#rerir

He’d asked for it once, soft and unassuming—just your name, nothing more. You were cold, shaking, and stupidly hopeful back then. You gave it to him like a gift. You didn’t know it would be the last thing you ever gave freely.

Now, he’s holding a damn box. 

"Go on,"  He gestures with a slight, curt nod "Open it. Slowly."

A ghost of your old self might have flinched at the oddity, might have felt a spike of confusion or disgust. 

You reach for the top, fingers brushing the plush velvet. A sharp, pained hiss cuts the silence. "Careful," Flins murmurs, his voice a low warning. "It’s… sensitive."

You lift the lid… and your eyes widen slightly. 

His cock lies inside like a relic—thick, flushed, swollen, nestled in immaculate folds of white paper. The head glows faintly, slick leaking in a trembling bead that threatens to spill.

Flins watches your reaction with a small, wry smile.

He even chuckles—a dry, amused sound that never reaches his eyes.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he smiled. “You look like I put a bomb in there. Well… I suppose that depends on how you treat it.”

You don’t move. Your hand stays frozen on the velvet lid. His cock in the box gives another faint, helpless twitch, and a fresh pearl of that luminous slick wells at the slit, catching the pale winter light. 

“You gave me your name,” he whispers, thumb stroking your lower lip. “Such a precious thing. How careless of you.” His tired golden eyes brighten faintly—not with life, but with obsession.

“And so… here is mine.” 

You don’t know why your mouth opens…It just does.

His cock twitches violently at the sight.

“Oh,” Flins breathes, voice cracking with something dangerously close to relief. “You really do love me.”

He lets you struggle for a moment. Lets you feel the stretch, the helpless gag, the tears that spring to your eyes. Then his hand in your hair tightens, not yanking, but steering, setting a slow, deep, impossible rhythm.

“You take me beautifully,” cupping your jaw as he guides you down. “Even when it hurts you.”

His thrusts are slow, reverent—like he’s conducting a ritual instead of fucking your throat. “More— nghh—,” he breathes, his composure beginning to show its first crack. A flush creeps up his pale neck.

Glllkk, gllk, gluuuck

As your throat convulses around him with each gag, your fingers clutch his thighs—broad, strong beneath the soft gray slacks. “O-oh… my love~.” His voice cracks again, a raw edge bleeding through the composure. “My perfect miracle.”

What little voice you had in the back of your head—the one that whispered things like run, resist, escape—is fading fast.

His thumb wipes your tears. “So gentle even when you suffer,” he whispers. “How could you ever leave me? How could you ever walk into that cold world when you warm me like this?”

His hips push a little harder. Pace steady, ceremonial. Not fucking you—offering himself to your mouth.

“I w-would’ve chased you,” he says suddenly, voice fracturing on the edges of his refined cadence. “If you’d run. I would’ve begged…but instead…” A shudder. “You stayed. On your knees. Taking me so kindly.”

His thrusts grow bolder, desperate. The elegant rhythm gives way to something raw, erratic, terrifyingly hungry.

“I’ll keep you like this forever,” he promises, gasping as your throat clenches around him. “Locked away. Worshipped. Safe. My perfect darling, my only joy—just stay right here. Right where you belong.”

Your throat aches. Your jaw trembles. You can’t breathe between thrusts, can’t think between the electric taste and his whispered devotion. He brushes a trembling hand over your cheek again.

Then Flins pushes deeper—slow, careful, but inevitable—until you feel him in your throat, until tears spill hot down your face. 

“F-forgive me,” he gasps, body bowing over you. “I can’t hold it—my love, I can’t—”

He grits his teeth, hips stuttering, and then...with a groan that sounds like prayer—he stills.

You feel it, the hot pulse of his release painting your tongue. A flood of something glittering and warm, magic-laced and searing, like swallowing starlight. 

Your throat pulses around him as he empties himself—more and more, glowing slick flooding your gut, sliding down your esophagus in dizzying waves. He holds your head gently, reverently, as he fills you like he’s making a vow.

“There,” he breathes, voice shaking with relief and pure adoration. “You swallowed all of me. All of it.”

When he finally pulls out, his cock leaves your lips with a sticky, glowing thread. He looks softly ruined, unhinged in the quietest, most loving way.

For a moment, he’s silent. He looks at you—his droopily half-lidded eyes flushed, reverent.

He kneels before you, tilting your chin up.

“My beautiful girl,” thumb smearing the luminous mess across your lips. “Christmas begins and ends with you.”

