Miha

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Looking back with the clarity of hindsight, you realize it would’ve been better not to wake up at all.

First was the scent – cloying layers of old cedar smoke, damp mossy earth, and the sharp metallic tang of fresh blood mingling with the heavy musk of arousal and sweat. 

Next came the sounds – wet squelching, rhythmic and relentless, accompanied by animalistic huffs and the occasional guttural moans that vibrated straight through your spine. 

Then the sensations hit – the rough weave of tatami digging into your bare cheek, the silken drag of heavy fabric under your naked skin, and a burning ache where your pussy was stretched.

You tried to open your eyes, but darkness pressed in from all sides. The blindfold was tight, silk knotted securely at the back of your head. You tried to scream, but a rigid bamboo gag stretched your jaw open, drool already spilling from the corners of your mouth in humiliating strings. You tried to jerk away, to clench, to do anything. Still, your body refused, limbs heavy and syrupy, every muscle locked in helpless paralysis while your nerves screamed with overstimulation.

A melodic hum vibrated against your back, where a feverishly warm chest pressed flush to your bound form. The man's breath ghosted hot over your skin as he spoke.

“Ah… the veil lifts at last,” Jiaoqiu murmured, his voice a velvet caress laced with raw hunger. His soft tongue traced the outer shell of your ear before he sucked the lobe into his mouth, rolling the delicate flesh between sharp canines, tugging gently, then releasing it with a wet pop. 

“I’ve been acquainting myself with you for quite some time now,” he whispered, the words dripping with twisted affection. “Forgive my eagerness. After four centuries… one grows rather impatient.”

With his words, you suddenly become too aware of your own body. You were lying on your side, trapped. Intricate ropes bound your arms cruelly behind your back. Elbows cinched together, forcing your shoulders back and your chest forward, wrists lashed securely, fingers already numb and tingling as blood pooled in your palms. More ropes crisscrossed your torso in an elaborate pattern, biting deep into the soft flesh of your breasts and ribs, creating diamond-shaped indents that would bruise. Your upper leg had been hitched high and back, draped over his hip, knee bent sharply, the rope looping around your thigh and ankle to splay you open. 

And Jiaoqiu was buried inside you.

Not his cock, yet, but three of his elegant fingers, slick with a generous coating of warm oil, blood, and your own slick pumped into your cunt, stirring the thick mixture. The filthy squelch echoed with every thrust as more blood and arousal gushed out, soaking your thighs and pooling beneath you in a sticky mess.

Hot and heavy against your ass rested his rigid cock, throbbing with pent-up need. The swollen head kept nudging insistently at your asshole, smearing thick beads of precum against the tight entrance with every slow grind of his hips, marking you like some kind of territory.

Jiaoqiu inhaled deeply, nose dragging along your skin until his face ended up in the hairs on your temple. A low, feral growl rumbled in his chest.

“You followed a fox,” he crooned, lips brushing the shell of your ear before his tongue dragged open-mouthed along the delicate cartilage, leaving a thick trail of saliva that cooled rapidly on your skin. Then, without warning, he plunged the wet muscle deep into your ear canal, which made your whole body jerk involuntarily against the ropes. He moaned openly at your reaction.

“Poor little lamb… wandering so deep into my forest, chasing my little servant...” His tongue retreated only to lap a broad stripe up your cheek, savoring the salt of your sweat with a guttural groan. 

“And all this blood,” he murmured, almost worshipful, “I smelled it the moment you set foot on my soil. That sweet metallic perfume…” His fingers plunged deeper into your bloody pussy, curling cruelly against your walls and stirring the viscous mess until fresh blood trickled out around his hand. “Oh, how I wanted to drag you down and bury my face in your loins, drinking it straight from the source.” Jiaoqiu pulled his fingers free for a moment, the wet sound sickeningly loud. 

“So warm… How thoughtful of your body to prepare such a feast on the very night you become mine.” You heard him inhale slowly, then release an ecstatic groan as he suckled your blood and the slick from his digits with audible slurps.

For a second, every sound stilled. Then, without any warning, his sharp fangs sank viciously into the meat of your shoulder. Pain exploded through you like fire. You screamed against the gag as his fangs tore deeper. Warm blood gushed instantly, flowing down your skin in hot rivulets.

Jiaoqiu lapped at the wound greedily, tongue swirling through the coppery flow, then bit again, worrying the torn flesh between his teeth. The sickening give of muscle under his jaws made bile rise in your throat. He gnawed like a starving animal, grinding his teeth deeper, swallowing mouthfuls of your blood with satisfied gulps before finally letting go.

“The way you enjoyed the meal… You praised the rich flavor of the meat, the way it melted on your tongue.” A soft giggle escaped him, charming on the surface, utterly chilling beneath. “It made me so absurdly aroused watching you swallow every bit of them… Did it taste of laughter? The friendly warmth, perhaps?” 

The horrific implication crashed over you like ice water. You retched violently against the gag, stomach heaving, but nothing came up, only more drool and muffled sobs. Jiaoqiu laughed softly, his free hand left your hip to grope greedily at your front, pinching and massaging your clit with cruel expertise. 

He alternated brutal pressure with feather-light strokes, never letting the sensation settle. Then he pinched hard, twisting the sensitive flesh, grinding it viciously between clawed fingertips. Your body convulsed violently against the ropes, a ragged shriek strangled into a muffled wail.

“She wept too... The one who was mine before you,” Jiaoqiu breathed and pulled your clit away from your body, “but you weep so much prettier.” He released the cruel pinch only to rub the oversensitive nub in rapid circles with his calloused thumb. 

“She fed me for one month… the rest of her belongs to the garden behind the shrine. Her kimono, though–” His voice dropped to a joyful whisper as he nuzzled your temple. “It suits you far better...”

His body pressed tighter against yours, molding to every bit of you like a parasite that had finally found its perfect host. You could only sob, trying to dissociate enough to live through this nightmare, but his voice cut through any feeble attempt.

“I need to tell you something, my love, as I may have… embellished certain details about myself,” he confessed breathlessly, words tumbling faster as his control frayed. 

“And there shan’t be any secrets between those deeply in love, right? So let me tell you everything, my darling.” Jiaoqiu sealed the promise with a lingering, almost chaste kiss just beneath your ear, as if he were a gentle husband whispering sweet nothings on a wedding night.

“Once, the village lay near this shrine. The people there worshipped me as their guardian,” he continued softly, elegant words flowing like poetry while three of his fingers continued their slow violation of your bleeding cunt. “They prayed for rain, for bountiful hunts, for healthy children…”

His fingers suddenly plunged deeper, twisting viciously, stretching your walls wider. 

“But then the drought came. Then the fires. Then the plague. I couldn't stop these calamities, and their gratitude turned to rot.” 

He lapped at the bite on your neck, whispering breathlessly. 

“They dragged me into this very shrine, held me down on these same tatami mats, and pressed hot irons into my eyes.”

Another shallow bite sank into your already torn shoulder, drawing fresh blood that trickled down your skin. He moaned softly against the wound.

“They burned me blind, then threw my broken body to the mountain wolves as an offering. They watched from the treeline as the pack tore into me.” 

Jiaoqiu’s movements grew frantic. The elegant facade cracked further as raw hunger took over. Kisses and bites rained down across your shoulder, neck, jaw, and the sensitive lobe of your ear. His hot tongue lapped greedily at every fresh bead of blood.

“But the wolves were just stupid beasts,” he hissed, voice still deceptively melodic. “And I… I am s-so much more.”

He buried his face into your hair again, inhaling in desperate drags, drunk on the thick metallic scent of your blood mixed with sweat and unwilling arousal.

“I grew my orbs back, though unsseing. I crawled back to the village, blind and bleeding, and I feasted,” he whispered lovingly. “After that… Four hundred years of nothing but wind through empty halls.”

With a shuddering sigh that sounded torn from the depths of his starving soul, Jiaoqiu finally withdrew his blood-coated fingers from your cunt. A thick gush of your blood and slick spilled out onto the tatami with a wet sound.

“But today, everything changed…”

With careful movements that contrasted horribly with his insanity, he untied the rope holding your leg aloft, then loosened the bindings on your arms just enough to flip your paralyzed body onto your back. 

The heavy fabric spread beneath you like a funeral shroud, already wet. The ropes tightened again immediately, securing you in this new, even more exposed position with your legs wrenched wide apart, chest heaving, every centimeter of your marked, bleeding, dripping body on full display for him.

His cool fingers moved to the back of your head, and with the ceremonial slowness, he untied the blindfold. The dim, flickering light of the decaying shrine flooded back in. You were in the main hall of the shrine, surrounded by the heavy scent of old incense, rot, and sex. A big fox statue glared at you from the forgotten altar, its eyes angry, painted with the decaying red.

And above you, straddling your waist, was Jiaoqiu. And oh, how beautiful he was in his complete unhinged glory.

His face was a masterpiece of delicate perfection – that kind of ethereal beauty that belonged in ancient scrolls and love poems. Rose-gold hair spilled in wild strands across his shoulders, framing features so delicately perfect they looked stolen from forgotten temple murals. Those fox ears twitched at every wet gasp you forced through the gag, swiveling with predatory focus. High cheekbones flushed pink with excitement, a refined nose flaring as he drank in the thick reek of your cold sweat and blood. Long lashes shadowed his ruined moonstone eyes. His lips glistened, thickly smeared with your fresh blood like cheap pomade, the crimson dripping in slow strings down his chin to splatter onto your heaving breasts. When his mouth stretched into that elegant smile, the sharp fangs gleamed wet and hungry.

His crimson kimono hung wide open like discarded wrapping paper, barely hanging onto his slim shoulders. Pale skin stretched tight over lean muscle, old silvery scars crisscrossing his chest and stomach in brutal patterns that told every story of what was done to him. Blue veins pulsed visibly under the thin skin of his throat and collarbones, throbbing with how excited he was.

But the most noticeable thing about him was the crimson rope that adorned his own body in an intricate pattern that mirrored yours. And between his slightly parted thighs, something hot and heavy nudged insistently against your belly.

Unfortunately, you dared to look down.

His cock lay thick and fully erect across your upper stomach, flushed a deep red at the head, the shaft glistening with a shiny mixture of oil and precum. It was beautifully shaped, gracefully curved upward with a prominent vein running along the side, but the sheer amount of slick leaking from the slit made it look obscene. When the glans twitched, a pearly bead of precum slowly dripped from the tip onto your skin. 

Jiaoqiu noticed exactly where your eyes went. That bloody mouth curved into a shy little smile that did not belong on someone who had just been gnawing on your shoulder. A deeper crimson spread across his cheeks as if he were some blushing virgin instead of the monster straddling you.

“Well… is the groom to your liking?” he asked softly, voice lilting with playful elegance. “I’m terribly sorry I greeted you so unprepared earlier. How shameful of me.” He gave a self-deprecating little laugh, as if this were all perfectly normal. “As for now… do I please the eyes of my beloved one?”

He knew you couldn’t answer. The gag made sure of that. And that knowledge only seemed to delight him more.

Jiaoqiu leaned down, elegant even in his depravity, and dragged his hot tongue across your chin, collecting drool and tears. His milky, unseeing eyes suddenly focused on you. The color of tarnished moonstone, yet they stared straight down at you with terrifying intensity, as if they could still drink in every detail of your terror.

Eyes that should not see… and yet you felt stripped bare. 

Jiaoqiu tilted his head, letting the dim light catch the ruined orbs, proudly displaying his mutilation like a trophy.

“Look at them,” the fox man breathed, voice dripping with dark arousal. He reached up and traced the edge of one eyelid with a delicate fingertip, almost lovingly. “See what they did to me. I survived the iron, the wolves, the centuries of nothing… so that I could be here with you…”

You tried to turn away from the horrifying sight, only for your gaze to land on what he had dressed you in. The heavy, ancient wedding kimono was spread beneath you, its rich fabric now stained with your blood and slick and god knows what else. The memory of his words made you gag once more, throat convulsing as yet another fresh bile tried to rise.

His hands slid upward, palms hot and reverent as they cupped the soft weight of your breasts. He squeezed the plump flesh until it bulged between his fingers, then found your nipples. 

Without warning, he pinched them viciously, yanking the sensitive buds outward and twisting them until pain exploded through your chest. Muffled screams tore from your throat around the gag, spraying fresh drool across your chin and his waiting face. Jiaoqiu threw his head back in ecstasy, throat working as he swallowed your pained wails like the finest wine. 

Mad with four hundred years of starvation, he raised one hand. The sharp tip of his claw pressed just below your sternum, biting into your skin, slicing a thin line down from the valley between your breasts, all the way down your stomach, stopping just above your mound. The cut was shallow enough not to kill, but deep enough for blood to well up instantly in glistening beads. Jiaoqiu watched your essence rise with rapt fascination, his blind eyes somehow still tracking the movement.

“Oh…” he breathed, the sound almost worshipful. “Oh, yes. Yes. This is exactly what I craved.”

His tongue traced the entire length of the cut obsessively, pressing into the split skin to coax more blood to the surface. He latched his lips around sections of the wound and sucked hard, drinking from you in greedy gulps, throat working visibly as he swallowed. 

His hips ground mindlessly against your stomach, his leaking cock sliding through the mess of oil and precum he was creating, fucking the space between your bodies in shallow thrusts. His free hand kept kneading your breasts, pinching your nipples with cruel force while his mouth remained latched onto your bleeding wound like a leech. His fox ears twitched wildly with every muffled sob you made, nine tails lashing and curling in pure animalistic pleasure.

When he finally pulled back, his expression was dazed and blissful, like a man who had finally found salvation after centuries in hell.

With practiced movements, Jiaoqiu reached for more crimson rope. He worked it around your hips and upper thighs, yanking the cords brutally tight. The rough fibers dug deep into your soft flesh, creating angry red indents that would bruise for days. He forced your legs wider and wider until your hips ached and your cunt gaped open to the cold shrine air.

Jiaoqiu shifted between your spread thighs, so his leaking cock pressed against your exposed slit, the fat swollen head nudging your puffy folds apart. He rubbed it in teasing circles, coating the entire shaft in the sticky mess, dragging his cock up and down your cunt, bumping your swollen clit on every pass before sliding back down to prod at your twitching entrance. Your inner walls fluttered helplessly around nothing, clenching and releasing as fresh blood gushed out around his teasing cockhead. 

He leaned over you again, bloody mouth hovering above yours as drool and blood fell from his lips onto your gagged face. His tails curled around your bound legs, soft fur stroking your skin while the ropes bit deeper. One hand gripped your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints while the other guided his throbbing cock, pressing the fat tip harder against your resisting hole. 

“I know, I know, my love,” he murmured reverently, pressing forward with more pressure. “But we must consummate our marriage.”

The head of his cock breached your resisting entrance, stretching your swollen cunt around his girth.

You screamed violently against the thick bamboo gag, the sound coming out as a gurgling choke while your body arched sharply off the wedding kimono. The rough tatami scraped your bare shoulders raw as every muscle you could still control strained uselessly against the cruel ropes. Your cunt burned as Jiaoqiu forced the fat of his cock inside.

The searing pain radiated up your spine and down your thighs. Your period blood squelched obscenely around his shaft, coating his cock in a sticky crimson mess that dripped down to his balls and smeared across your ass. 

He paused there, enjoying the snug heaven of your pussy, letting you feel every bit of him pulse against your walls. The pressure was unbearable. Your poor cunt fluttered and clenched desperately around the invasion, trying to push him out, but it only made the stretch hurt worse.

“Shh, shh, my sweet bride,” he soothed, leaning down to lap greedily at the salty tears streaming down your cheeks. “The first breach always burns so beautifully… but soon everything will melt together. Pain and pleasure. Fear and devotion. You and I.”

Jiaoqiu stayed buried to the hilt inside your fluttering cunt for a torturous moment, trembling with barely-contained madness while his hot breath ghosted over your forehead. His tails lashed behind him, brushing your bound legs with soft fur as his cock flexed against something soft and needy inside, drooling fresh precum straight against your tender cervix.

“By the time I’m done, you won’t know where I end, and you begin,” he whispered lovingly, “I will stuff this womb so full that you’ll carry my claim for the rest of eternity.”

The first thrust dragged almost all the way out, your puffy cunt lips clinging desperately to his glistening shaft before he slammed back in with a meaty plap. Each following thrust grew harder, faster, more savage, turning into a relentless pounding that made your entire body jolt with unwilling pleasure. The filthy sounds of him destroying your hole filled the shrine. Loud, sloppy squelching, wet flesh slapping against flesh, and the constant drip of your mixed fluids onto the tatami made you whine in embarrassment, while your body betrayed you completely.

A hot pressure exploded deep inside your core. Your cunt spasmed wildly around his cock as you thumbed over the edge, and a powerful gush of clear fluid sprayed out around his shaft. The hot squirt soaked his abdomen, matting his pubic fur. 

“Oh, my precious love!” he sobbed, never slowing his brutal pace. “Let it all out, my love! Soak your husband!”

He was completely lost in it, eyes rolling back, mouth hanging open as he panted and groaned with delirious bliss at how perfectly your tiny pussy gripped him. 

No one had ever felt like this. No one ever could. You were made for him. Your tight heat was the only thing that could soothe the endless hunger gnawing at his soul for four hundred years.

But it wasn't his mad expression that made you arch and scream at the top of your lungs, no.

It was a violent, grinding pressure that exploded at the base of your skull. Yyou felt skin tear open as two fox ears burst through in a spray of hot blood and searing pain. They were hypersensitive, so every wet squelch of his cock pounding your cunt, every growl he made, every brutal slap of skin suddenly became deafening. The overwhelming sensory input made your mind spin and fracture.

Jiaoqiu threw his head back and howled like an animal, the celebrating sound cracking into something feral as your pussy clenched and gushed around him like a vice made of molten silk.

“Finally!” he gasped, voice cracking with overwhelming joy. “My perfect bride! No longer will I be alone! Never again–”

He suddenly pulled back, sitting up on his knees. With terrifying strength, he grabbed your ass and hips, yanking your lower body up toward him until only your upper back and shoulders remained sprawled helplessly on the tatami. Your ass was raised high, cunt skewered on his cock like a breeding toy. In this position, he had the perfect view of your ruined pussy stretched around his shaft. 

His nine tails shivered violently behind him before reaching forward, brushing and coiling possessively around your thighs and waist, stroking and gripping your sweaty skin. 

Just like that, Jiaoqiu became feral.

His poetically beautiful face flushed and twisted with raw lust as he watched his cock disappear into your ruined cunny over and over. The nasty sounds of your mating grew louder and filthier with every savage thrust. He relished every single one, ears pinned forward as he drank in the sensation of your body yielding to him so perfectly.

“Ah… So warm, so perfectly ripe,” he groaned, still trying to sound suave even as his hips snapped forward like a rutting animal. “I’m kit you full, my lo–”

The sounds grew muffled as the change grew even more violent.

Hot and thick crimson tears began pouring heavily from your eyes, running down your cheeks and temples in sticky rivulets, staining the tatami beneath your head. Your vision started tunneling, blurring at the edges, shrinking rapidly until everything went completely black.

At that exact moment, Jiaoqiu gasped sharply.

He could see.

Not perfectly, but enough. Enough to see your delightful face. Enough to see your new gorgeous ears. Enough to see your magnificent body taking his cock so obediently.

“I see you…” He whispered, voice cracking completely as tears spilled from his own milky eyes. “Oh heavens above… I see you! I see you! I see you!”

The elegant fox man broke down into sobbing joy while still brutally pounding away at your guts. His thrusts never stopped, but they became deeper, slower, more possessive, almost reverent now.

“You’re truly real… you’re here with me… you’re finally mine,” he cried softly, voice trembling with centuries of loneliness finally shattering. “I’m not alone anymore! We’ll never be alone again–”

Your body was becoming something divine and feral under him, and it was shattering what remained of his sanity. He had been holding back for what felt like centuries, muscles locked tight, refusing to spill until you were remade in his image, a creature who could understand the exquisite torment of having a sense carved out of you. He wanted you to lose something precious, just as he had. Only then would you be his true equal, his mirror, his wife. 

But your cunt was too perfect – scorching hot, impossibly tight, rippling and sucking along every bit like a living paradise just for him. It clenched harder with every spasm, milking him so greedily he had to snarl through gritted teeth to stop himself from flooding you prematurely. 

Then the tails came.

One by one, they tore violently out of the base of your spine in waves of agony. Your walls clamped down like a vice, milking him so perfectly that Jiaoqiu had to bite his own tongue into blood to keep from cumming right then. 

One. A savage thrust that punched your cervix and made your fresh blood squirt around his girth. 

Two. His bloody smile widened manically as he felt your body accepting your true form.

Three. He dipped his head and licked a stripe up the column of your throat, tasting salt and copper.

Four. One of his tails curled around the base of a newly emerging tail of yours, stroking the nub, coaxing it to lengthen faster.

Five. He kissed your bloody eyes with frightening gentleness, tongue lapping at the crimson tears leaking from them.

Six. The walls of your channel rippled in a series of milking undulations, and he stilled deep, letting your cunny suckle on his cock  so deliciously.

Seven. His sobs were a declaration of love, torn out of his throat, mad and true. 

Eight. Another sound of his became a marriage vow, moaned against your twitching ear.

Nine. The emergence of the last tale was a promise of forever, sealed with a grinding roll of his hips. 

The moment your last tail fully formed, power exploded through you like lightning in your veins. 

Your body went rigid, then, with a feral snarl that tore from your throat, you ripped through the crimson ropes like they were paper. The thick bamboo gag splintered between your fangs as you bit clean through it, spitting fragments across the tatami. Clawed hands shot up, shredding the last restraints as overwhelming need flooded your core.

You lunged upward and wrapped your arms around Jiaoqiu’s shoulders, yanking him down as your sharp fangs sank hungrily into the side of his throat. Blood bloomed hot and sweet across your tongue as you fed on him. 

The holy feeling of your fangs in his flesh was enough to make his cock jerk and leak precum directly against your cervix. You pushed your hips up frantically, impaling yourself deeper, grinding your pussy down until every centimeter of him was buried inside your needy pussy and your clit rubbed raw against his pubic fur. Your claws raked down his back, shredding through the kimono fabric and leaving bleeding furrows in his porcelain skin. He moaned like a whore at the pain, hips stuttering as fresh blood trickled down his spine. 

“Gut me,” he begged, voice cracking through its velvet veneer. “Carve your name into my ribs. I want to feel your signature on my bones every time I breathe.”

You bit into his neck hard enough to draw more blood, sucking it while your bloody tails thrashed and wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer. Your legs locked around his hips, ankles crossing at the small of his back as you hung on him like a bitch in heat. 

His eyes widened in delirious rapture. One arm banded around your waist like iron, the other hand fisting into your hair at the back of your head, claws scraping your scalp as he pressed your face deeper into his neck. He lifted your lower body completely off the tatami with terrifying strength, only your shoulders and upper back still braced against the mats. Your entire weight hung on his cock and his embrace, your legs wrapped tight around him as he held you suspended in the air. The new angle let him drive deeper, the head of his cock battering directly into your womb with every savage thrust. 

“Yes… yes, my love,” he groaned against your bloody hair, voice still velvet but trembling. “Mark me. Claim your husband. Rip me open if it pleases you. I am yours as much as you are mine. We are two halves of the same slaughtered beast, finally stitched together–”

Jiaoqiu crushed you against his chest, slamming forth into your dripping cunt with brutal strokes. Your claws raked deeper down his back, tearing more of his kimono and skin alike. 

He loved it. Every sting, every drop of his own blood, every desperate bite you gave him only made his cock throb harder inside you. A creature of pure sensation, you could feel him so acutely – the drag of his claws down your spine, the open-mouthed kisses he pressed to your sealed eyelids, the way his tail fur teased the undersides of your sensitive tails. 

The pleasure crested violently.

Your cunt clamped down like a fist. At the same moment, Jiaoqiu snarled and buried himself to the hilt. The sudden stretch ignited a fresh wave of agonized bliss, your walls forced to accommodate his cock as it sealed his seed deep inside. Unable to withdraw, he ground against your cervix in desperate circles, rutting into you like an animal determined to breed. He flooded your womb with thick ropes of hot cum, each jet punctuated by a guttural groan. He kept forcing every pulse of semen through your slightly open cervix until your lower belly felt like it's on fire. His hand pressed flat over the slight bulge, feeling the heat of his own essence through your skin, and a sob of pure devotion tore from his throat.

You both trembled, mouths fused in a bloody kiss, bodies locked together in mid-air. Only when the last violent spasm faded did your strength leave you. You went limp in his arms, ears drooping, body twitching with aftershocks as reality crashed back in. 

Jiaoqiu gently lowered you down, his own body collapsing over yours with cock still buried deep, nestled inside your filthy cunt. Sweat, blood, and sex coated both of you in a sticky sheen. He nuzzled into your neck, licking softly at the bite wounds, sucking gently to draw fresh beads of blood that he smeared across his lips. Then he moved to your new ears, purring praises between gentle kisses and long, soothing laps of his tongue.

“My perfect wife,” he murmured, voice suave and honeyed once more, though laced with something possessive. “I have never felt anything as divine as your sweetest loins milking my seed while you clawed my back raw…”

His hand stroked over your cum-bloated tummy with obsessive tenderness, pressing lightly to feel the warmth of his load inside you. He traced some symbols over the stretched skin, muttering ancient incantations, while you heaved, the primal hunger still thrumming through your bones. 

But as the fog of orgasm lifted, horror and clarity returned. You were blind, the world dark around you. Your new body felt foreign and overwhelming. Panic clawed up your raw throat.

“I want to go home,” you whispered brokenly, voice hoarse and trembling. “P-please… take me home…”

Jiaoqiu’s arms tightened around you instantly, almost crushing. His body went rigid, his tails coiling possessively around your limbs and waist like living chains. A chuckle vibrated against your shoulder. Beneath the tenderness lurked something sharp and furious, something that had marinated in solitude until it had become a poison no antidote could touch.

“Home?” he repeated softly, voice still melodic but edged with anger. His fingers traced your ears with deceptive gentleness, then slid down to trace the seam of your lips, prodding two digits past them to stroke your tongue, as if tasting you through your own mouth by proxy. “My sweet, precious wife… You are already home. I am your home. This full womb is your home. Your blindness is the roof that shields you. My voice is the fire in the hearth. There is nowhere else.”

He nuzzled deeper into your neck, fangs grazing the fresh bites as if savoring the memory. His shaft gave another lazy throb, reminding you that escape was impossible.

“L-let me go,” it was the last attempt, a desperate plea to the gods. Jiaoqiu giggled, and his hold became almost bruising, one hand possessively cupping the back of your head while the other still stroked your belly.  

“Why should I?” he whispered, tone turning sickly-sweet. “I would rather gouge out my new eyes again than watch you walk away from me.”

Jiaoqiu then dipped his head to lap at the dried blood around your sealed eyelids, cleaning you with the fastidiousness of a cat grooming its mate. His tails squeezed tighter, soft fur warm but inescapable.

“I will be the perfect husband,” he promised. “I will cook for you every dish you can imagine. I will heal every ache with my own hands, and then give you new, sweetest aches that only my presence can heal. I will play any role… Doting lover, stern master, whimpering supplicant beneath your feet. I will give you pleasure until you forget the outside world exists...”

His mouth found yours again, tongue sliding in, swallowing any further protests. The kiss quickly turned messy, his teeth catching your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth. His body pressed you down into the soaked tatami as he lavished you with obsessive aftercare — kissing your lips until they were swollen, licking your wounds until they closed, stroking your new tails soothingly, murmuring endless endearments to lull you to sleep. 

And as the black eternity stretched before you like an endless banquet of madness and devotion, you found that you were, against all mortal reason…

hungry.

.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

This time its not a misclick hehehe... It turned out darker than I wanted it to be but oh... sketchy healer(s) my beloved(s).

...

*glares at Baizhu*

Also, I already have some plans of Creatures Features pt. 2 lol. Still need to finish this one though...

My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, @neuvilletteclearwater, @msmumufufu, @solarrandom @strawberrybunnyjolie @helloweebsofgenshin @katzline, @kellyyn02, @aymands @whatasillyguy @akutgawascoughdrop @im-under-yourbed @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl @muttwithnoname @tearinka @metallover123 @tkitb, @queerlordsimon @fuckingfaraway @madamedesalaunier @nightmarenyxx, @mayodenotche (reblog) ...

(I hope I tagged everyone! If you want to be tagged too, please comment about it under the CF Masterlist).

When you woke up at dawn, he was gone. For one second, your heart plunged so hard you thought it might stop. The place where he had lain was empty save for smoothed sand, a dark stain the tide had nearly taken, and the broken remains of your little work. You pushed yourself upright with a gasp and looked wildly toward the sea when something vast moved beyond the rocks.

The surface swelled, and your breath caught. You climbed onto the stone and shaded your eyes against the newborn sun.

“My Lord?”

The shape came nearer. Then he emerged from the water in a wash of blue and white, bracing one hand against the rock to steady himself. Droplets ran over his horns and bare shoulders. His expression gave nothing away.

Without taking his gaze from yours, he lifted one hand and set his offering on the stone beside you: a dozen pink shells, a piece of delicate coral, one perfect sea star, sunset-orange and glistening with fresh seawater.

You stared at them, then at him.

“F-for me?”

He stared at them, then at you.

Reverently, you knelled and gathered the treasures. “Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you, my Lord.”

In the days that followed, you returned to the cove whenever you could. He would already be there in the shallows or just beyond them, dark tail cutting through clear water, silver hair spilling over his shoulders like ocean foam itself. As his wound slowly closed, he kept close to the shore, and you sat on the rocks nearby, monologuing about different stuff. 

Your Lord never answered, but the silence made room for honesty.

That's why another day you found yourself telling him of your village and its smallness, of your mother’s tired sighs, of the young men who boasted loudly and feared the deep water they claimed to command. You also told him how marriage felt like being sealed inside a clay jar and buried in the earth while still breathing. Then, almost immediately, you confessed your shame at wanting more than the life you had been offered. Then your anger at feeling shame for it at all. 

Through it all, he listened with a stillness so profound it felt holy. His eyes never wandered, but sometimes they lowered when your voice trembled, as though he would grant you a bit of privacy.

Another problem was that your injured foot hadn’t healed properly. The cut split again, and walking had opened it enough for each step to sting nastily. When you hissed in the middle of yet another monologue, his head turned at once. He was before you in a moment, one hand on the stone, eyes narrowed in focus.

“It’s nothing, my Lord,” you said automatically, then laughed weakly. “I’m fine.”

He looked at you with quiet gravity, and somehow that was more respectful than any question. You gave a tiny nod and extended the injured foot toward him.

Cool fingers gently cupped your heel, lifted your foot as though it were a thing made of flower petals, and turned it to the light. His pupils widened, then thinned, and his expression grew unreadably dark. He looked up at you once, long and searching, then slipped soundlessly beneath the water.

However, your Lord wasn’t absent for long. In fact, he returned merely ten minutes later with strands of algae you had never seen before, pale blue and silver-veined, shining faintly in his hands. With precise movements, he wound them around your cut, letting the soothing coolness seep into your skin at once, taking the pain with it. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” you whispered, grateful beyond measure.

His hand lingered on your foot just a bit. Then, with an almost scholarly curiosity that would’ve made you laugh if it were anyone else, he took your healthy foot in his palm, turning it gently, studying the shape. When you flexed your toes, his pupils flared wide, something akin to excitement gracing his features. At that, a helpless laugh escaped you.

The sound, apparently, startled him, and a faint flush rose on his high cheekbones. Before you could hide your delight, he vanished beneath the surface in one smooth motion that left ripples fanning out around your knees.

The next day, you had stolen mangoes and small golden guavas from a grove near the village edge. When you sat by the cove and held one out, he regarded it with open suspicion. You smiled, split it with your knife, and tasted it first. Only then did he accept the piece from your hand, biting it like a tamed animal. He closed his eyes for one suspended moment while the sweetness dissolved on his tongue, then opened them and fixed you with an intense gaze. 

After that, your Lord ate every piece you brought him, and you took wicked joy in discovering favorites. Mango made his gaze soften. Guava sharpened it with keen delight. Sea grapes pleased him less than you expected. 

What was interesting, however, was that he repaid every gift. Fish, always the finest, laid neatly on the stone where the tide would not spoil them. Pearls trapped in rough shells. Twisted glass worn smooth by the sea. A length of red coral so bright it looked aflame underwater. 

Then, one evening beneath a sky painted pink and violet, he came to you bearing something cradled carefully in both hands. Shells polished to moon-glow. Fragments of coral. beads of green-blue stone. Tiny silver fish bones worked into a pattern that caught the light like woven water. He held the necklace up with solemn ceremony. 

“For me?” you asked, though by then already knowing the answer. You slipped into the water, and the sea rose to your throat. His gaze dipped once to the column of your neck, to your mouth, then back to your neck. Slowly, he placed the necklace around you, and when the sovereign was done, he let his hands fall, but didn’t swim away.

That night, words spilled from you like tidewater through rocks.

You told him everything you had never dared say aloud. Most of it was about how you wanted to stand on the deck of one of those enormous ships and watch your island become a green blur behind you. You spoke until the sky darkened and the first stars appeared. He listened from the water, still as an idol. In his listening, there was such ferocious attention that you no longer felt foolish for dreaming.

A few days later, he hovered just beyond the shallows and extended one elegant hand toward you, offering. The ocean was warm from the day’s heat, clear enough to see sunlight shattering over his scales.  

You walked into the water until it reached your waist, then your ribs, then your shoulders. When you were close enough, his arm slid around your waist. With ease, the Sea Sovereign took you beyond the black rocks, into a world hidden under the skin of the water. 

Coral gardens spread below in impossible colors. Shoals of colorful fish turned together. Forests of swaying sea fans glowed in filtered light. He pointed things out to you with a quiet pride that made your heart ache, and when you reached for a pale coral branch in wonder, he broke off a small piece and tucked it carefully behind your ear. Each time your lungs burned, God of the Sea gathered you close and rose with you, one hand firm at your waist, swimming up before you could panic. 

At sunset, Sovereign floated onto his back in a sheltered pool where the sea was as calm. Gently, he drew you with him until you rested along the length of his torso, your cheek against his chest, careful of the gills beneath. His skin was cool and smooth under your hands. 

The place where the wound had been was healing cleanly. You traced that faint scar with gentle fingers and whispered, “My Lord, thank you. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Even if I live to be old, I think I will carry this day under the skin. I will remember you forever.”

A  melodic vocalization rose from him, rich and resonant, carrying through his chest into your cheek. It was unlike birdsong or whale-call. In fact, it was unlike anything you had ever known. The melody curled around you like water around stone, mournful and lovely. It made your body tingle, and you lifted your head to look at his handsome face.

