FAVORITE TOY
suguru was a good owner. he knew it, and he was proud of it. it comes as no surprise, then, that he does as any good owner should do - he gets his good boy satoru plenty of toys.
pairing: puppy hybrid!satoru x kitty hybrid!f!reader
themes/content: smut, dark content (dubcon, hybrids). reader has a history of physical/sexual abuse that is alluded to throughout; she also definitely doesn't have the healthiest attachment style but what can ya do. reader says "wait" at one point and satoru ignores it. oral (reader receiving), scenting, all the good hybrid stuff. (wk: 6.1k)
a/n: YAYYYY CHEERS FROM PUPTORU AND I <333 love this little freak
“You’re going to like your new home,” the man – Suguru, you suppose you should call him now, unless he prefers Owner or Master or any of the other titles you’ve been instructed to use - says. A lie, you’re sure of it.
At the same moment, a hand reaches over the car’s center console to rub your shoulder, and light fingertips trace patterns into your skin. It catches you off guard to be touched like this, with a gentleness that feels like soft sheets and a full belly. His voice is soft, too, you think. Maybe he’s just like that. Maybe he’ll even treat you like that, too.
Ha. As if.
Frankly, it seemed impossible that you’d be here, on your way to a new home with an owner that at least acts like he intends to keep you. The other, kinder hybrids at the shelter viewed this as an inevitability, but you were smart. You knew better. There was something inherently less…desirable about you. At least to potential adopters, it seemed.
As if it was any surprise.
You were standoffish. Cold. Willing to scratch anyone who got too close or moved too fast. But who could blame you? It was your nature, after all - that’s just how rescue cats are.
Sure, some of the others were more cuddly, inviting, friendly. And sure, they got handed paperwork and taken from their cages into loving arms faster. But you didn’t care - no, you were above that. The shelter was fine: you got fed, at least someone to look at you (or sometimes even pet you) everyday, and a slightly too-firm bed to curl up in each night.
It wasn’t that bad.
Maybe this new home would be worse, you dare to think. Then, your legs tense and the hand on your shoulder suddenly feels to heavy, and you picture sinking sharp teeth into it and making him - Suguru, but you were never really one for names - flinch and scream and bring you right back.
They warned him about your temperament. You could overhear the conversation (mostly because one of the staff members whose name you couldn’t be bothered to remember decided to discuss it in the hallway right outside your cage, but you never liked her anyways. She always tried to pet you and she always ended up with a new collection of scratches.)
“She’s not particularly well-suited to homes with other pets, especially ones like-”
“It's alright. She’ll be perfect.”
How could he be so sure? More than anything, how could you ever, possibly be ‘perfect’?
His confidence scared you, you think (that seemed to be the only reasonable explanation for the layer of sweat collecting across your skin, your heartbeat thrumming painfully loud in your ears).
Yet, here you are, being walked up the driveway to your new home, and the pavement doesn’t seem bothered by your nerves. The front door is a smooth wood, decorated with small blue flowers. It’s cute in a way that makes you roll your eyes (it’s too childish, too whimsical for a grown man, what's wrong with him-).
“I’m actually a veterinarian, you know,” the man next to you - Suguru, and it really is a nice name, you suppose - smiles as he turns the knob. An unenthusiastic hum vibrates from your throat in response, arms crossed over your chest.
Suguru’s smile falters for a moment before it hardens, his eyes searching for something beyond the open door.
Stepping inside, he removes his shoes, and then pauses. After standing for a moment with your arms dangling by your sides, your brain finally catches up, and he simply watches as your hands stumble over the material in an attempt to tug your own shoes off (these were a luxury you were never afforded in the shelter, certainly not in your previous homes or on the streets, something that will certainly take time adjusting to). But eventually your strength wins and they drop and clatter unceremoniously, and you sigh when stocking-clad feet hit the wooden floor, wiggling your toes to regain the numbed sensation.
“You don’t have to wear those anymore if you don’t like them,” Suguru observes, continuing further into the house. “I just thought you’d want the option to have them.”
When you say nothing, he waits again.
“O-oh, um, thanks,” you mumble. “They’re just…different.”
His laugh is airy and calm. Your head tilts on instinct (a habit you aren’t quite sure where you picked up) at the unexpected reaction. Holding his hand out to you, you rest a palm upon it, and let him guide you inside. “A lot of things are about to be very different for you.”
