❤️

And your mind would repeat that truth, a mantra of clarity among the chaos, only to be overshadowed by the intense pleasure wrapping around you like a warm, seductive blanket. Why did he have to make things so difficult?

He was the son of a bitch, a character that could easily be described as a worthless bastard. He was a despicable scoundrel, the kind of man who had a magnetic pull that you simply couldn’t help but want to fuck.

Damn his charming face, perfectly nestled between your curves… to hell with the cocky grin he wore when you’d shiver slightly at a gentle kiss he’d press to your collar bone.

How could he be such a tease at a moment like this, when everything felt so intense and raw? What, does he get off to it, toying with your emotions?

You despised him for it.

It was, to put it mildly, humiliating to be caught in this web of conflicting feelings... yet, at the same time, it felt incredible. There was something so liberating about allowing yourself to release those pent-up emotions, to let go of the control you usually held so tightly.

And let’s not pretend for a second that you didn’t have the same effect on him. You knew deep down that your presence stirred something within him, igniting a fire that he tried so hard to suppress…

Each touch of your fingers on his skin elicited a soft groan from him. Every passionate kiss you pulled him into only intensified the pressure in his pants. He’d grind against you like a wild creature, tear your clothes off like a savage, yet remain as docile as a puppy whenever your dreamy gaze fell upon him. You appeared more stunning than he was willing to confess…

“Fuck…please, keep looking at me...”

He’d beg you for more, his voice a mixture of desperation and desire. Could you even begin to imagine it? A guy like him, the one you had always despised so intensely, now reduced to pathetic mess wanting your attention? It was almost laughable, yet there was something undeniably captivating about it. And despite your better judgment, you would find yourself giving in.

You were both chasing the same thrill he craved, a shared hunger. Your gaze remained locked on him, as he gradually slide into your warmth, both of you letting out soft moans in unison.

You’d try to convince yourself that this was just a way to relieve stress, an escape from the chaos of life, that it held no real significance, that what was unfolding right now was just a momentary lapse in judgment. But then, the kiss he placed on your cheek, ”You feel so good...shit, I hate that you do...”, would stir a whirlwind of emotions in your mind.

He’d move at his own pace, but truly you were in control, your eyes telling him everything he needed to know.

“Like this? F-fuck…ya like that?” He’d ask, but you’d only groan softly in response.

With your hand pressed against his chest, you swiftly changed positions, your hips pushing firmly into him, prompting him to throw his head against the cushions beneath him.

“O-oh.. holy shit— fuck…it feels soso..mhhf..” he could barely speak from the newfound pleasure.

You would never expect to hear such a sound from someone like him, a person who typically exuded an air of confidence and strength. Yet here he was...so vulnerable, so weak, so pathetic. It gave you a sense of power, fuck— it turned you on to be able to look down on him like he was nothing. reduced to the worthless piece of shit he truly was.

“Yeahhh…ride it like that baby— please, fuck..don’t stop…”

And when you both came,

You’d find yourselves entangled in each others arms. Enemies am I right? Sometimes confused for lovers.

“Ha…Same time next week, yeah?”

“…Go suck a dick asshole.”

“Fuck, you’re still hot when you’re mad..”

It’s not really sleeping when you’re with your enemy.

characters: tengen, EREN, jean, PORCO, floch, TSUKISHIMA, ukai, kuroo, IWAIZUMI, suna, ATSUMU, osamu, NAOYA, GOJO, MEGUMI, NAOYA x2, takaba, CHILDE, kaeya, LOHEN, ACE, paulie, SHANKS, sabo, kid, PHAINON, blade, MYDEI, bakugo, SHINSO, HAWKS

@sy3tii || pls do not rewrite, translate, modify or copy my content - I’ll cry.

want more? check out:

“Hands behind your back,” he orders, voice tight with that adrenaline edge. When you hesitate, he thrusts deeper, making you choke slightly. “Now.” You obey, lacing your fingers together against your lower back. The vulnerability spikes through you—blind, bound by your own grip, completely at his mercy. He notices. It shouldn’t surprise you that he always notices everything.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, and you feel the vibration of his thighs against your shoulders as he starts to roll his hips. “You can’t see what I’m doing. You don’t know when I’ll—” He thrusts hard, sudden, cutting off his own words with a sharp inhale. You whimper around his length, the sound muffled, and he laughs—breathless, unhinged.

“Scared?” he asks, but he’s already answering for you, rocking his hips in a rhythm you can’t predict. “You’re shaking. I can feel it.”

You pull back enough to gasp, “Lohen—”

“Quiet.” He pushes back in, deeper this time, hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes water behind the blindfold, tears soaking into the fabric. “Just take it. Take whatever I give you.”

The darkness makes every sensation razor-sharp—the stretch of your jaw, the salt taste spreading across your tongue, the way his fingers suddenly grip your hair hard and pull you exactly where he wants. You can’t brace for it. Can’t prepare. When he hits a particularly sensitive spot and shudders, you feel it in the tremor of his legs, the catch in his breath, before you even register the movement.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he observes, voice strained. One of his hands leaves your hair—you didn’t notice until the absence—and suddenly his thumb is pressing against your lower lip, stretched tight around him, glossed with spit and arousal. “From this. From not knowing.” You moan—can’t help it—and the vibration makes him curse, hips stuttering. “Say it,” he demands, pulling back slightly, giving you just enough air to speak, your chin damp with your own saliva. “Say you want me to keep going.”

“I want—” Your voice cracks. You swallow, trying to ground yourself in the dark. “I want you to keep going. Please.”

“Please,” he repeats, mocking, but there’s something wrecked in his tone too. “Since you asked so nicely—”

Lohen surges forward, and you weren’t ready, weren’t ready—your hands clench behind your back, knuckles white, as he uses your mouth with abandon. The sounds he makes are animal, torn loose, echoing in the dark space around you. Frost crackles somewhere nearby—you can hear it, feel the sudden drop in temperature—but you can’t see where, can’t see anything.

“F-Fuck—I’m gonna come,” he warns, but it’s barely a warning at all, happening almost immediately after. His grip becomes brutal, holding you in place as he spills down your throat, shouting something wordless and raw. You swallow convulsively, gasping when he finally pulls free, still blind, still lost, your whole body thrumming with the aftershock of surrender.

His thumb traces your swollen lips again, gentle now, almost reverent. “Still scared?” Lohen asks softly.

You shake your head, breathless. “No.”

“Liar.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Good. Keep the blindfold on. We’re not done.”

⋮ ⌗ ┆ SCARAMOUCHE. 

The wax drips from his fingers first—melted down just enough to burn without blistering. He’s been watching you for ten minutes, silent, cataloging every shift of your weight, every time your eyes dart to the candle and away.

“Afraid?” he asks, and the word sounds like an insult.

You don’t answer. You know better. You just lay on his bed, completely naked and at his mercy.

“Your hands are shaking.” He notes it clinically, like he’s observing mold growing on spoiled fruit. “Pathetic.”

The first drop hits your sternum—hot, shocking, spreading like a brand. You gasp, arching slightly, and his free hand comes down hard on your shoulder, pinning you flat against the mattress. “Don’t move.” His voice is flat, bored. “Unless you want it somewhere worse.”

Another drop, higher this time, tracing a path toward your throat. He watches your face with detached fascination, like he’s studying an insect under glass. When you whimper, his lips curl—not quite a smile, something sharper. “You’re making that noise again,” he observes, tilting his head. “The one you think is subtle. It’s not.”

“Scara—”

“Don’t.” The word cuts clean. He leans closer, the candle’s flame casting wild shadows across his features. “Don’t say my name like that. Like you know me. Like you have any claim.”

The wax falls again—your inner thigh, dangerously close. The heat makes you jerk, and his grip on your shoulder tightens, fingers digging into bone. “I said don’t move.” He sounds almost tired. “Are you always this disobedient, or is it special for me?”

You try to hold still as the next drops come—irregular, unpredictable. He varies the height, the angle, making it impossible to brace. Some barely warm, others searing. Your skin flares red where it lands, cooling into rigid patterns he could trace if he wanted. He doesn’t. “You’re crying,” he states, as if remarking on the weather. “How dramatic.”

“They’re not—” You start, then stop when his eyes narrow.

“Not what? Not tears?” He drips wax directly onto your nipple, and you cry out, the sound breaking in your throat. “They look like tears to me. But then, you’d know better, wouldn’t you? You’re the one lying here, taking it, needing it.”

His thumb swipes roughly across your cheek, smearing the wetness there. He looks at it on his skin with something like disgust. “Don’t mistake this for care,” he says quietly, deadly. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because I enjoy watching you unravel. Because you look ruined like this.”

He shifts the candle, and you see his intention—lower, centered. You tense, your spread legs flinching to almost close them, and he notices immediately.

“Ah.” That almost-smile again. “There it is. The fear.” He holds the wax suspended, letting you anticipate, letting you squirm. “You think I’ll stop if you ask nicely? You think I’m kind ?”

Scaramouche doesn’t wait for an answer. The wax falls, and you scream—he’s planned this, aimed for the most sensitive skin above your puffy clit, the place that makes your vision white out at the edges. Your body bucks upward involuntarily, and he lets you this time, watching with those empty indigo eyes as you shudder through the aftershock.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and the word sounds like mockery because it is. “Look at you. Covered in me. Marked in me.”