The sky behind him was a blaze of gold sinking into rose. Light poured over his face, caught in wet lashes and on the line of his horns, softening the planes of his cheeks. He was already looking back at you. 

Slowly, as if giving you time to flee, he raised one hand and touched your face. His fingertips grazed your cheekbone, then your jaw, then settled at the back of your neck. The hold was careful, but there was no mistaking its intensity. With a steady hand, he drew you upward until your faces hovered a breath apart and you could feel the coolness of seawater on his lips. Your hands, of their own accord, came to rest against his shoulders.

“My Lord,” you whispered longingly, letting him close the final distance.

He kissed you slowly and carefully, and when you shuddered and kissed him back, something like relief vibrated through his whole body. The hand at your neck tightened just enough to keep you there, while the other came to your waist and held you with devastating gentleness. On his lips, you tasted salt, fruit, and the last warmth of the day.

Your Lord drew back, only a little, his forehead rested against yours. His cheeks were tenderly pink, and there was something slick pressing against your thigh, not like a moss type of slick or a seaweed cream slick, but… slick. 

Now what exactly was that?

Your fingers traced the place where human form gave way to the powerful tail, and there, you found a vertical slit. It parted slightly under your curious touch, yielding like the petals of some deep-sea flower. Directly from it, seeped a fluid that coated your fingers instantly, cool and slippery.

You looked up at him and found him already watching you, his cheeks flushed that same tender pink, his pupils blown so wide the rose and blue of his irises had nearly vanished into black. His breathing had gone shallow and ragged, those gills at his neck fluttering with each quick inhale. 

You stroked along the length of the slit, gentle, questioning, and his moan shattered the quiet. 

His hand flew to his mouth as if he could catch the sound and stuff it back inside, but his hips betrayed him, pressing forward into your touch. His tail curled and flexed beneath the water, sending ripples fanning out around you both, muscles clenching and releasing as he fought for control.

Then, out of the blue, his arms were around you, gathering you close, and he was swimming backward with you held against his chest. The Sovereign carried you past the coral gardens you had marveled at before, past forests of waving kelp that brushed your ankles like ghostly fingers, past shoals of sleeping fish that scattered like silver thoughts at your passing. 

He brought you to a place you had never seen.

A hidden beach ringed by black cliffs that rose like ancient sentinels against the stars, accessible only from the sea. The moon hung fat and silver overhead, so close you felt you could reach up and cup it in your palms, painting the whole world in shades of deepest indigo. 

Your Lord backed against one of the smooth boulders that dotted the shoreline, its surface worn glassy by millennia of tides. He settled himself so that his upper body rested against the sun-warmed stone while the lower half of his magnificent tail remained submerged, its fins fanning out in the dark water like the robes of a king. 

Then, with a gentleness that belied the power thrumming in his very being, he took your hand, guiding yours down. Past the firm plane of his stomach, past the place where human skin would have given way to hip and thigh, to the intimate seam of his. It pulsed against your fingertips, leaking a bioluminescent blue fluid that shimmered faintly in the moonlight. 

You slid one slick finger along its entire length, and you felt the coiled power of his body shudder against you like a seismic wave breaking against the shore. 

"My Lord," you whispered, your voice a fragile thing against the immensity of the sea. "Do you want me to–"

He answered by surging his hips forward, driving your slick fingers deeper into the molten heat of his slit, and the raw moan that was torn from his throat was all the answer the universe required.

You pushed inside, and the entrance was a tight vise, drenched with that endless blue fluid. The heat of him was staggering, a living furnace so much warmer than the cool night water, and the inner walls of him were soft, textured like the underside of a mushroom. They clutched and released at you with each pass, and the involuntary milking motion made your own neglected core clench with sympathetic desire. 

You watched his face the entire time. A deep flush spread down from his sharp cheekbones, across his elegant neck, and bloomed across his pale chest. His head fell back against the rock with a heavy thud that would’ve fractured a human skull, but he didn't even notice. His ancient composure was stripped away, leaving only a raw creature beneath, and it was the most breathtaking thing you had ever witnessed.

But then you felt a new pressure. A welling presence pushing against your fingertips from deep inside him. It was strange and demanding, and before you could fully register the sensation, it forced your fingers out. Your slick fingers slipped from his slit with a wet pop that made you both gasp. The bioluminescent fluid clung to your hand in thick strands, stretching from your fingertips to his pulsing slit like spun moonlight before finally breaking and dripping down your wrist.

You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat, a sound of pure awe.

Two heads had peeked from the opening. They pushed past the swollen lips of his slit, one positioned above the other, emerging like some alien bloom. They were the color of the deep blue sea, tapered to pointed tips like the unfurling petals of a calla lily. Their surfaces were textured with a subtle networkk of faint ridges and nubs that caught the light and made your mouth water. They leaked that same shimmering blue fluid from tiny slits at their tips, twitching and pulsing with a life of their own, swelling and relaxing in a hypnotic rhythm.

You stared, dumbstruck.

The Sea Soverein made a questioning hum that vibrated in his chest. And you realized, with a jolt that went straight to your core, that he, the being who had witnessed the birth and death of civilizations, was anxious about what a simple village girl would think of the monstrous beauty between his hips.

That realization was an aphrodisiac more potent than any wine. Empowered, you reached out without thinking, and your fingers brushed the delicate tip of the lower shaft. He jerked as if struck by lightning, sending a splash of water cascading around you both. 

You wrapped your hand around the shaft experimentally, marveling at the texture. It was hot, and the ridges shifted and flexed under your palm as if greeting you. Your thumb found the weeping tip, circling it slowly, spreading the slick pre-cum.

The upper cock bumped insistently against your wrist, smearing a trail of glowing fluid across your skin. It seemed almost jealous of the attention you were lavishing on its twin. Your breath hitched, and with a surge of bold desire, you took that one in your other hand, wrapping your fingers around its heat. 

Your Lord let out a muffled moan, and a glistening flow of blue fluid ran down your fingers in warm rivulets, dripping onto the sculpted planes of his stomach, onto his powerful tail, and into the dark water where it dispersed in shimmering clouds. His gills heaved with each ragged breath he took. His hands gripped the edges of the boulder on either side of him with such desperate force that you saw his knuckles fade to the pale blue of stressed sea-glass. 

Still pumping both shafts, you leaned in and pressed open-mouthed kisses to the delicate frills of his gills, tasting salt. You dragged your tongue lower, licking a slow, sloppy trail over the hard ridges of his stomach, feeling every toned muscle jump and quiver beneath your mouth. When you finally reached his cocks, you rubbed your cheek against them like a needy animal, smearing the glowing pre-cum all over your face in shiny streaks.

"My Lord… I-if you will allow me, I want to give you pleasure…" you faltered, your cheeks burning with a heat that rivaled his own, "...with my mouth."

To prove your words, you nuzzled harder, letting the leaking tips drag across your lips, your nose, your forehead, painting your face in his slick. 

His pupils suddenly flared so wide they nearly swallowed the luminous silver of his irises entirely. A sound rumbled deep in his chest, and then he was shifting, pulling himself higher onto the rock, arranging his body so that he sat half-reclined, his magnificent lower half still in the water, both of his weeping cocks rising before you. You looked up at him with glassy eyes.

"P-please be merciful," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of nervousness and raw want. "I may not be good at this, my Lord, but… I'll try my best to please you."

His finger traced your cheek, following the path his own essence had made, tracing your lips and the line of your jaw. And the hum he gave you was so slight it was almost imperceptible, but the desperate plea in his eyes was a roaring command. You opened your mouth obediently and wrapped your lips around the lower tip.

The taste of him was sweet, with a creamy undertone that was purely the essence of the ocean itself. The ridges and velvety nubs on his shaft caught and dragged against your tongue and the roof of your mouth in ways that should’ve been disgusting, but only made you crave more. 

You sank lower, your jaw stretching to accommodate his sheer girth, your tongue lapping awkwardly but eagerly at the bumpy underside of his shaft. His hand found your hair, and his long fingers tangled in the wet strands. When you hollowed your cheeks and pulled back, a broken groan vibrated through his chest, begging you to take more in.

You sank down again, taking him deeper this time. The head of his cock nudged the entrance to your throat, and you had to consciously relax your jaw, fight the instinct to gag, and breathe slowly through your nose. He was thicker than anything you had ever attempted, and the sensation of your throat stretched around his ridged heat was overwhelming. But the low moans and coos he made, while his tail thrashed in the water, were worth any discomfort.

The upper cock bumped and smeared against your face as you worked. Its weeping tip dragged across your cheek, leaving a trail of cool slick. It nudged against your eyebrow, then slid up to your forehead, leaving more of that shimmering fluid in its wake. You reached up blindly and wrapped your hand around the neglected shaft, stroking it in rhythm with your bobbing head, matching each wet pull of your lips with a firm pull of your fist.

The Sea Lord moaned, and you felt his hand tighten in your hair, guiding your head, as his hips began to move. You let him use your mouth, surrendering control, your eyes watering as the ridged head of his cock hit the back of your throat with each thrust.

Your own neglected pussy ached and clenched, so empty, so desperate for friction. But you didn't dare move a hand to touch yourself.  In this moment, his pleasure was the most urgent task. You could take care of yourself later, alone on your mat, with the phantom taste of him still in your throat and the memory of his sounds echoing in your ears.

When he thrust in deep and elicited the filthy gluck from you, the muscles of his abdomen went rigid, and his hand in your hair tightened, trying to pull you away gently. You resisted, humming an encouraging sound around his thick cock. In response, the powerful length of his tail whipped up from the water and coiled around you. It wrapped around your ankles, then your calves, then your knees, holding you firmly in place so you couldn’t have moved even if you had wanted to.

Then he thrust deep, and the tip of his lower cock hit the very back of your throat. You gagged, and a full-body spasm rippled through you, bringing fresh tears to your eyes, but he didn't stop. You felt the ridges along his shaft flex and swell, felt the entire tip thicken and pulse. 

And then he was coming, so much more than any human man could produce.

Hot seed spilled past your lips, running down your chin in glowing rivers, dripping down onto your heaving chest. At the same moment, the upper cock pulsed violently in your grip, releasing across your face in thick ropes. His come painted your cheek, splashed across the bridge of your nose, and matted into your hair. You choked and sputtered, swallowing convulsively, but the flood was endless, leaving you no solution but to drink everything he was feeding you, filling your belly with his seed.

When your Lord finally stiled, you were a gasping, debauched mess. His tail unwound from your legs reluctantly, as if the very appendage didn’t want to let you go. His gentle hands came up to your face, his thumbs wiping away his own cooling cum with a reverence that made your sensitive body shiver. He cleaned your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, and then, very tenderly, he wiped the fluid from your swollen lips. You leaned into his touch, utterly spent and trembling with the aftershocks.

But the peaceful moment was a fleeting thing. The Sea God slid from the rock, the water accepting him back with a soft sigh, and gathered you in his arms. He lifted you as though you weighed nothing and deposited you gently onto the very same sun-warmed stone where he had just lain. 

You blinked in confusion, your mind still hazy with lust and wonder. He pushed himself up in the water, so the gentle waves lapped at his wide chest. His gaze, sharp and hungry again, traveled down your body with predatory focus. He looked at the simple cloth that served as your only garment. It was plastered to your skin, rendered almost transparent, and it was not entirely with seawater. 

Two of his claws hooked into the flimsy fabric at your hip, the tips cool against your heated skin. He tugged lightly, those luminous eyes rising to meet yours.

You nodded, the understanding of what was to come finally settling into your bones.

The cloth gave way with a soft rrrip, torn down your legs in a single motion. It floated in the dark water for a moment before sinking, forgotten.

Your Lord stared blatantly, with an intensity that made your skin prickle, at the place between your legs. The place no man had truly seen or touched since a clumsy, hurried, and rather disappointing encounter in your village years ago.

His pupils flared wide again, devouring the sight of your bare pussy, and he moved closer, leveling his face with your tummy. The moonlight painted everything in stark relief of silver and deep blue shadow, and you felt more exposed, more vulnerable, and more desired than you had ever felt in your life.

Slowly, the Water Lord leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the soft skin of your stomach, right above where your womb lay hidden. Then, with a rumbling groan of pure pleasure, he rubbed his whole face against that spot. His eyes fluttered half-closed, the silver lashes casting faint shadows on his sharp cheekbones. His nose nuzzled against the soft thatch of curls on your mound, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive skin. The great curve of his horns brushed against your belly as he pressed closer.

His forked tongue, long and surprisingly warm, came out and licked a slow stripe across your belly. The unique sensation made your hips twitch involuntarily. Your Lord didn’t pay any attention to that, kissing the same spot again, and again, seemingly driven mad by the simple taste of you. 

Then, with an impatient growl, he began working his way lower.

He pressed sloppy kisses along your hip bones, down the crease where your thigh met your body, sucking gently at the sensitive flesh until you were whimpering. His nose brushed against your swollen outer lips, and your cunt clenched visibly, pushing out a fresh trickle of clear slick that dripped down toward your ass.

His elegant fingers joined the worship. With feather-light precision, he traced the shape of your puffy outer lips before gently parting them, spreading you wide open with his thumbs. The cool night air kissed your exposed core, making you shiver. 

His thumbs spread you wider.

You gasped at the way the air touched places that had never felt air before, at the way his gaze seemed to burn into you. Your Lord traced the outer edges of your folds first, learning their shape, the way they swelled under his attention. When his finger brushed your clit you moaned, and he stilled, mesmerised by the sound.

His finger returned to the spot that made you sound so prettily, circling it slowly, learning the exact pressure that made you moan, the exact rhythm that made your hips buck against his hand. He watched your face the entire time as he tortured your sensitive little pearl, lavishing it with his attention, massaging it.

Then he lowered his head, and his tongue finally joined his digits.

From the shock of it, the impossible sensation, you screamed. His tongue slid through your folds like the gentlest silk, like water made into flesh. He tasted you slowly learning you with that same focus, and when he reached your entrance, he pressed inside without hesitation.

You clawed at the rock beneath you, nails scraping stone, back arching off the surface.

His tongue pushed deeper. And deeper still. Farther than any human tongue could reach, farther than you had known it was possible to be reached. The forked tip curled and explored, stroking places you had never known existed, finding spots that made stars burst behind your eyes. He made a sound against you, and the vibration traveled through his tongue into your core and made your vision white out.

You realized it through the haze of pleasure, your Lord was searching for something inside you. His tongue questing deeper and deeper until it reached its final destination, making your whole body convulse.

Your cervix.

The Sea Sovereign had reached it with that endless tongue and was now pressing gently, learning the shape of your deepest place. The sensation was overwhelming – too much and not enough, pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. 

“M-my Lord!” You sobbed his title, not knowing what you were begging for.

He groaned against you, and his tongue fucked you with long strokes, each one pressing against your cervix in a way that made your whole body shudder. His nose bumped your clit with each thrust, and the dual stimulation built something inside you that you had never felt before.

With another deep stroke, your legs thrashed. Your Lord hooked them over his shoulders without missing a beat, opening you further, taking you deeper, his hands gripping your thighs with possessive strength, and you came across his face. 

Even as you came down from your high and lay limp against the stone, his tongue continued its work. Gentle now, softer, cleaning every drop of your release, pressing inside you just to feel you clench around him, pulling back to circle your clit until you whimpered with oversensitivity. He worshiped you with his mouth for long minutes, until you finally pushed weakly at his head.

But it seemed the Sea God’s feast was far from over.

You realized this when he took both of his cocks in one hand. They were fully hard again, twin lengths glistening and twitching with renewed need. He held them together, base to tip, and stared directly into your eyes. A single, questioning hum filled the air between you.

The overwhelming intensity of being looked at like that… like you were the most precious, desirable, lovable thing in any world, made a sob catch in your throat. You nodded desperately, even as your exhausted body tensed at the thought of taking them both.

"Please," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming. "Please, my Lord– be gentle. I don't know if I can–"

The Sovereign leaned closer and tenderly kissed your sweaty forehead, his other hand coming up to cup the soft curve of your lower belly, silencing your fears with a touch so reassuring it made your eyes sting. When he pulled back, his eyes promised a gentleness and care that you could never expect from the selfish men of your village.

Despite the coiling fear in your gut, you parted your trembling legs wider, accommodating the broad expanse of his tail and hips as he moved between them. He positioned both flared heads at your swollen entrance, rubbing them slowly against your labia, coating them in the mingled essence of both your arousals.

And, you had to admit, the feeling was already shocking. Two thick cocks, both crowned with those inhuman tips, pressing together against a hole that had only ever taken one. You felt the promise of the impossible stretch and whimpered, your hands flying up to grip his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his cool skin.

Then, with slow pressure and a gentle hum, he pushed slowly, his eyes locked on your face with unwavering attention, his body trembling with the effort of restraint, ready to stop at the first flicker of true pain.

But you just didn't want him to stop. You felt each and every ridge and nub dragging against your inner walls, until both cocks were fully seated inside you, their tips pressed firmly against the entrance to your womb. You felt so full that tears of pure, overwhelming sensation leaked from your eyes and ran down your cheeks.

But then your Lord withdrew slightly and thrust again, and both tips pressed against your cervix at once. The sensation made your head tilt back, and if he hadn't slipped his palm between the hard stone and your nape with such inhuman speed, your skull would have cracked against it. 

He froze immediately, his eyes wide with profound concern, his big palm cradling your head as if it were made of spun glass. But you were already pulling him closer with your legs locked around his tail, ravenous for more.

"Please," you sobbed, your voice a needy plea. "Please, move! I need– I need–!"

He thrusted again, just once, gently, letting your inner walls adjust to the incredible fullness of being impaled by both of his magnificent cocks. Then, with a squelching sound, he started rocking his hips, watching your face the entire time, his ancient mind cataloging flinch, adjusting his pace and angle to match your every response, playing your body like some kind of instrument.

Drool leaked shamelessly from the corner of your mouth as you stared up at him. His usually composed face was starting to crack – eyes half-lidded and clouded with lust, sharp teeth clenched, remnants of your earlier release still glistening on his nose and chin. The sight of the ancient Sea Sovereign losing himself in the sloppy heat of your cunt made you clench violently around him.

He groaned deeply, the sound low and animalistic, and drove himself harder, fucking you with both cocks in long, powerful strokes. Your back arched off the stone as sweet, high-pitched moans spilled from your lips. One large hand splayed across your waist, pressing your lower stomach firmly against his hard abdomen. The new angle made everything more intense.

Every time he bottomed out, a clear, obscene bulge appeared on your lower belly – the distinct shape of both his thick cocks stretching you from the inside. You could literally watch yourself getting fucked, the bump rising and falling with every thrust.

His gaze dropped to your breasts, presented so prettily to him, still covered by your top. With a low growl, he tore the fabric away completely, exposing you fully to the night air.

His long, forked tongue snaked out, curling around your breast before the dual tips latched onto your hard nipple. He sucked and flicked the sensitive bud while pounding into you, the wet sounds of his cocks destroying your pussy growing louder and nastier.

And then you felt it.

Something thicker, heavier, and far more solid than cum began traveling down the length of his lower cock. One of his shafts expanded noticeably, the ridges flaring as it stretched you even wider.

“H-huh…?” you gasped, eyes flying open in shock.

Your own body couldn't fathom it, spasming and clenching in a confused mix of pleasure and shock against the strange thing that was stretching your channel further.

Your Lord stared back at you, and there was something impossibly ancient and knowing in his gaze. An ageless intent that you couldn't decipher, no matter how hard you tried. His hips pressed forward one final time, driving both tips as deep into your womb.

The exact same moment, the horrible realization settled over you like a warm wave.

"W-wait, my Lord, p-please, I–" You were interrupted by his hands, which came up to circle your body, pressing your arms to your sides. Before you could try to push him back with your trembling legs, the thinner end of his tail wrapped around your ankles, locking you in the same tight leglock you'd had him in moments before.

The first egg slipped from the tip of his lower cock and into your waiting womb, shocking you. The second made you moan as it joined the first. The third made you sob. By the fifth, you were crying openly, your face a mess of tears and slick fluids. One of his eggs stopped at the tight, spasming mouth of your womb, didn't quite make it through the clenched muscle.

The Lord of the Sea leaned down and pressed his cool forehead to your feverish one, humming a resonant melody. The wordless sounds rumbled from his chest and washed over you like a gentle tide, a lullaby older than human memory. It made you go limp in his arms, your resistance melting away, and in that boneless surrender, the next egg slipped past the barrier, and he was able to deposit the rest of his precious brood into the safe cradle of your body.

One of his hands unwrapped from your body and came down to rest on your stomach, pressing gently, feeling the distinct bulge of his eggs inside you.

Then came the flood.

A hot torrent of thick cum erupted from both cocks at once. It was far more voluminous than before, flooding every remaining space around the eggs, cushioning them, warming them, and pressurizing your stuffed womb. The excess gushed out around his cocks in creamy rivers, squirting and bubbling messily from your overstretched pussy with every shallow thrust.

Your belly swelled even further, becoming tight, round, and gravid under his palm. You looked down through tear-blurred eyes at the prominent bulge, feeling impossibly full.

The Sea Sovereign stayed inside you long after his release had ended, holding you, cooing those ancient sounds with his hand massaging your gravid belly. He pressed soft, reverent kisses to your face, your neck, your shoulders, and when his cocks finally softened and slipped from your body, you felt the loss as an acute emptiness. But he immediately gathered you close, his powerful tail curling protectively around your weak legs, and you felt him exhale a contented sigh through his fluttering gills.

You looked up and saw stars scattered across the unfamiliar constellations wheeling overhead, strange and beautiful. And with the sight came realization.

"M-my Lord," you said softly, your voice hoarse, "I need to go back. It is late."

He went still beside you.

Then, for the first time, the melodic baritone of his voice cut through the silence.

"Why?"

The pronunciation of it was strange, as though language itself was foreign to his tongue, but it was unmistakably speech. You stared at him, shock stealing your breath.

"You– you can speak?"

He inclined his head in confirmation.

"Call me Neuvillette from now on, my dearest. Answering your question, yes, I just prefer not to." His voice was strikingly resonant, with a cadence that belonged to the deep places of the world, to currents and tides and the slow turning of centuries. "The words of your kin are... too much and too fast." He paused, his hand pressing gently against your swollen belly. "But I will gladly speak to you in... your language."

"Neuvillette,” you started, shocked upon hearing his statement, “Please! My family will worry! I have to go back!"

"No."

You tried to pull away immediately, and his arm tightened around you. Panic began to thread through your confusion, sharp and cold.

"My Lord, I can’t stay–"

"Open your mouth."

"What? No! Let me go, ple–!"

Before you could react, his tail wrapped around your ankle and pulled. You slid from the rock into the sea, scraping your backside in the process. Your scream became a gurgle as water closed over your head, while Neuvillette dragged you under.

You thrashed, pushing at his chest, clawing at his arms, but he was inexorable. He held you beneath the surface with the patience of something that had waited five hundred years and wouldn’t be denied now. When you tried to kick for air, he pulled you up.

You broke the surface, gasping, coughing, choking, sucking in air with desperate heaves, but you barely filled your lungs before he pulled you under again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Each time Neuvillette let you rise just long enough to hope before dragging you back into the crushing dark.

The tenth time, he didn’t let you rise even when black crept in at the edges of your vision. And through it all, you saw him floating before you, his face calm. His lips parted, and a stream of bubbles escaped.

You fought longer than you thought possible. Your pride, your fear, your desperate need to protest – all of them screaming against surrender. But your body betrayed you, and in your final moment of consciousness, you lunged forward and pressed your mouth to his.

Air flooded your lungs, along with something else.

A hard object, hard and cool, pushed past your lips by his tongue, forced down your throat before you could spit it out. You swallowed reflexively, and pain exploded through your body, and then you knew no more.

You woke to singing, lying on something soft, and above you, the sea surface shimmered with moonlight. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close to a firm chest with a heartbeat that matched the rhythm of the waves.

Then a voice stopped humming, and human speech rang against your ear, filled with relief so profound it hurt to hear. You jolted and noticed the way your body felt… different.

You looked down at yourself in horror, and where your legs should’ve been, there was something completely different.

Scales covered you from the waist down, catching the moonlight with soft iridescence, shimmering with every small movement. You could feel the way the water moved over your gills, the way your eyes adjusted to the dark without effort, the way your new tail twitched and curled with instincts you didn’t yet understand.

You tried to thrash, and Neuvilette only held you tighter, pressing you against his chest with gentle firmness.

"Quiet, love," he murmured. "Your tail is still weak. You need rest. The transformation takes time."

Tears burned in your eyes, hot and strange in this new body, mixing with the sea around you. You wept, and he held you through it, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple.

"Do not grieve, my pearl," he said softly, rubbing soft circles onto the skin of your swollen belly. "You wished to see the beauties of this world, did you not?" He pressed his lips to your temple again, lingering. "Now you will. With me."

As his tail twined around yours in the moonlit water, you thought that perhaps belonging to him was not so different from belonging to the sea after all.

Perhaps it was the same thing.

.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

You: helping him, feeding him fruits, enjoying his company...

Neuvi:

Anyways.

Tbh, I don't really like this chapter. I spent a veeeery long time rewriting and editing it, trying to make it more sensual and kinda poetic, but I feel like I've only made it worse :c

I apologize if there are any mistakes, but I just can't muster up any strength to proofread it for the hundredth time... Still, I hope it not too disappointing.

My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, @neuvilletteclearwater, @msmumufufu, @solarrandom @strawberrybunnyjolie @helloweebsofgenshin @katzline, @kellyyn02, @aymands @whatasillyguy @akutgawascoughdrop @im-under-yourbed @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl @muttwithnoname @tearinka @metallover123 @tkitb, @queerlordsimon @fuckingfaraway @madamedesalaunier @nightmarenyxx, @mayodenotche (reblog) ...

(I hope I tagged everyone! If you want to be tagged too, please comment about it under the CF Masterlist).

Pretty little bun bun. That's what you saw. Sleepy crimson peepers half lidded like he just woke up from a nap about slaugering yet another ruin guard. Twitchy nose that wiggles when he's thinking about... what, manslaughter? And those ears… Silky, with the softest inner velvet you've ever seen. They flick and flop and flutter with every single emotion that crosses his deranged little face. 

And you, stupid little apex predator that you are, looked at this deranged little creature and thought: prey.

Bottom of the food chain, theoretically. It's written in the goddamn stars, etched into the bones of the world by evolution itself. Natural order of things: cute little bun buns get eaten by big scary kitty cats. 

And you are, obviously, from the second group. A whole ass lynx hybrid, honey. Tufted ears that swivel like furry radar dishes, picking up the faintest rustle of prey in the underbrush. Claws that could fillet a boar and use its ribs for toothpicks. Unmatched speed (oh, how he would mock you later), and strength (and he still could pin you down effortlessly). And that natural swagger that screams louder than any roar.

So you got comfortable. A bit arrogant. Fucking stupid, if you ask me.

But you probably wonder what exactly you did to end up in that burrow? 

Well, you flicked one of those silky soft mint ears in the hallway outside the library and called him a bottom of a food chain right in front of Sucrose, who choked on her own spit and practically teleported out of existence in a cloud of panicked anemo particles. 

You thought you were being funny. A little harmless fun, yeah? A playful swat from the big cat to the little bunny.

Mistake!

Because that particular bunny came off the assembly line fucking defective. They dropped him on his fluffy little head as a kit, or maybe his momma drank some bad firewater while he was in the womb, or whatever. You don't know what exactly happened, but something crucial snapped. Instead of developing a healthy ‘oh gods please don't eat me’ fear response to things with fangs, his brain rewired it into an obsession with the specific threat of being eaten. 

To put it bluntly, Lohen looked at your proud predator stride and saw a dumb, pretty recruit who he could reduce to a drooling, cunt clenching, begging mess. 

And oh, this motherfucker knows that he’s pretty and has something to seduce you with. He's got those big crimson eyes that can go from ‘uwu I'm just a soft little bunny’ to ‘I'm going to skin you alive’ in the space of a heartbeat. He's got those long legs that he loves to show off, wearing those high boots that cling to every lean line and curve. And let's not even mention his ass, presented so perfectly in those tight white trousers.  He's got this lean and flexible body that he loves to show off.

After that single incident with a flick, it starts small. A hand on your lower back, fingers splayed, pressing just a little too firmly, lingering just a little too long. Him demanding you for the training. His hip bumping yours when he falls into step beside you. 

"Vice Captain, what are you doing?" you hiss, trying to sidestep away.

"Walking with my favorite recruit," he says, beaming up at you. His hand finds your elbow, tucking himself against your side like he belongs there. His body is warm and surprisingly solid against yours. "You smell nice today. New soap?" He inhales deeply, nose practically pressed to your neck, and makes a satisfied little sound. "Mhm. That's the good stuff."

You try sparring, because you're still operating under the adorable delusion that size and species fucking matter. You're a lynx hybrid, and he's a rabbit. It should be easy; there is no way it wouldn’t work. 

So you corner him in the training yard, claws half-extended, tail lashing behind you.

"Alright, cottonball," you sneer, putting every ounce of predator into the word. "Gonna bounce away like a good little snack?"

Lohen just tilts his head and looks at you with those dead fish eyes, and a little smile plays at the corner of his lips. 

"Snack?" he echoes, voice light and airy. His eyes flutter closed, and he lets out a breathy little moan as his spine pops as he stretches. "Oh, kitten…" He drops his arms and rolls his shoulders. "You’re such a stupid, feral little pussycat. I guess it’s my responsibility to train you to sit, stay, and ro–"

You lunge, fed up with his nonsense.

Your claws catch his collarbone, and three perfect furrows bloom red and angry against his pale skin. Blood wells up immediately, fat and ruby-red and hot, coppery scent hitting the air between you. 

Honestly, you expect him to let out a high-pitched squeak of fear and bounce away, running like a good little prey hybrid.

Instead?

"Hahhhhnnn~" The moan vibrates straight from the depths of his chest, travels through the air like a physical touch, and lands with a throbbing ache right in the core of your suddenly traitorous cunt.

"What the fuck?" you hiss, stumbling back a step. Your claws are still wet with his blood, but you are afraid to tear your eyes away from him.

His ears go flat, plastered against that messy hair. His whole body shudders, and you watch, transfixed, as a visible tremor runs down his spine and makes that plump little tail give an excited thump-thump-thump against the small of his back.

"Oh, kitten~" His voice is dripping with something absolutely filthy. "You have no idea how good that felt." 

He rolls the wounded shoulder, watching a thick droplet of his own blood snake a hot trail down the corded muscle of his bicep. His tongue darts out and drags across his lower lip, chasing the scent of his own blood mingling with your sweat. 

Your breath hitches when Lohen steps forward, right into your space. Close enough that you can see the way his pupils have swallowed the crimson of his irises almost completely. 

His hand comes up, but your body is frozen, caught between predator instinct and something that's coiling hot and tight in your belly. His fingers find your chin. Tilt your face up. His thumb traces along your lower lip.

"Look at you," Lohen murmurs, and his voice is liquid condescension. "Big, scary lynx. All those fangs and claws. And you're standing here, terrified." He leans in, his lips brushing yours. "Want to know a secret, kitten?"

"What?" Your voice is barely a whisper, and you hate how shaky it sounds.

His free hand grabs your wrist, still wet with his blood, and presses it flat right over his heart.

"I'm not scared of you," he breathes. "You know what I am?" His hips roll forward, and you feel it – the hot, hard, throbbing line of his erection pressing against your hip. "I'm intrigued." He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, that unhinged smile spreading across his pretty face. "Imagine what you'd do to me if you actually tried to eat me…"

His hips give a tiny little jerk against your thigh, and you feel it again, pressing insistently into the muscle. He's rock hard from you clawing him open, hell, from talking about you wanting him.

"But here's the thing, kitten." His voice drops to a conspiratory whisper, lips brushing yours with every word. "I'm not the prey here."

Something snaps in you – fear or fury or some unholy cocktail of both – and you jerk forward and sink your fangs into the junction of his neck and shoulder. You taste blood, hot and metallic and his, flooding over your tongue. 

His body goes rigid against yours, every muscle locking up, that plump little tail thumping frantically against his back.

And then you feel the pulse of his cock, twitching in his pants, soaking the fabric of your pants. His whole body shudders with a broken sob tearing from his throat. His hands fly up to grip your hair, holding you against his neck, keeping your teeth buried in his flesh as he humps your leg like a filthy animal.

"Ffffffuck– yes– fuck, don't stop–"

You release him, shoving him off, stumbling backward. Your mouth is smeared with his blood, but still, you are the one who is shaking like a leaf under his gaze.

Lohen just slumps back against the training post with a blissed-out smile spreading across his flushed face. His croth is visibly wet, but he doesn't seem to care. 

"You're a freak," you spit, voice trembling. "A fucking freak."

"Yeah." He pushes off the post, sauntering toward you with that bouncy walk. "But I'm your freak now." He tilts his head, showing off the bleeding bite mark. "Fair's fair, kitten." 

He pats your cheek, and the touch is so fucking condescending, especially from the guy who came in his pants when you bit him. You thank the anemo archon that at least nobody is on the training grounds to witness the whole embarrassing incident.

"See you at morning roll call, pet." Lohen winks, turns, and hops away, that fluffy tail bouncing with every step.

And suddenly, the day after, because the universe is a cruel cunt that loves to watch you squirm, Varka is slapping your shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise in the shape of his palm: "You're under Lohen's command now!"

Your brain short-circuits. " Wh– The... the rabbit?"

"The Vice Captain!" the beefy wolf hybrid corrects, beaming like he just handed you a puppy. "Sharpest mind and aggressive tactics I've ever seen. You'll learn a lot. Just... try not to let him get under your skin. He's got a talent for it."

Congrats, this herbivore is your boss now.

And then he's just... there. Everywhere. All the goddamn time. Bastard is basically shitting on the very concept of your freedom, and you can't even catch him to return the favor.

You smell the astringent bite of mint just around every corner. The air gets cold right behind you sometimes. When you spin, weapon drawn, claws out, ready to gut the stalker, there's nothing. Just the phantom thump-thump-thump of that fluffy tail and a breathy giggle that echoes down the hallway.

And the notes. Slipped under your door. Tucked into your boot. Folded into your training notes. Sometimes, to your genuine horror, appearing on your nightstand in the morning.

"Saw you stretching today. You are so… flexible…"

"You growled at that deer boy who bumped into you. Got me really worked up."

"Wore my tightest pants today. Did you notice? I saw you looking. ♡"

The dog hybrid boy who takes an interest in you doesn't know any of this. 

He's new, transferred from some border outpost, all muscle and misplaced confidence. He's been watching you for a week now, his hopeful eyes tracking you across the mess hall, the training yard, the corridors. You've noticed, because, well, it's hard not to notice. He's big, and he smells like wet dog, and his tail wags every time you so much as glance in his direction.

