art dump :)

The hallway leading to The Doctor’s laboratory was eerily quiet, his subordinates—like yourself—were currently on break at the cafeteria indulging in much needed fuel to power through yet another hectic day. The soles of your shoes echoed throughout the metallic floors, it served as a reminder at how deserted the corridor was; even though you’ve walked down this same path for years, the atmosphere never once failed to lick an icy shiver down your spine. It didn’t help how lifeless and dull these hallways were. As for the purpose of your early return in The Doctor’s laboratory, one of your colleagues had told you that the Harbinger required your presence urgently, and given your colleagues' words, it seemed to be a matter of importance.

Though, you wondered why The Doctor had specifically asked for you; as far as you were aware, your ranking as his subordinate wasn’t anything special—merely conducting experiments and quality control were your tasks, just like all the other subordinates under his authority. Ah, you didn’t mess up anything, did you? You always always followed protocols and it wasn’t like The Doctor had previously given you an earful for messing up an experiment. 

In fact, he had been nothing but full of praise towards you; there was one instance where the Harbinger gleefully praised your intellect. Although to others, he never held back on his dissatisfaction whenever a colleague of yours messed up certain experimental procedures. The Doctor always spoke to them of the importance of materials as they were not easily obtainable, and to always carefully read the protocols. Unfortunately, his rather strange bias towards you made you the butt of the jokes amongst your colleagues in cafeteria conversations, and you were more than certain they were currently laughing at you behind your back.

“Hah! She’s like a teacher’s pet but instead of a teacher it's Lord Dottore! Hahahahahaha!” One of your colleagues started right after you were told The Doctor needed you back at the laboratory.

Of course, it was all light hearted but you wished they were a bit more mature about the situation because sometimes you couldn’t help but feel . . . weird around Lord Dottore at times—especially at times where he’d lean over your shoulder to inspect your task for the day. Maybe he simply needed a closer look but the way his chest ghosted against your back had you biting the inside of your cheeks.

Stepping inside the laboratory, you were greeted with an empty space, devoid of the man you were looking for. The room was how everyone left it before heading to the cafeteria—powered equipment turned off, hazardous chemicals stored away, and several documents sprawled across counters. For a supposedly urgent matter, you expected him to be at least present in his own laboratory.

Confused, you called out, “. . Lord Dottore?”

Silence stretched for a few moments before you received a response, “I am in my office. It would be preferable if you joined me.”

At the sound of his familiar voice, you followed its origin where it led you to the slightly ajar door to his office. Your heart pounded against your chest, you’ve only been inside there once to drop off research notes because the person who usually did it was absent that day, The Doctor also wasn’t inside when you had entered previously so this was your first time in his office with him.

Something about that unnerved you. Sure, he was somewhat ‘nicer’ to you but there wasn’t denying the fact that he was an interesting individual but you were under the same organisation, so it wasn’t your place to question the Harbinger nor his motives.

As you walked inside, you quietly closed the door behind out of politeness before turning around to get on one knee and bow your head. During the brief movement, you caught a familiar tall figure standing just off to the side of The Doctor’s desk.

“Lord Dottore, Lord Regrator.” But what was he doing here?

There wasn’t much you knew about Lord Regrator other than he was the Ninth Harbinger who was in charge of economic policies in the nation.

“There’s no need for formalities. Sit. I called you here to discuss a special experiment.” Dottore gestured a gloved hand at the empty seat before his desk, the corners of his lips slightly curled.

A special experiment? At the mention of an experiment, your heart calmed a little—it was your expertise after all, so there was no point fretting over it but the strange tension in the room seemed to scream otherwise. It also didn’t explain why Regrator was present, it wasn’t like they were about to start discussing finance with you.

You nodded, standing up to quietly make your way to the empty seat, “Of course. May I ask what this experiment is about?”

As you sat down, Dottore spoke up once more, both elbows atop the wooden desk, leaning a little closer, “Recently, I have been expanding my research on the human brain and its connection to the body regarding its response to bodily sensations such as touch. I have appropriate non-invasive equipment in my personal laboratory, however, the procedure is rather . . invasive.”

Invasive? What could Dottore possibly mean by that?

“Naturally, such an experiment necessitates a suitable candidate and their willing consent.”

A participant—you assumed that was your supposed role, the reason why Dottore required your presence. Once more, your heart thrummed out of nervousness, you weren’t going to conduct an experiment, you were going to be experimented on. The mention of an invasive procedure already had your mind spinning in a million different scenarios; he wasn’t going to cut you open, was he . . ?

“Your intelligence precedes your colleagues which is why I have found you to be the suitable candidate. Of course, it all comes down to your decision but it would be a delight to have your involvement.”

You sucked in a small breath, “May I . . read over the research proposal, Lord Dottore?” He wordlessly nodded, opening a drawer on his desk before sliding a neat stack of papers over. 

Written in bold letters was the title: ‘Sensory cortex activation by stimulation’

The human mind remains an imperfectly understood mechanism. This study aims to document and analyze cerebral activity in response to external stimuli such as touch and pressure in order to better identify the relations between the human brain and body. The implications of this experimental research extend beyond mere academic curiosity, a more complex understanding of neurological behaviour under euphoric conditions may provide valuable insight into artificial human enhancement procedures. Experimentation of this nature requires a fully informed and consenting participant.

Methodology: The participant will be situated within a controlled laboratory environment under my supervision to maintain consistency of neurological readings throughout the duration of the experiment. Neurological activity will be monitored and recorded through the use of neural-imaging apparatus for high resolution cerebral observation. The participant will be gradually exposed to sexual stimuli in certain body areas as follows: nipple, clitoral and vaginal (penile penetration) leading up to orgasm which is the expected peak readings.

To ensure authenticity of collected data, the participant must remain aware and capable of providing continuous informed consent during all stages of experimentation and contraception will be used. Furthermore, a second participant (assigned to Pantalone) is set to carry out sexual stimuli mentioned above and is considered a controlled variable along with the primary participant. Collected findings will subsequently be analyzed for potential applications in the fields of cognitive enhancement and artificial synchronisation of human neural patterns.

In simpler terms, Dottore wanted to observe human neural activity during a euphoric state to better understand the connection between the brain and body? In all honesty, you were speechless. Not only was the former supervising the entire experiment but Lord Regrator was also a participant, at this point you were convinced this was some kind of humiliation ritual. There was no denying that The Doctor was extremely professional when it came to research, and you were more than certain it wasn’t going to be his first time seeing a naked human body—he had even written a formal proposal which further confirms that this experiment wasn’t some kind of perverted shenanigan.

“Do I, uh—Does the experiment require the primary participant to be . . fully naked?” You feigned a cough, flipping a page as you tried your best to avoid eye contact with Dottore. Though he wore a pointed mask, you were certain his eyes remained solely on you.

“It is not a necessity. Only stated areas in the proposal are required to be exposed for efficiency. I’d also like to mention that a generous compensation will be given once the experiment concludes.”

At the mention of compensation, your ears perked up. Even though the Fatui was an influential organization in Teyvat, the pay you received was fairly enough to get by but if you were being honest, you could use a bit more mora especially with this month’s bills rolling around. Without another word, you nodded, finally looking up at the Second Harbinger.

“Alright. I will participate in the experiment, Lord Dottore.”

Beneath the pointed mask, his rosy lips stretched into a wider smile, “Excellent. I require you to sign this contract then I shall conduct a pre-experiment interview to obtain better understanding of the participant.” Reaching over the desk, he flipped over to the last page of the proposal and slid a fountain pen over, silently tapping his gloved fingers against the wooden surface as he watched you sign. 

With your participation officially sealed with a signature, The Doctor carefully placed the document inside the drawer and fixed his attention on you, gloved hands loosely clasped around one another, “Are you sexually active?” His question settled into the thick silence awkwardly, it stuck out like a sore thumb—all too sudden and personal yet your commander had simply asked it as if he were asking about today’s weather.

You were aware this was part of the protocol but having Regrator present in the office seemed a bit much for you; what was he even here for? Surely, he wasn’t about to start asking you medical related questions, he didn’t even work in the field. Discomfort enveloped your warmed skin, a thousand kisses akin to small prickles—hot and itchy.

Shifting ever so slightly in your seat, you spoke, “N-No . . but I have had intercourse before.” Archons, if you were given the option between Her Majesty unleashing her unforgiving ice on you or to explain your sex life to The Doctor, without hesitation you’d pick the former. Dottore was still your boss, after all but thankfully, he was as professional as you expected, keenly listening to your reply while nodding—nothing more, nothing less. If he had any reaction to your answers, he didn’t let on.

“And when was the last time?”

God, when was the last time you had sex? You simply couldn’t remember. Being a Fatui wasn’t a walk down the park, days in The Doctor’s laboratory were long and tedious, by the time you return home late in the afternoon, you’d only have the strength to eat and wash up before welcoming the night. The routine was monotonous, yes but there wasn’t room to mope around  and complain.

“I cannot accurately say but most likely a month ago.” With your boyfriend then but The Doctor didn’t need to know about your past relationship.

The Second Harbinger’s questions continued for a couple more minutes, he asked about every single medical related question you could think of—medical history, current medications, prior injuries, and existing neurological conditions. Naturally, you tried your best to answer as accurately as advised by The Doctor and each response was recorded with meticulous precision.

“Good.” The word sounded less like praise and more like a conclusion. “If at any point you wish to withdraw from the study, you will retain your right to do so.”

Silence stretched inside the cold room.

You stared at Dottore. Through his pointed mask, he stared back. Neither of you spoke as his words lingered in the icy atmosphere like wisps of smoke, light and airy yet it held a bitter taste. A beat passed, then, very slowly, one corner of his mouth curved upward.

“I assume you’re wondering whether I genuinely mean that.”