He sets the candle aside—not out of mercy, you know, but because he’s finished with that part of the game. His fingers trace the cooled wax on your skin, picking at the edges, peeling it away in strips that pull at your flesh and make you gasp. “Sensitive,” he observes, flicking the hardened wax off your nipple. You flinch, and he catches your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Still here? Good. I was starting to think you’d float away on me.”

“Why—” Your voice cracks, so you try again. “Why are you doing this?”

His expression shutters—there and gone, faster than you can track. He releases your jaw like touching you has become suddenly distasteful. “Don’t,” he says, and for the first time there’s something raw beneath the armor, something he hates you for hearing. He leans down, closer until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. Don’t pretend this is something it’s not.”

He stands, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from his clothes, rebuilding the wall brick by brick. “Clean yourself up,” he says, turning away. “You’re disgusting.”

But he pauses at the door, hand on the frame, and doesn’t leave. Not yet.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ ALBEDO. 

The leather is soft against your wrists—Albedo’s own design, you realize, something he whipped up in his workshop when the idea first took hold. He buckles them with the same care he uses for delicate glassware, checking the fit, the give, the way your pulse flutters beneath his thumb.

“Too tight?” he asks, and his voice carries that particular cadence—gentle, but laced with something else. Curiosity, maybe. The same tone he uses when examining a new mineral formation.

You test the restraints, your bare knees digging into the cold floor of his lab in Dragonspine, the ache only adding to the pleasure. “No.”

“Good.” He doesn’t step back. Albedo rarely wastes movement. Instead, he reaches for a small vial on the table beside you—clear liquid, unlabeled. “I want you to tell me when the sensation changes. Not what it is. Just when.”

He uncorks it, and the smell hits you immediately—herbal, sharp, something that makes your skin prickle in anticipation. He dips two fingers in, watching the liquid coat his skin with the fascination of a man observing chemical reaction.

“Albedo—”

“Patience,” he murmurs, not unkindly. He traces a line from your collarbone to your navel, and the liquid—whatever it is—starts warm, almost pleasant, before shifting, tingling, spreading like slow fire.

You gasp, arching against the restraints. They hold you firm, engineered to his exact specifications.

“There,” he says, noting something in a small notebook he produces from seemingly nowhere. “The transition point.”

“You’re taking notes?”

“Observation is meaningless without record.” He sets the book aside and picks up another vial—this one amber, thicker. “Unless you’d prefer I rely on memory? I assure you, my memory is excellent. But I find the act of documentation... focusing.”

He warms the amber liquid between his palms, watching you watch him. There’s that dry humor in his eyes, the mischief buried under layers of courtesy.

“You’re staring,” he observes.

“You’re studying me like a specimen.”

“Not like.” He drips the amber liquid onto your inner thigh, and it feels entirely different—cool, then suddenly, shockingly cold, like ice that burns. You cry out, pulling against the restraints, and they creak but don’t yield. “Exactly. You are my specimen. My subject. My current fascination.”

The cold spreads, numbing and awakening simultaneously, and he watches your face with that hyper-focused intensity—the same look he gets when he’s three days deep into a new theory, forgetting meals, forgetting sleep, forgetting everything but the puzzle in front of him.

“Interesting,” he breathes, leaning closer. His hair brushes your shoulder, golden and soft, his breath warm on your skin. “Your pupils dilated. Respiration increased. But you didn’t ask me to stop.”

“Albedo—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, still gentle, still courteous. “Don’t ask for release yet. I’ve only just begun to understand the pattern.”

He reaches for a third vial—red, viscous—and your stomach tightens with excitement. He notices, of course. He notices everything.

“Fear?” he asks, tilting his head. “Or anticipation? Both produce similar physiological responses. The line between them is... porous.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. The red liquid hits your skin—a drop on your sternum, another on your hip—and it aches, a deep, throbbing heat that seems to sink into muscle, into bone. You whimper, thrashing uselessly against the restraints, and he places one hand flat on your stomach, holding you still with terrifying, effortless strength.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and his thumb traces a circle on your skin, grounding you even as the sensation builds. “Breathe through it. The peak lasts approximately forty seconds. I timed it earlier.”

“You—” You gasp, the heat cresting, overwhelming, the restraints rough on your feverish skin. “You tested this?”

“On myself, of course.” He says it simply, as if it’s obvious. “I wouldn’t subject you to anything I hadn’t experienced. That would be..." He searches for the word, that pragmatic mind sorting through options. “Rude.”

The heat begins to fade, leaving behind a strange, electric sensitivity. Your skin feels raw, awake, every nerve ending exposed. When he runs a single finger down your side, you jolt so hard the restraints sing. “Ah.” That small, dry smile. “Heightened receptivity. The compounds interact synergistically.” He picks up his notebook again, scribbling something. “I suspected they would.”

“You’re going to leave me like this,” you realize suddenly, understanding clicking into place. “Once you figure it out. Once the mystery’s solved.”

He pauses, pen hovering over paper. For a moment, something flickers—genuine emotion, quickly suppressed.

“No,” he says, and his voice is softer now, the courtesy becoming something else. Something almost tender beneath the pragmatism. “Not this time.”

He sets the notebook down and moves between your bound arms, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the steady rhythm of his breath against your lips. His fingers trace the edge of the leather restraint, then slide down to intertwine with yours—intimate, deliberate.

“This particular mystery,” Albedo says, leaning close enough that his words brush your ear, “seems to deepen the more I explore it. Novelty, instead of fading, appears to be... compounding.”

He kisses the corner of your jaw, chaste and devastating. “So I suppose you’re stuck with me. For now.”

“For now,” you repeat, and it sounds like hope.

“Don’t get sentimental,” he warns, but he’s already reaching for another vial, eyes bright with that relentless, beautiful curiosity. “It doesn’t suit either of us. Now—tell me what this one feels like. I’m hypothesizing something entirely new.”

⋮ ⌗ ┆ VARKA. 

The couch groans under his weight when he sits—Varka never just lowers himself anywhere, he settles, claiming space like he was born to fill it. He’s been watching you all evening, you realize, through that lazy half-lidded gaze that misses nothing despite appearances.

“Come here, babe,” he calls, patting his thigh with a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

You approach, hesitant despite the warmth in his voice, and he catches your hand before you can overthink it. His palm engulfs yours—battle-scarred, enormous, capable of wielding a claymore one-handed and yet gentle now as he guides you. “Nervous?” he asks, and the word rumbles in his chest like distant thunder.

“A little,” you admit.

“Good.” He tugs you down across his lap, arranging you with the casual efficiency of a man who knows his own strength intimately and trusts it absolutely. “Means you’re paying attention.”

Your cheek presses against the couch cushion, his thigh solid and warm beneath your stomach. One of his arms drapes across your lower back—heavy, anchoring, possessive in the most affectionate way. You feel small like this, delicate, and he hums approvingly as if hearing the thought.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he observes, and his free hand traces the curve of your ass through your clothes, unhurried, almost absent-minded. “Always plotting, always planning. Even now.” He leans down, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can hear the wheels turning from here, sweetheart.”

“That’s not—” you start, but the first swat cuts you off. It’s not hard—not yet—but the sound cracks loud in the quiet room, and the sting blooms warm across your skin. You gasp, fingers curling into the couch cushion.

“There’s one,” he says, almost conversationally. His hand returns to rub the spot, spreading the heat, and you squirm involuntarily. “You carry the weight of the world in your shoulders, you know. Saw it the moment I walked through the door. You were tense and tight. Like you’re waiting for the next emergency.”

Another swat, harder this time, opposite cheek. You yelp, and he laughs—that full, booming sound that fills whatever space he’s in.

“Better,” he praises. “Let it out. No knights to command here, no crises to manage. Just you and me and the sound of my hand teaching you how to relax.”

“You’re enjoying this,” you accuse, voice muffled against the cushion.

“Absolutely,” he agrees, no shame in it. He spanks you again, a rhythm developing—left, right, center, unpredictable enough to keep you guessing. The heat builds layer by layer, your skin sensitizing, every nerve ending awake and waiting. His hand pauses, resting heavy and warm against your burning skin. You whimper at the absence, and he makes a soft, knowing sound.

“You see right through me, don’t you?” he murmurs, and you know he’s not talking about himself. His thumb traces a slow circle where you’re hot and soaking the fabric of your panties, and you arch into the touch despite yourself. “Let me use your body to quiet your mind. It’s effective. I should know—I’ve used similar techniques on myself. Usually involves climbing something tall and dangerous.”

“You’re comparing spanking me to—ah!”

He lands two in quick succession, sharp and stinging, and you feel the vibration of his laughter through his chest. “To mountaineering? Perhaps.” Varka resumes the rhythm, slower now, each impact deliberate, measured, allowing the sensation to fully land before the next arrives. “Both require trust. Both leave you breathless. Both remind you that you’re alive, flesh and blood and nerve endings, not just a mind carrying responsibilities.”

The heat has spread now, a deep, throbbing warmth that seems to sink into your bones. When he stops to rub your swollen clit again, you moan—can’t help it—and he makes that soft, pleased sound once more.