You don't say anything, but this time he doesn't seem particularly inclined to wait for a lackluster comment that starts or ends with “oh,” or “okay.”
“This is the kitchen,” he gestures, continuing his path as you trail awkwardly behind. How many steps is a normal number? Are you supposed to be this close? He smells good, at least - not like dry cat food or litter, that’s for sure. “And this here will be your room.”
When he stops suddenly, your feet don’t quite catch up and you collide into his back. He’s strong, too, and he just laughs but doesn’t budge when you stumble again to catch your balance (another thing cats are supposed to be good at, another gift you were never blessed with).
“The shelter didn’t give me any belongings for you, so I just had some things picked out based on what I thought you’d like,” he says with another close-eyed smile.
You don’t return the gesture. “That’s because I don’t have any belongings,” you respond, but stop yourself from crossing your arms again and instead leave them to hang limply. But looking inside, he has done the room up well: a soft bed with clean blankets, a small shelf to place anything you do somehow happen to collect (Suguru gives you the feeling he’ll spoil you with anything you want, so maybe someday it really will be full), a dresser tucked into the corner. It’s honestly…nice.
But you don’t know what to say to nice. “It’s…um, fine,” is what you land on, but evidently Suguru decides it’s an acceptable response and continues the tour.
He doesn’t reach for your hand, but some strange, dormant part of you awakens and suddenly wishes he would. It’s itching in the back of your brain, and your eyes trace the veins of his fingers and wonder what they’d feel like running over your scalp. His hair probably feels nice, too; you could groom it for him. Maybe he’d like that, maybe he’d let you do it everyday forever in this new home with him-
“And this is Satoru’s room,” he says suddenly - this time when he stops, you manage to avoid running into him, but only barely.
“Satoru?” you blink. No, that’s not right, the shelter said you’d only have one owner, they wouldn’t want two people getting stuck with a shitty pet like you and-
“Yes, Satoru,” Suguru continues, unphased by your inner panic. “He’s a dog hybrid. I think you’ll get along very well.”
The half-stale food you ate for breakfast suddenly feels too heavy in your stomach. “But-” you stutter, now wringing your hands nervously together. But he won’t like me, I’m not good with other pets, you shouldn’t have brought me here you should just take me back before you realize what a terrible mistake you’ve made and save us all the trouble-
But before you can let the words spill out, Suguru is swinging the door open.
On the other side is a well-kept bedroom, dark blues and whites dotting the walls. Another bed, similar to yours (what a strange thing, to have your own bed), with the same shelf that’s now full with scattered chew toys and rope, and the same dresser in the corner. There are more posters on the wall, and curtains over the window, but it’s not in nearly as disastrous of a state as you would have expected from some filthy dog.
“Satoru,” Suguru calls in, offering you a kind smile in the silence.
From around the corner, a being emerges. His scent hits you first - fresh cut grass and jasmine and something not entirely unpleasant, despite your natural aversion to other species - then bright white hair that makes you stifle a laugh.
“That’s Satoru?” you blurt.
From within his room, Satoru rubs tired eyes with his forearms before scratching the pointed ears atop his head, white fur catching in the sunlight filtering in from the window.
“And who are you?”
His voice is pretty and raspy and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. “No - haha - no fucking way.”
Suguru seems equally confused by your outburst, so between bouts of derisive giggles, you continue.
“You have a show-quality hybrid in your home, and you - hahaha - decide on some poorly behaved stray cat nobody else wanted? Ha!”
That seems to make Suguru tense. Satoru, similarly, seems displeased, albeit much less interested.
“She’s not very nice,” he says to his - your - owner. “Come get me once she’s warmed up to being here. I don’t need to be getting my face clawed off by some rescue who doesn’t know how to control herself.”
“Satoru,” Suguru snaps, shooting him a glare. It’s the first you’ve seen him get angry throughout this ordeal, and you flinch, expecting a kick or tug or something to prove that you have done something wrong (which you know you have, it’s just a matter of time before they realize it too), but the hit never comes. Suguru just keeps glaring at Satoru, who runs his fingers over his ears as if bored by this whole thing.
After their staring match has run its course, Satoru directs his attention to you. “You aren’t the first he’s brought here, you know.”
