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empty primary blog for countless private side blogs

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Diminished Faculties.

Pairing: Yandere!Harper x Reader (Degrees of Lewdity).

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Word Count: 7.0k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Non/Con, Extremely Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Mind Control/Hypnosis, Oral Sex (M. Receiving), Forced Masturbation, Medical Malpractice, Emotional Manipulation, and Nonconsensual Drug Use. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Harper’s office was the warmest place in the asylum.

It might’ve been more accurate to say that it was the only warm place in the asylum, really. The communal rooms were inhospitable - too much plastic and too little body heat. The dorms were drafty in a way your cheap, tear-away blankets couldn’t keep out. Even the courtyard was freezing more often than not, any sunlight that might’ve trickled through the forest’s dense canopy immediately smothered by stone walls and wrought-iron gates long before it had a chance to reach the ground. You got used to going about your day half-frozen. It was the seeping kind of cold, the type that soaked under your skin and left you too numb even to shiver. Some days, you even found yourself envying the patients in straitjackets. At least they had something thicker than sheer cotton scrubs between them and the cold.

Harper’s office was a respite, in comparison. You spent the bulk of your free time curled up on his velvet-lined sofa, buried underneath a well-padded quilt with one of his less boring coffee table books in your hands. He was at his desk, an old-fashioned tape-recorder to his left and a laptop open in front of him, his hands moving gracefully over the keys as he jotted down notes from his last session. Whether he was in the room or not didn’t really impact your enjoyment of his hide-away, but the company was nice. The other patients weren’t much for conversation, and the staff— Well, there was a reason you liked Harper so much. That everyone liked Harper, really.

Thankfully, he was nice enough to pretend he liked you, too. At least enough to let you whittle away the hours until your release on his couch.

You were just beginning to nod off to the steady sounds of keyboard clacking and tape-recorder whirring when he called your name. Begrudgingly, you raised your head and found Harper smiling toward you as he nudged a small stack of documents to the edge of his desk with a pen. “Walk these to the archive for me, would you?”

You frowned, but sat up. “Don’t shove your work off on me, old man.”

“You don’t seem to be terribly busy with your own.”

“I’m a patient. I’m supposed to be resting.”

“Technically, according to the schedule our orderlies so lovingly put together, you’re supposed to be in the middle of a group session at the moment.” He cocked his head to the side. “Would you prefer it if I asked you to make your way down to the rec room, instead?”

A chill ran up your spine at the thought of sitting through another group therapy session. They weren’t worth the effort it took to attend. Most of the patients were so heavily sedated, they couldn’t remember their own names, let alone why they were here. Those who’d escaped their introductory appointment with minimal medication, like you, were similarly unhelpful. The questions posed were meaningless, the responses a never-ending onslaught of violence and rape and trauma retold in disjointed, half-remembered bits and pieces. You wanted to be sympathetic, to nod and coo and heal, but you couldn't take it. You’d all come from the same miserable town. You didn’t need more suffering. You had plenty of your own.

And so, you pushed yourself to your feet, marching over to Harper’s desk and snatching the documents away. He leaned back, his grin cat-like in its utter and complete self-satisfaction. “See?” he asked, in the same tone he used during your private sessions, when you finally divulged the intrusive thought or traumatic experience he’d been attempting to pry out of you for the better part of a week. “Was that so hard?”

“You’re a tyrant.”

“I am a doctor merely trying to see that my charge stays active.” And then, almost purring, “Would you have me do less for my favorite patient?”

The praise was half-hearted. Worse than that, it was cheap. The same kind of flattery that you’d employed across a hundred odd-jobs to milk marginally bigger tips out of a thousand love-starved clients. You knew that, and yet, heat rushed to your face all the same, the inside of your mouth going dry and cottony. You rushed to turn away from him, muttering an excuse as you made a run for the door. It wasn’t until you were safely across the threshold that you stopped, sucked in a deep breath, and allowed yourself the smallest, faintest possible smile.

You didn’t like it here. You hated the people, the staff, the chill. You couldn’t wait to leave.

But a tiny, guilty part of you was thankful that, if nothing else, you had Harper to make it all just a little bit easier.

~

You never had night-terrors before the asylum.

You hadn’t really dreamed at all. You hadn’t slept enough. Robin used to find you curled up in empty classrooms, trying to get a few minutes of shut-eye in before a semester-defining exam. Bailey would have to pick you up from one of your many part-time jobs at least once a month because you’d passed out from sheer exhaustion in the middle of your shift. In the asylum, you couldn’t work yourself to the brink. You were never sleep-deprived enough to lull yourself into that dreamless, pitch black, death-like sleep. Most nights, you didn’t have anything better to do than to sleep. It was awful. It was a waste of time. It wasn’t like you.

Worst of all, it meant you dreamed. They were awful, vicious things; all shifting colors and whispering voices and grabbing hands. Sometimes, you’d get lucky, be able to enjoy a couple minutes of some half-remembered schoolyard scene or a pleasantly ungrounded fantasy before things devolved and you found yourself pinned to a tile floor, fingertips biting into your hips as some heavy, amorphous mass with molten gold hair and acid pink eyes. It was an unfortunate coincidence that the monster in your worst dreams resembled Doctor Harper. It wasn’t his fault you were here. You only had yourself to blame, for that.

Not-Harper’s unoccupied hand found its way to your neck, the heel of its palm biting into your nape. The floor was so, so cold and the thing on top of you was so, so hot. There was a voice whispering in your ear - detached and disorienting - and below that, another sound, more melodic, more predictable. Something harsh and solid ground against you from behind. In the corner of your eye, the needle of a syringe caught the light, its tapered point angled toward your neck. You tried to squirm away, but the tile was slippery and the mass was so heavy and it was all so, so hopeless. The needle plunged down, down, piercing the side of your throat and—

And you woke up screaming. Your voice echoed off of the bare cement walls of your room, unswallowed and unanswered. You bolted upright, clinging to your paper-thin blanket. Pathetic. This was all so pathetic. You were alone in an insane asylum miles and miles outside of town. The orderlies weren’t on patrol and the nurses didn’t care. No one was coming to—

Three sharp knocks against your door, evenly paced and just short of forceful. A voice called your name, soft and masculine and achingly familiar.

Harper.

“Come in,” you managed, after a long beat. A latch slid out of place and your door swung open.

He must’ve been working late. It had to be closer to sunrise than sunset and he had the look of a man who’d spent the night burning the candle at both ends. His lab coat was missing and his shirt had been unbuttoned two degrees past the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The fact that he was still in the building at all surprised you. You’d assumed he lived in town.

Your confusion must’ve been obvious. In place of a greeting, he offered an explanation. “I was passing by and heard the commotion. Are you alright?”

You nodded hastily. “Just a bad dream.”

“Ah.” And just like that, he was a man of science again, latching onto the first scrap of evidence you provided and jumping to the most rational conclusion. Pulling your door shut, he crossed the room and fell onto the foot of your bed. There was no hesitation, no pause to seek permission. He was acting like he owned the place - which, to be fair, you were pretty sure he did. “You know,” he started, adjusting his glasses. “Dreams can often signal to areas of tension within in the subconscious. Your brain might be drawing your attention towards, say, fresh trauma you haven’t allowed yourself to process.”

You grimaced. You knew what he was dancing around. Lately, Harper had lost interest in your miserable upbringing, pitiful social life, and self-destructive coping mechanisms. Rather, he’d taken to asking after the reasons behind your interment incessantly. And, if you’d been able to, you would’ve given him what he wanted gladly. You would’ve laid out every thought, every feeling, every factor that left you stranded in his care. But you couldn’t. You wanted to, but every time you opened your mouth, you just—

You couldn’t.

You shrank into yourself, dropping your eyes to the sheets. “I… I’d rather not talk about that, right now.”

“I see.” Immediately, the softness in his voice was gone, replaced by cool professionalism and the slightest trace of disappointment. He stood, starting for the door. “I suppose we’ll see how you’re feeling in the—”

You acted on reflex — lashing out and catching his wrist. To his credit, Harper didn’t flinch. He didn’t even seem all that surprised.

“Can you stay?” The question was a slurred rush, too embarrassing to properly separate into distinct words. “I mean, just for a few minutes. I don’t want to— I can’t—” You forced yourself to pause, to breathe. “I don’t know if I should be alone, right now.”

Harper regarded you for a long moment. In the darkness, he was more shadow than not. A stock silhouette in place of anything more recognizable, anything more welcoming. “You understand that I’m not on duty.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“And I really ought to be using this time to tend to personal needs. For my patients’ sake as well as my own.”

“Right. Of course.”

“Then again, if there was some way you could help me…” He trailed off, clicking his tongue. “I might be able to make an exception.”

Your mind was a blank expanse. You knew he was alluding to something, but you couldn’t begin to guess what.

“Help with… paperwork?”

A breath of a laugh, thin and sardonic. His eyes fell to your lips, then his belt. Understanding dawned on you immediately.

A bottomless pit opened up in your stomach. You couldn’t help it. You laughed. “That’s a little unprofessional, doctor. Even for you.”

He shrugged. “It’s perfectly natural. Most practitioners end up leaning on their favorite patients more than they should, in times of stress.”

Again, there was that rush of warmth, that bone-deep satisfaction. The word played over in your head, again and again. Favorite. Favorite. Favorite. Your hands were on his belt by the time you thought of a decent justification. You’d done more for worse men. He wasn’t forcing you, or blackmailing you, or even really pushing. You didn’t want to do this, but you wanted him to stay. You’d do whatever you had to, if it meant not having to spend the rest of the night alone.

You moved swiftly, mechanically. Unbuckle his belt, undo his fly, ease his pants down just far enough to free his cock. He was already hard enough to wrap your hand around. Rather than consider the implication, you decided just to be thankful he’d made your job that much easier.

And, for what it was worth, he had a pretty dick. Longer than average, too thick to be considered lean but not bloated enough to make you massage your jaw on reflex. No prominent veins, thankfully — those had always left your throat sore. The tip was a nice, rosy pink. You might’ve appreciated the color, had you been in a state to appreciate anything.

You made a point not to look at him as you brought your lips to his head. This would be easier if you were clinical about it, so that was what you tried to be. You divided your work into neat, impersonal steps. Lap the flat of your tongue over his tip then take him into your mouth. Wrap your hand around his base and pump. Try (and fail) not to cringe at the taste of his bitter pre-cum. All perfectly doable. All perfectly normal.

You were just starting to bob your head when you felt his palm against the back of your skull, urging you lower, deeper. You obeyed as much as you could — swallowing him down until he hit the back of your throat. Your gag reflex had been trained away years ago, but still, there was only so much you could do to suppress biology. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, a low whine bubbling up from your chest. All to be expected. You were at your limit. Harper was smart. Harper would see that.

Except, he didn’t. He pushed harder, and you felt his cock nudge into your throat. Immediately, you floundered, your hands lashing out to catch his dress pants. You glanced up before you could stop yourself, finding Harper’s face. His expression was impassive, bordering on curios. His lips were curved into a smile, the same one he wore during your appointments, all gentle compassion and tender patience. But his eyes—

It might not have been so bad, had they not been so intently focused on you.

"Breathe, love.” His voice was enough to pull you back into reality. Again, his admission echoed in the back of your mind. Favorite, favorite, favorite. “Almost there, just—”

His hips jutted forward and you choked around him. His cock twitched in response, an airy groan slipping past his lips. You wanted to do this right. You wanted to make him happy, to make him proud of you. Your tongue swirled where it was trapped underneath his shaft, your throat convulsing as you forced yourself to take him that much deeper. You were fully crying, now, tears dripping from your chin onto your thighs. Harper shut his eyes, his nails biting into your scalp. That meant you were doing a good job. That meant you were his—

Cum flooded down your throat, hot and searing. You could feel it moving through your chest, burning a hole in your stomach. Harper didn’t thrust, or jerk, or move in any way. He just held you there — close and safe and loved.

That night, you fell asleep to the feeling of his hands petting over your hair.

Somehow, it wasn’t quite the comfort you thought it would be.

~

For whatever reason, you expected sucking his dick would be enough for Harper to stop asking the only question you wouldn’t answer.

It was not.

You were exposed to all of his tried-and-true methods, first. Writing in private journals that he always found an excuse to read, reacting to increasingly bizarre prompts all vaguely reminiscent to your life outside of the asylum, answering prying questions for hours after your session was supposed to end. Eventually, Harper got frustrated. He scowled more often, spoke to you more coldly, withheld praise he used to dull out like medication. Then, when you failed to meet his agitation with compliance, he got creative.

“I wanted to try something new, today.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach. You had to fight not to bolt from the chaise lounge you were currently laid across. You understood why you couldn’t see him in his personal office for your actual appointments, but awareness did little to endear you to the counseling room. It was too big. The lights were too bright. You always seemed to be freezing.

“Do I get to say no?”

He laughed and stood, neglecting to answer.

You focused on the ceiling. You could hear him approaching you, feel his shadow block the light. The cushion below you dipped as he propped a knee next to your hip. “It’s called recovered-memory therapy, with the added help of tactile stimuli.”

“Tactile stimuli…” You blinked slowly. “Like a therapy dog?”

“Close, dear.” You weren’t looking at him, but you didn’t have to. His smile was more than audible. “Can you roll over for me?”

You couldn’t. You didn’t want to. You started to sit up, but Harper only took it as a sign that further assistance was needed. He caught you by the waist, turning you over and forcing your stomach flat against the lounge. Your breathing picked up, teetering on the edge of hyperventilation. You did your best to wrangle it back to a steady pace.

“This was the position you described in your dreams, yes?” He straddled your thighs. His chest pressed into your back, too close. Too warm. “How did you say your attacker was touching you, again?”

You hadn’t. You wouldn’t. But Harper sighed and frowned and looked so, so disappointed and you couldn’t stop yourself, the words spilling out before you had a chance to patch the leak. “They were holding my— my neck, and their hand was on my— my—”

“Right. Of course.” His hand fell to your hip, then hesitated. “If you’d feel more comfortable touching yourself, I’d understand. If not…”

You shook your head vehemently. You would do whatever you had to so long as it meant he wouldn’t put his hands on you. You couldn’t take that. Not again.

He helped you onto your knees. Slowly, mechanically, you worked a hand between your thighs and began to rub circles into your clit through the thin material of your uniform. The action was without sensation. You might as well have been brushing your teeth.

He rested a hand on the back of your neck. He wasn’t cruel enough to choke you, but he wasn’t kind enough to give you space, either. “Good. Very good. Now, tell me about the day you realized you needed my help. Start from the beginning.”

It felt as if you’d swallowed a needle. You did your best to speak around the obstruction. “I was— I had to visit you. Something happened at school, but that’s not important. You gave me a shot, and it made my head a little fuzzy, so you left me—” Your wrist slipped, and you applied a little more friction than you meant to. Something dull and electric ran up your spine — just strong enough to be mistaken for pleasure. “So you left me alone to wait it out. Just for a few minutes. You said you’d be back in a few minutes.”

“And I was.” He knew this part as well as you did. This retelling was not for his sake. “But, what got to you first?”

“A nurse, I think.” Someone in a uniform. Someone who worked at the hospital. Someone who meant to do you harm. “I don’t know. I can’t remember his face. I just— I was on the ground, and he was holding this— this thing up to my neck, and he must’ve gotten me because—”

Your voice hitched. Harper bowed his head, pressing his lips into your temple. “It’s alright. You’re safe, here. You can tell me anything.”

It would’ve been easier to believe that if he hadn’t literally been pinning you down.

“I don’t know what happened,” you said, sincerely. “I blacked out. When I woke up, the body was gone, the cops were there, and I was covered in blood.”

“A psychotic break.” He’d never sounded so pleased. “Do you know what that means?”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to know, either, but he told you anyway.

“It means that you need much, much more care than we initially anticipated.”

You tried to pull away, to go slack, but his hand slipped between your thighs, cupping your own. He pressed your middle and ring fingers into your clit, guiding you into an awkward, vertical motion. You let out a distressed whine, squirming underneath him. “But— We’re fin—”

“I know.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “This is a reward. You did so well.”

You wanted to argue, but he applied more pressure and suddenly, you were too busy melting underneath him to do much of anything.

It was humiliating — how quickly you came. You hadn’t been touched in months. You were sensitive, and deprived, and so, so afraid. Harper hummed as you jerked and twitched underneath him, only letting go of your hand once the last of your spasms had died out and you were no more fun to play with than a toy after its batteries had been drained. Even then, he held you there, his grin biting into your cheek.

Your nightmares were immediately forgotten. Whatever landed you here in the first place, no more than a distant concern.

You had to get out.

~

Surprisingly, as your release date approached, Harper retreated. He reverted back to the way he’d always been — calm, collected, careful not to push the boundaries of your patient-doctor relationship. Sometimes, you’d wake up to his silhouette in your doorway, but there were no more late-night requests, no more innovative new strategies to your care. When you began to skip your appointments with him, he didn’t say anything. When you stopped coming to his office in your downtime, his only response was to give you a wide berth, in return.

On the morning of your release, he came to fetch you himself. You were already wearing — had been since the night you before — the sundress you’d arrived in. It fit poorly, which made sense. It’d been months. Hospital food and a largely sedentary lifestyle meant your body had changed, lost definition, gained new curves. Still, you felt safer in the remnants of your old life, your real life, than you ever had in your stale uniform. Harper regarded with narrow eyes and a pleasant smile before turning on his heel and signaling for you to follow.

You expected to be taken to the front gates. That was how you saw the other patients leaving, as rare as it was for the asylum to actually let one of its patients go. Instead, Harper led you down the familiar route to his office, pausing outside the shut door. '“You know,” he started, slowly, adjusting his glasses. “I do mourn that our time together has ended so quickly.”

You forced yourself to shrink, to simper. “I’m sorry, doctor.”

“There’s no need to apologize. It’s really very selfish of me.” And then, leaning down, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial murmur, “Can I tell you a secret?”

You wanted to cover your ears. You wanted to say no. You wanted to run.

You nodded.

“I’m afraid it’s rather selfish, but—” He paused, his grin widening. “No doctor has ever truly wanted to let their favorite patient go.”

Immediately, you relaxed. Honestly, it felt a little silly to have ever been scared at all. What else did you think he was going to say? Of course you were his favorite patient.

He’d always been your favorite doctor.

Without another word, Harper opened the door and ushered you inside. Bailey sat on one end of the well-worn sofa, elbows braced on his knees and mouth twisted into a distinct grimace. You perched on the other end, pulling your legs up and tucking them underneath you. You’d always been so comfortable here, so warm. It was difficult to remember why you’d stopped coming by.

Bailey shot you a frown. “Don’t get comfortable, brat. We’re leaving as soon as the doctor signs your paperwork.”

“About that,” Harper said, leaning against his desk. “I believe my patient has something to say to you.”

You did? Oh, of course you did. How could you be so absent-minded?

“I don’t want to go.”

Your voice was bright and clear. This was the most sure of yourself you’d been in months.

Bailey seemed less convinced. “Run that by me again?

It was hard to imagine how you could’ve been more clear. “I don’t want to leave.”

He looked to Harper. “Get out.”

Harper didn’t move. “Please, Bailey. We’re all friends here.”

Bailey didn’t respond. He held his ground until, with a sigh, Harper rolled his eyes and left the room. Once the two of you were alone, Bailey went on. “Look, kid.” He sounded exasperated, as if this was chore that had already run long. “Whatever he told you, don’t believe it. Harper’s full of shit. Whether it was about new treatments or hallucinations — just forget about it. There’s nothing he can do for you in here that he wouldn’t have already done out there.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

He groaned. “Yes, you do. I didn’t drive my ass all the way out here just for you to—” He broke off, running a hand over his face. “Robin misses you.”

Oh, god.

Robin.

Several things became undeniable at the same time. You didn’t want to leave. You had to go. You hated the asylum. The asylum was good for you. You’d been kept here for months with no progress. Your treatment wasn’t over, yet. Harper was a good doctor. The best doctor. You were so, so scared of him. He hated you. He was bad to you. He hurt you. You were his favorite—

There was no good way to describe the feeling of being suddenly aware that half your thoughts were not your own. It was a little like believing, firmly and undoubtedly, that your head was above water, only to blink and find that you were already drowning.

You took a deep breath. You were fine. You were in control of yourself. You wanted to leave. All you had to do was tell Bailey that. All you had to do was say the only thing you’d been able to think for weeks, now.

“I don’t want to go.”

Your tongue tasted like sulfur. You could feel the blood boiling underneath your skin. You tried again.

“I don’t want to go.”

Bailey sat up. You pressed your thighs together. Again.

“I don’t want to go.”

Again.

“I don’t want to go.”

Again.

“I don’t want to—”

“Alright, kid, I get it.” He gestured dismissively, then called for Harper. “You can come back now, freak.”

