fimmzluvrs

SCARAMOUCHE

✮ in his lap, with your back against his chest, his hand around your throat

Your hand is on top of Scara's, out of instinct. His other hand is between your legs, two fingers circling your clit in a rhythm that's making your thighs shake. He's inside you, but he isn't moving, just letting you feel the way he fills you with his cock seated so deep inside. Your squirming causes you to grind on him, and his hand on your throat tightens. "Did I tell you to move?" You try to stop your movements, and he doesn't even give you a break as he rubs your clit faster. Your squirming gets worse, your body clearly trying to chase something his cock won't give you. You shift your hips up again, involuntarily, desperate, and he finally snaps his hips up, one brutal thrust that makes you drop back onto him. He holds you there, grinds in, your vision going spotty. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? You couldn't even wait.. pathetic."

✮ collar and leash...

He fucks into you roughly, his grip on the chain keeping your back arched at the angle he wants, and every time you drop your head, he yanks the leash until your chin lifts back up. "Head up. I want to hear you. Don't you dare hide in the pillow." At some point, as expected, you do collapse face down, your entire body trembling. Instead of yanking you back up, he puts his foot on the back of your head. He's still inside, grinding into you with his foot, pressing your face into the sheets. Your moans sound just as pathetic as before, just... muffled now. "You're so well trained, I barely even had to teach you."

✮ vibrating cat tail

You're face down with your wrists and ankles cuffed to a spreader bar that keeps your legs apart. The vibrating plug he put inside you has been going for long enough that your hips are twitching on their own. You can't move, can't close your legs, you can't even think properly. And he's just sitting beside you on the bed with a brush in his hand, writing on your skin. You feel the tip of the marker drag across your ass. You can't see what he's writing, but you can feel how slow he's going, how precise each stroke is. 散兵のマゾ. He tells you to "Hold still," when your hip jerks at the dot. He adds a small heart next to whatever he wrote as a cute little addition. "You know what it says?" You shake your head into the pillow, and he leans down, his lips near your ear. "It says you belong to me, in case you forget." He turns the plug up in vibration, and you forget everything except for his voice and the marker moving against your skin once again. (yes i changed the japanese lettering cuz i couldn't translate that girls ass for shitz... leave me ALONE)

✮ clit jewelry

He had the jewelry commissioned, made perfectly for you. (If you're a silver girly, imagine he got that for you instead) Gold chains that loop around your hips and between your thighs, and a small gemstone that dangles from the connecting chain. It was expensive, barely made a dent, he's a harbinger after all. He's lying between your legs, one hand on your inner thigh, the other tracing the chains with his fingertip, watching how your clit swells through the ring the more he touches around it. "Pretty." His finger circles your clit slowly through the ring, and the beaded chain sways with every movement. He strokes, circles, and flicks, watching you squirm, watching the gemstone dangle between your legs. "I should make you wear this under your clothes. Walk around with my jewelry on your cunt, and nobody would know except me." His thumb presses directly onto your clit, and the gemstone presses with it. "and you."

✮ tied up

Your ankles are tied and pulled back toward your head, your thighs spread and bound, ropes around your torso and arms holding you open and vulnerable, with your hips elevated. Moving is impossible, and that is the point. He smacks you across your ass, then again, and again. Your skin changes colors faster than a mood ring, pink, to red, to dark red. He squeezes the marked flesh between his fingers, spreading you open, keeping you on full display for him. You're wet enough that he doesn't need to ease in, one thumb in your cunt, the other in your ass, pressing inside you. He brings in the wand vibrator eventually, pressing it against your clit with a pressure that's too much. You jerk against the ropes, but the ropes don't give... he doesn't either. He holds it there while he spanks you, while his fingers work inside you, watching how you crumble. "You don't get to cum. Not until I say you can."

WANDERER

✮ mid-term exams at the Akademiya are over, and he can finally give you the attention you've been craving

He's on the floor with his back against the mattress, and you're in his lap. He kisses you the way he's been thinking about it for seven days straight, and when you stand up, he doesn't let you leave. His mouth finds your thigh, your hip, and then he's pressing his face against you through the fabric like he's starving. You push the fabric aside, and his mouth is on you like an apology he'll never verbalize. He eats you out standing up, your fingers in his hair, your legs shaking around his head, and when your knees give, he catches you, pulls you down, and kisses the taste of you back into your own mouth. "Missed you," he says into the kiss.

✮ the position he's in after you begged him to, and he agreed only because you promised it would "feel good."

He's flat on his back, knees up, his cock lying heavy on his stomach while the device you convinced a Fontaine engineer to build drills into him at a pace that you control. You're sitting on his face because sitting and watching is boring, and why not waste an opportunity to put his mouth to good use? Every time you turn the dial up, his mouth vibrates through your cunt hard enough that your thighs 'accidentally' clamp over his face. "Fuck… slow it… ngh… slow it down, I didn't say you could-" You turn it up, just for that, and he bites your thigh in retaliation. You don't hesitate to turn it up higher. His hips lift off the bed, his cock twitches against his stomach, and the sound he makes is so desperate that you almost feel bad... but not enough as you dial it up 3 more levels.

✮ he's taking his time between your legs

He's lying flat on his stomach between your thighs, his arms hooked under your legs, his hands resting on your hips. He's not rushing because your reactions are too entertaining to skip through. His eyes are fixed between your legs, watching the way your cunt clenches around nothing every time his tongue hits the right spot. The muscles tighten, release, tighten again, a visible flutter that he can see, and his mouth curves against your clit. "Look at that, you're clenching so hard, and there's not even anything inside you." His tongue flicks across your clit again, and he watches your hole pulse in response. "That's adorable... You're so desperate for something to squeeze on, and all you're getting is my tongue."

✮ you talked back to him in front of the other Akademiya scholars. this is punishment

You're at your vanity, touching up your makeup for your next class, when Wanderer picks you up and throws you onto the bed. You mistake it for him playing around, so you let out a giggle that dies down once you realize what he's really in here for. You still had your makeup brush in your hand, and he uses that as the main tool for the punishment. The soft bristles trace the inside of your thigh, barely even touching you, and your leg twitches anyway. He drags it up higher, your hips shifting as he does, and he draws slow circles on your clothed clit with the brush tip, the soft fibers tickling in a way that's too light to actually get you off. "You're not allowed to move." You try, but it's hard when the brush keeps circling, feather-light, especially when the area between your thighs is so sensitive. "You're very quiet now..." Your body is twitching involuntarily, your clit swollen and aching for pressure that the brush won't give, and every time you shift your hips to chase friction, he pulls the brush away for three seconds before starting over. "I could do this for hours," he says, "and I will, until you learn that talking back has consequences that last longer than the conversation."

LOHEN

✮ you lost a sparring match and the penalty is whatever he decides

You're on top of him, straddling his hips, facing him, and his cock is between your thighs. He's lying back with both arms behind his head, relaxed, like this is something he's watching happen to someone else. "Tighter. You're barely touching me." You press your thighs together, and the friction changes; his cock slides through the tighter space, and his hips roll up slightly, involuntarily, before he forces them back down. "Don't look smug," he says, even though you weren't. "You're the one on top of me doing thigh exercises for my entertainment. This isn't a win for you." He lets his arms drop from behind his head, his hands finding your hips, and he guides your grind faster, setting a pace that makes his cock slide between your thighs in a rhythm you can feel in your clit. His hips push up to meet your grind, and the pretense of boredom is cracking. "Fuck." His hands grip your hips harder, fingers digging in, and he cums between your thighs, spilling across the inside of your stockings and dripping down. "You should lose more often. And next time, I'm not letting you use your thighs."

✮ he doesn't use his hands like he's bored, like the girl on her knees with his cock in her throat isn't doing anything worth gripping for

He grinds his hips into your face in a rolling rhythm that pushes him across your tongue and into the back of your throat with each push, and the sounds you make around him are garbled. When his cock slips out, spit stringing between your lips and the head, he slaps you. It's a quick one, and, before you can even fully process the slap, he grabs the back of your skull with one hand, feeding himself back in, and his hand drops, hands-free again. "You stopped. I didn't say you could stop." He fucks into your mouth faster, one hand finally gripping the back of your head as he grinds deep, pulling out to stroke twice, and then feeding himself balls-deep, holding you there, your nose against his pelvis. He does this a couple of times before he lets you breathe. "Good prey." (ik its a mlm vid, but hush ur mouth HUSH.)

✮ he treats it like a game. you're the thing being chased

You try to crawl away from him, scrambling toward the headboard. Lohen laughs at you, his hand closing around your ankle and pulling. Your body slides across the sheets, and you try to kick, your free leg pushing against the mattress, but he's stronger, and he's not even trying. He drags you toward him with one arm like you weigh nothing. "Where are you going?" He sounds genuinely curious. "There's nowhere to go. The bed has four sides, and I'm on all of them." You try again, your leg twisting in his grip, and he lets you struggle for a few seconds because it's funny to him, before moving toward you, and dropping your ankle when he's between your legs, forcing them open around his hips. He's naked, fully, and you can feel his cock brush against your inner thigh as he settles. "You're running from me," he says, leaning over you, one hand finding your throat, "with your cunt this wet?" His cock drags against your folds as he shifts his weight, sliding through the slick, and the grin on his face gets bigger. "Your body's not very good at lying. Your mouth says stop, but down here?" He grinds his length against you, the head of his cock nudging your clit. "Down here is rolling out the welcome mat." He pulls you up by your throat, lifting you off the mattress, and you're in his lap, facing him, your bare thighs around his hips. His cock is pressed between your bodies, the heat of it against your stomach, and his free hand slides up your side, fingers finding the hem of your top. His hand leaves your throat and drops to your chest. He bites at your tit through the fabric, his teeth closing your nipple through cotton, tugging, and your back arches into him instead of away. He grins against the fabric, bites harder, and his other hand pulls the top up, bunching it above your breasts. He shoves you down, flat on your back, the mattress bouncing under you, and his hands strip your underwear off in one motion. He holds it up, looking at the wet spot, the soaked center of the fabric that's dark and visibly damp. "Look at this." He turns it so you can see. "You left a whole confession in your underwear, and you're still pretending you don't want this?" He brings the underwear to your mouth. You clamp your lips shut, turning your head, and he grabs your jaw with his free hand, squeezing the hinges until your mouth opens. He stuffs the fabric in, and you try to push it out with your tongue, tasting yourself, the salt and musk of your own arousal coating the cotton. He pushes it in further with his thumb, watching your tongue fight a battle it's losing, until the fabric sits behind your teeth and your protests are reduced to muffled sounds. "Much better." He lets go of your jaw. Eventually, the positions shift, and you end up on his chest, his arms around you, and his hand between your legs. He rubs your clit while his other hand finds your throat again, settling around it loosely. You can feel his cock against your lower back, hard and twitching every time you squirm against him. The underwear in your mouth muffles every sound into something garbled and pathetic, and you can feel your spit soaking through the fabric and dripping down the corner of your mouth. "You ran from me for about four seconds." His voice is in your ear, his chin resting on your shoulder, watching his own hand work between your legs. "Four. And now you're shaking in my lap, dripping through my fingers, with your own panties in your mouth." His fingers speed up, and your hips buck. "You may be the worst prey I've ever hunted, but you're the funniest."

(you can tell i got carried away... sorryz 👀)

I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)

@vvalentiqq, @jellyfishesandroses, @staarflowerr, @literallyibanny, @justwandererforever, @hanakokunzz, @bvlletwound, @prettysweetprincess, @maomaoyuki, @xaeevie, @pwushizz, @txyyyyyyyyyssssssss, @livvysoxytocin, @ventiij, @ruoussss, @kunimooch, @morangosdocesdsuki, @yumi-rxiden, @heavyonsloth, @pjselee, @qwbellao, @scaras1andonly, @saviiamzz129, @hilaryinumaki1

SCARAMOUCHE

✮ chains and overstimulation in a fatui safehouse

You're on your back, completely bare, heavy chains looped around your torso and between your thighs. He slid the vibrator inside you before he chained you down, and it's been buzzing at a low, cruel setting for long enough that your cunt is swollen and pulsing around it on its own. When he presses the wand directly onto your clit, your entire body seizes against the chains, and the metal digs into your ribs as you arch up with nowhere to go.

"Ah, there it is."

He doesn't move the wand at all, watching your stomach muscles contract, and he reaches down with his free hand to trace the red marks the links leave on your skin. "These are going to bruise," he says, pressing his thumb into one. "Good."

✮ crawling to him because he told you to

He's standing at the far end of the room, his cock in his hand, stroking lazily, and you're on your hands and knees on the floor, tongue out, crawling toward him. Every time you get close enough to take him in your mouth, he steps back, just one step, watching you follow. You bob your head forward, lips closing around his tip, before he pulls his hips back, and the wet pop of him leaving your mouth makes you whine. He takes another step, and you crawl forward. "Faster," he says, taking another step back, watching your knees drag across the floor. "You worship so slowly. If you wanted it that badly, you'd move like it." You crawl faster, your mouth finding him again, and this time he lets you stay for three seconds before pulling away. "Better, but I think you should beg for it with your words this time."

✮ bone gag

You're on the floor with a bone gag strapped between your teeth, drool running down your chin. Your arms are tied across your chest with rope, your skirt is bunched up around your waist, and you have no underwear on. Your legs are in the air, held open by the rope, and your eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, your head tipping back every time the dildo slides in. He's sitting between your legs on the floor, one hand working the toy in and out of you in slow, smooth strokes, his thumb on your clit, circling in the same lazy rhythm. He's savoring the wet sounds, the way your cunt grips the toy on every pull, the way your eyes try to focus on him and can't.

"Look at you." He pushes the dildo deeper, holds it there, and his thumb speeds up on your clit until your thighs tremble. "Gagged, tied up, dripping all over my floor, and you still think you deserve my cock?" He pulls the toy out slowly, watching the way your hole clenches around nothing when it's gone. "Pathetic little thing. You haven't earned anything yet."

✮ your mouth is on his cock, his hands are in your hair

He's lying back in the crimson robe he wears around his quarters, the fabric spread open, his cock resting on his stomach. You're between his legs on all fours, your tongue dragging up his shaft from base to tip in a long, flat lick, and your hands are at his sides, sliding up underneath the robe, your palms pressing into his ribs as you take him into your mouth. His hand finds your hair, fingers threading through, gripping, and his hips grind up into your mouth before you're even halfway down. He rolls his hips, feeding himself across your tongue in shallow, constant thrusts that keep him stimulated without going deep, using your mouth the way someone uses a hand.

At some point, your bobbing stops, and he takes over completely, both hands pushing your head down while his hips pump up, bouncing into your mouth. When he finally releases the pressure, spit strings from your lips to his cock in long, glossy threads, and you catch your breath while your tongue finds his shaft again out of habit.

He groans when your tongue drags up the underside, and his hips chase the contact, grinding against the flat of your tongue while your hands slide higher up his body inside the robe. "Don't you dare stop. That mouth is the only useful thing about you today."

✮ you can't escape

You're tied to a chair in the center of the room, your wrists bound above your head by a rope that's attached to the ceiling. Your ankles are strapped to the chair legs, and through a hole cut in the seat beneath you, a wand vibrator is pressed directly against your cunt at a setting that's been making your thighs shake for the last ten minutes straight.

Every time you try to squirm, your body grinds harder against the wand, and the extra pressure sends a jolt through your clit that makes your cunt clench and whimper involuntarily, which humiliates you more because your body is betraying you, and he's there, watching every second of it. He's across the room, seated, one leg crossed over the other, his chin resting on his hand, and he hasn't touched you once.

"You're fighting it again," he observes. "Every time you squirm, you push yourself harder onto it. You know that, right? You're getting yourself off trying to escape, and it's the funniest thing I've seen all week." Your hips jerk, and the wand catches your clit at an angle that makes your back arch off the chair. A broken moan slips out, and you hate the way his mouth curves when he hears it.

"There it is," he says. "That's the sound I was waiting for. Go ahead, fight harder. Your body will do the rest."

✮ you told him you hated your chest... he's going to fix that

You were getting dressed, and you turned sideways in the mirror, and the words about your insecurity came out before you could stop them. He didn't respond to you right away; he just finished whatever it was that he was doing and then told you to sit on the bed.

He tied your arms behind your back, and he tied a pink cord around your chest in a pattern that frames your breasts, making them sit higher, more prominent, impossible to hide. The rope is almost decorative, a harness that turns your insecurity into something displayed. He coats his hands in oil, and when his slicked fingers find your nipples, you flinch because you weren't ready for how sensitive they are when your breasts are bound and swollen from the rope pressure.

"Don't move," he says. His thumbs roll over your nipples in slow circles, spreading the oil until your skin is gleaming. Your breath is coming out faster, and your back keeps trying to arch away from his hands, but you can't because your arms are tied. You can't cover yourself, can't hide, can't do anything except sit there and feel him tease your nipples until they're hard and aching.

"You said you hated these." His slicked thumb flicks across your nipple, watching it stiffen. "So now you're going to sit here while I show you exactly how wrong you are. And when I'm done, you're going to look at yourself and tell me they're pretty." His other hand pinches, rolling your nipple between oiled fingers, and you let out a helpless whimper. "And you're going to mean it. Because I don't accept half-hearted compliments."

WANDERER

✮ using your foot to get him off while he pretends he's above it

He's on the bed, leaning back against the pillows, and your foot is pressed flat against his cock through his pants. His hand is on your ankle, guiding you, grinding himself against the arch of your sole in slow rolls that push his hips off the mattress. He won't ask for more because asking is beneath him, so he just moves your foot where he wants it and acts like this is something he's tolerating rather than something that's making his breathing uneven. His bottoms come off eventually, and the outline of him straining through his boxers is extremely noticeable that you can't resist pressing your toes against it just to watch him twitch. When both your feet are on him, one pressing his balls, the other rolling slow circles on his leaking tip through the fabric, his head drops back. "You're enjoying this more than I am," he says through his teeth, and it's the most obvious lie his tsundere ahh has ever said.

✮ he's eating you out, and you're not even paying attention

You're on your bed, legs spread, playing whatever Fontaine handheld device you convinced a merchant to import. He settles between your legs, pushes your thighs apart, and puts his mouth on you. His tongue drags slowly up your slit while you tap buttons and frown at the screen. You giggle when his tongue flicks your clit because it tickles more than it should, and your free hand drops to his hair, fingers threading through the strands absently, like you're petting him while you play. He hums against your cunt, and the vibration makes your hips twitch, but you don't look down.

He pulls back just enough to talk against your folds. "You're dripping on my chin, and you won't even look at me." You glance down, smile, and go back to your game. He bites the inside of your thigh for that, and your yelp makes him grin before his mouth finds your clit again. He's going to make you put that thing down eventually, and he's patient enough to take his time getting there.

✮ he wants you in bed and won't say it with words

He's lying on his bed in his sleep robe, the fabric open, cock out, half-hard and hanging between his thighs. You're sitting at his desk, reviewing scrollwork for a thesis you don't care about, and you can feel him staring at the back of your head.

You glance over your shoulder. He slightly shifts his hips in a way that makes his cock sway between his legs. He's just letting it hang there, while he looks at you with an expression that says "come here" without opening his mouth.

"Use your words," you say, turning back to your scrollwork.

"I don't need words," he says. "You already looked."

You cave in too quickly, already pushing the chair back before he finishes the sentence. He doesn't smile when you crawl onto the bed, but his cock twitches against his stomach, and that says more than a smile ever could.

✮ leaking for you while you kneel there, looking at it

He's sitting at the edge of the bed, legs spread, his cock hard and dripping between his thighs. A bead of precum slides from the slit down the underside of his shaft. He touches his tip with two fingers, spreads them apart, and a string of precum stretches between them. You're on the floor in front of him, on your knees, watching.

He slides his fingers down his length, dragging the slick with them, coating himself in it, and his cock twitches hard enough that the next bead of precum drips off his tip and lands on his thigh.

"Are you going to keep staring," he says, his voice low, his eyes on yours, "or are you going to do something about it? Because I've been hard since you walked in, and watching you on your knees isn't making it go down."

You lean forward, and he watches you close the distance with that quiet, focused look, his clean hand bracing on the mattress behind him, his hips shifting forward to meet your mouth.

✮ spending quality time with the gift he bought you

He bought you the stuffed bear during a festival week in Sumeru. It's huge, and it's sitting on your bed, taking up a quarter of the mattress. You thanked him with a kiss, and he told you it was "just something practical, your bed looked empty," which is the most Wanderer way to say he saw something that reminded him of you and couldn't walk past it. He didn't expect to come back to your room and find you straddling its leg.

Your hips were rolling against the plush limb in slow grinds, the plush fabric pressing between your folds, and you didn't hear him come in because you were too focused on the heat building in your stomach. He stood in the doorway for a full five seconds before you noticed him, and when you did, your hips stopped completely, and your face went red.

"Don't stop on my account," he says as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. "I want to see you finish."

And when you don't move a muscle, he adds, "that wasn't a suggestion."

Your hips start moving again, slower, embarrassed, and the wet spot you're leaving on the plush is visible from where he's standing. He watches you grind, watches your thighs tighten around the leg, watches your head tip back as the rhythm picks up.

"You like it that much?" he asks, his voice softer now, like he enjoys watching this display. "Should I be jealous? Because I'm starting to think the bear's doing a better job than me, and that's not something I'm willing to accept." He pushes off the doorframe and walks toward the bed. "Move over. Let me show you what you're actually supposed to be riding."

LOHEN

✮ you can't handle it

You're in his basement with your ass in the air, ankles and wrists bound in rope that loops up through a hook that keeps you spread open with zero ability to close your legs. The vibrator on your clit is pressed so directly against the nerve that your entire lower body is clenching in visible pulses. He's holding a plug above your ass that's bigger than the one from yesterday.

Your cunt flutters around nothing, your asshole clenches with it, and he's watching all of it like it's a show. "Look at you," he says, tilting his head to get a better angle. "Both holes are already open before I've even touched you. You trained so well for me, didn't you?" He taps the vibrator with one finger, nudging it harder against your clit, and you clench again, hard. "That little hole just winked at me again."

He presses the cool tip of the plug against your ass, circling the rim without pushing in, and your trained hole opens for it reflexively, the muscle relaxing around the glass like it's been waiting. "See? Your mouth says no, but this," he pushes the plug in one inch, and your body swallows it greedily, "this says you've been thinking about it all day."

A whine that sounds more like crying than pleasure tears out of your throat, and he grinds the vibrator into your clit until the whine breaks into a moan you couldn't hold back if your life depended on it.

"Aw," he says, twisting the plug slowly, watching your hole stretch and grip around it. "Is that supposed to make me stop? Because that sound you just made is actually making me want to see how loud you get when I turn it up." He turns it up, and you scream into the mattress, your hole clenching hard around the plug. The unoptional moans keep spilling out of you one after another.

"You can keep saying no," he says, pressing the plug deeper, watching your body betray every word your mouth tries to form. "Your holes don't listen to you anyway. They listen to me."

✮ restrained in a split with a rod holding your arms in place

The bar holds your wrists apart behind your back, your ankles are forced into a split by the restraints, and when he slides into you, the only thing you can do is take it. He grips the rod behind your back for leverage, and the first thrust makes your whole body rock forward because there's nothing to brace against, nothing except the restraints keeping you exactly where he put you. Your ass claps against his skin on every thrust, and the sound fills the room louder than either of your voices. He pulls the rod back, arching your spine, forcing your chest forward while he fucks deeper. "You're making such pretty sounds for someone who begged me to go easy," he murmurs into the back of your neck. "I lied when I said I would, by the way."

✮ belt on your cunt, then around your neck

You're on the bed with your legs open and his belt folded in half, and the first slap lands directly on your cunt with a crack that makes your whole body flinch off the mattress. He watches your reaction with interest, the way your thighs try to close and can't because his knee is between them, the way your cunt flushes pink from the impact. He slaps again, harder, and the yelp you let out is half pain, half… something else. "You liked that one." He loops the belt around your throat, threading the leather through the buckle and pulling until it sits snug against your pulse. His free hand pushes your thigh back, and he slides inside you, pulling the belt tighter. The first thrust makes your eyes roll back because being full and getting choked at the same time is too many sensations for your body to handle. You feel him pull the belt tighter. "Breathe when I let you."

✮ the staples…

You've been crying ever since he finished putting them in, your face wet against the pillow he shoved under your head when your body started shaking too hard to hold still. There's a heart made of staples in the skin of your inner thigh, each one pressed in individually with a sterile tool, and the dried blood around them has crusted into thin, dark lines that trace its shape. The bruising beneath is already purple, blooming outward from each puncture, and the skin between the staples is swollen and hot to the touch.

He runs his finger along the edge of the heart, tracing the outline, and your leg tries to flinch away from the contact, but his other hand is locked around your ankle, pinning your leg open.

"Stop squirming." He says it like you're being difficult on purpose. "You sat still when I put them in. You can sit still now."

Your body isn't listening to what you want anymore; it's listening to the pain, and when his palm comes down flat across the heart, the slap connecting with every raised staple at once, your cunt clenches hard, and you let out a loud yelp. Fresh blood beads up around two of the staples where the skin splits under the impact, and it runs down the curve of your inner thigh in a thin, warm line that he watches with his head tilted.

"There's the red I wanted." He smears the blood with his thumb, spreading it across the heart, painting the skin around it pink. "You bleed so pretty for me. Almost as pretty as you cry."

Your tears are soaking into the pillow, snot and spit mixing on your face, and your chest is heaving in hiccups that shake the whole bed. He doesn't comfort you; instead, he slides his hand up your thigh, fingers trailing through the blood, and slaps the heart again, harder, his fingers catching the edge of a staple and ripping it halfway out of your skin.

The scream that comes out of you is guttural, ripped from somewhere deeper than your throat, and your hands claw at whatever's near you, the sheets, his arm, anything. He grabs your wrist and pins it to the mattress without looking away from your thigh.

"Shh," he says, and the gentleness of the sound is almost shocking. He pushes the staple back in with his thumb, pressing until the metal sinks into your swollen skin, and you feel every millimeter of it reentering the puncture.

You watch as he makes a fist, and you shake your head against the pillow, crying harder, "please, please, please, I can't-" but the last word gets cut in half when his fist connects with the center of the heart.

Your leg jerks so violently that your knee almost catches his jaw, and he grabs your ankle and slams it back down against the mattress. New blood is pooling in the center of the heart, filling the gaps between staples, and two more have shifted in your skin from the impact.

"You let me put these in you," he says quietly, his bloody thumb pressing into the deepest staple, the one at the bottom point of the heart, and he rotates it. Your scream breaks into a sob, and he leans down and presses his mouth to the heart. His lips are soft against the swollen, bloody skin, and his tongue drags across one of the staples, tasting the copper, tasting… you. He pulls back, blood on his lower lip, and wipes it with the back of his hand.

"Same time next week," he says. "I want to do the other thigh."

I have a Discord now! 18+, for readers, writers, and anyone who wants early wips and a place to chat!! (link)

@vvalentiqq, @jellyfishesandroses, @staarflowerr, @literallyibanny, @justwandererforever, @hanakokunzz, @bvlletwound, @prettysweetprincess, @maomaoyuki, @xaeevie, @pwushizz, @txyyyyyyyyyssssssss, @livvysoxytocin, @ventiij, @ruoussss, @kunimooch, @morangosdocesdsuki, @yumi-rxiden, @heavyonsloth, @pjselee, @qwbellao, @scaras1andonly, @saviiamzz129, @hilaryinumaki1, @jellyzquill

she hums, finally reaching your dripping slit, “where are your manners?”

a shaky moan slips out of your lips when her middle and ring finger finally graze your folds, and your eyes flutter shut, your pace growing more frantic.

you lift your hips to sink down on them, but they keep slightly slipping to either side. your brows furrow in frustration at your repeated attempts, believing it to be due to your trembling or how wet and slippery you were, until you briefly catch a small smirk tugging at toph’s lips.

“toph!” you whine, nails digging into her thigh, “what the hell are you doing!?”

“nothing,” she whistles, coaxing another moan out of you when long fingers part your puffy lips open, feeling you clench around nothing. “i just think you could be more polite.”

“toph, are you serious right n—”

“never been more serious.” she cuts you off with a mocking peck to your cheek, her other hand still squeezing the fat of your tit. “go on. be good, baby. say please.”

you scoff, torn between anger and arousal, “i fucking hate you, you’re so— no no no!” you cry out, quickly grabbing her wrist when she begins to pull away.

“doesn’t sound like begging to me.”

“you— i’m gonna— ugh!” you groan loudly, trying to pull her hand back to you but it refuses to budge an inch, “why are you so— just— ugh… p-please.”

she smirks, and you hate how it gets you wetter.

