turtwig

Omen’s chronic case of trigger finger stops only when he finds you at the other end of his gun. But, of course, it’s not you.

It’s the Phantom—your Phantom—that should have given it away, but he’s not paying enough attention to notice the pixelated camo print that has been meticulously painted on the body or the laser sight that’s mounted. He just can’t stop staring at you. He’s drinking in your face, that fact that you’re here with him again. 

He hasn’t seen you in forty three days—not that Omen’s counting. First, you had been assigned on a reconnaissance mission in Siberia. It was supposed to be two weeks, maybe three max, but it’s been impossible to get a hold of your team. Omen has had no word from you in forty three days, and it’s affecting him more than he’d care to admit. Now, he finds himself in Morrocco, shifting between sand and sentiments as he struggles to keep his attention where it matters—

Omen doesn’t sleep. He isn’t sure what he does to pass the time, really, but sometimes, he thinks he sleeps because he dreams. He dreams that you’ve died somewhere in the desolate tundra and it’s his fault. He’s too far away to help you when you need it most and too weak to do anything to save you. He is thrust into consciousness each time, chest heaving and hands shaking. He finds that it’s worse on quiet nights.

There’s an enemy Raze that throws a grenade towards him. Omen barely has enough time to teleport away from danger into a narrow, curved alleyway. A trail of bullets follows him. One manages to bury itself into his shoulder. The controller hisses in pain and tucks himself deeper into the corner. Elsewhere, he hears Wingman making his rounds onsite. Killjoy’s turret goes off on his right. Overhead, one of Skye’s birds burst into a ray of light.

“Omen, you need to stop worrying,” Sage crosses her arms in the way she does whenever she’s about to scold someone. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sage eyes the half-finished sweater in Omen’s lap. It’s sat there for the last half an hour, untouched, as Omen stares at the screen listing updates on current missions. The status for you and your team hasn’t changed in eight days. It doesn’t stop him from checking.

The healer sighs. There’s nothing she can say to truly ease his mind, but she does her best anyway. You’re hardy and have a level head on your shoulders. You’re there with Jett, Cypher, Breach, and Astra. An experienced team. There’s nothing for Omen to worry about—

The enemy Viper fills the air with her noxious gas. It burns to breathe it in, but Omen has no choice. He stands in a toxic, green sea. He walks forward with cautious steps. Every so often, he flicks his gun back and forth, thinking he’s seeing something out of the corner of his eye. He thinks he sees your face in the veridian haze, but when he turns, there’s nothing there at all. He turns around and barely spots Viper off to his left. His shot is accurate, deadly. The air clears almost as quickly as she falls. It leaves him out in the open, exposed and in clear view down your sight.

“What will you do if you see her?” The tone in Vyse’s voice is monotone, but Omen knows better. She never speaks without reason. The Range is quiet, save for their gunshots. She shoots three targets, dead center, before lowering her Guardian. Her signal that it’s Omen’s turn.

He raises his Sheriff and hits his three targets with similar accuracy.

“It will not come to that.”

Vyse hums. She turns to a series of mannequins standing in the corner of the Range and fires, hitting a clean headshot.

Omen takes his turn, hitting two in the head.

“Will you kill her?”

Omen misses the third. It takes three more shots until he’s able to get a clean hit.

“Perhaps not with aim like that,” Vyse remarks dryly. “At least she’ll put you out of your misery by killing you first.”

He sees your familiar face, and it’s as if time itself has grinded to a complete and utter stop. He feels a strange pang in his chest. He can’t bring himself to focus his aim on you. His fingers are stiff. It's as if his body can’t bring itself to pull the trigger. 

The feeling is not mutual. 

He hears someone behind him shout his name. Maybe it was Skye or Brimstone, he can’t be sure. He falls to the ground before he can register the pain of your shots coursing through his body. 

Whorls of brown smoke rain down from the sky as the sound of Skye’s bird shoots into the air before erupting into blinding brilliance. Enough time is bought. Two pairs of hands hurriedly find themselves hoisting the injured Controller off the ground and away from the open fire. 

Omen doesn't feel pain the same way now, or at least, he thinks he doesn’t. He’s not sure what is normal anymore. He knows he should be afraid—you managed to do some nasty damage—but his heart stutters as he manages to catch a glimpse of your face between the wisps of smoke that fill the air. He’s too taken to register Skye and Brim speaking to him, Gekko racing over and frantically asking “what happened?,” Killjoy replying that there’s no time for this now, we need to leave. 

