Freya Writting Co.

After being so rudely ejected from your beloved Ramshackle home on such short notice, possible sleeping arrangements were few and far between. Now, you could've taken Ace and Deuce up on their offer, but Jack was... he was Jack. And only Jack could convince you to stay in Savanaclaw. But, then Leona had to come and say no, and then you panicked cause you saw yourself and Grim on the street. And that panic plus the sleep deprivation from finals lead you to perform your own rendition of "Cotton Eye Joe" outside his bedroom out of sheer desperation.

You didn't even get to the second verse before he bodily dragged you inside with a growl that had you accepting death like an unspoken principle.

The room was once again blanketed in a thick silence. Grim, who slept by your feet, didn't even make a peep. Banging those pots around while providing you backing vocals must've taken it out of him. Poor guy. Out of anyone in this room, he's the one you'd feel the most bad for disturbing.

So, with a sigh, you accept your fate and get up from your collection of floor blankets. Your destination being one of the Savanaclaw couches.

You knew your mind, you wouldn't be sleeping for a while. There was just... too much. Azul and his contracts, Jade and Floyd and their sharp teeth, Leona and his eyes. The ones that once looked at you like you were vermin to crush through the haze of a raging sandstorm. While Ruggie batted and kicked and cried for breath. And you swore his eyes had glazed over as he fell limp and━

"Hey."

You stop, both bodily and mentally, as his voice once again breaks the silence. There's a cold sweat you didn't notice gathering on your back. You turn to find him staring at you with those same green eyes. You can't tell if he's searching for something in you or debating heavily with himself. But, whatever it is, it isn't for long before he seems to come to a conclusion with a rumbling sigh.

"Come here."

What. "What."

"You heard me, come here."

To say you were conflicted would be the understatement of the century. You had just been spiraling not even 30 seconds ago and now the object of your trauma was beckoning you closer like the parent to your distressed child.

"I don't have all day, herbivore. You coming or not?"

"...It's night."

"..."

"..."

"Just get over here before I change my mind."

"Right."

He heaves another grumbling sigh as you shuffle across the room. Stood next to his bed gives you a view reminiscent of that time in the greenhouse. Him, splayed across his bed, hair cascading over his pillows. While you're stock still and more than a bit puzzled and kind of scared. Even though you're looking down on him, you don't feel like you have the advantage that you should. He looks almost too calm, too relaxed. Like he's assured of a victory yet to come.

That thought sends a chill up your spine, reminding you of the sweat that persists on your back.

"Well?" He raises a brow expectantly.

You blink, "well, what?"

"Are you laying down or what?"

"...Am I laying down or what?"

"Need me to spell it out for you? Or should I help you into bed?"

"Not necessary."

You don't know what possesses you━whether it's self preservation or annoyance or curiosity or just straight madness━but you get in. You pull back those luxurious sheets and slide beneath them where you're immediately accosted by warmth. Heat seems to be radiating from him like a fire.

The revelation is... not an unpleasant one.

You realize he's still staring at you. But, not intently, not like he's trying to pry a secret from you. Leona never looks at anyone like he means to take their person apart. He simply observes and acknowledges, anyone and anything.

"Think you can finally go to bed and stop flopping around like a dead fish?"

"...Haven't I dealt with enough fish today? And now you bring them up in Savanaclaw of all places. Is no where safe?"

You're surprised when his brows pinch in amusement and a short but gruff chuckle leaves his lips.

"My bad then, for touching on such a tender topic."

"Yeah, your bad indeed."

No one says anything else afterward and he seems to take that as an invitation to turn onto his back. Letting out a deep breath through his nose while nestling an arm behind his head, eyes sliding shut.

Somewhere between you climbing into his bed and him settling down to sleep, the sweat has cooled off your skin. Not to mention the sudden heaviness dragging at your eyelids. Seems that you would be able to sleep some after all.

You turn away and towards the open balcony, towards the spot where you had once laid and Grim continues to snooze. The moon lights up the room, and though it's not the sun, it still feels just as warm somehow.

Speaking of warm, there's a heater pressed to your back. Scratch that, Leona is pressed to your back. And that's his arm, sliding over your hip and resting draped over your side.

It feels like the world hiccups when you feel his next breath puff against your hair. But, surprisingly enough, you're not shaking in your metaphorical boots. Just... very confused, once again.

"...Is this supposed to be punishment for 'Cotton Eye Joe?'"

He says nothing at first, and you begin to fear for your safety before he eventually does.

"Whatever helps put you to bed faster."

That arm over your side moves before you feel his hand settle atop your collarbone. Those same hands that had once brought ruin and pain were now just a small brush away from your neck.

This should terrify you, but it doesn't. Because he's gentle in this moment. His arm isn't an insistent press, it's a steady weight. His hand isn't a branding clasp, it's a soft touch.

Unbirthday parties at NRC always follow the rules—the oh-so-“questionable” rules of Heartslabyul—but for some reason, whether it’s the music or the sheer number of another dorms guests, the tension released after finals, or maybe just the chaos of other dorms sharing food, sweets, and drinks right in Riddle’s territory, this party doesn’t even feel… unusual anymore.

Maybe it’s also the fact that Ace is way too quiet in the corner, hunched over himself, trying (and failing) to hide a rather large vial in his hand. You know that when Ace has that mischievous smile and not a shred of remorse in sight, nothing good can come out of the redhead; and this occasion won’t be an exception. Especially not after you saw him pour that very vial into the punch bowl.

“Trappola tradition,” you hear him say. It seems his older brother has passed down the baton for the worst prank.

Whatever Ace poured in there, the air gets sweeter, tinged with a rainbow of colors, with that feeling you get when you finally come of age and know exactly what you want and desire, and that hint of something not entirely legal for a school campus.

Someone, probably Floyd, starts chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” and Epel’s already on his second drink, trying to prove he can handle alcohol better than anyone. Grim, meanwhile, is busy fishing out slices of floating fruit, muttering about the injustice of being banned from the dessert table.

Riddle tries to keep his composure, doing his best not to think about the countless rules being broken in his own lounge, but the blush on his cheeks and the way he wobbles from side to side give him away—he’s not immune to the spirit of the party… and maybe he’s already had a taste of the punch.

You try to take it easy, but it’s hard when everyone keeps handing you drinks, plates of fruit, little candies with mysterious fillings. The world feels slow and slippery, like honey running through your veins, and suddenly you’re part of a tightly packed crowd in the lounge, shoulders pressed together, glasses raised, clinking them to the beat of a song nobody quite remembers the words to.

You catch Ruggie stuffing three types of chocolate into his pockets—not before slipping a couple into your hands, though. “Eat up! Or you’ll regret it tomorrow.” Kalim drags you onto the dance floor, his laughter easy, his hands never still, bracelets jingling as he spins you through the crowd.

The drinks get sweeter, the candies and fruits stronger. You lose track of how much you’ve had after the third glass. Laughter floats in the air, yours mixing with theirs.

You remember Vil’s perfume enveloping you as his knuckles brush along your cheek, making you shiver. “Having fun, darling?”

You just nod before walking to the other side of the room to separate Ace and Deuce—apparently both are on the verge of causing nuclear disaster in the middle of the lounge over who can fit more marshmallows in their mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Leona sprawling even lazier than usual across the sofa, and Malleus… well, laughing and making the air tremble a little.

Everything that came after you remember in lazy waves: laughter blooming warm in your chest, the tickle of someone’s breath on your ear; someone tucking a wildflower behind your ear—was it a white or red rose? It doesn’t matter, 'cause seconds later someone else snatches it away with their teeth and a grin that’s barely even trying to be subtle.

The music pounds in your ears until, at some point, everything settles and you’re wrapped in silence. You remember flashes in that quiet: lips tasting of chocolate pressed to yours, teeth biting your throat, hands brushing your skin under your clothes, laughter melting into moans.

Your hands are everywhere, entwined with someone else’s, tangled in soft strands of hair, clutching a shirt as you fumble with the buttons, at a belt, at the bedsheets, everything is heat, color, and taste. The world tilts and spins and you let go, trusting in the madness of it all, in the hands gripping your waist, in the mouth claiming you, in that lovely sensation of being wanted, claimed, and utterly ruined all at once and in every possible way.

When you finally wake up, the light is all wrong and comes in without asking permission, your thighs feel heavy and there’s that pleasant tingle between them, something itches at your neck, and you’ve got hair in your face.

Your head hurts—no, scratch that, your head is pounding and trying to open your eyes is a very bad idea right now. You take a deep breath and the pain’s still there, hammering away, demanding you face the day.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Trey

When you slowly turn your head, you find Trey sleeping on his stomach, one lazy arm under the pillow, hair a mess but annoyingly attractive. You assume his glasses are on his nightstand, the sheets dangerously low over his hips.

His hips… bare.

His chest is bare too.

You look down at your own body and—bingo—you’re naked too.

And these aren’t your sheets, this isn’t your pillow, and obviously, this isn’t your dorm bed.

Holy… fuck.

You try to remember, even with the pounding headache, half mortified, half… half what, exactly? Surprised? Embarrassed? Or just utterly satisfied to have such a god lying next to you?

Flashes hit you without warning: the warmth of Trey’s hand guiding you away from the crowd, his soft laughter by your ear, both of you laughing at some joke only the two of you found funny, stumbling together until you crashed into bed.

The taste of icing and the sweetness of strawberries on Trey’s lips when he kissed you fiercely; did he feed you with his fingers, or did you steal the flavor right from his mouth?

His hands roaming every inch of you, his palms warm; his tongue scandalous, licking you slow and deep, teasing your clit, sliding between your wet folds, holding your hips so you couldn’t escape.

Him straightening up, wiping his mouth with his thumb, looking you right in the eyes.

You felt the tip of his cock pressing against your wet pussy, sliding in slowly, panting against your lips, deep strokes, but completely sensual.

“You like how I fill you up, right? You’re so wet, so beautiful,” he’d murmured against your ear, holding one of your legs up over his shoulder to push even deeper.

The way he held both your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half, thrusting over and over, deep, hitting your sweet spot, probably making you scream.

Trey’s name on your lips when he made you cum, slipping two fingers inside you to stretch you even more while his cock was still buried deep.

The moment he held you after it was all over, the fingers of one hand tangled in your hair and the other lazily drawing circles on your back.

Trey shifts, stretching and opening one eye, still half-asleep. He gives you a small, crooked smile when he sees you—serene… and breath taking.

“Good morning.”

Goddamn, even his voice is too sexy...add that rough, low tone and you’re already wet again.

“Did you sleep well? Headache?”

Is it that obvious?

“Uh… yeah, yeah, a little.”

Trey sits up and the sheets slide dangerously lower, lower, on his hips. You try not to look… but fail.

Obviously you fail, who are we kidding? The view of this man’s torso alone is enough to make you start drooling. Those strong arms from all that kneading, the abs, the broad shoulders, and…

Marks?

He has marks on his neck?

Some are obviously hickeys… others look like the start of scratches that trail down his back.

You bite your lip, desperate to look at his back, to see the scratches you obviously left, and see how strong his muscles are there.

“Did we…?” It’s a dumb question—you obviously had sex—but you need to hear it from him.

“Yup… several times, actually.”

The heat that rushes to your cheeks is uncontrollable, almost the same shade of red as his bed curtains.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“Are you regretting it?”

Please, this man can’t be any sweeter or he’d cause diabetes.

Trey kisses your temple when he realizes there’s not even a hint of regret, or fear, or doubt.

Then, he gets up and starts looking for something to wear before going to get breakfast.

OH MY GOD THAT BODY!!!

And the scratch marks from your nails down his back, and his ass… and his cock, half-hard.

Trey notices you’re basically devouring him with your eyes… “Do you want breakfast, or do you want me to jog your memory with another round?”

He winks at you before pulling on his glasses, boxers and uniform pants and leaving the room to get you something to eat and something for your hangover.

Ah… you could die peacefully in that bed.

Leona

It’s the heat that you notice first—something heavy and solid pressing against you from behind, half-sprawled over your side, as if you were a possession. His possession

Your nose fills with a musky, warm, spiced scent, with hints of something… wild. It’s accompanied by the soft, steady sound of breathing.

You try to open your eyes, but the light only makes things worse, so you’re forced to rely on your other instincts and sensations.

You feel something wrapping around your leg, something soft, moving, tickling you lightly with part of its fur.

Wait… fur?

Is he holding you with a tail?

A TAIL?!

You force one eye open and the first thing you see, in all its glorious splendor, is Leona’s bare chest pressed against your back, one arm wrapped around your stomach.

You follow the line of that arm and realize you’re naked too…

You lift the sheets. Yep. Very naked.

