Yeah you're right. It WOULD be pretty fucked up if you were a swan but you were raised by ducks and you grew up never seeing another swan or even knowing that such a thing as a swan even existed so you just thought you were a duck with something super wrong with it.
Yesterday my little brother told me something very sweet and touching, that when he was a kid and had nightmares about monsters chasing him or whatever he would be able to end the nightmare by finding me in the dream and I would protect him by fighting off the zombies, or carrying him away. This is adorable, and makes me feel like the greatest older sibling in the world, but the hilarious thing is that when I was a kid I had nightmares of needing to save him from zombies and such. so many dreams where he was in trouble and I needed to save him. Like my nightmares began where his ended. Low key I think he mastered the ability to psychically transfer his nightmare to me as a child and I'm kind of annoyed with him.
summary: damian wayne, in your memories, was the child assassin prodigy who had a horribly obvious crush on you in your shared childhood. years later, your return to wayne manor shocks you when the kid you once teased relentlessly has grown taller, meaner, into his looks... and is determined to make you regret ever tormenting him.
pairing: damian wayne x fem!reader
content: fluff, damian wayne yearns and time has only amplified his intensity, childhood attachment combined with emotional suppression, little mix of jealousy
"That is not Damian."
"I believe you are referring to the growth spurt." Alfred answers, unsurprised at your reaction. "All the masters have gone through quite a change while you were away."
That couldn’t be it. Growth spurt didn't answer for the unfair angles that make up his face, or the way his lashes framed the captivating green of his eyes, or the way his sleeves fit tight around his arms.
You harshly avert your gaze, feeling something hot burn at the back of your neck. Was this a form of punishment, for all your teasing years ago? You sure hoped he didn't remember that.
His looks may have become a weapon of its own, but you didn't need a clear reminder on his temper. The way his glare used to pierce through you, ears reddened in shame when you had pointed out that he was staring for too long, before hurling threats that contained illegal methods of torture and certain death, then storming off in a hurry.
Spying Damian from the corner of your eye, he must've certainly forgotten about you by now. He's probably used to the mass attention from The Gotham Times, enough to forget the mess that happened between you and him. That you made horrible, ruthless fun out of his feelings, taking every chance you could to piss him off, using the fact that his heartbeat would race around you against him.
"Master Damian and you have fond childhood memories together." Alfred comments. "I'm sure he will be delighted to see you."
Is that what it looked like to the adults? The strange push-and-pull you once had with the only blood heir in Wayne Manor?
"Hi." Your voice comes out brash—awkward, not at all the confident persona you wanted to portray. Damian was even more intimidating up close, with his gaze narrowed down on you, emotions completely hidden behind a perfect blank, towering over you in a way he never did before.
"How are you, Damian?" You try again when he doesn't answer. You might as well ask for the foundation of Wayne Manor to swallow you whole. You'll find better use supporting the infrastructure than in this dead-end of a conversation.
He blinks slowly, at least a suggestion that he's somewhat human. His scowl deepens, arms crossed. "You've somehow become more unimpressive, if that's even feasible."
Your jaw drops. Out of everything, forced curtesy, straight-up ignorance, you didn't expect that. It takes you a second to recover, and it only makes you feel more foolish. "That's uncalled for."
"I don't recall you taking consideration of what others think before spouting nonsense." His assault lands roughly, despite his tongue never quickening in its pace or abrasiveness. In fact, his coolness as he directly insults you only buries you deeper in shame.
It's a strong sense of alert, to abort this mission of reconciliation. "This is making me nolstagic already." Your grin splits too wide, desperation seared into your tone. "Good to see you haven't changed either."
His expression darkens, and you've somehow pissed him off with your harmless comment.
"I have changed." He answers briskly. "And I can guarantee that this new version of me... won't tolerate you so easily."
Before you can even blink or process his outright threat, you feel his shoulder brush harshly against yours, bumping you to the side as he walks off.
Yeah... he definitely remembers you.
Damian proves to be relentless in his promise to be intolerable of your presence.
When you had wandered your way down to the West Wing’s kitchen in your Superman pajamas, you’re greeted with a glare from Death himself when you find Damian sitting across the counter.
"Hi." You greet, almost afraid your voice will shatter the pin-dropping silence the atmosphere has suddenly descended into. You really have to stop with that horrible greeting.
His expression sours further at the sound of your voice, as if you've confirmed his worst nightmare really exists at eight in the morning, standing in his kitchen decked out in Superman merch. His gaze drops pointedly to your attire and grimaces, before shoving another spoonful of his breakfast down his throat.
"No trimming Alfred's hedges included in your morning routine?"
Your joke in an attempt of familiarity clearly strikes the wrong nerve, as the only response you receive is the harsh creak of his chair. He stands abruptly with a point to look on forward as he makes his exit, as if you didn't even exist in the very room.
It's fine. It's only been your first day back. He'll warm up to you... eventually. You just have to prove that you're not that annoying kid anymore, who thought poking fun at a child assassin prodigy who harboured grudges like no tomorrow was a smart move.
You’ve still managed to harness some luck. When you open the cabinets, you find it fully stocked with all your favourite tea brands and flavours. Bless Alfred, his kind soul.
Damian does not warm up to you. When you found him resting in the study, laid out on the leather couch, you barely make it past the barrier of the wooden doors before he slams his book shut. The loud echo vibrates through the entire room along the oak bookshelves, freezing the atmosphere before you even have a chance to say a word.
When you take a seat beside him for dinner, he makes it a mission to have a pointed remark for every attempt of yours at small talk. That slithered tongue of his somehow turns every conversation into a violent game of chess, with his strategy as outright assault, leaving you on the defense.
It's tiring, infuriating. This wasn't even punishment; this was hatred.
You’re at your wits end when you find yourself in a moment of surrender, perched at your balcony, watching the starless sky above you. Sleep doesn’t find you easily when the person roomed beside you hates your guts.
You don’t deny that stationing out here in the cold didn’t serve a purpose. At least there was one thing you could still predict about Damian, and that was his habit of lingering on his balcony, only a few feet away from yours, for a moment of reprieve after his patrols.
He’s just come out from the shower, water droplets catching at the ends of his dark locks, dripping small streams down to the towel around his neck. His eyes are closed, head pressed against the brick stone, but a furrow deepens between his brows. He knows that you’re watching him.
Your fingers tighten around the railing, and for once, you keep your mouth shut. The silence stretches, taut and timed with each vivid heartbeat that hammered against your rib cage.
“Are you going to keep staring?” His voice, raw and tired from patrol, finally breaks through the tension. Yet, you can’t conjure a semblance of hope, even if this was the first time he started a conversation since you arrived at the Manor.
“Depends on how long you plan on avoiding me.” You answer truthfully.
He scoffs, a low unamused rumble in the back of his throat. “You are unbelievable.”
Your frown deepens, irritation flaring at his tone. “You’re seriously the one to say that? You’ve been—”
His green eyes peer open, meeting yours. There’s a challenge in his gaze, daring you to address his behaviour.
Swallowing back your insults, you force yourself to look away. “If I'm making you that uncomfortable, fine. I’ll keep my distance. I wasn’t planning on staying long anyways.”
Eyeing his reaction from your peripheral vision, you expect him to be relieved, ecstatic even that you’re leaving after all the effort he's gone through to be a horrible host. You don’t expect to see the rare look of hurt displayed on his face.
Your head twists fully to face him, convinced you must have hallucinated, but he’s already turned his back. His imprudent leave ends with the harsh slam of his door, leaving you alone to the freezing wind whipping at your face. Yet, you feel that being on the receiving end of his hatred is much colder than being out here alone in the dark.
When Tim returns from his mission, you’re practically in tears in the light of your saviour. You love Alfred, but even he is beginning to tend to the gardens more, in an attempt to avoid your distractive antics from his never-ending tasks around the manor. Bruce is a terrible converser outside of the cameras, too tired to put on his charm or his patience when he’s busy sleeping till noon, and off on another patrol by sundown.
Tim, the second closest person you have to your age, and often too insomniac to garner the needed strength to send you away—is your closest chance of normal bantering without feeling like you’re one step away from becoming a murder victim.
"He hates me." You rant, hands resting over Tim's armrest, watching Tim sort through his cases using a system he calls 'chaotic orderliness'. "I’m not kidding. Damian genuinely despises me."
Tim snickers, placing another unceremonious stack on the desk. You doubt there was much improvement from his sorting, but he's convinced it works. "Trust me. Damian does not hate you."
"What will you call it then, Wonder Genius?" You groan. "Annoyance? Irritation? Loathing?"
"Did you know he personally restocked the kitchen with all your favourite tea packets?" Tim blurts out.
Your frown dissipates, his words slowly sinking in. "I—thought that was Alfred's doing."
Tim shakes his head. "He claimed that you would only be more of a nuisance if it wasn't done right."
He continues on, suggesting that he was paying attention more than he led on. "The bookshelves were completely revamped by genre too, even when he finds it distasteful. He also lets you tackle Titus, which he has never allowed any of us to do."
"He has a hard time communicating how he feels." Tim mutters. "Trust me. I’m well aware of that. So, don't take it too personally. He's just processing your presence and what you mean to him."
"Processing?” Your brows furrow. “What could he possibly need to process on such a level?"
Tim tosses you a ‘Are you seriously asking me that question?’ look, but the sound of a loud revving of an engine cuts off his further explanation. You spot the Batmobile entering the cave, its lights blinding your sight as the giant machine stops in its tracks.
The wing door lifts, and out steps Damian, home from his patrol. His domino mask is nowhere to be found, and that's how you witness firsthand that he's glaring daggers into your soul. His gaze doesn't leave you when he shuts the door with a solid slam, even when it flickers between you and Tim, assessing the situation.
For some reason, seeing Damian in his suit makes your mouth dry, eradicating all line of thought from your conscience, leaving you to stare at him speechlessly like a gaping fish. Gone were the silly tights and hooded cape. You don’t recall Robin ever looking that sinfully good, it was almost unfair.
You’re distracted—and the fact that he was coming towards you in a rapid, terrifying pace as if he's found his next victim, steals away precious time for a proper escape. Realising you’re still leaning over the armrest in contact with Tim's arm, who's watching the entire exchange with unhidden amusement, you inch away with your hands raised.
"Damian, if you're mad I snuck into the cave—"
He doesn’t deign you a second more to explain, grabbing your wrist and tugging you harshly towards the exit.
He's definitely mad. His entire body is tense, forming harsh movements as he drags you across the hallway. It takes you a moment to guess where he's heading, when he passes the study, the kitchen, up the stairs—to his bedroom.
He was going to murder you, and no one would be any wiser of his crime. Except for Tim, who betrayed you seamlessly, still typing away at the Bat-Computer after giving you a sarcastic wave when you had twisted your neck, silently begging him for non-discreet assistance.
Damian’s hands never part from you when he slams the door closed with you pinned against the wood. His glower alone is enough to incinerate you.
"What did I do this time?" Your sigh is honest, a tired numbness of this pretense of trying to be amiable with him. Your ability to read his deflecting moods has long gone dormant.
"Did you seriously think it wouldn't affect me?" He sneers. "You've made a big show of making Drake the next victim of your tiring schemes."
Your lips part, brows creased in frustration. "What are you talking about?"
"Isn't it enough?" He snaps. "Driving me insane with your presence. Now, you must attack Drake as well?"
"I am not doing anything!"
"Really?" He scoffs. "So, you laughing over his jokes during dinner, finding him in the Cave, asking him to show you around the city as if you didn't live in it yourself once—it's all just you naturally being insufferable?"
Your brows furrow in utter confusion. This sounds maniacal, and... seething with jealousy?
"It's not like I can ask you.” You retort. "You'll probably blow up the city before you would even consider the suggestion of showing me around."
"I would never consider taking you anywhere." He hisses.
"Exactly—"
"You'll just wrap me around your finger, and render me incapable of all sense."
"...What?"
"You're a weakness." He mutters. "Being around you only amplifies this fact. But—"
"I refuse to let you parade around Drake." Inching closer to you, you can’t tell if his desperate refusal is pointed at you… or himself. "That will only ruin me more."
Your lips part and close, shock visible in every nerve pulled from your facial expression. "You sound... jealous."
His jaw ticks, and he stares down at you, lips pursed.
"So, what if I am?"
His hands come up to either side of your face, trapping you with nowhere to face but his cold expression. His eyes have darkened to an almost-black, swarmed by his pupils that are focused on you.
"What will you do then?" He mocks. "Will you terrorise me? Laugh in my face? Trample my heart and smile as if you didn't do anything?"
"I'm curious." His voice grows bitter, almost resentful. "Just how will you torture me this time?"
His question sucks all the oxygen out of your lungs. There's something all-consuming about his gaze, staring at you with such vivid conflict, a desperation swirled with frustration... and longing.
"I thought your crush on me was over." You whisper.
His jaw flexes, annoyance on full display. "Of course, you would still use that infuriating term."
You don't even have time to process it. His lips meet yours in a harsh clash, but it's only fitting that a kiss broken out between the two of you would be a fight of push-and-pull. You've long driven each other mad, and now this tension, dragged to its peak, has finally crashed—and it feels akin to tectonic plates shifting off-course.
You expect him to push you off when he realises his impulsive mistake—or pull you closer, you don't know. In his strength, he can easily do it. Break this kiss and berate you as he once did, cheeks flushed and rage consuming his vision.
Yet, you find your hands tangling into his hair, releasing a series of groans that sound inhuman coming from his mouth. He chases your every movement, consumes, and you're left with nothing to hold onto, to think of—but him.
His hands find their way through your hair, maneuvering you easily to slot your lips however he wanted against him. You've never felt him so unrestrained, so destroyed and desire-driven.
"Damian." You gasp, twisting your head when you realise just how intense the session was getting. You still didn't know his intentions, the reason why he dragged you into his room. "Wait, we need to talk."
He's half-conscious, kisses peppering your jaw from the access you've given, and when he finally stops, parting just enough for you to face him again without him attacking you—you sense his impatience, his detested longing bridling right below his mask.
“Did you ever think about me?” His question comes out softer than you expected, weak and hoarse from his lips that are bitten.
“What?" You breathe out, chest still heaving from the intensity only he could create. "Of course I did.”
Suspicion clouds his gaze, because for some reason, he can’t seem to fathom that you’re wrapped around his finger just as much as he claims to be around yours.
“Why did you think I teased you so much?” You confess. “I was a silly kid, who had a big crush on a boy who refused to admit he has a heart! I wanted to get a reaction out of you... because it proved to me that you liked me even half as much.”
His frown deepens, unsatisfied. "Yet, you don't even remember."
Your brows furrow. "Remember?"
"The—" The rarest shame coats his features. "Promise you made. Before you left."
You try to recall a promise, anything you must've said that remained in his memory for as long as it did. Before you left—yes, Damian had bid you farewell. If you could call it that.
"You're leaving." Damian states. It's a fact, not a question.
Honestly, you thought he'd be more pleased. He was always going on about how you were a distraction, a nuisance, and some other colourful vocabulary you've added to your adjectives list for your English homework, which you'd proudly shown him in retaliation.
Yet, here he was, standing at the front door like a barrier to the outside world, staring holes into your luggage as if it had done a personal crime against him. Knowing how easily offended he could get, maybe the wheels ran over his polished shoes once.
"I'm not leaving forever." You tease. "Promise I won't let you be free of me so easily.
"Who says I want you back?" He scoffs, ears reddening as he averts his gaze. "You'll just cause more problems, as you always do."
You grin, hand parting from your luggage handle and tackling him into a hug. He lets out a string of curses, all Arabic and undecodable to you. Still, he doesn't push you off like you expect. Maybe he's deigning you some honour, because this will be the last you'll see him in a really long time.
"I'll come back soon." You promise. Casually. In an after-thought. Unknowing of its effects on a boy who took each promise as a solemn vow. "So you won't be alone in this big, lonely manor all by yourself. Who else will you threaten to kill at six in the morning?"
You feel the stutter of his voice, the huffs in his breath as he tries to restrain himself. Cute.
You part from him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek just to tease him further. His cheeks blossom that signature red and you see the sizzling in his gaze, like he's ready to blow from shame and rage.
"Don't change, Dami." You murmur. "I want everything just the way it is now when I come back."
You never expected him to hold you to a ten years old promise. You wouldn't have remembered it, if it weren't for the look he was giving you now. Your vision was fracturing, multiplying with the Damian of your past and the one right in front of you.
Right. Back then—hadn't he looked at you in this same way? With a quiet, desperate plea to not leave him alone? It had stuck with you, as the car turned away from the Manor, watching his silhouette disappear into a smaller frame at the door, unmoving till you were out of reach.
"You waited." Realisation creeps in with an unexpected guilt. He held you to that promise. That’s why he kept the arrangement of the books the same way in the study, and the tea packets, and your room.
"And you came back." He huffs. "Carelessly smiling as if you had forgotten. I should've guessed that you did. You handled promises as easily as you handled my heart."
"We were kids—" You splutter.
His gaze narrows. "I was four when my grandfather handed me the expectations he had of his heir. Six when I understood what an assassination attempt meant. Eight when I learnt not to flinch when ending a life. How much do you think promises are worth to a boy who went down that path?"
"...Everything." You whisper.
"Everything." He mutters. "You had always been different. Light, free of burdens. I despised you for it, and… I craved your normalcy. You made me feel human, and I had mistaken that for weakness. When you left, I realised then that your absence felt worse than keeping any weaknesses near."
"Dami..."
His body shudders involuntarily at your call, arms still caged around you. He grits his teeth, glare enough to pierce through your skin. "Don't do that."
"I'm not pitying you." You answer, even if he hasn't uttered his accusation. You can see it in his vulnerability, how it aches for him to even admit this to you. That you matter, and your promises matter.
"I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise." Your hand comes up to cup his cheek, and his lashes flutter, shock registering at your warm touch. He doesn't pull away, even when conflict arises in his gaze. "I really am. I know you think I'm some trickster, and that you can't depend on my words."
"But truthfully, I was most excited to see you." You admit. "I had been away for so long, but whenever I thought of Gotham, of home, I thought of you. I wondered about how you must've become so much stronger, smarter, and still carried that heart you tried so desperately to keep hidden. That you were the most capable, and striking boy I ever laid my eyes on."
"Now, I see who you've grown up to be." You exhale, eyes tracing over his features, and you can't help but smile. "Even all of my dreams couldn't have pictured who you are now. You're amazing, Dami, and I'm sorry if I ever made you feel small, or unworthy of promises."
Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, as you once did when you were children, you think it's time you made a proper promise. One you'll remember, and one you hope he'll give you a chance to keep. "I've fallen for you, Dami. Whatever crush I had on you when we were kids? It pales in comparison to this—snowballed into something even I can't control."
"I'm here now." You remind him. "With a promise to stay. I'm no longer that silly kid, who runs her mouth without thinking. I keep my promises, especially if it's for the one right in front of me, who's taken my heart from the first moment I laid my eyes on him."
A low rumble escapes his chest, satisfaction hidden within his features. In moments like this, he really reminds you of a feline. Hard to please, and yet, you find yourself in awe of that soft glow in his eyes.
“You’re mistaken.” He murmurs, and your heart drops. “What I feel for you is not even close to half.”
"I waited, even when I knew the chances of you remembering was close to zero." He admits. "Because I chose you. From the moment you entered my life, my heart already sealed its fate to yours, even if you hadn't known."
"I would've kept waiting—and if you took too long." He leans in, nose brushing against yours. "I would find you. And make you live up to that promise."
"And now?" He smirks, turning his head as his lips brush against your palm. Even a soft touch like that was enough to make your heart combust, and the trace of his lips makes you hyperaware of your own, still swollen from the kiss earlier. It's the intimacy, the way he's completely unraveled in your hands that reminds you of just how much power you have over him.
"I'm holding you to your new promise." He mutters. "You'll stay. In Gotham, with me."
You nod breathlessly. "I'm staying."
"Good." Even in his composure, you sense the drop of his shoulders, his relief in hearing you say it again. "You have a lot of wasted time to make up for."
"How should I make up for lost time?" You tease, lashes fluttering as your gaze diverts between his lips and his darkened gaze.
"I'm sure you've invented all sorts of new ways to terrorise me." His voice deepens into a dangerous lure, rendering you speechless. "I'll give you some freedom to explore that."
Your hand still lingering on his cheek traces past the corner of his mouth, right over his lip. His gaze lowers to your touch, and you sense the impatience that slips through his restraint.
You tilt his head to face you, and he's waiting. You never realised how patient he was when it came to you.
Leaning closer, your lips brush over his again, and you feel his fingers still tangled in your hair tighten, inching you closer.
"Is this allowed?" You tease, gaze flickering back up to his.
He huffs out a low breath, and when he descends, you get your answer. Damian Wayne has always held restraint like a perfected soldier, but when it came to you... he finds that control is an overrated concept.
Now that you're finally here, in his arms, all his, he's making you live up to your promise.
extra:
timmybird: have you guys worked on processing his feelings? ;)
likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! <333
Synopsis. Six months since you’ve broken up with Toji Zenin - hotshot center for the men’s national team, perhaps the most feared man in ice hockey - and you’ve moved on…somewhat. Six months since you’ve broken up with him, and listen- Toji doesn’t mean to be a homewrecker, but he’d totally still wreck that p—ahem. Now if only he could get that two-timing boyfriend of yours out of the way…
Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, ice hockey player!Toji, ex-boyfriend!Toji, Winter Olympics AU, exes to Iovers, second chances, ice hockey finals, ice hockey games, jerseys, Naoya cameo, channeling my Naoya hate tbh, fights, sIight vioIence, Toji being in his feels, yearning, pússydrúnk Toji, oraI (fem rec.), p talking, p sIapping, P WORSHIP, he’s GONE, he’s better than HIM and he proves it, fíngering, spítting, overstím, manhandIing, doggy, Iocker room s, he’s big, making it fit, ‘teaching’ your p, cervíx smooches, multiple o’s, he’s JEALOUS, desperate s, rough s, slight marathon, sIight exhíbitíonism, needy Toji, FÉRAL Toji, creampíes, cúmpIay, proposals, sIight bréeding, happy ending, Shiu cameo heheh, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.1k
A/N. SURPRISE!! Hiiiiiiiiighly request hehehe- inspired by this scrumptious Tiktok by the lovely @/bellursjournal <33
234 fights.
234 won.
Ice hockey wasn’t just about the hard-hitting, fast-paced, ice-cold adrenaline that coursed through each and every single player there—outreaching like a gale towards the rows of audiences that jumped up in elation. Shivering at the impact of every skate, glide, and punch.
No, ice hockey was also about bringing people together.
And as corny as it may sound, it was part of why Toji loved these games so much. As one, he made them stand. He made them shout. He fired them up until they became immune to the frigidness of Milano Santagiulia Ice Hockey Arena.
So it wasn’t exactly out-of-the-ordinary to see a fight start up during one of these games - between players (him especially) and between fans.
What was slightly unusual was to see a fight occur between a player and a fan. Which is exactly what he was watching happen right now.
And even more unusual was just who it was.
You—arguing with some brute he assumed to be your boyfriend.
Tch…Toji’s scarred lips curl without him even realizing it. He’d noticed you the second you stepped into the rink - he always did. The second you’d stepped into his life, the second you’d stepped out of it. It was like this undeniable tug at the pit of his stomach, this rush of victory, this sudden warmth that he couldn’t explain - and couldn’t quite imitate no matter how many layers he wore.
Not that he would reminisce, of course.
You’d met at one of his games—and to this day, no matter how many other matches he played in, he still considers that one of his best. It was in the feeling that you gave him - that game felt different. It was.
His eyes kept drifting to where you sat behind the plexiglass, and his skates have never glided smoother across the ice. It was a win for the records. After the game, Toji himself had been mulling over whether or not he should approach that pretty university student that had been shouting his name throughout the entire game- when you yourself had shyly walked up to him in the fan-signing section.
Steps tentative, a book crushed to your chest.
You’d asked him for an autograph in that sweet voice—and he’d scribbled his number out then and there. Media training be damned.
And when he’d asked you who your favorite player was- lo and behold, you’d replied that it was…Shiu Kong. He doesn’t think he’s laughed louder in his life.
That was also the game that got him on the radars of national team scouts.
You’d dated for a year. Almost exactly.
And to be transparent, it’s already been six months since the two of you broke up. Over some…honestly, he doesn’t even remember properly. He knew it had to do with his updated training regiment and the way he’d been pushing himself during the Olympics drafting season - and because of it, Toji knew he fucked up. He knew he missed dates, missed quality time, missed milestones. Barely came home from the rink.
You didn’t even care about that, he thinks. You wanted him to pace himself and take some breaks, he thought that sounded like a nightmare. Eventually, the last straw had been when he’d missed your one-year anniversary, and it’d accumulated into an explosive argument- that, he could remember.
He’s gotten better since then, he thinks.
But Toji was just about as over it as any man would be over the love of his life- fuck, did he really get his cringe after the break-up? That probably wasn’t good for his health. But it’s just that…he hasn’t felt that particular rush of victory ever since you left.
Not even when he was chosen for the official Japanese ice hockey team, not even when they landed in Milan, not even when they progressed to the finals.
But today…
The fucking finals of the Olympics and he was sitting on the players’ bench before the game, scouring the stands for but a glimpse of you. The fuck have you done to him?