He says it like it doesn’t send a knife between your ribs. But it lodges itself there, and you stutter on your breath and hiss on instinct.
Before you can even say anything, it’s Satoru’s turn to laugh, apparently. “Oh, did that upset the kitty? Poor thing, I bet no one wanted you. That’s why Suguru took you home, isn’t it? He always loved a project. Bet you won’t last here, either. They never seem to stick around for long once they figure out they can’t cut it.”
Now, Suguru is absolutely fuming. “Satoru, that’s enough. Back in your room, now.”
Satoru, with all the sweet puppy charm he can muster, sends Suguru a pout, and it makes your claws itch. Oh, how good it would feel to gouge that stupid expression off his stupid irritating face and then you and Suguru could be happy and live in this house without Satoru ruining everything for you. You could do it, too - you’ve done it before, you know what flesh and blood feels like under your nails. You aren’t afraid of it.
But Suguru would be upset.
The thought hits you like a punch and drives the blade further into your chest. And suddenly, you don’t want to hurt him (well, you do, but at least you manage to clench your fists and not lunge at the insufferable man in front of you).
From the corner of his eye, Suguru watches. He watches the way you steady your breathing, the way your gaze cools, until there’s nothing there but the same empty anger that keeps you moving. And for some reason, he seems almost…proud.
You don’t get a chance to ask why before his phone rings. “Hello?” he answers, still standing between you and Satoru (who’s now watching you curiously, doing an idiotic little head tilt like the stupid puppy he is). “Now? Okay, alright, just give me a few minutes. I’ll be right there.”
He hangs up the phone with a sigh.
“There’s some emergency at the clinic, and I have to go handle it.” For a moment, he addresses only Satoru, before remembering the sudden new addition to this whole rapidly-evolving equation. “Oh, right, um.” He rubs his hands together before clapping them once. “Are you okay with kennels?”
You nearly laugh again - having spent the better part of your life locked in one, or tortured through one, yeah, you’d say you’re fine with kennels.
When you nod, Suguru does finally grab your hand with the gentlest touch he can manage in his haste (which is still incredibly, almost impossibly soft; you wonder if he’d be this soft to touch when your tongue cleans over every inch of his skin, when his palms hold you close and rub your back).
As he guides you down the hallway, Suguru quickly turns behind him. “Satoru, don’t do anything bad while I’m gone, got it?”
“Whatever,” he responds, waving a hand nonchalantly. You might be worried if the fingers laced with yours weren’t squeezing you so sweetly and you weren’t being led back to a room that for the first time has earned the title of your bedroom.
When you enter, Suguru leads you to a corner you hadn’t seen from the doorway, one that houses a metal cage. Inside is another, albeit smaller, bed, with pillows and blankets strewn across the center.
Deft fingers unlock the kennel and usher you inside with that same beautiful smile.
“How is it?” he asks as you settle onto the bed.
“It’s…” the softest thing you’ve ever felt in your life. Is your real bed going to be even better? Is that even possible? “…it’s pretty good.”
“Good,” he grins. From his pocket, he pulls another lock, its blue metal glinting in the dim light. At the worried look you shoot him, he says, “Just in case. Satoru doesn’t know how to work these, so it’ll keep you extra safe.”
“Okay…” you finally say, eyes now glued to your lap. It finally hits you that Suguru’s leaving, and your stomach hurts again. What if he leaves and never comes back just like your last family? They promised to keep you safe, but they left you outside of another shelter and it was raining and they didn’t even say goodbye and how could they not even say goodbye-
“Hey,” a warm hand reaches towards you - you flinch, at first, but then he pauses and lets it slowly continue its path towards your cheek. “I’ll just be gone for a bit, okay? Just until this is sorted out. Then, we’ll finish getting you settled in, and we can do anything you want for your first night. Is that alright?”
Nobody had ever asked you that before. You think on it for a moment, before deciding, “Yeah, that’s alright.”
“Good,” he repeats. “Then I’ll be back later.”
With a quick movement, he latches the lock around the gate and shuts everything in place. At your door, he doesn’t turn around before striding towards where you vaguely remember the front entrance being.
And then, you’re alone.
