. Settle down.”
His digits slip into your entrance.
˗ˏˋ ★ Moze
☆ Content warnings include: Daggers, a little blood, fingering, and fearplay.
The blade of his dagger is a mere inch away from sinking into your exposed throat. Looking down with wide eyes, you’re just barely able to see the metallic sheen of the weapon as it lingers right above your carotid — an unrelenting threat.
The position Moze has put you in is nothing short of straining: Beads of sweat have risen onto your skin from having to balance on your toes with your chest pressed against the wall of your shared bedroom. You’re not sure how much longer you’re going to be able to keep the posture up with how your legs are trembling, and as if the physical aspect itself wasn’t enough, your captor seems to be putting his best efforts into getting you to falter.
He has slid his hand inside the back of your bottoms, and two of his fingers are knuckle-deep inside you, prodding around to find any spot potent enough to shake your resolve. His chest is glued flush against your back, trapping your body in between him and the pale yellow wallpaper.
Moze truly appears to want you to waver, to allow your neck to fall victim to his dagger with how insistently he’s playing with your bits, but then again, it’s now like he would ever actually let you. The act is about the sense of power it grants him — nothing less, nothing more.
”I wouldn’t move too much if I were you”, he comments in his nonchalant tone, taking note of how a tremor travels up your leg. ”The blade will pierce you like butter.”
You’re unable to offer him an answer, much less a nod. With how your head is craned all the way back to avoid your untimely demise, it’s nearly impossible for you to move in any direction; certainly not forward.
”Your blood would splatter all over the walls. It would be a hassle to clean up”, he continues the macabre remarks without a single hint of sympathy in his voice.
You clench your teeth together and bend your back into a deeper curve as Moze attempts to wiggle a third finger inside you. His task proves difficult, however, as it's a challenge for you to loosen up with the imminent doom lodged against your pulse.
As his efforts bear no fruit, his digits pull out of your entrance and instead curve around to reach your clit. He nudges the pearl back and forth in a somewhat tender motion while his thumb opts to sink into your cunt instead. At the same time, he inches the dagger further up your neck until the flat side makes contact with the tip of your chin. A tiny, choked sound escapes your mouth.
”How does it feel?” Moze breathes directly into your ear, raising the hairs on the nape of your neck.
You would be unable to speak out your answer, even if you had one: You’re afraid that if you were to open your mouth even the tiniest bit, the blade would sink into the underside of your jaw.
He doesn’t cut you the least bit of slack: He clicks his tongue in a nearly performative manner before jabbing the thumb inside you and against the front wall of your cunt, persistently massaging the spot in circular motions. The stimulation is enough to draw a frightened whimper out from between your pursed lips, but even that doesn’t seem to be enough to satisfy him.
”Does it scare you?” he presses, all the while he continues mercilessly fiddling with your bits.
You cave in.
One of your legs gives out from underneath you, and you reel to the side. Just as your life flashes before your eyes, Moze is lightning fast to pull the dagger away from your throat, quite literally saving your life.
Unexpectedly, though, he doesn’t support your weight as you fall: Instead, he allows your body to stumble down on the floor with a quiet thud. Bracing yourself for the impact, you squeeze your lashes shut, but at the very last moment, he catches you by the back of your neck. Gently, he lowers your body down on the ground.
As you weakly prop yourself onto your elbows and open your eyes, you come to find that the torment isn’t over quite yet. Blinking a few times, you take a moment to comprehend that you’re staring at the needle-sharp tip of the dagger pointed directly at your pupil.
”Lie down”, Moze then commands, edging the blade closer to you, forcing you to rest flat on the floor.
You gape at him with your mouth ajar, softly shaking your head and silently pleading with him, but it’s no use. His expression is as cold as his blade — although, it would be impossible not to notice the flush that plays at his cheekbones.
Climbing on top of you, the man glares you down as the point of his weapon creeps closer and closer to your face until it settles in between your eyes. The metal makes contact with your skin, pricking a minuscule pinhole on the bridge of your nose. The touch is so steady that you barely feel it pierce your skin, but you become aware of the wound as you squint your eyes and see the dot of blood that rises onto the nick.
You swallow thickly. Looking up at him through the sheen of tears gathering at your lashline, you can’t make sense of the look on his features. The moment only lasts for a second or two, however, as next, you feel his hand slide underneath the waist of your bottoms yet again.
˗ˏˋ ★ Mydei
☆ Content warnings include: Penetration, anal, improper use of his crystal thingies, mild degradation, kinda rough boombayah, predator/prey dynamics.
Your breath is wheezing so bad that you wonder if your throat is going to close in on itself soon. Even as you’ve been running for the better part of an hour, your legs are still going, though they have long since gone numb from the exertion.
Despite the murmur of your blood coursing through your veins drowning out the majority of other sounds, you can still distinctly hear the clinking of Mydei’s armour behind you. The steady thud of his footsteps is right on your tail, unwavering in pace. Even though you understand that your efforts are futile, you can’t help but entertain the tiny slice of hope you have of outrunning him — but, alas, your journey is to end nowhere else but the destination he has set for you: His crystal-clad throne in the middle of Castrum Kremnos’ arena.
Slowly, your steps grow slower and slower as you arrive at the centre of the stadium. Still holding onto the last bits of your dwindling spirit, you frantically look around, trying to find any direction to make your escape in, but quickly, you come to realize that there’s nothing but vast, open space to be found around you.
”Have you finally admitted defeat, woman?” you hear Mydei roar from behind you as he, too, comes to a halt.
You don’t answer him. Instead, you bolt for the throne. You don’t exactly have a plan in mind — it’s more of a reflex, more of an instinct to directly run away from the dangers that is him — but nevertheless, you don’t make it far. Just as you reach the deep red crystals, you feel a hand on your back.
Mydei forces your stomach against the throne’s flat surface, bending your arms behind your back with one hand. In his feral state, he hardly pays any mind to how you wail out as he yanks your flimsy nightwear aside in favour of getting to your bits. You can feel the heat emanating from his body; he drowns you in the sheer intensity of his presence alone.
In an act of mercy, he shakes his gauntlet off before sinking two of his fingers into your entrance. The article clanks against the ground a few times before settling somewhere next to him, but the distraction does nothing to deter him from his goal. He finds your sweet spot without delay, focusing all of his attention into pressing up against it, jabbing the vulnerable area with strength that’s right at the border of being too aggressive.
The man growls directly into your ear, making his intentions known without having to speak a word. Having long since grown much too impatient for his own good, after a mere few moments, his digits are already being replaced by the tip of his dick.
With a swift, forceful movement, he slides his cock into you. Your jaw falls open at the sting of the stretch, but instead of slowing down in favour of caring for you, your reactions only seem to fuel his fire.
He isn’t one to talk during the deed or really let you know what he’s about to do before he goes through with something, and that’s the case this time around, too. Rather than warning you about what is to come, out of nowhere, he takes the liberty of spitting on your rear hole. Straining your neck, you try to look at him over your shoulder to figure out what’s going on, but the only thing you manage to catch a glimpse of is a chunk of something deep red in his hand.
”Mydei!” you call out for him in a desperate tone.
”Weak thing”, he berates you, throwing his dishevelled hair back. ”There is nowhere left for you to run.”
You’re about to respond to him, but the words die on your tongue as you feel the warm head of a crystal — a phallic, sizable one — pressing up against your ass. A broken shriek is the only thing that makes it past your lips before the item sinks into your rear hole.
”Mydei, no-!” you yelp out, but your sentence is cut short as he suddenly pulls back and slams the entirety of his cock into you yet again.
It feels like the air has been knocked out of your lungs, and to top it all, Mydei pushes the makeshift toy inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. Not wasting any more time, the man begins fucking you in earnest, finally letting go of his restraint and thrusting into you with ardour unimaginable.
The sensation is way too intense for you to bear. In a weak effort to rid yourself of him, you try to wriggle your arms out of his grasp, but he doesn’t take kindly to the effort. Instead, he lets out a deep, guttural grunt and presses you even flusher against the seat of his throne.
Mydei lets go of the crystal lodged in your ass in favour of weaving his hand in your hair, gathering the strands in a good grip before pulling your head back. He doesn’t perform the action in a violent manner, however: Rather, he seems to offer you an act of tenderness with how he leans down beside your head and latches his lips on your earlobe. The gesture sends a tingle down your spine, and in consequence, your cunt constricts around his cock. You feel his grin against the side of your head.
˗ˏˋ ★ Phainon
☆ Content warnings include: Anal again, cunnilingus, he talks you through it, fingering, and lowkey manhandling.
”Come on, hey, look at me”, Phainon speaks in a tender, comforting tone — much too soft compared to the situation at hand.
He has pinned you underneath him on the bed, one hand holding both of your wrists in an unyielding grip while the other presses down in the middle of your unclothed chest, forcing you flat against the mattress. His face hovers above yours, bright blue eyes observing your agitated expression with curiosity.
The smile on his face is a complete contrast to how he’s treating you. The weight of his knees propped atop of your thighs keeps your legs separated, and most alarmingly, the head of his cock stands much too short of a distance away from your nethers. Having already lathered his member and your entire downstairs in a generous layer of lube, you thought it was going to be another few rounds of fucking you into the sheets, but alas, he had different thoughts in mind.
”I’m not gonna make it hurt, you can trust me”, Phainon assures you, letting go of your chest in favour of brushing his fingers through your hair as if to console you, all while gazing down at you with way too much excitement in his countenance. ”I can put my fingers in first, and then the stretch won’t be as bad. Doesn’t that sound alright?”
”No, Phainon, it’s not gonna-, it’s-, your thing will...”, your gaze travels down your body and in between your thighs where his dick is already twitching excitedly.
”Hey, don’t be like that”, his brows fall flat in a sympathetic expression, but you’re unable to find any solace in it as simultaneously, his hand leaves your hair and instead goes for your bits.
Understanding what is about to come, you start doing your best to wriggle yourself out of his grasp, clawing at his hand and trying to dislodge your thigh out from under him, but it’s a useless effort. You can hardly even budge, let alone get him off of you. He isn’t the slightest bit affected, and as if the notion itself wasn’t enough, you feel his fingers circling your rear hole.
”To my understanding, it’s not that different from here”, his touch brushes over the entrance of your cunt, a little above his eventual target, ”and as long as I go slow, it’s gonna feel so good to you that you won’t be able to get a single word out!”
You stare at the man with your mouth ajar, listening to him babble in utter disbelief. He doesn’t allow you to linger in your bewilderment for longer than a moment, though, because the following second, you feel his fingers pushing into your ass.
”Try not to clamp down on me so hard, heh”, Phainon chuckles, stroking his thumb along your wrist in an affectionate manner. ”It doesn’t feel bad, does it? I’d give your little button right here some attention if you didn’t try to escape me the moment I do, but do your best to relax, okay?”
Facing a little resistance, the fingers in your hole pull out a little before pushing back in with a bit more force. The man’s attention is mostly on your face, busy observing for even the tiniest changes in your expression as he gently works his digits in.
Then, out of nowhere, it’s like a lantern had lit up above his head.
”Hold on, I guess I could...”, the gears in his head turn for a good second before a wide smile finds itself on his features.
You watch in horror as he manoeuvres himself into a position so awkward that a weaker-bodied person attempting the same would surely have fallen face first onto the mattress. It’s of no difficulty to him, however, and with a strenuous movement, he lowers his face down to your cunt while still holding your hands above your head.
You feel his breathing fanning in between your thighs as he inspects your bits with an embarrassing amount of scrutiny. You clench your jaw and do your best to find the heat that creeps up your lower body, all the while Phainon takes his sweet time ogling at your most vulnerable spots. You let out a tiny whine, but all it gets out of him is a warm, airy chuckle.
”That’s better”, he then comments, right before his mouth connects with your clit.
You voice out a startled shriek as the man immediately goes for sucking the bud, not wasting any time on allowing you to adjust to the sensation. Your hips jump in a sudden jerk, almost causing his fingers to fall out of you, but he’s quick to get the situation under control again. Utilizing the brief moment of stir, he wiggles his digits all the way in.
”Attagirl”, he mumbles into your cunt, unintentionally stimulating you even further with how his voice vibrates against your bits.
