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columbina looked so unbothered at the beginning of your break-up that it somewhat stung your heart. you had seen it all when you scrolled past her stories on instagram (still mutuals with each other as you felt like it would be immature to unfollow over a relationship ending); out clubbing, laughing during karaoke, posing with her friends, and celebrating her academic achievements. it's as if she's happier now that you're no longer part of her life, of her inner circle. yet you chastise yourself for feeling this way. after all, you were the one who ended things in the belief that separation would fix her underlying issues.
and maybe it did, seeing how she's thriving in the present time.
it's okay, this is just you mourning what your relationship had been. you'll look back on all of this one day and laugh about how ridiculous you were, heart free from constraints.
she's clearly moved on already. it's about time you move on, too.
eventually, you do. still not at the point where hearing her name invokes nothing, but enough for you to meet someone online and cheese over the corny things they do for you. nights spent longing for your ex's embrace are replaced by the yearning that has started to take root at the base of your heart.
you no longer look for columbina the moment you enter a lecture room, you don't obsessively check her instagram stories and notes anymore, and you have stopped regretting your decision to end things with her. this is further solidified when your current talking stage formally asks you out on a date.
after class, 7pm. good enough for you. they even offered to drive you back to your apartment.
all dolled up, the last thing you expected standing outside of your door is your ex, columbina, with ruined mascara and bare feet. did she run all the way here...? you're not given a chance to ask out loud when she seizes your wrist, forcing you down to her height as she begs you not to cheat on her.
🔪 featuring {separate}: 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
🔪 tw: yandere content 𝜗𝜚 murder duh 𝜗𝜚 drugging 𝜗𝜚 jealous sex 𝜗𝜚 noncon 𝜗𝜚 size kink 𝜗𝜚 fear play 𝜗𝜚 kidnapping 𝜗𝜚 scent kink 𝜗𝜚 they're psycho 𝜗𝜚 lovebombing 𝜗𝜚 cherry poppin' 𝜗𝜚 blood kink 𝜗𝜚 sex after murder?? 𝜗𝜚 this lwk kinda scary 𝜗𝜚 aphrodisiacs 𝜗𝜚 full nelson 𝜗𝜚
🔪 an: her new boyfriend nexttt how'd I get hereeee?? 👀
🔪 CHILDE — Shits n' Giggles
Maybe if you don’t move, he won’t see you
You’re crouched between two crates, knees pulled to your chest, barely breathing. Your hands are clamped so tight over your mouth that your teeth are digging into your palm.
You saw it.
You saw Ajax laugh while he carved the man you were seeing apart. The way the hydro blades slashed n’ ripped.
Witnessing the moment your boyfriend stopped screaming, and he just kept laughing, louder and louder.
And then he looked right at you.
So now you’re hiding. Because you’re next. You have to be next.
His footsteps crunch over the gravel, slow and bouncy like he’s having the time of his life. Then the laughter starts again — loud, wild, completely deranged.
“Hmmm~ Where’s my favorite person?” Childe sings, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! I saved the best part just for you, babe!” Another burst of manic giggling echoes through the alley.
Fuck he’s getting closer way too fucking close.
Your whole body is shaking so hard that the crate behind you is rattling. Tears won’t stop pouring down your face.
Shit shit shit! He’s going to kill you. He snapped. He’s completely lost it, and now he’s going to—
“BOO!”
A bloody hand slams down on the crate right above your head. “AH THE FUCK-” You immediately slapped a hand over your mouth
Ajax drops down into a crouch in front of you, blue eyes wide and sparkling with pure insanity. His ginger hair is soaked red.
Blood smeared across his freckles like war paint. He’s grinning so wide it looks like his face might split.
“You really thought you could hide from me?” he laughs, loud and bright. “After I just put on a whole show for you? That’s so mean!”
He swiftly grabs your ankle and yanks you out from between the crates in one smooth motion.
THUD!
Hissing in pain as you hit the ground hard, but he’s already on top of you, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.
His face is inches from yours his mouth panting. You can smell the blood, see the lovesick glee in his eyes.
“You watched the whole thing, didn’t you?” he whispers, almost affectionate. “Saw me tear him apart... laughing while he cried like a little bitch. And then you ran away from me like I was gonna do the same to you.”
He drones off on that last part, Childe tilts his head, still smiling that terrifyingly happy smile.
“Wait...You thought I was coming to kill you next, huh? Pffttt!-” He bursts out laughing again — loud, unhinged, shoulders shaking as he presses his bloody forehead against yours. “That’s so fucking cute.~”
His cock is already hard, grinding against your stomach through blood-soaked fabric. You feel it twitch when you whimper.
His free hand slides down your side, gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. “I’m not gonna kill you, babe,” he purrs, voice dropping into something much darker.
“I killed him because he touched you. Because he thought he could have you. I did it all for us.”
He leans in and licks a tear off your cheek, blue eyes half-lidded with delight.
“Baby, stop crying and tell me how much you loved the show… or I’ll give you a reason to really scream.”
He says that last part with a proud little grin, an attempt to reassure you he’s stable.
You stare up at him, chest heaving.
“…Ajax is you on drugs right now?” you choke out.
He blinked once, then twice before laughing; his pupils literally dilated into tiny hearts as he pants above you, chest heaving, that manic smile never fading.
“Completely sober, babe. Promise.” He nipped your ear playfully. “Did it all on no drugs~,” he sing-songed.
“You’re fucking insane!” you scream, thrashing underneath him.
The insult lights him up like fireworks.
He moans openly, hips rolling slow and filthy, pressing the thick line of his cock against your cunt.
“Fuck— say it again. Louder.” Childe’s voice cracks with glee. “Call me a lunatic, baby. Please.”
You spit in his face. “Get the hell off me, you psychotic ginger bast—”
“Hah— you’re so h-hot when you’re mad at me,” he cuts you off delighted.
“You made me so sad when you decided to cheat on me, baby…” he coos.
“What???” This made you freeze. “We broke up months ago, you fucking psycho— get off—”
“No.”
The word drops flat. Instant. Like a switch flipped behind his eyes.
“No. No no no no no.” He’s giggling now, shoulders shaking as he pins your wrists deeper into the gravel. “Don’t do that. Don’t say that. We didn’t break up. I didn’t agree to that. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”
“Ajax…we broke up. Months ago. I left. You can’t just-”
“No.”
His fingers dig bruises into your ass. Cock twitches hard against your belly, leaking through his pants as he fishes it out one-handed. Thick. Angry.
Drooling precum in fat sticky ropes that splatter hot against your clit.
“Shhh gonna split you open, bunny,” voice still sickeningly sweet. Hips rocking forward as the fat head kisses your entrance—hot, demanding, wider than you remember. "Just relax… let me fill you up…"
“Wait!- hngh!-”
Plunging in deep you cried out nails scraping the gravel, walls fluttering uselessly around the sheer girth, trying to push him out even while more slick gushes out to betray you.
“F-ffuck! Didn’t you hear me??”
He sinks deep, deep, deep, blue eyes half-lidded in bliss while that smile never falters.
“Don’t say that again.” One blood-stained hand cups your cheek, thumb smearing red across your skin like he’s petting a scared kitten.
“C’mon, babe. We both know how this ends. Seems you forgot who you belong to. That’s okay though.”
With a broken moan his forehead dropped to yours pausing briefly.
“I’ll remind you.”
He starts moving.
Slow at first—wet, filthy drags that grind his cock against every raw nerve inside you.
Then harder. Meaner.
Each thrust timed with that same cheerful, hollow voice.
“Ya f-feel that, babe? That’s me. That’s us. No break-up. No ex. Just t-this pretty pussy squeezing me so tight like it missed its owner!”
You gritted your teeth and tried to twist away.
He’s too heavy. Too deep. Too gone.
“Ajax, ngh! puhleeasee! This isn’t!-”
“NO-“ plap! “NO-“ plap! “NO NO NO- don’t do that! Don’t say that!”
Every “no” lands with a vicious snap of his hips.
Cockhead battering your womb like he’s trying to fuck the memory of leaving him out of your body.
“-We’re on a nice date right now, babe! Can’t you hah…haha…see? I took you out, I got all dressed up for you, I’m being so good for you tonight!”
He’s screaming between giggles.
Tears pouring. Smile never drops. Just keeps stretching wider and wider like his face is about to split.
The wet pap-pap-pap of skin on skin echoes loud between you, slick and cum all mixing together.
You sob harder. “W-what are you ah!- talkin’ bout?!? I said we broke up! T-this isn’t a date!”
“NO!”
Another scream tears from his throat. Raw. Unhinged. Sinking deeper. Inch after thick inch.
“Don’t say that again. Don’t say that, don’t say that don’t say that - we’re on a date! This is our date!”
Laughing and crying and babbling all at once while heart-shaped pupils spin wildly.
As he fucks you in earnest—wet, filthy schlick-schlick-schlick echoing off the crates in the alley.
His leaking precum making an obscene mess between your thighs.
He’s laughing and crying and babbling all at once, that empty cheerful mask splintering wider and wider.
“You always come back to me eventually.” His voice fractures sweeter, darker. “This cunt is squeezing me so tight! Baby!— fuck, you missed me, didn’t you? Haha…”
You sob, hands gripping his shoulders tight so hard you made indents from your nails.
He only groans louder, pace turning relentless, hips grinding deep on every thrust like he’s trying to crawl inside your ribs and stay there forever.
In his shattered mind, this is a date.
The only one that matters.
And he’s never letting it end.
🔪 DOTTORE — Exhibit A
“You brought this on yourself, you know.”
The words hum down the long, sterile hallway, lazy, almost affectionate.
As if he’s scolding a pet who keeps making the same mistake.
You’re running as fast as your legs will carry you, feet slapping hard against the cold tile while your lungs burn and your heart hammers so violently you can hear it thundering in your ears.
Sweat pours down your spine, and your thighs feel way too slick, way too hot, and none of it makes any sense because you’re running for your life.
You’re sure you’re going to die, so why the fuck is your pussy throbbing and dripping down your own legs like this?
Your mind is spinning so fast it hurts.
You’d only come back to Snezhnaya because your ex said he needed to talk, and then you heard the screaming and the wet, horrible sounds, and then nothing at all.
Of course, you didn’t witness what happened, but you’re starting to piece together what unfolded now with every heavy footstep echoing behind you.
He killed him.
He actually killed your boyfriend, then he injected you with something, and now he’s hunting you through his own lab, part of whatever sick experiment he’s running, wanting you terrified and soaking wet at the same time.
Your head is pounding, your skin feels clammy and burning hot all at once, your heart is beating so fast it’s making you dizzy.
Yet still your cunt keeps clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs with every desperate step.
The ache between your legs is getting worse.
Throbbing hot and embarrassing, how are you running for your life, and your pussy is acting like this is foreplay?
“Do I really have to do this to teach you a lesson each time?” Dottore chuckled, his humming getting louder, his steps steady. “Running only makes the poison work faster, love~.”
His voice is so much closer now, curling up your spine, breathing down your neck, and you don’t dare look back.
You just keep running, gasping, crying, thighs trembling and slippery while that awful heat keeps spreading through your body, and you're so sure that whatever he gave you isn’t poison at all.
And then it hits.
It crashes through your veins like liquid fire, so sudden and violent that your legs give out instantly. You fall hard, knees slamming into the cold tile as a broken sob rips from your throat.
A puddle of slick immediately spreads beneath you, warm and humiliating, because you’re gushing so much it’s pooling on the floor.
Fuck
Your cunt won’t stop spasming, clenching, and fluttering around nothing while wave after wave of pure, pent-up arousal drowns you.
All you feel is white-hot need flooding every inch of you, so violent it rips a broken moan straight from your throat.
Attempting to get up, but you only twitch and writhe your limbs, feeling like static jello.
You look like you’re in the throes of a fever — flushed all the way down to the roots of your sweat-drenched hair, eyes slightly glazed and unfocused, lips parted as you pant like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Treachorous pussy won’t stop twitching against its will. Fresh slick gushes out of you in waves, so much that you can hear the wet sound of it dripping.
You can’t think...you can’t even remember why you were running.
All you know is that you’re burning, aching, dripping, and the man who just killed your boyfriend is standing right behind you.
“There we go…” he purrs, slow footsteps finally stopping beside you. “That’s what I wanted to see. Fascinating.”
His red eyes pierced through your trembling form like twin scalpels, cutting straight through whatever was left of your dignity.
You’re on the floor in a puddle of your own slick, thighs shaking violently, chest heaving as another wave of that cursed heat slams into you.
Shame burns hotter than the aphrodisiac.
Shame on you.
Shame on you for even considering giving him another chance.
That stupid letter he sent you had sounded so sweet, so almost-human.
You’d actually let yourself believe he might’ve changed.
What a fuckin' joke.
You left him for a reason.
No matter how tenderly he touched you, you could never tell if he was holding you because he missed you or because he was quietly counting your pulse for some new “stress test.”
Every damn time he looked at you, it felt like he was staring at a particularly interesting petri dish.
Those segments gave you the worst hive-mind uncanny valley feeling, like you were dating twenty versions of the same man who all saw you as data.
You were so fucking sure that Dottore didn’t actually love you.
That you were just his favorite little experiment.
And yet here you are.
Dripping all over his floor. Whimpering like a bitch in heat while he stands over you, looking as smug as always.
“Pathetic,” voice low and clinical, but there’s something darker threaded underneath it.
He crouches slowly beside you, gloved fingers tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet those crimson eyes. “Look at you. Running from me only to end up like this.”
You try to snarl at him, but it comes out as a broken moan instead.
Hips twitch uselessly against the cold tile, cunt clenching hard around nothing as another gush of slick leaks out of you. The shame is suffocating.
“I left you-” you gasp, voice cracking, “-because you don’t even love me. You look at me like I’m just another specimen. Those Segments… It’s like dating twenty of you, and none of them actually want me; they just want the data-”
Your words cut off into a sharp cry as he drags two fingers through your soaked folds, spreading you open without warning.
“Such a dramatic little thing,” Dottore coos, mocking. “All that fire with your pussy drooling all over my fingers the second I touch it. You really think I don’t love you?”
He laughs softly, dark and cruel.
“If I didn’t, would I have gone through the trouble of killing that worthless fling of yours? Would I have spent weeks perfecting this particular strain of aphrodisiac simply so I could watch you fall apart so beautifully?”
Your ex smiled eerily and slowly took off his glove.
“Did you have your fun? Did you get it all out?--” He pressed two thick fingers inside you without mercy, curling them viciously against that spot that makes your vision spark white. “-It’s time to come back to me.”
You sob, hips jerking, tears spilling down your flushed cheeks. “Zandik- hah- please”
“Please, what?” Twisting his fingers deeper, thumb circling your swollen clit with slow, teasing strokes. “Use your words, darling. You were so eloquent a moment ago about how I don’t love you. Tell me exactly what you need from the man who supposedly feels nothing for you.”
Your pride is crumbling fast.
The heat is unbearable now, every inch of you burning, pulsing, begging. You’re so pent up it hurts.
“I— I can’t— fuck— Zandik, please, I need—”
He pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whine pathetically at the loss, hips chasing his hand like a desperate whore.
“Beg properly,” he says coldly, eyes glittering with wicked delight. “Beg the man you claim doesn’t love you to fuck the need out of your pitiful, dripping cunt. Or perhaps I should just leave you here like this?... Let you writhe on the floor until the aphrodisiac drives you truly insane? Hm?~”
Damn him
You break. Tears streaming, voice shaking, pussy throbbing so hard it’s painful, you sob out the words he wants to hear.
“Please… please, Zandik, I need your cock— I need you to fuck me, please— I can’t take it anymore—”
Dottore's mouth curls, slow and terrifyingly satisfied. “Good girl.”
Two thick fingers push back inside you without warning, curling viciously against that spot that makes sparks explode behind your eyes.
You sob, hips jerking hard as another gush of slick floods out around his hand, pooling on the cold tile beneath you.
The pleasure is too much. Too fast. Your cunt keeps spasming and fluttering uselessly, greedy and desperate even as shame burns through you.
You try to close your legs. Try to bite back the whimpers.
Smack!
It was sharp - fleeting, even - but your entire body is jolting at the feeling of Dottore’s thick fingerpads smacking your poor cunt.
Right above your ravaged clit. “Ngh- Z-Zandik!”
“Z-Zandik!” he mocks your moans, voice higher than usual. “Thought you wanted hngh- to be quiet, whore?”
He grins, chuckling softly at the way you’re half-lucidly pushing at his rippling biceps - nails leaving neat little marks as you’re torn between pushing him away and wanting more, more, more-
“How are you gonna do that if you’re like this, huh?”
You fixed your quivering lips to say anything, but he did something unexpected-
He leans in and kisses you like he actually missed you.
Soft at first. Almost sweet.
His moves against yours with surprising tenderness while two thick fingers sink back into your dripping cunt, curling lovingly against that spot that makes your brain melt.
“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, his voice low and warm against your lips. “I’ve always loved you. Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve invested in you?”
At the same time, his fingers pinch your swollen clit hard, rolling the poor bud between his thumb and forefinger with mean, precise pressure.
