A/n: I saw someone on TikTok request a story like this, and it inspired me LOL. Vampire Bat!Hybrid Choso story here!
Shiu Kong’s farm was a quiet place. Until Bull Toji arrived.
The bull hybrid was massive, built like a warhorse with thick, corded muscle beneath dark hide and scars earned in too many fights. The gleaming silver septum ring in his nose had been ripped out more than once. He was a fuckin’ beast. He had no patience for fences, no respect for gates. Only Shiu’s firm voice kept him from tearing the whole damn barn down when his rut hit hard each season.
“Got ya somethin’," Shiu had told him last week while Toji chewed lazily on an apple between blunt teeth. “Pretty little cow hybrid." A smirk twisted Shiu's mouth as he leaned against the stall. “Thought ya might wanna break her in before spring."
Toji hadn't answered. Just watched with half-lidded eyes as you were led into the barn, small and trembling under your new owner’s grip. You smelled like fresh hay and fear, horns still stubby from youth but already curving sweetly beneath your tousled hair.
Now you stood frozen in the middle of his pen as Toji circled you slow, hot breath fogging against your nape while calloused fingers traced the dip of your waist.
“Cute,” he rumbled at last, “…but yer shakin’. Ain't gotta be scared.”
Toji was used to the hard life, used to a world made hard and brutal by endless violence.
You were different. You were made soft, pliable by life in a cage. You still smelled like milk for godsake.
Your tail flickers when you’re anxious, swishing slow and uncertain behind you like a nervous afterthought.
He sees the way your thighs press together when you walk, plush and soft from easy living before Shiu bought you. Sees how your waist nips in just enough for his hands to span it completely before flaring out into hips meant for breeding.
A cow hybrid’s body is made for this. Made to be mounted. Made to take whatever he gives.
And oh, does he love the little details of your appearance. The smudge of pink at your nose that darkens when you blush
The way milk still lingers sweet in the air. Even though no calf has ever suckled from those heavy tits yet.
‘That part,’ he thinks with a smirk, ‘-he’ll fix soon enough.’
Toji's eyes never leave you as he leans against the hay bales, broad shoulders dwarfing the stall. Shiu stands beside him on the outside of the fence, cigar dangling from his lips.
“Who sold her to ya," Toji mutters. “And how much did she cost?”
Shiu just shrugs, looking unbothered as ever. “The breeder went broke. Needed cash."
Shiu steps into the pen, the gate creaking behind him. His fingers curl around your wrist first, yanking you forward without ceremony before turning you toward Toji like a prized heifer on auction day.
“Good hips," Shiu notes casually, his free hand palming the curve of your ass with a rough squeeze. “Wide enough for easy birthin’. Ain’t had no calves yet, but that just means she's fresh."
He spins you around by your shoulders next, fingers tugging at one of your small horns to tilt your face up toward Toji. “Teeth are strong," he continues, thumb pressing against your bottom lip until you part them obediently. “No issues chewin’ cud or takin' feed. Healthy."
He hooks two fingers into the neckline of your dress and yanks it down just enough to expose the heavy swell of your tits beneath. “See?" Shiu grins at Toji over your shoulder. “Already fillin’ out nice. Give ‘er a season or two under ya? She'll be leakin' milk on command."
Shiu exhales through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he eyes Toji with rare caution. “Look, I know ya like takin’ ‘em rough," he starts slowly, “-but she ain't built for that yet. Not like the seasoned broodmares ya usually get."
Toji’s nostrils flare, a sharp huff of irritation, but Shiu doesn’t back down. Instead, he jerks his chin toward the far corner of the barn where an old but sturdy breeding rack sits dusted off and waiting. Thick leather straps dangling from its frame to secure legs apart, padding along the bar where your belly would rest once bent over it.
“Two days," Shiu says firmly. “Let ‘er get used to yer scent first. Feed from yer hand if ya have to. Or she won't survive your first knot."
Toji's silence is dangerous, a low rumble building in his chest before he finally snorts and turns away with a jerk of his head. “Fine.”
Toji takes his time the following two days: getting you used to his scent, letting you feed from his hand like Shiu suggested.
He learns your habits like a hunter who knows his prey. Knows how your eyes flutter when he speaks. Knows how you flinch and shy away when he moves suddenly. Knows how he can make you tremble by leaning close. Knows how to make you whine just by touching the base of your tail.
And the entire time? You can smell his interest. His hunger.
Day three arrives with the sharp scent of antiseptic and oiled leather.
Shiu stands at your left, calloused hands guiding you toward the rack with ease.
The veterinarian, a no-nonsense woman with a stethoscope looped around her neck, adjusts the straps. Your hooves scuff against the wooden floor as they position you over the padded bar, belly-down, hindquarters raised obscenely high for Toji’s access.
“Easy now," Shiu soothes. "Ain't gonna hurt more than it needs to."
You’ve heard stories. You know exactly what happens to cow hybrids on breeding racks when bulls like Toji mount them.
The vet fastens thick cuffs around your wrists first, then your ankles, each strap pulled snug enough to bruise before she steps back to assess her work. “Good pelvic tilt," she notes dispassionately. “Won't tear as easy."
Then she turns toward Toji, who has been watching all this from the corner like a silent storm cloud and gives a curt nod. “She's ready."
Shiu’s fingers are rough as they grab the base of your tail, lifting it high with a firm tug. The sudden exposure makes you jerk against the restraints, but there’s nowhere to go, no way to hide.
The vet hands Shiu a thin, braided rope, something used to keep tails out of the way during examinations. He loops it around your lifted appendage, securing it upward so nothing obstructs the view between your thighs.
Your cunt is on full display now: plush and swollen, already glistening with nervous arousal despite your fear. Cow hybrids drip when they are stressed. A biological cruelty that leaves you shamefully slick as Toji’s shadow looms closer behind you. Your folds flutter under their assessing gazes, clenching around nothing while Shiu tsks and thumbs at your entrance like he’s testing fruit for ripeness.
“Tight," he muses, “...but she's wet enough."
The vet hums in agreement before reaching down to spread you wider with two clinical fingers. “No abnormalities," she declares. “Virgin passage is intact. Bull shouldn't have trouble sinking his knot once she's open."
Shiu doesn’t waste time. With a grunt, he nudges Toji’s shoulder, a silent command for the bull hybrid to step back just far enough for him to work.
Toji snorts in irritation but complies, his heavy-lidded gaze never leaving your trembling form strapped over the rack. Shiu grabs the industrial-sized pump bottle of lubricant from the vet’s tray.
“Gotta make sure ya don't split her in half, Shiu mutters, squeezing a thick stream onto his palm before reaching between Toji’s legs with zero ceremony.
He fists the bull hybrid’s already-hard cock without warning, working the lube down his length with rough efficiency. Toji’s hips jerk forward instinctively into the friction.
“Fuck—” Toji growls, muscles tensing as precum beads at his tip and drips onto straw-littered floor below. “Ain't gotta fuckin' mollycoddle it.”
Shiu ignores him, just keeps stroking until every inch of that monstrous erection gleams.
He finally steps aside with a slap against Toji's ass. “Go on then."
Toji doesn’t slam into you right away, no, he teases first. The broad, flared head of his cock drags slow and deliberate between your plush folds, smearing your own slickness back against you.
He can feel how tight you are even at this shallow pressure, your walls already twitching in reflexive panic around nothing.
“Fuckin’ choke on it already,” he growls. Even as the words leave his mouth, he rocks forward just enough for that fat tip to catch. It stretches your weeping hole wide for one glorious second before retreating again.
He won’t rush. Not when Shiu was right about how easily you might break. But that doesn't mean he'll be gentle either, just methodical. He’s working that thick crown against your clenching hole over and over until the lube mixes with hybrid arousal and drips down your inner thighs.
You whimper as the first real press of his cockhead nudges against your entrance, burning with the stretch even through the lube. Instinct takes over before shame can. Your hips jerk in a weak attempt to twist away, hooves scrambling uselessly against the wooden rack.
Toji’s grip on your waist tightens like a vice, claws biting in deep enough to draw pinpricks of blood. “Nuh-uh," he growls. "Ain't runnin' from this."
And then, with one brutal roll of his hips, he sinks into you past that impossible rim. Your body splits open around him in a white-hot flare of pain-pleasure that steals your breath.
The bellow of pain makes your ears pin back. But Toji doesn’t stop. He just bottoms out inside you with a groan so visceral it shakes the dust from the rafters above.
Shiu whistles. “Damn, she took all that?"
Toji nuzzles between your trembling shoulder blades. "Knew ya could take it. Filthy girl.”
His hips piston forward with a force that rattles the breeding rack’s wooden frame. Each brutal thrust makes the leather straps groan under tension as your body is jerked back onto him over and over.
Your dangling hooves scrabble for purchase but find none; all you can do is hang there, impaled and shaking while Toji takes what he wants in deep, grinding strokes. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes through the barn like an obscene metronome.
It’s only drowned out by Toji’s ragged breaths against your neck. His teeth are latched onto your nape in a mating bite.
“Fuck—“ he snarls.
It should hurt. It does hurt. At first.
Your walls flutter wildly around Toji’s girth, spasming in protest as he stretches you out.
Then your hybrid biology kicks in, ruthless and efficient. Heat floods your core as your cervix softens on instinct, widening for his cock like a flower for the sun.
Slickness gushes around each thrust, not just lube now but the thick, fertile cream of a cow hybrid in prime breeding condition.
Your body knows its purpose. Even your womb betrays you. Your walls are clenching down greedily every time his tip bumps your cervix, it like it's trying to milk him dry already.
Toji feels it too, his rhythm stuttering when you suddenly squeeze around him with hunger. “Shit—” he stutters, “-fuckin’ greedy lil’ bitch.”
Words fail you, language devolving into broken, animalistic sounds as Toji’s cock punches deeper with every thrust. Drool strings from your lips, pooling on the padded rack beneath you while tears and snot streak your flushed face.
“M-Mmmh—! Your back arches helplessly when his knot starts to catch at your rim, thighs trembling as a pathetic moo rips from your throat. "’J-ji! ‘Ji!—p-please!”
But what are you even begging for? More? Less? You don’t know anymore. All that exists is the stretch of him splitting you open, the way your plush belly bulges with each thrust.
Your nails splinter wood from the rack as another moan-turned-mooo spills out. “S’good,” Toji rumbles against your spine, “-fuckin’ take it.”
Your tongue lolls out past your lips, slick and pink. It’s a telltale sign of a cow hybrid pushed too far into instinct.
Saliva drips in thin strands onto the padded rack beneath you, each panting breath only making it worse. Your eyes have gone glassy, unfocused. Your pupils are blown wide in need.
Shiu notices first. He leans against the barn post with crossed arms, chewing lazily on a stalk of hay before nodding toward your slack mouth. “Watch it,” he warns Toji. “She’s ‘bout to tip over.”
He means your climax. The way cow hybrids lose all control when they hit that edge: thrashing, moaning, sometimes even pissing themselves from the sheer overload of sensation.
Sure enough, your thighs start quivering like bowstrings pulled taut as another broken moo spills from your spit-slick lips.
Toji snarls at the warning but doesn’t slow down. If anything he fucks into you harder. “Yeah? Then fuckin’ cum,” he growls. “Wanna feel that cunt milk me dry ‘fore I knot ya.”
Your mind is gone. It’s drowned under a tidal wave of sensation that reduces you to nothing but flesh and instinct. Your tongue lolls out further, spit dripping in thick ropes onto the straw-littered floor beneath the rack.
Every breath comes as a shuddering moan, every thrust wrings another pathetic moo from your throat like your voice isn’t even yours anymore. “Hhhnn—‘Jiiiii!”
Shiu watches with a chuckle, patting the stall door with his palm. "There it is," he mutters around a new cigarette before nodding at Toji. “She's lockin' up."
The orgasm crashes over you like a seizure. You scream around the drool coating your chin. "MMMOOOO—!"