Immediately, the door swung open and Harper sauntered across the threshold. His grin was wide and fanged, dripping with fresh venom. “I believe my patient has made the necessity of our work clear.”

“Crystal.” Bailey stood, but hesitated before exiting. He fished something out of his front pocket - a business card for the orphanage, its edges soft and its corners bent. A phone number was printed neatly along the bottom. His office landline.

Wordlessly, he held the card out to you. You stared at it blankly for a second, then another, before reaching up with shaking hands and grabbing his wrist as tightly as you could. Bailey jerked back on reflex, but you held on, letting him drag you to the floor. The business card was gone - no longer a matter of concern. You wouldn’t let go. No matter what happened, you wouldn’t let go. Not until you were home. Not until you were far, far away from Har—

“That’s enough, dear.” Instantly, your body went slack, your hands falling to your sides and your arms going slack. Bailey stumbled back as Harper cocked his head to the side, feigning a pout. “I’m afraid you might have to leave. Your presence seems to be causing quite a bit of agitation.

There was a sneer, the beginning of a snarl, but Bailey caught himself before things went further. With no emotion more apparent than schooled apathy, he turned and left — slamming the office door behind him. Leaving you alone.

Harper let out a low, breathy sigh. “Good riddance,” he said. He bent down, picking up the card Bailey had dropped. His eyes skimmed over it before, with no small amount of delight, tearing into pieces and letting them flutter back to the ground. “Never did like that one. He can be awfully possessive with his toys for a man who casts them into the world so carelessly.” And then, to you, “It’s a good thing that you landed in my care, isn’t it?”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The only words you seemed capable of saying were still heavy on your tongue, and you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of repeating them again. Harper didn’t seem to mind. With no great urgency, he gathered you up in his arms and set you down on the edge of his desk. Your body, still limp, collapsed against his, but he only laughed and wrapped an arm around your midriff, holding you that much closer to his chest. For lack of an ability to speak your mind, you groaned — the sound throaty and thoroughly miserable. Harper’s smile bit into the side of your skull.

“Something on your mind?”

“I hate you.”

“I thought you might say that. It’s an occupational hazard, you know — something they warn you about in school.” His fingertips skirted up your back, following the curve of your spine. “I hope you appreciate that hatred is something I’m still allowing you to feel.”

Allowing. Like he had total control over you. Like your free will was a privilege you ought to be thankful not to have been stripped of. You thought about shoving him away, but every time you tried to move, your vision blurred and your body grew heavier, as if you were suddenly on the verge of falling asleep. As if you were back on the hospital floor, dead weight on top of you and a needle in your—

The realization was sudden and jagged, as obvious as it was sickening.

“You’re the reason I’m here.”

“Of course.” He made no attempt to deny it. If anything, he sounded a little smug. “It’s clever, isn’t it? Hypnotism is so finicky, and no matter what I do, it always seems to wear off sooner than I’d like. This, though—” He bowed his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. “This works. One injection, a compelling trigger phrase, and you’re as suggestible as a newborn lamb.”

“But— But I hurt someone. All the blood, and the—”

“There was blood, certainly. Compliments of our generous donors. And you worked yourself into such a frenzy, I doubt the powers-that-be would’ve questioned it if I’d asked to have you locked away for the next, oh, twenty-five years?” He paused to chuckle. The sound was thin and airy and cruel. “It lasts, too. You’ll be able to go months between doses. Just think of the applications. No need to break-in cattle, not when two shots a year will have them so wonderfully obedient. And the brothels, Briar’s been complaining about worker retention for—”

You cut him off with a low, warbling sob. You didn’t want to cry in front of Harper. No part of you wanted to give him the satisfaction. You’d managed to hold it in for weeks — through probing and prying and late-night check-ins. But there was something about his tone, so eager to strip away your free will and sell you off to the highest bidder. It was the happiest you’d ever seen him. It was the proudest you’d ever made him.

The dam broke open. Tears streamed down your cheeks, hot and humiliating. You clenched your jaw, grit your teeth, but you couldn’t seem to bite back the pitchy whines and miserable whimpers that bubbled up from some deep, primal cavity. You couldn’t cover your mouth. You couldn’t even raise your hands to try.

Harper’s expression dropped. He pulled back, already cooing, already peppering kisses over your cheeks. “Now, now, there’s really no need for that. You, my dear, are far too precious to give away.” He pulled you into his arms, letting your body slump lifeless against his chest. Rounding the desk, he fell into his chair and arranged you to straddle his lap, a knee on either side of his hips. “What would I ever do without my favorite patient?”

Sudden, searing agony. The room went blurry. Your vision flashed white. You collapsed against him willingly, now, burying your face in his lab coat just to block out the world as it spun around you. Harper sighed, pressing a long kiss into the top of your head. His hands found their way to the back of your sundress. Fabric shifted, a button falling out of place, and you felt the bodice go slack.

“Raise your arms for me, love?”

With all the obedience of a programmed machine, you raised your arms above your head. Your dress pooled at your waist, as limp and as useless as the body that was no longer under your control.

There was no attempt to undress you properly. He worked efficiently, slipping his hand underneath your skirt and cupping your cunt. The pad of his thumb circled your clit once, twice before his interest drifted and he pulled your panties to the side. The insertion was abrupt — bordering on painful. Three fingers at once with minimal prep. You’d had things shoved into you before, often roughly and never with your permission, but you’d never had it done so slowly or with so much care to soak in each little pained sound you offered by way of response.

It would’ve been better, had he been a little more rushed. Unfortunately, even at his most monstrous, Harper was still a man of science. He moved at a languid pace, pumping his wrist lethargically, pausing often to stretch or curl or grind against the walls of your cunt. It should’ve stayed that way — dry and harsh and uncomfortable — but despite the lack of pleasure, you could feel yourself getting wet, hear the slick squelching as he moved inside of you. “So resilient,” Harper praised. “It’s impressive, really. Even trapped, you try to make the best of things.”

Not that he was helping. The heel of his palm came up, grating against your clit. The room suddenly seemed too hot. Your face wouldn’t cool down. You felt sticky all over. How you’d ever taken comfort in this was a mystery. You would’ve preferred to be left out in the cold forever, if it meant not having to bear another second of his warmth.

And your stupid arms were still stuck above your stupid head. You whined, clenching and unclenching your fists, and Harper took pity on you. “Around my neck, now.” And then, when your hands moved to wrap around his throat, “Nicely, please. The way you know you should.”

Glowering, you draped your arms around his neck. The closeness was terrible. The fabric of his dress shirt was coarse against your bare chest. He spread his fingers apart and you lurched into him, attempting to seek shelter in the source of your agony. It was awful, but bearable. You’d survived worse. You’d even come out the other side with your dignity more or less in-tact. You just had to stay calm. You weren’t here. You were somewhere else. You’d left the asylum. You were with Bailey, back at the orphanage. You were going to see—

“It’s alright, dear.” Harper’s voice was a hook, piercing your mind and dragging you back into reality. “You deserve it. You can let go.”

He was so fucking calm. That was the worst part. He was so calm, so put-together, so unaffected, and you weren’t allowed to be. The moment the words left his tongue, your body was on fire. There was no bliss to it. The pleasure was scalding and invasive. The physical symptoms, ungraceful and involuntary. Your mouth fell open, but any sound you might’ve made was cancelled out by your sudden inability to breathe. Your hips rocked against his hand, trying in vain to prolong the intolerable. Your thighs snapped together, pressing into his sides with enough force to make your muscles ache. He watched you all the while, eyes half-lidded and head cocked to the side. The same way he might’ve looked at an especially endearing lab rat, or a patient report that was just a touch more interesting than he’d expected it to be.

Eventually, thankfully, the last embers of your involuntary climax burnt themselves out. You slumped against him — too exhausted to need mind-control as a pretense for your reliance. For a long time, Harper let you stay like that. Unmoving and unthinking. Even that mercy, though, was eventually withdrawn. His hands found their way to your sides, his fingertips massaging circles into your back. You whimpered at the contact, but he only hummed.

Slowly, his touch drifted north. Untangling you from him, he eased you away from his chest. “You didn’t think we were done, did you?” His gaze fell to his belt, lingering for a moment before darting back up to meet yours. “Whenever you’re ready, dear.”

You might’ve laughed, if there had been any part of you left in a state to appreciate the irony.

It was a small kindness that you didn’t have to think about what you were doing. You watched from a measured distance as your hands undid his belt, as a fist mechanically pumped over his cock until he was leaking onto your knuckles. There was no reluctance, no emotion to it, only a dull understanding of the steps that needed to be taken and the awareness that with or without your mind, your body would see the task through. Harper’s hands fell away from you entirely as you shifted onto your knees, aligning the head of his cock with your abused entrance. He leaned back in his seat, putting that much more distance between you and him. Giving himself a better view.

Even if you’d had more control, you doubted you would’ve been more gentle with yourself. You bottomed out in the first stroke, your hips settling against his as his cock filled you to bursting. Adjustment was unnecessary. Discomfort was a part of the treatment, not a symptom of your condition. It didn’t fade as you rocked and ground against him, only sharpening into other, more acidic byproducts. Pain. Overstimulation. Pure and utter loathing.

Harper made no attempt to help. He seemed more than satisfied to let his experiment run its course untampered with. His hands kneaded at the arms of his chair, curling and flexing in-time with your mechanical bouncing. A blistering red spread over his cheeks, although you couldn’t be sure if he was getting off on what you were doing or the fact that you were doing it at all. He was moaning unabashedly — little, breathy, lilting noises that would’ve had you assuming he was the one being tortured. Worst of all, there was this look in his eyes. Not love, not really, but something tangential. Adoration. Fascination.

Sickness.

Sick and desperate. You rolled your hips and he buckled into himself, letting out a rough groan. Immediately, his hands were on your hips, guiding your ministrations, forcing you to move faster, to take him deeper, to somehow bend even further to his whims. You felt him twitch. A moment later, Harper lurched against you, his mouth finding your throat. You could feel his breath, hot and humid, then his drool as he lapped over your skin. It was disgusting. It was horrible. It was—

“Cum,” he ordered, his eloquence lost to pleasure. “Like you want this. Like you love me.”

And you did. Holding him tight, crying his name, making it seem like there wasn’t anywhere in the world you’d rather be. Harper followed shortly — desperate in spite of his composure. There was no attempt made to pull out. He dragged you flush against him, keeping his cock buried inside of you as he came undone, leaving you full and heavy and tainted. Claiming your mind wasn’t enough, apparently. He had to leave his mark on your body, too.

He didn’t let you go, after he finished. Part of you hoped that he would — that you’d be allowed to steal an unsupervised shower and slink off to your cell to sleep away the misery. Instead, he clung to you, draping himself over your rigid body as he panted and trembled. Eventually, he seemed to pull himself together, regaining just enough of his composure to grin and reach for something behind you.

You heard a drawer slide open, metal clack against wood as he removed a long, rectangular box. “…I have something for you,” he started, the words slurring into one another. “I thought I ought to give it to you later on, in a more controlled environment, but—” A pause, a laugh. “I suppose I’ve gotten rather sentimental, haven’t I?”

He placed the box on the arm of his chair and, with a single hand, pulled the lid off. You recognized the contents at a glance. A syringe — its needle infinitely long and the fluid in its barrel an acidic shade of pink. He took it up gingerly, resting his thumb over the trigger and holding it up to the light. You didn’t ask, but he told you anyway. Still playing doctor, even now. “Your current dose should last another month, but I thought it best to re-up now. To ensure that our relationship remains as productive as it has been, so far.”

He brought the needle to your neck, aiming for the patch of skin his mouth had sought out time and time again. You were shaking, in spite of your paralysis. It took everything you had to speak, and even then, you could only manage a few pathetic little words.

“Please don’t make me.”

Harper’s grin widened.

You felt the needle puncture your skin.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you love ao3 exactly how it is and you don’t want it to “update” or change in any way♡

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

ao3 is not changing anything by the way! some people just want them to change for some reason. my guess is that these people just don't understand how the site works and refuse to actually learn how it works, so they blame the site because it's easier for them that way.

[ceruark]

what the cat dragged in

[yan! michael kaiser x fem! reader, childhood friends au.] synopsis: your grandfather once cautioned you against feeding strays. it’s a lesson you wouldn’t fully learn until many years later. words: 4.6k cw: yandere themes - obsession, possessiveness, implied stalking, slight dubcon (no nsfw). a/n: [head in hands] this was supposed to be a drabble

“You be careful with that, now.”

At the sound of your grandfather’s voice, you glance over your shoulder, fixing your attention on the man standing in the doorway, propped up against his cane. Your knees and face are smeared with mud, as any seven year-old’s would be. 

You turn back around, cooing gently at the scraggly kitten that eats the canned tuna out of the palm of your hand. You lift your free hand to scratch at its head, smiling as it nuzzles into your hand before going back to the food.

“Why?” You ask innocently. “It’s so cute.”

“It’s a stray,” your grandfather says, voice dripping with disgust on the last word. “If you feed it, it’ll keep coming back.”

You frown. Would such a thing be so bad? If the poor little guy was hungry, you would happily indulge it; after all, withholding such a vital thing to its survival would be cruel.

“But it’s hungry,” you whine. The kitten polishes off the rest of the tuna before looking up at you and meowing loudly, bumping its head against your palm. Your heart soars at the endearing action.

“I’m serious,” your grandfather snaps at you in the tone that tells you you’ll be in trouble if you don’t listen. You give the kitten one last pet before reluctantly retracting your hand. You bite down on your warbling lip and blink away tears when it meows at your sudden absence in confusion and protest.

You walk over to your grandfather, and he takes your small wrist into his hand. He takes in your crestfallen expression and sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s for the best,” he says softly. “You don’t want strays getting attached to you.”

You look up at him with big, watery eyes. “Why not?”

“Because no matter how much you feed them, they’ll always be hungry, and then they’ll never leave you alone.”

Despite your grandfather’s warning, you continue to feed the kitten.

You’re careful to do it somewhere he won’t catch you, though. It’s summer, so you’ve been spending a lot of your time in the park that’s only around the block from your house. Turns out the kitten has been spending lots of time sunbathing there, too, so you make sure to start sneaking out some canned tuna with your packed lunch.

You walk past the swingset and toward the large, twisting slide that you’ve gotten used to finding the kitten under this time of day. Your small purple lunch bag bounces against your leg as you skip happily, swinging your arms animatedly. The tune you’re humming gets stuck in your throat and dies as you duck under the play structure and find a small figure already huddled beneath the slide.

A boy in a black hoodie two sizes too big for his frail body sits criss-cross on the floor. Bruised hands gently pet the kitten, which is curled up in his lap and purring softly. He can’t be that much younger than you— probably only by a year— but he seems far smaller than the kids in the grade below you at school, concerningly so.

His head snaps up as your feet come into his line of his vision, wide, impossibly blue eyes locking onto yours. He flinches so hard that the kitten yowls and jumps out of his lap, startled. He curls in on himself defensively and his breathing becomes labored, yet his wide eyes never leave you, tracking your every movement.

You blink in confusion at his reaction. “Um,” you start to say, but you’re cut off by a loud meow cutting through the air.

You turn to the kitten, which has now settled at your side and is pawing at your lunch bag. You giggle— of course, it’s already come to know where its next meal is coming from. You pick up the bag and unzip it, producing the canned tuna from inside it. You grunt as you tug at the tab a few times, but finally it gives way and comes off cleanly. You place it down, and the kitten eagerly prances up to it and starts eating out of it.

After a long moment of watching it eat, your eyes drift back to the boy across from you. His eyes are locked onto the kitten with such focus that it’s concerning.

Then, you realize he’s not looking at the kitten— he’s looking at the tuna sitting on the floor.

You reach back into your bag and take out a sandwich secured tightly in saran wrap. You unwrap it then split it in half, extending your arm out to offer it to the boy.

His eyes dart down to the sandwich and back to you, but he doesn’t make any move to take it.

“Here,” you say, waving your arm up and down in emphasis. “You can have some, if you want. Mom always packs too much for me, so I’m okay sharing with you!”

He glances back down at the sandwich and hesitates for just a moment more before his hand shoots out, snatching it out of your own and quickly bringing it to his mouth. You avert your eyes back to the kitten as he eats it, slowly working through your own half of your lunch.

When you’re done, you peek into the bag to see what else your mom packed for you. There’s a small bag of chips, an orange, and a banana. Maybe it’s a little selfish to keep the chips for yourself, but the boy seems to be just as eager when you set the fruits in front of him, so it’s probably fine.

He finishes eating before you do, and slowly, he inches closer toward you and the cat. He begins petting it again, stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. 

Finished with your snack, you crumple the bag up and throw it into your lunch bag before zipping it back up. You brush your hand off on your pants, leaving a smatter of chip dust behind that your mom will probably chide you for later. 

You look up at the boy, who is already staring at you. He flushes red and is about to look away when you hold your hand to him and introduce yourself.

You tilt your head toward him with a warm smile. “What’s your name?”

Michael waits for you under the slide the next day, and the next, and the one after that.

Days bleed into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. You become permanent fixtures in each other’s lives. You bring snacks and books, bandages and a gentle touch and an unspoken oath to never ask, never pry. He brings nothing but himself, but for you, that is enough.

Your mother never asks why you pack extra food, or where it’s ending up. She likely just chalks it up to you being a growing girl, and for that, you are grateful.

There are some days, though, where you’re being looked after by your father, who chides you for taking more than you need and makes you put the extras back in the pantry. On those days, you apologize to Michael for the smaller portions you both have, but he simply brushes it off. He says he couldn’t care less if you show up with no food at all, so long as you show up.

At some point, it stops being about the food, you just fail to realize it. Michael never breaks his habit of trailing behind you like your own shadow, and he’s not exactly a sociable person (in fact, his glare alone scares off any other kids your age who try to approach you two), so you figure there’s still something he wants from you. And because of your upbringing, hand-holding and leaning against each other and hugging is something so normal to you that you cannot even begin to suspect that there is something much different he’s actually after.

You’re fourteen and he’s thirteen the first time he kisses you.

It’s a sunny day, but not too hot; there’s a nice breeze in the air that keeps you cool as you sit in the grass, idly popping grapes into your mouth as you watch Michael kick a ball into a wall over and over again, as is customary for you two these days. As always, he eventually wears himself out and finds his way over to you, collapsing beside you and leaning his full body weight against your side as you complain and futilely try to push him off.

“Micha, get off,” you whine, shoving at his shoulder. He doesn’t budge, and instead sighs in irritation and wraps his arms around yours to stop your attempts. “You’re heavy!”

“Your fault for feeding me so much,” he mumbles into your shoulder, prompting you to roll your eyes. “Seems like oversight on your part.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have if I knew you’d grow up to be this annoying.” Your words lack heat, of course— you don’t really mean it, and even if it wasn’t evident by your tone, it’s evident in the way you relax into his embrace. “Seriously, though. You’re all sweaty. It’s gross.”

Michael gives one last aggrieved sigh before releasing you. He reaches for the water bottle set beside you and drinks from it, and you go back to your grapes.

A comfortable silence settles between you two as you observe the other people in the park. It’s summer, so it’s busier than usual, which means Michael will probably leave sooner rather than later.

You turn to look at him, but as always, he’s already looking down at you. 

You tilt your head to the side. “Do you need something?” You ask playfully.

Michael stares at you a moment longer, the wind rustling his hair into his face. Then, he leans down so quickly that you can’t react before he presses his lips to yours.

It’s soft, gentle. It’s barely there, his desire contained by a hesitation you haven’t seen within him in so long. 

When you don’t respond, he pulls back, his face carefully smoothed over into a blank canvas, but you know him better than that. Fear dances in his eyes, fear that he’s overstepped and swung a sledgehammer straight into your friendship.

You blink rapidly, trying to pull yourself together. “Oh,” you say, smartly, and then feel yourself flush red as you fully process what just happened. 

“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath. It sounds wrong coming from him, and you reach out to grab his arm just as he starts to withdraw into himself.

“Hey, look, it’s fine. I just— you just caught me by surprise. That’s all.”

He looks back at you, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. His blue eyes are shining, but there’s something dark in them that you haven’t seen before, something you can’t quite place.

“It’s fine?” He echoes in question.

You feel your face grow hotter.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, “it’s fine.”

When he leans down this time, you respond in kind.

You’re always the one to break off the kisses shared between you two.

At this point, you’re convinced he’s not human, given the way that lack of air never seems to be a problem for him. If anything, he seems more annoyed by the fact that you’ve stopped kissing him than the fact that he’s nearly panting from how long he’s gone without taking a proper breath. 

He’s insatiable, you quickly find out. Shockingly, for a few weeks following your first kiss, he spends more of his time kissing you under the slide than playing football. When you get tired or want to take a break, he just opts to hold you in a tight embrace until you’re ready to kiss again or have to leave. 