You jolt and whimper into Dottore's mouth. “Mmnph!- no, you-”
He just kisses you deeper, swallowing every sound, murmuring sweet filth against your tongue.
“My perfect little whore,” he coos lovingly, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your tear-stained cheek, the corner of your eye. “Look at you. Such a pathetic, dripping mess on my floor. Crying and gushing like you were made for this.”
Another deep, affectionate kiss as he pinches your clit even harder, tugging on it while his fingers fuck into you with wet, filthy sounds.
“I love you so much,” he breathes tenderly, like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. “I’ve discarded less valuable things for far smaller reasons.”
You’re shaking, overwhelmed and confused at the constant contrast between his soft kisses, gentle confessions, and the ruthless way he’s abusing your clit is driving you insane.
He kisses you again — slow, deep, devoted — right as he gives your clit one last vicious pinch.
That’s what breaks you.
Your orgasm hits like lightning. You scream into his mouth as your cunt clamps down around his fingers, gushing everywhere in messy, humiliating waves.
Dottore keeps kissing you through it. Sweet. Loving. Like he’s proud of you.
Only when your body finally goes limp does he pull back, red eyes glowing with satisfaction.
Then his smile turns sharper.
“That aphrodisiac I gave you?” he says calmly, still stroking your hair like a lover. “It was always a hybrid. The paralyzing agent activates right after orgasm.”
You try to move your legs.
Nothing.
From the waist down… you’re completely paralyzed.
“Fascinating…” Zandik leans down and presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice soft and affectionate.
“You won’t need legs anymore, darling. I’ll take care of you from now on.”
🔪 RERIR — Fuck Your New Guy
He’s going to kill him. Right now.
That’s what the eye contact is for. You understand that now, tied to the headboard, gag wet from crying, that the man you’ve been seeing for three months is going to die in front of you.
Watching Rerir’s hand coil around your man’s throat, slowly wanting you to see all of it.
Your fling is begging. Grabbing at his wrist with both hands, saying things — please and wait and something pathetic about not even knowing you that well — and your true lover doesn’t even flinch.
Pink eyes bore holes through you, and somehow, you knew exactly what they were silently communicating at this moment.
You ran, his eyes say.
Across a continent, across a whole ass ocean. Inazuma. You made it to Inazuma and stood in your new home, and almost convinced yourself it was over.
His grip tightens slow n’ deliberate…You feel it in your stomach even from across the room, this horrible, telegraphed knowing, and you’re pulling at the rope again without deciding to, wrists burning, throat working around nothing-
CRACK!
The sound was loud. Wrong in a way that lives in your body now, permanent, a sound you will never un-hear for the rest of your life.
You closed your eyes tight as if that would make this go away. Flinching when you heard the deep thud of your ex's body dropping to the floor.
Still not opening your eyes. Just squeezed them shut harder, biting your lip behind the gag so the sob stays where it is.
How did this happen?
Why you?
Why not some other girl - there’s no way he’s this obsessed, right?!
It’s ok, it’s all a dream once you open your eyes; this’ll all be some sick nightmare that you can laugh about—
He’s right in front of you.
“EEP!-” You jerked back hard, skull connecting with the headboard, stars exploding across your vision.
Rerir’s hand shoots out, gripping your face hard. Cheeks squishing between his long, sharp claws, blood forming at the ends of his talons, forcing your teary eyes to meet his.
When he tore the gag off, you didn’t even breathe first. "I'm sorry!-"
Already. Before you can even think.
"I'm so sorry, okay, I know I left, but I just needed — it wasn't about you; he didn't even mean anything, I swear, I wasn't thinking. Please, I'll fix it, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't-"
Rerir stares at you, eyes narrowed in genuine confusion.
He killed for you. Crossed an ocean for you. And here you are looking at him like he’s something you have to survive.
It should bother him.
…it doesn’t.
He tunes most of it out.
The rambling.
The apologies.
The way your voice keeps cracking.
He just watches your face, searching for the girl who used to call him "Riri".
“—I can make it up to you.”
Oh
There she is.
“Make it up to me.” He drawls, repeating.
You gulp but nod frantically. “Yes. Anything! I swear! I’ll do anything.”
His eyes drop for a second, then back up to yours. “Even that?”
You know exactly what he means.
The thing you always shied away from, always found some excuse for — you’re too big, we can’t, I can’t— and he was patient.
He was.
But patience has a limit, and you just handed him an open invitation.
His giant cock visibly throbs in his pants, a wet spot spreading from the tip as he leans in close, long sharp claws trailing down your stomach.
Rerir brings two blood-stained fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a slow drag of his tongue, pink eyes never leaving yours.
“You said I was too big.” His voice drops low. Husky. “Said you couldn’t take it.”
Clawed hand sliding lower until he’s cupping your soaked cunt possessively. “And now you’re tied to the bed, telling me you’ll do anything.”
“Ok wait- Rerir— I didn’t mean—”
“Fuckkk, I need ya.” He crashes his mouth into yours like a starving animal.
He doesn’t give you time to breathe.
One clawed hand tilts your head aside while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. His mouth attacks your neck — licking, sucking, biting marks into every inch the other man never touched.
“I need ya so badly,” he groans against your skin, “Been dreaming about this tight little virgin pussy the entire time I crossed that fucking ocean for you.”
You whimper as he frees his cock.
It’s monstrous.
Thick, veined, heavy enough that it slaps against your stomach with a wet thwack. The tip is already drooling thick ropes of precum.
“Rerir it’s— it’s way too big— I can’t— we shouldn’t—”
“Fuck no.”
He cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips, notching that fat cockhead right against your entrance. Pink eyes gleaming with something feral.
He pushes forward with just a tip. The bigggg stretch is immediate, stinging, and impossible.
Your back arches clean off the bed, a broken cry ripping from your throat.
“You got very far. Fuck, I’ll give you that.”
He’s panting against your ear, claws digging into your thighs as he forces you open wider. “Tied up. Begging to make it up to me. This pussy’s already creamin’ all over me, and I’m barely inside.”
SCHLCK!
Another thick inch sinks in. Your walls flutter desperately around the invasion, trying and failing to adjust. “Rerir!!— ngh!—”
Rerir’s claws dig harder into your thighs as he forces another thick inch inside you.
Your pussy has never taken anything close to his size before, and it’s fighting him, walls clamping down so tight it almost hurts him too.
“NGGH-” A broken whine rips from your throat. “-IT HURTS!” Your back bows clean off the bed.
“Just relax,” he hisses against your neck, “Hah, you’re already this tight?”
He rolls his hips again.
Slow and greedy.
Another inch sinks in. The fat head of his cock pushes so deep that the bulge in your stomach becomes obvious, moving with every shallow breath you take.
You’re crying now. Legs shaking uselessly in the air while the ropes bite into your wrists.
“I can’t— I’ve never—”
“You will.”
Your pussy flutters desperately around the invasion, creaming and dripping down his length even as you sob. Rerir groans. Low. Filthy. His claws flex on your hips, yanking you down to meet the next heavy push.
“This is what you owe me.”
He starts fucking you for real then — long, sloooooppy strokes that drag every veined inch through your walls, forcing them to stretch around him whether they want to or not.
The first real thrust tears a sharp sting through you.
Blood.
A thin trail of red mixes with your slick, smearing down his thick cock as he forces your virgin cunt open for the first time.
The sight makes Rerir shudder so hard you feel it in your bones.
“Fuck…” he groans, voice cracking with something close to reverence. “First time.”
Each pull back has your cunt clinging to him desperately, gushing and creaming down his length like it’s trying to keep him inside.
Every brutal push forward forces another wet schlck out of you, the obscene sound mixing with the faint metallic scent of blood in the air.
You can’t think.
Can’t even speak.
Just broken little cries and whimpers every time that fat, roverin’ reddened cockhead plunges between your pussylips and hits dead-set on the back of your cunt — splattering slick, cum, and blood upwards.
Bandaged torso presses flush against you, chest heaving as he drinks in every twitch, every sob, every tear.
“C-can’t wait til ya cum f’me, my girl. First time taking all of me — I want to feel it.”
He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, fangs grazing your lip as he feels your body start to seize again.
He drags his swollen cock all the way back until only the fat tip is teasing your puffy folds, letting you feel every single throb… then slams back in with a wet SCHLORP, bottoming out so deep the bulge in your stomach is obscene.
You bit your lip so hard it bled, tears falling freely from your eyes.
Laughing low and mean, another thrust, even harder, mercilessly bashing in the top of your cervix, so smooth and slick you were - your sure his rude tip has formed a bruise there.
“Who the fuck leaves a cock this big for some pathetic little fling?” he taunts, voice dripping smug cruelty. “Do you have any idea how many sluts would kill to get split open on something this thick? And you ran far n’ wide just to let some tiny-dicked nobody be your first?”
He punctuates it with a particularly brutal ram that made your cunt gush out more fluids.
Your only coherent thought, floating somewhere above the pain and mind-melting pleasure, is:
He’s really talking shit about my ex… right now? While he’s literally taking my virginity?
Rerir seems to read it on your face, grinning genuinely for the first time in the night.
“What? Were you actually gonna let that loser pop ya cherry?-” He laughs darkly, hips never stopping their brutal rhythm. “-Cute. Stupid. But don’t worry, baby… I ngh, made the decision for you.”
His hands angled your hips to hit right in that spongy spot inside you, pain and pleasure blurred together as you hiccup and gasp.
“F-FFUCK! RIRI!”
The nickname slips out before you can stop it… Moaning mindlessly, too cockdrunk to realize what you had said, wrists burning from your frantic moving around.
Rerir goes completely still for half a second.
Then something in his face does something complicated — jaw tight, pink eyes flickering, like you just reached into his chest and squeezed.
His next thrust comes slower.
Deeper n’ more deliberate.
"T-that’s it." Rough. Barely above a whisper. “Let go f’me.”
Toes curling until it hurts — you cum so hard your vision whites out, mouth in a wide 'o' shape.
Rerir's grinding down your g-spot perfectly, making you go numb with the pleasure of him poking that tight orifice — right before you're bursting into your very first orgasm.
He doesn’t pull away even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation.
Just keeps grinding that fat cockhead against your cervix like he’s never letting you go again.
Silky ropes of cum pour deep into the back of your pussy — thick, goopy, and endless.
Splashing around every time he fucks his groin inside, collecting right where he keeps pressing like a button he has no intention of releasing.
Being fucked through peak after peak.
Thrust after thrust all targeting that same ruined spot.
When you finally come down, those same pink predatory eyes are staring into your star-struck ones.
And you know with terrifying clarity, that he’s not chasing you a second time.
🔪 VARKA — “Too Much?”
I’m so mature.
Varka keeps telling himself that, knuckles white around the rag as he wrings it out over the bucket.
Pink. Then red. Then clear again.
Methodical. Steady. Same hands that carved through warzones without flinching. Same hands that just turned her little side-piece into red paste across the cabin walls.
Heh. Mature.
The rag rips clean down the middle.
He stares at the torn halves for half a second, lips twitching. Tosses them aside and grabs a fresh one.
I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so fucking mature.
Three weeks of that bullshit looping in his skull.
Ever since Kaeya dropped it so casually — she’s seeing someone now. Varka had just nodded, smiled, and gritted out through clenched teeth, ‘Good for her,’ with the straightest face in all of Mondstadt.
Then went home and split a training dummy clean in half.
Now the cabin reeks of iron.
Blood on the walls, floorboards, and blood drying in his blond hair and streaked across his scars.
And he’s still cleaning...calm as you please.
Because he’s the Grand Master, he doesn’t get jealous.
He's mature.
Footsteps hit the porch — right on time, like clockwork.
That familiar little rhythm that used to make his chest warm. Now it makes his cock twitch against his thigh like a goddamn animal.
Wringing the new rag, slower now. Blood drips plip… plip… plip into the bucket while his blue eyes flick toward the door.
Frozen in the doorway. Eyes wide. Pretty little mouth falling open at the massacre he made of her ex.
3...2…1
“VARKA WHAT THE HELL!”
Flashing her that same easy, sheepish grin he always gives when he comes home late from a mission.
“Princess-” he drawls “-it’s not what it looks like.”
You’re frozen in the doorway.
The entire cabin is covered in blood. It’s everywhere — walls, floor, even the ceiling.
The smell is so thick it makes your throat close up.
And there’s Varka.
On his knees in the middle of it all. Blond hair matted with red. Scars stood out sharply against all the blood. Blue eyes looking up at you with that same easy, friendly expression he always wears.
He’s casually wiping down his claymore with a rag like he’s cleaning dirt off it after training.
Your man... or what’s left of him is lying in a heap a few feet away.
He gives you a bashful little smile. “Alright, okay, I know how this looks,” his voice warm and almost playful as he wrings the bloody rag out between his huge hands.
“Things got a little out of hand. I really did try to talk to him first, doll. Swear on my honor. But the guy just wouldn’t listen. Kept going on and on about how he was in love with you and wouldn't leave you…” He lets out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed.
“I just didn’t like how obsessed he was getting with you. So… I handled it.”
Why and how the fuck is he so nochalant? Well, of course, violence wasn't new for him since he is the grandmaster...but this was insane!
This psycho literally killed your boyfriend, and for what?!-
Your eyes darted from him to the mangled corpse a few feet away then back at Varka, him catching your stare and chuckling at your expression.
That was until your knees started to buckle, and the world began to blur as the familiar feelings of danger banged in your head.
This is exactly why you left him.
The man can stand in a room full of someone else’s blood and talk to you like he just spilled juice on the carpet.
You thought if you left, he would've gotten better- you were so wrong.
You stumbled a bit, the faint deja vu of stress reeling in.
Varka notices immediately. His blue eyes widen. “Ah, doll—wait, don’t!—”
Your vision goes black before you even hit the floor.
.
.
🔪
SCHLCK! SCHLORP! SCHLCK!
He’s got you folded in half before you even wake up.
Strong forearms hooked all tight n’ draaaaagging them upwards- the moment your pussy’s smeared all open, it’s letting out the most lecherous squelch!
Your back plastered to his sweat-slick chest, pussy spread obscenely wide and already drooling all over his thick cock.
The moment he spears back in — SCHLCK! — your eyes snap open on a broken wail.
“NGHH… FUH—?!”
Varka groans low against your ear, chin digging into the crook of your neck so he can watch the way your poor cunt stretches around him.
Every brutal upward thrust makes your tits bounce, makes more of that gooey white cum he already pumped into you earlier splatter out in messy little bursts.
“Fuuuull fuckin’ Nelson,” he pants, hoarse and delighted. “There she is. There’s my good girl.”
He rocks you on his cock like you weigh nothing.
Huge hands locked behind your head, forcing you to look down at the obscene sight your puffy folds split wide, his fat, veiny length disappearing into you over and over, creamy ring of cum and slick coating his base.
Your walls flutter desperately around his girth, clenching, milking, trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once.
Legs tremble uselessly in the air. You can’t kick or twist. Can’t do anything but take it.
“V-Varka— what?—are you AH! doing?!!”
He chuckles warmly and unhinged. Another mean thrust, cockhead bullying straight into your cervix.
“You passed out on me, princess. Looked so fuckin’ distressed. Figured this woulda helped wake n’ cheer ya up.”
SCHLORP!
Your cunt squelches obscenely with every slam. Slick sprays. His balls slap wet against your ass.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
He’s huffing against your temple now, hips never slowing.
You sputtered, “FUH- hah! please- this is- ngh- too much!”
“Too much?” His forearms flex harder beneath your knees, yanking you down another inch so his cock grinds mean against your cervix. “Princess, I just redecorated the whole damn cabin for ya and yer tellin’ me this is too much?”
You sob again, voice hoarse, head lolling against his sweat-slick shoulder, trying to calm him down like you used to do before.
“Y-You killed him- we can’t just! fuck— okay, o-okay, slow down, talk to me— we can fix t-this!—”
The word “fix” makes something in him snap clean in half.
He groans way more animalistic than before.
Teeth sinking into the side of your neck as he grinds his cock in deep, swollen tip kissing your cervix over and over like he’s trying to knock it open.
“Fix?” His voice is hoarse now. Shaky. That warm Grand Master tone is completely gone. “There’s nothing to fix. Yer mine, always have been. That pathetic fuck thought he could have ya, and I handled it.”
“I’m bein’ so mature about this,” Varka grits out, teeth clenched so hard you hear them click.
One brutal thrust punches the air out of you.
“So fuckin’ mature. Could’ve killed ya too the second you ran off with that nobody. Could’ve snapped yer pretty neck and kept ya here forever.”
That made you whimper, realizing he still could do it with the way he gripped your head.
His hips are pistoning harder, cock buried deep in your stomach battering it over, and over and over-
“But I didn’t. I was good. I waited. I cleaned up my mess like a big boy and now yer cryin’ and beggin’ me to slow down?”
Every word gets more feral.
Every time you try to talk Varka down, he fucks you harder, like he’s punishing you for even suggesting he’s out of control.
You whimper, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry— please just talk to me; we don’t have to—”
He cuts you off with a broken moan that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Talk?” The word comes out shaky n’ unstable. “Ya really want me to talk while this pussy’s squeezin’ me so good? While you’re still drippin’ down my balls after I killed for you?”