The vet gives a sharp nod that Shiu moving through the gate. His calloused hands clamp down on your hips, not to save you, but to hold you still. Toji’s thrusts turn jagged and brutal, each snap of his hips forcing that thickening knot against your abused entrance. Your body fights it instinctively, clamping down in protest even as your orgasm still wrings dizzying pulses of pleasure from your core.
“N-No—NO! MMMFH—OOOO!”
The stretch burns like fire as your cunt is spread so wet and sticky against the swell. Toji growls through clenched teeth, lifts a hooves to plant close to your head at an angle and shoves the rest of the way inside.
You don’t even realize you’ve pissed yourself until warm liquid splatters onto the floor beneath the rack. Overstimulation is short-circuiting your bladder along with everything else.
Shiu just grunts and tightens his grip, keeping you upright as Toji rumbles in satisfaction behind you, “Fuckkkk, there ya go.” His palm splays over your lower belly where his cock visibly distends it from within.
The moment Toji’s knot locks, your body goes slack, limp as a ragdoll between them, trembling with oversensitivity and exhaustion. Shiu chuckles as he reaches for a nearby rag, swiping it roughly over your piss-streaked thighs. “Damn, girl," he chuckles, “Didn't know we'd have to hose down the whole fuckin' barn after."
Toji, still buried balls feel, leans down to nuzzle at the sweaty hair hair sticking to your neck. “Shhh,” he soothes. “Took it so good.” He lands lazy kisses against your neck. “‘Cept for the piss part.”
Shiu barks out a laugh while tossing the soiled rag aside. “First time's always messy," he shrugs before offering you a sip of water from an old canteen.
Months later, you’re round with the proof of Toji’s claim. Your belly swells round and heavy with his calf, skin stretched taut over fertile curves that jiggle with every step. The farmhands whisper when they think you can't hear. “Toji stuffed her full.”
Toji adores you like this. Slow-moving and sleepy-eyed. Milk-heavy tits swayed beneath the frilly bows Shiu begrudgingly buys for you at market. The little brass bell around your neck chimes sweetly whenever Toji guides you by the horns to feed from his palm like some pampered prize.
He drapes you in soft cotton dresses, the fabric straining over milk-heavy tits and wide hips that sway with every step. Your ribbons are always perfectly tied, pink satin bows nestled between your horns or threaded through the bell around your neck.
And god, does he love leading you. His calloused hands are always on you, guiding you to kneel so he can palm the curve of your stomach or tugging you into his lap. He gropes those swollen udders until warm milk beads at your nipples. “Lookit that,” the white liquid spills over his thick fingers. “All pretty ‘n leaky just for me.”
Even Shiu has softened in his own way, sneaking extra sugar cubes into your feed bucket when Toji isn’t looking. “Quit spoilin’ her,” Toji snaps before handing you a ripe apple.
Now, they wait until that calf comes so you can be bred all over again.
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Pairing: puppy!Choso x owner!reader
cw: SMUTTT, subby whiny pervy dog hybrid choso, owner reader, fem!reader, panty sniffing, scenting, riding him, choso cries, cumplay, degrading him a bit, punishment... he calls reader mistress/ma'am, light slapping, not proofread lols
for this ask <3 and mommy @mimuju
Choso was a good boy.
The best boy.
He's your good boy, could do no wrong.
You thought as much.
He's been your cute stay-at-home-hybrid for a while now, finally comfortable enough to not be as shy around you.
Choso was on the more timid side, but he'd make sure he's always around you when you're home.
Sitting next to you at the breakfast table, thigh against thigh, his tail wagging and smacking against the leg of the chair. You liked his presence, letting him steal food from your plate, wiping his cheek with your thumb when he got a bit messy.
He wanted to watch everything with you, getting startled by horror movies- you had to hold the sweet boy and scratch behind his ears. You loved it though, getting to coo and laugh at him when he trembled from a jumpscare.
He slowly had moved to your bedroom instead of his designated room, sleeping besides you, sometimes at the foot of the bed if you weren't in the mood to get snuggled up with a man that could engulf your whole form in his arms.
But that was rare.
You let him lay his head on your chest, place soft kisses on his hair and listen to his breath.
If there was a thunderstorm outside, then you'd huddle up under blankets with him and read to him as a distraction from the loud thundering sound and howling winds.
He did get a bit… touchy though, nosing and trying to scent you in the middle of the night when he thought you were fully passed out.
…You liked it.
He could smell how turned on you'd get, the lovely way your panties became damp and your cunts hole would flutter.
He wanted to have a lick… get your flavor in his mouth.
But he was good, just shifting to try and go to sleep, even if he had the most delicious smelling treat right under his nose.
When you went for walks at the park, he behaved well and stayed near. Choso was actually fairly frightened by the other demihumans.
Especially that mean looking pink tiger guy… or the gray wolf.
Choso wasn't some meek weakling but he preferred to stay hip to hip with you… in case he had to protect you, not the other way around… definitely.
Back to him being the bestest boy ever.
He wasn't.
Choso was a little pervert.
Like any dog would be.
He gave you sad puppy eyes when you left for work, whining about missing you- all to get a kiss on his droopy expression before you left and closed the door.
He did miss you, he didn't lie about that.
But that pouty act turned into one of pure neediness.
He had started off tame… going into your bedroom, rummaging trough your underwear drawer to get his paws on the fresh laundry, bringing it up to his face to sniff.
Then put them back.
You never knew.
Then he got bolder, sitting on the bathroom floor and pouring the dirty laundry basket out on the tiles, picking your most recently worn clothes up to roll in, laying on his back while smushing a pair of filthy panties to his face. As if you would be on his face.
And then he would shove all of it back into the basket and go laze about on your bed.
You NEVER knew.
One morning you had given him a bye bye peck on the lips, something you had never done before but he had been on the brink of tears, kneeling while tugging at your jeans, ears all flat and tail between his thighs. He was being extra clingy.
So a little kiss was sure to cheer him up.
A bit too much.
Late afternoon- and you return back home, exhausted from work and in need of a shower and a good meal. And some love and attention from your house dog.
"Choso! Puppy, I'm home…" You yawn out, toeing your shoes off and dropping your bag on the little table in your hallway.
Choso, the precious boy he was, rushed over and hugged you, his frame folding over you.
You couldn't help but giggle when he nosed at your neck, acting all cute. Not trying to taste you, no not at all.
He had acted normal throughout dinner, maybe a bit more… nosy than usual.
Nothing was amiss.
Until you were picking out some clothes to change into after you took a shower.
T shirt.. check… sweatpants… check… chewed up panties… check.
…
chewed up panties?
You lifted the cotton pair up by the sides.
There was a hole… a big one… bit right out from where your pussy would go if you wore them-
You don't remember moths having such a big appetite.
Your stupid mutt of a hybrid had gotten into your underwear.
He had gotten a little bit too excited and had decided he NEEDED a taste.
So what else was he supposed to do? Not take a chunk out of your favorite pair?
You tossed the ripped up thing to the bed and groaned, rubbing a hand over your forehead.
"CHOSO."
He was in the room before you could even finish the full word, on his knees and a trembling bottom lip sticking out, tail neatly tucked under his thighs and black furred ears down on his skull.
"Yes, mistress..?"
You glanced over to the bed.
He did too-
Oh no.
I mean, what did he expect would happen.
Leaving evidence right where you'd find it.
Silly boy.
The kneeling hybrids face started to heat up, looking to the floor where his hands were.
"…Wasn't me.."
"Who then? The undie ripping fairy? The pervert gnome of panty land?"
"…Both of them…"
You went silent, eyes staring down at his.
He whimpered, shifting uncomfortably under your glare.
"Choso, be good. Tell me what happened, seriously."
"I.. i didn't mean to… swear it."
"Choso Kamo."
He bit the inside of his cheek, head tipping forwards and hanging. His dark locks falling over his face to cover the guilty look.
His tail was starting to slooowwly slide back and forth across the floor.
Was he enjoying this?
You ran the hand from your forehead down your face.
"I did it…ma'am.."
"Why?"
"Wanted to smell you… but.. but also taste so i…"
"Taste and smell… what else, touch and lick?" You scoffed, making a sarcastic remark.
But he nodded, finally lifting his chin back up to have his chocolate irises meet your annoyed ones.
"May i, mistress?"
"May you? You tore up my favourite pair and now you want to get some? Fine. But you won't like it. "
You tried to threaten him, but he didn't look all that scared.
Not until you grabbed him by the hair and made him scoot forward, clumsy hands clinging to the backsides of your thighs. That pitiful little face he was making made you want to forgive him, but he deserved to be punished.
You stepped a bit wider, shoving his face between your legs.
This earned you a whine from him, unsure what to do now… the scent of you filling his nose and making his fluffy tail thump around on the flooring.
"Don't look so excited, damn mutt."
Choso shuddered from the mean name, peering up at you, tongue already darting out to try and lick at the fabric of your pants.
You unbuttoned your jeans, letting the not so guilty looking hybrid watch you unzip and tug the waistband down.
Before you could even get them past your thighs he was trying to lap at the front of your filly panties- canines lightly pulling on the material.
Someone was hungry.
"Look at you… now hold on, you can't taste unless i allow it." You chuckle, pulling him away by his hair.
Poor Choso was already sniffling, unable to tear his eyes away from the damp fabric clinging to invitingly to your puffy folds, hands gripping into his own sweats.
"Please….mistress… please."
You tutted.
How impatient.
You pulled him up from his knees, pushing him onto the soft bed- ripped up panties forgotten underneath him.
You didn't want to let him get what he wanted the most. To get to touch and bite at your skin.
So the best course of action?
Forcing him to lay down, tugging his sweatpants down just enough so you could sit on his weepy cock. It looked like it was crying by how much precum was oozing out.
Your clothed pussy formed around it, thighs trapping his legs underneath yours.
"No touching."
"Yes ma'am."
It was a pitiful sight, his ears floppy and his eyes glossy, unable to look away where your bodies were rubbing together- and his hands, oh his desperate hands, trying to lay flat on the bedsheets beside his sides.
You didn't slide your soaked panties to the side until he started to buck his hips.
Obviously his cock was obscenely large, with a plump knotting bump at the end. Not to mention how pretty his happy trail was, your hands pressing down on his lower stomach to hold him still while shifting and helping the leaky cockhead find your sopping hole.
Thwap slap thwap slap slap!
Your hips bounced up and down, ass meeting his trembling thighs, the wet sounds of skin meeting skin filled the usual wholesome bedroom air.
All he could do was… well.. cry. And let out whimpers of your name- too overwhelmed.
He was sobbing, nose scrunched up and his eyes blinking out pearly tears before shutting completely, fingers gripping into the bedsheets so hard they might tear.
"Misuhh…mistthhrurress…" He hiccuped out your title over and over again.
You leaned over, grabbing his face with one hand, the other bracing your weight on his abs.
"Cmon, look at me, you crybaby. You did this to yourself."
He refused to open his eyes, trying to squirm out of your hold.
Smack!
You have his cheek a light slap before leaning back, making sure to clench around him for a torturous squeeze.
"Bad puppy."
You didn't even let him cum inside, getting off right at the last moment.
And the thick load splurted out all over his own chest and face. Nowhere near where he would have liked to get it on… or in.
Lesson learned?
For now, maybe.
You weren't that cruel… you scooped up the whiteish liquid in your fingers and fed it to him.
That counted as cleanup.
Fine, he got a proper cuddle session and a short lecture about eating your clothes.
Didn't mean you knew about all the other stuff he had done before getting caught this one time.
Yandere! Raven is literally a hoarder. His nest isn't just a bed, it’s a pile of shiny shit he’s swiped, broken watch gears, gold chains, expensive silks. But you’re the "crown jewel." he legit obsesses over how your white feathers look against his dark-ass room. He’ll spend hours just staring at you, thinking about how you’re the only thing in his hoard that’s actually alive.