He could feel that surge of warmth, however. As though every fibre of his body had long since attuned to you, wasn’t whole without y- fuck off. The point was that you were somewhere here.
And Toji was reminded of those days you’d be sitting in the very first row of his games- front and center, waving a banner with his number, wearing one of his red jerseys. ZENIN—it would say on the back. Not one from the merchandise store, of course, though those sold out so fast that even Toji himself wouldn’t be able to get his hands on one.
So his eyes slid along the first rows of fans. The turnout was incredible.
Japan vs. the US.
And Toji could guise his sudden alertness towards the audience as checking for any distractions in the stands - he didn’t want to be off his game during the fucking finals, now, did he? Especially not considering that their newest recruited defense player was…
But he knew that was bullshit.
Nothing ever threw Toji Zenin off his game.
And yet…and yet once he spotted you - seated amongst a clump of blue-wearing supporters on the other side of the rink, right opposite where he sat on the players’ benches - he couldn’t help the sudden jitter that ran through his body. Honestly, he thinks he might just break that streak of (substantiated) overconfidence before a match-
Fuck, how beautiful you were.
Just as beautiful as the day he lost you, it makes everything almost move in slow-motion. If this were a movie - and it somewhat feels like one right about now - then the music would swell, and Toji’s eyes would turn to hearts, and perhaps there’d be a dance number or two and then a montage of-
Bullshit, bullshit! Toji Zenin wasn’t thrown off his game.
Toji Zenin was unaffected by your presence- and the fact that you were wearing a jersey clearly representing the other team. He didn’t fucking care.
He didn’t. Not even about the fact that you were currently in the middle of a very heated argument with one of the US players. Blond hair. Black tips. Shorter than him. Not even by how close you leaned into him. And Toji doesn’t bother to wipe the scowl off of his face as he perks his ears in your direction - one could never be too sure whether you were trading secrets with this e-boy blue-team boyfriend of yours.
You would never, to be clear, but just- just let him fucking evesdrop-
“—can’t believe you would do this to me.” Your voice carries, and the little tremor in your tone makes his eyes widen.
Sure enough, he could see the glimmer of tears in your eyes.
You’re rising up from your seat slightly, and it draws the attention of fans around you. Seething, “I can’t believe you would-”
“Shhhhhhhh—” The man has the audacity to bring a finger to his lips and shush, likely louder than you were being in your controlled tone. Trembling, but controlled. His half-blond bangs sway just a little as he looks towards his own team and coaches, then back towards you. “You’re being crazy right now.”
“I’m being crazy?” Laughing in disbelief. Holding up a phone that seemed to be the other man’s, presumably given to you for safe-keeping during the match. “I’ve seen the messages, and you say I’m being crazy-”
“You are. You’re acting hysterical and I need you to calm down.” Toji couldn’t see the man’s ugly face, as he had his back turned towards the benches. But he could see every bit of how this particular sentence made your expression crumple- “Look I don’t know what you think you saw on those texts, but it isn’t what you think it is. It’s locker talk- I went out with the other players, got some drinks, met some fans and…nothing happened with any-”
“You’re cheating on me-”
“You’re paranoid.”
Your eyes flash, “But-”
“You know I always hate to talk to you like this, baby. I really do.” He reaches up and puts a pale hand on the plexiglass, “But you’re just being paranoid. And I don’t want to call you insecure, but-”
“Don’t you dare—” You’re standing up now.
“See? This is exactly what I mean.” From the ruffling of his uniform, Toji could tell he was crossing his arms. Oh, how he wished this son of an asshole would turn around right now- just turn around and let him get a good look at what gave him the right. His cruel lips curl just a little bit in a way that just looked so familiar. It makes his blood boil. “You’re being crazy.”
And Toji sees the exact moment you furl in on yourself. “But…” It makes his fists clench.
Before he knows it, he’s gritting his teeth so hard he tastes metal.
“I’m a hockey player, baby, I’ve gotta network.” With such a tone of finality, he ends off—“Stop being so hysterical, and maybe we can have a civil conversation after.” The man kicks his blades into the ice and starts to push off, “Cheer for me loud during the game. My teammates are going to be watching.”
You don’t say a thing.
But he does, “You’re lucky you’re dating me, y’know?”
And that’s when Toji’s eyes finally fall to the text upon the man’s uniform.
ZENIN.
He knows who it is even before he turns—and Toji falters. Not out of reconsideration, or anxiety, or fear - but out of the sheer surprise that ah, this was going to be convenient.
Because Toji Zenin knew the bastard - more than he would have liked to.
Naoya Zenin was a part of his past whether he wanted to or not. He was the snot-nosed, bratty second heir to Zenin Industries that would hide behind corners and snicker to himself whenever Toji got caught sneaking out to the arena again. Whenever he was told off for going against Zenin family values - against his duty to become the head of their sport equipment business - by whichever higher-up happened to be feigning for a stress outlet that day.
Short and sweet, Toji Zenin wasn’t supposed to become an ice hockey player—let alone the fucking best in the country. But he digresses.
And how fucking hilarious was it that the (second) heir to a family so vehemently against Toji becoming an ice hockey player…also became an ice hockey player? He had an inkling this would happen - when Naoya’s mean-spirited amusement turned into surveillance attempting to catch him sneaking out of the estate, turned into watching him play at the local arena. Turned into awe.
He knew the boy was stunned ever since the first time he watched Toji play. And he never laughed when Toji was caught after that day.
But it seems that that still hadn’t stopped the kid from growing up into a fucking asshole like the rest of them.
He was damn glad he’d escaped from that household the very second he’d gotten an offer from a local team, the Tokyo Ice Bucks. Though a morbid part of him wished he’d stayed just long enough to be there for when Naoya announced that he, too, wanted to become just like their disgraced once-heir. How he wished he could’ve seen the reactions of his high-strung relatives, his uptight family friends, his parents, his council—though, seemingly it hadn’t worked out too bad for Naoya.
As he climbed up the ranks, he’d heard through the grapevine that his cousin had been sent to some of the most expensive training centers in the world. Ultimately getting signed onto a team in the US (though the hefty sum his family had paid likely helped, but those were just rumors of sports business…). He also knew that the other man had gotten naturalized recently, getting chosen for the Olympics team. He knew it all.
Toji just didn’t know that Naoya would also be your fucking boyfriend.
“Major scene, eh?” Kusakabe clatters himself down on the bench, slightly winded after a practice run. He fixes the laces on his ice skates, “I saw your ex-girlfriend there, she’s gotten even more beautiful. She seemed to be arguing with-”
“Mhm.” Replying absent-mindedly, Toji stands.
“Something about cheating- what a fucking bastard. Doesn’t deserve her, but then again neither did you.”
“I know.”
And Kusakabe frowns, “Does she know that she’s dating your weirdo estranged cousin?”
“No fuckin’ clue.”
“Oi…” Comes the slightly wary tone at Toji’s swift, dismissive responses—Kusakabe looks up at his teammate. “Don’t do something stupid.”
But Toji doesn’t answer, too fixated on watching the remains of your argument with Naoya: you sitting down weakly in your chair, looking around to make sure no one notices as you wipe away the tears in your ears before they overspill. He sees red.
He shoots up to a stand.
“Oi-” Kusakabe’s more panicked tone echoes across the ice- did Toji already get inside the rink? He was skating on the ice before he even registered it. “Oi, fuck-face. Asshat. Toji—”
But Toji’s eyes were set on one thing, his ears were listening for the commentator announcing the imminent start of the game.
“Toji, don’t do something stupid-”
And maybe he was stupid. Because it wasn’t for nothing that Toji Zenin was named the most feared man on the ice by The Hockey News just this year. He stood big. He stood tall. He stood unafraid to fight his entire childhood, so why should he be afraid to fight on the ice?
234 fights since the start of his ice hockey career.
234 fights won.
And right now the man wasn’t afraid to get blood on his hands, even if it suspended him.
Their coach barks at the rest of the Japanese team to get into position, and it’s a blur as he bends low at the faceoff spot, awaiting the referee to release the puck. Toji Zenin: captain of the Japanese Ice Hockey team.
His eyes shift past the US captain before him—to where Naoya Zenin was lined up as well. And he can see the precise, exact moment that the other man registers- and a shiver courses down his spine.
The puck drops.
It goes to the Japanese team.
Toji swoops the puck using the blade and attacks between the forwards- pitiful, honestly. He could almost let out a slight burst of laughter as he senses the dumbfounded looks on their faces—and yet, he doesn’t spare them a single glance backwards as he races between members of the other team. Past center. Past forward.
A right-winger attempts to steal the puck. He’s ignoring Kusakabe’s call to pass and toe-dragging around his bland-faced opponent to skate right past. Right winger. Left winger.
The forward surpassed yet again.
At the speed of light, screaming audience members meld into one.
All but you.
You—you’re all that’s on his mind as Toji makes it unscathed up to the defense- past left defense.
Until he’s left facing the very man he hasn’t seen in ten years. Eyes like his, though they were dark and widened in fear - somewhere in the far distance of the stadium, Toji hears one of the commentators make a remark about their relation. He doesn’t listen.
He feints the puck slipping out from the leash of his hockey stick for a split-second—just long enough for excitement to flicker in Naoya’s eyes and for his own hand jerk to claim it. Only to smile- hah, you fucking thought.
And Toji’s slamming at the back of the puck - straight into the net of the goal.
Bursts of cheers and commentary as the Japanese men’s ice hockey team scores the first goal of the Olympic finals. Fans getting up onto their feet. Hands high in the air.
But Toji’s own curls into a fist that meets Naoya Zenin’s jaw.
The sickening sound of bone crushing against flesh, knuckles - it’s never sounded sweeter in Toji’s ears. The baffled man is on the floor before he can even register what happened. Thud! There’s a gasp that echoes throughout the stadium, before the two-toned man haplessly attempts to get up and get at least one hit in for his own dignity—but it’s too late, he raises a feeble hand but it falls. Meanwhile Toji pummels punch after punch.
Hard enough that it makes the ice floor shudder.
Long enough that the referee glides over and their team starts surrounding them.
Naoya’s now spread-eagle on the floor and sobbing for mercy, which Toji genuinely didn’t hear - he genuinely didn’t. Couldn’t. His ears were ringing and his eyes were seeing red- no, they were seeing that vision of you wiping away your tears.
His prominent knuckles met the swoops and structure of Naoya’s face, features that he can’t deny make him wonder…did you see Toji in him? The proud slash of his mouth. The high cheekbones of the Zenins.
It made something twist within him to think that not only might you have seen Toji in him- but then he would’ve betrayed you as such. As if Toji ever would.
Naoya made you cry.
He couldn’t beat this fucker harder.
It takes four of his own teammates to pull him off.
And by then, even the commentators had stopped speaking, the audience watching in a mix of interest and horror. Their hands on their mouths. Toji staggers onto his feet and yet his hands were still clenched - still twitching as though he was in the middle of the fight.
Kusakabe’s nails dig into his skin even through those thick uniforms, and he’s muttering something in his ear about the referee and a five-minute timeout. But Toji doesn’t care.
Toji isn’t looking at the referee, or the coach, or any of his teammates.
He turns his head over his shoulder to look at you—
You with your mouth agape, your eyes fixated reciprocatively on him, your blue jersey taken off to reveal your normal clothes underneath. There was a slight tremor in your body as you take in your ex-boyfriend, Toji.
Victorious from beating up your cheating boyfriend.
And the black-haired man can only smirk.
He tastes iron, and it’s only then that he realizes he had a nosebleed. Dripping from his left nostril and down across his lips, his garish grin; not from a single thing Naoya did, of course - that fucker hadn’t even gotten a single hit in…Toji was almost reconsidering whether the bastard was a Zenin at all - but perhaps from his teammates fighting against his fighting, perhaps from his sheer anger, perhaps just from looking at you for the first time in six months.
Even from here, he could see the slightest snippet of your bra strap peeking out from underneath your t-shirt.
It was the Japanese national ice hockey team red.
Or more like, Toji Zenin red.
He smirks even wider.
.
.
.
Needless to say, Naoya Zenin was carried out of the game in a stretcher.
Toji didn’t feel any regret about it - not even a single speck. His penalties still applied as well- for about five minutes before he was back to kicking ass in the finals. Metaphorically, this time.
He was about to show them why exactly he’d become the captain of the national team in such a short time.
And he could take on whatever shit they were commenting about a ‘family feud’ and a ‘beau stuck in the middle’ (who the hell even told them that? He was sure it must’ve been that loudmouth Kusakabe) if only…every time he circled the perimeter of the rink, he could see that smile of yours through the plexiglass screen. No banner with his name, but still cheering him on in a sea of blue.
Also needless to say—Japan won gold at this year’s Olympics for men’s ice hockey.
The celebrations were overpouring - streamers, confetti, fans attempting to jump their way into the rink. This was about tenfold the intensity of celebrating any local game they’d won, and yet…his eyes were anywhere but on the commentators, the audience, the teammates that were huddling around him.
Toji was turning his dazed head left and right- only attempting to find you.
“We won—” Kusakabe yelled out at him, giving him a hefty thump on the back and pulling the man into his embrace. “We fucking won, you asshat-”
“We did.” Toji’s lips felt parched. He couldn’t see a single sign of you through the chaos. “I think.”
They - meaning the rest of the team, with their captain tacked-on and looking slightly astray ever since he lost sight of you - celebrated for the pictures, for the podium. They celebrated on the ice and off it.
Eventually, the celebrations extended past the rink and towards their locker rooms. It was a sprawling room that’d been especially constructed; white walls and wood-panelled furnishings, even whiter ceilings that gloried down even more spotless racks for each, swathing the end of the room in a semi-circular fashion. It was where they kept their helmets and their jackets, took them off like armor after such a win. Towards the other end of the chamber were the stalls where they showered, large enough to house a small group in each of them, with benches of clean wood.
The tile beneath was colorless except for five familiar rings intertwined, spreading their wings from one end of the locker room where the showers were—and down to the benches where the celebration had bled out.
The players had long since filtered out to celebrate with food and family, except for one particular captain of which he had no family visiting. But also because he was getting his final warnings on pulling such a stunt like that…
“—I have no idea what-” Coach Shiu Kong peers through his stern eyebrows at the man seated on the bench, his head bowed low. “-or who triggered you to start enforcing like that, but know that you are walking on very thin ice.”
If Toji hears the other man - his best friend - then he doesn’t show any sign of it.
“Their defender practically needed to be hospitalized.” Shiu sighs, “I don’t give a shit if you beat the boy up, but keep it within guidelines. I overheard some of the officials discussing whether we should’ve given you a much tougher penalty.”
At that, Toji flinches.
“A much tougher penalty.”
Being a player himself not too long ago, however, Shiu could understand the other man somewhat. And he knows the captain would do it all again.
Gladly.
Toji remains silent, and Shiu pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look- you’re lucky you got off with a five-minute penalty this time. Insanely lucky. Next time you’re not gonna be so lucky, so I suggest you keep your fists to yourself.”
“Tch…” Their star player wrinkles his nose and looks away.
To which Shiu claps him on the shoulder, “Look, you did good out there.” Looking closely at the other man, “And I know the girl- I’ve seen her around practice when you used to bring her, before she stopped coming around. Gorgeous. But keep your head on straight.”
One final clap. “You did good.”
Before he, too, leaves.
The locker doors swing behind him. And then there was one.
As the celebrations raged on outside, Toji doesn’t know how long he spends sitting on that bench - thinking to himself. About what? Everything and anything. He couldn’t quite pinpoint one thought before it flowed into the next one, and even then just as he’d register it—suddenly it was speeding into the next. Aqueous.
But one thing was for sure, they were all about you.
You.
You.
You.
Knock-knock-knock.
Who the hell knocks on locker room doors?
Slightly bemused and perhaps wondering whether this was a paparazzi hoping for a good shot, Toji leans back in his seat and lets the knock reverberate. He doesn’t answer before the doors are clicking open, and a set of footsteps ring across the vast, dampened chamber - a set of footsteps that he’s memorized far better than his own heartbeat.
It was you.
This realization doesn’t damper his shock a single bit as your head peeks ‘round the tiled corner. Breathing out an exhale of relief as you realize that he’s the only one there, you’re revealing yourself properly in his line of vision now.
“Oh, good.” And your voice- fuck, even your voice doesn’t feel real. It echoes slightly in the space, and makes you sound even more dream-like in Toji’s ears. “I didn’t feel like walking in here and seeing an eyeful of ice hockey dick.”
“Think about ice hockey dick a lot?” They’re the first words out of Toji’s mouth to you in six months, and suddenly he feels like banging his head against a wall.
“You mean Naoya?” Your nose crinkles in distaste, and he feels like spitting. “Hell no—” He feels like laughing. “I told him we’re breaking up the second he got put on that stretcher.”
He startles himself with a guffaw, “As the bastard was being carried off?”
“As the bastard was being carried off.” You’re nodding, before awkwardly shifting on your feet. “I’m sorry.”
One of his brows raise, “For what?”
“I didn’t know he was your cousin. I just thought the last name was a coinci-”
“Nah- forget about it.” Waving off one hand - roughened with so many years of training, of holding a hockey stick as though a lifeline - in your direction. “No harm done, girlie. Guess that jus’ means you have a type- though obviously…” Toji stabs a finger in his direction, “-I’m the handsome one of the family.”
“As humble as ever, I see.” You tease.
“Always.” He shrugs in a nonchalant attempt, though his green eyes kept straying to you. “You look good.”
You’re meeting his eyes slowly. “You look good, too.”
And whatever he sees in your expression makes him gulp. “Fuck-” He whispers underneath his breath, reaching up and rubbing the burning back of his head. “Now, not that I mind ya being in the men’s locker room but…”
“O-oh.” You jump slightly, as though just now reminded of your objective. “I wanted to thank you.”
He’s taken aback. “Huh?”
“For…well not that I condone violence buuuut—” Averting your gaze from his, “I wanted to- thank you.”
“Y-yeah.” Breathless, “No harm done. The fucker didn’t deserve you anyway.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s a slightly challenging look in your eyes now, “I wonder who did.”
Toji Zenin then stands from his seat, and you’re taking a half-step back as if you’d forgotten just how much the athlete towered. His shoulders had gotten broader since the last time you saw him, fitting out the shape of his brand-new uniform snugly. His biceps bulkier. His hips more defined. His face more ruggedly handsome. His sage eyes sharper—and currently locked in on you…
“To be quite honest…” Toji starts, a slightly husky timbre to his tone, “I don’t think anyone did.”
You jut your chin up in defiance, “I disagree.”
“Clearly the current dating pool isn’t good enough if you ended up dating fucking Naoya of all people.” And was that a silent seething you could hear in his tone? “Never would I blame you for what he did, girlie. Never. I’m just wondering what the hell attracted you to him in the first place.”
And your hand’s reaching up to touch him- “I have…I have no idea.”
“Because don’t you know what you deserve?” His large right hand reaches out to cup your cheek tenderly- before he’s gliding it to the back of your neck and squeezing you meanly. “Tell me.” He tightens his fist and makes you look up properly at him, “Tell me what you deserve.”
To which you’ve just finished grabbing onto his red jersey. Tugging him to you—you’re walking backwards and dragging your ex-boyfriend with you. “Someone…handsome.”
He grins, “Mhmmmm?” Fingers tap-tap-tapping the cute column of your throat. “And what else?”
“Someone big n’ strong.” Step by step, you head towards the nearest vertical surface you can remember - one of those wooden partitions that separated the shower stalls from the changing area. “Someone really good at hockey.”
“Heh-” He fails to hide the glint in his eyes, “And?”
“Someone sweet, though he pretends not to be.” Giggling at his huff, “Someone interesting. Someone that opens up. Someone that won’t give up.”
“And?”
“Someone filthy rich-”
“Heh, gold-digger.”
“Someone that can change for the better for me.”
It’s with a quiet thud—! that you’re hitting the partition now- taking Toji with you. He braces himself with a large arm pressed on the area above your head, and from here you can ogle every single muscle, vein, and twitch.
Every single scorched pant as he leans in.
Blinking up at him, your heart races at the question you were about to ask. “Someone that’ll fuck me right?”
He smirks and you swear you can feel it against your mouth. “Why the question mark, doll?”
And then his lips are on yours.
Rushing. Ravenous. Famished.
Toji massages his scarred lips against yours, smacking at the taste of that dewy cherry lipgloss you had on. And he doesn’t hesitate for a single second before letting the tip of his tastebuds draaaaaaaag right down that gloss, humming. “Missed this taste.” He trails his right hand up to rest against the edge of your chin—widening the gap between your pretty lips n’ swiping his eager tongue in. Hot and open-mouthed.
Kissing you so filthy.
Toji fucking groans something feral as his tongue slips even deeper, reclaiming those velvety spots inside you. And as he feels your mouth water, feels your hips start to squirm, the ice hockey player can’t help but chuckle.
Lifting his left hand off of the wooden surface to run down your front, managing you away from the partition and inside the stall. You’re walking blindly backwards, being led by solely his hands - nothing inside but the showerhead above and the wide open space. Toji pushes you against the cold tile and kisses you even more fervently—“Missed how wet she’d get just from kissing me.”
Cupping your pussy through your short, short skirt.
“Is she purring already?”
You gasp, “You can’t just say that-”
“What was that?” Toji cocks his head in near-innocent confusion, “Can’t hear you over her congratulations.”
“You fucking-”
The next thing you’re seeing is enough to knock the wind out of your lungs - and the words. And it’s not because of anything Toji says, it’s not because of his expressions or his gestures, or even the way he rubs the mountains of his palm against your clothed pussy—it’s because of the way he doesn’t hesitate before letting his knees hit the tiled ground with two deep thuds.
Fucking kneeling before you.
Toji throws your non-dominant leg over his shoulder, and bores up at you with half-lidded eyes. Heavy. Darkened with arousal- he wanted you so fucking bad.
He was a man deep in thirst.
In a single motion, the hockey player flips your skirt up n’ tucks the hemline into your waistband.
It’s almost as if he’s in a daze - as if he’s hypnotized - as he brings his face closer to your throbbing core. Where your pussy was nearly beating out of your red panties—before Toji flares his nostrils and gives that dampened spot on your panties a gooooood sniff. “Mmm, s’like coming home.” Your mouth gapes as you wonder whether he even realized what he was saying- was it possible to even act so starved? So animalistic? Open-mouthed, he breathes out a scorching hot pant that makes your legs shake. “Shit—shit, shit shit-”
“What?” You squeak out in—well, perhaps in surprise, perhaps because of the way your ex-boyfriend doesn’t waste a second more before nudgin’ your legs apart and sticking his nose right between your clothed slit. Slurp!
And his mouth merely opens with a gasp.
With a groan.
A sudden jolt courses through the hockey captain’s muscular body. And before you know it- before Toji himself knows it, he’s clasping onto either side of your hips and draaaagging your pussy all down his face.
All across every handsome feature of his. It doesn’t matter if you still have panties on, he’s gaping his dampened maw wide open and saaaaalivating across every nook n’ cranny he could reach. That cute crevice of your pussylips growing even wetter as you start to feel his nosebridge rub uuuup and down, uuuup and down- up and down.
Gurgling those sweetened wads of slick at the back of his throat as he ebbs himself even closer- “Oh my god, pretty girl…” And for a second there, you think he’s talking to you—only to find Toji pulling away with a squelch! of fabric. His half-lidded eyes remain fixated between your legs, and that sinful mouth of his glistens eagerly with your juices. “Fuck, oh my god-”
“Wh-what is it?” You’re squealing out, despite fully knowing that he’s talking to your pussy by now. Just your pussy.
And Toji croons upwards, his glazed eyes flickering towards you. “Your sorry excuse of a boyfriend doesn’t eat you out, does he?”
You gape.
How the fuck did he know?
“Because she told me- duh.” Toji rolls his verdant eyes as though the answer should’ve been obvious - the answer to a question you clearly don’t remember asking. Out loud, at least.
Although…your mind isn’t clear at all.
It’s so clouded by the way he massaged the top of your folds with his tongue. Those rugged, textured tastebuds flicking aaaaaall over your outer lips, dipping into the outline created by your slit. In and out. In and out.
It’s as though he was already attempting to fuck you through your damn panties- perhaps the only thing holding him back right now. Toji taps the flattened surface of his tongue across your sopping slit once he’s completely sure he’s slurped up every ounce of you there was to slurp-
“Can you hear her?” He utters hoarsely. And he doesn’t even need to wait for your response - Toji surges in once more in a way that was almost uncontrollable—“She’s purrin’ so much- heh.”
Eyes rolling to the back of his head at the cloying, clingy taste.
You were just so weeeeeet and warm.
“She’s been so neglected. Poor pussy.”
“Oh—” Your mouth drops.
And that’s the last thing you’re managing out before Toji tucks the rounded tip of his finger beneath your ruined red panties, making it snap- once before tuggin’ them aside and spitting. Letting the vertical line of saliva lubricate you a bit more for him to swab his tongue everywhere and anywhere—“She- she hasn’t been tasted like this in aaaaages.”
“I haven’t, I haven’t-” You sob.
That pointed chin of his plasters against your cunt, nearly hitting the back. And Toji’s pushed up so deeply against your pussylips that you’re wondering whether he even has the space to breathe- crushing his face between your folds. What was that saying about big noses? “She hasn’t been tongued the way she likes it.”