Despite your protests and wails, he continues to pleasure you. Pushing a third finger in alongside the first two, he pays no attention to how his shoulders ache from the difficult angle he has set himself in. Putting all of his attention into overloading you with all he has to give, he refuses to pull up to even catch his breath.
Unintelligible wails, moans and cries spill out of your wide open mouth as you weather the relentless torture he puts you through. Gasping for air like you were drowning, there’s nothing you can do when you feel your climax building up, and within moments, Phainon has you coming on his tongue like the job required nothing of him.
Your back arches off the mattress as you finish. Your muscles spasm wildly as your hole constricts around his fingers, but even then, the man doesn’t show you a single sign of slowing down. The pleasure quickly turns into intense overstimulation, yet no matter how you try to pull away from him, his mouth stays latched onto your much-too-sensitive clit. It’s only when your wails and ”stop”s grow loud enough that he finally gives your cunt one last lick and raises his head.
His chin glistens with the remnants of your essence as he gets up from between your legs, rolling his neck back with a beyond-satisfied grin on his face. Carefully, he pulls his fingers out of you.
”That must have been quite enjoyable for you, I hope”, he then sighs, finishing the comment with a gentle laugh.
You’re much too out of it to even truly register his words. Your chest heaves up and down with each of your rapid inhales, and despite the way your thighs are still quivering from the force of your orgasm, Phainon isn’t ready to slow down any time soon.
Aligning the head of his cock with your ass once more, he leans down to plant a chaste kiss on your sweat-clad forehead.
”You can trust me”, he hums against your skin.
Without further delay, he starts pushing into you.
˗ˏˋ ★ Dr. Ratio
☆ Content warnings include: Bath sex, degradation, penetration and anal.
You don’t quite understand what exactly you did to warrant such a reaction from him. One moment, you were resting in his lap in the bath, patiently waiting for the man to finish the chapter on whatever book he was reading, and the next, you’re clutching the side of the porcelain tub with both of your hands, holding on for dear life as Ratio drives his cock into your insides.
The position is awkward for both of you, even to your standards: Not only is the water splashing all around the spacious bathroom, but you’re sure that one of you is going to slip sooner or later, and the session will end up with a cracked skull.
Though, you can’t exactly say it’s the danger that you’re focusing on. Your train of thought is regularly interrupted by a mean, resounding spank on your bare, gleaming butt.
You let out a yelp as the palm of Ratio’s hand makes contact with your behind yet again. The water does nothing to soften the impact — the complete opposite, in fact. Both the smacks and the rhythmic slapping of his crotch against yours seem to have been amplified by the wet sheen that covers your bodies. His other hand is busy pressing your back into an arch. With each of his thrusts, your chest is squeezed flatter and flatter against the cold side of the tub. As tightly as you’re clutching the bath’s edge, you feel your knees threatening to buckle under the strain.
”I thought I asked you to stay still?” Ratio speaks in his usual, nonchalant tone.
”I-”, you try to get a word in, but before you can even properly open your mouth, he shuts your response down with another spank on your rear.
“Deplorable.”
In a desperate attempt to gain even a semblance of control over the situation, you reach your arms over the tub’s border. The action rebounds, however: Ratio immediately retracts his hand from your back and instead wraps it around your stomach, pulling you right back to him in a prompt, curt movement. As a result, his cock sinks as deep into your cunt as it’s possibly able, nudging up against a spot that sends a mean sensation up your stomach.
”You’re utterly hopeless”, he leans down to sigh in your ear. ”Are there any bright thoughts to be found in that little head of yours?”
His fist comes up to your temple. He then knocks his knuckles against your skull, adding to the mocking tone of his previous statement.
It feels like a punch in the gut not to be able to muster up a defence for yourself, but then again, it’s not like he would take you seriously even if you did. For the greater good, you decide to keep your mouth shut for the time being, but instead of savouring the silence as he usually does, Ratio decides to reach for your face next.
Before you can do as much as flinch away, he squeezes your cheeks together so that your lips fall open, and when they do, he seizes the opportunity to push his thumb past your teeth. The pad of his finger presses down on your tongue as if in search of something. He scoffs, moving the hand on your waist to deliver a particularly harsh hit on your thigh. You whine out an incomprehensible response, weakly shaking your head, but as is common, your complaints do very little to deter Ratio from what he has set his mind to.
”You truly are a simpleton”, he berates you.
As a final addition to his treatment, he rubs his palm up and down along your reddened butt for a moment before his touch creeps towards the middle. For a fleeting moment, his fingers circle along the rim of your other hole, and the next second, he pushes in.
A pathetic squeal escapes out of your ajar mouth as Ratio suddenly hooks his thumb into your ass, purposefully searching for an ankle that would feel the most intense for you. As he finds it, he takes care to squeeze his digit in all the way to the root, poking and prodding around in a near clinical manner. Simultaneously, he pushes two more fingers past your lips, staining them in your drool and reaching for the root of your tongue.
The bathwater sloshes around along with the rhythm of his thrusts, and with each one, he makes sure to drive the digitin your ass at least as deep as his cock. Although he no longer has a free hand to smack your behind with, the force with which his hips slap against your rear nearly achieves the same effect.
”Perhaps I should plug you up before bathing from now on?” Ratio comments, idly jabbing his fingers around in your mouth, purposefully allowing saliva to drip down your chin. ”This blathering mouth, and this here”, he curls the thumb inside your butt, ”would be much better off with ample filling, no?”
You can only whimper in response.
”How pitiable”, he continues, scoffing blatantly. ”Though, I suppose you were never meant to be anything greater than this.”
˗ˏˋ ★ Mr. Reca
☆ Content warnings include: Fingering + fisting, bondage, praise, and he records you while you're at it.
You can’t recall you’ve ever felt as vulnerable as you do at the moment. You know the device looming right above your face is nothing more than a bunch of plates and screws, but even understanding that, you can’t help but shy away from it — or, you would if your hands weren’t tied somewhere over your head where you lie on a mattress, completely bare. The lens of the camera stares right into your soul, carefully reaching into your deepest fears and most scandalous secrets, and no matter how you try to remind yourself that it’s no living being, you feel like you’re under the scrutiny of a giant eye.
Due to the black veil that falls around your head and cuts your upper body from the rest of it, you’re unable to see what Mr. Reca is fiddling around with, but going by the sound, you’re certain that he’s lingering in the room: The never-ending melody of his quiet humming echoes around the walls, and judging from the faint clinking, he’s tinkering with something. Unlike you, the man appears to be in very high spirits.
You test the give of your bindings. Even as you tug on them with a considerable amount of force, your wrists don’t budge a single inch. The same is with your legs: Though you can’t see them from behind the curtain, it’s not difficult to decipher that they’re tied to something. More worryingly, you become aware of the fact that your bare bits must be completely visible to him.
”Reca, I...”, you speak, doing your best to sound resolute, but you can’t hide the way your voice wavers.
”Patience, Dear”, his voice rings out from somewhere in the room. ”I’m almost ready.”
”Reca, please, I don’t like-”
”Oh, hush”, he cuts off your words with a chuckle. ”Would you truly be as cruel as to deprive me of admiring such a work of art?”
Reca has always been plentiful with words, even when there isn’t exactly a need for it, you have noticed. From what you’ve seen, he has a natural, terrifyingly accurate talent of tuning into people’s emotions and acting accordingly to whatever intentions he has in mind. Typically, he would excel in the arts of getting you to calm down even under the most fraught situations, but this time around, his words do nothing to relieve the dread that’s building up in your chest.
His footsteps grow closer to you. Next, the camera lens that looms above your face makes a small, whirling noise, and the shutter flickers. The man lets out a satisfied hum.
Bashfully, you try to hide your face in the crook of your neck, but the job proves difficult with your body restrained. Though you’re unable to see him, it’s not hard to guess what sort of a reaction your visible discomfort elicits in him.
”Very good, very good”, Reca comments, both to you and to himself. ”You may look in the camera or somewhere else entirely, whatever feels the most natural to you.”
”Please”, the word comes out no louder than a whisper through your quivering lips.
For a moment, the only thing that remains between the two of you is a deafening silence. As the seconds stretch on, your plea remains unanswered.
You jolt as you feel his fingers ghosting over your inner thigh. Notably, his hand is bare, unlike usual: He much prefers to keep his gloves on, no matter the occasion, but not this time. The sensation couldn’t possibly be mistaken for anything else.
”You needn’t do anything more than relax”, Reca instructs you in a soft voice, gently caressing your bare hip.
You swallow down the lump in your throat as his touch lingers on your body. Though, your anxiety doesn’t truly jump until, without as little as a verbal warning, his fingers slip in between your legs. Reflexively, you shut your thighs around his hand, but you’re unable to prevent the intrusion: The man merely chuckles and gives your knee a fleeting, consoling pat.
The camera stares you down, observing even the tiniest details of your expression with great curiosity. It records the way you squeeze your eyes shut as Reca tips a generous amount of lube over the general area of your core, supposedly messing around on purpose.
”Relax, relax”, he sings, all the while his now slippery thumb strokes along the dip between your hip and thigh, taking his sweet time savouring your little whimpers and twitches. “Oh, sweet thing.”
He lets out an ecstatic, dreamy sigh. Then, without prolonging the anticipation further, he wiggles two of his fingers inside of you.
Your entire lower body tenses up in response, but Reca has never been one to slow down when he has his mind set on something. Hence, you feel him force a third digit in right away, not allowing you even a minimal timeframe to get properly adjusted to the first two. He knows just how to play your body, however: Even with the sting of the stretch, he prods directly at your front wall an inch or two in, attacking the spot with tender precision. Using his free hand, he applies pressure on your lower abdomen, pushing right against the pads of his fingers inside you. Lastly, his little appendage prods at the side of your entrance before it, too, is slipped in along with the rest.
You can hardly control your breathing anymore, and it’s difficult for your bits not to go taut under the demand he has put you in. You feel completely full, but even then, the man doesn’t appear to be satisfied.
”Don’t fret now”, he encourages you, continuing his ministrations despite the way your thighs have begun trembling against his wrist. ”You’re merely one away.”
You bite in a gulp of air, nearly choking on your own saliva as finally, you feel his thumb prodding against your thoroughly filled cunt.
”No”, you whisper out in a small, frightened tone.
The hand on your abdomen lets up, instead moving a little lower.
”I know, I know”, Reca sighs as he begins rubbing at your clit, quite obviously on the peak of his own bliss. ”Shh, Dear, you’re faring great.”
Then, with an insistent shove, his entire hand slides into you with a sound that can only be described as nauseating. In the span of a single second, it feels like your lower half has simultaneously been set on fire and overloaded with the most pleasure you could possibly ever handle. The sensation is so unbelievably intense that you’re unable to produce a single sound for a long, agonizing moment. Even then, despite your reaction, Reca doesn’t pause.
You can’t stop the sob that bursts out of your mouth as you desperately tug on your bindings, only to find that the more you pull, the tighter the rope gets. He doesn’t mind your resistance one bit: Instead, as if prodding at a control panel, he insistently presses on your pearl while inching his fingers further inside you.
”Yes, yes, you’re doing spectacular”, he inhales in a tone that leaves very little to your imagination.
Gasping for air, you clench your teeth together. Abiding by your reactions in his own, terribly twisted way, Reca speeds up his actions, both inside and outside of you. With relentless vigour, he fucks you with his entire hand, not leaving a single spot untouched. In the end, you can do nothing but surrender to him as he takes you to your climax, reduced to your smallest and utterly helpless.
At the very same time as your cunt constricts around his hand, he lets out an obnoxiously loud, wanton moan. With the last few curls of his fingers, accompanied by a string of airy, barely comprehensible praises, he pulls out of you with a wet squelch.
”My beautiful, beautiful Darling”, he sighs.
The tears that have pooled in your eyes spill down the sides of your face like a river.
˗ˏˋ ★ Sampo
☆ Content warnings include: Predator/prey, hypothermia, sucking the d, fingering, he's an asshole.
It’s arduous to run with how your bare feet sink into the snow with every step. You should have thought twice, you should have known better than to take the very obvious chance he presented you with, but nevertheless, it’s much too late for regretting your choices now. No matter how the freezing cold pricks your skin, you don’t stop for even a second to rest.
Somewhere behind you, much, much closer than you would like, you hear the sound of Sampo tailing you. The man isn’t making an effort to be stealthy as he would in any other situation: Though the unforgiving noise of the snow squall drowns out most other sounds, you can make out the revoltingly familiar, distinct melody of his humming.