Omen who attaches himself to your hip and never once considers why he’s so keen on having your company.

Omen who is one of the last people in the entirety of Valorant HQ to realize that he has a crush on you.

All the other agents know. They talk about it too, just not to him.

“Brim keeps hinting at a mission, a big one—Wingman, put Cypher’s hat down! Don’t touch what’s not yours, little buddy—He said it’s several weeks in the field.” “Yeah? Who do you think’s going to go?” “Omen?” “Ha! Only if the new recruit goes too! He’s like her shadow or something.”

Omen is too tense when Miks challenges you to a friendly game of Mario Kart in the breakroom.

He’s watching too intently from the corner of the room as Yoru shows you how to do tricks with his butterfly knife.

Even as the mission looms closer and the agents begin preparations, the tension never leaves him.

Deadlock catches the way that Omen hovers when she’s giving you some shooting tips in the Range

Vyse notices the annoyance rolling off him when she’s helping you with utility placement during group training.

It’s on one of the rare occasions that you are not with Omen that Jett finally says something.

He's sitting with his bonsai tree, shears in hand, but not a single leaf has been trimmed. Instead, he's too busy watching you in the training room with Phoenix and KAYO as you practice your aim with the Sheriff when she speaks, “chill out, Omen. No one’s trying to steal your girl.”

The sure-footed shroud fumbles with his shears, they fall into his lap. His voice, gravelly and panicked, “what?”

Jett’s too busy laughing at his reaction to respond, so Neon finishes for her, “the new girl. You don’t need to stare daggers into everyone that gets within a three foot radius of her, you know.”

Omen, who never hesitates with his words or is ever wanting for something to say, has been rendered speechless.

“Just tell her already. It’ll make this less painful for all of us.” Jett grabs a banana off the table and throws him a wink. They don't wait for him to respond, the two Duelists set off to join you for combat practice.

Omen vaguely contemplates saying something that day at lunch, then that night when you’re seated next to him on the couch, struggling with a row of purl stitches, wonky and uneven,  when his comms go off, signalling an urgent mission requiring immediate departure. That mission.

Omen, who digs for his comms, only to be greeted with his own reflection in the dark screen, no ping.

Omen, whose heart drops when he realizes that it’s your comms going off. 

Omen who hardly mutters a goodbye before you’re dashing out of the door just in time to join Jett and Cypher as they run down the hall towards the helipad. He hears your voice faintly call out to him. "Be back soon!"

Omen who’s left there alone with his sweater (well, your sweater, but you don’t know that yet), half-done, and the empty sofa cushion beside him, warm from where your body just was.

He stays there motionless until the fabric goes cold as if waiting for the last trace of you to fade away. Wordlessly, he gathers your knitting and returns to his room, alone.

You watch Omen, who sits across from you in the break room, as he cleans the weapon in his hands. It’s a Phantom—you can tell as much by the rounded barrel and the shape of the body—but its design remains unfamiliar to you, piquing your curiosity. All the agents had customized their guns to some extent and you were no exception, but this variation was one you had never seen before on Alpha Earth or Omega Earth. 

He doesn’t acknowledge your attention at first, not out of malice, but his own concentration. He’s already redone the red wrapping that covers parts of the handguard and the stock, and combed through the purple feathers that run along the top of the body. Now all that’s left to do is dust and polish. His gloved hands run along the raised wrought iron edges with sharpened precision as he runs the worn dusting cloth over the surface. These are the kind of tasks he enjoys; ones that demand his attention and force his wandering mind into a rare silence.

It’s not until you shift slightly, keening to get a closer look at his handiwork from over the table, that he remembers where he is. He glances up to your face, commits to memory every detail of the look of amazement on your face, and fails—as usual—to realize that he’s admiring. He doesn’t notice that his hand has slowed to a stop and yet, his mind remains tranquil all the same as he stares at you  unabashedly. 

It’s not until you glance up at him and toss him an easy smile that his mind begins to race and he’s quick to avert his gaze back down to the task at hand. You’re a relatively new recruit, though you swiftly found yourself in the good graces of the other agents. Cheerful, easy to talk to, and reliable—even Viper couldn’t find a reason to be cross with you. Omen had initially kept his distance as he does with all newcomers to the protocol. It’s easy for him to isolate himself; who would want anything to do with a monster like him?