“There’s my girl,” he says, almost tender. “Gone quiet. Present. Finally stopped planning the next three moves.” His hand lifts, and you tense, waiting, the anticipation stretching taut as a bowstring. He makes you wait, counts to five in a whisper you can barely hear. Then—

The hardest yet, a solid, resounding crack that sends fire radiating through you. You cry out, body jerking, toes curling, and his arm tightens across your back, holding you steady, holding you safe.

“Shh,” he soothes, even as he lands another, and another, building a crescendo you can’t escape, can’t predict, can only feel. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, my love. Let go.”

You do. Somewhere in the haze of heat and sting and his overwhelming presence, you let go. The planning, the worrying, the constant vigilance—it burns away under his hand, reduced to nothing but sensation, submission, and trust.

When he finally stops, your ass is throbbing, tender, and you’re limp across his lap, breathing hard, eyes wet. He gathers you up effortlessly—he makes everything look effortless—and settles you against his chest, enveloping you in arms that could crush stone but choose, instead, to cradle.

“Better?” Varka asks, chin resting on top of your head.

You nod, face buried in his shirt, smelling leather and Mondstadt wind and something uniquely him.

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your hairline, and you feel the smile in it. “Now, I was thinking we could skip dinner and go straight to dessert. Or”—his hand drifts down to cup your heated, sensitive skin between your thighs, making you gasp—“we could stay right here, and I could see what other sounds I can coax out of you. What do you say, sweetheart? Any plans?”

You shake your head, smiling against his chest despite yourself. “No plans.”

“Excellent.” He stands, lifting you with him as if you weigh nothing, and heads toward the bedroom with that familiar, bounding energy. “That’s my favorite answer.”

join the taglist : @ily-phainon @wanprincess @xiaonon @aka-rea

read next ♡

The sharp click of metal rang in the air. Even with his fingers in your mouth, leaving one hand occupied, there wasn't any signs of fumbling around. Instead, you hear leather sliding against fabric as Lohen pulled off his belt. But while panic flooded your chest, another feeling rushed through your quivering, empty hole. The dissonance between mind and body brought a sense of shame— amplified even more as the realization that you can't do anything but stay there and take it dawned.

When Lohen added another finger, there was nothing you can do but choke on it. 

When the rustling of fabric being taken off reached your ears, there was nothing you can do but have your mouth wide open. 

And when something firm and hard rubbed against your bottom lip before plunging inside, there was nothing you can do but take it.

“Yes,” you sputtered immediately. “Archons above, Lohen, I—…” Your voice devolved into a whimper. “I missed you so much.”

“Missed me, huh? Missed the way I fill you up?” His hips were lascivious—this pace was incomprehensible. As he laved his tongue along the back of your furry ear; suckling, kissing, biting; he growled, “I won’t make you wait long at all, Bunny. I’ll fucking give it to you if you want me to.”

Sweet Barbatos—you had missed this terribly. Fucking yourself with that silicone dildo every time you were in heat did nothing but make you miss him more over these past five years. You had almost forgotten how good that flesh of his felt, warm and heavy against your back, pinning you against the mattress with his unmistakable displays of dominance. Where your mind lapsed, your body remembered, your cunt wrapping around him with an unparalleled amount of strength. Lohen panted shamelessly by your ear, continuing to feast on any and every exposed inch of skin he could reach from behind you. You felt one of his knees push yours out further across the sheets, amplifying the sound of sex as it filled the air around you.

“You want it?” he asked hotly.

“Yeah,” you whined. “I do.”

He laughed. “Say less, Princess. You’re gonna fuckin’ get it.”

Your toes curled into the soles of your feet as a series of soft gasps escaped you. Lohen’s hips, which were already plowing you at a mind numbing pace, somehow managed to fuck you even faster. The way he stretched you, how his head jammed right against that spot that made you see stars—it was too much.

And yet, not enough.

“More,” you gasped, tears streaming down your cheeks. Your nails clawed the pillow, your hips tried to buck back into his. “Lohen, give me more.”

“Mm, fuck,” he spat. “You know exactly what to say to me, Bun. You’re so fuckin’ sexy, I can’t stand it.”

“Oh, God,” you sputtered, squirming underneath him. “Lohen, please.”

With a loud snarl, he chomped his teeth into your ear, digging hard enough to draw blood to the surface. You leaned your head back and wailed, feeling the deepening rut of his hips rock the very bed beneath you. As the headboard slammed into the wall, as you worried momentarily that he’d break something, Lohen’s hand reached up, his fingers curling through the gaps of yours.

As your tears flowed down your face, you sobbed like nothing you had ever heard. Your hare was back, he was lavishing you with all the pent up frustrations built over half a decade, and he was giving you exactly what you needed—to be bred, bred, bred.

“Mmgh,” Lohen groaned, his hot mouth releasing the flesh of your ear. “Bunny, I’m gonna cum.”

“Please do, please do, please—.”

The guttural sound he made broke you out of your desperate plea. With a resounding smack! he slammed his hips into yours, making your legs squirm, colors flash over your irises. You felt as though Lohen was lighting a fire within you, and as it blazed, you weren’t certain you’d make it out alive.

“Bun, you…” Lohen let out a shaky whimper. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Lohen,” you sobbed, nodding like it was all you knew. “I will, I promise, I will—.”

Abruptly, he rutted into you again. Taken aback, you strangled the pillow beneath you and let out a loud whine. He did it again, and when you still didn’t cum, he did it one more time. Lohen’s dick was already pulsating within you, spewing his seed into your womb with all the force he could muster, and as he fucked it further into you, he moaned, “You’ve gotta cum for me, Bun.”

You choked on your own sob. Your hips flung back, fighting against the weight of him on top of you, and when he pressed his hand to the back of your neck, you writhed.

Your voice was disjointed. Your head was fuzzy. As it ejected from the depths of your core, wet and sloshing, all you could see in your mind’s eye was him.

He let you struggle and snarl, let you sound like a feral animal as you came with his cock buried inside you. It was vile and unladylike, but Lohen didn’t complain once. You were acting like a wild animal, which was exactly how you knew he preferred you. Tear down those white walls and silver chains imposed upon you since birth—show everyone around you who the real predator was.

“I’m,” you gasped, your voice half-whining, half-growling, “sorry.”

“Nah,” Lohen whispered, his hand stroking down your spine. “Don’t be. You’re perfect like this, Bun.”

“Okay,” you choked out. “If you think so.”

“I know so. Let it out, pretty girl.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back into your skull. “Lohen, I want to have your babies.”

He didn’t relinquish his pressure on you. You writhed harder, trying your best to fuck yourself on his softening length. Hot whines mixed with your feral snarls, and as the bunny ears on your head twitched, Lohen gave you a loving nibble.

“I missed you so much,” you groaned. “If you think you can…just cum in me once…you must not want this as bad as I do.”

Immediately, his cock sprung to life again. He let out a sexy laugh, squeezing your hand so hard, you thought he might be on the brink of flying away from you. The way he nuzzled against your ear, letting out a soft hare chuff all the while, made your cunt throb and squeeze.

“You challenging me, Bun?” he crooned. “Wanna see which one of us taps out first?”

“Until I’m pregnant,” you slurred, drowning in the heat of your body, the heat of his. “I’m not tapping out until I’m pregnant.”

“Sounds like something a good fucking girl would say.”

As his hips rocked back into yours, as he pushed you back into the mattress and plowed away at you all over again, you melted into him, hungry for the night you knew might not ever end.

a/n: i kinda forgot i haven't updated hybrid au in a minute LOL! this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so i hope you enjoyed xD anyway, if you liked what you read, please consider leaving a me a heart! (˶>⩊<˶) ♡ reblogs and comments appreciated! icymi! chai's last lohen post: my lady, lohen suggestive oneshot (300+ notes) masterlist

It's been 2 months since the expedition started, and Lohen wasn't having it. Of course he enjoyed  the thrill of the fight; that was what he enjoyed the most, but... every rush of adrenaline dissipated as soon as it came, leaving a dull sensation all over his body, making him want more every second. He was no stranger to boredom; since he left Mondstadt, he could only think about drowning his thoughts that always brought him to you. His now wife by title and paper, making him feel a little bit hollow on the inside; and by consequence, more ruthless when it came about his training routines.  

Lohen had finally made it back to the camp at Nod Krai after a long day of exploring and patrolling around solo; he chose to be alone this particular day, and why? You may ask. Well, he's been waiting for your letter all day; usually a letter would arrive during the evening every Wednesday, but there was no news about your letter. That thought alone made him feel anxious and achy inside. The camp was quiet, barely any sign of life besides the knight on patrol walking around to keep everyone safe while they sleep. The sound of fire cracking, the warmth of the ambience, and the yellow light brought a feeling of nostalgia to his chest, making him shiver.

"Captain, should I bring a doctor? "You're bleeding, sir..." said a young knight while looking at Lohen worriedly.... "No, this is nothing to worry about!" Part of his own body was covered by the shadows, letting only the lower part of his face be seen, a smile that didn't quite reach his ears noticeable, while his red irises were the only thing visible shining in the dark. "Has there been news?, I've been waiting aaall day for it". Lohen stepped forward into the light of the camp with a more relaxed pose. 