Muffling your hacking cough into the sleeve of your sweater, you ignore the sense of sheer terror that threatens to consume you whole and continue your way through the wilderness. You don’t exactly know where you’re going — in every direction, the scenery consists of the same, cruel bedrock and measly, shrivelled-up trees — but you understand that the path you pick isn’t of that much importance. After all, in the back of your mind, you’re aware that you’re just postponing the inevitable.
At the very same moment as the despair of reality catches up to you, a dagger swishes past your leg, tearing a gash into the side of your calf. You don’t even bother to silence the cry that erupts from your throat as you stagger to the side. Though you’re much too high on adrenaline to actually feel the pain that shoots up your limb, the bright red blots that spread over the pure white leave very little doubt of the injury’s severity in your mind.
One, two, and on the third step, your knees give out. You tumble down onto the ground hands first, sinking into the powdery snow that welcomes you with a soft, silent fall like a frigid pile of feathers.
Your limbs have long since gone frigid, and you’re unable to even feel the temperature anymore. Yet, the ice still seeps into your skin like a thousand, tiny needles. The only remaining signs of life in you are the flush that covers your cheeks and the puffs of steam that rise from your mouth with every rapid pant you let out.
”Ooh, ouch”, Sampo’s mellifluous voice rings out from behind you.
You don’t bother trying to raise your head to peek at his silhouette as it gradually comes into view through the dense snowfall. Seemingly in high spirits, he takes his sweet time walking over to your pitiful form, leisurely spinning his secondary dagger around his finger while dangling a heat lantern in the other hand.
”Now, now, what do we have here?” he crouches down next to you and sets the lamp down beside your head.
Clenching your teeth, you jerk your arm towards him and attempt to land a hit on him, but the action is pitiably slow due to your state. He catches you by your wrist with ease, stopping the pathetic failure of a punch without having to use a single ounce of strength. He inspects your ice-cold limb with a smug smirk on his features, softly shaking it as if it were a malfunctioning gadget.
”How cruel of you to go out to play without your dear Sampo”, the man then muses out, pursing his lips into a theatrical pout. ”How could this be? Could I possibly have left the window unlocked?”
He taps the tip of his chin with his fingers as if he was actually pondering the question.
”Aww”, he moves to gently pat your head as plump tears swell up in your eyes. ”But I do think you owe little old me a favour after chasing you all the way up here.”
If you still had energy in you, your eyes would have flown open at his words. Instead, all you’re able to muster is a weak sob. It doesn’t evoke any sympathy in Sampo, though: As he’s done messing up your damp, partially frozen hair hair, his fingers go to his belt.
You scrunch your face up as he pulls his already hard cock out of his pants, giving it a good few strokes. He then directs his attention to you, swiping his tongue over his teeth in a predator-like show. As he inches his member closer to your mouth, you do your best to pull away, even as the movement causes a sharp ache at your injured leg.
”Hey”, he gives you a pitiful excuse of a frown, nudging the head of his cock against your pursed lips. ”What’s the hold-up? Or would you like it in another place?”
The implication is enough of a threat for you to forget your spite. With your eyes squeezed shut, you allow your lips to fall ajar. Sampo doesn’t waste a single second: Smirking widely, he slides his dick into your mouth with tangible excitement. A wanton, exaggerated moan erupts from his throat.
His free hand creeps down your back and slips past the waist of your bottoms. Taking care to make the experience as unbearable for you as possible, he makes sure to convey his truer feelings to you via touch: He tickles around the area just above your risqué bits, he stops to give a pinch to your inner thigh, and finally, his fingers press up against your cunt. No matter how you try to clench your thighs together, you’re unable to resist him as his prying digits find your entrance and push in.
˗ˏˋ ★ Sunday (Pre-AE)
☆ Content warnings include: Bondage, BDSM dynamics, mind control, shoe-grinding, a booty plug, he's lowkey very degrading.
If there’s one thing Sunday excels in, it’s evoking the kind of primordial rage in you that could very well summon Nanook with the sheer magnitude of the emotion. However, as strong as that urge is, he does, unfortunately, also have a talent for knowing just how to get you where he wants, whether that be via psychological torment or the terribly handy tool of Harmony. It’s a cocktail so unsavoury that each day, you wonder how you’re able to survive with him, but then again, you have come to see that the elasticity of the human psyche has very vast bounds.
The man’s methods of manipulation are beyond anything you ever thought were possible. You can resist or comply, it will all end up the same, and regardless, he isn’t satisfied with anything short of utter and complete dominance over you.
He sits on his chair with his legs crossed, all high and mighty, hands in his lap like he was in an official meeting. You, in contrast, sit by his feet on your knees with nothing but your see-through nightdress on — it’s his favourite one, precisely for its aforementioned quality.
A heavy flush of humiliation dances on your cheeks. With your hands tied behind your back, you feel like a piece of interest at an exhibition, every last inch of you vulnerable to your captor to use as he sees fit.
A plug of considerable size in your ass presses up against your insides with even the smallest movements you make. Yet again, he had to resort to tampering with your mind to get it inside of you, but now that you’re neatly bound up, he doesn’t have to worry about you getting the thing out. You think you might be imagining it, but compared to the usual ones he uses, the toy inside you is a little larger in size.
Sunday lets out a quiet sigh through his nose. He tilts his head to the side before making a rotating motion with his hand.
You stare at the floor by his feet, unmoving.
”Was there ambiguity in the instructions?” he asks, raising his brows in a querying manner.
Misery burns at your eyes, but you force yourself not to bare another inch of your vulnerability to him. Still, no matter how determined you are not to let them fall, you don’t need to be a member of the Intelligentsia Guild to know that he’s all too aware of your thoughts — probably even more than you yourself are.
”Stop”, you let out a meek plea through your pursed lips, softly shaking your head.
”I’m sure you’re aware you’re not the one to make the decisions here?” Sunday squints his eyes the slightest bit, expressing more emotion with a single gesture than he could ever convey via words.
”...”
You try to think of a suitable answer to his remark, but as the silence grows longer, you see the unmistakable, maddening hues circling your field of vision — like a faint, electric current buzzing through your brain. With your head hanging low, you waddle around on your knees in an awkward manoeuvre, turning your back to him. He lets out an approving hum.
”Bend over”, Sunday then instructs, soft yet full of authority.
You open your mouth to speak, but against all your mind is screaming at you to say to him, you remain silent. Instead, in a slow, shaky motion, you lean down and rest your head against the ground, exposing your bare behind to him.
”Good girl”, Sunday praises you, though the phrase rolls off his tongue more condescending than commending.
Wordlessly, with your heart in your throat, you expect him to do something, to stand up from his throne to get to whatever he has planned for the evening. He seems to thrive in your anticipation, to take pleasure in seeing you frightened and uncertain, so he prolongs the moment until you can hardly contain your anxiety, and then, only then does he proceed.
The sole of his shoe makes contact with your behind. You let out a strained, barely audible sound in response to the action, but he hardly reacts to it. Instead, he aligns his ankle so that the tip of his foot nudges on the base of the plug in your ass, forcing the thing deeper into you. In an attempt to escape the stimulation, you arch your back, leaning forward into an even more uncomfortable position, but his shoe follows you, unrelenting.
”Stay still”, he orders, giving a particularly mean shove to the toy.
The command is easier said than done, especially as his touch moves down to your cunt where he prods at your entrance, deliberately getting your essence onto the shiny material of his footwear.
Your shoulder strains from grinding against the floor with each push, but even with the ache, there’s an undeniable, awful scintilla of pleasure to be found in the way his shoe prods your clit. Clenching your teeth together and ignoring the way a tear slips down the bridge of your nose, you press your cheek against the cold ground.
Sunday doesn’t let you distance yourself from the situation, however. Instead of allowing you to sink into despair, he once again utilizes the Harmony to get into your head, rummaging through all the sensations he’s offering you, until he finds a certain, specific one he wants to amplify.
A sudden, overwhelming wave of pleasure spreads in your abdomen, nearly having you climax on the spot. You gasp out loud at the feeling, your eyes flying open at the sheer intensity of it, but at the very same time, the realization of its artificiality registers in your mind. Your eyes squeeze shut.
Sunday lets out a soft chuckle.
”I think I see how it is”, he speaks, the amusement audible in his voice. ”Enjoy yourself, by all means. You are to take all I give you.”
˗ˏˋ ★ Sunday (AE)
☆ Content warnings include: A vibrator, very mild breathplay, Welt mention, this is lowkey the sweetest one.
”Sunday, what-, what are you doing?!”
You rest in Sunday’s lap on the Express’ wine-coloured couch in an awkward, half-sitting-half-lying position. The setting is far from comfortable; mostly due to the fact that you have refused to stay still in his hold. His arm has an uncharacteristically firm grip around your chest, though he still isn’t being harsh by any means — quite the opposite, considering how persistentlyyou’re wriggling in your seat.
In his free hand, he holds a wand-shaped vibrator: Round-headed, textured, and most prominently, the size of your entire forearm. He brings the device closer to his face, inspecting the control buttons with a mildly intrigued look on his typically unexpressive features. As if the tool wasn’t already looking intimidating enough, he presses one of the switches, and the toy whirs to life with strength you don’t even want to imagine having any point of your body subjected to.
”Sunday!” you repeat his name in a more desperate tone, smacking the arm he has around you.
”Yes?” he asks, his voice as nonchalant as ever, hardly even bothering to glance at your face over your shoulder while fiddling with the thing’s controls.
”What are you gonna do with that?!”
”... You have been disagreeable.”
You’ve come to find that Sunday has never been great at talking about sexual things, but then again, the degree of it is sometimes nearly enough to make you crack up. You choke down the terrified, jittery laugh that nearly slips past your lips.
”Wait, okay-okay-okay, hold on, where’d you get that?” you stare at the device in horror as instead of toning the vibrator’s intensity down, the man ramps the speed up. ”Sunday, where’d you-”
”Please keep it down. The others have already gone to bed”, he answers, not a single ounce of sympathy to be found in his words.
You open your mouth to express your mind, but the words on your tongue pull back as you see the vibrator closing in on your thinly clothed groin.
”Sunday-Sunday-Sunday, stop, seriously-!” you kick at the couch cushions to the best of your ability but to no avail.
”Please stop”, Sunday sighs, stopping his advances for a moment in favour of pulling you back against him. ”It appears much more frightening than it is”, he sets the wildly vibrating head of the wand against your thigh, causing you to jolt, ”and Mr. Yang was gracious enough to provide me with it. Please don’t waste his kindness.”
”Huh?!” you strain your neck to look at him, wide-eyed. ”Hold-, wai-, Sunday, wait, what did you-uuh-!”
Cutting off your stream of words, Sunday presses the vibrator firmly against your covered bits. Simultaneously, clearly having predicted your reaction, he tightens his hold around you before you can flinch away from the sensation. Though you put a considerable amount of effort into trying to disconnect the toy from your cunt, he doesn’t budge an inch.
As the first strategy doesn’t work, you desperately try to squeeze your knees back together — half out of reflex, partly to deliberately get the thing off of you — but you come to find that Sunday isn’t particularly pleased with the effort either way. Letting out a soft, mildly frustrated huff through his nose, he carefully wrestles your legs apart by forcing his own over them. As if to make a point, he switches the vibrator on a higher setting still.
”Please keep it down”, he repeats his earlier words while pressing the vibrator directly over your clit in gentle, circular motions.
”Sunday, stop-stop-stop-stop-!”
Sighing, he lets go of your upper body in favour of bringing a gloved hand over your mouth. Though you immediately start throwing your head from side to side to hopelessly attempt to reopen your airways, you quickly come to find that he isn’t goint to let you go through with your whims: Carefully, he makes sure to trace your every movement, keeping his hand securely over your whiny mouth. Your whimpers and wails are muffled by his palm, and even as you start clawing at his arm to get him to let go of you, he calmly resorts to pinching your nose shut for a moment, silently warning you of the further consequences. As much as you hate the effectiveness of the method, with a great amount of mental strain, you force yourself to give up the struggle.
After an embarrassingly short while of resisting him, you surrender to your fate, doing your best to rest against his chest even as your lower half is tormented by the relentless stimuli. Satisfied with your compliance, Sunday moves his arm back around your upper body and returns his full attention to what’s going on in between your legs.