Your skin tingles and your hips ache, your thighs feel like jelly, clear evidence that the bed wasn’t used just for sleeping.

You try to move, but Leona’s arm is like an iron bar, stopping you from even sitting up, his fingers tightening possessively on your hip. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his tail slide upward, his ears twitch.

“Going somewhere, little mouse?” His voice is deep and rough right by your ear.

You turn your head and meet the lion’s wide green eyes, far too awake for this early in the morning. He gives you a half-smile, one fang showing, dangerously smug and a little arrogant… well, very arrogant.

That look is unmistakably that of a predator about to pounce on its prey.

You pull the sheets up to cover yourself a bit more, as if there were any way to hide a nakedness that had clearly already been explored hours ago for… quite a while.

“What happened last night?” Your mind is racing and your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest.

Leona growls softly, though he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that you’re covering your “modesty.”

“After how loud you were all night, I figured you’d remember at least something.”

Your face goes nuclear red. You clutch the sheet tighter, but it’s useless. You’re in his bed, in his territory.

“Did we… sleep together?”

“Sleep?” You hear a low, amused scoff from his chest. “Oh, we did more than sleep… want me to remind you?”

He doesn’t need to. Your body does it for him.

Not only do you feel the dampness between your thighs, but there are bite marks along them, already starting to bruise, traitors that reveal just how intimate last night was.

You can feel a few on your neck and collarbone too; they don’t hurt, but you know they’re going to be bright red well into the morning.

Your own memories begin to surface: your hands in his hair as you both devoured each other’s mouths in the hallway, his low, rough voice murmuring when he finally pulled back, “Do you want me to take you to my bed, or do you want me to wreck you right here in the hallway?”

His lips moving from your shoulder down to your breasts, massaging one with his large palm while he trapped your nipple between his lips, licking it and making you arch your back.

“Say my name, again. Do it again” every time you moaned with each thrust. Your face buried in the pillow while he took you from behind, relentless and unhurried, panting heavily over you.

His hands roaming your entire body, strong, confident, taking what he wanted without asking; his teeth grazing your neck. Was it just one bite he left, or several?

His name on your lips every time he made you cum, even when he was nowhere near finishing himself. Pride mixing with hunger as he felt you clench those soft walls around his cock.

The boldness in your voice when you begged for more and more. “Please, harder… harder, Leona” How could he possibly say no?

You remember being on top of him, legs spread wide as you rode him desperately, thighs shaking; him leaning back, hands behind his head, enjoying his private show.

His strong hands on your ass, “helping” you move faster, impaling you with every thrust.

Leona coming inside you, holding you tight against him. “That’s it, little mouse, fill yourself up with me”

“You were wild—I barely managed to get your clothes off,” Leona pulls you out of your thoughts as he props himself up on one arm without a hint of shame, his body fully on display.

“Not that I’m complaining. You were pretty insistent when you rode me and asked for a second round. And a third.”

You let out a small squeak and cover your face with both hands. “Please, stop.”

Leona straightens and takes your hands in his, pinning them above your head against the pillow; he flips you onto your back with ridiculous ease, looming over you with a feral grin. You’re caged, completely at his mercy.

And gods, his body lit by the morning sunlight is far too delicious.

“You look incredibly tempting.” His gaze roams over your face and body, barely covered by the sheets.

He gives your shoulder a small bite and laughs when you let out a little yelp. “Want another round? Or breakfast so you don’t pass out on top of me?”

You glare at him, cheeks burning; you want to strangle him. Or kiss him. Possibly both.

“Breakfast… then we’ll see.”

He pecks your lips softly. “Good girl.” And then he gets out of bed without the slightest bit of modesty, tail swaying, letting you admire the scratch marks trailing down his back.

Jade

Why does the silence feel like you’ve been swallowed by the sea?

And why does it smell like seawater? And sea salt?

The room is so dim that the few rays of light filtering through the curtains make strange patterns on the bed.

And it’s a kind of dimness you haven’t seen in Ramshackle for a long time… which means, this is not your room.

Everything hurts; your throat is raw, your lips are swollen, your body heavy, like something squeezed you until there was nothing left.

You try to move but there’s a hand on your belly, a thumb lazily drawing small circles on your bare skin.

Bare skin…

BARE SKIN?!?!

You sit up—and it’s a very bad idea. The hangover slams into your head and you bring your hand up to your temple.

“Ah… looks like you’ve got a hangover, and considering how eager you were last night…”

You turn your head to find Jade’s smile—small and polite, but absolutely terrifying.

“Does my pearl need something to make her morning… more productive?”

“Jade…” your voice comes out hoarse and rough, and you cough, trying to clear the discomfort.

“Ah, I warned you I might wear you out. Seems I was right, hm?”

The memories hit you so hard they make your headache worse:

Jade pulling you away from the party, an astute glint in his eyes and his voice serene yet venomous, coaxing you into the comfort of his room—his bed.

His hands stripping away every piece of clothing until you stood naked before him, his fingers mapping your sensitive skin, anticipating every tremor, seeking out what made you sigh, moan, or arch.

Your boldness as you made him sit and you knelt in front of him, your lips around his cock, trying to take him deeper and deeper. His praises made your pussy wet and made you want to do better, his hands in your hair guiding you, helping you choke on him.

Your eyes brimming with tears when you looked up and saw him smiling, pleased, fingers caressing your cheek before plunging you into a fast, unkind rhythm, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

Your own mouth screaming in pleasure as he took you from behind, you on all fours on the bed, ass up, completely at the mercy of his hands and hips.

“Come on, little pearl, cum for me” the authority in his voice, impossible to resist, every word a praise tangled with a command.

Your climax hitting so hard it left you sprawled on the bed; Jade grabbing your head so you couldn’t move, your screams muffled by the pillow as he found a better angle to fuck you, making you cum again.

The taste of his cum when he made you take him back into your mouth and spill inside.

You swallow, trying to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky, ruined, “holy shit”

He runs his thumb over your hip bone, where the bruise from his grip is already fading… only to grab you there again, just as hard as you barely remember.

“Overwhelmed, maybe? Though I must say… you were so hungry for me you nearly made me mistake you for a predator.”

Jade sits up and the sheets slide even lower on his hips. He’s so tall it feels like he could cover you completely. He admires the bites and marks he left all over your chest, shoulders, and neck.

You’re his own personal canvas, and the fact that there are still places left unmarked… it’s intoxicating to him.

He pushes you back, slipping between your legs again, hands running along your sides before gripping your thighs and positioning them around his hips.

“Dare to tell me you regret it, little one.” When you shake your head, terrified but just as aroused, he adjusts your legs around his hips, letting you feel how half-hard and hungry for you he still is.

“Excellent,” he kisses the tip of your nose before rolling his hips, brushing against your clit. “So, do you want another round or some tea for that poor throat?”

You shiver, completely lost to his movements and the pleasure slowly building inside you.

“I won’t let you surface just yet, my pearl”

Jamil

For a few blissful seconds you think you’re safe in your own bed, within the walls of Ramshackle… until the scent of countless spices fills the air. Clove, cinnamon, something deep and intoxicating, spicy.

Yeah… you’re not in Ramshackle.

Is it wise to open your eyes with the sunlight filtering in through the window? Unfortunately, you’ll have to.

Eyes open and a hammering headache, you recognize the décor: elegant, gold details, Arabic architecture… Looks like you ended up in Scarabia.

Okay, one problem solved; now… who’s breathing against your neck, slow and steady?

You turn just enough to see the mess of dark tousled hair belonging to Jamil, splayed across the sheets and pillow. He’s on his stomach, facing you, eyes closed but with a small smile on his lips; his arm stretched out across your hips, giving you slow, gentle caresses.

You blink—once, twice, three times.

One more, just to give your brain a chance to process that his torso is bare and the sheets are dangerously low.

You freeze, memories hitting you in dizzying flashes through your hangover: his eyes shining in the half-light, pinning you with his gaze from across the lounge, like he was drawing you to him with nothing but his eyes.

Your body pressed to his while he whispered something in your ear that had nothing to do with the party, but still made your cheeks flush… more than they already were from the punch.

His hands, so careful with everything he handles, guiding you into a different kind of dance—one that didn’t need music or an audience; your laughter mixing with his before finding your lips, his mouth hungry.

The taste of spicy spices, and a hint of mint, with every kiss and stroke of his tongue across your skin, intoxicating and making you shiver.

Jamil kneeling at the edge of the bed, grabbing your feet and pulling you toward the edge so he could run his tongue along your soaked folds and slip it inside. Sucking on your clit until you were shaking.

The cry of his name when he made you cum with his fingers inside, curved and massaging your most sensitive spot.

His voice in your ear, soft but commanding, ordering, “Look at me, habibti” every word coaxing you closer to the edge. Sharp images of your wrists pinned above your head by his hands, of how he made you arch for him, Jamil’s long hair falling over your face as he watched you from above, his pupils blown wide and a bead of sweat trailing down his neck.

Your legs shaking, the pressure of his hand on your throat while he pounded into you again and again, his hips driving hard, his abs rubbing against your belly; his movements calculated, slow when you were desperate, brutal when you begged.

You let out a whimper, and that’s when Jamil opens his eyes. He blinks, then his gaze sharpens, lazy and sly.

“Morning”

Your mouth is dry, cheeks blazing. “Oh my Sevens… what happened last night?”

Jamil kisses your shoulder, moving up to your collarbone, your neck, up to your jaw before giving you a little bite.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Fr-fragments.”

You feel his hand sliding down your thigh… and realize you’re also naked under the sheets.

Okay, yep, we fucked… got it.

“You were bold. Even eager.”

His hand slides up, up, reaching the wetness between your legs. Your skin lights up and a jolt runs down your spine.

“I regret not doing this sooner,” is all he says before claiming your lips again, his fingers slipping inside.

You moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip, heart stumbling—but all you care about is melting in Jamil’s arms.

“Let me take care of you, habibti,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll make you forget about your hangover”

And when Jamil pulls you back under the sheets, you’re pretty sure you don’t want to remember anything but this.

Idia

The silence in the room is so intense it feels like you can hear your own breathing and heartbeat.

The first thing you notice is that the bed feels… off—not the pseudo-comfort you remember from your bed in Ramshackle.

Second, your head is about to explode; third, you’re naked and there’s a chill in the air, as if warmth doesn’t exist, making every hair on your body stand on end.

You crack one eye open, grateful that the blue light is diffuse and not too harsh, though it still hurts to look at.

Blue light… you turn your head and see a glowing skull. On the other side, way too many monitors crammed onto a single desk, one of those screens has thirty code windows open.

You bolt upright when you realize you’re not just in Idia’s room… you’re completely naked in Idia’s room.

There’s a groan beside you, the creak of bedsheets, and movement.

You turn around; a chaos of blue hair, pale bare shoulders, and a pair of yellow glowing eyes blinking at you from behind a curtain of messy hair.

Idia stares at you, mouth open, emitting a high-pitched, static-like whine; the ends of his blue hair turning pink, then pure red from embarrassment.

There’s a sound like a computer blue-screening right before Idia lets out a strangled squeak, scrambling backwards to put distance between you...then promptly falls off the bed with a loud crash.

“HOLY SHIT, IDIA!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“N-NO!! I’M NOT OKAY!! Wh-what did we do last night? Ohgodoh godohgodohgod—”

Idia grabs a pillow, but no matter how hard he tries, he’s bigger and taller than it.

He’s about to combust

“I died last night and on my way to the dorm something hit my head and I died again, and got isekai’d to some forbidden erotic world…”

You reach over and pinch his arm hard to bring him back to reality. “Ow!”

“This is real, Idia! We actually had sex!”

Heat rushes up your neck as flashes of last night come back: your hands on his, surprisingly warm, pulling him close to you in the middle of the party. Shy smiles, nervous giggles.

Idia’s inexperienced lips on your neck, his hands awkwardly squeezing your hips until you taught him how to hold you right.

His monotone voice now a whisper, full of need and want, “Are you sure? I-I’ve never—” and yours, suddenly bold, telling him you want him now.

The blue fire of his hair lighting up the darkness of his room and the naked skin of you both; the nervous way he looked at you and touched you, learning with every move of your hands over his on your hips, your breasts.

His eyes going wide as you guided his fingers to your clit and whispered in his ear how wet you were for him; his long, slender fingers working magic between your folds, barely realizing what he was doing.

Idia stammering as he tried to put on the condom backwards and failed—twice—begging you for help between gasps and awkward laughter. “Why is this so complicated? This… never happens in doujins…”

The exact moment he entered you for the first time, his breath hitching, a sharp, surprised moan as he felt himself inside you—slick and completely ready for him to go deeper, harder; to be entirely his.

