EGO

and now, in your own apartment, in the background of your youtube videos. it was a very natural progression, from starting a few fanclubs online as your interest shifted from team to team, to eventually making full-on reviews while mostly glazing your favorite face card at the time. 

you’d earned a sizeable following, made up of mostly women. the men tended to question (rather rudely) whether your interest was genuine, and if you weren’t just openly thirsting over their hardworking athletes. regardless, your videos garnered you enough of a following to allow you to move to barcelona. now you could watch the matches in person, your videos taking on a much more genuine tone as your appreciation for the culture surrounding it grew.

however, recently you’ve been entirely locked in on one person. one man who’s captured your attention to the point of near-madness. every time your eyes found him, your body heated up dangerously. from his tall, muscular frame, to his chiselled face lined with a scar you ached to run your lips across.

bunny iglesias, your undefeated number one obsession for the last 3 years. never before have you stayed so interested in one singular player. and it didn’t look like anything was about to change any time soon.

as the video progresses, you talk more and more animatedly about one of bunny’s passes to lavinho, of course not forgetting how he brushed his hair out of his eyes after he scored the first out of his three goals that match.  

it’s when you replay some of the footage that you pause at someone who isn’t bunny.

“oh!” you clap your hands with a sweet smile, “sae itoshi~ he’s so good too. not better than bunny, though. i loved his assist for leonardo luna, he’s really skilled!”

you’re visibly shaking in your seat as you rewatch the final goal of the match, scored by your bunny. “see that?!” you gush, “that’s why he’s my favorite. he’s so amazing!” 

your squealing and giggling is something you love leaving in your videos, many people have left comments about how cute it was and how contagious your excitement was. it was truly such a beautiful corner of the internet that you’ve managed to create. all because of your boy-crazy, or rather, bunny-crazy nature. 

“right~ this was such a wonderful match, and i’m so happy i got to see it in person!” you swing your legs back and forth, swaying in your chair a bit. “next week there’s a barcha meet and greet! of course i’m going. i really want bunny to sign my jersey!”

“see you guys again soon, i’ll make a video afterwards, as always~ bye bye!”

now to editing, reviews like this are best uploaded as soon as possible.

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

lavinho’s house is loud. bunny knew this, and yet still somehow agreed to come. music blasting from the speakers while the two of them lounge on a couch that’d easily fit over 15 people. his red eyes devoid of.. anything really, focus on the ceiling while his senior yaps away about the recent match. his excitement palpable, his pride oozing off of him in spades. scrolling through his phone grins maniacally and scoots closer to bunny and passes him his phone. 

“ever seen her before?” he questions, eyes darting between him and the woman on the screen. 

bunny squints, examining the title ‘barcha vs re al review & commentary’. “why would i care?”

lavinho laughs him off, “dude, she’s like your biggest fan! a cutie, too.” he presses play.

the next minute that bunny is subjected to your grating fascination feels like it took years off his life. which, honestly works in his favor. the smile on your face has his gut churning, the food he consumed about half an hour ago threatening to come back up. 

yet, he chuckles along with lavinho, “a pretty face, for sure.”

“dude, i watched some of her vlogs, she’s hot as fuck. maybe she’ll be at the meet and whatever,” the older player ponders, “wonder if i can get her number. she looks like a good time.”

bunny has long since tuned him out, trying to keep his nausea at bay. the joy in  your voice, the happy aura you exuded even through a screen incited a type of disgust he hadn’t felt in a long time. that spark in your eye was as vomit inducing, as it was fascinating.

fascinating enough for him to be scrolling through his phone that same evening, torturing himself with every video you’ve ever made. dedicated as he was, he started at the oldest public one, which happened to document the start of your infatuation with him. 

as the videos progressed, your descriptions of him shifted from shallow ‘hot’ and ‘attractive’ to slightly more introspective  ‘skilled’ and ‘quick on his feet’. something that hasn’t changed was your undying elation whenever you spoke of him. your smile only got brighter with every video, and sometimes you’d even (what he assumed was) forget to edit out you fanning yourself as it all just became too much and overheated your soft body. not like he was paying attention to that whenever he watched your vlogs. which showed your whole body. usually dressed in some tiny skirt which he also totally didn’t pay attention to. until he did. 

he grimaced, already dreading the moment he may potentially face you at the fanmeet lavinho mentioned, one he totally forgot about. 

his eyes dart to his bathroom door, maybe if he finally stopped being a coward, he could finally pull through and not have to go to some stupid fan meet at all.

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

but the day does arrive, luckily for you. camera in hand ready to snap a few pictures and maybe some footage, donning your trusty ‘iglesias’ jersey, you set off to the venue. the walk there, in the scorching sun, is aided only by the sea of barcha adverts left and right as a last minute extra promotion of the event. 

as bunny’s biggest fan, you must be there first, though. your feet take you there at a speed rivaling the fastest speed-walkers on earth, the camp-nou stadium comes closer and closer. little skirt swishes around your thighs, flimsily held down by the slightly-too-big jersey. 

your gigantic smile has a few people looking at you weirdly, but you pay them no more mind than a brief wave. if you’re having a good day, you might as well brighten a few others.

a line has already formed, but it’s definitely not too bad. especially given it’s still two hours until the doors open. you choose to watch some recent match replays, it would make for good conversation material.

though, any and all things you could’ve thought of didn’t matter the moment you were face to face with the one and only bunny iglesias. thoughts evaporated the moment his soulless red eyes met your glossy ones. forced to fan away your tears before you became a wreck, you smile brightly at him while you introduce yourself. “i’m s-such a big fan!”

you didn’t anticipate being so nervous. not at all. and yet here you are, stumbling over the most basic sentence he’ll likely be hearing all day today. 

his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s enough for you anyway. 

“what would you like me to sign, muñeca?” he takes the cap off of his marker, his tone barely differing from monotone. 

you immediately hold out the bottom of your jersey, face heating up. “i should’ve probably not worn it, huh? that’d be easier.”

he merely shrugs and signs it anyway, “you’re far from the only one.”

you nod, hands shaking as you feel the brief warmth of his near you. you examine his face, especially the scar. it’s pretty and pink-ish. you’ve read some comments from people who thought it was ugly, how it ruined his pretty face, but you couldn’t disagree more. he wears it well. so well, your lips itch to soothe any discomfort those comments may have caused him, had he seen them.

you don’t even realize he’s already done, now just eyeing you boredly while you basically eat him with your eyes. as if burned, you let go of your jersey, letting it fall back against your thighs. “i’m sorry! and thank you!” you ramble, moving to the next player. and the next. and after another five, you land right in front of lavinho. 

he’s sporting a smirk so cunning you shrink into yourself slightly, but smile nonetheless. “hello!” you introduce yourself, and he repeats your name to you while chuckling.

he signs a piece of merch you’ve placed in front of him, a barcha flag, and makes sure to touch your hand with his as he gives it back. “you’ve got that little youtube channel, no? real cute.”

you nod, face heating up all over again, “right! do you watch it?”

“how else would i know?” he winks. “you’re always so happy, it’s infectious. even showed you to bunny the other day.”

your eyes widen, “really? what did he say?”

“he’s a buzzkill, first and foremost,” he shrugs, “said you’ve got a pretty face. that was it.”

ah, of course. 

“but!” he smirks, “i certainly think there’s more to you.”

what do you call this? some sort of divine intervention? security tells you to move along, and even lavinho can’t do anything about it. animatedly complaining to the guard while you wave to him with a small, uncomfortable smile. 

even though the stadium is an open-roof establishment, exiting it still felt like a breath of fresh air. well. only thing left to do now is make your promised video. 

ringlight on, signed jersey and other signed items laid out in front of you, you start recording.

“hello everyone!” you smile wide, cheeks hurting, “i just came back from the event, and as promised i’m here to tell you all about it!”

unable to help yourself, you pull up the jersey first, fists clutching it so hard your knuckles start hurting. “i got it signed! my bunny jersey! personally signed!” you squeal and giggle. the usual works whenever you talk about bunny. 

“he was really nice to me, even though i was like, ugh- insanely awkward!” you scrunch your nose before you remember the most important detail. “wait, you guys-! he actually held this in his hands! oh-em-gee!”

you sniff it, giggling maniacally. “holy shit!”

“oh, i’m never washing this again.”

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

bunny’s lip is pressed tight between his teeth, phone nearly cracking from the deathgrip he has on the poor thing. echoing in his dark room is your voice, laughing and squealing about him. his brows furrowed while he fists his cock angrily. 

whether he’s angry at you or at himself, he doesn’t wish to think about. what he does know is that his current predicament is a hundred percent your fault. whatever it is that you put in your videos, be that your skimpy outfits, or just his jersey, has stuck to him enough he can’t help seeing your stupidly cheery face even when he closes his eyes. and that perfume you wore while at the stadium, it was so sickly sweet he had to try his best to not send you away. 

and yet, here he is. in his bed, jacking off until the skin of his dick is raw. his eyes laser-focused on your face and his torso already covered in two loads. nothing is enough, there’s simply too many videos about him that you’ve made. too much content of you basically worshipping him to get through. and all of it makes his dick so hard he feels like dying. nothing new there, though.

with a few last strokes as you sniff the jersey, he cums a final time, his dick finally giving up as it softens. 

bunny pants heavily, staring at his now dark phone screen. what the actual fuck are you doing to him? and how can he make it stop?

he sluggishly walks over to his bathroom and switches on the shower. a good question, does he even want you to stop? 

the cold water soothes over his heated skin, though it does a piss poor job at actually washing away the partially dried cum off his chest. he can’t help agonizing over the fact that for the first time in a while, someone has affected him. sure, he still can’t wait until the sweet embrace of death graces him, but with you by his side.. worshipping him, loving him.. the wait may no longer be so agonizing. 

he closes his eyes, and as expected, the image of your sheepish smile from where you were sat a mere few centimeters away from him is right there. how disgustingly cute. that spark in your eyes, how full of life you seem to be, both on- and off screen. truly appalling. 

his next match is next week. surely you’ll be there too. you said you always are. and certainly, you won’t mind a ticket upgrade.

the next day he tells his team to send you a vip ticket. doesn’t specify why, and by now they know not to question him.

much to his own chagrin, the days leading up to the match are no different for him at all. his cock weeps anytime he hears your voice through the speaker of his phone. the hours of content now reduced to rewatches as time slips through his fingers and washes away with each cooling shower. finally, something to do instead of agonising over his pathetic life. 

the crowd cheering as he enters the field holding a child’s hand is background noise, his focus entirely on the vip section of the stands. 

lo and behold. you’re right there. eyes bright, hands clapping as you shout your lungs dry, he’d recognize your voice anywhere by now. 

bunny’s mood sours and brightens at the same time, if that’s something that was even remotely possible. the former because your voice screeches through the noise of the crowd, standing out in the most obnoxious way, and the latter, because that jersey he signed that you were sniffing in your video is hanging off your frame so deliciously it makes him want to bend you over and flip up that tiny excuse of a skirt up and take you in front of everyone. 

alas, he’s got his god-forsaken match to play. the darned whistle blows, and off he goes. a pass there, a defender getting in his way here, another pass from lavinho, and unsurprisingly to everyone present, bunny scores within the first 10 minutes. 

he sends a cheeky smile to the camera, throwing up a peace sign before his eyes find their way back to you. there are tears running down your soft cheeks already, you poor thing. he immediately regrets looking over, because the sight of your wet face has his groin stirring like it never did before. 

the young striker's eyes widened. oh, he just found his new favorite expression. people crying has always brought a ghost of a smile to his face, but on you it’s like an entirely new concept. now, if only he can manage to wring those tears out of you in a different context. that is something worth living for. 

the rest of the match he has to actively stop himself from searching you out. if your emotional state got him that distracted at one glance, it could cost him dearly. 

so, goal after goal, with one in between by lavinho, and two lucky ones from the opposing team, barcha wins. 5-2. 

only then does he dare another look in your direction, a mere few feet away from your section. your eyes are already set on him, the wonder and the admiration oozing from you in both sobs and claps and screams of joy. 

in spite of the overwhelming amount of press that will no-doubt capture this moment and plaster it everywhere they can while his pr-team tries to control the damage- he winks. right while making eye contact with you. the camera’s already focused on him, capturing the moment in real time. the stadium erupts in another wave of cheers, while he sees you freeze in your place. aren’t you just so awfully adorable.

without looking back, he’s off to entertain the celebrations for as little as his team lets him get away with before he’s on his way to the locker room, his ear already talked off by his manager about the ‘inappropriate interaction’. 

bunny waves him off, instead instructing him to make sure you get to him. “locker room- whatever you can manage. let me know where she is. i need to speak to her.”

he hears a frustrated huff behind him, and smirks as the footsteps get further and further away; while the sweetheart plaguing his mind is only getting closer and closer.

but when bunny finally exits the locker room, you’re nowhere to be found. there’s not even a call from his manager that you’ve left before he could get to you. 

the scowl on his face has even lavinho backing off from his usual teasing, especially after the stunt he just pulled. “easy there, tiger. what, i thought you weren’t all that impressed with the girl?”

of course, the old fool can’t help himself. “don’t even start,” bunny dismisses him, tone clipped. the cars to take them home are in sight, reporters crowding the exit for one last feature, one last question they’ve all heard before. he brushes past them, mics ignored and overlooked.

his mood entirely ruined, plan in shambles- oh.

he steps inside his car, and aside from the driver, there’s a very, very nervous figure. guess his manager came through better than he expected him to.

bunny can’t help the wide smile from spreading across his face, “hello there, muñeca.”