And tonight, in the Angel's Share, he makes his move, sliding into the seat across from you with a blush so heavy it could rival a fresh sunsettia's colour.

"H-hey there," he slurs, visibly nervous. His scent is all eager-pup arousal and cheap ale. "You look really pretty today… N-no, that's not– I mean, you're always pretty, it's just today I finally got the guts to–"

The air turns sharp with frost before you even see him. One moment, the dogboy is stuttering through his confession, the next there's a slender, scarred hand fisting into his hair, yanking his head back at a brutal angle. The cold steel of a knife presses flat against the column of his throat, resting there with the weight of a promise.

"Sniff sniff."

Lohen inhales theatrically right beside the hybrid's ear, his nose brushing the fur, his crimson eyes fixed unblinkingly on you. A wide, sharp, utterly unhinged smile splits his pretty face, revealing those deceptively dainty incisors. His voice is lighter than chimes, softer than a lullaby, and it’s the most terrifying thing you have ever heard.

"Mhm. That's the smell. It's like... warm cream and soft flesh, isn't it? Makes your knot swell up just thinking about sinking into that wet heaven, huh?” Lohen's grip on the dagger tightens, and that unhinged note becomes more prominent in his voice. “But here’s a problem… You've been sniffing around what's mine, pup. That's very, very rude. Do you know what happens to rude strays who try to take what's mine?"

The knife tilts, just a fraction. A single bead of red wells against the poor bastard’s skin and rolls down the poor guy’s throat. The dogboy makes a keening whimper that cuts off when Lohen’s grip tightens.

"I'll tell ya," Lohen continues, still in that gentle tone. His eyes never leave yours. He’s putting on a show, you understand, and he wants you to witness every second. "First, I take this dagger, and I carve out your eyes. Then I pack your throat with cryo shards. Then I open your belly and watch the light leave your eyes while I pull out your insides. And when you’re finally dead, I’m going to take your fucking dick–”

He presses the knife a little harder, and the dogboy sobs.

“–and I’m going to have it in a jar, like a talisman. I’ll hang it on the wall of the burrow where I keep my mate, so every time I breed her to tears, she can look at it and remember what happens to anyone who tries to take her from me.”

Lohen pauses, tilts his head, and that smile somehow softens into something almost fond. He pats the trembling boy’s cheek with two condescending little tap-taps from his free hand.

"But I'm feeling generous tonight, because my beloved is right here watching, and I want to reward her patience. So I'll give you one chance.” He licks his lips, and you feel the twinge of something warm in your belly. Something that you shouldn't feel in that situation. “You’re going to walk out of this tavern while having your organs in the original packaging. Next, you’re going to write the transfer request. Finally, you’re going to fuck off back to that shithole that you crawled out from before sunrise. Are we clear?"

The dogboy nods eagerly. Lohen wrinkles his nose, releases him with a shove that sends him sprawling to the floor, and watches with lazy satisfaction. “Good pup.”

Poor dog hybrid scrambles to his feet and bolts for the door, slipping once in a hurry.

“Bye-bye~” he sing-songs cheerfully in the dead silent tavern. Every patron is staring. Lohen ignores them all, turning to you, twirling the dagger between his fingers with a casual elegance that makes your stomach clench and your cunt throb. That unhinged smile melts into something softer, but no less terrifying.

"Wha’?" He asks, as if he hadn't just graphically detailed a murder in a public establishment. "Can't have the strays thinking you're available."

You sit frozen, heart hammering against your ribs, every instinct screaming at you to run, to fight, to do anything except sit here while Lohen saunters closer. He stops between your spread thighs and looks down at you with those black-hole eyes, pupil swallowed irises gleaming with mania and adoration in equal measure.

"I'm not yours," you manage, voice trembling. "You can't just scare away people who try to approach me!"

Lohen smirks, leans in, lips brushing the shell of your fluffy ear, breath scorching.

"I can, and I just did," he whispers and pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His hand, the one still holding the dagger, comes up and rests the flat of the blade against your cheek. The metal is ice-cold, and you flinch. He traces the edge along your jawline, feather-light, never breaking skin. 

"I'll see you soon," he breathes, patting your burning cheek with a knife. “Try not to drip too much on Master Diluc's floor.”

Lohen winks, turns, and hops away, that fluffy tail giving a sassy little flick with every bounce of his perfect ass. The tavern slowly returns to life, whispers filling the silence he left behind as you sit there, frozen.

Since then, it’s gotten worse.

You're losing yourself. That sassy predator that you were decides to rest somewhere inside of you, and no matter how hard you try, you can't bring it out.

It's humiliating, really.

Every time you catch a glimpse of those soft ears or that juciest piece of ass you’ve ever seen on a male, you have to restrain yourself from reaching out and touching. The dreams are the worst – dreams where he pins you down and whispers the most horrific words while doing even worse things. You wake up soaked and gasping, fists full of sheets that reek of him because the sick bastard has been breaking into your room and rubbing his scent all over your bedding. It's not helping that your heat is nearing rapidly, making you more sensitive and jumpy.

So one day you finally snap. All it takes is too much wine mixed with this creeping dread curling in your belly. Just enough liquid stupidity to think you're still the fucking predator in this equation. 

You corner your Vice Captain outside the city gates under a sickly yellow moon.

"Why don't you just bounce away, you little freak?!" you snarl, swaying, fur bristling along your tail, claws itching to rend. "You're a rabbit! You're supposed to be scared of me! That's the whole goddamn deal!"

Lohen turns to face you with an expression of serene delight, as if you've just offered him the most precious gift imaginable. A visible shiver that starts at his nose and travels down his spine, ending with his fluffy, cream-tipped tail giving a sharp thump-thump-thump against the stone archway that he's leaning on.

"Scared?" he repeats, and there's a laugh bubbling under the word when he steps closer. "Oh, kitten, you are really that dumb~" 

He stops right in front of you, close enough to kiss, and tilts his head, those big crimson eyes looking at you with mock innocence. 

"You're just a big, growly kitty with a wet little cunt and a brain that short-circuits every time I shake my ass."

"I am not!" The words tumble out, angry but unsure.

"You are~" He reaches up and flicks your nose, like you're the cute little pet. The audacity makes your claws twitch, but your body refuses to move. "You're so easy, kitten. I barely have to try. A little ear flick here, a little bounce there–" He demonstrates, bouncing lightly on his heels, "–and you're drooling."

Pissed off, you lunge at him – claws out, fangs bared, all that rage finally reaching its peak – but your drunk limbs are stupidly predictable. Lohen sidesteps easily, hooking one leg behind yours and catching you as you stumble. One deceptively strong arm snakes around your waist. Your legs buckle, and suddenly his face is too close, watching you with that unnerving stillness.

"There we go," he coos, holding you upright as you gasp and shudder against him.

"F-fuck you–" you spit, but it comes out as a sob.

"Soon, kitten. Just let me–" He shifts his grip, and the world tilts violently. One arm hooks under your knees, the other braces your back, and suddenly you're on his shoulder, staring at the mud and cobblestones whizzing past in a blur as he carries you into the treeline of Wolvendom.

You claw at his arms, his back, anything you can reach. Your nails leave furrows in the fabric of his coat, tear the cotton of his shirt, and draw thin lines of blood across his shoulder blades. He just moans louder and speeds up, those stringy legs eating up the ground.

“Put me down!” You whine, trying to punch him in the ribs with your knee. 

“M’kay!” Lohen suddenly agrees and drops you into some kind of hole under an ancient oak. You land on a pile of blankets so soft they must've cost your entire year's salary. 

It's a den, you understand after a second. Dug deep, shored up with gnarled roots, the air inside cold and still and smelling faintly of mint. There's a flask of fresh water. A neat little pyramid of sunsettias. A plate of fine steak, cut into delicate little ribbons. And in the center of it all – the nest. A little hollow lined with soft grasses, even more blankets, and what you now recognize as tufts of fur he's plucked from his own tail and ears, woven together to cradle two bodies.

"Lohen, this is–" you breathe, scrambling backward on the blankets until your back hits the earthen wall. "You can't just–"

"Can't what?" He's kneeling in the entrance, a dark silhouette blocking out the stars, pulling his shirt over his head with a languid roll of tight muscle. His pale torso is a fucking roadmap of battles, scars overlapping scars, some old and white, some newer, pink and puckered. And among them, fresh, still-bleeding furrows from your claws, beading crimson. You take note of the imprint of your teeth on his neck.

"Can't claim what's mine?" he finishes for you, crawling forward on hands and knees. "Can't build a proper den for my girl like any self-respecting male? Can't bring you offerings and keep you warm and safe and full? Can’t help my mate with her heat?" He leans forward, bracing his hands on either side of your head, caging you in. His face is centimeters from yours, those black-hole eyes boring into your soul. He smiles, predator-sharp. 

"Get off me, freak!" You bare your fangs and roar, trying to scare this fucked in the head herbivore.

"Make me." Lohen grinds his hips down, and you feel the hot, hard, throbbing length of him pressing against your clothed cunt. The pressure is perfect, and a moan escapes before you can stop it. 

"C’mon, make me!" His smile widens and his hips roll, slow and filthy, dragging the ridge of his cock along your slit through the fabric. "Tell me you didn’t rub this cunt raw while dreaming of me…."

You try to shove Lohen off, but he catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand – one fucking hand, and he's a small animal hybrid and a herbivore at that, how is he so fucking strong – and leans down until his lips brush your ear.

"I've been courting you for months," he whispers, and the words drip off his tongue like honey laced with ground glass and obsession. "And you... Ohhhh, you've been waving this dumb little kitty cunt in my face the whole time. Flicking my ears. Making me bleed. Letting me stalk you..." He pulls back, looking down at you with those wild eyes. "And now... finally... I have you exactly where you belong. In my den. In my nest. Under me." 

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing past your lips and into your mouth. You taste salt and skin and him – sharp, clean, intoxicating. He pushes deeper, gagging you slightly, and his eyes flutter closed.

You bite down on his thumb, hard, to make this fucking freak recoil. Blood wells up instantly, hot and metallic, flooding your tongue. But instead of yanking his hand back, Lohen's whole body shudders with a guttural moan that seems to tear itself from somewhere deep in his chest. His hips jerk frantically, grinding his clothed cock against your cunt, and you feel a fresh gush of wetness soak through both your pants as he nearly cums right there.

"Ffffffuck– yes– do it again, bite me harder, make me bleed, make me hurt–" His free hand releases your wrists and flies to his own pants, fumbling with the buckle. 

You release his thumb, panting. Your mouth is smeared with his blood. "You're sick."

"Yeah." He's grinning, blood smeared on his lip from where he bit it himself, pupils blown so wide his eyes look like black voids. "Terminally sick for you." 

Lohen pulls his thumb from your mouth and licks the blood off, eyes never leaving yours, sitting back on his haunches, and now those nimble, scarred fingers are working his belt buckle with single-minded focus. 

When he’s done, the leather slithers free with a soft hiss, and Vice Captain holds it up, considering it, then drapes it around your neck so tight it makes you cough. 

"Pretty," he breathes. "You'd look so pretty in a proper collar. Maybe I'll have one made, engraved with my name. 'Property of Lohen' What do you think?"

You can't tell him to fuck off when the collar tightens on your neck. He unbuttons his pants, slides them down those stringy thighs, and kicks them aside. His underwear follows.

His cock is... god help you, it's pretty. That's the word that slams into your brain, unwanted and undeniable. Pretty. Pale and flushed pink at the tip, curving up slightly toward his belly, slick with pre-cum that's been leaking steadily and soaking a dark patch into the front of his discarded underwear. It's not massive, but it's thick enough that you know it'll split you open oh so sweetly. Below it, his balls are drawn up tight, heavy and full, the skin taut and slightly darker, clearly aching with the need to empty themselves inside something– someone. 

Specifically you.

"Pretty, right?" Lohen reaches down and wraps a hand around his cock, giving it one lazy stroke. A thick bead of pre-cum wells up at the tip and drips slowly down his shaft, catching the faint moonlight filtering through the burrow entrance. He catches it with his thumb, brings it to his mouth, and licks it clean with a soft hum. "Mmm... Want a taste?" He smears another bead onto his fingers and holds them out. "Open up, kitten. Sample the goods."

You clamp your mouth shut, turning your head away. He tsks softly, disappointed but not surprised, and crawls forward again, sitting square on your chest. His weight presses your back deeper into the blankets, pins your arms at your sides, and leaves you completely helpless. That bobbing cock taps insistently against your sealed lips as he settles, leaving a tacky smear of pre-cum across your mouth.

“Oh, kitten,” he drawls, slow and syrupy, his head tilting so his ears flop adorably to one side even as his crimson eyes blaze with absolute, clinical madness. “Still playin’ hard to get? After all the notes I left? After I bled and came in my pants with your teeth in my neck?” 

He wraps the tail of the belt around his fist once, twice, tightening the improvised leash until the leather bites into the tender skin of your throat. Your breath hitches into a strangled wheeze, vision spotting at the edges as the collar cuts off your air.

“S’alright. I like you feisty. Makes it so much sweeter when you finally break. And you will break, kitten.” He rolls his hips, grinding his soaked cockhead across your sealed lips, and laughs when your nostrils flare involuntarily.

You glare up at him, defiant, mouth clamped shut. Lohen just smiles and jerks the collar hard. The sudden constriction forces a choked gasp from your lungs.

He uses that exact moment to thrust his length into your mouth in one merciless thrust, not stopping until his swollen balls are pressed flush against your chin and the fat, leaking head bullies its way past your gag reflex. 

Your throat convulses violently around the intrusion, muscles spasming and squeezing him desperately. He throws his head back with a loud moan that echoes through the burrow, his silky mint-green ears pinning flat against his messy hair while his fluffy cream-tipped tail thumps wildly against his own ass in ecstatic beats.

“Ahhh– fuuuuck yes, there it is~” he sobs out, voice cracking with pure bliss as his hips grind forward until your nose is smashed into the soft mint-colored hairs, his musky scent flooding your lungs until you can’t smell anything else. “This is exactly where you belong, kitten. On your back in my nest, throat stuffed full of bunny cock like the stupid whore you are.”

Lohen drops the leash, and his fingers twist viciously into your tufted lynx ears and the hair at the back of your scalp, yanking your head back at a brutal angle to straighten your throat into a helpless fuck-sleeve. 

There is no time to adjust as he starts fucking your face with fast and punishing thrusts – each one dragging his thick cock almost all the way out before slamming back in until his balls slap wetly against your chin. Obscene, wet gluck-gluck-gluck sounds fill the burrow as stringy ropes of throat slime, precum and drool bubble out from the stretched corners of your mouth, pouring down your chin and tits in messy rivers. 

“F-fuck– squeeze me just like that, kitten–. You’re doing s-so good for me, makin’ me feel so loved,” he groans, eyes half-lidded and soft with obsessive adoration. His hips snap faster, turning the slow face-fucking into something meaner. Thick globs of your spit fly everywhere with every brutal plunge, splattering across your lips and cheeks.

Your vision is blurring from the lack of air and the constant battering of his cock against the back of your throat. Tears stream down your face, mixing with the thick strings of spit and pre-cum, and despite everything, your cunt is clenching desperately around nothing. Your hips twitch and roll uselessly in the air, searching for friction that isn’t there. Lohen’s nose twitches, catching the scent immediately, and he lets out a delighted little giggle.

“Ohhh? How embarrassing. You’re supposed to be the predator, but one taste of bunny cock and you’re already gushing like a broken faucet. Don’t worry… I’ll take care of that sloppy hole soon enough. But first–”

He suddenly pulls out with a wet schlorp, leaving your throat gaping and empty. You cough and gasp desperately, thick ropes of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the glistening tip of his cock. Before you can even suck in a proper breath, he shifts his weight, sitting heavily on your chest with his knees pinning your shoulders down. His hand wraps tight around his throbbing shaft right above your ruined face, stroking himself with loud squelching sounds while you heave.

“Gonna paint this pretty face,” he growls, voice low and trembling with the edge of orgasm, “Gonna cover every bit of you in my cum so no one ever forgets who this stupid slut belongs to.”

You’re too wrecked to respond. So Lohen does it for you – two fingers hook roughly into the corners of your mouth, prying your jaw open wide while his other hand pumps his cock faster, the wet shlick-shlick-shlick growing louder and more desperate.

“Stick your tongue out.” And you fucking do, like a mindless dumb kitty, too fucked out to think. “Yeah, jus’ like that– good girl~”

His hips jerk into his fist, ears flicking madly, fluffy tail going rigid behind him as the pleasure spikes. His voice starts breaking, words turning meaner and nastier the closer he gets.

“You think that fucking stray could ever make you feel like this? Huh? You think anyone else gets to see you like this? I’d gut them. You’re mine. Mine to– aah~”

The first thick rope of cum erupts violently across your forehead, splattering hot and sticky all the way up into your hair and across one eye. The second heavy spurt lands directly into your open mouth, coating your tongue in salty heat and overflowing down your chin in creamy rivers.

“Take it– take every fucking drop, you greedy bitch–”

The third and fourth jets stripe across your cheeks and nose, the excess dripping down into the hollow of your throat, where the collar bites painfully into your skin. More cum splatters across your twitching lynx ears, matting the soft fur, while another thick glob lands on your closed eyelid, sealing it shut with sticky warmth. 

When the last watery dribble finally leaks out, Lohen slaps his softening but still twitching cock against your ruined face a few times – pat-pat-pat – spreading the mess even more. His breathing is ragged, but his eyes are zeroed in on you.

“Lookin’ so cute,” He pats your cum-smeared cheek with genuine affection, then slides off your chest, leaving you gasping and soaked and utterly debased. 

But if you thought this was it… oh, poor baby… poor-poor baby… 

His hands find the waistband of your pants. You try to buckle, coughing, one eye closed because of his spunk that threatens your eye. That does nothing to stop Lohen. He yanks, and your pants and underwear come down in one rough movement, the fabric tearing slightly at the seams, baring your traitorously weeping cunt to the cool air of his burrow.

As if bewitched, Lohen drops to his belly between your legs, arms hooking under your thighs to yank you closer, and presses his nose directly against your slick folds. His ears flatten, his tail thumps against the floor, and a guttural growl rumbles from his chest – a sound no rabbit should ever make. 

“This is what I’ve been dreaming about,” he breathes, the words muffled against your pussy. “Gonna fuck this kitty cunt so thoroughly it’ll reject anyone else. You’ll be a one-rabbit woman.”

Lohen drags his soft, deceptively innocent pink tongue in one long stripe from your clenching entrance all the way up to your throbbing clit, collecting your slick like it’s nectar. Then the real hunger takes over. He buries his whole face in your cunt – nose grinding hard against your clit sweetly, tongue stabbing deep inside you, lapping and thrusting wildly.

You arch off the blankets with a broken moan, lava flooding your veins. “F-fuck– Lohen–!”

“Mhm…” he hums loudly against your folds and pulls back just long enough to spit a thick glob of saliva right onto your swollen clit, then slaps his tongue against it, massaging the swollen bud lovingly.

“So fucking tight and wet,” Lohen slurs, mouth still half-buried in your cunt. “Could eat this pussy for days, until you’re just a stupid pet who cums every time her owner comes home. Would you like that? Huh?”

“Lohen– please–”

“Please what?” He pulls back suddenly, lips shiny, chin dripping with your arousal, that unhinged grin splitting his face. He folds your thighs up and apart, nearly bending you in half so you’re forced to watch him work. A long strand of your slick stretches from his bottom lip to your cunt before Lohen laps it up with a happy little moan. 

“Gotta be specific, kitten. I’m just a dumb bunny, remember? Tell me exactly what this sloppy cunt needs.”

A sob rips from your throat as the temperature of your body spikes up, your heat slowly claiming you. “I need– cum–”

“Whaa~? Say it properly!” He dips down again, dragging his tongue agonizingly slow through your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit. “Need me to make this pathetic pussy cum?”

“Yes, please! Need ta cum!” You whine with a voice so thin it almost sounds alien.

“Good little bitch~”

Lohen dives back in, tongue fucking into you, nose grinding against your clit. Two fingers suddenly stretch you, and you cry out. Lohen curls them upward to hit that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes. His hand leaves your thigh and snakes down between his own legs, and you hear the frantic sound of his fist stroking his shaft while he eats you out. 

And when you’re so close, right there, right on the edge, your claws shredding the blankets, your back arching–

Lohen stops.

The orgasm dies instantly, leaving you a convulsing wreck. Your denied cunt spasms violently around nothing, and more hot tears spill down your cum-streaked face as you choke on a broken wail.

“C’mon, move that fat lynx ass,” he giggles, voice bright and cruel as he gives your trembling thigh a patronizing little tap.”Need you to cum on my cock. Gonna show you what ‘fucking like rabbits’ means~”

You can only shudder, edged out of your mind, drooling and crying into the nest that reeks of mint and cum. Your hips twitch uselessly, seeking friction that isn’t there.

Lohen clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. Then, with terrifying ease, he manhandles you like you weigh nothing. Those deceptively stringy arms and compact muscles flip you onto your hands and knees in one smooth motion. Your face smashes into the soft blankets, ass forced high in the air, cunt and tight little hole completely exposed to his hungry gaze. Your fluffy lynx tail lashes wildly in humiliated protest, but he just grabs the base and yanks it upward, pinning it out of the way.

“Archons, fuck yes,” he breathes, as he kneads your ass cheeks roughly, spreading fat globes wide apart until you feel the cool air kiss your dripping folds and puckered hole. “And to think that you were so stubborn to admit that we are meant to be! Bad kitty…”

The first sharp slap cracks across your ass, hard enough to make the fat jiggle and bloom bright red. You yelp, claws digging deeper into the blankets. Vice Capitan watches the mark form with manic glee, ears flicking excitedly, that fluffy cream-tipped tail thumping wildly against his own back.

His palm rains down again and again. Each impact sends shockwaves through your body, turning your ass into a burning canvas of handprints. Every slap pushes you closer to the edge without letting you fall. You’re drooling messily onto the blankets, thick strings of slick, cum, and tears soaking the fabric as you whimper and sob into the nest.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Lohen stops, palms smoothing almost tenderly over the bruised flesh. But the gentleness is a lie – he spreads your ascheeks again, spitting a thick glob of saliva right onto your puckered hole before his leaking cock slides hot and heavy through your drenched folds. He coats himself in your slick, letting you feel every throb, the fat head nudging your entrance just enough to part your puffy lips before pulling back before you can envelop him.

“Ah-ah-ah~” he tuts, voice dripping fake sympathy as he slaps the heavy head of his cock lightly against your labia. “You really thought I was gonna let you cum that easily? No, no, kitten. Say you are mine first.” 

You can’t answer – your voice is gone, replaced by ragged pants and whimpers.

“Say it,” Lohen repeats, a dark edge sharpening his words. He leans over you, chest pressing flush to your back, one hand snaking up to fist the belt still around your throat. He yanks the end of it, forcing your head up and your back into a painful arch. His other hand reaches toward his discarded coat, and you feel the flat of his knife press against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitches in arousal when the metal tip scrapes against your mound.

“Tell me your soul belongs to Lohen,” he whispers hotly against the shell of your tufted ear, voice low and venomous. “Say it, or I’ll keep you right on the brink until you’re nothing but a babbling mess begging for bunny cum. I can do this for a very long time…”

The knife traces a threatening line up your thigh, never breaking skin but promising it could. And what little remains of your pride shatters completely.

“It’s yours,” you choke out, voice wrecked and trembling, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “Lohen! Please– Please–”

“Good mate,” he praises, planting a chaste kiss atop your head, right between your ears. The words sound genuine and reverent that they make you blush deeper, face turning crimson. “See? Wasn’t so hard.”

Lohen releases the leash slightly but keeps you arched, then sits back on his haunches. His hand tightens in the fur at the base of your tail, yanking your ass closer. The other grips your bruised hip hard enough to leave fresh marks.

His throbbing cock lines up again, the leaking head kissing your quivering hole. Your whole body tenses, every nerve screaming in anticipation.

"Welcome to the bottom of the food chain, kitten," he whispers, voice dripping with undiluted triumph. 

His hips roll forward.

.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

I saw this crazy battle maniac 2.0 (hi Childe) in Varka's story quest and just couldn't... I had to add him. Yeah, I'm sorry for neglecting this series so much. Hope that you like this part at least haha!

My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, @neuvilletteclearwater, @msmumufufu, @solarrandom @strawberrybunnyjolie @helloweebsofgenshin @katzline, @kellyyn02, @aymands @whatasillyguy @akutgawascoughdrop @im-under-yourbed @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl @muttwithnoname @tearinka @metallover123 @tkitb, @queerlordsimon @fuckingfaraway @madamedesalaunier @nightmarenyxx, @mayodenotche ...

(I hope I tagged everyone! If you want to be tagged too, please comment about it under the CF Masterlist).

The bath filled with steaming water. Nanami stepped in first, then held out a hand to help you, ever the gentleman. You climbed in, and he sat, drawing you back to rest against his chest.

The water lapped at your stained skin. The heat of it seeped into your muscles, loosening the tension. Your owner was solid and warm behind you, with his steady heartbeat calming your nerves. His thighs bracketed yours, unyielding, and his arms came around you. You hiccuped, feeling unworthy of his embrace.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his lips close to your torn ear. His voice had regained a sliver of its usual softness, but it was still strained. “Breathe.” One hand came up to cup water and pour it over your shoulder. The other settled on your thigh, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

“Y-you won’t… abandon me?” you pleaded, turning your head to bury your face in chest hair. “Please, Nanami. I’ll be good. I’ll never… I didn’t mean to….” Your tears mingled with the water dripping down your chest, and you felt his heart stutter under your cheek. His hand on your thigh tightened, fingers digging into the tense muscle.

“You will always be my girl,” he said, “my best girl. My beautiful princess,” he paused, and you felt his heart thud against your back, “my precious wife.”

You stilled, sniffling. The word was unfamiliar, but the way he said it… It felt personal and warm. You liked how it sounded, coming from him.

“Wife?” you whispered. You turned slightly, trying to see his face, but Nanami tucked his chin, hiding his expression in your neck.

“It means,” your owner gulped audibly, “a very, very beloved person,” he explained, his voice a low rumble in your ears. His hand moved from your thigh to your stomach, splaying possessively. “A part of the family. Someone precious.”

The concept seemed beautiful, but felt overwhelming. You felt your tail coiling around your hip, trembling in some sort of anticipation you couldn’t fully explain yet.

“Are… are you my wife?” you asked, innocent, seeking symmetry.

He swallowed again, his body tensing in a second. His fingers flexed on your belly.

“No,” he said, the word rough. “Some families have two wives, sure, but ours is different.” He took a deliberate breath, his nose in your damp hair. “I would prefer it if you called me your husband.”

Then his lips were on your skin. His mouth was soft at first, almost hesitant, as if he were testing the boundaries of a line he had already crossed. His lips parted, and his tongue traced the curve of your shoulder, tasting the salt of your skin. He licked a long stripe up the side of your neck. You felt the sharp edge of his teeth, a warning and a promise, and a low growl escaped him.

“Nanami… my husband,” you breathed, testing the words. They came out in a whisper, fragile, but they landed like a thunderclap.

His arm around your middle jerked, pulling you flush against him, and you felt the hard length of him press into the small of your back. It was scorching hot, even through the water, and impossibly rigid. You could feel the thick vein pulsing along its underside, the broad flare of the head nudging insistently against your spine. 

“Yes,” a guttural groan escaped him, a sound of pure want so stark it made your tears slow. “Again,” he demanded, his voice thick. 

His hand slid up from your belly to your chest, cupping one breast, his thumb brushing over the nipple with a roughness that made you arch into his touch. The water sloshed around you, warm and fragrant, but all you could feel was his chest against your back, his thighs bracketing yours, his cock pressing insistently against you.

“My husband Nanami.”

It sounded strange and unusual to hear this word from you, but it was soothing for his own heart, wounded by what he saw earlier. He knew that his vision of your relationship was wrong. A human taking a hybrid as a wife was legally unrecognized and socially reviled. Kento just couldn’t blatantly take you. So, instead, he was claiming you in the only way, and the dirtiness of it gnawed at him.

His hands began to move, no longer just cleaning. He soaped your breasts, his touch firm, lingering on the peaks until they tightened under his attention, then moved down your trembling thighs, parting them slightly under the water. His fingers found the sticky evidence of Gojo's release still clinging to your inner thighs, and he made a disgusted sound. Then he scooped up a handful of water and scrubbed at the mess, his touch brisk, almost punishing. 

“It’s all okay,” Nanami chanted softly, but it sounded like he was convincing himself. “I’ll take care of you. You just need to trust me.”

You were melting under his touch, the guilt morphing into a searing need for his forgiveness, his approval.

“Kiss me?” you begged, turning within the circle of his arms until you were straddling his lap, facing him, your knees on either side of his hips. “A proper kiss? Like on TV?” you asked, seeking reassurance, unaware of the inferno you were stoking.

The movement brought your bodies flush, your chest against his, your sex pressed directly over the thick shaft of his cock. He was hard and hot against your slit, the head nudging at your entrance through the water, and the sensation made you flush. You could feel every ridge and vein of him, the blunt pressure of his crown kissing your swollen folds, and your body responded with a fresh rush of slick that mingled with the bathwater. 

His hands flew to your hips, gripping them hard, holding you still, fingers digging into the soft flesh with bruising intensity. His eyes, dark and swirling with conflicts you couldn't understand, locked onto yours. 

“Yes,” he hissed, the last of his restraint snapping, losing yet another battle.

Kento lowered his head, and his mouth captured yours. One hand cradled your head, the other gripped your hip, holding you fiercely against him. His tongue delved into your mouth, and a moan vibrated from his chest into yours. Nanami kissed you like he was starving, like he wanted to devour you from the inside out. His tongue swept across your teeth, the roof of your mouth, tangling with yours in a sloppy dance. He sucked on your soft muscle, pulling it into his mouth, and you felt him groan around it, the vibration traveling straight to your pussy. When he finally released you, a string of saliva connected your lips, stretching, glistening in the low light before it snapped. 

You felt his hardness twitching against you. The evidence of his desire, so different from Gojo’s blatant display, felt somehow more shocking, more intimate. The guilt surged back, poisonous.

“I… I want to make you feel good,” you whispered against his lips, your hand slipping between your bodies beneath the water’s surface. Your fingers found his length, and you wrapped your hand around it, stroking tentatively. 

His cock felt velvety over steel, the skin sliding easily under your grip, and you marveled at the way he filled your palm. Your fingers couldn't quite close around him, and the girth of him always made your breath catch. You stroked from base to tip, thumb circling the flared head, spreading the slick fluid that beaded there, and he whined. The sound was high and broken, utterly unlike your ever-composed owner.

“Ah–!” Nanami’s head jerked back, hitting the rim of the tub with a thud. His hand flew to your wrist, his fingers tight. “Don’t… you shouldn’t…”

“But I want to,” you pleaded, tears welling again. “Let me? Please?” You squeezed gently, your thumb pressing into the sensitive underside just below the head, just how he likes it. His hips bucked up into your grip, his cock jerking in your hand, and a fresh spurt of pre-cum dissolved into the water. His hand on your wrist loosened, then tightened again, as if he were trying to decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. 

“This isn’t– you don’t understand what you’re doing to me,” he gritted out, his voice cracking.

The fight in him was visible, agonizing. Nanami was your caretaker. Your owner, in the cold eyes of the law. This was corruption. This was everything he swore he wouldn’t do. But you were in his lap, smelling of another man, asking to touch him, and his obsession was a stronger master than his morality. He felt like a degenerate, a pervert, a man who had groomed a vulnerable creature into loving him because he was too broken to love anyone who could see him clearly. And he couldn't stop.

“T-turn around,” he commanded, his voice guttural, shaking from restraint.

Confused, you released him, your shoulders slumping. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, weeping softly, scared. “I’m sorry…” You thought you had done something wrong. You thought he was pushing you away, that the disgust had finally won. Your tears soaked into his skin, and you trembled against him, waiting for the rejection.

“No,” he breathed. “No, my love. No more apologies.”

With a startling strength, he shifted you both. He planted his feet firmly at the end of the tub, bracing himself, and lifted you slightly, guiding you until your back was against his chest again, but higher this time. He leaned back, bringing you with him, until your lower body was raised, your bottom just above the waterline. One strong arm banded under your breasts, holding you secure. The other hand slid down your tummy.

He was breathing harshly against your ear. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, the words a tortured confession. “My pretty wife,” he cooed, but his hand cupped your mound, his palm grinding against your clit through your slick folds. You bucked against him, a broken moan escaping you. "So wet," he breathed, his fingers sliding through your arousal, spreading it around. "Did he make you this wet, or is this all for me? Tell me. Tell your husband who owns this pretty little cunt."

"You," you gasped, the word torn from you. "You, Nanami, my husband–"

"Good girl." His fingers parted your folds, and one thick digit pushed inside you with an easy glide. It was shorter than Gojo's, but thicker, and the stretch made you whimper. He curled it, finding that spot inside you with knowing accuracy, pressing, rubbing. "Just relax for me, okay?"

You turned your head, tears clinging to your lashes. His face was so close, his gaze burning with a desperate fire you’d never seen before.

Nanami crushed his lips against yours, taking everything the angle was suggesting, swallowing your whimpers as his fingers began to move in a slow rhythm that had none of the animalistic frenzy. A second finger joined the first, stretching you wider, and he scissored them inside you, opening you up. His thumb found your clit, pressing in tight, insistent circles, and you saw stars.

"You feel that?" he rasped between kisses, his breath hot. "That's me. Your husband. Not some feral beast who only knows how to rut. I know your body. I know that you like it when I press here–" He curled his fingers, rubbing against that spot, and you cried out. "–and I know that you like it when I do this." His thumb slowed on your clit, featherlight, and you sobbed, your hips bucking, trying to chase the pressure.

The orgasm built as a deep wave, pulled from you by his will and his words. Your back arched, your body clamping down around his invading fingers. He added a third, stretching you to the edge of discomfort, and the burn only made the pleasure sharper. His fingers pumped into you, curling and twisting, while his thumb worked your clit in relentless circles. 

"Come for me," he growled against your ear. "Come on my fingers, wife. Show me how good I make you feel."

The command shattered you. Your orgasm crashed over you, a white-hot wave that made your vision blur and your limbs seize. Your cunt clenched rhythmically around his fingers, milking them, and you felt a gush of fluid soak his hand, splashing into the bathwater. You screamed his name, your nails raking down his forearm, and he held you through it, his fingers still moving, drawing out every last tremor.

Nanami groaned, the sound vibrating through your very bones. But when you thrust your hips forward, pussy swallowing his fingers down to knuckles, he pulled his digits out, leaving you whining and pathetic, rubbing your ass against his cock. 