Wrenching your head off of where it’d been rested against the cold tile wall. “H-huh?”
With a growl, you’re shocked as his four thick fingertips come slammin’ down on your pussy. “Pay attention, doll.” And he’s juuuuust nudging aside your sensitive folds to lap up the sap leaking between them. Feeling that cute orifice of your hole that was just clenchin’ around him, “She hasn’t been tongued the way I know she likes it. Dirty girl.”
And you’re shivering as the very first inch of his girthy muscle slips inside your entrance. “Fuh-fuuuuck-”
“She hasn’t been tasted like she deserves.” He pants out between rovering movements with his head now, baaaaaack and forth. Baaaaack and forth. Faster each time. Deeper each time. “She hasn’t been spat on. She hasn’t even been fingered-”
“Fuh-fuuuuck, ngh—yes.” You’re keening out, your voice crackling dangerously. “I mean no- no, he didn’t.”
Feeling the leer of his lips against your other ones, something almost cruel to their shape. “I know.” His severe timbre - mixed with the scrape-scrape-scrape of those textured tastebuds inside you - make you see stars. No warning—and he’s reaching up to plaster the crown of his thumb against your throbbing clit. “And I’ll fuckin’ kill him for it.”
Without thinking much of it, you’re grabbing onto a handful of his jet-black hair and bowing your body forwards. “Toji—”
“Look at her.”
As though he wasn’t even hearing you right now- Toji’s eyes were widened, his voice slightly breathy. Both of his hands were positioned on either side of your cunt n’ spreading your puffy pussylips apart. “Fucking look at her…”
Toji’s tone was trembling.
Toji’s tone was wrecked.
And you’ve never seen the man knot his dark brows like this- as though he was at the feet of a shrine and worshipping you with looooong, deep thrusts into your wet cavern.
So watching him between your legs like this- you already knew that Toji was a ravenous eater from your relationship. But to hear him be so desperate?
You couldn’t help the next words that fall from your mouth, “N-Naoya always thought it was emasculating to-”
There’s a brief squelch then a smack!
He’s tugging his hands away from your stinging clit, before kissing all over it. Sucking. It made your knees weeeak to feel him unabashedly press up against your pulsing nub as he thrusted his tongue inside - sniffing, moaning, breathing you in. “How can ya have a pussy like this…”
Letting his jaw droop even further open as he presses the tip of his tongue inside, swabbin’ into every geysering orifice. “How—?” He’s massagin’ your tight walls apart from one another, accelerating with every soft gasp you’re letting out. “How can ya have a pussy like this n’ not just fucking drown yerself in it?”
You’re bucking off of the frigid tile, leaking out a few more dewdrops of slick.
He moans as he watches that bead of translucence exit from your hole n’ cascade between your legs- “Some men die of thirst whilst others fucking- fuck, fist their cock to the thought of this pussy every night.”
Excitement zips down your spine as you realize he’s talking about himself- every night? For six months straight? “Every-”
“Every night.” Toji affirms. “Six months straight. I thought about how many times I’d make you cum on my tongue.”
“Shit—” He’s then fucking your poor hole battered, harder than the strokes he had before. Those were just to fit the first few inches of him inside, these were to make your velvety pussy feel him.
“Every fuckin’ night. I missed this pussy soooooo—” Spitting. “-much. Every night, I thought about how much my poor girl must be missin’ me. Every night, I thought about how much better she’d taste than any sweet dessert in the world.”
“Toji—” Your whines rattle through the locker room. “Shit, it feels so good-”
“And it’s the fuckin’ least she deserves.”
Without any further warning, Toji then slides the larger end of his thumb between your sopping wet slit. Collecting a few wads of your clingy juices, he’s pushing it back in—
“Fuck, she’s so tight.” He whispers underneath his breath, nose crinkling at the way your gooey walls immediately rush to clench around him. His tip being engulfed by the warmth. Not only were you sucking him in, but those cutely trembling hips of yours were jerkin’ off the wall expecting more, more, more- “She hasn’t been fucked properly in a while…”
And before you can even register it, he’s removing his thumb with a wettened plop! Rapidly replacing it with his lengthy middle finger, his index.
Scissoring those scouring tips open inside you.
Swabbing them into those ridges n’ sweet spots.
Letting them jostle against one another and against your most tender areas-
Fuck, you’re throwing your head back.
Those thoroughly thick fingers of his kept filling you up so much more than his tongue did, and you’re gnawing down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from making too much noise—even more than you already were. In and out. In and out.
How you missed the pleasurable burn of him stuffin’ you.
The way it sends carnal shockwaves up your spine- especially every time he pushes past the shy squeezes of your first ring of muscle. The first restraint.
“T-Toji…” You’re wailing out in that pretty tone that makes his ears perk up immediately, “Please—” Your hips rut upwards, “So close to…”
“Tch- d’you even have to ask?”
And you didn’t think that Toji Zenin was ever the type to forget anything to do with your cunt, did you? Did you?
Because this wasn’t his first damn rodeo: you best believe that the first time Toji ever had the chance to feel you clenchin’ around his fingers, he took the time to memorize every nook and cranny inside. He’d mapped it all out.
He’d drilled it straight into his brain that if he quirked his fingers juuuuust so to feel the spongy depths of your roof- then shovelled his fingers along that pathway…juuuuust so. He’d be greedily swallowed up until his joints, and it’d only take a few more vulgar thrusts for him to locate that special bundle of nerves inside of you.
The one that made you see stars. The one that made you call his name out loud enough for the neighbors to hear-
“Heh…” He dares crack a smirk, “And he hasn’t found this spot yet, right?”
And right now, your prettily cracking whine was echoing across every corner of the locker room. “T-Toji—” He’d found your g-spot. Reeling his slick-glazed fingers back just enough to roughly push and push, to dig his rounded fingertips against that throbbing area. Constantly. “Right there- k-keep going. Right there-”
“Heh- keep going? You seriously ever thought I’d stop—?” The captain of the national theme looks genuinely baffled you’d asked, disbelieving of the words. Him? Stopping when you’re completely begging for him not to? “Doll, I’d rather fuckin’ die than let this pretty pussy down.”
And with that said, Toji wraps his swollen lips around your clit once more.
He was stimulating you with twice the blissful waves now- once with his fingers probing into you and pinpointing each sensitive nerve inside you. The other through the wet smacks! of his lips, latching onto your knobbly clit and sucking as though the sweetest candy in the world.
You watch as Toji’s handsome cheeks hollow out because of his suctioning. His pretty pink lips were all glossed over with layers of your sploshin’ cunt, rolling drunkenly over that nub.
“I need you to cum on my tongue.” The black-haired man sputters against your wet, treacly cunt—his breaths becoming more n’ more ragged by the second. Tone thick, “I need you to cum on my fuckin’ tongue so bad-”
“M’so close—” You’re using the leverage you have on his sweaty bangs to tug him in even deeper- not that Toji could go even deeper.
But he smirks at your sheer desperation and you can feel the formulation of his expression against your sodden pussy. And that’s when your panties are being properly ripped off your hips- straight off. Clean. With his teeth. As you buck and gasp, he’s spitting out the useless lace remnants into his left hand and snakin’ it between his legs.
And you’re not quite sure - you can’t see beyond his hunched core - what Toji’s doing with that particular treasure. But by the way his biceps suddenly flex as though gripping something, by the way he lets out a sudden grooooooan deep into your pussy- you can already guess.
Toji’s sculptured arm starts flying up and down at a rapid pace.
In the same sloppy, striking cadence as he’s fuckin’ his tongue between your soft pussylips. He jerks himself off furiously, a thin line of sweat drizzling down his forehead the more, and more, and more-
“Toji, baby—” You’re whimpering out, tugging on his shaggy strands a bit to make him look at you. “M’gonna cum- so don’t stop, m’kay?”
“Has-” Panting out a murky breath, “Has he ever made you cum before?”
To which you’re almost embarrassed to shake your head, “N-no…”
“Can’t believe he’d- fuck.” Toji grumbles, his thick brows marrying together. Those sharp canines of his make an appearance as he snarls, “M’gonna kill that bastard. M’gonna fucking kill him-” Slapping the velvety underside of his tongue down-down-down—“But first m’gonna make you cum.”
And since the last time you saw him, Toji Zenin has learned to keep his promises. And he’s proving it.
Which is why it takes only a few more vicious strikes at the very bottom of your pussy - at the very target of your g-spot - for you to throw your head back n’ start shaking with your orgasm. The white-hot pleasure coursing through your every blood vessel makes you cry out, so much better than you remembered.
This wasn’t the same as idly prodding yourself with your vibrator while your boyfriend wasn’t home.
This makes you buck. This makes you gasp. “C-cumming—” Your thoughts coming belated to you as you’re riding out Toji Zenin’s handsome face, elongating your high on the prominent curve of his nose or the puffiness of his lips. “Cumming, Toji, shit…s’the best it’s ever felt.”
“Uh-huh?” He murmurs up wetly at you. “Only the best for m’girl.”
“Your girl?” And that makes something within you tremor almost as much as your orgasm.
“Shhhhh, and ride out your orgasm-” He’s talking you through those soaring peaks of your high - incredible.
Because not only was Toji curving his fingertips just right against your g-spot, but he smirked against your clit and gently bit down on that nub.
You’re flinching upwards- never having experienced something so strong. At least, not in six months.
And it seems like forever before your high passes - not that you were complaining. That orgasm left you all heated and raw, feeling so wound-up that you honestly thought a mere brush of Toji’s fingers would be enough to get you cumming again.
Your overwhelming wave of pleasure is just barely finished before Toji stands up to his full height again.
Blinking away the tears in your eyes, you’re looking up at him. The slightly-dimmed lights of the locker room created the effect of a halo around his head- how ironic…because the way he’d made out with your pussy made you think of Toji to be someone from quite the opposite realm.
But you don’t get to comment on that right now.
No- you were too busy watching slack-jacked as he tugs off his national team jersey.
And you’d already seen Toji shirtless before - of course, you have. You’ve already seen him in every state there was to see him—but it’s seeing him after so long that really makes your cunt twitch. Your eyes sweep across his broad shoulders, those toned pecs with a certain familiarity- you note that he still had that unruly line of his happy trail. It was deep black in color, a ruggedly handsome look to it as it started off at his abs then snaked all the way down, down, down…
His chiselled abs. His slightly-tanned skin.
The only real difference that you could’ve pointed out was that Toji, in fact, seemed a little…bigger than you remembered him. Bulkier. Beefier. Broader around his arms and his pecs.
And perhaps that was in part to do with memory- but more likely it was that his new training regiment with the national team had been serving him well. Very well.
And his cock, fuck, his cock…
Toji hadn’t fully exposed himself as he jerked off whilst eating you out- but it was more than enough. Just enough of his black hockey pants getting nudged down—they stuck around his meaty upper-thighs, and you’re left starin’ at the thiiiiick throbbing cock in-between.
Toji was big. Toji was hard. Toji was so reddened at the tip of his bulbous shaft that you wondered whether it must be painful-
You hadn’t forgotten just how big he is, had you?
But you swear Toji had been around seven or eight inches the last time you’d…seen him all those months ago. But this? This was about nine- fuck, if you pulled out a ruler than you wouldn’t be surprised if he was around even ten inches.
Perhaps that was just your imagination refusing to concede that your ex was the largest you’ve ever had. The best, too.
Thickened so much that it made your legs squeeze. Covered in veins from underneath his reddish tip, and aaaaaaaaall the way down to his tanned base.
Those hefty balls of his clenched at your attention, and you’re both thinking at the same time that he must’ve really missed you.
Toji reaches his right hand up to his face and spits—slithering it down to give his aching erection a good tug. That mere touch was enough to make him ooze out a few more droplets of pre, capping the top of his crowned tip as though the prettiest glaze.
He has to cough ever-so-slightly to rip your attention away from his cock.
Even then, you could barely keep your eyes off of your ex-boyfriend as he turned his hockey jersey the right way. About to throw it over his shoulder when—he looks at you and seemingly gets an idea.
“Off, doll.”
And suddenly it’s a blur of hands and grabbing - Toji’s pulling your own clothes off, ultimately leaving you in absolutely nothing. He tucks those remnants of your panties in his pants pockets, and tugs your head through the holes of the jersey—
“Y-you’re making me wear this?” You’re babbling out stupidly as he steps back to admire his work, “And only this?”
Toji lets out a low whistle, “Fuck, yeah.” Before gesturing for you to twirl- “Now turn around n’ put your hands on the wall- hah, I want to see my name on you while I fuck you.”
Nevermind the fact that technically this was his last name, as well.
But that didn’t matter - never would. These were Toji’s colors, Toji’s number.
And right now, it was Toji’s fat- aching cock that was making your pussylips bulge apart. Slowly and sensually.
He might’ve been ravenous when he was tasting you for the first time in six months - but Toji was taking his goooood time filling up your driveling orifice. Stuffing back the beads of slick that kept on spraying out of you, letting his pointed tip stretch your entrance out.
He’s letting his breath hitch as he reels his hips back a bit, pushing his twitching cock iiiiiiiiiinside and then out. Iiiiiiiiiinside and then out.
Baaaaack and forth.
Baaaaack and forth.
That ruddied roundness of his cockhead gets stuck between your lips, and Toji’s brows furrow- he attempts to pull out. He really does.
But you’re just gobbling him up so damn greedily- inch by fucking inch. That he can’t help but arch his toned hips against yours- soothing the globes of your ass cheeks a bit before Toji gives a nice, honed thrust. Pointed deep towards the back of your pussy.
Though he isn’t getting that far with your snug channel.
“O-oh—” The captain groans out as he’s sucked in deep, push by fuckin’ push. The intrusion of his girth makes its way ‘round your first ring of tight fuckin’ muscle - slotted between your legs and enough to leave your knees weak with only a few shallow thrusts.
Toji’s having such fun holding onto the side of your waist- eventually moving to hook ‘round your pretty thighs when it seemed as though you were going to collapse.
His pretty girl, so desperate to take him that you can’t even stand.
“Fuck, you feel so good.” He breathes out, scorching breath gusting down the curvature of your spine. “Fuck, my girl’s pussy feels so good—”
“Toji-” And for the first few of his semi-thrusts, you’re letting your eyes roll to the back of your head. But thereafter you’re jerking your hips back in desire for more, craving all those carnal itches inside of you satisfied by Toji’s thick cock. “N-need it.”
Toji opens his mouth to tease - you’re sure of it - but at that very moment you’re using your velvety walls to give him a thorough clench that makes him break off into a groan. “This pussy’s been so hungry f’me, hm?”
Shivers wracking through your entire body. “Y-yes-”
“He didn’t fuck you like he should’ve, hm?”
“He didn’t—fuck.”
“Always wished it was your- heh, ex beside you, huh?”
Tearily, you’re looking back at him with an expression of sheepish guilt. “Yes…”
“Oh—” And the mere fact that you said that - your mere answer - is enough for the towering man to hunch his body into yours. To buck his hips into you like an animal.
It wasn’t even planned.
Just an instinctual movement to graze his dribbling tip against the very forefront of your womb- Toji lets his cockhead pulse inside you for a moment before starting to fuck you again. Slightly speedier, slightly deeper.
Slightly rubbin’ the line of his flared ridge against your dewy insides—it made the man’s balls clench to watch the way you’d drip n’ suction around him. You were fucking thinking of him? Just as much as he was thinking of you? “So this pussy has been greedy f’me.” As if to prove his point, he’s easing in just a few more puckered inches to swipe the front of his burning divot against your spongy cervix. “How many times have you touched yerself to the thought of me?”
“I-I—” It takes you a sudden slap on your pussylips to realize that he was genuinely waiting for an answer.
“How many times?” Toji gasps between his clenched canines, Adam’s apple bobbing in fervor. “And don’t lie to me, girlie- I know s’been more than once.”
“So many times-” Just the most sultry scrape against your g-spot- the sensation of Toji’s pulsating cockhead pressing on those nerves feels so good. Good enough to reveal your secrets, your hazy brain seems to think. “T-too many times to count-”
“Fuck.” He has to gnaw down on his bottom lip to keep himself from cumming too soon. Too fast. If anything, he wasn’t going to be like that (likely) two-pump chump boyfriend of yours.
Which is why the older man finds himself smearing his left hand over your pussylips once more- this time, however, it wasn’t to place a mean spank. It was to spread those folds open and roll his fingertips over your neglected clit. “Dirty girl. And h-how many times have you cum just from the thought of me?”
“All of those times, Toji.” The constant rhythmic nudgin’ of your favorite spot was enough to leave your mind absolutely shattered by this point in time. “All those times I—ngh, can only cum if it’s you.”
“Oh?” Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck. D-don’t even fuckin’ say…” He reaches down and slams his hand against your clit once more - partly to take his mind off of those sinful words you were babbling, partly out of punishment for exactly those. And if you were in any better state of mind, then you’d have marvelled at the fact that you’d just made Toji Zenin sound damn starstruck. Just with your pussy. “Don’t even fuckin’ say that shit.”
He leans over you and nuzzles his cheek against your own.
Scarred lips muttering into your ear, “I know she’s been- fuck, needing me just as much as I need her.” They’re kissing down your sweaty temple for a few seconds before sinking his teeth into your ear lobe, “I know she’s been fucking—dreaming of me, wishing for me, fantasizing about me, getting so fuckin’ aroused at just the thought of me that- hah, locker rooms like these were a problem.”
Blinking the tears away from your eyes, “W-wait…”
“Or maybe that was just me.” Toji finishes off. Though he really didn’t have to for you to realize that he’d been talking about himself the entire time.
Toji had been craving you these past six months.
Desiring you.
Fucking his fist and his pillows at the thought that - perhaps one day - he’ll have you underneath him like this again.
And perhaps that’s why there was a strange reverence to everything he did. Something jittery at his fingertips, something that made him hold you a little tighter - as though to make sure that you were really real.
He’s looping both strong arms around your tremoring figure and gluing you to his toned front. There, you were being massaged after each rub n’ puuuuuull of his vein-decorated cock down your swallowing insides. Hand still reaching downwards.
Toji lets out the most lecherous slurps once he still manages to loop his hand between your sodden pussylips n’ toy with your clit. Finger pinching. Thumb rolling. Just by how sensitive you were - still getting re-used to the sultry sensation of someone else’s hand upon your nub - he knew that that damn Naoya wasn’t properly lovin’ on this part of you, either.
And it makes his blood boil just as it did on the rink today.
His fingers move on top of your clit at an almost frenzied pace- back arching, head throwing back.
Naturally, your lips spread wide open to let out an echoing moan—but it’s too late. Toji’s already leaning in and replacing it with a dollop of his sweetened saliva, “Yeah…” He looks down at you as though you were a dream, “M-maybe that was just me- fuck, but I have one question, doll.”
“Yes—?” Sobbing out.
“Have you ever…” Almost as if it was a precious secret, meant to be between the two of you and the locker room, Toji leans down to whisper against your ear. “-imagined me while he was fucking you?”
Your jaw drops.
Your cunt twitches.
And Toji feels the flooding of your walls with arousal- it’s splashin’ either side of his cylindrical girth. One that was probing and pushing—and speckling every sweet spot inside you with his sap, Toji was fucking you as though he was furious with you.
Long, hard pummels of his hips.
Hard enough that the skin surrounding his pelvis area was reddened.
Long enough that your mind was already completely muddled - filled with only the probin’ pressure of his plump cockhead. Pointing against the cute button of your g-spot once more—“Yes.” You whisper.
And if there was anything - anything - that could make the Toji Zenin falter, then it would’ve been this. Because for two split-seconds you’re feeling the constant sloppy scouring of your innards pause- before it’s resuming harder than ever.
Before he’s fully bottomed-out now and slamming against the gooey depths of your womb.
Before you’re cumming from just that single thrust-
“Y-yes—?” Even Toji’s voice shatters on the repetition of your answer - and he’s looking down at you with his deep, probing eyes. “You- you thought about m-me fucking you when you were still with that bastard?”
You turn around at the amused disbelief in his voice, and nod. “Always thought about you, Toji.” You’re not blind to the way this particular sentence makes the other man flinch—“Every time. He must’ve thought that- ngh, he was the one making me feel good this whole time but it was- oh. It was you.”
“And it…felt good?”
“So good-”
Unsure what to say - unsure what to even do- Toji merely leans down and bites the tender side of your throat. Sure for anyone to see past your collar.
Claimed.
You squeal as you’re fucked through your second high of the night, “A-always you—Toji.” Though loooooong and rugged smooches of his tip, perfectly pointed to graze your ridges inside and ultimately end up on the g-spot.
Tears bursting to your eyes. Hands slipping with sweat along the tiles.
Toji pulls you even deeper into his embrace - grabbing ahold of your neck with his free hand, the other reaching down to pinch your clit in short, staccato pulses. Matching the peaks of your high. He makes sure to wait just until your wracks of pleasure are at their highest, before plummeting his throbbing cock inside.
Maximizing the rub-a-dub of those prominent veins of his. Sending spurts of pleasure shivering all throughout your body at their massage.
Ridged shaft stretchin’ out those spots that feel the best, his sheer length splitting you up from the inside - you couldn’t possibly forget how well Toji’s cock filled you. Reaching into any deep crevice and orifice, markin’ himself out aaaaaall across your channel with the rounded bruises he left behind.
The captain of the ice hockey team was ruttin’ into you so hard that it was causing the heels of your feet to lift off the floor.
His thick fingertips dig into your body, plastering you against him- “Always you, my girl.” His words come out sharp and exhaled, “Only you.”
“O-only—ngh.” He catches you from slipping down the vertical wall, scorched chuckles dusting down the crook of your neck. “Toji…”
“Hmmmm?”
Slight panic bleeding into your tone, “Th-there’s someone in the other l-locker room—fuck.”
“Fuckin’ what?”
Still wracking with the waves of your high. “There’s someone in the other locker room-”
Growling, he’s bowing his powerful lower half towards you - where you were frantically gesturing and miming something at the other side of the wall. The locker rooms were positioned as such that they were side-by-side, sharing a single wall split down the middle of its vast cavern, from which they ignored the existence of the other out of courtesy.
And no matter what one might fear about rowdy ice hockey teams, it never did cause any issues. Yet.
Right now you could hear someone’s footsteps through the tiled wall, you could hear someone’s existence, you could hear someone muttering.
Seemingly not having the best of days - though after that loss, you couldn’t blame them - your mystery US player was banging on locker doors and hissing out swears. It’s only once he seemingly drops something on the floor by accident, letting out a string of expletives starting with ‘b’ that it’s clicking just exactly who this player is—
“Oh, look-” Toji’s the first to start, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. “-your wittle boyfriend’s here, too, doll.”
“He’s not my-”
“Why don’t we give him a proper welcome, hm?” Toji’s crooning out meanly, “Why don’t we cheer him up? That little ah- incident on the ice must’ve really been a blow to his ego.”
You’re shivering at the implications, “D-don’t you fucking dare-”
“Whaaaaaat? M’not doing nothing.” Scarred lips quirking up into a grin- you’re noticing that Toji hasn’t slowed his hammerin’ down for a single second. In fact, he’s reeling his slick-glazed cock backwards and leaning the weight down upon your lower half, probin’ you at even deeper angles. The smooth, slippery tip of his shaft was swabbing away into those nice bundles of nerves- “I didn’t even say that you should do anything.”
Hiccuping at the feeling of him funneling you full - all the way to your throat. “Th-then—”
“I just need you to be a—mmm, good girl f’me and- hah, take it.” The constant smacking of his toned hips get even harder, louder. Ricocheting off your eardrums and off the walls- “Take aaaaaaall from tip to base.”
The utmost amount of squelches n’ slurps leaving you.
You wondered if Naoya could already hear you…
Shivering at the carnal feeling of him stretchin’ those tiniest orifices within you up. You loved the way his honed tip would ease in, only getting thicker and longer and thiiiicker and loooonger the more he’s fucking you. The more.
“Take it aaaaaaall until this greedy pussy’s satiated-” He pinches your clit once more, lining down the spot of your nerves. “Take it all until this pussy remembers-”
There’s the sound of another locking being slammed from the other side of the wall.
And you’re shivering-
To which Toji grinds his hips in close - so close - that you’re unable to buck n’ swerve your hips away. Eagerly taking those deeply probing grinds of his, “Take it until this pussy remembers who’s always fucked her right.”
You’re mewling through your tears, “Y-you—”
And Toji grins before bunching up that red, red jersey of his in his free hand. Looking at the name that flashed upon your arched back, jostling with each thrust - “And who’s that? What’s the name on the back of this jersey?”
“But he has the same—fuck.” Moan echoing so fucking loud this time- you’re swearing you hear the other man pause whatever he was doing. Hear him listen. Hear him wait. “Zenin.”
Something drops to the floor on the other side of the wall, as if fallen in shock.
And Toji smirks.
“That’s right-” He pants out open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, “Can’t hear you- what’s the name?”
“Zenin-”
“Still can’t hear you-” Thrusts and bursts of pleasure steadily climbing up in intensity. Even though you’ve just cum, you could feel a twitching at the pit of your stomach. “What’s the name?”
“Zenin-”
“What’s the fuckin’ name?”