“aw, there we go. such a good girl.” she coos, tauntingly patting the entirety of your pussy. the embarrassment doesn’t get to settle fully before all your thoughts are flung out of your head, a startled moan leaving your lips when she firmly flicks your clit, following it immediately with toe-curling rubs.

your eyes roll back, feeling two of her thick digits finally prod at your entrance, stretching your gummy walls as she scissors you open.

you mewl, desperately riding her hand and thigh all while her thumb deliciously presses and circles around your puffy bud.

“what the fuck,” you hear her sputter, but you’re honestly far too gone to care about what caught her attention, eyes squeezed shut as your hips roll and snap with incredible rhythm.

your eyes are forced open in surprise though, her previously busy hand leaving your breast to roughly grip your jaw. you stare at her, confused and kind of hornier at whatever the gleam in her eyes meant.

she lets out a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “fucking hell, you’re even pierced here?”

huh?

oh.

oh!

you blush, feeling her thumb fiddle with the metal above your clit, “well.. yeah.”

“and literally why would you do that?” she gives it another tap, “does it give you extra pleasure?”

“well, no.” you state matter-of-factly, slowing down your erratic finger-riding to educate her, “christina piercings are ornamental, so it doesn’t touch my clit or anything.”

she scoffs, her gaze almost demeaning, “then why?”

you hum, and she feels you spasm around her fingers. “ ‘cause it’s hot. and people’s reactions to it also turn me on.. but yours could use a little work.”

“i’m sure you slept with your piercer right after, you whore.” she spits out, to which you huff, “you’re just jealous, bitch. unlike you, i’m not some sex-crazed slut who fucks anybody who speaks to me.”

she laughs and you can hear the cockiness dripping off each of the syllables, “oh, clearly. not desperate at all, fucking the leg of a girl you met a few hours ago.”

your eye twitches and before you can argue back, svelte fingers finally plunge into your velvety walls, your garbled sounds music to her ears. she smiles filthily, “yeah, that’s right, just shut up and moan like the horny whore you are. you being angry only makes you tighter for me.”

you’d love to snap back at her, you really would. but unfortunately that would have to wait because oh my god, her fingers and disgusting mouth alone had you closer to cumming than most of your previous partners ever did.

your mouth crashes back on hers again, drool leaking out of your lips that she eagerly licks up and swallows, heavy tongue entwined with yours as your sopping cunt sucks her in like quicksand.

“mmh, take off,” you mumble dazedly between kisses, panting against her cheek. you tug at the material of her pants, “o-off, please.”

she chuckles, gaze heated, “so polite.”

her fingers continue pounding your needy pussy, her other hand coming to tug at her waistband, and you practically clench at her exposed v-line, defined like an arrow pointing to your gradually appearing prize.

your impatient hands join her useless one, pulling harder at the material and she laughs, lifting her hips to indulge you and you waste no time in discarding the fabric.

“ugh, this is uncomfortable.” she shifts, her sweat-slick thighs sticking to the chair, “need a bigger surface.”

her big hand supports your back, pulling you flush against her and you wrap your arms around her neck immediately. her other one leaves your poor, aching slit, but the promise of what’s to come makes the wait worth it as she stands up, hiking your thighs up to loop around her naked waist.

“guide me,” she murmurs, and the command is so oddly intimate your breath slightly hitches. you nod, flustered, whispering the directions into her ear.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

she drops you down on the bed with a small “oof”, and her fingers lazily hook around the sides of her panties, sliding them off so tauntingly you whimper at the sight.

she only grins, crawling over you to pry your legs open, “like what you see?”

your skirt is easily ripped in a quick move you can’t even begin to comprehend, and you whine as she busies herself between your thighs, “tophh! that skirt cost me an arm and a leg, you could have just taken it off!”

she ignores you, repeating the same thing to your damp panties, “it’s like four inches of fabric. i’ll pay you back the three dollars, jingle bells.”

you groan, “you know nothing about fashion! you just— mngh!” a dirty moan leaves your lips and so does any concern over your clothes, her fingers slipping back into you so naturally like your pussy was home.

“you’re right, i know nothing about fashion. kinda hard to when you’re blind,” she crosses your plush thigh over hers, stretching you out a little more just to hear the filthy squelch, “what i do know, though, is how to fuck a whiny ass girl like you.”

that strikes a nerve again. but your protests, once more, die on the tip of your tongue when you feel her folds smush against yours, her fingers giving way to her warm, slick pussy rutting up feverishly against your own.

you make no effort to be quiet, loudly mewling at the delicious bumping of your clits together, the grunts and moans it earns from her only heightening your arousal.

“fuck,” her voice breaks into a shaky whine, her fingers tightening around your waist as her pace increases, “fuck! so good, you’re so good. your pussy’s so sweet, so perfect. oh, so fucking good. i’m sure it must look so pretty, all soaked and dripping with my wetness and yours.”

you didn’t expect toph to be so.. vocal. taunts and degrading jokes, you expected, but this weirdly adorable display of her desperation came as a not so unwelcome shock.

if anything, the duality only served to tighten the big knot in your lower abdomen.

her voice may crack and her praise may be sweet as syrup, but the way she was fucking you was anything but.

you never knew how flexible you were until today, her hands easily manhandling you into different positions to ensure every inch of your pussy was thoroughly soaked with her slick, your hamstrings threatening to snap at the pressure of her strong palms against the back of your thighs, stretching your legs open into the worst of splits.

“mmph— tophh.. g—gonna cummmm..” you drawled, eyes rolled so far back, saliva trickling down the side of your cheek as you let her scissor you in whichever way she wanted.

the pad of her thumb would occasionally join in to add to the pressure of your swollen clit against hers, and it would send sparks of pleasure up your spine, all of it pooling deep into your gut and threatening to spill over.

“i know. i know you will,” she groans, one hand pinning your thigh to your torso while the other found your pierced nipple to roll and pinch, her rhythm unrelenting.

“come for me,” two fingers slide between where you two were joined, effortlessly sinking into your overly wet cunt, curling against your spongy spot with terrifying precision that leaves your thighs spasming and your breath knocked out of your lungs, “now.”

you don’t keep her waiting, your vision flashing white as thick gushes of cum spray over her swollen pussy. she uses the extra slick to fuck you faster, chasing her own release, your folds sticking together in a mess of arousal and slight sweat, the hot smell of sex filling the room.

when she cums soon after you, you already feel heat pooling in your stomach again at the sight of her so wrecked and spent on top of you.

her tank top had long since joined the pile of torn clothes on the floor, your eyes travelling up her bulging abs to set on her heaving, sweaty chest, pebbled nipples resting on the swells of well-toned breasts.

you made a note to ask her if she was an athlete later.

you were both panting, neither of you moving off each other yet, and you let your hands slowly slide up her abdomen to her tits. you give them a tentative squeeze, cupping the soft flesh, looking at her face to gauge her reaction.

when no refusal was uttered, your thumbs found the peaked buds, gently swiping over them to hear her breath hitch. “beautiful,” you whisper lowly, splaying your hands to fully grab them, “you’re very beautiful, toph.”

“really?” the question is just as gentle as your praise, milky eyes half lidded and set on some spot next to your ear.

“yes,” you answer without delay, one of your hands finding its way to her hair to pull her closer to you. with her chest more lowered now, you press a soft kiss to the top of her right breast, “very beautiful.”

for once, toph didn’t feel like ruining the moment with her snarkiness. she simply stayed quiet, indulging you a bit more before finally untangling your limbs and laying by your side.

she rolls over on her back, folding her flexed arms behind her head. “that was great.”

“yeah,” you turn on your side, your back facing her. “you’re good.”

“just good?” you hear the rustling of sheets behind you, then a hand soon finds the curve of your hip. “i deserve better than that, i think.”

you bite back a smile, nuzzling your pillow, “yeah yeah. you’re really good.”

“oh come on,” she shakes you by the hip, scooting closer until you feel her pout against your nape. “be honest, am i not the best sex you’ve ever had?”

the claim isn’t ridiculous, but the last thing you want to do right now is stroke her ego. you hum pensively before shrugging, “.. eh. i’ve had better.”

“you’re lying,” she barks, giving your thigh a light smack. “i can sense it.”

you sigh dramatically, rubbing the spanked spot, “jeez, toph. it’s okay! you don’t have to best for everyone. i’m sure many people think you’re the best sex they’ve ever had. don’t take it personally, it’s just a matter of preference.”

“stop lying!” she groans and you giggle, another smack landing on your ass this time. “admit it! say i’m the best sex you’ve ever had.”

you sigh again, shaking your head, “is your ego that fragile, toph? that it hangs on being someone’s best fuck? that’s a little pathetic, even for you.”

you tense in preparation for the coming spank, and then burst into laughter when it predictably arrives. she scoffs, “you’re very tickled for someone who was humping my leg like a cheap whore earlier.”

and that wipes the smile clean off your face.

you blush, rolling over to face her with a matching pout, “shut up, don’t bring that up.”

she grins, “ ‘oh, toph! please, more! give it to me, tophh! ahhh!’” you whine loudly, pushing her face off yours as she delightfully mocks your sex noises, increasing them in pitch. “fuck off! you were just as loud!”

“as loud as you?” she laughs, taking your hand off her face to smirk all up in your face, “please, i could barely hear myself over your screams and your fucking jewelry’s banging.”

you flush a deeper shade of red, “stop ittt!”

“see?” she pokes your nose, the biggest of smiles tugging at her mouth. “even outside of sex, you’re so fucking noisy.”

you huff and roll over again, refusing to face her as your hand reaches for the sheets to cover yourself. “whatever. good night.”

“but it’s not even night.”

you pinch your nose bridge, squeezing your eyes shut, “did i seriously just sleep with you?”

she chuckles, patting your hip, “and you loved every second of it. here’s to a good friendship,” she cups your face, tilting it back her way to press a kiss to your lips, “nice to meet you.”

you blink, very slowly. “.. nice to meet you too.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

your banter eventually melted into an oddly pleasant conversation you couldn’t believe you were having with such an annoying woman. you asked each other questions, gradually finding out stuff about yourselves, which was always a nice bonding activity after scissoring a stranger!

you found out she was indeed an athlete; and a wrestler at that. it did make a lot of sense, since most of the other sports required some level of sight, while wrestling — she stated — was more hands-on and physical, hence why she excelled at it.

she even invited you to come watch sometime, to which you obviously agreed, very curious on how she fought. wasn’t her blindness still a big handicap? wasn’t it still much harder for her to predict her opponent’s moves? you were aching to see it all for yourself.

you also found out she uses a white cane, that she somehow forgot in the bus after your outburst.

“how the hell do you forget that?” you frowned, puzzled.

she shrugged, “after that scene you caused, i wanted to catch you before you disappeared, so i kind of rushed and forgot it. i had it under the seat by my feet, so i didn’t feel it.”

you huffed, “that cane is literally how you see, you can’t be that dumb.”

“it’s because i don’t use it that much,” she continued, and that piqued your attention. “i suppose it’s because i fight without it, so i also learnt to do more stuff without it from there on. i can get around my neighborhood just fine since i remember all the roads here, so i basically only use it when i go out somewhere else i’m not familiar with.”

“oh,” you nodded understandingly, then looked down. “well.. i’m sorry for making you forget it, i guess it’s kind of my fault. so allow me to pay you back for it, yeah?”

“awww, such a sweetheart. that’s so kind and generous of you. truly.” she coos, pinching your cheek.

“nevermind, i hope you fall over.”

your gaze flitted to the window, noticing the now starry dark sky. you quickly sat up, eyes widening when you saw the clock on the wall read eight pm.

you’d been talking for almost five hours?

“oh god, it’s so late. and we haven’t even showered yet, ew.” you grimace, getting off the bed to limp towards your bathroom.

she chuckles, smelling herself, “yeah, we reek.”

“you get happy about very fucking weird stuff, toph.”

after a much needed shower, you ended up suggesting for her to stay the night, finding it to be the safer option since she didn’t have her cane. to which she eagerly acquiesced, though for way less innocent motives than yours.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

as the days went by, you two proved to be a much better match than expected. she’d quickly become one of your closest friends, often crashing at each other’s places to either spill tea or get drunk — and the latter often ended in tainted sheets and melted makeup.

your ankle had gotten better too, and you could finally go back to wearing your cherished heels.

toph had just asked you to wait for her outside this shop, she told you she’d be quick and you didn’t need to follow her in, so there you were; leaning against a nearby lamp post as you absentmindedly scrolled on your phone.

after a few minutes, you were snapped out of your doomscrolling by someone poking your shoulder. you lifted your head, only for an incredibly hot woman to meet your gaze. you immediately straightened up, patting your skirt down to look more presentable.

shit, you didn’t like being caught off guard by a hot woman hitting on you.

“sorry for disturbing you,” she starts, and her voice has that low distinct rasp, just like toph’s, that never fails to make your stomach flip. she smiles, leaning down to your height, “i just wanted to tell you you’re very beautiful, you look unreal.”

“oh,” you smile back, sweet yet purposeful, “you’re too kind, thank you. you’re quite attractive yourself.”

you didn’t break eye contact, and the implied message was clear as day.

“a pretty girl like you must be taken,” she looks at the shop you’re waiting in front of, then back at you. “waiting for your partner?”

“oh, no no,” you wave your hand dismissively, stepping more into her space. “i’m just waiting for my friend. i don’t have a girlfriend.”

her smile widens, emboldened by your confirmation and your body language. her hand finds your chin, thumb swiping across your pierced lip, “i see. and do you think there’s any chance my friend over there could get your number?”

she points at some empty spot over her shoulder, and you chuckle, leaning into her touch. “totally. i think your friend’s pretty cute.”

“sweet,” she fiddles with the labret, and your glossy lips playfully pucker up to peck her finger. you notice the flicker in her expression, and of course, you know exactly what you’re doing.

she clears her throat, flustered, letting go of you to fish out her phone.

you smile and take it, long nails tapping against the screen, when a very familiar hand suddenly lands on your ass with a soft smack, giving it a rough squeeze right after.

you’d tensed for a second before groaning, resuming your typing, “tophiee, i told you to stop doing that in public. i keep thinking it’s a creep.”

“my bad,” her arm slides up to hang low around your waist, face scrunching in confusion when she senses the person in front of her. “who is this? are they bothering you?”

“not at all,” you chuckle, putting in the last digits. “she just asked for my info. she’s real smooth with it, i gotta tell you.”

“... huh. interesting.” you don’t pay attention to her grip tightening around your hip in warning, until the phone is abruptly snatched out of your hands the moment you were about to press ‘save contact’.

“sorry buddy,” she deletes the number, sightless eyes set with insane accuracy on the baffled girl in front of you. she tosses the phone at her, making her scramble to catch it in a panic, “she doesn’t have a number.”

you’re just as dumbfounded as the poor girl, who breaks the silence first. “but she was just typi—”

“chop chop.” toph cuts her off, snapping her fingers. “mhm. sorry, no can do. better luck next time. a shame, really. bye.”

you scoff at her, brows raised in shock and anger, “toph? what the fuck do you think you’re—”

“be quiet,” she glares down at you, and it’s deadly. “i’ll get to you later.”

you can’t find any hint of her usual sarcasm or her playful teasing — just a terrifying pair of teal eyes freezing you into place.

it effectively shuts you up, so she focuses back on the very unlucky soul who had the sole misfortune of crossing paths with you today. “what? just leave already.”

her eyes dart in confusion between you and toph, and you can only shamefully look down, giving her a small apologetic wave to end this humiliating interaction sooner. this was so fucking embarrassing.

“what the fuck??” is the last thing you hear from her as she walks away, and you’re genuinely just as confused as her.

when she leaves, you finally glare up at toph properly, pretty features twisted into a frustrated frown. “now, do you wanna explain whatever the hell just— ah!”

you don’t get to finish your sentence before a calloused hand wraps around your wrist, dragging you off with steps as angry as the thudding of her cane against the ground.

you stumble behind her, trying not to trip over your heels at her brisk pace. “t-toph!” you call out to her but she doesn’t answer, and you can only watch her dark hair whip in the air, a hint of fear mixing with your anger.

“toph, where are we g—”

“my place,” she cuts you off, her steps growing faster. “i forgot something.”

your brow raises, questioning. “that’s it? then why the fuck did you interfere with the girl getting my n— oof!”

she stops abruptly and your forehead bumps against her back. you rub it soothingly, “geez, toph. what’s—”

“did you want her to be your girlfriend?” she turns to face you, so close you felt her hot breath hit your cheek. “do you see yourself dating that woman?”

you blink, then you scoff, incredulous. “what? i don’t know, i just met her. i’m not really looking for a serious relationship so—”

“then what?” she spits it like venom and you flinch back. she glares deep into your eyes, “what were you being so sweet and giggly for? for sex? do i not fuck you good enough?”

you stammer, heat creeping up your cheeks. “w-what the fuck, toph?? what does that have to do with—”

“nobody can fuck you better than i do.” she doesn’t let up, invading your space further when you try to step back. “nobody, and certainly not that whore.”

okay, okay. what the hell was going on? perplexed wasn’t good enough a word to even begin to describe how utterly lost you were.

“toph, what the fuck is wrong with you today?” you manage to spit back, returning her glare. “who do you think you are, deciding who can or can’t get my number?”

“i just think it’s stupid of you to pursue sex with someone else when i’m right here.”

you throw your arms up in the air, exasperated, “what?? toph, me sleeping with you doesn’t make you entitled to mess with my love or sex life. with the way you’re speaking, it’s almost like you want me to be your girlfrien—”

“fuck no,” she barks, too quickly, brows furrowing in disgust. “not at all. i just don’t get the point.”

“and you don’t have to get it! you can just fucking suck it up.” you snap, and you immediately regret it with the way her gaze goes cold.

you let out a shaky sigh, trying to rein yourself in. “toph, what i’m trying to say is—”

“stop talking.” her grip tightens around your wrist, and the next thing you know is that you’re being pulled again, too focused on not falling over to argue back.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

you’re both panting when you get to her apartment, and while she fumbles with the key, you take the small opportunity to resume your lecture. “seriously toph, you had no right to butt in. that girl could have possibly been a great match for me. what if i did want her to eventually become my girlfriend?”

“you just said you weren’t looking,” she scoffs, the key repeatedly missing the hole.

you roll your eyes, “that’s not the point. you still can’t butt in, you never know what the future holds. it’s my life, toph.”

the door opens with a click, and it’s instantly shoved open as she barges in, her fingers around your wrist like a cuff.

you sigh, “like i said, you can’t just— mmph!” you’re interrupted by a brutal kiss, all teeth, the force of it making you stagger back until your back hits the wall.

the cane hits the floor and her hands feel you up in a frenzy, mapping out every inch of exposed skin as she sucks the very oxygen out of your lungs.

“it’s because you dress like that,” she pants against your lips between heated kisses. “you’re just begging for attention.”

she swallows the angry protests bubbling up in your throat, her tongue swiping over your palate and teeth and everything in between, and you hate that you can’t help but moan into her mouth.

“these bare legs,” she runs her hands up the back of your thighs, ditching your lips to press wet kisses on your neck, “too exposed. that’s why they hit on you.”

and once again, right when your face scrunched up in irritation, she quashes down any objections by trailing her hand up to your clothed cunt, possessively cupping it.

you uselessly mewl, heat pooling in your gut as you grind on her hand before she swiftly picks you up, taking you to her room.

how were you expected to conjure up any proper argument when this unfairly hot woman was already positioning you to her liking, wordlessly pushing your face into the pillows and adjusting the arch of your back?

“wait right here,” she whispers raspily into your ear, patting your waist to excuse herself, leaving you bent and exposed.

you huff into the pillows. what could you possibly do other than ‘wait here’?

this was ridiculous, you thought to yourself. all your arguments ended like this — unfinished, with your pussy full. you knew better than to keep letting her get away with this, thinking she can win you over by simply fucking you into oblivion and never addressing these accumulating issues.

you will stand your ground.

the bed dips under her weight, and you let out a soft moan when her hands return to your hips, lifting your skirt up.

you will stand your ground, tomorrow.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

sex with toph was always mind-blowing. but this time — on your great grandmother’s grave — you swore you felt your tailbone crack.

“t—toph!! oh my fucking— tophhh!!” you uselessly cry out, leaving sweat-damp marks on the sheets you were clinging to for dear life.

“take it,” her fingers are so tight around your hips you knew they’d bruise the next day.

she hikes them up even higher, earning a pained scream from you that quickly morphs into a pleasured string of moans, the tip of her strap striking your g-spot like a dart to a bullseye.

she leans down to take your ear between her teeth, her pounding relentless. “you’ll take it, my stupid whore. maybe this’ll remind you who this greedy pussy belongs to.”

you’d always hated claims of ownership. they irked you out to no end, and not only did you find them demeaning, they also never failed to make you feel so trapped and helpless.

but right now? with tears and drool soaking your pillows, you wanted nothing but to be thoroughly owned by her.

you don’t feel the words slip out of your mouth until they do, “y—yours. it’s all yours.”

her hips stutter for a second before she moans, loudly. her hand comes down on your ass in a sharp smack, appreciating the ripple and your startled gasp, “say it again.” it’s almost desperate, with the way she pants against your damp nape, “say it.”

you swallow your pooling saliva, “i—it belongs to you, toph.”

“does anybody else fuck you like this?” she spits against your ear with punishing thrusts against your abused walls.

you shake your head, sniffling, “n-no. nobody. mngh!”

her head had left its spot behind your nape, lifting herself up to spread your cheeks wider, and she wished she could see your creamy slick coating the pumping toy.

the wet squelches of your cunt were an auditory tease that made her yearn for sight more than anything else in the world.

with the next rough thrusts, and her hand sliding down to rub circles on your neglected clit, your eyes cross and roll back as you gush all over her strap.

her furious pounding calms down, the rocking of her hips more gentle while your orgasm sends pleasant tingles to the ends of your limbs.

you slowly relax, blissed out, letting yourself enjoy the sweet thrusts to ride out your high.

then a startled squeal escapes your lips, eyes blowing wide open when the sting registers.

did she just—

“ah!” you yelp again, flushing with need and embarrassment at the realization. she was biting your ass!

“shh,” she fondles the fat of your plump backside, alternating between right and left as she bites down on it, leaving angry red marks in her wake. “need to mark you.”

she slips out of you with a filthy pop, casually fingering some of your own cum back into you, then her sticky hands are on your hips again.

you feel the brush of her hair as her kisses and bites descend further down the back of your thighs, littering the canvas of your soft skin with twin markings on each side.

“toph..” you swallow a whimper when she goes back up, coaxing your legs further apart to get to your inner thighs as well, repeating the same process.

she stops at your still spasming pussy, then presses a long, deceptively sweet kiss to your sensitive folds before spitting on them. and your knees immediately give out.

she smiles, pulling back as if to look at your entire spent form. her fingers brush over the dented traces of her teeth on your ass, and she sighs softly, pleased. “now, they’ll know.”

who were “they”? know what? you had no energy left in you to ask, so you only laid limp on her bed, eyes fluttering shut. you felt her weight leave the bed as she walked away, the toy hitting the ground with a wet thud.

awful, awful cramps set in the next morning, dull painful throbbing from all your bones and muscles, and you couldn’t walk for six days.

and while you didn’t want to doubt toph’s goodness since she did stay by your side this whole week, helping you out and pampering you until the pain subsided, you almost felt like she reveled in your inability to leave the house.

or maybe not. maybe she just happened to be very happy to spend time with you.

after all, a friend wouldn’t be that cruel, right?

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

you and zuko had finally gotten home after a long dinner party at the fire palace.

though you were both in entirely different moods; a big, satisfied smile on your face, and a deeply frustrated frown on zuko’s.

you opened the door, hand splayed on the wall for support as you lazily undid the tight straps of your heels, hyper aware of your fuming boyfriend glaring daggers into the back of your head.

you shoot him an innocent glance over your shoulder, your smile bordering on taunting, “is everything okay, my darling? you don’t seem so well.”

amber eyes pierce through your very soul, blazing with irritation. any normal person would be cowering and pleading for forgiveness by now, facing such obvious anger from the fire lord— but you could see past that front.

despite his royal status and gruff appearance pointing towards the opposite, zuko was actually a very gentle lover in private.

he’d never laid a hand on you, no matter what you did. were you a little mean for exploiting that to unleash your maximum brattiness? maybe.

but the sight of him so worked up and helpless always turned you on so badly, and his attempts at getting you to behave were just so fun each and every time.

your feet slip into your fuzzy slippers as you step further into the house, and an exasperated groan escapes zuko’s throat.

“why? seriously, why do you do this, my love?” he pinches his nose bridge, trying to even out his breathing. “i’ve told you time and time again that i do not tolerate misbehavior at formal gatherings.”

you hum, in the kitchen now, opening the fridge for something to eat, “i did nothing wrong, zu.”

he huffs, quickly closing the distance and brutally shoving the fridge door shut, his bulk towering over you. “nothing? you call teasing my attendants, purposefully hiking up your dress in front of everyone, flirting with most of the guests — nothing? that’s all nothing to you, my love? i had to personally apologize to so many people for your weird behavior tonight.”

puffs of steam hit your face as he rants, but all that does is make you more smug. you bat your lashes up at him, “i’ve just had one too many drinks, zu. i didn’t mean to.”

his brows furrow, “i watched your wine glass the entire time. you didn’t drink enough to act like that, sweetheart.”

you also liked how the terms of endearment never left his mouth, even when scolding you.

you shrug, grabbing a nearby water bottle and walking off again. “whoops, then.”

“you—you’re impossible!” his voice almost cracks, and you hide your victory grin behind your bottle, heading towards the stairs.

you take a refreshing sip, soothing the slight scratchiness of your throat from the alcohol.

“having a hard time with her again, sparky?”

you choke on your water, followed suit by an intense coughing fit as you trip over yourself, the liquid spilling everywhere.

you scramble up on your knees, hesitantly twisting your head behind you.

oh no.

no no no.

“she’s been a nightmare,” zuko sighs in defeat when toph walks over from where she was quietly seated in the living room the entire time.

her arm snakes around his strong waist, a delighted grin plastered on her face as she looks down at you, gaze accurately pinning you down from the sound of your now erratic breathing. “yeah? well, you’re the one who enables her, zuko.”

your eyes nervously dart between them both, extremely puzzled. why was she here?

it was thursday. in your arrangement, thursdays were for you and zuko only.

toph wasn’t supposed to be here.

she gives him a pat on the back before stepping over to where you were, gait slow and assured.

you crawl back in panic, but your movements are quickly halted when she earthbends the ground under you to lock your limbs into place.

“confused?” she kneels down to your height, tilting her head mockingly. “it’s past midnight, princess. which means, it’s friday now. and oh, remind me, who’s in charge of you in fridays again?”

she smiles, and it’s pure evil.

you immediately break out into a cold sweat, your trembling lips rendering you a stammering mess. “n—no wait, this doesn’t count! i—i was with zuko all day, i didn’t—”

he scoffs, throwing his arms up in the air. “now, you’re scared? do my words and warnings mean nothing to you at all?”

you’re about to take it all back and apologize to him when she cuts you off with a loud cackle, “don’t be jealous, sparky.”

you flinch when her rough hand comes down to ruffle your hair thoroughly, like you were some misbehaving dog. she grins, all teeth, “you’re just too gentle on her. but don’t worry, i’ll take good care of that for you.”

zuko sighs again, coming to stand next to toph as he brushes his thick, disheveled hair back, staring you down with suffocating disappointment. “i just hoped she’d be more cooperative. you know i don’t like using violence, toph.”

“violence’s too strong a word..” she coos, patting your cheek softly and you almost melt into her touch, before the pat quickly morphs into a head-whipping slap, her palm striking you so hard your face slams against the floor in a crashing thud and your ears begin to ring.

a sharp cry erupts from your throat and she smiles sweetly, dusting her hands before getting up. “mhm. i’d just call it.. light discipline.”

she leans down to lift your head up by your roots, like you were some grocery bag, then casually turns back to a flabbergasted zuko who can’t tear his eyes off the blooming bruise on your soft cheek.

“this,” she gives your hair another tug, relishing the pathetic yelp it coaxes from you, “is how you tame a brat, my dear zuko.”

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

toph forces you to crawl all the way to your bedroom, the sole of her foot nudging your ass if your pace slackens, and you want to die from the sheer embarrassment.

nothing about this was fair. at all.

you hadn’t taken toph into account. you only did as you pleased because you were sure she wouldn’t be here.

fucking midnight — that didn’t count!! it was still not her day!

she had you on a tight leash since the beginning of your relationship, and having learned your lesson the hard way a few times, you knew better than to test her.

she was ruthless.

so unlike sweet, gentle zuko. zuko who pampered and spoiled you rotten, zuko who indulged your brattiness most of the time, zuko who you were now immensely regretting taking for granted.

