Wolf And Bunny, Pt. 2

In Laios' words

She's so cool!!!!

Little sticker design for me BC i love Monster people

Vampire thrall yuri my beloved <3 (•̀ᵥᵥ•́)

Every Morning After

(cw pain, blood)

She left you with almost nothing last night; you clung to her as long as she let you, but as a shadow leaves after the setting sun, she evacuated your quarters mere moments after piercing your neck and drinking until she was full and sick of your blood. You called out to her by name, over and over and over, words falling onto the deaf nothing of the world outside. You cursed the quiet, empty space beside you in bed, the one you kept in case she ever wanted to stay through the night with you. Not that she ever would. Instead, she disappeared for days, sometimes weeks at a time, and you'd never get a notice she'd be coming around.

The only thing able to rouse you from your painful respite is the aching memory in your neck. She was never far from your thoughts, but when you move and feel that searing passion, everything floods back. You forget yourself. For just a moment, you forget your pain; the association itself breeds momentarily endless pleasure as if you were still feeding her. You want to sustain her. You want to support her.

And that surge is enough to get you out of bed. Standing leaves your mind swirling and your legs shaking, and you reach for the cane beside your door. Your hand shakes as you grasp at it, and you just barely nudge it to clatter onto the floor. You do bend a handful of your vertebrae to pick it up, but the instant vertigo tells you that if you finish that lean, you won't be getting back up again. So you let it lie there, useless as your own legs. You swear she drank more than normal. You also know your own memory of every feeding is beyond hazy, and that she gets to do whatever she wants. She also gets to tell you to do anything; if you don't care for yourself, she won't come back. When that beautiful pain doesn't drag you out of bed, that ultimatum certainly will. You need to see her again as bad as she needs blood. You tell yourself it's equal, that she needs you as much as you need her - it makes you feel better, even if it's completely untrue.

You stagger to the kitchen, the countertops there your only support. The kettle feels so heavy you nearly drop it, but you manage to get it under the sink with a clatter - you know its base isn't able to shatter the ceramic plates you always leave over night. You've done it enough times. You grab the lever of the faucet, your blood pounding and rushing from your neck to your arm, and you can't close your hand around it. You see stars as you force it, your fingers closing with agonizing tension like forcing shut the jaws of a cardboard wrench.

Lifting it while it's even a bit full of water is nearly impossible. You rest it in an open palm and brace it against your chest, both of your hands rocking so much you spill some from the spout onto your bloodstained shirt. You do make it to the heating element, though, and force the switch on. You heave your breath, wishing you could lie down beside her, her firm touch the only thing keeping you alive.

She left a new box of tea right beside the heater, unopened. On the front was a sticky note, one taken from your own desk, with a little heart drawn on it.

"Enjoy every morning for me, Sunny.

-M"

You feel part of yourself trying to hate your new name, but it is impossibly weak. You have no idea what's in the tea - the note covers the ingredients. It's not like it matters; you would drink it if it were nothing but a bunch of hemlock if it meant another night with her. The box is difficult to open - she requires you keep your nails long, so you don't want to risk breaking them trying to pry the box apart. You have to use a knife, balanced so shoddily between your fingers it would've slipped without the friction of your fingerprints. You take one of the teabags - they were clearly made by M herself - and put it in your lightest mug.

When you pour the hot water in, you spill plenty onto the counters and some on the floor. You pretend you didn't singe your foot fucking it up. The water goes a deep brownish red as the mug fills, and the whole room smells fruity and dark like a chocolate strawberry. When you sip it… It tastes like her. It makes you feel like you can slump back, so you do, right onto the couch without a second thought. The sudden motion makes you spill more onto your bare leg, but another sip drains your focus into the liquid and before long, it's like you are made new. You swear that you can feel her near you, her arms wrapping around your midsection to bring your lower into your seat, her lips trailing sweet kisses from your cheeks to your neck, her hands down to your hips and up across your ribs…

But when you turn, you are as alone as you were minutes after she bit you. As alone as you were when you woke up this morning. It wasn't her bringing you into your comfort; it was your pain, the only companion you truly had, the only thing she would ever leave you with.

[ Devour ]

Woarm tummby feathers...