There was no way he couldn’t hear by now. The slapping. The clenching. The moans. “Zenin—”
He slaps your clit once. “And who’s last name is that?”
You knew you were going to fall apart soon. You knew that all it’s going to take was one final thrust- reeling his rounded, glossy tip back as far as it would go. It’s letting just a few tears cascade down your cheeks, and you’re looking back - “Y-yours, Toji?”
“No.” He grins—chiselled core pummeling into yours. He teases your clit with a cute lil’ heart drawn on top, “S’gonna be yours.”
“Oh—” With the loudest, most lecherous moan yet- you’re falling apart all over Toji Zenin’s cock. So sensitive that your orgasm rips through your stark and primal - nothing but a resurgence of bliss that leaves your limbs feeling all weak.
They’re shaking just a lil’ as you’re riding out your high on his vein-covered cock, the perfect number of strikes before your g-spot feels raw.
The perfect number of strikes before your clouded mind gets even cloudier—and Toji’s throwing his head back with a sharp, busting orgasm. Toes curling. Abs clenching. Beading from the drooling divot of his shaft, he gushes out constant volumes of cum.
Letting it dribble all the way from your deepest depths to your sultry hole- and then spotting even the tiniest crevices inside of you with his pearly white juices. “Shit-” His crackling tone breaks out into the heady air, “Sh-shit, now she’s properly mine again- heh.”
As Toji fucks his wads of seed deeper inside you, they’re letting off the most lewd squelches.
“Now she’s shut up her yowling a bit- ngh, my girl’s been wanting this for so long, huh?”
“Yes.” You nod.
“She’s been starvin’ for my cum?” He coaxes, “She’s been all empty without me?”
“So filthy…” You’re mumbling out. Uncaring anymore of what Naoya would think - you didn’t hear anything more from his side of the locker room—maybe he’d disappeared?
“Damn right.” Toji chuckles. Dark bangs covering most of his vision as he’s pumping his thickened tip inside, swervin’ aside your sopping wet walls to make even more room for his thick cum. “She’s now all full I think, hmmmm?”
And you certainly felt full.
You could feel the splashin’ around of those gooey puddles of sap inside you, clinging onto the tiniest spots they could. He was only messing your insides even further with every single thrust—leaving a wet puddle of most of it seeping into the very back of your womb. “I th-think so-”
“What was that, Mrs. Zenin?” Toji goads, his voice ringing out loudly. “Think yer all full with my cum or do you want even- hah, more?”
You’re murmuring something unintelligible that he has to lean in to hear.
“What was that? Can’t hear you, doll, you’ve gotta speak up-” Suddenly, he leans away and addresses the other side of the wall. “Whaddaya think, Naoya? Think she deserves some more-”
“Toji, shut up—” Swatting behind at him.
Toji escapes with a burst of gruff laughter, “Of course, I wouldn’t ask that fucker-” He presses a somewhat chaste kiss onto your lips, “Tell me, doll, what do you want?”
“I w-want…” You’re repeating from before.
“Hmmmm?”
“Think I might want your baby, Toji.” Peering up at him with such pretty heart-eyes.
And that makes his breath hitch.
That makes him stall.
Toji’s green eyes widen just a fraction- before he’s pulling out and turning you around. Staring deep into your eyes, the captain urges you to jump - wrapping your legs around his toned waist, your hands on his shoulders, your body being easily hoisted by his own - so that he can lift you off the floor.
Probin’ that rock-hard tip of his inwards-
“Guess there’ll be one more Zenin this time next year- heh. ”
.
.
.
Naoya Zenin was stunned. He was speechless.
Which is highly unusual, because Naoya Zenin is never shocked. Never speechless.
Except for when he saw the estranged Toji Zenin at the game…and when he got beat up by Toji Zenin at the game…and right now, as it’s slowly dawning upon him that Toji Zenin was fucking his girlfriend after the game-
Naoya didn’t think you were serious, alright?
Because how many fuckin’ times have you threatened to break up with him over stupid shit like that? This was just a little outing with the boys - to a few nighttime establishments with a few nighttime girls - that was being blown majorly out of proportion.
And sure, Naoya might have embarrassed himself thoroughly in front of you and a couple million spectators today.
But what couldn’t a 5000 yen bouquet fit?
He was planning on making up with you right after, telling you to stop being paranoid and perhaps this will only make your relationship stronger in the long run. And he’d just gotten back from the medic to get his shit back when…when the noises had started up.
It was a slightly damp noise at first, almost like water.
Then came the soft groans.
The impact of skin-on-skin.
The voices that made it undeniable—if only he couldn’t recognize them. And he almost couldn’t, to be quite honest, Naoya had never heard you making such noises when it was him in bed.
But he knew it was you.
Worst of all, with Toji fucking Zenin of all people.
And it was when Toji had loudly announced your engagement to him, the way you’d be taking his last name (Naoya had no clue the two of you had dated before, and he didn’t want to know) that’d been the last straw for him. He dumps his bangs and his uniforms behind, storming out from a locker room that was now thoroughly invaded by the sounds of your sex.
Muttering some unrepeatable phrases underneath his breath, Naoya’s so caught up in his wallowing that he nearly doesn’t notice the man he bulldozes over in his effort to get away.
“Oh, hey—” Shiu smiles sheepishly at the younger man, “I just wanted to check on y-”
“I’m fine-”
And with that he’s storming off. To where? He doesn’t know, he’ll probably have to come back and get his shit later but…
He takes it that you’ve now officially broken up with him.
Meanwhile, suit-clad, clipboard-holding Shiu is left utterly confused at what just happened. He’d expected a screaming match, maybe several lawsuits by the spoiled heir of the Zenin Industries at least.
Refusing to believe his luck, Shiu takes a peak inside the opposing team’s locker room just to make sure that everything was alright- and that’s when he hears it. “—think I might want your baby, Toji.”
Oh.
Oh.
It was coming from the other side of the large wall- their locker room.
And he’s recognising the voice- wait, that’s your voice. Toji’s ex that he’d been moping over for these past six months, the one that triggered their captain to get in that fight today in the first place.
Though, he doesn’t blame you- with that fucker as a boyfriend? Shiu doesn’t think he’s biased for claiming that his best friend’s leagues better.
But, at the end of the day, Shiu was their coach above all.
And as their coach, he couldn’t allow his players to get into anything reckless or anything violating the code of the Olympics. They’d all be in such deep shit if you happened to be caught - so you must forgive Shiu for doing what he has to do.
For rounding the other side of the locker room entrances and stepping into his own team’s chamber. Heady with sweetness, with sex.
He’s here as a coach to warn the two of you- really. That’s just it.
That’s it.
Nothing else. Nothing else at all.
No ulterior motives.
His pants tighten, cock twitching traitorously at the barrage of noises leaking into every corner of the room.
Shiu raps on your stall door as a…coach.
A/N. Mwahahaha…come to me coach… ALSO TO MY PHILIPPINES BABYGIRLS WE MISS YOUUUU <33
Synopsis. Name: Choso Kamo.
Age: 23
Hybrid type: Canis lupus familiaris AKA puppyboy.
Diagnosis: He’s in rut, and who does he need? His pretty owner—you!
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, dog hybrid!Choso, hybrids AU, puppyboy!Choso, RÚTS, pheromones, sheIters, companionship programs, hybrid parks, COLLARS, Ieashes, he Iikes it (a Iot), tail wagging, possessive Choso, use of ‘mistress’, use of ‘ma’am’, PÚSSYDRÚNK Choso, first tímes (Choso), oraI (f + brief m), spítting, teaching, manhandIing, he’s just so DESPERATE to pIease you, p worship, pánty-steaIing, stepping on him, finishing early (him), stamina, fíngering, begging, asking for permission, overstímuIation, p sniffing, he’s GONE, Choso with tattoos, ríding him stupid, he’s BlG, making it fit, feeIing for it, cervíx smoochin, BIG stretches, BRÉEDING, mentions of kids, miIking him, creampíes, cúmpIay, slight cúmfIation, mátes, bonding bites, KNOTS, implied marathons, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 14.4k
A/N. Mwahahah you babygirls asked so daddy provides…
The forums online told you there was nothing to worry about.
Each with their smooth, structured message boards and those advertisements for the country’s best hybrid supplements (‘Buy your companion these chew-safe sweaters NOW!’); and their respective hybrid owners each with queries quite similar to your own.
“Hybrid has started taking my clothes [URGENT]!”
“Is my hybrid sick? Clothes disappearing, feverish, etc…”
“How do your hybrids let you know if they aren’t feeling good?”
To the symptoms that most-closely aligned with your own canine hybrid’s, the most popular conclusion by the panel of amateurs was that they were likely feeling the effects of the changing seasons. Hybrids, particularly purebreds, were more susceptible to heat and weather than humans like yourself.
And so you’d forgone the call to your hybrid specialist, Dr. Shoko, for now—in favor of helping Choso keep cool as much as possible, and supporting him through these motions.
Until today: when you’re folding your laundry and realizing that half your underwear drawer was missing.
As you’re opening up the rickety wooden drawer even further, it clatters mockingly up at you. At your flabbergasted expression—you were sure it’d been at least a third more full the last time you opened it up. At the way you’re bending down and peering in, as if expecting to see the rest of your panties and bras somehow hidden away inside.
Nothing.
You shut the drawer and straighten up silently.
The rest of your laundry sits idly at the foot of your bed, though the last thing on your mind was attempting to finish your folding. You don’t think you could’ve succeeded in doing so even if you tried.
Because you already know who did this.
Hell- there was only one other person living in your snug Tokyo apartment. It would be impossible not to be him.
Your roommate of five months.
Your hybrid.
The ever-nervous, ever-sweet, ever-handsome Choso Kamo.
You remember the day you got him as if it was yesterday: that phone call that changed everything. The massive hybrid shelter in your neighborhood had been holding an adoption program; in which humans could sign up to be caretakers and companions for hybrids freed from large-scale mills and facilities that raced to churn out the most purebred hybrids. All shapes and species—from the deep underbelly of having a society where humans and hybrids co-existed.
Mostly temporarily, of course - until the hybrids chose to pursue jobs, education, and whatever else it is that they wanted to do.
Tokyo JSH (Jujutsu Shelter for Hybrids) wasn’t just a simple rescue operation; but their territories spanned far and wide from medical facilities, to rehabilitation, to temporary homes, to this current matching program that let the public get a more hands-on method to volunteer. Led by Ieri Shoko - a caracal hybrid herself - it was one of the most famed for their sheer number of hybrids taken in and reassimilated into society. You yourself had volunteered for JSH on a few occasions.
And having a soft spot for hybrids, you barely thought twice before signing up for this new program.
The registration process had been long and tedious - though you didn’t blame them. Columns upon columns of forms to fill out. Towers upon towers of medical checks for you yourself. They investigated your apartment, they investigated your job, they investigated your personality and ability to house a troubled hybrid temporarily—until they could get back on their feet.
And even longer than the registration process had been the waiting process.
It’d been months- almost a year before you heard back from the shelter - and by then, you’d begun to think that perhaps they hadn’t found you suitable after all. But then…then it’d happened.
Then you’d been rung by none other than Dr. Ieri Shoko herself.
The fuzzy-eared doctor had asked you to come into the shelter the very next day, if you were still up to it- and of course, you were up to it!
Spiffed and spruced. Smoothing down your best outfit - for you did want to give a good first impression - you were outside the doors to Tokyo JSH before they’d even been unlocked. The teenage employee in charge of opening those double doors had shot you a strange look as you waited patiently for them, but that didn’t matter—you were about to meet your newest roommate.
Of course, you were aware that it wouldn’t be all sunshine and daisies and- and whatever else the saturated infomercial playing on loop inside the shelter lobby showed. But at the very least, you hoped by the end of this, you’d be making a lifelong friend out of this - to help someone without expecting anything back…if not a friend then you hoped you’d at least be making a change. And that’s why you were here.
Dr. Shoko had entered the shelter not too long after the infomercial’s 50th loop.
She seemed somewhat surprised to see you here so early - no doubt the first volunteer she was seeing for the day - though her effortlessly composed features didn’t betray a thing. You, however, were feeling a churning amalgamation of nervousness and excitement that you’re sure showed.
Though she was kind enough not to point it out, “You’re here early.” And with that, you were being led to the separate patients’ ward.
The air was thick with saline and tension—and the acrid smell of adrenaline. Bed after bed. Each one had their white curtains drawn, and out of respect you didn’t dare peek inside - instead you kept your eyes fixed firmly on where you were going.
So much so that once Shoko stopped in her tracks, you almost bumped into her back.
Hastily, you looked up to find that…this, too, was a bed obscured by thick white curtains. Only, that was where the similarities between this hybrid and the others stopped: lost in your whirlwind of thoughts, you hadn’t realized that Shoko had led you to the sole bed at the end of the hallway - the one at least twenty-five meters away from all the other hybrid patients.
Solitary. Silent—no hums or growls that emanated from beyond the opaque partitions.
Sectioned off, almost.
It made you wonder just what sort of hybrid - you looked at the chart hung up at the foot of the bed - Choso Kamo would be.
According to the other notes on the chart, they were a dog hybrid like most of the others here—Canis lupus familiaris. And to be more specific, Choso was said to be a Great Dane.
And though you had better manners than to engross yourself in someone else’s medical chart, you couldn’t stop your eyes from wanting to read even further. Quickly finding out other such details like his gender, his age, his height (6’4 was to be expected as a Great Dane hybrid…but nonetheless absolutely massive), and even his rescue from-
“An underground fighting ring.” Shoko told you in a measured tone, and you’d picked up on the fact that she didn’t want to disturb the hybrid inside those curtains. “It’s not often that we’re able to rescue hybrids from fighting rings- alive, that is. Though they remain our toughest problem.”
Your mouth felt parched, “I…I see.”
“This hybrid was lucky—he was said to be their top fighter. But no one lasts long in an underground fighting ring.” She looked at you solemnly, “No one. And before we proceed, I need you to understand what you’re getting yourself into. I know how much you love helping hybrids - I’ve seen you ‘round here almost every week - but I need you to understand that Choso might not be the easiest companion.”
You nodded seriously.
“It’ll take him some time- and on some occasions he might even lash out.” Shoko gestured to the other beds - namely the distance between them. “We’ve had to separate him from the other hybrids as well.”
You looked from them and back, “But surely he’s not dangerous-”
“No.” She shook her head, “He’s hurt. He’s powerful. But most of all, he’s highly intelligent.” Her ears twitch, and there’s a small quirk at the edge of her painted lips, as though a smile—“All he needs is some love and care, and someone kind enough to wait for him…which is exactly why I chose you.”
And how could you not help Choso Kamo after that?
So she’d peeled back the curtains and oh…and inside had been perhaps one of the largest hybrids you’ve ever seen. One of the most magnificent.
Even for a purebred, Choso’s drooping ears were covered in the darkest, glossiest coating of chestnut brown. They’d perked up even before you’d entered - no doubt hearing every single nervous breath you were trying to regulate - and they stayed on alert even as he caught sight of you. His sharp canines made an appearance. His powerful tail whipped.
And yet, even with his features twisted into something unwelcoming, you found the wind knocked out of you at the utter beauty of his features.
They were prominent and pretty. As though carved by the most delicate of hands: those slightly downturned eyes of his, the pertness of his mouth, those high cheekbones.
There was a glint of something unforgiving in the depths of his chocolate irises, however, as though weathered through the years. Something honed.
Sitting up on his bed, his gaze narrowed as you entered his space- and a slightly feral growl had left Choso’s lips. His toned body was naked beneath the clinical blankets, and he gripped them as if he was ready to fling them off and attack-
You slowly took a step backwards - something other than fear. You understood how it felt to want to be alone for some time.
And sitting on the empty bed beside him, you waited in silence as he realized you weren’t here to attack—and leaned back into his crisp mattress. Though he still looked slightly wary of you, you didn’t hesitate before introducing yourself and launching into a conversation - rather one-sided at the time, but a conversation nonetheless.
Shoko had smiled and left the two of you alone for now. Meanwhile you spoke of your day, your job, the weather outside and- did he like the food here? What were his favorite foods?
Despite the fact that Choso didn’t answer a single one of your gentle questions, you weren’t deterred. And it wasn’t long before you’d looked up at the clock on the end of the hallway—and realized that it was nearly past visiting hours. Choso himself had seemingly come to the same conclusion, as he watched your eyes drift back to him.
And you’d only had one more question left for him.
“Do you want to come with me?”
And he’d given you a single, short answer—in a deep baritone that sounded as though it hadn’t been used in years. “Yes.”
From then on it’d been a short few hours of paperwork - much shorter than your initial registration - to get Choso officially situated in your apartments. In a week’s time he was discharged from JSH and gathering his sparse belongings (nothing but a broken collar) to move in with you in your Tokyo nook.
Your first outing together had been to buy him all sorts of new clothes and necessities and a collar - something that you didn’t think Choso would like. But Shoko had recommended you get one, just in case.
And so there had been a pretty, pink-colored collar with your name on it—fitted to Choso’s size—jostling around at the bottom of your shopping bags as you dragged the Great Dane hybrid from store to specialized hybrid store.
The first day had been a little awkward…you introduced Choso to the guest’s bedroom that was now all his - and he’d locked himself in there for about two days. Only coming out once he’d completely and fully immersed himself inside, once he’d finally gotten used to the sense of a place—a place that was his own.
Following had been a blurred few weeks of attempting to get used to one another in this limited space. Choso himself wasn’t all that bad of a roommate, to be honest - he’d spoken to you in bits and pieces whenever he felt like it, gathering up after himself, and letting you know whenever he liked your cooking. And you scoured for these interactions like a man in search of an oasis in the desert, after prolonged summer after summer, after prolonged heatwave after heatwave.
You weren’t even sure why you were drawn to him so much- sure, Choso Kamo was one attractive being. Especially when he was walking around the apartment after a shower, in nothing but a slightly-dampened towel…
But more than that—he was just so damn sweet.
You came to understand that the more you found out about him.
It started off small: the charred attempt at preparing breakfast for you in the second week he was here, the shy way he’d tug at your collar - despite being such an intimidating size - whenever he encountered another dog hybrid in public. He followed you around everywhere—everywhere. He waited right outside the door for you whenever you went to work.
And come to find that…Choso wasn’t the strong, seethingly silent type you’d initially assumed at all. He was smart. He was funny. He was such a sweetheart.
Soon enough, once he’d opened up to you in the coming months, you’d come to find that Choso actually loved sappy romance movies (and he cried at the end every time), Choso loved making little treats for you whenever you were down, Choso loved cuddlin’ up to after a long day at work. Perhaps it was unconditionally true what they say about Great Danes being ‘gentle giants’ - because Choso Kamo was the gentlest giant of them all.
And after five months, the two of you were what you could honestly consider good rommates—good friends, actually. Though the housing situation was meant to be temporary until the hybrid was able to get a place of their own - and/ or wanted to - you could honestly see yourself living with Choso for the rest of time.
Who would have thought?
Though the collar still sat collecting on one of your cabinets. You hadn’t brought it up, and Choso - despite eying it from time to time - hadn’t asked, either.
Everything had been perfect—that is, until about a few weeks ago when your clothes had started disappearing.
It started off with a jacket here, a bracelet there, and then something you couldn’t ignore - an ugly Christmas sweater from the last holidays (that you honestly weren’t upset to see go). And you could’ve let it slide had it been limited to these souvenirs that you wouldn’t mind never having to think of ever again.
But your underwear?
Not only was it your underwear, but it was about half your entire drawer? Perhaps even more so? All those lacy black numbers n’ those matching sets, all those expensive lingerie you’d treated yourself to and even a few of those grandma panties with holes in them- you couldn’t help but wonder just what your hybrid needed these for…
Nesting wasn’t as common for dog hybrids, right? Besides, Choso had a perfectly comfortable bed that you knew he loved and adored.
To be honest, there was one person in the forums who’d suggested that perhaps those aforementioned hybrids were veering into ruts and heats- though, they’d gotten downvoted to hell.
And though you’d considered the possibility…that certainly wasn’t the case this time, right?
You’d read up on the matter prior to meeting Choso, and you knew that that particular period occurred every two to three months for a hybrid. But in the five months since getting to know him, and since worming your way into his good graces, Choso had never shown any indication of a rut.
Not even the slightest glimpse of it.
And that was certainly alright - some hybrids simply didn’t have certain proclivities, or perhaps their pheromones didn’t overtake them as such. But your question remained: if Choso hadn’t started his rut then, why would it start now? There must be another explanation, surely.
And so you’re still mulling over the possibilities as you’re trudging your way to him- knock-knock-knocking on the door to his bedroom. Choso opens the door instantly - as he always did when it came to you - and you’re somewhat taken aback at the sudden…shirtlessness that you’re bestowed with.
Clearly fresh out of the shower.
With his long hair untied, wet tips reaching his broad shoulders- with glistening droplets of water slipping down his hairline and down the middle of his chest. With a tattooed No. 1 on the sculptured ridges of his right v-line. With his toned chest slightly panting—at the sight of you.
Choso’s flushed lips part-
“Cho…” At the sound of your voice uttering his cute nickname, Choso’s long tail immediately starts wagging. And you’re finding it hard to keep the sternness in your voice, “I didn’t disturb you, did I? I just wanted to ask whether you wouldn’t happen to know where my erm- underwear disappeared, would you?”
And at that- his eyes go slightly wide. “U-underwear?”
And you’d almost have been fooled by the innocent blush that spread across his cheeks…if it wasn’t so damning, that is. “Yes. Underwear, Cho. Where is it?”
“And you’re asking me—?” He pleads.
“My panties didn’t just grow legs and walk, Choso.” You cross your arms with a sigh, “They’re not magical.”
“…I think you’re magical.”
Somewhat catching you off-guard—“You can’t just-” And you feel something flip at the pit of your stomach, “Don’t think you’re going to wiggle your way out of this, okay? I need my underwear back before tomorrow- unless you want me to go to work pantyless-”
His canines slip out with a growl, muscles rippling as he shivers. “Never.”
“Then you better- return them.” You’re wagging your finger strictly at him, to which he lets a sheepish smile escape.
He places a hand on the top of the doorway - a gesture of nervousness, surely. “Y-yes, ma’am.” That little nickname you’d told him time and time again not to use—why so formal? But you can’t help but notice the bulge of his swole muscles, still dappled in the dampness of the shower.
And to hide the flip in your stomach - again - you’re sighing and looking away from the vision of Choso before you.
You could still hear the fervent wagging of his tail.
“Wanna go out for a wal-”
“Yes.”
.
.
.
“Okay- ready, Cho?” Slipping your shoes on, you turn towards the hybrid that stood at the edge of the threshold.
Choso was never the type to be leashed whenever the two of you went on walks - you suppose that came with his seeming distaste for the collar. He’d meander along beside you, and though you’d been nervous about losing him the first few times, Choso had proved himself to be loyal and steadfast by your side. Never wandering off too far, even when he was exploring in the hybrid park.
And right now—he was shuffling shyly. “Y-yes…”
You frown, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing-” He replies hastily, putting on his own shoes and getting ready to follow you out the door. But even so…his eyes drift beyond the threshold. “It’s just…”
“Hey…” You’re lowering your voice- and the tension bleeds out of his shoulders as you reach out and gently hold onto his arm. “You can tell me anything, y’know?”
And that’s what makes him finally muster up the courage- “I want to put on the collar, ma’am.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
And who were you to say no to that?
And it feels as if you’re walking on air as you go up to the cabinet and pull those glass doors open - taking out that pretty, pink collar you’d bought specifically for him. Slightly dust-bitten. Yet its heart-shaped pendant glimmers in the sunlight, your name etched onto there—Choso dons that name proudly as you’re fastening it onto his pale neck.
“Tell me if it’s too tight, alright?” Its metal buckle hisses coldly against his nearly-feverish skin: was he heating up?
That prominent Adam’s apple of his bobs- “Mhm…”
Before long, the two of you find yourselves walking down the summery pavement; it was a beautiful day and the balmy breeze kisses your cheeks. Clouds frothing. Birds twittering. You’re humming at the feeling of warm sunlight on your skin, contrasted by the unfamiliar coldness of that looped handle of the leash in your hands.
The thin, chain-linked length sways just a little—leading up, up, up to the collar wrapped around Choso’s throat. It lets off a metallic sound that melds with the bustling noises drifting from your local hybrid park - you hadn’t had Choso for long before you found out about this place.
And ever since about your second or so week with him, you’d been going there almost daily. With Choso being so naturally shy, it was a good place for him to make friends and interact with someone that wasn’t just you—and bit by bit, you’d gotten the privilege of seeing him open up. Hell, he even had a few regular friends there. And by now, he looked forward to the park just as much as you did- except…today, Choso was pulling back a bit.
Not as though he wanted to leave, but as though he always wanted to be half a step behind. No matter how much you slowed down your own pace for him.
“C’mon, Cho.” You’re gently pulling on the grip of his leash, and yet it doesn’t give away anything. “We’re a little late, your friends will be leaving soon.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Choso?” Your fist tightens around the leash.
He doesn’t budge a single inch—in fact, he seems to slow down even further.
“Choso, come on-”
And then he’s letting out the softest, sweetest sound that makes you stop directly in your tracks- “N-ngh—” Something so unexpected. That you can only turn around and stare at him.