He’s way too smart for his own good. He doesn’t have to lock the door because he’ll just gaslight you into staying. "Oh, the wind is too high for a dove today, you'll break a wing," or he’ll "lose" your favorite things just so you have to ask him for help. He loves it when you’re confused because it means you have to rely on his "big raven brain" to fix it.
His gift-giving is lowkey scary. He doesn’t bring you flowers; he brings you stuff that makes you stay. He’ll bring you the specific berries you like from three towns over just so you realize no one else is gonna cater to you like he does. It’s a total power move wrapped in "I was thinking of you" vibes.
Yandere!Raven is a freak about your "purity." Since you’re a dove, he thinks you’re this fragile, innocent thing that the world is gonna "stain." he won’t even let you see a dead bug. he wants your entire life to be filtered through him so you think the outside world is way more terrifying than it actually is.
The mimicry thing is the worst part. He can copy voices perfectly. You’ll be in the kitchen and hear your mom calling your name from the balcony, but when you run out there, it’s just him sitting on the railing with a smirk. "Did you hear something? must be the wind, little bird. Stay inside where it's safe."
If you actually try to fly away, he snaps. He’s faster and way more aggressive in the air. He’ll dive-bomb you or force you into a landing that’s a little too rough, just to scare you. Then, once you’re back in the nest crying, he’ll act all "sweet" and preen your feathers for hours, whispering about how you "almost got hurt" and he's the only one who can protect you.
He loves the aesthetic of you two together. he’ll make you sit in front of a mirror while he brushes your white wings with his black-taloned fingers. he’ll literally whisper about how you’d look so "dirty" out in the real world without him to keep you clean. it’s super unsettling how much he focuses on the "black and white" contrast of your bodies.
Yandere!Raven is already planning the "forever." he talks about moving you both to an even more isolated cliffside or a hidden tower where "no one can bother us." he’s not just your "protector," he’s building a cage that’s so pretty you almost forget you can’t leave.
Ox!hybrid!Simon Riley x Farmer!reader (18+ MDNI) (poll winner)
CW - smut, monsterfucking tbh, unprotected sex, yay. There’s kind of a plot but really it’s just bs. I just write bullshit guys sorry. Just put me down if you hate it. I’m kidding. Love u
Say it with me now, Isle doesn’t do beta read!!! If you see any typos, no you didn’t.
—
“Yea Beth, yea I can take him,” you muttered, phone pressed between your ear and shoulder, sat on the dusty barn floor. You had a bottle in one hand, and a feisty lamb in the other, trying to squirm out of your hold towards the milk.
“Thank you, I’ve called everywhere, not many people are interested in an ox hybrid that hasn’t been socialized…”
The lamb bleated while you situated yourself, allowing it to suckle on the bottle as strands of your hair found their way into your mouth. You spit a few times, attempting to clear them.
“I’ll be at yours in maybe.. an hour?”
You furrowed your brows, nearly dropping your phone as you replied to your friend.
“An hour!? Beth, I thought I’d at least have a couple more? I’ve still got to take the old hay out of the stall is I’m taking this hybrid,” you groaned, standing up after the lamb eagerly finished his breakfast.
Brushing your hands on your pants and quickening your pace towards the older stall at the end of the barn, you finally grabbed your phone to hold it near your ear.
“Yea, well, rescues aren’t convenient. See you shortly.”
The line cut, leaving you to stand in front of the stall, sighing. Goats bleated from the pasture, and a few of the older horses sounded from their trough. The dust seemed to never settle, swirling in the air as you rolled your sleeves up.
Fingers wrapping around the pitchfork, you begun to empty the room of the older hay. You’d used that stall for a sheep that recently given birth, not having the time to clean it since. She’d been back with the flock a few hours later. It’d only been dirty two days, but you felt a little ashamed.
You knew this wouldn’t be the size an ox hybrid usually needed, but it would have to do for now. It wasn’t uncommon for you to accept rescues, especially hybrids. While you didn’t keep hybrids on the farm long-term like you did other animals, you had developed quite the reputation as the last hope for emergency situations.
When Beth had called you, begging you to take an ox hybrid from a repossessed farm, you agreed instantly. Your biggest rescue to date, for hybrids at least.
Once you’d cleared out the stall, you set it up with fresh hay, and a few good scoops of feed. It smelled like straw, smelled clean.
Beth would be getting there any moment, prompting your brisk walk to the driveway as you heard rocks from the long road crunching under tires.
You brimmed your eyes with your hand, recognizing Beth’s white truck, muddy and nearly brown, with a large trailer in tow.
A cloud of dirt kicked up behind the truck as she pulled up to where you were standing, and switching off the engine. Beth hopped out of the drivers seat, slamming the door as she walked up to you, squinting her eyes a bit.
“I know it was short notice hun, but this one was bad,” she spoke as she hugged you, pulling away and setting her weight on her left hip, “not really sure what they had this guy doing, but he won’t speak, and he snorts whenever we get too close. Big boy, too. Probably 250lbs, well over 6 feet.”
You followed Beth to the trailer, crossing your arms as she unlatched the door. Birds sang around you, warm heat shining down at the hinges groaned at the movement.
Shit, she wasn’t kidding.
A hybrid larger than any you’d ever seen, standing in the center of the trailer, hands bound, and a collar with two chains attached to the sides of the car to keep him stabilized during travel.
His eyes were low lidded, instantly trained and tracking both of your movements. His body was covered in a thin, yet solid layer of hair. It was blonde, matching the top of his head. Loose, tan trousers hung from his hips, dirty and torn. His thighs were large, strengthened from years of labor, as well as his biceps and forearms. His nose was slightly rectangular, emphasizing his bullish roots.
But what really caught your eye were his horns. Long and smooth, about a foot each, curving forward at the tips.
Beth stepped up into the trailer, moving slowly as she unhooked the chains connected to his collar, and started to walk him out.
“He hasn’t tried to hurt anyone, only huffing when we get too close to him. About three feet is as close as we’ve gotten. Not terrible,” she called to you, eyes trained on his movements as he exited the trailer.
Beth spoke as if he couldn’t understand her. A lot of people did that around hybrids, people who didn’t understand.
His hooves clacked against the metal until they met dirt, changing to a muffled thump. You were rather intrigued by his hooves, as he still had human hands. Hybrids never failed to surprise you, as they really had no specific look outside of characteristics.
“You’re big, aren’t you?” You asked him, tilting your head as he snorted quickly when Beth moved up to try to remove his collar. He didn’t respond.
Beth sighed, walking over and handing you the chains attached to the poor bulls collar.
“Look, I got shit to do, and none of it involves getting the collar off this brute. Thanks again for taking him, I’ll see ya,” she says all too quickly, packing up her trailer and hopping in her truck.
You grumble and wave her off before your eyes meet the his, which haven’t left your form since you took the chains.
“Do you know why you’re here?” You asked, half expecting not to get an answer, before a gruff voice sounded.
“Hot.”
You paused for a moment, before blinking and nodding your head.
“Right, it is hot out here. I’ve got a stall fresh and ready for you, water too,” you replied, gesturing to the stable with your head, maintaining eye contact.
Though he still looked as tense as before, he grunted, taking a step forward, but not another until you did. The chains rattled quietly, and you eyed his neck.
“Would you let me take that off of you? It’s inhumane,” you said, turning to face him before you would walk to the stable.
He seemed to ponder for a moment, before taking a knee, and then fully kneeling. His eyes, blue and apprehensive, bore directly into your soul despite his obvious cooperation.
You carefully approached him, keeping your hands visible. You held one out, allowing him to get your scent before touching him.
His face and body were littered with scars. Some were shallow, some were deep, and one cleared his upper lip to his eye, giving him a cleft. It almost looked like he was sneering.
You battled with the thick leather for a moment, listening to it drop to the ground once it gave. You made quick work of the bindings on his hands, trusting that he wouldn’t get crazy.
When you stepped away, he stood again. He didn’t thank you, but rather gestured to the stable with his chin as he looked at you.
“Water.”
You nodded, offering a gentle smile while you led him to the stables. His heavy hooves sounded behind you despite his calm pace.
As you entered the stables, he ducked his head, attempting not to hit his horns on the wooden beams. You held your hand out to present the small stall, swallowing thickly.
“I know it’s not much, far too small than you’d like, but I’ll get you situated in a bigger stall in the main barn soon. This is temporary,” you explained, watching his cautious entry into the building, and the stall. He glanced at fresh hay, and then the water.
He moved slightly quicker than he had before, dropping to his knees and dipping his head to the container. He slurped up the lukewarm water in gulps, his eyes fluttering closed.
You watched for a moment, noticing how his long, floppy ears would flick as a fly landed, or how his fur ran up the flat bridge of his nose.
“Do you have a name?”
The hybrid stopped drinking, his hands holding the sides of the bucket as he looked up at you.
“Simon.”
You nodded, introducing yourself to him. When he didn’t say much else, you took that as your cue. You imagined he was tired, and wasn’t exactly in the mood for a chat.
“Well, Simon, I’m going to tend to my chores, but I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you. Please, familiarize yourself with the stables, I’ll be out in the pasture, if you need me.”
He just stared at you, not moving from his kneeling position.
You’d give him some space.
—
You had been fixing a couple posts in the far corner of the pastures for the last two hours, barbed wire snagging your thick gloves every now and again. You’d gotten pricked twice on the forearm, the small cuts dried up by this point.
Sweat beaded down your forehead, and you grumbled softly to yourself as you yanked out a rusted nail from the post, putting the object in your toolkit so none of the sheet got into it.
Normally, the sheep would be coming up behind you and trying to see what you were getting up to by now, but they hadn’t come. You were a little confused, hammering in a replacement nail before turning to see your flock, only to be met with him.
He was standing a few yards from you, staring you down. You weren’t sure how long he’d been there, but a lamb grazed near his hooves, meaning he didn’t just get there.
You wiped your forearm across your forehead, standing up fully and packing up your toolkit. You carried the box over to where he stood, your hand covering the sun from your eyes as the lamb bleating in excitement to your feet.
“Found your way into the pastures, did you Simon?” You asked, offering a light grin as he blinked at you.
Hybrids were a mixed bag. Some spoke as humans did, others spoke sparingly, and some not at all. But they all understood.
“Many sheep.”
You hummed, chuckling softly as you knelt down to pick up the lamb, cradling her to your chest.
“You know why you’re here, right Simon?” You questioned, wanting to make sure he wasn’t confused with his situation.
“Yes,” he replied, glancing down for a moment before his eyes met yours again, “owners before, did not pay. Lost land.”
You nodded, setting the lamb back down and grabbing your toolbox once more while beginning to walk down the hill towards your farmhouse.
Simon followed.
“You know, I’ve rescued a lot of hybrids, Simon. But none have been as big as you,” you complimented, fanning your face slightly from the heat, “did your previous owners work you?”
He didn’t respond for a moment, still following you over the grass.
“Something like work,” he replied, clearly not looking to speak about it any further.
—
It had been a few weeks since you’d gotten Simon. You’d moved him into a larger stall in the main barn, to which he seemed pleased. He didn’t speak much unless prompted, and enjoyed watching you work. He would stand for hours, keeping an eye as you fixed up areas around the pasture.
One afternoon, you stood in front of a rather large hay bale, too exhausted to move it into the barn. You’d already done 10, the smaller kind that were easy to transport. You needed the large bale after a deep clean, it was the stall straw.
Simon had been watching, his ears flicking slightly in interested when you had stared at the bald for over ten minutes.
The hybrid walked up behind you, you could hear his hooves, and smell his musky scent. You turned your head slightly, noticing he was closer than he ever had been.
“I can move it,” he offered, looking at you with neutral eyes, though something in his tone hinted that he wanted to.
You shrugged, stepping aside and gesturing to the bale.
“That’d be a great help, Simon. I need it in that stall,” you spoke, your finger pointing to the stall near the end of the barn.
Simon just huffed. It wasn’t a warning, but an acknowledgment. Like he was proud to do it.
You expected the bull to push it, as that was the easiest way, yet he didn’t. Simon made his way around the large bale, eyeing it for a moment before turning his back, kneeling, and hooking his hands into the twine that held the bale together.