His thrusts turn punishing. Short, deep, cervix-kissing jabs that make your vision spark white.
“I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so— fuckin’ mature—”
The mantra is falling apart. His voice is cracking. That easy smile you loved is gone, replaced by something wild and teeth-bared and terrifyingly fond.
You try one last time, voice small and trembling between moans.
“Ok look Varka… you’re scaring me—”
He buries his face in your neck, blond hair tickling your skin, and you feel his lips pull into a grin against your pulse.
“Good.”
Because he is scaring you.
And that fact alone has his cock throbbing so hard inside you it hurts.
You left him weeks ago.
Packed a bag in the middle of the night while he was out on some Grand Master bullshit.
Left nothing but a note that said you couldn’t do it anymore; the hovering, overprotectiveness, it all felt suffocating.
You ran.
He let you.
Told himself he was being mature. That if you needed space, he’d give it.
That the Grand Master of Mondstadt doesn’t chase. Doesn’t obsess. Doesn’t break.
Cause’ he’s handling it well!
Now here you are.
Folded in half in his arms like a fucking rag doll. Pussy gushing and fluttering and creaming all over the cock that just painted your ex across every surface of this cabin.
And you’re still trying to talk him down.
“You left me a note, princess. A fucking note. While I was out keeping Mondstadt safe. And the whole time I was tellin’ myself I was bein’ so goddamn mature.”
He shifted justttt enough to look at your face — eyes wild, pupils blown wide with obsession.
“Look at me. Being reasonable.”
His next thrust is so deep you completely went limp. "OHHH SHIT!-" Your eyes crossed, mouth slack.
SCHLORP—!
Thick ropes of fresh cum flood your insides without warning.
Hot. Endless. He doesn’t stop moving.
Just keeps grinding through his orgasm, fucking every last drop deeper while your own high crashes into you like a freight train.
You sob his name, orgasm crashing through, thighs violently shaking in the air.
Cunt clenching and gushing around him as he fills you past the point of overflowing, dripping down his cock to his balls.
Varka just holds you there. Folded. Full. His.
Pressing a slow, almost tender kiss to your tear-streaked cheek, blood from his face smearing against your skin.
“So glad I didn’t hafta kill ya princess,” he nuzzles into your neck chuckling lowly.
In a cliche turn of events, you die to death and isekai into your favourite dating game. Ecstatic, you’re eager to romance the scrapped bachelor, only to quickly realise there was a reason he didn’t make the Final Cut.
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Thinking about a Yandere!LanternFae!Reader who loves gathering interesting individuals like one would precious gems...
Character(s): (in this order ->) Durin, Albedo, Wanderer, Illuga, Lohen (the parts are kind of connected but it can be ignored)
I mean just look at that cute, cute Dragon Boy. A walking talking fairytale that got life breathed into. So pure of heart despite the smell of the abyss' corruption wafting from his entire being, and the dreadful fate he is certainly shackled by. Truly a rare gem that one must keep a tight hold on, which is exactly what you know how to do! He makes it so easy for you too, with how eager he is to please, trying to look after you even though he is the one who needs to be cared for. It is certainly endearing whenever he asks if he can carry your original form so you can rest your feet, bashful and fidgety and still ensure of the intimacy of the matter but still earnest nevertheless. You can never get yourself to refuse his innocent offers, not when he holds you tight in his arms and keeps you close to his heart. That lovely flustered expression of his when you tell him the significance of his actions is a bonus that you definitely don't mind having! However, such curiosity, when combined with his blind carelessness, is sure to bring ruin for him one day, and so he must be kept at an arm length all the time<3
The Alchemist whom he came along with isn't all that bad either. There's just something about his mannerisms; the way he hold himself as he stands, the careful articulation of his words, and the empty gaze he has in those weirdly mesmerizing eyes that just scream not human no matter how much he pretends to be. His microscopic expressions of puzzlement as he stares at your being are utterly adorable, you must admit, even if they do instill feelings of not-quite-anxiety-but-close-enough in you sometimes. The shudders that run down your spine whenever his eyebrows rise up enough for you to know that he solved a piece of the riddle are rather addictive, further more so when his eyes widen at your knowing smile and amused eyes, although it's a completely deferent feeling that engulfs you at the moment, it is not any less pleasant! It does get to a point, though, where beating around the bush is no longer as entertaining for your impatient self, and it seems this one is as smart as you pegged him to be when he approaches you with the delightful offer of equivalent exchange between the two of you, practically handing you his soul on a silver platter. And who are you to refuse? All you can do is happily take his hands in yours and promise to be very gentle<3
And That Scholar From The Academia, so hard from the outside yet softer than cotton candy on the inside, both metaphorically and physically. You've cracked enough of his type to recognize it from miles away, and although the amount of work put into worming your way into his —nonexistent— shattered little heart is positively atrocious, the way he clings to you so tightly —like you are important to him, like you are his air and water and the source power fueling the broken pieces of his fractured core, like you are the one thing that ever really mattered in this bleak cruel world— after everything is said and done is worth the effort. He is just your kind of person too; quiet, reserved, and so painfully attention starved that he shudders at the thought of a gentle touch upon his synthetic skin, yet he never shies away from your touch —not anymore, at least— always so responsive despite the constant state of denial he is in. And to your absolute delight, he doesn't even seem to mind your... protective tendencies towards what is yours! Nor the possibility that he might be on that incredibly long list, if that pretty blush and equally tight grip he has on you is any indication. Isn't he such a doll<3
The Young Captain you often see running to and from Piramida wasn't all that eye-catching to you at first. Just a pretty face and a prettier blush if you say so. That is, until you notice the faint imprint of one of your kin on him, grey-ish blue coloring scarred skin and scorching against your fae senses. He doesn't seem all that aware of it when you try to subtly hint at the mark's existence, and it makes you boil in silent fury for this poor, poor thing. Catching the eye of a lantern fae is the one thing a human should never do— Not you of course! Sure, you were often described as obscenely gluttonous even compared to your kind, but you would never selfishly dare to lay your claim on someone without their explicit consent! Especially, someone as kind and vulnerable as the sweet captain of The Nightmare Orioles, who seems quiet oblivious to his current predicament as you gently pry the heavy coat from around his shoulders, a dark blush coating his cheeks at his state of undress inside someone else's home. Or maybe it is the close proximity between you two as you ask for permission to rid him of all his annoying fae problems? Nevertheless, as long as he behaves like a good boy and lets you finish what you came here for, you'll be more than happy to fulfill any of his dirty fantasies<3
That Vice Captain from the so called Knights of Favonius is certainly not the first human that used less than noble ways to attain greater power, and he surely won't be the last either. It is amusing, however, to see one so foolish as to leave a trail as clear as daylight behind oneself, and what is more fascinating is that somehow this one managed to not even get caught by anyone yet. It makes you wonder if it is really just ignorance or blatant disregard of the divine, though, you doubt it is the latter, it at least saves humanity some dignity. Out of your many objects of affection, this is not the most unique one, but he certainly is the most entertaining out of the bunch! Artificial or not, it is not every day that you see such immense amounts of bloodlust on a body so small and a face this pretty. It does not help his case that he is just so easy to play around with. An "unintentional" display of power here, a small show of "reluctant" interest there, and maybe rambling away while "incredibly drunk," and accidentally sharing some of the wisdom gained from living hundreds upon hundreds of years. It doesn't take him long to come looking for you on his own, looking up at you like a man starved; sitting on his knees as he desperately begs you for whatever you can give and offers you his soul and body and mortal flesh because he is just as greedy as you are and will take and take and take until it consumes him whole<3
❝ die donne scheint mir aus den händen, kann verbrennen, kann dich blenden. ❞
translation - "the sun is shining out of my hands, it can burn, it can blind you."
yandere! god! khaslana x! fem! reader
Before there was light, there was darkness.
And before the darkness, there lay a void.
It lay empty throughout the cosmos, save for a few glimmering figures which lingered within the vast space of blackness. Throughout the ages, these figures came together to forge life and death, time and space.
Goodness and wickedness, as they saw fit.
No one knew how these almighty creatures came to be - they have simply always existed ever since they themselves could remember, and the humanity which they had forged was content with this answer. These creatures, which humanity would grant the title of "Gods", or "Titans", had made a pact with each other, a sacred oath which could not be broken for as long as eternity was intact. They had all taken on the burden of taking care of humanity in one form or the other.
Passage, Law, Time, Earth, Ocean, Sky, Reason, Romance, Strife, Death, Trickery and Worldbearing - these were the concepts which held the world afloat.
The humans, which were woven with such delicate care with the golden threads of the Titan of Romance, made of clay with the power of the Earth Titan, and blessed with Reason, would come together and commemorate their creators on certain days of the year. Flowers, gifts, prayers and desperate tears would be given to these gods, as their creations chanted and sang in tandem, begging for their words to be heard and answered.
Some of the gods did not mind the words of their creations, finding them to be delightfully charming. The Titan of the Sky, in her ever gentle nature, was always one of the first ones to respond, bestowing a soft rainy dew upon the land. Meanwhile, the proud one bearing Strife was the stark opposite, often not heeding the calls of the bloodthirsty warriors, finding their cruel desires repulsive.
It was all the same song and dance, over and over again, especially to the Deliverer.
He went by various names - Deliverer, The Worldbearer.
Or, as the humans had liked to say, Khaslana.
It was all the same to him.
His duty was to hold the world in his strong hands, ensuring that no harm befalls upon the vast land which he and his comrades took such great care to nurture. His grip was powerful and mighty, akin to a father holding his firstborn child on the day of its birth.
Khaslana adored the humans with every fiber of his mighty being, something which the Titan of Reason liked to mock him for. It was not as if Lord Anaxagoras was a cruel creature, but Khaslana's sheer passion and intensity were simply staggering.
Anaxagoras often pondered that if it ever came to it, Khaslana might just stain his hands with blood for all of the humans they had created. He was a gentle creature deep in his core, and the shine in his bright eyes was impossible to ignore. Like the sun, it shone with pride and tenderness, and he never complained about the burden of holding the world all alone on his back.
Never. Not even once.
And yet, there was an ache in him. It began as something small, an insignificant feeling which could be swept away with a snap of a finger. The Worldbearer always kept his head up high, his grin never faltering as he kept the world safely tucked away on his strong back, fingers gently pressing into the earth, as to not startle any of the critters who may wander in that land. The Titans of Trickery and Passage would come his way to pay him a visit, boasting and sharing their stories of adventures in the human realm, and Khaslana ate up their words as if they were the most delectable sweets.
The cracks were visible even way back then... And no one had truly noticed. Tribbie and Cipher did not pay attention to the way in which Khaslana's eyes seemed to glow brighter than usual, his eyelids dipping for a fraction as a hint of darkness took over, all the while his fingers tightened upon the world for a moment too long.
He had inadvertently caused an earthquake that day.
This notion saddened Khaslana once he realized what he had done. The Gods had been worried briefly, but small slip ups can happen, and the harm was minimal in the long run.
All was well, or that was how everyone had said.
That was not what the Titan of Strife thought. He had kept his lips shut during that emergency meeting, his mind wandering all over the place as he eventually came to the conclusion that Khaslana would never, not in a single lifetime, make a mistake as egregious such as this.
Something was amiss.
And Mydei was going to find out exactly what was troubling the Deliverer.
He was curt and brief with the Deliverer, claiming that it was pointless for him to lie. The Titan of Strife wished to understand what it was that caused the Deliverer to slip up... But he had said nothing, as he laughed humorously in Mydei's face.
"It is as our comrades say." Khaslana spoke, the vibration of his mellow tone ringing like chiming bells in the warm summer air.
"All is well."
Mydei could do nothing but huff and leave - there was nothing for him there... At the moment.
Even when the Deliverer was at his best, like recognizes like.
Strife knows strife.
Khaslana was hiding something from them, and it would take a while for him to speak up - it was simply how he was.
It was his nature.
So be it then, thought Mydei to himself, a bitter and worrisome feeling settling inside his chest.
"You will crack." was Mydei's last word to Khaslana before he departed from that conversation.
And oh, how the Deliverer started to crack from that day onward.
In due time, he became much more reclusive than he typically was, which stunned the other gods. His tense shoulders would freeze whenever one of them would stand before him and speak, those molten eyes of his searing into their forms as if he wished to evaporate them all right there on the spot. This transformation was slow and gradual... And to the Titans of Romance and Strife, it eventually became completely and utterly unbearable.
Khaslana was never angry with them, not necessarily. He had never told them to leave, never once uttered any curses or foul words their way, but what struck a cord with them happened around the time of the summer solstice.
Humanity was buzzing with excitement, as were the titans as well. Khaslana typically was most fond of this specific solstice instead of the winter one, as he found the shining sun on his godly form far more pleasant than the cold air which greeted him in the darker days of the year. The prayers of the humans also would make his heart swell with pride, as he took far too much joy in the silent whispers and cheerful songs which were sung in his honour.
This year, something had just... Changed.
A fortnight before the solstice, Lady Aglaea had paid him a visit, her golden form radiating the path towards the Worldbearer, the sound of her heels clicking against the stars as she greeted Khaslana fondly, her blind eyes settling down on him.
But even if she could not see, her golden threads could feel everything within the universe - and Khaslana was no exception.
His mind kept wandering, and even if she could not physically see, the way in which Khaslana was tripping over his words made Aglaea worry. However, she decided to not say anything directly, lest she alarm the beast before her. Quietly, her delicate fingers wrapped themselves around the golden thread she had woven all those aeons ago and tugged, carefully monitoring the beating sensation of Khaslana's heart.
A chill went up her spine as her mellow eyes suddenly widened, making Khaslana trip over his words even more, as he had no clue what could have possibly disturbed the Lady Goldweaver so much.
"That sensation..." thought Aglaea to herself, recognition settling inside her as her fingernails dug deeper into the invisible threads, the heat of Khaslana's heart only making them even stronger.
It was unlike anything she had ever felt. Love was a feeling, a choice between mortals. It could cause them both blessing and ruin, hope and despair. It was all a tapestry of madness and illusion, some which would gladly take on no matter how much they bled or cried.
A human being was nothing without love. They were made to want, to yearn for something other than their own existence.
Right here and now, the almighty god which held the world at the tips of his fingers was burning with desire.
Aglaea did not dare to question him, fearing what his reaction might be. She knew all too well just how powerful Khaslana was, how if he so desired, could turn all of the gods into dust with the snap of his fingers.
Who was he even, if he did not burn?
That was a question which Khaslana had asked Aglaea centuries ago, as the pair chattered for what she thought was mere leisure at the time.
His heart, the magnus opus of his whole existence, scorched with nothing that could be described as a pure and naked want. It was something akin to a warrior gazing at a bathing nymph, Aglaea could practically taste how Khaslana's sanity was slipping with each passing moment. It was a charred tang which was stuck on the tip of her tongue, threatening to swallow her on the spot.
She departed not long after that.
The Titan of Romance was completely out of her depth here, but she simply must take action. She had to discover just who was this mortal which Kahslana was so taken with, and then decide what the appropriate course of action was going to be.
With the help of the Titans of Passage and Time, Aglaea had descended down the Earth, her sensation completely masked by Reason, as to not alert the Worldbearer. In the blink of an eye, she had turned herself into an elderly, mortal woman. Her full, flowing gowns were replaced with old and tattered capes, as her once delicate and soft skin now became ragged with human age. To the naked eye, she was no better than a old traveler, but the heavens knew better.
Thus her quest began - and just as swiftly as she set off, her search had ended by the time the sun had set.
She was shocked with where the golden threads had led her. Picking them apart was easy as breathing to her, particularly since Khaslana always had his special sort of trail everywhere he touched. Aglaea had expected her journey to take her to a beautiful castle, with a gentle lady waiting at the top, a pearl comb in her hand as the noblewoman would most likely be singing ancient hymns at the reflection in her mirror.
Instead, she had found herself in a quaint village in the west. As far as the eye could see, golden wheat fields filled the scenery, the scent of faint, earthy cooking lingered in the air, while happy children roamed the cobblestone streets, their parents working in the fields which would bless them with a great boon soon.
Aglaea made sure to stay hidden in the crowd, as she continued to pull and tug onwards, all the while gently minding to not run into anyone. Her threads suddenly became sharp, causing her to wince. Trickles of golden blood split down her hand as she went her way, determined to put a stop to this all.
In the distance, there was a house.
It was a simple constriction, the aesthetic of it matching the entire village but the air there was different. Various colorful blooms filled the grass in front of the wooden house, while the fruit on the tiny trees were nothing short of delectable. Even with her lack of vision, Aglaea could sense just how much care was put into every corner here.
Suddenly, a creak was heard, and Aglaea gently dipped behind a bush as her threads roared with vigour, their stiffness now bordering on maddening.
A soft hum filled the air as a young woman stepped out of the home, a small basked of berries in her hand as she made a straight beeline towards the bustling town, but not before turning her head upwards. Aglaea pressed herself as close as she possibly could, as the thread in her arms dug deeper than ever before, the golden blood searing hot against the summer sun.
From the distance, she could make out the woman chanting gentle prayers to the Worldbearer, the sound of her voice being carried by the wind all the way to Khaslana's eager ears.