He kisses you—slowly, gently, tasting himself on your mouth.

“Just us now,” he whispers into your cheek, voice soft as snowfall, final as a gravestone. “No escape. No fear. Only my love for you.”

Softly grasping the box he pulled it off his cock gently setting it on the table.

He pulls you into his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist, heart pounding hard against your back.

Outside, the snow thickens. Inside, he holds you like an answered prayer.

And the world disappears.

🎄VARKA — North Pole? More Like North Hole

You didn’t even get a full gasp out before Varka's hand clamped around your waist and hauled you clean off the floor.

One second you were in the living room, laughing with your friends, bells on your slutty little elf costume jingling as you reached for another drink—and the next you were slung over Santa's shoulder like you were the damn gift he came here to steal.

“Varka—!? What the hell, put me down—”

“Oh, now you wanna talk to me?” he growled, boots thundering down the hallway, fake Santa coat flapping behind him. “Blocked me all week, bunny, but you show up dressed like this?”

SMACK 

His hand smacked your ass once—hard—just to make you yelp.

To remind you who the fuck had you.

Your friends had barely stopped laughing at his stupid Santa entrance. Jean thought it was a bit. Lisa thought your husband showing up in a cheap tight red coat was funny.

Only you knew better.

Only you felt the white-hot anger simmering in his grip, fingers digging into your thigh like he wanted to leave bruises in the shape of his hands.

“Varka, stop—people are watching—”

“Yeah,” he rumbled, throwing open the guest room door with his shoulder. “And they all saw my wife struttin’ around in this tiny little elf outfit like she ain’t got a man. You think I’m lettin’ that slide?”

The second he kicked the guest room door shut, the act was gone.

No “ho-ho-ho.”  No booming laugh. Just Varka—your unhinged, possessive, starved man—hauling you up like you weighed nothing and throwing you onto the bed hard enough that the frame cracked loudly beneath you.

Before you could sit up, his huge hand pressed to your chest, pinning you by the sternum. Chest heaving, eyes blown wide with Varka towering over you like the reason naughty girls don’t make it out of the North Pole

Santa was not jolly.

“Look at you,” he snarled, shoving your thighs apart with one massive knee. “Dressed like a little treat. Parading around for every bastard in that cabin like you ain’t got a man who breaks doors for less.” 

Your mouth opened—to argue, but he was already on the bed, crawling over you, big hands sliding up your thighs with a patience that felt more like a threat.

“You blocked me,” he said, almost softly, thumb stroking your inner thigh like he wasn’t seconds from ruining you. “Didn’t call. Didn’t text. Thought I wasn’t gon’ find you.”

His fingers reached your panties and paused—just long enough for heat to bloom in your gut—before he pushed them aside and dragged his thumb through your slick folds with a slow, devastating sweep.

You gasped. 

He smiled, small and sharp.

“Breakin’ my heart in a place like this,” he murmured with faux hurt, leaning in until his lips brushed your ear. “All dressed up like a slutty little elf for people who don’t even know how to touch you.”

His other hand dropped to his belt, undoing it with a heavy clink. You barely had time to inhale before his fat cock slapped against your bare slit—heavy, thick, hot enough to make your back arch off the bed.

“Say who you put this outfit on for,” he whispered, rolling his hips just enough to drag every inch of him through your wetness. “Go on, sweetheart. Say it.”

“Tch,” Your breath trembled annoyed. “Y-you…”

That was all he needed.

Varka hooked your legs over his broad shoulders, the sudden angle making your breath catch in your throat. His body dwarfed yours, chest brushing your knees, nipple touching your thigh as he positioned himself.

“Yeah,” he growled, the word vibrating through your body. “Knew it. Knew my girl wouldn’t dress like this for anyone but Santa.” 

His cock pushed in—slow, brutal, unrelenting—stretching you wide, deeper than you ever remembered, deeper than your frantic mind could process.

Your fingers scrambled against his scarred shoulders, against the Santa coat bunching under your nails. “V-Varka—”

“No, baby,” he corrected, voice thick, hips grinding deeper until your vision sparked. “Not tonight.”

His hand wrapped around your throat—light, guiding, claiming—and his lips brushed your cheek as he whispered:

“Call me Santa.” 

The bed groaned under his weight. Then cracked. A leg snapped clean off the frame when he slammed into you again, but he didn’t stop—just steadied you with one huge hand while the other squeezed your waist like you belonged under it.