You did, apparently. It started with sitting together in the breakroom. Short conversations turned into longer, more natural discussions over meals at the mess hall. Now, it’s only expected that where one goes, another is sure to be nearby. 

Only now do you break the comfortable silence.

“Did you modify this yourself, Omen? It’s beautiful.”

Omen eyes the skull emblem that sits on the receiver. It stares back at him now and every time he aims down the sight and every time he pulls the trigger. Its eyes don’t glow now; the safety is on and the magazine is empty and he’s somewhere safe, far away from battle and bloodshed. But he can imagine their eerie red glow all the same. He thinks of the rush he feels when he watches a body crumple to the ground, lifeless. It sends satisfaction running through his veins, a twisted sense of gratification, but beautiful?

It’s a thoughtful pause before he responds.

“Yes, I did.”

You hum watching as he continues to massage the metal with polishing cloth under his thumb.

Omen has never been one to mind silence, in fact, he’s found that he craves it more often than not, but there’s something about this moment that he can’t quite explain. The thought of you standing up and leaving the room creates a pit in his stomach that he can’t ignore. It leaves him wracking his brain for something to add, to selfishly keep your attention on him for just a little while longer.

“And what of your’s? Killjoy has your Phantom, does she not?”

He doesn’t look up, but he can see you in the periphery of his vision. He sees the way the expression on your face morphs into one of pleasant surprise, that he remembered you excitedly mentioning last week that Killjoy agreed to help modify your stock rifle. Of course, Omen remembers. He remembers everything you say.

“She does! She hasn’t been able to do much work on it the last few days since she’s been on missions, but she said she has time this weekend and thinks she can get it done by Monday…” Omen continues polishing his rifle as he listens to you talk, pleased with his work. 

You prattle on about the modifications—adjustments to the shape of the body to make it more rectangular, a purple paint job, RGB lights. You talk about other modifications you’d like to do on your other guns when you have the time. 

Omen doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to; you always know that he’s listening. It shows in the way he remembers the details.

“I’m excited to see it! It was really fun to modify my Classic. I can’t wait to work on the others.” You chirp as Omen finishes the barrel. 

Wordlessly, he sets down the cloth and admires the way the metal glints in the light. He angles it towards you for you to see. 

You nod approvingly. 

Then, Omen speaks. “I’m sure it will be…” He admires the way you look across from him, eyes bright, “beautiful.”

He loves the way you beam at him. 

“Thank you, Omen! I think so too.” 

He stands up, gun in hand. 

“The reloading mechanism of this gun is special too. Care to join me in the Range? I can show you.” 

“Would I!” You bound up next to him in matched paces. He’s much taller than you, forcing you to crane your neck. 

He stares down at you as you walk together towards the door.

Yes, he thinks, quite beautiful indeed. 

It was supposed to be a quick, harmless trip. All you needed were some mushrooms for tonight’s stew. You knew a spot right outside of your village’s invisible wards that would be easy pickings. When you suggested the idea, your mother had pressed her lips into a thin line, olive green wings fluttering nervously in response.

“I don’t think you should. I’ve heard there are humans wandering around out there, and more than there have been in previous years. You remember Dianthe? The girl three houses down with the blue wings? Last month, she ran into a human and they clipped them off. Left her in the forest to bleed out. She had to crawl back here on her hands and knees. I don’t want you out there, especially with your wings,” she looks pointedly at them. 

Admittedly, she had a point. Your wing shape was rare. Three separate pairs of chartreuse wings nestled on top of one another in feather-like layers and a larger fourth translucent set perched over them all. Fairies were hardly ever born with two sets of wings, let alone four. You loved them.

“Mom, I promise it’s fine. I’ll be careful. Besides, I can hide my wings for the 3 minutes I would be visible to them. If I even end up seeing anyone, which I highly doubt. And, even if I did see anyone, which I won’t, I can fly out of there before they even get close.” You say, already making your way to the door. “I’ll be back before you know it, I promise!”

You had been so careful too. Your guard was on high alert as you glanced around the forest as you exited the safety of your colony’s magic, your own magic already cast to render your wings invisible to human eyes. You had walked at a painfully slow pace so that no noise would capture any unwanted attention. You hadn’t felt any other life forms present around you.