Him finishing ‘embarrassingly’ fast (according to him). But all it did was make you want another round, and another, and another.

His lips traveling down your neck and, in a moment of sheer daring and lust, squeezing your breasts together to suck and bite your nipples at the same time, making you arch your back to give him more and more.

The way he moaned your name when you rode him for the first time, desperate not to finish too soon again, but absolutely mesmerized by the sight of your body so free and needy for him.

You taking complete control, hands on his chest, grinding your hips to rub your clit against his pelvis and clench your soft walls around his cock.

Idia groans with embarrassment, interrupting your lascivious memories.

“I-it’s not like… I mean, I’m not complaining or anything, it’s just… this is… max difficulty! Like, y-you’re like a goddess… most beautiful OP character… y-yeah and I—”

“And you’re Idia… was it at least good for you?”

His voice turns to static and he locks eyes with you in a rare burst of confidence.

“Good?! It was… it was overlord level. Uh. You were… really… really—”

Another memory hits: Idia clutching the sheets with every roll of your hips, moaning in time with you. His hands grabbing your hips, squeezing your thighs and holding on to you like his life depended on it.

After a while, still avoiding your gaze, Idia returns to the bed, hiding behind the pillow again. It’s almost cute...

No, it’s very cute. And funny.

You take the pillow away and let him curl up beside you again. For now, both of you log out of reality outside his room and let Idia melt under your touch.

Game over for virginity, am I right?

Silver

You wake up with the weight of an arm draped across your waist and the warmth of a body pressed against your back. The bed is way too comfortable, and your body… way too happy, though aching and with a hangover that could flatten you in the sun.

Little memories float to the surface: lights, very loud music, punch spiked with alcohol, a whirlwind of colors… and something silver blurring your vision.

Silver’s hair between your fingers as you kissed, his eyes—clear and bright—locked on yours in the middle of the chaos, giving you a look that told you both to take this moment somewhere else.

The feel of soft, sweet sheets on your bare skin stops your thoughts in their tracks, making you open your eyes and turn your head to the side.

Girl… you’ve got Silver, completely naked, behind you. His strong, well-trained arm pinning you against his chest.

Ahhhh… his chest; bare, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He’s beautiful in that fairytale way that only storybooks promise.

How can someone, even while asleep, look so utterly tempting?

Why is there a tingling between your legs? And why can’t you feel them? Or rather… why do they feel so wet?

Your heart skips several beats. Holy. Shit.

I slept with Silver. I slept with Silver.

You can’t stop staring at the perfect physique of the man beside you, so muscular, drinking in the view, flashes of the night before returning in blinding white bursts:

Your laughter muffled against his shoulder in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, his voice low but steady whispering sweet things—and something that made your pussy throb, needy and expectant. The warmth of his hand on your waist as he led you to a deserted hallway to devour your mouth right there.

The taste of his lips, sweet and a little shy at first, but no less hungry and full of desire, his tongue sliding into your mouth and both hands gripping your thighs to lift you up and pin you to the wall.

His fingers playing with every button and fold of your clothes, peeling you out of each layer until you were completely exposed for him; the pressure as they slipped inside you and a moan escaped your lips.

His warm, solid body over you, until he sat you on his lap; face to face, your breasts pressed to his chest, your nipples rubbing against his skin as you bounced with each thrust of his hips, his arms holding you tight against him.

Gentle, noble kisses on your cheeks, your shoulders, even your knuckles; kissing you softly, slowly, savoring you and making you feel wanted and loved.

His cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy with ease, not too fast, not too slow, wanting to set a pace that could last all night.

But your moans and pleas for him to go faster—“More, Silver, please, more”—made it a little difficult.

“I’ll give you everything, beautiful, just hold on tight”

And you did; to his shoulders, his arms, even to the sheets themselves when the pace sped up, laying you down on the bed, your legs thrown over his shoulders, the new angle making you cum again and again and again, so easily it was almost ridiculous.

You feel the tingling intensify down low and you shift.

Silver stirs and blinks awake. A few seconds of confusion before he notices your face, your bare shoulders, the way you’re clutching the sheet… adorable.

“Good morning beautiful”

And he says it with the most natural, gentle tone in the world.

“Are you alright?” he squeezes your waist and pulls you a little closer.

Boom, straight to the heart.

For a moment, he hesitates, thinking maybe… maybe, there’s regret in your eyes, maybe even shame.

Finding none, he gives you a soft kiss on the forehead and settles you against his chest; he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You look so beautiful in the morning, I want to wake up like this every day”

A soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your nose, then one more on your neck.

And, to finish, one slow, sweet kiss on your lips—savoring the promise of more in the future.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me.”

Anticipation shivers under your skin.

“Don’t stop”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Ace … and ... Deuce

You wake up with the worst hangover of your life—moving is a lost cause and opening your eyes isn’t even an option. You feel like you might throw up at any second and then just go back to sleep.

There’s a pounding behind your eyes, the kind that makes you swear you’ll never drink punch again… never drink punch that’s been tampered with by Ace; hell, you’ll never go to another party again.

You roll over and two things hit you: first, you’re naked, like, obscenely naked; second, someone is snoring rudely right in your ear.

A sharp flash stabs through your skull. You remember being squished from all sides while dancing, multiple hands on your waist, and two pairs of lips on your neck.

Turning left, you see Ace waking up. Looks like the hangover is killing him too. He grabs his head as he sits up, elbow propped on the mattress, lets out a heavy sigh and tries to open his eyes—and they lock with yours.

God knows how, but this bastardly redhead manages to give you the cockiest, most infuriating grin that makes you want to punch him right in the face.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty”

“Call me that again and I’ll shove your uniform shoe up your ass, Ace.”

Ace just grins wider and lets out a little laugh… followed by a pained groan as he closes his eyes, keeping the pain under control.

You smack his arm to wipe that smile off his face...and realize he’s just as naked as you.

“Ace… what the hell did you do?”

You blush, covering yourself with the sheets as much as you can, actually, even more. All that’s left is to cover your face and you’d be a mummy.

“Aww, don’t make that face, you’re the one who climbed on top of me after the punch.”

“You’re the one who spiked it!!”

“Didn’t hear you complaining when you were begging us for more—”

You smack him on the head with a pillow; your shrieks and his, plus the loud thump of the pillow, echo through the whole room.

“What the fuck… why are you two so noisy?”

Deuce’s voice sounds from behind you, raspy and just as hungover as you two.

You look at him… he looks at you… his eyes travel down to his own equally naked body… Confusion turns to horror, horror into high-pitched groans.

“What happened? What did we do? Why are we naked?!”

Between the throbbing headache and Deuce’s panicking, you try to remember a little more of this… wild rebellious night.

You remember being with the dynamic duo on the dance floor, Ace whispering dirty promises in your ear, Deuce pulling you closer to him. Then both of them trapping you between them.

Their taste—Ace like candy and mischief, Deuce like cinnamon and adrenaline.

The three of you running through Ramshackle’s halls, stumbling, sometimes collapsing in a tangle of laughs, hands, and feet.

The bed—Sevens, the bed. Sheets scattered everywhere; Ace’s mouth on your neck, Deuce’s trembling hands pulling off your clothes, both fighting over who would take off the last piece.

Spoiler: both of them did it with confident hands before lunging for your lips, your breasts, your legs.

Kisses mixed with laughter, limbs tangled, the chemistry between these two as they made you cume; sloppy at first, then more assured.

The pressure of one sliding between your legs, spreading you open and burying himself deep; the other opening your lips to take him in your mouth. Both working as a team, building a rhythm, admiring how your body adapted to being fucked from both ends.

“Look how we’re breaking you, baby. You’re so wet… I could drown in here,” Ace groaning, rough and loud, grabbing your hair and pushing you down on Deuce’s pelvis with every thrust.

“That’s it, pretty, just like that, don’t stop, swallow it all,” Deuce murmuring as his cock slides down your throat, robbing you of breath for a few delicious seconds.

The way they took turns—one in your pussy, the other in your mouth… but you also remember a sharper pressure at your ass.

The moment when they both wanted to be in your wet pussy together; when one pulled out, the other pushed in, stretching you until you screamed their names, rubbing together inside your softest, most sensitive spot.

The moment you didn’t just cum with both their cocks inside, but, thanks to the pressure and the delicious way they filled you...you squirted, soaking the bed, your belly, and probably Ace’s too.

You moaned, screamed, writhed; the boys turned on by seeing you so free, so full of them, Ace twisting your already-sensitive nipples, Deuce running his tongue over your dripping pussy.

Dizzy flashes of being held in the air, legs around Deuce hips, hands and arms held by Ace, your arms wrapped around his waist too. Each of them fucking you from a different end, watching your tits bounce with every thrust; a mess of spit, sweat, tears, and their cum leaking from both your holes.

The three of you collapsed in bed, panting; Deuce’s arm wrapped around your waist, Ace curled around your chest, fondling your extra-sensitive tit in a playful way—until he switched to gentle caresses. Both seeking your warmth and your touch.

Your breath catches with all the memories. The heat rises not just to your cheeks, but a lot, lot lower.

“I’m never drinking your punch ever again,” Deuce growls, holding his head.

“Don’t you wanna know how good we are at sharing this pretty princess?”

Deuce tosses a pillow at him, but with no force, Ace catches it with one hand, laughing.

The redhead just gets cockier, trapping you in his arms, your back pressed to his chest. You feel his lips leaving little kisses on your nape and cheeks.

Deuce, still hungover and dying of embarrassment, scoots in front of you, wrapping you up with one strong… very strong… arm.

Both of them attack you with twice as many kisses.

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.

“Cause if I can’t have ya no one will.”

a/n: im glad they didn’t overreact 😌

♡ 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 ♡

Wanderer goes cold and rigid, no matter what he's doing. It doesn't matter if you're in the middle of a battle or simply fainting in the middle of the day. He's always watching you, whether you realize or not; in a way, he orbits you, and any disturbance you feel can throw him entirely off course. It's no surprise when his gaze turns panicked for a second before he schools his emotions back into place with practiced ease. He rushes to you, catches you as you fall, and immediately presses his fingers to your pulse. It's strong. Your heart is beating. That, at least, is a relief. He can fight off the void that threatens his implosion for now, but he knows it's already began his destruction, tearing him apart particle by particle. Now, though, he simply sweeps you away and flies to the nearest medic. Wanderer doesn't say much, but the grim expression on his face lets everybody know how serious he is. How serious this is. He might leave your side or stand in the next room, if the doctor insists. But he's waiting. Waiting. Listening for your breath to change. Waiting.

Lohen will only ever find out after the fact. If you're fighting with him, you won't even get a scratch. Nobody on his team will. But when he returns to camp, only to find your company beaten and bruised and the entire expedition force in disarray, it's like a hole opens up in the ground beneath him and nearly swallows him whole. There's a frigid kind of panic that shoots down his entire body from his brain to his fingers and toes that he is all too familiar with. If he hadn't purposely spent so much time conquering his own weaknesses, he's sure ice shards would have shot out of his hands and plunged deep into the dirt as if it was his own heart. He's on an entirely different warpath now, trying to find you. He doesn't need to stop anybody and ask desperately through clenched teeth. Everybody already makes a path for him to march through, leading him straight to the medical tent. He's surprised to see even a few Lightkeepers receiving treatment as his eyes scan every cot. It is both a blessing and a curse to him that no nurses are near you. He can be alone with his thoughts, at least, and maybe that means you're stable - but there's also no one around to tell him exactly what happened to you, what is happening to you, and maybe the medics are spread so thin that nobody can give you the attention you need. His legs give out once hes beside the bed. Falling to his knees, he rests his forehead against the side of the mattress. You're breathing, but it's too quiet. You're too still. He doesn't even want to kill anything right now. Once again, fear has sapped him of the ability to act. Lohen sits there, emptier than he's felt in a long time. He just needs to hear your voice. Please.

Bite after bite, each gentle, not strong enough to leave marks, although something ugly rears its head inside his chest, aches for him to leave a proof of his claim. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind, but he dares not guess and test his luck. Your flesh is so willing to give, he needs to remain careful. His lips linger on your skin as if to soothe the slight sting, or as if he didn’t truly want to move on with the sinful trail of bites he creates. And he doesn’t. That little something inside of him urges him to not leave your skin unattended.

Your hands move, they take his hands along and he allows you. He only follows, drawing you closer to him as you instruct him wordlessly to embrace you tighter and hold you so that no sliver of space remains between your bodies. Neuvillette gives you a warning, as is only fair, that the friction makes his body buzz alight. A growl gets stuck inside his throat, he makes the noise blend into something softer, akin to a breathless moan when you push up against him again, with purpose.