“faster,” she yawns, giving your backside a light kick and feeling it jerk up against her foot. you flush harder at the utter humiliation, face as red as your bruise.

“see, zu?” she gives him a proud grin as they walk behind you. “not a word of rebuttal. i keep telling you, she can be very good if you beat some sense into her little pea brain. you just gotta show her who’s boss.”

he stays silent, but you can feel his heavy gaze on you. and you wished the ground would split open and swallow you up already.

being punished by toph was one thing — having zuko watch you get punished was a whole other one.

it was too humiliating; he was the partner you felt cockier with.

you were so smug and catty with him, and now your entire act was crumbling apart right before his very eyes.

your self-esteem was taking a huge, huge hit. one you weren’t sure how to recover from.

you’re snapped out of your self-pitying with a startled squeal, her foot coming to slot itself between your thighs this time, spreading them open as she brings the top of it up to rub against your clothed cunt.

“t—toph!” you can’t help but shamefully moan, back arching further at the friction against your damp panties, and she laughs even louder. “what the hell, you’re so filthy. what the fuck’s got you so wet already, you disgusting whore? ew, you’re getting my foot all dirty.”

and with that, she pulls it away to give your ass another kick forward.

zuko looks away, embarrassed for your own sake, though his painfully hard cock tells another story.

toph sighs, wiping the excess slick that seeped onto her foot on the back of your thighs, and you could cry from how degraded you felt and how there was nothing you could do but take it.

and the fact that this still had you a dripping mess only made shame curdle deep in your stomach.

“can’t behave,” she spits out, swiping her foot across the floor. “and can’t crawl properly. what can you even do?”

you don’t see her assume her stance until the earth under you rumbles and folds into a rippling wave that sends you straight to your shared bedroom, where you land with a squeak.

“toph,” zuko glares at her as they march forward. “don’t use rash bending on her like that.”

she merely tuts, sliding off her clothes before even reaching you, “you’re soft. this is why she disobeys you.”

“i’m not soft.” he argues, crossing his arms, and toph is already lifting your dazed self up onto the bed. “you are. you can’t even spank her.”

“hitting isn’t always the answer.”

she lays you down, your hair pooling so prettily around your head like a halo, then gives your thigh a smack to feel you jolt back into attention.

she shoots him a smug grin and shrugs, “works just fine to me.”

you swallow thickly, her nimble fingers ridding you of the expensive silks, exposing your pretty, naked body for her to mark and bruise as she pleased.

toph notices the trembling of your limbs under her, and her smile turns fond, her voice soft as her face lowers to closely hover over yours. “don’t be scared, sweet girl.”

tears prick at your eyes, and you let out a tiny whimper. “i-i didn’t do anything to you, toph.”

“you’re right,” she captures your lips into a warm, sloppy kiss — so sweet you would think her bipolar. “that’s why i’ll be gentle on you.”

her words reek of lies, but what can you do other than cling to them?

you nuzzle her calloused hand resting on your blemished cheek, allowing tears to fall down and soak her fingers, “y-you know i’d never disobey you, toph.”

“i know.” she agrees, caressing your face as her smirk grows wider, more condescending. “you fear mommy the most, don’t you?”

her hands drift to your bare breasts to cup them, and you nod eagerly, not thinking much of the question.

then zuko — who you almost forgot was even there — barks out an irritated scoff, stripping himself off his robes too. “is that how it is? out of the two of us, i’m the one who treats you best, the one who has you drenched in gold and fancy silk, the one who has never so much as raised their voice at you. and yet, i’m the one you don’t listen to?”

you wince at his harsh tone, unused to seeing him so visibly angry with you, guilt pooling in your gut. “n-no i—”

toph laughs, licking a stripe up your neck. “suck it up, sparky. i’m just that much better than you. you’re mommy’s girl through and through, aren’t you baby?”

you don’t even know who to look at, glancing between a cocky and deceptively sweet toph, and a deeply disappointed zuko, who had now joined you both on the bed, all of you only left in your underwear.

toph was usually the angry one— you didn’t know how to navigate this.

her punishment was worse, but zuko was now a highly unpredictable variable in your situation.

you never once doubted his soft spot for you, but it was hard to stay confident under such a terrifying, boiling hot man.

“my my, you’re steaming, zu.” toph lifts herself up from you to capture zuko’s lips into a filthy kiss, wisps of smoke escaping through the gaps of their mouths.

an easy moan slips out of your lips when she kneads your tits, reminding you that she was still there with you.

the kiss keeps growing more heated, less tongue and more teeth, both of them fighting for dominance.

when you see a bit of blood trickle down zuko’s lip to his chin, you frown in worry and poke at toph’s side. “g-guys i think you’re taking it too—”

both of them immediately turn to glare at you and all your words die on your tongue, their heaving chests and angry eyes sending sparks of fear and pleasure down to your throbbing clit.

“go away, toph.” zuko nudges her off, crawling over you. “this concerns me. i’ll take over.”

“suit yourself,” she sits by your head, lazily leaning back against the headboard as zuko spreads your legs open.

the motion isn’t gentle, and that’s when you realize this isn’t the usual sweet, soft zuko you know.

no no no, this wasn’t like him at all—

“i always defended you,” he spits it like venom, not bothering to look up from your puffy folds, neatly outlined through your wet panties. “i always thought toph’s methods were uncivilized, savage, undignified to use on a smart girl like you.”

a wail is ripped out of your throat when his hand cups the entirety of your cunt, heating it up just enough to warn, shy of burning you.

you’re already crying again, and you want to apologize but he decides he isn’t done speaking.

“no no, don’t bother, your words mean nothing to me anymore. time and time again, i’ve tolerated your actions and opted for gentler, more humane treatment. thought i could talk sense into your stubborn head. and what does that get me? a royal fuck-up at an important dinner. you know, maybe toph’s right. maybe you’re just a fucking mutt who needs a rough hand to actually listen.”

tears freely stream down your face, and you want to deny it all so badly. you want to defend yourself, speak up, tell him that he has it all wrong and you’ll listen — but he’s past entertaining your nonsense now.

you don’t even see his hand move until your entire body jerks up in shock as you cry out, a harsh spank landing on your swollen pussy lips.

you sob loudly, writhing and reaching for his arms to hold onto.

“well, i’ll be damned,” toph perks up next to you, pleasantly surprised, like she was commenting on a football match. “didn’t know you had it in you, sparky.”

“shut up, toph.” he glares down at you, panting, and through your teary half-lidded eyes, you swore you saw a flicker of hesitation in his blazing ones, like he wasn’t sure whether to really go through with this.

you allow yourself to soak in that brief moment, holding eye contact in hopes that you’d butter him up.

remind him you were just his princess.

that you were the girl he never laid a hand on.

zuko feels conflicted.

he wants to stop this.

he wants to hold you in his arms and litter apologetic kisses all over your fragile body.

this isn’t like him.

but he also likes this.

when he ignores the small bit of guilt prodding at the back of his mind, he really, unexpectedly, likes this.

he likes seeing those quivering lips, that hint of fear in your usually fierce eyes.

that meekness that you usually reserved for toph only.

you were vulnerable now.

you were actually listening.

no back talk, no smug remarks, no teasing — just obediently waiting for his next move.

fuck.

the sight of you so wrecked and fearful under him has his cock effortlessly straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

it felt deranged but he couldn’t resist it anymore — he’d make it up to you later.

your hope for the soft zuko vanishes when he suddenly grabs your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders as he frees his rock hard cock, tip flushed and already leaking with too much pre-cum.

even in your state, you can’t help but drool when it slaps back against his abdomen, and you feel yourself clench around nothing.

well that “nothing” was about to become something, and way sooner than expected.

zuko always fingered you before fucking you, gently stretched you bit by bit because he knew he was too big for you, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt his pretty, pretty girl.

but that zuko was long gone and now you scream, nails drawing blood against his delts as his thick cock bullies its way inside your tight walls with no prep at all.

“z—zuko! i-it hurts— nngh!”

“you’ll take it.” he snaps with finality, and you can’t get used to this new, mean tone of his — though your pussy clearly can. “you take toph all the time.”

“yeah, and i’m bigger.” she adds with a proud grin, casually twirling a strand of your sweat-damp hair like you weren’t almost bouncing off the bed with the force of zuko’s thrusts.

his huge hands find the back of your thighs, folding you into a mating press and you choke on your moans at the deeper angle, his fat tip kissing your cervix.

“ahh zuko!” you mewl through your cries, drool and tears soaking the pillow under you, mouth agape as he fucks you stupid, and another smack! lands on your ass.

“is this what it takes?” his palms grow hotter against the sweaty skin of your thighs, steam wafting off his body. “do i have to treat you like an animal for you to listen to me? do i have to be as savage as toph?”

she lets out a booming laugh, slapping her knee, “that’s me! you’re welcome, sparky.”

“answer me,” he orders you, ignoring toph.

you want to, but all you can do is moan like a bitch in heat and admire how beautiful he is, even with the ugly emotions stirring in his heart.

it was unfair how pretty he was — face scrunched up in anger and concentration, sweat collecting on his forehead and around his bangs, lips as red as his scar, parted open for puffs of hot air to hit your face.

maybe it was because he was the fire lord, but even in his ruthlessness, there was some sort of grace, refinement.

while toph doled out insane, crass punishment, terrifying enough to set you straight for life — zuko seemed more.. reasonable, for lack of a better word.

how even at his worst, with his control lost, he still managed to hold a level of composure you could only dream of toph possessing at her best.

cruel, cruel toph.

toph who had been awfully, oddly patient, now that you thought about it.

as if she read your mind, she suddenly groans, stretching her limbs. “okay, this isn’t that fun anymore. let me in too.”

zuko huffs, dragging a particularly high pitched yelp out of you when his dick strikes your g-spot, “it’s my night.”

“well it’s technically friday, so it’s actually mine.”

“toph.”

she sneers and grabs his shoulder, cocking an eye brow. “now now, sparky. i know you just grew a backbone, but don’t forget who still tops both of you, yeah?”

toph interrupts his reluctant grumbling, pushing him away from your face so her fingers can find you. she traces your pretty features, smudging your tears and sweat all over them, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “you always look your best when you’re fucked out. now, let me have my fun.”

her words don’t even register in your brain, too focused on her beautiful tits and bulging abs and zuko’s cock still ramming into you hard and fast.

with zuko’s head pushed further back now, she doesn’t waste time in using up the free space, and your eyes widen when she lifts herself up, her knees sinking on either side of your head.

she looks down at you, and the eye contact makes you spasm around zuko’s dick, which in turn twitches inside you.

she grins, hips hovering over your face as teasing fingers slowly tug her panties to the side, “i’m sure all that crying got you hungry, yeah?”

she leaves you no opportunity to answer — not that you could anyway, only able to mewl at your boyfriend’s furious pounding — before lowering herself on you, the smell of her gorgeous, wet pussy clouding all your other senses.

you can barely breathe, but you know better than to reject a beifong’s gift. you were very grateful.

she scoffs, giving your hair a harsh pull, “eat up, bitch. if i just wanted to sit, i’d pick a fucking sofa.”

a sharp thrust from zuko elicits a loud moan from you, which reverberates through her core and pulls a similar noise out of her.

“good,” her hips begin to rock against your face, and you start lapping at her soaked folds, drinking in her moans of pleasure mixed with zuko’s satisfied grunts, both of them about to stuff your holes soon enough.

“faster!” her grip on your hair is so tight it puts zuko’s on your hips to shame, and you find yourself crying harder as you moan and eat her out, overwhelmed by the amount of sensations engulfing your body.

your hands weakly slide up to grab toph’s waist to help please her, but they’re quickly smacked off.

“don’t touch me until i cum, slut.” she barks, fucking your face harder, and your choking only causes you to tighten around zuko, who moans and picks up the pace at the feel of your fluttering walls, his heavy balls smacking against the bruised skin of your ass.

“fuck,” she breathes out a raspy laugh, reveling in your completely wrecked noises. “no way this pathetic girl actually gives you trouble, sparky. that’s kinda embarrassing for you.”

“shut up— haah..” he trails off, his pace stuttering for a second and the next thing you feel is absurdly strong, hot gushes of white cum painting your insides white, filling you up to the brim, and your eyes cross and roll back so hard you thought you’d gone blind.

his slow rocking as he ensures you’re stuffed well and full of him has you close to cumming yourself, but just as you’re about to let go, toph quickly throws her arm behind her to push zuko off, “pull out!”

even with only one of her strong hands, he’s already pushed half out of you, and with a muffled cry from you against toph’s cunt, he pulls out as ordered, urged by the urgency in her voice.

he frowns, gently fisting himself, puzzled. “the hell, toph? what was that for?”

toph grins, resuming your face-fucking, “she was about to cum. i heard all her blood rush faster south, and of course, good girls don’t cum before their mommies, right?”

your poor pussy spams uselessly, milky pearls of zuko’s cum trickling down your slit to dampen the sheets, and he feels his cock already harden again at the sight.

toph’s moans grow louder as you sob against her, helplessly suckling and slurping at her clit, and her orgasm soon follows.

it was just like what you said earlier; toph was disgusting.

these were her methods.

your face was a mix of tears, snot, drool, and now cum. and yet, if she was allowed sight for only one moment, she’d pick this one with zero hesitation.

“good girl.” with another filthy squelch of her cunt against your mouth, she forces you to swallow all her slick, two fingers pressed against your slender throat to feel the ripple of it.

she finally lifts herself up, and you suck in a desperate breath, dragging air back into your lungs like a drowning woman.

she snickers at that, sitting on your abdomen instead, listening to your frantic, frenzied panting.

“aw,” she croons, sliding her hands up the curve of your waist to your chest again, coaxing broken whimpers out of you when she toys with your peaked nipples. “baby wants an orgasm, huh?”

you sniffle and nod, back arching as she pulls and twists your sensitive buds.

her smirk widens and it’s wicked. “well, i’m not the one you pissed off, so this isn’t up to me.”

“do you forgive her, zuko? think she deserves to cum?” one of her hands drifts behind her, past your navel and inching closer to your perked up clit.

you look up at zuko, and he’s never seen you this pitiful.

he sighs, laying by your side as he cups your bruised, tear-stained cheek, your face a filthy mess of different fluids.

you press shaky, apologetic kisses to his palm, and his thumb gently swipes under your eyelid. “are you really sorry?”

you nod desperately and he shakes his head, “i want to hear you. speak.”

toph gives your clit a warning flick, and words spill out of your lips in a flurry, “i—i’m sorry! p—please, i really am. i-i’m so sorry zuko, i swear i’ll—”

“not zuko,” he interrupts you, and now of all times, a blush tints his cheeks. “daddy.”

you blink through your daze, confused at the request. zuko never had you use titles before.

“don’t look at me like that,” he quickly huffs out, defensive. “you always call toph mommy.”

“oh please.” toph cackles, her weight heavy on your tummy. “i’m hot enough to pull it off. you can’t.”

“fuck off.” he flushes harder, and you’d find it adorable if not for your current predicament. his gaze is back on you, his grip on your face more insistent. “say it.”

“i..” your blush mimics his, and you wipe some of your tears with the back of your hand. “i-i’m sorry, daddy. i promise i won’t do it again.”

he sighs, resting his forehead against yours. “good girl. you know i don’t like seeing you hurt like this.”

you sniffle, clinging to him as much as toph’s body on your middle can allow, “y-yes. i’m so sorry, daddy. please forgive me.”

“wow, what do you know,” toph whistles playfully, like you weren’t hanging on by a thread. “you can pull it off, sparky. good job.”

he scoffs, scowling at her, “fuck you.”

“maybe on saturday.”

“daddy,” you cut them off, really not in the mood for their bickering when your orgasm was only a few touches away. you weakly tilt zuko’s face back your way, more tears pricking at your eyes. “please— i need to cum, so badly. d-do you forgive me?”

he stares at you, his gaze softening at how destroyed you look and sound.

toph hums a song, her index tapping against the very edge of your clit, carefully avoiding it, and you feel like a defendant awaiting verdict.

relief floods your entire body when he presses a chaste kiss to your quivering lips, pulling back with a small smile. “of course i forgive you.”

“cute,” toph smirks, and her touch finally, mercifully, lands on your puffy bud, and your eyes squeeze shut with joyful anticipation.

though she stops after two measly rubs, zuko’s words cutting through your haze like a guillotine. “but you won’t cum tonight.”

what?

“no!” you cry out when toph gets off you with a delighted guffaw, and you don’t know who to beg anymore. “p-please, you can’t do this to me, i’m begging—”

“shhh,” he shushes you with another soft kiss, but this one doesn’t feel as sweet anymore. it feels cruel, even.

toph, on the other hand, starts clapping, like she’d just watched an award-winning movie. “what a twist! good going, sparky. didn’t know you could be so mean to your lovely princess.”

he gets up as well, both of them leaving you an edged, ruined mess on the bed, and you can’t stop the flood of tears streaming down your face.

ignoring your repeated calls, toph’s hand finds his warm lower back as they start walking away, “see, zuko? now you’re never gonna have to deal with bad dinners again, trust me.”

you helplessly watch their retreating figures, hiccuping a sob, and though you know it won’t be nearly as good, you decide to at least relieve yourself instead, the need unbearable.

anything was better than whatever the fuck they just did to you.

but just as your pathetic fingers slide down to your slit, you hear a snap of fingers and metal suddenly wraps around your wrists before roughly bringing them both up over your head, slamming the back of your hands against the headboard, a loud wail escaping your throat.

you look up to see toph by the entrance, her fingers up in a twirly motion, zuko having left ahead for the bathroom first.

she gives you a taunting grin, “nice try. better luck next time.”

then she closes the door after her, and you’re left crying and thrashing uselessly against the binds until your throat’s hoarse and your wrists are marred.

not only that, but they also decide to take the torture further by having nasty, sloppy sex in the shower, their moans resounding so loudly through the walls you couldn’t tell who was topping who this time, your imagination running wild with nothing to soothe the burning heat in your drooling, aching pussy.

all over a fucking dinner party.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

* i have a similar zutoph x reader work (one of my favs) with more focus on toph, so feel free to check it out here if you haven’t already!

man it’s so hard to write a brat taming fic without spanking, i tried giving it a break since i shove it in almost every fic smh😞

You didn't buy the stoicism for a heartbeat. You moved toward him, the soft thud of your boots on the rug the only sound in the tense air. "You're hurt. Don't you dare tell me you're fine when you're literally leaning on the doorframe for support, Zuko." Your eyes scanned him, noting the way his jaw remained locked tight, the muscle jumping in his cheek.

His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, were slightly glazed, shielded by the long, dark lashes that cast shadows over his high cheekbones. "I didn't want to bother the others," he said, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Katara is... she’s busy with the reconstruction efforts in the lower plaza. I didn't want to add to her burden."

The lie was as transparent as thin ice. You knew Katara would have dropped everything for him, and more importantly, he knew it too. He had come here because he wanted you. You felt a surge of maternal fury mixed with a terrifyingly sharp affection. "Busy? Zuko, you are the Fire Lord! She would heal you in seconds. Why are you being so incredibly dense? You're bleeding through your silks and you’re worried about being a 'burden'?"

You were scolding him now, your voice rising in pitch, hands gesturing wildly. "Did you even stop at the infirmary? Did you even drink any water? I swear, for a master firebender, you have the survival instincts of a moth flying into a torch. If you die of an infected gut wound because you were too shy to ask for help, I will personally travel to the Spirit World just to kick your royal ass back to the physical plane!"

Zuko’s face flushed a deep, pomegranate red, his good eye widening at your tirade. He looked like he wanted to argue, but a particularly sharp pang of pain shot through him, causing him to double over. A low groan escaped his lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony that silenced your shouting instantly.

"Sit," you commanded, your voice dropping to a stern, low vibrato. You pointed to the edge of your bed. "Now. And take off those robes. All of them. I need to see the damage."

He hesitated, his fingers fumbling with the golden fastenings of his outer tunic. His hands were shaking, the skin of his knuckles scraped raw. "Here? I... I don't think..."

"Zuko," you snapped, though the edge was softened by the tremor in your own hands as you reached for your water basin. "I am a healer. I have seen bodies before. Now move before I have to call the palace guards to help me strip you, and we both know how much you’d hate the gossip."

With a defeated sigh that turned into a hiss of breath through his teeth, he began to peel back the layers. The red silk fell away, revealing a chest built of hard, lean muscle and a map of old scars. The most prominent was the jagged, puckered mark on his stomach—the legacy of Azula’s lightning. It was angry now, the skin around it swollen and bruised a sickly shade of purple and yellow. He moved to the bed, lying back with a grunt, his long legs dangling off the edge.

You knelt beside him, the cool water in your bucket shimmering under the candlelight. As you called the water to your palms, a glowing orb of cerulean light, you found your gaze wandering. He was breathtaking. His shoulders were broad, tapering down to a narrow waist and flat, tensed abdominals. The light played off the sweat-slicked skin of his collarbones, and you could see the rapid pulse in his neck.

You felt your own face heat up. You were supposed to be focusing on the subcutaneous tissue, the internal bruising, the way the lightning scar was pulling at the surrounding fascia. Instead, you were noticing the way his chest hair thinned toward his navel and the sheer power held in his resting limbs. You were staring. You were definitely staring.

"Is it... is it that bad?" Zuko’s voice broke the silence, making you jump. He was looking up at you, his expression a mix of vulnerability and confusion. "You've been holding that water for a minute now. Am I going to lose the kidney?"

"What? No!" You felt the water wobble in your grasp. "I was just... assessing. Calculating the depth of the trauma. Don't be dramatic."

"You looked like you were off in another world," he said, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite his pain. "How have you been, anyway? Since I left for the front? I realized I didn't even ask."

The casualness of the question, after he’d nearly gotten himself killed, made your blood boil again. You glared at him, your eyebrows knitting together. "How have I been? I’ve been sitting here wondering if the Fire Lord was going to come back in a box or a litter! I don’t matter right now, Zuko. My well-being is perfectly stable, unlike your internal organs!"

Your frustration spiked, and your control over the element wavered. The glowing water in your hands suddenly dropped in temperature, crystals of frost blooming across its surface. Before you could pull back, the water—now a slushy, freezing mess—slapped down onto his heated, sensitive skin.

Zuko let out a high-pitched yelp, his entire body arching off the mattress as if he’d been struck by lightning all over again. "Cold! Spirits, that’s cold! Are you trying to heal me or turn me into a glacier?"

"Maybe if you didn't talk so much, I could concentrate!" you shot back, frantically trying to re-melt the ice. "You're like a giant furnace, Zuko! I have to compensate for your internal body heat!"

"I'm a firebender! I'm supposed to be warm! You just dropped a polar-dog's breakfast on my stomach!" He sat up halfway, his face inches from yours, his eyes flashing with a mix of indignation and amusement. "Is this revenge? Is this because I didn't go to Katara? Because if it is, I'll take the scar over the frostbite!"

"It’s not revenge! It’s... it’s a specialized cryo-therapy technique!" you lied, splashing more water on him to cover your tracks.

"It’s a 'I'm-mad-at-Zuko' technique!" he yelled back, though he was starting to chuckle. "You’re scowling so hard your face might actually freeze that way. You look like a grumpy pentapus."

"I know you’re not talking!" You splashed a bit of water at his face, and he dodged it with a laugh that turned into a cough. The bickering continued for several minutes, a frantic back-and-forth of insults and medical excuses that filled the room. It was a release of the terror that had been coiled in your gut since he walked through the door.

Eventually, the laughter died down as the healing water finally began to do its work. The swelling subsided, the angry purple fading to a dull pink. Zuko’s breathing leveled out, his muscles finally relaxing into the soft furs of your bedding. He looked at you then, the humor fading from his golden eyes, replaced by unadulterated love.

"You were really worried," he said softly. It wasn't a question. He reached out, his hand—warm and smelling of smoke and sandalwood—cupping your jaw. His thumb traced the line of your lower lip, a gesture so intimate it made your breath hitch.

"Of course I was," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. You leaned into his touch, the heat of his palm seeping into your skin. "Don't do that again. Please."

"I won't," he promised. He looked at you with such intense clarity that you felt completely exposed, as if he could see every secret thought you’d had while eyeing his shirtless form. "I’m sorry. For the worry. And for being a stubborn idiot."

He smiled then, a genuine, lopsided grin that reached his eyes, making the scar on his face crinkle. "I missed you," he whispered.

Zuko leaned in, his movement slow, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn't. When his lips finally met yours, it felt like a collision of two opposing seasons. He was fire—searing, constant, and hungry—and you were the cool, stabilizing force he had been chasing. The kiss began softly, a tentative exploration of salt and sweetness, but it deepened quickly as two years of unspoken tension finally snapped.

His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the thrum of his heart against your chest, a steady, powerful beat. He tasted like the tea you’d brewed and something uniquely him. 

His tongue teased against yours, a flick of heat that sent shivers racing down your spine. You groaned low in your throat, your hands finding purchase on his bare shoulders, your nails digging slightly into the firm muscle. He smelled of the dry heat of the Caldera and the deep, rich scent of embers. Every time you thought the kiss was reaching its end, he would shift his head, finding a new angle, pulling another gasp of air from your lungs.

When he finally pulled back, just an inch, both of you were flushed and panting. Zuko’s hair was a mess, sticking up in several directions, and his eyes were dark with a liquid, golden heat. He looked at you and let out a breathless, triumphant huff of a laugh.

"Well," he croaked, his grin turning mischievous. "I suppose that’s one way to keep my heart rate up."

You laughed, a shaky, wet sound, and began to reach for the water basin again to finish the last bit of healing on his hip. But Zuko caught your wrist, his eyes sparkling.

"You know," he said, his voice dropping into a teasing, regal baritone. "If you wanted to spend the whole night staring at my body, you could have just asked. You didn't have to freeze my internal organs as a distraction. I saw you oogling me earlier. It’s okay. I am the Fire Lord, after all. I’m told I’m quite the sight."

Your jaw dropped. "I was not... I was performing a medical examination!"

"A very thorough one," he teased, awkwardly winking at you. "You were practically counting my ribs. And your heart was beating so loud I thought there was a drum troupe in the hallway."

"Oh, shut up!" you yelled, your face burning. Before he could say another word, you summoned a fist-sized ball of water and slammed it directly onto the center of his chest, flash-freezing it into a solid block of ice that stuck to his skin.

"HEY!" Zuko shrieked as the cold hit him. "NOT AGAIN!"

You stood up, crossing your arms with a smug smile as he struggled to sit up with a five-pound weight of ice stuck to his pecs. "Healing session is over, Your Majesty. Happy melting."

Back then, the world felt permanent.

It was around that age that you were bonded to your first ilu. You did not think of it as a mount. Or even truly as an animal. To you, it was simply… yours.

You recognized it by the pale crescent-shaped mark along its fin, a faint curve like a smile etched into its skin. You talked to it the way children do—to the sea, to shells, to anything that felt like it listened. You believed, with the fierce certainty of youth, that it would always come when you called.

So when it grew old,  you did not understand what your parents saw long before you did.

It died quietly. Not in a hunt. Not in violence. Just time.

You cried the way children do: loudly, openly, with your whole body folded into the ache. You cried into your mother’s chest until your voice went hoarse and you fell asleep. You asked if it would come back. Your grief then was bigger than your small heart could handle, but your parents helped you through it.

Ao’nung and Tsireya’s births came next.

And that grief was different. It was confusing, almost shameful to name.

You loved them dearly. Before them, you had longed for company, for someone to follow you into the water and listen when you spoke too much. And suddenly, you were given not just one, but two. Their arrival was a blessing. You learned their faces by heart, learned the way their hands curled around your fingers, the way they quieted when you hummed the songs your mother sang.

You were happy. Truly. 

And yet—a lot of things have changed.

It was then that the weight of responsibility first settled onto your narrow shoulders. You were old enough to know better now. Old enough to help. Old enough to wade the waters on your own. Old enough to recite ancient stories and songs. Your parents’ attention did not disappear—but it divided, stretched between smaller bodies that needed more, demanded more. You were praised for being understanding. For being easy. For not needing to be held as long.

They still loved you. You never doubted that. But it was different.

That was when you stopped being only a child. Not all at one, but in quiet moments you barely noticed until later. When you were asked to watch instead of play. When you were trusted instead of comforted. When you learned how to swallow wants before they reached your mouth.