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

the moment you register that wink, your world stops. the noise of the crowd blurs into background white-noise, and all you see is bunny’s eyes focused right on you. and then just as fast, his back is turned and he walks off. leaving you there, stunned and with your heart racing. even if you hadn’t been a fan of him before, this certainly would’ve cemented you as one. 

as if the tickets weren’t enough. 

wrapping up another video, a simple vlog where you expressed your excitement for the upcoming match, you receive a new email on your business account. 

something something ‘mr. bunny iglesias’, something something ‘vip tickets’. had you been holding something it would’ve clattered to the ground. 

the sound that escaped you then had your neighbors worried enough to knock on your apartment door, believing you might have just been murdered. 

luckily, you were most definitely not. although you might as well have died and come back alive with the violent surge of emotions coursing through you then, as well as now as you watch bunny’s figure get smaller and smaller as he approaches his teammates. 

the celebrations rage on around you, while the less invested leave the stadium in droves. you have half a mind to record anything, being so close to bunny kind of sabotaged your recording efforts. why would you stare at him through the lens of your camera when you can, and did, stare at him from the very front; too busy screaming your throat raw to record. 

when you did finally come-to, it was really only briefly. a firm grip on the shoulder, you’re now faced with no other than mr. manager. bunny’s manager. he looks less than thrilled, his voice strained as if doing this was fully against his will, “he wants to see you.”

your immediate assumption would be some sort of corridor, maybe an office as you trail behind the speed-walking man. “uh- sir? may i ask why?”

 ï’ve got no bloody idea.”

you get neither of those options. instead, you’re ushered into a car before he slams the door. the car is then driven to the exit where you wait anxiously for bunny to show up. it’s honestly a bit too much all at once, tears gather in your eyes and you sniffle. it’s not only the prospect of being semi-alone with bunny, but being personally asked to show up is such an otherworldly concept in and of itself. 

you pick at the hem of your skirt as you examine the car. the seats are a comfortable, red leather, the windows obviously tinted, and a wall-like construction to separate the passenger from the driver which is currently pulled up. you have no idea who’s behind the wheel and maybe that’s for the better. there’s no need for anyone to see you crying to yourself, makeup probably smudged a bit already. 

as time passes, your excitement grows the longer you’re kept in suspense. your lip more and more raw the longer you chew on it, nerves buzzing. what will you even say?

until finally, the door clicks open. a very annoyed bunny steps inside, and briefly pauses once his eyes land on you. his posture now much more relaxed, a wide smile spreads across his face, “hello there, muñeca.”

it takes a superhuman effort for as little as a small wave, his body so close to you it’s hard to even breathe. “hi…”

his eyes scan you head to toe, darkening when they settle on your soft thighs which are barely covered by the poor excuse of a skirt you tend to wear. he then looks back to your face, smile softening into a subtle smirk, “why so nervous? you’re usually so… outspoken when it comes to me.”

your tongue ties as his body leans closer. a hand on your thigh has you malfunctioning briefly before you muster a quiet: “it’s different.”

“different how?” he immediately questions, his face mere inches away from yours. “i have to say, your excitement is cute, but this? this sweet, sickening shyness-”

he leans in until your lips nearly touch, his voice dropping to a breathy whisper, “it’s doing things to me, and i hate it.”

he tilts his head to the side, eyeing you with a faux pout, “it’s been keeping me up at night, you know? it’s stressful, and it may impact my performance… what if you lose interest in me then? i don’t know what i’d do if i lost the support of my biggest fan.”

the tip of his finger traces your jaw, down your neck and the neckline of the jersey, “it may just make life.. a little less worth living.”

then just as fast, he’s back in his own seat, a nearly pleasant smile on his face as he chuckles, “you’ll help me fix it, won’t you?”

stunned doesn’t even begin to cover what you’re experiencing, but it’s soon replaced by a sinking dread. a fear you didn’t know you could experience outside of some really good horror movies.

you find yourself nodding insistently, hands folded as if you’re begging, “o-of course!”

there’s no world you can imagine yourself enjoying if bunny wasn’t in it. he’s been the center of your life for the last three years, and you’d be damned before you let anything happen to him. besides, if it really is your fault, it’s only fair you help him out. however that help might look like. 

his smile widens, although it does not reach his eyes, “i knew you’d be good.”

it doesn’t matter if he meant it as a compliment, you take it as one anyway as your chest warms, same with your face and neck. your hand covers your mouth, disbelief still clouding your mind. 

soon, the car moves in a direction entirely unfamiliar to you, the way richer part of barcelona you’ve never stepped foot in. your attention, however, isn’t focused on the outside long. a hand on your thigh recaptures it, making you look back at bunny curiously.

the look in his eyes is unlike anything you’ve seen before, in anyone. his red eyes don’t usually show any emotion, be that on the pitch or during press interviews, yet what you find is nowhere near empty. instead, combined with a small smile, a deep-rooted tiredness gives way for interest. curiosity. excitement? his brow twitches, and you feel a nail dig into your thigh, almost painfully so while his grip tightens. 

a warmth pools in your belly, he’s so close, way more attractive than you’ve ever seen him. even the sweaty, shirtless paparazzi pictures from a few months back didn’t get you going nearly as much as his touch currently is. his hair still slightly wet from his shower, black tanktop clinging to his muscled torso, and god… his scars. all of them look like they’re aching for some love, and you’d be damned if you let this chance slip by. 

“we’re almost there,” he says, though it sounds mildly like a warning. 

you tilt your head, leaning into him unconsciously, “where?”

a corner of his lips quirks up an easily missable bit, “my apartment.”

his hold switches from your thigh to your hand, the imprint left by his nail drawing a bit of blood. before you can even mention it, he’s already tugging you out of the car, the tiny drop runs down your leg. “bunny-”

“got a bit carried away,” he brushes you off, he squeezes your hand, the pressure on your knuckles causes you to grimace briefly. 

but that is all forgiven and forgotten once he gets you in the elevator, both of his hands on your hips as he makes you face him. there’s a tone to his smile now you can’t put your finger on, but neither do you want to when he leans down to press a few kisses on your neck and up to your ear. a shiver runs down your spine, the tickling pleasure has your hands scrunching his tanktop in your hands. “a-ah~”

your eyes flutter shut while he starts to softly suckle on the skin right under your ear. though with each suck it’s like he gets hungrier and hungrier. he switches spots, the previous one already bruising. your knees buckle, but he holds you up, hands switching from your hips to your ass as he squeezes.

“bunny..!” you moan, and you feel him stiffen for a second before he resumes, harder and greedier than before. he kisses up your jaw before he plants a hickey there too. 

then, the elevator door opens and you’re startled out of your haze. bunny doesn’t seem too bothered, but he still stops. his eyes are barely open; you’d say he’s drunk if you didn’t know any better. 

he then grasps your hand again and drags you along to his door, his steps large and hurried, and very hard to keep up with. you’re out of breath by the time you get to the door, which unlocks and slams shut behind you in a split second. you don’t even have the time to process your surroundings before you’re pressed up against the nearest wall, his lips on yours in a display of lust you’d never thought you’d be on the receiving end of. his hands cup your cheeks, keeping you in place while he forces his tongue inside your mouth. his whole build somehow manages to completely dwarf you, and his hands soon get bored as they travel down to your chest, one of them lingering to squeeze your throat. the surprised sound you let out has him smiling into the kiss, though it’s more tongue-sucking at this point. and still, he goes down further, pinching your nipples which are so hard they poke through your flimsy bra and jersey.

the lack of air has you light-headed, the pleasure of him feeling you up clouding the remaining sense you’ve got. his presence is so intense in and of its own, the heaviness with which he’s rooted in his spot, keeping you pressed between him and the wall makes it impossible to push him away even the tiniest bit for that little bit of relief. 

just as you feel yourself getting weaker, he pulls away, panting. his hands hold you up by the waist, his eyes scan over your already fucked-out face with an eagerness that feels entirely unfamiliar to even someone like you, who’s been dutifully analyzing him for the last 3 years. 

you don’t even know how you get to the bedroom, splayed out on your back while he sits back on his haunches. he examines you like some experiment, fingers tracing from your jaw, down to your neck, over your covered breast and hardened nipple, down your soft belly and then over the junction between your belly and thigh where he lingers a few centimeters above where you actually need him most. his touch is featherlight, combined with the fabric still covering you it’s easy to think you’re imagining it. and yet he’s there, watching your face for every twitch, every microexpression and with every noise you make his own expression gets tighter and tighter. if you had any clarity left, you’d be inclined to question why he looks like he doesn’t really want to be here. 

suddenly, your skirt is gone. it falls down to the floor where bunny dropped it haphazardly. he leans over you a little more, bunching your jersey around your waist. your sweet, pink cotton panties with a little bow are on full display, the wet patch on the gusset giving away how your body aches for him. as if your whole body being so pliant for him didn’t do so already.

your brain is nearly melting out of your ears when his hands reach your inner thighs. still nowhere near your soaked core, which he can definitely see get wetter and wetter with each caress. you want to be embarrassed at how clear your need for more is, small whines and whimpers spill past your lips any time he gets even that tad bit closer.

until finally, he pushes at your thighs, spreading you open for him. he pushes them down, almost folding you in half before he runs his thumb over the ruined fabric of your underwear. from your twitchy clit to your fluttering entrance. he presses a bit harder there, almost pushing in with the fabric still in between. 

it has your whines increasing in volume, head thrown back at his teasing. “y’re so mean..!”

“mean?” he questions, “you’re the mean one, looking away from me while i try to make you feel good. eyes on me please, muñeca.”

his tone sounds just disappointed enough for you to look back immediately, cheeks flushing with heat as you bite your lip, “i’m sorry.”

“good. remember you’re doing this for me, yeah?” he smiles sadly, “i don’t want to feel bad anymore.”

“of course.” the guilt eats you alive. he’s being so nice to you, and you can’t help being impatient. calling him mean? that was too far. tears gather in your eyes, “i’m really sorry.” 

he leans his head against your thigh, his fingers running up and down your clothed slit while you shudder. he looks as if you kicked him, “you’ll still help me, right?”

you nod, eyelids fluttering from the pleasure. “y-yeah.. ah!”

your eyes widen as he slides your panties to the side, fingertips making direct contact with your throbbing clit. he rubs agonizingly slow yet precise circles over the bud, all while maintaining eye contact. he watches you intently as he speeds up and slows back down. he then sits back up, slides his fingers down to your entrance, and pushes two fingers in to the knuckle. 

his eyes widen as your hips buck and eyes squeeze shut, the moan you let out so is pornographic it’d make a virgin cream his pants immediately. 

the relief of finally being filled, especially when he curls his fingers immediately has your head spinning. 

unfortunately for you, it’s taken away just as quickly. your cunt now empty and fluttering and leaking copious amounts of slick makes you cry out, “bunny! please, please, i need it!”

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

bunny hoped getting you under him would solve this nearly crippling disgust he felt around you and your content. the fascination that kept him coming back for more bordered on an addiction, one with a sick and painful aftermath as his cock screams for rest after he’s jerked off for the 7th time that day. 

but nothing could’ve prepared him for the up close view of your tearful eyes. your cunt spread open for him, neck and jaw lined with bruises and the tiny wound surrounded by dried blood on your inner thigh makes his head spin. his patience has run dry. the moment he felt you envelop his fingers in your needy heat, it was over. 

he basically rips his clothes off, and in one slick thrust, his fully hard, abnormally thick dick is forced all the way inside your pussy. his heart soars, filling up the otherwise empty space. 

but oh, the tears streaming down your cheeks, the frantic spasms of your cunt as you try to adjust and the sobs. oh, the sobs. he can’t decide whether he wants to look at your cunt or your face more. both are wet, extremely so. though the tears running down your cheeks is what he’s been after this whole time.

your cries are like a balm to his scattered soul, the way you claw at his arms, his chest, begging and trying to be as close to him as possible. it’s all too much. he knew this would relieve him, even if only temporarily, but not even his wildest dreams could’ve prepared him for the absolute euphoria of seeing you cry up close. 

bunny leans down, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist, his hands bracing on the sides of your head. he feels your arms wrap around his torso, and he could damn well start crying too. 

and he almost does, once your lips make contact with one of the scars on his shoulder. in between your sobs of pleasure, he feels you whimper as you kiss along the marred skin. his hands grip the sheets underneath, eyes widening. “oh, hermosa..”

he nearly chokes, eyes glossing over for a second before he forcefully blinks it away. whatever you just did to him, you may just start wishing you hadn’t. 

he looks down at you, where you’re still going at it, trailing kisses wherever you can reach as the force of his thrusts push you up and down the bed. overwhelmed with emotion, bunny leans down and captures your lips with his again. he can’t have you getting carried away, the pressure on his chest grows rapidly on its own even without your help.

he feels his own cheeks getting wet as he continues kissing you, dutifully swallowing your moans while his cock somehow only gets harder. 

somewhere in between his assault on your mouth he hears you mumble that you’re about to cum and it has him pulling away immediately. he needs to see your face while you fall apart. he speeds up, encouraging you, “come on, give it to me.” 

your cries gradually get more frantic, higher in pitch before he feels a warm liquid spray his abdomen. your eyes roll into the back of your skull, and your mouth hangs open so obscenely he can’t help wishing to stuff his cock inside there too. even more tears stream down your cheeks and your cunt squeezes him so tight it forces his own orgasm out of him. his balls tighten, and he grips your waist to keep you locked onto him as he spills inside. “f-fuck-!”

his whole body is white hot with an emotion so new to him it leaves him speechless. he waits until you come-to, but it seems the whole ordeal was intense enough for you to knock you out cold. your breathing slowly evens out while he stays buried inside you, plugging you up. 

with gentle hands, he caresses your body up and down. from a brief massage on your thighs to using his shirt to wipe down your sweaty forehead. he leaves the tear stains though. he thinks they make you look absolutely gorgeous. 

from wanting to vomit at the sound of your stupidly cheery voice to jacking off to your videos nearly 24/7 to now wanting nothing more than to wring out every noise you could possibly make. 

bunny is truly baffled at what you’ve managed to do to him, his heart finally doesn’t feel like a void, and the thought of you leaving feels like ripping that all away. 

he smirks, the first bits of white escape around his softening cock. there’s a myriad of ways to keep you here. and he intends on using any method that sticks. 

he cleans you up; his version of it is to take his cock out, push the cum back in with his fingers and pull your panties back over your cunt. he gives your pussy a loving pat for good measure.

he’ll let you sleep for now, and he’ll join you soon. but first, a few arrangements are to be made.