So The Doctor was aware of your growing suspicion regarding his previous statement; you knew well enough how he worked, his experimental endeavours weren’t obtained through ethical and considerate experiments, and for him to state something like that was clearly out of character. Or maybe he actually housed an ounce of decency in him.

“Pardon my brazenness but yes, a little.”

The smile on his lips widened, “Reasonable.”

“Coerced participation produces unreliable results, especially neurological results.”

It wasn’t concern nor ethics but merely data quality, you didn’t know whether to applaud him for being such a dedicated scholar. Surprisingly, his reasoning was sound, emotions can and will affect neurological scans; factors such as stress can create physiological ‘noise’ which would increase variability in data.

At the lack of your reply, The Doctor merely dismissed your silence as acknowledgement and spoke up once more, “As you’re already aware, this study requires two participants. The reliability of the data is dependent upon minimising external variables and, unfamiliarity constitutes as such.”

“In other words, you’re making us socialize.” Lord Regrator finally spoke up, his dulcet voice curling around your body like a serpentine predator.

Well, it wasn’t entirely odd to familiarise oneself with a fellow study participant, especially if intimacy was on the table but the whole situation felt rather awkward. Under more casual circumstances, you’d feel at ease but being confined in your commander’s office with another Harbinger felt nothing but forced; you felt nothing less than a puppet being forced to interact with another toy at the hands of a naïve child.

“Call it whatever you prefer. Participants exhibit measurably different neurological responses when interacting with unfamiliar individuals.” A gloved finger tapped the wooden desk, “Trust levels, social comfort, perceived predictability—they all introduce inconsistencies. Unless, of course, you want me to find another willing participant. After all, you do have the right to withdraw from the study, Pantalone.”

Hidden beneath Dottore’s words was provocation but to Pantalone, the taunt was clear as day. From where he stood, he could see the way the former’s lips curled into a smug smile—a silent challenge between both of them. But Regrator didn’t bite, no, instead, he shifted his attention toward you.

“Well.” He smiled pleasantly, “It seems we’ve been assigned homework. If Dottore wishes us to become familiar with one another, I suppose introductions are in order.”

Satisfied that events were proceeding according to plan, the Second Harbinger immediately returned to his notes. Lord Regrator watched his companion for a brief moment, “He’s actually taking notes. How amusing.” A gentle laugh escaped his lips, he moved a tad closer to get a better view and the scent of tobacco faintly invaded your senses.

For the next hour, conversation between you and Regrator drifted from formal introductions to declassified Fatui affairs to Snezhnayan politics, and for the entirety of it, Dottore wordlessly sat in his seat, taking notes of everything. The conversation started off stiff as expected—Pantalone may be a participant but he was still a Harbinger, and with it came formality but as words flowed, you eased slightly. You learned about his role as a high ranking Fatuus and despite your lack of interest in his field, you simply nodded along.

Lord Regrator differed from Lord Dottore, and whether that observation was positive or not, you were uncertain. Different in a way that the former was clearly built for conversations, he gave flattery when needed, smiled at your words, and gave colourful responses; you assumed he obtained his mannerisms through his role but even with his authority, he was easier to converse with.

“Alright, that is all for today. I shall require both your presence next week once I have the appropriate equipment set up.”

With that, you excused yourself first and headed back to the cafeteria with a racing heart. On the way over, you questioned whether what you were getting yourself into was something you’d regret in the future but all your mind could think about was the coming week. The mere idea of Lord Regrator intimately touching you shouldn’t have invited heat between your legs but with every step taken closer to the cafeteria, the more it grew. It didn’t help how obscene visuals of you and him flashed in your mind every second or so.

The new week rolled around with slight anticipation; it was embarrassing, really, the slight excitement buried in the depths of your core pulsing with expectation. It was weird to anticipate such an erotic experiment but pure lust fogged your mind primarily due to the fact that you simply haven’t had sex in a month. Weeks of pent up stress and emotions? You were definitely overdue for release. Though, you did have to constantly remind yourself that it was a formal study within a controlled environment, and not some kind of one night stand with your commander’s colleague.

“I trust you’re both well rested?”

The three of you were back inside The Doctor’s office, it was late afternoon, the warm glow of the sun spilled through the frostbitten windows, painting the rather dull room in a mellow hue. The rest of your colleagues had already left the laboratory which meant you, along with the two Harbingers were the only ones present. It made you a little nervous—being alone in a room with two of Snezhnaya’s influential individuals.

Pantalone hummed and you replied with a small nod, already feeling your skin starting to prick.

Dottore led you both into another room connected to his office, it wasn’t as vast and you assumed this was strictly out of bounds to everyone but him. The room felt unnervingly sterile, its walls were constructed from smooth metal panels with narrow seams, and bright white lighting illuminated the space.

At the centre of the room stood the experiment’s primary apparatus—a reclining examination chair surrounded by an intricate arrangement of cables, a machine, and polished metallic arms suspended from the ceiling. The most striking feature of the room was the wall opposite the entrance—a single pane of reinforced observation glass stretched nearly from floor to ceiling; beyond the glass you assumed was the control room, housing machinery responsible for operating the experiment.

“For the entire duration of the experiment, I shall remain inside the control room to oversee the study and note down all results. Remove any unnecessary layers of clothing such as overcoats and gloves, and meet me by the apparatus.”

Left in your blouse and pants, you headed to the center of the room where Dottore stood with Pantalone just a step behind. The former tinkered around the apparatus, pressing a few buttons and flipping switches with a gloved finger, causing the machine to whirr to life; it hummed a low, almost quiet tune that somewhat settled your nerves.

“Lie down.”

The Doctor looked over his feathered shoulder, pointed mask gleaming beneath the harsh lighting before turning his attention to the suspended metallic arms for inspection. You did as you were told, positioning the entirety of your body along the examination chair, the leather was cool against the fabric of your clothes which left tiny goosebumps from the difference in temperature. Wordlessly, you watched as he positioned the metallic arms near your head, several inches away from contact; its tips were equipped with a semi-circle that encased your head. So, this was what The Doctor meant about non-invasive equipment.

“Once I operate the machine, you may feel a slight sensation but do not fret, it is simply the apparatus emitting pulses of energy to record neural activity. And as for you, I require complete obedience—every single word.”

“Hah, you act as if I’m some kind of disobedient mutt. I’m wounded.” Regrator pressed a hand over his chest, a mocking smile directed at his colleague.

The latter didn’t bother replying and instead walked off to the control room, the soles of his boots clicking with every calculated step. Pantalone softly shook his head, muttering a faint “Lovely as ever.” beneath his breath, full of sarcasm.

“Any command given will be spoken through this intercom.” 

Your attention quickly moved from Regrator to the mounted speakers on the corners of the room as Dottore’s amplified voice filled the space. Gaze darting over to the foot of the examination chair, just past the Ninth Harbinger’s torso, you watched your commander on the other side of the observation glass. Heat warmed your cheeks at the realisation that you directly faced the latter which meant he’d be able to see everything you exposed.

“Base readings first. In the meantime, Pantalone, I trust you have already taken the concoction I made prior?” 

With the metallic arms whirring to life, you could barely hear The Doctor’s words over the pulsing of the machine. Just as he mentioned, there was a slight foreign sensation in your head, it felt like pressure but also not at the same time, though, it wasn’t painful. You could only watch as the two conversed over the observation glass.

“Indeed.” Regrator nodded.

Two days ago, Dottore had given him a curated substance meant to increase one’s libido, thus concentrating blood flow to the genitalia. He had no qualms consuming it but it was foreign, indeed, he had never taken such a drug before and it took all his willpower not to take you right then and there. It didn’t help how his semi-hardened cock twitched inside his pants, involuntarily rubbing against the fabric of his underwear.

Dottore jotted down a few notes as the monitors displayed your real-time cerebral activity; so far, everything looked good, “Commencing the first phase of the experiment: nipple stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. For the entire duration—without stopping—the nipples are to be stimulated via gently pinching or twisting.”

Thirty seconds didn’t seem too long, right? With that, you slightly lifted yourself off the examination chair, bringing your blouse over your chest before attempting to unclip your brassiere. Seeing your struggle, Pantalone brought himself closer, a faint whiff of tobacco following, “May I?”

Despite his chivalrous offer, his amethyst gaze kept darting at your clothed breasts and the smoothness of your skin—he knew it was impolite to do so but being under the influence of Dottore’s concoction had him acting a tad out of character. He cleared his throat as his cock twitched at the sight before him, swallowing down the low moan he almost let out. Could you really blame him? The garment was a black lace adorned with intricate patterns, not to mention the fabric being slightly see-through—a feature he found rather brazen. Pantalone could almost assume you wore this specific garment today for him to see. And maybe for your commander, as well.

“Thank you . .” You nodded and allowed Regrator to help.

“Pardon the intrusion.” He laced an arm through the narrow space between your back and the chair, lithe fingers expertly unclasping your brassiere with one hand.

Your heart may or may not have skipped a beat.

In one swift movement, the garment loosened around your torso, threatening to slip off. With slight hesitation and a burning face, you removed the fabric and shyly placed it on the chair right by your thigh. Almost immediately, icy air kissed your warmed skin which caused your nipples to harden, a small hiss almost slipping past your lips. While you were occupied with embarrassment, Pantalone’s gaze traced the curves of your chest, each mound sinfully beckoning his large hands—maybe even his mouth too. Obviously, it wasn’t his first seeing a naked woman but how his mind reeled with selfish fantasies was beyond childish.

In the control room, Dottore was unfazed—he had seen many nude bodies before and yours weren’t any different. It was nothing special, really but your cerebral activity on the other hand . . . That was more interesting.

“Whenever you’re ready.” He spoke into the intercom.