One of his Halovian wings comes to rest over the side of your face in an affectionate manner. He idly strokes his thumb over the bare skin of your shoulder, all while his other hand focuses on nudging the vibrator back and forth, left to right, clockwise and counter-clockwise. Finding the sight too much to bear, you squeeze your eyes shut and instead try to drown yourself in the relentless buzzing noise that fills the dim room.
Sunday isn’t yet particularly skilled in taking you to your peak, but the more times he has done it, the better he has gotten. After not that long of a while, the muscles in your lower half tighten, and the tingling sensation of an oncoming climax have you once again trying to clamp your thighs shut. He doesn’t let you, however — instead pressing the toy flusher against your bits — and after a moment or two, you reach your peak.
He takes you through your high carefully, silently observing your expression to pinpoint exactly where the pleasure is on the brink of turning into overstimulation. Just as you’re about to open your mouth to beg him to stop his ministrations, he removes the toy from your bits.
Completely drained, trying your best to catch your breath, you rest limp in Sunday’s arms as he switches the vibrator off and sets it aside. With his hand now free, he proceeds to silently wrap the same arm around you as well, wordlessly lingering in your afterglow, taking in the feeling of your limp form against his. Slightly adjusting your position to be able to properly embrace you, he sinks his nose into the crook of your bare, heated shoulder.
˗ˏˋ ★ Welt
☆ Content warnings include: Fingering with a tiny bit of angst sprinkled in.
You hug the blanket closer to your chest, even though the fabric is already bunched up as close to your skin as it can. The cover provides you with a sense of comfort, even if the feelings the man behind you evokes from you are the complete opposite of that.
It’s one of those days again. Welt has given you plenty of time to prepare for yourself for what is to come, but despite the merciful frame he has granted you, you’re feeling as anxious as always. It’s of no matter, though: Nothing you couöd have said or done would have gotten you out of it, anyway.
You sit on your knees in between his legs with your bare back facing him. Though he doesn’t allow you the privilege of clothes, he never really minds it when you hide yourself in the comforter. If there’s one good thing to be said about the man, it’s that he at least tries, to the best of his ability, to take your emotions into account.
Your shoulders jump as the warm palm of his hand settles in between your scapulae. The ritual is more or less the same each time around: He makes an attempt to familiarize you with his touch before he takes you to the deep end of the pool, but no matter how many times he does so, you can never help the way you jolt.
Welt lets out a quiet sigh through his nose. Dragging himself forward on the bed, he shortens the gap between the two of you. Though you don’t dare to peek at him, you’re all too aware of the expression his face must have moulded into: A heart-lurching mix of tenderness, forlornness, and twisted adoration that goes far deeper than you could ever even begin to imagine.
The hand on your back moves downwards. You try to curb the chills that rake your spine as the pads of his fingers glide over each vertebra, travelling downwards until they reach the curve of your waist.
Something wet makes contact with the back of your neck. In your jittery state, it takes you a second to figure out that it’s his lips, and you’re unable to hold back the fearful gasp that slips out of your throat. As if to comfort you, his hand slides past your side and underneath the blanket you hold onto, settling over your stomach, warm and grounding. Disconnecting his mouth from your skin, he instead plants little pecks along the shape of your collarbone and down your back.
You’re doing your best to keep your breathing at bay, but even then, your inhales have grown thin. He takes note of the shift, of course, but instead of stopping altogether, his solution is to slow his pace down a little. Where he would normally slip his free hand to your bare breasts, he now settles for resting it over your thigh.
You bury your face in the blanket in your arms, quivering as he caresses the side of your hip in gentle, soothing motions. You listen to the near-silent, wet sounds his lips produce as he works his way to your other shoulder, leaving traces of saliva over your heated skin. Then, you feel the fingers on your stomach creep downwards.
”Please tell me if anything feels uncomfortable”, Welt whispers into your skin, his voice wearied yet still maintaining the same, steadfast tone his composed demeanour is known for.
He doesn’t mean the mental aspect, of course. Though he claims to care for it deeply, in moments like these, he seems to force the thoughts to the back of his mind entirely.
You wince as the hand on your thigh urges you to spread your legs wider. The gesture barely makes a difference, but in the end, it’s more of a forewarning to you than anything more. Deeming the adjustment period long enough, he allows his fingers to dip into your nethers.
The contact makes you shudder. Welt is much too far in to stop, however: Rather than pausing his actions, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him until your back touches his bare chest. His skin is warm against yours, his scent lingers all around you, you hear him breathe against the crook of your neck, but out of everything, the way his fingers dance along the slit of your cunt has your stomach sinking the most.
None of it hurts, though — he makes sure he never gets rough with you unless your behaviour warrants it, just as he has promised to you countless times. Even as one of his digits breaches your entrance, he takes care to go as slowly as he’s possibly able to, coaxing lubrication out of you with feather-light touches.
His mouth travels up to the back of your ear where he plants one last kiss against the sensitive skin.
”Try to relax”, he murmurs into your hair. ”It’s going to be easier that way.”
A/N
Oh my-my-my, long time no see. Welcome to the pink Riri-era. I needed to improvise on the post's appearance a bit because there was no way I could fit twenty different men into the banner picture, but I hope the change in looks isn't too jarring ( ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ )
Which voiceover do you use? I myself use the JP dub, and sometimes, when I do research on the characters to get the dialogue and such accurately, I end up facing the dilemma that the vibe which I'm used to isn't translated in the EN lines, like, at all. I occasionally notice in game that some lines might even be entirely different in contents when comparing the voice to the text 💀 For characters like, say, Mydei, characterization is easy because the EN and JP versions convey more or less the exact same type of personality, but with Sampo, for example, the JP and the EN are like two completely different characters due to the VAs' personal interpretations. At the end of the day, I prefer to characterize by voice, and so if you get a strange vibe from certain characters, it might be because of that! Or, alternatively, I have missed the mark and need to be sent to fanfic writer bootcamp. I'll leave that up to you to decide.
Alhaitham having a fiancé/e but no one believing him until the very last minute. . .
It should have been obvious to everyone, really. It's not like he tries to hide it. He never works overtime and his weekends are always busy. He's honest about it too! The only problem is. . . everyone just assumes it's his sarcasm.
"Your excuse to call me on a weekend better be valid." Alhaitham crosses his arms, eyes throwing daggers at the committee group who begged to meet him for an urgent consultation.
"Acting Grand Sage! What could be more urgent than pursuing knowledge?"
"Spending a nice weekend with the love of my life, perhaps." He rolls his eyes.
"Oh please, now let's continue with the meeting."
~
"I never knew Alhaitham is so partial to buying trendy desserts."
"Obviously, it's for my darling spouse."
"Haha very funny."
~
"What do you mean you're leaving before we start filing these works?"
"A little birdie wants me home before dinner."
"Ugh. You could just say you didn't want to help."
~
Yes, it's his sarcasm but it's also the truth. People just seem to scoff at the idea, maybe even laugh, because who could stand to be with such a blunt and sassy guy? You, apparently.
"Acting Grand Sage. . . what is this?"
"A wedding invite."
"Yes but. . . why does it have your name on it?"
"Obviously because I'm getting married."
Someone chokes on air. Married? Him? Alhaitham the crude??
"Since when??"
"Since always? I mentioned it last week that I was planning it."
❀ If you're both OG's and came into the villa on episode one, he'd be in a couple with you on d1, and he'd never look at any other woman after that
❀ When the other boys talk about "keeping their options open" and "exploring connections," he looks at them like they're crazy (he definitely thinks the 'exploring' thing just sounds like an excuse to cheat, and he'd never do that)
❀ In his confessionals, at least in every other episode, he's going to yap about the fact that the other men in the villa are "embarrassing the concept of masculinity on a global scale" and that if one more guy says "im just being honest with myself" after kissing someone else's partner, he's going to "be honest with his fist."
Bombshell situation...
❀ He'd ignore her, even if she specifically wanted him and tried to pursue him the minute after she arrived
❀ If she tried again, he'd tell her that he's taken and that he's already in a relationship
❀ It would be comedic in a way if the girl told the camera in the confessionals that she's 'never been rejected before', and he made a similar one right after saying 'he's never been so annoyed by someone so aggressively before.'
❀ Also, his ahh would have the MOST confessionals like let's be frfr ong...
Surprise surprise!! America's shady asf and couples him up with the bombshell
❀ The recoupling happens, and America votes to couple him up with the bombshell to "test the connection." The second her name is read out next to his, his face goes so flat, everyone sitting on the couch is in shock, even Ariana herself.
╰┈┈┈➤ He doesn't say a word to her when you have to scoot over for her to sit next to him. If anything, he's shady enough to scoot over himself, and thankfully, Childe (who scara is best buddies with...) is right next to Scara, and Scara presses up against him in disgust of the bombshell not taking a hint.
❀ You're either single and sleeping alone, or you've been coupled up with some random guy who's way too excited about finally talking to you after scara practically claimed you from day one and shooed away any boy who tried talking to you.
❀ The first night, he has to sleep in bed with the bombshell, but as everyone's getting ready to sleep or is still showering, he goes over to your bed first.
┊ He sits on the edge of your bed, one leg tucked up, facing you. he doesn't say anything dramatic; he just sits there and talks to you like nothing changed. about dinner, about the challenge earlier, just basic conversation,
┊ He kisses you before the lights go out, soft, deliberate, his hand on the side of your face. In front of the bombshell (if there's one on your bed), especially in front of the bombshell he's forced to sleep with across the room.
┊ He doesn't acknowledge that the kiss is a statement because, to him, it isn't. It's just a routine he does before bed
╰┈┈┈➤ Then he tells you goodnight, and he gets up, walks over to the bombshell's bed, lies down at the very far edge with his back to her, and falls asleep within 3 minutes. He doesn't even say goodnight to her; he just treats her like a wall.
❀ The next morning, the bombshell tells the girls in the glam room that sleeping next to him was "like sleeping next to a corpse that hates you." She says it while you're in the room, and you don't say anything, you just grin at the thought that America was wrong and that they can never break your connection.
╰┈┈┈➤ He also brings you breakfast that morning, not the bombshell, and he kisses you after he sets the plate down. Giving the bombshell a nasty side-eye before leaving the room.
❀ His ranting confessionals about this would be so long that they can be their own episode... The producers have to cut out most of what he says and save some juicy parts for Aftersun.
❀ On the second night, he's done. Completely over it. He grabs your hand and a blanket and walks you both to the Soul Ties area, the big couch bed in the villa where couples go to "deepen their connection."
┊ You both sleep there because he's not spending another night next to a woman he doesn't know, while his girlfriend sleeps across the room next to some guy who keeps trying to spoon her
╰┈┈┈➤ He tells the confessional camera the next morning: "I don't care what America voted for. America also voted for... disgusting... things I won't say on camera. I sleep next to my girlfriend, end of story."
The Bed Situation (When You're Both Coupled Up)
❀ He's a light sleeper in the villa, and the communal bedroom doesn't make it any better.
┊Someone's always whispering, shuffling, doing something under the covers that he can hear and doesn't want to hear.
┊He has made passive-aggressive comments to at least two couples about the volume of their nighttime activities.
╰┈┈┈➤ "If I can hear your knee crack from six beds away, you need to rethink your angle."
❀ He sleeps with an arm over your waist every night. Every. Night.
┊He also pulls the covers off you in his sleep because he runs cold, and every morning you wake up with zero blanket and him fully cocooned.
╰┈┈┈➤ He denies this.
Drama and Gossip
❀ He is, without question, the most dramatic person in the villa while simultaneously insisting he "doesn't do drama."
❀ He doesn't start it, but he absolutely fuels it.
┊He'll sit at the kitchen counter, eating cereal, listening to two people argue, and drop one sentence that makes everything 10 times worse.
╰┈┈┈➤ Then he'll leave and tell the confessional camera he "doesn't know why everyone's so emotional."
❀ He gossips exclusively with you and Childe.
┊The three of you on the daybed, whispering, is the most consistent recurring shot in the season.
╰┈┈┈➤ Fans call it "the council" because every major villa decision somehow traces back to one of those daybed conversations.
❀ He ranks everyone in the villa by how much they annoy him, and the ranking updates daily. He tells you the rankings every night before bed like it's a bedtime story.
