(werewolf x trans masc reader, bottom growth, dubcon)
Your werewolf boss has seemed mad at you ever since you started testosterone.
At first, you thought it was just your imagination. He started watching you more closely about a month after you began your shots, his eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side. Like he was trying to figure something out. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up the first time you felt it, your body's natural reaction to being watched by a predator. You could feel your blood under your skin.
Of course, that's everything, lately. Your veins are on fire. Everything is electric. Your cock has started growing, twitching in your pants throughout the day, reminding you it's there. What it wants. You have bigger things to worry about than your boss. Like how to get through the day without going insane.
Then he starts avoiding you entirely.
But it can't be transphobia, you reason. No one at work knows yet. You can't really figure out why he'd have other people deliver messages to you, manage you instead of him, but as long as things get done and you get through the day without crying from need, you're happy.
Until today, when he slams you back against the wall without warning while you're on your break, your back pressed hard into the brick wall behind the building.
"You have to do something about that smell," he growls. He has one hand next to your head, and his nostrils flare as he peers down at you.
"What--" you stammer. Your face goes hot. Smell? Something sick and humiliating threatens to descend over you.
"Your... Persistent excitement," he says, voice low. "It is distracting. Don't you know how to handle it?"
The humiliation floods your body.
Of course he can. Fucking werewolf.
"Of course I do," you say, with a little more edge than you intended.
"Then why are you always so... desperate?" he asks. He looks unimpressed, his eyes raking over your body like it's a mystery for him to solve. "You are like a whelp in his first rutting season. Overwhelmed with the sights and sounds of the females. At a loss for how to get what you need from them."
"I am not," you protest instinctively, even though, truthfully, you're only half sure you know what he's talking about. You're pretty sure he's calling you a useless virgin.
"You are," he says. He's completely unconcerned with your arguments. "And it is distracting. Your body is changing, and you have no idea what to do with it."
His eyes have gone dark. Heavy lidded. There's something there now that wasn't before; a kind of feral steel. A hunter's focus. He leans in just a fraction of an inch closer, inhaling your scent, and his pupils go wide.
"Someone needs to... Teach you. How to handle your new needs."
It's a growl. And not a question. He doesn't waste time before he's shoving his hand into your pants.
You're so wet already (so wet and so hard all day, every day) and you gasp involuntarily when his calloused fingertips brush your sensitive head. You twitch between his middle and index fingers. He slides them up and down your new growth experimentally; his tongue darts out to wet his lips as you buck immediately into his palm. God, it's so sensitive that you nearly collapse against the wall.
"See?" he says. You can feel his voice in his chest where he presses against you. Pinning you, keeping you upright with his weight. "Already so responsive. Don't worry, pup. I'll take care of you."
He's panting, now, as he strokes you more confidently. He's staring down at you, eyes piercing and claiming.
"You'll never have to worry about feeling like this ever again."
