Chapter Text
It’s an unseasonably warm night for October, and the hot, sticky atmosphere of the club isn’t helping matters.
It makes you almost glad you’ve chosen such a skimpy little nothing outfit; around you, you can see some people who have chosen to wear more fabric (a decapitated Marie Antoinette wearing a blood-drip choker, a vampire in a floor length velvet cape, some person who thought an inflatable dinosaur costume would be appropriate for the crush of a dance floor) sweating and sighing, regretting their choices. By contrast, you - in your little satin boned one-piece bodysuit and fishnet stockings with a detachable collar and cuffs and a pair of black bunny ears perched atop your head - are almost a comfortable temperature.
Your friends have already paired off, laughing and grinning and drunk on overpriced expensive cocktails. You’d been surprised to be asked out on this little Halloween excursion; your friends have seemed a little distant recently. You’d been even more surprised to be dragged here - a club you’re familiar with only by reputation, and not a good one. Still. You’d gratefully taken them up on the offer, if only because it was better than staying at home with a bowl of candy in your lap only ostensibly for the trick-or-treaters as you watched trashy horror movies and secretly wished someone could be as in love with you as the cannibal in the woods was with the movie’s final girl.
It had been nice to have the excuse to dress up, too - nice to shed your persona and do something a little more risque than you’d normally allow yourself. Your friends had all shrieked with delight when they’d seen your costume - and from the amount of approving, hungry looks you’ve had all night (many lingering on the little cotton fluff ball of a tail attached to the back of your bodysuit) . . . yes, you’re exceedingly satisfied with your decision. Though nobody has caught your eye quite yet, you’re feeling very good about the possibility of spending tonight in company.
You flirt and bat your eyelashes and laugh at jokes as you move amongst the other revellers; let a pretty woman dressed in a sexy cat costume tell you how hot you look, dance for a song with a man dressed as a pirate who stares down the sweetheart neckline of your costume. You’re breathless and just about to take a trip to the bar yourself when a big hand lands on your shoulder and a low, gritty voice whispers about your ear like smoke curling in a dark night;
“Hey there, little bunny rabbit. Can I get’cha a drink?”
You turn around to see who it is offering, and the breath is almost knocked out of you.
The man before you is gorgeous.
A flop of dark hair falling over intense, piercing eyes - a dangerous scar bisecting a pair of full lips, taut biceps almost bulging out of the tight but torn black shirt he’s wearing. That torn shirt, coincidentally, features what look like claw-marks right across the torso, revealing a glimpse of incredibly sculpted pectorals. You feel your face go all over hot, but the man just gives you a cocky grin.
“Take that as a yes, sweetheart?”
He’s made some concessions to the celebration of the night; a pair of sleek, dark wolf ears are perched atop of his head, blending in perfectly with his hair. They’re very realistic - and just as realistic is the thick furred tail that swings behind him from underneath that tight black shirt. He’s spattered in fake blood, all over his scarred arms and hands and wrists, and artistically dashed over his face.
Oh, this is the kind of man who looks so terribly right covered in blood. It takes all of your grace to not press your thighs together and bite your lip right there and then. It’s not that you don’t get any attention, but a man like this . . .
“I don’t know, Mister,” you say to him, all fluttering coquettish eyelashes as your heart beats wildly in your chest and your head entertains fantasies of taking this man home for some company. “Surely I shouldn’t agree to anything a big bad wolf says to me?”
He grins at you, and the look on his face makes you feel all the more certain you will absolutely be going home with this man tonight. He’s even wearing fake fangs; and oh, does the thought of him sinking those fangs into your tender yielding flesh set you all of a flutter. He’s delighted that you’re playing along.
“I’ll play nice, bunny,” he tells you, sliding in close - reaching up to playfully tweak one of the bunny ears perched atop your own head. “I mean, y’sure do look good enough to eat . . . but I save my dessert for last.” He winks at you.
You remind yourself to breathe as you smile back at him.
“Well,” you say. “If you’re going to try so hard for me . . . I guess it’d be rude not to accept your kind offer, Mister Wolf.”
His grin does not dissipate - instead, a big rough hand comes to rest on your shoulder. You notice that he’s filed his nails into pointed claws for the night . . . he’s really going all-in on the Halloween vibes, isn’t he? Not that you mind; you hope he’ll be using those claws to scratch down the canvas of your back later on tonight.