° ⋆˖ ‧ ᯓ⚽︎ ₊˚.

you wake up with your body sore, the only comfort being the big, warm body spooning you. you rub your eyes, the area between your legs is uncomfortably sticky and your face heats up as you remember why. never in a million years would you have thought you’d ever get to sleep with the bunny iglesias, and yet, he sought you out himself. 

that’s obviously a detail you’ll omit in your new video. 

you take a moment to enjoy the body heat, while you replay yesterday over and over in your mind. you’d never taken a cock that big before, and you can’t get over how little resistance your cunt provided. he really just does turn you on that much. 

bunny stirring behind you has you laying entirely still, hoping he’ll think you’re still asleep to stay here just a minute longer. 

“good morning,” he mumbles into your neck, his hoarse, speel-ridden voice slicking your cunt all over again.

you yawn despite yourself. hoping to hide your disappointment you mumble a small and sleepy: “good morning.”

you wait for him to send you away, any type of ushering out the door, but instead, he just pulls you back closer, “sleep well?”

“huh? oh, yeah. very well, actually.”

“good,” he murmurs, caressing your thigh.

it’s almost as if he’s fallen back asleep, leaving you in a frankly uncomfortable silence as you’re unsure how to proceed. 

deciding to take matters into your own hands, you lift his arm from over your waist and lay it back down on the mattress gently. you manage to find your skirt, which is very easy given his clean bedroom floor, and put it on. with one last look at his handsome face you step out of the room, finding your shoes scattered over the hall. you hadn’t gotten a good look at his interior back when you came here yesterday, but he’s got an impressive amount of recording equipment yet to unpack in his livingroom. you’re almost jealous. equipment like this would elevate anyone’s content into virality for the quality of the footage alone. 

you put your shoes on, and walk towards the door with a sigh. 

huh?

the door won’t open. all the inside locks are unlocked, though.. maybe it’s just the regular key lock? you look around the hall and find a bunny keychain with a few keys. right! one of them must be it. 

but right as you slide in the first one, someone clears their throat behind you. humiliation flushes over your whole body and you’re paralyzed in your spot. slowly you turn around to face none other than the only other person in this apartment, bunny.

“where do you think you’re going?” he asks calmly, his smile icy cold. devoid of any of this morning’s affection.

“just.. home?” you try to respond normally, but even such a straightforward and valid answer feels ridiculous under his scrutinising gaze. 

his whole demeanor changes in the blink of an eye. had you actually blanked you would’ve missed it. his smile entirely gone, exchanged for the saddest you’ve ever seen a man. his brows furrowed, lips forming a pout you’ve got to admit is very endearing. 

but the worst part is his voice, cracking at every other word, “you’re leaving me?”

your eyes widen, “w-what? what do you mean? this was just me helping you out, right? didn’t i make up for… whatever it was you wanted?”

he takes a step closer, a conflict of emotions rises within you. panic, but sympathy too.

he reaches out his arms, as if inviting you for a hug, “i’ll be really, really sad if you go.”

you can’t help taking a step closer, voice hesitant, “b-but, i can come back, right? i don’t have to leave forever…”

he sniffles and shakes his head, “i don’t think i’ll survive. just the thought of you leaving makes me want to- it makes me want to-.”

“makes you want to do what, bunny?” you ask carefully.

there’s tears in his eyes now, “i have these pills in my bathroom…,” he chokes.

your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull, panic overtaking your whole system. you nearly run into his arms, “no, no! i’ll stay, i promise i’ll stay.”

you bury your face in his chest, heart nearly beating out of yours. 

just as you thought a crisis may have been averted, his giggles reach your ears while his hold on you tightens, “i’m so glad you’re staying! i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

all the blood drains from your face and down to your cunt when he leans in even closer so he can whisper into your ear, “we’ll be together forever, mi vida.”

hermosa = pretty

mi vida = my life

he scoffed. "yeah, but not... what the hell? lemme see!”

and after a very short game of tug of war, kaiser’s eyes were met with the most egregious piece of writing he’s ever read.

“mirror sex…? huh? dirty talk?” his gaze fixed on you, and then the evidently large mirror in your bedroom, facing directly in front of the bed.

so your mihya had an idea. why not indulge you. why not take this as an opportunity for the both of you to get what you want: for you to live out your sexually explicit fantasies, and for him to be in you. so….

“god, baby. you’re fucking beautiful, yeah?”

he rasped, guiding your hips on his cock—seeing how you simply fell apart. he had you in pronebone, with your back facing him.

kaiser held the book you once read, gripping your hips and slamming into you with one hand and reading for directions with the other. he was so goddamn teasing.

“he then began to sweet talk her. oh, how nasty he was—she felt her cunt flutter at the contents of his words, praising yet demeaning at the same time and she loved it. yeah? you like that shit, n/n?”

and it’s like you had no shame reading straight up porn in front of your lover, because you tightened up too after he read that excerpt.

“c’mon, pretty girl. look at how stunning you look taking my cock.”

“mhmmm! yes, baby! all f’youuuu—!” you screamed in the sheets, whining loudly when he pulled your hair up so you’d see your tear-stained face and marked up neck for the mirror to reflect.

for the whole time that michael kaiser has known you, never did he think his innocent little girlfriend would be such the savant when it comes to such literary works… or rather straight up book porn.

he began laughing, thrusting into you almost vehemently at how your eyes fucking rolled from how he had you—crying out and scratching and gripping the sheets while your back arched like a cat.

“fuck, i love you… i really fucking love you.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ vivien hugo

you and your lover occasionally have ‘at-home’ dates, where either of you crash at the other’s apartment while you figure out what to do. whether it be cooking or watching movies, it’s fun and cathartic. really cute for dates.

in particular, for today's date you had decided on reading (at least in your case), while vivien listened to sports commentary while looking at his blank book. but in this occasion, he was finished. he had already articulated his next strategy on how to help his striker and was going to speak before he just stared at you. well… he stared at your book and your rather… interesting expression.

“chérie… what are you reading?” your eyes were narrowed, lips curved to a smile while you bit your lower lip, and you tapping your thigh. dare he say, you looked like you were aroused...? or maybe he was just being a pervert thinking that way but...?

“nothing…” “doesn’t seem like that—?”

maybe it was your fault for being too trusting of vivien, but you found yourself hesitantantly sliding the book over to him. he yaps all the time about destiny and shit—so your smut shouldn’t be that bad? right?

and then, did his usually pale face turn red. like beet red. his eyes widened too.

“o-oh… um. love, can i—uh… ask something?” — “sure.”

“what in god’s name is…? i… you want to record our sexual encounters?” he began reading, still his voice quivered with absolute sheepishness.

“she felt her cunt pulse at the thought—both of them being recorded in their most vulnerable state being together. she could only imagine how hot it would be, to see herself be nothing but a cocksleeve for her lover as he demeans her—? y-you’re into that?”

you’d be lying if you said it didn’t thrill you, so you sheepishly nodded.

and so, hugo went to sit down by you on the love seat, and took his phone from his pocket, motioning to it.

“fine. as long as it makes you happy.”

that’s all he needed to say for you to absolutely relish in what you’d do.

“chéri, come on, you can take it? you goddamn slut.”

it was thrilling, for your boyfriend to talk so dirty and be so vocal during sex where you’d film it. he usually grunted, moaned a little, and call you pretty and beautiful… but he’d never outright talk like that.

well, that's what you thought, until he began playing with your pussy on camera.

“look how wet your pretty little pussy is…” the camera was propped on the coffee table, standing on top of the books you two were “reading” while it captured you grinding against his hand. you could feel how his thick fingers made a scissoring motion, how they curled inside you with finesse—and how your legs shook every time, with the sound of your dripping cunt echoing in your ears.

and even when he fucked you with his cock, did it feel even more thrilling with the camera on. “attagirl, pretty. ride me just like that…”

you began riding him, moving your hips in figure-8s while he threw his head back and squeezed your plush hips as your arms around his neck only tightened.

you felt his cock so deep in this position, all the while, the camera was rolling and you could tell how your boyfriend was struggling to keep his moans to himself, quietly groaning with every move of your hips.

and even when your eyes looked over at the camera, your boyfriend held your chin, making you hold eye contact with his sweet onyx eyes.

“focus on me, chéri. eyes on me. only on me.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ bunny iglesias

some say curiosity always kills the cat, but this time, it killed your boyfriend bunny (figuratively, of course).

you had been reading this specific book for a while, and every time he had tried to take a peek at what you were reading, you'd always slam the book shut and leave, with your face burning and your expression evidently flustered. but this time, you were taking a shower, and here was the book you’d been reading, wide open (not really, your bookmark was peeking though) on your nightstand.

and after the forty minutes of your shower, thinking you were probably going to be met with your boyfriend ready to cuddle in bed, were you met with bunny, snickering while sitting on the bed with an evident tent in his pants. he looked up at you and you felt your stomach drop—especially with the way he shook the book in his large hand, lips curved.

“she felt full… full of him—literally. it had been several hours and she felt her cunt overflow with his loads like his… ‘cumdumpster’? after fucking for hours? carajo, cari… never did i think my cute little girlfriend was into this type of shit.”

you felt your face turn warm at the sight of bunny holding your smut book.

“w-why—?” “wanna try it? baby, you know i’m totally into… what are they doing? marathon sex? multiple creampies? fuck, cari. you might be more perverted than anyone i’ve ever met. maybe even more perverted than i am…”

and but of course, you dropped your bath towel and practically pounced on your man. and he was more than willing to indulge in these sexual fantasies of yours depicted in whatever depraved shit you read.

you knew your boyfriend’s nickname came first his speed and the fact that he’s as fast as a goddamn bunny in the field, but the same thing could be said for the way he was fucking you relentlessly.

how long has it been? how long have you felt him felt you so deliciously as he hit your cervix in this position? your back met his firm, scarred chest as he slammed into you all lewd, circling your clit with his thumb while his hips slammed into yours.

the obscene positions he had you in, the absolute debauchery of it all, thrilled you. just the fact that he simply lifted you up and down like his own fuck-doll and spoke to you like it, no less, god, just thinking about it turned you on even more.

and that is exactly what he was doing.

“bizcochita… no seas así [sweetie, don't be like that]. handle it, baby. you wanted it.” your gasps suddenly turned louder and more lewd, with how bunny played with your pussy as he simply destroyed you. “i’m so happy i could fucking die…. god, what a fucking slut you are, yeah? only here to take my cum, right?”

"mmmhmmm—!"

your body—that was once lathered with your body oil and lotion, was glazed with sweat, and cum on your thighs and ass. your legs were shaking and your puffy pussy was overflowing with the amount of loads bunny came into you, practically frothing with how fast he was going.

you were gasping, your cunt squirting for the nth time through his rough thrusts, his cock kissing your cervix at this point.. "o-oh my g-god... haahhhh..."

and even as he himself was losing momentum, he had to keep going—to help you with your sexual fantasies, because shit, they were hot. “hold for a little more, yeah baby? we got all fucking night.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ sae itoshi

you didn’t mean to accidentally leave the tab open on your ipad—after all, you share it with sae.

sae knows you have a little hobby of reading, what exactly? he doesn’t know and he doesn’t think he’d like to… at first.

but then the words of that idiot aiku got to him. how you can tell how freaky a girl is by the things she reads… and honestly? sae wanted to know; but then he had to check the ipad to look at some stuff from his manager (he’s ashamed—which is why he was a bit relieved your tabs were open so he didn’t have to actually snoop in your things).

and when he saw the synopsis of the several books in your barnes and noble cart, his eyes legitimately widened and he let out an almost weird squeak. bondage… and hair pulling.

then of course, google offers those short exerpts so he really got to see what the hell you were reading… and in the first few pages, he gets shown the nastiest smut he’s ever read.