You did not resent them. You never could. 

But grief does not always come from losing what is taken away. Sometimes it comes from losing what will never return.

And so you mourned. You mourned the version of yourself who did not have to be strong yet. The child who could be held without also being needed to hold others up, who could ask for attention without earning it first. 

After that, grief stopped belonging to you alone.

It became shared, carried in unison through the village, pressed into Eywa'eveng with many hands. Fallen spirit brothers and sisters, brave hunters who did not return with the tide, elders whose voice once anchored the clan, now gone quiet. And you believed that grief, when shared, could be lighter.

And for a time, it was. 

The way the sea could fill with quiet so dense it pressed against your chest. The way voices blended into one long mourning chant, grief softened by harmony, by the knowledge that you were not alone in it. You learned how hands reached for hands without looking, how tears felt lighter when they were not yours alone. 

You thought, then, that this was how it worked. That grief would become easier with age. That each loss would teach you how to carry the next.

It never did.

Grief remained too large for you. You had grown taller now—hands roughened by sand, arms strong enough to carry nets and burdens—but your chest had never learned how to bear the weight grief brought. Each loss settled somewhere deep, layering itself over others until you were never truly untouched by it again. 

You learned that time did not erase the ache, that grief does not leave. It spreads itself everywhere, reminding you of love with nowhere left to go.

Some days you wake feeling steady, almost whole. And then something small would undo you: the curve of a fin that looked like a crescent, the sound of laughter that sounded familiar, an empty place in the water where someone should have been. Reminders of what had been, of who had been.

But the sea gives, and the sea takes.

You had believed it meant balance. Birth and death. Joy and loss braided together the way tides are. You had believed it was something slow. Natural.

You realized how wrong you were the day the water turned red.

The day Ta’unui’s village burned from the shore outward, flames climbing wet wood as if the sea itself had betrayed them. Smoke curled low over the water, thick enough to sting your eyes, to choke the breath from your chest. 

Avatars moved through the village like something torn from a nightmare. Too cruel for the world they were breaking open. At first glance, they almost looked like forest people—tall silhouettes, familiar limbs, the same borrowed shape from Eywa. Almost.

Up close, everything was wrong. Their movements were sharper, heavier, stripped of grace. Their eyes did not carry the quiet depth of the People, only a cold focus that slid past suffering without catching on it. Where Na’vi presence felt like the tide, theirs felt like iron dragged through water. Familiar in shape, monstrous in intent.

That was what made it worse. That they wore something so close to your own skin.

You remember clutching your knife then when they grabbed you from the tsahìk’s marui pod, the weight pitiful in your palm. The newborns you were trying to carry, when warmth was still kind and not from metal, whimpering from a distance as they dragged you. Feeling how small you were. Knowing that no amount of love, no depth of grief, could stop what was happening.

“Light ‘em up. All of them.”

They have left as abruptly as they had come. You remained frozen, unmoving, letting the world blur around you. Your limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, as if the very air pressed against your skin. The heat, the smoke, the cries—it all pressed in, yet you felt oddly detached, as if watching from a distance, outside yourself.

It took a long, hollow moment before your voice came, barely more than a rasp. 

“Vey’irva…”

The name caught in your throat, but you forced it out, raw and trembling. Your knees wobbled as you tried to rise, your hands scraping against the sand, eyes blinking rapidly as you forced yourself to focus. Around you, the fire still roared, climbing higher into the sky, sparks flying like burning stars scattered across the night. The acrid scent clung to your throat, burning with every breath.

Vey’irva, the clan’s tsakarem, the one who had been beside you throughout your stay. You didn’t know why she was the one you were searching for, only that you had been together before all this.

Your legs felt like they weren’t fully yours as you stumbled across the wreckage, each step heavy. Your head throbbed, dull at the base but sharp with every inhale. Fingers curled into fists and loosened, trembling with the uselessness of it all. Your eyes flicked over the debris, over the scattered clan members, over shapes that might have been familiar until your mind swam past them, not really seeing.

Every sound—a crack of burning wood, a distant cry, the slap of water against the shore—felt magnified, yet muffled, as though you were underwater. Your body moved on instinct, legs carrying you forward, arms reaching toward vague forms, but your mind was elsewhere, tracing the steps that might lead you to… someone.

And then you saw her.

She lay limp, surrounded by clan members, dust and ash clinging to her hair, her armband torn. Your chest tightened so sharply it felt as if the air had been stolen from you. 

Tears stung your eyes, throat raw as a sharp, ragged sound tore through you. Your legs move of their own accord. You fell to your knees beside her, hands clenched in the grains beneath you, trembling, too afraid to touch her, too terrified to feel the absence of warmth where life should have been.

Not yet, Great Mother… please.

The tears came freely now, scalding and relentless, trailing down your cheeks, while your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. You called her name again as your eyes scanned her body frantically, searching for any sign of movement, a twitch of a finger, the rise and fall of her chest. Anything that could tell you this wasn’t real, that if you looked hard enough, reality would bend, and she would still be alive.

Before you could even gather the courage to touch her, strong hands pulled at your arms to stand. You stumbled, breath uneven, tears still streaking your face, and looked up to see the clan’s olo’eyktan. His strong hands gripped your shoulders, steadying you. His eyes were sharp, commanding, but there was an unspoken understanding in their depth—a recognition of your grief, even as he refused to let it consume you entirely.

He placed a firm palm against your chest, holding you in place. “Stay strong, child,” he said, voice low but unwavering. “We need you. Go help the others.”

The words felt like a tether pulling you back to the present, anchoring you even as your heart threatened to shatter completely. Every instinct screamed to stay, but you obeyed. The world spun around you: flames climbing higher, sparks dancing like cruel fireflies, smoke curling into your eyes. Still, you lifted yourself, hands trembling, chest tight, and forced your legs to carry you.

Every step away felt like a betrayal, but there was no choice. The living still needed hands. You wiped at your cheeks, tasting salt and ash, and tried to push the pain down.

The sea gives, and the sea takes—but sometimes it is not the sea at all. Sometimes it is fire. Sometimes it is strangers who wear your skin and do not know your names. Sometimes it is standing still while everything you love is set in flames, and realizing there is nothing you can do but witness it.

It was hours before the heat of the fire began to fade. The sky above the village was dimming, streaked with smoke and ash, the last remnant of sunlight struggling to reach the scorched ground. The whole clan had regrouped closer to the forest, farther beneath the vast, intertwining roots of the elder trees. Their thick limbs arched overhead, offering shelter and a sense of guarded enclosure, though the air was still heavy with smoke and the bitter scent of burned wood.

Around you, the survivors moved like shadows, their figures hunched, carrying what they could salvage. Some cradled waterlogged baskets, others tended to cuts and burns, while the injured leaned on each other for support. The quiet murmurs of mourning threaded through the soft rustle of leaves and the distant lapping of water against the shore.

You had been helping with injuries, the salt of sweat and soot burning in your eyes as you pressed cloths and applied balm, when Iwei, the clan’s olo’eyktan, called you over. He stood with hunters you knew, their faces set with the weight of what had happened.

“You should go home,” Iwei said, his voice firm but not unkind, the lines around his eyes deepened by exhaustion. “They will go with you to ensure you travel safely once the first light rises.”

You shook your head, voice hoarse but determined. “I can stay longer. The village still needs hands, and I can—”

He held up a hand, cutting you off gently but firmly. “No. You’ve done enough. Your family asked for you to return, they worry for you. It is safer with them now.”

You looked down at your hands, still smudged with ash and dried blood, the ache in your muscles a distant throb that only now began to register. You realized that you had been moving for hours without truly deciding to—hands working, feet carrying you from one injured body to the next, mouth murmuring reassurances you barely heard yourself say. It had been easier that way. To keep your body busy so your mind did not have to return to the shore, to the fire, to the stillness you could not unsee.

For a fleeting moment, you felt anger—not at him, but at yourself, at the helplessness pressing in on all sides. Yet the truth of his words settled in your chest like stones. Your family’s concern, the exhaustion clawing at your limbs, the uncertainty of what remained of Ta’unui’s village. They drained the fight out of you. You nodded slowly, voice barely audible.

“...I understand,” you nodded slowly, the motion feeling distant, as if it belonged to someone else.

Then her face cut through your thoughts, sudden and without a warning.

Not as she had been laughing, but as she lay on the sand. Still and unmoving. Ash in her hair where your fingers had wanted to be. The image struck so sharply it stole the breath from your lungs.

“No—” the sound slipped out before you could stop it. Your head snapped up, eyes wide, unfocused. “How about Vey’irva?” The question came out too fast, as though someone might tell you it had been a mistake. That she had risen after you were pulled away. That she had laughed and told you not to look so worried.

Your hands curled into themselves, nails biting into your palms. “The funeral— her ceremony.” Your voice faltered, tangled in itself. 

Neilomya stepped forward then, her presence quiet but grounding, like cool water over scorched skin. The clan’s tsahìk rested a gentle hand over yours, waiting until your gaze finally found hers. Her eyes were tired, rimmed red, but kind.

“She will be tended to,” Neilaomya said softly. “You may visit her when you return. She would not mind waiting for you.”

Something in your chest cracked at that. Your shoulders trembled as the strength finally began to drain out of you, the weight of holding yourself upright growing unbearable. 

“What matters now,” Neilaomya continued, her thumb brushing a slow, reassuring circle against your skin, “is that you are safe. Go home to your family, child. We will be okay here.”

She did not rush you after that. She stayed closer as you gathered what little remained. Things that no longer felt like yours, yet were all you had left. She folded and arranged them carefully, as if the care itself might restore what fire had taken, and she handed them to you one by one to put on the canoe.

As you worked, she spoke of her daughter.

You listened. Not because the stories distracted you—they didn’t. It only sharpened the ache, filled your mind with impossible what ifs. What if she had stayed close that day. What if the humans didn’t arrive. What if she had lived long enough to become tsahìk herself.

But you listened anyway.

Because Neilaomya’s voice softened when she spoke. Because grief, when shared, became something bearable for a moment. Because after everything that had been taken, this was something you could still give

When your things were packed, Neilaomya pressed her forehead briefly to yours, a gesture steady and maternal. No words followed. 

Two hunters escorted you from the settlement before dawn fully broke. It was safer to travel in small numbers, they said—fewer bodies, less noise, less chance of drawing the eye of metal aircrafts if they still lingered above the horizon.

The journey back to Awa’atlu felt unreal. The sea breathed steadily beneath you, waves rising and falling as they always had. Stars dimmed and slipped away with the coming light. Fish darted through the water, unbothered, alive. The world continued as if it had not just ended for so many.

Back in Awa’atlu, Ao’nung and Neteyam found themselves unexpectedly tolerating each other’s presence.

Ao’nung hadn’t agreed at first.

He had scoffed when Neteyam asked, brows drawing together in something between surprise and irritation. Forest boys weren’t meant to handle Metkayina weapons, and certainly not the speargun—he reasons that it’s too tied to the sea. That was what he said, already turning away as if the matter were closed.

“I won’t be slow,” Neteyam followed him, voice steady, not raised. “I am a good shot. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Ao’nung stopped.

He glanced back, irritation flashing across his face. “That’s not the point.”

What he didn’t say was that he had seen how quickly Neteyam learned.

His sister’s voice echoed faintly in his mind, about the Sully boy who watched once and remembered everything, who adjusted after a single correction. Ao’nung had seen it himself in the water. There was a quiet competence there. The kind that crept up on him.

The kind that might outpace him, if given the chance.

So instead, Ao’nung had shrugged and thrown out the excuse that felt safest. “My father didn’t ask me to teach you,” he said flatly. “And I don’t teach without permission.”

“Please,” Neteyam met his gaze, “I want to help my mother hunt.”

That did it.

Ao’nung exhaled sharply through his nose, jaw tightening.

“Fine,” he said at last. “But if you embarrass yourself, that’s on you.”

Neteyam had listened carefully to him the entire time. He had watched his father use it before. He knew you used one too, though you had only ever spoken of it in passing as you sharpen your arrows, of using it beyond the reef where the water grew darker and deeper. He had never seen you use it himself.

And he did not want to think about it now.

The thought of you, so far away now and among another clan, pressed too sharply against his chest. The last few days had left him hollowed out, the kind of tired that sleep did not touch. Thinking of you holding the speargun, steady and capable, would only open something he had been carefully keeping shut.

So he focused on Ao’nung’s words instead.

They moved farther from the shore, past the shallows where the sand still glittered with light, into water deep enough that the shapes of fish grew larger and slower, their shadows cutting lazily through the blue. Not beyond the reef, but far enough that the current began to speak more clearly.

Below the surface, sound fell away.

Ao’nung’s voice disappeared, replaced by sharp, practiced hand signs. “Be patient. Feel the current before you shoot.”

The speargun felt different in his hands. It was heavier than a bow, its weight concentrated forward instead of spread along the length. With a bow, everything came from the body: the draw of the shoulders, the tension in the back, the steady burn in the arms. The show was released, and the arrow belonged to the air.

Here, the water demanded something else.

Neteyam adjusted his grip, easing his hold instead of tightening it. He angled the weapon slightly lower, compensating for drag the way Ao’nung had shown him. The current tugged at his forearms, insistent but not hostile, and for a moment he understood. This was about patience.

A flash of silver cut through the water ahead.

Neteyam steadied himself, legs drifting just enough to stay balanced. He waited. Not for the fish to come closer, but for the water to still around the barrel. Then he fired.

The recoil was muted, absorbed by the sea, but the bolt flew true. It struck the fish just behind the gill, clean and precise.

Neteyam blinked.

Ao’nung’s eyes widened, just slightly, before he caught himself. He circled once, inspecting the catch, then shot Neteyam a sharp look that was half-annoyed, half-impressed.

“Not bad.”

By the time they had returned to shore, rain had begun to fall.

It came soft at first, a fine mist that dimpled the water’s surface, then heavier, drumming against skin and stone alike. Neteyam hauled the fish up the sand, its weight solid and undeniable in his arms—proof of something done right. He couldn’t wait to show it to his mother.

Ao’nung followed a few steps behind, speargun resting against his shoulder. He shook the water from his bun like a displeased ilu.

Neteyam broke the silence first. “Thanks, bro.”

Ao’nung turned to him quickly, rain sliding down his face, eyes narrowing. “Don’t bro me,” he muttered, clearly annoyed, though the bite didn’t quite land.

Neteyam huffed out a quiet breath, almost a laugh.

Ao’nung glanced at the fish again, then away. “You learn fast,” he said, as if the words tasted strange. “My sister was right.”

There it was. The reluctant admission.

They stood there for a moment longer, rain filling the space between them, the shore empty save for the hush of water and sky. Neteyam adjusted his grip on the fish, the weight shifting against his forearms. He hadn’t meant to ask.

But the question rose anyway.

“When will your sister return?”

Ao’nung stiffened just barely.

He didn’t look at Neteyam as he answered, gaze fixed on the gray horizon. “Four more days.”

He shot Neteyam a sideways look then, sharp and knowing, rainwater dripping from the tip of his nose. “Why are you asking?”

“It is nothing,” he said, a little too quickly. “Just wondering.”

Ao’nung stared at him for a second.

Then he laughed.

It burst out of him, sudden and sharp, echoing against the rain and the empty shore. Neteyam frowned, thrown off.

“What?” he asked.

Ao’nung shook his head, still grinning, like he’d just been handed the most obvious answer in the world. “You—” he pointed, then laughed again. “You both are so obvious.”

Neteyam scoffed, turning away, eyes suddenly very interested in the wet sand, the treeline, anything but Ao’nung’s face. “What are you talking about?” He said, tone carefully flat.

Ao’nung snorted. “Sure.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened, but there was something almost-smiling at the corner of his mouth. He scrubbed rain from his face, then muttered, “…Is it?”

Ao’nung made a face immediately, exaggerated and dramatic. “Ew. Don’t ask me that, brother,” he said, shoving Neteyam lightly with his shoulder. “I don’t want to think about that.”

The conch shell’s cry split through the air, sharp and urgent, echoing over the reef and into the shallows. Ao’nung’s chest tightened instantly. He knew that sound. He had only ever heard it like this once before: a signal that someone had returned or that something had gone terribly wrong.

Neteyam stiffened beside him, eyes narrowing, scanning the horizon with a sudden tension that made the rain drip unnoticed from his lashes. The wind carried faint, frantic shouts, too muffled to understand, yet clear enough to twist their stomachs.

“Something’s wrong,” Ao’nung muttered, already moving, muscles coiled to run.

The fish slipped from Neteyam’s grip, forgotten, thudding into the wet sand. He followed Ao’nung, rain blurring the past as they crested to rise toward the heart of the village.

The center was already alive with motion. People poured from marui and platforms, voices overlapping, sharp with panic.

Neteyam’s chest tightened without understanding why at first, until he saw the movement on the shore. Figures moving quickly, carrying someone between them. The closer they came, the more his blood ran cold.

It was you.

You were slung across the back of another reef na’vi. Even from a distance, Neteyam could see that you were slumped, your head tilted awkwardly, your limbs hanging with a dangerous slack. The rain plastered your hair to your face, a pale teal smear against the dark wetness. Small cuts traced across your forehead, a smear of blood mixing with the rain. And something in the way you didn’t move made his heart seize.

The canoe you had ridden before, spoke of the struggle that had brought you here. Pieces of broken wood floated in the shallow surf, twisted and slick. Neteyam’s stomach turned.

Ao’nung had called your name before breaking into a sprint toward the commotion.

Neteyam barely had a moment to react before his father’s hand pressed against his shoulder, holding him in place. “You’ll only get in the way,” Jake said, low and unyielding. “Now is not the time.”

Neteyam’s mind refused to register the words. All he could see was you—your body pressed against the reef Na’vi’s back, your chest rising shallowly if at all, your arms dangling like reeds in the water. Every second you’re not moving made his chest pound harder, the rain soaking through him, and the world felt impossibly slow.

You were being passed into Tonowari’s arms now, the motion careful and urgent, but all the more terrifying for your limpness. Your head lolled, and he saw the blood matted in your hair glint faintly in the torchlight. Your torso bore scrapes and bruises, some already crusted with rain-soaked dirt. Tonowari’s hands worked to steady you, but your injuries made it clear just how close the last moments had been to something final.

The crowd gathered fast, murmurs rising like waves, gasps breaking through the rhythmic sound of rain. Flickering torchlight cast long, trembling shadows across the wet sand, illuminating your pale face and the stillness that shouldn’t belong to you.

Your family followed, eyes wide, hands placed over yours as if sheer will could force your body to move. Every glance at you was a silent plea, a desperate hope that you would awaken, that your chest would rise more than just faintly.

Neteyam’s fingers itched to reach out, to help, to shake the world itself into fixing what had been done—but his father’s hand kept him rooted. All he could do was watch, helpless, as you were carried to your mother’s pod.

The days stretched long and heavy for Neteyam. Since that night, he had spent every waking moment asking after you. The memory of your limp form in Tonowari’s arms, the blood in your hair, the way your body had seemed so impossibly small in someone else’s grasp. He could not remove it from his thoughts. 

It had been four days since he had last seen you that way, and two days since Tsireya had told him you’d woken. And since then, he had asked every time if he could see you, if he could know you were alright. He counted those days, trying not to, trying to tell himself it was silly, that you were healing, that your family would take care of you. But he couldn’t stop.

Tsireya, patient and amused, never got tired of him asking. She found it sweet—how he, usually so careful to mask what he felt, allowed himself to worry, to show concern without reservation. The corners of her eyes would crinkle with quiet amusement whenever he hovered, waiting for news. She heard Lo’ak teased him once, “You’re ridiculous,” and he flushed, but did not deny it. The truth was written plainly in his furrowed brow, the way he barely slept like his brother told her, the way he tried to busy himself yet circled back to your name in every conversation.

Even his parents had noticed, too. The repeated questions, the restlessness, the tension in his shoulders. They whispered among themselves that he had never been like this, not for anyone, not ever.

On the other hand, you were healing.

Slow and steady. Enough that your body no longer felt like it was betraying you with every breath. The pain dulled into something manageable. But there was still that heaviness, sitting deep in your chest, unmoved by rest or medicine. The image of a clan still mending itself without you. The funeral you hadn’t been able to attend properly. The journey home that blurred together in rain and blood and half-remembered voices.

Still, you were home. Safe and wrapped in familiar sound and the steady presence of your mother, who rarely left your side. She slept close, checked your bandages with practiced gentleness, brushed your hair back when you drifted in and out of sleep. After the first time they asked—after your voice had broken, after the tears had come fast and uncontrollable—they stopped. You were endlessly grateful for that mercy.

Being surrounded by people who loved you helped more. And you weren’t going to lie—you were enjoying the attention. Your parents fussed over you shamelessly, feeding you by hand, scolding you softly when you tried to sit up too fast, treating you like a child again. It was comforting in a way that made your chest ache, a reminder that you were still allowed to be taken care of.

But what you enjoyed most were your siblings’ stories.

They have filled the room with words. They told you about the Sully kids, animated and warm, their hands moving as they spoke. About their visit to the Cove of the Ancestors. About the tulkun’s return, voices rising in song across the water. About Lo’ak and his impossible bond with Payakan, told with a mix of disbelief and fond exasperation.

You listened, smiling softly, even as something tight tugged in your chest. You were sad you had missed it. Those moments would never quite be yours. But you were happy too—happy they had happened at all, happy your siblings had lived them.

And then Tsireya mentioned him.

Almost casually, at first. As if it were just another detail. 

She told you how Neteyam kept asking, again and again. If you were resting, if you were healing well, and if he could see you.

Something in you stilled at that.

It felt warm and terrifying all at once, like standing too close to a fire. Your heart did something traitorous, beating a little faster, a little louder. You tried to keep your face neutral, tried not to let the feeling show—but inside, it bloomed, fragile and bright. The thought of him worrying, of him counting days, made your throat tighten. Knowing that while you had been unconscious, while your world had narrowed to pain and darkness, someone else had been thinking of you, holding your name carefully in their thoughts.

It wasn’t just concern—it was persistence. Care that didn’t fade after the danger passed. Care that lingered. And knowing it came from him, from someone whose approval you’d never dared to hope for so openly, made your heart ache in the softest way.

“He was distracted,” Tsireya said, shifting closer like she was sharing a secret. “Almost all the time. I have never seen him like that.”

You looked up at her immediately, interest lighting your face before you could stop it. The corners of your mouth tugged upward, a smile you didn’t bother hiding. “Distracted how?” you asked, genuinely curious.

She tilted her head, eyes glinting. “Like he was somewhere else. He’d ask about you, then forget what he was doing. Ao’nung had to repeat himself to him more than once.”

You shook your head a little, a quiet laugh slipping out as warmth spread through your chest. You traced the edge of the mat absentmindedly, clearly listening, clearly wanting more.

You hesitated only briefly before asking, trying—and failing—to sound casual. “Did he… say anything else?”

Tsireya’s gaze lingered on your face, amused. She didn’t answer right away, clearly enjoying how invested you were. Then she shrugged lightly. “Not much,” she said. “He just asks about you. All the time.”

“All the time?” you echoed, smiling openly now, the words coming out with a breathy laugh.

She laughed with you. “Everyone is almost getting tired of it,” she teased. “If I hear your name one more time, I think Ao’nung might actually snap at him.”

You laughed again, brighter this time, the sound easy and real. Your shoulders relaxed, eyes soft, like the world felt a little kinder than it had moments ago. 

After a moment, still smiling, you spoke again, quieter but sure.

 “I want to see him too.”

You didn’t have to wait long.

It was later that night, your body heavy with the pleasant ache of healing. Ronal sat beside you, careful hands changing the kelp covering your stitches.

You were just beginning to relax when voices carried from outside the marui pod—low, hurried, unmistakably close. Before you could ask, the cloth flaps at the entrance rustled sharply.

Ao’nung stumbled in.

Or rather, was shoved in.

He caught himself at the last second, blinking in surprise as he looked between you and your mother, clearly not expecting to be the one crossing the threshold. Ronal’s eyes snapped up instantly.

“Ao’nung,” she said sharply. “You should announce yourself.”

He grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know,” he muttered, then stepped back as she returned her attention to you, smoothing the new covering into place with firm care.

You watched the exchange, confusion and amusement flickering across your face. Ao’nung met your gaze briefly, rolled his eyes in exaggerated suffering, and looked away like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Your mother spoke again without looking at him. “What do you need?”

You could see him hesitate, before exhaling through his nose. “Someone wants to see her.”

That finally got your mother’s attention. She looked up, clearly unimpressed. “Who?”

Your brother sighed, resigned. “Neteyam.”

The name landed harder than you expected.

Your breath hitched despite yourself, surprise flashing across your face even though Tsireya had told you—again and again—that he’d been asking. Knowing it and hearing it aloud were different things.

And then there was the other realization.

Your mother was still there.

Ronal’s gaze flicked to you, then back to Ao’nung, irritation sharpening. “He will wait,” she said. “She is still being tended to.”

Ao’nung opened his mouth like he might argue, then thought better of it. He glanced at you again, lips twitching, as if to say told you, before stepping back toward the entrance.

But the knowledge lingered, buzzing under your skin.

Neteyam was here.

You did your best to behave. You nodded when your mother adjusted the final wrap, bit back the urge to speak when silence stretched, swallowed down the smile that kept threatening to give you away.

But your heartbeat refused to slow, thudding a little too loudly in your ears. You could almost picture him standing just outside, waiting, and the thought made your shoulders tense with anticipation.

Ronal noticed. Of course she did, she had been with you ever since you were a baby. It would be impossible for her not to know.

She put the last covering with a careful pat, then leaned back slightly, studying you. You lifted your gaze to meet hers, doing your best to look calm.

For a long moment, she said nothing. Her expression was unreadable, the kind that reminded you she was still Tsahìk before she was your mother. She took in the way you were sitting too straight, the tension in your shoulders, the effort it took for you not to speak.

Her sigh, when it came, was quiet but weighted.

“You are not fully healed,” she said first, tone firm, leaving no room to forget it. She gathered her tools with deliberate care. “And you will not strain yourself.”

Then, without looking toward the entrance, she added, “You may come in, child.”

Ronal rose to her feet and moved to the far side of the marui pod, her presence still felt even as she gave you space. She did not smile, but she did not object either.

The doorway cloth shifted, and Neteyam stepped inside.

He looked hesitant at first, but his eyes found you instantly. For a heartbeat, he forgot everything else. Then he caught himself, straightened, and turned to your mother.

“Tsahìk,” he greeted, voice respectful, hands moving in the formal gesture.

Ronal inclined her head in acknowledgement, nothing more.

Only then did he move closer until he crouched beside you where you sat cross-legged on the woven mat. He was close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of salt clinging to his skin.

For a brief, disorienting second, the past rushed in. The last time you had spoken. The things left unsaid. The image of him frozen in your memory, untouched by everything that followed.

You pushed it aside. For now.

“Hi,” he said.

It came out softer than you expected, a little awkward, but unmistakably him—carrying that quiet, boyish warmth that had always undone you. His gaze swept over you openly, not trying to hide it: the bandages, the tiredness in your eyes, the fact that you were sitting upright at all. Like he was checking, again and again, that you were real. That you were here.

You found yourself doing the same.

Your eyes followed the familiar lines: the slope of his shoulders, the way his braids fell to the sides of his face, the darker patterns flowing toward his chest, the intricate swirls on his forehead. And then his eyes—the ones you’d missed dearly, the ones you silently thanked Eywa that you could see again.

You both smiled.

“Hi,” you said back.

Neteyam chuckled then, low and almost shy, looking down briefly before meeting your gaze again. 

“How have you been?” you asked, letting your voice carry across the space between you. It was way bigger than both of you usually bask in.

He shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I’m fine. I’m supposed to be the one asking you that.”

The words were simple, but layered with everything he hadn’t said over the last days. And just like that, the tension between you softened.

You talked, careful not to speak too loudly, knowing your mother was still in the pod, but you savored the moment nonetheless. It was as if both of you knew how far you could stretch the conversation without drawing her attention, though neither of you fully understood what she might be suspicious of.

He told you stories, of small adventures and trivial happenings, and you answered in kind, letting the laughter and light teasing skim the surface without carrying too far. 

After a while, your mother stood up, eyes meeting yours with a quiet weight that said more than words could. She turned and left the pod, the flap rustling behind her. 

Both of you were finally alone.

You glanced back at Neteyam, and in that shared silence, something shifted. You both laughed, unrestrained by the caution that had kept you measured before. The sound echoed lightly against the walls, a small rebellion against the quiet you’d been keeping.

When your laughter softened, he looked at you fully, eyes steady and warm.