Even from here, Aglaea could sense how hard he must be smiling at this exact moment.
A pained gasp suddenly escaped her, as Aglaea fell to her knees. Horror filled her being as the once soft threads only continued to plough through her immortal veins, as if they wished to just embrace and take whatever they could. It took all of her willpower to not shriek at the gruesome pain which was forced upon her, as she tugged at the threads around Khaslana's heart.
How long has this been going on?
This mighty Titan was at the mercy of a human woman - her word was gospel to the Worldbearer.
And she was not even aware of it.
With a powerful gust of wind, Aglaea had made herself scarce from the human world, begging the Titan of Passage to return her back to their immortal real of gold.
A council must be held. Immediately.
According to legend, these sorts of meetings were typically held for the events which held the utmost importance. Such events usually would include some possible world shattering event, humanity was falling apart or some other cataclysmic horror was gnawing away at the universe. If they were lucky, the gods would perhaps come together and feast on the delectable offerings from the mortals, with a cup of sweet wine to cleanse their pallet as well. If the occasion called for it, they would dance together until the sun would set and rise once more, but these soirees were hardly ever held in tandem, let alone with all of them present.
In that moment when Aglaea summoned them all, she pondered if she could throw the Worldbearer a proper celebration, a last hail Mary in order to soothe him and his aching soul.
In all her glory and comfort, she never took time to consider the fact that no one had truly been celebrating Khaslana - let alone loved him.
She sat at the head of the table as her dull eyes landed on each and every guest, the wine in her aureate cup suddenly turning sour the moment her woven threads pulsed once more.
Khaslana said nothing - what could he even possibly say?
Seeing his usually sun kissed face turn sombre was a sight to behold at this table full of gods. There was no denying it, and neither did he try to do so.
Wordlessly, Khaslana had pressed his hand right on his chest, pressing the palm of his hand straight across his heart. The gods started at him with fear, as Khaslana's agony became more and more unmistakable.
He was in love.
Helplessly, as if held captive against his own will, Khaslana had become chained to this little human who could be turned to dust if any single person at this table snapped their fingers. He shuddered in his seat, as Khaslana took in a deep breath through his nose.
"She has pierced my soul..." said the god, his voice heavy with unearthly devotion. The spark in his golden eyes seemed to come to life, as if he was picturing her standing right before him. It was a sickly sweet sight, as if bitting into an overly ripe fruit, the jucies dripping down ones chin as Khaslana spoke once more.
"I am half agony, half hope... I have loved none like her."
That night had been arduous and heavy, no one was pleased with anything which was exchanged. After epochs of servitude, Khaslana had requested the unimaginable - to be released from his post in order to properly meet this human. He truly wished to let go of this earth, just for a brief moment of time.
He has been nothing but perfect - he cannot handle his quiet suffering anymore.
Khaslana will burst like a flame, and die as one, all alone in the darkness if he keeps this up.
No one could refute this. None dared to counteract this argument of his.
A consensus was made that night, not necessarily by choice but all would comply with the will of the Worldbearer. This was the one thing he would not bend on, no matter how much he may bleed and hurt. He would take on the form of a man and finally see the mortal woman with his own two eyes - this was his one and only wish.
Khaslana wished to feel her with his own flesh, gaze at her wish such warmth that the sky would be jealous, and devour her on the spot with nothing but his teeth and greed. For the first time in an eternity, he had granted himself the luxury of greed.
His comrades had helped him create a human body, tailor made to his preferences. Snow white hair, sky blue eyes and a powerful physique to match his otherworldly strength - all this was made by the clay of the Titan of Earth, and was bestowed with the gifts of Romance and Reason in order to fit in with human society. All of his comrades had lend him a helping hand, something he was deeply grateful for.
Perhaps the most helpful hand was the one no one could have predicted - Strife had volunteered to hold up the world for as long as Khaslana was absent. Mydei was aware of this grueling task, but he was more than prepared for it.
His comrade needed him now more than ever - who was he to deny him? Even with this just reason, he could not help but to recall the hints of fury in those eyes back when he first approached Khaslana.
It was only a matter of time before he would snap in half.
The Titans had made a pact - Khaslana had one year to stay with his beloved. Not more, not less.
All he did was nod wordlessly. With the flourish of his new cape, he had set off.
Come sunrise, a new man now walked across the earth. He called himself Phainon, and he was always ready to lend a helping hand to any person in need. The hero had settled down in a quaint little village, which often baffled the locals but none took offense to him - in fact, he was greeted with open arms into their community.
Phainon smiled at them all, as he ate their food and followed their traditions as one ought to - but his heart knew what it longed for.
She was always there by his side, always so close and sweet. The two would spend countless hours in the golden wheat fields together, giggles and laughter breaking the tranquil silence as Phainon's new heart became stronger than ever before.
More. He needed more.
Strife was taking its toll on holding this world together, that much was evident. Wars and bloody battles had become more common now, as travelers who went in and out of the village would share tales and accounts of how brutal monsters and warriors would clash, their ends always seemed so nigh.
People chanted and offered sacrifices to the Worldbearer, asking whether or not had they done something wrong, and Phainon listened to them all. The world was cracking due to his absence - and in a strange sense, he could not be bothered to care.
Not here, not now. Not when he had finally discovered his own slice of heaven, always there right at his fingertips.
Time was cruel. Time was against him, the year was coming to a close too soon, too fast.
But what Time did not know was that Khaslana fought dirty. Before he departed, he snatched the a coin from Trickery. It was not a piece of mortal currency, but rather a minted lie - a shimmering token Cipher had forged to pay passage through the laws of the universe. To a mortal, it was gold - to a Titan, it was a loophole.
If he could not beg Time for mercy, he would use Trickery's coin to buy a debt which could never be collected.
When the time had come to send him home, Phainon had playfully said that he ought to flip a coin to see whether or not he could stay longer. Finding his despair charming, and frankly bittersweet, the Titans who came to collect him wished to humor Phainon.
All of them were rendered speechless once the coin was stuck in mid air, thus making both their words and his mute.
He was staying - the coin could not make a decision, and they had all allowed this wager to occur. And the Titans were not allowed to backtrack on their promises, no matter how miniscule.
Phainon had heard the sky creak that day, a warning from Mydei. He knew that his brother in arms was suffering, and he felt guilty. He truly did.
But he could not let this go. Not now.
He was not ready.
For the time being, Phainon was to remain in this world, not as a god, but as a man. He had the wits, the strength and the power.
His one and only foe was time.
So be it then.
He would destroy that as well. Over and over, he was willing to shatter the passage of time and space just to have his love by his side.
The only force in the universe which could stop him, was Death.
The moment I saw that fan art... I was just so, so INSPIRED! There was also a sudden influx of specifically Kahslana fics on my feed, and I could not help but to add my own two cents to this trend. Heavens above, I adore Phainon. This man is in my head rent free 24/7. This is also a big birthday gift for myself - June 25th is my birthday, and in 2026 I turn 24 years old! Wow! What a serious number for such an unserious person!! I also rushed the end because I REALLY wanted to hit my birthday deadline... I hope you can all forgive me for that.
Art credit: @box-artist. Your art is so amazing, and I want to thank you for granting me the privilege of using it in my silly little fic. You are the best.
Divider credit: @uzmacchiato. You poor soul, if you end up reading this, I can only imagine how annoyed you must be with me, because I keep using your dividers LOLOLOL. That's your own fault though, for making these dividers so cute and perfect.
Thank you all for reading! Comments and ideas are always welcome! Stay flamin'!
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I know the facial anatomy is way off, leave me alone🤺 this was entirely self-indulgent
It's about time i made something with this page 'cause as much as i read fanfiction here, i barely know how this app works😔 from here on out i might draw more lohen or whoever i currently have a fixation on lmao
(Maybe even challenge community guidelines with spicy ones)
WARNINGS: obsessive tendencies, mentions of murder and death, graphic depictions of violence, gore, descriptions of blood and vomit, slight body horror, mentions of weapons, non-consensual affection. YANDERE/DARK CONTENT AHEAD. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. 7.1k words.
ALSO CONTAINS: direct references to the game 'No, I Am Not A Human'
The thermostat in your house seems to be working wonderfully well for the kind of situation it's currently stuck in.
The whirring of the air-conditioning unit it's attached to fills your ears. The thermostat seems to do its job, with the occasional beeps chiming in. Its LCD is displaying changes to the temperature, but you barely care about it, as the room has always felt the same kind of cold to you for months now (so you think the little numbers on the display hardly have any audience to inform anyway) but despite that, the machine continues to hum, its sound mixes with the monotonous reporter on your TV.
“An unidentified cosmic event has caused the Sun to release energy far exceeding the safe levels in the UV index. Please be informed that temperatures in daytime hours are now considered fatal.
Whirr, hum, whirr, hum. The white box is trudging its years-old components to make sure your skin doesn’t melt off. The sun had become a̗̾ͣ͘n̡̻̱͎͙̦̯̿ͯ͊ͤ̉o̪̥̞͇̖ͨ͋ͫͅmͨ̚͞a̠̠̫̙ͫͪ̀̈l͌̈͆͌ͬ̓̌ơ̯ͧͮͣü̱͓̱̭̩̾̊̇́͞ͅṡ̜̝͎̥͉̞̬̂ͬ too hot apparently, too hot that the sun rays people used to bask into now burns them into a crisp.
Along with the sun reverting back to its archaic reputation of being the deadly laser that formed this godforsaken earth (it seems to have changed its mind now — not surprising really, after witnessing the shit humans have been up to lately), there also seems to be a long stream of problems coming along with it.
“IPC officials have scouted at least twenty thousand dangerous individuals c̳͊̄͑͞r̩͕̦̹̩̘̲ͥ̿ͬẹ̢̓ͬ̉̀̏̆a̫͠t͇̣̞͖̽ͨ͆͠u̸͈̣̤͔̤r͍̊͆̒ͪͬ̚e̜̗̘͛ͨͣ̿͛ͣͣs̱̮̥̊ͥͯ́ͣ̆ that are suspected to have come after the deadly solar flares. These unidentified visitors are a major concern of safety, please be guided accordingly.”
Hum, whirr, hum, whirr, hum.
“Be wary of these traits, if spotted in an individual, escape immediately.”
The reporter on TV disappears from your sight, replaced by a plain white infographic with the logo of the Interastral Peace Corporation in the top part. The bold letters spelled out “signs” of the dangerous individuals.
-Visitors are believed to have come underground, so they have soil buried beneath THEIR fingernails, especially ones too deep in the nailbed.
-Rapid eye movement and bloodshot eyes.
-Insects inside the ears.
-Unnatural amount of teeth and bleeding gums.
-Rashes and skin irritations, especially in the hands and legs.
-Black patches in skin.
-Aversion to cameras and photography, they appear blurry in photographs.
After what felt like a long minute of staring at random bullet points and the IPC logo, the reporter returns on TV. There was no other news, so he just smiled at the camera. And then left these words to the viewer:
“Stay safe, don't get burned!”
He disappeared again, probably for good this evening, as the IPC numbers are the only thing left on your TV.
You turned it off, now the only sound that remains is from your air conditioner.
Whirr, hum, whirr, hum, whirr.
KNOCK
KNOCK KNOCK
“Hey partner! You good in there?”
Startled, you dropped your remote. Who the hell just comes up to a house like that? Filled with paranoia from the earlier newscast, your heartbeat races at the voice. Warily standing up, you headed to your door to look at the peephole.
“Hey…uh, I’m Phainon! Can I stay with you for the night? Please! It's scary out here and-”
“Sorry, I’ll have to decline.”
Outside was a man pale as snow, his white hair elevating the seemingly lack of blood flow further. You noticed that as you spoke of your decline, his stature slightly drooped, yet with the way he's leaning into your door tells you that he's on the taller side.
“Wa-wait! Hear me out please, I promise I’m safe! I just really need a shelter-”
“I’m sorry”
The man leans in further, his pleading blue eyes seemingly staring directly in yours. A sun tattoo on his neck came into view, momentarily catching your attention.
He looked okay, really, yet the prospect of having another housemate and losing them through your own hands have successfully cleaved off at least half of your sanity. The visitors are rampant in their mimicry of humans, and god forbid if you have to kill off another thing — whether it is a human or something that looks just like it.
You clutched your rifle tightly.
“...”
The other side goes silent. Thinking he just gave up and left, you turned your back and walked away from the door.
“...if you need anyone to accompany you, I can do that. You don't have to carry these burdens alone, okay?”
You don't know what has gotten to you — maybe his words did, but your hands reached to the doorknob and twisted it.
“Thank you so much, I thought I was finished out there.” Phainon heaves a sigh, slowly walking towards your couch before sitting down, his knees and legs slightly shaking.
“Are you a visitor?”
Phainon looks up to you wide-eyed before shaking his hands in front of him, his head shaking in disagreement at the same time.
“What? No! Of course not. Please, my promise is genuine, I’m willing to help you in exchange for a place to rest. Please, trust me.” He looks at you straight in the eyes with a pleading look in his.
“I was hopping from place to place before this house, you're my savior really, nobody is opening the doors for me I almost gave up.” He continued, his posture so hunched down as if trying to look smaller than you while saying it that you felt a little bad for him.
But you still can't shake the unease in your head. It's like a cold chill constantly reminding you that by doing this, you're back at the start of the cycle of endless doubts.
And then possibly losses.
He seemed like a good man, a pitiful one even, with the fact that he doesn't have a permanent roof against the sun that turned faulty on all of you. At times like… these, the humanity in you wishes that you could extend a helping hand to him — probably the last vestiges of instinctual human compassion trying to claw its way out of your heart.
But at the end of the day, you are indeed, human.
And you're scared, and hurt, and confused. Because humans exposed to the crushing pressure of survival are more likely to close their walls off in hopes of lessening their burdens.
(or more like trying to stop themselves from giving out pieces of them only for the other to take it to the grave. Again and again until they have no more pieces to tear off of their bodies.)
(strange humans, really.)
“Hey… sorry if this seems blunt, but keep your distance. The room upstairs is free and I’d appreciate it if you stay there more.” You offer him a thin, half-hearted smile before heading towards your kitchen.
So in hopes of keeping what's left of yourself whole, you hide.
You're not used to hearing breathing after all the times that you're alone with the hums and beeps of your air conditioner.
You glance at your side after seeing movement in your periphery, there stands Phainon in the doorway, looking in your direction. He looks around tensely, before stepping backwards, as if to keep distance from you.
“I’m sorry, I didn't know you're here.” He shoots you an apologetic smile before turning around.
Against your better judgement, you called out to him.
“Phainon.”
The man froze in his tracks, surprised with you suddenly acknowledging him. As for you, it was too late before you realized what you blurted out.
Oh well, you've been mulling this for a while now, better get over it.
“Uhm… let's talk?” You trailed off, before revealing a second cup in your hand and giving it to him.
For the first time since his two-week long stay in your house, he beamed. To be fair, the only time you acknowledged him prior is when you coldly told him to keep distance when you first met that night.
For the following days after that, he floated around your home. Using the kitchen after you, washing up before you, and just, living in parallel to you, never really meeting. You did the same to him, offering him measly nods and stares when coming across him.
Like ghosts learning to coexist in their lonely haunting grounds.
But you're tired of the charade you made yourself, wordless guesses of each other had worn down your already thin patience. There was a time where you stared up at your ceiling all night and realized you're living with a complete stranger, who stayed as a stranger because you refused to talk about it.
“About your…” You paused for a second, your mouth suddenly feeling dry, nonetheless, you continued, “...stay here, how was it?”
What the hell even is that? You mentally smack yourself. But alas, you really don't have any topic in mind to share and you're desperate to smooth out this problem as soon as possible.
“Pretty good, pretty good!” Phainon immediately chippered, his mood clearly going up from the interaction, “Ah! Did something happen? Need my help? You're usually not one to start conversations like this.”
“Ah… that.” You cleared your throat a bit, “I was just thinking about…how uh, cold we are no? I’m sorry you've been living in here for weeks now and I don't know anything about you except your name”
“No worries! I understand why you are so distant. Times like this… it's just safer when you're alone right?” He replies, eyes boring into yours for a minute before he turns his pupils away, “But! That's why I'm so thankful to you! You sacrificed your peace of mind just to help poor me. Ah, now that we're talking about that-”
Phainon suddenly leans down to grab something from the floor. It turns out to be a bag, he starts rummaging through it, bringing out a bunch of supplies. A pack of spearmint candies, canned goods, a pair of toothbrushes, tubes of topical medication and some hygiene products.
“Okay, I think that's it…?” He trails off as he shakes the bag to empty it. “Alright, here's my little stash, if you need anything just help yourself. I used to go out at night to buy groceries, however I kinda stopped after I ran away from my apartment. Still, if you need anyone to run up things for you, just call me~” He gestures with his fingers what looks like a running motion while his other hand points at your door.
You let out a small laugh, “Why would you bother? Just ask the delivery guy to drop the goods here.”
“Delivery?” He tilts his head, eyes darting to you again, “No way.”
“Uhm-”
“Why hire a delivery guy, I'll do it for you.”