“One sec, darlin’,” he says to you, his voice still dark and gritty and promising. As he walks away, though . . . you catch the strangest scent on the air that dances about him. Something almost iron-like, lingering on his shirt and hands and his general bearing - if you didn’t know any better, you would say that the scent that the man has clinging to him is blood. But that’s ridiculous! You scold yourself internally; just because he’s covered in fake blood as part of his werewolf costume, doesn’t mean that he’s actually a bloodthirsty beast. Your mind is simply playing tricks on you. Perhaps there was a fight on the dancefloor and somebody has busted their nose open, or he works with metal in his day-to-day job and the scent doesn’t quite come off of him, or--
A ripple of conversation tears through the crowd, before the revellers of the club fall into sudden, unexpected silence.
It’s terrifying.
There is something terribly uncanny about the quiet that descends around you; something that chills you to the bone at how quickly the genial, excited atmosphere of the club turns oppressive. In a crowd like this, full of drunkenness and flirts and the general hullabaloo that comes with a celebration like Halloween, the fact that even the most bawdy of patrons have split apart from one another to search for the source of the disturbance makes it all the more frightening.
On a platform above you, a man in no costume stands. He’s wearing plain black trousers and a pressed black shirt, and the lanyard about his neck and the badge attached to his shirt pocket suggests that he works for the club you currently stand in. His face is paper white, as if he has seen a ghost.
Or worse.
“I-- I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. “I-- it appears . . . Ahem. I will be asking you to evacuate the club.”
Whispers. There’s something truly haunted about the man speaking to you all - you look around the assembled throng to try and catch a glimpse of some of the people you came with, but you cannot see a single one.
“I’m aware,” he continues, his voice shaking. “That if I don’t . . . provide more information, there will be. More rumours swirling about the nature of this evacuation. Please b-believe me when I say . . .” His voice peters out, and he forces himself to breathe through it. He doesn’t look like the kind of man who should be struggling with this. Tattoos snake down his neck; his pierced ears glint in the light, his broad frame imposing. But even from below, you can tell he’s trembling.
The man who offered to get you a drink is back. Something blood-red, decorated with candy gummy vampire fangs, is pressed into your trembling hand. He doesn’t seem to care at all about what’s happening in the club - even though the song that was playing has come to an end and the DJ has not bothered to put on another, a thick arm fastens about your waist and lips brush against your ear.
“How’s about a dance, bunny rabbit?” He growls, but the other man has opened his mouth again to continue.
“I’m afraid that . . . well. There’s been an accident. A . . .” He swallows, forcing himself to continue through. “We don’t know how it happened, but a . . . a vicious animal attack occurred here, sometime in the past hour. The v-victim . . . Our founder . . . Our owner-- He--”
Panic whispers through the crowd just as quickly as the silence had. You feel it rise up in your own bones, too. The man above is trying desperately to be heard.
“We urge you to be careful,” he tries to say. “Please don’t panic, please leave in an orderly fashion, we don’t need any more accidents here--”
But everyone has heard the words.
Vicious. Attack. Victim--
Nobody wants to stick around and see who’s next, if it’s true that there is some kind of savage wild animal prowling through the club, on the lookout for whoever else will provide it’s next meal. You’d think it was a Halloween prank done to stir up some kind of buzz for this already infamous establishment if it weren’t for how genuinely terrified the poor man looks. Surely no publicity stunt would risk losing revenue on one of the most profitable nights of the year--
People are rushing around. Any begging to not panic has fallen by the wayside; there’s a crush of bodies all around you, heading for any exit that’s near. You can feel your heart beating too fast against your own chest. You’re going to lose your friends. You’re going to be next. You’re going to--
“Where’re you going, bunny?” There’s that gritty voice again. You’re brought back to earth with a bump; reminded that there’s an arm wrapped around your waist, and the man who currently has you in his grip is far stronger than you.
The scent that reminds you of blood has only gotten more intense. It sticks in your throat; clogs up your senses. You crane around to stare at him.
The fake blood, on his face . . . it looks like it’s congealing, or something. Fake blood doesn’t do that, does it?
The ears atop his head, too. You can’t see a headband or anything. They blend in perfectly with his hair, almost as if they’re a part of him and not a costume piece after all.
Werewolves aren’t real, you tell yourself. But this man is still grinning at you, despite the news you’ve just heard.
“You’ll just get crushed in the jostle, darlin’,” he tells you. “C’mon. Stay with me for another dance.” His voice drops lower, into something more intimate; eyes going dark and half-lidded. He’s really very handsome - but the terror has truly taken root now. The fangs in his mouth look too real. “I wasn’t jokin’ about you lookin’ good enough to eat--”
(You’re wet. You desperately try and tell yourself you’ve been wet since the moment this man made it clear how much he wants you, but . . . you also know that adrenaline has spiked in your veins, and it hasn’t helped the low thrum of arousal you can feel inside of yourself even now).
