NAO

Kenma's sitting in front of his PC, while streaming a game you literally begged him for months to play- "Tomodachi Life: Living the dream". You're sitting in the comfort of your bed at home, watching the Livestream.

His Island is fairly new off the bat, his only miis by far being Himself, You, Kuroo, and Hinata. He plans on making a few more characters later, but not after taking care of this first.

He runs a hand through his hair, tired look on his face. "chat, how do I make miis fall in love?" he mutters, eyes scanning the chat.

Roosterhair77: Ouuuu someone got a crush? Owlboi67: CAN YOU MAKE ME ON UR ISLAND dinosaursRcool: figure it out..??? TinyGiants#1Fan: this looks fun!!

"right ok.." His chat once again, very unhelpful. He looks over chat again, hoping to see your username offer at least some sort of advice. Though you don't- because your too busy playing on your own island.

Kenma lets out a small breath, dragging his mii over to yours over and over again in hopes to make the both of you fall in love. You let out a giggle at his persistence, though he continues to fail.

Half an hour passes and your mii had the love bubble. "Wait guys I think I got it! Let's see what she says." He clicks on your little mii almost immediately, eager to see what you say. Your little mii lets out a highpitched-

"ɪ.. ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ɪ'ᴍ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ!"

All of the color in his face drains.

"what the fuck."

♫ ♪ ♫ " ♫ ♪ ♫ "♫ ♪ ♫ " ♫ ♪ ♫ "♫ ♪ ♫ " ♫ ♪ ♫ "♫ ♪ ♫ " ♫ ♪ ♫ "♫ ♪ ♫ " ♫ ♪ ♫ "

Silver-white locks fluttered by a gentle breeze.

(C/n) grinned when he saw some of the teachers running out of the school building from the side before turning and leaving the school grounds.

The boy huffed in irritation. “Seriously, they’re always watching me sooo closely just ‘cause of dad. ‘Don’t do that!’ ‘Lord Phainon will be displeased!’ ‘Please be careful!’” He mocked them to himself while he weaved his way through the bustling streets of Okhema, making sure to avoid the teachers searching for him.

“Wanna go home and train swordsmanshippp,” he drawled, “I’m going to be a warrior anyway. Why do I have to study at school?” He pouted and kicked a pebble in frustration, before pausing when he caught a glimpse of a strawberry-blonde head.

Immediately recognizing the figure, he gasped and ducked behind a fruit stall. Why is HE here?! Isn’t he supposed to be at the Marmoreal Palace??

After waiting for about a minute, (c/n) carefully peeked over the edge of the stall. Relief washed over him when he found the spot he was in empty.

“What are you doing?”

(C/n) let out a startle yelp and he whipped his head, his gaze meeting the man’s amber ones. “Uncle Mydeimos!”

Mydei folded his arms as he stared down at (c/n)’s sheepish expression. “Shouldn’t you be at school? Did you guys get dismissed early?”

“I—“ (c/n) blinked, and he let out a nervous laugh. “Oh you know… school’s been making me feel sooo tired lately, so, I’m skipping!”

“Skipping.” Mydei repeated, his brows furrowing. He knew (Name) wasn’t the type to let her son skip school simply because he was tired. Unfortunately for the boy, his uncle was far from convinced.

(C/n)’s eyes quickly darted around at his surroundings, searching for an escape route—which didn't go unnoticed by someone like Mydei.

“(C/n)—“

“(C/N)!!!!!”

The boy’s face paled at the familiar voice of his mother. He turned his head, and his eyes widened in horror when he saw (Name) standing a few feet away, panting heavily with an expression that tells (c/n) he won’t be able to get away with his smooth words later. guess who he got that from hahaha ok sorry

Without hesitation, (c/n) broke into a sprint, ignoring both his uncle’s and mother’s call out to him.

He stopped at a corner, then hurried to a staircase that led up to the roof of a nearby building. He recalled the time when he once watched his father sparring with Uncle Mydei right here.

He squeaked when he nearly lost his balance and dropped on all fours to quickly regain it.

Swallowing his saliva, he slightly leaned over and looked down at the ground below and shivered, realizing he was much higher up than he had thought. His father had strictly forbidden him from climbing onto any roofs in general. Now he sort-of understood why.

“Phew! That was superrr close!” (C/n) wiped a sweat from his forehead, dropping onto his bottom for a temporary rest. “Heh, does this count as training?” He asked himself.

“(C/n)!”

He snapped out of his trance and glanced down, seeing his mother below with a mix of anger and worry on her face with Mydei standing beside her.

“You are in big trouble, young man! Uncle Mydei is going to come up and get you. You better stay put!”

“…”

He blinked, then stood up.

Looked at his mother dead in the eye from above.

Then stuck out his tongue and let out a raspberry.

“You little—!”

He turned and began walking across the roof with a cheeky grin, but his steps wavered the moment he took his sixth step as he slowly started to lose his balance. His heart sank instantly, his mother’s horrified and uncle’s voices ringing out as they called to him. Just as he was about to cry when he felt his body tilting off the edge, he felt something—or rather someone, grasp onto the back of his shirt and lift him off his feet.

“Alright, little man, that’s enough of a cat and mouse game for you.”

(C/n)’s breath hitched when he saw his father staring at him with mild amusement.

“Papa!” The boy squealed and he squirmed in his grip, “no! I can’t go home yet!”

“Oh?” Phainon cocked his head to the side with a teasing smile. “Then… do you want me to put you down?” He playfully extended his arm outward, letting his son dangle in the air nearly more than twenty feet off the ground instead of the rooftop. Both (C/n) and (Name) let out a scream, while Mydei watched, unamused.

“Phainon!” (Name) yelled, “you better stop!”

“Well? What will it be?”

“Okay!” (C/n) cried, “I’ll go home and face my punishment like a good son!”

“There we go! See, wasn't so hard!” Phainon chuckled as he brought the boy close to his chest, who in response clung onto him for dear life.

“Oh…” (Name) held her head, “Kephale, my head—“ she stumbled forward, to which Mydei had to catch her by the arm before she fell face first.

a/n: lowk mid, MIGHT delete this later or maybe edit idk cs this is really unedited

He blinks the sleep from his eyes, and meets yours. You’re wide awake, looking awfully pleased with yourself. In his periphery, he spots your tail swaying from left to right.

“Mm. Morning, kitten.” He palms your head, before petting between your ears. They twitch. “How long have you been awake?”

“Awhile. You sleep like the dead. It’d be scary, if I couldn’t literally feel you breathe.” You prop yourself up higher on his torso, your eyes brightened by sunlight. From this angle, he has a better view of your neck. He can see the hickeys that litter your skin, and knows that’s not all of them. He left more, lower down. On your breasts, waist, thighs. “You snore, by the way.”

“I’m well aware.” You never let him forget, really. Nor did you ever actually complain. He has a feeling that the knowledge pleases you greatly. You poke and prod him about everything, oddly keen about learning his likes and dislikes. Rarely do your tastes align, but Varka knows finding common ground is hardly your concern. Just the knowing is enough for you. Some days, you trail behind him, like his extra little shadow. He can’t understand your fascination with him, but he revels in your fickle attention all the same.

Words are quickly replaced by touch. It’s common for the two of you, in the early morning hours, when your vocal cords are hoarse from sleep and sex and neither of you has much to say. You trail your fingers up his chest, until you stop over a particularly gnarled scar on his bicep. He flexes just a tad, and enjoys the way you purr in response. Your hand pushes against the muscle, sharp nails digging slightly into him. Not enough to hurt. Biscuits, his brain supplies.

He strokes along your back. Your skin is so soft compared to his, his hands calloused and worn from years of experience.

At the start of your relationship, he always handled you so carefully. Like glass. He wasn’t worried about hurting you, he knew how to handle his own strength. There’s pride in that. But scaring you? That would kill him.

It’s not a worry now. If anything, you press into his hands readily, like flower petals between the pages of a book.

It’s only when he drifts lower, reaching the silky smooth insides of your thighs, that you grumble in complaint. “I’m sore.”

“Whoops.” He doesn’t let you go, but lightens his grip.

“You’re a brute,” you say with a scowl that he would call adorable, and you would claim menacing. “You practically mauled me.”

He doesn’t bring up the hypocritical dull stinging of his back. It’s a good memory, the way you yowled as you scratched him. Varka could never resist when you got loud for him, so it only made him go harder on you, uncaring of the way you scored deeper into the skin as you clenched down even tighter.

Battle scars. He earned them fair and square.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes with a glibness he doesn’t expect to get away with. “Want a massage?”