You sit, for a few minutes. Test the bed - still just as soft. The blankets - still just as warm. They feel nice, and you knead them for a bit before even that grows tiring. But it’s a nice sort of tired, one that doesn’t make your bones ache or feel like rain on cold, bare skin. No, this is a good place, a safe place.
Nothing is going to ruin that, you’re sure of it.
Until, from the hall, footsteps approach.
Rounding the corner, that irritating mop of white hair and those stupid pointy ears poke into your room.
Before you can protest, he’s already entered and crossed the distance towards you. Your nails burn again.
“Hi there kitty,” he coos. Circling your kennel, one finger trails along the metal bars, catching with a soft clang over each one.
“Hi Satoru,” you deadpan.
Finally planting his feet in front of you, his lips curl into a pout. “C’mon what’s with the attitude? Don’t you wanna play with me?”
Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “Are you always this whiny?”
“No.”
When your eyes glance up to meet his, he’s grinning, and behind those hazy blue eyes, a darkness swirls. He looks at you like he’s hungry. It makes your tail flick on instinct, every hair on your body standing at attention.
“Y’know,” he begins, his voice low and smooth like honey, “Suguru always thinks I’m so stupid.” Tilting your head, you watch his fingers play with the lock tightened around the kennel. “It hurts my feelings.”
Just as your lips part to make some snarky remark about how he is stupid, especially if he doesn’t leave you alone in the next thirty seconds, the sound of metal creaking fills your ears. The door swings open, the unlatched lock tossed carelessly to the side as Satoru’s presence suddenly enters your space.
“But I’m not some dumb little puppy.”
Again, that scent of grass and jasmine and this time with something hotter, rain on warm pavement or a thirsty sun. White teeth cloud your vision, spread into a menacing smile. Up close, his canines poke forward, perfectly sharp, and your heart resumes its thudding in your ears.
“W-what are you-” you try to stammer.
“Do you know why Suguru got you?”
Every soft step forward sucks the air from the room, your hands beginning to shake in your lap. He invades your senses, forcing you away until your back hits the metal bars keeping you trapped in here, the ones that were supposed to keep you safe.
It takes every ounce of effort to shake your head softly ‘no’ as he continues stalking forward.
“He got you because even he couldn’t keep me entertained.” And he’s in front of you, close enough that the warmth of his skin begins making you sweat. The sharp bridge of his nose nuzzles into your neck before he sharply inhales; this time, it’s your scent filling his mind. “It’s terribly boring to be the smartest and the strongest all the time. So he got me something else to play with.”
“I don’t-”
Pulling away from you for a moment, icy blue eyes lock onto yours. Undeterred, he continues his ramblings. “You see, he thought that maybe if you were more standoffish, more mean than my last toy, I’d have to work a little harder. I bet he thought that maybe, you’d last a little longer.”
Through a dry swallow, you attempt to stand your ground, allowing your shoulders to widen as your chest forcefully rises and falls with each unsteady breath. Behind you, your tail fluffs out wide and twitches. “Well, I am-”
“But,” he hums, drawing you deeper into his sweetened trap, “I don’t think you’ll last very long at all.”
At that, his hands fly to either side of your head.
Your body jolts, and you could claw those bright blue eyes out of his head, you could cut his jugular open with one strike and leave him here in a pile of his own blood-
- but Suguru would be upset.
You could. You should. You’d be right to at least maim him a little. But instead, you clench your fists until red pools down the creases of your palm and stare at Satoru with bared teeth.
“Oh?” he says, a wicked smile splitting his face open - not the sweet kind that Suguru gave you when he politely watched you fumble with your shoes, but one that makes a shiver run up your spine.
“What?” you snarl.
“Nothing,” he follows, still grinning, the light behind his eyes twinkling. “Just thinking. Maybe you’ll surprise me after all.”
You should absolutely kill him, at least for how terribly vague and annoying he’s being. And he’s in your space - the last person who tried to get this close ended up in a body bag and with you back in another shelter. And Satoru isn’t even a person, he’s just some half-bred hybrid that doesn’t fit into either world.
(Not unlike you, you start to think- you wonder if a pretty thing like him got pet and toyed with by curious hands, too - but then the rage bubbles under your diaphragm and you figure it’s easier to be angry than to be anything else).
“Leave me alone, Satoru.”
