You’ve never had to think too hard since he picked you up and decided you were his. No work. No cleaning. No responsibility beyond existing beautifully for him. You don’t lift a finger unless it’s to curl it into his shirt, claws catching the fabric as you mewl for his attention. He feeds you himself—warm bowls of milk, sweet and rich, bite-sized snacks pressed to your lips when he wants to watch you chew. Sometimes he sits you on his lap just to do it, thumb brushing your chin when a drop spills, laughing low before leaning in to lick you clean.

He always tells you how cute you are. How lucky he is. How sweet you taste.

Your tail curls tight when you finally feel him touch you properly—fingers sliding along the sensitive underside, slow and deliberate. The sensation shoots straight through you.

“Ryu…” you mewl, voice small and breathy as your back arches instinctively, body opening for him without shame. Your cunt is already slick, folds shining, exposed by the way you present yourself so naturally it doesn’t even feel like a choice. It’s instinct. You paw at the sheets, claws dimpling silk, ears twitching as every nerve lights up.

Shidou groans and drops forward, burying his face against your neck. His whole body shudders above you like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Baby… you smell so, so, so good,” he mutters, voice rough, hungry, vibrating against your skin.

You whimper again, softer this time, and turn your head just enough to look back at him. Your nose wrinkles as you sniffle, overwhelmed, one fang sinking into your bottom lip as your cunt leaks from his scent alone. 

(He smells intoxicating—masculine, sharp, sweet-spicy in a way that makes your head feel fuzzy. Like heat and sweat and something dangerous underneath it all.)

His eyes widen when he sees you like this; pink and blown wide, bright as candy. The same shade as the collar snug around your neck. The same molten, sticky-sweet pink he makes you feel inside when he looks at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever found.

That grin spreads slow and feral across his face, sharp and delighted. He leans closer, crowding your space on purpose. “Does my baby need me?” he asks, voice low and teasing, like he already knows the answer and just wants to hear you beg.

You nod eagerly, pushing back against him, hips lifting, tail flicking.

“Yeah?” he coos, tilting his head, eyes glittering. “Needs me to make you feel good?”

You nod again, faster this time, breath stuttering as he finally presses his palm between your thighs—warm, heavy, possessive. He laughs softly, pleased, thumb brushing through your slick with no hurry at all.

God, he loves this part. Loves how responsive you are. How honest your body is with him.

“That’s my girl,” Shidou murmurs, leaning down to nip at your shoulder, teeth just shy of breaking skin. “Always so needy. Always so perfect for me.”

You feel the pads of his fingers brush your swollen, aching clit and the sensation nearly breaks you. A sob punches out of your chest before you can stop it, breath hitching sharp as your whole body bows toward him. Shidou’s teeth sink into your shoulder at the same time—just enough pressure to sting—before his tongue sweeps over the bite, slow and reverent, soothing heat into the mark as he moans against your skin like he can’t help himself.

You curl into him without thinking. The way a cat finds warmth. By instinct. By trust. By the quiet certainty that this is where you belong.

“Ryusei… please—more…” you whine, voice thin and wrecked as you press harder into his hand, chasing the pressure. You want his fingers inside you—warm, thick, filling you up. You ache for it in a way that makes your thighs tremble.

He exhales shakily above you, forehead pressing to yours for half a second like he needs it. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and breathy, rough around the edges. “You know I can’t handle it when you beg for me like that.”

And it’s true. The contrast hits him every time.

In the beginning, you didn’t trust him. You hissed when he got too close. Hid in corners. Swiped at him with claws bared, all sharp edges and fear. You were feral then—all survival, no softness. But now? Now you melt for him. Now you arch and open and whimper his name like it’s prayer and instinct combined. You’re soft for him in ways you never learned before him.

(Ryusei always grins like he’s proud of it. Like he won something precious.)

He twists his wrist slightly, just enough to change the angle, and his thumb begins to rub slow, deliberate circles over your clit. Not rushed. Not sloppy. Intentional. His other fingers press at your leaking entrance, teasing, feeling how wet you are for him before he finally slides inside you. The stretch makes you gasp, back bowing off the mattress as his fingers push deep, thick and invasive in the best way.

He fingerfucks you slowly at first, curling his fingers just right, rubbing against your walls like he’s mapping you from the inside out. Every thrust is deliberate. Every sound you make goes straight through him. The sheets beneath you smell like warmth and mischief and you—your scent soaked deep into silk—and you melt into it without shame, letting out a high, sinful moan that makes his eyes flash.