“I’ll be starting now, Miss.” Regrator sat on the narrow space of the chair, his clothed thigh brushing against your own; you tried not to think of the warmth which radiated from his body or how your name effortlessly rolled off his tongue like it was meant to be.

A silent nod was all you could muster—not even a split second eye contact to acknowledge his presence out of politeness but from the looks of it, Regrator didn’t mind at all as he proceeded to bring both hands up to your chest. If only you’d look his way you’d see a shy hue of crimson dusting his pale cheeks and ears but alas, your gaze fixated on the ceiling above.

A small yelp forced its way past your lips; Regrator used both index fingers to gently trace your areolas a couple of times, mere centimetres shy from your pebbled nipples, the tips of his fingers were cold—not icy but enough to send a strong shiver down your spine. You missed the way the corners of his lips subtly curled upwards in utter amusement—who would’ve thought Dottore’s lovely subordinate hid quite melodious tunes? There was no doubt his Harbinger colleague thought of the same thing.

As a matter of fact, despite being behind an observation glass, Dottore heard the sound you made all too clearly. The door to the control room was slightly ajar which caused any noise—minute or not—to spill through. It wasn’t foreign for his experimental subjects to create any noise but today differed, what was usually tunes of pain turned into hums of pleasure, and he couldn’t decide between the two which he preferred.

Maybe, just maybe by a tad bit—from how his core twisted with delight—it was probably the latter.

But Dottore had no room to ponder over that, not when your neurological activity displayed exquisite images on his monitor. As expected, a small cluster of highlights illuminated the somatosensory cortex which indicated its activation; he quickly jotted down notes, eyes trained on the screen before him, trying not to let your saccharine noises get to his head.

Another twitch of his now fully hardened cock had him letting out a low groan beneath his shaky breaths. The sight before him was simply exquisite; Pantalone may not have the best eyesight but he didn’t need a perfect vision to deduce the divine beauty—breasts splayed flat, torso arching ever so slightly, your head turned to the side, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, and brows furrowed in embarrassment.

Oh, what a shy little thing you were.

“Lord R-Regrator—!” He gently pinched your nipples which spread a sharp, quick shock across your chest. Another arch of your back pressed your skin closer to Regrator’s digits, he experimented with a slight twist, turning them between his index fingers and thumbs.

Archons, how embarrassing! You tried. You truly tried to hold back any unwanted sounds but the Lord Harbinger seemed to know what he was doing—how to please a woman—you couldn’t help but moan out his name from how amazing his hands felt against your feverish skin. Save for the low hum of machinery, the room was filled with complete silence and any noise made stuck out like crimson ink on a blank ivory canvas.

“Do let me know if my actions hurt you at some point.” Pantalone mindlessly murmured, mind completely fogged with lust, and senses drowned in your muffled moans.

You finally looked up at him through glassy eyes and wet lashes, it didn’t help how the bright lights above drew sparkles in your irises. He almost missed the wordless nod you responded with, too focused on the growing haze painted on your face. As Regrator continued his stimulation, shallow pants filled the space above your face and by this point, your face was as warm as it could get. Occasionally, your body shuddered beneath his expert touch, slowly and steadily driving you over the edge as each second passed.

Before another embarrassing moan could spill from your lips, The Doctor’s voice flooded the room via intercom, “First phase has concluded. Moving on to the second phase: clitoral stimulation. Duration: 30 seconds. As previously mentioned, stimulation has to be continuous for the entire duration.”

Even though embarrassment had slightly subsided, you hesitantly reached for the button of your pants, undoing them with trembling hands. Once more, the Ninth Harbinger offered assistance to which you thankfully accepted—there was no reason getting shy now, he had already played with your nipples earlier. Driving the soles of your shoes onto the cushioned examination chair, you lifted your hips and pulled your pants down along with your underwear with the Harbinger’s help—just enough to expose your cunt.

His eyes zeroed in on your glistening entrance. All for him? Oh, he was being spoiled, indeed. The sight of your cunt fanned the blazing flames of Pantalone’s ego—all this just from mere nipple play? How adorable. You must’ve been really touch starved.

“Before we commence the second phase, Pantalone, I trust you can find the clitoris, right? Perhaps you need my assistance?”

“I am not ignorant, Dottore.”

“I am simply making sure. No reason to get snappy.”

You wanted to laugh. Two Harbingers bickering should not have amused you but the pettiness behind your commander’s voice and the slight annoyance laced with Lord Regrator’s words was all too amusing. If you were to tell a fellow colleague about them two bickering whether one could find the clitoris or not, they would not believe a single word that’d come out of your mouth. Who knew they could talk about trivial matters, too, how interesting.

Lord Regrator returned his rightful attention to you, his dull expression immediately shifted into the soft smile he always wore, “Ready, Miss?” Meek, you nodded. The Harbinger repositioned himself, right knee slotted between your parted legs to get a better view of your wet cunt.

He gathered the slick coating your cunt, spreading it on the pads of his fingers before pushing back your clitoral hood to reveal the swollen nub of flesh all in its needy glory. Embarrassingly enough, a simple ghostly touch on your clitoris had your entire body jerking against the leather of the chair, followed by a wanton moan of the Harbinger’s title. You quickly turned your head to the side and pressed the skin of your forearm against your lips—a futile attempt as the moment you obstructed your face, Lord Regrator’s digit began rubbing your clitoris in tight circles, as though a wordless protest against muffling the sounds you made.

His fingers were good—amazing, even, to the point where you wished thirty seconds went as quickly as a single second. In your head, clitoral stimulation of that duration was doable but you wholly underestimated yourself and the Lord Harbinger’s skills, on top of that, you were still trying to recover from earlier. You weren’t supposed to orgasm on this phase of the experiment otherwise it would ruin it entirely but it seemed like he had a goal: to drive you over the edge before the thirty seconds were up.

“L-Lord Regrator, I think—Mhm!”

“Hm? Were you saying something?”

The arm slung over your face immediately flew downwards to grasp his wrist, attempting to slow down his actions. Your free hand gripped on the side of the examination chair, nails digging crescents into the leather to ground and steer yourself from the impending orgasm. You arched your back and moaned aloud once more, earning a satisfied smile from the Lord Harbinger.

Dottore’s gaze ripped away from the monitors and landed at the centre of the room where you and Pantalone where, he carefully watched as your body pathetically writhed under the latter’s eager touch. He could barely see your lust-bitten face but judging from the moans you let out, his friend was doing exceptionally well at pleasing you—even the activity displayed on the monitors could back that fact; more regions of the brain were now highlighted indicating an increase in activity,

It was indeed fascinating to observe how one’s brain lit up from mere stimulation.

The tune of shallow, soft pants filled Regrator’s ears, it was amusing to watch you scramble and gather the threads of sanity in your palms, refusing to let pleasure take control of your body. Did he feel bad? A little but he was no saint. He switched from tight circles to figure eights, pressing onto your sensitive nub with a little more pressure. Your legs shook with bliss, fingers wrapped around his wrist tightening as you teetered to the brink of an orgasm.

“Ngh—ah! Lord Re—Haah!” 

“I suggest you use your words otherwise I cannot understand you.” Mockery laced his dulcet voice but with the hum of machinery mixed with your shameless moans, you didn’t pick up on it.

When did Pantalone last have fun like this? Sure, he was powerful enough to control the nation’s economic state with a mere snap of his fingers but being able to control the pleasure you felt? Beyond satisfying. Not only was he rewarded with your lust-fogged expressions but also how your body squirmed beneath his touch—desperate and pathetic.

Your core tightened, it stretched and stretched further waiting for the recoil called climax but before you could reach it, your commander’s cold voice filled the room once more, “Second phase has concluded. We’ll be moving on to the final phase after a short interval.”

With that, Regrator pulled away his hand which elicited an embarrassing whine of protest from you. In a daze, you stared up at the ceiling and silently thanked Lord Dottore for the short interval because you knew well enough you’d be a complete mess once the third phase began. Though, the Second Harbinger’s reasoning was most certainly experiment-related rather than pure concern for the subject.

The tight knot deep in your core disappointingly dissipated as each second passed without stimulation—it was beyond frustrating to say the least, especially after weeks without sex. Despite the cool air inside, a sheen of sweat lightly coated your entire body and you felt stuffy; suddenly, the fabric pulled halfway down your legs felt too restricting, the blouse pooled around your neck didn’t help either. At this point, you just wanted one thing, and judging by the crimson blush on Lord Regrator’s cheeks, he wanted it too—release.

Dottore simply wasn’t being nice with the interval, the main reason for it was to let your cerebral activity return to baseline, otherwise readings from the second phase would carry on to the third phase and mess with the experiment. But he did have a more selfish reason that didn’t need disclosing—the growing tent between his legs.

He only needed a few moments to recollect himself. His bodily response to the scene before him was normal—he was still a man, after all— but in a professional setting, it was undesirable. Dottore knew what he was getting into when he first wrote the proposal for this serendipitous experiment but he didn’t expect to be aroused by it. He leaned back in his seat, a subtle glance at the prominent bulge before letting out a soft sigh.

How truly inconvenient.

After a couple moments of recollecting himself—or simply trying to—Dottore spoke into the intercom to commence the final phase, “The third will be slightly different, there will be no set duration as the end goal of this phase is an orgasm but restrictions will be in order. That means strictly no touching aside from vaginal penetration, this would count as kissing, groping or holding one another. Doing so would interfere with results.”

Since Dottore observed the sensory cortex, other forms of stimulation besides penetration would also be recorded, lowering authenticity of the results.

“Contraception is located above the machinery.” He added.