You stare up at him, contemplating his offer. Then, you roll off of him. Varka mourns your warmth, but that period of grief is cut short when you don’t immediately flee the bed. Rather, you turn, your naked back on full display. He can see all of you now. The slope of your spine, all the way down to your bruised hips. His eyes rove over you, appreciatively, and you glance back over your shoulder. “Only if you play nice.”

“Ohhh, I’ll be very, very nice,” he promises as he moves to sit up. It’s cute, the way you try to remain aloof, but as always, your body language betrays you. Your ears are tall, alert, and your tail swishes with clear excitement.

Sitting in the labor room, you held the red scarlet-eyed baby in your arms, stroking the infant's tuft of blue hair every now and then. Segment 8, or "Little Doctor" as you like to call him, leaned over the side to look at the newborn, an innocent sort of curiosity brimming in his very own pair of red eyes.

Your baby was born healthy, looking just like a mix of both you and Zandik. He'd helped deliver it himself, muttering about how he trusted no one but him to take the task upon himself.

Well, technically, it was just Segment 25 who helped with the main task; the others volunteered themselves with other stuff, such as weighing the baby, stitching your tears up, cleaning the blood, storing your placenta and umbilical cord for research purposes, etc.

All the segments insisted on helping out, even Little Doctor, who unfortunately had to sit outside for most of the labor but was eventually allowed in to see the baby and check on you. Everyone's main goal was to ensure the mother and newborn were both safe and healthy.

Now that everything was successfully executed, you and the newborn were both taking a small, well-earned nap. All the adult segments turned to look at one another with suspicion.

Who the fuck was the baby's real father?

They all had slept with you, came inside of you, so the possibility that one of them was the father was 20%.

Except they were all Zandiks.

They all had the same DNA, the same blood. They might as well all be identical twins, if identical twins were all the segment of a man who died a century ago.

"Well? What were we all even expecting? That the baby would be born, and we could take a DNA test to verify the paternity? We all share the same blood dipshits. Ever thought of that?" Segment 18 spat out, looking at the other older segments after they'd all stepped out.

Segment 25 merely took off his mask and gloves, opting to let the other Segments deal with the guy instead.

"We were hoping to keep the peace until the baby was born to keep our Lady's pregnancy smooth. You know she gets troubled when we all get into unnecessary fights." Segment 65 explained, stepping closer to your door to make sure it was locked in case their argument woke you up. "A miscarriage would've been tragic. Besides, we all had our own goals to accomplish during this period. I doubt Omega is going to let you have a share of the placenta."

Omega, or Segment 35, who snuck off to the side to keep your placenta in a freezer, shot them all a dirty look. "How rude! Preserving the placenta has it's benefits-"

"We never said it didn't. But must you be so greedy as to keep it for yourself?" Segment 45 cuts off.

"-because I am the most research-oriented out of all of us, one who shall produce the most fulfilling results. In case of a genetic disease or a tumor, it will prove to be very useful." He preened

"You talk as if you're the real father." scoffs Segment 18.

"Well, of course I am. Who else but I could produce such brilliant progeny."

The comment riled up Segment 18, who walked up to Omega's face, his sharp teeth bare, "So sure of yourself, aren't you, old man? You sure your sperm can even swim that far? Your cock get that hard? Well, getting erect would be no problem for such a beauty; however, I bet her fallopian tubes shriveled the moment you got in you son of a-"

"Alright, alright. There's no need to stir up a ruckus right here," said Segment 25, wiping his hands dry on a towel, clearly the most tired of them all.

Unlike the other Segments, he had to be on-call and close to you that day, and hence had stayed by you till the moment you had pushed the baby out. "She's still inside, sleeping, taking a well-earned nap before one of us has to wake her from her blissful slumber in two hours to take her vitals again. Not to mention, we will need to attend to my newborn as well. For now, we could all take a moment, Segment 8 will alert us should anything happen-"

"What do you mean, 'my newborn'?" Segment 45 butts in, "You didn't even try to debate whether the child is yours or not."

"Well, of course, because it is mine. Only fools fight over what's not theirs-"

"Get a load of this asshole-"

"Can we all take this somewhere else, the baby might wake up-"

"Dottore!" a voice booms from down the hall, along with the sound of multiple footsteps.

All Segments turned around to see The Regrator, Pantalone, along with a few Fatui agents carrying many boxes and bags with them.

"I believe congratulations are in order? How is the missus and the baby?" asked Pantalone.

"Who let this guy know about her labor? I thought we were to keep this information from the other Harbingers," sneered Segment 25.

"And you certainly did, I assure you. No one other than me knows about this little joy of yours. I only happened to find out about this because the 8-year-old segment seemed quite anxious about not being let into the operating room. Seeing as you did not hesitate to let him watch the dissection of the original Zandik, my only conclusion about not allowing him in the operating room was that your wife was giving birth. That, and the fact I hadn't seen her for quite some time. Seemed easy to deduce." The Regrator stated, shrugging and rustling his fur coat.

"And what if it was a surgery like, say, an appendectomy? What use are the gifts then?" Segment 18 pointed out.

"Then I believe that you must get started on producing a progeny, no? Anyway, I've brought a few tokens of goodwill. I hope you'll accept them from a friend."

"Leave them out here. She's sleeping, and we'd rather not disturb her or the baby." Segment 65 said, pointing towards a table for the gifts to be kept. "We'll let her know of them as soon as she's able to concern herself with things other than herself and the baby. I hope you understand she's not in the condition to receive guests at the moment."

"That's alright." The Regrator signed his agents to keep the presents on the table and take their leave.

"Speaking of not disturbing the baby, though, what were all of you arguing about? Well, it's not rare to see each of you in disagreement with the other. Rather, it happens pretty often to be rare. But an opportunity that brings all of you together to have such a conflict......."

"We were discussing who the real father of the baby is," said Segment 18.

Pantalone nodded in understanding.

"I'd hardly call that a discussion. But does it truly matter? All of you are the same person, and hence, similar at your core. I'm sure the child would benefit from having multiple parental figures. I wouldn't call it a major issue."

"It is." Said all the Zandiks there in unison.

"Dear Feofan, it seems you still don't understand us all, even when you are a dear friend of ours. We all may be derived of the same Zandik, but as Dottore, we're all different," Omega explained, "Our values, our approach to research, our research, and our view of this world, they all differ due to the number of memories we carry. Determining the true father is determining whose legacy will be carried on. It isn't as simple as 'raising a child'."

".......so it has to do with your ego," Pantalone cheeked.

"How rude, I have genuine affection towards my wife and my child," said Omega.

"There he goes again," Segment 45 groaned, rolling his eyes.

"Oh my god, it's MY baby you twat," argued Segment 18.

"Well, you're certainly not raising my child with that mouth of yours," said Segment 65 calmly.

"Gents, gents," Pantalone raised his hands, trying to mitigate and calm down all the Dottores before it would escalate, lest they end up dissecting another one of them again.

"I have a solution. How about you solve this the way you know best? You're all intelligent and highly educated individuals; surely you can come to a conclusion amongst yourselves."

All the Zandiks looked at each other, as if they had never considered that idea.

"Determining the father of the baby through research. We can't do a DNA test, but....." mused Segment 45.

"Surely, only DNA can't be the only factor to determine the paternity," suggested Segment 18.

"If we can't find a way to find a match with blood, tissue, or DNA, we could always narrow down the possibility of one of us being the father by calculating the fertility factor of our sperm, the time between conception and delivery, and the general condition of the mother and the baby during pregnancy," Segment 35 muttered.

Pantalone sighed, seemingly relieved that he had managed to prevent another Zandik from being dissected today.

"I must, however, object to executing this plan right now," said Segment 25, "her postpartum period is to last for at the very least 2 months, and we have a newborn to care for as well."

"Naturally," all Segments agreed and nodded.

"Then," smirked Omega, "we shall have a time limit of 2 months to conduct our research. Whosoever manages to bring concrete proof along with the timeline and convinces everyone that the baby is theirs shall get to claim the progeny and raise them. Do we all agree?"

"Yes," said all the Segments.

"Then shall I volunteer as a referee? You know, as a neutral party, to keep things nice and fair?" asked Pantalone.

"Of course, friend. You're more than welcome to invite yourself to my research discussions. You are, after all, the one funding all of our experiments," said Omega gleefully.

Pantalone watched with interest as all of the Segments dismissed themselves, some going to rest after what he assumed was a long day of being in the delivery room, others sprinting to their assigned labs to get a head start on their research, while the rest stayed to be available for you.

'Ah,' Pantalone thought to himself, stepping outside and pulling out a cigarette, 'this whole ordeal shall be quite entertaining.'