❀ When someone comes to him for advice, he gives the most brutally honest answer possible and then gets confused when they're upset.
╰┈┈┈➤ "You asked me what I thought. I told you what I thought. Why are you crying? Do you want me to lie? I can lie, but I won't, because I respect you enough to tell you that your partner is actively flirting with someone else, and your response to it is pathetic."
❀ He has made at least one person cry during a villa discussion. Not intentionally. He was just being honest, and their emotional threshold was lower than he anticipated.
❀ He actually loves the drama. He'd never admit it, but the way he leans forward when an argument starts, the way he pulls you closer to whisper commentary in your ear while two people scream at each other by the pool. He's invested. He just performs disinterest because caring would be out of character.
Childe Bro-ship
❀ If Childe is in the villa, they become inseparable within 48 hours. Scara doesn't admit it's because they like each other; he only says that "he's the only one here with a functional brain stem."
❀ Their dynamic in the villa is the same as everywhere else.
╰┈┈┈➤ Childe is loud and charming and befriends everyone, Scara tolerates him specifically, and no one else, and the two of them working out together in the villa gym has become a fan-favorite recurring segment.
❀ Childe spots him on the bench press and makes jokes the entire time. Scara threatens to kill him between sets but doesn't switch gym partners.
❀ They have a bit where Childe tries to get Scara to join the boys' group chats and bro activities (pool volleyball, cooking competitions, the post-recoupling debrief), and Scara refuses every time but always ends up nearby, listening, pretending he's on the phone they gave each islander.
❀ Childe tells the confessional camera, "Scara is my best friend in this villa, and he would stab me if he heard me say that. But he'd visit me in the hospital, and that's how I know he cares."
Breakfast
❀ He makes you breakfast every single morning. This is non-negotiable. The kitchen is his territory from 7:30 to 8:15 AM, and anyone who interrupts his process gets a look that could curdle milk.
❀ Heart-shaped eggs every morning, heart-shaped pancakes when he's in a good mood. Regular pancakes when he's in a neutral mood. No pancakes when he's annoyed.
╰┈┈┈➤ The shape of your breakfast is how the entire villa, and fans, gauge his emotional state for the day.
❀ If any other islander tries to eat the food he made for you (you trying to kindly share with any of your friends), he will actually lose it. "That's her plate. That plate has her name on it. Metaphorically. But the metaphor is binding."
❀ One time, Childe ate one of your eggs as a joke, and Scara didn't speak to him for six hours.
Challenges
❀ He refuses to kiss anyone but you in challenges. Point blank.
╰┈┈┈➤ The challenge says "kiss the islander you find most attractive" and he walks across the entire line of people, past every bombshell, past every single person, and kisses you. Every time. Without hesitation.
❀ When a challenge requires him to kiss someone else, he gives whoever it is the most dead, lifeless, closed-mouth peck that has ever been broadcast on national television. It's so devoid of effort that the editors have to add a sound effect to confirm that lip contact was made.
❀ The contrast between how he kisses other people in challenges (dead, lifeless, clearly suffering) and how he kisses you (full, deliberate, his hand on your face, the kind of kiss that makes the entire villa go "OOOH") is a meme on TikTok that already has thousands of parodies.
The Confessional Camera
❀ His confessionals are the most-watched segments of the season.
❀ He delivers the most devastating one-liners with the flattest expression possible, and the editors don't even have to add music because the silence after his sentences does all the work.
┊"I've been here for three weeks, and I've seen more emotional breakdowns than a therapist sees in a year. These people need medication, not a TV show."
┊"She asked me if I'm open to getting to know her. I said no, and she had the audacity to ask me why. I told her that I already know someone, and knowing two people sounds exhausting."
┊"The boys had a meeting about 'loyalty' today. I didn't attend because I don't need a group discussion to remind me not to cheat on my girlfriend. That's called being a normal person."
╰┈┈┈➤ "America, if you're watching, stop coupling me with people I don't know. I will not perform for you. I will sleep on the couch. Try me."
❀ When asked by producers to describe his feelings for you, he stares at the camera for four seconds and says, "Next question." But the look on his face during those four seconds tells the audience everything they need to know.
I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)
[Based on Sandrone's line about watching the Korolevskiy Troupe: "Count yourself lucky. Having private box seats is great until you're stuck sitting next to Dottore and Pantalone. I'd rather have bought my own."]
The Korolevskiy Troupe was popular among the Harbingers, with frequent and wonderful performances, and free entry for the Harbingers was the cherry on top. So it was only natural that Sandrone was dragged along by the other ladies to the theater to watch the Troupe every now and then, though she had to admit she enjoyed the performances. This time, Columbina poked and prodded at her until she agreed to accompany her to this specific performance, and despite Sandrone’s huffing, she wasn’t really annoyed until she stepped into the private box on the theater’s balcony and saw some seats were already occupied. Immediately, the Seventh felt a sense of irritation wash over her, as she could spot that stupid fluff of blue hair and curls of black and purple anywhere.
“Just great,” Sandrone muttered under her breath. There were only a few seats in this distinguished area, so she’d be forced to sit near them. But at the very least, there was a small space dividing the row to serve as a sort of aisle, so at least she didn’t need to be brushing arms with any of them. Pantalone and Dottore seemed to have already gotten there a bit before, their coats hanging to the side, along with… another one she didn’t recognize. Whatever. Since she had to be near those two, she might as well greet them and get it over with before they start something first.
“Pantalone. Dottore.” She came up from behind, heels clicking as Columbina languidly drifted behind her. “I didn’t expect you two to be attending-” Sandrone stopped mid-sentence when she realized it was not two, but three people in the private box seats. It was Dottore, then an unfamiliar person in the middle, and Pantalone to the end. Huh.
“Oh? Why, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” Pantalone’s smooth voice and fake smile and stupidly biased financial approvals drove Sandrone up the wall. You only blinked with a somewhat curious look.
“If it isn’t Sandrone. Ah, and is that Columbina too?” Dottore tilted his head to the other Harbinger, but she was less interested and only addressed them with a smile before heading to her seat. You remained quiet, hands in your lap, and that’s when she noticed Dottore’s hand running down your thigh, and Pantalone was similarly stroking your arm. So she already knew there were going to be even more annoyances during this show.
“Yes. We’re here to see today’s performance,” Sandrone replied, although her gaze was fixated on you, and Dottore picked up on her inquisitive look.
“I believe this is your first time meeting them,” Dottore motioned toward you, and you perked up with a small smile. “This is [Name], our…” He paused, as if wondering how to introduce you. You were his beloved, of course, but telling that to anyone would cause more problems than he wanted to deal with.
“Friend,” Pantalone finished the scholar’s sentence with a smile, faded purple eyes giving you two a certain, mischievous look. A smile curled onto your face due to how obvious it was that his words were probably a lie.
“Yes. We are all dear friends.” You nodded in affirmation while Dottore appeared equally as amused.
“… Oh really?” Sandrone wondered where the pair had even acquired you from, if you were just a toy for them. She wondered if you even knew the situation you were in: two Harbingers, and the most insane ones no less, to both of your sides, but you looked as relaxed as could be.
“Of course. Shouldn’t friends be allowed to have an outing every once in a while? You’re doing the same thing, are you not?” The tone Dottore took with her seemed slightly mocking.
“Naturally.” Sarcasm dripped from her voice, but she wasn’t about to dwell on his conversation anymore or let them get to her in the opera house. “Well then, the performance should be starting soon. I’ll take my leave.” However, her seat was just a bit farther away from where she was standing, much to her dismay. And then, despite her being on the opposite side of the booth with a small gap between you, the Ninth, and the Second and her, she could still hear small whispers flowing from her side.
“Are they going to be next to us the whole time?” You leaned in closer to Pantalone and softly whispered.
“I’m afraid so. Is there a problem, my dear?”
“No… I was just… hoping we could all be alone during this, like last time.” You smiled and shrugged your shoulders before pulling away. Pantalone let out a sigh.
“This is why we shouldn’t let Dottore handle the tickets. I told him to reserve the seats at the very top for more privacy.” Pantalone adjusted his glasses while Dottore clicked his tongue.
“Surely you’re not blaming this on me? It’s already rare enough that people join us up here. How could I anticipate Sandrone of all people would sit next to us?” He crossed his legs, hand still firmly planted on your thigh. “Besides, those seats may be private, but these offer a better view, in my opinion. Isn’t that what’s most important?”
“You’re not wrong. I also like watching from here,” you giggled as Dottore squeezed your thigh with a pleased hum.
“Well, there is nothing wrong with that. However, you could have at least booked all of the surrounding seats as well. Then, our darling would be more comfortable.” Pantalone was always good at talking around Dottore with a smile.
“Oh really, I am comfortable…” You tried pushing your two lovers back as they leaned in closer in front of you with a challenging gaze.
“Alright, Pantalone. Lesson learned.” Dottore relented as you nudged him with your shoulder. Sandrone kept her head facing the front, but from the corner of her eyes, she could see their hands dangling in the center of your lap, all brushing against each other.
“Do they even realize that I’m still here?!” Sandrone muttered under her breath and crossed her arms. She glanced at Columbina, and the Third had already turned her attention to the gallery below, her head and arms resting on the edge of the balcony, as if she was in another world. Either she didn’t hear, or just didn’t care. Sandrone let out a sigh and sank back in her seat. She would probably be the only one being tortured tonight…
—
Sandrone had finally settled in when the performance began. The theater had dimmed, placing most of the attention on the Korolevskiy Troupe, so your figures were slightly darker, thankfully. Unfortunately, from her past experiences, that was not the end of things. Because Dottore and Pantalone liked to talk, and now, you seemed to like to join in. Normally, you wouldn’t be bothering anyone, as you all sat by yourselves with no one near. But even though Sandrone was here, the other two Harbingers didn’t seem to particularly care about her comfort.
“It’s a far cry from how they treat art in Sumeru, isn’t it? The Akademiya would have never let something like this happen.” Dottore tapped his fingers against your leg and leaned in closer to you, a long lock of hair nearly tickling your face. He knew performances like these would be some of your favorite activities from what Snezhnaya had to offer. The Akademiya had suppressed your enjoyment of such things so long ago. That was why he made it a point to take you out to see them whenever you were feeling well enough.
“It is amazing. The stories they tell through songs are fascinating,” you marveled in agreement as there was a small break in the performance.
“They are, indeed. It’s no wonder the opera house is fully booked whenever the Troupe is performing.” Pantalone rubbed circles in the palm of your hand. “And all of the performances always have something worth dissecting.” Sandrone was well aware of that, because she had to constantly listen to them talk. “Even the most classic of plots, a love story, presents the basic question of how far you’re willing to go for that feeling in a compelling manner.”
“Then, do you have an answer to that question?”
“Of course. I imagine mine would be fairly similar to Dottore’s. But I would certainly be more smart about it than these characters in the story.” Dottore let out a sound of agreement.
“Well, are you going to tell me?”
“Won’t it be more interesting to wait and see the answer if that day comes?” Pantalone only gave you a closed-eyed smile as you rolled your eyes. But in reality, you already had a hunch, if it was anything similar to Dottore’s.
In the meantime, Sandrone rested her head in her palm tiredly, exhausted from sneaking glances of the three of you cuddling just across from her, while Columbina was zoned in on the performance.
—
Eventually, Sandrone managed to block the others out and properly focus on the opera. Well, for the most part. Dottore seemed keen on explaining what was happening while Pantalone kept poking in with his own thoughts or interpretations. Alright. Fine. Whatever. She could deal with it for a while longer.
But then the noises got a bit… stranger. You let out a sigh that was just a bit too high to be normal. Still, she ignored it. Perhaps that was a good thing, because otherwise she would have seen Pantalone shamelessly kissing you.
“D-Dottore, tell ‘Lone that the others are right over there!” You whispered-yelled, but it was largely muffled by the banker’s lips on yours. You were used to this behavior, but it was more embarrassing when others were sitting a distance away from you, even in the dark.
“I find his aptitude for taking risks quite thrilling. It might even draw my attention away from the performance.” Dottore’s tone was amused, and although he still looked at the stage, he was partially devoting some attention to you and Pantalone, his hand squeezing your waist.