It truly came as a surprise then when something harshly shoved you face-first against a tree.

You squeak in surprise, dropping the mushroom you had just picked.

The assailant lowers his mouth next to your ear. His guttural and deep when he speaks, “now, look at what we ‘ave here.”

“S-sir, what are you doing? Let go of me!” Your voice pitches into panicked squeals, hands trying in vain to tear away at the one he has clamped around your neck. His handspan easily covers most of it and the pressure he’s applying is making it difficult for you to breathe. The rough bark ignites stinging pain in the side of your cheek as you struggle against his weight. 

The man ignores your pleas and drawls on, “what’s a pretty little thing like you doing all the way out here? There isn’t a town for miles in any direction. Are you lost?”

You can feel his sculpted abdomen against the bare skin of your back. You try to pry his hand away, but to no avail. You swallow hard.

“N-no, sir. I’m perfectly fine. Please let me go and I’ll be on my way. I won’t ever come back here, if that’s what you want!” Your bottom lip quivers as you speak. Your body is trembling, and you’re certain he can feel it with the way he’s snuggly pressed against you.

“Please!” You manage to whimper. Your movements are starting to slow down. The powerful combination of the adrenaline rush and your struggle against him have sped up the effects of asphyxiation. Black begins to seep into the edges of your vision.

You can’t see it, but a sick smile is plastered on Toji’s face as he watches you struggle underneath him. You fairies are a dime a dozen. Your wings are still hidden, but he’s spent enough time in this forest to know a fairy when he sees one. A petite frame and garbed in the shortest little dress possible, wandering around in a forest too far away from civilization to not be suspicious.

Always so easy to catch and oh so easy to overpower that he almost feels bad every time. Almost.

His breath is hot on your ear as he speaks, “why would I wanna do that?” He takes his free hand and gently ghosts his touch up your right thigh.

You freeze at the contact, but say nothing in response. Toji’s hold on your neck releases ever so slightly. Your chest heaves as you gulp greedily for air. Blood pounds in your ears. Everything around you is spinning.

“You fairies are always so predictable.” His words come out slow and saccharine, despite their venomous bite. You gasp as his right hand grabs the meat of your ass and massages it roughly. A brilliant blush erupts on your face as you choke out a moan. Shame courses through your veins at your reaction. There shouldn’t be anything hot about being roughly held against your will by a mysterious man who is definitely a threat to your wellbeing; but that gravelly voice breathing against your ear sates a certain hunger you didn’t even know you had, and a new one grows between your legs at the feeling of something heavy and hard against your back.

When you don’t deny his statement, don’t deny that you are, in fact, a fairy, a wicked gleam burns in his eyes.

At this point, he would usually just grab the scissors sheathed in his back pocket and free the specimen with perfect precision. Once he had the wings, he had no use for the fairy itself. It was easy enough to leave them on the forest floor. That’s what he did with the last one he caught. Her beautiful blue wings now hang perfectly pinned above his mantle. Toji’s mind swirls with possibilities of where your wings will hang in his office, but he supposes that will have to wait until he’s able to see them, when your power finally drains and you’re forced to reveal them.

Toji doesn’t mind buying the time. You make the prettiest little sounds for him as he grinds his hardening cock against the small of your back. The skirt of your baby blue dress has ridden up from its already short hemline which teased the tops of your luscious thighs. It sits daintily above your ass now, putting your white cotton panties on full display for him.

Toji rubs his middle finger along the growing wet spot that covers your heat at a tantalizingly slow pace. Back and forth and back and forth he rubs until your essence has soaked through the thin fabric and onto his digit.

You mewl at the sensation. Your hands wander behind you, desperate to find purchase on this man’s frame. One hand perches itself on his forearm, still wrapped dutifully around your neck; the other grasps roughly at his thigh. A throaty growl rumbles from his chest as you begin to grind back against him.

“You want somethin’, princess?” Emphasis on the last word is strained as he struggles to maintain some semblance of control over himself. The way you contort against him and the pained sounds you make as you do so is driving him to the brink of insanity.

A whine seeps from your lips and Toji’s hand tightens around your neck in warning.

“Good girls use their words. You’re a good little girl, aren’t ya?” His hand releases from your neck and roughly grabs at your chin instead.

“Y-yes, I am!” You breathe.