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـ

Part 2??? (˵ ¬ᴗ¬˵)

a/n: hello hello everynyan |˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉﾞ I wrote this at 3 am in a fever dream lol. Fun fact: kids of identical twins are genetic half-siblings. SO if you have an identical twin and have a baby, the baby is also half of your twin lol. It gave me the idea about what if multiple people shared the same DNA and boom that's how I wrote this fic in 2 hours when I have like 12 other drafts that have been collecting dust ehe (ᵕ—ᗜ—) I might make a few edits here and there so pls excuse any grammatical errors lol I don't know english well ≽^•⩊•^≼ anyway enjoy ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

Phainon’s a loverboy through acts of service.

Strong arms carrying all your bags, he won’t even let you think about lifting a finger when he’s around, listening to you ramble about your day, holiday plans and the last book you read all while he’s the happiest man on earth. 

He opens the car door for you, pulls your chair to sit, and pays for dinner… Not because it’s what he should be doing but because he genuinely loves you so much he can’t imagine any other alternative. 

And when you get home, while he’s thrilled to be doing all these things for you, Phainon is a puppy at heart.

He wants a reward for all his hard work.

“You’re doing so great, love” he teases, voice all warm and breathy, that hazy, adoring look glued square on how your breasts are bouncing over him. His thumbs are pressing into your soft flesh, the pressure making you whimper. 

You were riding his dick like a trampoline, slow, messy, his cock filling you so perfectly that every descent punches a soft, broken sound from your lips. He holds his hands to your plush skin, one hand to keep you stable on top of his eager cock, the other helping you just a teensy tiny bit when your pace starts to falter, when he feels you aren’t rewarding him well enough for everything he’s done for you.

His hands steady your hips, keeping the maddening rhythm up, your palms pressed for support against his large, sculpted chest that just looked so incredible under your springing. His mouth muttering inconsistent babbles, maddened by the sounds of your dulcet voice and the soft, slick, disgusting squelching of you still grinding against him, unable to stop. 

Phainon watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, listening to your pleas, that you needed to stop, that his cock hurt you too bad, and that lovesick expression never leaves his face. His chest rises and falls beneath your palms, heart hammering against his ribs, only thinking of how beautiful you are. 

"Hm?"

"Did I do great today too?" He says it like he already knows the answer. Like a puppy sitting pretty, tail wagging so fast and cute, waiting for the praise he’s absolutely sure is coming. His head sinks deeper into the pillow, messy white hair covering his heavy lidded, lovesick eyes.

And when you fail to answer quick enough, he pouts, hips rolling up lazily into yours, just once, testing.

“Yes!” You yelp, bracing your hands while his cock literally was rearranging your insides, and thrilled to do so– somehow hardening beyond a length you had already thought impossible.  Your hips slowed to a sloppy, lazy grind, overwhelmed by the pleasure. “Yes– so great Phai–!”

His whole face softens. That lovesick expression melts into something almost vulnerable, milking the praise like your pussy was milking his cock, crazed on the pleasure.

"Yeah?" he breathes. “Was I a good boy?”

“Y–yes,” You stutter, as his hips roll up again, slower this time, and your arms give up, falling face first on his chest, moans leaving your lips desperately. “The best boy– Fuck!” He smiled, drunkenly, your ass coming down on his thickness while your head is nestled into the crook of his head, tears sticking to his skin. 

“And are you happy?” His arms wrap around you protectively, pressing you further in. The smell of him– warm, bright, loving– it blanketed all your senses, all your thoughts, until there’s nothing left but a desperate, primal need to keep. Fucking. Moving. Keep raising your ass over his delicious length, over all its thickness and its slight curve that hits so deep inside you.  Bring it down, let it fill you, give him his reward. “Is my dick good for you?” 

He asked, one hand detaching from your waist and shyly making its way to your pulsing entrance, your folds so sensitive you bite into him for support– his fingers tickling your clit with a big, bright smile. 

“Oh–! Yes, Phai, yes!” You scream, voice muffled in his damp skin, sending vibrations through his whole body, down to his throbbing length. “You’re perfect, so– mmmh– perfect!”

God… You were so good to him, so willing to praise him, to love him– the vicious sounds coming from where you rode him so nicely, desperate, raspy moans every time you sunk down on him and every wave of pleasure washing through his submissiveness– oh, he wishes he could stay like this forever.

And a swell of desire builds up inside.

His hips start rolling up into you, lazy, deep, unhurried– and he watches your face crumple with pleasure and confusion. He watches your entire body squirm above him, the way your breasts press just so beautifully against his chest, so round and alluring, watches your lips parting into an ‘o’, like it’s too much for you. 

And you feel him twitch inside. 

“Phai–!” You yelp, barely able to keep the rhythm up. You were so close, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t let you slow down, no, not when he was throbbing and yearning for you so badly. “S’ close– I need…” 

“But this is my reward, remember?” He pouts, his hips coming to a stop. And with no more support, your bouncing ass comes to a halt, tearing a desperate moan out of you.

“No! Please Phai’–” you try, but he only shakes his head.

“You only cum after I do, ‘kay?” He asked, but it felt more like an order. “Didn’t I treat you so nice today to at least deserve this?” The disappointment and sadness was so clear on his face it actually tugged at your heartstrings a bit. Your release was close, so close, but…

“Alright–”

And his hips rut into your pussy violently, pounding into your cervix, a deep smile tugging at his lips in an instant. His hands suddenly grab your ass, hauling you up and down– and you sat there, taking it– moaning like you were in heat, desperate to come, but he wouldn’t let you. 

Breaking the rhythm, slowing down, almost no cadence– then suddenly going so fucking fast it sent lightning through every nerve inside your folds, your pussy couldn’t get used to how his errection bullied you. 

And his dick was twitching inside like it had a mind of its own, so close, every time it hit your core aching, trembling even more. 

And with your breath was coming in broken little gasps against the shell of his ear, tears gleaming on your lashes while he stuffed you to the brim, while he felt so perfect, there, inside… 

He came, thick, nasty ropes of white cum painting your walls, raw and pleading for you– and the second you felt his delicious liquids the knot inside you snapped, thighs shaking and teeth sinking everywhere they caught skin, while he kept raising his hips violently, fucking you through it.

You lay there over him. Breathless and sensitive and tired… you finally raised your spinning head, kissing his Adam's apple, his jaw, his flushed cheeks, not sure if it was to apologize or to thank him. 

And he only slid his massive forearms around your waist, pulling you into a warm embrace, lips brushing against your ear…

“Good girl.”

Phainon’s a loverboy through acts of service.

Strong arms carrying all your bags—he won't even let you think about lifting a finger when he's around. He listens to you ramble about your day, your holiday plans, the last book you read, all while looking like the happiest man on earth. Opens the car door for you, pulls out your chair, pays for dinner. Not because he should, but because he loves you so much he can't imagine any other way.

And when you get home, after all that? Phainon is a puppy at heart.

He wants a reward.

"You're doing so great, love."

His voice is warm, breathy, that hazy, adoring look glued to how your breasts bounce over him. Thumbs pressing into your soft flesh, the pressure making you whimper.

You're riding him slow and messy, his cock filling you so perfectly that every descent punches a broken little sound from your lips. One hand steadies your hip. The other helps when your pace starts to falter—when he feels you aren't rewarding him well enough for everything he's done. His palms guide you, keep that maddening rhythm going. Your palms press flat against his massive, sculpted chest, and his mouth babbles incoherent praises, drunk on the slick, filthy sound of you grinding down on him.

Phainon watches through heavy-lidded eyes while you plead—that you need to stop, that he's too deep, that it hurts. That lovesick expression never leaves his face. His heart hammers beneath your palms.

"Did I do great today too?"

He says it like he already knows the answer. Like a puppy sitting pretty, tail wagging, waiting for the praise he's sure is coming. His head sinks deeper into the pillow, messy white hair falling over his eyes.

When you don't answer fast enough, he pouts. Rolls his hips up lazily into yours. Just once. Testing.

"Hm?"

"Yes!" you yelp, bracing your hands as his cock literally rearranges your insides—and he somehow gets harder, thicker than you thought possible. Your hips slow to a sloppy, overwhelmed grind. "Yes—so great, Phai—"

His whole face softens. That lovesick look melts into something almost vulnerable, milking your praise like your pussy milks his cock.

"Yeah?" he breathes. "Was I a good boy?"

"Y—yes." Your arms give up. You fall forward onto his chest, moans pouring out desperate against his skin. "The best boy—fuck—"

He smiles, drunk on it. Your ass comes down on his thickness while your head nests into the crook of his neck, tears sticking to his skin.

"And are you happy?" His arms wrap around you protectively, pressing you closer. The smell of him—warm, bright, loving—blankets every thought until there's nothing left but a primal need to keep moving. Keep raising your ass over his delicious length, that slight curve hitting so deep. Bring it down. Let him fill you. Give him his reward.

"Is my dick good for you?"