“I’ve missed you,” he said your name softly.

The words hit you in a way you hadn’t expected. You had felt the same for days, but hearing it, spoken just to you, made your heart thrum faster. You bit your lip, trying not to let your happiness burst through, and glanced at the hand he had rested just beside you.

Without thinking, you reached out and closed your hand over his.

“I missed you too, Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice trembling just enough to betray the joy you had been holding in.

His hand hovered above the cover at your forehead, tentative, as if he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to touch you yet. 

“I was so worried,” he murmured, a tremor betraying how much he’d held it in. “I couldn’t stop thinking about— I kept wondering if you were okay. I didn’t know how I'd feel if anything happened to you.”

Something—courage, recklessness, the weight of missing him—pushed you. You placed your hand over the one that hovered above your injury, feeling the warmth of the back of his hand, and moved it so that your cheek leaned against it. His surprise was immediate, a faint hitch in his breath, but then a small, soft smile tugged at his lips.

“I am here now,” you said. “I am doing better. I could still shoot a fish straight in its eye if I could.”

He laughed at that, but believed you wholeheartedly. “I’m sure you could. No doubt.”

Without even thinking, his thumb began brushing against your cheek, as if his adoration couldn’t be contained. You froze for a heartbeat, your own chest tightening in a way that made it hard to breathe.

Neither of you spoke. Neither moved. And yet the weight between you buzzed like electricity, impossible to ignore.

Then, as if the universe had suddenly reminded you both of everything else, you each jerked slightly back, cheeks warming instantly, eyes darting away. His grin faltered, flushed, and he quickly drew his hands back as if realizing for the first time what he’d just done. You stifled a laugh, glancing down at your hands, feeling the absurdity of the moment yet unwilling to undo it completely.

The silence stretched between you before Neteyam finally spoke, a shy grin tugging at his lips.

“I caught my first fish with a speargun.”

Neteyam went home that night with his chest lighter than it had been in days. The worry he’d been carrying no longer pressed so heavily on his shoulders, and there was an ease to him that hadn’t been there before.

His family noticed immediately.

It wasn’t anything obvious, but he was different. More present. His steps lacked their usual tension, his gaze less distant than it had been since your injury. Even his silence felt… content.

They all knew where he’d been. 

What Neteyam didn’t know was that Tuk, ever curious and far too young to understand which observations should stay tucked away, had already shared her thoughts—wide-eyed and unfiltered—with Jake and Neytiri. About how their oldest son lingered near the clan’s tsakarem. About how he spoke your name without realizing it. About how close he sat, how careful he was.

By the time Neteyam arrived home, his family was already eating.

He didn’t comment on the way their eyes followed him as he entered, nor did he seem to notice the quiet that briefly settled over the circle. He only reached out, ruffled Lo’ak’s hair in passing, grabbed a leaf plate, and sat down among them as if nothing were different at all—ready to take his share, light-hearted in a way that made their curiosity impossible to hide.

“Where have you been?” Neytiri spoke.

Neteyam didn’t hesitate. “I went to see her,” he said, saying your name easily, as if it had never been a question.

Tuk’s head snapped up immediately. “How is she?” she asked, words tumbling over each other. “Is she better? I wanna see her too—it’s not fair you got to see her first!”

Beside him, Kiri spoke up, her voice carrying a rare, bright excitement. “I want to see her too.”

A small smile tugged at Neteyam’s mouth. “You can,” he said. “We can go together next time.”

Lo’ak scoffed, leaning closer. “Yeah, right. You just wanna keep her all to yourself.” He squinted, then grinned wider. “Look at your tail—it’s moving so much it’s hitting me.”

Neteyam hissed lightly and knocked his knuckles against Lo’ak’s head, more habit than anger. “No, I do not.”

He heard his father sigh, shaking his head. “Just don’t stay out too late,” he said, voice dry. “Or better yet, visit in the morning.”

Lo’ak perked up instantly. “Yeah,” he added, far too amused. “If it’s at night, who knows what they could be doing.”

“Lo’ak,” Neytiri warned, sharp but not unkind.

Neytiri watched her eldest son from across the firelight, noting the way his laugh came easier now, how his shoulders seemed less tense, how a quiet confidence had settled in him like something new and solid. Pride swelled in her chest—bittersweet, fierce, and impossibly tender all at once.

He was growing. Really growing. Stepping into feelings bigger than himself. And yet, worry lingered, because you were the clan’s tsakarem, and love, even in its smallest forms, carried risk. But just for this moment, she let herself bask in the warmth. After all, she and Jake had been the same once.

“Why didn’t you call me first? To visit you?”

Tuk’s small arms were crossed over her chest, lips pressed into a stubborn line. Her voice was sharp, a little high-pitched, all indignation and urgency.

It had been two days since Neteyam finally made his visit, and yesterday there had been chaos—the whole group had crowded into the tsahìk’s marui pod. Your siblings, Sully children, and even Roxto had all come by, making the space feel impossibly full, warm, and loud. You had barely had a moment to breathe.

And now, Tuk was here, standing in front of you like a tiny storm cloud, complaining with all the energy only a little sister could summon. “You let him see you first!” she exclaimed. “First! Me? I should’ve been the first!”

You blinked, trying not to laugh at her dramatic flare. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, Tuk. He just came by suddenly. I didn’t think that—”

Tuk’s lips curled, eyes narrowing. “Didn’t think about me?”

From the corner of the pod, Neteyam leaned against the wall, trying to look casual, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching in amusement. “I don’t see what the problem is. I just checked in. She’s fine. Smiling, laughing… what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” Tuk hissed, stepping closer, “is that I should get to see her first! I’m her first friend!”

Neteyam raised his hands in mock surrender, grinning wide. “Okay, okay. But I didn’t plan it. I came because I wanted to see her. You think she’d say no? I’m her friend.”

“Second friend!” Tuk shrieked, stomping a tiny foot. “I swam with her first when we came here!”

“She smiles when she talks to me,” Neteyam interrupted smoothly, now crouching beside you and leaning slightly with a cheeky grin, “and I also make her laugh.”

You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing, glancing at Tuk’s flustered face, her fists balled at her sides. Tuk’s eyes narrowed, fire practically spitting out of them. “She laughs at everyone! That doesn’t mean you’re special!”

Neteyam tilted his head, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh? Well, maybe I’m her favorite.”

Tuk groaned, throwing her head back. “I’m her favorite!”

You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing this time, shaking your head. “You’re both ridiculous,” you said, but your eyes sparkled with amusement. Tuk’s fists tightened, lips pursed, but she couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto her face.

“I—fine,” she muttered. “Maybe you’re… a close second.”

Eventually, Tuk was pulled away by a younger Metkayina child, inviting her to play. Tuk’s excitement won, and with a dramatic huff of annoyance at being “forced away,” she scampered off, leaving you and Neteyam behind. And, since you were finally allowed to roam again, you both slipped outside.

The two of you sat on the rock you had claimed long ago, knees tucked to your chin, the waves stretching endlessly before you. Your arms brushed occasionally, small touches that made the quiet between you feel alive. The wind tugged at your hair, the salt air filling your lungs, and for a moment, nothing else existed.

Finally, you swallowed, hesitated, and then spoke, your voice quieter than you expected. “Neteyam…” You paused, the weight of unsaid things pressing in. You weren’t used to opening up first, and the words tasted strange and vulnerable on your tongue. Avoidance had been your shield, but now it felt heavy.

“I… I waited for you here,” you admitted, eyes fixed on the waves instead of him. “Before I left.”

Neteyam’s gaze dropped to you. He didn’t rush you, didn’t press. He waited.

When silence stretched, uncomfortable and thick, he moved just slightly, shifting in front of you so that his knees were closer to yours. His hands rested lightly on the rock, and his eyes met yours.

“It’s okay. Take your time,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

And in that quiet, he wished—more than he could ever say—that he could take every burden from you, lift the weight pressing against your chest and carry it for you. He didn’t need you to say them aloud, somehow, he just knew. Every tight line in your shoulders, every hesitation, every small tremor in your voice.

You finally looked at him, meeting his gaze, and then the words slipped out before you could stop them. “I am sorry. About—about what I said before. It wasn’t your fault. I was just being stupid—I wasn’t thinking. I pushed it on you and…”

Neteyam’s lips curved gently, already forgiving you, long before your apology had finished. His eyes held no anger, just that warm golden you have grown to love. He had already forgiven you, had always been ready to—and that scares him. No matter what you said, what you did, or what burdened you, he would take it.

His hands moved almost on its own, cupping your cheek gently. His thumb brushed against the small, unnoticed tears that had slipped down your face, and he murmured softly, “Hey… it’s okay. You are not stupid. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I’m… I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have… I—” you babbled, words tumbling out in a rush, little choked apologies spilling between sniffles. “I don’t know why I’m crying… I just… I—ugh, I’m sorry!”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, thumb still brushing your cheek. “Hey, hey… shh. It’s fine. Really.”

There was something in the way he looked at you then: open, unguarded, with that quiet warmth that made the world shrink to just the two of you. The curve of his lips, the subtle glimmer in his eyes, the way he lingered on you without a word—it was enough to make your chest tighten and your thoughts betray you. Just like that, you wanted to kiss him. Badly.

The thought startled you and for a heartbeat, your eyes flickered instinctively to his lips. Your mind scrambled, but the thought wouldn’t go away. It pulsed, teasing the edges of reason, and panic mingled with longing in a confusing, burning knot.

You could feel the warmth radiating from him, steady and grounding, and every instinct in you wanted to close that space between you. But you couldn’t, not really, not like that. So you did the next best thing—or at least what your frantic brain told you was next best.

You lunged forward, arms winding around his neck, pressing your nose to the corner of his neck and shoulder. Your body shivered against him, heart hammering in your chest, and for a moment it felt like the only way to quiet the chaos in your head was to press yourself close, to anchor yourself to him without actually breaking the line you couldn’t cross.

For a second, he froze, startled, caught off guard by the sudden movement. Then, without hesitation, his arms tightened around you, holding you close. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.

You rested there for a moment, muffled apologies spilling again against him. 

Your arms around his neck were soft, trembling slightly, and the faint scent of salt and sand clung to you—something so familiar yet intoxicating in its immediacy. He could feel the steady rise and fall of your chest against his, the small shiver that ran through you, the brush of your hair against his cheek, and each tiny detail hit him like a drumbeat in his chest. He’d never been this aware of someone before, not like this. Not like you.

There was a selfishness in him he didn’t even try to hide from himself. He wanted to freeze the moment, to keep you pressed here, close, safe, and warm. He wanted to forget the world outside the rock, forget all the rules and the waiting, and just exist in the scent of you, the weight of you, the soft sound of your apology muffled against his shoulder. 

He tightened his arms unconsciously, just a little, almost possessively. It was overwhelming, and yet comforting, and terrifying all at once.

When he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, the weight of it made something in him ache, a quiet longing mixed with awe. “Shh,” he murmured, “you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

The days after that moment passed like a blur, though not without their small, precious highlights.

You barely saw Neteyam, not because he wasn’t around, but because the preparations for the Tulkun return ceremony had consumed the clan. The air was thick with planning and purpose, the village alive with movement, with voices calling, weaving nets, and making new clothes.

You were mostly helping your mother, assisting with small but important tasks. There was a rhythm to it that soothed you: weaving, checking, organizing, keeping the sacred spaces ready. Your hands moved with ease now, and it felt almost miraculous how the pain of before had begun to fade. The heavier weight of grief and fear, the anxiety that had pressed on your chest for so long, still lingered faintly—but it was no longer suffocating. 

Finally, you were allowed to swim in the waters again. The sensation of gliding through the current with your spirit sister was like reclaiming a lost part of yourself. You could feel the gentle push and pull of the water around you, your muscles strong and responsive. The familiar rhythm of swimming, the coolness of the sea, and the brush of her fin through the water alongside yours felt comforting in a way that words could never capture.

You told each other stories—small, silly things, the kind of shared secrets that made your chest ache with quiet happiness. The waters carried your laughter and the echoes of your voices, and for a few fleeting hours, it was just the two of you. 

“On my journey home. The sky people have attacked us. One hunter was shot.”

You floated beside her, letting the current carry you, your limbs moving easily, your hair drifting around your face like soft waves. You pressed your palms together in a sequence of quick signs, fingers tracing arcs and lines as you relayed your story.

“I went back for him, but my tsurak got shot too! Its weight pulled me under, and I hit my head.”

Your spirit sister responded instantly, her massive form undulating beside you. A series of clicks, whistles, and soft hums rolled through the water, echoing in the coral-filled shallows. 

“You are strong, sister. Stronger than you know. The tides could not take you.”

But responsibility waited, as it always did. In a few days, you would perform a dance with your clan sisters, a display of unity and grace for the returning Tulkun. So even as you swam, even as you laughed, your mind kept one eye on the schedule, on the preparations, on the tasks that couldn’t be ignored. That meant that your time with Neteyam, while precious, was brief—rarely more than an hour before the duties of the clan called you away.

Neteyam, however, noticed everything. The closeness you had shared, the way your hand brushed his accidentally—or intentionally—did not escape him. Every touch, every fleeting brush of your arms, every small smile or laugh that lingered just for him, added up. Even the short moments of stolen connection felt enough.

“It’s more… heavy than usual,” you said without turning. “The ceremony’s coming, so it’ll be even better on the day itself.”

You had your back to him, fingers absently adjusting the heavier braid adornments tangled in your hair. The shells and threads caught the moonlight filtering through the water, making them shimmer like tiny stars.

Neteyam’s gaze softened as he looked at your hair, lips quirking into a kind of quiet, unassuming smile.

When you finally turned, catching him staring, his fingers were holding a strand of your braid loosely, brushing it almost absentmindedly. His eyes, half-lidded with lashes casting shadows, looked up at you in that tilted-down, boyish way that made your stomach twist.

“Do you like it?” you asked softly.

His heart hammered. He liked it. He liked you. So much that he had to pray to Eywa to stop himself from leaning in and kissing you right there.

Because the way you looked at him—the subtle tilt of your head, the warmth in your eyes, the gentle curve of your lips—took his breath away. Every detail of your face was magnified in his mind: the soft arch of your eyebrows, the freckles across your nose, the way the moonlight seemed to catch in your cerulean eyes. If he thought he was captivated now, he couldn’t imagine the day of the ceremony. He didn’t even want to think what he’d do.

He swallowed, fingers tightening slightly around the braid, voice low, steady but charged. “It's beautiful. You’d be the prettiest,” he said, carrying something unspoken, something that made your breath catch.

He watched the way your hair clung to your cheeks, the way your shoulders relaxed when you laughed, the curve of your smile even when brief. He wanted to hold onto it all, to bottle the warmth and simplicity, to protect it—and yet, a small, selfish part of him wanted more, to keep you near forever, to make these fleeting touches stretch into infinity. He just lingered and reveled in it silently, knowing it was enough for now.

The day of the ceremony arrived.

By dusk, the village had transformed. Drums carved from reefwood and stretched with cured hide began to sound—deep, steady heartbeats that rolled through the sand and into the water. Conch shells answered them, hollow and haunting, blown like flutes, their notes rising and falling with the tide. Other instruments followed: clicking shells, coral chimes, woven rattles filled with polished stones. All born of the sea, all singing back to it.

The air was rich with scent. Roasting fish glazed in oils and herbs, steaming broths thick with salt and spice, sweet fruits split open and shared. Smoke curled lazily upward from fire pits, carrying warmth and comfort, clinging to skin and hair. Firelight danced everywhere, reflected in shells strung between posts, in beads woven into nets, in polished bone and coral.

Decorations lined the shore and the walkways—braided kelp, luminous shells, strings of pearls and glassy stones that caught the light and scattered it. Bioluminescent patterns along every Na’vi body glowed brighter than usual, soft blues and greens, each design unique.

Clothing was more intricate than he had ever seen. Layers of woven sea fibers draped over one another, shells sewn carefully into hems so they chimed softly with each step, stones and braided kelp arranged in complex patterns. Every movement made them shimmer. 

And the water—Eywa, the water. It brightened with every passing moment, the surface alive with light as shapes gathered beneath it. Massive shadows moved slowly and reverently, the Tulkun drawing near, their presence announced in ripples of blue, violet, and soft white. Around them, schools of bioluminescent fish wove through the current, scattering sparks of light like living constellations.

Anyone else would have been swept up in it. But Neteyam felt it anyway, a tightness in his chest he couldn’t name, a restless energy that had nowhere to go.

He shifted his weight, then adjusted the armband on his forearm. Again. And then again, fingers worrying the edge as if it had suddenly decided to sit wrong.

Lo’ak noticed immediately.

“Bro,” he said, eyeing him with blatant disbelief, “are you serious right now? Why do you look like you’re about to fight a whole palulukan herd?”

Neteyam shot him a look. “I’m not.”

“You’ve fixed that thing, like—” Lo’ak gestured vaguely. “Six or seven times.”

Neteyam dropped his hand at once, jaw setting. “I said I’m not nervous.”

Lo’ak grinned, clearly unconvinced, but let it go—for now.

Truth was, Neteyam had also dressed with more care than usual. He wore his forest necklace and armband, more layers than his everyday ones, their patterns intricate, carved with stories of home. Another armband rested on his opposite arm, and his loincloth was reef-made—shell pieces stitched carefully into it, kelp of different colors wrapped at the waist. A technique Kiri had shown him. One you had helped refine, laughing softly when he fumbled it the first time. His usual cummerbund remained the same; he hadn’t made a new one, partly because time hadn’t allowed it, partly because he wanted to wear something from the forest. His mother had said it suited him.

More beads and feathers threaded through his braids, catching the firelight when he moved. And then there was the paint.

It wasn’t common among the reef people, not like this. But at his parents’ request, the elders had helped them prepare something that would hold beneath the water. Neteyam had painted himself—white and bright green, patterns blending forest tradition with something new. His hands had been steady when he did it. Now, standing here, he felt strangely exposed beneath it.

“Neteyam.”

He turned to his mother’s voice. It was when he’s still in his family’s pod, just right after he finished putting the paint and the rest of his hair accessories.

She was looking at him with an expression that made his chest tighten for an entirely different reason. Awe, softened by something tender. This was the look she’d once given him when he was small and first learned to hold a bow properly. Now it carried pride too.

“Come here,” she said.

She placed her hands on his shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly as she studied him. Neteyam felt his ears warm, his gaze dropping despite himself.

“You are grown,” she said quietly, smiling. “Handsome. Strong.”

“Mother,” he muttered, embarrassed.

Her smile widened, just a little mischievous. “She will like you like this.”

Neteyam inhaled through his nose, fighting the way his heart jumped. “It’s not— it’s not like that.”

Neytiri laughed softly, giving his shoulders a final squeeze. “Ah. Enough. Do not tie yourself in knots.” Her voice gentled. “Enjoy this moment. It does not come twice.”

So he let himself enjoy it.

Neteyam let the night carry him—its noise, its warmth, the way awe rippled through his family as they took everything in. He ate until his fingers were slick with oil and salt, watched dancers move in rhythms unfamiliar yet beautiful, laughed when Lo’ak tried (and failed) to follow along, all flailing limbs and misplaced confidence. It was ridiculous. And somehow, that alone made it worth it.

He noticed his parents too. The way his father stood less rigid than usual, shoulders eased, gaze softened as he took in the ceremony. The way his mother smiled more freely, laughter slipping out without restraint. Seeing them like that was rare. It settled something in Neteyam’s chest he hadn’t realized was still restless.

For the first time since arriving, he thought, quietly, that Awa’atlu could be home. 

And yet, his eyes kept wandering.

They scanned the crowd again and again, searching for a familiar shape. Every time his gaze swept over a group of dancers or passed a cluster of people, his heart gave a small, foolish leap. 

He’d heard the dancers wouldn’t join the rest of the village until after their performance. Kiri had mentioned it in passing, also wondering when they’ll see you and Tsireya. He clung to that thought, grounding himself with it. He would see you then. During the dance. And—Eywa willing—after.

The thought of how you might look tonight sent his heart into dizzy circles.

It didn’t take long. Three fish skewers. A handful of fruit. One round of conversation with family and friends. Then the conch shell sounded, cutting cleanly through the hum of voices. The energy of the village shifted instantly. People began moving toward the water, some breaking into a jog, others hurrying with eager steps.

This was it.

You hadn’t told him you danced. He’d only learned through overheard conversation, your sister’s voice carrying pride when she mentioned it. That you were good. That you always had been. He had no idea what it would look like—how Metkayina dances differed from those of the forest, how the sea would shape the movement.

But as he followed the crowd toward the glowing shoreline, anticipation buzzing through him, he realized one thing with absolute certainty:

No matter what it looked like, no matter how different it was—

Seeing you would be enough.

Neteyam followed the others beneath the surface, the world above dissolving into muffled echoes and wavering light. The glow intensified instantly—blues and greens blooming brighter the deeper they went, the sea alive with motion. Tulkun voices resonated through the water, vibrating through his chest more than his ears.

He looked for you immediately.

His eyes darted, adjusting slower than those born of the reef. Shapes blurred together at first—moving bodies, streaks of light, the vast silhouettes of Tulkun circling with reverent patience. The dancers were already taking their places, forming arcs and spirals around the great beings.

The routine began.

Na’vi bodies moved like currents given form—twisting, spinning, flipping effortlessly through the water. Some danced in perfect synchronicity, mirroring one another in clean, sweeping motions; others broke away in alternating patterns, weaving between Tulkun fins and massive bodies, then returning to the group as if pulled by an unseen tide. Arms extended, then folded. Legs kicked and curved. Whole bodies arched and rolled, weightless and precise.

The Tulkun joined them as partners.

They turned slowly, gracefully, their immense forms moving with a gentleness that defied their size. Fins guided dancers forward; a tilt of a massive head became a cue. Together, they created living shapes—circles within circles, expanding and collapsing like breath.

And then Neteyam saw you.

Your movement caught his eye like a change in the current. You flowed through the water with an ease that made everything else feel louder in comparison. It stole the air from his lungs. Not in the way water ever had, but in the way something precious does when you realize, all at once, how deeply it matters.

Your clothing was more intricate than he remembered, layers of woven sea fibers trailing softly behind you, shells and beads catching the light with every turn. Kelp strands wrapped and knotted with care moved like extensions of you, accenting each spin, each arch of your back. Your hair fanned out around your head, braids drifting, ornaments glowing faintly as you turned.

And your skin. Your bioluminescent patterns glowed brighter beneath the water, lines and curves glowing softly with your movement. Every twist of your torso made them show. Even from a distance, he could see your face—focused, serene, eyes sharp and alive, completely at home here.

You smiled mid-turn, not at anyone in particular, just at the dance itself.

Neteyam forgot to look away.

He followed you through the entire routine without meaning to. When you dipped low, his gaze followed. When you rose, spinning upward toward the light filtering down from above, his chest tightened. He watched the way your hands cut cleanly through the water, the way your body curved and straightened in perfect balance.

You were far from him. Close enough to see, but too far to touch.

And still, you were all he could see. 

He realized that even if you were doing nothing at all, you would have caught his eye just the same. 

The routine came to its end in a slow, reverent spiral, dancers and Tulkun drawing together before drifting apart once more. Applause didn’t exist here, not underwater—but the water itself seemed to hum, alive with approval.

When the dancers surfaced, Neteyam was already waiting on the shore with the others, voices rising in cheers. He joined in, but his eyes searched only for you.

Then he saw you.

The smile came without permission, easy and wide, and he cheered again, louder this time, though it was meant for only one person. He watched you greet your family first, waiting back to give you space, even as his feet carried him instinctively behind his own. When the moment felt right, he slipped away, weaving through bodies and laughter, shells chiming and firelight flickering everywhere.

He searched for you the way someone searches for shore while treading water. Faces blurred past him, bodies crossing his line of sight, laughter and voices colliding into noise. For a moment, he thought he’d missed you entirely, that you were swallowed somewhere deeper in the crowd.

And you were doing the same.

Turning, scanning, eyes slipping over strangers, pausing too long on silhouettes that weren’t him. The space was too big, the people too many. It felt unfair, almost cruel, that after all of that—after the sea, the dance, the waiting—you still hadn’t found each other yet.

Then it happened.

Not all at once. Not cleanly.

Neteyam caught movement first—your hair, the familiar sway of your shoulders—and he froze, breath caught halfway in. At the same time, you turned, eyes lifting instinctively, like you’d felt him looking.

People moved between you. Someone laughed loudly, another stepped directly into his line of sight. For a second, he lost you again—and his heart dropped with it.

Then your eyes found his.

Across the crowd. Too far. Far enough to hurt.

You stared at each other through the shifting bodies, the space between you opening and closing as people passed, like the world was testing how badly you wanted this moment. Neither of you looked away. You couldn’t. 

You both lifted your hands at the same time, waving, then laughing when you realized how perfectly in sync you were. The distance suddenly felt unbearable.

So you both closed it.

Slow at first, then faster, weaving through people who barely registered anymore. The crowd thinned, parted, blurred. All Neteyam could see was you, glowing even here, even now—proof that no matter how vast the space, you always seemed to find each other.

And when there was finally nothing between you at all—

You stopped.

For a moment, both of you only smiled.

“Hi,” he said finally, soft, like it meant more than the word ever should.

“Hi,” you answered, just as quiet.

Your eyes traced him slowly. The paint along his face caught both the firelight and the lingering glow of the sea—white and green etched with care, vivid against skin still damp from the water. His braids were threaded with beads and feathers that swayed faintly when he breathed, and you noticed—couldn’t help noticing—how his chest still rose a little faster than it should have

He was looking at you the same way. Taking you in, memorizing the way the water had left your skin glistening, the droplets tracing your collarbones and arms, soft reflections of the bioluminescent patterns that flowed along your body. The way the light caught in your hair, outlining every strand as it clung damply to your shoulders. The intricate layers of your clothing, sea-woven and luminous, moving with you even when you were still.

Without thinking, you said it, confidence rising in your chest like a tide. “You look good.”

The words surprised you, where they had come from. But looking at him—seeing the way his gaze lingered—you guessed he thought the same.

A boyish chuckle escaped him. “You look good too,” he said, his voice low, and the way he said your name made it feel like sunlight warming the hollow of your chest.

You laughed softly, a little breathless, and the sound loosened something between you. Without a pause, you closed the space between you, reaching for his hand. Fingers entwined with his, warm and steady.

“Come,” you said, tugging him gently. “You should meet my friends.”

He blinked, slightly confused, the question clear in his eyes. But he didn’t hesitate. He followed, weaving through the crowd as you led him, hand in hand, laughing softly as you navigated between clusters of celebrating clan members.

You stopped before a circle of Metkayina close to your age, the space clearing almost as if by instinct for the two of you. They made room, smiling, curious. You guided Neteyam down to sit beside you, the wet fabric of your clothing brushing lightly as you settled.

“One by one,” you introduced your friends, careful to gesture to each, murmuring names. “And this is Neteyam,” you said, looking at him with a smile to encourage him.

He smiled in turn, polite but relaxed, greeting each of them with easy words. You noticed the way his lips curved naturally, how at ease he was despite the unusual crowd, and your chest warmed at the sight. He fit here, just as he fit anywhere he chose to be.

“And he’s a great hunter,” you continued, nudging him lightly, “so you should hear his stories!”

Neteyam’s eyes lit up at the invitation, and he began to speak, weaving tales of hunts and skill, of the forest and the water. The Metkayina listened, rapt, nodding, smiling. Their eyes brightened at his words, echoing the excitement you had always seen in him. And as he spoke, swelling with pride, you felt the same: the joy of seeing him seen, accepted, even celebrated.

The circle leaned closer to him, intrigued, hanging on every word. And you, beside him, couldn’t stop smiling—not just because of the stories, but because, for now, this was his world and yours.

“Well… you wouldn’t have to worry about hunting in the future now, Tsakarem,” Nìkxey said, one of the girls you did iknimaya with, her tone playful.

Your cheeks warmed, and a laugh escaped before you could stop it. “Nìkxey!” 

Neteyam’s laugh followed hers, low and amused, and he nudged you gently with his shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry either,” he murmured just for you, a smile tugging at his lips. His hand brushed yours lightly as it rested in your lap, sending a small thrill up your spine.

You shouldn’t think about what that really meant, but those words refused to leave you the whole night.

Hours had passed since the bulk of celebration had wound down. The drums and conch shells had faded, the fire pits now smoldering low, sending only wisps of smoke curling into the night. Most of the village had retreated, laughter and chatter reduced to distant murmurs, leaving only the gentle crash of waves and the occasional call of someone walking home. 