Toji chuckles darkly, “yeah, you are.” He turns your head even further to the side, allowing you to get your first look at him and him at you.

He groans at the sight. Big doe eyes with pupils blown out with want; plush wet lips; a body begging for ruin.

You respond no better. You’ve never really found a fancy for older men, but there’s something about this man that makes you crazy with need. Maybe it's his broad shoulders, his hulking frame that looms over you and dwarfs you so easily; or perhaps it's his dark, brooding eyes that slowly gaze over your body with a look that’s equally arrogant as it is starved. Seeing him makes you ache, you rub your thighs together in a pitiful attempt to fill the need to no avail.

Toji pushes your face back into the tree and pries your jaw open. Your pink tongue lolls out. He presses his finger into your mouth and against the wet muscle. He doesn’t even need to tell you to suck, you do it automatically. 

He revels in the warm feeling around his finger and twitches at the thought of the sensation wrapped around his throbbing member. “What a well-trained little slut.” 

You moan at the praise. Toji pulls his finger from your mouth with a satisfying pop, using the hand instead to undo the zipper of his strained pants. At this point, he knows he doesn’t have to keep you pinned to the tree. That dazed look on your face tells him as much. You’re too needy, too desperate to leave. He smirks at the thought.

“Bring your nice little mouth ‘ere, angel.” He grunts. He releases your neck and is pleased when you do exactly as you’re told. Obediently, you turn yourself around, sinking onto your knees without another word.

Your eyes are glued to the crotch of his pants. They brim with anticipation as he pulls out his girthy cock from its confines; the tip is red hot and impatiently oozes precum. A thick vein runs up the left side of the shaft. You subconsciously lick your lips. 

You look up at Toji, face asking a silent question.

Toji tangles his fingers into the hair at the back of your head, “words, princess.” He says gruffly, pulling your hair once in warning.

Tears prickle in the corner of your eyes from the sudden pain. You let out a soft cry as your pussy aches. “Can I please suck on your cock?”

Another yank of your hair, another throb of your wet core. “Daddy!” You yelp, swiftly correcting yourself. “Can I please suck on your cock, Daddy?”

The corner of Toji’s mouth twitches up into a smirk at your obedience. “Only because you asked nicely.” He taunts. He doesn’t wait for a response, instead, he mercilessly pushes your waiting mouth onto him. He’s kind to you, initially taking his time to his member further and further down your throat. He savors the sound of you choking and gagging on him almost as much as he does the feeling of you wrapped around him. He groans as he feels your tongue rub against the sensitive underside of his head. He throws his head back in ecstasy as he thrusts into your mouth with increasing speed.

“Fuck, yes. Just like that, babygirl.” He grunts, looking down at you to see your cheeks tear-stained and mouth covered in a mixture of your own saliva and his precum. When he sees your hand sneak down between your plush thighs, he slaps your cheek. You whine in response, vibrations from your throat tickling his sensitive cock head. Toji thrusts particularly hard, grinning maniacally at the sound of you choking. “Did I say you can touch yourself, you slut? Listen to me.” He growls.

You say nothing else, but you don’t dare to touch yourself again.

Toji quickly pulls himself out of your mouth. Anymore of this and he’ll surely come in your mouth, which isn’t what he’s looking for. Not now.

He notes the way you’re still wingless and silently tuts. He’ll have to be careful with how he fucks you. It would be a shame to ruin those pretty little wings of yours while he’s splitting you in two.

“Come here, pretty.” He murmurs, getting down on his own knees, “let me ‘ave a taste of ya.” He lowers himself to the ground and roughly grabs your hips. Before you can say anything, he’s dragged you up and onto his face.

You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to. With the way his fingers are pressing into you, bruises will surely blossom on your hips in the morning. Not that leaving was ever an option you considered.

Toji’s tongue runs down the length of your hot core, eliciting a breathy moan from you. You rock against his face and relish in the feeling. Your skin prickles with heat.

You cry out when his mouth finds your clit. He sucks on it dutifully as he keeps you pinned to him. Your fingers knot themselves in his hair. Toji groans at the delicious feeling of your nails running over his scalp.

“Daddy! Daddy! Please don’t stop!” You cry, hopelessly rutting yourself against him.

