🩺 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌・₊✦₊・It'll never be the cure ᥫ᭡.
〖 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 〗
check in. unravel. don't expect to leave.
❝ I thought I found the antidote this time...❞ You've been admitted to the psych ward of ❃𝒯𝒶𝓂𝓂𝓎 ♡ 𝐛𝐥𝐤. ➀➇ 𝒻𝑒𝓂. 𝕓𝕚𝕞𝕓𝕠 menace. WIFE OF ASHVEIL , VARKA'S BREAST PUMP, & LOHEN'S FREAK ♡ writing poison into your bloodstream one fic at a time. ❝ why can't you come stitch me up.ᐟ❞
the walls are white, and the charts don't lie — 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 and pills on every page.
Requests: CLOSED
Backup: @bunbunslvt
New patients must review 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 before admission ♡ only adult patients & 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒 are admitted.
❥ 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒
LATEST INCIDENT REPORTS documented during tues/fri — no witnesses, no liability
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🩺 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌・₊✦₊・It'll never be the cure ᥫ᭡.
〖 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 〗
check in. unravel. don't expect to leave.
❝ I thought I found the antidote this time...❞ You've been admitted to the psych ward of ❃𝒯𝒶𝓂𝓂𝓎 ♡ 𝐛𝐥𝐤. ➀➇ 𝒻𝑒𝓂. 𝕓𝕚𝕞𝕓𝕠 menace. WIFE OF ASHVEIL , VARKA'S BREAST PUMP, & LOHEN'S FREAK ♡ writing poison into your bloodstream one fic at a time. ❝ why can't you come stitch me up.ᐟ❞
the walls are white, and the charts don't lie — 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 and pills on every page.
CURRENT STATUS:
requests: CLOSED
Backup: @bunbunslvt
New patients must review 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 before admission ♡ only adult patients & 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒 are admitted.
❥ 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒
LATEST INCIDENT REPORTS documented during tues/fri — no witnesses, no liability
🔪 featuring {separate}: 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
🔪 tw: yandere content 𝜗𝜚 murder duh 𝜗𝜚 drugging 𝜗𝜚 jealous sex 𝜗𝜚 noncon 𝜗𝜚 size kink 𝜗𝜚 fear play 𝜗𝜚 kidnapping 𝜗𝜚 scent kink 𝜗𝜚 they're psycho 𝜗𝜚 lovebombing 𝜗𝜚 cherry poppin' 𝜗𝜚 blood kink 𝜗𝜚 sex after murder?? 𝜗𝜚 this lwk kinda scary 𝜗𝜚 aphrodisiacs 𝜗𝜚 full nelson 𝜗𝜚
🔪 an: her new boyfriend nexttt how'd I get hereeee?? 👀
🔪 CHILDE — Shits n' Giggles
Maybe if you don’t move, he won’t see you
You’re crouched between two crates, knees pulled to your chest, barely breathing. Your hands are clamped so tight over your mouth that your teeth are digging into your palm.
You saw it.
You saw Ajax laugh while he carved the man you were seeing apart. The way the hydro blades slashed n’ ripped.
Witnessing the moment your boyfriend stopped screaming, and he just kept laughing, louder and louder.
And then he looked right at you.
So now you’re hiding. Because you’re next. You have to be next.
His footsteps crunch over the gravel, slow and bouncy like he’s having the time of his life. Then the laughter starts again — loud, wild, completely deranged.
“Hmmm~ Where’s my favorite person?” Childe sings, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! I saved the best part just for you, babe!” Another burst of manic giggling echoes through the alley.
Fuck he’s getting closer way too fucking close.
Your whole body is shaking so hard that the crate behind you is rattling. Tears won’t stop pouring down your face.
Shit shit shit! He’s going to kill you. He snapped. He’s completely lost it, and now he’s going to—
“BOO!”
A bloody hand slams down on the crate right above your head. “AH THE FUCK-” You immediately slapped a hand over your mouth
Ajax drops down into a crouch in front of you, blue eyes wide and sparkling with pure insanity. His ginger hair is soaked red.
Blood smeared across his freckles like war paint. He’s grinning so wide it looks like his face might split.
“You really thought you could hide from me?” he laughs, loud and bright. “After I just put on a whole show for you? That’s so mean!”
He swiftly grabs your ankle and yanks you out from between the crates in one smooth motion.
THUD!
Hissing in pain as you hit the ground hard, but he’s already on top of you, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.
His face is inches from yours his mouth panting. You can smell the blood, see the lovesick glee in his eyes.
“You watched the whole thing, didn’t you?” he whispers, almost affectionate. “Saw me tear him apart... laughing while he cried like a little bitch. And then you ran away from me like I was gonna do the same to you.”
He drones off on that last part, Childe tilts his head, still smiling that terrifyingly happy smile.
“Wait...You thought I was coming to kill you next, huh? Pffttt!-” He bursts out laughing again — loud, unhinged, shoulders shaking as he presses his bloody forehead against yours. “That’s so fucking cute.~”
His cock is already hard, grinding against your stomach through blood-soaked fabric. You feel it twitch when you whimper.
His free hand slides down your side, gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. “I’m not gonna kill you, babe,” he purrs, voice dropping into something much darker.
“I killed him because he touched you. Because he thought he could have you. I did it all for us.”
He leans in and licks a tear off your cheek, blue eyes half-lidded with delight.
“Baby, stop crying and tell me how much you loved the show… or I’ll give you a reason to really scream.”
He says that last part with a proud little grin, an attempt to reassure you he’s stable.
You stare up at him, chest heaving.
“…Ajax is you on drugs right now?” you choke out.
He blinked once, then twice before laughing; his pupils literally dilated into tiny hearts as he pants above you, chest heaving, that manic smile never fading.
“Completely sober, babe. Promise.” He nipped your ear playfully. “Did it all on no drugs~,” he sing-songed.
“You’re fucking insane!” you scream, thrashing underneath him.
The insult lights him up like fireworks.
He moans openly, hips rolling slow and filthy, pressing the thick line of his cock against your cunt.
“Fuck— say it again. Louder.” Childe’s voice cracks with glee. “Call me a lunatic, baby. Please.”
You spit in his face. “Get the hell off me, you psychotic ginger bast—”
“Hah— you’re so h-hot when you’re mad at me,” he cuts you off delighted.
“You made me so sad when you decided to cheat on me, baby…” he coos.
“What???” This made you freeze. “We broke up months ago, you fucking psycho— get off—”
“No.”
The word drops flat. Instant. Like a switch flipped behind his eyes.
“No. No no no no no.” He’s giggling now, shoulders shaking as he pins your wrists deeper into the gravel. “Don’t do that. Don’t say that. We didn’t break up. I didn’t agree to that. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”
“Ajax…we broke up. Months ago. I left. You can’t just-”
“No.”
His fingers dig bruises into your ass. Cock twitches hard against your belly, leaking through his pants as he fishes it out one-handed. Thick. Angry.
Drooling precum in fat sticky ropes that splatter hot against your clit.
“Shhh gonna split you open, bunny,” voice still sickeningly sweet. Hips rocking forward as the fat head kisses your entrance—hot, demanding, wider than you remember. "Just relax… let me fill you up…"
“Wait!- hngh!-”
Plunging in deep you cried out nails scraping the gravel, walls fluttering uselessly around the sheer girth, trying to push him out even while more slick gushes out to betray you.
“F-ffuck! Didn’t you hear me??”
He sinks deep, deep, deep, blue eyes half-lidded in bliss while that smile never falters.
“Don’t say that again.” One blood-stained hand cups your cheek, thumb smearing red across your skin like he’s petting a scared kitten.
“C’mon, babe. We both know how this ends. Seems you forgot who you belong to. That’s okay though.”
With a broken moan his forehead dropped to yours pausing briefly.
“I’ll remind you.”
He starts moving.
Slow at first—wet, filthy drags that grind his cock against every raw nerve inside you.
Then harder. Meaner.
Each thrust timed with that same cheerful, hollow voice.
“Ya f-feel that, babe? That’s me. That’s us. No break-up. No ex. Just t-this pretty pussy squeezing me so tight like it missed its owner!”
You gritted your teeth and tried to twist away.
He’s too heavy. Too deep. Too gone.
“Ajax, ngh! puhleeasee! This isn’t!-”
“NO-“ plap! “NO-“ plap! “NO NO NO- don’t do that! Don’t say that!”
Every “no” lands with a vicious snap of his hips.
Cockhead battering your womb like he’s trying to fuck the memory of leaving him out of your body.
“-We’re on a nice date right now, babe! Can’t you hah…haha…see? I took you out, I got all dressed up for you, I’m being so good for you tonight!”
He’s screaming between giggles.
Tears pouring. Smile never drops. Just keeps stretching wider and wider like his face is about to split.
The wet pap-pap-pap of skin on skin echoes loud between you, slick and cum all mixing together.
You sob harder. “W-what are you ah!- talkin’ bout?!? I said we broke up! T-this isn’t a date!”
“NO!”
Another scream tears from his throat. Raw. Unhinged. Sinking deeper. Inch after thick inch.
“Don’t say that again. Don’t say that, don’t say that don’t say that - we’re on a date! This is our date!”
Laughing and crying and babbling all at once while heart-shaped pupils spin wildly.
As he fucks you in earnest—wet, filthy schlick-schlick-schlick echoing off the crates in the alley.
His leaking precum making an obscene mess between your thighs.
He’s laughing and crying and babbling all at once, that empty cheerful mask splintering wider and wider.
“You always come back to me eventually.” His voice fractures sweeter, darker. “This cunt is squeezing me so tight! Baby!— fuck, you missed me, didn’t you? Haha…”
You sob, hands gripping his shoulders tight so hard you made indents from your nails.
He only groans louder, pace turning relentless, hips grinding deep on every thrust like he’s trying to crawl inside your ribs and stay there forever.
In his shattered mind, this is a date.
The only one that matters.
And he’s never letting it end.
🔪 DOTTORE — Exhibit A
“You brought this on yourself, you know.”
The words hum down the long, sterile hallway, lazy, almost affectionate.
As if he’s scolding a pet who keeps making the same mistake.
You’re running as fast as your legs will carry you, feet slapping hard against the cold tile while your lungs burn and your heart hammers so violently you can hear it thundering in your ears.
Sweat pours down your spine, and your thighs feel way too slick, way too hot, and none of it makes any sense because you’re running for your life.
You’re sure you’re going to die, so why the fuck is your pussy throbbing and dripping down your own legs like this?
Your mind is spinning so fast it hurts.
You’d only come back to Snezhnaya because your ex said he needed to talk, and then you heard the screaming and the wet, horrible sounds, and then nothing at all.
Of course, you didn’t witness what happened, but you’re starting to piece together what unfolded now with every heavy footstep echoing behind you.
He killed him.
He actually killed your boyfriend, then he injected you with something, and now he’s hunting you through his own lab, part of whatever sick experiment he’s running, wanting you terrified and soaking wet at the same time.
Your head is pounding, your skin feels clammy and burning hot all at once, your heart is beating so fast it’s making you dizzy.
Yet still your cunt keeps clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs with every desperate step.
The ache between your legs is getting worse.
Throbbing hot and embarrassing, how are you running for your life, and your pussy is acting like this is foreplay?
“Do I really have to do this to teach you a lesson each time?” Dottore chuckled, his humming getting louder, his steps steady. “Running only makes the poison work faster, love~.”
His voice is so much closer now, curling up your spine, breathing down your neck, and you don’t dare look back.
You just keep running, gasping, crying, thighs trembling and slippery while that awful heat keeps spreading through your body, and you're so sure that whatever he gave you isn’t poison at all.
And then it hits.
It crashes through your veins like liquid fire, so sudden and violent that your legs give out instantly. You fall hard, knees slamming into the cold tile as a broken sob rips from your throat.
A puddle of slick immediately spreads beneath you, warm and humiliating, because you’re gushing so much it’s pooling on the floor.
Fuck
Your cunt won’t stop spasming, clenching, and fluttering around nothing while wave after wave of pure, pent-up arousal drowns you.
All you feel is white-hot need flooding every inch of you, so violent it rips a broken moan straight from your throat.
Attempting to get up, but you only twitch and writhe your limbs, feeling like static jello.
You look like you’re in the throes of a fever — flushed all the way down to the roots of your sweat-drenched hair, eyes slightly glazed and unfocused, lips parted as you pant like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Treachorous pussy won’t stop twitching against its will. Fresh slick gushes out of you in waves, so much that you can hear the wet sound of it dripping.
You can’t think...you can’t even remember why you were running.
All you know is that you’re burning, aching, dripping, and the man who just killed your boyfriend is standing right behind you.