He wishes he could open his eyes and look at you, to turn your head and face you, drink in the sight of your flushed skin and needy gaze, but he can’t. The sensation, the emotions surging into his body as they intensify within your mind, it’s too overwhelming. The little tease you are, you only seem to take pleasure in his helpless state.

“Come here, love,” you whisper, your hand leaves his to instead tangle in his soaked hair, tilting his head so your lips can meet. 

You’re as hungry for him as he is for you, your tongues clashing briefly before he grants you victory. His freed hand now moves too, caressing your side, up your torso to cup your breast in his palm. Your control falters, and that small sign of your weakness makes electricity spark low in his abdomen. He won’t get swayed by it, he shall remain gentle. Much stronger than you are, he won’t hurt you. He squeezes your soft breast in his hand, his thumb softly circling your nipple.

He swallows all the little sound you make hungrily, unwittingly getting carried away, so much so he doesn’t notice the low rumble in his chest. Too bewitched by your taste, the heat of your skin, the slow but steady progress that your hand makes, guiding his own hand lower from your hip. 

Soft light, the smell of grape juice, a voice retelling their day, the dip of the couch when you lean back, the warmth from the fireplace— that's what Diluc Ragnvindr's senses caught.

The flames from the fireplace in the Dawn Winery illuminated on your face as you talked, a glass of grape juice that he prepared especially for you was in your hand.

His eyes stared at you while your lips moved and occasionally let out a small smile when your eyes would lock in a gaze with his, both of your bodies close enough that your knees almost touched.

Diluc wanted it to but he didn't dare.

Because he is careful with affection,

That is simply his nature, to restrain affection because he didn't want to make you feel overwhelmed.

Even when he doesn't.

It wasn't that he doesn't yearn for your affection— the problem is that he doesn't know if he was allowed to even be this close to you.

Even when your arms wrapped around him and your lips pressed against him, his hands hovers for a moment before settling on your waist.

His touch never linger for too long;

His hand on the small of your back— not totally pressed but just enough for you to feel its there, His fingers grazing against yours deliberately but never truly holding your hand— just enough for you to know he's still there beside you as you both walked,

And you simply thought that maybe Diluc is simply not clingy, which is funny because what he really wants is to press his face on your neck and nuzzle against it absentmindedly when the night feels a bit colder than usual and he wants slow sleepy kisses in the morning with you tucked in his chest.

That is not the definition of not clingy.

So when he found out that you welcomed his affection, that you also yearned for his affection while whispering sleepily one night, "I want you to hold me more,"—

Diluc melts.

And suddenly his touches lingers more, kisses become more frequent— slower and needier yet reverent all at once, arms slithered around your waist while pulling you closer whenever possible.

Because all he wanted was you, and all he needed to hear was that you also want his affection as much as he wants yours.

“Uh… I mean… m-maybe? You haven’t, uh…” You trail off, pulling your knees in slightly, trying to make yourself smaller. The words die halfway out of your mouth, and you feel like maybe you should apologize. Your gaze drops from his face, down to the star-shaped tattoo on his neck, following the sharp lines of his abdomen and the dip of his hips, where you could see if he's still- nope. Absolutely not. You’re not going to check if he’s gone soft; that would kill you. Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut and cover your face, your cheeks and ears burning with heat. If you don't look, it doesn't exist.

There’s a beat of silence. You can hear the faint rustle of fabric, his slow exhale, and the pit in your stomach deepens. Embarrassment twists into something heavier. Albedo must be disappointed in you. Somehow, that’s worse, and it makes your chest tighten. Your bottom lip trembles, warmth prickling at the corners of your eyes. You feel gross and dirty, and you just want to go home, where it's safe and you can be alone.

“You’re trembling,” his hand settles lightly on your arm, “You don’t have to look at me. Just breathe.”

You do, though it comes out pathetic.

Albedo shifts closer, his hand sliding to your waist, fingers tracing the curve of your side until they settle in a light hold. His other hand finds the back of your head and guides you down until your back meets the sheets again. His lips brush over your fingers, still clamped stubbornly to your face, as if coaxing them to move. You stay firm, unwilling to let him see you like this. He exhales softly, the warmth of his breath tickling your skin before it turns into a quiet, amused sound. His lips trail lower, past your knuckles, down to the curve of your jaw, where he leaves a featherlight kiss.

“I’ve read,” he murmurs, voice calm and thoughtful, “that when you’re deeply attracted to someone, your brain releases a flood of excitement and bonding chemicals. The body becomes overstimulated and reaches orgasm faster.”

He pauses there, his lips still close to your skin. You can feel the faint movement of his mouth quirking up when he adds, “In truth, I find this quite flattering.”

You groan into your hands, voice muffled, but you do move your index fingers to peek between them, “Albedo, please stop whispering science to me to make me feel better. I actually hate you so much.”

A quiet chuckle rumbles against your throat as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His expression isn’t teasing, though; his eyes are soft, the faintest crease at the corner showing a mix of affection and curiosity.

“Hate me? I thought that information might be comforting,” Albedo says. His tone is light, but there’s an apology tucked somewhere between the words. The hand at your waist moves in slow, steady circles, the warmth of his palm easing the tension from your muscles. “On the contrary, I find you… remarkably beautiful.”

He studies you with the same focus he gives to his alchemical work, though now that you look closely, there’s nothing clinical about it. His gaze traces over your eyes first, the curve of your cheek, the flutter in your throat when you swallow, and then up to where your hands still hover awkwardly over your face. When he reaches up to move one aside, you let him do so, and that makes him smile sincerely.

It still feels strange seeing Albedo like this. You remember when you first arrived in Mondstadt, a city built on freedom, wind, and dandelions, watched over by the Knights of Favonius and the Anemo God, Barbatos. It was quaint and open compared to where you’d come from, yet with its high walls enclosing the City of Freedom, it also felt safe and stable. You’d passed by the alchemy station one afternoon, right beside that little shop you’d made a mental note to revisit for groceries. That was when you saw him for the first time, a man with pale blond hair and a star-shaped mark on his neck. You remember pausing, struck by how pretty he was, though the blank look on his face as he read over his notes made him seem almost bland. Unremarkable, if you were being unkind. So you walked on without giving him another glance.

Now, that same man is here with you, his palm pressed gently over your pounding heart, his other hand tilting your chin just enough to hold your gaze.

“You always look away when I do this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your sternum, “But you are fascinating to me. Every breath, every small reaction… I don’t want to miss any of it.”

His words aren’t meant to flatter; he's just simply stating facts. He presses a light kiss to your temple before resting his forehead there, his voice dropping softer, “Is that strange to you?"

You shake your head, though your throat feels tight, and you don’t trust your voice just yet. Then, when he’s sure you won’t pull away, Albedo’s hand begins to move. His fingers draw a slow path upward along your chest, following the shape of your collarbone, stopping just below your throat. Your breath catches, and his gaze flicks up to meet yours. He tilts his head slightly, and his thumb traces the hollow of your throat, the faintest pressure there sending another shiver through you.

“I like you,” he murmurs, his lips barely grazing yours as he speaks the words, letting them linger in your mind, “All of you… exactly as you are.”

 — ☆ Flins

Saying the wrong name

You don’t notice it the first time it happens; you’re too lost in the haze of heat and breath, floating somewhere between exhaustion and bliss to register anything coherent. Words melt together, touches blur. But then it happens again. And again. Often enough that your mind finally catches up, alarms blaring because- wait. Who the fuck is Anamarë? At first, you try to give Flins the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s a nickname. Something poetic, something old-fashioned he picked up from one of his dusty books. That’d be cute, right? It’s not. That theory goes out the window when he greets you by your real name the next morning, perfectly normal, as if nothing happened. It’s then completely shot dead when you realize he only says it in bed, right when he’s about to cum. A breathy moan into your neck to muffle the name, but still burning it into your skin anyway.

And that’s what bothers you most. Anything said during that time is pure instinct and therefore, honest. Flins doesn’t even seem to notice that he says it, and you can’t decide if that makes it better or worse. You lie there afterward, staring at the ceiling, your hand tracing idle circles across his back while your thoughts spin. You’ve debated bringing it up, but where would you even start? “Hey, who’s the person you keep calling out for when you’re inside me?” Yeah. That’s not going to end well.

Still, it eats at you. You like him. A lot. A lottt. But do you like him enough to let him call you by some random name? I mean..maybe? Sure, the sex is great, but it’s not just that. You like the way his voice softens when he says your name, the way he carries himself like a gentleman, the quiet half-laugh that escapes him when he's caught off guard. You like how seriously he takes his duties as a Lightkeeper and how dedicated he is to his role as the guardian of the Final Night Cemetery.

That’s what makes it hurt. Because if Anamarë is someone else, someone he loved, someone he lost, then what are you? A stand-in? A replacement? You squeeze your eyes shut. If you ignore it, maybe it will go away...

"Is something wrong? You seem troubled. Have I done something to upset you?" Flins asks in the quiet of the night. The room is dim except for the faint blue glow seeping through the window, soft light painting the edges of Flins’ face in silver. The sheets cling to your skin, still warm, a mix of sweat and salt. Flins lies beside you, both arms folded across his chest and hands placed on his stomach like he's prepped for his own coffin. It's all a bit too ironic not to get mad at.

“Uh, no. You were uhh… great. Yeah.” You laugh under your breath, awkward and too quick. You sound like someone caught stealing. Flins only tilts his head slightly, still watching you. There’s no judgment in his expression, only patience. You sigh, it's barely been ten seconds, and you're already bending the knee, “Actually, no. I lied. There is something wrong.”

“Please,” he says softly, “tell me what ails you so I might make it better.”

That genuine voice makes it worse. Why couldn't he have been some apathetic piece of shit who kicked you out on the first night into the cold cemetery? That would’ve been easier to deal with. You don’t want to see kindness right now.

“It’s… that thing you said. That word. Ana… Anami? Anamary? I don’t know, however it’s pronounced,” you fidget with a loose thread at the edge of the blanket, twisting it around your finger until it bites into your skin, “Why do you keep calling me that? I have a name, you know. Feelings too, and I don’t like- no, I hate it when you call me someone else’s name.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The moment the words leave your mouth, regret burns through you. You can’t even bring yourself to look at him.

Then Flins blinks once, slowly. And to your utter disbelief, he laughs. That breathy half-laugh you’ve grown far too fond of fills the space between you. It’s light and low and so pretty that it makes you both ache and want to smack him. The nerve of this lightkeeper. You're going to kill him.

“Please, excuse me,” he says between laughs, lifting a hand in apology, “I did not mean to offend. I am, a-ha, embarrassed.”

His smile falters into something more bashful, “Anamarë is… a term of endearment in my language. I had not realized I was saying that in our moments of passion.”

Your stomach sinks. You can feel the blood rushing to your face. “Oh.”

And then again, miserably. “Oh.”

"I'm so sorry for accusing. I can't believe I just- I'm sorry, Flins,” you groan, burying your face in your hands, “I’m such an idiot. I should’ve just asked instead of jumping to conclusions and exploding on you.”

Flins shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. He looks calm, maybe even relieved, “You are forgiven.”

He really shouldn't. Sure, you didn't have a psychotic break and attempt to key his lantern, but isn't he a little bit too nice? You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The tension in your shoulders eases a little, but the embarrassment lingers. You peek at him through your fingers, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest. His hair is messy from the pillow, strands curling slightly near his temple. He only gazes back at you through thick lashes and that sleepy smile.

“So… can I ask what it means?” you manage, lowering your hands and trying not to sound as nervous as you feel. He hums softly, thoughtfully, and sits up a little straighter. The sheet slides down his shoulder, revealing a glimpse of smooth skin before it pools at his waist.

“There is no exact Teyvat translation,” he begins. His tone is careful, almost hesitant. A faint pink rises to his cheeks, “But the closest meaning would be ‘soul light.’”

You nod slowly, unsure what to say. Your fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket, tracing the seams to keep yourself grounded.

“But when directed at a person,” he says, quieter now, “it means…”

His gaze drifts down, then back up, meeting your eyes. The smile that follows is small but sincere, something warmer than you’ve ever seen on him before. He leans in, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted to, but you don’t. The faint scent of salt and candle wax lingers on him. His breath brushes against your ear, and every nerve in your body seems to notice.

“It means,” he murmurs, his voice a soft tremor against your skin, “the one who illuminates my spirit.”

Anamarë

Anam – Irish word meaning soul.

Arë – Quenya-inspired suffix (from Tolkien’s constructed language), meaning sunlight, warmth, or daytime.

 — ☆ Kaeya

It doesn't feel good

You remember hearing your peers gossip and boast about their first and future trysts, how “amazing” or “mind-blowing” it supposedly felt. Hookups and one-night stands have become common parts of everyone’s vocabulary. But you never had much interest in them, not quite trusting the idea of letting some random stranger see you that vulnerable for the first time.