“I really have to go,” you say, swallowing back thick fears. “I’m sorry, maybe another time--”
Your hands tug at his arm. He’s all solid scar and muscle, keeping you pinned exactly where you are.
“The crush, bunny,” he says. “Hate for a cute lil’ thing like you t’get all trampled--”
“My friends,” you try to say. His other hand strokes over your waist, your hip, the curve of your thigh in the fishnets. “I-I don’t want to lose sight of them!”
“Mm, I can keep y’company instead--”
“Please, Mister--”
That one gets his attention. He laughs, low and dark and dangerous. He even lets go of your arm, but not your thigh.
“Alright,” he says against your ear, a soft, patronising coo. There’s no mistaking it now - that’s blood. The scent that he wears like a shroud is blood. “This won’t be the last time I see ya tonight, darlin’. Name’s Toji. Remember it. Mister Wolf is cute n’all, but . . . ahh. I like my conquests to be screamin out my real name.”
You take your chance - you’re off like a shot, stumbling over your own shoes in your effort to be as far away from the man - Toji - as possible.
Werewolves aren’t real, you tell yourself, as you squeeze out of a fire exit amongst other costumed clubbers and take a moment to catch your breath. Werewolves aren’t real, and even if they were, your life is nowhere near interesting enough for one to have decided to take you as his prey. The savage animal attack and the blood and Toji must all be a coincidence, you tell yourself, as forcefully as you can. The Halloween atmosphere is getting to you. You’re making stories up in your head.
Out on the street, people clearly feel safer - they’re gathered in little groups, their faces a little worried but mostly just gossiping about what they just witnessed. As you squeeze through them, you hear snatched snippets of conversation;
“--really not just a publicity stunt?”
“--of course it had to be tonight--”
“--it’s scary, right?”
You ignore them. You do think, briefly, about trying to find your friends so that what you’d told Toji was true - and because the idea of having them beside you as you made your way home is comforting - but even as you think it, you see a swirl of red satin getting into a car you recognise.
Okay, wow. Nice to know that they’re so concerned about you they’ll simply leave without you. You dig your nails into your palm to stop yourself from getting upset about it - try and reassure yourself that they’re probably just as scared as you are. It had already been a squeeze in the car here, and with you disappearing in the club . . . maybe they thought you’d already headed off? That thought is much more comforting than being forgotten about--
At least you never took off the cute little novelty bag shaped like a carrot that is slung over your shoulder; containing your cell phone (dead, you realise with distaste, because you forgot to charge it last night and you figured you wouldn’t need it), and the keys to your home. That’s one piece of good luck.
You stop for a moment, where the path by the road is clear from people, to gather your thoughts together and calm your racing heart.
You remind yourself, again, that werewolves are not real. That sometimes animals can be unpredictable; that people keep exotic creatures not made for captivity as pets, and sometimes that backfires upon them. That the man you danced with probably just thought teasing you was funny, and made a bad-taste joke based on his own Halloween costume.
Some people cope with terrifying things via humour. Maybe Toji is just that kind of man; ill-timed, yes, but perhaps he was dealing with his own fear fraying at his nerves.
After a few minutes, you straighten yourself up. You hadn’t banked on walking the streets tonight in your risque outfit, but it seems that you have no other choice; your little apartment isn’t too far away, and on Halloween night you’ll hardly be the only person feeling slightly more exposed than usual. You steel your nerves as you set out, cutting through far less swathes of people than before; many have managed to get into cars, or call to be picked up, or have set out on their journey home themselves. You’re certain that will help you feel more comfortable, too; surely one or two of them must be heading the same way as you? Even if you are not talking, the presence of others will serve to soothe your frayed edges.
You listen to the click of your heels on the concrete of the pavement and occupy your mind from fear by running through your plans for the next month, now Halloween is over. The little projects you’ve been assigned at work, the family commitments as the holidays sneak up on you . . . November and December are sure to be busy months for you. This was supposed to be one of the last times you could really relax and not worry about things--
You stop where you are.
That’s . . . strange.
You recognise the street you’re on; you’re still a good twenty five minutes from home, but that’s not what really sets your hair standing on edge. Nor is it the two street lamps closest to you, both of which have been broken for as long as you can remember.
No, what really makes you feel strange and rattled and uncomfortable is how strangely quiet the night air is. The silence hangs heavy in it, so tangible it could be sliced through with a knife; you cannot even hear the noises of wild foxes, of babies crying, of cars coming and going. It’s deserted but for you.
It’s never like this.