“Santa's been real patient,” he rasped, his thrusts turning messy, desperate, claiming every inch of you. “But you push me too damn far, princess. Avoiding me? Leave without tellin’ me? Dress up like a slut—”

“C-cause! Shit! Y-your crazy!—” A sharp thrust tore a moan out of you. “AH! MMPH- NO-” Your back arched. Your eyes rolled.

His grip tightened on your hips, dragging you back onto him with a force that made the headboard slam into the wall.

“Naughty fuckin’ girl,” he groaned, his breath shaking as he picked up speed. “You know what Santa does to naughty girls, don’t you?”

You barely choked out, “Varka—fuck! S-someone’s gun-na h-hear us—”

“I don’t care,” he growled, thrusting deeper, voice shaking with how much he needed you. “Let the whole damn cabin know exactly what I do to you.”

Footsteps passed the door. 

Someone laughed, then called your name—

He slapped a hand over your mouth, pressed you deeper into the mattress, and whispered right against your lips:

“You’re not goin’ anywhere. Not tonight. Not ’til Santa's done.”

And then he fucked you harder—so hard the whole bed shifted again, another crack splintering so hard your vision blurred at the edges, your breath catching in ragged little sobs beneath him.

“Yeah… yeah, that’s it,” Varka groaned, voice rasped raw, blond hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. Thick strands clung along his brow, dripping, wild, making him look like some outlaw deity who crawled out of the storm just to ruin you.

His blue eyes burned straight through you—hungry, furious, devoted.

“Look at you,” he panted, slamming into you with a force that shook dust from the rafters. “C-can’t ah! even hold yourself up anymore—legs shakin’, eyes rollin’ back—fuck, p-princess, you’re makin’ Santa lose his mind.”

Your nails clawed uselessly at his back. You tried to say something—anything—but all that came out was a thin, broken moan that melted into his chest.

Your body couldn’t keep up with him or his ruthless pace. You couldn’t think or breathe between thrusts.

Your vision tunneled. “V-Varka~,” you whined, the sound barely formed.

His hand slid up your ribs, up your throat, thumb brushing your lips before guiding your head back into the mattress. “No, baby,” he murmured, voice trembling with something close to worship. “Not Varka.”

His lips brushed your cheek, hot and shaking, his hair sticking to your temple as he whispered:

“Santa. Say Santa… b-before you ngh! pass out on me.”

You couldn’t, your consciousness slipped, warm and dark and dizzy.

And that was when he lost it.

“Oh fuuuck!—look at you,” he growled, fucking into your slack, pliant body like you were made just for him. “Passed out on Santa's cock like a good little elf—shit—sweetheart, you’re gonna make me—”

His hips slammed forward, brutal and possessive, and he came—hot, thick, spilling deep inside you with a guttural moan drowned against your throat.

But he didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

A shudder ripped through him, his abs tightening as the aftershocks rolled through his body—but he just dragged your limp hips back down onto him and kept fucking you, cock still hard, still throbbing.

“That’s it,” he rasped, breath trembling, hair stuck to his cheeks with sweat. “Santa's not done—not even close.”

Your unconscious body bounced with every snap of his hips, heat spilling out around his length, only for him to shove it right back in.

“G-gonna fill you again,” he grunted, voice cracking as his scars flushed red. “And again—fuck—again.”

He hooked his arms under your limp thighs, folding you in half, fucking deeper, fucking harder, using your body like you were a present he hadn’t unwrapped properly the first time.

“Pretty little thing,” he panted, grinding into your overstretched cunt like he could climb inside you. “Even passed out you’re squeezin’ me—mmph—milkin’ Santa dry.”

Another load deep inside you.

He moaned—loud, wrecked—but didn’t pull out, still hard as hell.

He just grabbed your jaw with one big hand, thumb dragging your lip down as your head lolled back.

“Open for me, sweetheart,” he murmured against your slack mouth, voice sweet and ruined. “Santa's still got more gifts to give. You’re—fuck! never running from me again.”

And with a low, hungry growl, he slammed back into you—chasing a third release. 

“Hope you were good this year, bunny,” he grinned, trembling as he rutted into your unconscious form. “'Cause Santa's not lettin’ you sleep tonight.~”

🎄RERIR — Red Ribbons, Bad Decisions

There’s… music playing.

Some old, warped Christmas tune crackling from a radio in the corner—soft, cheerful, horribly out of place.

“You’re a mean one… Mr. Grinch…” 

It loops. And loops. And loops.