At that, he laughs. A full-bodied thing that rattles the kennel and finally grants you some respite from those freaky eyes of his that stare too deeply. The sound would be pleasant, if it wasn’t so loud your ears hurt (but at least it blocks out the pulsing of your heartbeat for a moment).
“Oh, you sweet little kitty. I’m not going to leave you alone. Not until you’re out of this house and Suguru can be all mine again. Or until you entertain me, whichever you prefer.”
This time, you tilt your head (but it’s cute when you do it - you were told that once, you remember now. The first owner you had, a sweet boy who was around your age, found you on a street corner in tattered clothes. He brought you water, and when he placed it in front of you, you did the same motion - probably one you had seen the other dogs without homes or families do to earn sympathy. And it worked - he kept bringing you water, and eventually food, and then blankets and clean clothes and anything you asked for he’d find a way to get. You must have been no older than nine or ten, not that your age really counted for much, but he was nice to you. He kept you for a few years, took care of you even though you slept outside at night. Told you he thought it was cute when your head fell to the side like that. Until one day he grew up and he came by with new people you didn’t know and then that night he wasn’t there but the new people were and they hurt you. And it wasn’t cute when your head fell to the side when they knocked it against the ground and called you “filthy” and a “stray” and left you even more dirty than when he found you the first time. You didn’t see him after that, and nobody called you cute once you learned to use your claws.)
You lost your home a once, even if it was a box piled with blankets on a street corner. You won’t lose it a second time.
“I’m not leaving,” you spit, and the venom in your voice actually makes Satoru flinch this time. “I’m not going anywhere, ever again. This is my bedroom and I’m going to stay in it, and if you try to make me leave I’ll kill you.”
Somehow, his grin widens.
“Well then,” he says, settling back onto his heels. “Quite the attitude, still, but you’re certainly dedicated.” Then, he crawls towards you, slowly. “Then let’s welcome you home the proper way, and see if you really deserve to stay here.”
Another jolt shoots up your spine and lands in your neck, where Satoru’s breath wafts against your skin. It’s warm, and his scent is becoming overpowering, but for some reason it’s not completely unpleasant. He smells like the nicer nights you spent outside, you realize, ones under a friendly moon and a cool breeze, ones where you were tucked away from the rain but could still hear its pattering song.
Your nose twitches, and your tail bangs against the bars, and something warm begins to build in your tummy.
“Satoru-” you whisper, your voice suddenly more strained, before his neck rubs against the space above your collarbone.
“Don’t worry, kitty. I’ll make sure you enjoy it here just as much as I do. If you’re sure you aren’t leaving, that is.”
This is strange. You aren’t even sure what this is, but you have a feeling he shouldn’t be doing it. But he's not touching you anywhere that would hurt, and he’s not talking anymore (which is its own type of blessing), and even though your body should be on edge with a stranger - a dog - this close, it’s starting to quiet down. The racing pulse in your ears is gone, and your tail is smooth and still once more. It’s not terrible, whatever it is.
After another few moments where you have to fight the strange urge to knead the blankets beneath you, you finally realize: he’s scenting you.
It should make you throw up, or sink your nails into his throat.
But it doesn’t.
Maybe it’s because he smells like Suguru - but no, Suguru smells like citrus and lavender and fresh blankets. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t actually touched you otherwise, even though he could have, even though he could have pinned you down and hurt you and you would have had no choice but to hurt him, too.
Maybe it’s because the air smells like rain on too-dry soil and some quiet part of your biologically-driven brain that’s been forcibly shut down since the first time you got called a filthy stray and had to use your claws is now wide awake and screaming for this, more of this.
And that’s maybe the worst possible option.
“Satoru,” you say again, and your hands finally find his shoulders.
Under your touch, his entire body tenses, and he pulls away. When he does, those blue eyes you just wanted to tear out are swallowed by lust-blown pupils and his cheeks are pink and he’s practically heaving each breath.
“S-sorry,” he stutters - almost cute; almost - “Did it…did that not feel good?”
“That’s such a stupid question,” you quip, but there’s not nearly enough bite in it. He just stares blankly, panting. It’s not too late - you could still run, could still leave nail marks littered across his body and ruin that show-quality face. But then that quiet part of your body is screaming for more, more, please more now, and you’re already a little lightheaded, so instead, you say the worst option, the truth. “Of course it did.”