You wish you had a coat to tug tighter around yourself. The mild October air suddenly feels chilly instead. Fear whispers down your spine, embracing you once more, even as you reassure the anxieties inside that you’re probably being over dramatic because you’re scared. Sometimes, nights are simply quiet.
You swear you can hear the pounding of your heart as you continue to press forward. It rings in your ears and makes you feel dizzy.
You feel like you’re being watched.
It’s just as pressing as the silence; a physical force, that somewhere you are being observed. You think back on all of those stories about Halloween serial killers, preying on young people who are fool enough to wander the streets alone - every news story that has even echoes of such things returns to you, as you feel your legs wobble.
Carry on breathing, you tell yourself. One foot in front of another. One foot in front of another. One foot in front of--
Was that a noise? Behind you? A heavy footstep? A crunching autumn leaf? A low, menacing chuckle?
You whip around, your mouth gone dry - but there is nothing there. Not even a hint of a shadow beneath one of the flickering street lamps to make you question if you’re being followed. Simply the empty road and the street lined with bare trees and piles of red-gold-brown foliage on the paving stones.
Just carry on breathing.
You almost make it to the end of the street before you hear another noise; another crunch of leaves, deliberately heavy behind you. You whirl around again - and this time, the shadow beneath a tree is unmistakable. This time, it’s clear your fears of pursuit are grounded in reality - and desperately, you totter backwards, and turn and run.
You stop thinking as your ankle twists and you surge forward nonetheless, ignoring the cry of pain that radiates up your leg. When your life is on the line, it turns out, such mortal worries as pain do not matter so much - all there really is is the drive to survive. To make it through what you’re afraid is going to happen.
You cannot let yourself be caught. You hear your own breathing and the pounding of your own heart as you careen down one of the side-streets, hoping that you at least have the advantage of home turn here.
Sure, you might not be taking the quickest route home anymore (that way would involve cutting through a park, where the trees and the shrubs would provide too much cover for you to be ripped into pieces by unforgiving claws), but if you’re lucky . . . you’ll at least confuse him enough to get home.
Your little carrot bag bumps against your hip with every step, but you’re too frightened to stop and rearrange it - who knows how much precious time that would waste?
You can feel a stitch burning hot in your side - but for every step you take, every burning gasp of air, you can hear an echoing boot on concrete only a little way away. He’s gaining on you. Sweat trickles down your back. Your hair is messed up, your make-up running, your ears akimbo - there’s a rip in your fishnets from doing too much strenuous exercise in cheap party stockings.
You need to confuse him further. You need to make some kind of last-ditch attempt to throw him off your scent--
You hope that he’s not tracking you by scent, as you think wolves probably do in the wild. Your fruity perfume, which had seemed so fun and flirty when you had laughed and sprayed it on in your bedroom, suddenly feels like one of the worst mistakes you’ve ever made in your life.
There. A little opening next to a dark building - a house, perhaps, or maybe a little store, or maybe an office . . . it’s too dark to tell, with the streetlamp guttering, and you have more important things to think about than whether it’s an estate agent or an accountant. It’s not like you’ll be thinking about your bank account or mortgages or the like when your flesh lies heavy being digested in the stomach of a werewolf--
You duck into the alley, scraping your shoulder against rough brick.
Your breath catches in your throat; fear settles about you like an old friend.
Shit.
Dead end.
Something hot and heavy and warm launches itself at you, momentum pushing you forward and crushing you against something rough and painful, your head slamming against it too briefly and leaving you confused and rattled with stars swimming in your vision.
When the stars clear, you’re aware that your body is pressing hard against the wall of the alley. This is your own fault, you think - you should have ran to the first door you saw with a Jack’o'Lantern flickering on the porch and begged to be let in until the danger had passed. You shouldn’t have done something so horror movie protagonist stupid as try and duck down a dark alley next to darker buildings that could have been anything--
“Caught ya’, bunny,” A voice growls low into your ear. A familiar voice. Fear prickles icy hot down your spine - but, too, in that voice, is a shiver of promise that (though you don’t want to admit it) sends a shockwave of anticipation straight to between your thighs. It is not so simple to forget the way you were looked at by Toji on the dance floor.
“Toji,” you breathe, and you win a chuckle of pleasure from the man caging you against the wall. A hand drags lovingly down your side; the tight cinch of your waist in the boned bodysuit, the swell of your hip.
“Good rabbit,” he chuckles. “Y’remembered what I said.”