"O-oh, yes! Here is a letter directed to you from your wife. It seemed like something important because the letter was delivered by Master Diluc's falcon--" The knight pulled the letter out of his pocket, and in a second Lohen had already snatched it from his hand, leaving a confused knight looking around for his captain in silence and the sound of hurried steps fading away. 

....

Lohen made it to his camping tent; he was still bleeding but didn't care at all; the pain only made it more exciting as he giggled to himself like a greedy gremlin that stole the most prized possession in the kingdom. He took off most of his uniform, staying with a loose button-up shirt stained by blood, pants, and boots. He plopped himself on the bed and placed a pillow under his chest, kicking his legs back and forth like a high school girl in love, all while opening the letter. 

- How have you been, my love? I'm sorry if I worried you; it wasn't my intention at all. It's been quite a long day for me. I've been helping around to keep my mind busy; keeping Klee entertained while Bennett tries to help me was quite the wild ride I wasn't expecting but fun nonetheless! Anyway... There was a specific reason why it took me quite some time to write this letter, you see. We were walking back from the whispering woods when I felt quite strange; I thought I was going to faint, so Bennett helped me to make it back to the city where Noel took me to the cathedral and, well, Barbara checked what was wrong. 

I honestly thought the effort I made from completing requests from the guild and taking care of Klee and Bennett left me exhausted, so I didn't worry too much; I just wanted to make it back home to write you about my day. I'm rambling too much, I know, but this is important to explain why it took me so long to write. When Barbara checked what was wrong, well. Nothing appeared to be wrong, but... I'm pregnant; that explains why I've been feeling tired and craving random foods almost every hour. That alone should have been a warning sign, but hey, it's my first time being pregnant. I almost passed out because my body, aside from being exhausted, needed far more rest. Barbara was about to scold me for pushing my limits, but she realized I didn't know quite fast when I almost fainted again hahaha. The look on her face makes me laugh so hard every time I remember.  So yeah, you're going to be a daddy. I guess it was to be expected to happen, and we cannot be THAT surprised, you know. I just wished you were here to give you the news face to face. Anyway, goodnight, love. I'll be waiting for your letter tomorrow; be safe. -

...  A screech tore through the camp in the middle of the night "!HOLY FUCKING SHI--" 

--------------------------------------------

7 months passed since your announcement; Lohen tried to focus on his patrols and missions as much as he could, but sometimes it was too hard to concentrate on anything when you were miles and miles away from him; he knew you were safe surrounded by friends and people who love you unconditionally. But still, he feels...guilty. 

He should be there with you to make sure everything runs smoothly, but now he is so far away from you, taking comfort in the letters and photos you send him every week, the perfume on them. To compensate for the lack of an active presence back, he took in a hobby, and that was shopping for items that his baby would use for years to come. He started to take joy in watching and choosing toys and baby clothes to send home, little gifts to add to the nursery you showed him in sketches and photos; he wished and dreamed about being home, rubbing your belly and talking to his baby, feeling their little kicks against his palm, but anyway... one day he will be home with his family. 

...

- Hello dear, how's everything going there? Everything is boring here; I can't do anything without someone breathing down my neck 24/7. I mean, I appreciate the help, but sometimes everyone thinks that I can still do stuff on my very own. Anyway, on another topic, our child has been kicking me left and right! I wish you could be here to tell them to stop torturing me!... So there's not much to say this time, love; everything is going smoothly so far. I added a few photos this time! I asked Bennett to get me a kamera for this! He was so careful with it, Lisa helped me to take some pictures, so I hope you like them-

Lohen couldn't help but laugh at the mental image of you holding your tummy as you scold your baby, bringing a flush across his cheeks; he set the letter down on the table and took the photos out of the envelope carefully with a soft smile. They were more than beautiful; these were taken on different occasions, it seems. 

You were the center of them, obviously... You were on Starfell Lake wearing a sundress that covered your plump belly, the soft breeze swaying your dress, soft light pouring down on you as you held your belly with a gentle smile. In another, you were with your friend Venti at Windrise; he had his arm around your shoulder and was holding the kamera with his other hand. 

At this point, Lohen had a little album of photos, all safe inside a random notebook along side all your lettrers. He couldn't wait to be home with your and his baby in his arms.... It's been only 7 months… he felt like it's been years of agony. 

I'm still working on the scenarios for the 5 requests; be patient with me please.

"Bunny, you feel so good around me. Let me fill you so you are dripping with me for days"

 You could hear his voice and gasps next to your ear. He had you in full prone bone, his sweaty chest pressed against your back. "I'm going to pump you sooo full of me; just ah- imagine love, my cum staining your panties as we say our goodbyes before I start the journey to Nod Krai. To keep you warm in my absence, wouldn't that be cute? haha" He groaned and bit your neck to leave a mark on purpose. 

He had one arm around your waist, keeping you from scrambling away from him as you clawed the sheets trying to pull yourself away from the overstimulation; he held you down while interlocking the fingers of his other hand with yours, stopping you from pulling yourself up too. It's been hours since he put the ring around your finger and started to fuck you. Thrusting into you with full force, forcing your body to stay still with his weight on top of your body, moving his hips like a beast in heat. 

The sound of your pussy soaked with your slick and his cum made filthy sounds every time he pulled out and pushed himself in again. 

"My love, your pussy is squeezing me so fucking hard, what a good girl I have~ " His praise made you whine as your walls clenched even more; his cock inside you felt impossibly hot. "Lohen, harder please, I need you deep please! Give me more" At this point, his mean thrusts send you spiraling and sobbing with fat tears running down your cheeks. "As you wish baby".

Before you even register his words, he lets go of your hand and slides it down your body to press three fingers against your puffy clit, starting to rub it in circles using his previous load as lube. He started to put his whole weight down in every thrust, making the bed creak on the floor and the headboard slam loudly against the wall. "I'm going to fuck you so good that no other men will be able to compare; I'm going to ruin you so good, my darling" His tip started to ram even deeper, kissing your cervix over and over again, forcing your sweet spot to relax with every push.

"Lohen! Lohen! gods-- it hurts so good, wait wait, oh fuck!!!" You writhed, trying to concentrate on anything but the overwhelming pleasure. 

He felt his balls pulling taut and the knot in his belly getting hotter; you, on the other side, could feel his cock starting to twitch inside your creamy walls, his heavy balls slapping your pussy obscenely; splashing you juices everywhere"Fuck-- fuck fuck yes! let me in love"  Lohen increased his pace as his moans became more frequent; he sounded so dreamy; with his eyes half-lidded, he started to lick your neck and bite it, rubbing your clit harder and harder. One thrust in particular pushed his tip past your cervix into your womb, making you scream as you squirted all over him, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, but that didn't stop him at all.  

The feeling of your love juice coating his balls and thighs alongside your walls clenching impossibly hard made him moan so loud next to your ear, making a shiver of pleasure run down your spine and stomach straight to your wet pussy. "I seriously tried to be so gentle, but your pussy is begging me to give her more~~ You'll look so pretty dripping with me" You tried to close your legs to stop his hand from overstimulating you as you whined and sobbed, but his knees were keeping them apart, spreading you even more to have more access to your sweet cunt. Your body quivered as you felt another orgasm start to form because of his tip fucking your womb and his fingers pressing your clit hard.

"Once I come back, I'm going to pump you full of my babies, I promise~ but for now, show me how much you want my cum" His cock throbbed inside your walls, letting you know he was reaching his limit. "Bunny!  I'm cumming! stay s-still for me please! bunny let me pump your pussy with me!" He sobbed so hard as he pressed the side of his face next to yours; you couldn't take it anymore; your body started trembling; his hand left your clit and wrapped it around your neck, applying pressure but not enough to harm you. 

"I can't! I can't, Lohen, pleasepleaseplease! I-- I'm cumming--!" 

Your pussy clenched again, milking Lohen's balls, your womb sucking his creamy cum straight from his cock as it pushed itself inside again, your cervix closed around his glands, keeping his tip inside as if begging him to stay in. Lohen groaned one last time as his body relaxed on top of you. "You're doing so well, what a good girl-- shitshit! oh fuuuck!" His cock pumped one last load, making him whimper as his body trembled and his arms wrapped tighter around your waist, pressing your back against his chest more firmly; he didn't even notice, but he started to grind his hips against yours, rubbing your womb and mixing his cum inside; your hands stopped fisting the sheets and gripped Lohen's hips, clawing at them, to push them away? Or to make him grind against you harder? You don't know at this point.