You really don't know why he's so eager to talk and help you. Perhaps it's because of the fact that you really did sacrifice your peace of mind just to put a roof over him, but his enthusiasm when it comes to this entire “setup” is… a bit jarring to you.
It's the first time in a long, long while since you've seen such bright emotions.
“Phainon, I accept your thank you. But don't bother with the grocery run-ins or, actually, any stuff in this house. I'm simply worried about you just going back out there.” You sighed at him.
But that only earns you a laugh from him.
“Hah? I think,” He stops for a bit before bringing his face close.
He seems to have a liking at staring directly into you, now that you've noticed.
“They are the ones who should worry about me!” He suddenly exclaims, before laughing with a ‘just kidding, don't worry about me!’
“Oh, it's getting late now, night-night partner!”
What a weird guy.
“See Phainon, this is why we leave the essential groceries to the delivery guy.” You plopped down at the sofa, holding a bright blue, mixed berries flavored, children's toothpaste.
“I have never seen a mixed berry flavored paste before, I always had the boring rotation of mint, spearmint and peppermint. They taste the same almost every time by the way.” Phainon sits down with you, taking the box out of your hands to open it.
“Yeah right, you’ve never seen it because it's probably been years since you had the need for any toothpaste remotely the same as that, it’s made for kids ages 7 and below!”
About a month after your “talk” with Phainon, you've settled into a rhythm within the household. While the usual habits of staying in your respective rooms and using the sink one after the other still remained, the two of you now watch T.V. and do boardgames together, as a way of acknowledging each other's presence at least.
Phainon has never shut down the idea of doing grocery runs for you, always asking if you want something from the store every night. At first you only humored him for the sake of shutting him up, asking him to buy you snacks and skincare products, basically things that you don't need but want.
But then the actual supplies had depleted and you finally decided to heed Phainon’s request for a full grocery run-in. Absolutely delighted, he immediately rushed out of the door at sunset.
And now you are regretting your decisions because while Phainon is pretty on point on your snack cravings, he has absolutely no sense of what essentials to actually purchase.
A kid's toothpaste, some new tubes of medicine you're sure you're still seeing three of in your drawers, new perfume and a travel-sized shampoo.
That shampoo is going to last you three washes.
The food selection however is fine, and you thank him for that. But you've promised to just let the night delivery handle your toiletries no matter how much Phainon begs to be let out again.
“Okay… sorry, I got carried away and got lost in the store. Here, I brought some candy and popcorn, let's eat it while watching some movies?” He pushes a plastic bag in your direction before standing up and plugging your T.V. on.
If there's one more thing that's really good about Phainon is that he has all these knick-knacks on him. For some reason, in the middle of all things, the guy has found a set of DVDs, boxes of boardgames and some entertaining books. It gets you entertained too, and considering all that's around you, you're thankful for the distraction.
You lay there on the sofa, staring at your ceiling. And then on Phainon himself. He's tall, has a great build. His white hair is always disheveled but you’re quite used to it now. If there's anything that's sticking out, it is that he looks oddly paler than normal and the contrast of the bright yellowish-gold sun tattoo on his neck makes it all the more noticeable.
Other than that he looks healthy, on the normal side even. You really can't imagine what made a capable-looking guy run away from home.
Well, it's not like you can make sense of anything that's happening to the world right now anyways.
Maybe because you've spaced out while Phainon is in your sight too much, you've also noticed some things around him. How his disheveled hair sometimes forms an antenna in his head and how that always seems to break your thermostat, as if sending a signal to it.
“Duck your head Phainon, my poor air conditioner.”
Unfortunately, your warning came in a second late as the thermostat reading suddenly shot up, 19°… 33°… 55°…
And then back to 19°
And then it just blinks to its death.
“What- Oh fuck did I kill your air conditioner?” Phainon waves his hand to the white box, but fortunately it is still working, it's just that the thermostat is now useless. “Oh, just the thermostat. Don't worry, I think I can fix it as long as the main air-conditioning still works.”
“Okay, enough with the distractions let's go actually watch something,” Phainon settles beside you, opening a bag of candies before handing it to you.
You've now realized that the lights are also off, with the glow of the T.V. being your only source of illumination. The movie begins, and by the looks of it, it's going to be another romance movie.
Phainon does sound like he's a fan of the romance genre, with how much of it he has. You've never gotten to asking him where he gets his stuff. Maybe it's all that's left in his old place? Still with how much he gushes about the scenes, you think that maybe he genuinely likes it.
“Wouldn't it be nice to get married and walk together under some sunshine?” Phainon suddenly mutters, the scene of the couple playing together on the sunny beach.
“Huh?”
“I mean, don't you miss the warmth?”
Right, warmth instead of heat. You truly miss it. When sunshine kisses your skin instead of searing it, when you can take long walks in the afternoons until sunset. When sunrise meant new beginnings instead of just another day to survive.
“Yeah, of course, I miss it. Now I see how romantic basking under the sun together is, too bad it's a little too late of a realization” You just laughed the thoughts off softly.
[Dearest, it's not too late for us.]
Phainon wraps a blanket around your bodies, snuggling closer to you. Times like this make you realize how much you miss having something, someone, to be around with. In the past few months, Phainon has become a daily part of your life. Finally after a long time, you've been talking to another person again.
You think, for the first time, you felt safe. For there's finally someone that will watch your back when you decide staying guarded feels too heavy.
This time, sleep comes to you easily.
You are woken up with the sound of the faucet running.
Trying your best to roll around and block out the noise, you can't, because the sound of someone scrubbing something rouses you awake.
Now that you've noticed it, your throat kind of feels hoarse and sticky. A nauseating aftertaste still lingering somewhere in your mouth.
Crap, you inhaled all those sweets yet fell asleep without drinking water and brushing your teeth.
Rubbing your eyes, you still hear the scrubbing from the direction of your sink. Phainon must still be brushing his teeth with that stupid bright blue toothpaste. You laughed to yourself.
You've decided to just wait until he finishes brushing his teeth. However minutes have passed and you still hear the schick schick of his toothbrush. And the faucet has been running for a while now, so you decide to call out to him.
“Ack! O-oh… you're awake? For how long haha… Oh! Are you gonna brush your teeth? You ate a lot of sweets no? Just let me finish up.” Phainon frantically answers you, his hands almost throwing the bright blue tube of the toothpaste directly into the sink.
He then quickly spits out the foam before marching to his room immediately while yelling a ‘goodnight!’ to you.
You've always noticed that he takes an awful lot of time on the sink, sometimes just washing his hands absentmindedly or brushing his teeth at least a minute or two longer than usual.
Standing up, you headed to the sink yourself for your turn. Isn't that gonna scrub his gums off or something? You wondered while picking up your toothbrush that's sitting on the same cup where Phainon’s is.
You noticed however, that aside from the absolutely decimated bristles, its color is also…off. The bristles are yellowing and there are some wet, reddish stains on the handle.
It's strange, Phainon never came off as someone with bad teeth hygiene, at least not something that you can smell when he inevitably “accidentally” pushes his face close to yours. The bright blue children's toothpaste comes into mind, that certainly would not leave red stains, no?
Ah hell, did Phainon buy a separate fruit-flavored toothpaste behind your back?
Today, you have taken one good look in your home and have realized that despite the apocalyptic situation you’re in, the task of cleaning your house remains. Huffing about the thought of moving furniture to dust them off and unearthing the long forgotten storage boxes, you stretched your arms and back in preparation for it.
Honestly, you’ve thought about asking Phainon for help (since he’s always up in your face about wanting to do things inside the house), however the thought of having to explain the possible findings in your pile of stuff — stuff from before all hell broke loose, you decided against it and just distracted the guy by asking him to buy more snacks for you.
And this time, you gave him a long list, just to be sure, damned your savings will be.
You started with the easy tasks first, like dusting off the things sitting on top of your table and cabinets. You also went in and swept your floors and rearranged displaced furniture. To be honest, your shared living spaces like the living room and kitchen are actually just fine, probably from Phainon maintaining it. You feel bad for sending the guy away but it’s too late for regrets now.
The real problem here might just be your room.
You sighed at the thought of it, but it’s not like that would do anything, so you just decided to go and actually do it. On your way to your room, you passed by Phainon’s room with its door left ajar. Out of curiosity, you took a peek inside it. The room, as you expected, is pretty much neat and tidy. The bed covers and pillows are all arranged and folded, contrary to yours that you just leave as is after waking up.
You’re about to close the door when your eyes caught something further inside. In contrast to the orderly room, one of the bedside cabinets is not closed properly, on the floor in front of it lies a used tube of some medicine.
Tube of medicine?
You’ve noticed that every time you ask Phainon to fetch things in the grocery, he never forgets to buy some of this topical ointment. You even remembered your first real conversation, this medicine is one of those that fell from his bag. You never really paid attention to it, thinking that maybe it’s something that he needs to have daily.
However that reasoning didn’t stick with you, Phainon has been buying a lot of these tubes, to the point that it’s strange because — who uses that amount of skin medication all at once? And when you look at the tube on the floor again, you realize that it’s all flattened out, it’s content all used up.
Against your better judgement of not entering other people’s room without your permission, you fully opened the door to walk inside. It felt heavy and suffocating seeing the interior of this room once more, as it belonged to your old housemates.
When this apocalypse started, you were still very gracious back then, always willing to lend your home for people in need. They always come and go, telling you that they needed to come back for someone or something, and then you never hear from them again.
The last time you had someone stay a long time was a friend who was just visiting the city and a man who begged the two of you one night, claiming that something was coming for him.
Your friend was visibly scared of him, however you felt so bad for the trembling man that you let him in. All is well for a few weeks for the three of you.
Until it's not.
Until one morning, in this very room, you found your friend lifeless under the bed.
The man was gone too, and after you called the IPC, they have confirmed that it's indeed a visitor that you unwittingly let inside your home. Their masked faces offer no consolation (maybe except for one) as they cleaned the scene like it’s just a messy bedroom.
In this room, you had your first encounter with a visitor.
And in this room, you have sentenced yourself murder of a friend. You have killed someone because of your ignorance.
And therefore, you locked yourself up, vowing to never let in anyone again.
But just like how you've ignored your vow of isolation, you also forced yourself back in this room, and it's out of extreme curiosity of your new housemate. You laughed to yourself, I will always be a bad housemate huh?
You pulled the cabinet open, and what's in there bewildered you extremely.
A pile of flattened — you squint your eyes, Hydrocortisone tubes. It's a huge pile, there's probably more than fifteen of those. This is all so strange, where the hell is he using all these ointments?
Your mind floats back to the nightly IPC news segment you used to zone out into. You haven't seen it in a while since you've replaced it with movie nights with the snow-haired guy who keeps insisting that it will just cause you unnecessary stress.
Thinking back, they used to show a list containing visitor traits to look out for. Your entire body suddenly gets chills the moment you start listing it down to your head.
…insects, bleeding gums, weird teeth, itchy skin and rashes-
Itchy skin and rashes?
You look at the hydrocortisone tube in your hand, the green label boasts 100% effectiveness against rashes, burns and inflammation.
You drop it and leave the room
For how long are you going to keep denying it?
You rush into your room and lock your door. Breathing heavily, you curled up in front of it.
Phainon has always been an odd guy. He's just a bit weird and quirky… please, right…? But the months of denying your reality, months of desperate praying that it's not that comes crashing down right in front of you.
Phainon is indeed odd, but he's odd in an odd way, if that makes sense. He's clearly way too much of an experienced guy, based on his ability to repair all things inside your home and his life stories before this apocalyptic mess happened to be that stupid over simple things like grocery lists and medicine dosage.
He's weird in all the weird places, for the lack of better description.
But he's fun, charming… and you've seemed to have developed an endearment to him. He's cared for you a lot, kept you sane when you thought a visitor is trying to get inside your house, and he's just-
He's just someone that's easy to be with.
So the thought of possibly getting rid of him pained you deeply. Just right after getting used to having someone by your side again, how unfortunate.
Suddenly, you hear the front door open. You slowly lifted yourself up and swallowed the sobs threatening to fall.
You'll give him one last chance.
“Heya- oh, what's this broom for, did you clean something? You should've waited for me so I could help you!” Phainon exclaimed as he dropped a large bag of snacks that you had asked him to buy.
“Hm, no need, the house is actually already clean haha… did you clean it before?” You timidly answered him, which made his head tilt a bit.
“Well… yeah! What do you think? Pretty good right? I maintain our home daily just so you know, so don't bother with the cleaning,” Phainon laughs, sitting down on the sofa and opening his arms as if to showcase your very much cleaning living room.
“Yeah!” You try matching his enthusiasm but failing. You sighed at the attempt and just sat with him on the sofa, “Hey… can I ask you something?”
“Hm? Yeah sure, what's up?”
“Do you… have any skin conditions?”
Stupid, stupid, when will you accept it?
Phainon freezes up for a moment before turning towards you, “Ah… this is embarassing…did you go inside my room?”
“I- I’m sorry… I couldn't help taking a look because it was open, and I just so happened to see a used tube of those medicines you buy a lot… so I was curious.”
“Yeah, I have… a really sensitive skin that easily reddens if I get into contact with some triggers and I'm not really sure where to get it checked out because I don't know a clinic.”
“Sorry for worrying you,” Phainon offers an apologetic smile.
Liar.
For the first time in months, you missed your daily movie night with Phainon.
You stayed in your room, curled up to your bed, the rifle sits between the gap between your mattress and bedframe.
For the first time in months, you brought this out again.
You're frustrated with the long, black firearm beside you. It was given to you by an IPC soldier who sympathized with your tears after what happened that day.
Just pull the trigger if you feel unsafe.
Can you though? Can you do it to someone who has done nothing but care for your well-being? The one who made you smile and forget about the hellish world you're currently living in?
No, you absolutely cannot.
But evidence doesn't have feelings like you and it never lies.
The excessive use of medication.
There was also a time you noticed weird stains on his almost decimated toothbrush — it's not a new funny fruit flavored paste, it's fucking blood. And the reason he almost seems to eat away at the bristles is that it probably has more teeth to grind into.
And when he thinks you don't notice, he stares into you a lot, sometimes putting his face so close to yours because his eyes are always shifting and moving when his vision is not zeroed into you.
By gods, the first thing he did after getting your permission to stay is wash his hands off.
So dirt does not get into the stuff here, he said.
How many more signs until it sinks in to you?
“Just one more.”
Just one more confirmation to end all of this.
You clean your room that night.
And as if to mock your current predicament, buried beneath old photo albums and dusty plushies is a digicam. The Kodak logo on the top of its lens has almost faded away, however the thing still magically works after you left it plugged in for two hours.
Just one last confirmation.
One last chance to prove every accusation wrong.
You carry the small silver camera in your pocket and bring it out with you. Phainon immediately looks over to you and smiles. Your heart sinks with the gesture. I’m so sorry.
You smile back at him and head to the kitchen. Phainon is focused on the T.V. to notice that you didn't fully enter and instead slowly took out the device from your pocket.
click.
click.
click.
You then proceeded to grab a snack from the bag he brought home earlier. You can hear Phainon whining as to why you're going to eat that alone instead of sharing it with him when you go back to your room.
At first you blamed it on shaky hands and nervousness.
You opened up the camera with dread, praying to every god that all your assumptions are just due to unfounded paranoia.
But what gods? Have you seen the hell outside?
The first photo showed you something. It's definitely Phainon but he looks as if he's a fading memory, translucent and all flowy in the wrong directions.
The second photo isn't any better, it’s so blurry, so blurry you only see a white humanoid shape in the middle of your yellow walls.
The third photo is damning.
It was also the one that confirmed it to you like a punch in the gut that, no, you didn't take the photos wrong. There it was, the patterns of your yellow walls and the air-conditioning all vividly clear.
With Phainon nowhere to be found in the photo.
Tears started blurring your vision, but before you can even form a sob a knock comes in.
“Hey… are you sure you're really okay?” Phainon's worried voice can be heard from outside the door.
“Yeah..yeah! Uh, just tired so-” You tried forming a coherent response but he interrupted you.
“Are you crying?”
You didn't get a chance to answer as your door flung open. There stands Phainon with a distraught expression on his face.
And there you are sitting on the floor of your room in tears while holding a camera.
Didn't you lock the door?
“Phainon-”
In your shock, Phainon suddenly lunges at you, pinning your shoulders to the ground. The camera you're holding flies off your hand, rolling over to show to the both of you what's on the screen.
“What a̧̬̮̠̥̳̱͈͐̑̿ͬrͬ̊ͮ̇ͭȅ̱̰̔ͤ͊̓͛ you doing?” Phainon, as always, brings his face extremely close to yours. He's breathing heavily, and you can feel the warmth in your face.
It smells like berries and iron.
And there it was, droplets of blood falling from his mouth and nose, staining your shirt.
“Phainon…”
You liar.
His head stays down, but as his hand travels your neck, you panicked and kicked his abdomen hard. That was able to free you from his grip, you immediately stood up and stared warily at him.
He clutched his stomach while kneeling and looked up at you. His pained and shocked expression broke your heart.
You can't, you can't do it.
He didn't do anything wrong, he didn't…
But as long as that anomaly stays inside your home as if a remembrance of your past grievances, you'll never feel truly at peace.