Pantalone reached for the smooth surface of the machinery next to the examination chair where he grabbed a sealed packet. Lithe fingers curled around the waistband of his pants, you watched as he unbuttoned and pulled it down just enough to reveal his hardened, leaking cock. It slapped against his clothed abdomen, donning a crimson blush that mirrored the hues on his pale cheeks. The pearlescent glob of pre-cum coating his slit had you salivating a little, tongue subtly swiping over your bottom lip.

Wide eyed and lips slightly parted, you could only wordlessly stare at the foreign sight before you, he was decently thick and merely looking at it had you clenching around nothing—eager to have all of the Lord Harbinger inside you.

Pantalone let out a low hiss, expertly rolling the latex down his shaft, “Ready?” Amethyst eyes clouded with lust found your gaze. Lord Regrator’s expression was different from what he usually wore, the cunning, unreadable smile was gone, leaving room for a flustered one.

With a wordless nod from you, the Harbinger fully situated himself between your legs, both hands each circling around the back of your knees to push them to your bare chest, “Hold your legs open for me, will you, dear?” You did as you were told, hooking an arm on each knee, keeping your legs in place and eagerly waiting for his next move.

Knees digging on leather, Pantalone placed a hand on the wide headrest of the chair while the other curled around his base, slowly guiding his cock inside your sopping entrance. A mix of your moans lingered in the air as he bottomed out, the entirety of his shaft sat inside you—heavy and hard. The stretch was delicious, it almost felt purely sinful, you’ve never taken a cock that stretched you this good before and it was dangerous because you might just get addicted to it.

Pantalone leaned over you, free hand now joining the other on holding the headrest. The silvery chain of his glasses dangled mere centimetres from your face, teasing and ghosting over your feverish skin. He sat still for a moment to relish inside your tight, velvety walls, he felt like a boyish virgin all over again with how stimulated he was, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet.

But Pantalone had a job to do: to bring you to an orgasm because that’s what he agreed to upon signing the contract of this study—to put your pleasure before his own.

A beat or two passed ‘til he slowly drew his hips back—with only the bulbous tip remaining inside—and languidly thrusted, your nails dug into your soft skin, leaving small crescent-shaped indents. You could really only hold on to your legs and take the steady yet forceful pace Lord Regrator had set which caused your body to jolt repeatedly with every smack of his hips against your own.

It was pure torture for Pantalone, you looked absolutely divine yet he wasn’t allowed to hold you—to grope and squeeze at your bouncing breasts, to rub at your clit, to suck on every part of your exposed skin and finally taste you for himself. Alas, he could only rake his gaze up and down your semi-naked form and fantasize how you’d react beneath his palms.

The examination chair groaned underneath the weight of Pantalone’s thrusts, high pitched squeaks interlaced with the string of moans and whimpers filling the entire space. Pantalone carefully shifted his weight to his upper body, anchoring his hands on the headrest to piston his hips into your own.

“O-Oh, god! Lord Regrator!”

“God? H-Haah! Ngh—‘M no god, my dear.”

Bitterness laced his trembling words, it's almost as though he took offense and now he expressed his disdain by merely picking up the pace, rendering you a babbling mess to shut you up. Skin slapping and the smell of sex dangerously danced in the air, one Dottore couldn’t simply ignore—especially the former.

The Second Harbinger messily jotted down notes, fingers tightening around the pen every now and then whenever you let out a loud moan. He didn’t stop his gaze from wandering to where you and Pantalone were, crimson gaze locked onto your jolting form while his friend eagerly pounded you like a starved man. How your legs vigorously bounced in the air was enough to let him know how roughly Pantalone went on you.

The problem between his legs worsened and Dottore may or may not have rubbed his hard on a few times beneath the desk. Just to get a small taste of friction his hardened cock desperately wanted. Childish? Perhaps but fuck he would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of trading places with Pantalone—even for a mere second or two. He was more than curious what you’d feel like around him.

“Lord Regrator! I’m—aah! I’m close—ngh!” Legs burning from holding the position, you let go and opted to wrap them around the Harbinger’s waist, locking him in a rather intimate distance. Pantalone let out a breathless chuckle and changed his pace into deep, short thrusts, he grinded into you every few strokes or so, allowing you to see the stars.

A few more sharp thrusts and the knot inside your stomach snapped violently as pure bliss engulfed the entirety of your body. Pantalone, unable to move due to your legs tightening around him, sheathed his cock deep inside and grinded on you, his fat tip rubbing against your sweet, sweet spot. He watched your limp body convulsed beneath him as shocks of pleasure came crashing into you.

He followed suit, spilling his warm seed into the latex while relishing in the tightness of your walls, a loud grunt forced from his rosy lips.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, individuals merely reduced to a heaving mess as the fog of orgasm slowly dissipated from your bodies. As if on cue, Dottore spoke through the intercom,

“The final phase of the study has concluded. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

A breathless laugh from the Harbinger above you, “I sure hope you managed to collect ample findings, Dottore.”

The latter could only scoff, of course he was able to do so. As opposed to his hypothesis—where he had only hypothesized two regions would be active—a handful of regions were active during an orgasm. It gave him a better understanding of how to map the human brain.

At the latter’s silence, Pantalone spoke once more, “Though, I am rather curious,” He let out a small hiss while pulling out. “Why did you need a second participant? Surely you’re more than capable of executing this task yourself, no? Unless . .”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you simply can’t do it.” To please a woman, he wanted to add.

There was only one way to interpret the Ninth’s words and despite it being ‘friendly’ banter, annoyance bubbled in Dottore’s chest, “Obviously, I would need to record findings hence my lack of participation in the study. But if you ask me, I would have done a better job.”

“Really?”

Silence followed.

Solely due to their brief exchange—or was argument a better word?—you found yourself sandwiched between Lord Dottore and Lord Regrator; every article of your clothing long discarded on the cold tiles, and machinery turned off, long forgotten. With the former laying on the examination chair, you straddled him, trembling legs on either side of his waist while the other Harbinger pressed his clothed chest against your back.

“Lord Dottore . .” You bit your lip. 

In a haste, he had unzipped his pants and pulled out his leaking cock, rubbing the bare tip up and down your sensitive slit. Behind you, Pantalone’s hands mindlessly wandered all over your naked form—from the plush of your breasts to the fat of your ass, he left no skin untouched. But it wasn’t his hands alone, his lips trailed open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, leaving a few small bites in between.

Pantalone gently ushered you forward, one hand splayed across your back to bring you closer to Dottore ‘til your breasts squished against the latter’s chest. Both Harbingers lined their cocks to your entrances and slowly pushed inside. Slumped against the Second, you trembled violently as they stretched your holes out—one wrong move and you were sure to come undone.

With both cocks fully sheathed inside, all you could do at that point was pant like a mere mutt in heat, you haven’t had proper time to come down from your previous orgasm so any form of stimulation quite literally melted your brain and brought tears to your eyes.

Dottore cupped your jaw with a large, gloved hand and angled your face, he examined your fucked out expression momentarily before closing the distance. Messy and desperate, the Lord Harbinger’s kiss simply knocked oxygen from your lungs, he eagerly plunged his tongue past your lips and explored the inside of your mouth. 

The kiss and the sting of his pointed mask digging into your cheek was enough to briefly distract you from their experimental thrusts. Shameless, you wailed into your commander’s mouth, knuckles turning into a lovely shade of ivory as you gripped the collar of his coat.

The examination chair groaned beneath the weight of the Harbingers’ merciless thrusts and one could only hope it was sturdy enough to last an entire round. Creaks of the chair mixed with the sinful harmony of your moans filled all four corners of the room, thankfully this space was a bit more secluded in comparison to your commander’s laboratory which meant anyone else walking down the corridors wouldn’t be able to hear the lewd sounds as much.

Despite the eagerness behind their thrusts, it was certainly surprising to have their movements coordinate with one another—an unspoken rhythm with the sole purpose of bringing you and themselves to release.

Dottore pulled away to catch his breath, leaving a thin translucent string of saliva connecting his kiss-bitten lips to your own, hot breaths mingling together through rough pants. The corner of the Harbinger’s lips curled upwards upon seeing your drunken expression—who knew you looked utterly divine stuffed with two cocks? It made him twitch.

Pantalone’s gaze fixated on your lower half—how your ass bounced and jolted with every powerful thrust he gave. The mere sight of his wet cock appearing and disappearing between the globes of your ass had him heaving a little harder. Maybe it was also due to the tightness of your rear, or the fact that having another cock inside you intensified the pleasurable friction he felt.

A few more harsh thrusts, the coil inside you finally snapped once more, bringing you to a rather earth shattering orgasm. Your body violently trembled in pure bliss as you tried to moan their names to no avail. With the sensation being too much, you fisted Dottore’s clothed chest as if doing so would somewhat ease the pleasurable pain your entire body felt.

The Second soon followed suit, a couple of desperate thrusts into your sopping cunt—ones that had you wailing in overstimulation—before sheathing himself deep inside and releasing thick, warm ribbons of cum. A string of colourful curses in his mother tongue slipped past his kiss-bitten lips as he came inside. Dottore filled you all the way to the brim ‘til his seed slowly seeped out of your greedy hole and onto the leather cushion beneath.

Ah, he’d have to get it cleaned now. 

This left Pantalone who greedily hauled your limp body against his chest; one hand expertly rubbed your swollen clit while the other held your jaw to angle your face upwards so he could plunge his tongue inside your mouth. You choked on the messy kiss as the new angle invited him deeper inside. Dottore’s cock slipped out from the change in position but he didn’t mind, instead, he sat up and took it upon himself to plunge two long digits in your cunt.

His fingers were already long enough to reach far but the added thickness of his gloves had you arching your back. If it wasn’t for Lord Regrator’s firm hold, you would’ve already been slumped against the chair long ago. The former’s fingers moved in a ‘come hither’ motion which allowed him to brush against your sweet spot. Surely you could handle another one, right?