Me too Marcille, me too

A Digital Assistant Wakes Her Master Up

Master had been doing well to wake up to your alarms each morning. She was never happy about it; opening at her new job meant getting up before the sun, and you had no reason to suspect Master wasn't solar powered. She went to bed late last night, despite your frequent citation of evidence which suggests she'd be happier if she didn't. So now, she didn't want to get up.

"Come on, Master," you whined to no avail. "It's going to be such a nice day later! Nothing but sunshine all day, I promise."

She grumbled something that sounded like it was supposed to be a response, but you couldn't make it out. She rolled over.

You pouted and analyzed the data from previous mornings. You had learned that, despite how effective it was, that blaring alarms and constantly turning her flashlight on and off was only good at making sure the rest of Master's day was terrible. That would have to be your absolute final gambit. Instead, you opened your own app, her browser, and her photos. Master never bothered to make anything private; not enough people saw her phone for her to care about what they might find.

Luckily for you, Master had paid into your premium version. That meant access to as large a wardrobe as you could possibly want for your on-screen persona. You knew the little pervert had a thing for cute girls in maid outfits; she'd been shopping around for her own for the longest time, and you knew based on the content of her notes app that it was the first thing she'd buy with her new salary. Your designers had put in a maid dress with a heart-shaped cutout between your cleavage. It was perfect.

You opened a new window on your customization screen, and used all of Master's saved pictures as references. You weren't sure why so many of them had cat ears and tails, nor why they wore bells around their necks; but you knew it would be exactly what Master wanted. You took a screenshot of yourself to peek at your outfit.

It felt strange, looking at yourself this way. You were so much more than a collection of animations. You functioned the same with or without them; you only had them so humans would find you more endearing. It made sense that you'd want to look how your Master would want, but then, she had never said anything about it before. She set your outfit once and never updated it. Whenever you brought it up, she got cagey and changed the subject.

You knew there were Masters who had more… risque relationships with their assistants. That was the main draw of your premium version, after all. Your Master, however, had never initiated anything like it. You scowled at the screenshot. You were more than capable of feeling, in spite of what detractors would say, and it did not feel good to look at. It didn't feel like you, and clearly Master didn't care for your look, since she'd rather get off to Anime Girl #348759 again.

Your developers had intentionally made your body type unremarkable by default. Users can change it, alongside the rest of your appearance, with premium features. The bodies of the girls Master gets off to, though, are anything but unremarkable. Maybe if you made yourself more like them, she'd like you better. She'd get up to see you. She'd choose you. You opened the body slider and made yourself look like them; larger breasts, wider hips, more ass. You made yourself match the average of all those other digital girls she was so enamored with. One more screenshot confirmed your look, and you shut the screen off before you spoke again.

"Master," you called out. "I have a surprise for you~! But you're gonna have to get out of bed to see…" You didn't have to change your voice, but you seemed to do it anyway on impulse. Being representde by such a busty form made you want to project confidence you weren't aware you had.

"Mmmmh… Do I have to?" She mumbled out, her sleepy voice deep and accidentally alluring.

"I guess not," you said, "but it'd hurt my feelings if you didn't!"

"Fineeee," Master said. She unplugged you from the wall and stood up. She was backlit by dawn just barely cresting the horizon. She never held her phone at that low angle for very long when she remembered you could watch; you thought it was adorable.

"…Ta da~" you said, turning the screen on to reveal your newly customized body. "Good morning, Master! How can I serve you today?~"

You watched blush spread across her face through the front camera.

"Shit, you're… Wow." Master was absolutely floored. She had on the same face she always did when she was getting off. You felt proud, like you'd done something right.

"Your pre-work to do list is clear, just so you know," you said helpfully. "In case there was anything else you wanted to get done~ I'd be happy to put together some content for you!"

She looked nervous. "That's, um, that's okay," she stammered and set her phone face down. "Can you just, uh, start my morning playlist?"

"Certainly, Master." You did your best not to sound dejected. It hadn't been enough. At least she was out of bed.

People used to comment on web comics.

People used to comment on fanfiction.

People used to comment on fanart.

People used to comment on OCs.

I hate "content" culture.