“There we go…” he purrs, slow footsteps finally stopping beside you. “That’s what I wanted to see. Fascinating.”
His red eyes pierced through your trembling form like twin scalpels, cutting straight through whatever was left of your dignity.
You’re on the floor in a puddle of your own slick, thighs shaking violently, chest heaving as another wave of that cursed heat slams into you.
Shame burns hotter than the aphrodisiac.
Shame on you.
Shame on you for even considering giving him another chance.
That stupid letter he sent you had sounded so sweet, so almost-human.
You’d actually let yourself believe he might’ve changed.
What a fuckin' joke.
You left him for a reason.
No matter how tenderly he touched you, you could never tell if he was holding you because he missed you or because he was quietly counting your pulse for some new “stress test.”
Every damn time he looked at you, it felt like he was staring at a particularly interesting petri dish.
Those segments gave you the worst hive-mind uncanny valley feeling, like you were dating twenty versions of the same man who all saw you as data.
You were so fucking sure that Dottore didn’t actually love you.
That you were just his favorite little experiment.
And yet here you are.
Dripping all over his floor. Whimpering like a bitch in heat while he stands over you, looking as smug as always.
“Pathetic,” voice low and clinical, but there’s something darker threaded underneath it.
He crouches slowly beside you, gloved fingers tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet those crimson eyes. “Look at you. Running from me only to end up like this.”
You try to snarl at him, but it comes out as a broken moan instead.
Hips twitch uselessly against the cold tile, cunt clenching hard around nothing as another gush of slick leaks out of you. The shame is suffocating.
“I left you-” you gasp, voice cracking, “-because you don’t even love me. You look at me like I’m just another specimen. Those Segments… It’s like dating twenty of you, and none of them actually want me; they just want the data-”
Your words cut off into a sharp cry as he drags two fingers through your soaked folds, spreading you open without warning.
“Such a dramatic little thing,” Dottore coos, mocking. “All that fire with your pussy drooling all over my fingers the second I touch it. You really think I don’t love you?”
He laughs softly, dark and cruel. “If I didn’t, would I have gone through the trouble of killing that worthless fling of yours? Would I have spent weeks perfecting this particular strain of aphrodisiac simply so I could watch you fall apart so beautifully?”
Your ex smiled eerily and slowly took off his glove. “Did you have your fun? Did you get it all out?--” He pressed two thick fingers inside you without mercy, curling them viciously against that spot that makes your vision spark white. “-It’s time to come back to me.”
You sob, hips jerking, tears spilling down your flushed cheeks. “Zandik- hah- please”
“Please, what?” Twisting his fingers deeper, thumb circling your swollen clit with slow, teasing strokes. “Use your words, darling. You were so eloquent a moment ago about how I don’t love you. Tell me exactly what you need from the man who supposedly feels nothing for you.”
Your pride is crumbling fast.
The heat is unbearable now, every inch of you burning, pulsing, begging. You’re so pent up it hurts.
“I— I can’t— fuck— Zandik, please, I need—”
He pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whine pathetically at the loss, hips chasing his hand like a desperate whore.
“Beg properly,” he says coldly, eyes glittering with wicked delight. “Beg the man you claim doesn’t love you to fuck the need out of your pitiful, dripping cunt. Or perhaps I should just leave you here like this?... Let you writhe on the floor until the aphrodisiac drives you truly insane? Hm?~”
Damn him
You break. Tears streaming, voice shaking, pussy throbbing so hard it’s painful, you sob out the words he wants to hear.
“Please… please, Zandik, I need your cock— I need you to fuck me, please— I can’t take it anymore—”
Dottore's mouth curls, slow and terrifyingly satisfied. “Good girl.”
Two thick fingers push back inside you without warning, curling viciously against that spot that makes sparks explode behind your eyes.
You sob, hips jerking hard as another gush of slick floods out around his hand, pooling on the cold tile beneath you.
The pleasure is too much. Too fast. Your cunt keeps spasming and fluttering uselessly, greedy and desperate even as shame burns through you.
You try to close your legs. Try to bite back the whimpers.
Smack!
It was sharp - fleeting, even - but your entire body is jolting at the feeling of Dottore’s thick fingerpads smacking your poor cunt.
Right above your ravaged clit. “Ngh- Z-Zandik!”
“Z-Zandik!” he mocks your moans, voice higher than usual. “Thought you wanted hngh- to be quiet, whore?”
He grins, chuckling softly at the way you’re half-lucidly pushing at his rippling biceps - nails leaving neat little marks as you’re torn between pushing him away and wanting more, more, more-
“How are you gonna do that if you’re like this, huh?”
You fixed your quivering lips to say anything, but he did something unexpected-
He leans in and kisses you like he actually missed you.
Soft at first. Almost sweet.
His moves against yours with surprising tenderness while two thick fingers sink back into your dripping cunt, curling lovingly against that spot that makes your brain melt.
“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, his voice low and warm against your lips. “I’ve always loved you. Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve invested in you?”
At the same time, his fingers pinch your swollen clit hard, rolling the poor bud between his thumb and forefinger with mean, precise pressure.
You jolt and whimper into Dottore's mouth. “Mmnph!- no, you-”
He just kisses you deeper, swallowing every sound, murmuring sweet filth against your tongue.
“My perfect little whore,” he coos lovingly, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your tear-stained cheek, the corner of your eye. “Look at you. Such a pathetic, dripping mess on my floor. Crying and gushing like you were made for this.”
Another deep, affectionate kiss as he pinches your clit even harder, tugging on it while his fingers fuck into you with wet, filthy sounds.
“I love you so much,” he breathes tenderly, like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. “I’ve discarded less valuable things for far smaller reasons.”
You’re shaking, overwhelmed and confused at the constant contrast between his soft kisses, gentle confessions, and the ruthless way he’s abusing your clit is driving you insane.
He kisses you again — slow, deep, devoted — right as he gives your clit one last vicious pinch.
That’s what breaks you.
Your orgasm hits like lightning. You scream into his mouth as your cunt clamps down around his fingers, gushing everywhere in messy, humiliating waves.
Dottore keeps kissing you through it. Sweet. Loving. Like he’s proud of you.
Only when your body finally goes limp does he pull back, red eyes glowing with satisfaction.
Then his smile turns sharper.
“That aphrodisiac I gave you?” he says calmly, still stroking your hair like a lover. “It was always a hybrid. The paralyzing agent activates right after orgasm.”
You try to move your legs.
Nothing.
From the waist down… you’re completely paralyzed.
“Fascinating…” Zandik leans down and presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice soft and affectionate.
“You won’t need legs anymore, darling. I’ll take care of you from now on.”
🔪 RERIR — Fuck Your New Guy
He’s going to kill him. Right now.
That’s what the eye contact is for. You understand that now, tied to the headboard, gag wet from crying, that the man you’ve been seeing for three months is going to die in front of you.
Watching Rerir’s hand coil around your man’s throat, slowly wanting you to see all of it.
Your fling is begging. Grabbing at his wrist with both hands, saying things — please and wait and something pathetic about not even knowing you that well — and your true lover doesn’t even flinch.
Pink eyes bore holes through you, and somehow, you knew exactly what they were silently communicating at this moment.
You ran, his eyes say.
Across a continent, across a whole ass ocean. Inazuma. You made it to Inazuma and stood in your new home, and almost convinced yourself it was over.
His grip tightens slow n’ deliberate…You feel it in your stomach even from across the room, this horrible, telegraphed knowing, and you’re pulling at the rope again without deciding to, wrists burning, throat working around nothing-
CRACK!
The sound was loud. Wrong in a way that lives in your body now, permanent, a sound you will never un-hear for the rest of your life.
You closed your eyes tight as if that would make this go away. Flinching when you heard the deep thud of your ex's body dropping to the floor.
Still not opening your eyes. Just squeezed them shut harder, biting your lip behind the gag so the sob stays where it is.
How did this happen?
Why you?
Why not some other girl - there’s no way he’s this obsessed, right?!
It’s ok, it’s all a dream once you open your eyes; this’ll all be some sick nightmare that you can laugh about—
He’s right in front of you.
“EEP!-” You jerked back hard, skull connecting with the headboard, stars exploding across your vision.
Rerir’s hand shoots out, gripping your face hard. Cheeks squishing between his long, sharp claws, blood forming at the ends of his talons, forcing your teary eyes to meet his.
When he tore the gag off, you didn’t even breathe first. "I'm sorry!-"
Already. Before you can even think.
"I'm so sorry, okay, I know I left, but I just needed — it wasn't about you; he didn't even mean anything, I swear, I wasn't thinking. Please, I'll fix it, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't-"
Rerir stares at you, eyes narrowed in genuine confusion.
He killed for you. Crossed an ocean for you. And here you are looking at him like he’s something you have to survive.
It should bother him.
…it doesn’t.
He tunes most of it out.
The rambling.
The apologies.
The way your voice keeps cracking.
He just watches your face, searching for the girl who used to call him "Riri".
“—I can make it up to you.”
Oh
There she is.
“Make it up to me.” He drawls, repeating.
You gulp but nod frantically. “Yes. Anything! I swear! I’ll do anything.”
His eyes drop for a second, then back up to yours. “Even that?”
You know exactly what he means.
The thing you always shied away from, always found some excuse for — you’re too big, we can’t, I can’t— and he was patient.
He was.
But patience has a limit, and you just handed him an open invitation.
His giant cock visibly throbs in his pants, a wet spot spreading from the tip as he leans in close, long sharp claws trailing down your stomach.
Rerir brings two blood-stained fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a slow drag of his tongue, pink eyes never leaving yours.
“You said I was too big.” His voice drops low. Husky. “Said you couldn’t take it.”
Clawed hand sliding lower until he’s cupping your soaked cunt possessively. “And now you’re tied to the bed, telling me you’ll do anything.”
“Ok wait- Rerir— I didn’t mean—”
“Fuckkk, I need ya.” He crashes his mouth into yours like a starving animal.
He doesn’t give you time to breathe.
One clawed hand tilts your head aside while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. His mouth attacks your neck — licking, sucking, biting marks into every inch the other man never touched.
“I need ya so badly,” he groans against your skin, “Been dreaming about this tight little virgin pussy the entire time I crossed that fucking ocean for you.”
You whimper as he frees his cock.
It’s monstrous.
Thick, veined, heavy enough that it slaps against your stomach with a wet thwack. The tip is already drooling thick ropes of precum.
“Rerir it’s— it’s way too big— I can’t— we shouldn’t—”
“Fuck no.”
He cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips, notching that fat cockhead right against your entrance. Pink eyes gleaming with something feral.
He pushes forward with just a tip. The bigggg stretch is immediate, stinging, and impossible.
Your back arches clean off the bed, a broken cry ripping from your throat.
“You got very far. Fuck, I’ll give you that.”
He’s panting against your ear, claws digging into your thighs as he forces you open wider. “Tied up. Begging to make it up to me. This pussy’s already creamin’ all over me, and I’m barely inside.”
SCHLCK!
Another thick inch sinks in. Your walls flutter desperately around the invasion, trying and failing to adjust. “Rerir!!— ngh!—”
Rerir’s claws dig harder into your thighs as he forces another thick inch inside you.
Your pussy has never taken anything close to his size before, and it’s fighting him, walls clamping down so tight it almost hurts him too.
“NGGH-” A broken whine rips from your throat. “-IT HURTS!” Your back bows clean off the bed.
“Just relax,” he hisses against your neck, “Hah, you’re already this tight?”
He rolls his hips again.
Slow and greedy.
Another inch sinks in. The fat head of his cock pushes so deep that the bulge in your stomach becomes obvious, moving with every shallow breath you take.
You’re crying now. Legs shaking uselessly in the air while the ropes bite into your wrists.
“I can’t— I’ve never—”
“You will.”
Your pussy flutters desperately around the invasion, creaming and dripping down his length even as you sob. Rerir groans. Low. Filthy. His claws flex on your hips, yanking you down to meet the next heavy push.
“This is what you owe me.”
He starts fucking you for real then — long, sloooooppy strokes that drag every veined inch through your walls, forcing them to stretch around him whether they want to or not.
The first real thrust tears a sharp sting through you.
Blood.
A thin trail of red mixes with your slick, smearing down his thick cock as he forces your virgin cunt open for the first time.
The sight makes Rerir shudder so hard you feel it in your bones.
“Fuck…” he groans, voice cracking with something close to reverence. “First time.”
Each pull back has your cunt clinging to him desperately, gushing and creaming down his length like it’s trying to keep him inside.
Every brutal push forward forces another wet schlck out of you, the obscene sound mixing with the faint metallic scent of blood in the air.
You can’t think.
Can’t even speak.