Still, you didn’t want to die a virgin. You were simply more selective about who you wanted to share your first time with, and for all intents and purposes, Kaeya isn’t the worst choice. He seems experienced, if the bar patrons are to be trusted, so you don’t have to worry about any clumsy accidents or injuries. Plus, you’ve never heard him talk openly about his partners or "exploits", so even if it goes badly, no one else will know. While you would have much rather waited for someone special, someone you loved, Kaeya is a good guy with a good face, and there are far worse people you could have asked.

The arrangement itself ended up being rather awkwardly professional. While you and Kaeya aren’t exactly friends, you’re acquainted well enough to chat whenever you happen to cross paths. You offered, and he accepted.

And well, honestly?

It doesn’t feel that great.

“Not up to your expectations?” Kaeya asks, his tone light but not mocking. He notices the tension in your face, the way your body doesn’t quite relax beneath his touch. He slows even more, watching carefully, “Do you want to take a breather? Am I hurting you?”

You hesitate, embarrassed to admit the truth, "I... think maybe we should stop.”

Even though it's a reasonable request, heat crawls up your neck as you avoid his gaze. You had built this up in your head, convinced yourself you were ready, only to be left with disappointment and being entirely too self-aware. A sinking dread tells you that any future attempt will just remind you of this moment, of how badly it went, and the idea of intimacy already feels tainted.

But Kaeya doesn’t look annoyed or frustrated. He just shifts slightly, easing back without complaint.

“Of course, thank you for telling me," he brushes his thumb along your cheek, wiping away the wetness you hadn’t realized was there. His hand is warm, surprisingly warm for someone with a Cryo Vision. You almost make a joke about it, something about him freezing your tears just to save face, but you stop yourself. He’s taking this seriously; you should too.

"I just... I-it's not you-sorry, you already know that- uh-" you swallow hard, feeling your cheeks heat up further as you pointedly turn your face to avoid looking into his eye, "I want to do it right...but I don't think I can...if that makes sense..."

“It makes perfect sense,” he says after a moment. “It’s your first time, right?”

You nod, feeling the heat creep back up your neck.

He hums softly, thoughtful, “Then there’s nothing to worry about. It’s normal to be nervous, to not know what you like yet. Everyone has different bodies, maybe this just isn't something you like."

You blink at him, the tension in your shoulders slowly easing. Sure, you know that, but hearing it from someone like Kaeya, who actually knows what he's doing and does it well, makes you feel a tiny bit better. Gives him more credibility and he isn't saying whatever will get you to stay in his bed. He moves his hand from your cheek to your jaw, tilting your head slightly so you’re looking at him again. His thumb rests just below your lower lip, not pushing, just there.

“I can guide you,” he says quietly, his tone more tender than you expected, “But only if you want me to.”

Something in your chest tightens at the way he says it, not as a tease or a challenge, but a real offer. Not the half-hearted one you gave him. The hesitation, the nerves, the uncertainty all start to blend with something else. You’re still embarrassed, but beneath that, there’s relief. Your hands flex at your sides, twitching with something to do, weighing if you should reach out to him. You don't want to seem like a "selfish participant" that others harp on. You want to prove that, although you had asked Kaeya into your bed on a whim, you still want to try and care.

“Did you know? Some people have sensitive ears, while others can’t stand even a breeze brushing past them," His voice is calm, almost casual, but the closeness makes it hard to focus on the words. When his hand lifts, fingers tracing the curve of your ear, you tense before you can help it. The touch is cold this time, a sharp contrast to the heat gathering beneath your skin. You swallow, trying to say something back, but the words don’t come out. It’s not unpleasant, just unfamiliar, but it also doesn't feel good either. He hums when you shake your head.

“This one’s my favorite,” he murmurs, tapping lightly at your sternum. The contact makes your breath hitch. His hand drifts lower, fingertips tracing slowly over the sensitive point of your chest, lingering just enough for you to feel every inch of his movement before settling. You make a small sound without meaning to, something caught between a gasp and a laugh, and Kaeya chuckles softly, clearly pleased.

“The good thing is that you know your limits. You know when to stop. That’s more important than pushing yourself through something that doesn’t feel right," he says, his voice returning to that patient, steady tone. His thumb strokes gently along your skin, “So please, don’t cry. You did nothing wrong.”

The reassurance makes your throat tighten even more. You sniff, blinking at him. The kindness in his words and the patience in his touch are almost overwhelming. You hadn’t expected this; you always thought of Kaeya as kind of a sleaze, the type to flirt just to see how far he could get. But now, sitting here with his hand resting lightly against your skin, he’s nothing like that. He’s gentle. Easy. Real. It throws you off balance in a way you don’t know how to handle. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words dissolve before they can take shape. Your chest aches, not from embarrassment anymore, but from something warmer, heavier. He tilts his head slightly, studying you, and the faintest smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It’s small, almost cautious, like he doesn’t want to push. His thumb grazes your cheek again, slow and deliberate, and you realize you’re leaning into the touch before you can stop yourself.

How can he even think, much less find the right words to say, when the familiar scent of your perfume fills his head with indecent, lascivious thoughts? Everything about you is intoxicating, almost insidiously attractive, so would it suffice to say that he’d much rather see your pretty, new dress abandoned somewhere on the floor? 

That first pulse of arousal translates into the first twitch of his cock, and oh how he wishes to kiss away your teasing little grin, but his lust-driven eyes are drawn to the miniscule movements of your bodice sleeve, predatory as he watches how it begins to shift, ever so slowly, off your shoulders. 

“If you don’t like it, then perhaps…” You loosely roll your shoulder, letting the sleeve slide right off. “…you’d like to help me undress?”

That, he will gladly do. His hands fly to your waist, dragging you down into a straddle over his hips. 

“Temptress,” he murmurs into the skin of your neck, distracting you with a featherlight kiss as his nimble fingers waste no time in undoing the delicate clasps of your bodice, leaving the heavy outer garment to tumble off your shoulders, abandoned in a pile at your waist. 

Cool air licks at the now exposed skin, though it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his lips as he slots his mouth against yours, gently coaxing you open with a subtle swipe of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut in honeyed complacence, allowing Neuvillette to kiss you slow and sweet; impassioned, ardent, each kiss an oath of love and longing and lust. 

Desire blooms like romaritime flowers upon water, and you just know the tension underneath his placid exterior, is ready to burst. It’s prevalent in the way his muscles grow taut, tense beneath your every touch, fighting to hold himself back as your legs squeeze around his hips. Demonstrated, again, by how he pulls apart your corset, impatient and haphazard as he unlaces each cross, before tossing it to the ground, forgotten. And of course, only you can attest to the searing sensations of his escalating kisses—gentle wisps, once faint and docile, now wanton and heated with depravity. 

You can already feel it in your chest, in your bones, in the wetness that’s begun to form between your legs; maybe it’s the anticipation, but despite the layers of clothing you’ve already shed, you find it even harder now to breathe, especially as he holds you so close, body pressed against yours, while he traces the bare curve of your neck with his lips. 

For one with such a carefully crafted visage of elegance and poise, Neuvillette becomes sloppier as his restraint fades and lust seeps through the cracks. Something about you drives him wild, draws out the more carnal side of him that he so desperately seeks to hide away from you, who he could never even dream of hurting. 

But perhaps he’s spent too much time amongst humans. Or perhaps he understands their nature more than he had initially believed, for he makes the most human mistake of all in letting his control slip—enough that his fangs graze upon your sensitive skin, sending a shiver that reaches all the way down to your core, eliciting a moan so mellifluous, he cannot help but utter a sigh of strained content as the undeniably sweet sound reaches his ears.

“If we don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back,” he mutters, tongue laving over the spot in apology. It doesn’t help that you voluntarily crane your neck, offering him even more access in your heated bliss. His fingers dig into your waist in a silent plea to still your rolling hips. 

“So don’t,” you breathe. “Don’t hold back tonight.” Desperate to have him closer, you arch into him, the loose material of his shirt firmly clasped in your hands, deepening the kiss with a quick tug, a silent request for him to let go, but he immediately halts his movements, pulling away in hesitance. 

Oh Neuvillette. Your sweet Neuvillette, who in spite of his stern exterior, is the gentlest of lovers—always so tender with you and steadfast in placing your pleasure before his. You know of his draconic origins, know that he holds back in fear of hurting you, but for all the times he’s pleased you to the fullest extent, you only wish to do the same for him.

Your hand reaches to cup his face and he leans into your familiar touch, steely eyes soft. “It’s okay, I trust you.”

It’s already difficult denying you anything on a normal basis, so how can he, now that you sit, straddled over him, determination colored in your bright eyes, and with nothing but flimsy cloth left between the two of you. His eyes linger at your chest, the scooping neckline of your lace slip doing nothing to hide the smooth crests of your collarbones, begging to be marked. 

Neuvillette sucks in a breath, and attempts to swallow his doubts, before exhaling. He can no longer ignore the tightness in his groin, and to you, it’s clear that the obvious erection poking from beneath his trousers, speaks much louder than the uncertainty storming in his eyes. Perhaps he just needs one more push…

Your fingers come to curve around the sharp lines of his jaw, unwavering as you tilt his head up into your gaze. “Don’t worry about me, I can take it.”

His heart threatens to leap out of his chest in a flash of excitement, gratitude, desire; it’s far from the first time you’ve lain together, but to choose to bear such vulnerability before him, to surrender yourself to a full-fledged dragon… He glides his hands over the round slopes of your shoulders, easily sliding off the straps of your slip as he goes. The silk garment collapses down your torso, piling atop your forgotten dress. 

“If that is truly what you wish…” He presses an openmouthed kiss to the bare skin between your breasts, and the warmth of his breath runs a chill even colder than the night air. His whispers hide a growl, and despite the blush apparent at the tips of his pointed ears, his hold on your waist tightens. One hand slides down to grasp at your rear, and you can feel him smile against your lips, the rattle of a faint chuckle rippling in his throat before your breath hitches as he picks you up in his arms, and carries you off to the bedroom. 

He sets you by your shared bed, tearing off his now wrinkled shirt, while you wriggle out of whatever’s left of your dress, until both sets of clothing are discarded somewhere on the floor, and you’re finally left in only your panties and your stockings.

Immediately, his hands find your waist, roaming up and down over your curves as he smothers you in hungry kisses, herding you along until the backs of your knees hit the edge of your shared bed. This Neuvillette nips at your bottom lip, not asking for, but demanding entrance into your mouth, and you have no choice but to let him in, what with the way he makes you whine as he sneaks his hands down to knead the globe of your ass, before lowering you onto the bed. 

The tingling sensations bloom in your stomach, buzzing with excitement while you ready yourself to surrender completely—pliant to his will, whatever it may be. Arousal swallows you like the sea and he has yet to even really touch you. Impatient, your hand wanders, though not far down enough before you’re caught in his grasp. 

“Patience…” he mutters, pinning your wrist beside your head, broad shoulders caging you in between him and the sheets. His other hand follows the natural lines of your body, tracing along the edges until he stops to fondle one of your breasts. 

It’s impossible to relax your speeding heart at this side of Neuvillette: less reserved in his touches, more candid in his wants. The untreated heat in your body makes sure to touch on every part of you, running like water through your veins, until you’re sure your dripping cunt is pulsing with a heart of its own. Unable to stand the ache any longer, you wriggle beneath him—rolling your hips and squirming until your knee unwittingly brushes against his crotch, eliciting a choked grunt from him, only slightly muffled by the fact that his teeth have dug their way into your exposed flesh. 

He immediately pulls away at the sound of your surprised yelp, eyes darting to and fro across your features in frantic search for even the smallest semblance of discomfort, completely missing the way your entire body had seemed to arch into his touch. His eyes finally settle at the light indentations now displayed upon your once unblemished skin.

“Forgive me,” he begins, “I should have been more careful.” Neuvillette is ever the gentleman, but his voice is clearly strained in a poor attempt at fighting back his instincts—instincts that demand a dragon to mark what is his. 

“There’s nothing to forgive.” A soft smile graces your lips as your hand reaches to cradle his face, curling around his jaw in hushed reassurance. It’s so easy to read the thoughts that plague him so. “It felt good, I promise.”

True to your word, his heightened senses easily pick up on the scent of pure arousal that drifts from between your legs, swirling in the air, and lulling him into a state he’s kept buried for so long, he’s unsure of whether he’d be able to hold himself back even if he wanted to. He admires your bravery for daring to poke at the slumbering beast; bravery he knows stems from a place of passion, but how can he release such inhibitions upon a mere human? So physically… fragile. 