One hand detaches from your waist and finds your clit—shy at first, then deliberate. His fingers circle you with a big, bright smile.

"Oh—yes, Phai, yes!" You scream into his damp skin, vibrations shuddering through his chest, down to his throbbing length. "You're perfect, so—mmph—perfect!"

God, you're so good to him. So willing to praise him, to love him. The vicious sounds of you riding him, desperate and raspy, every wave of pleasure washing through his submission—he wishes he could stay like this forever.

Then his hips start rolling up into you. Lazy. Deep. Unhurried.

Your face crumples with pleasure and confusion. Your whole body squirms above him, breasts pressing beautifully against his chest, lips parting like it's too much.

And you feel him twitch inside.

"Phai—!" You can barely keep the rhythm. You're so close, but he won't let you slow down—not when he's throbbing and yearning like this. "S'close—I need—"

"But this is my reward, remember?" He pouts. His hips stop.

You sob. "No—please, Phai'—"

He shakes his head. "You only cum after I do, 'kay?" Disappointment flickers across his face, so genuine it tugs at your heart. "Didn't I treat you so nice today? Don't I deserve this?"

"Alright—"

His hips rut into you again, pounding deep, a smile tugging at his lips. Hands grab your ass, hauling you up and down. You just take it—moaning like you're in heat, desperate to come, but he won't let you. He breaks the rhythm, slows down, then suddenly fucks you so fast it sends lightning through every nerve. Your pussy can't get used to how his erection bullies you.

His dick twitches inside like it has a mind of its own. So close. Every thrust hits your core, trembling more and more.

Your breath comes in broken gasps against his ear. Tears gleam on your lashes while he stuffs you to the brim, while he feels so perfect there inside—

He comes first. Thick, nasty ropes of white painting your walls, raw and pleading. And when you feel that heat flood you, the knot inside your own belly snaps. Thighs shaking. Teeth sinking into whatever skin they find. He keeps raising his hips violently, fucking you through it.

You collapse over him. Breathless. Sensitive. Tired.

You raise your spinning head to kiss his Adam's apple, his jaw, his flushed cheeks—not sure if you're apologizing or thanking him.

He just tightens his massive forearms around your waist, pulling you into a warm embrace. Lips brush against your ear.

"Again?"

Likes and reblogs are really really appreciated <3

He was a man, but not only a man.

His hair was white. Not the white of age, but the white of fresh snow, of lion's mane, thick and wild and falling past his shoulders in waves. From within that mane, two ears rose, furred and tufted, swiveling independently as he regarded you. His eyes were amber. Gold, shot through with veins of deeper brown, the pupils vertical and narrow, locked onto yours with predatory focus. Below his left eye, a single dark mole.

His face was beautiful in the way a storm front is beautiful. High cheekbones. A strong jaw. Lips that curved into a smile both gentle and utterly assured of its own authority.

Next thing that you’ve noticed is that his body was almost bare. His shoulders were broad enough to block out the sky. His arms, braced on either side of your head, were corded with muscle, veins visible beneath the skin, his hands large enough to span your entire ribcage. A necklace of bone and fang hung between the hard planes of his chest, which was dusted with fine white hair. The hard muscules of his abs glistened, and from his navel, the thick happy trail thickened as it travelled down his stomach, disappearing beneath the low-slung waistband of his red pants. 

And the fabric of them was so strained that you could see the shape of his cock. The thick, curved length, the heavy weight of the balls beneath. His smile deepened as he watched you, eyes half-lidding with pleasure.

Your mouth went dry. It was quite obvious what this smoking hot Lion Man wanted from you. 

"You see," he murmured. "I am not so different from you, honey. Not where it matters."

One of his hands left the ground beside your head. He brought it to your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek with impossible tenderness. The touch was a contradiction: the hand of a killer, gentle against your skin.

"You are so soft," he said. "Like a little mouse. I could close my fist and break every bone in your body. And yet you look at me like you want to bite me." His thumb traced your lower lip. 

You did want to bite him. You wanted to bite him and run. You wanted– you didn't know what you wanted. Your body was a traitor, liquid heat pooling in your belly, your nipples tightening to aching points against the fabric of your bra.

"Jing Yuan," he said again, reminding you of his name. "Your future mate. Say it."

"No."

His eyebrow arched. 

"No?"

"No." Your voice was steadier than you expected. "I didn't agree to this. I didn't– you can't just take someone–"

His head tilted, ears swiveling forward, and something shifted in his expression. Something close to curiosity, as if you had presented him with an interesting puzzle.

"But I am the king," he said. "I’m strong and thus, I can have what I want." The words hung in the air between you. His gaze sharpened, vertical pupils dilating slightly. For a long moment, he stared at you, and you felt the full weight of his attention.

"Interesting," he said, "You are afraid of me, but," he inhaled deeply and smiled, “judging by the smell coming from down there,” he murmured sultry, hand brushing your thigh, “not of what I want.”

You whimpered, and Jing Yuan lowered his head. His forehead pressed against yours, his mane falling around you like a curtain, shutting out the sun. His breath was warm against your lips.

"I will not hurt you," he said. "I will never hurt you. You are too precious. Too rare."

His nose brushed yours. His tail, heavy and warm, curled around your calf.

"But I will have you," he said. "Here, or in my den. That is not a question. That is simply… what will happen." He gripped your hip, his fingers denting the soft flesh, and pulled you against the rigid heat of him.

"You will fight," he murmured. "You will say no. You will scratch and bite and call me terrible names."

His hips rolled. Once. The thick length of him dragged against your center, separated by mere millimeters of fabric, and your core clenched in response.

"And then you will come for me," he said, "again and again, until i decide that im finished."

Your heart was a war drum. Your body, that traitor, was arching into his touch, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of him.

He sat back and the loss of his warmth was immediate, almost painful.

"The grass is too exposed," he said. "And the ground is hard. You deserve better than dirt."

Jing Yuan stood and before you could scramble away, before you could even fully process what was happening. One arm hooked beneath your knees, the other behind your back. Then you were in the air, cradled against his chest.

"Put me down," you gasped. "Put me down right now!"

"Hmpf."

Jing Yuan shifted your weight. Suddenly you were upside down, draped over his left shoulder like a sack of grain, your head hanging down his back. His heavy hand settled over the bare curve of your ass.

"What the hell!? Let me go!"

"No."

His tail swished lazily behind him as he began to walk away from the spot, leaving your camera in the grass.

"I like you like this." His thumb traced the crease where your thigh met your ass. "Soft. Open. Ready."

"You are insane," you snarled. "You are a predator and I am a human being and you cannot just abduct me–"

"And yet, here I am. Abducting you."

His pace was unhurried. The grass whispered against his calves. In the distance, the gazelles had finally lifted their heads, watchful but not alarmed – they recognized him, you realized. They knew their king. There was noone here to help you, and you panicked, hands beating against his broad back, legs swinging in a desperate attempt to escape his grasp. 

The Lion Man didn't even flinch and the only thing your shuffling did was send your shorts falling down into the dry grass.

"I will scream!" you said.

"You free to do so."

"I will– I will bite you!"

His tail curled around your anckle, the tuft brushing the sensitive skin.  

"Oho~ I look forward to it."

“I will run!”

Jing Yuan stopped mid-stride, the savanna quiet except for the distant cry of a hornbill and the desperate sound of your breathing. His hand was still spread across your ass, fingers denting the flushed skin.

"Ah," he said, and you felt the word vibrate through his shoulder blade into your sternum. "Then I must make running… difficult~"

Before you could process the shift in his tone, his grip tightened. His left arm locked around your thighs like a vice, pinning you immobile against his body, and his right hand rose.

Slap!

The first hit cracked through the golden air like a rifle shot. Pain bloomed across your left ass cheek, sharp and immediate, radiating outward in waves of heat. You screamed,  sound punched out of you by the force of the impact. Your body jerked against his shoulder, but he held you fast.

"Will you run?" His voice was conversational, almost pleasant.

"Yes!"

Slap!

The second hit landed on the same cheek, harder. Your vision whited at the edges. The sound was wetter now, skin meeting abused skin, and you could feel the imprint of his fingers burning across your flesh like a brand.

"Yes, you fucking–!"

Slap!

The third landed on the other cheek. Then the tender curve where your ass met your thigh. Then the backs of your thighs themselves, each blow measured, deliberate, the patience of a creature who had never once been rushed. His hand was so large that each slap covered half your ass at once. The heat was building, spreading, transforming into something that burned all the way down to your cunt.

"Will you run?" 

"YES–" Your voice cracked on a sob. "YES, I'LL RUN, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, I'LL–"

Jing Yuan spanked you again, and this time his fingers dragged forward, slipping between your legs from behind, and the calloused pad of his middle finger dragged directly across your soaked pantines.