Just broken little cries and whimpers every time that fat, roverin’ reddened cockhead plunges between your pussylips and hits dead-set on the back of your cunt — splattering slick, cum, and blood upwards.
Bandaged torso presses flush against you, chest heaving as he drinks in every twitch, every sob, every tear.
“C-can’t wait til ya cum f’me, my girl. First time taking all of me — I want to feel it.”
He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, fangs grazing your lip as he feels your body start to seize again.
He drags his swollen cock all the way back until only the fat tip is teasing your puffy folds, letting you feel every single throb… then slams back in with a wet SCHLORP, bottoming out so deep the bulge in your stomach is obscene.
You bit your lip so hard it bled, tears falling freely from your eyes.
Laughing low and mean, another thrust, even harder, mercilessly bashing in the top of your cervix, so smooth and slick you were - your sure his rude tip has formed a bruise there.
“Who the fuck leaves a cock this big for some pathetic little fling?” he taunts, voice dripping smug cruelty. “Do you have any idea how many sluts would kill to get split open on something this thick? And you ran far n’ wide just to let some tiny-dicked nobody be your first?”
He punctuates it with a particularly brutal ram that made your cunt gush out more fluids.
Your only coherent thought, floating somewhere above the pain and mind-melting pleasure, is:
He’s really talking shit about my ex… right now? While he’s literally taking my virginity?
Rerir seems to read it on your face, grinning genuinely for the first time in the night.
“What? Were you actually gonna let that loser pop ya cherry?-” He laughs darkly, hips never stopping their brutal rhythm. “-Cute. Stupid. But don’t worry, baby… I ngh, made the decision for you.”
His hands angled your hips to hit right in that spongy spot inside you, pain and pleasure blurred together as you hiccup and gasp.
“F-FFUCK! RIRI!”
The nickname slips out before you can stop it… Moaning mindlessly, too cockdrunk to realize what you had said, wrists burning from your frantic moving around.
Rerir goes completely still for half a second.
Then something in his face does something complicated — jaw tight, pink eyes flickering, like you just reached into his chest and squeezed.
His next thrust comes slower.
Deeper n’ more deliberate.
"T-that’s it." Rough. Barely above a whisper. “Let go f’me.”
Toes curling until it hurts — you cum so hard your vision whites out, mouth in a wide 'o' shape.
Rerir's grinding down your g-spot perfectly, making you go numb with the pleasure of him poking that tight orifice — right before you're bursting into your very first orgasm.
He doesn’t pull away even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation.
Just keeps grinding that fat cockhead against your cervix like he’s never letting you go again.
Silky ropes of cum pour deep into the back of your pussy — thick, goopy, and endless.
Splashing around every time he fucks his groin inside, collecting right where he keeps pressing like a button he has no intention of releasing.
Being fucked through peak after peak.
Thrust after thrust all targeting that same ruined spot.
When you finally come down, those same pink predatory eyes are staring into your star-struck ones.
And you know with terrifying clarity, that he’s not chasing you a second time.
🔪 VARKA — “Too Much?”
I’m so mature.
Varka keeps telling himself that, knuckles white around the rag as he wrings it out over the bucket.
Pink. Then red. Then clear again.
Methodical. Steady. Same hands that carved through warzones without flinching. Same hands that just turned her little side-piece into red paste across the cabin walls.
Heh. Mature.
The rag rips clean down the middle.
He stares at the torn halves for half a second, lips twitching. Tosses them aside and grabs a fresh one.
I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so fucking mature.
Three weeks of that bullshit looping in his skull.
Ever since Kaeya dropped it so casually — she’s seeing someone now. Varka had just nodded, smiled, and gritted out through clenched teeth, ‘Good for her,’ with the straightest face in all of Mondstadt.
Then went home and split a training dummy clean in half.
Now the cabin reeks of iron.
Blood on the walls, floorboards, and blood drying in his blond hair and streaked across his scars.
And he’s still cleaning...calm as you please.
Because he’s the Grand Master, he doesn’t get jealous.
He's mature.
Footsteps hit the porch — right on time, like clockwork.
That familiar little rhythm that used to make his chest warm. Now it makes his cock twitch against his thigh like a goddamn animal.
Wringing the new rag, slower now. Blood drips plip… plip… plip into the bucket while his blue eyes flick toward the door.
Frozen in the doorway. Eyes wide. Pretty little mouth falling open at the massacre he made of her ex.
3...2…1
“VARKA WHAT THE HELL!”
Flashing her that same easy, sheepish grin he always gives when he comes home late from a mission.
“Princess-” he drawls “-it’s not what it looks like.”
You’re frozen in the doorway.
The entire cabin is covered in blood. It’s everywhere — walls, floor, even the ceiling.
The smell is so thick it makes your throat close up.
And there’s Varka.
On his knees in the middle of it all. Blond hair matted with red. Scars stood out sharply against all the blood. Blue eyes looking up at you with that same easy, friendly expression he always wears.
He’s casually wiping down his claymore with a rag like he’s cleaning dirt off it after training.
Your man... or what’s left of him is lying in a heap a few feet away.
He gives you a bashful little smile. “Alright, okay, I know how this looks,” his voice warm and almost playful as he wrings the bloody rag out between his huge hands.
“Things got a little out of hand. I really did try to talk to him first, doll. Swear on my honor. But the guy just wouldn’t listen. Kept going on and on about how he was in love with you and wouldn't leave you…” He lets out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed.
“I just didn’t like how obsessed he was getting with you. So… I handled it.”
Why and how the fuck is he so nochalant? Well, of course, violence wasn't new for him since he is the grandmaster...but this was insane!
This psycho literally killed your boyfriend, and for what?!-
Your eyes darted from him to the mangled corpse a few feet away then back at Varka, him catching your stare and chuckling at your expression.
That was until your knees started to buckle, and the world began to blur as the familiar feelings of danger banged in your head.
This is exactly why you left him.
The man can stand in a room full of someone else’s blood and talk to you like he just spilled juice on the carpet.
You thought if you left, he would've gotten better- you were so wrong.
You stumbled a bit, the faint deja vu of stress reeling in.
Varka notices immediately. His blue eyes widen. “Ah, doll—wait, don’t!—”
Your vision goes black before you even hit the floor.
.
.
🔪
SCHLCK! SCHLORP! SCHLCK!
He’s got you folded in half before you even wake up.
Strong forearms hooked all tight n’ draaaaagging them upwards- the moment your pussy’s smeared all open, it’s letting out the most lecherous squelch!
Your back plastered to his sweat-slick chest, pussy spread obscenely wide and already drooling all over his thick cock.
The moment he spears back in — SCHLCK! — your eyes snap open on a broken wail.
“NGHH… FUH—?!”
Varka groans low against your ear, chin digging into the crook of your neck so he can watch the way your poor cunt stretches around him.
Every brutal upward thrust makes your tits bounce, makes more of that gooey white cum he already pumped into you earlier splatter out in messy little bursts.
“Fuuuull fuckin’ Nelson,” he pants, hoarse and delighted. “There she is. There’s my good girl.”
He rocks you on his cock like you weigh nothing.
Huge hands locked behind your head, forcing you to look down at the obscene sight your puffy folds split wide, his fat, veiny length disappearing into you over and over, creamy ring of cum and slick coating his base.
Your walls flutter desperately around his girth, clenching, milking, trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once.
Legs tremble uselessly in the air. You can’t kick or twist. Can’t do anything but take it.
“V-Varka— what?—are you AH! doing?!!”
He chuckles warmly and unhinged. Another mean thrust, cockhead bullying straight into your cervix.
“You passed out on me, princess. Looked so fuckin’ distressed. Figured this woulda helped wake n’ cheer ya up.”
SCHLORP!
Your cunt squelches obscenely with every slam. Slick sprays. His balls slap wet against your ass.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
He’s huffing against your temple now, hips never slowing.
You sputtered, “FUH- hah! please- this is- ngh- too much!”
“Too much?” His forearms flex harder beneath your knees, yanking you down another inch so his cock grinds mean against your cervix. “Princess, I just redecorated the whole damn cabin for ya and yer tellin’ me this is too much?”
You sob again, voice hoarse, head lolling against his sweat-slick shoulder, trying to calm him down like you used to do before.
“Y-You killed him- we can’t just! fuck— okay, o-okay, slow down, talk to me— we can fix t-this!—”
The word “fix” makes something in him snap clean in half.
He groans way more animalistic than before.
Teeth sinking into the side of your neck as he grinds his cock in deep, swollen tip kissing your cervix over and over like he’s trying to knock it open.
“Fix?” His voice is hoarse now. Shaky. That warm Grand Master tone is completely gone. “There’s nothing to fix. Yer mine, always have been. That pathetic fuck thought he could have ya, and I handled it.”
“I’m bein’ so mature about this,” Varka grits out, teeth clenched so hard you hear them click.
One brutal thrust punches the air out of you.
“So fuckin’ mature. Could’ve killed ya too the second you ran off with that nobody. Could’ve snapped yer pretty neck and kept ya here forever.”
That made you whimper, realizing he still could do it with the way he gripped your head.
His hips are pistoning harder, cock buried deep in your stomach battering it over, and over and over-
“But I didn’t. I was good. I waited. I cleaned up my mess like a big boy and now yer cryin’ and beggin’ me to slow down?”
Every word gets more feral.
Every time you try to talk Varka down, he fucks you harder, like he’s punishing you for even suggesting he’s out of control.
You whimper, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry— please just talk to me; we don’t have to—”
He cuts you off with a broken moan that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Talk?” The word comes out shaky n’ unstable. “Ya really want me to talk while this pussy’s squeezin’ me so good? While you’re still drippin’ down my balls after I killed for you?”
His thrusts turn punishing. Short, deep, cervix-kissing jabs that make your vision spark white.
“I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so— fuckin’ mature—”
The mantra is falling apart. His voice is cracking. That easy smile you loved is gone, replaced by something wild and teeth-bared and terrifyingly fond.
You try one last time, voice small and trembling between moans.
“Ok look Varka… you’re scaring me—”
He buries his face in your neck, blond hair tickling your skin, and you feel his lips pull into a grin against your pulse.
“Good.”
Because he is scaring you.
And that fact alone has his cock throbbing so hard inside you it hurts.
You left him weeks ago.
Packed a bag in the middle of the night while he was out on some Grand Master bullshit.
Left nothing but a note that said you couldn’t do it anymore; the hovering, overprotectiveness, it all felt suffocating.
You ran.
He let you.
Told himself he was being mature. That if you needed space, he’d give it.
That the Grand Master of Mondstadt doesn’t chase. Doesn’t obsess. Doesn’t break.
Cause’ he’s handling it well!
Now here you are.
Folded in half in his arms like a fucking rag doll. Pussy gushing and fluttering and creaming all over the cock that just painted your ex across every surface of this cabin.
And you’re still trying to talk him down.
“You left me a note, princess. A fucking note. While I was out keeping Mondstadt safe. And the whole time I was tellin’ myself I was bein’ so goddamn mature.”
He shifted justttt enough to look at your face — eyes wild, pupils blown wide with obsession.
“Look at me. Being reasonable.”
His next thrust is so deep you completely went limp. "OHHH SHIT!-" Your eyes crossed, mouth slack.
SCHLORP—!
Thick ropes of fresh cum flood your insides without warning.
Hot. Endless. He doesn’t stop moving.
Just keeps grinding through his orgasm, fucking every last drop deeper while your own high crashes into you like a freight train.
You sob his name, orgasm crashing through, thighs violently shaking in the air.
Cunt clenching and gushing around him as he fills you past the point of overflowing, dripping down his cock to his balls.
Varka just holds you there. Folded. Full. His.
Pressing a slow, almost tender kiss to your tear-streaked cheek, blood from his face smearing against your skin.
“So glad I didn’t hafta kill ya princess,” he nuzzles into your neck chuckling lowly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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🔪 featuring {separate}: 𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
🔪 tw: yandere content 𝜗𝜚 murder duh 𝜗𝜚 drugging 𝜗𝜚 jealous sex 𝜗𝜚 noncon 𝜗𝜚 size kink 𝜗𝜚 fear play 𝜗𝜚 kidnapping 𝜗𝜚 scent kink 𝜗𝜚 they're psycho 𝜗𝜚 lovebombing 𝜗𝜚 cherry poppin' 𝜗𝜚 blood kink 𝜗𝜚 sex after murder?? 𝜗𝜚 this lwk kinda scary 𝜗𝜚 aphrodisiacs 𝜗𝜚 full nelson 𝜗𝜚
🔪 an: her new boyfriend nexttt how'd I get hereeee?? 👀
🔪 CHILDE — Shits n' Giggles
Maybe if you don’t move, he won’t see you
You’re crouched between two crates, knees pulled to your chest, barely breathing. Your hands are clamped so tight over your mouth that your teeth are digging into your palm.