“I meant what I said: I can take it. And I know you won’t hurt me so…” Your fingers clasp around his shoulders, pulling your lover down just far enough to whisper, low and sultry, in his pointed ear.

“Don’t you dare look down on me, o’ hydro dragon sovereign..” 

You lurch forward, manicured nails drawing light lines down his bare back, and he meets you halfway in a long, drawn out kiss. A quiet growl rumbles from deep within his throat, clearly aroused by the way you had drawled out his full title. He nips at your bottom lip, dragging out a single, short gasp before leaving to trail wet kisses down the column of your throat, never stopping until his lips hover over the very spot where he had previously made his mark. 

He doesn’t even have to touch you, just his presence, tangled with your own anticipatory excitement, invites a shudder so deep, you can feel it in your bones. The sharp edge of his fangs scrape along that still-sensitive patch of skin, lightly, as if testing the waters, though this time, he makes sure to take note of the quiver in your pretty little mewls. 

Slowly, he bites down again and a moan slips past your lips, forced out from the very depths of your chest as your fingers fly to tangle in his moonridden tresses. His hot breath seeps past the barrier of your skin, leaving every nerve privy to his effect, and combined with the building pressure, you’re left open for the stream of soft whimpers that leave the perfect ‘o’ of your parted lips. As he sinks his teeth deeper, you squeeze your eyes shut in the midst of all the pleasure.

“Do it again,” you gasp, “felt good… ”

And oh, he has absolutely every intention to, what with the way you’re putty underneath him. However, he must do something about how distracting your hands are when you tug at his hair: hard enough for him to groan with an ache so wanton, it sends tremors echoing down until his trousers feel far, far too tight. 

Neuvillette is neither here nor there when he alternates between kissing and sucking and biting at your tender flesh—anywhere is fair game when you’ve relinquished yourself to him like this. With how attentive his lips are along your body, you hardly even care for the absence of his hand when he reaches around to untie the ribbon in his hair… at least not until it’s too late and you're left bemused by the uncharacteristic display of boldness; after all, it’s all you can do when your wrists are suddenly so tightly bound overhead.

You whine as he wraps his lips around one of your nipples, suckling and swirling his tongue, while he ravishes the other between his fingers. Heat surges through you and the aching desperation congregating in your belly begins to boil; you’ve never felt so sensitive, never been more pervasive to his touch.

Inside. You need him inside of you. But with your hands currently incapacitated, you’ve no other choice except to buck into him, beckoning him with your hips in the hopes of redirecting his attention to where you throb. 

“Inside. Please. I need you. Need you inside.” 

He hums in acknowledgement of your wishes, tugging at the hardened bud with his teeth, successfully wringing another shaky cry from your throat, before he finally pulls at the delicate lace of your panties, and guides them down the length of your legs. You easily kick them off, but in his observation, his piercing gaze catches every thrum of your muscles as they tense underneath the hand that finally trails between your thighs. He drags his lithe fingers between your folds, coating them in your slick, while his thumb rubs your clit in slow, but firm, circles. 

“My apologies for the wait.” Neuvillette kisses you right above your heart, where his acute hearing easily picks up how it palpitates as he dips his fingers into your velvet walls. “Allow me to make amends, my love.”

With the way your cunt gushes so copiously, it’s easy for him to slide all the way down to the last knuckle. He flicks his wrist, pumping fast and hard, scissoring you open before slipping in a third digit, drawing out mewl after pathetic mewl, as you fail to pull yourself together. The bedsheets twist beneath your incessant movements: simultaneously squirming not only from the initial stretch, but also to feel him deeper.

The discomfort is all too familiar, but with just the curl of his fingers, it washes away into unadulterated pleasure, just as it always does. But with your arms tethered, leaving you open and powerless, everything—every touch, every twist, every curl—feels tenfold.

Plus, no one would even believe you if you were to say that the chief justice had such a playful side in the bedroom; his fingers have explored your insides far too many times for him to just miss the little spot that he definitely knows by muscle memory. Whining, you buck your hips, senselessly grinding into his hand, hoping he’d get the message, hoping he’d quell your heat right at the source. 

But something dangerous and wild and primordial shines in the blue-violet glow of his eyes. For all the times you’ve made love together, he’s never seen you like this: so desperate, so needy for him. He pinches a nipple, hard, before locking your jolting hips down; a show of strength to remind you of your place. 

“Please, more.” Your voice rises in congruence with how you struggle against your ribbon-bound wrists. His fingers tease the spot again, this time with more force, and he watches as you keen and clench around him—helpless and at his mercy. 

With a curl, his fingers crook inside your silken walls, pistoning in and out, fast and hard. Arousal continues to build, turning the low squelches into distinct suctions. Every nerve in your body is ignited, seared by the heat as he laps at the overflowing wetness that seeps out of your entrance. A satisfied purr sounds in his throat, and the vibrations dare your hips to buck in spite of the iron grip that holds you down.  

It thrills him to see you steadily fall apart like this, coming so undone before him, dissolving under the weight of your pleasure. It’s just as you had wanted. More. So you can take it, can’t you? You can take more? 

Neuvillette slots your throbbing clit into his mouth, hot tongue relentlessly striking the swollen nub with viscous lashes, while his fingers continue to bully your insides with no intention of slowing down. Sucking harder, fucking faster—you keen at the added stimulation, back arching clean off the bed in blinding pleasure, unable to do anything more than let out jagged sobs as you cum.

Your entire body grows taut as he sees you through the end of this high, before finally drawing out with one last sleight of his hand, so that his fingertips might graze along the velvet top of your walls, bidding farewell with another shudder-inducing wave of euphoria. He exits his soiled digits, clearly pleased as he inspects the amount of slick that coats his elegant hand. 

“You’re absolutely divine.” He hums whilst licking up the side of his wrist, so as not to waste a single drop of your liquid pleasure. It’s intoxicating how exquisite you are, more decadent than even the most pristine of waters. “Perhaps you’d like a taste?”

His offer is rhetorical at best, as he answers for you, already slipping his slender fingers into your open mouth, tangling them with your tongue, until the first bits of drool begin to dribble from your lips. 

He unties your wrists, releasing them from the ribbon’s hold; time and experience have proven that you’ll need something to grasp onto. In a haste, Neuvillette discards what remains of his clothes, and his cock springs forward in all its glory: long and thick, pale tip leaking and thrumming with desire. 

“You’re absolutely sure… ?” he mumbles, voice trailing off, almost embarrassed. He can no longer control the way his hips twitch in excitement, begging to bury his cock into your warmth, but for his gentle heart’s sake, he needs to hear you say it again.

You laugh out a soft ‘yes’ but just for good measure, you rake your nails down his chest, applying just enough pressure to tickle his nerves. “Use me,” you goad. “Come on. Be wicked, my dragon.” 

Neuvillette exhales, chuckling softly at humanity's arrogance. Wicked dragon. If that was what you wanted... “I wonder if you’d still say the same after I’ve finished with you.”

He pins you back down in one fell move, and aligns himself to your entrance, stopping after inserting only the tip. A delicate whimper leaves your lips as you wince at that familiarly sweet stretch, but you and your little cunt are both so eager to please—the continued arousal you churn out, weeping nonstop, and already clenching around just his cockhead. You wriggle into him, trying to fuck yourself deeper on his fat cock as you adjust to his size. 

Reaching up, you pull him into a seemingly reassuring kiss, hands smoothing over the framing pieces of his hair, before curving around his jaw. His lips follow yours, but as you pull away and the short pieces of his hair fall back into place, you notice how his slitted reptilian pupils are dilated almost round. 

“You wish for me not to hold back,” his voice comes in a low growl as he inches further into your cunt, “so please show me how resilient you are.”

It’s all the warning you receive before he slides the rest of his length to the hilt, burying himself in your creamy insides. A shattered sob tears through the room, and your arms fly around his neck in a desperate attempt to anchor yourself, but it only pulls him closer as he leans more of his weight into you, pressing down and reinforcing the heavy plow of his merciless hips. 

Taking him all at once like this burns like wildfire. Pain from the sudden, rough stretch spreads hot and fast, the small embers bursting into a blaze of arousal as pleasure breezes through just as quickly—like air infinitely adding to an already devouring flame. 

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, turning his head to reward a small kiss to your cheek. Your hole gushes, rushing to quell the heat, and the added lubrication helps you settle into his pace. Still, the dual sensations wash over you like the tide. It pulls you under, drowns you and consumes you with absolute ecstasy.

And just when you think you’ve grown accustomed, Neuvillette lifts your hips, aiming for the spot he knows will drag out the most wonderfully broken cries from your throat. Your nails dig into his back, and he groans at the vice grip as you clamp down around his cock. With each powerful thrust, he buries himself balls deep with a force that has your tits bouncing along to his rhythm, letting the wanton sound of your sobs ring throughout the room, loud enough to almost drown out the lewd noise of skin slapping upon skin. 

The coil in your belly is wound so tight that you’re sure it won’t be long until it collapses into itself. That it won’t be long until you yourself are about to implode, like a star ready to burst. 

“I’m going… going to…” Between the ragged breaths and the overwhelming sensations of ecstasy, you can’t even find it in yourself to think straight.

Neuvillette hums, his liquid smooth voice doing nothing to hide his amusement. “You’d do well not to break so soon.”

He thumbs your clit, drawing tight circles, ignoring the way you convulse beneath him. As your back arches, he drags the flat of his teeth from the edges of your collarbones, down through the valley between your breasts. 

Your entire body quivers, legs jolting by reflex to the intensity of your orgasm, vision blurring white as your lover continues to pound relentlessly through your high. There’s a layer of fuzziness over your mind that leaves you feeling as if you’re floating atop calm waters, but the fingers still thrumming on your abused nub are quick to drag you back into the salaciously dangerous depths of your own pleasure. 

A string of pitched whines follow in the aftermath, but the pretty noises you make has him throbbing even from within your tight hole. You ask him not to hold back, yet here you are before him, so small and pitiful, already writhing from the intensity—and he hasn’t even cum yet. 

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes, your body struggling for a break from the stimulation, but Neuvillette finds it quite adorable, in the way that a predator might toy with its prey. He slows his thrusts, but reaches deeper with every roll of his hips, each languid stroke hitting the exact spot that fills your sight with stars. 

The lascivious sounds of your soaked cunt perfectly swallowing his cock, followed by the slap of his heavy balls on your ass—he’s mesmerized by the way he disappears and reappears, and disappears again inside of you. His heart skips, and he bucks, breaking his rhythm. You undo him like no other, and it spurs him on that he too, seems to have the same effect on you. The way your pussy holds on to him so tightly, the helpless cries of his name amidst your hiccuped whimpering… 

He lets out a small chuckle, breath hot and ragged in your ear as he sucks at the inch of skin below. “Surely you can give me another,” he murmurs, the low grumble of his voice reverberating all the way down, until you can feel the vibrations in the hollows of your collarbone. 

Your eyes flutter, desperately blinking away the wetness that has begun to gather at your lash line. Sweet Neuvillette, your Neuvillette who reveres you more than he ought to and touches you like you’re made of glass. Even through the numbing haze, you know that for him, you’d give anything. 

A long, stuttered moan breaks out from between your lips. As if biding his time, he drags the entirety of his cock along your walls, the large vein that wraps around the length gliding along just right, that your back arches and your knees bend. It’s not that he means to move so tortuously slow, but you squeeze him to such an extent that in spite of his aching need to cum, he cannot help but try and savor the delicious way your walls are gripping for dear life. 

Neuvillette pulls out with the sticky squish of your slick. His throbbing cock, long and flushed, glistens with the sheen of your juices. In the emptiness, you think that perhaps he’s taken pity on you and your now overly sensitive cunt, but that just isn’t fair. Not to him, nor you and your once again looming orgasm.

“You haven’t even cum yet,” you gasp, trying to argue through baited breath. The whole point of this was so that he could feel just as good as he always made sure you did. So why would he—

“I know.” 

You can feel him as he lifts you, flipping you over like you’re nothing more than a doll, and manhandles you onto all fours. Limbs weak, mind frazzled, you’re barely able to hold yourself up, so when he realigns himself at your entrance and slams back through your folds with just as much power as before, you quite literally fall apart. 

“Too much?” The low chuckle in your ear is dangerously taunting, wickedly amused and with no sign of its usual sweetness. You’re able to muster a pitiful whine, but the way your entire body trembles tells him everything he needs to know, as he reangles you mid-thrust.

“I believe you said you could take it.” With a particularly powerful snap of his hips, your arms buckle, and you collapse onto the mattress. The intensity continues to send you jolting forward, but his reaffirmed grip on your waist holds your hips in place.