“Please,” you say, half-whimper and half-beg. “I-- please, don’t hurt me--”
Teeth - no, that’s not quite right, is it? Fangs nip at your bare shoulder, ripping apart the flimsy costume collar. His bite is hard enough to make you shudder as you imagine powerful jaws crunching down on bone and muscle and sinew. As you feel the scrap of polyester fall to your feet, you feel a rough tongue drag over the part of your skin where his teeth have brushed, where it would surely bruise if he had pressed just a little harder.
You’re shivering in fear. You ignore the spike of adrenaline between your thighs as you think about how different and unusual that tongue feels, and how it would feel if Toji were to turn his attention to somewhere a little more delicate than your shoulder or collarbone--
“What do you think I’m going to do to you, little rabbit?” He growls playfully, and you shudder again. You try to keep a hold on yourself, but you’re shaking so desperately. This isn’t right. This isn’t supposed to be happening. You’ve been dropped into an actual real life horror movie--
“. . . Please don’t eat me.”
It sounds stupid even to you. Like something a child would say to their nightmare boogeyman; not real dialogue that has honestly just come out of your mouth. Toji seems to find it hilarious, too - the laugh he barks into your ear sounds like a wolf’s howl.
“Oh, darlin’,” Toji soothes you, and the hand on your hip moves to ghost over the curve of your ass instead; to tweak the little fluff ball of a tail attached to the bodysuit. To curl up the curve of your spine until his hand finds the zipper of it and toys with it for a moment. “Don’t worry. Yeah, I guess y’could say I’m hungry . . . but I already ate that kinda meal back at the club, y’know?” His breath is hot on your skin. He’s still playing with the zip, even as he noses along the junction of your shoulder and your throat. “Somethin’ else I’m hungry for right now.”
You swallow. He presses forward, and you’re suddenly made aware of how hard the body pressing against you is - that there’s raw muscle beneath the torn and bloodstained clothes. You hear a rhythmic thumping noise that you think must be his tail, thwacking against his own legs in ill-disguised excitement.
You’re made aware, too, that there’s a particular part of his body that feels even harder than the rest of it - and that particular part is currently pressed tight against your ass, twitching as he breathes in your scent.
“And what would that be?” You breathe.
Rough, powerful fingers tug at the zip properly this time, and drag it down to your waist with one stroke.
“C’mon, bunny,” he chuckles again. “I think y’already know what I want from you. What I’m hungry for. And . . . honestly?” He leans in - brushes his lips against your cheek, pressing intimately close to you. “From the smell of you back when we were dancin’, and from the way I can smell ya’ right now . . . I think you want it too.”
You cringe.
It’s true. You can feel the slickness between your thighs - know that the beating of your heart is not merely fear. Now that Toji has assured you that he’s not about to really eat you, and your bones and muscle and meat are safe . . . the thought that he’s hungry for your body in a far more carnal way has you feeling all light-headed and wanted. Toji is hardly unpleasant to look at. And--
There’s a certain frisson of danger, when you let the thought of being used by a monster, that sets your heart aflame and your stomach twisting in excitement. Something you don’t want to admit to in words within your head, but which rings clear and true in the hitch of your breath as he pulls the satin bodysuit down and the thrum of anticipation that settles needily between your legs.
“Well?” There’s a grin in his voice - the satin is wiggled over your hips, dragged down along with the scrap of black lace underwear (to avoid visible panty lines) you’re wearing. Your breasts spill free, brick roughly brushing against their tender skin, your nipples hardening in the cold. “Whaddya think, darlin’? You smell real good, y’know. Can’t hardly wait to eat you up.”
You can’t help but be a little charmed he’s asking, even if you feel like any whisper of ‘no’ would be ignored. It’s not as if you can ignore your own need, churning in your stomach, making you dizzy and light-headed. Big palms curve up to cup your breasts; to continue pinching and pulling on your nipples with calloused fingers and thumbs, sending yet more electric shocks zapping through your body and setting every nerve ending aflame.
“Ain’t you the sweetest thing?” Toji muses aloud. “You’re so fuckin’ soft. Just like a real bunny, huh?”
Another nip of fangs against your neck. The silky fur of his ears rubs against your cheek, and your lashes flutter against your will; your breath grows short. You feel suddenly, terribly empty, and you’re certain that the thick stretch of him inside of you would assuage that emptiness.
“Okay,” you breathe, pressing yourself further back into Toji’s body. You’re mostly bare, now - the bodysuit and your underwear twisted halfway down your thighs. As such, you feel the heavy twitch of Toji’s cock as you grind fully against him, even through the fabric of his jeans - and the breadth, the weight of what is waiting there for you . . . it makes your mouth go dry. Oh, that’s going to stretch you out alright.