Your tears finally flowed down this time.
Phainon attempts to stand up and reach out to you but you cut him off.
“I want you out of this house. Now.”
Phainon’s expression now fully transforms into shock. His eyes widened, he suddenly stood up and grabbed both of your hands. He comes close to you, trapping your body between his and the wall.
“Please…why..”
“Phainon. I want you out this instant.”
“Why-”
“Because you're a liar.”
And because you're supposed to kill or report the likes of him, but your fragile heart cannot handle it. So you just let him go.
“Leave!”
Phainon didn't utter a single word at all when you watched him pack up his things that night.
When he was about to go out the door, he suddenly turned to look at you one more time.
“Look at me please.”
“Please, dearest.”
You didn't.
Your gaze planted itself into the floor before you turned away completely. Nothing else aside from the door clicking shut can be heard from Phainon after that, it seemed like the action itself was enough of an answer for him.
You went to your room to sleep off your emotions. But instead you stared at your ceiling for hours, with no avail to rest at all.
Standing up, you headed to the kitchen to do yourself a favor and at least rehydrate all the tears you've cried out. You slowly make your way back to your room when your vision lands on the door. Just a few hours ago, you pushed him away in that very place.
Your feet absentmindedly go toward it instead. You stared at the white wood before slowly leaning towards the peephole.
However, instead of the desolate surroundings that you're always used to, you see Phainon’s head bent sidewards from his neck, golden eyes staring at you.
He smiles, wide, all the extra teeth visible.
You fell backwards in shock, the glass you're holding shatters to the ground and as if in response to you, you heard scratching from outside the door.
You didn't dare to look into the peephole again.
Have you always been alone all this time?
There's a bitter taste in your mouth when you think about how all the time you spent with Phainon is built on a lie. That all this time he's not a human at all.
What did he want from you?
Was it karma for your stupidity back then?
When you remember his voice happily greeting you, you feel your chest tighten.
What if…
But the last time you thought a visitor was just ‘alright’ someone ended up dead. How long would it be for Phainon and you? Just weeks like that visitor or would it take longer before he strikes.
And what you saw on the peephole the night you kicked him out.
There was no way of denying that.
You've reverted back to watching the monotonous IPC news channel every night. While you found out that Phainon has actually left all his collection of movies and books, you didn't dare to touch any of them at all.
Zoning out again, you become more aware of the temperature in your room. You take a glance at your thermostat, it shows no changes in the temperature, still the same number as it was.
But it was colder.
It feels colder.
Maybe your thermostat is failing you now, but you felt like it's been colder lately.
Or maybe you're just lonely.
You stand up and take a closer inspection at the little screen of your thermostat. The number isn't moving, but it's cold.
And you feel like something is w̩̙ͅȃ̶͉̫̠̎̌̀̾t̲̠̱̘̜ͤͤ͗͗̋c̻̠͍͚̍ͣ̆̍̒ͦͮ͝h͇̼̃̓́ͅi͉̞̻̐̾̊̂͐͝n̬͇͇̪̖͓̾̑̃̾ͧ̑͆g̡̠͓̠͕͈͑ͬ.
Ever since you've started living alone again, the sense of security you had isn't the same as when you're still together Phainon. While maybe it was a false sense of security considering his true self, it was still less empty than whatever you're feeling right now.
You have decided to leave the thermostat alone when suddenly the numbers started rising.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
KNOCK.
Ever since the last time you saw Phainon's true self in that peep hole, you've never looked into it again.
But the incessant knocking just keeps getting louder and louder, so you piled up whatever courage that's left in you and took a peek.
“You alone in there? Haha, of course you are.”
It was Phainon, and he's carrying a severed head of an IPC soldier. You lurched when he brought it closer to your view.
“I'm always watching you! And it seems like these guys do too, but… I'm the only one who can watch you, so they're gone now, don't worry!”
The measly snacks you've eaten earlier come back up as you breathe heavily through the taste of bile in your mouth. He never fucking left. He was just there outside your house all this time. He is the one that's making you feel all watched and exposed.
He looks a bit different too, his bloodshot eyes have gold irises in them. He's not even trying to hide it anymore. It's rapidly moving but it suddenly locks into yours when he realizes you peeked.
“You're in there right?”
You quickly shuffle away from the door and head towards your room. The rifle, the rifle, you need it right now.
knocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknocknock
Jumping into your room, you quickly grabbed your rifle. You hunched down right below the singular window of your room. You're not sure if going outside would save you but you, but at this point you're willing to try anything.
The knocking has stopped.
You yelped when you heard a loud crash from the living room. Contrary to your earlier complaints of coldness, the room suddenly feels too hot, way too hot. When you feel sweat fall from your temple, you think that he's close to your room now.
Without hesitation, you immediately jump outside, thinking he's inside the house, however before your feet touch the ground, your body is snatched by an extremely warm pair of arms.
“Shh, it's okay, I got you.”
The voice is deeper than what you're used to, but there's no mistaking that this was Phainon. The arms that are holding you have red marks and blackening torn flesh in them, however he does not seem to mind as his grip on you is still way too tight.
Luckily, you've hit his hand with the body of the rifle and you manage to wiggle free. You turned around and aimed directly at his head. Point blank.
However, instead of seeing golden irises through the blood, you see Phainon's blue eyes staring at you. His expression is bright, and you see the sweet smile he always does when you see him lounging on your couch back then.
Ah… ah- what have I done?
Your mind blanks at the realization. Everything seems to slow down around you. Did you kill someone again? Phainon watches your dazed expression and takes your sudden freezing as a chance. He immediately lowers himself to grab your rifle before you can snap out of it.
You returned to your current situation when you heard a loud crack coming from Phainon. He broke your rifle in half with just a single hand.
He discards the now pieces of scraps and scoops up your body. His grip still remains tight, settling you on his shoulders as if he's carrying a sack.
“So you like that form better… I'll keep it in mind.”
His voice is lighter now, back to the one you've always heard asking about what to buy in the grocery. Same one as the greeting you've come to get used to in the mornings.
“Ever since I saw you, I've always wanted nothing but to keep you safe and remove all your worries.” He whispers to you, “After this, you wouldn't have to worry anymore.”
He's now tightly hugging your form, humming a tune while walking towards an empty field. Just like the rest of your town, it was desolate and contained nothing but weeds and soil.
After what felt like an eternity, Phainon suddenly stops walking and gently drops you into a shallowly dug hole in the middle of the field. It feels like a tomb. Phainon confirms that thought when he holds you by the neck and starts burying you in the soil.
You couldn't move, his legs pressing down on yours too. You stared at his blue eyes for an answer but he only gave you a bloody smile.
“It's not too late for us, dearest. It's never too late for us, we will walk under the sunlight again.”
He worked the soil pretty fast, your body is buried under it further. Your nails claw and dig into the soil, causing some of them to be uncomfortably stuck under it.
Your exhaustion gets to you and vision blurs. Suddenly you feel his lips on yours, offering a chaste kiss and a taste of iron. There you hear Phainon's strange last words before you blacked out.
“At sunrise we will be together.”
“See you tomorrow, sunshine.”
[seraph's note] “is the song he's humming supposed to be coronal radiance-” yes.
anyways, oh god i never thought i'd see the day where this thing is finished because i legit started this way back in november LAST YEAR and simply forgot its existence until this month
but yay visitor phainon has seen the light of day :”)
personally, i haven't played “no, i am not a human” at all but i have followed it on streams and such. some of phainon's scenes and imagery here are inspired by the character 'the pale man' in the game, but as always there has been creative liberties going on here lolol many things changed so of course it’s not going to be a 1:1 on the source material.
also there has been a trend of drawing characters in that distinct blue green screen of the game and that has been my biggest inspo for this.
want more? check out the [database.] for other content!
genshin sugar daddies: when they finally meet each other
you have seven sugar daddies: one for each day of the week. and although it can get overwhelming at times, you’ve done well to keep each and every relationship relatively separate, no matter how demanding of your attention they are. well, that all goes to shit when they’re all attending the same fucking party.
tw: nsfw, dark content
you’re fucked.
“is something wrong, dear?” ayato inquires. you do your best to put on your prettiest smile, smooth down your dress like nothing’s wrong, and squeeze his hand to reassure him that everything is a-okay.
“i’m fine. feeling a bit under the weather, is all.”
everything is not a-okay. underneath your jewel-encrusted gown you are trembling. kaeya shouldn’t even be here, you think. but there he is, chatting up some local politician that ayato had introduced you to earlier. it takes everything in you not to suggest leaving the gala when you had just arrived an hour ago.
ayato smiles, pressing a chaste kiss between your brows. “alright.”
home. just a couple weeks ago, ayato has begun to change his vocabulary. he says ‘ours’ instead of ‘my’ and ‘we’ instead of ‘me.’ every time you take off your new diamond-encrusted ring, he gives you a look you can’t stomach and glides it back onto your finger whenever he gets the chance. he’ll kiss you sweetly like nothing’s wrong but from the way his hand lingers on your ring finger says otherwise.
“i wish i could take you home right now,” ayato laments, taking your hand in his and slowly caressing the back of your knuckles like a lover would. “but you know how things are. publicity is half of the job.”
that’s why we entered this kind of relationship in the first place. you purse your lips. it was supposed to be contractual, nothing more.
ayato’s whispers of sweet-nothings into your ear contrasts your thoughts. he tells you how beautiful you look, how your cerulean gown matches his suit, about how he’ll take it off when you get back, all the while he’s navigating you through the crowds of people. his hand rests gently on the small of your back, as if it was his way of soothing you.
you’re fine, you tell yourself. there’s too many people here. kaeya won’t see you. you dread the idea of locking eyes with him, the dark scowl that’d spread on his lips, if you had the misfortune of seeing him again tonight. he might’ve known that you had other clients, but if he met them in person, you’re sure you’d never hear the end of it.
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🐊 tw: yandere themes ⭐︎ non/dubcon ⭐︎ kidnapping ⭐︎ delusions ⭐︎ they’re mean es shii ⭐︎ two faced asl ⭐︎ sadism ⭐︎ masochism ⭐︎ bondage ⭐︎ footjob ⭐︎ spanking ⭐︎ degradation ⭐︎ babytrapping ⭐︎ choking ⭐︎ manhandling ⭐︎ face sitting (m! receiving) ⭐︎ 69 ⭐︎ rimming ⭐︎ feminization ⭐︎ lingerie ⭐︎ collar ⭐︎ humiliation ⭐︎ hair pulling ⭐︎ stockholm syndrome ⭐︎
🐊 an: ah yes, time to feed the twink lovers, wish you luck ♡
🐊 HEIZOU — Knick-knack!
The collar snaps before your eyes finish rolling.
Leather biting sharp into your throat – not tight enough to choke, just cruelly reminding you he already knew you'd try it.
It forces a sharp gasp out of you—one you don't get to finish, because Heizou's already using that strip of leather to drag you right back between his legs.
Knuckles skimming your jaw as he guides your head down, unbothered, like he'd mapped out every move you were going to make before you made them.
One moment you’re glaring.
Next, your mouth is full of him.
His cock slides hot and heavy over your tongue, and the startled glkh!— that bursts out of you only makes his grin sharpen.
"There she is," he says, voice bright and almost clinical. "I gave you three opportunities to stop before it got to this point. You picked this."
You barely manage a sputter before he adjusts the collar again—SNAP!—tightening it to borderline cut off airflow.
His expression doesn't go cold so much as settle — as if he's arrived somewhere he expected to be. You glare up at him on instinct.
Heizou’s eyes lit up like you’d handed him a present.
"Oh, still brave," he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip with idle curiosity, like he's noting it down somewhere. "Predictable, but brave. Don't use your teeth, sweetheart. I already know you're thinking about it."
You don’t get to protest.
Before he slams his hips upward, seating himself deeper in your throat so fast your nose hits his skin. His cock nudges a place you're not ready for, your throat seizing around him as your vision spots.
glk!- glkh- glk
Breath stuttering, lashes fluttering as he watches your throat struggle around him.
"T-there it is," he sighs, pleased in that infuriating, already-knew-it way he has. "Much more honest than whatever smart little comment you… were... hah… about to make. I clocked the exact wording, by the way. Would've been a good one."
You dig your nails into his thighs hard, a silent ‘go fuck yourself.’
The sound you make next — a humiliating, involuntary little choke — made you cringe… and him lose composure entirely.
Making Heizou moaned loudly, head tipping back, a low breathless "Ah–!" slipping out before he could catch it, olive eyes fluttering like your defiance knocked something loose in his chest he hadn't accounted for.
First thing he hadn't accounted for.
He stares back down at you, something flickering in his expression — recalculating. Then that grin returns, slower this time. More interested.
"Hm." His thumb drags your lip down, watching the spit string between skin. "You keep doing things I don't predict. Do you know how rare that is?"
Loosening the collar just enough for you to gasp—wrong move. Your pride flares, and you try to snap back, but all that comes out is a vibration against his cock, a choked mmph! that makes his hips jerk.
"Look at you," he says, catching a tear you didn't realize had fallen, holding it on his thumb like it's a clue. "Still fighting. Still dripping. And you think I can't tell which one you're more embarrassed about."
Then he's guiding your head back down—slow, but not merciful—letting his cock drag over every tender inch of your tongue while he keeps watching.
slrp!—mmph!—glk!
He follows the tremor in your thighs like a bloodhound.
Watches them press together, you pretending it's not happening. He clocked the exact moment your hips gave the smallest, traitorous twitch toward him.
"There it is.." quietly, to himself more than you, "You know~," he continues, tilting his head, "I wasn't planning to use more than one hand today. But you're so full of-” Then something warm slides between your knees. “-surprises.”
His foot.
The arch nudges your thighs apart, slow and so casual — like it's the obvious next logical step — exposing your soaked underwear to the cool air.
“Hm?” he coos, voice all faux-gentle mockery. "You're already this wet, and we're barely into the hypothesis."
His thumb traces idle circles on the leather strap. "Your body keeps contradicting itself. That's going to be a problem for you."
You try to shake your head — trembling, furious denial — but the collar stops the motion dead. His foot presses in, slow and deliberate, rubbing just enough friction against your panties to make your breath stutter out through your nose.
"You look furious," Heizou observes, voice soft with something worse than mockery — genuine fascination. "You should see your own face right now. You're trying so hard."
Foot rubbing in that same terrifying precision he puts into everything — deliberate circles right against your soaked panties. The pressure is perfect — teasing your swollen clit through the thin fabric while his cock stays buried deep in your throat.
"Every single time I discipline you," shaft still buried deep in your throat, foot working you toward something you're desperately trying not to give him, "your body does this. I've noted it. I have a very thorough record."
You try to grumble around him, but it only comes out as a wet, vibrating mmph that makes his length twitch on your tongue.
Heizou chuckles, low and delighted.
“Oh? You like that?” His foot moves faster, rubbing firm strokes up and down your dripping slit, toes curling to press right against your clit. “Look at you… trying so badly to glare at me while your pussy’s grinding against my foot like a desperate little whore.”
The combination is too much.
Your moan vibrates wildly around his length as your orgasm crashes through you — humiliating, what's worse is that he doesn't even look surprised.
"Mhm." He watches you shake apart with the quiet satisfaction of someone whose theory was confirmed exactly on schedule. "Right on time."
Not giving you a second to recover, his hips chase his own high with the same focused efficiency he does everything else, collar keeping you exactly where the evidence requires you to be.
With a low, unraveling moan — the least composed sound he's made all night — Heizou buries himself deep and cums.
He holds you through every pulse, breathing hard, that careful control finally fraying at the edges.
When he finally pulls back, thumb smearing across your swollen lip, he looks down at you with something that isn't quite the grin from earlier.
More like the face he makes when he's solved something that actually took effort.
"Good girl." Soft. Sincere, almost. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead — unhurried, like punctuation. "You know what the most interesting part of all of this is?"
Oh god
He tilts your chin up. "You already know exactly why you keep ending up here. You just haven't admitted it to yourself yet."
Grinning, eyeing your trembling form. "I'll wait. I'm patient. I already know the answer."
He gives the collar one last gentle tug.
"Knick-knack.~"
🐊 KAZUHA — W.T.F.
“K-KAZUHA WHAT T-THE FUCKKK!—”
Your voice cracks–as he slams into you, deep-deep-deep, the force of it yanking your silk-bound wrists taut against the beam above. The ropes creak as your spine arches.
And Kazuha just watches, amber eyes half-lidded, like he’s admiring the way your body jolts with every thrust.
Fingers cave into your hips, digging past the surface, marking you obsessively. He drives home with a smoothness that shouldn't be this brutal, each roll of his body a new lesson in how much you can endure.
One thrust.
Two.
Counting the hitches in your chest, timing his pace to the exact second your breath fails you.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers, voice soft as a lullaby. His hips snap forward—hard—and your gasp catches high in your chest, stuck.
“Is it the bindings?...” His thumb strokes your inner thigh, gently. “Or losing your Vision?”
He says it with a terrifying ease. He’d turned that stolen glass over in his palm earlier, eyes wide and worshiping, before tying you open and filling you.
Your body bounces with every stroke, helpless. “Hahh—!” spills out when he drags you down harder, his grip tightening, fingertips pressing deep enough to leave marks.