“Nanami–” you mewled, slick and ready and confused, thrashing against him, worrying the water.

“Heavens above, sweetheart,” he groaned into your hair, “let's get to the bedroom, okay?”

“P-please!” Was the only thing you could muster up. 

With a controlled breath, Nanamiclimbed out of the bath and lifted you from the water, setting you on the mat as if you were a fragile doll. He dried himself with brisk, efficient motions, then turned to you, the soft towel blotting the droplets from your skin with a reverence that bordered on devotional.

Then he led you to his bedroom. You stood in the center of the room, clutching the towel to your chest like a shield, your tears dried but your eyes wide and uncertain.

Your owner watched you, in nothing but his skin, having made no move to dress after the bath, and the sight of him made your breath catch in your throat again. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, the muscles of his shoulders and arms still corded with tension.

Between his powerful thighs, his cock hung heavy and half-hard, still glistening. The head was an angry, flushed red, the skin pulled taut, and the thick vein on the underside pulsed visibly with each beat of his heart.

“You…” he began, his voice rough, scraping against the silence. “Do you want to sleep here tonight, or…” He couldn’t even finish, the unspoken 'or go back to your room where Gojo almost fucked you' hanging between you.

You nodded your head violently before he could continue. The thought of returning to that space, still vibrating with the echo of Gojo’s growls and your own traitorous wetness, made your stomach clench. You feared Nanami’s disappointment more.

“Okay,” he said, “Then let me prepare you for bed.”

You nodded shyly, a flicker of confusion in your eyes. The human concept of special sleeping clothes, especially the frilly things Nanami sometimes made you wear, eluded you. He, himself, never wore any when he slept with you, and you found the fabric irritating against your skin, preferring the simple comfort of cotton undies and his shirts. But tonight, you wouldn’t dare to protest. You had caused enough trouble.

Nanami turned to the large wardrobe, his back to you, shoulders taut. The guilt was a lead weight, but beneath it, a darker current of anticipation thrilled through his veins. He opened the door, and there, hidden behind his orderly rows of suits and shirts, was his secret. 

He had been doing this for months now, stealing these moments, dressing you up in the finery he bought in secret. Nanami himself knew it was wrong because it made him no better than the beasts who marked with teeth and scent. But he couldn’t stop. He had long since stopped trying.

Now, he could feel your gaze on his back, and he let you look. Let you see the breadth of him, the way his spine curved into the thick swell of his ass, the way his thighs flexed as he shifted his weight. He wanted you to see, to compare,  to know that what he lacked in claws and fangs, he made up for in the simple fact of his devotion. He had been a salaryman once, a cog in a machine that ground souls to dust, and he had walked away from all of it for this. For a ramshackle farm and a cat-eared girl who didn't even understand what it meant when he looked at her the way he did. He had given up everything to build her a cage so beautiful she would never want to leave, and now, standing here with her scent still clinging to his skin, he wondered if the cage had always been for him.

Your owner turned back to you, his arms laden with a confection of depravity disguised as innocence: pale pink stockings attached to a delicate garter belt, a matching nightgown so short and translucent it was a mere whisper of fabric, a pair of crotchless panties in the same blush hue, and finally, a slender pink choker from which hung a tiny silver bell.

“Come here, Tabby,” he said, his voice a hypnotic murmur.

You approached, letting the towel fall. Nanami fastened the choker around your neck first, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin there, feeling your pulse flutter beneath his touch. The bell gave a soft ting as you moved. Then he slipped the nightgown over your head, the fabric floating down to barely cover the tops of your thighs.

As he adjusted the thin straps, he bent his head, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone, then another over the peak of your breast, his tongue flicking against the nipple through the flimsy material. His hands traveled to your waist to press you closer, and when he did, he sucked harder, pulling the tight bud into the heat of his mouth, nursing on it through the damp silk until the fabric turned transparent, clinging to the stiff peak. He laved it with his tongue, circling, flicking, then grazed it with his teeth, and you gasped, your hands flying to his hair. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same sweet attention, until both nipples were hard, clearly visible through the fabric.

You gasped, a tiny mewl escaping you, your hands coming up to grip his forearms. He made a soft, approving sound in his throat, the vibration humming against your skin, and let go of your bud with a soft pop.

Next, Nanami sank to his knees before you, the garter belt and stockings in one hand, the crotchless panties dangling from his fingers. He held the panties out, and you obediently stepped into them, one foot and then the other. He drew them up your legs with agonizing slowness, his knuckles brushing your thighs, the tips of his fingers grazing the soft swell of your pussy. When they settled high on your hips, he adjusted the lace, his fingers lingering, tracing the edges of the opening that framed your cunt so prettily. 

His hands came up to rest on your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, spreading you just slightly. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he swallowed audibly, staring openly at the glistening folds now presented so perfectly, his breath coming faster. 

"You're dripping already," he observed, his voice thick. "So eager for your husband."

Next came the stockings. He took your right foot, cradling it in his palm as if it were a treasure, and rolled the delicate fabric up your calf, his thumbs massaging your skin, pressing into the muscle. He lingered at the bend of your knee, pressing a kiss there, then continued upward, attaching the garter belt clips with precise movements, his fingers deft despite their trembling. Then repeated the process with the left, his journey upwards punctuated by soft kisses to your ankle, your knee, the tender skin of your inner thigh. His breath was hot against your flesh, his lips dragging, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, his nose inches from your exposed cunt. 

“Now,” he whispered, looking up at you from his knees, his eyes dark pools of need barely constrained by civility. “Bed. On your back.”

“O-okay, husband,” you whispered, the silly word feeling strange yet comforting on your tongue. You climbed onto the high bed, the cool sheets a shock against your heated skin, and settled on your back, your legs drawing together instinctively, your hands folded over your stomach. You watched him, your ears twitching, your tail curling against your thigh.

He followed, crawling onto the mattress with a predator’s grace. But where Gojo moved like the feline kin he is, fluid and arrogant, Nanami moved like a man who had spent months learning to be gentle with a creature so fragile as yourself. 

He came over you, his thighs straddling your hips, his hands planting on either side of your head. A fresh, copious bead of pre-cum welled up and dripped directly onto your belly, hot and viscous, pooling in your navel. Nanami groaned at the sight, his hips jerking forward instinctively, smearing the fluid across your skin. The sight of him above you made your mouth go dry, and you mewled into the silence of the room. 

He lowered himself slowly, his chest pressing to yours, skin to skin, the heat of him seeping into you. His face hovered inches from yours, and you could see the war in his eyes.

“I need…” he started, then stopped, swallowing hard. His voice cracked. “I need to touch you. To make sure you know. That you’re…”

“Yours,” you finished for him, the word coming easily now, almost naturally. “I’m yours, husband.”

His lips parted yours immediately, his tongue sliding in, tasting. He kissed you like a man drowning, like you were air and water and salvation all at once. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head, giving himself better access, and you moaned into his mouth, your fingers finding his shoulders, digging in. He kissed you until your lungs burned, until your head swam, until you were gasping and writhing beneath him. He sucked on your tongue like he was trying to pull the soul from your body, and when you whimpered, he swallowed that sound too, greedy for every part of you.

When you started to see flashes of black behind your eyes, Nanami pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged. His mouth found your jaw, then your throat, then the hollow where your neck met your shoulder. He kissed there, open-mouthed, his tongue tracing the line of your pulse, his teeth grazing the skin.

His hands moved too. One slid down your side, fingers tracing the curve of your ribs, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hip. The other tangled in your hair, cradling your head, tilting it back so he could reach more of you. Nanami found the spot where Gojo’s teeth had grazed you earlier, the faint bruise already blooming on your throat. His mouth latched onto it, sucking hard, his tongue working the tender skin until the blood rose to the surface, until he had replaced the leopard's fading mark with a fresh bruise of his own. He moved to your collarbone, found another spot where Gojo's lips had been, and did it again. 

And again 

And again. 

He was systematically erasing the other male's claim, overwriting it with his own, marking you as his territory with lips and teeth and tongue. His mouth traveled down your throat, over your shoulders, across the swell of your breasts, leaving a trail of hickeys that throbbed with every heartbeat.

“Nanami–”

He hummed against your skin, the vibration making you shudder. His hand slid lower, pushing the hem of the nightgown up, exposing your belly. He kissed there, his lips pressing to the soft skin just below your navel, his tongue licking a long stripe from your navel down to the lace of your panties. His lips lingered there, his hand splaying across your stomach, his thumb stroking the fat under your navel in slow circles.

When you mewled impatiently, beating your tail against the sheets, his mouth moved lower, his lips dragging over the waistband of the panties, his nose brushing against the lace. He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, his hands spreading your legs, pushing them apart. You were already soaking, the scent of your arousal filling the air, and when his mouth found the exposed flesh of your cunt, bare through the crotchless opening, you whimpered, your hips bucking up toward him.

Nanami mouthed at you like a man starved, sloppy and desperate. His tongue laved flat over your entire slit, gathering your slick, groaning at the taste. He sucked your folds into his mouth, one side then the other, letting them go with pops. His nose pressed against your clit, grinding, while his tongue stabbed shallowly at your entrance, lapping up the constant flow of your arousal like a man dying of thirst. He drank from you, his throat working, swallowing every drop you gave him, and the hungry sounds he made filled the room.

"You taste so sweet," he groaned against your pussy, the words slurred. "My wife."

He sucked your clit into his mouth, hard, and you screamed, your back arching off the bed. His tongue flicked against the sensitive bud, rapid, relentless, while two thick digits pushed inside you, curling, stretching. He fucked you with his fingers and his tongue, his movements growing more frantic, more desperate, as if he were trying to crawl inside you.

But Nanami didn’t let you thumble across the finish line, not yet. He pulled back, leaving you trembling, and rose over you again. His hands were shaking as he reached for the nightstand, pulling open the drawer. You heard the soft sound of fabric rustling, and then he was holding a small, pale pink object. It was shaped like a teardrop, with a thin cord trailing from it. It was a bit larger than the ones he'd used before, thicker, designed to stretch and fill.

“T-this one?” you whimpered, searching for confirmation in his face. 

Nanami nodded. He had used things like this before, during the darkest nights when you couldn’t sleep because of these awful nightmares. Always gentle, always slow, always with that same expression of tortured devotion on his face. He would push them inside you and watch you squirm, his big hand on your belly, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, his mouth whispering things you only half understood. He would bring you to the edge again and again, never letting you fall, until you were sobbing his name, begging and crying. And then he would give it to you, watching your face precisely.

“Do you trust me?” he asked now, the words barely a whisper, his eyes locked on yours.

“Always,” you breathed.

“Then relax for me, okay?” Kento whispered, and you nodded eagerly.

Nanami kissed you again, deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours with gusto. His hand moved between your legs, the pink thing finding your entrance, slick and ready. It was cool at first, smooth and slick with your own wetness, and then it was inside you, settling against that spot that made your vision blur. It was thicker than his fingers, the stretch making you gasp, your inner walls fluttering around the intrusion. He pushed it in slowly, letting you feel every ridge and curve, until it was seated deep, the cord trailing out of you. He turned it on, and the vibration hummed through you, deep and insistent, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed.

“Shh,” Kento murmured, his hand pressing down on your belly, feeling the vibration through your skin. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.” He kissed the corners of your mouth, your eyelids, the tips of your ears. He kissed your palms, your wrists, the inside of your elbows.

The vibration pulsed inside you, relentless, just not enough to push you over the edge yet. But Nanami knew you way too well to leave you like this. His hand slid between your legs, fingers finding the bullet’s cord, and he tugged it, just slightly, adjusting the angle, making it press harder against your front wall. Your hips jerked, a broken cry escaping you.

“Not yet, love,” he breathed against your skin. “I want to feel you come.”

You sobbed, your hands fisting in the sheets. The need was a burning thing, coiled tight in your belly, and your owner was watching you with those hungry eyes, his own control visibly fraying. His cock was pressing into your tummy, leaking steadily now, and a thin stream of pre-cum was coating your abdomen, his tip resting right under your navel. It smeared across your skin as he ground against you, making a mess of you without even being inside.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and you obeyed, eyes meeting his. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want your husband.”

“Please,” you gasped. “Please, Kento, I need– I need you–”

“What do you need?” He moved in a wide humping motion, and the broad tip of his cock kissed your clit so sweetly you whimpered. The touch was slick and sticky, his pre-cum smearing against your swollen bud, mixing with your own wetness until you couldn't tell where he ended and you began. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice cracking. "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you."

“C-cum!” you sobbed, the words coming out broken. “I need to cum–!”

“On your tummy, love,” and you never followed an order faster as you rolled, presenting your bare back and plush ass for him. His arm wrapped around your neck, pulling you up, locking you against his chest in a headlock that was almost too tight, your face pressed into the crook of his neck, his pulse hammering against your cheek. The position left you utterly vulnerable, your body arched, your ass pressed against his groin, your cunt exposed and dripping, ready for your owner to enjoy.

Nanami moved, and his slick tip pressed against your tight asshole. You froze, a gasp catching in your throat. He had never… but he was there, the thick head of him pressing against that tight ring of muscle, and the vibration of the bullet inside your cunt made everything more sensitive. He rutted against it, the broad tip grinding circles against your tightest place, coating it in slick pre-cum. 

“Shh, shh,” he panted against your hair, his whole body trembling. “I won’t– Just let me feel you.”

You nodded frantically, your voice gone, and Kento shifted his hips, his fat length finally sliding against your pussy, nestling between your swollen folds, sweetening itself up in your slick. The vibration from the bullet made you clench against him, and a guttural growl vibrated through his chest and into your bones. 

He started rutting immediately, his hips snapping forward in desperate jerks, his cock sliding through your folds, grinding against your clit with every pass. The head caught on your entrance with each stroke, bumping against it, threatening to slip inside, and each time it did, you both gasped, your body clenching down on nothing, aching to be filled.

”Easy,” he breathed against your hair, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding back. “Easy, wife.”

And then Nanami finally started to thrust in earnest, like he always did. Sure, it wasn't full penetration, but it was as heated as one. He plowed against your cunt like an animal in heat, his hips snapping forward, his heavy balls slapping against your pussy with each impact. The sound was wet, rhythmic, punctuated by his ragged groans and your breathless whimpers. His cock slid through your slick folds, grinding against your inner lips and clit with every pass.

"Hell," he groaned, the word dragged out of him like a confession. "Y-you're so wet, so perfect, my perfect wife–" His thrusts grew sloppier, more erratic, his hips losing their rhythm as he chased his pleasure against your body. He was losing himself, this careful, controlled man dissolving into something raw and desperate, fucking your thighs like some animal in heat. 

"I love you," he panted, the words spilling out unbidden, each one punctuated by another thrust. "I love you, I love you, I've always loved you, from the moment I saw you in that alley, bleeding and broken and still fighting. I knew you were mine. I knew I'd do anything to keep you."

His hand snaked down between your legs, fingers finding your clit, pressing hard, rubbing in tight circles. His fingers were clumsy with desperation, slipping and sliding in the mess of your combined fluids, but he didn't stop, didn't slow, just rubbed and pressed and ground against that aching bundle of nerves until you saw stars. The feeling shook you to the core and left you sobbing, your nails raking down his arm, and he was whispering things against your hair, nonsense words, prayers, promises.

“That’s it, that’s my girl, my wife, my beautiful wife, take it, take it, let go for me–”

His fingers on your clit were relentless, matching the rhythm of his hips, and the bullet inside you pulsed and hummed, and you could feel it building, a pressure so intense it bordered on pain. Your body arched, tail thrashing against his abdomen, your ass pressing back against his pelvis as Nanami pounded into the space between your thighs, his cock sliding against your soaked cunt, the head catching, threatening your hole sweetly.

“Come for me, love,” he growled, his voice wrecked. “Come on my cock, show me how good your husband makes you feel, yeah?”

Upon his command, your orgasm tore through you like a tidal wave, your body shaking, your mouth opening in a silent scream. Your cunt clenched around the buzzing thing, milking the toy as if it were his cock, desperate for something to grip, something to fill you. And you felt a gush of liquid that soaked the sheets, that sprayed against his hand, his stomach, his fat cock, pushing the bullet out of you with a wet squelch. It landed on the mattress, still buzzing, slick and shiny with your juices, and you were still coming, your body wracked with aftershocks, your cunt clenching around nothing, weeping for him to bust his creamy load inside.

Nanami’s hips jerked erratically, losing all rhythm, just grinding his cock against your spasming cunt as his release hit him. The first thick rope of cum painted your swollen folds, hot and viscous, coating your clit, your lips, dripping down to pool at your entrance. He groaned, and another pulse of seed followed, then another, each one accompanied by a grinding thrust of his hips. He came and came, his body shuddering, his taut balls working overtime until your cunt was drenched, glazed with his seed like the sweetest pie on earth.

Your pussy fluttered in response, each motion milking another pulse of cum from him, and Kento whimpered with his forehead pressed to the back of your head, his whole body trembling with the force of his release.

You were aware, dimly, of the way your back was arched, the way your face was tilted toward the ceiling, the way your lips were parted, your eyes half-lidded, your expression one of unthinking bliss.

Nanami saw it too, his clouded eyes fixed on your face, drinking in every pretty detail. His big, rough palm slid to your chin, arching you more, and then he was kissing you, deep and sloppy, his tongue sliding against yours, his breath mingling with yours, his hands cradling your face. His wet fingers, still slick with your combined fluids, rubbed against your cheek, smearing the mess across your flushed skin, marking you with the scent and taste of what you'd done together. He painted your lips with it, and when you opened your lips wider, he fed two of his drenched digits to you, his fingers pushing the taste of your own release and his seed into your mouth alongside his tongue. You moaned, swallowing, and he groaned in response, the kiss turning filthy.

When your owner finally pulled back, you were both panting, slick with sweat, tangled together on the ruined sheets. The space between your thighs was a cooling mess, his cum and your slick drying on your skin, making you feel claimed in the best way. The buzzing thing had fallen somewhere, forgotten. The bell on your choker gave a soft chime as you moved, and he pressed his forehead to yours.

“My wife,” he whispered, and there was no guilt in it now, no shame. 

You smiled up at him, your eyes heavy-lidded, your body still humming with aftershocks. “My husband,” you whispered back, still.

Nanami kissed you again, softer this time, and then lifted his weight from your body, lying on his back, his softening cock resting heavily on his massive thigh. He rolled you to the side, pressing your body to his with one burly arm.

”I need to tell you something,” he said, and his voice was quiet now, stripped of everything but honesty. “About why I took you in.” You shifted in his arms, trying to look at him, but he held you still, his face buried in your hair. 

“I was walking home from work. It was late, and I was tired. I was so tired of being human, of living in a world that didn’t make sense, of doing a job that was killing me one day at a time. And then I saw you.”

You felt his lips move against your hair, felt the tremor that ran through his chest. “I told myself I was just helping. That any decent person would have done the same. But that was a lie. I saw you, and I wanted you, and I took you.” His hand on your belly tightened. “I took you home because… I wanted you and needed a reason to quit this damned job. A reason to run away. But I kept you because I couldn’t bear to let you go. I kept you because I wanted to be your husband before I even understood that myself.”

You were quiet for a long moment, processing his words. Then you turned in his arms, pressing your face into his chest. “So you… You don’t want to be my owner?”

”No.” The word came out rough, scraped raw. “I never wanted to be your owner. I want to be your…” He struggled, searching for the word, the one that meant something other than keeper. “I want to be your mate, I guess. I want to be the one you choose. Not because you have to, but because you want to.”

You looked up at him, and your eyes were wide and uncertain. “But I’m just… I’m a trash-cat. I don’t even know how to kiss properly.”

Nanami made a sad laugh and cupped your face in his hands. “You survived a world that wanted to crush you. And you still purr when I hold you.” His thumbs brushed away tears you didn’t know you were crying. “I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. I’m the one who’s been pretending to be your caretaker when all I really wanted was to get you to love me back. I’m the one who bought you pretty things and called you my wife and told myself it was innocent when I knew it wasn’t.”

”But I like the pretty things,” you said, and the words were so earnest, so honest, that he smiled. “ And I like being your wife. I like calling you my husband.”

Nanami pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair again. “Then be my wife,” he breathed. “When your heat comes, come to me, okay? Not Gojo, or the others. Come to me, and I’ll be the one. I’ll give you everything I have, and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of you.”

You were quiet for a long moment, your face pressed to his chest, your breath warm against his skin. His heart was pounding, waiting, hoping.

”I don’t know if I deserve that,” you said finally, your voice small. “I don’t know if I deserve you.”

He held you tighter. “You deserve everything,” he said, and the words were absolute. “And I’m going to spend every day of the rest of my life trying to give it to you because I love you. I meant that.”

You didn’t say it back – the words Nanami wanted to hear so desperately, but he hadn’t expected you to. You were still learning what love meant, still learning what it meant to be wanted for more than your body, your heat, your willingness to submit. But you were here, in his arms, and that was all that mattered right now.

Kento gathered you against his chest, arranging your limbs, tucking you into the curve of his body. His hand found your belly, splayed across it, his thumb stroking lazy circles, fingers tracing through the tacky mess of drying cum that smeared your lower stomach. He pressed there, just once, a silent wish you didn't quite understand.

"Sleep," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. "I've got you."

You nuzzled into him, your purr starting low in your chest, and let the exhaustion take you.

Nanami lay awake in the dark, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his. Your hand was curled on his chest, right over his heart, and every time you breathed, your fingers flexed slightly, as if you were holding onto him even in sleep. The bell on your choker was silent now, but Nanami could feel it rubbing against his skin, and that cool weight was a damned reminder that you were here, that you were his, that for tonight at least, he had won.

Still, the victory tasted like ash in his mouth. Because he knew that when your heat came, you would have a choice to make. Gojo was waiting in the woods, patient and hungry, and the other hybrids wouldn’t be far behind. They could give you things Kento couldn’t: instinct, understanding, a body that moved the way yours did. They could give you litters of healthy kits, could run with you in the moonlight, could speak to the wild thing that still lived in your chest.

All Nanami could give you was this. A warm bed. A steady hand. A love so fierce it was eating him alive.

He had told you that the choice was yours. But as he lay there in the dark, feeling the soft weight of your body against his, he wondered if he would have the strength to let you make it. If, when the moment came, he would be able to look into your eyes and tell you that it was your decision and that he would love you no matter what you decided.

Nanami pressed a kiss to your hair, his lips lingering. You sighed in your sleep, pressing closer, and he held you tighter, as if trying to shelter you from everything cruel in this world.

And as his precious wife slept peacefully against him, he wondered, with a pain so acute it was physical, if damnation had ever felt so much like heaven.

.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

I miss our gentleman badly... Higuruma tho... 👀 Should I add him? Maybe an avian hybrid? Or another human...

Of Fallow Grounds and Feral Hearts series:

Intro/Series masterpost (Nanami x Hybrid!reader)

Headcannons (Yandere!Hybrid!JJK x Hybrid!reader)

The Snow Beast and The Stray Farmer (SnowLeopardHybrid!Gojo x Hybrid!Reader)

The Feast of Flesh (TigerHybrid!Sukuna x Hybrid!reader)

Cat-astrophe (SnowLeopardHybrid!Gojo x Hybrid!reader)

The snow beast and The Stray Farmer 2.0 (Gojo x reader)

The caretaker's wife (Nanami x Hybrid!reader)

...

Then the nights begin to blur. His arm around your waist once, when you woke shaking too hard to settle. His hand on the back of your neck when you couldn’t come down from a panic spike. A murmur into your hair that you are safe, that he is right here. It’s all so carefully paced that by the time he says, one evening, that the guest bed is too narrow for two and you should both just move into the master bedroom, where there is space enough to sleep properly, you no longer hear the enormity of what he is asking.

The said master bedroom would be the true center of the cottage. Bigger bed. Heavier furniture. Clothes draped over the chair, books stacked at the bedside, the scent of him embedded in the curtains, the sheets, the wood itself. 

Sleeping there would feel, at first, almost indecent, like stepping across the final line between guest and something else. But Mydei would make even that transition feel practical. He would change the sheets while you stand in the doorway, feeling stupidly shy. He would set one of your books on the nightstand. He would clear half a drawer without comment. The room would rearrange itself around your presence.

The last step would happen at the exact point where fear, exhaustion, gratitude, physical acclimation, and buried desire have all been kneaded together until neither of you can pretend they are separate anymore. 

You don't remember the nightmare when you wake from it. Your heart is a fist pounding against the cage of your ribs, and for one long moment, you don’t know where you are.

The silence that greets you is heavy. It is warm in a way that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the body beside you, the furnace heat of an alpha who sleeps with his arm thrown over your waist as though you are something he might lose in the dark of the night.

The nightmare slides off your skin like oil, leaving only the residue: ash in your throat, a hand reaching from a corridor that stretched too long, the click of a lock you couldn’t find, the smile stretching too wide in the dark of your dorm room while his fingers worked your belt loose.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, twisted so tight they've left red lines on your thighs. Silk and cotton, expensive, smelling of sandalwood and the faint copper of old sweat and something muskier. You try to grip the fabric, but your hands shake so badly that it slips through your fingers. Your breath comes in short gasps that don't seem to fill your lungs. There is sweat cooling on your back and chest, between your thighs.

Beside you, the mattress shifts.

Mydei is already turned toward you. He is watching you with that unblinking steadiness that used to make your stomach clench. In the low light, his eyes look almost black, like two bottomless pools that reflect your own terrified face at you. The sclera is faintly bloodshot, you notice. 

There is no confusion in his eyes, no groggy blink, no hesitation. These burning coals have been watching you claw your way back from a nightmare Kremnoan will never ask about, because he already knows. That exact nightmare is the reason you are here, in this cottage, in this bed, instead of in Phainon's flat with that cloying scent seeping into your bones.

His nostrils flare once, twice, drinking in the air between you. His lips part slightly, tongue wetting the lower one as though he is tasting something. His pupils somehow dilate further when he assesses your smell. You know this now because you have learned the ways of alphas by now, living with one for… how long exactly? 

"Come here," he says.

You crawl across the inches between you like an animal seeking warmth, with your knees pressing into the mattress, the borrowed shirt riding up your thighs. The fabric is thin from washing, soft from being worn to bed night after night, and it does nothing to hide the fact that you are wearing nothing beneath it. His eyes drop to the exposed skin, just for a moment, and you see his throat work as Mydei swallows, forcing himself not to look lower, not to let his gaze linger where the shirt gapes open at your chest.

Your movements are clumsy, desperate. You are still half-caught in the nightmare, and every shadow in the room looks like that broad-shouldered shape, that too-wide smile, that cloying scent of smoke that clings to your memories like tar. You whimper, and your hands reach out blindly. When Mydei drags you against the broad wall of his chest, the sob that leaves you is ugly and wet and utterly beyond your control.

"That's it," Mydei murmurs into your hair. His voice is low, rumbling through his chest and into yours, vibrating in your bones. His hand spreads across your back, heavy and warm, fingers splaying wide to cover as much of you as possible. He presses you closer, closer, closer, until there is no air between your body and his, until you can feel every ridge of muscle, every beat of his heart, every place where his skin is hot enough to burn. "I've got you. Nothing's getting through that door."

You believe him because the cottage walls have held and the locks have held and Phainon's smoke-scent has not touched you since the first morning you woke to the sound of Mydei cracking eggs in the kitchen, the tattoos on his arms flexing as he whisked something in a bowl, his voice soft when he said, “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Do you sleep well?

You never do, but you lie, and Mydei pretends to believe you, and the eggs are always perfect, and there is always a fresh glass of pomegranate juice waiting for you on the table.

With a soft sigh, you press your face into the curve of his neck and shake apart in his arms. Kremnoan holds you through all of it, patient as stone, warm as a hearth. Your tears slide down his skin, leaving glistening trails that catch the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.

His thumb traces slow circles between your shoulder blades, pressing into the knots of tension there. His thumb digs in, finding the spots that make you gasp, working them until the tension begins, slowly, to unravel. His other hand slides from your back to your ribs, counting each one through the thin fabric, then back, thumb brushing the side of your breast through the shirt.

Accidentally, you tell yourself. Because he wouldn't. Because he's been nothing but good to you. Because he's your protector, and protectors don't–

His thumb brushes again. The edge of his nail catches on the fabric where your nipple has hardened beneath the thin cotton, and you feel the ghost of contact like a spark.

"You're alright," he says. "You're safe. Just breathe."

You really try, but the tears keep coming, hot and stupid, and every time you close your eyes, you see the way the light bent around Phainon's shoulders. So you keep them open and stare at the dark shape of Mydei's throat, at the pulse ticking there, and try to do a small breathing exercise. 

When you breathe in, his scent is everywhere in this bedroom. Iron and sandalwood and something that makes your mouth water even as your stomach clenches with fear. It is nothing like Phainon's smoke and ash. This is the smell of a fire that warms instead of burns, of leather that has molded to someone's shape, of a body that has slept beside you for weeks without asking for anything in return.

Without asking.

The lie sits heavy in your chest. Mydei asks every day and night, with his hands and his eyes and the way he positions himself so that you feel the heat of him against your back, the press of his hips against your ass, the thick line of his shaft through his boxers. He asks when he says, “You look cold,” and pulls you into his lap on the couch. He asks when you two make dinner, and he stands behind you at the counter, his chest against your back, his chin on your shoulder, his hands covering yours as he shows you how to chop vegetables. He asks without words, and you answer without speaking, and the two of you have been having this conversation for weeks without ever acknowledging it.

And now, because your body is a traitor, you lift your face to look at his. You don’t think I am going to kiss him. You only know that you are drowning and his mouth is the only warm thing in reach, that he’s been good to you, that he’s fed you and sheltered you and never once made you feel like a burden, even when you woke him with your screams, even when you cried into his chest for hours, even when you flinched at every sound.

Even if you know, somewhere beneath the terror, that he isn’t doing this for free.

But when you press your lips to his, it feels logical. The next step on a path that was laid out for you the moment you agreed to stay. His lips are warm, slightly chapped, and you taste salt on them. The kiss is clumsy, too soft, your mouth trembling against his because you’re still half-caught in the nightmare that sent you crawling into his arms.

And Mydei…

For one moment, Mydei is frozen, holding himself in check. The next, he is everywhere, his mouth hot and hungry and consuming, his tongue pressing against the seam of your lips until you let him inside. He opens your mouth wider with the press of his tongue, sliding deeper, exploring you with a thoroughness that leaves no corner untouched. He tastes the inside of your cheeks, the roof of your mouth, the back of your teeth. He licks along your tongue, swirling around it, sucking gently until you moan into his mouth. And when he groans in response, you whimper against his lips.

He kisses you with that edge of dominance that seeps into everything he does, the quiet certainty that he is in control, that he is supposed to be in control, that your surrender is an expectation. His hand tangles in your hair, fingers twisting in the strands, pulling just enough to expose the line of your throat. The pain sends a shiver down your spine. It’s not entirely unpleasant, not entirely welcome either, but your body responds before your mind can catch up. Your head tips back, offering more of you to him, and the growl that rumbles up from his chest is so low you feel it more than hear it.

His other hand slides from your back to your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, pulling you closer until you are straddling his thigh. The position leaves you vulnerable, the thin shirt riding up to your waist, and your clothed cunt pressing against his thigh. You can feel the heat of him through the cotton, the thick muscle of his thigh flexing beneath you, and when he rocks his hips just slightly, you feel the hard line of his cock pressing against your inner thigh. 

Mydei has been hard this whole time, you realize. While you cried in his arms, while you shook and sobbed and pressed your face into his neck, he has been lying here waiting, his body primed and ready, his arousal soaking through the front of his boxers.

While you try to soothe your screaming mind, he pulls back just far enough to look at you and shifts his hand to cup your face. 

"Tell me to stop," he says. His thumb traces your lower lip, pressing just slightly, feeling the wetness there, "right now."

His voice cracks on the last word. His hand trembles against your face. Every line of his body screams want, screams need, screams take, but he’s holding himself back, teetering on the edge of something he is barely containing.

"Don't," you whisper.

You mean don't stop. You mean don't leave me. You mean don't make me face this alone. You mean all of it and none of it, and the word comes out broken, desperate, the plea of someone who has run out of options. You’re just so tired of being afraid. Of jumping at every shadow, of flinching at every sound, of sleeping with one eye open and waking with your heart in your throat. You are tired of being alone in a room full of people, of knowing that Phainon is out there somewhere, waiting, and that the only thing standing between you and that smoke-scent is the alpha under you.

His answer is another moist kiss to your jaw, then your throat, then the hollow where your pulse jumps frantically beneath your skin. His hips roll against yours, and you feel him again, hard and thick against your hip.

Suddenly, Mydei is above you, braced on his forearms, the broad cage of his body blocking out the rest of the room. His thighs bracket yours, thick and heavy. His shoulders block out the moonlight. His chest is a wall of heat and flesh. His hair falls forward, brushing your forehead, and you can see every detail of his face in the low light: the sharp line of his jaw, the eyes gone fully feral, the way his lips are already red and swollen from kissing you. Sweat gleams on his temples, on his chest, in the hollow of his throat. 

One of his knees spreads your thighs apart, pushing them up and open until you are spread beneath him like an offering. The position leaves you vulnerable, the thin shirt riding up to your ribs and the damp spot on your panties visible in the dim light. Your body has betrayed you, responding to his scent, his heat, his presence, even as your mind screams that this is wrong, that you are only here because you have nowhere else to go.

"Can I?" his voice is barely a whisper now, rough and strained. His forehead presses against yours, his breath hot on your lips. His hips are still, but you can feel him trembling, every muscle in his body locked, holding himself back, giving you one last chance to flee.

You nod because the word is stuck somewhere behind the terror and the need and the shameful heat pooling between your thighs.

But it is not enough for him. Mydei waits, patient and gloating, his eyes never leaving yours. He needs you to say the word, to give him permission, so that later, he can tell himself that you wanted this. So, teary-eyed and scared, you whisper:

"Yes."

His smile is a flicker, there and gone. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing the hem of the shirt higher, baring more of you to the cool air and the heat of his gaze. He stops when the fabric bunches just below your breasts, leaving your nipples covered but your stomach and hips exposed. His thumbs trace the lines of your hip bones, pressing into the soft flesh there, and his eyes roam over your body like he’s memorizing every curve, every dip, every place where your skin flushes with heat.

And then, his mouth descends on you. It’s hot and wet, leaving a glistening trail of spit everywhere it touches. Your sternum. Your belly. His tongue dips into your navel, lapping at the fine sheen of sweat, and you feel another groan of his vibrate against your skin. 

"You're shaking," he observes.

"Cold," you murmur.

His teeth scrape gently over the jut of your pelvis, and your hips jerk involuntarily. A wet gasp escapes your throat, and Mydei murmurs against your skin, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. Kremnonan looks up at you, asking without words, and when you lift your hips instinctively, something in his expression shifts. The patience frays at the edges, tears like an old cloth. 