He keeps it up just long enough for your body to start chasing release—hips stuttering, tail twitching erratically—before he pulls his fingers out with a playful little click of his tongue.

“Oopsie daisy.”

You nearly cry. A broken sound tears out of you, needy and unfiltered, one of your hands reaching back to grab at him like you might actually die without it.

(And then the warmth; like the sun, because Ryu is your sun.)

His tongue replaces his fingers, wet and broad and so fucking good. He eats you like it’s instinct, like it’s hunger, like he’s been waiting all day just for this. The first swipe makes your ears flick sharply, tail puffing as pleasure crashes through you hard enough to make your vision white out for a second.

Your body jolts, nerves screaming as he laps at you—long, eager strokes followed by deep suction that pulls another sob from your throat. It’s loud. Messy. Proud. Slurping and sucking and eating you like he wants everyone to know you’re his.

“Ryu—!” you cry, voice cracking.

He only laughs into you, grip tightening on your hips to hold you open as his tongue works faster, greedier. Ryusei doesn’t do restraint when it comes to you. Never has.

Your back arches higher as his fingers dig into your ass, grip firm and possessive, lifting your hips without asking—like he knows exactly how your body wants to be held. He spreads you open with practiced ease, thumbs pressing into the soft give of your cheeks, leaving you exposed and trembling beneath him. You gasp at the vulnerability of it, at the way your body answers without hesitation.

Then his tongue drags a long, deliberate line—slow, unhurried—up your slick heat before moving higher. The first touch at your asshole makes your breath stutter, a broken sound slipping out of you as he circles the puckered skin with maddening patience. It’s gentle and teasing and impossibly intimate, his tongue warm and curious, like he’s savoring every reaction you give him. Your tail flicks sharply, ears twitching as pleasure sparks bright and overwhelming through your spine.

He doesn’t linger forever. He never lets you get too comfortable.

With a pleased hum, he moves back to your pussy, mouth pressing in eagerly, tongue flattening and working you open again like he can’t help himself. Like he needs this. Like eating you is as essential as breathing. The contrast makes you shudder—your whole body shaking as sensation stacks on sensation until it feels too big to hold.

It feels like heaven. Like the galaxies have cracked open just for you, stars spilling everywhere, light rushing in. Like this is where you were always meant to be—arched and open, offered up to him, body singing beneath his mouth. Every lick feels purposeful, reverent, hungry all at once. Shidou eats your cunt like he needs you to survive, like your pleasure is oxygen, and you melt completely into it.

Your thoughts blur. Shame dissolves. There is only heat and sensation and the sound of him—wet, unrestrained, devouring you with no apology. Your hands claw uselessly at the sheets, silk bunching beneath your fingers as your body gives itself over fully, trusting him to take everything you offer.

You come with a broken sob—sharp and high and helpless—as your body convulses against his mouth. Pleasure crashes through you like a wave, shaking you to your very core. Your pussy clenches hard, leaking against Ryusei’s tongue, your release messy and wet as your thighs tremble and your tail thrashes weakly beneath you. It’s overwhelming. Electric. The kind of climax that leaves your vision spotted, your muscles twitching, your thoughts dissolved into white noise.

Your legs nearly give out, the strength wrung from your limbs—but Ryusei doesn’t let you fall. His grip on your hips is strong, bruising, possessive. Like he dares your body to go limp on him. Like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded in the haze of your orgasm. And maybe he is.

He doesn’t stop right away. No—he keeps licking through it, slower now, dragging his tongue through the slick mess of your release with a deep, satisfied moan. He slurps lazily at your folds like he’s tasting the finest dessert, groaning against your heat as his fingers squeeze tighter, as if savoring you is his favorite part of the day. Only once he’s sure he’s licked you completely clean does he finally pull back.

Then, without a word, he flips you onto your back.

The motion is effortless. Confident. The way only Shidou Ryusei can be—reckless and smooth all at once. You land on the silk sheets with a soft thud, breath catching in your throat, body still humming from the orgasm he just gave you.

Your legs part on instinct. A welcome. An invitation.

And he takes it—scooching forward on his knees, eyes never leaving you. His cock is flushed and hard, the tip already weeping, and he gives it a slow, deliberate stroke as he looks down at you with eyes blown wide and hungry.

His grin is wide. Ferocious. Stupidly pretty. Lips wet, chin shiny with you, dimples cutting into cheeks that look boyish despite the filthy glint in his eye. He looks like a menace. Like the devil himself came down in sweat-slicked abs and smudged eyeliner.

He taps the head of his cock against your clit, and you jolt, body twitching at the overstimulation. You’re still so sensitive—but you don’t pull away. You can’t. You already want him again. Even after you just came, even with your thighs still shaking—you’re greedy for more.