You both froze.

Your entire body locked up, muscles spasming, a sound escaping your throat that was equal parts humiliation and raw need. His finger was still pressed against you, not penetrating, just there, resting against the outline your swollen lips.

"Ah," he breathed. "You say you’ll run, but your body says something else entirely."

"Fuck you," you whispered. "Fuckyoufuckyoufuck–"

Slap!

"–FUCKING–"

Slap!

"–MONSTER–"

Slap!

"–LET ME–"

Slap!

"–GO–"

His hand stopped. For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the thundering of your heart. Then his thumb began to move, slow circles across your burning skin, tracing the outline of each handprint he'd left behind.

"Your ass is so red," he murmured. "Like the sky at sunset."

His finger slid lower. Found your entrance. Pressed.

"And your pussy," he continued, his voice dreamy, adoring, "is soaked. If you hate me so much, why does your body love me?"

You couldn't answer. Your throat was too tight, your face buried against the hot plane of his back, your fingers twisted in his mane. He was petting you now, soothing the burning flesh he'd abused, and the tenderness after the violence was somehow worse, somehow more devastating. You let out a pathetic sob that wrecked your whole body.

"Shh," he murmured. "There. There."

His fingers found the waistband of your underwear – that flimsy scrap of cotton, utterly inadequate protection against what was going to happen. He hooked his thumb beneath the elastic, unseathing the claw and pulled.

The fabric tore, the sound sharp and final, the elastic snapping, the cotton ripping. Jing Yuan tugged the ruined scrap free from between your legs – it dragged across your soaked cunt, collecting your slick, your arousal, the evidence of your body's betrayal – and then he held it before his eyes. His pupils dilate, his nostrils flare, his lips part around a sharp exhale.

"I’ll take these," he smirked and folded the scrap of fabric neatly, tucking it into the pocket of his trousers. “Will need that for the times when you're too sore…”

His fingers found you immediately after. Slipping through your slick folds, parting you, exposing you to the cooling evening air. Two fingers sweeped through your wetness, gathering your arousal on his skin, and then he brought his hand to his face. You listened carefully, paralyzed, as he slid his fingers into his mouth.

His eyes fluttered closed. His throat worked. His ears swiveled forward, catching every microscopic sound of your breathing, your heartbeat, the desperate sobs.

"Mmm," Jing Yuan hummed around his own fingers. "Delicious. You taste even better than you smell, love. And you smell incredible."

"Please," you whispered. You didn't know what you were begging for. "Please, I–"

"Please what?" His voice was soft, almost tender. "Please stop? Please continue? Please put you down? Please keep you?"

"I don't know," you whined, face red and wet with tears and snot. You were ashamed. Truly ashamed by the feeling in you belly, by how messed up your thoughts were, by how your poor hole clenched, spitting out more slick.

His hand slid between your legs again, and this time his fingers didn't tease. Two thick digits pushed into you without warning, without resistance, sliding home to the knuckles in one slick thrust.

Your vision went white.

The sound you made – you didn't recognize it. High and keening, desperate, your entire body convulsing around the sudden fullness, your toes curling from pleasure. His fingers were so much longer than yours, so much thicker, reaching places that you hadn't even known existed. Your cunt clenched around him instinctively, greedily, trying to pull him deeper.

"There," Yuan breathed. "There it is. Just let your man take care of you, yes? I'll prepare you well, sweet one. I'll make you ready for me."

He started moving with slow and deep thrusts, the ball of his palm pressing against your clit with every stroke, his fingers curling to find that sweet spot inside your tender cunny that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The sound of it – wet and filthy, your body accepting him, welcoming him, gripping him – filled the quiet savanna air.

"You like this, dear?" he murmured, and  when you whimpered, there was genuine surprise in his voice, genuine wonder. "Oh, you do… You like when someone takes care of you. You like when someone makes you feel good."

His fingers crooked sharply, pressing directly into that sweet spot, and you moaned, gripping his asscheeks for the dear life.

"Yes, like that." he breathed. "I promise I will always take care of you, honey. You will never be unsatisfied. You will never want for touch, for pleasure, for the feeling of being loved. I will give you everything your body craves, and I will give it until you beg me to stop, and then I will give you more."

His thumb found your clit. Circled it. Pressed.

Your fingers found his tail. Grabbed it. Pulled.

"Yes," he groaned, his composure cracking for the first time. "Yes, hold onto me. And if you need to bite, bite–" He lowered his head and sank his teeth into the meat of your thigh, not breaking skin but close, so close, the pressure of his fangs a brand. "–more marks are better. I want to wear you on my skin."

His fingers were pistoning into you now, relentless, each thrust aimed directly at that spot inside you that made your toes curl and your vision blur. His palm slapped against your clit with every stroke. His teeth released your thigh and he licked the indentation he'd left, soothing, worshipful.

"Come for me," he murmured against your skin. "Come on my fingers, sweet one. Let me taste you again."

Your orgasm hit you like a falling tree, like a wave, like the entire weight of the sky collapsing. Your body arched against his shoulder, your cunt clamping down on his fingers in rhythmic waves, and you felt the gush of fluid soaking his hand, dripping down your thighs, splattering the dry earth beneath his feet.

Jing Yuan made a sound of pure satisfaction. His fingers slowed, gentled, coaxing you through the aftershocks, slipping out of your spasming pussy. He brought his wet hand to his mouth again and licked it clean, his pupils blown wide.

"Sweet," he said softly. "Has it been long since someone touched you? Human men must be blind." And he continued walking towards what looked like a cave, carved into the heart of a kopje, the entrance screened by flowering acacia and the trailing vines of wild jasmine. Inside, the walls rose smooth and curved, lit by clusters of phosphorescent fungi that cast everything in soft gold. The floor was layered thick with furs – zebra, impala, something large and spotted that you didn't manage to identify – and piled high with silk cushions in jewel tones. A low table held fruits and a clay jug. A brazier glowed in one corner.

"My home," Jing Yuan said. He was already climbing onto the furs with you still thrown over his shoulder, his weight depressing the soft pelts. "Do you like it?"

"You live in a cave…"

"I am a lion."

He was gently lowering you now, your back meeting the fur and your body sinking into the impossible softness beneath. "You have furniture. You have cushions. You have–"

Jing Yuan knelt over you. His thighs bracketed your hips. His hands found the hem of your ruined shirt and pulled, the fabric tearing like tissue, like paper, like it was nothing. Cool air hit your bare breasts. You were naked, your cunt still wet and dripping, your ass still burning red, your nipples tightening to sharp peaks in the dim light.

Jing Yuan bit his lip, golden eyes feasting on the sight of you. His gaze traveled down your body like a physical touch, slow and thorough, lingering on the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips, the softness of your belly. His tail had gone rigid, the tuft twitching. His pupils had blown so wide that his amber irises were reduced to thin gold rings. 

"Mmm," he hummed. "Pretty."

His hands began to move. Palms sliding up your shoulders, over the delicate architecture of your collarbones. Fingers tracing down your sternum, circling your areolas, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked harder and you gasped. Down, down, over the soft give of your belly, the jut of your hip bones, the trembling muscles of your thighs. 

"Mhm," he hummed again, and the sound was deeper now, rougher, edged with hunger. "Perfect. Everywhere I touch is perfect."

His hands left your body. You felt the loss like a physical ache.

He reached for the fastenings of his trousers. The fabric fell away in an instant. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, curving up toward his stomach, and you forgot how to breathe.

The shaft was long, the head a flushed helmet that flared wider than the base, weeping a constant stream of translucent fluid. Below the head, circling the shaft, were ridges. Not sharp, not the barbs of a true lion, but pronounced, textured, designed to catch and hold and stimulate. The shaft itself was veined, thick cords of blue and purple visible beneath the taut skin, pulsing visibly with every beat of his heart. At the base, nestled in a nest of soft white curls, hung his balls – heavy, full, so swollen with need that they looked almost painful.

The entire organ twitched. Drooled. Yearned toward you like a living thing.

Jing Yuan watched you assessing him. His chest was heaving, his mane of hair disheveled, a flush spreading across his cheekbones and down his throat. His ears were flat against his skull. His tail lashed the furs behind him.

And then he dropped to all fours. The movement was fluid, animalistic, his broad shoulders rolling as he braced his weight on his palms, while crawling toward you. His cock swung beneath him, heavy and wet, leaving a trail of pre-come on the dark fur. 

While you scrambled backward, his eyes never left yours. Your heels dug into the pelts. Your hands pushed uselessly at the furs behind you. Your back hit the cool stone of the cave wall.

“Wait, j-just give me a second!” you sobbed pathetically.

