Heat of the Moment
Hello, hello,
Welcome to another Filthy Friday! Today, we have some new Fatgum deliciousness to feast upon. Fresh off the press yesterday about noonish.
Hope you enjoy it!
You hadn’t expected his rut to hit that hard.
Taishiro had always been a force—massive, warm, steady—but in bed, he was usually patient. Attentive.
Even when you were dripping and writhing beneath him, desperate to be touched; Taishiro had never lost control. Never let his instincts take the reins—until now.
You had no idea what had changed. Maybe it had been the fact that he had been overworked leading up to this rut. Maybe it had been the way your scent sweetened the moment you saw him. Maybe you had just hit the right kind of nerve with him. Either way, when his rut hit this time; it took both of you down with it.
His knot was already locked inside you—thick, hot, pulsing rhythmically as he filled you; his hips twitching with each shallow thrust he couldn’t help but give. You were panting beneath him, legs still trembling, chest heaving, and your nails half-buried in his shoulders as you tried to process the overwhelming fullness and the ferocity of which he had fucked his knot into you with.
Every inch of you was claimed, wrecked, and aching in that delicious, stretched-out way.
Taishiro, still giving those small, instinctual thrusts; leaned over you more. His bulk pressing heavier into your body, covering you completely—sheltering, smothering; owning you.
You gasped out, already overstimulated, nerves shot from the stretch and fullness. His hips started moving with more force, grinding his throbbing knot deeper; each jerk of his hips causing it to tug against your entrance—sending electricity racing up along your spine—pressure building all over again despite the earlier orgasm he’d already wrung from your shaking body.
Every thrust carried a sharp edge to it now. Possessive. Demanding. His cock pulsed deep inside you and you could feel every twitch, every throb, every subtle grind of his hips that said he wasn’t satisfied yet. His hands gripped your waist tightly, thumbs digging into your hips like he could press you down harder; like he needed to get deeper even when he was already locked in as far as he could go.
Your toes curled. You whimpered out his name.
And then he groaned. Rough, primal, so deep in his chest that it vibrated through your bones.
“Gonna fill you up…” He growled; his voice barely above a ragged snarl of need. “Gonna breed you, Sweetheart. Put my babies in you…”
You froze. Your entire body locked beneath him—every nerve going silent, every muscle tensing as your mind tried to catch up with what he had just said.
Taishiro’s hips jerked forward again, this time slower, grinding instead of thrusting; like even his instincts wanted to savour the moment—needing you to feel every thick, swollen inch that kept you pinned open and claimed.
“You’ll look so pretty round and full—” He rasped, his words cut off by a deep groan in his throat. “Stuffed with my knot, leaking my cum while you’re carrying my babies like a good little Omega…”
Your breath hitched. You could barely think.
Because Taishiro—sweet, considerate, gentle giant Taishiro—was rutting into you like his life depended on it; voice heavy with need and heat, spewing filth into your ear while he bred you as if it was all he’d been made for.
And it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment fantasy. You could hear it in the way his voice cracked—could feel it in the trembling restraint he clung to even now, muscles tight with the need to take more, give more.
He meant every word of it.
The realisation had your heart pounding even harder. Your mind scrambling to process, to react, to breathe. But all you could do was stare up at him—at the flush on his cheeks, the sweat glistening down his temples, the raw hunger blazing in his honey-gold eyes as he watched your expression flicker beneath him.
And then the panic hit him.
You saw the moment it hit. The flicker of uncertainty. The hitch in his rhythm. His grip faltered, just for a second, and his brows pulled together as if he’d only just realised what he had said out loud.
“Wait—shit.” He muttered, panting heavily now. “I didn’t mean—I mean, I did, but not like—fuck, I didn’t mean to say it like that. I wasn’t trying to freak you out, Sweetheart. I swear—”
His words stumbled over themselves, half-gasped between breaths, and you could feel the tremble in him—not from his rut, or pleasure—but from sheer, wide-eyed fear. Like he’d broken something sacred between you.
His hands loosened their hold, not pulling away, but no longer clutching you like you were the only thing grounding him to earth. He shifted just slightly, trying to ease some of his weight off you even though you were still so intimately locked together.
“I—I just got caught up. Fuck, I’m sorry.” He uttered, softer this time. “I would never…I wouldn’t push that on you. You know that, right?”
You did. Gods, you did.
Even in the middle of his rut, with his knot buried inside you and every primal instinct screaming at him to keep going—he was still trying to protect you from himself. From what he had said. From what he wanted.
But as the shock began to wear off, you realised that you didn’t hate the idea.
Your breath slowed, mind clearing enough to piece together how your body had melted under the weight of his words. How your walls had clenched around him. The mental image of yourself—swollen, filled, dripping with his cum and heavy with his babies—set something off inside you.
Your hand drifted up without thinking, sliding up along the side of his neck. You felt him tense, uncertain, still trying to decipher whether you were comforting him or about to push him away.
But you kept going. Your fingers threaded into his thick blond hair, curling at the base of his skull; and with a steady pull—you brought his head down to yours and kissed him. A heated, hungry kiss that told him everything your silence couldn’t.