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Summary:

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“Are you kidding me? Momo, when he goes all turbo granny-mode he’s like… a panther! Like a dangerous big cat when it comes to anyone else. But you?

“With you, he’s an overgrown kitten.”

Okarun’s yokai form comes with some rather obvious changes in personality and size, but some things stay the same… (AKA: Okarun is hopelessly in love with Momo Ayase no matter what form he takes).
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Notes:

A collection of moments where Okarun is ridiculously soft for Momo in his yokai form.

Something’s happening, happening to me
My friends say I’m acting peculiarly
Come on baby, we’d better make a start
You better make it soon before you break my heart.
- Everywhere, Fleetwood Mac

Work Text:

He heard her cry out, and his focus tunnelled. There was no looking around to find her, because he knew exactly where she was, always. He gave the stupid alien in front of him one last shove and kicked off its torso to propel him towards where Momo stood. 

 

Teeth gritted, she struggled to stay upright on unsteady knees. One of her arms was soaked in blood, hanging by her side as the other fought to control the spiritual energy that snapped around her like angry snakes. Something primal inside of him was soothed when he saw her still standing, and it was only then that he could turn his head to face his foe, neck snapping unnaturally. 

 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Okarun’s voice was deadly calm. His vision turned as red as the blood on Momo’s sleeve.

 

Truth be told, he couldn’t recall the rest of the fight that well. He was possessed, after all. Not just by Turbo Granny, but by rage. Struck dumb at the audacity of this enemy to lay a single finger on Momo. What he did remember was how he clambered back to her afterwards on four ghastly limbs and cradled her in too-long arms as he inspected her shoulder like a wolf sniffing at its mate. 



“They’re so ridiculous,” Aira groaned. The way Takakura acted, you’d think her arm had just been torn off, not slashed. She slowly rolled her sprained ankle, testing the limits of her movement. Part of Aira still thought he should be fussing over her instead of Ayase, the annoying skank, but Aira had long learned that to be a lost cause. 

 

Earlier she’d felt a wave of satisfaction when Takakura had picked her up bridal style, when she’d first gotten the sprain and been forcefully de-transformed by their enemy, perhaps he was finally giving her the attention that she rightfully deserved… 

 

And then she’d been snapped back to reality as he’d dropped her behind a tree and said “Stay outta the way, dragging everyone around is a real bummer,” before returning to the fray at Ayase’s side.

 

That’s exactly where he was now, still transformed. His limbs bent strangely as he hovered over her like a demonic sentinel, the long-suffering gargoyle returned to perch at its cathedral.

 

“I think it’s sweet,” Vamola cooed from where she sat, wrapping fabric around Aira’s ankle, “He loves her! All of him loves her.”

 


 

They all had at least one story like that. Sometimes, when Momo and Okarun were together, it was like no one else existed. 



Kinta remembers watching Okarun zoom past him, Miss Ayase clutched tightly to his back as he took her halfway across the battlefield. Perhaps that was part of his strategy in making women like him… piggyback rides. Kinta would have to consider this. 

 

Regardless, he decided to try his luck the next time Okarun was within range.

 

“Hey! Can you give me a lift, too?” Kinta called out. 

 

The yokai-possessed boy sighed, appearing to slump even further into his bad posture, “Do I have to? I thought that’s what your nano-skin bike was for.”

 

“It’ll be quicker,” Kinta complained.

 

“Fine… Man, I wanna go home already.” 

 

When Kinta was dropped somewhat carelessly to the ground twenty seconds later, he wondered how Miss Ayase put up with the guy all the time.

 

When he saw how gently Okarun helped her off his back later, stooping even lower on his inhuman limbs to let her down, he realised that even as a demon Takakura couldn’t help but fawn over her.

 


 

Okarun can’t help himself when he’s like this. He might be blanketed with the general malaise that comes with his transformation, but everything feels more raw. He has no filter, no worries about the consequences of his words. So, when he saw Momo, he said exactly what he wanted to say instead of holding back.

 

“Momo, I missed you.”

 

“You’re a genius, Momo.”