“Hey… you can’t touch me there…” You softly whined as Pantalone’s hand ran over some spot of yours. It was then Sandrone balled her hands into her dress as she avoided looking to her side at all costs. In reality, it was just Pantalone’s cold rings gliding across your tummy to caress your softness, but here she was having to listen to his.
“Fine then,” you grumbled, embracing the warmth creeping up your body. You splayed your hand across Dottore’s chest, and he hissed as you looped your finger through the hole on his harness and pulled him closer. Pantalone seemed entertained at the sight as you turned to kiss Dottore now, cooing something in your ear, goading you two on.
Sandrone plugged her ears with her fingers after that. Opera be damned, she wasn’t about to sit through any of that any longer.
—
The opera had finished, the lights brightened, and people were beginning to shuffle out of the theater. You, Dottore, and Pantalone all looked quite relaxed and pleased. Sandrone could not feel more irritated.
“That was really good. Thank you both for taking and companying me.” All three of you had put on your coats, standing up to take your leave.
“It was our pleasure, darling.” Pantalone rested his hand on your back while Dottore insisted on wrapping a scarf around you, despite your protest.
“When can we come again?” You questioned as Dottore took your hand and guided you out of the booth.
“I believe they’re doing performances every week this month. Perhaps we can catch another one soon, depending on our schedules.” You squeezed the scholar’s hand in gratitude. “But for now, let us head back. I’m sure you need to rest.”
“Yes, that would be nice. And I think I need some more leisure time with my two best ‘friends.’ Don’t you two agree?” The chuckles from the other two men were all you needed to hear.
“It looks like they had a good time, Sandrone.” Columbina nodded towards the three leaving figures. “I did too. What about you?” Sandrone was still sat in her seat, eyes closed. “Hmm? What’s wrong, Sandrone? Did the opera make you sad again?” The Seventh groaned while the other lady remained oblivious.
Sandrone was not going to think about this ever again, for her own good. And she’s learned her lesson - she’s never, ever sitting next to any of you again, too.
just imagining each and every segment (even the original zandik) playing the piano for you and each having a unique song made for you.
you, his muse; are his inspiration.
i literally wrote this under like 3 hours.. so it will be terrible, i’m really bored so i’m doing this to pass time and because i still need to think about what to do for the pierro one. i haven’t written like this since i was like 15 and was bad at it (im literally still bad at it it’s just so much less cringey) so apologies are due.
┈┈・ ✦ ・┈┈
8: you can’t help but comfort the segment as he is still new to the piano, trying to make a song for you and making many mistakes but he still tries his best to his ability. he would often look up at you with teary eyes even after being comforted, hoping you appreciated his effort
↳
for someone like 8, he had no care in the world of what others thought of him, you on the other hand were an exception.
“a-am i doing okay?” he whispered in hopes he wouldn’t disappoint you, knowing you would never be upset at him.
“you’re doing wonderful my dear, you’ve made so much progress in so little time! i’m so proud of you!” you exclaimed at him while smiling sweetly, in return he showed you his bright smile as he sniffled and wiped away his tears. “i’m happy to hear that.. i will make you a song that shows my love for you!” he beamed with his eyes closed, you could help but smile ear to ear; your adoration for him as clear as a sunny day.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
18: although he is not new to the piano, he isn’t exactly number one when it comes to skill, above average but there is room for improvement; although you’ll never hear him admit to it
↳
you sat next to 18 as he played the piano listening to the words that came out of his mouth. “at the akademiya, i never had time for the piano; i was rather occupied with pursuing my own goals..” he recounted as the notes swayed with romantic allure. “for someone who rarely had time for such futile things, you sure do know how to play like a professional.” you mused with a closed smile. “are you mocking me?” he scoffed playfully and you couldn’t help but laugh, even if he sounded annoyed, you could still see the adoration in his eyes.
two people of different backgrounds enjoying the notes being played in the air, as the song he made for you filled up the room with nothing but admiration.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
25: the only time you’ll ever hear 25 play the piano is when there is free time and when he notices you’re feeling down, which unsurprisingly isn’t uncommon due to what tends to go on in the laboratory.
↳
it was one of days where things just weren’t going your way, which led to 25 basically kidnapping you by throwing you over his shoulder since you refused to move from your bed. “you truly can be a headache at times, are you aware? you should feel honored that i’m taking time out of my day to amuse you.” he muttered as he arrived to the music room
“then why not keep doing that?! you could’ve let me stay in bed, but yet you chose to do this” you huffed as you kept smacking his back and kicking your feet in hopes he would drop you, to no avail he sat you up next to him as he started to play the piano, an unfamiliar tune entering your ears. you perked up, the tune sounded romantic and it was all you could focus on. “i will indulge you this once, so pay attention to this new melody i have created.” he said, and you did exactly what he asked you to do, 100% of your attention was on his fingers, the way he played without hesitance had you in awe. he smirked seeing your face light up, it seems like he accomplished his goal.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
35: the last segment you expected to ever show such trivial emotions, the last to make you a song. he was not one to indulge you, in fact he would laugh at you if you even suggested it, so imagine your surprise when he told you he made you something
↳
“so are you gonna sit down or what?” he grumbled even after you were in the middle of doing just that, you never understood him and you have a feeling he didn’t understand himself either, but you would rather be struck down by the heavenly principles than say it out loud. “is there a reason you made a new melody?” you mumbled. “i want to see the results of how you will react to this small experiment.. think of it as some minor research.” he gleamed, he would never admit it but he cares for you as much the other segments did. he just showed it in his own way.
he played the piano, he took notice of how your heart rate went down, your shoulders dropped, you leaned closer, your muscles became less tense, your breathing became slower.
the signs that you were relaxing, the sadness within you being forgotten, mission accomplished, he smirked.
you closed your eyes and leaned your head on his shoulders, the tune continuing to play.
the experiment was a success.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
45: a rational man who knew what you liked when it came to music, he knew you were a sucker for the sounds of a piano playing.
he told you he wanted to show a new song he wrote for you. excited, you dragged him to the music room, eager to hear what he wrote
↳
“come on! i can’t wait to hear what you wrote this time!” you jumped as you led him to the seat in front of the piano, the man chuckled at your eagerness, something he loved about you. “mama prema, your never ending energy will always surprise me.” he chuckled as you blushed at the nickname, his fingers pressing the keys as you watched intently, different from 8, he was skilled and was able to play the piano without looking down, not even a blindfold would make a difference.
you couldn’t help but smile, the man in front of you was the light of your life and would drop anything to attend to you, the way he smiled at you lovingly was something you will never get tired of, it was one of the only times you would see this specific segment without the bird like mask.
you both were caught up in the moment, it felt like it would never end, and you were thinking that you never wanted it to end.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
65: the most quiet of all but very gentle when it came to you, he has been teaching you how to play the piano and wanted to see if you were able to play the song he made for you, so he took you to the music room to try it out… it went better than expected
↳
“am i doing it right?” you asked as you slowly played the piano, afraid to make mistakes. “you’re doing fine, relax… i’m not gonna get mad if you make a simple mistake.” he chuckled, standing behind you slightly jumped as you felt him place his fingers on top of your, guiding your fingers on the keys. “i recognize these notes.. it’s the love progression, you wrote me a song?” you whispered, your face slowly becoming warmer; the realization that he made this for you and wanted you to hear it by playing it yourself. your breathing hitched and you looked at him in awe. “you made this..for me?” you said as he nodded. “it is not often you get shown appreciation, it is deserved” he mused as he sat down next to you.
both forgetting why they were there originally, chatting idly as time passed by.
♡ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
Zandik/85: the original, the one who’s been there since day one, he was a hopeless romantic and it wouldn’t the first or last time he made you a song
↳
as he played the keys, you swung your legs as you sat on top of the piano. “zandik, the way you play the piano will never fail to amaze me.” your face beaming as he smiled. “these songs are all inspired by you after all, my muse.” he teased.
you hummed in response and focused to the tune of the song, stealing kisses from zandik once in a while,
the music room has become the place of comfort for the both of you, indulging only one person, and that person was you.
all the songs he made for you were embedded with a secret language only the two of you knew. not even the other segments were aware of this.
there were times he would measure your natural heart rhythm and compose to the beat of it with exact precision. he held you in high regard after all. even near death you will always be his priority.
i think i read this concept somewhere before but imagine f! reader swooning with the other ladies of mondstadt abt this one particular romance novel that has been getting popular as of late. diluc gets word of this ( maybe it’s because of elzer, or probably even kaeya, the tease ) because don’t tell anyone this but he kinda likes you.
( “. . . kinda? what are we, twelve?”
“shut it, kaeya.” )
and he wonders what the fuss is all about—
“it seems that lady,” adelinde calls your name fondly, as she stands beside the master of the house eating his dinner. “has been involved with a book club. some of the maids are members, and they told me that it had been a joyous time. they would discuss the books over delicious cups of tea and pastries that she and her friends had made.”
diluc is happy to hear this, of course, that a delightful woman such as you is having the time of her life in mondstadt. his heart skips a beat in his chest as he imagines you, the ever beautiful, endearing you, sharing anecdotes. he tries to hide the growing smile on his face as he remembers how you focus into the small and tiniest details—it is no doubt that the people in your book club are always entertained by your presence.
they’re surely lucky to have you. diluc, if only he wasn’t so busy, would actually really love to be part of that book club as well. ( “eyeing something, master diluc?” lisa winks, when diluc finds himself in the library. ) but alas, it was only reserved for ladies, and he was too shy to actually be in it.
— not until this one fateful night. not until he finally understands why.
of course, the abyss is up to no good again. diluc does his daily patrols on the outskirts and even outside of the city.
then, he hears it.
( a cackling abyss mage approaches your quivering form. you have books in your arms, tightly clutching them to your chest. you bought these for the new members of your book club as gifts since some of them can’t even afford it, and like hell you’re gonna lose them to some monster! these are expensive!
and since gods do really like tampering with fate ( or is this just destiny? ) before the abyss mage gets to throw its icicle at you, it disintegrates, and you blink upon the arrival of a familiar figure.
clad in black and donned in a mask, your lips part in shock. the smell of burnt wood and grass reaches your nostrils. the figure—the man, turns around, and you can’t help but feel a little clumsy. “t–thank you so much, um—!” some of the books fall to the ground, and you yelp. the man kneels down to grab your novels, and you feel your cheeks begin to steam. “um, wait—!” )
after rescuing you from a pesky abyss mage, diluc is really happy to get to interact with you again. last time he did was when you were in the tavern, drinking out with your peers. there, he realized how low your tolerance is, and there, he also realized how actually weak he is for you. you had been so friendly and sweet to him—you included him in your conversations and was always so understanding. how can he not like someone like you?
or maybe the cherry on top was when you invited him to go stargaze at the starsnatch cliff ( how did you not know what that meant? is it because you’re from fontaine, and you’re still getting used to mondstadt? ) and requested for only diluc. no master of the house diluc, nor wine tycoon diluc. just diluc. just himself.
he’ll do everything for you, as long as it is okay with you.
as he descends to the ground to retrieve some of the novels that you carried, diluc lifts one. he listens to you stammer— and he wonders why you’re so flustered, not until he sees the front cover.
it’s an image of a man. he’s wearing a dark getup: a dark brown tunic, black pants, and a midnight cloak. diluc ponders over why he’s getting deja vu.
then, he also has a a bird mask, and red hair peeking out from his hood. wait, red hair?
on his muscular arms, is nothing but a damsel in distress looking at him with so much adoration. much like to the expressions you’ve had with the ladies whenever you ramble about the popular book that diluc has been curious on ever since forever—
oh.
diluc raises his head slowly, and sees you fumble over you words. “mr. darknight hero, i apologize—!”
As a maid of the esteemed House Ragnvindr, you take pride in your work.
There is much to do around the Dawn Winery estate. Sheets to hang so that they could dry in the cooling winds, shopping for ingredients for breakfast, lunch and dinner, stopping by Good Hunter when Adelinde requests specific meals, managing deliveries to Angel’s Share…
It’s quite a tiring ordeal.
But— There is respite. There is rest for the mind, for the body, for your eyes. Hell, you could even describe it as healing for the soul if you truly give in to all of those less than appropriate whims and thoughts.
And that soothing rest for your very being came in the form of Master Diluc himself.
The crimson-haired gentleman, the dashing claymore-wielder, the strikingly handsome Master of House Ragnvindr— Goodness, you could go on and on for forever.