"Can you feel it?" He kissed your cheek "We're making out down there~ your womb is hugging me, it's so cute ♡, she knows I'll be gone for quite sometime so she's asking me to give her more to remember"

He smiled and bit his lower lip as a string of saliva run down his chin. If could only see his face, you would see the hearts in his eyes, the blush on his cheeks and the sweat dripping down his face.

~~~~~~~~

After a few minutes of grinding his hips against you, he pushed himself up, pulling out of you, and sat behind you with his legs spread, hard cock dripping with his cum and your juices staining the bed, supporting his weight with one arm while leaning back and the other hand pushing his sweaty hair back... half lidded eyes admiring his handiwork, smiling to himself while his tongue licked the blood on his lip, he had bitten himself so hard that he started to bleed.

You were still laying face down on the bed, arms at your side, legs spread, pussy dripping all over the soaked sheets. You could feel him staring at how your sore pussy twitched, pushing his precious cum out. "Nooo... mmmh~ Lohen ♡" You slid one hand under you and started to push his cum back into you, making him smile. 

"Awww~ oh poor bunny, don't worry, I can give you more; you only have to stay there~" The hand that was previously pushing his hair back had slipped down his sensitive chest and tummy teasing himself, and finally settled between his spread legs, pumping his still hard cock, using your mixed juices as lube, making a squelching sound that resonated in the bedroom. He concentrated on rubbing his tip and slit with his thumb to painfully overstimulate himself. Forcing his balls to make more cum for you. "Mmmmhh~ look at what you do to me darling, I get so hard from just looking at you" The air felt hot with the scent of sex and obsession; it was so addictive that it made you buck your hips. 

Nonono wait, you were done; you couldn't cum anymore, or you would die. You tried to push yourself up to crawl away, but- "Haha I don't think so, love~~ I'm not done yet" He pushed himself to sit on his knees and grabbed your ankle, pulling and dragging you back to him. He used his strength to put you on all fours, draping himself on top of you on all fours too, Lohen kissed the back of your neck and bit you. "You're not getting away; we have so little time, and I'm not about to waste it; it is our wedding night after all, aren't married couples supposed to have lovey dovey sex~" He grabbed his wet cock with one hand and pushed himself inside in one hard thrust, pushing his own cum out and forcing your pussy to squirt again as you moaned and sobbed in ecstasy. 

.... Oh.... You're fucked.

Second and last part ♡ Thank you for reading darlings.

"Bunny, you feel so good around me. Let me fill you so you are dripping with me for days"

 You could hear his voice and gasps next to your ear. He had you in full prone bone, his sweaty chest pressed against your back. "I'm going to pump you sooo full of me; just ah- imagine love, my cum staining your panties as we say our goodbyes before I start the journey to Nod Krai. To keep you warm in my absence, wouldn't that be cute? haha" He groaned and bit your neck to leave a mark on purpose. 

He had one arm around your waist, keeping you from scrambling away from him as you clawed the sheets trying to pull yourself away from the overstimulation; he held you down while interlocking the fingers of his other hand with yours, stopping you from pulling yourself up too. It's been hours since he put the ring around your finger and started to fuck you. Thrusting into you with full force, forcing your body to stay still with his weight on top of your body, moving his hips like a beast in heat. 

The sound of your pussy soaked with your slick and his cum made filthy sounds every time he pulled out and pushed himself in again. 

"My love, your pussy is squeezing me so fucking hard, what a good girl I have~ " His praise made you whine as your walls clenched even more; his cock inside you felt impossibly hot. "Lohen, harder please, I need you deep please! Give me more" At this point, his mean thrusts send you spiraling and sobbing with fat tears running down your cheeks. "As you wish baby".

Before you even register his words, he lets go of your hand and slides it down your body to press three fingers against your puffy clit, starting to rub it in circles using his previous load as lube. He started to put his whole weight down in every thrust, making the bed creak on the floor and the headboard slam loudly against the wall. "I'm going to fuck you so good that no other men will be able to compare; I'm going to ruin you so good, my darling" His tip started to ram even deeper, kissing your cervix over and over again, forcing your sweet spot to relax with every push.

"Lohen! Lohen! gods-- it hurts so good, wait wait, oh fuck!!!" You writhed, trying to concentrate on anything but the overwhelming pleasure. 

He felt his balls pulling taut and the knot in his belly getting hotter; you, on the other side, could feel his cock starting to twitch inside your creamy walls, his heavy balls slapping your pussy obscenely; splashing you juices everywhere"Fuck-- fuck fuck yes! let me in love"  Lohen increased his pace as his moans became more frequent; he sounded so dreamy; with his eyes half-lidded, he started to lick your neck and bite it, rubbing your clit harder and harder. One thrust in particular pushed his tip past your cervix into your womb, making you scream as you squirted all over him, your eyes rolled to the back of your head, but that didn't stop him at all.  

The feeling of your love juice coating his balls and thighs alongside your walls clenching impossibly hard made him moan so loud next to your ear, making a shiver of pleasure run down your spine and stomach straight to your wet pussy. "I seriously tried to be so gentle, but your pussy is begging me to give her more~~ You'll look so pretty dripping with me" You tried to close your legs to stop his hand from overstimulating you as you whined and sobbed, but his knees were keeping them apart, spreading you even more to have more access to your sweet cunt. Your body quivered as you felt another orgasm start to form because of his tip fucking your womb and his fingers pressing your clit hard.

"Once I come back, I'm going to pump you full of my babies, I promise~ but for now, show me how much you want my cum" His cock throbbed inside your walls, letting you know he was reaching his limit. "Bunny!  I'm cumming! stay s-still for me please! bunny let me pump your pussy with me!" He sobbed so hard as he pressed the side of his face next to yours; you couldn't take it anymore; your body started trembling; his hand left your clit and wrapped it around your neck, applying pressure but not enough to harm you. 

"I can't! I can't, Lohen, pleasepleaseplease! I-- I'm cumming--!" 

Your pussy clenched again, milking Lohen's balls, your womb sucking his creamy cum straight from his cock as it pushed itself inside again, your cervix closed around his glands, keeping his tip inside as if begging him to stay in. Lohen groaned one last time as his body relaxed on top of you. "You're doing so well, what a good girl-- shitshit! oh fuuuck!" His cock pumped one last load, making him whimper as his body trembled and his arms wrapped tighter around your waist, pressing your back against his chest more firmly; he didn't even notice, but he started to grind his hips against yours, rubbing your womb and mixing his cum inside; your hands stopped fisting the sheets and gripped Lohen's hips, clawing at them, to push them away? Or to make him grind against you harder? You don't know at this point.

"Can you feel it?" He kissed your cheek "We're making out down there~ your womb is hugging me, it's so cute ♡, she knows I'll be gone for quite sometime so she's asking me to give her more to remember"

He smiled and bit his lower lip as a string of saliva run down his chin. If could only see his face, you would see the hearts in his eyes, the blush on his cheeks and the sweat dripping down his face.

~~~~~~~~

After a few minutes of grinding his hips against you, he pushed himself up, pulling out of you, and sat behind you with his legs spread, hard cock dripping with his cum and your juices staining the bed, supporting his weight with one arm while leaning back and the other hand pushing his sweaty hair back... half lidded eyes admiring his handiwork, smiling to himself while his tongue licked the blood on his lip, he had bitten himself so hard that he started to bleed.

You were still laying face down on the bed, arms at your side, legs spread, pussy dripping all over the soaked sheets. You could feel him staring at how your sore pussy twitched, pushing his precious cum out. "Nooo... mmmh~ Lohen ♡" You slid one hand under you and started to push his cum back into you, making him smile. 

"Awww~ oh poor bunny, don't worry, I can give you more; you only have to stay there~" The hand that was previously pushing his hair back had slipped down his sensitive chest and tummy teasing himself, and finally settled between his spread legs, pumping his still hard cock, using your mixed juices as lube, making a squelching sound that resonated in the bedroom. He concentrated on rubbing his tip and slit with his thumb to painfully overstimulate himself. Forcing his balls to make more cum for you. "Mmmmhh~ look at what you do to me darling, I get so hard from just looking at you" The air felt hot with the scent of sex and obsession; it was so addictive that it made you buck your hips. 

Nonono wait, you were done; you couldn't cum anymore, or you would die. You tried to push yourself up to crawl away, but- "Haha I don't think so, love~~ I'm not done yet" He pushed himself to sit on his knees and grabbed your ankle, pulling and dragging you back to him. He used his strength to put you on all fours, draping himself on top of you on all fours too, Lohen kissed the back of your neck and bit you. "You're not getting away; we have so little time, and I'm not about to waste it; it is our wedding night after all, aren't married couples supposed to have lovey dovey sex~" He grabbed his wet cock with one hand and pushed himself inside in one hard thrust, pushing his own cum out and forcing your pussy to squirt again as you moaned and sobbed in ecstasy. 

.... Oh.... You're fucked.

Second and last part ♡ Thank you for reading darlings.

“Hands behind your back,” he orders, voice tight with that adrenaline edge. When you hesitate, he thrusts deeper, making you choke slightly. “Now.” You obey, lacing your fingers together against your lower back. The vulnerability spikes through you—blind, bound by your own grip, completely at his mercy. He notices. It shouldn’t surprise you that he always notices everything.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, and you feel the vibration of his thighs against your shoulders as he starts to roll his hips. “You can’t see what I’m doing. You don’t know when I’ll—” He thrusts hard, sudden, cutting off his own words with a sharp inhale. You whimper around his length, the sound muffled, and he laughs—breathless, unhinged.

“Scared?” he asks, but he’s already answering for you, rocking his hips in a rhythm you can’t predict. “You’re shaking. I can feel it.”

You pull back enough to gasp, “Lohen—”

“Quiet.” He pushes back in, deeper this time, hitting the back of your throat. Your eyes water behind the blindfold, tears soaking into the fabric. “Just take it. Take whatever I give you.”