You and Neteyam, hand in hand, slipped away from the remaining crowd, laughter spilling freely between you as you ran deeper into the forest behind the village.

You hadn’t spent much time here yourself—only occasional trips for fruit or to explore—but enough to know secrets that few others did. And tonight, you wanted to share one with him. You weaved through giant leaves, brushing past ferns and low-hanging branches, each step on the cold, damp soil grounding you. The sound of Neteyam laughing behind you, calling out, “Where are you taking me?” made your chest swell with a happiness you hadn’t expected.

“Be patient, forest boy,” you called back, a grin tugging at your lips.

He didn’t complain. In fact, something about the forest—the way the leaves whispered, the soil gave slightly beneath his feet, the shadows of the trees stretching into the night—made him feel at home.

After a while, the running slowed, and you finally stopped. You turned to face him, seriousness replacing the playful energy in your expression. “This is a secret between the two of us,” you said, voice earnest, “got it?”

Neteyam’s gaze met yours, unwavering, and he nodded, almost too quickly. “I promise,” he said, his tone low.

“Good,” you replied with a small smile, turning back to move forward. You pushed aside long, draping leaves, revealing an entrance tucked almost perfectly into the undergrowth—a small hollow, cave-like, hidden from casual eyes.

Neteyam didn’t question it. He trusted you, and that was enough. He let you pull him inside, hand still intertwined with his, feeling a thrill of anticipation, knowing you had chosen to share this secret with him.

Just a few steps in, and after a small turn, the hollow opened to reveal a pool of water, still and dark, its surface reflecting nothing. Neteyam paused, brow furrowed, unsure what to make of the shadowed space.

You only smiled, that quiet, knowing smile that made him uneasy in the best way. Your eyes flicked from him to the pool and back, gauging his reaction, waiting for the spark of curiosity—or maybe wonder—to light in his gaze.

“Come,” you said softly, squatting at the edge. Your fingers dipped into the water, and it shimmered immediately, a soft, ethereal glow radiating outward. As you swirled your hand, the pool brightened in response, ripples scattering points of light across the cave walls. You looked up at him, eyes wide, grin stretching across your face.

Neteyam’s hesitation melted into a laugh, and he joined you at the edge. But mischief colored his expression. Without warning, he splashed water toward you, droplets flying through the air. You shrieked, laughing, but the moment his playful grin met yours, you couldn’t resist returning the favor.

Back and forth it went: splashes, laughter, circles around the pool, each movement coaxing the glowing water to flare brighter. The bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls seemed to pulse with your motion, lighting the cave in soft, undulating waves of green and blue.

You finally gasped out, giggling, “Okay, stop—enough!” but neither of you really meant it. Your chest heaved, hair plastered to your face, droplets tracing your collarbones, and your laughter mingled with his. Neteyam, soaked and grin still wide, mirrored your exhaustion.

You paused, breathing heavily, standing on opposite sides of the pool, the glowing water between you. Then, on impulse, you bent your knees and jumped. The pool was small but deep enough that your feet wouldn’t touch the bottom if you leapt. The water swallowed you, cold and alive, and when your head surfaced, glowing reflections danced along your skin.

“Your turn,” you said, eyes flicking toward him.

He didn’t hesitate, launching himself in with a splash that nearly sent you under again. You spun quickly, trying to shield yourself, sputtering and laughing as he laughed at your frantic movements. When he surfaced, you both simply stared at each other giggling. The pool was small—you could feel the slight push of his arms with every stroke, the movement of his kicks under the water.

“Do you like it?” you asked softly.

Neteyam’s gaze lingered on you. “How did you even find this place?”

You shrugged, eyes tracing the glowing moss and scattered bioluminescent plants along the cave walls. “Curiosity. I followed a lizard here a year ago. I accidentally found it.” 

Your gaze swept the pool, the cave, the soft shimmer of light across every surface. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer immediately, because he wasn’t looking at the cave. He was looking at you. The glow of the water caught your skin, yes, but it was more than that—you looked radiant, almost angelic, every feature defined in the soft reflected light.

The strands of hair plastered to your shoulders, the faint curve of your lips, the gleam in your eyes—it stole his breath. 

A soft, low “yes” finally left him, and your heart skipped.

Catching him already staring, you couldn’t resist. With a small, playful chuckle, you splashed water at him.

Neteyam’s voice cut through the gentle ripples of water. “You were amazing back there,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “I was right. You are the prettiest.”

The way he looked at you—the closeness, the subtle shift of his shoulders forward, the slight lean toward you as the water carried you both—made your heart race. Unknowingly, you two had drifted closer, the small pool no longer just space. 

You smiled, glancing away for a moment, trying to hide the sudden flutter in your chest. But curiosity, and something bolder, pulled your gaze back to him. “And you look very handsome,” you said softly. “Have I said it before?”

“Yes,” he replied, smiling. “Just in a different way.”

You could only smile at him, eyes tracing his face again, memorizing what you had seen so many times but never enough: the patterns painted along his skin, the sharp line of his nose, the depth of his eyes, the curve of his lips. You felt a shiver run through you, not from cold, but from the ache of desire that had been gnawing at you, quiet but persistent, all this time.

To push the thought down before it took over, you sank deeper into the pool. The light from the glowing water bent around you, illuminating your path as your eyes followed his movements. He mirrored you almost instinctively, descending into the water with ease.

Now face to face beneath the glowing surface, the light refracted over him, casting gentle patterns across his features, highlighting angles and planes you had never appreciated fully before. And somehow… somehow, he looked even more handsome down here, framed by the light and water, and closer than ever.

The water cradled you both, holding your bodies in a slow, drifting stillness. Your hair floated weightlessly around your face, strands glowing faintly as they brushed his wrists.

Neteyam felt unsteady in a way no battlefield had ever made him feel. 

The water muted the world, but it did nothing to quiet his thoughts. If anything, it made them louder—spinning, overlapping, all of them circling you. The way you hovered there in the glow, hair drifting like something alive, eyes fixed on his as if he were the only thing in this hidden place worth seeing.

He thought of the small moments that had led here. Your laughter by the shore. The way your hand always seemed to find his without either of you acknowledging it. The looks that lingered just a second too long. The careful distance you kept, as if afraid of what would happen if you stepped closer—and the way that distance somehow made everything sharper.

Neteyam, who had faced danger with steady hands and a clear mind, had never felt this nervous. Not like this. Looking at you felt like standing at the edge of something vast and unfamiliar, something he had dreamed of without ever naming. You looked unreal, like the answer to a question he hadn’t known how to ask.

Enjoy this moment.

His mother’s voice surfaced in his mind.

And then you moved. Your hand drifted forward and settled against his chest, right over his heart, fingers splayed as if you were listening rather than touching. The contact was light, but it had unraveled him completely.

His breath hitched. His heart responded instantly, pounding hard beneath your hand, wild and unhidden. He wondered if you could feel it, if you understood what you were doing to him. Part of him hoped you did. Part of him was terrified you did. 

Hear it. Hear how much it’s beating for you.

You looked at him then—really looked at him—and there was so much meaning in your eyes that it felt heavier than words ever could. The glow of the water reflected back in them, soft and shifting, and for the first time since stepping into this hidden place, Neteyam felt certain.

Certain enough to move.

He swam closer. The space between you narrowed until his legs brushed yours, then lingered, your tails grazing and curling together as if the water had guided them there. The contact sent a quiet jolt through him. Real. You were here. So close.

Your body hovered just inches from his now, the glow outlining you in soft light. He could feel the movement of the water between you, feel the warmth of you even through it. His gaze flicked to your eyes, searching, asking—is this okay?

You answered without speaking.

Your lashes lowered slightly, your head tilting just enough to close the last uncertain angle between you. An invitation. A trust so open it stole the breath from his lungs.

When his hands lifted to your face, the water resisted just slightly, like it wanted to test his resolve, like touching you was something sacred. His palms cradled your face, thumbs resting just below your cheekbones, the deep blue of his skin a stark contrast to your glowing teal. You leaned into his touch instinctively, and the world seemed to narrow to that single point of contact.

When he leaned in, it was slow enough that you felt every second of it: the faint current shifting between you, the brush of his nose against yours, the way your breath mingled in small silver bubbles before drifting away.

Then your lips met.

The kiss was brief. Soft. Gentle. Slowed by the water, shaped by it. For that moment, you were suspended together—no ground beneath your feet, no urgency. 

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads rested together, noses brushing, eyes still open as if neither of you wanted to risk losing sight of the other. Bubbles escaped you both in uneven bursts, laughter caught somewhere between breaths.

In that instant, something settled, like a tension that had lived in both of you for far too long had finally been answered. The question that had hovered in glances and half-touches, in every moment you almost reached for each other, was no longer unanswered.

You wrapped your arms around him, and he returned it just as naturally—strong arms closing around you as if he’d been waiting to do that all along. Together, you kicked upward, breaking the surface at the same time, air rushing back into your lungs in shared, breathless laughter.

Water streamed down your faces, clinging to lashes and braids, the glow of the cave softer up here but no less intimate. For a heartbeat, you were still pressed close, foreheads nearly touching, the echo of the water rippling around you.

Neteyam pulled back just enough to look at you.

His hand lifted, gentle as before, fingers tipping your chin up so you’d meet his gaze. There was something unguarded in his eyes now—warm, almost shy, like the bravest thing he’d done all night was still finding its words.

“Can I…” He hesitated, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “…kiss you again?”

Your answer left no space for doubt.

His breath caught when you kissed him, a barely-there sound against your mouth. It was clumsy this time—your teeth bumped, a soft, startled laugh breaking between you—but neither of you pulled away. His hand slid from your chin to your cheek.

You feel him, the warmth of his lips, the careful way he adjusted just to fit you better. The faint taste of saltwater lingered as your lips moved against his.

Your arms slid more securely around his shoulders, fingers curling into the damp strands of his hair. He responded instinctively, hands settling at your waist. The water lapped softly against your sides, rocking you together in slow, gentle movements.

His forehead brushed yours between breaths, noses touching as he paused just long enough to breathe you in before kissing you again. You smiled into the kiss without meaning to, and he felt it—felt the way your lips curved, the way your body relaxed against his.

When you finally pulled away, it was only because your lungs demanded it.

The space between you widened just enough for breath to return—yours shaky, his uneven. Your arms loosened, hands slipping down from his shoulders but never fully leaving him. His hands stayed where they were, steady at your waist.

For a long second, neither of you spoke.

The glow of the cave caught in the paint on his skin, and without really thinking, your hand lifted. Your fingers traced along his forehead, following the lines of paint that had somehow survived the water. Down his temple. Beneath his eye. Along his cheek, down his throat, where his breath hitched almost imperceptibly under your touch.

Your hand continued—over his shoulder, and finally came to rest at the center of his chest. Right where his heart still beat too fast.

You looked at him then, earnest and open, your palm warm against him.

“I see you."

The words hit him harder than any kiss had.

Neteyam swallowed, emotions crowding his chest all at once. He lifted one hand, placing it over yours where it rested on his heart, holding it there as if to keep it from breaking free. With his other hand, he brushed the damp strands of hair from your cheek, fingers barely grazing your skin.

“I see you too,” he murmured back. Then, quieter, almost shyly, “Sevin.”

You laughed softly, the sound echoing faintly against the stone. “Sevin?” you teased, tilting your head. 

His mouth curved into a hopeful smile. “You don’t like it?”

You pretended to think about it, lashes lowering as if you were suddenly bashful. “I like it,” you admitted.

Silence settled again—but it wasn’t empty. It was full. Of looks held too long. Of breaths that hadn’t quite steadied. Your hands drifted lower, sliding from his chest, skimming the edge of the cummerband he wore. Not lingering—just noticing. He looked good. Strong in a way that made your chest warm.

When you looked back up at him through your lashes, his gaze softened even more.

“What else do you want to do?” he asked quietly.

You bit your lip, just for a moment, then lifted both hands to his face, framing it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your thumbs brushed his cheeks, your touch sure now.

“We should just kiss,” you said.

And you did.

Satoru Gojo

how he moans — He’s so damn cocky and breathy. Gasping whenever you brush over his sensitive spots, deep chuckling at every cute face you make. You couldn’t make him shut up even if you wanted to, he’s always going to be in your ear telling your what a good girl you are and letting you hear just how amazing your pussy feels.

he just won’t latch off your tit — when you’re riding him he has perfect access to your beautiful tits, how could you expect him not to suck them? He knows you love it when he can feel your cunt flutter around his cock.

he can barely control himself when you first have sex — he’s been waiting so long to have you like this, sitting naked on top of him. He might usually be smooth but now all he can think about is making sure he gives you a good fuck.

vanilla — sometimes vanilla sex is the best kind. He just loves the sight of you riding him with he idly play with your tits. So what if he wants it all the time?

videos — Satoru knows how flushed your get when he sends you videos of him jerking off and moaning your name. He’s away all the time, so he knows it’s the best reminder that he’s coming back to fuck you soon.

joining the mile high club — you’ve fucked almost everywhere. Almost. A plane now happens to fall upon that list.

Choso Kamo

how he moans — chanting please and curses. He’s a sensitive man, so they come out easily when you fuck him. Even when he’s the one on top, driving his cock deep into your soaking chasm, he still moans sweetly. He just loves you so, so much and you make him feel so fucking good. He can’t deny you the sound of his pleasure even if he wanted to.

treating him well — he goes so red in the face when you kiss him while palming his dick. Each time your lips reach his neck he shivers, so happy to have someone treat him so well it’s almost euphoric. Of course he’s stuttering “W-What about you?” Just make out with him until he sees stars.

foreplay — feeling your naked body against his, having his hands slide through your hair and lips move fluidly against yours makes him yearn for you in ways he didn’t know was possible, sure he was already hard the moment you touched him but now he’s aching and twitching for you, leaking pre cum.

he’s so big, but you take him — Choso is always slow, making sure you adjust to the feeling of him being inside you. He kisses your cheek and neck, mumbling praises. ‘You’re too big, Cho.’ You grunt, holding onto his arm. He shakes his head, disagreeing. ‘You’re the perfect size for me, my love, you take me in so perfectly. So well.’

Kento Nanami

how he moans — so lazy and deep. He just can’t stop praising you, loves to tell you how perfect you are between aimless grunts and breathy exhales. He’s a composed man, always aware of how good he’s making you feel so he’s never too lost in his own pleasure to moan so loudly, he’s quiet (unless you’re sucking him till he cums down your throat, then you’ll hear the best of his grunts).

he knows exactly how to get you crying for him — He might never openly admit it, but Kento is obsessed with your meek little moans and he knows playing with your pussy is the best way to squeeze them out of you.

perfect house wife — domestic life makes his heart truely happy, so when he comes home to you wearing nothing but an apron it makes his dick happy too. He just has to touch you and tell you you’re the perfect wife.

playing with you in front of a mirror — he enjoys seeing you quiver and your face scrunch up when he toys with your pussy, in front of a mirror means he can see it all perfectly.

Toji Fushiguro

how he moans — you have to be doing one hell of a good job to get this man to shut his mouth and moan for you. He’s a dirty talker, not a moany little sub. Still, his grunts are quiet and gruff. He’s most loudest when he slides into your gummy pussy for the first time and when he cums inside you.

favourite position — he just loves to pull you onto his cock. After a while, your legs begin to shake so he has to hold you upright and that’s how he knows you’re about to cum. Missionary comes in close second, just because he loves to feel you claw his back.

hate sex — you’re both pissed at each other, so what better way to rid yourself of your anger than to fuck it out? Straddle him, don’t give him the chance to top you, slap and ride him till he cums. Then maybe he’ll learn to respect you more.

when he tells you to ride his face, he means ride it — his lazy ass still wants you to do all the work, rolling your hips against his stunted tongue. He’s grinning, loving the moans you work out of yourself.

the only time he begged for it — you had been sending him some pretty saucy picture whilst he was away. It had been weeks since the two of you fucked and he wanted to see more of you’re perfect body. ‘I want to hear you beg’ you sent, then received a video from him.

Sukuna

how he moans — deep, deep moaning. The type of moan that hides a growl in the back of his throat as it rumbles against your chest. There are times he can get a little breathy, but he’s confident and never loses his cool. He mostly talks you through sex, so you’ll mainly hear grunts between his filthy dirty talk. Sometimes you swear you can hear a bit of Yuji coming through when he moans.

learn to shut your mouth while he fucks you — he calls you brat for a reason, because you love to talk back. When his hand wraps around your throat, you only have room to gasp for breath which is how he prefers you.

gently touching you after sex — post-sex is often when Sukuna is the sweetest. He admires your body, gently grazing his sharp nails over your skin and watching you retract at the tickling touch.

messy sex — there have been times where Sukuna burns for you, needing you in every possible way. He needs your scent, your skin, your hair, your body, your voice. He craves you, leading to a rough and messy quickie that’ll leave you utterly raw.

he has no patience — sure, he might like the idea of watching your fuck yourself on his cock, but in practice you’re much too slow. He needs to fuck you at his own pace, not let you work yourself off agonisingly slow.

keep quiet, brat — you need to learn to control your voice, but no matter how many times he tells you off you just keep hollering his name. So he decides to smack his hand over your mouth to cover up the noise.

even when you’re on top, you’re still a bottom — you were so excited when Sukuna agreed to let you top him. Although you were suspicious that he grunted a ‘yes’ so quickly, you didn’t read too much into it. Only when he had your hands bound behind your back, fucking up into your cervix did you understand he would never let you dominate him.

Yuji Itadori

how he moans — loud and messy. Once Yuji feels your cunt sucking him in the rest of the world disappears. All he can babble out are swears and compliments on how hot you are, how good you make him feel, how much he loves you. If the sex is softer (which is hardly the case), he can maintain composure a little better. He still grunts and swears, but at least the neighbours won’t hear.

favourite position — the way your ass collides with his hips and the defined arch of your back is like a work of fucking art. The sound of your moans muffling into his pillow is something he thinks about all the time. He just hates that he can’t see your perfect face, so please look back at him while he fucks you.

He waited all day to fuck you — you had been riling him up since the early morning; grazing your hand over his thigh and crotch, texting him lewd things, whispering sweet things in his ear. The moment you two got home he cornered you from behind, pressing lustful kisses to your neck and stripping you of your clothes until you both were naked and he had laid you over him.

cant get enough of your butt — he just loves your curves, flat or fat he admires you either way. Planting sweet kisses and mumbling how you were ‘built to make him hard’, whatever that means. He just runs his mouth when it comes to your body.

loves seeing you have fun riding him — the way you playfully hold his hand while you grind into his hips, or the way you break into a laugh when he grabs for your boobs, he just loves to see you have fun, especially on his dick.

no condom? — he’s always forgetting to buy condoms, you guys fuck like bunnies, how is he supposed to remember how many you two use up? You refuse to have a pregnancy scare, so you’ll just fuck him over layers of clothes.

Megumi Fushiguro

how he moans — Megumi starts off pretty balanced, but when things start to get intense he fluctuates between high and whiny to low and gravely (he’s especially embarrassed about moaning so high, so he tries to hold it back). He also doesn’t particularly enjoy being vocal, but a few physical and verbal prompts from you will get him in your ear.

you asked so nicely — he tells you he’s close and that he’s gonna cum, and how could he resist the urge to fill you up when you ask him so kindly to cum inside you? He’s surprised, but when you beg again he knows he can’t deny your sweet request.

nervous to touch you — he isn’t used to much physical affection, but he wants to touch you so badly. He loves to hear your gasps when his hands start to wander, so despite not being exactly sure what to do he’s eager to learn and memories the feeling of your body.

so kind to your cunt — the way he drags his tongue across your wet lips, making his saliva mix with your slick and creating a sloshy noise each time he repeats the motion. His narrow eyes gaze up at you, watching you throw your head back before closing and letting his sense of taste take over.

fucking you slowly — he’s never ruthless, especially when you want him to be. He moves his hips at his own pace, playing with your clit and enjoying the way you squirm for more.

Toge Inumaki

how he moans — He makes up for the lack of talking by grunting deliciously each time you make him feel good. The louder he is, the better you’re doing and the closer he is to cumming. Even when the focus is on you he’s still making noise, grunting each time you grind against his tongue, or tighten around his fingers.

sucking you sweetly — it’s pretty clear Toge has an oral fixation by the way he sucks your neck, your pussy and especially your tits. He especially loves your boobs, so they get special treatment.

pause your game — ‘I’m busy’ you say, that is until he’s parted your legs, hot breath patting your clothes sex. You try to keep playing, just to tease him further but his mouth feels so good that you can’t help moan and watch him eat you out. You’ll finish the level another day.

payback — you come over to spend time with him, only to be met with the back of his gaming chair. You’ll just have to give him the same treatment he gave you when you were too busy for him.

helping hand — leaning against his naked chest, going weak against him as he rubs your clit, occasionally dipping his fingers inside your pussy.

Yuta Okkotsu

how he moans — loud, weak moans. He’s so sensitive, he can’t help but whine in your ear as you fuck him. It’s not like he’s embarrassed either, Yuta loves to lose himself in your pussy and let you know how good it feels. You tell him he deserves to feel this good and it makes him sob pathetically.

shivering underneath your grip — he’s just too sensitive, you might go slowly for him just so he can relax but your skin is so soft, you’re gripping him so firmly and your breath hits his cheek. It’s all too overwhelming that he can’t help but tremble.

next best thing — you weren’t planning to end up fucking Yuta, but the two of you had gotten so heated whilst kissing. Neither of you had brought any condoms, so you decided to give him the next best thing and grind your pussy onto his cock whilst he moaned your name.

“Oh, thank fuck! You have no idea how much I appreciate it, man.” Kusakabe bellows in celebration, and Shiu’s forced to lean his head away from the speaker if ever he valued his ear drums.

Atsuya Kusakabe was a farmer specializing in hybrids just like Shiu was, though his friend had taken it a step further and raised only bulls on his farm. Though he really did reconsider this friendship when the other was trying to pawn off one of his biggest bulls on him for a few days.

In his bemused wonderment at his friend, Shiu almost doesn’t register the soft nudge of something against his open palm. Something warm, something silky. He snaps his head down- and a sudden smile spreads across his face as he realizes just who it was.

You’d wandered off from your cosy lil’ corner, and cuddled up to him leisurely. 

“Hey there, girlie.” Shiu whispers, reaching his fingers up to scratch behind your ecstatic ears. You weren’t quite the social hybrid, even amongst your own kind. Always frolicking by yourself when let out to graze, always straying behind the group after milking. 

Shiu couldn’t even tease enough out of you (not even half a bucket!) when compared to the rest of the cows here. But the thing is, you seemed perfectly content with your few close attachments on the farm, your few friends, your rejection of many bulls (and trust that the attempts to woo were many). And whether that was because you’d grown too attached to him, whether that was just the way you were - he didn’t exactly mind.

He knew he shouldn’t have favorites, and yet…here you were.

“Feeling all better?” He’s asking, and you’re nodding languidly. Still tired, then. This season’s heat had been as powerful as ever - out of all his hybrids, it was safe to say that you had one of the strongest.

The neediest.

The sultriest.

Which wouldn’t even have been notable if you’d just let another bull hybrid mount you through them to ease the urges, perhaps even result in a cute lil’ calf for his farm- but that was exactly the problem. 

You didn’t.

Shiu couldn’t even count on two hands how many times he’d tried to pair you off with one of his bulls - and each time had ended in a disaster. Either you’d barricaded yourself in another part of your barn room, or you’d claw your way outside altogether. Each and every time, Shiu would check on you in the middle of your heats to find that you were in the throes of your desires, fiddling with nothing but the toys he’d gifted you, and his sullen bulls would be pouting n’ pushed off to one side. Useless, really.

No matter how needy you were, you just wouldn’t take to them. And it wasn’t that they were particularly weak, or unattractive - there was Ino who you’d just ended up chatting through your heat with, Kashimo and Ijichi who you’d both kicked out, Takaba who you didn’t even look at, Naoya who you…

Yeah, he didn’t want to think about the beaten-up state you’d left Naoya in. It made him laugh.

He wondered who the problem was - those bulls that couldn’t woo you properly, or you who couldn’t be wooed.

He blamed the bulls.

And he’s patting the top of your head tenderly, carefully avoiding the slight protrusions of your horns that were oh-so-sensitive. Mutterly absent-mindedly, “It’s alright, it’s alright. Trust that we’ll find you a proper mate next year, girlie.”

You can only nod unsurely, gesturing at his phone. “Someone’s talking, Shiu.”

“Huh? Oh someone’s-” Oh, right, he was in the middle of his call still. He’d almost forgotten. Shiu tunes into the latest of Kusakabe’s spiel, and it didn’t seem like he’d missed out on anything too important—

“-had no idea what I was going to do for the few days I’d be in Tokyo for the Hybrid Farms Convention, I’ll pick him up right on my way back from there.”

“Mhm, sounds good.” He rattles off.

“You can keep him anywhere you like, to be honest. He doesn’t have any specific requirements, he’s just as sturdy as he is massive- hah! Though, I do give Toji a separate room of his own from the others…just in case.”

“Mhmmm.”

“My apprentices will be taking care of it while he’s gone, all ready for that big boy to be back.”

“Mhmmm.” Shiu lightly furrows his brows—if he has apprentices, and he has other bulls he’s leaving behind, then why did he need to leave Toji in particular with Shiu again? Oh, whatever…

“And you remember what I said earlier, right?”

Well, he wasn’t really listening but…“Mhm-”

“You have to keep an eye on Toji while he’s in rut.”

“Mh-” Shiu’s eyes bug out of his scalp, his knees grow a little weak, and he damn near drops his phone- oh, too late. He’s already dropped his phone down into the green grass below, startling you in the process. “While he’s in what?”

.

.

.

Name: Toji Fushiguro

Age: 30’s (approx.)

Hybrid type: Bos taurus

Height: 6’2+

Weight class: 1600kg - 1800kg.

Other notes: Subject has a sleek black coat, high intelligence, and a somewhat temperamental demeanour. He will insult you if it comes to infringing upon his freedom. Does not care for medical exams. Continuous horn growth that shows evidence of strong fighting capabilities, fatal power, and weapon-like appendages. It should be noted that the subject is of a larger size even amongst Bos taurus (in particular, the Nambu shorthorn bulls) and needs larger spaces of leisure than most. Take care to handle, needs multiple handlers.

Shiu’s face only grows pale as he reads down the medical sheet, quickly flicking his eyes to the very end so that he might be able to spare himself some of the torture.

-particularly powerful ruts with the urge to breed. According to the handler, it is noted that the subject has not spent a rut in the presence of a mate.

Even paler.

To emphasize, he is unmated.

And paler.

And currently nearing his rut.

For the second time in the past 24 hours (which isn’t many times, but it’s strange that it’s happened twice) Shiu’s fingers drop whatever he was holding in shock. Diligently, you’re right beside the farmer to pick up the piece of paper and hand it to him - giggling when he drops it for a third time.

Though, it was by sheer miracle that he doesn’t just faint right then and there.

Oh—he catches a glimpse of Kusakabe’s large white cattle trailer backing up into his hybrid pen and can feel himself teetering already. Thankfully, you were right there to nudge your head against his frame in support, slightly worried for the human man.

Because not only was Toji said to be nearing his merciless rut, but according to the medical sheet that his friend (‘friend’ hah!) had handed to him, he was unmated?

Makes sense, Kusakabe’s farm specialized in bulls.

But perhaps if Toji had a mate then the cow hybrids of this farm would be safe- he casts a sidelong look your way. Perhaps you - with your still-sweetened pheromones, and your even sweeter demeanour - would be safe.

“Something wrong, Shiu?” You’re asking, worriedly.

“N-nothing-” The farmer places a hand on your head and pats, faintly. “Nothing at all, don’t you worry about a thing, girlie.”

Ah, well…Shiu thinks to himself, watching as the truck finally finishes reversing, and Kusakabe (that bastard!) slides out of the driver’s seat to open up the towering steel door in the back. It looked so massive compared to the admittedly above-average man, and that only made Shiu’s tension increase twofold at what may be lurking behind those metal gates.

Ones that seem to burst open with a roaring screeeech—

“Oh, shit.” His mouth was desert-dry, his grip unyielding on you who’d been angling your head to get a better look. “Oh, shit.”

Because Toji Fushiguro was massive.

Dominating.

So many thousands of kilograms of a hybrid that sauntered smugly out of the trailer, as if he owned it. As if he owned this entire farm and everyone in it. 

The rest of the hybrids were drawn in by the commotion, turning their curious eyes towards the refined horns that gleamed as they entered the light. Towards the thundering ground. The powerful flank. The polished coat. The single golden ring ‘round his nostrils.