Toji eats you up like a man starved and, in some ways, that’s what he is. You’re so fucking sweet, its addicting. He laps up the juices leaking from your puffy pink folds, forcing his tongue into your throbbing hole. The sensation sets your body aflame.

“I-I’m gonna… ‘m gonna cum!” You cry out, thrusting your hips wildly against his face.

In response, Toji presses you down harder against him. He continues to tongue-fuck you relentlessly. His neglected cock tip weeps onto his shirt as he listens to your mewls and desperate pleas for release.

The coil in your stomach tightens until you finally snap. Stars burst into your vision as you cum hard on his face. Toji drinks you up. 

The world around you goes fuzzy; for a second, you lose yourself in the pleasure. Your hearing becomes muffled and your vision blurs. Toji gives you no time to recover.

“A-ah, daddy, wait!” you cry out, still amidst the throes of your orgasm, as he continues to lick and suck at your overstimulated pussy.

“You can give me one more, baby, can’t you?” Toji grunts, lifting you off of his face with ease. He doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead impatiently slotting you down on his throbbing cock with a throaty groan.

You cry out as his thick head pushes into your tight cunt. Even with all of the foreplay, lubrication, and orgasm, his cock’s girth stretches you out like nothing else. New tears begin to spring up in the corners of your eyes. The pain is a simultaneous blessing and a curse.

“Come on, pretty. You can do it.” Toji murmurs, bringing your face down to him to lick the tears off of your cheeks. You can smell yourself on him. Desire ignites in your core all over again.

“Wan’ your cum, daddy. Please.” You whimper, too cock-drunk to realize the weight of your words.

Toji grins, “yeah? You want my cum like a little slut?”

You nod, staring down at him with a fucked-out expression that he just can’t deny.

“You can have it then,” he grunts. His hands squeeze at your hips as he slowly thrusts up into you. You moan out. Delightful shivers run up your spine as his tip pushes further into you, inch by inch. It feels like an eternity before he’s fully sheathed himself in your wet folds. He has to still himself for a moment when he does, noting the way that his orgasm is already impending.

“Shit, princess. You’re so fucking tight for me.” His nails dig into you, marring your perfect skin with little half moons.

His thrusts start off slow. One may think it’s to give you a chance to accustom yourself to his size, but in reality it’s all he can do. The resistance from your tight, wet cunt makes it hard to do much more than this. He begins to rub his thumb against your swollen clit, eliciting more cries from you.

“Daddy! Your cock is so big!”

You have to steady yourself on his chest, nails digging through the white linen of his shirt and at the toned muscle underneath. Toji watches as the thin straps of your dress fall down your arms, revealing your perky tits underneath.

“Fuck.” He groans. He pulls you up to him and runs a tongue over one of your hardened nipples. He sucks and gently bites at your breast.

You gasp as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten once again at the extra stimulation.

The squelching sound of him pounding mercilessly into you echoes through the forest. You pay no mind to the fact that others might see you. The mushrooms, your original goal, lay on the ground several feet away, abandoned. You have your eyes on something else now; it’s the deep pit of ecstasy and you’re teetering right on the edge.

“Cum for me, pretty girl. Wanna feel you cum around this cock.” Toji orders, thrusting even harder. It won’t be long before his orgasm hits, and he’ll be damned if he came before you did.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his tip brushes against the sensitive spot of your spongy walls. He pistons his hips into yours for only several more moments before a second, stronger orgasm overtakes you.

It causes you to shake as you cover him in clear liquid. The sight of your eyes rolled back in your skull and squirting all over his cock is what does Toji in. With a final thrust, he fucks thick, white ropes of cum into your warm, soft cunt.

He watches in devilish delight as your hold on your magic finally snaps and four wings gently emerge from your back.

“What a good girl,” he coos, easing you down to lie on top of him. You don’t--can’t-- respond, mind too hazy from the overwhelming orgasm that has flooded through your body.

Toji takes a second to admire your wings which now flutter at a sluggish, tired pace. They’ll go nicely in that empty space above his desk, he decides. He’s been meaning to find something suitable for a while.

He hesitates and looks down at you, still wrapped around his cock. It would be such a shame to get rid of you already. That was the best sex he’s had in a while.

Toji absentmindedly rubs his hand in soothing circles on the small of your back. Perhaps he doesn’t need to clip your wings just yet. He’ll just bring you back to his house, where both your wings and your pretty little pussy can flutter for him all. night. long.