Choso fiddles with the zipper on his jacket, eyes downturned- and yet, you’d be able to make out that cute blush of his anywhere.
You attempt to take a peek at his expression, “Something wrong? D’you wanna go home, Cho?”
He shakes his head. “N-no…” And the fidgeting with that metallic nub grows even faster, Choso’s feet shuffling on the smooth, grey sidewalk. “It’s just…keep going at your own pace, ma’am.”
“My own pace? But isn’t that a little too fast for you today?” You probe.
And he nods, “Yes…” Barely even a whisper, “Keep doing that- k-keep pulling on my leash.”
Electricity zaps down your spine at his tone- oh, his tone. Currents of it leaving your mind a little fuzzy, and curdling somewhere between…
Choso raises his nose up into the air to sniff— with his honed senses, and you couldn’t start tugging on his leash fast enough. “A-alright then.” You weren’t sure to exactly what degree his senses were honed, but you didn’t doubt he could smell even the wetness of your cunt - it’s exactly why you’d tampered down proddin’ away at yourself with your vibrator after he’d moved in.
And then he stalls so you pull once more-
“Fuck-”
And you look towards him instantly, “Shit- I’m sorry. Did I pull too hard, Cho?”
“No-” He shakes his head immediately, “No, not at all.”
The tighter it was, the better.
The air feels more humid than it had once been—so much thicker. It’s enough that you feel like you can finally breathe only once you catch sight of the hybrid park; those swooping slides and those green, open spaces. Slides and tunnels. Stores and pathways.
You’re reaching up to unclip his leash, and Choso lets out a sheepish smile as he stops you. “I-I want to keep the collar on, is that okay?”
You’re stunned. “That’s perfectly alright, Cho.” And so you watch his tall figure stalk towards his usual group of companions, your name sparkling on the pendant between his collarbones. Perhaps you should ask him about this sudden change, but…you decide not to push it for now - perhaps it was still the weather that still had him all out of sorts.
Deciding that you’d join him in playing just a little later - at least when your knees weren’t feeling as weak as they do right now - you sit down on one of the benches overlooking the park. It makes you smile to see Choso laugh and talk with his hybrid friends—such a stark difference from how he’d been when you first met him.
You were proud of him.
“Hey, Choso’s wearing a collar today?” A sudden voice makes you look up—and who else would it be but the ever-charming Kusakabe? You’d met the older man on your first visit to the hybrid park - and you were sure you’d been such a sight: awkward and standing by the edge of the park, a towering unleashed hybrid at your side, both of you unsure what to do.
He’d been the one to reach out to you first- asking you whether you wanted to join him and his smaller, more welcoming canine hybrid. That had been the first time that you’d seen Choso interact with another hybrid without bearing his fangs.
As a much more experienced hybrid owner than you, you admit that he’d helped you smoothen your journey as a new companion—vastly. All the best spots to eat here. All the hybrids to be steered clear of due to their aggressiveness. So it was practically routine to run into the dark-haired man during your days at the park, and so you flash him an easy smile. “He is, isn’t he? New development.”
“Pink. Looks good on him.” Kusakabe nods approvingly, arms crossed. “Everyday he surprises me.”
“Right?” And with a chuckle, you’re holding up the slender chainlink leash. “Though if he chooses to continue then I might just have to get something stronger…”
“Oh, I know just the place-” And Kusakabe sits down right next to you on the bench - thigh against thigh, arm against arm. You’re unable to say anything about anyone’s personal space before he’s pulling his phone out and gesturing for you to lean in—“There’s this shop downtown in Shinjuku I go to- the best discounts. It’s right beside the convenience store and the-”
And as soon as you blink, Kusakabe is ripped from his seat next to you.
And before you crouches Choso.
Though not as you know him. Not at all.
Choso bears his piercing canines and lets out a rumbling growl; muscles of his back shifting, body panting, claws protruding—and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew it was contorted into something of utter murder. And you weren’t sure whether this was just your imagination due to the tension of the incident…but did he seem somewhat…bigger? Veins popping. Back hulking. There was almost something…animalistic about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on- other than the fact that he was scarin’ off the others around you like a guard dog. He lets out another rumble of gnarled words and it’s enough to make every hair on your body raise.
“Stay away.” It’s about all you can make out.
You stand immediately, heart pounding. “Ch-Cho?” You reach towards him.
“Stay away.”
Was that really him?
He repeats.
And then he repeats again.
And he repeats and he repeats- as if crazed. Kusakabe pales and wastes no time creating some much-needed distance between himself and the hybrid.
He bumps into his own cowering hybrid.
“Choso-”
“Stay away from my mat-”
“Choso- enough.” And you finally manage to pull him back - he doesn’t even seem to register you beside him for a brief few seconds. Not until you force him to just fucking look at you—
And then - only then - do his claws retract, and the sharpness in his eyes fades just a little bit—turning into their usual chocolate-caramel brown once he turns them towards you. You look into his dilated peripherals and wonder whether he was really the same hybrid as just a few seconds before.
Choso Kamo could easily overpower you, but he’s pulled by your arms easily.
As you look around, you’re realizing that almost everyone in this vicinity of the park was staring at you. The hybrids nearby had their ears lowered. The owners were tugging on leashes of those same hybrids that refused to move- seconds away from danger and they were too afraid to move. Kusakabe himself was blindly reaching for his own companion. Hell, even the birds seemed to have stopped fluttering about—as though summer itself had been paused for this sudden feral coldness of your sweet Choso. You can’t help but let a shiver run through you as you imagine just what might have happened if you weren’t there to stop him.
Choso would have torn that man to shreds.
Without thinking twice, you loop a finger underneath his collar and pull him away- not even bothering with the leash anymore. Fuck…his skin was just feverish. “C’mon.”
And for the first few tugs, Choso doesn’t respond—doesn’t dare to tear his eyes away from the trembling Kusakabe. But then you’re saying his name once more, “Choso.” He jolts as though hit with a thousand volts of electricity- and you’re quickly pulling him out of the park. Not even a second glance at the mess you’ve left behind, “We’re going home.”
He quietly responds from beside you, “Yes ma’am.” In a voice so heated.
Collar tight on his neck.
Tight. Tight all throughout your speedy walk back home—even afterwards. And once you’re attempting to reach up and free him of that restraint- Choso flinches away from your hands faster than light.
Starin’ straight at you with his dazed, darkened brown eyes he holds the buckled lock of the collar and crushes it with his bare hands.
Crushes it so that it cannot be removed.
.
.
.
“I don’t know, Shoko….” Nervously gnawin’ on your lower lip, you pace the hallway outside Choso’s room. Her response comes out as languid and reassuring as ever- but you can’t help but cast a concerned look at the closed door. Locked. “He’s just never acted like this—”
“Aggressive?” Comes her question, “Why, it might just be because of the increasing temperatures that hybrids-”
“No, not just being aggressive.” You struggle to articulate, “It’s just he’s being so…”
Because it hadn’t been just the collar incident after you’d gotten home from the park. Almost immediately afterwards, Choso had rounded the room a few times- alert. Alarmed. For a second there, you almost thought he’d caught onto a whiff of something else entirely—before he’d grabbed one of the throw pillows on your couch and rubbed his swollen scent glands down its puffed surface.
Scenting.
Scenting was the act of coating an object, hybrid, or person in the pheromones of a hybrid; it’s said that they often feel more comfortable in a space if it reminds them of their own scent.
But to this extent?
You’d gotten used to Choso scenting the apartment during the first week of your cohabitating, but right now it was as if he was attempting to erase every single shred of evidence that anyone else had ever been inside this apartment.
No one but him. No one but you.
That laptop charger that your coworker had touched last week? He’s gliding the smooth surface down the side of his throat, and replacing that scent instantly. That cushion your friends had sat on the last time they visited? That hair tie you’d washed with a different shampoo than your usual? Even the damn jacket that Kusakabe had brushed up against on the park-
That one, in particular, Choso was ripping away the scent most fervently.
Until the apartment was saturated with his soft, sweetened vanilla scent.
It smelled like a bakery here.
Concerned, you’d attempted to then coax Choso into playtime- he refused. The first time he’d ever refused to spend quality time with you—not even when you’d pulled out his favorite axolotl toy. Thereafter he’d been draped across your living room couch for hours on end, panting, sickly; the only times he’d moved was to disappear into the bathroom every fifteen minutes. And each time he came out more and more feverish than before - flushed down to his chest, trembling just a little. Hands pressed between his thighs. What did that…
When you’d finally insisted that perhaps the two of you go see a doctor, he’d disappeared into his bedroom and refused to come out.
Not even when you’d knocked.
Not even when you’d called for dinner.
And you were two steps away from begging- but instead you’re regurgitating your woes to the ever-trustworthy Dr. Ieri Shoko.
She listens to your day silently.
“Now, I don’t want you to worry…” Of course, the only thing she was doing by being so evasive was making you worry. “-and this is just a suggestion, of course-”
“Anything.” You’re pleading, “Just- anything that’ll make him feel better.”
She hums, and even through the phone it sounds knowing. “Have you ever considered that…” Somewhere in the distance, your hallway clock tick-tick-ticks away—and it feels as though your stomach flips just in time with its clanging announcement of the hour. “-perhaps Choso might be in rut?”
Breathless, “What?”
You hear the flipping of pages - presumably notes - from her side of the call. “It seems that in our care, Choso Kamo was yet to experience a rut. And from what little information we were able to gather from his previous…accomodation, the same can be said for there.”
“I thought Choso couldn’t get ruts?” It’s surprising that your voice manages to be so steady.
“Perhaps so.” Shoko answers, “But that is merely a medical assumption.”
Your brows furrow, “W-what are you saying?”
And she sounds as sage as ever, “What I’m saying is that there is no evidence to suggest that Choso can experience a rut-” You’re just about to open your mouth in agreement. “-however, there is no experience to suggest the contrary, either.” More flipping pages—“For all we know, the lack of a rut period for this hybrid could be a result of the high-pressure environment that he’d been placed in since his mature years. We’ve certainly seen as much- though, I never did think that this would be such a case.”
And you just about can’t believe what you’re hearing—“Wait- so you’re saying that Choso can experience a rut…all because he’s finally feeling comfortable?”
“Safe, is the more likely option.” She corrects, “Though comfortable isn’t incorrect, either. As well as open, happy, attracted-”
You reel- “Attracted? To who—?”
There’s a slight pause.
“I might be no optometrist-” She deadpans, “-but rest assured that I’m not blind.”
A sudden rush of something in your veins—“A-and what can I do to help him through this…rut?”
“At this stage? Find him a mate.” Shoko answers, and there’s shuffling from the other end of the line. “Or be his mate.”
You’re speechless.
“Good luck!”
A tone rings. The call is over.
And you’re left alone in your Tokyo apartment- alone with the massive puppyboy that was in the throes of his rut.
The door feels taller - more intimidating - than you remember it being when it’d been nothing but an empty guest’s room. But now it had meaning to it…it had someone inside that you cared about. Cared about to an extent that perhaps you never thought you would—fuck. Before you know it, you’d been standing motionless outside Choso’s doorway for a few minutes.
And you’re sure he can smell your heady wetness from inside.
And once you’re jolting back to your senses, you realize that your legs had lugged you as clooooose to it as you can go - had already put a hand on the doorknob that you don’t remember putting there.
You twist it open.
And the wave of pheromones that hits you is enough to bring you to your knees.
The flurry of vanilla sweetness, of the sunshine of early morning, of the warmth that comes from days spent at the beach—it all envelopes you like a whirlwind set to devour you whole. First it’s taking presence in your lungs, then your brains, then your cunt. Quite literally- you grasp onto the wooden beam of the doorway in an attempt not to embarrass yourself.
But you don’t think that Choso was in the presence of mind to care.
You don’t think he even notices you enter at first.
He’s buck-naked on top of his bed. All twisted up in slightly-dampened sheets, he looked like a Renaissance painting; with his meaty thighs spread wiiiiiiide and his angry red cock throbbing between his legs, with his entire body covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, with his tail not even wagging anymore, with his pinkish mouth parted and letting out the prettiest whine after whine as he fucks up into his fist.
Up and up.
Again and again.
He still has his collar on him.
Every muscle in his nearly-Herculean body twitching as he does so. Abs tensing. Biceps bulging—
Dribbles of sap explode from his tip like a damn fountain- leaving his hand glistening in layers of sticky glue-like substance. Shaft pulsing in the air. Heavy balls twitching once-twice- If it isn’t just the filthiest sight you’ve ever seen…he cums.
With the most pornographic cry of your name falling from his lips.
And from the puddle right below those ruttin’ hips of his, you wonder just how many times he’s cum to the thought of you before.
Choso gliiiiides his palm down his aching shaft to drag out his high. Again and again.
Pump after pump.
And it’s only once those sticky white droplets of seed have petered out that he’s finally attempting to crack his eyes open. Long lines of tears glimmer down his cheeks, and you think he just looks so pretty whimperin’ out your name as the last few ropes of his cum empty out of his cock. Letting his sweaty head slump back against the pillows, Choso’s chest heaves as he attempts to catch his breath before—
Oh- and how is he supposed to catch his breath when you’re standing there - so beautiful and fuckable - in front of him? Jaw dropped.
Unbeknownst to himself, Choso’s tail starts wagging.
Unbeknownst to you, your thighs are pressing together.
And he lifts his sensitive nose in the air once more taking—one sniff, two sniff. Like cherries. It’s all he needs to register in that hazed brain of his that you’re completely and utterly soaked through those panties you weren’t wearing.
He wasn’t exactly doing anything lewd, but you think you’ve never felt more exposed.
Pulling down the hemline of your short, short skirt, you gasp- “Ch-Choso.”
And he flinches.
As if you’re struck him down to his very core—there’s something carnal there that shifts within Choso’s eyes and obscures anything of the sweet hybrid that you knew. His body trembles as he heaves to a stand beside the bed - and it’s just then that you’re realizing that in his rut, Choso was much bigger than you normally knew him to be. He was taller. Bulkier.
Just as he had been at the park, it’s like a more base part of him had taken over. Invaded.
Those claws of his drag down the soft covers of the bed and tear it to shreds without even trying- and you start to wonder what that might just mean for you…
He’s oozing power you knew he had- you knew he had, but never knew he’d think to harness as he crosses the bedroom in nothing but three strides.
And he kneels before you in a shorter amount of time.
Kneels.
Like it’s where he was always meant to be, beneath you like this, those capped knees of his strike the carpet with two thuds! Hard enough that it should hurt a normal human, though not even the faintest glint of pain registers in Choso’s eyes - so dilated now that they were almost completely engulfed in blackness.
His milky thighs squeeze around your calves. Which inadvertently means you can feel his cock grow even harder than before…
From your feet, he’s peering up at you with an expression akin to worship—clammy fingers grasping desperately at your skirt. They’re sliding just beneath - where his feverishly hot skin sizzles against your own - and a sudden pang of neediness shoots through your every blood vessel.
The air in the room suddenly feels hotter. Sweeter.
And you’ve always wanted Choso Kamo, but those pheromones he’s jetting out makes you feel almost dizzily greedy to feel him-
“Ma’am…” Choso’s voice quivers out—husky. But it wasn’t in the way that made him sound demanding- no, it was veering on the edge of an unsteady pleading. His unfairly handsome face cocks ever-so-slightly to the side, and he’s looking up at you through his loooong dark lashes. Puppydog eyes. “-permission to eat you out?”
You’re nodding so rapidly that your head bumps against the wall you’re pressed up against- hips bucking towards him, and he only yearns even closer with a whimper. “Yes—” You’re uttering out, “Yes, pl-”
But you didn’t think that Choso Kamo would ever make you beg for him, did you?
Hell, he should be the one begging—just to taste you. Just to sniff your pretty pussy. Just to tip his head slightly backwards and let those ropes of clingy sap leak down his tongue aaaaaaall the way down to his throat. His pheromones leave him in gusts, rendering the hybrid more n’ more ruined every time you’re blinking down at him. “Permission to swallow, ma’am?”
“You may.”
You witness the exact moment that Choso Kamo tastes you on his tongue for the first time.
Because his powerful, hybrid tail starts to wag harder than you’ve ever seen it. Because he groans. Because a primal noise escapes him that sounds like the most erotic music to yours eardrums—“Fuck.” Choso’s eyes go slightly wide. “Fuh-fuck…”
With the wettest, most lecherous plap! that mouth of his drops even further ajar. To plaster more of you across his maw.
You’re the sweetest things he’s ever had the pleasure of smelling- with or without pheromones.
His Adam’s apple bobs with the wads of your pussy’s needy juices slippin’ straight into his gullet. Pressing himself so close to you that he’s physically unable to breathe through his nose- Choso wastes no time before clawin’ onto both sides of your hips and plastering your sticky, syrupy pussy all over his mouth.
Just wide open.
Hot, open-mouthed kisses.
“Sh-shiiiiit—” Gasping, your hands snake down to grab onto Choso’s sweaty locks. They were practically pitch-black with perspiration by this point, making it slippery for your hands to tighten around and place the slightest pressure when tuuuuuugging-
Choso fights with everything left in him to not dig his claws into your pretty thighs and drape your thoroughly wet pussy across his mouth. He mewls, “N-no.” His kisses grow more fervent. “No, baby…”
Eyes just a bit teary from the sudden stimulation, you’re wondering just what it is that poor Choso’s huffing n’ puffing about. And that’s the instant you’re witnessing the dog hybrid lean up onto his haunches and jerk his toned hips against your legs. That reddened, throbbing erection of his crushing against your calves.
It’s the only bit of friction he can get- and the only bit of friction that he needs to spurt his webbed seed all down your skin. Splatterin’ some against the wall and even down himself—he’s making such an utter mess as he cums just from eating you out.
That, too, with merely a few sultry licks.
Whimpering.
Choso’s head throws back with an echoing sound, lips wobbly oh-so-cutely as he drenches your heated flesh with his gooey sap. It forms a layer of warmth that you don’t get too feel for too long-
Because the man himself is draggin’ his roughened fingertips down the dredges of it and stuffing every ounce he can gather between your legs. Straight into the sinking divot where your hole was, Choso makes sure to retract his fatal claws as he slides his lacquering layers down your pussylips. Painting gloss after gloss of creamy white.
Pheromones were just soaking into the air, making it so heavy.
And that ruddied tip of his tongue slips out and starts lavishin’ away at your messy slit. Just so fucking messy.
Despite his tail wagging away at the lewd sight, he can’t keep the regret out of his tone. “I c-can’t believe I’ve cum.” He utters out a breathy pant into your cunt. “I can’t believe it—”
“Awww- s’okay, Cho.” You swear you see his cock twitch at just the slightest mention of that nickname falling from your gorgeous lips. “It’s probably your first time, huh?”
“I-it is.” Your poor puppydog nods.
“Then it’s alright-”
“But I wanna be good for you, mistress.” And even more sinful than that title was the way he was looking up at you with the most agonized tearful eyes—“I-it’s all my body’s telling me to do…” As Choso’s huffin’ away, the edge of his lower lip jutted out into the cutest pout. His brown brows furrow as he focuses on chastely pecking your hole—and you’re hit with the understanding that he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. By now he’s rutting against your calves like a dog in heat - and it would be incorrect to say he wasn’t. “I wanna please you.”
“Is that soooo?” You’re crooning out- and he shivers. Reaching the edge of your foot out, you slide up the lined muscles of his left leg - ending up pressed between his thick thighs.
You step on Choso’s rock-hard erection with your foot and he all but cries-
Humming to yourself, “Then act like it.”
He gasps, “Wh-what?” And though he was in disbelief - his ears waste no time pricking up.
Your heel crushes his hot, dribblin’ erection- “Awwww, didn’t hear me, baby?” Harder. As he bucks his hips and lets out a sudden yelp, you’re pulling his handsome face up to yours—“Why’re you giving me kitty licks if you’re a dog hybrid, huh? Why don’t you eat me out…”
Hooking your non-dominant leg over his shoulder.
“-like a good boy then?”
And then you’re swervin’ his head just sliiiightly to the side—and helping him open up the puffy slit of your pussy and ease his tongue inside.
And all it takes is one push - just one push - of Choso’s flattened, ridged tastebuds- for you to clench around him. The most goopiest feeling.
Enough to make a hybrid addicted.
“Oh…” He barely has enough space to breathe let alone speak- any and every breath he has left in his lungs is spent parched over your cunt. Choso slips his fat tongue past your first ring of muscle—and you best believe that his extra-specialized hybrid tongue was tasting every droplet of your slick up close and personal. Savoring you - his bleary eyes roll to the back of his head. He’s feeling the velvety squeeze of your walls as he dives in and out, in and out, in and out.
In and oooooout- and thrusting ravenously all the way back in again.
“Shiiiiit-”
His eyes widen at the effect that he - he - seems to be having on you. “D-does this feel good-”
“Shut up n’ eat, baby.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He was just so obedient.
Not having much experience but swabbin’ the friction of his tongue wherever he could- as fast as he could. Tail wagging as fast as he could. The crowned edge of his tastebuds dig against every orifice inside you, as fast as he could.
And you’re swearing that the way he’s fucking you with is tongue feels almost…animalistic in nature.
Choso’s grip fastened tight upon either side of your squirming hips- and the tips of his fingers twitch as though he was having trouble keeping his claws back. Rugged grunts leave him with every slip n’ slide. Chin plastering against the bottom of your pussy—his handsome features scrape-scrape-scraaaape every inch of you from the end of your cunt and all the way up to the tip. Where your clit was throbbing and needy for him.
He’s whining at the feeling of that pulsation against his face, looking down innocently at your sensitive nub. “D-do I touch you ther-”
“Fuck, yes- you touch me there.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Fuck.
You’re directing your inexperienced hybrid. And perhaps it was the pheromones that were making your body looser than ever-
But you’re wielding that ruthless restraint you have on him and bucking straight against Choso’s open mouth. As his tongue slips into your hole at a constant pace, you’re making sure that that handsomely big nose of his isn’t going to waste either - just grinding down on the mostly-straight line of it. Your favorite part was that lil’ bump that he had around the middle, it’s where your clit felt its primal pangs the most satiated.
As Choso eagerly pushes his face between your tremblin’ legs and laps and laps his thick tongue away. Textured tastebuds. Sizzling against where you were most sensitive.
And you might not be a hybrid with those keen sensibilities to know what every single pheromone puff meant- but what you’re feeling right now in his sweetened fragrance was nothing more than utterly content. Pure gluttony.
He was droolin’ down both sides of his mouth and only push-push-puuuushing his face even deeper. “Please-” And his swollen mouth lolls stupidly open- probing his tongue inside to the maximum, to the very hilt of his wet muscle, and even then he grinds his face deeper like he wanted even more. “P-permission to have even…ngh, more, mistress?”
“More?” Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull- Choso was already wolfing you down like a man starved. Fucking you with his tongue and gyratin’ his nose across your clit.
Thirsty for every pearly droplet of slick you’re spraying out, his brows press upwards and he’s fixing you with the most convincing puppydog eyes you’ve ever seen. Hell, even his scruffy ears start to droop- “Please, mistress?”
Muttering underneath your breath, “I swear if you were any other…”
And how could you ever deny him that?
Oh, your hybrid was just so spoiled- but that was a problem for later. Right now, all you can think of doing is reaching down and hooking a finger in that pink collar of his—he keens as you’re using that to puuuuull him even further upwards, nose-deep between your legs, and sputters.
Rolling your hips faster and faster - you were just so glad that you had the upperhand with his collar now. Because every time that Choso even pulled away to gasp out his unsteady breaths- you’re hauling him straight back.
“What’s the matter, baby?” You’re cooing down at him, letting his flushed face crush against your pussylips. Leavin’ such a lecherous smear of your pussy’s slick across his features, “Didn’t you say that you wanted more?”
“I did- I do.” He’s whining, hips starting to rut once more. Just so teary and guttural with all the stimulation - your pussy was just ruining him, and it really didn’t help that those rut pheromones left him in an even more dire state. Choso sloshes your slick ‘round with his tongue and sobs at the searing restraint you had on his collar, “Wanted more- ngh, wanted to taste your pussy more, ma’am.”
“Then—?” Just so mean now. You tug on his collar again and make him shiver as he’s whimpering, tearing up, bucking like an animal—so overstimulated on being used. “What else does my good boy want, huh?”
“I-I’m your good boy?” Those tear-filled eyes of his are just so pretty, and they’re blinking a few times before Choso even realizes that you’ve asked a question. He hastens to answer before your tugging grows even more insistent - though he really doesn’t mind the pain…“I just wanted permission to…”
“Yeeees?”
“J-just to…”
And you’re peering down at the poor hybrid: his powerful tail is still now, and his pheromones were slowly becoming more and more maddened. You’re seeing the way his long fingers tremble where he’s holding you—edging juuuuust the slightest bit closer to your core…
“Permission to finger me-” You smile down something sinful at him, “-granted.”
He gapes, “Th-thank you, ma’am.”
“It’s a hybrid-eat-pussy world, right?”