Jing Yuan kept coming. His face was level with yours now. His breath was hot and rapid, his lips parted, his fangs visible. His pupils were black, his iridium swallowed entirely by want. His tail whipped back and forth, back and forth, a metronome counting down to something.

"Nowhere to run," he breathed. "Nowhere to hide. You're on my territory, little mate. And I am very hungry."

His hands landed on your shoulders. His weight pressed forward until your back was plastered against the hard stone. And his mouth crashed into yours. His tongue was thick and heavy, muscled like the rest of him. He pushed past your lips, past your teeth, and kept going, delving deep into the wet heat of you, stroking along the inside of your cheeks, swallowing your sounds, your protests, your whimpers, and answering each one with a deeper thrust of that relentless tongue. 

It was obscene, the way he ravaged your mouth, the wet sounds of his claiming filling the space between you, slick and rhythmic, thick tongue licking the insides of your mouth. His hand found your jaw and gripped, forcing your face up, forcing you to accept him. His thumb pressed into the soft hollow beneath your chin, tilting your head back against the stone. Your drool pooled at the corners of your lips, escaped down your chin, and Jing Yuan groaned into you, scraping your lip with his fangs, swallowing your helpless sounds as if they were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

You should fight. You should bite. You should–

Your hands rose. Your fingers threaded into his mane, and your tongue, traitor that it was, began to move with his, meeting each thrust with a stroke of your own. 

He felt it immediately. His entire body shuddered, a deep purr starting in his chest and vibrating through the kiss, and when you suckled gently at his tongue, he pulled back just far enough to look at your face. A string of saliva connected your lips to his, stretching, glistening, and he watched it break with hooded eyes. A single drop fell onto your breast.

"There you are," he said. His voice was wrecked, scraped raw. "Now be a good mate and tend to your male." He shifted his weight, rising, and his feet settled on either side of your thighs. His cock rose between you, the head level with your lips.

Your breath stopped.

It was so close. The weight of it, the heat, radiating against your face like a furnace. Pre-come beaded at the tip, gathered into a trembling droplet, and fell onto your lower lip.

Jing Yuan's hand found your hair. His fingers carded through it, adoring, gathering the strands and drawing them back from your face. He tucked a lock behind your ear. 

"Open," he murmured, "for me."

Your mouth opened before your mind had processed the thoughts.

The tip passed your lips, and the world collapsed to just this: the taste of him, salt and musk and the flavor of wild places. His cock was a living thing against your tongue, pulsing with its own heartbeat, the broad flat of it heavy and insistent as it pressed past the threshold of your mouth. Your lips stretched around the sheer girth, and you heard him exhale above you.

"That's it," he breathed. "That's it, sweetheart..."

His hand cradled the back of your skull, fingers threading through your hair with deceptive gentleness. You could feel the claws there, retracted but present, blunt pressure points against your scalp. His thumb traced the hinge of your jaw, pressing slightly, and your mouth fell wider. He pushed deeper.

The head of his cock was broad and hot, shaped wrong and right all at once, the ridge beneath it catching on your lower lip as it slid inward. Those ridges. You felt them with the flat of your tongue. They pulsed against you, slick with the endless flood of pre-come that wept from his tip, and you tried to imagine what those ridges would feel like inside you. Your poor sopping cunt clenched on nothing at the thought.

Jing Yuan pushed deeper still. The tip met the back of your throat, teasing that soft wall of muscle, and he paused. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you hadn't noticed falling.

"Breathe through your nose, love. Relax this muscle here." He pressed gently at the hollow of your throat. "Let me in. I know you can."

Your throat spasmed, rebelled, and Jing Yuan waited, patient as stone, immovable as the savanna itself, his cock a hot brand against your tongue. And when the tight channel finally relaxed enough, his cock slid into your throat like it belonged there, like your body had been shaped specifically for this purpose. 

The stretch was immense. You felt your throat bulge around his girth, felt the pulse of him against your esophagus, and more tears spilled hot down your cheeks. Saliva and pre-cum flooded your mouth, overflowed, dripped down your chin, and onto your breasts. You couldn’t speak. You couldn't swallow. You couldn't do anything but whine and gag and whimper around the pulsing fatness of him.

"Oh, love," Yuan’s voice was hushed. His other hand came up to brace against the wall, knuckles white with restraint, claws scraping against the stone. "Look at me, I beg…"

You looked up. The position was obscene – your face pressed into the white curls at the base of his cock, your nose buried in his pubic hair, his shaft disappearing past your stretched lips, buried to the root. Drool and pre-come painted your chin in strings of glossy fluid as you tried to breathe around him. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your face a mess of tears, spit, and his slick. 

His gaze traced every detail. The single mole beneath his eye seemed darker against the flush spreading across his cheekbones. His eyes were hooded sensually, pupils blown wide, black swallowing gold, and his lips parted on each shallow breath. 

"Beautiful," he panted. "The most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

Jing Yuan pulled back. The slide was slow, his ridges dragging against your throat, tongue and the inside of your cheeks. The sensation was overwhelming – too much and not enough. You whimpered around him. His cock jumped against your palate.

"More?" His smile was soft, too patronising for your liking. Still, it sent the pulsing wave of heat from your core to your neglected cunny. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, feeling where his flesh stretched you wide. "You want more, sweetheart? You want to be good for me?"

You nodded as much as you could. Jing Yuan patted your hair and pulled back, leaving your poor mouth empty before feeding you with his cock again. He found his pace, slow at first, patient, letting you adjust to the rhythm of him – the thick push forward, the drag back, the way his ridges caught and pulled at your soft tissue.

Each thrust seated him deeper. Your throat opened and accepted his throbbing cock. Your hands had found his ass for support, fingers digging into the plump muscle, gripping his cheeks as he used your face. His skin was hot and damp beneath your palms, flexing with each controlled movement. With another lash, his tail wrapped around one of your hands.

"That's my good girl," he crooned. "Taking all of me. Such a tight little throat– ah! Made for me!"

His pace increased. The slap of his balls against your chin became rhythmic, each impact spreading his pre-come across your skin in glossy smears, thin strings connecting your chin to his balls every time he left your mouth. Your vision blurred with tears, and you could smell nothing but him. Arousal had already soaked your thighs, dripped down to wet the furs beneath you, and you knew he could smell that too. His nostrils flared with each breath. His pupils dilated further.

"You're dripping, love," he said, and his voice had roughened, lost its velvet polish. "Your pussy is weeping for me. Can you feel it? Every time I push into this sweet throat, your little hole clenches…"

His thrusts were deeper now, less controlled. His hips had developed an animal rhythm, and his chest was sheened with sweat that ran in rivulets down the hard planes of his stomach. The muscles there jumped and flexed with each movement. His mane had fallen around his face, white strands clinging to his damp temples. His ears were flattened back against his skull in feline concentration.

"Your mouth is so hot," he gasped. "So wet. Like your cunt, I know it is, I felt it, I need–"

His hands flew to your head, and he stopped. His cock was buried to the root in your throat, your nose crushed against his pelvis yet again. His entire body was trembling. His tail lashed around your arm, pulling you closer, and his claws extended, just slightly, pricking the delicate skin of your scalp.

"Look at me."

You forced your eyes up, trying to find his face through the veil of tears. His gaze was incandescent, burning, the look of a king who has found something worth worshipping.

"I’m going to come down your throat," he stated. "I’m going to fill you so full that you taste me for days. Every time you swallow, you will taste your man. Every time you breathe, you will smell me on you."

With that, Jing Yuan started moving again. His pace was brutal now, desperate, the controlled patience stripped away to reveal the hunger beneath. His cock pistoned into your throat, each thrust seating him deeper, his ridges catching and releasing with wet, obscene sounds. Saliva and pre-come had formed a frothy white ring around the base of his shaft, and your lips were swollen, bruised-looking, stretched beyond their limits. You gagged, and he moaned, the vibration of your throat around his cock clearly sending him higher. Your hands clawed at his ass, nails leaving red trails, and he growled deeply.

"Take it," he rasped. "Take all of it. Swallow for me, sweetheart, swallow around my cock–"

His hips slammed forward one final time, seating himself impossibly deep, and you felt it. The first pulse was a flood. Hot and thick, impossibly copious, his come filled your throat in a rush that had you choking instantly. But he held you there, his grip gentle but immovable, and you had no choice but to take it. 

The second pulse. The third. Each wave was heavier than the last, his release seeming endless, and you felt it escape, come spilling from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin to join the mess on your chest. It came from your nose, thin streams of white, and you coughed, gagged, your throat convulsing around his pulsing cock.

Jing Yuan watched you with his eyes half-closed, lips parted, his entire expression one of gentle adoration. His thumb traced your cheekbone, smearing come across your skin.