And you had to admit that you didn’t expect him to be so…handsome.

All ruggedly scarred lips from his tussles, and a face that seemed to be carved by the heavens above. You let your widened peripherals glide down the smooth skin of his front; all broad shoulders, prominent pecs, the cutest golden hoops pierced through his pink nipples, and abs for days. He shakes his shaggy black bangs out of his gaze. 

Those smug verdant eyes that take one look your way - the way that Shiu had his possessive hold on you - and narrow. 

Kusakabe startles as his prized bull hybrid suddenly stops in his tracks, his grip on his leash slightly faltering. And it seems that everyone within the pen holds their breath as a low huff of gruff displeasure leaves Toji, scorching hot fury reaching where you were.

Jaw clenching.

Eyes flashing.

He lowers his horned head as if he was about to-

“Ah ah-” Kusakabe’s the one to break through the charged tension on the farm with his command. He tugs on Toji’s firm leash, though, as a farmer, Shiu thinks he could see the slight waver in his movements.

Toji’s rumbling in refusal, tugging against the restraints. And Kusakabe’s nearly thrown off his feet- before he’s holding onto the side of the truck for balance, pulling the bull hybrid away from where his sights were set. “Easy, boy, easy.” He’s looking at you two with an apologetic smile, “Sorry, he’s just a bit excited with the ru-”

“Ahem ahem ahem-” Shiu suddenly coughs, cutting off the other man. “Better get him settled inside his enclosure, Kusakabe. Don’t want any more trouble now…”

“Ah- right, right.”

And with a slight swat at Toji’s flank, he’s fighting against the hybrid to guide him towards that lil’ enclosure made specifically for him. Shiu had taken care to section it off from the rest of the pen where the cows were, with hardy wooden tree trunks that composed the fences. And not one, but two padlocks that Kusakabe seems relieved to lock once he’s managed to get him inside.

Hands slightly shaking where Toji breathes hotly down his neck, black tail flicking in irritation.

“Calm down, calm down.” The farmer wasn’t sure whether he was telling it to Toji or himself- finally finishing off with the locks and looking up at him. “Now- you be a good boy, alright. Don’t give Shiu any trouble, don’t fight too hard with the other bulls- no use in telling you not to fight, I know you won’t listen to that anyway, and no matter what-”

Toji raises an unimpressed brow as Kusakabe raises a directing finger.

“-no going overboard with your rut.”

“And what exactly does ‘overboard’ mean?” Shiu wearily nears the special pen, arms carefully lifted off of you and wrapped around his own body in comfort.

Kusakabe beams, “No idea! We’ve never had him near cows before!”

Shiu felt like hitting him.

“Well, she just got off her heat-” At the way that Toji’s nostrils flare, his grin widens, Shiu almost regrets saying that with a gesture towards you. Oh? He blocks the bull’s greedy line of sight towards you, and grumbles. “-so no funny business.”

Toji scoffs.

“Use your words, Toji.” Kusakabe pleads, “No need to be like that.”

And he takes a second to pause. To consider. To seemingly mull over his words before- “Eat my ass-”

“Toji-”

“That’s it-” Shiu spits, not waiting for either man nor hybrid to finish before he’s stomping off to where you were watching the commotion from (as was the rest of the farm, but it seems like this hulking intruder had eyes only for you). 

And with his hand placed gently where your flower-patterned collar was, Shiu leads you away from the herd. Away from the pen. Away from Toji, towards the barn where your room was. “That’s it- for the time that that bull is here, he won’t be seeing a single glimpse of you, that’s for sure.”

“But why?” You whine, your head tugging backwards. And Shiu could almost balk at the way that you - you - were half-heartedly resisting his grip, trying to look back at Toji. “Why can’t I-”

“Because.”

And that was that, you were isolated inside the barn, and Toji was padlocked away in his pen. Far, far away from you for the time that he’d be staying there.

And as Kusakabe waves his exit from his farm, promising to be back in a few days, Shiu makes sure to get a good punch in (all in good friendship, of course). Because Shiu Kong was calm. Shiu Kong was composed. Shiu Kong could survive just a few days with an in-rut bull hybrid infiltrating his farm.

“And how long until you’re back again?”

“Three- ouch, three days. You have a good right hook, man.”

After all, it was exactly that - just a few days.

What’s the worst that could happen?

.

.

.

The first day.

Toji could see you.

Through the slightest crack in those barn doors, just the tips of your ears peaking out as you glimpse at him. It turns out that just Shiu’s command couldn’t hold you, and you staggered your way up to the barn doors whenever that damned farmer of yours wasn’t around to see. Watching. Waiting.

Taking in the sight of him.

And it wasn’t that Toji wasn’t used to stares - he was a prized bull hybrid, larger than most. So it was quite the given that he’d gather stares from competition, from unmated cows, hell, even from farmers who would like their chance at raising human-hybrid offspring. And so it wasn’t exactly new…

But just this way you were looking at him…it made him shiver.

Those pretty doe-eyes held up a curious, somewhat fearful, admiration. A slight arousal dampening between your legs that his honed senses could smell from even here—

Toji swears something in him had snapped the very split-second that he’d arrived here.

That he’d first locked eyes with you.

That he’d first sniffed at the remaining sweetness of your heat. Your sex.

Every sense in him right now (even the rational ones) were screaming at him to break out of this enclosure and waltz right up to you, break through those barn doors if he had to. He wanted to smell your pheromones. To hold you. To stuff his hot, throbbing cock between your legs and watch as you struggle to take it all.

He wanted to breed you.

And - multiple times - Toji found himself barging against the locked doors of his pen. Whispering your sweet, sweet name underneath his breath (learned from some of the other hybrids that watched him), ramming his horns against the wooden walls.

He was in rut.

Badly.

Badly, badly, badly.

The sheer intensity of it was more than anything else he’d ever felt- fuck, not even his first rut had felt this strong. It wasn’t that he was unmated. It wasn’t that he was in an unfamiliar place. It was just you, you, you.

Taking the wind out of his lungs. Making his length ache heavily between his strong legs. Wafting his intoxicating scent - something spicily sweet, with a peculiar tang in it that made you drunk on it like liquor, like mulled wine - all the way to where you were watching from the barn doors.

You’re sagging heavily against its wooden frame to take it in, sighing at the murky pheromones that seemed to cloud the entire farm-

“Oi, girlie!” 

And through it all, that damned Shiu had made sure to cockblock him.

Even now,  here came his annoying, grating tone. He’d kept a close eye on Toji ever since Kusakabe had left in his truck, rarely straying too far from the hybrid pen. He was always butting in, always breaking the stare-down between you two.

With one hand on his hip, the farmer watches as you startle at his voice. Suddenly hurrying to stumble back inside the barn where you came from.

And it would’ve almost been cute had it not been a result of you breaking one of his direct rules: do not interact with the bull in rut. But the thing is, you’d never seen a bull like him—and he was in rut? Oh…

Shiu barks out, “Where’d you think you were going, huh? Yeah- that’s right, inside.” And with you gone, Shiu would glare up at Toji. Toji wasn’t shy to glare right back.

“Problem?” He smiles.

“Yeah-” The farmer had crinkled his nose- and pointed at the way that Toji had been impatiently pushing against the enclosing walls, trying to break out, trying to get to you. He spits out distastefully, “-that. Don’t think you’re getting anywhere near her, got it?”

“Not at all.”

That night, Shiu had sent for a few more locks to be delivered from the hardware store downtown (he wasn’t even sure that they did delivery, but he’d coax them into if it meant not taking his eyes off of you). Multiple. He’d fixed them onto the gates of Toji’s pen, “This should keep you out.” Shiu had declared, jangling the metallic additions with one hand. “Not even the finest bulls in the world would be able to break through these. Hah! Take that.”

“Fuck off.”

He’d charged at the other man, but alas, the gates stayed steadfast.

.

.

.

The second day.

Toji had murmured your name like a mantra all night.

All night.

Again and again and again-

“He really doesn’t seem so bad, Shiu.” You’d tried to whine to the farmer, when he’d come back into the barn after fixing a few more locks - the count was reaching upwards of ten by now - on the gates of the bull’s enclosure.

But Shiu had only waved off your pleading noises, “Now, don’t give me that look. I heard the way he was ramming against those gates last night, I heard his bellows.” Needless to say, you had, too…“And I just don’t think it’s safe for you to be out when such a bull is in rut, girlie. Not unless you wanted to be mated- hah!”

Well…

You pushed your quivering thighs together. You’d hate to admit that in the privacy of your room last night, listening to Toji grow so desperate, listening to him say your name like that…you’d actually reached for your heat toys about once or twice.

You’d never felt this way about a bull before- hell, you’d never felt this way about anyone before.

And it was such a strange sensation to be glidin’ up the buzzin’ tip of your vibrator to your clit, massaging that sweet lil’ nub without the carnal pangs of your heat. Just the carnal pangs of…pure need-

“Besides.” Shiu’s cutting through your lecherous memory, and you hope the evidence of your lewd acts don’t show on your face. He gently pats at your head, the way he’s done so many times before. “You don’t need to be mounted by such a big, bad bull. My poor girl.”

“I don’t?” You mutter to yourself.

And Shiu doesn’t seem to catch on, “After all, it’s not like you’re in heat.”

No…you suppose not.

But you can’t help but raise your face into the saturated atmosphere, seemingly so balmy and languid ever since Toji stepped foot onto the farm. And there, you can smell the most addictive scent- fuck, something that just made your core twitch with need.

“Feeling alright, my girl?” Shiu looks on at the way you shiver, and whatever he sees there makes him lead you back to your place within the barn. “Hm, maybe you should get some rest- it’s probably that bull’s pheromones messing you up.”

“M-messing me up?” You’re asking, your entire body feeling set alight. Though, you didn’t feel the slightest bit messed up.

“Mhm- since you’re unmated, just coming off an unsuccessful heat. But it’s alright-” Shiu reassures, starting to shut your door, and there’s a meaningful look in his eyes. “We can try again next year, I have a few other bulls in mind that you might like to mate with. And he won’t be getting anywhere near you until then.”

“He won’t…”

Shiu continues, “Besides, Kusakabe will be picking him up tomorrow, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

You don’t say anything, but you know that you aren’t worried. Not even the slightest bit.

In fact…your body wished he’d be here even longer.

But ah- if he was just going to be taken away tomorrow, then what was the use in wanting? As your wooden door slams shut, you’re realizing that you just might never see him again.

And, outside, Toji only rams against the pen fence even harder.

He wanted you.

He wanted you.

He wanted you.

.

.

.

The third (and final) day.

Or is it…

“What?” Shiu barks into his phone receiver, so loud that it startles every hybrid grazing in the vicinity. All of them were out, leaving the barnhouse all barren by this point - though Shiu didn’t doubt that his voice reached even you inside. And the sheer incredulousness in his tone makes even Toji look over, with a smirk that told the farmer that he was quite enjoying witnessing his distress. But Shiu paid no mind to that.

He couldn’t.

Right now, he was much more frazzled by the words that had the utter fuckin’ audacity to sheepishly leave Kusakabe’s mouth on the other end of the line. Almost in a trance, Shiu pinches the bridge of his nose and repeats. “So…you’re telling me…” Each word tremored with the sheer effort that it took to keep the rage out of them, “That you want me…to come…”

“All the way to Tokyo to help me fix up my engine and save me from being stranded? Yes.” Kusakabe’s voice finishes off, “Shiu, my oldest friend, my dearest pal, have I ever told you how much I love y-”

“Atsuya Kusakabe I will kill you.”

Toji snorts out in laughter, and Shiu is suddenly reminded that he’d been in the middle of fixing up just one more lock to the bull’s pen when he’d gotten the call. Gate held ajar for now. Padlocks unlocked as he fixed them on. 

Glaring at the hybrid for the interruption, Shiu’s pinching the pen closed as he grumbles. “And you need me - you can’t just go to one of the many, many, many mechanics in Tokyo - because why exactly?”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Shiu!” Kusakabe cries out, “Do you have any idea how expensive Tokyo is? I just bought a cute lil’ pastry before the convention, and it bankrupted me for generations!”

“And you don’t have any other friends that are closer?”

“Man, if I had any other friends, period, do you think I’d be calling you?”

Shiu supposed that was a fair enough statement. “But- but I can’t leave…” He clicks his tongue, “Just get a train then! Leave that pile of junk at some trash site where it belongs-”

“I mean, I could…” And though Kusakabe’s tone was one of curious innocence, he’d long since learned that nothing ever boded well for him when he used it. He waits with bated breath until the other man continues- “-but that just means I’ll have to leave my truck - including my cattle trailer, which I use to transport my cattle - here. And you know what else that means I’ll have to leave?”

Shiu shivers, “Wh-what?”

“Toj-”

“I’ll be there right now.”

Kusakabe cackles, “Take your tiiime~!” And soon enough, the sharp tone of the call being ended reaches Shiu’s ears.

With one last semi-glare thrown in Toji’s direction, the farmer is speed-walking to his own truck - all those tools Kusakabe needed still inside from his last fix-up. More like running. More like sprinting to save his friend.

Not because he wanted to save his friend, of course. But because every second that Kusakabe was stuck in Tokyo, was a second even longer that you were stuck with Toji on this farm.

All alone.

And he couldn’t have rushed out of here more determined.

More hasty.

More careless-

“Well, would ya look at that.” Toji’s scarred lips twitch upwards into a grin. And he’s reaching one of his beefy arms out to lightly - just lightly - nudge at the wooden gate of his enclosure. Watching as it swings wiiiiiiide open—creeeeak! Bearing the rest of the farm to him with welcome arms. “What a sweet little gift f’me.”

All those pesky padlocks and ties, carefully added over the last few days, were useless if some silly lil’ farmer ever forgot to lock them.

Toji takes such delight in taking that first step out of his enclosure, broad pecs heaving as he takes in the candied trail of scent left all over by a certain pretty cow hybrid. You.

He then takes a second step, a third, a fourth—

And he knows exactly where he’s heading to - the barn.

Where you were just settling in for the day, your feverish body settling atop a particularly soft, tangled mass of golden hay. Cuddling in. You’d heard Shiu’s truck take off, though it would be out-of-character for him to leave so suddenly. You weren’t sure what to think, and you were just about to nod off when…

Creak-creak-creeeeeak—!

The barn door opens.

Shiu? Fluttering open your eyes, you’re just about to raise your head and ask him what all the yelling and commotion was, when-

Oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t the farmer at all.

Toji’s large, sculptured figure takes up nearly the entire door frame. And even from here you can see his sultry grin, his agitated hips. You can smell his intense drunken pheromones—“Room for two, sweetcheeks?”

.

.

.

“I’m- hah, sensitive there…” You’re pouting as Toji relentlessly tugs you by your stubby horns towards him. His overlarge hand plastered to the back of your scalp and guided you down between his meaty thighs - not only had he kissed you silly by this point, but the hybrid had you drenched and quivering all over the hay for more.

But first…

Your watery eyes bulge as you take in the sheer length between Toji’s legs - inches upon inches, throb after throb, all looooong and rock-hard with need. His erection stood right up to graze his navel with glittery drops of precum.

Decorated with so many puffy veins down his shaft that your cunt twitched just imagining how he’d feel inside of you.

Each one pulsated as Toji drip-drip-dripped in gooey sap down his cock, all ready to pierce your hot sex. Heavy balls tightening with even more, with the urge to breed. And you’d do well to remember that bull hybrids in particular were known for having absolutely massive cocks-

“What’cha thinking about, sweet girl?” Toji hums, the point of that nickname proven when he takes a deep, heaving gasp of the pheromone-saturated air. 

Before you can answer, one of his hands slither down to grip that heavy cock of his. Right ‘round the fat hilt where he can move his long length to smack! down between your half-parted lips. Using just the globular tip of his cock, he’s smearin’ apart your maw and just glossing over it with his creamy pre. “You’re not thinking of tapping out already, huh? You’re not…scared are you?”

There’s a slight mocking hint in his tone, nevertheless you’re shaking your head fervently. 

He snickers, “That’s right. You don’t care what that stupid farmer of yours has to say, hm?” And oh—Toji has to stop himself from simply stuffing every inch inside your mouth already, instead wetting your lips enough so that he can sliiiiide in. “You’re not really such a good lil’ hybrid like he says- huh?”

“No-” You’re hiccuping out, “Not at- mmpf.” 

Only for big, bad Toji to rut his cock against your mouth. Shutting you up with his flared tip, you can taste the pure arousal seeping into your mouth.

All warm n’ wet on top of your tastebuds—you’re drooling around his thick tip before you even know it.

“No, because you’re a baaaaad girl, aren’t ya?” He’s tutting, swiping away the splatters of saliva that just kept on leaking from the edges of your mouth- and instead, he’s reeling back to replace it with a jetstream of his own spittle. Straight onto the middle of your tastebuds.

With a second hand tugging open your mouth, Toji takes a nice look at that gluey wad sitting on your tongue- before he’s plunging his rude cock right back in between your lips. “Because you’re- haaaaah, careful, careful, no teeth- because you’re my good girl, aren’t ya?” Staring at you with half-lidded green eyes, “Allllll mine.”

“Mmmpf—” You’re muffling out around his raw girth, Toji was just so big that your maw was constantly open in this lecherous ‘oh’ shape.

Gobbling his veiny inches up even deeper and deeper, you’re only growing wetter at the way that his bawling divot scrapes down the roof of your mouth. Swervin’ left and right, and reaching for that cute lil’ dangly thing at the back of your throat-

“Ever taken a bull’s cock before?”

Choking at the lodgement in your throat, “N-no—”

“Yeah? Thought so. Ever taken anyone before?”

Shaking your head.

“Well then, she’s taking me so- hah, well.” Toji’s crooning out from above you, fucking his hips in sloppy half-thrusts inside your mouth. That rough line of his happy trail ends up scratching the tip of your nose, and you find that his intoxicating scent only grows stronger the closer you get…“Haven’t you had breakfast today, sweetcheeks?”

With tearful eyes, you’re looking up at him in confusion. “Mmm—ngh.”

“Ah ah- flick your tongue at my tip if you wanna say ‘no’—oh, just like that.” And then his mean, scarred lips end up formulating a mocking pout. “Such a cute tongue, can’t believe she’s gone hungry for so long- ngh.”

“I-” Tears stream down both your cheeks, and you’re panting out through each thrust of his achin’ cock. “Fuck, Toji, you’re just so big-”

Other hand pushing on the back of your clammy head, deeper n’ deeper. His superhuman strength was just incredible- “And look, she’s just become so greedy.” As if he wasn’t the one tunneling every spot inside your mouth, spotting it with his pre. “Don’t you know you don’t have to take any more, sweet girl, don’t you- oh—” Toji accurately hits the back of your throat, a direct thud! of his globular cockhead. He grins, watching you salivate around his cock- “-oh, fine, if you insist…”

“You’re- hck!” And the fact of the matter was that he hadn’t even fully bottomed-out yet. Criss-crossing your eyes, you spot that you had even more inches to go- “You’re so ngh-”

“And you want me to bruise the back of your- oh, throat, you say?” Toji’s cutting you off with his mean grunts, smack after smack of his heavy balls. 

They graze the front of your chin and make you feel such carnal pangs, your cunt grinding back against your heels. “I didn’t even- oh.” But too late - his geysering divot was already bruising away back there. 

Push after push.

Probe after probe.

Until Toji’s shaft had stirred up every single hidden spot inside of you, and he was swelling up even more like he wanted more, more, more—

“Toji-” Your nails claw down the pale expanse of Toji’s thighs, just so plush rippling underneath your touch. “Toji I want-”

“Ohoooo?” His raven brows raise in amusement, a mean grin spreading across his face. “The good girl is making demands now, hm?” As you whimper away, he’s thrashin’ at the back of your throat- again and again. “I guess I can’t just keep listening to her, huh?”

Her? Who…oh. 

He was talking about your thoroughly damp pussy, with the sappiest noises leaving you each time you’re pushing back on your heels. Soaked with desire.

And Toji seems amused by your shocked reaction, “How cute…go on then, sweetcheeks. Go on. Lemme know what that cute lil’ heart of yours desires.”

You’re pulling back from his red, glistenin’ tip with a lecherous pwah! “I-I want…” You’re sobbing, lashes fluttering in a way that makes- oh, you won’t be mad if he told you he was getting even harder now, would you? “-I want to feel you, Toji.”

To feel him?

To feel him?

His hazy peripherals snap down to see the way you were eyeing his long, long length. And then he’s realizing - oh, you wanted to feel him inside, did you?

Inside…fuck.

Your eyes damn near bulge out of your skull at the way that Toji’s rock-hard length only seemed to grow even…bigger at your words. Flaring up until he was red-hot at the tip, all slicked with a glaze of saliva and pre.

Toji smacks his painfully hard shaft down once more at your maw, “What dirty, dirty words- and from such a good girl?” He scoffs.

And just as you’re about to explain yourself, you’re suddenly feeling near whiplash at the way that Toji grabs onto your throat and flips the two of you around. Hoisting. Manhandling. Ending up with his back against the floor, head against the hay, and your naked cunt drivelling right above him. 

So wet and pretty.

Toji’s mouth waters at the sight of your damp, glistening hole. And he can’t help but immediately reach one hand over to thumb apart your puffy pussylips, pressin’ apart your folds and spitting straight into your hole.

“Or were they words from her, hm?” Toji’s gruffly snickering, flopping that wide tongue of his out to catch your droplets of slick. “Talking out of that pussy, hah- you’re even dirtier than I thought, sweetcheeks.”

Your thighs ache as they hover, slightly chasing the warmth of his mouth. “M’n-not dirty! I just wanted to feel you…” Casting a longing look behind at his throbbing length-

“As if. And you can have my cock-” You look up hopefully at his answer, how cute—you couldn’t even properly fit his cock inside your mouth, and now you think you could fit him inside your cunt? “-but first I’ve gotta stretch this dirty girl ouuuuut.”

“But, I can take- hngh!”

As if. Before you know it, Toji’s slithering his long, looooong tastebuds inside your cunt with absolutely no warning, no hesitation.

Just the ridged texture of his muscle slithering inside, and you’re quivering at the sheer size of him. And he feels the tightness of your circular innards and grins- “Woah…” Just a single taste of you, and his pheromones are blasting out in pure need. “Don’t you know that you hafta stretch ‘er out first, hm? What- never done this before?”

Gingerly, you shake your head ‘no’.

“Oh- reeeeeally.” Just pryin’ aside your folds, you were so fucking wet that that honeyed slick splashes down onto his face like a puddle. Toji rolls his eyes, “I would’ve never thought.” 

You huff n’ puff atop him, “Don’t- don’t tease, Toji-”

“Why, m’not teasing..” He’s spitting on your cunt yet again, letting the dewy excess trickle back down into his throat. “I already know that this pretty pussy hasn’t been satisfied like she deserves. I can fucking taste it-” Tunneling back in again. “Can hear it.” The most lecherous slurps echoing in your ears as he does, the bull’s ears flick your way to listen to it. “She wants only me- heh, wants me to be her first, doesn’t she?” 

Slurp-slurp-sluuuuurping as he’s rovering his tongue, somehow contracting it and extracting it in a way that massages your velvety walls.

Again and again.

“All you hafta do is sit there- all pretty, and take it.” Toji croons, and something dark glints within that gaze of his as he catches your lost expression. “What? That dear farmer of yours never taught you how to take it like a good girl when yer being eaten out.”

“N-no-”

“Then let me teach you—” Oh, you knew he didn’t bode well by the way that he said it. You knew it. 

And in a split-second, Toji has one hand plastered at your hip, and the other veering upwards to smack! down on your swollen pussy. “Ah ah-” As you buck, that hold he has on you grows numbing, and you’re sure he’s leaving nail marks there for weeks. “Toji’s first rule- don’t run.”

“I won’t—” You’re swallowing your words back just as soon as you say them, because just then- two of his rovering fingertips intrude their way inside your cunt.

Not even waiting for you to get used to him, not even faltering as you squeeeeeeze.

He’s straightly stuffing two of them inside your snug channel, the bulbous ends of Toji’s digits digging into each of your hidden spots without even trying. Turning them over. Pushing into every nook n’ cranny n’ crevice over and over- “Oh my god-” Bellowing out, your body starts to move back and forth against him - as if it didn’t know whether you wanted to bounce down or run away- “Toji, I’ve never felt something like this- ngh.”

Only for a loud smack! to ring out against your wet pussylips once again, and for Toji to haul you back onto his mouth with his beefy arm. “What’d I say about rule number- hah, one, hm? Silly girl.”

He was stopping you from running from it.

He was looping one of his thick, beefy biceps ‘round your waist, stopping you from moving away from his open-mouthed kisses. “Good.” Pulling you in so close that his golden nose ring presses frigidly against your clit and makes you flinch. “Atta girl- atta, sweet girl.” Toji smirks against your cunt, once you try squirming your hips and find that you can’t move even a single inch. “Now squeeeeeze those pretty legs around, I don’t care if I fucking suffocate, use me, sweetness- that’s the second rule.”

“Like- like this?” You ask, your whiny pitch trembling just as much as your legs were by now. Feebly, they attempt to straddle Toji’s head properly. 

To which it almost looks as if the bull hybrid was about to laugh—“No.”

Numerous more spanks of his fingertips on your cunt, and soon enough you’re finding yourself completely limb atop him. As he fingers you to tears, rotund fingertips scouring all the way to your cute cervix-

“I mean-” From your hips, his hand is then moving to your thighs. Wrapping around them to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze- until Toji felt light-headed. “-like this.”

“I think m’d-doing it.” You’re gyrating atop him wildly by now, finding a staccato in time with his thudding! fingers. Not only were they thick, they were just so long too - and they left you feeling dizzy with his vulgar strokes, with his incredible scent.  

“Third rule, fuck back into me.” He commands, with that specific tone of a bull in rut that made you want to listen to him immediately. Your hamstrings screamed in protest as you continue, “Fuck her back into me- harder now, aren’t you a cow hybrid? Buck.”

You could barely even believe your ears, “You’re just so fucking mean- fuck!”

“Yeah, yeah, just like that.”

And Toji’s tongue? Oh, he wasn’t just staying still - not at all.

Toji had his tongue wrapped ‘round your throbbing clit and spanking down with his tastebuds. “And the fourth and final rule-” He gurgles through the wettened wads you were seeping out,  “-is to get ready.”

You’re blinking your teary eyes back open, looking down at him in shock. “Get ready for what?”

It takes a few more probin’ thrusts before he can bear to pull away- and that, too, with the loudest smooch! The bull hybrid’s pants come out in heaving gusts, scalding air making you quiver at the sensation.

“Get ready…” Toji rattles off, after a few sultry seconds. And oh- you wonder, why was his tone octaves higher? Why did he sound so breathy? Why was there something…crazed in the way he said it- “-because you think a bull hybrid in rut would really be this nice, sweetcheeks?”

Jaw dropping, “Oh-”

“You don’t know how painful it was to hold myself back-”

And before you know it, your spine’s arching as you struggle to accommodate him- struggling to handle the raw primal pressure of his thick tongue and two- three of his fingers plunging into your hole. Pushing and pushing and pushing—

You’ve become masterful at rule number three, it seems, as you’re pressing your thighs upon either side of Toji’s face until he groans. 

All of his appendages just reaching all the way for the very back of your cunt—“Ohhh, please-” Your head throws backwards as you feel him fuck you with his tongue like he was trying to ruin your inexperienced pussy. “P-please-”

“Oh m’ having a pleasant time alright.” Toji snickers, his heated pants leaving your skin perspired. The mountains of his knuckles were striking your outer pussy so hard now that they were starting to grow red on his skin. “S’fuh-fucking sweet.” Stinging.

Plap! after plap! You’re moaning as his mouth unhinges undeniably deeper to let even more of his tongue’s inches inside. Stretchin’ out your cute orifice, “Gonna hafta stretch her at least twice- haaah- twice as fuck! much if you wanna fit my cock, sweet girl.”

“Twice as much…” You’re repeating breathlessly, you couldn’t even begin to imagine it. It already felt like Toji was pulling you to your very limits - so even more…

“Rule number five- just made it up, heh.” Toji spits out - literally, a glittering glob of spittle that sticks to your slit. It slides down to your hold and makes it easy for him to thrash his tongue inside like an animal- like he was frenzied by his pheromones, like he couldn’t control himself from push-push-pushing.

Not even at a controlled cadence- Toji couldn’t stop himself from squishing your sweetest spots at the very back of your cunt. In almost no time, he’s finding that cute lil’ heart-shaped g-spot of yours - and Toji’s fingertips and tongue were fighting over which one gets to press on it the most.