“he tied her up, literally. leather clung to her, restraining her arms and legs while he pulled her hair as she sucked him off like an ice lolly… holy shit…”

so naturally of course, he was curious. which is why when you two were having sex, he wanted to test something.

you were on the mattress, lightly whining while your boyfriend thrusted into you, slamming into you hard yet slow so you could really feel him fill you. he was kneeling, lifting your hips to fuck you deeper—harder.

“mmmm… sae, you feel s’good, baby…” he grunted quietly, looking at you as you covered your face and how your body simply moved with every thrust of his. your pretty breasts moved with every thrust of his hips and your whines made him feel fucking feral… but then he remembered. then he remembered your book.

“baby, i wanna try something.” you blinked, curious, looking at sae and letting out a whine the moment he slipped out of you. “go ahead, love.”

and when he took out the leather belt from the nightstand, he saw how your eyes widened and how your breathing hitched at the sight of it. and then sae decided to be a fucking tease and slammed the folded leather against each other .

“just me, yeah?”

and that’s how you found yourself, face down, ass up while your hands were tied to a post on your bed’s canopy. your boyfriend’s calloused hands kneading your love handles, and you felt him go faster on your poor pussy, twitching against him while he pistons in you. he loved this, seeing how your plush ass slammed against his pelvis while your arms struggled.

“nghh—s-sae—! fuck, i need to cum, please!” and you felt him pull your hair. “not until i tell you.”

then he stopped, and you kept on crying. "l-lemme cum... please, saeee!"

he strangely liked this… he really did, and he could tell you did too with the way you clenched around him.

“mmm.. we should try this again.”

-

-

-

kewl kewl kewl yayayayyaayayay (oh my god icl i feel like i struggled a lot and it shows bc ngl i'm quite a vanilla person holy fucbdjsjdjsis esp for hugo’s bc wadahell 😭)

“please, where is your office? im.. i need your help.” you mumble, hands sweaty, and your heart was pounding in your chest, ready to jump out. ashveil detects the desperation in your voice and promptly tells you the address to his place.

you sigh in relief, acknowledging that his office was less than a couple minutes away. “thank you very much, detective ashveil. i’ll give you a acceptable payment once im there.” you say, hesitantly picking up your pace to reach his office. you didnt want to run, since theres always the possibility that the man following you is faster.

“ah, dont worry about that, really.” ashveil says before he thinks, and mentally cringes at himself. yet, helping a person in need is probably more important than his rent…(?)

you reach his office, going up the stairs when you notice the person following you has left, supposedly uninterested now that you had gone into some place. you knock on the detectives door, still glancing around in nervousness. ashveil opens the door and is hit with the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. and… the sexy notes of flowery pheromones hitting his nose. his eyes widen and he stutters.

and you had a similar reaction as well, his masculine pheromones greeting your nose. you both stand still for a moment, and ashveil wonders how long its been since hes smelled such wonderful pheromones. and he eventually snaps out of his daze, clearing his throat and chuckling awkwardly. “uh, hello.. again… please, come in.” he says, motioning you to come in.

you smile awkwardly back, silently stepping into his office where now his pheromones were all around you. ashveil closes the door behind himself, hungrily (yet respectfully) eyeing your form. you stand in the middle of the room awkwardly, fingers gripping at your purse. “uh.. i apologize for practically barging in on you so late in the night.” you say, sparking the conversation once more.

ashveil shakes his head and tries to not look affected by your pheromones. “its no biggie, really. what had happened?” he asked.

“well, i was being followed, and went a different path than my usual way home. i had seen your ad and number and hoped you could help me. thankfully you did.” you sigh in relief, the corner of your lips slightly raising. “and as for your payment..” you say, reaching into your purse. you dig in the bag for a moment, before looking up at ashveil with a apologetic expression.

“it seems i dont have any money on me..” you say awkwardly, glancing away. ashveil perks up at this, and waves a hand. “r-really its no problem, dont worry about paying me.”

an idea pops into your head and you smile sweetly once more, walking closer to the man. ashveil stays still, hands in fists by his sides. he gulps, meeting your eyes. “well detective, perhaps i could pay you in a different way?” you hum, hinting at something lewd with your eyes.

ashveils eyes widen and he coughs into his fist. “u-uh… i.. wouldnt mind that.” he hums, an awkward grin gracing his face. “good.” you muse, the mans pheromones greatly affecting you; you could feel the wetness pooling in your panties. you let your purse fall to the ground, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

ashveil hums, his hands landing on your hips. after staring at each other for a pregnant pause, your lips crash against each other. ashveil devours your lips akin to eating a meal, and you cant help but let out a moan at his voracious nature. his hands greedily explore your body, cold fingers fondling the fatter parts of your skin. you snake your own fingers in his hair, tugging at the long locks.

the detective’s tongue prods at your own, and he goes to slurp at your tongue. you moan again, and he swallows it like a baby drinking their mothers milk. you didnt know if this man was desperate, or just very hungry. you pull away to breathe, panting as ashveil instantly moves to nose his way down your neck. he nudges your scent gland, licking and teasing it with his sharp fangs. you gasp, tugging on his hair harshly. “no biting. bad dog.” you huff, glancing down at the man.

he visibly looked disappointed, but respects your decision. ashveil licks the column of your throat, fingers already attempting to get your shirt off. nimble and cold fingers fumble with the buttons of your shirt, and you watch in slight amusement, nails scratching against his nape. ashveil shivers and keeps his nose pressed against your scent gland as he just tears your shirt off. you gasp, watching your shirt fall to the ground in tethers.

“detective!” you stutter out, and he only glances at you before palming one of your clothed breasts. you huff, still a little surprised about your shirt. you tug at his clothing, a silent word for his to be off as well. ashveil pulls away from you and sheds of his upper layers, leaving you to admire the expanse of muscle, and the strange greyish black color of his right arm, coating his shoulder and that side of his torso.

you trace the skin, glancing up at him. “what is this? some sort of.. skin graft?” you mumble, leaning closer to the skin. he huffs, watching your expression for any disgust. he sees none. “haha, no, not a skin graft. its just.. some discoloration.” ashveil says. you hum in acknowledgement. “i see..”

the two of you jump back to action, smacking lips once more as hands explore bodies. ashveil unclips your bra, and you kick it away after it falls. ashveil is instantly on your tits, kneading the fat and leaning down to suckle on your nipple. you moan, tilting your head to the side as you experience the mans voracious appetite once more. ashveil sucks on your nipple like milk was going to start coming out eventually, his fingers pinching and rolling the other one.

he eventually switches nipples, and you sigh in pleasure, nails scratching ashveils scalp. he moans, glancing up at you. you bite your lip, squeezing your thighs together. “please, mister ashveil, touch me..” you plea, your pussy throbbing. the man pulls away from your tits and stands straight, “yes ma’am.”. he hooks his fingers in your skirt hem and yanks it down. you kick it away, now almost on full display for the detective.

ashveil sits you down on his desk, having to push some things aside first. you exhale, watching him kneel down. you spread your legs for him, biting your lip as you lean back on your arm. he moans and presses a hand against his erection, feeling his knot already swelling. your pheromones smelled even better between your legs, and ashveil internally sturggles to hold back the urge to bite your inner thigh. he presses his nose against your slick-soaked panties and his eyes roll back and he grinds against his hand.

he shakes his head, leaning up and pulling your panties down with his teeth. he gets them far down enough to where they’re not in the way, and grabs your thighs to pull you closer to him. he smells your bare cunt, trying not to cum on the spot. he noses at your inner thigh, opening his mouth to leave a bite despite his initial hesitation. you just watch him, jaw slacking at how sexy he looks between your thighs.

the imprint ashveil’s teeth leave is impressive, leaving you with a dull throb at the scene of the crime. you brush hair out of ashveils face, then tug him towards your pussy. “eat.” you command simply, and he follows.

he immediately dives into your pussy, tongue licking you from your perineum to the hood of your clit. you moan and buck your hips, mouth open permanently it seemed like. he eats you out with such force and hunger, like you were some type of 5 star meal. which to him, you probably were. ashveils nose rubs against your clit as he splits your hole open with his tongue. you grind against his nose, panting and moaning.

“fuck, just like that.. good dog.” you praise, watching ashveils imaginary ears perk up and thus him burying the lower half of his face in your cunny.

the slurps and licking nosies coming from his lips were sinful, filling the room alongside your moans and the buzz of his freezer. your cunt was soaked with slick and ashveils saliva.

you grab onto his hair tighter, toes curling as you feel a knot in your stomach forming. you lean back against the wall, hips uselessly bucking against his face as you near your orgasm. “ngh, ashveil… im close..” you moan out, thighs beginning to shake. your moans grow high-pitched, and you hit your peak soon after. you cry out, thighs caging ashveils head in as you hump his face in attempt to ride out your high. you twitch and whimper, out of breath from the toe-curling orgasm you just had.

ashveil kitten licks your pussy for another couple of seconds, giving it one last kiss before standing up. he unbuckles his pants as you catch your breath, watching him strip the remainder of his clothing left. you could see the outline of his fat cock from his boxers, and you lift a leg to brush your foot against it. ashveil falters and grunts at the small touch, looking at you. he grabs your ankle and pulls you towards him, picking you up and laying you down on top of the freezer. you shiver at the slight coldness, huffing slightly.

the detective spreads your thighs as far as they can spread. you moan softly, and he tugs his boxers down to reveal his cock. you gasp, surprised at the impressive knot at the base of his cock. “all for me?” you hum, reaching out to brush a finger against his sensitive tip. he mosns, hips stuttering. you smile, wrapping your legs around his waist and bringing him closer. his cold, prosthetic hand lands on your hip, the other one on his cock, squeezing his tip.

he leans down and spits on your pussy, spreading it along with his cockhead. you whine at the heaviness you could already feel from that touch, pussy gushing. “put it in, please..” you whimper, tugging him closer with your legs.

the tall man obliges and slowly pushes into your cunt, effectively spliting you open. you gasp, grabbing onto his forearm. “oh my aeons…” you shut your eyes, biting your lip and nibbling on the skin in an attempt to subside the dull pain.

“does it hurt?” ashveil rumbles, his fat tip being squeezed by your tight pussy. you just hum, opening your eyes to look into his own.

“just,” you pant slightly, whimpering, “keep pushing inside.” he nods and pushes his hips, his cock sliding deeper inside of you. he eventually reaches up until his knot, taking a deep breath as he stills his hips to get fully used to your cunt.

your thighs lightly shake, and you moan and squirm, hips rolling onto his. “fuck..” you stutter, looking up at ashveil through your lashes. he growls at that, thinking you look incredibly beautiful right now.

“so fucking gorgeous…” he mumbles, pressing his forehead to yours as he thrusts inside of you. you gasp and twitch, nose touching ashveils as he thrusts with repressed aggressiveness, nails forming crescent shapes onto your thighs. ashveils pubic hair teases your clit with every trust, almost making you dizzy. he growls and fucks you like you were a pocket pussy, and you cant help but love it. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, throwing your head back as it limps uselessly due to his powerful thrusts. you moan loudly, overwhelmed by the pleasure ashveil and his fat cock was giving you. the repeated plop plop plop alongside your high-pitched moans filled the room together with the smell of sex and musk.

your nails dig into his skin, as ashveil buries his head in the crevice of your neck, sniffing your scent gland, brushing his sharp fangs along the soft skin. he groans and ruts into you adjacent to an animal and bites down on your scent gland. you scream out, your orgasm following right after. you pant like a dog in heat, hips humping against his cock. “holy s-shit!” you gasp, eyes rolling back into your head.

you quiver in ashveils hold, your orgasm leaving you on high. the man slows down, yours and his pubic hair soaked with your arousal. he licks at your scent gland to hopefully ease any leftover pain. ashveil looks up at your face, and the way your expression is dazed. he hisses, feeling his knot swell once more. “fuck… can i put my knot in you?”

ashveil moans, eyes shutting closed as his hips rut against you again. you moan and nod, tightening your hold on him. “yes, yes please..”

he nods, thankful you said yes. who else would drain this old mans balls?

he brings a hand down, thumb rubbing circles over your clit as he thrusts shallowly for a couple of seconds before slowly pushing his knot inside of you. and due to your two orgasms and excess slick production, it was incredibly easy for ashveil to slide his knot into you. you moan, feeling more full than before. “fuuuck… yes, ashveil…” you squeal, toes curling.

ashveil perks up at your squeal, liking the sound. he shallowly thrusts again in you, guiding your head to his scent gland for you to bite in return. depsite your daze, your instincts take action and you sink your own fangs into his scent gland. ashveil whimpers and cums instantly, pressing his muscular body against yours. his knot keeps his hot, thick cum inside of your gooey cunt, and you shiver, slowly rolling your hips against his. you lick at his scent gland like he did yours, before pulling away to look at where you two are connected.

you smooth a hand down his chest, admiring the way you two were joined. you press your lips against ashveils, taking charge of the kiss. he whimpers once more, tilting his head to deepen it. you lick at his lips, tongue prodding at the inside of his mouth after he parts his lips. you nibble on his tongue, pulling away after it felt like you couldnt breathe anymore.

“how long does your knot last?” you hum, voice breathy.

“uh.. probably like.. 15 minutes or so?” he rumbles, burying his face in your neck.

you chuckle, a little surprised. “you say that like you dont know, mister ashveil.” he noses at your scent gland. “yeah, uh.. i dont.” he admits, glancing up at you.

you laugh, head tilting back as your shoulders shake with amusement. you lay back, bringing ashveil with you as he plops all his weight onto you with permission. “well that just means we’ll lay here until it deflates.” you hum, and ashveil smiles softly.