He was just so attractive.
“(name), what’s Master Diluc really like?” Moco’s question is far too offhand, far too unexpected for the you who was too busy trying to swallow your lunch.
“Ahh, that’s right!” Hillie cuts in, her hands clapping together in thought. “You usually attend to him for the night shifts, right? Adelinde said that you’d fit perfectly since you’ve known him since young.”
“Uhm—“ A hurried swallow. “Normal, I suppose?”
“Ahhn! That’s not what we mean, you know?” Moco huffs, an elbow on the table as she leans forward, a pout on her face. “Since you’ve known him for so long, I thought we’d hear something juicier.”
“Moco, pressing for things like that won’t get us anywhere. It’s rude.” Hillie has to apologize on both of their behalves, it seems.
But— Interesting things about Master Diluc? What information could you possibly have about the little boy you’ve grown up with? It’s all run-of-the-mill, normal everyday things despite your familiarity with the Young Master.
(Normal only because it was you, you suppose. But there is one specific thing you’ve had a gripe with lately…)
“Uhm… Master Diluc doesn’t know how handsome he is?”
“Eh?! Really?!”
——
“Welcome home, Master Diluc.” You smile, bowing as you greet him by the door.
“Mm. I’m back.” You can hear how the door shuts behind him, how he had gripped at his shoulder as he rolled his arm, soothing the potential ache there as you take a mental note for Adelinde later.
“And just Diluc is fine.”
And you bow once more, choosing to ignore his little comment before you move forth to help him shed his coat, watching the way his biceps flexed even when hidden under his dress shirt, how the dim lights of the mansion just so perfectly highlighted the hidden muscle just beneath— Just barely out of your reach.
(Oh, how you would die just to get a chance to feel him up to your heart’s content. You do already get to brush against him when helping to do up his ties, or brush his hair— But; oh, those muscles—)
“Master Diluc.” Your gaze is still politely pointed downwards, his coat already in your hands as you secretly marvel at the warmth of his clothing. “Would you like dinner first? Or would you rather have a bath prepared?”
And he takes a moment to think, messing with the hairtie of his low ponytail as he undoes the knot, letting crimson red flow down his shoulders and cascade down his broad back.
(Master Diluc is so unsparingly sexy…! Please, please undress even more!)
“And, please, (name). We’ve known each other long enough for you to not have any formalities with me.”
“Oh, but Master Diluc…” You want to pout, to complain that it isn’t right. But you have a plan to enact, no? One concocted by the brilliant minds of Hillie, Moco and yourself.
“You’re just too handsome for me to address you casually.”
And you bow once more, seemingly a bit too happy as you hum, daringly dismissing yourself before you cringe and cry about this dumb plan later.
(Unfortunately for you, you missed the sight of a far too stunned Diluc Ragnvindr, too lost in what he just heard that he had frozen still, hands halfway undoing the cuffs of his sleeves, and ears so red that it blended into his hair.)
——
And this plan continues— Even in the early mornings when Adelinde was the one overseeing duties, somehow roped into this silly plan.
“Master Diluc, you look rather dashing today.” She nods at him in approval as she bows, politely watching as he partakes in breakfast. “Even more so now that you’re eating properly.”
“I see.” Strangely unaffected so far, it seems. You’re peeking out from a hallway’s corridor as you watch the exchange, curling your hand into a fist as you pump it into the air.
It’s time to work hard again today! For Master Diluc’s sake!
“Old folk like us do love it when you handsome young’uns have such drive in the vineyards, Master Diluc.”
A curt nod from the man himself as he continues to assist the more elderly of his employees.
“It’s not a big deal. Quality checks on the inventory are due in time.”
“Master Diluc! There’s no need for such a good-looking lad like you to help with those!”
A blink, and a tilt of his head as he lifts the heavy crate like it was nothing, sleeves rolled up to reveal deliciously thick forearms.
“It seemed that you were struggling, though. Do file a formal request to Adelinde, I’ll have more helpers hired.”
“Oh, oh! Even though Klee thinks Big Brother Diluc is kinda weird and grumpy—!” The Spark Knight herself even makes an appearance before him. “Klee still thinks you’re handsome!”
“Is that so?” He had kneeled down to her level on one knee, so politely receiving the sweet flower that she had picked as he held it gently in his hand. “I thank you, then.”
This plan… Doesn’t seem to be the most effective. And you nearly want to sulk even as Klee rapidly blinks at you with both eyes from her distance— Her signal to you after you both found out she couldn’t wink.
Which prompts the crimson-haired man to turn around— Only to see absolutely nobody there.
So, the only way to confirm if your silly plan did any good?
“Oh, Master Diluc!” It’s you who plops down on the seat right in front of him, dressed down into your civilian wear at the Angel’s Share as you smile up at him, all happy grin and upturned eyes.
“How was your day today?”
“It was…” You even watch as his pretty eyes narrow, the frown on his features ever present as he wipes down the glass. “Normal.”
That’s it? That’s all you get after all that effort?
(Master Kaeya did teach you to be careful with your words, after all. But to be honest; you like being straightforward with your handsome Master Diluc.)
“You’re so handsome, Master Diluc.” A dreamy sigh as you touch your cheek, taking the time to admire your all too attractive employer.
“If only I had more off days so that I could come watch you more…”
And Diluc was already certain you had a hand in today beforehand, but hearing you directly confess something like that to him is—
“I just think it’s a shame you’re unaware of how handsome you are, Master Diluc.” There’s a twinkle in your eye as you say it, still smiling; yet quickly turning into a cute pout.
“You’re just too beautiful—“
And Diluc Ragnvindr himself thinks he might overload, the heat starting to creep up his spine and grip at his shoulders, towering up his neck and spidering to his ears.
“Oh, Master Diluc! You look really cute like that—“ You didn’t even know he could make that kind of expression.
And, if it was even possible— He had grown even redder. His ears practically burning as the cloth he was holding in one hand alights with a flame, the smoke being the first thing you would’ve noticed had the glass in his hand not shattered.
“M-Master Diluc?!”
It seems your plan is only effective with you involved.
——
(“Our Master Diluc cannot feel that way! We must assure him!”
“Archons, that’s easier said than done.”
“What about convincing Adelinde to place mirrors everywhere?”
“Nobody wants that…”
“Photos of Master Diluc’s loveliness?”
“That sounds… Almost stalker like.”
Ah. Your hands clap together as an idea pops into your mind.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who you befriended when you offered him a lollipop in return of him helping you tie your shoelaces. he wasn't sure why that small act of kindness stuck with him, but now, years later, he realises that was the moment he first felt his heart skip a beat.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who starts to like the taste of macarons when you bring him one on a quiet afternoon. he’s never been a fan of sweets, but the way you look at him, expectant and eager, makes him want to savour every little bite.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who never quite understood the appeal of candy or sugary treats. yet, the sweetness started to take on new meaning when he found himself associating it with you.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who starts looking forward to every excuse to be near you, even in the smallest ways. whether it’s offering to carry your books or walking you home, he finds himself subtly inching closer to you bit by bit.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who, as you both grow older, notices how much you've changed and matured, yet the softness and kindness in your eyes remains the same.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who, by now, knows he’s deeply in love with you.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who finally realises the meaning behind the phrase "distance makes the heart grow fonder" when you had to leave for your studies, the days feeling longer and quieter without your presence by his side.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who never thought he'd miss the simple things until every corner of his life felt empty without you.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who finds himself thinking about you more often than he expected, longing for the moments when you'd be back, when he'd be able to see your smile again.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who feels a rush of emotions flood over him when he sees you again after many years, the familiar ache in his chest resurfacing, yet stronger now, as he realises just how much he's missed you.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who can hardly hide the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips as he catches sight of you, his heart racing just as it did all those years ago.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who thinks you taste just like candy when you both share your first kiss, the sweetness lingering on his lips as he’s caught off guard by how soft and warm you feel against him.
childhood sweetheart!alhaitham who thinks he’s the luckiest man in the world when you said yes to his proposal.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when being assigned a joint research project with a very attractive haravatat student proves to be more distracting than you ever anticipated
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: akademiya!student alhaitham x akademiya!student reader, afab!reader, established relationship (early stages), secret relationship, sex in the desert, flirting, playful banter, casual nudity, no preparation, rough fucking, multiple positions, creampie, not proofread. obv they are adults. 2.1k wc MDNI. 18+ ONLY. | masterlist
reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
The heat had already taken hold of you this morning.
Even before you opened your eyes, the desert sun had crept into the makeshift tent, meandered across your skin, and clung to the bedding beneath you. Outside, you could hear the wind humming in a lulling rhythm but the air inside was still heavy—scented faintly of canvas, sand, and Alhaitham.
Officially, this trip was sanctioned by the Akademiya to catalog ruins and decipher inscriptions long buried in the dunes. Your joint project culminated in months of preparation but between your academic pursuits, you and Alhaitham fell into the trap of proximity, lured by the temptation of wandering eyes and coy smiles exchanged over the rim of coffee cups.
Long nights spent under oil lamps became less about studying and more about the rush it gave you when your knees brushed beneath low tables. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on reading when Alhaitham sat so close that his scent clouded you entirely.
Wandering eyes turned to coy smiles turned to lingering touches turned to… well.
Such distractions would be frowned upon by the Akademiya, yes, but how could you resist when Alhaitham treated you like you were the most fascinating discovery he had ever encountered? You both agreed on discretion to save yourself from the mortification of other scholars and seniors. They didn’t need to know about his sweet confession and the many other things you both got up to when nothing but the stars could witness you.
So unofficially—this trip was the perfect excuse to stay tangled together despite the sweltering heat.
You blinked against the wedge of sunlight, rolling over to a very bare Alhaitham sprawled beside you, one arm tucked lazily behind his head, the other resting just centimetres from your waist.
“Morning,” his voice was thick with sleep but when your eyes met, you saw that his expression was immensely not.
“What’s got you so focused?” you said groggily, propping yourself on your elbow as you faced him. “Already thinking about all the hard work waiting for us today?”
Your clothes were still discarded from the night before, sitting in a crumpled heap near the corner of your bedroll. Perhaps the events of last night were why he was looking at you with that slanted smile.
“Do you always think about work the moment you open your eyes?” he replied, tracing small circles on you.
“Someone has to keep us on task,” you shot back, raising a brow.
“I didn’t realise I was sharing a tent with a Matra.”
Of the 20 languages he knew, the same mouth rendered him incapable of completing this project in a timely manner—what should have been done two days ago was instead spent with his tongue on your skin.
Not that you had many complaints.
“Mm,” he added. “And here I thought mornings were for recharging, not nagging.”
“For someone who implores efficiency in all things,” you said, poking his nose, “You spend a suspicious amount of time lying around. Observing me isn’t going to help your thesis.”
“Observing you is a worthwhile distraction actually,” his hand began to slip onto the bare curve of your hip, “In fact, I think you’re my most compelling subject.”
“I would pay you sacks of mora to include that in your report,” you retorted, clicking your tongue with false annoyance, but you were too focused on something else to actually care.
“I’ll pass,” he tipped his chin at you, “Instead of mora, another thorough exploration should suffice.”
“You’re avoiding work.”
“I prefer to think of it as redefining priorities.”
“Oh? And what’s at the top of that list now, Mr. Alhaitham?” You felt wrapped in warmth but you weren’t sure if it was from the desert or his fingers settling between your thighs.
“Must you know?” He pressed his body against you, “It seems to me you don’t think we can afford to delay.”
Suddenly, the tent felt smaller, and something familiar coiled low in your belly. You let out a soft sigh, shifting closer to him, “Enough.”
The word felt hollow, even to your own ears.
He not only decided he wanted a repeat of last night (and the night before) but also the right to brag about passing with flying colours even when he was buried inside you during the most crucial part of the research.
It became a cycle—he apologised for keeping you distracted and you forgave him by moaning his name.
Never one to be so sexually inclined but now he understood why men sculpted monuments to their obsessions, why poets spilled ink in worship of carnal desires. Lust was not a sin because it was tempted, but because it was consumed. However, the way Alhaitham consumed you was completely intentional.
You were no different from his books. He spread you open, studied you, and read every inch of you all the same.
“I personally think we have plenty of time,” he leaned forward, slowly grazing his lips across your neck before kissing your pulse point. “Trust me.”