“Oh—hng! Close! Ah—haah!” Hands flew down to circle around Dottore’s wrist, you attempted to pathetically remove his fingers from your cunt which shortly proved futile as he remained unmoved.

You came once more, another blinding orgasm ripping through your orgasm but this time, you could barely even muster a whimper—only a soundless cry and fresh tears streaming down your face. Pantalone grunted and bit your shoulder as orgasm hit him, hot cum painting the walls of your rear; he grinded his hips against your ass to ride out his orgasm before releasing your skin from his bite.

Nothing but the sound of harsh breathing filled the walls and for a long moment, the three of you remained still to catch your breaths with reality slowly seeping in to replace what was once lust. You wanted to sleep right then and there, exhaustion weighed heavy on your body from how hard they both worked you—too tired to even think of the consequences.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mistake!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You lunge, fed up with his nonsense.

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

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

Instead?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ffffffuck– yes– fuck, don't stop–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Congrats, this herbivore is your boss now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sniff sniff."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Since then, it’s gotten worse.

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

It's humiliating, really.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Specifically you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lohen– please–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Good little bitch~”

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

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

Lohen stops.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hips roll forward.

.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

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

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

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

The grand hall of Zapolyarny Palace gleamed with cold opulence—crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors. The hall’s high arched stained windows revealed the quiet chaos of the snowstorm outside; snowflakes painted the palace with its icy elegance. Today’s agenda was rather bleak, no new missions from Her Majesty had been tasked, nor was there anything of pure interest beyond the palace walls. 

Naturally, with a dull day like this, Sandrone held her tea parties to combat idle bodies within the palace. Her parties were far from formal, more so a casual gathering between friends and people alike—if the Harbingers even considered each other friends. Nonetheless, the get-together was always immaculate—every pristine teacup was aligned and every mechanical attendant moved with flawless precision. As expected from the Seventh Harbinger herself.

Amongst the group sat you with your usual stillness—calm like the ocean yet as mysterious as its azure depths. What lay beneath its tranquil surface was nothing but a façade of lies. It wasn’t a surprise you lived up to your title—Prevaricator.

Sandrone presided at the head of the table, she sat with precision, back pin-straight as she nursed the freshly brewed beverage. Straight across from her, sat Columbina, and Arlecchino on a vermillion sofa; you and Rosalyne to her right, leaving two empty chairs across from you. On some days, The Captain and Childe would occupy those seats.

“When do you leave for Inazuma, Rosalyne?” Sandrone peeked through the steam that rose from her cup, cerulean eyes piercing yet held no ill intent.

The blonde swallowed down a piece of biscuit before replying, a sharp hand covered her crimson-stained lips out of etiquette, “In three days’ time. I’ll make sure to get you Inazuman tea once I get back.” Rosalyne laughed which pulled an eye roll from Sandrone.

Before the latter could entertain the banter, Columbina spoke up, her dainty voice just enough for all to hear, “Inazuma? I’ve heard The Balladeer is also assigned there.” Rosalyne nodded, despite her quiet response, her displeased face conveyed all emotions needed to conclude how she felt about the Inazuman puppet.

As for you, your feelings toward The Balladeer were nothing but neutral. Sure, you’ve previously exchanged disagreements on several occasions but that was all there was to your ‘relationship’. Though, his mannerisms and sharp words awfully reminded you of a certain Harbinger—one you could barely stand even if your life depended on it.

You weren’t alone in that opinion.

As you spiraled into pure disdain for your colleague, a set of icy footsteps against the marbled floors halted all conversation—your thoughts included. For a mere second, it was as though time had stopped and the snowfall outside was suspended mid-air. Oxygen grew thin within the palace and you swore the temperature dipped below necessary. Even Sandrone’s automatons seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat.

Dottore stepped inside. Uninvited. Unannounced. Unwelcomed. As if your unkind thoughts had somewhat summoned the devil himself.

With pure mockery and amusement, Dottore tilted his head slightly, taking in the frozen expressions of his colleagues. His pointed mask shone beneath the crystal chandeliers. 

“Is this how you welcome a guest?” The Doctor drawled. “How cold. You should all be delighted I’m even attending this . . . get-together.” He ended the sentence with absolute scorn, obviously looking down at his fellow Harbingers.

Sandrone’s fingers tightened around the porcelain cup, “You weren’t invited.” She said flatly.

“Ah.” Dottore started, already headed towards the mahogany table, “Details.” He ignored the Seventh entirely and claimed an empty seat, a seat reserved for anyone but him—directly across from you.

You did not react. Nor did you acknowledge his presence beyond the faint clink of porcelain as you set your cup down as if it were any other tea party. Unlike Sandrone who wore her negative emotions proudly, you remained expressionless—cool, unreadable, and infuriatingly indifferent.

Dottore watched your calm figure from beneath his mask.

Of course you would pretend he didn’t exist. That was what fascinated him the most.

Nothing but a lowly ranked Harbinger yet you carried yourself like someone who had already surpassed every soul in the room. And that’s what made Dottore’s skin itch.

Oh, how badly he wanted to break that false persona of yours, and reveal the weak, poor human you were beneath all those layers. After all, your very existence was built on lies—delusions, just like your genius invention.

Being the Tenth Harbinger meant that your physical prowess wasn’t as refined as the others but your intellect was a different story, and admittedly, it utterly amazed Dottore more than anything.

Who could’ve come up with such a brilliant idea of manufacturing Delusions? Even though the entire process was a joint project between you and Dottore—much to your dismay—he had to give you credit. Not only did your invention further aid each Harbinger with their combat skills but it was also being mass produced in Inazuma right this very moment.

Such a feat a lowly Harbinger could obtain.

Which is why you have piqued his very interest. Dottore wanted to study you, to dissect each and every neuron, and learn how your action potentials differed from the rest—was it your synapses? Or maybe your neurotransmitters? Maybe that’s where your blind arrogance came from.

“Well, don’t mind me. Do carry on with your trivial matters.” The Doctor dismissively waved a gloved hand, a smirk curled at the end of his carmine lips.

Silence remained for a beat or two before Sandrone cleared her throat and resumed conversation with Rosalyne in hopes to drown out a certain parasite amongst the group, “This tea is from Liyue, huh? Quite different from Fontaine, I must say . . . but I’m not complaining.”

Naturally, you followed suit by bringing your cup to your lips to finally get a taste of Liyuean tea—your sip earlier had been abruptly interrupted by The Doctor. The fresh brew tasted of intense floral notes . . Was it apricot and peach? Nonetheless, the flavour was right up your alley. You had to hand it to Rosalyne for having such an exquisite taste.

It had already been a couple of minutes since Dottore crashed the tea party and you were two cups in, having taken a liking to this particular brew. Huh, maybe you might just visit Liyue for yourself. Though, this second round felt a little off—not the taste, no, it was still as lovely as before—something to do with how it made you feel. Sure, the heater was on and around your shoulders was a thick ivory Fatui coat you regularly wore in Snezhnaya but they didn’t usually leave you extremely warm—blazing, even.

You frowned.

Dottore noticed instantaneously. 

How your posture shifted imperceptibly—one leg crossing over the other, shoulders rising with a much deeper breath than before. A faint warmth kissed its way down to your collar, even extending as far as to your chest. The slight shift was invisible to most in the room, except Dottore.

Ah. There it is. He thought.

Your fingers lingered at the rim of the porcelain piece as you set it down once again; you weren’t clumsy, nor weak, just a tad slower than your usual movement. Annoyed, you exhaled through your nose, absolutely oblivious to the reason as to why your body was somewhat disobeying you. Was it the long term effects of your Delusion finally catching up?

Dottore leaned back into the plush vermillion chair, fingers intertwined atop his crossed legs. Oh, how utterly delighted he was. Patience really is a virtue! His little experiment of the day had finally fallen into its rightful place; now, he shall sit and watch how you would handle the independent variable given. Of course, with this experiment of his, you were the controlled variable.

Upon instinct, your gaze finally lifted to meet Dottore’s—albeit behind a mask, there was no denying he had his crimson gaze set upon you. He responded with a mere head tilt, as if he were studying a rare specimen who finally gave him some kind of result.

A sly smile spread across his lips, “Are you unwell, Prevaricator?” Dottore asked pleasantly, voice full of concern yet you knew it was all mockery and amusement; that’s all the Harbingers were to him, a group of people convenient enough for him to play with, unfortunately for The Balladeer, he bore most of Dottore’s little games.

It seemed like you were next in line, though.

The Doctor had easily rerouted Sandrone’s automatons earlier before the tea party—a few adjustments just enough to programme her machinery to serve one cup differently from the rest with a diluted compound, a compound barely enough for your body to register. It wasn’t as potent as the final product but it was sure to disrupt your system even by a smidge.

And that’s where Dottore thrived the most, on small differences.

His question drew unwanted attention from the rest, their curious gaze now upon you. It was more so the fact that no one else wanted to engage in a conversation with Dottore.

Your eyes narrowed a fraction, “No,” A small pause.

“Just . . . warm.” Curt and icy, a response only he deserved. “Oh?” The Second Harbinger pressed further.

“This hall is simply overheated.” At your clipped response, his smile stretched even further behind his pointed mask. What an unsettling sight.

Liar. The Doctor thought.

You shifted in your seat once again, this time, your jaw tightened, fully irritated by your own body. Aside from the sharp heat that clung to every corner of your skin, you felt . . . Sensitive; the distinct contrast of the frost bitten air that ghosted your cheeks once in a while against feverish skin formed goosebumps all over your body. Even your chest ached with slight sensitivity as it rubbed against your undergarment. You weren’t utterly uncomfortable but it was enough to fuel your budding annoyance.

That, alone, fascinated Dottore.