The darkness makes every sensation razor-sharp—the stretch of your jaw, the salt taste spreading across your tongue, the way his fingers suddenly grip your hair hard and pull you exactly where he wants. You can’t brace for it. Can’t prepare. When he hits a particularly sensitive spot and shudders, you feel it in the tremor of his legs, the catch in his breath, before you even register the movement.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he observes, voice strained. One of his hands leaves your hair—you didn’t notice until the absence—and suddenly his thumb is pressing against your lower lip, stretched tight around him, glossed with spit and arousal. “From this. From not knowing.” You moan—can’t help it—and the vibration makes him curse, hips stuttering. “Say it,” he demands, pulling back slightly, giving you just enough air to speak, your chin damp with your own saliva. “Say you want me to keep going.”

“I want—” Your voice cracks. You swallow, trying to ground yourself in the dark. “I want you to keep going. Please.”

“Please,” he repeats, mocking, but there’s something wrecked in his tone too. “Since you asked so nicely—”

Lohen surges forward, and you weren’t ready, weren’t ready—your hands clench behind your back, knuckles white, as he uses your mouth with abandon. The sounds he makes are animal, torn loose, echoing in the dark space around you. Frost crackles somewhere nearby—you can hear it, feel the sudden drop in temperature—but you can’t see where, can’t see anything.

“F-Fuck—I’m gonna come,” he warns, but it’s barely a warning at all, happening almost immediately after. His grip becomes brutal, holding you in place as he spills down your throat, shouting something wordless and raw. You swallow convulsively, gasping when he finally pulls free, still blind, still lost, your whole body thrumming with the aftershock of surrender.

His thumb traces your swollen lips again, gentle now, almost reverent. “Still scared?” Lohen asks softly.

You shake your head, breathless. “No.”

“Liar.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “Good. Keep the blindfold on. We’re not done.”

⋮ ⌗ ┆ SCARAMOUCHE. 

The wax drips from his fingers first—melted down just enough to burn without blistering. He’s been watching you for ten minutes, silent, cataloging every shift of your weight, every time your eyes dart to the candle and away.

“Afraid?” he asks, and the word sounds like an insult.

You don’t answer. You know better. You just lay on his bed, completely naked and at his mercy.

“Your hands are shaking.” He notes it clinically, like he’s observing mold growing on spoiled fruit. “Pathetic.”

The first drop hits your sternum—hot, shocking, spreading like a brand. You gasp, arching slightly, and his free hand comes down hard on your shoulder, pinning you flat against the mattress. “Don’t move.” His voice is flat, bored. “Unless you want it somewhere worse.”

Another drop, higher this time, tracing a path toward your throat. He watches your face with detached fascination, like he’s studying an insect under glass. When you whimper, his lips curl—not quite a smile, something sharper. “You’re making that noise again,” he observes, tilting his head. “The one you think is subtle. It’s not.”

“Scara—”

“Don’t.” The word cuts clean. He leans closer, the candle’s flame casting wild shadows across his features. “Don’t say my name like that. Like you know me. Like you have any claim.”

The wax falls again—your inner thigh, dangerously close. The heat makes you jerk, and his grip on your shoulder tightens, fingers digging into bone. “I said don’t move.” He sounds almost tired. “Are you always this disobedient, or is it special for me?”

You try to hold still as the next drops come—irregular, unpredictable. He varies the height, the angle, making it impossible to brace. Some barely warm, others searing. Your skin flares red where it lands, cooling into rigid patterns he could trace if he wanted. He doesn’t. “You’re crying,” he states, as if remarking on the weather. “How dramatic.”

“They’re not—” You start, then stop when his eyes narrow.

“Not what? Not tears?” He drips wax directly onto your nipple, and you cry out, the sound breaking in your throat. “They look like tears to me. But then, you’d know better, wouldn’t you? You’re the one lying here, taking it, needing it.”

His thumb swipes roughly across your cheek, smearing the wetness there. He looks at it on his skin with something like disgust. “Don’t mistake this for care,” he says quietly, deadly. “I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this because I enjoy watching you unravel. Because you look ruined like this.”

He shifts the candle, and you see his intention—lower, centered. You tense, your spread legs flinching to almost close them, and he notices immediately.

“Ah.” That almost-smile again. “There it is. The fear.” He holds the wax suspended, letting you anticipate, letting you squirm. “You think I’ll stop if you ask nicely? You think I’m kind ?”

Scaramouche doesn’t wait for an answer. The wax falls, and you scream—he’s planned this, aimed for the most sensitive skin above your puffy clit, the place that makes your vision white out at the edges. Your body bucks upward involuntarily, and he lets you this time, watching with those empty indigo eyes as you shudder through the aftershock.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and the word sounds like mockery because it is. “Look at you. Covered in me. Marked in me.”

He sets the candle aside—not out of mercy, you know, but because he’s finished with that part of the game. His fingers trace the cooled wax on your skin, picking at the edges, peeling it away in strips that pull at your flesh and make you gasp. “Sensitive,” he observes, flicking the hardened wax off your nipple. You flinch, and he catches your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Still here? Good. I was starting to think you’d float away on me.”

“Why—” Your voice cracks, so you try again. “Why are you doing this?”

His expression shutters—there and gone, faster than you can track. He releases your jaw like touching you has become suddenly distasteful. “Don’t,” he says, and for the first time there’s something raw beneath the armor, something he hates you for hearing. He leans down, closer until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. Don’t pretend this is something it’s not.”

He stands, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from his clothes, rebuilding the wall brick by brick. “Clean yourself up,” he says, turning away. “You’re disgusting.”

But he pauses at the door, hand on the frame, and doesn’t leave. Not yet.

⋮ ⌗ ┆ ALBEDO. 

The leather is soft against your wrists—Albedo’s own design, you realize, something he whipped up in his workshop when the idea first took hold. He buckles them with the same care he uses for delicate glassware, checking the fit, the give, the way your pulse flutters beneath his thumb.

“Too tight?” he asks, and his voice carries that particular cadence—gentle, but laced with something else. Curiosity, maybe. The same tone he uses when examining a new mineral formation.

You test the restraints, your bare knees digging into the cold floor of his lab in Dragonspine, the ache only adding to the pleasure. “No.”

“Good.” He doesn’t step back. Albedo rarely wastes movement. Instead, he reaches for a small vial on the table beside you—clear liquid, unlabeled. “I want you to tell me when the sensation changes. Not what it is. Just when.”

He uncorks it, and the smell hits you immediately—herbal, sharp, something that makes your skin prickle in anticipation. He dips two fingers in, watching the liquid coat his skin with the fascination of a man observing chemical reaction.

“Albedo—”

“Patience,” he murmurs, not unkindly. He traces a line from your collarbone to your navel, and the liquid—whatever it is—starts warm, almost pleasant, before shifting, tingling, spreading like slow fire.

You gasp, arching against the restraints. They hold you firm, engineered to his exact specifications.

“There,” he says, noting something in a small notebook he produces from seemingly nowhere. “The transition point.”

“You’re taking notes?”

“Observation is meaningless without record.” He sets the book aside and picks up another vial—this one amber, thicker. “Unless you’d prefer I rely on memory? I assure you, my memory is excellent. But I find the act of documentation... focusing.”

He warms the amber liquid between his palms, watching you watch him. There’s that dry humor in his eyes, the mischief buried under layers of courtesy.

“You’re staring,” he observes.

“You’re studying me like a specimen.”

“Not like.” He drips the amber liquid onto your inner thigh, and it feels entirely different—cool, then suddenly, shockingly cold, like ice that burns. You cry out, pulling against the restraints, and they creak but don’t yield. “Exactly. You are my specimen. My subject. My current fascination.”

The cold spreads, numbing and awakening simultaneously, and he watches your face with that hyper-focused intensity—the same look he gets when he’s three days deep into a new theory, forgetting meals, forgetting sleep, forgetting everything but the puzzle in front of him.

“Interesting,” he breathes, leaning closer. His hair brushes your shoulder, golden and soft, his breath warm on your skin. “Your pupils dilated. Respiration increased. But you didn’t ask me to stop.”

“Albedo—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, still gentle, still courteous. “Don’t ask for release yet. I’ve only just begun to understand the pattern.”

He reaches for a third vial—red, viscous—and your stomach tightens with excitement. He notices, of course. He notices everything.

“Fear?” he asks, tilting his head. “Or anticipation? Both produce similar physiological responses. The line between them is... porous.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. The red liquid hits your skin—a drop on your sternum, another on your hip—and it aches, a deep, throbbing heat that seems to sink into muscle, into bone. You whimper, thrashing uselessly against the restraints, and he places one hand flat on your stomach, holding you still with terrifying, effortless strength.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and his thumb traces a circle on your skin, grounding you even as the sensation builds. “Breathe through it. The peak lasts approximately forty seconds. I timed it earlier.”

“You—” You gasp, the heat cresting, overwhelming, the restraints rough on your feverish skin. “You tested this?”

“On myself, of course.” He says it simply, as if it’s obvious. “I wouldn’t subject you to anything I hadn’t experienced. That would be..." He searches for the word, that pragmatic mind sorting through options. “Rude.”

The heat begins to fade, leaving behind a strange, electric sensitivity. Your skin feels raw, awake, every nerve ending exposed. When he runs a single finger down your side, you jolt so hard the restraints sing. “Ah.” That small, dry smile. “Heightened receptivity. The compounds interact synergistically.” He picks up his notebook again, scribbling something. “I suspected they would.”