“i wouldnt mind that.”

—————

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jing Yuan doesn’t have a strong preference for where to cum. He’ll finish wherever you want him to. If left up to him, however, he will choose to cum inside you because the act of sex simply feels more complete and intimate to him when he gets to fill you up with his load. He also likes watching it trickle out of you when he pulls out.

His semen is generally odorless but has a slightly bitter and salty taste. Yuan doesn’t expect you to swallow his spend during oral. In fact, he would have fun painting your face or chest in ropes of his cum if you let him. There’s something erotic about seeing you covered in his semen that satisfies a more perverse side of him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jing Yuan fantasizes about you when there’s a lull in his work or he’s having a boring meeting. His thoughts drift to you and how he’d rather be taking a nap on your lap or having you bounce on his cock than be stuck here.

Sometimes when he shops for trinkets to give you, Yuan’s eyes land on a sexy outfit or lingerie set and he imagines how you’d look wearing it. If he thinks the style would look good on you, he buys the clothing to give you later with the hopes you would model it for him to confirm his conclusion. Of course, he will enjoy stripping you of it even more when the sight of you dressed so enticingly inevitably stirs his arousal.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Jing Yuan has had a few partners over the course of his long life, so he is quite experienced in the art of sex and foreplay. He knows the general dos and don’ts, how to properly prepare his partner for penetrative sex, what to look out for when indulging in kinks, even how to set the right mood, and much more. Because he’s so knowledgeable, Yuan acts confidently in the bedroom and has no qualms about taking the lead and easing you into lovemaking if you have less or no experience in the area.

Although he’s experienced, Yuan knows from his past partners that everyone has different likes and dislikes when it comes to sex. One person might enjoy hair pulling while the other will be turned off by it, so he makes sure to ask about your preferences if you know them. If you don’t, that’s also fine because he can have fun learning your unique tastes. His hands and mouth will explore every inch of your body to see which areas get the sweetest reactions out of you, and which pressures make you sing the loudest for him. Do you like having your ears whispered into? What about your nipples sucked? Or how about your nape nipped? His analytical mind will be invested in unraveling the mystery that is your body and he will try out all kinds of things until he maps out your preferences.

Because he’s so experienced, Jing Yuan has a good understanding of his own likes and dislikes. He will happily teach you how and where he enjoys being touched or offer gentle pointers to adjust your technique if you’d rather find out for yourself. He encourages you to explore his body because he likes the feeling of your touch, but also because you might discover something new he didn’t know he would enjoy. He’s lived a long time and experienced many things, so having something pleasantly surprise him is a rare but very welcomed event.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

While Yuan is happy to experiment with new positions, his favorites are by far spooning, cowgirl, and missionary.

Spooning gives the perfect blend of intimacy and lazy lovemaking that Yuan loves. He gets to hold you close leave kisses and love bites on your shoulders and nape, or kiss your lips and admire your blissful expressions if you’re facing him. He also likes how by just maneuvering your leg, the angle and depth of penetration changes, which can alter the mood of lovemaking. Best of all, he doesn’t have to exert more energy by supporting his weight since he can just stay laying on his side, and it brings your faces to equal height, making it easier for him to kiss you or tease your ears. It’s his go-to position for morning sex.

He’s also a huge fan of cowgirl—or any position that has you riding his lap, really. He likes laying back and letting you do most of the heavily lifting while admiring how you look bouncing on his cock. He also finds it attractive when you take the lead and dictate the pace and depth that you want and just take him along for the ride. If he notices you getting tired, he’ll help out by lifting your hips or thrusting up into you to ease your burden. Yuan likes cowgirl for when he’s too tired to move himself or to make you work for your pleasure. You’re horny and want to have sex? Sure, he can help, but only if you ride him~. Let him watch you get yourself off with his dick.

Missionary is a classic position that Yuan favors because it lets him see your face easily. He’s very fond of watching how your face melts from pleasure, as well as how your breasts sway with each thrust of his hips. He finds the sight mesmerizing. Yuan also likes missionary because much like spooning, it allows for a variety of depths and angles just from maneuvering your legs or the height of your hips. He can press your knees to your chest for a tighter squeeze, lift one or both legs up onto his shoulders, or lift your hips higher to reach deeper inside you. Aside from that, he also likes the intimacy of it. There’s something special about being face-to-face and holding eye-contact during sex that Yuan is a fan of.

Jing Yuan is also fond of having sex on flat surfaces. He likes lifting you up onto his desk or a countertop so you’re more level with his height and he doesn’t have to stoop so much, plus it’s kind of hot to take you right then and there instead of taking it to the bedroom.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Yuan can be serious or humorous depending on the mood, though he usually leans towards the humorous side. He’s lived too long to treat sex as a super serious affair, but he’s not flippant about it, either. He typically takes a more laidback and playful approach to lovemaking because he believes it should be a moment where you can both forget your troubles and just have fun. Overall, he approaches it casually.

However, Yuan has his serious moments, too. Intercourse is intimate. He feels a deep emotional attachment to you both during and after sex which can make him act more serious during certain events, like when you’re having romantic lovemaking or if there’s emotional tension between you. He dials down the teasing and turns up the affection in such cases.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Jing Yuan has a bush of dense, white hair that is the same color as the hair on his head. He does the bare minimum of trimming to keep it semi-contained, but can shave more or clean shave if you ask.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Jing Yuan is very loving both during and before sex. As much as he likes spontaneous intercourse, Yuan also wants to treat you right and romance you properly by wining and dining you first. He takes you out on a date to stroll through the scenic areas in the Luofu and eat at a fancy restaurant that serves delicious food or go to a spa to relax your weary muscles. He wants to spoil you and make you feel appreciated and loved since you can’t always spend a lot of time together due to how busy he is. Yuan genuinely loves you and wants you to know that he doesn’t just want sex from the relationship. He wants the intimacy, trust, support, and affection that come with a romantic relationship, and a date is his way of convincing you of that. The sex that comes after the date is just a small part of what he loves about you.

During the act itself, Jing Yuan gives you a lot of kisses on the lips, face, back, and shoulders. He also nuzzles into you like an affectionate cat and hugs you to him so you can feel the full force of his affection. He also whispers loving teases in your ear, like how cute you sound when his hips snap against yours, how good you feel clenching around him, and how pretty you look all splayed out under him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Yuan doesn’t masturbate often since his sex drive isn’t high. He might rub one out in the morning to get energized to tackle the day ahead or during his break to clear his head and get rid of stress. They’re quick affairs that he doesn’t spend much time on and might have a dirty fantasy of you from one of your intimate encounters to get him to finish faster.

If he has plenty of time such as in the evening after work, Yuan might have a longer wanking session in the bath or right before bed. He’ll take his time and let the tension build in his core while he leisurely strokes his cock and rubs the tip with a thumb to thoughts of you, like your hands being the ones to touch him like this or how you looked in that one lacy lingerie set he got you. Only when the pressure in his abdomen becomes too much does he let himself reach climax. These sessions usually leave him more tired, though.

Yuan only masturbates when he needs to relieve stress but you’re not available to have sex. Otherwise, he would prefer to make love with you since he finds it more fun.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Jing Yuan has experimented with a variety of kinks over his long life, so he has a good grasp of which ones he likes most. For instance, one of his favorite kinks is orgasm denial combined with begging. He’s a huge tease and likes toying with you by bringing you close to orgasm but denying you that sweet release just to see the frustrated and pleading expressions on your face. He also makes you beg to be allowed to cum or be spread open on his cock. Yuan simply enjoys being in control of your pleasure.

He’s also into light food play using sweets. Just simple things like chocolate sauce, strawberries, whipped cream, or honey drizzled strategically on your or his erogenous zones like the nipples, neck, stomach, or thighs. He finds it fun to lick the food off your skin and hear you gasp or arch into his touch. Having you lick the food off of him is also just as fun, and Yuan leaves a trail for you to follow along his body that descends down between his legs. This ensures you take your time exploring and arousing each other before diving into the good stuff, and Yuan is nothing if not a lover of taking things slow and sensual.

Cockwarming is another big kink of his. If you’re up for it, Yuan will seat you on his lap with his cock buried snuggly in your cunt while he does paperwork at his desk. It makes him productive for a while because he pretends to ignore your subtle movements for more stimulation and focuses on his work just to make you needier for his attention. He playfully chastises you if you move too much and forces you still until he finishes or until your squirming whittles down his restraint. Then, he’ll encourage you to bounce on his lap and properly fuck yourself to completion or sit you on his desk and have his way with you. It will depend on his mood.

Some other things Yuan likes are seeing you in sexy lingerie and nipple play. The sight of you dressed in silky or lacy lingerie (bonus points for garters) is like seeing a present that he can’t wait to unwrap. He finds you incredibly sexy and beautiful dressed like that all for him, and will ask you to keep the lingerie pieces on during sex so he can admire how you look a little longer.

Jing Yuan is attracted to playing with your nipples, whether during sex or even casually while you’re cuddling in bed. His fingers gravitate to your breasts and gently thumb or roll your nipples until they harden into stiff peaks, at which point he’ll either flick or suck on them to get stronger reactions out of you. He likes hearing your soft gasps and feeling you arch your breast into his mouth while he toys with your nipples. He wonders if he could make you have a small orgasm purely from having your nipples played with.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Almost anywhere in the house is fine with Jing Yuan, though his preferred place for lovemaking is by far the bed since he can comfortably go to sleep right after finishing. Other places that he favors are the couch for the same comfort, and his desk because he’d rather do you than the stack of papers waiting for him.

In terms of broader location, his home is the most optimal choice since you’re unlikely to be interrupted. His place of work is too risky because there is always a staff member lingering around his office that could catch you in the act, but if that were not an issue, he would probably take you there, too.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Jing Yuan is easy to arouse if you know the right approach. He’s fond of intellectual stimulation, so tasteful innuendos or hints at what you want to do to him (or have him do to you) that engage his imagination are a great way to turn him on. You could orchestrate a game of starchess or another board game where the loser has to do a sexual favor for the winner. Yuan would be heavily invested in a game where no matter which of you wins, you both get something pleasurable out of the outcome. Bonus points if he gets to see you act flustered while he effortlessly demolishes you in a round or happy at having bested him. He finds you super cute in either scenario.

Visual seduction is also effective on him. Yuan likes seeing you dress in a mature fashion that reveals a bit of skin in areas like your breasts, back, or legs. Tease him by showing off the exposed areas or running your hands over them to show what he could have, and Yuan’s hands would be itching to replace yours and feel your warm skin under his fingers.

A nice, sensual massage that can help him relax after a long day at work is probably one of his favorite ways of being seduced into sex. The feeling of your fingers kneading out the tension in his muscles, your soft kisses along his back, the teasing caresses along his hips and the sensual whispers in his ear… how could he not get aroused from that? The more your hands wander to his lower body or tease his sensitive areas, the more sleep fades from his mind, only to be replaced with lust.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Jing Yuan isn’t into pain or degradation. He finds the act of hitting or humiliating one’s partner to be the opposite of how one should treat the person they love. He physically cannot bring himself to do those things to you because he loves you too much to demean or hurt you, and hopes you show him the same level of respect as your partner. He is averse to things like slapping, calling you or him derogatory names, humiliation, and hitting you with tools like crops or paddles or being hit himself. Light hair pulling and spanking are okay, though he wouldn’t initiate them himself unless you request for these things.

For similar reasons, he isn’t into choking. Even if it’s something that turns you on, Yuan doesn’t want to watch you struggle to breathe in the middle of sex as it scares him. He would be too worried about your safety to enjoy himself, and it would honestly kill the mood for him.

Another thing he wouldn’t do is have sex in public places, especially his workplace. He doesn’t want to risk both of you being caught and starting a scandal among the Commissions. It could cost him his title as General of the Luofu and smear both of your names for centuries.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jing Yuan has a slight preference for receiving oral, but he has a lot of fun giving, too. He has a high skill level from having practiced with past partners, so he’s quite good at giving oral. He relishes in your moans and every buck of your hips against his face while he eats you out and being in control of how much pleasure he gives you. His mischievous streak thrives on your reactions, so he might extend the session by lightly licking and sucking on your clit or plunging his tongue inside your pussy—just enough to feel but not enough to orgasm from. He likes riling you up and making you desperate for more of his touch, so he doesn’t mind it when you tug on his hair in desperation or buck your hips against his tongue. His strong arms can easily hold you down until he decides when you get to cum. However, he does reward you if you put up with his teasing. When he does let you cum, he helps you ride out your orgasm by stimulating your clit until you can’t handle any more stimulation… and then he’ll dive back in to give you another because you begged him for more and more you shall have~.

When it comes to him, Yuan likes getting oral as a form of stress relief. He loves it during foreplay too, of course, but he feels a certain kind of affection in being taken care of by you through such service. When he comes home tired from work or spends too long poring over papers at his desk, a nice blowjob from you at your own incentive can help relieve his stress and instantly put him in a better mood. The fact you care enough to do this for him of your own choice makes Yuan love you even more.