Eventually, his initial enthusiasm dies down, but his way of kissing you never changes. Shallow, rapid kisses swapped between inexperienced middle schoolers, but he never lets up, always eager to meet your lips again and take in your breath in place of oxygen.

You never put a name to whatever’s happening between you two. You’re not friends anymore, that much is clear, but you two don’t have the means of going out on dates, either.

Regardless of what you are, he becomes clingier than ever following the shift in your relationship, and a small part of you can’t help but feel like you’re suffocating.

“Micha.”

He looks up from the ball at his feet, skillfully dribbling it despite the fact that his focus is elsewhere. It’s impressive; hopefully, one day, you’ll be able to see him play professionally.

Your heart sinks to your stomach and sits there heavily. Would that be the next time you see him? On some screen, miles away from him, years from this moment in this time?

You’re moving out of Berlin. Your father’s being suddenly transferred to an office in Cologne, and you have just five days to get all your stuff packed up and ready to go for the train ride on Sunday. You have a shitty starter phone— your parents aren’t keen on you having a smartphone, yet— but Micha has nothing. You suppose you could write to him, but that would put him at risk if his father got to the mail before he did.

When he catches the look on your face, he settles the ball at his feet and locks his full attention on you. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow, averting your gaze to the ground. “I’m moving,” you mumble.

A thick silence settles between you two. The soft breeze is sharp in your ears, like deafening static reverberating through your head.

His voice comes out sharp, digging in a way you’ve never heard it before. “What?”

“I’m moving,” you repeat. “I’m leaving. Dad’s job— we’ve got to go to Cologne.”

He doesn’t respond for so long that you finally force yourself to look up at him. His face has gone completely blank, and there’s only something dark in his eyes, something completely unreadable to you.

His voice is tight when he asks, “When are you coming back?”

“I—” You sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t think I am. I think the transfer’s permanent.”

He looks down, seemingly mulling over your words. When he looks up again, his gaze goes is cold, and he hums, straightening out. “No.”

You blink, confused. “No?”

“You’re not leaving.”

You furrow your brows. “What?”

He looks down at you derisively, seemingly irritated that he has to repeat himself. “I said you’re not leaving.”

“I can’t just not leave,” you spit out. He’s starting to be ridiculous, and his condescension has never been something that bodes well with you, having only been on the receiving end of it so few times. “I’m not gonna have any family here.”

He jostles the ball between his feet as if this is another one your shared mundane conversations. “So we’ll just run away together.”

You narrow your eyes at him in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He slants a side look at you. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, voice getting higher with each word, “just two teenagers running away and figuring out how to make ends meet. Can you please take this seriously?”

His foot comes down on top of the ball, hard. He flicks a finger between you two. “I am the only one taking this seriously.”

“This,” you echo, incredulous. “A stupid relationship.”

He kicks the ball to the side and turns to face you fully, and that’s how you know you fucked up. Each word bites as he asks, “Is that all this is to you?”

“You know I care about you, Micha,” you say carefully, “but asking me to throw away my family to stay with you is insane.”

Something shutters in his expression, but it’s gone before you can even register it. “I knew it,” he spits, “you’ve never cared about me as much as you’ve led me to believe.”

You grit your teeth. “Are you serious?”

He shrugs. “You obviously don’t value me as much as I value you.”

“Oh my god,” you snap, “you are fourteen. Get the fuck over yourself.”

“You think this is meaningless because we’re young?”

“I think,” you hiss, “that we have our whole lives ahead of us. I wouldn’t ask you to stay by my side if you had bigger and better things ahead of you.”

He continues to stare at you in icy silence. You sigh, frustrated.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll work itself out,” you say.

Michael tilts his head, as if considering this. His eyes wander your face, committing every bit to memory. Then, he walks over to you, seizing your wrist in his hand. You step back, a bit thrown off, but he lightly tugs on your arm, pulling you back toward him. 

“It will work out,” he says, eyes boring into yours. “I’ll make sure of it.”

He leans down and presses a familiar, gentle kiss to your lips.

“Then you won’t have to leave me ever again.”

This time, when you pull away, he lets you go. Seemingly without a care in the world, he turns around and picks up the ball, heading toward the trail that he takes home.

You return to the park the day before you leave, but you don’t see him. You wait for hours, but he never shows.

The unease twisting in your gut doesn’t unravel until the train speeds away from the station, leaving Berlin behind you.

You’re about to turn eighteen when you see him again.

Not in person, but on a screen like you expected. The name Michael Kaiser sits in a scrolling bar across the bottom of the screen which plays footage of him playing on Bastard München’s youth team, his long golden hair flowing behind him beautifully. The news anchor says something about him being one of the most promising players of the new generation— not that that’s something you need to be told.

Your friend says something from across the table, ripping your attention from the screen. You don’t notice how tense you’ve gotten until you relax again.

Despite the lingering feeling of unease his memory leaves you with, you’re still glad he made it, after all.

“Who’s this?”

You’re back home for the holidays during your second year in university. Your studies have taken you back to Berlin, albeit a part you hadn’t grown up near and is still new and fresh to you. “Home” might not be the right word, though— you’re spending Christmas Eve at your grandmother’s house. She’s been hosting your entire family the past couple years since your grandfather’s passing forced her to relocate to a smaller house, an attempt to fill the empty home with warm presences.

Currently, she’s playing with a small, bedraggled dog that has wandered onto her porch. It’s wheezy and staggers when it walks, indicative of its old age.

“Oh, just a sweet little thing,” your grandmother replies as she pets its back. “You know, your grandfather always hated it when I would feed the strays. I did it a lot back at the old house on the other side of town, but there’s not too many animals on this side, so I don’t really do it anymore.”

You consider the dog. Its fur is matted, but nonetheless, its tail wags so hard from your grandmother’s attention that its whole body shakes with it. It sneezes pathetically.

You shove your hands into your coat pockets. “So this is a new one, then?”

“Well, not quite.” Your grandmother chuckles. “I first met this little guy back at the old house. I’ve been feeding him since he was a puppy! Seems he found his way back home on his own.”

“Huh.” Your eyes snap back to her. “I didn’t think they could actually do that.”

She laughs some more. “The most determined and loved ones can.”

You retreat back into the house. Your younger cousins jump on you immediately, demanding you play whatever nonsensical game they’ve thought up this time. You shed your coat, and with it, your lingering distress at your grandmother’s words.

“Oh my god, do you have a secret admirer?”

Your roommate’s voice pulls you out of your shocked state. The dread freezing your veins gradually thaws out, and you kneel down to pick the bouquet of flowers off the floor in front of the entrance to your shared apartment.

Blue forget-me-nots, with some blue roses interspersed throughout.

It’s October now. Just under a year has passed since Christmas, but your grandmother’s words are fresh in your mind, as if you’d heard them just yesterday.

You fumble around with the bouquet, movements becoming more frantic when you can’t find what you’re looking for. “There’s no card attached to this.”

“Well, duh,” your roommate says. “That would defeat the purpose of a secret admirer.”

Except, it’s not a secret who sent you these. You might have been able to brush it off if it was just the forget-me-nots, but the roses speak for themselves.

You flick your wrist out to the side, shoving the bouquet into your roommate’s chest. She grabs onto them, so you let them go in favor of getting the door unlocked.

“Figure out what to do with them,” you say as you enter the apartment.

She trails in after you, hot on your heels in incredulity. “Wait, you’re seriously not going to keep them?”

“You know I’m not interested in a relationship right now,” you say breezily, feigning a calmness that contradicts your racing heart. “It’s a sweet gesture, but I don’t want them.”

“I mean—” Your roommate stammers a bit before her words peter out. She sighs, then starts rummaging in the cabinet beneath the sink. “Alright, whatever you say.”

She ends up arranging them in a nice glass vase you weren’t aware you two even own and sets them in the center of the dining table. They mock you until they wither and die, and you can finally dispose of them.

By the time February rolls around without any further incidents, your guard has lowered significantly, which is, of course, your first mistake.

You’re lounging on the couch in the common space when there’s light knocking at your apartment door. There’s mostly college students renting in this unit, so it’s not uncommon for someone to stop by and invite you to some party or other, and with Valentine’s around the corner, there’s sure to be plenty.

You set your laptop down on the coffee table and get to your feet, sliding your feet into your slippers and crossing the room to get to the apartment entrance. You reach up and begin to undo the locks without checking the peephole, which is your second mistake.

You pull the door open, and immediately, everything freezes in place.

His eyes are as blue as the day you met him, only his gaze is far sharper than they were even on the day you left. 

The television and billboards really don’t do him justice. He’s fully grown into his figure now, the diet and training regimen of a professional athlete filling him out in ways that the portioned-out food fed to him from your hands could not. His hair is choppy, but a face that gorgeous can make anything work. It’s pulled up into a messy bun made to look regal by the glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. The blue rose on his neck is stark against his skin, and you eye the thorny vines that trail down and disappear beneath his shirt.

You meet his eyes again, apprehensive. His face is impassive, but the intensity of his gaze betrays him and keeps you pinned in place.

You clutch the doorknob so tightly your knuckles go white.

“Michael,” you say softly, and he frowns slightly at that. “What are you doing here?”

How did you find me? The unasked question hangs in the air between you two, but neither of you reach for it.

“Who’s Michael?” He asks airily. He steps forward, and hooks a finger under your chin before you get the chance to move away from him. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your Micha already.”

You swallow thickly. “I haven’t,” you mumble.

He hums. His thumb brushes against your chin lightly as his gaze trails over your body. When it lands on you again, his eyes swallow you whole. “You look good.”

Heat floods your cheeks in spite of the dread settling in your stomach, and you look to the floor again. “Thanks.”

You attempt to step back, but there’s a hand that finds its way to the small of your back before you can. The hand on your chin tilts your head up, up, until you’re forced to look at him again.

“I spent so long waiting for you, liebling,” he says. “Is this how you greet your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You sputter. “I don’t—”

His thumb presses firmly against your lips, quieting your protests. “Friends don’t make out, do they?” When you don’t respond, he adds, “We never did break up, you know. I’m glad to see you haven’t cheated on me in my absence.”

You finally reach your breaking point, all the agitation and unease within you spilling over. You shove at him as hard as you can, but if he didn’t budge all those years ago, he certainly wasn’t budging now. You shove at him again, this time trying to use the movement to push yourself away rather than push him, but he swiftly grabs hold of both your wrists and tugs you back toward him. Caught off guard, you careen forward and crash into his chest. His arms snake around your waist, an iron cage holding you firmly against him.

“Micha,” you hiss, “let me go.”

“Now, liebe,” he coos, releasing his hold on you just enough for you to shift and properly look up at him. “You know what that will cost you.”

You glare up at him, but to your chagrin, he seems perfectly content to simply hold you and gaze down at you. As seconds bleed into minutes trapped in his hold, you crack under the pressure. 

You tilt your head up fully, and Michael lowers his head just enough to be within your reach. You close the distance between you two, intending for the kiss to be short, shallow, and sweet, just like your first.

You honestly should know better at this point. One of his hands comes up to cradle the back of your head, and he pulls you back in just as you’re about to get away. 

The next kiss is deep, far more passion behind it than anything you two shared before you left. He bites at your bottom lip, and forces his tongue in when you startle. A whimper leaves your throat as he continues to lick into your mouth. You reach up to try to shove at his chest, but he places his other hand over it, rubbing his thumb against your knuckles in a mockery of a soothing gesture.

You gasp out when he finally breaks for air. Your lips sting from the sudden release of pressure, and a thin trail of saliva lines your bottom lip. You stumble back, but firm arms are there to catch you again.

You look up, and his pupil-blown eyes cause that unease to settle over you once more.

Gently, he brings your hand up to his lips and ghosts your knuckles over them.

There’s a glint in his eye as he asks, “Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

Never satisfied. Insatiable, and now, somehow finding his way back to you.

You should have listened to your grandfather when you had the chance.

[luna-azzurra]

CREATIVE HOBBIES TO START WITH NO EXPERIENCE!! <3

⟡ Collage: cut things up, rearrange them, call it art because it is

⟡ Linocut printing: carve a stamp, press it everywhere

⟡ Making your own ink from berries, walnut shells, iron

⟡ Watercolor: the most forgiving medium for imperfect people

⟡ Hand lettering: start ugly, get better, it takes exactly as long as it takes

⟡ Making playlists as an art form

⟡ Crochet: meditative, portable, produces something cute

⟡ Bookbinding: turn anything into a journal you actually made

⟡ Embroidery: more forgiving than it looks, more satisfying than expected

⟡ Soap or candle making: VERY functional and deeply satisfying

⟡ Charcoal drawing: messy in a way that feels free (love it)

⟡ Block printing on fabric: turn old plain things into something yours

⟡ Pottery hand-building without a wheel, its more accessible than you think

⟡ Pressed flower art!!!

⟡ Journaling with mixed media, like glue, paint, pen, tape, anything goes

⟡ Dried flower arranging

⟡ Sketching architecture: trains the eye to see structure everywhere

⟡ Leather tooling: more accessible as a beginner craft than expected

⟡ Natural dyeing: plants and fabric and patience and lot of magic

⟡ Making something ugly on purpose to get over the fear of making something bad

[afeelgoodblog]

Why hasn’t this been done before?

[autisticexpression]

You know why.

[petrosapian]

Mind the Gap: a handbook of clinical signs on black and brown skin

Second year medic, Malone Mukwende, has been working with staff members as part of a student-staff partnership project looking at clinical t

[missmixx-a-lot]

Cause racial health disparities…

[xmagnet-o]

I hope this gets published

[algorizmi]

It is available for download as a pdf from their website. www.blackandbrownskin.co.uk/mindthegap

[imperatorsapphiosa]

Hey, if anyone’s curious, this IS making a serious impact — this handbook was taught as standard practice for my EMT license course, as well as several other programs. A lot of new providers are being taught this as a matter of course.

[when-you-fail-again]

[harmonysanreads]

Would you guys still recognize me if I changed my pfp

[harmonysanreads]

phainonsanreads

[harmonysanreads]

1 year anniversary of phainonsanreads

[datadegroove-deactivated2026042]

stop deactivating

[datadegroove-deactivated2026042]

i thought we all agreed we were here forever

[kirishima-hates-terfs]

[disgustinggf]

[voxslut3434]

cw: sex, cumming inside, breeding

hybriddog!gojo who helps you out after a nightmare

part two to this

you wake up with a start, gasping for air with sweat shining your face. damn, another nightmare. you catch your breath and make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

on your way there, you walk past satoru in his crate. his sleepy eyes blink up at you and then widen with confusion. he stands and whines, and yo sigh before letting him out.

"i'm fine, just a bad dream." you pet his hair as he stretches and stands up, yawning softly. he follows you to the kitchen whilst you get your water, and you decide to let him sleep with you for the rest of the night.

he smiles brightly when you tell him to follow you, happily getting into the bed next to you. he lays his head on your lap under the covers and you slowly start to drift off to sleep.

except, he isn't staying still. shuffling around under the sheets, his hands grab onto your legs.

"hm? what are you doing down there? go to sleep."

of course, he doesn't listen. he pops his head out and whines, big pout on his face. his hair is all messy and the soft glow of the lamp coming from the doorway casts a golden light on his face. he huffs before tearing the sheets off of you.

"hey! what was that for?" you huff in frustration before your eyes widen. satoru smiles as his hands grip your panties, eyes waiting.

is he wanting to do that again? no, you can't. it's wrong. he's half dog for god's sake.

satoru slowly begins to pull down your panties, his naked, heavy cock growing hard. he strengthens his pout, eyes wide and desperate.

okay then, just this once.

satoru smiles bright when you don't stop him, and immediately positions himself between your legs. he leans his head down and spits on your pussy, diving right in with his mouth. licking, sucking, kissing, he holds you close to him as he readies your cunt, cock leaking as the way your moan and hold his hair.

he finally pulls away, grinning at you as he positions his cock to your pussy. his eyes are wide as he watches the first inch of his cock disappear. he makes a startled sound, mouth opening slightly. this would have to be his first time in a pussy, right? no wonder he was so desperate.

"c-careful now, toru. be gentle." you say. he looks so much like a man right now, towering over you. he nods seriously before pushing in a little more. his face reddens when you whine with need, and he decides to not wait any longer.

he readjusts his grip on your hips before pushing his cock all the way in. his hand prods your belly and the way he can see his imprint through it. planting his hands beside your head, he then starts to drill into you.

satoru always had lots of energy, but holy shit. his cock thrusts in and out of you fast and hard, with no break. disgusting plaps fill the room as satoru's eyes roll back, so lost in the pleasure. you reach a hand down to his hips to push him away, telling him to make it last, but he doesn't listen. instead, his grabs your hands and holds them towards him, forcing you deeper on his cock.

you had always dreamed about this if we are going to be honest. his dick had always been so big, it felt so good now to have it deep inside you. thicks veins, it's slight curve, you can't help but pant and moan as he uses you. he doesn't just have sex with you, he breeds you. working over and over again to fill you up, making sure you take up his seed. does he want his own puppies? who knows, it's too hard to think about right now.

he suddenly growls, releasing your hands to grab your hips, pinning them to the bed so he can fuck you like a toy, like his own personal fleshlight. not like you mind though, this ethically questionable sex has been the best you've had. it's not long before you're cumming hard on his cock, clamping down.

but he doesn't stop. no, for the next two hours satoru continues to fuck your pussy. he moves you however he wants you, missionary, cowgirl, you name it. his favorite is when you're beneath him and his hips are free to work so he can watch your face when he makes you cum.

finally, when the first daylight leaks through your curtains, he collapses on you. panting deeply, his cock remains in you, a sloppy white substance connecting the both of you. your legs shake beneath him and he licks your neck.

fuck, you just had sex with your pet.

[revolutionarykoolaid]

Never Forget the Reign of Terror waged against Muslims (and by extension, Sikhs profiled as being Muslim) in the nearly two decades following 9/11.

[parkchanwoohoo]

[purble-wav-fandom]

prev this is too good to just leave as a tag, you should've added it

[manicsho]

Prey 4 D1ck

In which a smol bunny bullies (his way into the) big pussy.

Bunny!Lohen x Lynx!F!Reader

wordcount: ~7100

TWs: MNDI, yandere Lohen, stalking, obsessive/possessive behavior, non-con touching, graphic violence, he threatens one guy, blood, knife play, kidnapping (sort of), manipulation, predator/prey dynamic (reversed hihi).

NSFW: SMUT-heavy, dub-con, Lohen is a sadomasochist, riding (cowgirl), oral (m and f recieving), face-fucking, cum play, implied heat (reader), collaring, choking, spanking, degradation and humiliation, cum marking, a bit of edging, blood as sexual stimulus, edging, your honor, he's a freak!

(If you find some more, please let me know.)

As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!

NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes. Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.

“Lah– Loh– Ahh~ Lohen–!”

Your broken whimper barely makes it past your drooling lips before Lohen throws his head back and laughs. This cruel sound echoes through the burrow like he’s just heard the funniest joke in Mondstadt.

“Ohhh, poor little kitten~” he cooes, voice dripping with fake sympathy while his crimson eyes glitter with pure sadistic glee. “Look at you, barely conscious, tongue hanging out like a cheap whore in heat. Pathetic.”

You sob, trying to ride him, weak hips rolling in shallow motions. Your thoroughly abused pussy makes embarrassing squelching sounds every time you sink down on his cock, pushing out thick globs of his cum, dirtying his thighs and abdomen, soaking the blanket. His belt around your throat serves as an improvised collar, and it digs in as he tugs at it, yanking your head forward so you have to look at his pretty, smirking face.

“Aww, is the big bad lynx tired already?” he pouts, voice sweet and condescending. “How embarrassing. I thought predators were supposed to be strong~”

He suddenly bucks his hips up hard, slamming into you with enough force to make you cry out. Then he does it again, laughing breathlessly, while more tears strike down your face and you try to bring your trembling thighs together with his lean hips in the way. Vice Captain smirks at the attempt, slapping your bruised bum with two of his palms.

“Too weak, huh? Fine then!”

With one vicious yank on the leash, he pulls you off his cock completely and roughly flips you onto your back. The sudden movement makes you nauseous, but Lohen pays no attention to that. He hooks your trembling legs over his shoulders, folding you in half until your knees are nearly touching your shoulders. Your fluffy lynx tail is trapped awkwardly beneath you, twitching weakly, fur matted with cum leaking out of you.

“Here ya go,” he growls, eyes wild and manic as he lines his aching cock back up with your leaking entrance. “Nice and open so I can breed you like the dumb bitch you are.”

One brutal thrust and he buries himself to the hilt inside your cum-filled pussy, moaning loudly, but it quickly dissolves into cruel laughter as he starts pounding into you with reckless force.

“Fuuuck–  still so tight even after I’ve ruined you,” he whines, voice cracking with overstimulation, yet he refuses to slow down. “My personal lynx onahole.”

.

.

.

Yep. 

That’s you. 

Probably wondering how you got here, huh? 