"I've waited for so long," he whispered. "I thought I would never– hell, sweetheart, you're still swallowing– find s-someone like you."

When he pulled back, it left you gasping and choking, a trail of saliva and pre-come stretching from your lips to his fat girth. You collapsed forward, your face pressing into his muscular thigh, your tears, snot, and cum smearing across his hot skin.

"Ah, darling," Jing Yuan murmured. His hand stroked your hair, your cheek, the curve of your shoulder. "You did so well. Took me so deep. But now," he kneeled, and his hand slid down your back, gripped your hip, yanked you close, and finally, rolled you onto your tummy, "now we must reproduce~"

His weight was a universe collapsing onto your spine, his chest a furnace against your shoulder blades, his mane spilling around your face in a curtain of white silk that smelled of sun-scorched grass and the deep musk of his skin. 

You scrabbled at the furs beneath you, fingers clawing through the dense animal pelts, heels digging for purchase as his cock slid in the cleft of your ass, the thick weight of him dragging through the sodden mess of your folds. Your entire body seized.

"Still trying to run?" His voice was honey over gravel, amused and breathless, his hips continuing that torturous rock."Still think there's somewhere else you'd rather be than pinned beneath your mate?"

"P-please." Your voice was a ruin, scraped raw by his cock, by your moans. "You already– you already got what you wanted–"

"Oh, dear," Jing Yuan settled his weight more firmly onto your back, one massive palm planting between your shoulder blades and pressing you flat against the zebra pelt. The fur was coarse against your cheek, smelling of earth and him."I've barely started."

His free hand rose and fell.

The slap cracked through the cave like thunder, his palm connecting with the crest of your burning ass cheek, and the forgotten pain rose again, radiating outward in waves of heat that traveled straight to your clit. You screamed into the furs, your body arching involuntarily, but his hand on your spine held you immobile.

“No! Stop!” Your throat was raw, and some drool seepedinto the furs under your chin.

"I won’t stop. Not until you learn your rightful place, which," his fingers traced the blooming handprint, pressing into the heat of it, "Is under me, well fed and well bred."

His hand landed on your ass again. Each blow was measured with the patience of a creature who had all of eternity to reduce you to this – a sobbing, writhing thing beneath his palm, your ass a canvas of his ownership. 

He spanked the tender curve where your ass met your thigh, and you howled. He spanked the backs of your thighs, and your cunt gushed slick onto the fur. He spanked the same cheek three times in succession, each impact landing on the same abused spot, and by the third you were babbling nonsense and his name and please, please, please.

"Please what?" His hand smoothed over the tortured flesh, soothing, almost tender. "Please stop? Please continue? You have to use your words, love. Your man can't read your mind."

Your answer was a wet sob into the fur and the small arch of your back that presented your neglected cunt to him.

"Ah, well." His hand squeezed your ass, kneading the welted flesh, his fingers digging deep into the burning heat. "I suppose your body knows better."

His words detonated in your chest. Jing Yuan felt your reaction – the sharp inhale, the way your cunt clenched miserably – and his chuckle was dark honey, pouring directly into your ear.

"There she is. There's my good girl. You just needed someone capable enough to handle you, didn't you, love? Someone who won't let you run from your own pleasure."

His cock found your entrance. Not pushing, just resting there, the weeping tip pressing against your dripping hole like a key testing a lock. You could feel every pulse against your most intimate flesh. 

"No." You tried to scramble forward. His hand on your spine pinned you. "No, wait, please, I can't– you're–"

His mouth opened. His fangs, those lethal curves of ivory, settled against the junction of your nape, resting there, a promise of pain to come.

"I need you to be very still now, honey." His voice was barely a whisper, reverent and desperate. "Can you do that for your man? Can you be still and take what I give you?"

You couldn't speak. You nodded into the furs, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Good girl. My perfect mate."

He pushed.

The head of his cock stretched you wide, wider than his fingers had, wider than anything had ever stretched you, and the sensation was beyond pain – it was invasion, his flesh forcing your flesh to accommodate, your poor hole fluttering and catching on each ridge as he seated himself inch by inch. You heard yourself make a sound, high and keening, an animal noise of submission and terror.

And then Jing Yuan bit down.

His fangs sank into the meat of your nape, not deep enough to seriously injure but deep enough to claim, and the spike of agony was the key that unlocked your body. Your cunt, which had been resisting his invasion, suddenly relaxed. Your inner muscles softened, surrendered, and he bottomed out in one deep thrust.

The sound Jing Yuan made was not human. It was something between roar and moan, muffled against your flesh, vibrating through your bones. His entire body shuddered against yours, his hips pressing flush to your burning ass, his balls heavy against your clit. 

After a second that felt like infinity, his fangs retracted, and his tongue immediately began to soothe the wound, in loving strokes that made the pain transmute into something else entirely. 

"Hell! You feel– you're so– ah~" He couldn't finish. His hips moved involuntarily, and you both gasped.

“H-heavens, dear, just let me hold you,” Jing Yuan breathed against your hair while his forearm slid across the front. Your spine arched back against his chest, when he trapped your neck and head between the massive curve of his forearm and the solid wall of his shoulder. The muscle there was obscene, corded and veined, flexing against your throat with every breath he took. You could feel the sheer strength of him, and the knowledge that he could crush your windpipe without any effort, made something unhinged and totally wrong flutter in your heart. 

"Shh." His lips pressed against your temple, and you could hear the impossible strain in his voice. "I have you..."

It felt like he was everywhere. Inside you, above you, around you, his scent flooding your lungs, his weight pressing you into the pelts, his cock buried in your aching cunt. His arm kept your head tilted back against his shoulder, and the position meant you couldn't look away from the cave ceiling, couldn't hide from the overwhelming sensation of him. You could only lie there, impaled and filled, while he breathed hot against your cheek.

Your belly seemed to bulge slightly with his intrusion, and when his free hand slid down and under your body to press against the slight swell over your pelvis, he made a sound of pure worship.

"There," he whispered against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. "There it is. Feel that, love? Feel how deep I am?”

Jing Yuan withdrew slowly, his ridges dragging against your clutching walls in reverse, and the sensation was too much – the textured pull, the way your body tried to grip him and couldn't, the sucking sound of his cock leaving your greedy hole. His head reached your entrance, hovered there, and you whimpered at the loss.

He hummed at that and thrusted forward, making his balls slap against your abused clit. The sound of his pelvis meeting your ass was a wet crack that echoed off the cave walls. His hand slid from your belly to your mouth, two thick fingers pushing past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, and you gagged around them, saliva flooding your chin.

"That's it." His voice was strained now, the polished veneer cracking to reveal the desperate animal beneath. "That's my good girl..."

His thrusts found a rhythm. Slow withdrawal, agonizing drag, then the brutal plap when he drilled into your poor cunny. Each impact drove his fingers deeper into your throat, his cock deeper into your cunt, his balls slapping wetly against your clit in a rhythm that made your toes curl. The sounds – the wet plap plap plap of your bodies meeting, your garbled moans around his fingers, his deepening growls – ricocheted off the stone walls, multiplied, became a symphony of your surrender.

"Yes," Jing Yuan hissed. "This is how my queen should sound. Clenshing on my cock, choking on my fingers, crying because she feels too good. You were– ah, fuck– made for this, honey."

His angle shifted. His hips rolled differently, the head of his cock suddenly pressing against something new – a ring of inner muscle, tight and resistant, the final gate to your deepest self. You felt him find it because his entire body went rigid, and when Jing Yuan spoke again, his voice was raw with desperate need.

"Oh~ Oh, my love~” He grumbled, massaging your tongue with his fingers. “Pray tell, are you still a virgin here?"

You couldn't answer. His fingers were in your mouth, your throat in the crook of his arm, his cock pressing against that final barrier with a needy twitch. You shook your head weakly, tears flying, and his pleased groan vibrated through you.

"My perfect mate. Saving this for your king." His hips pressed forward, just slightly, testing, and the sensation was overwhelming – not pain, not pleasure, but something beyond both. His voice deepened to the obscene grumble, deep and sensual, when he resumed his pounding. "Don't worry, honey. I’ll make it feel so good~"

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The orgasm that crashed over you was immense, your cunt clenching around his pistoning cock in waves of desperate spasms. You screamed around his fingers, with your vision whiting out completely, your entire body convulsing beneath him.

And then you heard the roar.

His hips lost all rhythm, slamming into you with animal desperation, each thrust driving his tip against your womb with bruising force. His balls drew up tight against his body, and the sounds he made were no longer words – they were growls, snarls, the vocalizations of a creature who had forgotten his human shape.

"Take it," he snarled. "Take it, dear, take all of it, take– take–!"

His tip breached your cervix.