Yuan is not demanding when receiving oral sex. He understands that different people have different limits for how much they can handle, so he doesn’t force you to go past your limits when sucking him. It’s okay if you can’t deepthroat or if you don’t know how to perform a blowjob. He won’t ask it of you if you are uncomfortable trying, but he can teach you if you are willing. He’s a very patient and informative teacher in matters of sex, so you would be in very good hands should you choose to learn from him.

In terms of the actual blowjob, Yuan likes taking it slow. He’s a huge fan of foreplay, so he likes it when you start of small by kissing around his body first as you gradually make your way towards his nether region and then kiss and knead his thighs before even putting your mouth on his cock. It builds anticipation and makes him more desperate to feel your hot mouth envelop him. Even then, he wants you to go slow. Kiss along his length and give it a few licks before focusing on the tip and proceed from there. It drives him wild whenever you take your time worshipping his cock and body.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Jing Yuan’s pace can be either fast or slow depending on what you’re in the mood for, though his preference is slow and deep. He sees no point in rushing the process and would rather take it slow, rolling his hips against yours at a leisurely pace and just enjoying the heat of your walls squeezing around him. If you beg prettily enough, he might be convinced to speed up to a more moderate pace.

He can also be a huge tease and take control of the pace while you’re riding him. You may want to desperately fuck yourself on his cock to chase your peak, but Yuan will just grab your hips and force you to slow down. He’ll manipulate your body with his strong arms to bounce you on his cock at the pace that he wants and will delight in your frustrated reaction and pitiful whines to go faster. And just to mess with you further, he’ll suddenly thrust up into you at a quickened pace a few times and then go back to that slow pace, all with an amused smile on his lips.

That said, he can fuck you at a faster and harder pace, too. Although it’s not his preference, sometimes the mood calls for a more primal fuck, which he can grant. He’ll grab your hips to hold you steady or pin you down with his body and snap his hips in sharp, quick thrusts that fill the room with the sounds of slapping skin. His stamina is good enough that he can maintain that pace for a while without faltering, which is helpful in getting you to cum faster.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are just what Jing Yuan needs sometimes. If he’s having a stressful or boring day at work, or he’s tired of slaving away over his desk reading documents, he’ll slip out during his break to see you for a quick romp or some oral sex. A quickie gets rid of stress and clears his head which helps him focus on his work better, plus it’s an excuse to see you again.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Since he has lived a long time and experienced a variety of kinks, Jing Yuan is down to try new things for the sake of novelty, but only if they’re reasonable. Nothing extreme like pain play, exhibitionism, or things that could potentially damage your bodies. Aside from that, even if it’s not a kink he’s interested in, he’s willing to try it at least once to know what it’s about.

Some things he is open to experimenting with are temperature and pet play, roleplay, power play, collars and leashes, and threesomes with a person you both trusted.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Yuan may appear lazy, but his stamina is high from all the years he spent training and honing his combat skills in battle. Even now, he still works out to stay in shape in case he needs to fight, so his stamina hasn’t waned much. As such, he can last for quite a while. Because he likes taking his time with sex, he has fewer but longer rounds—typically one or two is enough for him.

Although his stamina is high, even he craves rest after a strenuous workout. If you still want more after two rounds, he will offer to eat you out, get you off with his fingers, or tell you to ride him because he’s too tired to move. Waiting for him to regain his energy is not an option because Jing Yuan will fall asleep on you, so those three choices are your best bets.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Yuan has used sex toys before and found them a great way to spice things up in the bedroom, but he doesn’t own any himself. He finds it more fun to have sex with a partner than a toy since for one thing, he enjoys watching his partner’s reactions which is something a toy can’t give him, and for another, an attractive partner is far more pleasing to the eye than a mere plastic contraption. Plus, he’s sometimes too lazy to want to clean a toy, so it won’t see much use.

He’s okay with occasionally using toys in the bedroom to keep things interesting but only if they’re easy to use. Jing Yuan is a simple man so he’s not fond of complex toys that have too many buttons or require extensive prep. It’s not that he can’t figure out how they work, but he just doesn’t want to put this much time and effort, especially if he’s already tired. He spends most of his days planning and preparing for all kinds of events, so he just wants to turn his brain off and have fun during sex. He can give the toys a try for the sake of understanding how they work, but he prefers simpler things since they require less effort.

Yuan would prefer that you come to him to sate your lust, but he’s understanding if you want to use toys on yourself if he’s unavailable or too exhausted to have sex. He’ll do his best to not make you rely on them too much.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Jing Yuan likes teasing you a lot, especially physically. He can deny you orgasm to make you beg, change his pace with no warning just to see your reaction, or be a lazy bum and make you work for his affection/more sex. He enjoys watching you turn into a mess from the slightest of touches, like grazing your clit with feather-light touches to build you to orgasm without actually sending you over, lining his cock up with your entrance and feinting a thrust only to slide it through your folds, or stimulating your erogenous zones (like ears or nipples) during a mundane activity like cooking or laundry to make focusing all the harder for you.

He’s a good sport if you toy with him in return, though he’s stubborn about preserving his pride. You need to truly work to see him wrecked because Yuan will do his utmost to stay composed and look unaffected by your teasing even if he’s teetering on the edge of orgasm. He finds it fun, though, and greatly enjoys the attention and plots you cook up to make him unravel.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Yuan is on the quieter side. Even in the bedroom where he lets his voice free, it’s still not very loud. The most frequent sounds he makes are moans, groans, and an occasional grunt and pants when he runs short on breath.

Most of his commentary in the bedroom is teasing directed at you. When edging and denying you orgasm, he might say something like “You can’t take any more? I disagree. You can handle a lot more thank you think, my dear. Have patience, it will feel much better if you refrain from cumming just yet. Unless… you’d like to beg for it~?”

If you purposely try to rile him up for sex through teasing, he might say: “You’re quite the temptress… but I wonder—will you truly be able to handle provoking a sleeping lion?”

He can also say something soft or romantic such as: “Let me take care of you” or “I love seeing you like this. You’re so beautiful.” Followed up with kisses.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Jing Yuan likes lazy morning sex. He usually wakes up early to give himself enough time to get ready at his own pace, which leaves him with enough time for a nice round of leisurely lovemaking. He tries to coax you into it by gently waking you via whispered affections in your ear and loving caresses to your body which progressively get more sexual.

His preferred way of having morning sex is in the spooning position. Yuan is too lazy to get up and move much, and the spooning position gives him the perfect opportunity to lay in bed while only having to move his hips. It also lets him nuzzle your hair and kiss your shoulders easier, which he likes.

The sex itself is leisurely, unhurried, almost gentle. He helps you along by circling a finger around your clit until he gets you over the edge before following after you. Yuan likes morning sex because a good orgasm energizes him to tackle the day ahead and puts him in a good mood.

A morning blowjob would have a similar effect, and he won’t object if you decide to wake him up that way instead.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

(A reminder than girth is circumference and not diameter)

13cm (5.1 inches) in length and 10.5cm (4.1 inches) in diameter. Has one prominent vein and a reddish tip.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Jing Yuan’s sex drive decreased as he grew older. He finds that he doesn’t crave sex as often as he once did. About one or two times a week is enough for him, though he can go more often if you’re someone with a higher libido than him. He will make you work for it, however, just because he wants to see how desperate and creative you can get in your attempts to get him to bed you. He might even turn it into a little game where he pretends to be oblivious to your subtler attempts at seduction or teases you for being horny if you take a more direct approach. Either way, he will relent and give you what you want because at the end of the day, Jing Yuan loves you and wants to take care of all your needs so you can be happy.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jing Yuan gets sleepy after sex. If you did it in the late evening, then he’ll fall asleep quickly after the fact. Work leaves him tired, and after exhausting the last of his energy reserves on sex, sleeps tugs on his consciousness almost immediately after orgasm. He just scoops you into his arms and collapses on the bed while holding you like a body pillow or lays atop you and passes out.

If he manages to stay awake, Yuan will cuddle with you and nuzzle into your hair or give you lazy kisses while basking in the afterglow and listen to you talk, but he’s not getting out of bed to even clean up. Not unless you throw a huge fuss. His muscles relax as the stress and tension melt away after orgasm, and he swears he could melt into the bed if he tried. He’s comfy the way he is and just doesn’t feel like getting up, especially when the afterglow makes him sleepy.

there, somewhere in a backyard creek, where a flourishing forest sits nearby--a place the two of you used to frequent years ago in your youth--begins a really awkward attempt at playing tag. and at first you reason that the two of you are now far too old to play a children’s game. even as phainon kept pushing the subject, you tried to deter him by offering literally anything else to do with your free time before you gave in and proceeded with the game. 

phainon argues it should be fun—it is fun--in a ceremonial twist that two of you can relive such fond memories as grown-ups. and don't you at least owe him this time? you did leave him for a very long, long time with very minimal contact all these years...he just misses being with you!

if you give in to nostalgia, you still can't help but find his insistence a bit off-putting because he’s staring you down, almost shaking, getting handsy all over you as he drags you away, barely minding any of your protests.

playing tag cannot be that fun…memories shared with phainon, you had felt that it was more of a chore than an enjoyable pastime, since more often than not, you ended up with scrapes all over your legs and arms because phainon never really knows how to play soft. and he certainly has yet to learn now; before you could give it much thought, you're already being forced to run as fast as you can.

you’re fully breathing through your mouth, gasping in a hurry with phainon’s loud footsteps thudding right behind you. the sound of his laughter and words cooing your name in a mocking sweetness trails not too far away, no matter how many turns you take and how far of a distance you've crossed. you can't help but feel miserable.

but you still did try your best to keep up with him, even as you began to feel that the awkwardness was slowly morphing into a strange discomfort. you glance at him from the corner of your eyes and see how taller phainon's gotten all these years--longer legs, a bigger build, but that same wild smile on his face when he actively terrorizes you all afternoon. it's like you never left him to begin with.

he kept the same childish disposition: his lack of boundaries, his over-eagerness, and that persistent neediness he’ll always try to excuse as nothing but best friends needing to spend more time with each other, no? and in moments where you just feel slightly off about a situation with whatever phainon reasons with, you can guarantee your feelings will always be overridden by the blatant disregard.

you really have no choice but to deal with this till phainon gets tired and calls it a day. 

you can't help but notice the fact that it's only been phainon chasing you down. isn’t the whole point of tag to alternate? he's tagged you way too many times, so it would only make sense that procession should designate you as “it” over the past five turns. 

and yet, as phainon tackles you for the umpteenth time and he buzzes about in endless chattering, telling you to go again, and again, and again, until you've grown a headache and your knees begin to ache. and by the time sweat has poked through your clothes and you can barely wheeze a stable breath, you ask, in between each huff, could it be your turn, for a change, to at least run after him? 

phainon looks at you, confused, before admitting that it’s no fun if you were to chase after him. no offence, you’ll never be able to catch up to him if he really tried to run away—which he doesn’t have to try anyway. you still wouldn’t be able to catch up. you take offence, but you give up and just decide it's easier to shrug it off.

in reality, childhood-friend!phainon just gets off on the idea of running after you, being able to physically hold you down on the ground and push all his weight onto you. how he gets to squeeze you with his hands and watch as you try to push him off, making those cute whimpering sounds of protest—he knows exactly how uncomfortable you are. 

he knows you don’t want him manhandling you like this. he knows you’re just putting up with him for the time being, and all for the wrong reasons; as much as the payoff of giving in to the feeling of his heart rushing through his ears and the thrill of running through the woods, it’ll circle all the way back to you. he rationalizes for that specific reason that it makes him want you even more. 

he wonders if you feel his hardened dick as he rubs up behind you--he's not even trying that hard to hide it! surely you must feel him, every inch of him itching to get at you, seizing to pull you down into the dirt with him because he's trying to grab every expanse of your open skin. do you feel him shiver? can you hear him swallow down his moans when you have to wrestle him to push him off of you? do you see how red in the face he gets--how hard it is for him to breathe whenever his skin makes contact with yours? do you see how crazy he gets when he can smell your sweat off of you? he can practically taste you on his lips whenever he straddles you down.

and all the while, you just keep making cute faces and even cuter noises; you’re tempting him--inviting him to act like this with you! if you really didn't want this, you would've said no, right?

It was perfect for running your fingers through his hair, which was exactly what you were doing now, in between flipping through pages of your book. Valko made a small, sad noise when you took your hand off his head to turn to the next page, and you laughed at his clinginess.

"You're so needy, Val." Even as you teased him, you mercifully replaced the hand in his hair, and Valko's arms tightened around your waist.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Need you."

You hummed soundlessly as your fingers worked through his short hair, easing out tension until Valko had practically turned to a puddle in your lap.

"You've been antsy tonight," you continued. "Something on your mind?"

It was nice to see Valko relaxed, but he had been awfully squirmy earlier. Fingers curling against your leg, hips, waist - anywhere he could reach as he twisted to get comfortable. 

"Do you ever think about having pups?" 

Valko's voice was muffled, from the way his face was pressed into your stomach, and at first you weren't sure if you'd heard him correctly. 

"Do I what?"

"Sorry. Don't answer that." Valko all but let out a groan, shaking his head softly side to side.

"No, Val - what did you say?" You shifted slightly, and Valko raised his head to meet your gentle eyes. There was fear written over his face. And... embarrassment?

"You don't have to answer right now, I mean," Valko replied. "It's just something I've wondered about."