And those slender tops of his fingers have no trouble just sliiiiiding a few inches inside- filling you up enough that his digits fill up every single orifice. Every single nook and cranny. He’s thrashin’ around inside, letting the curved tops of his fingers prod and poke away—
“Can smell you getting e-even wetter when I reach for…ngh- here.” He’s muttering out in a slightly breathy tone- slightly crazed. And the sweeter your treacly cunt jets out pheromones, the closer he’s veering towards that one spot-
Choso babbles, “Can smell you the sweetest…around here.” Through his shaggy bangs, you see those brows of his furrow- “Can smell your pussy wantin’ me to go…”
And then he’s hitting it.
“-here, ma’am.”
Unlike the sudden surges of pleasure that were almost knocking you to the floor, Choso was just looking up at you so innocently as he pumps his lengthy digits towards the very back of your pussy. Striking splat! where your g-spot throbbed—before he’s pushing inside and inside to scrape damn near your cervix.
Fingers so long that you think he could reach that spongy layer if you really wanted him to-
“D-deeper, Cho…” Your mouth waters at the delicious zaps of pleasure running through your veins. Your head throws back as they only seem to increase with every passing second, and you whine. “M’so close—deeper.”
“Close?” He breathes out, as if in disbelief.
And you best believe that Choso was running his poor fingers ragged doing exactly what you’re asking - he’s scrubbin’ up every ounce of space down your walls, he’s leaving your g-spot feeling raw at the constant whacks, he’s sure the skin of his knuckles was reddening at the impacts but—but he doesn’t even fucking think to slow down as Choso fucks n’ fucks your pussy stupid.
He could feel himself going stupid, mouth latched ‘round your pulsating clit and moaning. “Please cum.” Babbling, “P-please cum…need to make my mistress feel good-”
“Shit, and I really do feel good-”
“Need to be a good boy and give her pleasure-”
“Already doing so much, baby-”
“Need to make her cum—” Tears spilling down the sides of his handsome face, he looks up at you with pouted lips. Quivering, “Permission to make you c-cum, mistress?”
You tug on his collar - this time, high enough that you can bend down and press a chaste peck on his forehead. “Permission granted, Cho.”
And it’s just then that Choso’s reeling his fingers properly back - all the way till those rotund ends - and pushing straight into the deepest depths of your pussy. Directly into spots you perhaps weren’t even sure you had—perhaps your cervix. It certainly felt that way.
Deep.
And suddenly you’re shattering all over the hybrid’s fingers n’ mouth - something that Choso realizes before even you yourself do. His nostrils flare at the sudden peak in your stewed cherry pheromones—like the trumpets denoting the opening of those pearly gates.
Suddenly your legs tremble open and you’re gushing your orgasm down his ready tongue.
Jaw ajar, he lets you riiiiiiide your waves of bliss through and through his mouth. His handsome features. Your hands being a permanent fixture in his hair now, “P-please…” Blabbering away as the dopamine renders you more loose than ever, “Feels so good, Choso—”
Those ears of his perk up, “Yeah?”
“Feels so good- hck!” Sparking all over with pleasure. “Shit- it might just be the b-best orgasm of my damn life.”
And it really was.
You weren’t just saying this to soothe his rut - those sudden jolts and sparks, the way that he’d prolong them so much by massaging your bundles of nerves…it was the best you’ve ever felt. Choso just keeps swervin’ and swervin’ his knobbly fingertips against that pulsing target of your g-spot, in sloppy tandem with the slurps of his mouth suckling away on your clit. Again and again.
Draaaaaagging out your euphoria until it seemed like it couldn’t go on any longer- then pumping a fresh few waves of electricity into you with the sudden hits at your g-spot. Again and again.
“Mmmm, I’ve been a good boy then.” He murmurs deep into your cunt. And it’s only once most of the haze clouding your mind has cleared up - by the time that your orgasm has diminished into nothing but a few tender jolts - that you’re finally registering the way Choso’s hips were still humpin’ away against your body.
The way that Choso crushed his large, sculptured frame to yours and rutted into you like a dog in heat- “Been- been such a good boy. Can this good boy get a…”
He bores his pleading eyes up at you.
Feverishly flushed.
“-treat then, ma’am?”
You’re riding out the last of your high on that very handsome face, and you gasp. “But of course, Cho.”
In practically no time, you’re finding yourself helping Choso Kamo stand up- yes, you were the one to help him stand up.
The powerful hybrid was just too pussydrunk on you to even stand straight—being readily moved in the direction of the bed. Pheromones heating up. Rut intensified. Choso’s clamoring onto the mattress on your command, letting himself fall backwards against the pillows and half-hide his face against their puffiness.
His dewy mahogany eyes peek at you as you shrug off your clothes and join him- stopping right between those long legs of his. “Wh-what are you going to do, mistress?”
“Give you a little payback, of course.” You’re winking. And without further ado—you’re pushing apart his slightly-jittery legs; almost miles long now that you were seeing them from this angle. He was flushed all the way up to his inner thighs, highlighting the spattering of freckles that he had upon that skin.
From here, you could see his rock-hard erection even better - sure, you’d been given a proper show earlier. But this?
This gave you the opportunity to admire eeeeeevery single detail up-close.
The sheer rose shade at the crown of his shaft, the way it graduated down to the prettiest pink on his hilt. No wonder he liked that collar so much, it looked so similar to the color of his…
The veins upon veins that made the most beautiful patterns down his cock - they curved and overlapped in a way that made your cunt throb. The way his dark curls spattered him all the way down to his swollen hilt—Choso was mostly well-groomed, though he didn’t seem to have had the sense of mind to trim these days. But you almost…liked it like that.
The way he was not only blessed with incredible length, but incredible girth, too—perhaps even bigger now that he was in rut? But you’d always imagined that Choso would be the type to have a massive cock anyway, it’s always the silent ones who do…
The hybrid watches - looking as though he wanted to tear his eyes away from a vision so lewd but couldn’t - as your pretty face looms closer n’ closer to his throbbing erection. Fuck, he might just be longer than your damn face…seeing it compared like this…he can’t help but let his tail wag ferociously.
“Now now, Cho.” Your stern voice breaks through, “Settle down now or I won’t be able to-”
“S-sorry!” He stops immediately.
And you grip the base of his red, thickened cock. “No interrupting me.” Hard.
“I understand…” Choso whines, body startin’ to arch off of the mattress - though he holds himself back for the most part given how he wasn’t sure how you’d react. Would you punish him? Would you like it?
Whatever his frenzied mind had been fearfully conjuring up, it’s all wiped blank by the feeling of you surging your head down and gulping up the first few inches of him. Happily.
First, Choso’s mouth drops.
Then, the sensation of your wet tongue on his cock hits him.
Finally, he’s planting his feet at the edge of the bed and bucking- gripping onto your scalp with his hands. Bucking. And bucking. And bucking—he cries out, “Oh f-fuuuuuck, ngh—” Just a few tears of overstimulation leaving the sides of his eyes, “Fuck- ngh, this is what it feels like?”
Of course, you certainly couldn’t respond due to your mouth being full - but that doesn’t stop you from looking up at him through your lashes and winking.
The thickness of his cock fills up your entire mouth, pulsating in a way that was incredible. The creamy layers of pre that topped his bulbous tip tasted almost…sweet? Almost like salted caramel - and you didn’t know whether that was you or the pheromones talking.
“Fuck-”
You’re just starting to give Choso a few gooooood, loooong bobs of your head—up and down. Up and down. Slobberin’ your entire mouth from the top of his mushroomy tip and about halfway down that incredible length.
But that’s around when the hand at your scalp grows almost searing.
And you’re looking up to find Choso shaking his head after only a mere few seconds of you giving him a blowjob- “P-please…any longer and m’gonna cum.” Which had just been too good for him.
You pull yourself off of his fared tip with a pwah! “Aaaaand?” Still kissing him down there.
“And I want to…ngh, save it.” He admits, eyes not meeting yours.
“Save it?” You’re cocking your head in confusion, “Save it for what, Choso?”
“Well…”
“Answer me, baby.”
“Yes, ma’am—” The dog hybrid looks up at you with a slightly pouty expression, “I wanted to save for when I f-fuck you…”
Your jaw drops.
There’s a slight silence in the room- though the sudden heated increase in pheromones does enough talking for the both of you. And you’re wasting no time before removing yourself completely from his cock—he ruts.
Before pushing those hips of his right back down.
Before shuffling up the king-sized mattress to straddle either side of his thoroughly sculptured hips, feeling the curves and divots of his muscles there.
Before perkin’ your hips juuuuust behind you and catching Choso’s globular tip in your entrance- slamming your cunt down as far as you could take him.
You’re sucking in a harsh breath as the first heated inch of him enters your cunt—shit, he really did feel as good as you’d imagined. “Fuck.”
The pointed top of his shaft probin’ inwards.
Zig-zagging veins massaging up against your soft walls.
The throbbing of his shaft creating a vicious drumbeat that you find your pounding heart synchronizing to- you’re throwing your head back and arching your hips to get more of him- and right now it seems like you were the one that was finding yourself utterly ruined on his body.
Your hands find themselves slitherin’ right up his toned body—right past those ripples and curves of his muscles. Ultimately resting on top of both his pecs, “Fuck, Cho.”
“Mistress…” He pants out- lips meeting yours in an open-mouthed kiss.
With a low snarl, you’re absolutely melting into his embrace. It’s barely anything of a kiss and more like Choso was bearing his canines and glide-glide-gliiiiding them dangerously down the front of your cracked maw. Just the slight softness of his actual lips peaking through and gluing against yours ravenously, “Choso-”
“Mistress.”
“Choso- you feel so good.” Before you know it, Choso rams his strong hips up - plunging his achingly hard cock - just the slightest few inches until he suddenly stops. But not because he’d bottomed-out. It’s as though he’d been completely and utterly ready to pound your silly cervix raw- but jerked himself to a stop out of nothing but pure will and the need to-
“G-get permission.” He mutters between trembling lips, words coming out as nothing but a few slurred syllables - each one melting into the last.
And as you’re blinking away the haze in your eyes, attempting to make sense of him, you ask. “Get permission? You want permission to- ngh, fuck me, Choso? You know you already have it…‘
He shakes his head. “Not…that…” Sounding as if he was on the very verge of ruination just from the way he found himself stuffed inside you—not moving a single inch. But still ruined.
The pheromones in the room heighten, and Choso’s tail swishes agitatedly.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s something far, far dirtier…” He admits, and despite his words there was the shyest blush upon his face. And you swear his cock starts to throb even harder at his utterance—going to the extent that it felt like Choso was damn near about to explode- “It’s where I- hngh, fuck, it’s not something that a hybrid like me deserved to even imagine about you, mistress.”
As though he couldn’t even stop himself - his hips were moving in the slightest ruts up and down now. Up and down. Up and down. Barely-there grinds that almost felt more lecherous than just fucking up into you.
His tail starts to wag once more as Choso starts rubbin’ his tip against the roof of your cunt. Forgoing those rational desires of his to not fuck you until he gained permission for…whatever it is that he was too afraid to admit. Those pinkish lips of his quiver as you’re starting to clench around him—“I-it’s nothing something I deserve…but fuck, how many times I’ve thought a-about it…”
“Then tell me.” You’re humming ruthlessly down at him. His eyes slightly widen at the commanding tone of your voice - surely, you must know that he could never deny you when you speak to him like that? “That’s an order from your master, baby—”
He shivers. “A-an order?”
“Tell me what it is that you’ve been thinking about for so long.”
Choso’s slick-wettened cock slips in just a few inches deeper, and he whimpers something inaudible.
“What was that?” You’re leaning down to hear him better.
His lips moving mere millimeters away from your own, “I-I’ve always thought about- ngh, almost ever since the first time I saw you- fuck, it was like th-this animal desire in me…” Big, bulbous tears collecting at the edge of his right eye, Choso finally jerks his hips up—“Permission to breed you, mistress?”
Oh—
That ‘yes, baby’ is keening out of you faster than you can register it leaving your hips.
And that’s all it takes for Choso to succeed in bottoming-out, that’s all it takes for Choso to dig his strawberry divot against the edge of your cervix, that’s all it takes for Choso to fully n’ properly start to fuck up into you like an absolute madman.
Arching his back against the mattress.
Higher with his hips, lower with his shoulders: he runs his pumping tip across every inch of the roof of your cunt—even deeper, and then stirs his fattened length around in search of that pretty g-spot he’d been troublin’ so much not too long ago. Pump after pump.
Probe after heavy prooooobe of his geysering orifice- you’re feeling your toes curl at the sensation of being so full with him. Warm and heavy inside you. “Permission granted-” You gasp out.
And though he’d already heard your affirmative answer from earlier, it makes Choso swell up just a liiiiittle thicker at his circumference. Snaggin’ against the sides of your elastic walls, he’s filling you up like nothing before, just so plump n’ puckering up at every nook…especially around the area of his base that seemed to be growing at an even faster rate than the rest of him…
But you have no time - nor ability - to count away at the feverish throbs and stretches of Choso’s cock right now. Right now, he’s runnin’ his tip against the side of your g-spot until that pretty inner lining of your walls bulge with his sheer size—
“Permission- oh.” You’re throwing your head back in sheer pleasure, seeing white burst behind your eyes. “P-permission…” Sounding as though a broken record-player, “And for how long have you wanted this permission, baby?”
“Too long.” Choso cries out. Hands trembling upon either side of your hips, “Been wanting this pretty pussy for w-waaaay too long- as far as I can remember…was just impossible when I was smelling her sweetness all the damn time.”
Your heart races, “And how long have you been wanting to breed me-”
“Always.”
And after a few more probes n’ a sudden clench—from your sopping wet walls, Choso whimpers and tucks his head into the crook of your neck - where you’d assumed that humans had their scent glands.
His heavy balls thwack! the globes of your ass cheeks when he drills his cock inwards, “I’ve n-never had a rut before…” He admits, “It just never felt like the right time. But this- fuck, primal part of me always wondered just how pretty you’d look all round and glowing a-and…pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” You breathe.
“Pregnant with my pups.” Choso babbles out. Those doe-like eyes of his kept on rolling to the back of his head every time he’s feeling himself being clenched juuuuust a little tighter than usual. Dark brows furrowing. Hands tightening. “Wondered just how much your- hah, pretty tits would grow even more.” Mouth lathering over your right tit, he suckles—as though expecting milk to come pouring out already. “Wondered just how sweet your milk would be, mmmm…”
“And what else?” You huff. But the hybrid’s just so dazed on your pussy and his rut and your pussy that it takes a firm tug on his collar before he’s back to his senses.
“Huh- oh—” Choso blinks his teary-clung eyes back open, peering around the thickly-scented room as though he’d just forgotten where he was already. “Wondered just how many people would stare at you as we w-walked down the street, me on your leash…”
“And why’s that?”
“Because just how many of them would think that it’s me—” Out-of-breath. Voice a couple octaves higher than usual - utterly gone. You didn’t have to feel the steadily-increasing sloppiness of his cock to know that Choso was losing himself - thwack! thwack! thwack! “Just how many of them would think that it’s your poor, shy puppyboy that fucked you all pregnant, mistress?”
“Shiiiiit—” Your legs were starting to tremble - and whether because of fatigue or something else entirely, you’re unsure. But Choso immediately snakes his fingers down just a little lower to cup either side of your ass, and he’s using his immense strength to support you as you start bouncing back down onto his merciless thrusts. “Keep going-”
His eyes grow wide, “P-permission to-”
“Keep going, Choso.”
And who was he to go against his mistress’s wishes? Especially when such wishes was something that he’d been wanting to do since the day he fucking met you—fuck, perhaps even sooner. It was always in that carnal part of him that he’d been trying to ignore ever since the first time he smelled your beautiful, addictive scent outside his bed at the clinic. Those curtains were useless - he already knew that you’d be the most beautiful thing he ever laid his eyes upon.
Like cherries, syrup, and sex.
And right now he was fucking into the most beatiful thing of all- your thighs press against that No. 1 tattoo on his v-line, and you’re keening.
Arching your back so that the roooough curvature of his cock could stir up your insides even more than he already was- and that was saying quite a lot already. That ridged pattern of his veins were bumpin’ up against the sides of your channel, your nerves, and making you clench around him even tighter—leaving the hybrid more and more honest with every single thrust. “I’m s-such a dirty hybrid…so perverted.” He admits, “I’d even wonder about trying to fuh-fuck you pregnant all over again every single day—”
“H-how do you mean?” You’re panting out.
“I’d wonder how many times it’d take to plant my seed inside- to fuck you so full that it finally- hngh, takes.” Eyes only partly-cracked open, “And then I’d wonder that it’d be best to fuck you every- single- day-”
“Yes-” You’re mewling out, your nails digging into the plushness of his pecs.
“I’d make sure my hybrid cum’s dripping down your legs every second of the day-”
“Yes.”
“I’d make sure when we’re walking—ngh, going on our walks, that every single hybrid in a five-mile distance is going to smell me on you…” Choso leans in as though sharing one of his deepest, darkest secrets, “-and in you.”
“Yes—”
“And thennnnn—” It’s here that an almost sleazy smirk graces his pretty lips, “I’d wonder about fucking you even after you were pregnant.”
Your jaw drops, and your hands fly to his collar.
“I’d wonder about fucking you u-until your womb remembered me and…” So caught up in his sinful words that you hadn’t even registered that the thickened base of his shaft was only growing thicker…and thicker, and even thicker—to the extent that now it was a round circumference nearly twice or thrice what it had normally been, and you hadn’t even seemed to notice the slamming slaps against the forefront of your cunt. Faster. Harder. His right hand dips down between your jittery legs to start teasin’ your clit with fresh tugs and rolls, “—we don’t stop until we have nine kids.”
Nine kids.
Nine kids?!
Choso Kamo had been so-ravenously dreaming about pumping you full of nine of his kids; creating a small army of hybrid half-breeds that would likely look just like him but with your open warmth and that beautiful smile of his. And why was it that you could imagine it so clearly?
“Nine kids…” Eleven repeating it a few times doesn’t do much to let the words fully sink in - who would have thought that the nervous, innocent Choso Kamo would be such a lewd character inside? Who would have thought that he’d be nodding along to your repetition.
Gingerly letting his eyes slip to the side of his pillows, “B-but I know that’s just a far-off- ngh, dream, mistress.” Much more of the usual Choso that you know, though he’s still fucking up into you as though it ached him very second that he wasn’t stuffing you all the way to the brim inside - Choso’s rounded, reddened tip plasters against the back of your pussy and you’re yowling. “That’s why I stole those panties, that’s why had to- ngh, satiate myself with just my hand…”
And that makes you slightly more alert- “My panties? Where are my panties, by the way?”
He shyly shrugs.
To which you’re narrowing your eyes in suspicion, “Choso…”
And the larger hybrid almost flinches- “Th-they’re under my pillows.”
Without a mere moment of hesitation, you’re diving your hand underneath one of those puffy pillows you’d picked out just for him during that first shopping trip you’d undertaken with him…and you find all those panties you’d lost. Half your drawer, to be precise.
Choso whimpers as you’re pulling a few strappy pieces of lace and gauze out—some of the sluttiest of your collection, and your fingers had scraped the rest of it that still remained down under. Honestly, how many had he collected without you realizing at first? How many had he fucking used—?
Those scraps of fabric were sticky and slightly cloying to each of your senses- and so what else could you think of doing? What better option for punishment was there to do but gather them up into a tight ball in your hand and push them between Choso’s pinkish, puffy lips- gagging him with your panties. Your panties that he’d used to jerk off.
A taste of his own medicine - or at least it was supposed to be. You just didn’t expect for Choso’s tail to start wagging even harder than ever.
Pervert puppyboy.
“So you wanted to breed me, huh?”
“N-not wanted…” He corrects you, hips surging up uncontrollably into your wetness. “Want.”
“So you want to breed me, huh? So you want to make all those dreams a reality?” Purring, and the man beneath you can only nod with his massive tear-filled eyes - just so pretty when he cried, hm? To stimulate him even further, you’re exerting your hips to outmatch his pace, rammin’ his bulbous cock into every crevice and geysering orifice that you’re able to realize exists—“Then you know that you still haven’t gotten my- ngh, permission for that, Choso, baby.”
Choso sputters out an exhale, “P-please, ma’am?” Muffled through your own panties. Rubbin’ his roughened thumb against your clit even further to sweeten the deal—“Do I have the permission to-”
“Yes-” And whatever hopeful moan was about to leave him, you’re cutting him off. “But only on one condition.”
“Please- what is it…?” He hisses, “Please-”
“But be warned, it’s a bit of a tough one-”
“I’ll do anything.”
And this was exactly where you wanted him. Exactly. You’re smiling down at the beautiful, utterly ruined boy beneath you—and pulling him in with a finger hooked underneath his pink collar - one that proudly had your name upon his pendant - to whisper into his flustered ears. “Then…bark like you want it.”
Choso’s eyes widen just a fraction. His cock trembles dangerously deep inside of you, and his nostrils flare as he exhales a large breath. Right before-
“R-ruff…” Before he’s muffling out the sweetest, most sultry fucking barks through the panties you’d gagged into his mouth- all because you’d asked. At the smell of your treacly cunt only growing even more aroused, Choso continues—“Ruff- arf—”
Your grin grows, “Ohoho? Louder.”
“Ruff-”
“Louder.”
“Ruff—woof.” He was just embarrassing himself, and it only made him even harder. Cock blushin’ almost as much as his cheeks were by this point- “Arf- arf, pleeeeese, ma’am.”
“Hmmm?”
Those dilated pupils of his cross, and Choso’s spitting out the gag of those gauzy - soiled with his own cum - fabrics to plead through trembling lips.
“P-please let me breed you, mistress.”
And what else more could you say but—“Of course, Cho.”
And in the next few sloppy thrusts, you’re feeling Choso empty out rope after loooooong heaving rope of cum inside you. It’s sheer volumes that you never even thought possible, sheer wads that were webbin’ up your tight insides and taking over every single ounce of space inside you - each with those creamy, glued-up wads of his seed.
Warm and wet.
Wild.
They’re splashin’ around inside of you and lacquering a thiiiiick few layers upon the channel of your cunt—over and over and over again. Choso doesn’t even need to try to make sure that every single spot is covered, because the sheer volume makes it impossible for a generous heap of his sap to puddle at your cervix, gettin’ hit by a torrential wave of his cockhead striking. Pumping deep inside.
Choso’s twitchy balls press up against your ass, just the slightest bit of your pussylips, and you’re shivering as you feel the orgasm that runs through him.
Collar dangling.
“Fuck…” Choso seethes through clenched canines, one of his hands coming up to press down upon your core. That cute front of yours where if he pressed juuuuuuust right- he could feel the vibrations of his shaft emptying out at your sponge-covered womb, “Fuck, m’gonna get at least one kid tonight , ma’am.”
Soon enough, you’re crashing into your own high, too.
And it zaps through your body faster than the last one - clearly having been so overstimulated that this one overtakes you more quickly, this one makes you see stars behind your eyelids, this one makes you shiver n’ shake on top of him.
Being properly fucked through your rapidfire waves of dopamine as he leans you even closer into his arms. As he nuzzles the side of your neck. As he hums out sounds of satisfaction at every euphoric peak he’s probin’ his massive cockhead into.
As Choso leans down and bites the side of your scent glands—you’re feeling something pop!
And you’re experiencing a sudden rush of warmth like another orgasm- like a hundred thousand other orgasms. It all courses through your overstimulated body one by one, at the same time, increasing in both length and intensity—it’s breaking you down to your very core—until you don’t even realize that you’re gasping out Choso’s name like a prayer.
And he’s worshipping yours in much the same fashion.
Basically ruining it with his lewd tone as he manages to slip that girthy knot of his inside - grinding n’ grinding the plumpness of his base until he’s fit-fit-fiiiiiiiiiitting in. Your cunt stretches like elastic around him, and it’s unbelievable to you that you’re able to fit so much of him inside like this.
You can feel him hot and throbbing deep inside you.
Preventing you from leaking even a single wad of his dewy white cum you’re milking.
“My mate…” Choso rasps out. You’re collapsed on top of him by now, and he runs one open palm down the curvature of your spine—then aaaaaall the way back up again to check on that freshly-made bonding mark on you - all bloodied and already healing through the special properties of a hybrid mate’s saliva - and then even further up to trace that collar of his. Lock broken. Your name always against his beating chest. Having you mewling at the sensation of his knot-
Currently, however, it was also your head against his beating chest.
You’re gripping onto his muscular body even further- and it almost makes you chuckle to feel that way just that makes Choso’s cock twitch inside of you. “No…” You state simply, “My mate.‘
“Anything you say, ma’am.”
.
.
.
Thereafter, it hadn’t been too long before Choso had roped you into a second round. Then a third. Then a fourth—where he’d been whimpering and shooting blanks, drool dripping down either side of his mouth as his cock slid into you in a thorough mating press.
And then a fifth. A sixth.
A seventh- honestly, after the seventh you’d stopped counting.
You didn’t trust Choso to keep count, either - honestly, you don’t think you would’ve trusted Choso to remember his own name.
Not this night or any of the hot summer nights that came after.
By the time the heat’s simmered down, and your lungs don’t feel clogged with the cloying sweetness of mingled pheromones, and you’re finally able to crack open your eyelids in this sultry sauna of a bedroom—you can barely move.
Body heavy.
Limbs aching.
Even the tiniest of twitches sending soreness shooting through your vessels.