He grins wider, dragging the thick head through your folds, coating himself in your slick as he hums. “Does my baby want me to fuck her?” he purrs, voice low and mocking but affectionate in its own twisted way.

You nod so fast it’s almost dizzying. “Yes. Yes, please, Ryu. Please—”

His cock catches on your entrance—and then he pushes in.

One long, slow glide, his breath hitching into a moan so raw and sinful it makes your walls flutter around him. “Shit—baby…” he groans, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he bottoms out inside you, his hips pressing flush against yours. “You’re so warm. Fuck. You’ve been aching so much, haven’t you?” He rolls his hips once, slow and deep, grinding in like he wants to make sure you feel every inch. “Good thing I’m here now.”

He laughs a little at the way your back arches, how your body clamps down around him like it needs him, like it’s memorized the shape of him and is begging to be filled again.

He starts slow—long, measured thrusts, deep strokes that make you gasp as he rocks into you. His rhythm is steady, patient, almost cruel in how controlled it is. He watches your face the entire time, cock grinding against your sensitive walls, dragging against that sweet spot that makes your thighs twitch.

Your tail curls beneath you, your toes curling tight, your thighs trembling as the stretch and pressure and rhythm all blend into a growing ache that starts building again. Your lips fall open around moans you can’t even shape into words, your body already teetering on the edge of begging again.

And Ryusei? He just smirks. Sweat sliding down his neck, muscles flexing as he leans forward, kissing your jaw with a chuckle that’s all teeth.

“Better hold on tight, princess,” he murmurs with a grin that's too wide. 

He gets rough—like something primal snaps inside him and takes over. Like the teasing, the slow rhythm, the controlled grind was all just foreplay for what he really wants: to ruin you.

His thrusts go deep and fast, each one slamming into you with enough force to shake the bed. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin fills the room, filthy and unrelenting. Your breath hitches into whimpers, little gasps of broken sound punched out of you with every harsh thrust. Your body trembles beneath him, legs spread wide, tail twitching with every slam of his hips.

You cling to him like instinct—your hands latching onto his back, claws digging in as if you’ll float away otherwise. Shidou moans loud and shameless at the feel of it, head dropping forward to crash his mouth against yours. The kiss is all teeth and tongue, bruising and wet, desperate. Your fangs catch on his lip and draw blood, and instead of flinching, he laughs into your mouth.

“Fuck yes—” he groans, voice wild with lust, with joy. He lives for this, for the pain, for the fight, for the way you scratch him like you’re trying to crawl inside him. He ruts harder into you, pace brutal, like he’s trying to fuck the shape of himself into your body and make it stay.

You break the kiss with a gasp, your lips slick and sore, and bury your face into his neck to muffle your cries. His hand tangles in your hair, keeping you close as your fangs graze his throat. The scent of sweat and blood and sex is dizzying. Your moan turns to a sharp cry as his cock hits deep, and you clamp down harder, hips lifting to meet every thrust even when it’s too much.

“Just like that—scratch me, baby. Mark me up.”

You do. You can’t not. You drag your claws down his back, down his arms, down his chest with a broken sob, leaving bloody trails in your wake. He shudders above you—groans deep in his chest like he loves the pain—and licks the wounds when he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes glazed and mouth stained with red.

“Fuck me,” he hisses, hips grinding deeper, filthier. Your walls flutter around him, tight and soaked, and the sound he makes is pure filth. Your head spins.

“Ryu—please—! I’m gonna come—” you whimper, voice high-pitched and teary. Your nails curl into his skin again as your body arches, wound so tight you’re shaking.

His eyes lock onto you, flushed pink like cherry blossoms in winter—but now darker. He looks possessed, grin curling into something sinful and wolfish. Like the night sky stretching above you—black, starless, vast.

“Y-Yeah?” he pants, cock thrusting deep as he licks his lips. “Are you now? Gonna come all over my cock? Want me to come too? Fill you up with my cum?”

The words alone make you clench—so hard, so tight it knocks the breath from your chest. The thought of him spilling into you, marking you on the inside, coating your insides warm and full and thick—your eyes roll back and you nearly sob as you nod, desperate and undone.

“Please—want it,” you cry. “Want you to come inside—want it so bad, Ryu—”

He moans like you’ve given him permission to lose it.

“Fuck, baby—gonna paint that pussy from the inside out,” he groans. “Wanna see it leak outta you after. Want you dripping with me. Mine. Mine.”