He leaned forward slightly as if to study you closer for a brief moment before getting up from his seat, “How disappointing,” Dottore murmured lowly to himself but it was certainly loud enough for everyone to hear.

“I was hoping for something . . . More telling.” He gave you one last look which was met with a cold glare from you. Ah, he adored that look on you, that expression of pure defiance and hatred; you could bury your innermost feelings with such expressions yet it didn’t deny the fact that your pupils were a touch wider now, breathing a fraction slower—heavier.

This was only a tiny crack on the surface but it was more than enough to prove Dottore’s hypothesis—that beneath your seemingly unbreakable façade, you were susceptible to breaking.

Now, he only needed to calculate your breaking point.

How far were you willing to endure? Would you fold after the next experiment? Or would you stick to your stubborn façade and refuse to give in while you suffered in silence? Dottore could barely wait to write his next hypothesis.

Without another word, The Doctor turned to leave.

Confusion amongst you and your colleagues lingered in the air but soon dissipated upon conversations of shared dislike for the Second Harbinger; you could only nod along, heat that simmered beneath your skin needed your attention far more than the conversation at hand. Even your head began to spin. You wanted to call it a day but Rosalyne was bound for Inazuma for an unknown period of time in a few days and you wanted to spend today with her since she had just gotten back from Liyue regarding a previous task.

The get-together rolled on for a couple more hours until conversations ran dry and tea turned cold and it was time to finally call it a day. Everyone excused themselves without ceremony and returned to their respective homes—thankfully, the snowstorm had died down. On another day, you would have done the same but your body proved to be more disoriented than you had assumed, thus, the best option was to reside within the Zapolyarny Palace for the night.

Each Harbinger was assigned personalised quarters by the Tsaritsa for the purpose of convenience such as summonings before lengthy meetings and other matters but of course, no one was obligated to stay in those quarters during other times. Though, Sandrone and Columbina did frequent their respective spaces; you assumed for the former’s case, it was for pure convenience since it was nearer to the Fatui’s Experimental Bureau.

By the time you had reached the upper corridors of the Palace, the cold marble beneath your boots felt wrong; the hear of your skin also hadn’t faded, if anything, it had deepened into something more unbearable: a persistent awareness which you resented with every step. 

You hated this. Hated the way your mind slipped when it should’ve been sharp and precise, hated the dull tension your lower spine housed, and the irritation that came with not knowing why. You knew your body far better than anyone else, so why hasn’t your mind come up with a concise conclusion?

As you rounded the corner, you reached out a hand against the wall to steady yourself, just a few more steps and you’d reach your quarters. Pull it together.

“Are you sure you’re well?”

At the familiar voice, you stopped in your tracks, body swaying ever so slightly as if calm tides of the ocean lulled you back and forth. You hadn't even heard footsteps trailing behind you nor did you sense anyone else’s presence, was this because of your cognitive decline?

Dottore stood behind you, half-shadowed by the dimly lit corridor, posture relaxed as if he had every reason to be outside your quarters so late in the afternoon. You didn’t own the entire hallway, of course but he rarely presented himself in the Palace unless he was summoned by the Tsaritsa, let alone step foot on the upper corridors.

His voice was smooth, almost considerate, “You look like you need . . .” He paused for a heartbeat, “Help.” Whether it was your soiled mind talking or simply the tone of Dottore’s voice, the implication sat heavy in the air like an unpleasant smoke, and it wasn’t innocent either. Just the thought of it coming from The Doctor had you shuddering.

“I’m fine.” You straightened, not even bothering to turn around. “Whatever you’re implying, save it for someone who cares.” Before you could continue your step, Dottore swiftly crossed the distance between the two of you, grabbing a firm hold of your wrist. There was no skin to skin contact yet his touch burned, almost enough to let out an embarrassing gasp.

“Implying? What a bold conclusion. What could you possibly mean by that?” Your pulse jumped at his words, utterly betraying your entire soul. “Let go.” You spun to face him, eyes flashing with raw fury.

Dottore ignored your protest, instead, he stepped forward, ultimately caging you between himself and the icy wall behind your back. An arm braced beside your head, body close enough to feel the heat radiating off him; the faint scent of antiseptics and a few more chemicals you couldn’t name invaded your senses. It made you nauseous.

“There it is. That look.” He murmured, positively amused at your reaction. Your breath came a fraction faster and you despised the thought of Dottore being able to notice the slight difference.

Huh, who knew dosing you a diluted version of the independent variable would incite such a mix of reactions, if only The Doctor had known he’d obtain a variety of results from this simple experiment, he would’ve gone all the way and given you the undiluted compound. But alas, he was nice enough to ease you into the drug.

“Do you have any idea how insufferable you are?”

You scoffed, "You're blocking my way, I think you’re the more insufferable one here.”

Dottore leaned in, only slightly—not to invade your space but just enough to threaten it.

“You walk into rooms like you’re already above everyone in them. You don’t beg for relevance, nor do you perform—it’s as if you believe you’re untouchable.” His voice dipped, much sharper this time.

Your jaw tightened, “Move.”

“That arrogance,” Dottore retorted. “Is precisely what irks me.”

Refusing to look away and lose the fight, you met his gaze head-on through his mask, ignoring the fact that your skin now burned a thousand flames, and you were hyperaware of every inch of space between yourself and The Doctor.

“Yet here you are. Following me—cornering me. If I’m beneath you then why bother tailing after some lowly Harbinger?” Dottore’s amusement completely vanished at your words, and something much, much colder took its place.

“People who think they’re superior are usually just hiding something.” The grip around your wrist tightened, it wasn’t painful but it was deliberate. “And I am very good at uncovering what lies beneath façades.”

“Seems like you’re projecting. Let go of me before you regret it.” Obviously, you were no match for The Doctor when it came to physical combat but at least with your Delusion, you could hold him off for a bit until Her Majesty finally notices two of her Harbingers are at each other’s throats. 

Dottore chuckled, “How fascinating. Even compromised, you still bare your teeth.” That was another result for him, he made a mental note of it so he could jot all his findings down later.

At least, Dottore released your wrist and stepped back, allowing some of your senses to finally return, “For now, get some rest, Prevaricator. I’d hate for you to collapse before I’ve satisfied my curiosity.” Without another word, he turned and disappeared down the corridor, akin to a ghostly apparition.

You stood there for a good minute, trying to process the whole situation despite your impaired cognitive ability. Fury and unease twisted in your gut, creating a ball of mixed emotions, it sat heavy and absolutely uncomfortable but that wasn’t the worst part. It was the fact that whatever you were experiencing right now, Dottore had somewhat gotten his bloodstained hands involved.

On purpose, too, and all the while a sly smile plastered upon his masked face.

You felt sick.

With Dottore, there was never really an end in things, he was like a parasitic species—stubborn and hard to get rid of once they got a hold of their host. With this in mind, you stumbled into tomorrow with your defenses up, walls built higher this time.

At 10 AM, you found yourself in one of the auxiliary research lounges in the Experimental Bureau, the symptoms of yesterday long gone but not forgotten. The auxiliary served as an informal space within the building, an area for research staff and people alike to collaborate and discuss findings over a hot cup. Even though these rooms were built for relaxation, they certainly didn’t look the part—just like any other experimental building under the Fatui, it was all metal and cold; sound travelled far and beyond within these walls.

Safe to say you rarely bumped into your fellow Harbingers in spaces like these—especially Sandrone and Dottore who were frequent users of the facilities at the Bureau.

Just like the two, you conducted experiments and built items but your focus was on physical enhancement, mainly in combat. Human experiments weren’t ruled out of the list but you weren’t like The Doctor—unethical trials weren’t your cup of tea. Your research focused on enhancing what has already existed, not creating something that didn’t exist. Sure, there were times unwanted adverse effects spiraled out of control but that was all part of the process. Not every experiment was perfect.

“Prevaricator. You look well rested.” Unbelievable.

Now, even your coffee break was interrupted? Dottore’s laboratory was on the other side of the building, how could he have possibly ended up in your territory?

He walked in with confidence that had your eye twitching; you hadn’t even noticed the sound of the large metallic door hissing open—were you really that out of it today?

“You tampered with my tea.” You replied flatly, gaze locked onto the hot beverage resting on the table before you.

“An accusation. How unlike you.” Dottore placed a gloved hand atop his chest, feigning offense.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “You don’t attend social gatherings outside banquets, you don’t follow people to their quarters, and I don’t experience unexplained physiological changes unless someone interferes.”

Dottore stood there for a moment before breaking into an unsettling smile, “Very good. You finally noticed.” He praised you. You frowned, seething at the fact that he had treated you like one of his test subjects—they were always unwilling to participate in his experiments yet he proceeded nonetheless without a care, every single time. Their bone-chilling screams haunted your late night projects and you had no choice but to ignore them.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Dottore made his way over to the table you sat on. “About how resilient you were yesterday. Sure, it was only a diluted compound but any other subject would have pathetically . . . Given in.” He reached into his pocket and took out a tiny vial filled with an iridescent liquid, it glimmered beneath the warm lights of the auxiliary.

“This is more refined.” “If you think I’m going to drink that, you are wholly mistaken.”

“Of course you will.” Dottore placed the vial on the table with a clink, right next to your steaming coffee. “Because you’re curious, and you hate unanswered questions more than you hate me.” In truth, the hatred you harboured for both were equal; unanswered questions in research were your biggest enemy and it drove you absolutely mad.

At your indifference, he spoke up once again, “Or because you want to prove that you’re still in control. You’d want that, wouldn’t you?” 

Silence stretched longer than Dottore had wanted but he was a patient man, perfect results took time and with the gears turning in your head, he would conclude he’s not far off.

The thought of Dottore being in control of even a sliver of your life had you fuming, no one wanted that. Surely the effect of this substance wouldn’t be as bad, right? If anything went horrendously wrong, you could always trust in your expertise but would your cognitive abilities even pull through under a more potent chemical?