Smiling, you tangled your fingers a bit deeper, giving Valko the kind of scratch that never failed to make his pupils roll backwards. He looked up at you now, puppy dog eyes on full display.

"Is this all because we went to visit your cousins?" you teased.

"...Possibly."

Earlier in the day, you had visited one of Valko's aunties. Along with four of his rambunctious cousins. One of whom had brought her brand new baby - barely over three months old, and adorable enough to steal everyone's attention.

The whole way home, Valko had marvled over the littlest addition to his gigantic family, rambling on about everything from how small her ears were, to the cute little coos and howls she let out. It had been sweet, at the time, but clearly the newest family member had left deeper impressions on Valko than you'd realized.

"I do, sometimes," you said, returning your hand to the steady, stroking rhythm that Valko liked best. "Maybe not right now, but in the future..."

Valko's wolf ears, which had been hidden up until now, suddenly popped out. You flinched in surprise as they hit the palm of your hand, springing up from his head.

"Don't laugh..." Valko warned.

But it was already too late, and your soft laughter filled the quiet bedroom and the hallway beyond. The rest of the house sat empty, waiting and listening in on the conversation between you.

"Feeling a little excited there?" you asked, wiping a tear from your eye.

Your taunting was cut short as Valko burrowed his head underneath your loose t-shirt, leaving a lustful stripe of nips and kisses along your stomach.

"Told ya I need you," he said, popping out from the fabric to look at you.

His hunters had come back with you a month ago in a cage of a few dozen others. Dwarf rabbits—nothing special. Cute though, like any other bunny breed.

You didn't need any taming nor much training. You were the first of your batch to make it out onto the floor. In fact, he’s sure you made record timing if only they kept track of such things.

But you’re not broken. No, that would suggest there was something there for them to break. No, with you there wasn’t any pride or dignity for them to strip away. You were just slaphappy from the get go, showing no resistance, going with the regime like resisting wasn’t even an option. Of course, it wasn’t an option. But most animals, even docile ones such as rabbits, will put up some type of fight, however meaningless. You, however, remind him more of moon jelly—no matter the harsh waves, it’s still going to continue to do what it always does and drift along like nothing matters.

He’s never seen anyone be so casual about being treated like dirt. Looking at you, it doesn’t make any sense to him.

He’s well-aware of how plenty among his slaves try to fake it the best way they can, eager to avoid the bitter bite of unsatisfactory customers, while some have had their bodies trained for so long they enjoy it now—but in either case, he’s still able see the defeat and animosity behind their painted expression, if not anything at all. Others who’ll play along all sweet and nice such as you do ultimately prove themselves to be dumb little things who thought that if they could just bide their time with good behaviour, they would somehow make his handlers lower their guard enough to create an opportunity of escape, only to test their luck and fail miserably or come to the conclusion that such an opportunity would never exist, then be left with nothing but that same catatonic look of utter brokenness.

But there’s none of that in your eyes. You’re not trapped in the moment like the others, nor do you hoard any such silly agenda as trying to escape it.

For you, it seems somehow like you’re simply at ease with it. It’s almost as though it falls natural to you, but he’s not sure what to call it. You’re just… happy-go-lucky about it—like a doll come to life, programmed to do what a doll does—eyes round and blank like two polished marbles, only ever looking far off into the distance as though you can’t see the things around you. 

At the same time, he gets this annoying feeling as though you’re seeing something no one else can.

In all honesty, he’s got no idea what you are. And it bothers him like you would not believe.

Which is why he’s decided he needs to keep you closer. Friends and enemies and all that. Though, he doesn’t find it prudent to give you so much credit as to call you his enemy as that would imply you pose a threat. Still, he doesn’t enjoy things he doesn’t understand, and you, well, even though you’re nothing scary, he’s taken by this desperate need to put his finger on you for some reason. And to do that, he figures he’ll just put you under his thumb and be done with it in the best way he knows how.

He’s certain he’ll feel better about it all after he’s had you beneath him. Then, all these thoughts he’s been having will be proved as nothing more than a waste of time after he’s reduced you to what he knows is true for all bunnies. Prey at his mercy, and nothing more.

The girls that get handpicked for the mezzanine are usually all on their knees trying their best to earn their keep and not get sent back down to the den where customers get to do what they please with them any way they want. Being on the risen floor is like a blessing in that way—a chosen few, honored ones, saved from the fray below given an opportunity to please just one man instead of a dozen a day. 

Typically they’ll be rare breeds, red-listed, and now, even though you don’t stand out as anything special, mundane dwarf rabbit that you are, you’re going to be one of them. You should see it as a fucking godsend.

And yet, you don’t seem to grasp the value of it in the slightest. 

Two girls a little way from you are putting on a show for him, kissing and touching each other all for his viewing pleasure. Despite their performance, from where he sits on his comfy throne of pillows and throws, his eyes look past them onto you where you’ve placed yourself before the balustrade, peacefully staring passed it into the thin air, beyond the cesspit below, ahead at something unknown like always.

Only this time, he demands to have his answers.

“What’s got you looking so pleased?”

It seems you hadn’t noticed his approach, and yet you don’t spook by it either, that way your head slowly turns, looking up at him for the first time with those very big eyes, to where he looms above, stone-faced with his hands down his pockets.

Being a polar bear, he’s used to his size and presence invoking fear in everyone around him. It’s a natural response to the largest predator. He’s always viewed it as a sign of respect. A fact that everyone knows he’s not the one you should test your luck against.

You, however, don't regard him any differently than you would a fellow bunny. Giving him no signs of being in a rush to please him. You just stare, as though waiting for him to explain himself.

“You seem like you' got something you’re looking forward to.” His voice is brisk, demanding, “I want to know what it is.”

You blink then. Slow in your answer—way too slow to understand the dire situation you’ve landed yourself in, or maybe, simply unbothered. He really can’t tell, and it’s beyond frustrating at this point—trying his very hardest to read your mind and failing so miserably in the pursuit he has no other option but to wait oh-so-patiently for you to indulge him.

“We’re getting stew for supper today,” you say at last, looking back through the guardrail at his workers, flooding through the gate on the ground floor, carrying sacks of potatoes over their backs.

His nose scrunches at the prospect. You're really looking forward to that slop? Suppose you have to be that humble when you’re at the bottom of the food chain. Even so, he hasn’t heard any single one of his bunnies, of which he’s had hundreds, ever show any type of enthusiasm regarding the food.

“You like stew?” he asks. Patience tested, but curiosity unsated.

You shake your head then, a small smile of all things gracing your face, contradicting yourself, “Not really.”

His brows furrow. Is this a game or something? If so, it’s not amusing. His teeth grind. “Not really? Why are you so cheery then?”

You look up at him once more, blinking again, both like you’ve never really thought about it as well as though you think it’s obvious—so obvious that you find it odd to even be sparing it a thought.

“Well, you see… When there’s stew, they serve carrots on the side. And I really like carrots.”

You look back to the potato sacks just in time to catch sight of the crates of carrots now being brought in, and the smile on your face as you watch them is unlike anything he’s ever seen—warm, excited, blissful even. 

Affronted by it, he leaves you abruptly, thinking an expression like that has no right in a place like this. 

Content slaves are never a good thing. Content slaves forget that which they are—slaves. They start taking what little they have for granted. They become ungrateful, and demanding, and then the uproars happen. That’s it. That’s what he dislikes about you. That’s what’s been making him so uneasy. You don’t beg or scramble. You’re nonchalant, and that type of sangfroid is nothing short of insolent. What’s worse, it could inspire others.

He won’t have that. 

You think you have something to be happy about? Perhaps it’s time he reminded you—you have nothing.

He regards you keenly from the mezzanine, watching you enter the dining hall down below. The spring in your step is pitiful to behold and so is the dead still you come to when you're wandering eyes can’t find the tub of chopped carrots usually on display right next to the potatoes.

You keep the metal dinner bowl to your chest, this tiny rumple between your brows as your eyes become more searching the farther up the line you get. And then, when it’s finally your turn, you cock your little head over the display, voice softly inquiring to the workers on the other side, “Are all the carrots finished already?”

“No carrots today. Dietary restrictions. Boss-man’s orders,” is the strict reply that returns, given like a slap to the face.

“Oh…”

You blink then, as you do—that very empty type of blink like you’re resetting yourself the way he’s seen you do with other customers.

And then, just as always, you slip right back without a hiccup. “I guess I’ll just have some potatoes then.”

It’s disappointing. He’d thought for sure you’d give him a little more grief than that. But no. You even tack on a polite little “Thank you,” after being served, before hopping out of line like there was never anything more to be wanted.

You don’t make moves to sit with any of the others, he notices. Instead, you make your way alone up the stairs to where he is like you’ve already accepted the mezzanine as your new place.

He’s not sure why, but for some reason he hides himself so as not to spook you into going somewhere else. And from behind the coverage of a pillar, he continues his stalking, observing you as you sit yourself in the same spot as before, in front of the balustrade.

You proceed like earlier to look through the bars down at the burrow below. It’s empty and quiet now with everyone busy in the dining hall, and he realizes he’s never actually spared it a glance during supper before. It’s a strange sight. Like a battlefield after the battle.

You don’t eat in a mad hurry like the others. Actually, it takes five minutes before you even touch the potatoes, and when you do, it’s one piece at a time, calmly, taking your sweet time, like you’re trying to enjoy yourself. 

He finds himself wondering if you’d eat carrots the same way. And before he even knows it, he’s standing right behind you once more with the same question as earlier.

“What’ you looking at now?”

And just as before, you don’t spook by his presence. This time, you don't even bother turning to acknowledge him as though you might have known he was there all along.

“The burrow,” you answer. “How different it looks when it’s empty.” His thoughts exactly. “It’s sort of peaceful like this, don't you think?”

No. Peaceful is not the word that came to mind. “I think you’d have to be mad to find peace in a place like this when in your position,” he states plainly, as if in an attempt to shake you out of whatever sordid outlook you were trying to impose on him.

“That might be,” you agree, a soft smile gracing your face. “But I think… you have to find beauty in the dark when you can, or else dark will be all there is.” The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end listening to you. “It’s like, sometimes good madness will save you from bad madness. You know?”

“No.” And that’s the problem. He doesn't know. He has no fucking clue. And he’s starting to realize it’s not because you’re withholding the answers.

“Why aren’t you upset?” he asks then. A fair question, he thinks. But you only look at him oddly, making him explain once again just like you did earlier. The gumption of you is unbelievable, he thinks as he supplies the requested context on your behest, “I took away the thing you were looking forward to. Typically, that would make someone upset.”

You look as though you still don’t quite understand, but then a light breaks across your face. “Oh, you mean the carrots?” You don’t seem any more upset by understanding he’d removed them on purpose. Instead, you just give your head a tiny shake. “It was only a small thing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His fists ball at his sides.

“But I didn’t.” Your head tilts, gesturing down at your tray. “I should have told you I liked potatoes. Then you’d have taken those away instead.” You then snort with a giggle, but he doesn’t get why or how you would find it funny. 

And again, he’s left with the same question. “Then why aren’t you more upset?”

You think about it for a moment—a moment like another eternity to him. 

“Well, I… I am upset…” you admit—the smile on your face positively unnerving. Perhaps you really have gone crazy. But then that would mean you were crazy from the start, from before ever even coming here. “But… I can’t exactly let my life fall apart over carrots. That would just be silly. Wouldn't you say?”

He swallows thickly, trying to stifle the many foreign things he’s feeling inside, finding that he can’t exactly argue with your answer, even though it makes little sense. People get upset over smaller things all the time. 

Just look at him and how upset one bunny is making him.

He turns away and starts walking then, muttering under his breath, “Silly, indeed.”

He goes to his bedroom alone that night. Some of the chosen had tried cheering him up, but they all failed miserably. You were not one of them. No, you made zero effort trying to earn your keep.

He knows you’d come if he called for you. You’d have to, and you’ve never been one to refuse a direct order. Still, somehow, even though he’s the one with all the power, having to call on you makes him feel like you’re stripping him of it.

The next couple of days pass all the same, with you continuing to drive him nuts.

At this point, he doesn’t know what he’s doing or why. Lounging on his throne, his chin resting on his palm as he appraises you with jaded eyes. Having come up with a new strategy—if robbing you of your small delights doesn’t enact a response, maybe he’ll have better luck in spoiling you…

“Eat,” he says, but like always you don’t seem to take it like an order, standing there, in front of the big platter of carrots he’d had his workers bring up. 

It’s not the same kind they serve with the stew—flecked and spotted with mold, boiled to get rid of the bugs. No, these are quality. Crisp, bright, freshly plucked and washed just this morning.

And still, instead of throwing yourself at them, you have the nerve to act calm, asking, “Where’ the other girls?” while looking around like you’d feel ashamed starting without them.

“They’re for you,” he clarifies, sanctioning your approach.

Still, you stay put. Chewing your lip with your buck teeth. “Is that really okay?” 

He can’t believe it. Are you really feeling guilty—in a place like this that only ever takes and gives nothing back?

No one in their right mind would be asking about others when standing in your shoes. He knows for a fact that all the other girls you seem so concerned with would have been halfway finished gorging that platter without sparing you a single thought.

Suppose he’ll make it easier for you. “Eat it all, or I throw it out.” 

With that, a new smile takes your lips—one of which he’d not seen before or expected—small, bashful, coy, like you’re having a different conversation than the one you’re having. Bowing your head with a soft-spoken, “Thank you.”