Suddenly, he stood, exhaling loudly, and picking up the bale with ease. His muscles flexed through his skin, showing even through the layer of hair. His hooves thudded against the barn floor, his thighs magnificent as they carried Simon to do what he was built for.
In less than two minutes, the bale was settled in the hay stall, something that would’ve taken you at least half an hour.
You followed behind him, a large grin plastered on your face.
“Simon, that was amazing! You lifted that like it was nothing!” You gushed, watching has he shook his head, dislocating the straw him his hair as he stepped closer to you.
He didn’t reply immediately, just peering down at you for a moment before he knelt, looking up at you.
“Touch..” he said softly, blinking at you with long, thick lashes.
You were a bit speechless for a moment, tilting your head as you cleared your throat. You couldn’t deny the hybrid was attractive, his body nearly fully human aside from his hooves, horns, ears, small tail, and hair. He looked like the burly ranch hands you’d employ for seasonal work, just hybrid.
You reached out, carefully touching his head before he pushed upwards, his eyes closing as a whisper of a smile graced his lips.
He groaned softly, enjoying your fingers now confidently threading through his hair, drifting down to scratch behind his ear.
“This what you want?” You ask softly, kneeling to be at his level.
His eyes opened slightly, still leaned fully into your hand.
“Want you,” he mumbled, barely concentrating on words with your fingers so delicately scratching him, “mate..”
He suddenly moved closer to you, knocking you backwards from your knees onto the floor. You caught yourself with your elbows as Simon’s nose began to press against your neck, mindfully keeping his horns away from your face.
He took a deep breath, his thick arms wrapping around your waist as his tongue gently lapped at the sensitive skin.
“S-Simon!” You squeaked, unsure how you felt about the situation, despite knowing you were surprised.
“Nice to me.. let me help.. want you for mate..” he muttered as he scented you again, nearly drunk off of your scent. But just as quickly as it happened, he pulled back, shaking his head slightly.
He huffed slightly, the warning snort he first made when Beth was getting him out of the trailer.
“What..? What was that?” You asked, scrambling to your feet.
You looked down at him, and he huffed again, looking almost scared.
“Stop snorting, I’m not going away. What was that about?” You asked, this time taking a step closer to him.
Simon clenched his teeth slightly, blinking a few times before a low groan came from his throat.
“Need mate.. want you.. but..” he trailed off, glancing down at your body, and then at his, “I think too fragile..”
Your brows furrowed for a moment before your heart nearly stopped, and you swallowed thickly.
You had heard that bulls often got kickstarted into their rut from random things, especially showing off to a potential mate. That was exactly what the hybrid was doing, showing off his strength to impress you.
But now, Simon was fully restraining himself, especially after he’d gotten a whiff of your scent. Warm, sweaty, straw. You smelled good, you smelled like what he had grown to become fond of in the last few weeks.
He had to pull himself off of you, a moment longer and he wouldn’t have stopped.
He was grinding his molars, panting a bit as he looks towards his stall, and back to you. He stood, chest heaving as his nose twitched.
“I’m not fragile,” you replied, taking a deep breath, “I agreed to rescue you… and that means taking care of you.”
That was all he needed to hear, quickly hoisting you up over his shoulder with a surprised yelp from your lips. Simon carried you to his stall as if you weighed nothing, and set you down on the packed up straw in the corner.
His nose was pressing into your neck again, with surprising awareness of his horns in relation to yourself. His hands ran along your body, pointed black nails dragging against your clothing. Simon huffed in your ear, his tongue lapping at you again. The taste of your sweat on his tongue was driving him mad, the salt satiating his desires for just a few moments every lick.
He groaned and grunted, fat bulge already grinding against your core through your jeans and his trousers. The smell of straw was intense, but his musky scent was even more so. Simon couldn’t help himself any longer, but whimpered slightly, not wanting to rip your clothing. He didn’t want his mate to be angry.
“Clothes.. please.. need them off..” he groaned, nudging your jaw with his nose as he began to pepper kisses to it, his tongue running along the angle.
Your fingers quickly begun to undo the buttons, gasps and soft moans being pulled from your lips as his hips rut against yours. You finally managed to slip off your shirt, and hastily unbuttoned your jeans, shoving them off.
He immediately began to nip and lick at your chest, your hands curling into his hair. He groaned in satisfaction as you gripped, feeling his tongue swirl around your nipple while his hands fumbled with his pants.
You knew this wasn’t about you, you knew not to expect anything crazy. But when his large hands secured themselves to your hips, pulling cunt up to his mouth, you realized you were wrong.
Simons nose nestled into your folds, breathing you in deeply. His eyes were fluttering closed as his fingers dig into your skin. His mouth opened, tongue immediately plunging inside you to lap up everything he wanted.
He didn’t care that you weren’t showered, didn’t care about the unshaven hair on your mount, in fact he wanted it. He needed it. His needy moans sounded as he ate you out, his nose bumping your clit as you whined.
Your hands gripped his hand, hips bucking as he made out with your cunt sloppily. Spit and arousal began to drip down his chin, landing on the straw beneath.
You’d felt yourself getting close quickly, but when his eyes opened again, looking down at you as he ate you out like a beast starved, you knew you were done for.
Orgasm ripping through you, your thighs clenched around him, and one of his hands left your hips. You felt your womb contracting, while his tongue still wriggled inside you. His free hand began to stroke himself dryly, the cock you hadn’t even seen.
As you panted and whimpered, he gently set you back down, moving to press his forehead to yours, and kissing you. His lips were soaked, and his tongue tasted like your sweet cunt. His tip suddenly bumped your folds, and he huffed softly, nuzzling you.
“Want to.. want to.. need to..please need to..” he whined, his thumb brushing over your hip. Simon nipped at your jaw, begging for the okay.
You nodded, spreading your legs to accommodate his as he began to press in, hip head easily slipping through due to your arousal.
Simon was immediately stretching you, his teeth baring as you gasped, gripping onto his hair. His fat tip nudged into you more, begging for your walls to open up without struggle.
“Mmmmf…mate.. my.. mate..” he huffed out before his hips snapped forward, burying his cock up to his knot, which bumped at your entrance.
His hips began to rut wildly, intense, controlled thrusts filling you up each time. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you up like a ragdoll as his cock rammed into your womb over and over.
All you could smell was his musk, the way he smelled of everything barn. Growling and grunting he kept up his pace, pulling soft mewls from your throat. You wanted to moan, you did, but each sound kept getting caught in your throat.
He pulled away for a moment as he thrusted, looking down at you as your eyes rolled back into your head, your tits bouncing in time with your body. Each time your hips connected he grunted. Simon’s eyes raked over you in what looked like adoration, and protectiveness.
His head dipped back down to lap at your neck, huffing as the straw scratched at your back.
“Gonna knot you.. knot my mate,” he groaned out, his thrusts becoming harder as he pulled out farther each time.
You began to moan now, somehow finding your voice again as your fingers moved to your clit, his fat tip rubbing against your walls perfectly. You rubbed the small bundle of nerves before his hand reached over yours, and rubbed with you, guiding your fingers to go faster.
You felt his thrust stutter for a moment as he pushed something thick against your cunt despite already tapping your womb. He did this a few more times, grunting and whimpering before his hips snapped forward, forcing his thick knot into your squelching entrance.
You gasped loudly, your legs twitching as you came again, the bulbous portion of his cock throbbing inside of you as he came, spurting thick white ropes against your cervix, locking the two of you.
His groaned, panting slightly as he nuzzled against you, whimpering as you clenched rhythmically. Your body collapsed, but he was eager to hold you.
He lapped affectionately at your neck and jaw, before rolling over and allowing himself to lay back on the straw, keeping you firmly situated against his chest.
His knot wouldn’t go down for a while, keeping you connected as he hummed in content, huffing proudly.
“Mate happy?” He asked softly, nudging your face with his nose.
You mumbled tiredly, curling up a bit closer to him as your eyelids drooped.
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(10k wc) ✦ summary: demanding, old, hostile— just a few of the warnings the man at the local shelter gave you before opening its cage. but it doesn’t matter. so long as he can protect you, all else can be forgiven. yet he’s more wolf than dog. more… man than wolf.
✦ content hybrid! sylus, nsfw/smut, hints of violence (not between mc/sylus), tension, kind of enemies to lovers-? he warms up to mc, knotting & adjusting to it, feral behavior, cunnilingus, slight somnophilia (not detailed), hinted age gap (all parties are 18+), possessive behavior, size difference,
✦ sidenote as by popular demand we have the latest installment of the lads hybrid collection 🙂↕️ i apologize in advance bc even as a wolf-man creature i made sylus older, because yall already know i love me a good ol’ fashioned dilf. dont ask me what bro is in dog years just know he’s scruffy! anyways do enjoy this lil thing while u wait for the caleb fic which i am busting my ass for :] 💕 ALSO sorry. he’s not feline this time… >_< this is def not my fav piece but i hope some of the girlies will like this one :] i did work hard on it it’s quite long. i gave it plot but tbh the smut is straight up filthy 😖 ig all we have left to do is hybrid rafayel! but that boy’s gonna have to wait lol :,) i do hav an idea for him tho ;D
With every step, it feels as if the walls of your apartment are closing in on you.
By your feet, at the front door you hardly have the coordination to close- blundering with the lock- lay a bouquet. Scattered. Flowers strew themselves across your hall as you kick the clasped bunch with the tip of your heel and glide from room to room, warily ducking into each one with your hand braced in front of your body, ready to beat and thrash and fight for your life.
In your other hand- a note. Crumpled, now. Shaking between your fingers.
You don’t think he’s gotten inside again- it seems the new home security measures you installed have thrown a wrench in his plans- for the moment, at least (although your spare key is still missing)- but you’re not wholly convinced you’re safe, either.
And to be clear, it’s better to be that than sorry: You’ll check each and every cranny of your little flat if it means reclaiming your peace of mind.
Your life is a different story though, as of late; threatened yet not something quite as simple to take back. Living with bated breath is no way to exist- neither with the perpetual looks thrown over your shoulder on the short trek back from the bus, the seemingly harmless creaks at night hurling you whole feet from your bed.
Because of that fear, you can hardly even bear to look down at the tiny paper in your hand to read it.
I loved that outfit on you yesterday babe. Can you blame me for taking a little from your wardrobe? ♡
Strangely, though, your drawer is just as you left it when you slide it from its framework almost fast enough to pop its screws, fearing the worst.
Clothes- your tee shirts, blouses for work and lacy bras, pencil skirts- fling across your bed, yet nothing is… amiss.
That outfit from yesterday.
With a gasp, you twist around to look at your hamper, and-
Sure enough, the lid is open.
✦
“-get a few new ones a week. Gets hard to keep up with ‘em all. All the personalities and quirks- a lot of them won’t even eat their kibble unless you look the other way.”
The cold brick walls and all the sounds bouncing off them (grunts, woofs, and nails against tile) become humdrum as the worker, waving a hand as he talks- rants, really- leads you through the pound.
The fluorescence lighting the place flares, whirs overhead. Everything about the setting is harsh. Obviously, you’re in no danger- but as you trail alongside him, you feel a sense of foreboding in your gut all the same. Like you’re walking into a dungeon.
The colorless walls swallowing up most of your vision make that silly threat seem an ounce realer.
You swallow, head on a swivel- yet not for fear, but sympathy as you pass an assortment of fenced-off pets. Some track you with a snarl. Some with eyes that plead. Still, they all share the undeniable tinge of distrust.
What an awful place, you think to yourself.
…But coming here had a purpose.
Your heels clip against the scratched floor and echo in rounds, a certain emptiness existing around you that seems misaligned with all the noise and sights.
Dogs in their cages— some upfront, teething at the metal, others: cowed to their corners, lying on thin blankets not quite as worse for wear.
To sum it up- creatures sapped of will. Defeated in life.