Nothing deters him as he ruts into you, hitting deep new angles that have your fingers grasping at the sheets while your cunt grasps onto his cock. With every slap of his skin against yours, his tip threatens to kiss your cervix, the aftershocks rippling through you until they’re released as broken sobs, muffled into the bed. 

How unfortunate that such noises, so very sweet to his ears, would be hidden from the world. Tangling his fingers along your scalp, Neuvillette tugs at your hair, lifting your head back so as to hear the pretty melody you sing when your cries ring around the room. Good. Just as the whole of Fontaine should recognize a dragon’s mark on your skin, they too should hear it’s he who pleasures your body so.

Little bits of drool trickle out of your open mouth, your eyes rolling back as he keeps up the brutal pace. Everything feels too overwhelming, yet so tantalizingly good, that your back curves and you’re creaming around him again. 

Electricity shoots through your veins, your lungs desperately racing to catch up with the rapid beat of your heart. The stars painted across your vision drop down to your stomach, exploding with an intensity that rattles you to your core. It’s a flood with no remorse—taking and leaving nothing in return, easily washing away any and all thoughts, until you’re left mewling the name of the only one who could ever give you such a sweet taste of heaven. 

But Neuvillette continues to thrust into you, and as he, too, nears his peak, his tireless strokes finally melt into something a little more forgiving. Just a little. The long drag of his cock slides so smoothly against your slick walls, gentle enough to fool your delirious mind into loosening your grip around him. 

What trickery from the wicked dragon who slams his hips forward with enough force so that your body jostles with every push and pull as he hits all the right spots again and again. Trapped under the weight of his body, all you can do is feel: the heat of the room smothering all your senses, the fervorous thrusts pushing you to your very limit—all you can do is feel and take it as he kisses the spongy head of your cervix, leaving you without a semblance of sanity, blabbering indiscernible nothings that beg to milk him dry.       

“Want more,” you keen, voice as broken as the crystalline tears that roll down your cheeks and melt into the pillows. “Inside. Wan’ it inside.”

Neuvillette laughs, low and airy, strained as his grip tightens, fingertips digging into your hips hard enough that it’d be sure to leave bruises come the morrow. “Is that what you want?”

“Please, please I–” You stop to let out something between a pant and a moan. “Want you to, h-hah, cum inside, wan’ your cum inside me.” Your walls clamp down even harder, as if attempting to trap his cock deep inside you forever, as if you weren’t already tight enough around him. 

White fills his vision, and white fills your womb as Neuvillette cums to the knowledge that you love this. He takes in the sight of you, his precious treasure, now reduced to the likes of a common whore: legs quivering, ass in the air, cunt filled to the brim and leaking from where the two of you merge. All for him. By his doing. 

Such splendor automatically evokes the instinct to claim you in a way far beyond that of human understanding… but you’ve already let him indulge more than enough tonight; he couldn’t possibly ask for more. 

You whimper when you feel him stir again inside you, careful as he brushes past your too-sensitive folds, but even such simple movements hazard to relight the flicker of arousal once again. Every ridge and vein, drawn out so agonizingly slow, sends an inadvertent shiver down your spine until he finally pulls out with a squelch.  

There’s no hope in tearing those sharp, reptilian eyes away from your puffy cunt, abused and messy and leaking with your combined fluids. Neuvillette sucks in a breath, trying to suppress his urges as much as he’s trying to swallow down the desire quickly boiling over in his belly again. Cumming inside you—no, breeding you—was a privilege. For dragons such as he, it’s a ritual reserved only for mates, and given the difference in your physiology, he had never allowed himself to do so—at least not until now, that is. 

In his defense, you had begged for it, and how could he ever deny the very one whom he has entrusted his heart to—especially when you were so beautifully fucked out and unraveled on his cock like that. And perhaps he’s lived among humans long enough to forgive this indulgence as a paradigm of fleeting desire, though nothing of what he feels for you could ever be considered fleeting. 

He parts your folds with two slender fingers, giving himself a better view as his cum now seeps out with suent access. You whine again when you feel him drag his digits down the sides of your pussy lips, catching the overflow before it can fall onto the sheets, and stuffing it right back into your little hole. No point in stopping now, if he’s already committed his sin.

From your half-lidded gaze, you manage to steal a glance at your lover, and judging from the erection that still stands stiff as a rod, he has yet to be satiated. In the attempt to break through the shadow of delirium, you lift your head, shifting your weight back onto your elbows, and forcing your battered body to turn just the slightest bit over. 

“You’re still hard,” you note through staggered breath, “We can go again if you want.”

Neuvillette looks down as if he hasn’t already been feeling the near painful arousal throbbing in his groin. Of course he’s still hard—how could he not be; you’re so complacent before him, offering yourself to him like that. But perhaps he is too soft-hearted, for he only lets out a reassuring hum as he leans forward to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

“You were beyond perfect tonight,” he murmurs. “It… might not be pleasurable for you if I continue anymore. I can finish myself.” 

Lovestruck, you shake your head. “I can take it r’member?” Your large eyes, red-rimmed and dreamy, plead for him to use you—use you to his own content, use you so that he’d feel just as good as he always makes you feel. You nibble at your bottom lip, bashful. “You can even use your other form if you'd like...” 

Your words catch him off guard, and he immediately stills in a half-hearted attempt to collect himself as another wave of pure, unadulterated desire pulses through his entire being. Neuvillette swallows hard before letting out a slow, shaky breath. His cock twitches and his muscles tense beneath the creamy skin that now seems to gleam with a soft shine, revealing scattered patches of effervescent cerulean scales. You affect him more than you could possibly know, revitalizing such carnal urges that ignore his will and allow his body to react so enthusiastically.

“You’re sure…?” His normally polished tone is husked in a defiant strain. Despite the way his pupils are blown wide and wild with lust, conflict still swims in the shallows of his expression, made clear by the way his voice rasps as he desperately claws to retain even a semblance of his composure. 

The tips of your fingers trace the blue streaks that protrude from the crown of his silver head, now hardened into twin ribbons of ivory; his horns, delicate but strong, glow a luminescent azure—so warm and inviting in its radiance… You grasp them tight, pulling him down with you, as you fall back into the bed, his lips pressed against yours. Of course you’re sure. He’d never hurt you, your Neuvillette would never ever hurt you.

“Devious…” he whispers between kisses, your tongue and teeth clashing in a waltz of their own, as his body drapes over yours. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in this form, crossed somewhere between a human and a dragon, as beautiful as he is powerful. But it’s certainly the first time you’ve ever attempted to take him like this. He’s bigger in this form—you can already feel it as he grinds up between your legs. Longer. Thicker. Ribbed and embossed with the same pearlescent blue scales. Beautifully intimidating, just like the dragon sovereign himself. 

And as you continue to marvel, he lets his cock rest across your lower stomach, sizing you up. His fervor shines through in the way he’s already leaking a mess of sticky precum atop the smooth skin of your belly. A satisfied hum vibrates in his throat, clearly enthused. 

“This is how deep I’ll be,” he muses, almost apologetic of the incoming stretch you’d have to endure. “I’m beginning to wonder if I can even fit inside you.” 

Would it be wicked of him to admit, even to himself, that he enjoys the way you wriggle and cry just taking him in his human form? And yet… he’s forced to steady his breathing in a poor attempt at grounding himself—a task near impossible as you roll your hips up, ardently shaking your head no, outright ignoring the last out he offers.

“I will… make it fit.” They’re the last words you manage to wrangle out before being overtaken by the need to be full and filled. There’s no reason you should be so terribly, terribly hollow, when he’s right there. Neuvillette chokes back a laugh; your unyielding determination sends blood rushing to his erection, desperate to feel your velvet walls crowd around him again.

Finally relenting, he teases your entrance—running his cock up and down your slit, spreading your wetness, before slapping your clit with the tip—reminding you just how sensitive you still are. Gasping, you jerk away from the stimulation that once again taunts your nerves. Your hole, however, clenches around nothing, eager to please. 

But perhaps you’ve greatly underestimated just how big he is, because he barely makes it past the threshold of your folds, before the pleasure pain of the stretch begins to take over. That, and the overstimulation from your previous orgasms, already have you instinctively trying to snap your legs shut, but the firm hold on your thighs forbid you from doing so.

“Ha-ah N-neuvi—” A twisted sense of pride swells in his chest at the way you can hardly speak as your breath hitches and your lungs desperately search for air. “’s too big,” you sob.

He gives you a momentary reprieve to adjust, while his hand snakes down to run sloppy circles over your clit.

“More?” he whispers. 

It takes you a minute to respond, but he waits until finally your voice shakes with the violence of each hiccupped sob. “More.. please…”

A baritone hum sounds in his throat as he pulls forward, pressing wet kisses to your jaw in a quiet reassurance, effectively sliding a couple inches deeper, as he does so. “You can take it, my love. You’re so pretty like this.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, your hold eliciting a long, low groan from the dragon. Wherever you squirm, he follows, pressing more of his weight onto you, burying more of his cock into you. Each ridged inch that slides past your folds, seems to push the thoughts right out of your head, letting them dissipate into thin air until you’re left mindlessly moaning sweet praises to his name. 

Desperate to accommodate the unfamiliar enormity of his dragon cock, your walls ripple and tense around him, back arching into him, wanting to feel ever closer to the love of your life, determined to push your cunt to its limit for him. For your Neuvillette. 

Neuvillette. Neuvillette. Neuvillete. He’s all you can think about; him and his monster cock that seems to split you so deliciously open. It’s wave after wave of heat that sets your insides ablaze, soothed by the waters of arousal that have you begging for more, and restarting the cycle until he finally bottoms out, and you feel as if you’ve been electrified. You squeeze your eyes shut, but with the way his bulbous tip prods at your cervix, your mind goes blank, and the tears fall regardless. 

“There…” you pant, eyes glassy from the euphoria of feeling so incredibly full. “’s all in.”

“Yes,” he praises, softly. “Look at you, so nice and tight for me.” 

He wipes the salt from your cheeks, distracting you with a delicate kiss. His fangs are more prominent in this form; you can feel them as he grins against your lips, whilst whispering breathy nothings that tell of how good you are for him, how perfect, how he should be so lucky to have you like this, to have you as his. 

When your body eases enough, he pulls away, though the subtle shift of his cock still drags a pitched whine out from your lips. If he’s to be honest, he cannot tear his gaze from where the two of you are joined. It’s mesmerizing, hypnotic, to see how he splits you open, to feel how you mold into the shape of him, to imagine just how much your little cunt had to stretch so that he might rest comfortably inside.

Though, comfortable might be an overstatement due to the way your muscles tense and release so tightly around him, clamoring for more of his attention.  Eyes darkening with lust, Neuvillette smooths a hand over your abdomen, cerulean scales cold upon your skin.

“Can you feel me right…” He draws a clawed finger delicately across the skin of your belly, where his cock rests parallel underneath. “Here…”

He leaves more than just a faint line of red where his talon rakes. Yes, you want to say. You can feel the faint prickle of his claw on your skin, you can feel how the sharpness sends a shiver ringing through your body, and of course you can feel how he’s sheathed his dragon cock right into the very depths of your cunt, deeper than anyone’s ever been, deeper than he’s ever been… But the only sounds that spill through your lips are another stream of broken sobs, fever touched by how close you are to cumming just from being filled.

“Go on, darling. Cum for me.” He can feel you pulsing around him, clenching and unclenching in search of sweet release, yet he makes no additional moves to help you, leaving you to your own devices.

At this point, you can no longer tell if you’re making things better or worse, as every little movement knocks you into reaction—like dominoes toppling over until every piece of you has been unraveled. You writhe atop the soiled sheets for any sort of friction, but it’s too much when his tip knocks against the entrance to your womb. So you shift away, letting the ridges on his shaft graze against your syruped walls, inciting another wave of need. The scales continue to tip between ‘too much’ and ‘more’, until you finally work yourself into a delirious orgasm, on nothing but his cock inside you and your own incessant squirming. 

As you continue to ride out your high, Neuvillete finally begins to move, tearing himself away from your fluttering vice grip with a tremulous moan, because fuck you’re still so tight around him, still so warm and wet even after cumming for what? The fourth time tonight? Pressure lands heavy over your frame as he begins to rock into you, folding you in half as he does. 

He fucks you slow and even, stretching you out even more with every new stroke. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as this new position affords him the privilege to reach impossibly deeper. Despite his shallow thrusts, each drag of his cock still blooms an ache from all the hidden spots that he has no choice but to touch, though it’s quick to pass, as pleasure continues to coil in your belly. 

It’s so much all at once. You can’t take it, it’s too much. But the soul-shattering euphoria of being so utterly full, is unparalleled. You want more, you need more.   