You saw it.
You saw Ajax laugh while he carved the man you were seeing apart. The way the hydro blades slashed n’ ripped.
Witnessing the moment your boyfriend stopped screaming, and he just kept laughing, louder and louder.
And then he looked right at you.
So now you’re hiding. Because you’re next. You have to be next.
His footsteps crunch over the gravel, slow and bouncy like he’s having the time of his life. Then the laughter starts again — loud, wild, completely deranged.
“Hmmm~ Where’s my favorite person?” Childe sings, clearly enjoying himself way too much. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! I saved the best part just for you, babe!” Another burst of manic giggling echoes through the alley.
Fuck he’s getting closer way too fucking close.
Your whole body is shaking so hard that the crate behind you is rattling. Tears won’t stop pouring down your face.
Shit shit shit! He’s going to kill you. He snapped. He’s completely lost it, and now he’s going to—
“BOO!”
A bloody hand slams down on the crate right above your head. “AH THE FUCK-” You immediately slapped a hand over your mouth
Ajax drops down into a crouch in front of you, blue eyes wide and sparkling with pure insanity. His ginger hair is soaked red.
Blood smeared across his freckles like war paint. He’s grinning so wide it looks like his face might split.
“You really thought you could hide from me?” he laughs, loud and bright. “After I just put on a whole show for you? That’s so mean!”
He swiftly grabs your ankle and yanks you out from between the crates in one smooth motion.
THUD!
Hissing in pain as you hit the ground hard, but he’s already on top of you, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand.
His face is inches from yours his mouth panting. You can smell the blood, see the lovesick glee in his eyes.
“You watched the whole thing, didn’t you?” he whispers, almost affectionate. “Saw me tear him apart... laughing while he cried like a little bitch. And then you ran away from me like I was gonna do the same to you.”
He drones off on that last part, Childe tilts his head, still smiling that terrifyingly happy smile.
“Wait...You thought I was coming to kill you next, huh? Pffttt!-” He bursts out laughing again — loud, unhinged, shoulders shaking as he presses his bloody forehead against yours. “That’s so fucking cute.~”
His cock is already hard, grinding against your stomach through blood-soaked fabric. You feel it twitch when you whimper.
His free hand slides down your side, gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. “I’m not gonna kill you, babe,” he purrs, voice dropping into something much darker.
“I killed him because he touched you. Because he thought he could have you. I did it all for us.”
He leans in and licks a tear off your cheek, blue eyes half-lidded with delight.
“Baby, stop crying and tell me how much you loved the show… or I’ll give you a reason to really scream.”
He says that last part with a proud little grin, an attempt to reassure you he’s stable.
You stare up at him, chest heaving.
“…Ajax is you on drugs right now?” you choke out.
He blinked once, then twice before laughing; his pupils literally dilated into tiny hearts as he pants above you, chest heaving, that manic smile never fading.
“Completely sober, babe. Promise.” He nipped your ear playfully. “Did it all on no drugs~,” he sing-songed.
“You’re fucking insane!” you scream, thrashing underneath him.
The insult lights him up like fireworks.
He moans openly, hips rolling slow and filthy, pressing the thick line of his cock against your cunt.
“Fuck— say it again. Louder.” Childe’s voice cracks with glee. “Call me a lunatic, baby. Please.”
You spit in his face. “Get the hell off me, you psychotic ginger bast—”
“Hah— you’re so h-hot when you’re mad at me,” he cuts you off delighted.
“You made me so sad when you decided to cheat on me, baby…” he coos.
“What???” This made you freeze. “We broke up months ago, you fucking psycho— get off—”
“No.”
The word drops flat. Instant. Like a switch flipped behind his eyes.
“No. No no no no no.” He’s giggling now, shoulders shaking as he pins your wrists deeper into the gravel. “Don’t do that. Don’t say that. We didn’t break up. I didn’t agree to that. You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”
“Ajax…we broke up. Months ago. I left. You can’t just-”
“No.”
His fingers dig bruises into your ass. Cock twitches hard against your belly, leaking through his pants as he fishes it out one-handed. Thick. Angry.
Drooling precum in fat sticky ropes that splatter hot against your clit.
“Shhh gonna split you open, bunny,” voice still sickeningly sweet. Hips rocking forward as the fat head kisses your entrance—hot, demanding, wider than you remember. "Just relax… let me fill you up…"
“Wait!- hngh!-”
Plunging in deep you cried out nails scraping the gravel, walls fluttering uselessly around the sheer girth, trying to push him out even while more slick gushes out to betray you.
“F-ffuck! Didn’t you hear me??”
He sinks deep, deep, deep, blue eyes half-lidded in bliss while that smile never falters.
“Don’t say that again.” One blood-stained hand cups your cheek, thumb smearing red across your skin like he’s petting a scared kitten.
“C’mon, babe. We both know how this ends. Seems you forgot who you belong to. That’s okay though.”
With a broken moan his forehead dropped to yours pausing briefly.
“I’ll remind you.”
He starts moving.
Slow at first—wet, filthy drags that grind his cock against every raw nerve inside you.
Then harder. Meaner.
Each thrust timed with that same cheerful, hollow voice.
“Ya f-feel that, babe? That’s me. That’s us. No break-up. No ex. Just t-this pretty pussy squeezing me so tight like it missed its owner!”
You gritted your teeth and tried to twist away.
He’s too heavy. Too deep. Too gone.
“Ajax, ngh! puhleeasee! This isn’t!-”
“NO-“ plap! “NO-“ plap! “NO NO NO- don’t do that! Don’t say that!”
Every “no” lands with a vicious snap of his hips.
Cockhead battering your womb like he’s trying to fuck the memory of leaving him out of your body.
“-We’re on a nice date right now, babe! Can’t you hah…haha…see? I took you out, I got all dressed up for you, I’m being so good for you tonight!”
He’s screaming between giggles.
Tears pouring. Smile never drops. Just keeps stretching wider and wider like his face is about to split.
The wet pap-pap-pap of skin on skin echoes loud between you, slick and cum all mixing together.
You sob harder. “W-what are you ah!- talkin’ bout?!? I said we broke up! T-this isn’t a date!”
“NO!”
Another scream tears from his throat. Raw. Unhinged. Sinking deeper. Inch after thick inch.
“Don’t say that again. Don’t say that, don’t say that don’t say that - we’re on a date! This is our date!”
Laughing and crying and babbling all at once while heart-shaped pupils spin wildly.
As he fucks you in earnest—wet, filthy schlick-schlick-schlick echoing off the crates in the alley.
His leaking precum making an obscene mess between your thighs.
He’s laughing and crying and babbling all at once, that empty cheerful mask splintering wider and wider.
“You always come back to me eventually.” His voice fractures sweeter, darker. “This cunt is squeezing me so tight! Baby!— fuck, you missed me, didn’t you? Haha…”
You sob, hands gripping his shoulders tight so hard you made indents from your nails.
He only groans louder, pace turning relentless, hips grinding deep on every thrust like he’s trying to crawl inside your ribs and stay there forever.
In his shattered mind, this is a date.
The only one that matters.
And he’s never letting it end.
🔪 DOTTORE — Exhibit A
“You brought this on yourself, you know.”
The words hum down the long, sterile hallway, lazy, almost affectionate.
As if he’s scolding a pet who keeps making the same mistake.
You’re running as fast as your legs will carry you, feet slapping hard against the cold tile while your lungs burn and your heart hammers so violently you can hear it thundering in your ears.
Sweat pours down your spine, and your thighs feel way too slick, way too hot, and none of it makes any sense because you’re running for your life.
You’re sure you’re going to die, so why the fuck is your pussy throbbing and dripping down your own legs like this?
Your mind is spinning so fast it hurts.
You’d only come back to Snezhnaya because your ex said he needed to talk, and then you heard the screaming and the wet, horrible sounds, and then nothing at all.
Of course, you didn’t witness what happened, but you’re starting to piece together what unfolded now with every heavy footstep echoing behind you.
He killed him.
He actually killed your boyfriend, then he injected you with something, and now he’s hunting you through his own lab, part of whatever sick experiment he’s running, wanting you terrified and soaking wet at the same time.
Your head is pounding, your skin feels clammy and burning hot all at once, your heart is beating so fast it’s making you dizzy.
Yet still your cunt keeps clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs with every desperate step.
The ache between your legs is getting worse.
Throbbing hot and embarrassing, how are you running for your life, and your pussy is acting like this is foreplay?
“Do I really have to do this to teach you a lesson each time?” Dottore chuckled, his humming getting louder, his steps steady. “Running only makes the poison work faster, love~.”
His voice is so much closer now, curling up your spine, breathing down your neck, and you don’t dare look back.
You just keep running, gasping, crying, thighs trembling and slippery while that awful heat keeps spreading through your body, and you're so sure that whatever he gave you isn’t poison at all.
And then it hits.
It crashes through your veins like liquid fire, so sudden and violent that your legs give out instantly. You fall hard, knees slamming into the cold tile as a broken sob rips from your throat.
A puddle of slick immediately spreads beneath you, warm and humiliating, because you’re gushing so much it’s pooling on the floor.
Fuck
Your cunt won’t stop spasming, clenching, and fluttering around nothing while wave after wave of pure, pent-up arousal drowns you.
All you feel is white-hot need flooding every inch of you, so violent it rips a broken moan straight from your throat.
Attempting to get up, but you only twitch and writhe your limbs, feeling like static jello.
You look like you’re in the throes of a fever — flushed all the way down to the roots of your sweat-drenched hair, eyes slightly glazed and unfocused, lips parted as you pant like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Treachorous pussy won’t stop twitching against its will. Fresh slick gushes out of you in waves, so much that you can hear the wet sound of it dripping.
You can’t think...you can’t even remember why you were running.
All you know is that you’re burning, aching, dripping, and the man who just killed your boyfriend is standing right behind you.
“There we go…” he purrs, slow footsteps finally stopping beside you. “That’s what I wanted to see. Fascinating.”
His red eyes pierced through your trembling form like twin scalpels, cutting straight through whatever was left of your dignity.
You’re on the floor in a puddle of your own slick, thighs shaking violently, chest heaving as another wave of that cursed heat slams into you.
Shame burns hotter than the aphrodisiac.
Shame on you.
Shame on you for even considering giving him another chance.
That stupid letter he sent you had sounded so sweet, so almost-human.
You’d actually let yourself believe he might’ve changed.
What a fuckin' joke.
You left him for a reason.
No matter how tenderly he touched you, you could never tell if he was holding you because he missed you or because he was quietly counting your pulse for some new “stress test.”
Every damn time he looked at you, it felt like he was staring at a particularly interesting petri dish.
Those segments gave you the worst hive-mind uncanny valley feeling, like you were dating twenty versions of the same man who all saw you as data.
You were so fucking sure that Dottore didn’t actually love you.
That you were just his favorite little experiment.
And yet here you are.
Dripping all over his floor. Whimpering like a bitch in heat while he stands over you, looking as smug as always.
“Pathetic,” voice low and clinical, but there’s something darker threaded underneath it.
He crouches slowly beside you, gloved fingers tilting your chin up so you’re forced to meet those crimson eyes. “Look at you. Running from me only to end up like this.”
You try to snarl at him, but it comes out as a broken moan instead.
Hips twitch uselessly against the cold tile, cunt clenching hard around nothing as another gush of slick leaks out of you. The shame is suffocating.
“I left you-” you gasp, voice cracking, “-because you don’t even love me. You look at me like I’m just another specimen. Those Segments… It’s like dating twenty of you, and none of them actually want me; they just want the data-”
Your words cut off into a sharp cry as he drags two fingers through your soaked folds, spreading you open without warning.
“Such a dramatic little thing,” Dottore coos, mocking. “All that fire with your pussy drooling all over my fingers the second I touch it. You really think I don’t love you?”
He laughs softly, dark and cruel.
“If I didn’t, would I have gone through the trouble of killing that worthless fling of yours? Would I have spent weeks perfecting this particular strain of aphrodisiac simply so I could watch you fall apart so beautifully?”
Your ex smiled eerily and slowly took off his glove.
“Did you have your fun? Did you get it all out?--” He pressed two thick fingers inside you without mercy, curling them viciously against that spot that makes your vision spark white. “-It’s time to come back to me.”
You sob, hips jerking, tears spilling down your flushed cheeks. “Zandik- hah- please”
“Please, what?” Twisting his fingers deeper, thumb circling your swollen clit with slow, teasing strokes. “Use your words, darling. You were so eloquent a moment ago about how I don’t love you. Tell me exactly what you need from the man who supposedly feels nothing for you.”