Well, let's rewind a bit.

Pretty little bun bun. That's what you saw. Sleepy crimson peepers half lidded like he just woke up from a nap about slaugering yet another ruin guard. Twitchy nose that wiggles when he's thinking about... what, manslaughter? And those ears… Silky, with the softest inner velvet you've ever seen. They flick and flop and flutter with every single emotion that crosses his deranged little face. 

And you, stupid little apex predator that you are, looked at this deranged little creature and thought: prey.

Bottom of the food chain, theoretically. It's written in the goddamn stars, etched into the bones of the world by evolution itself. Natural order of things: cute little bun buns get eaten by big scary kitty cats. 

And you are, obviously, from the second group. A whole ass lynx hybrid, honey. Tufted ears that swivel like furry radar dishes, picking up the faintest rustle of prey in the underbrush. Claws that could fillet a boar and use its ribs for toothpicks. Unmatched speed (oh, how he would mock you later), and strength (and he still could pin you down effortlessly). And that natural swagger that screams louder than any roar.

So you got comfortable. A bit arrogant. Fucking stupid, if you ask me.

But you probably wonder what exactly you did to end up in that burrow? 

Well, you flicked one of those silky soft mint ears in the hallway outside the library and called him a bottom of a food chain right in front of Sucrose, who choked on her own spit and practically teleported out of existence in a cloud of panicked anemo particles. 

You thought you were being funny. A little harmless fun, yeah? A playful swat from the big cat to the little bunny.

Mistake!

Because that particular bunny came off the assembly line fucking defective. They dropped him on his fluffy little head as a kit, or maybe his momma drank some bad firewater while he was in the womb, or whatever. You don't know what exactly happened, but something crucial snapped. Instead of developing a healthy ‘oh gods please don't eat me’ fear response to things with fangs, his brain rewired it into an obsession with the specific threat of being eaten. 

To put it bluntly, Lohen looked at your proud predator stride and saw a dumb, pretty recruit who he could reduce to a drooling, cunt clenching, begging mess. 

And oh, this motherfucker knows that he’s pretty and has something to seduce you with. He's got those big crimson eyes that can go from ‘uwu I'm just a soft little bunny’ to ‘I'm going to skin you alive’ in the space of a heartbeat. He's got those long legs that he loves to show off, wearing those high boots that cling to every lean line and curve. And let's not even mention his ass, presented so perfectly in those tight white trousers.  He's got this lean and flexible body that he loves to show off.

After that single incident with a flick, it starts small. A hand on your lower back, fingers splayed, pressing just a little too firmly, lingering just a little too long. Him demanding you for the training. His hip bumping yours when he falls into step beside you. 

"Vice Captain, what are you doing?" you hiss, trying to sidestep away.

"Walking with my favorite recruit," he says, beaming up at you. His hand finds your elbow, tucking himself against your side like he belongs there. His body is warm and surprisingly solid against yours. "You smell nice today. New soap?" He inhales deeply, nose practically pressed to your neck, and makes a satisfied little sound. "Mhm. That's the good stuff."

You try sparring, because you're still operating under the adorable delusion that size and species fucking matter. You're a lynx hybrid, and he's a rabbit. It should be easy; there is no way it wouldn’t work. 

So you corner him in the training yard, claws half-extended, tail lashing behind you.

"Alright, cottonball," you sneer, putting every ounce of predator into the word. "Gonna bounce away like a good little snack?"

Lohen just tilts his head and looks at you with those dead fish eyes, and a little smile plays at the corner of his lips. 

"Snack?" he echoes, voice light and airy. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a breathy little moan as his spine pops as he stretches. "Oh, kitten…" He drops his arms and rolls his shoulders. "You’re such a stupid, feral little pussycat. I guess it’s my responsibility to train you to sit, stay, and ro–"

You lunge, fed up with his nonsense.

Your claws catch his collarbone, and three perfect furrows bloom red and angry against his pale skin. Blood wells up immediately, fat and ruby-red and hot, coppery scent hitting the air between you. 

Honestly, you expect him to let out a high-pitched squeak of fear and bounce away, running like a good little prey hybrid.

Instead?

"Hahhhhnnn~" The moan vibrates straight from the depths of his chest, travels through the air like a physical touch, and lands with a throbbing ache right in the core of your suddenly traitorous cunt.

"What the fuck?" you hiss, stumbling back a step. Your claws are still wet with his blood, but you are afraid to tear your eyes away from him.

His ears go flat, plastered against that messy hair. His whole body shudders, and you watch, transfixed, as a visible tremor runs down his spine and makes that plump little tail give an excited thump-thump-thump against the small of his back.

"Oh, kitten~" His voice is dripping with something absolutely filthy. "You have no idea how good that felt." 

He rolls the wounded shoulder, watching a thick droplet of his own blood snake a hot trail down the corded muscle of his bicep. His tongue darts out and drags across his lower lip, chasing the scent of his own blood mingling with your sweat. 

Your breath hitches when Lohen steps forward, right into your space. Close enough that you can see the way his pupils have swallowed the crimson of his irises almost completely. 

His hand comes up, but your body is frozen, caught between predator instinct and something that's coiling hot and tight in your belly. His fingers find your chin. Tilt your face up. His thumb traces along your lower lip.

"Look at you," Lohen murmurs, and his voice is liquid condescension. "Big, scary lynx. All those fangs and claws. And you're standing here, terrified." He leans in, his lips brushing yours. "Want to know a secret, kitten?"

"What?" Your voice is barely a whisper, and you hate how shaky it sounds.

His free hand grabs your wrist, still wet with his blood, and presses it flat right over his heart.

"I'm not scared of you," he breathes. "You know what I am?" His hips roll forward, and you feel it – the hot, hard, throbbing line of his erection pressing against your hip. "I'm intrigued." He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, that unhinged smile spreading across his pretty face. "Imagine what you'd do to me if you actually tried to eat me…"

His hips give a tiny little jerk against your thigh, and you feel it again, pressing insistently into the muscle. He's rock hard from you clawing him open, hell, from talking about you wanting him.

"But here's the thing, kitten." His voice drops to a conspiratory whisper, lips brushing yours with every word. "I'm not the prey here."

Something snaps in you – fear or fury or some unholy cocktail of both – and you jerk forward and sink your fangs into the junction of his neck and shoulder. You taste blood, hot and metallic and his, flooding over your tongue. 

His body goes rigid against yours, every muscle locking up, that plump little tail thumping frantically against his back.

And then you feel the pulse of his cock, twitching in his pants, soaking the fabric of your pants. His whole body shudders with a broken sob tearing from his throat. His hands fly up to grip your hair, holding you against his neck, keeping your teeth buried in his flesh as he humps your leg like a filthy animal.

"Ffffffuck– yes– fuck, don't stop–"

You release him, shoving him off, stumbling backward. Your mouth is smeared with his blood, but still, you are the one who is shaking like a leaf under his gaze.

Lohen just slumps back against the training post with a blissed-out smile spreading across his flushed face. His croth is visibly wet, but he doesn't seem to care. 

"You're a freak," you spit, voice trembling. "A fucking freak."

"Yeah." He pushes off the post, sauntering toward you with that bouncy walk. "But I'm your freak now." He tilts his head, showing off the bleeding bite mark. "Fair's fair, kitten." 

He pats your cheek, and the touch is so fucking condescending, especially from the guy who came in his pants when you bit him. You thank the anemo archon that at least nobody is on the training grounds to witness the whole embarrassing incident.

"See you at morning roll call, pet." Lohen winks, turns, and hops away, that fluffy tail bouncing with every step.

And suddenly, the day after, because the universe is a cruel cunt that loves to watch you squirm, Varka is slapping your shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise in the shape of his palm: "You're under Lohen's command now!"

Your brain short-circuits. " Wh– The... the rabbit?"

"The Vice Captain!" the beefy wolf hybrid corrects, beaming like he just handed you a puppy. "Sharpest mind and aggressive tactics I've ever seen. You'll learn a lot. Just... try not to let him get under your skin. He's got a talent for it."

Congrats, this herbivore is your boss now.

And then he's just... there. Everywhere. All the goddamn time. Bastard is basically shitting on the very concept of your freedom, and you can't even catch him to return the favor.

You smell the astringent bite of mint just around every corner. The air gets cold right behind you sometimes. When you spin, weapon drawn, claws out, ready to gut the stalker, there's nothing. Just the phantom thump-thump-thump of that fluffy tail and a breathy giggle that echoes down the hallway.

And the notes. Slipped under your door. Tucked into your boot. Folded into your training notes. Sometimes, to your genuine horror, appearing on your nightstand in the morning.

"Saw you stretching today. You are so… flexible…"

"You growled at that deer boy who bumped into you. Got me really worked up."

"Wore my tightest pants today. Did you notice? I saw you looking. ♡"

The dog hybrid boy who takes an interest in you doesn't know any of this. 

He's new, transferred from some border outpost, all muscle and misplaced confidence. He's been watching you for a week now, his hopeful eyes tracking you across the mess hall, the training yard, the corridors. You've noticed, because, well, it's hard not to notice. He's big, and he smells like wet dog, and his tail wags every time you so much as glance in his direction.

And tonight, in the Angel's Share, he makes his move, sliding into the seat across from you with a blush so heavy it could rival a fresh sunsettia's colour.

"H-hey there," he slurs, visibly nervous. His scent is all eager-pup arousal and cheap ale. "You look really pretty today… N-no, that's not– I mean, you're always pretty, it's just today I finally got the guts to–"

The air turns sharp with frost before you even see him. One moment, the dogboy is stuttering through his confession, the next there's a slender, scarred hand fisting into his hair, yanking his head back at a brutal angle. The cold steel of a knife presses flat against the column of his throat, resting there with the weight of a promise.

"Sniff sniff."

Lohen inhales theatrically right beside the hybrid's ear, his nose brushing the fur, his crimson eyes fixed unblinkingly on you. A wide, sharp, utterly unhinged smile splits his pretty face, revealing those deceptively dainty incisors. His voice is lighter than chimes, softer than a lullaby, and it’s the most terrifying thing you have ever heard.

"Mhm. That's the smell. It's like... warm cream and soft flesh, isn't it? Makes your knot swell up just thinking about sinking into that wet heaven, huh?” Lohen's grip on the dagger tightens, and that unhinged note becomes more prominent in his voice. “But here’s a problem… You've been sniffing around what's mine, pup. That's very, very rude. Do you know what happens to rude strays who try to take what's mine?"

The knife tilts, just a fraction. A single bead of red wells against the poor bastard’s skin and rolls down the poor guy’s throat. The dogboy makes a keening whimper that cuts off when Lohen’s grip tightens.

"I'll tell ya," Lohen continues, still in that gentle tone. His eyes never leave yours. He’s putting on a show, you understand, and he wants you to witness every second. "First, I take this dagger, and I carve out your eyes. Then I pack your throat with cryo shards. Then I open your belly and watch the light leave your eyes while I pull out your insides. And when you’re finally dead, I’m going to take your fucking dick–”

He presses the knife a little harder, and the dogboy sobs.

“–and I’m going to have it in a jar, like a talisman. I’ll hang it on the wall of the burrow where I keep my mate, so every time I breed her to tears, she can look at it and remember what happens to anyone who tries to take her from me.”

Lohen pauses, tilts his head, and that smile somehow softens into something almost fond. He pats the trembling boy’s cheek with two condescending little tap-taps from his free hand.

"But I'm feeling generous tonight, because my beloved is right here watching, and I want to reward her patience. So I'll give you one chance.” He licks his lips, and you feel the twinge of something warm in your belly. Something that you shouldn't feel in that situation. “You’re going to walk out of this tavern while having your organs in the original packaging. Next, you’re going to write the transfer request. Finally, you’re going to fuck off back to that shithole that you crawled out from before sunrise. Are we clear?"

The dogboy nods eagerly. Lohen wrinkles his nose, releases him with a shove that sends him sprawling to the floor, and watches with lazy satisfaction. “Good pup.”

Poor dog hybrid scrambles to his feet and bolts for the door, slipping once in a hurry.

“Bye-bye~” he sing-songs cheerfully in the dead silent tavern. Every patron is staring. Lohen ignores them all, turning to you, twirling the dagger between his fingers with a casual elegance that makes your stomach clench and your cunt throb. That unhinged smile melts into something softer, but no less terrifying.

"Wha’?" He asks, as if he hadn't just graphically detailed a murder in a public establishment. "Can't have the strays thinking you're available."

You sit frozen, heart hammering against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything except sit here while Lohen saunters closer. He stops between your spread thighs and looks down at you with those black-hole eyes, pupil swallowed irises gleaming with mania and adoration in equal measure.

"I'm not yours," you manage, voice trembling. "You can't just scare away people who try to approach me!"

Lohen smirks, leans in, lips brushing the shell of your fluffy ear, breath scorching.

"I can, and I just did," he whispers and pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His hand, the one still holding the dagger, comes up and rests the flat of the blade against your cheek. The metal is ice-cold, and you flinch. He traces the edge along your jawline, feather-light, never breaking skin. 

"I'll see you soon," he breathes, patting your burning cheek with a knife. “Try not to drip too much on Master Diluc's floor.”

Lohen winks, turns, and hops away, that fluffy tail giving a sassy little flick with every bounce of his perfect ass. The tavern slowly returns to life, whispers filling the silence he left behind as you sit there, frozen.

Since then, it’s gotten worse.

You're losing yourself. That sassy predator that you were decides to rest somewhere inside of you, and no matter how hard you try, you can't bring it out.

It's humiliating, really.

Every time you catch a glimpse of those soft ears or that juciest piece of ass you’ve ever seen on a male, you have to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching. The dreams are the worst – dreams where he pins you down and whispers the most horrific words while doing even worse things. You wake up soaked and gasping, fists full of sheets that reek of him because the sick bastard has been breaking into your room and rubbing his scent all over your bedding. It's not helping that your heat is nearing rapidly, making you more sensitive and jumpy.

So one day you finally snap. All it takes is too much wine mixed with this creeping dread curling in your belly. Just enough liquid stupidity to think you're still the fucking predator in this equation. 

You corner your Vice Captain outside the city gates under a sickly yellow moon.

"Why don't you just bounce away, you little freak?!" you snarl, swaying, fur bristling along your tail, claws itching to rend. "You're a rabbit! You're supposed to be scared of me! That's the whole goddamn deal!"

Lohen turns to face you with an expression of serene delight, as if you've just offered him the most precious gift imaginable. A visible shiver that starts at his nose and travels down his spine, ending with his fluffy, cream-tipped tail giving a sharp thump-thump-thump against the stone archway that he's leaning on.

"Scared?" he repeats, and there's a laugh bubbling under the word when he steps closer. "Oh, kitten, you are really that dumb~" 

He stops right in front of you, close enough to kiss, and tilts his head, those big crimson eyes looking at you with mock innocence. 

"You're just a big, growly kitty with a wet little cunt and a brain that short-circuits every time I shake my ass."

"I am not!" The words tumble out, angry but unsure.

"You are~" He reaches up and flicks your nose, like you're the cute little pet. The audacity makes your claws twitch, but your body refuses to move. "You're so easy, kitten. I barely have to try. A little ear flick here, a little bounce there–" He demonstrates, bouncing lightly on his heels, "–and you're drooling."

Pissed off, you lunge at him – claws out, fangs bared, all that rage finally reaching its peak – but your drunk limbs are stupidly predictable. Lohen sidesteps easily, hooking one leg behind yours and catching you as you stumble. One deceptively strong arm snakes around your waist. Your legs buckle, and suddenly his face is too close, watching you with that unnerving stillness.

"There we go," he coos, holding you upright as you gasp and shudder against him.

"F-fuck you–" you spit, but it comes out as a sob.

"Soon, kitten. Just let me–" He shifts his grip, and the world tilts violently. One arm hooks under your knees, the other braces your back, and suddenly you're on his shoulder, staring at the mud and cobblestones whizzing past in a blur as he carries you into the treeline of Wolvendom.

You claw at his arms, his back, anything you can reach. Your nails leave furrows in the fabric of his coat, tear the cotton of his shirt, and draw thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades. He just moans louder and speeds up, those stringy legs eating up the ground.

“Put me down!” You whine, trying to punch him in the ribs with your knee. 

“M’kay!” Lohen suddenly agrees and drops you into some kind of hole under an ancient oak. You land on a pile of blankets so soft they must've cost your entire year's salary. 

It's a den, you understand after a second. Dug deep, shored up with gnarled roots, the air inside cold and still and smelling faintly of mint. There's a flask of fresh water. A neat little pyramid of sunsettias. A plate of fine steak, cut into delicate little ribbons. And in the center of it all – the nest. A little hollow lined with soft grasses, even more blankets, and what you now recognize as tufts of fur he's plucked from his own tail and ears, woven together to cradle two bodies.

"Lohen, this is–" you breathe, scrambling backward on the blankets until your back hits the earthen wall. "You can't just–"

"Can't what?" He's kneeling in the entrance, a dark silhouette blocking out the stars, pulling his shirt over his head with a languid roll of tight muscle. His pale torso is a fucking roadmap of battles, scars overlapping scars, some old and white, some newer, pink and puckered. And among them, fresh, still-bleeding furrows from your claws, beading crimson. You take note of the imprint of your teeth on his neck.

"Can't claim what's mine?" he finishes for you, crawling forward on hands and knees. "Can't build a proper den for my girl like any self-respecting male? Can't bring you offerings and keep you warm and safe and full? Can’t help my mate with her heat?" He leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of your head, caging you in. His face is centimeters from yours, those black-hole eyes boring into your soul. He smiles, predator-sharp. 

"Get off me, freak!" You bare your fangs and roar, trying to scare this fucked in the head herbivore.

"Make me." Lohen grinds his hips down, and you feel the hot, hard, throbbing length of him pressing against your clothed cunt. The pressure is perfect, and a moan escapes before you can stop it. 

"C’mon, make me!" His smile widens and his hips roll, slow and filthy, dragging the ridge of his cock along your slit through the fabric. "Tell me you didn’t rub this cunt raw while dreaming of me…."

You try to shove Lohen off, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand – one fucking hand, and he's a small animal hybrid and a herbivore at that, how is he so fucking strong – and leans down until his lips brush your ear.

"I've been courting you for months," he whispers, and the words drip off his tongue like honey laced with ground glass and obsession. "And you... Ohhhh, you've been waving this dumb little kitty cunt in my face the whole time. Flicking my ears. Making me bleed. Letting me stalk you..." He pulls back, looking down at you with those wild eyes. "And now... finally... I have you exactly where you belong. In my den. In my nest. Under me." 

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing past your lips and into your mouth. You taste salt and skin and him – sharp, clean, intoxicating. He pushes deeper, gagging you slightly, and his eyes flutter closed.

You bite down on his thumb, hard, to make this fucking freak recoil. Blood wells up instantly, hot and metallic, flooding your tongue. But instead of yanking his hand back, Lohen's whole body shudders with a guttural moan that seems to tear itself from somewhere deep in his chest. His hips jerk frantically, grinding his clothed cock against your cunt, and you feel a fresh gush of wetness soak through both your pants as he nearly cums right there.

"Ffffffuck– yes– do it again, bite me harder, make me bleed, make me hurt–" His free hand releases your wrists and flies to his own pants, fumbling with the buckle. 

You release his thumb, panting. Your mouth is smeared with his blood. "You're sick."

"Yeah." He's grinning, blood smeared on his lip from where he bit it himself, pupils blown so wide his eyes look like black voids. "Terminally sick for you." 

Lohen pulls his thumb from your mouth and licks the blood off, eyes never leaving yours, sitting back on his haunches, and now those nimble, scarred fingers are working his belt buckle with single-minded focus. 

When he’s done, the leather slithers free with a soft hiss, and Vice Captain holds it up, considering it, then drapes it around your neck so tight it makes you cough. 

"Pretty," he breathes. "You'd look so pretty in a proper collar. Maybe I'll have one made, engraved with my name. 'Property of Lohen' What do you think?"

You can't tell him to fuck off when the collar tightens on your neck. He unbuttons his pants, slides them down those stringy thighs, and kicks them aside. His underwear follows.

His cock is... god help you, it's pretty. That's the word that slams into your brain, unwanted and undeniable. Pretty. Pale and flushed pink at the tip, curving up slightly toward his belly, slick with pre-cum that's been leaking steadily and soaking a dark patch into the front of his discarded underwear. It's not massive, but it's thick enough that you know it'll split you open oh so sweetly. Below it, his balls are drawn up tight, heavy and full, the skin taut and slightly darker, clearly aching with the need to empty themselves inside something– someone. 

Specifically you.

"Pretty, right?" Lohen reaches down and wraps a hand around his cock, giving it one lazy stroke. A thick bead of pre-cum wells up at the tip and drips slowly down his shaft, catching the faint moonlight filtering through the burrow entrance. He catches it with his thumb, brings it to his mouth, and licks it clean with a soft hum. "Mmm... Want a taste?" He smears another bead onto his fingers and holds them out. "Open up, kitten. Sample the goods."