"You have no idea," he says quietly, "what you do to me, little beta."

The fabric peels away from your skin, sticky with the slick that has been soaking through. He pulls them down your legs slowly, watching your face the whole time. The cotton drags over your thighs, your knees, your calves, and when he finally tosses them aside, you exhale shakily. Your labia glisten in the low light, wet and wanting, the soft hair at your mound matted with slick. When he sees and finally smells it, a smug smile graces his features before he lowers his head.

The first touch of his tongue makes your whole body jolt. His mouth is hot, and the flat of his tongue drags through your folds in one long stroke that leaves you gasping. Mydei moans against you, the vibration shooting through your clit, and your hands fly to his hair before you can stop yourself. The blond strands are soft between your fingers, softer than you expected, and when you tug, Mydei groans against your cunt, the sound muffled and filthy and desperate. 

"Mydei–"

"Shh." His voice is muffled, wrecked, his lips brushing your lower lips as he speaks. His breath is hot and damp, and you feel every syllable against your slick flesh. "You've been so brave, little one. Let me take care of you now."

Take care of you. 

You cannot afford to see the pattern, to recognize that you have simply chosen another cage. Mydei's cage is larger. Mydei's cage has soft silk sheets, home-cooked meals, and hands that hold you when you cry. Mydei's cage is so-so-so different because you've stepped in willingly, too afraid of the outside world and monsters who circle behind the gilded bars.

Still, it is a cage.

He laps at your clit in deliberate circles, with his tongue dragging over the swollen bud again and again until you are whimpering and writhing beneath him, until your hips are rocking against his face of their own accord. He dips lower, tracing your entrance with the tip of his tongue, dipping inside just barely before pulling back. He sucks gently at your inner lips, drawing them into his mouth, rolling them against his tongue. He moans like you're the best fucking thing he has ever tasted, and the sound of it makes your thighs tremble on either side of his head.

Every time he pulls back, a string of spit and your own arousal stretches from his lips to your cunt, and he licks it away slowly, watching your face as he does it. His Roman nose presses against your clit when he buries his face deeper, eager to kiss every part of you, and the pressure makes your back arch off the bed. 

Seizing the moment, one of his arms hooks under your leg, putting it on his broad shoulder, holding you open for him. His hand splays across your lower belly, pressing down just slightly, and the pressure makes you feel full even though nothing is inside you yet. His other hand finds yours, fingers threading together, pressing your joined palms into the sheets beside your hip. 

"You taste like heaven," he groans against your cunt before diving in again. His tongue circles your clit, slower this time, pushing up the hood to love on the sensitive bundle of nerves directly. You shiver and feel his smile against your flesh, and he does it again, harder, until you are gasping. "Could eat you for hours."

Your voice has dissolved into moans, each one punched out of you by the relentless movement of his tongue. Your chest heaves with every breath, the thin shirt clinging to your sweat-slick skin, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you register that you are making sounds you have never made before, sounds that belong to some “poor omega gets their needy hole filled” type of porn and not this bedroom. But Mydei seems to relish those sounds, face getting redder and eyes getting more hazy with every passing second.

"That's it," he murmurs against your clit, "that's it, sweetheart. Give it to me."

With that, Mydei slides two fingers inside you.

The stretch makes you cry out because his fingers alone are thick, long, and they curl inside you, pressing against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter, your slick gushing out around his knuckles with every thrust of his hand. It’s so wet now, so messy, dripping down onto the sheets, soaking his chin and neck, running down his wrist and onto the mattress. 

His digits pump in and out of you, pressing against that spongy spot inside you until you are sobbing. His tongue works your clit in fast licks, alternating with gentle sucks that make your hips buck off the bed. He adds a third finger, stretching you further, and the burn makes you whimper, but your body clenches around him, welcomes him, because you are so wet that there is no resistance, only the sweet ache of being filled.

And when he scrapes your clit with one of his canines, your orgasm tears through you like a storm, leaving you shaking and sobbing and utterly undone. Your thighs clamp around his head. Your hands pull his hair so hard you are afraid you have hurt him, but he just groans and pushes his face deeper, his nose pressing against your clit, his tongue fucking into your hole to catch every last drop. Your walls clamp down around his fingers, fluttering, milking, and the snarl he lets out is animal. 

When Mydei pulls away, his face is red and ruined. Your slick drips from his lips, from his jaw, down onto his chest. His nose is shiny. A string of spit and your own arousal stretches from his lower lip to your cunt, and his tongue drags across his lower lip, still savoring you on his tongue.

"Beautiful," he says. His voice is wrecked, raw, scraped clean by want. "You are so fucking beautiful when you fall apart."

With a kiss to your thigh, Mydei crawls up your body, letting you feel every inch of him as he goes. The heavy press of his chest against your breasts. The rough drag of his happy trail against your oversensitive clit, making you whimper and try to squirm away. The hard ridge of his cock pressing against your pelvis through his boxers, hot and thick and insistent.

"Okay?" he asks.

You nod, breathless.

"Words, little one."

"Yes," you gasp. "Yes, okay."

Mydei reaches for the nightstand drawer. The condom wrapper tears open with a sound that seems uncomfortably loud in the quiet room. You watch him roll it on, watch his jaw clench as he touches himself, watch the way his hand trembles slightly despite his careful composure. His hips buck into his own grip, and it makes him groan, and you see the way his eyes roll back for just a moment before he forces himself still.

And you see his cock for the first time in full light.

The head alone looks too large to fit inside you, and the shaft – thick and veined, curving slightly upward, bobbing – seems impossible. And there, along the underside, small barbells glint in the low light, evenly spaced, the metal catching the moonlight. At the base, his knot pulses, already half-inflated, the skin stretched taut over the swelling tissue. It is the size of a small plum, and you can see it growing even as you watch, the tissue engorging with blood.

He won't knot you, you tell yourself. He knows. He won't hurt you.

But the way his eyes trace down your body, lingering on the wet shine between your thighs, makes you doubt.

"Big," you whisper. Your voice is small, childlike, and afraid.

Mydei pauses. His eyes find yours, and for a moment, the hunger recedes. Something softer takes its place.

"We don't have to," he says.

The words are right. The tone is right. But his hands are still shaking, and his cock is still leaking, and his knot is still swelling, and you know, that if you said no, the bond between you would break. Something you can’t afford because that would leave you alone, unprotected, with no one to keep that smoke-scent away from your door.

"I want to."

The words feel like sandpaper on your tongue, but you mean it. Or, rather, you tell yourself you do. You mean it because the nightmare is still fresh in your bones, and the only thing keeping that smoke scent from your door is him. The alpha above you, the one who has been so patient, so gentle, so careful.

You can’t afford to refuse Mydei.

​​You can’t afford to disappoint him.

You can’t afford to lose your only protector.

So you mean it. You make yourself mean it. You open your legs wider, offering, and you watch his pupils dilate further, swallowing the last traces of gold.

"Just– go slow. Please. I've never..."

Mydei’s breath stutters. He leans down and cups your face in both palms, thumbs brushing the tears still wet on your cheeks, and kisses you so gently it makes your chest ache. His lips are soft now, almost tender, and he kisses you like you are something precious, something he has been waiting for. When he pulls back, his eyes are wet too, whether from tears or from the sheer effort of holding himself back, you can't tell.

"Thank you," he murmurs, "thank you for giving me the honor. I'll be so gentle. You're going to feel so good. Trust me."

Trust me.

The words that every predator speaks, just before the jaws close.

Mydei pushes your shirt up with one hand, watching your face the whole time. The fabric bunches around your collarbones, finally exposing your breasts to the cool air. Your nipples are hard, pebbled, sensitive, and when he sucks one into the heat of his mouth, you gasp.

His tongue flicks across the peak, circles it, presses down, and his huge hand helps him to massage the soft fat of your mound. He sucks gently at first, then harder when you arch into him. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh, not biting, just testing, and the shock of pleasure-pain shoots straight to your cunt. You feel yourself clench around nothing, feel more slick leak from your entrance, and you see his nostrils flare, see his eyes studying your face.

Mydei moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention. His mouth is insistent, sucking, licking, biting just hard enough to leave the faint imprint of teeth. You are whimpering now, completely out of control, and every whimper makes Kremnoan groan against your skin.

Impatient, he pulls himself up, and his palm travels from your cheek to your nape, tangling in your hair and pressing your face to the junction of his neck and shoulder. 

Then he lines himself up.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

With that, he pushes in.

The stretch is everything. Too much and not enough, burning and perfect, and you feel every bit of him as he sinks inside you. The thick ridge of his shaft is dragging against your walls. The barbells rolling over your sensitive walls, each one a small shock of sensation that makes your toes curl.

Your body clenches around him, trying to adjust, trying to take what he is giving you. The pain is there at first, but it fades quickly, replaced by a fullness that borders on overwhelming. You feel stuffed, filled, like there is no space left inside you for anything but his girth.

"F-fuck," Mydei breathes, burying his face in the pillow beside your head. His voice is barely human now, thick and feral against the shell of your ear. "Fuck, sweetheart. You are so tight."

His hips finally press flush against yours, the coarse hair at his base grinding against your clit, and you can feel him in your belly. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave crescents. A thin line of blood wells up where your nails break skin, and Kremnoan groans when he smells it, the copper tang mixing with your natural scent.

"Breathe," he reminds you and shifts so his forehead presses against yours, his breath hot on your lips, molten eyes watching your precious features. "Just breathe, little one. I've got you."

He starts to move. Slow at first, rocking into you with a gentleness that seems almost impossible given the size of him, the heat of him, the way his hands shake where they grip your cheeks. He pulls almost all the way out, then pushes back in, eyes zeroed in on your face the whole time.

One hand travels down your body, and his thumb finds your clit, circling in time with his thrusts, pressing down just hard enough to send sparks up your spine. Mydei adjusts his angle, tilting his hips, searching–

Your back arches off the bed with another thrust.

There.

A cry tears out of you, and Mydei smiles in triumph, his hips snapping forward just a little harder, just a little faster. He circles his arm around your waist, pressing you closer, changing the angle so that every stroke hits that sweet little spot inside you.

"Found it," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction.

But his gentleness is fraying. You see it in the way his eyes roll back, the way his rhythm stutters and snaps, the way his hips start to move faster than before. Each thrust punches a small sound out of your chest, and he swallows each one with his mouth, kissing you, sloppy and desperate. His tongue thrusts into your mouth in time with his cock, and you are being filled everywhere, from every angle, and it is too much and not enough, and you can’t breathe.

Your cunt is so raw now, so slick, making obscene squelching sounds every time he pushes in. The piercings drag against your walls in a way that sends sparks shooting through your whole body, the metal catching on sensitive walls, rolling over your G-spot with each stroke. You can hear the wet noise of his cock moving inside you, the slap-slap-slap of his hips against your thighs, his ragged breathing, your own sobs.

"Mate," he growls, suckling under your jaw, sniffing your skin like an animal, "mine."

His hand presses harder on your clit, rubbing in tight, fast circles. The dual sensation of his cock inside you, his fingers on your clit, his mouth on your neck sends you hurtling toward the edge again.

"Come for me," he commands. "Come on my cock, mate."

The orgasm rips through you like a wildfire, leaving you shaking and sobbing. Your walls clamp down around him, fluttering, milking, and your vision blacks out for a second. You feel your own slick gushing out around his cock, soaking his thighs, dripping onto the sheets. 

And, unfortunately, that’s what makes Mydei lose his composure.

One moment, he is holding himself above you, braced on his forearms, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Next, his arms wrap around you completely, crushing you against his chest, pinning your arms to your sides. His whole weight presses down on you. His chest flattens your breasts. His hips slam into yours with a force that drives the breath from your lungs. Mydei buries his face in your neck, his mouth latching onto the spot where a scent gland would be if you were anything other than a fragile beta.

You can’t move like this, can’t escape, can’t do anything but open your strained legs, trying to accommodate the beast atop of you and take-take-take his fat cock into your weeping pussy.

And it hurts. 

His mouth is violent on you, teeth scraping, tongue pressing, sucking so hard you feel it in your spine. Mydei is trying to claim you, trying to mark you even though there is nothing there to mark. His jaw works against your skin, and you feel the wet heat of his saliva spreading across your throat, and still he doesn’t stop.

His hips are pistoning without any rhythm now, just need. Just the blind, animal drive to get deeper, to get more, to bury himself so far inside you that you could never be separated. His thighs slap against yours. His balls hit your perineum with every stroke, wet and sticky with your mixed fluids. His cock slams into your cervix with every thrust, and the pain is sharp and bright and somehow still not enough to push you over the edge into darkness. His knot bumps against your entrance with every thrust, and you can feel the way it catches on your rim.

But Mydei doesn't let it.

It costs him. You can see it in the way his eyes screw shut, in the way his whole body convulses with the effort, in the way he bites down on his own lip until blood wells up and drips down his chin. His hands are shaking around you, his fingertips digging into your ribs hard enough to leave bruises. He pulls back just enough, every time, wrenching his hips away before the swell can lock you. The motion is almost painful to watch – his whole body screaming for the two of you to be tied together in the most primal way.

Mydei is barely holding himself together.

"P-please," he gasps against your throat. The word is broken, desperate, torn from somewhere deep. "Please, dear– I need– I need–"

His arms tighten painfully around you, crushing, desperate, possessive. His face presses harder into your neck, his mouth still sucking at that spot, his teeth scraping the skin raw. His hips slam into you once, twice, three times, each thrust harder than the last, and you feel his cock jerk inside you.

When he cums, Mydei is foaming at the mouth. You’ve never seen rabid animals before, but with white and thick foam at the edges of his lips dripping down his chin, he looks like one. His eyes are rolled back, showing only white, and his whole body is trembling with the force of his release.

"Sweetheart– love– mate–"

You see him turn his head just enough to sink his teeth into the fabric of the pillow, sparing you, leaving your neck untouched. His hips keep moving, grinding his knot against your entrance even though he won't push it inside.

And you are trapped beneath him, pinned by his weight, your arms still pressed to your sides, your legs wrapped around his waist because you don’t have the strength to push him off. 

Not that you would. 

Not that you can.

So you lie there and take it.

Tears slide down your cheeks and onto the pillow, mixing with his. You are both crying. You are both shaking. You are both so far beyond words that there is nothing left but the sloppy sounds of his cock moving inside you, the ragged gasps of his breath, the broken whimpers that escape your throat.

After what feels like hours, his body goes limp against yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and for a moment, you think he has passed out. 

But no, absolutely not. Mydei is just listening to all the blood pumping in his ears, your breath, and the sloshing sound of his cum inside you. The whole cacophony of sounds slowly morphs into the wedding march in his head.

His eyes drift to the torn square lying on his side of the bed and the small holes puncturing it.

Mydei knows that it’s fucked up, but he’d be damned if he let you go right now. After all, leaving a pregnant mate is one of the most hideous moral crimes in Castrum Kremnos.

He pushes up on his elbows and his hand spreads across your still-flat stomach, warm and possessive. His thumb traces slow circles over your belly button.

"Will you," he whispers breathlessly, "marry me?"

.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Taglist is closed for this one. (sorry~)

I’m finally back to this series! Tbh, I had to reread a few chapters myself so I wouldn’t miss any details, because I had neglected this fic for so long.

Um… yeah, Sorry for that...

Well, I hope I can make up for it a little with this chapter. Btw, I haven’t forgotten about Phai’s kinks. I’m working on them hehe c;

Panic, cold and sharp as a shard of glass, lanced through your gut. You tried to twist away, but he pressed his entire body against you, pinning you forward until your palms and forehead met the unforgiving cold of the cinderblock wall. He was a cage of solid muscle and intent. One hand splayed across your stomach, holding you fast, while the other continued its invasive exploration. “Satoru, stop. Not here–”

“But you promised to teach me,” he whined, rubbing his hips against yours. “A good teacher doesn’t go back on a promise!” His fingers, persistent and utterly sure of their right to be there, found their target, circling your entrance with maddening slowness, pressing just enough to feel the clench of your muscles in reflexive protest. 

You were dry, tense, every muscle clenched in mute rejection. It should have been a signal, a neon sign flashing “not now, not like this.” Gojo didn't seem to notice, or care, too lost in his own worship of the moment.

"You're so perfect," he marveled, voice going breathy. "How do you exist like this? It's not fair."

A soul-deep exhaustion washed over you, heavier than any curse you'd ever faced. You let your forehead thunk against the wall, the impact a minor punctuation to your despair. The cinderblock was cold, gritty, real, and grounding in a way that his heat wasn't.

Just get through it. Negotiate. Survive. 

“I said I’d teach,” you corrected, your voice flat. “Tonight, okay? In your room. Not here and not now.”

Satoru pouted, his lower lip jutting out in a caricature of disappointment, undoubtedly looking like a petulant child denied a toy. “Just a little now?” he coaxed, his voice dipping into a whine. “A preview? Show me? Please?” The ‘please’ was a weapon, meticulously loaded with faux innocence and just enough pathetic need to make resistance feel cruel. “Need you like real bad..”

You were so fucking tired. Head spinning and limbs cotton-like. Your cursed technique used up too much energy, leaving you in that familiar state of exhaustion.

It was easier to give a little, to offer a sacrificial limb, than to fight a battle you knew, in your bones, you would lose. Because how one rebels against the strongest man alive while he has his fingers in your panties while humping at your ass like a horny dog? Besides, that nasty nosebleed made you drowsy and sleepy, so fighting off with some blunt humor and sarcasm wasn't an option.

“Fine,” you exhaled, the word tasting like ash. “A little. Just let me turn around–”

In a second, you were spun, and your back met the hard concrete with a thud that knocked the breath from your lungs. Before you could recover, Satoru leaned forward and kissed you, melting against you with a happy hum, his long lashes fluttering against his cheeks, his body soft and pliant.

“Show me,” he breathed against your lips, the eagerness in his voice almost boyish. Then, in a move that was both absurd and terrifying, he dropped to his knees before you, looking up with the wide-eyed gaze of a devotee at a blasphemous altar. 

"I wanna treat you right," he whispered, and the words were so earnest they almost got through the veil of dissociation. "I wanna be good for you. The best student you've ever had..."

With a sigh that seemed to come from the very marrow of your bones, you guided his hand, and his eager fingers followed the trail of yours over the bare skin. He was shaking, you realized. The strongest sorcerer in the world, a man who could level buildings with a thought, was trembling at the prospect of touching you, which, you must admit, was a tiiiny bit addictive.

“Let me,” Gojo muttered, more to himself than to you, two fingers hooked at the gusset of your panties. You nodded, and he tugged them down impatiently, letting them fall. You stepped out of the tangle of fabric, and Satoru instantly pushed your skirt up around your waist, the cool closet air a shock against your completely bared skin. The sudden exposure made your thighs clench, but his hands were there immediately, prying them apart with a grip that was gentler than it had any right to be, given the circumstances.

Looking down at him wasn’t a smart decision because you could see those subtle micro-gestures – the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips, the way his pupils had blown so wide that the blue was just a thin ring around bottomless black, the way his whole body leaned toward you like a plant toward sunlight. His fingers traced the small bundle of nerves with scientific precision, and when you gasped despite yourself.

"Wow," he whispered, and the word was full of childlike wonder, as if he'd just discovered that the sky was blue or that fire was hot. "It's so much prettier than in hentai…”

You scowled down at the crown of his white hair, even though he couldn't see your face, busy with ogling between your legs. "Hentai is anatomically ridiculous. What garbage have you been consuming?"

Gojo flushed suddenly, the pink hue rising beautifully on his cheekbones as he looked up at you. “Well… there was this one series… with a shrine maiden and… uh… a lot of tentacles–” you frowned, “–b-but the plot was really engaging! The character development! The thematic exploration of corruption versus purity! And the animation quality! The sound design–”

"I genuinely do not want to know," you cut him off, the familiar rhythm of your sarcasm a lifeline in the rising tide of sensation. You tried to steer his attention back to the task, your hand finding his wrist again, but he was already there, already leaning in, massaging your clit, drawn by some invisible force. “Just… gentle circles, okay?”

Gojo fumbled, his touch initially too rough, then too tentative. But he was a fast learner, his inhuman perception attuned to every minuscule shift in your body, every suppressed flinch and involuntary twitch. Slowly, a traitorous slickness gathered, a purely biological response to persistent, focused friction. It still felt bitter for some reason, as if your body was betraying you.  The wetness was a fact, like rain or a fever, something that happened whether you willed it or not. You could no more stop it than you could stop your heart from beating.

You guided his now-slick fingers lower, your own touch impersonal and clinical, as if you were demonstrating a technique in class rather than teaching the strongest sorcerer alive how to finger you in a supply closet. "And here… you need preparation. Stretching." Your voice was steady, thank fuck. "You can't just… push it in. No matter how many tentacle hentai you've watched. Real bodies don't work like that."

“But– last time–” He looked genuinely, adorably baffled. “You were wet! You wanted me! You slid on my cock like a–”

"Wet isn't always ready," you said through gritted teeth, the lecture mode the only shield you had against the way his finger was now circling your entrance. "Especially not for your size."  You saw Satoru smirk at that comment, his ego inflating visibly even from this angle. Of course, that was what he heard. Not the caution, just the validation of his own self-image. "You need to… help things along. Stretch the muscle and get it used to the intrusion."

He took your guidance as absolute permission, sliding one long finger inside you in one eager push, his breath catching in a sharp gasp as your walls clenched around the intrusion. The stretch was a burn, a pressure, a reminder that you hadn't done this since–

Well… 

Since that night.

"Fuck," Gojo moaned, the sound punched from somewhere deep in his chest, his forehead dropping to rest against your thigh, his lips finding bare skin, suckling a small mark into it. "So tight. No wonder I was nuttin’ in like, three seconds.” The shock of white hair against your skin was obscene, intimate in a way that made your stomach flip. “I can feel you pulsing around my finger. That's so hot. How are you even real?"

With that, Satoru began to move the digit inside in a clumsy and searching pump. His other hand gripped your hip bone, his own arousal a painfully obvious ridge straining against the fly of his uniform pants. He was shaking, lost in the sensation, and he tried dirty talk that was so awkwardly earnest it looped back from cringe to almost charming. 

“You feel… so good. Taking my finger so well… my perfect girl… made just for me…”

You didn't have the time to tell him he was a moron, that your body's response was autonomic and had nothing to do with wanting him specifically, not when he added a second finger, the stretch a deeper burn that stole the breath from your lungs. Gojo scissored them experimentally, spreading you open, and the sensation was– fuck. It was something. Something that made your toes curl in your shoes.

His face drifted closer and closer to your core, drawn by an inexorable gravity, until, mesmerized by the sight and smell of you – the glistening folds, the way your body gripped his fingers, the evidence of your arousal smeared on his knuckles – Satoru darted his tongue out, licking a broad stripe on your clit.

An unbidden gasp escaped you, your hand flying up to cover your mouth too late. His eyes shot up, locking onto yours, and seeing that flicker of reaction was all the encouragement he needed. Gojo dove in with the unpolished fervor of a starved man who’d just found a banquet. He licked, he sucked, he nipped at your puffy clit, the occasional scrape of teeth making you jolt, but he was learning, adapting in real-time, and he’d found a spot inside with the curl of his fingers that made the muscles in your pussy jump. 

“F-fuck, m-my legs–” You felt Satoru smile against your pussy, nose buried in the neat patch of hair on your mound. The fine tremor ran through your quadriceps, and your weight started to sag against the wall, muscles giving up slowly but surely. 

With a grunt of effort, he pulled his fingers free, gripped the backs of your thighs right under your ass with hands that could probably shatter mountains, and lifted you clean off the ground, settling your weight on his shoulders as if you were nothing, pressing your legs around his own head like he wanted you to suffocate him. 

With one wet breath against your clit, his mouth and fingers returning to their devotions with renewed focus. Gojo nipped at your swollen clit, the occasional scrape of teeth making you jolt, a spike of pain-pleasure that he logged and seemed to try to replicate. But he was learning, adapting in real-time. He found a spot inside with the curl of his fingers, a specific angle of pressure that made the muscles deep in your core jump in a traitorous pulse. His broad shoulders were under your thighs, leaving your ass and hips sagging down onto his fingers, practically spearing you down to his knuckles.

The world narrowed, dissolved, until it was only the hot, wet, overwhelming sensation of his tongue and the relentless, coiling thrust of his digits inside your soaked pussy. Your mind tried to float away, to detach and observe from a safe distance, but your body refused to let go. Every nerve was alight, every muscle wound tight, and the pleasure building was as inescapable as gravity. Your fingers tangled in the snow-white silk of his hair, not pushing away, but holding on for dear life as the pleasure built against your will.

“G-gojo, wah– wait–” You whined, but that only made him smile against your cunt, his lips stretching in a smug curve. He knew he was winning, knew the war was over, and the territory was his, and he was going to take his victory lap right here, on his knees, with your legs around his ears. And when he drew your clit back into his mouth and suckled hard, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud–

“S-shit, cummin’!”

Your heels dug into the blades of his shoulders, your fingers pulling his hair taut as you tumbled over the edge. Satoru groaned into you, a sound of profound satisfaction, and drank you down like a man dying of thirst found an oasis. 

Slowly, with a care that was more unsettling than the act itself, he lowered your trembling legs back to the gritty floor. Your knees almost gave out, and you leaned on the wall just to catch a breather.

Gojo leaned back on his heels, breathing hot against your mound, with the thin string of saliva and slick connecting his lower lip and your clit. He licked his lips, breaking it, but it didn’t help to… well, clean his face. A glistening smear of your wetness shone on his chin, the tip of his nose, and his obscenely swollen lips. 

“How was that, sensei?” he asked, blinking up at you with pure puppy-like pride. “An A? An A-plus? Did I graduate?” He wore a dazzling smile that could have powered Tokyo for a week.

“Not… terrible,” you admitted breathlessly, “For a beginner. You’re… a quick learner.”

“Only for you,” he smirked, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. “Now. The main curriculum.” His fingers went to his belt buckle, the metallic click sounding like a trigger cocking. His eyes never left yours, drinking in your panic as if it were fine wine.

“We agreed,” you protested, the words tasting like sawdust, “later. In your room…”

“I changed my mind,” he grinned, a grand pronouncement from the king of his own fucked-up universe. His body caged you in, a wall of heat and muscle and terrifying intent. “I can’t wait, I need you now… My thoughts are so loud, and they’re all just your name on a loop, and if I don’t get inside you, I think my cursed energy might just–” he nuzzled into your neck, “–boom~.” 

“But you don’t have a condom,” you tried, the memory of the last time flashing behind your eyes like a warning.

“Stay”

“–you’re so warm!”

“T-take every drop!”

“Aw, don’t worry your pretty little head, sweetheart,” Gojo cooed, his voice syrup-thick with a condescension that made your temples ache. One hand released you to fish in his pocket. He tore the packet open with his teeth in a move so cliché it would have made you roll your eyes if you weren't trembling with… what exactly? You couldn’t tell. And didn’t have any time to, because Gojo sheathed himself with clumsy fingers. The slick sound was vulgarly loud in the confined space, like a fanfare for the shitshow to come.

“I visited that lil’ combini one more time! Had to support local business, you know? And get the right… equipment for my advanced studies.” He winked. The casual cruelty of it, the reminder of that poor cashier’s blanched face, sent a wave of nausea so strong you had to swallow bile. 

“いちごちゃん〜 – Strawberry-chan,” he breathed, his voice wrecked, his eyes fixated on where his cock jumped in his fist, another thick pulse of pre-cum oozing from the tip. “Can’t help it. The last time was–” He stroked himself slowly, and a shudder wracked his entire body. “–fuck. Can’t hold back anymore. Like I’m ovulatin’ or somethin’.”

“Gojo, men don’t– Fuck!” Satoru didn’t even wait for you to finish. He hooked his hands under your thighs again, his grip tight and sure, and lifted you. Your body, traitorously, wrapped your legs around his waist for stability. Immediately, the head of his cock pushed against you, smearing lubricant against your slick folds. He rocked his hips slightly, grinding that fat tip against your clit, and a bolt of unwanted pleasure shot up your spine. Gojo felt it, and his eyes fluttered shut, a moan spilling from his lips. “God, yes. Do that again. Please. Please do that again.”

His hips moved in desperate circles, rubbing himself against you, using your body to chase pleasure like an addict needing a hit. The friction was maddening – not quite enough, not quite right, just the blunt pressure of him sliding against your sensitive flesh, catching on your clit with every pass. His forehead dropped to yours, his breath coming in hot, ragged pants. Blue eyes drilled into yours, trying to find something in you, glinting uncannily.

“Gonna love you now,” he whispered, his own breath hitching. “Gonna f–”

BANG. 

BANG. 

BANG.

The door shuddered under three concussive knocks that vibrated through the wall and straight into your spine.

You jerked, and Gojo froze. The feverish anticipation on his face melted into a comic mask of world-ending frustration. His jaw was clenched so hard you could see the muscle jumping in his cheek, and his eyes were wild with thwarted need.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed the words into your lips. You thrashed one more time, gripping at his shoulders, telling him to get the fuck off you with everything but words.

“What is going on in there?” Yaga’s voice boomed from the other side, layered with that signature I-know-you’re-up-to-some-shit tone. “Open this door!”

“J-just a second, sensei!” Gojo called back, his voice miraculously breezy, the picture of innocent inconvenience, belied by the desperate jerk of his hips that pressed the tip of him inside you. 

He was fucking pushing in!

The breath caught in your throat as he swayed his hips, ignoring your tugging at his shoulders and the baroque paintings' level of torment on your face: gritted teeth, bitten lips, red-rimmed eyes, and all that jazz. 

Gojo groaned, and the low sound vibrated against your throat where his face was buried. “Oh god, oh fuck–” 

The stretch was immediate, a burning reminder of his generous size. Your body resisted, then gave with a slickness easing his way in.

“H-helping with the equipment!” he continued, the lie flowing smooth as butter, his hips making shallow thrusts that worked him deeper by agonizing increments. “It's stuck! Reeeal tight in here!” 

The head of his cock sank deeper, and his eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open like in a bad porn.

“Fuck, ah baby–”

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

“You have ten seconds!” Yaga roared, and the door groaned under what sounded like a shoulder check.

You were slick from his mouth, stretched by his fingers, but not for this, not for his size, not with the door rattling and your teacher on the other side. 

“D-don't you dare,” you whispered, the horror dawning cold and clear. The whisper was meant to be fierce, commanding, but it came out thin and reedy, more plea than demand. 

“Shhh, shhh, just a little,” Gojo sighed into your ear, his voice dreamy, drunk, utterly lost in sensation. He lowered you onto him, forcing your body to open, to stretch, to accept every thick inch of him until he was seated to the hilt, his pelvis flush against yours, the coarse fabric of his pants abrading your inner thighs. “See? He'll go away. Just be quiet.”

The angle, the wall at your back, his height… Gojo was pressing at something, some place inside you that made your pussy quiver around him. His cock filled you, stretching you around his girth, and you could feel every throb of his blood through the shaft. 

Gojo pulled back just enough to look down, to watch where your bodies joined, where his plevis met yours, and his breath stuttered. 

“F-Fuck, that's so hot.” He thrust, just once, a shallow pump that dragged his length along your inner walls, and a gush of liquid escaped around him, trickling down to soak his balls. “I've been saving for days. All for you. Every drop.”

BANG!

“NOW, GOJO!”

You pushed against the solid wall of his chest, tried to scramble off him, but his arms grasped your thighs greedily, refusing to let go. His fingers were digging into the soft flesh, and you knew there would be bruises there, too. 

“Satoru, stop! He'll break it down!” You groaned, pushing with all your might.

“Fuck it, let him,” Gojo growled and began to move. There was nothing gentle about it, nothing careful, and nothing restrained. His hips snapped forward in frantic, shallow, desperate thrusts, the rhythm jagged and needy, like a starving animal finally at a bowl. Slap, slap, slap of skin and latex, and the wet squelch of your body struggling to accommodate him filled the closet, horrifically loud. “What's he gonna do, h-huh? Suspend us? We're both adults, baby– this is just– ah shit– advanced extracurriculars–” 

He tore his gaze from where you were joined, and the infinite blues found your face, drinking in every emotion. You forced yourself to stare back at him, because it felt like you were standing in front of a rabid animal which will devour you as soon as you closed your eyes. 

Gojo’s face was a study in debauchery – flushed crimson, lips swollen and wet, eyes half-lidded and rolled back so only crescents of blue showed beneath his lashes. Sweat beaded on his forehead and trickled down his temples. His mouth hung open, pants and moans and broken syllables spilling out. 

“Ah-a– fuck– yes– right there– my baby–”

The slap of his hips grew faster, harder, echoing off the walls. Satoru was chasing it now, chasing his peak with single-minded focus, using your body like a toy designed for his pleasure. One of your school shoes slipped off your foot and stayed on only because you arched your toes and stretched them out. And through it all, his cursed energy sparked against your skin, mingling with your own in a way that made your nerve endings sing. You could feel him, not just inside you, but all around you, pressing against your consciousness like a phantom.

“Satoru, stuhh– mmph!” He stole the breath from you with a kiss, his tongue plunging into your mouth in a vile mimicry of what his hips were doing below. His tongue tangled with yours, sucked on your lower lip, licked into the corners until you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel. You could taste yourself on him, and the flavor mixed with something sugary.

His favourite strawberry milk.

When Satoru finally broke the kiss, gasping, a string of saliva connected your lips. He stared at it, mesmerized, then dove back in for another bruising press of mouths before pulling back again. The head of his cock dragged against your insides with a pressure so intense that it was almost too much. Your nails dipped into his shoulders, and he moaned, loud and wanton, arching into the pain. 

Into you.

“Yes– mark me– leave marks– you're mine–”

BANG!

“LAST WARNING!”

The door groaned ominously. A primal terror overrode the humiliation of Gojo’s cock inside you. Being seen like this, by your teacher, of all people, was an order of magnitude worse than anything you'd imagined. You found a burst of last-ditch strength, shoving at his chest with all your might. “Get off! He knows!”

For a long second, Gojo's grip only tightened, his thrusts growing faster, harder, as if he were racing against something inevitable. He aimed deeper with every pump, seeking that spot inside you that made your toes curl, and when he found it, your whole body seized, a broken sound escaping your throat. Your toes flexed, and the poor school shoe fell onto the floor with a muffled thump.

“Oh fuck– are you– are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum with me inside you while our teacher breaks down the door? That's the hottest thing I've ever– ugh– do it. Do it. Come on my cock. Lemme feel you–”

The door handle twisted under Yaga’s pressure, and the whole frame rattled.