Toji is still teasing, though - still a heavy smirk obvious in his words as he says, in between nips of your bare skin and soothes of his rough tongue;
“Sorry, darlin’. What’s that you’re agreeing to?”
“Okay, Mister Wolf,” you say to him, his hands and fingers still playing with the heavy weight of your breasts, fingertips sinking into the soft flesh and kneading them and massaging them in a way that makes you feel appreciated but light-headed. “Go ahead. Eat me up.”
“Mmm,” Toji growls again - before you know it, you’ve been flipped around so that it’s your bare back scratching against the rough brick wall instead of your sensitive front. “Oh, little bunny. Don’t you know y’shouldn’t go around tempting big mean things like me?”
He rips off the bodysuit and your underwear in one fell swoop, sharp nail-claws making short work of the cheap Halloween fabric. Even if it had been an expensive costume, you’re not entirely sure that you’d have the clearness of mind to be bothered about it when Toji has sunk to his knees on the floor and is urging your thighs further apart with the insistent push of his cheek.
“Look at that,” Toji coos, looking up at the space between your legs. The only costume parts that you’ve retained are your stockings, heels, the cuffs about your wrists . . . and the bunny ears somehow still clinging to your head for dear life. You must look a sight.
But that doesn’t seem to matter to Toji, as he breathes in deeply, savouring the scent of your arousal in the air.
“Ain’t that a meal fit for a king?”
Your bare shoulders slump against the brick as Toji presses a hungry, wanting kiss to the apex of your thighs - as he drags his fangs over bare skin, scraping shallow grazes into the softness. His tongue drags over that same expanse of flesh; rougher and bigger than you’ve ever felt before, and as he growls low and approaches your sex with obvious relish flashing in green eyes, your fingers come to grip into his hair.
“Look how wet you are for me,” Toji coos. “Like the chase, darlin’? Can’t say it hasn’t got my blood pumpin’ too--”
Finding purchase in the strands of his hair, your thumb brushes over the back of his ear and his tail thumps hard against the concrete floor, the sensation forcing another growl from Toji’s throat even as he seals his mouth over your dripping sex.
Oh, Gods. His mouth is searing warm; his tongue dragging over your folds with little care about teasing you, more interested in covering as much ground as he possibly can. He uses his rough tongue on you as if what he really wants is to devour you; eat you alive, drink in all of the arousal pumping from you like it’s the finest wine. A whine of surprise escapes your parted lips - but Toji’s claws have wrapped around your upper thighs, pinioning you against the wall as thoroughly as possible.
There is nowhere to escape from the onslaught of his tongue, as he laps so hungrily at you. As the rough organ drags from your clit to your perineum and back again, savouring the taste of you. He growls into your sex in feral pleasure, and all that serves to do is to set vibrations humming through your bones. Your knees feel weak. You’re grateful for his hands, for if they were not there to keep you in place as Toji ruins your cunt with his mouth, you’re not certain that you’d be able to stay vertical.
He breaks away from your sex for just a moment, to look up at you with his pupils so huge that only the faintest ring of green is visible in the moonlight (and does that green, at this angle, not have just the smallest tinge of yellow?). He’s every inch an animal pouncing on his prey, enjoying the act of ravaging them - and he takes in a deep ragged breath, and growls out;
“Oh, bunny. You’re the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever had the good luck t’get a taste of--”
And with that, he dives back into you, grazing his fangs on your bare thigh as he goes. The thought of that dangerous mouth, full of sharp teeth, so close to all of your most intimate and delicate parts . . . you’re aware that you should find it terrifying. Instead, though, you cannot help but want him more. As you whimper again, moans coming out into the October air interspersed with your own soft pants, his motions just become more frenzied - more desperate to drink you in and consume you.
His tongue returns to frantic lapping - but higher up, this time. Teasing at your clit. Sucking it into his mouth to swirl his tongue over it in a dizzying pattern. You feel yourself clenching around nothing (you’re so, so empty - you want something inside of you so badly. You want Toji inside of you so badly--), and you tug on the soft fur of his ears as if to urge him to carry on going. Rougher, perhaps. Harder, perhaps--
The tug on his ears makes him shudder in turn, and you realise that the werewolf currently eating you out like he’s eating his last meal before an execution is just as far gone right now as you are. Just as needy and desperate. He groans into your sex, tongue sliding down to circle your entrance. You’re not expecting all that much from it - surely it cannot feel as good as his tongue did on your clit - but you have to reassess your feelings when Toji’s tongue makes his entrance into the slick channel of your cunt.