You clamp your mouth shut, turning your head away. He tsks softly, disappointed but not surprised, and crawls forward again, sitting square on your chest. His weight presses your back deeper into the blankets, pins your arms at your sides, and leaves you completely helpless. That bobbing cock taps insistently against your sealed lips as he settles, leaving a tacky smear of pre-cum across your mouth.

“Oh, kitten,” he drawls, slow and syrupy, his head tilting so his ears flop adorably to one side even as his crimson eyes blaze with absolute, clinical madness. “Still playin’ hard to get? After all the notes I left? After I bled and came in my pants with your teeth in my neck?” 

He wraps the tail of the belt around his fist once, twice, tightening the improvised leash until the leather bites into the tender skin of your throat. Your breath hitches into a strangled wheeze, vision spotting at the edges as the collar cuts off your air.

“S’alright. I like you feisty. Makes it so much sweeter when you finally break. And you will break, kitten.” He rolls his hips, grinding his soaked cockhead across your sealed lips, and laughs when your nostrils flare involuntarily.

You glare up at him, defiant, mouth clamped shut. Lohen just smiles and jerks the collar hard. The sudden constriction forces a choked gasp from your lungs.

He uses that exact moment to thrust his length into your mouth in one merciless thrust, not stopping until his swollen balls are pressed flush against your chin and the fat, leaking head bullies its way past your gag reflex. 

Your throat convulses violently around the intrusion, muscles spasming and squeezing him desperately. He throws his head back with a loud moan that echoes through the burrow, his silky mint-green ears pinning flat against his messy hair while his fluffy cream-tipped tail thumps wildly against his own ass in ecstatic beats.

“Ahhh– fuuuuck yes, there it is~” he sobs out, voice cracking with pure bliss as his hips grind forward until your nose is smashed into the soft mint-colored hairs, his musky scent flooding your lungs until you can’t smell anything else. “This is exactly where you belong, kitten. On your back in my nest, throat stuffed full of bunny cock like the stupid whore you are.”

Lohen drops the leash, and his fingers twist viciously into your tufted lynx ears and the hair at the back of your scalp, yanking your head back at a brutal angle to straighten your throat into a helpless fuck-sleeve. 

There is no time to adjust as he starts fucking your face with fast and punishing thrusts – each one dragging his thick cock almost all the way out before slamming back in until his balls slap wetly against your chin. Obscene, wet gluck-gluck-gluck sounds fill the burrow as stringy ropes of throat slime, precum and drool bubble out from the stretched corners of your mouth, pouring down your chin and tits in messy rivers. 

“F-fuck– squeeze me just like that, kitten–. You’re doing s-so good for me, makin’ me feel so loved,” he groans, eyes half-lidded and soft with obsessive adoration. His hips snap faster, turning the slow face-fucking into something meaner. Thick globs of your spit fly everywhere with every brutal plunge, splattering across your lips and cheeks.

Your vision is blurring from the lack of air and the constant battering of his cock against the back of your throat. Tears stream down your face, mixing with the thick strings of spit and pre-cum, and despite everything, your cunt is clenching desperately around nothing. Your hips twitch and roll uselessly in the air, searching for friction that isn’t there. Lohen’s nose twitches, catching the scent immediately, and he lets out a delighted little giggle.

“Ohhh? How embarrassing. You’re supposed to be the predator, but one taste of bunny cock and you’re already gushing like a broken faucet. Don’t worry… I’ll take care of that sloppy hole soon enough. But first–”

He suddenly pulls out with a wet schlorp, leaving your throat gaping and empty. You cough and gasp desperately, thick ropes of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the glistening tip of his cock. Before you can even suck in a proper breath, he shifts his weight, sitting heavily on your chest with his knees pinning your shoulders down. His hand wraps tight around his throbbing shaft right above your ruined face, stroking himself with loud squelching sounds while you heave.

“Gonna paint this pretty face,” he growls, voice low and trembling with the edge of orgasm, “Gonna cover every bit of you in my cum so no one ever forgets who this stupid slut belongs to.”

You’re too wrecked to respond. So Lohen does it for you – two fingers hook roughly into the corners of your mouth, prying your jaw open wide while his other hand pumps his cock faster, the wet shlick-shlick-shlick growing louder and more desperate.

“Stick your tongue out.” And you fucking do, like a mindless dumb kitty, too fucked out to think. “Yeah, jus’ like that– good girl~”

His hips jerk into his fist, ears flicking madly, fluffy tail going rigid behind him as the pleasure spikes. His voice starts breaking, words turning meaner and nastier the closer he gets.

“You think that fucking stray could ever make you feel like this? Huh? You think anyone else gets to see you like this? I’d gut them. You’re mine. Mine to– aah~”

The first thick rope of cum erupts violently across your forehead, splattering hot and sticky all the way up into your hair and across one eye. The second heavy spurt lands directly into your open mouth, coating your tongue in salty heat and overflowing down your chin in creamy rivers.

“Take it– take every fucking drop, you greedy bitch–”

The third and fourth jets stripe across your cheeks and nose, the excess dripping down into the hollow of your throat, where the collar bites painfully into your skin. More cum splatters across your twitching lynx ears, matting the soft fur, while another thick glob lands on your closed eyelid, sealing it shut with sticky warmth. 

When the last watery dribble finally leaks out, Lohen slaps his softening but still twitching cock against your ruined face a few times – pat-pat-pat – spreading the mess even more. His breathing is ragged, but his eyes are zeroed in on you.

“Lookin’ so cute,” He pats your cum-smeared cheek with genuine affection, then slides off your chest, leaving you gasping and soaked and utterly debased. 

But if you thought this was it… oh, poor baby… poor-poor baby… 

His hands find the waistband of your pants. You try to buckle, coughing, one eye closed because of his spunk that threatens your eye. That does nothing to stop Lohen. He yanks, and your pants and underwear come down in one rough movement, the fabric tearing slightly at the seams, baring your traitorously weeping cunt to the cool air of his burrow.

As if bewitched, Lohen drops to his belly between your legs, arms hooking under your thighs to yank you closer, and presses his nose directly against your slick folds. His ears flatten, his tail thumps against the floor, and a guttural growl rumbles from his chest – a sound no rabbit should ever make. 

“This is what I’ve been dreaming about,” he breathes, the words muffled against your pussy. “Gonna fuck this kitty cunt so thoroughly it’ll reject anyone else. You’ll be a one-rabbit woman.”

Lohen drags his soft, deceptively innocent pink tongue in one long stripe from your clenching entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit, collecting your slick like it’s nectar. Then the real hunger takes over. He buries his whole face in your cunt – nose grinding hard against your clit sweetly, tongue stabbing deep inside you, lapping and thrusting wildly.

You arch off the blankets with a broken moan, lava flooding your veins. “F-fuck– Lohen–!”

“Mhm…” he hums loudly against your folds and pulls back just long enough to spit a thick glob of saliva right onto your swollen clit, then slaps his tongue against it, massaging the swollen bud lovingly.

“So fucking tight and wet,” Lohen slurs, mouth still half-buried in your cunt. “Could eat this pussy for days, until you’re just a stupid pet who cums every time her owner comes home. Would you like that? Huh?”

“Lohen– please–”

“Please what?” He pulls back suddenly, lips shiny, chin dripping with your arousal, that unhinged grin splitting his face. He folds your thighs up and apart, nearly bending you in half so you’re forced to watch him work. A long strand of your slick stretches from his bottom lip to your cunt before Lohen laps it up with a happy little moan. 

“Gotta be specific, kitten. I’m just a dumb bunny, remember? Tell me exactly what this sloppy cunt needs.”

A sob rips from your throat as the temperature of your body spikes up, your heat slowly claiming you. “I need– cum–”

“Whaa~? Say it properly!” He dips down again, dragging his tongue agonizingly slow through your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit. “Need me to make this pathetic pussy cum?”

“Yes, please! Need ta cum!” You whine with a voice so thin it almost sounds alien.

“Good little bitch~”

Lohen dives back in, tongue fucking into you, nose grinding against your clit. Two fingers suddenly stretch you, and you cry out. Lohen curls them upward to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes. His hand leaves your thigh and snakes down between his own legs, and you hear the frantic sound of his fist stroking his shaft while he eats you out. 

And when you’re so close, right there, right on the edge, your claws shredding the blankets, your back arching–

Lohen stops.

The orgasm dies instantly, leaving you a convulsing wreck. Your denied cunt spasms violently around nothing, and more hot tears spill down your cum-streaked face as you choke on a broken wail.

“C’mon, move that fat lynx ass,” he giggles, voice bright and cruel as he gives your trembling thigh a patronizing little tap.”Need you to cum on my cock. Gonna show you what ‘fucking like rabbits’ means~”

You can only shudder, edged out of your mind, drooling and crying into the nest that reeks of mint and cum. Your hips twitch uselessly, seeking friction that isn’t there.

Lohen clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. Then, with terrifying ease, he manhandles you like you weigh nothing. Those deceptively stringy arms and compact muscles flip you onto your hands and knees in one smooth motion. Your face smashes into the soft blankets, ass forced high in the air, cunt and tight little hole completely exposed to his hungry gaze. Your fluffy lynx tail lashes wildly in humiliated protest, but he just grabs the base and yanks it upward, pinning it out of the way.

“Archons, fuck yes,” he breathes, as he kneads your ass cheeks roughly, spreading fat globes wide apart until you feel the cool air kiss your dripping folds and puckered hole. “And to think that you were so stubborn to admit that we are meant to be! Bad kitty…”

The first sharp slap cracks across your ass, hard enough to make the fat jiggle and bloom bright red. You yelp, claws digging deeper into the blankets. Vice Capitan watches the mark form with manic glee, ears flicking excitedly, that fluffy cream-tipped tail thumping wildly against his own back.

His palm rains down again and again. Each impact sends shockwaves through your body, turning your ass into a burning canvas of handprints. Every slap pushes you closer to the edge without letting you fall. You’re drooling messily onto the blankets, thick strings of slick, cum, and tears soaking the fabric as you whimper and sob into the nest.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Lohen stops, palms smoothing almost tenderly over the bruised flesh. But the gentleness is a lie – he spreads your ascheeks again, spitting a thick glob of saliva right onto your puckered hole before his leaking cock slides hot and heavy through your drenched folds. He coats himself in your slick, letting you feel every throb, the fat head nudging your entrance just enough to part your puffy lips before pulling back before you can envelop him.

“Ah-ah-ah~” he tuts, voice dripping fake sympathy as he slaps the heavy head of his cock lightly against your labia. “You really thought I was gonna let you cum that easily? No, no, kitten. Say you are mine first.” 

You can’t answer – your voice is gone, replaced by ragged pants and whimpers.

“Say it,” Lohen repeats, a dark edge sharpening his words. He leans over you, chest pressing flush to your back, one hand snaking up to fist the belt still around your throat. He yanks the end of it, forcing your head up and your back into a painful arch. His other hand reaches toward his discarded coat, and you feel the flat of his knife press against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitches in arousal when the metal tip scrapes against your mound.

“Tell me your soul belongs to Lohen,” he whispers hotly against the shell of your tufted ear, voice low and venomous. “Say it, or I’ll keep you right on the brink until you’re nothing but a babbling mess begging for bunny cum. I can do this for a very long time…”

The knife traces a threatening line up your thigh, never breaking skin but promising it could. And what little remains of your pride shatters completely.

“It’s yours,” you choke out, voice wrecked and trembling, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Lohen! Please– Please–”

“Good mate,” he praises, planting a chaste kiss atop your head, right between your ears. The words sound genuine and reverent that they make you blush deeper, face turning crimson. “See? Wasn’t so hard.”

Lohen releases the leash slightly but keeps you arched, then sits back on his haunches. His hand tightens in the fur at the base of your tail, yanking your ass closer. The other grips your bruised hip hard enough to leave fresh marks.

His throbbing cock lines up again, the leaking head kissing your quivering hole. Your whole body tenses, every nerve screaming in anticipation.

"Welcome to the bottom of the food chain, kitten," he whispers, voice dripping with undiluted triumph. 

His hips roll forward.

.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

I saw this crazy battle maniac 2.0 (hi Childe) in Varka's story quest and just couldn't... I had to add him. Yeah, I'm sorry for neglecting this series so much. Hope that you like this part at least haha!

My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, @neuvilletteclearwater, @msmumufufu, @solarrandom @strawberrybunnyjolie @helloweebsofgenshin @katzline, @kellyyn02, @aymands @whatasillyguy @akutgawascoughdrop @im-under-yourbed @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl @muttwithnoname @tearinka @metallover123 @tkitb, @queerlordsimon @fuckingfaraway @madamedesalaunier @nightmarenyxx, @mayodenotche ...

(I hope I tagged everyone! If you want to be tagged too, please comment about it under the CF Masterlist).

[creative-crybaby]

Birds of a Feather (Flock Together)

PAIRING: yan!timeskip!Kageyama Tobio x fem!reader

GENRE: smut | dark content (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: yandere themes, toxic friendship, nipple play, light manhandling, semi-public sex, creampie

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 6.6k

SUMMARY: What was supposed to be a helping hand became an unhealthy relationship when Kageyama mistakes your kindness for something more. All characters are 18+

@creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

Now that you think about it, you’ve always been too nice for your own good. 

Not that it’s your fault. Your parents raised you that way; show kindness to others whenever the opportunity presented itself. The limit of knowing when to stop never came up, opting to believe that your positive behaviour would be contagious. Wishful thinking, of course. You don’t blame your parents for those drawbacks—their boundless optimism, perhaps, but that’s all. 

You wished reality showed some mercy when slapping you across the face. Sooner, too, maybe. 

When you especially wished for a backbone, you were in your first year of high school, standing before your anxious friend after offering your help. You know her pretty well, having gone to the same middle school; your brain saw no reason to process possible consequences. (Not like you could ever predict your current outcome, anyway.) If anything, the muscle was too busy thinking about how the blonde’s spine would break eventually. No ill feelings behind the idea, but it doesn’t stop your brows from furrowing in guilt. 

You worried for Yachi, that’s all. And with her bent over at a 90° angle before you, a position you both seem familiar with, you couldn’t help but sigh. 

“Hey,” you began softly. The sheepish blonde didn’t budge, and it wasn’t until you said her name a bit louder did she tilt her head to peer up at you. “It’s no problem, okay? I’d be happy to help. Besides,” you quipped with a smile for good measure, and your classmate rose from her deep bow, though kept her position so you remained above her, “this could look good on a resumé, no?”

By now, Yachi’s posture returned to normal as she offered a nervous chuckle. “I guess you’re right. It’s just that those two can be a handful sometimes, especially with each other. I don’t want to put any stress on you.”

Your arms crossed as you arched a brow, considering the new volleyball manager’s words. “Then, how about I take care of one of them and you keep the other? It’ll be easier to help if you focus on one person’s struggles, and that way they won’t bicker all the time.” A small smile graced her lips as she pondered your idea, and you leaned forward curiously. “You make them sound like an old married couple. There’s no way they’re that bad, are they?”

Yachi’s eyes widened ever so slightly before she frantically shook her hands in front of her. 

“No, no, no!” she insisted, voice raising a bit more than probably intended. A few classmates paused their conversations to glance at you two; you waved them off apologetically. “I don’t mean to make them sound terrible or anything! It’s just that they care so much about their club that,” she paused, searching for the right words, “they can’t seem to focus on anything else.”

You hummed, head tilting in thought. A valid concern, but it was a drawback most teens had with studying. Not that you needed to remind Yachi: with keeping up with a team where she somewhat understands the sport, tutoring her teammates and keeping up with her schoolwork, stating the obvious may not put her at ease.

Instead, you grinned reassuringly, and light pink dusted across the blonde’s cheeks. “Nothing I can’t handle. I got this.”

It didn’t take long to find your tutee upon entering Class 1-3. Based on Yachi’s description, you were sure you’d seen him a few times in the hallway, a scowl seemingly stuck on his face. That expression remained as he stared at whatever was in his notebook. And with other students in the room tiptoeing as they passed his desk, you were even more sure that was who you were looking for. 

“Kageyama.” Despite your voice’s volume as you attempted to gain his attention, your tone carried its usual gentleness. It did the trick, his frown softening as his brows lowered to a neutral expression. Not as intimidating as his previous look, but you understood where Yachi’s hesitance came from as she tried to describe him. 

“You’re Yachi’s friend?” It sounded more like a statement than a question, but you nodded. He hummed. “What’s your name again?”

You are–were–kind, not a saint. The question irked you, having put effort into knowing who he is and how he worked to help him raise his grades. He can’t bother to remember your name? Surely, Yachi gave it to him.

There’s no need to get mad, you remembered. Reminded. Wired. It was just introductions; give him a chance. Give him as many as he’ll need to open up in his own way. Yachi said he wasn’t the best at communication. He’s trying. You were both trying.

You gave him your name with a smile.

The first lesson had more to do with diving deeper into his brain than helping him study. With only a summarized description to go by, you needed more information. 

Kageyama understood onomatopoeias better than imagery. Tone flew over his head while clear instructions prepared him for the journey ahead. Studying English and Japanese had their wins and losses. (Mostly the latter, though some battles must be lost to win the war.)

The next couple of sessions weren’t any different. You wondered if the environment distracted the setter, and while it didn’t appear that way, you suggested meeting up at the library. A minor improvement, though his brain’s wiring still wasn’t completely translated to you. 

Whenever you and Yachi sat together for lunch to update each other on the tutoring, you tossed in some enthusiasm in your tone as you promised her you were getting there. Following up was a back-and-forth of the blonde insisting that you could back out of the deal whenever and you assuring her that everything was going smoothly. (Can’t say “fine.” No one believes in fine anymore.)

Now, you observed the twitch of Kageyama’s eye as he glared at the graphs, angles and equations in his notebook. You didn’t blame him: not when you were slowly running out of methods to help him. 

As time passed, so did his patience. The ravenette slammed his notebook onto his desk with a groan, hands flying to slap his face, making you jump in your seat across from him. Other students flinched as they turned to face the commotion, whispering to one another before trying to look away. 

“This is a waste of my time,” Kageyama muttered. 

That makes two of us, a fleeting thought grumbled. You swatted it away, ignoring the tightening of your chest.

His glare trailed toward the window to his left, muttering about how he could be improving his technique—or rather, something more about a certain pipsqueak needing to work on his spikes. 

You hummed. “Tell me about volleyball.”

His gaze snapped to you, brows still furrowed, though curiosity replaced the aggression in his eyes. “What about it?”

“Whatever you want,” you shrugged, placing your pencil on the desk. “I only really know the basics of the sport, but there’s no use stressing yourself out over something you’re stuck on. Consider this a little break.”

A slight pout formed on his lips, either from hesitation or pondering where to begin. 

Kageyama lived and breathed volleyball. Not his words verbatim, but his rambling told you as such. He knew his strengths and his weaknesses (even if he’d rather not discuss them), and his irritation toward his teammate sounded like complaints on the surface. Still, it came from high expectations and confidence in the ginger’s potential, and it wasn’t until he rambled on about A passes and C passes did a light flick in your brain. 

“There it is!” you exclaimed, a grin tugging the corners of your lips. You slid the notebook closer to the setter. “Try what you were just explaining to me and add it into these questions.”

It took him a few seconds to process the order, his head tilting to the side as that pout returned. A cute look on him, but that wasn’t relevant then, nor now. 

“What, my passes?” Kageyama blinked, and it seemed to click. 

You nodded. “You’re so precise with your sets. Just apply all the knowledge to these situations. It may not be exactly the same thing, but it’s possible.”

Kageyama looked at you for a bit before returning his attention to his notebook, taking his time looking over the written words before skating his pencil across the paper. You figured Yachi was exaggerating when she told you about his passion for the sport, but that assumption went out the window soon enough. But weaknesses can be strengths if you view them from a different angle, and soon the setter’s distraction became his motivation.

Not all the questions he answered were correct, but the improvement was impossible to miss. You beamed, praising him for finding his way. Despite his resting face, Kageyama’s eyes shined from the encouragement, his posture straightening ever so slightly. The baby pink dusting his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by you, either, and you had to refrain from cooing. Holding back a chuckle as he stammered an invitation to his team’s next practice match wasn’t possible, and you agreed should he continue to work hard.

The study session ended early, with you wishing the ravenette good luck at practice and his upcoming quiz. You slouched while walking in the opposite direction, pride washing over you like a warm shower. An accomplishment, a job well done. Completed.

You remembered thinking how you could only go uphill from there, academically speaking. What else was there? Aside from volleyball, there wouldn’t be anything else to worry about, and you weren’t even responsible for that department. All you could do was observe the sport and those who play it, learning bit by bit as you cheered for your school’s volleyball club. 