A distinct sorrow weighs in your chest, even as the employee happily drones on, a half-eaten tuna sandwich in one hand (the other: gesturing emphatically), hardly paying you any attention. To be fair, you’re giving him very little as well.
“-I mean, some don’t even eat at all. Picky things.”
Picky? You question quietly. Or without hunger? Their appetite for cheap, bagged kibble robbed right along with their appetite for life.
Your nails dent into your palm as you clench it.
It’s hard to get a word in edgewise as the man chatters away, but you manage to pile down your need to be polite for long enough to get in a:
Hey, excuse me, I asked what kind of dog you’d recommend for prot—
Clack, clack… Clack.
You come to a pause, dead-center in the walkway. The dull rhythm of his shoes remains where yours doesn’t.
“Heh. We got one a couple of months back who thinks this place is his own damn gourmet restaur-“
When he notices you’re not arm-to-arm, he, too, stops.
“Ma’am?” He turns.
“That one,” you breathe, just vaguely registering as the worker sidles up to you and glances at the cage you approach. The glint in your eye wins his interest.
For once since you entered the building, he shuts his mouth.
When he looks at ‘that one’ in question— a silver shock of fur, immersed in a shadow against the far wall— his eyes almost bulge from his skull.
A sharp laugh.
“Ah, little lady. Don’t wanna bite off more than you can chew, now. See-“
As he falls back into drivel (albeit, you lend an ear, curious now), you eye the pooch.
He looks a little wilder than the rest, a little more weathered, tucked to the corner of his cage but not quite ‘cowering’- no, he’s a touch too big and threatening for it to seem that way. More like… brooding.
…Yet you wonder all the same if that’s what he feels, too. Scared like most if not all of the others.
Your chest stirs again with that wisp of sadness.
If you could, you’d clip their collars to a leash and walk them all home, cramming them into your apartment with no thought and all heart. For reasons- countless reasons (having to do with your tiny home and even tinier wallet)- that’s not possible.
In a place as cold and unfortunate as this, he’d have every reason to be frightened, you think, but when your eyes soften with pity at him, his own narrow.
Thoughtfully, you blink.
As the worker rattles off his minor crimes around the playpen- and the hole he eats through their budget, what with his size- you can’t help but marvel at him.
Concerningly massive. With thick, silvery fur matted in certain areas, patchy with scars in others, and eyes that glow an unnatural shade of red- you can wholeheartedly say you’ve never seen the breed before. Less dog-like and more wolfish.
It warrants a raise of the brow, just what he’s doing here. Did he have an owner before? Was he abandoned by them? Or… was he just pulled from the street?
And if so, how many elephant-sized tranquilizer darts did it take to haul him here?
“So,” he says, stuffing his hand in his pockets, “Honestly, Ma’am, he’s probably not what you’re lookin’ for.” Giving your clacking heels and airy sundress a once-over, he sighs.
“We do have a Samoyed though- he was brought in just yesterday. Super playful. Great personality. Domesticated. He definitely won’t be here for long. Uh… this one here, though,” he snickers. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times. Growls when ya feed him- then growls some more ‘cause he’s still hungry... tsk,” he glances down at his hand, then. Evidently, there’s no mark there, but you think he’s imagining one that could’ve been.
“He’s on the older side, too. Can’t teach him any new tricks. And… big, as you can see. With his temperament, he’d probably tear a hole in your apartment. You, uh, you got an apartment, you said-?”
Right now, you should be thankful for all his advice- at the very least, relieved his chatter has become more meaningful, relaying all the pooch’s unruly habits. Yet you tune it all out, slightly cocking your head at the beast dog- a movement that, if you’re not imagining things, his scruffy one mirrors.
“He’s…”
“Yep. Like I said-“
“Perfect,” you breathe, falling to a crouch.
The man beside you coughs on his own spit. “What-? Uh, little lady, I seriously don’t think— hey, watch the hands! Don’t stick ‘em through!”
“-How much?”
You manage to pry your gaze from the ominous thing tucked a number of feet into his prison, cloaked and out of the light, to look up at the man. For all of the warnings and, really, defamation made against the animal— to his defense, he doesn’t lunge. Bark. Claw at the bars or slip his snout through to bite the harmless hand you extend in the space there.
No. With a lift of his whiskers, he watches.
Tuna-sandwich blinks. Eyes widening to twice their original size before he scrubs the lower half of his face.
Eventually, he shrugs. Takes a moment to process it.
As he does, you await the price with a hand already dipping inside your purse. I mean, you hope not to spend a small fortune during this outing- but it’s also an investment worth your while. There’s no saying when your stalker will show his face again. If tomorrow he’ll be waiting under your bed or in your closet for your return- hell, right now, the hackles on your neck are raised as if he could be lurking still.
A word relieves you of worries for naught.
“Nothing.”
…Wait- No, that can’t be right. Nothing? The- your future good boy is worth nothing?
“E-Excuse me?”
He sighs, exasperated. “You’d be doing us a favor,” is all he gives as an explanation. “You can have him for free.”
Dumbfounded, snapping your head back to the cage, you’re met with two crimson eyes that look almost hellish as they catch in the shifting fluorescence- and a pass of surprise on its face that appears almost… human.
“But, are you-“
“Haaaaah. Maybe it’s for the better. You’re like his savior, you know,” he comments, sparing a rather indifferent glance to the animal, “he oughta be thankful for you coming in here.”
And there, fucking again- like a blade wedged between your ribs and twisting—
“Too much longer and we would’a had to put him down.”
A squeeze of your heart.
Jaw fluttering shut, that morsel of information wipes the entirety of your hesitance out. Belatedly, you nod, perching your bag above your hip once more, a sense of determination smoothing out your features.
“When can we get him out of this cage?”
You ask without looking his way.
The sound of keys jingling on a ring has the silver-furred creature perking his left ear ever so slightly- a movement you track with curiosity as the beast’s chest swells in. It’s like he understands. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s seen countless people just like you filter in and out, pass him by, and ultimately land on a different pet to jailbreak take home.
“I can get you sorted right now,” he quips, helpful, “Just… You might wanna back up.”
Weirdly enough- and despite knowing you really should be cautious with a veritable beast from the local shelter, scarred to no end and skulking- all the tiptoeing around him is endearing in its own right.
He’s a good boy, you’re sure of it. Misunderstood, probably, like the rest of the poor, trembling things here— just in need of a nice, loving home and maybe a scritch or two behind the ear. And you’re positive, if nothing else, he’ll do plenty a good job at keeping your stalker at bay.
It takes a handful of minutes to loop the rope (not leash: rope) around his neck- yet the worker treats it as a pleasant surprise, muttering something about how he’s just a whit more cooperative today.
“Thank you,” you chime a bit breathlessly. Sure, your main goal in coming here was to find a suitable guard dog, but you can’t deny the excitement that flutters within as the gate closes to a now-empty cage, your new pet springing free.
Anticipation thrums in your chest as you eagerly accept the rope from him- “careful,” a snigger- and—
The ground beneath you all but gives way.
“Oh, sir- one more thing! What’s his name!”
He stops for a moment to turn halfway over his shoulder. Long, overgrown nails skittering across the floor as the leash tugs harshly and you’re rapidly propelled out the front door, into sunlight.
However, you do catch him shrugging.
“No clue.”
✦
A number of days pass. Those days drag by with an eagerness to get to know each other that seems only one-sided- and a caution on his end that borders uncanniness.
You buy him a fluffy dog bed (the biggest you could find; he’s bigger still). Quality food, not the rubbish they fed him at the pound. And you give him your patience; small, gentle smiles that you’re not entirely sure an animal can understand— but when you offer out your hand for him to smell, a sign that you mean no harm, he growls and retreats to his corner. He chooses one part of your tiny apartment to hunker down in and outright glares when you get too close.
This is your house.
This… was your house. Maybe you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. As a week moves on, you concede to your bedroom or the sofa and watch him with resignation as he watches you back- and contemplate if you made the right choice.
Does he seriously hate you that bad? How can you make him understand that you don’t harbor any bad intentions for him-? I mean, aren’t animals supposed to have that preternatural kind of instinct anyway? to spot malice?
What is he spotting in you?
Curled up on the couch, you hang your hand off the arm and release the new brush you’d bought days ago. It’s seeming more and more like a useless purchase, yet after countless attempts to bathe and brush him- all for naught- it’s only now starting to settle.
Work was long. That one coworker was grating on your nerves more than usual and you could’ve sworn you heard a second pair of footfalls trailing yours after the bus back- but you can only look over your shoulder so many times without attracting the attention of people who start to wonder if you’re batshit crazy.
But you're not crazy. That- That psychopath is, and his countless notes and uninvited visits to your apartment while you’re gone are all proofs of that.
But that’s changed, now. If your dog hates you, he’ll hate an intruder even more.
You sigh, holding your head in your hands as you lean forward. Like a flower wilted, folded in on itself, too heavy with its withering to support its own weight. You rub your temples when you grudgingly glance up to the wolf-sized beast sulking in the corner.
He stares, of course; buttery light twinkling in imposing, ruby eyes in a way that almost makes him seem tame. Mellow.
Not quite.
Still, you can’t bring yourself to dislike him, or regret taking him off the pound’s hands— for all his stubbornness, the hostility he barely conceals, you know all too well that fear manifests itself in strange ways. Like when you almost snarled at your deskmate today for leaning over your shoulder again to review your work- the proximity too startling to handle. You’re irate. On alert. Scared. And it’s making you do unreasonable things as a way to calcify your soft skin into a protective shell. You start to think that you must be hard: the climate calls for it.
The mutt that broods behind your armchair is the picture of ominous- big and bad and threatening long before his lip even curls in warning. Everything about him screams see, look at my scars- my sharp teeth and nails. Don’t touch me. Don’t hurt me.
Your heart stirs.
Tiredly, you offer a small smile. “You are perfect, you know,” folding your leg over the other as you pat the open space of the couch beside you. It can fit four to six people if they cram together, but you know he’d take up the three cushions beside you if he sprawled out entirely.
He regards you with a microscopic flick of his ears. “Even if you don’t like me, that doesn’t change what I think about you. If you just let me give you a bath… I’ll let you sit on the couch, deal? I’m sure it’ll be comfier than what you got now,” you offer, gesturing harmlessly to the dog bed that lays unused by the table— for this reason or that, perhaps just as a way to show you he’s completely rejecting you, he’s avoided it.
Yes, he’s just a tatterdamelion, forgotten animal, operating out of instinct and whatever feels right.
Yes, you still had to mask your hurt over it.
You sigh. “I mean, I haven’t even thought of a name for you yet. And I’m sorry, I just…” Trailing off, you give your head a small shake and stand to your feet. In your mind, with no small amount of discontent, you realize you’ve reached a watershed here— one that separates your old, normal life from a sense of great uncertainty that rests on the horizon.
And you’re terribly concerned. And tired. But God forbid you start venting to a dog about it.
“Nevermind. Goodnight, boy,” you wave your doubts off dismissively, deliberately leaving the lamplight on lest he get scared in the dark. Sometimes, you think you see eyes staring back in it, too, so you put no judgement on him.
Pattering with heavy, sock-clad feet down the hall, “Sleep tight. Just tell me if you hear anything at the door-“
A labored sigh.
Nails clacking behind you— and for one awful second you fear the worst: You’ve turned your back to a beast.
Your breath hitches with the realization, yet as you swiftly spin around- half prepared to bolt or at the very least shield your head with your vulnerable, just as fleshy arms- you’re mistaken.
There, he stands, as a massive silhouette against the living room light angling into the narrow, dim hall. He’s like a bull in a china shop- monstrous, sharp claws etching lines into the lacquer of the maple wood floor, his tail sending fur gusting behind him as it falls. You become clear of two things, then:
One) you must sweep, and soon. And two)
He’s tilting his head- in an uncannily shrewd way- towards the ajar bathroom door beside you, and as he noses it open and stares at you, it’s with expectance.
Oh, and then three—
When you don’t respond right away, he steps around you and impatiently nudges you in- headstrong as ever- through the bathroom door with a throaty huff.