So much longer and more flexible than an ordinary tongue; such a different texture . . . you feel your knees buckle once more. It reaches deeper than you were expecting - and though he doesn’t have too much control over it, the rough texture still manages to rub against all of those spots inside of you that make your hips twitch and your body feel like it’s being set aflame.
You’re rubbing at his ears now. You need some kind of repetitive motion to take your mind off just how good it feels to have Toji bent between your thighs, savouring every drop of your slick. He’s groaning even as his tongue thrusts in and out of you - that tail still rhythmically thwacking against the ground.
“I--I’m close,” you manage to get out, though your mouth feels full of cotton wool - much as your head does. You don’t know how you’re still rooted to the ground. You feel like you’re floating somewhere far above it all, the pleasure overwhelming. Toji’s face is sticky-shiny wet, your slick and his own drool pooling on his face and dripping from the corners of his mouth. His eyes are fastened on you, drinking in every reaction you make. Every flicker of your expression, the way your mouth drops open to gasp, the way you try and swallow around the dryness in your throat even though you can barely keep the strings of yourself together.
Coming on Toji’s tongue is like coming apart at the seams. You feel the swell of pleasure inside of you, threatening to overwhelm, and you can no longer keep it all in as you feel yourself gush more of your release all over his face. Your thighs are shaking as Toji continues to suck and lick and swirl his tongue around inside you, working you over the peaks of your orgasm with dogged patience.
As he pulls back from you, though, your legs give out entirely - the strength of your orgasm far too much for your shaky legs to handle. Like a fawn, your stance gives out - and Toji catches you, inhumanly strong, chuckling as he lowers you gently to the ground and noses against your cheek.
“Eatin’ you up’s gotta be the highlight of my night, darlin’,” he says to you, voice thick with his own arousal. “Shit. Good job I got ya’ so wet - cute lil’ cunt like the one you’ve got mighta’ got split in half if not--”
“Are you going to fuck me?” You ask him, breathlessly, still riding the high of your orgasm. Your limbs do not quite feel as though they belong to you - as a whole, you feel dreamy and unsure and like you are floating, pleasure still whispering along your skin. Toji barks out a laugh like a howl again - you notice one of his ears twitches as he does it. Cute--
“Fuck you, bunny? I’m gonna do more’n just that--”
“More?” You ask, still short of breath - but once more, Toji is using his superior strength to rearrange you. Your hands and knees are pressing against concrete. And where once you might have complained as grit sticks into your knees, all your poor, muddled mind can think of right now is how good it’s going to feel to have Toji’s cock inside of you, pinning you down. Surely it will be bliss to be beneath him and used like an animal--
Hands find your hips again, keeping you steady. There’s a fumble behind you; the rustling sound of fabric being pushed down, the soft clash of a metal zipper’s teeth being undone - and something hot and bare and needy, thick and stiff and wanting, slaps against your bare thigh.
Toji laughs again. You feel the head of his cock slap against the lips of your sex; the wet noise of slick skin on slick skin. Even that little slap makes your head feel dizzy, sends little electric currents of pleasure and want buzzing through every nerve ending you have.
He pushes forward - the tip of him parts your folds, opening you up. Your fingers clench at the sudden stretch - so much bigger than you anticipated, without having actually seen the size of his cock. Oh, he feels so good - even barely inside of you, your mouth drops open into a soft little ‘o’.
“Fuck,” Toji grunts, sliding another inch inside of you. “Bunny. Angel. Darlin’. You’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight--”
“Feels good,” you manage to whimper out. “Please. Don’t stop. I can-- I can take it--”
“I know y’can,” Toji says, his hips stuttering forward, sheathing more of himself inside of the tight warmth of you. “Not gonna stop, darlin’. Don’t think I could if I wanted to, your cunt’s swallowin’ me up--”
“Oh my God--”
It comes out as a little whine, as Toji pauses inside of you for a moment and you think he’s bottomed out. He’s so big. He’s making you feel so full. You’ve never taken anything even close to this size, and the muscles in your thighs tremble with the effort - and then he shifts forwards again, and there’s even more of him to take--
“Almost there,” Toji coos, as he pauses when he’s so far inside of you that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. Something presses flush against your stretched hole; an unusual hot swell that you can’t quite pinprick. “You’re not ready fer’ that quite yet. Lemme work you open a lil’ more, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you breathe in response, not quite sure what he’s saying or what he means. It’s difficult to concentrate on anything right now, pinned to the ground like an animal with a feral beast of a man mounting you, curled protectively over you with his cock buried as deep as you think it can possibly go inside of you.