You didn’t know the opposing team or their capabilities, though you could only assume they were a challenge. Yachi sat beside you, scribbling notes and occasionally explaining whatever she learned herself. 

“I heard you found a way to help Kageyama,” she said between sets. “How’d that go?”

As if he heard you, the setter trailed his gaze toward you two, giving you a curt nod before drinking from his water bottle. You returned a small smile before giving your attention to your blonde friend.

“Figured things out a few sessions in,” you responded as the remnants of pride from that day of discovery still swirling in your chest. “He should get the hang of it soon enough. I’m sure getting to stay in this club is more than enough motivation for him.”

Yachi perked up at the news. “That’s great! Thanks again for helping out. I owe you bigtime.”

“Don’t say that.” You shook your head with a giggle. “How’s your tutoring process coming along?”

Movement teased the corner of your eye, but the shriek that echoed throughout the gym was impossible to ignore. Your attention went to the source, and the new manager almost dropped her notebook at the sound.

Kageyama held a death grip on a ginger teammate–Hinata’s–hair, roughly tugging the locks as he glared at the shorter teen. The latter continued to beg, though aside from who you could only assume to be the team captain, no one paid them any mind. As the senior student handled the situation, the setter caught your gaze. His glare faltered, but his frown didn’t disappear as he seemingly analyzed your expression. He walked away with a huff, and soon enough, the second set began.

It was normal, apparently. You got to interact with a few of the other teammates, one of which–Tanaka, if you remembered correctly–barked out a laugh as he assured that Kageyama and Hinata fought like an old married couple all the time. You weren’t sure what kind of elders he’s been around, but so long as the explanation put you at ease, you’d take it. 

You eventually got used to the random quarrels as well. A deal was made between the setter and you that you’d see his games should he continue to work hard academically. Or rather, he’d let you know when his upcoming practice matches would be like you’d already planned on showing up. Not that it bothered you; it was probably his way of connecting with you outside of tutoring, and with your first impressions of him, you assumed making friends wasn’t his forte.

The only downside is that you also had your own club to go to. The boys’ volleyball team didn’t have practice matches too often, so you had yet to miss any, at most showing up a bit late as you’d wrap up your club’s meeting for the day. You’d catch Kageyama with his usual frown until he found you’d shown up, and his expression would soften as he straightened his posture. Having already been in the game, he couldn’t say anything about your tardiness, so you’d sneak to the balcony and observe from above, cheering on a little harder to make up for it. After the game, he’d approach you with a pout, though he’d only discuss the match with you.

It was late fall when you first missed a match. Kageyama informed you a few days prior, as you helped him with Modern Japanese, that a practice game would partake. You thought nothing of it until that day arrived, and you had yet to dismount your seat in your own clubroom. The calligraphy club was pretty straightforward, though that day, there was a meeting, one you barely recalled as your eyes continuously glanced at the clock. Along with cleaning up the classroom, you lost more time than expected, and rushing to the gymnasium did little to fix the issue. 

The game was in its second set by the time you arrived. The first thing you noticed upon entering the gym was the starting setter’s head whipping toward your direction. His alertness subsided, but his gaze stayed on you for a few seconds too many before he served the ball. You assumed things would go as usual, with you sneaking to your designated spot and watching the match until it was over. 

It wasn’t until the opponents requested a time-out did you discover how wrong you were. While the other boys went to fetch water and towels, Kageyama stomped over to you, his sweat-slicked bangs hovering over his eyes in a way that made his glare all the more intimidating.

“Where were you?” His voice was of normal volume, but his tone matched his furious expression perfectly. Your body froze.

“I had this thing,” you stammered. “My club meeting took longer than I thought, and—”

“I was waiting for you,” he seethed, stepping closer. “I even asked Coach to wait a bit so you could make it. I shouldn’t even have to make excuses for tardiness. You couldn’t have told your club that you had places to be?”

Your mouth went dry as he got louder, and by now, most of his teammates were watching the commotion. You’ve seen him frustrated, sure, angry on bad days, too. At least he’d take it out on his homework. 

Still, your habit of patience was second nature, even when it wasn’t called for. “I’m sorry—”

“Kageyama.” Daichi was behind the ravenette with a hand on his shoulder before you could further explain yourself. His tone was stern, sharp even, but nowhere near as intimidating as what you received. A warning. “Go take a breather, why don’t you?”

The setter’s gaze stayed on you a little longer than necessary. He scoffed before walking away, his back facing you as he sipped from his water bottle. You politely dismissed the captain’s apology on his junior’s behalf, assuring him you were all right.

“His Majesty’s probably just upset his girlfriend couldn’t watch him show off,” you heard Tsukishima mutter to Yamaguchi. You weren’t sure if he intended for you to catch his comment, but he wasn’t exactly out of earshot, only a couple of feet away. Regardless, you didn’t bother responding. It didn’t take long for everyone else to leave the little incident in the past, and the tall blonde’s snarky words lingered in your brain for the remainder of the match.

No one else showed up to watch these games. You were there for the tournaments, too; aside from Tanaka’s older sister and a few of the coach’s old friends, the boys’ volleyball club didn’t have much moral support. Much less Kageyama, from what you could tell. You’ve heard about his behaviour back in middle school from Hinata and Tsukishima, the latter with taunts, and the new fragments of information added pieces to the puzzle. 

Kageyama was trying. He didn’t always succeed, but it didn’t stop him from attempting to steer away from the tyrannical path he was heading. You’ve seen him reach for Tanaka’s high-fives, albeit with a confused expression, but it didn’t falter his senior’s enthusiasm. His compliments (if you could even call them that) came out as awkward and forced when he gave them to Hinata after the ginger won a point, and he wasn’t afraid to ask Azumane if he needed to adjust his sets to suit the Ace. 

Maybe you were supposed to be his tutor and nothing more. Maybe it would’ve been better that way. But with very little assistance and even lesser options, Kageyama might have considered your listening to his ramblings as a sign of friendship. You supported him in staying on the team, and now you’re watching him flourish as a result. That’s what friends do—it was only fair for him to ask you to stay as such. You’d ask yourself why not indulge, though you were probably in too deep to call it that anymore.

The following morning, you find Kageyama waiting by the school entrance, two milk cartons in each hand and a strained apology on the tip of his tongue. You smiled, the two of you sipping on your refreshments as you waited for the first bell to ring.

Your calligraphy club disbanded at the beginning of your second year. You weren’t all that surprised at the time: there were barely enough students for it to exist in the first place. Why certain members decided to leave was beyond you, but you saw no point in pushing them to stay if they didn’t want to. Still, you missed your club: you were left to your own devices, the black ink dancing across paper lulling you to a place of comfort.

It was Yachi who suggested you joined the boys’ volleyball club as another manager. She figured you learned some things from Kageyama here and there while tutoring him, and she has no problem helping you catch up. 

“Besides,” the blonde smiled, handing you the sign-up sheet, “it’s pretty lonely now that Shimizu graduated. It’d be nice to have a friend around.” You take the paper from her, staring at it somewhat skeptically. You didn’t voice your hesitance, and after a few seconds of silence, your friend added, “I’m sure the others will be happy to have you around, too.”

With how often you dropped by to watch the team practice and compete, the club members have grown to know you. It didn’t take too long for you to warm up to them, too, usually sitting with Ennoshita, Kinoshita and Narita and having them explain the gameplay whenever you were lost. Otherwise, it was mainly Kageyama who kept you to himself either because you had time to assist him in his studies or simply because he wanted your attention. 

You later found out it was his idea to have you join the team as another manager, and Yachi agreed immediately. Who would complain about that? Another sweet and pretty girl to help and cheer them on was a dream come true for most. You were the only one that had yet to vocalize content, and you handed in the application sheet soon after receiving it. 

Even with the progress, you still tutored Kageyama. Seeing him more often after classes only gave you more opportunity to support him, especially when Coach Ukai would remind certain members to keep their grades up. 

Not that any of this bothered the setter. He had no problem having you continue helping him with his schoolwork. He’d listen to your instructions, try out new learning techniques whenever he struggled on a particular unit and remained patient (by his standards, anyway) with you when things didn’t work out.

You had no issue continuing your support. You knew Kageyama was trying his best, even when his brain could only focus on volleyball, and you figured you could still learn more about how he interacted with others as he tried to come out of his shell. 

His one-track mind came to a disadvantage at times. When Hinata suggested studying as a group, Kageyama quickly shut the idea down. He’d sometimes go on tangents about strategies and new techniques for the sport while you tried to help him. Tanaka and Nishinoya would quip that the setter had a crush on you and didn’t know how to express it, though you knew better than to take those two seriously. Kageyama told you that becoming a manager would be more suitable for your future than your previous club. He’s grown used to your routine of getting all your attention for tutoring, and having others there would throw him off his game. As for his rants, he’s merely passionate about the sport—you don’t need a reminder.

So, you became a manager for the boys’ volleyball club, continued your one-on-one tutoring sessions and instructed him to only speak of team strategies in English as practice. And you do so until you graduate. 

It’s where the connection between you and Kageyama seemingly disappeared, set ablaze before dwindling into disintegration. He didn’t even give you the time to say goodbye to your friends outside the club before asking them if he could steal you away. (It was more of a declaration—the questioning tone was a mere formality.)

“Ready to take your volleyball career to the next level?” You didn’t know what else to say: not after the abrupt isolation. He’s brought you one of the many hidden corners the school had to offer, away from all the other graduates and their loved ones. Sakura petals fluttered through their descent, softening an otherwise overwhelming atmosphere full of completed chapters and new beginnings. You read manga: it felt like prince charming would swoop in with a confession, second gakuran button in hand. Having blueberry eyes boring into your awaiting frame in such an environment should make the butterflies in your stomach perform their very own acrobatics number, the anticipation eating you from the inside out. And it did, the churning in your belly boiling your face as you tried to meet his gaze. Kageyama’s resting face was always a disadvantage regarding his approachability, but with three years of getting to know him under your belt, you still felt a ghost’s kisses up your spine. 

“Obviously,” he answered. You would have chuckled at the comment in your first year of high school. But even the smile you’ve managed to muster no longer seemed convincing. Part of you wondered if you could find your friends once more to keep in touch before you all left. “I should be asking you that, though.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, yet you kept the corners of your lips upwards. “I don’t know if being a manager for a volleyball team counts as a volleyball career.”

Kageyama didn’t laugh at your quip. You didn’t expect him to, but his response caught you off-guard.

“When will you be joining me?”

Your tiring performance of halo and white wings evaporated at his question, brows further creasing as your smile dropped. A clear indication of confusion, though a hint of offence found its way into the mix. 

“What are you talking about?” Your body instinctively inched closer to your corner. The setter noticed. 

“One of the biggest reasons I’ve managed to get as far as I am with volleyball is because of you,” he stated. “From helping me keep my grades up to becoming manager. I can grow to adjust to any team I become a part of, but I need someone who gets me to be by my side if I want to continue to prosper in my career.” 

The butterflies once performing in your belly dropped dead before they had the chance to bow. The love confession you dismissively thought of boomed with laughter as it slapped you across the back. Your lungs were empty as your brain progressed his words, your face slowly morphing from one expression to another. 

Did you do this?

“Kageyama,” you began, barely knowing where to go without a map, “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but that’s not the path I’m taking.” His resting face grew sour. You forced yourself to continue. “I’m flattered, but really, you did most of the work. I just gave you a little push.” Kind words didn’t weaken the blow—his staredown didn’t falter. “I have a life outside of the sport. I’m no prodigy. I don’t work anywhere near as hard as you do. I don’t feel the same about volleyball the way you do—”

“Bullshit.”

The snap from harsh lips forced yours shut. You shrank back once more, a scolded child fearing further punishment. 

You dared to glance at him. Kegayama was seething, leaning forward with clenched fists and jaw. You didn’t want to peer out to the crowd; had anyone heard him? They either didn’t or were too afraid to jump in. You knew you would be, too. 

“You think some sweet talk is going to make any of this okay?” His voice grew in volume, and you flinched. “You learned past the basics, you understand strategy better than the average player. You’re throwing it all out the window for what? That damn club you were in before had nothing to offer. I can vouch for you if you just follow me.”

There he was: King of the Court. You always thought Tsukishima would exaggerate to gain a reaction, but that title came to be for a reason. You just never thought you’d fall victim to it. 

“Look, I’m sorry if I led you on,” even in a situation like this, your feelings seemed to fall to a second priority, “but I’m telling you now that I don’t love the sport as much as you think I do. It’s not in my future.”

“I showed you opportunity and you throw it back in my face,” he sneered, getting closer. 

“I joined because of Yachi and my old club disbanding,” you defended, voice quivering. “I don’t understand why you’re yelling at me.”

A petal landed on your cheek, and you went to brush it away until you discovered the soft touch was a stray tear. It seemed enough to silence him, if only momentarily, though his glare remained just as deadly.

He wanted to say something; you knew he did. More words of anger, most likely, but he tightened his jaw instead, opting to walk away after giving you a final look of disdain.

You didn’t hear the hopeful and cheerful banter between graduates, nor did you catch Yachi calling your name until she laid a hand on your shoulder, snapping you out of your daze. Kageyama lingered in your head for the remainder of that day; no harsh words in particular—mainly the darkening of his blue eyes as his tone became aggressive. Part of you thought you also heard a twinge of betrayal, but after such a whiplash of a confrontation, you weren’t sure you could recall that moment in your state.

Wherever he was during the remainder of graduation, you didn’t see him.

To be more precise, you didn’t see him afterwards, either. With moving to another prefecture for school and time passing by, you eventually put that memory behind you. That isn’t to say it didn’t make your body temperature drop; on the rare occasions Kageyama would be brought up, the daggers his eyes threw your way would flash in your mind. Of course, you saw no reason to voice the issue—you only ever heard about him from Yachi whenever you’d catch up, which isn’t as often as you’d like. From what you know, he’s out of the country, furthering his career like you assumed he would. And while the setter was right about how being manager brought more skills and opportunities, your studies had nothing to do with volleyball. 

Neither does your career.

You never thought you’d set foot in Italy, much less work there after university. Your parents told you that your kindness paid off, much to your irritation. (Was school not already enough of a hassle? And the extracurriculars? The people?)

Even though the conversation was over the phone, you found yourself putting on a smile as you told them about taking the opportunity, your tone hopeful as if you still needed their permission. 

It took you who knows how long to realize you didn’t. And as soon as it hit you, you packed your bags and flew halfway across the world with barely the basics of the Italian language in your brain and newfound perseverance in your heart.

Whatever bits and pieces made you a doormat evaporated into the air as that airplane took off to your new home, and you planned on making what should be the next chapter of your life a completely different book.

Easier said than done, of course.

The last person you’d expect to see at this pub meets your gaze, and your eyes widen from instant recognition. 

Kageyama hasn’t changed all that much. His resting face is hard to miss, the light crease in his brows making him appear far angrier than he is. And with his increase in height and muscle, his intimidation goes up, too. His hair is also somewhat shorter, though that’s all regarding his changes. 

You continue to gawk at him, though his expression remains calm like you two were back in high school and you showed up to one of his games. You should be there.

He’s wearing his jersey, you realize, and grouped up with other men in the same attire. You don’t recognize the team; you haven’t been keeping track of the setter’s career. 

One of his teammates follows his stare, and Kageyama mumbles something before approaching you. You don’t hear what the other man says in return, your attention stuck on your old high school friend. (Can you still call him that? Could you ever have called him that?)

He says your name; your feet plant themselves on the ground. “It’s been a while.”

You blink away the myriad of emotions before nodding. “Still playing volleyball.”

It wasn’t a question, but it doesn’t make you feel any less stupid for bringing it up. Kageyama tilts his head back a bit, motioning to his team with a hum. “Yeah.”

“Can’t say I’m all that surprised,” you try to quip, your fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. Even if the ravenette’s height wasn’t a prominent factor, he’d still tower over you with how his eyes bore into your frame.“Last I heard, you joined Schweiden Adlers.”

His frown deepens. “I’m part of Ali Roma now.”

You bite your lip, your face growing warm. Kageyama appears offended, what with how he slightly tilts his head back for his eyes to look down on you. His brows furrow more, and you’re surprised you still remember his quirks even after all these years.

“An Italian team? Congratulations!” You don’t mention living in the same country, working on the same soil where he now lives and breathes his beloved sport. In fact, you don’t say anything for a little too long, and your eyes glance behind him. “Well, I wouldn’t want to keep you from your team. It was nice seeing—”

“Don’t worry about them,” he says, moving towards you. “I plan on catching up with you. They’ll understand.”

He’s making you approach a corner booth, and neither your feet nor your voice can protest. Even once you’ve sat down, all you do is shift in your seat, seemingly never comfortable. And whatever you originally planned on ordering is replaced with a glass of water. If Kageyama noticed, he doesn’t comment. He sips his beer occasionally; you’re halfway with your drink in a minute. 

“So,” you hum, “you like your new team?”

The setter looks at you for a few seconds before responding. “Yeah. Full of great players.”

He sounds more like he’s being interviewed than catching up with someone from high school. You try not to deadpan at his short answer. Your habit comes back crawling, keeping up performances and your back straight, head forward and heart thumping.

Your glass is almost empty when Kageyama speaks once more. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in Italy?”

He didn’t sound offended or hurt. The question came out as curious and casual like you two were going on about your day. But you know that’s not what’s happening, and his eerie calmness makes you nearly choke on your drink.

“We kinda lost touch,” you answer steadily, briefly. “It was a pretty quick decision, too. Only a handful of people knew.”

Not a complete lie, but you consider it necessary for now.

“Had to find out from Yachi that you were here last time I played in Japan,” the setter grunts, eyes glued to his drink. Your hold on your glass tightens at his words as your head snaps up to face him, a mix of confusion and a twinge of fear making your expression. You don’t get to ask him anything, not that you’re sure you can, and he continues. “Kind of a hassle not being able to reconnect with you whenever I had time back home. Switching teams was a good call, especially with my previous contract coming to an end. And it’s not like I wouldn’t have made it into Ali Roma anyway. I guess you leaving was a blessing in disguise.”

Whatever he says afterwards, if anything, drowns out as you stare past his shoulder, and your stomach drops. The strength you gained found its cowardice as the old you that disappeared into the clouds crashes down on you like a rainstorm, soaking you to the bone and making you shiver.

You rise from your seat a little too abruptly for your liking. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Also not a complete lie, but who’s keeping track? Not a drop of alcohol touched your tongue, yet you stumble down the hall towards the sign with a female stick figure in a dress and clumsily push the door below it open. You’re unsure if you should hunch over the toilet or splash water on your face, but you aren’t rewarded with a choice, nor the time, to make it.

A knock rinses the blood out of your ears, and you can hear the cheerful and far-from-sober banter back in the bar.

“Occupied,” you stammer hurriedly, carrying yourself to the sink. The creak of the door opening has you inhaling sharply, and who you see in the reflection keeps the air in your lungs.

Kageyama stands a couple of meters from you, his brows lightly furrowed. “Why do you keep doing that?”

You don’t answer him. The ravenette takes a step forward. You flinch.

“I was right, you know,” he begins, strangely calm. “That old club of yours–the calligraphy one–it was a waste of time.” His movements are slow as he approaches you. “It’s a good thing everyone left. Even if your new job has nothing to do with volleyball, your manager position definitely brought you to where you are now.” As vague as he may be, you can’t help but move back every time he gets closer, your fist tightening near your chest. “It would’ve been better if you’d just joined me, though.”

Your back hits the wall, and you don’t register what happens afterwards as your jumbled thoughts decipher possibility after possibility over the athlete’s implications. You don’t realize he’s kissing you or grabbing hold of your face to make you return the forced affection. You’re elsewhere as he lifts your top over your breasts and your skirt past your hips. Your mind is groggy as he gropes you through your bra, soon sliding past the material to tweak your nipples. 

It isn’t until his hand slides down your body and into your panties do you awake to a nightmare. 

Your front presses up against the tile wall; you don’t recall when he turned you around, the dead end’s coolness painting goosebumps all over your body and juxtaposing the warm fresh tears cascading down your squished cheek. Kageyama’s fingers languidly glide across your lower lips before he clicks his tongue. You can hear the irritation; you always could.

Not as wet as he’d like you to be. But the setter only has so much patience. He’s human, after all. He’s human.

The thought barely registers when you hear a faint zipping sound behind you, and suddenly his hard-on presses into the small of your back. Your breathing picks up as he spreads your legs with little effort, further pushing you into the wall before doing the same with your panties, revealing your entrance to him.

He doesn’t grace you with sweet nothings and mercy: just a blob of spit in his hand to pump his cock followed by heavy panting. And when he finally enters, the silence deafens you as he chokes on a gasp. 

That’s the moment that felt never-ending; he went in and never stopped, it seems, dragging himself into your insides until he was everywhere. He is everywhere. He is inside and behind and looming and crushing.