Again and again until you’re in actual tears- “Rule number five is- ngh, you have to take it.” Holding you to him, until your cunt folds were plastered against his puffy lips. “Take it all like my good girl if you wanna finally take my cock.”

“Please-” Being pummelled away to the maximum, it’s all you can say like a constant mantra. “Please please- ngh! Please-”

“That’s all that dirty mouth can say now?” Toji tuts, “Tch- what happened to wanting me inside? Wanting my cock? Wanting to be fucked like the slut you secretly are?”

Primal swabs, again and again.

Twofold.

After each word, Toji’s tongue sizzles against your tender pussy - lips glued so deeply against your folds, that you can feel him lappin’ away every ounce of your slickness.

It drips slightly down his chin, and leaves your cunt slipping on top of Toji’s handsome face. You grab onto his large horns with a yelp- “Oh! Fuck, Toji- did I really say that?”

“Of course you did- hah, gallop, sweethearts.” With yet another spank, he rovers his face even deeper between your trembly legs. Nose-deep. Skin-deep. So deep, in fact, that the veins on Toji’s sculptured neck pop out.

You’re unsteadily bucking against him on instinct, and that leaves the man groaning. “Just like that.” Swallowing up every inch of your outer cunt, you’re being pierced by the relentless ministrations of his tongue again and again—“You asked to be fucked like a slut- hngh, and that’s exactly what m’giving you. Aren’t I just the beeest mating partner, sweetcheeks?”

“But I didn’t-” You’re babbling out, drunk on the vicious scrape-scrape-scrape of his intrusions. His fingers pushed just as your g-spot, and you could feel him glissading down even deeper. Deeper. Deeper. “-I didn’t say that—”

“Oh, didn’t you?” He’s hazily looking up from between your legs - there was something bleary in his eyes, something gone. “I think I remember-”

“Well I don’t-” As you’re raising your voice, you can’t believe it- Toji’s powerful tail wraps around your thighs and drags you back down.

He rumbles, “Rule number one…” In warning.

And it’s only with a few more thuds! that Toji’s pretending to remember just what you’re whinin’ away about, his dark brows shooting up to his bangs. And you can feel your treacly cunt quiver with the vibrations of his laughter, “But ah- I remember now.” His eyes crinkle into slits of amusement, eating you out until his nose ring slicks with your syrup. Just the notion is enough to leave his pheromones heightening, “I believe you said…‘you wanted to feel me’.”

Mouth dropping in recognition, “Oh- I did.”

“And what did you mean by that, hm?” Toji speaks through the ringing slurps, zap after zap of pleasure. “You’re already feeling me here-” Pokin’ at your g-spot, “And here-” His tongue snakes out to suck on your clit once more. 

“I just meant I wanted to feel you- hck!”

His sweaty brows furrow, “But yer already feeling me-”

“No- more like I wanted to feel your-” You’ve never spoken words like this before, not even in the throes of your worst heats. You glance back at his twitching erection, “-there.”

“My where?”

“Your- your cock, Toji!” You’re wailing out, your legs feeling numb at the way he strikes your sweetest bundle of nerves. “I wanna feel your thick, looooong cock- please.”

Oh, you really were such a dirty girl. He’s gnawing down on that nub of your clit, “And where do you wanna feel my thick- looooong- cock, hm?”

You’re stammering, mouth growing less in-your-control the longer he’s making a mess of your poor pussy. “Inside-”

“Inside where?”

“Inside my cunt-” And you’re shocked you manage that out without stumbling over your words, gryatin’ back into his open maw with sly figure eights. But even that wasn’t enough—

Toji rolls his eyes, such a mess. Such a shattered mess. Just pushing and tasting and lavishing his tongue all over- “Say it again-” When you’re repeating your sultry words, “More- dirtier. Be good f’me, girl, say it again-”

“I want your cock inside my cunt, Toji.” You’re whimpering out, you’re shaking. Feeling the inexperience bubble within each of your veins, because the hybrid was just having so much fun corrupting you. “I want it inside- want you to fuck me with that cock so badly-”

“Atta girl.”

Forcing you to say those lecherous words, forcing you to cum—

“Oh my god-” With your back arched, you’re throwing your body into the wave of pleasure that suddenly bursts inside your body. “C-cumming- I’m cumming, Toji-”

“And it’s all because of me.” He’s smugly saying, perfectly puncturing at your g-spot with his constant pushes. 

Because of Toji’s rut, his senses were so honed that he could mark each peak of your high- the explosion of bliss that he pinpointed with his fingers, with the slashes of his tongue. “Heh- me.” With a wet chuckle, Toji’s tongue was going to lick up every inch of your pussy like he was frenzied. Couldn’t get enough. Lap after lap. “Me me me me-” He sucks on your clit, letting his canines nibble lightly on them, and it lets out the most lewd sluuuuurp. “-and look- she’s thanking me.”

“Fuck! Never felt something so good-” Whining out, you’re bouncing your back into each of his hits. “-might be the best orgasm I’ve ever had- hck!”

“S’a pleasure, sweet girl.”

By the time the best of your high bates, Toji still hasn’t let up between those syrupy legs of yours. When he’s licked up every droplet of sap you’re letting out, he’s moving over to lick at the sheen of slick glued to your thighs. 

Again and again.

Until you’re all the way overstimulated, and tears start to drip as if from a faucet. “I th-think m’done, Toji.” As if he already didn’t know - you’re pushing at his clammy head. “My orgasm’s over, I wanna try taking your cock now-”

“And you’re sure?”

He wasn’t asking to be nice. He was asking to make you turn your head and balk at the way his impossible size had only seemed to grow even bigger. Your lips wobbling, “Y-yes.”

“Oho?” Dark brows raising, he stops his ministrations and moves both hands to now grip at your waist. “Well, you did tell me to put my ‘thick, looooong cock inside of your cunt’-”

“So shut up and do it.” Huffing in embarrassment, you pound at his muscular chest - and he could barely even feel it, like kitten kisses on his bulky body. It’s enough for Toji’s cock to jolt with need, and for his attractive face to break out into a grin.

“Atta girl.”

And with that final compliment, Toji’s making to grab onto your waist and lift you off of his face—with the loudest smooch! It’s ringing out like the prettiest melody in both your eardrums, and Toji just barely manages to disconnect himself with your sweet pussy.

Just barely breaks his lips from your tender folds, all slickly glossed.

Just barely wrenches you off with ease, and takes one nice look at your hole - when you’re realizing that Toji Fushiguro suddenly stops. His nostrils suddenly flare. He suddenly stutters-

“O-oh, sweet girl. I don’t think you even realize-” Toji gawks up at your cunt. And you’re feeling somewhat shy when he filthily leans his features in and takes a good, long sniff at your cunt. As you’re looking up at him in confusion, “-you’re in heat.”

“In heat?” He sets you down near his rugged v-line, and you’re animalistically grinding your cunt down on his thickened length. You look up at him for answers, “What do you mean? Shiu said I’ve already finished my heat-”

“Fuck what Shiu says, silly girl.” Lightly spanking your pussy, Toji rolls his sage eyes. His pupils were all blown-out and bleary with lust, only darkening the more he takes in your buttery pheromones. 

Oh, you smelled like the sweetest freshly-whipped cream - and that only made his mouth water as much as his swollen cock was. Drenching the cute innards of your thighs n’ your pussy mound with his sap, he grins. “I can smell it.” He parts his scarred lips, a thin line of saliva trickling down one side. “I can fucking- taste it-”

“Oh—” You’re gyratin’ back against his plummy cock tip, oh-so-lewdly. And you take another sniff of yourself, reaching up to feel that your scent glands have swollen up. “I g-guess you’re right-”

“Sugar, I am right.”

Before you know it, the world’s a blur around you- and suddenly you find your back against the soft hay. Your head being cushioned by one of Toji’s rugged palms, Toji’s large body hovering over you. Pressing you down-

“And this pretty pussy’s tellin’ me that this is yer first heat with a bull, hm?” Sliding his thumb between your glossy crevice, he listens for the squelches. “Awww, how cute—so m’your first, sweet girl?”

“Yes- yes.” And when he places his fleshy cock between your legs, at that sweet spot where you wanted him the most, you can’t help but realize that oh- he’d been stretching you out for so long for a good reason.

Because Toji’s hybrid cock looked absolutely ginormous between your legs, especially with the way he’d thickened up in size while eating you out. His cockhead was as red as a huge strawberry, and multiple times bigger. Bull hybrids, famed for the shaft length - now slipping n’ sliding between your pussylips.

Just kissing at your geysering orifice- “Oh- fuck.”

“And you know having you on top would be the easiest for her…” That said, he’s swatting his rough fingertips down on the nub of your clit. He’s spitting. He growls, and it’s enough to send shivers down your spine- “But m’still gonna have her in a mating press.” Throwing your legs over his shoulders, folding you damn in half. “Because you also forget one- fuck-” Just feeling you clench around nothing, enough to make him reach up and grab at a wooden beam. “-thing, sweetness.”

“And what’s that, Toji?”

“I’m in-” Hard enough that the wooden beam breaks—“-rut.”

Fourth rule, remember?

Because you didn’t think that he’d go this easy on you when he’s in fuckin’ rut, did you? You didn’t think that he was going to fuck you nicely, did you? You didn’t think that he wasn’t going to act like a damn animal, did you?

In a sudden motion, Toji’s plugging your hole up with his thick cockhead- and shoving it deep into your deepest insides. Long. Hard.

You’re yelping, nails finding purchase on his deltoids and clawing on for dear life because- “A virgin, are ya?” He tuts, “Don’t think m’gonna go easy on ya.”

“Oh my goodness-” Thighs curling around his toned waist, hips attempting to buck away. “Holy fuck-”

“Easy, easy.” It was just so cute the way you were struggling - especially when you were talking so big about wanting him. “Breathe in, girl- there ya go.”  You’re following as he instructs, “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in—” And suddenly there’s a sodden spank at your pussy, “-you, too, pretty pussy.”

Something that catches you off-guard, and makes you swallow him up an inch deeper. Your eyes rolling all the way to the back of your skull, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- I’ve never felt like this. You’re so big- hold on, Toji, you’re so-”

“Hold on?” 

“What-”

“Hold on?”

He’s then spitting out into your open mouth, and slapping your pussy so hard that you’re seeing stars. Instantly, you’re set on edge by the way that his rugged cock suddenly slams- “You’re telling me to h-hold on?”

And was that a stutter in his sentence?

A laugh?

Toji Fushiguro sounded like he was fucking losing it by merely hearing your whining questions- “You seriously want me to…” Clawing down in front of your body, one of his rude hands press down on your stomach as he’s sinking iiiiiiin. It makes you feel every ridge n’ vein, every inch, every bit of his thick shaft intruding in. “-hold on?”

“It’s just- I just didn’t think you’d be so big-” He was barely even halfway in and you could already feel Toji at your throat, gushing out sticky wads of slick. With your feet planted on the hay-littered ground, you’re trying to arch your back nearly away from—

“Oi- who said you could tap out?” Before you know it, Toji’s hand lifts from your thigh to grab onto your tail - one pulling you in by the tail, his right hand still feeling for that tummy bulge he was fucking into you.

You can’t get away by the way he’s manhandling you back down into his hips, skidding straight across the barnyard floor. “Tch- ya need ta be herded or what, silly girl?” Grazing his dark happy trail against your front, the curly tufts of it scratch your clit. “Come back t’me- rule number one, remember?”

“Fuck-” Throwing your head back in tears, your legs were limp from the sheer pressure being put on your lower half. “-I can feel you reaching in so deep-”

“And you wanted me to hold on?”

He was never going to let that go - he was never going to give you even the slightest second to get used to his incredible length. 

Palm pressing down on the cylindrical outline makin’ itself known on your tummy - just that big. Pelvis moving in a rapid, urgent half-thrusts-

Toji isn’t even waiting for your cunt to take it all, his red cockhead probin’ just inwards. Inwards and inwards and inwards. He can feel the tight resistance of your pussy, your sweet body unable to take him whole right now- and it only makes him groan.

With his head thrown back, he’s letting go of your tail to smear apart your pussylips. “M’in fucking rut and you wanted me to hold on-” He’s hissing, pushing your snug folds so far apart that you have no choice but to take his hammers. “Been teasing me with that s-sweet scent ever since I fucking got here and you want me to hold on-” Pulling you to him. Dragging you to him.

Toji breaks every single second that he’s not fully sheathed inside of you, and he’s just pummeling his hips deeper- “Hold on, hold on, hold on.” After each mention of his mantra, he’s rutting in. “You want me to h-hold on and-” Harder. “-and you know what-” Deeper. “-I want to do, sweet girl?”

“What-” You’re gasping out through your tears, sticking to both of your cheeks by now. “What do you want, Toji?”

“I want to- fuck! Well, first I want to fucking fit-” He’s whispering underneath his breath, darkened eyes narrowed as he takes it in. “Fit- fit- fit-” Before you know it, he’s spitting down once more on your cunt and shoving his cockhead inside. “-fucking fit-”

Blinking away the tears in your eyes, “And- hah, and what else did you want?” By the heightening of his pheromones, you already knew that it was something about to ruin you.

“I want…” He was teasing you now, just lightly grazin’ that blushing hot tip against the roof of your cunt. You could feel him filling up every sneaky orifice, and Toji was fucking you like he’d just gone feral- “I want to-”

“Oh, fuck!”

With a final, lewd thrust- Toji Fushiguro bottoms out.

“-breed ya, sugar.”

And he meant it. The massive bull hybrid was drilling into you like a madman- his cattle nose ring clanging with each rut. “I’ve been wanting to breed you since the moment I stepped foot here.” Toji growls, the red crown of his shaft directly heading towards your cervix now. Bruising. “I want to fuck- fuck you through every day of your heat- my rut.” And he was emptying out such long strings of precum into your womb, “Try to get you pregnant every single day of my rut.”

“You’re going to get me…” Your pupils are swirlin’ in comical circles within the whites of your eyes, and just the mere notion makes your tastebuds sizzle with saliva. You hadn’t spent your heat properly with a bull- let alone found yourself mated by one.

Bred by one.

“Fucking pregnant.” Toji finishes off with a snicker, pushing against that cute lil’ tummy bulge that he was pounding into you. 

“Oh, please-” You’re throwing your head back with a mewl, “But I’ve never been m-mated to anyone before. Are we sure it’s going to take, Toji-”

“I’ll make it take.”

His jackhammers were so hard by this point, enough so that your sap splatters out of you in puddles. It glistens right down the inner parts of your thighs, and Toji swipes his thumb down from your pussy to glaze it in the syrup. To reach up to his scarred maw and suck on it.

And when he feels your spit-slicked lips start to wobble out more concerns, he’s pushing that very thumb between your own lips.

“Shut it, silly girl. Ya really think that when I hah- when I fuck you like this—in this mating press.” As if on cue, his manhandling strength seems to be folding you even deeper in half. “With this pretty pussy-” Dragging out a few more slurps with his thrusts, “-and my rut- you’re not gonna be walking outta this barn stupidly pregnant?”

“I-I don’t-”

“Silly, silly girl.” It’s a rude thwack! of his curvaceous ball sack after each slam, and you can feel your body grow more restless after each of his spat-out words. So mean. “Silly lil’ hybrid thinks she’s gonna make it outta here- hah, without bearing my calves.”

You’re shivering, your body so limply fucked by this point- that Toji’s tail has to wrap around one of your thighs. Holding you up. Interlocking your ankles around his neck with that silky tail- “Well, since m’inexperienced-”

“And m’gonna give you the experience of yer life- heh, I already am.” 

He was - he really was. Just making you see stars every time Toji’s overlarge, plump cockhead dug into your g-spot. Somehow he’d managed to map the insides of your walls, and each thrust grazed his length against your sweet bundle of nerves. 

Probing and probing a bruise exactly the size of his round circumference- “M’gonna corrupt you, sweet lil’ thing.” A sleazy smile spreads across Toji’s handsome, perspired face. “M’gonna fill you up with so much of my cum that- hah, they’re gonna be milkin’ it out of you for months afterwards, sweet girl.”

“Fuck, I’d like that-”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’d like that s-shoooo much, Toji.” 

“Bet you’d like it even more after I fill you up with my calves, hm?” He titters, pheromones slowly growing saturated enough to mingle with your own. “After I fuck this pretty pussy pregnant ‘nough times that she remembers how it feels when I fill you up? After I breed you until we can- hah, fill this whole damn farm with them? After I make a momma out of you and no other bull can ever even think of touching you-”

You squeal, “Yes- yes yes yes yes-”

His tail tightens around your ankles, horns charging as if he was only growing more n’ more excited. Throbbing with more need. “And you better fuckin’ know that these are promises, sweetness. That no fucking farmer can ever break.” Toji stares you deep in your heart-shaped eyes as he says, “I will get you pregnant.”

“Oh, I’d fucking hope so.” You glide your hands down your front, “I wanna feel you right h-here, Toji.” Down where your womb was.

Fuck…you were dangerous for a bull in heat.

And his entire body feels feverish with need, the burning sensation of his rut overtaking Toji completely. 

As his hips only grow sloppier, you’re grazing your sweaty palms further down his body. Starting from his shoulders, before ultimately you end up squeezing Toji’s massive milky pecs.

Even for a bull, they were just so plush. And you can’t help but twiddle your thumbs ‘round the golden rings that he had pierced through his pinkish nipples, lecherously.

He shivers at the sensitive sensation, “O-oh? Look at you.” Snapping his head down, you swear you could see a rouge flush take over his cheekbones. “You’re corrupted already.” And both of Toji’s own hands end up removing from your stomach and your pussy, ending up- oh, you could’ve already guessed.

Both of Toji’s hands end up on your tits.

Squeezing.

Kneading.

Before you can say a word, he’s already growling out- “And as any momma would- we’re gonna hafta make sure you’re making enough milk, huh, sweetcheeks?” That last bit of his sentence ends up drowned between the valley of your chest.

Toji’s gaping his maw wide open and sucking on your right tit, his left hand pinching the nipples of your left tit.

“I don’t think anything’s gonna come out just yet-” Your tail swishes in arousal as you watch him hollow out his attractive cheeks, thoroughly sucking on your tit like his favorite lolly. Sucking like he was trying to make milk come out—“I never did produce…much…milk…”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re being proved wrong. Because with a gushing sensation, you can feel your hardened nipples stream out something straight into Toji’s open mouth. “You were saying?” 

Pure white milk.

And he was such a messy eater, your ivory syrup dripping down his lips. It glosses them and created the sweetest lacquer that Toji himself was addicted to- “Mmm, so much, sweet thing—fuck.” He’s pinching at your left tit, too, a splashin’ puddle of milk that he immediately plops his mouth over to gulp up. “Ya really are a sweet thing-”

“I’ve never made this much even for the farmer-” You’re gasping, and your milk cascades down Toji’s chin like a waterfall. Constant. Sloppy “How did you even…”

“Because you’re in heat.” He says- choppy, through the way that he barely wanted to speak, barely wanted to remove himself from the sweet fountains of your spurting milk. “Because m’in rut.” Toji’s hips smack into yours so hard that you see white for a second, and his happy trail perfectly carnally itches at your clit. “And tonight- we’re gonna make a fucking baby, sweet mama.”

“O-oh—” With your voice cracking, you’re reaching your high. It comes instantaneously, and you arch into Toji’s glissading muscles as you ride through it.

As you’re fucked through it.

“Cumming again?” Toji’s marvelling, his words thick - he had his mouth full, after all. Smelling the saccharine sweetness of your orgasm in your pheromones, he’s marking each peak of your high with a bang! of his reddened cockhead. 

Slowly opening up your womb even more, your g-spot felt so red-hot and raw from the inside as he just kept on thumpin’ away there. Again and again and again. “Of course, ya are- fuck. Just like thaaaat, fuck back into me- third rule. They say the momma needs to cum good if we wanna get you pregnant after all-”

“And what about you?” Still in the throes of your bliss, you feel absolutely no inhibitions in babbling away. Drunk on the thick, veiny size of him fucking you through your high—“Aren’t you gonna?”

“Gonna what?”

“Fuck…”

“Rule number six-” Toji pipes up, a mean glint in his eyes. “-is to use those words like the big girl you are.”

And you best believe that he was fucking you like he was trying to push the very words up to your throat, his veins massaging your sweet spots and making you shiver, his pearly white teeth back to sucking on your milk. “I want- hah!” You wince when his right hand slithers down to pinch your clit, “-you to cum- fuck.” You moan when his left keeps toyin’ with your nipples, streaming out dairy for Toji to swallow up. “-inside my cunt, Toji.”

And there—his eyes slightly widen in interest, “You really said it.” A proud smile gracing his face, “You really, really…oh.”

With a few more lewd thrusts, he’s emptying out his heavy balls. 

They tighten as they spurt out the creamiest wads of cum waaaaaay back into your spongy womb, suckin’ up each pearly droplet as Toji fucks them inside you. Splashing out. Pooling out. That bawling divot in the middle of his shaft just leaves a murky mess behind, ribbons of ivory that glue your walls together.

“Oh fuck-” He’s clenching his canines, you swear he’s holding back tears—“And you’re gonna take it-” Toji snarls, fighting against the urge to throw his head back - simply because he wanted to look at you as he stuffed you till you were overspilling. “-take every single last drop-”

The hulking bull hybrid shakes as you clench your velvety walls. “Oh, yes.” You’re shivering once he smacks! your clit once more, swirlin’ those sultry webs of seed with his fingertips.

Toji’s pushing them inwards, again and again. “And yer gonna keep it, aren’t you?” Fucking you, again and again. 

He hums, gluing the edges of his fingers inside your channel, so that not a single gumdrop can leak out of you. “Second rule, sweetness, squeeze those pretty legs. S’gonna tell that pussy to keep my cum inside- give me a lil’ calf, heh.”

“Shit- keep talking and I’ll…”

It’s too late for you. You’re so far gone on his pummeling length that with a few more strokes, you’re reaching your high once more.

White-hot.

Toes curling.

Back arching.

You can’t even control yourself, it’s the most powerfully sinful sensation you’ve felt in your entire life. And this time, not only are you overspilling in Toji’s glutinous white cum - you’re also spraying out your own slick. Translucent splashes of sweetness, so powerful that your entire body shakes. 

Your high was being dragged out of you.

Squirting. You can’t believe you squirted during your first heat with a mate, your first heat mounted.

And as he instinctively bucks his hips through it, your new mate swears- “Fuck- fuck, don’t tell me you’re- oh. You are. Turns out I milked you dry, hm?” Something in him oh-so-triggered by the way you just kept on drippin’ from that pretty cunt, it’s as if the hybrid part of him knew that he had to do something to stop you from losing so much of it. “Rule number four, my sweet mate.”

But no bracing in the world could prepare you for what you felt in that very moment - because suddenly you’re feeling a strength so incredible that it’s as if you’re being split apart. “Your- your knot?”

“Damn right.”

You just had to see this for yourself. Chin hitting your chest as you watch Toji push n’ push the incredibly swollen base of his cock inside you. It was so round n’ red, about four times his actual circumference. 

It sinks in with a lecherous sluuuuuurp—and Toji empties out a few more streaks of cum just from the sheer sensation of having his sensitive hilt sheathed inside of you. Isn’t that every bull’s dream? To have a mate as pretty as you, choking and overstimulated around his knot? Ready to take all of him until you’re pregnant-

“We’re mates now.” You’re still shivering from the shockwaves of your multiple highs, so overstimulated that you don’t hear his murmurs. Sobbing, you’re tugging cutely at his nipple piercings to garner his attention. “Wh-what was that, Toji?”

“I said–” Roughly, he pulls off from your lactating tits. Your milk drivels down either side of his greedy maw, “-that you know a bull’s rut lasts days, right, sweetcheeks?”

“Oh.”

“Guess we have a lot to learn…h-heh.”

.

.

.

Shiu was halfway through his drive to Tokyo.

Halfway through his window cracked down halfway, his dark hair playing in the breeze, head nodding in time with the beat of some early 2010’s pop hit that’d surprisingly managed to calm him down during his drive.

Sure, Kusakabe had completely ruined his plans and forced him to leave you unattended on the farm - but Shiu can’t help but almost feel grateful towards his friend.

After all, it’s not every day that he gets to go out like this - the life of a farmer sure was a busy one. And it was such a nice day out, driving along smooth and silent in his truck like this was almost therapeutic. He’s almost considering getting an apprentice or two so that he’d be able to do this more often. He really thinks he could find inner peace like this, maybe all those self-help magazines he grimaced at in convenience stores were onto something. A man needs time for himself, too, y’know?

Yeah, time for himself. Time to just wind back, enjoy the highway, just appreciate the beauty of the world, y’know?

Halfway through a drive of peace and quiet, when he suddenly realizes-

And Shiu’s stepping so hard on the brakes that he wouldn’t have been surprised if about five other cars smashed into him from behind right about now. And he wouldn’t have noticed, either—”I left the gate of the bull in rut fucking unlocked-”

Immediately after he remembered, Shiu had gone and done a (likely illegal, most definitely illegal) U-turn right then and there. Heading right back where he came from, he’d cut off multiple cars, almost run over some unsuspecting old lady in his haste to get back to his farm - Kusakabe be damned, his best friend could rot in Tokyo until the end of time for all he cared. After all, he was the one that caused all this!

Shiu made it back home in less than half the time it took him to halfway down his journey to Tokyo (he’s sure he ran a few red lights).

And he’s fumbling with the keys of his gates, forgetting his truck and sprinting right up to where his cattle hybrids were. All cooped up inside the pen, they hadn’t gone into the barn still - and yet, with one sweeping glance, Shiu can’t really find any missing.

So he almost dares to breathe a sigh of relief- before his eyes catch the placement where Kusakabe’s bull had resided. Where Toji resided.

And Shiu’s heart drops at the same time as his jaw.

It was empty.

Quickly, he’s suspecting just why the cows and bulls outside weren’t going inside the barn, and Shiu takes another look at his herd—fuck!! Fuck, fuck, fuck - there was one missing.

And he knew exactly who it was.

In urgent, jerky motions, Shiu’s throwing open the gate to the pen (this time double-checking to lock it behind him) and heading straight towards the barn.

The barn where he can hear the rustling of hay, where he can smell the saturated sweetness of hybrid pheromones, where he can see—oh, you on your hands and knees, with your pretty ass raised high in the air for Toji’s cock to plough into, his powerful body. You’re all sprawled out on the hay, saliva and milk splashing out of you at a constant pace. You mewled as he stretched out your cunt so mercilessly, again and again and again. The plump knot ‘round his base hitting your pussylips with almost painful thwacks! 

And by the ribbons of miry cum that clung onto both your lower halves, Shiu was safe to assume that this certainly wasn’t the first round…

Shiu’s nostrils flare, and he’s realizing that this wasn’t just the heady scent of Toji’s rut - it was your heat, too. That luscious creamy smell that made his mouth water, and his cock twitch in his pants as he took in the sight-

BZZZZZZZZ—!

Thank god his phone was on silent mode- Shiu hastens to pick it up before either of you can hear. Though, he doesn’t think he’s very successful with it.

Because just as Shiu places the crackling phone against his ear, whispering out a quiet- “H-hello?” He sees that Toji’s smug, handsome head turns in the direction of the barn door. And he’s smirking straight at the other man as he claims every inch inside of you, Toji’s honed tip pinpointing into every tiny nook and cranny. 

And if that wasn’t enough, he’s leaning down to grab onto your leaky tits- and squeeeeeze out a pure white stream of your milk. Much more than Shiu’s ever been able to tease out of you during milking sessions.

He was making his mate known.

Slowly, Shiu backs out of the barn without you noticing (though, you were so deep in the waves of your carnal pleasure, that he thinks it would’ve been impossible to get your attention anyways).

Only once he’s out of the headiness of the barn does Shiu finally manage to register the other man’s voice-

“Hello? Helloooooo? Man, where are you now-”

“Hey, Kusakabe.” Shiu speaks, still slightly dazed. Still slightly staring through the barn doors from afar - all because of a fucking gate. “Take the next train here from Tokyo- no, don’t worry about your truck, you can pick it up later. No, you don’t need the cattle trailer anymore.”

Kusakabe sputters, “Huh? But why?” At the other man’s silence, one could almost hear the moment that understanding sets in. “Oh man- oh wait, don’t tell me that Toji and that sweet cow hybrid of yours has-”

“Yeah.” Shiu grits, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Unrelated, but would you happen to know any good names for calves?”

A/N. YOU ASK AND DADDY PROVIDES (not child support tho-) YES I SAW Y’ALL IN THE COMMENTS-