Your pride is crumbling fast.
The heat is unbearable now, every inch of you burning, pulsing, begging. You’re so pent up it hurts.
“I— I can’t— fuck— Zandik, please, I need—”
He pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you clenching around nothing. You whine pathetically at the loss, hips chasing his hand like a desperate whore.
“Beg properly,” he says coldly, eyes glittering with wicked delight. “Beg the man you claim doesn’t love you to fuck the need out of your pitiful, dripping cunt. Or perhaps I should just leave you here like this?... Let you writhe on the floor until the aphrodisiac drives you truly insane? Hm?~”
Damn him
You break. Tears streaming, voice shaking, pussy throbbing so hard it’s painful, you sob out the words he wants to hear.
“Please… please, Zandik, I need your cock— I need you to fuck me, please— I can’t take it anymore—”
Dottore's mouth curls, slow and terrifyingly satisfied. “Good girl.”
Two thick fingers push back inside you without warning, curling viciously against that spot that makes sparks explode behind your eyes.
You sob, hips jerking hard as another gush of slick floods out around his hand, pooling on the cold tile beneath you.
The pleasure is too much. Too fast. Your cunt keeps spasming and fluttering uselessly, greedy and desperate even as shame burns through you.
You try to close your legs. Try to bite back the whimpers.
Smack!
It was sharp - fleeting, even - but your entire body is jolting at the feeling of Dottore’s thick fingerpads smacking your poor cunt.
Right above your ravaged clit. “Ngh- Z-Zandik!”
“Z-Zandik!” he mocks your moans, voice higher than usual. “Thought you wanted hngh- to be quiet, whore?”
He grins, chuckling softly at the way you’re half-lucidly pushing at his rippling biceps - nails leaving neat little marks as you’re torn between pushing him away and wanting more, more, more-
“How are you gonna do that if you’re like this, huh?”
You fixed your quivering lips to say anything, but he did something unexpected-
He leans in and kisses you like he actually missed you.
Soft at first. Almost sweet.
His moves against yours with surprising tenderness while two thick fingers sink back into your dripping cunt, curling lovingly against that spot that makes your brain melt.
“I love you,” he whispers between kisses, his voice low and warm against your lips. “I’ve always loved you. Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve invested in you?”
At the same time, his fingers pinch your swollen clit hard, rolling the poor bud between his thumb and forefinger with mean, precise pressure.
You jolt and whimper into Dottore's mouth. “Mmnph!- no, you-”
He just kisses you deeper, swallowing every sound, murmuring sweet filth against your tongue.
“My perfect little whore,” he coos lovingly, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, your tear-stained cheek, the corner of your eye. “Look at you. Such a pathetic, dripping mess on my floor. Crying and gushing like you were made for this.”
Another deep, affectionate kiss as he pinches your clit even harder, tugging on it while his fingers fuck into you with wet, filthy sounds.
“I love you so much,” he breathes tenderly, like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. “I’ve discarded less valuable things for far smaller reasons.”
You’re shaking, overwhelmed and confused at the constant contrast between his soft kisses, gentle confessions, and the ruthless way he’s abusing your clit is driving you insane.
He kisses you again — slow, deep, devoted — right as he gives your clit one last vicious pinch.
That’s what breaks you.
Your orgasm hits like lightning. You scream into his mouth as your cunt clamps down around his fingers, gushing everywhere in messy, humiliating waves.
Dottore keeps kissing you through it. Sweet. Loving. Like he’s proud of you.
Only when your body finally goes limp does he pull back, red eyes glowing with satisfaction.
Then his smile turns sharper.
“That aphrodisiac I gave you?” he says calmly, still stroking your hair like a lover. “It was always a hybrid. The paralyzing agent activates right after orgasm.”
You try to move your legs.
Nothing.
From the waist down… you’re completely paralyzed.
“Fascinating…” Zandik leans down and presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice soft and affectionate.
“You won’t need legs anymore, darling. I’ll take care of you from now on.”
🔪 RERIR — Fuck Your New Guy
He’s going to kill him. Right now.
That’s what the eye contact is for. You understand that now, tied to the headboard, gag wet from crying, that the man you’ve been seeing for three months is going to die in front of you.
Watching Rerir’s hand coil around your man’s throat, slowly wanting you to see all of it.
Your fling is begging. Grabbing at his wrist with both hands, saying things — please and wait and something pathetic about not even knowing you that well — and your true lover doesn’t even flinch.
Pink eyes bore holes through you, and somehow, you knew exactly what they were silently communicating at this moment.
You ran, his eyes say.
Across a continent, across a whole ass ocean. Inazuma. You made it to Inazuma and stood in your new home, and almost convinced yourself it was over.
His grip tightens slow n’ deliberate…You feel it in your stomach even from across the room, this horrible, telegraphed knowing, and you’re pulling at the rope again without deciding to, wrists burning, throat working around nothing-
CRACK!
The sound was loud. Wrong in a way that lives in your body now, permanent, a sound you will never un-hear for the rest of your life.
You closed your eyes tight as if that would make this go away. Flinching when you heard the deep thud of your ex's body dropping to the floor.
Still not opening your eyes. Just squeezed them shut harder, biting your lip behind the gag so the sob stays where it is.
How did this happen?
Why you?
Why not some other girl - there’s no way he’s this obsessed, right?!
It’s ok, it’s all a dream once you open your eyes; this’ll all be some sick nightmare that you can laugh about—
He’s right in front of you.
“EEP!-” You jerked back hard, skull connecting with the headboard, stars exploding across your vision.
Rerir’s hand shoots out, gripping your face hard. Cheeks squishing between his long, sharp claws, blood forming at the ends of his talons, forcing your teary eyes to meet his.
When he tore the gag off, you didn’t even breathe first. "I'm sorry!-"
Already. Before you can even think.
"I'm so sorry, okay, I know I left, but I just needed — it wasn't about you; he didn't even mean anything, I swear, I wasn't thinking. Please, I'll fix it, I'll do whatever you want, just please don't-"
Rerir stares at you, eyes narrowed in genuine confusion.
He killed for you. Crossed an ocean for you. And here you are looking at him like he’s something you have to survive.
It should bother him.
…it doesn’t.
He tunes most of it out.
The rambling.
The apologies.
The way your voice keeps cracking.
He just watches your face, searching for the girl who used to call him "Riri".
“—I can make it up to you.”
Oh
There she is.
“Make it up to me.” He drawls, repeating.
You gulp but nod frantically. “Yes. Anything! I swear! I’ll do anything.”
His eyes drop for a second, then back up to yours. “Even that?”
You know exactly what he means.
The thing you always shied away from, always found some excuse for — you’re too big, we can’t, I can’t— and he was patient.
He was.
But patience has a limit, and you just handed him an open invitation.
His giant cock visibly throbs in his pants, a wet spot spreading from the tip as he leans in close, long sharp claws trailing down your stomach.
Rerir brings two blood-stained fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a slow drag of his tongue, pink eyes never leaving yours.
“You said I was too big.” His voice drops low. Husky. “Said you couldn’t take it.”
Clawed hand sliding lower until he’s cupping your soaked cunt possessively. “And now you’re tied to the bed, telling me you’ll do anything.”
“Ok wait- Rerir— I didn’t mean—”
“Fuckkk, I need ya.” He crashes his mouth into yours like a starving animal.
He doesn’t give you time to breathe.
One clawed hand tilts your head aside while the other grips your hip hard enough to bruise. His mouth attacks your neck — licking, sucking, biting marks into every inch the other man never touched.
“I need ya so badly,” he groans against your skin, “Been dreaming about this tight little virgin pussy the entire time I crossed that fucking ocean for you.”
You whimper as he frees his cock.
It’s monstrous.
Thick, veined, heavy enough that it slaps against your stomach with a wet thwack. The tip is already drooling thick ropes of precum.
“Rerir it’s— it’s way too big— I can’t— we shouldn’t—”
“Fuck no.”
He cuts you off with a sharp snap of his hips, notching that fat cockhead right against your entrance. Pink eyes gleaming with something feral.
He pushes forward with just a tip. The bigggg stretch is immediate, stinging, and impossible.
Your back arches clean off the bed, a broken cry ripping from your throat.
“You got very far. Fuck, I’ll give you that.”
He’s panting against your ear, claws digging into your thighs as he forces you open wider. “Tied up. Begging to make it up to me. This pussy’s already creamin’ all over me, and I’m barely inside.”
SCHLCK!
Another thick inch sinks in. Your walls flutter desperately around the invasion, trying and failing to adjust. “Rerir!!— ngh!—”
Rerir’s claws dig harder into your thighs as he forces another thick inch inside you.
Your pussy has never taken anything close to his size before, and it’s fighting him, walls clamping down so tight it almost hurts him too.
“NGGH-” A broken whine rips from your throat. “-IT HURTS!” Your back bows clean off the bed.
“Just relax,” he hisses against your neck, “Hah, you’re already this tight?”
He rolls his hips again.
Slow and greedy.
Another inch sinks in. The fat head of his cock pushes so deep that the bulge in your stomach becomes obvious, moving with every shallow breath you take.
You’re crying now. Legs shaking uselessly in the air while the ropes bite into your wrists.
“I can’t— I’ve never—”
“You will.”
Your pussy flutters desperately around the invasion, creaming and dripping down his length even as you sob. Rerir groans. Low. Filthy. His claws flex on your hips, yanking you down to meet the next heavy push.
“This is what you owe me.”
He starts fucking you for real then — long, sloooooppy strokes that drag every veined inch through your walls, forcing them to stretch around him whether they want to or not.
The first real thrust tears a sharp sting through you.
Blood.
A thin trail of red mixes with your slick, smearing down his thick cock as he forces your virgin cunt open for the first time.
The sight makes Rerir shudder so hard you feel it in your bones.
“Fuck…” he groans, voice cracking with something close to reverence. “First time.”
Each pull back has your cunt clinging to him desperately, gushing and creaming down his length like it’s trying to keep him inside.
Every brutal push forward forces another wet schlck out of you, the obscene sound mixing with the faint metallic scent of blood in the air.
You can’t think.
Can’t even speak.
Just broken little cries and whimpers every time that fat, roverin’ reddened cockhead plunges between your pussylips and hits dead-set on the back of your cunt — splattering slick, cum, and blood upwards.
Bandaged torso presses flush against you, chest heaving as he drinks in every twitch, every sob, every tear.
“C-can’t wait til ya cum f’me, my girl. First time taking all of me — I want to feel it.”
He leans down, forehead pressed to yours, fangs grazing your lip as he feels your body start to seize again.
He drags his swollen cock all the way back until only the fat tip is teasing your puffy folds, letting you feel every single throb… then slams back in with a wet SCHLORP, bottoming out so deep the bulge in your stomach is obscene.
You bit your lip so hard it bled, tears falling freely from your eyes.
Laughing low and mean, another thrust, even harder, mercilessly bashing in the top of your cervix, so smooth and slick you were - your sure his rude tip has formed a bruise there.
“Who the fuck leaves a cock this big for some pathetic little fling?” he taunts, voice dripping smug cruelty. “Do you have any idea how many sluts would kill to get split open on something this thick? And you ran far n’ wide just to let some tiny-dicked nobody be your first?”
He punctuates it with a particularly brutal ram that made your cunt gush out more fluids.
Your only coherent thought, floating somewhere above the pain and mind-melting pleasure, is:
He’s really talking shit about my ex… right now? While he’s literally taking my virginity?
Rerir seems to read it on your face, grinning genuinely for the first time in the night.
“What? Were you actually gonna let that loser pop ya cherry?-” He laughs darkly, hips never stopping their brutal rhythm. “-Cute. Stupid. But don’t worry, baby… I ngh, made the decision for you.”
His hands angled your hips to hit right in that spongy spot inside you, pain and pleasure blurred together as you hiccup and gasp.
“F-FFUCK! RIRI!”
The nickname slips out before you can stop it… Moaning mindlessly, too cockdrunk to realize what you had said, wrists burning from your frantic moving around.
Rerir goes completely still for half a second.
Then something in his face does something complicated — jaw tight, pink eyes flickering, like you just reached into his chest and squeezed.
His next thrust comes slower.
Deeper n’ more deliberate.
"T-that’s it." Rough. Barely above a whisper. “Let go f’me.”
Toes curling until it hurts — you cum so hard your vision whites out, mouth in a wide 'o' shape.
Rerir's grinding down your g-spot perfectly, making you go numb with the pleasure of him poking that tight orifice — right before you're bursting into your very first orgasm.
He doesn’t pull away even when you’re sobbing from the overstimulation.