And trust him you did.
The world outside was quickly forgotten after he turned you on your back. Your words died in your throat as he hovered above you, capturing you in a careful kiss that tasted of salt and skin.
There was plenty of time in the way his fingers coveted pleasure out of you.
There was plenty of time in the way he mapped your jaw, your neck, and your collarbone with love bites. Like you were something so desirable to him.
Beads of sweat rolled down your temple as the tip of his cock shallowly pressed your entrance. Your mouth fell open—the friction was maddening, and every inch of you clung to him. Even when his lips ghosted the swell of your chest, he was lucky your skin was there to swallow his quiet grunts each time his hips moved against your tight hole.
“Patience,” he said when you instinctively arched your back, though his own breathing was uneven. Already, his hair was tousled and damp from the heat of your bodies mingling and you felt his length throbbing on your thigh. He was so hard, you couldn’t help but wonder if the one who actually needed patience was him.
You couldn’t hold back a giggle. “Speak for yourself,” you said, swiveling your hip upwards. A groan left his lips so quickly you saw a blush spread across his cheeks. “You’re barely holding it together.”
He grumbled in response. “You find joy in others’ misery.”
“Not at all.”
Although, your teasing wasn’t for naught. Alhaitham wasn’t exactly famous for bedding women so seeing you stripped of everything that made you prim and proper left him craving you that much more. “You should take it as a compliment that I—”
“So I’m the problem?” you laughed under him to mask the flutter in your stomach.
“Precisely.” You were glad he remained obstinate even when he so lewdly towered over you. “You’re in such a hurry this morning. If you want to be reckless, I won’t be blamed for the consequences.”
Then a strategic purse of lips followed suit, “I thought you enjoyed my patience.”
Patience. That damned word again.
Screw patience. Whatever consequence he was referring to was burning away any semblance of patience you might have had left. Thus far, he had taken his time with you but he had only taken his time with you. If he could be more crude, you wanted to see it—feel it.
“Alhaitham,” his entire name rolled off your tongue. Quick and demanding. Your tone only fueled the fire in his seafoam eyes. “Stop talking.”
The end of your words dissolved into a gasp as he thrust into you, hard and sudden, stretching you with a fervor you hadn’t felt before.
His muscles flexed while you dragged your nails down his spine, closing your legs around him for even an ounce of stability. The rhythm he set was already so relentless that his hands gripped your thighs, pulling them higher around his waist to drive himself deeper, and the change in angle made all sound catch in your throat.
“Haitham—!” a cry rippled from how hips were snapping against yours with a pace that was anything but patient. He had accepted your unspoken challenge so quickly, that nothing would have prepared you.
Your head swam.
The wet, sloppy slaps of skin meeting skin filled the tent, blending in with your jagged moans and his lower grunts. No part of his brain wasn’t thinking about how soaked you already were, how you welcomed him so easily before he slipped—no—pushed it in.
His hair clung to his forehead, every movement felt tight and addictive. When he leaned down, his lips brushed the shell of your ear, “Is this fast enough for you?”
You could only whimper in response, feeling your toes curl as his hoarse voice and your own pleasure consumed you.
He shifted, pulling you onto your side and hooking your leg over his shoulder. The new position sent another shockwave through you, and your priceless whines filled the small space as he drove into you over and over again.
The heat of the tent seemed endless, but so did the hunger between you. Alhaitham’s pace never truly slowed—each time your whines softened, each time you thought the storm of his touch subsided, he just tossed you into a new position, kindling the fire all over again.
“I want to hear you,” he growled while his chest was flushed against your back. Reaching to lift your leg so his heavy cock could invade you deeper, you tried to muffle your moans into the bedding. But he grabbed your chin, tilting you to look at him, “Head up.” He half-chuckled, “You were so mouthy before. What happened to that?”
Before you could answer—or think—he shifted again, this time unsteadily pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dug into the bedding but at that point, holding yourself upright proved difficult. His hands gripped your waist, guiding you to ride him as his mouth leisurely latched onto the peak of your breast. The combination left you shuddering, clinging to his shoulders as his fingers pressed bruises into your hips.
“Did you know,” he slurred against your skin, “that you’re terrible and incredible?” His praise made your cheeks burn but terrible? Terrible was the way he fucking you so hard you could barely roll your hips.
“Y-You might want to refresh yourself,” you chewed your bottom lip from yet another hard thrust, “On the meaning of ‘terrible.’” You could feel the remnants of your previous orgasms dripping down on him, “Because that’s you.”
Time blurred. You lost count of the positions, of the way he had you on all fours only to have you back in his arms moments later, of how many times you greedily begged for more. Every touch was electric; if only you could clutch him closer. The noises were shameless and the scent of filthy sex and sweat was nothing shy of erotic.
When he pinned you beneath him again, you felt him stiffen. Every inch that sunk into you felt more desperate and even the way he called your name sounded huskier. You could have sworn the tent walls were ruffling in sync from his losing control.
Your lips parted in a silent scream and with a final throb around his cock and a deep drawn-out groan in your ear, he released inside you for the first time. Your body drew out his pleasure as his forehead pressed against your shoulder. His laboured breathing told you everything about the ecstasy he was experiencing, like his body and brain were struggling to stay connected. Finally, he pulled out, trembling and sensitive, and collapsed beside you who was still panting.
Ultimately you got what you wanted: unfiltered crude sex with your insufferably hot research partner. Your pulse ran wild.
A hazy silence settled, broken only by his stroking your hand to check if you were okay. Part of him wondered if he went a bit too far which you wordlessly answered by rubbing him back. He held you, and like last night (and the night before), you lay glistening and tangled together in the aftermath.
It was a perfect system, a hopeless, delirious cycle.
“Well,” he said as he returned to tracing circles on you, “I think that concludes this morning’s exploration.”
You rolled your eyes, still dizzy and breathless, “Do you think the Akademiya will accept that as your final thesis?”
His lips quirked into a rare, little grin. “Hard to say. Who knows which of the sages might secretly be perverts?”
“Alhaitham,” you groaned, swatting weakly at his chest.
But then his arms tightened around you. And you didn’t mind. You didn’t protest. You believed you might have even loved being clad in nothing, lying in a cramped, too-warm tent that reeked in the musk of what transpired.
There was, as he said, plenty of time to finish the project. And if this was part of the process, you weren’t in any hurry.
a/n: idk if i love or hate this but it’s so hot where i am rn and the only thing i can do to distract myself from perishing from the heat is to pretend i’m here!!!
— Concept: Imagine the Traveler being aware of everyone's fondness towards him, but he only has one priority in mind, and that's finding Lumine.
Good thing he has his older sibling looking after him!
"Well, Traveler, I truly appreciate this night out..."
Oh, this is leading towards a route he's trying to avoid at all costs.
He hates having to skirt away from advances and seeing their dismayed expressions, but this just isn't the right time.
The beautiful atmosphere within Chinju Forest is about to be destroyed and he almost feels bad, but alas.
"If you so wish, I can invite you to..."
He can't let the fond gleam in the Kamisato lady's eyes stay longer than necessary.
The blond smiles in apology. Ah, he really hates being the bearer of bad news...
"If we have the time, then we will return to Inazuma,"
His older sister's voice and presence brings immediate relief and he holds back the sigh, fearing that it may be misunderstood.
[Name] places her hand on his shoulder, her passive face meeting the Kamisato's surprised one.
"But now, we have our own matters to tend to," they both don't miss the latter's crestfallen expression, "It was a pleasant festival though, our thanks for the invitation."
[Name] looks down at her brother. "Shall we get going, then?"
Aether jolts. That's quick. But he's not about to complain when his skin is saved once again, for the—fourteenth time now.
With a nod and a wave, he all but scurries to his sibling's side, and the two walks away from the small stream by the forest, brisk and mayhap a little too indifferent.
A sigh rings out—and another one follows.
Before she knows it, Ayato, who has accompanied the older sister in the festival, steps out with a small frown.
"It's a shame we can't spend time with them for much longer, they're a delightful pair."
Ayaka shortly realizes that they're both equally enamored with the pair of Travelers.
a/n: it's alright, kamisatos, it's alright. maybe next time you'll get a chance with them. ah, ah, just imagine the times MC has taken Aether away from a love confession and vice versa- oh well-
ah! for more of this particular universe's content, search [ m-sister! ] in my tags! :>
can i ask al haitham jealous? Perhaps the reader is busy with someone from the academy, and that makes Al Haitham jealous
A/n: Ohhhh I can soo see that! It would be quite hilarious too honestly 🤭 anyways I hope you have a great day and thank for requesting! Enjoyyy~
Pairings: Al haitham x gn!reader
Warnings: none, just Al haitham, being a little too jealous
Al haitham had enough. Of course, when you see the esteemed man from the Haravatat you could think he's very smart, wich he is, he looks so wise and very collected, and not only that, he looks like a very rational person, right? Well, yes he is indeed like that, but not when someone is too familiar around his s/o.
He was doing his daily check up to see if everything was right in the Akademiya, and then he just spotted his s/o deciphering some ancient runes. Of course, since his s/o was such a smart and beautiful person, of course someone would always accompany her. And this time, a fellow student was right next to her leaning towards her head as he tried to read the runes from her book.
Al haitham wasn't jealous, he knew his s/o loved him the most, and he had trust in them. But was it really that wrong to feel a little on edge when another guy was so close to his one and only?
He was about to walk to them but sadly, luck wasn't on his side and he heard one of his assistants call him.
"Sir Al Haitham! Could you please look over these documents and sign them? They need to be send to her eminence, Lesser Lord Kusanali." she said and he stopped looking at her. As much as he hated to leave his s/o like that, he had to read these papers since they were meant for the dendro archon. As he sighted he took the papers and he sat at a table near to read these papers. After he carefully signed all of them he handed them to his assistant.
Of course, the whole time he gave small glances towards his s/o in the hopes that the student left, yet he was still too close to them. Not bearing the tension anymore he approached them and looked down at them.
"Yeah that must mean 'sun' but- Oh, sir Al Haitham I didn't expect to see you here today." the student said and Al haitham nodded coldly.
"Yes I had some business here and noticed you both working on some runes." he said and Y/N turned to look at him surprised.
"Oh Al Haitham! I'm glad you came! Perhaps you could look over these texts? We tried to decipher them as good as possible." they said and he looked trough the translations.
"Hmm I'm not sure if it's good, I do have some books that can check the answer in my office, Y/N, you can accompany me there to see." he said and they nodded.
"Ah alright! Thank you for your help Ahsan!" Y/N said and the boy smiled.
"Anything for you Y/N!" he nodded and Al Haitham just looked away visibly annoyed.
As they left he didn't say anything more and Y/N looked at him worried.
"Haitham, is something bothering you?" they said and he didn't even look at them simply entering in the office. As Y/N entered too they were about to let go of the door they just closed when something pushed them to the wall pining them.
"Huh?! Haitham? What are you doing?" they said confused by their boyfriends behavior.
"Why do you allow others to approach you so closely?"he asked looking down at them and they just stared at his eyes.
"Huh? You mean Ahsan? Well, truth to be told I wasn't very comfortable with how close he got but, I can't be rude to him either out of the blue, and if he would came closer yeah I would told him it bothers me but like this I just, couldn't tell him, I felt too rude for saying that. "Y/N said and his eyes softened. Of course they are like that, Al haitham is almost surprised he got so annoyed at this when he knows very well that Y/N is too kind to offend anyone and they would just bear all the struggles alone rather than voicing their thoughts.
"I know you don't like to make remarks towards the others, but if you don't feel comfortable, you have to act sweetheart, I may not be around you all the time, and some people are way worse, they wouldn't stop even if you told them too, that's why you have to be careful. "he said touching their forehead with his.
"I know, but you don't have to worry, in my eyes, you the only one for me." they said cupping his cheek with one hand and closing their eyes. Al Haitham smiled and leaned down for a kiss. After they broke away Y/N giggled softly.
"Whats so funny?" Al haitham asked puzzled and they just chuckled.
"Did you really have some books to check those runes or it was just a good old excuse to take me away from that student?" they said and his cheeks were dusted with a light pink shade.
"Uhm... Of course I have them. I'm not that, jealous after all." he lied and Y/N just smiled.
"Oh sure your not." they said shaking their head helplessly.