Your cheek presses into the cold floor, ribbons biting deep into your skin—tight enough to sting, tight enough to remind you he tied you like this himself.

Red silk winds around your wrists behind your back, under your breasts, between your thighs… pulling you open like an offering.

Your captor fiancé is just… standing there.

Massive. Silent. Breathing hard behind black bandages.

The bodies of the people who helped you escape lie carelessly behind him. He didn’t even bother to move them.  He only looked at you.

His boot drags through a smear of blood as he approaches, leaving a crimson trail across the floorboards.

You should’ve kept in mind how fucking psycho Rerir is. 

“Oh…doll,” he finally spoke, voice muffled but trembling with something horribly close to relief, “you made such a mess.”

The words vibrate through his chest as he crouches, lowering over you. He’s so big that his shadow swallows your entire body, heat radiating off him in waves. Pink eyes glow like twin wounds through his white bangs.

His long fingers terrifyingly gripped your jaw and yanked your head up.

“Why did you run?” Soft. mocking. More dangerous than screaming. His grip turned bruising pricks of blood starting to form on your face. “Do you really think there’s anywhere on Teyvat you could hide from me?”

You couldn’t respond; the damn ribbon is pressed between your teeth like a gag.

He hums, amused. “Ah. Can’t answer.” His hand slides down your stomach… lower… claws grazing the ribbon splitting your thighs apart. 

“You’re shaking,” he observes, tone decadent and cruel. “And yet—”

THWACK!

His palm lands sharply on your pussy—hot pain shooting straight through you, forced moan vibrating against the gag. The ribbons tighten with your movement.

Rerir groans—actually groans—at the sight of you jolting under his hand.

“Mm.. you sound… exquisite.”

His cock strains against his pants, massive and heavy, a dark shape that makes you tremble harder. He strokes your pussy again—slow, reverent—and then:

SMACK! 

Your knees buckle, but the ribbons keep you open, trembling, helpless.

“Shh, shh… quiet now,” he coos, petting the tender spot he just struck. “They can hear you on the other side of the veil, you know. Your little cries.”  His head tilts, bandages brushing your cheek. “And they won’t save you.”

The Christmas music glitches, the same jolly line repeating. He laughs manic, breathless.

“Perfect soundtrack, isn’t it? Festive.” Another pussy slap. 

SMACK.

Your vision whites out for a moment.

Rerir shudders. “Hah— yes.— that reaction,” undoing his pants with one hand, sliding his monstrous cock out with the other. Thick and pale with throbbing veins. Way too big to take, too big to survive.

He’s definitely from Khaenri'ah…nobody is built like... that.

It twitches as he lines it up against your dripping slit.

“You feel that?” His voice dips, possessive and raw. “You tied me in knots. You… you broke something inside me when you escaped.”

The ribbons tighten again—like they react to his heartbeat.

You’re choking on air now, and he chuckles, low and dark.

“Such a pretty sound,” he muses, sliding his massive hand down between your thighs, pushing the ribbon aside to expose your dripping heat. “Crying when you’re already soaked. Do you like being caught?” 

His fingers—long, and thick—press against you, and you jolt, unable to move with your arms bound behind you. 

“Look at me.” You do as his pink eyes burn through you, heat pooling where fear and arousal blur. “If you close those eyes, I’ll rip them open for you.”

He presses forward—barely the tip—and your body seizes, stretched around him painfully, gorgeously wide.

“Ngh-” hissing, grabbing your ass. “You’re squeezing me like you’re trying to keep me out.”

He pushes deeper.

Your scream is muffled by the gag.

“Mm-nah, not yet,” he rasped, gripping the ribbons at your back like reins. “Save the screaming for when I really start fucking you.”

He plunged his hips forward another impossible inch, your pussy whimpering with you burning in pain. Rerir grunts as he leans down, seeing tears spill down your face, his tongue darts out, licking the lines.

“Fuck- You can’t even take the tip of me, and you’re already crying.” 

Your ribbon-bound thighs tremble violently, he groans—long, hungry, maddened, until he places both hands on your quivering hips, clearly impatient before he brutally shoved his whole length in one go.

Solid inches upon inches that were bruising, making your mouth let out a pathetic muffled cry, and if the ribbons weren’t gagging you, you probably would’ve made both y’all’s ears bleed.

Rerir watches with ragged breath when your trembling form tries to curl away from the overwhelming stretch—your pussy fluttering helplessly around the monstrous girth, forcing you open. 