“Satoru, please,” you begged, the words tasting like defeat. You hid your face in his shoulder, but he kept pounding your poor cunt, seemingly unresponsive. The rhythm was punishing now, each stroke hitting that spot, each thrust winding you tighter, and you were so close, so fucking close, and you hated that too, hated that your body was going to give him this victory. And so, just like a gambler with an extremely bad hand, you played the only card you had left.

“Satoru, tonight! I promise, I'll do anything you want! You can't– you can't let him see–”

Gojo stilled with an agonized groan, buried deep inside you, his whole body trembling with the violent effort of holding back. Sweat dripped from his hair onto your face. His chest heaved against yours, his heart pounding so hard you could feel it through your ribs. His eyes, when they found yours, were wrecked – blown pupils, frantic blue rims, tears of frustrated need gathering at the corners.

“See?” he rasped, the word thick with want, with desperation, with the dregs of his self-control.

“I don't want him to see me like this,” you breathed, the promise a lead weight in your soul. You leaned closer, your lips brushing his ear, “Please, Toru.”

A flicker of something dark and possessive crossed his face. His expression clouded with intense displeasure, the bliss momentarily overwritten by a territorial scowl. You could see him weighing the options. But eventually, with a sound of dramatic suffering, Gojo kneaded your thighs, surely leaving some nasty bruises. He kissed the shell of your ear.

“I’ll hold you to that promise, sensei.”

Then he pulled out.

Thank fuck.

The emptiness was immediate and hollow. Gojo lowered you to the floor with shaking hands, and your legs nearly gave out. The pins-and-needles rush of blood returning to your extremities was almost painful, and you had to grip his arm for balance, which made him smile.

You fumbled with your clothes, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. Pulling up your panties and thigh-highs was a Herculean task with fingers that felt like rubber. Your hands were shaking, you noticed. The tremors ran from your fingertips to your elbows, and you couldn’t make them stop. Still, you smoothed your skirt with frantic pats, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand again and again, as if you could erase the taste and feel of him. The urge to scrub your skin raw was almost overwhelming.

By the time Gojo, with a theatrical sigh and a truly heroic effort to compose his fucked-out expression into one of mild annoyance, unlatched the door, you were standing a few steps away, staring with morbid fixation at a shelf of deflated soccer balls, your posture the picture of someone trying to vanish into the scenery.

Yaga filled the doorway, blocking the weak hallway light. His sharp gaze swept the scene: Gojo’s disheveled hair, the unnatural gleam on his lips, the way his uniform was just a touch too rumpled. Then it landed on your averted face, the tense line of your shoulders, the charged air of the closet that not even an industrial cleaner soap could mask. Suspicion hardened his features into something like granite.

“What,” he began, his voice dangerously low, “is going on in here?” His eyes pinned Gojo. “Satoru?”

Before Gojo could spin one of his facile lies, you spoke. Your voice, to your own surprise, came out steady. Hollow as a dried gourd, but steady. 

“I needed help with putting the basketball on the top shelf.” You gestured weakly behind you without looking. “I’m just too short to reach it, so I called Gojo. But the latch on this door got stuck after he went in, all by itself…” You recited the lines like a bad actor in a school play, praying the flat delivery would sell the banality of the lie. “Sorry, sensei…”

Gojo instantly swooped in like a predator seizing the narrative. He draped a proprietary arm around your stiff shoulders, pulling you into his side. 

“Yup! You always say we should look out for the weaker ones, right, sensei?” He flexed his free arm comically, the bicep bulging. “All this glorious strength has to be good for something besides smashing curses into next week, right?”

Yaga’s eyes didn’t leave your frame. They tracked the minute flinch you couldn’t suppress when Gojo touched you, the way you didn’t lean into the embrace but rather held yourself rigid within it. The emotion that settled in his eyes wasn’t the explosive kind of disappointment he usually reserved for Gojo’s antics. In fact, it didn’t seem like a disappointment. His gaze, when it settled fully on you, was laden with a pity that felt more violating than any of Gojo’s touches.

“Get to your next class, both of you,” he said finally, the words devoid of previous threat. He stepped aside, clearing the doorway.

As Gojo began to steer you past him, eager to escape, Yaga spoke again. The words were quiet, meant only for your ears.

“And,” he said, “please, be more… responsible.”

.

.

.

Huh? Me? 

You stared straight ahead, letting Gojo guide you out into the indifferent light of the hallway. His arm stayed around you. When he leaned down, his lips brushing your temple. 

“See? Told you it’ll be fine.” His hand slid down from your shoulders to your waist, and then, a bit awkwardly, to squeeze your ass.

You physically cringed, ducking away towards the bank of vending machines in an alcove, needing a moment, just the smallest fucking moment alone. You stabbed the jasmine tea button with a trembling finger. The ‘Out of Stock’ light blinked back at you, a final mocking jest from the universe. You stared at it with a nasty bile building up in your throat. 

Before you could select another, a long arm shot past you. Gojo punched in the code with practiced ease, and the small cartoon clunked down the chute. He retrieved it, his fingers brushing yours as he pressed the pack of strawberry milk into your hand, his smile radiant as ever.

“Here, it’s my favorite,” he said, his voice softening to something almost genuine. “Just like you, いちごちゃん – My strawberry”

You took the pack. The condensation beading on it felt like a shackle cooling on your skin. You walked the final steps to the classroom door, the sugary drink weighing in your hand. 

Bastard.

Ninety minutes of kanji felt like an endurance test, and not the heroic kind. The slow, fluorescent-lit kind where the clock refuses to move, and your body vibrates in anticipation. The old Japanese lady in the front was busy writing the word 雰囲気 (the atmosphere​) on the chalkboard, and you, mind somewhere else, whispered が悪い (is bad), making her turn back with a polite smile and “すみません？ – Sorry?”

Every time you shifted in your chair, the dull ache in your core flared. Your spine protested. Your thighs felt too aware of themselves. You sat very still, hands folded, posture perfect, because moving meant remembering, and remembering meant spiraling, and spiraling meant you might actually snap a pencil in half and scream something unhelpful like this is why women kill.

The bell rang with all the ceremony of a firing squad. Relief arrived with a small delay, momentary and thus, useless.

You waited for the inevitable aftermath. The tall shape in the doorway, shoulder against the frame, sunglasses pushed up: “All the better to see you with!” 

But the hallway was empty. No white hair. No lazy sprawl. No gravity well pulling you in. Still, by reflex, your chest tightened, sharp and fast. 

Was this worse? 

Maybe he had a sudden mission, all blood and curses, and needed distance? You checked your phone, but there were no messages, which was a bit alarming. 

You stood there for a full ten seconds, heart trying to beat its way out through your ribcage. The hallway was empty. There was no one besides the old lady in the class. You were finally alone. You were free. And with that small freedom came a choice. What to do next? 

You couldn’t go back to the dorms. It would be easier for him to find you there and then…

“I’ll hold you to that promise, sensei.”

No. Nuh-uh. Abso-fuking-lutely not. 

Gojo, for some damned reason, decided to give an inch, and now you would’ve been stupid not to aim for a mile. 

So you did the bravest thing you’d done all day: you walked in the opposite direction.

Outside the school gates, the world looked offensively beautiful. The sun was low, bleeding gold and orange across the pavement. Long shadows stretched ahead of you, cinematic in the way that made you want to narrate your own downfall in a gravelly voice. 

Here we see the protagonist making excellent life choices.

You headed toward the commercial district with no plan and too many thoughts. The pleated skirt brushed your thighs, every step carried the phantom echo of vulnerability, of being seen too much, known too closely. 

You told yourself, very practically, that you could buy new clothes. New underwear, the one that wasn’t still soaked. A whole new wardrobe, if you were angsty. A whole new life, if you could just get to the right terminal at Haneda airport and stop looking over your shoulder like a hunted animal.

When you passed that damned seven-eleven, your brain flipped into checklist mode, because that was what it did when you were on the verge of breaking.

Passport. Bank accounts. Flight tickets – one-way, obviously. How much cash could you withdraw without triggering alarms? How well could you hide paperwork from a man who could literally see everything?

Not long. 

The answer was not long.

You passed a chain cafe and slowed without meaning to. Warm light spilled through the glass, soft and honeyed. Inside, people laughed. Steam curled up from mugs. Someone was stirring sugar into coffee.

You’d been here before, you noted, staring at the pastel sign above the door. With Gojo, Megumi, and Tsumiki. Tasty taiyaki, sticky fingers, Megumi pretending not to enjoy his ice cream while very obviously devouring it.

"C-could I try some of yours?" he'd said shyly, mumbling with an adorable blush on his face.

You smiled then, genuinely, the unconscious movement of your lips surprising even yourself. Sitting next to you, Gojo slid the plate of his cheesecake toward Tsumiki, whose eyes lit up immediately. She’d just finished her plate and was too shy to ask for more, so Satoru gave up on his precious dessert to make her day a bit better.

"Yup," you gave Megumi a clean spoon to dig into your cup of ice cream, "here you go!" He nodded gratefully and shoved a spoonful into his mouth.

Kids being kids...

You’d trained them in the whole “living alone” thing. How to do laundry without turning everything gray or bleak. How to tell when Satoru was joking and when he was being serious. How to make simple dishes without poisoning themselves. Small, but necessary things.

They would be fine, you told yourself, gripping the strap of your bag like an anchor. They had to be. You couldn’t choose them over your own soul anymore. That was the line you’d crossed too many times already. And if you thought about Megumi’s face when you left, about Tsumiki’s quiet “see you soon,” you would not leave at all. So you did not think about it. 

​​You are allowed to have a life of your own, aren't you? 

The evening air cooled, seeping through your sleeves. You just stood in front of the cafe and watched the reflections move in the glass. You saw yourself there – hollowed, tired, wrapped in a convincing costume of normalcy that was starting to split at the seams. The kind of normal that holds together until someone touches it.

You looked like someone who had made too many compromises.

A hand settled on your shoulder.

Your body reacted before your mind could catch up. An electric jolt tore up your spine, stealing the air from your lungs in a humiliating gasp. For half a second, the world narrowed to a dark closet, rough wall at your back, nowhere to go. You braced for the familiar crushing weight of inevitability.

But the scent was wrong.

You saw him first in the reflection. Tall, slender. Dark hair pulled back into a neat bun. A smile that cut sideways instead of down, clever and knowing. Eyes narrowed like a fox’s, sharp with an intelligence that made your skin prickle.

“Hello! Long time no see.”

Your blood ran so cold it felt like it might crack like ice.

Of all the people. Of all the timelines.

You spun around, heels clicking too loud, putting distance between you and the man who wasn’t Gojo at all. Your heart slammed against your ribs like it wanted out. Your cursed technique flared instinctively, picking up emotional residue the way a bruise picks up color – curiosity, amusement, something darker underneath, carefully leashed.

Oh, you thought hysterically, of course.

“You look… very tired,” Suguru Geto said, voice smooth and familiar. 

He looked better than the last time you’d seen him. Healthier. The bags under his eyes were gone, replaced by a serene cheerfulness that set every alarm in your head screaming.

He stood with his hands tucked into his wide sleeves, perfectly at ease.

“Hello…”

Satoru’s ex-best friend? Traitor? Mass-murderer? 

“...Suguru,” you said, amazed at how steady your voice sounded. “You look… very cult-y. The robe is a vibe. Not a good one, but a vibe.”

Inside you, something frayed.

Because this – this was the punchline the universe had been winding up for. 

You’d been running from one gravitational pull only to slam face-first into another.

What a joke, you thought. Fucking fantastic.

Your face, thankfully, remained a masterpiece of bored detachment. You were pretty sure your soul had left your body and was currently applying for asylum in a neutral country.

Geto tilted his head, studying you with open interest. “You always had a mouth,” he murmured. “I kinda missed that.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Wow. That’s definitely not creepy at all. Is this the part where you slaughter me, or are you just doing alumni check-ins now?”

He laughed, and the sound startled you. Geto seemed genuinely delighted, like your sarcasm was a familiar song.

“I just wanted to talk,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “You look like you’re about to bolt.”

“Perceptive,” you shot back. “Do you practice that, or is it a natural talent?”

You were already scanning exits, calculating angles, cataloguing emotional residues in the space around you. Fear – yours, sharp and bright. Curiosity – from him, warm and steady. But also, there was something else, like a lake with something very big moving far below the surface.

 But no immediate hostility.

Okay, you told yourself. Not dying. Yet (?).

Geto’s smile widened, clearly entertained. “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you.”

You blinked. “Do you hear yourself? That’s what every villain says right before they absolutely do.”

“Fair,” he conceded, putting his hands in front of him in a defensive manner. “But still. Coffee? My treat. Consider it an apology for… past.”

Your instincts screamed no. Your curiosity – traitor that it was – leaned forward.

“And if I say no?”

Geto shrugged. “Then you say no. I’ll still think you’re funny and say it to you one more time, then leave.” He said it like your “no” mattered. Like he was demonstrating the concept for you.

That… threw you. Just a little.

You exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into your bones. Running could wait another five minutes. You could afford that. Probably.

“Fine,” you said. “But if this ends with us praying in some abandoned creepy Shinto shrine, I’m leaving.”

“I would expect nothing less,” he said, and held the door open for you. His hand hovered near the small of your back as you passed, guiding without touching.

The air in the little cafe was thick with the smell of roasted beans and sweets. You sat across from Geto, your fingers tracing the cool, damp condensation on your glass of water as if it were a lifeline. You kept your shoulders squared, your knees angled to the aisle, your body prepared to flee even while you sat.

Okay. Scenario: You, a marginally functional exchange student with the offensive capabilities of a soggy tissue, are having a casual café date with a certified Special Grade sorcerer who famously went off the deep end and murdered a village. You felt a vein on your temple jump as your cursed energy wrapped around you, as if it was trying to protect you from him.

Cool. 

Cool, cool, cool. 

This is fine.

Nothing to see here. Just two pals chilling together. Yeah.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Geto remarked, not looking up from the menu. An amused smile played on his lips. “Your face is doing that… twitchy thing. Like a rabbit that just heard a shotgun cock.”

“It’s the fluorescent lighting,” you deadpanned, your voice impressively flat despite the three-alarm fire in your amygdala. “Gives me migraines. Also, there is an imminent sense of existential peril. Really works the facial muscles.”

Geto chuckled, a low, genuine sound that was infuriatingly pleasant. 

“I just wanted to talk. Catch up. See how things are at the school.” He finally looked up, and his dark eyes held a disturbing sincerity. 

Lie. Partial truth. Lie. 

The holy trinity of manipulation. Bravo, cult leader. A+ performance. 

“Peachy,” you said. “We’ve got a new brand of instant noodles in the vending machine. Truly groundbreaking times.”

The waiter, a young man with the look of a part-time biology major, approached. Geto ordered a strawberry milkshake and a chocolate fondant with ice cream. You, feeling a profound need for bitter stimulants, asked for black coffee and cheesecake.

When the drinks arrived, the waiter set the vibrant pink milkshake before you and the stark black coffee before Geto. For a fraction of a second, the air in your corner of the cafe warped. Geto’s hand moved, a blur of polite efficiency, switching the glasses before the waiter could even process his mistake.

“My apologies,” Geto said, his voice a silken sheet over steel. “You’ve confused us.”

The waiter stammered, face pale, and scurried away. Geto watched him go, his expression mild, and muttered under his breath, “Fucking monkey.”

You blinked. The crude venom in his tone was a shock, a crack in the polished marble of his demeanor.

“Whoa. Okay. Are you a racist now? Collecting red flags like they’re limited edition.”

He looked back at you, and to your utter bewilderment, he laughed. Not a cruel laugh, but a real one, shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling. It was disarming, which only made you more nervous.

“It’s a term of efficiency, dear,” he said, still smiling. “But let’s not get into ideology over dessert. It ruins the taste. So. The school. How are things?”

You gave vague, non-committal answers, constructing a verbal fortress of mundanity. The training was hard. The classes were boring. The weather had been nice. You were a master of saying nothing, another useful skill honed by a lifetime of being an outsider.

Geto listened, sipping his milkshake, his gaze far too perceptive. Then he set his glass down. “And Satoru? How is he?” 

The name landed in the center of the table like a live grenade. Your carefully constructed fortress developed a critical structural flaw. You took a deliberate sip of your coffee, letting the bitterness scorch your tongue.

“Loud. Annoying. Same as always.” You kept your tone bored on purpose. Bored was safer than truthful. Truthful got you owned.

Geto’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. 

Uh-oh! Liar-liar, pants on fire! He knows his best friend better than anyone!

“Is he, though?” The cult leader leaned forward, elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together. The playful tone was gone, replaced by something probing. “The Satoru I knew… after I left, he wouldn’t have been ‘the same.’” Geto paused, watching the minute tremor in your hand as you reached for your fork. His gaze dropped to your fingers, then lifted again.

Your breath hitched. “I don’t know what you’re–”

“He finally got to you, didn’t he?” Geto interrupted, his voice still quiet, almost gentle. “When I left, I wondered if he would. Shoko and I… we used to laugh about it, you know. How obvious he was. The mighty Gojo Satoru, reduced to pulling the hair of the girl he liked so much.” Geto smiled like the memory amused him, but his eyes were sharp.

There it was again. First Shoko, now him.

The relentless teasing, hellish bullying, the laughter at your expense… it rearranged itself in your head, forming a grotesque pattern you’d been too furious and too tired to see.

“At the very beginning, I thought he was just bullying you, as he did with Utahime,” Geto continued, a distant fondness in his tone. “But then I noticed the little things, how he’d always know where you were in a room and lean toward that space. How his jokes, while cruel, were specific – tailored to get a reaction only from you. How he’d get quiet for a moment after you walked away.” He took another sip. “I thought, ‘Naah, can’t be. Not him.’ But now… well…”

You gulped, biting your lip, not knowing how to react.

“You seem pretty uncomfortable, so” He hummed, straightening, “let's change the topic. How's your leg?”

…what the fuck?

Now, how the hell he knew? And should you even be surprised that he does? Should you be concerned or mildly annoyed? So many questions and yet, here you are, sitting right in front of him, mildly stunned.

Suguru moved smoothly, bending down, peering under the table, and nodding thoughtfully. Before you could react, his hand shot out and wrapped around your ankle. You flinched, but his grip was unyielding as he lifted your leg and rested your ankle on his knee. His thumb pressed against the spot on your calf, right through the fabric, where the scar was.

“Already healed…” he mused, his thumb rubbing slow circles. “A wound like that, from a curse with neurotoxic properties… And you’re walking on it already.” His touch was steady, almost careful, like he was trying to ground you.

“Did you gain a feet fetish along with the cult leadership?” You tried to yank your leg back, but his grip tightened just enough to be a warning. “Let go of my leg, goddamnit–” Your voice came out sharper than you meant.

“The curse you and Nanami exorcized last week,” he said, ignoring your struggle, his eyes locked on yours. “I sent it.”

The confession was so casual, said without any remorse, that for a second your brain refused to parse it. “You… you what?”

“I was curious,” he shrugged, as if discussing a mildly interesting experiment. “I wanted to see what you could do under real pressure. In a fight.” His gaze flicked to your face, then away.

“I don’t fight,” you hissed, the anger cutting through the panic. “I’m a fucking support. Level one healer at best. What did you expect, fucking fireballs?”

“No,” he said, and finally released your ankle. You snatched it back as if burned. “I didn’t expect fireballs. I expected exactly what happened. No wonder Satoru is so… attached,” his tone softened on the last sentence, almost reverent, and it made your skin crawl, “To him, you must feel like nothingness.”

You felt your eye twitch.

“I’d also prefer to look and sound like nothingness to him, then.” Your voice was distant, familiar pressure building behind your eyes. Geto leaned forward again, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. 

“Look at the position you’re in. They send you on missions you’re fundamentally unsuited for. You will die on one of them, eventually. A pointless death for a pointless system.” He paused, letting that sink in. “And Satoru’s unstable now. The only reason he hasn’t completely shattered you is that, on some level, your very presence acts as a damper. But what happens when that damper is removed, and all that built-up force has nowhere to go?”

He pointed at your face, smirking. “Think of the hurt he’ll cause. To others. To himself. You’d be responsible for that, too.”

Rage, hot and clean, blasted through the fear. “Go to hell,” you spat, standing up.

“Sit down,” Geto said. The words weren’t loud, but they were final. The ambient sounds of the café seemed to fade away, replaced by a profound, deadly silence emanating from him. He stirred his milkshake with a straw. “Or I will kill every single monkey in this building. Starting with that waiter.”

You stood frozen, the blood draining from your face. This wasn’t a bluff. You could feel the cold, expansive weight of his cursed energy, held in check but ready to flood the space with countless curses. You saw the families at other tables, the tired barista. 

You sat down, the movement stiff and robotic.

“There,” he said, the pleasant mask slipping back into place. “Now. Why am I telling you this? Because I’m offering you a way out.”

“I’m listening,” you bit out, every word coated in venom.

“Good,” Geto said, the pleasant mask sliding back into place as if it had never slipped. He pushed his unfinished fondant towards you. “You look pale. Have some sugar.” His fingers hovered near yours for half a second, an almost-touch, a quiet attempt at comfort. You pulled your hand back swiftly. 

“Why the… the recruitment drive?” you asked, your voice hollow. 

“In short, I want to try to turn you from a…” his face turned thoughtful, trying to remember something, “Level one healer to a one hundred level one. Or maybe even a sub DPS…” He let that hang in the air, a strangely altruistic angle to his pitch. “Besides,” he added, a playful, dark edge returning, “judging by Megumi and Tsumiki, you’re good with children. Mimiko and Nanako would adore you.”

The mention of the kids was a masterstroke, a violation that turned your blood to ice.

“You've just reached a new low, Suguru,” you whispered, “threatening kids…” Your chest tightened with a panicked need to keep two small lives out of this man’s orbit.

“I’m not threatening anybody,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “It’s merely an observation. You’re smart, but trapped. And you’ve already been betrayed by every system that was supposed to protect you,” he said. He paused, watching you carefully, but apparently he couldn't find what he was seeking in your eyes, so he pressed again. 

“Do you remember your first weekend? When we all drank in my room?”

A cold knot formed in your stomach. 

Don’t. 

“Vaguely.”

“Satoru was in rare form,” Geto recalled with a nostalgic look in his eyes. “Showing off, trying to impress you. You smiled at a few of his jokes, and he lit up like a Christmas tree. He wanted more, so he switched tactics. Started pouring you stronger drinks, pushing harder. Classic Satoru. If he can’t charm you, he’ll overwhelm you.” Geto’s amusement dimmed as he spoke, replaced by something edged.

The memory itself was a blur of cheap liquor, loud laughter, and Gojo’s too-bright eyes getting closer and more demanding.

“When he left to use the bathroom,” Geto continued, his voice dropping, “and Shoko had already passed out… it was just you and me. You were barely conscious. And I asked you why you came to Japan, of all places.” His gaze held yours, unblinking, like he wanted to see if you remembered his voice in the dark.

Your fingers curled hard around your fork. Your knuckles went white. Your heart thumped like it was trying to warn you away from your own past. 

Stop.

“Shut your dam–”

“And you said,” Geto continued, not paying attention to your rage, “that we are kinda similar, regarding our parents.”

“Shut up.” The words were a ragged whisper. A direct hit. The oldest, deepest wound, probed with a needle-sharp precision.

“You see?” Geto said, spreading his hands. “The jujutsu world isn’t your savior. They sent a girl who her own family tortured onto a battlefield. They gave you to Satoru, who is, in his own way, just another kind of devouring force. You’re afraid of him. I can feel it radiating off you. And you should be.” He leaned forward slightly, and for a second his hand hovered near yours, like he meant to cover your knuckles. Comfort, offered. You jerked your hand away before he could. His fingers paused in midair, then curled back into his sleeve, amused.

“I am offering you a side. The only side that makes sense for someone like us. The ones who see the world for the rotten place it is, and have the power to do something about it. Not as a pawn, but as a partner. With protection and purpose.”

He stood, towering over you, and put some crisp yen onto the table. “Think about it. Here, the day before your flight. Same time.” He gave you one last, inscrutable look. “Mimiko and Nanako really would like you.” ​​The way he said their names was too intimate, too practiced, like he wanted you to imagine them as soon as possible.

You didn’t move as he walked out, the bell on the door chiming cheerfully. You sat there, staring at the half-eaten cheesecake, the cold coffee, and a feeling of dread.

A hot sting bloomed under your nose. Twice a day, great. 

You pressed your thumb to the bridge of your nose and smiled at nobody.

The minute hand on the wall clock moved. 

It was 5.26 pm.

.

Drink more... (WIP)

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

Hi, my loves! Bet you didn’t expect Geto to show up, huh? Our favourite cult leader definitely has his own agenda heheh.

Anyway.

Sorry for the slow updates. This fic means a lot to me, and I’m putting a huge chunk of my soul into it, so writing has been… hard lately. I’m dealing with some serious real-life stuff that’s taking a lot of mental energy and I don’t want to just write something for the sake of writing, heh.

Also, my diploma exists. Unfortunately.

Taglist:

@lanxianschoenheit, @honesttoafaultworldwide, @devils-blackrose, @altumsomnum, @artist1936, @damarezen, @lindsay00000, @zeniiis, @chiefsandwichcrown, @almondhippie, @yumuramma, @mizzhellsingsstuff, @tacendxx, @ilyannailyanna, @darkuni63, @illytian, @satorus-sweetbunny, @dangerouslygroovybanshee, @chiefsandwichcrown, @urmotherswhor3, @sassyfoxunknown, @heartwoundd, @nervousd @hertadore, @luckigirl444, @inkycapps, @honeybunny75, @rosehoneycomb, @panicqoutes, @chiefsandwichcrown, @katiehiggss @simpforelysia, @princessbonnie-bell, ...

Hope I added everyone!

The thing about Caelus was that he seemed simple.

That was his whole deal. Simple creature. Simple needs. Food, warmth, proximity to you. He didn't ask for much, just whatever you were willing to give, and even then, he took it like a man receiving communion.

Example:

You gave him your old phone. He held it with both hands and pressed it to his chest. His eyes got wet.

"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you. I'll– I'll take such good care of it, I promise!"

"It's a phone, Caelus. Not a puppy." You sighed, rubbing your eyes sleepily, but when you opened them–

God, the way he looked at you.

Like you'd hung the moon. Like you'd personally reached into the sky and threaded it there on a string just for him. 

You gulped, cheeks suddenly feeling too hot.

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You thought he was asleep.

He was so still at night, so quiet, curled on the couch in your tiny living room like a contented animal. His breathing evened out within minutes of lying down. His tail stopped twitching. His ears went soft and relaxed.

You'd checked. Multiple times. Just to be sure.

So when you slipped into your bedroom on Saturday night and closed the door behind you, you didn't think twice. That day, you were wound tight. Work had been hell all week – deadlines and passive-aggressive emails and colleagues who seemed to exist solely to make your life difficult. So it’s only natural you needed some kind of ✨release✨ .

You'd bought the toy online three months ago, in a moment of lonely frustration after you broke up with that last dick of a boyfriend. It was silicone, curved just right, a deep purple that made you think of bruises and pleasure in equal measure. You stripped quickly and lay back on your bed with the toy in one hand and your phone in the other. 

The dildo slid in easily because you were already wet, had been wet since you started thinking about it on the walk home. You gasped at the stretch, the fullness, the way it pressed against that spot inside you that made your vision go blurry.

You thought about nothing and everything. You thought about golden eyes and warm hands and a voice that said please like a prayer.

An orgasm came fast, making your theeth sunk into your pillow, muffling a cry that wanted to be a name…

…not noticing the wet shlick shlick shlick sound behind your bedroom door.

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The cafe job was an accident. You'd mentioned it offhand, and Caelus'd latched onto it like a lifeline.

"I can work?" He scrambled closer, nearly tripping over his own tail. "And earn money?"

"It's not that exciting, trust me." You lowered your cup of coffee on the table.

The owners were a woman with hair the color of fire and a man with silver streaks at his temples and eyes that crinkled when he smiled. Himeko and Welt. They ran the place together, and they took one look at a newsboy cap that you gave him to hide his ears. Then exchanged a meaningful glance.

"Can you carry heavy things?" Himeko asked smoothly.

"Yes," Caelus answered immediately.

"Can you carry them without breaking them?"

A pause. "...Probably."

He got hired.

You promised yourself that the thing you felt when he beamed at the customers wasn't jealousy. 

Nononono! 

Why would you even feel something like that?

It was a concern. 

Caelus was naive and gullible, not used to human ways. You just wanted to make sure he was adjusting well to workplace dynamics, and that was why you came to pick him up.

The cafe was busy when you arrived. Students, remote workers, and couples were hunched over tables. You spotted Caelus immediately, weaving between chairs with a tray balanced precariously on one hand.

You found a spot near the counter and waited.

Caelus chose that moment to round the corner, tray empty, face flushed with exertion. He spotted you and his whole body changed – shoulders relaxing, smile widening, his whole frame tilting forward with an eagerness that made your chest do something complicated.

"You came," he said. "You came to see me."

"I came to–" You stopped and sighed, tired as usual. "Yeah. Okay. I came to see you."

You could see the movement of his tail wagging in one of his pants legs. The couple at the table glanced over, puzzled.

"You can sit," he said. "I have ten more minutes. Then we can walk home together."

He was gone before you could respond, weaving back into the crowd with that strange grace he had.

You watched him go.

"He's quite something." A man had appeared beside you. He was tall, silver-haired, sharp-boned, with eyes that seemed to see straight through skin. He was wearing a barista apron over an immaculate shirt, and his smile was polite, in fact, too polite for your liking.

"Sunday," he introduced himself. "I work here part-time. I don't think we've met."

"Nope, we haven't."

Sunday's smile didn't waver. He leaned close enough that you could smell his cologne, something too heavy and nothing like Caelus's warm musk.

"He's very attached to you," Sunday observed. "I've never seen anyone so... focused."

"He's just friendly."

"Is that what we're calling it?" A pause. His eyes dropped to your mouth, just for a second. "I understand. Hybrids can be... intense. We feel things deeply. Especially when we find someone worth feeling deeply about."

You blinked. "You're a hybrid?"

He inclined his head. A pair of wings unfurled at his nape, not fully though, just enough to catch the light. Feathers in shades of pearly white were beautiful and strange.

"Doves," he said. "My sister and I. We're rare in these parts."

"I–" You stared at the wings. They were stunning, honestly, delicate and charming.

"Want to touch them?" His smile deepened. "Go ahead. Most people want to."

You reached out. The feathers were impossibly soft, warm from his body, shifting slightly under your fingers. Sunday made a small sound and leaned into the touch just slightly. 

You pulled your hand back as if his wings burned you. Sunday's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. 

"I should, um…" You gestured vaguely toward the door.

"Of course." He straightened. "It was nice meeting you. I hope I'll see you again."

You nodded. Turned. Walked toward the door.

And suddenly, found Caelus blocking your path.

He was standing rigid, tray clutched in both hands, his face drained of color. His ears were flat, pressed against his skull like he was bracing for a blow. His pupils had thinned into oinpricks, making his eyes ominously gold.

His gaze was fixed on Sunday.

"Caelus–"

"We can go home now." His voice was unnaturally rough. "My shift is over."

His fingers wrapped around your pulse point and held on like you were the only thing keeping him upright. 

"Caelus, what?"

"Home." He tugged you toward the door. "Please. I need to– please."

Then you were outside, and he was walking so fast you had to half-run to keep up.

That evening, he didn't wish you a usual goodnight.

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You came home exhausted. Not normal exhausted, but fucking soul-deep level of exhausted. Your manager had screamed at you for an hour over a report that wasn't even yours. Your coworker had "accidentally" deleted your files. Someone had spilled coffee on your only clean shirt, and you'd spent the last three hours of your shift smelling like a burnt Starbucks.

You opened the door, wanting to just dive into your bed.

Dozens of candlelights were jammed onto plates, saucers, and a cereal bowl. Rose petals– wait… actually… Torn-up paper napkins dyed red with something were scattered across the floor. Something sultry, breathless, saxophone-heavy, and completely inappropriate for 7pm on a Tuesday was playing from your Bluetooth speaker.

And in the center of it all stood Caelus.

"Welcome home," he practically moaned, “honey~” 

You stared.

He was wearing… what the fuck was he wearing? 

Red lace. So much red lace. A see-through bra that did absolutely nothing to contain his chest, the underwire digging into his pectorals, the cups gaping where they were supposed to hold the fat. A garter belt attached to thigh-high stockings that had absolutely no business looking that scrumptious on his muscled legs. Panties that were catastrophically failing to contain the very obvious bulge straining against the red lace. On his neck, a collar of a slightly different red undertone glimmered. The leash attached to it swayed when he put his hand on his hip like a posing runway model. 

"Would you like dinner?" 

Caelus took a step closer. 

“A bath?” 

Another step. 

“Or–” 

“What in the Bad TikTok thirst traps is that?” You stopped him, thinning your lips into a narrow line.

“I dressed for you…” his voice wavered slightly, "like in those movies. Where the wife wears something pretty for her husband, and they are very happy to see each other." Caelus stepped forward again, and your traitorous gaze flew to the apex of his thighs. His cock slipped out from the side of those flimsy lace panties and bobbed against his thigh, flushed and leaking, the tip shiny with a bead of precum. He didn’t notice that. Or maybe he did, but was too far gone to care because his breathing had already gone shallow and needy, like even standing there in front of you was winding him up beyond reason.

"I could be your wife," he whispered, and his small fangs flashed when his lower lip caught between his teeth, "If you wanted. I could cook for you. I mean, badly at first, but with devotion. I could fold your laundry. I could sit in your lap while you complained about work..."

Your brain short-circuited.

"I could be good," his thighs flexed, red stockings catching the candlelight, making your mouth water. "I could be so good for you. I'd do anything–"

He was standing in front of you, wearing lingerie that was actively failing to contain him, trembling like a leaf, begging you with every fiber of his being.

And God help you, you wanted to fold immediately and take everything he was offering, gift-wrapped and presented like the tastiest dish. But sadly, at birth, you had been afflicted with the debilitating disease known as rational thinking, so...

"Caelus," you managed instead, "s-stop." 

His face crumpled. "Why? You hate it?"

"I– no, I don't– that's not– why are you wearing–" You pressed both hands to your face and counted to ten while breathing deeply. When you looked up, he hadn't moved, still standing there, still half-hard, still trembling, his tail wrapped tight around his ankle.

"Caelus."

"Yes?" Instantly. Like he'd been waiting for his name in your mouth all evening.

"Why are you wearing… this?"

“It’s lingerie,” he muttered, with the confidence of a man presenting Exhibit One in a court case he thought he was absolutely winning. “I looked it up. Humans wear it to attract mates. To show they want to be taken.”

"You're not trying to– you don't need to attract anything!"