“You’re going to leave me like this,” you realize suddenly, understanding clicking into place. “Once you figure it out. Once the mystery’s solved.”

He pauses, pen hovering over paper. For a moment, something flickers—genuine emotion, quickly suppressed.

“No,” he says, and his voice is softer now, the courtesy becoming something else. Something almost tender beneath the pragmatism. “Not this time.”

He sets the notebook down and moves between your bound arms, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the steady rhythm of his breath against your lips. His fingers trace the edge of the leather restraint, then slide down to intertwine with yours—intimate, deliberate.

“This particular mystery,” Albedo says, leaning close enough that his words brush your ear, “seems to deepen the more I explore it. Novelty, instead of fading, appears to be... compounding.”

He kisses the corner of your jaw, chaste and devastating. “So I suppose you’re stuck with me. For now.”

“For now,” you repeat, and it sounds like hope.

“Don’t get sentimental,” he warns, but he’s already reaching for another vial, eyes bright with that relentless, beautiful curiosity. “It doesn’t suit either of us. Now—tell me what this one feels like. I’m hypothesizing something entirely new.”

⋮ ⌗ ┆ VARKA. 

The couch groans under his weight when he sits—Varka never just lowers himself anywhere, he settles, claiming space like he was born to fill it. He’s been watching you all evening, you realize, through that lazy half-lidded gaze that misses nothing despite appearances.

“Come here, babe,” he calls, patting his thigh with a grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

You approach, hesitant despite the warmth in his voice, and he catches your hand before you can overthink it. His palm engulfs yours—battle-scarred, enormous, capable of wielding a claymore one-handed and yet gentle now as he guides you. “Nervous?” he asks, and the word rumbles in his chest like distant thunder.

“A little,” you admit.

“Good.” He tugs you down across his lap, arranging you with the casual efficiency of a man who knows his own strength intimately and trusts it absolutely. “Means you’re paying attention.”

Your cheek presses against the couch cushion, his thigh solid and warm beneath your stomach. One of his arms drapes across your lower back—heavy, anchoring, possessive in the most affectionate way. You feel small like this, delicate, and he hums approvingly as if hearing the thought.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he observes, and his free hand traces the curve of your ass through your clothes, unhurried, almost absent-minded. “Always plotting, always planning. Even now.” He leans down, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can hear the wheels turning from here, sweetheart.”

“That’s not—” you start, but the first swat cuts you off. It’s not hard—not yet—but the sound cracks loud in the quiet room, and the sting blooms warm across your skin. You gasp, fingers curling into the couch cushion.

“There’s one,” he says, almost conversationally. His hand returns to rub the spot, spreading the heat, and you squirm involuntarily. “You carry the weight of the world in your shoulders, you know. Saw it the moment I walked through the door. You were tense and tight. Like you’re waiting for the next emergency.”

Another swat, harder this time, opposite cheek. You yelp, and he laughs—that full, booming sound that fills whatever space he’s in.

“Better,” he praises. “Let it out. No knights to command here, no crises to manage. Just you and me and the sound of my hand teaching you how to relax.”

“You’re enjoying this,” you accuse, voice muffled against the cushion.

“Absolutely,” he agrees, no shame in it. He spanks you again, a rhythm developing—left, right, center, unpredictable enough to keep you guessing. The heat builds layer by layer, your skin sensitizing, every nerve ending awake and waiting. His hand pauses, resting heavy and warm against your burning skin. You whimper at the absence, and he makes a soft, knowing sound.

“You see right through me, don’t you?” he murmurs, and you know he’s not talking about himself. His thumb traces a slow circle where you’re hot and soaking the fabric of your panties, and you arch into the touch despite yourself. “Let me use your body to quiet your mind. It’s effective. I should know—I’ve used similar techniques on myself. Usually involves climbing something tall and dangerous.”

“You’re comparing spanking me to—ah!”

He lands two in quick succession, sharp and stinging, and you feel the vibration of his laughter through his chest. “To mountaineering? Perhaps.” Varka resumes the rhythm, slower now, each impact deliberate, measured, allowing the sensation to fully land before the next arrives. “Both require trust. Both leave you breathless. Both remind you that you’re alive, flesh and blood and nerve endings, not just a mind carrying responsibilities.”

The heat has spread now, a deep, throbbing warmth that seems to sink into your bones. When he stops to rub your swollen clit again, you moan—can’t help it—and he makes that soft, pleased sound once more.

“There’s my girl,” he says, almost tender. “Gone quiet. Present. Finally stopped planning the next three moves.” His hand lifts, and you tense, waiting, the anticipation stretching taut as a bowstring. He makes you wait, counts to five in a whisper you can barely hear. Then—

The hardest yet, a solid, resounding crack that sends fire radiating through you. You cry out, body jerking, toes curling, and his arm tightens across your back, holding you steady, holding you safe.

“Shh,” he soothes, even as he lands another, and another, building a crescendo you can’t escape, can’t predict, can only feel. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, my love. Let go.”

You do. Somewhere in the haze of heat and sting and his overwhelming presence, you let go. The planning, the worrying, the constant vigilance—it burns away under his hand, reduced to nothing but sensation, submission, and trust.

When he finally stops, your ass is throbbing, tender, and you’re limp across his lap, breathing hard, eyes wet. He gathers you up effortlessly—he makes everything look effortless—and settles you against his chest, enveloping you in arms that could crush stone but choose, instead, to cradle.

“Better?” Varka asks, chin resting on top of your head.

You nod, face buried in his shirt, smelling leather and Mondstadt wind and something uniquely him.

“Good.” He presses a kiss to your hairline, and you feel the smile in it. “Now, I was thinking we could skip dinner and go straight to dessert. Or”—his hand drifts down to cup your heated, sensitive skin between your thighs, making you gasp—“we could stay right here, and I could see what other sounds I can coax out of you. What do you say, sweetheart? Any plans?”

You shake your head, smiling against his chest despite yourself. “No plans.”

“Excellent.” He stands, lifting you with him as if you weigh nothing, and heads toward the bedroom with that familiar, bounding energy. “That’s my favorite answer.”

interactions, likes and reblogs are appreciated! this post belongs to © awhkaiy. do not repost, feed, or translate.

With a brand-new goal set in mind, you practically skipped the rest of the way home. However, upon stepping onto your front porch, you were taken aback by a strange package sitting directly on the welcome mat by the door.

“Oh- Could it be the Quenepa Berries I ordered a week ago?" you murmured curiously.

Eager to inspect it, you scooped up the parcel and unlocked the front door, leaving your heavy basket of freshly harvested ingredients outside on the porch floor. As you stepped into the entryway, you hefted the box in your hands. ‘Come to think of it... it’s incredibly light...’

Puzzled, you tore into the box, only to find it completely empty save for a layer of packing stuffing and a single, sealed envelope.

"Seriously? What is even the point of the box—"

You picked up the envelope and closely examined it. An inkling idea immediately flared in your mind that this was just the Vice Captain playing another one of his endless, maddening tricks on you, causing your lips to tilt into a small smile. "I swear, if Lohen has something to do with this—"

Your voice cut off halfway through the sentence as your eyes scanned the jagged handwriting inside.

Hello, [Name]. You ought to meet your 'friends' here in Brightcrown Canyon when dusk hits. Remember us? The camp you wiped out a few days ago with a bastard knight who took out our crew. If you fail to show, there’s no guarantee that Millhaven won’t be bombed by the next sunrise. I suggest you come alone. You’re being watched, and you are entirely outnumbered. You wouldn’t want innocent civilians roughed up in this little town, now do you?

Oookay. Maybe it hadn't been the greatest idea to burn through the entire loot of a twelve-man Treasure Hoarder camp last week. You honestly thought they would have scrambled out of the region by now, especially since Treasure Hoarder cells were relatively rare deep within Mondstadt territory. For them to retaliate with a literal bomb threat was something you found entirely absurd—and, admittedly, slightly intimidating.

Anxious frustration huffed from your chest. Twisting on your heel, you bolted right back out the front door and slammed it shut, leaving the menacing letter sitting abandoned on the dining table.

In your sheer panic to protect the village before dusk faded, you completely forgot one crucial detail—your basket of fresh ingredients was still sitting entirely exposed out on the open porch.

It’s not always that Lohen visits you so today just happened to be one of those days that he does just to simply check on his beloved.

The late-afternoon sun cast long, amber streaks across the porch of your Millhaven home, a stark contrast to the biting wind howling off the northern cliffs. Lohen adjusted the heavy collar of his dark coat, his heavy leather boots coming to a halt right in front of your doorstep. He hadn't come to deliver a Knights of Favonius standard update, nor was he here to report a surge in Hilichurl camps to the acting Grand Master. Truly, he had just endured a mind-numbing three hours of Grand Master Varka’s endless tactical lectures, and his terminal boredom demanded a very specific cure: pulling the strings of a certain pristine, stubborn little baker.

He fully expected to find you dusted in flour, your hands moving with that quiet, disciplined rhythm he loved to disrupt. He already had a brilliant, mocking comment lined up about the excessive amount of sugar you used in your usual baking routines.

Instead, his crimson-tinged eyes dropped to the floorboards.