The nicest he was to you was when he waited to let you adjust, and you hate yourself for being the sweet little high school girl who tried to see the best in people. He doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve this.

Kageyama makes his first few strokes slow, but they’re still deep enough to have you gritting your teeth. It isn’t long until he gasps your name and picks up speed. 

“All this way,” he rasps in your ear, almost masking the slapping noises his hips would make when colliding with your ass. “All this way to another part of the world, joining a new team, starting over and getting better, all to see you again.” You don’t hear him when he speaks, nor as he grunts extra loudly as you tighten around him. “I should’ve done this sooner.”

A large hand slides back into your bra, squeezing your breast, calloused fingers tugging at the hardened bud, while the other one further shoves your panties aside to hastily rub your clit. The dry friction does little to soothe you, and with his lack of patience, the nub receives no pattern except whatever it's offered. Still, the added stimulation makes you tighten and the ravenette more restless. Even in your position, he finds a way to slam his lips against yours again. His tongue makes its way into your cavern as his thrusts get sloppier. You can’t breathe.

Not when he pulls away from the kiss. 

Not when his hips sputter as hot ropes paint your insides white. 

And certainly not when your high follows soon after.

It wasn’t strong, and it didn’t last long, but the shame that creeps into your stomach lasts an eternity. 

Your heavy breathing syncs with his as everything finally settles into your slowly-sobering mind. Kageyama’s still inside you, his hot breath fanning the back of your neck as his hands find your wrists to grab hold of. 

You’re in high school all over again. His actions have evolved to more dangerous heights, but you’re back in that gymnasium watching him practice. Even when he finally pulls out, even when he pulls you close, even when he snuggles into the junction of your shoulder. 

Kageyama hasn’t changed one bit.

@creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[manicsho]

Prey 4 D1ck

In which a smol bunny bullies (his way into the) big pussy.

Bunny!Lohen x Lynx!Reader

wordcount: ~7100

TWs: MNDI, yandere Lohen, stalking, obsessive/possessive behavior, non-con touching, graphic violence, he threatens one guy, blood, knife play, kidnapping (sort of), manipulation, predator/prey dynamic (reversed hihi).

NSFW: SMUT-heavy, dub-con, Lohen is a sadomasochist, riding (cowgirl), oral (m and f recieving), face-fucking, cum play, implied heat (reader), collaring, choking, spanking, degradation and humiliation, cum marking, a bit of edging, blood as sexual stimulus, edging, your honor he's a freak!

(If you find some more, please let me know.)

As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!

NOT SUITED FOR MINORS. Not proofread. Author does not endorse or condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes. Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.

“Lah– Loh– Ahh~ Lohen–!”

Your broken whimper barely makes it past your drooling lips before Lohen throws his head back and laughs. This cruel sound echoes through the burrow like he’s just heard the funniest joke in Mondstadt.

“Ohhh, poor little kitten~” he cooes, voice dripping with fake sympathy while his crimson eyes glitter with pure sadistic glee. “Look at you, barely conscious, tongue hanging out like a cheap whore in heat. Pathetic.”

You sob, trying to ride him, weak hips rolling in shallow motions. Your thoroughly abused pussy makes embarrassing squelching sounds every time you sink down on his cock, pushing out thick globs of his cum, dirtying his thighs and abdomen, soaking the blanket. His belt around your throat serves as an improvised collar, and it digs in as he tugs at it, yanking your head forward so you have to look at his pretty, smirking face.

“Aww, is the big bad lynx tired already?” he pouts, voice sweet and condescending. “How embarrassing. I thought predators were supposed to be strong~”

He suddenly bucks his hips up hard, slamming into you with enough force to make you cry out. Then he does it again, laughing breathlessly, while more tears strike down your face and you try to bring your trembling thighs together with his lean hips in the way. Vice Captain smirks at the attempt, slapping your bruised bum with two of his palms.

“Too weak, huh? Fine then!”

With one vicious yank on the leash, he pulls you off his cock completely and roughly flips you onto your back. The sudden movement makes you nauseous, but Lohen pays no attention to that. He hooks your trembling legs over his shoulders, folding you in half until your knees are nearly touching your shoulders. Your fluffy lynx tail is trapped awkwardly beneath you, twitching weakly, fur matted with cum leaking out of you.

“Here ya go,” he growls, eyes wild and manic as he lines his aching cock back up with your leaking entrance. “Nice and open so I can breed you like the dumb bitch you are.”

One brutal thrust and he buries himself to the hilt inside your cum-filled pussy, moaning loudly, but it quickly dissolves into cruel laughter as he starts pounding into you with reckless force.

“Fuuuck–  still so tight even after I’ve ruined you,” he whines, voice cracking with overstimulation, yet he refuses to slow down. “My personal lynx onahole.”

.

.

.

Yep. 

That’s you. 

Probably wondering how you got here, huh? 

Well, let's rewind a bit.

Pretty little bun bun. That's what you saw. Sleepy crimson peepers half lidded like he just woke up from a nap about slaugering yet another ruin guard. Twitchy nose that wiggles when he's thinking about... what, manslaughter? And those ears… Silky, with the softest inner velvet you've ever seen. They flick and flop and flutter with every single emotion that crosses his deranged little face. 

And you, stupid little apex predator that you are, looked at this deranged little creature and thought: prey.

Bottom of the food chain, theoretically. It's written in the goddamn stars, etched into the bones of the world by evolution itself. Natural order of things: cute little bun buns get eaten by big scary kitty cats. 

And you are, obviously, from the second group. A whole ass lynx hybrid, honey. Tufted ears that swivel like furry radar dishes, picking up the faintest rustle of prey in the underbrush. Claws that could fillet a boar and use its ribs for toothpicks. Unmatched speed (oh, how he would mock you later), and strength (and he still could pin you down effortlessly). And that natural swagger that screams louder than any roar.

So you got comfortable. A bit arrogant. Fucking stupid, if you ask me.

But you probably wonder what exactly you did to end up in that burrow? 

Well, you flicked one of those silky soft mint ears in the hallway outside the library and called him a bottom of a food chain right in front of Sucrose, who choked on her own spit and practically teleported out of existence in a cloud of panicked anemo particles. 

You thought you were being funny. A little harmless fun, yeah? A playful swat from the big cat to the little bunny.

Mistake!

Because that particular bunny came off the assembly line fucking defective. They dropped him on his fluffy little head as a kit, or maybe his momma drank some bad firewater while he was in the womb, or whatever. You don't know what exactly happened, but something crucial snapped. Instead of developing a healthy ‘oh gods please don't eat me’ fear response to things with fangs, his brain rewired it into an obsession with the specific threat of being eaten. 

To put it bluntly, Lohen looked at your proud predator stride and saw a dumb, pretty recruit who he could reduce to a drooling, cunt clenching, begging mess. 

And oh, this motherfucker knows that he’s pretty and has something to seduce you with. He's got those big crimson eyes that can go from ‘uwu I'm just a soft little bunny’ to ‘I'm going to skin you alive’ in the space of a heartbeat. He's got those long legs that he loves to show off, wearing those high boots that cling to every lean line and curve. And let's not even mention his ass, presented so perfectly in those tight white trousers.  He's got this lean and flexible body that he loves to show off.

After that single incident with a flick, it starts small. A hand on your lower back, fingers splayed, pressing just a little too firmly, lingering just a little too long. Him demanding you for the training. His hip bumping yours when he falls into step beside you. 

"Vice Captain, what are you doing?" you hiss, trying to sidestep away.

"Walking with my favorite recruit," he says, beaming up at you. His hand finds your elbow, tucking himself against your side like he belongs there. His body is warm and surprisingly solid against yours. "You smell nice today. New soap?" He inhales deeply, nose practically pressed to your neck, and makes a satisfied little sound. "Mhm. That's the good stuff."

You try sparring, because you're still operating under the adorable delusion that size and species fucking matter. You're a lynx hybrid, and he's a rabbit. It should be easy; there is no way it wouldn’t work. 

So you corner him in the training yard, claws half-extended, tail lashing behind you.

"Alright, cottonball," you sneer, putting every ounce of predator into the word. "Gonna bounce away like a good little snack?"

Lohen just tilts his head and looks at you with those dead fish eyes, and a little smile plays at the corner of his lips. 

"Snack?" he echoes, voice light and airy. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a breathy little moan as his spine pops as he stretches. "Oh, kitten…" He drops his arms and rolls his shoulders. "You’re such a stupid, feral little pussycat. I guess it’s my responsibility to train you to sit, stay, and ro–"

You lunge, fed up with his nonsense.

Your claws catch his collarbone, and three perfect furrows bloom red and angry against his pale skin. Blood wells up immediately, fat and ruby-red and hot, coppery scent hitting the air between you. 

Honestly, you expect him to let out a high-pitched squeak of fear and bounce away, running like a good little prey hybrid.

Instead?

"Hahhhhnnn~" The moan vibrates straight from the depths of his chest, travels through the air like a physical touch, and lands with a throbbing ache right in the core of your suddenly traitorous cunt.

"What the fuck?" you hiss, stumbling back a step. Your claws are still wet with his blood, but you are afraid to tear your eyes away from him.

His ears go flat, plastered against that messy hair. His whole body shudders, and you watch, transfixed, as a visible tremor runs down his spine and makes that plump little tail give an excited thump-thump-thump against the small of his back.

"Oh, kitten~" His voice is dripping with something absolutely filthy. "You have no idea how good that felt." 

He rolls the wounded shoulder, watching a thick droplet of his own blood snake a hot trail down the corded muscle of his bicep. His tongue darts out and drags across his lower lip, chasing the scent of his own blood mingling with your sweat. 

Your breath hitches when Lohen steps forward, right into your space. Close enough that you can see the way his pupils have swallowed the crimson of his irises almost completely. 

His hand comes up, but your body is frozen, caught between predator instinct and something that's coiling hot and tight in your belly. His fingers find your chin. Tilt your face up. His thumb traces along your lower lip.

"Look at you," Lohen murmurs, and his voice is liquid condescension. "Big, scary lynx. All those fangs and claws. And you're standing here, terrified." He leans in, his lips brushing yours. "Want to know a secret, kitten?"

"What?" Your voice is barely a whisper, and you hate how shaky it sounds.

His free hand grabs your wrist, still wet with his blood, and presses it flat right over his heart.

"I'm not scared of you," he breathes. "You know what I am?" His hips roll forward, and you feel it – the hot, hard, throbbing line of his erection pressing against your hip. "I'm intrigued." He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, that unhinged smile spreading across his pretty face. "Imagine what you'd do to me if you actually tried to eat me…"

His hips give a tiny little jerk against your thigh, and you feel it again, pressing insistently into the muscle. He's rock hard from you clawing him open, hell, from talking about you wanting him.

"But here's the thing, kitten." His voice drops to a conspiratory whisper, lips brushing yours with every word. "I'm not the prey here."

Something snaps in you – fear or fury or some unholy cocktail of both – and you jerk forward and sink your fangs into the junction of his neck and shoulder. You taste blood, hot and metallic and his, flooding over your tongue. 

His body goes rigid against yours, every muscle locking up, that plump little tail thumping frantically against his back.

And then you feel the pulse of his cock, twitching in his pants, soaking the fabric of your pants. His whole body shudders with a broken sob tearing from his throat. His hands fly up to grip your hair, holding you against his neck, keeping your teeth buried in his flesh as he humps your leg like a filthy animal.

"Ffffffuck– yes– fuck, don't stop–"

You release him, shoving him off, stumbling backward. Your mouth is smeared with his blood, but still, you are the one who is shaking like a leaf under his gaze.

Lohen just slumps back against the training post with a blissed-out smile spreading across his flushed face. His croth is visibly wet, but he doesn't seem to care. 

"You're a freak," you spit, voice trembling. "A fucking freak."

"Yeah." He pushes off the post, sauntering toward you with that bouncy walk. "But I'm your freak now." He tilts his head, showing off the bleeding bite mark. "Fair's fair, kitten." 

He pats your cheek, and the touch is so fucking condescending, especially from the guy who came in his pants when you bit him. You thank the anemo archon that at least nobody is on the training grounds to witness the whole embarrassing incident.

"See you at morning roll call, pet." Lohen winks, turns, and hops away, that fluffy tail bouncing with every step.

And suddenly, the day after, because the universe is a cruel cunt that loves to watch you squirm, Varka is slapping your shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise in the shape of his palm: "You're under Lohen's command now!"

Your brain short-circuits. " Wh– The... the rabbit?"

"The Vice Captain!" the beefy wolf hybrid corrects, beaming like he just handed you a puppy. "Sharpest mind and aggressive tactics I've ever seen. You'll learn a lot. Just... try not to let him get under your skin. He's got a talent for it."

Congrats, this herbivore is your boss now.

And then he's just... there. Everywhere. All the goddamn time. Bastard is basically shitting on the very concept of your freedom, and you can't even catch him to return the favor.

You smell the astringent bite of mint just around every corner. The air gets cold right behind you sometimes. When you spin, weapon drawn, claws out, ready to gut the stalker, there's nothing. Just the phantom thump-thump-thump of that fluffy tail and a breathy giggle that echoes down the hallway.

And the notes. Slipped under your door. Tucked into your boot. Folded into your training notes. Sometimes, to your genuine horror, appearing on your nightstand in the morning.

"Saw you stretching today. You are so… flexible…"

"You growled at that deer boy who bumped into you. Got me really worked up."

"Wore my tightest pants today. Did you notice? I saw you looking. ♡"

The dog hybrid boy who takes an interest in you doesn't know any of this. 

He's new, transferred from some border outpost, all muscle and misplaced confidence. He's been watching you for a week now, his hopeful eyes tracking you across the mess hall, the training yard, the corridors. You've noticed, because, well, it's hard not to notice. He's big, and he smells like wet dog, and his tail wags every time you so much as glance in his direction.

And tonight, in the Angel's Share, he makes his move, sliding into the seat across from you with a blush so heavy it could rival a fresh sunsettia's colour.

"H-hey there," he slurs, visibly nervous. His scent is all eager-pup arousal and cheap ale. "You look really pretty today… N-no, that's not– I mean, you're always pretty, it's just today I finally got the guts to–"

The air turns sharp with frost before you even see him. One moment, the dogboy is stuttering through his confession, the next there's a slender, scarred hand fisting into his hair, yanking his head back at a brutal angle. The cold steel of a knife presses flat against the column of his throat, resting there with the weight of a promise.

"Sniff sniff."

Lohen inhales theatrically right beside the hybrid's ear, his nose brushing the fur, his crimson eyes fixed unblinkingly on you. A wide, sharp, utterly unhinged smile splits his pretty face, revealing those deceptively dainty incisors. His voice is lighter than chimes, softer than a lullaby, and it’s the most terrifying thing you have ever heard.

"Mhm. That's the smell. It's like... warm cream and soft flesh, isn't it? Makes your knot swell up just thinking about sinking into that wet heaven, huh?” Lohen's grip on the dagger tightens, and that unhinged note becomes more prominent in his voice. “But here’s a problem… You've been sniffing around what's mine, pup. That's very, very rude. Do you know what happens to rude strays who try to take what's mine?"

The knife tilts, just a fraction. A single bead of red wells against the poor bastard’s skin and rolls down the poor guy’s throat. The dogboy makes a keening whimper that cuts off when Lohen’s grip tightens.

"I'll tell ya," Lohen continues, still in that gentle tone. His eyes never leave yours. He’s putting on a show, you understand, and he wants you to witness every second. "First, I take this dagger, and I carve out your eyes. Then I pack your throat with cryo shards. Then I open your belly and watch the light leave your eyes while I pull out your insides. And when you’re finally dead, I’m going to take your fucking dick–”

He presses the knife a little harder, and the dogboy sobs.

“–and I’m going to have it in a jar, like a talisman. I’ll hang it on the wall of the burrow where I keep my mate, so every time I breed her to tears, she can look at it and remember what happens to anyone who tries to take her from me.”

Lohen pauses, tilts his head, and that smile somehow softens into something almost fond. He pats the trembling boy’s cheek with two condescending little tap-taps from his free hand.

"But I'm feeling generous tonight, because my beloved is right here watching, and I want to reward her patience. So I'll give you one chance.” He licks his lips, and you feel the twinge of something warm in your belly. Something that you shouldn't feel in that situation. “You’re going to walk out of this tavern while having your organs in the original packaging. Next, you’re going to write the transfer request. Finally, you’re going to fuck off back to that shithole that you crawled out from before sunrise. Are we clear?"

The dogboy nods eagerly. Lohen wrinkles his nose, releases him with a shove that sends him sprawling to the floor, and watches with lazy satisfaction. “Good pup.”

Poor dog hybrid scrambles to his feet and bolts for the door, slipping once in a hurry.

“Bye-bye~” he sing-songs cheerfully in the dead silent tavern. Every patron is staring. Lohen ignores them all, turning to you, twirling the dagger between his fingers with a casual elegance that makes your stomach clench and your cunt throb. That unhinged smile melts into something softer, but no less terrifying.

"Wha’?" He asks, as if he hadn't just graphically detailed a murder in a public establishment. "Can't have the strays thinking you're available."

You sit frozen, heart hammering against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything except sit here while Lohen saunters closer. He stops between your spread thighs and looks down at you with those black-hole eyes, pupil swallowed irises gleaming with mania and adoration in equal measure.

"I'm not yours," you manage, voice trembling. "You can't just scare away people who try to approach me!"

Lohen smirks, leans in, lips brushing the shell of your fluffy ear, breath scorching.

"I can, and I just did," he whispers and pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His hand, the one still holding the dagger, comes up and rests the flat of the blade against your cheek. The metal is ice-cold, and you flinch. He traces the edge along your jawline, feather-light, never breaking skin. 

"I'll see you soon," he breathes, patting your burning cheek with a knife. “Try not to drip too much on Master Diluc's floor.”

Lohen winks, turns, and hops away, that fluffy tail giving a sassy little flick with every bounce of his perfect ass. The tavern slowly returns to life, whispers filling the silence he left behind as you sit there, frozen.

Since then, it’s gotten worse.

You're losing yourself. That sassy predator that you were decides to rest somewhere inside of you, and no matter how hard you try, you can't bring it out.

It's humiliating, really.

Every time you catch a glimpse of those soft ears or that juciest piece of ass you’ve ever seen on a male, you have to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching. The dreams are the worst – dreams where he pins you down and whispers the most horrific words while doing even worse things. You wake up soaked and gasping, fists full of sheets that reek of him because the sick bastard has been breaking into your room and rubbing his scent all over your bedding. It's not helping that your heat is nearing rapidly, making you more sensitive and jumpy.

So one day you finally snap. All it takes is too much wine mixed with this creeping dread curling in your belly. Just enough liquid stupidity to think you're still the fucking predator in this equation. 

You corner your Vice Captain outside the city gates under a sickly yellow moon.

"Why don't you just bounce away, you little freak?!" you snarl, swaying, fur bristling along your tail, claws itching to rend. "You're a rabbit! You're supposed to be scared of me! That's the whole goddamn deal!"

Lohen turns to face you with an expression of serene delight, as if you've just offered him the most precious gift imaginable. A visible shiver that starts at his nose and travels down his spine, ending with his fluffy, cream-tipped tail giving a sharp thump-thump-thump against the stone archway that he's leaning on.

"Scared?" he repeats, and there's a laugh bubbling under the word when he steps closer. "Oh, kitten, you are really that dumb~" 

He stops right in front of you, close enough to kiss, and tilts his head, those big crimson eyes looking at you with mock innocence. 

"You're just a big, growly kitty with a wet little cunt and a brain that short-circuits every time I shake my ass."

"I am not!" The words tumble out, angry but unsure.

"You are~" He reaches up and flicks your nose, like you're the cute little pet. The audacity makes your claws twitch, but your body refuses to move. "You're so easy, kitten. I barely have to try. A little ear flick here, a little bounce there–" He demonstrates, bouncing lightly on his heels, "–and you're drooling."

Pissed off, you lunge at him – claws out, fangs bared, all that rage finally reaching its peak – but your drunk limbs are stupidly predictable. Lohen sidesteps easily, hooking one leg behind yours and catching you as you stumble. One deceptively strong arm snakes around your waist. Your legs buckle, and suddenly his face is too close, watching you with that unnerving stillness.

"There we go," he coos, holding you upright as you gasp and shudder against him.

"F-fuck you–" you spit, but it comes out as a sob.

"Soon, kitten. Just let me–" He shifts his grip, and the world tilts violently. One arm hooks under your knees, the other braces your back, and suddenly you're on his shoulder, staring at the mud and cobblestones whizzing past in a blur as he carries you into the treeline of Wolvendom.

You claw at his arms, his back, anything you can reach. Your nails leave furrows in the fabric of his coat, tear the cotton of his shirt, and draw thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades. He just moans louder and speeds up, those stringy legs eating up the ground.