✦
He smells of strawberry shortcake. Vastly sweeter than what he really is, you think with a wry but endeared smile, when you extend a slow, ever-cautious hand to pet.
To your surprise, he lets you.
Call it a truce between you both. A comfier place for him to crash at for a little more peace of mind on your end.
With all the dirt and dried muck lathered out from his coat (it took an hour or so, and patience- as he flung water and stubbornly tried to readjust in the small tub- lots of it), you’re given the chance to finally see the beauty of his breed.
Chalky white fur, soft as the cashmere sweater stowed in your closet on standby for the chilly autumn weeks ahead. His hair is long, perhaps overdue for a trim- not that you’re deluded enough to believe he’d allow a groomer anywhere near him- and easily covers most of the scarring underneath.
Convincing him it was safe to let you clip his nails was an even harder task than getting him in the bath- but he… cooperated. In a looser sense of the word.
None of your limbs are missing. That’s a small miracle in itself. You’re thankful for the little breakthroughs with your new pet, even if it feels like you’re walking uphill all the while.
He hops up on the sofa beside you. True to your word, you allow it, the springs dipping beneath you both as he settles.
If the couch fell through the floor and onto the one below in a mist of crumbled drywall, you’d have no right to be surprised. None at all.
Trying not to show a fraction of your joy as he sets his head on your lap lest that deter him, you bite back a grin and rest a hand on his back. You avoid needless contact with his head- you get the feeling that’s a iffier place for him. You’d respect it, of course. Your show of patience has been nothing less than outstanding in the past week. Now that you’re finally making headway with him (and yes— his letting you bathe and sit with him is headway), you’re encouraged.
Besides…
Unpredictable. The forbidding advice of the shelter employee rings in your head.
Ahem.
It’s late.
Tomorrow, you’ve another long day of work and second-guessing your surroundings and the people in them. Whether or not you’ll be attacked in your own home by your persistent ex-boyfriend who couldn’t stop meddling with your life even if it meant saving his own.
The doubt, momentarily, is pushed to the back burner.
You smooth your hands through his velvety fur. A strange layer of peace drapes itself over you, warming your chest like a fleece as his back rises and falls, your quiet breaths punctuating his own heaving ones.
“You’re a good boy, you know,” you murmur contentedly as you lay your head back and drift off. A crimson set of eyes regards you carefully, peering up through fine, snowy lashes.
From the barrel of his chest, he lets out a deep rumble like he understands. You know he doesn’t.
Half awake, you weave your fingers along him, “You are. You are a good boy,” as if it’s come as an epiphany to you- made realer as it’s spoken.
Before you let sleep take you entirely, you murmur with a ghost of a grin, teasing despite knowing it’s ridiculous because your words aren’t coherent to him- just a swooning, soft sound to bitten ears—
“Hey… I could tell you didn’t really like Cookie, or Sweetie, or Dragonfruit, but… what about…”
A moment passes. Barely, you register his snout lifting from your thigh.
“Sylus.”
Before dozing off, you’re fairly certain- for his sake- you’d left the lamp on that night.
…But when you wake the next morning to your alarm blaring in the room over, all that lights the living space is the sun streaming through the blinds.
✦
You blink and autumn is in full throttle.
You blink and you’re trading your thin sleep shorts out for pajama pants and slippers- layering your work blouses with wooly cardigans.
Days leap over one another like cards of a rolodex— yours, on your cubicle desk: filled with doodles of the unruly pooch waiting at home for you. Idling over him is all that you can do to ease your mind as anxiety gnaws through.
You worry for him when he’s home alone. Not because you heed the warnings you were once given- ‘he’ll tear a hole in your walls’- but because you care for him, and with that brings the inexplicable want to see him as soon as possible.
Of course, he can’t speak, but he shows in his own way that he misses you too when you’re gone.
Once your shift ends, you do as you did the day before. You quickly take the jacket off your wheely chair and gather your things, waving to the select few coworkers who don’t make you want to rip your hair from the root.
Perhaps if you’re quick enough, you’ll even make it off the bus, to your complex, before the sun sets. You appreciate fall for its colors. Not for the darkness it brings far too early to be comfortable with.
Every alley appears with teeth, in those eerily quiet moments when you make the short trek back home. Cars purr beside you on the congested roads, and despite cursing traffic on the ride to your stop, you’re grateful for it now.
At least more people are out; potential buffers to stave off your crazy ex from putting his hands on you…
Potential witnesses if he does.
Damnit. Damnit damnit damnit. Every evening you can’t help but wish you could just- take Sylus with you to work. But for so many reasons that’s just not possible.
Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you breathe out a fine mist and pick up the pace.
You can’t escape dusk from falling- but you can take advantage of the early moments of it right before night comes swinging.
You nervously glance up to the sky, a fiery swatch of orange sat under starry blue, and tell yourself it’s fine.
…It’s fine- and yet you swear on all things holy you can hear boots pacing behind yours—
A gasp. You turn around and get ready to rip your pepper pray from the scabbard that is your pocket- for naught. Emptiness greets you. Sneering and quiet. In the distance, deeper into the city, a car honks. Where you are now though, you’re more or less alone.
You wet your lip where it’s dented from biting. You turn around, and press back on.
It’s okay. You’re almost home. Just a bit further. Within ten minutes you’ll be crooning to your ‘puppy’ and itching behind his ear while he rigidly thumps his tail, closing his eyes indifferently as if he wasn’t hurrying to the door as soon as he heard the lock.
Yes, that’s right. In ten minutes- on the dot (you know because you’re toying with your watch to calm yourself)- you’ll be slipping off your jacket and refilling his water bowl, tossing him scraps as you prepare a nice steak dinner in celebration of your weekend commencing. The fancy wine you’ll pair with it is to help wash it all down and pretend you’re financially better off than you are. Not to help your nerves.
…Even Sylus, the creature who doesn’t understand you even if sometimes it seems he unexplainably does, would be hard-pressed to believe such a feeble lie.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Your heels. A dull, monotonous rhythm against pavement, one you relish now because it fills the crisp, silent air.
Then-
Tap tap tap.
Your heels- “Hey baby, wait up- where ya going?”- with the sound of another and the bone-chilling revelation that every suspicion you had was grounded—
You don’t even turn around. You don’t reason with, stick up the bird to, or even hastily shout a fuck off, creep, over your shoulder because you’re not sure you have the luxury to.
By the sounds of it, he’s already close.
“Oh no you don’t. Come on, baby, just let me fuckin’ talk to you!”
-Closer and gaining still.
Fear rattles through you. It goes from zero to one hundred in a breath- yet how to breathe becomes a distant memory as your lungs still. The pulse in your throat drums, and suddenly your cardigan isn’t enough to save you from the ice eating you from the inside out- a cold sweat already forming at your nape.
You’re in such a panic you even forget about the spray in your pocket- the assortment of makeshift blades (keys, pens that grow knives when you click them) tucked in your purse. You have a small arsenal in there. Yet your mind spins.
“Stop-! I haven’t even been able to visit you lately because of that fucking asshole- since when you’d get a new boyfriend, baby? Do you really not care about me anymore? I just wanna talk!”
No. No no no- and new boyfriend? What-? All thought is dashed from your brain, his hollers becoming static. No, just ignore him, it doesn’t matter what nonsense he spouts to try and get you back- you won’t so much as glance behind you. After all he’s done to hurt and twist and outright disgrace you and your home, you don’t think he deserves it.
You break into a sprint. The concrete path pushes beneath you. You feel like you’re running in a dream, you’re so terrified- but you do run. You run like hell. You run like a girl.
You fiddle for the key in your purse, shaking as the door opens and you slam it behind you. His hand almost gets stuck in it, the knob jiggling loudly just a millisecond after you lock it.
As the reality of what could’ve been settles, you’re horrified. Cold in the face.
Sylus is there, leaping over to reach you. You wonder if the fury you catch in his wide ruby eyes is your imagination or reality; if he has the inexplicable knowing- based on your frazzled state or the noise- that something is terribly wrong.
“Sylus-“
You breathe with relief, but you don’t linger. You skitter past to the kitchen for a weapon- a real, proper one. A snarl rips from his throat as you leave him behind you, shouts sounding in the hallway behind your door. He barks at it. Ferocious and lupine. Surely not the make of a dog, of a pet meant for four walls and a roof— no, it’s a separate beast entirely.
Hostile, unpredictable, growly- dangerous. Oh, you’ve no choice but to hope all the labels on his package are true. That he’ll rip your ex-boyfriend a new one if he finds a way in.
Hyperventilating, limbs like jelly, you stagger over. In the short span of time it takes you to turn out the kitchen and down the corridor, you contemplate either opening the door and saying go boy, go— or simply staying back to ‘defend.’
You turn the corner and blanche.
Someone’s in your house- not the creeping, painfully familiar face, however, no- and he’s naked.
And then, everything you’d been working so hard to build with your froward pet over the months, the foundation of trust and patience, the hard-earned truce made between you both… As red eyes flash at you in warning, a hand taking the shaking knife from your own before he opens the door— it all shifts.
The bottom falls through.
The man opens the door, and perhaps you should be thankful that he takes the squabble outside because you’re sure that the blood spraying from your ex-boyfriend’s nose as it breaks would be impossible to scrub from your walls.
✦
“Relax,” he grouses with a tsk, “I’m not gonna bite.”
With split knuckles, a long leg crossed over the other where he sits on your couch, canines just a little too sharp as they catch in the lamplight- that’s hard to believe.
The blade he’d taken from your hands lies on the cushion beside him, and while you don’t make a grab for it, you think he sees the way you eye it- and the knife block in the kitchen- as you clench your fist to keep yourself from fainting while you gawk.
“Y-You’re not my dog.”
One of his brows lifts with amusement- or challenge, perhaps- as you deny the truth laid out before you. It’s impossible. Of course it’s impossible. He-
That can’t be Sylus.
For a moment you believe he’ll agree. Nod his head and say, no, I’m not your dog- I’m a person; because that’s certainly how he looks. But he doesn’t.
“I simply changed forms,” he explains. “Not who I am to you.”
With nothing else to say- no real rebuttal- you can only flounder. “N-No. You’re not Sylus.”
That pulls a soft huff from him, “Oh, kitten,” he grins a tenuous grin, “I’m wounded. And here I thought your kindness had no takebacks. You gave me that name, didn’t you? Sylus.” He sighs, a heavy, affected sound- like this is no more than a theater play to him as he adjusts on your sofa.
“I guess I’ll just have to settle for something else, then… Is Dragonfruit still up for grabs?”
D-Dragonfruit? How does he…
The way he looks at you then, with a lift of his chin as he angles his brow in provocation, a smirk only touching half his mouth- makes you freeze. The little hairs on your nape rise.
…Yet he’s just as scarred as your pet, with the silver hair and the gemstone eyes— massive, over six foot tall and muscular- and the air about him is… familiar. Too much to be comfortable with.
“Y-You’re not-“
Before you can splutter out another denial, he sighs and drops the bravado. He spares the weapon beside him a dismissive glance, stretching one arm across the back of the couch.
“Look, if you don’t believe me, that’s your choice. I won’t try to convince you,” he states, “I’ll just let my actions speak for themselves in the course of the next few days.”
…What? The next few days? Does he plan to stay? What- no. No no no! This mysterious, albeit helpful stranger (helpful in the way that he shook your persistent ex from your doorstep- through violent means, of course) can’t seriously think you’ll just let him crash at your place after feeding you such a ridiculous lie. He’s not your dog. He’s- he’s not some werewolf that can shapeshift on a whim- those only exist in fairytales and teenage romance novels.
Not in your tiny apartment.
“N-No. You- you’re crazy. You have to leave. You have to! I’ll- I’ll call the cops!”
Not-Sylus seems unfazed. Perhaps even a little offended at your bluffing: the vehemence is there. But the certainty is not.
Sure, the department wasn’t having your stalker drama- but an intrusion you’re actually witnessing like this can’t be easily ignored. If your crappy ex ends up snitching (you doubt it, what with his involvement)- all the more evidence, right?