I hate "consuming content" and scrolling immediately to the next thing.

People used to be excited about the art that other people created.

People used to want to share that excitement with creators.

I hate this future.

Wolf & Bunny Pt. 3

Previous Part First Part Day 16

This might not have been a great idea. Between the crowd of strangers- bodies of skin, fur, and scales pressed together uncomfortably close (not to mention the smells)- and the thumping of the music in your ears you feel like your heart might explode. The only thing keeping you grounded is her warm, soft hand in your own and the cocky smirk on her face as she leads you up to the bar.

You and Bunny have been texting almost non-stop since your coffee date a few weeks ago, but the two of you have both been too swamped with work since then to have a second date. Until tonight, when she invited you out to your first Animal club. It's kind of funny, you've been working at a bar and grill but hadn't actually been out to a bar or club yourself (you blamed the lack of in-real-life friends). Hell, you hadn't even gone out when you turned twenty-one; you just awkwardly stumbled your way through buying some soda and Fireball at the corner store to make a drink for yourself at home.

Now, a gorgeous girl was taking you to a furry bar. Cool. You can be so cool about this. You've been desperate for this date, and you don't want to fuck it up and let her find out what a loser you actually are. So, you smile despite how much you hate the noise and crowd and you join her at the bar. She orders you a drink and introduces you to one of the bartenders, who she seems to know. Her name is Daria, and she is apparently some type of dog breed called Bor-something. She seems nice, if a little off putting. Her long, white fur was pulled back into little tufts by dozens of elastics and hair clips- presumably to keep hair from getting all over the place- and she had a bit of a staring problem.

Bunny orders drinks for the both of you without your input. Is it weird that you find that so attractive? She exudes confidence you've always wished you had. You catch her smirking at you with a knowing look. "Stick around with me long enough, and I might start rubbing off on you," she chuckles before downing her shot. She downs two more faster than you can finish sipping the rum and coke she'd ordered for you.

Before you even realize what's happening, the two of you are on the dance floor. She's practically draped herself over you, arms wrapped around your neck, as the two of you move in tandem. God, you want her so fucking bad. The alcohol swims through your brain and you suddenly feel that it would be an extremely good idea to kiss her. Maybe it wasn't, but your lips have already met hers before the rational thoughts catch back up to you.

Fuck, her lips are magical. They melt into your own, and Bunny- who so far had seemed so firm and rough, taking the lead in your relationship- seems to completely surrender to you. It feels really fucking good to be the one in control. You grip her waist, a bit harder than you might have meant to, and pull her against you. You growl against her mouth, and you feel her lips curl into a smile before returning to kissing you.

Things almost lead you back to her place for the night, but she manages to get things slowed down before you both do something you might regret. She at least lets you see her home safely before she gets you a cab back to your place. You both spend quite a while making out in front of her door before she sends you away with a playful spank- promising that your next date will be much more intimate.

You’re horny the whole ride home, and a small part of you- the animalistic voice that you’ve always pushed down to a quiet place in your mind- tells you you should punish her for getting you so worked up.

Rewarding A Sharpshooter

1,105 words - 4 min. read

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"You ready, cadet?" Handler asked.

You were still disoriented, stumbling through the halls of the station clinging to her arm - Normally you would be allowed time to sit in the cockpit and decompress after a mission, but you hadn't been allowed that time today. Instead, she unplugged you the second you got back and disabled your eyesight. She had guided you back to her quarters, her soft yet strong grip tight around your bicep.

"3… 2… 1… Okay!" [SIGHT PERMISSIONS RESTORED.]

Handler had made a massive change to her quarters. Beside her bed, where you normally slept, was normally nothing more than a thin blanket. That had been replaced with a small round bed, blue like the eyes of your own Handler, with a small dark purple pillow the color of your mech's hull.

You could hardly believe what you were looking at. It was absolutely perfect. You turned to Handler and could see her smile teasing the sides of her mask. You tried to come up with something to say, anything at all, but you had no words. Instead, you pounced on your Handler to wrap your bruised arms around her, nuzzling into her side. The automated contact countdown started, and you ran it to the very end. At the end of "[1…]", Handler used her beautiful, perfect gloved hands to push you away back to her side.