Sitting right on the welcome rug was an abandoned basket. Inside, fresh ingredients—meticulously gathered from the wild—were left completely out in the open, vulnerable to the damp, salt-heavy wind.

Lohen’s smirk didn't vanish, but it thinned into something sharp and dangerous. You were a creature of immaculate habit; you would never leave the fruits of your labor out on the porch to rot.

He didn't bother knocking. He reached down, twisted the brass doorknob, and found it entirely unlocked. Pushing the door open, the cozy, warm scent of vanilla and yeast greeted him, but the house itself was dead silent. The hearth was cold.

"[name]?" he hummed, his gravelly, condescending sweetness echoing off the empty wooden rafters. "I'm invading your property. Aren't you going to throw a rolling pin at my head?"

Silence answered him.

Lohen stepped deeper into the kitchen, his gaze scanning the room with the clinical precision of a veteran scout. Nothing was overturned. No signs of a struggle. But as he approached the wooden dining table, his eyes locked onto a crumpled scrap of paper sitting directly in the center of the surface.

He picked it up, his leather-gloved fingers smoothing out the jagged creases.

You ought to meet your 'friends' here in Brightcrown Canyon when dusk hits...

As his eyes scanned the threats about bombing Millhaven and outnumbering you, the air in the kitchen plummeted in temperature. The casual, teasing Knight of Favonius completely evaporated. In his place stood the ruthless suppression officer the Fatui feared to cross.

"Brightcrown Canyon," Lohen hummed to the empty room, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, pondering tone. He folded the note with a deliberate motion and tucked it into his belt. "A few bunch’cha losers against one vision wielder. They think they're being clever."

He checked the sky through the kitchen window. Dusk was fast approaching. If those sub-human scoundrels thought they could drag his nightingale out into the jagged, rocky cliffs just to settle a petty grudge, they were about to learn exactly how cold the northern borders could get.

Without a second thought, Lohen turned on his heel and vanished into the fading light, tracking your elemental residue with a lethal, calculated focus

Your boots scrunched on the rocky grounds in Brightcrown Canyon. This was a bit of a stupid decision when you could have just asked for help from the knights, but even that idea seemed a bit too far off—literally. Dornman Port was nearly an hour walk and you didn’t even want to think about the travel distance from your home to the actual Favonius Headquarters—this was the best you could think of.

When you arrived, the camp was eerily quiet.

“Hello?” you called out, your voice echoing off the jagged canyon walls.

WHAM!

A heavy, jagged boulder shattered against the stone wall right beside your head, raining sharp pebbles down onto your white habit.

"Look who actually showed up!" a rough voice cheered from the ridges above. Out from behind the crags stepped the rowdy remnants of the Treasure Hoarder camp, led by a massive Gravedigger swinging a heavy iron shovel. "The baker thinks she’s a hero!"

Before he could even finish his sentence, your instincts kicked in. You unclasped your Dendro catalyst, the emerald core pulsing a vibrant green light. With a sharp flick of your wrist, you summoned thick, thorned vines right out of the sparse canyon soil. CRACK! The vines whipped forward, wrapping tightly around the ankles of two approaching scouts and slamming them flat onto their backs.

"She's a Vision wielder! Don't let her get a distance!" the leader barked.

You didn't give them the chance. You darted behind a stone pillar, channeling your elemental energy to manifest a flurry of razor-sharp leaves. You launched them in a sweeping arc, cutting through their smoke bombs and sending three more hoarders scrambling for cover. For a sweet, brief second, you actually thought you could win this.

But these men knew your weakness.

BAM!

A Hoarder Potioneer perched on a high ledge hurled a bright yellow flask directly at your feet. The moment it shattered, a heavy shockwave of Geo energy rippled through the solid stone floor. Brightcrown Canyon wasn't a soft, fertile forest—it was an unforgiving wasteland of dense bedrock. The Geo explosion pulverized the sparse earth beneath you, instantly shattering your Dendro vine constructs into harmless green dust.

Without your vines to keep them at bay, the ground team closed the distance. You tried to pivot, aiming your catalyst to summon a protective barrier, but the dense, heavy dust cloaked their movements.

CRUNCH.

A crushing, blunt force struck you squarely across your lower back. A Hoarder Seaman had swung a heavy, Geo-infused stone mallet from your blind spot, the impact sending a sharp, white-hot flash of agony shooting up your spine.

Your breath gasped out of your lungs in a painful choke. Your knees buckled instantly, the pristine white fabric of your dress dragging through the dirt as your catalyst slipped from your numb fingers, clattering uselessly away. You tried to push yourself up, but your fighting stance completely disintegrated under the sheer weight of the injury. Your back throbbed with a blinding, paralyzing ache.

"Gotcha, birdie," a hoarder grunted, pinning your arms aggressively behind your back.

Rough hemp rope was instantly coiled tightly around your wrists, the coarse fibers chafing against your skin as they hauled you to your feet. You bit your lip to suppress a cry of pain as your back flared in protest, but your eyes remained sharp. Even as they dragged you toward a damp, shadowed cavern at the back of the canyon, you kept your head up, desperately looking for loose rocks, a sharp edge—anything you could use to break free.

"Lock her in the back cell," the leader ordered, kicking your dropped catalyst into the canyon abyss.

The damp stone floor of the hidden cavern at Brightcrown Canyon was freezing, but it couldn't numb the sharp, throbbing ache radiating across your lower back. Your wrists were bound tightly to a wooden post behind you, the rough hemp ropes digging into your skin every time you tried to shift your weight to relieve the pressure on your spine.

"Boss, the sun's completely down," one of the hoarders grunted, tossing a heavy iron wrench onto a nearby crate. "You think that Knight is actually coming? Or did the little baker overplay her worth?"

"He'll come," the leader sneered, pacing back and forth in front of your cell. He stopped, casting a long, imposing shadow over you, and reached out to rudely tilt your chin up with the blunt edge of his dagger. "And if he doesn't, we start sending him back pieces of his precious little bird."

You gritted your teeth, lifting your chin higher despite the hot flare of pain in your back. You refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry. Your eyes scanned the dark cave for any loose elemental energy you could hijack. 'Just wait until I get my hands back on my catalyst.'

Then, the air changed—it became cold, unbreathable. Your breath hitched as a thick, sudden frost spiderwebbed across the cavern floor, turning the muddy puddles into solid sheets of ice within a single second. The torches lining the stone walls crackled, turned a deep, unnatural blue, and instantly blew out, plunging the cave into pitch-black darkness.

"What the—?! The fire's out! Get the lamps—"

SHATTER!

The iron-reinforced cavern doors erupted inward, reduced to a blinding storm of splinters and razor-sharp icicles.

Through the freezing haze, a silhouette stepped into the cavern. Lohen didn't look frantic, he wasn't even in a manic panic. He moved with a terrifying, absolute silence - and he kept his taunting bloodthirst smile. His dark Knights of Favonius coat snapped slightly in the icy draft, and his crimson-tinged eyes caught the faint, ethereal glow of his Cryo Vision pulsing.

He looked entirely detached, like a lethal machine executing a routine tactical sweep.

"Who goes there?!" a hoarder screamed, lunging forward with a heavy iron broadsword.

Lohen didn't even look at him. With a flawless, clinical flick of his wrist, a jagged pillar of solid ice erupted from the bedrock, striking the man squarely in the chest and launching him across the cavern into the stone wall with a sickening thud.

What followed was brutal military precision. Lohen moved like a specter of frost—disarming a Scout with a sweeping kick, shattering a Potioneer’s vials with a well-placed dagger throw, and systematically clearing the room without breaking a single sweat.

He didn't give them a chance to beg. Within two minutes, the entire camp was incapacitated, groaning on the frozen floor. 

The suffocating silence returned, save for the heavy, rhythmic thud of Lohen's leather boots walking toward your cell. His eyes landed on your bound wrists and the visible bruising on your clothes.

"Hey," he murmured, his tone seeming distant. 

He didn't smash the cell lock; he simply touched the iron bars, freezing the metal until it grew brittle enough to shatter under his boot. He was on his knees in front of you in a heartbeat. With a swift, careful movement of his dagger, he sliced through your hemp ropes, his gloved hands immediately cupping your face to inspect the damage.

"Lohen..." your voice cracked, the adrenaline finally leaving your body as you slumped forward.

Before your collapsed posture could aggravate your injured back, Lohen’s arms caught you, pulling you securely against his chest. He unclasped his heavy, fur-lined knight's coat and draped it completely over your shivering shoulders, sealing his scent—mint, gunpowder, and fresh snow—all around you.

"Shh, I've got you. Keep still," he whispered by your ear. His tone no longer indifferent; it carried that familiar, arrogant, yet deeply protective warmth. He carefully slid one arm behind your knees and the other around your uninjured shoulders, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

As he stepped out of the cavern into the crisp Mondstadt night, he looked down at your exhausted face, a slow, familiar smirk finally returning to his lips.

"Getting completely outmatched by a few basic Geo potions... I expected better from my favorite nightingale," he teased softly, though his hold on you only tightened, anchoring you against his chest. "Let's get you back to Millhaven then~ Master Jean is going to lecture me for a week if she finds out I let my favorite baker get her feathers ruffled."