The smile he gives you this time is wild and frenzied. “Good,” he breathes. “Good.”
He returns to the space within your neck, where he rubs skin on skin freely. It makes your head dizzy, but you don’t tell him to stop. You do ask, “Why are you-”
“Suguru doesn’t let me,” he says in a single exhale. “Something about it being ‘wrong’ for an owner to do with a pet.”
What a stupid concept.
How could this possibly be wrong, when it makes your legs tremble and thoughts finally calm? When it makes you not want to lash out at the body on top of you but instead pull it closer?
“That’s dumb,” you respond, and he laughs again.
“Isn’t it?”
If the sound you make is close to a giggle, neither of you say anything.
You say nothing, either, when a hardness presses into your core.
It makes something vibrate in your chest, something that makes him press into you further. When he pulls away, you nearly whine at the loss before thinking better of it.
“Wanna see something else Suguru doesn’t let me do?”
You shouldn’t nod. You should tell him to stop, especially with the insane sparkle in his eyes and the way his chest rises and falls unevenly.
He could hurt you. He could reach out and take and take and do any of the cruel things you know minds can conjure up. But he hasn’t. Maybe, he won’t. And then your body is back to vibrating and the idea of saying no feels less and less appealing.
“Yeah,” you hum instead. “Show me.”
And then, he’s moving.
In one quick motion he pulls down the brand new pants Suguru had just given you, but you have a feeling they’ll be replaced easily later. Then, a harsh tug brings your underwear down with them.
From above you, Satoru looks nearly feral. It’s a look you’ve seen before, on those stray dogs when a carcass is left behind down the alley or somebody leaves a meal unattended for too long. If you didn’t know, even from the brief moments since you’ve met him, that Satoru must be impeccably behaved, you’d almost be worried.
But then you remember how he broke into this cage and made himself right at home and maybe you should be worried.
“Wait-”
But he doesn’t. He dives between your thighs and drinks you with a greedy mouth. Those soft lips close around a part of you that has you squirming and you argue with the urge to run away. Then, his tongue swirls around that same area and you nearly scream.
It’s the best, most dangerous thing you’ve ever felt.
Behind you, soft bedding and blankets cushion the thud of your back into them as your muscles give out. Instead, all your energy goes to that bundle of nerves Satoru is now running between his canines.
It’s sensitive, even when he flattens his tongue against it, then flicks it a few times. It makes shivers run up your stomach and straight to your throat. You have no idea what he’s doing and you don’t even care, but you want him - need him - to keep doing it. When he uses two fingers to spread apart your folds, the feeling is only amplified. Even more so when he nibbles on it ever so lightly.
This time, you don’t have the wherewithal to stifle your moan, and a chuckle is huffed into your skin.
“I take it this feels good too?” That smug grin is back on his face, and in the brief respite when his lips aren’t attached to your cunt, your mind races to catch up with something cruel, something about how he’s just a dumb stupid puppy who doesn’t know what’s good for him-
- but then, two fingers find their way to your entrance, and you keen. He laughs again.
“Not so mean now, are you, kitty?” He gives you another annoying head tilt, and you shut your eyes to save yourself from looking at it (not because the tightness in your chest is getting harder and harder to ignore with each breath and then he curls his fingers and oh fuck is it supposed to feel like this is it supposed to feel this good-)
“See, I knew you’d like to play with me,” he smirks, and you could claw that pretty aggravating smile off his lips and the world would probably be better for it.
“Would you - hah - shut up already, you stupid dog.”
His eyes close as he’s overtaken with laughter. “That’s really the best you’ve got, huh? ‘Stupid dog?’ Oh, you’re just precious.”
Inside you, his fingers get faster. And deeper.
“Look at you, I knew you’d be more fun for me.” He’s babbling, you’re sure of it, and his cheeks are rosy and you need him to shut up. “Aren’t you having fun? I know I am, getting to see that cute little head of yours shut off and-”
Your claws sink into his hair and yank him back down to the valley between your thighs.
He goes with little protest, save for a moan into your skin. The pumping of his fingers never slows or loses momentum, now adding his tongue as it drags its way up and down your folds.
It feels incredible, it feels better than it should, better than you deserve, but maybe you do deserve this because you deserve a home and to be loved and maybe you deserve Satoru doing whatever it is he’s doing with his mouth for the rest of your life.