“Put me down!” You whine, trying to punch him in the ribs with your knee. 

“M’kay!” Lohen suddenly agrees and drops you into some kind of hole under an ancient oak. You land on a pile of blankets so soft they must've cost your entire year's salary. 

It's a den, you understand after a second. Dug deep, shored up with gnarled roots, the air inside cold and still and smelling faintly of mint. There's a flask of fresh water. A neat little pyramid of sunsettias. A plate of fine steak, cut into delicate little ribbons. And in the center of it all – the nest. A little hollow lined with soft grasses, even more blankets, and what you now recognize as tufts of fur he's plucked from his own tail and ears, woven together to cradle two bodies.

"Lohen, this is–" you breathe, scrambling backward on the blankets until your back hits the earthen wall. "You can't just–"

"Can't what?" He's kneeling in the entrance, a dark silhouette blocking out the stars, pulling his shirt over his head with a languid roll of tight muscle. His pale torso is a fucking roadmap of battles, scars overlapping scars, some old and white, some newer, pink and puckered. And among them, fresh, still-bleeding furrows from your claws, beading crimson. You take note of the imprint of your teeth on his neck.

"Can't claim what's mine?" he finishes for you, crawling forward on hands and knees. "Can't build a proper den for my girl like any self-respecting male? Can't bring you offerings and keep you warm and safe and full? Can’t help my mate with her heat?" He leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of your head, caging you in. His face is centimeters from yours, those black-hole eyes boring into your soul. He smiles, predator-sharp. 

"Get off me, freak!" You bare your fangs and roar, trying to scare this fucked in the head herbivore.

"Make me." Lohen grinds his hips down, and you feel the hot, hard, throbbing length of him pressing against your clothed cunt. The pressure is perfect, and a moan escapes before you can stop it. 

"C’mon, make me!" His smile widens and his hips roll, slow and filthy, dragging the ridge of his cock along your slit through the fabric. "Tell me you didn’t rub this cunt raw while dreaming of me…."

You try to shove Lohen off, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand – one fucking hand, and he's a small animal hybrid and a herbivore at that, how is he so fucking strong – and leans down until his lips brush your ear.

"I've been courting you for months," he whispers, and the words drip off his tongue like honey laced with ground glass and obsession. "And you... Ohhhh, you've been waving this dumb little kitty cunt in my face the whole time. Flicking my ears. Making me bleed. Letting me stalk you..." He pulls back, looking down at you with those wild eyes. "And now... finally... I have you exactly where you belong. In my den. In my nest. Under me." 

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing past your lips and into your mouth. You taste salt and skin and him – sharp, clean, intoxicating. He pushes deeper, gagging you slightly, and his eyes flutter closed.

You bite down on his thumb, hard, to make this fucking freak recoil. Blood wells up instantly, hot and metallic, flooding your tongue. But instead of yanking his hand back, Lohen's whole body shudders with a guttural moan that seems to tear itself from somewhere deep in his chest. His hips jerk frantically, grinding his clothed cock against your cunt, and you feel a fresh gush of wetness soak through both your pants as he nearly cums right there.

"Ffffffuck– yes– do it again, bite me harder, make me bleed, make me hurt–" His free hand releases your wrists and flies to his own pants, fumbling with the buckle. 

You release his thumb, panting. Your mouth is smeared with his blood. "You're sick."

"Yeah." He's grinning, blood smeared on his lip from where he bit it himself, pupils blown so wide his eyes look like black voids. "Terminally sick for you." 

Lohen pulls his thumb from your mouth and licks the blood off, eyes never leaving yours, sitting back on his haunches, and now those nimble, scarred fingers are working his belt buckle with single-minded focus. 

When he’s done, the leather slithers free with a soft hiss, and Vice Captain holds it up, considering it, then drapes it around your neck so tight it makes you cough. 

"Pretty," he breathes. "You'd look so pretty in a proper collar. Maybe I'll have one made, engraved with my name. 'Property of Lohen' What do you think?"

You can't tell him to fuck off when the collar tightens on your neck. He unbuttons his pants, slides them down those stringy thighs, and kicks them aside. His underwear follows.

His cock is... god help you, it's pretty. That's the word that slams into your brain, unwanted and undeniable. Pretty. Pale and flushed pink at the tip, curving up slightly toward his belly, slick with pre-cum that's been leaking steadily and soaking a dark patch into the front of his discarded underwear. It's not massive, but it's thick enough that you know it'll split you open oh so sweetly. Below it, his balls are drawn up tight, heavy and full, the skin taut and slightly darker, clearly aching with the need to empty themselves inside something– someone. 

Specifically you.

"Pretty, right?" Lohen reaches down and wraps a hand around his cock, giving it one lazy stroke. A thick bead of pre-cum wells up at the tip and drips slowly down his shaft, catching the faint moonlight filtering through the burrow entrance. He catches it with his thumb, brings it to his mouth, and licks it clean with a soft hum. "Mmm... Want a taste?" He smears another bead onto his fingers and holds them out. "Open up, kitten. Sample the goods."

You clamp your mouth shut, turning your head away. He tsks softly, disappointed but not surprised, and crawls forward again, sitting square on your chest. His weight presses your back deeper into the blankets, pins your arms at your sides, and leaves you completely helpless. That bobbing cock taps insistently against your sealed lips as he settles, leaving a tacky smear of pre-cum across your mouth.

“Oh, kitten,” he drawls, slow and syrupy, his head tilting so his ears flop adorably to one side even as his crimson eyes blaze with absolute, clinical madness. “Still playin’ hard to get? After all the notes I left? After I bled and came in my pants with your teeth in my neck?” 

He wraps the tail of the belt around his fist once, twice, tightening the improvised leash until the leather bites into the tender skin of your throat. Your breath hitches into a strangled wheeze, vision spotting at the edges as the collar cuts off your air.

“S’alright. I like you feisty. Makes it so much sweeter when you finally break. And you will break, kitten.” He rolls his hips, grinding his soaked cockhead across your sealed lips, and laughs when your nostrils flare involuntarily.

You glare up at him, defiant, mouth clamped shut. Lohen just smiles and jerks the collar hard. The sudden constriction forces a choked gasp from your lungs.

He uses that exact moment to thrust his length into your mouth in one merciless thrust, not stopping until his swollen balls are pressed flush against your chin and the fat, leaking head bullies its way past your gag reflex. 

Your throat convulses violently around the intrusion, muscles spasming and squeezing him desperately. He throws his head back with a loud moan that echoes through the burrow, his silky mint-green ears pinning flat against his messy hair while his fluffy cream-tipped tail thumps wildly against his own ass in ecstatic beats.

“Ahhh– fuuuuck yes, there it is~” he sobs out, voice cracking with pure bliss as his hips grind forward until your nose is smashed into the soft mint-colored hairs, his musky scent flooding your lungs until you can’t smell anything else. “This is exactly where you belong, kitten. On your back in my nest, throat stuffed full of bunny cock like the stupid whore you are.”

Lohen drops the leash, and his fingers twist viciously into your tufted lynx ears and the hair at the back of your scalp, yanking your head back at a brutal angle to straighten your throat into a helpless fuck-sleeve. 

There is no time to adjust as he starts fucking your face with fast and punishing thrusts – each one dragging his thick cock almost all the way out before slamming back in until his balls slap wetly against your chin. Obscene, wet gluck-gluck-gluck sounds fill the burrow as stringy ropes of throat slime, precum and drool bubble out from the stretched corners of your mouth, pouring down your chin and tits in messy rivers. 

“F-fuck– squeeze me just like that, kitten–. You’re doing s-so good for me, makin’ me feel so loved,” he groans, eyes half-lidded and soft with obsessive adoration. His hips snap faster, turning the slow face-fucking into something meaner. Thick globs of your spit fly everywhere with every brutal plunge, splattering across your lips and cheeks.

Your vision is blurring from the lack of air and the constant battering of his cock against the back of your throat. Tears stream down your face, mixing with the thick strings of spit and pre-cum, and despite everything, your cunt is clenching desperately around nothing. Your hips twitch and roll uselessly in the air, searching for friction that isn’t there. Lohen’s nose twitches, catching the scent immediately, and he lets out a delighted little giggle.

“Ohhh? How embarrassing. You’re supposed to be the predator, but one taste of bunny cock and you’re already gushing like a broken faucet. Don’t worry… I’ll take care of that sloppy hole soon enough. But first–”

He suddenly pulls out with a wet schlorp, leaving your throat gaping and empty. You cough and gasp desperately, thick ropes of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the glistening tip of his cock. Before you can even suck in a proper breath, he shifts his weight, sitting heavily on your chest with his knees pinning your shoulders down. His hand wraps tight around his throbbing shaft right above your ruined face, stroking himself with loud squelching sounds while you heave.

“Gonna paint this pretty face,” he growls, voice low and trembling with the edge of orgasm, “Gonna cover every bit of you in my cum so no one ever forgets who this stupid slut belongs to.”

You’re too wrecked to respond. So Lohen does it for you – two fingers hook roughly into the corners of your mouth, prying your jaw open wide while his other hand pumps his cock faster, the wet shlick-shlick-shlick growing louder and more desperate.

“Stick your tongue out.” And you fucking do, like a mindless dumb kitty, too fucked out to think. “Yeah, jus’ like that– good girl~”

His hips jerk into his fist, ears flicking madly, fluffy tail going rigid behind him as the pleasure spikes. His voice starts breaking, words turning meaner and nastier the closer he gets.

“You think that fucking stray could ever make you feel like this? Huh? You think anyone else gets to see you like this? I’d gut them. You’re mine. Mine to– aah~”

The first thick rope of cum erupts violently across your forehead, splattering hot and sticky all the way up into your hair and across one eye. The second heavy spurt lands directly into your open mouth, coating your tongue in salty heat and overflowing down your chin in creamy rivers.

“Take it– take every fucking drop, you greedy bitch–”

The third and fourth jets stripe across your cheeks and nose, the excess dripping down into the hollow of your throat, where the collar bites painfully into your skin. More cum splatters across your twitching lynx ears, matting the soft fur, while another thick glob lands on your closed eyelid, sealing it shut with sticky warmth. 

When the last watery dribble finally leaks out, Lohen slaps his softening but still twitching cock against your ruined face a few times – pat-pat-pat – spreading the mess even more. His breathing is ragged, but his eyes are zeroed in on you.

“Lookin’ so cute,” He pats your cum-smeared cheek with genuine affection, then slides off your chest, leaving you gasping and soaked and utterly debased. 

But if you thought this was it… oh, poor baby… poor-poor baby… 

His hands find the waistband of your pants. You try to buckle, coughing, one eye closed because of his spunk that threatens your eye. That does nothing to stop Lohen. He yanks, and your pants and underwear come down in one rough movement, the fabric tearing slightly at the seams, baring your traitorously weeping cunt to the cool air of his burrow.

As if bewitched, Lohen drops to his belly between your legs, arms hooking under your thighs to yank you closer, and presses his nose directly against your slick folds. His ears flatten, his tail thumps against the floor, and a guttural growl rumbles from his chest – a sound no rabbit should ever make. 

“This is what I’ve been dreaming about,” he breathes, the words muffled against your pussy. “Gonna fuck this kitty cunt so thoroughly it’ll reject anyone else. You’ll be a one-rabbit woman.”

Lohen drags his soft, deceptively innocent pink tongue in one long stripe from your clenching entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit, collecting your slick like it’s nectar. Then the real hunger takes over. He buries his whole face in your cunt – nose grinding hard against your clit sweetly, tongue stabbing deep inside you, lapping and thrusting wildly.

You arch off the blankets with a broken moan, lava flooding your veins. “F-fuck– Lohen–!”

“Mhm…” he hums loudly against your folds and pulls back just long enough to spit a thick glob of saliva right onto your swollen clit, then slaps his tongue against it, massaging the swollen bud lovingly.

“So fucking tight and wet,” Lohen slurs, mouth still half-buried in your cunt. “Could eat this pussy for days, until you’re just a stupid pet who cums every time her owner comes home. Would you like that? Huh?”

“Lohen– please–”

“Please what?” He pulls back suddenly, lips shiny, chin dripping with your arousal, that unhinged grin splitting his face. He folds your thighs up and apart, nearly bending you in half so you’re forced to watch him work. A long strand of your slick stretches from his bottom lip to your cunt before Lohen laps it up with a happy little moan. 

“Gotta be specific, kitten. I’m just a dumb bunny, remember? Tell me exactly what this sloppy cunt needs.”

A sob rips from your throat as the temperature of your body spikes up, your heat slowly claiming you. “I need– cum–”

“Whaa~? Say it properly!” He dips down again, dragging his tongue agonizingly slow through your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit. “Need me to make this pathetic pussy cum?”

“Yes, please! Need ta cum!” You whine with a voice so thin it almost sounds alien.

“Good little bitch~”

Lohen dives back in, tongue fucking into you, nose grinding against your clit. Two fingers suddenly stretch you, and you cry out. Lohen curls them upward to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes. His hand leaves your thigh and snakes down between his own legs, and you hear the frantic sound of his fist stroking his shaft while he eats you out. 

And when you’re so close, right there, right on the edge, your claws shredding the blankets, your back arching–

Lohen stops.

The orgasm dies instantly, leaving you a convulsing wreck. Your denied cunt spasms violently around nothing, and more hot tears spill down your cum-streaked face as you choke on a broken wail.

“C’mon, move that fat lynx ass,” he giggles, voice bright and cruel as he gives your trembling thigh a patronizing little tap.”Need you to cum on my cock. Gonna show you what ‘fucking like rabbits’ means~”

You can only shudder, edged out of your mind, drooling and crying into the nest that reeks of mint and cum. Your hips twitch uselessly, seeking friction that isn’t there.

Lohen clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. Then, with terrifying ease, he manhandles you like you weigh nothing. Those deceptively stringy arms and compact muscles flip you onto your hands and knees in one smooth motion. Your face smashes into the soft blankets, ass forced high in the air, cunt and tight little hole completely exposed to his hungry gaze. Your fluffy lynx tail lashes wildly in humiliated protest, but he just grabs the base and yanks it upward, pinning it out of the way.

“Archons, fuck yes,” he breathes, as he kneads your ass cheeks roughly, spreading fat globes wide apart until you feel the cool air kiss your dripping folds and puckered hole. “And to think that you were so stubborn to admit that we are meant to be! Bad kitty…”

The first sharp slap cracks across your ass, hard enough to make the fat jiggle and bloom bright red. You yelp, claws digging deeper into the blankets. Vice Capitan watches the mark form with manic glee, ears flicking excitedly, that fluffy cream-tipped tail thumping wildly against his own back.

His palm rains down again and again. Each impact sends shockwaves through your body, turning your ass into a burning canvas of handprints. Every slap pushes you closer to the edge without letting you fall. You’re drooling messily onto the blankets, thick strings of slick, cum, and tears soaking the fabric as you whimper and sob into the nest.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Lohen stops, palms smoothing almost tenderly over the bruised flesh. But the gentleness is a lie – he spreads your ascheeks again, spitting a thick glob of saliva right onto your puckered hole before his leaking cock slides hot and heavy through your drenched folds. He coats himself in your slick, letting you feel every throb, the fat head nudging your entrance just enough to part your puffy lips before pulling back before you can envelop him.

“Ah-ah-ah~” he tuts, voice dripping fake sympathy as he slaps the heavy head of his cock lightly against your labia. “You really thought I was gonna let you cum that easily? No, no, kitten. Say you are mine first.” 

You can’t answer – your voice is gone, replaced by ragged pants and whimpers.

“Say it,” Lohen repeats, a dark edge sharpening his words. He leans over you, chest pressing flush to your back, one hand snaking up to fist the belt still around your throat. He yanks the end of it, forcing your head up and your back into a painful arch. His other hand reaches toward his discarded coat, and you feel the flat of his knife press against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitches in arousal when the metal tip scrapes against your mound.

“Tell me your soul belongs to Lohen,” he whispers hotly against the shell of your tufted ear, voice low and venomous. “Say it, or I’ll keep you right on the brink until you’re nothing but a babbling mess begging for bunny cum. I can do this for a very long time…”

The knife traces a threatening line up your thigh, never breaking skin but promising it could. And what little remains of your pride shatters completely.

“It’s yours,” you choke out, voice wrecked and trembling, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Lohen! Please– Please–”

“Good mate,” he praises, planting a chaste kiss atop your head, right between your ears. The words sound genuine and reverent that they make you blush deeper, face turning crimson. “See? Wasn’t so hard.”

Lohen releases the leash slightly but keeps you arched, then sits back on his haunches. His hand tightens in the fur at the base of your tail, yanking your ass closer. The other grips your bruised hip hard enough to leave fresh marks.

His throbbing cock lines up again, the leaking head kissing your quivering hole. Your whole body tenses, every nerve screaming in anticipation.

"Welcome to the bottom of the food chain, kitten," he whispers, voice dripping with undiluted triumph. 

His hips roll forward.

.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

I saw this crazy battle maniac 2.0 (hi Childe) in Varka's story quest and just couldn't... I had to add him. Yeah, I'm sorry for neglecting this series so much. Hope that you like this part at least haha!

My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, @neuvilletteclearwater, @msmumufufu, @solarrandom @strawberrybunnyjolie @helloweebsofgenshin @katzline, @kellyyn02, @aymands @whatasillyguy @akutgawascoughdrop @im-under-yourbed @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl @muttwithnoname @tearinka @metallover123 @tkitb, @queerlordsimon @fuckingfaraway @madamedesalaunier @nightmarenyxx, @mayodenotche ...

(I hope I tagged everyone! If you want to be tagged too, please comment about it under the CF Masterlist).

[dragon-in-a-fez]

There's a coffee shop near me that has two signs posted on the door.

One says "Students! Looking for a great part-time job that works around your school hours? Apply inside!"

The other one says "No under 18s allowed after 5:00pm without an adult."

And I'm just like, damn, I wonder if "you can be a servant but never a customer" is a well-known hallmark of systematic discrimination or anything. Like come on. How do you not see this

[plagacorvus-616]

Dark Teyvat

6 of 7 Archons

[withered--ivy]

Okay, very useless yap incoming but this is the coolest and most terrifying thing I have seen in my entire life

The first thing I want to point out is how everyone including aether looks so terrifying, the traveler looks so beat up but paimon... Paimon looks so... Normal? She doesn't have the same lighting even, she's bright... As if that's not ominous at all

Mondstadt: somehow the one I found the least terrifying mainly cuz it only keeps getting worse, but the whole "he sowes discord around tevyat" is sooo fjbdhakwk like especially in consideration to how fontaine and natlan work, how many people were punished by "justice" because of him? How many "wars" do you think he started?

Liyue: the one I have the least to say about since I think "the cruelest archon of them all" says everything (also the idea of adepti being debt collectors is kinda funny in my head)

Inazuma: I don't think I've ever seen anything more terrifying than that desing, not even in my nightmares 🥲🥲 what is that, why is that, why is it stiched together 😭😭🙏 I love how much it scared me. Also, the whole pulls the corpses/half-dead? Bodies through the cities by tugging on the threads of their veins to stimulate a populance? Fhjdjdkwmd terrifying, how did you come up with that op 😭😭

Sumeru: first things first, rukkhadevata's hair?? Or is that straight up her head speared on the tree?? The symbolism of her design is sooo hfhdhkwl like she still has alta on her hands (her hands being red) which symbolises devinity and purity but the eyes... The eyes would tell you otherwise. She has Shiva's eye of destruction, a crown of skulls surounded by rotten leaves... I don't know how much of the religious symbolism in the design was intentional but it's so gooddd. Also the offering people forbidden knowledge in exchange of her release? Hchhdqo

Fontaine: neuvi's eye... It's so pretty also how do have you managed to make an oceanid look that scary 😭😭 furina's design caught me off guard, I thought she was straight up a meca doll at first but after reading I realised that no, it is not that simple. Of course not that would be too tame, it's meca joints and parts fused with her flesh, thus the blood dripping from the joints and stuff 😃😃 also the whole "fontaine lives for the spectical of the court" times 2799 horror edition 😃😄😃 focalor being the first archon corrupted?? Furina being forced to watch the "trials"? the way the mentions of liberalism, fraternity etc gave me french revolution flashbacks since that was kinda what introduced those ideas to Europe and the rest of the world in the first place

Natlan: the people being so consumed by war and bloodshed that not only do they not know what the war was for, when or why it began or who it's against, they don't even know the name of their land (or atleast that's what I thought the blacked out name meant) probably one of the, of not the most horrifying situation of the lands people, maybe second to Inazuma. Also the whole idea of "mavuika's fingers" made my skin crawl

And I don't wanna say anything abt nod krai... I don't want any of the negative energy those designs are very much giving 🥲🥲

Lastly, op I love wtv is wrong with you, because something is wrong with you /affectionately, but it's amazing, this whole thing is amazing