You’re finding yourself tucked to Choso’s side underneath the covers- hand thrown around his muscular side, your chin hooked into the curvature of his spine. Who’d have thought that the big, bad hybrid would’ve been a small spoon?
That collar of yours was still ‘round his neck and showed no signs of being taken off soon. And you’re remembering just then that through most of his rut, the two of you had gotten up to scarf down food and clean yourselves when necessary. Though towards the feverish end of it, honestly you couldn’t remember anything other than wanting him to mark you with a bonding bite over and over and over again- so why were you notably wiped down and smelling of your favorite body wash?
Did Choso…wash you down even through his rut?
You knew the pheromones always hit the strongest towards the beginning and the end of one’s rut, did he really push through all that n’ tenderly tuck you in?
You’re feeling such a rush of affection for your puppyboy, and, sleepily, you press a line of kisses down the column of his throat- marked as well. In the heat of the moment, you’d somehow managed to puncture Choso’s scent glands with your own human canines.
He was yours, and you were his.
Choso hums groggily and snuggles even further backwards against you. Frankly, you think you could cuddle up against him and spend another day here—another week, another month.
Perhaps even the rest of your life.
But if only that incessant bzz-bzzing would stop.
With a pained groan, you’re managing to sit up and blink your eyes somewhere behind you - where the noise seemed to be pulsing from. Choso whines in disappointment and attempts to pull you back down with his warm hands- and oh, how it hurt you to deny those puppydog eyes.
“I’ll be cuddling you soon, spoiled baby.” You tut down at him. Finally locating the source of the noise, you’re reaching your sore hand out and grabbing onto your glaring phone.
Its screen assaults you with light immediately.
And then with a phone call.
Dr. Ieri Shoko.
Wincing, you’re answering the call. “Hello?”
“Woof- you sound rough.” Her cool tone wavers just the slightest in amusement, “Rough week?”
“Rough day.” You’re joking, “Rough rut.”
And there’s a slight pause on the other end of the line, “Right, but…you do realize it’s been a week, right?”
“What?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
Almost immediately, you’re ripping your ear away from the phone and checking the date- fuck, Shoko hadn’t been messing with you. It really was a week since that last time you’d called her—you spent an entire week together in bed with him? And you hadn’t even realized?
Jaw dropping as so many things hit you at once, “My job-”
“Has already been notified.” And she sounded to be the exact opposite of you, collected and pausing for what you assumed to be sips of her morning coffee. “After our last call, I signed you up for the Hybrid Rut Registry- I do this for everyone that shelters, but didn’t consider it for Choso. It lets your workplace and loved ones know if and when your hybrid is in rut—and for your relationship I entered it as you’d be needed for the duration of the rut.”
Your heart races at her (very correct) assumption.
“You’re welcome.” She hums, “Also double-check on that to make sure that everything’s in order there- and also congratulations-”
Your bitten mark throbbed.
“-I expect to see you both at the clinic for a check-up today.” From your side, Choso wraps his muscular arms around you with a whine for you to come back. “But that’s not actually what I was calling you about- I was actually checking on your availability.”
“My availability?”
“Yes, for the program.” She replies simply.
“The program? Th-the companionship program?” You breathe, “Wait- I can help another hybrid?”
And she merely hums in satisfaction, “Mhm, I’ve got another hybrid that needs your help.” And whatever Choso’s honed senses let him hear or feel—he’s sitting up on the bed and pressing his face to the crook of your neck. “Another dog hybrid- a year older than Choso, slightly smaller, golden retriever variety, same intelligent and mild demeanor.”
“Yes?” You breathe. Heart pounding already.
“His name is Ino Takuma.”
A/N. WALK ‘EM LIKE A DOG, SIS, WALK ‘EM LIKE A DOOOOOOOOOG-
synopsis. getting two sex-addicted hot demon bitches as your roommates wasn't exactly part of the contract, but they might just be the second best part of it. oh. and the best part? they are utterly, uncontrollably obsessed with you. wc. 5.3k
tags. top master! reader, bottom succubi! gojo & geto. reader has a cock. hardcore dom/sub. mean dom! reader, masochistic! gojo. threesome, womb tattoos, breeding kink, creampie(s), rimming, face-sitting, rough anal sex, multiple orgasms, riding, blowjob, male squirting, spanking, dacryphilia, somnophilia (slight dub-con), slut-shaming, degradation, praise kink, voyeurism, jealousy, felching, yandere! gojo undertones, aphrodisiacs, both of them are whiny, needy and hungry for your cock.
a/n. this might just be the filthiest thing i've ever written. do enjoy <3
In hindsight, you really, really should have known that your two roommates were promiscuous, sex-obsessed freaks before moving in with them. No, scratch that. You should have long known that they weren’t even entirely. . . human.
Not that they were exactly being subtle with it. Once, you had walked in on Satoru naked in the middle of ‘certain peculiar activities’ with his door half-open, wings, tail and dark pink womb tattoo on full display, stretching across the expanse of his lower abdomen in obscene heart-shaped swirls. You were taken aback at first, sure, but you weren’t mean with it, even offering to keep his identity a secret—and he had taken your politeness for something more.
Now, he didn’t even bother to hide it anymore. In point of fact, he flaunted it.
Satoru would curl his tail around your thigh playfully whenever he would walk past you in the house, stretching his horned fuchsia wings while shooting you a sultry over-the-shoulder glance whenever you were behind him, even purposefully wearing shirts a size too small around you so that the fabric would ride above his waist whenever he had to ‘stretch’ or reach for something—perfectly showing off his pretty womb tattoo.
It drove you insane with desire. And if that wasn’t bad enough for you, Satoru’s best friend, who also happened to be a succubus and your other roommate—Suguru, decided that the white-haired succubus accidentally outing himself was his cue to start courting you.
You didn’t even know that succubi courted. You supposed there was always a first for everything.
Suguru was far from being openly vulgar like Satoru was, but just as indicative of his wants. And that happened to be you. With long black hair, dark wings and a sharp, swift tail of the same colour, he was eerily gorgeous. He took his sweet time courting you, laying blooming red peonies all over your bed that worked as aphrodisiacs, spending his weekends making you wine-flavoured chocolates in the shape of hearts, hoping to get you drunk and all to himself. You would also constantly find missing pieces of clothing from the underwear section of your wardrobe, the distinctive mouth-watering scent of an aroused succubus left behind in their stead.
Satoru and Suguru were beautiful in a way that most things were—poisonous and addictive. You had told yourself that you wouldn’t get swayed by their honeyed façade and fall into their trap. You had told yourself, but. . .
The last thing you expected to wake up to was a wet, searing mouth on your hard cock.
You groaned, shuddering as mind-numbing pleasure wracked through your body in overwhelming waves, reaching out blindly to hold onto something before it consumed you—fingers digging into the sheets so hard you heard it rip. You couldn’t explain why or how it felt so good, the pleasure almost other-worldly—the sensation of an incredibly soft tongue licking up your length, dragging a trail of heat and drool on sensitive skin. The air smelt sweet, like roses and cherries, the sharp sting of arousal zipping up your spine as you took a deep whiff.
“D-does it feel good, master?” a voice panted, whined, “am I doing good for you?”
You looked down to find two teary, dilated blue eyes staring up at you, and two you knew very well. “Satoru,” you managed, fighting down a shiver as his hot breaths smothered your shaft with unbearable warmth. Everything felt fuzzy and smelt too sweet, like someone had sprayed intoxicating perfume in your bedroom a thousand times over. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He gripped your cock tighter with a pout, like he was worried that you would take away his favourite toy. “I just… I just thought I could make you f-feel better. Some de-stressing after a hard day, y’know?” He sighed, rubbing his cheek against your spit-soaked length, raised tail quivering behind him, shyly curling forward to show off the heart-shaped end of it.
You couldn’t help but look. Satoru was dressed in a satin white shrug shirt that fully exposed his plump chest while allowing his wings to stretch out prettily, and you followed the tempting curves of his toned torso down to where his womb tattoo was pulsing and glowing red, as though showing off that he was eager to be bred. He was wearing the sluttiest, tiniest pair of lingerie underwear that barely covered his ass, the cute bulge of his cock visible from the front, his weeping cockhead poking out, strapped to his stomach. His outfit gave you the perfect glimpse of his soft milky thighs, before the rest was obscured by cream lace stockings that hugged his legs perfectly, leaving you wanting more.
Sweet Lord. If this wasn’t heaven, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what heaven would be like.
The succubus trembled under your scrutinizing, squeezing his thighs together as though he wanted to hide the evidence of his arousal. “A-are you done looking?” he mumbled, glancing at you through his lashes. “Can I continue? Please, I’ve been so good and you know it.” You could’ve sworn you saw his pupils dilate even more when his gaze returned to your erect cock, a line of drool running down his chin as his throat bobbed, as though he were imagining what it would feel like to swallow your cum.
“Hold on,” you breathed, carding your hand through his soft hair to gently stop him from getting closer to your crotch. “Does Suguru know about this?”
Satoru’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, his pout fading into something more. . . wary. “No,” he said, quietly. “He doesn’t.”
“I’d thought so. Suguru wouldn’t—”
“Stop talking about Suguru,” he whined, like he was actually hurt over this. “Suguru’s not about to suck your cock.”
You frowned. And what gave him the right to sneak into your room and do blasphemous things to your body while you were sleeping, then? You tightened your grip on his hair, just enough to make him let out a low, pitiful whimper. “And you’re going to be the one to do it, then, Satoru?”
His eyes widened like a guilty child.
“I’m impressed,” you scorned, “You actually think you deserve it.”
Satoru bit his lip, as though he was turned on by your sudden change in behaviour. “I… Master, please. I-I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been asking for it for ages, I just couldn’t wait anymore—I needed you so bad. Please let me make it up to you. Please, please,” he stammered, hands grasping your knees and thighs in almost desperation while looking up at you with a forlorn expression.
You looked at him, steering your expression into something like a leer.
“You want to make it up to me? Is that so?” You pretended to think, scratching your nails lightly against his scalp, and he moaned softly, leaning into your touch. “Fine. Get on the bed.”
The succubus clambered onto the bed clumsily, settling on all fours as he looked at you over his shoulder with a deep flush, tail quivering with arousal. “L-like this?”
“Yeah, that’s perfect,” you muttered, hands coming to rest on each of his asscheeks, kneading the flesh softly. Satoru whined, back pressing into an arch as he pushed his rump towards you, eager to please. “So, tell me, Satoru. I’m curious. What makes. . . a good slut?”
“S-someone who listens to orders,” he replied, obediently.
“That’s correct.” You whistled, hooking two fingers over the waistband of his underwear, slowly sliding it down to his knees until you completely exposed his leaking cock and hole, the latter clenching and dripping with… slick, like a pussy would. You went back to playing with his ass, ignoring it for the time being. “And does a good slut ever talk back to their master?”
“No,” he whimpered.
“What about,” you began, stroking his sensitive inner thighs, “taking what they want without permission?”
“No,” he repeated, biting back a whine as a slow sense of dread filled him. “That’s what… that’s what n-naughty sluts do.” The words sounded strangely obscene in his mouth, and he flushed, ears turning red.
“Very good,” you praised. “Last question, Satoru. You’ve answered every question perfectly so far—this one will be easy.” You flashed him a vicious smile, taking great pleasure in his ordeal. “Do you think naughty sluts deserve to be punished?”
The succubus shivered in both fear and anticipation, swallowing harshly. “Y-yes,” he whispered. “They do.”
Satoru didn’t even have time to beg for mercy because your hand fell hard on his ass, the force of it sending a loud smack echoing across the room, making him jerk forward with a pleasured cry.
The pain was electric, and so was the pleasure, a white-hot burn curling in his lower stomach as his cock gave a violent lurch—Satoru doesn’t think he has ever felt pleasure this good before in all his years of being a sex demon. You were a hard hitter too. The skin on his ass stung pleasantly, and he moaned out loud at the thought of you slapping his ass again and again until your handprint was burnt into his flesh, wanting more already.
“You really are a slut,” you whispered, almost in awe.
“Please,” he whined. He would take anything you were going to give him—praise or punishment. He was yours.
You gently massaged the bruised area on his ass, leaning down to give it a tender kiss. “Turn around for me, baby.” You opted for a softer tone, trying to coax him into letting you see his face after the harsh treatment. You couldn’t believe you ever thought that he was the danger here. Things were turning out in the most perfect way, you would believe it was a dream if not for how solid Satoru felt under your touch.
Satoru parted his lips, as though he wanted to argue—but quickly remembered your words. The pain was good, incredibly good, but it was also fleeting. If this was his first and last chance with you, then he would make the pleasure last.
He flipped over on his back, removing his underwear and quietly spreading his shaky legs for you. His cock gave a weak twitch as your gaze swept across his body with interest, letting a low whine.
“Good boy, Satoru,” you muttered, eyes zeroing in on the heart-shaped swirls of his pulsing womb tattoo. Admittedly, you had looked it up on the internet and found out all sorts of things about succubi, terms that ranged from ‘breeding’ and ‘fertility’ to ‘cum-addiction’, and you couldn’t wait to experiment them on him. “Gonna open you up now.”
You rubbed your fingers against his soft and wet entrance, slathering them in his slick, before starting to push two in, just to be mean. The succubus was already panting, mindlessly arching his back and pushing against your fingers. “Hah… Master… please, more…”
“More what? Tell me what you want, Satoru.”
Satoru let out a lewd cry as you rubbed at his sensitive walls, hips jerking. “P-Please!” he squeaked. “Want your cum… inside my womb.”
You could feel a sadistic smile pulling at your lips. So this was his true objective. To be bred like a cockslut—no, an animal. An animal bound by divine instruction to reproduce again and again and again, brainlessly offering up its holes to be filled with semen until its belly swells with the early stages of pregnancy. Perhaps the rumours about succubi on the internet were true, after all.
You weren’t going to give him what he wanted so easily, though. You weren’t that nice—he hasn’t earned it yet.
“Greedy,” you settled for a simple comment, leer morphing into something more innocent. You made sure to crook your fingers at a certain angle while pumping them in and out of his drooling hole, searching for the spot that made his toes curl and back arch, a filthy wail forcing his lips to part. “You sure you can handle that, baby?”
His womb tattoo glowed brighter, scorching hot underneath your touch. Satoru looked fucked out already and the night was still young, lidded eyes unfocused and glassy while he continued to grind down against your fingers, as though searching for something wider, thicker, deeper.
“Slut,” you snarled, and the word was barely fitting for how the succubus was acting. You pulled your fingers out, the emptiness making him ache. He gave a loud whine, his hips giving a desperate buck into the empty air, neglected cock red and hard, smearing pre-cum all over his womb tattoo.
“‘m your good slut,” he babbled, slurred for how drunk and stupid he sounded. You were sure anyone standing outside your bedroom would hear him with how loud he was being.
His mouth felt empty, you decided. A little too empty. You hooked a thumb into the stretchy side of his mouth before rubbing your fingers on his bottom lip, and he gave a soft keen, parting his lips for you to slide them inside, before lightly sucking on them—tasting his own juices.
“If you keep this up,” you warned, “Suguru will hear. You don’t want him hearing me making you scream, do you, Satoru? Or are you more of a pervert than I thought?”
“No,” he said, muffled by your fingers stuffing his mouth full, tears dribbling down his cheeks.
“Good sluts don’t talk with their mouth full,” you reminded him, gently brushing away his tears.
He shook his head quickly, whining. Satoru didn’t like to share, and you knew that. You were his bond, his human. You didn’t need another succubus. Right?
You bit down a smile at his blatant jealousy, pretending not to notice the presence right outside your room, the rustle of fabric unmistakable—barely covered by Satoru’s loud whimpers. It was a little too early to reveal it, with how both of them were enjoying themselves. You would indulge them a little longer.
You coated your fingers with his spit generously before pulling them out, a string of drool connecting the two, before reaching down and unceremoniously plugging them back into his needy hole. Satoru yelped, trying to snap his thighs shut at the sudden intrusion, and you took the opportunity to guide them to wrap around your waist. He flushed, stammering out an apology, but you wouldn’t miss this chance to tease him.
“Look at you, Satoru.” You continued to scissor him, occasionally pulling out to slather your cock with his sweet-smelling slick. “I haven’t even put it in yet, and here you are, drooling like we’ve been at it all night. Messy cockslut.”
“Your cockslut,” he whimpered, and it sharpened into a keen when you slowly drove forward to dip the head of your cock in his hole. It clenched around you greedily, and it felt incredible even with only the tip in, soft and wet and hungry, warmth oozing into you, making you burn with desire. What was even more incredible was the fact that Satoru was crying, tears spilling over red, flushed cheeks as he struggled to stay still for you, wanting to please, wanting forgiveness. “Hnngh… master…”
He was right. Satoru was your cockslut.
You leaned down to caress his wet cheek, the action only causing your cock to nudge deeper inside, the warm tightness nearly sending you into overdrive—making you moan. You had never been inside a hole this heavenly before. The snug stretch around your girth was insane, and if that wasn’t enough, his hole kept on fluttering and clenching around you, making delicious sensations bleed into you.
So the myths were true, after all—succubi were demons crafted for the sake of providing pleasure.
Your vision was growing hazy with lust, the heat in your belly growing. The pleasure was almost too much—but you held on. You would drain him before he drained you.
Grabbing him by the thick of his hips, you buried yourself to the hilt in one go, and Satoru let out a wrecked cry, fingers bunching up the sheets at the sudden stimulation. His womb tattoo sizzled and pulsed obscenely, and you reached down to gently press your palm against it, making him whimper loudly.
You didn’t know if you would be able to hold it in for much longer—with how the poor thing was squirming on your cock, sweet slick coating your cock with every thrust in and drive out, the carnal smell of it all making your appetite grow tenfold, making you want to strip him of all dignity and devour.
“Satoru,” you murmured, thrusting forward, and he answered with a keening wail of your name. “It seems like… we have a rather eager spectator. Should we invite him inside?”
“Wh-what…” Satoru said dumbly, whines interrupting his words as his eyes struggled to focus. “Spectator…?”
“Yeah.” You grinned as he realised who you were talking about, stiffening and shaking his head with a cry. He wanted to have you all to himself for a little longer… you haven’t even cum inside him yet. This wasn’t fair. “Let’s see if he’s just as much of a cock-hungry slut as you are, mm?”
You turned your head to the door. “Suguru. Come in.”
The door hesitantly creaked open, and Suguru stepped inside. Immediately, the sweetness of aroused succubi intensified in the room, a clash between Satoru’s sugary scent and Suguru’s honeyed one making you dizzy with want.
“Master,” Suguru swallowed, a red flush on his cheeks. He was dressed in a revealing dark purple night-robe, a ravishing complement to the long, black hair that cascaded down his shoulders. He looked at the two of you calmly, but you didn’t fail to notice the shine between his thighs, giving away how bothered he really was. “How long have you known?”
“Quite a while. Get on the bed and prepare yourself,” you ordered, turning back to the other succubus who was currently grinding himself senseless on your cock, little whines and pleas plucked out with each desperate roll of his hips. “I’ll deal with you after I’m done with Satoru.”
Suguru listened obediently, laying down on the bed on his back, night robe gracefully falling open to reveal his purple womb tattoo, already throbbing and glowing with heat and need. He reached down between his parted thighs, rubbing and pleasuring his hole while watching the two of you, soaking the mattress with how much slick he was producing.
You turned back to Satoru, the sight of his red, crying face sending a jolt of heat straight into your abdomen. “What?” You grinned, gripping his waist and starting to thrust into his tight heat again. “I did warn you.”
“S-so mean,” he sobbed, arching his back at the pleasure. He was whimpering again, warm walls hugging your length firmly every time you drove in, and you could tell he was getting close again, had been close before you had so cruelly stopped to indulge someone else. Satoru turned his head to look at the other succubus, their simultaneous pants and whines serving to make each other even more aroused, Satoru’s slick drenching your cock while Suguru’s messily dribbled all over his hand, obscene squelching noises like heavenly music to your ears.
“Gonna cum,” you announced, and both of them answered you with needy, high-pitched whines, Suguru fingering himself to your thrusts while Satoru laid there, moaning and sobbing, reduced to nothing but a pliable body made to take and take and take.
The latter blinked up at you with glossy eyes, tears dotting on his lashes and crying out lewdly while you continued to pound into him like a rabid animal. Satoru loved it, how rough and careless you were treating him, your gentle hands telling a different story as they caressed his face, the contrast of pain and pleasure making him shiver. No one had been able to satisfy him like this before. You were perfect for him.
“Please… your cum…” he pleaded, laying a hand on his pulsating womb tattoo, begging for you to fulfil his only purpose in life—to be filled and bred like the dumb slut he was. “I w-want it inside…”
You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, his warm hole sucking you deeper in with every flutter, every clench, showering you in waves of stimulation to the point where it teetered between pleasure and pain. Just when stars began to float across your vision in hazy swirls, a sign that you were close to orgasm, you pulled out hastily, ignoring Satoru’s desperate, keening sob, yanking Suguru towards you by the hips before roughly plunging your cock into his needy hole.
The startled moan that you pulled out from the other succubus was enough to drive you to the peak of your arousal, and you thrust a few more times before spilling into warm wetness with a loud, guttural groan.
When you came to be, there were two kinds of noises rebounding in the room—Satoru’s cries and Suguru’s whines.
“Master!” Satoru sobbed, bucking his hips into empty air as tears messily dripped down his face.
“M-master,” Suguru whimpered, drooling and panting, stuffed so full of cum and cock he could barely speak.
You moaned as you drew out from Suguru’s heat, watching as cum dribbled out from his puffy hole and onto the soaked mattress—and he let out a soft, needy whine, plugging two fingers inside himself to stop anything more from leaking out, as though to replace the fullness that he had felt before. You watched as he lay there shivering weakly, glowing womb tattoo tainted with streaks of white, and you realised that he had come just from you releasing inside him.
You swallowed, feeling your cock fill out again. Suguru really was a good slut. Perfect, even.
“Master…!” Satoru cried out again, gaze lingering on you and Suguru with an expression that could only be described as heartbroken, and you would feel sorry for him, if not for you catching sight of the softening cock resting against his heaving abdomen. The perverted thing had orgasmed from watching you cum inside someone else. If that wasn’t a sight.
“I never promised you anything, Satoru.” You looked down at the mess you had created, smiling innocently. “Plus, Suguru’s a far better slut than you are, don’t you think? After all, he waited patiently for his turn to be bred, unlike you.” You slumped down onto the bed with a heavy sigh, turning to Suguru and patting your lap. “Sit on my cock, baby.”
Suguru rubbed at his eyes, compliantly trudging over and straddling your waist, the length of your cock rubbing lewdly between his cheeks. He bit his lip, raising his hips until the tip of it nudged against his sore hole, the growing stretch more pleasurable than anything. Your cum turned out to be the perfect lubricant, and the intrusion was met with little resistance, allowing him to slowly sink down with a hungry whine.
“F-feels so goood,” he slurred, his eyes rolling back as you bottomed out, making the both of you moan. He mindlessly rubbed at his stomach, right above his womb, where you had gifted him a baby.
“See?” You looked at Satoru lazily, the poor thing watching in a mixture of arousal and frustration. “Suguru’s been so good for me. What have you done?”
Satoru wanted to cry again at your demeaning tone. This was too much. You were being so mean to him, when he was trying his best to atone for his wrongdoings! He didn’t deserve this treatment, not one bit. If Suguru gets a baby, then he should get one, too.
“I’m s-sorry,” he snivelled weakly. “Please, master… I promise I won’t ever misbehave again. I’ll be a good slut… I’ll do anything you want.”
You smiled. “Anything I want?”
He nodded, desperate.
“Sit on my face and I’ll think about it.”
Satoru wanted to protest, yank Suguru off your cock and ride it himself until you spurted heavy into his womb, showing you that he could please you just as much as the other succubus did, maybe even more. You were his, and naturally, your pleasure belonged to him as well. Suguru might be his best friend, but that didn’t mean Satoru liked to share his toys with him. But. . . if this was his last shot at gaining your forgiveness, then he would do whatever it takes to please you, even if it meant suppressing his needs for the time being.
He scrambled over to where you were lying, carefully placing one knee on each side of your face, trembling with effort as he slowly lowered himself onto your face. He let out a soft, whiny keen as his position pressed his hole directly against your parted lips, and he struggled not to rut against your face—holding himself back from chasing after the addictive pleasure.
You gently lifted him by the hips to breathe, before pressing a light kiss to the twitching hole. Licking around Satoru’s swollen rim in an attempt to loosen him up, you rolled your hips up into the welcoming warmth of the other succubus, jolting out an erotic moan.
“You can start riding me, Suguru,” you muttered, closing your eyes and letting out a drawn-out moan as he gave a filthy clench around your length at the mention of his name. “Don’t hold back.”
“Yes, master,” Suguru whined, rolling his hips against yours in smooth, circular motions, and you could feel the slick leaking out from his hole, smothering your length with the abundance of it, sweet and sleek and thick. The succubus rode you like he was made to do it, his cock slapping against his womb tattoo messily with every bounce, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure—letting out a stream of whimpers and pleas while his hole fluttered around you tirelessly, trying to get you to cum inside him a second time.