The pace picks up—smooth, controlled, relentless—like he’s chasing the sound of your breath shattering.
Plap! Plap! Plap!
The wet smack of skin on skin echoes across the water, obscene.
“Easy…” his breath is a warm ghost against your skin, but his weight is a solid, punishing reality stretching you open. “You keep tightening around me like this—”
A particularly vicious thrust punches the air straight out of your lungs, leaving you hollow. “—I might think you enjoy it.”
“I DON’T—” The words snap out, hot and immediate, but they lose their edge halfway.
Something is failing in the back of your skull. Your thoughts are sluggish, stalling, sinking into a gray fog.
Behind him, the box pulses with a weak, dying rhythm—your Pyro Vision guttering out, its fire turning to ash. You wrench your eyes away because the sight of your own fading ambition is a physical ache.
Kazuha grinds into you, a slow, cruel pressure right where your nerves are rawest, before driving up with a sudden, jarring force.
“Nghh—FUCK—!” It spills out, unbidden. Kazuha just exhales a quiet laugh against your cheek.
You hate the scent of him—cedar and salt air.
Hate the softness of his hair, untouched by the violence of his hips.
Most of all, you hate the memory of the same hand currently bruising your hip, tucking a blanket around your shoulders this morning.
You were something precious then.
Now, you’re just a prize.
The hate is there, but it’s slipping through your fingers, dissolving into the void where your Vision used to be.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice a low vibration in your ear as he thrusts deeper. Schlk…schlk…schlk filling you sends a forced heat racing up your spine. “-my songbird is one of a kind~.”
“KAZUHA I SWEAR TO ARCHONS-” But your voice cracks. The fury is a cavernous gap, feeling emptier by the second.
Another brutal snap of his hips makes your back arch, the beam above you groaning under the strain.
“I thought you’d want it like this,” puzzled, a quiet, private observation. He pouts—a look of pure, confused innocence—while his thumb traces a slow, heavy line up your clit. “You said I was always too soft.”
His shaft pulsed a deliberate, agonizing hesitation just to watch you squirm.
“So I figured…” Another thrust, deeper, meaner. “…you’d like it rough.”
You try to muster up the strength to glare holes into him, but you could only whimper in despair at the effects of not having your vision increase.
Kazuha tilts his head slightly, watching the way your wrists strain against the ropes like you’re testing whether the knots might suddenly grow merciful.
“I’m sorry,” voice dropping, quieter. Almost apologetic, “it has to be like this.”
The sorrow in his eyes is real. Genuine.
It changes absolutely nothing about the pace of his hips.
Your breath comes in ragged gasps, chest heaving as he adjusts his grip — one hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your leg higher, spreading you wider.
You can feel it…the hollowness spreads slowly through your limbs like something being gently, methodically unplugged.
"Kaz..." Your voice comes out smaller than you want it to. "Kazuha, you said…hah y-you always said–"
"I know what I said." He says it softly, watching your face with that unbearable attentiveness, like he's memorizing something. "I meant it. Every word."
His hips roll forward, slow and thorough, and the sound that escapes you isn't angry at all. "I still mean it."
"Tch then why–"
"Because–" and here his composure cracks, "you were gunna to leave n' not come back- heh." fingers fondling your nipple, making you arch just perfectly into him as he pumps his thickened inches through every peak.
"And- I found," he continues, breathless now, white hair falling across his face as he drives deeper, "that I believe in your freedom–" thrust "completely–" thrust "except for that."
The boat sways, adding more force to his thrusts.
He chuckles darkly to himself, a tone you've never heard before. He swirls n' swirls his globular tip, the perfect rounded shape to press into your nerves.
And somewhere in the growing heaviness behind your eyes, you're realizing horribly, humiliatingly... that your hips have started moving back to meet him.
Kazuha notices it, his eyes going soft, reaching up to cup your cheek with a gentleness that has absolutely no friggin business being here right now.
"See?" like he's been waiting this whole time to say it. "Isn't this better than leaving?"
You don't answer, you can't tell anymore if the withdrawal is talking or something worse.
He angled slightly – deeper, more deliberate – and your whole body lurches forward with it, the ropes catching you, swinging you right back onto him.
Sloppy sounds fill up the whole cabin until there's no room for anything else. Including your thoughts.
They keep arriving slower now, holding more weight, and you're not sure if you can keep holding onto hate anymore.
Or even remember why you were so upset in the first place.
He feels it immediately – the shift in you. Kazuha has always been terrifyingly good at reading things.
Wind.
Weather...The exact moment you're about to stop denying him.
"Ah-" You gasp- he grinds into your poor, bruised g-spot. "I-i… m’still f-fuckin’ angryy–"
"Of course," kissing up your neck, he inhaled deeply, smiling against you, "You're allowed to be."
"That's not-" A whine punches out of you when he rolls his hips just so. "That's not what I– ngh– t-that's not the point!—"
"Then what is my love?"
And you open your mouth to tell him. You have the answer…you know you do, it was right there a moment ago, something about how wrong this is, something about him taking your vision, something about how this isn't what you wanted.
His shaft drags slowww and thoroughly across that spot inside you, and every single word dissolves.
"Hm~?" Kazuha waits expectantly as the thoughts leave your face, morphing into something that isn't guilt anymore.
"It's alright." He presses a kiss to your temple. "You don't have to say it."
…He's already decided, somewhere in that poetic, completely unwell little heart of his, that this is love. That this is the right thing, that you'll understand eventually.
"Fuhck- ah! Kazu—" hips rolling back to meet him before you even register doing it—He shivers a single tremor moving through that carefully composed body, his breath catching audibly.
His rhythm stutters for just a fraction of a second. And then it happens — the thing he's been holding back since he tied you in the boats for days now.
"Y-you feel—" He stops, then tries again. "You feel so—" he really can't finish it.
Those eyes have gone somewhere glassy and distant — still looking at you, but seeing something past the surface of you, something he's been navigating toward for a very long time-
Both arms wrapping around you, silk ropes and all, folding you into him like something he's been holding in his hands for years and is only now allowing himself to keep.
His cock pulses deep. His breath comes apart completely.
"Don't leave," he moans into your hair, and it’s not a request or a command either. He’s already made up his mind and refuses to be argued with. “Don't leave. Don't leave. Don't—"
Your mouth falls slack, and you bring what little energy you have to bite into your fist as you scream, cumming all over his shaft.
Your walls clenching around him, as a sound slipped out, one you're sure you’ll be embarrassed about later.
Kazuha grunts, a hand jumping to his mouth, trying not to be loud.
Juices connecting you two, losing the careful rhythm entirely, and then he's shuddering against you, spilling deep, face buried in your neck, lips moving against your skin in something that might be your name or might be an unhinged poem or both.
Your vision flickers once behind him…going out.
…
The boat rocks gently in the silence that follows, his arms wrapped around you, holding you softly.
After a long moment, you hear him sigh.
"Im sorry..." A pause. "I just thought this was kinder."
🐊 KINICH — Got his lick back
SMACK!
"AH—!"
The sharp crack of his palm against your ass echoes through the room like a hunter’s whip.
Your cry breaks out raw and humiliating, but Kinich doesn’t give you a second to breathe. His hand stays glued to the stinging flesh, squeezing hard enough to feel the heat bloom under his fingers while his other hand slides between your slick thighs.
“Spread.” Flat. Commanding. No room for argument.
You don’t.
So he forces you anyway — two fingers pushing past your dripping folds, stretching you open with that terrifying precision, curling right against the soft, spongy spot that makes your vision spark white.
The second your hips jerk forward to escape, his fist locks into your hair and yanks you right back onto his lap like a leash.
“Already this wet?” A low, almost thoughtful hum leaves him as he pulls his fingers free.
A thick, glossy string of your slick stretches between your hole and his fingertip, catching the low light.
“Running again… but your pussy keeps begging me to stay.”
You try to snap something back — anything — but he’s already lining up. The flared, swollen head of his cock nudges against your entrance once, twice, then pushes in with one merciless slide that steals every word from your throat.
“F-fuck- Kinich-!”
He bottoms out in one smooth glide, stretching you wide around his thick length until you feel him pressing right against the entrance of your womb.
Buried deep, letting your walls flutter and clench desperately around him while his breath ghosts hot against the back of your neck.
“You keep running,” he says quietly, almost thoughtfully, as he pulls back just enough to slam in again. The wet slap of skin on skin is filthy.
“Every time I tell you to stay. Every time you look at me like you’re already gone.”
SMACK!
Your body jerks hard at the next spank, a broken cry ripping from your throat.
Before you can crawl away, his arm hooks around your waist and hauls you right back down onto his cock, pinning you flat to the slick floor. The woven texture bites into your tits and stomach as he forces you to take every brutal inch.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls low, the first real crack in that calm tone.
His hips snap forward harder, cockhead smacking mercilessly into your cunt with every precise thrust. “You’re not leaving Natlan. Not again.”
Smooth, deep rolls of his hips that drag his veiny length along every sensitive ridge inside you. Your voice climbs higher, cracking on whimpers you can’t swallow down.
Drool slips from the corner of your mouth onto the floor while your thighs shake violently.
“Kinich-! puhleaseeee- it’s too much—”
“It’s not.” Another punishing thrust. “You can take it. You will.”
His hand snakes underneath you, fingers finding your swollen clit.
He pinches and rolls merciless little circles that have your walls clamping down around his cock like a vice. Your whole body seizes, pussy gushing slick down his length as he keeps fucking you through it.
“Don’t know why- Ngh-,” he rasps against your neck, voice fraying at the edges now, breath coming shorter. “Y’kept leaving me. Why ya- won’t stay put. ”
"Th-that's not— ah— that's not your problem!-"
"You made it my problem." A thrust that punches the air clean out of you. “So I found a solution. Gonna fill this tight little cunt until you’re swollen with my kid. Then you won’t have a choice.”
The words hit you like lightning. Your mind blanks for a second– “Wai-what—”
His cock swirls deep.
Pushing deeeep, his fingers pick up pace on your clit, dragging you toward something you've been denying this whole time, your walls fluttering desperately, your voice climbing so high it cracks—“No!- t-that’s genuinely insane!”
"It isn’t." He held a small, satisfied smile.
"That’s not a solution, that’s literally—fuckkkk!"
But your body betrays you completely, cutting you off. Your walls flutter wildly around him, milking his cock as a devastating orgasm rips through you.
You came hard, screaming into the floor, tears streaming, thighs clamping shut around his hand while your pussy spasms and gushes.
Kinich groans low, the sound raw and animalistic, the first time that perfect hunter composure truly fractures.
His hips stutter once, twice, then he buries himself to the hilt with a sharp snap, pressing so deep you swear you feel him in your throat.
“HNGH!—”
Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your womb — pulse after heavy pulse, so much and so warm it spills out around his pulsing cock almost instantly, smearing sticky and obscene between your bodies.
Grinding deep through every wave, slow and deliberate, like he’s determined to push every drop as far inside you as physically possible.
His arm stays locked tight around your middle, tattooed bicep flexing against your stomach, holding you exactly where he wants you.
“…Your body thinks it’s a perfect solution,” he breathes against your sweat-damp neck, voice hoarse but still terrifyingly calm. “Stop fighting it.”
You’re still shaking, still fluttering around his spent cock, when the reality crashes back in.
Tears prick hot at the corners of your eyes as you try to twist away from him, voice cracking with raw upset.
“No,” you choke out, voice hoarse and furious even while your pussy keeps weakly clenching around him like it’s trying to keep every drop he just gave you.
“I’m not getting pregnant. I’m not letting you trap me like this— you can’t just- you can’t-”
He doesn’t pull out.
If anything, Kinich sinks a little deeper, grinding the head of his cock against your overfilled cervix like he’s sealing it. His lips brush the shell of your ear, calm as ever, but the grip on your waist tightens possessively.
“You already are,” he stares, almost fondly. “Or you will be. Soon.”
You pushed him off hard, “Like hell–”
.
.
🐊
A month later, the humid air inside the Scions of Canopys midwife’s hut feels too thick to breathe.
You’re sitting on the low mat, knees drawn tight together like that might somehow undo everything, while the older woman hums softly and presses careful fingers along your lower belly.
Nausea still clings to the back of your throat. Your breasts ache. Certain smells make you want to retch.
You already know what she’s going to say.
Your captor behind you like a silent sentinel — arms loosely crossed, green-gold eyes half-lidded but missing nothing.
The midwife finally sits back on her heels, expression unreadable for a long beat.
“Congratulations! You're expecting,” she says, no question in her voice, your stomach dropping.
“It seems you're a month along, oh! The baby is healthy…you would be due…”
As the midwife drones on and on, pointing at the chart, you craned your head to glare at Kinich meeting his expectant gaze.
His expression, for once, was readable, and it only conveyed one thing:
‘You can deny it all you want, you’re stuck.’
🐊 LOHEN — Denial is a river
“LOHEN LET ME DOWN—YOU DONE LOST YO MIND.”
You thrashed wildly, hanging upside down from the thick rope coiled tight around your ankle.
The world swayed in sickening circles, blood rushing straight to your head while your own heartbeat hammered in your ears.
Dignity? Gone. Long gone.
Meanwhile, Lohen was losing his shit.
Full-body, stomach-clenching laughter poured out of him as he bent over, one hand braced on his knee, as if he might actually collapse from how hilarious you were.
Red eyes squinted with pure delight, tears pricking at the corners while he wheezed.
“HA- holy shit!-” He dragged in a gasping breath, still grinning like a maniac. “You really walked straight into that one. Fuck, you’re adorable.~”
He finally straightened up and stalked closer, head tilted as he studied your flushed, upside-down face.
That manic little smile curled slowly and hungrily across his lips, one that promised nothing good.
“You actually thought you could escape me?” he cooed, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Cute. Real cute.”
You glared hard enough to burn holes through him.
Lohen only stepped even closer, until he was right in front of your swaying body.
Two fingers reached out and squished your cheeks together like you were some grumpy little creature he’d caught.
“Look at that face,~” he sang, eyes sparkling with pure unhinged joy.
You jerked your head and sank your teeth into his thumb — hard.
A low, genuine, filthy sound punched straight out of his chest. His eyes fluttered, lashes kissing his cheeks.
You pulled back, staring at him in pure disgust and disbelief.
He stared right back, looking almost surprised at himself for half a second… before that wild grin crawled back onto his face, twice as wide.
“Fuck I think I just came a bit…Do that again.”
This fucking freak
His hand finds your face again - cradles it, almost, which was somehow more unsettling than if he'd gripped it.
Thumb pressing into your cheek while your head kept spinning, and the rope creaked above you.
“You’re turning such a pretty shade.~” voice soft and sweet like poison. “Wow, are ya really that happy I’m touching you?”
“YOU PSYCHOTIC LITTLE—”
“Mhm,” Lohen cut you off smoothly, not even listening. His eyes dragged over you slowly and warmly, completely shameless. “Most people would’ve seen the rope, y’know,” he said, like you weren’t literally hanging upside down from his trap.
“Well, most people aren’t being fucking hunted-”
“Nope.” His thumb traced the line of your jaw, gentle and obsessive all at once.
“Just you… ‘cause iiiii loooove yooouuu.~” He drew the words out in that obnoxious, singsong way that made your skin crawl and your stomach flip at the same time.
You rolled your eyes so hard it made you dizzy.
Lohen hummed, tilting his head as he watched you sway.
That dangerous little smile never left his face while he tapped one finger against his chin like he was thinking.
“Now~” he purred, smirk widening with wicked promise.
“How should we fix that nasty little attitude of yours…?”
Fuck
.
.
🐊
“Cmon what are ya waitingggg forrr?”
You’re straddling him, completely humiliated, his thick cock buried to the hilt inside you while he lounges back like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.
Hands tucked lazily behind his head, mint-green hair splayed wild across the grass, that damn beauty mark crinkling as he grins up at you with pure psychotic delight.
You’re not moving.
Not one fucking inch, half out of overstimulation, half out of pure spite.
SMACK!
His palm cracks hard across your ass, the sharp sting making you jerk upward with a broken yelp.
The sudden movement drags your dripping walls along every veiny inch of him, Lohen moaning loud and shameless beneath you, biting his lips like he just tasted heaven.
“There ya gooo~” he coos, voice syrupy sweet with fake innocence. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I fuckin’ hate you—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs, low and wheezy, eyes sparkling as he tracks every furious twitch on your face. “You gonna move properly, or do I gotta smack that pretty ass red again?”
You barely move.
Slow. Grudging.
The most resentful little roll of your hips that’s ever existed.
Throwing his head back he bursts into loud, unhinged laughter. “HAHAAH— fuck, look at you! So madddd~ So fucking upset and still creaming all over my cock.”
“Are you deadass right now-? Of course I’m mad-!”
“Faster.”
“What—?”
“Faster,” he repeats helpfully, tilting his head with that manic little grin. “You’re going reeeaaally slow, baby. My dick’s getting bored.”
You’re going to kill him.
Fuck it.
You’re going to cum and then kill him.
But your cunt says otherwise, pussy fluttering and sucking greedily around his thick length, no matter how much you glare at him.