There’s far less precision now, but you don’t mind. Not when he ravenously licks at your pussy, not when it’s a mess of lips and teeth and hands and maybe this is what he was actually bred for because this could be the best feeling in the world. It's certainly the best in your version of the world.
Even in your brief time living here, you’ve grown comfortable, greedy, as you realize: you want more.
When your nails catch in his hair, he shudders, with too good of an opportunity to pass up.
“You - mmm - like that, huh?” you try to tease, and even though your words are breathier than they’ve ever been, he responds with a whine. “Dumb - dumb fucking puppy.”
Even from where you lay on your back, you can see his eyes overtaken in white as they roll back. His tongue falls from his mouth and he lets out the prettiest sound into you.
He regains his focus quickly, though, and if he has any further rebuttal, it’s lost by his mouth circling your clit with renewed vigor.
“See? Stupid,” you whine over the obscene sounds he’s making, licking and slurping your slick like it could sustain him.
“M’ not dumb,” you hear him try to say, but then you scratch a little too hard behind his ears, and once again, his voice cuts out.
“Sure you aren’t,” you breathe as your back arches. “What, so you think you’re a good boy, then?”
He must really, really like that, if the way his hands dig into your thighs and the drawn out moan are anything to go by. The heat is back in your belly and it’s starting to make you sweat.
It’s not helped when his fingertips press firmly into a spot that makes you yelp - a sound you can’t stop in time.
One Satoru wouldn’t have missed for the world.
Again and again, he targets that spot; again and again, you cry out. You try to quiet yourself, really, you do, until your lips are red from biting down and you’re still writhing above him.
This feels good. Too good. You don’t deserve this but maybe you do and at least Satoru seems like he’s enjoying himself and maybe if you can at least make him feel good it’ll be worth it and then you’ll deserve it. A glance downward at his flushed cheeks and fluttering eyelashes tells you he must be feeling good because you've seen that look before but this time it doesn’t hurt and you think you might even be wearing it, too.
When the tension inside you finally snaps, everything in your body goes taught. Your knees close around Satoru’s head, your back cranes off the bedding, your ears flatten and your tail puffs. It’s the most intense thing you’ve ever felt, certainly the best thing you’ve ever felt (especially within the confines of a kennel).
Sometime during your euphoria, Satoru had stopped moving himself; when you return to your senses, he’s staring at you, eyes nearly blacked out and lips damp with your slick. His hair is entirely messed up and his ears are twitching, and he almost looks adorable.
It seems to take him a moment, too, to return to himself.
“You’re my new favorite,” he whispers, mostly to himself; whatever else he would say gets cut off as you pull him on top of you.
“Favorite what?”
Idly, your fingers card through his hair, and he initially tenses at the gesture before melting into you, his tail slowly wagging behind him. One finger blindly taps your nose before you shoo it off. “My favorite toy.”
You scoff, but don’t kick him off you. You could, and he’d probably let you, but then that quiet part of your mind shivers at even the thought of losing his warmth, so you decide he can stay for at least a bit longer.
It’s almost nice, having him here, laying on top of you. One of his hands snakes between your back and the blankets, and he begins rubbing circles into your spine.
This…this is nice, you realize. A touch that doesn’t hurt. It’s strange, but not bad strange.
In the silence and back in the confines of your neck, he resumes lazily rubbing his skin against yours. Your chest vibrates, and he asks, “Are you purring?”
Hm. Are you?
You aren’t sure you ever had, but then again, you’ve never felt this safe, and certainly never this content before, either.
“Maybe,” you say.
“I heard cats only do that when they’re happy.”
Hm. Maybe you are. Maybe this could be your home and maybe you’d be comfortable here. Maybe you could be happy here. Maybe you’d even deserve to be.
“Who knows. Maybe I just feel at home.”
The hum he gives you in response is low and satisfied, and his lips curl into a smile against your skin. When your neck rubs along his, the air smells like a much-needed rain, and he whispers, “Welcome home, then.”
ps: YAYY WE MADE IT!!!!! thanks for reading, hope y'all enjoyed this little freak guy <3 i'm currently (albeit slowly) working on part 2 for this where we get some nice knotting and all that good stuff so puptoru WILL return someday :3