"But I want you to want me!" His voice broke on the last word, leaving something raw and bleeding underneath. "I want you to look at me the way you look at– at your laptop, when you think I'm not watching. I want you to touch me. I want you to–"

His cock twitched, a fresh bead of precum sliding down the shaft, and you watched it like you were hypnotised.

"I want you to want me," he finished. "The way I want you."

The silence stretched. Somewhere behind him, your Bluetooth speaker crackled and changed tracks with all the gravitas of a cheap porno trying to become a religious experience.

"Caelus," you said, "I don't know what you saw on my laptop, but–"

"It was the story about the girl in red and a werewolf..."

You choked. 

Oh nonononono– 

“And the one about the photographer and the lion guy…” 

Shit–

"And the one about the fisher girl and the merman…”

Fuck, he’d found that as well?!

“And the one with two bulls and–"

"Okay!" you yelled, face burning. "Okay, I get it, you went through my Mumblr notes!"

"I just wanted to understand." His voice was earnest. "I wanted to know what you liked. What made you breathe like that..." His expression turned painfully needy. "What made you touch yourself when you thought I was asleep." His cheeks were red enough to light the room, but he kept going with suicidal courage. "You always think I'm asleep," he said quietly. "But I'm not. I'm always listening. I always know when you cum on that silicone fucking thing–"

"C-caelus–"

"What did I do wrong?" he whispered. "I looked up everything. I wanted it to be perfect for you. I wanted you to come home and see me and feel happy!" 

You looked at him. At this ridiculous, pathetic, endearing creature standing in front of you, wearing lingerie too small, his cock hanging out, his eyes full of tears and desperate hope. Caelus stared back like you'd reached into his chest and squeezed his heart in your fist. His hands lifted, then stopped in midair, hovering a few inches from your waist as if even touching you without permission would be too much. That hesitation hurt more than anything else had.

You dropped your gaze to the floor because guilt rose so fast it made you nauseous.

“You don’t have to pay me with your body, Caelus,” you said quietly. The words came out wrong from the moment they left your mouth, but you couldn’t stop them. They kept coming, clumsy and awful and born from every ugly fear you had. “I’m not that kind of human.” You tried to gulp down the bile in your throat, while he froze, awestruck.

“...What?...”

“You don’t need to repay me for staying here,” you went on, hating yourself more with every syllable. “Not with money, not with your body, not with any of this. You don’t owe me anything. So please, just go change, and we can forget–”

“Forget?”

He said it so faintly you almost didn’t hear him. When you looked up, his face had changed.

“How,” Caelus said, and his voice shook so hard he had to stop and try again, “how are you managing to be that stupid while being that smart?” His brows were pulled tight, his mouth trembling in a hard line he couldn’t hold. “I’m not doing this because I think I have to! I’m not doing this because you fed me, or let me stay, or because I think I owe you some kind of price for your kindness.” His chest rose sharply. “Is that really what you think of me? That I would come to you like this because I thought that was what you were owed?”

The embarrassment in his voice was gone. So was the breathless hope. In their place was hurt so profound it had curdled into anger just to survive being felt.

“I did this because I want you,” he said, and now there was no performance left in him at all. “I want you so badly it makes me feel sick sometimes. I want you when you’re half-asleep on the couch, and your head keeps falling to one side. I want you when you come home tired. I want you when you’re making coffee. I want you when you’re reading. I want you when you are grumpy in the morning. I want you when you don’t even know I’m looking.”

His throat moved around a swallow that didn’t seem to help.

“So I thought maybe if I made it easy for you,” he said, softer now, ashamed of the softness but unable to hide it, “if I made it obvious, if I made myself into something you could want without having to think too hard about it. Then maybe...”

Your hands came up before you could think better of it.

His cheeks were warm under your touch, and the second you cuppedthem, something in his expression gave way. The anger vanished. The hurt remained, but now it was joined by something frightened and fragile and disbelieving, as though he had been preparing himself to be pushed away and did not know what to do with gentleness instead.

In a second, your lips crashed into his. It was desperate, but it was the only possible answer to all that pain in his voice.  

Caeius made a sound against your mouth that you felt more than heard, something high and broken and disbelieving. For one heartbeat, he didn’t move at all, like he genuinely couldn’t believe this was happening, like if he did anything too quickly you might disappear. But when you parted your lips against his, letting him kiss you back fully, he broke. One hand slid up your back as if to reassure himself you were still there. His fangs scraped your lower lip. His breath shuddered hot into your mouth. His tail wound around your thigh so tightly it was possessive. He kissed like someone who had spent too long being careful, too long being patient, too long trying to survive on scraps of affection and accidental touches. 

"I don't want to mess this up," he gasped against your mouth. "I don't want to– if you don't actually want– I can stop, I can always stop, just tell me and I'll–"

"I don't want you to stop."

He went very still.

"Say it again," he whispered. "Please. Say it again." His forehead knocked against yours, dazed. “Please...”

"I don't want you to stop, Caelus."

His lips found yours again, this time softer. His thumb traced your cheekbone. His tail tightened around your thigh. His hips rocked forward once before he caught himself, flushing violently when he realized what he'd done.

"The bed." You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Or the floor. I don't– I can't think straight when you're looking at me like that."

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like I'm the only thing in the world worth looking at."

"That's because you are," he whispered. "The only thing. The only thing worth anything. The only thing I want to look at for the rest of my life."

Scooping you into his arms with startling ease, he carried you toward the bedroom, all restless urgency and careful hands. The moment he tossed you onto the mattress, the soft sheets dipped beneath your weight, warm lamplight catching on the buttons of your shirt. Your fingers went to them automatically. Even with your pulse sprinting and every reckless instinct in you begging to just rip the thing apart, you worked each button loose with care.

Because desire was one thing, and buying new clothes in this economy was another.

Caelus, meanwhile, landed near you with a breathless oof, rolling to his back immediately, making himself comfortable on your sheets. You swung a leg over his thighs and settled there, pinning him in place with a look that made him go still.

"If you want sex," you said, saddling his thighs, "we do it my pace."

He nodded so hard that those stupidly soft raccoon ears flopped as if they might fly right off his head. "Yes. Yes. Anything!"

You slid one hand down his chest, over the fucking ridiculous muscles he'd somehow packed onto that lanky frame, to wrap around the base of his cock.

Caelus shuddered and made a sound like you'd punched the air out of him. His whole body went rigid, then desperate shakes traveled from his ears all the way down to the tip of his twitching tail.

The thing was heavy in your palm. Thick and veined and already leaking like a broken faucet, the head flushed an angry red. His slit was gaping slightly, practically drooling precome onto your fingers, sticky and warm. The musky, salt-tinged scent of him intensified, flooding your senses and making your mouth water. You could see it pulse against your fingers, and something hungry curled in your stomach at the sight of him so undone by just your touch.

"Good boy."

The words barely left your mouth before his cock jerked violently in your grip. The first spurt landed on your wrist, thick and warm. The second painted your fingers, and the third shot clean over your hand to land on his own stomach. It kept coming, wave after wave of pearly white come. You felt the veins beneath your fingers throbbing in time with each spasm. 

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck–" His hips bucked helplessly into your grip, riding it out, more come splashing against your fingers, dripping down your wrist, absolutely coating your hand in thick strands. It was so much, and still his cock pulsed, still he spilled, like his body had been saving up for this moment for weeks. It pooled in the dips of his muscles, slid down the ridges of his abs, absolutely ruining the sheets beneath him. A final pulse pushed out a last drop that clung to his slit like a pearl, and you watched it tremble there, connected by the thinnest thread to the mess on his stomach.

"I think, uh…" he gasped, voice cracking, "I think I saw God."

You lifted your hand to your mouthslowly, mesmerised by the pretty shimmer, and licked a stripe up the side of your palm. The taste exploded on your tongue – bitter salt with an undertone of something musky and uniquely him. Not good exactly, but intoxicating because it was his. You deliberately dragged your tongue between your fingers, cleaning the mess, watching his eyes track every movement with glassy fascination. 

"You came."

His ears flattened. His cheeks flushed darker, red spreading down his neck, across his chest, almost matching the red bra he wore. His tail was trapped between his legs, the tip curling inward like he was trying to make himself smaller. Lacy bra had shifted during his scramble, one nipple peeking out from beneath the fabric, hard and begging for attention.

"I– yes."

"From me grabbing your ears and saying 'Good boy'?"

His cock, still half-hard despite everything, gave a pathetic little twitch against his thigh, leaking a fresh bead of precome onto the ruined lace.

"‘M sorry.."

He looked up at you with those big golden eyes, ears perked forward, tail giving an uncertain little wag against the sheets. Like a dog hoping for a treat. 

"You're just so pretty," he breathed, "r-really pretty. Like unfairly pretty. Like if ‘pretty’ was a person, it would be embarrassed because you're prettier than it."

Your panties came out in a second with a desperate rkkkk that signaled them turning into a useless piece of fabric. The crotch was absolutely soaked through – a dark patch in the center that had spread to the seams, and when you tossed them aside, they landed on the floor with a wet slap. 

You crawled up him, and his eyes tracked your every movement with hopeful hunger. When you positioned yourself over his face, he whimpered eagerly, his hands coming up immediately to grip your thighs.

"Three taps on my thigh when you need to breeaa–," you didn't manage to finish because Caelus pulled you down onto his mouth with no hesitation. His nose pressed flush against your clit, pushing up the hood to reveal the throbbing bundle of nerves as he licked and sucked and devoured, his breath coming in desperate pants against your wetness. 

You were so wet you could hear the obscene wet sounds of his tongue sliding through your folds. His nose bumped your clit with every movement, and you rocked against him, grinding down, using his face like the best fucktoy there was while he moaned in approval, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises.

"You taste like–" he gasped against you, pulling back just long enough to speak, his face absolutely drenched, your wetness dripping from his chin, "–like if heaven had a flavor it would be your cunt. Like–"

"Less talking, more licking."

"Yes, ma'am." Caelus dove back in with renewed enthusiasm, his tongue curling, dipping inside you, and you felt your thighs start to shake. He speared his tongue into your entrance as deep as it would go, curling up to stroke your front wall, and you saw stars. 

"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back, the ceiling swimming above you.

His hands traveled up and wrapped around your waist, urging you to press more weight on his face, fingers digging into flesh like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go– 

Then you glanced back.

His cock was pulsing against his stomach, untouched, but spilling again. Thick ropes of come painted his abs, his chest, the stupid lace bra still stretched over his peaked nipples. This time it was slower. Almost lazy pulses that oozed rather than shot, spreading in thick puddles across his skin. His hips bucked mindlessly, fucking the air, and he didn't even seem to notice, too focused on eating you out, too desperate to make you feel good, too lost in your taste to realize he was coming.

"Jesus Christ," you breathed, the orgasm receding slightly as shock took its place.

"Mmfff–" he moaned against your cunt, not stopping, not even pausing, his tongue still working you like his life depended on it.

"You came again," you cooed, lifting up to look down at him, "before me."

Caelus froze. Pulled back just enough to look up at you with panicked eyes. His face was flushed red, soaked with your wetness and his own drool, tears already gathering at the corners of his eyes. His lips were swollen, shiny with you, and there was a strand of your wetness connecting his lower lip to your swollen clit, stretching thin before breaking.

"I– I'm sorry– I couldn't control it when you– and you're just so you and my body doesn't know how to handle it–"

"Pervert."

His face crumpled. His ears flattened so hard they almost disappeared into his hair.

"I thought you wanted to make me feel good," you continued. "But you're just using me to get off, aren't you? Coming untouched while I'm aching– "

"No!" He sat up so fast you nearly fell off. His hands grabbed your hips, steadying you on his hips, his eyes frantic and wet. "No, I want to make you feel good! I want it more than anything! I've been thinking about it for days since I saw you through your bedroom window, touching yourself,” your eyes opened wide at that last sentence because what the fuck? But Caelus continued.

“I watched you use this false cock– watched you bite your lip to stay quiet, watched your back arch, watched your thighs shake, and I wanted to be the one making you do that so bad it hurt– "

Maybe there was something wrong with you, but upon hearing this creepy confession, more wetness gushed out of you. A fresh wave of slick coated your inner thighs, warm and abundant, and you felt it dripping onto his lap where he held you. His cock, still half-hard and messy, twitched against your skin, smearing his come against your thigh. His tongue darted out, licking his lips, chasing your taste.

"You stalked me?" you asked slowly.

"I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. You're so beautiful when you come… The way your back arches, the way your mouth opens, the way you bite your lip to stay quiet. The way your thighs clamp together. I've jerked off to you so many times I lost count. I know the exact sound you make when you're close. I know how long it takes you. I know you like to use that pink vibrating toy first and then switch to the purple cock…"

"Stop," you breathed, but it came out wanting, your cunt clenching rhythmically around nothing at his words.

"But you're literally dripping onto my lap right now. You like that I watched you. You like that I'm obsessed with you."

"You broke into my kitchen."

"I broke into your kitchen because that night you cried and curled into a small ball after you came. You were lonely, and my heart hurt so bad for you. I watched you sob into your pillow, watched you hug yourself, watched you fall asleep still sniffling, and I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand that you were sad and alone, and I wasn't there to hold you.”

You stared at him.

Caelus stared back, that stupid smug smile still on his face, come drying on his stomach, lace stretched over his muscles, ears perked forward like he'd won something.

"Y-you're insane," you said.

"Maybe…" He leaned in, nosed at your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "If you want me to leave, I'll leave. I'll crawl back out that window and go back to the woods and jerk off thinking about you for the rest of my life. But you don't want me to leave, aren’t you?" His tongue darted out, licking a stripe up your neck, lips close to your  "You want me to stay."

"I want you to–"

"To what?" Another lick. His hands slid down your back, stroking your waist. "Tell me. Say it. I need to hear you say it."

"I want you to fuck me, okay?" Your voice broke. "I want you inside me. I've been thinking about it since you showed up in my kitchen with those big pathetic eyes and that stupid tail and– and those ears, and that face– "

His lips slammed into yours, tongue immediately forcing its way in. He tasted like your cunt, like desperation and need and everything you'd been craving. And when Caelus finally pulled back, the only thing you managed was…

"Fuck me."

You could see how his eyes went blank, his mouth dropped open, his ears perked forward so hard they quivered.

"...What?"

"You heard me." You rolled off his lap onto your back, and spread your legs, fingers finding your own clit, spreading your lips to show him exactly what he was getting, glistening and ready. 

Caelus moved so fast you barely saw it happen. One second he was staring at your face, looking confused. The next he was leaning over you with his cock pressing against your entrance, the tip nudging through your wet folds, already sliding in the slickness there.

"Wait," you warned, suddenly remembering one important thing.

He froze. "What? Why?"

"Condom. Nighstand, top drawer."

"Oh!" He scrambled for the nightstand, yanked open the drawer, grabbed a condom, and then paused, looking at you awkwardly. "Um…"

"What?"

"I, uh." He held up the wrapper like some kind of complex puzzle. "I don't... know how to put these on. I've never– I mean, I've watched videos, but.."

You stared at him. "You don't know how to put on a condom?"

"In my defense," he said, his cheeks flushing, "the videos I watched skipped that part. And I fucked but without–"

"Give it here!"

You yoinked the wrapper from his hand, tore it open with your teeth, and reached for his cock. He was thick and heavy in your hand, hot and pulsing, the skin velvety soft over the rigid hardness. Precum beaded at the tip, and you swiped your thumb through it, spreading the slickness, making him whimper.

"Hold still," you commanded, your voice leaving no room for argument.

Caelus barely did. His whole body was shaking with the effort of not moving, muscles trembling, thighs quivering, as you rolled the condom down his length, smoothing it over every ridge, every vein. By the time you finished, there were tears in his eyes.

You rolled onto your stomach and grabbed the pillow, hugging it while perching your ass up, presenting your wet pussy to his hungry gaze. You could feel yourself gaping slightly, your folds spread, your entrance clenching around nothing, begging to be filled. 

"If you come as soon as you get inside me," you said, turning your head to look at him "I will never let you live it down."

"I won't," he promised, already hovering over you, his tip grazing your wet slit, "I'll be good."

He pushed in.

And god.

Caelus was thick, so much thicker than your toys, than your fingers, than anything you'd ever taken. The initial penetration made your eyes water from the sheer intensity of being so completely filled. Your inner walls clamped down on him instinctively, trying to accommodate the intrusion, and you felt every vein, every pulse, every twitch of his cock as he seated himself fully inside you. 

When his pelvis finally pressed against your ass, he was buried to the hilt, and you could feel him in your throat, in your chest, in the very core of your being. The stretch burned, but it was the good kind of burn, the kind that made your eyes roll back, and your toes curl. 

Caelus stared at you. At your tears. At the way your body was clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper. At the way your cunt was weeping around his cock, soaked and welcoming, creaming around his base.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice cracking. "Fuckfuckfuck– You're s-so tight. So wet. So perfect. Like your cunt was made for me." 

"S-shit," you gasped, your fingers gripping the pillow so hard your knuckles went white. "Caelus–"

He froze immediately. "Did I hurt you? Should I stop? I can stop, I'll stop, just tell me– "

"If you stop, I will fucking kill you."

A change came over his face. Something feral. Something hungry. Something that made the animal in him take over. That made your stomach flip with want.

"...You like it," he breathed.

"L-love it…"

Caelus moved a little, regaining that little dominance he had. Just a rock of his hips, grinding deeper, and you screamed into the pillow. Your toes curled. Your back arched. You could feel him in your throat, in your teeth, in your bones, like every nerve ending in your body was focused on the place where he filled you.

"There it is," he moaned. "That's– that's the sound you make when you're close. I know that sound. I've been dreaming of that sound."

His hips fell into the rhythm, pounding into you with single-minded focus, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. 

The bed creaked beneath you. The headboard banged against the wall. You didn't care, not when he was filling you like this, owning you like this, fucking you like you were made for him.

"You feel so good," he gasped. "A-ah fuckfuckfuck I can’t–"

"Yes you can!" You reached back, grabbing his hip, pulling him deeper, your nails digging into his skin. "You will! You're going to fuck me until I come, and then you're going to keep fucking me until I come again and again!"

Something in him snapped completely.

Gone was the shy version of him that fumbled with the condom wrapper. All pretense of control, all gentleness, all restraint – gone. His hips pounded into you, relentless and desperate, driving into you like a man possessed, and you screamed into the pillow, your voice raw and wrecked. Your cunt clamped down on him like a vice, rippling and spasming around his cock. Colors bloomed behind your eyelids, bright and overwhelming. Your toes curled so hard they cramped, your feet locking up. Your entire body shook with the force of your orgasm, tremors wracking you from head to toe.

And Caelus kept going.

"Yes," he breathed. "Yes, yes, fuck– you're coming on my cock, you're– I can feel you clenching, it's so good, you're so good– you're perfect, you're everything, you're– "

He fucked you through it, pounding into your oversensitive cunt with animalistic need. You sobbed as he destroyed you, tears and drool soaking the pillow, your body no longer your own.

"I love you," he gasped. "I love you so much. I've loved you since the moment i saw you singing in the kitchen! Since you swung that pink bat at me. Since you told me I could stay– "

Caelus pounded into you harder, faster, deeper. His cock hit that spot with every thrust, and you felt yourself climbing again, felt that pressure building, felt your cunt clenching around him in desperate anticipation.

"I'm gonna come again," you gasped.

"Come," he growled. "Come on my cock. Come for me. Let me feel it. Let me–"

You came with a scream that ripped your throat raw, that probably woke the neighbors, that you'd be embarrassed about tomorrow, but tonight was pure abandon. 

You felt him pulsing inside you, felt the condom fill with his release, felt him spill in hot pulses, felt him collapsing on top of you. You could see his face in your peripheral vision – eyes rolled back, mouth opened, and tongue lolled out in ecstasy, drool sliding down his chin. Some of it landed on your shoulder, and you smiled, broken and perfect, as he kept rutting mindlessly into your cunt, chasing the last spasms of his own pleasure.

For a moment, there was only breathing. Only the sound of two hearts racing, two bodies trembling, two souls connecting in a way you hadn't expected.

Then Caelus moved.

"Okay," he mumbled against your neck. "Round two."

"W-what?!” You lifted your head, glaring back at Caelus. “You just came!"

"And?" He pulled out, already reaching for the nightstand. "I’m part raccoon, so I have animal stamina." He grabbed another condom. Tore it open with his teeth while you watched, his eyes never leaving your face, golden and hungry. Rolled it down his length clumsily, fumbling in his haste. Then he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your back. His hands found your legs, and positioned them around his ribcage, folding you in half. You leglocked him immediately, heels digging into his back.

There was no resistance this time. Caelus slid in easily, too easily, and the feeling of being filled again so soon made your eyes roll back. He was still wearing that stupid, beautiful lingerie, lace stretched taut over his muscles, and you reached up to grab his pecs, fingers finding his nipples over the bralette.

Caelus yowled, and his hips slammed into you so hard you stopped breathing for a second. 

"Yes! M-more! I like everything you do. I like the way you breathe. I like the way you move. I like the way you frown–"

To that, you decided that he talked too much. Also, in your defence, the leash was right there, in your face, tickling your cheek like an invitation, practically begging to be used. So you grabbed it and pulled.

Caelus followed instantly, collapsing onto you, his chest pressing against yours. The lace of his bra rubbed against your nipples, making your back arch in a chase of that roughness. You could feel his heart pounding against your ribs, feel his breath hot on your neck, feel his cock driving into you deeper now, reaching places you didn't know existed. He was everywhere, in you, on you, around you, owning you. His hands found the back of your head, tangled in your hair. His eyes devoured you, memorizing the pattern of pure bliss on your face. His mouth found your neck, sucking hard, marking you, and you felt yourself cumming already, spasming around him helplessly.

"Mine," he growled against your skin. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"I'm–" Your voice broke on a moan, "yours!"

"And I'm yours," he breathed, his voice softening even as his hips kept moving. "Forever. Always. Completely. You're stuck with me. You can't get rid of me now. I'll never leave. I'll never stop wanting you. I'll never–" Caelus came with a broken shout, groaning right into your ears, his whole body shuddering, spilling into the condom, and you thought that might be it.

Ha, well…

The moment he finished, he was hard again, ready again, needing again. He pulled out, disposed of the condom, and was holding a new silver square. 

"No," you whimpered, pussy gaping needily.

"Yes," he murmured, already tearing it open with his teeth.

When you woke up what felt like minutes later, Caelus was already hard again, already pressing against your thigh, already nosing between your legs with sleepy need, kissing on your well-used pussy. Your sore hole was twitching painfully whenever he pressed a kiss.

"Mmm," he mumbled against your clit. "Need you."

"D-did you even sleep?" You didn’t recognise your voice.

"Slept a little. Dreamed of you. Woke up hard. Standard operating procedure at this point."

"You're insatiable," you muttered.

"Raccoons," he said, like that explained everything, and buried his face between your thighs. His tongue was gentler now. He licked through your folds like he was savouring you, memorizing you, learning every inch of you by heart. His nose pressed against your clit, and you whimpered, oversensitive and desperate.

"Shh," he murmured against you. "I've got you. I'll take care of you. I'll spend the rest of my life taking care of you. "

"Caelus, I need–" You grabbed his hair, made him look at you. His eyes were soft, worshipful, full of so much love it made your chest ache. "I need sleep and water. I need to be able to walk to the bathroom without crying."

"Oh." His ears drooped. "Okay, I'm sorry." He gestured vaguely at you, at himself, at the absolute disaster of the bed. "You're just–”

The melody of your phone rang, cutting him off in the middle of his endless banter.

You groaned and rolled onto your belly, reaching for it blindly. The movement made more fluids leak out of you, dripping down your thigh, and you heard Caelus moan behind you. To your own mental anguish, you saw your boss's name on the screen.

"Oh god," you whispered.

Caelus, crawling up your body and pressing his weight into you, raised an eyebrow, looking at the screen. "Who is Mr. Dumbfuck?"

"My boss."

His eyes narrowed, and he pressed his face to the side of yours, staring hatefully at the screen. "The one who emails you late? The one who 'needs to see you in his office' for 'private discussion'?" He made air quotes with one hand, his voice dripping with jealousy. "That boss? The one who definitely has a thing for you?"

"Caelus–"

"Answer it." His voice turned sharp. 

"That's– that's so fucked up–"

"But your pussy’s twitching." His voice was smug as he rubbed his cock between your ass cheeks, the head catching on your slick folds, sliding through the mess there. "I can feel it. You're literally dripping."

You hit accept.

“Ah, good morning, dear!” The voice of your boss was uncharacteristically sad, and Caelus growled at the pet name.

"H-hello!" you managed, your voice wrecked.

"Um… I was calling you to ask why you are late, but now I hear that you sound–"

"Sick!" you yelped quickly. "Real sick! Fever! Can't– can't make it in!"

While you tried to form coherent sentences about being too sick to come in, Caelus pushed forward just an inch, just the tip, and you felt your walls flutter around him, trying to pull him deeper. You shook your head frantically, but he seemed to ignore it, keeping pushing inside you slowly, stretching you open while you tried to keep your voice steady on the phone. Your cunt gripped him like it never wanted to let go, clenching down on every ridge, every thick inch, trying to milk him deeper. You could feel every vein, every ridge, every inch of him as he filled you, could feel your inner walls parting to accommodate his girth, could feel the slight burn of the stretch that made tears prick at your eyes. You had to bite your lip to keep from moaning. He paused, waiting, his breath hot against your neck.

"Yeah, I think I caught something," you said into the phone, pussy full of fat cock. "Probably gonna be down for–"

Caelus chose that exact moment to thrust deep enough to make you gasp. The wet plap resonated through the bedroom, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the moan.

"You okay?" your boss asked.

"F-fine!" Your voice cracked. "Just– cough. Bad cough. It's– it's really aggressive. The cough. Very aggressive. Keeps– keeps coming back."

Caelus's tail was wagging against your leg. With your peripheral vision, you could see that the bastard was grinning, his pupils blown wide, his face flushed with pleasure and possession. One of his hands slid down your stomach, between your legs, fingers finding your clit and circling with vicious precision. The other hand gripped your breast, nipple trapped between his pointer and middle finger, holding you in place as he pulled out almost fully before sinking back in, each thrust deep, designed to make you fall apart.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted blood.

"So um… are you gonna need tomorrow to rest or…" The speaker went silent, and you breathed in some air to form an answer.

"Yeah, tomorrow as well," you whimpered, voice comically high. "Definitely tomorrow. Just need to rest! Lots of rest. Fluids. You know. Bed rest. Strict bed rest. Can't even–ah–can't even sit up."

Caelus mouthed at your neck, sucking sloppily, adding to the canvas of marks that adorned your body. His fingers kept circling your clit, keeping you right on the edge while he rocked his hips into your poor cunt. Each thrust pushed a broken little sound past your lips that you desperately tried to morph into coughs.

"Actually," your boss said, "if you're that sick, I could stop by. Bring you some soup. Check on you. Make sure you're… comfortable and taken care of."

The moment those words left the speaker, Caelus froze on top of you. You glanced at his face and felt your stomach drop. His eyes had gone completely golden, pupils narrowing into pinpricks. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a scowl. A low, rumbling growl started in his chest, vibrating through his body into yours, and his grip on your breast tightened hard enough to bruise.

"No!" you said, too quickly. "No, that's– that's not necessary. Really. I'm fine. I mean, I'm not fine, I'm sick, but I'm– I'm taken care of! M-my roommate is here!"

"Your roommate?" Your boss's voice sharpened. "I didn't know you had a roommate."

"Recent development! I'm in good hands!"

Caelus chose that moment to whisper right into the fucking speaker, "In the best hands." His hips snapped forward harder, punctuating the words, driving his cock so deep you saw pearly gates.

Your boss went silent, while you wanted to die.

"Was that–" your boss started.

"That was– uhh… that was–" You scrambled. "The TV! I’m watching a nature documentary. About– about raccoons. They're very territorial. Very possessive–"

Caelus pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, the head of his cock hitting your cervix, and your fingers spasmed, forcing you to drop the phone onto the sheets.

"You still there?" your boss asked, while you were drooling into the mattress, absolutely not there at all. Your eyes were rolled back. Your tongue was hanging out. You were pretty sure you'd stopped breathing. Caelus leaned over you, pressing flush against your backside, and reached for your phone.

"Hello?" he said, his voice bright and cheerful, even as his hips kept moving, hungrily pressing his cock closer to your cervix. You wheezled, praying to all gods, trying to take the phone from his hands weakly. Caelus just shoved your hands away. "Yeah, she's really sick. Can't talk right now. She's, uh– she's throwing up..."

You could hear your boss sputtering on the other end.

"Anyway!" Caelus continued cheerfully, grinning down at your nape as you were very busy holding onto the sheets for dear life. "I've got her. She's in good hands." He pounded deep, making the bed slam against the wall. "So if you could just– not come over? Thanks! Bye!"

He ended the call and dropped the phone, and the moment it hit the mattress, he lost it.

"Nature documentary?" He was laughing too, even as he kept thrusting into you, his bare cock sliding against your bare walls with no barrier, no protection, just raw, devastating friction.

"And you told my boss I was throwing up!"

"But you were making sounds! Also, my brain is not exactly functioning at full capacity– "

"I was making sex sounds!"

"Well, Mr. Dumbfuck doesn't know that!" Another thrust, deeper this time. His balls slapped against your clit again, and you screamed into the pillow.

"Oh god," you gasped into the pillow as your pussy spasmed painfully. You could feel your orgasm building, coiling in your gut like a spring about to snap. Your toes curled. Your fingers gripped the sheets so hard your knuckles went white.

"Not god," he murmured against your ear, his chest pressing against your back, his tail thrashing. "Just Caelus."

"You’re insatiable!"

"Yeah." He kissed your shoulder. "But you like it. I can feel how much you like it. Your pussy's gripping me so tight, like it never wants me to leave."

"M-maybe it doesn't."

You felt him go completely still inside you with his cock buried to the hilt, his breath caught in his throat, his entire body rigid with tension.

"...What?" he whispered.

You turned your head and looked back at him over your shoulder. His eyes were huge, golden, vulnerable in a way you'd never seen before. His ears were perked forward, desperate and hopeful. His tail had stopped moving entirely, frozen mid-wag.

"I said," you repeated slowly, "maybe it doesn't want you to leave. Maybe I don't want you to leave. Maybe I want you here, in my bed, every night."

"But I'm a stalker," he said, his voice small. "I broke into your kitchen! I’m half raccoon! I’m a freak!"

"You're just mine." You reached back, grabbed his hip, pulled him closer, and Caelus snuggled his front to your back, hands flying to put his palms over yours. "And I'm yours, if you can handle the anger and the sarcasm and the way I'll probably threaten you with that pink bat at least once a week." Your hips pressed back into his, and he nuzzled into your hair blissfully.

"Once a week?" His smile came back, slow and beautiful. "I was hoping for daily."

"Don't push it."

"Never." He kissed you again, soft and reverent, even as his hips started moving once more, now gently, rubbing against your sweet spot so good your body went liquid.

"I love you. I love you so much it scares me."

"I love you too." And with that, you thumbed over the edge, weakly clenching and relaxing under him. Your orgasm rolled through you like a wave, starting in your core and spreading outward until your whole body was shaking with it. Your cunt clamped down on his cock weakly, milking him, pulling him deeper, and you felt him swell inside you, felt his hips stutter, felt his control snap. Your heavy lids closed, and you just let him chase his own orgasm, completely blissed out.

Caelus laughed, bright and joyful, his tail wagging against your leg as he spilled inside, painting your walls with white. It was a smaller amount than before, but you felt the first hot pulse of his release flooding your insides–

Wait, what? 

"Condom," you gasped. "Caelus, the condom-!"

"...Ran out," he mumbled, his voice dazed, drunk on you. "We used them all, but I couldn't stop. Please don't be mad… "

You couldn't even respond. Your brain was absolutely fried, reduced to nothing. Your eyes were half-lidded, unfocused. Every thought you'd ever had had been fucked out of you hours ago. 

And then, finally, beautifully, you felt yourself slipping with the last thought, which was:

I am so fucked.

Heh, literally and figuratively, babe~

.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

Prev. part: Pride Rock (Hard) (LionHybrid!JingYuan x fem!reader)

Next part: WIP

Fun fact: I had to delete a lot from the part before the smut because it was getting too long. So yeah, sorry if the plot feels a little dry :c

Also, I know I haven’t been posting much lately, but I have a lot of deadlines, including my diploma... Yeah, I’m fucked cuz I haven’t even started yet, and I’m writing this instead. Eehhh, pray for me, yall

My darlings (taglist): @nazifa613, @spookydragonsong, @noentalrae, @fayebyte, @melimelisworld, @itslovelyangel, @cum-fvk, @forbidden-permission, @luv-isolde, @rinki-tinki, @alwaysseventypercent, @koseyisntcozy, @rochunsfw @lizurich, @constellationsyslibrary, @lavielavigne @hungryhornet @fuuyi-acrimosa, @damarezen, @itslayka, @anothergojostan, @blanksbedroom, @violetisreadinghush, @cccccccccccleo, @valentine-mybeloved, @bedrottingdoll, @horny--jail, @avenixs, @mildmasochist, @caramel-chai, @elianasmoon, @eminenceplant, @tree-ag, @neuvilletteclearwater, @msmumufufu, @solarrandom, @strawberrybunnyjolie @helloweebsofgenshin @katzline, @kellyyn02 @aymands @whatasillyguy ...

(comment under the master post to be tagged!)

He was a man, but not only a man.

His hair was white. Not the white of age, but the white of fresh snow, of lion's mane, thick and wild and falling past his shoulders in waves. From within that mane, two ears rose, furred and tufted, swiveling independently as he regarded you. His eyes were amber. Gold, shot through with veins of deeper brown, the pupils vertical and narrow, locked onto yours with predatory focus. Below his left eye, a single dark mole.

His face was beautiful in the way a storm front is beautiful. High cheekbones. A strong jaw. Lips that curved into a smile both gentle and utterly assured of its own authority.

Next thing that you’ve noticed is that his body was almost bare. His shoulders were broad enough to block out the sky. His arms, braced on either side of your head, were corded with muscle, veins visible beneath the skin, his hands large enough to span your entire ribcage. A necklace of bone and fang hung between the hard planes of his chest, which was dusted with fine white hair. The hard muscules of his abs glistened, and from his navel, the thick happy trail thickened as it travelled down his stomach, disappearing beneath the low-slung waistband of his red pants. 

And the fabric of them was so strained that you could see the shape of his cock. The thick, curved length, the heavy weight of the balls beneath. His smile deepened as he watched you, eyes half-lidding with pleasure.

Your mouth went dry. It was quite obvious what this smoking hot Lion Man wanted from you. 

"You see," he murmured. "I am not so different from you, honey. Not where it matters."