His massive frame leans in, bandaged face inches from yours, the warmth of his breath bleeding through the fabric with each heavy exhale. 

“Too tight—too tight—fuck—” his voice is low and velvety, a silken danger wrapping around your spine. “You’ll tear around me before you ever escape me again.”

His hips shift forward again—slow, and torturous. Your bound thighs convulse as your cunt struggles to accommodate him.

His length drags along your slick walls with a wet, obscene pressure that makes your lungs thin out in a frantic gasp. 

Humming at the sensation, Rerir savored the way your pussy clings desperately, as though trying to halt the intrusion and pull him deeper all at once.

“Such a fragile little thing…” he coos, running a hand down the trembling curve of your spine, fingertips ghosting along ribbon-tight flesh. “Wrapped like a present… yet you thought you could run.”

The radio glitches again. “You're a monster…Your heart's an empty hole…”

His voice curls around your ear like smoke. “How adorable.”

He retreats until the tip is out of your stretched entrance to pulse frantically at the loss—before plunging back in, deeper this time, silk ribbons biting harder into your skin. 

You swore you stopped breathing for a moment.

The stretch borders on unbearable, deliciously unbearable, your heat molding around him inch by inch like you were nothing more than warm clay beneath his hands.

His hips pick up a rhythm—slow, deliberate thrusts that stroke against every pulsating ridge inside you, each withdrawal dragging slick out in messy wet strings, each descent heavier and deeper than the last.

Your bound form jerks with every movement, helpless to steady yourself, helpless to stop him.

“You feel every inch, don’t you?” he breathes, heat rolling off him in waves as he folds over you, chest brushing your back. “The way I stretch you… reshape you… brand you from the inside out.”

He shifts his grip, sliding both hands beneath your ribbon-bound hips, lifting you effortlessly into a new angle—one that leaves your pussy exposed to the dead audience, vulnerable, helpless to the bruising depth he forces on you.

You spasmed violently around him, and his voice fractures into a low, unfiltered groan—deep and primal and utterly consumed.

“No, no—don’t look away,” One hand tangles in your hair, wrenching your head back just enough for pain to bloom sharp along your scalp. “Eyes on me. Look at the man who slaughtered a room because they touched you.”

Rerir shudders, hips stuttering—then slams forward with zero mercy. “H-hold still—if you break, you break.” Fucking devouring you, letting out a primal, guttural roar as he feels your pussy walls clenching and gripping his swollen cock. “I’m mhng, not slowing down for ya.”

The sensation of your cunt sucking his thick shaft as he pounded into you with brutal, animalistic force sent a dark ecstasy surging through his muscular body. 

His hips shoved forward again and again, the sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls. Pussy gushing hot around him, slick coating his thick length, his breath catches in a shattered moan.

“Mhm, l-look at this mess,” pushing even deeper, until it feels like he’s rewriting the limits of your body. “I h-haven’t even filled you yet, and you’re dripping down your thighs like you’re begging for it.”

He pulls your hair harder, dragging your head back so he can watch your expression as your cunt spasms uncontrollably around him. “There it is, t-that’s the look ya- give right before y-you’re bred.”

Rerir's hips draw before slamming forward with a force that knocks every coherent thought out of your skull.

The floor vibrates beneath you. The ribbons bite deeper, your breathing breaks into raw sobbing, muffled ugly moans.

Thrusts devolving into a relentless grind that feels like worship and punishment at once. Until your orgasm hits so hard your eyes roll white, your whimpering pussy clamping down, sends him spiraling.

Rerir growls animalistically, his cock throbs violently inside you just once before—inflating your overstuffed pussy until Rerir slides a hand down to about halfway down your abdomen, pressing down at that nudge.

“Mine, Mine, ngh, Mine-” 

He empties himself in long, shuddering pulses, filling your pretty pussy with his seed, each one adding to the pressure that rises in your abdomen, your gummy walls fluttering helplessly around the heavy spill. 

His hand presses your stomach bulge again. “Hng-… f-fuck… look how full you are,” he pants voice breaking in awe. “S’right at home…”

And when the last spurt of cum leaves him, he doesn’t soften.

Still speared in you, he licks a slow, satisfied line up your tear-streaked cheek, seeing your teary eyes start to flutter close, “…don’t pass out yet..." He roughly fisted your hair.

"…I’m not done breaking my perfect runaway’s cunt properly.”

𝐚𝐧: woo chile im late but- merry belated dickmas! 🏃🏽‍♀️💨🎄