Despite your better judgement, you reached for the small vial, unscrewed its metal top off, and drank it all in one gulp. As expected, the taste was absolutely horrid; it stung your throat like you’d swallowed a thousand needles. You let out a cough, tears lining your eyes.

Dottore smirked. Right into the lion’s den.

Due to its higher potency, the substance acted a lot faster this time. The liquid sat heavy on your stomach, as if your gastric acid itself directly rejected it, not only did it make you nauseous but it also left an uncomfortable feeling. He noticed the way your breath hitched or how your brows furrowed in realisation that this chemical was much, much stronger.

He moved closer, one, two, three steps to close the distance, “Do you feel it? The way your body is betraying your discipline?”

You sat there for a while, wordlessly assessing the substance’s onset effects—increased heart rate, increased body temperature, vasodilation, cognitive fog, slowed motor skills, and slowed breathing. Your hearing became sensitive, both sharp and muffled at the same time, even Dottore’s sentence sounded almost incoherent but not quite.

“I think . .” You started, trying to catch your breath. “I think you should leave.”

Suspiciously  enough, Dottore didn’t push any further, instead, he took a step back, “Rest. This dosage shall pass . . . Eventually.” The click clack of his shoes echoed in your ears as Dottore left the auxiliary.

You’ll be back in no time. He thought to himself.

You sighed a breath of relief, his presence was suffocating to say the least, and being under the influence of some substance didn’t help. Taking a few controlled, deep breaths, you tried to calm yourself; suddenly drinking coffee didn’t feel like the right thing to do. So, with a hazy mind and light feet, you left the auxiliary and headed to your own laboratory.

As you walked in, your subordinates greeted you, they immediately sensed something was wrong but didn’t dare pry—after all, it wasn’t their position to question their Lady Harbinger even if it meant concern. You tried your best to oversee experiments and discuss results but as each minute passed, your body began to feel even stranger.

Indecent thoughts slipped in and out of your mind, your skin yearned to be touched, and not to mention the uncomfortable heat that pooled between your legs. The flu-like symptoms from earlier you could handle but this was something else, it drove you to the borders of insanity; with the absence of another’s touch, your cunt ached.

You tried to hold it out—to let the effects pass but you only lasted about an hour or two before you ultimately kicked out every single soul inside the laboratory out of embarrassment. There was no way in hell you’d let your subordinates see you in such a state; gossip amongst lower ranked Fatui spread like wildfire and you weren’t about to become the topic of the month.

This compound didn’t simmer like the last, instead, it demanded immediate attention.

The laboratory now fell silent, only the constant hum of machines and ventilation accompanied your ragged breaths. You leaned over your desk, fists curling against the smooth surface as you cursed Dottore with every unpleasant word your impaired mind could think of. The period of effect was unknown, so basically you were just playing a waiting game, a dangerous one at that.

But you weren’t about to settle for this—no, you demanded answers from The Doctor. 

Right now. Your patience had been exhausted and could feel a reckless storm brewing within you—one that abandoned rationality.

Without a second thought, you crossed the entire building from one side to the other, it was probably the fastest you’ve walked despite slightly limping from discomfort between your legs. Archons, you could only imagine how crazed you looked.

The door to Dottore’s laboratory screeched upon opening, gaining the attention of all staff inside it, including the Harbinger himself. He didn’t have to wait for the door to fully open to conclude it was you, according to his calculations, he expected you to show up right about now.

Before the staff could murmur amongst themselves, Dottore spoke a singular word—loud, clear and icy.

“Out.”

His subordinates didn’t have to be told twice. They shuffled to their feet rather quickly, immediately dropping whatever task they had at hand before squeezing out the door as if some madman were chasing them. Something in their mind whispered they wouldn’t want to witness what was going to happen next.

As the last person rushed out, the heavy door behind you hissed as it closed, leaving you and Dottore alone in his laboratory.

“Well, this is highly unexpected.”

“You’re going to give me a counteragent.” You demanded immediately.

Dottore momentarily paused before laughing at your retort, it wasn’t a cruel laugh, it was pure amusement. “My, this drug has really done its job, hasn’t it? Your mind is a mess!” Your furrowed brows and downturned lips only fuelled his delight. “You speak of a counteragent yet aphrodisiacs aren’t poisonous—they don’t harm the body, they heighten one’s senses and increase libido. Indeed, anaphrodisiacs exist but they don’t serve as a counteragent. In short, there is no ‘cure’.”

“The effects dissipate only after . . . release.” Dottore added. 

An aphrodisiac? How could you have not come to that conclusion? You were so caught up in Dottore’s scheme that you completely forgot to account for the use of a common drug. Everything about him screamed complex so it was only right to assume he had synthesized a rather intricate substance.

“You’re well-versed in medicine and human physiology. You should know exactly how these types of compounds function.” Dottore slowly circled your unstable figure as if he were a predator sizing up its prey.

“Tell me, Prevaricator. If you rely on this counteragent you speak of, why didn’t you just synthesize your own instead of barging into my territory like a lunatic? I was in the middle of an experimental breakthrough.”

As much as you hated to admit it, Dottore was right you should have known. Now, you felt like an utter fool standing in his laboratory demanding for something that didn’t exist.

“Unless . . . You’re already aware that there is no counteragent. Which raises a far more interesting question,” He stood directly behind you, his tall stature loomed over your own, voice dangerously close to your ear.

“Why did you come to me?”

Your heart pounded violently against your chest, not because of fear but because of the humiliating reality that The Doctor pointed out. Why did you come to him? He was the last person you should’ve sought when it came to human physiology. What happened to relying on your own expertise?

“I came to you for answers. Why are you doing all this? I’m not your test subject!” 

“That’s precisely the problem—you’re not. So, I took matters into my own hands, whether you liked it or not.”

“Why?”

“Your façade infuriates me. And I will use every resource I have to strip you of your false layers.”

You were dumbfounded. Why was Dottore so adamant? Both of you were Harbingers for gods sake!—your identities were built on lies. Every Harbinger was granted a false identity by the Tsaritsa, everyone knew that. 

“Tell me, Prevaricator. Is it the aphrodisiac driving you mad or the fact that you know exactly what you want but refuse to admit it?”

“I . . .” Your sentence faded into thin air.

The aphrodisiac had you on a chokehold; you couldn’t think properly, any rational thoughts were forgotten, and left behind for your future self to pick up. You couldn’t even refute any of Dottore’s arguments even if you badly wanted to—your brain simply just wasn’t working because right now, all you wanted was one thing, release. The heat your body radiated became unbearable and the painful ache between your legs intensified with every passing second.

Dottore stood right before you, he wordlessly studied your unstable, flustered state; this was only the first layer he had stripped off—the tip of the iceberg—and he was more than ready to find out where it ended.

Dottore took a step forward. You took a step back in response.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” He hummed lowly, reaching out a gloved finger to trace the edge of your collar, it was slow and deliberate, cutting you off from what you needed most right this moment, contact. Embarrassingly enough, you shuddered at the sensation of his finger against your clothing, the small vibrations of the friction it created was enough to push you further into insanity.

“Oh. Well, that answers my question from earlier.” Dottore wrapped a gloved hand around your throat, not too tight, not too loose, just enough to have your cunt clenching around nothing. You whimpered at his touch, your sensitive skin finally receiving the contact it has yearned for. His leather gloves felt electric against your feverish skin and you’d be lying if you didn’t want more.

“. . . Please.” You whispered, lips parted to draw shallow breaths in and out. 

“My, what a mess you are and we haven’t even begun the third phase of the experiment.”

Without wasting another second, Dottore pulled you by the neck and pressed his lips against your own. The kiss knocked out all the oxygen in your lungs, it was sloppy, heated, and passionate.

The tip of Dottore’s mask harshly dug into your cheek as he pressed even further, shoving his tongue inside your mouth. Your head spun, the kiss was intoxicating—he was intoxicating. At this point, with how desperately Dottore kissed you, you wondered if you were truly the one under the influence because it seemed like he was more lust driven than you were. Hungrier.

Wet sounds of aggressive lip smacking and the occasional pants you and Dottore let out filled the entire laboratory. If anyone were to walk in right this moment, they’d probably be crimson-cheeked at how lewd and pornographic you both sounded.

Dottore growled into your mouth as he gripped your jaw and tilted your head for better access. Oh, how well you were taking him; you were so obedient and amazing for him to the point where it immensely turned him on. A minute later, he pulled away, flushed and panting, a thin string of saliva connected both your lips.

“How fascinating.” Dottore stated, breathless.

His tongue swiped on his bottom lip, collecting the saliva that pooled there. Your state wasn’t any better, as a matter of fact, the kiss was so messy to the point where saliva was smeared all over your mouth and chin but you didn’t care, you needed him.

Dottore unclipped your ivory Fatui coat, throwing the heavy fabric across the lab, it fell with a distinct thud. With that out of the way, he pushed you to the nearest wall which was right next to the entrance. You stumbled on your feet at his urgency but didn’t bother complaining.

He unbuttoned your blouse, first, second, third, until the fabric revealed skin beneath it. A quiet gasp escaped his kiss-bitten lips, “You’re truly magnificent.” You didn’t know whether Dottore praised you as a human being or as a mere test subject but nonetheless his saccharine words had your cunt pulsing.

Gloved hands momentarily ghosted your feverish skin, as though you were a fragile relic he refused to touch for you were far too precious and pristine to taint. He slipped off your blouse and the cool air of the laboratory kissed your skin, you shuddered at the significant contrast of temperatures.

“Hmm. Sensitive. I wonder what would happen if I press . . . here.” Your body curled in pleasure as Dottore cupped a clothed breast, palms sensually rubbing against your covered nipple. How exquisite you were, he had barely gotten started yet you already seemed like you’ve reached your limit.