One of his hands left the ground beside your head. He brought it to your face, his knuckles grazing your cheek with impossible tenderness. The touch was a contradiction: the hand of a killer, gentle against your skin.

"You are so soft," he said. "Like a little mouse. I could close my fist and break every bone in your body. And yet you look at me like you want to bite me." His thumb traced your lower lip. 

You did want to bite him. You wanted to bite him and run. You wanted– you didn't know what you wanted. Your body was a traitor, liquid heat pooling in your belly, your nipples tightening to aching points against the fabric of your bra.

"Jing Yuan," he said again, reminding you of his name. "Your future mate. Say it."

"No."

His eyebrow arched. 

"No?"

"No." Your voice was steadier than you expected. "I didn't agree to this. I didn't– you can't just take someone–"

His head tilted, ears swiveling forward, and something shifted in his expression. Something close to curiosity, as if you had presented him with an interesting puzzle.

"But I am the king," he said. "I’m strong and thus, I can have what I want." The words hung in the air between you. His gaze sharpened, vertical pupils dilating slightly. For a long moment, he stared at you, and you felt the full weight of his attention.

"Interesting," he said, "You are afraid of me, but," he inhaled deeply and smiled, “judging by the smell coming from down there,” he murmured sultry, hand brushing your thigh, “not of what I want.”

You whimpered, and Jing Yuan lowered his head. His forehead pressed against yours, his mane falling around you like a curtain, shutting out the sun. His breath was warm against your lips.

"I will not hurt you," he said. "I will never hurt you. You are too precious. Too rare."

His nose brushed yours. His tail, heavy and warm, curled around your calf.

"But I will have you," he said. "Here, or in my den. That is not a question. That is simply… what will happen." He gripped your hip, his fingers denting the soft flesh, and pulled you against the rigid heat of him.

"You will fight," he murmured. "You will say no. You will scratch and bite and call me terrible names."

His hips rolled. Once. The thick length of him dragged against your center, separated by mere millimeters of fabric, and your core clenched in response.

"And then you will come for me," he said, "again and again, until i decide that im finished."

Your heart was a war drum. Your body, that traitor, was arching into his touch, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of him.

He sat back and the loss of his warmth was immediate, almost painful.

"The grass is too exposed," he said. "And the ground is hard. You deserve better than dirt."

Jing Yuan stood and before you could scramble away, before you could even fully process what was happening. One arm hooked beneath your knees, the other behind your back. Then you were in the air, cradled against his chest.

"Put me down," you gasped. "Put me down right now!"

"Hmpf."

Jing Yuan shifted your weight. Suddenly you were upside down, draped over his left shoulder like a sack of grain, your head hanging down his back. His heavy hand settled over the bare curve of your ass.

"What the hell!? Let me go!"

"No."

His tail swished lazily behind him as he began to walk away from the spot, leaving your camera in the grass.

"I like you like this." His thumb traced the crease where your thigh met your ass. "Soft. Open. Ready."

"You are insane," you snarled. "You are a predator and I am a human being and you cannot just abduct me–"

"And yet, here I am. Abducting you."

His pace was unhurried. The grass whispered against his calves. In the distance, the gazelles had finally lifted their heads, watchful but not alarmed – they recognized him, you realized. They knew their king. There was noone here to help you, and you panicked, hands beating against his broad back, legs swinging in a desperate attempt to escape his grasp. 

The Lion Man didn't even flinch and the only thing your shuffling did was send your shorts falling down into the dry grass.

"I will scream!" you said.

"You free to do so."

"I will– I will bite you!"

His tail curled around your anckle, the tuft brushing the sensitive skin.  

"Oho~ I look forward to it."

“I will run!”

Jing Yuan stopped mid-stride, the savanna quiet except for the distant cry of a hornbill and the desperate sound of your breathing. His hand was still spread across your ass, fingers denting the flushed skin.

"Ah," he said, and you felt the word vibrate through his shoulder blade into your sternum. "Then I must make running… difficult~"

Before you could process the shift in his tone, his grip tightened. His left arm locked around your thighs like a vice, pinning you immobile against his body, and his right hand rose.

Slap!

The first hit cracked through the golden air like a rifle shot. Pain bloomed across your left ass cheek, sharp and immediate, radiating outward in waves of heat. You screamed,  sound punched out of you by the force of the impact. Your body jerked against his shoulder, but he held you fast.

"Will you run?" His voice was conversational, almost pleasant.

"Yes!"

Slap!

The second hit landed on the same cheek, harder. Your vision whited at the edges. The sound was wetter now, skin meeting abused skin, and you could feel the imprint of his fingers burning across your flesh like a brand.

"Yes, you fucking–!"

Slap!

The third landed on the other cheek. Then the tender curve where your ass met your thigh. Then the backs of your thighs themselves, each blow measured, deliberate, the patience of a creature who had never once been rushed. His hand was so large that each slap covered half your ass at once. The heat was building, spreading, transforming into something that burned all the way down to your cunt.

"Will you run?" 

"YES–" Your voice cracked on a sob. "YES, I'LL RUN, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, I'LL–"

Jing Yuan spanked you again, and this time his fingers dragged forward, slipping between your legs from behind, and the calloused pad of his middle finger dragged directly across your soaked pantines.

You both froze.

Your entire body locked up, muscles spasming, a sound escaping your throat that was equal parts humiliation and raw need. His finger was still pressed against you, not penetrating, just there, resting against the outline your swollen lips.

"Ah," he breathed. "You say you’ll run, but your body says something else entirely."

"Fuck you," you whispered. "Fuckyoufuckyoufuck–"

Slap!

"–FUCKING–"

Slap!

"–MONSTER–"

Slap!

"–LET ME–"

Slap!

"–GO–"

His hand stopped. For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and the thundering of your heart. Then his thumb began to move, slow circles across your burning skin, tracing the outline of each handprint he'd left behind.

"Your ass is so red," he murmured. "Like the sky at sunset."

His finger slid lower. Found your entrance. Pressed.

"And your pussy," he continued, his voice dreamy, adoring, "is soaked. If you hate me so much, why does your body love me?"

You couldn't answer. Your throat was too tight, your face buried against the hot plane of his back, your fingers twisted in his mane. He was petting you now, soothing the burning flesh he'd abused, and the tenderness after the violence was somehow worse, somehow more devastating. You let out a pathetic sob that wrecked your whole body.

"Shh," he murmured. "There. There."

His fingers found the waistband of your underwear – that flimsy scrap of cotton, utterly inadequate protection against what was going to happen. He hooked his thumb beneath the elastic, unseathing the claw and pulled.

The fabric tore, the sound sharp and final, the elastic snapping, the cotton ripping. Jing Yuan tugged the ruined scrap free from between your legs – it dragged across your soaked cunt, collecting your slick, your arousal, the evidence of your body's betrayal – and then he held it before his eyes. His pupils dilate, his nostrils flare, his lips part around a sharp exhale.

"I’ll take these," he smirked and folded the scrap of fabric neatly, tucking it into the pocket of his trousers. “Will need that for the times when you're too sore…”

His fingers found you immediately after. Slipping through your slick folds, parting you, exposing you to the cooling evening air. Two fingers sweeped through your wetness, gathering your arousal on his skin, and then he brought his hand to his face. You listened carefully, paralyzed, as he slid his fingers into his mouth.

His eyes fluttered closed. His throat worked. His ears swiveled forward, catching every microscopic sound of your breathing, your heartbeat, the desperate sobs.

"Mmm," Jing Yuan hummed around his own fingers. "Delicious. You taste even better than you smell, love. And you smell incredible."

"Please," you whispered. You didn't know what you were begging for. "Please, I–"

"Please what?" His voice was soft, almost tender. "Please stop? Please continue? Please put you down? Please keep you?"

"I don't know," you whined, face red and wet with tears and snot. You were ashamed. Truly ashamed by the feeling in you belly, by how messed up your thoughts were, by how your poor hole clenched, spitting out more slick.

His hand slid between your legs again, and this time his fingers didn't tease. Two thick digits pushed into you without warning, without resistance, sliding home to the knuckles in one slick thrust.

Your vision went white.

The sound you made – you didn't recognize it. High and keening, desperate, your entire body convulsing around the sudden fullness, your toes curling from pleasure. His fingers were so much longer than yours, so much thicker, reaching places that you hadn't even known existed. Your cunt clenched around him instinctively, greedily, trying to pull him deeper.

"There," Yuan breathed. "There it is. Just let your man take care of you, yes? I'll prepare you well, sweet one. I'll make you ready for me."

He started moving with slow and deep thrusts, the ball of his palm pressing against your clit with every stroke, his fingers curling to find that sweet spot inside your tender cunny that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The sound of it – wet and filthy, your body accepting him, welcoming him, gripping him – filled the quiet savanna air.

"You like this, dear?" he murmured, and  when you whimpered, there was genuine surprise in his voice, genuine wonder. "Oh, you do… You like when someone takes care of you. You like when someone makes you feel good."

His fingers crooked sharply, pressing directly into that sweet spot, and you moaned, gripping his asscheeks for the dear life.

"Yes, like that." he breathed. "I promise I will always take care of you, honey. You will never be unsatisfied. You will never want for touch, for pleasure, for the feeling of being loved. I will give you everything your body craves, and I will give it until you beg me to stop, and then I will give you more."

His thumb found your clit. Circled it. Pressed.

Your fingers found his tail. Grabbed it. Pulled.

"Yes," he groaned, his composure cracking for the first time. "Yes, hold onto me. And if you need to bite, bite–" He lowered his head and sank his teeth into the meat of your thigh, not breaking skin but close, so close, the pressure of his fangs a brand. "–more marks are better. I want to wear you on my skin."

His fingers were pistoning into you now, relentless, each thrust aimed directly at that spot inside you that made your toes curl and your vision blur. His palm slapped against your clit with every stroke. His teeth released your thigh and he licked the indentation he'd left, soothing, worshipful.

"Come for me," he murmured against your skin. "Come on my fingers, sweet one. Let me taste you again."

Your orgasm hit you like a falling tree, like a wave, like the entire weight of the sky collapsing. Your body arched against his shoulder, your cunt clamping down on his fingers in rhythmic waves, and you felt the gush of fluid soaking his hand, dripping down your thighs, splattering the dry earth beneath his feet.

Jing Yuan made a sound of pure satisfaction. His fingers slowed, gentled, coaxing you through the aftershocks, slipping out of your spasming pussy. He brought his wet hand to his mouth again and licked it clean, his pupils blown wide.

"Sweet," he said softly. "Has it been long since someone touched you? Human men must be blind." And he continued walking towards what looked like a cave, carved into the heart of a kopje, the entrance screened by flowering acacia and the trailing vines of wild jasmine. Inside, the walls rose smooth and curved, lit by clusters of phosphorescent fungi that cast everything in soft gold. The floor was layered thick with furs – zebra, impala, something large and spotted that you didn't manage to identify – and piled high with silk cushions in jewel tones. A low table held fruits and a clay jug. A brazier glowed in one corner.

"My home," Jing Yuan said. He was already climbing onto the furs with you still thrown over his shoulder, his weight depressing the soft pelts. "Do you like it?"

"You live in a cave…"

"I am a lion."

He was gently lowering you now, your back meeting the fur and your body sinking into the impossible softness beneath. "You have furniture. You have cushions. You have–"

Jing Yuan knelt over you. His thighs bracketed your hips. His hands found the hem of your ruined shirt and pulled, the fabric tearing like tissue, like paper, like it was nothing. Cool air hit your bare breasts. You were naked, your cunt still wet and dripping, your ass still burning red, your nipples tightening to sharp peaks in the dim light.

Jing Yuan bit his lip, golden eyes feasting on the sight of you. His gaze traveled down your body like a physical touch, slow and thorough, lingering on the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips, the softness of your belly. His tail had gone rigid, the tuft twitching. His pupils had blown so wide that his amber irises were reduced to thin gold rings. 

"Mmm," he hummed. "Pretty."

His hands began to move. Palms sliding up your shoulders, over the delicate architecture of your collarbones. Fingers tracing down your sternum, circling your areolas, thumbs brushing your nipples until they peaked harder and you gasped. Down, down, over the soft give of your belly, the jut of your hip bones, the trembling muscles of your thighs. 

"Mhm," he hummed again, and the sound was deeper now, rougher, edged with hunger. "Perfect. Everywhere I touch is perfect."

His hands left your body. You felt the loss like a physical ache.

He reached for the fastenings of his trousers. The fabric fell away in an instant. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, curving up toward his stomach, and you forgot how to breathe.

The shaft was long, the head a flushed helmet that flared wider than the base, weeping a constant stream of translucent fluid. Below the head, circling the shaft, were ridges. Not sharp, not the barbs of a true lion, but pronounced, textured, designed to catch and hold and stimulate. The shaft itself was veined, thick cords of blue and purple visible beneath the taut skin, pulsing visibly with every beat of his heart. At the base, nestled in a nest of soft white curls, hung his balls – heavy, full, so swollen with need that they looked almost painful.

The entire organ twitched. Drooled. Yearned toward you like a living thing.

Jing Yuan watched you assessing him. His chest was heaving, his mane of hair disheveled, a flush spreading across his cheekbones and down his throat. His ears were flat against his skull. His tail lashed the furs behind him.

And then he dropped to all fours. The movement was fluid, animalistic, his broad shoulders rolling as he braced his weight on his palms, while crawling toward you. His cock swung beneath him, heavy and wet, leaving a trail of pre-come on the dark fur. 

While you scrambled backward, his eyes never left yours. Your heels dug into the pelts. Your hands pushed uselessly at the furs behind you. Your back hit the cool stone of the cave wall.

“Wait, j-just give me a second!” you sobbed pathetically.

Jing Yuan kept coming. His face was level with yours now. His breath was hot and rapid, his lips parted, his fangs visible. His pupils were black, his iridium swallowed entirely by want. His tail whipped back and forth, back and forth, a metronome counting down to something.

"Nowhere to run," he breathed. "Nowhere to hide. You're on my territory, little mate. And I am very hungry."

His hands landed on your shoulders. His weight pressed forward until your back was plastered against the hard stone. And his mouth crashed into yours. His tongue was thick and heavy, muscled like the rest of him. He pushed past your lips, past your teeth, and kept going, delving deep into the wet heat of you, stroking along the inside of your cheeks, swallowing your sounds, your protests, your whimpers, and answering each one with a deeper thrust of that relentless tongue. 

It was obscene, the way he ravaged your mouth, the wet sounds of his claiming filling the space between you, slick and rhythmic, thick tongue licking the insides of your mouth. His hand found your jaw and gripped, forcing your face up, forcing you to accept him. His thumb pressed into the soft hollow beneath your chin, tilting your head back against the stone. Your drool pooled at the corners of your lips, escaped down your chin, and Jing Yuan groaned into you, scraping your lip with his fangs, swallowing your helpless sounds as if they were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted.

You should fight. You should bite. You should–

Your hands rose. Your fingers threaded into his mane, and your tongue, traitor that it was, began to move with his, meeting each thrust with a stroke of your own. 

He felt it immediately. His entire body shuddered, a deep purr starting in his chest and vibrating through the kiss, and when you suckled gently at his tongue, he pulled back just far enough to look at your face. A string of saliva connected your lips to his, stretching, glistening, and he watched it break with hooded eyes. A single drop fell onto your breast.

"There you are," he said. His voice was wrecked, scraped raw. "Now be a good mate and tend to your male." He shifted his weight, rising, and his feet settled on either side of your thighs. His cock rose between you, the head level with your lips.

Your breath stopped.

It was so close. The weight of it, the heat, radiating against your face like a furnace. Pre-come beaded at the tip, gathered into a trembling droplet, and fell onto your lower lip.

Jing Yuan's hand found your hair. His fingers carded through it, adoring, gathering the strands and drawing them back from your face. He tucked a lock behind your ear. 

"Open," he murmured, "for me."

Your mouth opened before your mind had processed the thoughts.

The tip passed your lips, and the world collapsed to just this: the taste of him, salt and musk and the flavor of wild places. His cock was a living thing against your tongue, pulsing with its own heartbeat, the broad flat of it heavy and insistent as it pressed past the threshold of your mouth. Your lips stretched around the sheer girth, and you heard him exhale above you.

"That's it," he breathed. "That's it, sweetheart..."

His hand cradled the back of your skull, fingers threading through your hair with deceptive gentleness. You could feel the claws there, retracted but present, blunt pressure points against your scalp. His thumb traced the hinge of your jaw, pressing slightly, and your mouth fell wider. He pushed deeper.

The head of his cock was broad and hot, shaped wrong and right all at once, the ridge beneath it catching on your lower lip as it slid inward. Those ridges. You felt them with the flat of your tongue. They pulsed against you, slick with the endless flood of pre-come that wept from his tip, and you tried to imagine what those ridges would feel like inside you. Your poor sopping cunt clenched on nothing at the thought.

Jing Yuan pushed deeper still. The tip met the back of your throat, teasing that soft wall of muscle, and he paused. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you hadn't noticed falling.

"Breathe through your nose, love. Relax this muscle here." He pressed gently at the hollow of your throat. "Let me in. I know you can."

Your throat spasmed, rebelled, and Jing Yuan waited, patient as stone, immovable as the savanna itself, his cock a hot brand against your tongue. And when the tight channel finally relaxed enough, his cock slid into your throat like it belonged there, like your body had been shaped specifically for this purpose. 

The stretch was immense. You felt your throat bulge around his girth, felt the pulse of him against your esophagus, and more tears spilled hot down your cheeks. Saliva and pre-cum flooded your mouth, overflowed, dripped down your chin, and onto your breasts. You couldn’t speak. You couldn't swallow. You couldn't do anything but whine and gag and whimper around the pulsing fatness of him.

"Oh, love," Yuan’s voice was hushed. His other hand came up to brace against the wall, knuckles white with restraint, claws scraping against the stone. "Look at me, I beg…"

You looked up. The position was obscene – your face pressed into the white curls at the base of his cock, your nose buried in his pubic hair, his shaft disappearing past your stretched lips, buried to the root. Drool and pre-come painted your chin in strings of glossy fluid as you tried to breathe around him. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your face a mess of tears, spit, and his slick. 

His gaze traced every detail. The single mole beneath his eye seemed darker against the flush spreading across his cheekbones. His eyes were hooded sensually, pupils blown wide, black swallowing gold, and his lips parted on each shallow breath. 

"Beautiful," he panted. "The most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

Jing Yuan pulled back. The slide was slow, his ridges dragging against your throat, tongue and the inside of your cheeks. The sensation was overwhelming – too much and not enough. You whimpered around him. His cock jumped against your palate.

"More?" His smile was soft, too patronising for your liking. Still, it sent the pulsing wave of heat from your core to your neglected cunny. His thumb traced the corner of your mouth, feeling where his flesh stretched you wide. "You want more, sweetheart? You want to be good for me?"

You nodded as much as you could. Jing Yuan patted your hair and pulled back, leaving your poor mouth empty before feeding you with his cock again. He found his pace, slow at first, patient, letting you adjust to the rhythm of him – the thick push forward, the drag back, the way his ridges caught and pulled at your soft tissue.

Each thrust seated him deeper. Your throat opened and accepted his throbbing cock. Your hands had found his ass for support, fingers digging into the plump muscle, gripping his cheeks as he used your face. His skin was hot and damp beneath your palms, flexing with each controlled movement. With another lash, his tail wrapped around one of your hands.

"That's my good girl," he crooned. "Taking all of me. Such a tight little throat– ah! Made for me!"

His pace increased. The slap of his balls against your chin became rhythmic, each impact spreading his pre-come across your skin in glossy smears, thin strings connecting your chin to his balls every time he left your mouth. Your vision blurred with tears, and you could smell nothing but him. Arousal had already soaked your thighs, dripped down to wet the furs beneath you, and you knew he could smell that too. His nostrils flared with each breath. His pupils dilated further.

"You're dripping, love," he said, and his voice had roughened, lost its velvet polish. "Your pussy is weeping for me. Can you feel it? Every time I push into this sweet throat, your little hole clenches…"

His thrusts were deeper now, less controlled. His hips had developed an animal rhythm, and his chest was sheened with sweat that ran in rivulets down the hard planes of his stomach. The muscles there jumped and flexed with each movement. His mane had fallen around his face, white strands clinging to his damp temples. His ears were flattened back against his skull in feline concentration.

"Your mouth is so hot," he gasped. "So wet. Like your cunt, I know it is, I felt it, I need–"

His hands flew to your head, and he stopped. His cock was buried to the root in your throat, your nose crushed against his pelvis yet again. His entire body was trembling. His tail lashed around your arm, pulling you closer, and his claws extended, just slightly, pricking the delicate skin of your scalp.

"Look at me."

You forced your eyes up, trying to find his face through the veil of tears. His gaze was incandescent, burning, the look of a king who has found something worth worshipping.

"I’m going to come down your throat," he stated. "I’m going to fill you so full that you taste me for days. Every time you swallow, you will taste your man. Every time you breathe, you will smell me on you."

With that, Jing Yuan started moving again. His pace was brutal now, desperate, the controlled patience stripped away to reveal the hunger beneath. His cock pistoned into your throat, each thrust seating him deeper, his ridges catching and releasing with wet, obscene sounds. Saliva and pre-come had formed a frothy white ring around the base of his shaft, and your lips were swollen, bruised-looking, stretched beyond their limits. You gagged, and he moaned, the vibration of your throat around his cock clearly sending him higher. Your hands clawed at his ass, nails leaving red trails, and he growled deeply.

"Take it," he rasped. "Take all of it. Swallow for me, sweetheart, swallow around my cock–"

His hips slammed forward one final time, seating himself impossibly deep, and you felt it. The first pulse was a flood. Hot and thick, impossibly copious, his come filled your throat in a rush that had you choking instantly. But he held you there, his grip gentle but immovable, and you had no choice but to take it. 

The second pulse. The third. Each wave was heavier than the last, his release seeming endless, and you felt it escape, come spilling from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin to join the mess on your chest. It came from your nose, thin streams of white, and you coughed, gagged, your throat convulsing around his pulsing cock.

Jing Yuan watched you with his eyes half-closed, lips parted, his entire expression one of gentle adoration. His thumb traced your cheekbone, smearing come across your skin.

"I've waited for so long," he whispered. "I thought I would never– hell, sweetheart, you're still swallowing– find s-someone like you."

When he pulled back, it left you gasping and choking, a trail of saliva and pre-come stretching from your lips to his fat girth. You collapsed forward, your face pressing into his muscular thigh, your tears, snot, and cum smearing across his hot skin.

"Ah, darling," Jing Yuan murmured. His hand stroked your hair, your cheek, the curve of your shoulder. "You did so well. Took me so deep. But now," he kneeled, and his hand slid down your back, gripped your hip, yanked you close, and finally, rolled you onto your tummy, "now we must reproduce~"

His weight was a universe collapsing onto your spine, his chest a furnace against your shoulder blades, his mane spilling around your face in a curtain of white silk that smelled of sun-scorched grass and the deep musk of his skin. 

You scrabbled at the furs beneath you, fingers clawing through the dense animal pelts, heels digging for purchase as his cock slid in the cleft of your ass, the thick weight of him dragging through the sodden mess of your folds. Your entire body seized.

"Still trying to run?" His voice was honey over gravel, amused and breathless, his hips continuing that torturous rock."Still think there's somewhere else you'd rather be than pinned beneath your mate?"

"P-please." Your voice was a ruin, scraped raw by his cock, by your moans. "You already– you already got what you wanted–"

"Oh, dear," Jing Yuan settled his weight more firmly onto your back, one massive palm planting between your shoulder blades and pressing you flat against the zebra pelt. The fur was coarse against your cheek, smelling of earth and him."I've barely started."

His free hand rose and fell.

The slap cracked through the cave like thunder, his palm connecting with the crest of your burning ass cheek, and the forgotten pain rose again, radiating outward in waves of heat that traveled straight to your clit. You screamed into the furs, your body arching involuntarily, but his hand on your spine held you immobile.

“No! Stop!” Your throat was raw, and some drool seepedinto the furs under your chin.

"I won’t stop. Not until you learn your rightful place, which," his fingers traced the blooming handprint, pressing into the heat of it, "Is under me, well fed and well bred."

His hand landed on your ass again. Each blow was measured with the patience of a creature who had all of eternity to reduce you to this – a sobbing, writhing thing beneath his palm, your ass a canvas of his ownership. 

He spanked the tender curve where your ass met your thigh, and you howled. He spanked the backs of your thighs, and your cunt gushed slick onto the fur. He spanked the same cheek three times in succession, each impact landing on the same abused spot, and by the third you were babbling nonsense and his name and please, please, please.

"Please what?" His hand smoothed over the tortured flesh, soothing, almost tender. "Please stop? Please continue? You have to use your words, love. Your man can't read your mind."

Your answer was a wet sob into the fur and the small arch of your back that presented your neglected cunt to him.

"Ah, well." His hand squeezed your ass, kneading the welted flesh, his fingers digging deep into the burning heat. "I suppose your body knows better."

His words detonated in your chest. Jing Yuan felt your reaction – the sharp inhale, the way your cunt clenched miserably – and his chuckle was dark honey, pouring directly into your ear.

"There she is. There's my good girl. You just needed someone capable enough to handle you, didn't you, love? Someone who won't let you run from your own pleasure."

His cock found your entrance. Not pushing, just resting there, the weeping tip pressing against your dripping hole like a key testing a lock. You could feel every pulse against your most intimate flesh. 

"No." You tried to scramble forward. His hand on your spine pinned you. "No, wait, please, I can't– you're–"

His mouth opened. His fangs, those lethal curves of ivory, settled against the junction of your nape, resting there, a promise of pain to come.

"I need you to be very still now, honey." His voice was barely a whisper, reverent and desperate. "Can you do that for your man? Can you be still and take what I give you?"

You couldn't speak. You nodded into the furs, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"Good girl. My perfect mate."

He pushed.

The head of his cock stretched you wide, wider than his fingers had, wider than anything had ever stretched you, and the sensation was beyond pain – it was invasion, his flesh forcing your flesh to accommodate, your poor hole fluttering and catching on each ridge as he seated himself inch by inch. You heard yourself make a sound, high and keening, an animal noise of submission and terror.

And then Jing Yuan bit down.

His fangs sank into the meat of your nape, not deep enough to seriously injure but deep enough to claim, and the spike of agony was the key that unlocked your body. Your cunt, which had been resisting his invasion, suddenly relaxed. Your inner muscles softened, surrendered, and he bottomed out in one deep thrust.

The sound Jing Yuan made was not human. It was something between roar and moan, muffled against your flesh, vibrating through your bones. His entire body shuddered against yours, his hips pressing flush to your burning ass, his balls heavy against your clit. 

After a second that felt like infinity, his fangs retracted, and his tongue immediately began to soothe the wound, in loving strokes that made the pain transmute into something else entirely. 

"Hell! You feel– you're so– ah~" He couldn't finish. His hips moved involuntarily, and you both gasped.

“H-heavens, dear, just let me hold you,” Jing Yuan breathed against your hair while his forearm slid across the front. Your spine arched back against his chest, when he trapped your neck and head between the massive curve of his forearm and the solid wall of his shoulder. The muscle there was obscene, corded and veined, flexing against your throat with every breath he took. You could feel the sheer strength of him, and the knowledge that he could crush your windpipe without any effort, made something unhinged and totally wrong flutter in your heart. 

"Shh." His lips pressed against your temple, and you could hear the impossible strain in his voice. "I have you..."

It felt like he was everywhere. Inside you, above you, around you, his scent flooding your lungs, his weight pressing you into the pelts, his cock buried in your aching cunt. His arm kept your head tilted back against his shoulder, and the position meant you couldn't look away from the cave ceiling, couldn't hide from the overwhelming sensation of him. You could only lie there, impaled and filled, while he breathed hot against your cheek.

Your belly seemed to bulge slightly with his intrusion, and when his free hand slid down and under your body to press against the slight swell over your pelvis, he made a sound of pure worship.

"There," he whispered against your ear, his lips brushing the shell of it. "There it is. Feel that, love? Feel how deep I am?”

Jing Yuan withdrew slowly, his ridges dragging against your clutching walls in reverse, and the sensation was too much – the textured pull, the way your body tried to grip him and couldn't, the sucking sound of his cock leaving your greedy hole. His head reached your entrance, hovered there, and you whimpered at the loss.

He hummed at that and thrusted forward, making his balls slap against your abused clit. The sound of his pelvis meeting your ass was a wet crack that echoed off the cave walls. His hand slid from your belly to your mouth, two thick fingers pushing past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, and you gagged around them, saliva flooding your chin.

"That's it." His voice was strained now, the polished veneer cracking to reveal the desperate animal beneath. "That's my good girl..."

His thrusts found a rhythm. Slow withdrawal, agonizing drag, then the brutal plap when he drilled into your poor cunny. Each impact drove his fingers deeper into your throat, his cock deeper into your cunt, his balls slapping wetly against your clit in a rhythm that made your toes curl. The sounds – the wet plap plap plap of your bodies meeting, your garbled moans around his fingers, his deepening growls – ricocheted off the stone walls, multiplied, became a symphony of your surrender.

"Yes," Jing Yuan hissed. "This is how my queen should sound. Clenshing on my cock, choking on my fingers, crying because she feels too good. You were– ah, fuck– made for this, honey."

His angle shifted. His hips rolled differently, the head of his cock suddenly pressing against something new – a ring of inner muscle, tight and resistant, the final gate to your deepest self. You felt him find it because his entire body went rigid, and when Jing Yuan spoke again, his voice was raw with desperate need.

"Oh~ Oh, my love~” He grumbled, massaging your tongue with his fingers. “Pray tell, are you still a virgin here?"

You couldn't answer. His fingers were in your mouth, your throat in the crook of his arm, his cock pressing against that final barrier with a needy twitch. You shook your head weakly, tears flying, and his pleased groan vibrated through you.

"My perfect mate. Saving this for your king." His hips pressed forward, just slightly, testing, and the sensation was overwhelming – not pain, not pleasure, but something beyond both. His voice deepened to the obscene grumble, deep and sensual, when he resumed his pounding. "Don't worry, honey. I’ll make it feel so good~"

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. The orgasm that crashed over you was immense, your cunt clenching around his pistoning cock in waves of desperate spasms. You screamed around his fingers, with your vision whiting out completely, your entire body convulsing beneath him.

And then you heard the roar.

His hips lost all rhythm, slamming into you with animal desperation, each thrust driving his tip against your womb with bruising force. His balls drew up tight against his body, and the sounds he made were no longer words – they were growls, snarls, the vocalizations of a creature who had forgotten his human shape.

"Take it," he snarled. "Take it, dear, take all of it, take– take–!"

His tip breached your cervix.

The pain was blinding, a spike of white-hot agony that immediately transmuted into the most exquisite pleasure you had ever experienced. Yuan was inside you, truly inside, his cock seated in the deepest chamber of your body, and you felt the first pulse of his release. 

Hot. Copious. Endless. 

His cum flooded your womb in creamy waves, each pulse of his cock milking more of his essence into your empty chamber. Warmth spread through the inside of your belly, making your abdomen swell as he filled you beyond capacity.

Yuan was still coming when his hips began to move again. Slow, shallow thrusts that kept his cock seated deep, his release spilling around his cock, dripping down his balls to pool on the furs beneath you. His arms relaxed, letting your head fall face-first into the furs. His mouth found your sweaty nape again, kissing, laving the mark he'd left with gentle sweeps of his tongue.

"There," he murmured. "There, sweetheart. All better. I got you."

When he finally pulled out and kneeled behind you, the sensation was almost worse than the penetration. His cock slid free of your clutching flesh, and immediately, his release gushed out of the gaping emptiness, dripping down your thighs in thick white rivulets. You felt too empty and obscenely open, your cunt unable to close around the absence of him, your inner lips swollen and parted, your hole a perfect circle that slowly began to contract back in shape.

Jing Yuan’s gaze dropped to the junction of your thighs, and his pupils blew wide at the sight.

"Oh," he breathed. "Oh, my love. Look at what I've done to you."

His fingers, gentle now, traceyour labia. His release continued to seep out, viscous and pearlescent, and he gathered it on his fingertips and pushed it back inside. You whimpered at the intrusion, pussy desperately clutching at his digits.

"Good girl," he whispered. "My perfect mate, so full of me."

Jing Yuan lowered himself onto his side, gathering you against his chest, pulling the furs up over your trembling body. His heartbeat was strong and steady against your back, slowly decelerating from its desperate race. His hand found your belly, splaying across the slight swell, and he held you there, warm and possessive.

"Sleep now, love." His lips pressed against your hair. "Your mate will watch over you. Always."

The purr began slowly, a deep vibration that started in his chest and traveled through his entire body, then yours, until you were both humming with the same frequency. His softening cock, gave weak pulses against your hip, releasing the last few drops of his seed onto your skin.

"Thank you for the gift," The Lion Man murmured. You weren't sure if he was speaking to you or to whatever gods had delivered you to his territory.

The golden light of the phosphorescent fungi seemed to dim, settling into something intimate. The furs beneath you absorbed the mess of your bodies. 

And in the grasp of the obsessive Lion Man, you closed your tired eyes.

Night settled over the savanna like indigo silk. The waterhole reflected the first stars, and the gazelles had long since departed, leaving only the trampled grass and your abandoned camera as evidence of the afternoon's vigil.

Two figures stood at the edge of the clearing. The man was tall, blond, his long hair catching the dying light as he bent to retrieve the fallen equipment. His green eyes swept the viewfinder, the cracked lens, the deep impressions of a heavy body settling into the dust.

"Well." His voice was light and satisfied. "I told you it would work."

The woman beside him adjusted her black sunglasses, though the sun had fully set. Her baby blue hair stirred in the light breeze.

"He was obsessed with her from the very beginning." Her tone was assessing. "His scent markers are all over this area. We shouldn’t interfere, unless we want our heads bitten off."

"Exactly. Given that they have already begun mating, he will most likely not let us near her for the next week." The blond turned the camera over in his hands, examining the crack. "Though that's fine. The white lion hybrids have been struggling with genetic diversity for centuries. A human mate will introduce fresh variation."

"Assuming the pregnancy takes."

"It will." His smile was certain. "Jing Yuan is nothing if not thorough."

He tucked the camera into his jacket, and two figures turned, melting into the tall grass.

.

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Series Masterlist: Creatures Features

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Jing Yuan is unironically very hard to write. He is also one of my favourite characters, so yeah… 8000+ words c:

Also, a fun thing about writing smut and like sensual scenes in general. I noticed that it's kind of hard when you try to write a lot of action and poses because like... where the hell did I make him put his hand? Her hip or belly? How should I make him move it to her neck? Is that kind of move even possible?

Anyway, I hope you forgive me for the headlock scene. I just feel that it's written a bit awkwardly, but I don't have the mental capacity to rewrite it rn :c

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