He pulls back, leaving you achingly empty for a moment (you need him, you want him, you need him inside of you or you will simply die) - before he drives back in, and stars spot and flash through your vision. You whimper aloud, groans and needy sighs falling from your mouth. You’re not even aware of how loudly you’re vocalising - you’re aware of nothing but the rhythm that Toji is trying to establish, in between his juddering thrusts and low, gentle praises about how tight you’re clinging to him and how wet you are how good you feel, squeezing his cock the way you are.
The combination of your own release from earlier (you’d never known you could come like that), how wet you were even before he started using his mouth on you, and the slick gushing mess of his tongue inside of you serves to ease the glide of his cock a little, but it’s not enough to distract you from how huge he is and how stretched out you feel. You wish, for a moment, he was fucking you on grass - for at least your nails could sink into the ground instead of scrabbling on hard concrete. Toji groans, urging you forward, slipping into something that’s almost a rhythm.
But then--
That hardness from earlier - the swell of something unfamiliar - continues to push against the ring of your entrance every time you think he’s fully bottomed out.
“Fuck, darlin’,” he groans into your ear, and the claws that are wrapped around your hips dig in hard enough to scratch. You scent blood again, and realise that he’s dug those same claws hard enough into you to let blood drip down from your bare skin onto the concrete. “Shit. Gonna . . . have ta’-- gonna knot you, bunny, gonna make y’mine--”
“Knot?” It comes out barely understandable, you’re so frazzled from the way he feels. His thrusts have gotten messy; every time he slams against your cunt, it’s as if he wants to push that swollen protuberance inside of you. Like he wants to stretch you out even further.
(A brief memory flashes across your mind; some nature documentary or other, about lupines and their mating habits and the concept of knots, but you’re too far gone to concentrate too hard on it when you’re currently being railed within an inch of your life).
He wheezes out laughter.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” Toji breathes, voice rasping dark and low like cigarettes and whiskey. “Gonna knot you. Gonna fill you up nice ‘n proper. Shit. You’d look cute all swollen with pups, huh--”
“I can’t--” Panic flares dully in your senses. That swollen thing at the base of his cock - he wants to stretch you out enough to put that inside of you? “Toji, I wanna, but I don’t think--”
“Shh,” Toji soothes you. Presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. “You can take it, darlin’. I know ya’ can--” His thrusts are messy now. Arousal streams down your inner thighs, and though you can’t see it you’re sure it’s staining the grey beneath you even darker. “C’mon. Fuck--”
He bites down into the meat of your shoulder, hard enough for his fangs to pierce skin - and as you cry out at the pain of the sudden intrusion, he uses that moment of opportunity to fuck his knot right into you - forcing your sex to stretch to accommodate the girth, to pop inside of you with a final hard thrust of him.
Toji practically howls again as he drags you backwards, forcing you to accept his knot, to tighten around him even as you feel his cock twitch and spasm inside of you and the spill of his release (hotter and thicker than you’ve ever felt) seems to fill you to bursting.
The strange sensation of being knotted, on top of the way you’ve been trembling on pleasure’s edge just from having his cock fuck into you, sends you into another orgasm - this one shorter and sharper than before. It pleases Toji, though - possessive growls of satisfaction mingling in with kisses and nips to your neck and shoulders and back. Toji keeps you there; his claws in your hips, his knot inside of you, curled beneath him.
“You took me so well, darlin’,” Toji rumbles, in between licks of his own bites and hungry kisses. “Look how good we fit together, huh. Doesn’t it feel good to be so full?”
Your lashes flutter. You swallow, your throat bobbing. Because it does feel good. It feels so, so good - you can barely put a word to it. His knot inside of you, his fangs, his claws, the silky feel of wolfen fur beneath your fingertips when you’d stroked and tugged at his ears.
“. . . Yeah,” you say, eventually, dry. “Feels good--”
He laughs in delight.
“Thought you’d say that, bunny.” Affection is leaking through his voice. He noses at your bare skin. “While we’re stuck here . . . I’ve gotta question for you.” You wonder what it could be. You wonder if, whatever he says, you’re going to end up being devoured - if he’s going to eat you alive despite what he’d said, leave your poor fucked-out corpse here to be discovered like a grisly Halloween morning after.
. . . You’ve just been fucked so good that you don’t even think you’d mind. If the price of Toji doing this to you is your life, well, you guess you’ve lived a good one--
“Bunny,” Toji kisses the side of your throat. Fangs hover over your delicate skin; a mouth full of dangerous, sharp teeth, made for ripping and tearing through flesh. “You’ve been the prey. Been my cute lil’ rabbit. Ever wanted to find out what it’s like to be the wolf?”