And he fucks you even harder. Unhinged. Animalistic. Every thrust pushing you closer to the edge, every word wrecking you further. You want him to mark you just as you’ve marked him. You want his cum, his scent, his everything. You want to wear it like a collar and a crown.

You’re about to come again—harder, deeper—your whole body tensing like a bow pulled taut, ready to snap. And he knows. Shidou feels it in the way you tremble around him, in the way your hands tighten on his bloody back, in the way you moan his name like it’s the only word you’ve ever learned.

And then you do.

(It hits like the crack of fireworks in a summer sky—sudden and bright, loud and blinding. Like all your nerves ignite at once, bursting beneath your skin in waves of molten pleasure that roll through your body and leave you trembling.)

You mewl his name like a chant, high and sweet and broken, your voice catching on every syllable. Your thighs shake. Your tail coils tight beneath you. Your ears twitch uncontrollably, overstimulated and sensitive, and your tongue slips out as your jaw goes slack, lolling with the intensity of your release.

You’ve never come like this before—never so hard you forget how to breathe. Never so full of sensation you feel like you’re glowing from the inside out.

And Shidou feels it. Feels your walls tighten like a vice around his cock, pulsing with every wave that crashes through you, and it undoes him.

“F-Fuck—fuck, baby—” he gasps, hips stuttering as your pussy milks him for everything he has. His breath catches sharp, then he moans—loud and guttural and filthy—head tipping back in a wild arc, exposing the long stretch of his throat. His jaw clenches, muscles flexing, and his eyes roll back as he groans deep from his chest.

And then he’s coming—hot and thick, shooting deep inside you, filling you so full that your breath hitches again and you tremble all over. You can feel it, the way his cock throbs inside you with every spurt, how his cum spreads warm and heavy in your belly, like something sacred and claimed.

It makes you shake, overstimulated and owned.

Ryusei doesn’t stop right away. He grinds into you through it, making sure you feel every drop, every twitch of him inside you. His hands cradle your hips like he’s trying to press his seed deeper, like he wants it to stay in you forever.

And he’s still moaning, still whispering curses and praises. “Fuck—fuck—fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes. “Took it all—shit, baby, that was crazy—”

And he laughs, wrecked and breathless, before collapsing forward to cage you in his arms, his body heavy and hot and trembling just like yours. His cock still pulsing inside you, his cum beginning to leak slowly down your thighs.

(You’ve never felt more full. Never felt more his.)

You know what comes afterward. You always do.

Because Shidou may fuck like a feral thing—all hunger and chaos and filthy obsession—but after?

After, he’s soft in the way only he can be. Wild and tender. Dangerous and devoted.

The moment his breathing evens out, he’s already moving—grumbling softly, shifting his weight with a groan as he presses one last kiss to your temple. His cock slips free with a wet, sticky sound that makes your body jolt, and he hums at the sight of his cum slowly leaking from your cunt, thumb brushing it with possessive satisfaction.

“Messy girl,” he mutters, but he says it like he’s proud. Like it’s art.

Then he scoops you up.

Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t need to. You’re pliant in his arms, still shivering faintly, cheek pressed against his chest as he carries you across the room like something precious. You hear the faucet start to run, hear the way the water swirls and rises in the enormous tub, warm steam already curling into the air like a lullaby.

He lowers you into the bath gently—so unlike how he fucks you—and your muscles melt the second the heat touches you. Your body relaxes, floating in perfumed water as his hands follow, pouring warmth over your shoulders, down your back, over your twitching tail.

He washes you.

Not like it’s a task. Not like it’s something he has to do.

He adores it.

His fingers glide over every inch of your skin, careful and methodical, like he’s learning you all over again. He hums sometimes—off-key, sleepy, happy. He teases when you pout at the shampoo, kisses your nose when you scrunch it up, always working slowly, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

And when he dries you? It’s with the fluffiest towels, warmed and waiting. He wraps you in them like a cocoon, kneels down to kiss your knees, your wrists, your collarbone. You sit there, sleepy and boneless, as he pulls out a brand new collar—soft pink leather, shiny tag engraved with your name, a tiny bell that jingles when he fastens it gently around your throat.

He kisses just below it, teeth scraping the skin there like a promise.

Then he dresses you. Something silky and expensive and sheer—something ridiculous you know he’ll tear off later. But for now? He lets you wear it. Runs his hands along the hem, the sleeves, fingers slipping beneath it to trace the curve of your hip. Not to start anything new.

Just because he can.

He fucks you like a beast, but he loves you like a man who never wants to let go.

That's how you sleep: wrapped in silk and scent and sin—marked by teeth, crowned in love.

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