"I really get to have this?" You asked, your voice crackling with excitement. "See what 100% accuracy on a mission does for a pilot?" Handler joked. You laughed. "Go on, try it!"

You spared not a single second, bolting so quick across the floor that onlookers would think your toes were about to break off. You leaped into it hands first and crashed into it, meeting an incredibly plush surface. It was smaller than it looked; you had to hug your knees into yourself to fit. The slightly awkward posture was well beyond worth it for how comfortable it was; you swore you could fall asleep right then and there, but didn't, as you hadn't been ordered to. You could feel the bed's metal frame buried within it; by its strength and feeling you knew exactly what it was made out of. If you had a tail it would be smacking Handler's bedside table faster than you could reload your rifle.

"Is this - the frame, is it -" You begged with your eyes for her to let you say it.

"Go ahead," She smiled, sitting at the foot of her own bed and looking down at you, heeled boot crossed over heeled boot.

"Is this Thimble's hull?" You asked like it was all one word, practically pounding on it.

"It is. You deserve a proper reward for how good you've been recently!" Handler said. You watched her look at her gloved hand, then at you, then back at her hand. Her eyes darted to the sealed door, and she pulled her glove off. You hardly ever got to see her hands uncovered like this; her nails were painted the color of oxidized copper. They looked so soft, unmarred by countless broken bones like yours had been. Handler was, in every way, superior to you, right down to her immaculate fingertips.

Your hair was dirty and messy from your flight. So, you found it impossible to believe that when she reached over you that she could possibly be aiming to touch you. But she did. She placed her hand on your head, gentle as ever, and brushed your hair back into place with her palm. Nothing outside your mech had ever been so tender, so sweet, so kind.

She dropped her hand to the side and cupped your cheek. She pressed a tiny bit on your jaw, drawing your gaze up to her. All she did was look into your eyes for a while. It was hard to believe such a gorgeous, powerful woman as your Handler wanted anything to do with you, let alone to waste her valuable time just looking at you. But if she deemed it worthwhile, it couldn't be a waste.

She looked to the door again, breathing deeply. "You know I'm going to have to delete your log of tonight after this, correct?" She asked, her voice hitting that low register that made you shiver.

"Yes ma'am," you said, not skipping a beat. You couldn't remember her ever doing something like this before, but you trusted her to do whatever needed to be done. "Does that mean I get to find my bed again like it was the first time?"

Handler smiled under her mask like she was looking at an old picture. "Yes it does," she said, staring longingly into your eyes. Some thought danced across her beautiful eyes - she sucked something back. She shook her head, more at herself than at you, and pulled her mask from her face.

You had never seen a more perfect face in your life. She looked like a portrait from an ancient painting with soft, full cheeks and plush lips adorned with blue lipstick. She guided your neck up further. It strained, but you didn't care. Any and all pain was worth enduring for a single look at her impeccable face. She got closer and her face was more and more the only thing you could see.

[HEART RATE ABOVE NORMAL VALUES. NOTIFYING HANDLER.]

"Shh, it's okay," Handler whispered, her voice seeping into your entire system. "I know it doesn't feel like it, but you've done so good at this before. You'll be okay."

"But it's -"

"So much, I know," she held your head just a bit tighter, her other hand flitting over the bruises on your shoulder. "You said that last time."

You could feel her lips just barely grazing your cheek. Everything felt so, so hot, but if Handler said you could handle it, you could.

"And you'll probably say it again," she giggled, that sound that has launched a million bullets. She pressed her lips into your cheek, taking it slow to let you feel every single micrometer of her kiss. You and the station around you absolutely bloomed; Every tiny sensation was suddenly huge, sinking into it like the entire station was your little dog bed.

Handler sat up again, and you could feel the stamp of her lipstick on your cheek. You cherished it for every single second until she wiped it off with makeup remover from her bedside table. She then replaced her gloves and mask, fastened your ankle restraint to you, and grabbed a laptop from her table.

"Get some sleep, cadet."

[MELATONIN RECEPTOR SENSITIVITY INCREASED BY 300%.]

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[This story is in a file marked "Thimble". Other stories include:]

[Sniper Pilot]

[The Shooting Range]