Just keeps grinding that fat cockhead against your cervix like he’s never letting you go again.
Silky ropes of cum pour deep into the back of your pussy — thick, goopy, and endless.
Splashing around every time he fucks his groin inside, collecting right where he keeps pressing like a button he has no intention of releasing.
Being fucked through peak after peak.
Thrust after thrust all targeting that same ruined spot.
When you finally come down, those same pink predatory eyes are staring into your star-struck ones.
And you know with terrifying clarity, that he’s not chasing you a second time.
🔪 VARKA — “Too Much?”
I’m so mature.
Varka keeps telling himself that, knuckles white around the rag as he wrings it out over the bucket.
Pink. Then red. Then clear again.
Methodical. Steady. Same hands that carved through warzones without flinching. Same hands that just turned her little side-piece into red paste across the cabin walls.
Heh. Mature.
The rag rips clean down the middle.
He stares at the torn halves for half a second, lips twitching. Tosses them aside and grabs a fresh one.
I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so fucking mature.
Three weeks of that bullshit looping in his skull.
Ever since Kaeya dropped it so casually — she’s seeing someone now. Varka had just nodded, smiled, and gritted out through clenched teeth, ‘Good for her,’ with the straightest face in all of Mondstadt.
Then went home and split a training dummy clean in half.
Now the cabin reeks of iron.
Blood on the walls, floorboards, and blood drying in his blond hair and streaked across his scars.
And he’s still cleaning...calm as you please.
Because he’s the Grand Master, he doesn’t get jealous.
He's mature.
Footsteps hit the porch — right on time, like clockwork.
That familiar little rhythm that used to make his chest warm. Now it makes his cock twitch against his thigh like a goddamn animal.
Wringing the new rag, slower now. Blood drips plip… plip… plip into the bucket while his blue eyes flick toward the door.
Frozen in the doorway. Eyes wide. Pretty little mouth falling open at the massacre he made of her ex.
3...2…1
“VARKA WHAT THE HELL!”
Flashing her that same easy, sheepish grin he always gives when he comes home late from a mission.
“Princess-” he drawls “-it’s not what it looks like.”
You’re frozen in the doorway.
The entire cabin is covered in blood. It’s everywhere — walls, floor, even the ceiling.
The smell is so thick it makes your throat close up.
And there’s Varka.
On his knees in the middle of it all. Blond hair matted with red. Scars stood out sharply against all the blood. Blue eyes looking up at you with that same easy, friendly expression he always wears.
He’s casually wiping down his claymore with a rag like he’s cleaning dirt off it after training.
Your man... or what’s left of him is lying in a heap a few feet away.
He gives you a bashful little smile. “Alright, okay, I know how this looks,” his voice warm and almost playful as he wrings the bloody rag out between his huge hands.
“Things got a little out of hand. I really did try to talk to him first, doll. Swear on my honor. But the guy just wouldn’t listen. Kept going on and on about how he was in love with you and wouldn't leave you…” He lets out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed.
“I just didn’t like how obsessed he was getting with you. So… I handled it.”
Why and how the fuck is he so nochalant? Well, of course, violence wasn't new for him since he is the grandmaster...but this was insane!
This psycho literally killed your boyfriend, and for what?!-
Your eyes darted from him to the mangled corpse a few feet away then back at Varka, him catching your stare and chuckling at your expression.
That was until your knees started to buckle, and the world began to blur as the familiar feelings of danger banged in your head.
This is exactly why you left him.
The man can stand in a room full of someone else’s blood and talk to you like he just spilled juice on the carpet.
You thought if you left, he would've gotten better- you were so wrong.
You stumbled a bit, the faint deja vu of stress reeling in.
Varka notices immediately. His blue eyes widen. “Ah, doll—wait, don’t!—”
Your vision goes black before you even hit the floor.
.
.
🔪
SCHLCK! SCHLORP! SCHLCK!
He’s got you folded in half before you even wake up.
Strong forearms hooked all tight n’ draaaaagging them upwards- the moment your pussy’s smeared all open, it’s letting out the most lecherous squelch!
Your back plastered to his sweat-slick chest, pussy spread obscenely wide and already drooling all over his thick cock.
The moment he spears back in — SCHLCK! — your eyes snap open on a broken wail.
“NGHH… FUH—?!”
Varka groans low against your ear, chin digging into the crook of your neck so he can watch the way your poor cunt stretches around him.
Every brutal upward thrust makes your tits bounce, makes more of that gooey white cum he already pumped into you earlier splatter out in messy little bursts.
“Fuuuull fuckin’ Nelson,” he pants, hoarse and delighted. “There she is. There’s my good girl.”
He rocks you on his cock like you weigh nothing.
Huge hands locked behind your head, forcing you to look down at the obscene sight your puffy folds split wide, his fat, veiny length disappearing into you over and over, creamy ring of cum and slick coating his base.
Your walls flutter desperately around his girth, clenching, milking, trying to push him out and pull him deeper all at once.
Legs tremble uselessly in the air. You can’t kick or twist. Can’t do anything but take it.
“V-Varka— what?—are you AH! doing?!!”
He chuckles warmly and unhinged. Another mean thrust, cockhead bullying straight into your cervix.
“You passed out on me, princess. Looked so fuckin’ distressed. Figured this woulda helped wake n’ cheer ya up.”
SCHLORP!
Your cunt squelches obscenely with every slam. Slick sprays. His balls slap wet against your ass.
PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!
He’s huffing against your temple now, hips never slowing.
You sputtered, “FUH- hah! please- this is- ngh- too much!”
“Too much?” His forearms flex harder beneath your knees, yanking you down another inch so his cock grinds mean against your cervix. “Princess, I just redecorated the whole damn cabin for ya and yer tellin’ me this is too much?”
You sob again, voice hoarse, head lolling against his sweat-slick shoulder, trying to calm him down like you used to do before.
“Y-You killed him- we can’t just! fuck— okay, o-okay, slow down, talk to me— we can fix t-this!—”
The word “fix” makes something in him snap clean in half.
He groans way more animalistic than before.
Teeth sinking into the side of your neck as he grinds his cock in deep, swollen tip kissing your cervix over and over like he’s trying to knock it open.
“Fix?” His voice is hoarse now. Shaky. That warm Grand Master tone is completely gone. “There’s nothing to fix. Yer mine, always have been. That pathetic fuck thought he could have ya, and I handled it.”
“I’m bein’ so mature about this,” Varka grits out, teeth clenched so hard you hear them click.
One brutal thrust punches the air out of you.
“So fuckin’ mature. Could’ve killed ya too the second you ran off with that nobody. Could’ve snapped yer pretty neck and kept ya here forever.”
That made you whimper, realizing he still could do it with the way he gripped your head.
His hips are pistoning harder, cock buried deep in your stomach battering it over, and over and over-
“But I didn’t. I was good. I waited. I cleaned up my mess like a big boy and now yer cryin’ and beggin’ me to slow down?”
Every word gets more feral.
Every time you try to talk Varka down, he fucks you harder, like he’s punishing you for even suggesting he’s out of control.
You whimper, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry— please just talk to me; we don’t have to—”
He cuts you off with a broken moan that sounds halfway between a laugh and a sob.
“Talk?” The word comes out shaky n’ unstable. “Ya really want me to talk while this pussy’s squeezin’ me so good? While you’re still drippin’ down my balls after I killed for you?”
His thrusts turn punishing. Short, deep, cervix-kissing jabs that make your vision spark white.
“I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so mature. I’m so— fuckin’ mature—”
The mantra is falling apart. His voice is cracking. That easy smile you loved is gone, replaced by something wild and teeth-bared and terrifyingly fond.
You try one last time, voice small and trembling between moans.
“Ok look Varka… you’re scaring me—”
He buries his face in your neck, blond hair tickling your skin, and you feel his lips pull into a grin against your pulse.
“Good.”
Because he is scaring you.
And that fact alone has his cock throbbing so hard inside you it hurts.
You left him weeks ago.
Packed a bag in the middle of the night while he was out on some Grand Master bullshit.
Left nothing but a note that said you couldn’t do it anymore; the hovering, overprotectiveness, it all felt suffocating.
You ran.
He let you.
Told himself he was being mature. That if you needed space, he’d give it.
That the Grand Master of Mondstadt doesn’t chase. Doesn’t obsess. Doesn’t break.
Cause’ he’s handling it well!
Now here you are.
Folded in half in his arms like a fucking rag doll. Pussy gushing and fluttering and creaming all over the cock that just painted your ex across every surface of this cabin.
And you’re still trying to talk him down.
“You left me a note, princess. A fucking note. While I was out keeping Mondstadt safe. And the whole time I was tellin’ myself I was bein’ so goddamn mature.”
He shifted justttt enough to look at your face — eyes wild, pupils blown wide with obsession.
“Look at me. Being reasonable.”
His next thrust is so deep you completely went limp. "OHHH SHIT!-" Your eyes crossed, mouth slack.
SCHLORP—!
Thick ropes of fresh cum flood your insides without warning.
Hot. Endless. He doesn’t stop moving.
Just keeps grinding through his orgasm, fucking every last drop deeper while your own high crashes into you like a freight train.
You sob his name, orgasm crashing through, thighs violently shaking in the air.
Cunt clenching and gushing around him as he fills you past the point of overflowing, dripping down his cock to his balls.
Varka just holds you there. Folded. Full. His.
Pressing a slow, almost tender kiss to your tear-streaked cheek, blood from his face smearing against your skin.
“So glad I didn’t hafta kill ya princess,” he nuzzles into your neck chuckling lowly.
I love the way you wrote heizou in the twinks post ajdbsidhdidh i love him and facefucking sm. I ate up the whole post as a short men enjoyer <3 Funny thing is that I read your malewife post a while back and randomly remembered it, but struggled to find it again :( I stumbled across your kinktober and thought the concepts were fire (varka's one especially) and super creative, then I realised you wrote the malewives AND twinks post
Tldr, thank you for taking the time to write your fics !! I'm literally obsessed
Ahhh tyyy & ur welcome nonnieee baeeee !!! Facefucking is so fun yall
Pls im sorry fa laughing but the image of ppl rediscovering my fics after it was lost at sea and then dig up another one and then realize it’s from da same source LMAOAAO givin Pokémon gots to catch em all !🫡🤣
It’s okkk nonny tho! Hopefully you can keep them safe together now and found what you was looking fa. 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽
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MA'AM!!! YOUR WRITING IS JUST IMMACULATE. As someone who left reading smut/fanfics 6 years ago, stumbling upon your tumblr makes me feel like an addict relapsing (not in a bad way), you probably heard this alot by now but I LOVE YOUR WRITING OMG?? the main reason why I lost interest in reading fics was because of the poor narration and unnecessary graphic content (kinda ruins the flow. Idk how to explain it), BUT OMG, YOU NAILED THE BALANCE BETWEEN NARRATION AND SMUT. your writing is addicting! Ilysm and I love your work (also, a tinyyyy request to make more varka fics :,)) ty ilysm)
Tytytytytyyyy ilysmmmm tooo see yall im da shit.. I can cook yall I swear 🤧🤧 ty sm for da compliments n loveee balancing narration and smut is never easy but ya girl triesss ha bestttt! Omgee I love how I’m like a plug to yall opening my coat and offer yall da drugs(fics) LMAOA
As for ur tiny request one is already in da making pookie! I especially worked hard on da graphics fa dis. 😝😝😙🩵🩵🤍
Y'all, I'm almost done with kill bill; it’s likeee 70% done… sorry for da long wait, my ass has been so busyyyy ughh. Don’t y'all just love this blog? Is she going to post, or are we all fina wait months just for an update 🥹💔 Clearing my drafts in order... next is Sticky… den a Varka oneshot, den daddy’s lil monster.. den NIMNI…yall get da gist 😭
Uhhh sneak peak?:
“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?~”
OUGHHHH YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD WTF... the mental images you're able to conjure in my mind are CHILLING. have you ever considered writing for male/transmasc reader?? ik you're not taking requests rn and idk if m!reader is your cup of tea but damn girl... you write these goddamn twinks so well and i fear i, as a twink myself, am a little obsessed. anyways either way you're an INCREDIBLE writer and i don't think i'll be able to NOT follow you even if your stuff is for fem!reader bc it's just that damn good 🥹
Heyyy nonny bae!! Ty for da loveeee!! Ahh, makes me so glad 💛♥️🫶🏽
I don't write for any form of m!reader.
Sorry, it is indeed not my cup of tea lol, I feel so bad now tho lwk im sorryyy :< But! You have become my biggest flex, to have you follow me anyway, even if it's not your style, eeee I'm happy you enjoy my works!!