The pain was blinding, a spike of white-hot agony that immediately transmuted into the most exquisite pleasure you had ever experienced. Yuan was inside you, truly inside, his cock seated in the deepest chamber of your body, and you felt the first pulse of his release. 

Hot. Copious. Endless. 

His cum flooded your womb in creamy waves, each pulse of his cock milking more of his essence into your empty chamber. Warmth spread through the inside of your belly, making your abdomen swell as he filled you beyond capacity.

Yuan was still coming when his hips began to move again. Slow, shallow thrusts that kept his cock seated deep, his release spilling around his cock, dripping down his balls to pool on the furs beneath you. His arms relaxed, letting your head fall face-first into the furs. His mouth found your sweaty nape again, kissing, laving the mark he'd left with gentle sweeps of his tongue.

"There," he murmured. "There, sweetheart. All better. I got you."

When he finally pulled out and kneeled behind you, the sensation was almost worse than the penetration. His cock slid free of your clutching flesh, and immediately, his release gushed out of the gaping emptiness, dripping down your thighs in thick white rivulets. You felt too empty and obscenely open, your cunt unable to close around the absence of him, your inner lips swollen and parted, your hole a perfect circle that slowly began to contract back in shape.

Jing Yuan’s gaze dropped to the junction of your thighs, and his pupils blew wide at the sight.

"Oh," he breathed. "Oh, my love. Look at what I've done to you."

His fingers, gentle now, traceyour labia. His release continued to seep out, viscous and pearlescent, and he gathered it on his fingertips and pushed it back inside. You whimpered at the intrusion, pussy desperately clutching at his digits.

"Good girl," he whispered. "My perfect mate, so full of me."

Jing Yuan lowered himself onto his side, gathering you against his chest, pulling the furs up over your trembling body. His heartbeat was strong and steady against your back, slowly decelerating from its desperate race. His hand found your belly, splaying across the slight swell, and he held you there, warm and possessive.

"Sleep now, love." His lips pressed against your hair. "Your mate will watch over you. Always."

The purr began slowly, a deep vibration that started in his chest and traveled through his entire body, then yours, until you were both humming with the same frequency. His softening cock, gave weak pulses against your hip, releasing the last few drops of his seed onto your skin.

"Thank you for the gift," The Lion Man murmured. You weren't sure if he was speaking to you or to whatever gods had delivered you to his territory.

The golden light of the phosphorescent fungi seemed to dim, settling into something intimate. The furs beneath you absorbed the mess of your bodies. 

And in the grasp of the obsessive Lion Man, you closed your tired eyes.

Night settled over the savanna like indigo silk. The waterhole reflected the first stars, and the gazelles had long since departed, leaving only the trampled grass and your abandoned camera as evidence of the afternoon's vigil.

Two figures stood at the edge of the clearing. The man was tall, blond, his long hair catching the dying light as he bent to retrieve the fallen equipment. His green eyes swept the viewfinder, the cracked lens, the deep impressions of a heavy body settling into the dust.

"Well." His voice was light and satisfied. "I told you it would work."

The woman beside him adjusted her black sunglasses, though the sun had fully set. Her baby blue hair stirred in the light breeze.

"He was obsessed with her from the very beginning." Her tone was assessing. "His scent markers are all over this area. We shouldn’t interfere, unless we want our heads bitten off."

"Exactly. Given that they have already begun mating, he will most likely not let us near her for the next week." The blond turned the camera over in his hands, examining the crack. "Though that's fine. The white lion hybrids have been struggling with genetic diversity for centuries. A human mate will introduce fresh variation."

"Assuming the pregnancy takes."

"It will." His smile was certain. "Jing Yuan is nothing if not thorough."

He tucked the camera into his jacket, and two figures turned, melting into the tall grass.

.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

(if you want me to tag you, comment on the series masterlist please)

Prev. Part: Red Riding Hood & The Big Bad Pie (werewolf!Varka x reader)

Next part: My Kitchen, My Rules, Your Face (RaccoonHybrid!Caelus x reader)

Jing Yuan is unironically very hard to write. He is also one of my favourite characters, so yeah… 8000+ words c:

Also, a fun thing about writing smut and like sensual scenes in general. I noticed that it's kind of hard when you try to write a lot of action and poses because like... where the hell did I make him put his hand? Her hip or belly? How should I make him move it to her neck? Is that kind of move even possible?

Anyway, I hope you forgive me for the headlock scene. I just feel that it's written a bit awkwardly, but I don't have the mental capacity to rewrite it rn :c

My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @fayebyte, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @damarezen, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai, @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, ...

(hope i've tagged everyone!)

"Okay, okay, now...try not to freak out, they can smell fear~" lohen chuckled lowly as he led you through his darkened office, feeling helplessly for the long forgotten lightswitch.

"Alright, just let me turn on the light- ack!" You stumble as a table oh so rudly struck you for existing within the shared space.

"Whoops! Sorry, my love!" Lohen finally released his grip on your hand to switch on the lights, at last illuminating the room, "over here, they're waiting for us!"

You rub the back of your leg, shooting a spiteful glance at that infernal table. Thank goodness lohen kept his weapons in storage instead of carelessly laying about, or this trip would've ended in a hospital visit.

Then again, it still might.

Lohen had not been very...descriptive when it came to these 'mysterious allies' of his. The excitable man simply said they were his 'greatest and fluffiest soldiers under his command,' as if that was enough to explain why he stole you away from an important meeting with the other captains.

To say you were curious was understandable. To say you were afraid was an understatement.

Lohen ran to the small cage on his desk, which was occasionally thumping about as whatever was inside jostle the crate with its rapid movements.

"And now, I present to you the most fearsome of beasts in Mondstadt...VIOLA!"

Lohen yanked the cloth off the cage with a flourish, revealing much to your excitement- and ease- two big, fluffy rabbits. One with black spots and another covered in thick, ebony fluff.

"Meet Doomfanger and Soul Stealer!" Lohen grinned as he let the two fluff balls out of their cage. Doomfanger scratched at his spots, while Soul Stealer cautiously hopped closer toward you.

You couldnt stop yourself once brought face to face with the 'fluffy menaces' especially as Doomfanger ran up along lohens arms. "Oh my archons, they're so cute!"

Soul Snatcher rested his head in your palm as you scratched behind his ears, it seemed he was more sociable than his brother.

"I know, can you believe I found them in the cellars. Destroyed our cabbages, but I didn't like those anyways." Lohen let Doomfanger climb up on his head, allowing the gentle beast to rest on his perch.

"You are the cutest fluff ball I've ever seen, how are you real!?" The cuteness aggression was overtaking your senses, though, it seemed Soul Snatcher was already used to this treatment.

He was lohens pet after all.

You followed the bunnies to the floor, watching Doomfanger overtake Soul Snatcher in combat, while one was far fluffier, one was far stronger than the other.

Lohen picked up Doomfanger and set the bunny on the floor, Soul Snatcher quickly joined as the two began to wrestle. " trained them with some of the gaurd dogs, now they're the perfect gaurds! As long as they get their treats!"

"Why do you have to keep them locked in here? I've literally never seen these two before. They're so precious!"

"Well, I didn't think you'd like them. So I didn't wanna show them to you until I knew you could handle them, And they wouldn't bite you. So, i put one of your sweaters into their crate so theyd get used to your smell. Soul Snatcher took to you quickest! And as for the cage...."

Heavy footsteps rang through the long halls as a familiar, exhausted, voice echoed after the clanking of metal. Unconsciously, you stood at attention for the Grandmaster.

"Lohen for the last time you can't keep running out of meetings just for 'a quick missi-'

Varka stood frozen in the doorway, as he watched Doomfanger sniff the air, as if checking for nearby prey. Soul Snatcher began to thump his legs against the floor aggressively, they Had indeed found something interesting.

Lohen snickered as the bunnies prepared to pounce on their prey, snickered as Varka let the papers he was holding fall onto the ground.

"Last time I let them wander, they turned Varka into a chew toy~"

Lohen pointed a finger towards the Grandmaster, finally granting a command to his menacing soldiers. "Go my children, KILL!"

Varka took a step back from the door, never letting his gaze escape the rabbits. With each step he took back, the rabbits took one forward. While Doomfanger had sharper teeth, Soul Snatcher was the quicker runner.

"Nice B-bunnies, good bunnies...lohen call them off or I'm docking your pay."

The rabbits lunged forward, chasing after the frightened Grandmaster down the hall. The sounds of their little footsteps drowned out by the rapid clanking of metal.

"No, NOT AGAIN! NEVER AGAIN!"

Lohen ran after the two bunnies, laughing joyfully while leaving you the choice to follow or to find him during his future punishment in Solitary once the Grandmaster remembered he was far larger and stronger than those 'killer bunnies.'