You’re quiet as you eat. Slow with it like you’d been with the potatoes. Taking your time, enjoying yourself, savoring it, eating like he’s not right there observing you. It’s like you’re back in the wild. You, an oblivious little thing in a carrot field, and him, stalking you through the long grass.

“Aren’t you gonna ask?” he questions after a while.

“Ask about what?” you wonder, peering up at him from where you sit.

“Why I’m being nice.”

You seem to find that funny. “I don’t ask you why you’re cruel.” 

That’s fair, he thinks. Though he’s never really thought about it like that. 

And then you say, “I’m sure I’d have little luck understanding the mind of a man like you anyway.”

“A man like me?” he repeats, finding it interesting—wanting to arrest you on it. “And what kind of man do you think I am?”

It’s a dangerous question—you seem to understand that—taking your time to answer it just like you were with the carrots. “I suppose… a confusing one.”

You’re not wrong, though it’s a cleverly safe answer. He’s sure you’d have liked to have said something different if only it weren't for the likely threat it would pose to your life.

“Do you want me to ask?” you say then. And this time, he’s the one waiting for you to explain, looking at you with a halfway raised brow. “Why are you being nice to me?”

He scoffs. You’re proving to be a little more cheeky than what he was expecting. “I’m fattening you up to eat you.”

You laugh again. This time from your chest, bursting with it. He’s not sure a genuine laugh like it has ever rung out through the chamber. In fact, he’s not sure he’s ever even heard one like it whatsoever.

“Well, it’s a pretty good final meal.”

He dismisses you after you finish. 

Days pass without the two of you speaking. And he, stewing in it, is more confused than ever.

He used to lord over his palace like a king, fuck all day and watch his subjects with gold coins and power in his eyes. Now, he can’t remember the last time he spared even a single glance over the mezzanine without it being to look for you. He still hears the squeals and sighs of pleasure. But he can’t even picture the scene. No, his mind is otherwise busy.

Busy doesn’t even cut it. Plagued might. Yes, he’s plagued by you.

Plagued by you and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. It’s a joke. He’s never been one to edge himself. But now he hasn’t fucked in ages. And you’re to blame.

What’s the matter with him? All his life, he’s known what’s been what. People like to complicate things, make it sound like more, make it sound different from what it actually is. They romanticize and they fetishize, but at its core, it’s always been basic. Bunnies are weak and easily broken, and deserve to be treated accordingly. There’s nothing more to it than that.

He’s going to find you, and when he does he’s going to do to you what he should have done from the very start—break you like the weak and breakable thing you are.

“Know your place, slut,” a catty voice bites out. “You might have been popular down on the ground, but up here, I'm the fucking favorite.” 

From behind the pillar he witnesses the scene, forgetting his objective. Five chosen ones all stand in a ring around you, who’s pinned to the ground by three others, two holding your arms down and the last of them on top of you with a fist wrapped tightly around the root of your ear. She’s got something in her hand—a shiv, fashioned from some scrap-piece of metal with unknown origins—pointed with a poke up under your chin, looking just shy of drawing blood.

“If any of us see you trying to take my spot again, I’m gonna fucking gut you from cunt to belly button—understand?”

You don’t say anything—unable to with the make-shift blade threatening to slice your throat open. But your silence is an answer in and of itself, if it weren’t interrupted by him clearing his throat and stepping into view.

“Master–” all eight of them gasp, those standing shuffling away with a bow whilst the three others remain deadly still, waiting for his verdict with eyes wide.

“Get up. All of you,” he says, passing his judgement swiftly, not giving any one of them room to plead innocence or condone their crimes with silly reasonings, “There’s customers downstairs in need of attending. Go make yourselves useful.” 

A wave of displeased moaning followed, nearly amounting to a protest. Even so, their disgruntled pouting was premature. He wasn't finished. 

“And once you’re done, you can all stay down there.”

Pouting turned to pleading fast, all of them shaking their head with hands clasped together in prayer, “But, master, please—she had it coming, she never does anything, she—”

“One more word,” he stops the tangent, closing the gap with a slow saunter, standing multiple heads taller than all of them, even the one who thought herself so high and mighty just a moment ago. He makes sure to return her look of entreaty without mercy, saying, “And I’ll be the one gutting you.”

They all scurry shortly after that, tears in their throat as they hurry down the stairs.

You get up to join them—never one to make the wrong assumption, probably thinking he’s one to tar everyone with the same brush. And normally, he’d do just that, because in his eyes, there’s no telling people apart in any other way aside from separating product from customer, with himself being the only outsider. But then came you.

“Not you, Carrots,” he says, stopping you. “You stay right there.”

You remain still as he approaches. You don’t flinch, your eyes don’t flitter—it’s utterly uncanny, he’d believe it if you told him you were without senses, like a ghost.

“Why didn’t you fight back?”

It’s the question that’s been on his mind since you first showed up here—not a lick of resistance in you.

“I’m not fond of pain,” you answer. “So, I try my best to avoid it.”

His teeth grit, very nearly growling. “You have a bad habit of not answering the question being asked.”

You chew your lip, looking as though you’re not quite sure how to explain yourself. “Well… fighting it would only make it worse, wouldn’t you say? And besides… I don’t want to do to others what I don’t want being done to me.”

So, you believe in karma. That’s an interesting mental state—not one he’s ever understood too well. It’s always seemed like a comfort to those who don’t have the strength to take their own revenge, hoping that some higher power will do it for them. 

“Also, we bunnies have a saying,” you continue, now with that unseemly smile of yours. “If you’re at first getting fucked, you might as well try to enjoy it.”

Something violates him at that—a chill of all things. Thinking, that’s not karma. No, not at all. 

That’s resignation. An even odder mental state.

“Though… I don't think most of us take it to heart,” you add with a small laugh.

It makes no sense to him. In fact, it shocks him like you’ve just pulled out a knife and stabbed him with it. And yet, he thinks he might finally get you now. Any moment might be your last and you’ve accepted that as a fact of life. The same way he accepts and expects his stomach to growl, you accept and expect yourself to be the one to sate it. 

You’re the only one so far. The only one to successfully internalize that truth without breaking under the pressure.

“Will you bring the girls back?” you ask then, seemingly taking his silence as an invitation, and using it as an opportunity to think about others as if you can afford it.

He doesn’t know why it angers him the way it does. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

Like always, you don’t quiver under his growl like others would have. No, instead you keep insisting, “It’s cruel to send them back down after—”

“I thought you said you didn’t question cruelty.” he cuts you off.

And still, it’s like you don’t even care. “Well, I'm only asking because… it sort of feels like my fault, is all. I don’t want to be the reason they’re punished—”

“I’m not punishing them for you,” he interrupts, affronted by the mere suggestion. “I'm punishing them because they were cocky enough to think they could create a hierarchy not governed by me.”

He picks the shiv up from the floor, holding it up and inspecting it with a grimace like its very existence is an insult. 

“Tch—I should have killed them, and you’re asking me to save them.” He shakes his head, then finds your face again.

“You wanna know what bores me more than anything? When beggars start thinking they can be choosers.”

Gracing your jaw with the blade, he sneers. “Do you think you can be a chooser?”

And just like expected, you reset yourself with a blink, then utter a passive, “No.”

“And that’s why you’re up here, and they’re down there.” 

In all your time up here, he hasn’t once touched you, but within the next passing second he’s got your small body caged in his, trapped between himself and the balustrade where he always finds you, sitting, staring, thinking about things hidden from him.

“You’re the only one who gets it.” Knife cast aside, he uses his paw instead, dwarfing your chin and cheeks as he aims your head out to look across the den below. Fangs by the lop of your ear, blowing on the soft fur with his whispers, “You’re the only one who understands the laws of true wilderness. The rightful order of things. You know what you are and have accepted your place—made nature your common sense.”

Your feet dangle below, toes gracing the floor just barely, slipping in their stance where he has you hoisted against the guardrail, clutching onto it with your hands—knowing if he’d let go, you’d go toppling over it. And yet you don’t fight back. Knowing it’s all out of your hands, you remain just like putty in his.

“Look at them,” he continues, a disgust in his voice and in his narrowed eyes, spitting, “They all think they can be something different. Prey thinking they can hunt the hunter. Hunters thinking they can be loved by that which they hunt. It’s all false.”

He slips his hand from your chin to your neck, keeping a firm hold, though not squeezing, just enough to feel your pulse on his finger.

“You and me, we’re the only ones who see it for what it truly is,” he murmurs. “And why… I’ve decided I’m not gonna fuck you…”

His other paw, which up until this point had been holding the guardrail just shy of yours, now lifts and places itself over your heart, feeling it beat in his palm as he continues, “No, you deserve more respect than that… Which is why… I'm gonna give you the honor of being my first live kill.”

Betraying yourself, your heart does, nearly to his surprise, skip a beat upon him confessing his intention. But of course, despite your seemingly perfect composure, it would be utterly unnatural were it to remain steady.

“I’m gonna give you more carrots than you can eat,” he resumes, now forgoing your ear, nuzzling your cheek instead. “Then, when I've finally fattened you up enough, I'm gonna eat you whole—live and kicking.”

Swallowing thickly, he chuckles under his breath, setting you down on your own two feet again. Leaving your body cold as he begins walking away, with his final sentiments being, “And then we’ll both at last be done with this farce and become what nature intended.”

Weeks pass, and you remain alone on the mezzanine. He doesn't bring the old girls back, nor does he enroll any new girls either. It’s just you and him, in a silence so loud it’s gutting. And still, you’re fed a platter of carrots every day, and you never fail to finish every last one.

He doesn’t touch you again. No, instead, he maintains a distance. You catch his gaze linger though, just like it had since the beginning—on you while you eat, while you mind your business, even while you sleep, you’ll hear the low rumble of his breath, stalking you. It’s as he’d said, like hunter and prey.

Also now, on his throne, watching you where you sit, by the balustrade, looking outward at the burrow. No one wants to be there—not the girls, and not the men who come to see them either—they might think they do, but the truth remains. What they want can’t be found here. 

And yet, you suppose it comes close enough.

“You’ve been fattening me up for a while now…” you announce, cutting the silence. And then you turn your head back, flashing him your signature smile from over your shoulder. “Is this the part where you finally eat me?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just continues to stare at you like he’s waiting for you to make the decision for him.

“Do you want me to run?” you propose then—not sure if you’re trying to make it easier for him or perhaps harder. 

“Do you really think you’ll be able to stand still?” he mutters back. No mockery in his words. No humor in it at all.

You shuffle around to face him better, still smiling even though you know it probably doesn’t look too convincing anymore. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t matter either way. You’d be much quicker. I wouldn’t get far.”

His voice seems tight, suggesting, “I’m sure you could if you tried.”

You sigh then, “We both know that’s a lie.” 

And then you get up, chest getting tougher the tighter your throat snares, making it hard to breathe, and so you take a big one and release it just as sharply, scoffing, “Besides, I don't think my heart would be able to take it. I’d die from the ache before you could make the kill—and I wouldn't want to spoil the fun.” 

You place yourself about halfway toward him, before his throne. Submissiveness being your only weapon, you present yourself just so, linking your hands behind your back. “I think I’ll just stand right here and close my eyes if that’s okay.”

You hear him get up. You’ve always been so good at turning everything off, but right now you’re just not able—feeling the burn of salt swell up beneath your eyelids, pressing for release. You don’t want to let them, but they escape despite that, trickling down your cheeks.

You’re not afraid of dying. You’re not really afraid at all. That’s not it. It’s not fear. It’s something far less reasonable than that. Something audacious that couldn’t care less about the circumstances, even when it makes no sense. No sense at all. 

His finger brushes your cheek, catching the wetness and wiping it away. You don’t open your eyes, but you feel the air from his breathing reach you, getting warmer with his approach, soon on your lips.

“Don’t,” you object before it can happen. “You said so yourself…” Voice a soft croak, sniffling, “It isn’t natural for prey and hunter to mate.”

You hear him swallow thickly, abiding by your words as he mulls them over again the same way the two of you had done now for the last month since your first meeting.

“I know…” he says at last. Voice no louder than just for you to hear, very nearly desperate, “So let’s forget about it. We can pretend, can’t we?”

It’s tempting, but too fickle. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

“So, what can I do? Tell me.” His paws brush your arms, carefully, without claws. “What do I have to do to make you mine?”

“Well… that’s a question you have to ask yourself, isn’t it?” Your eyes peel open, meeting his. “It all depends on one thing.”

You appraise each other like that. Him, waiting for your conditions, and you, feeling your heart rift for reasons beyond being prey before a predator, as you state the ultimatum, “Do you want me to be afraid of you? Or do you want me to be in love with you?”

You bite your lip and look down, as though planting your foot. Even though you know what you’re asking is an affront to nature, it remains true nonetheless, “You can’t have both.”

There’s a pause. Your heart beats out of your chest, fearing what to expect—a bite or something entirely different you don’t have the nerve to name.

“You’re right…” he says at last. “Hunters don’t mate with prey.”

The beating in your chest ceases—gets cut loose and drops. You knew it all along and yet that does nothing to ease the desolation it leaves behind. 

A hooked finger slips under your chin, lifting your head.

“It’s a good thing we’re both hunters.”

The bite finally comes then.

Hungry, yet toothless.

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Enji ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Toji