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PL⛧NET HER: WHEN SIN ORBITS YOUR PU$$Y.ᐟ
𝐒𝐈𝐍#𝟑 𝐆⛧𝐄𝐄𝐃 — 𝐀𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞
𐕣 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧: what I claim, I keep. even if it breaks in my hands, it will never belong to anyone else.
𐕣 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: corruption kink + car sex + sugar daddy dynamics + orgasm denial + riding + edging + coercion + sassy!reader
𐕣 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4824
tw: very dark yandere themes & heavy monopolizing
𝐬𝐬 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
Have you ever met someone who clutches too tightly? Not just to money, but to love, attention, even air itself?
That’s Aventurine, a man who can’t tell the difference between having something and owning it.
You don’t have a life anymore.
He made sure of that. Every breath you take is financed by him—every bill, every beauty appointment, every heartbeat under his name.
You can’t even buy coffee without his fingerprint already authorized on the register. Once, you tried to pay first, just to feel normal. He didn’t yell, didn’t curse.
He only looked at you—smiling that banker’s smile that never reaches his eyes—and said, “Don’t do that again.”
Your phone plan? His name.
Your apartment lease? His signature.
Your mornings? Bought and scheduled like stocks in his portfolio.
He plans your life with the precision of a man balancing ledgers. Hair, nails, doctor, gym—all prepaid. When you open your closet, it gleams with designer silks and lingerie he chose himself, tags still attached, receipts filed neatly in his office like proof of ownership.
You weren’t always like this.
Before Aventurine, there was the stage.
Penacony’s top-floor clubs glowed like open jewelry boxes, and you were the diamond everyone came to see. The floor below the poles was always crowded—suits and heiresses pressed shoulder to shoulder, throwing chips and cash until the air itself smelled like perfume and money.
You didn’t just dance.
You conducted the room.
Lights bent to your rhythm; spotlights skimmed over oiled skin, glittering bracelets, and the heavy gold chains draped across your hips.
Every twist of your body sent bills fluttering down like holy confetti. The DJ shouted your name between sets, and a line curled around the block just to get a glimpse.
When you spun upside down and the jewels on your ankles caught the light, the crowd howled.
Someone once called you “the Saint of Lust and Luxury.” You liked that. Earning you your stage name: Deluxe
You built yourself from shimmer and smoke, made men beg just for the privilege of tipping you.
Here, you weren’t a worker—you were a brand.
And that’s where he found you.
Aventurine sat high in the VIP private balcony, the one reserved for gamblers with more credits than conscience.
He didn’t whistle or throw money; he just watched, eyes half-lidded, calculating.
You thought he was another investor, bored and looking for something shiny.
But he wasn’t watching your body—he was watching how the crowd reacted to you, the way they spent for you.
To him, you weren’t just beautiful; you were profitable.
He found you again a few nights later, when the crowd had thinned and the lights were fading into that soft champagne haze that meant closing time.
Moving like he already owned the place, “I’ll give you everything you want,” he said.
“All I ask for in return… is you.” He spoke with the ease of a man who had never heard the word no.
He didn’t try to charm you; he simply offered numbers.
Rent. Debts. A car. The total of your freedom written on a napkin.
You really laughed — thought he meant attention, a few dates, maybe a picture to show off.
You needing a man? Please. You are the man, the woman, and the legend.
You weren’t looking for love; you were looking for security. And who better than a man who could buy the sky if he wanted to?
So you said yes because it sounded easy.
Well at first, it was.
He lavished you with gifts, paid off every lingering bill, and stacked your vanity with perfumes that cost more than your old rent. He spoiled you until you gleamed—until even the mirrors seemed to blush at the reflection.
You weren’t in love; you were practical. You reminded yourself of that every time you caught his eyes lingering a second too long.
“You used to dance for scraps,” he teased, running a thumb over your jaw. “Now you dance for me. Isn’t that better, princess?”
“Boy, please,” you shot back. “I was fine without you. You just wanted to play Captain Save-a-hoe.”
He laughed—low, indulgent—then slid a diamond bracelet onto your wrist, cool against your skin.
“You don’t have to love me,” he said. “Just wear what I give you. That’s all I ask.”
But the gifts grew heavier.
He stopped asking—started deciding.
Payments became permissions.
The car he bought you came with a tracker “for safety.”
The new phone logged your location “so he could send drivers faster.”
Every piece of generosity hid a leash.
When he handed you a new set of lingerie—black silk trimmed in gold thread—he called it curation.
“I like seeing what’s mine look perfect.”
You laughed it off at first. It was better than shaking ass to pay rent, right?
But the pattern crept in.
He began timing your replies, demanding photos of where you were, of what you were wearing.
Miss a text, and the accounts froze.
The cards declined.
The silence from him was louder than a shout.
When you confronted him, he only smiled that casino-bright smile, lying flat on the bed, blonde hair falling back, and said, “Hmm?~ Actions have costs, sweetheart.”
And that’s when you realized: every coin he’d ever given you was already spent—on you.
Kakavasha tells you pieces of his past the way he tells every lie—like a secret he’s selling. He doesn’t even flinch when he says his real name, the one nobody uses anymore.
The syllables roll off his tongue soft and low, rehearsed and dangerous, like he’s testing how it sounds in your mouth.
“They took everything from me once,” he says. “So now I take everything back.”
You don’t know whether he wants sympathy or worship.
Maybe both.
He keeps trophies—little shrines to you, to his victories. Panties, hair, your lipstick smudged on glass. All labeled, dated, locked away. You’d think he was curating an exhibit called Proof I Was Loved.
And in a way, he is.
Lately, he’s been keeping records. A sleek, black ledger that used to hold business deals is now filled with you.
Moment of Midnight: — breath on my neck, 23:52.
Moment of Dusk— moans, 3:04, priceless.
Golden Hour — perfume on pillowcase, lingering, $0 but irreplaceable.
He writes like a man praying—numbers traded for sensations, currency replaced by obsession.
And when he looks up from that book, there’s no trace of remorse—“Funny,” he murmurs, flipping another page. “Even your sins look beautiful on paper.”
Then come the “accidents”.
Your ex-boyfriend, gone.
The client who flirted too boldly vanished.
He sighs like it’s tedious work, wiping the blood from his cheek, another balance sheet to settle.
When he’s done cutting off your friends, your family, your options, he kisses your forehead like it’s affection.
“You don’t need them,” he says. “You have me. You have everything.”
And he means it—because in Aventurine's world, love and possession mean the same thing.
Currently, you sit on the edge of his bed, phone in one hand, acrylics tapping against the glass screen like nervous clock-ticks. The penthouse sprawls around you in gold and stars, the city glittering below like a pile of loose diamonds.
Everything smells expensive—amber cologne, crisp linen, the faint bite of champagne gone flat.
And still, you can’t breathe.
You rehearse the words again: I’m done.
Simple. Firm. Final.
He’s crossed a line this time—sold your likeness for a fake brand deal, “an investment,” he called it, that quietly moved every cent of your money into his accounts. He even changed the password to your own phone plan.
You’re the accessory now. The doll that matches the décor.
As much as you adore the taste of money—Aeons, the Orison, the Feldspar, the Reverie—it’s starting to feel like a cage.
The flatscreen murmurs in the background, volume low. Some late-night news anchor drones:
“—authorities continue to search for a missing college student believed to be connected to Professor R—”
You glance up, pulse quickening for no reason you can name. The words fade under a luxury-car commercial.
You change the channel. You’ve got your own problems.
“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, legs crossed, voice wobbling. “Just say it and walk away.”
The elevator dings.
Your stomach drops.
Aventurine’s footsteps are soft, measured, and deliberate. That same rhythm that makes your pulse sync whether you want it to or not.
When he appears in the doorway, he looks as immaculate as always: dark shirt open at the chest, rings glittering, smile smooth enough to sell mercy itself.
He leans against the frame, eyes catching the city lights. “You look tense, sweetheart. Did one of your cards decline again?”
You inhale through your nose, trying not to crack. “You know exactly what happened.”
“Oh?” He feigns innocence, adjusting his collar as he steps closer. “You mean the account adjustments? I told you—it’s easier if everything’s under one name. Ours.”
“There is no ours,” you snap, voice sharp.
“You—” your words tremble, “—you’re controlling everything. My rent, my car, my phone. Even the fucking keycards have your name on them.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t raise his voice. Just smiles, patient, patronizing.
“Control? No, no, darling. It’s called protection. I’m taking care of you.”
You stand, fists balled at your sides. “I want out, Aventurine. I’m serious this time.”
A pause. Too long. The city hums behind the tinted glass.
Then—soft laughter, quiet enough to make your skin crawl.
“Out?” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with amusement. “And go where, exactly?”
You fold your arms. “Anywhere that’s mine.”
He hums, like he’s considering it.
“Alright,” he says finally, smiling wider. “If you want to leave, you can. But you’ll need to pay me back first.”
You blink. “What?”
He gestures toward the tablet on the nightstand. The screen lights up—rows of transactions, gifts, transfers. The total at the bottom looks fake, obscene.
“Everything I’ve ever given you. Rent, clothes, jewelry, tuition… it adds up.”
You laugh, disbelieving. “You’re fucking joking.”
He doesn’t laugh back.
The silence is heavy—thick with perfume and danger. His smile doesn’t falter, but it sharpens around the edges.
“Freedom has a price, sweetheart,” he murmurs, stepping close enough that his breath brushes your cheek. “And you, of all people, should know I don’t make bad investments.”
You stare at the glowing tablet. The number at the bottom looks more like a joke than a bill—eight digits, followed by two decimals and a signature line.
“...You can’t be serious.”
“I’m always serious,” he jokes softly, setting down his coat. “You like to spend, bunny. Don’t look so shocked when the bill arrives.”
You shoved the tablet back toward him. “I never asked you to—”
“To what?” He cuts you off with a smooth grin. “Buy you things? Feed you? Keep you safe?”
“You don’t keep people safe by owning them.”
That earns a quiet laugh. The kind that doesn’t sound amused at all.
“You think freedom is free? You’d starve without me. The moment you leave this place, your cards decline, your accounts freeze, and your name vanishes from every lease and record I ever signed you onto. You want out?”
He tilts his head, magenta and cyan eyes gleaming gold under the low light. “Then pay me back.”
You cross your arms. “I don’t have that kind of money, and you damn well know it.”
Aventurine exhales through his nose, the faintest sigh—patient, indulgent, like he’s explaining arithmetic to a stubborn child. “I didn’t expect you to. Not in cash, anyway.”
He walks closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s standing right in front of you. You can smell his cologne, the faint mineral warmth that always reminds you of new coins.
His gloved hand lifts, the soft leather tracing your chin. “There are other currencies, you know.”
You freeze. “Don’t.”
He hums, ignoring the warning. “Time. Devotion. Flesh.” His thumb presses against your lower lip until it parts. “I could take payment in kind. Think of it as… a physical arrangement.”
You laugh bitterly. “So what? You want me to fuck you until I’m debt-free?”
“Until I feel compensated,” he corrects smoothly. “A fair exchange.”
“You’re fucking insane.”
He snickered again, low and velvety. “No, I’m realistic. You think men like me waste money on something they don’t plan to keep? You were an investment from the start. I gave you a life most people can’t even dream of—and now you’re having buyer’s remorse?”
You step back, but he follows, predator-close. “I’m done with this.”
He smiles wider, teeth catching the light. “You’re not.”
“Bet.”
Aventurine's gaze flickers downward—slow, heavy, proprietary. When he looks back up, that easy charm of his cracks at the edges, revealing something colder. “Don’t mistake generosity for weakness, baby. You can’t walk away from what you owe.”
You flinch as his hand comes up to your face again—gentle this time, tracing your cheek with the back of his knuckles.
“I’d hate to see you out there,” he murmurs, almost tender. “Alone. Hungry. Dressed in last season’s clothes.”
The soft mockery in his tone makes your stomach twist.
“Don’t worry,” he adds, “I’m not unreasonable. I’ll let you work off your debt. Little by little. We can start tonight.”
⭐︎
The ride down the elevator is silent, velvet-lined, and suffocating. The city shines beneath you, a thousand lights flickering like chips on a casino table. Aventurine's hand never leaves the small of your back.
He’s still smiling, but his mind is unraveling behind it. You won’t look at him—won’t even breathe in sync—and that shouldn’t sting the way it does.
He's Aventurine: everything the world wants. Money, charm, questionable reputation polished to gold. Desire wrapped in designer.
So why does he feel like a beggar every time you pull away?
He tells himself you should want him. You do want him. Just not the way he needs you to. It isn’t him you crave; it’s the glitter, the safety, the expensive distraction he keeps buying you.
And that realization bruises deeper than he’ll ever admit.