 

“Excellent plan, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

 

The only problem is that everyone can hear him, and everyone remembers.

 


 

So when Momo commented that Okarun ‘Isn’t really that different’ when transformed, Jiji almost keeled over.

 

“Are you kidding me? Momo, when he goes all turbo granny-mode, he’s like… a panther! Like a dangerous big cat when it comes to anyone else. But you? With you, he’s an overgrown kitten.”

 

Momo scoffed, “Maybe he looks a little scary, but it’s still him! It’s not like he’d hurt us or anything!”

 

“Maybe not,” Jiji replied, “But I know you remember what happened the first time you were injured after Evil Eye attacked you.”

 

“Momo!” Jiji had called out to his friend, running over to where Okarun held her in ungainly arms, her back bracketed against one thigh. The girl seemed barely conscious, pushing her face into Okarun’s hand, which stroked gently over her cheek. 

 

“Here,” Jiji panted with exertion, “Let me take her until we can get back to Grandma Seiko’s house.” As he reached his arms out, Okarun’s eyes snapped to Jiji’s face, glaring at him with the keen eyes of a predator. Those strange arms clutched Momo closer to his chest, and his nose scrunched up like a snarling lion before he released a bone-chilling sound. The noise was terrifying, something between a chuffing roar and a hiss, and Jiji immediately stepped back in shock. 

 

Momo gasped, “Okarun!” She admonished, eyes wide, brows furrowed in shock. The sound was cut short, and a head of white hair snapped down to look at her.

 

Okarun had transformed back immediately, arms still supporting Momo, and profusely apologised to him. Jiji knew that while Okarun may have forgiven him, some part of the boy, the part that loved Momo more than life itself, hadn’t quite forgotten.

 


 

It was tempting to think that this behaviour would calm down once their feelings were verbalised and they were officially a couple. Anyone who thought that was wrong.

 

Somehow, they got worse. 

 

“Momo, darling.” He nuzzled in against Momo’s neck, monstrous teeth brushing against her skin, “Why can’t we just sit here? Training in this heat makes me wilt,” he whined. This had become a common sight; Okarun transformed and crouched behind his girlfriend with black-tipped hands wrapped around her middle like vines any spare chance he got, the casual affection they’d adopted in the rest of their lives extended to his supernatural side. Sometimes, he could be spotted with his massive head draped across Momo’s lap like a large pet, red eyes half-lidded and utterly despondent at the idea he needed to move. 

 

In battle, things were much the same as before, but a compliment of “Nice aim, babe!” was often accompanied by a spindly hand brushed against her lower back, or the gentle squeeze of her hip as he carried her on his back.

 

What nobody else knew was how those instincts had crept into other aspects of their relationship.

 


 

He pulled back just enough for her to watch those ghoulish teeth manifest and hear them clack into place around his jaw. That great maw opened, and an impossibly long tongue slithered out to lick up her neck, warm and wet. Momo couldn’t stop the moan that clawed out of her throat, and his answering growl sent sparks skittering down her spine. ‘There, there, my love,'  the sound seemed to say, ‘Let me take care of it’ . He nuzzled her in the facsimile of a kiss, and then that tongue was delving into her mouth to tangle around her own. 

 

Her hips bucked uselessly underneath him, her body seeking him out, searching for her missing piece. Her core barely brushed against the length of him, but it was enough to coax him to her like a siren’s song. His hips rocked against her, and he whined into her mouth. Even like this, as he pinned her down with his massive form, he didn’t take – he begged. He begged, and begged, and begged. And so, because he was always so good for her, she gave. 

 

She sucked on his tongue until he groaned above her, rolling her hips until his dick was trapped between them, twitching against her stomach. Eventually, his tongue retreated, muzzle retracting to reveal soft lips that pressed against her cheek and panted her name. He pulled her thighs up over his hips. Long fingers stroked her skin and soothed up her sides. He was curled over her, hands planted next to her face, caging her in like the dangerous creature he was. 

 

Finally, she took him in hand. She notched him against her entrance and watched those mournful red eyes plead for entry.

 

She nods. He pushes into her. They were home.