Lohen’s eyes darken with hungry delight. He suddenly sits up, arms wrapping around your waist like steel bands, yanking you down flush against his chest.
Shaft grinding deep, bullying right against that spongy spot inside you that makes your vision spark white.
“F—fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, that primal edge slipping into his voice. “One more, yeah? Just one more f'me, pretty thing.”
“Lohen, you’ve said that,” You batted your eyes, fighting the pleasure, “-for hours, lemme go!”
“Mmm, doesn’t sound like an answer,” he purrs, rolling his hips up in a filthy, precise way that makes your toes curl. “Doesn’t sound like you’re saying no to me.”
He doesn’t even wait for your reply.
His forearms hook under your thighs, spreading you wide open like a ragdoll as he starts rutting up into you harder.
Wet, sloppy sounds fill the air with every thrust — squelch-squelch-squelch — his cockhead kissing your cervix over and over like he’s trying to knock right through it.
“Hm? Hah- mmph!, seems like someone agrees with me.~” he laughs breathlessly against your ear, nipping at the shell with sharp teeth. “Your pussy’s the one begging for more. Greedy little thing keeps gulping me down like she never wants me to leave.~”
You try to squirm, try to plant your feet and lift off him even a little, but Lohen just tightens his grip and fucks up into you even meaner, bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing.
“Hahhh?? Running again~?” he tuts, voice mockingly sweet. “Nahhh, we still got s’much more rounds to go, baby. Five? Or is it six? I lost count already.”
Your mind was blanking out; you've been doing this for so long, you couldn’t even form coherent sentences. “Fuh- no- mgh- I’m d-done!”
"Your pussy's not done~."
“My- p-puhssy–! Don’t getta vote!” You shatter instantly — eyes rolling back, a broken scream ripping out of you as your sixth orgasm crashes through your exhausted body.
Lohen screams loudly while your walls milk him tight, but he doesn’t stop.
“Ohh-Fuck fuck fuck! Here’s ah!- another one, baby!-” Cumming hard with you, filling you up - he keeps thrusting through your high, chasing every last flutter like a man possessed.
Thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your already overstuffed cunt. Grinding deeper, chasing every last flutter like a man completely possessed.
“Mmm—hah, there it is,~” he moans happily, beauty mark crinkling as he grins against your sweat-slick neck. Mint-green hair sticks to his forehead, messy and wild. “Good girl. That wasn’t for you, though~ That was all for this pretty pussy of mine.”
You’re sobbing now, chest heaving, body twitching uncontrollably in his lap. But Lohen just keeps bouncing you on his still-hard cock, slow and filthy, like he could do this forever.
“And she’s telling me…” he drawls, voice sing-song dropping into something darker, more dangerous, lips brushing your ear, “that you can handle three more.♡”
You flop forward against his chest, boneless and whimpering, barely able to hold yourself up. “A-asshole… h-hate you…”
Lohen’s manic laughter rings in your ear as he flips you onto your back in one smooth motion, never once letting his cock slip out of your spasming heat.
“Keep fighting it, baby. Keep telling me how much you hate me.” He leans down, eyes glowing with lovesick affection as he starts pounding you into the grass. “Makes my dick so fucking hard when you lie like that.”
You cry out, nails raking down his back as he folds you nearly in half, knees pressed to your chest.
Every thrust is loud, messy, obscene — the constant squelch of his cum being fucked deeper into you, the slap of skin, your broken sobs mixing with his breathless laughter.
“Look at her,” he coos, glancing down between your bodies where his cock disappears into your puffy, cream-filled pussy. “Still sucking me in so hungrily. Seems like she doesn’t wanna let go, does she?”
“Stop- I can’t-!!”
“You can,” he laughs softly, leaning down to bite your bottom lip. “And you will. ‘Cause every time you say you’re done… this cute cunt just begs for more.”
Picking up speed, pounding you into the grass with relentless, mind-melting strokes. Staring straight into your tear-filled eyes, beauty mark crinkling with that same unhinged grin.
“Three more, f’me baby. Then maybe- maybe I’ll let ya rest.~” His hands push your legs up to your head, angling deeper, making your eyes roll.
“Or maybe I’ll just keep going until you forget how to say the word ‘no’ at all.~”
🐊 LYNEY — Hole dirtier than laundry!
You're so sure you're going to fucking suffocate at this rate.
Lyney’s perched on your face like he weighs nothing, knees planted on either side of your head in the middle of his messy bed, sheets already twisted and half-pulled off the mattress.
That skimpy little lingerie set he’d been hiding under his coat all evening still clinging to his slender frame—purple lace stretched taut over his flushed cock, the thin strap of the thong shoved to the side so his pretty, leaking hole could sit right against your mouth.
The fabric’s soaked through already and so is he.
He’d wanted this for weeks.
The filthy thought had lived rent-free in that pretty head of his ever since the first time you turned your face away from his goodnight kiss.
Then again, when you shoved his hand off your waist.
Then again, when you told him to “fuck off” like it was nothing.
Every denial made it worse.
He got nervous—actually nervous—thinking you’d hate it.
That you’d push him off and call him disgusting for wanting something so selfish, so greedy.
But tonight you’d denied him one too many times, pushed him away with that same cold little glare, and this was the perfect excuse.
Discipline
Clean. Simple.
He could finally do it and blame you for making him snap.
Except he's the one losing his breath — soft, shaky exhales spilling from those painted lips every time your tongue brushes against his rim. That carefully constructed composure dissolves, piece by piece, every time you move beneath him.
“Mmmh—!” He grinds down harder, your hands flailing against his thighs, nails digging into lace and soft skin. “Cat got your tongue, mon amour~?”
His voice is all theatrical breathiness, that signature charm cracking at the edges.
Shifting his weight just enough for you to gasp in a desperate breath, only to sink back down again — ass firmly planted on your face, rolling his hips in slow, filthy circles.
The wet heat of his hole drags over your lips, your tongue, smearing slick and lube everywhere.
The sound Lyney makes when you're forced to lick him is loud enough that the entire wing's probably filing a noise complaint right now.
Ash-blond hair with that tiny braid falls messily around his face, violet eyes fluttering shut, cat-like pupils blown wide.
“F-fuck… just like- that!—ngh!”
His slender fingers fist the sheets above your head, hips twitching every time your tongue pushes inside.
“D-didn’t think you’d be so… eager to clean me up after all those- ah! Nasty words you threw at me this week. You sure you didn’t want this?~”
He laughs breathless, a little unhinged—and the sound melts into another whimper when you suck on his rim trying to get air.
The lingerie thong keeps slipping back into place, and he has to keep tugging it aside with shaky fingers, the lace now completely drenched.
"Haah — look at you. Flailing around.~" Another slow grind, deliberate and mean, his cock twitching hard against the lace as it leaks onto his stomach. "But you're not pushing me off, are you? No… you're licking deeper. Mmph!~."
You thrash hard, punching at his thighs, trying to get this sick man off your face. He either mistakes it for enthusiasm or simply doesn't care — the effect is the same.
His thighs shake harder, athletic muscles flexing as he rides your tongue with more urgency. That guarded side is completely gone.
Replaced by something rawer.
The need to be wanted so badly that it overrides everything else.
"Keep going, mon amour," he pants, voice pitching higher, "because if you stop — hngh — I swear I'll sit here until morning. Until you forget every nasty word you said to me… and only remember this."
His fingers thread into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your face exactly where he wants it.
Not until he’s satisfied. Not until you’re his again—completely.
He can feel it building — hot, coiling, dangerous. And he refuses to finish like this, not when he hasn't taken everything.
With a shaky laugh that doesn't quite hide the edge beneath it, Lyney finally lifts off your face — justttt enough for you to drag in a ragged breath, spit and slick smeared across your lips.
Lungs burning as you try to speak—“Lyney, wait—” and before you can get a single word out-
His cock impales your mouth in one smooth thrust—thick, leaking, stretching your lips wide around the base of his shaft.
You choke instantly, eyes watering, the sudden fullness reducing every word you had to a wet gluck-gluck-gluck.
His thighs lock firmly beside your head. "Mmmph — there we go." He rocks into your throat with shallow, greedy thrusts, voice dropping as his face disappears between your thighs. "That's it. Let me feel how sorry you are."
Leaning down his tongue is immediate and merciless — lapping, sucking, flicking over your clit with a precision that feels almost unfair.
One hand grips your thigh hard enough to bruise. The other presses flat against your stomach, pinning you exactly where he wants you.
You push at his hips, a muffled protest vibrating around his length — he just rolls deeper, unhurried, his cock fucks your mouth in the same rhythm.
The room echoes with the wet sounds of him thrusting into your throat, mixed with the slurps of his mouth on your cunt.
"Don't- fight it, mon amour," he groans against your spreaded folds, the words vibrating straight into your core. "You don't get to push me away anymore. Not after all those mean words."
He sucks hard on your clit, hips stuttering as he holds back his own orgasm. "Not after telling me to leave like I'm nothing."
The lace thong is still tangled around his balls, rubbing against the bridge of your nose with every shallow thrust. His tongue curls, teasing your entrance before plunging inside—matching the way his cock bullies the back of your throat.
Your moans of reluctant protest are drowned out by his cock, completely overstimulated by how much of him you're feeling at once.
Every thrust pushes him deeper, every swirl of his tongue makes your legs shake. Whimpering into your cunt, the sound vibrating through you, but the words that slip out between licks are pure silk-wrapped venom.
"If I have to do this every night until you stop denying me—" A sharp suck on your clit. "—then I will."
His cock throbs heavily on your tongue. "I'll keep you right here. Until the only thing you know how to do is stay."
You try to pull off—hands slapping at his hips, a broken sob ripping from your throat around his shaft—but he just angles deeper.
The filthy gluck-gluck-gluck of him fucking your mouth fills your brain, your eyes streaming tears that mix with the spit dripping down your chin.
And he doesn’t stop, tongue lashes harder between your folds, sucking your clit into his mouth with a lewd pop! before flattening it again.
Mean. Possessive. Trying to pull your orgasm out by force.
Your thighs shake around his head, hips jerking up involuntarily as the pressure coils tighter-too much, too fast, too-
You cum with a shattered cry that vibrates straight down his cock.
Creamy slick gushes over his tongue, thighs clamping around his ears, and Lyney moans like he’s the one breaking. Holding himself right there on the edge—cock twitching wildly in your throat—until your walls start fluttering hard.
“F-fuck—ngh, that’s it—give it to me-”
His cock pulses hard on your tongue, swelling thicker, and then he’s cumming too.
Rope after rope shoots straight down your throat, thick and hot, until you’re choking on it, coughing up his seed around the length still buried between your lips.
He doesn’t pull out. Just keeps shallow-thrusting through it, forcing you to swallow every drop while he drinks you down like he’s dying of thirst.
The room spins. Your lungs burn. Tears won’t stop. While Lyney stays there a second longer, chest heaving, hips still twitching with the aftershocks.
Panting, he eased cock from your mouth with a slurp!
Strings of cum and spit connect your swollen lips to his tip. Lyney watches it break with half-lidded violet eyes, his cheek flushed red.
You’re still sobbing softly, chest heaving, when he finally flips around. He curls over you, pressing soft kisses to your tear-streaked cheeks, your trembling lips, like he didn’t just fuck your face and sit on you for "punishment".
“Shhh… mon amour,” he whispers, voice sweet as sugar, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “See? Wasn’t so bad. You took me so well… my perfect little assistant.”
Lyney's fingers thread back into your hair, holding you there as he nuzzles against your neck.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.” A soft, theatrical little laugh brushes your ear.
“Or tomorrow.”
He kisses the corner of your mouth, tasting himself on you.
“Or ever.”
🐊 XIAO — Bite first. Regret later
BAM!
"I'm leaving- ” The wall meets your back before you finish the sentence. “-Xiao. I mean it this–"
The impact rattled your teeth, your breath was punched clean out of your lungs, he was just across the room, teleporting in a haze of green and black, shoving you against the wall.
Another sharp gasp to follow when Xiao drove into you again, deeper, meaner, like he was trying to carve his place inside you permanently.
This is the problem.
This has always been the problem.
He doesn't talk to you, doesn't tell you he needs you, doesn't acknowledge what this even is, what you are to him — just pulls you close when it gets too heavy and expects that to be enough.
Weeks of silence.
Weeks of watching him look straight through you like you're something precious he refuses to name because naming it would make it real, and real things can be taken away.
You're exhausted.
Your legs stayed locked tight around his narrow waist, thighs trembling violently.
"I—" You push at his shoulders. He doesn't move. "Stop. I said I'm leaving—"
The only thing keeping you from sliding down the wall was his iron grip on your ass, fingers imprinting in so deep you knew they’d leave bruises shaped like his hands for days.
Xiao doesn’t respond, no words, or explanation — just eyes burning with determined focus
The tattoo on his arm bleeds green into the dark.
"Let me go." Flat. Furious. You dig your nails in hard. "I- ah! Mean it! I'm n-not doing this anymore, I can't keep– pretending-!"
He looks at you.
Amber eyes completely unguarded for once — staring at you like you've already got one foot out the door and he's watching it happen and he still, still cannot make himself say the words that would fix it. Jaw locked tight, breathing ragged.
Hitting that little spot inside you, your whole argument stutters. "That's not—"
You try to hold onto the thread of it. "That's not good enough, you can't just — this doesn't fix anything—"
He drives deeper. Your back hits the wall harder.
"Xiao!"
Nothing.
Just that devastating eye contact and the brutal, relentless pace of him, he's decided if he can't say it, he'll just make you feel it instead.
Your nails rake down his arms. "Oh-! This is- fuck! Insane. Shit! Your hurtin!- You can't keep doing this and expect me to stay!-" You twist, trying to get leverage.
His hand wraps around your throat, forehead dropping to yours, eyes closing, and he stays there breathing hard while his hips find a slower, deeper angle that makes your vision dissolve at the edges.
The weight of his karmic debt presses down on the room like a physical thing. Ozone and something older, darker, filling your lungs with every breath.
You're furious, shaking, and overwhelmed.
But believe it or not, he was terrified of hurting you.
And yet he couldn’t stop.
"Shit, what do you want from me!?"
Instead of answering, he just bites down on your throat instead. Sharp. Claiming. So suddenly, your whole body arches into him against every intention you had.
A broken sound tears out of you—high and pathetic—and you immediately hate yourself for letting it slip.
Teeth sinking in harder, not enough to break skin but enough to mark, enough to own, and your cunt clenches around him so violently it makes him stutter.
Yanking you up higher, forcing your back to scrape against the wall, making you cry out in pain- as he drives in deeper.
The anger frays at the edges where the pleasure keeps burning straight through—white-hot and unforgiving.
“I h-hate you-” you gasp. Not true. Completely not true, and you both know it.
“You’re so—” Another broken moan cuts you off, raw and humiliating. “Infuriating.”
He makes a sound against your neck. Low. Pained. Even that tiny admission costs him something precious.
Still nothing.
You’re crying now—angry tears spilling hot and fast down your face, your body betraying you completely as he drives you up the wall again and again.
Each thrust shoves you higher toward something you don’t want to give him.
“Please,” you break, hating how small and wrecked it comes out. “Please just say it. Tell me you need me. Tell me I’m—that I’m yours, that this means something, that you’re not just going to let me disappear one day and feel nothing—” His entire body goes rigid.
Exhaling, his hand slides from your throat to cradle the back of your head.
His forehead presses so hard to yours it almost hurts, eyes squeezed shut, hips grinding deep and slow and devastatingly deliberate now.
Every roll of his hips drags his cock against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl and your vision spark white.
He still doesn’t say it, waiting for you to say exactly what he wants to hear.
Xiao pulls you in so tight you can’t tell where he ends, and you begin anymore. Your breast presses hard against his chest, breath coming in short gasps from how tight he’s holding you, bruises already beginning to bloom.
Maybe...
“I’m staying,” you whisper, defeated, wrecked, voice cracking on every syllable. “I-i’m yours. I’m not leaving. Just—don’t let go.”
The sound he makes is quiet.
Devastated and relieved in a way that breaks your heart a little. He comes with his face buried in your neck, shaking hard, one arm locked around your waist like even now he doesn’t trust you won’t vanish.
Thick, hot ropes of cum flood you—spurt after spurt—while his teeth stay sunk into your throat, muffling the broken groan that vibrates against your skin.
He keeps rolling through it, slow and possessive, making sure every drop stays deep inside you.
Afterward, the room is just breathing. Heavy. Sticky. Charged. Then, so quiet it barely exists:
“…Again.”
Not another round, you know that.
He wants to hear it again—the words he can’t say himself, confirmed in your voice, real and present and not leaving.
“I’m yours, Xiao.” You press your lips to his temple, voice hoarse and trembling. “I’m staying.”
His grip tightens instantly. Fingers digging back into your ass, cock still buried to the hilt and twitching inside you like it’s trying to root there forever.
Xiao still doesn’t say it back; you already know how he feels.
The dark, suffocating truth that settles in the quiet—in the iron grip of his arms and the door you both know he’d never let you reach—is that staying was never really your choice to make.
It stopped being your choice a long time ago.
…Some sick, exhausted piece of you doesn’t even want the choice anymore.
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