Hasn’t he given enough? Bled enough to be worshiped?
The elevator hums, a heartbeat too slow. He watches the floor numbers fall, wonders how affection can slip through fingers lined with diamonds.
By the time the doors part, the decision’s already made—he’ll drive you home himself. Keep you close. Convince you he’s worth loving, even if it kills both of you.
He leads you into the waiting limo—doors closing with a soft, hydraulic hiss. Gold trim, crystal flutes, low jazz humming through hidden speakers. The sort of car meant for power deals and confessions.
You cross your legs, refusing to look at him. “I’m not doing this,”
“Oh, you are,” he says easily, pouring champagne into two glasses. “You just haven’t realized it yet.”
The car slides onto the strip, glass buildings flashing by. He lounges beside you, one arm stretched along the back of the seat, diamond cufflinks catching every passing light.
“Let’s play a game,” he suggested.
“Hell no.”
His smile deepens. “If you can hold off—don’t cum before I do—I’ll clear your debt. Wipe it clean. You’ll be free.”
You scoff, but your pulse jumps.
He shrugs, sipping his drink. “Call it gambling. You used to like watching me win.”
He presses a button on the console. The partition slides up, sealing you both off from the driver. The soundproof glass clicks into place.
Your throat tightens. “Unlock the door.”
Aventurine leans close enough for his breath to ghost your ear.
“Freedom’s right there,” he whispers, “all you have to do is earn it.”
When you twist away, his gloved hand catches your wrist, firm but not rough—yet. “Stop fighting me, darling. You’ll wrinkle the dress.”
“I don’t care about the damn—”
The fabric tears. Silk rips like paper, slipping off your shoulders in a shimmer of gold. You gasp, half-rage, half-shock. He tuts softly, eyes glinting.
“A shame. It was custom.”
His hand traces up your thigh, catching the thin strap of your g-string. One tug, and it snaps. The sound is obscene in the quiet cabin.
“Look at you,” he says, voice low, reverent. “Even when you’re furious, you’re beautiful. You really were made to be spoiled.”
Electricity courses through your veins as his fingers slide between your legs, slow circles on your clit that make you shiver despite yourself. “Stop it—”
He hums, pretending to consider. “Stop? But you’re trembling, love. Is that fear… or excitement?”
Your retort dies in your throat as he presses his thumb harder, rhythm precise, merciless. “There,” he whispers. “That’s honesty. That little gasp—worth a thousand dollars.”
You try to escape, but his other hand catches your chin, forcing your eyes to his. “Don’t look away when I’m collecting.”
The limo sways gently with the turns; every movement rolls you closer into him until you’re half-straddling his lap.
His slacks are already open, revealing a leaking cock, standing proud and achingly hard, the tip flushed a shade of pretty pink.
With prominent veins glistening with precum that dribbles down his balls, glinting faintly in the passing light.
He bites his lips, lounges back in the cushy limo seat leisurely, hand picking up champagne, relishing the way you watch, annoyed, while his hand begins moving in small, unhurried motions up and down his rock-hard length.
“Bunny,” he breathes, dragging the word out, “if you want to pay me back, this is where you start.”
You shake your head, but he’s already guiding you down, the tip pressing against your slick entrance.
“This is the game, sweetheart.” His mouth brushes your jaw, his grin audible in the dark. “You want to be free? Then don’t lose control.”
And before you even had a second thought, not bothering to ease you into it, before he’s thrusting into you, stealing the air from your lungs.
Shittt. The feeling is almost painful.
Your face screws up, discomfort and pleasure tangled together as your head drops onto his shoulder.
His hands grip your ass, pulling you closer with every brutal snap of his hips. Each breath leaves you ragged; every movement drags another noise from him, low and hungry in your ear.
You try to pull away, but he only follows—relentless, needy. “I need this,” he breathes, the words breaking apart on a moan. “Need to feel you, to mark you, to make you mine.” Every phrase lands like a shackle.
Despite his constant objectification, there's a twisted sincerity in his words. He loves every inch of you, a twisted worship that’s almost tender.
He imagines you as his trophy wife — a prize to be displayed and cherished.
“Your pussy belongs on a pedestal,” he murmurs, sucking your neck reverently, deranged.
Wet sounds fill the cabin; hips piston even faster now, your ass jiggles with each thrust. The limo rocks with the rhythm. You choke on a gasp, shame curling tight as your body betrays you.
The partition rattles, glass trembling with each thrust.
Tears blur your mascara. Your gummy walls clench around him, desperate for release—and then he stops.
The abrupt cessation leaves you on edge, the withdrawal a painful numbness that’s almost worse than the pleasure itself.
He chuckles, “Ah, ah, ah. Remember the deal, sweetheart,” Aventurine says, low and cruel.
You glare, humiliated, but he only strokes you again, slow and taunting. “Let’s see how long you last,” voice velvet over iron.
He began to move again, thrusting slowly, balls tightening, each one deliberate and punishing. “Brats don't get paid in pleasure,” he taunts, his words a reminder of the twisted rules of this game.
You're trapped, caught between your disgust and your body's undeniable response to him.
"Come on," he whispers, his voice a tempting devil in your ear. "You don't want to cum, do you? You don't want to lose." His words drip with mockery, each syllable twisting the knife of your desire.
“Asshole.”
The word cuts through the heat like glass, but it only makes him laugh. The limo rocks with every movement, the air thick with sweat and champagne. His pace turns merciless, every thrust a demand for surrender.
The slick sounds of his balls snapping against your ass fill the confined space, each sound mocking your attempts at control.
Aventurine's grip bruises the fat of your ass and hips; it wouldn’t scar, but it would certainly add to the inevitable bruising. "Hnngh! AH–FAHHH—" You cry out, the noise breaking in your throat.
He pants against your ear, voice raw, frayed at the edges. “You’re doing so well,” he moans, the praise a weapon. “Your debt’s going down fast, dear.”
Tears blur your vision, mixing with the mascara that streams down your cheeks. Your raw walls surge around him, your body clawing for release.
It was honestly pathetic how quickly you were already about to come undone again. You clench your teeth, tears spilling freely.
His rhythm punishing—measured, precise, each motion designed to drag you closer. “Cum for me,” he pants. “Let go, and I’ll let you go. If you resist…” his smirk ghosts your cheek, “I’ll make this last forever.”
Just as you reach the precipice, he withdraws, leaving you empty and gasping. The denial is cruel, a harsh punishment that leaves you trembling with frustration.
Shit, how is this man still not close to cumming.
Your body trembles, traitorous and overstimulated. “No,” you gasp, the word barely audible. “You’re delusional. I’ll never be yours.”
“Oh, but you are,” he says, greed twisting his tone into something worshipful. “You’re already halfway there.” His hand slides up your throat, holding you still. “I love you so much,” he whispers—half confession, half curse.
“Let me prove it.”
⭐︎
The world narrows to breath and sound — the wet slap of skin, the creak of leather, the dizzy rush in your ears.
Time dissolves into motion and breath. The limo shakes under you both; the sound of skin, leather, and glass blends into a nauseous rhythm.
Minutes—or maybe hours—later, the driver stands at a polite distance, pretending not to hear.
By the fourth round, he’s not even pretending this is about debt anymore. His thrusts turn ragged, his dick bullying itself in your cunt deeper, his voice breaking with every exhale.
“Mine,” he growls into your throat, again and again, until the word doesn’t sound human anymore. You can barely breathe; your nails rake his back, leaving thin red crescents that only make him move harder. “Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “You wanna leave? Then earn it.”
By the sixth round, sweat slicks your skin, thighs trembling from how many times he’s dragged you to the edge and yanked you back. Drowning in his cologne, you’re folded beneath him, hips caught in his merciless rhythm. “Don’t you dare cum,” he growls, fisting your hair as he drives into you. “You wanna come? Then beg for it. Tell me what you’re worth.”
You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Mmf fuck, y-you—”
“Wrong answer.”
His hips still suddenly, cock throbbing deep inside you, and the denial hits like a shockwave — so close, so damn close, and yet gone.
“Patience is profitable, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling out just enough to make you sob. “Don’t make me teach you the hard way.”
By the ninth round there’s no rhythm left — just pure obsession. He’s lost his composure completely, voice cracking with every thrust, breath ragged.
“You think ah! I don’t know what this does to you?” he hisses. “You’re shaking like you’ll die if you don't cum.”
His gloved hand slides between your thighs, thumb finding your clit, rubbing lazy circles that make your body twitch.
You cry out, hips jerking helplessly, but he stops again right before release — cruel, grinning, his teeth dragging along your neck. “Not yet,” he whispers. “You’ll come when I say. You’ll come when I let you.”
By the eleventh round, Aventurine laughs between delirious, ragged moans. “Eleven rounds, eleven million off your debt. You should be proud.”
Holding your legs up, he deliberately plows himself harder against your cervix; your body seizes up, releasing tension into pure white energy that you swore was pumping through your every vein as an extension of your whimpering pussy.
Oh, he’s just in heaven - letting out a deep, guttural moan in your ear, “Every part of you has value. Every moan, every tear—I’ll collect them all.”
The seconds tick by like hours, your mind spiraling into chaos.
Too much, too much, TOO FUCKING MUCH.
Your thoughts blur, consumed by the relentless assault on your senses.
His mercy is nonexistent; each thrust a ruthless drive to claim every part of you.
Your body folds against his chest, hips rolling in feverish desperation. The limo smells like sweat and champagne; gold light flickers off the tinted glass, catching on every slick line of where your bodies meet.
The mess between you two spreads across the leather, glistening with each motion, every thrust painting the car in sin. You clutch the seat for balance, trembling, every breath another gamble between pleasure and collapse.
"O-only– hah, one way to end this, pretty girl~ Admit you are gold, m-mine to hoard forever,” he taunts, tracing a finger up your tummy, pressing down hard where he’s plowing deep, your body jolts. "No shame in confessing."
For a second, you almost laugh — a hollow, broken sound swallowed by the rhythm of his thrusts.
Admit it? As if this was ever about truth.
This was a game rigged from the start, a house built to make you lose.
You told yourself you’d never fold, never let him turn your body into another one of his winnings.
But your thoughts are unraveling, slipping through your fingers like the slick heat between your thighs.
Each drag of his hips steals another piece of defiance, another breath, another lie that you’re still in control. The line between pleasure and punishment blurs until it’s just white noise in your head.
You hate him.
You hate that it feels this good.
And Aeons, you hate that he’s still holding out — not a tremor, not a stutter, like even his own release is just another bet he refuses to lose.
There’s no escaping this. The inevitable consumes you, your resistance collapsing in on itself.
You needed to cum. “I… I admit it,” you whimper, the words pathetic and catching in your throat.
Aventurine freezes — just long enough to let the admission sink in.
Then his control shatters — he drives himself deep, chasing the high he’s been denying for too long.
All you can do is cling to him, nails digging, every breath a shudder of defeat.
He was holding back. The bastard was edging himself just to make sure you broke first.
Body locking around his shaft as the heat hits — a whiteout that swallows thought, sound, everything. The pleasure mingling with shame and despair.
The limo rocks with it, the glass fogging, skin slapping, hearts pounding in sync like the roll of dice that finally lands snake eyes.
Tears prick at his eyes, voice wrecked and reverent all at once, spilling inside you at the exact moment your body convulses around him.
Thick ropes of release paint your walls, wet warmth spilling over his length and balls.
A perfect tie — except you both know what it really means.
He won.
You lay limp against him, both breathless, your bodies entwined in the car seats. The weight of defeat presses down on you as heavily as the arm he’s draped over your waist.
Only the engine’s hum and the faint clink of glasses break the silence.
He grunted, head leaning on yours, nuzzling into your hair, “First and foremost, bunny,” he drawled, smug and tender all at once, “you belong to me. Every part of you—your body, your time, your loyalty—it’s all mine now.”
You can feel the smile in his voice as he strokes your hip, casual, possessive. “You’ll live in my estate, under my roof. No more running, no more games. You’ll be my little treasure, kept safe where no one can touch you.”
He exhales, content. “And your debt?” he chuckles cruelly. “Consider it restructured. You’ll pay it off in full… as my wife.”
Your breath catches, horror sinking in. He cups your chin, forces your eyes to meet his.
The gleam in his gaze is victory wrapped in affection. “You lost the gamble,” his voice like silk over a blade. “But don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”
He kisses your temple gently, then tightens his hold, voice low and final.
“After all,” he murmurs, smiling like he’s granting mercy,
“A jewel doesn’t choose its owner — it only shines for the one who bought it.”
𝐚/𝐧: its givingggg the devil wears prada meets pretty women. yea things are only getting crazier from here, we heading into the psychological nightmare sloth - jing yuan next!
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