He all but rolls his eyes, saying like it’s obvious, perhaps even with a mite of amusement, “I’m on your side, kitten. Don’t get all…” he looks you up and down, and you hate the flutter of your heart that’s more than just fearful— it’s self-conscious. “Hissy now.”
You punch out a scoff of disbelief. “You’re some stranger in my house! Look- I appreciate what you did, okay? I really do,” you start. You have to pause in between to take a breath because God knows you mean the words you say- you’re just inwardly afraid that the fix was only quick, not permanent, and with the sudden disappearance of your dog? Good luck protecting yourself now. Fuck, you don’t even know where he went- maybe he booked it out through the door when you were too distracted by the chaos to notice.
But then… why the hell would he leave? He- He’s never done that until now!
You rub your face and stare at him. The fear lends itself to a distant echo the more you realize you’re no longer in immediate danger. The guy is an unwelcome (and flashy, literally) intruder, yes, one your pooch would waste no time in maiming, but he’s not an active threat... You just have to figure out how to get him to leave.
“But my dog is a dog. Not a human. Not… you.” That you even have to say it out loud is ridiculous.
Even if, the longer you stare, the more you begin to believe it.
The scarred skin, the unmistakable, red eyes, and the somewhat bitten ears- his body weathered from what you suspect to be years of tussling in underground fights (evidently: winning them, not without the cost though)…
And that arrogant little air he carries with him, the one that first endeared you so.
Sylus, it all says.
But no. No- this is insane. Months of being stalked and living like a bug under a microscope have made you worse for wear. Impaired your judgment.
He draws you back to the present with his rumbling voice. “Your dog is more than just some animal,” he huffs. “Don’t tell me after all you’ve experienced with the stalker that you’re… frightened of this side of me? Really? Of all things?” His chuckle is as rich as it is short as he shakes his head.
Frightened? No… that becomes a more distant word. You’re more so stunned than anything else right now as the pieces start to fall in alignment with each other.
“Well, how about this,” he offers at your silence, waving his hand. “Let the week pass. By the end of it, you can decide for yourself if I’m real or truly just a figment of your imagination, sweetheart… You…” he lowers his gaze, then. Uncertain, almost.
“You can even decide if you want me to stay.”
He rubs nothing between his fingers, glancing up again with a pointed brow. “Deal?”
And if you say no? If, on the off chance you’re wrong and you kick him right back to the curb- to a sorry life of abandonment and bloody illegal brawls and God knows what else?
Your mouth wavers. “I- I don’t believe it.”
You do believe it. But it’s crazy.
He almost snorts. “You’d better start. But with that pest taken care of now… I think you’ll catch on quite fast,” he grins. “I’m here for you, kitten. Isn’t that what you wanted me for? Protection? Don’t tell me once I serve my use you’ll throw me out?” He laughs. But then he sighs right after, pursing his lips and looking down to his lap where he makes no effort to adjust the thin blanket that covers his nakedness as it nearly slips.
Headstrong. Cocksure. Bored with his surroundings in a way only mature folk really tend to be. The sage advice of that employee flashes in your mind— ‘he’s on the older side, so naturally he’s a bit grumpy, snippy’; really, you shouldn’t gasp at his temperament but with your current situation it’s a little hard not to when he clips out-
“So? Do we have a deal or not?”
And, well, what’s the harm in giving him your couch for one night?
Or several.
✦
A wintry chill pricks up your neck. Along your arms. Down your limbs where they bundle beneath the covers- to the tips of your toes as you respond with a shiver.
It rattles you in tandem with pleasure.
Upon waking, a few things blitz through your mind too fast to catch. For one, you’ve woken before your alarm- meaning you’ll be miserable in the minutes or hours of consciousness before it actually does go off. Secondly, the bed feels heavier.
…As do your bones.
Third— Sylus is not on the couch like he’s been for the past few months. He’s with you, in the comfort of your own bed, and as the wooly blanket slips down your upper half- leaving you to the cold air- it reveals to you a head between your thighs.
Pried open. One held up for a soft kiss while the other is pinned down— both wet. Sticky with- with you.
You gasp. “Sylus-“
You’ve no time to even rub the sleep from your eyes, big weathered hands anchoring you in place, because he lifts his head from his plate for a millisecond when you try to stop him and does something he hasn’t for months.
He snarls.
“Quiet. I’m eating.”
Protective. Territorial. That isn’t your pussy he eats from, lapping fervently at it as if it wasn’t just a number of hours ago you were hand-feeding him steak cubes from the cutting tray— no, it’s his.
He blocks your hand from interfering when it slips beneath the cover. So when that doesn’t work, you attempt to clamp your legs shut (quavering, you realize, on either side of his lupine face). All your efforts- bogged by sleep and the simple fact that he was leagues stronger- are for naught.
‘Good try’, his eyes seem to tease, though, glittering devilishly at you as his tongue flicks your clit. And then, when you hesitantly lie back and rest a hand in his hair- ‘that’s it, kitten.’
“Good girl,” he practically purrs.
He’s got a big appetite. You’ve known that.
Not as much as you do right now.
“Sylus, wait wait wait,” you moan. Life has thrown so much your way, especially in the past year or so, but you never went belly-up for it. You fought and resisted and squared up.
But right now, half of you almost wants to take him lying down- let him take his fill of you and then pin you down to take some more. Let him have his way with you, whatever that may entail.
But you- You have work tomorrow, and- and responsibilities—
“Hush,” he goes, voice muffled, having some preternatural ability to tell just what you’re thinking. He drifts a hand up your belly to splay over the valley of your breast. Your heart thumps beneath his callous palm like a metronome. Like a ticking clock, counting down the seconds or hours before you need to get up and get ready. Start a day in which you leave home, leave Sylus, and spend the rest of it longing to get back.
“Just take the day off.”
Grudgingly, you lie your head back. It’s… not a great idea, but as your rationale clouds, it seems like your best one.
“O-Okay.”
As a hot, long tongue stripes up your pussy and then his other hand, the one he used to comfort you in his own weird way, slinks downward again- the ceiling becomes too boring to bear.
So you glance down.
He’s handsome as all get out. Really, a couple months ago when he first appeared to you as a human, that was all you could think as days passed and you became grossly aware that you were sharing a confined space with a man. That you had been all along— and your prancing around the apartment half-naked was just one of the countless spectacles he’d seen.
He never pounced, though. Never lunged. Never bit you like a dog or hurt you like a man, even when every bit of his crude exterior screamed hazardous. He was a good boy. And you don’t care what form he takes; he took you as you are, didn’t he? When you were scared of your own shadow and a little snippy because of it. He let you hold the leash to his heart and snarled at anything that came too close- protected you against your piece of crap ex without prompting. Turned your fear into a mellow thing.
Warmth prods at your heart. Loosens your legs up where they clench around his head.
That day at the pound turns in your memory like a spindle.
You could’ve lost him. He- He could’ve been gone forever hadn’t you showed.
…But you did show. For the shitty time you’d been having, Sylus was your one silver lining. You were there for each other as a shoulder to lean on and a hand to hold.
Your fingers tug gently on his scalp. Fruity shampoo breathes out from the blanket when you flip it over his head to allow him better access. Nerves eat you from the inside out. You’ve seen the looks, the hungering glances and felt the fingertips that linger in seemingly innocent touches:
Finally experiencing the culmination of his quiet longing is a whole different game, though.
Slurps ring out from your thighs. Your sighing, candied words- spoken in that ridiculous tone reserved only for him- make his ears perk atop his head.
“Good boy,” you breathe. “Y-You’re perfect.”
He rewards your obedience with a finger, thick and delightful. You gasp and arch your back into his hands- or, his one hand- a throaty moan rippling from his open mouth. The several little muscles in his face go lax when you coyly guide him deeper into your cunt and he melts.
“You taste delicious,” he whispers. “Sweet girl. I can-“ a deep, shivering inhale. Not from you- from him. “I can smell how much you want it…. You’re soaked.”
You mewl his name and almost reach full relaxation ‘til you glance back down and, with the covers off, spot where his other hand disappears. He’s naked- not in the boxer briefs and sweatpants you’d bid him goodnight in- and holds his fat, upright cock in his hand.
And his hand is big. Can dwarf every part of you with its hold.
His cock is somehow bigger.
Your heart leaps from your chest as he eyes you. He’s daunting. Every bit intimidating and then some- especially as you realize he won’t be just content with kitten licking your pussy, delicious as it is, and ending the intimate moment right afterward.
Dogs will always take the bowl if you slide them one: and then look to you later for seconds.
Point is- he’s insatiable.
You shiver as raunchy images flash in your brain— rough fingers pinning back your thighs as he rams inside you, setting a relentless pace as he bites and sucks and claims.
In your imagination, he doesn’t pull out when he comes.
…What really takes your breath is the engorged knot at the base of him, though, flushed an impatient red. Fattening by the second.
Cum- not pre- dribbles from the tip. For how long he’s been at this, you don’t know.
“Sylus-!” You mean to shriek it, but you can only manage a whispering scream. “Wait, wait, wait! what do you have in your hand-!“
A grin plays at his lips. Crooked, recalcitrant.
Challenging.
He’s hardly lucid, what with the delicious heat emanating from the slick lips he stuffs a second finger in, to acknowledge your question, so it’s surprising when he pulls back a centimeter to make an answer. Lust grips him tight— the need to fuck and take and mount— but that concerned, cute little bump in your brow is one he wants to smooth.
It’s the least he can do.
“Take a guess,” he sussurates, licking slowly up your inner thigh. Torturing you. “It’ll be in yours soon though, kitten, so get ready.”
Your eyes bulge from your skull.
His response: a low chuckle paired with a moan.
From that point on, even as he suckles expertly at your puffy clit, working you to a sniveling mess as you scream on his fingers, you’re focused entirely on what he’s doing below the blanket. He palms at himself- it’s all he can do to relieve the ache as he wrestles with his fraying self-control- massaging his balls and knot as they throb.
When he withdraws his digits from you, eyes drooping at the cream coating his knuckles before fluttering back at the taste of it— you lie back down and gulp.
Taking work off today is a good idea. You can already think of a few excuses. Not being able to walk properly is one of them. Being unable to get out of bed… Feeling so sore and feverish after he’s fucked you into pyrexia that you can’t even move an inch without being reminded of it.
He straightens. The cover slips off him entirely and he’s tall. Hulking. Painting you in his shadow- but the moonlight brings out the sheer hunger on his face, and you alight with warmth all over again.
You hope he’s primed you. You pray he’s done good to prepare you for what’s to come. Because oh, it’s coming. You know that.
“Now,” he heaves, dragging your legs either side of him as he kneels. You can tell he’s not well off, trying to muster a cocksure grin but failing as he perspires at the temple. “To the good part.”
You frown at that, almost- a pang of hurt weaving through the haze of desire and the smell of your musk on his fingers as he licks them clean again, ever thorough. He notes the flicker of your brow with a thoughtful pause and then a sigh, shaking his head as he grabs your jaw and angles his front down.
He chuckles, and you experience a singular flash of softness when he goes, “Oh, so sensitive… Don’t pout. I thoroughly enjoyed the opening too, kitten.”
You’re shaking. Insides molten with the pure want for him to just- to just do something already. There’s no opportunity to come down from your high because you feel his cock bob against your tummy as he sets himself up, and you burn anew.
Oh, you love him. You really do. He’s endearing in all the places he shouldn’t be. He’s charming and strong and willing to fight for you. So you don’t care if he’s a little old and slow on the uptake when it comes to new tricks- territorial and intimidating. He’s yours.
Eyes half open, you lift your hands to trail from his pecs to his firm, scarred belly. With a hiss, he trembles. Catches your wrists and tuts at you a second later, saying, “It’s better to keep those at your side. Once you get me going, I won’t be easy to stop.”
And you’d be half tempted to tease him some more, you know, but fuck if he isn’t massive. And fuck if you aren’t a little scared for it.