“My pearl,” he whispers, though his voice is gruff, “my heart… I want to hear you.” 

And so you oblige him, wailing something broken and pitched and strangled, at the sudden snap of his hips, at the way he bumps into your cervix and seems to rattle your organs about. 

“F-fuck,” you cry, without thinking. Not that you can anyway, when the push-pull tide of his thrusts raises you to new heights of delirium. “H-ah god, fuck Neu–”

Another sharp, jutting thrust cuts you off as the dragon above you snarls, clearly agitated by your crass choice of words. “There are no gods to help you here.” Not in Fontaine where he rules, and certainly not here in his home.

There’s a feral wildness that shines in his bright vishap eyes, and his possessive streak flares—dragons have no natural inclination to share after all. It’s clear in the way his pace changes: faster, harsher, more ragged—a ferocity befitting of an elemental dragon ruler. But titles aside, he’s still your Neuvillette, and every move he makes is still laced with a tenderness, so as not to break you more than he already has. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” he commands, dragging his tongue up the length of your throat.

“Yours. ‘m yours, Neuvillette.”

In and out, in and out. His long strokes guide the ridges of his cock back and forth through your tender muscles, leaving you to mumble mindless nonsense as you convulse and keen beneath him. Whatever pain you had felt earlier has long chipped away into undeniable pleasure as you near the precipice of yet another orgasm. Eyes glazed over in all consuming ecstasy, all you know to do is to chase your lust, and so your hips grind back, rolling together like waves in a storm. 

Amidst the flagrant wet sounds of your rabid fucking, you cum again, lashes fluttering as your eyes roll, muscles tight as they tremble from such rapture—so lovely, so beautiful. Your siren call of pretty cries spill from your lips, intermingled with weak babbles of his name. You’re so breathtaking like this in your post-climax haze: fucked out and cloudy-eyed, panting into the cool air as his slowed thrusts still rack up an aftershock of shudders.

Neuvillette bows his head, once again trailing wet kisses across your collarbones, before pausing to hover his lips right over the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his warm breath a familiar spot of comfort in this maddening pleasure. Perhaps it’s some sort of sixth sense unique to only the most attuned of lovers, ones whose souls seem to harmonize in perfect resonance, but there’s hesitance in the way he suckles at the spot, fangs ghosting over your tender skin.

“S’okay… you can do it.” Your soft, dreamy sighs of approval are accompanied by the languid tilt of your neck, jeopardizing more of your delicate skin to the dangers of his teeth. “You can mark me… w’nna be your mate…”

Choking back a moan, Neuvillette pistons thrice more into your cunt—pulling out until just his tip remains, and then plunging back into your gooey insides, sending you into another round of dizzying convulsions. His own orgasm follows, seeing stars as he places an amorous bite to the crook of your neck using only the flat of his teeth. 

With how deep he’s buried, ribbons of his cum shoot right into your womb, spilling out into every cavity, and painting your interior white. Warmth blossoms from the inside out. Your heart is full, mumbling happy nothings of ‘mates’ in between sniffles, while a creamy ring forms around the base of his cock, thick liquid oozing from where he ends and you begin. His own chest rises and falls in jagged patterns, but his only want is to seek your lips, to drink in your mewls, and exchange sweet kisses, so that your soul and his, may meld together as they dance in the shape of your breaths intertwined.

He strokes your hair, planting easy kisses all around as he unplugs himself, letting loose the flood of cum that seeps out of your hole, but you whine at the loss, wanting nothing more than to be ever close to your newly consummated mate. Neuvillette only nuzzles into your neck, deep purrs of content reverberating from his chest as he lazily rubs his scent all over you. Meanwhile, a quick swish of his sapphire tail up the sticky underside of your thigh, teases another pulse from your cunt, and by reflex, you push out another dollop of white. 

A small tap tap to his shoulder distracts him from his scenting, and he looks up with a tilt to his head and a small furrow to his brow, his normally sharp eyes full of earnest concern, relaxing only once he finishes reading through the bleary, dulcet tones of adoration that glow in your half-lidded eyes. You poorly suppress your little giggles—although he often disagrees, your lover really can be quite adorable. 

Fontaine’s Iudex Neuvillette is elegant, poised, and meticulously polished… but here in the quiet night hours, in the privacy of your hearth, your Neuvillette is unruly-haired and damp-skinned from satiating the beastly desires of his still tender heart. You reach out a tired arm, first brushing back the pieces of hair that cling to his skin, then wrapping your palm around to cup his face. 

“Was I a good mate?” Your hand slips down from his cheek to play with the tips of his silvery hair. “W’nna be the best for you.”

“You already are the best for me.” His hand, no longer clawed nor scaled, brings yours back up for a kiss to your knuckles. “The only one for me.” 

He rolls off of you, sweeping you into his embrace, as he carries you off to the bathroom. Your head rests heavily against his chest, but your happy hums and quiet murmurs of ‘good,’ tell him that you have not drifted off into slumber just yet.  

“You truly are a wonder,” he breathes, dipping his head to place a soft kiss to your forehead. “And it would be my honor to have you as my mate… but not tonight.”

His instincts had urged him to do it, to permanently claim you as his, and mark you as a dragon would, but his heart vehemently disagrees. The most sacred bond known to his kind is an ultimatum in your relationship, and it is one he refuses to be the sole architect of, so perhaps the two of you can revisit this conversation again once you’re more clear-headed; his answer would remain the same anyways.

notes2: thank you for reading, reblogs + feedback are very much appreciated ♡

“Easy now,” he mutters under his breath, gently pushing you down when you move to sit up. His thumb brushes over the curve of your shoulder, grounding both you and him, “You overexerted yourself. Rest for a moment. Focus on your breathing.”

The room falls quiet except for the soft hiss of your inhalations, gradually deepening and evening out. Alhaitham notes the subtle rise and fall of your chest, the way a strand of hair slips across your forehead, the faint warmth radiating from your skin. His eyes soften imperceptibly, though the earlier panic still lingers as a tautness in his posture.

“You’ll be alright,” he murmurs, voice low, almost reverent, “I’m here.”

You lean slightly into him, a faint shiver passing through you. He quickly bends over, grabbing one of the thinner sheets that were pushed off at some point and draping it across your shoulders. He stays still, silent, letting the closeness linger, though his hands don’t move from where they rest. It’s only when your breathing evens out and your dazed expression clears that he rises to fetch a cup of water.

“I’m sorry, that was… kind of embarrassing,” you mumble as you sip slowly, wary of giving Alhaitham yet another reason to frown at you.

Alhaitham’s eyes flick to you, and the corner of his mouth hints at the faintest trace of amusement.

“There is nothing to apologize for,” he says evenly, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable weight, before it shifts to his usual snark, “Though it would be helpful if you actually listened to me sometimes.”

 — ☆ Wanderer

Getting a nose bleed

"Ah."

You’ve never really stopped to appreciate just how pale and smooth Wanderer’s skin is. You remember reading fairy tales about princesses with porcelain skin, but until you meet him, you always thought it was a strange way to describe someone. Everyone has wrinkles, birthmarks, and other imperfections; you can’t imagine anyone having skin smooth enough to rival ceramic. Yet, lo and behold, Wanderer exists, and he proves that perhaps there is a higher power than the Archons.

"Are you being serious right now?"

A blessing now marred by spots of red, thanks to a nosebleed that appears the moment Wanderer finally ends up in your bed.

"I would like to sincerely apologize, but you really can’t blame me. I’m having an out-of-body experience," you laugh, one hand reaching for a couple of tissues on the bedside table while the other pinches your nose shut, "I completely understand if you want to stop and never talk to me again."

While you’re busy grabbing a fistful of tissues, you notice that Wanderer has gone deceptively quiet. You risk a side glance, fully expecting to see that familiar, cute scowl on his face. Instead, he looks… contemplative. His gaze lingers on the drops of blood dotting his stomach, bright bursts of red against a plane of white. He hums low, prodding one of the drops with his finger before holding it up to eye level, watching the red run down. Your pulse quickens—not just from the blood, but from the intensity of his stare. You catch the faint twitch of his lips, the subtle narrowing of his eyes, and you realize he’s fully aware of the effect this is having on you.

His hand, the dirty one, hooks around your neck and presses you down. You manage to catch yourself before you collide nose-to-nose, which would only double the bleeding. By now, the blood has traveled from your nose to your mouth, a droplet clinging precariously to your chin.

A small tongue flicks out like a cat’s, the tip stained with red before it disappears behind pale pink lips. The droplet is gone.

"You got a fetish for blood?" you ask, though you’re fairly certain something is wrong with you, because you really shouldn’t be this aroused by such a simple act.

"Are you always this stupid? Or has the blood loss drained your brain cells as well?" Wanderer shoots back flatly. You aren't even awarded any pink around his cheeks.

"Nah, it’s just because it’s you," you say earnestly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. His lips pressed into a thin line as if he were weighing whether to berate you again or pretend he didn’t hear. Your gaze drifts to the wad of tissues still clutched in your hand, clean and unused. You chuckle under your breath before tossing them over your shoulder. The crumpled ball lands somewhere on the floor with a muted thud, forgotten like your original intention to play this whole night safe and normal.

When you glance back at him, expecting annoyance, maybe even disgust, you instead catch him watching you with a peculiar look. His eyes flicker over your face, sharp and calculating, but there’s something curious lingering at the edges. Something that makes your chest squeeze in a way far more dangerous than any nosebleed.

You grin despite yourself, leaning just a little closer. You don’t expect the night to go like this, but adaptability is your forte. If tomorrow the nice old lady next door asks why your sheets are pink, you’ll lie and say it was a laundry mishap.

 — ☆ Varka

Losing arousal halfway

The heat that had been building in your chest and stomach drains away like water from a leaky faucet. The warmth at the back of your neck turns suddenly colder, making you hyperaware of just how flushed you are. Your eyes scan the room, confirming for the third time that it’s just you and Varka. That "Captain" is nowhere to be seen, and he surely has far more important things to do than play voyeur… right? Yet, even though he may not have eyes, you can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching. Your cheeks flush in sudden embarrassment, and you pull back slightly, unsure of how to fill the awkward silence. You’re not certain whether the pit in your stomach comes from the guilt of what you’re thinking, or from the very thought of even saying anything aloud.

After all, you were the one who initiated. You were the one who averted your eyes to play coy when your hand settled just a little too far up on his thigh. You were the one who wrestled his belt off as soon as you two were alone. To be fair, it had been a very long, very exhausting expedition.

"Come on, you're not backing out now, are you? After that little stunt you pulled?" Varka's voice drags you back to reality. One heavy, calloused hand pats your cheek while the other strokes you like a pet. Ah, right. Perhaps you should pay attention before you choke. That would be far more embarrassing, wouldn’t it?

"Don't tell me what to do when I'm doing you a favor," you huff, eyebrows creased, spitting into your hand. You ran out of lube two weeks ago, so this will have to do for now. The vicious shine on your palm catches your eye for a moment before the creeping wave of self-awareness hits: yeah, no, you can’t do this anymore.

"Yellow!"

Varka's body stiffens instantly, the movement so sharp it makes you flinch. His head jerks up as if startled, eyes wide, his wolfish grin melting into something more serious and concerned. The warm hands that had been cradling your head lift away, but hover close enough to make their presence felt.

"What's wrong?" His Grandmaster voice is softer than usual, a low rumble that fills the space as he slowly sits up, giving you enough room to flee if you want to. You bite the inside of your cheek, caught between nerves and awkward amusement at seeing someone like him so uncharacteristically cautious. It's… sweet, and makes you feel even worse.

"Um… it’s… stupid," you mumble, fiddling with your hands and avoiding his eyes. The tension in the room sags slightly, the charged energy giving way to an awkward, heavy quiet. You curse yourself silently for losing control at the worst possible moment, fingers twisting nervously as your gaze darts anywhere but his.

"I just… kind of feel like… someone is watching us, and I—uh—don’t perform well under pressure?" The last part comes out as a tentative question, a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood. It fails spectacularly, made worse by the sticky discomfort on your palm and the uncomfortable awareness that you’re literally leaving Varka hanging.

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and your chest tightens. But then his voice comes, calm, steady, carrying the slightest warmth that sends an unexpected flutter through you.

"There's no hurry," he says softly, pressing a hand lightly to the small of your back, guiding you closer without breaking the delicate pressure of your contact, "We go at your own pace."

You exhale, letting yourself relax into him. The subtle press of his body against yours, the soft rise and fall of his breathing, and the warmth of his hand along your back create a quiet comfort that makes the embarrassment fade. You adjust slightly, curling up beside him, and he mirrors the movement, letting you find a comfortable balance. Eventually, your eyelids grow heavy, and the room falls into quiet.