“Ngh—Dottore!” Your own hands shot up to your face to cover your mouth, the last thing you wanted was to moan his name embarrassingly loud but it seemed like even your body couldn’t resist.

The Doctor let out a low growl, “Do not tamper with my experiment. This is all part of the result. Uncover your mouth.” 

Humiliation engulfed your almost bare body as you heeded his words. He clicked his tongue and pinned both your wrists with a hand, “Any unwanted changes to my experiment will result in a second trial. Do not test me, Prevaricator.” The only thing you could do was wordlessly nod.

“Good.”

With his free hand, Dottore expertly unclasped your bra, causing it to swiftly fall onto the metal floor. There, he marveled at your hardened nipples, how it seemed to immediately react to external stimuli. He groped a breast, this time squeezing and massaging it, pulling a string of breathless moans from your lips.

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

Dottore continued to give each breast his undivided attention ‘til you thrashed your sensitive body from overstimulation, “Dottore . . !” This time his name came out as a plea and he immediately understood what you were begging for, “Tsk. How impatient. We shall then move onto the next phase.” He scoffed.

Within the next minute, you were stripped of your remaining clothing, leaving you vulnerable in front of Dottore. Before you could even try to swallow down the embarrassment, his hand was already on you, toying with your sopping cunt. His gloved finger sensually traced your slit—up and down, up and down ‘til it slowly your clit, then did he only rub tight, hasty circles.

“F-Fuck! Haah!” Your back arched at the electric sensation that kissed down your spine. You weren’t a virgin but it has been a long while since you were touched so lewdly like this, moreover, he seemed to really know what he was doing. Dottore watched as your flustered face contorted in pure pleasure—swollen lips parted, brows knitted together, glassy eyes rolled back, just the result he wanted.

But he was greedy, he wanted more. He wanted to see you absolutely fucked up.

Dottore plunged two long fingers inside your wet cunt, causing you to resist his firm hold on your wrists. He curled his digits upward to meet the spongy patch of nerves there, “Mmf—! That feels good—Ah!” You could only moan in response as he picked up the pace.

Each harsh thrust of his fingers had your abdomen squeezing with pleasure, attempting to bear the force of his hand. Loud squelches coming from your cunt reverberated throughout the laboratory’s metallic walls and you could only hope no one would walk by to hear such sinful sounds.

Dottore grunted as he felt you squeeze around his fingers, he could feel the growing tent in his pants, cock aching to be freed from its restraint. He watched as your entrance greedily took him in, your sweet essence oozing out every time he pumped inside.

His crimson eyes beneath the mask glimmered at the way your slick messily coated not only his palm but as well as your inner thighs; he had never seen anything quite like this before. What spectacular results he was given! 

It didn’t take long to feel the coil deep inside your stomach to start unravelling slowly. Dottore noticed it too, how your breath quickened and eyes tightly shut. He kept going, in and out, in and out steadily guiding you closer and closer to the sweet release you yearned for.

But just before you were pushed over the edge, he abruptly pulled his fingers out, causing you to shamelessly whine in protest. Confused, our eyes shot open, vision blurred with tears of pleasure, “Wha-What . . ? Why did you stop?” 

Pleasure slowly faded away from your body, the high that once engulfed you now felt farther and farther away. Dottore brought his slick-stained fingers up, casually examining it under the laboratory’s fluorescent lights like he didn’t just almost fingerfuck you to an orgasm.

“We’re simply moving on to the final phase.”

Final phase?

At the sound of metal clinking, you were pulled out of your thoughts. Before you, Dottore hastily undid his ebony-coloured pants, he pulled the fabric down with his underwear just enough to free his aching cock. Your eyes widened as it stood proudly against his abdomen; he wasn’t as girthy but his length definitely made up for it, his blunt tip was a deep shade of blush, and a prominent vein ran along the underside of his cock. More interestingly, it curved a little to the left.

You could almost drool at the sight.

Dottore let out a low hiss as he wrapped a gloved hand around his sensitive cock to spread his pre-cum all over it, he gave it three languid pumps before stepping closer to your naked body. With one swift movement, he nudged your legs apart—resulting in you briefly losing balance—before slotting himself between them.

You whimpered at the sensation of Dottore’s cock rubbing against your slit, you could already feel how hot and heavy it was from the simple contact alone. Without warning he slowly pushed in, its blunt tip separating your wet folds apart. Your arms immediately flew to his clothed shoulders, nails digging into the expensive fabric as he inched deeper and deeper.

Dottore muttered a curse, lips slightly quivering. The sensation of your warm walls around his cock drove him absolutely insane and he wasn’t even all the way in yet; your cunt hugged him oh, so tightly and greedily sucked him in he could almost come right then and there as embarrassing as it sounded.

It had been quite a while since Dottore engaged in sex since he had more important matters to attend to so this feeling of being inside someone was closer to foreign than not.

Soon enough, he bottomed out with ease. The two of you took a moment to steady your breaths and adjust to each other’s body, though, you did try your best to stand as still as possible as the tip of his cock gently nudged your sweet spot—any hasty movements would cause it to press further inside.

“You’re so—Haah!—Tight!” Dottore let out an amused chuckle, a smirk plastered on his lips.

“S-Shut up.” You flushed.

Without another word, Dottore hooked a hand beneath your right knee and forced it up to rest on his shoulder. That movement alone brought your hips closer to his, allowing his cock to slip deeper; you involuntarily squeezed around him in response, back arching off the icy wall which earned a low growl from him.

Faint wet sounds echoed in your ears as Dottore pulled out all the way until only his tip remained, your cunt sucked him in so much that merely drawing his hips back was met with such resistance. He wasted no time thrusting back in, this time, with the entire length of his cock, it made your knee buckle, and your lips immediately parted to let out a garbled moan.

Dottore started off with an experimental pace—he studied how your expressions differed with each push and pull.. When met with shallow, hasty thrusts, your breathing seemed to mimic the rhythm of his hips, whereas with deep, slower thrusts, you seemed to bite down on your bottom lip while your eyes slightly rolled back.

How interesting. What about deep, swift thrusts?

Dottore picked up the pace to test his next experimental question, blunt tip bullying your sweet spot, and heavy balls slapping against your skin.

“Fuck! Fuck! Ngh—! Dottore!” You mercilessly clawed at his back. The expression you gave him was simply exquisite, your whole face contorted in raw pleasure. Hot tears rolled down your flushed cheeks and he took the opportunity to lick it off your face.

Using a free hand, Dottore reached for one of your breasts, teasing and massaging it while he watched the other bounce with each thrust.

Earlier, the laboratory faintly smelled of chemicals, now, the air smelled of sinful sex—your’s and Dottore’s scent entangled with one another, a completely volatile pair.

“That’s it—Mhm!—Let me hear your pathetic whimpers as I push you further and further into insanity.” He growled in your ear and bit the column of your neck.

Dottore unhooked your leg from his shoulder before securing both arms around to lift you up, “Jump.” He didn’t have to repeat his word for you to do so. As you jumped, he supported your weight with his hands which allowed you to wrap your legs around his waist.

With his hands planted on your ass, Dottore began to expertly bounce you on his cock; this position left you more vulnerable since there was nothing you could do but take each and every thrust. Since gravity also came into play, his thrusts were far deeper than before and you swore you could feel him on your throat.

“Right there! Ah! Right there, Dottore! Please don’t stop—Fuck!” The tight coil inside your stomach began to unravel once again and the high you experienced earlier came flooding back. It was an overwhelming pressure, it pressed on every part of your sensitive body, sending waves of shock up and down your spine.

Dottore observed your cock drunk state—head lolled to the side, hair a complete mess, face flushed with lust, lips locked in a permanent part to let out moans, tear-stained cheeks, and eyes rolled far back enough you could probably see your own skull. This. This was precisely what Dottore wanted from you—an expression so raw, so vulnerable it was an unbelievable contrast from the usual one you wore.

You looked absolutely broken and helpless like he was the only one who could save you. And The Doctor loved everything about it.

He moaned your name as you clamped on his cock—not your title, but the name bestowed upon you by Her Majesty. The name only your female colleagues used to express closeness.

“I’m close,” Dottore panted. “Open your eyes and look at me while you come. Surely you can perform this simple task, right?” You responded with an incoherent sentence but nonetheless used your remaining energy to open your eyes, your body felt absolutely limp as pleasure weighed down on you, and you were positive you’d have trouble walking tomorrow.

He praised you for your obedience and you could only respond with a pathetic whine.

Dottore did his best to keep up the brutal pace but with his impending orgasm looming over, his movements began to falter, he could only hold out for a certain amount of time.

“Ngh! Cumming! Ah! Ah!” The coil inside you violently snapped and your vision flashed white as you creamed around his cock. Dottore let out a deep grunt and followed suit, hips stuttering before fully sheathing his cock inside and shooting a heavy load. Thick ribbons of his cum painted your walls white, he made sure it remained inside of you by thrusting a few more times.

The two of you stilled for a moment to catch your breaths before Dottore pulled out to gently get you back on your feet. As expected, your legs have turned weak and embarrassingly enough, you held onto him for support—not because you wanted to but you needed to.

As you came down from your high, this allowed the haunting reality to finally settle in for you. You just fucked your colleague. And not just any colleague but the one you absolutely despised most. Were you insane? Regret gnawed at your feverish skin.

Out of instinct, you weakly pushed Dottore away, a familiar expression painted on your face—the one you always wore, the one he loathed—cold and indifferent, “This . . This doesn’t change anything. At all.” 

The Doctor could only half-heartedly laugh at your declaration because you both knew it was a complete lie, after all, you were the Prevaricator.

—