So you clutch the sheets as he drives himself inside with a grunt, and settle below him. You trust he’ll take care of you.
The entrance is, at first, surprisingly smooth, what with the natural lube you’ve provided for him. You let him lift your ass and bend you into a bow-shaped thing so he can hit deeper- and that’s when there’s some turbulence.
Your fingers curl into the cotton fabric. You brace and wait for the sting to subside. When you realize your eyes are clamped shut, though, you open them to see his expression and pall at the sight of him.
He’s gorgeous. Even when he looks like he’s ready to sneeze- brow scrunched and jaw slack as he dragoons himself inside, tormentingly slow- he’s nothing less than charming through your lens. But you’re thankful for the time he gives you to adjust because you need it.
Frankly, if he intends to put his knot inside— and he fucking won’t, there’s just no way— the walls of your pussy need the patience on his end.
For several seconds, Sylus does not breathe. You’re sizzling hot; when he eventually bottoms out, he can’t tell where he starts and you end- all he knows is that it’s gooey and warm and so fucking tight his balls throb. He deliquesces between your thighs. You welcome him, your body like a landing pad.
He supposes, right then, you’ve always been very hospitable.
Sylus curses. “Ngh, you’re tight... Loosen up,” he presses his forehead to yours and hisses out through his teeth. His eyes glitter like rhodolite in the dark. Reverent hands run down your side and clasp your hip. With your slick still coating his lips- tangy sweet, you find, as he presses them to yours- you realize he’s worshipful. The moonlight pouring in the blinds makes his silhouette glow a true blue.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, swiping over your bottom lip with his tongue. “Sweet, and soft. And a very good girl. I’ve got your back. You know that, don’t you?” Then, he draws his hips back and—
Your little bed judders. But the squeak that sounds out is yours as he ruts back inside and your labia brushes with his knot.
He won’t put it inside. He won’t. You’re sure of it. Mutts only do that when they’re mating. Mutts only do that. Sylus is- is so much more than that, and….
“Mmm,” an uncontrollable moan escapes you as he begins to move, like really move, and your eyes roll.
With some difficulty, he continues. “You’re naive. Plucking something like me from its cage. But I admire your bravery, kitten, so— f- uck— let me just show you, hm? How far my loyalty goes?”
Void of words, you nod.
The reindeer-patterned bedsheets aren’t enough. Your hands leave them in favor of Sylus, grasping around his back so tight your fingertips can make out the raised scars there. Planes of muscle flexing with divots with every thrust forward.
Offhandedly, he hits that sweet spot inside you. Your nails dig in by accident, and you say his name, stringing out the syllables in a delightful, dizzying mewl.
The floodgates- they burst open. Something in him gives.
He rams forward, abandoning his restraint altogether as his furry, salt-and-peppered tail whacks the mattress beneath you. That fat swell below his cock teases at your sweltering hole with every pump inside, and Sylus burrows his nose into your sweaty neck to whimper.
You’ve never heard such a noise escape him before. Huffs, grumbles, long, exaggerated sighs he makes whenever he finds a nice spot to lay down (usually on you), as if he pays the rent around here— but never that.
He whines, words strained, “Think you can take my knot? Hah… Nod your head for me, kitten- because I don’t think that I can stop it. I can’t wait any longer. I need you to…” he shudders, “take it.”
One moment you’re nervously glancing down to monitor him- and the next he’s nudging your head back with his nose before crashing his lips to yours. Your eyes widen when he flips you over, presses his chest to your back, and thrusts inside with vigor.
With the new angle, you stretch around him with a mewl, but every bone in your body locks when his hips slam flush to your ass and—
His knot pops inside with a gasp.
Throwing your hands to the strong ones he latches around your midriff, you wail. He clings to you like a limpet, his thighs trembling behind yours as he moans endlessly in your ear. Pointed teeth graze at the nape of your neck. He doesn’t bite- but amidst the warp of pain and a pleasure so intense it gives you vertigo, you distantly realize that he probably wants to.
He holds himself off. Breath hitching as his pelvis claps into you. Euphoria rolls across him, shocks him like a static bolt, every fiber of his being awash with it as his jaw falls open and he succumbs to you.
When he comes, it’s so hard his ears ring.
The walls of your pussy become less hospitable, then, clenching around him so tight as you both cum that for a moment, he can’t even say a word to ease you. He aches inside you- you can feel it. The girth of him twitching as your heat swallows him up with a spasm. His knot takes all thought from your brain. Stuffed inside your poor hole, tumid and veiny.
You feel him coalesce with you, too. Eagerly rutting his seed inside (ensuring it sticks, you realize when he drops a finger to your folds, checking for leakage), releasing rope after rope of hot cum as you go limp and take it.
You offer up a choked mewl when he kisses at your spine, brushing your hair aside just to access your neck where he licks and sucks. You trust Sylus not to get carried away with a bite if he did, to lose out to what he’s been taught.
Evidently, he doesn’t trust himself.
Your fingers dig into his thick, scarred forearm and he sighs behind you- a long, feeble sound. He’s barely able to keep himself draped over you- let alone support your own position beneath him, what with the soup you’ve made of his brain- but he manages.
Silence sprawls out as you attempt to steady your breaths. All that comes in between it is the occasional, wet squelch and the gusting inhales he takes at the column of your neck.
“It… hurts. So good…” he hisses after several beats. Only marginally brought back to reality, you flutter your eyes open and offer a yip back. “You’re doing so well, though… Just-“ He twitches inside you, then, throbbing like a second pulse point, his cock undulating in your walls, greedily taking up all the space.
“Fuck. Stay still, sweet girl,” he grunts, harebrained. His eyes crinkle and close. “I want it all inside. Don’t wanna see so much as a drop escape that perfect, tight pussy. Hah- you hear me?”
“Y-Yes,” you quiver back. Speaking is too difficult, you realize a second later, shoving your open mouth into the pillow as you pant for air.
Yet, you can’t help but ask with a slur, “Sylus- when- when will it be over?”
He moans, right in your ear. Goosebumps run up your naked body- all that clothes you.
“It’s too big,” you cry.
“No,” he quips. “It’s just right.”
As if on cue, your cunt gives another squeeze around him, milking him for all he’s worth. In response, he bows his forehead into the crook your shoulder and jaw make to bury a whine, and your mind spins when you register his balls, hanging fat against your ass, lurching. And oh, you’re spilling, you can feel it, beginning to ooze profusely from your puffy lips even as he keeps it plugged; really, even if Sylus wanted to separate from you (he doesn’t), he couldn’t.
There’s nothing in him that wants the distance. The idea of self-autonomy. The idea of independence. No- he’s all yours.
“We’ll wait it out,” he breathes. Coasting a hand along your belly in an effort to placate you. He knows it can’t be easy for you. But the world— that stupid, irksome ex-boyfriend of yours— needs to understand where your heart belongs. There’s no better way to show that than to demonstrate it first with the body.
And you—
(Bitten by his branding kiss, supple skin covered with the divots of his teeth, your belly full of his veritable seed-)
Well. Nobody should look at you, he decides in his spirit right then, and come to any other conclusion but the one that you’re his.
Unmistakably, irrevocably, his.
“It’ll subside soon enough,” he soothes with a peck to your throat, a surprisingly chaste move. He loops his arms around your waist again and carefully- mindful not to exacerbate the heady ache- maneuvers on his side, pulling your back to his front. He whispers at your ear, “So long as you don’t move or stir me up, we’ll be fine.”
Yet, a set of canines brush at your jugular, and again- there’s that inkling, this time in better clarity, that passes your conscience. You know he wants to bite. To mark. To claim. You know it and have the vague idea of all it entails, yet he… won’t.
With a frown, cursing as you turn ever so slightly and his fat knot shifts inside you, you hazily meet his eyes.
His are practically glowing, laying heavy on you. Charting across your face the moment they make contact, observing every brief flicker of your expression to try and assign a feeling— happiness, he hopes, contentedness— to it. His lashes totter and you burn with shame when a lewd suck rings between your legs, his cock wet all the way down to the slight plush of his abdomen.
You don’t mean to pout, “why won’t you-“
“Not yet, Kitten,” he scolds. Trying to swallow down a pit of self-consciousness in your throat, you murmur, “What, do you not want me?” Sylus huffs as if offended. His eyes drag from your lips to your searching eyes.
“Really, kitten? …What, should I give you an equally stupid answer?”
Oh, you’d tug his tail if you had the luxury of moving right now-
“Of course I want you. Can’t you tell?” He sighs, then, burrowing his nose into your neck almost to hide. His ears droop along his head, donning a relaxed look.
“So. Did you like it..?”
“Y-Yeah…” you murmur, carefully looping a hand back to stroke behind his fuzzy ears. “But, I just… I thought you’d really do it, I thought you’d really tie us together-“
He chuckles richly. “We’re already tied together, kitten,” peppering another kiss below your jaw, licking appreciatively at the sweat that clings to soft skin. “I’ve belonged to you for some time now, haven’t I?”
Your heart skips a beat when you realize he’s right.
“I- I guess so. Yeah.”
“So no more whining,” he lifts his chin to sample your lips, this time- his knot still throbbing white-hot and insistently inside you (albeit the ache is lessening)- eyes lidded as he conveys his affections.
“I’ll do it when we’re both ready. When…” He pauses to swallow.
In that short frame of time before he next speaks, you’re drawn to all his scarring. The faded ligature marks around his neck, the seemingly permanent gnashes along his body (which was a touch too lean before you familiarized him with good food). The nip taken from one of the ears sat atop his silvery, mussed locks. In that moment, you don’t see the misshapen, loveless thing he was beaten into— but rather the softness he worked to regain for you.
“When I know it’s manageable.”
If he feels unsure of himself- whether he can remain… civil, for lack of a better word, amidst the fervent haze that a mark would bring about— then you suppose you could wait for a bit longer.
“Okay,” you murmur with a faint, understanding smile, caressing one half of his face dotingly. You tilt your head slightly to plant a firm, benevolent kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“But you’ll always be a good boy to me, okay? I trust you. I told you before- you’re perfect-“ Rather roughly, he noses your head back into the pillow, readjusting his iron hold around you as he grumbles into your hair.
“…Hush. Now close your eyes and go back to bed. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to pull out.”
Wolfdog hybrid who was surrendered time and time again due to his behavioral issues. Who could not stay with a family more than a few weeks.
The shelter tried to beg you to rethink adopting him. He was a lost cause they said. Not only did you not believe them, it made you even more determined to adopt him.
Wolfdog hybrid who genuinely expected he would be sleeping somewhere outside. As he always did. His brain genuinely shortcut when he realized he was given his own room in the house. Although he would rather eat glass than admit your kindness got under his skin.
Wolfdog hybrid who doesn’t speak much. He will mumble a “thanks..” when you feed him. He would never admit how much he loves the food. It’s the best he’s ever had. He never expected you to go out of your way to cook nutritious meals suited just for him.
Wolfdog hybrid who slowly, but surely, will glue himself to you. At first he will just be in the same room, then he will sit closer and closer until finally he is nuzzled into you.
Wolfdog hybrid who will not sleep without you. At first he would sneak into your room and sleep on the floor, thinking you’d kick him out if you saw him. When you didn’t, even more, when you told him not to sleep on the floor and get in bed? He’s done for. Hugs you so tight to his chest, mumbling “mine mine mine”.
Wolfdog hybrid who will insist on watching you shower under the pretext of “what if you slip and fall and die?”. But he knows it’s more than that. He won’t scare you with it yet.
Wolfdog hybrid who jerks off until it hurts while nuzzling your clothes when you’re not home. He wants you so bad, but he also wants to be good for you. Doesn’t want to scare you with how feral he is for you yet. So for now, he settles. Whenever you’re away, he will take your dirty clothes from the laundry basket and muffle his moans with them while he strokes his cock until it’s painful to even get hard anymore.
Wolfdog hybrid who loves you so much and will make sure one day you will know all about it.