You returned to your task at hand—giving a broad lick over Satoru’s dripping hole to gather some of his slick on your tongue, making him sob out a whine. It was sweet and intoxicating, addictive flavour melting in your mouth like sugar, and you couldn’t get enough—shoving your entire tongue into him before eating him out in earnest.
And sweet lord, did he taste good. He was squeezing around you deliciously, releasing so much slick that it dripped all over your chin and down the column of your throat, making a mess. It drove you crazy. Before you knew it, you were making animalistic noises against his swollen entrance as you made love to it with your tongue, the vibrations making him croon with pleasure. And by now, you were sure that succubi slick had aphrodisiac effects, because with every mouthful that you swallowed, you found it harder and harder to control yourself, wanting to just give in to your arousal and take.
“Please,” Satoru was sobbing loudly, feeling wet and loose and dirty, thighs trembling with little restraint as you lifted him up and down your tongue with ease, reaching so deep one would think you were trying to plunder his soul. “Gonna… gonna cum already…”
“M-me too,” Suguru chimed in with a moan, hips growing wearier with every lift, his impending orgasm making him weak, the fullness of cock giving him the illusion of heaviness, and he held his belly as though he were pregnant already.
You continued to pleasure the both of them the best you could, tongue curling inside Satoru with precision to press against his sweet spot until he was shaking and whimpering with overstimulation—while rolling your hips up to meet Suguru’s, feeling him needily clench around you every time you rammed up just right.
You could feel yourself getting closer as well, the noises that your two obscene lovers were making serving to turn you on even more. Combined with the sinful pressure of Satoru’s sopping hole clenching around your tongue and the searing tightness of Suguru jumping on your cock, this was practically heaven.
Reaching over to grip Suguru’s hips, you thrust up repeatedly into his tight warmth, leaving the other to ride your tongue on his own. You groaned your pleasure into Satoru’s hole, and the succubus answered with a keening cry of “Master!”, grinding down against your face with wild abandon. Both of their womb tattoos were glowing brighter than ever, screaming at you to breed them, take them, devour them—and you did just that.
You rammed your hips up with a muffled shout, gripping Suguru’s waist so tightly you were sure it would leave dark bruises for days to come—unloading everything into his womb for the second time tonight—your seed, your love, your legacy. Suguru cried out loudly at the feeling of your cum filling him up, shuddering as his cock squirted all over the three of you—his stomach, your chest, Satoru’s back—while Satoru clenched around your tongue so tightly as his orgasm crashed over him like a hurricane, cumming all over your face and the mattress with a hoarse scream.
You gasped for breath the moment Satoru slid off your face and collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily, black spots swirling heavily in your vision—the aftermath of the most intense orgasm you’ve had in your entire life. Succubi—no, your succubi really were something.
Suguru was too tired to even protest as your softening cock slid out from his sheath, dragging out a trail of slick and cum. Yawning, he shifted to lay on the bed on his stomach, mumbling “Thank you, master,” before his eyes drooped shut in exhaustion. You watched him fondly, reaching out to card a hand through his silky hair, before a soft, almost petulant whine caught your attention.
Satoru was glaring at the other succubus with jealousy. Sure, he had gotten a mind-blowing orgasm out of it, but he wanted you filling him up until he felt bloated with your cum, wanted to be bred.
You let out an amused laugh. “You want my cum that bad?”
He nodded his head frantically.
“Well, then…” You turned to where Suguru had fallen asleep, cum trickling out of his asshole and sliding down his perineum steadily. You guess it would be somewhat of a waste to just leave him be. “Since Suguru took your share for the night. . . there you go. Have a taste.”
Satoru’s face was slightly pale when you turned back to look at him, a sick grin stretching at your lips. He didn’t question you, however, quietly crawling over until he was kneeling between Suguru’s legs. His heart was pounding, your words earlier that night replaying in his head again and again like mantra—a good slut listens to orders.
Making eye contact with you, he poked his tongue out, slowly leaning down before giving the excess cum a tentative lick. . . and swallowed.
You were sure those were hearts exploding in his eyes.
synopsis. when toji, the omega outcast of the zenin clan, is given to you, the leader of a rival clan, you consummate with him in a public mating ritual, showing the elders who exiled him just how perfectly breedable of an omega they had let go. wc. 4.0k
tags. top alpha! reader, bottom omega! toji. reader has a cock, toji has a pussy. public ritualistic mating, exhibitionism, breeding, knotting, rough vaginal sex, tit-fondling, dumbification, creampie, fingering, mating bites, huge cock, degradation & praise. talk of pregnancy and lactation. mentions of past abuse, degradation (not the sexy kind), prejudice against omegas. reader starts off sweet and ends up being a little mean. made up ritual & clan traditions.
a/n. the number of times i’ve rewritten this is astronomical. i hope you enjoy!
Toji knelt before the Moon on the steps of the sacred temple, waiting. Time and gravity pressed tender bruises into the bend of his knees, and fresh ache flowed into the soles of his feet. Tonight, he knew, would be the longest of nights.
There was no man worthy of such worship, he bitterly thought. And yet there he was, presented like a spoil of war to the leader of another clan, his hands bound together and pressed to the small of his back while his former clanmates howled throughout the night like unruly beasts.
But Toji wasn’t a spoil of war, was he? In fact, he was the opposite—a jest disguised as a gift to humiliate, to embarrass the recipent. An omega with the bulk of an alpha. How lowly.
He was certain that the alpha coming to the temple tonight to receive his gift would think the same. But regardless, he would own Toji—body and soul. He would sink his teeth into the glands of his neck and claim him as a slave, or he would ravage him for one night, muzzled and bound, before tossing him aside.
Toji didn’t want to think. Lately, thinking had done him no good. Thinking of the inevitable only served to paralyze him, made his knees buckle, made his lungs seize and choke on heavy breath, made his will weak and heart unsteady.
He squeezed his eyes shut, seeking solace from the fairness of the night and the Moon herself.
The drums had started a while ago.
Or—that was what it sounded like—the staff and torch of every man and warrior hammering against the softness of the earth, driving up sand and dust, what started as a cacophony of sounds gradually reconstructing into fire and rhythm and heartbeat.
They were calling for someone. Yearning for their echoing cry.
And the day it came, it might as well cue the apocalypse. It would be the end of Toji.
Except…
You were nothing like he had imagined.
“Omega,” a soft croon travelled from within the temple. Quiet, yet steady—low. Demanding his attention, his answering warble.
Toji resisted the urge to raise his head and answer, despite the sudden, terrifying need to bare his neck and whimper, to submit to the faceless alpha before him.
Toji had expected to be taken by force by a hand clamped onto his sensitive nape, scruffing him like all filthy omegas deserved to be held, dragged up the stairs against his will and thrown into the temple.
Not the gentle guidance of a curled finger lifting his chin… to meet the most brilliant pair of golden eyes he had ever seen.
“I was calling for you,” you murmured. Soft. Forgiving. So unlike every alpha he’d ever seen. “Why haven’t you answered my call, omega?”
Toji couldn’t breathe.
A mocking sneer came from behind, a full body shudder immediately surging its way into his bones, halting the sense of comfort that your unexpected… mercy? kindness? provided him.
“I see you’re examining our gift to you, Chief.”
You only smiled kindly.
“How kind of you to bring me a gift, Naobito.” You paused, gazing down at Toji, before resting a hand on his cheek, watching as he couldn’t help but nuzzle into the cup of your palm, clearly starved for gentle touch.
“Well? How do you like it, Chief?”
“He’s certainly… extravagant.”
Toji couldn’t keep the scowl off his face even if he tried—he could tell you were lying. There was nothing extravagant about him, with his scarred skin and thick bulk that made him unseemly of an omega, the picture of crass and shame.
You tilted your head in confusion at the sudden sour dip in his sweet scent, the strange stillness in his body language. “What’s wrong? Did you not like the term I used, omega?” You had meant it with every fibre of your being. The omega was beautiful. Extravagant, like you said—a jewel blessed by the moon.
Toji frowned harder, keeping his mouth shut despite his displeasure. He had learned to do so the hard way for far too many times—the scar slashing across his face was solid proof of that. There wasn’t any room for an omega to butt in when any alpha was speaking—much less the pack alpha himself.
“Extravagant is one way to word it,” Naobito sniggered, “though I’d suggest we use the term low-bred.”
Toji was indifferent at this point, used to having nasty insults hurled at him to berate him for the impropriety of his body, but what took him by surprise was how tense you had gotten from one single word of the other alpha, his instincts immediately sending out warning signals to soothe and pacify, not in fear of your anger but in distinct worry for your well-being.
“Low-bred,” you repeated, “you say?”
“Yes,” the old pack alpha affirmed. “Low-bred is right. Only a low-bred omega would ever dare to betray the fate the Moon goddess has ordained for him and turn himself into the beast that he truly is.”
“And pray tell, has the Moon goddess herself granted you the authority to define a creature of her creation with such an undignified term?”
Naobito raised his eyebrows, undaunted by your sharp tongue—years of experience had given him the composure of an old fox.
His lips stretched into a smile, revealing a pair of grotesque yellow fangs. “The Chief has peculiar tastes.”
“The Chief,” you smiled contemptuously, “worships the Moon goddess with respect, as does the rest of our clan, unlike certain dissemblers.”
Naobito growled.
Faith and religion were sensitive waters to tread into for any clan.
The head priest coughed awkwardly, breaking the uneasy silence.
“It is time, my liege. The hour that the Moon favours has come.”
You gazed down at the omega, still bound on his knees, jaw cradled in your palm, now slightly more relaxed—how many hours had it been since he had been forced to kneel and pray?
“What is your name, favoured one?”
Toji glanced up at you, dark blue boring into golden.
“Fushiguro,” he said. “Fushiguro Toji.”
You hummed. How interesting. “Not Zenin?”
“No,” Toji muttered lowly. “I am… pariah. An outcast. I am not one of them.” He nearly spat the last part out, something akin to manic glee in his eyes.
“Pariah,” the foreign word rolled off your tongue like silk. “What a pretty name for something they detest so much.” You stroked his hair almost lovingly. “But not for long, Toji. Tonight, as the goddess favours it, you will be mine.”
Toji shivered involuntarily, this time not in fear as he had priorly with Naobito, but an unexpected, all-consuming feeling of heat shooting straight into his lower belly. At that moment, he recognized just how dangerous of an alpha you were, to have an omega like him—one that repulsed alphas with the entirety of his being—wanting to get on his knees for you and have you take him mercilessly, right here right then, pheromones dripping out uncontrollably like peach syrup and golden honey, flooding the air like a dammed up river unleashed.
“Unbind him, Suguru,” you ordered, and Toji whined in arousal. “No omega of mine will ever be leashed.”
Mine, the alpha says. Toji’s heart fluttered despite himself. I will become his omega, like it was written in the fucking stars. What the hell?
Was this what it felt like to freely belong?
Toji was then helped to his feet, his hands swiftly untied, a flask where a sweet-smelling liquid was fed to his lips. He tensed, wary, but your steady gaze boring into his almost immediately rid him of any suspicions.
“Drink,” the head priest—Suguru, offered kindly. “You must be parched. It is water from the sacred fountain.”
A blessing of fertility, he registered, his breath hitching. One that would induce a heat so potent that would make conception simply inevitable. There was no going back from this. By the end of the night, he was to be taken and bred by you before the waxing gibbous Moon, your seed flowing into his womb—and by sunrise, he would be pregnant with your pups.
Toji closed his eyes, nodding once and opening his mouth, allowing the sweet fluid to slake his dried throat, before the flask was taken away from him, a silk cloth pressed to his lips to clean him.
There was a very specific order to these things.
“Favoured one,” Suguru said. “The Chief waits for you.”
You had disappeared up the stairs and onto the altar while he was distracted, leaving behind a thick trail of your scent. Toji followed it blindly, desperately, heat burning an electric path down his spine and spilling heavily into his nether regions, a slow whine ushered out from his parted lips.
He stood at the entrance on wobbly legs and took you in. “Alpha,” he allowed himself to pant out, for the first time of the night. “A-alpha, where…”
You were beautiful and bare under the moonlight. All of you was soon to be his, just as he would be yours.
“Come, my omega,” you gently shushed the omega’s unsure warbling, patting your lap and smiling at him. “Let us forget everything around us. Tonight, there is only me and you, and the goddess, who will watch me fuck you on my cock until you are swollen and pregnant with the fruit of her blessing.”
Toji could feel his omega purring, giddy from your promises, a slickness trickling down his thighs, evident through the sheer fabric of his robe. He trudged over to where you were sitting, shakily positioning himself on your warm lap. His knees bracketed your hips, resting comfortably on the soft material of the furs and bedding laid all over the ground, the perfect cocoon for lovemaking all night.
You were cooing at him. Pressing tender kisses to the pulse of his wrists, soothing at the abrasions the ropes had left behind like he was something precious, something to be treasured.
Toji had previously thought he was not going to survive the night, but now, he only wished the night would last forever.
“What are you thinking, my sweet?” you crooned at him.
The omega flushed prettily, glancing down at his slick-dampened robes. “My clothes,” he whispered. “They are uncomfortable, alpha.”
You regarded him with a playful tone. “Is that so?” you responded.
Toji nodded, a pout forming on his lips—something he would have never done in the presence of another. You made it hard for him to act normal. You were the strangest alpha he had ever met.
Trepidation began to build when you remained silent for a few moments.
The disrobement was often violent. That was what he had seen happen to other omegas in his clan, more often than not with an alpha that they had never seen before prior to that night. Stripped bare of their dignity, and forced to submit and take whatever they were given.
“May I?” was a question that Toji would have never even considered to hear.
He nodded then, almost desperately, as you chuckled and pried his white robe fully apart, fully unveiling his body for the first time to the cold of the night.
“You are so wet,” you commented, one finger brushing up the entrance of his pussy, gathering slick before lightly pushing at his clit, making him shudder and cry out. “I doubt we will be needing any extra lubricant.”
“No,” Toji agreed. Fuck, he needed you inside of him, this instant. You were far too patient for an alpha, far too gentle, far too kind. He leaned back and spread his legs, revealing his sopping cunt, hoping to entice you into taking him.
Your eyes darkened, zeroing in onto his soaked folds, spread out like a flower of the flesh.
“Alpha,” he whined, the heat making it hard to speak coherently, “I’m ready. I-I need you.”
You sneered. “Pretty omega needs an alpha to breed him? Plug his pussy full of seed until he is heavy with pups?”
“N-not just any alpha,” Toji panted. “I want you. Only you. Your pups, alpha.”
You held back a whimper at his words and the sight of his cunt clenching needily combined, wanting nothing more than to fulfil your promise and fuck him into the nest until the omega was seeing stars, helplessly clinging onto your shoulders and screaming your name with every thrust.
But you also knew that it was far too early for that. You wanted to take your time with him. Savour him. Let him understand that he wasn’t just a toy for your pleasure tonight, but everything and more.
“Not now, Toji,” you muttered softly, stroking his cheek, and sighed in dismay when the omega began to tear up, evidently consumed by his heat and seeing your words as a form of rejection. “Please, don’t cry.”
“Y-you do not want me,” he gasped out wetly, “You are just like the rest of them. You do not see me as an omega, do you? You think—” he paused, before frowning and accusing, “you think I am low-bred.”
Rage flickered in your gaze, and Toji could feel another wave of slick pouring out of his aroused cunt, baring his neck with a soft whimper to appease you.
“Never say that about yourself again,” you snarled. “Or else I’ll just have to show you exactly how well-bred of an omega you are.”
“But you stopped.” Toji huffed. “Why did you stop? Am I not enough for you?”
You could feel your frustration boiling over. “If you still think that this is not enough, look at me.” Your cock stood proudly between your thighs, heavy and girthy with the flushed head dripping with arousal, the base starting to swell with knot. “Do you not see what you have done to me, omega?”
Toji bit back a whine. Fuck. That huge thing was going to split his cunt apart, and he couldn’t wait.
“Then what.”
“I want you to show me,” you challenged, resting back against the pile of soft furs. “Show me what you can do, omega. Fuck those pretty fingers into your little pussy and get yourself ready for my cock.”
Toji whimpered. His fingers weren’t small, but your cock was way, way larger. It would take at least four of them to properly stretch himself out, and goddess, was he impatient. Biting his lip, he inserted the first two fingers with ease, the abundance of slick making the glide smooth, wet and easy, waiting until he had them pushed almost all the way in before he started to slowly scissor them, panting softly at the movement.
“So hot, Toji,” you purred. “Keep going, pretty. Show me you’re worthy of taking my knot. My pups. The perfect omega for me to breed.”
The sight before you was a piece of heaven itself. The omega was struggling to fit the third finger in, even with how much he was slicking up—what an arrogant little thing, offering to take your knot when he could barely fit a few fingers into his tight virgin hole.
“Alpha,” Toji panted, starting to rock his hips down onto his fingers, clumsy and inexperienced but nonetheless the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. “I-I’m… almost… there…!”
“You are doing so good,” you cooed. “Just a little more, baby.” You were seconds away from grabbing your cock and jerking yourself off to completion, but how could you ever, when the prettiest, slickest pussy you had ever seen was right in front of you, waiting to be bred with your cum?
Toji hissed out victoriously as he pushed the fourth finger in alongside the rest inside the wet mess of his cunt, stretching it out almost obscenely. He glanced at you expectantly, a smug smile on his face as though he were expecting a reward.
“Well? Am I worthy of your knot now, alpha?” he sneered.
What he didn’t expect was how quickly you manhandled him onto his hands and knees, making him arch his back until he was properly presenting himself to you, his pussy fully facing you, gaping widely and dripping with sweet-smelling slick for the taking.
He gasped and whined, sensitive cunt clenching as you blew air over it, dutifully admiring the efforts your omega made in preparing himself for you.
“Good omega,” you crooned, pressing a tender kiss to the hood of his clit, making him shiver. “You are the prettiest thing I have ever seen.”
Toji wasn’t sure why he chose that moment to rebel, even with the sweltering heat and arousal clouding his consciousness. “Liar,” he whispered.
You growled, rocking your hips forward harshly, the girth of your cock rutting against the crevice of his wet pussy, the sudden stimulation making him cry out.
“Look at me,” you growled out. “Look at me as I fuck my cock into you, and tell me I am a liar.”
Toji tilted his head to stare back at you, panting heavily.
You sneered. “I wish you could see yourself right now, because there is no way someone will see this—and hear this—and call you anything other than an omega bitch.”
Before Toji could even ask anything about what he was supposed to be hearing—
You had positioned yourself and rammed your cock into his cunt in one smooth go, and Toji screamed.
“Fuck,” he wailed loudly as he came, whimpering as you thrust right back in, rough hands grabbing carelessly at the thick of his hips, slamming him back onto your cock whenever he tried to crawl away from the oversensitivity. There were sure to be countless bruises by the time morning came—if it ever did, with the way you were fucking him so ruthlessly into the nest, taking away his every breath.
“Alpha, puh-please!” he begged, tears of pleasure filling his eyes, his instincts going haywire with the only coherent thought being to let himself be bred, to carry your pups like the good omega you told him he was. “W-want your babies, want them in me so f-fucking bad, please.”
“No,” you snarked, refusing to cum—a punishment, Toji knew, for the words he had negligently said, and the omega whimpered in frustration.
“Please!”
“No. Not until you admit what you are.”
“Alpha,” Toji cried out, frame shaking as he came again, slick leaking out of his pussy in messy slops with each slap of your hips against the reddened back of his thighs.
You growled. “Admit it.”
“A g-good omega,” Toji panted. “Yours.”
“What else is there?”
“P-prettiest thing you have ever- ever seen, alpha.”
You hummed your approval. It was impressive that he could still manage to string together words, despite how hard you were pounding into him from behind.
“I need an even better answer, baby.” You sneered, nipping meanly at his ear. “Something that sums up the above. Tell me. What’s a fertile and pretty omega like you good for a pack alpha like me?”
Toji whimpered. He knew the answer you wanted—it was right in front of him. A burst of elation filled him at the prospect, and he found himself growing even wetter, if that was possible.
“I’d be a good… a good breeding bitch for you,” he slurred. “And I’d let you fuck your knot into me anytime and anywhere you want, put a clan of pups into my s-stupid little cunt.”
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Fuck,” you cursed, letting out a breathless laugh. “You are really something, aren’t you.” And that old bastard had dared to insult him. Was he blind? Were they all blind?
You reached under Toji’s chest to cup his full breasts, squeezing and massaging them, making him jerk in your grip, cunt fluttering around your swollen cock with a wet sob.
“Even your tits are perfect,” you jibed on, “They would look so good, swollen and heavy with milk to feed the pups I am going to put in your belly. Is there a single part of your body that isn’t breedable, Toji?”
Toji mindlessly shook his head, whimpers and moans fucked out of him with each snap of your hips, his eyes hazy and unfocused as you pumped your cock into him, threatening to breach his womb with how deep and hard your thrusts were. “N-no,” he whined, “I’d let you fuck my t-tits, alpha. Get them fat and full too, like how you’re going to make my t-tummy.”
You couldn’t help but bark out a laugh at that. Your pretty thing really was gone, wasn’t he. To think he had been so shy and guarded just a few moments ago. He was truly unrecognizable now—his low, threatening voice turning into high-pitched moans, the scowl on his face wiped off and replaced with a look of pure ecstasy.
“Naobito!” you growled out, a deranged grin on your face. “Is this the omega you were calling low-bred? The one you were berating for his appearance?”
There was a flush on the elder’s face as he quickly hid it—either from embarrassment or from the fact that he, too, had reached a shaky hand into his robes to relieve himself, much like the rest.
“Why,” you drawled, pushing Toji up so that his back was pressed flush to your chest, exposing his limp, fucked-out body to the crowd, “You lot seem to be enjoying it as much as I am. It is a shame that you will never have him, for the ways you have treated him.”
Tonight, and for the rest of the days forever, Toji would be yours.
With a snarl, you sunk your teeth fully into your omega’s neck as Toji let out a warbling cry, head tilting back to allow you full access to his nape as you thrusted upwards once more into his trembling body, just enough to pop the swell of your knot into his tight cunt, properly stuffing him and locking the two of you together.
“I feel so full,” Toji mumbled as you pulled back to shift the two of you into a position that would allow the warm cum to slowly flow into his womb. “Feel you—right here, alpha.” He rubbed at his tummy, over the slight distension caused by the thickness of your knot.
You had to hold yourself back from biting him again.
“Yeah? Feels good, right?” you cooed, kissing the wound on his neck, one hand protectively cradling the belly of your new mate, as though he were already swollen with pup. Toji nodded sleepily, resting against your shoulder and letting out soft little trills, one hand joining yours to rest on his stomach.
The ritual was over, but the Zenins were still in your territory. If it were up to you, you would have their hands and tongues cut off for the vile things they have done and said to Toji.
But this wasn’t your decision to make.
“Luna,” you murmured softly to your mate. “My sweet Luna.”
Toji blinked in confusion at the strange term of endearment, before his eyes widened with realisation.
You gestured to his former clan, now encircled by warriors of your own, the stench of fear and bloodthirst weighing heavy in the air like a thick fog.
“They await your orders, Toji.”
The crazed glint in your omega’s eyes had never been more telling.
catboy!rin who refused to go home with anyone, calling them too lukewarm or too tepid, opting to remain at the shelter.
catboy!rin whose ears immediately perk up upon smelling your sweet scent and hearing your voice in the shelter.
catboy!rin who finally agrees to go home with someone(you) since you were captivating and smelled pleasant.
catboy!rin who cautiously sniffs every corner of the house while rubbing on the walls to ensure his minty scent stays while mixing with yours.
catboy!rin who refuses to sleep in the room you prepared for him, deciding that your bed was now his. the eviction of your room led you to sleep in the one meant for him.
catboy!rin who decides to make your life meddlesome, hiding your textbooks when he feels that you’re spending more time on it than on him. also refusing to let you leave the house until you’re absolutely smothered in his peppermint scent, causing you to run late on numerous occasions.
catboy!rin who was startled awake by a thunderstorm one night, ears flattened to the top of his head as his tail swished around anxiously.
catboy!rin who jumps out of his skin at the deafening thunder, scrambling out of bed and running to seek comfort from you.
catboy!rin who wakes you up at 3am from the incessant scratching at the door, which led you to letting him in, confused. you were just about to berate him for waking you but noticed the look of distress on his face and asked what happened.
catboy!rin who shyly explained and requested to be spooned, standing nervously at the door with his tail dropped between his legs.
catboy!rin who immediately wraps the blanket around him after you agreed, opening it sheepishly for you to enter. you wrap your arms around him, his back pressed to your chest as he tucks his head under your chin.
catboy!rin who melts in your embrace, body finally relaxing and breathing evening out. he quietly nuzzled his head against your chin, enjoying your warmth.
catboy!rin who realises that snuggling up with you was way better than sleeping alone and could never fall asleep without your arms snug around him again.
a/n : ackk i fear this blog is js writing practice for me >_<
Art References in Jujutsu Kaisen s3 opening: The Kiss - Gustav Klimt // The Scream - Edvard Munch // Ophelia - John Everett Millais // Dead mother l - Egon Schiele // Two Sleeping Children - Peter Paul Rubens // Camille Monet and a Child in the Artist's Garden in Argenteuil - Claude Monet // The Three Judges - Honoré Victorin Daumier
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